Summary:

Both Harry and Draco receive a mysterious letter. Will they risk following the cryptic instructions coming from a stranger? Will it change their fate or help them become what they are meant to be?

CHAPTER 1

Wednesday 12-12-12, 12:12

It's gone.

It has shaped all my life, and now it's gone.

I was the Scarred One since the first time I looked at myself in a mirror.

I was the Chosen One, because of my scar, since the first time I stepped on Wizarding ground.

I was the Boy-Who-Lived, the Boy-Who-Had-To-Die-To-Save-The-World, because of Voldemort's mark on my brow.

And now it's gone.

Well, to be honest, a pattern of dots has replaced the lightning bolt; but still, it's as good as gone.

It wasn't a joke, then, and I was right to risk it...

~~*~~*

Earlier that morning

Never a dull moment here at Hogwarts -- not even this repeat Seventh Year is going as smoothly as I hoped.

I'm savouring my breakfast, idly listening to Hermione and Ron bicker about the amount of food he's cramming onto his plate, when a flock of magpies attacks the breakfast table.

They swoop down and dig into Ron's pile of sausages, leaving his plate almost empty. Ron tries to shoo them away, waving his arms to no avail. I laugh, and he gives me a dirty look.

"What? Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, everybody knows it."

"I don't understand why the magpies are stealing your greasy sausages instead of Malfoy's hair... It looks so soft and shiny..."

I'd cut out my tongue if I could: everybody is staring at me now.

Ron grimaces. "Really, mate, it's fine that you don't want to date my sister, it's fine that you're into blokes, but you are thinking about the Ferret too much for your own good, if you ask me."

"Shush, Ronnikins, let him be!" Ginny chastises him, coming to my rescue.

After the war, she confessed that she briefly dated Dean while I was Horcrux-hunting, and since that didn't hurt me at all, we both agreed that we mistook brotherly love for something more. If her family was disappointed that we didn't get back together, nobody said a word to me about that. They were really supportive when I started doubting I'd ever be interested in having a girlfriend, and a nice Floo chat with Charlie helped me a lot in understanding why. Then there was the drinking party in Gryffindor common room last month... Apparently, Firewhisky has the same effects on me as Veritaserum. I only had a sip of it: Ginny asked me if I fancied something, and I blurted out that I've been attracted to Malfoy for ages, realizing too late that she was waving her hand towards the food table. I'm still convinced it was only the alcohol talking, but she thinks I'm in denial and has been very protective of me ever since.

Luckily, the magpiesarebringing chaos to the Slytherin table as well, so the attention of all the Gryffindor students is not on me anymore, at least not until Hermione notices an envelope bearing my name. It's sitting on my serving of treacle tart, spoiling it. In its fall, it also managed to splotch my shirt.

I take up the envelope gingerly as Ron complains about the delivery method.

"Really, who uses magpies to deliver mail? A proper Wizard uses owls, not thieving birds!"

Clearly, Hermione knows better: "Not all the time. I read about a Wizard community in Mexico, who relies on parrots... Harry, who's the letter from?"

"Give me a second to read it..."

Ginny bounces on her seat. "What is it, a love letter? Open it!"

I glare at Ginny, tearing open the envelope. A small shining blade falls from it right into my plate, again.

Ginny looks a bit puzzled. "What's that? A letter-opener? A kitchen knife? Why should an admirer send you something like this?"

Hermione looks worried and suggests that we oughtn't touch it until we know more about it.

I unfold and read the letter, forcing my brain to absorb its contents. My friends are staring at me in utter silence, and I realize I still need to answer Ginny's question. My voice never felt so detached before.

"Dunno. It's not a love letter, anyway. No admirer. It's not signed, either. The mystery writer gifts me a spell that will erase my scar forever. The knife is to be used in the spell..."

A shrieking Hermione tears the letter from my hands.

"What? Let me see! You're not seriously considering this, Harry, are you? This must be a joke, maybe from George."

A sick joke, if that's the case. No matter what Dumbledore showed me in the King's Cross Station of my mind, the scar on my forehead still states loud and clear that I'm connected to Voldemort -- even if he, and his Horcrux within me, are destroyed for good. I don't want to keep that Mark. Voldemort's equal, the Hero of the Wizarding World: I don't know which one is worse. I've tried everything in the months after the end of the War to get rid of it, to no avail. But I was discreet in contacting people who, in the end, could not help, and St. Mungo's Healers are sworn to secrecy... Who would taunt me like this? I've no idea; I'm dumbfounded.

Ron gives Hermione an outraged look. "You know that George hasn't put together a single prank since Fred... anyway, he knows better than to jeopardize my breakfast with thieving magpies!"

"Oh, Ron, I'm sorry. I didn't mean... Still, it's not safe! Haven't you read the spell this... whoever it is... suggests? It has to be done facing a mirror, with candles burning and spillage of blood, today of all days, at 12:00, and it will take exactly 12 minutes to perform... this doesn't look like real magic, it sounds like exploiting the Mayan prophecy of the end of the world!"

"The what?" asks Ron, puzzled.

Hermione tries to explain: "Come on, Ron, you've read the Muggle papers!"

"The thing I joked about with Harry, you mean? Of the extinct civilization that foretold the Apocalypse?"

I remember that conversation: we agreed that our calendar ends at the 31st of every December, so why should we be worried if the Mayan calendar ends today? Just because they aren't here to print the next one... It seemed funny at the time, but clearly Hermione sees things differently.

"It's not as trivial as you're making it... Never mind. Harry, you know how things are. You've been to many Healers: nothing can make your scar disappear. Every Wizard you consulted gave you the same answer: there's no charm that can affect your scar. You can't even hide it with a glamour!"

"The only way is some good make-up..."

Hermione sighs in exasperation. "Please, Ginny! It's not a matter you can joke about! I find this really worrying..."

As my friends discuss the problem, my thoughts spin so fast I don't know which one to voice.

I want this to be real; I really want it. Don't I deserve some respite now? To be free to be myself, to live my life un-marked? Yet, why should I trust this stranger? And yet again, if there's a way to get rid of Voldemort's brand, I have to risk it. But what if it's dangerous?

"All right, Hermione, check it. Check the knife. Check the letter. Check the spell."

Instantly, Hermione starts throwing one diagnostic spell after another, looking for curses, jinxes, dark magic and general malevolence.

"It seems clean to me."

As soon as Hermione's bursts of magic are over, Ron takes the letter and points at some line.

"Read this bit: the sender sounds like someone who cares about Harry..."

Hermione reads, but looks unimpressed.

"After everything he's been through, after all the people who tried to use or manipulate or plain kill him, Harry's still too trusting for his own good. Even if I checked it all and nothing seems amiss, I have a feeling that something is off with this spell."

My brain slowly starts to work on this riddle.

"Is there a way to track down the sender?"

Hermione palms her forehead and casts another volley of spells.

"It doesn't work. It's as if the sender foresaw the use of the tracking spell and protected himself from being located. I also tried a spell to recognize the handwriting, but it is distorted and unrecognizable. Whoever sent you this really wanted to stay anonymous."

Ginny takes the letter and mutters dubiously, then asks, "Hermione, you know Latin better than any of us. What should the spell do, exactly?"

She takes the letter back, reading carefully: "It should cut a former bond, as I gather, but I'm not sure... I'd have to research. Harry, we need to know more before you..."

"There isn't time for you to research! I have to do this at 12:12, remember? If it cuts every connection to Voldemort that may still be in place, I have to do it. Don't you get it?"

"I do, Harry. I really hope it will do what it says it will, but..."

I understand her concern, but there is only one real question here. "Will performing this spell put my life at stake?"

She looks hesitant, but in the end whispers, "I don't think so."

"Well, then. What's the worst that can happen? If it doesn't work, I'll keep my scar. If it works but it was a prank, I'll probably sport the wordsgullible foolon my forehead instead of the scar. You said it's not dark magic and that I'm not risking my life. Right?"

Hermione's still unconvinced. "I suppose... I really hope it's as simple as this. Do you really want to get rid of it this badly?"

"Yes! 'Mione, don't you remember the headaches, the visions, the nightmares? The people staring? I want it gone!"

Luckily, at least Ron understands. "Come on, Hermione, it's a great chance for him. Even Muggles think today is a special day. Why can't it be the end of Harry's old life and the beginning of a new and better world? After all, you're not really cut for Divination, are you?"

They seem to have forgotten that it's my decision to make, so I sneak away as they're still arguing.

I've almost reached the door when I hear Hermione's resigned sigh. "I guess Harry's faced worse. Let's hope it works."

I count it as her blessing and go hunting for candles.

~~*~~*

In the evening

I spent a whole hour trying to arrange my hair so it wouldn't fall on my brow, so I could show Hermione that the spell worked perfectly (almost perfectly, but I'd rather have some dots than the remnants of Voldemort's killing curse), and now she's staring at me in disbelief. At least Ron is cheering enough for the two of them.

I prod her. "So, Hermione, admit it, I was right. It's gone!"

She rolls her eyes. "Harry, have you looked at yourself in the mirror?"

"Yes, that's how I know it worked."

"Did it really?" asks Hermione, unconvinced.

Ron pipes in. "Of course it did, 'Mione, don't you see? Harry -- no scar. All gone."

A reason for Hermione to doubt the success of the spell comes to my mind, and I hasten to make things clear. "Well, now I have these dots instead, but they're way better."

"Harry, you're impossible. Did you look at the pattern they make?"

"What, like in a connect-the-dots game? Well, no numbers here... but it looks like a small kite with a long tail."

Ron peers at my forehead and offers his own suggestion: "A N written with a dripping quill?"

"Only you would think of that, Ronald," points out Hermione. "You are so untidy in your writing. Seriously, do you never open your study books?"

This alarms me. "Wait, what do you mean? Is this some kind of rune or magical symbol?"

"That is the Dragon Constellation," explains Hermione. "Check your old Astronomy text. In Latin, it's called Draco."

Ron's eyes widen. "Is it the Ferret's fault? May we maim him, please?"

"Oh, shut up, Ronald! Harry will do no such thing. Eight-years must not fight."

"You're boring sometimes, 'Mione," grumbles Ron.

She does not pay him any attention. "I'm glad the spell worked in erasing your scar, Harry. Still, I'm worried about this new development. What do you think? We must find out who sent you the spell. Magpies... they are not uncommon birds, but I've never heard of Wizards training them... I wonder who..."

I let her voice drift away as she hurries towards the Library.

So now I have Malfoy's constellation etched upon my flesh... why don't I feel more disturbed by this?

~~*~~*

My mind trembles at the thought of encompassing the lack of luck that is affecting my life ever since my first day in Hogwarts, when the beacon of salvation that Harry Potter always has been refused my hand and my friendship.

I hoped my fate would have changed when the ever-precious Golden Boy managed to banish the Dark Lord from this existence, but of course I must pay for having been a privileged child.

After all, with Father struggling with nightmares, with Mother intent on selling Malfoy Manor (selling the Manor! It's been in the family for centuries, and now no enchantment can purge it from the desecration it went through during this war), and with Professor Snape in the count of the deceased, why should luck favour me?

I just wonder how I could have been so credulous as to believe the message the magpies brought this morning.

A spell, the parchment said, to get rid of the Dark Mark and of every trace of bonding with the Dark Lord that could be residual after his definitive demise; a spell to set my future free of previous unfortunate allegiances I was forced to enter and to regain the power of my fate.

Maybe it was a lapse in judgement -- and whom can I turn to for advice? I detected no evil intent, and restoring my arm to its purity was well worth a try.

This is why my forearm is now graced with the pattern of the Leo Constellation. I wonder whether this is better or worse than the skull and snake -- maybe better, as it's less ominous and less visible. Had I moles, it would be perfectly disguised as a cluster of them, but my skin has always been pure alabaster. Even visible, an astronomical chart is better than the brand of a mad, evil wizard Father was foolish enough to follow into ruin... but I digress. Why the Lion? It's not a meaningful constellation. Is there a hidden message, a code maybe? Nine stars... Denebola... nobody that I know of ever bore that name, not even on Mother's side. Regulus... this sounds more familiar... definitely in the Black family... maybe related to Potter's Godfather... Potter. This year we didn't fight, not even once... guess it's hard to fight with the one who saved your life from Fiendfyre, but he's ignoring me altogether, and it's unacceptable... damned be his Gryffindorishness! Lion... Gryffindor... Leo means lion, of course: I bet Scarhead is somehow involved in this.

Since he was decent enough to return me my wand, we managed to avoid confrontation. It's been almost six months: now the time has come for a change.

~~*~~*

Thursday 13-12-12

As usual, I wake up from a nightmare, and I wake up screaming, tangled in the sheets, with a dull ache in my forehead and a duller one in my heart.

But was it a nightmare? I saw flashes of pale limbs, a slender hand with perfect nails, unusually ruffled platinum hair tossed around, the piercing flash of a silver gaze, my emerald eyes reflected in it. I heard my name, repeated over and over. And the screams were not from pain, either, and... how in hell am I going to ask my friends to help me understand why I am having wet dreams starring Malfoy? Scratch that, they already think I'm obsessed with the gorgeous git, and it's not the first time that in my dreams...wait, was it reallymydream? It felt like... no way, Voldemort's destroyed for good, and why should he send me such images anyway? But it felt exactly like the visions I had then, like being in another's mind. In Dra- Malfoy's mind, maybe?

Well, then, it's happened: I have gone entirely bonkers.

~~*~~*

I'm sitting at the breakfast table impossibly early, alone with Ginny. As if the day did not begin badly enough! How can I explain to her what kept me awake almost all night? I'll never hear the end of her teasing.

"I saw my brother sneaking into Hermione's room last night. I guess they won't be up and around for another hour. They're lucky she's Head Girl and has her own private room, if I... Harry, what happened to you?"

Before I can answer her with some half-truth, a certain Slytherin enters the room, looks in my direction, and blushes -- actually blushes -- while I choke on my mouthful of treacle tart and Ginny hits me repeatedly on the back -- and she had sworn she was fine with us not being together and me being attracted to guys... blond guys... a blond guy... just kill me now.

"I tried the spell yesterday, and the scar's gone..."

Ginny looks carefully at my face.

"Then why aren't you happier? You look like you were hit by a shower of Bludgers... let me see... Impressive. The Constellation of the Dragon? Really? Is that a Muggle tattoo? Aren't you a sap? Is this the best idea you had for catching his attention? You know, maybe it will work... he's still staring at you."

"What? Ginny, stop it! For Merlin's sake, I did not do it on purpose! I'm not trying to catch anybody's attention!"

"Denial again? I thought you finally admitted to yourself... What do you want?" The sudden harshness in her tone makes me jump.

"Ginny, you know that..."

A voice I know all too well answers in clipped tones. "May I have the questionable pleasure of a word with Potter? In private?"

Ginny stares shocked at my brow while Malfoy's manicured hand closes around my wrist, and I pass out in a blinding flash of light.

~~*~~*

Well then, I guess this is proof that the bespectacled git is not the source of the present state of my forearm, given that the poor dimwit has been in the infirmary for the last three hours.

I should be offended, really. What am I, a Dementor? Is my proximity enough to make him faint like a damsel in distress? Does he maybe wear a corset that's impairing his breathing? Now, that's an image... may one Obliviate himself, I wonder?

I'm no closer to understanding what happened. Did I do something wrong, to elicit such a reaction? It didn't feel wrong; it felt warm, if anything, the moment I touched Potter's arm. Warm and comforting and strangely right...

I shall concentrate on facts, not sensations. I can control myself. Well, then. I grabbed Potter. His forehead started glowing. He fainted. The Weaslette screamed for help. McGonagall came and levitated Potter's limp body from the pool of Pumpkin Juice. Potter's hair was more tousled than ever, sticky with the juice, and his scar... why was his scar not there?

~~*~~*

"Do not worry, Minerva. I may not know what it is, but I can assure you the boy is not in any danger. There's no trace of dark magic on his forehead. I wonder..."

I regain consciousness and squirm under the wand prodding my forehead.

Professor McGonagall's stern voice startles me. "Are you awake, Potter?"

Yes, I am. In the infirmary, it seems. Madam Pomfrey continues running diagnostic spells on my scar. On my ex-scar. Whatever.

Ron and Hermione are standing at the foot of my bed, arguing. Why do they always argue?

A sudden feeling of surprise rushes through me, and for a moment, I know Dra- Malfoy has noticed something out of ordinary.Howdo I know it, though, is unclear.

As Madam Pomfrey lowers her wand, Professor McGonagall sighs. "I hope you are going to explain, Mr. Potter. What happened to your scar?"

Sometimes, I think facing Voldemort in the Forbidden Forest has been the easy thing.

~~*~~*

"Trying an unknown spell on yourself that came from an unspecified source is dangerous and irresponsible. I can't believe you did this without consulting me first, Potter! Miss Granger, I'm surprised you didn't try to stop him."

"I'm sorry, Professor, I did try," Hermione hastens to explain. "I checked the letter with every spell I know. I wanted to research further, but Harry was in a hurry. It had to be done at a fixed time... Professor, have you read the Muggle newspapers? There's been a lot of speculation about day 12-12-12 as the end of the world. The pre-Colombian cultures are just fascinating, aren't they?"

Ron cuts in quickly. "You're babbling, 'Mione. Professor, at first we thought my brother George was back with his tricks. Then Hermione checked the thing for dark magic, and found none. Harry really wanted to get rid of his scar; you know how many times he..."

McGonagall's face softens. "I understand. Well, then, it's fifty points from Gryffindor for reckless experimenting with one's own health. Fifty pointseach. Potter, did you at least have the sense to keep the letter you received?"

Ididhave the sense, and I hand the letter over quickly.

McGonagall reads it aloud, her eyebrows raising higher at every sentence:

"Dear Mr. Potter,

Loath as I am to address you asdear, you deserve a chance at happiness.

If you want to get rid of the scar that marked you as the Dark Lord's equal and enemy since the death of your beloved mother, carefully follow my instructions, as this is your only chance.

