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Chapter Text

“Bloody fucking cocked-up manky dry rot,” Hermione swore, her boot crashing down for the third time onto Harry’s shoulder. He did his best not to wince.

“Anchor beam’s still fine,” Malfoy said, cheerfully, from above. “And that’s not ladylike, darling.”

“Tell me to be ladylike again and you can enjoy fucking yourself with the bloody beam because it’s the only action you’ll be getting for the rest of your life,” Hermione said, taking a breath.

“We’ve got thirty two minutes, so you lot can work your marital issues about dry rot out in therapy,” Harry said. “Haul her up, Malfoy.”

“I’m working on it,” he said. “It’s not as if it’s my fault she weighs -“ He paused. “I’m sorry, it’s just all the dry rot. Carry on.”

“Excellent choice,” Hermione said. “Right. One more push, Harry?”

“Yes,” Harry said, gritting his teeth. He lifted, and by some miracle, Malfoy managed to haul her up through the opening in the rotted staircase.

“Coming up or watching the boathouse?” Malfoy said.

“Don’t be daft,” Hermione said. “Harry’s not working alone. Are you, Harry?”

“I was sort of contemplating it, really,” Harry said. “At this point, I think being murdered by a ghost would be sort of a nice change of pace. No more stomping around decrepit houses with you lot, no more paperwork, no walking in on my partner shagging Unspeakables on my desk…”

“That was the once,” Hermione protested. “And we weren’t –“

“And he probably liked it,” Malfoy said. “Potter, I think we can watch the docks from the window. I like our odds better here.”

“Sod it, fine,” Harry said, grabbing the hold on the climbing rope. “But both of you had better get me up there on the first try.”

It took four, and by the end of it, he was red-faced and cursing nearly as much as Hermione had been. Malfoy, who had gotten up the stairs before they’d collapsed, probably because the bloody house recognized him as some sort of pureblooded brethren, looked immaculate and like he hadn’t exerted any effort at all. Harry took some small consolation in the fact that Hermione was picking paint chips and splinters out of her braid.

“So, to clarify, we’ve got nearly no intelligence on what this thing is, just that it’s killed three people here in the last month. Apparently it might show up here or it might show up in the wanking boathouse, because no one seems to be able to report anything consistently, and there’s a better than outside chance we haven’t brought the right equipment,” Harry said. “Just to reiterate the level of stupidity here.”

“About like usual, yeah,” Hermione said. “Though I’m fairly certain I know who it is. Why were scorned witches always throwing themselves off balconies to drown in lakes, anyway? It’s ludicrous. One solid castrating hex and you’ve put paid to the whole thing. And what kind of witch drowns in this? It’s like a glorified bloody fish pond.”

“Yes, I’m aware, we hiked through the muck earlier because someone got the map wrong,” Harry said.

“It wasn’t wrong,” Malfoy said. “It was presumably quite a nice walk in the eighteen hundreds. I haven’t the faintest idea why they moved the lake, but it’s not as if I own the property.”

“No, it’s just singing disgusting love ballads to you at every bloody turn,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “Hermione?”

“Lavinia Whitcomb, aged seventeen, suicide by drowning after a failed engagement. Given that she’s killed and appears to have an accurate physical manifestation, I hardly think we’re dealing with a wisp here, but beyond that, I haven’t the faintest,” Hermione said. “You ought to have read the file, Harry.”

“Bloody odd that it’s a suicide,” Malfoy said. “What on earth would she be sticking around for? We never see those.”

“Maybe someone drowned her,” Hermione said. “Or pushed her off the balcony into the lake. I appreciate the philosophical questions, Draco, but that’s for when we’re writing up the report.”

“Since when do you turn down philosophical questions, let alone from him,” Harry said.

“Since I’d like to get to bed before dawn and either this house hates muggleborns or we’re having an extremely unlucky night,” Hermione muttered.

“Former,” Malfoy said.

“Might have warned me before we fell through the stairs,” Hermione said.

“I’m not quite sure I could have foreseen the fact that the stairs -“ Malfoy said.

“So we could all stand here and engage in argumentative verbal foreplay all night, or we could set the bloody marks,” Harry said. “Who wants what?”

Ordinarily, he found Hermione and Malfoy vaguely charming, if unexpected. It wasn’t as if he and Malfoy been close, after Hogwarts, but Lucius had ended up in Azkaban and Narcissa had died of a wasting curse a few months after the last battle. It became rather clear that Draco hadn’t entirely been acting of his own volition, that parental pressure could cause you to do some idiotic things, and that he had absolutely no intention of continuing the charming traditions of his parents. Harry had never really figured out if the potted plant from Malfoy was actually an apology or an attempt to murder him with some strange sort of Devil’s Ivy, but it had seemed like a decent gesture, so he’d taken it at face value a decade or so ago. The philosophy seemed to have proved to be a reasonable method for dealing with Malfoy in general.

Malfoy wasn’t all that bad, but Harry had been forced to bring him along for every assignment for the past year. He’d also spent the evening stomping through swamp muck, squeezing in through a cellar window, having stairs collapse on him, and heading into something almost totally blind, which Harry hated at the best of times. And this was hardly the best of times. So the fact that the house was being charming just for Malfoy was a bit enraging.

Malfoy drummed his fingers on the windowsill, and Harry briefly paused to hope the entire mansion wasn’t about to cave in.

“North,” he decided. “Given all of it, I’ll probably be able to see her best, so you might as well put me on calling out. You two are better at weaving than I am.”

“West, you take East, Harry,” Hermione said, murmuring a point me spell at her wand, which spun to point to the lake. “Lovely, we’ll have to lay the trap with our backs to the boathouse. What do you want to spin?”

“Yew powder, something aquatic, and I’d think –“ Harry paused. “Am I the only one tasting that?”

“No,” Malfoy said. “It’s – what, like wine that’s gone spoiled from the metal in the cask?”

“Like ozone,” Hermione said, thoughtfully. “Haven’t seen that before.”

“Oh, delightful, novelty,” Harry said. “What do you think, Hermione, salt or silver?”

“We’ve got thread with silver wrapped in,” Hermione said. “Salt.” She took her bag off her shoulders and considered their kit. “Water hyacinth?”

“Forsythia,” Malfoy said, absently. “Don’t ask me why I think so. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

“Well, two minutes to back out,” Harry said.

“Strongly considering it, actually,” Draco said. “As the person who’s supposed to decide if it’s too dangerous to proceed.”

“Lovely,” Harry said. “Nothing’s happening with the temperature or pressure.”

“We can’t get back down the bloody stairs in two minutes,” Hermione said. “Let’s just do it and get home.”

“Something is exceptionally wrong, and I don’t like it,” Malfoy repeated, still drumming his fingers. Harry paused to think about the number of times he’d seen Malfoy nervous. He wasn’t sure there had been any.

Malfoy was better at clairsentience than he or Hermione was, despite Hermione’s ongoing effort. He was a better clairvoyant too, something that Harry suspected had to do with the fact that he was a far better legilimens than anyone had ever suspected; if you were exceptional at reading the living, it seemed to follow that you’d be exceptional at reading the dead. For all that he largely made Harry want a very long session with the departmental punching bag followed by an incredibly stiff drink, he had to admit that Malfoy was the best with ghosts he’d ever seen. They wanted to tell him their secrets. They wanted to know him, to talk to him, to see if he could follow up on all his silver-tongued promises. Malfoy was an exceptional liar, so stone cold and straight faced that even the dead couldn’t see through it, and he’d saved them more times over the last year than Harry cared to admit. Which meant that whether he liked it or not, it was his job to keep Malfoy safe. He was the blunt instrument to Malfoy’s rapier wit and Hermione’s research and coaxing. Good auror, bad auror, best alternative, as Malfoy put it. Harry didn’t necessarily adore him. But he trusted him not to get them all killed.

“Malfoy,” Harry said, quietly. “Everything in my body is telling me that I need to move to the south mark. Is that a trap?”

“Eighty-twenty,” Malfoy said, then closed his eyes for a moment. “No. One hundred. Don’t move. Hermione, you need to light the spell thread now.”

“Now?” Hermione said. “But we’ve got two minutes.”

“Now,” Malfoy said, and she struck a match just as the ghost stepped through the wall, the marks beginning to burn into the floorboards as the thread sizzled away.

She was beautiful, in a coldly detached sort of way, frozen in time at age seventeen, the bloom of youth still bright across her cheeks. Ghosts usually weren’t so corporeal, and Harry paused, trying to think through the final pages of his manual, the theory section. He’d never seen anything look so real, with a faint dusting of something he couldn’t place that made him itch under his skin.

“Hello,” Malfoy said.

She turned to Hermione, looking her square in the face, and started to murmur in a low tone, so quiet Harry couldn’t even hear her in the dead silence of the night. Hermione looked confused for a moment, then suddenly radiant.

“Yes, of course,” she said, and it was only Harry’s sudden sharp grip on her wrist that kept her from stepping forward off the mark. She started to pull away, but Harry held fast.

“Potter, I think that’s a siren, and I think she’s about to try to seduce Hermione,” Malfoy said, flatly, almost detached. “She can’t hear us, she can only focus on one person at a time, but I have to snap Hermione out of it, because even both of us together aren’t going to be able to hold her on that mark for long. You’d better be able to weave this, because there isn’t another option.”

“Yes,” Harry said, a little hoarsely. Sirens weren’t ghosts you captured with three people – in fact, sirens weren’t really ghosts you captured at all, unless you were an entire division of, at minimum, Auror-Unspeakable trios with damn good knowledge of the site. “Same ingredients?”

“Blood thread,” Malfoy said. “Silver isn’t going to do it. And you’d better figure out a better binding agent than salt. Fast.”

“Right,” Harry said. “If you could just –“

Malfoy kicked Hermione’s kit toward him, vials scattering. Sometimes, if you could give a ghost what it wanted, it might dissipate on its own. But more often than not, ghosts weren’t particularly keen on letting go of the half-life they’d held on to for so long. The Ministry of Magic had borrowed the only tradition that seemed to have a portable bearing on laying the dead to rest and started weaving gris gris, gray for the area between life and death.

Contrary to popular opinion, most of the ghosts weren’t focused in objects or talismans, and graveyards were about the safest place in London. Some ghosts were tied to a physical location, but chances were better that a ghost haunted a house or building because it chose to do so.

Making the bags was part potions, part art, and part sixth sense that appeared to be limited to some witches and wizards, just like any other magical skill. Each bag had to be tailored to the ghost it would trap. Malfoy was valuable because he could talk to them, distract them, and promise them all the things they yearned for. They needed Hermione because she knew the history of every ingredient in her kit, from the sachets of flowers petals to the sticky vials of blood secured in the bottom of the bag. Hermione usually picked ingredients as Harry wove, but – well, he wasn’t going to have that luxury tonight.

Malfoy took Hermione’s hand, holding it tight, and Harry let go and crouched, finding a piece of boomslang skin, the strongest leather they had.

“Hermione, darling,” Malfoy said, in a tone Harry had never heard from him before, warm and intimate. It was a bedroom voice. “Do you remember, the month after we started dating, that holiday in Bath?”

“Oh, yes,” Hermione said. Her eyes were still focused on the ghost, but the corner of her mouth pulled up. “It rained the entire time.”

“It did,” Malfoy said. “And we hadn’t told anyone that we were together, because we both still thought the entire thing was utterly insane…”

“Well, it was,” Hermione said. “I’ve no idea what possessed you to even consider the idea.”

“You,” Malfoy said. “When I saw you work, darling, everything else paled in comparison. You’re ruthlessly efficient and completely methodical and I was so irritated you’d decided to join the Aurors because I thought working around you was going to be so, exceedingly boring.”

“By the book,” Hermione agreed, sounding amused, though she hadn’t looked away from the woman who held her gaze.

“It was different,” Draco said. “All this feeling, all this depth, this beautiful thing where you made everything look so effortless, but like you were drawing with magic. And I wanted to have you, though –“ He laughed, hoarsely. “Well. I don’t think either of us imagined it would lead to this.”

“I only said yes because I thought it was some sort of ludicrous trap or joke or something,” Hermione said, absently. “Then you were charming and awfully funny, and I…”

“You remember that holiday,” Draco said. “We were stuck in that villa, eating all these ludicrously well-prepared dishes, but you finished all the books you had with you and there’s really only so much sex you can have in one weekend when you’re not having real sex yet –“

Hermione laughed, this time. “And we fought like cats and dogs, and I was literally ready to throw my things in my bag and take the train back in the middle of the night and call the whole thing off, but you –“

“I said if we were going to get rained on, we might as well get wet.”

“I’m still relatively certain putting a muggle repelling charm on the Roman Baths wasn’t legal even if it was three o’clock in the morning.”

“Unspeakables and Malfoys hardly concern themselves with legalities,” Malfoy said, voice still warm and affectionate.

Harry found what he was looking for in Hermione’s kit, setting a sewing spell on a bobbin of rust-colored, faded thread; Hermione had meticulously labeled most of the blood thread, but this one was marked only with “EMERGENCIES ONLY.” He kept it in the back of his head as the needle started to pull together one seam of the bag, closing his eyes for a moment. This was the part that was more intuition than anything else – you either had it or you didn’t. Harry wasn’t quite as skilled as Hermione, but he was still far better than everyone behind them.

“And either way, you broke the rule as well,” Malfoy said, laughing. It didn’t even sound forced.

“Oh, all right,” Hermione replied, laughing too. “It was that or beat you to death with a book.”

“Such a pity we don’t get on well,” Malfoy said.

“Sadly, I’m reasonably certain at some point in time I ceased to find your obnoxious tendencies annoying,” Hermione said. “And your terrible sense of humor has grown on me. And obviously I’m an excellent influence, you’re much less high strung these days, you got better in bed when you stopped trying so hard.”

“Coming from you,” Malfoy said, fondly. “I don’t have any obnoxious tendencies. And I’m better in bed when I’m in love with the person I’m sleeping with.”

“You do so. You constantly forget the tea kettle and we keep having to buy new ones because the bottom has literally burnt out, you never put books back in the right order, you clean so horribly one would almost think you’d grown up with servants, and don’t think I haven’t noticed that you’re still stealing my shampoo and replacing it even though you promised to give that up and buy your own bottle at New Year’s,” Hermione said.

“Distracted by official Unspeakable research, your right order, I only ruined that one load of laundry, and I am not,” Malfoy said.

“Are so,” Hermione said. She’d stepped fully back onto the mark and it was obvious that her attention was starting to waver between the ghost and Malfoy.

“Yes, well, besides the point,” Malfoy said. “I thought I’d just get it out of my system, you know. I’m not sure I’d told you that.”

“I did think,” Hermione replied. “I hardly thought you’d asked me out because you were interested in some long-term relationship. But I figured you were probably halfway decent in bed and you’d pay for everything. I hadn’t gotten laid in six months and it seemed like a reasonable prospect.”

“Sell out,” Draco teased. “Letting go of all your lofty moral values for eight course meals and shagging school enemies?”

“Sometimes uncomplicated and practical is ideal,” Hermione said. “Though I’m hardly seeing the point of this conversation.”

“Well, you didn’t know where we were going –“

“Yes, which I was more than happy to shout at you over –“

“Yes, until we got there,” Malfoy said. “And then you came in out of the rain and it was so warm there from the springs that you were literally steaming, but you got this look on your face. You’re rather hard to surprise, you know.”

“Hardly,” Hermione said. “It’s not as if it’s my fault no one’s ever creative with their surprises. Though I’ll admit I was hardly expecting you of all people to know where a muggle historical site was, let alone to take me to visit it in the middle of the night.”

Harry could feel all the magic in the room – the dark, hungry pull of the siren, murmuring a net around Hermione, the faint field of Hermione’s magic, pushed down, and then the silver thrust of whatever Malfoy was doing, ripping away the darkness as it formed around Hermione. They were nearly even, Harry thought, but it probably wasn’t something Malfoy could keep up forever. Then there were the ingredients – he picked the forsythia petals, glowing faintly, somehow an obvious choice even if he probably wouldn’t have thought of it without Malfoy, and then, after a few seconds of hesitation, holly. Yew was his usual choice with its ties to laying the dead to rest, but something told him it wouldn’t work here.

“You’ve never actually asked,” Malfoy said. “Which is interesting, given that you never stop asking about things. But if you’re curious, that was the moment I started to fall in love with you.”

Harry considered for a moment – he’d thought about bone or grave dust, but the truth was that the opposite of love wasn’t hatred or even death, but apathy. He took several of the small diamonds out of a pouch in a pocket – he’d never used them before, but diamonds were one of the few substances that wouldn’t hold any magic. And although Harry wasn’t entirely certain why this ghost in particular had chosen to focus on Hermione, something had happened surrounding the ghost’s engagement, and that made their use personal. He let the sewing spell finish, standing.

“That’s rather charming, actually,” Hermione said, with a smile. “It took me a little longer, but you know how stubborn I can be.”

“Malfoy,” Harry said, quietly, and he held out a hand, letting Harry drop the packet into it.

“I do,” Malfoy agreed. “Love, I need a bit of a favor.”

“Hah!” said Hermione. “I knew you wanted something, you’re never this romantic on your own.”

“Yes, well, it’s important,” Draco murmured, pressing the packet into her hands. “Can you hand this to the other person who’s trying to talk to you? Just give it to her for me. Then I’ll stop distracting you from your conversation.”

“Oh, all right,” Hermione said. “I was expecting something more involved, but I can do that.”

She took it from him absently, as distantly as she’d done everything else, and Harry watched her murmur something and drop it into the ghost’s palm. Something freely taken had more power than something that was thrown, so unless it was a particularly weak ghost, they did their best to get the ghost to take it. British ghosts didn’t realize it was a trap, so they could usually be talked into it, even if it was solely on curiosity. As soon as it touched her palm, Harry knew it would work – she ghost-shrieked, an awful noise that sounded like death, and Harry gritted his teeth as she started to unravel. That was the second reason they usually had two weavers: he could feel the struggle between the magic created by the bag and what had once been her life force. Now it was corrupted into something consisting only of hunger and desperation. The last of it washed over him in a wave, cold and sharp and angry, and then the packet fell to the floor. Draco stepped off his mark to grab the window frame, shaking. He bent, head bowed, and then turned away from them both and was sick against the wall, twice, finally sinking to his knees.

“I don’t –“ Hermione said, sounding confused. “Harry? Draco? What’s happened?”

“It’s all right,” Malfoy said, finally. “Though if, in the future, you could refrain from selecting any cases that involve ghosts intent on killing you and that are so far above our pay grade I would need several additional vaults in Gringotts were they to raise my salary accordingly, I would deeply appreciate it.”

The calm Harry had been holding close to weave the spell shattered, and he fell forward, catching himself with his palms before he could crush the work kit. “Fuck.”

“I really don’t –“ Hermione said.

“It was a siren,” Harry said, swallowing hard against the desire to start retching too. “Malfoy took care of it.”

“Potter did the weaving,” Malfoy said, head still bowed. “I just… distracted you.”

“A siren?” Hermione echoed, and when Harry finally lifted his head, she looked pale in the moonlight spilling in through the dirty window. “I don’t think there have been more than three or four of those reported in the whole of Britain –“

“Yes, well, you did a superb job of finding the next in line,” Malfoy snapped. “Do try to pick the lethal ones, won’t you? I so enjoy these nightly outings, I’d hate for them to come to an end just because we’ve all been killed.”

“I –“ Hermione began, but Malfoy tossed Harry a small, glowing jar. “Put the bag in it. I’ll be downstairs when you two decide you’d like to leave the premises. And if you think you’re going to give me some sort of bloody lecture about smoking at historical sites, I’d strongly consider rethinking that one or you’re going to be sleeping on the couch for the next several months.”

“Draco -“ Hermione said, but he’d already started off down the stairs, quiet and angry.

“Well, damn,” she said, with a sigh. “That went well.”

“Exceedingly,” Harry agreed. “You’re not dead, which you’ve got him to thank for, by the way, and this thing isn’t going to kill anybody else.” He picked up the sachet with a pair of iron tongs and put it in the jar Malfoy had given him, sealing the lid tight. Its glow flared for a moment before it changed, lid turning into glass and fusing with the body, and then it went dark.

Hermione looked out the window toward the boathouse, where Malfoy was pacing back and forth along the dock.

“I do wish he wouldn’t overreact so awfully,” she said.

“Hermione,” Harry said, pausing in putting away the vials that had scattered across the floor. He had to make fists and shake them out again to stop the shaking. “I was afraid. That was probably the closest call we’ve ever had. That thing scared the living hell out of both of us.”

He stood, wrapping a hand around her wrist, and tugged her in for a tight hug, holding her close for a moment longer than was probably strictly necessary out of sheer relief. Hermione exhaled against his jacket, resting her head on his shoulder for a moment.

“There was absolutely nothing in the research or from any of the witnesses,” she said.

“I didn’t say it was your fault,” Harry said, gently. “But I think maybe we’d better stop trying to knock off these things without all the information.”

“That’s bloody likely,” Hermione muttered. “I’m sure the Ministry will assign us five wisps and an apparition next week.”

“I do sort of Head the department,” Harry pointed out. “Some safety policies might not be entirely amiss.”

“We can’t turn down the hard ones, Harry,” Hermione said. “We’re the best we’ve got, quite honestly, and I’m not putting junior Aurors at risk on cases where we don’t have all the details. They’ll just get themselves killed.”

Harry snorted. “I’ll admit that some of it was skill, but I don’t think we managed because we’re amazing at this,” he said. “We got through that one because Malfoy is thoroughly capable of charming your attentions away from a very persistent ghost, apparently through insults and romantic reminiscing about some holiday trip in Bath.”

“Damn it,” Hermione said, again. “He never brings that up. Least of all in front of you.”

“He never gets all charmingly soppy either,” Harry said. “Even I almost felt fond of him for a moment. So say we’ll be more careful next time even if all three of us know we can’t guarantee anything, and I’ll – god, I don’t know, hire some divination people or something. This thing where we’re using the entire magical police force for dealing with hauntings is getting ludicrous.”

Hermione snorted. “Yes, that ought to help, they can find death omens for us, we haven’t got enough of those,” she said. “Try more research assistants and a better magicopathologist. Honestly, Harry, a siren kill isn’t going to look anything like most other ghost kills, why didn’t anyone think to tell us the hearts had burst on all three victims?”

“I read the autopsy reports and I’m not entirely sure it was even noted,” Harry said, biting back the urge to start swearing under his breath. “I don’t suppose you want to start that job search.”

“I’m not the department head,” Hermione said, with a grin. “Just his partner. But I suppose I might pitch in since you can’t tell up from down when it comes to anatomy.”

“For the hundredth time –“ Harry said.

“Yes, I know you haven’t the time to take a course, that’s why I keep giving you books.”

“That I absolutely have the time to read,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “I would think that sitting in on most of the autopsies ought to give me some sort of idea.”

“Fair enough,” Hermione said. “We’ve got to stop being a revolving door and hiring awful people, though.”

“Yes, I’m really enjoying having someone different every month or so, and I make a point of hiring the worst of the lot,” Harry said, letting her go to pick up the case. He rubbed the back of his neck. “No one wants to work on anything with ghosts right now, they’re too frightened.”

“Well, too bloody bad,” Hermione said. “It’s not as if we haven’t seen worse than this.”

“Go make nice with Malfoy,” Harry said. “I’ll even stay up here and attempt to fix the stairs for a while. Historic site and all.”

Hermione snorted. “Did something happen between you and Ginny in the last twelve hours that I’ve somehow missed?”

“No,” Harry said, warily. “Why? I’m not supposed to hear anything unless it’s through my solicitor.”

“Meaning, you’re still sleeping in our bloody guest bedroom, so your Victorian sensibilities about our marriage are getting a bit ridiculous,” Hermione said.

“Malfoy’s weirdly private about that sort of thing,” Harry pointed out, trying not to flush.

“Men,” Hermione said.

“He hasn’t thrown a fit over me staying, I’m not pushing my luck,” Harry said, firmly.

“You do know he isn’t going to, Harry,” Hermione pointed out. “You’re welcome for as long as you need. And that’s not just because you’re my best friend. He cares about you as well.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Harry said. “Just no make up shagging on the dock, please. God only knows what’s in the lake. You might catch something.”

Hermione laughed. “We’ll save it for later, I think I’ve got wood lice down my shirt,” she said. “At least let me spell you across the stairs. You can loiter around the front if you’d like.”

“All right,” Harry said, finally. “Just – I don’t know. Wave at me when you’re ready to leave, or something.”

Hermione paused. “Harry, we’ve been married for nearly a year,” she said, finally, softly. “I know almost no one approves, but I’d have thought you’d be a bit more open minded.”

“I really, truly do not have a single problem with you and Malfoy and anything you do or do not choose to do in your personal lives,” Harry said. “But it’s a little – it takes some getting used to, all right? And my life is taking some getting used to at the moment as well.” He reached for her hand. “But I’m – look, please don’t mistake the fact that my work life nearly gets me killed about two or three times a week and I’m in the middle of a ludicrously nasty divorce for… not being happy for you. I am. Of course I am.”

“Thanks, Harry,” Hermione said, standing on her toes to kiss his cheek. She looked a little less upset.

“I’ll work on it,” Harry said, with what he knew was probably a slightly forced smile.

“Believe it or not, he really does like you,” Hermione said, laughing. “When you had to go to France last month he had no idea what to do with himself all afternoon.”

“He couldn’t… do things with you or something?” Harry said, dubiously. “Things that I’m not mentioning because of my Victorian sensibilities?”

“Apparently I’m not an adequate partner for verbal sparring,” she said. “I’m too nice and don’t push him nearly hard enough.”

“Would you just go let him make sure you’re in one piece?” Harry said, finally. “I think he probably needs that.”

“Oh, all right,” Hermione agreed. “But we really do have to get on that magicopathologist thing in the morning.”

“Agreed, and go,” Harry said, firmly, letting out a small sigh of relief when Hermione finally disappeared from view.

If he was honest, even if he was getting used to it, Draco and Hermione together served as a physical reminder of all the ways his life hadn’t gone according to plan in the last decade. He’d been so bloody excited to be an Auror with Ron after the war, rounding up Death Eaters and finding stolen objects, but as it turned out, when you were the Savior of the Wizarding World, no one particularly wanted to send you on field assignments. Still, things had gone well for the first few years or so – he was with Ginny, and Ron was with Hermione, and they’d all seemed happy. But Hermione had finally realized that nothing short of real work was going to feel satisfying after the war, no matter how much she loved libraries, and Ron – well, becoming an Auror had been one thing, but Hermione becoming a better Auror than him was another. And then somewhere along the way, Ron had stopped coming around, and Ginny had started spending longer and longer away on Quidditch match trips. If Harry was really honest, it had gone to hell in a hand basket long before the ghosts had appeared.

Ghosts weren’t meant to be dangerous, they’d said. Ghosts were kind, friendly creatures who taught you History of Magic or celebrated their Death Day in the Great Hall to much cheering and applause. Ghosts gave you important hints. No witch or wizard ever told their child scary ghost stories, because the idea was less threatening than the idea of doxies in the curtains. The things that people had done to other people in the last decade far outweighed any heightened sense that there might be something more than met the eye. Ghosts were harmless. Benevolent. Typically quite cheerful.

Unfortunately, they had gotten it wrong.

Because the truth was, there were an awful lot of ghosts that weren’t cheerful, or benevolent, or harmless. There were ghosts who were angry. Ghosts for whom fear and terror were pleasure, ghosts who hunted, ghosts who fed. As it turned out, the muggle horror stories had gotten it half right, at least; for them, ghosts were merely things that went bump in the night. But ghosts weren’t nearly so kind to those with magic, because magic was what allowed them to be. And that was the crux of it, because ghosts were those who wanted to be alive again - the murder victim looking for revenge, the killer whose taste for blood hadn’t diminished with the hangman’s noose, the mother who had lost her child and hoped to find it in the next life, the lover separated from his beloved by time or fate… and, as with any ambition worth having, ghosts wanted these things so badly that reason and logic and human emotion were lost to them. They merely wanted, hunger and longing tied up in a beautiful horror. And unlike the people they suddenly knew how to hunt, they knew the stakes. Feed, and keep feeding, or you’ll lie down again, and ghosts only got one chance at waking, one moment to step through the doorway, one shot at all of it. Which made a rather compelling argument, when it came down to it, for going beyond the unspeakable and into the unthinkable: if it came down to you or them, then the logical choice was always yourself, no matter what the cost. And without head or heart or empathy to guide them, it turned out that most ghosts weren’t what anyone had thought they were.

It had started a few days before Halloween over a year before, with three pregnant witches drained of every ounce of blood and magic in the Magicolegal Department morgue. Their bodies had been packed with icons to lay the dead and keep them down; Harry could still remember Hermione and Padma Patil quietly arguing over the origin of every piece of iconography while he’d been sick into one of the corner drains. Harry had thought then that he’d seen one too many bodies – now, in all honesty, he preferred the quiet of the morgue to nearly anywhere else. Freshly killed people were laid quickly enough these days that they never yielded ghosts, which meant that dead bodies were about the safest things he spent any time around. But he still remembered the first few – their molars hollowed out and replaced with glass beads, iron coins sewn just beneath the skin all over the body, their hearts stitched with silver thread, and their wands – three identical yew wands, replacing one of the bones in their forearms.

In the end, sometimes inept wizards trying to do some sort of good were far worse than evil ones with ambitions of power. Hermione had figured out the what, of course, but with no relationship between the victims and little time, every wizard in England had been helpless to the combination of African magic and Santeria that a wizard at the university had used in an attempt to lay the restless spirits he’d been seeing. He’d turned out to be a channel, someone with the highest level of ghost sensing ability, and Harry might have felt sorry for him if he hadn’t opened thousands of doorways that had been sealed shut with blood magic for hundreds of years. One wrong ingredient – the wrong species of Datura, Hermione had later figured out – and his laying spell had turned into a waking one. The protections that had kept ghosts away from magic, leaving them dormant or harmless, were gone in an instant.

Every witch and wizard in Britain had woken in a cold sweat with the knowledge that something had changed, and within a few hours, hundreds of the index cards in the Ministry’s Vital Statistics Office keeping track of every witch and wizard stopped listing locations and started filing themselves in the “DECEASED” folder.

The Aurors had tried everything they could think of – salting and burning bones, creating new variations of the Patronus charm, forming shelters - but nothing worked. Hogwarts had to be evacuated, because even its spells and the allied ghosts couldn’t protect the students. The manors and oldest houses were the hardest hit. It only took a few days for a group of purebloods to present themselves at headquarters, with a stack of books that were old and utterly horrifying; a few appeared to be bound with human skin, and most of the others had blood stains that shimmered and reappeared on the covers and pages when you looked at them.

“This is the best we’ve got, so you’d damn well better find something,” Malfoy had told Hermione, and she’d cupped his face in her hands and kissed him hard, in front of twenty-six extremely sleep deprived Aurors and Draco’s small army of purebloods and Unspeakables.

“I didn’t bring them here for that, Granger,” Draco had said, turning on his heel with the sort of look that dared anyone to say anything, and Harry stopped wondering why the Unspeakables had been spending so much time helping with the research and why Hermione seemed – different, lately.

There weren’t any spells to redo the wards and lock everything away again, of course, because not even the oldest library had that, but volumes on blood magic had quite a bit to say about getting rid of spirits. Apparently they were a common side effect of sacrifices, which Hermione had said with a perfectly straight face.

The weakest ones could be talked out of existence by a skilled clairvoyant or clairsentient, which meant that Harry had to find a way of testing everyone in magical law enforcement regarding their ghost-talking abilities. The stronger spirits could be held by magic and forced into a special type of iron sphere. They weren’t gone, exactly, but they weren’t a danger to anyone either. The Ministry of Magic developed a secure storage room, and the Aurors started to clear some of the worst areas, at least until Harry realized that the Unspeakables were almost universally better at dealing with ghosts and that partnering them with Aurors significantly reduced the number of Aurors who nearly got magically eviscerated.

The Unspeakables weren’t particularly happy about being sent on errands with “common police,” but Harry hadn’t cared. Enough people resigned or switched departments that Malfoy had – unsurprisingly – ended up in charge, and Harry had almost been grateful for the knock on his door that interrupted yet another nearly silent dinner with Ginny.

“Two of yours to one of mine, my people get veto power on field assignments, and I get Hermione,” Malfoy had said, not even bothering to set foot inside.

“Done,” Harry said, extending a hand, and Malfoy had considered for a long moment – a moment where he thought Malfoy wouldn’t do it – but he’d returned the handshake with a firm, cool grip.

“For future reference, my word is more than enough,” Malfoy had said, somehow looking faintly amused in spite of everything.

“You do realize Hermione’s my partner,” Harry had said, trying to conceal his amusement.

“We obviously don’t talk about anything at all,” Malfoy had said, in an equally dry tone. “I’ve no idea what she does at work. And I haven’t seen either of your files. I’m not asking to work with her because she’s my girlfriend, you idiot, I’m asking because I’m the best we’ve got and she’s the best you’ve got and you’re… vaguely acceptable and unlikely to let a roof cave in on me. If it were up to you, you’d go spreading all your best talent around, but you’re far better off pairing your best with my best and sending everyone else to mess around with those bloody cold spirit things that can’t even manage to give you frostbite. Send the inept ones to deal with that.”

Ginny hadn’t been able to understand how Malfoy of all people had lead to the first real laugh Harry had managed in months.

The first few months had largely been clearing out the most haunted spots and the most lethal ghosts they could handle. They left the ghosts that were far too powerful to bind for a point when Hermione’s research had caught up with how to deal with the far end of her rapidly growing catalogue, posting barriers and warnings. The death toll slowly began to descend, they were able to clear most of the mansions, and Hermione drew up an entire protocol for new cases, with reports and mandatory research and assignments. They had a system, with kits and manuals and schedules, and Hermione and four or five of the Unspeakables had held countless hours of middle of the night floo calls with American wizards in New Orleans. The gris gris worked significantly better than anything else had. Even though Harry had to test two entire departments yet again, this time on their weaving ability, it was finally starting to feel as if things might, somehow, be getting better when he’d come home early from a job and found Ginny in bed with – well. Someone else.

“What, don’t tell me we’ve forgotten something on the bloody report, it can wait until morning,” Malfoy said, when he opened the door to Hermione’s row house – purportedly, Malfoy Manor had a ghost that was still classified as too dangerous walking around on the lower levels.

“We’ve forgotten the scotch, actually,” Harry had said, numbly. Draco let him in. He still wasn’t entirely sure what Hermione and Malfoy said when they silently Apparated over to collect his things, but neither Ron nor Ginny had really spoken to him since. Harry wasn’t entirely sorry.

He wasn’t jealous exactly, he reflected from the front steps of the mansion, trying not to watch Hermione and Malfoy, but being the third wheel at work and in the field and in their house was getting… tiring. But moving and not waking up to Malfoy poking around with tea kettles or burning eggs, and not finding Hermione’s books crammed in every available spot, including, occasionally, in lieu of actual food in the cupboards, still felt like it would be a step away from safety that Harry wasn’t entirely ready to take.

“If you two would stop having some sort of snogging reunion,” he called, tiredly. “There’s an awful lot of mud to trek back through.”

“Well now I can put down a path charm, Harry,” Hermione said, with her usual fond exasperation, and Malfoy – damn him – laughed, Hermione still gathered in his arms.

“She might even let us Apparate once we’re away from the bloody historic site,” he said, voice teasing.

“Quite possibly,” Hermione agreed. “Some of us need showers. And Harry’s going to have to interview people in the morning.”

“What’s this ‘Harry,’” Harry said, heading down the dock toward them.

“Oh, all right, I’ll –“

“Potter, don’t –“ Malfoy said, right as Harry stepped on a board that shimmered and disappeared, plunging him directly into the freezing cold water and several feet of muck beneath the dock.

“Draco, you didn’t warn me about that!” Hermione said.

“Yes, well, you weren’t going to step on it,” Draco said. “I did try, Potter.”

“Well in advance,” Harry remarked. “Thoroughly appreciated. Is anyone going to get me out of here, or are you leaving me for the grindylows?”

“Don’t be daft,” Hermione said.

“Thank you,” Harry said. “Sooner rather than later, it’s bloody cold.”

“I meant, don’t be daft, grindylows wouldn’t be caught dead in this sort of half-drained horror show,” Hermione said, peering down through the gap in the boards at him with a sudden grin.

“I will kill you with my bare hands and then let the siren out so you can make friends,” Harry said, solemnly. “She seemed quite lonely, really.”

“Oh, I suppose,” Hermione said. “I did miss out on that whole theoretical teenage experimentation thing in school. It’s probably a bit hard to say for sure unless you’ve tried it, wouldn’t you think?”

“As appealing as that sounds, you are married,” Malfoy said. “And alive, and I’d prefer to keep you that way, so get Potter out of there so we can go home.”

Hermione kept a straight face as she summoned him up onto her path and cast enough cleaning charms to get rid of the majority of the muck, though Harry was reasonably certain he’d never be warm again. Malfoy considered for a long moment, dug in his coat pocket, and passed over a flask.

“Really?” Hermione said. “On the job?”

“Well, technically it’s completed,” Malfoy said.

“Oh just report it as part of the first aid kit,” Harry said, taking a long swallow, and even if firewhiskey was never quite pleasant, well – at least he felt less like throwing himself back into the swamp.

The walk out wasn’t nearly as bad – or as time consuming – as the walk in, and Hermione gave in about Apparating out at the halfway point. Malfoy was either too tired or too stressed to even bother pretending that he wasn’t following Hermione directly into the shower when they got back, and Harry took the second bathroom and resisted the urge to write sonnets to Hermione’s endless reheating charm on the water heater; he stood there for nearly half an hour before he finally felt warm again. He found pyjamas and a dressing gown before he headed for the kitchen. The lights were off upstairs, which Harry figured was a decent indication that everyone else had gone to bed, but when he opened the door, Malfoy had the kettle on and was frying eggs and sausages.

“Hermione’s asleep,” he said. “Do you want some?”

“Sure,” Harry said, sitting at the table. He paused. “You know, I was just going to make a sandwich. But I won’t turn down your strange obsession with breakfast food.”

Malfoy snorted. “We’d sort of been talking about moving in together,” he said. “And I was fully aware that even if I paid the house elves, there wasn’t a chance in hell. I figured I ought to pick my battles, so I was learning to cook – you know, with one of those instructional book things they sell – but I was somewhere in between pancakes and quiche when all this ghost nonsense started.”

“Huh,” Harry said, cupping his hand in his chin.

“Potter, if you’re going to make some ludicrously offensive remark about Muggle Studies and Slytherins, just make it,” Malfoy said, flipping the eggs.

“No,” Harry said. “I was thinking that it was nice. That you’d do that for her.”

“Well, she gave in on plenty of things, I assure you,” Malfoy said, then paused. “Oh, damn. You meant that.”

Harry yawned, keeping his chin in his hand. “Hermione appears to be concerned I’m somehow unhappy about your marriage,” he said. “I’m not, actually. It’s just chronic sleep deprivation and trying to arrange the eighth visit to my solicitor’s office this month and running a department where all my support staff are constantly quitting.”

“Mm,” Malfoy agreed, setting down a plate of food and a cup of tea in front of him.

“Honestly,” Harry said. “I’m happy she’s with someone who… appreciates her.” He paused, trying not to laugh. “And doesn’t mind that she stashes books in the cupboards if her shelves get full. And you make decent eggs.”

“Potter, I get the gist of it, but you’re not entirely coherent,” Malfoy said. “Eat that. Then, I don’t know.” He sat down in the chair across the table, picking up a piece of toast and adding milk to his tea. “I’m supposed to hint around and ask if you’re all right. I think it’s a stupid question, you’re quite obviously not, but Hermione informs me that being too direct is impolite.”

“I’m fine,” Harry said, automatically, then paused. “Is there a reason she’s sent you to have this conversation? No offense, but usually she’s after me herself.”

“No idea,” Malfoy said. “I said you were her responsibility.”

“What am I, the Granger-Malfoy household labrador or something?” Harry said amused in spite of himself.

“God, no,” Malfoy said, rolling his eyes, and headed toward the stove to get the kettle. “I just mean – you’re her people, Longbottom’s her people, Pansy and Padma are my people. You know. It’s not as if that sort of thing just changes when you get married. You can’t just reallocate everyone and expect them to respond well to it.”

Harry snorted. “I think when you get married people sort of expect that sort of thing,” he said, noting that Malfoy added the correct amount of cream and sugar.

“Yes, well, it’s different if most of the people you know are –“ Malfoy paused. “Look, historically, Hermione and I do not have a lot of overlap in friends or acquaintances.”

Harry snorted. “I heard about the whole veritaserum thing with Parkinson.”

Malfoy paused. “Yes, well, we all occasionally make terrible choices and dose our friend’s significant other with restricted potions.”

“I think that might be a Slytherin thing,” Harry said. “I think Hermione found it funny. And – well, I did wonder. Occasionally.”

“Did,” Malfoy said, thoughtfully. “Which would imply that you no longer do.”

“No,” Harry said. “I’ll admit that I’ve got absolutely no idea how you managed to get over everything to get together and I do occasionally wonder when you gave up on the whole pureblood superiority nonsense, but the two of you, together, that's not hard to understand.”

Malfoy stared at him for a long moment, then laughed. “I’d have thought you had that answered,” he said, sounding a bit bemused. “Or weren’t you paying attention?”

“I was,” Harry said. “I’m just struggling a bit with the idea that you wanted to – ah, do much of anything with Hermione.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Implying that you’re shocked that I wanted to have sex with her? Have you seen her lately? And I realize that you’re used to her, but she’s hardly the same as she was in school, she’s the smartest woman I’ve ever met and she runs the show rather thoroughly.” The corner of his mouth pulled up, as if he was amused. “Some men find that sort of thing attractive. And some women apparently find the idea of shagging people they aren’t entirely fond of appealing. Or so I’m told.”

Harry bit back a laugh. “Yeah, the part where you two got in over your heads with a one night stand requires some suspension of disbelief, but honestly, stranger things have happened.”

“Hardly, we were dating,” Malfoy said, sounding a little offended. “Just casually. The sort of dating where you owl one another at half past one in the morning more often than you go out to dinner. But I did take her out to dinner.”

“Oh, all right, you got in over your heads with casual dating,” Harry said, trying not to laugh. “And a lot of purportedly meaningless shagging that no one told anyone else about.”

Malfoy considered, then laughed. “I should probably have known better,” he said, fondly. “I suspect it was thinner ice than I thought.” He paused, then laughed again, gesturing to his left hand. “Actually, I’m confident it was thinner ice than I thought.”

“There are worse things than finding out that the person you didn’t think things would work out with is the person you want to marry,” Harry said. “Like, I don’t know, the opposite.”

“I think I’m supposed to see if you want anything about that,” Malfoy said. “But I’ll be honest, Potter, that whole thing about friends when you’re married doesn’t necessarily apply to enemies, especially not with Slytherins, we rather start to share them, and that witch – well. Don’t ask me what I think of her, you won’t like the answer.”

“Oh, I’d probably like the answer quite a lot,” Harry said. “But I’m trying to be the better person. Or something.”

“How’s that working out for you?” Malfoy said, not sounding particularly impressed.

“Sort of awfully, but thank god the world’s sort of turned upside down, I’ve got enough work to distract myself,” Harry said into his tea cup. “I hate her, there’s a rather awful part of me that wouldn’t mind using some Unforgivables or the worse things Hermione’s gone and dug up in those old books, but I miss when things were solid between us and I’m not sure I’m ever going to stop loving her. Or maybe that I’m ever going to stop loving the idea of her.” He paused. “Malfoy, is there something in this tea?”

“The cream, actually,” Malfoy said. “Sorry.”

“Really?” Harry said, with a sigh. “What happened to all that not poisoning guests Slytherin honor code stuff?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “You’re hardly poisoned, it’s not even veritaserum, it’s just inhibition lowering, and unless you’re planning on leaving any time soon, you live here. I don’t think there are any provisions about housemates.” He paused. “I probably ought to look it up, but Hermione said to do it and you’re hers, so I think I’m relatively in the clear.”

“Oh,” Harry said, startled. “I thought it was temporary. Er, the living here thing, I assume the potion is.”

“I supposed eventually you might like to move,” Malfoy said. “But every time you started leaving classifieds for flats around, Hermione quite literally burned them. Apparently she thinks you need looking after and the countless hours we spend at work don’t count.”

“And you’re not mad about that?” Harry said, pausing, because it occurred to him that Malfoy had poured his cream from the same pitcher. And that he’d said more about his sex life in one conversation than Harry had previously heard to date.

“Of course not,” Malfoy said. “If it were someone else, I might mind, but it’s not as if we haven’t all learned to get on in the field, and it’s nice to…” He paused, leaning back in his chair. “You and Hermione have known one another so long that she’s different around you. Short of waiting a decade, you’re the only way I’m going to get to know that part of her. And even then, I doubt it would be the same, you knew one another as children and teenagers and fought a war together, I hardly think the connection is just based on time.”

“She’s different around you too,” Harry said, making a face. “Disgustingly happy and all that.”

“I know,” Malfoy said, finally, as if Harry hadn’t been making a joke. “I can’t imagine that’s particularly enjoyable.”

“What, Hermione being happy?” Harry said. “Of course I’m happy that Hermione’s happy.”

“Hermione being disgustingly happy while you’re thinking of yourself as the spare carriage horse,” Malfoy said, mildly. “One who happens to be dealing with ending things with someone awful.”

“The spare –“ Harry said, then laughed. “That’s a new one on me. But all right. There are occasionally moments of jealousy and resentment. But not that many.” He eyed his teacup. “A fact I was not planning on disclosing, for the record.”

“I’d be a bit concerned if you weren’t,” Malfoy said. “I know you’re good through and through and all that, but no one’s that altruistic. At the very least, you’d probably like to be getting laid.”

“Er,” Harry said. “I’m all right, honestly.”

“Well, Padma’s back from France,” Malfoy said. “So if you’d like me to accidentally lock you in a closet or something –“

“Padma’s back from France?” Harry said. “Fuck. Thank god.”

“Have I missed something?” Malfoy said.

“Please don’t lock me in a closet, lock her in the morgue,” Harry said. “Or, er, be incredibly charming and talk her into coming back. Although I’ll take kidnapping if it gets me decent autopsy reports.”

Malfoy snorted. “Normal people just call in a favor, Potter,” he said. “I’ll see what she thinks.”

“No, no, there will be no seeing what she thinks, we need her,” Harry said, slightly more desperately than he’d intended.

“Oh, all right, I’ll convince her with my many charms, happy?” Malfoy said.

“If you can get her to agree, yes,” Harry said. “I’ll give her anything she wants. Ludicrously high pay. State of the art equipment. Her pick of technicians. Anything.”

Malfoy laughed again. “I said I’d convince her,” he said, sounding amused. “And I always get my way.”

“I’d noticed,” Harry said.

“Speaking of getting my way,” Malfoy said, thoughtfully. “If I go back up there without having sorted you out, there’s going to be hell to pay.”

“I’m doing about as well as can be expected considering work and my personal life,” Harry pointed out. “And, you know, you’ve made me quite happy with Padma. Really. Hermione can’t possibly complain.”

“Yes, but you’re all –“ Malfoy sighed. “You have this utterly obnoxious tendency of putting your head down and getting into the work when you’re unhappy, and then Hermione gets unhappy because she misses you being happy and not obsessed with reports or something, and then I’m unhappy because I’m horrifyingly in love with her and I don’t like seeing her upset.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “And I suppose you’re my housemate and Auror partner, so I ought to… have some interest in your well-being. Possibly.”

“Oh, no,” Harry said, amused. “You do realize that now I know what you sound like when you’re really trying to be charming. That’s rather pale in comparison.”

“If someone has to charm you away from a siren, then I’ll up my game,” Malfoy said, then paused. “Or Hermione will up her game? Damn, I’m going to have to do research if there’s any chance we’re going to run into another of those. I wonder if sexuality matters.”

“Well, we’ll at least know it’s a siren ahead of time if Padma’s doing the bloody autopsies,” Harry said. “And it wouldn’t matter with me, anyway.” He paused. “Damn it, Draco, ask next time you’re slipping things in my tea, that’s around the fourth thing I’d rather have kept to myself.”

“Hah, you used my first name,” Draco said. “Hermione will be happy, she’s been after me about that for months, I said you had to go first.” He paused. “Wait, does that mean I have twice as many people to work with?”

“That’s not really how being bisexual works,” Harry said, glaring. “So no, I am not attempting to double my chances.”

“Honestly, Harry,” Draco said, sounding a little too much like Hermione. “One, to my knowledge, the only strictly heterosexual person living in this house is Hermione, and two, I meant that were my wife to harass me into setting you up on blind dates, I would be able to choose from male acquaintances as well.”

Harry paused, then laughed. “You did not intend to tell me that first bit,” he said, feeling a little smug.

“I really didn’t,” Draco said, ruefully. “But I sort of thought it would be a rather unfair playing field if I was completely sober and you weren’t.”

“Well, at least we’re even,” Harry said. “I have a magicopathologist, we’ve shared things about ourselves, is there any chance I can just go to bed?”

“Maybe,” Draco said, propping his chin in his hand. “How did you like to recharge, before all this? You know, Hermione tells us all to fuck off and reads, I go flying, what’s yours?”

“Quidditch, I think,” Harry said. “And naps with –“ He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I liked falling asleep with someone else. Not – at night, exactly, just… if we were reading or lying out in the sun or if I was going to sleep and she’d come in and stay. I… miss that.”

“Well, we’re taking the weekend off, and as much as I’ve enjoyed the frenetic pace of the last god knows how long, you’re losing all your staff because they’re burning out, and we can’t afford for that to happen to any of us, so you can’t keep just burying yourself in work,” Draco said. “But I’ll go with you to the park on Saturday if you’d like. I’ve got a snitch. And the other part –“ He considered. “Just call it sorted.”

“You know, even if Ginny were willing to show up and sleep around me, I’d probably sooner hex her than have her anywhere near me,” he said.

Draco rolled his eyes. “As if we’d let that woman near you,” he said. “Or in our home.”

“I’m not entirely following,” Harry said.

“Call it sorted,” Draco repeated. “And I’ve got a chess set if you’d like. Hermione said you used to like to play.”

“I did, actually, before all this,” Harry admitted. “Though if we use your set, are you going to give them all marching orders before the game’s even started?”

Draco laughed. “Smart, but no, then it’s hardly any fun,” he said. “Contrary to popular opinion, I do enjoy winning more without cheating.”

“Could have fooled me,” Harry teased.

Draco looked at him for a moment. “There’s a difference between having to win to meet someone else’s expectations and wanting to.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “Well. I only play for fun. And occasionally wagers on who has to do the laundry.”

“Trust me, you don’t want me anywhere near that,” Draco said, tone lightening again. “But I’d bet on dishes or something. Or who has to draw up the next draft set of assignment rotations.”

“No, if I get stuck with that two months in a row, I’ll probably fling myself off a balcony and start haunting things,” Harry said.

“Fair enough,” Draco said, laughing. “Right. Go to bed. I’m going to make sure I’ve got all of Hermione’s stupid muggle burners off.”

“I don’t –“ Harry paused. “I’ve absolutely no idea what you think you just got out of me.”

“Well, you talked about Weasley instead of stewing over it,” Draco said, mildly. “And agreed to something that wasn’t work. Plus I got a square meal into you, even if it was at the wrong time of day. And I’ve gotten you Padma, so I expect you to be approaching cheerful at work tomorrow.”

“I’ll work on it,” Harry said, laughing in spite of himself. “Maybe just take the kettle off the stove, then you can’t possibly burn it.”

“Huh, hadn’t thought of that,” Draco said. “I think I will. Goodnight, Harry.”

“Night, Draco,” Harry said, and stepped up the stairs wondering how such a strange and somewhat pointless conversation had left him feeling somewhat better after all.

Harry woke up before Hermione and Draco, and although he had to grudgingly admit that Draco’s point about not burying himself in work might have some merit, the paperwork really wasn’t going to do itself. He’d gotten through most of the report when Hermione stuck her head around the corner of his office door. “I’ve brought pastries,” she said. “And I have exciting news.”

“Padma?” Harry hazarded.

“Damn,” Hermione muttered. “How on earth did you know that? She’s only been downstairs ten minutes filling out a rehire application, I only know because I literally ran into her. Thank god I hadn’t gotten the tea yet.”

“Draco’s still asleep, isn’t he?” Harry said, as Hermione came in to sit on the edge of his desk, offering him the bag of pastries and a mug of tea.

“Well, he was when I left,” Hermione said, then looked at him for a minute and laughed, looking smug. “You called him Draco and you’ve got some sort of conspiracy going about Padma. I knew that was a great plan.”

“No, that was a terrible plan,” Harry said. “Can I trust this tea?”

“I don’t know, anything pressing you’re keeping to yourself?” Hermione said, innocently.

“Just my sexuality and my feelings on my divorce, thanks,” Harry said dubiously, taking a mug. “But I’ve decided to accept Padma as an apology present from Draco. You’re not off the hook, though.”

“Honestly, Harry, I’ve been worried,” she said, pushing his chair back and sitting on the arm, resting her head on his shoulder. “You’ve just been getting more and more miserable.”

Harry still found it a little strange that Hermione had gotten significantly more physically affectionate since she’d gotten together with Draco, but he supposed that unlike Ron, Draco had never been particularly inclined toward getting jealous, so things that had been off limits probably weren’t these days.

“I’m all right,” he said, wrapping his free arm around her. “Honestly. I’d really like for everything with Ginny to just be done, and I’d really like to get things more organized around here so I can stop working literally every waking moment, and I’d really like to get to investigate some cursed object instead of a haunting, but it’s not as if I’m drowning or something.”

Hermione laughed against his shoulder. “Well, not literally,” she said. “Possibly in metaphorical paperwork.”

“Oh, trust me, it’s exceptionally real paperwork,” Harry said, with a sigh.

“Yes, that you keep swiping,” Hermione said, hitting him on the shoulder. “I don’t mind writing up field reports, Harry. I’ve told you.”

“And I’ve told you that I’d rather you make sure the kit’s stocked and keep track of the incoming complaints to sort them,” Harry said, leaning his chair back to make more room for her. “Was I hallucinating when Draco said something about taking this weekend off?”

“No,” Hermione said. “I put my foot down. We have to start setting limits, and if you start to argue with me, I’m going to point out that because you nearly live here, everyone else thinks they have to as well, which is why all our new recruits are washing out.”

Harry sighed. “Fair point,” he said. “Who’s covering?”

“Delacour and Harper,” Hermione said. “Gabby’s the next best thing to Draco, honestly.”

“She is,” Harry said. “But who’s the Unspeakable?”

“Er, there isn’t,” Hermione said. “Would you rather not know if you’re not going to like it?”

