Now that he had the answer, the day suddenly felt a lot more precious.
He collected George and Draco's memories from the Pensieve and meandered back through the corridors, passing festively decorated knights and the disembodied giggles of Peeves somewhere in the walls, not really thinking about anything. Deliberately not thinking about anything. Because now that it was all poised on the edge of return, Harry realised that he would have to, well, return.
He'd have to deal with the Ministry, and he'd have to make a decision about the Aurors...
...and there was Draco. Suddenly, this thing with Draco felt a lot more terrifying, now that he had the possibility of screwing it all up. Inside this little bubble, it had been safe and untouchable. A strange kind of dream, pleasant enough to keep him going, but destined to burst in the real world.
Now, he had to make it work, because the thought of losing what they'd had... it was unbearable. And not just for him, apparently, although he still didn't quite know what that meant.
Peeves soared overhead, and Harry only had the warning of a nearby portrait yelling "Duck, good sir!" to help him avoid the table Peeves sent soaring down the corridor like a bowling ball.
Okay, so, maybe Harry wasn't doing a great job of not thinking.
He stopped, squinting back at the debris behind him and forcing himself to actually face the issue head on. If this was his last go at December 25th, 1998, what did he want to do?
"Hagrid," Harry said firmly to himself.
Peeves's voice carried delightedly from the end of the corridor, along with the sounds of more furniture smashing in time with a singsong tune.
Potter, the rotter, he's done it again
Ruined the timeline and boggled his brain
Babbling and prattling with no one around
Little wee Potter, he's had a breakdown
"I have not 'boggled my brain'," Harry muttered indignantly, talking to himself once more and probably proving the point. He couldn't, in fairness, argue the breakdown accusation, but he'd damn well earned that breakdown and he planned to own it with pride, Peeves or no Peeves.
He raised his voice, irritated. "It's ending tonight, Peeves. So don't smash anything you don't want to stay broken, this time!"
There was a thoughtful pause, and then the biggest crash Harry had ever heard, followed by giggling. Harry considered his options as a mature, competent wizard who had defeated the Dark Lord, and ran.
*
It didn't take much to convince the Weasleys and Grangers to visit Hagrid. Ron and Hermione were delighted, and even George brightened, saying he hadn't seen Hagrid in forever. When they'd finished breakfast, they collected their presents from upstairs and began making their way across the grounds towards Hagrid's hut. Smoke curled cheerily towards the sky, and Harry imagined Hagrid inside, holding a steaming mug of tea and watching his Parrot Doxies fly beyond the window.
Harry didn't realise he was smiling until Hermione nudged him. He looked up to find her face flushed with laughter, nose pink and her eyes bright.
"You look happy," she said, clearly waiting to find out why.
"Just thinking of Hagrid," he said honestly. "It'll be good to see him again."
Hermione studied him for a moment longer, and then slung her arm over his waist and brought him into a half-hug. He laughed, stumbling into her as Mr Weasley knocked sharply on Hagrid's front door.
"Jus' a minute!" came Hagrid's voice from inside.
"What's that for?" Harry asked quietly, still laughing.
"It's good to see you happy," Hermione whispered, and then Hagrid threw the door open to a chorus of, "Happy Christmas, Hagrid!" from everyone, and there was no more time for smaller conversations.
It was just as good as the first time. Actually, somehow, it was better. The Weasleys chatted away with each other and Hagrid, sending presents swooping from a bag Mrs Weasley had brought with her to distribute themselves in everyone's lap. Hagrid's rock cakes appeared immediately, and after a hesitant pause whereby no one thought to warn the Grangers, who bit in with relish, much to the confusion of Arthur—"do den-tists have much stronger teeth, then?"—Harry took pity on them all.
"Is it a new recipe, Hagrid?" he asked, biting into a rock cake and chewing happily, all his teeth intact.
"I' is!" Hagrid exclaimed, launching into what he'd done to soften the caramel and counter the density of the flour he used.
Soon, the hut was filled with the sounds of contended chewing, sips of warm tea, and unwrapping of final presents.
"Now, I do 'ave something for you lot," Hagrid said, leaning back in his chair with a sigh. "But it might no' be ready today."
"That's alright," Hermione said, eyeing off the rock cakes and deliberately selecting another. "You don't need to get us anything."
Hagrid's eyes bugged out of his skull. "Don' need to— Come off it!" he snorted, shaking his head and taking an indignant gulp of his tea.
"Hey, what's that?" Ron asked, pointing up at the ceiling.
Everyone's heads tipped back. Harry frowned, studying the brightly coloured object with confusion. It looked like a gem, almost. But it was kind of... fluid?
"Ah!" Hagrid exclaimed, leaping up and nearly sending the table flying. "Tha's your present!" With delight and careful precision, he extracted the objects one by one from the rafters. "Cheeky sods, they went an' did their shed in the ceiling."
"What are they?" Hermione asked, eyes wide as she studied the objects. They really did look like gems, but the shape shifted like water, becoming a feather, and then a scale, and then something that looked more like a flower petal.
"Parrot Doxies!" Arthur breathed. "How'd you get them, Hagrid?"
"Found a nest out in the forest," Hagrid said proudly. "Go on, you three. Take your pick. They make brillian' lamp shades—I bet 'ermione will work out how quite quickly."