You have to start the ritual at 12:00 am sharp on 12-12-12, alone in front of a mirror, in a circle made by fifteen burning, black candles. You need to cut your left palm with the enclosed knife, following its lines, deep enough to make it bleed. Dip the fingertip of your right index finger in the blood, and trace your scar with it. Do this twelve times, chanting the following spell, which has to be done wandlessly:

Finite Nexum Priscum Atque Nectite Corda Ad Astra.

Try not to mangle the words, although your pronunciation always left something to be desired.

It is of the utmost importance that you do this at the precise time I advise, and that you should finish and extinguish the candles exactly 12 minutes later. Keep the blade in a safeguarded place afterwards: you may need it again.

This should secure your future, and fulfil my promises."

Questions are issued at me at the speed of a Firebolt.

Yes, I have the blade. It's in my pocket. Yes, I'll allow Professor Flitwick to study it.

No, after performing the spell, I felt perfectly fine.

Yes, I fainted this morning.

Yes, I was with Ginny.

No, I don't remember... yes, Malfoy was there, but he didn't attack me. I don't know what he wanted. Could he be the sender? Maybe... he never liked me, sure, so why should he care about my happiness? I don't think... No, I don't know why George should loathe calling medear, but we thought it was a joke...

Yes, it sounds like someone who cares... I saw Remus's dead body, for Heaven's sake, I know it's not him.

Who promised anything about my future? Well, Sirius did, but he's dead as well. Every single person who cared for me is dead!

Just leave me alone!

I storm out of the Infirmary, leaving the letter behind.

~~*~~*

Potter is upset. No clue how I know it, but I'm as sure of it as I'm sure I'm a Wizard. Potter is upset. I should make it better.

Why should I?

I should go to the Headmistress's office right now and, according to the Bloody Baron, not indulge myself in thoughts of Potter.

I have a feeling I could be in trouble.

~~*~~*

Since it seems that I'm perfectly healthy, I am to report to Professor McGonagall's study in ten minutes to "further discuss the matter of such an ill-advised enchantment".

Will she dock us more points? I'm fine, really, if not for the nagging sensation that Dra- Malfoy is worried about something... about me? Why should he be?

The password is still "Lemon Drops", and for a moment, I miss Dumbledore.

Malfoy is in the room. He looks tense, but poised and perfectly elegant. Guess who took dance lessons since age four? I can envision a pouting blond boy gracefully moving across a room full of mirrors... and he was pouting because he'd rather be playing with a new potions set that Sever- wait, how do I know this?

His eyes are stormy grey, and they follow me unblinkingly as I sit on the nearest chair.

Professor McGonagall is comparing two pieces of paper, my letter and... Malfoy's?

"Well, Potter, nice of you to be punctual. Malfoy has received a letter almost identical to yours, as you can see, delivered in the same confusing circumstances."

She hands me one of the letters.

The sender addressed him asMy dear Draco, because he's much easier to love than I am, clearly. The letter promises to get rid of Malfoy's Dark Mark. His spell requires only nine candles, apparently, and the mysterious sender made no comment about his pronunciation, of course, it being perfect and all. No other differences, though.

I lift my eyes, folding the letter and placing it back on the desk.

McGonagall explains further. "The consequences are also similar: you had your scar replaced by a constellation, and likewise happened to Malfoy."

Dra- Malfoy rolls back the long sleeve of his cashmere charcoal sweater, revealing his forearm... and I find myself staring, for the Dark Mark I know was there has been replaced by another pattern of dots.

"The Leo Constellation, Potter," he explains haughtily. "The Lion."

His gaze is unreadable, his chin set in defiance.

At this point, Professor Flitwick enters the room.

"I've researched the spell, Minerva, and I'm quite positive it's safe.Finite Nexum Priscumis meant to stop, quit, cut, vanish, dissolve, or otherwise remove a former and older bond, thus releasing our students from the lingering influence of Voldemort. Both Mr. Potter's scar and the Dark Mark were a link to him, as you all know. Rescinding that link means that Mr. Potter no longer bears the scar that allowed a connection between his mind and Voldemort's, and Mr. Malfoy is no longer bound by the Dark Mark, as if he never were a Death Eater. Even if Voldemort has been completely destroyed, this is a great gift. I'm still unsure about theAtque Nectite Corda Ad Astra: this part, literally, binds the heart to the stars. I doubt, however, that this is meant to be taken literally. Maybe the former bond was too strong to be released altogether -- it's a matter of balance, obviously -- and it had to be replaced by binding our students to something that would not influence their lives, such as a constellation. More likely, the stars stand for something like fate or future, thus binding our boys to their own destiny, as if Voldemort never existed. This would be good news, indeed. However, I'll continue my research."

Well, at least nobody's trying to kill me. A nice change, I suppose.

"And what about the knives, Filius? Could they be used to rescind the newly created bond? Just to be on the safe side... After some time passes, perhaps?"

"It's really dangerous to tamper with bonds, Minerva. I'd advise our students to keep their knives hidden in a safe place and forget their existence, if possible. Again, further research is needed."

Professor Flitwick gives us the blades back. I think I'll hide mine at the bottom of my trunk, inside an empty box of Chocolate Frogs, covering it with my underwear: it should be safe enough.

Finally, we're dismissed, and Malfoy's eyes quit burning me alive.

~~*~~*

Hermione's conversation, when she is set on resolving some problem, is gruelling, even more so now that my being scar-less seems to be the problem.

Ginny asking loudly if it was Malfoy's touch to set me alight does not help either.

I really do not want to talk about Malfoy and my being obsessed with him. Not while sober. Not even to myself. And absolutely not now that something is clearly going on between him and me. I do not want to analyze it. Surviving through it would be enough.

Hermione's trying to understand the possible meanings of the Dragon Constellation, surrounded by what must be at least half of the Library's stash of books.

"Did you know that Draco is circumpolar?"

I startle. "Malfoy is what, now?"

"Not him. Really, Harry, I'm starting to think you really are obsessed with him. I meant the constellation, obviously. It's circumpolar. It never sets and can be seen throughout the whole year. Maybe this means that in your future you will always find light... And Thuban, the main and brightest star, has been used instead of the Northern Pole Star for more than two thousand years."

Ron is clearly unimpressed by the notion. "So what?"

"Ron, the Northern Pole Star is a reference point! Do you never study?"

"And what does it mean?" I ask quickly, to interrupt their bickering. "That I'll never be lost again? That I'll always find my way?"

"No need to be sarcastic, Harry. If that's what it means, that's not bad for you! Furthermore, in this book Delphia Stargazer remarks that Thuban meansthe head of the serpent."

Ron's face clears up: "The serpent? Isn't it a snake? Maybe your mystery donor chose this constellation because you were a Parselmouth, Harry."

"Could be, Ron," I concede. "I just hope it doesn't mean I'll have to behead another giant snake."

If there's one out here, Hagrid surely will love to have it as a pet. I bet he's still feeling sorry for the Basilisk.

~~*

Friday 14-12-12

Draco is hugging me tightly, his hands entangled in my hair, his mouth so close that we share breath, his eyes deep and bright like burning mercury, his body pressed to mine from head to toe. From the warm hardness pressing against my belly, I can tell he's really, really happy to see me. His pounding heart echoes with mine, and his voice sounds like treacle, sweet and slow, as he whispers words of love and reassurance. As long as he's with me, I don't need to fear anything, for he will dispel the darkness, and no nightmare will ever reach me, not through the radiant brightness of his smile, and he'll always be with me, he'll always be my light.

His lips are moist and shining, and I wonder how sweet they'll taste when I... find myself in bed, alone, hugged to my pillow, sweating and painfully aroused, with a wave of disappointment coursing through me. I really needed, wanted, desired that kiss. Craved for it.

Dra- Malf- damn it all the way to Hell and back, he can as well be Draco in my mind, for how I dream about him -- Draco was named for the stars that now mark my forehead. It's as though I'm marked his. Surprisingly, this does not bother me at all, a warm feeling filling me instead.

After my hand has taken care of the situation -- my mind imagining a more slender, paler, softer hand -- I fall asleep and dream of Quidditch.

Someone is calling me. I wake up from sound sleep in the middle of the night, with the distinct impression that someone is calling for me, is calling my name. It's a gut wrenching sensation, and heat pools in my groin as I realize that the call does not sounds like mockery or threat or reproach. It sounds like unadulterated need, like someone in the throes of passion pleading for me to bring him release. Like Pott- Harry, calling my name out of desire.

This spell must give hallucinations.

I try to sleep, nonetheless, and I'm plagued by images of a Quidditch match -- or is it a Seeker's game? Potter's arse is clad in tight leather, raised toward the sky while its owner crouches on his Firebolt, flying at break-neck speed towards the Golden Snitch; my eyes are soundly glued to that round, sweet, perfect shape. And if Potter wins the game by catching the Snitch, I sure know what I'd like to catch instead.

I refuse to talk about my "situation" during every meal. Hermione's still worried for me, mostly because she had been able to extort the whole story of my fainting from Ginny, and she confirmed that rays of light were blazing from my Constellation Scar the moment Malfoy touched me.

Having been raised by Muggles, at first she attempts a scientific explanation:

"Was it a soft gleaming? A bioluminescence effect, perhaps? Both jellyfish and fireflies have some bacteria in symbiosis with them, which allows..."

Ron looks disgusted. "Blimey, 'Mione, as much as I dislike Malfoy, I doubt he goes around spreading -- how was that? -- bioluminescent bacteria."

"It was only a hypothesis, Ron." Hermione dismisses the idea. "Could it be phosphorescence, maybe? Harry, have you been exposed to ultra-violet illumination?"

"Should I be offended by this question?"

Hermione snorts. "Don't be silly. Although I think there must be a simpler explanation."

"I know! What's the name of that thing Muggles use instead of Lumos or candles?"

Ginny shouldn't need to ask it, but I answer her nonetheless.

"Light bulbs, why?"

"Well then, it's a light bulb thing, and Malfoy turns Harry on." She smiles triumphantly. "Problem solved."

"Ha ha, Ginny, you're hilarious. It's more likely that I'm turning into a superhero. No radioactive spider bit me, but I can be Snake-man."

When my friends stop laughing at Ron's horrified grimace, I try to persuade them that nothing is wrong. Professor Flitwick checked both the spell and the blade, Madam Pomfrey checkedme: they didn't find anything out of ordinary. I want to believe them. That burst of light meant nothing. I don't need another thing to worry about. I'm scar-less now. I deserve some peace.

It's only one week before winter break, and I refuse to be doing homework right now: what better way to spend an afternoon than flying? Ron has no such luck, as Hermione makes him study with her for hours on end. I hope for him that "studying" is what they call it these days, not that I have any experience of what I'm hinting at.

Riding my broom is always relaxing for me, and I set free a training Snitch to give me purpose. The sun glints on the small, golden ball, and I set to the chase. Gold, shimmering in the light, Draco's hair...

This morning at breakfast Potter, looked embarrassed and distressed. Strange as it may be to know how he feels without even looking at the git -- although if I must be sincere with myself, I did look, quite a lot -- I'm sure that's because of his dreams, and if his were like mine, I do know why he felt like that. Seriously, Potter longing for my touch? Maybe in a parallel universe...

After the morning lessons -- double Potions and Alchemy -- the ability of reasoning that deserted me yesterday is coming back, and I decide to spend the afternoon musing about the spell that changed my Mark.

I'm sitting on the lakeshore with an old Astronomy book, trying to understand why Leo among all the available constellations, when a peculiar thought hits me. Aunt Bellatrix often used the Mark to summon the Dark Lord, and he always answered her call. I wonder what would happen if I use my new Leo Mark in the same way: will the stars fall down? Will a real lion escape some zoo in order to find me?

The point of my wand is on my new Mark before I can think about it, a web of light connecting the star-dots before disappearing. I prepare myself for the consequences.

After a few minutes, Potter appears. He's dishevelled, hard-breathing, red-cheeked, with his broom in his hand. Entirely edible.

I am chasing Dra- the Golden Snitch, when suddenly, I find myself hovering near the Lake.

Draco is sitting on the ground with his back propped against a tree, his eyes closed and a book open in his hands. His eyelashes are impossibly long and thick, a pale lock of hair shadowing his right cheek. He looks like an angel: pure and utterly beautiful.

I dismount my broom and walk towards him, for no good reason at all. Words are out of my mouth before I can rethink them. "I'm here for you, Draco. I answered your call. What do you need me for?"

He lazily opens his eyes, a flash of surprise passing through them before his mouth opens in a lazy smile. He licks his lips, and I stare, mesmerized. I've never noticed how plump they are when he's not smirking or snarling, maybe because it's the first time he's not doing either around me.

"So it's you. You are the Lion. Interesting."

His statement is so odd, it brings me out of my daze.

"Of course I am Lion. I was born on July 31. Why do you care?"

"I'm not talking about Muggle astrological bullshit. Didn't you listen to Professor Flitwick yesterday? Evidently, our bond to V- V- Voldemort has been replaced by another bond... to each other."

This is unexpected.

"What? Am I bonded to you now? How? Why?"

"And I am bonded to you, displeasing as we both may find it. The Dark Mark could be used to summon Voldemort, as you witnessed. I tried to use this... Lion Mark... in the same way, and it summoned you. Ergo, you're the Lion."

Well, this makes sense. I should be more distressed by this deduction... but being bonded to Draco seems much better than having a piece of Voldemort inside me. Having a piece of Draco inside me, on the other hand... Must. Not. Think. That. Now. The very idea is so embarrassing that I lash out.

"So what, you may summon me and I'd be at your beck and call to satisfy your every whim? You wish, Malfoy!"

His drawl sends shivers over my skin. "Do I? If it is so, this situation could entail unexpected benefits. Do you feel compelled to grant my every wish, Potter?"

"Not at all, you wanker!"

"It's interesting you should mention that. Are you inclined to give me a hand, perhaps?"

There's something about Malfoy that makes me lose my temper, it's as plain as that.

"Of course not! Do not put in my mouth things I didn't say!"

"Were I to put things in your mouth, as you so eloquently phrased it, it wouldn't be words, and the activity we'd be engaged in would not qualify as wanking, I fear. But if you insist upon discussing matters of bodily contact, do you care to explain why you fainted yesterday? Nobody privileged enough to be gifted with my touch ever had such an offensive reaction."

This little chat is not going well. I do not even know why I'm still here. I do not need the image of him touching... anybody, really. The sudden stab of jealousy makes me even angrier, if possible.

"Maybe I just wanted to avoid the experience."

"Such big words are not becoming on your lips, Potter. The burst of light that came from your forehead is still unexplained, though."

How can he be so calm discussing this? I answer defiantly.

"Maybe it was just electricity, we being opposite charges and so on."

"Is this e-lek-trissy-tee a Muggle thing?" he inquires coldly. "If so, I strongly doubt it. Maybe I shall simply touch you again and see what happens..."

For a moment, I stare at the graceful way he rights himself, then his words suddenly make sense, and I recoil. Were he to touch me, it should not be testing the consequences of some spell ...

"The hell you will, Ferret!"

For a moment, he looks hurt; then he shrugs as if nothing happened.

"Well, then. I shall report to Professor McGonagall. I'm certain she would wish for us to investigate further any reaction to the spell... And this leads me to another question: if my Lion Mark works in almost the same way the Dark Mark did, what about your scar? What powers did it have before?"

"No powers at all; it only gave me headaches."

Messing with Potter has always been my greatest pleasure; the goal of my days to see those green eyes burning me, alight with rage, to have every ounce of Potter's attention. I'm a master at that.

Today I did better than ever, better that taunting him with Dementors' cloaks, better than breaking his nose. He was deliciously blushing throughout the entire conversation, and I could almost taste his outrage.

Finally, the universe deemed it appropriate to grant my wishes. Potter is bound to me. I summoned him, and he came for me. Oh, to have Potter truly coming for me...

So how can it be I'm feeling so unsatisfied?

I've just had a civil conversation with Malfoy. No jinxes, no curses, no fists, no insults. Unbelievable. He did mock me quite a bit, what with all those innuendos, but still.

Does he really think I'm bound to him now? Was he pleased that he managed to summon me? And that bit about all the people who liked his touch? Why did it make me nauseous? I bet he was just trying to rile me up. He always managed to get under my skin.

Still, talking to him made me aware that I've bigger problems than the aftermath of a spell.

I find my friends in our common room.

Ron's beating Hermione at chess, as usual, even if she studied every strategy book available at Flourish and Blotts. Ginny is sitting by the fire reading some silly magazine for teenage girls, and barely lifts her eyes from the page as she greets me. "Hi, Harry, how was your day?"

Hermione points at the pile of books on the nearby desk. "You should revise Charms, you know. And your Potions essay is two inches shorter than it's due."

"Let me die alone, Hermione. I think I may have a crush on Malfoy."

"Oh, really?" Hermione does not sound surprised at all.

Ginny jumps up, her magazine forgotten.

"End of denial days! Rejoice! Don't you think those black trousers he wore yesterday were making his arse look even more perfect than usual?"

I glare at her; she shrugs. "What? I do have eyes, you know. And he's really fit."

"Don't tellme."

Ron smiles at the chess board. "Checkmate!" Then he shoots me a withering glance.

"Harry, I do not want to hear a word about the Ferret's body. However, I give you my blessing."

Hermione, crestfallen for losing, chastises him. "Don't be infuriating, Ronald. I fear you'll get hurt, Harry. I doubt Malfoy shares your preferences... Wasn't he with that awful pug-faced Slytherin girl?"

The idea makes me sick.

Ginny rolls her eyes. "Didn't she wish? Please, 'Mione! Malfoy's as straight as the path through a labyrinth. Onlyyouwouldn't notice!"

"If you say so." Hermione concedes dubiously. "But Malfoy's always been nasty around Harry. I'm not sure he'll be interested in him in that way, even if..."

"Oh, come on! Haven't you seen how the gorgeous git stares at Harry when he thinks no-one notices?" Ginny shows all her expertise in the matters of the heart. "It took you seven years to understand you love my brother. Leave the seduction plans to the experts! I'll be the one to help Harry get his hands on Malfoy."

I must admit, Ginny has a point, and the idea of having Draco under my hands while not fist-fighting has its own appeal.

Dinner is a subdued matter for a Friday night.

