Remarkable Things

+++

“There is a room in the Department of Mysteries,” said Dumbledore, “that is kept locked at all times. It contains a force that is at once more wonderful and more terrible than death, than human intelligence, than the forces of nature. It is also, perhaps, the most mysterious of the many subjects for study that reside there.”

—Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

+++

“Are you alright?” Andrey asks Stefanos, looking him over. His eyes are horrifyingly wet, ready to spill any moment. He looks incredibly hurt. “Stef, come on, what the fuck happened?”

“I told him,” Stefanos croaks out, and there they are, the tears rolling down his face. Andrey is not so naïve as to wonder whom Stefanos means by him, and to what this telling included. He ushers Stefanos inside. “And he didn’t—”

He sniffs wetly, and Andrey briefly wonders what it is with having people regularly cry in his presence. He chases the thought away.

“What did he say?”

“He said,” Stefanos hiccups with the the kind of an innocent childish hurt that makes Andrey’s heart go out to him, “he said he needed to think about it, but he didn’t—he didn’t sound like he was fine with it, Andrey…”

“It’s alright, Stef, come on,” Andrey says softly and wraps him up in a hug. Stefanos goes pliantly, unable or unwilling to fight him like Sascha would in his place, eager to save face or masculinity or some nonsense like that. “It’s gonna be alright.”

“How?” Stefanos all but wails in Andrey’s shoulder, and for a fleeting moment, Andrey wants to laugh.

After everything they have all been through — the deaths of their friends and loved ones, the wounds too deep to heal in the years to come, the panic, the social outcasting and falling completely and irreparably apart, it all just seems so silly to him now, an elaborate joke.

Dania just being momentarily an arsehole, what else is new?

“Give him time,” Andrey tells him wisely, patting him on the back. He is a bit younger than Stef, only a few months, but he feels at this moment infinitely older and wiser by a mile. “I swear, he’ll be fine with it and he’ll feel bad for being an arsehole about it.”

“What if he doesn’t?” Stefanos cries like his world is ending. Andrey sympathises.

“He will,” Andrey says firmly, because a year-long fallout or not, he knows Dania. “There’s not a chance in hell that he’ll not be okay with it. Trust me on that.”

“But why?” Stefanos whines petulantly. “You were alright with it… even Sascha with his horrible Pureblood family was alright with it…”

“Sascha and I weren’t exactly in a state to worry about stupid things like prejudice back then,” Andrey says honestly and remembers the day Stefanos told them — Sascha drunk off his arse on Firewhiskey or Bloodgin or possibly both, and Andrey devastatingly empty inside, a hollowed out container with no substance left. Stef could’ve informed them he was a Veeila or a Troll and it wouldn’t have made a difference. “And besides, it’s not like I was such an example of open-mindedness in my teens, either,” he adds with shameful regret, thinking back to Dania and him outside his Moscow flat, playing ‘Banish the Werewolf’ with the other magical kids on the block. “You know how important status is to him,” he says after a beat, sending those memories back to a far-away corner of his mind. “He thinks it’s the most important thing until it bites him on the arse and then he’s sorry. Need I remind you of the DADA class, with the Patronus?”

“No,” Stefanos sniffs, but the sobs have subsided. “You needn’t. It’s burned to the inside of my eyelids well enough, thanks.”

“There you have it, then,” Andrey says magnanimously and lets him go before it gets decidedly awkward. He summons the bottle of Firewhiskey from the kitchen. “Drink up, you need one.”

Stefanos gulps the entire glass in one go. It’d be incredibly impressive if not for his puffy red eyes and wet runny nose. Some scary werewolf he is.

“Where is Sascha?” Stefanos asks when he’s got a hold of himself.

“Doing some stupid illegal shit with the likes of Harry Potter,” Andrey informs him, sighing. Suddenly, he doesn’t feel so old and wise anymore.

“Oh,” Stefanos takes the bottle and pours himself another glass. “He never mentioned any of this to me.”

“No, he only tells his secrets to Harry Potter these days,” Andrey says bitterly.

“Come on, you know that’s not true,” Stefanos says softly, and Andrey wonders when they have switched roles, because it definitely sounds like Stef is trying to comfort him now. “He loves you.”

“It’s not like he’s ever told me that,” Andrey says and wants to hide from embarrassment at how petulant his voice sounded.

“You know perfectly well that words don’t mean much,” Stefanos says wisely. “You’re smarter than that, Andrey, please.”

Andrey sighs and doesn’t say anything. It’s barely six, and he wonders if Sascha has started his illegal activity yet, or if they are hiding somewhere at this moment, together with Harry and Hermione, and planning for their grand affair. Stupidly, he wonders if Sascha has had dinner yet.

“I can wait with you,” Stefanos offers softly. “Until he comes back.”

“Thanks,” Andrey says and chases away the nagging anxiety. “I’d like that.”

+++

“What happened?” Karen asks warily by the door, giving Dania a critical look over.

“You knew!” Dania accuses him, brushing past him, uninvited his his house.

Karen’s eyebrows furrow. “I knew what?”

“About Stefanos!” Dania points a finger at him. Behind him, he hears Veronika come up to the hallway to see what all the fuss was about. “You knew— what he was!”

Karen’s mouth drops open. “Oh. He told you, then?”

“He did!”

“So?” Karen looks outrageously unperturbed with this life-altering news, not nearly enough Dania thinks. He stares at Dania with uncharacteristic shrewdness. “Did you freak out on him?”

“I did not freak out,” Dania says, though in retrospect, maybe he did. “I can’t believe none of you ever thought to tell me that!” He turns to Veronika. “Did you know?”

“Of course,” she blinks at him. “Is this what it’s all about? Tsitsipas being a werewolf? Jesus, Dania, everybody knew.”

“Well I fucking didn’t!” Dania thunders and feels hurt all over again. “Because apparently no one thought I was even important enough to tell this tiny little detail!”

“But it’s not about you,” Karen blinks at him, like he genuinely doesn’t get the problem. “Like Andrey said, it was Stefanos’ decision—”

“Did he tell you yourself, then?”

“Well, no,” Karen amends, “but I just heard through the grapevine. Doesn’t mean it was right.”

“Dania, what are you even so angry about?” Veronica asks him, leaning against the doorway. “So he’s a werewolf, it’s not like we’re in the 80-s Russia anymore. What’s the problem?”

“He’s a werewolf and no one even told me!” Dania yells again, because none of them seems to understand this remarkably simple issue.

A sound of a child crying thunders upstairs. Veronica shoots him a murderous glare. “And you’ve woken David. Thank you so much, I only spent about two hours getting him to sleep.”

“Sorry,” Dania mutters, chagrined.

“You better not still be yelling when I come back,” she says getting up the stairs. “Anything louder than a pixie squeak and I’ll curse you personally.” She sends another glare at her husband. “Get your hysterical friend under control, Khachanov!”

“I love it when she’s so feisty!” Karen grins looking like a love-struck fool that he is. Dania sniffs. “She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, mate!”

“Oh please, spare me the love sonnets,” Dania snaps, though he has to admit, he did walk into this house, uninvited and unannounced, so he isn’t in any particular position to complain at Karen mooning over his wife.

“Fine,” Karen snorts, “we can talk about your being in love with Stefanos, if you’d rather.”

Dania jolts. “I’m not—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Karen waves his protests away with an impatient hand, like he would an annoying housefly. “You’re not in love, you’re tragically misunderstood, you’re perfectly fine holed up in your shitty flat like a Muggle hermit, whatever, Dania. Can we please skip this whole spiel where you pretend you’re above it all so we can get to the issue, already?”

Dania stares at him, his jaw working silently. He’s not sure if he’s more angry or embarrassed.

“Come on,” Karen says softly. “Think about it.”

“I don’t –“ Dania objects, and then he stops, and thinks about it. About the way he keeps waking up already staring at the window to see if Stefanos has sent him an owl. About the way Dania has started to see the small shifts, the trembles at the corners of his mouth and the way his eyes always darted when he was uncertain. About the way Stefanos still never calls anything “stupid,” as if too worried he might offend somebody, and yet how he still scowls at those stupid things the same way he did in Hogwarts. About the way his nose still scrunches up when he is thinking too hard. About the random details about Stefanos that have started popping into his head when he’s wanking off – not just the expected bits, but things like the shallow dip above his upper lip, the insufferably patronising arch of his eyebrow. About the way something lurched in his chest when Karen just said, In love.

“Fuck,” says Dania.

“Did you really come all the way here just for that?” Karen laughs. “For me to tell you that you’re in love with Stefanos?”

It’s true. He’s in love with Stefanos. Stefanos is the most pompous, patronising, anal-retentive, philosophising tosser to ever walk the earth with his tussled curls and carelessly unshaven Pureblood-worthy goatee, and Dania is in fucking love with him.

And Stefanos – Stefanos is—

“Listen,” Karen sighs and summons them both a Butterbeer each. Dania is so out of it that a bottle nearly knocks him over on the head as it levitates from the kitchen. “What is this really about, huh? I know that you aren’t some bigot stuck-up with his mid-20^th century ideas of what pure blood means and so on. Yes, he turns into a dangerous creature once a month,” he lowers his voice and throws a frightened glance in the direction of where Veronica went. “Truth be told, so does my wife.”

“Did you seriously just compare Lycanthropy with… menstruation?” Dania says slowly, but whatever Karen was trying to achieve, it must have worked, because Dania has to keep himself from cracking up.

“Nika is loads scarier than any werewolf could possibly be,” Karen vows. “Trust me, if I forget to spell the laundry I’d much rather face Stefanos on the full moon than her.”

“Fine, fine, I get it,” Dania can’t help chuckling. “You’re terrified of your wife.”

“As he should be,” says Veronika, coming back down the stairs with a weepy baby held in her arms. Karen’s face immediately lights up at the sight of them, and Dania feels like an intruder. He shifts on his feet.