Hermione already looked delighted by the puzzle, her fingers visibly itching to get to a book on Parrot Doxies, but for now they each just carefully divided the feathers into three piles and packed them away with their other presents.
"I wasn't expectin' all the company, I 'ave to admit," Hagrid said sheepishly. "So, there's not much else... But I've got a fresh batch of rock cakes?"
*
The rock cakes were accepted with fervour, and a near fist fight as Molly eyed off the last ones with Mrs Granger. And then they were parting ways to get ready for the Ball, Harry giving Hagrid another fierce hug and promising to come visit again soon.
As they trudged back up to the castle, Harry drew George aside.
"Hey," he said carefully. "I've got something to tell you all, but I think I need to tell you first."
George's eyes widened. "I'm all ears, Harry," he said seriously. Then he waggled his good ear with one finger. "Well, mostly."
Harry grinned. "Okay, this is going to sound mad, but bear with me. I've been stuck in a time loop for over a week now."
George's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. "You're joking."
"Sadly no. But I know how to end it, so today's the last day. I just... You fancy Pansy Parkinson now."
The sight of George Weasley stunned into silence was a memory Harry would treasure until his deathbed. George gaped at him several times, before finally squeaking, "Parkinson Parkinson, you mean? Like, from the family of Parkinsons? A long line of Parkinsons, one after the other, ending in Pansy? That Pansy Parkinson?"
Harry laughed. "The very same. Here." He reached into his pocket and withdrew the vial he'd collected this morning. "It's not my memory—it's yours. I haven't watched it; I was just keeping it for you. There's a—you know what, it's a long story, I'll tell you when we're not standing in snow."
George took the vial cautiously. The memory slid around inside, viscous and shimmering. Then he withdrew his wand and tapped on it. "If it's my memory, it should just go right in," he said thoughtfully, right before he drew the silvery thread free and placed it on his head.
For a moment nothing happened apart from his eyes turning slightly distant and a furrow appearing in his brow. Then he stopped, shaking his head as if emerging from underwater. When he turned to Harry, his eyes glistened, and Harry knew the memory must have contained all of last night.
"Harry," George said, his voice a broken whisper.
Then he was hugging Harry. His arms were fiercely tight, squeezing Harry so hard he thought George must be trying to compete with Hagrid, but Harry hugged him back just as fiercely, more relieved than he could say that the loop would end tonight and this would be the memory they got to keep.
"Thanks, mate," George whispered, clapping him on the back and pulling away. He wiped his eye with his sleeve, turning back to the castle where Ron and Hermione were watching them in confusion. "Blimey though, you've had a right old time of it."
"Tell me about it," Harry said with a groan.
"But you and Malfoy, hey?" George grinned slyly, deliberately lifting his voice before adding in a whisper, "I saw the way you looked at each other last night."
Ron's eyes widened.
"Hey!" Harry hissed, flinching. "Not yet! He doesn't—no!"
"Who doesn't?" Ron squeaked. "What? Malfoy—really?"
"Maybe," Harry said, closing his eyes and wondering if one more cheeky loop around the clock would be acceptable.
It really wouldn't.
He sighed. "Yes, I hope, anyway."
George nudged him. "Fred and I had a bet, you know," he said, eyes glittering. Then he turned his gaze to the heavens and sighed dramatically. "That's ten Galleons, you owe me, Fred. Keep 'em waiting for me."
Ron's face softened, and he linked arms with George as they walked inside.
"So, Fred didn't think it was... true?" Harry asked, not sure how he felt about someone betting against him and Draco. It felt like a bad omen, and he'd had enough of them.
"Oh, no. He just bet you'd have grey hairs and a beard down to your bum before you finally realised. I had more faith in your star-crossed love than that, Harry, don't you worry."
*
The day passed in a pleasant haze. Harry still didn't love seeing the castle's occupants in their various displays of deliberate ignorance, but he was okay sitting with that discomfort. It didn't bubble up out of him like it had the first time, and he didn't take it out on his friends. They sat in the common room, eating chocolates and swapping stories from the year until it was time to get ready.
Suddenly, Harry felt nervous.
This would be the first time he'd seen Draco this time around. He knew, of course, that things between them heated up pretty quickly, if given the opportunity to do so. He wasn't worried about that.
What worried him was the question of how Draco would react to the loop, and the fact that they'd done this more times than Draco would ever remember. Even with the memory Harry had stored for him—which still made Harry shiver with longing whenever he thought about it—would he be content knowing that Harry had experienced more of their relationship than he had?
Did he even want a relationship? Harry thought he might, judging by that memory, but it hadn't been said out loud yet... and Harry did. He wanted it more than he could have imagined wanting anything. The thought of it filled him, consumed him, carrying with it memories of Draco's lips on his and the fierce light in his eyes whenever he gave himself over to something important. Something like—against all conceivable odds—Harry.
And Draco didn't remember any of it.
Swallowing down the lump of sadness and uncertainty—but not ignoring it—Harry got to his feet.
"I'm gonna go find McGonagall," he said to the others, who were just beginning to emerge from their post-lunch food comas by the fire, making their way to their various outfits and accessories that they'd strewn about the common room for ironing and polishing charms.