I'm not sure that I want to face Malfoy right now, and I get a feeling of uneasiness when I think about him. Luckily, he's not in the Hall when we arrive.

Neville's sitting at the Ravenclaw table with Luna: she claims that Nargles love to have him close but are scared of Hermione, so that's where he usually eats his meals.

Seamus is babbling about how we need to throw a New Year's Eve party with Butterbeer flowing, Hermione's chastising him for breaking the rules in his imagination, Ron's cramming his mouth with roasted chicken and potatoes while discussing Quidditch strategy, and Ginny's trying to distract me from my musings by reciting some of the love letters she read in her silly magazine.

I'm aware of the exact moment Malfoy enters the room.

I decided to take my dinner fashionably late to avoid Potter altogether after the disappointing conversation we had this afternoon.

No such luck.

He's already sitting at his table, laughing with his housemates. Friends. I have housemates. Potter has friends. I briefly ponder the possibility of using my Lion Mark to summon him, but decide against it. It would be embarrassing, and I dislike the idea of having the Golden Boy at the centre of everybody's attention.

I eat my dinner alone, listening to his laughter.

"'Dear Heart-Healer, I'm in love with my best friend. I'm too shy to tell him that'... Merlin! Look at him. He dresses to impress, doesn't he? And what did he do to his hair? Harry, have you noticed?"

I do not dare look toward the Slytherin table, but there's no need: Ginny immediately resumes her moment-to-moment chronicle of the dinner.

"He's sitting down. Is his sweater cashmere, I wonder? Nice set of shoulders, anyway. He looked in your direction and grimaced. Has his nose always been this pointy? He's eating his carrots now. He looks dejected. Where is Zabini? They usually sit together... He's looking at you again, I think. His fringe is longer this year -- it's almost covering his eyes. His hair looks so soft. Does he use a conditioner?"

I'm starting to feel miserable as well.

After dinner, I'm stuck doing homework, but my brain seems to be fixed on the idea that I should go looking for Draco, to hug him and kiss his sadness away. I can throw off Imperius, for Merlin's sake; I should be able to concentrate on my books.

Having digested my revelations, Ron's in a chatty mood.

"But mate, Malfoy's been a prat to you since the first time you met him. How come you fell for him of all people?"

Hermione can't resist the urge to point out a mistake, no matter how small. "He wasn't a prat to Harry, not that time. He was a prat to your family, Ron. He offered Harry his friendship, and Harry refused him."

This does not help me at all. I shake my head in resignation. "Yeah, thanks for reminding me..."

"And he didn't give Harry away when the Snatchers..."

This actually helps, and I reward Hermione with a hopeful smile.

The whole evening is then spent examining almost every interaction I've had with the git. The conclusion is that I unconsciously started finding him attractive during Third Year, seeing him caress theMonster Book of Monsters; the sway of his hips when he approached Buckbeak afterwards might have played a part as well, even if Hermione claims my brain was not working properly at the time due to lack of oxygen induced by riding the Hippogriff at high altitude. What really made me fall for Draco, though, was seeing his vulnerability in Sixth Year and understanding he regretted his choices. I know I regret using Sectumsempra on him.

Ginny thinks that every time Draco was nasty with me, he was just pulling pigtails, trying to get my attention. I'll never understand how girls' minds work.

"Maybe I can use my recently acquired Dragon Scar to have a peek into Malfoy's brain, then, since obviously I can't be trusted to understand his motives on my own."

I should not have said that. Hermione jumps on this like Crookshanks on a cream platter, and I'm forced to explain what Malfoy told me about his Lion Mark and how it works, re-living the whole embarrassing conversation.

When I'm finished, Ron has a marked green hue on his face. "Harry, mate, you sure you like the prat? He's got a filthy mouth on him."

Hermione is scandalized by my suggestion. "But Harry looking into Malfoy's mind! Maybe that's not really dangerous, but it's not a good idea either."

"No need to worry. It probably won't work. I bet he's a master at Occlumency. I won't stand a chance entering his mind."

"Didn't Voldemort read your thoughts sometimes as well?"

Everybody glares at Ginny.

"Just asking... Maybe Harry will be able to send images to Malfoy's mind without meddling with his thoughts, planting new ideas instead, to make him fall in love, you know."

Now, this is the best idea I've heard so far.

As Blaise is still on leave to attend his mother's ninth wedding, I spend a quiet evening reading Muggle poetry and getting depressed. My attempts not to think about Potter are an epic failure, and I retire to my bed early, hoping to find solace in my sleep.

It has been a long day.

I lay down on my bed trying to keep my mind open. What images can I send to Malfoy to make him interested in me? I'm still trying to decide if thoughts of kissing him will do, when sleep takes me.

I'm eleven again, on my first trip to Diagon Alley. I'm trying on some robes when a blond boy my age starts talking to me. He has a strange and measured way of speaking that's obviously been engrained in him since childhood. He thinks my eyes are beautiful, even under my ugly glasses.

He wants to be my friend: it's a sudden and unexplainable desire.

I meet the same boy again at the school of magic. He's upset that I'm with Ron, jealous that I'm not with him. He insults the Weasley family because he wants to show me he's worthy of my attention. His name is Draco. I refuse him; his heart breaks.

Every time we meet, Draco is mean to me. He wants to get my attention, and he's sure this is the only way to get it. He loves watching me fly.

The next year, he's on the Quidditch team. He enjoys playing against me, even if he never wins. If he can't be my best friend, he'll happily be my best enemy.

Time passes, we grow. He looks at me with longing, but I do not understand him. In his family, things are going badly. He's worried, always worried. He breaks my nose to punish me that his Mother will be alone, but he's secretly thankful that his Father will be safe in Azkaban.

Sixth Year. He cries. He's desperate. He was forced to take the Mark. He's scared for his parents. He thinks I'll never like him if he does what he must, and he'll be dead if he doesn't. I enter the room. He's embarrassed that I'm seeing him at his weakest point. He wants me to comfort him, to save him, to love him. He's overwhelmed by the situation. We curse each other. He lays sprawled in a pool of his own blood, thinking that maybe dying by my hand is the best thing he can hope for.

Time passes, and his desperation grows. The Snatchers bring me to the Manor. Draco recognizes me, of course he does. He dreams about me every night. He stares into my eyes and lies to Bellatrix and to his Father, knowing he'd be Crucioed afterwards. He just wants to save me. He loves me.

The Fiendfyre roars and burns, everything is madness. Draco's heart leaps when I swoop down with my broom to take his hand. He presses hard against my back, his breath hot on my neck, his arms wrapped around my waist in an iron grip. We land messily, alive, rolling on the floor. For a moment, his weight pins me down, and he thinks he'd like to stay like this forever; he flees.

Hagrid brings my limp body back to Hogwarts. Draco cries silent tears.

I wake up. My cheeks are wet.

~~*

Saturday 15-12-12

How pathetic I am.

Lingering on the past, even in dreams, will do me no good.

I. Must. Not. Think. About. Potter.

I decide to keep my night-time travel into Draco's memories secret, even if what I saw turned my world upside down. Despite the lingering sadness, it also fills me with hope, and it's with a spring in my step that I'm going to Charms class when the Fat Lady shows up in Sir Cadogan's portrait.

"Mr. Potter, you have to go to the Headmistress' study right now! You're in big trouble this time, boy!"

I doubt that my friends spilled the truth to McGonagall about how the Constellation connection between Malfoy and me worked yesterday, so what did I do wrong? Where's everybody, anyway? The corridors are empty. The first lesson of the morning should start at nine, that means in... I cast a quick Tempus charm. Oh crap, I overslept!

Professor McGonagall looks sterner than ever.

"Thank you, Potter, for being so kind as to join us. Your tardiness has been duly noted and will cost you ten points from Gryffindor."

"But, Professor..."

"Do not waste time making excuses. It may be Saturday, but it's still a school day, and you are late. Furthermore, Mr. Malfoy reported an accident related to the spell you two so recklessly performed. I'm disappointed that you did not bring this up immediately."

Malfoy is sitting on a nearby chair and smirking at me. His eyes are red rimmed, and I think he cried, but his jaw is set in a daring way. Did he tell Professor McGonagall that he now has the power to summon me? If so, he should be the one in trouble...

"It seems that when Malfoy touched your arm, making you lose your consciousness, the stars etched both on your forehead and on his arm shot a bright light. This sounds alarming, at least. It may be a sign that we underestimated the power of this spell. Modifying existing bonds is a dangerous matter. There might be some dark magic involved that we didn't recognize. As soon as Professor Snape is back in his portrait, I'll ask his advice. For now, it is of the utmost importance to understand if this... shining reaction is to be expected every time one of you is touched."

I hasten to clarify.

"No way, Professor. With the due respect, Hermione hugged me yesterday, and Ginny as well, and I wasn't turned on by their touch..."

I ignore the muttered, "I bet you weren't," coming from Malfoy's direction and forge on.

"I mean, the starlight wasn't turned on..."

Malfoy interrupts me, and I'm almost glad of it. I'm making a fool of myself...

"I think, Potter, that Professor McGonagall meant we ought to check if the stars will start shining again if we touch each other, you dunderhead!"

"No need to be unpleasant, Malfoy. Now, do give me your hand. Both of you."

Professor McGonagall takes both my and Malfoy's hand and brings them closer, until my palm lays on Draco's. His skin is smooth and warm, and a jolt of electricity runs through my body, but no blinding light flashes from our Constellation Marks, and I remain conscious.

As soon as Professor McGonagall loosens her grip, Malfoy snatches his hand away.

"Well, that's a relief."

"Do not be so quick to dismiss the problem, Malfoy. From how you described it, the reaction you experienced when you first touched each other after performing that spell... I assume it was the first touch?"

We both hurry to reassure her that it was.

"As I was saying, the flash of light you described typically manifests itself when a bond is established. I think Professor Flitwick misread the situation, and that you two are now bonded to each other. I'll ask every teacher to research what this will entail. For now, I advise you to be extremely careful with each other, and to report to me immediately should other side effects manifest. Immediately, Potter, is that clear?"

"Crystal clear, Professor."

"Excellent. You're dismissed."

It went fine, after all.

I'm still shaken by my dream -- my vision -- and the temptation to ask Draco to take a walk with me and talk about things is strong. I'm still gathering my Gryffindor bravery around me when he goes his way without a word.

It's true, then. Professor McGonagall confirmed my early suspicions: I'm bonded to Potter. He's obviously displeased with such an arrangement.

I dreamt about him, about our past, last night. That dream might force me to admit to myself that I've been in love with the speccy git for quite a long time.

Where's Aunt Bellatrix, when I need someone to Avada Kedavra me?

~~*

Monday 17-12-12

Concentrating on classwork today is harder than ever.

It's the first time I've see Malfoy after Saturday's morning chat with McGonagall. I have a feeling he avoided me on purpose, since he never left the Dungeons all weekend. I know for sure, because I spent an awful amount of time staring at his name on the Marauder's Map, and he barely moved at all. I concentrated hard on sending him sensations of me petting his hair and his cheek, while stroking the letters of his name. Me not knowing how his hair and cheek would feel under my fingers probably made this less effective than I hoped.

However, now he's here, sitting in the last central row and working on his Transfiguration essay. Ignoring me. His head is bent down, and his hair covers his eyes in a cascade of moonbeams. I crane my neck to better admire the graceful lines of his back and the broadness of his shoulders. How many points would Professor McGonagall dock us if I were to get up from my seat, go straight to Draco's desk, grab the lapels of his robe and kiss him squarely on the lips? Will Draco kiss me back, opening his mouth in welcome? I wonder what he tastes like.

My daydreaming is interrupted by a kick in the shin from Ron: I need to finish this boring essay. Afterwards, I have to talk to Draco. He can't avoid me forever.

He does. He's out of the classroom as soon as the bell rings, and I seem unable to catch up. He's not at lunch, either. As time passes, I'm unable to think about anything else.

In the afternoon Herbology lesson, I help Neville with his project about "Soil pH role in the growth of Whomping Willow saplings from the seed" -- the seed collection proves itself challenging enough that I need to concentrate on the task at hand, but Neville's constant chirping about how wonderful Luna is does nothing to cheer me up. I'm happy for them, I really am. But still.

After collecting a vicious blow to the knee, enough seeds, and more than enough bruises, I do not even hope that Draco will attend dinner; I only want to lie down. This is why Hermione coaxes me to go to Madam Pomfrey to have my wounds attended, even if I claim it's not necessary and I only need a good night's sleep. Maybe wincing at every step refutes my words.

I'm high on painkiller potions, and as soon as I sprawl on the bed, my mind drifts to Draco. I hope he doesn't have a strongly shielded mind, because I'll try to send him thoughts of love tonight. If I do not pass out for sheer exhaustion, that is.

Blaise is back. My impassive mask must have crumbled, because the first thing he asked me was if I was feeling unwell. Maybe breakfast was spiked with Veritaserum, because I told him everything. After getting an Unbreakable Vow that he wouldn't tell anybody about what I revealed, of course.

He was actually quite effective in dispelling my feelings of suffocation and surrender.

He said, "Think Slytherin, Draco, instead of moping around. Get what you want. You always do."

I heard Voldemort, once, bragging that he could use the famous scar to penetrate Potter's mind...

~~*

Tuesday 18-12-12

In my dream, I kiss Draco.

His lips are as soft as I imagined, only warmer, silkier. One of his hands is tangled in my hair, stroking and caressing, the other is drawing small circles on my jaw and neck. His body is flush with mine. His tongue oh-so-gently parts my lips and, as I slowly caress it with mine, his eyes shine like stars.

I wake up feeling cherished, and hoping I managed to convey all this love to Draco through our bond.

I spend the whole Potions hour looking at Draco in what I hope is a subtle way.

Later, Professor Sprout docks me ten points when she catches me plucking the petals off a Dangerous Daisy with a dreamy expression.

Then I have to attend the Defence Against Dark Arts lesson, because the teacher thinks my experience will highlight the importance of mastering Expelliarmus and its efficacy as a defence. Professor Tonks -- Andromeda, as she insists I call her -- is a good teacher and a kind woman, but sometimes I'm still crept out by how much she looks like her deranged sister Bellatrix. Seeing her caring for little Teddy Lupin helps a bit in dispelling this impression.

As I enter the classroom, she's kissing Teddy on the top of his head before placing him carefully in Hagrid's hands. At first, I wasn't sure Hagrid was suited for babysitting, but it worked out fine. Dragons, Hippogriffs, Acromantulas, small children: nothing Hagrid can't handle.

The lesson goes well, I think, and every student is able to disarm me, even Draco. Could it be because I still taste his mouth in my mind?

~~*

Wednesday 19-12-12

In my dream, I see Draco naked.

He's sprawled on my bed, his hair spilled on my pillow like a pool of molten gold in the candle-light, a soft, inviting smile on his lips and a burning, longing gaze in his eyes. He licks his lips enticingly, blushing under my gaze. I can see almost every single inch of his creamy, glowing-from-the-inside skin. His blush blooms under my gaze as I take in every delicious bit of him. The broad shoulders. The nicely shaped muscles of his chest. Taut nipples. His strong arms, the Lion Constellation gleaming on the left one. His hipbones, jutting out in a shape where my hand would fit perfectly. His graceful hands, slowly stroking circles around his bellybutton. His legs, all long muscles and harmonious lines. His strong thighs, flowing to well-rounded calves and slim ankles. Even his feet are graceful.

Then he drops one leg and shows me everything. I've never seen another man's cock before. Well, I had glimpses in the Quidditch showers, but those do not count. Draco's is perfect and mouth-watering, somewhat longer than mine and a bit thinner, a shade darker than the rest of his skin. It lies twitching in a cloud of pale blond hair where I'd gladly burrow my face, growing harder as I stare. I have a sudden urge to take it into my hand, circle it and close my fingers around it. Kiss it, even.

Then Draco rises up, licking his lips, and stalks toward me with predatory grace. I'm still staring at the way his hard length bobs enticingly with each step, when he is suddenly so close that I can feel his body heat. His left hand lands on my left cheek, tracing my lips in a tantalizing caress. He starts unbuttoning my shirt, and only then I realize that I'm still fully clothed and that I need to feel his skin on mine more than I need to breathe. Also, that I've never been this hard, and that it almost hurts. Draco peels off my clothes with lingering touches that leave me tingling and needy. He carefully avoids straying toward my groin, though, as if he knows that even a graze would push me too far. As soon as I'm naked, he takes two steps back and circles me slowly, taking in my looks from all sides. He faces me again, soundlessly mouthing, "You're beautiful, Harry".

My alarm rings. My growl of frustration is so loud that Ron, still half asleep, mutters, "Lions in the dorm, we're under attack. Someone should send Lockhart forward to defend us!"

At breakfast, I find it difficult to swallow my food.

"Hey, mate, you alright?"

Ron is not the most observant of my friends, and if he's noticed something's amiss...

"Because, you know, you have to be in fit shape for the game..."

Ah, yes, today is Gryffindor versus Slytherin, the last match before the holidays. That's why Ron noticed. I hasten to reassure him.

"No worries, I'll still catch the Snitch before Malfoy does."

As the Quaffle is set free, I realize I cannot take my eyes off Draco. He rides his broom effortlessly, and I stare and stare at the way his muscles shift under his tight leathers.

I've never been clumsy on a broomstick before, but today, every speckle of gold I spot in the sky comes from Draco's hair. I do not even bother to look for the Golden Snitch.

I know my team mates are disappointed. Ron's making miracles, and we're ahead of Slytherin by 60 points: there's hope, if I concentrate.

Ginny flies beside me for a moment, yelling.

"Harry! Were you hit by a Bludger? You are the Seeker, for Merlin's baggy undergarments! Get a grip! Seek!"

I spot the Snitch the same moment Malfoy does. It buzzes halfway between him and me. We both go straight for it. This is my mistake. Draco's eyes are not focused on the Snitch. He's staring right into my eyes, his gaze unreadable. Then his face splits open in a huge grin, like the bursting of a Supernova. Hermione thinks I never studied Astronomy, but she's wrong.

I'm lost in the admiration of beauty, when Draco's right hand closes neatly on the Snitch.

