When The Smoke Clears

The Nature of Magic

Another day. Another twenty-four hours fueled by adrenaline, glancing over his shoulder, trudging through class, avoiding eye contact, sticking only to those he knew best.

Harry woke at dawn, though he didn't properly register it - the bed hangings deep beneath the castle let in none of the stray glow from the lake. He felt around for his glasses, slipped them on, and the shadows grew sharper at the edges. He took a deep breath and silently began to count to twenty.

At seventeen, a pale hand silently drew back the curtain. Draco, half-dressed, his hair hurriedly brushed, leaned over to mutter, "Fifteen minutes, Potter."

"Got it." Draco disappeared behind the deep green, and Harry blinked himself to full consciousness before rolling out of bed.

Every spray of water, every rustle of fabric, reverberated like a gong in the early morning stillness. Harry dressed as quickly and as quietly as possible, listening attentively for any sign of his peers waking. For the past week, he and Draco had gone through the same routine, staying ahead of the crowd, lingering in classes when teachers were nearby, sticking in groups. Hermione had given them plenty of warning about what happened to gay couples who didn't take precautions; Harry had no idea if students would dare try anything within Hogwarts walls, but he wasn't about to risk it. Already, kids from all houses had been getting bolder and bolder, catcalling Draco and Harry in the hallways, sending Tripping Jinxes, and generally trying to make their lives worse.

But the puerile shenanigans of the younger students didn't bother Harry much. He had Draco, and his friends back, and that was enough for him.

Hermione, a bit uncharacteristically, was already waiting for them in the common room. Unsurprisingly, she had her nose in a book, a slim volume of poetry. Harry wondered when she'd gotten into poetry, and if Draco had finished the collection she'd lent him.

"Good morning," She said politely as Harry exited the dormitory, careful to let the door close slowly behind him. Draco, perched on a chair nearby, stood as Harry drew closer.

"Ready?" Harry held out his hand, and Draco took it.

"As I'll ever be."

"Is Ron not awake yet?" Hermione asked as they headed out of the dungeon. When Harry shook his head, she sighed, "One of these days."

"One of these days, we won't have to be so careful," Harry hoped.

"Your optimism is astounding," Draco said with a raised eyebrow, though his tone sounded more impressed than sarcastic.

The empty corridors seemed to stretch for miles under their quiet footsteps. Dawn filtered from gray to pink through the enormous windows, illuminating the cobblestones. Sitting in one panel of light near the staircase was Luna, softly singing a song under her breath that she evidently made up as she went along.

"Bend like the willows, my dear, my dear, sift through the clouds, my dear, my dear..." She smiled when she spotted her friends but didn't stop singing until they had reached her. "Good afternoon."

"It's morning," Hermione corrected.

"It feels like afternoon to me," Luna said serenely. "Let's go, then." She glided in front, leading them into the dining hall.

The vast space yawned before them, the absence of students palpable in every stretch of empty bench. A single Ravenclaw, around fourth or fifth year, flipped blearily through a textbook and didn't look up when they came in. The only teacher at the head table was Professor Dahlia, who scribbled on a long scroll of parchment between sparse bites of oatmeal.