Replies to Reviewers: The last time, guys!

JJCJ: I said I wouldn't, after all. I hope you like this chapter even more, because I decided to elaborate on the different relationships.

Enelaya too-lazy-to-log-in: I hope you're alright. Here's the last chapter, I hope you love it!

Evil Farie Queen: Yes, you're totally up to date now! And after reading this one, there won't be anymore chapters to be up to date on! I'm feeling sort of nostalgic now...

Slushie Blue: I'm sure Harry appreciates that you love his humor so much. Draco doesn't tell him so that openly, you see, although Harry knows that Draco loves it (lol).

TheSmallestGhost: I nearly forgot about answering that. I really meant it so that there would only be one question that would be totally unanswerable throughout the chapters. Which would be: Why did Voldemort always attack on Tuesdays? So thank you!

Cheezewhizz: SHORT! -Faints- I don't think I can write anymore than that unless I took three months to write a chapter!

Ninjaofthedarkness: There's one more. In fact, IT'S HERE AND YOU'RE READING IT!

Julia: I'm your new hero? But I'm a girl! Oh well, thanks anyway! I've never been a hero before. A 'slut' a 'best friend' a 'sister' a 'soul sister' a 'daughter' an 'idiot' an 'evil genius' (whoa, doesn't THAT sound like someone we all know), and even a 'toaster-in-explosion', but never a hero.

Clayscarface: Yes, I would love the editting help, thanks! Could do with it if you have time. But only if you have time, you hear me? I actually made a guy scream last week. It was actually totally by accident, but boy, his voice was high!

Hiril Moon: Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. Much less Draco, who we all know is way too protective. -Grins-

Itchangescolorwhenitdries: Really? Thanks! As for 'them', it's more like an 'it', but here it is!

I've got a new HPDM fic that I'll be posting soon. As for the Tuesday question, you'll have to read the chapter first!



Beauty is whatever gives joy.

--Edna St. Vincent Millay

It took a fortnight before Harry was entirely on his feet again.

Apparently, even though the fire had become real fire as he had guessed, it still hadn't been able to harm him. Since he was the originator of the fire in the first place, it could only harm others. It wasn't that that had caused the injuries that had proved so nearly fatal to his body, but his love for Draco.

His love for Draco which had led to his magic being drained away.

His love for Draco, which had led to him taking that blow from the scythe.

Harry had only smiled softly when Draco had yelled his heart out at him at the explanation that had arrived of what had happened. Telling him, and repeating over and over again how a wizard's magic was a life source, and that Lord, he should be so glad that he hadn't died, and was Harry Potter. After the tirade had finished, with Draco's tears running like a waterfall down his cheeks, Harry only pulled him closer, resting his head on top of Draco's.

"I love you." They both said it simultaneously, and then they'd laughed, tears still leaking from their eyes. For it was all that needed to be said, really.

Then Dumbeledore had come in, and had explained that Voldemort had transported him to his pensieve -where he had been unable to get out. Voldemort had made the memories into a single strand too, and it had been quite some time before Dumbledore had managed to break the strands. The wake-up call and the fire had found to have been utterly real -a manifestation of Voldemort's evil into the castle. In order to not make anyone suspect however, Voldemort had managed to mix up the time sequence and scramble it, so that it had happened, but at the same time, it hadn't. Apparently, the transfiguration spells had arrived later, seeping into Hogwarts and using the evil forcefield that was already present. The attack had been seperated into two parts, which was why both Dumbledore and the castle hadn't been alerted. During Dumbledore's apologies about not being there and not knowing sooner, everyone else to do with his medical condition had poured in.

After getting out of bed though, his first visit was to his best friends, hugging Hermione from behind.

"I'm glad you're alright," Harry said, nose buried in her hair. Hermione, with tears streaking her face, nodded in agreement.

When they pulled apart, Harry's face turned to Ron; and although his complexion was far from what it should have been, both of them noticed the familiar smirk of mischief on his face.

