"March from Hogsmeade"
by Natt

Pairing: Harry/Colin, Harry/Ginny
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Colin wants Harry's attention, but Harry wants someone else's. They are both horrid at showing their feelings.

Colin and Dennis squeal in excitement when Harry catches the Snitch inches from the ground. The Gryffindors are stomping with joy, nearly toppling the stands with their flag-waving, streamer-throwing, and spark-shooting. The sky is packed with rampant, clashing colors: the pink-orange clouds, the purpling sky, the scarlet and emerald Quidditch robes, the yellow ribbons from the Hufflepuffs, the blue fireworks from the Ravenclaws, the gray exhaust from Malfoy's plummeting broomstick.

Gryffindor has won the Cup!

Colin turns to Ginny, and yells, "Have you ever seen anything like it?"

"No," she cries. "He's still amazing!"

He turns back to the sky to see Harry's victory loops. When he slows the Firebolt to glide around the stadium's perimeter, his teeth are clearly showing. It's been a long time since Colin has seen him smile that wide. Last time was before all this You-Know-Who business started showing up in the papers. He nearly comments to Ginny, but Harry has rounded to their side of the stadium and has lifted his hand in acknowledgment. Colin, Ginny, and Dennis wave enthusiastically, flushing with giddiness.

They try to get down to the grass to congratulate Harry, and somehow, in the gaggle of housemates surrounding the Gryffindor team, Colin finds himself separated from Ginny and Dennis. It's all right. Colin sees Harry and Ginny sprinting for the shadowy area under the stands. It's probably too loud to exchange words in the crowd. He runs after them and finds that Harry has backed Ginny against a wooden beam.

"What did you want say, then?" she asks, out of breath.

"Nothing," he says softly.

"Oh. Harry. We can't keep going through-"

"Just stop and listen for a second."

"We gave it a try and it didn't work out," she insists.

"We can try again."

"I have Dean. I told you before-"

"Yeah, well, I don't feel like listening to it again."

Colin can't believe it when Harry kisses her.

This is when he realizes Harry was not waving to all three of them. The Cup isn't so exciting anymore.

Next week, students are still gabbing about the match. Colin wishes they would shut up, especially Dennis, but he can't tell his brother something like that.

Colin isn't the only one who is sad. Dean Thomas hasn't spoken to Ginny all week and, in the common room, has taken to giving Harry sullen looks over the top of his sketch pad. Ginny and Harry, though, don't seem to notice, because they are busy avoiding one another. This cheers Colin up.

When he learns there will be a second victory party held at the Three Broomsticks this weekend, Colin is pleased. After the match, Colin wasn't up to celebrating, even though Dennis begged him to attend. Thank goodness Dennis is now a third-year and can come along to Hogsmeade; Colin can make it up to him.

They walk to town with Ginny, who would rather go to Zonko's than the Three Broomsticks.

"Why?" asks Colin. "Everyone will be there. I even brought my camera." He jiggles his pocket.

"Dunno," she says.

"I guess we can go to Zonko's if you want. I'm almost out of film, so I can't really take pictures."

"No, it's all right. We can go."

The glow of the fire in the Three Broomsticks is a delight compared to the breezy outside evening. Just when Colin thinks the sparks that jump out of the fireplace will fall and die, they dance up and over his head and twinkle near the ceiling, keeping everyone warm until they disintegrate. He doesn't think the sparks are necessary, though: The place is crammed with Hogwarts patrons, heating the place with their hullabaloo. He, Dennis, and Ginny can't find empty seats, so they slither amongst happy faces and wild limbs to see, once at the backmost nook of the restaurant, that there are no seats here either.

"We may as well leave," says Ginny, not entirely displeased. "I think I saw Luna going to Honeydukes."

But Dennis tugs Colin's arm, saying, "Look over there!"

Crowded around a single table are all the Gryffindor sixth and seventh years. There's not enough room for everyone to sit. Some are standing, leaning over the backs of chairs; some are hanging on one another, sloshing drinks on the floor; some are lounging on the edge of the over-capacitated table. Colin can see, standing on his toes, that they are situated around a boy with black hair. When he hears them singing "Mightier than a Hippogriff," he concludes that the boy is Harry.

