But Draco, it seemed, did not contact Harry in a few days' time, like he had expected. Instead, Harry was awoken in the middle of the night to the sound of someone's frantic yelling up the staircase.

"What?" he spluttered, half awake, slapping his hand around on his nightstand for his glasses. "Who is it? What's happened?"

His heart thudded, adrenaline already at a hundred as he prepared for the worst-case scenario.

"It's tonight," Draco yelled up the stairs. "This one only has one chance, so if we don't do it tonight, it'll have to be in a year."

A year? Harry frowned, trying to think what could be happening in a year.

Then his brain finally woke up.

He scrambled out of bed, falling on his face with a thump before shoving himself upright and grabbing the nearest clothing he could, stumbling down the stairs as he pulled it over his head.

"Where is it?" he asked, looking down and realising that in his haste he'd managed to pull on one of Ron's humongous Chudley Cannon shirts that he'd left behind one time. Backwards.

He sighed, tightening the drawstring on his tracksuit pants and resolutely ignoring the shirt.

"Loch Lomond," Draco spat out, eyes wide and frantic as he ran a hand through his hair. He didn't even seem to notice Harry's shirt, which made sense because, judging by the black silk two-piece, Draco was wearing his pyjamas.

"Loch Lomond," Harry repeated under his breath. "You mean bloody Scotland?"

"Yes, I mean Scotland, you twit," Draco said, and without further ado, stuck his arm through Harry's, twirled them on the spot, and Apparated them away.

It took several hops before they were out of England and then three more before they landed smack bang in the middle of the mud on the shore of Loch Lomond.

"Shh," Draco said, holding up a hand when Harry went to speak.

He folded his arms over himself instead, shivering and glaring as Draco looked over the lake, white hair gleaming beneath the moonlight.

"There," he said finally, confidently, as he pointed to one of the smaller islands in the centre of the lake.

"Right. Over there, then," Harry said with a sigh, holding out his arm for Apparition.

But Draco shook his head. "Can't do it with magic."

"Why can't we do it with magic?" Harry said tightly, the cold, brisk air of Scotland seeping into his bones already.

Merlin, he wished he'd grabbed a jumper before he left or something. His only consolation was that Draco was shivering too.

But Draco's frown deepened, and he worried his lip as he finally said, "This one's different. I can't work out what it is, but it's skittish. Come on, we'll have to get a boat."

By get a boat, Draco apparently meant arrange a haphazard pile of leaf matter and moss, and then spend a very soggy thirty minutes Transfiguring it until it resembled the most ill-shapen, slipshod water vessel Harry had ever seen.

He eyed it dubiously, poking it with his toe as Draco set it rocking into the lake.

"Do you even know how to row a boat?" Harry asked flatly.

"Do I know—" Draco broke off and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Potter, if I were a Muggle, I'd have gone to Oxford. Yes, I know how to row a boat."

Harry eyed the boat for a moment longer as Draco settled inside and then, lacking any other choice and with Draco repeatedly glaring at the watch on his wrist, he got in after him.

Draco picked up both oars without even offering them, leaving Harry to lounge at one end of the boat like some kind of passenger princess and stare at him with confusion and not a small amount of adrenaline.

"So, what did we miss?" he asked in a hushed voice as Draco gritted his teeth and began to row them to the centre of the lake.

"Everything, apparently," he muttered. "The ideal timing wasn't in three days; it was in three hours. And we've already missed the first conjunction. I don't even know if it will work now, and I presume you don't want to stick around for a year until we finish this."

"Ideally not," Harry agreed lightly.

Although, a quiet, bitter part of him piped up and reminded him that this thing between them would be more likely to happen again if they were forced to work together for a bit longer.

"How do we know we're not too late?"

"We don't," Draco spat. "And it gets worse. For this particular constellation, it isn't the ideal time, it is the only time." The rushed, pinched look about Draco's face finally began to fade, replaced with something almost maudlin. "This one's different," he said, repeating his words from the shoreline. "This one's stronger, it might..." He bit his lip.

Harry was overwhelmed by the sudden urge to replace Draco's teeth with his own. To suck that lip into his mouth and lick it. He shook his head, tuning back in to Draco's words.

"This might be the heart of the magic," Draco said softly.

"Does that mean it's the final one?" Harry asked. "I thought there were two more."

"I'm not sure." Draco shrugged. "It's all been a mess of myth and mysticism and... bloody ego." He spat the last word with viciousness.

Harry gave a soft laugh, and in the echo of that sound over the rippling water of the moonlit lake, he felt something... magic.