“I just…” he starts and doesn’t know how to finish or even what it is that he was going to say. What is he this furious about, really? Stefanos being a werewolf? But Dania knows that’s only partially true, because, deep inside, he already knows he’s accepted it, and that it took him less time and effort than he thought it would.

What really angers him, though, he realises, searching himself, is the feeling of being left out. Out of Stefanos’ secret. Out of everyone sharing this news. As if Dania didn’t deserve to know, even less than the likes of Zverev, and certainly less than the loving, all-accepting Andrey.

And then, just when Dania has started feeling himself, just when he’s gotten a wand that actually works and a future to look forward to — that’s when Stefanos decides to go and drop this bombshell on him, breaking Dania’s hopes and dreams of ever being considered a respectable, Pureblood-worthy wizard.

“Is it really this important to you?” Karen wrinkles his nose at him. “The status and the respect?”

“I thought it was,” Dania says miserably. “My whole life, it’s what I wanted the most.”

“That’s a pretty stupid thing to want,” Karen declares with pursed lips. “But then, you were sorted into Slytherin, so I suppose…”

“Has he finished being a total knob yet?” Yells Veronika from the kitchen.

Karen stands straight. “Um, Veronika wants to know if you are finished—”

“I heard her, thanks,” Dania rolls his eyes.

“Well, I can’t say I disagree with her,” Karen points out.

“I didn’t expect you to,” Dania sighs and heads back to the front door.

“My advice to you man,” says Karen, walking him to the door. “Just don’t be a prideful dick. It’s not worth it.”

“Thanks for this priceless wisdom,” Dania snorts.

“You’re welcome,” Karen says pointedly. “Feel free to demonstrate your gratitude by never waking up my kid again.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Dania says and Apparates away.

+++

“Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business.”

“Daniil Medvedev,” he says to the front desk witch. “Here to register a new wand.”

“Please proceed through the Atrium and to the third floor, Department of Magical Law Enforcement,” she tells him with a plastic smile.

He starts going, then stops and turns back to her, unable to help himself. “Eh, sorry, but where can I find the registry for the British dangerous species?”

She blinks at him like she hasn’t understood him. “Do you mean the Lycanthropy and other magical malady registry, sir?”

“Um, yes, that’s what I meant.”

“Same department, office no. 135. Ask for the Mrs. Bones, she should be able to help you.”

“Thanks,” Dania says, feeling slightly awkward. He grips his new wand tightly, squashing the guilt at the thoughts of Stefanos it evokes, and makes his way through the Atrium.

It’s been a while since he was here last. Just once after the Battle? He’s felt way too out of place to come here again after that one Commemoration gala he visited, and has stayed away ever since. Now the Atrium Hall looms over him in its great, majestic beauty, the numerous wizards and witches hurrying around, engrossed in their affairs.

He barely fits himself into the lift, it’s so full and hard to breathe. The lift lurches and stops almost immediately, the cold female voice announcing the second floor. A sizeable portion of the wizards get out.

“Department of Magical Law Enforcement, please,” someone else calls, and the lift lurches once more.

This time, everybody gets out with him. Everybody, except—

“Department of Mysteries,” says a familiar voice at the back of the lift.

Dania swings around, “Zverev?”

Zverev looks momentarily panicked. “What are you doing here?”

“None of your business,” Dania snaps, and gets back into the lift. Zverev’s mouth drops open.

“Get the fuck out!” He demands, hands flying. “You’re not going with me!”

“I go wherever the fuck I want to,” Dania says and looks him over. Zverev looks panicky and guilty, like a child caught red-handed with his hand down the cooks jar. He narrows his eyes. “You are not supposed to be here, are you?”

“Get out,” Zverev says again, but Dania knows he’s struck gold. Zverev is angling for something illegal, which is just wonderful. Here’s Dania’s chance to finally prove to Andrey what a law-breaking arsehole Zverev is, whatever his plan here is. And the best thing is, Zverev can’t even do anything to him, lest he’s ready to admit to his nefarious illegal business in the Ministry, and Dania rejoices.

His own affairs forgotten, he fixes Zverev with a glare. “So what are you up to, then? Why are going to the Department of Mysteries?”

“None of your fucking business,” Zverev snaps with twice the rage, and crosses his arms over his chest. He looks more panicky by the second.

“Department of Mysteries,” the cold voice announces, and Zverev spares him a long, heated glare before finally stepping out of the lift. Dania follows him.

“You can’t go with me,” Zverev rages on him, his wand in his hand.

“Can’t I?” Dania smirks, squeezing his own wand. “What are you gonna do? Bark at me?”

Zverev’s eye widen. “Fucking Stef! I can’t believe he’s told you!”

“Oh yes,” Dania lets out a careless laugh. “In fact, I was gonna go up to the Law office and check if you’re actually registered. Which would be a surprise, you know, considering your history.”

“I see you still have nothing better to do with your time,” Zverev snaps, but he doesn’t move. “Of course I’m fucking registered. I’m not an idiot.”

“I have a lifetime worth of evidence to the contrary,” Dania smirks and waits for him to move.

But Zverev deflates. “Alright, fine, I’m an idiot. Whatever. Just go wherever you were going and leave me alone!

“Or,” Dania pretends an idea has just occurred to him. “I could head back to the Auror office right now and inform them that you’re breaking the Ministry law here.”

Zverev pales even more. He looks sickly white now. “Don’t you dare! They’ll never let me back into Quidditch!”

“I don’t care,” Dania narrows his eyes at film, feeling self-righteous. “Frankly, you should’ve been kicked out of the sport forever after what you did. They only gave you a ban instead because of the optics and how it wouldn’t have looked so good to kick out a damn war-hero.”

“I know that!” Zverev hisses. There it is again, something wild and feral flashing in his eyes. “Don’t you think I fucking know that?!”

“Besides,” Dania pushes, unswayed by Zverev’s obviously fake display of remorse. “You should’ve been expelled from Hogwarts, too. After what you did to me in that duel.”

Zverev closes his eyes briefly and takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for cursing you, I was an idiot. And Andrey didn’t speak to me for almost two months after that.”

Dania stumbles a bit. Whatever he has been expecting, it certainly wasn’t an apology, no matter how overdue. He has half a mind of letting it go, then, because, frankly, he is the last person to be throwing stones from behind the glass walls, but then he convinces himself that Zverev is only saying this so Dania would fuck off. And he has no idea how bringing Andrey into this even has anything to do with Zverev’s insincere apology, except perhaps, trying to manipulate Dania some more.

Zverev fidgets and shoots another panicky look aver at the corridor over his shoulder. “Listen, just go and do whatever is you were gonna do here today. Just let me go, please!”

It’s the please that startles him. Dania takes a step forward along the steely corridor of the Department of Mysteries and stares at him. Zverev looks ready to snap, and Dania gives him one final push. “If you think I’m going to leave now, you’re an even bigger idiot than I thought, Sasch.”

Zverev’s expression is a little mad now, his eyes shining as if he was coming down with fever. For the first time, Dania feels uneasy defying him, unsure of what to expect. This is the man that used a Dark curse against him back in Hogwarts, who the fuck knows what he’s capable of now?

He grips his wand tighter, but Zverev is faster.

The stunner he shoots at Dania misses him by a mile, but it’s enough to send him toppling backwards in shock. As he hastens to get up, he sees Zverev run along the corridor and disappear behind the corner.

Dania starts after him. He rounds the same corner, seeing a single plain black door that Zverev must have gone through. Thrill of the chase pumping his blood up, he pulls the door open and steps inside.

Just to see Zverev disappear behind another one.

He looks around. He is standing in a large, circular room. Everything in it is black from the very floor and up to the ceiling; identical, handleless black doors are set at intervals all around the black walls, interspersed with branches of candles whose flames burn unnatural blue. The door he’s just walked in shuts suddenly behind him, and Dania is left alone in the creepy bluish darkness.

That’s where he notices the small red crosses on every door, marked obviously by someone who has been here before Zverev and him, so someone must have been working with Zverev, some accomplices who have prepared the room for him. The only door left unmarked is the one Zverev has disappeared to a moment ago.

Fine, Dania thinks ruthlessly. He’s already made it this far. Would be meaningless, if he doesn’t follow through one more step.

He comes up to the door, yanks it open and—

+++

“Can you pass me another Butterbeer?”

Dania rolls his eyes but obediently levitates the bottle over to Stefanos, who’s still busy with his fancy dinner planning.

“I know you’re no longer an athlete, but still,” he teases. “You know how many calories are in this thing? It’s a moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips.”

“Are you calling me fat?” Stefanos snorts without looking up from his piles of parchment. The sunlight from the sitting room glass-door paints a strand of his hair bright golden, just like the golden sparks that shot out of Dania’s new wand when he touched it. “Besides, everyone is fat compared to you.”

“Ouch,” Dania says, plopping down on a chair next to him. He opens himself his own bottle of Butterbeer, the sweet addictive shit he can’t stop drinking.

Stefanos shoots him a look. “Bloody hypocrite.”

“A fit hypocrite, though, right?”

Stefanos cracks up. He pointedly turns away to shuffle noisily through his parchment in a way that is no doubt meant to indicate how very little time he has for Dania’s nonsense. 

“I’m worried we are not gonna fit everyone in that marquee,” he says in a tone one would use to express their worry about the oncoming nuclear war. Dania fights off another snort.

“So we’ll enlarge it some more,” he takes a sip and watches Stefanos scribble something furiously. “Or we’ll get a second marquee. Or, you know, we uninvite some people.”

“Uninvite isn’t even a word.”

“Misinvite, then.”

“I thought you were supposed to be clever,” Stefanos rolls his eyes. “Seriously, though, I don’t know where we’re supposed to sit this many people.”