"That's the ticket, Harry," George said lazily. "You go get your man."
"Technically, I'm going to get your woman, first," Harry pointed out flatly, and then he escaped, leaving George to suffer Ron's fierce and joyful inquisition.
He sped through the castle, trying to think where the Headmistress might be right now.
She managed to find him first.
"Mr Potter," Professor McGonagall said, lifting a hand to catch his attention. "Just the person I wanted to see."
To Harry's surprise, Pansy was right beside her, and Draco not far behind. She must have been searching for him earlier, but he'd been hiding away in a snit every time. He glanced at Pansy, taking in the stiffness to her posture, the sneer on her lips, and he realised suddenly that he'd read it all wrong, that first night. She wasn't judging him; she was nervous.
Suddenly, it occurred to him what would be the best way to do this.
"Sorry, Professor, we went down to visit Hagrid." He stuck his hands in his pockets, trying to look curious instead of eager. He hoped it went right this time. "What is it?"
A smile twitched on Professor McGonagall's lips, but she, too, seemed uncertain. As though she knew what Harry's reaction would be, and she wasn't looking forward to it. "Miss Parkinson has found herself in the enviable position of bachelorette," she said lightly. "And as top scorer for the tournament, she requires someone with her when she enters the Ball. I wondered if you might do her the honour."
Harry smiled, and he didn't even find it difficult to make it genuine. Pansy's eyes widened in surprise, and even Professor McGonagall looked taken aback.
Draco, he noticed, stiffened.
"I'd love to, Professor," he said. "Although, I had asked George Weasley to come." He noticed Pansy's shoulders harden, her jaw pinching as she braced herself for rejection. He hurried along. "I know for a fact, though, that he'd love to escort her as well. So long as you don't mind having two dates, Pansy?"
Her eyes almost bugged out of her skull. Harry rather thought she looked lovely when she was surprised.
"Well," Professor McGonagall said, clasping her hands together and looking between the two of them with a smile. "That does sound enviable indeed. Miss Parkinson, I take it you have no objection?"
Pansy gaped, and then quickly covered it. "To coming in on the arms of two war heroes?" she said in a light drawl. "Of course not."
As the two of them continued down the corridor, now chatting about the opening dance and what steps it would follow, Draco lingered behind.
"What are you playing at, Potter?" he asked, eyes narrowed. "You better not hurt her, or I'll—"
"Relax, Malfoy," Harry said with an easy grin. "George fancies her. I'm setting them up."
Draco stopped mid-sentence. He blinked rapidly, opened his mouth, shut it, then tried again. "I'm sorry, I do believe I had a breakdown midway through that. What did you just say?"
Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm serious. George really likes her, and I know they'd be good together." He stepped forward, leaning in to breathe in Draco's ear, "Trust me."
He knew, logically, that Draco couldn't remember the time loop, but still, the shiver that went through him as he shut his eyes and listened to Harry's voice made Harry wonder. But then, maybe it was just him, just them—like it had always been, in every loop.
"Besides," Harry called over his shoulder as he walked away, "don't you want to see how we dance with two partners? It's worth it, I promise."
The look of intrigue and heat in Draco's eye almost made up for the fear in Harry's heart.
He didn't have much time after that for anything but getting ready. He wanted tonight to go well—for himself, for Pansy, and for Draco. Not to mention for all his friends. So, he spent time on his hair, and he changed his glasses. He let George tailor his dress robes at the waist and decorate them with a subtle inset of green thread, apparently bringing out his eyes, although he'd bet a good twenty Galleons that George was deliberately putting him in Slytherin colours. Harry even polished his shoes, and by the time he was ready, he had to admit, the effort had paid off.
"Whoa, Harry," Ron breathed when he stepped out of the bathroom. "You look great!"
"So do you," Harry said with an easy grin, clapping him on the back.
"What about me?" George said, a dramatically hurt expression on his face as he stepped out of the bathroom—looking magnificent in stylish grey dress robes tailored like a Muggle suit. "Not a word for your older brother. Typical jealousy. Younger siblings; you've all got it too good. In my day—"
Ron interrupted him with a whack on the shoulder, followed by a begrudging compliment, and they all set off downstairs for their dates.
Harry half wondered if Pansy wouldn't show. He'd surely worried her with his enthusiasm, and she'd had enough time to think it was a prank and back out. Honestly, who wouldn't think it was a prank? Harry would have.
But then they emerged the final steps to the Great Hall, and found Draco, Pansy, and Blaise waiting for them.
When Draco's eyes landed on Harry, Harry could actually see his breath catch in his throat, his chest stilling as that steel-coloured gaze fixated on him, roaming the length of his body before returning, like an arrow, to his face.
There was no denying the desire in his expression, no questioning it, but Harry never had. Not since this loop started. What he wanted to know was whether Draco wanted him as much as he wanted his body. Whether his desperation to end the loop had been out of a need for the safety that restoring the timeline would bring, or for the future... with Harry.
Swallowing thickly, Harry descended the final stairs, George at his side, and crooked his elbow to Pansy. "Ready to get your toes trodden on?" he asked with a grin.
A surprised laugh escaped her, and she held out her hand elegantly, folding her fingers over his wrist.
