It wasn’t sexual, not at all, she made that quite clear to Harry the night he downed stolen brandy and tried to crawl up into the cot with her, but something shifted on a level far deeper than mere friendship. Kinship, maybe, she would call it if someone pressed her for a name. They were no longer two mere students fighting in an Adult’s war, and she was not a child any longer. Nineteen, verging on twenty, the both of them lost relics of a bygone form of heroism that seemed to have all but faded away.