“Most of them aren’t gonna be sitting, Stef, relax, Jesus,” Dania looks over at his scribbles but can’t make out a single bloody word. He leans back onto his chair where the sunlight has caught his right shoulder, heating it up pleasantly. “It’s your birthday, everyone’s gonna want to go out flying and then probably dancing,” he winces remembering the last year. “On second thought, scratch that, and sit them all the fuck down. I’d rather die then watch another instance of Jannik trying to dance.”

Stefanos is fighting off a smile. Dania can tell he’s trying hard to not look too amused.

“And if I want to dance, what then?” Stefanos says with his mouth curled up.

“Simple. I’ll leave you,” Dania deadpans, and this time, Stefanos actually throws his head back and laughs heartily. Dania rejoices. “With me gone, you can finally start dating Andrey, the true dancing partner you’ve always dreamt of.”

“I’ll get a dance out of you yet, just you see,” Stefanos grins and finally pushes his parchment away. He leans back against his chair and rubs his neck with a hiss. “My neck’s gone cranky,” he complains.

“If only you had a spouse who could take care of it for you, and whom you didn’t abuse by demanding an unreasonable amount of dancing.”

“Once a year on my birthday is very far from unreasonable,” Stefanos points out as Dania grabs his wand and points it to his neck. “No, come on! Don’t do it magically, I want your fingers!”

“Kinky,” Dania grins, waggling his eyebrows. He stuffs his wand back into his pocket and gets to massaging Stefanos’ neck. His skin is warm and soft under Dania’s fingers, heated up by the sun.

“Is Jannik coming?” Dania asks him. “I’d rather book a dancing partner in advance, you know, the only one who’s gonna make me look good by comparison.”

“You’ll always look good to me,” Stefanos lies smoothly and throws his head up to look at Dania upside down. Dania can’t resist leaning down and kissing him then, Spiderman-style. God, does he absolutely love this man. “Especially when you’re brave enough to dance in public.”

“That’s me. I’m all about bravery.”

“A true Gryffindor at heart,” Stefanos laughs. “Hey, maybe that’s what your animal is going to be! A lion!”

Dania loves him like this, warm and giggly, hair tied in a loose bun. He’d love him even better with his throat bared, loose with compliance, arching helplessly into Dania’s touch.

The kiss Dania plants on his lips is hard and insistent at first, but then it gentles into a mindless little sucking thing, soft and wet with just a hint of teeth. It’s reminiscent of how Stefanos gets sometimes when he’s worn out after a particularly demanding day: pressing himself as close as he can, exhausted and skin-hungry, wanting nothing more than the comfort he can take from Dania’s body. Dania loves those moments, Stefanos so loose and peaceful in his arms, so undeniably his.

He tears himself away, feeling hot all over. Maybe after dinner.

Stefanos is looking up at him with those twinkling shiny eyes, and suddenly all thought of sexual exploit evaporates from Dania’s mind. There is no use trying to put into words the perfection of this moment, Stefanos shining his light at him, brighter and more remarkable than any magic, as if he were a conjured up physical incarnation of Dania’s happiness.

Unable to help himself, he leans down and places a kiss on Stefanos’ nose. Stefanos blinks up at him adorably and releases a small huff of joy.

“A likely story,” Dania snorts and kneads a knot on the juncture of Stefanos’ shoulder, making him hiss softly. “Either way, we’re a long way from that. I’m only a few months into my studies.”

“You know you could always ask Sascha for tips,” Stefanos says cheekily.

“Yeah, right,” Dania sniffs. “Either way, I bet mine is gonna be way cooler than some flea-ridden dog.”

“Aww, you’re so attractive when you’re jealous,” Stefanos says and turns in his chair. He places a soft kiss through the t-shirt over Dania’s stomach and his arms come up to wrap around Dania’s waist. “You know how grateful I am that you’re doing this for me?” He looks at him as if Dania were something too wonderful to be put into words.

Dania’s fingers comb through his curls. He suddenly feels strange, though he can’t quite put his finger on it. After he has taken what only a relatively short time ago had seemed like an unimaginable step — getting together with someone, let alone Stefanos — there is a calm sense of detachment, as if he were watching himself from a great distance, wondering if there was any chance he could screw it all up, because…

Dania has never been familiar with happiness like this, pure and unabashed, making him wake up every morning with a smile on his face and Stefanos’ arm around his waist. Up until last year, he was sure he’d been too unworthy and even polluted by the sheer awfulness of his mind and his thoughts to deserve a life like this; he was mystified that someone like Stefanod could tolerate, let alone genuinely enjoy his company.

But that is all Stefanos and his disarming honesty about himself, a quality he has of accepting people for who they were, of simply enjoying their company for however long he is allowed to share it.

Even now, it still feels to him like dumb luck, as if he’s stumbled upon a bank robbery and somehow ended up with a bag of money in his hand.

“It’s nothing. I’m happy to. And I’ve always wanted to be an Animagus, so it’s a win-win.”

Besides, Dania will never not feel like a world-class arsehole about the way he reacted to Stefanos’ secret, and the day Stefanos told him about his lycanthropy is forever burned to his memory.

“Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Are you happy?” Stefanos asks into his stomach, and the question evokes a sort of strange dissonance, as if Dania was inside a Pensieve watching a memory of this moment. He leans back to make Stefanos raise his head and look him in the eye.

“What sort of question is that?” He says and finds his heart suddenly racing. “I’m happier than I have ever been in my life.”

“Okay,” Stefanos whispers, but his eyes are dark and empty.

“Stef?” Dania calls, a lumpy ball of dread stuck in his throat. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m just thinking,” Stefanos murmurs, the sun hidden behind the curtain now, and his eyes are suddenly darker than the night sky, “how nice it would have been. If any of this were true.”

“What?”

“If you chose this life,” Stefanos murmurs sadly. “Instead of choosing superficial shit that’s not going to matter five minutes down the road. Instead of choosing your pride.”

“—what?”

But the world is suddenly collapsing around him, the kitchen table and the chairs shaking as if there was an earthquake. Dania’s heart and lungs are shaking right along with them.

“We could have had this, you know?” Stefanos is saying but his voice is distant, like coming from a fading dream, ethereal and faraway.

The floor is trembling beneath him, Dania’s very soul trembling, his pulse racing and his legs numb. He grips Stefanos, as everything is sliding sideways, slipping away from him, but Stefanos isn’t holding him back, his face so, so sad—

“No, wait!” He gasps uselessly, because he can’t believe he’s losing it, losing Stef, “Stef, please, wait—”

Everything crumbles. The world spins.

Dania is tumbling backwards—

And falling through the door, back into the dark circular room.

His face is wet and, belatedly, he realises it’s his tears; he’s crying. The door snaps shut in his face with a fierce finality, as if putting the final nail into the coffin that was the sweet fantasy inside it.

“No,” he croaks uselessly, the tears streaming down his face as he pulls the door handle again and again. It won’t budge. “No, no, no, please—”

His voice echoes in the dark room. Dania swallows his tears and bangs his head against the locked door until the dull thud is the only thing he can hear, so he doesn’t have to feel this overwhelming, catastrophic sense of loss spreading in his gut like fucking cancer, about to overtake his heart and his mind.

A minute or maybe an hour later, he wipes the tears angrily off his face.

It wasn’t real, he tries telling himself but even he isn’t good enough of a liar to fool all of his senses into believing that what he has just experienced was any less real than the floor he’s sitting on or the oxygen he is breathing.

Only now does he notice the noise coming from his left.

By his side, Zverev is laying on the floor, laughing hysterically. Tears are streaming down his face, too.

“I can,” Zverev laughs maniacally, his entire body shaking. “I can, I can, I can”

“What?” Dania rasps out, trying to get to his feet. His body refuses to cooperate, dizzy and awkward and still drunk on the remains of the dream he lived through behind the door. “You can what?”

Zverev only lets out a wheezing laugh. He looks absolutely mad.

At last, Dania manages to stand. The candles that were emitting a creepy blue light before he went through the door, are now burning an ominous red. Dania thinks he can hear someone moving behind one of the doors.

“Come on, get up,” he tells Zverev with no small amount of panic. Zverev doesn’t seem to have heard him. “Sascha, come on!”

It’s not like he is coming down with a sudden attack of conscience — arsehole or not, he has never actually wished any harm upon Zverev. He waits for the usual wave of hatred to roll in, but it doesn’t come.

After the unearthly amount of love he’s harboured in that blasted room, even the concept of hate seems borderline foreign to him, like something that never belonged to him, and at this moment he can’t even remember what hating Zverev normally felt like.

Zverev is hiccupping on the floor. Dania leans over him and grabs him around the midsection. “Sascha, get the fuck up, I can’t carry you!”

“I can,” Zverev sobs out like he’s forgotten all other words. “I know I can now, I can—”

“Yes, fine, you can, great,” Dania snaps, lifting him to his feet which is no small feat with someone of Zverev’s size. “Now I need you to fucking walk!”

He slings Zverev’s arm over his own shoulder, taking most of his weight, and shuffles to the nearest door. Which presents yet another problem.

“Fuck, which door?”

There’s only Zverev’s laboured breathing, and he gives Zverev an angry shake. “Come on, you must know this! Which door, Sasch?”

And finally, finally, there’s some clarity in Zverev’s eyes. He stops his maniacal mantra and blinks slowly, before reaching into his pocket and extracting his wand. Without looking at him, he mutters an incantation that Dania can’t make out, and one of the doors to their right shines bright blue for a second.

“Alright, good, let’s go,” he says, dragging Zverev along, whose legs are not working properly. Dania grits his teeth and bears it, thinking about Andrey and how he’ll never forgive Dania if he leaves Zverev behind.