"Ron was rather worried you know," he said, starting off rather casually. Out of the discreet corner of her eye, Hermione noticed that Ron had frozen.She leaned closer, glad to know some more of what he had done. Though she had seen what she had been doing, Ron had only given her some of his memories, the ones where she had actually appeared, seemingly embarassed about the rest.

"I don't think you even slept in your bed for the last two months or so, did you? Neville mentioned that even when Voldie kicked the old bucket you were still sleeping on the floor outside the infirmary." Harry frowned, though a curve at the edge of his mouth informed them that he was still amused at alot that was going on. "And you still haven't told me how you balanced those food trays to 'Mione, got to classes on time, and managed not to starve yourself while still doing the assignments, mate. I really got to know that trick of yours."

Harry turned to the corridor once more. "Oh look, Draco's there. Got to go; you won't mind, will you?" he said, his voice accompanied with a look far too innocent for the likes of his character. Then, just for a sneak peek, he stayed at the corridor's turn.

Ron was flushed, Hermione looking at him in amazement. "You didn't tell me any of that."

Ron shuffled his feet. "I didn't think there was a need to."

Hermione stepped closer to him. "You did so much for me. Why?"

Ron looked up briefly. "I'm your boyfriend."

Hermione snorted. "I didn't see Terry running off to do all that for Padma when he was her boyfriend, and they went out for three years. He had plenty of chances, considering the amount of times she got into trouble." She looked towards the ceiling. "Then again, that might be why she broke up with him."

She looked towards him again. "That couldn't have been the only reason. Why did you do it? You didn't have to."

There was a significant pause before Ron spoke.

"I love you. That's why."

Harry left them alone then, Hermione flushing, her face turned away, Ron smiling a very gentle smile.

Ron smiled, then linked his little finger with one blushing Hermione. Then clasping her hand fully, he pulled her towards him, whispering remnants of dreams of the future in her ears, building future homes beside her chestnut hair.

They stayed in the corridor a little longer, saying things that only they could understand, in a delicacy that only true lovers would apprehend.

They stayed in the corridor a little longer, for the other had never been so beautiful.


Even after the two were friends again, Dean had had to remain in the hopsital ward for a few nights: for some reason he still got migrains occasionally. Seamus always managed to visit him at these times, always managed to make him comfortable, and this was just one of those times.

Pomfrey had exited the ward at the same time Seamus had gone in, so he just figured that she wouldn't object at the daisies he'd picked from a little patch he'd found near the Lake. It was hidden behind a holly bush, so his hands had gotten a little scratched, but it was worth it to find the prettiest flowers just to see his friend's face light up so.

They chattered about unnecessary stuff, with a few awkward moments in between –as usual they picked up the conversation again –all the while with Seamus thinking how adorable his best pal looked, and with Dean, how soft that red hair could be.

The daisies were placed on the table, soaking in water, when Seamus went to the washroom. Dean, after spending a few seconds on the bed –to check if Seamus was coming back –then got quietly out of bed.

By the time Seamus came back to the room, he was already under the sheets.

When night fell and they had exchanged awkward goodbyes, Seamus left the room, and Pomfrey came in. She collected all the flowers, as Dean snuggled under the bed sheets, under the blanket. He watched her walk away, out of the corner of his eye, and when she did, he took out the single small daisy he'd tucked into his shirt sleeve.

It was slightly crushed, but it still glowed with the soft fragrance of Spring. Stroking the petals, he fell asleep.

And when Seamus entered the hospital ward, to tuck his friend in, his eyes widened with surprise, at the flower enfolded gently in Dean's careful hands. His eyes lit up with a soft, soft joy; then he raised the blankets a little, and tucked himself in, wrapping his arms round the smaller boy.

He figured Dean wouldn't mind.


The next morning, when Pomfrey entered the ward again, her walk only paused for a few seconds before she continued distributing the breakfasts on the table. She poured out all the healing potions, then called Dobby to make a second breakfast for an 'unexpected guest'.