“That depends on how much I’m not going to like it,” Harry said. “But I’m in a fairly decent mood over this whole Padma thing, and I suppose I’d better know who our second string is.”

“I asked Pansy if she’d come weave,” Hermione said, biting the corner of her mouth. “She’s the bloody Potions Master, she’s handled nearly everything at Hogwarts if we couldn’t get someone there in time, and she and Harper are both Slytherins so no one’s going to try to kill one another.”

Harry snorted. “You know, I don’t actually dislike her,” he said. “Besides which, if I was holding grudges over getting potions slipped in drinks… don’t think I don’t know who probably found the potion that unnamed persons slipped in my tea last night.”

“My husband is a bloody snitch,” Hermione said, somewhat fondly.

“I would have known anyway, and if you wanted him to keep his mouth shut, then you shouldn’t have told him to take the bloody stuff too,” Harry said, rolling his eyes.

“What?” Hermione said. “I didn’t.”

“Nice try,” Harry said. “Subtle, actually. Bad auror, simultaneously good and best alternative Unspeakable? That’s an astonishingly Slytherin plan, actually. I’m sure he was proud.”

“No, really,” Hermione said. “I didn’t actually tell him to.” She lifted her head, looking at him. “Are you joking? He’d have had my head for the suggestion. He barely even drinks because he’s so odd about self-control, you know that.”

“Oh, god,” Harry said. “It was his idea?”

“He does have a rather strange set of moral values,” Hermione mused. “But I suppose he’s trying to show he trusts you, is that such a bad thing?”

“Yes, but now he’s gone and gotten all electively open with me,” Harry muttered. “It means I have to return the favor.”

Hermione snorted. “Or you could just take it as a nice gesture,” she pointed out.

Harry sighed. “You’re married to him.”

“Oh, all right, there’s no such thing,” Hermione said. “Or at least, there’s no such thing as a casual nice gesture, he always thinks about it. But that doesn’t mean he’s expecting something. It’s not –“ She paused. “Harry, I think this might be the most you’ve ever directly asked about Draco. Don’t tell me he’s slipped you a love potion or something as well.”

“I think you’d know,” Harry said, bemused. “I don’t understand ninety percent of the things he does, and I thought we all worked together because, well, we’re respectively the best. I’d sort of figured he was going to start leaving plans about turning the guest bedroom into an office around the house sooner or later. He’s your husband.”

“I hardly think I have a monopoly on Draco,” Hermione said, pointedly. “And he thinks you’re interesting. Which, quite frankly, is about the highest praise possible from a Slytherin.”

“What’s that quote? ‘May you live in interesting times?’” Harry said, reaching for his tea mug.

“It’s supposed to be a curse, actually,” Hermione said. “Don’t make it needlessly complicated, Harry. He does what he wants to. I’m not going to pretend his motives are usually transparent, but he’s never impulsive. And contrary to what everyone keeps insisting, he actually is capable of caring about other people.”

“Oh, I know,” Harry said. “You wouldn’t have married him if he weren’t. I’d just, er – never assumed he thought that about me.”

“That’s a little callous, don’t you think?” Hermione said, softly. “He’s had your back for a year.”

“Stop making me feel guilty about Malfoy,” Harry said, elbowing her before she could make him really uncomfortable.

“Why, because my wife’s lounging around on you?” Draco said, leaning against the doorway. “I might be more inclined toward concern if you actually kept a second chair in your bloody office. At this point it’s just pragmatic.”

“There are about fifteen right outside,” Harry said. “God forbid someone have to levitate a chair ten feet.”

“Well, you can levitate mine, I’ve brought up the paperwork from downstairs, Padma’s acquisition requests, and the pairings for this month,” Draco said. “Short of a ghost appearing in Trafalgar Square, we’re on desk duty for the afternoon.”

“You lot are on desk duty,” Hermione said, making a face. “I’ve got to go to the Historical Site Offices, someone thinks they might have a diary that belonged to our friend from last night.”

“Or we could leave well enough alone,” Draco said.

“We really can’t,” Hermione said, standing up with a sigh. “We’ve barely got anything to work with on sirens. We have to know why they occur so when we know to be on the look for them. And if this diary doesn’t pan out and I can’t find anything else, you know exactly what I’m going to have to do.”

“Absolutely bloody not,” Draco said. “Maybe for something a little less, I don’t know, lethal, but there are some things more valuable than intellectual curiosity. Like you staying alive.”

“If the ghost glass in the interview room can’t hold her, the gris gris certainly wouldn’t be able to,” Hermione pointed out. “And anyway, I’ve got to read through all the notes on the other cases, I’ve no idea whether I should send in someone male or female. Besides, the diary might be plenty.”

“Or we could just not send in anyone,” Draco said. “Or, I don’t know, send one of the bloody preservationist people to go dig around and see what they can find under the floorboards.”

“Yes, and let that happen again to a team that doesn’t happen to have a couple in it?” Hermione said. “I don’t think so. We have a responsibility.” She stood on her toes to kiss Draco’s cheek. “Think about what I said, Harry.”

“Actually, you don’t have a –“ Draco said, then sighed when Hermione shut the door behind her. “Has she always been this bloody stubborn?”

Harry paused. “I’m not even dignifying that with an answer,” he said. “And the more you treat her as if she’s some sort of delicate flower in need of protecting just because she’s a woman, the more she’s going to resent you.”

“It’s because we’re married,” Draco said, irritably. “As if I don’t think women are perfectly capable.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Just let me know if you’re going to try that argument on her, I’ll be at the pub for the evening,” he said. “You can be as chivalrous as you like at home, but if you try it at work –“ He met Draco’s eyes. “You’re married to her. You know the lines she’s never going to let you cross.”

“Something about separation of church and state that I thoroughly didn’t understand,” Draco muttered. “Is it so much to ask that she not explain vital information to me with muggle sayings?”

Harry snorted, opening the door and levitating in a second chair. “It means she’s going to get royally pissed off if you start acting like her husband and being all protective at work,” he said. “A fact I’m not entirely sure how you missed for the last year.”

“Oh, I don’t know, you always talk her off whatever it is about thirty seconds before she’s going to start yelling,” Draco said, then considered. “Can you teach me that?”

“No,” Harry said, laughing. “That’s hard won, mate. Besides which, I think the best friend rules of conduct and the husband rules of conduct are a bit different.”

“Damn,” Draco said, with a sigh. “Well. We’ll just keep you around then. Here, sign these. And don’t read them first, I don’t even want to hear about the budget.”

“You mean the budget I can’t spend because we don’t have enough staff and they seem to think we go ghost hunting in pure gold suits or something?” he said, looking through the papers. “I’d much rather put it to use on a – well. Whatever that is.”

“Some sort of light, I think,” Draco said. “And that one’s a muggle saw. And Hermione was going on about personal protective equipment, whatever that is.”

“Hell if I know, but if it gets me Patil, as far as I’m concerned, it could be a bloody horcrux,” Harry said, signing the pages. He looked up to find Draco staring at him.

“Did you just make a joke about that?” he said.

“Er, yes,” Harry said. “Would you buy gallows humor?”

“If you’re joking about Voldemort, we’re bloody well taking Monday off too,” Draco said. “Delacour can probably just – I don’t know. Veela at anything that comes up.”

Harry laughed. “Surprisingly how well that seems to work, actually, it’s a shame Fleur’s busy living in Egypt and shagging Bill and having babies and all that.”

“God, don’t remind me,” Draco muttered. “Waste of perfectly outstanding talent.” He pulled up the chair. “I’m not sure about a few of these.”

“Really?” Harry said, starting to thumb through the folder. “Derekson and Audrey with Livingston? Draco, if you’ve just randomly sorted the names again, I will make you redo them. In front of me. That wasn’t even funny the first time.”

“Hardly,” Draco said. “I did say I wasn’t sure of a few. But Audrey’s utterly savage with casting and Livingston’s frankly about the only Unspeakable I’ve got who could match her. They don’t need someone better than Derekson at weaving if they can just overpower the bloody things and hold them.”

“He’s also a pureblooded arse and she’s a muggleborn Hufflepuff who makes Hermione look sweet when she’s hacked off,” Harry observed.

“On the bright side, Derekson’s nearly as boring and neutral as you are,” Draco said. “It could work.”

“You have words with him, I’ll have words with her, and maybe they’ll piss one another off so much they can channel it into the casting,” Harry said, initialing the assignment. “We can always swap it out mid-month if we’ve got to. Also, quit calling me boring.”

“Or they could just act like bloody adults,” Draco said. “Novel thought.”

Harry actually laughed. “We’re ones to talk,” he said.

“We haven’t killed one another yet,” Draco said, with a long glance at him. “That’s not to say I haven’t occasionally thought about it…”

“No, you just poison my tea,” Harry said. “Oh, that one’s better. I wouldn’t have thought of it, but it’ll work. Lawson’s miserable at weaving, but she did test well on the clairaudience portion of things. And I think she and Richardson get on, I’ve seen them getting coffee a few times.”

“They’re dating,” Draco said. “Strong observational skills there, Potter.”

“Oh, shut it,” Harry said. “You only know that because you’ve got some sort of gossip reporting system where everyone tells you things.”

“Actually, I saw them snogging in the stairwell, but same difference,” Draco said. “You’re really going to have to sign off on the next two, I think we’re going to have to split two Auror pairs, but Padma’s asked for Savage and Marks has a trauma assistance certification from Mungo’s, I think she’s the best liaison we’re going to get who isn’t Hermione.”

“Oh, hell,” Harry said. “I mean, yes, but I’m not putting their partners together, they get on about as well and you Hermione at Hogwarts. You’ll have to redo that match.”

“Maybe I’m performing some sort of arranged marriage service, you never know,” Draco teased.

“Or your Unspeakable is going to get so fed up with them she demands an assignment in some other department,” Harry said. “Give me some of the unmatched Auror pairs, maybe I can break up one of those.”

“Here,” Draco said, handing over a set of cards. “I’ll get a pot of tea. We’re going to be here a while.”

Harry laughed. “I suppose if you dose me with something again, you’re just going to hear about how I wish Harris would quit already,” he said. “And probably some going on about how I can’t find anyone for our bloody research team. You don’t even want to see the resumes.”

“Oh, well,” Draco said, pulling a card out of the unassigned Unspeakable pile. “That’s an easy fix. I’ll keep Greengrass in the office this month and put her on that and hiring for Padma. I was going to ask if you had any ideas about that anyway, I think she’s on the verge of keeling over from stress and lack of sleep. That was a miserable pairing last month, we ought to have pulled her sooner.”

“Utterly,” Harry agreed. “She worked in the Archives for quite a bit, didn’t she?”

“A year,” Draco said.

“She can bloody well work nine to five then if she can find me even one halfway decent person,” Harry said. “And send her some chocolates or something for having to spend an entire month with Harris and Fallow. I hope you’ve paired those two up with Bainbridge or something, I’ve half a mind to send them on any case that comes up that’s in the middle of a swamp or a briar patch or – I don’t know, we got that one on that boat the once, maybe a school of sharks?”

Draco laughed longer than Harry had expected. “Apparently our disdain for Bainbridge is mutual,” he said, looking amused, gesturing to the completed sets. “That’s already suggested. I’d left some comments about sticking them on middle of the night desk duty, but I think a feeding frenzy might be more appropriate.”

“Because he’s bloody well inept and a total prick,” Harry said. “No offense.”

“And Harris can take a long walk off a short pier,” Draco remarked. “I’ll make sure to tell whomever’s on assess and assign to give them as much mud as possible.”

“You know, I was planning on a conversation, but maybe I won’t,” Harry mused. “They’ll enjoy the cold and wet, I’ll enjoy them thinking they’ve got the worst luck on assignments in the world, and when Bainbridge sends you his dry cleaning tab at the end of the month, you can send it back with a nice note.”

“Quite Slytherin, really,” Draco said. “I like it. See if you can figure out anything else devious and horrible, I’ll get the tea.”

“So does this mean we get all the posh ones?” Harry said, laughing. “Pleasant ghosts, warm houses, that sort of thing?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Draco said. “Though I think it had better mean we get some time off, Hermione’s going to go on strike or form a one member union if we’re not careful.”

“Point taken,” Harry said. “Though if I start going stir crazy from trying to spend weekends lounging, someone had better at least allow me paperwork.”

“Or we’ll come up with horrific things to do to Weasley and then distract you,” Draco said, cheerfully.

“You’ve talked about this,” Harry said, with a sigh.

“Well, we thought we ought to have a contingency plan in case work was all that was holding you together and you became a maudlin wreck or something,” Draco said. “It was a reasonable discussion, though, don’t worry.”

“Maybe I can spend some of my newfound free time killing Hermione,” Harry muttered. “I can’t believe she found someone who actually enables all her meddling.”

“Tough luck,” Draco said. “Earl Grey or Darjeeling, do you think?”

“Earl Grey and piss off,” Harry said, without any real rancor. “And we’re ordering Chinese take out tonight. If I’m being maudlin, I’m being maudlin with actual dinner food.”

“You’re welcome for feeding you last night,” Draco said.

“Oh, for the love of god, these two broke up two months ago,” Harry said, glancing at the next folder. “How wonderful can this gossip network of yours possibly be?”

“Also seen snogging in the stairwell,” Draco said. “Maybe putting an Uncharmable Lock on that storage closet was a bad idea.”

“Apparently,” Harry said. “And apparently I need to find you something to do other than constantly watching the stairwell. Or occupying the stairwell.”

“It’s all right, Hermione and I mostly use your office,” Draco said. “In fact, that chair is –“

“About to be spelled to tip over if more than one person is in it unless it’s me and Hermione?” Harry said, mildly.

“That’s hardly fair, Hermione gets to share and you make everyone else find their own chairs?” Draco said. “I’m going to file some sort of discrimination claim.”

“Oh, all right, I’ll leave it alone, it’ll only tip if it’s two people and it doesn’t include me,” Harry said, scribbling some notes on the next file. “You can feel free to climb on me all you like.”

“I’m still working the Padma angle,” Draco said. “Just so you’re aware.”

“Excellent,” Harry said. “You can pass along that I’ll buy her more things if she doesn’t go off for apprenticeships in other countries ever again, I’m sure that will lead to office romance.”

“I don’t know, that saw thing did seem awfully romantic,” Draco said. “Maybe you can offer her some forceps or scalpels as a next step.”

“Go get the bloody tea,” Harry said, laughing.

“Darjeeling it is,” Draco said, brightly, and disappeared before Harry could throw anything at him.

Draco somehow managed to make setting the assignments entertaining rather than torture, and Harry was in a decent enough mood by the time that he left that he didn’t really mind having to spend another few hours filling out paperwork. He finalized all the pairings, filed the report from the night before, and got Padma reauthorized with broader access to the accounts and systems. It was only nine when Harry left the office, which was some sort of record, and he stopped on the way home to pick up a few bottles of wine and take out – even if Draco was making eggs for dinner again, at least they’d have some sort of variety.

“I’m home, I’ve brought dinner and some wine –“ Harry said, letting himself in and hanging his coat near the door, sending the food to the kitchen, but then he paused when he turned. He’d known Hermione and Draco had gone home, but he’d expected them to be – doing Hermione and Draco things, like cleaning the kitchen or reading on the couch that didn’t entirely fit Draco and meant they were constantly kicking one another’s feet, or maybe playing some complicated, traditional pureblood tile game that Harry didn’t even faintly understand but that Hermione had apparently taken to and seemed to enjoy, even if she lost to Draco nine times out of ten.

He’d been right about the couch, at least, though definitely not the reading, and as much as he tried not to stare, he couldn’t quite help it – Hermione’s work clothes were scattered all over the living room floor, and Draco’s jumper and shirt had ended up on the coffee table, and even his slacks were unzipped. Harry had been living with them for months, and he wasn’t enough of an idiot to miss what the casual hand Draco was always placing against the small of Hermione’s back meant. He’d seen the way she looked at Draco when he wasn’t paying attention, the same sort of fond exasperation he was so familiar with alongside a layer of something else. But Hermione was too skilled at silencing charms for the wall between their bedroom to be anything other than dead quiet at night, and Draco was probably the most private person he’d ever met about anything intimate – for all the jokes, Harry had only really seen them kissing in his office the once, and if he was perfectly honest, Hermione was more public in her touch with him than she was with Draco, even at home. Which didn’t entirely change the fact that they were all over one another on the couch, kissing, with Hermione in barely any clothing at all. Draco was flushed all the way down to his stomach, with a series of sharp bite marks near the hollow of his throat. His hands were tight against Hermione’s hips, like he was intent on keeping her close, and it wasn’t until the door clicked shut behind him that they both jumped, Hermione turning around quickly.

“Oh, god, Harry, I’m sorry,” she said, nearly stammering. He watched her look at the clock in the front entry, cheeks going even redder.

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t keeping track of the time, and we’re never down here, and I –” she said, and Harry thought a little idly about how long they must have been there to miss it chiming ten o’clock.

“Sorry,” he said. “There’s food in the kitchen – I’m sorry to interrupt –“

“No, really, we –“ Hermione said.

“It’s all right, honestly,” Draco said, arm still wrapped around Hermione’s waist, and that was the worst part, that he wasn’t rushing to get dressed or trying to get out an apology. He just met Harry’s eyes evenly, like he wasn’t actually bothered, like nobody really had anything to be ashamed of because they were stupid, married adults in their own living room, and like it didn’t matter if Harry saw because somehow he belonged enough for Draco to let his guard down about all the usual awkward encounters that he’d been so carefully avoiding for months. Like it was normal when couples lived together. Like it had been before.

“I’ll just, ah,” Harry said. “I’ll be upstairs.”

“Harry,” Hermione said.

He didn’t slam the bedroom door and putting a fist through the wall was, Harry knew from experience, a lot less satisfying than it ever initially seemed, so he just sat on the bed and waited from the inevitable footsteps on the stairs.

“Harry –“ Hermione said, knocking on the door with her stupid soft knock, the one she only ever used when things had gotten completely cocked up, and Harry closed his eyes.

“I am not mad,” he said. “I’m not upset. I’m just going to go to bed early.”

“I know it was inconsiderate, and I’m so sorry, Harry –“

“Hermione,” he said. “Please let this one go.”

“Harry, if we could just talk –“ she said.

“Please just let this go,” he repeated. “I’m going to bed.”

There was a second set of footsteps on the stairs, and a lot of low arguing, which Harry finally decided he could ignore. Hermione wasn’t above undoing a lock, but he was reasonably certain that if it hadn’t happened already, it wasn’t going to. He set his boots next to the foot of the bed and lay down, staring at the ceiling. He couldn’t quite make out what anyone was saying, but Hermione’s tone was getting a little desperate. He would have felt guilty, but Harry really, honestly didn’t want to feel much of anything at all.

They finally moved away from his door, the conversation drifting far enough away that he couldn’t hear it, and enough time passed that even if Harry knew perfectly well he probably wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight, he could almost pretend examining every single imperfection in the ceiling’s paint job without really thinking about it was the same thing.

“Ow, fuck,” he heard, finally, after a spill of light from the hallway. “Potter, why in the bloody hell do you have this chest here? How have you not broken every single one of your toes?”

“Dunno, it keeps intruders out,” he said, without any real bite to it.

Draco finally stopped rubbing his foot, leaning against the wall for a minute. He was holding a book and wearing tracksuit bottoms and a Montrose Magpies t-shirt. “Well, it’s stupid and you should move it,” he said. “I need help with something.”

“You need help with something?” Harry said, pausing. “Did you just pick the lock because you’ve set a dish towel on fire again or something?”

“No, honestly, you two are never going to let me forget that, shove over,” Draco said, flopping down on the inside of the bed against the wall. “Hermione’s gotten me into these stupid – I don’t know, these muggle, what’s it called, across puzzles? Like half the things go across in these little blocks and half the things go down and then you fill them in –“

“Crossword puzzles,” Harry said.

“Well, yes, and apparently they’re popular with muggleborns or something, so Hermione got me a book of them from Flourish and Blott’s, right?” Draco said. “Only since they’re for muggleborns they have a bunch of muggle clues in them, and I’m not any good at that bit,” he said. “Is a blender oven a thing? Because it’s something ‘eroven.’ I do know what a blender is and I know what an oven is, we have one of those, but it mucks up all my down answers so I don’t think that’s it.”

“Draco,” Harry said, trying not to laugh hysterically. “Did you really just come in here to get me to explain what a toaster oven is?”

“Toaste –“ Draco said, then scribbled it down. “Thank god, I was right about those three then. What in the bloody hell is a toaster oven?”

“Er, you make toast in it,” Harry said.

“I thought that was a toaster,” Draco said, frowning.

“Well, yes, but –“ Harry sighed. “If you want to put cheese on your toast or something, you can’t very well put it in a toaster, can you?”

“No,” Draco said. “But then that’s what the broil setting on the oven is for. Hermione taught me.”

“Would you believe me if I told you it was an utterly superfluous muggle kitchen appliance that combines a toaster and an oven and takes up counter space?” Harry said.

“Completely, muggles seem to have a lot of those,” Draco said. “I guess it’s what comes of not having spells and having to do everything without house elves and having inferior –“ He glanced at the doorway, as if he’d suddenly realized Hermione could be listening in. “Er, inferior ideas about how to make toast.”

Harry snorted. “I thought you’d given up on that whole pureblood superiority thing,” he said.

“I have,” Draco said, sounding irritable. “I just don’t understand why muggles have to have so many idiotic things that make no sense and muck up the across puzzles. And yes, I knew I wasn’t going to be allowed to have a house elf if I married her, but I wasn’t expecting to have to learn –“ He gestured expansively. “There are a lot of things to do if you don’t have house elves, all right? Like laundry. Washing machines were probably invented by Grindelwald.”

“Probably,” Harry said, dryly.

“I need help with –“ Draco considered. “Six more hints.”

“And you’re here to do a crossword puzzle with me,” Harry said.

“Yes,” Draco said.

“So we’re not going to –“ Harry said.

“You know,” Draco said, after a pause. “I really didn’t think it was possible there was someone worse about this than Hermione. I couldn’t fathom the idea of it. And then I met you and now I know exactly where she gets it from.”

“I think it’s probably vice versa,” Harry said, thoughtfully.

“Well, yes, but you’ve taken it to new levels,” Draco said. “You saw us snogging on the couch, Hermione thinks you’re put out because you feel unwelcome or something, I think you’re being a sulky prat who should have just taken my offer to do the across words,” he said, then paused. “Crossword. Whichever.”

“I’m not sulking -“ Harry said.

“Oh, yes, lying here in the dark by yourself and being all martyr-like because you won’t let me fix you up with Padma so you can snog on the sofa instead of us is mature and adult and not at all sulky,” Draco said. “Alternatively, you really are that uptight about sex.”

“Oh my god, it’s just a Ginny thing, I’m not horrified or something,” Harry protested, then paused. “Goddamn it.”

“You’re sort of easy,” Draco said, cheerfully. “You get wildly offended when anyone accuses you of acting like a normal human being and fall right into it.”

“You just played that entire thing straight, didn’t you,” Harry said, without any real irritation.

“Yes,” Draco said. “Well, apart from the bit about Hermione, she won’t listen to me and I’ve gotten yelled at four times because she feels guilty for snogging on the couch and, through a mechanism that I don’t entirely understand, apparently traumatizing you for life. So are we talking about this Weasley thing or not? Because if it’s not, you’re helping me with my crossword.”

“Not?” Harry hazarded.

“I was only trying to give you a chance to choose it on your own, you’d better just come out with it,” Draco said, with a sigh. “Otherwise we’re going to get through two clues and then you’re going to tell me even though you think you don’t want to because it’s what you lot do, I’m used to it by now, but I want to finish my puzzle all at once, so I’m not doing two hints while you decide. I’ll just wait.”

“You know,” Harry said. “You’re not any good at reading ghosts. You’re just good at reading people.”

“That’s logically inconsistent,” Draco said. “Ghosts were people. Ergo, I’m perfectly excellent at reading ghosts because I’m excellent at reading people.”

Harry lay back down, looking at the ceiling again. “Okay,” he said. “We’ve been partners for a year and I’ve lived here for a while and nothing’s changed, so why are you being all friendly? Hermione can’t have lectured you into it, she’s probably been trying since the start.”

“No,” Draco said, slowly. “I thought about it. And I thought – well, you were in front of me the other night, right? And you’d have made easy prey, you’re susceptible to ghosts suggesting things.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, but Draco wasn’t entirely wrong. There was a reason he wasn’t their contact point.

“We’d probably have been all right, Hermione was there,” Draco said. “But if I’d needed to get you out of there on my own, I don’t think I’d have had the faintest idea what to say.” He shrugged. “I didn’t like that. I asked Hermione, who pointed out that I wasn’t likely to get far myself if I didn’t trust you, because I would hold back.” He considered. “Being married is sort of strange, you know, someone knows all these things about you that you know but you never thought anyone else would.”

“I think that’s being married to Hermione,” Harry said. “Or maybe to someone where it’s a partnership, I don’t bloody know.”

“Well, she was right, so I thought about it more, and I do already sort of trust you,” Draco said. “You’ve never done anything since we started working together to suggest that you weren’t a trustworthy person. So I tried it with that potion, and you were fine, so I decided I would trust you more.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Harry said, after a pause.

“Of course it is,” Draco said, looking a little offended.

“Right,” Harry said, clearing his throat. “So now you trust me, so we’re going to be… friends?”

“Yes?” Draco said, as if the whole thing was completely obvious. “I thought we were already friends. Does all this have something to do with Weasley?”

“No,” Harry said. “Yes? Maybe. I’ve got no idea.”

“Those are all mutually exclusive answers, Potter,” Draco said. “You might want to pick one.”

“Most people don’t just decide to trust someone completely,” Harry pointed out.

“Well, that’s daft, why wouldn’t you just know? I didn’t waffle about it with Pansy or Padma or Parvati or Hermione or Blaise and that’s all turned out perfectly fine.”

“Okay, right, but it’s different,” Harry pointed out. “Than before, I mean.”

“Yes?” Draco said. Harry was starting to feel as if he was having a conversation with someone who spoke a completely different language.

“Draco, you’ve gone and – flipped everything around in two days,” Harry said. “You’ve tolerated me for a year, or maybe only a little better. Now you’re treating me like I’m – like you treat people you really care for.”

“Yes?” Draco hazarded, sounding a little less sure of the answer.

“It’s been two days,” Harry repeated.

“It’s been over a year,” Draco said. “And you were already someone I cared for. I took too long to decide to show it, but that’s neither here nor there, it doesn’t change it.” He paused. “Do you not want to be friends?”

“No, that’s not –“ Harry sat up, putting his head in his hands. It was spinning, and he hadn’t even had anything to drink, which was starting to seem appealing. “It hasn’t been a wonderful year,” he said, finally. “Hermione is about the only person who hasn’t left. Well, and Neville and that sort of thing, but it’s not as if I can pop ‘round and visit him every weekend. And I was fine with you tolerating me and her caring about me, I knew where everything was, only you’re completely different when you – care for someone versus whatever it was you were doing before, and I wasn’t counting on anything before, so I – it’s a rather abrupt change.”

“Oh,” Draco said. “Well, yes, I know. But Hermione liked it when I decided to trust her, so I thought it might be all right with you too. You’re rather alike. But I can…” He paused, as if he was thinking something through. “I suppose I could try to pretend it was gradual or something. I’m not sure how talented at it I’d be, but if you’d like.”

“No, don’t,” Harry said. “Please don’t.”

“Potter, you are incomprehensible,” Draco said, with a sigh.

“How do you think I feel?” Harry muttered.

“What do you want with me, and why are you so upset over Weasley?” Draco said.

“Friends, but not if you’re going to change your mind in two more days,” Harry said, a little warily.

“I don’t do that,” Draco said. “You know me well enough to know that by now. In fact, it’s not as if you don’t know me, there are just parts I’ve kept back. Like – not feeling as if I constantly had to be on my best behavior for a guest, and crossword puzzles, and all that.” He considered. “Oh, all right, I suppose I only touch people I don’t trust if I have to, and now we’re sharing your bed, which is awful, you ought to have told Hermione to get a new one.”

Harry snorted. “It’s fine,” he said. “I – it’s fine. I mean. The bed.”

“Therefore, I’m going to do what I like as if there weren’t guests around since you live here and aren’t a guest, which includes snogging my wife on the sofa and getting you to do puzzles and chess with me, and not pretending I like those awful scones you make.”

“Yeah, those are pretty bad, honestly,” Harry said.

“God, stop making them and we’ll just order something from the bakery,” Draco said. “And since I’m going to assume that you’re not a complete idiot and you know that we have sex, what’s the problem?”

“I miss Ginny, all right?” Harry said, finally. “I miss – fuck, I don’t know, feeling like that with someone else. And it’s awful, all right? Because maybe if I’d been better somehow, then things would be all right, and if I’d paid more attention, then she wouldn’t have – felt like she had to get my attention.”

“No,” Draco said, low. “Absolutely not. You don’t get to betray someone’s confidence and trust and the faith that they’ve placed in a vow, just to make a scene. You don’t get to behave like some sulky little girl because it turned out that Harry Potter was a human being and not Prince bloody Charming. How long did she know you, Harry? Hell, as long as Hermione has. A bit longer, even. But she didn’t see you, she saw what she wanted to see, and she married what she wanted to see without bothering to look past it to the real person there.” He paused. “You might consider that I have some experience seeing someone and marrying them because of who they are and not who they look like. Hermione is hardly what I was expecting for my life. But once I saw her, I knew that no one else was ever going to make me feel the way she made me feel, so I stepped up and did what I needed to do so that I would never lose that. So we wouldn’t lose that.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, a little hoarsely. “I don’t – I think it’s pretty clear Ginny didn’t…”

“Well, no, because she was –“ Draco paused. “Harry, you’ve got to think about the people who do know you and who have seen you and what they think. Hermione loves you more than anything. I’m fairly sure she will always love you more than me, but I’m perfectly all right with that because I’ve seen what she sees, and if I’d been through what you two have gone through, I would feel the same way.”

“Ron did,” Harry said, finally. “At least, I thought he had.”

“He did,” Draco agreed. “And then his bint of a sister made him choose between the two of you, and he chose her, which in my opinion was the wrong decision, but we clearly don’t share the same value system. And somewhere in there, Hermione realized they weren’t right for one another, and he hated her for that and I suspect hated her a hell of a lot more for being with me, because he’s the sort of person who will always see it as her picking me over him. And you didn’t hate her, which I’m sure he thought was just to spite him. So I imagine that influenced his decision. And it really is his loss.” Draco laughed, leaning back against Harry’s pillows. Harry paused, a little taken aback.

“Sorry,” Draco said. “I just think it’s idiotic, really. The real you is far better than whatever stupid made up fantasy everyone else had going on. Although I doubt they’ve been wading around in frozen swamps with you and lurking on roofs in blizzards and getting the bloody stomach flu half way through an assignment so you’re throwing up every fifteen minutes while trying to get a stupid revenant.”

“That was awful,” Harry said. “Why the bloody hell didn’t we call that?”

“Because it was my job to call that and I’m about as stubborn as you lot,” Draco said. “My point is, you’re funny and kind and, you know, that stupid saying Hermione likes about being a good man in a storm, and I’d much rather be married to someone like that than some prissy celebrity. So quit acting like you did something wrong.”

“I worked a lot,” Harry said, finally. “Too much, probably.”

“And she couldn’t have said something?” Draco said. “I don’t know, ‘We’re taking the bloody weekend off if it kills us and if you try to go to work I’m literally going to attach you and Harry to the floor?’”

Harry laughed. “Hermione’s – well, honestly, nicer, so Ginny probably could have, yeah.”

“I am legitimately sorry that you miss her,” Draco said, meeting his eyes. “But I also think you’re better off without someone who was with you for all the wrong reasons, no matter how in love with her you were. Grieve whatever it is you need to grieve, but I think Hermione’s going to actually go insane if you keep trying to shut everyone out while you do it.”

“I know,” Harry said, finally. “I – really know. And that thing about being around people who aren’t pretending I’m something else is probably… not the worst advice I’ve ever been given.”

“Damning me with faint praise,” Draco said, laughing, then spun his wand, whispering something to a glowing, translucent hummingbird before he blew on it and it sped downstairs.

“You know, I don’t think I know that spell,” Harry said.

“You were probably smart enough not to spend the first two weeks you lived with Hermione shouting up and down stairs at her because you weren’t used to not having house elves to send messages,” Draco said, dryly.

“I’m not sure how effective that would have been in Gryffindor tower,” Harry mused.

“Draco?” Hermione said, coming up the stairs. “Is everything all –“

She paused in the doorway, looking startled. “What –“ she paused, hesitating with her hand on the doorknob. “He let you in? Harry, do you… want me here?”

“What sort of exceedingly stupid question is that?” Draco said, holding out a hand. “Of course he does.”

“He picked the lock and then double crossed me like the bloody Slytherin he is,” Harry muttered.

“I still don’t understand how that always seems to work for you,” Hermione said, still waiting across the room. “Harry, are – I was tremendously thoughtless, and I’m so sorry, and I really do understand if you’re angry –“

“Hermione,” Draco said.

“Do you really think he’d be lounging about in my pillows if I were angry?” Harry said.

“Well,” Hermione said.

“Darling, the correct answer is no, if you require assistance with that question,” Draco said. “Come over here.”

“Harry?” Hermione said, a little more firmly.

“I was upset about Ginny,” he said, quietly. “But not about you. Never about you. So come here.”

“Oh?” Hermione said, and came, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Oh, well, when Harry asks you to do it,” Draco said, bemused.

“Shut up,” Hermione said. Harry inhaled, then reached, pulling her away from the edge and close to him so he could hug her tightly, resting his forehead against hers.

“I’ve been sort of an idiot,” he said.

“It’s all right, because I’m utterly lost,” Hermione said. “What on earth is Draco doing in here, and why aren’t you angry, and what’s any of this got to do with Ginny?”

“We were talking,” Harry said. “He made some compelling arguments. Along with pointing out that I haven’t been nearly as grateful for you as I ought to have been.”

“Draco,” Hermione said.

“I didn’t say that,” Draco said. “I merely pointed out that you were infinitely superior to Weasley, who I’m considering locking in the interrogation room with something nasty.”

“Not in total disagreement, actually,” Harry said, pulling Hermione in tighter. “I’m still in love with her, but I’m not entirely certain that she was ever actually in love with me, and the whole thing is awful. And I’ve been working too bloody hard. But that’s not an excuse for shutting you out.” He inhaled. “I am not, historically, particularly skilled at realizing when I’m in over my head.”

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said, fondly, reaching up to stroke a hand through his hair. “You’re not. But it’s all right. I’m sorry we upset you.”

“Apparently that was some sort of idiotic Draco Malfoy trust exercise,” Harry said. “Where did you find him, by the way? He’s awfully strange.”

“Lurking about in the archives,” Hermione said, laughing. “I know, I should have known better.”

“That’s hardly what I said,” Draco muttered.

“Oh, all right, Draco’s decided to trust me so he’s going to stop being polite so I suppose I’m going to have to get used to walking in on you two on the sofa,” Harry said, with a put-upon sigh.

“Damn, the fact that makes sense is probably an awful sign,” Hermione said. She held out a hand to Draco, tangling their fingers together, and settled against Harry’s side, turning so she could put her legs over Draco as well. “Setting aside the rest of it, are you okay?”

“No,” Harry said, honestly. “But I’m a lot better than I was. And I’m much better with you here. I love you.”

“He said, to my wife, who was nearly in his lap,” Draco said, stretching. “Fortunately, I know Potter’s got absolutely terrible taste in women.”

“I really do,” Harry said.

“Darling, I’m revising my plan,” Draco said.

“Your –“ Hermione said, then considered. “Oh. Well, you’ve gotten this far. But if he hexes you, it’s not my fault.”

“Before you got home early and had a divorce related crisis,” Draco said, rolling his eyes, “I was planning to make sure you got a decent night’s sleep. I thought Hermione could stay in here. That’s why I told you to consider that solved.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “I couldn’t possibly –“

“No, you’re right, because this bed is terrible, and because you’re completely daft if you think I’m letting you think you’ve only got her or whatever other idiotic thing you’re liable to come up with if left alone in your own head for more than thirty seconds,” Draco said. “So I’m revising my plan, we’re going to go eat Chinese food before I starve to death, and have wine, and then we’re going to go sleep in our functional bed, and you’re going to shut it because you’ve been stupid enough tonight.”

“Er,” Harry said. “That’s sort of weird, isn’t it? I mean – when it was Ginny, we were married -“

“Well, Hermione and I are married, so there will be multiple married people present,” Draco said. “Happy?”

“That wasn’t really what I meant,” Harry said.

“I am extremely tired of no one getting what they need,” Draco said, quietly. “So you’re going to take what I’m offering, and it will make Hermione feel better, and I’ll feel better if Hermione feels better and if I know you’re all right. And your way has made a complete mess of things, and Hermione’s too nice by half, so I’m calling it and you’re going to listen for once in your bloody life.”

“Okay,” Harry said, finally.

“Really?” Hermione said, pausing, then laughed, tilting her head back against Harry’s shoulder. “Thanks, Harry, now I owe Draco ten galleons.”

“It should be double since I got him to agree to both of us,” Draco said, smugly.

“There wasn’t any bet on you,” Hermione said. “Possibly because the idea is so insane it hadn’t even occurred to me.”

“He says we’re friends now,” Harry said. “I think friends might mean something different in Slytherin, you probably ought to keep an eye on him and Pansy.”

“Quite married,” Draco said, mildly. “That’s beneath you, Potter.”

“Yes, and you just tried to argue that I should like it when you trusted me because Hermione liked it when you trusted her,” Harry said, trying not to laugh.

“You’re both –“ Draco waved a hand. “Gryffindors and weirdly loyal and fond of shortbread and you have a great deal of personality traits in common, I don’t see what you mean. Why wouldn’t it be comparable?”

“Are we sure they don’t perform brain surgery on Slytherin first years?” Harry said. “He’s not getting this.”

“I think he actually doesn’t,” Hermione said, who actually was laughing. “Different value systems, Harry.”

“You know I’m not going to try to twist my head around to figure out what you mean,” Draco said. “So either tell me or drop it.”

“You were dating Hermione,” Harry said.

“Yes?” Draco said.

Hermione laughed again, sliding over into his lap and leaning in for a kiss, though she glanced back at Harry. “Darling, typically trust is an important step in romantic relationships that means things are becoming serious.”

“And that’s different from friendships how?” Draco said, wrapping an arm around her waist again, though he kept his shoulder against Harry’s.

“Oh, I suppose,” Hermione said. “Harry, he just divides everyone into ‘his’ or ‘not his,’ you’ll have to get used to it.”

“Apparently,” Harry said.

“Come on, come back downstairs,” Draco said. “We can have food and I’ve already switched out the bottles so you won’t notice that we’re drinking better wine. And I can get all six of my clues if I’ve got both of you to help. Maybe we can play tiles if we finish. ”

“One would hope,” Hermione said, amused. “It’s not that late if we’re sleeping in tomorrow, we could play something else.”

“So long as it’s not strip poker, since apparently Draco has relationship boundary issues,” Harry joked.

“Strip poker?” Draco said. “Hermione, that the place in America? Las Vegas? It has a strip, doesn’t it? Does it come from there? Don’t muggles do gambling things there?”

Hermione burst out laughing. “Don’t you dare ruin his innocence,” she said to Harry, climbing over them both. “I’m going to go heat up the food and get the wine. I’ll see you downstairs.”

“Right, so,” Draco started, once she was off the stairs.

“Absolutely not,” Harry said, firmly. “But by all means, suggest it at the office Christmas party and see if you get any takers.”

“I didn’t think this through,” Draco mused, finally. “There are two of you. You’re going to team up against me.”

“Or you and Hermione will team up on me because you’re married, or you and I will team up on Hermione because she’s Hermione,” Harry pointed out. “There are plenty of combinations in there that don’t involve two Gryffindors, don’t worry.”

“I should see if Padma needs a place to stay for a while, you two could make use of the couch,” Draco suggested, though it was clear he was teasing. “Then I won’t be outnumbered.”

“You’ll still be outnumbered at work, and no, thanks,” Harry said, but he was laughing. “Though I’m starting to wonder what’s behind this obsession with me and Padma.”

“She’s a nice, sensible Ravenclaw?” Draco said. “Extremely fit? Likes books and isn’t traumatized by dead people? And she thinks you’re a normal human being? All right, I suppose she and Hermione have some bets going about if it’s possible for anyone else to be as thick about wizarding anatomy as you are, but I don’t think she’s entranced by your shiny war hero medals or anything.”

“How do people even know those exist?” Harry said. “Seriously. They are hidden. Extraordinarily well hidden.”

“I’ll just check under the mattress,” Draco said.

“You would find some inappropriate magazines, a few galleons, and a bunch of chocolate frog cards,” Harry said, gesturing. “Be my guest.”

“What are you, fifteen?” Draco said. “You have a desk and bookshelves and things. You know hiding charms. I’ve transfigured all of mine into something Hermione won’t bother reading.”

“There is nothing Hermione won’t bother reading,” Harry said.

“Quidditch playbooks,” Draco said, sounding sort of smug. He paused. “Although it was more of an intellectual victory, really, because –“

“She really doesn’t care?” Harry said. “Yes. I’m aware. I was a teenager with her. I’ve received every sexuality lecture she’s ever come up with.”

“I think that might be horrifying,” Draco said, considering.

“It’s definitely horrifying,” Harry said, firmly. “Trust me, you do not want to learn about the existence of sex from your twelve year old best friend who is a girl.”

“There might be advantages, though,” Draco mused. “If you’re learning from a girl, you’d get a jump start, wouldn’t you? And then you can outcompete everyone else for girls.”

Harry tried not to laugh. “Yes, I absolutely used all of Hermione’s lectures on healthy sexuality with the one person I’ve slept with,” he said, trying to sound light and mostly failing. “Not.”

“Oh, god,” Draco said. “Well, that’s they most depressing thing I’ve heard lately.”

“And way to hit a bloke while he’s down,” Harry said.

“No, all the –“ Draco gestured. “Red hair and freckles and – well, that mental image is probably seared into my memory for all of eternity.”

“Hermione has freckles,” Harry pointed out.

“Yes, in summer. On her nose,” Draco said. “I keep suggesting Padma because she’s nice and if it worked out it wouldn’t be because of your idiotic war medals and if it didn’t, it would just be that you weren’t the right people for one another. Nothing to do with anything else. Which is what you want, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Harry said. “But I’m not sure I want it yet.”

“Fair enough,” Draco agreed, getting up. “But only if you’re still sorting things out. Not if you’re running scared.”

“I like that you think that’s an easy distinction,” Harry said.

“You’ll know,” Draco said. “You’ll think about it and it will be with someone who isn’t her, or –“ He shrugged. “You’ll look at someone and want them, or who knows, maybe someone will surprise you under the mistletoe at said office Holiday party and you won’t hate it.”

“That almost makes sense,” Harry said. “How is it that I’m taking all this advice from you, exactly?”

“Best available alternative,” Draco said, laughing. “I do figure out what people want for a living, you know, even when they don’t know themselves.”

“You’ve just made yourself sound like some sort of ghost psychotherapist,” Harry said.

“I’ll have to put that on my business cards,” Draco said. “Come on, I’m famished.”

Harry was a little surprised to find that, in spite of everything, he was almost happy. They plowed through most of the food, Hermione threw bits of fortune cookie at Draco when he wasn’t looking, and they’d made their way through a few bottles of wine before Hermione hauled out the stupid tile set.

“I literally don’t understand the rules,” Harry said, but he was tipsy enough not to really mind, and he found if he wasn’t really thinking about everything, he could remember most of what he’d been taught. There was a random spread of tiles on the table, some that fell together and others that were alone, and then everyone got a set. They were colored, and certain color combinations did things to other color combinations – just like in wizarding chess, you could steal other player’s sets, or eliminate them, at which point the tiles would – somewhat sulkily, since Draco’s set was rather old and still had what he referred to as “character” – remove themselves from the table.

Harry’s problem was always remembering the bloody color combinations, but he found that if he cleared his mind and focused on the tiles, it was a little like weaving – he could figure out what would work, and whether he had it in front of him.

“Seriously, Potter?” Draco demanded, when Harry had used three tiles to coerce an entire set of ten of Draco’s into his pile. “I don’t even know that move. I’d accuse you of making it up, but it worked, so I suppose it’s somewhere in the rules.”

“One, drunk,” Harry said, amused. “Two, I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing, I did make that up.”

“Obviously you could have done quite well in divination if you’d attended every class sloshed,” Hermione said.

“Or I could have just seen death omens in literally every cup of tea and gotten full marks, that seemed to work pretty well,” Harry said, considering. “Then again, we were always nearly getting killed, maybe she wasn’t so bad.”

“It does have some uses,” Draco pointed out.

“Only in really talented clairvoyants and clairsentients,” Harry said. “Why are we talking about work?”

“You started it,” Hermione said. “I think if I just –“ she said, trying to play two tiles, which promptly resettled in her pile. “Damn it.”

“That’s not going to work, you’ve got to –“ Harry said, reaching over and taking them back to drop on a rather large pile of tiles toward one side, all of which turned red and got tossed into Hermione’s pile.

“One, I’ve been working on turning those for the last four turns,” Draco said. “Two, you can’t help her, that’s cheating. Three, I think he’s secretly been reading the rule book.”

“No, I think your tiles are feeling chatty,” Harry said.

“Truce and we decimate him?” Hermione suggested.

“Done,” Harry said, which only took about four more rounds.

“You’re awful,” Draco complained, glancing at the tiles. “And you lot are traitorous prats, my bloodlines are far superior.”

“You said this wasn’t like chess,” Hermione said, eyes narrowing.

“Well, it’s not exactly,” Draco said. “But with a set this old, the tiles do play favorites a bit, and, er, it’s sort of fond of purebloods. You know. Inherited and all.” He paused. “I didn’t want you to think I had some sort of anti-muggleborn tile set. It was a gift from my grandmother.”

Hermione looked torn between outrage and amusement. “So you’ve been cheating this entire time.”

“No,” Draco protested. “Well, all right, a little, but think of all the times you’ve won, that meant you did really well.”

“I’m buying my own and I’m going to murmur sweet nothings at them until they side with me every time,” Hermione said. “Hah. We’ll see how much winning you do then.”

“Well, given that my set seems to have decided it’s with Harry, I’m not so sure that’s worth the bother,” Draco said. “They’re rather temperamental.”

“All right, I’ll murmur sweet nothings and take my top off,” Hermione said.

“Does that work on tiles?” Harry hazarded.

“No idea, but I’m not saying no,” Draco said, leaning back.

“I think she meant the new set,” Harry said. “Because this set is obviously friends with me.”

“Hermione might be able to win them over,” Draco said.

Hermione rolled her eyes, looking faintly exasperated. “Harry’s already seen me in my knickers enough for one day, don’t you think?”

“No such thing,” Draco said. “Bugger, who opened that last bottle? And why is our bedroom upstairs?”

“You, and I have no idea,” Harry said, with a yawn. “Are you still set on all the exceedingly weird bed sharing?”

“Oh, that,” Draco said. “Given that I forgot about it and just assumed you were coming with us, probably.”

“You know, I know you’re fond of me now, but we can’t do literally everything together,” Harry said, amused.

“No, you can fuck off while we’re shagging and for horrible paperwork,” Draco agreed. “And disciplinary meetings with Bainbridge, those are all yours.”

Hermione snorted. “Good thing I don’t mind since I don’t get a vote,” she teased. “But how are we supposed to come up with plans to make Harry less depressed if he’s there?”

“Oh, fine, you can go off and –“ Draco gestured. “I don’t know. Do whatever it is you like doing alone. Occasionally. Or we could multitask during the other times, I suppose.”

“I can’t tell whether you mean we should devise plans to cheer up Harry during sex or whether we’re supposed to do it while he’s stuck at the office doing paperwork,” Hermione said, standing up and leaning over for a kiss. She was laughing against Draco’s mouth. “You do like to talk, but I’m not sure how effective that one’s going to be at getting either of us off.”

“I hadn’t gotten that far,” Draco said, loftily. “Sometimes plans have to start somewhere.”

“I think she’s the most sober,” Harry decided. “Because she’s standing. And not talking about holding me hostage. Although she is talking about sex, that might mean she’s drunk.”

“No, that means she knows I don’t care,” Draco said. He tugged Hermione down for another kiss. “Since you’re in my – whatever category that was. Hermione?”

“It’s like a bloody coven or something,” Hermione said. “And yes, I’m joking about it because you won’t get all bent out of shape, whereas if I’d tried it last week you’d have been all cold and stiff for god knows how long.”

“I’m not that bad,” Draco said.

“You really are, darling,” Hermione said.

“I’m with her,” Harry said. “You’re touchy about sex jokes.”

“Says the person who had a whole melt down over seeing two people snogging,” Draco said.

“One, you were doing more than snogging, and two, er,” Harry said, pausing. “I had an argument formed and then it drifted away. Something about not being uptight, just not wanting to get reminded about all the married sex I am not currently having.”

“He’s moping about not having sex with Weasley or something,” Draco said. “Can you tell him it’s ludicrous? It’s Weasley. Who’d want to do that?”

Hermione snorted. “Well, I did, although with a different one,” she said. “Okay, possibly two different ones.”

“What?” Harry said.

“I knew about the one,” Draco said, wrinkling his nose. “What’s with you lot? There’s no appeal there. None.”

“I was royally pissed off regarding someone’s behavior over our break up and I was also exceedingly drunk on some sort of grain alcohol that probably ought to be outlawed,” Hermione said. “It may have been outlawed for all I know.”

“That seems quite gentlemanly,” Draco said.

“No, he was equally foxed,” Hermione said. “And Harry passed out under a table.”

“Oh my god, that was Romania,” Harry said. “Hermione!”

“It was perfectly kosher, we’d been broken up for months, honestly,” she said. “Nobody gets to tell me who I can and can’t have sex with, and also, if you’re going to accuse anyone of cocking that one up, I’m not the one who slept with his brother’s ex-girlfriend, that was entirely on Charlie.”

“Touché,” Draco said. “But you did sleep with two of them. Not that I mind, we weren’t together, I’m just wondering whether someone was slipping something in the water in Gryffindor tower or something. There really isn’t any appeal.”

“One was a marked improvement in bed and didn’t mind smart witches,” Hermione said. “I’m not asking for take backs on exceptional sex with a Weasley who has not theoretically taken any sides in any relationships. He did owl you on your birthday, Harry. So did Bill.”

“We could maybe just –“ Harry said, stretching out on the floor and waving a hand. “Do we really need to be talking about all my ex-in-laws? Let alone sex with them?”

“No, definitely not,” Draco said. “I’ll rephrase. Harry’s moping about not having soppy married sex. With a theoretical someone whom he is… fond of? Sorry, Harry, I tried.”

“Fuck,” Hermione said. “I signed up for tiles, not being some sort of sex therapist or something.”

Draco looked at her. “Since when do you turn down offering counsel to anyone over anything,” he said.

Hermione gave him a look, summoning another bottle of wine from the kitchen. “Because I hate Ginny, so I can’t actually regret the fact that Harry’s not having sex with her.” She sighed. “I made an effort, Harry, really, I did, but I can’t help it, I can’t stand her.”

“Actually, fair,” Harry said. “She did cheat on me with one of her league mates in my bloody bed. They could at least have been at his flat or something. It still would have been awful, but at least I wouldn’t have mental images of it. Now I can’t read any Quidditch magazines in case he’s in them.”

“Well, you either miss sex or you don’t, and if you do then go do something about it,” Hermione said, pouring another glass of wine.

“Hey,” Harry said, feeling suddenly irritable. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“Well, it’s true,” Hermione said.

“I never once said –“ Harry said.

“Are you cross at him?” Draco said, then paused. “Wait. You are. Or –“

“Oh, delightful,” Harry said. “Is Draco the only one who isn’t somehow pissed off at me over not being over Ginny already?”

Hermione and Draco exchanged an exceptionally long look that Harry found he was definitely too drunk to interpret, given that he wasn’t entirely sure he could have translated it sober.

“You and I are talking later,” Draco said. “Or we’re talking now, in the kitchen, with several sobering charms. You choose.”

“What am I, twelve?” Hermione snapped. “Are you sending me to bed without dessert as well?”

“Okay, okay, it’s fine, not a problem,” Harry said, firmly. “We definitely do not have to discuss Ginny or any Weasleys or my sex life or your sex life or – anything. Um.” He considered. “Draco and I are going to go play Quidditch tomorrow in the park. That’s not at work. You wanted – that’s time off, right?”

“Hermione,” Draco said, quietly, and leaned in for a kiss. Harry watched her let her breath out against his mouth, shoulders lowering a little.

“It’s all right, Harry, I get that sex and intimacy are two different things,” she said. “I just wish I could –“ She paused, stretching out beside him so she could set her head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry you feel so rotten about the entire thing. And that you got hurt. And that I guess you feel like you haven’t… gotten to have any of that yet.”

“That’s okay,” Harry said, wrapping an arm around her. “Things happen. Life moves on. Draco will probably wear me down on going on dates with Padma. I’m sorry I upset you earlier.”

“Really, Draco,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes. “She’s been back for five minutes and he hasn’t even signed the divorce papers.”

“I thought, er,” Harry said. “But you just said I should –“

“You know, the bed is more comfortable than the floor,” Draco said. “We could go get in it.”

“Bugger, stairs,” Harry said, with a sigh. “But okay.”

Getting upstairs wasn’t that bad, though Harry was rather grateful for the railing, but it was still strange to head into the wrong bedroom. It wasn’t as if Harry had never seen Hermione and Draco’s bedroom, but he certainly hadn’t been in it at night, or really every looked at anything that closely; usually, he was sticking his head in to get the answer to a question or to remind one of them that it was time for dinner. In the low light of the lamp on Hermione’s bedside table, it struck Harry that although he’d never been surprised by Hermione and Draco, he’d never spent much time thinking about the overlap between the two of them. Their bedroom was somehow at the intersection of it. There were more bookshelves than Harry had seen in most regular libraries, but for once, the books obviously weren’t all Hermione’s. It was warm and welcoming, but most of the furniture was more ornate than Harry would have imagined Hermione choosing, aside from the large armchair by the fireplace, which somehow didn’t seem all that out of place. He recognized the quilt from Hermione’s bed at Hogwarts and when they’d all lived together, constellations on a dark blue background, but the art on the walls felt like Draco, with clear lines and stark contrasts. There was a painting of Hogwarts, lights shining in the windows, and a charcoal sketch that he only realized was Hermione when the drawing looked over her shoulder at him, eyes dark. There were snitches in cases in one nook – Harry had forgotten Draco collected them – and notebooks full of Hermione’s handwriting scattered on an end table near the window seat.