His head is full of the dream scene he’s just lived through, and for a moment he struggles seeing past the vision. He blinks the image of Stefanos raising his head up to kiss him through sheer fucking willpower, vowing to think about it later. Later. They need to get out of here first.

The scene he’s lived through in that torturous room seems horribly cruel to him, a heartless joke he’s played on himself.

The corridor outside is as empty as it was, but it doesn’t help Dania’s ever-growing sense of dread, though it might just be the aftershock of the dream collapsing. He drags Zverev to the lift, where they both collapse to the floor: Zverev hiccuping and chuckling again, Dania panicked and exhausted.

“What did you see?” Dania demands, because he needs to know. He has to know he wasn’t the only one witnessing a miracle over there, even if Zverev had to be the one sharing it. He elbows Zverev into the ribs. “What did you see?”

Wordlessly, Zverev raises his wand. His hand is shaking horribly, Dania sees with an unexpected jolt of sympathy. Whatever it was, it must have been just as intense an experience.

“What are you—”

“Expecto Patronum,” Zverev says suddenly in a shaky voice.

A silvery fox materialises in the empty corridor before them. Instead of walking away, it lays down, looking up at them with its head tilted. Dania stares back at it, at the playful and slightly teasing tilt of its head, at the way its paws are resting against each other lazily, like it’s on the verge of dozing off. A powerful sort of emotion forms inside him, growing as he looks. The fox feels familiar somehow, making his heart and lungs shiver, as though Dania has known it his entire life.

Out of nowhere, tears are burning at the corners of his eyes again.

“Andrey?” He whispers, his voice ringing in the silent corridor.

The fox tilts its head the other way, then lays on its side, silently watching him. The silvery light emanating from it paints Zverev’s face scarily white.

“I can,” Zverev whispers again in an awed voice, as if he was witnessing a truly remarkable thing.

The fox gets up on all fours and struts towards him. Zverev reaches a hand out, but the fox climbs onto his lap and curls up there.

A loud banging noise comes from the lift, and Dania snaps out of this strange reverie, remembering his panic. The fox on Zverev’s lap flickers and dissolves.

“Come on, we need to leave.” Dania gets up and holds a hand out to Zverev, who seems even less adequate now. He grabs Dania’s hand and pulls himself up, swaying unsteadily on his feet.

The lift comes up mercifully empty, though Dania has already started to expect a full team of Aurors, ready to arrest them. He has no idea why the two of them are so suspiciously free to wander the Ministry’s most guarded department ever, but he’s not about to look a gift horse in its mouth. He pushes Zverev inside and says “Atrium.”

His own knees are trembling as they ride, though he’s not sure if it’s from the effort of carrying Zverev over the distance or from what he’s seen in the magical room. Either way, he wants to be home, or better yet — wherever Stefanos is, begging him to forgive Dania’s stupid arsholery and making promises he’s afraid he’ll never be able to keep.

“What was that place?” he asks Zverev, leaning against the wall of the lift.

Zverev swallows soundly. His eyes are closed. “The love room.”

“The what?”

“It’s always locked,” Zverev mumbles nonsensically, and Dania starts to suspect his brain is seriously fried now. “But we got it open.”

“It was already open,” Dania points out, but Zverev is shaking his head.

“No,” he lets out like speaking hurt him. “Before.”

“Before what?”

But Zverev doesn’t reply, his eyes still shut. He looks ready to fall over without a warning, and Dania grips his forearm just in case.

“Are you even alright to Apparate?” He asks, but one look at Zverev’s trembling body is an answer enough. He thinks fast, the both of them stepping out of the lift and into the Atrium, because he’s not about to risk Apparating himself and splinching both of them in half.

“Is Andrey’s fireplace hooked up to the Floo Network?” he gives Zverev another rough shake. “Sascha! Is it connected?”

“Yes,” Zverev mumbles as if he was drunk.

Dania drags them both to the fireplaces lining the Atrium walls. He shoves Zverev inside and hands him the Floo Powder. “Please don’t kill yourself getting there,” he says, as Zverev raises his arm and drops the powder at his feet. Whatever he mumbles, it’s utterly indecipherable.

The green flames surge up, swallowing him. Dania can only hope it’s taken Zverev where he was supposed to go, and not to some whorehouse in Tahiti.

He follows through.

“Rublev Cottage,” he tries to say clearly, and the flames snatch him away.

+++

“What the fuck?!” Andrey yells when the fireplace suddenly lights up green and emerald and spits Sascha out.

Sascha drops, face-down, to the carpet. Andrey is there before his head hits the floor.

“Sascha!” He yells, panic flaring up like nothing he’s ever felt before. He can barely move. Stefanos is saying something that Andrey can’t understand behind his back. “Sasch! Sasch! What the fuck happened, Sasch?!”

“Dania!” Stefanos yelps.

The fireplace is green again, and Dania steps out of it on unsteady feet. Stefanos is immediately there to hold him up.

“What did you do?” Andrey yells at him, seeing red. His vision goes blurry. “What happened to him? What the fuck did you do?!”

“I didn’t do anything to him, Jesus Christ!” Dania shouts back as Stefanos leads him to drop to the sofa. “He’s probably fine, just exhausted. I’m fine too, by the way, thanks for asking!”

Andrey points his wand at Sascha. “Ennervate!”

Slowly, hissing and huffing, Sascha turns sideways.

Andrey can breathe again.

“What happened?” He demands, shaking Sascha by the shoulders. “What did you do?!”

“Nah, five more minutes…” Sascha slurs, refusing to open his eyes. Andrey’s heart is thundering in his ears. He gives Sascha another shake, but he stays pliantly down. “Don’t wanna go to Potions…”

“What?” Andrey lets go of, horrified.

“Andrey, let him sleep,” Stefanos calls softly from the sofa. Andrey forces himself to take a deep breath, then slowly sits. “He obviously can’t talk right now. Get him to his room.”

Wordlessly, his body shaky and weak, as if he just lived through a deathly battle, Andrey levitates Sascha’s long body upstairs. He drops him onto the bed, and Sascha immediately curls on his side, his eyelids trembling.

Andrey throws a blanket over him. His hand lingers on Sascha’s shoulder, warm and solid, as an overwhelming sense of relief rolls over him. Sascha is alive. Everything is fine. Everything is fine.

A hand catches his wrist. “Don’t go,” Sascha whines, slurring, his eyes half open. “Andrey, please, stay.”

Andrey swallows past the cotton lump in his throat. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll pop downstairs and be right back.”

“Please,” Sascha whimpers, his eyes sliding shut again. He is trembling all over, and Andrey’s heart breaks. “Don’t leave.”

“I’m not,” Andrey whispers. He kneels by the side of the bed and runs his fingers gently through Sascha’s hair like he usually does when Sascha is a dog. “Just sleep, Saniochek, I’ll be there when you wake up.”

He thinks Sascha gives him a tiny nod, before his body relaxes. He lets out a soft snoring sound.

Least of all does Andrey want to leave him this moment, but he makes himself get up and run back downstairs, because he needs to know—

“What the fuck happened?” He demands, back in the sitting room.

Stefanos and Dania are both still there: Dania bent almost in half, his elbows on his knees and his head hung low, Stefanos right beside him on the sofa, his hand hovering uncertainly over Dania’s shoulder, not daring to touch.

“I’ll take him home,” Stefanos says, his wary eyes not leaving Dania’s hunched form.

Andrey blocks his way before he can even move.

“No one is going anywhere until you tell me what the fuck is going on,” Andrey says, addressing Dania.

Dania lifts his head. His face is white safe for the blotchy red surrounding his eyes. He has obviously been crying.

“Can we…” Dania starts in a croaky voice and scoots over to his right, so that his thigh is pressing against Stefanos’. Andrey distantly wonders if he even realises he is doing it. “Talk about this later?”

“No!” Andrey barks, the tension building up again and making him stand straighter. “You don’t get to dramatically Floo in, half-dead, and mysteriously disappear without explanation, Dania! So we’re talking now!”

Dania sighs shakily. Stefanos’ hand finally drops to his shoulder.

“I was in the Ministry,” Dania begins in a listless tone, as if he was reciting a bad movie. “To register my new wand. I ran into Sascha there,” he takes a pause, trying to formulate his story, and Andrey briefly wonders when Dania has started to call Sascha by his first name. “He was going to the Department of Mysteries. I realised he was doing something illegal, so I followed him. We ended up in some creepy round room with many doors,” he swallows, the words obviously too hard to say. “Before I could stop him, he went in through one of the doors. And I— I went, too.”

He stops talking, his jaw working silently. Andrey feels like a tight string of barely contained energy, ready to snap.

“And?? What happened? What was behind the door?!”

“I don’t know!” Dania says with uncanny desperation. His eyes fleet sideways at Stefanos before fixing on Andrey. “I don’t fucking know what that room was, but I saw— it doesn’t matter right now…” his fingers are flexing, curling into fists. “When I came out, Sascha was already back, and he was— well, he was already like that,” he gestures upstairs, as if to illustrate the state of Sascha through the ceiling. “He was… hysterical, muttering something like mad. I don’t know what he saw in that room. He said—” he winces, as if it were too painful to say, “he said it was a “love room.”— Stefanos gasps, —“I have no idea what he meant, and I couldn’t get him to explain anything further, you saw how he was,” he finishes almost angrily.

The whole explanation feels rather… anticlimactic. Andrey frowns.

“So you both went into some room in the Department of Mysteries,” he sums it up sceptically, “but you haven’t seen each other inside that room?”

“No, it was—“ Dania lets out a huff of frustration. “I don’t know how it works, alright? I was in— I saw—“ he throws his hands up, getting increasingly agitated. “Whatever I saw, he wasn’t there! It was a magical room, Andrey, so he could’ve gone somewhere else and experienced something else! I don’t fucking know, ask Zverev yourself!” He snaps with disproportionate aggression. “He was the one going there, not me! And by the looks of it, he had a lot of inside help, because the door was marked and, curiously, not a single Auror on the floor! You’d think anyone could just wander in from the street and invite themselves to the Ministry’s most guarded ever department!”

