At breakfast the next day, Harry is back to shamelessly seeking out that blond hair. He’s relieved to see Draco at the Slytherin table, looking well and talking with some of the seventh years. He’s so engrossed that he doesn’t notice the girl behind him, not until Ron elbows him quite harshly in the stomach.

“Oof!” he exclaims, at the same time a quiet, lilting voice says, “Harry?”

Harrypletely ets about glaring at Ron and whips around in surprise.

A girl, tall and with brown hair falling down to her waist in soft curls, looks at him nervously. Around them, the people nearest are starting to whisper, watching with bated breath and wondering why a Slytherin would talk to Harry Potter.

“Hi, I’m Astoria.”

Harry knows. He glares at the fourth year Ravenclaws on the other table whispering just a tad bit too loudly. With a sigh, he turns back to Astoria. “Hi, Astoria. You’re Daphne’s sister.”

Astoria relaxes, knowing that she doesn’t have to introduce herself after all. “Yes.” She glances at Harry’s already empty plate. “If it’s alright, can I talk with you?”

He glances at Ron beside him, who just shrugs before returning to his breakfast, and then at Hermione across from him, who smiles at Astoria in greeting, before turning to Harry and nudging her chin towards the door. “Go on, then. We’ll save you a seat in Professor Slughorn’s class.”

Harry smiles at her gratefully. He stands up and motions towards the door. There are too many people watching here. He hates it. “Mind if we take a walk?”

Harry already knows what they’re going to talk about. They walk out towards the entrance courtyard, but there are still students milling around, killing time before their first class, and so they walk towards the boathouse instead.

Astoria ploughs on without preamble. “Draco told me about what happened last night.”

Harry doesn’t know what to feel with the knowledge of Draco and Astoria being close enough that she can call him by his first name and that he had already told her of what had transpired last night. “Oh.”

Astoria smiles at his careful reply, and starts to explain. “I mean, I’ve been trying to help him. We’ve known each other since childhood, you see. Our mothers visited each other a lot. Narcissa told me what happened to him in…” Here, she frowns, looking down at her hands clasped in front of her. With a sad look on her face, she turns back to Harry. “She asked me to help, but lately, it’s been getting worse, I think. And I can’t be there for him all the time. Especially during classes.”

Harry recalls that Astoria’s in sixth year.

It’s making sense now, then, the amount of time that she and Draco have been spending together. There’s a part of him that’s hurt, somehow, that Narcissa hadn’t asked him, which he desperately tries to squash down, because of course he wouldn’t have been able to help even if Narcissa had. Even though he and Draco are in the same year, they are still in different houses with different class schedules, and it’s not like they can very well eat together or spend time after curfew together.

And he is supposed to be happy that Draco has other people to talk to and watch over him. He is. He’s also just a bit…jealous.

They’re in the middle of the meadow now, and the boathouse can be seen in the horizon. Clouds litter the sky, floating gently with the wind. Sunlight filters through gaps between them, bathing everything in a magical sort of glow, like a dream.

He looks at Astoria, at her big, grey eyes, her long eyelashes, and the way her hair curls against her high cheekbones. Not for the first time, he thinks, Wow, she’s pretty.

Astoria stops abruptly, turns to him, and says, “But he told me about what you did for him.”

Harry scrunches his eyebrows in confusion. “What I did?”

Astoria nods. “How you tried to help him back in the summer.” Pink dusts her cheeks, and she shakes her head. “I’m sorry, we weren’t gossiping or anything—”

Harry is quick to assure her. “Oh, no, I didn’t think that.”

Again, Astoria visibly relaxes. Harry wonders just how nervous she was beforeing up to him.

“He actually didn’t want to tell me anything at first. I was the one who insisted. It helps, you see. He likes talking about you.” Here, she smiles at him, but it looks sad.

He stares at her, unsure of what to make of her words and her expression.

“It keeps him awake. I mean. Awake awake.”

“I…don’t understand what you’re getting at, Astoria.”

“Help him. Please.”

And then it clicks. Why Astoria’s sad smile looks so familiar.

He’s seen it on himself.

He blurts out, “You like Malfoy, don’t you?”

As soon as the words are out, he immediately regrets it, because it’s inappropriate, insensitive, and Hermione and Ginny are both going to kill him when they find out.

But Astoria just laughs at his obvious horror, and though her cheeks are flushed with embarrassment, the sadness on her face is gone. “Is it that obvious?” She lets out a few more chuckles, unable to help herself. “But it’s okay. I know he already likes somebody else.”

This time, Harry manages to stop the “Who?” from slipping past his lips. He thinks the shock of the pain at knowing that Draco likes somebody else helped. He doesn’t even know why it still hurts, because up until a minute ago, he had thought that that somebody else was Astoria—

Astoria who has now gone quiet and is looking at him as if she’s trying to figure something out.

“You’re nice, Harry. I was prepared for you not wanting to talk to me.”

Harry frowns at her. “Why would I do that?” he asks incredulously, but he already knows why.