“It’s a bed, Potter, surely you’ve seen one before,” Draco said, sitting down to pet Crookshanks, who was curled up amongst the pillows. He opened his eyes, glancing at Harry, and returned to purring vaguely at Draco, rubbing up against his hand for more attention.

“It’s nice?” Harry hazarded, still lingering just inside of the doorway, until Hermione rolled her eyes.

“It’s not off limits, Harry,” she said, wrapping a firm hand around his wrist to pull him across the threshold. She summoned pyjama pants and a shirt from his room, handing them over. “Draco, you’d better take first turn across the hall, I’m not sure we’ll get him back in here.”

“Oh, all right,” Draco said, yawning. “I’ll be back, cat. Don’t think you’re getting my pillow again.”

“He loses that one every bloody night,” Hermione said, laughing, when Draco had left for the washroom, and Harry sat tentatively on the edge of the bed. Crookshanks yawned and stretched, coming over to rub against his side, and Hermione laughed, casting a spell at the fireplace.

“What, did you miss Harry since breakfast?” she said. “It’s your own fault for staying up here.”

Crookshanks made a vague, protesting noise that Harry somehow gathered to mean that he hadn’t wanted to be part of any commotion, and butted Harry with his head.

“Are you sure you’re all right with all this?” Harry said, finally.

“You’re asking me and not Draco?” Hermione said.

“I’m sure of him,” Harry said, thoughtfully. “Not that I’m not –“ He sighed. “Draco does what he pleases, if he didn’t want it, he wouldn’t insist on it.”

“True,” Hermione said. “But I rather think you ought to be sure of me as well.”

“I know,” Harry murmured, finally. “I am, actually.” He wasn’t surprised to find out that he meant it, that looking at Hermione felt just as much like home as it always had, if he let himself actually feel it. “Would you believe me if I said I think I’ve made myself numb for long enough that it’s going to take a while for the feeling to come back?”

“Yes,” Hermione said, looking fondly exasperated. “But your heart is hardly going to get pins and needles, Harry. You don’t have to take forever to let me back in.” She ran a hand through her hair. “Although you seem to have moved rather fast on that front with Draco.”

“Damn,” Harry said, softly. “No.” He leaned across the bed, realizing a little too late that crossing it wasn’t really going to be feasible, so he stretched out instead, pulling hard until Hermione laid down beside him. “I love you. And you’re stubborn.” He laughed softly. “But you had to have noticed that he just pretends the rules don’t apply to him. He just – shoved aside all the walls I didn’t realize I’d put up, all right? Don’t be jealous.”

“I’m not – oh, all right, I am,” Hermione said, propping herself up on one elbow to look down at him. “Should I have done this differently, Harry? I’ve been trying for so long, and it seems like he’s only tried for five minutes, and I don’t know what on earth the difference is on getting you to come out of your own head.”

“Being insufferable?” Harry hazarded, sitting up enough that he could cup her face, leaning to kiss her forehead. “I love you best of all. And I always have, and I’m always going to.” He laughed. “Rather large point of contention with Ginny, really, she didn’t get it. Draco does. But I need you to be you, not him. He can be him.”

Hermione laughed softly, leaning into his touch. “You’re drunk, but that nearly made sense,” she said. “I love you, too.”

“I wouldn’t have been ready for him to force it if you hadn’t been working on it for this long,” Harry said, softly. “So it took both of you, all right?”

“We’re not such a bad team,” Hermione said, with a smile. “Though we’re a better one with you on it.”

“I like that part,” Harry said, with a smile. “Well. Mostly. Minus the blizzards and ditches and bloody ghosts.”

“I like that part, too,” Hermione said.

“Good lord, you’re lucky I’m a tolerant man,” Draco said, looking entertained. “The only person who gets to look at my wife that way in this bed is me, Potter.”

“No, you’re not,” Harry said, laughing. “She’s looking at me back.”

“The logic of drunken Gryffindors,” Draco said, with a sigh. “It’s probably what lead you to being sideways on the bed.” He glanced at Crookshanks. “I can’t believe you’re letting them get away with this nonsense, though I suppose you probably have Stockholm syndrome, you were subjected to it for years.”

“Oh, shut up,” Hermione said. “Just because he doesn’t always side with you.”

“Sometimes he gets confused, he’s getting on in years,” Draco said, then jumped, glaring at Crookshanks. “Biting is uncalled for, cat.”

“You can have next turn, Harry, I can change in here,” Hermione said, yawning. “No promises on being awake when you get back.”

“Don’t worry, she’ll at least be lying the right direction,” Draco said, nudging him.

Harry rolled his eyes, going across the hall to change and summoning his toothbrush from the other room, finding that he was more tired than he’d thought. He barely managed to avoid stumbling on his way back to the bedroom, where Draco was pulling back the blankets and Hermione was braiding her hair.

“Get in, she’s done stupid warming charms since apparently you people can’t tolerate the cold,” Draco said. “That’s what comes of being spoiled with towers.”

“Mm,” Harry agreed, climbing in on the other side. There was a distinct temperature gradient between what was presumably Draco’s spot and Hermione’s.

“You’re falling asleep,” Draco teased, because Harry was fighting not to close his eyes as soon as he was underneath the blankets. Draco slid in too, yawning, and it took Harry a minute to realize there wasn’t room for Hermione between them.

“Bugger, wrong side,” Draco said, yawning again, but Hermione got in too.

“No, you’re all right,” she said.

“We’re sticking you with the cat,” Draco said. “Also, feel free to enjoy Hermione’s freezing cold feet.”

“I have socks on,” she protested.

“And you always lose them in the middle of the night,” Draco said. “Which is currently entirely Harry’s problem.”

“Are you –“ Harry said, sleepily.

Hermione laughed softly. “Yes, we’re sure,” she said, reaching up to run her fingers through his hair. “Get some rest, Harry. You need it.”

“Still think it should be twenty galleons,” Draco said, reassuring and solid against his side.

“Sure, with a deduction of ten for about two bottles of wine,” Hermione said, still stroking his hair. “We’ll be here, Harry, it’s all right.”

He still wasn’t quite sure how he felt about the whole thing, but he fell asleep before he could think much more about it.

Chapter Text

Hermione’s insistence on taking the weekend completely off from work was, retrospectively, an excellent thing. Harry hadn’t realized how little he’d been sleeping until he finally actually was, though he finally won the argument that he ought to be able to sleep in his own bed on Monday night. Hermione had been a little fidgety, and Harry didn’t want to actually cause any sort of relationship stress, though he did give in to Draco spending a few hours fixing his mattress on Monday afternoon.

It turned out that – much to Harry’s relief – things largely hadn’t gone to hell in a hand basket in their absence. Padma’s presence was moving things along swiftly, and unlikely their last examiner, she didn’t seem to have much trouble differentiating between people that had been killed by ghosts and those that had gone from other magical causes. She waved cheerfully to him from inside the autopsy suite on Tuesday morning, and Harry was a little surprised to find that he had a genuine smile and wave in return.

Delacour and Harper looked exhausted but rather pleased – they’d taken out a rogue poltergeist, two revenants, and something that had been sent to Hermione’s desk as uncategorized. In the debriefing, Gabrielle said it hadn’t been all that powerful – certainly, not as bad as a revenant or a wraith – but it had seemed strangely pattern set, almost unable to leave the location rather than unwilling, and she said she suspected a team without a decent weaver would have had a much worse problem with it.

He almost laughed to find Pansy asleep literally stretched out across his desk and found a large cup of coffee to wave near her face. “Draco’s not over here yet, he’s still getting caught up on the other side,” he said. “But have a peace offering.”

“Mm,” Pansy said, drowsily. “I’d sooner kiss you than kill you, Delacour’s brilliant and Harper isn’t half bad.” She held out a hand. “And you’ve got that, and you weren’t stupid enough to put anything horrible like cream in it. Give it.”

“Decent weekend?” Harry said, surprised, and tried not to laugh.

“Didn’t have to do any marking, Longbottom had to handle all the stupid teenagers, and there were no sobbing girls in my office,” she said, sitting up. “Also, I put paid to several extremely nasty creatures, one of whom hadn’t even killed anyone yet, so I didn’t hate it, if that’s what you’re asking. And you’re going to write me a letter getting McGonagall to let me come assess your kits, so I’ll be able to escape the teenage girls for even longer.”

“You know, Draco claims you like teaching,” Harry said, dryly.

Pansy looked at him over the rim of her mug. “I was starting to feel vaguely charitable toward you, Potter.”

“Right, awful position, absolutely a reason I’m here dealing with problem free adults,” Harry said. “So sorry about that being your only option and all that.”

“Better,” Pansy said. “By the way, you owe me a drink, I deleted your floo off the network for the weekend and cast a confounding hex on all your departmental owls so no one could bother you.”

“Might be worth multiple drinks,” Harry mused.

“Game,” Pansy said, hopping down. “Draco says you’re not completely awful. Seven on Thursday, here will do. Wear that grey jumper you’ve got, that’s not atrocious. And don’t forget that owl.” She made a face. “And I suppose I’ll need Granger.”

“Right, I’ll just –“ Harry said, then paused. “Parkinson, what sort of drink?”

“I’ll let you know, I usually like gin,” she said. “But you did bring me this, so I’ll consider something with an umbrella in it and wearing fancy knickers.”

“Er, I –“ Harry said, but then Padma stuck her head around the door.

“Hi, I need a minute, I need a couple of things,” she said, with a wave for Pansy. “Still want to go to the match next weekend?”

“Of course,” Pansy said, kissing her cheek. “I’m going to go sleep somewhere. I can’t Apparate to the train station in this condition. Is someone going to try to cut into me if they find me on one of your tables?”

“I will if you haven’t gotten on a face shield and gear,” Padma warned. “And it’s frigid in there.”

“I like frigid,” Pansy said. “I’ll follow all your new bloody signs. Don’t remove my liver.”

“Parkinson –“ Harry said, again.

“See you Thursday,” she said, cheerfully. “Bye, off to nap with the dead people.”

“I think I just agreed to go on a date,” Harry said, pausing. “Er, and I’ve no idea why I just told you that, sorry. What do you need?”

“Oh, great, that’ll make the third favor easier,” Padma said, brightly. “First, if Harris comes anywhere near my set up again, I will eviscerate him with enough stasis spells that he has to watch his intestines getting cut apart.”

“God, Harris,” Harry said, with a sigh. “Right, I’ll deal with that, and file a formal complaint, maybe if I get enough of them I can fire him or set him on fire or send him to you for examination.”

“Also, the requisition system crashed last night, and every scalpel in this place is duller than Professor Binns,” she said. “I need you to sign paperwork. And to fix it, I hardly want to have to run up here every time I run out of something.”

“Red tag it, I’ll do that first,” Harry said. “What’s the third thing?”

“Dinner Friday?” Padma said, brightly. “I’d pretend Draco hadn’t been meddling, but if Pansy’s gotten to you first, we both know he has, so just say yes so I don’t have to explain how she succeeded and I didn’t.” She laughed. “Save me a little face, will you? He’ll start gloating about Slytherin superiority again, he’ll be insufferable.”

“Anything but that,” Harry said, surprised to find that even if he was marginally irked at Draco for going behind his back, the idea didn’t actually fill him with utter dread. “Tomorrow? It’s usually dead in the middle of the week so I might have more than two minutes free.” He paused. “Terrible pun not intended.”

“Deal,” she said. “No shagging Pansy first, either.”

“He did explain I’m not really –“

Padma laughed again. “Joking, Harry,” she said, then paused. “Well, mostly joking, but if you should find yourself so inclined…” She grinned. “I wouldn’t say no, anyway, and if he’s asked me, he hasn’t asked Parvati, so Ravenclaw’s about the best you’re going to get, the only other Gryffindor he likes is Hermione.”

“You do realize there aren’t house points involved here,” Harry said, laughing in spite of himself.

“There are always house points involved with Draco, he’s got his own demented system,” Padma said. “Really, though, Harry, scalpels. It’s rather hard to cut into dead bodies without scalpels. And nothing too posh, you know I hate that sort of thing.”

“Right,” Harry said. “No posh scalpels, understood.”

Padma rolled her eyes, but she was laughing. “But make sure the bartender is quite good at mixing drinks with Pansy, otherwise she’ll complain all night. Potions nonsense, you know.”

“Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, trying to sabotage that or something?” Harry said.

Padma laughed. “He’s right, you’re charming. Of course not. You should date around, and she’s great. Just no shagging her first.”

“I’ll hypothetically keep the whole Malfoy house points system in mind,” Harry said.

“There’s a lad,” Padma said. “It’s nice to be here again, you know. It was good of you to offer me the job back.”

“No, you about saved my life,” Harry said. “Or everyone’s, I suppose, I’ve been beating my head against the wall over incomplete autopsy reports since you left.”

“Now you’re just flirting,” Padma scolded, laughing. “Don’t think I won’t take you to task with Hermione for workplace harassment. We both know you couldn’t tell a bad autopsy report if it were upside down and on fire.”

“Oh, but I’ve learned,” Harry said. “I was just thoroughly spoiled to begin with.”

“There you go again,” Padma said, but she looked pleased. “Could I squeeze in a meeting later in the week to talk about Marks? She’s actually got quite a knack for it, I’d like to ask her to stay on after this month, but I didn’t want to do it without checking with you first.”

“I don’t see why not,” Harry said. “Let’s talk about it, go hassle my calendar to give you a slot. I think I’ve got something Friday afternoon. If it’s recalcitrant, name the top three Quidditch teams in the league, it’ll get you something.”

Padma smiled. “That seems rather unfair, how does anyone who doesn’t follow Quidditch manage?”

“Shockingly, one can check the standings in the Prophet,” Harry said. “Besides which, only about five people know about that trick so don’t abuse it.”

“I’m quite professional,” Padma said, with a wink, and waved again as she let herself out the door, leaving Harry feeling simultaneously pleased and vaguely bewildered.

Harry had gotten through all of Padma’s requests and at least a significant dent of the paperwork that had piled up on his desk when Draco came into his office, leaning on his desk. “Really, Potter, chairs.”

“I thought you were interested in my lap,” Harry said.

“Hilarious,” Draco said. “I just spent half an hour listening to Bainbridge complain, it was quite entertaining.”

“Well, Padma’s thoroughly hacked off at Harris, so it sounds as if they’ve had a superb weekend,” Harry said. “I just had to ban him from the morgue.”

“We could just assign them to Siberia or something,” Draco mused. “I don’t think they could cock anything up in Siberia.”

“Oh, they’d find a way,” Harry said. “At least everything else seems to be working out.”

“Seems like, though I can’t find Pansy,” Draco said. “I’m supposed to debrief her.”

“Ended up here instead,” Harry said, leaning back in his chair. “I can’t imagine why. And apparently Padma had some sort of desperate need for scalpels that just couldn’t wait.”

“You were thoroughly warned I was making a play,” Draco said, raising an eyebrow. “You’ll say yes eventually.”

“Already did,” Harry said. “So if we’ve got field cases on Wednesday and Thursday, they’d better not be dusk specific or something.”

“That soon?” Draco said.

“Parkinson tricked me because apparently I haven’t learned to see through you lot, and Padma made the fair point that I couldn’t say yes to one but not the other, so yes, Wednesday and Thursday,” Harry said. “And if you say so much as one word crosswise, I’m going to make you deal with Harris’s official reprimand.”

“Huh,” Draco said, and Harry looked up at him again.

“What?” he said. “You’ve got what you wanted, haven’t you?”

“Well, yes,” Draco said. “But since when are you this cooperative?”

“Since I’ve gotten some sleep and my magicopathologist has left glorious, detailed reports,” Harry said. “Look, you were right, I ought to stop sulking. I’m not saying I’m taking it anywhere, but it’s not going to kill me to get drinks.”

“Pansy’s sort of unexpected,” Draco mused. “I wasn’t entirely sure she’d ask.”

“I brought her coffee, apparently she likes that sort of thing,” Harry said. “Also, I’m still not planning on it, but you’re going to have to explain this whole objective concept of women not caring if you’re shagging more than one of them at the same time.”

“Well, Potter, it’s called a threeway,” Draco said. “Come to think of it, those two would probably be game, they’re friendly.”

“Not simultaneously,” Harry said, rolling his eyes.

“It’s just dating, Potter, people do it all the time,” Draco said, sounding amused. “Typically if you’re transparent about it, no one minds.”

“Says you, Hermione would’ve murdered anyone who tried seeing her and someone else at the same time,” Harry said.

“Point,” Draco said. “Maybe it’s a Gryffindor thing. Though, no, come to think of it, Parvati doesn’t mind, but I thought I ought to avoid her for you after the whole Yule Ball fiasco.”

“That was fourth year,” Harry said.

“Padma’s a much better match anyway,” Draco said. “Not a Gryffindor. Bright. Witty. Quite fit. Though obviously not as attractive as Hermione. Sorry about that whole marital monopoly thing.”

“I’ll live, although I’m not really sure you can argue Padma is more fit than Parvati given that they’re -” Harry said, then paused. “Wait, does Hermione know about this whole thing?”

“Actually, no, she didn’t have anything to do with it,” Draco said. “I mean, I’d been joking about Padma, but she didn’t know I asked.”

“Well, at least I’ve only got to worry about one of you,” Harry said. “Tell her there’s something shiny on her desk and let me know what we’re doing tonight once it’s sorted, would you? I’m wading through the consequences of being gone for three days. It appears to be about three hundred signatures.”

“You know, I don’t know why your department won’t allow duplication spells on that,” Draco said.

“No idea, someone might forge my signature,” Harry said. “Though at this point, my hand’s so tired, they probably couldn’t tell the difference.”

“I’ll go see what she’s about, she was heading toward the archives when we got here,” Draco said. “Are you going to snitch about the date thing?”

“No, but I’m not entirely sure she’ll believe no one’s cast Imperius on me if I tell her it’s Parkinson,” Harry said.

Draco snorted. “I’ll make sure Hermione gets a look at whatever shirt Pansy’s got on, that’ll put paid to that.”

“Thanks ever so,” Harry said. “For the record, I didn’t notice what she was wearing, she was too busy being terrifying.”

“She does that,” Draco agreed. “Do I still need to debrief her?”

“No clue, she’s sleeping in the morgue,” Harry said. “But she seemed quite happy with the whole assignment and so did the Aurors, so there might be a hope in hell of us taking another weekend off someday.”

“It’s almost like we’re turning this into a functional work environment,” Draco said, thoughtfully, then shook his head. “Never mind. Not going to happen, I’m not getting my hopes up. It’ll be field assignments every night and Bainbridge and Harris for us.”

“I could see what Delacour and Harper think of taking the weekend after next,” Harry mused. “One on, one off?”

“That’s just insanity,” Draco said. “But feel free to ask Pansy. I’d take it.”

“Go do your job so we can occasionally have time off and something approximating lives again,” Harry joked.

He was almost through with the signature pile when Hermione came in, carrying a stack of folders with a series of books following behind her in a perfect line. She glanced at one that was lagging, and it caught up quickly.

“Hi,” she said. “That didn’t go nearly as badly as I thought it might, Delacour and Harper seemed pleased as punch, which I suppose means Pansy didn’t drive either of them off the edge of insanity.”

“Apparently she liked it too,” Harry said. “I’m going to propose the crazy notion that we start splitting weekends and work on some promotions. Well, not Pansy, but apparently being away from sobbing teenage girls is reward enough for her. She was nearly in a cheerful mood.”

Hermione snorted. “Doesn’t surprise me,” she said. “Seems like everyone’s happy today. Maybe we ought to go away more often, apparently we’re ruining office morale.”

“I think they’re glad we’re back,” Harry said. “Stockholm syndrome or something. Please tell me I don’t have to sign those.”

“No, these are pending,” Hermione said. “Well – a portion of the pending, anyway. I pulled out all the ones that obviously weren’t too bad and sent them to the pool, so those will go out for assignment with everyone else, and then these need individual assigning, and, you know, dealer’s choice on what we’re stuck with this week.”

“Anything fun?” Harry said.

“White Lady,” Hermione said. “And something really nasty in one of the London houses. It looks like it killed a witch last winter but she was so old that no one thought to report it as unusual. The executor of the estate is downstairs in the morgue. In pieces.”

“Huh,” Harry said. “Dangerous?”

“No more than usual, Padma says everything’s straightforward about the body aside from the whole gory evisceration thing, I’m guessing a wraith or maybe a shade, but there had to be something really bloody off with the person. Serial killer, maybe? Draco will probably enjoy trapping it.”

“We’ll take that,” Harry said. “And the White Lady, those are hell.” He paused. “Actually, how are you here already? We never have organized files until you’ve spent a day or two in the archives.”

“Someone’s come over all functional in research and I’ve actually got notes and interviews and history of the houses, it’s some sort of minor miracle,” Hermione said. “They’ve even taken a stab at color coding the really obvious ones.”

“We really owe Greengrass a fruit basket or something,” Harry said. “Maybe a spa weekend.”

“So these ought to be fine and just need teams,” Hermione said, handing him a stack of folders. “And then I’ve got a few I think we need to handle, two where I want a second opinion, and three where I can’t make heads or tails of it. And did you see the file on that ghost this weekend?”

“Something new,” Harry said. “It’s been a while since we got one of those. But it’s handled, anyway. We’ll set aside some time to interrogate it, see if anything comes out of that.”

Harry slid the files that needed assignment to the side, flipping through the ones Hermione handed over. “Yes, this one, looks like a revenant,” he said. “These two can go to the pool, but I’ll put someone higher ranked on them, wraiths can be touchy.” He opened the last folder, scanning. “I say this was a poltergeist that was being subtle, but –“

“Since when are poltergeists subtle, to quote the best alternative?” Hermione said, amused. “That’s about what I thought.”

“That one definitely ought to go to us, though I think we’d better take back up,” he said. “Much as it pains me to say it, maybe Parkinson. She can switch hit. If it’s a poltergeist, oh well, she’ll be here Thursday anyway. Wants to review the kit ingredients with you or something.”

“You haven’t been around Draco and Pansy together, have you,” Hermione said. “It’s…”

“Total hell?” Harry hazarded.

“I was going to go with enlightening, but that too,” Hermione said, laughing. “She’s not that bad, Harry, just a bit intense.”

“Well, she’d better not be, I’m getting drinks with her,” Harry said, opening the next folder. “This has to be the worst case report I’ve ever seen, there’s bloody well nothing here.”

“I don’t know if we should investigate, see if we can figure out more information, or flag the site,” Hermione said. “With that litt –“ She paused. “Did you say drinks?”

“Apparently I owe her for not letting any owls bother us,” Harry said. “I thought I was saying yes to something I could expense report.”

“Yes, but why would Pansy ask you?” Hermione said.

“Wow,” Harry said. “Thanks, you’re excellent for my self esteem.”

“Not like that,” Hermione said hurriedly. “You just hardly seem like her type is all.”

“I happen to like intense. If you hadn’t noticed, I spend all my time around you,” Harry said.

“Yes, but she’s –“ Hermione sighed. “Not always friendly, and –“

“A bit of a tart and rather sour to boot?” Harry hazarded. “Don’t worry, it’s not marriage, just drinks.”

“I suppose it’s not as if you’ll get on or anything, but that’s all right, isn’t it?” Hermione said. “No risk or anything there.”

“You know, I would have said the same thing about you and Draco, maybe we are talking marriage,” Harry said, somehow irritated. “And Padma wants to get dinner, so maybe you’ll approve of her a bit more.”

“What?” Hermione said. “Since when are you the most eligible bachelor in the department? Was there some sort of Monday morning betting pool?”

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder, apparently,” Harry said. “And it’s Tuesday.”

“I just –“ Hermione said, paging through a book. “That’s a bit fast, don’t you think? Two dates?”

“You were telling me three days ago I ought to get my head back in the game,” Harry said. “Fair enough on Parkinson, but I thought you got on with Padma.”

“I do,” Hermione said. “She’s nice, I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“So I should just not see anyone forever?” Harry said. “That’s hardly a solution.”

“You were just so upset about things, I’d hate to see anything happen,” Hermione said. “Draco and I can’t always be picking up the pieces, you know.”

“Oh, well,” Harry said, finally. “I think I can manage any pieces Padma leaves lying around, she’s got a rather clean dissection style.” He handed the folders back over without looking up again. “Get more information on that report with nothing in it. And we’ll do the White Lady tonight, she’s in a populated area, then the serial killer tomorrow, that’ll be late so I’ve got time for my utterly ill advised dinner. We can do whatever the hell that odd thing is on Thursday, and the revenant on Friday. Flag the perimeter, but it’s a countryside manor, I’m reasonably certain no one’s going to go stumbling onto that one unexpectedly. See if Draco agrees on the order, have him tell me if he doesn’t, and make up your mind about whether I’m supposed to – what was it, go do something about not having sex so you didn’t have to play therapist?”

Hermione looked somewhat stricken, but Harry suddenly didn’t particularly care. “I’m fine, Hermione,” he said. “In fact, I really think you should stop bothering with the whole thing, we can’t all find our bloody Slytherin Prince Charming without incurring any emotional damage along the way. You’ve done your best to sweep up after Ginny, I’ll take it from here.”

“But –“ Hermione said.

“I’ll take it from here,” Harry said. “And if you don’t mind, I’ve got paperwork to catch up on.”

“Harry –“ Hermione said.

“I have things to do, Hermione,” he said, pulling the folders toward himself. “I’ll see you tonight. Don’t forget to check the kit.”

The door barely clicked behind her on her way out, and Harry had to resist the urge to set several of the folders on fire. He’d been cutting, and he’d never liked that part of his personality, but Hermione knew far better than to call him some sort of charity case. He got the complaint folders assigned – it hadn’t been a bad weekend, mostly low level ghosts that even their junior agents could manage, so he let the algorithm Draco had designed do the matching, scribbling a note to McGonagall and sending it up the tube in his desk to the Departmental aerie.

“Well, you two are delightful partners today,” Draco said, letting himself in. “Yes on the order of field assignments, what in the bloody hell happened with Hermione? She’s off crying in my office.”

“She was an idiot, I didn’t react well, moving on,” Harry said.

“I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you two fight,” Draco said.

“Apparently the idea of me dating is utterly anathema to her,” Harry said. “And she can be pretty tactless at times, actually.”

“I gathered,” Draco said. “And you can be a complete arse at times, too, she’s hardly got a monopoly.”

“I’m fully aware,” Harry said, leaning back in his chair to look up at Draco. “And I do stone-cold and heartless rather well too. You cannot possibly have just set me up on two dates that I didn’t really want to go on and now be hacked off that I decided to give it a try. That’s bloody ludicrous, Malfoy.”

“I’m not,” Draco said. “But I’m sort of wondering if you’ve got any idea why Hermione’s so upset over the whole thing.”

“Got me,” Harry said. “I’m a delicate snowflake you all have to coddle or something, I’m sure it’s a tremendous hardship.”

“I sort of doubt she meant that, she’s never minded helping you,” Draco said.

“Well, apparently she does, because you two can’t always be around to pick up the pieces when Pansy breaks my heart after we’ve had one scotch or something,” Harry said.

“Lovely, now you’re in a mood too,” Draco said.

“Would you like to try that again?” Harry said.

“Knock it off,” Draco said, leaning in to put his hands on the arms of Harry’s desk chair. “I’m not defending Hermione here, and I’m not defending you, but don’t go toe to toe with me over something where we don’t have a problem, you won’t like the outcome.”

“I’m not doing that whole thing with you,” Harry said, meeting his gaze. “I won’t show my belly, you won’t show yours, and I’ve got absolutely no interest in figuring out who rips out whose throat first. I may not like the outcome, but don’t underestimate me, Draco.”

“Excellent, I’ve absolutely no interest either,” Draco said, quietly. “So don’t pick fights with me because you’re angry at Hermione, we’re not the same person. All I asked is if you knew what the problem was.”

“I do not,” Harry said.

“All right,” Draco said. “I happen to agree that it sounds as if she was rather more bent out of shape about the whole thing than she should have been, but you overreacted and you know it. So I’m not asking either of you to apologize, but she’s upset and we both know she’ll come around later, so don’t shut her out again just because you’ve both made mistakes.”

“She did start this,” Harry said.

“Actually, I started this,” Draco said. “I thought it would help you to go out with some people, Hermione obviously thinks you need more time, but in retrospect, I don’t really think either of us gets to decide that.”

“No, you don’t,” Harry agreed. “I’m not trying anything special or spectacular. I just want to do this, all right? I want something to feel like some vague approximation of what normal used to be. And do you really think I like being the third wheel with you two?”

“That part is just dead wrong,” Draco said, firmly. “I know you and I haven’t always gotten on spectacularly, and I know we’re still feeling out this – more friendship thing, but it feels right to me, and I don’t draw strong lines between platonic relationships and romantic ones, so about the only thing you’re missing out on is sex. And Hermione’s your family. If she could fit one person in a lifeboat, Harry, it would be you. It would probably nearly kill her, but it would be you, and we all know that. I knew that going in. And I don’t resent it, for the record.”

“No, she wouldn’t,” Harry said, with a sigh. “She’d just – invent some spell to duplicate the lifeboat or summon some merpeople or something. You know her. She’d never let anyone drown.”

“You’re nothing spare,” Draco said, quietly. “The only person whose mind that thought has crossed is your own, honestly.”

“You’re – bloody different,” Harry said, finally.

“How do you mean?” Draco said. He’d stayed leaned in.

“I’m used to being the third piece and the centerpiece at the same time,” Harry said, quietly. “But you’re nothing like Ron, and I don’t know how you do it, but you make it feel like no one’s really got… an order in this thing.”

“Because we haven’t,” Draco said. “And I should bloody well hope I’m nothing like Weasley.”

“It’s just –“ Harry said. “You just do things, and you never doubt your decisions, and you don’t seem to get jealous over anything.”

“I do, actually, you’ve got a few chocolate frog cards I’m still missing, I don’t understand it,” Draco said. “I’m still short around a quarter of last year’s run, and that’s with Hermione helping with the chocolate.”

Harry paused, then laughed outright. “I have some doubles,” he said. “You can see if you want anything. Or, hell, have what you need, I’m not much of a collector these days.”

“Excellent, I’m getting tired of bad chocolate,” Draco said. “It’s not that I don’t ever doubt anything or get jealous, Harry, I’m just better at letting those emotions slide off or sitting with them until I can figure out if I need to do something. But I get how that would change the dynamic.”

“I think I feel guilty as hell that you’re a better match for the two of us than he was,” Harry said, quietly.

“Well, it is what it is,” Draco said. “So guilt is a rather useless emotion. Unless you’d like to feel guilty for losing your temper with Hermione if it’ll make you nicer later.”

“I always do,” Harry said, with a sigh. “I don’t do well with crying women.”

“Exactly no one does well with crying women aside from maybe Pansy, who I think just doses them all with valerian and skull cap tea until they’re too relaxed to continue panicking.” He laughed. “I didn’t share that.”

“She’s just… being protective or something,” Harry said. “I need some time to cool off, but we’ll be all right.” He managed a smile. “Historically, if we argue, it’s over in a few hours, not four months.”

“That’s because you two are sensible,” Draco said. “Well, usually. You’d better get it together tonight or I’m going to be driven to drink, and that’s going to go exceptionally well because I’ve got to be the one driving the car.”

“Damn, I’ve got to put in that requisition request,” Harry said, with a sigh. “Is it wrong that I’m starting to look forward to field work because it doesn’t require my signature?”

Draco laughed, reaching to ruffle his hair. “Did you happen to look at the cases you put out this morning?”

“No, I just tossed them in the algorithm, why?” Harry said.

“Harris and Fallow and Bainbridge have to go get a shade in a bog,” Draco said, sounding overly cheerful. “He’s tried to come to my office three times already, I’m just going to keep telling him to piss off and take it up with the random case assignment protocol if he’s that bothered. Well, I put up a barrier charm when Hermione showed up, so god only knows who he’s bothering about it now, but watch your door.”

“It’s about a two hour drive, but we’ve got really accurate coordinates,” Harry said. “What are you thinking, midnight?”

“Somewhere around there, yeah,” Draco said. “Witching hour.”

“Ghosting hour,” Harry corrected, laughing. “I’m not driving back.”

“The usual where Hermione falls asleep all over you in the backseat doesn’t sound particularly unappealing right now if it means you’re getting on,” Draco said.

“No, it doesn’t,” Harry agreed. “I’ll – we’ll put it right. It’s okay.”

“Lovely,” Draco said. “And do that request now so we’re not stuck with something awful that screams Ministry. Not that a muggle ghost is really going to know, unless this one’s really unique.”

“I’ll get on it,” Harry said. “Er – if you somehow want to imply that you think giving me a few hours might be a decent idea but that I’d probably be over it by then, feel free.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Draco said. He considered for a moment. “You’ve never been what I was expecting either, you know.”

“Well, given your opinion of me in school,” Harry said, mildly.

“Well, yes, but there were a few months there where every single thing I heard about you came from Hermione,” he said. “It’s an utterly different lens. And she wasn’t wrong about you, honestly. You’re just not open with people you don’t know well.”

“I guess now you’re people I know well,” Harry proposed.

Draco laughed. “No, now I’m one of your people, and I think I have been for a while,” he said. “Slytherin distinction, but if you’re going to play by Slytherin rules…”

“You can explain that some other time, I’d better get on this car thing,” Harry said. “But you can label yourself anything you’d like. Paranormal Psychotherapist included.”

“Do you know, I found a spell for editing business cards?” Draco said, pleased. “Then I realized that Unspeakables aren’t really supposed to have them since our department has, historically, had absolutely no transparency.”

“Well, now you lot are the brain half of the Auror equation, mostly,” Harry said, picking up a pen and laughing. “We really ought to start calling you ‘Speakables’ since you do all the talking.”

“That was terrible, thanks,” Draco said. “I reserve the right to put something in it if I bring tea by later.”

“Valerian and skullcap?” Harry suggested.

“Bloody belladonna if you and Hermione don’t get it together,” Draco muttered, but he was laughing. “Valerian, maybe. I’ll just knock you out for the drive so I can enjoy the silence.”

“Sounds all right by me,” Harry said, laughing. “And see if you can help Hermione with that useless file. It could be a wisp or the worst ghost we’ve ever seen, who would know.”

“On it,” Draco said, with a smile. “See you later. Enjoy the signatures.”

Harry made a rather rude gesture, but Draco just waved as he pulled the door shut.

Unsurprisingly, Harry’s brief period of uninterrupted paperwork stopped being so uninterrupted, since apparently half the department had desperately needed him and having to wait three days had been catastrophic, including the fact that they’d had to borrow paperclips from the Unspeakables and Johnson and King having gotten in some sort of vicious row in front of the entire office.

“Hamilton, I’ve put in the order, I can’t make acquisitions work any faster,” Harry said, when his door opened. He didn’t bother looking up from his copy of the case file and records of car accidents along the stretch of road – he had no intention of being caught short again. “I may have magical powers, but they’re not that magical.”

“Er, it’s me,” Hermione said, quietly. “I made tea and there was extra because Draco hates jasmine, so I thought maybe you’d like some.”

“Thanks,” Harry said. “Come on in, go ahead and lock the door. We’ll never get any peace if you don’t.”

“Busy?” Hermione said.

“Filing supply drama,” Harry said, turning around. She was still close to the doorway, the saucer giving away the fact that her hands were trembling a little, and Harry had always hated – well, anyone who made her feel this way, which occasionally included himself.

“Come over here,” he said, softly.

“Now you’re just leaving the chairs out on purpose,” Hermione said, but she came over until Harry could set the tea aside, pulling her into a hug with a firm hand on her wrist.

“Actually, yes, I’m a terrible boss who doesn’t actually want anyone to feel welcome so they don’t harass me,” Harry murmured. “Except apparently I got a little carried away on that count, since I made my partner feel unwelcome too. I was cruel, and I’m sorry.”

“No, I was,” Hermione said, finally leaning in. “You should see people if you’d like, I’ve just – I’ve only got the one example to go on, and she was so bloody awful, I thought she’d broken you.”

“Nah,” Harry said. “I’m not saying it’s been pleasant, but Ginny’s really got nothing on that whole seventeen-years-of-Voldemort thing.”

Hermione laughed softly. “I worry. I know you’re an adult, but I just…”

“You’ve always worried, you wouldn’t be you if you didn’t,” Harry said, gently. “But even if things change, you’ll always be the most important person in my life.”

“Yeah, mine too,” Hermione admitted. “But sometimes I worry – if maybe we should try to change.”

“Draco knows,” Harry said. “And I don’t actually think he minds. He’s a Slytherin, they’ve got some weird definitions of loyalty.”

Hermione laughed softly. “That wasn’t quite what I meant,” she said.

“If you’re asking if I think we’re a little codependent, yes,” Harry said, amused. “If you’re asking if I think we can fix it or whether we even ought to want to, then no. Maybe it’s selfish, but you’re constant, I don’t have much else like that.”

“No,” Hermione agreed. “I don’t either. I suppose I do with Draco, but he still seems… new. It just makes change a little… hard to swallow sometimes.”

Harry laughed softly. “Hermione, I’m getting what I think might be charity drinks from Parkinson. I’m not sure I ought to be swallowing anything she puts in front of me. I might end up in the bottom of the lake. If I’m lucky, she’ll leave me with some air.”

“Oh, she knows better,” Hermione said, laughing. “Like it or not, Draco’s had a claim on you for ages, no Slytherin’s going to try anything.”

“Someday, I’ll understand them, and then I’ll promptly die of shock,” Harry mused.

“Basically,” Hermione agreed. “I didn’t – mean what I said. About – Ginny. And me and Draco having to look after you.”

“I know, actually,” Harry said, a little surprised to find that he did. “Draco put paid to that idea.”

“Draco?” Hermione said, then considered. “No, actually, that’s not much of a surprise. He…”

“I get it,” Harry said. “If you’d asked me a year ago whether I’d somehow understand how Draco Malfoy’s brain worked, I’d have laughed myself sick, but he’s… not complicated.”

“He’s incredibly complicated,” Hermione corrected “But most of his philosophies fall into a moral grey area that you and I seem to live in, so we don’t think twice about them.”

“Who’d have thought adulthood meant turning into Slytherins,” Harry mused.

“Or just maybe appreciating that Slytherins have some redeeming values that don’t involve sex and exceptional taste in alcohol,” Hermione teased.

“I’m still sticking to the latter, thanks,” Harry said. “But speaking of dramatic sexual affairs, I think I’ve got this one narrowed down. I really enjoy newspaper articles about strange men being spotted at deadly accident scenes and then somehow literally disappearing in the middle of nowhere.” He slid an old newspaper clipping across the table, held together with a preservation charm. “If you’re going to have an affair with a muggle and your plan is to kill her and crash the car to cover it up…”

“Oh, sordid,” Hermione said. “This job restores my faith in humanity on a daily basis. Do you think that’s why we’ve got a muggle ghost? Because he probably used the killing curse?”

“No, I’ll do you one better,” Harry said, sliding another file across. “Don’t ask me how I got access, I think I owe a file clerk my soul, but I’ve got an autopsy report from 1972 at The Royal London.”

“Oh, fantastic,” Hermione said, with a sigh. “Well, that explains why he killed her.”

“Disposing of your pregnant mistress, never a smart idea at the best of times, but a really terrible idea when the baby’s going to be a witch,” Harry said.

“I’ve read articles, muggle women who carry witches and wizards end up with residual magic,” Hermione said. “So I’d wager the ghost’s a bit of a witch herself by virtue of having been carrying any sort of magical baby.”

“No, the baby would have been a witch,” Harry said, firmly. “Our ghost wouldn’t have enough power on her own to manifest this strongly as a White Lady in particular if the baby hadn’t been a girl. Not that it’s entirely pertinent beyond the fact that we’ve basically got two ghosts in one, but I haven’t seen it before, so I’m sure you’ll want to write it up.”

“She doesn’t seem… vicious,” Hermione said. “That’s a lot of bloody car accidents on that stretch, she’s been manifesting at muggles for a while and scaring them off the road, but that’s just patterned. And look, we’ve got eyewitness accounts, she lets most of them go. They’re only putting in muggle police reports because they think it’s strange for a woman to ask to be dropped in the middle of nowhere. I doubt she wants to leave that stretch of highway.”

“Want to bet those men where nothing happened haven’t cheated or aren’t with anyone?” Harry said.

“I’ll dig into the last one,” Hermione said. “But seeing as the car somehow ended up in a tree -“

“Draco thinks he ought to set the lure, but now I’m not so sure,” Harry said, thoughtfully. “If she’s sensing truth and feeding off emotions… I rather think sending in the unmarried member of our team might be the best idea. Or, er – whatever it is my status is these days.”

“On the one hand, that’s about the worst idea I’ve ever heard,” Hermione said, with a sigh. “On the other, you’re right, we’ll get a much stronger physical manifestation if she empathizes with you.”

“Who knew I’d be able to thank Ginny for that one,” Harry said, trying not to sound overly bitter. “Is it a little wrong that I’d be perfectly willing to leave this one well enough alone? Cheaters get what they pay for, and all that?”

“No, but we’ve no idea how reasonable she is,” Hermione said. “I mean – what if someone’s wife has been in a coma for five years or something? Or what if she starts narrowing to impure thoughts or something equally ridiculous? Find me someone married who hasn’t had those and I’ll transfer jobs for being terrible at reading people.”

“I’m telling Draco about your thing for that muggle actor,” Harry teased. “Go see what you can find on the murderer. There’s got to be something unsatisfying there, because otherwise she wouldn’t be there. You only want revenge if you haven’t gotten it to begin with. The muggle criminal reports are all listed as an accident, they state she was driving with no passenger. I only got his name because he was in the wizarding database with the right approximate dates of birth, she had him listed as her emergency contact on some medical forms. And something at that crime scene didn’t add up. He might not have done it, but we’ve got someone matching his description at the crime scene when they found the body and the car. He had motive and opportunity, and it’s not as if she’s a general type of ghost.”

“If I have to arrest someone this afternoon, you’re buying dinner,” Hermione said, with a sigh. “Here’s hoping he dropped dead from guilt or something.”

“Because that always happens,” Harry said. “The world is a just and completely fair place.”

“Obviously,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes.

As it turned out, the wizard in question had gone to Azkaban for using Imperius – Harry rolled his eyes at Draco’s Dark Arts gateway drug jokes – and had died there, which didn’t make for a particularly satisfying resolution. Hermione got sandwiches and things from the deli down the street, and Harry agreed to let Draco drive, mostly because Draco actually enjoyed driving, through some incredibly weird quirk of Unspeakable education. Ordinarily, they Apparated near rural hauntings, but it wasn’t always feasible, and in this case, they needed the damn car. Harry had to admit – sometimes, having a few hours off was worth the petrol receipts.

It was rare for him to have nothing to do these days, and rare for no one to be able to bother him with questions or problems, so Harry didn’t even mind the rain, although it was probably going to make things miserable on the job itself. Draco had the radio on low, some classical station that Harry was reasonably sure he was just using as background noise because Draco didn’t really like most classical, and between the heat of the radiator on just a little too high and the soft noise of the windshield wipers, Harry wasn’t entirely surprised that Hermione had pillowed her head on a jacket against his side and gone to sleep as soon as they’d gotten out of London.

“Hey,” Harry said, finally, softly. “Can I ask you something?”

Draco visibly startled. “God, I thought you were both asleep. Yes, if you don’t go quiet for ages and scare me again.”

“Well, she is,” Harry said. “Sorry, I got lost in thought.”

“She’d better be, she drank about three cups of Pansy’s tea,” Draco said. “Said she had a headache.”

“So just you and me next weekend, then,” Harry said, dryly.

“I’d start buying stock in chocolate, but I don’t want a repeat of the time that the only thing that would do was that weird awful dark stuff with orange in it, and I’d gotten regular,” Draco said.

“That was only once, we have a system now,” Harry said, laughing softly, and stroked a hand through Hermione’s hair, making sure her neck was supported. “Also, we’ve learned not to ignore the kitchen calendar.”

“Actually, we’ve learned there is a kitchen calendar,” Draco mused. “Some of us weren’t entirely kept in the loop on that one, Potter.”

“It’s useful, really, I never forget dentist appointments anymore,” Harry said.

“I like the list that tells us when we run low on something,” Draco said, thoughtfully. “So then someone can buy it at the store and no one’s irritated I’ve finished off the milk. I think if everyone knew about that trick, it would probably save a lot of marriages.”

“I’m sure,” Harry said, amused.

“What did you want to ask me?” Draco said.

“Oh,” Harry said. “If I ask you to promise not to get offended, you’re going to tell me you can’t possibly decide that until you know the question, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Draco said.

“Right,” Harry said. “How about if I say it’s in good faith and not meant to be prying and you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to?”

“No, that’s pointless, I already know those things about your questions,” Draco said. “Just ask it.”

“I was just thinking,” Harry said, looking at Draco through the rearview mirror. “Do you really never… get jealous?”

“I’m human, Potter, that would be ridiculous, of course I do,” Draco said.

“I meant –“ Harry considered, thinking of what he wanted to say. “Hermione and I were always a problem for Ron and Ginny. I can’t tell you the infinite number of fights we both had over it. And we weren’t…” He closed his eyes for a moment. “She barely ever touched me, we didn’t talk about being important to one another, even. So I don’t understand how you don’t mind.”

“It’s not that I don’t mind,” Draco said. “But she’s married to me and in love with me, and that’s a different thing than loving you. People get jealous when they’re worried someone’s going to change those things. I’m not. She might love you more, but she’s in love with me, there’s really no contest, they’re not the same thing.”

“I think the difference might be that you’re confident,” Harry said. “It’s novel.”

“I am,” Draco said. “But you shouldn’t think I don’t get anything out of her relationship with you, I’d probably be… less tolerant of it if I didn’t.”

“How do you mean?” Harry said.

Draco laughed. “Historically, Malfoys get what they want. And you said no to me when you were eleven. That smarted a bit. For, oh, a decade and some change.”

“You were an arrogant arse at eleven,” Harry said.

“Not the point,” Draco said. “I’ve never quite understood how you work. But you’re a completely different person around her than you ever were in public, and it’s never occurred to you not to let me see it so long as she’s there. Or, really, to bother excluding me.”

“She and I almost lost each other too many times,” Harry said, finally. “There’s a point when you don’t want to hold back just because other people don’t like it.”

“No, you shouldn’t,” Draco said. “But I meant what I said about getting to see a different version of her when you’re around, and I suppose the other side of that is true, I get to see a different side of you as well. It’s been like that for a while, really.”

“So you’re willing to tolerate us because now we’ve both said yes to friendship with you?” Harry said, bemused. “That’s a bit of a long time to carry a torch, Malfoy.”

“Not to put too fine a point on this, because I do in fact understand that you hate being famous, but you’re Harry Potter,” Draco said. “And I’m a Slytherin.”

Harry made a face. “Thank you, now you’ve ruined it. The whole thing.”

“Probably,” Draco agreed. “But you’re completely bloody different than anyone I’ve ever met, and you’re interesting. I like those things.”

“And that I’m Harry Potter,” Harry said, rolling his eyes.

“Yes,” Draco said. “Why wouldn’t I? It’s not as if you got famous for inventing some new spell or something. You’ve lived an interesting life. You think differently than other people because of it. I’m allowed to enjoy that.”

“Interesting is one way to put it,” Harry said, and shook his head. “You know, if anyone else said, I’d want to kill them, or at least never speak to them again, but you’re all right.”

“You’re all right too,” Draco said. “And I think this is about where we’ve got to switch.”

Harry stretched. “Are we still arguing about how we’re doing this?”

“You’re our best lure,” Draco said. “I don’t really like the thought of you going in alone, but I do agree that she’s got a target profile and you don’t fit it, so you’ll be safest.”

“Look, none of us likes splitting up, but there’s no way she’s going to manifest with three people in here,” Harry said. “I don’t startle that easily, and every muggle accident here has pretty much been ‘we let a woman into our car and then she turned into a horrible looking ghost,’ so I’m not that concerned.”

“Well, Hermione’s made up a bunch of gris gris, she said if you get into trouble, just use the best fit you can. And if you get into trouble, hit the high beams, we’ll Apparate.”

“And if I don’t get into trouble, I’ll stop where she seems to ask to be let out,” Harry said. “And if I hit the high beams there, then I’m going to need you two to weave.”

“Not that hard,” Draco said, reaching into the back seat to brush Hermione’s cheek. “We’re here, love. Wake up.”

“God, already?” Hermione said, with a yawn. “Did you talk Harry out of his completely awful plan?”

“No, I agreed to it,” Draco said. “Don’t hate me. There’s never a better one than sending one of us in alone on these.”

“I happen to think it’s a bit idiotic to try to set a trap for something that’s already a trap,” Hermione said, with a sigh. “Have you gone over everything without me?”

“Thought you could use the sleep,” Draco said. “Are you ready to apparate and lurk in a ditch for a while?”

“What a romantic proposition,” Hermione said. She kissed Harry’s cheek. “Be careful. And if –“

“I know, brights,” Harry said. “Go on, there are blankets in the trunk for when we finish this. Sooner you get gone, sooner we’ll be done with it.”

“Ten ‘til midnight,” Draco said, checking his watch. “Straight up then around the curve.”

“I love when you pretend I didn’t write the field plan,” Harry said, holding open the door for Hermione and sliding into the driver’s seat. He waved, waiting for Draco and Hermione to disappear, and cast a drying charm, fiddling with the radio until something a little less ominous than classical was playing. He restarted the car, waiting a few minutes, but hitting midnight straight on the nose wasn’t always the best idea. White Ladies were tricky – the worst one they’d dealt with had only appeared on alternating full moons if it was below freezing, and sometimes the patterns were even less than obvious than that. Still, Harry had a nagging feeling about this one, and he hadn’t gotten this far by ignoring his gut.

He pulled back onto the road, building up speed as he came around the curve. The distance between the turn and the place where witnesses said she usually asked to be dropped was about eight kilometers, mostly flat, but the rain wasn’t helping anything with visibility, though he knew Hermione had charms on the car. There was a trick to it, a detached headspace Harry could find with certain kinds of ghosts that felt like looking for the snitch in an incredibly long Quidditch match or all the nights he’d spent waiting for Ginny to come home. It was half numb, half welcome quiet, and when he saw the figure duck onto the side of the highway out of the hedgerows, dripping wet in the rain, he carefully drove past, then paused, pulling over to the side of the road as if he’d thought better of it. He didn’t reverse, leaning over to roll down the passenger side window a few inches.

“Hello,” he called. “Are you in some sort of trouble? Can I call someone for you?”

Part of the set was never to appear too eager; no motorist in their right mind would stop in the middle of the night to let a stranger into their car, no matter how bad the weather or remote the location.

“Hold on, please,” she called, coming up toward the car, and when Harry saw her, he could see why so many men had picked her up – she had been beautiful, with large, dark eyes and hair that fell down over her shoulders, curling in the rain. She was pale, with dark circles under her eyes, and Harry knew, somehow, that even if she was lethal, she’d been made into something she had never wanted to be. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying and her yellow cardigan was thin and insubstantial in the rain, though Harry could tell it had been threadbare to begin with. Things hadn’t been going well even before she’d been murdered.

“Hello,” he repeated. “Is everything all right? I didn’t see a car, did you break down further back?”

“No, it’s quite silly,” she said, with just a hint of a thicker accent than Harry was used to hearing these days. “I’m afraid my boyfriend and I had a bit of a misunderstanding, I don’t suppose there’s any chance you could give me a lift the rest of the way home? It’s just up the road.”

“You’re sure there’s no one I could call?” Harry said. “I’d hardly want to ask you to get into a car with a stranger at this time of night.”

She offered a small smile. “No, I live alone,” she said. “And given the choice between walking the rest of the way in the rain and this, well – I shouldn’t catch cold.” She laughed, lilting and life-like. “Besides, how bad could you possibly be? You’ve packed sandwiches in a hamper. I don’t think terrible people do that.”

“Got me,” Harry said, ducking his head a bit. “My friend, actually, she worries I won’t eat well on the road, you know.”

“That’s quite sweet,” she said, as he unlocked the car door, holding it open.

“I’m Harry,” he said, handing over his jumper. “Good to meet you. Take this, you’re soaking. It’s plenty warm in here, I’ll be fine.”

“Carol,” she said. “Thanks ever so, I wasn’t looking forward to that walk.”

“I can’t imagine you would be,” Harry agreed, pulling back out onto the roadway. “By the way, completely unsolicited advice, if he hasn’t come back in this weather, I don’t care how bad of a row it was, you really ought to have words.”

“I don’t think anyone would say I’ve got the best taste in men,” Carol said.

“Well, there’s always time for a fresh start,” Harry said.

“Not always,” she said. “But I suppose that’s a nice way to think about it.”

There was silence for a few minutes, until the clouds parted enough to let the moonlight through. Harry could see her start to change in his peripheral vision, blood blooming over the cardigan, over the seat, an enormous gash opening across her face, her lips going bright red from the blood spilling out of her mouth. Her neck turned, an odd angle, arm bones slicing through skin and fabric alike, and Harry knew, somehow, that he hadn’t used the killing curse. There was too much blood, everywhere, and she put a hand over her stomach, whether it was because of imagined pain or desire to protect something, Harry couldn’t tell.

“You look a bit worse for the wear, Carol,” he said, evenly.

She laughed. “That happens sometimes, would you believe?” she said.

He gauged it, driving a little further, then hit the brakes, slowing the car down beside the road. They were nearly to the rendezvous point, and it would have to do.

“I would, actually,” Harry said, turning to face her. “You might be surprised what I would believe.”

“Would I?” she said. “You might be surprised at what I know.”

“I don’t think so, actually,” Harry said. “You’re dead. The dead know things the living can’t.”

“Know a lot of us, do you?” she murmured, bloody froth starting to bubble at her lips, fingertips going pale.

“Enough,” Harry admitted. “But some of you are better than others.”

“Flattery isn’t going to save you,” she said. “You’re no innocent. There’s guilt around your heart. It’s rather impressive, I don’t usually see so much.”

“No,” Harry agreed. “But I’m a decent man, and I think you can see that too.”

“Depends on your definition of decent,” she said. “You have quite a lot of blood on your hands. And that’s a lot of hate towards your wife, thinking of doing something about it?”

“Signing the divorce papers,” Harry quipped. He paused, thinking through his options and sighed. Hermione and Draco were probably going to lose their minds, but Harry knew his only option here was trusting her, if trusting a ghost was ever the right decision. He pulled a package of cigarettes out of the front pocket of his jacket, rolling down the window before he lit one. If he’d gotten close enough…

“I think I can give you something you want, if it makes a difference,” he said. “But I’ll see you first, if you’d like.”

“That’s interesting,” she said. “They beg, sometimes, but they always look away. He looked away, you know. Walked away, even.”