~~*

Thursday 20-12-12

Yesterday, I was so humiliated for letting Malfoy win the game for Slytherin, I waited for my teammates to go away before entering the Quidditch shower room and taking off my clothes. This is what happened.

In my dream, I do the same, but there's a big difference. Draco is already under the shower, with water and soapy suds sliding down his gorgeous body. He's not looking in my direction. His arse is small and round, taut with muscles. I enter the spray and hug him, dotting his shoulder blades with open-mouthed kisses, pressing my hardness along his crack. I slide my hands around him, caressing his belly briefly before dipping lower. The feel of his erection in my hands is pure bliss, and I start stroking him. He moans softly and cranes his long neck onto my shoulder. We kiss greedily and with great amounts of tongue.

After a while, he spins me around and kneels gracefully, pressing his forehead on my left hipbone. I can't help but push my hips forward, and he engulfs me in the warmth of his mouth. He licks, sucks, nibbles, tastes, rolls his tongue and does unspeakable things to me. I'm fit to burst, when he cups my balls with one hand. I startle when I notice where his other hand is aiming to touch me, then his fingers graze the puckered skin and I am lost.

I wake up gasping like a landed fish. Let's hope the House Elfs doing the laundry won't notice the big wet stain on my linens.

So much for sending Draco images that will let him know he's wanted. I cannot even begin to count the ways I want him.

Lessons are over, and tomorrow we'll leave for the Burrow. We'll be back for the New Year's Eve party that Seamus absolutely wants to throw, so I only need to pack my gifts and some clothes. My trunk is ready after few minutes, leaving me plenty of time to muse about my last dream. I still feel strangely hollow, and I think I know what would make me whole again. Not in detail, maybe, but I know. Therefore, I go looking for Hermione.

She's in the library, putting together every book she thinks she'll need during the holidays. It's an impressive pile.

"Harry! I'm glad to see you here."

"I need your help, 'Mione."

"Sure thing. Do you want me to plan your homework for you? I could make you a colour-coded chart..."

"This is going to be embarrassing."

"Why? Everybody should use them! Colour-coded charts are very useful, and a good planning of your work will help you get better grades. Don't think I didn't notice your marks are dropping this year. You've been so distracted, lately... is it the bond thing?"

"Well, yes. I think the send-images-of-affection-towards-Malfoy is working, maybe, but I'm affected as well..."

"Do go on."

"This is definitely embarrassing. I dream about him doingthingsto me I've never done before. I'm not a blushing virgin, 'Mione, but..."

She quirks an eyebrow.

"Not a blushing virgin, I said,blushingbeing the operative word here. I mean... I roughly know how sex works, even between two guys, but..."

"But you want more information! You could have said it right away. Accio books I bought for Harry!"

Three tomes dart in the air and land on the desk. She pushes them in my direction. "Here, take these books! The first one is really helpful, but you may find the other two more interesting, I suppose."

I look at her in disbelief as she hands meThe Wizarding Guide To Magical Sex, a big volume titledMay I Use Your Wand? The complete guide to homosexual relationships for young wizardsandThe Hedonistic Body Chart -- find every erogenous spot in your body with our exercises.

"What?" she asks.

"When did you get these books? Real-life wizard moving pictures? Really, 'Mione?"

"I bought them last summer. I knew you would need them sooner or later."

I smile bashfully at her foresight. "Please don't let Ron know about this."

"Of course I won't. He wouldn't understand that I only read them for research purposes."

This startles me. "You read them? Are you kidding?"

"Well, theyarebooks, after all. Of course I read them. You'll find the picture on page 379 ofThe Body Chartparticularly interesting, I think." She points at the book.

My cheeks burn.

"Thank you, Hermione. I knew I could rely on you for this. Now, can you please do something to turn the covers into something less explicit?"

As soon as I'm back in my dorm after dinner, I cast a careful Silencing Charm and close the curtains, pretending to be asleep. I've never cracked a book open with such eagerness before.

The picture on page 379 shows a blond wizard bent over the back of a burgundy couch, and a dark-haired wizard with his face pressed against the other man's arse. I honestly do not know what they are doing. Then the pictures start to move, and the dark-haired man sticks out his tongue and plunges it squarely into the other man's hole. I'm so grossed out, I close the book.

After a minute, I re-open it. The dark-haired man is still intent on his work, licking and sucking and circling and dipping his tongue. I can almost hear the slurping sounds. He looks to be enjoying himself. The blond wizard looks ready to come undone. Or to come, period.

It still looks mighty unsanitary and plaindirty, but I can't help wondering how such a thing would feel.

~~*

Friday 21-12-12

I don't have a word for the things that happen in my dream.

I am four-legged on a bed, over Draco's naked body, my face hovering just above his groin. As I touch the tip of my tongue to his burning flesh, his tongue slides wetly against my entrance. It makes me jump, but he doesn't relent, and after a while, I relax into the touch and heat starts pooling in my insides. As I swirl my tongue all around his shaft, his tongue traces maddening circles. As I take him into my mouth and start sucking him in earnest, he buries his tongue past the tight ring of muscles.

We both shudder. I swallow; a heart is painted on Draco's chest in sticky white ink.

After a quick breakfast, we're ready to go the Hogwarts Express. I don't know what Draco's plans for the holidays are, and I find myself looking frantically for the shine of his hair. Not being able to find it makes me twitchy and restless. I don't know why I'm searching for him; I doubt I'll have the guts to look into his eyes or talk to him after what went on in my dreams.

The train ride is quite cheerful nonetheless, and I'm glad to be surrounded by the voices of my friends. Ron and Ginny are working on Quidditch strategy: between the last game and all the docked points, Gryffindor's Rubies are low, and the next match will decide if we have any hope at winning the House Cup this year. Hermione is staying at the Burrow as well, and she fears that, now that she's Ron's girlfriend, it will be awkward and Mrs Weasley will treat her differently.

I do my best to reassure her.

As I predicted, Molly and Arthur's welcome is as warm as usual, and the day is spent in pleasant conversation. In the evening, it starts to snow.

~~*

Saturday 22-12-12

In my dream, I'm at Grimmauld Place.

The house is completely different from how I remember it. Gone are the darkness and the gloom. The old tapestry has been replaced with shell-white paint. The floors are pale wood, almost gleaming in the broad sunlight.

The furnishing is light-coloured and modern-looking; even I can see every piece of furniture has been crafted to be both comfortable and elegant. The kitchen is all white marble and silvery cupboards, with a peninsula surrounded by high stools, a tray of green apples set at one side. The living room could be featured on the cover of some house-design magazine. Gauze drapes shelter the big windows; the couch is the lightest shade of blue I've ever seen.

The bedroom is dominated by a huge bed with a padded, black leather headboard. The linen and comforter are pale lavender.

Every detail speaks of Draco's good taste.

Draco Apparates into the living room, and we end up snogging on the couch.

Draco cooks our dinner, and he looks silly in a frilled red apron.

Draco is enjoying his take-away pizza against all his expectation.

Draco casually strips in front of me, and my mouth goes dry.

I'm clumsily attempting to take off my clothes in a seductive way, putting on a show for Draco; his laughter is slowly replaced by something else, and his eyes darken with desire.

I run a bath for him; he sinks into the hot water with a contented sigh. I massage his shoulders and wash his hair with sweet-shrub-scented shampoo.

Draco dries his hair with a towel, standing carelessly naked in front of a mirror. I take him between my lips and utterly enjoy the sensation of him growing harder and filling my mouth, my hands splayed over his round, perfect arse, each cheek snugly fitting into my palm.

Draco cards through my messy hair with his fingers, complaining it's impossible to set right, but secretly liking it.

Draco takes a shower with me; we carefully wash each other's bits. We lean one against the other, our soapy cocks sliding together; my hand closes around both, stroking us to completion.

We brush our teeth in front of the mirror, sharing mint-flavoured kisses afterwards.

We roll on the bed naked and laughing, tickling each other.

We kiss goodnight a hundred thousand times.

I lay spooned against Draco's back, cupping his bits, because I can.

Draco is asleep with my shoulder as a pillow, with an arm thrown across my chest, his legs tangled in mine.

I wake up in the middle of the night, and I snuggle closer to Draco's warm body, his calm breath lulling me back to sleep.

I wake up with Draco spooning me, his morning hardness pressed between my arse-cheeks.

I wake up alone. A naked Draco arrives with a tray, and we have breakfast in bed.

We share hot chocolate after a snow fight in our garden.

Our garden? Maybe we are not in Grimmauld Place at all.

I wake up late in the morning, feeling unusually content.

For today, we plan a trip to London, both Wizarding and Muggle, for last-minute gift shopping.

With Hermione's help, I choose a Muggle book about magical tricks for George: I'm sure he'll find it silly at first, and then it will give him ideas.

For Arthur, we have to visit a big department store, but in the end I'm satisfied with the collection of instruction manuals of "Muggle contraptions" such as ovens, bread-toasters, wash-machines, dishwashers, and food processors that I'm going to give him.

Molly will receive a brand new set of self-cleaning cooking cauldrons, the latest arrival at Potage's Cauldron Shop.

Finding a suitable gift for Bill and Fleur is the hardest: after ineffectively perusing every shop, we settle for a photo album. Since Fleur is expecting, they can use it to collect pictures of the baby.

Knowing the mail traffic will be at its highest in the next few days, we make a detour to the Owl Post Office to be sure that our other friends will receive their gifts in time.

To Hagrid, we send a voucher including a Portkey trip to Romania and back, a weekly stay at the Dragon Reserve where Charlie works and a ticket for the new Pet-A-Dragon experience.

The toy broom I purchased for little Teddy Lupin is sent with a fine stack of Potion ingredients: with this, I hope to mollify Andromeda, who probably won't think a toddler needs a broom, but who likes to experiment with Healing Potions.

Neville's gift is a pound of seeds of the Purple Suffering Crocus, a rare flower whose dried stigmas are used to ease mental pain, or to cook rice, I can't remember. It was the most expensive plant I could find, and according to Professor Sprout, Neville's always wanted to test its properties.

For Luna, we got a set of My-Little-Pony hairpins, glittery and colourful: Ginny is sure she'll be delighted with them.

Afterward, we stop at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes to pick up George.

He's not ready to leave yet, so I spend some time checking the new merchandise. In a secluded corner of the shop, I spot a bright red velvet box with a gold inscription stating that it is aRide Me -- Gift Set for Broom-Handle Lovers. Thinking it could make a nice gift for Ron, I pick it up to read about its contents.

"This amazing Gift Set contains:

an honey-flavoured candle that melts into massage oil, edible

a big jar of honey-flavoured lube, edible

the patented Weasley's Bruise Removing Paste

a soothing balm made with extracts of Helichrysum, Butcher's Broom, and St. John's Wort

Let your lover ride you up to cloud number nine!"

"Found something to your liking?"

George's voice startles me into almost dropping the box on my foot, and his laughter booms.

I really thought it was a kit for the care of brooms.

We spend the evening decorating the huge Christmas tree Arthur chopped down while we were shopping. When we're done, it is so loaded with ornaments that it's almost impossible to spot the actual tree; fairy lights shine in so many different colours, even I can tell they clash. It's beautiful, nonetheless.

I toss and turn in my guest bed, trying not to listen to Ron's snores -- I should be used to them.

Since sleep eludes me despite my tiredness, I read a bit of the books Hermione gave me, and my mind soon wanders off to the contents of the gift box I saw this afternoon. I've never thought about what it would really entail for a man to be taken by another man, and neither the books nor the contents of the box make it seem like a pleasant thing. If people do it and enjoys it, it can't be that bad. Still, words like "preparation" and "proper lubrication" have a menacing sound.

~~*

Sunday 23-12-12

In my dream, Draco's hands are everywhere.

I am lying flat on my belly with a very naked and very aroused Draco straddling my waist. He's dripping warm massage oil on my back, carefully massaging it into my skin. He kneads my muscles carefully, dissolving the knots in my shoulders, slowly moving lower and shifting his weight towards my thighs, working every knob of my spine with hypnotizing touches. As he reaches the small of my back, he starts drawing soothing circles with the flat of his hand. I'm utterly relaxed, so I do not feel alarmed at all when he dips even lower, entering me with a careful fingertip. He strokes and caresses slowly, spreading the oil; I'm so slick that his finger plunges easily inside, up to the last knuckle. He grazes something inside me, and I shudder; suddenly, his invasion is very welcome, and I spread my legs further and raise my hips off the bed, begging for more. He adds a second finger. It's too much. It's not nearly enough.

A loud moan awakens me. It came from me. I've never been this hard before, nor have I ever felt this hollow. I roll on the bed to lie on my belly, and I wet the middle finger of my left hand with saliva. I place the slick finger on my already twitching opening and carefully slide it inside. I meet some resistance, but push forward nonetheless. My insides are silky and burning hot. The sensation of my muscles gripping and clenching around my finger is overwhelming. I start pumping it in and out, as fast as I dare; my erection is trapped under me, rubbing against the mattress. Orgasm is quick and explosive.

Afterwards, I sleep like the dead.

When I go to breakfast in the morning, Molly is already cooking. Apparently, it snowed really hard last night, and the ground is blanketed in white. Ginny and Ron are busying themselves making an army of snowmen, while Hermione Transfigures eyes and noses for them from sticks and stones.

I join in the fun.

George pops up suddenly and points at a straw-haired snowman huddled close to a coal-haired, musky-eyed one with a lightning bolt on his forehead.

"Like this pair? Don't you find the likeness is staggering?"

"I don't have the scar anymore, you dolt."

"You're not protesting about being paired up with Malfoy, though."

I throw a snowball at him, and, luckily, it hits inside his collar. He yelps.

A snow-fight follows.

Later, Hermione insists that we should do our homework, but my mind keeps wandering. After two hours of fidgeting on the chair, not writing my Herbology essay, Hermione takes pity on me and AccioesThe Hedonistic Body Chart, which she dissimulated to look like Potions' textbook. I lose myself between new pieces of information and remembered dreams, and, all the while, it looks like I'm studying Potions with the utmost concentration.

Ron is flabbergasted.

~~*

Monday 24-12-12

In my dream, impossible things happen.

I enter the Great Hall, hand in hand with Draco, and everybody acts like it's perfectly normal.

After a Quidditch game, I land with the Snitch in my hand; Draco runs towards me, hugs me fiercely, and snogs me senseless. Professor McGonagall cheers. About the kiss or the game, it's not clear.

The ghosts of my parents whisper that they're proud of the man I've become and of the man I chose.

Dumbledore and Snape peek from a frame in the corridor, congratulating Draco and me for being lovers.

I am at the Manor, having tea with a witty and pleasant Narcissa Malfoy.

I am at the Manor, cuddling with Draco on a couch; his father enters the room and winks at me, looking extremely pleased.

This last image startles me so much that I wake up.

I've never had such a surreal dream before.

The day is spent like every Christmas Eve at the Burrow.

After a rich breakfast, we are off to de-gnome the garden. Finding the first one is hard. After we've thrown three or four of them over the fence, the others start to peek out from their holes to see what is happening. The snow covering the ground makes their leathery heads more visible than usual, and the gnomes are quickly taken care of.

After lunch, Charlie, Bill, and Fleur arrive. A Ministry Owl brings a card from Percy, with his seasonal greetings and his apologies for not being able to be home this year due to urgent Ministerial matters. Apparently, Shacklebolt was able to regain Percy's trust in the Ministry.

In the afternoon, we play the usual family Quidditch match, while Molly finishes the preparations for dinner and Hermione helps her set the table.

The meal is lavish. For starters, we have toasted bread with smoked salmon, prawn skewers, octopus salad, and deep fried squids. Two different kinds of soup follow: a creamy potato and leek soup and a lovely mushroom soup with croutons. The main course is a huge capon, filled with chestnuts and cream, and with it come side dishes of stewed peas, steamed baby carrots with butter, and roasted potatoes.

All during the dinner, we chat about Hogwarts, dragons, newborn babies, Muggles, and food.

It's good to feel part of a family.

After the dessert -- a huge Pumpkin Pudding -- Fleur claims to be tired and retires for the night, closely followed by a worried Bill.

Arthur and Molly wait until midnight before retiring, because they want to wish their children a Merry Christmas on the first minute of the day. Being counted among their children warms my heart, and I can see from Hermione's face that she's elated as well.

~~*

Tuesday 25-12-12

I'm headed towards my bedroom when Ginny, Hermione, Ron, George, and Charlie stop me. They wear mischievous grins as they hand me a present.

"Thank you, guys, but isn't it too early for exchanging gifts?"

Charlie smirks. "You should be grateful..."

"Trust me, Harry..." Ron says.

"They're right, this time," adds Hermione.

Ginny clarifies. "You do not want to open it in front of my parents."

"Put it to good use!" George yells.

They storm away, and I sit on the bed with the parcel in my hands. What they said suddenly makes sense when I rip off the gift-paper, revealing the blastedGift Set for Broom-Handle Lovers.

I wake up from a dreamless sleep to Ginny's high-pitched call; apparently, they are waiting for me to start opening the gifts. I hastily dress up and meet them downstairs.

As soon as I arrive, every present floats to its intended receiver.

Everybody gets one of Molly's knitted goods: mine is a dark purple sweater with an emerald green H on the front. Ron's sweater is a nasty shade of orange that makes him look like a walking banner of his favourite Quidditch team. He states it's the best present he could have gotten, and only changes his mind when he opens my gift: a signed copy of the latest book written by the Seeker of the Chudley Cannons.

Hermione is happily trying out her set of self-inking quills on stray pieces of gift-paper when I open her gift. It comes with a note, which reads, "Courting a Malfoy needs the proper attire"; the box contains grey silk pyjamas.

Both Arthur and Molly seem pleased with my presents. Molly coos at the cleverness of the self-cleaning spell integrated in the cauldrons; Arthur starts to read his instruction manuals immediately, mumbling "Fascinating" between himself at every new page he turns.

Ginny states her dragon-hide gloves fit perfectly, and they will allow her a better grip than her old ones did.

