Well, this is going well, thought Harry, ducking back behind the line of fire for a breather. He'd been casting and ducking hexes and curses for what felt like hours, but which was, he knew, more likely to be only a few minutes. None of them could take it for long, the concentration required to keep an eye on 180 degrees of potential attack couldn't be sustained, even the Death Eaters showed an ever-changing front flank when engaged like this, face-on. Harry just hated it when it started before dawn. In a more civilized world, he thought, we wouldn't have to do this before coffee.

Fwomp! A tree to his left exploded into flame, and Harry put it out with a flick from his wand, sparing those who had taken his place on the front line from a potential hazard from behind.

Surprise attacks were easier, in and out quickly, minimum waiting and maximum attack, and Harry thought everyone, on both sides, must prefer them to this constant barrage of fighting, which rarely ended in other than a draw when both sides were just too exhausted to keep fighting and fell back, more or less simultaneously. He slipped through an opening in the friendly fire, don't get yourself blown up from the rear, Potter, and that was Snape's voice, snarling instructions as always, in his head. Sometimes Harry wondered if that was normal, if other people had so many people shouting to them, in their heads. Sometimes he worried a little, what if the war ended and the voices didn't stop shouting? But generally the voices helped. Helped to keep him safe, and helped to drown out the screaming.

Harry darted behind a tree, breathing as hard as if he'd been running, a little scorched, a lot exhausted, only to find someone else already there. The splash of white-gold hair enough to identify him even before the muted flash of Lumos! that identified a friend, not a foe.

Draco Malfoy.

There'd been a time when he might have turned away, found some other place to rest, but not now. Draco moved over, just a little, just enough, and Harry slipped in beside him, facing the line of fire, Harry, said the voice in his head, he thought this one was Lupin, and sat.

For a few moments they just rested together, breathing. As his curse-dazzled eyes adjusted to the gloom, Harry could see that Draco looked as disgruntled as he himself felt.

"I miss coffee."

And that was Draco's voice, pitched low for only the two of them, and Harry smiled at the thought so like his own.

"Yeah."

Peace reigned in their little refuge as they contemplated coffee. That is, if you discounted the occasional explosion from the front line. They were fighting in numbers this morning, nearly fifty from Dumbledore's Army, Harry didn't know how many Death Eaters but about the same, he'd thought.

Idly, he wondered if Lucius Malfoy was among the Death Eaters this morning, where he might be, if he were still alive. He wondered if he dared to ask Draco. The day had come when everyone had had to make a choice, and although he was surprised to see Draco Malfoy appear as his team gathered for a strategy meeting, the other man had never explained himself. Draco'd been just as surprised to see him, had hesitated for just an instant, then had assumed his usual expression of faint scorn and settled himself into a seat right next to Harry, murmuring for his ears only, "Oh, look, if it isn't the Right Sort," and that memory could make him smile, even now, months later. Only Draco could have managed an insult, a compliment, and an inside joke, all at the same time.

And when their team left Hogwarts that evening, Draco came also, and he was in the communal sleeping tent from then on, and Harry'd never known him to be absent to visit his family or for any other reason. They were team members, occasional partners, but not friends, exactly. More like cautiously cordial. But Harry wasn't sorry to find him there, to share a few companionable thoughts about coffee.

Draco was pensive, looking up, past the trees, at the dawn just now changing the sky to a flat dawn-grey. It looked like rain, and the heaviness of the clouds was oppressive, even to the fighters who welcomed the additional visibility of dawn. Harry marvelled at Draco in his unguarded moment, his aristocratic profile, the beauty of his hair glowing in the half-light. He always looked beautiful, somehow, even dirty and ragged, as they all were. Harry didn't think much about his own appearance, even his hair, perennially unkempt, he kept tied back these days with a bit of cord, and never gave it a thought.

He felt a touch of longing, though, in the rest between battles, for coffee, and to touch the hair that looked soft and thick and always fell just right across Draco's forehead, and Harry brought himself up short, put that thought away. Cautiously cordial, and he didn't know when these other thoughts, about touching, had crept in, and there was no time for that sort of thing in a battle, and for once that was Harry's own voice in his head, giving advice.

"Where would you be, Potter, if you weren't here?" And Harry, lost in his own half-formed wishes and dreams, started.

"Where?"

Draco rolled his neck and gave Harry an impatient glance, before turning away to scan what was visible of the front lines around the tree. Checking on the battle, checking for weakness, for a companion to fall. Tensing, for just an instant, then relaxing. Back to contemplation of the sky.