"Listen, Potter," she said awkwardly. "Harry... I wanted to say... I'm very sorry for what I said back then." She closed her eyes, wincing. "I was stupid. I thought it might save everyone—might save me—and I just... I was weak."
"Pansy," Harry said gently when she hadn't opened her eyes. She cracked one to watch him. "I'm not going to condemn you for being a coward."
She laughed nervously, watching him properly now.
"If you're truly sorry," he went on, "then I forgive you."
Her whole body relaxed. "Thank you," she whispered.
As if sensing the timing, George swooped in on her other side, breaking the moment perfectly. "Shall we do this then?" he said with a wink. "Just keep to my side of the floor. I'll keep your toes in one piece."
Pansy stared between the two of them, clearly not knowing what to say.
"Good show, Potter," Blaise said approvingly, relief in his voice that at least showed Harry he cared, and hadn't been glad that he couldn't escort Pansy himself.
When Harry looked up, he found Draco watching them, piercing grey eyes not having moved from Harry at all. As Harry stared at him, the corner of Draco's lips twitched, and he raised one eyebrow in a challenge. Not to be outdone, Harry winked, wiping the expression clean from Draco's face and leaving pure shock behind.
Then the music launched into their entry, and they all swept onto the floor.
The dance went much as it had the first time they'd both escorted Pansy, and despite everything Harry still hated about the Ball, his heart leaped at the sight of her smiling ecstatically, twirling between the two of them as George directed. Harry's role was more of a pillar, as he stayed mostly still and served as an anchor point for Pansy to spin from, and the effect was even better than the first time now that Harry had had practice.
Judging from the delighted expressions of the people watching, it was paying off.
And then the coloured bombs began to fall from George's pocket, and Harry couldn't stop laughing, pure delight filling him as Draco was suddenly whirled into his arms and a confused Blaise began to spin around with George, who appeared to be using a cackling Pansy as a maypole.
"What the bloody—" Draco spat, eyes wide, but Harry broke free of his pillar role and began to dance properly before Draco could complain.
Well, as properly as he could.
Draco quickly picked up the hint and began to lead. As equilibrium returned, Draco's gaze steadied on Harry. It was almost unnerving, having Draco's full attention, but it was also familiar. Harry wondered when he'd started taking it for granted.
"Well, this is unexpected," Draco murmured, spinning Harry out into a twist.
Somehow, between Draco's confidence in leading and Harry's surprise, they managed to land it gracefully. Draco smirked.
"Are you telling me you don't want to dance with me?" Harry asked, emboldened by something he couldn't name.
Draco's eyes flashed. "If that's what you want to believe," he said in a low voice.
"Not really," Harry confessed.
This time, when Draco's breath caught, Harry stumbled. It nearly sent them both into a freefall, but Draco slid his hands down to Harry's waist and caught him, turning them both in a clever jump that had someone cheering—Harry suspected George.
Draco licked his lips. "Actually, I hoped I'd find you tonight, Potter," he said carefully, reminding Harry that this was one secret he still hadn't uncovered.
"Oh?" he asked, a little breathless.
"Indeed."
The music faded to a stop, polite applause signalling an end to the opening sequence as the rest of the crowd poured onto the floor. Draco glanced beside them, then his eyes flicked back to Harry and he appeared to see him properly for the first time. His gaze raked over him, lingering especially on Harry's cheeks—which he knew were flushed—and his lips, which were parted in longing.
Draco smirked and began to back away. "But you'll have to wait to find out why."
And then he was gone, the last sight of him being a flash of grey silk and blond hair before the crowd engulfed him and he vanished.
Harry huffed a shaky laugh, running his hand through his hair and spinning around to find someone he knew. George, he noticed, was deep in conversation with Pansy, their heads bent in close together, and Ron and Hermione had only just joined the dance floor. He found Neville in the distance dancing with Ginny, who caught his eye and waved enthusiastically. Harry waved back, grinning, and then went to join Luna.
As he crossed the Ball, a familiar figure intercepted him.
"Harry," Kingsley said warmly. "Do you have a minute to chat?"
For a moment, dread consumed him, but then Harry shook it off. He'd had quite enough of caving to the Ministry's bullying tendencies.
Pasting on a firm, fierce smile, Harry shook his head. "Not tonight, Minister. I'm here to enjoy myself, but if you'd like to talk business this week, I can hear what you have to say during work hours."
Kingsley blinked, and then an approving smile crept onto his face. Harry knew it was because he thought Harry would make a fine figurehead—sorry, Minister—but he had a sneaking suspicion that the idea forming in his mind would go down just as well. So long as he presented it in the right way.
"Of course," Kingsley said, inclining his head. "Enjoy your evening."
Harry breathed a sigh of relief and hurried to Luna's side.
"Hi Harry!" she said brightly. "How are you enjoying the Ball?"
"More than I expected," he said honestly. "You?"
"Oh, it's quite lovely," she agreed. "Though I would like to dance with Ginny before it ends, if Neville can part with her."
Harry grinned. "You should ask her. I reckon she'd like that."
"I think I will." Luna regarded him. "You seem different today."
Harry shrugged. "I've been stuck in a time loop. Had a lot to think about over the last eleven versions of today."
