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After the disastrous first quidditch game against Hufflepuff, Harry is admittedly terrified for the game with Ravenclaw. He’s distracted the entire time they’re on the pitch, even in practices between the games, keeping a close eye on the horizon over the stands, watching for dementors.

He’s unsure and jittery and feels a bit fluttery as the Gryffindor team heads onto the pitch and the game begins, but he comforts himself with all the practice he’s been doing with Professor Lupin to learn the patronus charm.

He can do it. Even if the dementors do show up, he can hold them off long enough to at least land safely and not have a repeat of his Nimbus 2000.

(The memory of it makes him flinch and curl his fingers even tighter around the beautiful Firebolt he rides now.)

Thankfully, though, the game passes without incident. Some students walk out onto the pitch with their hoods up over their heads, but it honestly takes until Harry catches the snitch, lands, looks at them quizzically, and then hears Ron shouting about them interfering with the match by trying to imitate dementors to scare Harry to realize what they’re even trying to achieve.

When dementors are around, they make themselves known. Between the cold and the despair that follows them in a thick miasma, it’s kind of hard to mistake some students in hooded school robes for them.

This is really pathetic, even for Malfoy.

But Harry has a victory party in Gryffindor Tower to get to, so he puts it out of his mind quickly.

And of course, since he doesn’t actually use his patronus, it comes as a surprise to him when, all of a sudden, the whole school knows he’s learning the spell anyway. He gets a lot of… strange comments about it, and before long he can’t so much as pass by the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom without hearing students begging Professor Lupin to teach them as well.

Harry cringes a little. He doesn’t mean to make more work for his favorite teacher… but he’s beyond thankful that Professor Lupin entertains him with those lessons, despite the patronus charm being ostensibly much too advanced for a third-year.

There’s not much he can do for Lupin, though. He is a teacher, so it’s not really surprising that people realize they can ask him to teach them a spell to repel dementors. Everyone has good reason to want to know it.

So, all Harry really thinks about the entire situation is, “Those dementors really are nasty things.”

And then the comments start coming in.

“You’ve been practicing for a while now, right?” Hannah from Hufflepuff asks him one day in classes. “You must be pretty good at it.”

Harry shrugs. “Good enough. Haven’t tried it on an actual dementor yet, though. Hope I never have the chance.”

Hannah nods along, understanding his hesitance. “Of course. But if you really can do the spell… Oh, it must be so nice to know so early…” She sighs kind of dreamily, in a way that doesn’t make any sense to Harry, so he just politely nods along until Professor Flitwick gets their attention for the lecture.

After that, his apparent skill with the charm spreads enough that people aren’t just assuming he’s learning the thing, but that he masters it already, and that’s when the comments really get weird.

There are a lot of people expressing their jealousy that he can do the charm, which sort of makes sense considering the dementors outside Hogwarts grounds, but there are also a lot more comments about knowing even though Harry has no idea what it is he’s supposed to know that has anything to do with the patronus charm.

Knowing… that he can do it? That is pretty comforting, frankly, but that doesn’t seem quite right from how people talk.

It also occurs to him that, if people are so impressed by his ability, it’s strange that no one asks him to show them the spell. Especially when they’re all studying together, it’s quite common for them to demonstrate spells for those still struggling with them. So, if everyone wants to know the patronus charm so badly – and a few even do ask him to teach them – then why does no one ask him to perform it for them?

Harry doesn’t exactly want to be a show pig, so he’s not upset by it, but it is still odd.

So, he does the only sensible thing he can think to do, and that’s to ask Hermione what’s up.

When he mentions no one asking him to show them his patronus, Hermione lets out a little squeak, and Ron full on spits out his drink.

“Mate,” says Ron. “Of course, they don’t ask. You don’t just ask someone that kind of thing!”

…Huh? “I don’t think I understand,” Harry admits. “What’s the big deal? I know it’s an advanced spell, but-”

“Harry,” Ron says in almost a whine. He groans and slaps a hand to his face. “I should’ve mentioned it earlier. It’s no wonder you don’t know.”

“Don’t know what?”

Hermione, unable to contain herself, jumps in to say, “Harry, it’s said that your patronus represents your soulmate! Everyone wants to learn the spell, because the form it takes gives you a hint to who your soulmate will be! Some of the books I read on the subject even say it can lead you to them!”

“Soulmate?” Harry squeaks. “If it’s something like that, how come neither of you said anything earlier?”

Ron flushes. “Well… it’s not something you normally talk about, Harry. Like I said, it’s not proper to ask about it. It’s- you know- personal. We thought you’d tell us if you wanted to talk about it.”

Oh. Harry hugs his knees as he gazes into the common room fire, thinking over that information. Ron and Hermione both thankfully recognize that he needs time to process and simply sit with him quietly.

Finally, after several minutes, Harry says, “I don’t think I have a soulmate.”

Hermione gasps, some protest surely on her tongue, but Ron claps him on the back gently. “That’s alright. Some don’t. I don’t know the exact numbers, but it happens.”

“It’s about one in twenty,” Hermione says, sniffling. “So not very uncommon, in the grand scale. If… if it’s true, then… then you’ve no need to worry. Plenty of people are out there even without being soulmates.”

All Harry can really think in response to that is that at least he’s not a freak with this, too. He does want a family, eventually. More than maybe anything. But he’s also still thirteen. The idea of a soulmate is… nice, but romance isn’t really something he’s interested in yet. And considering his life, he’d probably only put whatever soulmate he has in danger.

So, yeah, it’s for the best, really. Like Hermione says, there’ll be plenty of opportunity to make a family if he ever survives to that point, so really, it’s no big deal.

“It’s a stag,” Harry says quietly. “My patronus. That’s why I don’t think I have one. It’s… It’s Dad.” Professor Lupin tells him that much, the first time he makes a corporeal patronus. Lupin doesn’t explain soulmates, or that this probably means he doesn’t have one, but Lupin does stress to him to only use the charm when necessary. He says it’s not a spell to go waving about in the corridors.

Harry doesn’t question it. Technically, no magic is allowed in the corridors, and it’s not exactly a subtle spell. Besides the fact that there wouldn’t be any point in a spell to defend from dementors when there aren’t any dementors to defend against.

But actually, this makes more sense.

“Oh, Harry.” Hermione hugs him. Ron pats him on the back.

Harry feels… strange, but not as sad as Ron and Hermione seem to think he should be. After all, even it if means he misses out on a soulmate… it’s his dad. From the moment Lupin tells him, it feels like a bit of his dad is protecting him through that patronus, just like his mum’s protection still rests in blood. He has a bit of both his parents still watching over him, still protecting him.

How can he be upset about that?

Harry doesn’t give any more thought to his nonexistent soulmate, or the patronus charm that might be indicative of who they are, until well into the next school year.

He gets odd looks, maybe because he supposedly knows who his soulmate is yet continues to be seen primarily in the company of Ron and Hermione, but most people just assume that one of them is his soulmate.

Honestly, most people assume that even without knowing he can cast the patronus charm.

But then, come December of his fourth year, Harry, who is still much more concerned with surviving the year than he is interested in romance – although Cho Chang from Ravenclaw is really pretty – is suddenly slapped across the face with the idea of dating.

Because apparently, as a champion he’s required to have a date to the Yule Ball. Which is frankly ridiculous. There’s no good reason he shouldn’t be able to go stag, or not go at all, but Professor McGonagall makes it abundantly clear that he’s expected to bring someone.

(With a long, deliberate look that suddenly reminds Harry that everyone expects him to have an idea of who his soulmate is supposed to be. She probably expects it’ll be easy for him. He should just go ask his soulmate to be his date; if only he were so lucky.)

Ironically, the stress about finding a date to the ball means that for the very first time since he learns about them, Harry desperately wishes that he does have a soulmate. It really would make this whole thing easier.

Especially since, if people expect him to know… will whoever he asks think that’s why he’s asking them?

Harry’s stomach does flips as he considers that. He can’t bring himself to ask anyone. He can’t convince himself to put those kinds of expectations on someone, especially since they’re not really his soulmate.

He wants to ask Cho, but… he just can’t. As if the nerves of asking alone aren’t bad enough. He can’t put that on her. On anyone.

It’s Christmas Eve, the night before the Yule Ball, and Harry has well and truly given up on finding a date. He’s just going to have to deal with the consequences, one way or another. Hermione bugs him about finding one, but he can’t bring himself to subject a date to the rumors about being his soulmate. Maybe if Hermione didn’t already have a date he could bring her as a friend, but he would also never ask her to give up her own date for him.

Even so, even though he accepts it, he’s still scared witless of being the only champion there without a date. How sad is that going to look? Especially when everyone assumes he has a soulmate.

That’s how he finds himself slipping out of the Gryffindor Common Room under cover of his invisibility cloak, wandering the dark halls at night in hopes of clearing his head.

He’s so stressed about this that he feels like puking. But there is no solution to be had. If only he really does have a soulmate…

There is one thing he hasn’t tried, yet. He gulps, looking at his wand. He assumes this whole time that he doesn’t have a soulmate because the stag represents his dad, but Hermione does say that the patronus can lead one to their soulmate.

What if he’s wrong? What if it’s a coincidence? What if the stag is actually representing someone else?

Even as the thought occurs to him, Harry’s heart doesn’t hope. He knows it’s pointless, but he doesn’t have anything left to lose. With no time left, it’s now or never, and even though nothing will come of it, at least he can say he tries… right?

Harry swallows down his nausea at the impending embarrassment coming his way, and quietly murmurs, “Expecto Patronum.”

Brilliant silver light bursts from his wand and coalesces. Harry screws his eyes shut to take a deep breath, and then opens them.

The figure in front of him isn’t a stag. Harry blinks dumbly at it, wondering what happens between last year and now to make it change, but it isn’t a stag anymore.

It’s a snake.

…Does this mean he has a soulmate?

Does this mean his soulmate is a Slytherin?

Harry curses. He doesn’t know how he feels about this, or what he should feel, or- or anything! He doesn’t even know how this is possible!

Having a Slytherin soulmate might be worse than having none! There’s no way they’d accept him, and there’s no way Ron would accept them!

Harry groans helplessly, fighting his despair. Is it really true? “Are you my soulmate?” Harry asks quietly, afraid of the answer he knows his patronus can’t give.

But the snake flicks its tongue, almost right up against Harry’s nose, and then turns and slithers through the air like it’s swimming, heading off down the hall.

Harry gasps. It can’t be… He jumps to follow it. His invisibility cloak flutters around him, no doubt revealing him at times, but he races at a breakneck pace to try to keep his patronus in sight, following it through the halls, down staircases, then up (Up? Slytherin is in the dungeons…) until he comes to a part of the castle that he has never been before.

And he finds himself face to face with an enormous eagle-shaped door knocker. His snake patronus simply slithers through the door itself, as if it’s open.

Harry swallows thickly, panting and holding the stitch in his side, as he stares down the door knocker.

Ravenclaw. His soulmate is a Ravenclaw.

The invisibility cloak, askew around his shoulders, fully drops to the floor as he stands there gawping, revealing himself to the knocker. As if in a trance, he stupidly goes up to it and knocks, and then the knocker moves, peering down at him with a critical eye.

“Students should be in bed at this hour,” says the eagle in a soft, lilting voice.

Harry gulps. “I- er…”

The eagle tilts its head, eyeing him ever carefully. “What is a soulmate?”

Harry blinks. “Er… what?”

“What is a soulmate?” the eagle repeats, calm and patient for his answer.

Harry remembers hearing that the door to the Ravenclaw Common Room asks the students a riddle to gain entrance. Is that what this is? If he answers right, will it let him inside?

Harry gulps, trying to wet his suddenly dry throat, and uncertainly answers… “Er… a soulmate is… the one we’re meant to be with. Isn’t it?”

The eagle hums thoughtfully, then lifts its head once more, back into the static position Harry first sees it, when it is merely a knocker and not animated to talk to a student. “Think harder,” it says, and then it stops moving entirely.

Harry suspects that even if he tries another answer, the knocker won’t let him in tonight. (Do Ravenclaws have more chances to get in? Because if they get locked out of their own common room for one wrong answer, that’s just brutal.)

Harry stands there for a long time, not knowing where to start unpacking all of this. He has a soulmate. Someone in Ravenclaw represented by a snake? And his answer to the door knocker… it tells him to think harder. What even is a soulmate, if Harry’s answer is apparently wrong?

Harry scoops up his cloak, wraps it back around him, and dazedly stumbles back to Gryffindor Tower. When he collapses back into bed, he has only more questions that keep him stirring fitfully for the rest of the night.

Harry tells Ron and Hermione as soon as he can the next morning, because he has no reason to hide it and he hopes they can help.

They both express their happiness for him, though Ron is a bit tentative about the snake thing. And they do, at least, have one answer for him.

“I looked it up last year after you told us about your patronus,” Hermione says matter-of-factly. “There is precedent that, if a wizard is young enough, the patronus simply doesn’t show their soulmate until they’re older. It’s led to a lot of debates about what exactly the patronus represents. Many experts actually say that it simply represents someone or something important to you. For younger wizards, it’s commonly a parent or guardian, for most it’s their soulmate, and for others it might even be themselves. So, really, what happened isn’t atypical.”

“You couldn’t have mentioned that earlier, then?” Ron asks.

Hermione flushes and ducks her head. “Well… Harry didn’t seem very bothered about not having a soulmate. I thought it best not to give him hope of one, just in case. If he was already happy, then why dangle something like that in front of him?”

Ron huffs and grumbles, and a part of Harry does too, but he sees her point. “Thanks, Hermione.”

Her and Ron both, even if they don’t always do the exact right thing, they’re always trying to help him. It means everything.

Unfortunately, Harry still doesn’t have a date to the ball. He groans as he tells them that.

“Well, hey,” says Ron. “You said it’s a Ravenclaw, right? It must be Cho! Go ask her!”

Harry slumps down on the couch they’re sitting on. “She’s going with Cedric. Even if it is her, which we don’t know for sure, she’s already told him she’d go with him.”

“So what? Soulmates overrides that sort of thing.”

“Ronald!” Hermione rolls her eyes. “Don’t you think that’s a bit insensitive? It would be incredibly rude to ditch your date the day of, even if something like a soulmate came up.”

“This is his soulmate, Hermione!”

“She still made a commitment!”

“Look, we don’t even know if it is her,” Harry says glumly. He has to admit that it being a Ravenclaw gives him hope, but the fact that she’s happily with Cedric doesn’t make him optimistic.

And Hermione’s right. Even if the jealous part of him does want his soulmate to ditch anyone for him, to make him the priority… he doesn’t think he’d trust a soulmate who doesn’t follow through on promises. He’s been lied to so many times himself, the thought of his soulmate being someone who can just turn around and say, “Sorry, I know I told you I’d go with you, but something came up that I want more,” is sickening to him.

And at this point, the literal day of the ball, even if he does manage to confirm who his soulmate is, the likelihood that they’ll already have a date is so astronomical that Harry thinks it’s better on his heart to just accept the embarrassment of going stag and worry about that whole mess later, when his soulmate won’t be paired off with someone else.

So, despite Ron wheedling him to try his patronus again and look for his soulmate through the whole day, Harry bravely refrains. He resists the temptation all the way up to the doors of the Great Hall, where he stands, trembling and alone, under Professor McGonagall’s scrutinizing gaze, and the eyes of the rest of the champions and the few students still lingering outside the ball proper.

“Mr. Potter,” says Professor McGonagall. “And where is your date this evening?”