“Well, I haven’t yet,” Harry said, turning off the car and killing the lights before he looked her square in the eye, letting his vision adjust to the dark. “I’d tell you it’s not so bad, but we both know that I’d be lying.”

Harry had a high tolerance for gore – ghosts were rarely pretty, and he’d sat through so many autopsies than he’d lost count – but watching someone die like this was different. There was so much blood, and the slow, uneven sound of her breathing, raspy and thick. This time of night on a road that was rural even now, he doubted anyone had called in the accident for hours, and she was bleeding out in front of him. It hadn’t been instant; far from it.

“How long?” he said, quietly.

“An hour and fourteen minutes,” she said. “The car radio just kept going. I lost the baby forty-seven minutes in. I’ve always wondered if I would have known her so well if she hadn’t been – well, like him. She’s still here yet, though. I just kept hoping someone would come. Anyone. I couldn’t get free, and even if I had, I’m not so sure they could have done anything, even in hospital.”

“I can answer that if you’d like, I’ve read your autopsy report,” Harry said, quietly. He took a slow drag of the cigarette, not taking his eyes off her – part of this job would always involve bearing witness.

“I suppose,” she said, after a moment.

“No,” he said. “There was too much damage even from the start. They couldn’t tell if you’d died of blood loss or damage to your heart and liver. And to answer your other question, no, you probably wouldn’t have if she hadn’t had magic.”

“Well, I suppose that’s something, thank you for being honest,” she said. “She was worth everything, you know. I don’t regret any of it.”

“I know,” Harry said. “I do, though. I’m sorry you didn’t get to know her longer.”

“You’re different,” she said, finally. “Good and bad all at the same time. I always know, but I don’t quite know what to make of you. And you’ve been kind.”

“No, I’ve been decent,” Harry said, quietly. “I imagine he didn’t tell you much, but don’t judge us all on the terrible things one of us did. Your daughter would have been one of us.”

“It’s not that,” she said, thoughtfully. “You’re loyal, you do good things, but you’re angry. You’re carrying so much hatred, I’m not sure I ought to let you walk away. I’m not sure I’ve seen anyone with so many scars.”

“We both know you ought to,” Harry said, quietly. “There are some crimes you can’t punish me for. The best punishment is having to live with it.”

“Or maybe forgiving yourself and hating less,” she said, softly. “I loved her so much, I thought I might be able to change the world with it. Surely your mother felt the same.”

“My mother did, actually,” Harry said. “Change the world with how much she loved me, I mean. I think I’d rather she have loved me less.”

“That wasn’t yours to decide,” she said. Bruises were forming across her face in slow, almost agonizing motion, bloody froth still dripping from her mouth. The cut across her face was slowly bleeding less, running out of blood, and her face almost pure white in the moonlight from blood loss. “Can you answer something for me?”

She extended the hand of her intact arm, glass visible in the palm, and Harry hesitated. You didn’t touch ghosts. It gave them a way in. A ghost almost always had to touch you to kill you, and touching left the door wide open. But touch in and of itself wasn’t dangerous. And Harry had touched ghosts before.

“All right,” he said, lying his palm over hers as carefully as he could. She was colder than ice, the sort of cold that got in your bones and felt as if it might never leave again.

“Is that there? Was it real? You’re one of them, could you tell me?” she said, and in the silence, Harry could feel it, the unbreakable bond the baby was creating between them. It was what had turned her, this fierce and unmistakable love and devotion, and Harry also knew that she’d spent the last moments of her life without it. Alone.

“Yes, it was real, she loved you,” Harry said, firmly. “She was trying to hang on for you. And you wouldn’t be here now, like this, if she hadn’t spun you together like she did.” He offered a smile. “She would have been quite the powerful witch. You would have been proud.”

“I’m tired,” she said, finally. “It’s so hard, losing her over and over. But I have to. For both of us.”

“Look, you only own one death, Carol,” Harry said. “What everyone else has or hasn’t done – well, you’ve got the power to be judge and jury, but you really only own his. And you couldn’t put that right, could you?”

“No,” she said. “Your whole magic thing – I can’t seem to find any way around it.”

“Well, he’s dead,” Harry said. “And I know that’s a miserable consolation given that you didn’t get to do it with your own hands, but I can promise you that he spent a lot of time in a merciless, horrifying jail. He had time to think about the things he’d done.”

“But he wasn’t put there for this,” she said. “I’d have known.”

“No,” Harry agreed. “It wasn’t for this. But I’ve done something. And you’ve only got my word, but you can tell if I’m telling the truth, so I hope you’ll know.” The blood spreading across the seat was expanding, her breathing growing shallower, but she was watching him through those dark eyes.

“This is an amended death certificate,” Harry said, quietly, pulling a file out of the glove box. “It’s been filled out by our coroner. It lists homicide as your cause of death. We’ve found enough evidence in the old files to tie him to this, and it’s irregular, but your witness testimony will stand through me. I can file it tomorrow. I can’t make him serve time, but I can make quite sure you get justice. I would tell your family, but it doesn’t seem as if you have any that’s still living. I’m sorry, I wish I could offer more, but it’s all I’ve got to give. Well, maybe –“ He paused. “Had you named her? The baby?”

“Claire,” she said, finally. “Claire Elizabeth.”

“I can make sure your headstone has her name too, if you’d like,” Harry said. “And they’ll know he killed her too. I know it’s not nearly enough. But I won’t forget either of you.”

“You said you see a lot of ghosts,” she said. “Why would you remember us?”

“I see a lot of ghosts,” he corrected. “I’m not in the habit of having conversations with them.”

She looked at him. “Could she have my last name?”

“Well, I’m certainly not giving her his,” Harry said, with a small smile. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry someone did this to both of you, I’m sorry he did it in such a horrible, cruel way, and I’m sorry you didn’t have the means to get out from under the power he had over you. It’s a horrible thing for anyone to do, but when you have power like we do – he could have erased your memories of him, or sent you somewhere far away to start a new life, or done… a lot of things. He chose this one, and I’m sorry. I wish you’d gotten to meet her.”

“I do too,” she said. “But I think maybe – I could go when she does, this time.”

“I think so too,” Harry said. “Could I ask you a favor?”

“Me?” she said, looking startled. Harry was surprised she could manage it given how battered her body was, but he realized it was starting to fade away, leaving her original form behind. “What would you want from me?”

“Is there a photograph of you somewhere?” Harry said. “A newspaper clipping or a yearbook? Something I could look up?”

“Why would you want that?” she said. “It’s not as if I’m something particularly special, and you’ve seen me a horrific mess.”

“I think it might be nice to have a reminder to hate a little less,” Harry said.

“I was in the secretarial pool at the Central Agency for a while,” she said. “We had to include a head shot and some candid photos. You could see if they kept the file somewhere.”

“I’ll look,” Harry said, reaching to cover her hand with his own. “And I’ll fix all the rest of it tomorrow. You’ll be heard.”

“The kind parts of you are bigger than the other parts of you,” she said. “Don’t lose that.”

“I won’t,” Harry said. “I have good people. They won’t let me.”

“I’m glad,” she said, with a smile. “I think I ought to be going, though. It’s nearly been forty-seven minutes, and if it’s the last forty-seven minutes we’re going to have, I’d like to say goodbye.”

“I don’t know much about these things, but maybe think of it as the first forty-seven minutes,” Harry suggested. “Say hello.”

“I like that better,” she said. “Goodbye, Harry. Thank you.”

“Goodbye, Carol,” Harry said. She looked thoughtful as she opened the door of the car, taking just one step back onto the road before she faded away. Harry took a slow, deep breath and turned the car back on. He flicked the brights up.

Draco came at a run, Hermione on his heels, their wands both out.

“She’s gone,” he called. “It’s all right.”

“If you ever -“ Hermione said, pale.

“No, allow me,” Draco said, opening the car door and hauling him out with a hand fisted in his shirt. Harry was still numb enough that the fear and anger on Draco’s face were things he catalogued instead of feeling, though the car was cold against his back.

“Harry, we play by the rules,” Draco hissed, shoving him back hard, his arm against Harry’s throat. “We don’t do stupid things like eliminating our only means of giving our partners the signal we’ve agreed upon. We don’t let ghosts trick us. And we certainly don’t have prolonged conversations with them while your bloody best friend and your partner are lying in a ditch having no idea what to do to keep you safe.” Draco shoved again, cutting off his air for a moment. “Are we perfectly fucking clear? Because if you ever do anything like that again, I will use every Unforgivable I know on you, and believe me, there are far more than three.”

“You can’t take stupid fucking risks and play the hero every time, Harry,” Hermione said, so quietly Harry knew she’d been terrified. “You have people who love you. It’s just a ghost, Harry, we do eight of the things every week, you can’t get killed over them! We could have woven it in two minutes. What were you thinking?”

“I know,” Harry said. “I know.”

“There does not currently seem to be much evidence to support that,” Draco said, louder. “Quit acting like you’re dispensable. I just bloody told you, in the fucking car! What the bloody hell was that about?”

“I wasn’t trying to go it alone,” Harry said, holding up his hands. “I thought I was close enough that you could hear us.”

“Just conversation,” Hermione said, biting down hard on the corner of her mouth. “Maybe every fifth word on your end, nothing from her. That’s the only reason we didn’t break in. You didn’t sound frightened.”

“I wasn’t,” Harry said. “I couldn’t be.”

“Oh, wonderful, now you’re insane as well,” Draco said.

“I didn’t meet her criteria,” Harry said.

“She was a fucking ghost, Harry, they don’t have to follow rules because they’re dead,” Draco said.

“You’re never reckless,” Hermione said. “Why on earth would you pick tonight?”

“I wasn’t being bloody reckless!” Harry finally yelled back. “Look.”

He opened the package of cigarettes, lighting another, and threw it on the ground, where it exploded in a flash of pure, bright light. “I had one of these the entire time, and I tried to get close enough that you could hear me, but I couldn’t.”

He took a breath. “We couldn’t have woven that ghost,” he said. “We could not have. I don’t love being wrong two for two on our last cases, but that wasn’t a White Lady. She was an Axioen. And once she got in that car with me, I was either going to talk her into letting go or she was going to kill me. There were literally no other options. So forgive me for not wanting to get you two killed as well.”

“What?” Hermione said, freezing. “Harry, they’re –“

“Theoretical,” Draco said.

“No, they’re not,” Hermione said. “They’re just universally lethal, everything we’ve got on them is from recorders or witnesses or wand playback.”

“I’ve never even heard of a team getting killed by one,” Draco said. “Are you sure?”

“Trust me,” Harry said, quietly. “How many White Ladies have we done? Twenty? Thirty? She wasn’t. It was just a convenient guise. I could feel –“ He took another slow breath. “I could feel her weighing me. And I need an actual cigarette, please, because these are fucking flares and I’ve been faking it with one for the last half hour.”

Draco stepped around the side of the car, suddenly staring. “Good god,” he said. “That’s – is that blood? Is it –“ He reached out a hand, pulling away fast. “That’s not an illusion.”

“No,” Harry said, tiredly.

“That’s not yours?” Hermione said.

“No, hers, I’d be dead if I’d lost that much,” Harry said. “Draco, I could really use that cigarette.”

“Is this – I’ve barely even done reading on the things, is this safe to touch? I need to get in the glove box.”

“It’s just her blood,” Harry said. “It’s as real as any of ours.”

“Right,” Draco said, pulling on a pair of gloves from his pocket, and opened the glove box, taking a carton of cigarettes. Hermione looked as if she was considering being disapproving, but she finally shook her head.

“How on earth did you know?” she said.

“I got lucky. Right place, right time. I was reading through the manual section on the really bloody rare ones today,” Harry said. “After the siren. And so help me, we’re on wisps and poltergeists for the next few months. Nothing new.”

“No, I meant that the criteria are barely defined,” Hermione said. “We don’t know where they come from. Or what they kill for. Why was it here? And what was different about it from a White Lady?”

“I know – “ Harry paused, lighting his cigarette, and leaned back hard against the car, finally giving in and sliding down so he was sitting against it. “Hermione, I love you, but it’s been a rough night, you can interrogate me all you’d like to fill in the entry tomorrow. And we’re going to have to figure out what to do with the car, because magic isn’t going to work on that blood.”

“Harry?” Hermione said, quietly, and he knew what she was trying to ask, that it wasn’t academic, that she was just trying to make sense of how he’d gotten out of it, how he was okay.

“They have a death loop,” he said, quietly. “Someone had written something about the primary witness saying it was like watching the death happen, and I thought when I read it that it was like a flashback or a vision, but she meant it literally. They relive their death every night. And I don’t think any of them have died quickly.”

“Fuck,” Draco said. “I thought he used the killing curse.”

“No, he wrecked the car and left,” Harry said. “She lived for more than an hour. She bled out. Evidenced by the front seat.”

Hermione closed her eyes for a moment. “I’ve seen worse. Hell, maybe I’ve been through worse, or at least you have. Why does that feel so… cruel? And personal?”

“Because it was a horrible way to die,” Harry said, simply. “And because there are far too many horrible ways to die, but Axioen –“ He ran a hand through his hair. “I touched her. Don’t get on me, she asked, I didn’t really have many other options. But I know… more than I should, now.”

“Is it – that whole thing, the judgment thing, is that true?” Draco said, still on the other side of the car.

“Yes,” Harry said. “They don’t have hearts so they can make room for ours, they… borrow them.” He laughed, hollowly. “I’m really getting a little tired of being technically dead for extended periods of time, honestly.”

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth.

“They don’t decide your worth,” Harry said. “It’s not like that heart and feather Egyptian thing. It’s all the lives you’ve saved versus all the lives you’ve taken, but it’s… who you are too. Your potential to do good or evil. I’m not sure I can explain. And they’re the ghost of the person who died and something more all at the same time. You can’t separate that out, really.”

“So I suppose you’re the only Auror one of these has run across whose balance was in the black?” Draco said, without any real bite to it.

“I don’t think so, actually,” Harry said. “She said she didn’t know what to do with me. But I don’t think there are a lot of people who have spent time absolutely certain they were going to die and just staring it in the face with no way out. It changes you. And we don’t think about that, it’s us versus them, it has to be, but there’s this place between being dead and being alive….” He shook his head. “That’s where they come from, and that’s the trick. Most people can’t bear the thought of it. But if you can, then you’re on even ground.” He shrugged. “I guess I should be glad I was a horcrux or something. I gave the ghost what I could, you know, what we’d talked about, I tried to give her some comfort, and I think maybe that got me out. Maybe. I honestly don’t know.”

“Do you ever just want to quit this job and move to Majorca?” Draco said, finally.

“Yes, but if I did that, then I’d be looking away,” Harry said, finally climbing to his feet with a sigh. “I think – “ He glanced down. “Hermione, have you got a candle or something?”

“In the emergency kit, I think, why?” she said.

“I want to see something,” Harry said.

“Okay,” Hermione said, looking concerned. She passed it over, and Harry lit it, examining his palm. Hermione drew in a sharp breath. There was a perfect, bloody palm print there in the candlelight – it disappeared into a faint silver when he took the light away. It was smaller than his own, and – somehow – it felt warm. Almost comforting.

“She said I had blood on my hands,” Harry said.

“Harry, there was a war,” Hermione started. “You can’t –“

“No, it’s not –“ Harry rubbed his face. “The Axioen or – Carol – or, I don’t know, both of them, they put Carol’s blood on my hand. It’s a reminder. You don’t just get bloody hands from killing people. You get them from saving them too.”

“That’s oddly profound,” Draco mused.

“They’re supposed to be a bit angelic,” Hermione mused. “In the old school, horrific angel of judgment and torture sort of way.”

“Well, I’d have liked her if she hadn’t stolen my heart to assess it and thought about killing me,” he said. “I liked half of her, anyway. The formerly human half. I wanted to help her.”

“Sometimes they want help,” Draco said. “But usually they’d sooner kill you than kiss you.”

“You stole that from Parkinson,” Harry said. “Or she – god, I’m sitting on wet pavement, I was just dead for however long that took, and there’s a thermos of tea in there somewhere. Get me that.”

“Well, the hamper’s a little… drenched,” Draco said. “We probably ought to figure out what we’re doing with the car. And get indoors before it decides to rain again.”

“Screw it, just leave it parked off the road with a concealment charm, we’ll send Harris and Farrow and Bainbridge to get the damn thing tomorrow. I’m Apparating home and taking a shower and going to bed.”

“Our room tonight,” Hermione said, firmly. “And I’m Apparating us, you’re hardly in any sort of head space to do it.”

“Yeah, I don’t want to be alone,” Harry said, reaching for her and finally letting her pull him into a bone-crushing hug. He wrapped his arms around her, surprised when Draco tapped his shoulder and Hermione let go so Draco could hug him hard too. Harder.

“I know you have to have all the special ones, Potter, but I’d appreciate it if you could avoid scaring us like that again,” he said, against his temple.

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry said, resting his head on Draco’s shoulder for a moment. “I’m starting to wonder if maybe we shouldn’t take that poltergeist this week, it might turn out to end the world or something with our luck lately.”

“Don’t jinx it,” Draco said. “Hermione, I’ll levitate it, you do the concealing charm?”

“Done,” Hermione said, hand still on Harry’s shoulder, and they got the car well into a hedge and thoroughly invisible to anyone who happened by.

“Home?” Hermione said.

“Home,” Harry said.

He thought, maybe, that there was something incredibly screwed up about the fact that they’d all had so many life or death experiences that it no longer felt terrifying and left him full of adrenaline when it was about him. He knew there weren’t any guarantees, but he’d fought hard for the right to live his own life – or, more accurately, to risk his own life – and every time, he was simply glad that at the end, no one else could die from taking the wrong path through the forest or opening their front door or picking up a young woman on the side of the road.

Hermione hovered, following on his heels up the stairs, and he was a little startled when she actually followed him into the washroom.

“Just give me your clothes,” she said, holding out a hand.

“Why, Hermione,” Harry joked. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“Oh, look at yourself,” she said, sounding irritated. “No spell’s going to get that out, I’ll have to soak them with peroxide.”

Harry was surprised to find that Hermione was right – there was a sharp spray of blood across his shirt, as if he’d been close enough at just the right moment, and the pooling blood had started seeping into his jeans. His hands and forearms were covered in blood too, as if he’d been touching her closely, and he supposed, after a moment, that he had.

“I think I’m only going to make this worse,” he said, bending and lifting his arms so Hermione could tug his shirt over his head.

“It’s strange, it feels as if I saved someone,” he said, thoughtfully.

“You did, yourself,” Hermione replied, her hands going to his belt buckle before Harry could get there first.

He suspected she was just operating on autopilot, but a moment later when she’d gotten his belt undone, she undid the button and the zipper, and Harry tried not to jump.

“I think these are ruined, but no sense in making them worse, just step out,” she said, perfectly efficient and perfectly Hermione. It took Harry a moment to notice her hands were trembling.

“Malfoy,” he yelled, stepping back to lean out the washroom door. “Draco! Get up here.”

“I was making tea,” Draco said, leaning around the corner to look up the stairs. “What’s the emergency, other than you looking like you’ve been in a train wreck?”

“It’s –“ Hermione said. “I –“

“Would you just leave the bloody kettle for a minute?” Harry said. “I need you.”

“Oh, well then,” Draco said, but he looked more concerned than annoyed, and he ducked back into the kitchen and then came up the stairs, leaning against the bathroom doorframe. “What’s the problem?”

“I can’t tell if I’m in shock or not,” Harry said, thoughtfully. “But I can tell she is. And I only know of one way to fix that with Hermione, so we’re about to be in a state of undress in about fifteen seconds that I figured I ought to warn you about.”

“I’m –“ Hermione said, then sighed. “All right, I’m not fine.”

“Potter, you cannot have sex with my wife, even if you did nearly just get killed,” Draco said. “I didn’t think I needed to explain that part of the jealousy clause.”

“I just want to get in the shower, the heat helps,” Harry said. “I said state of undress, not naked. And I don’t care if you stay.” He considered, looking at him. “Actually, I want you to stay. For both of us.”

“Oh, that’s all right then,” Draco said, rolling his eyes, reaching into the shower to turn it on. The infinite warm water didn’t apply to the few minutes it took to warm up.

“I should have looked more closely at that file,” Hermione said. “Maybe if I’d –“ Her teeth were starting to chatter.

“Half of that ghost was exactly what it looked like, and you couldn’t have known,” Harry said, kicking his jeans away. “Don’t be stupid. And I’m not –“ He closed his eyes for a moment. “It’s not always such a bad thing to be seen.”

“Don’t go over all panicked, he’s right there,” Draco said, unzipping her cardigan and unbuttoning her blouse with practiced efficiency, though he paused for a moment when he got to her camisole. He left that on. “Being an utter lunatic and insisting none of us have clothes on like normal people, I suppose, but that’s about normal for Potter, you can’t take it all that seriously.”

“Oh, hell,” Hermione said, as Draco undid her jeans, pushing them down and settling his hands on her shoulders, holding her still from where she’d started to shake. “This is embarrassing.”

“But apparently not novel, seeing as how Harry has a method,” Draco said, looking entertained. “Just how much time have you two spent nearly naked in showers?”

“I dunno,” Harry said, honestly, leaving the water about as hot as he could stand and folding his glasses to leave on the edge of the sink. “For the record, it’s not as if my total inability to cope with anything after the fact isn’t well documented.”

“I already knew that, it’s in your file,” Draco said. “I’d hardly go in the field with you without reading your entire file.”

“I should probably find that invasive,” Harry said.

“Said the man who is about to almost naked shower with my spouse,” Draco said. “I don’t think any of us are particularly wonderful with boundaries.”

“Can I –“ Hermione said, and Harry held his arms out.

“Yeah,” he said, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, holding on so tightly that it was almost hard to breathe. “It’s okay. I’m okay. Shh.”

“Point, I would have been pissed off to walk in on this,” Draco said, but Harry ignored him, stroking a hand through Hermione’s hair. At this point, the blood and rain and mud didn’t really matter.

“I’m okay,” he repeated.

“I hate this, I hate all of this,” Hermione said, into his neck.

“We all do,” Harry said. “You’re going to have to let me move if you want hot water.”

“Damn it,” Hermione said. “Now I hate you too.”

“Excellent,” Harry said, nudging her back. He kept his hands on her hips, lifting her up and into the tub. “I hate you back.”

She laughed softly. “Quit pretending I’m luggage,” she said, as Harry stepped in, looking over his shoulder at Draco.

“Eat more and I won’t,” Harry said. “Are you coming?”

“Not an odd Potter-Granger thing?” Draco said, thoughtfully.

“Well, yes, but just stick your name on the end or something,” Harry said. “It can be a Potter-Granger-Malfoy thing. Hermione, stand there and get warm.”

“Bossy,” she said, but she moved her hands to his shoulders, leaning back into the shower spray. “Draco, come here.”

“This is utterly ridiculous,” Draco observed, but he pulled his shirt over his head and left his jeans next to Hermione’s. “I understand that you and Harry have odd things, but –“

“She needs me here,” Harry said. “And it’s taking my brain a bit to come around on the subject, but I actually think I might need you as well.”

“Oh all right, but it’s still ridiculous,” Draco said, stepping in behind Hermione, who leaned back against him, still keeping Harry close. “This is starting to feel suspiciously like inappropriate dreams I occasionally had about the Ravenclaw Quidditch team.”

“Draco,” Hermione said, laughing. “Stop flirting. Harry will have a heart attack.”

“I challenge you to name one scenario other than things teenage boys think about or pornography where three adults are mostly naked in a shower.”

“Unfair restriction clause to teenage boys,” Harry retorted. “You have seen those chasers for Kenmare. You know, the blonde ones.”

“Okay, true,” Draco said. “Plus it’s sort of a bonus that they can actually play.”

“Right?” Harry said. “It’s not as if I ever get to watch Quidditch, but did you hear last week’s match up on the radio?”

“Yes, they somehow beat Wimbourne,” Draco said. “Their Keeper’s out, but that’s still a damn strong team. Not like I’m abandoning Montrose, but I wouldn’t mind seeing some match ups in my theoretical infinite free time, they’re playing – what, Banchory at the end of the month?”

Hermione finally burst out laughing, and Harry paused to look at her.

“You two,” she said, shaking her head. “I mean, not to objectify myself or to ruin Harry’s theory that hot water and body contact keep me from going off the deep end, he’s right, but I’m nearly in my knickers and the two men I’m with are talking about Quidditch. Should I give you two some privacy?”

“I think we might have been talking about attractive Quidditch players,” Harry suggested.

“Making me, what, chopped liver?”

“Oh, shut up,” Draco said, pressing a kiss to her temple. “I knew marrying you was going to involve strange moments, and I knew being Potter’s partner was going to get dicey occasionally, but I think you can forgive me if I wasn’t quite anticipating this.”

“Maybe we should give him a list,” Harry said, considering. He was trying not to laugh. “I’m sure we can come up with some other things he ought to anticipate.”

“Are there any things that involve people being naked?” Draco said.

“Dunno,” Harry said. “We all used to go skinny dipping, but I hardly think that counts. And there was that really weird case where we had to share a sleeping bag - ”

“Harry,” Hermione said, sounding scandalized. “You’ve forgotten all the raunchy sex we’re always getting up to every time Draco’s off doing something else.”

“Oh, damn, hadn’t thought of that,” Harry agreed. “Did you want that on the list?”

“Is my desire for normalcy somehow strange?” Draco said.

“Normality,” Hermione corrected. “And no, but I don’t think you’re going to get it, you married me, you inherited Harry, and we chase ghosts around for a living. I suppose you could have gone with a nice Hufflepuff and be working in the Ministry Administrative Department or something.”

“Actual nightmare,” Draco said.

“Okay, look,” Harry said. “I’m literally not doing any more conversations about me and Hermione unless something comes up. I’m –“ He made a face, finding the soap. “I have talked with you more than I talk about it with her, and you said you got it, so you get it.”

“You still yelled for me to come up here when you were getting naked,” Draco pointed out.

“No one’s naked, and yes, because I’m not an idiot,” Harry said. “You respect our friendship, I respect your marriage, everyone moves on with their lives.”

“That gives me zero things to respect,” Hermione said, thoughtfully. “I might like this arrangement.”

“By all means,” Draco said. “Feminism and all.”

“Oh, shut it,” Hermione said. “Want to see a fun trick?”

“That depends,” Draco said.

“Hey, Harry,” she said. “What pattern’s on my knickers?”

“That’s a little –“ Draco said.

“Shh,” Hermione said.

“Er,” Harry said. “Plaid, maybe? No, wait, I think those might be stripes.”

“What color?” Hermione said.

“Navy,” Harry said. “Purple? Something dark.”

“They have dark green flowers on, Harry,” Hermione said. “He can maybe see if you put a hand in front of his face. Maybe.”

“If it’s really close, yeah,” Harry said. “Your point being? Oh –“ He made a face. “Draco, I’m hardly making a play here or something. Because that would be terribly logical, you know, having called you in here. And having done this god knows how many times without losing my mind and ripping Hermione’s knickers off.” He paused. “That would probably go horribly, actually, my depth perception’s rubbish too. I’d grab the shampoo bottle or something.”

Draco sighed. “I think I have to concede the point,” he said. “Though don’t we think it’s a little tragic that Harry’s destined to never have any shower threeways with Quidditch players?”

“Oh, the rain repelling charm works perfectly well,” Harry said, laughing. “Maybe I can leave my glasses on for that hypothetical thing with Padma and Pansy.”

He felt Hermione tense, then felt her force herself to relax. “If Pansy somehow blows up anything in my shower because you’ve said the wrong thing, you’re fixing it,” she said, with a smile that didn’t seem particularly sincere.

Draco snorted. “Don’t worry, darling, he’s definitely holding out for someone on Kenmare,” he said. “Their Seeker’s not bad either, you know. I bet if we got tickets to a match they’d want to meet you.”

“Given my overall luck dating Quidditch players so far in life, I might pass,” Harry said. “But the thought’s appreciated.”

“Hold on, speaking of said Quidditch player,” Draco said, considering. “You really can’t see anything? I mean, anything?”

Harry snorted. “I can see things up close, which tends to be what matters, and if I really want to, I can use a vision correcting spell, they just don’t work for long enough to be worth it most of the time. And, er –“ Harry paused. “It’s not like you can see a lot in the dark anyway, and I do everything else with my bloody glasses on, it’s not like they don’t have every anti-breakage charm on them Hermione could think of.”

“Seriously?” Hermione said, amused. “Are you actually concerned about Harry’s visual enjoyment of sex?”

“No,” Draco said. “Oh, shut it. I like looking at you naked. Obviously Harry should be able to enjoy looking at someone naked too. Emphasis on the looking. And someone, as in someone else.”

“I promise I am not currently looking at Hermione naked,” Harry said. “For one thing, she’s sort of got a shirt on, and the rest of it’s about as revealing as a bathing suit, and for another, it’s a rather… Impressionist bathing suit given that I can’t see anything.”

“Currently,” Draco said, considering. “What does currently imply?”

“In the present moment?” Harry said. “As in, that I am not doing so?”

“Draco, love, I hate to tell you, but you are not the first man to ever see me naked,” Hermione said, bemused. “You are also not the first man I’ve ever slept with. You can have last on the latter. But yes, Harry has seen me naked before. For one thing, we’ve known each other since we were eleven, so it’d take an act of god to have never accidentally seen anything, for another, we’re partners and the number of times one of us has had to change in front of the other is kind of astronomical, and three, we spent most of seventh year camping alone in a tent, there really wasn’t much privacy.”

“Look, let’s be brutally honest there, we were seventeen with literally nothing to do, I will fully admit to looking with less than perfectly innocent thoughts there,” Harry admitted. “On the other hand, I’m pretty sure I also looked at, I don’t know, chairs and trees with less than perfectly innocent thoughts. No offense, Hermione.”

“I was… practically applying previously learned educational information at the time,” Hermione said.

Draco snorted. “Okay, seriously, that’s it? Because I’ve been waiting for about a year for you two to admit to drunken sex that no one really remembers. You were seventeen and both single and alone in the bloody woods without any adult supervision. How didn’t you?”

Harry laughed. “No, none of that. I think you’d know by now if we’d ever slept together.”

“He does have a point,” Hermione said. “Were you trying not to hack off Ron or something?”

“No, I was so bloody pissed at him I didn’t care,” Harry said. “You just –“ He paused. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I sort of figured if you’d been interested in sex there was no way you wouldn’t have just initiated something.”

“I was a seventeen year old girl,” Hermione pointed out. “There were in fact some things even I was too nervous to bring up.”

“Really?” Harry said, dubiously.

“Oh come on,” Hermione said. “You liked Cho. And Ginny. Don’t tell me I remotely resemble either of them.”

“No?” Harry hazarded. “You were much –“ He paused. “You know what, it all worked out, horcruxes were destroyed, now you’re married to Draco.”

“Much what?” Hermione said.

“More intelligent,” Harry said, watching Draco try not to laugh. “Don’t you dare, Malfoy.”

“Much what?” Hermione repeated, putting her hands on her hips.

“Not a chance in hell,” Harry said. “There are many things you don’t have in common with Cho and Ginny, pick something.”

Hermione paused, glancing at Draco. “You know exactly what he means, don’t you? This is some sort of idiotic teenage boy code that you’re still in on?”

“Really, no,” Harry said, laughing. “Don’t.”

“Oh, what’s she going to do, hex you for noticing years ago?” Draco said, laughing too. “He means you didn’t exactly have a girlish figure.”

“Hey,” Hermione protested. “I was perfectly healthy.”

“Oh, for the love of God, you were much more attractive to any bloke who liked curves,” Harry said. “You actually had breasts and hips and all that.”

Hermione paused. “So basically what you’re saying is if I’d just, you know, brought it up…”

“Yeah, probably,” Harry said. “I mean, downside to having missed out, I’m fairly confident it would have gone better than… how things were with our respective first sexual partners, and then we could have had something to do instead of being bored out of our minds and going insane over horcruxes. But on the upside, we’re still friends, no one’s broken up, and you got Malfoy. Delayed gratification or something.”

“You know, I should probably find it somewhere in me to be jealous, but I just can’t,” Draco said. “You could totally have been sex as randy teenagers and you weren’t because you were both exactly the same sort of idiots you still are, I can’t find that much other than hilarious. But now I’m going to make a lot of bad puns about pitching tents.”

“Well, he’s an insufferable arse, you seem better, and I want tea,” Harry said, with a yawn. “I’ll even change in the corner of your room just to let Draco make new memories. Except we’re boring adults now who aren’t constantly trying to manage looking without the other person noticing.”

“I tend to just look these days, yeah,” Hermione said, leaning up for a kiss from Draco. “No longer being a teenage girl has its benefits.”

“Just a few,” Draco agreed. “You sure you’re okay, love?”

“Fine,” Hermione said, with a smile. “Honestly. He does know how to make me feel better, if even if some of it is a little odd.”

“Or a lot odd,” Draco said. “But if it’s stupid and it works, it isn’t stupid.”

“Pretty sure it’s still stupid, but I’ll take it,” Harry said, with another yawn. “Okay, I lied, I’m going to go get in bed and someone else is going to make tea. I make no promises on staying awake for it.”

“Demanding, aren’t you?” Hermione said, amused. “Get in the shower, you get in the shower too, I’m sleeping in your room, go make me some tea, I can’t be bothered….”

“Pretty much,” Harry agreed, kissing her cheek. “See you soon?”

“I guess I’m making the tea and leaving you two to stare at one another changing,” Draco said, cheerfully. “Enjoy that whole seventeen year old roleplaying thing.”

“You wish,” Hermione said. “Thanks, love.”

“Thank you,” Harry agreed, putting a warming charm on his towel and wrapping himself in it. “See you in bed?”

“Mm,” Draco agreed, climbing out and passing a towel to Hermione. “Where you’ll be too asleep to drink the tea.”

“Probably,” Harry agreed. “But I’ll appreciate the thought. And if you don’t put any milk in it, it’s not like it won’t reheat perfectly well.”

“Hopeless,” Draco said with a sigh, but he dried himself off and started for the stairs.

“D’you think we should talk about –“ Hermione said.

“No,” Harry said. “You’re married, I enjoy staying sane, and you’re going to get weirdly obsessive about some alternate universe. So really, no.”

“Oh, all right,” Hermione said, laughing. “Chalk it up to teenage hormones or something.”

“There you go,” Harry said, with another yawn. “Now I’m going to bed.”

Harry had, generally speaking, been reluctant to go on any sort of job given their unlucky streak lately, but Draco had talked him into it on the grounds that it was a day job and that if he didn’t get out of the office, everyone was going to spend the entire day hassling him about the night before, which Harry had to agree with. Fortunately, it was a run-of-the-mill shade, the only interesting part of which involved some sort of early medical dissections. Hermione and Draco were in ecstasies over journals from the office above the room where they’d trapped the ghost, and it looked like Magical Objects would have to survey and catalog most of the house because there was no direct heir. Hermione volunteered to stay behind to confiscate anything “needed” (including all thirty or so of the journals) as evidence, while Draco strolled back to the office to fill out the paperwork from their end; apparently part of the reason no one had noticed the building was haunted was that its last owner had passed without any proper documentation. Even with Draco and Hermione, Harry still hadn’t slept particularly well. He put in a request with records for a file in the muggle Central Agency – if it existed and hadn’t been lost over the course of decades – and headed toward home to lie down before he needed to get ready to go out with Padma.

At least, that had been the plan until he saw the spill of red hair over a familiar grey coat, sitting on their front stoop.

“Goddamn it,” Harry said. “What the fuck are you doing here? I’ve got a restraining order. I’ve got about four restraining orders. And you need to leave, now, Draco was talking about working from home. If he shows up, I’m not defending you unless it’s to keep him from getting arrested. And I’m relatively sure he knows how to do that well enough himself.”

“Lovely to see you too, Harry,” Ginny said. “I’ve got the final set of papers that need signing, I sort of thought you might not want to go through five rounds of back and forth with the London legal offices if we could just get this done with in person.” She ran a hand through her hair. “And, I’ll be honest, I was wondering if you might want to get a drink. Just, I don’t know, for old times’ sake. It’s been a long road.”

“No, I don’t want to get a drink, and no, I didn’t want to see you, but now I’m stuck with it. Coffee, fifteen minutes, and you’d damn well better have the right version.”

“Don’t worry,” Ginny said. “Your solicitor’s insistence on that iron-clad prenuptial agreement seems to have worked in your favor.”

“Don’t go looking for sympathy here,” Harry said. “There’s a place around the corner where they know me, but it’s muggle so we won’t end up with half of the London press. And they’ve probably got a pen I can borrow.”

“Glad to see this is going to be pleasant,” Ginny said, and Harry paused for a long moment.

“We’re getting divorced,” he said, quietly. “There is literally no part of this that’s meant to be pleasant. It’ll be a relief to be done. That’s it.”

“Right,” Ginny said, ducking her head against the cold wind and pulling her collar up a bit higher. Harry absently noted that the sky looked like snow. “Lead on.”

The coffee shop down the street from the flat wasn’t wizarding, but it was close enough to the house that they all popped by when tea just wasn’t going to cut it after an entire night in the field. He was used to it being a relatively happy place, where Hermione mocked Draco’s drink selections and the baristas all winked at him, but the girl at the counter read his face well enough to know he wasn’t in a particularly good mood. “On your way to work again?” she said.

“No, home,” Harry said. “Or at least, trying to get there.”

“I’ll just make that Irish, then,” she said.

“Just order, we’ve got a weekly tab,” Harry said to Ginny, gesturing.

“Tea with cream and sugar, please,” Ginny said. She was starting to look rather subdued.

“John will bring that ‘round in just a minute,” the cashier said. “I think your usual table’s open.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, though he settled on the opposite corner, finding a larger table that was big enough to do paperwork on. “Let’s get this over with.”

“You’re quite cheerful, Harry,” Ginny remarked. “Seems like all that time around Malfoy has had quite the positive impact.”

Harry paused for a moment and looked at her – really looked, instead of all the looking past and looking through he’d been doing. She looked a little worn around the edges, though this time of year, they’d probably been doing quite a lot of traveling for matches. He’d thought, for a long time, about what it might feel like if Ginny just… showed up and begged for forgiveness, what he might say or do and whether he’d have the willpower to turn her down, but he realized slowly that it wasn’t going to be like that. And it wasn’t because Ginny wasn’t the type for apologies. She was still familiar, but it was the sort of familiarity that you associated with things that had made you happy in childhood but that you’d outgrown – just like how Harry still thought fondly about all the time they’d spent together in the Gryffindor common room, but it didn’t mean he wanted to go play chess there. Hermione and Draco’s living room, with its stupidly comfortable couch and books all over, decorated in neutral colors, was his home now. She was still beautiful, but Harry thought of Padma’s bright smile and Hermione’s delight over rare books and even Pansy’s flip jokes, and he knew how much of that had been because he’d been in love with her. And, suddenly, he knew that he wasn’t really any more.

“Why are you here?” he said, quietly.

“I’ve told you, the papers,” Ginny said.

“You could have owled even if you wanted to make it quick,” Harry said. “And quite frankly, you’ve stalled this thing out as long as possible, so I’m a little curious as to why you suddenly want it done.”

Ginny fiddled with a piece of silverware, not meeting his eyes. “Mum said your hand disappeared off the clock last night,” she said. “She said she was a little surprised since family was family, she hadn’t thought signing the papers would lead to it, but then she didn’t know what to think when it was back in the morning. So I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“That goddamned clock,” Harry said, without any real rancor. “At least everyone’s used to my hand spending time on the mortal peril section.”

“You do rather a lot of that,” Ginny agreed.

“I’m fine,” Harry said. “Work thing.”

Ginny laughed, softly. “She took me to task, really,” she said. “She’s never weighed in on any of it, you know. But she said she’d have thought I’d learned more from Bill and Fleur or her and dad, that if things aren’t going well you bloody well work it out or you end it, you don’t just hurt the other person and let them run without even trying to make it right. She said she wasn’t ashamed of the fact that I’d had an affair, everyone made mistakes, but she was ashamed of how I’d acted after.”

“Well,” Harry said. “If you’re here because of Molly, no offense, but I’m not having a conversation because you feel guilty about what your mother thinks.”

“No, I’m here because she was right,” Ginny said, softly. “Things weren’t all right between us, we both know it, but I shouldn’t have done what I did. And I really shouldn’t have let you go running to Hermione without following.”

“I don’t think it was the not following that was the issue,” Harry said, quietly. “I think it was the not trying to fix anything when it was bad, and refusing to talk to me when I tried to talk to you. And we were both in trouble, I knew it, I could have done more, but you can’t just give up on a relationship without telling the other person you’ve decided it’s over. You could have told me you wanted out some other way.”

“And I should have,” Ginny said. “And I should have tried harder, but I had no fucking idea what to do, Harry. You weren’t who I thought you were. I felt like I woke up one morning a few months in, and I was married to a complete stranger.”

“No, I wasn’t who you thought,” Harry agreed. “And some of that’s your fault for not paying enough attention, and some of it’s mine, you can’t get to know someone who doesn’t want to let you in on any real level. Most of your family was pretty decent about loving me for who I was, but I think you never got past the trap of loving the idea of me more than the reality.”

“Probably,” Ginny said, softly. “But you let me. I can’t make excuses for what I did, but I think you liked how things were between us, before. Oh, not being loved for being famous, you’ve always hated that, but you never let me in like you did Hermione or Ron. I don’t know how much you liked who you were with your defenses down, so letting me buy into the whole war hero thing was easier, wasn’t it? And we were married.”

“I’m not blameless,” Harry agreed. “And part of me thinks the whole thing was just… getting caught up in the moment and not being brave or smart enough to realize we’d outgrown each other long before we got married. We didn’t want the same things. But you hurt me worse than nearly anyone ever has, Ginny, and that wasn’t all right no matter how much trouble our marriage was in. We were friends once.”

“I know,” Ginny said. “I suppose you hate me these days.”

“Don't do that,” Harry said, a little absently. “You had all the agency there, you don’t get to play the victim to try to make me feel sorry. But actually, I don’t.” He watched her stir her tea for maybe the four hundredth time. “We both made bad choices, we both hurt one another, and you shouldn’t have had an affair, but I get having blinders on when it comes to figuring out a way out. I don’t hate you, I just don’t love you any more. And I don’t know that we ever loved each other the way we were supposed to. It’s in the past. So I’d like to just get this done and get on with our respective lives. I don’t think a marriage is a small enough thing that we can offer one another forgiveness over it, but –“ Harry shrugged. “Thanks for teaching me what you did while we were together, and thanks for the better moments, even if the whole thing was sort of front loaded. That’s the best I can do.”

“Yeah,” Ginny said, softly. “Thanks for always showing up for us, Harry. You mean a lot to my family. And even given how it’s ended, I’m not sorry for the whole of it, I was glad to be friends with you. And glad to be with you before things fell off the rails.”

“Me too,” Harry said. “Closure, eh? I guess I should just sign these. And don’t take it the wrong way, but I’ve got to go through the changes or I’ll be hung out to dry by Hermione and Langston.” He tapped the folder with his wand, starting to page through to look at the suddenly highlighted sections. “I’ve no idea how long this is going to take, but they’ve got a bookshelf over there, I’m sure you could find something.”

“That’s all right, I’ve brought play diagrams,” Ginny said, reaching into her bag. “Oh, and you can open it after the papers, but my mum said she was sorry she missed your birthday and Hermione’s wedding, I have something for you.”

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, but given that she and I no longer have any sort of family obligation to wear those sweaters, they’re going straight in the emergency stash at work,” Harry warned.

“It’s actually not a sweater,” Ginny said. “Believe it or not.”

“I’ll get it after, all right?” Harry said.

They’d barely made any changes aside from one section added on about the furniture in the flat, which Harry didn’t really care about; Ginny was right about the prenuptial agreement, his solicitor had insisted on it and it had, in a way, made things more simple. Harry didn’t point out that it had protected Ginny too – there had been a number of non-disclosure clauses built into it, and even thought he’d never really wanted to make her The Girl Who Cheated On The Boy Who Lived, he was legally obligated not to do so. Draco would have rolled his eyes and pointed out that there were an infinite number of ways around that, but Harry had never loved the press. Ginny got the flat and Harry half of the appraised value, which was quite all right by him since he never wanted to see the place again, and their joint assets were split straight down the middle. Everyone had argued that Harry ought to have pressed for more under the circumstances, but he didn’t really need it, and unlike most other people, he knew that Ginny had probably put more in during the first few years they’d been married when he was a junior Auror and she was playing professional Quidditch. There was no right to future earnings on either side, no alimony since their incomes were roughly equal, and nothing about children since they hadn’t really gotten around to that sort of thing. Harry resisted the urge to laugh yet again at the lengthy paragraph declaring that Ginny’s owl was her exclusive property, but he knew how fond of the damn thing she was.

“All right,” he said, finally. “It’s fair.”

“I’ve signed all of it,” Ginny said. He tapped the papers and a sea of tabs appeared.

“Two copies or one?” he said.

“Just the one,” she said. “It’ll file as soon as you’ve finished signing, there’ll be a copy for each of us at the Ministry if you’d like. My solicitor said there’ll be the usual privacy clauses for a high profile divorce, no one but the involved parties will be able to see that it’s on file with the records office for six months, and then it’s still limited parties. I’m not intending on making a statement.”

“No comment sounds just fine to me,” Harry said. He started in with signatures and initials, a little surprised when he finally flipped through to the last page, signed on the last line, and the papers shimmered and suddenly disappeared.

“Well, that’s done, then,” Ginny said, managing a weak smile. “No more Mrs. Potter for me.”

“We both know you never really changed your name,” Harry said, surprised by a real laugh. “Congratulations, we’re divorced?”

“Something like that,” she said. “Here, open your gift. Bill and Fleur helped with the charms.”

“Huh,” Harry said, when he’d gotten the paper off – it was a clock like the one at the Burrow when he’d been growing up, though it was nothing like theirs. It looked like the type of clock Hermione and Draco might design together, ornate without being ostentatious, and to his surprise, there were three hands, the counterweight on each a small silver charm: Draco had a snitch, Hermione had a book, and his own was a small stag. Their names were each written in their own handwriting, and the categories were different than the ones on the Weasley’s clock. There were different spaces for working, broken down into “in the field” or “in the library,” and there were “please don’t disturb” and “help, I’m probably ruining dinner” under home. The “in mortal peril” had been replaced by “probably enjoying myself far too much at work,” and Harry laughed out loud again at that.

“Bill’s sense of humor, you know,” Ginny said.

“It’s quite nice, actually, should I worry that it’s going to explode when I get it in the front door?” he said.

“No,” Ginny said. “Mum said she wondered if your hand had gone away because you’d finally settled into a new place in life. She says to tell Hermione she says hello and congratulations and she’s still welcome for tea any time she’d like. You too.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, genuinely. It was true, whether he’d been willing to admit it or not; these days, Hermione and Draco were his family. “It’s really lovely. I think Hermione will like it too.”

“Yeah,” Ginny said, with a small smile. “Don’t let Malfoy hex it to bits, all right? She means well.”

“No,” Harry agreed. “I think he might like it just because he’s a nosy prat who always has to know what everyone else is doing. Maybe we’ll come by a match sometime. Though I can’t make any promises if it’s Montrose, I think I’d be lynched for supporting another team.”

“Owl sometime, I’ll send passes,” Ginny said, holding out a hand. “Thanks, Harry. It was nice to see you.”

“No, that’s no good after all of it,” Harry said, softly, stepping around the table to pull her into a brief hug. “I’m sorry it ended this way, but I hope you’ll be happy. And that you win loads of matches, but not quite as many as Montrose, sorry.”

“I hope you are happy,” Ginny said. “Though if you’d consider spending slightly less time on the narrow escapes at work, I think I’d appreciate it for my mother’s health.”

Harry laughed. “I’d like it for my health,” he said, then watched as Draco’s hand swung from “doing insufferable paperwork” to “travelling.”

“Bugger, I’m going to be so late,” he said, putting the clock into his briefcase.

“Hot date?” Ginny said.

“Yeah, actually, but it’s later,” Harry said. “I meant that if I don’t beat him and Hermione home, he might kill me with his bare hands for coming over here with you and not bringing him along to watch my back. If I beat him back, he’ll know I’m in one piece when I tell him, so he won’t be as hacked off.”

“Not a popular figure in that household, I suppose,” Ginny said, wryly.

“No, not really,” Harry admitted. “But thank you for the clock and signing things. And the rest of it.” He managed a smile too. “It feels a little easier somehow.”

“Yeah,” Ginny agreed. “Stay safe, Harry.” She leaned to kiss his cheek, surprising him a little. “I’ll see you around, maybe?”

“Yeah, I’ll see you around,” Harry agreed. “Bye, Ginny.”

Chapter Text

He didn’t quite beat Draco home, but he was still hanging up his coat in the closet when Harry got in the front door. Draco turned and paused, looking a little confused.

“I thought you were coming home to sleep,” he said. “Where have you been?”

“Long story,” Harry said. “Though I’ve brought you something.”

“What’s that?” Draco said, then looked at it, startled. “Harry, where did you get this? No one makes these anymore, I don’t even know any of the spells, and they take hundreds of them, and someone’s gone and done something strange, because they’re for families, I’ve no idea how they got you on here. The Selwyns and the Prewetts were the only ones who ever –“ Draco paused, suddenly looking torn between concern and intense irritation. “You do know some Prewetts. Or half-Prewetts, actually. What have you been doing?”

“Finalizing my divorce,” Harry said, dryly. “It’s a wedding gift for Hermione from Molly Weasley. And maybe a divorce gift for me, I haven’t the faintest.” He reached, putting a hand on Draco’s shoulder. “Don’t, I’d like a cup of tea but I’m perfectly all right.”

“I’m about to be bloody furious, aren’t I,” Draco said, with a sigh. “What did she do this time?”

“Seriously, she only brought me papers to sign,” Harry said. He shrugged out of his coat. “It’s filed. I’m done with it.”

“Yes, but you’re not an utter disaster,” Draco said. “There were contingency plans for when this whole thing finally got pushed through, Potter, Hermione’s got all the bars you like mapped out and I’ve got tabs on all the alcohol in the house. Pansy knows to tell us if you turn up anywhere at Hogwarts and we’ve an alarm if you try to go out on a case by yourself. But you’re just… standing in the foyer. Did you take something? Did she hex you?”

“I’m both touched and appalled, but no,” Harry said, finally laughing. He reached without thinking about it, pulling Draco into a hug. “I’m happy. And I really do just want a cup of tea.”

“Right,” Draco said. “Come on, into the kitchen with you. And this clock had better not be hexed, Hermione’s going to have to check it. It’s already highly irregular.”

“Pretty sure it’s not,” Harry said, following him and taking a seat at their table. “Cream and sugar.”

“I know that,” Draco said, then paused, looking at him again. “No, I didn’t, you take it black when you’re unhappy, like you’re going to make yourself do penance through tea or something, it’s ludicrous.”

“But I’m not unhappy,” Harry said, honestly, looking him square in the face. “Honestly.”

“Go get the – “ Draco gestured. “Hermione ordered chocolate scones for Saturday, I think we might need them early. They’re hidden in the coffee table, she said they’re always out on Thursday and Friday.”

“Oh, just give me bloody veritaserum,” Harry said. “Or do what you’d like, we both know you’re enough of a legilimens to get it out if you’d like.”

“A form of magic I only use on people with decent shields,” Draco said, irritably. “And since I taught you how to put yours up, it’s like I’ve got all the bloody keys to the locks, it would be extraordinarily unethical.”

“Is it still unethical if I take them down on my own?” Harry said. “Because I’d rather do that than be on truth serum for this date.”

“Do you really want me poking around in your head?” Draco said.

“I want a cup of tea,” Harry said. “And I trust you, and it’s easier than having a whole conversation. I’m tired.” He considered. “And it’s not as if there’s anything in there I really care if you find. No offense, but you’re not going to be that surprised if you find out I wasn’t a big fan of yours in school, or if you find something about my sex life with Ginny. What the hell do I care, you know we had one.”

“That’s broadly topical, I’m better than that,” Draco said, rolling his eyes. “Unless you’ve gone and tangled it all, which is a rather you sort of thing to do, so I take it back.”

“Just give me the bloody tea,” Harry said, closing his eyes to start to take down the shields Draco had forced him to build when they’d started working together, on the grounds that any ghost could come through and rip his mind to pieces. It had been hell, but it had been strangely cathartic, at the same time, to discover that he could do it after all.

“There,” Harry said, mentally opening the metaphorical door that was the last of things. “Come on in. And don’t short me on the cream.”

“You’re so –“ Draco said, with a sigh, shoving the mug across the table at him. “You do realize that a conversation poses absolutely no risk of being lethal, don’t you? This does.”

“Oh, honestly,” Harry said. “You still haven’t learned how to have any faith in anyone, have you?”

“That’s always been your department, actually,” Draco said, sitting. “So not really.”

“Feel free to come in on a rather strong resolve that I’m doing something about that later,” Harry said. “But at least come in.”

“Gryffindors,” Draco said, but then Harry could feel Draco around the edges of things. He yawned, reaching to wrap his hands around the tea mug. Letting Draco in and keeping him out had taught him far more about Draco than he’d ever really thought possible, because a legilimens who wasn’t trying to hide themselves left quite a bit open. Draco had never tried to hide with him, which he supposed was part of why he’d always taken it better than earlier attempts to teach him. Draco wasn’t trying to fool anyone. Harry could never tell where he was or what he was looking at, but his brain always felt a little less hectic and more organized when Draco was in it, like the pulse of his racing thoughts had slowed down.

“You were too nice by half,” Draco said, absently.

“Always am,” Harry said, drinking some of the tea. “I did try, at least.”

“Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery,” Draco said. “I can get out now –“

“No, that’s all right,” Harry said, hesitating for a moment. “I feel better, and that feels better, but I wonder if you’d –“

“You don’t have to talk out loud, you know,” Draco murmured.

“It’s a little easier to have an actual conversation,” Harry pointed out. “Feel like going wading around in that?”

“It’s like the fucking Forbidden Forest of relationship memories,” Draco said. “No, I take that back, it’s set up like Grimmauld Place. No wonder you’ve been such a mess over it. Yes, though I’m not going to promise it’s going to make me like Weasley any better.”

Nearly twenty minutes passed, Draco’s face nearly unreadable the entire time, but Harry could feel himself start to relax.

“Why does having you in there make it feel better?” Harry said. “Even after you’re gone? It never came up.”

“I’ve absolutely no idea,” Draco said, then paused. His eyes were closed. “No, I do, you don’t like the process of sharing, but this sidesteps the normal discomfort because you can’t tell what I’m looking at. You know I’ll know, but you don’t have to explicitly tell me, so it’s like having shared without having to go through the normal process of sharing something.”

“Oh, well,” Harry said. “Should I work on that, or am I allowed to just keep taking the short cut?”