“Ah,” Andrey sighs, everything coming together now. “That’s what he was doing with Harry and Hermione, then.”

“What?”

“Sascha has been doing something with Harry Potter and Hermione Granger all summer,” Andrey says. He feels floaty and shaky now that the insane amount of adrenaline he’s worked up has started to leave his body. “They both work at the Ministry. That’s what they’ve been trying to do, apparently.”

“What, break into one of those stupid doors?” Dania demands. His own hands are shaking, too, Andrey notices. “So Potter and Granger were the ones helping him? Why?”

“I don’t know!” Andrey snaps, catching Dania’s ever-growing irritation. “I’ll have to ask Sascha as soon as he wakes from his beauty sleep!”

“Guys,” Stefanos speaks for the first time in what feels like an hour. “Let’s not get angry, now. It’s no use to anyone,” he lifts his hand from Dania’s shoulder, and Dania sends him a desperate look of such transparent longing that Andrey wants to look away. Stefanos gets up. “Frankly, it’s no use even talking about any of this, now — not in this state,” he gestures between Andrey and Dania both. “I think we all need to calm down and maybe get some sleep first. Then we can talk about whatever any of this means with much clearer heads.”

Andrey is not ready to let any of this go, not yet. He fixes Stefanos with an accusing glare. “You know what it was,” he says. “That room. You know about it.”

Stefanos doesn’t bother denying it. “I know of it. I’ve never been inside of it. As far as I know, it is kept locked at all times.”

“He said they got it to open,” Dania mutters in a weary voice. He seems deflated and weak, all fight drained out of him. “Sascha. He said they’d opened it before. That’s how he knew which door it was in the first place.”

“Well,” Stefanos says thoughtfully. “Perhaps, we should really ask Sascha himself, then. When he feels better.”

“I suppose,” Andrey relents. This whole shitty day that’s consisted entirely of helpless worrying and paralysing anxiety seems to finally be getting to him. His body feels heavy and wooden, filled with wet cement.

Stefanos takes Dania’s forearm and helps him to his feet. Something incomprehensible is going on with Dania’s expression.

“I’ll Apparate you home, come on,” Stefanos tells him softly, “it’s not safe for you to do it on your own right now.”

Dania looks like he wants to cry. Andrey turns away.

“Thank you,” Dania whispers, as if Stefanos has offered to solve all of his problems for him.

Stefanos takes out his wand. Before they Disapparate, he looks to Andrey.

“Everything is going to be fine,” he says gently, though his voice is full of unwavering conviction. “Nothing bad happened, Andrey. Try and get some sleep, too, alright?”

“Alright,” Andrey tells him, grateful and oddly pacified.

Stefanos shoots him a tiny, weary smile, and that’s it. With a pop, they are both gone.

Andrey wastes no time in getting where he really wants to be.

Sascha sighs in his sleep as Andrey lays next to him and wraps himself around his body. And if Andrey embraces him tighter than usual — well, there’s no one around to judge him.

+++

When Dania was seventeen and in his final year in Hogwarts, he spent months worrying about being sent home as soon as somebody realised how weak, how unstable he was; his bursts of accidental magic making it way too dangerous for him to be there. He kept expecting Stefanos to see right through his bravado and understand what Dania was really like, how pathetic and insecure and yearning for validation.

His fears right now are uncannily similar. He can barely make himself look at Stefanos at all, as he opens the door to his flat, his head still spinning.

“Well, I’ll be off, then,” Stefanos announces in a much, much colder tone than he’s used with Dania in months.

“Wait!” Dania yelps, dropping to the chair at the kitchen table. His legs cannot hold him anymore.

Stefanos shoots him a distantly polite look.

“Stefanos, I’m sorry,” Dania says for what feels like a thousandth time. Stefanos doesn’t move an inch. “I’m really, really sorry. For the way I reacted. It doesn’t— I’m, uh, alright with it. With you being… well, with you being anything, really.”

Stefanos’ expression softens but a fraction.

“Why did you react like that, then?”

Dania takes a deep breath. It’s not like it’s especially clear even to him why he does the things he does half of the time.

“I think I just felt… left behind,” he mutters, hoping that Stefanos would finally sit down in his usual chair across the table. He doesn’t, and Dania hurries to go on, “that I was the only one out of the loop. Like I wasn’t… important enough.”

“You have a lot of issues surrounding the topic of your importance,” Stefanos says coldly.

“Yeah,” Dania says simply. “Apparently, I do.”

The silence that follows is heavy and oppressive, made even worse by the uncomfortable uncertainty of whether Stefanos is going to leave any given moment.

“You really hurt me. Again,” Stefanos says in a voice that cracks in the end.

“I know,” Dania lets out through the lump in his throat and blinks through the tears that are suddenly welling up in his eyes. Maybe it’s the summed-up stress of the day finally catching up to him, or maybe it’s the unbearable disappointment in Stefanos’ eyes, but he feels like weeping. Not even crying a single manly tear, but actually breaking down and sobbing on the goddamn floor. “Trust me, I know. I was an idiot — I am an idiot. I never should have said any of those things.”

“So what changed?” Stefanos frowns, his arms crossed over his chest. He looks especially regal now with his back straight and his chin up, with the imperial coolness in his voice, looking down his nose at Dania like at someone who barely deserved a moment of his attention. “What changed between this afternoon and now that you suddenly don’t mind my being a — how did you put it? Oh yes, an abomination.”

Dania flinches at the word despite having said it himself only a few hours ago. He leans back against the chair and looks Stefanos up in the eye.

“I saw something in that Love Room,” he says vaguely, as the image of a giggly, smiley Stefanos floats before his eyes — a sharp contrast to the cold and distant one standing in front of him with one foot already out the door.

Stefanos tilts his head, “What did you see?”

“It’s personal.”

“So was me telling you about my Lycanthropy,” Stefanos says with unexpected bite, and Dania isn’t prepared for how much it stings. Stefanos takes a step forward, though, his eyes shooting lightnings. “If you want anything at all from this relationship, Daniil, I’m sorry to tell you that you’re going to have to reveal a few personal things! I cannot—” his voice trembles, betraying his hurt, “—sustain it on my willingness alone! So we’re back to where we started in seventh year, huh? Are you willing to open yourself up? To look stupid, vulnerable, unrespectable? Are you willing to give up your pride? Because that’s what being in a relationship means, and I won’t waste any more of my time and energy barking on the wrong tree. I cannot be close to you if I constantly have to wonder about you flipping out the second your perceived reputation might take a blow! You are either in it, fully, uncompromisingly, or I’m done with you.”

Dania breathes fast through his nose and tries to calm down his weak, weary heart. Stefanos sounds terrifyingly final.

“I saw us,” he blurts out. When he lifts his palms off the table, he sees two sweaty handprints left on the polished surface.

“Us?” Stefanos frowns, and Dania nods.

After another beat of torturous silence, Stefanos closes his eyes briefly, and finally, finally, sits down. Dania’s heart beats even faster, as if that were possible.

“It was just a scene, like a… like a dream,” Dania admits quietly. Stefanos was right — Dania must give up his foolish desire for invincibility, because where has it gotten him so far in his life? Nearly left him down a friend and a— Stefanos. “I didn’t realise it wasn’t real until it crumbled around me and I was back by the door.”

“And what happened in that scene?” Stefanos pushes relentlessly, not that Dania expected him to drop it.

“Nothing,” he says with resignation, and when Stefanos frowns again, opening his mouth, he raises his hands. “I’m not lying or— or— avoiding it,” he says desperately. “I mean, nothing actually happened there. It was just another day, mundane and rather boring, I must add. Except, you know. We were together there.”

“Together?” Stefanos says slowly, as if he’s never heard that word.

“Yes,” Dania sighs. “As in, a couple,” he feels himself turning red and resolutely doesn’t think about it. “We— I was really happy. Happier than I’ve ever felt in my life. That’s all.”

Stefanos is looking at him with wide wild eyes. Then he raises his wand and summons a tea kettle and two cups. He pours them both some tea.

The actions themselves are familiar enough, but there’s something off about the way his fingers cradle the kettle, something unnatural in the set of his shoulders. Each movement is precise and measured – not stiff, exactly, but a far cry from his normal fluidity. He moves like a man on a high wire, exquisitely careful, hyperaware that the slightest misstep could send him tumbling into the abyss.

“Stefanos—” Dania starts, but—

“What was it like?” Stefanos says very, very quietly, so Dania can barely hear him, but his voice is soft. His eyes are fixed on his teacup. “Us, there, together.”

“It was—” a treacherous tear rolls down his cheek as he searches for a word adequate enough to do justice to what he has seen there. “Brilliant. It was amazing, Stef,” none of it seems enough to properly describe the feeling of unadulterated happiness Dania experienced during that boring, mundane day of Stefanos planning for his birthday and Dania massaging his neck. None of it does even a half-decent job at describing the absolute, all-powerful love Dania has felt.

He has left the room, but the feeling has never left him.

The love swirls in his stomach, rolls over in his chest like a tsunami wave with nowhere for it to go.

“And what were we doing there?” Stefanos asks in that same bare-there voice, as if afraid that the answer might break him.

“You were planning your birthday,” Dania smiles through another bout of tears forming in his eyes. “You wanted everyone to be dancing.”

Stefanos gives a tiny smile that he directs at the kettle, “Ah, I do love dancing.”

“And we were talking about my studies,” Dania says. If he talks about it out loud, it’s almost like he can preserve the memory of that dream, make it more real than it was. “I was learning to become an Animagus. So I could spent the full moons with you.”