Luna's smile widened. "Truly? Gosh, you'll have to tell me everything after the Ball. If you want to, of course."
"Absolutely," Harry agreed, nudging her affectionately. "Melinda can fill you in, too, if you like. She experienced the loop with me, along with all the other portraits and the ghosts."
"How lovely for them to be included," Luna said, nodding along thoughtfully. "They miss out on so much. I imagine they felt quite connected to you, going through that together."
Harry hadn't thought about it quite that way so far, but Luna was probably right. "I don't know," he said truthfully. "But I was definitely glad of their company."
"Of course," Luna agreed. "You must have felt very lonely otherwise."
"Mmm," Harry hummed. "But not anymore."
Luna patted his knee. "No, not anymore. So did you learn anything valuable in the loop?"
"Loads, though I don't think I fully understand it all." Harry paused. "Actually, there's one thing that's been bothering me." He waved a hand at the Ball in general. "I just couldn't think of a way to make this feel alright."
"How do you mean?" Luna waved down a passing drinks tray and grabbed them two steaming champagne flutes of unknown origin.
Harry sipped his gratefully, ignoring the steam that churned from his ears. It was surprisingly invigorating. "I just... We're standing here, in the Great Hall, where the people we lost once lay... It doesn't feel right. I know everyone needs this. It's a celebration. A reminder that we won, we lived. But so many didn't, and it just... doesn't feel right."
Luna nodded, her brow furrowed in concentration. "You're quite right, Harry. It's a shame they can't be here. Or even just their memories, I feel would have been enough. It's really quite an oversight."
"It is," Harry said, his words trailing off as an idea hit him. "But then... Hang on... Say that bit again."
"It's an oversight?"
"No, the other bit."
"Oh: it's a shame they can't be here."
"Yes..." Harry stared at the wall, his heart racing. "It is. Luna?"
"Yes, Harry?"
"I think that's it. We're just missing a few invitations, that's all." Standing, Harry flicked his wand, sending his Patronus racing through the castle.
"Oh, Harry," Luna's smile softened, and she patted him on the shoulder. "What a wonderful idea. You've invited the ghosts, haven't you?"
When he nodded, she turned around and concentrated on the blank wall behind them, sweeping her wand in careful movements. Before long, a canvas had stretched itself across the wall. Harry tilted his head to the side, wondering what she was going to paint on it, but she shook her head.
"Now the portraits can join as well."
No sooner had she said it than a familiar face peered around the corner.
"Harry!" Melinda cried, bustling in with a chair hooked under her arm. "I saw your Patronus go flying past, and then I felt my painting stretching into the distance, and whoop! Here I am!"
She slammed her chair down in the middle of the canvas and sat with delight, staring out at the Ball with undisguised envy.
"How marvellous," she murmured to herself. "Truly marvellous."
Harry laughed, but then a shimmering light caught his attention. He turned just as the far wall shimmered into light and a dozen ghosts burst through. The dancing crowd stumbled to a halt, gasps of awe and surprise filling the space—especially when some of the newer ghosts appeared.
There were none Harry knew, and certainly not any of the students who had been caught in the battle, but he realised suddenly that these must be witches and wizards who had died because of Voldemort and decided to return to Hogwarts instead of moving on. Much like Helena and the Bloody Baron.
He relaxed back against the table, his shoulders finally easing and a weight disappearing from them that he hadn't been able to name until now. The Ball was even more beautiful with the ghosts among them, and no one could forget the dead now, or pretend it hadn't happened.
But, equally too, it didn't bring the same heartache and despair that their own, private grief did. These were simply the Hogwarts ghosts, same as it had always been, except different, too—because the living now had something to share.
Harry watched as an elderly man wove among the students until he reached Dennis Creevey, barely a few feet from Harry himself. He knelt down, whispering to Dennis. Harry only caught a few words:
Saw him fly on. Brave. He had a peaceful smile, lad, a peaceful smile.
Dennis' upturned face glittered with tears, and yet there was joy there, too, as the ghost passed on a message that none of the living ever could. As Harry watched, the ghost of the elderly man led Dennis onto the dance floor, and they began muddling their way through a strange jitterbug, soon joined by several of Dennis' friends.
"That was a good thing you did, Harry." Luna nodded. "Everyone gets something now."
Harry shrugged. "If they want to keep ignoring it, they can, but... yeah. I think everyone has a chance to feel seen."
Speaking of. He flicked his wand, imagining a scene taking shape on the other side of the doors. He could just see it, shining through the crack: candles arranged in a vigil, baskets of food, and a tiny portrait of Dobby—because he had to. The protestors pointed, mouths open in shock, and then they descended on the small offering.
At last, Harry felt he had done all he could. It wasn't everything, but Harry couldn't do everything, couldn't be everything to all the people who wanted him to.
But at least he could be what he needed.
As soon as he thought that, he caught Draco's eye across the dance floor. Draco jerked his head, eyes blazing, and Harry stumbled forward without any conscious thought, eliciting a smug twitch of lips.
"I've got to go, Luna," Harry said distantly, but she was busy talking to a ghost who requested a long-forgotten melody to play from her earrings.