“Because I’m a Slytherin.”

“You did nothing wrong,” he says firmly. He thinks of Draco, Narcissa, and Severus Snape. “Slytherins are some of the bravest people I know.”

Finally, she smiles again, real and genuine, one that reaches her eyes. “You’re nice,” she says once more. “I think I understand Draco a bit more now.”

That night, when dinner has been eaten and students have returned to their respective dorm rooms, Harry rummages through his trunk for the Map and the Invisibility Cloak.

Ron throws something at his head.

“Hey!” Harry exclaims, glaring. He grabs the offending object and is surprised to see that it’s a chocolate frog, sitting still and pretty inside its shiny box.

Ron throws something at him again.

Fast Seeker reflexes have him catching it with ease, and he stares at it in bewilderment. It’s another chocolate frog.

Ron looks away, ears red and muttering, “Give the other one to Malfoy. Merlin knows he needs more fat under those robes of his.”

Harry beams at him.

Draco jumps and stands up from his bed when he enters, and Harry remembers that oh, right, he’s invisible. He takes off the cloak, and smiles sheepishly in greeting.

Draco stares at him dumbly. “I thought you weren’t going toe.”

Harry dumps his cloak on the other bed, and rummages through his robe pockets. “You told me toe.”

“I know. But you didn’t…have to.”

“I wanted to. Here, catch.” He throws the chocolate frog and is not surprised when Draco catches it easily. He grins. “Ron told me to give it to you.”

Draco is still staring, but now it’s towards the frog. “Why?”

“For you to eat it, of course.” Harry resists the urge to roll his eyes. He’s starting to think that all of Draco’s bravado is just a ploy to hide how truly bashful he is. Bashful and Draco Malfoy. Now that’s something that doesn’t go together. “I also swiped some treacle tart from the kitchen.”

“You what?”

He takes a miniature, balled piece of cloth from his pocket, puts it carefully on Draco’s desk, and spells it back to its original size. He unties the knot of the cloth, and immediately, a scent of lemon fills the room.

“Treacle tart. It’s my favourite,” he said, rummaging through his pocket yet again. He produces two forks, and offers one to Draco. “Though you’ve probably already guessed.”

Draco eyes the fork suspiciously, but he takes it anyway. “It’s rather hard to miss.”

“I got some extra for you.”

“Extra? You stole a whole tart.”

“Stole is a very strong word.”

Draco shakes his head in disbelief. He’s still staring at Harry and the tart like they’re going to jump at him. “You and your sweet tooth will one day be the death of you, Potter.”

Harry grins. He missed this—this light, easy banter. He pulls up Draco’s chair and sits himself downfortably. He likes talking about you, Astoria had said. He looks at the treacle tart, and thinks that it’s time for a story.

“I never had any sweets as a child. The most I’ve eaten was the crumbs of chocolate cake I swiped off my cousin’s plate while I was washing it. That probably explains why I’m such a glutton for it now.”

It works. The suspicion is still on Draco’s face, like he’s wondering why Harry’s suddenly so talkative, but it’s mixed with a sudden curiosity. “Is that why you feel the need to bury your face in chocolate frogs after every meal?”

“Exactly. You’re catching on.”

“That also explains why everything you wore hung off you when we were first years.”

Harry snorts, tearing off a chunk of tart with his fork. “Anybody whose clothes hang off him now isn’t allowed to talk big.” He shoves the tart towards Draco’s mouth, fully expecting him to turn away. To his surprise, Draco takes the fork, cleans it free of tart, and gives it back to Harry.

Harry doesn’t even bother to hide his grin.

Draco rolls his eyes and sits down on the edge of his bed. He pulls the plate closer towards him. “Distracting me with childhood stories in a bid to make me fat, are you?”

“Eating well-rounded meals in regular intervals in a day isn’t going to make you fat. But I do hope that the childhood stories are working.”

“It is. Do tell me more about this cousin of yours.”

And it’s just like before. Time spent together in easypany and conversation. It bes a nightly thing, Harry quietly slipping in after dinner and slipping out just before midnight. Draco asks him toe back, every time, which doesn’t really make a difference because Harry’s still going toe back anyway. He thinks Draco just likes the assurance.

By now, he had fully taken over Goyle’s bed as his. It’s as messy as his own bed back in Gryffindor Tower, sheets rumpled and pillows skewed sideways. Sometimes, he ets some of his things, a quill here and a Merlin card gotten from a chocolate frog box there, and these are the things that upy the bed when he’s gone.

Back in the summer, it had been breakfasts, and now it’s late night snacks.

He swipes whatever he can from the kitchens—scones, chicken pot pie, sandwiches. His friends had been very supportive, as well. Ron continues his supply of chocolate frogs, Ginny gives some Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans once in a while, and Hermione provides him a weekly task list, because “I fully support whatever’s making you happy, Harry, but I do hope the two of you aren’t etting your homework?”

He thinks he should be embarrassed that his friends know what’s going on between him and Draco. Or that they know that nothing’s going on, but they’re helping an

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