Harry flushes red and tries desperately not to look at Hermione, Cedric, or Cho’s pitying gazes as he stammers. “I- er- I don’t-”

“I’m right here, Professor McGonagall!” Harry’s head snaps up at the voice. He nearly jumps out of his skin when an arm is thrown casually over his shoulders. “Sorry I’m late. I had to bribe Anthony into showing up at all.”

Everyone stares at the unexpected, sudden addition. No one more incredulously than Harry.

McGonagall narrows her eyes just slightly, and Harry thinks she knows that she’s being lied to, but she apparently decides that Harry having a date, even if Harry himself doesn’t agree to it, is too important to not embarrass Hogwarts to bother trying to argue with it. She gives a terse nod.

Harry just stares at the bloke (a bloke!) claiming to be his date. Muddy brown hair, an innocent grin with a dimple on the right side, right next to Harry’s face. Harry recognizes him, of course, but not well. It’s one of the Ravenclaw boys from that group of three that don’t socialize much with Harry outside larger group study sessions.

“Is that so, Mr. Boot?” McGonagall asks. “And where, pray tell, is Mr. Goldstein now?”

“He’s still dragging his feet,” Terry Boot says cheerfully. “But Michael will make sure he gets here. Totally missed the time. Forgot I couldn’t afford to be as late as they will be. Sorry about that, Harry. I must have made you worry.”

Harry, still trying to figure out what’s going on but knowing better than to dispute a lie that helps him, just dumbly answers, “Yeah, no problem.”

Terry’s arm around his neck squeezes a little, pressing them closer for a moment, before Harry is let go. He eyes Terry up and down, wondering what he’s playing at.

Harry can see Cedric and Cho relax, apparently relieved that Harry does indeed have a date, and he can see Hermione raise an eyebrow at Terry, her eyes moving pointedly to Terry’s dress robes and then to Harry with a questioning gaze. She’s obviously not convinced, knowing well that Harry has no date, but Harry quickly realizes what that look is for.

Because Terry somehow manages to go and get robes that match Harry’s. Granted, Terry’s robes are mainly black, nice and standard, and they look good on him, too, but they’re accented with the same bottle green of Harry’s robes.

To anyone who doesn’t know better, it looks like they coordinate.

Terry follows his eyes and grins, throwing his arm back over Harry’s shoulder to pull him close once more. Terry’s breath tickles Harry’s ear as he whispers. “Color-changing charm. They’re actually silver.”

Okay, yeah, magic. But… Harry only just manages to keep his voice down when he asks, “Why?”

Terry’s smile wavers a moment, then falls. His eyes turn away and he bites his lip and a light dusting of pink splotches his cheeks. “You… looked panicked,” he says. “If- If it’s because I’m a bloke-”

“Mostly it’s because we’ve barely talked, actually,” says Harry. He hasn’t given any thought before to dating boys, but he has heard the Dursleys calling people like that all sorts of rude things, so Harry figures it can’t be any worse than anything else the Dursleys hate.

It does make him nervous that he has no idea what the wizarding world thinks of that sort of thing and he’s apparently going to be announcing to the school that he’s into boys. When he doesn’t even know if he is.

But frankly? A lot less scary than a Hungarian Horntail, thanks. A certain amount of mortal peril makes some things seem less of a big deal.

Terry grimaces. His eyes are apologetic. “Sorry,” he murmurs. “I thought I was helping.”

Terry’s hand starts to slip from his shoulders, and in a flash all of Harry’s Gryffindor courage leaps to his throat at once. Without any prompting, his own arm snakes around Terry’s waist, holding him close so he can’t pull away. “We can always talk more,” Harry says. “But if I go into this Champion’s Dance without a date I might actually die of embarrassment and then we won’t get that chance.”

Terry pauses a moment, his pink cheeks darken slightly, but his hesitant arm returns to its place on Harry’s shoulders. “Well, alright, then. And the dance; how do you feel about that?”

Harry gulps. “Do you know how to lead? Because I suck majorly at dancing.”

A snort. “Don’t worry, I can lead.”

The door to the Great Hall opens. Harry pales and holds his breath as he is slowly marched through the crowd to the dance floor.

Terry, who is forced to let Harry go as they start walking, nonetheless takes Harry’s hand in his and squeezes gently. “It’ll be fine,” he murmurs, apparently unbothered by the mass of people all staring and whispering. Terry’s thumb rubs over the back of Harry’s hand. It’s surprisingly soothing. “One dance, Harry. We get through this, then we can just sit off to the side and chat if you like. No pressure.”

They reach the dance floor, turn to face each other. Terry shifts their joined hands, then puts his other hand on Harry’s shoulder. Harry hesitates before putting his free hand on Terry’s waist. Terry smiles encouragingly, sympathetic and without judgement, but standing solid and still, waiting like the rest of them for the music.

It starts. Harry immediately steps on Terry’s foot. Terry bites his lip, trying not to chuckle, but his grin is too obvious. After a few more terrible steps, he leans in close again. Harry shivers from the proximity, from Terry’s hot breath once more on the shell of his ear. “Don’t think so much about it, Harry. Just go.”

Easier said than done. With everyone’s eyes on him, Harry can’t help but think about every misstep he makes. Which is all of them. It’s all the steps.

After barely a minute more, Terry smiles, rolls his eyes, and, after just one more moment of hesitation where legitimate uncertainty crosses his face, leans in to press his lips just at the corner of Harry’s mouth.

It’s not a proper kiss. Not one on the lips. Nothing too much more suggestive than something Hermione does on the rare occasion, kissing his cheek or something. But it’s enough to short out Harry’s brain, and Terry laughs loudly as he drags Harry around the dance floor entirely on autopilot.

And remarkably, Harry does do better when his brain is shot and he’s not thinking about what he’s doing.

Not great, mind, but better. All the practice McGonagall forces on him takes over when he’s not thinking about it, and he can just about get through the dance.

“Aw,” Terry coos suddenly just as the dance is coming to an end. Harry can’t imagine he can get any redder, but he follows Terry’s gaze to the crowd, where Anthony Goldstein pouts sitting in a chair looking very bored, and Michael Corner makes suggestive faces alternatively at Goldstein and at Terry.

Seeing Harry looking, Terry grins. “I wasn’t lying about Anthony not wanting to come. But Padma made Michael and I promise he’d be here.”

“Why didn’t she just ask him?”

“Ask? Because she knows better. No, she told him he’s coming. Not as her date, of course. He wouldn’t be caught dead with a date. But she still insisted he come as her friend. I was supposed to be here as friends with Michael, actually, but then I saw you.”

Oh. He’s supposed to be with Corner. “I’m sorry,” Harry says automatically. “You can get back to him if you-”

“Nonsense, Harry. He’s just jealous that I found a date.” Terry winks, but his teasing expression falls quickly into a serious one. His voice likewise lowers. “But don’t worry. Really. Michael doesn’t mind. Just come talk with us?”

Terry’s tentative smile is, dare Harry think it, actually quite endearing. Perhaps even cute. It’s probably the setting, the knowledge that one way or another this man is his date, but Terry’s awkward little smile makes Harry’s gut squirm and his cheeks warm. (Him being all dressed up for the ball and looking so dashing doesn’t help, either.)

The song ends, the dance comes to a stop, and Harry looks quickly between Terry (trying not to think about the butterflies in his stomach, thank you very much), the other two Ravenclaw boys plus Padma who Harry doesn’t notice at first, Hermione (who is grinning openly and equally looking between him, the other Ravenclaws, and her own date, Viktor Krum), and Ron, who even after the entire dance just stares open-mouthed at him as if he can’t comprehend seeing Harry on the dance floor in the arms of some random Ravenclaw bloke.

Which, to be fair, if Harry were the one in the crowd, he’d probably be doing about the same thing.

“Y-you don’t have to, of course.” Terry clears his throat awkwardly. “I’m sure you’d rather talk with Weasley, and you probably want to get a dance in with Granger, but- you know- you’re welcome to join us, if only for part of the time.”

It actually makes Harry feel better that Terry is openly nervous about this. It’s not exactly a kind of situation one isn’t a bit awkward in, is it? Still, Harry is very thankful for Terry jumping in when he does. Imaging coming out here without a dance partner is… He shudders at the thought.

And Harry doesn’t have any time to mull over his decision with the band moving on to the next song and the other students rushing out onto the dance floor.

“I’ll come with you,” Harry says, hoping he doesn’t sound as pathetically overwhelmed as he feels. “We’re supposed to be dates, after all, aren’t we?”

Terry’s wavering smile slowly grows more and more strength until he’s flat out beaming. “Yeah! Come on. I’ll get you over to Weasley soon, don’t worry.” He glances over his shoulder as the pair of them navigate the crowd to get off the dance floor. “Looks like Granger is going to keep dancing for a bit. But Michael, Anthony, and Padma will be looking forward to seeing you.”

Terry’s grip on Harry’s arm, pulling him through the crowd, quickly slides down until he’s once again interlacing their fingers, holding Harry’s hand as if they really are a couple.

Harry does his best to ignore that, and how that makes him feel, and instead tries to catch Ron’s eye on the way to signal to him that he’ll find him soon, but he’s not sure Ron sees him in the throng of people.

“Come on, Anthony,” Padma’s voice lets Harry know they’re getting close. “The sooner you dance with me, the sooner I stop bugging you about it.”

“Not a chance! It’s bad enough you made me come here in the first place!”

“Why did you think I made you come? Did you honestly think I’d let you get through the night without dancing once?”

Goldstein mutters something darkly under his breath that Harry doesn’t quite catch, but which earns him a gentle smack upside the head from Padma.

“Oh, look, Terry’s back!” Goldstein exclaims, forcing attention on the two arrivals. In a harsh stage whisper, Goldstein leans towards them, specifically Harry, with a fraught expression, and says, “Save me!”

“He’s always like this around romance,” Terry says in Harry’s ear. “Still thinks girls have cooties.”

“Not just girls, Boot,” Goldstein snorts. “You’re gross, too.”

Terry is again in Harry’s ear. “That’s how he says he loves us.”

Goldstein rolls his eyes. “Ignore him.” Then he actually smiles, friendly as if he isn’t pouting and not really wanting to be here at all. “Good to see you, Potter. I’m sorry about our ridiculous friend. I hope he didn’t cross a line somewhere.”

“Oh, no,” Harry says quickly. “I’m actually thankful. I didn’t know what I was going to do and he really came to my rescue.” He rubs his neck. “I admit this isn’t exactly how I expected the ball to go, but honestly, that’s a good thing.”

“Still,” Padma says, smiling at the two of them and their still-entwined hands. “You both really committed to the bit, didn’t you? Was that a kiss I saw out there?”

Goldstein immediately starts fake-gagging, which sends Corner into a fit of giggles. “I think it was,” Corner teases. “Terry, you sly dog. But who can resist a knight in shining armor, eh?”

Harry very quickly heats up, suddenly remembering that when Terry does kiss him, it’s done in front of quite literally the whole school.

Yet Terry himself just waves it off. “He was too tense. And it was only on the cheek.” He taps his cheek to show. “You guys talk like I was snogging him in the middle of the dance floor.”

Well. Now Harry has that image in his head. It’s… surprisingly not an unpleasant one. Is Harry actually into boys? Harry glances over at his impromptu date, at how the light catches and frames him, and he wonders, is Terry actually into boys, or does he just do this to give Harry a hand?

(And why does Harry kind of hope it’s the first?)

“True,” says Padma, “but it’s all anyone is talking about. Good news is that it completely overshadowed just how bad you guys are at dancing.” She snickers. “I’m so sorry, Harry, but you know it’s true.”

Harry blushes again, this time for an entirely different reason. Still, he’s in good humor enough to admit, “No, yeah, I know.”

“Don’t think that means I’ll let you get away without giving me a dance, though.” Padma winks. “We might not be as close as I am with these idiots, but you’re still my friend, and I still want to dance with you tonight. When else are we going to get a chance?”

As Harry flushes yet again, Terry possessively throws his arms around Harry, hugging him tight. “Hey!” Terry protests. “He’s my date! You can’t steal my date!”

Harry, who is still quite embarrassed at his lack of skill with dancing and who never for a moment even considers dancing any more than is strictly required of him at this ball, quietly hopes that Terry will somehow come out on top of this argument.

That said, Harry also knows a losing battle when he sees one, and he is quite touched that Padma even thinks of him as a friend at all, so he quietly resigns himself to his fate.

Still, hoping to change the subject, Harry asks, “Where’s Parvati, by the way?”

Padma rolls her eyes. “Over there.” She gestures towards a table not too far away, where Parvati sits next to Ron, looking quite annoyed, while Ron very obviously tries to eavesdrop on Harry’s conversation. “Ron asked her to be his date when it was obvious he wouldn’t get anyone else and, like an idiot, she agreed. No offense to Ron, Harry, but…” She just kind of gestures to the pair, who quite clearly are not having any fun at all. Especially Parvati, who tries nobly to drag Ron to dance, but is thoroughly ignored.

Harry cringes. He can’t help it. Lowering his voice so Ron doesn’t hear, he mutters, “Okay, yeah, looks like he’s being a bit of a git.”

Corner snorts. “A bit,” he echoes, looking pointedly to Goldstein.

“I told you all from the start that I didn’t want to be here,” protests Goldstein. “If I’m being a git, it’s your fault.”

Just about then, Parvati sends a desperate look to her sister, and Padma sighs. “Michael… do you think you could save her, please? I’m only asking for one dance. I just feel so bad for her.”

“Well, considering my date ditched me for boy wonder,” he sticks his tongue out at Terry, “I guess I’m free to swoop in to your sister’s rescue. You owe me a favor, though.”

“So long as you don’t let Parvati know that dancing with her is such a chore that you need a favor for it.” Padma rolls her eyes.

“No, no, it’s Potions that’s a chore,” Corner says, grinning. “And you’re going to do my homework for me.”

Padma purses her lips, looks over to Parvati. “You’ve got one essay. But I’ll let you hold onto the favor and choose which one. Fair?”

Corner whoops with glee. “Yes! See you guys. Potter. I’m off to earn a free O on a potions essay. And all I have to do is dance with a cute girl.” He sighs wistfully. “This really is the best Christmas.”

“The things I do for my sister.” Padma shakes her head. “Anthony, we’re dancing now.”

“No, we are absolutely no- Hey!”

But Padma doesn’t listen to a word of protest. She just grabs him by the wrist and pulls him bodily onto the dance floor, where Anthony, still grumbling and looking surly the whole time, nonetheless does dance startlingly elegantly with her.

Corner, of course, lives up to his promise as well. He approaches Parvati, asks boldly for a dance, holding a hand out to her, and when she looks over and sees Ron still just glaring at Harry and Terry, she gives in and takes it.

Corner kisses her knuckles, winks, and sweeps her away to dance.

Terry, meanwhile, just giggles and turns to Harry. He tugs him to grab some punch and sit down before he says, with that nervous lilt back in his voice. “So, those are my friends. I know we’ve all met in some group studies and classes and stuff, but we haven’t really hung out before, so…”

But Harry just grins. There’s a lot of teasing there, but just like with him, Ron, and Hermione, there’s also obviously a lot of care and understanding. So, Harry honestly answers, “I think they’re brilliant.” Terry’s grin could light up the room. “Although. I do hope Goldstein is less surly when he’s not being dragged to an event he doesn’t want to be at.”

