Chapter Text
“No! No, there’s absolutely no way I’m doing that!”
Harry stared at Kingsley Shacklebolt, waiting for that usually solemn face to crack into an inane grin and declare that yes, he was of course joking and that he would never, ever, ask something like this from Harry. It didn’t happen; instead, Kingsley let out a sigh and leaned back in his chair, somehow managing to look even more serious.
“I expected that you wouldn’t take kindly to such a request, Harry,” he said in his slow, deep voice. “Please believe me when I say that I think this is the best option for all of us.”
“And by all of us, you mean everyone who isn’t me, right?” Harry paced up and down the length of the office. “Because it’s not going to be the best for me, Kingsley.”
“I’m sorry, Harry. I wish I didn’t have to ask this of you.”
“Well, why ask me then!” Harry exploded, and then let out a frustrated sigh and sank down into the chair on the opposite side of the desk. “I’m supposed to be done, Kingsley. I did what I had to do, and now I’m supposed to be done.” He shook his head. “I’m meant to go back to school in a month, and I’m supposed to spend my last year there having fun with my friends, going on dates, sneaking down to the kitchens at night, going to bloody classes, for Merlin’s sake.”
Kingsley inclined his head in acknowledgment. “I understand, Harry. But,” he looked at Harry pointedly, “Do you not think that others deserve that chance too?”
Harry scoffed. “Are you seriously talking to me about what Malfoy deserves?”
“Don’t forget, it was you who testified at his trial, asking for leniency in his sentence.”
“Because he was a kid!” Harry leaned forward and hid his face. “We were all just kids,” he mumbled into his hands. “And now you’re asking me to give up my last chance to actually live like one.”
“You’ll still be able to go to school, you’ll still be able to do the things you want to do, Harry,” Kingsley said, tapping his fingers idly against the desk. “There would only be a few restrictions, a few differences to how you thought it was going to be, that’s all.”
“Yeah well, being bonded to bloody Malfoy is pretty far from how I thought this next year was going to be, to be honest,” Harry grumbled, sinking down in his seat. “I’d have put money on Voldemort coming back to life while wearing a pink tutu and singing Somewhere over the Rainbow happening before me spending any quality time with that git.”
Kingsley’s mouth lost a bit of its seriousness at that, and Harry wondered if he was suddenly imagining what that would look like. Then he sighed. “It’s only for a year, Harry. And then you can go back to your normal life.”
Harry muttered normal life on a breathy laugh, and rolled his eyes. “Why me, Kingsley? I’m sure there are lots of witches and wizards who would jump at the chance to have a Malfoy under their thumb for an entire year.”
Kingsley raised an eyebrow. “I think you’ve just answered your own question; there aren’t many I would entrust not to take advantage of such a situation.”
Harry thumped back into his chair, suddenly feeling winded. He hadn’t thought of that. And now that he had, he knew he wouldn’t be able to say no. Malfoy might be an arsehole, but even he didn’t deserve that.
“Besides, Draco asked for it to be you.”
Draco sat in the uncomfortable chairs outside the Minister’s office and listened to the heated conversation going on behind the closed doors. His guards had taken their sweet time bringing him here from Azkaban, seeming to want to stop and speak at length with everyone they passed on their way, so Draco hadn’t been able to see Potter before he arrived, and he had missed the very beginning of the conversation.
Draco had had to grit his teeth and concentrate on staring at nothing as he was effectively paraded around for everyone to gawk at, his hair greasy and far too long, dark circles under his eyes, the ill-fitting prison robes he’d been forced to wear for the past month hanging off his shoulders. The people in the Atrium and the corridors of the Ministry had made no effort to hide their staring, or to keep their comments to whispers behind hands. His guards had laughed and joked with the people they met along the way, loudly pointing out how far the Malfoy family had fallen, jokingly wondering what Draco’s fate was going to be, making bets on who would get the honour of delivering his punishment. But now that there was nobody around to show off to, the two guards were perfectly happy to dump Draco outside Shacklebolt’s office and leave him there, while they went back out to the reception and tried and failed to hit on the Minister’s assistant.