The rippling sound of the water gave way to the thud of oar against dirt, and the boat rocked to an abrupt halt.

They climbed out, feet completely numb by now in the mud, trouser legs sodden and ruined, and made their way to the centre of the marshy isle. Harry spun in a slow circle, searching for the pinpricks of light, but he couldn't find them.

"Are you sure this is the right island?" Harry said, glancing hesitantly over at the other small pieces of land that were dotted through the gigantic mass of water.

"This is the one," Draco said. "I triple-checked before I went to the Floo. I knew we wouldn't have time to research out here." He squinted up at the star-filled moonlit sky. "Or the light, although it's admittedly brighter than I expected."

"So we do as we did in the tower, then?" Harry suggested. "Split up, searching inch by inch?"

Draco nodded, and they went their separate ways, combing every inch of the land they'd found themselves on. But by the time they met back in the centre, there was still nothing.

"How long do we have?" Harry asked through chattering teeth. "It's been at least an hour by now."

"We had three hours total," Draco said, his own teeth clattering together as he spoke. Neither of them wanted to risk Warming Charms just yet—not until they'd located the magic and knew it was no longer skittish. "We wasted one, took another to get here and search, and..." He lifted his hands in a shrug. "We have an hour left to pinpoint the magic before it's gone for a year." His voice lowered. "I can already feel it fading, can't you?"

Harry's breath stuck in his chest as he realised he could. The familiar sensation—when had it become so familiar?—that had guided them here, to the centre of this lake, was already slipping out of his grasp.

Draco's body jolted in an almighty shiver, and Harry made a disgusted sound and stepped forward, sweeping Draco into his arms and rubbing his hands up and down over his shoulders.

"You're being ridiculous," he muttered. "If you were that cold, you should have just said."

The effect was only slightly ruined by Harry's teeth clattering together so loudly he bit his tongue, but they were both so cold they could only spare a brief laugh.

Draco turned in his arms, burying the ice-cold point of his nose into Harry's neck. "I didn't expect this," he said softly.

"What, the lake?" Harry asked, frowning. "You know what lakes in Scotland are like. You grew up here."

A huff of warm breath met his skin as Draco's arms wound tentatively around his waist.

"I meant this."

His nails dug in, and Harry grew still. Neither had he, but which part did Draco mean? The sex—which even now, even with every part of him shrivelled and freezing—Harry wanted? Or the warmth?

The tenderness.

The kiss that Harry remembered every time he closed his eyes.

The magic around them shivered, rising a little. Harry grew still. "It's nearby. It's listening to us."

"Can you see anything?" Draco lifted his head, looking over Harry's shoulder at one half of the island while Harry stared intensely at the other, but there was nothing.

No light, no stars, no trapped constellation translocated upon the earth. Nothing, just muddy Scottish land.

And then...

Harry's breath caught. Something in the corner of his eye flickered and began to glow. He turned, feeling Draco pull back and turn at the same time, the two of them moving in unison as they faced the tiny pin-prick of light shining out from the water.

"It's below the surface," Draco whispered. "It needs a still night. It needs for the stars above not to impede the..." His words caught in his throat. He tried again. "The stars below."

Because that was what was happening. Below the surface of the water, stars were shining one by one.

One, two, three... Harry thought there might be ten, but he wasn't sure. And Draco was right, this one wasn't like the ones before. This one wasn't rising, wasn't making any move toward the crystal ball hidden in the satchel at Harry's side.

"It's not ready yet," Draco said, taking a step back and reaching for his wand.

Harry flinched, moving to stop him, but Draco shook his head.

"I think it's all right now." His lips were turning blue. "It's appeared for us. I think that's all we needed. I think we can use magic now, so long as it isn't too much."

Harry didn't bother to protest. He was so cold he thought his hands might fall off. Draco quickly cast Warming Charms and then turned his wand in a slow circle until a flame of heat-filled fire hovered above the ground.

Harry Transfigured two lumps of moss into camping chairs and the two of them sat down. Draco exhaled in a rush.

"Did you know, Potter," he said casually, "that I hate being rushed?"

Harry burst out laughing. The sound echoed across the water. "I'm shocked," he said dryly.

The corners of Draco's mouth curved up into a grin. "That was awful," he said, running a hand through his hair and tipping his head back to look at the sky. "But we're here now. This is it—the heart of the magic, whatever that means. And now all that's left to do is to find a way to pass the time."

His eyes slid to Harry's, his face shadowed and yet lined with moonlight.

"However will we do that?" Harry said in a low voice.