“Oh, he is, don’t worry,” Terry says with a wave of his hand. “Dead reliable, that one. Just weird when it comes to dating and romance. But he’s not hairy-hearted like the rumors say. Just not interested.” Terry coughs. “Okay, maybe a little averse.”

Harry, who has so many rumors about him constantly that he doesn’t really pay attention to any rumors about anyone else, doesn’t know what “hairy-hearted” is supposed to mean. It sounds like another wizarding thing, though.

“Speaking of surly…” Harry follows Terry’s gaze to Ron, who is now glaring at Hermione and Krum, and still stubbornly sitting alone.

“I don’t think he really wants to be here, either,” Harry admits. “It doesn’t help that he’s embarrassed that the dress robes his mum gave him are… well, they look like… that.”

Terry snickers. “I didn’t want to laugh – I’d be mortified, too. I have to say, he really is a Gryffindor to come here in that. I’d be hiding in my dorm.”

Yeah, well… Ron is mortified, but even when he’s being a surly git, it shows how much he cares that he braves that just to keep an eye on Hermione and support Harry.

And yes, his keeping an eye on Hermione and her “mystery” date is entirely unwelcome from her part, but he does it because he’s concerned about her, even if he is massively mistaken in how much he needs to be concerned, and probably more than a little jealous that she has a date in the first place, much less with Viktor Krum.

But Harry can’t really be mad at Ron for being grumpy considering an equally large part of the reason he’s here at all is to keep him company. Harry suddenly having a date taking his time here at the ball is doubtlessly making Ron only more upset, since he expects to spend the whole time with Harry.

That’s Ron, though. There might be a lot that he’s not handling well, and Harry unfortunately knows that he’ll doubtlessly lash out at some point about this, but… he still comes. He’s here at the ball, in that, ultimately to be here for his best friends.

Like Terry says, he’s very brave. Harry really appreciates that about him.

“So, did you want to go sit with him?” Terry asks. “I know it’s his own fault ignoring Parvati like that, but I do feel kind of bad for him. It’s a ball and look at him.”

Ron really does look the picture of misery. But since Ron’s attention is still on Hermione at the moment, Harry deems it safe to have just a little more time before poking that sleeping dragon.

Besides, there’s something he really needs to ask. “In a moment,” Harry says. He tugs on Terry’s hand, pulling his attention entirely to him. “First…” Harry looks him in the eyes, searching the deep brown there for honest answers. “Why did you really help me? We’ve barely spoken until now, and now everyone will think we’re together.”

Terry flushes from the tips of his ears all the way to his neck. He suddenly finds the punch in his cup fascinating. “I- well, I, er… Does it- does it bother you? That people will think we’re…”

Harry blinks. Does it? “I don’t know,” he admits. “It’ll bother me if you get harassed for it. You jumped in to help me, and- you must know how horrid that Skeeter woman is. There’s no way she doesn’t hear about this. You’ll be front page news. The Hogwarts Champion’s Date to the Ball. Especially with that kissing stunt you pulled.” Harry suddenly flushes himself, thinking about it. “Er… thanks, by the way. I can’t speak to your methods, but it did take my mind off the steps.”

“Sorry,” Terry mumbles. “It’s the only thing I could think of at the time.”

Harry bites his lip and tries valiantly not to think about the implication that kissing him was the only thing Terry could think of.

“But, er… Y-yeah, I do know what’s coming my way. I can’t say I’m looking forward to it, but… I still wanted to help.”

Harry furrows his brow. “But why? Why do you care? We aren’t really friends.”

Terry flinches slightly and closes his eyes, but somehow manages to stammer, “W-well… maybe I want to be. Do- do you think we could be friends?”

Harry contemplates that for a moment. Could he be friends with the bloke that saves him from making a fool of himself at the biggest social event of his life? Yes. Yes, he thinks he can. Harry smiles to himself. “Hermione is going to be so happy.”

Terry blinks. “Why’s that?”

“Because you Ravenclaws are so going to make me study, aren’t you?”

Terry bubbles with popping laughter, bursting out in fits interrupted by his relief that this is going well. “You know how it is,” he giggles. “Wit beyond measure is man’s greatest treasure.”

“I hate that you have a motto, you know that? Gryffindor doesn’t have a motto. How come you guys get a motto?”

“Because Ravenclaw is awesome, obviously,” says Terry, pompously. “And what are you talking about? I always thought Gryffindors woke up every day, gathered in the common room, and said together, ‘What kind of Gryffindor nonsense can we get up to today?’ That seems like a motto to me.”

Harry snorts and smacks Terry on the arm. “We do not!” he says through his own giggles. “And I’ll have you know; the nonsense finds us. It’s not our fault.”

Terry levels an unconvinced look Harry’s way. “It’s usually your fault.”

“Is not.”

“Is too.”

“Is not!”

“Is.”

“Isn’t.”

Terry breaks down into giggles, unable to keep arguing. He is however, capable of throwing his arm over Harry’s shoulders once more and saying, “You really are so cute, you know that?”

Harry blinks, taken aback at this guy calling him cute, and all at once the humor in the air vanishes as Terry seems to register what he just says.

“Terry,” Harry says, carefully, trying not to sound offended or judgmental or anything of the sort. “I was wondering… are you actually into guys?” Harry suddenly cringes. “Or- or is that something you’re not supposed to ask? I’m sorry; you don’t have to answer.”

“No, it’s okay,” Terry says. “It’s… really not something that’s polite to ask, that’s true, but… I think under the circumstances you’re justified. And- and yes, I do like guys. And yes, I do think you’re… cute.” He forces a laugh. “Maybe that’s also part of why I jumped in to help you. I’m certainly not protesting a date with you. But I understand that that’s not what this is. I’m not trying to pressure you into anything, I promise.”

“I didn’t think you were,” Harry says quickly. “Honest.” His eyes turn away as he blushes, too. “It doesn’t really matter; I don’t know why I asked. I just… I’ve never really thought about it before, I guess.”

“The truth is,” Terry says, “even though it’s not polite to ask, with the whole soulmate thing, most people are assumed to go both ways regardless. It’s not like in the muggle world where everyone’s assumed straight. Never heard of a soulmate not being a gender you like, but if soulmates can be platonic, which some are, I don’t see why they couldn’t be. Still, since you can’t know who Magic or Fate says you’re compatible with, people in the wizarding world tend to be open-minded about that kind of thing.”

“That makes sense,” Harry says. And it does make him feel better about being here with a boy. He grimaces again, though, remembering the topic of soulmates. “Terry… about soulmates…”

“You can do the patronus, right?” Terry says almost too casually. “I know. I don’t know if you have an idea already or not who yours might be, but I know. I won’t call you cute or anything if that bothers you. If your eyes are on your soulmate, or whatever.”

Harry only cringes more. “That’s not it. Not exactly.”

“Oh?”

“You do realize that everyone won’t just assume we’re together, right? They’ll assume, since they know that I can do the patronus…”

“That we’re soulmates.”

“…Yeah.” Harry ducks his head. “I’m sorry. That’s exactly why I never plucked up the courage to ask a girl to this stupid ball in the first place. Now, since you helped me, you’ll be lumped with that.”

Terry is quiet for a long time. It feels like an eternity of Terry biting his lip and staring off into the hall somewhere far away from Harry. But then, he answers, “…I don’t mind.”

Harry’s head snaps up. “You don’t? You sure?”

Terry grimaces. “Well… again, I’m not looking forward to it being plastered in the Daily Prophet, but no, I don’t mind people making assumptions. I kind of knew all that before I jumped in to help you, anyway. It’s not like I did this completely oblivious to the consequences.”

“Still, I’m sorry for all the trouble this is going to cause you.”

Terry sighs. “I’m sorry that you can’t do something as simple as take a guy to a ball without all that trouble. I wish I could say I understand, but I am sympathetic. And… well, I suppose soon enough I will understand. But it’s worth it.” Terry shoots Harry a wide grin. “I got a date with you, after all, didn’t I?

“And we’re friends now, whether you like it or not. That’s doubly true for Padma and Anthony. The ‘whether you like it or not’ part, that is, not the friends part. So, I say it’s well worth the trouble. A new friend, maybe a couple, depending on Granger and Weasley. And I got a date with the cutest guy in our year. Don’t tell Michael I said that, though.” Terry chuckles. “I don’t see how any consequences could make me regret that.”

Despite himself, Harry finds himself chuckling as well. “If you’re sure,” he says. “Just… do be careful, at least for a while. You really don’t know how crazy my life gets. I don’t want you to get caught up in it.”

Terry takes a slow breath. “Of course, Harry. I’ll promise to be careful, but… I want you to know that I do want to be part of it. Your life, that is. No matter how crazy it gets, I do still want to be your friend. Even with all the Gryffindor nonsense.”

Harry blushes. He reaches out tentatively to put his hand over Terry’s and squeezes gently. “Thanks, Terry.”

The two meet eyes, and something charged sparks between them. Harry’s chest tightens. It’s hard to breathe, but impossible to look away. Terry’s face slowly turns red at just about the same pace that his lips curl up into a wide smile, but his eyes never waver for a moment from Harry’s, either.

“So, what’s your deal?”

Ron’s harsh, accusing tone sends both Harry and Terry jumping, pulling away from each other slightly as if burned.

“What?” Harry blinks dumbly, but Ron is glaring solely at Terry.

“I know you aren’t really dates,” Ron says, planting himself between the two, forcing them to make room for him. A brief look of offense flashes across Terry’s face before he smooths it out into something calmer. “So, what’s your deal? Think you can take advantage of Harry’s popularity? Trying to ride on his coattails?”

Terry makes eye contact with Harry across from Ron. Harry cringes. As much as he appreciates that Ron comes… he really wishes that he’d just stayed in the dormitory.

“Trying to make a new friend,” Terry says slowly, like Ron might not understand if he speaks too fast. His eyes flick to Harry again, and he adds with a small smile. “Maybe even a real date, but I’m still working on that one.”

Evidently not what Ron expects to hear, he just goggles at him.

“Besides,” adds Terry. “Someone had to step in. Do you know how many ways Professor McGonagall would have killed Harry if he didn’t have a partner for the dance? Professor Snape is dour enough, I don’t want to deal with two angry teachers.”

That is evidently the right thing to say, or maybe Ron just grabs with both hands anything that distracts from Terry admitting that he wants a date with Harry, because Ron’s mood seems to lift a bit at the dig at Snape.

He grunts. “Makes sense. Fine. S’pose you’re alright, Boot. But you know Harry’s got a soulmate, yeah?”

“Ron!” Harry gasps.

“I know he knows the patronus charm,” Terry says. “Doesn’t mean he’s not cute. And funny. And really, really impressive.” The pink patches on his cheeks glow brightly again and he coughs. “Not the time. Right. Sorry.”

Ron narrows his eyes. “Just keep it in mind.”

Harry drops his head into his hands.

On the bright side, the confrontation that Ron starts basically the moment Hermione comes over to join them shows without a sliver of a doubt that Ron meeting Terry could have gone much, much, much… much, much worse.

So, there’s that.

Terry doesn’t waste any time. The very next day after the ball, he invites Harry and his friends to the library to work on their holiday homework.

Of course, this is much too early for Ron to even consider starting his, so coupled with his still icy relationship with Hermione at the moment, he begs off going along. Though he does ask Harry to let him copy off him later.

Hermione, however, is more than happy to go, and looks all too pleased at the idea that Harry is getting on his homework so much sooner than she comes to expect from him. Harry can tell that she’s already thinking these Ravenclaws are a good influence as they walk down to the library together.

She does stop her babbling about homework for a moment during their walk, though, to lower her voice and quietly ask, “Harry… you’re not just hanging out with these guys because your soulmate is a Ravenclaw, right? Or… do you think it might be…?”

“I don’t know, Hermione,” Harry admits. Aside from them being a Ravenclaw, Harry doesn’t have the faintest idea who his soulmate might be. “I don’t have any more information about that than I did before. But Terry saved me last night and I actually really liked hanging out with him at the ball. This has nothing to do with the soulmate thing. Really.”

Hermione smiles secretly and bites her lip. “Do you… do you like him?”

Harry knows the pinking of his cheeks is enough of an answer for Hermione, but still he stubbornly admits, “I… I don’t know. I mean, yeah, I like him, but I don’t know about, like, a crush, or anything. It’s all really new and I do have a soulmate to think about…”

“Maybe it’s him?” Hermione offers. “You said it could be anyone in Ravenclaw, so it’s not impossible if you really do like him.”

Harry bites his lip and stares at the floor. Is it bad that part of him kind of hopes it is? If nothing else, at least then he’ll know that his soulmate likes him. Terry doesn’t exactly hide the crush he has. (Speaking of which, that makes Harry’s heart do little flips. He has no idea how to handle that.)

Hermione lets him think that over. She just pats his back consolingly as they continue down to the library.

It’s only when they’re inside and seated at one of the tables that Hermione’s shrill shriek pierces the quiet. “What do you mean you haven’t even started?”

That naturally draws the ire and the sharp “Shh!” of Madam Pince.

Heedless of that, all four of the Ravenclaws present blush and stammer their excuses at once.

“Well, I got this new book on ovomancy…”

“I was testing the chemical composition of transfigured materials!”

“I didn’t have time! I needed to change the niffler…”

“Oh, I just didn’t want to do it.”

Hermione’s narrowed eyes fix the group of Ravenclaws in her glare. It takes a moment as she tries to parse through the lot of them talking at the same time, and to evaluate their excuses, and then she zeroes in on Michael. “What was that one, Corner?”

He refuses to meet her eye. “Nothing. What?”

Harry has to bite his lip to stifle his snickers. At least it’s not him who has Hermione after him this time. Terry looks over to him desperately, but Harry just unrepentantly grins at him. This is what happens when you’re friends with Hermione.

Finally, Hermione huffs and starts stacking books on the table. “Honestly,” she mutters. “I expect this from Harry and Ron, but I thought Ravenclaws were better than that. At least tell me you’ve started on Charms.”

All the Ravenclaws flush just a tiny bit more deeply.

An edge of desperation reaches Hermione’s voice. “Defense, surely?”

“Er…”

Hermione drops her head with a defeated groan. “Boys.”

“In the boys’ defense,” says Padma with a grin. “I didn’t do it, either?”

“You’re a real one, Padma,” says Michael Corner solemnly.

“Okay.” Hermione lifts her head. She takes a deep breath, like she gets a second wind, and a new determination overtakes her features. “Okay. Okay, I can work with this. At least you’re getting started now. It’s not too late into the holiday, and I suppose you did have the Yule Ball to worry about up until this point. This is still better than putting it all off until the last day like Ronald.

“Well, let’s get started, shall we?”

To their credit, the Ravenclaws all do get right into the work, and that seems to appease Hermione at last. Harry for his part has to admit that it does feel good to have such a sizable chunk of his homework done so early. It’s a load off that he doesn’t have to think or worry about for the entire rest of his holiday break. It’s going to make enjoying his time off easier without it looming overhead like the sword of Damocles.

Unfortunately, homework isn’t the only thing looming over Harry’s head. Once they start wrapping up and Harry’s mind is more allowed to wander, he’s reminded of that.

“Something wrong?”

Terry’s breath in his ear once again makes Harry quiver. Why does he always come so close?

Harry swallows thickly and admits, “I’m just thinking about the egg.”

“Cedric’s hint, you mean?” Terry asks. Cedric catches Harry as they’re leaving the ball, so Terry is there to witness the strange hint. “Do you want me to come with you? I can-” He flushes suddenly, realizing what he’s really asking to do. “Er… sorry. That was a stupid question. I wasn’t thinking about the bath. Of course you’ll want to do that alone.”