“Mm,” Draco said. “You’re never going to be an open book, I don’t think, except maybe to Hermione. As loath as I am to say it, if it’s easier on you, I’m willing to do it this way.”

Harry took another drink of tea. “I’m actually a relatively open book with you,” he said.

“And it’s odd, and I don’t know what to do with that any more than you know what to do with being comfortable sharing with me, so don’t push it,” Draco said, sounding amused. “I might have lied, if you start at the beginning, she’s got some redeeming qualities.”

“You might not want to dig around too much –“ Harry said, then laughed and the sudden face Draco made. “As an outside observer, I can pretty confidently state that Hermione and Ron’s first few times were infinitely worse.”

“Well, I’m never going fishing around about that, then, not that I ever look in her head,” Draco said. “You know it’s bad when you’ve got me wishing you and Hermione had just made godawful choices.”

“Don’t get offended that I agree with that one and if I got a do-over, I’d totally change it,” Harry said, laughing.

“I’d give you the do-over,” Draco said. “Jesus, why is so much of this part mediocre sex that you weren’t enjoying?”

“Because we hit a point where we didn’t have much to talk about,” Harry said, trying not to sound bitter. “And if you still want to at least try to connect with someone…”

“Yes, all right,” Draco said. He reached without really looking to take Harry’s tea, taking a sip before handing it back over. “God, that’s never not strange, you like it that sweet, I think it’s godawful, but I can get how you enjoy it.”

“There’s a reason I’ve never been particularly depressed over having basically no skill at this,” Harry said.

“Mm,” Draco agreed, then looked a little startled. “Oh.”

“You do know I can’t tell where you are,” Harry said, mildly.

“Just that – well, I’d always thought you’d come here for Hermione that night,” he said.

“No, both of you,” Harry said. “I didn’t just have one partner, you know.”

“I do know,” Draco said. “But I didn’t back then. I don’t think I’d thought about it much.” He finally opened his eyes, his head cupped in his hand. “Well, that was a bloody mess.”

“Well summarized,” Harry agreed. “Thanks for that. It doesn’t feel so pressing any more.”

“No, thank you for letting me see,” Draco said. “Though I’m still not sure you realize how much of a vulnerability it is.”

“Draco,” Harry said, with slight exasperation. He pulled the walls back up, resisting the temptation to just leave them where they were, with Draco-shaped doors through all of them. “I know exactly how much of a vulnerability it is. I just don’t mind letting you in.”

“You’re sort of an idiot,” Draco said, and Harry stood, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“No, actually, I’m quite smart,” Harry said, laughing. “I’m not going to pretend I’m brilliant at knowing who to marry, but you can’t accuse me of having bad taste in friends, I found Hermione a long time ago.”

“I –“ Draco sounded as if he wanted to say something, but then didn’t, glancing up at him. Harry squeezed his shoulder.

“I’m going to go take a nap before I have to subject myself to this whole science experiment,” he said, though he wasn’t dreading it anywhere nearly as much as he thought he’d have been. “Find somewhere for the clock. And I don’t mind if you tell Hermione. As much or as little as you’d like.”

“Of course,” Draco said, then considered. “Your room tonight, assuming you’re not busy ravishing Patil?”

“Post-divorce celebratory shagging with a colleague, that sounds like the world’s best idea,” Harry teased. “And yes, all right, though Crookshanks isn’t going to like it.”

“Oh, he’ll live,” Draco said, then paused, looking up at him slowly. “Actually, do you want company? I think the clock can wait.”

“Sure,” Harry said, a little startled. “Though –“

“Oh, don’t start, I don’t feel sorry for you,” Draco said. “I just want some sleep.”

“I was going to tell you to owl Hermione in case she gets home and wonders where you are,” Harry said.

“Right,” Draco said. “I’ll be up in a few minutes.”

Harry was nearly asleep when he felt Draco climb onto the bed, kicking his shoes off over the edge of the bed. “Are you awake?” Draco murmured.

“Mmn,” Harry said. “Sort of.”

“Thank you,” Draco said, finally. “For –“

“Draco?” Harry said, drowsily. “Shut up and let me sleep.”

“Fine,” Draco said, though it sounded as if he was about to laugh. “See if I show you any gratitude in the future.”

“I trust you, I trust Hermione, Hermione trusts me, you can trust me,” Harry said, fighting another yawn. “And if you thank me for it again while I’m trying to nap, I think the clock’s going to create a new space for homicidal rage.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Draco said, and Harry felt him relax on the other side of the bed. “Get some sleep. I’ll wake you up in time for dinner.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, with another yawn, and curled his fingers against the edge of Draco’s jumper. “And if you spend the next few hours lying there worrying about whether or not I’m all right, I’ll kill you when I wake up.”

“No, I actually want to sleep,” Draco said. “And I know you’re fine.”

“I’d hope so,” Harry said, with another enormous yawn. “Now shut up.”

Draco was still asleep when Harry’s alarm spell began to sound, which Harry suspected meant that he hadn’t been sleeping about as badly as everyone else. He got ready in Hermione and Draco’s bedroom so he wouldn’t wake him, not entirely surprised to find that Crookshanks had sneaked into his bedroom when he came back to get his watch and wallet. Harry tossed an extra blanket over Draco, shooing Crookshanks toward the bed, and headed downstairs, nearly bumping into Hermione as she came through the front door, looking exhausted.

“You look nice,” she said, then paused. “Oh, right, you’ve got dinner.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, reaching to pull her into a hug. Apparently no longer feeling as if his entire world was going to come crashing down – largely because it already had – made being open… easier.

She paused for a moment, then leaned in, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Sorry, I’m glad you’re going, my head’s just killing me.”

“So go have some tea and take a bath,” Harry said, kissing her forehead. “I won’t be too late. Want me to bring anything home?”

“No, Pansy’s owling tea,” Hermione said. “Where’s Draco?”

“Asleep in my room,” Harry said. “Don't ask. Or, well, maybe ask, I’m through with things, the papers are signed. I think he’s being protective.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, a little startled. “Are you all right? I was expecting you to be in worse shape.”

“I’m fine,” Harry agreed, pulling her closer for a moment. “And I love you, and thank you for being here. Draco didn’t believe me either, though, so I let him into my head.” He laughed. “I’ll explain when I get home if you want, but sometimes he speaks me better than I do.”

“He’s good that way,” Hermione agreed, burying her face against his shoulder for a moment. “I love you too. I’m glad it’s over with.”

“Me too,” Harry said, softly. “You two have spent so much bloody time looking after me lately, go spend some time together.” He smiled. “But I’ll be home in a few hours, all right?”

“Okay,” Hermione agreed, pulling him in close for a minute. “But it’s not as if you get in the way or something, you know. We’re all right.”

“I know,” Harry agreed. “But go relax. We’re covered until tomorrow evening, so I expect everyone to actually get some bloody sleep.”

Hermione laughed. “Sleep sounds nice,” she said. “And a bath. I’ll see you when you get home.”

Harry hadn’t expected things with Padma to be bad - he did actually like her company – but he was faintly surprised at how much he actually enjoyed himself. She had a terrible, sarcastic sense of humor that rivaled Draco’s, and she wasn’t afraid to steal a significant chunk of his dinner on the grounds that he never let her out of work and therefore should have to suffer through having half the contents of his plate stolen. Given that Harry was fully aware she’d gotten lunch with Delacour, he wasn’t exactly concerned that Padma was on the verge of starvation, but it was sort of charming. He actually wanted to have a conversation that wasn’t entirely about work and to enjoy her shameless flirting and – honestly – even to flirt a little back, which was even more strange than the rest of it, but Padma was open and warm enough that she made him want to be open too. And Harry felt that Draco had made a rather strong point about how he’d been shoving everyone away.

“Are you going back to work?” she said, letting Harry hold her coat open for her as they waited on the server to get back with his card. “Because if you’re not going out in the field, I have a bloody brilliant autopsy and I could probably try to teach you what the liver is for the thirtieth time or so.”

“Shut it,” Harry said, laughing. “It’s the thing that’s bigger than everything else and looks like a liver.”

“No points if you use the word in the definition, Harry,” Padma teased.

“Home, actually, we did that stupid butcher case today,” Harry said.

“Oh, well, that’s quite sad, I’m quite skilled at inappropriate banter in between notes,” Padma said. “I suppose I’d better walk you home, though.”

“I think that’s the other way around,” Harry said. “I could take you back to work if you’d like.”

“Potter, you idiot, I have plans to torment Draco, are you really going to deprive me?”

“Probably not,” Harry said, after considering for a moment. “Besides, you know, I’m sure Hermione would argue it’s one of those feminist things, who walks whom home. I might be abducted walking from the restaurant to the house, you never know.”

“Too true,” Padma said, leading the way out of the restaurant. She walked half a block or so before taking his hand. “I’m just going to assume that me attempting to Apparate onto your doorstep is going to lead to alarming outcomes.”

“It’s actually completely normal,” Harry said. “But everyone’s so terrified of it that it might as well be spell-mined.”

“Well, you can Apparate us anyway,” Padma said.

Harry laughed when he found she’d sneaked her arms around his waist inside his coat as they stopped and was grinning up at him, the tips of her heels touching his shoes.

“Making some sort of play here?” he said, amused.

“Not on the first date, Potter,” she said, laughing. “All right, thoroughly on the first date, but I really do have to get back to work. I suppose there’s the upshot that we’re all workaholics, isn’t there? So no hard feelings.”

“Absolutely,” Harry agreed. “Although you don’t quite seem to be leaving.”

“No, I want a favor,” Padma said, laughing again. “And I’m betting if I wait a minute, I’ll get the prerequisite set up.”

“You know, it’s alarming when you sound exactly like Draco,” Harry said, but he was still laughing. “What’s this favor?”

“There,” she said, looking pleased. “Don’t turn around, but we’re absolutely being spied upon from the window by both your roommates. Well-played, Malfoy, I knew he’d have some sort of spell out here.”

“Or, you know, they can hear us,” Harry said.

Padma grinned. “You know that’s not his style.”

“Oh, all right,” Harry agreed. “You still haven’t told me what you want.”

“If I were, say, interested in holding it over his head at work tomorrow, could I get a kiss goodnight? And don’t bother trying to be a gentleman, ladies don’t like that sort of thing.”

“Should I be concerned that this entire dating thing seems to be based on how much you can annoy Draco?” Harry said.

“I’m not sure, should I be concerned that you’re only going out with me to shut him up?” Padma said.

“Touché,” Harry said. “Although, er, I’m obligated to warn you that I got divorced less than twelve hours ago, I haven’t slept much in the last few days, and I have no idea where my head is on this whole dating thing.”

“You do know how to charm a woman, Potter,” Padma teased, and grabbed the collar of his jacket, pulling him in. “What if I give you a free pass on this one, absolutely no strings attached that aren’t related to hassling Malfoy, and we’ll go from there? I’m a Ravenclaw, Harry, I can handle emotionally complicated situations without going to pieces.”

“Shut up, Gryffindors are perfectly adept at that sort of thing,” Harry said.

“No, you’re not,” Padma said. “Would you just kiss me already? I do understand that I’m so fabulous and charming that you’re nervous –“

Harry had intended on being polite, but Padma kept him in close as he brought his mouth down against hers, stepping in to press against him, and a part of his brain he’d been ignoring for a rather long time took over. He was even more surprised that he didn’t want to run comparisons in his head or overthink it, that he mostly just wanted to enjoy kissing a woman who apparently was just as interested in kissing him. He took a step back against the door, pulling her with him, and reached to cup her face, tilting it up so he could nip her lower lip, and she laughed against his mouth, deepening the kiss, and stepped even closer until he could feel all the places their bodies were touching, and -

“Serviceable,” Padma teased, mouth still nearly against his, and Harry made a low noise and kissed her harder, feeling vaguely irritated that he couldn’t get his hands everywhere.

“Damn it,” he said, breathing hard, a few minutes later. “That’s dirty pool, Padma. No one kisses like that just over annoying Malfoy.”

“Sorry,” she said, not really looking the faintest bit apologetic. She grinned. “I figured you wouldn’t overthink it if you just thought I wanted to get one over on Draco. Although I suppose that’s a nice bonus, really.”

“That’s –“ Harry said, still not thinking entirely clearly. “Why is everyone in my life constantly behaving like a Slytherin?”

“Because they’re quite talented at getting their way, and I like getting mine?” Padma said, cheerfully. “You could ask me up, you know. I’m fairly confident you’d like to.”

“That list of things does, in fact, still apply,” Harry said, amused.

Padma laughed, kissing his cheek. “I’m fully aware that you’re a Gryffindor,” she said. “But as a secret that apparently no one’s let you in on, sometimes when two adults find each other attractive, they just get naked for the exclusive purpose of having fun.”

Harry laughed. “I would really, honestly love that,” he said. “But please don’t take it the wrong way when I say that I might need a little more time to be up for that sort of thing. I’m not there yet.”

“Completely fair,” Padma said, with a smile. “And you’ve been completely up front about that, which I appreciate. But don’t think I’m not completely and utterly taking advantage of the fact that I’ve got forty-five minutes on your calendar Friday for a problem that’s going to take maybe thirty seconds to solve, it’s really a yes or no answer and a signature.” She grinned. “Leaving me plenty of time to convince you of the merits of snogging during purported meetings.”

Harry paused, then laughed. “You planned that,” he said. “You’re awful.”

“No, just interested,” Padma said, grinning. “You’re attractive and funny and we’re both single, so I don’t see why I shouldn’t get to have some fun. But if you’re not asking me in, I probably should get back to the office.”

“By all means, don’t leave the bloody brilliant autopsy waiting,” Harry teased. He smiled. “Thanks. I had fun.”

“Me too,” Padma said, stepping back and murmuring a straightening charm on herself. Harry had to admit he’d probably been a little… handsy. “You’re in late tomorrow, aren’t you?”

“Theoretically, but it involves Pansy, Draco, and a weird case file, I may just flee for Scotland now,” he said, dryly.

“Oh, you like adventure,” Padma said. “And have fun with Pansy. But not too much fun. Remember our deal.”

“Yes, yes, united against the Slytherin front,” Harry said, with a wave as she headed down the stairs and up the street.

He let himself in, still a little caught off guard by the whole thing, but he’d enjoyed it and it seemed like Padma had enjoyed it and that was what was important, he supposed. He took his coat off absently, finding a hanger, and nearly jumped out of his skin when Draco stuck his head around the bottom of the staircase.

“Hi,” he said. “Excellent job snogging on the front step, Potter, you’ll probably have thoroughly scandalized all the neighbors.”

“Oh, like you’ve never,” Harry said, laughing.

“Well, you don’t seem to have hated it,” Draco observed. “Or at least, if that’s you hating things, we’re not sharing a house when you like them.”

“I didn’t hate it,” Harry agreed. “In fact, it was almost pleasant. Now stop gloating.” He glanced past him. “Where’s Hermione? Padma said she was here.”

“She is,” Draco said, glancing over his shoulder. “Though you know how sometimes women are utterly incomprehensible, and we don’t say anything about it because we value not being hexed into eighty pieces? And also by women I obviously mean human beings in general, because that would be sexist and wrong?”

“Yes,” Harry said, warily. “What’s gone wrong?”

“I haven’t the faintest, actually,” Draco said, a little stiffly. He didn’t look particularly pleased. “She’s been in a mood all evening, and then she saw you and Padma and seems to have barricaded herself in your bedroom with Crookshanks, so I’m staying well clear of whatever it is.”

“Yes, because every time Hermione has gone off somewhere and hidden herself, what she’s really wanted is to be left alone,” Harry said.

“Oh, I know, but some things are a bit above my pay grade,” Draco said, too lightly.

“I’m not really sure looking after Hermione when she doesn’t feel well is a division of labor sort of thing,” Harry pointed out.

“No, of course not,” Draco said. “That would be –“ He gestured. “She’s my wife and our partner, that’s not how it works. But I don’t always know what to do to help, and you usually seem to, so I thought maybe you might see if she wants company, and if she wants more company, then I’ll come too.”

“Just make some tea and come up in a bit,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “And quit acting like I know her better than you, that’s rubbish.”

“Harry –“ Draco said.

“No, honestly,” Harry said. “I don’t. You’re just used to being able to read someone better than anyone else in the room. I’m sure when you were younger the fact that you’re a bloody exceptional legilimens whom no one offered any training to had something to do with it, or maybe the fact that most people don’t have proper shields, but you watch and listen and see people in a completely different way than everyone else.” He glanced over his shoulder at him. “The only difference is that she and I have been together so long that you’re suddenly on equal footing with someone else, and you’re not used to that. But that doesn’t mean I know her better.”

“Sort of,” Draco said. “Sometimes, she really does just want you instead.” He ran a hand through his hair. “And I can’t – when someone’s pushing something at me hard enough, I’m not decent enough at the flip side of that to keep it out. They don’t always go together, you know, legilimancy and occlumency. It’s not like I’m trying to read someone’s mind.”

“Draco, on the list of things I lie awake worrying about at night, that’s down there with adequate post it supplies and whether I’ve got clean socks,” Harry said, with a sigh. “I know that. She knows that. We all have magic we can’t always do things about, or hadn’t you noticed that if I don’t watch it I can start convincing people to do anything I’d like even if they don’t want it? Do you think I want to feel like there’s some current of Imperius running through my magic? I don’t.”

“God, that’s nothing like that,” Draco said, looking startled. “Imperius is about making people do things through force. That’s more like veela magic. You’re charismatic enough that if you really turn it up, people start wanting to take your suggestions. But you never do it.” He laughed. “Well, okay, once in a while when you really don’t want whatever Hermione’s suggesting for take out, but she’s pretty immune.”

“Oh,” Harry said, considering. “Well, all right, I’m not going to march anyone off a cliff and you’re not going to go poking around uninvited in anyone’s head, we could just not worry about that then. And if you know something because someone’s shouted it at you, just tell us, it’s not as if we’re going to hold it against you. And then you’re not making idiotic arguments about me being better at talking to Hermione. Frankly, she can decide for herself, but my life would be easier if I took some shields down and you took some shields down and you could pick up more off me, even if it was just while we were in the field.”

“That’s a fair point about the field thing,” Draco said, blatantly ignoring the first part of what Harry had said. “I’m not sure about at home.”

“I’m just asking you to think about it,” Harry said, quietly. “Now go make the tea.”

He considered knocking, but, well, the door wasn’t locked, and sometimes Draco’s strategies were better than they seemed at first pass.

“Hi,” he said, letting himself in. “Bad night?”

“What gave you that idea?” Hermione said. Crookshanks was curled up in her lap, and there was rather a sea of tissues surrounding her. She looked like she’d been crying.

“No clue,” Harry said, coming to stretch out on the foot of the bed. “Probably my really brilliant detective head Auror skills.”

“That’s not even funny,” Hermione said, but she was biting the corner of her mouth.

“I brought you tiramisu,” Harry said, rummaging in his pocket and spelling the package back to proper size.

“You can’t just bribe me with chocolate coffee cake every month,” Hermione said.

“Is that a no?” Harry said. “I could probably make room. Or give it to Draco.”

“No, fuck off,” she said, reaching for it. Harry pulled it back.

“Do we have to go through this again?” he said.

“No, give me that,” Hermione said.

“No,” Harry said. “You’ve apparently been crying on my bed since I got home, I want to know what’s going on before you get dessert. And since you’ve given me about a lecture a month since we were twelve or thirteen about how hormones don’t actually create emotions, they can just exacerbate things that are already there, you’re not allowed to claim this is some sort of irrational thing and not say.”

“Oh, fine, I’m having an utterly rational breakdown over your divorce while you appear to be perfectly all right,” Hermione said. “Happy?”

“No, but that’ll do for this,” Harry said, passing over the box and a fork. “And you’re royally pissed off about the current state of affairs, apparently?”

“Of course I’m royally pissed off about it, I was going to celebrate and open some stupid fucking champagne,” Hermione said. “And now I can’t even figure out what’s wrong.”

“You could ask Draco,” Harry said. “He’s kind of decent at that.”

“Harry, he’s fine about the objective depth of how you and I feel about one another,” Hermione said. “I somehow don’t think he’d be so tolerant of the actuality of it.”

“Hermione, you’re an idiot if you think he doesn’t already know,” Harry said.

“And yet, somehow, I don’t want him wandering around in my head any more than I want you doing it,” Hermione said, irritably.

“I actually sort of meant talking to him,” Harry said, sliding up the bed. “Knock it off. I want the real you, not the defensive, cranky you.”

“Defensive and cranky are actual feelings, you know,” Hermione said.

“They are,” Harry agreed. “And with you, they tend to serve as placeholders for being scared.”

“I hate it when you know me,” Hermione said, still staring at the cake.

“Sorry, side effect of hanging around each other since we were too young to realize we were making a family,” Harry said, reaching to stroke her hair. “Come here.”

“Okay,” Hermione agreed, softly, sending the cake to the dresser, and rolled over into Harry’s arms, burying her face against his jumper.

“I’m not all right,” Harry said, gently. “I’m sad and relieved and guilty and really bloody unsure about my entire life. But I’m okay, because I’ve got you and Draco, and I’m glad that I saw Ginny today.” He ran a palm down her back. “I didn’t enjoy it, but it made me realize that I don’t have any feelings for her any more. It’s mostly just apathy. Which is a much better place to be at than still being in love with her or still thinking I hated her.”

“Yeah,” Hermione said. “That’s all quite mature, Harry. I’m glad.”

“Well, maybe,” he said, softly. “But you and I are a package set these days, which means it’s not just my divorce. You’re not obligated to feel the same way.”

“I just –“ Hermione took a breath against his shoulder, letting it out slowly. “I’ve never seen you kiss someone like that.”

“What?” Harry said. “I, er, assure you, there was no kissing Ginny.”

“No, Padma,” Hermione said, softly. “You looked happy. And interested. You never really kissed Ginny like that. Not in front of me, anyway.”

“I’ve got no clue whether that’s even anything,” Harry said, surprised. “And you know I’m not going anywhere, don’t you? Even if I date someone.”

“No, it’s not that, I don’t think, I do know that,” Hermione said, softly. “I just… Ginny hurt you so badly and you didn’t even care that much for her, you only thought you did. What if you do care for someone and they hurt you too? I don’t think I can bear that. Draco was about the only thing that kept me from killing her with my bare hands after – you know, when we went over there.”

“Hermione,” Harry said. “We watch each other take ludicrous risks every day at work. Draco, too, and I don’t think you love him any less than you love me. Why do you let me?”

“Because –“ Hermione paused, and Harry knew she was thinking it over. “I don’t play small, and I can do a lot of good things with what we do. I save a lot of people. I’d resent the hell out of you if you tried to keep me safe just because you were scared of what might happen to me. So I figure, if you’ll let me, I have to let you. And him.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “I wouldn’t resent the hell out of you if you tried to stop me dating for a while, I’d get it, but in the long run, I didn’t chase off Draco Malfoy when you started seeing him, so you might have to trust me a little. I might screw up.” He laughed. “Hell, I think we’ve conclusively proven that I know how to do that really well. But I might not.”

“I know,” Hermione said. “I’m just – tonight, I’m not doing all that well with not being afraid of that.”

“I’ll be totally honest, the extent of my feelings about tonight were that Padma’s funny and that it was sort of nice to snog someone I wasn’t royally pissed off at,” Harry said. “So I could just leave it at that for the evening, and we could relax. Together. With Draco, who’s probably hovering around trying to decide when to come in.” He kissed her forehead. “Bet he’d let us help with a crossword.”

“Oh god,” Hermione said, laughing softly. “He’s become an absolute menace, I don’t know what I started. I had to get him an encyclopaedia and this year’s Muggle Studies textbook because he wants to learn more answers.”

“God, it’s almost as if you’ve gotten him started on heroin or something,” Harry teased. He flicked his wand, sending the tissues into the trash, and kissed her forehead. “Go put on some pyjamas or something and snog Draco for a while until you both feel better while I find something to change into and read. And then come bloody well relax.” He laughed. “Maybe we can open the champagne.”

“Okay,” Hermione agreed, finally. “Thanks, Harry.”

“Shoo,” Harry said, gently. “You two really do need some time that’s not about me or my problems. So go take it, I’m not going anywhere.”

Harry got most of the way through a book he’d been trying to read for weeks, and Hermione and Draco came back a few hours later, bickering a little over one of Draco’s case files but looking significantly more relaxed. “If I ever get this obvious over getting laid, just hit me over the head,” he teased, and Hermione blushed but threw a pillow at him.

“Well, pick up the pace with Padma then,” Draco said, transfiguring Harry’s perfectly adequate quilt into an enormous duvet. “I’m sure we’re all dying to find out.”

“Sure thing,” Harry said, sliding over against the wall. He made room for Hermione against him. “Come on. I’m probably going to fall asleep, but I don’t mind if you want to read.”

“No, I’m exhausted,” Hermione said, climbing in next to him.

“I want to get through a few more chapters on the one I’m working on,” Draco said, taking the outside. Harry smiled when he absently tangled his fingers with Hermione’s. “Any objections?”

“Go ahead,” Hermione said, already burrowing down into the blankets. “Love you.”

“Love you, too,” Draco said, leaning over for a kiss. “Sleep tight, darling.”

“Little hard not to with you two squashing me,” Hermione said, but it was affectionate. She settled in against Harry’s side, tossing a leg over him. “We’ve got tomorrow morning off, haven’t we?”

“Yes, so get some bloody sleep,” Harry said, burrowing down further.

Harry woke up late, with Draco taking up more than half the bed, and managed not to trip down the stairs; he wasn’t entirely willing to wake up without tea.

“Morning,” Hermione said, reading over a newspaper at the kitchen table.

“Oh, thank god,” Harry said, descending on the teapot, and flopped down in a chair next to her. “Do you think it would be wrong to drink this and just go back to bed? Because I think I’m actually considering it.”

“No,” Hermione said. “It’s not as if Draco’s up either.”

“Better?” Harry said, nudging her knee with his.

“Better, I think,” Hermione said, propping her chin in her hand. “Did you really let Draco go –“ she gestured. “Digging around?”

“Yes?” Harry said, adding sugar. “It doesn’t bother me.”

“It’s just…” Hermione watched him for a long moment. “You seem to have gotten rather fond of him rather fast.”

“No, I got rather fond of him rather slowly and noticed rather fast because he pointed it out and made me focus on it,” Harry said, swiping a piece of her toast. “And I didn’t think I’d like it either, but it’s not as if he moves in particularly predictable ways, so I just…” He shrugged. “I’m trying this new life philosophy of doing what feels decent and not worrying about the rest of it so long as it’s legal and consensual and not going to hurt anyone. It’s you lot who keep trying to analyze it.”

“It’s just different,” Hermione said. “I don’t mind it. Actually, I sort of like that you’re taking for once instead of constantly giving without getting anything back.”

Harry laughed. “What, you mean the constant media coverage and fame and fortune weren’t rewards just for me?”

“You’re so ungrateful,” Hermione said, with a smile, then glanced past Harry to the doorway. “Morning, darling.”

“Morning,” Draco said, coming to kiss her. “Didn’t mean to interrupt, but if I don’t get tea, the world may end.”

“You weren’t,” Harry said. “We were just discussing how I’m experimenting with being a selfish jerk.”

“Oh, that,” Draco said, rummaging for a mug. “You know, I always thought you were just pretending to hate it. Sort of a double cross, you know, to make you seem charming and humble and even more deserving of all the attention.” He sat down at the table, pouring himself a cup of tea. “For the record, I was quite irritated to discover that you actually do hate all the attention.”

“I really do,” Harry said. “You ought to know that by now.”

“When you’re raised in a household where literally the only thing that gets you even the vaguest bit of affection and pride is positive attention from famous people, it takes some thinking about to understand,” Draco said. “And no, that was not any sort of smart remark.”

“If you two don’t stop talking about pressing emotional topics before lunch, I’m going to petrify you and stuff you in the supply closet at work that no one else has the keys to,” Harry said, taking another bite of toast. “Are we doing this poltergeist thing tonight or not?”

“Not,” Hermione said. “Well, sort of not. I don’t trust that it’s actually a poltergeist, I’m not really going to be in top form, and Pansy wants more information too.”

“Utterly brilliant,” Harry said, making a face. “Let me guess, recon?”

“I’d sort of thought so,” Hermione said. “But, you know, I’m open to opinions.”

“My favorite,” Draco said. “Has it killed anyone yet?”

“No, and I’m not sure it’s even lethal,” Hermione said. “So far it’s mostly seemed rather intent on gaslighting the entire household. Swapping things, changing photographs –“ She reached for her notebook, running a finger down the page. “Sounds like a widower and two children, the older one’s at Hogwarts, he got remarried last summer –“

“You think it’s the first wife?” Harry said, adding more marmalade. “It’d be a bit fast, but not outside the realm of possibility or anything.”

“I’m not sure,” Hermione admitted. “It’s an old house – more of a small mansion, really, and it’s purportedly been haunted for years. But it’s definitely trying to get rid of the second wife. In some rather odd ways.”

“By odd, do you mean perfume on his clothes, things happening in the house just to her, locking her in and out of rooms, women’s voices in their bedroom, that sort of nonsense?” Draco said.

“Did you do that interview?” Hermione said, looking surprised.

“No, but she’s a muggleborn, isn’t she?” Draco said, finishing off his toast. “The second wife, I mean. And the house belongs to someone in the twenty-eight, I’m betting.”

“Hold on,” Hermione said, looking at the file. “Yes, the husband’s mother was a Fawley.”

“Well, the mother would have married someone who was a pureblood,” Draco said. “That family was hardly tolerant enough for anything else, though there are plenty of second tier families she could have chosen from. I think that generation had too many women for them to stay strictly in the family, so to speak. So the son’s a pureblood too, and I’m betting the first wife was at least a half-blood, maybe more.”

“As always, your knowledge of insane pureblood genealogy proves useful,” Harry said, dryly.

“Don’t blame me, I wasn’t even born, let alone arranging marriages and conceiving children,” Draco said. “Anyway, it’s not a poltergeist exactly, it’s a house ghost. It’s trying to get rid of her because it doesn’t approve. They’re not dangerous, just obnoxious and entitled and some of them are a bit stodgy. They’re sort of like house elves, only their main job is keeping other, nastier ghosts away. Sort of like those spiders, I suppose. The Manor has like six of the things, it’s one of a thousand reasons why I’d rather live here. They meddle.”

“So no recon necessary, pass it along?” Hermione hazarded.

“No, Harry and I can handle it,” Draco said. “It’ll like me and he’s a Potter, it at least won’t mind him. And I don’t think we’ve got an entire team of purebloods, but it’s not going to matter, we aren’t going to be able to get rid of it without essentially torching the house. We just have to get it interested in me and then confound the hell out of it until it gives up on its eugenic thoughts. Maybe I’ll even see if I can convince it to like her to make up for the bad behavior. House ghosts aren’t fond of being seen as working against the interests of the family.”

“So we can’t trap it,” Hermione said.

“No,” Draco said. “They’re too strongly tied to the houses they haunt. But they’ve been around since long before this whole thing started, and they’re harmless.”

“Unless you’re a muggleborn,” Hermione said, not looking particularly amused. “Any reason you haven’t brought these up before now?”

“They almost never make an issue of anything, it hasn’t come up,” Draco said. “And honestly, yes, because I didn’t want to have the entire house elf debate again. They care about their houses and families. They aren’t prisoners. They could – I don’t know, go to the great beyond if they liked. But they don’t want to, so I’d rather not ask it of them. And no, I can’t give a ghost clothes, but yes, I can know perfectly well what it wants, and they want to stay put.”

“As long as it’s not dangerous, I’m really not going to argue the point over a ghost,” Hermione said. “You two can manage? Do you want to take Pansy?”

“On the one hand, she’d be fine,” Draco said. “On the other, if the thing wants a pureblooded woman in the house, she’s only going to make it want one more, and she’s better at weaving anyway. So since she’s coming down, she can rework the kit details with you while Harry and I go. And then they can do their drinks thing.”

“Thanks ever so,” Harry said. “I think it’s called a date.”

“Your date,” Draco corrected. “Have someone bring the wife in this afternoon, all right? I’m going to need to get a feel for what she’s like. I can probably talk it around on knocking off the prejudice, but if I want it to like her, then I’ve got to be able to give it something to go on.”

“I’ll come with, you know it’s going to read both of us,” Harry said, with a sigh. “So much for my day off. And here’s hoping she’s lovely and charming and effectively Mary Poppins.”

“Er, who?” Draco said.

Hermione laughed. “Practically perfect in every way,” she said. “Muggle children’s story.”

Fortunately, she proved to be – if, well, not practically perfect, a somewhat Slytherin version of it. Harry was juggling a cup of coffee and a notepad while trying to keep up with Draco as he headed toward the set of rooms they kept for interviews. He ended up being slightly glad that he was second into the room, because by the time he followed Draco through the door, a slight, pretty blonde witch had Draco against the wall, her wand to his throat and a hold on his wrist to keep him from going for his own that Harry remembered learning from Draco.

“You,” she said, “are going to tell me what’s happened to my daughter, right now, Director Malfoy. Where’s Evangeline? Why won’t anyone speak with me? And why have they taken Edward to the other side of the department?”

“Right, I think there’s been a bit of –“ Draco said, freezing, and Harry was glad he’d come in second, because it meant he could mock Draco mercilessly for letting someone get the drop on him in the office. It had been a while since that happened. In fact, Harry couldn’t remember it ever happening.

“Evangeline? At Hogwarts?” Harry said. “She’s perfectly all right to my knowledge, though I’d be happy to owl Headmistress McGonagall or Professor Parkinson to check. If you’ll let him go, we’re actually here to ask you some questions about the haunting at your house.”

“What?” she said. “No one gets brought down here unless something’s happened with a ghost, the Head of the Department is here, and I just dropped Ainsley off at her piano lesson, so I know she’s all right, and Edward was with me, so –“

“Ma’am, if you would please lower your wand,” Draco said.

“Oh, no,” she said, giving him a look that Harry supposed he probably shouldn’t laugh at. “Other people may be open to your powers of persuasion, but I’m a far better occlumens than that.”

“Lila,” Harry said, after clearing his throat for a third time. “Lila. Your stepdaughters are both perfectly fine. Someone’s taken your husband to get something to drink, because you’re the one we need to speak with. This is about your house, and we think you have a particular sort of ghost that Draco is more familiar with than the rest of the department. But I do think we might get a bit further if you step away from him and we can get you a cup of tea.”

“What?” she said. “The house?” She paused, examining Draco carefully, and then stepped back. “It’s been going on for months, I know Edward filed a request for a continued investigation a few weeks ago, but why are you asking about the house?”

“Good lord,” Draco said. “Are you in the habit of pulling your wand on every Unspeakable who gets near you?”

“Are you in the habit of letting people?” she said.

Harry finally burst out laughing. “Okay, I’m sorry, obviously there’s been sort of incredible misunderstanding with the front desk staff, but it’s not often he gets caught out like that.”

“Thank you, Harry,” Draco said, mildly. “I do so appreciate the vote of confidence.”

“But it’s about the house,” she repeated. “Nothing to do with Evie? She’s all right?”

“Yes,” Harry said. “I’m terribly sorry no one told you what was happening.”

She let out a long breath, straightening her sleeves and readjusting her jewelry before she looked up at Draco. “I apologize. I thought something had happened to Evie. I couldn’t think of any other reason someone would bring me here to talk to – well, the both of you. You handle important things.”

Draco looked at her for a long moment, then shook his head. “It was our mistake,” he said. “I’m sorry we frightened you.”

“That said, I really don’t like a lack of conversational clarity,” she said. “And no one’s told me a single thing here.”

“Your stepdaughters are both perfectly –“

“Daughters,” she corrected, firmly.

“Your daughters are all right, but files tend to rise in our system in order of priority, and I gather your husband filed that request for a reason,” Draco said. “I’m guessing things have been getting worse with the things happening in your house.”

She flushed. “I know my husband hasn’t been unfaithful,” she said. “But this thing… I’m seeing things, smelling things that aren’t there, and sometimes it’s as if I can’t get to Ainsley. Edward travels on business, if something were to happen, I wouldn’t be able to help her.” She paused. “Well, I’d probably rip a few walls down if necessary, but I don’t know how powerful it is. Ed said it was never an issue before, even after ghosts became a problem, just little things like –“ She paused. “He said it seemed kind, actually, apparently it changed the stairs once when Evie tripped and fell so she didn’t get hurt when she was younger, and it would always put out the fire at the end of the night. But it doesn’t seem fond of me. And Ed’s going to be gone for two weekends next month.”

“It’s not, I’m sorry to say,” Draco said. “It’s a house ghost, they’re rather particular about family homes, and some of them can be rather prejudiced.”

“Oh,” she said, suddenly looking startled. “You mean because I’m muggleborn?”

“Yes,” Draco said. “I’m very sorry, I know –“ He considered. “Well. You’ll know who I’m married to, so I’m willing to assume you know that many of even the oldest pureblood families have come around on the subject, but houses aren’t always so quick to change their minds.”

She finally laughed. “Oh, god,” she said, sitting in one of the armchairs. “That’s all? I knew what I was getting into when I married Edward, we’ve got a forty piece China setting that glues itself to the table when I walk in the room, and we had to get rid of rugs that would literally pull themselves out from under me. I think we’ve had all the locks and doors redone, some of them didn’t care if I had a key or password or not.” She laughed again. “Oh, and our bed tried to toss me on the floor on our wedding night, that was rather charming. Pureblood objects and houses not being fond of me is hardly anything new.”

“You know, for the record, I used to think some rather unacceptable things,” Draco said. “And it still never would have occurred to me to make the strange choices some wizards have made regarding pureblood furniture.”

“We’ve had to get rid of quite a few things, but Ed doesn’t mind,” she said, with a genuine smile. “I do understand that we’re a bit of an odd match, but we love each other and the girls. And I am a Slytherin. Sort of ironic, really, since he was Ravenclaw, but he’s not exactly about the pureblood superiority nonsense. Obviously.”

“We’re not either,” Harry said. “I should hope obviously, even if Draco can’t figure out how to use a washing machine to save his life.”

“We do pay our house elves, but there are some benefits,” she said. “And they’re quite loyal to the house.”

“Please tell that to my wife,” Draco said, with a sigh. “But that’s sort of the idea – some house elves take on the family views regarding blood purity, and the same is true of house ghosts. They’re usually around for generations, so they’re not spectacularly skilled at picking up on new things. I’m just going to have a bit of a chat with it and help it catch up to the rest of us.”

“We’re also going to do our best to convince it that you’re a part of the family,” Harry said. “Which you are, obviously, but ghosts are touchy.”

“If you could just stop the strange visions of my husband in bed with other women,” she said. “It’s a little odd when I know he’s downstairs playing chess with Ainsley. And I’m not all that susceptible to that sort of thing, usually, but it’s hard not to be caught off guard.”

“I actually don’t think I’ll have much trouble,” Draco said. “I hope you’ll take it as a compliment when I say that a ghost fond of Slytherin witches with certain values might come around rather quickly on the issue.”

She laughed again. “Evie’s in Ravenclaw like her dad, but I don’t think Ainsley will be. So someone had better hold down the mansion until she comes of age or the house will collapse under the sheer weight of books.”

“A subject you could probably also speak to my wife about,” Draco said. “I have one question, and it’s personal, so if you aren’t willing to answer, that’s all right, but I’ll tell you why I’ve asked so you’ll know.”

“All right,” she said.

“Were you thinking of having more children?” Draco said.

“We’d talked about it,” she said. “I’d like to, but only once Ainsley’s off at school in two years, and the girls would have to be all right with the idea of siblings, I would never want them to think I wanted biological children instead of being their mother. We’d be growing our family, not making a new one.”

“To put it in about the worst way possible, it’s a lot easier to talk a ghost around on the subject of a new woman in the house if it’s thinking of her as the mother of future heirs,” Draco said.

“A ghost that’s not a feminist, whatever shall I do,” she said, sounding amused. “It’s not as if I’ve met plenty of people like that. At least the thing’s got the excuse of being antiquated.”

“I’m not sure how much it matters, you’re obviously a good mother, that ought to be what matters to it,” Draco said. “But extra arsenal never hurts.”

“So I assume you’ll be sending someone?” she said. “Will they tell us when?”

“No, it’ll be us, and tonight, if it’s not too much of an inconvenience,” Harry said. “We have plenty of hotels if you need a place to stay.”

“Really?” she said. “I was sort of under the impression you took the challenging ones.”

Draco laughed. “Bit of a wrong assignment, in all honesty, it was initially classified as a poltergeist,” he said. “But it’ll be nice to have a night where nothing’s trying to kill us.”

“Well, I appreciate it,” she said. “I know there are a lot of cases.”

“There are,” Harry agreed. “But it doesn’t mean the ones where people’s lives are being made miserable always go to the bottom of the pile.”

“I wouldn’t say miserable,” she said. “Just deeply annoyed. Although if it locked me away from Ainsley, that would be a different story entirely.”

“Exactly,” Draco said. “Did you need a place to stay? One of us can walk you to the proper desk for that.”

“No, it’s all right, my sister has a flat,” she said, with a smile. “She’ll be happy to see everyone. And she’ll probably think the ghost thing is rather funny, she’s a Gryffindor who would probably rather fling herself off the Astronomy Tower than take charge of an old pureblooded house. We’re a little different.”

Draco gestured to Harry with a smile. “Sometimes opposites aren’t such a bad thing,” he said. “If you do think of anything you need, let us know, and otherwise, we’ll be by around – oh, probably nine o’clock, give or take a little.”

“All right,” she said. “I do apologize for how things started.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Draco said. “I don’t have children, but I know how I’d feel if I thought something had happened to Hermione and no one would tell me anything.”

“If you just go down the hall to the left, someone can show you to your husband,” Harry said. “And if you think of anything else, just send an owl to one of us, it’ll end up in the right place.”

“I don’t think I can, but thank you,” she said, with a much warmer smile. “We appreciate the help.”

She let herself out, and Draco leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “I sort of hate when things are simultaneously above and below my rank,” he said.

“Meaning?” Harry said, filling a cup of tea.

“It’s harmless, we could be doing something more important,” Draco said. “But you need a pureblood Slytherin who’s rather skilled at convincing and knows about house ghosts and has a halfway decent partner with adequate blood lines, which severely limits our options. But we’ve turned up some rather nasty stuff this week. I don’t want that to happen to an unprepared team, someone’s going to get themselves killed.”

“I don’t actually think it’s worse, I think we’ve drawn some weird cards lately,” Harry said. “Hermione’s got that algorithm set up to detect if we start getting more or too many of a certain type of ghost, and it hasn’t gone off. But we can up the mandatory field training and do more tests on general ghost knowledge if you’d like.”

“Probably,” Draco said. “We’ve just gotten lucky, twice. If I’d been the bait, I don’t think I would have been able to get through to that Axioen, and if it had been any other team on that siren, they’d have lost someone. Maybe everyone. I don’t like being lucky.”

“I know,” Harry said. “But there’s a reason the three of us take the hard ones and the strange ones and the ones where there isn’t quite enough information to go on. And yes, it’s risky, but we’re the best we’ve got, so it’s going to have to do.”

“I suppose,” Draco said. He was staring a little absently at the window.

“You know, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen someone get you that thoroughly, even in duels,” Harry said, casually. “Everything all right?”

“I’ve got a lot on my mind,” Draco said.

“Need someone to bounce anything off of?” Harry offered. “You know I’m good for it. And we really will sort out the training and better emergency measures.”

“I don’t think so,” Draco said. “Would it make any sense if I said I still needed to rearrange things in my head? It’s just been a lot lately with work and everything you’ve had going on.”

“It makes sense, though please don’t have some sort of melt down over Ginny,” Harry said.

“No plans to,” Draco said. “Since we were supposed to anyway, I don’t suppose you have any serious objections to me going home for the rest of the afternoon?”

“Of course not,” Harry said. “You do realize I’m not actually your boss.”

Draco paused, then laughed. “Well, no, but we usually all decide things together, I think I’m just used to that. Should I do something for dinner?”

“Whatever Hermione’s in the mood for as long as it’s not that really dodgy Indian place,” Harry said. “I’ll be home around the usual time?”

“See you then,” Draco said, and let himself out.

Draco and Harry got to the mansion around ten, full of Thai food, and Draco’s shoulders visibly slid down a few inches after they’d walked through the front door. “Definitely a house ghost,” he said.

“I can’t feel a damn thing,” Harry said.

“I think it’s hiding,” Draco said. “It knows it’s not behaving properly, so it’s doing things and then holing up.”

“Does this place have a basement?” Harry said. “Or cupboards or something? What the hell do house ghosts like?”

“Hah,” Draco said. “No, it’ll be somewhere no one can get to easily. And in a house this old….”

“Point me,” he murmured to his wand, which spun and settled facing a small corner next to some bookshelves with a roll top desk. “Right, levitate this out of the way.”

“Er, all right,” Harry said, moving the desk to another wall. Draco ran his hands over the empty spot, murmuring, although Harry could tell it wasn’t any spell he knew.

“There you are,” Draco said, finally, sounding satisfied, and drew his wand down to cut a long slice in the wallpaper, then another, revealing a dumbwaiter.

“So this should run all the way to the top of the house,” he said. “I’m guessing there’s a missing floor or an attic.”

“And that thing looks at least a century old,” Harry said. “Are you proposing we take it up?”

“Don’t be an idiot, it’ll have every stabilizing spell on earth on it,” Draco said. “Even beyond the consequences for spilling dinner for the help, children used to play in these things. It won’t fall. And it’s about our only way up, that last floor of the house is hidden. You can’t see it from outside.”

“Wizarding architecture, an exercise in utter insanity and literal death traps,” Harry muttered, testing the floor of the dumbwaiter with a foot before he crouched and climbed in warily.

“Or something quite sensible, if you’re afraid someone’s going to show up and try to kill your family,” Draco pointed out. “I’ll send you up first. If you see anything that looks…” He considered. “To me, they usually look like children, but I suspect it might be a lot less refined for you. Just talk to it. But it might be somewhere else in the house, it knows the family’s gone and that two strangers are here.”

“Right,” Harry said, with a sigh, but when Draco pulled the lever, it indeed lead to a rather unassuming attic, full of trunks and old furniture that still looked almost new because of preservation spells. It was organized, with clear labels, but there definitely wasn’t anything even remotely resembling a ghost. Harry sent the dumbwaiter back down, and a few moments later, Draco crawled out, pausing to run a finger over the floorboards before he stood up.

“I don’t think there’s anything here,” Harry said.

“No,” Draco agreed. “But this is certainly where it lives, it’s too neat otherwise. See? No dust, the window’s clean, no cobwebs. I suppose it’s probably hiding from us right now, but it’ll come back eventually. Curiosity and the cat and all.”

“You know what, it’s warm and clean in here, I’ll take it over lurking in a swamp,” Harry said, gesturing to a sofa and a matching loveseat. “Think anyone will be upset if we extend that thing?”

“I doubt it,” Draco said, turning the loveseat into a mirror of the first sofa, and Harry stretched out. Draco liked to talk on stakeouts, a fact he’d grown used to, so it was a little strange when he took the second sofa but didn’t say anything, letting the silence fill the attic until it nearly felt pressing.

“All right,” Harry said, finally, after about twenty minutes of deafening silence. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” Draco said. “I guess it depends on whether we talk about the really bloody hard things, or whether we see if they resolve on their own. I don’t know how you do things just yet. You’re not Hermione. And you seem to be a bit of a case by case basis sort of person.”

“I won’t push,” Harry said, cautiously. “But in my experience, leaving things to fester doesn’t end well.”

“I knew you’d say that,” Draco said, with a sigh in the darkness. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Harry said. “You know you don’t have to ask to ask.”

“Do you think Hermione was ever… in love with you?” Draco said, finally.

“What?” Harry said, then realized slowly that they were probably on exceedingly thin ice. “No, I don’t. We’ve never been like that. I told you, though, if there’s anything that’s bothering you, or if you need me to back off –“

“No,” Draco said. “That would be ludicrous. But do you think she is now?”

“No,” Harry said, cautiously. “I know she’s in love with you.”

“Well, they’re hardly mutually exclusive, Harry,” Draco said.

“Is there something going on?” Harry said, finally, after a long pause. “Has she said something?”

“Not in so many words,” Draco said, laughing, but it didn’t sound right. “You do know it’s a bit one sided, right? Me and mind magic? I’m solid at reading, but terrible at blocking. And she’s terrible with shields, but I don’t know that it would matter, with the feelings I keep getting hit with. I was sort of trying to bring it up last night.”

“Feelings?” Harry hazarded.

“Yeah,” Draco said, finally. “Do you think it’s an enormous breech of privacy if I tell you? Because on the one hand, it’s inside her head and it’s not as if she’s chosen to tell me, but on the other, I’m going a bit insane here.”

“I think you probably can’t help the things you get from that, I just told you that yesterday,” Harry said, softly. “I’ll listen if you need me to, and it sounds like you do. But if there’s something else – I don’t…” He laughed, softly, shaking his head. “I don’t have all your mental shortcuts, you know. I don’t know how to help.”

“Be less… you?” Draco said, finally, with a sigh.

“Might be out of luck there,” Harry said. “Though I can do sort of a funny impression of The Minister for Magic if you’d like.”

Draco laughed softly. “She’s an incredibly talented liar, you know,” he said. “So brilliant at it she actually buys what she’s selling.”

“Mm,” Harry agreed. “I think that’s always been true. But you don’t have to press hard for her to realize.”

“No, it’s right there,” Draco murmured. “She’s so – I always thought it was protectiveness, but it’s different when someone’s jealous, and she’s –“ He paused. “When it was in the abstract, you going out for drinks with someone or something, I couldn’t quite tell. So I just listened to what she said. But there was absolutely no bloody mistaking what she felt seeing you and Padma.”

“Do you know if –“ Harry paused, trying to think how to phrase it. “I think she’s a bit afraid of losing me. I wasn’t too thrilled with you at first either, and it wasn’t just because of who I thought you were, I was worried she’d forget about me. Which I imagine could read as jealousy.”

“Not if it comes along with a sledgehammer of lust,” Draco said, with a sigh. “That one’s pretty unmistakable. And when we were talking about you lot as teenagers, I think there’s actual regret there along with the rest of it. And not just because she feels like she ought to have kept you away from Ginny, because she’d have liked to be with you.”

“I’m not sure,” Harry said, quietly. “I can tell you that I’ve no intention of taking her from you, that I’m dead certain she loves you backwards and forwards and sideways, and that if she has feelings for me, they’ll probably pass. I just got divorced, I’m with people she didn’t grow up seeing me with, I think it’s a lot to take in.”

Draco snorted. “That’s the most diplomatic answer I’ve ever heard, I’d appreciate it if it weren’t completely bloody daft,” he said. “I mean, I do know the parts about your intentions are true, and I’m actually fairly certain the parts about me are true, but you don’t get that depth of feeling as an acute sort of thing.”

“In that case, I have literally no idea what to say,” Harry said, finally. “But I’m open to suggestions.”

“You do realize it gets worse, don’t you?” Draco said. “Because I’m not jealous of it. I ought to be, god knows, but it’s more interesting than threatening.”

“I suppose I’m glad you feel all right about it?” Harry said, unsure of what to say.

Draco laughed. “How do you feel about her?” he said. “And, honestly, about me?”

“I could just…” Harry said. “Well. When we get home, if you’d like, it’s not that hard to take the mental walls down. I don’t want to do it with strange ghosts around, though.”

“No,” Draco said. “I want the version from you, filtered through how you think. Not whatever’s in your subconscious. But I won’t be angry if there’s anything in there that lines up with what she feels.”

“How do I… feel?” Harry said. “This isn’t me trying to be obtuse, but do you mean romantically or in general? Because those are different questions.”

“Both, actually, I think,” Draco said. “But I’d rather you be honest than anything else. It can stay in this bloody attic if it needs to, but I have too much in my head and I need to figure out up from down.”

“Okay,” Harry agreed. “If you were literally anyone else, I’d have yelled at you for keeping things to yourself at your own expense and come and expanded the bloody sofa and shoved in next to you. But I have to be honest, I don’t know if Slytherins do that.”

“I don’t either,” Draco said, after a pause. “But it doesn’t sound all that bad, really.”

“Your stupid ghost is going to show up at an extremely inopportune time,” Harry warned, standing and transfiguring the couch Draco was on into a much larger sectional. He didn’t feel quite right about having a green velvet bed.

“You’re sort of an idiot,” Harry said, stretching out next to him. “You haven’t even asked Hermione about it?”

“Yes, because that would go over exceedingly well given all the times she’s told me how aggravating she finds it when anyone accuses her of having feelings for you,” Draco said. “And you know how pissed off and defensive she’d get.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, finally. “I do sort of want to know why you aren’t trying to run me out of town, though. You haven’t even thrown a punch or told me I have to move out immediately or requested a new pairing for assignments.”

“That would be because all of those things sound like hell,” Draco said, shaking his head. “I don’t want you to go anywhere. I know I should, but I don’t. And I’m not fond of making my wife miserable, I’d rather make her happy. And I told you, you’re interesting. I’m just trying to figure out what to do.”

“That makes absolutely no sense,” Harry said. “You ought to want me gone. She’s your wife.”

“And you’re my something or another,” Draco said. “And historically, while I’m excellent at reading other people, knowing what I want or what I feel is next to impossible.” He paused. “There’s probably some irony in not being able to read my own mind, really.”

“No, I think we’re all bloody terrible at that,” Harry said. He looked up at the ceiling. “Are you not objecting here because you think if you asked her to choose, she’d pick me?”

“No, she’d just refuse to pick anyone and be utterly miserable,” Draco said. “She doesn’t love you better, exactly, that’s shorthand, just differently. And in case you’ve failed to notice, I don’t have a lot of… people. And I have even fewer people who even remotely understand me. Or who care. So I don’t want you to go any more than she does. That clock –“ He laughed, still not sounding right. “You do realize only families go on those clocks, Harry? Blood or legally binding things like marriage or adoption are supposed to be the only way to add people. It shouldn’t work.”

“I’m not the biggest proponent of rules,” Harry said. “Honestly, if we’re going by those, I shouldn’t be alive. It’s just a clock, Draco. It’s not the actual issue at hand.”

“I know,” Draco said. “But I don’t like things that don’t fit.”

“Hmm,” Harry said, jokingly. “I may suddenly understand your obsession with crossword puzzles.”

“Probably,” Draco said. “I just have no idea what to do, and you’re probably the last person on earth I ought to be asking, but you’re also the only person I want to ask. Which makes no bloody sense at all.”

“I think maybe we’ve spent a little too much time worrying about me or Hermione and not enough time worrying about you,” Harry said, finally. “What’s your one hundred percent, here? If you got everything you wanted?”