The haunting sound of a centuries-old waltz struck up behind him, met with a sigh of delight from the ghost, but Harry didn't hear anything more. The crowd parted around him, and all the music and conversation faded into nothing. There was only Draco, waiting with his arms folded as he leaned back against a familiar alcove. Grey eyes glittered in the candles that hovered above him, hair sweeping in a soft arc across his forehead.
Harry knew what it felt like to thread his fingers through that hair, to kiss the smirk off those lips. With luck, he'd know again soon.
When he reached Draco, Draco melted back into the alcove without a word, and Harry followed.
The archway was already open, whether discovered by some other partygoers or left pristine for Draco, he didn't know, but when he came through, Draco closed it off with a swish of his wand, and they were alone.
For a moment, they just stared at one another. Harry didn't know what to do, what to say. This was the one that had to last; he had to do it right, and so many of his instincts still led to fighting, even now. Because he didn't know why Draco had called him here, or why Draco had wanted to find him tonight. He'd lived this day so many times over, and it still held surprises for him.
Draco had told Harry, once, that he fascinated him. That truth was so obvious now, that Harry didn't know how he hadn't seen it before. It was right in front of his nose. Fascination had always been there between the two of them, even when there had also been the barrier of animosity.
That barrier was gone, of course, and still Harry hadn't realised what was left in its place. Might never have realised, if this loop hadn't forced him to look closely at what he saw every day.
It had always been Draco, really, hadn't it? One way or another, it had always been Draco.
"You said you were looking for me?" Harry finally managed, his voice coming out too raw, too real.
Draco nodded, but still, he didn't speak. He stepped in closer, holding out his hand, and Harry took it without thinking. The music drifted through the wall, distant and dreamlike, while the greenery around them swayed in a magic breeze. It was so separate in here, so private—like a bubble, out of time. The dragons carved from ice burst free from the fronds, but the snarls on their faces weren't threatening. Harry felt protected by them, and when Draco's hand closed over his and he led them into a slow dance, he felt protected then too.
Everything would be alright. He didn't know the future, but he knew that.
"I wanted to tell you something," Draco said quietly. "Before we left Hogwarts for good."
"Oh?" Harry's gaze fell to Draco's mouth, but he dragged it back up, holding Draco's eyes instead.
It wasn't time; not yet.
Breath catching a little, Draco went on, "I wasn't going to come back, this year. Mother didn't want me to, and Merlin, I didn't want to. But then you returned my wand."
Harry remembered that day. He'd been going to send it by owl, but it felt wrong. He hadn't wanted the wand to end up in someone else's hands, not when it had done so much for him. When he owed it so much.
He realised now that, mostly, he'd wanted to see Draco. It was only curiosity, then. It wasn't now.
"You looked... different," Draco continued, wetting his lips just before he twirled Harry expertly around—following it with a spin of his own. "Quieter. Lonelier. And then you fucking yelled at me." Draco shook his head. "Before I knew it, I'd accepted my place in eighth year and decided to return just so we could finish our argument."
Harry snorted. "You came back to yell at me, too, then?"
"At first," Draco said with a smirk. "But then..." He laughed bitterly, glancing down. "Do you even remember what you yelled at me?"
Harry shook his head.
"You said I was obsessed with myself," Draco gritted out, obviously still ticked off about it.
A flash of memory hit Harry, then: Draco had sneered something about his wand not being looked after, his prattish robes billowing behind him in the wind, and Harry had just sort of—cracked it.
"And I wanted to prove you wrong, because it was maddening that you couldn't see how hard I was trying. I didn't care about the rest of them, but you—" He broke off. "You were the only one I wanted to see that I'd changed, and you wouldn't. Which made me realise that while I might not be obsessed with myself, I was certainly obsessed with you." The words fell into silence, but Draco wasn't done. "And then I started to pay attention to our arguments," he said, more quietly. "And I noticed that, while you were yelling at me, I wasn't actually sure it was me that you were angry at."
He stared at Harry then, piercing, seeing straight through him like no one else ever had. His next words were hushed, a whispered confession, and Harry was spellbound.
"That prompted a different obsession altogether," Draco said, not looking away despite how raw this was, how impossible. "Once I realised that, I couldn't leave Hogwarts without seeing if—well, if we could start again."
He held out his hand to Harry, laughing a little self-deprecatingly as he added, "I recognise we already have, but I'll admit, I wasn't expecting to get much more than a punch in the face when I posed the question." He swallowed. "Even if I was hoping for more."
Harry stared at him, so shocked it took him a moment to realise the hopeful smile on Draco's face was fading. Quickly, he shoved his hand out and clasped Draco's in his own, relishing the way the smile returned, almost blinding.
The song came to a finish, but they didn't draw apart; they stood there, hands clasped. Both of them were breathing heavily, despite the fact the dance had been slow and easy.
"You've always fascinated me, Potter," Draco breathed. "Do you think we could start over?"
Harry didn't answer; he just kissed him, instead.
The world faded away, taking everything with it this time—the gardens, the sculptures, the music. They could have been anywhere and Harry wouldn't have noticed. All he saw was the flash of desire in Draco's eyes right before they closed, the gasp that met Harry's lips as Draco took over. He kissed like it was inevitable, like they'd both known it was how this day ended, even when that couldn't possibly have been true. Only Harry had known, had hoped, and yet Draco kissed him with such intensity, such certainty, that Harry wondered how he could ever have doubted it.