“No, actually, I’d appreciate the help.” Yes, it’s a bit weird since Harry knows Terry has a crush on him, but it’s not as if Harry hasn’t been showering with the other boys on the Gryffindor quidditch team for years. “I have no idea what Cedric meant, and it’s not as if I can bring Hermione to work it through with me.”

“Really? You won’t mind…? I could ask Michael and Anthony to come too if it’ll make you more comfortable. I know if it’s just the two of us…”

“They can come if they want, but I really don’t mind. I just want to figure out this egg so I can hopefully survive the next task.”

Terry worries his lip for a moment, then nods firmly. “Alright. Prefect’s bathroom, right? When did you want to meet there?”

“Definitely at night. Don’t know how long it’ll take to figure it out, so we can’t be rushed.”

“Tonight?”

“Yeah, that works.” Harry takes a moment to eye up Terry appraisingly. “You going to be alright sneaking there?”

Terry looks just a little green at the thought, but answers, “I’ll manage.”

Not much of a nighttime wanderer, Harry takes it. It’s… kind of cute, and Harry feels warm and fuzzy inside to realize that Terry is braving something he’s definitely not confident about just to help him.

So, Harry decides to take pity on him. And he really doesn’t want Terry to get in trouble for trying to help him, so he feels somewhat obligated to make sure it goes okay. “Don’t worry. I’ll meet you outside the Ravenclaw Common Room. I’ll make sure we don’t get caught.”

Terry clearly wants to trust him, but he has to ask, “How?”

Harry winks. “I have my ways. You’ll just have to find out.”

“Ooh, mysterious. Alright, Harry. I’ll see you then.”

They evidently are not as quiet as they think they are, because the moment their little conversation ends and they come out of their bubble to look back at the others, they’re greeted with sly smirks from both of the girls, Corner making kissy faces at them and waggling his eyebrows, and Goldstein once more gagging dramatically.

“I hate all of you,” says Terry flatly.

The laughter that erupts from the rest of them nearly gets them kicked out of the library.

That night, when Harry approaches the door to the Ravenclaw Common Room under cover of his invisibility cloak, he realizes just what he agrees to.

He’s going to take a bath with Terry. He’s going to be naked with Terry.

Well, he supposes they can just wear their pants, but that somehow seems even more awkward. Like it’s drawing attention to it, making a big deal out of it.

It shouldn’t be a big deal. Harry bathes with others all the time. The quidditch team uses communal showers, and even in Gryffindor Tower there isn’t anything but some standing screens separating bathtubs, and even that’s all open on one side without any proper door to close them off from the rest of the bathroom.

It was extremely awkward back in first year, but that’s just how things are done here at Hogwarts and in the sometimes old-fashioned wizarding world, so Harry gets used to it quickly.

But it’s different knowing that Terry has a crush on him. All of a sudden, all his first-year self-consciousness about bathing in the open comes back full force. Will Terry look? Does Harry want him to look? And what about everything else? Not even considering their private bits, what will Terry think of Harry’s scrawny body?

What will Terry look like without a shirt on?

As Harry groans and covers his inflamed face, he has to admit to himself that he might, maybe, also have a little bit of a crush.

The Ravenclaw door opens. Harry jumps. Terry pokes his head out, looking around for anyone present. Seeing no one, he slowly, with his uncertainty written on his face, steps out fully and descends the wooden stairs to the landing Harry stands on.

Terry bites his lip, taps his foot, checks his watch, jumpy and jittery and eying the staircase to the rest of the castle with fear and apprehension. “Am I early?” he mutters.

“No,” says Harry, still under his cloak.

Terry shrieks.

Ripping the cloak off, Harry fights his giggles. “Keep it down!” he whispers. “You’re going to wake up the rest of your house like that!”

Voice still about two octaves higher than normal, but thankfully kept to a harsh whisper, Terry splutters. “Wha- Harry! But- Where- How- I- What?” His eyes catch the invisibility cloak in Harry’s hands. He makes a kind of odd wailing sound and then, louder, asks, “Where did you get an invisibility cloak? And did you have to scare me half to death?”

Harry still chuckles, but he finds himself reaching out to touch Terry’s arm. “I didn’t think I’d scare you that bad. I’m sorry.”

Terry groans, takes Harry’s hand in his, and with a step closer, so they’re chest to chest with their joined hands between them, Terry presses Harry’s hand there to his chest just over his heart, leaning in so their faces are mere centimeters apart. “You see what you do to me?”

It’s true, Terry’s heart is racing. Although… Harry isn’t the one who gets a fright, and his heart’s rapid beats aren’t too far behind.

Terry’s eyes flick down to Harry’s lips, linger for a moment, and then descend further to the heavy golden egg in his free hand. “I can carry that for you, if you like.”

Harry sucks in a breath. “…Oh. Right. Thank you.” He passes the egg off to Terry and then realizes he never actually answers one of his questions. “And, er… I’ve had the cloak since first year. It was my dad’s.”

Terry’s eyes widen for a moment, then settle into a gentle look suiting the soft smile on his lips.

But he doesn’t say anything. He just bundles close so Harry can throw the cloak over the both of them and get going to the prefect’s bathroom.

The quickest path there from the Ravenclaw Common Room actually takes them down the Grand Staircase right back into Gryffindor Tower, where they then veer off towards the clocktower. Harry spends most of that walk just trying to ignore how close their bodies are. How warm Terry is against him, how they keep bumping into each other, how Terry constantly keeps a hand on him somewhere, on his shoulder, his arm, his back.

Finally, they make it to their destination. Harry whispers the password to the door, which allows them both to slip inside and drop the cloak hiding them.

“Woah,” Terry murmurs, stepping in further to get a better look at the grand bathroom. “Check this place out. Super jealous that Anthony will be getting to use this all the time next year.”

Harry momentarily misses the closeness but doesn’t allow himself to linger on it. “How do you know Anthony will be prefect?”

Terry snickers. “Well, it’s just obvious, isn’t it? I know you wouldn’t know about us Ravenclaws, but don’t you have an idea who the Gryffindor prefects will be?”

Harry considers that. “Hermione for sure. But the boys… I don’t know. Maybe Dean?”

Terry just hums and sets the golden egg down on the side of the enormous swimming pool bathtub in the center of the floor. “Come help me figure out what these taps do.”

The two of them play around a bit, fiddling with taps that gush out pink, football-sized bubbles, snow-white foam so thick that it seems they could float on it if they try, heavily scented purple clouds that linger sultrily over the surface of the water, and even one that sends its stream bouncing off the surface of the water in the tub in large arcs like a water fountain display.

Much too quickly for how big a bath this is, the pool fills and their experimenting has to come to an end. Harry just remembers to make sure that the thick white foam covers the entire surface of the tub before they do finish, so that when they enter there won’t be any risk of peeking below the water at something they shouldn’t be seeing.

And then the two face each other, slowly reddening and unable to meet each other’s eye as they realize that this is the part where they strip.

“Um, I’ll just-” Terry gestures vaguely to one of the two toilet stalls in the corner of the room. “Call me when you’re ready?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer. He just goes to hide in the stall. Harry hears a dull thud, as, unknown to him, Terry drops his head right into the inside of the stall door, groaning silently to himself at his awkwardness, but with no more noise from him, Harry quickly strips naked and sinks beneath the blanket of thick bubble foam so that Terry won’t be able to see anything lower than his neck.

“Alright, you can come in now,” he calls.

The stall door opens slowly. Terry peeks his head out much like he does from the Ravenclaw Common Room earlier, but the glowing pink on his cheeks is much more prominent.

Seeing Harry is well covered up, Terry sighs and more boldly walks back into the main area.

“…My turn, then, I guess.” Terry coughs uncomfortably and pulls off his shirt like he’s ripping off a bandaid.

Harry stares without meaning to, admiring the sight. Terry is on the short side, and stocky for it rather than simply tiny all around like Harry is. He’s got some muscle definition, especially in his arms and chest. Not the thick, athletic builds Harry sees from the Weasley twins in the locker room, or even Oliver’s lankier one, but Harry doesn’t really expect that since, to his knowledge, Terry isn’t an athlete like his quidditch team.

There’s a healthy layer of fat smoothing out his abs, but Harry thinks that only makes him more attractive than he would be with the washboard abs he’s seen on models and the like, since harry spends so long self-conscious about his own emaciated frame. It’s definitely a healthy fat, nothing like Uncle Vernon or Dudley’s weight. Harry actually admires it. He kind of wants to touch it.

“Harry…” Terry murmurs, almost a whine. His hands linger at the waistband of his trousers. His face is beet red. “You’re staring.”

Harry quickly looks away. “Sorry.”

No more words are said. Harry sits there hyperaware of every rustle behind him, unable to shake the knowledge that Terry is getting naked just there and if he were to just turn his head slightly…

But he doesn’t. He can’t. He keeps his eyes fixed firmly on the bubbles and then thinks better of it and just screws his eyes shut until he hears the splashing of Terry entering the water and then a few moments more for the water to still again.

“So,” Terry says, “about the egg. I had a few thoughts. There’s really not many reasons why a bath would be necessary, and I do find it strange that Cedric gave you the password to this bath rather than just telling you to use your own. So, I’ve got a couple theories. What does it do if you open it?”

“It screams,” Harry answers.

“Really?” For some reason, that only makes Terry look more intrigued. Harry catches Terry’s eyes turn momentarily to the golden-framed painting on the wall depicting a blonde mermaid sleeping on a rock. “Could I hear?”

Harry sighs. “You sure? It’s not pleasant.”

Terry nods. “Oh, but…” He rises a bit out of the water, giving Harry a glimpse of the expanse of his back, as he reaches for his clothes to grab his wand, which he flicks at the door to the bathroom with a murmured, “Quietus.”

“Isn’t that the counter-charm to that voice-amplification spell?”

Terry grins. “It’s actually just a general quietening charm. A lot like the growth and reduction charms. It does act as the counter-charm, but both Quietus and Sonorus can be used on anything. It’s just common to use on one’s throat for announcements. All I did was quiet the door so hopefully the egg’s screaming won’t be too loud out in the hall.”

“I wouldn’t have thought of that,” Harry admits. “Good job you’re here.”

Terry grins. “It’s also very useful to put on the curtains of your bed if you need the quiet to sleep. Or on the windows. Some Ravenclaws have trouble with the wind outside the tower.” Oh, Harry is trying that the moment he gets back. If it contains Ron’s snoring, the others in their dorm will be eternally grateful to him. “But anyway,” says Terry, “let’s hear it. May I?”

Harry nods his permission, so Terry grabs onto the latch keeping the egg closed and opens it.

The wailing, screeching sound echoes off the marble walls, only increasing the dizzying, piercing incomprehensibility of it. Both boys flinch at the volume, and Terry quickly snaps it shut again, releasing the egg to rub at his ears. “Okay, that is horrible.”

“Yep,” says Harry. The number of times he subjects himself to that already to try to figure it out should not be commented on.

Terry wipes a wet hand down his face, through his hair, and sighs. “Okay, so most obvious option first, I suppose. Cedric told you to bring it to the bath and gave you a frankly enormous one to take it to, so let’s try putting it in the water? If nothing else, the water will dampen the volume, so our ears won’t be ringing, at least.”

“Good idea.” Harry grabs the egg this time. He lowers the thing under the foam and feels around to unlatch and open it. And this time… it does not wail. A gurgling song comes out of it instead, a song whose words Harry can’t distinguish through the water.

He shares a wide-eyed look with Terry. Neither of them dares speak, as if they’re afraid that doing so will silence the egg. Terry silently gestures down, asking if they should go under the water to listen. Harry nods. Together, they take a deep breath, and sink beneath the foam.

Harry opens his eyes underwater to look into the brilliantly bubbly interior of the golden egg, and he can finally hear the clue for the second task.

It is, each line of the song in order, a clue to the location of the task, to the goal of the task, the restriction of it, and finally, a threat.

Harry meets eyes with Terry, both of them concerned about this clue.

And then, together, they both glance down and realize simultaneously that there is no layer of thick white foam obscuring everything from the neck down.

Harry chokes, all the air leaves his lungs, and he’s desperately scrambling to get back to the surface to avoid drowning because he just accidentally gets a look at everything.

He surfaces, coughing and spluttering, and is only mildly comforted by the fact that Terry is doing the exact same thing, looking just the same shade of beet red as Harry feels.

“I’m so sorry,” they both attempt to say at the same time. Not wanting to talk over the other, they both stop, wait, and then start again, “I did not think that through…”

Again they stop, waiting for the other to speak, cringing only more at interrupting the other.

The silence stretches on. Neither of them dare look at the other.

And then, they start laughing. “We’re being dramatic, aren’t we?” Terry asks. “Anthony would not be impressed if he could see us now.”

“I’d rather no one else see us now, actually,” Harry chuckles. “But… yeah. Sorry. It doesn’t need to be a big deal. Right? Nothing we haven’t seen before.”

They turn back to each other, both smiling, eyes locking. Terry sidles up closer. “I mean,” he says with a sideways glance. “I haven’t seen yours before.”

Harry’s heart does a little skip. “You know what I mean!”

Terry laughs. “Yeah, you’re right. I am sorry, though. I totally did forget about that. I didn’t mean to look without your permission.”

“I saw just as much. I’d say we’re square. More importantly, what do you make of the song?”

Terry glances down to the bubbles, where the gurgling song is still muffled since Harry drops the thing in his panic to surface. “And which one of us is going to dive down to get it?”

Harry’s cheeks burn. “Oh, don’t even-” Despite his flaming countenance, he rolls his eyes and ducks down to go pick up the egg. And politely does not linger down there any longer than necessary or look anywhere he doesn’t need to.

“Probably a good call,” Terry says sagely once Harry surfaces. “Anthony and Padma are most of my self-control; I probably would’ve looked.”

Harry shakes his hair out of his eyes and punches Terry lightly on the shoulder. “No, you wouldn’t have. I trust you.”

Whatever comeback is on the tip of Terry’s tongue dies. He’s just too legitimately touched by Harry saying that to even consider continuing the joke.

He coughs instead, shakes it off, and says, “Right. The song. So, er… ‘Come seek us where our voices sound, we cannot sing above the ground.’ That’s pretty straightforward. Not to mention Cedric’s hint.” Terry’s eyes wander to the wall. “What sings in the water?”

Harry follows Terry’s pointed gaze to the mermaid painting. “Terry, there aren’t merpeople in the Black Lake, are there?”

“Got it in one. There’s a civilization of them deep in there. Slytherins say they can see them occasionally from their common room but for the most part they don’t interact with students. I’ve read that Dumbledore has a decent relationship with them, though.”

“So, the task is going to be in the Black Lake. In February?”

“Seems like. You’re going to have to figure out how to keep warm first and foremost. Then probably you’ll need to breathe underwater.”

“How do you do that?”

“Bubblehead charm? There are potions and plants, too. Transfiguration? But I wouldn’t recommend that. Maybe if you were a seventh-year.” Terry worries his lip, pacing slowly as he considers. Finally, he shakes his head. “We’ll brainstorm it. Don’t worry. We’ve got plenty of time, and there are lots of options.”

If he says so… Harry takes a steadying breath. Terry’s right. They’ll figure it out. Together with the others. “Right, okay,” says Harry. “And the next part… what was it again? ‘And while you’re searching…’ They’re going to take something?”