Their behaviour had been the exact reason why Draco had requested that Potter be his bonded guard for the duration of the year; he was the only one Draco could trust. He’d been told the specifics of the spell when his choice had been laid out before him: either join his parents in Azkaban, or submit to being bound to someone who would have almost complete control over him for a year. He’d balked at first, because he couldn’t imagine anything more horrifying. Having someone else control his every move was too reminiscent of his time spent with the Dark Lord in his home, watching everything he and his parents did, forcing them all to do things through fear of being hurt, of being made to watch each other hurt. But then he’d spent a week in his cell in Azkaban, listening to the cries of the prisoners around him, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to last out his sentence, not chained up in the cold and the dark, with nothing but the moans of others in despair for company. With both his parents locked up as well, he wouldn’t even have the luxury of the occasional visit to break up the monotony. No, at least if he was outside, he would be able to have access to some creature comforts: a warm bed, good clothes and hot food, the sun on his face and the wind in his hair. There wasn’t really a choice to make, once Draco realised that.
It wasn’t until after he had agreed to the bonding spell and he’d heard the guards talking about volunteering for the position of being his bonded guard that Draco had started to worry. The tone of their conversation, held loudly in the corridor outside his cell, had held suggestions of just what they’d like to be able to force him to do, should they get the chance. It made Draco think: who out there could he trust not to take advantage of him while he was bound to them? The answer was, very few, and out of all of them, only one was in a position to be able to take the responsibility on.
Potter might hate him, might want to break his nose or call him names or laugh as he watched Draco get what was coming to him, but he wouldn’t want to take advantage of Draco in any way. He was a Gryffindor, he was too noble, too good.
Draco wanted to believe that this was the sole reason for him requesting Potter to be his bonded guard, but he’d had plenty of time for soul searching while being detained ever since his trial. The truth was that Draco had longed for some of Potter’s attention since the moment he’d heard that the other boy was on the Hogwart’s train, their very first year of school. It hadn’t seemed to matter if it was good or bad, he’d just wanted Potter to see him, to acknowledge him in some small way. And now, if Potter agreed to this, Draco would have a whole year of that attention, and maybe once it was done and he was finally a free man, that craving to be noticed by Potter will have finally been sated.
He could hear Potter yelling on the other side of the door, the words indistinct but the unimpressed tone more than evident. Draco scowled in the direction of his guards; this was why he’d wanted to get here in time for Potter to see him before he went in to talk with Shacklebolt. Draco wasn’t above playing the pity card, and he’d known that if Potter had been able to see how pathetic he looked, and more importantly, how predatorily his guards looked at him, that what Potter was being asked to do would be an easier sell. But now all Draco could do was hope that Shacklebolt would be able to convince the Hero of the Wizarding World that he was in need once more.
The room on the other side of the door went quiet suddenly, and Draco strained to lean forward, to try and glean the answer to his fate. The chains holding his wrists together clinked loudly with his movements, and the guard with the wart on his nose popped his head around the corner at the noise.
“Oi! You were told to sit there and not move!”
“Won’t be long now till you’ll have to do as you’re told,” the guard with the comb-over added slimily, sidling up next to his partner. “Things that might not be as pleasant as sitting still.”
Wart-nose laughed nastily. “Oh I don’t know, Marv, I think pretty boy over there might like some of the things he’ll be asked to do.” He leered at Draco. “Like getting on your knees, don’t you, pretty boy? I bet old You-Know-Who had you bending over for him a time or two while your family was busy kowtowing to him, eh? I bet your pretty lips was half the reason why he chose to hole up on your family’s estate.”
“Can’t say as I blame him, really,” Marv chipped in, the both of them stepping a little closer. “I’d like to have a bit of fun with him myself, to be honest. After he’s done scrubbing my kitchen floor, that is.”
Wart-nose had come close enough to lean down and whisper in Draco’s ear, and it took all Draco had to sit there stiffly and not recoil away in disgust.
“That’s what your next year is going to be like, pretty boy,” he said softly, but the hallway was quiet and his words sounded out loud enough for his partner to hear and laugh to himself. “On your knees for most of it, either cleaning up after people or sucking cock, and the spell’ll make you want to do it, too, make you beg on your hands and knees, gagging for it like the piece of filth you are.”
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
The angry voice echoed loudly down the hallway, and both Draco and his guards jerked back, looking up to see Potter standing there in the now open doorway, glaring at the guards and looking absolutely furious. Draco didn’t blame the two men for cowering where they stood.
“We won’t be needing your services any longer,” Shacklebolt intervened, looking sternly at the two guards. “You may return to your posts at Azkaban.”