She almost goes unnoticed, because Charlie is trying on his new dragon-hide coat: it hugs his muscular body and reaches his ankles. He looks dark and dangerous, and even Hermione is staring open-mouthed. Ron sticks his elbow in her ribcage, hard, purposefully, and she pecks him on the lips. George whistles.

A soft hoot makes me jump on my seat as a magnificent Barn Owl swoops silently inside the room and lands on my arm.

Molly smiles at me. "Harry, dear. We know no owl will ever replace poor Hedwig in your heart, but we think it's time for you to have a new pet."

I swallow the lump in my throat. The Barn Owl is beautiful, and stares at me with dark grey eyes on a heart-shaped face.

"Maybe you can name him Tyto, from the scientific name of the barn owl..."

My new pet doesn't like Hermione's suggestion, though, and makes it clear by clawing my wrist.

Quickly, Molly explains why.

"It's a female, Hermione, dear."

"Well then, why not Alba? Same reason as before."

I ponder her suggestion. "And it sounds like the feminine of Albus. Yes, I like it."

Alba likes it as well, if the way she coos is any indication.

After a rich lunch of leftovers, we go for a stroll in the snow, bringing Alba with us; she may be nocturnal, but seems to enjoy a flight all the same.

As soon as we're out of the house, Ginny starts teasing me. "So, what did you buy for Draco?"

"Nothing. Should I have bought him something?"

Even Ron looks scandalized at my question. "Blimey, Harry! You're trying to woo the git and didn't send him a gift? Even I know that's bad manners."

"Ididthink about getting him a present. Trouble is, I doubted it was possible for me to break into the Manor and chain myself naked to his bed."

Everybody is startled into silence. I explain further.

"I'd never be able to guess which one Draco's room was. What if Draco didn't go home at all? I don't know what would have been worst. Being found there by him and being laughed at? Being found by his parents and being killed by the awkwardness and shame? Being found by some house elf, dead of starvation?"

Hermione's practical sense kicks in. "Don't be silly, Harry. You would have died of thirst long before that."

"I would have cast Aguamenti."

"Where, on the pillow?"

At this point, Ron catches up. "Stop it, you two! Mate, you're not talking seriously, are you?"

"Don't worry, I was only joking."

Ginny's not convinced. "I still think you should send him something."

"What can I possibly give him? The spoiled git owns everything already."

"Not things that he can buy, then," she suggests.

"I doubt he would like it were I to send him my heart on a silver platter."

Ginny is nothing but persistent. "You could at least send him a note!"

"I'm clumsy with words, you know."

Hermione and Ginny nod resignedly. Hermione's the one who asks the million dollars question: "What are you going to do then? Wait for him to make the first move?"

"Excellent idea."

I close the conversation and turn away, following Alba's pale, golden shape as she leaps and swoops.

I'm in the bathroom washing my hands before dinner when the loud crack of Apparition makes me splash water all over my clothes.

"Sorry if I scared you, Master Potter, sir. Kreacher wishes you a merry Christmas. Kreacher was renovating at Grimmauld Place, sir, and throwing away old and ugly things. Kreacher hopes Master will be pleased, sir. Kreacher found this in Master Sirius' chambers. It may be useful to Master Potter."

Before I can say anything, he shoves a parcel into my wet hands and Disapparates away.

Inside the parcel, I find a tattered notebook, written in Sirius's slanted handwriting. My heart leaps with the joy at having what seems to be his diary in my hands. The book is titledUseful Spells for the Bedchamber, and I stare at it in disbelief. It's difficult to think Sirius ever used spells for folding linens and dusting bedside tables. When I start leafing through the pages, I stare at the notebook in even more disbelief. Apparently, Sirius had a use for two muscle-relaxing spells, for a stretching charm, and for ten different ways to conjure lube.

~~*

Wednesday 26-12-12

In my dream, Draco makes love to me.

It is magical, mystical. Our Constellation Marks start shining at the first kiss we share.

Rose petals are crushed under my weight as I spread everything -- arms, legs, heart, mind -- to welcome Draco in. I'm more than ready, and he slides inside me effortlessly. There's no pain; it's as though my body was made for receiving his. He makes me whole, in every possible way. I know he feels the same.

He moves his hips in tantalizing slowness, caressing my insides and making me crave for more. Having him slide out is torture; the gentle inward push is pure bliss. His eyes burn with unutterable tenderness, with unadulterated love. His mouth is at its sweetest.

This is what being bonded to him really means.

Words tumble out of Draco's mouth, whispered into my mouth.

"With this candle, I take you as mine. It's untraditional to pledge one's affections through a candle of flesh, I'm aware of that. But this candle will always burn for you. It will always keep you warm. Maybe it won't be possible for you to light it every day, but the sensation of having it burning inside you will never leave you. This is how I love you."

In answer, words tumble out of my mouth, whispered into his mouth.

"With this ring, I take you as mine. It's untraditional to pledge one's affections through a ring of muscles, I'm aware of that. But this ring will always fit you. It won't tarnish. Maybe it won't be possible for you to wear it every day, but the sensation of having it clenched around you will never leave you. This is how I love you."

In the sparkle of stars and shared breath, as we shudder to completion in each other's arms, I'm sure no wedding ceremony ever felt this right.

I wake up with a new resolution: I will talk to Draco as soon as we're both back in Hogwarts, confess what I feel for him, and ask him to be my boyfriend, my lover. Ask him to be mine. With luck, this won't need more guts than walking into the Forbidden Forest to my death.

He didn't send me a gift, not even a note.

He's ignoring me. The Weasleys might be poor, but theydoown an owl. If Potter didn't send me anything, it could only mean that my strategy wasn't as effective as I'd hoped.

I gave Harry all my desires, without shame, without holding back. I gave him everything, in the privacy of shared minds. If he was able to ignore it altogether...

Clinging to hope when there's no ground for hope is a foolish thing. It's for Hufflepuffs and maybe for Gryffindors, but definitely not for Slytherins.

I should have known better than to put my heart at stake.

I should have known that my plans never work.

I do not need a lover; I do not need to be loved. I've survived until now without such a commodity: I can keep on doing so. Severus did. I have books, I have Potions, I have Magic. I have my skill. I have myself. This will suffice.

I must let Potter go.

I'll confront him once again, the last day of the year.

After that, I'll forget about him. After that, I'll ask Blaise to Obliviate me; it may, after all, be the only way.

~~*

Thursday 27-12-12

In my dream, I'm facing Voldemort again.

Draco is safe with his parents. I destroy Voldemort. Draco runs towards me. We fall on the ground and hug, gripping each other hard enough to bruise. We kiss.

Draco is fighting at my side. Together, we destroy Voldemort. We kiss.

Draco throws himself in front of the Killing Curse. He dies for me.

I scream.

In the morning, I make an effort not to spoil the last day at the Burrow with my bad mood. I'm not particularly good at it.

As soon as I'm downstairs, Molly gives me a hug, a tea with too much sugar, and some chocolate.

I can see they are worried about me. I try to convince them -- and myself -- it was only bad dreams, but nothing seems to dispel the gloom.

George says I'm entitled to have nightmares after everything I've been through. It only makes me feel worse.Dracowas in my nightmare. He's never appeared in my nightmares before; I fear something bad happened to him.

After a quick breakfast, we travel back to Hogwarts.

As soon as we're on school grounds, I check the Marauder's Map: Draco's name is not there.

~~*

Friday 28-12-12

In my dream, the Fiendfyre roars.

I fly towards Draco, taking his hand. I save him. We kiss.

I fly towards Draco, but his hand is sweaty. He falls. I try to rescue him but fail. I let myself fall at his side. As the flames eat us alive, we kiss.

I fly towards Draco, but his hand is sweaty. He falls. I leave him behind to save myself.

I fly towards the exit. Draco burns.

I scream.

I check the Marauder's Map: Draco's name is not there.

My friends find me in the common room, huddled in front of the fireplace, staring blankly at the ashes.

Ron places a hand on my shoulder, "Another nightmare, mate? Spill."

Hermione sits beside me and takes my hand. "Ron is right, you may find comfort in unburdening your mind and sharing it with us."

I tell them my dream.

"Harry, it's just your subconscious catching up with everything. You should see a Mind-Healer, as I suggested right after the war. No-one can go unscathed through what you had to deal with."

Trust Hermione to reassure and scold in the same sentence.

Ron is still puzzled, though. "I don't understand. If you dreamed of the Ferret kissing you and everything, it wasn't so bad. Wait, that came out wrong. I mean..."

"No, it was awful. The despair, the suffocating sadness... it was like being surrounded by Dementors, like happiness never existed in the world at all."

Something is pushed in my hand, and I lift my face to see Neville's concerned expression.

"Here, Harry, take some chocolate."

"Thanks, Nev."

Ron tries to comfort me. "After all, it was only a dream, a mangled vision of the past. In real life, you saved the Ferret. He is safe. He'll be at Hogwarts soon."

Ginny enters the room, still rubbing her eyes.

"Harry, what's up?"

"Nightmare. With Draco."

"Why are you this upset?" She goes straight to the point. "You've never been so bad after your nightmares before. Is it the first time you dreamt about Draco?"

"No, actually. It was the second nightmare in which..."

"But I bet you've had good dreams with him as well... naughty ones maybe?"

I blush at Ginny's question.

"You'll tell me about them later. In detail," she adds mischievously. "However, unless you sneaked out of the Burrow to secretly meet with him..."

"You know I didn't."

"...then they were only dreams, figments of your imagination. So is your nightmare. Think of your happy dreams instead. I'll help you woo Malfoy as soon as he arrives. Promise."

I'm starting to feel a bit better, when Hermione's question startles me. "What if it wasn't Harry's nightmare at all?"

"What do you mean, 'Mione?"

"Aren't you bound to Malfoy?" I nod, and she goes on. "What if the nightmares leaked from his mind instead? I bet he's still having nightmares. He lived with Voldemort in his house, after all."

Ron tries to twist this idea into something reassuring. "See, mate? Maybe he's having bad dreams, but I'm sure he's fine."

I suppose it's possible. I'm sharing Draco's nightmares. I hope this makes them more bearable for him. If it is so, I can suffer through them for his sake.

I hope he'll be here soon.

The day is spent doing homework and plotting with Seamus for the party. I stay in a corner trying to look happier than I am.

Every hour, I check the Marauder's Map: Draco's name is not there.

~~*

Saturday 29-12-12

In my dream, I find Draco crying in the bathroom.

I hug him. He smiles. We kiss.

I curse him. His blood spills. I heal him. We kiss.

He tries to curse me. I curse him. Snape heals him. We kiss.

He curses me. I curse him. His blood spills. He dies.

I scream.

I check the Marauder's Map: Draco's name is not there.

Since I'm still having nightmares, Hermione tries to persuade me to go to Professor McGonagall. This supposed connection to Draco's mind may be dangerous, she says, and maybe the Professor can help me managing the visions.

I do not want to go.

Her other brilliant idea is to empty my memories of the nightmares in a Pensieve: she claims I won't be plagued by sadness if the thoughts causing it are removed.

I do not want to do it.

In the end, she stops nagging me and goes on spellchecking Ron's essays.

I try to focus my mind on the kissing part of my dreams, but the elation and the awakening of senses that I felt with the dreams of being intimate with Draco behave like a cursed Golden Snitch: impossible to touch, forever out of my reach.

Ginny tries to keep me company as I mope and pine and worry; after a while, even she can't take it anymore and goes looking for Seamus with game ideas for the party.

Every hour, I check the Marauder's Map: Draco's name is not there.

~~*

Sunday 30-12-12

In my dream, the Snatchers bring me to Malfoy Manor.

Draco lies. At the last minute, I grab his hand. We land on the shore. We kiss.

Draco lies. At the last minute, I grab his hand. Bellatrix's dagger sticks out of his chest. We kiss. He dies in my arms.

Draco gives me away. I die.

Draco lies. I land on the shore.

Draco lies. Bellatrix kills him.

I scream.

I check the Marauder's Map: Draco's name is not there.

Hermione drags me to the Infirmary. She at least has the sense to keep her theories of nightmare-leakage to herself and only says I'm plagued by bad dreams, so Madam Pomfrey doesn't know what ails me for sure. She gives me a vial of the Draught of Peace and makes me swallow it.

It makes me feel oddly detached from the core of my feelings.

Seamus tries to engross me in the planning of the big party.

He says, proudly, that Professor McGonagall has given her authorization to hold the party in the Room of Requirement, since the event will promote inter-House unity, under the condition that only Eighth Years will be admitted. He sounds like he's quoting her words literally. Apparently, an exception to the Eighth-Years-only rule has been made for Ginny: I don't know how she managed that.

Seamus is really proud that his little project is going well, and he wants us all to help him decorate the Room of Requirement.

I do my best hanging paper wreaths and bits of mistletoe.

I wonder if I'll find myself with Draco underneath some mistletoe... if I'll ever kiss him. I hope I will.

Every hour, I check the Marauder's Map: Draco's name is not there.

When it's time for bed, Hermione gives me a vial of Dreamless Draught. I don't know if Madam Pomfrey gave it to her or if she brewed it or stole it, nor do I care. She knows it's not a cure, but she thinks I need to get some rest.

I thank her for her concern. As soon as she leaves, I flush the content of the vial down the toilet. If the nightmares are the only connection to Draco that I've got, I won't risk losing it. At least in the nightmares, I get to see him.

~~*

Monday 31-12-12

In my dream, we're on the Astronomy Tower.

I reveal myself to Draco. He lowers his wand. We fight together. We kiss.

I stay hidden. Draco lowers his wand. The Death-Eaters kill him. I cry.

I reveal myself to Draco. He kills Dumbledore. I kill him.

I reveal myself to Draco. He kills me.

I reveal myself to Draco. He walks towards me. His eyes are wet. He kisses me. He lets himself fall.

I scream.

I check the Marauder's Map: Draco's name is not there.

Everything is set for tonight, and I'm not in the mood for a party.

Hermione is a bit angry with me; the dark smudges under my eyes tell her loudly that I didn't sleep well.

"Harry! Say that Draco will be spending all the holidays with his parents and only be back for the beginning of the next term. What are you going to do? Kill yourself for lack of sleep?"

"Do not listen to her, Harry," advises Ginny. "Say he'll be back tomorrow. How do you plan to seduce him if you look like a walking dead raccoon?"

Sometimes, Ginny is more persuasive than Hermione.

I agree to try having a nap in the afternoon.

In the meantime, I go with them to the kitchen: we have to consult with the House Elfs on the menu for tonight.

I check the Marauder's Map: Draco's name is still not there.

I had hoped he would attend the party. I know his friend Blaise will.

Following Ginny's advice -- I lie down and try to rest. As soon as I close my eyes, I see Draco.

He looks at me over his shoulder. His face is set in finality. His gaze is full of longing. Then he squares his shoulders and walks away.

He's eleven. He's fifteen. He's twenty. He'll be gorgeous at twenty. Hell, he's gorgeous now as well.

He walks away from me.

This time I do not scream. I curl up in a ball and try to swallow my tears.

Ron drags me to the party. He does not much care for parties and confesses he had hoped for a night of intimacy with Hermione.

I nibble on a Chocolate Frog, but I'm not really hungry. The music is too loud; the lights are too vivid. I need more air. No one will miss me.

I sneak away, and as soon as I'm out of the Room, I hide in a secluded niche and check the Marauder's Map: Draco's name appears under my eyes.

Relief fills me, and I start walking towards the Astronomy Tower.

Suddenly, I find myself on the last step of the staircase leading to the Tower.

Draco is leaning on the parapet, gazing at the stars. The sleeve of his left arm is rolled up, baring the Constellation Mark. My footsteps are loud, and he turns to face me.

He looks tired, and his features are set, as if he has just made some painful decision.

I suppress the urge to run to him and hug him fiercely. Or maybe I'm scared of what he would do if I did.

"Listen, Draco, I..."

"No, Potter. You listen. You are un-Malfoying-me."

"What?" I instantly deny his accusation. "I'm doing nothing to you!"

"Malfoys never allow their feelings to weaken them. Malfoys never show affection. Malfoys aren't ruled by their heart. Malfoys do not pine; Malfoys do not yearn for anybody. Malfoys get what they want. You are un-Malfoying me. I think of you every single second of my day. I'm obsessed with you. I may have been nasty to you in the past, but none of my ill-fated attempts to catch your attention..."

I interrupt him quickly. "Draco, youhavemy attention..."

"I'm not finished yet. I've been in love with you since... forever, really. We are bonded, but I'm not closer to you. I've not been able to make you love me back. I tried with the best of my skill. Malfoys are masters in making other people desire them. I sent my every bit of seduction towards you. It didn't work. You are not craving my touch. I should have known: you are too much of a Gryffindor, too much a pure soul. I sent you my desire, but you have no use for it. You rejected it, as you've always rejected me. I gave you my desires; you answered me with nightmares. I failed. I won't summon you again. Should you wish for it, we'll use the knives to rescind our bond. You'll be forever free from me. Please, go away now."

A Petrificus Totalus wouldn't have had a different effect on me than his little speech does. I stare at him, not knowing what to do. He doesn't take it well, and yells at me.

"Get out, Potter! Go away! You shall not see me cry another time!"

There's something wild in his eyes, a burning grey fire. It thaws me. My brain is such a puddle that I'm unable to string words together. What I'm able to do -- and I curse myself for not doing this earlier -- is stride to him and gather him into my arms, hugging him so tightly, my muscles tremble. He tries to recoil, but I do not let him go, and after a while, he subsides, relaxing into my arms.

My neck feels suddenly wet where he's hiding his face, and I realize this is not one of my dreams, not one of the images I tried to send towards him through our Marks: this is real. Draco Malfoy, blurting out that he loves me. Draco Malfoy, cradled in my arms at last. Draco Malfoy, crying on me because he thinks I do not love him. This is real.

I raise a hand to pet his hair and back soothingly, and he seems to melt into the touch.

"Draco, how can you think I'm not interested in you? You've always managed to get under my skin. You got into my heart as well, without me even noticing. I fell for you, heavily, like a Seeker attempting a Wronsky Feint and failing. Idolove you, you know."

