of arctic. He'd curled himself up under the heavy duvet in his bedroom (the original duvet had been black, patterned with silver snakes, but he'd kept having nightmares that the snakes had come to life and were slithering on him. Eventually Hermione had given him a spare duvet of hers. It was yellow, sprigged with blue flowers. Harry supposed that in the end, he just wasn't a snakes kind of guy) when there was a series of sharp knocks on the door. Swearing, Harry slid out of bed.

His swearing increased in volume as his bare feet hit the cold stone floor. Half-hopping and swearing as he went, he made his way across the enormous room and threw open the door. Whoever was on the other side, he determined, would get a piece of his mind.

It was Draco, wearing a pair of black jeans and black pullover, looking a bit like Tom Cruise in Mission: Impossible, if Tom Cruise had had white-blond hair and a surprised look on his face. "Potter," Draco said, 'was that you swearing a blue streak just now? Where'd you learn that language? I didn't even know you could do that with a pair of —"

"It's two in the morning, Malfoy," Harry interrupted, "what the hell do you want?"

"—although the six feet of surgical tubing was a nice touch, I thought. I must be rubbing off on you." He peered past Harry into the bedroom and shuddered. "Or not. Where'd you find that duvet? Hell's interior decorating supply shop?"

"Hermione," said Harry, shortly. "Speaking of which, if you came by here to whinge about our love lives some more, I am tired of talking about girls. It never gets me anywhere and afterward I just feel sorry for myself."

"Perhaps I should try to be more supportive," Draco ruminated.

"Considering that the last time we talked, you told me I was a whinging, pie-faced newt, and that girls don't like complainers—"

"Well, they don't."

"If you're such an expert, why's your love life such a complete balls-up then?" Harry asked, reasonably enough.

Draco ignored this. "Look, are you ready to go, or not?"

Harry banged his head gently against the doorframe. "No. I am not going anywhere with you, Malfoy. Tomorrow's the wedding and I need my sleep. I've got toasts to give, receiving lines to stand in, embarrassing formalwear to struggle into—"

Despite his best intentions, within ten minutes Harry found himself, dressed and with his glasses firmly planted on his nose, standing in the corridor with Draco — who, Harry now saw, had brought both their broomsticks and propped them against the wall. Draco was also fidgeting, which was generally a sign that he had something personal to say and didn't want to say it. Harry squinted at him with dawning suspicion. "So," he said. "What's all this about, anyway?"

"It's —"

"And don't say your love life, or I'll kill you with a rock."

"—not my love life, you squinty-eyed pillock. It's my Epicyclical Charms."

This was so unexpected that Harry rocked back on his heels. "What?"

Draco pulled down the neck of his sweater just far enough so that Harry could see a double row of gold chains glinting against the light skin. "These. It's a bloody nuisance, carrying them around like this, never being able to take them off—"

"I could carry one," Harry offered quietly.

Draco's clear, searching look was free of sarcasm. "I would put my life in your hands without a second thought if it were only myself I cared about."

"Then—" Harry felt an absurd stab of something like jealousy, and fought it down. "You want to take it to someone else? You want me to come with you?"

"I want you to come with me," Draco said. He took one of the brooms and held it out to Harry.

"You can't give it to just anyone," Harry said, taking the broom. "It's got to be someone you really trust."

"I know," Draco said. He had picked up his own broom and was heading for the window at the end of the hall. It was open, curtains blowing gently in the soft spring air. He leaned out.

Harry leaned out next to him. "Someone who—"

"Loves me?" Draco looked at Harry with sideways amusement. "Don't be such a girl, Potter. Come on. I'll race you." He slid with agility onto the window ledge, broom in hand, poised for flight.

Annoyed, Harry crawled onto the ledge beside him. "I could race you if —"

"Race me? A splendid idea."

"—I knew where we were going. Who are we taking these Charms to?"

Draco's look was secretive, amusement glinting under his fair lashes. "Someone I trust — endlessly," he said, and dropped from the windowsill, tumbling into the night air on his broomstick, like a flickering spark of silver in the dark.