“That nothing changes,” Draco said. “But that’s hardly fair to you. And I suspect it’s hardly fair to Hermione. And I think it may not even be fair to me, though I can’t even sort that bit out.”

“If it were just keeping some of it constant, I’d be all right,” Harry said. “Don’t get me wrong, yes, it’d be nice to get laid occasionally, but it’s not like it’d be the end of the world if I gave that up. But I somehow don’t think it would solve any problems aside from maybe letting everyone ignore things.”

“No,” Draco said. “Can I ask you a question that I’m not sure you’ve got a hope in hell of even being able to answer?”

“Quit asking me if you can ask,” Harry said, elbowing him.

“Do you have any idea on earth how I tell the difference between what’s me and what I’m picking up on from Hermione?” Draco said, finally. “Thought wise, I mean.”

“Sadly, no,” Harry said. “I haven’t the faintest. It took you months to get my mental shields anywhere near good enough, remember? I’m no good at that sort of thing, and Hermione’s the one who knows all the theory.”

“That’s about what I thought,” Draco said.

Harry considered. “Although, logically, do you still know the things Hermione is feeling if you’re nowhere near her? Does that stick around?”

“Not really,” Draco said. “Sometimes it takes an hour or two to wear off and get everyone else outside of my head since we’re so close, but it doesn’t last forever.”

“So at the risk of stating the obvious, you’re apart for more than two hours all the time, so whatever’s left over is probably you. Although I’ve got next to no idea why you’re asking that one.”

“Because you’re interesting,” Draco said, sounding aggravated. “And Slytherins like interesting things. And because she wasn’t the only one who wanted to toss Padma off the front step violently. And because seeing you and Weasley together in your head made me want to throw up every meal I’d eaten for the last few days because she was so –“ He shook his head. “She didn’t get you. I don’t like that. But what do you do with –“ He paused. “I think it’s probably stupid to say that I don’t know what to do with feeling that sort of protective toward someone, but I really don’t. Hermione, maybe, but god knows, she can take care of herself far better than I ever could. I mostly just want to make her happy. Which is a different thing than… whatever it is with you.”

“Er, I am fairly capable,” Harry said, mildly. “I did survive my adolescence, which was a bit more trying than most people’s, let’s be honest.”

“Well, yes, but not with –“ Draco waved a hand. “Weasleys who don’t appreciate you and who don’t really reciprocate properly in bed and when you’re sleeping with someone and it makes you feel worse and living with someone who just makes you feel alone and you’re thoroughly miserable. That’s the part that gets my hackles up.”

“Right,” Harry said. “So if I’ve got this laid out, you both want to murder Ginny, you both seem to hate the idea of me with anyone else, and I’m fully aware that you’ve got the same streak that Hermione does where she’s convinced that no one can do anything as well as she can. And Hermione may or may not have feelings for me based on her being terrible at occlumency. And you… may or may not have feelings for me based on… feeling protective. But I think you’d both hex me to the sofa if I tried to go anywhere and give you space over it.”

“Pretty much,” Draco said. “Does that sound utterly idiotic? Laid out like that, it sort of sounds like someone’s been dosing me with paranoia potions.”

“Kind of, yeah,” Harry admitted. “But I believe you.” He considered. “You should be really bloody pissed off with me or her or the universe, I should probably be incredibly stressed, and god only knows where Hermione’s at, but do you feel like that?”

“No,” Draco said. “I’m only stressed because I don’t know how to talk about these things, and this entire conversation is sort of making me want to go to work and hole up in my office and not come out for days because I’m having to have it, and I don’t have a solution, but I’m not mad. I just don’t want to talk about it.”

“Except you’ve just talked about it,” Harry said, laughing.

“Shut up,” Draco said. “Do you…” He considered. “You did say you wished it had been her and not Ginny. You know, having sex.”

“Well, yes, because Hermione knows everything on earth and the fact that I was a teenage boy with no clue what he was doing wouldn’t have mattered,” Harry said, then paused. “No, I’m not being totally honest, I’d rather have been with her. You like interesting things, I like stable things that work, and we’re stable and we work.”

“Do you think it would have worked out?” Draco said. “Honestly, nothing else did, why would that be different?”

“Yeah, I do,” Harry said. “There’s a reason she and I are still this close. But that doesn’t mean I wish I could go back and change it. I’m glad she’s with you. You’re good for her. And she adores you. Being with someone you’ve known nearly your whole life and being with someone new who sees you as a new person are different things.” He smiled. “It’s the flip side to that thing you said about lenses, you know? I get to see a different side of her with you, too.”

“Do you think you feel the same way? That she does, I mean?”

“I have absolutely no idea,” Harry said. “I want to say no, but I’ve never been in a position where I could think about it. One of us was always with someone else, or it felt like I’d be stabbing Ron in the back, or… she’s still with someone else. She is, in fact, married to someone else. I’m not sure this is the time to go poking at whether or not I’ve ever had feelings for her.”

“This is all too much bloody talking and intimacy,” Draco muttered. “And I really don’t like it. But I thought about not saying anything, and that wasn’t going to work either. But I don’t know what to do.”

“Go deal with that?” Harry suggested. There was a small, faint outline of what almost looked like a little girl peeking around a set of trunks. “And then we’ll go home and I’ll talk Pansy into wine there or something so no one gets homicidal and then I will figure something out from there so you can have a night off from worrying on your own? Fair warning, I’m a Gryffindor, it’s probably going to involve alcohol and ending up in some sort of pile on the sofa, but you can at least stop thinking.”

“Hah, it knew this was terrible and showed up just to save me,” Draco said, sitting up on the couch. “I’m going to go talk to it, I think about the only thing you need to do is let it get your feelings on Lila if it wants them.”

“Right, focus hard on her pinning you to a wall with a wand to your jugular,” Harry teased.

Draco made a face. “Pick better phrasing, that one brings Padma to mind,” he said.

“Jealous?” Harry said, amused.

“I actually think so, it’s been too long for me to just be getting it from Hermione,” Draco said, ruefully. “I’ll be back.”

It actually didn’t take particularly long for Draco to talk the house ghost out of its general bad behavior; it had felt obligated because the original owner of the home was fanatical about bloodlines, but it wanted to like Lila. Draco pointed out that the house’s one and only master was Edward, so the ghost was really only obligated to share his views, and that it was far better off encouraging their marriage and helping keep the house safe so they’d want to have more children. It apparently hadn’t been particularly happy clunking around in the attic, because by the time Harry and Draco got back downstairs, it had filled the living room with vases of flowers, leaving a trail in its wake as it obviously moved upstairs. Harry paused, reaching for a bouquet of roses, and he was surprised to find that they seemed real, even if he was fairly certain they weren’t.

“Nice illusionist,” Draco remarked. “Glad it’s putting that to better use.”

Harry redid the wallpaper and replaced the desk while Draco gathered their things, holding open the front door. He removed the barriers and put the usual “cleared for entrance” spell for the technician who would be by later, and startled Harry when he gripped his wrist tightly before Apparating them both home.

Chapter Text

“I’m really not in the mood for paperwork,” Draco said, with a sigh. “Do you think it might wait until morning?”

“Me either,” Harry said, catching Draco by the wrist again as he took the steps towards the front door.

Draco turned, looking a little startled. “Harry?”

“When you open that, it’s my turn, all right?” Harry said, quietly. “No more worrying about the whole thing. You’re going to trust me with it.”

Draco laughed. “You make it sound just that easy.”

“Because it’s going to be just that easy,” Harry said. “You trust me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Draco said, after a long pause.

“So trust me,” Harry said.

“Okay,” Draco said, finally, and stepped back to let Harry push open the door.

“Is that you two?” Hermione called from the living room. “You’re back awfully early.”

“Easy ghost, shocking as it sounds,” Harry said, lightly, hanging up his jacket as Draco shut the front door behind them. “How about here?”

“Most of what you’re shot to hell on is Herbology ingredients,” Pansy said. She was reclining – because there really wasn’t a better word – on their couch, dangling a glass of wine in her hand. “Wood, flowers, that sort of thing. Neville can certainly help on that count. There are a few gems I’d like to see you have as binding agents, I’ll ask around at Gringotts, but that part’s not so necessary.”

“So on a scale of one to ten, if I took a rain check on taking you out, how irate would you be?”

“Mm,” Pansy said. “Don’t tell me you’re tired or something, Potter. After just one tiny, insignificant house ghost?”

“Did everyone know about these things but us?” Hermione said, sounding a little irritated.

“Just the purebloods, darling,” Pansy said.

“I’m all right,” Harry said. “But Draco’s hopelessly behind on paperwork because his secretary’s useless, and I may have said I’d help him catch up.”

“You’re a terrible liar, but I can at least tell it’s something to do with him, so I’ll let it go,” she said, holding out a hand so he could pull her up off the sofa. He watched Hermione tense in his peripheral vision as she stayed close. “Draco, you’re ruining important shagging opportunities for me.”

“You know he can’t anyway, Padma’s got him locked down on that whole thing,” Draco said.

“Excuse me, no one’s locked down anything,” Harry said, entertained. “And if I were competing in the Draco Malfoy Point Cup, hypothetically speaking, I’ve got all year to help get teams equal, so I’m hardly concerned, and I’d be playing for Gryffindor.”

“All right, but only because Granger’s plied me with excellent wine,” she said, still standing close. “Kiss for the road, Potter?”

“Sure,” he said, leaning to kiss her cheek with a grin. “Safe trip home, all right? And owl to figure out the rest with you and Gabby and so on?”

“You’re awful,” she said, but she ducked away from him, slipping back into her heels. “I’ll owl tomorrow.”

She headed toward the door, elbowing Draco in the side on her way out. “And you ruined my date somehow with your terrible Malfoy neediness and Harry Potter monopolizing.”

“Quite sorry about that,” Draco said, straight faced.

“Hardly, you’re never sorry when it comes to Potter, especially not these days,” she said. “See you next week.”

Harry wasn’t entirely surprised to see Hermione relax in a rather obvious fashion, though she still looked a bit dubious. “Decide things were going too well with Padma or something?” she said.

“You are insufferable,” Harry said, going over to wrap his arms around her. “And insufferably bad at keeping out of my business. That fishing was so blatant, I’m surprised we haven’t got trout for dinner or something.”

Hermione laughed. “Oh, all right, I’m nosy,” she said. “But that was a terrible joke, Harry.”

“No, I was honest, I want to spend some time with Draco and you,” Harry said.

“Everything okay?” Hermione said.

“I’m all right, he’s stressed,” Harry said, kissing her temple.

“You do not keep secrets well, Potter,” Draco said, sounding tense.

“No,” Harry agreed. “Go sit on the couch. I’m finding scotch and more wood for the fireplace.”

“Draco?” Hermione said, looking a little concerned, but Harry squeezed her shoulder.

“He’s going to do me a favor and stop being so bloody stubborn,” Harry said. “And maybe you could do me a favor and do the same. Want me to open another bottle of wine?”

“Sure,” Hermione said, getting up and going to wrap her arms around Draco’s waist, looking up at him. “Draco, love?”

“I’m okay,” he murmured, pulling her in and resting his chin on the top of her head, eyes closing for a moment. “Potter, no one’s going anywhere, are they?”

“Well, to the kitchen and about half way down the basement stairs to levitate up some logs, but otherwise, no,” Harry said. “I promise.”

“Why would anyone be going anywhere?” Hermione said, reaching a hand up to run it through Draco’s hair. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes,” Harry said, firmly. “I’ll be right back.”

He got the bottle of scotch and two glasses with ice from the sideboard, summoning another bottle of the vintage Pansy had left on the coffee table, and ducked down for a moment to send a few logs to the fireplace and more to pile on when needed. “Someone start that, would you?” he called, going upstairs to find one of his jumpers from school that Hermione was still always stealing despite the ragged cuffs and the fact that it was more pink than red these days.

“You,” he said, coming back down and handing a glass and the bottle of scotch to Draco. “And you can get mine while you’re at it. And you –“ he summoned wine the bottle from where he’d left it hovering by the stairs, passing it over along with the jumper. “Hi. We missed you. We’re sorry you were stuck here with Pansy.”

“She’s not that bad, baiting aside,” Hermione said, looking up at him. “But someone had better tell me what’s going on, because you haven’t done the whole Harry-Potter-Leader-of-the-Forces-of-Good thing in a while, and he’s never this…” She waved a hand. “Obliging. Submissive. Skulky. Unsure. Pick something. Did you fight?”

“Thank you, lovely adjective choices,” Draco said, irritably, flopping down on the sofa and pouring the scotch. “We did not.”

“No,” Harry agreed. “Do you remember a long time ago when occasionally I’d ask you to duck under the Invisibility Cloak and go along with the plan even if you weren’t quite sure what the plan was?”

“Yes, and I never said yes, because it was usually stupid,” Hermione said, folding her arms.

“Just this once?” Harry said, gently, settling his hands on her shoulders.

“All right,” Hermione said, a little tentatively.

“Right, we need to talk,” he said. “But I’ve got ground rules, and one is that everyone goes in knowing that no one’s going anywhere, that anyone speaks up if they feel unsure or overwhelmed, and that we work things out together, all right?”

“You’re making me nervous, Harry,” Hermione said. “Will someone tell me what’s going on?”

“Yes or no, Hermione,” Harry said, gently. “To rules for talking.”

“Yes,” Draco said. “And I’d like it if you said yes, Hermione. Even if I thought we were just drinking and not engaging in more of this talking nonsense, Harry. I’m not best pleased.”

“All right,” Hermione agreed.

“Draco?” Harry said, nudging Hermione toward the couch. “I think you’re the one who needs to talk.”

Hermione sat on the arm of the couch and after a moment Draco leaned against her.

“Do you think,” Draco said, finally, after a long pause, “you might possibly have… more than friendly feelings for Harry?”

“No? I’ve told you? I’m in love with you. We’re married,” she said, and Harry would have smiled if she he hadn’t known Hermione would have taken it the wrong way – she was a worse liar than he was, and he was just as bad as Pansy had implied.

“Hypothetically, if you said yes, I wouldn’t be mad or jealous,” he said. “If that would help you feel safe enough to be honest.”

“How on earth could you possibly not be mad or jealous?” Hermione said, incredulous. Harry had to try harder not to laugh when he realized Draco had laid a rather neat logical trap.

“Because he’s interesting?” Draco hazarded. “And he’s on our clock, which is also interesting? And because he never stops hassling me to have some faith in him, and it’s aggravating, but I think I’ve developed some along the way. I mean, faith that he might be decent at making things that seem utterly upside down be all right.” He paused. “Also, the interesting thing.”

“He wants to know if you have feelings for me,” Harry cut in. “And come to think of it, I’d sort of like to know too. I think he’s been trying to decide if he’s got feelings for me as well.” He paused. “And if that was incredibly off base on the last part, sorry for massively misinterpreting the whole getting jealous of Ginny thing and the interesting thing.”

“It was not incredibly off base,” Draco said. “Only slightly. I’m not jealous of Weasley, I just dislike her immensely and think you deserve better. Hermione and I are both significantly superior in nearly every way. But I was jealous of Padma.”

“Right,” Harry said, trying not to laugh. “Hermione?”

“Oh god,” she said, finally, looking at the floor. “What did I – did I say something? Or do something? I thought I was keeping it to myself.”

“You live with a legilimens,” Harry said, gently. “And no, he didn’t pry, apparently you got rather loud about me snogging Padma.”

“Oh damn,” she said, burying her face in her hands. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“What for?” Draco said. “Did you miss the part where I said I wasn’t mad or jealous?”

She paused. “No, but it’s – we’re married, it’s hardly all right if I’ve got feelings for another man. And it’s Harry and we’ve been friends for far more than half our lives –“

“Time out,” Harry said, firmly, refilling Hermione’s wine glass. “Take that. Drink some. I need you to listen.”

“Okay,” Hermione said, in a small voice. She still looked as if she might be on the verge of tears.

“I’m not mad, and I’m not going anywhere,” Harry said, softly. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Hermione said, quietly.

“Draco?” Harry prompted.

“I’m not mad or jealous, I’m in the same boat. Of course I’m irritated that it’s Potter, but at least I think we’ve got feelings for the same person, that could have been a total cockup if you’d gone for Potter and I’d gone for Padma or something,” Draco said, pulling her down into his lap. “I was stressed, but I talked to him, and now I’m not, so maybe that’ll work for you too.” He waved his glass in an expansive gesture. “Hell, it’ll probably work better, I don’t like talking to anyone about things, let alone him.”

Hermione finally laughed softly. “You are so daft,” she said. “You two never shut up.”

“We really don’t,” Harry agreed, leaning back against the arm of a sofa with his drink.

“Well,” Hermione said, finally. “I’m glad no one’s mad, but are we just… leaving it be?”

“Well, I don’t know, we hadn’t gotten that far,” Draco said. “Harry hasn’t shared his feelings with the class.”

“That’s because I have no bloody clue,” he said, then held his hands up. “You two have been off having an emotionally healthy relationship and actually acknowledging your feelings forever, I have not. So at the moment I’m relatively certain I’ve just squashed any feelings about anyone, romantic or sexual or otherwise. Call the whole thing a self-defense mechanism. Celibacy has mostly been working out well for me, it’s drama free.”

“Right, with Padma,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes.

“Yeah, and what’s the worst I fuck up there?” Harry said. “I don’t get to sit in on autopsies? I’m already basically banned from that.”

“Damn it,” Draco said, with a sigh. “I said I wasn’t going to, and now I’m going to because he really is that thick.”

“Going to what?” Hermione said.

“I sort of said if he wasn’t sure of how felt about him, he could just go look around in my head,” Harry admitted. “He said it ought to come from me. I’m saying that what you’re going to get from me at the moment is a whole lot of having no idea. And I think it might not be the worst idea to let him take down some of the things I’ve…” He considered. “You’ve been extremely off limits for an extremely long time. I think I’ve probably blocked off a lot, really.”

“Oh, fabulous, and now I’ve got to demolish walls,” Draco muttered. “What do I look like, some sort of mental construction foreman?”

Hermione finally laughed. “You do realize that if any point until, I don’t know, the last time you did it, you’d told me that Harry would be comfortable with having someone else in his head, let alone asking for it, I’d have laughed myself sick.”

Harry shrugged. “He’s not exactly trying to get state secrets or whatnot.”

“What?” Draco said.

“Voldemort used to do a lot of trying to get in,” Hermione said. “Or getting in. Whichever. Either way, it wasn’t all that pleasant for him.”

“Oh,” Draco said, looking at Harry. “Have you been sneaking around having faith in me too or something?”

“Probably,” Harry agreed. “I’m worse with trust, so I think I’ve been sneaking around trusting you.”

“Oh, all right, I’ll do it,” Draco said. “But drink more, it makes things easier.”

“Right,” Hermione said, still looking nervous. “So I suppose that goes one of two ways, doesn’t it? Or – what, four? So what then?”

“I’m not going to only be interested in one of you,” Harry said, firmly. “You’re too close to one another these days for any of that. And I’m fairly confident it’s there.” He laughed. “I was seventeen once. You’re both quite attractive. And I like you. But if it’s not, it’s not –“ He poured himself more scotch. “It doesn’t mean I won’t, it just means I haven’t let myself at all. So I might need some time.”

“Yes, but what then?” Hermione said.

Draco paused for a long moment. “Darling wife,” he said, kissing her temple. “Do you remember that ludicrous game we played at New Year’s? That exception list thing, with your muggle actor and the Montrose seeker, although I still think I ought to have been able to count the whole team as one item.”

“The free pass list?” Hermione said. “For famous people if they suddenly show up on the doorstep and want to shag you?”

“I suppose he is rather famous,” Draco said. “And he is in our living room, which I realize isn’t technically the doorstep, but he does use it quite often. So if you wanted, I suppose we could just add him too.”

Hermione paused, looking as if she was trying not to laugh. “Draco, to be perfectly clear, are you suggesting we stick Harry on the list of people we’re allowed to shag without it being cheating?”

“It is sort of a loophole, you have to admit,” Draco said. “Although it doesn’t really say anything about on a regular basis, but I suppose that could just be open ended.”

“Or we could behave like normal human beings and just –“ Hermione sighed. “Draco, if we put him on the list, what does that mean to you? In English.”

“We keep him and then have significantly better sex with him than Ginny Weasley had, because he deserves much better people? You’re already in love with him and I’ll get there in ten minutes even if it’s not like everything else about Potter where I end up ambushed by feelings I didn’t think I had, and…” He considered. “I supposed we could actually have a guest room again.”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Hermione said, faintly. “I’ve spent months stressing and feeling guilty and trying to make the whole thing go away and your solution is that we keep him and get our guest room back?”

“Yes?” Draco said. “Damn, you’ve got that look where I’ve said exactly the wrong thing and you want to kill me. I have chocolate in my coat? Would that save me?”

“Not in the slightest,” Hermione said.

“I’m ambivalent on the guest room, we really need an office, but the rest of it sounds pretty decent to me,” Harry said. “Hermione, come here and stop staring daggers at him.”

“I’m going to kill the both of you,” Hermione said, climbing over into Harry’s lap and resting her head against his shoulder. She inhaled slowly after a moment. “Oh. I suppose all that means I don’t have to feel guilty for liking this.”

“No, I don’t think you do,” Harry agreed, wrapping an arm around her waist. He closed his eyes for a moment. “And actually, I like it too.” He pulled her in a little closer, letting himself get used to it.

“See,” Draco said, looking a little smug. “It wasn’t that terrible of a plan.”

“It’s the most ludicrous plan I’ve ever heard,” Hermione said. “We should just start dating Harry because I’m in love with him and you think you could be if you tried hard enough and he’s not against the idea? What about our marriage? Or work? Or any of the thousand other things that it would impact? Adding someone to a relationship is supposed to be really bloody complicated, Draco.” She paused. “On the other hand, I don’t actually have a better idea unless Harry does. And Harry’s incredibly stupid plans have this odd tendency towards working out, so I suppose we your incredibly stupid plan might be all right.”

“I was sort of thinking we just kept doing what we’ve been doing and no one gets all stressed without communicating about it,” Harry said, laughing. “Only, you know, I theoretically like sex, so I suppose I wouldn’t say no if Draco insisted on that whole line of questioning, and I’d maybe want to be more involved in your… couple things. I know it’s complicated, but I’m doing my best to work out the emotionally complicated bits, someone else can figure out how we fit my clothes in the armoire.”

“Does that mean you’re all right?” Draco said.

“I’m brilliant, really,” he said, laughing. “No one around me is stressed, I’m not at work, I have excellent scotch, and I might even get to have decent sex sometime in the vaguely near future. I’ll deal with the complicated bits later.”

“Hold on, what do you mean decent?” Hermione said, poking his side.

“Er,” Harry said. “Look, it’s sex, I’m trying not to think about it because I’m pretty sure it’s possible for my body to notice how long it’s been and that I can see down your shirt.”

“I’m not actually sure I need to do any sort of legilimency here at all,” Draco said, bemused. “You could just take your top off.”

“I think that might be completely true, and then I’d probably end up unintentionally pinning her to the couch and making you happy, but it doesn’t seem like the healthiest method,” Harry pointed out. “And I did sort of want you to know how I feel about you too. Even if it’s just the non-romantic bits. I’m sure about that piece, I’m just not always that great with words.”

“There you go being sentimental again,” Draco said, but he still sounded amused. “I know how you feel about me. Or at least, I know everything I need to know about how you feel about me.”

“Slytherins,” Harry said. “Always thinking you have to ration things.”

“Gryffindors,” Draco said. “Always going to excess.”

Hermione laughed. “Honestly, I’m going to break the tie, I’d be interested in what you find,” she said, refilling Harry’s glass. “About me too, I suppose.”

“At least wandering around looking at what you think of Hermione is likely to be infinitely better than looking at your terrible ex-Weasley or whatever it is we’re calling her,” Draco said. “Which, by the way, is how I can tell you that you’re going to be having far better than decent sex. Hermione doesn’t do anything halfway.”

“I really don’t,” she agreed. “Also, I really don’t care if you look down my shirt. Or if you happen to get… interested.” She paused. “It would be unreasonable of me to demand to take this to the front steps, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes,” Harry said, laughing. “Look, Padma’s nice, but you two are already mine. And it’s cold out there.”

“Oh, all right,” Hermione said, mollified. “It was worth asking.”

“No, don’t ask him to move,” Draco said, tangling his legs with Harry’s. “He’s… I think I can get to –“ He paused. “Goddamn it, Potter, did you just drop all your shields at once?”

“Uh huh,” Harry said, leaning back further against the couch. He laughed. “What, expecting something else?”

“I could go anywhere,” Draco said, sounding both fascinated and horrified.

“Yes,” Harry said. “And you know, I wouldn’t mind, actually.” He stroked a hand down Hermione’s back. “You could look too, but you’re sort of awful at this.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, with amusement. “Though my being awful at this appears to have lead here, so I might not be entirely sorry.”

“Me or her first?” Draco said, finally.

“You pick,” Harry said. “And you can probably avoid a lot of the stuff with us that’s got Ron around, that’s not even worth messing with. I wouldn’t want to look at anything from there, I’d probably just feel guilty and miserable.”

“Not to mention I’ve had way too much of one Weasley already this week,” Draco said. “I’ll do me, it’ll be faster, won’t it?”

“Probably,” Harry agreed, opening his eyes to make eye contact.

“Yeah,” Draco said, suddenly looking distracted. “A garden, Potter, really?”

“Please don’t ask me to justify my brain,” Harry said.

“Well, at least it doesn’t have any vegetables,” Draco said.

“I’m sure it’s quite dark and brooding,” Harry said. “Perhaps it’s a death garden or something.”

“Yes, all right, now let me work,” Draco said.

“Oh, well, he’s gone off all distracted,” Hermione said, amused. “Harry?”

“I’m good,” he said. “Please don’t ask me to go get more firewood, but it’s nice. And I like…” He gestured. “It’s sort of pleasant. I mean, having him in my head always seems to be.”

“That’s because he’s defective,” Draco said. “Harry, I’ve no idea how this is going to go when I find things. You might think about it, or – hell, I don’t know. I’ll know because I’ve found it, but it hardly does us any good if I’m the only one who knows.”

“Well, figure it out as we go then,” Harry said. “We’re good at that.”

“I brought it up because there’s a pertinent point here,” Draco said. “Can you tell with that?”

“No, except that you think it’s funny,” Harry said. “I guess you get to play tour guide.”

“He likes watching us kiss,” Draco said, amused. “I’d call it charming except it’s nowhere near that appropriate.”

“Huh,” Harry said. “Okay, I can tell where all the blocked off edges were there.”

“But you know what you actually think now?” Draco said.

“Yes, and that’s cheating, I’m allowed to think it’s cute over the breakfast table, it’s not my fault you kept trying to really snog in front of me,” Harry said, almost drowsy. Everything felt, somehow, easier with Draco holding it.

Hermione laughed. “We like to win?” she said.

“I think you like to tease,” Harry said, with an amused look at Hermione. “Because you started out as the most circumspect couple alive and then, er, changed your ways gradually.”

“And you liked it, so you don’t get to complain,” Draco said. “Honestly, you’re not allowed to like looking at me with my shirt off if it’s because I’ve gotten soaked on some stupid field assignment and someone forgot to pack a change of clothes.”

“Oh, extremely not sorry,” Harry said, laughing. “Apparently I think it’s a good look on you.”

Hermione settled a little closer against his chest. “It’s promising that he’s finding things, I suppose?”

“I’d think so,” Harry said. “We haven’t been friends nearly as long. And we knew one another as teenagers, but it’s not as if I saw him every day and spent all my time with him. Also, he was sort of insufferable.”

“Oh,” Draco said, sounding a little startled.

“What?” Harry said.

“Just all –“ He paused. “Damn, you meant all of that. What you said before, about trusting me and things.”

“And that’s why I really wanted you in there,” Harry said, nuzzling Hermione’s temple. “So you don’t ever worry I like her better.”

“Mm,” Draco said, sounding a little distracted.

“You okay?” Hermione said. “I can move if you need me.”

“No, I’m all right, just getting used to it,” he said. “Besides, he’s all adult interested in me, it’s sort of like he wants to have dinner and wine and is being functional and not just thinking about me naked all the time. You ought to stay over there in his lap if I can find something in your half that gets him all wound up.”

“You do know I’m not sleeping with anyone tonight,” Hermione said, pointedly. “For one thing, there’s not enough chocolate and painkilling potion in the world to get rid of these cramps, and for another, I don’t think I’ve shaved in something like three days and I have to get you to figure out Harry’s taste in knickers while you’re looking for things.”

“On the floor?” Harry suggested. “Point A, completely respected, but point B, I’m… not really going to mind about that sort of thing. Given that I’m reasonably sure I’ve seen you in literally every possible condition there is.”

“Not as a sexual partner,” Hermione pointed out.

“Don’t bother, you’re going to lose,” Draco said. “It’s a Hermione thing. But it’s not as if –“ He paused. “Well, I have no idea what anyone’s interested in, or if that’s too fast, but it’s not as if Harry’s brain isn’t a physical space with physical memories.”

Hermione laughed. “Well that means you want sex tonight,” she teased. “You never bring up hypotheticals unless you don’t want them to be hypotheticals.”

“Yes, maybe, all right, I’d like to,” Draco admitted. “I’ve literally had to have about three discussions about my feelings, I’m used to a bottle of wine and dinner to get someone into bed.” He considered. “Or, you know, since I’ve been with you, pretty much just seeing if you’re in the mood. Sex isn’t supposed to be that complicated.”

“Spoiled,” Hermione said, amused. “Harry?”

“I have no clue,” he admitted. “It’s rather fast, but I think if he goes around flipping switches I’m probably not going to care much. You’re usually the brakes, should we snog a lot for a few days or something first?”

“Hah,” Draco said. “You’re easy. I like that. And I uncovered some inappropriate dreams for you, you’re welcome, I’m going to go find Hermione. And I don’t kiss like that, for the record.”

Hermione snorted. “Harry, I like sex, and I’ve been thinking incredibly inappropriate things about having you for at least months, you can’t possibly expect me to turn anything down, even if I’m sticking with my reasons for not having it tonight. Although for the record, I slept with him on the first date, there’s no shame in that.”

“I’d inferred given that you weren’t really dating to start,” Harry said. “Just –“

“Would you calm down?” Draco said. “It’s the two of us, what’s worth getting nervous over?”

“My previous extremely mediocre and boring sex life versus your purportedly exceptionally brilliant one,” Harry said. “Amongst other things.”

“You sort that, Hermione,” Draco said. “By the way, you’re an extremely large library, and I think it’s safe to say he likes you better than anyone else, it’s sort of glowing.”

“Right, there is literally nothing in you that has ever even remotely convinced me you’d be anything other than unbelievable in bed, so we’re blaming that on Ginny and moving on,” Hermione said, firmly. “Look at me for a minute.”

She rolled over on top of him, cupping his face with one hand and meeting his eyes with a smile. “It’s me. And you. And Draco. I don’t think we need to worry too much that it’s going to be good even if it’s awkward as hell and absolutely no one has an orgasm.”

“Oh,” Harry said, a little startled, then paused. “I’d rather it not go like that, but yes.”

Hermione laughed softly. “See what I’m getting off on there? I think it’s a little obvious, but…”

“Yes,” Harry said. “I really might not have needed Draco mucking about after all.”

“Told you,” Draco said. “Honestly, just take your jumper off.”

“No, we want you here when that happens,” she said. “Plus you like watching, I don’t think that can happen if you’re off looking at anything Harry’s stuck in there about me.”

“I decided to work backwards,” Draco said. “Mostly because there’s a ludicrous amount to turn over. There was plenty with me, but this is just idiotic, Potter, how did you not notice?”

“Carefully cultivated self-preservation, I think,” Harry said.

“Well, he’s smitten with the fact that you get flushed when you’ve been drinking, he thought that dress you wore to the last department party was – well, about what I said about it while I was taking it off, he – oh, interesting, the kitchen table, really?”

“Er, apparently,” Harry said, feeling his cheeks warm. “I really haven’t been thinking about it. Or at least, I didn’t think I was.”

“Damn, you always want morning sex,” Draco said. He laughed. “Why’d you put most of the stuff about both of us over here?”

“No idea,” Harry said. “I suppose I’m probably more used to putting things in the Hermione section.”

“I don’t think I’m skilled enough to get in there on my own, but I wouldn’t mind sharing some of that,” Hermione said, after a pause. “Even if he’s only just figuring it out.”

“Oh, I should’ve thought,” Draco said. “Harry, do you mind if she helps look?”

“I suppose not,” Harry said. “As long as no one makes fun of me for having no idea what was going on in my own head.”

“That would just be daft,” Hermione said, kissing his cheek. “Draco, stop telling him, it’ll show up on its own. Especially the real things that aren’t just fantasies.”

“And you’ve figured this out how, exactly, worst legilimens in the known universe?” Draco said, laughing, and reached to take her hand.

“Because I know Harry,” she said, then blinked. “Ooh, books.”

“We might see her come spring,” Draco mused.

“This is officially strange, I concede your point,” Harry said. “And I’m not…”

“She’s hunting around deeper than I was, it’s probably foreign,” Draco said. “Want me to come back out?”

“Yeah, if you don’t mind,” Harry said, trying not to wince. “That’s not as comfortable.”

“I was looking for thoughts and impressions, she’s finding memories,” Draco said. “It’s more personal, so it feels different.”

Hermione made a slightly irritated noise. “How on earth is all this organized?”

“How Harry would do it?” Draco said. “Love, we don’t all categorize by library decimal systems. But you can feel out a whole row at once if you want. If you want it and he wants you to have it, you’ll see it.”

“Oh, I just have to think of it like Harry’s school trunk and office drawers,” she said, finally, sounding satisfied. “There.”

“Hang on, I can tell what she’s doing,” he said, curious. “Why’s – oh, god, I’d forgotten
about that.”

“Different style, maybe,” Draco said. “Or different connection. Or… I haven’t the faintest; honestly, this whole branch of magic is basically learn-as-you-go. It’s personal.”

“I’d forgotten about that too,” Hermione said. “Why on earth were we even there?”

“Because of that girl who ran away whose parents owned half of Gringotts or something,” Harry said. “I wasn’t really going to complain about spending a week at a seaside cottage. Cushy job.”

“They thought she might go to the beach house, so someone had to do surveillance on said beach house,” Hermione explained. “Really rough assignment, that one.”

“Very,” Harry agreed. “Almost as bad as all these ghosts.”

Hermione laughed. “So basically, I spent the entire week in next to no clothing trying to get you to do something, and I thought you were just completely oblivious.”

“I was with Ginny, sort of,” Harry pointed out. “We were on a break or something.” He paused. “But yes, there was a serious temptation to drown you just to make it stop. The wandering around in next to no clothing and arguing with me that the bed was big enough for two people and that I didn’t fit on the couch and lying around reading things on the patio. And we had a bloody private beach so we could have done every indecent thing in the world on that stupid beach chair.”

Hermione snorted. “And you were tan and ludicrously attractive. As per usual.”

“I really do not understand how you two spent this much time alone together while at least vaguely single without having sex,” Draco said, finally. He actually sounded confused. “I want to hit you both over the head, and I’m only hearing about it.”

“I think there might be, er, sort of a lot of that,” Harry said. “I’m fairly confident the ones where we were both completely single are going to be worse.”

“So by the past few months, I think we’re talking basically the entire time you’ve known each other,” Draco said, looking thoughtful.

“I think so, I was just better at avoiding the whole thing once he was married,” Hermione said, wincing. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Draco said. “It’s not as if either of you was trying to pull one over on someone, you were just in denial and terrible at communicating. I can’t really blame you for that, it’s not as if I’m excellent at it or something.”

“It’s odd,” Harry mused. “I felt all this stuff, I think I just buried it somewhere. I can remember the stuff where we were both teenagers, I think because I felt like it was normal to feel it, but the rest of it, not so much. How could that have even happened?”

“Thank god, a question I can answer,” Draco said. “You had absolutely no occlumency training for years, but you are one. So you just…” He considered. “I think you walled off all the things you really cared about. I couldn’t even have gotten into this part of your brain if you’d had your shields up, but you built most of those before I ever got around to teaching you a single thing. And you’ve got rather high walls around some of it.”

“I feel like I could just…” Hermione mused. “Am I going to absolutely ruin things if it feels right to take those down around these memories? The ones I’m in?”

“No, it means that he doesn’t mind, I suppose,” Draco said. “That’s not quite right, but it’s good enough for Ministry work.”

“Please go find more inappropriate sexual thoughts,” Harry said, gesturing. “Not that I don’t appreciate the mind magic lesson and all, but I’m sort of tipsy and I can still see down your shirt and it’s still sort of enjoyable, and I feel like that might be less terrible than talking about how defective I’ve been about sorting my own thoughts.”

“Hermione, I’m going to do us all a favor,” Draco said, looking entertained. He reached for the hem of Harry’s jumper, which she’d pulled on earlier, tugging it over her head, and then pulled her t-shirt off.

“Hey,” she said. “Not a sexy bra.”

“Potter, would you like her to go change?” Draco said.

“It’s – what on earth’s wrong with it?” Harry said. “It’s got stripes. And you’re not wearing a shirt.” He paused. “And no one’s going to care if I stare blatantly. I like tonight.”

“I lied,” Draco said. “I thought I was going to find this hot or possibly infuriating, but I mostly think your mutual complete oblivion is charming. I’m sure I’ll change my mind later, but you might as well both be Hufflepuffs here.”

“Oh, shut it,” Hermione said. “You can add more logs to the fire and refill everyone’s glasses, I’m going looking for more books.”

“You can duck out of there, that one’s not about sex, I don’t think,” Harry said.

“No, but it’s in with all the rest,” Hermione said, then paused. “Interesting. You’ve gotten rather cozy there.”

“I was about to say that I’d had a ludicrous amount of mulled cider, but I guess I should probably stop getting defensive given that they’re all going to be like that,” he said, with a sigh.

“Uh huh,” Hermione said. She was flushed. “When was that? A few years ago?”

“Last Christmas, I think,” Harry admitted. “Sorry, Draco.”

“Let me guess, that one’s all warm and fuzzy Harry and Hermione feelings that are probably utterly disgusting and saccharine,” he said, rolling his eyes. “And you’re on a couch and there’s alcohol.”

“Common theme, really,” Harry mused. “I did warn you.”

“Hermione, I love you, but stop with the mental cuddling and go find something about sex,” Draco said, amused. “Or I’m just going to kick you to this half of the couch and snog Harry while you explore.”

“I’m game, but no one’s allowed to be in my head if that’s happening, I can’t focus,” Harry said.

“You just want to get him all wound up and then do things,” Hermione said. “Don’t think I don’t know that look.”

“Yes?” Draco said, after a pause. “He’s fit, I like him, now we’re allowed to have sex with him, and he’s quite attractive when he stops being able to think. And I think I can manage that in about four seconds.”

“Shut up,” Harry said, but he didn’t really mean it.

“Look,” Draco said. “She’ll get you with the whole emotional intimacy thing, I’ll ruin you for good with blow jobs, everyone will go to bed happy.”

“It’s adorable you think you don’t like emotional intimacy in bed,” Hermione said. “And nervousness aside, I think he’s sort of pushy.” She paused. “If any of these eight million fantasies are any indication. Someone likes to bite.”

“I haven’t had sex in three days, you really can’t say things like that,” Draco said, making a face.

“Did you actually just complain about three days?” Harry said.

“Like I said, he’s spoiled and I like sex,” Hermione said. “And anyway, now you can complain about three days too. Well. In three days.”

“Okay, but –“ Harry paused. “Really? That’s an actual thing? You have that much sex?”

“Most nights or mornings unless we’re in with you,” Hermione said. “And then it’s just the shower or while you’re at work or – oh, that work trip, I’d forgotten.”

“It’s sort of a shame you’re preoccupied because the look on his face is priceless,” Draco said. “We kind of have this oddly novel marriage where we don’t fight much and everyone gets what they want and we love each other. And don’t get all turned around over the last bit, now you’re in on it, so you can pretty much just ask for what you want when you want it.”

“That’s going to take some getting used to,” Harry said, finally.

“It’s all right, we’ll ask, or probably just jump you,” Draco said, cheerfully. “Speaking of, Hermione, figure out what in the bloody hell you two want.”

“What do you mean, what we want?” Hermione said.

“This thing between the two of you is a lot more complicated,” Draco said, after a pause. “So I suppose we could all just wait until the weekend or something, but I’m not sure we ought to wait, really. On the other hand, I’m not particularly sure that you two ought to just go upstairs and get naked.”

“I think that’s generally how it goes,” Harry said, dryly. “Or at least you have to get partially naked. I’m not so sure about the stairs bit, I suppose that could be negotiable.”

“You’re being Gryffindors again,” Draco said, with a sigh. “What I meant is, you’ve been trying to work this out forever, maybe it’s better if you work some of it out before it’s all three of us.”

“Time turners don’t work over years, Draco,” Hermione said.

“Well, you can sort of… set out a memory, and then slide into it,” Draco said, with a shrug. “And if you’ll let me, I can find it on your side and –“ He waved a hand. “Let you remember what you were thinking instead of just knowing what he thinks. And then you can do whatever the hell you’d like, because it’s been moved, so it’s not set in stone the way it was when it was a memory. Sort of like a do over.”

“’I learned mind magic from books,’ he said,” Hermione said, giving him a dubious look.

Draco snorted. “Actually, that’s a conflict resolution technique from Unspeakable training,” he said. “You’re supposed to be able to set up a conversation that was awful and redo it. But there’s literally no reason it won’t work with terrible Gryffindor decisions not to have sex.”

“Is it like being in that exact headspace again?” Harry said.

“You’ll know what you were thinking, but you’ll still be you,” Draco said. “At least in my experience. From maybe the twenty times I had to do it for being overly honest with junior agents. But tea still tastes like tea and everything feels perfectly real and punching junior agents feels just like doing it in real life, so I can’t imagine why you couldn’t have perfectly enjoyable sex. If the person pulling out memories is decent, it ought to all feel exactly the same.”

“Can anyone explain to me how on earth you ever got promoted to department head?” Harry said.

“Well, a lot of people retired rapidly over the ghost thing, and anyway, the punching thing was only the once, he was worse than Bainbridge.”

“Okay, well, while you’re off inventing mental sex tricks and bragging about your promotional skills,” Hermione said, dryly. “I was also asking why you want to know what he and I want. Given that just because I’m not in the mood doesn’t mean you two couldn’t have perfectly fantastic sex that I’d probably enjoy watching. And apparently you’re interested. Harry and I could still – I don’t know, do whatever nonsense mind magic thing you’re interested in this weekend.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Think about it,” he said.

“No clue,” Harry said.

“Also no clue,” Hermione said. “Sorry, love, you’ve gone a little too far into your own head on this one.”

“I know you think I’m going to get put out over it, but you’ve got a completely different thing together than either of you do with me, and it’s interesting.”

“I just don’t want you thinking it’s a better thing because it’s been around longer,” Hermione said.

“You married me even if you felt this way about him. I know I wasn’t a consolation prize then, and I’m certainly not now,” Draco pointed out. “I’m not worried.”

“Point,” Hermione said. “But –“

“Love,” Draco said, leaning forward on the couch to kiss her. “I am not anyone else. You can’t compare me to anyone else who might have gone rather overboard on the whole jealousy thing, which is what I suspect you’re off doing.” He smiled. “Please don’t confirm that, I’ve had enough Weasley idiocy for the week. I’ve been anxious and unhappy, but not because I thought you were going anywhere. It was because I love you and I couldn’t make it any better or think of a solution. You can ask Harry.”

“That actually is what he was worried about,” Harry agreed. “Well. And having to talk about emotional agenda items.”

“I still don’t get you sometimes,” Hermione said, softly. “But I do believe you.”

Draco laughed. “Besides. It’s not like he and I can’t mess around later. Or in the morning, since apparently he’s into that sort of thing.”

“Oh, all right,” Hermione said. “Have you got a preference on what the hell he’s pulling out, Harry? There’s plenty in here.”

“I tend to let you do the thinking,” he said, amused.

“Go find something where no one’s going to feel guilty over having sex and where you’re both interested,” Draco said, rolling his eyes. “And maybe not in a tent, that just seems sort of cold and awful. And earlier than last week.”

“Mm,” Hermione said, thoughtfully. “If you put whatever’s in each of our heads together, are we both going to see the other person’s… memory?”

“Sort of,” Draco said. “It’s not like that running dialogue thing you get in someone else’s head where you know what they were thinking exactly, or watching like with a Pensieve, but you’ll get the general idea of it. It’s a bit like putting up a filter that doesn’t let through any words but lets through the rest.”

“Right,” Hermione said. “Even playing field, a while ago, no tent.”

“Yeah, definitely no tent,” Harry said, considering. “What about that fall after the war ended? You and Ron were broken up half the time, Ginny wasn’t ready to be together yet, so that’s all fair. We saw each other all the time. And didn’t we take a trip or something? You were at Hogwarts, and I was in London –“

“Oh, right,” Hermione said, thoughtfully. “McGonagall was always sending me off places. But that fall? No, it couldn’t have been that early, it was freezing.”

“Around Halloween,” Harry said. “You were staying in that stupid cabin on the Moray Firth, and then everyone decided that if anyone was going to make trouble, it was going to be on Halloween, so –“

“Oh, god, I remember that,” Hermione said, laughing.

“English, not Potter-Granger, please,” Draco said, with a look. “None of that to start.”

“McGonagall made me do this utterly ludicrous one week on one week off schedule seventh year, I think probably to try to get me to just leave, which didn’t work, but on my off weeks I had to go to safe houses for the Aurors or whomever else and make sure they were in good repair and stocked, and they were always in really remote places.”

“Right, so she was staying at one, and it was nearly Halloween, and everyone suddenly threw a fit over me being in London for the holiday because I might get attacked by Death Eaters or bats or small children in costumes, I don’t know, so half the senior Aurors and McGonagall and I got in a huge row, and our compromise position was that I’d go see Hermione, except then we got really bloody snowed in.”

“And you couldn’t just Apparate?” Draco said. “Or were you ‘snowed in’?”

“Yes, if I’d wanted to walk about – what, three miles? – on the Scottish coast in a blizzard. It seemed inadvisable. The safe houses have ridiculous wards.”

“Hold on,” Draco said. “You said Halloween. What exactly were you getting at with even playing field? That you were both single? That was months after the war ended.”

“Oh, no,” Hermione said. “Neither of us were having sex yet. Ron drove me insane because he thought he was entitled to it, which doesn’t really make a teenage girl want to put out, which is why we were broken up at the time, probably, or he’d said something stupid, and Ginny was a bit of a mess over her brother and she hated being at Hogwarts.”

“We weren’t together,” Harry said. “She didn’t really want a relationship yet, and I couldn’t entirely blame her.” He paused. “Which was, you know, fine, except I was eighteen and every girl who got near me was only doing it for the press photographs and –“ He paused. “I’m just going to go with, having to deal with the complete hell of Auror training while simultaneously being unable to so much as go out for coffee without people wanting me to sign things and not having any time to play Quidditch and only seeing Hermione and Ginny on weekends, when I had to go to bloody Hogwarts, where I really didn’t want to be for obvious reasons, was not an ideal situation.”

Draco snorted. “Basically, you were quite put out and could have done with a lot of raunchy sex, and Hermione was irritated at the patriarchy, as per usual, and you got stuck in a cabin.”

“Putting it that way, honestly, camping might be better,” Harry mused.

“No,” Hermione said, laughing. “You’re sort of appealing when you’re mad. And, well, it didn’t take a genius to figure out what would have helped, I just was shy.”

“Yeah, okay, I want to see it from your side, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you shy about anything in my life,” Harry said, amused. “I’m repeating that statement as many times as you need to hear it.”

“Well, obviously I’d been thinking about it.”

“Actually, I sort of get it, when you’re eighteen, if your crush doesn’t like you back the world’s probably going to end,” Draco mused. “Nobody move too much, it’s a little tricky.”

“Well, that’s interesting,” Harry said, a few minutes later. “I’m definitely me at eighteen, and it’s definitely bloody cold, and now I’ve no idea where I’m at in the real world.” He paused. “Also, I really would be happy to wait a few days. Just so no one thinks I’m going to fall over and die if I don’t have sex immediately.”

“Look,” Draco said, finally. “That thing I do for a living, where I read people? I’m usually not all that bad at figuring out what they need. You need something that feels good and involves feelings, and she needs to know that you’re in it as deeply as she is, which you are, you’ve just spent a lot of time shutting things down because you actually have mind magic and she doesn’t. And I need to not be messing around with all your bloody teenage feelings once I’m actually a part of whatever sex we’re having. So would everyone shut up?”

“Yes, but only if I get to ask what you’re getting out of it again,” Hermione said. “I mean, other than us getting things out of the way. You’ve made a thorough case for watching us snog, not setting up elaborate mind magic things for sex.”

“What’s my favorite holiday?” Draco said, sounding amused.

“Christmas,” she said.

“And why is it my favorite holiday?”

“Because you go completely insane over finding literally the perfect gift for everyone on the planet down to your receptionists, and –“ Hermione paused. “Oh. Right. You get sort of gleeful about giving extremely individualized presents. I would even venture to say you get off on it.”

“Also, sex, which I like, and you two, which I also like,” he said. “And it’s not as if I’m not getting any later.”

“Thank you for being the nefarious Slytherin I’ve always known and cherished,” Harry said. “I’m still by myself, though.”

“Because it takes a minute,” Draco said. “Hermione, you’re welcome to hand me that memory, but you are going to have to let me have it if you want it in here.”

“Sorry,” she said. “Um, I’ll just –“

“Better,” Draco said. “I’m just going to watch from over here. Also, you weren’t kidding, Harry, you’re an interesting combination of tense as hell and radiating testosterone in every bloody direction.”

“It does not feel great, no,” Harry said. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Hermione said.

“Can I just tell you that you’re incredibly attractive and I’d like to sleep with you?” he said, amused. “Am I obligated to follow a script?”

“I think we’re supposed to touch, maybe, I really haven’t the faintest,” Hermione said, biting the corner of her lip, and reached out to brush her hand against Harry’s. Then Harry couldn’t quite help but stare, because even if she’d been wandering around in his memories all night, he hadn’t been in hers, and it was her, only with a combination of anxiety and uncertainty and wanting that made him swallow.

“Right,” he said, cupping her face, meeting her eyes. “I suppose I’ve got to take it back. You were shy.”

“About this?” Hermione said. “Awfully. Amongst other things.”

“Mm,” Harry agreed. “Nervous, I think, and – actually, more than one flavor of nervous, and I can’t figure out what that other bit is.” He stepped closer, nudging his nose against hers. “All I know is I really want to make sure you don’t feel that way again.”

“I think that’s just typical teenage girl sex nerves, and then plenty over it being you and not being sure if you’d like what you saw, and um…” She laughed. “I was unaccustomed to being bad at much of anything and worried I might be terrible at sex and it would have been the most mortifying thing in the world if I hadn’t been good at it with you.”

“Not really possible,” Harry said, with a smile. “Come on. It’s us. And you’re great at everything.”

“You’re not all that nervous,” Hermione said, a little surprised. “Just – oh.”

“Maybe actually letting myself unwind some because all the rest of it’s off somewhere else and you’re here and you’ve always made me happy and Draco’s right there?” he said, laughing.

“I find your lack of performance anxiety alarming,” Hermione said.

“I – when I thought about this, back then, I worried about the usual things, but not that much about anything, because I always figured you’d know a hell of a lot more about what was going to happen than I did, and probably that you’d get bossy,” Harry said, with a grin. “I like smart. And you’re great when you’re totally exasperated and telling me what to do.”

“Harry,” Hermione scolded, but it was fond.

“Mm,” he agreed, nuzzling up her jaw line until Hermione let her head fall back, making a small noise. It felt good to finally touch her. “So you’re a bloody knot of anxiety, any clue how I start unraveling that?”

“Be you?” she said. “You’re not that different. You’ve sort of always had the same go-to’s.”

“I suppose some things don’t change,” Harry said. “Wine, fire, bed, since Draco’s got the couch? Er, I didn’t think you’d be here. I mean, here-here.”

“Ignore me, this is simultaneously hot and charming and absolutely how I’m choosing to remember said event should I ever need to do so, I like that it doesn’t involve any Weasleys,” Draco said, sounding amused. “And I have to hold it together. Technically, I could go hide in the pantry, but then I wouldn’t get to see anything.”

Harry laughed. “I’m not sure I’m glad I can read you like this or not,” he said, to Hermione. “On the one hand, it’s convenient. On the other, I really don’t like how you’re feeling. But I think I’d probably have figured that out anyway.”

“Well, if there’s anyone who’s always been decent at getting me to relax,” Hermione said.

“Like I said, wine, fire, bed,” Harry repeated, then nudged her gently. “Go on. I know where the wine is even if I slept on the couch last time around.”

Harry found two glasses above the sink and a bottle of red on the counter, which he carried over to the bed. “Room service?” he teased, and Hermione laughed.

“Really, Harry,” she said, amused, but she let him pour her a glass.

“Oh, fire,” he said, gesturing it up so the cabin actually stayed warm, and then stretched out on the bed, propping himself up on one elbow. “See? You feel better.”

“I do, that’s awful,” Hermione said, smiling. Harry reached to stroke a thumb over her cheek, looking down at her mouth.

“I have a proposition,” he said. “I actually don’t like reading your feelings like this. It feels like cheating. So do you mind if I get Draco to turn it off on my end?”

“No, thank god,” Hermione said. “I’m – it’s you, but it’s not the way I’m used to getting you, and it feels too… it’s weird enough feeling like myself and myself at seventeen at the same time, I don’t know that I want your head in there too. Can we just be old fashioned?”

“Draco?” Harry said.

“Yeah, easy to do,” he said. “Although interesting that you want to.”

“There he goes with interesting again,” Harry said. “We’ve just become a potions experiment.”

Hermione actually giggled – Harry had sort of forgotten about that, she’d outgrown it – and glanced over at Draco. “Harry and I have been talking without talking for a rather long time.”

“I didn’t say I minded,” Draco said. “There are benefits to not reading minds, which is why we never do it in bed. Even if you weren’t terrible at it, I mean.”

“True,” Hermione said.

“Hey, over here,” Harry said, laughing softly, and waved a hand in front of her face. “Tell me where you’re at? Now I can't tell.”

“Exceptionally nervous,” Hermione admitted.

“Well, that isn’t going to work,” Harry murmured, reaching to stroke her hair out of her face. It was a little longer than he was used to, and not quite as straight. “So,” he said, with a grin. “There are too many bloody jumpers in this bed and not nearly enough snogging.”

Hermione laughed, cheeks going a little pink. “I suppose that’s not working for you either?”

“No, it’s really not,” Harry said, sitting up to tug off his jumper, undoing the shirt underneath it until he was down to his t-shirt. “Need some help?”