He doesn't know why Ginny isn't dragging them outside now that Harry is in the picture. She's supposed to be avoiding him, after all. Instead, though, she's staring at the back of his head as if confused as to what her reaction should be.

The song is over now, and amid the cheers and shouts of, "Well done, Harry!" Ron Weasley looks up and notices them.

"Ginny, you missed the song!" he yells. "Have a seat, we're about to have more drinks!"

"Oh," she says, brought back from wherever she was. "There doesn't look to be any room."

At that moment, Neville Longbottom stands up to use the loo, and there is a vacant seat right next to Harry. More than anything, Colin wants to fill the chair, which Ron is pointing to, but it's rightfully Ginny's. He tries to move aside for her, but her hand darts out and catches him.

"Colin twisted his ankle on the way to town," Ginny announces. "He needs a seat."

"You didn't tell me you hurt yourself," says Dennis. "There's Professor Snape! I'll run and get you a potion!"

"No!" says Colin. "Den-"

Ginny shushes him. Dennis is already scampering away.

"Please?" she whispers. "I'll owe you."

"Well," he starts, and before he knows it he is ushered into Harry's breathing space, being consoled by some girls that the pain will go away soon. He is flattered they care to even look his way. Being small for his age, people often trample past him without notice, and he doesn't remember a seventh-year ever speaking to him.

The arrangement of chairs leaves no room for movement. Every inch of sitting space is monopolized, which means Colin's thigh is touching Harry's thigh, except it's not just a touch-it's hot, dizzying pressure. He fidgets and manages to work his robes up his body, which means his not-really-twisted ankle is against Harry's, because Harry's legs are sprawled out. He looks either very relaxed or very drunk. Colin takes in a deep breath to calm himself, only to realize that his proximity to Harry makes it easy to smell his aftershave.

Harry shaves. Colin admires him even more.

On Colin's other side, Parvati Patil, whose arm rests on the back of his chair, talks to him about spiritual ointments. He can feel her bangles clink against his neck.

"Soothing your soul will be more beneficial than soothing your ankle," she says wistfully. "You'll feel your troubles lift away."

"Don't bother with that nonsense, Colin," says Hermione Granger, across the table. "I'll fix you up with a muscle relaxing charm, if you like. I know one that will feel like lots of fingers massaging your ankle."

"Teach it to me, Granger," Seamus Finnigan leers. "I've got something for you to massage."

There is a loud screech as Ron's chair is pushed back from the table, and he tries to reach a cackling Seamus.

While the others argue and celebrate, Colin turns the other way to see where Ginny has gone off to. He comes nose to nose with Harry. Colin gasps. He didn't notice the arm over the back of his chair was no longer Parvati's but Harry's. He smiles shyly, but Harry doesn't notice. He is looking past Colin.

Oh, Colin realizes: Ginny is across the way talking to Dean.

Before long, Dennis comes dashing back.

"I'm sorry, Colin," he says. "Professor Snape thinks you deserved to twist your ankle for being such a reckless barbarian."

"What a bastard!" says Ron, slamming down his glass.

"Don't talk about a professor that way!" says Hermione. "Especially when he's in the same room."

"He can listen to me all he wants!" Ron shouts.

"You wouldn't be so brave if you weren't drunk."

"I'm seventeen now, Hermione. A legal adult."

"Yes, you've been telling us about it since March. It won't mean a thing until you start acting it."

Harry turns to watch his friends bicker. The movement causes his arm to shift over the back of Colin's chair. The hairs of his arm are so close to Colin's neck that Colin's stomach begins to tighten and his shoulders hunch over; he doesn't want Harry to notice him when he's so jittery.

But deep within he does want Harry to notice to him, he thinks, closing his eyes. If Harry would speak to him softly, as he did to Ginny under the stands, Colin would feel good again. These jitters would definitely go away. He can't think of anything he could say to Harry, which is peculiar because normally when Harry's in the room he's talking up a storm.