He looks at me then, and his watery smile is the single most beautiful thing I've ever seen. His bottom lip is still quivering, and his eyes are liquid silver. His hand is on my cheek, and time stops altogether as his face closes the distance and his lips touch mine.

I slip my arms around his waist and melt into the kiss. I've dreamt of this what, a gazillion times? And yet, no dream can compare.

Our first kiss is salty with his tears and sweet with the taste of Chocolate Frogs. My glasses bump on his nose several times before Draco removes them and throws them carelessly away. When he tries to slide his tongue into my mouth, I am so surprised that I almost bite it in reflex. I am so eager to taste the inside of his mouth that my front teeth clash painfully against his. It's a messy kiss, a messily perfect kiss. A perfect kiss.

We resurface breathing hard and open eyes that struggle to believe what just happened is real, and my two, still-working brain-cells connect.

"Draco, what did you mean when you said you sent me seduction?"

"The dreams. I sent you my dreams, Harry. Didn't you dream about me doing, erm, things to you? About my body pressed against, inside, your body? About desire?"

"Yes, I dreamed a lot of, erm, things, and your body and everything. But those weremydreams, dreams of love and affection that I was sending toyou, to let you know my feelings, not the other way around."

"Definitely the other way around. Those weremyfantasies. As if your pure Gryffindor mind would have imagined those things all alone!"

"You'll find out I'm not as pure as you think I am. Besides, I had some help..."

"What? Who? Whom do I have to kill for daring to touch you? You are mine, Potter, and mine alone. Do you understand? Say it."

"Of course I am, Draco. All yours. I'm even marked with your freaking Constellation! As I was saying, I had help. Hermione gave me books, you know. And by the way, you are. Mine. As well."

"Granger gave you books? About what, gay wizard sex?"

"Erm, yes?"

"I'm impressed. Let's not talk about Granger. Come here, you."

We kiss again, and I see fireworks.

It takes us both a moment to realise actual fireworks are exploding all around us.

~~*

Tuesday 01-01-2013

The New Year begins the same way the old year just ended: with me and Draco kissing each other.

His mouth blooming open under mine is pure heaven, and it heals all of my nightmare-inflicted wounds. Which reminds me...

"Draco."

"Mmmh?"

"What you said before, about me sending you nightmares, do you really think..."

"I do." Draco cuts me out. "I dreamed of killing you, of you killing me, of you leaving me, of you not wanting me..."

"You sent me seduction, you said. I tried to send you love." I kiss him quickly on the lips, amazed to have the right to do so. "I never wanted you to have nightmares. I think you also sent me your fears."

"Maybe we shared." Draco considers the idea for a while, eyeing me speculatively. "If our minds are linked and can pass images through our bond..."

" ...you think we made up those visions together, the pleasant and the angsty dreams alike?"

"Basically, yes."

"So when we had the first nightmares..."

He interrupts me again, "I had just decided to let you go."

"Never do that, Draco. Don't you ever dare leave me! I love you."

"Oh, you're such a Hufflepuff."

"Draco."

"Potter."

"Draco."

"I love you too, Harry. You've seen how much."

After some more kissing, we decide to go back to the party. After all, I left without a word: considering the state I've been in the last few days, my friends will be worried.

We enter the Room holding hands.

As soon as she sees us, Ginny winks.

"Hey, Harry! I see Malfoy is back. Did you slip Amortentia in his glass, or is it for real?"

"It is for very real." Draco answers her with his best glacial tone, then proceeds to snog me so thoroughly I feel he's trying to fish my heart out of my mouth. He's quite successful at it.

Ginny stares, and then hugs Draco briefly, to his astonishment.

"I'm glad you two got together at last. Harry deserves to be happy, and he's been insufferable lately. Hurt him, and I'll have your balls for breakfast. On a skewer. By the way, your friend is hot. Care to introduce us?"

And she waves her hand towards Zabini, who is currently talking with Dean by the sandwich tray.

It turns out Harry loves me.

I shouldn't be surprised, really.

Malfoys always get what they want, and I've wanted him so much, for so long.

This party is wonderful.Dracois wonderful.

He introduced Ginny to his friend Blaise, and she's been glued to his side all night. Zabini looks down at her in what seems like disdain, but Draco assures me it means he's interested.

Seamus plays the DJ: he's quite good at it, and mercifully avoids Celestina Warbeck's songs.

When he announces a song by a Muggle band I've never heard of before, Draco smiles.

"You don't know how many times I've listened to this song trying to avoid thinking about you... It's been written for us, I think."

I suppress a smile, trying to hide my surprise. Pureblood Draco Malfoy swooning over a Muggle song? Unbelievable! As unbelievable as the idea of pureblood Draco Malfoy in love with me. Yet he is. And he's singing into my ear, in tune with the record, his hot breath making me shiver.

Both the lyrics and Draco's voice are beautiful and full of yearning and hope. There's a bit about entering one's soul, about being hidden in one's soul: it really seems written for us.

Still singing, he takes me into his arms, dragging me towards the dance floor.

"Draco, I can't dance."

"I can, for both of us."

In the end we just stand swaying on the spot, pressed up into each other's body, as he runs his hands up and down my back, caresses my face, and leans down to kiss me. I'll never get tired of his mouth.

It's almost sunrise when the party comes to an end and everyone goes to the dorms to get some sleep.

Draco walks me to Gryffindor Tower. I do not want to let him go, but neither of us wants to get a detention. His last kiss is so deep and so hot, the Fat Lady has to cover her eyes.

In my dream, I feel warm. I feel loved. Draco lies beside me, spooning me. He caresses my face, moving my rebellious hair away, and kisses my Dragon Scar.

I open my eyes and blink unfocusedly. Not trusting my eyesight, I fumble for my glasses, and I put them on quickly. Nothing changes: Draco's soft silver eyes are still fixed on my face.

"Morning, my love, although it's technically afternoon. Did you sleep well?"

A kiss is placed on my surprised lips. I smile like a loon.

"Draco? How...? When...?"

"Since mid-day. I met your Weasel in the Great Hall, stuffing himself with food at lunch. He allowed me in. I like to watch you sleep."

I blush. We kiss.

I could easily get used to being roused like this.

A loud knock and a yell startle us out of a very long kiss.

"Hey, mate! If you're sucking face with the Ferret, stop it now! I'm coming in!"

Immediately after, Ron opens the door.

"How charming you are with words, Weasel..." Draco sounds unperturbed, his mouth still lingering close to mine.

"Shut up, Ferret! I'll suffer you for Harry's sake, but I don't like you."

I think it best to stop them from insulting each other like this.

"Ron, don't be rude. What are you looking for?"

"My chessboard."

"Hermione hid it underneath your school books," I let him know. "She said you'd never find it there."

Draco's voice drips surprise, "Chessboard? Are you intelligent enough as to play chess?"

"Draco, please! Ron is my best friend. Of course he can play: why do you think Hermione hid the set?"

Draco shrugs his shoulders. "Bored of defeating him, I suppose."

Ron grins broadly. "Bored of getting smashed, more likely."

"I find it hard to believe you are able to master the game." Draco taunts him.

"I dare you, Ferret. Come down, you two, enough with the snogging."

Hermione's grimace upon seeing the chessboard in Ron's hands dissolves as Draco and I enter the common room in his wake.

While Draco and Ron place the pieces and begin the game with the amazing strategy of making the opponent lose concentration with random insults, I sit by Hermione's chair. She eyes the game preparations dubiously. "Are you sure you're willing to let your newly acquired boyfriend be defeated by Ron?"

"Yes..."

She jumps on my hesitation, mistaking it. "Because heisyour boyfriend now, am I right? He's not going to deny..."

"Hermione! Of course not! He kissed me in front of everybody at the party!"

"But are you sure he won't ascribe it to drunkenness and keep your relationship hidden like some sort of dirty secret..."

Apparently, Draco was listening to our exchange. His voice is ice cold as he speaks.

"Heis not deaf either, Granger, although he may be concentrating on beatingyourboyfriend. I daresay I'm be more suited to being the dirty secret than Potter is... He's the one stooping low enough as to date a former Death-Eater, after all... I get to be with the Golden Saviour Boy, what's there to hide?"

Alarmed by the bitterness seeping in his tone, I quickly rise and go place a soothing hand on his shoulder.

"Draco, no one here thinks..."

"Maybe you're right," he interrupts me, "but someone will think it sooner or later. What are you going to do then?"

"I'll ignore them, as I've always done with gossip-mongers. We know how things are between us."

I bend down to kiss him; Ron makes gagging noises.

Hermione pipes in soothingly. "Well then, if it's like this, Draco, I'm sorry for doubting you. Try and make Harry happy."

"I will," Draco cuts it short.

"And get ready," warns Hermione. "As soon as the term begins, even the walls will know that you two are together."

Ron's eyes widen. "Even the walls? 'Mione, aren't you exaggerating a bit?"

"Not at all. You should have readHogwarts: A History."

"Checkmate, Weasel."

Attacked from two fronts, Ron literally howls.

~~*

Wednesday 02-01-2013

In my dream, it's snowing. Draco's skin is snowy-white, and the roaring fire throws golden hues to his creamy hair. He's waiting for me. I lie down by his side and he wraps me in a tight embrace. His body burns hotter than the flames in the fireplace, and I gladly melt.

As I wake up, the warmth lingers.

The Great Hall is almost empty in the morning: the few students who didn't go home for the holidays sit at the same table.

I can hear many whispered "Is it true, then? About Potter?" coming from the younger students' corner. Several heads nod; Luna smiles mysteriously to herself, then resumes her whispering into Neville's ear. "And then the purple Heffalump..."

I'm buttering my bread when Draco arrives, sliding next to me and caressing my leg under the table. He takes a few bites of bread with jam, looks furtively around, and then places a strawberry-flavoured kiss on my mouth.

"Good morning, Potter, my love."

"Hello, you. What was that?"

Another kiss follows.

"That?"

"Yes, that."

"It was one of these." He kisses me again, with relish.

"I like these."

"There are many more for you where this one came from."

Ron makes gagging noises, and Hermione clears her throat loudly.

Ginny pales. "Don't do that, please, it makes you sound like Umbridge."

"Sorry, Ginny, but do you see them?"

"You bet!" She nods vigorously. "I'm definitely looking. Aren't they hot together?"

"I suppose." Hermione's eyes are turned away. "But they'll attract the attention of the Professors if they carry on like this. Harry, Draco. Not keeping it a secret, fine, but are you sure you want our teachers to know?"

This catches my attention. "Why should they care?" I ask, perplexed.

"Because, Potter, my love, they'll be worried that our feelings are only induced by the bond we share," Draco explains dryly.

"But that's ridiculous! I had feelings for you long before the whole bonding thing, only..."

"...only you were in denial." Ginny completes my sentence. "Harry, I could have told you that ages ago. Do you really think the teachers will accept that as an explanation?"

"I strongly doubt it." Draco's tone is practical. "Furthermore, if they did find out, they might decide to increase the surveillance, thus making it difficult for us to meet in non-public places..."

"And you'll need some quality time alone, of course!" Ginny muses. "What if we ask to keep a mixed table for all Eighth Years after the holidays, in the interest of inter-House unity? Otherwise, it would be too noticeable that you two are sitting together and probably holding hands under the table."

I feel relieved. "Great idea! The appeal to inter-House unity worked for Seamus' party anyway..."

Ginny seems ready to burst into action. "I'll ask Professor McGonagall straight away. Neville will be happy... won't you, Nev?"

"Sure I will. It's a fine idea."

Luna smiles her faraway smile. "The Nargles will be happy as well."

"I know, pet," coos Neville.

"... and maybe Malfoy will allow me to sit next to his manly friend," continues Ginny.

"As the lady wishes, " concedes Draco; he makes a sign to Blaise, who is sitting at the other corner of the table. Quickly, Blaise leaves his half-eaten platter of sausages and comes to us, taking Ginny's hand in his and raising it to kiss her knuckles. She blushes and smiles.

Blaise bows to me.

"Thank you, Potter."

"You're wel... wait, for what?"

"For freeing me from the constant whining. You don't want to know how Draco was, when he thought you didn't like him..."

After breakfast, I'm all too happy to spend time with Draco. We're idly roaming the castle, holding hands, when an idea pops up.

"Draco, do you want to see my owl?"

"What? Is this a pick-up line? Yes, Harry, I would very much like to see your owl. I'd love it, actually."

To his credit, Draco does not as much as bat an eyelash as I lead him to the Owlery.

"Here, Harry? I'd prefer to see your owl in a less smelly place..."

I whistle, and Alba swoops down on my arm.

Draco gulps. "Oh, you really meant your owl."

"I said so, didn't I?"

"And such a fine lady she is... Her name?"

"Alba."

"Fitting."

He offers his arm. Alba gracefully goes to him and nibbles on the lock of hair caressing his cheekbone.

Introductions made, we leave Alba to her morning rest, deciding on a stroll on the snow-covered grounds.

To be true, as soon as we're far enough from the main building, we end up lying down, making snow angels and laughing. Then Draco rolls over and we end up lying entangled, making each other dizzy with deep kisses and not laughing at all -- no breath to spare.

At lunch, Ginny and Hermione are happy to let us know that the Headmistress approved our idea for a joined table for Eighth Years. She also was forced to make the usual exception for Ginny, who will sit with us.

This success amazes me.

"How can you make the sterner of our teachers agree to your every request?"

"Natural charm? I grew up with six brothers, you know..."

Smuggling Draco into Gryffindor's common room is quite easy, as the Fat Lady has decided it's so romantic for us to be together.

He is reading something about Potions with my head on his lap, when Hermione closes her book loudly and pipes up.

"Harry, what about your dreams?"

I do not bother to raise my head. "What about them?"

"Are you still having nightmares?" She expands her question. "We need to understand how the whole bonding thing works, and now that Draco will not oppose you, I thought you two could maybe experiment..."

"I like the idea of experimenting with Potter's mind," Draco drawls, ruffling my hair in affection, "but if we have to discuss our dreams aloud, you'd better leave the room."

Hermione rolls her eyes. "I'm not a prude, Draco, and it's for research purposes. Maybe my N.E.W.T. Charms essay could be about magical bonding and the consequences thereof."

I don't want to discuss our intimate dreams in front of Hermione, no way.

"Maybe we can work out the details of the dreams in private, and then let you in on the conclusions."

"Fine, then," she agrees, much to my relief. "I'll be in my room if you need any advice."

Talking over the dreams with Draco is both embarrassing and arousing.

Every night, we dreamed exactly the same things, and felt the same emotions. We do not discuss the last pleasant dream before the nightmares, as it feels still too important and too intimate to spoil with words.

We soon find out that neither him nor I did send images and ideas that the other simply received: every single dream we shared was a mixed construction. Apparently, both our minds did open up for the other, blending feelings, experiences, desires and even fears.

Hermione, when called back, takes in these deductions with a fascinated look on her face.

"Your idea makes sense. You have a shared unconscious, and you both have access to it while asleep. It could be because you're both strong-minded and are equals in your bond. I wonder... can one of you send images to the other without them being altered to fit the shared background emotions?"

"We can try it. Draco, are you ready?"

I feel a bit thirsty, and try to send to his mind the image of water.

"Harry, why are you taunting me while Granger's in the room?"

"How is thinking about a glass of water taunting you?"

"You sent me the idea of your gorgeous self, naked under the shower..."

"I didn't."

"You did."

Hermione shakes her head at us. "Stop it! Draco, I think you need to let Harry take control of the bond. Your mind should act as a receiver, not provide images of its own."

"Relinquish control?" Draco sounds scandalized.

I try to soothe him. "Only to me, Draco. Still, it's easier said than done, 'Mione. Maybe with some practice..."

"I am advising you to practice this, am I not?" Hermione snaps. "Never said it would be easy."

"On the other hand, if we manage to master the bond," Draco admits, "it can become a useful way to communicate."

I totally see his point, and prompt another attempt.

"Let's try again, then. Draco, I'll try to let you in control. Think something at me... Draco!"

"What?" He has the voice of innocence unjustly offended.

"Why do you want to cover me up in melted chocolate?"

"I was only thinking about a bar of chocolate..."

"You two are ruled by hormones!" Hermione rolls her eyes. "Seriously, guys! Try again!"

I force myself to open up my mind, surrendering to Draco.

This time, the image of Narcissa Malfoy appears clearly, surrounded by affection.

"Draco, it's your mom!"

Hermione smiles. "Glad you two can keep it decent. It seems you can share images only if strong feelings are involved, though."

"You could be right." I ponder her hypothesis. "The first days after casting the spell, I had the feeling of knowing how Draco was feeling..."

"I did as well," Draco confirms. "It was quite disturbing."

"Well then," she concludes, sounding satisfied. "You can share dreams made up with the desires of both, you can let the other know how you feel and pass images involving strong emotions to the other. Can you talk into each other's minds?"

"Hermione, this is a magical bond, not science fiction!" I can't believe she's seriously considering the possibility.

"I know! Didn't Voldemort talk to your mind, and to everyone, to be precise, at the end of the war? Isn't your Lion Mark working in the same way your scar worked?"

She has a point. We try. No success.

"Maybe Draco's not powerful enough..." I try to explain the failure.

Draco punches me on the shoulder. I tackle him onto the couch. We kiss.

Hermione huffs and leaves the room again.

~~*

Thursday 03-01-2013

In our dream, Draco is sitting underneath a tree by the lakeshore, his eyes closed. I kneel by his side and kiss his eyelids. He lifts his arms to encircle my neck, a hand playing with my hair. His mouth parts slightly. I press my lips to it. We melt into a slow kiss.

I wish this happened: we would have spared ourselves a good week of despair.

Our day is spent in a wing of Hogwarts' Castle that's still under renovations after the last battle, lying on a couch Draco transfigured from broken desks.

We've been cuddling and kissing all day.

"Draco?"

"Mmmh?"

"Do you remember when you summoned me by the lake using your Mark?"

"I promised that I'd never do it again. Don't worry." His fingers trace my cheek.

"I didn't mean that. If you need me to be at your side in a rush, you can use it, you know. I don't mind."

"My Gryffindor Hero." He ruffles my hair in affectionately. "Why did you bring it up, then?"