Wart-nose took a step towards Draco, reaching to undo the shackles around his wrists, but Potter jumped between them. “I’ll do that,” he said firmly, still sounding angry, although Draco could no longer see his face. Which was a pity, because an angry Potter was definitely a sight to behold. When it wasn’t directed towards Draco, that is.
The two guards nodded and backed away, waiting until they were at the end of the corridor to begin mumbling to each other.
“Blimey, they got the bleeding Saviour to do it?”
“Heroes get all the perks, Marv. It’s probably why they become heroes in the first place.”
Draco wondered if it was just the adrenaline talking that made him suddenly want Potter to view him as a perk. Being taken advantage of didn’t seem too bad really, not when Potter stood over him protectively like that.
Harry glared at the retreating backs of the two guards. He couldn’t believe what he had just heard, and he had to fight the urge to run after them and hex them both into slugs. The things they had been saying... Harry felt sick.
“Are you going to take these things off me now?” Malfoy said, and Harry turned to find him holding up his chained wrists. “Now that you’ve run off the man with the key.”
Harry rolled his eyes and pulled out his wand; he supposed it was too much to ask that Malfoy actually be grateful for Harry stepping in. He waved his wand and the chains undid themselves, collapsing down into smaller and smaller links before disappearing entirely. Malfoy looked up at him as he rubbed his reddened skin, a smirk pulling at his lips. “Thank you, Potter,” he murmured, tone dry and amused, but when Harry looked up to glare at him, he saw something open in Malfoy’s eyes, that said the words were genuine. Harry didn’t know if it was for chasing off the guards, removing his shackles, or for obviously agreeing to do the spell, or maybe a combination of all three. Whatever it was, if hearing what the guards had to say hadn’t told Harry that he was doing the right thing in agreeing to this, then that look might just have done it instead.
“Perhaps we should all step into my office?” Kingsley said quietly, interrupting the moment. “It might be a little more private for what we’re about to do.”
They had indeed drawn a bit of a crowd; Kingsley’s assistant, Alice, and what looked like half the secretarial pool had gathered at the end of the hall, unabashedly staring down at their little group. Harry cleared his throat and stepped away from Malfoy. He couldn’t get the words of the guards out of his head, and he wondered if everyone else was thinking them too, if that was what people were going to think Harry would be subjecting Malfoy to. It made Harry want to yell that he had a girlfriend, thank you! and that he wasn’t interested in seeing Malfoy on his knees in any capacity. He waited for Malfoy to stand up and follow Kingsley into the room, suddenly nervous that it would seem to all the onlookers that he was expecting Malfoy to follow him even before they’d completed the bonding spell. And then he realised that this put him in a prime position to notice Malfoy’s arse. Harry briefly closed his eyes and contemplated going after the two guards once more, before taking a deep breath and closing the door behind them.
Kingsley conjured another chair, and Harry watched as Malfoy sank into the soft looking cushions, a look of relief on his face. It was only then that Harry took in what Malfoy was wearing: tattered and badly fitting prisoner’s robes, the plain grey colour washing out Malfoy’s usual pale skin tone even more, giving it the look of watered down milk, rather than the creamy perfection he usually sported. Harry realised that until this point he hadn’t even thought about where Malfoy had come from, had just assumed that he would have been kept on house arrest, or maybe in the holding cells beneath the Ministry. The fact that he’d actually been in Azkaban until this point, renewed Harry’s decision that he needed to do this, despite what others might think as to the nature of their... arrangement. Malfoy might be a grade A git, but he didn’t deserve Azkaban. It was why Harry had decided to testify in defence of both Malfoy and his mother; they may have made a lot of bad choices between them, but Narcissa had done something to redeem herself towards the end, and Harry didn’t think that Malfoy should be punished for being forced into that life by his parents. Who knew what kind of person he would have turned out to be had he not been raised by a pair of pureblood supremacists. Maybe Malfoy deserved a chance to find that out for himself.
Harry felt a bit guilty now that he thought about it, because the fact was that he hadn’t thought much about either Narcissa or her son since giving his testimony at their trials. He’d heard that they’d been given reduced sentences, Mrs Malfoy receiving five years to her husband’s twenty, and Malfoy two years. Harry had thought that fairly just, but he hadn’t thought about exactly where they’d be carrying out their years of imprisonment. The dementors may have been removed from their position as prison guards, but still, it wasn’t a very nice place. Harry didn’t think it was the kind of place to put someone from whom they were hoping for a change of attitude; he thought it should be kept for those criminals who refused to change their ways.