Now Collin is extremely conscious of his body. And there's Harry's. He can't think of anything to say besides, "Your jaw line is really handsome in this light, Harry," and that would be stupid, wouldn't it? Colin sees his hands are trembling. He wrings them together to stop his nerves from making him look like a fool. He feels a customer brush by their table; the air moves with the customer's body and brings the scent of Harry straight into Colin's pleased nose. He inhales and is ready to exhale in happiness, and then stops himself. That would look silly too, yes? Colin notices his leg is moving up and down, his heel thudding against the floor, and quickly places his hand on his knee to stop it. There, that should do it. No more jitters. He'll just sit here with one hand clenched so it will not tremble, his mouth closed so that he will not sigh, and his other hand on his knee. Harry's knee.

Eek!

Colin wrenches his hand away, but it's too late. Harry is already looking at him like he's done something weird. Like putting his hand on another boy's knee.

"Sorry," Colin whispers.

Harry doesn't hear. The restaurant is too loud.

Colin looks away, hoping to spot Dennis so they can leave immediately. Dennis is perched on the end of the table with seventh-year girls huddled around him; they're decorating him with leftover streamers. He's sweating. His forehead is covered in mouth-shaped lipstick marks. Poor little brother. Colin is about to get up and save him when-

"Would it be rude of me to say that I'm glad you twisted your ankle?"

Colin jumps. He makes a startled noise. He doesn't look at Harry; he thinks he has only imagined that rumbling voice in his ear. But if he ignores Harry, that would be rude, right?

"Um..." Colin says, still looking away.

"Sorry. I meant that I really don't care for all the attention I get after these matches. It's tiring. But no one's spoken to me since you got here."

Colin turns his head slowly, just to make sure Harry is actually speaking to him. His stomach flops over when he sees Harry's eyes directed at his.

"Well," says Colin, "you looked quite happy when you won."

"Yeah. When I'm in the air I'm happy, and for a little while afterward. But being the center of attention all the time can make you nervous, do you know what I mean?"

"No."

"Well..."

"You look fine doing it, though. Being in the center. Um, being in the air. Quidditch. You look good playing Quidditch."

"Oh."

"And. I mean. Handsome."

Colin's cheeks are burning. He decides to look down and try to disappear. When this doesn't work, he listens for Harry's response.

"Er," says Harry. "Thanks."

He goes back to observing Ginny; but somehow Colin feels Harry's attention on him at the same time.

Before long, the staff is herding everyone back to school. Ron is dozing on Hermione's shoulder, bottle in hand. She takes it away and hauls him to the door. Ernie Macmillan and Justin Finch-Fletchly kick discarded bottles out of their path; Neville Longbottom picks them up and sets them on the table. Parvati chants a mantra for all the poor, intoxicated souls leaving this house of devilry. Her sister, Padma, braids her hair as they go. It looks like Padma is in charge of a silky, brown leash that is attached to Parvati's head. Professor Snape strides past the table, eyeing Colin, who shrinks into his chair. He hopes to be the last one to leave so no one sees he doesn't have a limp.

His hopes are weakened when he sees Harry lingering, too. He's watching Ginny and Dean. They're still talking at the other end of the table, heads lowered to bumping range. Harry's teeth are subtly grinding. He seems to be gathering his nerve for something. He slides back his chair and stands.

"Ginny," he says. Ginny and Dean snap out of a mutual daze. "Would you mind if we-?"

"Thomas! Miss Weasley!"

Colin scrunches down as McGonagall walks up. They are the last students in the restaurant. From the corner of his eye, she is a blur of green robes and a black, tapping shoe.

"I won't have any students of mine sneaking around after hours. Why aren't you with the rest of Gryffindor?" She pauses. Her voice lowers. "And Potter! You, least of all, should be here this late. I enjoyed the match as well as anyone, but there's no excuse for missing curfew. Come along, now."