When they finally broke apart, both gasping for air, Harry rested his hand on Draco's chest to make him pause.
"I have to tell you something," Harry said, voice shaky. Draco's eyes narrowed suspiciously, and Harry hurried to finish before he could jump to the worst. "You've shown me this place before. We've kissed before." Harry swallowed. "I've been caught in a time loop for a while now, and you're one of the best things that happened to me in it."
Draco stared at him. He blinked several times, rapidly, and then said eloquently, "What the fuck?"
"Er... So, I've been in a time loop—"
"No, I heard you the first time. You mean I spent all day building up to this godawful speech, and it's not even the first time I've had to go through it?" Draco stepped back, running his hand through his hair and wincing. "How many times have I bloody said this to you, Potter?"
"Actually, this is the first."
That seemed to stop Draco mid-tirade. He stared at Harry, as if seeing him properly then, no doubt taking in the tired lines on his face and the red rim to his eyes that hadn't faded for at least two days now. "Right," he said softly. "Well, I've been trying to talk myself out of this conversation for days. Kept telling myself it was a fucking stupid idea."
Harry grinned. "And what do you think today?"
With a laugh, Draco murmured. "I'm hoping you might have warmed to the idea by now."
Harry stepped in closer. "I'm fixing the loop tonight."
He didn't say the rest, but he knew Draco heard it: we're starting over, now.
Draco's breath caught. "Oh?" he asked shakily. "So, you mean we get to keep this one?"
Harry kissed him deeply, fiercely. "If you want to."
Draco laughed, leaning back just enough to smack Harry on the chest. "As if you haven't bloody figured out by now what I want, you tosser. You just want to hear me say it again."
Harry privately thought he would never get sick of hearing Draco say he wanted him, but at the moment, that was probably better left unsaid. Leaning back, he pressed the vial of Draco's memories into his hand. Draco stared down in shock.
"They're your memories," Harry said quietly. "I have a Pensieve that's lasted through the loops. It's upstairs if you want to see the rest. You... you didn't want to yesterday. I'm not sure why."
Draco swallowed, staring at the memory with something like fear. Then, moving rapidly, he withdrew his wand and returned the memory to his head. It was just like watching George again—the same distant expression, the same shock.
But then he began to shake.
When he turned to Harry, his eyes glittered strangely, and Harry was almost afraid.
"Did you watch it?" he asked.
Harry stuttered, wondering suddenly if Draco had said not to. He was sure he'd said to watch it, though... it had a message for Harry in it!
"Yes..." he said cautiously.
"Then how in Merlin's bloody name can you ask me if I want to keep this day?" Draco lunged at him, so fast Harry wasn't sure at first if he was going to punch him or kiss him, but then their lips met, fierce and almost brutal. Finally, they broke apart, and Draco hissed, "How do we end this loop? I'm not fucking losing you again."
They made their way back through the Ball, passed the protestors who were now slow dancing with a number of Ball escapees, photos of loved ones illuminated in the candle light. They passed the ghosts dancing in the Hall, and the portraits watching on in delight, their own dance continuing in the painting. As they climbed the stairs to the classroom, Draco spoke again.
"For what it's worth, I know why I didn't want to see it then."
Harry paused, hand hovering over the handle to the classroom. "Yeah?"
"Yes." Draco swallowed. "Forgetting—it hurt too much. I know there's bliss in ignorance, what you don't know can't hurt you etcetera, etcetera, but..."
"You like to remember," Harry said softly. "The good and the bad."
"Yes," Draco said, firmer this time. "I want to see this for the first time once, and I want to remember it."
Keeping his gaze locked with Draco's, Harry pushed open the door. Draco's eyes slowly slid to the classroom, widening as the light from within illuminated his face, glinting off deep grey irises.
"What the fuck?" Draco breathed, and Harry turned to find the room full of ghosts—and one annoyed Witherwings.
"It's a long story," Harry said quietly, as they stepped in among the occupants.
Various ghosts danced together, humming along a tune Harry only recognised from Luna's earrings, while others reclined in the air or on the floor, recounting the evening. Witherwings glared at the two of them—especially Draco, who swallowed thickly—but went back to pruning his feathers.
"Witherwings has experienced time travel," Harry explained. "And I think animals must be more sensitive than humans, because it was enough for him to notice the loop. He's a bit peeved about it, actually."
"Great," Draco muttered under his breath, giving Witherwings a wide berth.
And then they were at the portrait. Staring in wonder, Draco ran his fingers across the Pensieve. "And all your memories are in here?"
"Most of them." Harry nodded. "It was all starting to blur... I didn't want to forget it."
"May I?" Draco asked carefully.
A number of the ghosts had joined them. Helena hovered beside the frame, trailing her fingers over its gilt edges.
Harry hoped they'd had the decency not to watch the more... explicit... memories.
But he trusted Helena; she wouldn't have. She'd been so insistent that they would wait for Harry for any memory-watching.
"This is it then?" she asked wistfully.
"This is it," Harry agreed. "Go ahead, Draco."