“I’m going to read out the particulars of the spell,” Kingsley said, breaking the silence between them all. “So that we all know and understand what is being entered into here. You’ve both been told before, but this will be the last chance either of you have to back out of the agreement.” He looked at Malfoy. “There will be no penalty if you wish to change your mind, Mr Malfoy.”
“I won’t,” Malfoy replied, managing not to look at either Kingsley or Harry.
“Be that as it may, I’m still going to go over it with you both once more, just to be on the safe side.” Kingsley picked up the file he’d given Harry to read earlier. “Then, if you are both still agreeable, I’ll ask Harry to perform the spell.
“The bond will last for one year, precisely from the date and time that it is set. During that time, Mr Malfoy will be subject to certain restrictions that he must adhere to, or suffer very painful consequences. However, such is the nature of the spell that he should not want to stray from those restrictions, in order to make it easier for both parties involved. There will be a physical proximity restriction, in that Mr Malfoy must not stray further than fifty feet from Mr Potter at any time, unless Mr Potter has ordered him to do so, and has voiced said order explicitly. Mr Malfoy must also adhere to any order given by Mr Potter, as long as said orders do not endanger the life of either himself, or of any sentient creature. Mr Malfoy must not, in any fashion, attempt to harm Mr Potter, others, or himself, for the duration of the spell.”
Kingsley looked up from the file and turned serious eyes first on Malfoy, then on Harry. “It must be noted that this bond only goes one way, from Mr Malfoy to Mr Potter, and that a great deal of trust is being placed on Mr Potter, by both the Ministry and Mr Malfoy himself. Mr Potter will have no such restrictions placed upon him, save that he must not cause any serious harm to Mr Malfoy for the duration of the spell, and that it will be up to him to judge his actions with regards to Mr Malfoy’s welfare. Apart from occasional visitations to the Ministry, we shall have to rely on Mr Potter’s just nature and sound judgment.”
Kingsley lifted out another piece of parchment and placed it on the desk in front of them both.
“Are you both still willing to consent to the spell?”
Harry watched Malfoy out of the corner of his eye, waiting for him to make the first move. He didn’t want to consent first and look too eager; he didn’t want it to seem to either Kingsley or Malfoy that he actually wanted to do this. Because he didn’t, he just couldn’t see any better option. Kingsley had been right; now that Harry knew about this, there was no way he would have been able to sit by and watch Malfoy being handed off to anyone other than himself, with intentions less than honourable. Intentions like the ones those guards had been muttering nastily about. It had to be Harry if it was going to be anyone at all, but it would only be Harry if Malfoy really wanted to do this.
Malfoy hesitated only for a moment, and Harry glimpsed that same something in his eyes that he had seen out in the corridor. It made Malfoy look open, almost vulnerable for a moment, until a wall seemed to come down and Malfoy steeled himself. He nonchalantly reached out for the quill resting on the desk and signed the parchment with an easy flourish, and then sat back in his seat, crossing his arms and looking at Harry with his eyebrows raised. It came across as a challenge, and Harry knew that was exactly what it was, and yet he couldn’t help but respond to it. He grabbed the quill and scratched his own signature right next to Malfoy’s.
“Okay,” Kingsley said, once he had added his own signature as witness. “Now that we are all agreed, it’s time to perform the spell.” He indicated the space behind the chairs, and both Harry and Malfoy stood up. “Harry, you know what you have to do?”
Harry swallowed, suddenly very nervous. He knew what he had to do, he just wasn’t sure how to do it. “Yeah, I think so,” he said, voice scratchy. He swallowed again.
Malfoy also knew what had to be done; he lifted his left arm and began rolling the sleeve of his robe back methodically, slowly revealing inch after inch of his pale skin. He held it with the inside of his forearm facing down, his eyes never lifting from where his fingers pulled at the grey fabric. Harry felt kind of sick, because he knew for certain now what Malfoy was trying to hide, and in a moment, Harry was going to have to get up close and personal with it.
“Go ahead, in your own time,” Kingsley murmured behind them.
Harry licked his lips and swallowed hard, twice, then gathered his courage and stepped up close to Malfoy. He reached out with his right hand, then remembered and changed his mind, slipping his wand out at the same time as he lifted his left hand and wrapped his fingers lightly around Malfoy’s arm, just below the elbow. He slowly turned the arm over, until he was looking at the tattoo.