McGonagall rushes away, apparently to check the restrooms for skulkers.

As Ginny and Dean walk past, Harry murmurs her name.

Ginny notices him for the second time. Then she sees Colin.

"Is your ankle still bothering you?" she asks. "Do you need help walking back?"

No use hiding anymore.

"Oh, right," Colin replies, scraping back his chair. "Sure."

She looks at Harry. "Do you have anyone to walk back with? Colin could use a hand."

Harry looks away, pressing his lips together.

"Ginny," Colin says with horror, "I though you were going to-"

"Oh, no," she says. "I'm really tired. I couldn't possibly. But Harry's still here, and he doesn't mind."

As the other two walk away, Harry's eyes are planted on the back of Dean's neck. It seems he wishes he could put something more dangerous there, like a sharpened stick. His lips tighten, and the sharpened stick turns into a sharpened crowbar. Colin, though, feels hope churn in his stomach. He and Harry are alone. This might be his chance to make an impression!

Before he can act, Harry's got him by the upper arm and is hauling him away from the table. The breath is pulled out of Colin's chest. Harry is speeding outside with long steps that make Colin's shorter legs stumble in the wake. Harry squeezes his arm painfully. He tries to alert Harry of his discomfort-maybe in a funny, charming, or cool way-but he only manages, "Ow!"

Harry glances over his shoulder. He seems to think Colin's ankle is the problem.

"Sorry," he says shortly.

They walk slower. Colin looks to the end of town, where the trail back to Hogwarts begins, and can see one brown head and one red head bobbing under the street lamps. To his relief, Ginny and Dean are too far to catch up.

"I think it's really great of you to help me like this," says Colin.

Harry doesn't reply. Colin doesn't know if Harry's angry at him. He takes it as a good sign that Harry's hand is still attached to his arm. But he doesn't look at that hand, because that would be like admitting he's fond of it there.

"I bet you'd help anyone, though," Colin tries. "You're really noble and all that stuff. A real Gryffindor. Not like me. I had to go and sprain my ankle. That's not brave at all, is it?"

"Do you think you can walk faster?"

"Um. No. It still really hurts."

"Right."

Colin smiles to himself.

Ginny and Dean have arrived at the trail that will take them down a small hill. Colin sees them light up their wands, slitting yellow holes in the night. As they venture downhill, they will be out of sight for a bit. This seems to aggravate Harry.

What will make Harry happy?

"Gosh!" says Colin, as Harry speeds up. "You're really fast. At my Muggle school we had a running team, and I bet you'd be brilliant at that too!"

Harry looks over his shoulder and, once again, remembers Colin's injury. They slow. If he weren't so distant he might notice Colin isn't hobbling. Harry doesn't even need to be here. But he is, and that makes Colin press on.

Okay! What sort of clever plan might Harry's friend Hermione think up if she were in this situation?

Then it lights up Colin's mind like the blinding flash of a camera in the dark.

"Harry!" he yelps. There is just enough light from the street lamps behind them that Colin can see his shoelaces. He steps on them-and trips. "Oh, my ankle!" he shouts.

And just like that he is in Harry's arms. How strong they are.

Of course they're strong, Colin thinks. You can't slay dragons and battle evildoers if you're weak, and the firmness of Harry's chest as he is held against it makes Colin believe that's the very last thing he is. He grips Harry's biceps tighter and leans into his peppermint humbug breath.

"All right?" Harry is asking.

Colin hears him faintly. The way his spectacles glisten in the oncoming wand light is beautiful. Colin doesn't know Ginny and Dean have puffed back up the hill until they are steps away.

"Harry?" Ginny asks with worry. "We heard a scream. Are you all right?"

It must look silly, Colin clutching Harry so. He lets go, but remains within reaching distance.

"We're fine," he cuts in. "Harry was just saving me..."

"What happened?" asks Dean.

"My ankle...it gave way and Harry caught me."

"Your ankle," Ginny says slowly. "That's good, Colin. I'm glad you're okay..."