Stefanos looks at him sharply, but doesn’t say anything.

“And you told me to ask Zverev for tips,” Dania sniffs. After a moment, he adds, just so Stefanos can see how serious he is about this vulnerability thing: “And even there, in that dream, I was bursting from jealousy, so…”

“Jealousy?” Stefanos repeats incredulously. “Of whom? Sascha?”

“Can you blame me?” Dania exclaims. “I never liked him as it was, only to then learn that he shares your most private, vulnerable moments ever—”

“You are an idiot,” Stefanos interrupts, shaking his head. “He is only there because I ask him every month, and because it helps him to do something useful. But he is not— you know he loves Andrey, right?”

“Ugh, stop it,” Dania makes a face and barely restrains himself from sticking his tongue out in disgust. Despite the gravity of the situation, Stefanos still rolls his eyes. “Don’t wanna hear anything about it.”

Stefanos’ eyes are much softer this time when they meet Dania’s.

“Why did you help Sascha, then?” He wonders. “You helped him out from the Ministry when you could have just left him there for anyone to find, if you hate him so much.”

“For one, I don’t think I hate him,” Dania says honestly. “At least, not anymore. After that room, I couldn’t— I just didn’t have it in me to hate anybody. Secondly,” he snorts, “I didn’t fancy Andrey murdering me on the spot if he ever found out I left his precious doggy there.”

Stefanos cracks up, but he quickly covers it up with his cup.

“And truth be told,” Dania goes on, “I never really wanted him hurt. I’m not that much of an arsehole, surely even you didn’t think so?”

“I didn’t,” Stefanos agrees easily. “I, for once, always seemed to think better of you than you did of yourself.”

Another stretch of uncomfortable silence follows this statement. To busy his hands, Dania takes a sip of his own cup. The tea has gone cold.

“What else were we doing there?” Stefanos says conversationally, as if they were suddenly talking about Quidditch.

“Nothing much. You were complaining and I was being my hilarious, witty self,” he risks a joke, glancing nervously at Stefanos, who is smiling lopsidedly. “Other than that, well. We did a lot of… um, kissing.”

“Kissing,” Stefanos repeats as if it were a foreign word. Dania feels his bloody ears blushing.

Stefanos suddenly stands. He rounds the table, ever so slowly, his movements careful and deliberate. He stops just inches away from Dania, looming over him, and his fingers touch Dania’s chin, lifting it up.

Desire fills him to the brim. He wants to wrestle Stefanos to the ground and keep him there, pinned and held fast under Dania’s body. To taste the sweat sliding down Stefanos’ throat, flex his fingers round the fine bones of Stefanos’ wrists and breathe in his cold desperate disappointment.

But right this moment, Stefanos doesn’t look disappointed. His lips are trembling, eyes blinking fast. He looks desperately nervous.

For a fleeting crazy moment, Dania thinks that he should look away. He should turn back to old habits and back to the cold burn of resentment low in his gut, to the irrationally angry part of him that wants Stefanos to know that Dania has seen him, that he knows, even if he doesn’t enjoy it, even if he comes away from this bleeding shame and self-hatred from every pore.

“Kissing,” Stefanos says again in a voice that’s small and frail. He leans down, his hot breath on Dania’s lips, and all thoughts immediately leaves Dania’s head. “Like this?”

He can’t remember the last time he’s experienced this distinctive, double-sided sensation, warm body softening against his front, hot chapped lips moving against his own. But it’s more than that, of course. He’s had any number of gorgeous young things kneeling at his feet, willing and begging for it, but he can’t remember a single one of them. Not with Stefanos here, forehead tipped against Dania’s temple, nervous and kind and giving himself so entirely to Dania.

“I can’t—” Dania gasps, tearing himself away, and Stefanos looks at him with such transparent panic that he almost chokes on his words. “Stef, I can’t promise that I’ll never hurt you again, I just can’t,” he swallows the excess saliva gathering in his mouth, “I know myself, and— you know how I am, too. I just— I can’t tell you I won’t do something stupid or shitty ever again, because I most probably will, and I’ll hurt you again—”

“Dania,” Stefanos says and takes his face in both of his hands. “I can’t promise you anything of that sort, either. No one can.”

The memory of them by the Hogwarts lake suddenly comes to him, vivid and bright. Nothing special happened there, nor did he fully grasp the extent of his happiness at the time. That realisation didn’t strike until later, after his relationship with Stefanos was (almost) irreparably broken, and he had more than enough sleepless nights in which to take the measure of all that he had lost.

“I love you,” Dania whispers, and the words feel both foreign and utterly natural in his mouth, the first time he’s ever said them to another human being. “That’s all I can promise you.”

Stefanos’ thumb caresses the line of his jaw. “That’s enough for me.”

Dania ducks in to kiss the flicker of his dimple, the corner of his tea-warmed mouth.

He is so happy, he could die right now.

“Wait,” he says again, leaning back. He grabs his wand. “I want to check something.”

Stefanos looks quizzically down at him, but his mouth is still wet and red where Dania has kissed him.

He doesn’t dare look away.

“Expecto Patronum,” he whispers, conviction heavy in his bones.

“Merlin,” says Stefanos, awed.

In all honesty, Dania has expected the hamster back. It would have been symbolic, too, after all these years and the pain and misery, after they both saw it in his mind, broken and sick, to have it back again — the symbol of his eternal, undying love.

But it’s something huge and furry this time. Dania squints at it.

“Oh wow,” Stefanos laughs and the sound of it is pure joy and music to Dania’s ears. “Look at that. A decade later, and you’re still copying my animal!”

“Huh?”

“It’s a wolf, Dania,” Stefanos laughs, like the bells ringing. “Just like in seventh year, you stole my Patronus again.”

And then he takes his own wand out and casts the same spell.

Dania watches in bemusement as two wolves circle each other, before huddling in close, like they were cold and seeking warmth in each other’s bodies. How apropo, Dania thinks with awe.

“Yours is bigger than mine, I think,” Stefanos says excitedly, looking closely at the two silvery wolves. “But mine is shinier! Look, they’re interacting! I’ve never seen Patronuses do that before!”

As Stefanos gushes over magic, Dania just smiles, watching him laugh and coo. It’s gotten dark outside, and the only source of light is the two magical ethereal animals in the middle of his kitchen, shining silvery light and painting Stefanos’ face, making it look surreal and all the more remarkable.

And for a moment, Dania feels like he is back in that magical room.

+++

Sascha sleeps right through the night.

Come morning, his waking process is slow and painful.

“Ugh,” he whines into Andrey’s shoulder, rubbing at his head before he’s even opened his eyes. “I feel like shit.”

“You look like it, too,” Andrey informs him without loosening his embrace one bit.

“Thanks, darling,” Sascha says dryly. The sarcasm is familiar, but it’s tempered with a fond, teasing warmth. His expression, too, lacks its once-customary edge. He looks young, impossibly young, and relaxed. Affectionate.

For all Sascha loves joking about them being married, he’s never once called Andrey darling before.

“So,” he says once he is past the initial shock. “You broke into the Department of Mysteries.”

Sascha sighs and finally deigns to open his swollen eyes.

“Wow, diving right into it, Andrey,” he says, shaking his head. “Thanks for giving me ample time to wake up and feel like a human being, I really appreciate it.”

Andrey lets the sarcasm slide. “I have given you ample time. It’s the morning after, Sasch.”

“Oh,” Sascha frowns.

“You promised to tell me!” Andrey explodes after a few seconds have passed and Sascha still hasn’t said anything. He disengages from the embrace and sits on the bed so he could fix Sascha with a glare. “So start talking, before I curse you for that dramatic appearance last night!”

“Huh?” Sascha blinks at him, his mouth agape. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t remember?” Andrey frowns, panic surging up anew. “Dania brought you back, you couldn’t even stand. Fell face-first onto the floor, like some drunken arsehole! Nearly gave me a fucking heart-attack, Sascha!”

“Oh,” Sascha says again and winces. “Right. I forgot. Medvedev showed up.”

“He saved your life!” Andrey drills him.

“He didn’t save shit — Harry or Hermione would have gotten me, they knew I was there,” Sascha says with a sour expression.

“Well, Dania didn’t know that, did he?” Andrey points out. “And he still got you out. You owe him.”

“Could you sound any more gleeful about that?” Sascha grumbles, but he doesn’t sound angry.

“You could start appreciating each other more,” Andrey grins.

"Sure,” Sascha drawls, “Because every minute we refuse to love one another, another puppy cries another tear."

“Thought you’d be more sympathetic to puppies,” Andrey giggles.

“The fucker followed me and refused to leave. It’s just his luck that he came out of the room still able to walk, unlike me.”

“What happened there?” Andrey says quickly, his jokes forgotten. “Why couldn’t you walk?”

“I don’t know,” Sascha shrugs too carelessly for Andrey’s liking. “I suppose I was too exhausted. Or maybe in shock. It was… intense.”

“What was?”

“The room,” Sascha mutters, and his gaze turns distant. “I can’t— I wouldn’t know how to explain it. Please, believe me, mate, I’m not trying to fool you out of an explanation, I really have no idea,” he frowns at the ceiling. “It was just… amazing. And brilliant. I felt— I felt normal, Andrey.”

“You felt normal,” Andrey repeats listlessly. “In the most guarded and mysterious room of the Ministry — you felt normal.”

“Yeah. I felt… alright. Like a normal person.” Sascha snaps his gaze back to him, and he looks a little lost, but also oddly proud. “It was a surreal experience, and talking about it would be like trying to tell a bizarre dream that has no logic in it. Stuff just… happened.”

“What stuff?” Andrey whines.

“Stuff. I don’t know — images, scenes, fantasies,” his eyes fleet briefly away. “But I felt like… like I learnt some things about myself.”