Draco bit his lip and Harry didn't wait. Already, he could feel heat returning to his body, first by the conjured flame between them and second by this. Whatever this was, whatever Draco meant, a thousand times over—this. This was theirs. This was them.

He braced his knees on either side of Draco's hips, ignoring the protesting creak of the chair, poorly Transfigured at best, and lowered his lips to Draco's.

Draco met him fiercely, tenderly. His hands slipped into the front of Harry's tracksuit pants, fingers curling round Harry's already hard cock, and he began to stroke.

"Tell me," he said against Harry's mouth between long, languid kisses. "Is this the first time you've ever fucked alongside a Scottish lake?"

Harry's breath left him in a rush. "Are you asking me if I was ever stupid enough to freeze my nuts off with a boy from Hogwarts?"

"That's exactly what I'm asking you," Draco said.

Harry laughed, bracing his hands on either side of the chair beside Draco's head and kissing him deeper.

"And what if I had?" he asked casually, thrusting his hips so his cock slid further into Draco's hand. "What would you say then? What if I told you that in eighth year, Dean and I used to slip down to the little jetty, strip off our clothing, and—"

Draco made a rough noise at the back of his throat. "On second thought," he growled, "shut up."

Harry laughed, the sound bouncing between them until even Draco's mouth curved back into a smile.

"I'm only joking," Harry told him, dropping his mouth to Draco's neck and trailing his teeth there, kissing and sucking. "Which I suspect you already knew."

Draco twisted his hand, possibly in punishment, but it sent a shiver of delight through Harry's whole body.

"No, I never have," he said with a gasp. "Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"Yes," Draco said primly, and then he slid two fingers between Harry's cheeks.

Harry shuddered, eyes falling closed, breath leaving him in rough pants. "How about you?" he asked.

"Oh, a gentleman doesn't kiss and tell," Draco said, and Harry would have bitten him, except at that precise moment, Draco cast a wandless charm over his fingers and slipped them inside.

Harry moaned, and soon the night was lost to the sounds of the two of them, rising and falling together. Draco keeping him teetering on the edge of pleasure, teasing him as if he couldn't get enough of it.

"Do you really think you're pathetic?" Draco asked, lips mouthing at Harry's jaw.

"Huh?" Harry asked, all turned around with lust.

"You keep saying it," Draco muttered. "Like you actually think you're a loser or something ridiculous like that."

"Well..." Harry didn't know how words worked anymore. Draco slid another finger inside him. "Yeah. Don't you? You always said I was, back in school."

The thought shouldn't have been a turn on. He should have been smacking Draco away, showing how very not pathetic he was. Harry didn't want to examine why he did none of those things. Why the word in Draco's mouth—all sharp edges and haughty notes—made him sink even deeper onto Draco's fingers.

Draco laughed—high-pitched and slightly deranged. "No, Potter," he said, sliding his mouth higher, over Harry's temple. "I don't think you're pathetic. I think you're hot as sin."

"Oh fuck," Harry breathed, and suddenly, he crested, falling right over the edge Draco had kept him on with a shout that rang over the lake.

When he dropped to his knees and returned the favour with Draco's cock in his mouth and the addictive taste of him on his tongue, he found he didn't mind the mud anymore at all. Didn't even notice it, in fact.

The two chairs eventually became Transfigured into a cushy bed, the bottom coated in charms so it didn't soak up the mud, and they stretched out beneath the stars.

The plush purple double sleeping bag reminded Harry of older times. He didn't want to say better times; he would have once, but he didn't think so now.

"You should come to a gig with me," he said without thinking, lost in the light of the galaxy above them.

Draco's head turned towards him. "Seriously?" he asked.

Harry couldn't quite read his tone.

"Yeah," he said, lifting his shoulder in a shrug. "You liked the club. I think you'd probably like this. It's just about getting out, isn't it?"

He turned as well, their noses nearly brushing. It was too dark here. He couldn't see anything, could only go by feel, but what he felt and how Draco sounded were becoming two separate things.

Draco sounded hesitant, unsure. But Harry could feel him. He could feel him everywhere—in the sky above, in the mirrored lake of stars below. He could feel him in the mud, in the air. Trapped in the crystal ball between them, and running free all the way back to London.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Potter," Draco said, turning his head back towards the stars. "One thing at a time, hey?"

That familiar unease curled in his gut again, reminding him that Draco hadn't actually said what this was to him. So far all he'd said was that it was unexpected. Unexpected could be bad. Unexpected could be very bad.