“‘And while you’re searching ponder this, we’ve taken what you’ll sorely miss.’ I’m afraid I couldn’t say what that might be. You’re the only one who would know what you’ll sorely miss.”

That makes Harry nauseous. It could be anything.

“Then it’s, ‘An hour long you’ll have to look, to recover what we took.’ Again, that’s straightforward. The task will have an hour time limit.”

“An hour to search the whole Black Lake?”

Terry makes a face. “Well, I suppose it’s not supposed to be easy. ‘But past an hour – the prospect’s black, too late, it’s gone, it won’t come back.’ You don’t think they’d really leave whatever they steal from you down there, would they?”

Honestly? Harry wouldn’t put it past them. Not leaving it down there would just make too much sense, and Harry knows no one in charge of this tournament has got any of that.

Terry, a determined frown tugging at his lips, rubs his hands together. “Okay, so, steps. Whatever they take doesn’t really matter, excepting that it could be something big I suppose? It really only comes into consideration on trying to get back out of the lake, since your task is to retrieve it anyway, it could just as easily be a dishrag as your Firebolt and it really wouldn’t affect the task itself.”

“That’s… true. But-”

“No, I know,” Terry sighs. “That’s the point. That’s why the threat of it not being returned is there at the end. They want you to be stressed going into this. You shouldn’t be. Nothing they can take matters more than your safety. Stay calm, stay focused, and you’ll be fine. Even if you can’t get it back, at least you’ll survive the task, yeah?”

Harry gulps thickly. He nods. “You’re right.” Of course, he’s right. Even if they take his invisibility cloak, his life still matters more. He can’t afford to get reckless.

Terry takes a long breath. “Circles. We need circles.”

“Circles?”

“Focuses. Things.” He shakes his head. “When we get together to study, we separate the work. We split and each focus on a certain topic. A circle. Of things. You know. So, we need someone to research the lake. What’s in there, what might you encounter, or have to defend against. Anthony knows most about that; he’d be the best choice.

“Then there’s the temperature problem, the breathing problem, and the tracking problem. Maybe even one more focus on defensive spells, but they’d have to work in tandem with Anthony to know what the spells are needed for.”

“Terry.”

“I don’t know anything about tracking spells… I think I’d be best on the breathing problem. I already have a few ideas on that.”

“Terry…” Harry grabs his shoulders, making Terry stop and look him in the eye. “You’re rambling.”

Terry gulps hard. “Sorry. I’m… I’m worried. You’ve no idea how scary that was watching you go up against that dragon.”

Harry only chuckles. “Watching? Imagine doing it!”

Terry bursts into a watery kind of laughter. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m stupid. Of course, you know better than anyone.”

“You’re not stupid,” Harry protests. “You’re scared.” He hesitates. “…So am I. But you know… It makes me really happy that you care.”

Terry stands there, staring into Harry’s eyes, and it’s like that charged moment at the ball all over again. They lean in without thinking, entirely wrapped up in the boy before them.

“Harry…” It’s barely more than a breath, but it’s a breath that flows across Harry’s lips. His hands find Harry’s sides under the water, holding him loosely, but holding him close. “Can I…?”

Terry’s eyes close. He bites his bottom lip. The motion draws Harry’s eyes there. His breath hitches.

“I’m being dramatic again,” Terry admits. “It shouldn’t be this hard.”

Harry asks, “What shouldn’t?”

Terry opens his eyes, forces a smile, and says with that fluttery breath that tickles Harry’s lips, “Asking to kiss you.”

Part of Harry wants to shout, “Yes! Do it!” and pounce on Terry himself. But there’s a melancholy in Terry’s tone, a resignation in his eyes that makes Harry doubt himself.

Harry has never felt like this before. Not with anyone. He still thinks Cho is pretty, and he does like her, but he really fixates on her because of the Yule Ball and the fact that he’s forced to look for someone and she’s the best – only – legitimate option.

This is different. Terry’s attractive, sure. Handsome. But the reason Harry likes him is because of how well they connect in the brief couple days that they really talk. It might be rushing things a little to go for a kiss on the second real night of hanging out together, but it doesn’t feel like it. Beyond Harry’s wildest expectations, they just click. And they do, technically, already go on a date.

But… Harry frowns. “What’s stopping you?” he asks.

Terry releases a breathless laugh. He slumps, his head tilts forward so that his forehead rests against Harry’s. “I want to,” Terry says. “I really, really want to. But… Harry…” Terry sighs. “I don’t know how to explain.”

“Try,” Harry begs.

Terry’s eyes fill with desperate pain. He murmurs quiet as a mouse. “I don’t know how to say so it doesn’t sound like I don’t- Like I- …I just don’t want you to hate me.”

“Well, I like you right now,” Harry says. “A lot. In a way I never really thought I’d like anyone.”

Terry flinches back at his admission, not remotely the response Harry expects or hopes for. But still, a breath later and it seems to buoy him just a little. Terry meets Harry’s eyes and says, “Harry, do you have any idea just how long I’ve fancied you?”

Terry stops like he’s waiting for an answer. Harry thinks over the question. The answer is no. Unequivocally. Harry doesn’t even have the slightest guess. “…No, I don’t think so.”

Terry smiles sadly at him. “Yeah. Exactly.” He closes his eyes again for another brave inhale. “Two years. It started as a little puppy crush in second year. At the dueling club, when you tried to talk that snake Malfoy summoned out of attacking Justin. Of course, we were twelve. I didn’t really understand it at the time. Certainly wouldn’t have identified it as a crush, but… but that’s when it started.”

Way back then? “But… but that’s when everyone thought I was the heir of Slytherin, attacking muggleborns in the school.”

Terry hums. “Not everyone. I never believed it. I mean, I admit I wasn’t sure you weren’t an heir of Slytherin. Parseltongue and all that. But I never for a second believed you were behind the attacks. And I told that to everyone I could.” Terry’s expression gains something heady, something bitter, when he asks, “Did you know that?”

There’s just enough of that heady, bitter thing in Terry’s eyes that Harry has a sinking feeling he knows where this is going. “I didn’t,” he admits quietly. “I had no idea. I thought- I thought Ron and Hermione- and the twins- I thought they were the only ones who believed me.”

“Well, you can ask the other Ravenclaws if you don’t believe me,” Terry says. “I’m sure they remember; I was very annoying about it.”

“I believe you,” Harry says without hesitation. He feels sort of ridiculous now, thinking of the entire school outside of his immediate friend group as a monolith. Of course, someone out there believes in him all along, even if he never notices. “But can I ask… why would that start a crush? It made everyone else hate me, but you… liked it?”

Terry flushes cutely and ducks his head. “I didn’t mean it like that, I- It’s not the parseltongue, it’s- I really just- I really admired you for it. I don’t think I realized until later that you didn’t know that speaking parseltongue when you did would make the school turn against you. I just thought you were so cool stepping up and using your powers to try to help, even when they’d never be appreciated. I thought you were really brave.

“And then, later, when you were dealing with everyone believing you were behind the attacks… that only reinforced that for me. You were awesome. I- I could never have withstood that, but you just kept going until you figured it out and then you went down into that Chamber of Secrets and fixed it all, even though you had every reason to just leave us to our fate and say we deserved what we’d got.”

Harry balks. “I could never have-!”

“I know. That’s my point, Harry. You’re so, so admirable. You’re brave, and strong, and clever, and… and I saw the start of that that day in the dueling club. That’s why I started fancying you.”

Can that really be how Terry sees him? Harry isn’t sure how much he can really believe that. From his side, he’s just stumbling around blindly and getting lucky. He never once imagines someone might look at him and see something to admire. If they think that kind of thing, they’re usually looking at The-Boy-Who-Lived, not at Harry. But… Terry never mentions Voldemort once. Everything he says is… is Harry.

Terry sighs. “I’ve fancied you this entire time, so it should come as no surprise that I’ve been watching you. I know you learned to cast the patronus charm. I know you have a soulmate. And… I know you don’t know who they are, yet.”

Harry blinks. “You do? How do you know that?”

Terry shrugs. “Deductive reasoning? Nothing really changed as last year went on after you were able to use the full patronus. Everyone was waiting, you know. Me included. But nothing changed. This year, we all thought you’d bring your soulmate to the ball. Because there wasn’t any real change last year, most of us figured it was either Ron or Hermione, but… it’s not. If it were as simple as that, you wouldn’t have thought twice of bringing them to the ball, would you?”

“…No, I suppose I wouldn’t have.” Because Terry is still quiet for a while, Harry finds the nerve to say, “It was a stag.”

Terry blinks at him.

“Last year. My patronus was a stag. My dad… he was an animagus. A stag. I thought, at the time, that I just didn’t have a soulmate.”

“Oh.”

Harry ducks his gaze. “I didn’t mind, really. I… liked having a bit of my dad protecting me, even if it meant I missed out on a soulmate. It wasn’t until this year that it- changed. So, I was never really looking.”

Terry closes his eyes. He looks like this is the part that he is dreading. “That makes sense. But… you were looking, weren’t you? You said it changed, so you must have used your patronus this year, and there aren’t any dementors around, so… It was the ball, wasn’t it? You were desperate for a date, so you conjured your patronus, hoping that it could guide you to one. To your soulmate.”

Harry flinches. “…Yes,” he says in a very, very small voice.

Terry breathes. Every exhale still brushes Harry’s cheeks, still makes him shudder. “Did you sneak out? Do it at night? If you did it during the day, then someone would have seen.”

“I did, yes.”

“And if that’s the case… If that’s the case, then unless your soulmate is a Gryffindor, the most you’d learn is what house they’re in, since the patronus would lead you to their dormitory, which would be locked to you.”

Impossibly small, Harry admits, “Yes.”

Terry’s eyes seem to swallow him. “They’re a Ravenclaw, aren’t they?”

“…I’m hoping it’s you,” Harry admits. “If you want me to-”

Terry suddenly, very suddenly, backs away. The echoing splash of the water from his sharp movement crashes down on Harry’s heart. Terry turns his back so Harry can’t see his face, puts his arms on the side of the pool and rests his head there, staring morosely at nothing. “Don’t,” Terry says quietly. “Please. If you do… If I’m not, then I’m- But… But if I am, then…”

Harry almost doesn’t want to ask. “Then… what?”

“Harry… I’m nobody. You’re Harry Potter, and I’m- I’m some random Ravenclaw bloke. I… Harry, be honest. If you were asked, would you have even remembered I existed before we talked at the ball?”

“I- Terry, I-”

“We’ve been classmates for three years, Harry. You’ve barely looked at me in that time.” He slaps a hand to his face and growls a little. “And this is what I meant. This is why I didn’t want to- I don’t know how to… I’m really not trying to be accusing, or anything, I swear. I don’t want to come across like I’m angry with you or that I don’t trust you, because that couldn’t be further from the truth. Hell, I even admit that it’s my fault. If I’d just plucked up the courage to talk to you sooner, maybe you would have noticed me. But… even so, isn’t it still the case that- that I was no one to you just a few days ago?”

Harry doesn’t want to say it, because it sounds so… bad. But he can’t really deny it, either. He’s not going to lie to Terry, and… the truth is, if Harry had seen him at the ball and wasn’t rescued by him… Harry would only recognize him as one of the group of three Ravenclaw boys. Anthony stands out a bit more just because he’s blond, but Harry honestly wouldn’t have been able to say whether he was Terry or Michael if McGonagall hadn’t called him by name.

At least not right away. Not without thinking about it. And that’s… that’s exactly Terry’s point.

Harry stands there, stock still, in his own shame.

“Harry…” Terry’s voice is softer again. “Harry, I really, really like you. I’ve fancied you for so long, and the ball was- It was a dream come true for me. Not only did I get a date with the guy I’d been pining for for so long, but… we actually really hit it off. I had so much fun. And then today we studied together, and I just loved hanging out with you, and my friends like you, and I like Hermione too, and it all just felt like things are working out so perfect, and…” He trails off, completely run out of steam.

“But… I don’t want you to do this just because I might be your soulmate. I don’t want that to be the only reason you choose to be with me. And at the same time… I’m terrified, because you do have a soulmate, and because if you conjure that patronus and it leads you somewhere else, somewhere away from me… Then what?”

That’s a good question. Harry doesn’t know, either. He feels as lost as Terry looks. Slowly, he creeps closer, until he’s once again within reach. Harry stretches out an arm to Terry, places his hand on Terry’s back, comes up to perch against the side of the tub as well and gently rubs Terry’s back to be – he hopes – comforting to him.

“I don’t know,” Harry admits. “I really don’t. But… even if it hasn’t been that long… I do really like you, Terry. I did wonder, and I did hope… but my soulmate being a Ravenclaw isn’t why I want to hang out with you. I can swear that much. I want to hang out with you because I loved doing it at the ball and today and I want to do it again. That’s it.

“My soulmate could be any Ravenclaw for all I know. But I want it to be you.” Harry sighs. “I want to see where this goes, soulmate or no. Because I like you, and that has nothing to do with any soulmate. And maybe… maybe it doesn’t work in the end. Maybe my soulmate is someone else and things will work out that I do end up with them. But it won’t be because I don’t give this a shot. And I’m certainly not going to give up on being your friend, even if this doesn’t work out.

“I get it, sort of. I did use my patronus out of desperation, but I honestly don’t want to be with someone because of a spell, either. I want to be with you because you stepped in when I needed you. You had my back even though I didn’t expect it. You got me through something I was dreading. You turned a whole night I thought would be worse than facing a freaking dragon into one of the best nights of my life. You’re the one who’s admirable, Terry. You’re the one who’s brave. And you’re witty, and scarily smart, and beyond funny. And it doesn’t hurt that you’re handsome, too. That’s why I want to be with you.

“And if you’re not comfortable with me using the patronus to find out right now, then fine. I’m happy not to. Because I can decide what I want for myself, thanks. I don’t need it to tell me. And right now, what I want…” Harry gulps thickly. “What I really want…” He screws up his face and plucks every last ounce of Gryffindor courage left in his body. “What I really want is for you to just ask to kiss me like you wanted to do from the start.”

Terry stares at him, wide-eyed, like he can barely hear Harry’s whole spiel. But every bit of exposed skin splotches with glowing pink and his lips curl into a wide, wide smile. “Promise?” Terry asks. His voice is much too weak for Harry’s liking.

“Promise,” says Harry, and he means it entirely.

Terry slowly turns to face Harry properly. His eyes go on a whole journey across Harry’s face. At just about the same time, Harry’s stomach goes on a journey to the clouds. And then Terry reaches up to cup Harry’s cheek, and Harry feels like he’s underwater again unable to suck in a breath, and finally, finally, after a stay delightfully long on Harry’s lips, Terry’s eyes come back home to Harry’s.

And Terry murmurs, “In that case… Can I kiss you?”

“Please.” The little whine is a smidge too desperate, but Harry can’t bring himself to care. Terry closes the distance before he can feel embarrassed by it, and the feeling of Terry’s lips on his wipes all of that away entirely.

Several kisses, lots of laughing, and a supremely awkward moment where they both suddenly remember that they are both still naked later, and the pair are sneaking back out of the prefect’s bathroom to Ravenclaw Tower.

Harry walks Terry all the way up to the door knocker where they remove the invisibility cloak once more.

Terry knocks once, firm but quiet, and the knocker moves to peer down at them, and is quiet for an unexpectedly long time. So long that both boys get a little unnerved under its stare. Harry is just about to ask about it when it speaks so suddenly it sends both boys jumping.