“Like what?” Andrey says hungrily.

Sascha takes a moment before replying. He lets out a long breath, his chest falling slightly. “Like that I can love.”

Andrey huffs. “What?” He nudges Sascha with an elbow to his ribs, and Sascha yelps. “What kind of nonsense knowledge is that? I’m not a fancy magical room and even I knew that!”

“Well, I didn’t!” Sascha snaps then immediately shoots Andrey an apologetic look. He gets up on his elbows and turns his upper body to Andrey. “Listen, I honestly fucking didn’t, alright? My entire life, I’ve felt— I didn’t know if I even had it in me. I thought I was… broken, damaged. I knew I could never experience anything like… true love, because of the way I was. So I needed the Room to fix me.”

Andrey’s mouth drops open. “You didn’t need a heart, Sasch, you needed a fucking brain!” Sascha looks shocked at his outburst, so Andrey gets even higher up on the bed so he could look down at him from the heigh of his own wisdom. “Merlin, Sasch, you didn’t need some magic bloody room to fix you! There is no room on earth that can fix your idiocy either way!”

“What?” Sascha says stupidly.

“You are normal, you idiot, you always have been!” Andrey yells with all of his pent-up frustration.

“I wasn’t—” Sascha protests, the absolute moron. “I couldn’t even produce a Patronus—”

“Who the fuck cares?” Andrey thunders and Sascha looks momentarily scared. “Neither could Dania, ever since Hogwarts! Neither can ninety percent of the wizarding population, who, let me remind you, haven’t been traumatised by the war!”

Sascha snaps his mouth shut and has the decency to look chagrined. But Andrey is not finished.

“You couldn’t fucking love? Really, Sascha? Why do you dream of Sofia, still, then, after two years? Why did you sit at the front desk at Potions with me? Why did you go to the bloody Battle when you weren’t even going to, huh?”

Sascha’s face turns white, and, belatedly, Andrey realises what he has said.

“How do you know that?” Sascha says in a trembling voice.

“I looked into the Pensieve,” Andrey admits, because there’s no use trying to dig himself out of this grave. He’s already done and slipped, and now Sascha knows.

The thought doesn’t scare him the same way it did a couple of months ago, though — mostly because it infuriates him instead. It angers him, still, to know that Andrey amounts to every single worst memory Sascha has, no matter how much Andrey has done for him, no matter how Andrey tried to make it all better, no matter how much he loved him.

“You did what?” Sascha says in a low, dangerous voice.

“You were hallucinating, Sascha!” Andrey snaps, refusing to feel fucking guilty. “You were miserable and drunk most of the time, spewing depressing shit like ‘there’s no next for me’ and either drowning yourself in whiskey or hiding away in your dog body for weeks! So fucking sue me! I was worried about my friend!”

Sascha begins to open his mouth, but Andrey can’t let him, because his own hurt suddenly seems too much now. It needs to be let out of him or he will implode.

“And by the way, thank you so much for including me in your every single worst memory!” Andrey yells. He can still remember the bitter bile at the back of his throat when he first emerged from the Pensieve, wishing he could erase everything he’d seen from his own memory. “Been a real pleasure to find myself there among the day of the Battle and the instance of your shitty father being horrible to you! Thank you so much, I never knew it was such a hardship to be around me!”

Sascha gapes at him. “Andrey, what are you talking about? They weren’t my worst memories!”

Andrey halts in his furious tracks.

Ingenuous denial is not a tactic he anticipated, but it works, cuts the anger out from under him, makes him feel crazy. “Huh?”

“They weren’t the worst memories,” Sascha says earnestly. “Just the hardest ones.”

“I see,” Andrey snaps, “I’m not the actual worst, I’m just the hardest—”

“Shut the fuck up, will you?” Sascha bellows and fully turns his body towards Andrey. “Is that what you thought? That you were the worst part of my life?” He says with increasing incredulity. “Andrey, how can you be such an idiot? Merlin’s balls! You are the absolute best person I’ve ever known!”

“Then why—”

“Because I’m in love with you!” Sascha yells, “And it’s making it fucking hard to be around you sometimes!”

Sascha’s words ring and echo in the silence that follows. Andrey’s heart stops beating, before renewing twice as fast, deafening him.

“What?”

Sascha sighs. “I thought I couldn’t love anyone, okay? So I didn’t know what it was, I thought I was going mad. I just wanted you so much I convinced myself I was sick and twisted and wrong, and I couldn’t deal with it. So I just took those memories out so I didn’t have to think about them all the time, about you being so nice to me when I— I just didn’t want to think about it.”

“Sascha,” starts Andrey and doesn’t know what else to say.

Sascha closes his eyes. “I know it’s inappropriate, alright? I know I’m not— I realise you don’t—“ he huffs in frustration and moves to get up. “I’ll move out, alright? So you don’t have to worry. I thought it’d be easier as a dog, but, every time you scratched my belly— fuck, Andrey, just… I’m sorry, alright? I’m sorry!”

Andrey leaps forward, grabs Sascha’s shoulders and kisses him.

Sascha lets out a surprised little noise that dissolves in Andrey’s mouth. He pushes Sascha back on the bed, until he’s pinning him with his own body, and straddles him, all without stopping the kissing.

He feels dizzy and slightly mad, like maybe he is the one somehow stuck in that Love Room, having lost all grip on reality, because this— this can’t be—

“Andrey,” Sascha moans, when Andrey breaks apart in order to breathe. “What—”

“Of course, I love you, too,” Andrey tells him in a strange voice. He feels out of his body, floaty and ethereal. “Why the fuck did you think I made my whole life about you?”

A slow, wondrous smile stretches Sascha’s lips as he gazes up at Andrey. He hasn’t shaved in a couple of days, and his stubble sure left some marks on Andrey’s chin, but he loves the burn of it. He loves everything that Sascha is willing to give him.

“You do?” Sascha whispers, as if afraid that if he said it out loud, Andrey would take his words back. Andrey kisses him again, slower and more deliberate this time, making sure to kick those idiotic thoughts out of his head.

“Since Hogwarts,” Andrey tells him in a rush, his heart beating almost too loud to even hear himself. “Remember when I cast my first Patronus in Mungley’s class?”

Speechless, Sascha nods.

“You’d just cut your hand, remember? And I healed it,” Andrey says, the memory washing over him now that it’s no longer banished in shame to the faraway corner of his mind. “And I was looking at you when I cast the spell. That’s when I knew.”

“Hey, speaking of Patronuses,” Sascha whispers in that same hoarse, awed voice. “I can cast one, too, now!”

“Seriously?” Andrey leans back to better look him in the face. Sascha’s smiling face is hurting his heart. “When did you— what is it?”

“Last night,” says Sascha proudly. “When I left the Room. It’s a fox,” Sascha adds softly, “It looks like you. Medvedev thought so, too, called it ‘Andrey’ when he saw it.”

“Guess what mine is,” Andrey grins. He is fully laying on top of Sascha now, their body fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle. He presses even closer, until all negative space between them is eliminated, and they are touching everywhere, Sascha’s warmth seeping through his t-shirt.

“I know it’s a kite bird,” Sascha says. “I’ve seen it, remember?”

“Wrong,” Andrey grins and grabs his wand from the nightstand.

He casts the Patronus.

Sascha looks at the silvery Borzoi dog like it’s the most remarkable thing he’s ever seen. His mouth drops open, and Andrey watches the silvery light dance in his eyes.

“Is this what I look like?” Sascha smiles. “I’ve never seen myself as a dog, and it’s distorted anyway, when I am one.”

“Yes, you’re a beautiful canine,” Andrey laughs, watching his Patronus pace around the room, restless and eager to run. Just like Sascha.

“Is that a polite way of calling me a bitch?” Sascha laughs.

Andrey looks down at him, the only person whose wellbeing Andrey consistently places above his own. Sascha’s unhappiness drives him to madness, a gnawing ache in his awareness; his pleasure rattles up Andrey’s nerves as though they’re fused together.

Somewhere down the line, Sascha has become a part of him, every bit as essential as his heart, or his magic. To look after him is to look after himself.

“I love you so much,” he whispers. The moment suddenly feels solemn, as though he was giving a vow. “How could you ever possibly doubt that?”

“Apparently the same way you thought that anything to do with you could possibly be my worst memory,” Sascha sighs.

“Perhaps, i’m as much of an idiot as you are, in this case.”

“Or,” Sascha grins, “None of us is an idiot and we are equally clever.”

“A likely story,” Andrey leans down and kisses him again, can’t stop kissing him. It starts out light and easy, an innocent press of two mouth together, but it grows very desperate very soon, Sascha making small whimpering noises into his mouth and Andrey completely and utterly losing his mind over them.

In his secret fantasies, he’s always imagined that Sascha would be guarded in reserved, but Andrey very quickly learns that he can break Sascha down to do pretty much anything, with enough persistence, with enough spit. Sascha is as touch-starved and love-starved as Andrey is, and Andrey recognises the feral, yearning look in his eyes, the weakness, because he sees it shining back at him in the mirror every day. There are no boundaries when you’ve lived through the sort of loneliness he and Sascha have, so Andrey knows that any resistance Sascha puts up is only temporary.

“I’m proud of you,” Andrey says softly against Sascha’s lips when they part, and Sascha melts into him. He knows it’s not something that Sascha has heard often in his life, and his heart pounds a little faster when he gets a grateful smile in return.

“Surprisingly, so am I,” says Sascha into his shoulder. “I honestly never knew I could ever feel like this.”

“I did promise you I’d make you happy, didn’t I?” Andrey grins, running his fingers through the blond hair like he’s wanted to do too many times to count.

Sascha tears his face from his shoulder and smiles up at him.

“Yes,” he says softly, “you did.”

And for a moment, all is right with the world.

+++

Epilogue.