Harry gave it some thought. His tired brain wasn't up to time differences, seasonal adjustments, he didn't know what time it was, hadn't cared for months about anything beyond "time to fight" or "time to rest" with the occasional thought of "time to eat" when his belly was empty enough to make food something to be searched out, rather than thrust upon him.

"I dunno. Asleep, I guess."

Draco smiled at the clouds, "This time last year, I was just getting home."

He closed his eyes, dreamy now, obviously remembering, "I'd been in London, celebrating. Stayed out all night, and had to slip home so my mother wouldn't--"

And here he broke off, and the sentence stayed unfinished between them.

Ahh. Harry waited a moment, gave Draco his silence, then ventured, "Your mum, is she--?"

"--dead?" Draco knew where he was going, interrupted him easily, "No. As far as I know, she's still holed up in the old family home. Waiting to see who wins." And this last was said with a bitter smile.

It was the most Harry'd ever heard him speak of his family since the war started, and he faltered, "D'you often stay up all night? That is, before?"

"Sometimes. Not often. I was celebrating." And the smile was back, and Draco stayed in his happy memory a few moments, and then glanced over at Harry. Their eyes met, full on, for the first time since Harry'd sat down.

"It was my birthday. I'd gone to Benjy's, a club I know, and one thing just sort of led to another until dawn."

They both ducked, instinctively, as a wild spell whistled overhead. Harry felt unbalanced, in more ways than one. Benjy's? "Benjy's?!" And in the moment of stillness that followed, he realized he'd said it aloud, and that Draco was suddenly incredibly tense, beside him.

Cautious, "You know it?"

And Harry could only nod, slowly, neither of them watching where the spell went, or came from. "Yes. I know it."

It was full dawn, now, Harry watched, incredulous, as a faint flush stained Draco's cheeks. The other man smiled, just a little, new knowledge in his eyes that Harry knew was reflected in his own. "I've been there," he admitted.

"Well, well, who would have thought it of The Boy Who Lived," and Draco was still smiling, but his usual drawl was unimpaired, making it sound more suggestive than it was. Sort of.

Harry felt his own flush deepen, "It's not really a secret. Except, I haven't told anyone."

Draco's eyebrows lifted at that. "It's not a secret but you haven't told anyone?"

And Harry knew how stupid that must sound, but he nodded, "It's just. Not really anybody to tell, you know?"

Draco just looked at him blankly.

"I mean, Ron and Hermione aren't on our team, I haven't seen either of them in months, and, well--" He shrugged. He hadn't meant to keep it a secret, had been kind of pleased, really, to realize his lack of interest in girls wasn't a sign there was something wrong with him; was countered, actually, by a keen interest in boys once he'd left Hogwarts behind and found places to go where his name didn't proceed him. Places like Benjy's. "Nobody else to tell."

"Nobody else to tell," repeated Draco slowly, as if trying it out. He looked envious, just for a moment, "I'll swap you, then. You can tell my mother."

Harry smiled, he couldn't help it, "That bad, huh?"

"When I think of what she'll say when she realizes that the illustrious line of Malfoy ends here--" And it wasn't funny but they both laughed a little, and Draco shook his head, ruefully.

"At least you have someone who cares," and Harry hadn't meant that to sound wistful, but it did. "I'd trade for that."

And there was a moment when Draco just looked at him, and then nodded, and looked away.

"So, who else knows?"

"Just you," and Draco was gathering himself, some internal sense saying it was time to rejoin the battle, and his eyes brightened, and his breathing quickened, and Harry saw that while he was still sitting beside him, Draco was already half gone.

"So you haven't told anybody either?"

"But it's not really a secret," and Draco smiled, and got to his feet.

Harry wanted to keep him, just for a little, wanted to hold on to this moment, so he lifted his hand and wasn't surprised when Draco stretched out his own and gave him a hand up. Harry shook out his robes, pulled the tie more securely on his hair, watched Draco's eyes follow the movement and then wanted to hold on to that, to think about that, but it was time to go, so he set it aside.

Draco was already turning, moving away, and Harry fell into step beside him. A few steps would bring them back to the front lines, and Harry realized he had one more thing to say.

"Hey," he said quietly, and Draco looked over at him as he shook out his wand hand, prepared himself.

"Many happy returns?"

And Draco smiled.

--the end--