“Must prophecy be always true?”

A thoughtful look comes over Terry’s face. Harry mostly just watches his expression shift as he works to an answer. It only takes a few moments, but Harry still just likes to look at Terry’s face.

But though Terry smiles, clearly knowing his answer, he gestures to Harry. “Give it a shot? Why not, right?”

“Is that okay?” Harry asks. “I think it locked me out last time I tried. What if I answer wrong and you can’t get in?”

Terry shakes his head. “It’ll let me give my answer. Don’t worry. Go ahead. Most of us Ravenclaws find it fun by now, though the first years can get kind of stressed about it. But go ahead. Worst that can happen is nothing.”

“Er, okay,” Harry says. “Well… a prophecy by definition kind of has to be true, doesn’t it? If it’s wrong, is it a real prophecy?”

“Uninspired,” says the knocker. “and lacking confidence.”

“Well.” Harry’s disgruntled expression makes Terry laugh, at least. Harry pouts, despite the sound of Terry’s laugh making him want to smile. “Well, what’s the right answer, then?”

Terry giggles a little more before he says, “Don’t worry, Harry, everyone makes the same mistake at first. It’s not about right or wrong. In fact, I can’t remember it ever asking a question that there is a ‘right’ answer to. Your answer was as ‘right’ as any other, but that’s why the eagle didn’t like it. You just said what you can find in a first-term divination textbook. The eagle here wants us to think.”

“Think harder.” The knocker tells Harry last time. Huh. Harry echoes both sentiments, asking simply, “Think?”

Terry shrugs. “To come to your own conclusions, to reason for yourself. I know some Ravenclaws come up with the strangest answers, but the eagle still accepts them even though they’re absolutely loony because they’re thought through. That’s what matters most. Because that’s the point. The eagle just wants us to come up with something well-reasoned and original. That’s all. If it was as simple as right or wrong, our common room wouldn’t be half as secure as the rest of you with your passwords. Anyone with an ounce of deductive reasoning would be able to answer.”

He pauses for a moment, inclines his head, and adds, “Well, wizards do tend to lack logic, so… maybe we would be secure, actually.”

“Okay,” says Harry, not fully understanding. “Well, you answer, then.”

“Sure. Let’s see.”

Terry goes and knocks once more, and the knocker animates again and asks the same question, “Must prophecy be always true?”

Terry looks up at the eagle knocker and, with just a small, significant glance to Harry, says firmly, “Life is given to words shared.”

The eagle on the knocker inclines its head slightly. “Nicely phrased.” And it folds up its wings, and the door swings open.

(Harry has to peek. All he sees beyond the door, though, is more stairs leading up to a wall where a fierce marble eagle is carved as if swooping down through the doorway. The stairs continue up either side, curling back towards where Harry stands. And he thinks Gryffindor is bad about the stairs.)

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Terry asks, hope written across his brow.

Harry smiles. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he echoes.

Terry beams, turns to go through the door, then thinks better of it and grabs Harry to pull him into one more kiss, and then actually goes through the door.

Harry stands there, dazed and grinning, until he hears the door lock shut. Now fully alone, he can’t resist pumping his fist and moving his feet in an uncoordinated little victory jig.

(Unknown to him, on just the other side of the door, Terry does the exact same thing.)

“Well, someone’s in a good mood today,” Ginny comments as Harry enters the common room the next morning, still feeling like he’s been stung by a billywig and is floating away.

Harry flushes as he takes a seat by her and Hermione, Ron joining not a second later.

Hermione chuckles behind her hand. “I take it things went well with Terry last night?”

“With Terry?” Ginny leans in. “Oh? I saw you went to the ball together, but what’s this about last night?”

Harry warms at Ginny’s waggling brow. “We just went to try to figure out the golden egg!”

“Uh huh.” Ginny grins. “But you did more than that, didn’t you?”

“We, er- we might’ve, um-” Harry’s voice shrinks and shrinks in embarrassment between the two girls’ knowing looks. “kissed.”

The hard slap on his back startles him out of any embarrassment. And kind of hurts. “Cheers, Harry!” Ginny shouts. “Way to go!”

“Oh, I really am so happy for you, Harry,” Hermione says, grabbing his hand. “I know it’s all still new, but anyone can see how well you get on. I’m glad you found someone that makes you happy.”

“So, it’s really him, then?” Ron asks. “Terry Boot is your soulmate? Never would have guessed that, but he seems alright.”

Ah, and there it is. Harry worries his lip. “I er- I don’t know, actually. Everything with Terry just kind of happened. I’m… not sure I really want to know if he’s my soulmate or not.”

“What?” Ron gasps. “But, mate, what if he isn’t?”

“I like him, and he likes me, and that seems a much better thing to base a relationship on than a spell, I think,” says Harry bravely.

“I don’t know,” Ron grumbles. “Doesn’t seem right, does it? If he’s not, wouldn’t you be cheating on your soulmate?”

Hermione groans. “Honestly, Ronald. He can’t cheat on someone he doesn’t agree to be with in the first place.”

“I’m just saying. It’s one thing before you can do the patronus and don’t know that you even have a soulmate, but once you do… feels wrong to me. I wouldn’t like my soulmate doing something like that.”

“Well then it’s a good thing he’s not your soulmate, isn’t it?” hisses Hermione acidly. Harry gets the impression that she’s starting to argue about more than just Harry’s soulmate thing, so he looks helplessly to Ginny.

He knows the reason why he doesn’t want to test it. Terry has very, very valid reasons to be afraid of it, and Harry understands and agrees with them. Harry himself feels like so much of his life is out of his control, starting from all the way back when he becomes the Boy-Who-Lived all the way until now when he’s stuck in this tournament against his will. He doesn’t want to be told who he should date, too, and he especially doesn’t want to let Terry believe that Fate, or Magic, or whatever it is, is the only reason that Harry could ever be interested in him.

He likes Terry, and he wants this to grow from them, from their choices. Not from something outside of their control. Harry wants this, at least, to be his. So, while he doesn’t quite get it at first, after having a night to think about it, Harry more than agrees that he shouldn’t conjure the patronus to confirm.

Harry will hate it, too, even if they are soulmates.

But is Ron right? Is doing this unfair to whoever his soulmate is? If it’s not Terry, then is it right to be starting this?

Ginny bumps his shoulder with hers, sharing a grin under Ron and Hermione’s bickering. Her grin fumbles slightly, and there’s something in her eyes, but it seems like she doesn’t want to say whatever is on her mind in front of the others.

Harry glances to his best friends. “Hey, guys,” he says, interrupting their argument. “I’m going to meet with Terry in the library after breakfast to go over what we learned about the second task from the egg, but I forgot my bag upstairs. I’ll meet you at breakfast?”

Neither of them seem fooled, but thankfully neither of them question him sending them on ahead. Maybe they see the look on Ginny’s face, too. Hermione for sure will be thinking like Harry is about Ginny’s old crush on him (although he thinks she’s over that?). But both of his best friends go ahead out of the common room leaving Harry and Ginny alone enough that leaning in close and whispering, they can’t be overheard.

A flash of gratitude passes Ginny’s features. “Sorry about Ron,” she says. “He’s a git.”

“He means well,” says Harry. “Don’t know what I’d do without him.”

She nods. She bites her lip, wrings her hands. “He’s wrong, you know,” she says quietly. “I know he would be faithful to his soulmate. Even though he’s a git sometimes, he is loyal. You know better than anyone. But that’s why he’d never understand why you’d choose not to know.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“…I kind of get it, though. I’m not sure I want to know, either.” Harry looks over at her, a little surprised by that. Ginny smiles and ducks her head. “When I was younger and had that massive hero crush on you… I definitely did want to know. I was certain that if only I was allowed a wand and could do the Patronus Charm it’d prove that you’re my soulmate.”

She shakes her head. “And then… Tom took my life from me. I told him things I’d never told anyone. I gave him everything. And in return, he took a part of me, and I still don’t really feel like I’ve got that back. I don’t think I’ll ever get that back.”

She looks up at Harry again. This, time, her smile is more confident, more genuine. The pain is still there, it always will be when she’s forced to ponder what happens with that diary in her first year, but she’s stronger than that, now. She’s more than that, now. And Harry smiles back, because Ginny is like a sister to him, and she really is amazing, and he’s so proud of her.

“You’ve had a lot of people telling you what to be since day one,” Ginny says firmly. “Including me. You have so many expectations on you for being the Boy-Who-Lived, and this year especially for being one of Hogwarts’ champions. And you didn’t choose any of that. I can’t blame you for wanting something that’s good to be your own. Right or wrong, I don’t know, but I’d want it to be mine more than anything. So, I really am happy for you, Harry. And I know you value Ron’s opinion, but don’t let him make you doubt. You’re making the choice that’s right for you. Hang whoever thinks it’s wrong for them.”

Harry nods weakly, then more vigorously as he processes her words. Whatever grows between him and Terry is between them. Not Ron and Hermione, not even Magic or Fate, or some soulmate he doesn’t know. It’s theirs, and it’s good, and Harry grabs onto that with both hands almost as fiercely as he yanks Ginny into a hug. “Thanks Ginny,” he murmurs. “I love Ron and Hermione, but… I don’t think either of them could really understand.”

She pats his back. They part. She smiles. “Anytime, Harry.”

Moment over, they both move to stand to go join Ron and Hermione in the Great Hall for breakfast. Harry really does need to go grab his bag, but Ginny waits for him, so they walk together.

“By the way,” says Ginny, “are you really meeting Terry to work on prep for the second task?”

“Yeah, I am. We figured out the golden egg last night.”

“Can I help?”

“If you want. I’m not going to turn down any help I can get.”

“I’ve brought circles!” Terry grins proudly, slapping a stack of parchment down on the table.

“Circles?” Ron echoes.

“It’ll be clear in a moment,” sighs Anthony.

“Okay, so long story short,” Terry says to the group, “the second task is going to have Harry diving into the Black Lake to find something that’s going to be taken from him.”

Michael, eyes scanning down a parchment that holds the egg’s clue, nods and passes it off to Hermione and Ginny. “Seems right to me. So, what’re our circles?”

Terry snatches up the topmost sheet of parchment. “Temperature control. Harry’s going to need to be in the Black Lake for up to an hour in the middle of February, so we have to find a way to keep him warm.”

“I’ll take that,” says Padma. “I’ve actually been looking at warming charms already – it’s so much colder here than in India.”

“Excellent, that’s yours then.” Terry passes off the parchment to Padma, then grabs the next. “Breathing underwater,” he announces. “If no one else wants it, I’ll take it – I already have some thoughts.”

“Could I work with you on that?” Ginny asks. “Neville mentioned something about a plant in a book he’d read recently that could do something like that.”

“You’re on, Weasley.” Terry grins. “We’ll put together all our options to put forward to Harry.” Passing the parchment over to Ginny, he grabs the next. “Next is defense. The Black Lake is inhabited by a whole menagerie of creatures which Harry might encounter and need to defend himself against. I’d like at least two of you to work together on this. One focusing on the lake environment and biome, and the other on defensive spells.”

“That’s me,” Anthony says with a raised hand. “I’m on the biome and creatures. Who wants defensive spells?”

“I can do that,” offers Ron. “I want to be an auror eventually, so defensive spells will be good to know, anyway.”

“Cheers, Other Weasley.”

Terry snickers. “And finally,” he says, grabbing the last parchment after Anthony takes his. “Tracking. We’re assuming we’re looking for the merpeople down there in the lake, but in theory, Harry’s target could be anywhere. He needs a way to navigate, find his target, and not get lost on the way in the dark underwater.”

“I suppose that leaves Michael and I to do that, doesn’t it?” Hermione says, taking the parchment.

“I’m yours, Granger,” says Michael.

Hermione just seems beyond ecstatic. “I must say, this is so organized. I’m really so glad to be working with you all.”

“Er, actually,” Harry interrupts timidly. “There is one more thing. I didn’t really think of it until now.”

“That was the next thing before we split to do our research,” Terry says. “Can anyone think of a topic I’d missed? Harry, what is it?”

Harry ducks his head, embarrassed to admit, “I’m not a very strong swimmer.”

But there is no judgement about it. Terry just nods, dips his quill into his inkpot, and scribbles onto a new sheet of parchment. “That’ll be your circle, then,” he says, passing the parchment over to Harry. At the top, written as a title, or heading, it says, Swimming Practice.

“I can help with that,” Michael says. “I spent like all last summer teaching my little sister to swim.”

“I have a little training in water rescue,” Anthony says with a shrug. “I could help, as well. Though I fear you’ll just have to practice. You know anywhere you can do that before Padma figures out the temperature problem?”

“Write that down, Harry,” Terry prompts. “This is how the circles work. If you’re really unconfident, you shouldn’t try to swim alone until you get some practice, but Michael and Anthony can both go with you when they’re not busy. I can as well, of course. But the first thing you need to figure out is where you can practice.”

Hermione trills a delighted, “This is brilliant!” as Harry obediently takes out a quill to write under the heading on his parchment, 1. Where can I practice?

Terry leans over him to put several dots under that, for options, with the very first one written in as, Lake (After Temperature Charms).

“Write down any idea,” Terry says to the table (mostly the Gryffindors), though Harry is a bit distracted by the heat of him. “Don’t get too distracted yet by the details. Just brainstorm. Anything and everything that could be even remotely important, or related, or an option. We’ll meet up again in a few days to go over our initial ideas and narrow them down to more realistic options, and then deep dive into the research for real.” He straightens up, grinning to the table. “Is the circles thing making sense, now? Sorry if not. It’s how we tackle group research in Ravenclaw.”

“No, it makes so much sense!” Hermione squeals. “I wish Gryffindor did this!”

Terry chuckles. “Just remember that all of our circles overlap, alright? Don’t worry about distracting someone working on a different circle if you have a question for them. We all build off each other, and we all contribute to everything. A lot of times, asking a question will make the one you ask consider something they might’ve missed before. We’re splitting up the work, but it’s still a big collaboration.”

Seeing the other Ravenclaws already writing ideas, Harry writes down, next to the next bullet point, Prefect’s Bathroom. It’s a bit small for endurance swimming, but doing some laps in there, where it’s still just shallow enough for him to touch the bottom if he needs to, will be a good start.

Terry sees this and beams at him. As most of the others turn their focus to their circle, Terry’s hand lands on Harry’s shoulder and his head dips low over the other side of him, so they’re practically cheek to cheek. “I keep thinking about it,” Terry murmurs too quietly for anyone to hear. “I want to kiss you again so bad, but I don’t know how you feel about doing that in public.”

Everyone else has their heads down in their papers, but Ginny, whose partner is practically draping himself across Harry at the moment, grins at him and gives him an encouraging nod as if to say, “Go for it!”

So, that’s exactly what Harry does. He turns his head towards Terry’s, cups his cheek, and closes that tiny distance so their lips meet.

Just for a moment. It’s only a peck, but it’s still enough to make Harry feel all floaty again. “Thanks for this, Terry,” he says quietly.

Terry’s smile grows impossibly wider. “Hey, I’m a Ravenclaw,” he answers. “This is what I do.”

Terry pulls back, saunters away to join Ginny with their parchment and work on the problem they choose to tackle.

But Harry can’t stop glancing up at him every few minutes.

Terry is glancing up at him, too. Every time.