He managed to hold in his gasp, but only just. The Mark was even uglier up close, the skin surrounding it still pink and slightly inflamed looking, as though it had never fully healed. Harry could almost feel the dark magic emanating from it, imagined he could feel its insidiousness sliding through the veins he could feel beneath his fingers. Even now, in its dormant state, the skull looked as though its maw could open wider at any moment, could force the snake inside of it to start writhing, intent on its wearer doing its Master’s bidding, despite the fact that it no longer had a master. At least, not for a few more minutes.
The spell itself had been developed by the Unspeakable department, Kingsley had told Harry. They had been investigating the purpose and effects of the Dark Mark in the later stages of the War, wondering if they could devise a way to make the Mark follow a different master. It had been too late to try it by the time they had it perfected, with most of the Ministry under Voldemort’s thumb, so instead they had offered it as an alternative to either Azkaban or house arrest for Voldemort’s followers. Malfoy was the only one to have been offered the option, the rest either too dangerous to be let loose or too likely to try and use it to make a run for it.
“Come on, Potter, we don’t have all day,” Malfoy suddenly spat, surprising Harry enough that he dropped his hold on Malfoy’s arm.
Harry was about to snap back that Malfoy could always go back to Azkaban if he’d prefer, but Kingsley beat him to it.
“I realise this is uncomfortable for the both of you, Mr Malfoy, but this spell shouldn’t be rushed. Tests will be done afterwards, and should the bond not take, we may have no other option but to have you finish your sentence in Azkaban.”
Harry looked up, and noticed that Malfoy had gone even paler. “It’s fine, Kingsley, it’ll work. I was just memorising the words.”
He reached for Malfoy’s arm once more, determinedly not looking anywhere but at the tattoo. The quicker he got on with this, the quicker he could get back to some semblance of a life. A life that somehow now involved Malfoy. He rolled the words around in his mouth a few times, before gripping his wand tighter and pressing it to the middle of the Dark Mark. Malfoy sucked in a quiet breath, and Harry almost faltered again. He couldn’t remember a time when he had ever been standing this close to Malfoy. They were close enough that if he raised his head, Harry was sure their noses would brush. He cleared his throat and clasped his fingers tight on Malfoy’s arm, wanting to tell Malfoy without words not to move, but in reality using it to stop himself from turning and running out of the door. He gritted his teeth, and cast.
”His verbis, tollendum omnem veterem dominus vestigium. Adiuro vos nunc est, et solum.”
Blue-green light spilled out into the room from the point where Harry’s wand pressed against Malfoy. Tendrils of something dark and ugly began to coalesce, seeming to slide out of the snake’s mouth and scales, only to be swallowed up by the bright light surrounding it. Harry concentrated hard on the tattoo before him, but he heard Malfoy’s small sigh of relief, as though pain he hadn’t even known he was carrying was suddenly leaching out of him. The dark ooze dripped away into nothing and was then replaced with a golden hue, only this time the tendrils were coming out of Harry’s wand and sinking slowly into Malfoy’s skin. The tattoo flashed a bright gold for a moment, before going dark once more, and the blue-green light slowly faded away.
Harry blinked hard against the spots forming in front of his eyes, and turned, almost instinctively, to see how Malfoy was faring. He was looking away, his head bowed and his eyes closed, breathing hard. His hand clenched into a fist, fingers brushing Harry’s wand hand, and Harry jumped, letting his grip on Malfoy slide away. There was silence for a moment, only broken by Malfoy’s heavy breathing, as well as Harry’s own, he only just realised, before Kingsley spoke.
“The Wizengamot will require that an Unspeakable attests to the bond forming, but I think we can safely say that we were successful.”
Malfoy gave himself a little shake, and then looked at Harry. “Well go on, Potter,” he drawled, smirk firmly back in place, although his grey eyes glittered with something Harry couldn’t place. “Give me an order. Shall I shine your shoes? Perhaps direct you to a clothing store that could teach you how to dress yourself properly? Or maybe-”
“Shut up, Malfoy,” Harry snapped, unthinkingly.
Malfoy immediately closed his mouth, and something like surprise came across his features, as though he wanted to be furious and couldn’t work out why he wasn’t.
“Fuck,” Harry muttered, and Kingsley chuckled.
“Yes, I think it worked. Well done, Harry.”
Harry closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. It was possible that this was going to be even harder than he thought.