Draco paused, and then touched the Pensieve. The ghosts joined him, hands brushing hands, trailing over Draco's pale hair and face as they lived through Harry's memories one last time. When the memories shifted to Harry's bed, or the tiny alcove, the ghosts faded out of sight, coming back in again when it was appropriate.
Just before he reached the end, Draco's face changed, softening in sympathy and sadness. When he opened his eyes, he reached for Harry's face, not seeming to notice the ghosts that surrounded him or the soft sighs that came as, one by one, they faded away.
Helena waited just long enough to smile at Harry, before she, too, drifted through the walls and back to wherever ghosts went when the living no longer needed them. With a rustle of feathers and a sigh that sounded like relief, Witherwings stood and launched himself from the window, his form highlighted against the moon before he disappeared.
"What a fucking awful two weeks," Draco said in a low voice, his eyes piercing.
"Was that how long it was?" Harry had lost count.
Draco nodded. After a minute of staring, slightly glazed, into the distance, he said, "Merlin, the Minister's pushy, isn't he? They were never quite that bad with Father. Always a bit scared of him, I think."
Harry laughed. "Actually, I'm glad you brought that up."
Draco grimaced. "You're going to do it then?"
Pretending to mull it over, Harry shrugged. "What makes you say that?"
With a surprisingly shrewd expression, Draco said, "You can't escape who you are, not entirely. The world is always going to look to you for advice." His expression turned fierce. "But you don't owe them your sacrifice, you know. Not again, not anymore. You need to discover where that line rests."
"Line?"
Draco hummed. "The line between Harry Potter, the man with responsibility, and Harry Potter, the human sacrifice."
"You're not half bad at this advice thing yourself." Harry bit back his smile, admiring how perfectly everything was falling into place.
Draco's lips quirked. "Well, I was raised for a particular position. But something my father never understood when he taught me everything he knew—I think the best advice comes from those who've made the biggest fucking mistakes."
The idea Harry had been stewing on took flight, blossoming suddenly into more than just a future that was the lesser of two evils; this was a future he wanted.
"What if... I wasn't Minister. But I offered them advice. Publicly."
Draco raised his eyebrows. "You know they're vultures, don't you? Give an inch, Potter. They'd eat you alive if you took an advisory role. You'd end up Minister in every way but name." He sighed. "Though I don't truly know how you'll avoid that anyway."
"But what if... you advised me. And kept me grounded."
There was silence for a very long time. "They'll think I've compromised you," he said quietly. "You'll never escape the suspicion."
"Well, neither will you, no matter where you go. At least this way, you're not hiding."
"You can never escape who you are," Draco repeated quietly.
"Or the past," Harry agreed. "But you can grow from it."
Draco looked at him, then, his eyes shining with a fervour that sent both admiration and a thrill of anticipation through Harry. "Alright," he said carefully. "You're on."
Harry held out his hand, helping Draco rise as they both dusted down their robes. "Shall we go end this, then?" Draco asked, eyes still burning.
Harry had never wanted anything more.
*
They crept up the dormitory steps, but there was no need—everyone was still at the Ball, dancing away the long hours of the night. They found the Consilium where Harry had left it, and they both sat on the edge of the bed as Harry turned it over in his hands.
"There's the part that's begun to open." Harry pointed to the latch at the base. "No wonder I didn't notice it."
"And so, what do you do now?"
"I don't know," Harry confessed, the first stirrings of panic beginning to rise within him. Henry had said it was a conversation, which meant Harry had to end it. But how did he do that?
What if he lost this day too?
He couldn't lose it. This day had been everything he wanted it to be.
A warm hand folded over his own, and he looked up to find Draco watching him. "You said it was a consultation," he said carefully. "So—what was the outcome? What answer did you find?"
Harry stared into Draco's eyes, thinking about everything he'd done and seen these last few days. Everything he'd found that he might so easily have lost, if not for the grace of time.
"I needed more time," he said carefully. "I needed time to catch up to everyone else. Everything else... it was always there; I just hadn't seen it yet."
For a moment, nothing happened. Then a cracking sound filled the room, and the Consilium split in two.
Dozens and dozens of watches spilled out onto the floor, their hands frozen at five thirty, and Harry didn't need to count to know it would be one for every day.
Then more things tumbled free—a knobbly green sock, a singing earring, the feather from a Parrot Doxy.
Draco picked up the feather and marvelled at it. Then, with a swish of his wand, he sent it sparkling towards the candles on the walls, where it whirled in on itself—an ever-moving cascade of light. Hagrid was right; they sparkled like fireworks, and when Harry turned to Draco, he found something else.
The room hadn't changed, and nor had the people in it. The beds were the same, the coverings the same; Harry was surrounded by the same four walls that had sheltered and protected him these long years. But he saw them now without the weight of his unhappy memories to alter them. He saw them as they were, with no jagged edges, no painful recollections to taint them.
It was all simply there, illuminated by the dazzling colours of the lampshade, and Harry saw that he was safe.
Draco smiled, and even his face looked different—this was Draco as he truly was, not the many dozens of faces he might wear on any given day, changeable as the mood. Draco leaned in, his lips meeting Harry's, and his hands coming to rest on Harry's chest, above the thudding of his heart.
As they kissed, the clock ticked over, one minute past midnight, and Harry smiled.