"Yeah. Come on," says Dean, taking Ginny's elbow. He's already retreating. "McGonagall's going to have our hides if we're not back soon."

Before Harry can start pining after the back of Ginny's head, Colin takes action.

"I don't think I can walk back," he says to the ground.

"What? I can't very well carry you."

"But you're so strong and courageo-"

"Colin," Harry sighs. The others are several yards away. Harry is lost in that brooding mood of his, the one Colin sees often in the candle light of the common room, when Hermione has her hand on his knee and Ron is offering him a Chocolate Frog. It's the mood Harry was trapped in all year, before he won the Cup. Abruptly, it leaves. "I wish I knew that stretcher-conjuring spell."

Colin doesn't know how to respond.

"Can you lean on me?" asks Harry. "Would that help?"

"Yeah. A lot."

Harry tucks his arm around Colin's back. Colin, ecstatic to have another moment with his cheek against the bony curve of Harry's shoulder, gives most of his weight to him, which is admittedly very little. One of Colin's arms hangs limp and occasionally sweeps against Harry's hand-with it clenched around Colin's ribcage so, he can feel the flexing of each knobbly knuckle.

They walk. The cool night air makes them shiver. Ahead, two spots of wand light are the only sources warmth...unless Colin were to cozy up to Harry's body. It's too mad a thought.

The setting reminds Colin of the time his father let him tag along to work for the day. "Delivering milk is not as easy as it sounds," Dad said, but Colin was relentless; he wanted to show Dad what a good deliverer he could be. What did it matter that Dad set out before sunrise in midwinter? What did it matter that the windows were caked in frost and the air scraped your skin like a thousand icy needles? He was out to impress! For twenty minutes, bottles rattled in his little chapped hands, he tripped over his long wool scarf, and sneezed into his mittens, until, at last, Colin was sent trotting home with a drooping head.

Colin doesn't think he could stand it if Harry knew about that, so he keeps his mouth closed. Sure, he was just a lad at the time, but wasn't Harry a baby when he overcame You-Know-Who? How will he impress Harry if he can't deliver a bottle of milk? It gives him gooseflesh to think of all the wondrous things the boy next him has done, while he, Colin, can't even walk back to Hogwarts on his own.

"You're quiet," Harry says.

"Yes."

"You're never quiet. I don't know if I like it."

"Sorry. I don't know what to say."

"You must have something on your mind. Is it your ankle?"

"No. Well..."

"Go on."

"My ankle's okay."

"It's feeling better, then? Did Hermione charm it?"

"I mean, my ankle was never hurting in the first place."

Colin thinks Harry is looking at him. It's too dim to tell.

"Lumos," says Harry.

Colin is blinded by the sudden contrast.

Harry hasn't let go of him. He squints down at Colin. The expression is indiscernible. He continues to walk without a word.

Through the blackness, the stones of Hogwarts lurch into view. They can also see Ginny and Dean slowing their pace, holding hands. Harry clears his throat.

"You were acting funny at the Three Broomsticks," he says.

Colin's heart pumps faster. "I don't remember."

"You put your hand on my knee."

"We had to sit awful close. It was an accident."

"Yeah..."

"Yeah." Colin searches for an excuse. "You've accidentally bumped into someone before, haven't you?"

"Course I have."

"Okay."

"Though, I've never accidentally called anyone handsome."

Colin's blood is racing now. "I don't remember that."

"You looked embarrassed enough."

"I don't remember."

"I'm not accusing you of anything."

Then what are you doing? Colin wants to ask, but this is Harry.

Dean's head is lowering to Ginny's now. He seems to be whispering something.

Harry's hand tightens on Colin's ribs. Colin jumps. He was so comfortable that he forgot Harry was holding him.

"I mean," Harry says quietly. "It's not like you're...like that, or anything."

"Mm."

"Might be funny if you were."

Colin doesn't reply. It's the first time he feels the need to detach himself from Harry's body. His blood it still racing, but in a more unpleasant way. Nausea?

Dean kisses Ginny's temple.

Harry inhales.