"When we were there, you said something around the lines that Malfoys are masters of seduction, that everyone lucky enough to be touched by you enjoyed the experience."

"So?"

"I think I may be jealous... Did you touch a lot of people, then?"

"Well, Mother liked it when I combed her hair..."

"Draco! You know what I mean. You sounded like you had someone in mind, who was eager to be touched by you!"

"I had a Crup when I was a child. He always wanted to be petted."

"That's it? You goaded me with your Crup in mind?"

"Yes."

"I thought you had had tons of lovers. I feared..."

"What I have is a creative mind. And some skill at getting under your skin, I suppose. But no, no former lovers you need to be jealous about. I was waiting for you to come around. Not consciously, maybe, but I was waiting for you. What about you?"

"You already know. A kiss with Cho Chang, not particularly pleasant. Some kisses with Ginny. I've never really been attracted to anybody else."

"Only me?"

"Only you, Draco."

"And nobody's ever touched you like this?"

His hands run underneath my sweater, caressing my back, my chest, my hips. He grazes by-mistake-purposefully over my groin and then lifts a hand to cup my face, looking expectantly into my eyes.

"Only you, Draco."

"Fine then. I'd love to learn how to get exactly at your skin's level, now, Harry. Not under your skin. Just on it."

He's a quick learner.

~~*

Friday 04-01-2013

In our dream, I'm in the outskirts of Hogsmeade. I'm walking alone. Draco is sitting on a tree, and he slides down as I pass. He presses me against the trunk, his body harder than the bark under my back. I close my hands on his arse and pull him tighter, grinding my hips against his groin. He grinds back, my same need reflected into eyes gone deep and dark and huge.

The tree becomes covered with pale green leaves. It blooms. Rosy petals fall and catch in Draco's hair. Apples ripen and rot. Rusty leaves crumble at our feet. Snow covers everything. As the seasons spin, we never break the kiss.

The day is clear, and Draco agrees the weather is perfect to go flying. We bring Alba with us, and we spend the morning racing around, with my Barn Owl chasing us merrily. It's only as we start flying alongside, a few feet above the ground, our knees brushing, that Alba returns to the Owlery. Draco nudges me with his elbow, and we're back to kissing, losing control of our brooms. Luckily, the ground is close by, so it's only a short fall. Draco lands atop me, his body pressing on mine in a delicious way.

If not for the coldness seeping from below, we could easily spend all day lying like this.

Since it's freezing, after a while we get back inside and spend a quiet afternoon in the Library, revising our homework under Hermione's scrutiny.

She goes to a faraway shelf looking for a book, and upon her return, she finds me sitting on the table and Draco standing between my legs, his hands making my hair even messier, my hands running along his back, my glasses lying discarded over a scroll. We're so engrossed in our kiss, we barely hear her scream at us in frustration. If she carries on like this, Madam Pince will forbid her to enter the Library altogether.

Saturday 05-01-2013

In our dream, we fly.

We're on our brooms, chasing each other higher and higher. We hover above the clouds, crossing our broom-handles, and kiss hungrily, exhilarated from the lack of oxygen. The brooms disappear, and we fall, entangled, never breaking the kiss.

We plunge into the lake, still devouring each other's mouths. For some reason, breathing is not an issue. I have a feeling that not kissing Draco is what will make me suffocate.

As we're having breakfast and I'm suppressing the urge to lick Draco's mouth to catch the juices of the apple he's biting into, Alba brings me a note from Andromeda. She asks for the pleasure of my company, seeing as I didn't visit before during the holidays. I do feel a bit guilty, now that I think of it. Draco pets Alba and gives her some treats while I quickly pen an affirmative answer.

"Draco, would you like to come with me? She's your Aunt, after all."

"She's mainly my D.A.D.A. teacher. I think it best not to intrude."

"But won't you like to meet your cousin? He's not even nine months old, but you should see..."

"Maybe another time. I'll find ways to entertain myself while you're away."

Now this sounds interesting.

The lunch with Andromeda is a pleasant matter, although feeding Teddy his soup proves to be hard work: I think I'm wearing at least half of the slimy stuff by the time he's finished. Hagrid arrives for tea later, and Teddy makes happy gurgling noises upon seeing him. I'm surprised to see how well they work together, like a family. Hagrid's relationship with Madam Maxime ended badly when she accused him of being an uncouth brute, yet Andromeda, the epitome of cleanliness, seems to accept him just fine.

I'm bare-chested and rummaging inside my trunk to find a clean sweater, when pale hands slide around my middle.

I turn into Draco's arms, and we kiss hungrily for a while.

Seeing me all goose bumps despite his warm hands roaming all over my skin, Draco hands me Molly's last creation, thus revealing a certain box.

"TheRide Me Gift Set? Really? Saint Potter, you astonish me! When did you purchase such an item, if I may inquire?"

"It was a Christmas gift, if you really want to know."

"Planning on using it with someone?"

"Are you offering?"

"You wish, Potter!"

"Yeah, I do."

"Me too." His smile is the single most luscious thing I've ever seen. Honey-flavoured? Edible? We shall definitely put this to good use."

And we could have, were it not for Ron barging in.

"Mate, Malfoy! You've been here all alone for way too long. Come join us in the common room now. I don't want you two to be doingthingsin my dorm room. Blimey, Harry, put that box away! I don't want to know..."

~~*

Sunday 06-01-2013

In our dream, we're in a clearing in a forest. The light is golden. I know we're on Malfoy Manor's grounds. White peacocks appear and disappear through the branches.

Draco only wears a thin pair of pyjama trousers, riding low on his hips. The outline of his cock is tantalizing. As I straddle him, I notice I'm already naked. Through the fabric, I can't feel enough of Draco. This last thought makes his trousers disappear; he's not wearing pants. Our erections are suddenly pressed together. Our breaths catch. The need is unbearable...

Not for the first time this winter, I take care of my morning wood wishing for Draco's hand instead. I hope he's sensing it through our bond.

It's the last day of the holidays, and almost everybody is busy finishing homework.

Thanks to Hermione, mine is done, so I can spend the day with Draco. Since we agreed to keep out relationship out of the teachers' eyes, by tomorrow, we won't be able to kiss and hug as freely as we're already used to. We roam the castle idly, holding hands, and are surprised when the stairs take us to the unused wing and to the couch Draco transfigured the other day. At least, I am surprised; Draco wears a suspiciously satisfied smirk.

We lay side by side on the couch, pressing against each other. Our kisses are slow, deep, teasing.

Hesitantly, Draco slides his hands underneath the waistband of my trousers and pants, caressing my naked arse. Having him touching my skin only makes me crave for more. He reads my mind, or my moans, and one of his hands shifts to my hipbone, closer to where I need it. I don't really like the idea of losing the friction between our clothed cocks, but I suddenly long to feel his hardness under my fingers. As I unbutton him and plunge my hand inside his pants, Draco hums his approval and closes his hand around my throbbing erection. His flesh is burning, silky, hard.

My brain collapses under the double pleasure of touching him and having his hands on me, and nothing can delay my climax. Draco's follows in two strokes.

I'm fumbling around for my wand when Draco stops me, gently squeezing my softening cock.

"What are you doing?"

"We need to cast a cleaning spell..."

"What? Are you daft, Harry? You cannot Scourgify your tender bits! Here, have a tissue. Love, you don't want to use that spell, believe me..."

Much to Draco's surprise, I cast a quick Accio, and after a minute, Sirius' naughty notebook of spells falls neatly into my hand. I leaf through it until I find the right page.

"What about this one? Seems gentler than Scourgify..."

"A little useful booklet you have here. Saint Potter, my arse!"

"I happen to like your arse, Draco, quite a lot. This useful booklet belonged to my Godfather."

"I don't want to know. Does it contain other good spells?"

Like every other student here, we spend the day studying and practicing. If by the end of the day our bits are aching raw, it's not because we don't master the Mild Make-Clean Charm.

~~*

Monday 07-01-2013

In our dream, we're in the Great Hall and Draco feeds me pieces of fruit dipped in melted chocolate. Then we're in the Great Hall no more: we're naked, and I'm dipping my fingers in the melted chocolate, painting swirls on Draco's skin before licking them off. We kiss greedily, tasting sweetness. Draco takes up the cup and pours the lukewarm chocolate right above my groin. With the sweetest of smiles, he bends his head.

I wake up wondering whose idea this was, Draco's or mine, whether we'll be doing this soon, how I'll survive the morning lessons. During the holidays, I got used to having all day with Draco, and now...

Hermione was right. We've just sat at the breakfast table when a procession of girls, from First to Seventh Year, from all Houses, comes asking me if it's true. Draco, sitting at my side, should help them get the answer on their own, but I nod nonetheless. Draco's hand on my knee gives me the strength.

After a while, Ginny takes pity and answers for me, thus allowing us to eat in relative peace.

"Yes, they are. You should have seen them kissing. Yes, all the best ones are taken. I know: it's not right. No, neither of them would be interested in a threesome with you. Nor with me. Can't you see they only have eyes for each other? Yes, they loved each other for ages. Yes, that's why they were fighting. Pent-up sexual tension, for sure. Yes, they're an item now. Go spread the news, if you like. Should we make a public announcement? Yes, Potter and Malfoy are dating! Stop pestering us!"

Once the silly girls are gone, Draco half smiles. "Thank you, Weaslette, for sparing us the cumbersome work of telling them off."

"You're welcome, Malfoy." Her answering grin splits her face in half.

"Ginny, do you know what you just did?" Hermione asks, alarmed.

"I helped a friend, why?"

"You gave permission to spread the news to two of the chattiest and silliest girls in the whole school. Harry, Draco," Hermione continues sternly, "I hope you are ready. You'll be a living legend for everyone in Hufflepuff House in no time at all."

I groan; Draco smirks.

"I'm the Slytherin Prince, remember? I already am a living legend."

The double Transfiguration lesson is impossible to bear. I lose a lot of points for being distracted, undeservingly. I am concentrating really hard. On Draco, that's true, but I'm not distracted.

I even manage to transfigure my lizard into a watch with a shock of pale hairs, then into an hourglass with amazing grey eyes. Since it ought to be transfigured into a pendulum clock, I doubt my grades will be good.

~~*

Tuesday 08-01-2013

In our dream, we're back in Slughorn's classroom. We are brewing Amortentia.

"Harry, my boy, what do you smell?"

I smell treacle tart, broom-handle polish, and something flowery.

Apparently, it is of the utmost importance that I recognize exactly what kind of flower. Professor Slughorn brings me a box full of tiny vials, each one containing some floral essence. I dutifully uncork each one, sniffing and discarding them one by one, until I get to the one labelledCalycanthus. Professor Slughorn beams.

"Are you sure, my boy?"

I am.

"Mister Malfoy, can you please tell the class about your shampoo?"

"It's sweet-shrub-scented, Professor."

"And would you be so kind..."

Draco comes impossibly close and offers me the side of his neck. I inhale deeply the same scent of the vial, the scent of Amortentia. The scent of love. His scent.

Draco's lips part under the soft pressing of mine. I dimly hear Professor Slughorn awarding us points.

At breakfast, Draco is unusually curious.

"Did your Amortentia really smell like my hair?"

"Yes, why?"

"I remember well what you said at the time, that it was something you could have smelled at the Burrow..."

Hearing the name of her house, Ginny pipes in. More probably, she was listening all along.

"No need to be jealous, Draco. Around my home, there's a lovely hedge of sweet-shrub. Mum's very proud of it, and keeps some branches in a vase on the kitchen table..."

"I'm not jealous, Weaslette. I'm just wondering..."

I suddenly understand what he's getting at.

"Draco, of course I knew it was your scent. I didn't know the name of the stuff, though. You think I should have said out loud it was something I smelled around you? What would you have done if I did?"

"I'd have mocked you to death, probably," he grimaces.

"Want to mock me now?"

"I'm wiser now. I'd rather kiss you."

I put everything into the kiss, tasting his sweetness. I wonder if Professor Slughorn will allow us to pair up together this term. Maybe Ron can ask to work with Blaise: he'll need to keep an eye on the Slytherin, if Ginny's really interested in him.

I share almost all my morning lessons with Draco, Potions being particularly hard: I have to fight the urge to re-enact the kissing part of our dream. At least I can look at him.

He's really drop-dead gorgeous.

~~*

Friday 11-01-2013

In our dream, I'm naked in bed, alone, waiting for Draco to arrive. To amuse myself, I leaf through Sirius' notebook and try out some interesting spells on myself. The first one scours my insides so deeply, I fear it removed some layers of skin; the second one makes my muscles go completely lax; the third one fills me with a cold and slippery substance that drips in a puddle underneath me.

I look up and find Draco leaning on the doorframe. He asks me if I'm done with the spellwork. I nod. He strides towards the bed and takes me. I'm so slack and so slick, I almost can't feel him.

I wake up feeling disturbed, knowing Draco shares the mood.

Ron refused to work with Blaise, so during Potions, we can't talk to each other, but he keeps glancing sideways at me.

After lunch, we go straight to our couch in the abandoned wing.

"Potter, care to explain? Where did that dream come from?"

"From you?"

"I assure you, I did not find it in the least bit arousing."

"Neither did I. To be true, Iwasthinking about going all the way with you... with school on we barely managed to have any alone time... I'm almost suffering kiss-withdrawal."

"I know what you mean... Go on."

"I need you, Draco. I was thinking about making love, about getting you inside me. I've had you in my hand, and you're, erm, quite well endowed, shall I say? So I was musing about the... mechanics of it. The books Hermione gave me stress a lot the importance of preparation... and I suppose I thought it would be nice to be able to simply have you slide inside me, without troubles."

"It is possible I was thinking on the same lines, about how it would feel to sheathe myself inside of you. I don't want to hurt you, though, and I fear I won't be able to make it pleasurable for you..."

"Plus we did spend a lot of time reading from Sirius' book the other day..."

"This explains it, then. But Harry, never like that. All of your pleasure ought to come from my hands, or tongue, or whatever. From me. I don't want you to need some spellwork more than you need me."

"Never, Draco. No spells, then." Then I reconsider. "What about the Mild Make-Clean Charm?"

"You come here and give me a minute, Potter. We'll need it..."

We do.

~~*

Monday 14-01-2013

To my complete lack of enthusiasm, Andromeda wants me to attend the D.A.D.A. lesson about Occlumency. I am to report my experience and demonstrate the dangers of leaving one's mind unprotected. I also have to point out the usefulness of peaking into one's enemy's mind.

I forge through the scary visions Voldemort sent me and point out how my being able to know Voldemort's intentions from an insider point of view was useful in winning our battle. As I retell and relive, only Draco's unimpressed stare and the flood of affection coming from him keep me grounded.

"Thank you, Harry. This should have made it clear that you need both to protect your mind and to get over your opponent's defences. You already know the spells. Concentration is required. Now, on to the practice. Remember: putting in the forefront of your mind a memory that you don't want your opponent to access may strengthen your will to keep your mind inaccessible. Harry, work with Mr. Malfoy, if you please."

I lock my eyes into Draco's and cast Legilimens. His mind is well guarded, bond or no bond, and it's only after many attempts that I'm able to break through.

I see Draco sitting naked on the floor. I see myself kneeling behind him, my chest flush with his back. I am placing open-mouthed kisses on his neck. My left hand rests on his hip; the right one is entwined with his own hands, stroking his hardness. Arousal and surprise flood my mind at the same time: we've never been like this. We look much younger than we are. How can he remember something that hasn't happened? And then I see it, on the edges of his memory: the frame of the Mirror of Erised.

A flood of unutterable sadness pervades me, and we break eye contact.

After the lesson, Draco doesn't wait for me. I have to run to get to his side.

"Draco..."

"Go away, Potter!"

"Draco, please. It's all right. Everything is fine. I love you, remember?"

"I didn't want you to see that! I was pathetic! I wanted you so much..."

"I know. Me too. Draco, I'm yours now. You don't need to be in front of a mirror to see me behind you..."

The hint of a smile graces his features.

"I do not have eyes on the back of my head. Of course I'd need a mirror..."

"Well then, you can conjure one, first time we get naked, if you want."

"Can it be now?"

Since skipping lunch never killed anyone but unsatisfied desire possibly can, we head to the empty classroom where our transfigured couch waits.

We're almost there when loud noises and screeching stop us on the spot.

"Peeves was right, Mrs Norris, yes he was. He told us! Students should sit on hard, wooden benches! And here's a couch, nonetheless. I'll tell you, Mrs Norris, in my time... Peeves! Stop it! Those desks can be mended! We don't want to know what those nasty students got up to on this couch, oh no! They deserve a good caning! But the Headmistress is soft..."

As silently and quickly as possible, we backtrack.

"I guess our secret place is no longer an option, then."

Draco sound dejected, and I absolutely need to make it better.

The cupboard is small and dusty, but mercifully only contains old graded essays. We spread them on the floor. Draco transfigures a bit of wall into a mirror. We do not take off our clothes, but Draco lowers his trousers and pants to mid-thigh. I wrap myself around him, kissing his neck and stroking his aching cock. In the dim light coming through the chinks of the door, his eyes never falter from the reflection of mine. He comes silently, shivering. I spell him clean afterwards. His mouth curves into a peaceful smile. It's the first time I'm happy to be shut in a cupboard.

In the afternoon, we talk about the past, and I tell him my weaknesses in exchange for his own. Draco is shocked to hear about the Dursleys. His arms keep me anchored to reality, his grip never faltering. Not even Hermione dares to ask us to stop hugging on the common room's couch.

~~*

Friday 18-01-2013

In our dream, we sleep. It's a bit odd to see myself sleeping. Do I really sprawl out like this, taking up the entire mattress? Is my hair really this desperate? And Draco... Draco looks like an archangel. His face is tucked into the hollow between my neck and shoulder, his left arm secured around my chest. His arse is the most delectable little thing, round and perfect, with my hand splayed on one cheek; his groin presses on my hipbone. I can sense his cock awakening, and mine.

The latter is not a good thing, as I find myself pitifully Draco-less, hugged to my pillow and aching with desire. I'd really love to share with Draco: dorm, room, bed, sheets, skin... everything.