It was a small price to pay for the brightening of her day.


When Dean woke up, it wasn't to the smell of the clean -too clean, he thought- clinicality of the infirmery.

It was to the smell of warm fragrant cinnamon with a touch of pumpkin cream soup. It was to the fragrances of muddy lakes, and misty spring, and something that Dean could not define. It was to the touch of red, red hair that Dean likened, not to silk, but some kind of luxurious drapes, like a muff, soft and warm.

He couldn't resist, and lifting his own hands, he dared to bury his fingers in that luxuriant red. It was after precious moments of lifting strand after strand, delighting in the feel of each one, that Seamus stirred. He'd frozen at the first movement, but couldn't seem to remove his fingers from his best friend's hair.

Sleepy blue eyes looked up at him, as a freckled face leaned against his smooth, piano-player fingers. Calloused digits, longer than his own curled and twined around his wrist, the ring finger stopping on his pulse, caressing it.

"Why'd you sch-top?" the normally vibrant tenor tones were slurring now, and Dean relaxed at the sound of them.

Obligingly, he continued to feel his way through the copper tresses, a sense of tranquility in the room.

Seamus' hand had slid from his wrist, down his arm to his shoulder, then down his spine -each and every joint- to his hip. Dean's body shivered, an automatic reaction, and Seamus' half-closed eyes opened again.

" 'Re you cold?" He managed to say through the thickness of sleep. He didn't wait for an answer, and instead of grabbing the blanket, pulled his dark haired companion even closer. Dean started, then began to relax, as a second hand began smoothing invisible creases in his pyjamas. It drifted away to stroke his face. He smiled.

Then he kissed him. The fragile moment unbroken, preserved crystalline in their minds. They parted, hesitent.

And then there were giggles, and laughter, and Dean pecked Seamus on the nose, affectionately, caring about him, love in his eyes.

And in Seamus' eyes, he saw, that he loved him too.


Pansy smiled, running to Blaise about yet another little thing. He stroked her hair affectionately, half-listeningto her excited chatter, half-admiring her glossy raven hair. He nodded, a trifle absently at times, to her voice. Pansy was organising a party for the following week, to celebrate Voldemort's demise.

"Blaise, are you listening?" Pansy said, playfully. Although she loved that Blaise listened to her, it was almost better to watch him watch her...she could almost feel him love her then.

"Yes, Pansy," he said, gently. He placed a small kiss on her hair, and grinned mischieviously. "And even if I wasn't, I think I've heard almost more than the rest of your little committee."

Pansy blushed a little. Then, stepping up to tip toes, she gave him a soft kiss. "Thank you."

And Blaise, startled, but dealing well, smiled back. "No," he said, holding her ever closer. "Thank you."


Just before the eve of six o' clock, Harry had taken Draco out towards the lakes again. Sitting under the tree where they had gotten together, he smiled, finally healthy again. Though he still had slight magical lapses, and though there was much fear that he would become a squib, everything had turned out fine. All that happened now was a slight weakness after classes, which many of the teachers excused him for (even Snape, which was eyebrow-raising, but not really, as Draco was his godson), and slight tingles where there was a scar across his stomach.

Adjusting himself a little (there were starting to be ridges in his back from the wood) Harry shifted with Draco against the tree, the sunset shedding shadows on his boyfriend (he tested the foreign word in his brain)'s face. The soft flitting shades of orange, red, and yellow making the pale blonde hair really glow.

Harry knew he had never been so lucky in his life.

Cradling this precious being, his love, in his arms, under the ethereal lights of dusk. He had never dreamed he would have this.

He had never dared to dream that he would.

But now he knew that love could conquer everything: hate, greed, pride.

Anger, lust, sloth.

He smiled.


He kissed Draco's cheek.

And fear.

Silver grey eyes met his own, questioning, yet loving all the same. He shook his head.

Yes, love could conquer everything.

And he was very glad it did.


Tuesdays are my most hated days. Garfield hates Mondays. I hate Tuesdays.