Ginny looks over her shoulder, but they are too far ahead for her face to be clear. She and Dean have stopped on the front steps.

"You're not, right?" Harry asks quickly. "A pouf?"

Colin shrugs his shoulder. Harry's not looking at him now, but he knows Harry felt his response.

"You don't know?" asks Harry. "Come on. Blokes don't say shit like that without being a little weird."

Colin finds himself closing his eyes. They're stinging.

"You don't curse," he says.

"What? Didn't hear."

"You don't curse!" says Colin. "Why are you cursing?"

"You're crying. Why are you acting like this?"

"Why are you being rude to me just because Ginny thinks you're an arsehole?"

Harry stops abruptly. Colin is forced to as well.

Harry spins him around.

"What would you know?" he hisses.

"It's obvious, Harry. Don't you know you're always looking at her?"

"For you to notice that you'd have to be always looking at me."

"God," Colin moans. "Fine! I like you a lot. I always have. It's not my fault you're only just noticing. But it's not like I want to-to-"

"What?" Harry urges him.

His eyes fly from Colin's face to Ginny's. She's still with Dean on the steps. And then, like she waited for that precise moment to do it, Ginny kisses Dean on the mouth. The torchlight leaves nothing hidden. Her arms are around his waist. His arms are around her shoulders, locking them together.

"It's not like I want to do that," Colin says.

Harry's eyes return to him.

"No?"

"N-no," Colin stutters. "Why would I ever...?"

Harry's sliding his hand onto Colin's shoulder. Colin shivers. A cold thumb presses against his neck.

"I said no."

"I heard you," Harry whispers. "But I don't believe you."

Four fingers join the thumb, grazing the back of his neck. They lift the lowest locks of hair and let them fan back down. Colin's belly jumps. He remembers his mother doing the same thing to him when he sulked home long ago, disappointed in himself. She told him there were other days for delivering milk, warmer days.

Colin's eyes are closed. He feels the heat rise as Harry settles closer. He hears the quiet smacking of Ginny's lips against Dean's. He's honest with himself. He wishes Harry would do that to him.

Harry brings his second hand up, lit wand included, and rests it on Colin's shoulder. Colin smells humbug breath again. His eyes fly open. For a second he thinks Harry will do it-kiss him! But Harry is looking at Ginny, and Ginny is looking back as Dean ties his shoe.

It's then that Colin realizes it will never happen that way-not for him, anyhow. Harry is a knight, and knights love princesses. Not milkmaids. Well, milkmen.

Ginny and Dean disappear.

"Fuck," Harry whispers. He lays his forehead on Colin's shoulder, perhaps not aware of the action.

Now they are truly alone. Even through Colin's disappointment, he is acutely aware of the situation: He has Harry Potter in his embrace-Harry, with strapping arms and broad, brown hands; Harry, who makes Quidditch into a mere board game; Harry, whose zigzag scar is a war medal; Harry, who can knock down Death Eaters like bowling pins and swallow death curses like gum drops: Harry, the hero.

Maybe tonight Colin can be the hero.

He dips his head, and makes his fantasies come true.

Harry stumbles. He puts his hands on Colin's hips to steady himself. Colin laces his arms around those strong shoulders.

He wants to believe that Harry will come to his senses and pull them together in a desperate sweep, with flowing hair and the moan of violins, but in a second it's over and he doesn't have time to complete the thought. He doesn't even have time to register what has happened before warmth blossoms over the right side of his face.

He is on his hands and knees when he realizes Harry has punched him.

He looks up. Harry's fist is clenched, the knuckles wet with blood. It occurs to him to ask Harry whether he's all right. Then he feels the blood is coming from his face, not Harry's hand. And, now that he thinks of it, Harry is the one who tried to hurt him. Colin is angry. He's truly angry.

Ironically, Harry is already reaching out to help him up.

"I would have stopped if you'd have asked me to stop," Colin says tightly. He puts his fingers to the seeping wound on his cheekbone. It stings to touch.

"I'm sorry, Colin," he says. He is beating the grass off Colin's robes. "Sorry, sorry, sorry..."