Harry sat up and looked out at the lake. The stars had remained unmoving for the last two hours, but he swore sometimes they were higher than before. That the light sometimes shone above the water too.

He blinked. He wasn't imagining it; the light was rising, but it didn't simply shine like a beam of moonlight. It was like a ghost, like that shimmering translucent being in the Manor. And it was rising from the water.

He didn't dare breathe, didn't dare make a sound. He just reached behind him for Draco and grabbed his wrist without looking.

Draco sat up, the sleeping bag falling to pool at their waists as the two of them watched in hushed silence.

The beast made of stars stirred.

It was so hesitant, so tentative, so fragile... Harry wondered how long it had been down there. Or was it tentative for a different reason? He wondered if, when the beast had settled here, it had been afraid.

He wondered if it had been through so much that it couldn't trust them, and despite all his wonderings, Harry didn't know what any of that meant, because it was all just little fragments of light, wasn't it? But it was also souls and magical cores, and this one seemed to take the form of...

"Is it a dragon?" Draco asked, eyes narrowed as he tried to pick out the form. "That looks like a head, and that could be a neck, but I can't tell how long it is... Can you see any wings?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't think so, but it could be..."

And then the creature stood, rising above the water until it rested upon it, and shook, droplets of light-limned water falling off it, and Harry gasped.

"It's a dog," he said, his heart breaking as the brightest star in the centre of that constellation began to shine.

The dog turned to him, but all he could see was that star, all he could see was Sirius at the centre. He felt Draco find his hand among the sleeping bag, turn it, and place the crystal ball in his palm.

With a tear running down his face, Harry said, "Canis Major."

With a faint tilt of its head, the dog regarded him, and then its tail softly wagged, and it leapt forward, a giant beast emerging from the water, and slipped inside the crystal ball.

Harry stared at the crystal ball for a long time.

"It," he began, searching for the words, "I... Draco." He looked up, saw moonlight reflected in Draco's eyes, and said simply, "Thank you for this. Thank you for helping me find this. Thank you for all of it. I'm just so grateful..."

Draco stared at him. Harry could feel him—feel the longing, feel the fire—but all he saw was fear. And the fear rose, conflicting with everything Harry thought he knew.

Harry froze, poised on the edge of whatever he'd been about to say, the words lost as Draco looked at him and gave a dismissive shrug.

"Well, I didn't really do anything."

"Of course you did," Harry said, frowning. "You did everything. I couldn't do this without you."

Draco huffed a laugh, and it was all wrong. All bitter and twisted—cruel, even.

"Yes, but I've been thinking about that," he said, staring out at the lake. "I've been thinking about why Sirius said you needed me, specifically, for the Black Family blood representation. Because, in case you hadn't realised, your godson has Black Family blood. Your godson's grandmother has Black Family blood. And yes, I get that Sirius didn't know about him. It came after his time, but you knew. And the way Sirius described it..."

Draco was on a roll now, and it didn't sound good. It sounded like it had been building up inside him to the point that he could no longer keep it in.

"...it sounded like the person with the Black Family blood just had to sort of stand there and attract the magic, but you've been doing that." He turned back to Harry with wide, frantic eyes. "You've been the one attracting the magic. You've been the one finding it. I just—" He waved his hands vaguely. "Put it together for you. You don't think Aunt Andromeda could have done that? You don't think she could have pieced together what was going on? Harry..." He stood, and he was shaking, but this time it wasn't out of the cold. "Harry, I don't even know why I'm here. Anyone could do this. An enthusiastic fucking librarian could have done this. Why me?"

Abruptly, he stopped, and he stared at Harry, and it was as though he was waiting. Waiting for something. But the fear that Harry kept seeing in Draco's eyes was still there, and worse, it was in Harry too.

He could feel it, and he couldn't move past it. He couldn't think how to speak or say what he wanted to or answer Draco's question, because wasn't the answer obvious? It was this, this thing between them. That was why Draco was here.

But Draco was already sneering, and Harry was afraid.

"Look at the crystal ball, Potter," Draco said into the darkness. "It's known all along."

Harry looked, and saw the lightning in there breaking against the edges, lashing against the glass. Even the crystalline dust storm, once beautiful and tender, raged like a thousand knives.

In the centre, a dog cowered.

"We're too fucking messy for this, Potter. Our past is too fractured, and the magic has known it all along. It can't trust us, because we aren't trustworthy," Draco spat out. "We tear each other up and spit each other out. It's what we do. So I'll do us a favour and let this thing go before it festers."

And before Harry knew what to do, Draco was gone.