“Sure,” Hermione said, though she was definitely not looking at him, and Harry tugged on the hem of her cardigan until she looked back. “Earth to Hermione.”

“Sorry,” she said, cheeks going red again.

“Yeah, give that up in a hurry,” Harry said. “You can apologize if you accidentally hit me with something. No other reasons.”

“Sor –“ Hermione said again, then caught herself and laughed. “You might have to remind me on that.”

“Uh huh,” Harry said, tugging her cardigan off. She had a blouse on underneath. “You undo that, it’s got the world’s tiniest buttons.”

“Oh, it does not,” Hermione said, but she’d started to when he leaned in to kiss her, tilting her chin up with his hand.

Harry wasn’t entirely surprised that kissing Hermione was, basically, exactly what he’d thought kissing Hermione would feel like – she was more hesitant than he’d thought she might be, probably because of where they were, but otherwise, it was still somehow familiar. It was still better, though, now that he was actually getting to do it, and he wrapped his other hand around her hip, nudging her back down into the pillows so he could deepen the kiss, licking across her lower lip. She tasted like wine and felt completely different next to him than anyone else ever had, mostly because he’d never felt so comfortable with someone.

“I hate you,” she said, a few minutes later, breathing hard. “You cannot possibly have been this smooth at eighteen.”

“You know, I’d have said no way too, but I’m letting that part of my brain drive,” Harry said, amused. “Apparently, I thought about this a lot. Who’d have guessed.”

“I didn’t really mean it about not being able to undo that,” he said, reaching for her blouse, and he leaned in to kiss her again before she could say anything, working his way down the buttons until he could push it off her shoulders. “Tell me something,” he said, kissing his way down her neck to nuzzle across her collarbone. “Anything you want. I’ll even take History of Magic trivia.”

Hermione laughed, arching under his touch – he’d also forgotten how ticklish she was. “That’s hardly fair,” she said. “I can’t think.”

“Not possible,” Harry teased. “Come on, anything.”

“I want you on top of me,” Hermione said, then flushed, looking up at him.

“I suppose I did say anything,” Harry said, stretching a little more, and settled in over her, lining their hips up and making sure not to elbow her as he let a little of his weight down, leaning in for another kiss. He had at least learned some things with Ginny.

“Um,” Hermione said. “Real me says time out before memory me has a stroke or something.”

Harry laughed. “You can’t just call pause because I’m better at this than you thought I’d be,” he said. “Or, er, than I thought I’d be, honestly. Apparently I’m just comfortable with you.”

“Can so,” Hermione said, looking up at him. “Draco?”

“I’m with Harry,” he said.

“No, I think I’m about to get completely and utterly giddy,” she said, looking both pleased and a little embarrassed. “Because I’m getting him. So I love you and thank you for the present and please don’t plan anything similar for Christmas, because I’m not sure my brain can take it.”

“Well, it’s a bit hard to top somehow saying every wrong thing possible in the universe and sort of unintentionally getting Harry Potter into our bed,” he said, laughing. “I think I might stick with something a little less avant-garde.”

“Are you –“ Harry paused. “If I ask if you’re sure you’re good with this, you’re going to draw and quarter me, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Draco said.

“Just, you know, this is already probably way better than most of the sex I’ve had and no one’s even naked, so if you decide to call it, it would be rather mean,” Harry said, pointedly.

“Would you just enjoy yourself, please?” Draco said. “I feel like I shouldn’t have to argue you into having brilliant sex. Both of you. I assure you I’ll get in on it later.”

“Mm, point taken,” Hermione said, then reached a hand up to Harry’s face, leaning up to nudge her nose against his.

“So I’m pretty sure I should have more wine, because I’m also pretty sure my current sexual knowledge isn’t entirely translating, my body has no idea what it’s doing,” she said.

“Right, how many books have you read on this?” Harry said, amused.

“Er, a lot,” Hermione said. “But they’re books.”

“Yes, and this is why you do plans and I do execution,” Harry teased. “But yeah, have more wine.”

“I don’t –“ Hermione said, flushing again, and paused, toying with her wine stem. “Are you still sure –“

“Absolutely,” Harry said, firmly. “You?”

“Yes,” Hermione said. “Just – it’s only, you’re a lot to take in sometimes.”

“Leaving aside the obvious remark,” Harry said, propping himself on one elbow. Draco had been right, he thought – they probably needed to have this conversation, and it was a lot easier here than it would have been somewhere else.

“Harry,” Hermione said, blushing again, though she was still laughing. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“Mm,” Harry agreed, kissing a bare spot on her shoulder. “I know you didn’t mean that, but if you’re somehow implying I’m out of your league, I’m going to think you’re utterly daft. And tell you so. Repeatedly.”

“Well, you’re sort of –“ Hermione said.

“And you’re sort of smarter than anyone I know and funny and incredibly attractive,” Harry said. “Not to mention, in this particular moment in time, exceptional at destroying horcruxes and getting full marks on her NEWTS and being brave and amazing and other completely irrelevant points.”

Hermione laughed again. “Oh, all right,” she said. “But you’re rather…”

“If you say famous, I will kill you,” Harry said. “Avada kedavra. Right here.”

“No,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes. “I don’t know. Charismatic and brilliant at everything you try and everyone’s rather fond of you?”

Harry pressed another kiss to her shoulder. “Right,” he said. “At the moment I actually only care if you’re rather fond of me. And if Draco is.”

“I – of course I am,” Hermione said, softly, reaching up to run a hand through his hair, and Harry closed his eyes for a minute. He was perfectly fine with the fact that they hadn’t gotten around to this during or after the war, because he hated the idea of anything without Draco, but Draco had been right that he hadn’t been getting what he needed at all.

“Yeah,” Harry said, softly. “Well, I am too, all right? You know that.”

“Astonishingly, I do,” Hermione said, with a small smile. “Where are you?”

“Enjoying this,” Harry said. “Liking you. Relatively willing to take more clothes off. You?”

“I think about the same,” Hermione said, sounding a little surprised. “Still nervous, but it’s not as bad.”

“Don’t worry, I have plans for that,” Harry murmured, laughing. “I happen to know you like back massages.”

“What, so then I can be turned on and nervous?” Hermione said.

“Well, I was sort of hoping turned on might win out, really,” Harry said, leaning in for a kiss. “And, you know, the wine. And whatever else you want. Blankets, maybe.”

“I don’t really think this is the sort of thing where I get to zero percent nervous,” Hermione said.

“Well, I’m not getting to zero percent nervous either, so fair’s fair,” Harry said, leaning in to kiss her again, a little harder. “But you have to feel safe and you have to not be worried.”

“Okay,” Hermione said, leaning her forehead against his. “I think that might be doable.”

“You do know this isn’t exactly nothing for me, right?” Harry said, softly. “I feel the same way you do.”

“But you’re not nervous,” Hermione said, looking curious.

“I am,” Harry said. “But presumably we’re going to do this plenty more times, so it’s not exactly high stakes if it’s awkward or we don’t get it right the first time. And it’s you.” He kissed her forehead. “It’s not like we’re keeping score.”

“Mm,” Hermione said. “So you’re in bed with me why?”

“Because I adore you?” Harry said. “And because being friends is great, but if we both want more and everyone’s on board with it, then we should have more before one of us goes insane.” He smiled. “And because now I’ve gotten this far, if you think I’m enough of an idiot to ever let you or Draco go anywhere, you’re extremely mistaken. And, you know, full disclosure, there’s a decent chance it will feel good, and even if it doesn’t we’ll still get a connection out of it, and then we’ll just try again until we both like it.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, then laughed softly. “Okay. When you put it like that.”

Harry paused, nuzzling her neck. “I think I might stop knowing which part of my brain any of this is coming from, honestly. I ought to warn you. Just because I’d –“

“Be saying it anyway?” Hermione murmured. “I was going to ask if the same thing was starting to happen to you.”

“Normal,” Draco said. “And for the record, I’m not answering anything else unless someone directly asks, you might as well forget I’m here.”

“Can you just –“ Hermione made a face. “Look, I get that we need this, I’m not arguing, but having you over there completely uninvolved is bats in the belfry insane, so either move the couch so you can see things and we know you’re there and just being quiet, or go hide in the loft with a book.”

“Honestly?” Draco said, after a moment. “I’m picking loft with a book. I like watching, but this just feels invasive.”

“I’m okay with that as long as you know I’m fine with you looking after and if this won’t bother you,” Harry said. “It’s in your head, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Draco said. “Well – all three of ours, really, but yes, I can find it and look at it.”

“I’d want you to be able to see after if you wanted to,” Hermione agreed. “But the loft for now is perfectly fine with me.”

“Just think hard if you need me, or something,” Draco said. “I’m assuming you’ve got seven thousand books up there?”

“About,” Hermione agreed. “And a reading nook.”

“I’m fairly sure I can promise that regardless of whether this goes one or six rounds, I’ll be game for more later,” Harry said, leaning back to look at him. “And I want that with you just as much. Promise?”

“Demanding,” Draco said. “I give you excellent pre-Christmas presents and you just want more?” He laughed, looking happy. “But yes, all right. I did say you could have what you wanted if you asked.”

“Hey, Malfoy,” Harry said, amused. “Is she going to have to call you on that or am I allowed to do that now? Because I don’t mind the sarcasm, but I happen to know you’re perfectly capable of being affectionate, so you’d better get used to that.”

“Shut it,” Draco said. “Okay. I want that too. Just, you know, in my bed, with a version of you who has learned to get decent haircuts.”

“Fair enough,” Harry said.

“The door outside from the kitchen is the way out,” Draco said. “And if you fall asleep, you might end up asleep back outside my head, or you might stay in here.” He paused. “And Hermione, if you steal my morning sex, I’m hiding all the wine and chocolate with spells you don’t know so you can’t find it.”

She laughed. “Heard.”

“And these had better not be terrible books,” he said, loftily, climbing up the stairs.

“Great, now I’m nervous,” Harry said. “You took away the sarcastic Slytherin security blanket, his commentary was going to save me from any awkwardness.”

“Idiot,” Hermione said, affectionately. “His sarcastic commentary has completely ruined sex and lead to him getting kicked out of bed a few times, so don’t get too attached.”

“I think I like it,” he said, with a grin. “Is that awful?”

“No,” Hermione said. “You get one another. I have to admit it was the last thing on earth I ever expected, but maybe I should have seen it coming, you’re both rather picky about other people. And apparently you’re both more fond of me than you should be.”

“No, I’m exactly as fond of you as I should be,” Harry corrected.

“Is it a little strange?” Hermione said, finally. “That it’s so blurry between now and then? God knows I’ve had plenty of sex since I was eighteen.”

Harry laughed. “No, but it’s us,” he murmured. “I think that was Draco’s point. It was going to be like this no matter what, but it’s easier if we’re here.”

“According to you,” Hermione said. “I’m still rather wound up.”

“Right, more wine,” Harry teased. “Less clothes. I’ll even go first.” He refilled her glass, handing it over before he pulled his t-shirt off and tossed it vaguely toward the floor. He paused, trying not to laugh. “You are allowed to stare, you know.”

“Right,” Hermione said. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m absolutely going to put my mouth all over you later.”

Harry swallowed, trying not to flush. “You can’t say things like that,” he said. “Now my jeans have to take priority over your camisole. If you’re wearing, er, knickers that meet standards.”

Hermione laughed. “Of course I am,” she said. “I’m eighteen and the boy I like is here, you never know, we might have to huddle for warmth if the heat goes out or we could run across a clothing removal mine or you might suddenly decide you want to have sex with me. It’s best to be prepared.”

“Would you have?” Harry said, curiously. “I’m not sure I entirely get why you’d have been so on board with me when you, er, weren’t interested. With Ron.”

Hermione made a face. “Because you never presumed anything? And I –“ She paused, biting her lip in a way that made Harry want to kiss her again. “Don’t get me wrong, all right? I cared about Ron very much, and I would never have cheated on him or done wrong by him. But I think a part of me knew that you and I would have been a better fit, and I would have been willing to wait out a few months of him being hurt and pissed off if it had meant we could be together.” She laughed. “And I was very unhappy with being treated like the sort of thing he could claim and you’d just back off on, but I couldn’t tell, I thought maybe you’d really never said anything because you really weren’t interested.”

“I know,” Harry said, finally. “But Ron loved you. And I did, of course, but I didn’t think it was in the same way for a long time after the war was over.”

“That sort of helps,” Hermione said, laughing. “Vaguely. Although it’s good to know I was getting to you with my failure to apply sunblock.”

Harry undid his belt and kicked his jeans off, sliding under the blankets, and watched Hermione swallow the glass of wine and then tug her camisole over her head, sliding under the other side of the blankets. He was a little surprised to find her suddenly pressed up against him, but she was wearing her determined face, the one he’d gotten rather familiar with over the years whenever Hermione had decided to do something she wasn’t entirely certain about.

He slid a hand down her back, drawing her a little closer, and kissed her temple. “Well, I’m ruined for life,” he murmured, stroking her back.

“You like it?” Hermione murmured, and Harry supposed he hadn’t really thought much about what so many years of getting absolutely no signals from him would probably have lead to for her.

“Mm,” he agreed, nudging her back over so he could get over her again, pressing kisses up her neck. “You’re not going to mind if I get grabby, are you?”

“No,” Hermione said, flushing down to her chest. “That sounds nice, actually. You have really good hands.”

“Oh, you think so,” Harry said, laughing softly, and kissed her, meeting her eyes. “I’m happy to put them to good use, you know. Pretty much anywhere you’d like, really.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, going redder. “I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“Liar,” Harry teased. “There is literally no way you haven’t thought about it in detail. Quite possibly often.”

“Shh,” Hermione murmured, hitting his shoulder, but she was laughing softly. “I have not.”

“Uh huh,” Harry said, pausing for a moment as she reached up to undo her bra. “If you think you’re going to distract me out of the knowledge that you’ve definitely been fantasizing about us, then –“ He paused, suddenly acutely aware that he could look all he wanted. “Might work. For a little bit.”

Hermione laughed softly, still red, and Harry slid his hands up her sides firmly, going to cup her breasts as he kissed her. He gave it a minute, kissing over her shoulder to rest his forehead against the hollow of her throat, and tried not to press his hips against hers or down against the mattress, because that was definitely a bad idea.

“Harry?” Hermione murmured, after a few minutes, and he laughed, nipping her shoulder.

“Seriously, you are the best thing I have ever seen,” he said, nudging his nose against hers. “How did I not get my act together and tell you ages ago?”

“You’re so –“ Hermione laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck, and Harry made a soft noise against her shoulder.

“Not getting out of bed for weeks?” Harry hazarded. “Quite happily being sacked from this whole ghost hunting thing?”

“I was going to say, I keep trying to –“ She flushed. “Look, there are some inevitable comparisons here, and right now I’m insanely turned on and resisting the urge to just jump you because I’m fairly confident foreplay is a nice idea, versus… other occasions when I wanted to escape by any means necessary, up to and including climbing out of a third story window into a tree.”

“Pretty similar on my end, actually, although I wasn’t thinking about that,” Harry said, laughing. “Sorry. You look too brilliant topless. I’m distracted.” He brushed her hair out of her face. “But you could just relax and enjoy this. Since that is utterly irrelevant.”

“I mean, sort of,” Hermione said. “I only meant that I was – I’m still nervous. You just have this odd ability to calm me down.”

“Kind of like that thing where I get so wound up and pissed off I start yelling at innocent junior agents and you get all exasperated and force tea on me and shove me onto a couch and read a book next to me until I feel more human?”

“Maybe,” Hermione said. “More like –“ She laughed. “I’m willing to let you have control of the damn situation and turn my brain off?”

“Well, that's the worst idea I’ve ever heard,” Harry teased. “I can’t be relied upon to think my way through anything if you don’t have a shirt on. Come to think of that - Lumos.”

“Hey,” Hermione said, flushing. “The blankets exist for a reason.”

“Yes, to be warm,” Harry said. “What, do you want a fair view? Because I’m willing to get naked if you’re willing to get naked. Although I’m pretty sure you’ve already figured out that I’m really fucking turned on.”

“Maybe,” Hermione said. “Damn it, now if I want to look I have to let you leave the light on.”

Harry laughed, stroking a hand down her side. “Hermione. There are a million things I love about you more than how you look naked, but you are absolutely the most fantastic woman I’ve ever seen. So you could relax.”

“Damn, and you mean it, too,” Hermione muttered. She took a deep breath. “Okay. I’m going to have to get completely undressed at some point here.”

“Probably, if you want to do what we’re planning on,” Harry agreed. “But if that changes, it’s okay. This is really all right as is. We will, in fact, get there.”

Hermione paused, leaning to kiss his forehead. “You’re sweet,” she said. “And I will always love that about you. But I’m nervous, not, you know, brain damaged enough to turn down sex.”

“I did figure,” Harry said, and paused for a moment to tangle a hand with hers. “But if you actually tell me what you’re feeling, it’s a lot easier for me to help.” He grinned. “I have a smart friend who’s beaten that into my head over the years.”

“It’s just that it’s you,” Hermione said, finally. “Apparently that’s a lot heavier than I thought it was going to be, regardless of when we’re talking about. It was entirely stupid and awkward with Ron, I’m not talking about it, but this isn’t, somehow.” She laughed softly. “We could be doing this in my bloody bed with Draco two feet away and I’d still feel more anxious than I would have at eighteen. You weren’t – we were close, then, but not this close.”

“No,” Harry agreed, kissing her temple. “But I think we might just have to let that be a good thing and not a bad thing. I mean –“ He laughed. “We’ve done everything. This is supposed to be fun and enjoyable. Surely it’s better than swearing at one another over trying to get the car out of a ditch or stupid autopsies or trying to connect because we’re both really bloody scared or all the rest of it. You know, orgasms tend to be a bonus that one does not get with filing reports.”

Hermione finally laughed. “Was that a vague suggestion that I should calm the fuck down and enjoy you?”

“A direct suggestion that you should calm the fuck down and enjoy yourself,” Harry corrected, laughing softly. “I’m just as in over my head. I swear. But on my end, it feels nice. I think I’m a little more comfortable with being off the deep end.”

“Oh,” Hermione said. “That sort of makes sense.” She stroked her hands up his chest. “Less talking, more touching?”

“See, all those NEWTS for a reason,” Harry teased, then kissed the top of her head. “Honestly. Come here. I love you. And I want you to be happy. So you do things that make you happy and get in your bossy comfort zone should you choose to do so, and I’ll oblige. Very, very happily.”

“Calling me bossy is not getting my knickers off any faster,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes.

“Strong leadership qualities?” Harry said. “A lot smarter than me and therefore more likely to have better ideas? Excellent at knowing what she wants?” He nipped her shoulder again. “Don’t think I don’t know you have ideas.”

“Of course I have –“ Hermione said, then laughed. “Damn it, Harry.”

“Gotcha,” he said, with a grin. “Would you bloody well get naked and come here so I can get my hands all over you?”

“Or I can get my mouth all over you?” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m totally not bothering with stamina on any front here,” he said. “But I promise I will be up for round two the second you are.” He laughed. “And like five minutes between after that if you want more than that.”

Hermione laughed. “I have absolutely no idea,” she said. “Stress doesn’t always make things easier.”

“That’s not a problem,” Harry said, firmly, tilting her chin up. “No worrying about anything other than enjoying yourself. If you want orgasms and it’s not happening, then we talk. Otherwise, completely and totally not the point of sex.”

Hermione laughed again. “Well, I know you didn’t get that from me, I was nowhere near that enlightened at eighteen,” she said.

“Oh, come on, that’s like every book you’ve ever loaned me about sex,” Harry said, amused. “And it also happens to be true. I like orgasms, and let’s be honest, I’m going to have them because you’re naked and I get to touch you, but no pressure.” He kissed her forehead. “If you’re feeling pressured, I’m fucking something up.”

“I kind of love you,” Hermione said, and pushed him back against the pillows. “I have sort of known for forever you’d be great in bed, though.”

Harry poked her side. “Seriously, naked,” he said, firmly.

“You first,” Hermione said.

Harry did not – because he was a functional human being – roll his eyes, but he did watch Hermione while he pulled off his boxers, mostly because her obvious attempts not to look were slightly hilarious. “You’ve kind of seen this show before,” he remarked.

“Naked, yes, hard, no,” Hermione said, finally taking her knickers off.

“And you’re still fantastic,” Harry said. “Oh, no, wait, you’ve got a freckle on your hip, I’m calling this whole thing off. Completely ruined.”

“Shut it,” Hermione said, laughing, and hit his shoulder.

“Happy to,” Harry said, taking her wrist in his hand and guiding it down to his stomach. “You’re dying of curiosity, go explore the whole naked boy thing. Or naked me thing. Whatever.”

“A bit,” Hermione admitted, sliding down under the sheets. She stroked her palm over his stomach and pressed a kiss to the curve of his hip, which made him suck in a breath. Hermione made the small, incredibly familiar noise that meant she was cataloguing things for future reference, and then leaned back.

It should have been strange to have her look at him, especially up close, but she was looking him over with exactly the same academic fascination she applied to nearly everything else, and it was familiar. The dark, hungry look in her eyes wasn’t, and it made Harry take another long breath, but she mostly looked curious and interested and some of the tension had gone out of her shoulders, which made him happy.

“Go ahead,” he murmured, because Hermione was nothing if not predictable, and she made a small, satisfied noise and stroked her hands over his stomach, exploring his ribs and the muscles and rubbing her thumb over the few scars that hadn’t healed quite right. She wrapped a hand around his cock, but she really was just exploring, although Harry wasn’t going to complain about the firm grip.

He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, enjoying how familiar her hands were, and being touched. She surprised him by kissing over his neck, then down, obviously gauging his response.

“Ideas?” she said, finally resting her head on his chest.

“Mm,” Harry said, stroking his fingers through her hair. “What do you want?”

Hermione considered. “To be close. And to take it slow. But if you want me to use my hands first, I can. Or I could follow through on that bit about putting my mouth all over you.”

“Tempting, but the first bit sounds better,” Harry said. “As long as you don’t care that I’m going to last thirty seconds. I mean – like I said, round two, but you’ve been warned.”

Hermione laughed. “Deal,” she said. “How do you want to –“

“Like this,” Harry said, nudging her over and stretching out on his side behind her. He tugged her in close and pulled up the blankets, nuzzling her neck as he wrapped an arm around her waist.

“Oh,” Hermione said, then relaxed back against him. Harry watched her eyes flutter closed. “How –“ She paused, turning a little to look up at him with a smile. “How is it that you always seem to know what I need, even when I don’t?”

“Good instincts?” Harry hazarded, stroking a hand over her stomach. “We used to sleep like this if we weren’t sure how safe it was, seventh year.”

“Yes, because you never let me take the outside,” Hermione said, with a sigh, but she didn’t sound particularly put out.

“Door, me, you, wall,” Harry said, kissing along the curve of her neck and tightening his grip around her waist. “Well. Tent wall. It’s a nice order.”

“Mmm,” Hermione agreed. Harry was sort of glad it was winter and Hermione was pale – she was starting to flush all the way down to her stomach, and he really wasn’t exactly opposed to the view.

Harry wrapped his other arm around her shoulder, holding her close. “Check in?” he murmured, nudging his nose against her jawline as he slid a thigh over hers.

“What?” Hermione said, blinking for a few seconds. “Oh. Unbelievably turned on and feeling like I’m in some sort of stupid romance novel.”

“Did I even know you read those?” Harry said, stroking slow circles over her stomach. “And, er, I don’t, so…”

“They’re just books,” Hermione said. She almost looked drowsy. “I like the ones set a while ago, which are nearly all about purebloods, so virginity was a thing, so there’s always all this ludicrous wedding night sex that’s completely ridiculous, no one losing their virginity has that kind of insane sex. I mean, I’m not saying it can’t be affectionate or decent, but you’re probably not going to spend the entire night having orgasms and begging for him to fuck you harder.”

“And?” Harry said. “Er, just so we’re clear, I don’t think I’d care if you were a virgin or not, it’s just… us not having had sex before.”

Hermione laughed softly, turning to kiss him. “I know, but I was sort of thinking it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that I might want to spend all night having orgasms and begging for you to fuck me harder. And that you’d probably make good on it.”

Harry snorted. “I mean, absolutely, just give me directions, but maybe we should try having me fuck you at all and then seeing how you feel about it.”

“Yes? Now? Please?” Hermione said, laughing. “Shut up and get inside me and come and I’ll be the happiest girl in the British Isles?”

“Sure, but you’re insane,” Harry teased. “Usually the thirty second thing is a bit of a downside.”

“No,” Hermione said, reaching a hand up to cup his face. “It’s – if you’re that turned on, then it says something about how much you’re enjoying this, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, okay,” Harry said, swallowing. “For the record, I’d probably propose if you weren’t already married on the sheer basis of loving your brain.”

“Minor details,” Hermione said. “I think we should stay like this.”

“That was sort of the point,” Harry murmured. “It’s, at least according to all your bloody books, usually a pretty decent position for women. And it won’t make you as sore.”

“Harry, I’ve ridden broomsticks and probably more to the point dragons, I’d only be sore if I were tense, and I’m not. Much.”

“Oh, well then,” he said, and nipped her ear. “I won’t bother thinking about it for the rest of the night, then. See if I try to be considerate in the future.”

“Uh huh,” Hermione said, wriggling back against him a little more. “Move your leg, mine has to go there.”

“Bossy,” Harry said, laughing, but he obliged.

“I think –“ Hermione said, concentrating. “I could just –“

“Nope,” Harry said, moving a hand to the small of her back. “Just tilt your hips back and I’ve got it. I’ll take it slow, though.”

“I really do think –“ Hermione said, and Harry nudged her again until she complied, giving him a dubious look, and then he pulled her thigh back a little further, keeping his arm around her shoulder for leverage, and guided himself in. He had to mentally list a Quidditch roster not to just thrust in hard and fast, but it was worth not rushing for the noise Hermione made.

“Oh,” she said, after a pause, and Harry kept still – although that was sort of hell too – and stroked her stomach again, waiting until she relaxed to slide a hand down further, running it over her hip and then up the inside of her thigh.

“I’m just going to –“ he murmured, and she nodded fast, breathing hard.

Harry figured that talking was definitely overrated at this point, so he slid his fingers up between her legs for a few seconds, not wanting to startle her, and then switched to slow, steady circles around her clit with a decent amount of pressure - somehow, he didn’t get the impression Hermione was particularly in the mood for being teased. She shifted back and he readjusted, with a little less pressure directly against her clit, and she bit down hard on her lip. He felt it when she stopped thinking too hard and relaxed into his touch, and although she swore when he started to thrust slowly, she was laughing, so Harry figured he didn’t need to worry about it.

He shut his eyes and tried to think about pretty much anything else, but it was impossible – it was Hermione, and all the noises she was making were familiar from a thousand other contexts, but they were definitely, undeniably having sex. And there was effectively a near certain probability that they were going to have more of it, which was sort of what got him.

He managed to get her just upright enough that he was pretty sure, from the sharp inhale every time he thrust in, that he had the angle right, so he didn’t feel that badly when it only took another minute or two before he buried his face against the back of her shoulder and came with a low, muffled noise.

“Just stay put,” Hermione murmured, snuggling back against him, and Harry laughed breathlessly.

“Sorry,” he managed. “Totally thought too much about the fact that I was having sex with you.”

Hermione laughed too, sounding happy, and closed her eyes for a moment as Harry tucked his chin against her shoulder. “You really, honestly do feel the same way,” she said. “You’re just as stupidly in love with me as I am with you, and you have been for ages.”

“Yes?” Harry said, finally, when he’d caught his breath. “Was there some part of that sentiment that needed to be conveyed with an orgasm? That can happen more. I like them. You should have some too.”

“I should,” Hermione agreed. “And – I don’t know, Draco and I only had this kind of sex once we were totally and completely gone for one another. It’s the connection thing.”

“With a sample size of one,” Harry teased, kissing her, then nudged his nose against hers. “But, um, yeah. It is. I assume he’ll be obnoxious and make me feel all connected tomorrow and then I’ll have to deal with it twice, but… this is pretty new on my end.”

“Apparently you like it,” Hermione teased, squirming.

“I do, actually,” Harry said. “Though I’m not quite sure what you’re referring to, Hermione.”

“Prat,” she said. “I’m sure the eighteen year old body doesn’t hurt on that front.”

Harry considered. “No, that’s pretty much just me.” He grinned. “Maybe I should have decided to get together with two people ages ago, kind of solves that problem.”

“You say problem, I say opportunity,” Hermione said, turning to kiss him.

“Hmm,” Harry teased. “Opportunity for what, exactly? This sort of thing?”

He nudged her back to where she’d been, starting to thrust in slowly. Hermione’s grip suddenly felt tight against his forearm, the other hand fisting in the sheets. Harry kept it up for a few minutes until he was simultaneously turned on as hell and trying not to laugh at Hermione, who was flushed and breathless and looked vaguely as if she wanted to kill him. “Harry,” she said. “I already have one insufferable tease in my bedroom, I will jinx you sideways.”

“I see how it is,” Harry said, amused, and used the arm wrapped around her shoulder to pull her down closer, keeping it slow. “Wasn’t there something about you begging me to fuck you through the mattress?”

“Fucking Slytherins,” she said, with a gasp as Harry thrust slightly harder. “You’re as bad as one.”

“You do seem to enjoy doing that, yes,” he teased. “Are you collecting us or something? I’ll cop to Draco turning me a bit.”

“A bit?” Hermione said, breathing harder. “Harry James Potter, if you don’t pick up the bloody pace in the next ten seconds, I’m going to strangle you with the bed sheets.”

“Not really begging so much as threatening,” Harry observed, getting his hand back between her legs and rubbing the heel of his hand against her clit. He let her get enough pressure that he could feel her starting to tense, then traced his fingers up her stomach to rub his thumb over her nipple.

“Mm, connection thing,” he teased. “I think I could get used to this.” Harry was actually being honest; he’d never really been able to laugh in bed with Ginny, and even if Hermione looked ready to hit him over the head, he was still pretty confident she liked it.

“Damn it,” Hermione said, and after another moment, she finally laughed too, shoving his hand back down. “Harry, I can’t get off just from you fucking me, and I am going to lose my bloody mind if you don’t let me have the spectacular orgasm you were so kindly working on, so would you please stop fucking around?”

“I thought that's what we were doing,” Harry said, going for an innocent look, then laughed, finding her mouth for a long, warm kiss. He was, apparently, perfectly capable of hard and fast, although he suspected that had a little more to do with his actual brain than anything at eighteen, and he pushed the heel of his hand up against her hard, giving her just enough room to move against him as he pushed her forward.

“Oh,” Hermione said, tipping her head back against his shoulder. “Fuck, Harry, yes, just like –“ Harry rubbed a little with his palm, getting her pressure to thrust against too, and she definitely wasn’t restricting anything to little breathy noises anymore. “Oh,” she said again, with a moan so pornographic it even made Harry flush, because it was still Hermione pressed against him and in his arms, physically open in a way he’d never gotten to see her.

Hermione opened her eyes to find him watching her, and pulled him down for a hard kiss. “Yes,” she said, firmly, keeping eye contact, and Harry felt her start to come around him. He drew it out until she cried out against his mouth, thrusting hard enough that she arched her back and came a second time, and then he came too, breathing too hard to say anything, but not wanting to close his eyes.

A few minutes later, Hermione shifted, rolling over partway to cup his face. “I think it’s safe to blink,” she murmured, looking faintly amused, and kissed him, warm and affectionate.

“Oh,” Harry said, startled, and blushed, startled at how hard she’d managed to grab him without any magic at all.

“Oh, stop that,” she murmured, kissing him again. “Hey, sweetheart?”

“Yeah?” Harry said, hoarsely.

“I’m so stupidly in love with you,” Hermione said.

“Mm,” Harry agreed, nudging his nose against hers before he found her mouth for another affectionate kiss. “Me too. Not at all surprisingly. But, um –“

He smiled, leaning until their foreheads were touching. “I sort of think we’re missing something important.”

“We are,” Hermione agreed, with a smile. “As much as I’d love to keep doing this all night, I’d rather save that for our house with Draco tomorrow.”

“Me too,” Harry said. “Think there’s any way to pry him out of the loft?”

“Only one way to find out,” Hermione said. “Did he teach you our house message spell?”

“The birds?” Harry said. “Yeah. Sort of. I could send one, I don’t know how to get it to say something.”

“Well, it’s not always a bird,” Hermione said. “Cast it at your palm.”

“Mm,” Harry said, finding that it was easier to do it wandless. “Nuntio,” he murmured, and tried not to laugh when a small otter appeared in his hand. “Well, I suppose I’m casting your patronus.”

“You just hold it up until it’s touching your mouth and think what you’d like it to say,” Hermione said. She cast the spell too – it was a fox, and she laughed.

“They like him,” Hermione said, fondly. “His family’s got this ludicrous French cottage, it’s the only thing he’ll go near because no one ever spent any time in it aside from the housekeeper and the gardener.” She smiled, obviously thinking of something else. “There’s a whole family of them that lives in the woods behind the garden.” She laughed. “So he buys rabbits and pheasants for them in the village when they have kits. We’ll have to go next spring.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, with a smile. “I suppose I’ve still got a lot to learn there.”

Hermione smiled. “Sort of,” she said. “He plays his cards pretty close to his chest with anything about his family, including with me. And he’s still always surprising me with these –“ She laughed. “I don’t know. It’s easy to make him happy, and he’s always thoroughly excited about the strangest things. But only if we’re alone, really, otherwise he never lets his guard down.” She leaned to kiss Harry’s forehead. “But he’s already let you in. And I’m reasonably certain you’re only the second person to have worn him down on that front, so play nice.”

“You’re going to give him the same lecture, the other way around, aren’t you?” Harry said, amused.

“Yes,” Hermione said, drawing the fox to her mouth and then blowing on it. “Go on, send her up.”

“Right,” Harry said, and thought for a moment before putting his message in and sending the messenger up to the loft.

“God, you two are demanding when you want something,” Draco said, yawning, and climbed down the ladder. He paused, looking them both over. “You really didn’t have to send the same thing twice.”

Harry snorted. “Actually, those were independent messages, so apparently we’re both missing you and send our love and want you to come down from the bloody loft so we can go home.”

“Were you napping?” Hermione teased.

“Yes, although it required silencing charms,” he said, shooting Harry a look. “In the future, you can only make her make that noise in my presence.”

Hermione snorted. “What, now you’re jealous?”

“No,” Draco said. “That was necessary. It doesn’t mean I enjoyed being left out of things.”

“Well, I’ve absolutely no desire to do so ever again, so I think you’re safe,” Harry said, with a smile. “And I rather doubt Hermione has any either.”

“Definitely not, unless you two start to tease me, in which case, you may show yourselves out of the bedroom,” she said.

“Oh, you like it,” Draco said. “Are we going home or staying in this bloody cabin all night?”

“Home,” Harry said, firmly. “Do I need to go through the door, or can you –“ He woke up on the sofa, stretching. “Just wake me up,” he finished, when Draco opened his eyes as well.

“Ugh, I didn’t miss not having any lower back pain,” Hermione muttered.

Harry laughed, stroking a hand up her side. “So go upstairs and get in bed and find a hot water bottle or run a bath if you’re awake enough, and we’ll be up in a few minutes.”

“I’d like to note that there are two bedrooms if you’d like, you don’t have to come to bed right after me,” Hermione said, amused. “Just so we’re clear.”

“I’m not really –“ Draco said.

Harry kissed her temple, interrupting. “We’ll be up. Go on.”

“Bossy,” she said.

“From you?” Harry said, laughing. “You’re supposed to tell me I have excellent leadership capacity.” He swatted at her gently. “Go ahead.”

Harry waited until Hermione was fully up the stairs before he tangled his legs more firmly with Draco’s. “Well,” he said. “You were right, we needed that, but I’m guessing it was a bit less pleasant on your end.”

“It was fine,” Draco said, with a set to his jaw that Harry recognized.

“Oh, no,” he said, nudging Draco’s foot with his. “There are three people here. That’s complicated enough. The only things we’re lying about are surprise birthday parties and anything related to stove explosions or kettles.”

“All right,” Draco said, finally. “You two can get a bit… Harry and Hermione, table for two sometimes, but I’ve never minded because she and I had something different. It’s something else when your table for two includes romance and sex. I got sort of - I don’t know. I didn’t like being on my own up there.”

“Idiot,” Harry said, gently. “I needed to realize where I was at with her, but you could have come down any time and we’d have made room. It’s a table for three. And it’s not as if I need to realize any less badly where you and I are.”

He leaned back against the sofa, watching Draco in the firelight. He was still tense, and Harry didn’t like the uncertainty hovering around him any more than he’d liked the nervousness around Hermione earlier. “I was thinking I might want a cup of tea. You want to join me?”

“Oh, all right,” Draco said. “You have to deal with the kettle, though.”

“I think I can handle that,” Harry said. “I’ll put it on, can you get the wine glasses to wash?”

“Yes, but they’re waiting for tomorrow,” Draco said.

Harry turned on the stove and sent the kettle to get itself water and boil, turning around to catch Draco as he was coming into the kitchen.

“Let me just help you with that,” he said, and took the wine glasses, setting them on the table and then stepping into Draco’s space, backing him against the wall. “I’ve been waiting all night to kiss you. Willing to risk being preoccupied while the kettle’s on?”

“Oh,” Draco said, looking a bit startled. “I’m usually the one who starts the kissing, Potter.”

“Yes, well, shame about that,” Harry said, stepping closer and settling a hand on Draco’s waist. “Though I won’t if you’re not sure yet.”

“No, I think –“ Draco glanced down at his mouth, and on anyone else, Harry would have read it as a casual gesture. “It’s all right by me. If you want.”

“Okay,” Harry said. He cupped Draco’s face in his other hand, meeting his eyes. “You do know I don’t care about you any less, don’t you? And that nothing’s changed with you and Hermione?”

“I think so,” Draco said, finally. “The fox – that’s only when she’s feeling exceptionally fond of me.”

“It’s a little like houses,” Harry said, quietly. “Hermione’s like Gryffindor Tower. I know every inch of it, down to which stair squeaks the loudest and the best paver to hide things under in Common Room. But you’re somewhere new that I chose for myself as an adult.” He smiled. “I may not know every single corner and floorboard yet, but I don’t like one better than the other. You just have more places still left for me to find.”

“Mm,” Draco said, reaching up to stroke Harry’s hair off his forehead. “That makes a strange amount of sense, coming from a Gryffindor.”

“Don’t worry, I kiss like a Slytherin,” Harry said, amused, and leaned in until their noses were touching, nudging his against Draco’s affectionately before he finally kissed him. He kept it simple, wanting to make sure Draco didn't feel pushed, but he wasn’t entirely surprised when Draco fisted a hand in his shirt and pulled him in hard, turning it into something more intense. Harry tried not to jump when the kettle whistled, laughing softly.

“Easy,” he murmured, softly, stroking his palms down Draco’s sides, and under any other circumstances, Draco would probably have something biting, but he still looked startled.

“Let me just get that,” Harry murmured, with a final, affectionate kiss.

He found two mugs, turning the stove off, and added water, setting them on the kitchen table before looking over his shoulder.

“I hadn’t thought –“ Draco said, then cleared his throat. “I hadn’t thought it would be like that. I mean – you, with me.”

“Draco,” Harry said, softly, stepping around a chair to get close again. “Of course it was going to be like that.”

“I wasn’t sure,” Draco admitted, and Harry tugged him away from the wall, wrapping both arms around his waist to pull him in, meeting his eyes again.

“I know,” Harry said, honestly, because he had. “But I think I’d like to know how I can help you be sure.” He smiled. “Don’t worry, there’s no rush. But that thing about giving people what they ask for, I think that probably applies to more than just in bed. And to more than just me.”

“Damn, now you can make rules too,” Draco muttered, but he slowly settled his hands on Harry’s hips.

Harry laughed again. “We may have to institute a voting system,” he teased, nudging his nose against Draco’s again. “What do you want?”

“I don’t know, exactly,” Draco admitted. “I – it’s not as if you plan this sort of thing out in advance. And now I have questions I don’t know the answers to, but I feel like I ought to have asked earlier.”

“Draco,” Harry said. “The one perk of sort of having done this utterly the wrong way at every step for most of the last decade is that I’ve realized that the right way is what works for us, not some arbitrary set of rules. We’re all going to have questions and things that don’t fit perfectly, no one can ever think of everything in advance in a relationship.”

Draco finally laughed. “She does make a nice show of it, though,” he said.

“Even Hermione,” Harry said. “Although she has probably got flow charts.” He leaned in for another warm kiss, drawing it out. “Look, we’ve got the what, which is tea and us, so all I need you to tell me is the where. Here? Couch? Upstairs? Do you want Hermione there too?”

Draco shook his head. “No, I just need…”

“Some time alone with me too?” Harry said, when Draco didn’t finish. “I’m not planning on getting in the habit of keeping track, but I think it’s rather indisputably your turn.”

“I think that wouldn’t be the worst idea,” Draco said. “D’you think I could argue for multiple turns since Hermione’s was long?”

Harry laughed. “No, I think you can ask for time alone with me, and you can have as much of it as you’d like.”

“You always take the fun out of things,” Draco said, with a sigh.

“Utterly,” Harry said. “Pick somewhere, I’m getting the tea.”

He carefully let go of Draco, checking the stove, and then added sugar to his own cup, casting Hermione’s ever-warm charm on both. “Thoughts?”

“Upstairs, I think,” Draco said, starting toward the stairs after a moment of hesitation.

“At least no one’s started redecorating yet,” Harry said, holding open the door to his room and handing over Draco’s cup of tea. “Go ahead.”

“What, putting yourself between me and the door, Potter?” Draco said.

“Got it in one,” Harry said, nudging his shoulder against Draco’s. “I do that sometimes.”

“Gryffindors,” Draco said, again, but he stretched out on the bed, making room for Harry to stretch out beside him.

Harry made sure to stay close enough that his side was against Draco’s, wrapping his hands around his mug and leaning back against the pillows. He knew enough to know that pushing Draco to open up tended to go exactly nowhere.

“Do you think this was too fast?” Draco said, finally.

“Probably,” Harry said. “But everything’s there already, it’s just rearranging the pieces.”

“I feel like I have this gap,” Draco said, finally. “You’re right for me, and I know that, I want it, but I feel like there are pieces of me that I let Hermione see that I’m not sure if I want to show you. And how you feel about Hermione is obvious. How you feel about me is a little less so.”

“Foxes?” Harry hazarded.

“Yeah,” Draco said, after a moment. “Amongst other things.”

“At the risk of this being a stupid question,” Harry said, “how long were you together before you showed her those?”

“I don’t know,” Draco said. “I – a while. I didn’t take her to the cottage for a year, we were already engaged. But you’ve been living here nearly a year. And I do trust you.”

Harry shook his head, leaning over for a kiss. “Generously, I think we’ve been seeing each other for a bit without sex without noticing, and while I fully intend to have ludicrous amounts of sex with you, we hadn’t kissed until – I don’t know, twenty minutes ago. There’s nothing wrong. We just need time. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings for you.” He laughed. “Ask her, I’m historically absolutely bloody awful at realizing anything until it’s right in front of me, and then I’m not exactly inclined to mess about with taking my time. Trust me, I care about you. But if you need me to slow down, I will.”

Draco sighed. “No taking short cuts, apparently,” he said.

“Well,” Harry said, dryly. “I do sort of get the impression that you like sex a lot more than talking. If you’d like to have loads of it to work on the whole intimacy thing, I’m game. Plus that’s sort of normal when you start dating someone.”

Draco laughed. “It’s easier,” he said. “I don’t have so many walls. Especially after so long with her, she gets it. I’ve never gotten the impression she minds if that’s how I show affection.”

“I have to tell you, that’s an enormous hardship, and I’m just not sure I’m up for it,” Harry said, amused.

“Have you –“ Draco paused. “You said just Ginny, didn’t you? No men?”

“I did,” Harry said. “So, yes, there are some practical things I might have to pick up. But there are practical things I’m going to have to pick up with Hermione too.” He laughed. “I’m not really used to the whole mind blowing, intimate sex thing. I sort of think that’s going to be a bigger deal for me than what gender. The last year or two with Ginny was sort of a battlefield, which is probably a sign that we ought to have called it a lot sooner. But just look at it this way, you get to win first.”

“Fair,” Draco said. “I have been. With men, I mean.”

“I did sort of figure,” Harry teased. “I wasn’t really assuming you were celibate until you started dating Hermione. I’ll just follow your lead.”

“I think I might be following yours, actually,” Draco said, after a pause. “Which is new. Though I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, you being you.”

“Me being me?” Harry said, amused.

“Oh, you just think you’re in charge of everything,” Draco said. “You have this utterly unshakeable self-confidence that used to drive me insane, but now it’s a bit of a turn on.” He paused. “Okay, a lot of a turn on.”

“You have seen me go to pieces over extraordinarily stupid things, right?” Harry pointed out.

“Yeah,” Draco said. “Doesn’t change it. I mean, it doesn’t mean that Hermione and I don’t want to take care of you, doesn’t mean we can’t switch it up with what we want, but you just lead things and they fall into line.” He looked wryly amused. “Me included, apparently.”

“Right,” Harry said. “Well, I’m going to use my leadership skills to deduce that you’re going to lose your mind if you have to talk much more tonight, so ask what you want to know, I’ll answer, and then we’re going to snog for a while and go sleep.”

“You just make these promises, Potter,” Draco drawled. Harry snorted, putting his tea aside to wrap an arm around Draco, tossing a leg over him and nuzzling along his jaw line, pressing a kiss under his ear.

“The fact that you won’t stop using my last name as an affectionate nickname is sort of hilarious,” Harry said.

“I could switch to cupcake,” Draco said. “I suppose that would do.”

“Should I expect being called every horrific pet name in the universe this month?” Harry said.

“Obviously,” Draco said. “Written out in icing on cakes. At work.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, laughing, and got closer, giving Draco some time. He was perfectly happy to listen to the steady sound of his breathing.

“Did you like it?” Draco said, finally. He was looking at Harry’s ceiling, where Hermione had spelled glow in the dark constellations.

“Yes,” Harry said, honestly. “But I don’t think that’s what you really want to ask.”

“You can’t tell me the questions,” Draco protested, when Harry reached to comb his fingers through his hair. He was either wearing it just a little longer or he’d just been too busy to get a hair cut, but either way, Harry liked it.

“No, but I can tell you when you ask stupid ones,” Harry said. “Pretty sure you heard us.”

Draco was still looking up at the ceiling. Cancer and Cygnus were currently having some sort of celestial argument, wanting the same corner. “Did you –“ Draco made an irritated noise. “I can’t figure out how to ask without it sounding like I’m being a complete arse.”

“Mm,” Harry said, nuzzling under the sharp curve of his jaw. “I think you might be trying to ask the extremely idiotic question of whether we enjoyed it more without you there.”

“You can’t ask yourself the questions either,” Draco said, finally. “But I suppose if I were asking a question that I had selected for myself, that might not be too far off the mark.”

“We both would have used you as a crutch, and we wouldn’t have said the things we needed to say,” Harry said, stroking a hand over Draco’s stomach. “So for that one particular time having sex, do I think it was helpful you weren’t there? Yes. But in terms of what I want, the things I can’t stop thinking about –“ He laughed softly. “There isn’t a single one of those where you aren’t all over it. It just wouldn’t have gotten things done. That’s all. I think we both nearly called you down twenty times.”

“Oh,” Draco said, exhaling softly. “That makes sense. I sort of started to wonder why you didn’t.”

“Draco,” Harry said, kissing his temple. “Would you want to call Hermione in here right now?”

Draco paused. “I don’t think so, actually,” he said, finally.

“There,” Harry said. “That’s the whole of it. I promise.”

“Oh,” Draco said, again. “So you mostly want all three of us.”

“Obviously,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “If I’m sleeping with a Slytherin, I’d damn well better get some Gryffindor action on the side.” He nipped Draco’s earlobe. “Of course I want all three of us. Including ludicrous amounts of morning sex and cuddling on couches with alcohol and whatever the hell the Slytherin equivalent is.”

“Oh, right,” Draco said, looking pleased. “We still have a lot of winning to do.”

“I can let you in on something, if you’d like,” Harry said. “A free goal or something.”

“Well,” Draco said, considering. “It’s not winning if I cheat, but I’m allowed to know your preferences and that sort of thing.” He laughed. “I had things to learn from Hermione, she’s not shy about saying if she likes something or if she wants me to do it differently.”

Harry snorted. “I’d noticed,” he said. “I’m just saying, it does sort of seem like there have been a lot of bad jokes lately from Hermione on how much you like oral sex with men. Any truth to that?”

“She’s incorrigible,” Draco said. He finally shook his head. “I might as well tell you things, you’ll know anyway. She wasn’t entirely a fan of how I went down on her when we first got together. And it was just casual, whatever, so I told her if she hated it so much, she could just take it off the table, I said I liked giving blow jobs better anyway. I mean, I didn’t really, I like both, but I was a bit put out over it.”

Harry bit back a laugh. “Ouch,” he said. “That was an exceptionally bad move, Malfoy. I’m a bit surprised she didn’t set you on interrogations in Azkaban or something.”

Draco laughed. “She said since it was just casual, whatever, I could take it or leave it.”

Harry muffled his laughter, turning it into a cough. “Yeah, quintessential hacked off Hermione,” he said, fondly.

“Yes, well, I was already sort of hopelessly fond of her even if I really didn’t want to admit it, so I think I managed not to come over here for – oh, I don’t know, four or five nights?” Draco shook his head. “And then she opened the bloody door and asked what had taken me so fucking long and I’m sure you can figure out the rest. It’s for the best that we ended up drunk and soppy or we’d probably have kept at that whole pretending to hate one another thing forever.”

“Speak for yourself,” Harry said, amused. “Hermione’s generally smarter than that.”

“Shut it, it took her a while to convince me to get rid of all my really obnoxious self-defense mechanisms,” Draco said. “Well. To attempt to get rid of them, there are plenty that are still around. But yes, I like giving blow jobs.”

“Well,” Harry said, closing his eyes for a minute. “Don’t get me wrong, Ginny and I had a lot of perfectly decent sex.” He laughed. “But blow jobs, really not in her wheelhouse. It was perfectly all right, but not…” He gestured. “I may have thought for a number of years that the topic was overrated. I’m open to being persuaded otherwise, though.”

“Well,” Draco said, looking at him from an entirely different angle. Harry swallowed after a moment at the sheer amount of lust there. It bordered on predatory. “I suppose I might be interested in winning at that.”

“There you go,” Harry said. “Anything else that can’t wait until tomorrow?”

“You know,” Draco said, glancing down at his mouth again. “Before Hermione, I didn’t realize there were so many reasons people might want to have sex.”

“Yes?” Harry said, watching him.

“Sometimes more than one reason,” Draco said. “You’re not going to mind that, are you? If it’s – oh, I don’t know, not all that casual tomorrow?”

“Draco,” Harry said, gently, reaching up to rub a thumb over his cheekbone. “I know it’s been fast. But I’m not really expecting us to ever have casual sex. Just for fun sex, sure. Casual, no. It’s usually not casual when you care about someone.”

“Point,” Draco said, swallowing. He handed over his mug, still watching Harry. “Did you mean it? About the snogging?”

Harry rolled his eyes, shoving Draco in the side. “I don’t offer things I don’t mean. For the thousandth time.”

A few seconds later, Harry found himself pinned to the bed, Draco stretched out on top of him. “Yes?” Draco said, mildly, when Harry laughed.

“Never mind,” Harry said, and slid his hands in the back pockets of Draco’s jeans, tugging him closer. “I hear you’re usually the one who starts the kissing, Malfoy.”

“I might be,” Draco agreed, so close their noses were almost touching.

“Have I mentioned how much I like being around you when you’re like this?” Harry murmured. He’d never been close enough before to notice that Draco’s eyes had a slight ring of darker grey around the irises.

“Like what?” Draco said, sounding curious. He kissed Harry slowly, lingering, and Harry slid his hands up Draco’s back, getting used to the feel of it.

“Mm,” Harry said, when Draco finally drew back again, still watching him.

“You do realize that could mean any one of a thousand things,” Draco said, kissing Harry’s neck as Harry tilted his head back to give him more room.

“I just…” Harry said, trying to gather his thoughts. Draco was close and warm and smelled familiar, the usual combination of Hermione’s vanilla shampoo and his cologne. He laughed when Draco nudged his shirt away to lick his collarbone. “I can’t answer if I’m that distracted. But feel free to keep doing it.”

“Maybe I should sit up,” Draco teased.

“Maybe you should fuck right off with that idea,” Harry said. “I’m quite happy with where you are, thank you.”

“Well?” Draco said, finally, coming back and propping himself up until they were nose to nose again.

“There are a lot of sides to you,” Harry said. “And I like all of them. But I think this one’s my favorite.”

“Oh?” Draco said. Harry was suddenly aware that what he’d been saying absentmindedly probably mattered quite a lot to Draco.

“It’s just you, it’s not complicated,” Harry said, after a moment. “I like you. And I like not complicated. You’re not bothering to try to be anyone else or worrying about things, you’re just here.”

Draco ducked his head, cheeks going faintly pink, and Harry laughed softly. “I know I’m terrible at remembering to give compliments, but I can’t be so terrible you didn’t know that at all.”

“No,” Draco admitted. “I did. But that’s utterly untrue, you love complicated things.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I love many complicated things, complicated relationships aren’t one of them.”

“Well,” Draco said. “I suppose it might be chess complicated and not having to involve your solicitor complicated.”

“Or just not complicated,” Harry said. “Easy’s good.”

“I don’t know that I’m used to that,” Draco said, finally laughing. “Or you.” He paused. “I always thought that thing everyone said about your eyes was ludicrous, you know, but after we started working together, I picked it up, it’s not the color, it’s just that you look at people and see them.”

“I think that’s you, actually,” Harry said, stroking his palm down Draco’s side.

“Not like that,” Draco said. “When you look at someone, even if you’re doing twenty other things, it feels like they’ve got every bit of your attention and focus. Like they’re literally the only thing in the room. I can sort of understand now how you won a war.”

“Oh, well,” Harry said, with a smile. “If they’re one of my people, then yes. They’re the only thing in the room that matters. And I didn’t win a war, a lot of people won a war.”

“It’s sort of an intense combination,” Draco said, finally, staying close. “No walls and all your focus.”

Harry considered, keeping Draco close.

“Probably a bit more intense because I don’t tend to hold back when I see something I want,” Harry said, ruefully. “I’m pretty all or nothing, I told you.”

“I don’t think I’m unsure of you,” Draco admitted, finally. “But I think I’m a little concerned you’ll focus this hard on pieces of me I hardly show anyone and that one of us isn’t going to like everything you uncover. You’re more black and white than Hermione, although I think you have all the moral relativism.”