For the rest of the holdiays and the first week of second term, the group is thoroughly ensconced in their research for the task. After that, by which point they’ve solidified their best leads and chosen a couple of strategies, Harry spends most of his free time not with his head in a book, but practicing to master the charms, spells, and skills he’ll need to pull off their plans.

The others continue their research, of course, when they’re not helping him practice, but Harry’s work becomes almost entirely practical.

Michael ends up with the most free time to help Harry with swimming, although Terry makes time mostly (Harry thinks) as an excuse to hang out together. Harry uses a warming charm every time he steps foot in so much as a particularly drafty part of the castle, just for the practice.

Although ultimately, if they can figure out how to acquire it, they’re hoping to use gillyweed, since it would not only allow him to breathe underwater, but also give him webbing to help him swim and protect him from the cold, to an extent.

But that’s only Plan A. Harry is also spending just as much effort on the bubblehead charm as a backup, and should all else fail, Hermione is brewing a waterbreathing potion that he’s going to smuggle into the task.

That of course means he can’t rely on the gillyweed to help with the cold, and he needs his warming charm to be not only strong enough, but to work just as well in water as in the air, so he can’t slack on practice with that, either. And that’s not even starting on the dangers residing in the lake that Anthony quizzes him on or the jinxes and charms that Ron gets him practicing – which he also needs to be able to cast underwater, possibly without being able to verbally enunciate the incantations.

Oh, and, naturally, he needs to keep swimming to build up his endurance so that he can keep moving in the water for upward of an hour.

Double and, he also needs to stay on top of his classes. Harry has no idea how he would even begin to keep up with it all if it weren’t for Terry and the other Ravenclaws.

It is because they are so busy with all of this that Harry honestly barely even notices when it comes out in Witch Weekly that Harry is dating unknown Ravenclaw fourth-year Terry Boot, and all the unsavory implications the article puts on Terry since it posits that there’s absolutely no way Terry could be Harry’s soulmate on account of Harry mastering the Patronus Charm a whole year ago yet only beginning to be seen with Terry at the Yule Ball.

Every option from love potion to blackmail is mentioned or implied, and Rita Skeeter somehow even gets word that Harry had a thing for Cho and implies that he doesn’t even like boys since he clearly liked a girl – and is Cho perhaps his true soulmate?

Terry, who shares a house with Cho, has a conversation with her about it, and Harry apologizes, but Cho thankfully understands that Harry can’t control the drivel people write about him and since it doesn’t bother Cedric or affect their relationship, she says he shouldn’t worry about it.

It does bother Terry a little, but a few escapades in some broom closets when he’s particularly down keeps everyone’s moods up. Not to mention they provide Harry with much-appreciated breaks from the task preparation.

Even though rumors fly, mostly spurred by that Witch Weekly article, Harry and Terry make no secret of their relationship. They hold hands sometimes in the halls, kiss each other goodbye when they part to go to class, little normal things that are theirs that no rumors can ruin for them.

(Harry is just so glad that it’s impolite to ask about someone’s soulmate, because it means he doesn’t have to answer questions about that even after Rita Skeeter’s accusations. The honest answer of that he doesn’t know would surely only make the gossip worse. Most people won’t understand like Ginny does.)

Overall, Harry thinks things are going well. Or, at least they certainly can be going a whole lot worse. And by the time the second task rolls around, Harry is still riding the high of his first Valentine’s Day with his boyfriend, and all their preparation, so he’s actually coming in rather confident. It’s a stark change from the first task.

Right up until the moment that he realizes that Terry is the thing that’s stolen from him. That Terry is at the bottom of the Black Lake, and that if Harry doesn’t save him in just one short hour…

The gillyweed, which in the end comes from Neville, courtesy of Ginny bringing him into the planning, may be disgusting, but it does its job with aplomb. Harry makes it to Terry, grabs not just him, but Fleur’s little sister as well after it’s clear that Fleur isn’t going to make it, and gets them both to the surface.

Harry is so shaken he worries he might burn Terry and the little girl with the overpowered warming charm he applies the moment they’re awake, and Terry has to help him get the girl back to shore, where Fleur takes her off their hands.

The judges say something about moral fiber, and Fleur kisses his and Terry’s cheeks, and Hermione chatters about their plan and how well he does, but Harry just latches onto Terry like a koala, pulling his towel painfully tight around both of them as if to tie them together, and with his head on Terry’s chest, listens to Terry’s racing heartbeat.

“Well,” Terry murmurs into Harry’s hair. “That was terrifying.”

“I’m sorry.” Harry’s voice is muffled by Terry’s chest, but he apologizes anyway. “I’m so sorry. If it weren’t for me-”

“Hush now, Harry. I know your life is crazy and filled with Gryffindor nonsense,” despite himself, Harry snickers – Terry always calls the terrifying, horrible things that happen to him that, Gryffindor nonsense – “But I chose that. I chose you. I still want to be part of it, so I’m going to keep choosing you. Don’t doubt that.”

The judges announce scores, but Harry is feeling frayed and vulnerable and he’s too busy snogging his boyfriend to bother to listen.

Things return to normal, mostly, after the second task. They’re back in classes, holding hands in the hall, kissing each other goodbye when they have to part. Anthony, Padma, and Michael are now just as much a part of Harry’s group as Hermione and Ron.

On the Hogsmeade trip when Sirius returns, Harry still wants to go on a date with Terry, so he tells him all about Sirius’ situation and Terry trusts him and promises not to say anything so it ends up being the whole lot of them carrying way more food than just Harry can carry to meet Sirius that day.

Things are normal, but not quite the same, either. It’s a lot like what happens in first year, when Harry and Ron go save Hermione from the troll and just like that Hermione is their best friend. Maybe it just shows what Harry’s life is like, but it’s like facing down a mortal threat is needed to break down the last barrier between the two friend groups.

Terry isn’t just someone he likes, anymore. Terry is someone who faces drowning in the Black Lake, who wakes up disoriented, and confused, and cold, and scared in the middle of the lake and doesn’t waste a breath before helping Harry and getting the lot of them out of there.

The group goes from friends to allies, and put like that it seems like maybe it should be the other way around but Harry honestly thinks the second means more.

Despite Harry’s Gryffindor nonsense, despite being rightly scared of the danger being involved with Harry will put them in, every one of them – especially Terry – choose to stand by him, anyway. And that means way more than just liking each other.

(After all, doesn’t Harry not really like Ron very much on occasion? Like when he’s being an insensitive git. And Harry really doesn’t like either him or Hermione very much when they can’t stop bickering over him. But he would still die for either of them. He supposes that’s what loving someone means.)

When the tournament officials inform Harry about the third task, Terry gathers them all to hand out more circles, but there’s nothing he or anyone can do when Harry is inside the maze.

There’s nothing they can do when Harry and Cedric are whisked away by a portkey, or when Harry is left alone in that graveyard, facing down Lord Voldemort himself over the corpse of his classmate.

But Terry can hold him afterwards. And he does, desperately.

In the summer, it’s the Ravenclaws that write to Harry more than anyone. Ron and Hermione send letters that can barely be called letters, only repeating that they can’t tell him anything at all. But Padma rants about something Parvati does that annoys her, and Anthony talks in too-big words about a summer research project that catches his attention, and Michael attaches a child’s crayon drawings to long letters that explain everything he’s been telling his little sister about Harry’s dazzling performance in the tournament.

And Terry asks him how he’s doing, shares in his frustration at Ron and Hermione’s evasiveness, and asks him to visit.

Terry is the one that updates him on what the Daily Prophet is saying about him, who warns him that his reputation will be bad when he gets back to Hogwarts, who reassures him that he doesn’t care and that he believes Harry entirely and all of his other Ravenclaw friends mention too that they believe him and that they’ll stand by him against anyone who doesn’t. Michael says he’s going to be as annoying about it as Terry was about Harry being innocent in second year, and Harry laughs despite himself.

And Harry isn’t alone.

So, when he is finally brought in to Grimmauld Place and the Order of the Phoenix, he is, he thinks understandably, feeling much more charitable towards, much closer to, his Ravenclaw friends than his Gryffindor ones. And even after he has to keep the secret of the Order and where they are and what they’re doing, Harry doesn’t just say he can’t talk about things. He’s open about that much, but he also talks about what he can. He tells Terry about the trial he’s facing, about Fred and George apparating everywhere just because they can, about living with Sirius for the first time and how with him and the Weasleys all there, even if he’s still cross with most of them, he kind of feels like he’s actually with family.

When Mr. Weasley takes Harry to the Ministry for his trial, they go alone, just the two of them. But there in the atrium, Terry paces, wringing his hands, ignoring Michael’s attempts to distract him from his worry and from Padma and Anthony’s calm, rational arguments that nothing can possibly go wrong.

When Harry thinks he’ll be alone again, they’re there, accompanied by a man Harry is quickly introduced to as Anthony’s dad, who works at the Ministry and gets them all in so early that he doesn’t even have work yet, but Terry annoys him until he agrees to come anyway and wait here rather than at Anthony’s house.

Harry gets a good-luck kiss for his trial, and in the end, everything turns out okay. And maybe he should accredit the verdict to Dumbledore or Mrs. Figg who testifies for him, but Harry’s lips still tingle, and he can only think of Terry’s whispered, “For luck,” across them and part of him believes that’s why everything works out.

(Because Terry doesn’t avoid and ignore him. Terry is there from the moment they first start talking, and he never once leaves Harry floundering when he needs him. Not alone in the summer after watching a schoolmate die and a madman return with all intents to kill him next. And he never, ever leaves Harry in ignorance. The Ravenclaws are the only ones it seems who think Harry actually deserves to know anything. He still doesn’t hear a peep from anyone at Grimmauld about how the Daily Prophet is tarnishing his reputation.)

By the end of the summer, Harry feels a bit of a rift between himself and most of his – well, everyone, really, except for the Ravenclaws. He feels closer than ever with them, which only makes the chasm between him and the others seem wider. And he’s more in love with Terry than ever.

Harry attaches himself to Terry on the train, in a compartment with only him and Michael since Terry’s prediction is spot on that Anthony gets the prefect position and Padma joins him there in the prefect’s car along with Ron and Hermione.

Luckily for him, Terry is just as eager to cling to Harry and in the empty compartment they can take up as much space as they want. They end up splayed out together across one entire side of the compartment, leaving Michael snorting and teasing and rolling his eyes at them but insisting on staying right where he is to “chaperone” the two lovebirds.

“Do you want to talk about what we should do when we get to Hogwarts, or do you just want to cuddle?” Terry asks quietly.

Knowing what’s awaiting him after a whole summer of the Daily Prophet slandering him nearly daily, Harry never appreciates Terry more. Because they should make a plan, but Harry really just wants to cuddle and have a few hours before he has to acknowledge that newest brand of Gryffindor nonsense.

Terry understands that and simply holds him tight, enjoying the peace while it lasts.

(Terry doesn’t assume what’s best for Harry. He doesn’t force what he thinks is best onto him when Harry can tell him straight up what he really needs. When Harry tells him he’d rather have the peace for a bit, Terry respects that without questioning him.)

When they get to the school, and Umbridge catches Harry in detention, Harry doesn’t feel like he can’t tell anyone about it because he has people who have made it clear to him that he can go to them. That they won’t tell him they know better, who will help him think of a solution while respecting his decisions.

He gathers the Ravenclaws, and only the Ravenclaws, and shows them the words inscribed on the back of his hand. I must not tell lies.

Immediately, predictably, they start drawing circles.

Padma takes healing and damage control. She comes to him not an hour later with a bowl of murtlap essence she refuses to elaborate on the origins of.

Michael takes interference. Everywhere Umbridge and Harry are together, Michael is somewhere in between, dragging her this way and that, or something to block her path – mentally, physically, it doesn’t matter – so that she can’t get to Harry.

Anthony focuses on the younger students, warning and shielding them, making sure they’re safe.

Terry takes reputation control. He spreads rumors about Harry and about Umbridge. He rallies the school’s scattered discontent into something sharp and targeted. Displeasure becomes loathing under his tongue, and eyes that accuse Harry turn to the right thing to hate. (He knows the right ears to whisper in because he listens to Parvati and Lavender and identifies the proper vectors for gossip to spread.)

Harry tells them he does not want to bring it to Dumbledore, or any other teachers, or even Ron and Hermione, and they do not speak a word of it, but they harden and sharpen and they are blade and shield, and Harry does not know if he would survive this year, survive Umbridge alone, if not for them.

And then Michael comes back hissing and spitting, cradling his hand, and shows them the bloodied words there, I must respect my teachers.

Hermione does not know this, but she insists that something must be done. They must learn to defend themselves because Voldemort is out there. Harry and Michael share a grim look, knowing that they have something much closer that they need to defend themselves from.

So, at Hermione’s prompting, Harry agrees to start Dumbledore’s Army, their impromptu secret Defense club. He starts by teaching them shields, to identify cursed objects, and to heal minor wounds. He teaches everyone about Murtlap Essence, and Dittany, and where they might find them if they need them in a pinch, but no one notices how Harry’s hand trembles and doesn’t grip quite right.

It’s something. But Michael, bold and determined, isn’t content with merely subverting Umbridge. He refuses to bend to her. Where Harry hides behind the shield his friends provide, Michael questions Umbridge in class about her teaching, complains loudly in the hall about their classes not covering the questions asked in his test O.W.L. preliminary exams, hexes Zacharias Smith in their class when he agrees with Umbridge and talks about how Harry must be mad and dangerous.

He comes back from that detention doubled over from pain, with pale, clammy skin, blood dripping from his fingers, tears in his eyes, and a beaming smile with a tale of slipping frog-spawn soap into Umbridge’s tea.

As Padma sighs and starts treating Michael’s hand, Anthony drops down beside them both to inspect the damage. “You idiot,” he murmurs, already reaching for Padma’s stash of blood-replenishing potions. “Now she’ll just hate you more.”

Michael’s voice is filled with unrepentant daggers as he says, “Wait ‘til you see what I’m planning with Fred and George’s Ton-Tongue Toffee.”

“Michael,” Harry starts, “you shouldn’t-”

Michael sees the look on Harry’s face and grins, and it’s genuine despite the pain behind it. “Didn’t I tell you I’d be annoying about believing you? What, you think Umbridge would make me change my mind? Bint isn’t even really a teacher.”

“You could try to keep your head down,” Anthony says without any heart in it.

“Yeah, but then I wouldn’t be me, would I?” counters Michael, and he’s absolutely right. That’s how Harry knows that something must be done. Something more. Not to prepare them for the threat out there like Hermione thinks they need and Umbridge is trying to stop, but to combat the threat right here that’s killing his friend with a smile.

“How do we get her out of here?” Harry asks.

The Ravenclaws all look at him. Padma shakes her head. “Without telling someone important about these detentions-”

“I don’t care. I’ll tell whoever we have to. Who needs to know?”

The Ravenclaws all share vicious smiles. “I’ll start drawing circles,” says Terry.

“The Minister is backing her,” Anthony says. “You could give him proof of what she’s doing, and he’d cover it up and deny it to save his own skin. Only way to get to her is to go over his head.”

“Who can do that?” asks Harry. “No one at Hogwarts can.”

“Susan,” Terry says with a snap. “Her aunt is head of the DMLE. You guys have seen how careful Umbridge is around Susan, right?”

Harry hasn’t, really, but the Ravenclaws who share Defense with the Hufflepuffs would have more chance to see how Umbridge treats Susan Bones.

Anthony slowly nods his head in agreement. “The Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement could force an inquiry past the Minister, especially if he’s complicit. But we’d need solid evidence to get the ball rolling, or we’ll only be painting targets on our backs.”