"You could have chosen someone else to lead on..."

"I didn't plan this."

"Why did you hug me? Why did you touch me like that?"

"Sorry."

"I've never been so embarrassed. My cheek hurts. You hit me!"

"Let's go to the infirmary."

On the way, they are both quiet. Harry doesn't hold onto him like last time, which seems to make Colin's cheek throb all the more.

Outside the infirmary doors, Colin says, "Might get in trouble for being out past curfew."

"Tell Pomfrey it happened in the common room."

"How should I tell her it happened?"

Harry shrugs. "Tell her I hit you."

"I couldn't...you'd be punished."

"After this, you don't want me in detention for a few days? I don't believe it."

"You're still..."

"What?"

"I can't hate you. Not even when you call me a pouf."

Harry's eyebrows furrow. "I didn't mean that. You mean, you really are?"

Colin ducks his head. "Dunno."

"I wasn't trying to be cruel to you," Harry sighs. "I was just…I don't know."

"You were going to kiss me first, weren't you?" Colin asks, glaring from under his eyelashes.

"I'm sorry. I just wanted her attention."

"You chose a strange way of getting it!"

"I know," he forces out. "I'm getting out of here. Tell Pomfrey whatever you want."

Harry goes. Colin takes a longing step after him and notices a weight swinging in his pocket. His camera. He forgot about it. He considers asking Harry to take a picture with him. He could call it "The Night Harry Potter Kissed Me and Made Me Bleed". He doesn't think Harry's in the mood, though. He doesn't know if Harry will ever again be in the mood to let Colin photograph him.

He wants to take the last moments away, to make everything the same again. Then, an idea.

"Harry," he calls. It hurts to open his mouth that wide.

Harry stops and turns.

"Ginny's favorite flowers are daisies," Colin murmurs. "At least, I think so. I have this photograph of her in the garden. She seemed to like the daisies."

Harry looks at him closely.

Colin wishes he wouldn't. His eyes are stinging again.

Harry jogs up to him and claps him on the shoulder.

"Thanks."

He runs past Colin, in the opposite direction. Colin knows, as he listens to the stomping of Harry's trainers, that he is not on his way to Gryffindor Tower.

Harry is slouched in the common room. For once, his mates are not huddled around him. He's alone. He's clutching a bouquet of daisies, which droops as sad and gray as the bags under his eyes.

Colin checks his watch. Midnight.

He tries to sneak to his dorm, but Harry is quick.

"You made it back," he says.

Collin turns, fiddles with the camera still in his pocket.

"Yeah. Fell asleep in the infirmary. I didn't...I didn't tell Madam Pomfrey you hit me."

"Oh, thanks" he says, and looks down at the flowers. "You were wrong about Ginny. She didn't want them."

"Maybe it wasn't the flowers," Colin says, and regrets in immediately.

Harry nods, staring into the fire. Colin cannot bear it. His cheek still burns with the residue of his freshly healed wound. His heart still burns with the indignity of being knocked to the ground. Still, he cannot bear to see Harry this way-The Boy Who Lived scorned, spurned, guttered all because of a girl.

Colin takes a painful breath and says, "You should keep trying."

"I could say the same thing to you," Harry says, and smiles awkwardly. "But we both know how that would turn out."

"It's not the same thing. She's my friend. I know she likes you. She'll come around."

Harry blinks. He twirls the daisies, sets them aside, and smiles. For some reason, this makes Colin smile, too.

"I should go to bed," Harry says. He edges around Colin, who, quite stupidly, reaches out for him. Harry jumps back.

"Sorry," Colin says. "Um. I was just wondering. Am I still allowed to take your picture?"

Harry relaxes. Then he gives Colin one of those cool, sweet smiles he usually only gets to see from a distance.

"You know what?" he says. "Let's take one together. Just this once."

Colin doesn't swoon as Harry slides his arm around his shoulder. He simply holds out the camera, lens facing them, and for the first time all night feels like things are going the way they should.

Click.