“Draco,” Harry said, squeezing his shoulder. He kissed Draco, warm and slow, almost luring. “Shut up and come kiss me.” He met his eyes, the corner of his mouth pulling up. “Historically, I’m better at showing than telling.”

“You, telling me to shut up,” Draco murmured. “There’s a first.”

“Putting your mouth to better use,” Harry corrected. Draco had never liked talking about this sort of thing, and the fact that he kept trying suggested that Harry really wasn’t doing a convincing enough job of conveying what he meant. Or, maybe, that talking wasn’t the way to go about getting it through.

He leaned up so he could catch Draco’s mouth in a stolen kiss, smoothing a palm down his back. He wanted to talk, to say all the things he’d been cataloguing, the things that made his heart skip and that settled in the pit of his stomach, but he knew better than to go there yet. Draco was lightning in a bottle, beautiful and alluring, but it was the sort of thing you could only look at around the edges or it would go away entirely. Harry got him closer and kissed harder, warmer, pressing their bodies together, coaxing Draco in, and he watched Draco finally start to really relax.

It had taken a very long time of working and living with both of them, but Harry had finally figured out how the pieces of how Hermione and Draco had fit together in the beginning. To a stranger, she was impossible to pin down, mercurial with magic and knowledge, and she had a half-smile that never answered anything at all. She was better than nearly everyone, and she wouldn’t apologize for it. To Harry, Hermione was stability and warmth and an open door, and he’d conceded first year that Hermione was smarter than the rest of the world. She was never out of place with him because it never occurred to him that knowledge might be anything other than an enormous asset. But to anyone else, he could see how she could seem cold and condescending and locked away. Hermione had always found it funny when men painted her as a princess in a castle, chained up and in need of rescue from her own mind. “There’s always a staircase somewhere, Harry,” she’d said once over drinks, after yet another awful date. “Or you borrow a bloody magic carpet. Simple, really.”

She had drawn Draco in with indifference, with never looking at him too closely because she couldn’t be bothered. He wasn’t a puzzle she felt inclined to solve, and by the time she’d finally noticed he’d come too close, he had taken her by surprise as well.

Harry strongly suspected he wasn’t going to have nearly so easy of a time. He couldn’t feign indifference, and he’d never been any good at hiding what he felt. The trick, he thought, rubbing his thumb up and down the back of Draco’s neck, was to make it safe and even and steady, until Draco felt he could trust the footing. And, probably, until he was willing to let Draco see the things he kept most hidden.

He let himself stop thinking about all of it, getting tangled in the heated press of Draco’s mouth against his own, the weight of his body on top of Harry’s, and it was easier than he’d expected to not have to say anything at all. He could put reassurance into the pressure of his palms as he explored Draco’s shoulders, sneaking playful affection in as he nuzzled Draco’s neck until he tossed his head back and laughed. Kissing Hermione had been familiar, warm and predictable, but kissing Draco was uncharted territory. He moved his hands more than any woman Harry had ever gotten this close with, grabbing hard like he had no intention of letting go, and he was steady and unyielding. It was a little like casting magic together, like breathing together, and when Draco finally drew back, Harry wasn’t sure how long it had been, just that he didn’t care.

“You were right,” Draco said, finally, almost thoughtfully. “When you want something, you don’t bother keeping much back.”

“Not usually, no,” Harry agreed, cautiously. “Don’t see much point.”

“It’s just –“ Draco finally rolled off Harry and stretched out on the other side of the bed. “You keep surprising me. When we started working together, I thought it would be hell, but it worked, and when Hermione said you were staying, we had this enormous row and didn’t talk for two days, but after a while with you here, it stopped feeling like her house and started feeling like our home with all of us, and –“ He gestured. “When I tried to talk to you tonight, I thought you might be interested in Hermione. I was even all right with that. But me?”

“Don’t give yourself so much credit for not driving me off,” Harry said, dryly. “You grew on me somehow.”

“I never –“ Draco laughed, again, but it was almost bitter. “I never thought I’d be happy. When I was younger, that wasn’t the sort of thing you thought about. Succession plans and masonry repairs and the gardens and making sure all the taxes had been collected.”

“When I was a kid,” Harry said, finally, after a pause. “There was this bit of park near where my aunt and uncle lived. It was nothing, honestly, just this suburban bit of greenery. But there was this tree that no one had bothered with, I think it would have upset the pavement on all the streets to haul it out or something. And the year before I came to Hogwarts, I was finally tall enough to get the first branch, and I used to climb it and look up at the stars.” He laughed. “Well, what passes for stars there, anyway. More like looking at light pollution.”

“Yeah?” Draco said. “I somehow doubt you were thinking about rose cultivars.”

“No,” Harry said. “But I always sat there and thought about how happy I was to have gotten tall enough to climb the bloody tree, and that I’d learned to pick the lock on the cupboard, and how nice the moon looked and if I might get really lucky and see an owl or something.” He shook his head. “I never thought about anything ahead of me or turning eighteen and getting away. I don’t even think I believed in the future. There wasn't any point.”

“Yeah,” Draco said. “I wasn’t unsure. I was too bloody sure. But I hated it.”

“Me too,” Harry said. “Glad I’m still pretty decent at climbing trees, though. That’s come in handy once or twice.”

Draco snorted. “That damn revenant in the hotel,” he said.

“Oh, the one that set the stairs on fire,” Harry said, thoughtfully. “Yeah, I’m glad that elm was where it was.”

“Says you,” Draco said, laughing. “’Come on down, Draco, there isn’t any need to transfigure a ladder, really,’ said my lovely wife.”

“You barely sprained that ankle and she fixed it in two minutes,” Harry said. He leaned over for another warm, sated kiss. “Though speaking of, I suspect Hermione might appreciate it if we didn’t sleep in the guest room.”

“Probably,” Draco agreed, reaching to tangle his fingers with Harry’s for a moment. “Thank you.”

“For the tea?” Harry said, leaning to trace the curve of Draco’s jaw with his thumb, cradling his face as he stole another kiss. “Any time.”

“That’s not –“ Draco said, sounding a little indignant, and Harry laughed.

“I know,” Harry said. “But I’m filing this alongside asking if you can ask a question, under ‘annoying agenda items Draco seems determined not to give up.’ You can thank me for passing the cream, not for kissing.”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” Draco said, finally, standing and reaching to haul Harry up. “All right. Thank you for the tea, but I’d really like to go to bed.”

“Agreed,” Harry said. “You can do whatever winning you’d like in the morning.”

“All of it, obviously,” Draco said. “Unless you’d like some.”

“Mm,” Harry said, following him towards their bedroom. “I suppose I might be convinced to win at the whole sex bit Hermione claims you enjoy.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Draco said, holding open the door. “But if you’d like to try, who am I to stop you. Gryffindors can be very stubborn.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Harry said, laughing.

The next morning, Harry woke up to being kneed in the kidneys by someone – probably Draco, judging by the sudden swearing and the rather loud thump against the headboard.

“Shhhh,” Hermione said. “You’ll wake him.”

“You’ll wake him saying shush,” Draco said. “Why did I have to carry the tea up again?”

“Because the warming charm and a levitation spell would –“

“Morning,” Harry said, groggily, reaching for his glasses.

“I told you,” Hermione said.

“Pretty sure it was the kettle,” Harry said, yawning, and they both suddenly looked embarrassed.

“Probably should have thought of that before we took down some of the muffling charms,” Draco said.

“Why’d you do that,” Harry said, yawning again. “I know I’m not in the guest room, but do we want anyone who’s in the guest room –“

“Not that set,” Draco said, tossing his dressing gown over the back of a chair and climbing back into bed. “Someone woke up at four in the morning and started obsessing about making the bedroom more yours. Do you actually like traffic noise or is she just making that up to annoy me?”

“No, I do, it knocks me out,” Harry said, dubiously, rolling over to wrap an arm around Draco. “But I like your bedroom. You know, the way it is.”

“Well, yes, but it’s not just ours anymore, now is it?” Hermione said, climbing in on his other side with a cup of tea.

“How –“ Harry eyed the tea. “One, I want some of that, two, I like it in here, and three, it’s barely been five minutes, we haven’t got to redecorate the entire house before nine in the morning. We could be sleeping.”

Draco snorted. “Or at least doing things that are more fun than redecorating,” he teased.

“Give –“ Harry said, reaching to swipe Hermione’s cup of tea. She never put enough sugar in, but it would do. He muffled another yawn. “What do I have to say to get everyone to go back to sleep? Hermione, you’re fidgeting. Stop that.”

“Told you,” Draco said.

“Shut it,” Hermione said. “I’m just – it’s a lot to…”

“Uh huh,” Harry said. “Didn’t change my mind while I was asleep or because I don’t like the wallpaper. Might do if you don’t calm down, though.”

“Harry –“ Hermione started, again, and he sighed, putting his tea cup on the nightstand and wrapping a hand around her wrist to pull her over on top of him. She laughed, startled, then settled on top of him, sitting up with her hands spread across his chest.

“Just get in here,” he said, gesturing at the blankets. “I’m not talking about anything. I’m going back to sleep or possibly having sex that doesn’t require me to be entirely awake.”

“Don’t think he changed his mind,” Draco said, sounding amused, and brushed Hermione’s hair out of the way, leaning to kiss the curve of her neck.

“Apparently not,” Hermione said, sounding amused. “Five galleons to you.”

“No betting over me either, you’ll just set a bad precedent,” Harry said, nuzzling the inside of Hermione’s wrist and stroking a palm over her back before he turned to kiss Draco. “I’m really not changing my mind about anything. Though the curtain color is a major factor, mind you.”

“I just want –“ Hermione said.

“Hermione,” Harry said, laughing softly. “There are three different couples here, plus the relationship that’s all three of us, and they’re all in completely different places. It’s completely fucked, honestly. But the only option is to live with it until they all even out, so I think that’s going to have to be how it goes. Stop worrying.”

“Yes, and forgive me for being a little unsure about the totally uneven nature of all of that,” Hermione said, but she settled closer over him.

“Stop running scared,” Draco remarked, leaning over Harry’s shoulder to kiss her. It was affectionate, but there was a little bit of sharpness to it, the slight edge Hermione had let Draco have somewhere along the way.

“Damn it, stop being right,” she said, when he pulled back, and he laughed.

“Some Gryffindor,” he teased, then kissed her again. “I love you.”

“Love you back,” Hermione said, shaking her head with a smile. “Why’d you bother spending the last two hours helping me move things around in here if you thought there wasn’t any point?”

“Because I was tense and needed to burn off some magic and I thought you’d get sort of hacked off if I went for a run or to work,” he said, leaning in for a longer kiss. “And because, while I am not concerned that Potter is going to leave because of the bedroom, you’re not wrong that it ought to be different. And because you weren’t going to stop fussing until you talked to him, so it seemed more productive than trying to talk you around.”

“Thin ice, darling,” Hermione said, amused. “Fortunately, I like the way you kiss.”

“And yet, true,” Draco said.

“There are – how in the bloody hell did I sleep through someone moving my desk in here?” Harry said.

“Silencing net on you,” Draco said, with a yawn. “Your trunk stuff’s all put away. And you have a bookshelf, and –“ He made a face. “Oh, I don’t know, you live here, just bloody well move in.”

Harry snorted. “You two went and moved everything I own already, didn’t you?”

“No,” Draco said.

“Definitely not,” Hermione said.

“Well, that was stupid, you could have been sleeping,” Harry said, falling back into the pillows. He gave it a moment before he pulled Hermione down by her t-shirt, getting her to stretch out on top of him, gesturing at Draco. “I realize overthinking’s a specialty, but you didn’t have to get him in on it as well.”

“I’m going to start calling you insufferable again,” Draco said, settling in beside him.

“How will I ever go on,” Harry said.

“I just want to know how you’re fine with it, is all,” Hermione said.

“Because I am at the moment?” Harry said. “You can bloody well tell me how it’s going to go, you’ve seen it enough times.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, thoughtfully. “Yeah, all right.” She held a hand out for Draco, tangling their fingers together. “He means he’ll be fine for a few months and then suddenly realize he’s really quite attached and probably try to talk us into how we’d be better off without him. He’s attached now, he just hasn’t looked at it through whatever bloody lens leads to him panicking over it.”

“And then we get him drunk and lie on him on the sofa until he’s over it?” Draco guessed.

Hermione laughed. “Look, you’ve learned how Gryffindors work after all.”

“You lot seem to believe there isn’t anything that can’t be fixed with whiskey, a couch, and a fireplace,” Draco said. “I’m actually all right with that as a life philosophy, for the most part. Sometimes you need absinthe.”

Harry laughed. “It usually works,” he agreed, kissing Hermione’s temple. “We’re fine. We’ve been fine for the past two decades or so, and sex or bedroom design is not going to make us not fine, so would you get some sleep or take off some clothes?”

“I’m supposed to be the sensible one,” she said, nuzzling his neck. “You’re reaching.”

Harry laughed. “I’m perfectly sensible. Besides, sensible is overrated when you want sex.”

“Very hard sell,” Draco agreed.

“Harry’s all right at it,” Hermione said, with a slightly exaggerated shrug. “We might not have a terrible time.”

“Oh, thanks,” Harry said.

“The noises you were making last night suggest he might be better than all right,” Draco said, dryly.

“Well,” Hermione said, sliding up again so she could grab the hem of Draco’s jumper, holding him still for a kiss. “You’d know, wouldn’t you? You’ve certainly heard me louder.”

“I’m limiting competition to Quidditch and work,” Harry said. “Otherwise, be careful what you ask for, you’ll get it.”

“Spoilsport,” Draco said, amused.

“Mm,” Harry agreed, watching Draco. “Ten points from Gryffindor in the Malfoy House Cup. I suppose you’re going to make me do without the morning sex too.”

“I’m glad Draco promised you as much as you wanted,” Hermione said. “But I think the only thing saving us here is the fact that you like sleep and that if we don’t go in for too long, work will probably fall into shambles.”

“And the fact that I have an office door that locks,” Harry suggested.

“And the stairwell, and the room with all the office supplies,” Draco said. “Although I suppose anything downstairs is out, I have a feeling Padma’s going to be a bit put out.”

“Bugger,” Harry said. “I mean – you know, nice turn of events, but she has scalpels.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “I’ll just tell her I’ve taken you off the table. It’s not as if she or Pansy is going to argue with me or something.”

“Does he secretly have a harem?” Harry said, settling his hands on Hermione’s hips. “Should I have noticed some extra people around?”

“No,” she said. “It’s Slytherin rules or something. I haven’t the faintest. Apparently they teach them to Ravenclaws.”

“Oh, but not their spouses,” Harry said, laughing.

“Please, there’d hardly be any point,” Draco said, rolling his eyes. “No self-respecting Gryffindor would let me play King of England and do everything I said.”

“Well,” Harry said, considering.

“Would so,” Hermione said. “Have so, actually. Although you’re right, ‘because I said so’ only works under certain circumstances.”

Draco snorted. “Now you’re just trying to wind me up,” he said.

“I was aiming for Harry, actually,” she admitted.

“That’s really not necessary,” Harry said. “All I have to do is look at him.”

“Shut it,” Malfoy said, rolling his eyes again.

“He gets all put out if you tell him he’s fit,” Hermione said, leaning over to kiss Draco.

“It might be all right if he does it,” Draco said, cheeks going faintly red.

Hermione paused, then laughed. “You do so fancy him,” she said, shoving his shoulder affectionately.

“Er, was that somehow up for discussion?” Harry said. “There was really quite a lot of snogging last night if Draco isn’t, in fact, interested.”

“Not like that, Harry,” Hermione said, fondly. “Maybe you ought to stick yourselves in a cabin, darling.”

“Hermione,” Draco warned, voice suddenly a little chilly. Harry felt him tense beside him. Hermione turned to look, then her face went stern.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Hermione said, cupping his face in her hands. “What did I tell you to remember about Harry?”

“What?” Draco said.

“When we started all working together,” Hermione said, patiently. “Every time you came home royally hacked off or I had to reassemble office furniture that you’d kicked apart and hexed to matchsticks? What did I say you had to remember about Harry?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “You’ve told me everything about him. I could write a bloody book.”

“Draco,” Hermione said, firmly. “The one thing I said you had to hear me on.”

“We really couldn’t have had this conversation an hour ago in private?” Draco said. Harry noticed she was holding eye contact, even though Draco rather clearly didn’t want to.

“No,” Hermione said. “You wouldn’t ask me to marry you until you were sure I’d be happy with you and that I wasn’t giving anything up and that I wanted it just as much as you did, even though I’d been asking you for months. You hate not being dead certain.”

She leaned in to press their foreheads together, stroking her thumbs over Draco’s cheekbones. “Love, I’m not going to let you spend six months believing that you’re ridiculously interested in Harry and he’s not at all interested in you.”

“I’ve said –“ Harry said.

“Harry, shut up,” Hermione said, firmly. “Draco, quit being stubborn and afraid to show him you’re human and unsure. He’s seen your intestines, I’m fairly sure he’s aware you’re a mere mortal with human feelings. What did I say about Harry?”

“You said he wasn’t what everyone thought,” Draco said, finally. “And that if I was enough of an idiot to continue with the impression that Harry was cold and unfeeling, I was going to be in for a rather nasty surprise later, so I’d better stop playing the martyr.”

“He’s not cold when you’re his,” Hermione said. “Harry, tell me some things you like about Draco. Things you’d have said three days ago or last week.”

“Er,” Harry said. “Can I at least put out for the record that I’m not as bad with people as all that?”

“Yes, you are,” Hermione said. “It’s like getting the cold shoulder and then it’s like you’ve been hit by a bloody two by four across the head when you come around on the topic.”

Harry sighed. “It was never like that with you.”

“Off topic, Harry,” Hermione said, impatiently.

“Um,” Harry said, pausing. He looked at Draco, who was still looking at Hermione, tense, and it seemed strange, but he trusted her. “I like that you put in really idiotic comments when you’re editing my case reviews, even if it means I have to retype them.”

“Some more,” Hermione said, still cupping Draco’s face. “Anything you’d like.”

“I like the way you play Quidditch,” Harry said, finally. “You read the field completely differently than I do, and I’ve never understood it, but I like watching you think about what you’re going to do next. And I never thought you’d have a brilliant sense of humor, but you do, you always start making me laugh when I’m supposed to be dead silent on stake out or something. And I like that you learned how I took my tea the first week we worked together, even if you didn’t like me.”

“Smaller,” Hermione said. “Things you wouldn’t tell someone at the office.”

“Like I’d tell any of that to someone at the office,” Harry said, but he considered. “I like the fact that you refuse to give up on the kettle even though you’re complete rubbish at it. I like that you read nearly as much as Hermione does. I like –“ He nudged Draco, gently. “I like that I walk in the door and I don’t have to worry about stupid things at the office or what The Prophet’s published on me this week or anything, really.” He laughed softly. “I like that you don’t actually see me as Harry Potter and that you boss me around just as badly as Hermione does. Do I keep going, here?”

“I don’t know, does he?” Hermione said, gently, kissing Draco before she brought her hands back down. “He’s cared for a long time, Draco.”

“You may have had a point,” Draco conceded, ruefully.

“There you go,” Hermione murmured, kissing his temple. “You two can sort out that bit yourselves, I’m going to go downstairs and read.”

Harry watched her go, propping himself on one elbow, then glanced at Draco. For the first six months they’d worked together, Harry had never seen Draco’s composure slip. It hadn’t mattered if things went to hell, as they were inclined to do, or whether they were at a ministry fundraising gala or wading through hip-deep mud – he’d never looked out of place or seemed anything less than perfectly content. At the time, it had driven Harry insane, but he realized that he hadn’t thought of Draco as composed in a rather long time. He was acting, or he wasn’t, but Harry had learned to see around the Malfoy mask.

“The sex bit is new, with her,” Harry said. “But nothing else is.” He reached, brushing a thumb over Draco’s collarbone. “And I feel about the same here.”

“Meaning?” Draco said, finally.

“I’ve always loved her as much as I could. I’m not saying that hasn’t changed, over the years, you’re capable of more as an adult, but I’ve never held back. So when I say I don’t really feel differently about her, I don’t. And it’s been a while since I bothered holding back affection where you’re concerned. None of that has changed much.”

“I’m not sure I understand that,” Draco said, finally. “It feels rather different, from here.”

“That’s all right,” Harry said. “I’m not really in any hurry.” He smiled. “I do expect you to continue keeping me from getting killed at work and playing Quidditch with me and I suppose I’ll be a bit put out if there’s no snogging, but it’s not as if we can’t take our time.”

Draco looked at him, then made a frustrated noise. “God, you really don’t get it.”

“I don’t think I do if that’s not it,” Harry said, finally.

“When Hermione said I fancied you, she meant that my heart rate goes through the roof when you step too close and I stare every bloody time you take your shirt off and every time you touch me it feels sort of electric. Of course I want more. But I don’t think I wanted to admit that to myself before, and even after last night, you could maybe forgive me for worrying that you were in it for her. And that you didn’t feel the same way.”

“Forgiven,” Harry said. “Although I’d have thought we put paid to that idea.”

“You were holding back last night,” Draco said. “Upstairs. Not the first bit, though.”

“I was feeling it out,” Harry admitted. “And I didn’t want to push.”

Draco shook his head. “Just be where you’re at with me,” he said. “Even if it hasn’t changed. I’ll never trust it otherwise. If it’s too much, I’m perfectly capable of saying no.”

“Right,” Harry said, firmly, and wrapped an arm around his waist to yank him in close. Draco started to lean up, but Harry pulled him back immediately, making a low noise at the sudden warmth of Draco’s skin against his own, and kissed him hard, rougher than he’d been, licking into his mouth before he pulled back, biting his lower lip.

“You have been driving me crazy,” Harry said, keeping his hold on Draco’s hips, breathing hard against his mouth. “All these goddamned glances and looking me over but like you’re too above it to really let on that you’re interested and the bloody talking–“

Draco made a low, irritated noise, looking Harry over for a moment. “You still aren’t getting it,” he said, finally, sounding startled.

“I’m not getting what?” Harry said, equally exasperated.

Draco shoved him over hard, almost like they were doing hand-to-hand in the office practice rooms, and pushed Harry down into the mattress, covering him with his entire body. Draco didn’t say anything, just brought his mouth down on Harry’s in a hard, demanding kiss, pressed close until Harry literally had to pull back for air. “Exactly how interested I’ve been.”

“No, so bloody well show me,” he said, firmly, arching up into Draco’s weight, reaching up to fist a hand in his hair as he kissed him back just as hard, licking Draco’s lower lip until Draco swore up against his mouth and let him in. He shivered when Draco pulled away and started moving his mouth down Harry’s neck. It started as a kiss but ended with teeth, and Harry shoved his hips up against Draco’s stomach when Draco finally bit down, hard enough to bruise but not nearly anywhere near what Harry wanted.

He let his head fall back, making what he hoped was a fucking obvious invitation, and Draco leaned in, so close Harry could feel his heartbeat against his chest, so fast that he couldn’t help the noises he was starting to make, sure his own pulse was racing just as hard. Draco considered, so focused that Harry nearly laughed, then nosed his way across Harry’s chest, licking at the hollow of his throat. He sucked a mark just beneath the curve of Harry’s jaw, and Harry briefly contemplated hitting him over the head to get more of Draco’s weight on him, but it turned out that using his thigh to shove Draco’s leg out from where he was kneeling did the trick. Draco paused for half a second, looking like he was on the verge of laughter, when Harry made a low, viciously satisfied noise and tossed his free leg around Draco to hold him in place. Harry wanted the closeness, wanted all of it, to show Draco that he’d already let him in, and it didn’t hurt that Draco’s weight was pushing his cock up against his stomach, adding friction from the clothes they still – god, stupidly – had on.

“Damn it, Harry,” Draco murmured, in a tone Harry hadn’t heard out of him before, and then bit down hard at the curve of his neck.

Harry had been asking for it, but he hadn’t really expected Draco to follow through. He hissed, biting back a groan, and barely managed to keep from coming just from that.

He reached down and stripped Draco’s shirt off, pulling it away roughly. Then reached to grab Draco’s hair again, pulling him down hard and keeping him there until they were trading messy, heated kisses and Draco was panting against his mouth, his free hand clenched around Harry’s bicep, so tight it almost hurt. Harry met his eyes, but Draco looked away.

“Goddamn it,” Harry said, after a moment. He pushed Draco back gently. “Stop that. I’m only doing this one way, and that’s not it.”

Draco paused, looking suddenly unsure. “What?”

“Is this how it always is, with you and sex with people who aren’t Hermione?” Harry said.

“Yes,” Draco said, then paused. “How do you mean?”

“This isn’t going to just be sex,” Harry said, finally. “It can’t be.”

“I…“ Draco started. He didn’t finish his sentence.

“Just because I’m all right over it doesn’t mean I don’t know it’s serious,” Harry said, quietly. “You know I’d never have –“ He considered. “Do you know what it would be like, to be with her for a little while and then have to stop? It would kill me. And honestly, I’m not sure it’s much different with you.”

“It ought to be,” Draco said, finally. “I’m not her. And we’re – we hardly have the same history.”

“Yes, well, there’s about one other person I’ve got the same history with, and the three of us couldn’t even make it work as friends,” Harry pointed out. “I don’t need a second Hermione. I need you.”

“I never meant to. With Hermione. It just sort of happened.” He paused. “It seems to be a lot harder when it feels like you’re making a choice.”

Harry laughed, softly. “Well, yes,” he said. “But I’m fairly certain you made it before now.”

“Sort of,” Draco said. “I was thinking about keeping Hermione sane. Not… myself.”

“That’s because you’re daft,” Harry said, fondly.

He pulled Draco down for a kiss, wanting to get rid of all the distance between them, but then it occurred to him that there was an easier way. Harry closed his eyes, feeling Draco start to pull away. Draco was impeccable with shielding spells, but there was a reason sex could be dangerous. Harry found a clear spot and nudged it open, like easing open the door to a room. He stayed behind all of Draco’s other mental shields, knowing how careful he had to be. He opened his eyes to meet Draco’s. Draco started to say something, but Harry just kissed him again. He brushed his magic down Draco’s spine, feeling it spark, and then met his gaze.

“What the hell –“ Draco said, pupils suddenly blown, cheeks starting to flush, and Harry laughed.

“Let me in,” he said, waiting for Draco’s tense nod before he let the feeling sink into Draco’s mind. Harry coaxed it to spread, letting it twine around the opening he’d found, and then just left it alone. He wanted Draco to know, but he didn’t want to push something on him he didn’t want. “Legilimency’s a little easier once you realize you’re just making up the rules as you go along.”

“Fuck,” Draco said, hoarsely, staring at him, and Harry felt when he lowered his shields, letting everything in, letting Harry’s magic explore, and Draco dropped his head to Harry’s shoulder with a sharp intake of breath. Harry felt it smooth over rough edges and fill places that seemed too empty, sweeping away a few shadows and settling in, and Draco looked at him. It was another moment before Draco’s magic was brushing up against his own, showing it places Harry would never have thought to look, but that needed touch all the same.

“I want –“ Draco said.

“Oh,” Harry said, a little startled, because the part of Draco that he’d been having trouble reading before was almost begging for more, so unfiltered it hardly seemed real, because it was so utterly uncontrolled and unlike him. Harry kissed him again, warm and open. He let his magic flare before it settled into a slow burn that Harry pressed into everywhere he could find, stroking his palms flat over the muscles of Draco’s shoulders again.

“Fuck, Harry,” Draco said, kissing him again, and Harry drew back some; he was finding he rather liked making Draco incoherent, but doing it with magic just wasn’t as satisfying. And it felt like a short cut.

“Sorry, I’m not doing all the work that way,” Harry said. “But I did want you to see.”

“You are the most exasperating person I’ve ever met,” Draco said, finally, breathing hard. He rolled off of him with a low noise and stretched out beside him. “But I’d still probably let you fuck me. If you wanted.”

“Oh, let me,” Harry said, laughing. “Generous, Malfoy.”

“Always,” Draco said, finally laughing too.

“Do you want that?” Harry said, finally. “I did just stop you for a reason, you know.”

“I think it’d be all right,” Draco said, slowly. “Especially if you wanted to –“ He looked as if he was considering something. “I don’t ask people to keep their shields down, but if you’re offering…”

“That bit’s easy,” Harry said. “Knowing whether or not sex is a good idea yet is a different story entirely.”

Draco paused, wrapping an arm around him. “You probably ought to start figuring out what you actually want,” he said. “That’s how she and I work, you know. It’s always an open door.”

“I know,” Harry said, watching him. “Were you ever scared of it with her?”

“Still am,” Draco said, stroking a hand down his side. “But I suppose it gets easier the longer it lasts without ending in total disaster.”

Harry considered. “I can’t tell you what’s a good idea for you,” he said. “But so long as no one’s trying to hide half their emotions, I think I’d be happier getting naked than not.”

“I suppose we might manage,” Draco said, tossing a leg over him. He finally nipped Harry’s shoulder, laughing softly. “I – it did take me a bloody long time to let my guard down with Hermione. I’ve got this – I don’t know, Malfoy headspace.” He shook his head. “We’ve got opposite problems, you’re used to sex with people you already love, I’m used to it starting out as sex with strangers.” He rolled his shoulders. “Shouldn’t have moved into my house, Potter, I’d probably be more relaxed about you getting all pushy then.”

Harry laughed. “Just for clarity’s sake, if we were here under different circumstances, you mean you’d want me to shove you around because you get too stuck in your own head? I’m not entirely sure how good I am at being in control, despite what Hermione says, but I can try.” He grinned. “I do at least seem to like it when you talk back.”

Draco snorted. “Just because you don’t realize it’s rather intense when you turn your workplace attitude all on one person doesn’t mean you’re not topping when you do it.”

“Huh,” Harry said, and Draco rolled his eyes.

“You know, you aren’t allowed to come over all annoyed when I’m oblivious,” Harry said. “You did pick Gryffindors.”

“I’m aware,” Draco said. “But sometimes it feels like I’m busy over here fighting battles that don’t even exist and that you’d never notice.”

“How do you mean?” Harry said.

“Historically, Potter, it’s never been feelings and affection on tap from day one,” Draco said, mildly. “I keep getting to places where it feels all right to feel things, you and Hermione haven’t even noticed, but then half the time it’s too much and I end up…” He paused. “How does Hermione keep describing the manor?”

“’Entirely too many locked doors, far too much imported marble to be tasteful, and extremely drafty,’” Harry said, laughing. “She doesn’t seem to be a fan of any of the manors, for what it’s worth, I don’t think it’s yours in particular. Although maybe it’s yours in particular, she’d have grounds given what happened during the war.”

“No, but that’s the point,” Draco said. “That place is entirely Malfoy, and that’s all I was for almost two decades. When things get overwhelming, I’m liable to get cold and refuse to let anyone in.”

“Draco, tell me what you’re trying to say,” Harry said, trying to be patient.

“I didn’t mind last night,” Draco said, finally. “In the kitchen. So if you’d like to pick up where you left off, I might be all right with it.”

“If it’s me –“ Harry said, pausing. “I push my own way, and you know it. It’s not going to be Hermione.”

“Push like you,” Draco said, amused. “I seem to be rather fond of it, no matter how horrifically Gryffindor it is.”

“Mm,” Harry agreed. “All right. Pushing like me means taking the alternative route.”

“The alternative route?” Draco said.

“Yeah, you know, good Auror, bad Unspeakable, best alternative, and the best alternative is downstairs,” Harry said. He pressed a kiss to Draco’s temple. “I’m done with this stuff where you feel totally over your head and you think you’re on some sort of timetable. I just want you. At whatever pace you’d like.”

“I did, in fact, say I wanted the time alone with you,” Draco said.

“Meaning what, you gave your unbreakable Malfoy word or something?” Harry said, dryly. “I’m happy to have sex alone with you as much as you’d like. But we might be better off having sex with Hermione here and spending a lot of time snogging on our own for a bit.” He laughed. “Though I suppose that presumes you’re good with all three of us at once, I don’t know the Malfoy policy on threesomes.”

“I think it’s enthusiastic,” Draco mused, then paused, looking a little startled. “No, check that, after last night, it’s very enthusiastic.”

Harry snorted. “And I was worried you still didn’t believe I was in it for more than just Hermione.”

Draco laughed. “Actually, you hate talking about anything exactly as much as I do, so the fact that you’ve had the same conversation with me three times in an attempt to fix it suggests a decent level of commitment and caring.”

“I do not,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “Only anything remotely related to an emotion or a feeling. I could talk about Quidditch all day.”

“Well, Hermione’s in trouble,” Draco said.

“I think that was sort of implicit already,” Harry said. He conjured a small fox, looking at it, then considered as he sent it off. “Do you like them because it’s your patronus or is it your patronus because you like them?”

“A little of A, a little of B,” Draco said. “They are my favorite memory. But if the boot fits…”

“More like if the mask fits,” Harry said, then paused. “Er, if you want to kill me for making an accidental Death Eater joke, it might be best to do it before Hermione does.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “So long as you don’t make a habit of it,” he said, then started laughing too.

It took a minute, but Harry heard Hermione’s footsteps up the stairs, and she opened the door and leaned for a moment against the frame. Harry hadn’t noticed it when she left, but she was wearing one of Draco’s jumpers, which was sliding off her shoulder. “Well,” she said. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you want, but the view’s rather spectacular.”

“Same from here,” Harry said, raising an eyebrow. “Want to come get laid?”

“Subtle,” Draco said.

Hermione crossed the room to sit on the foot of the bed. “I could probably be convinced. You both look rather nice without clothes on. And I’m done with the obnoxious part of the month that involves trying to eat all the chocolate in London. I suppose you can be taken off notice for the rest of the week.”

“More to ward off dementors, then,” Harry held out a hand, and Hermione took it, laughing when he pulled her into his lap.

“Smooth, Harry,” she said. “Although you’re lucky I went to the trouble of putting on knickers, that might have been trouble.”

“Mm, that’s one view on the subject,” Harry said, nosing her jaw.

Draco reached to stroke a palm up her thigh, glancing away for a moment before he finally met her gaze. Harry had never been surprised that they were given to entire conversations without saying anything, but it had taken him a while to realize that they weren’t having a conversation that only they could hear; it was just knowing each other well enough to talk without words.

“You,” she said, fondly, reaching to brush her thumb over Draco’s bottom lip. “I love you.”

“I know,” Draco said. “I do want him, though, you know.”

“I know,” Hermione said. “We both do.”

“No objections here,” Harry said. “I wouldn’t really say no to a practical rather than theoretical demonstration.”

“He wouldn’t say no is code for it being as good as Christmas for Harry,” Hermione said, with a grin.

“I’m about to seriously regret this entire idea, aren’t I,” Draco said.

“Probably,” Hermione agreed. “But it’ll serve you right for worrying he didn’t like you.”

“If Harry can get away with calling it self-preservation, I’d better be able to,” Draco said.

“So long as you quit it,” Hermione said. She leaned in to kiss Draco. “Want to duck under the cloak and go along with Harry’s terrible plans just this once?”

Draco actually laughed out loud. “Hermione, the last few times we’ve done that, respectively, you nearly got shot by a muggle guard, I fell out a window, and Harry Apparated us directly into the middle of a swamp full of venomous tentaculas. No.”

“I’m not sure how I feel about using the cloak in the bedroom,” Harry mused. “I like looking at things too much.”

“Thank you,” Draco said. “Sensible.”

“Quit ducking,” Hermione said. “Sex. Do you want to?”

“Oh, probably,” Draco said. He looked nearly indifferent to the prospect, but Harry suspected that wasn’t actually the case.

Harry paused, considering. “Draco, your shoulders are one giant knot. Do you like that sort of thing? Someone fixing it, I mean?”

“Maybe,” Draco said, after a pause. “Hermione can never do anything about it, though.”

Hermione grinned. “Harry’s better with his hands.”

“Hermione’s better with her wand,” Harry said, keeping a straight face.

“Oh god,” Draco said, starting to laugh. “This is going to be exactly like being stuck on assignment with the two of you, isn’t it?”

“Possibly less Apparating into tentaculas?” Harry offered.

“Definitely fewer wailing ghosts,” Hermione said. “Maybe a bit like a stakeout.”

“Well, now we’ve got a significantly better way of killing time on those,” Harry said.

“Never mind, I don’t think I’m unsure anymore, now I’m just inclined to start drinking heavily,” Draco said.

“Prat,” Harry said, shoving on his shoulder and putting a hand to the back of his neck with a grin.

“Don’t you dare –“ Draco started, but Harry flipped him anyway, laughing.

“I think that throw is literally in the playbook,” Hermione said. “You probably should have countered if you didn’t want him to do it.”

“I thought it went without saying that the Auror dueling playbook didn’t belong in the bedroom,” Draco said, but he was laughing too.

“You did get me last night,” Harry pointed out, dryly. “I sort of think Hermione’s been enjoying watching us try to kill each other in the dueling room.” He slid his hands to Draco’s shoulders, starting to press his thumbs in against the base of his neck.

“Guilty as charged,” Hermione said.

“How long, exactly, were you refusing to think this whole thing through?” Harry said – nearly his entire grip strength was barely enough to make a dent, Draco’s shoulders were so tense.

“A while,” he said. “It’s not as if –“ Harry hadn’t really thought he was getting anywhere, but Draco made a low noise.

“I might not hate that,” he said, after another minute.

“Good, I probably ought to have tried it months ago,” Harry said. “Your back is a mess. I’m not even sure this counts as foreplay.”

“Yes,” Draco said. “Wait, no.” He made another noise. “I don’t know, whichever answer means that you don’t stop and that I like it.”

“Mm,” Harry said, considering.

“You do realize you’re looking at him the way you look at particularly recalcitrant snitches, Harry,” Hermione said. “Draco’s held together entirely on stress and adrenaline, didn’t you realize?” She had a hand pressed to her mouth, and Harry realized she was trying not to laugh.

“Shut it and go find me some lotion,” Harry said. “Might help.”

“Here,” Hermione said, tossing him a bottle. “If you decide to go back to foreplay at some point, that might help your cause.”

“He doesn’t need help,” Draco said, glancing over his shoulder at Harry. “Although if you make this any better, I’m going to start claiming it’s better than sex, and Hermione will be put out.”

Hermione snorted. “I think I’d just be concerned about the level of enthusiasm when he actually gets around to fucking you, I may have to double up on silencing charms to spare the neighbors.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Harry said. It wasn’t lotion, exactly, and Harry caught Hermione’s point, but it worked perfectly well since he did, in fact, want less friction. And he was reasonably certain she’d managed to work warming charms in somehow.

Harry was sort of happy to be able to work with his hands, and a few minutes later, he realized Hermione was watching Draco, who looked nearly asleep.

“Hey,” Harry said, poking his side. “None of that.”

“He’s not –“ Hermione started.

“Oh, yes, all of that,” Draco said, and Harry very suddenly found himself flipped and pinned. He suspected he might need to get used to it.

“I appreciate the effort,” Draco said, looking at his mouth. “Really, I do. Only now you’ve gone and turned me on and that wasn’t actually better than sex, come to think of it.”

“Probably not,” Harry agreed, wrapping a hand around the back of Draco’s neck as he pulled him down to kiss him. “Do you know what you want?”

“You,” Draco said, simply, and somehow, it wasn’t as flip as Harry would have expected.

Harry kissed him hard again, but he drew back a moment later, wrapping a hand around Draco’s hip. “I’m not having some idiotic sexuality crisis and I do know the theoretical part, but I think I’d be a little remiss not to ask for some sort of instruction here, since you’ve done this before.”

“Trouble,” Draco said, but he sounded amused. “It’s not all that hard, she figured it out perfectly well.”

“I think that you may be underestimating Hermione or overestimating me, although I’ll take that mental image,” Harry said, but Draco kissed him again and he stopped wanting to talk about anything.

“It’s easier to walk you through it in the middle than at the start, is my point,” Draco said against his mouth. “Just don’t get too rough.”

“To start, anyway,” Hermione said.

“I’ll absolutely curse you sideways if you’re uncomfortable and you don’t say so,” Harry warned. “Understood?”

“House rule,” Draco said, firmly. “Don’t worry about that one.”

“We might have to stop kissing,” Harry said, a moment later, but he stroked his hands up Draco’s back, exploring, and leaned up to catch his mouth again. He didn’t entirely want to stop.

“Probably,” Draco agreed, but he kissed him back, hungry and warm all at once. It was very different than kissing Hermione, but Harry realized abruptly that, apparently, she and Draco had been kissing for long enough that they kissed the same way when they weren’t focusing.

“Draco,” Harry said, and Draco pulled back for a moment to look at him.

“Yes?” Draco said, roughly, and that wasn’t flip either.

“Turn over,” Harry suggested.

Hermione settled a hand against the base of Draco’s neck, and when he shifted off Harry, she leaned in to kiss him.

“I haven’t forgotten you’re there, you know,” Draco murmured.

“I do know, actually,” Hermione said, with a smile. “It’s a little strange, honestly, but not…” She glanced at Harry. “It’s not anything I wouldn’t be perfectly happy to keep doing every morning for the rest of my life.”

“Would you blame me if I said I thought I might be able to get used to this?” Draco said, quietly.

“No,” Hermione said, kissing him again. “And Harry won’t either.”

Harry kicked off his boxers, leaning to kiss Draco’s shoulder, fitting close behind him. “I’d like that, actually,” he said.

“You’ve gone over all serious,” Hermione said, reaching to brush a thumb over Draco’s cheekbone. “I’m going to be very disappointed if you don’t enjoy yourself.”

Draco laughed, leaning into her touch. “I’m all right,” he said, then paused, as if he’d startled himself. “I just don’t really feel as if I have to laugh the whole thing off to be all right with it.”

“No,” Harry agreed, nuzzling the curve of his neck. “But you do have to come here.”

“I think I can manage that,” Draco said, settling on his stomach. Hermione reached, pulling his boxers off his hips, and Draco gave her a look and got the rest of the way out of them.

Harry ran his fingertips down Draco’s spine, making it obvious where he was at, because it didn’t take that much to realize that Draco was still tense. He pressed kisses across his shoulder blades and made sure he had poured out enough oil that it was likely to make things easy.

“I’m just going to –“ Harry murmured, keeping his hands on Draco the whole way, and Draco made a low, satisfied noise when Harry pressed two fingers into him, stroking in far enough that he could be sure Draco wasn’t going to hate anything later. He kept his free hand against the small of Draco’s back as he poured more oil, working it into him, and Draco paused.

“I’m not made of eggshells, you know,” he said.

“No, but you’re mine,” Harry said, leaning to kiss the back of his neck. “And I’m not careless with that.”

Draco stilled for a moment, then sighed. “You just say things like that,” he said.

“Mm,” Harry agreed. “I typically get away with it because I mean them.”

“It’s –“ Draco said. “When I’m ludicrously, stupidly in over my head with you, which will probably be by this afternoon, you’ve only got yourself to blame.”

“He just does that,” Hermione said.

“I’d noticed,” Draco said. He was looking rather intently at Hermione. “Or maybe I hadn’t, I –“

“I know how it goes,” Hermione said, fondly. “You only mean to let yourself like him a little, only then you realize that a little isn’t enough and you want all of him.”

“Something like that,” Draco said, glancing over his shoulder at Harry.

“That’s hardly a one way street,” Harry said, stroking a palm up Draco’s back.

“No,” Draco agreed, looking almost surprised. “I suppose it’s not.”

Harry considered. “Given that we’re actually having sex and not in someone’s head, isn’t there theoretically supposed to be some sort of conversation about that? Not that I think contraceptives entirely apply to this bit.”

“Both of us got every health test in the book before we stopped using condoms, since one of us slept with half of London prior to getting married,” Hermione said, amused. “And I happen to know you did the same thing for less appealing reasons.”

“Not half, that’s a ludicrous exaggeration,” Draco said. “Maybe a third.”

Hermione laughed, kissing Harry over Draco’s shoulder. “I appreciate you asking, but neither of us has been with anyone since we got together. He keeps slipping veritaserum in his tea to prove it to me, though I don’t actually have concerns on that front.”

“I somehow think Draco would have noticed while reorganizing my head if I had some sort of sordid sexual history,” Harry said, wryly. “And I’d probably be less nervous.”

“Oh, stop that,” Draco said, stretching in what Harry thought was a rather obvious ploy, but it made him swallow.

“You know, I’d ordinarily argue that there ought to be some sort of trust level inherent in relationships before you have unprotected sex,” Hermione said, and Harry looked up to realize she was trying hard not to laugh.

“He’s sewn up my liver, I’m not entirely worried that he’s lying about sleeping with other people,” Draco said. “Quit stalling, Potter. And you, quit distracting him because you’re not sure how you’re going to feel about it, I let it go last night.”

Harry stretched out next to Draco, close enough that he could kiss him. “Exactly one more thing,” he said. “Do you really want my shields down?”

Draco nudged his nose against Harry’s. “No,” he said. “I thought I’d want it, but I don’t need it. I’d rather just have sex.”

“Oh, just,” Harry said, but he smiled against Draco’s mouth. “Well. Talk me through the middle?”

“It’s still sex,” Draco said, amused. He shifted, getting on his hands and knees. “Really.”

“In that case, I’m tired of talking,” Harry said.

He settled his hands on Draco’s hips, pushing into him, and bit down on his lip to keep from swearing, because he hadn’t expected it to be like this. It had been good, with Hermione, warm and familiar, but it also hadn’t felt real. It hadn’t been his body, hadn’t been their bedroom with all the things that had become so familiar. It hadn’t been home. And Harry had never wanted anyone new like this, desire in the pit of his stomach but everywhere else too, until he realized his grip was nearly hard enough to leave bruises.

“What I said about control –“ he said, hoarsely, and Draco made a noise that was closer to a growl than anything else.

“Move,” he said. “Now.”

Draco hadn’t been wrong that it was still sex, but it was utterly different, somehow, because Harry wanted to take things. He wanted to grab the whole of what Draco was offering and sink his teeth into it. He’d wanted to be careful because it had felt like it might be fragile, but then it wasn’t like that at all, or at least not the way he’d thought it would be. He slid a hand to the base of Draco’s neck for leverage, letting himself thrust harder than he’d meant to. Draco arched his back and pushed back against him, and there was something in all of it that Harry had needed from him without ever realizing it.

It was easier to fuck him hard than Harry had thought it might be, until he was panting and Draco was cursing under his breath. His hands were so tight against the headboard that Harry wondered if it would leave a mark. He couldn’t see his face, and he’d thought that might be strange, but it wasn’t. He knew every inch of Draco, from the faint scars across his back to the elegant curve of his shoulders, and there was no mistaking him for something else. It was personal, in a way that sex never had been for him, not really.

“Harry,” Draco said, rough around the edges, and Harry readjusted to wrap a hand around his cock, changing the angle so he could thrust in deeper. He stroked hard, keeping his grip firm, and Draco swore again.

“I –“ he said. “I can’t –“ and Harry leaned to bite hard at the curve of his shoulder, pulling him closer, then kissed where he’d bitten, open-mouthed and warm.

He wasn’t entirely surprised that Draco came a moment later, tight around him, and he was almost relieved when it pushed him over, because the fierce, savage need of it all was nearly too much.

He rolled off, trying to catch his breath, but Draco grabbed him and kissed him hard, heated and open but still almost wild. Harry fisted a hand in his hair and kept him there, kissing him back until his heart stopped pounding, although he still couldn’t seem to catch his breath.

“God,” Draco said, finally, and Harry laughed against his mouth.

“If I had to pick an emotion,” he said. “Would happy be a bad one?”

“No,” Draco said, propping his face on one hand, just watching him. He was still breathing hard too. “Although I think I’d choose startled.”

“I don’t actually think you are,” Hermione said, rolling behind Draco to press a kiss to his neck. “You know him.”

“Now I do,” Draco said. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I had thought about this, before we started working together, and I’d never have thought it would be like that.”

“Meaning?” Harry said.

“With people you don’t trust,” Draco said, thoughtfully, “you never let on to anyone that you’re anything short of a bloody force of nature.”

“I thought we’d cleared that up,” Harry said, finally, quietly. “I can assure you, that wasn’t meant to be cold.”

“That’s not what I meant at all,” Draco said, the corner of his mouth pulling up. “You occasionally knock me off my feet with sheer presence and how fond you seem to be of me. I never used to think I’d like you, but as it turns out, I do. That’s all.”

Harry met his eyes, then finally laughed. “When you dive for the snitch, why do you do it?”

“What’s that got to do with it?” Draco said.

“Go with it,” Harry said.

“Because it’s near the ground?” Draco said, finally.

“I like the free fall,” Harry said, quietly. “Getting to know you has been sort of like that.”

“Oh,” Draco said, considering. “When I’m in your head, how does it feel, exactly?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said. “More organized. Like I’ve got more room to breathe. And it’s like that after you touch things, too, I can wrap my head around memories that I don’t like much without them feeling utterly overwhelming.”

Draco laughed, softly. “You make me feel sort of reckless,” he said. “I suppose that might say something about what we are to one another. It’s a bit like having a counterweight.”

“What you said, earlier –“ Harry said. “About not noticing…”

“I knew things had changed when I felt like I wanted to get closer to you,” Draco said, looking faintly amused. “I just didn’t think they’d changed as much as that. And I’m not usually so caught off guard.”

“He means he expects me to see everything coming when he does things, and then he’s rather put out when I don’t,” Hermione said.

“I’m used to it,” Draco said, laughing. “It’s quite shocking when it doesn’t happen, though I suppose you were a bit distracted.”

“Oh, a little,” Hermione said. “He’s trouble like that.”

Draco considered, cupping her face in his hands so he could kiss her again. “It’s sort of better in the real world, I think, if you want to try it.”

Hermione laughed. “Draco,” she said, fondly. “I like sex, but it’s hardly the be all and end all of things. I’ve been up since four and it’s still very early, I’d rather sleep.”

“I don’t think anyone’s really slept in a while,” Harry said. “I’d sort of have to be dead to turn you down, but this is a subtle hint that not asking until I’ve slept would probably be best for all involved. Although, er –“ He paused. “Apparently when I’m distracted by sex, I forget to go to work. Damn, do we have to go in? Later, I mean, I bloody well hope no one expects us to be there at seven-something on a Saturday.”

Hermione snorted. “Oh ye of little faith,” she said. “I owled Gabby last night while you two were snogging. They’re enthused enough about Pansy that they don’t mind two weekends in a row, apparently. Who’d have thought.”

“Absolutely no one,” Harry said. “But I’ll take it.”

“Good,” Draco said. “I don’t want to go to work. In fact, I have no intention of getting out of bed for the rest of the day. Possibly the rest of the weekend.”

“I think I might be able to live with that,” Harry said.

“As long as sleep is involved at least some of the time,” Hermione said. “And food, probably.”

Draco reached up to pull the tie on Hermione’s dressing gown, grinning up at her. “If the rest of us aren’t putting clothes back on, you’re not allowed any either. Take that off. We’ll keep you warm.”

“What am I going to do with you?” she said, but let him push her robe back off her shoulders and pulled her jumper over her head before climbing over him to take the middle.

“Hey,” Harry protested. “I was taking that spot.”

“You got to have sex with him and I didn’t,” Hermione said. “So it’s mine. Fair and square.”

“Oh, all right,” Harry said, amused. “Just this once.”

“We can do that later,” Draco said, yawning, and Harry reached to pull the quilt up, rearranging a pillow so he could bury his face against Hermione’s shoulder.

“Sleep tight or something,” he said.

“Love you,” Draco murmured, drowsily, and Harry realized that he hadn’t seemed to be directing it entirely at Hermione.

“Me too,” he said, suddenly exhausted, and was asleep before he could manage to think about anything else.

He woke up later – by the sun, it had to be early afternoon. Draco was still sound asleep, but the bedroom door was open and Crookshanks was gone, which meant that Hermione was probably downstairs. He pulled on a pair of pyjama bottoms – it was sort of nice to find them in the closet, if he was thinking about it – and went downstairs.

“Oh, tea,” he said, gratefully, finding a mug. Hermione had been reading at the kitchen table, and she looked up when he came into the kitchen.

“I was wondering if you were going to sleep past dinner,” she said.

“I won’t be surprised if Draco does,” Harry said, yawning. He found milk and sugar, sitting down across from her. “I don’t think he’s been sleeping well.”

“I don’t think he’s been sleeping at all,” Hermione said. “I did sort of wonder that he was reading every single time I’ve woken up for the last few days.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, nudging her knee with his. “I sort of don’t want to talk about anything. Do you think that’s awful?”

“Not really,” Hermione said, with a smile. “Honestly, it’s old hat for us.”

“Maybe not that unexciting,” Harry said.

“No, but we’ve known each other for twenty years,” she said. “I thought about it while you were asleep. If we haven’t said it already at some point, it’s probably not worth saying.” She propped her chin in her hand. “Compared to everything, Harry, sex isn’t all that important.”

“Probably not,” he agreed. “It’s not absolutely nothing, though.”

“No, it’s about like twenty Christmases in a row,” Hermione said, laughing softly.

“A little,” Harry said. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice. Before now.”

“I’m not, actually,” Hermione said. “I’m happy with my life. It wouldn’t be exactly the way it is if we’d gotten our act together years ago, so it’s a little hard to feel sentimental about it.”

“Oh, all right,” Harry said. “I suppose the reward for being oblivious is upstairs in bed.”

“He is,” Hermione said, fondly.

“I don’t really think we should wake him,” Harry said. “But I’ve got the second half of that stupid rare ghost handbook to give editorial comments on, and you’re reading –“ He laughed. “A book. As always. We might as well take all that and the tea upstairs.”

“That thing’s saved us repeatedly in the last week, you ought to be thanking Tiller for begging for your feedback,” Hermione said. “And it’s Jane Austen, actually.”

“Oh, romance novels I have read,” Harry teased. “And hated.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Only you would fail to appreciate Sense and Sensibility,” she said.

“Er, no, not that one,” Harry said. “I did read the other, though. Maybe that’s the sequel.”

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said, fondly. “I don’t suppose I ought to tell you that she wrote more than two books.”

“Don’t ruin it for me,” Harry said. “I was pretending it was just the one.”

“Only the two and some novellas,” Hermione said, straight-faced. “Really. Not to worry.”

“Liar. Just don’t make me read them,” Harry warned, offering her a hand. “Upstairs?”

“By all means, back to the wayward third musketeer,” Hermione said, laughing.

“I did like that one,” Harry said. “Quite a bit, actually.”

“Maybe when you’re done with that ghost report,” Hermione said, leaving her hand in his as she pulled him out of the kitchen.

“There’ll just be another,” Harry said. “But that’s all right.”

“I think it all might be, yes,” Hermione said, with a bright smile over her shoulder, and Harry followed her up the stairs.