Draco arrives from his double Alchemy lessons with a broad grin and a parcel under his arm.

I thank him.

"Oh, you'll thank me just fine. No, it's not for you."

"What? Why? What's inside? Who's it for?"

"I'll tell you one word: bribery. Hands off, Potter!"

So I put my hands where he cannot tell me off, and we kiss as we wait for my friends to arrive for lunch.

"Hey, Granger. I bet you're interested in this."

He hands her the parcel. She opens it and squeals. Really.

"The Journals of the Founders? Draco, this is amazing! A fascinating read, for sure. Where did you find it? It's an anastatic printing, isn't it?"

"I thought you would have recognized an original manuscript, Granger."

Hermione is flabbergasted. "What? The original? Draco, this should be in a museum! How come you have it?"

"Malfoys have their ways," he says loftily. "Do you want it or not?"

"Of course I do! I could never thank you enough..."

"Now that you mention it..."

Hermione looks at Draco's innocent smile, and her eyes turn into suspicious slits.

He goes on, unimpressed. "As you know, I happen to be involved in a really serious relationship with our Saviour and your best friend. However, despite us being star-bonded, our intimacy is hindered by difficult circumstances, such as our belonging to different Houses. It came to my mind, though, that you are Head Girl, and thus in possession of your own private room. Now, if you would be so kind as to allow your best friend and his true love to..."

At this point, Ron starts sputtering breadcrumbs all around.

"What? Harry, is the Ferret asking what I think he's asking?"

I nod, laughing so hard at his horrified face that tears pool in the corner of my eyes.

"No way! 'Mione, I forbid it! Harry, I don't want you to get naked with the Ferret on Hermione's bed! It would scar me for life."

"Don't worry, Ron." Hermione smiles briefly at him. "Sorry, Draco, I can't allow it. It won't be proper. You can have your manuscript back."

The last sentence is dripping with reluctance.

"No, keep it. It was a gift, freely given." Here's Draco's manipulative side at his best: he plays noble, while preparing an emotional blackmail.

"Thank you, then." Hermione clutches the manuscript to her bosom, and then she utters exactly what Draco was waiting to hear. "If I can help you in some other way..."

He jumps on this like a Nundu on his prey. "You could be less stern and turn a blind eye were you to find me and Harry in Gryffindor common room, on the couch, engaged in..."

"Ugh, I don't need to hear more," she says, raising her hands. "Agreed."

She quickly finishes her meal, eager to read the precious manuscript.

I look at Draco in disbelief.

"How did you do it? She'll allow us to,erm..."

"I'm a Slytherin, and I use my brain. That's how. Furthermore, I do need toermwith you on a daily basis, Potter, you know it."

"Wait a minute here, mate." Ron speaks slowly, measuring each word. "The Ferret just asked permission from Hermione to make out with you onourcouch, and she agreed?"

Draco beats me to the answer. "Apparently, Weasel. I'm astonished by your sharp observation skills."

"And why are you so keen on staying in our common room?" Ron retorts. "Why don't you go snogging in the Slytherin dungeons, for a change?"

"Would you trust your Saviour in the snake's nest, Weasel?"

Ron shakes his head, but Ginny nods emphatically.

"If need be, I'm willing to escort Harry in the snake's nest, myself. I may have a snake to enchant there, after all. Draco, do you think your hot friend Zabini will be available to help me with my Potions homework, while you're otherwise engaged with Harry?"

Truth be told, the couch in Slytherin common room is as comfy as our own. I end up with my head on Draco's chest, his hands toying idly with my hair. It's domestic and peaceful, and we doze off for a while, lulled by the nearby voices of Ginny and Blaise discussing Potion ingredients.

A shriek startles us into wakefulness. It's the nasty Parkinson girl.

"Draco! How dare you! I suffered through all your I'm-not-interested-in-girls phase, but I won't stand for this. Bringing Undesirable Potter here into our sanctuary? Has your brain gone to mush? Get him out this minute, or I'll never talk to you again!"

"Is that a promise?" Draco asks impudently.

I drag him out of his common room just in time to avoid a nasty hex.

Just our luck: another cuddling place, unsuitable.

~~*

Thursday 24-01-2013

After double Transfiguration in the afternoon, I smuggle Draco in Gryffindor common room again. After all, we have Hermione's permission, and the room is presently deserted.

We make ourselves at home, both on the couch and in each other's mouth.

Draco's tie lies discarded on the ground. My tie is the only piece of cloth covering my upper body. Draco's robes and shirt are unbuttoned, my trousers unfastened. I am nibbling and licking Draco's torso. One of his hands is groping my arse; the other is inside my pants, doing delicious things.

This is how Neville finds us upon entering the room, quickly covering his eyes.

"Honestly, you two! I'm glad you get along, but I deserve to be spared from this! At least put up a Silencing Charm! And a Blinding Charm, since you're at it!"

It's hard to recognize calm, clumsy, easygoing Neville in this assertive young man who's shouting at us. Killing giant snakes apparently does wonders for one's self-esteem.

Draco removes his hand from my pants, and we hastily re-fasten our clothes, inwardly bemoaning the loss.

Draco hands me my glasses, and I'm able to focus on Neville's face.

"Sorry, Nev. We are decent now."

He peers between his fingers, lowering his hand as he finds us fully clothed. "Well, then. This is the key to the hothouse Professor Sprout reserved for my experimental work. It's a nice, warm place. No one uses it but me. You may want to take a walk there now and then..."

I take it before he can change his mind. "Thank you, Neville! Really, you're a lifesaver!"

Draco accepts formally. "This is very unexpectedly becoming of you, Longbottom."

"Don't mention it." Neville's voice turns stern. "I warn you, Malfoy: no plant should be damaged, or..."

~~*

Friday 25-01-2013

In our dream, we're surrounded by vegetation. Giant Umbrella Flowers hover above our heads. We stand naked a few feet away from each other. We hold out our hands, and Devil's Snare's tendrils coil around our arms and legs and torsos, making it impossible to reach. I know we should stay calm to be freed, but we're too eager to touch each other's flesh, and we struggle forward. Our shoulders are strained with the effort; we're so unbalanced that, were the tendrils to let go, we would fall face down. We finally manage to push our hips forward enough to have the tips of our cocks grazing one against one another.

We've not even started to enjoy the friction when we find ourselves surrounded by Whomping Willow's saplings: the branches start immediately to land blows on our backs.

"Potter, my love, are you still willing to meet in Longbottom's Conservatory later today?"

"Of course I am."

"Fancy being spanked by Whomping Willows, then?"

"What? No! Not at all! Maybe you do, though..."

"Not by some wicked plant, that's for sure. It seems we shouldn't worry about damaging the plants, after all. I fear it will be the plants trying to damage us."

"You're a sissy, Draco. Do I have to spell it out? I want you. I want someplace to be with you. Not even a whole field of howling Mandrakes would keep me away."

The Hothouse is as Neville described it, nice and warm. The plants seem mostly harmless, and we carefully avoid the row of vases labelledW.W. Seeds.

Once we think we're in a safe corner, we disregard the vegetation altogether. My hands stray inside Draco's sweater, his hands slip over my arse. It's not easy to walk this way, kissing all the while, without really seeing where we're going. At some point, my back meets a hard surface. It's a desk, cluttered with vases of graceful, tentacled plants. I lean heavily on it, my knees weak due to Draco's skilful ministrations. Draco falls gracefully to his knees, and I look at him in puzzlement, bemoaning the loss of his lips. He looks beautifully dishevelled over a background of quivering bushes. Quivering bushes? Are my glasses askew, or is it that I can't see straight due to lack of blood in my brain?

Draco's hands deftly unbuckle my trousers, his breath caressing my aching erection before he takes it neatly into his mouth. A flutter of flowers rises from the bushes. It is maddening, this desire.

Curiously, it's not the heat of Draco's mouth that does me in, nor the swirling of his tongue, nor the hollow-cheeked sucking or the pressure of his swallowing throat. It's the sight of Draco Malfoy on his knees in front of me, Draco Malfoy not complaining about my hands mussing his soft, perfect hair, Draco Malfoy with his lips stretched around my cock, Draco Malfoy peering at me from under his fringe, with an expectant look that quickly changes into triumph as I let myself go.

I look back at him in amazement as he swallows; after a while, he reluctantly releases my softening flesh.

"Mmmh, yes... you taste delicious, Harry... love you."

He rises gracefully, and embraces me just in time to keep me upright despite my buckling legs. He holds me tightly, with his whole body pressed against mine, and I can feel the hot bulge of his groin against my still naked, still damp flesh.

Since I'm not able to stand anyway, I let myself fall on my knees -- less gracefully than Draco did earlier -- and I make quick work of freeing his straining erection. Placing my hands on his hips for balance, I lower my mouth to the treat his cock is.

I read about how to do this, but coordinating the motions isn't easy: I need to cover up my teeth, I need to lick him, to follow the veins with gentle pressure, to tease the slit, to swirl under his foreskin, I need to suck hard, I need to swallow him whole. My jaw aches, my lips are dry, breathing is almost impossible. Tears pool into my eyes with my efforts to take him all into my mouth -- down my throat if need be -- fighting against my gag reflex. I must be doing something right, because suddenly Draco moans and shudders, and my mouth is filled with bittersweet, salty stickiness. I manage not to choke, barely, and I swallow all I can; a few drops trickle out of the corner of my mouth. Draco's thumb collects the spillage, and I lick it clean.

I can sense his legs tremble, and I pull him down to me. Embraced, we roll over to a patch of lovely grass dotted with long stems carrying many pendent purple flowers. Some of them get crushed, but Draco's weight crushing me down is way more important at the moment. He arranges himself neatly between my legs and methodically explores my mouth, his tongue skilled and eager. I answer each stroke, each stab, each slide. Out bits are still bare and exposed. The skin-on-skin contact makes them twitch with renewed arousal. Something bursts into flames not far away, but we're already too lost in each other to care.

~~*

Saturday 26-01-2013

In our dream, we lay naked in a meadow. Butterflies surround us. They land on Draco, and I chase them away. I'm the only living being allowed to touch his skin. Draco's mouth tastes like sugar.

I'm sitting on the couch in our common room, revising my Transfigurations essay, with Draco studying Alchemy with his head on my lap, when an enraged Neville barges in, stomping loudly.

"Here you are! You could at least have told me! I went to the Hothouse this morning, and guess what? It's a mess! You scared away the flowers of the Flutterby Bushes! They only bloom once in a century, do you realize? I was studying how they change their scent to attract the unwary... I spent hours gathering them back... and they now smell like Harry's soap! A year of work, wasted! And the Flitterblooms? You traumatized them! It will take me ages to disentangle their tentacles! The poor plants were induced to intertwine one with the other! I guess you had some can't-take-my-hands-off-you influence... What were you doing? No, don't tell me. Not to mention the Fire Seed Bush! It's not supposed to combust like that!"

I do not dare interrupt Neville's rant -- we're guilty, after all -- but Draco has no such qualms.

"What can I tell you, Longbottom? Me and Potter, we're hot stuff..."

"And you managed to crush my foxgloves as well! At least you didn't roll on the patch of Leaping Toadstools, and left my Whomping Willow saplings alone..."

"Sorry, Nev," I offer. "We didn't do it on purpose."

"You got carried away, I can imagine. I'm sorry, Harry, but it's simply too dangerous to have you two making out in there. You could have rolled on the Venomous Tentacula! It can be fatal, you know! I'll have my key back, if you please. Now. You'll have to find another place..."

~~*

Thursday 31-01-2013

In my dream, we're lying side by side, gazing at the stars. Draco whispers their names to me.

"That is Regulus, in your Leo Constellation, and Sirius, in the Canis Major. That one is Andromeda. I won't point out Bellatrix, though."

"I guess it's nice being of the Black bloodline. You can imagine the people you loved and lost are in the stars..."

"We can make up our own constellations, love. See this? This is the Lily, and that one over there is the Great Deer. That's the Werewolf Cluster. The Potion Vial. The Warlock's Beard. And that one is the Great Snowy Owl."

"Draco, that's Cassiopeia!"

"No, Potter. It's the Great Snowy Owl. And that one is your Dragon. As above, so below. Here."

He kisses my forehead gently, and then proceeds to paint his own constellation on my naked skin, with careful dips and strokes of his tongue.

"Morning, Gryffindorks. Potter, did you sleep well? Come here, love."

His kiss is a slow dance of lips on lips, intoxicating.

Hermione voices her surprise. "Draco, how come you're still calling Harry by his surname?"

"That's because I really, really love Potter..."

"I think the Ferret's simply too lazy to come up with a pet name, don't you, mate?" interrupts Ron.

" ... and you would definitely not like to attend the occasions when I call him Harry," continues Draco. "Here, love, for you."

He hands me a packet, craftily wrapped with silver paper.

"It happens to be exactly a month that we've been together. Accept this as a token of my affection."

I tear the paper impatiently; I did not expect a gift from him, at all. Inside, I find the fluffiest, softest plush dragon I've ever seen. He has a cute, silly face, grey round eyes, platinum gold wings and green fur.

"Draco, it's adorable!"

"It came to my mind that it wouldn't be proper for you to sleep without your dragon, so here it is."

Ron looks at the plush toy mockingly. "You're a romantic at heart, Ferret, aren't you?"

"Ronald! You should learn from him! Such a thoughtful gift..."

If Hermione turns to mush because of something Draco did for me, I fear the world is about to end.

During the Potion lesson, a folded paper crane lands stealthily on my chopping board. I unfold it, hiding a smile.

There is a black-and-white drawing inside, of Draco kissing me. Arrows point out at captions. I am clearly labelled as "Potter, my love". Draco's label says simply "Lucky me". The roughly sketched building we're in is marked "Astronomy Tower, tonight at 10:00". It is signed with a small heart containing a D.

I raise my head, and Draco is looking expectantly at me. I nod, blushing a bit.

I am distracted the whole day, thinking about something suitable to give Draco; I didn't expect a month-versary present and am oddly touched by his gesture.

Professor McGonagall makes us Transfigure Knuts into buttons, and this finally gives me the perfect idea. It requires a Floo call to Molly Weasley: I need advice and have to learn a few spells I'm not willing to ask Hermione.

Some hours later, I'm quite happy with my present for Draco. It's not perfect, but I think I managed to mix craft and magic just fine, and I only shed minimum amounts of blood for it.

Draco misses dinner, and I wonder what he has planned for our special date. It's only when Hermione tries to suppress laughter that I realize I'm behaving like a girl with her first crush. I guess that's not far from the truth, either.

I am early for our date, but Draco's already there. He looks stunning in midnight blue fitted robes with embroidery of silver stars. His kiss is perfectly balanced between elation, hunger, and affection.

We sit down side by side on a blanked he has spread on the floor, and I kick off my shoes.

I hand Draco his present with no small amount of pride in my creation.

He opens it with care, discovering a small stuffed lion with bright green buttons for eyes.

"Harry, it's so cute! Where did you find it?"

"I made it for you, Draco. I love you."

"Love you too."

He strokes the fabric of the lion's body, and his expression turns suspicious.

"Potter, what did you make this with? I think I've already seen this particular shade of golden velvet..."

"...on my bed, yes. I cut a piece of my bedspread."

"Do I dare to ask about the red silk of its mane?"

"That's from my pants."

"What?!?"

He looks stunned, than surreptitiously lifts the toy lion to his face.

"Don't worry, it's from a pair I've never worn."

"I wasn't worried. I love your scent. I'm just surprised that you own silk underwear."

"Owned. And it was an old gift from the Weasley twins. Meant as a joke, you don't need to fret."

"I'm just sorry I won't have the privilege of seeing you in red silk pants today, that's all."

But his smile tells me he's imagining it just fine.

He hugs the lion to his chest and snaps his fingers.

A small House Elf Apparates in with a tray, places it carefully at our feet, bows curtly and Disapparates away. The tray contains two glasses of champagne and a heart-shaped cake.

"It's chocolate and raspberries. I hope you'll like it."

I particularly like the taste of Draco's fingers as he feeds me small bites of the sweet.

The champagne is dry and sparkly, and I sip it directly from Draco's mouth, which greatly adds to its flavour.

Afterwards, we lie on our backs, hand in hand, and look at the stars above for a while.

As we roll on our sides locking mouths, I begin to feel all hot and bothered, and Draco's cheeks are tinted with an adorable shade of red as well: there must be a Warming Charm in place.

"Draco, isn't it a bit too warm? I think I'll take off my sweater. Aren't you boiling inside those robes? You'll feel better if you take them off. Although I must say, you look striking in them."

"I'm fine, but please do as you wish."

I slide my hands inside his robes, and I'm stunned to find him naked. Completely naked. His skin is silkier than the cloth, and I'm suddenly salivating at the idea of being able to taste him all. Which is exactly what I do, under the silent gaze of the stars.

Somewhat later, Draco's sitting behind me, his renewed erection pressed on my backside. His chin is propped on my shoulder and his right hand forefinger points to the sky, showing me Betelgeuse and Cassiopeia and Vega, and the Dragon Constellation of course, whispering their names into my ear, nibbling at the lobe to boot, just like in our dream. Meanwhile, his left hand is busy stroking my cock with maddening slowness.

"Draco... please... more..."

"I want this to last, Harry, my love. I want you to go crazy with need..."

"Already there, Dray..."

A particularly skilled manoeuvre of the palm of his hand steals my breath, then his mouth descends upon my flesh, and I'm no more able to talk at all.

As Draco gently tucks me back inside my pants, the sound of voices startles us.

"Ready your telescopes, class. It's a perfect night for..."

It's Professor Sinistra with the Third Years.

Draco quickly straightens his robes, helping me onto my feet just in time.

"Good evening, Professor. We'll leave immediately. I was showing Potter some constellations."

"You were studying, then? Fine. Pity you decided against the Astronomy N.E.W.T., Mr. Malfoy. I won't dock you points for being out this late, but get back to your dorms straight away."

"Yes, Professor. Thank you." I turn towards the stairs.

"Have a pleasant lesson," adds Draco. "Orion is beautiful tonight..."

Draco didn't even lie: he was making me see stars, indeed