+++

“I swear,” says Andrey with mild irritation, “this is the last time we’re hosting this. It’s like inviting a bunch of gorillas, bloody look at the state of this place!”

Sascha surveys the horrible disarray of the sitting room around them that includes a broken vase that Andrey’s sister sent him for Christmas, a sofa with drying Butterbeer spilt all over the cushions, colourful confetti pieces littering the floor and about several hundred empty Butterbeer bottles laying around in various places.

Sascha arches an eyebrow, “do you need me to teach you a cleaning spell?”

“Right, like you’d know any cleaning spells,” Andrey grumbles, but has to admit he’s got a point. He brushes past Frances and picks up another stray bottle from the floor, before he remembers he is a bloody wizard and simply vanishes it.

Over by the glass doors, Carlos is staring adoringly at Jannik as Jannik goes on and on about something seemingly very mundane. Just outside by the old tree (that belongs to Sascha now, Andrey thinks with amusement) Dania is whispering something passionately into Stefanos’ ear.

“Merlin, is everyone gay these days?” He asks Sascha, who snorts.

“Karen’s not gay,” he jerks his chin towards Karen who is desperately trying to get baby David to swallow his spoon of porridge. Karen is already covered in it head to toe. “Frances isn’t, either, otherwise Aryna is definitely wasting her time.”

“Look at them,” Andrey points to the pair of Dania and Stef outside, looking lovingly into each others eyes like a pair of fools. “We’re not like that, right? We are cool!”

“Of course, we are,” Sascha says smoothly as if even the thought of being like Stef and Dania was absolutely beneath him. He spoils it immediately by fixing Andrey with a love-struck look of his own and adding, “Your hair looks lovely today!”

Andrey rolls his eyes. “That comment was incredibly gay.”

Sascha huffs, “what are you, worried about the future of wizarding procreation?”

“I just don’t want to look as lame as those guys,” Andrey whines pointing at the couples by the glass doors.

“It’s too late, mate,” says George, coming up to him. “You’ve looked lame ever since I met you.”

“I have not!”

“Pining away for Sascha and searching for him on the Marauders’ Map,” George reminds him cheerfully, and Sascha perks up.

“What was that about a map?”

“Nothing,” Andrey sighs, feeling his face flush. “I’ve gotten everyone here to play some bloody Quidditch and instead it’s some Hook-Up Central over here,” he tells Sascha and George.

“What do you have against hook-ups?” Says Bublik passing by. Frances giggles by his side.

“Nothing, as long as they don’t happen in front of my face,” says Andrey.

“Leave Andrey alone,” says Dania who finally deigned to step back inside. “He is just sad that everyone else’s relationships are new and sexy, while he and Zverev are already living like an old married couple.”

“Fuck off,” Sascha grumbles, flipping him off. “Our love is deep and pure, unlike your shallow obsession over Stef’s arse.”

“Merlin, Sascha,” Andrey mutters, now flushing full-bodily. “This comment was even gayer.”

Dania laughs. “Don’t be jealous, Sasch. I know you wish Andrey had an arse like Stef—”

“Andrey’s arse is much more—”

“Can you both fucking stop this nonsense?” Andrey explodes, “and can you please stop talking about my arse?”

“It’s a nice arse,” Stefanos says politely.

“Go back outside and stop embarrassing me,” Andrey tells them both, and yet, annoyingly, they don’t move.

“I’m not a dog, you can’t order me to go outside,” Dania smirks. “Zverev, on the other hand…”

“How’s that Animagus study going?” Sascha says sweetly, and Dania’s smirk slides off his face. “It was hard enough for me, an Outstanding NEWTs student, so I can’t even imagine how gruelling it must be for someone like you…”

“It’s going slow but fine,” Stefanos cuts in. “In fact, Dania was going to ask you for help today,” Sascha’s mouth stretches into a punchable smug smirk, but before he can be any more of a smart arse, Stefanos adds, “you know, as a repayment to him. For saving your life.”

“He did not save my life!” Sascha starts on that tired old argument again, and Andrey turns back to George.

“We should invent something for shutting people up,” he snorts.

George chuckles. “There already is something. It’s called, ignoring stupid arguments, Andrey.”

“—like a discreet Silencing charm,” Andrey goes on, ignoring George instead.

“—Please, I would’ve opened that Love Room all by myself,” Dania is declaring to Sascha.

“It took four of us to even start figuring out how to open it—” Sascha is arguing back stubbornly.

“I think I preferred it when they hated each other,” Andrey says to George, pointing at Dania and Sascha, with Stefanos hovering nearby, looking like he’s moved to a separate plane of existence. “And we are still not playing Quidditch.”

“They are all tired of Quidditch, they play it every day,” says a new voice, and Andrey turns to see Harry Potter, whom Sascha insistently invited, has made his way to them. He smiles, “They probably missed all this fun in Hogwarts, playing Quidditch and what-not, so they’re making up for it now.” As Andrey sighs, Harry smiles at him, “and by the way, Ginny sends her regards.”

“Too bad she couldn’t make it,” says Andrey and vanishes another couple of empty bottles at his feet.

“She’s too pregnant to be flying or drinking either way,” Harry says wisely.

“Or maybe she could decide for herself if she’s too pregnant or not!” Andrey snaps.

In the momentary silence after his outburst, he feels immediately bad. He wasn’t particularly happy about inviting Harry when Sascha insisted on it but he chalked it up to his general unwillingness to gather too many people in his not-big-enough cottage, but now that his mouth has blurted out the accusation, he realises that he’s been wrong.

Apparently, he’s still harbouring some hurt feelings over the whole Love Room debacle.

“Sorry,” he says, appropriately shamed.

Harry looks sideways at him. “Is this about what happened in the Ministry?”

“Sorry,” Andrey says again. “I just got really worried while the three of you were off planning your dangerous break-in of the most incredible magical room in the country.”

“In my sixth year,” Harry says suddenly in a very low voice, and Andrey instinctively turns around to check that they are not overheard. Bublik and Tiafoe are arguing a few feet to his left, engrossed in the conversation, Carlos is still daydreaming about Jannik as Jannik drones on about his newest broom, Sascha and Dania are still arguing over stupid shit, Karen battling with his baby, and Stefanos and George are exchanging opinions about ‘those blasted Muggle electronicses.’ “My friend Ron got really nervous before his first match of the year,” Harry goes on. “He was a great Keeper, don’t get me wrong, but he’d get incredibly down on himself before a match. Anyway, I won this little bottle of the Felix Felicis potion — you know what that is?”

“A Luck potion,” Andrey says, mesmerised.

“Yeah. So I— and Hermione still gives me shit for it to this day—” he snorts, “I slipped some of it into Ron’s tea at breakfast before the match.”

“But that’s cheating!” Andrey huffs.

“That’s what Hermione said, too,” Harry shrugs carelessly. “Ron didn’t protest much, though. He felt the Potion working and he loved it. Played probably the best match of his life, he was so unstoppable. He was perfect.”

Andrey keeps silent, feeling like there’s a bigger point to this story.

“Only, I hadn’t given him any potion,” Harry says with a lopsided smile. “I only pretended to. Ron’s conviction did the rest.”

“Clever,” Andrey admits, impressed despite himself. “So it was his own belief that worked instead of the Potion?”

“Yup,” Harry grins. “One of my better moments, honestly.”

“But… why are you telling me this?” Andrey wonders, just as quietly.

“Because,” Harry sighs and turns to face him fully, his hand going up to rest on Andrey’s shoulder. “Hermione and Sascha and I… we didn’t figure it out in the end. We told Sascha that we did, but… we couldn’t manage to open that door.”

Andrey gasps. He makes sure that no one is listening and then steps even closer to Harry.

“What do you mean? If you didn’t open it, then where did they—”

“There was a hidden room in Hogwarts, just like the one in the Department of Mysteries,” says Harry. “It was brilliant, because it gave you exactly what you needed, changing every time. If you wanted a loo, it’d look like a lavatory. If you needed a place to study — it’d look exactly like one.”

“Oh my God,” Andrey remembers the beautiful ancient door on the seventh floor, the one that showed him the most horrifying thing he’d ever seen. Remembers feeling grateful that he’d seen it later, when avoiding his feelings for Sascha proved to be a useless endeavour. “The door that would just appear in the middle of the wall on the seventh floor?”

“Ah, you’ve been there!” Harry says with a grin. “Yes, that’s the room. We used it a lot in my later years. Anyway, there’s an exact same one in the Department of Mysteries. So we thought— Sascha was getting really desperate, you know?” Harry says apologetically. “And we thought, what’s better than the Room of Requirement, to give him exactly what he needs?”

“But Sascha— he couldn’t produce a Patronus, and after the Room—”

“It was all him,” Harry says with easy confidence. “The Room only showed him that he could, all along. I’m only telling you this so you know that there was nothing dangerous in the whole ordeal, not really. So you needn’t have worried, Andrey.”

“Merlin,” Andrey mutters. He looks over to Sascha, who is so unbelievably better these days, warm and content and asking Andrey for physical affection when he wants it; Sascha, who has only turns into a dog to go for a morning run these days; Sascha who is completely and utterly convinced that it was the Love Room and the powerful, all-knowing ancient magic inside it that have finally fixed him and made him a normal person.

He is still engrossed in a sparring session with Dania, both of them looking smug and arrogant, but also healthy and happy — happier than he has ever seen them.

Andrey knows right then that he will never tell either of them this secret.

 “It’s a remarkable thing how the human brain works, isn’t it?” Says Harry wondrously. “Or hell, maybe it’s the magic that works the wonders. Either way, remarkable, right?”

“Yeah,” Andrey says distantly, looking at his friends and drinking in their petty cheerful banter as a smile grows on his face on its own accord. “Indeed. Remarkable things.”

+++

The end.