“I don’t suppose this would count?” Michael asks, weakly waving his injured hand towards them.

“Maybe,” says Padma, “but alone it’s definitely not enough. We’re going after the Minister of Magic. Even something that should be obvious can’t be taken for granted. We don’t have hard proof that Umbridge is the one who did this. She could claim it was anyone, even another student. She’d likely try to pin the blame on Harry, or just say you did it to yourself to fabricate a story against her.”

“Who’s bringing in Susan?” asks Anthony. “We need a contact direct to Madam Bones or the Minister will get his paws on it.”

“I can do it,” says Padma. “My sister is friends with her friend Hannah. I’ll talk to her and make sure she’ll help.”

“Good. Then we have to figure out how to gather evidence.”

“That’s you and me, Harry,” Michael chirps. “We’re her favorites, so we’ll have the most opportunity.”

“I hate the idea of either of you going to one more detention with her,” Terry growls.

“It’s okay, Terry,” says Harry. He shares a commiserating smile with Michael. “We can handle it.”

Terry sighs. “I guess that leaves Anthony and I to study the laws and assemble the case. We need it to be airtight.”

Anthony nods his agreement. “Any circles we’re missing?”

“We’ll keep thinking on it,” says Padma. “But Michael’s dead on his feet. We need to get him to bed.” Michael sways, clearly woozy, and doesn’t protest, which is probably the biggest indicator that Padma’s right that he really needs to get back to his dorm. No one blames him, with the state he comes back in.

Terry captures Harry in a tight hug before they depart. “She won’t get away with this much longer,” he whispers. “I promise.” He pulls back to give Harry a desperate kiss, then follows the others back to Ravenclaw Tower.

Harry continues teaching the DA, always throwing in not just things to use out there, but things for right here. The disillusionment charm, the quietening charm, anything and everything he can think of to protect them from the immediate threat. It takes two more horrible months, but finally Terry and Anthony announce that the case is as solid as it’s ever going to get.

Susan, who helps them put it all together, takes it directly to her aunt, bypassing all the red tape and bureaucracy for it to even make it to her desk, and Madam Bones becomes a storm unto the Ministry.

The end is a foregone conclusion. Hogwarts breathes a collective sigh of relief.

But despite the threat right here finally being handled, the threat out there still looms. Harry continues with the DA, though it’s no longer a secret organization. Many still don’t believe there is a threat out there to defend against, so the DA is still just the group of people who believe him.

Harry sits at his desk in the Room of Requirement where the DA meets, going over lesson plans. Terry leans against him, reading through his notes casually. The truth is, Harry doesn’t really know what to do next. Voldemort is still a threat, which is why they’re still having the DA, but what can Harry really teach anyone that’ll give them a fighting chance against Voldemort?

It just seems kind of pointless.

But Harry still thinks about Umbridge, about the Ministry, about all the pain they cause him and his friends. He thinks about the dementors in Little Whinging, the little snake patronus he conjures that puts him on trial in the first place, and also saves his and Dudley’s lives.

“Terry,” Harry says quietly. “Why do you think the dementors were there in the first place? In Little Whinging?”

Terry stills. “I think you already have the right idea,” he answers.

That’s what Harry is afraid of. That what he suspects from the start is the truth. It’s possible, surely, that Voldemort takes the dementors to his side – reports say that he does last time, so it makes sense for him to do so again. But it wouldn’t make sense for Voldemort to take what are essentially Ministry assets while he’s still laying low. It would basically be announcing that he’s back to sway the dementors away from the Ministry.

Which means the dementors that attack Harry in Little Whinging… the speed that his expulsion and trial notices are sent in the wake of it… It’s the Ministry that sends those dementors. To eliminate him, or to force him to use underage magic so they can put him on trial.

That’s why Harry has this idea. If the Ministry can and will send dementors after people just because they don’t like them, well, that’s a threat out there that everyone needs to learn to defend against.

But teaching the DA the Patronus Charm means using his patronus.

Harry doesn’t come to a decision that day, although in truth the choice is already made. It’s not until several days later, in the dead of night, that Harry knows he needs to talk to Terry.

He sneaks out, creeps up to the Ravenclaw Common Room door under cover of his invisibility cloak, and stands there, staring it down, frozen as if waiting for Terry to emerge even though he has no idea Harry is here.

Harry takes the torc into his hand and knocks once, barely a thing, hardly making a sound, but the eagle moves, anyway. It looks down at him, tilts its head like it’s pondering what to ask, and then says in that soft, lilting voice, “What is a soulmate?”

Harry steps back. Terry tells him that the question is always different. The same question as the very first time he’s here is the last thing he expects.

He closes his eyes. If he wants to talk to Terry tonight, he has to answer this right. If not, then he’ll have no choice but to put it off until tomorrow.

Ah, but he forgets. It’s not answering it ‘right’ is it? No, Terry tells him last time, “The eagle doesn’t want ‘right’ answers, it just wants us to come up with something well-reasoned and completely our own.” Harry sucks in a shuddering breath as another memory comes to him. It’s the reason Harry is here right now, the reason this conversation needs to happen. “I don’t want that to be the only reason you choose to be with me.”

Last time, Harry tells the knocker that his soulmate is the one he’s meant to be with. They’re the one destined for him. One might even say a soulmate is a prophecy.

“Life is given to words spoken.”

Harry thinks for a moment, unsure and unsteady and scared. But he thinks he knows who his soulmate is. And he thinks Terry knows, too. Even Dumbledore tells him once that it’s their choices which make them who they really are. If a soulmate is a part of them…

Peace settles in his heart and Harry answers, “A soulmate is something you choose. Every day.”

The knocker pauses only just long enough for Harry to worry, and then it nods to him. “An honest response. Your choice is made.” And it folds up its wings, and the door swings open.

Harry scarcely dares to breathe. Part of him doesn’t actually expect to get in. But he steels himself, puts his cloak back on, and enters. He climbs the stairs, thanks whatever powers that be that what he assumes is the stairs to the female dormitories are guarded by suits of armor rather than just turning into a slide like in Gryffindor, since he doesn’t exactly know where he’s going.

He heads down the stairs opposite the suits of armor until he comes to a door with a plaque with a “5” on it, just like the one outside his dormitory in Gryffindor. Pushing inside, carefully aware that there are still two more boys he’s not anywhere near as familiar with in this dormitory, but hoping that they all use the quietening charm on their curtains, Harry enters the Ravenclaw boy’s dorm.

And he’s taken aback because they have bunk beds.

Tall windows each have a bed against the wall at the base, and another about halfway up. Each bed has starry-patterned bronze and blue curtains to block off the room, closing them off against the wall and window in little nooks.

It’s definitely different than Harry is used to.

Most of the beds have the curtains drawn, which Harry should expect, but thankfully the one that doesn’t is a boy he recognizes. Harry hurries over to the lower bunk on the left, where Anthony sleeps peacefully.

“Psst,” Harry hisses, coming right up to the side of the bed. “Anthony! Psst, hey!”

Anthony groans, rubs his face, and looks blearily into the darkness, where Harry appears when he drops his cloak.

“Hey, Anthony.”

“Harry?” Anthony asks incredulously. “What’re you doing here?”

“I need to talk to Terry. Which bed is his?”

Anthony just stares. Harry flushes, wondering if Anthony is just processing or if he thinks Harry is here for-

Oh, he does not think this through.

With a very, very flat look, Anthony points to the lower bunk in the next window. “That one,” he says. “Just… silence the damn curtains, Harry.”

Harry squeaks. “Thanks, but I’m actually no-”

“Yeah, I really don’t want to know. Good night.”

Anthony’s curtains snap shut right in Harry’s face, which is exceedingly fair.

Trying not to linger on Anthony’s assumptions – what anyone would assume he’s here for if he’s caught – Harry moves over to the bed Anthony points out for him.

He peeks in the curtains, letting out a sigh of relief when he confirms it is indeed Terry in the bed, then he reaches out to gently wake him. “Terry. Hey, Terry, wake up.”

Terry stirs. He slowly blinks awake, even more slowly focuses on Harry’s pyjamas, then his face. He licks his lips distractingly as his sleepy eyes take in Harry’s appearance. The corners of his mouth pull upwards.

“I thought I was just having this dream…” Terry says, grinning wider when Harry glows scarlet.

“Sorry,” Harry murmurs. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Terry raises his brow, but scoots closer to the window, making what little room in the narrow bed that he can. “Well come on then,” he says. “Get in.”

Harry obeys, crawling in next to Terry and making sure his invisibility cloak comes in with him so he doesn’t leave it lying around.

“Budge off your shoes. They can go down there.” Terry gestures to the foot of the bed where there’s a small amount of wooden surface past the end of the bed where some books are stacked. He reaches up above his head, where the headboard is rather low and flows into yet another flat surface where yet more books are kept, and he grabs his wand, which he flicks to close the curtains before he mumbles a “Quietus,” to ensure their conversation doesn’t carry.

Replacing his wand on the headboard, Terry hums sleepily and wraps his arms around Harry, pulling him in tight. “So… what’s so important that you came here in the middle of the night? Not that I have a problem sharing my bed with you, but…”

Harry winces. “Sorry about that. Fair warning, Anthony is assuming we’re… you know.”

Terry snickers and grins. “You mean we’re not? Aw.”

“Terry!”

“I’m joking.” He nuzzles into Harry’s face, pressing a gentle kiss or two there. “I know we’re not doing anything like that, yet. Though I did doubt for a moment when you showed up at my bed in the middle of the night…”

Harry groans.

Terry kisses his cheek. “Sorry, but you get teased when you do things like this.” Serious now, he asks, “Anyway, what did you want to talk about?”

Harry takes in a deep breath. Terry looks at him, knowing and expectant, patiently waiting for Harry to say it. “I think I should try to teach everyone the Patronus Charm.”

Terry bites his lip. He looks down for a moment, then answers, “I think that’s a good idea.”

Harry pulls back enough to look Terry in the eye and meets Terry’s solemn brown eyes already fixed on him. “I’d have to use it. Show it off,” Harry says. “You’ll be right there.”

Terry reaches down. He takes Harry’s hand in his, gently strokes the skin across the back of it, thumbing the words scarred there. “Harry,” he says, “I love you.” Their fingers entwine and in the moonlight from the window, in their quiet little nook bed, it seems so… perfect. Terry pulls Harry closer so that Terry can bury his face in Harry’s neck and wrap him up in his free arm. “I love you,” he repeats. “And I always knew we’d have to find out, eventually, but we’ve been together for a year now and I think I can pretty confidently say that you’re not just with me for something like being soulmates.”

No. No, he isn’t. Harry kisses Terry needily. “I’m not,” he promises. “I chose you. I did. Not my bloody patronus.”

Terry lets out a shuddering breath. “…That means a lot to me, Harry. Thanks for saying it.”

“I love you, too, Terry,” says Harry, lowering his head into Terry’s chest to just lay with him for a moment. “And even if you’re not- even if you’re not, I still choose you. I still want to be with you as long as I can.”

They cuddle in silence in the wake of that confession. After a long, long time, Terry breathes, “Will you conjure it?”

Harry lifts his head. “You’re sure?”

“You’re right that we all need to know it,” Terry says. “You can’t teach us without demonstrating it, and even if you could, I couldn’t get it without- and I don’t want- I don’t want it to be in front of everyone. Whether we are or aren’t- that should be for us to know first. I know they’re going to find out, and I don’t mind that, but… I don’t want to be surprised while everyone’s watching.”

Harry nods. That’s partly why he comes. Because this should be for them. Their decision, just for themselves.

Harry fumbles for his wand, draws it, and in the little space between them and the bed above, flicks it, incanting, “Expecto Patronum.”

The blinding silver light makes them cover their eyes, both adjusting as the silvery snake forms once more and slithers through the air, nudging between them to curl up contentedly pressed between their chests, right next to both of their hearts.

Terry just looks at it, smiles, and brushes it gently with a finger.

“You don’t look surprised,” comments Harry.

Terry sighs. “I’m not. I didn’t- I swear, I didn’t know, not for sure. But… I figured.”

Harry blinks. “Since when?”

Terry’s little smile turns bashful. “Since… since Christmas Eve, fourth year.”

“The Yule Ball?”

“No. The night before. Remember?”

That’s… that’s the night that Harry follows his patronus to the Ravenclaw eagle knocker. Does Terry…?

“I woke up in the middle of the night,” Terry admits quietly, still stroking the snake between them. “This little guy curled up on my chest, just like this. I knew right away it was a patronus, of course. I knew it had to come from whoever my soulmate is. But I couldn’t have known at the time that it was you. Not for certain. I- I hoped, though. It seemed likely, but… there was still some doubt there. I thought if it was you, it would’ve shown up a lot sooner, wouldn’t it?”

Terry gulps. “And then you told me… in the prefect’s bathroom- you told me it changed. That it was a stag for your dad until that night when it woke me up.”

“So, you’ve known since then,” Harry says.

“Not for certain,” Terry insists. “Not a hundred percent. But… yeah. I’ve known. I’m sorry I kept it from you, Harry, I just… I needed…”

Harry dismisses the patronus and buries his head once more in Terry’s chest just so that he doesn’t have to look at him. He feels… a little, sinister part of him is angry that Terry knows this whole time and keeps it from him, but… Ginny’s voice echoes in his head, soothing the small hurt in his heart. “I can’t blame you for wanting something that’s good to be your own.”

“I get it,” Harry says. “Honestly, even though I didn’t realize it until a little after that… I needed to choose it for myself, too. I’m glad you asked me not to confirm it back then. I think I needed this to be mine just as much as you did.”

Terry chuckles weakly, kisses the top of his head. “Knowing your life, maybe a little more.” Ha. Maybe so. “Thanks for not being mad at me. I worried you would be.”

“I am a little,” Harry admits. “I don’t like people keeping me in the dark, especially after…” He shakes his head. “I just also know it was the right thing for us. I’m glad that I can at least trust that, when you do keep things from me, they’re the right things. That’s probably better than having no secrets at all – that’s just unrealistic. And unfair, especially given my life you know I’m going to have to keep things from you sometimes. I can’t stop from being a bit angry, but… I forgive you.”

Terry wiggles a finger under Harry’s chin, lifts his head, and presses their lips together. “Thank you.” A moment of silence, and then a tiny chuckle. “So… what do you think? About me being your soulmate?”

“…I don’t know,” Harry says. “I’d already decided I was going to stay with you regardless, so… it doesn’t really change anything, does it?”

Terry’s smile grows into a beam brighter than the moon. “No,” he murmurs, pressing his face to Harry’s cheek, planting kisses there. “No, it doesn’t.”

They breathe together, enjoying each other, their breaths mingling. “Ready for bed, then?”

Harry gulps. “Oh. Right. I’ll just-”

He starts to rise, reaching for his shoes, but Terry pulls him insistently back down to spoon against him. “Where are you planning on going? We’re soulmates. And Anthony already thinks we’re shagging anyway, there’s no avoiding the teasing now, so we may as well just enjoy it.”

Harry really should go back to Gryffindor Tower, but… Terry makes a compelling argument. He giggles alongside his soulmate. All will to leave fades with no resistance whatsoever. “Alright,” Harry murmurs, closing his eyes. With Terry curled around him and the moonlight their only company, Harry smiles. “Good night, Terry.”

He feels a gentle kiss on the back of his neck, and soft breath tickling the hairs there. “Good night, Harry.”