Chapter 1: The Painful Truth
Chapter Text
Blaise wiped his hand with a handkerchief. "At least it was over quickly," he said. The handkerchief was made of fine white silk and it was very obviously clean.
"Can't believe you did it," Pansy said, gazing anxiously at the far side of the Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, where a small army of students held Potter captive against the platform's entrance. They were positively trying to run over each other in their haste to shake Potter's hand.
Blaise sighed. "Can't believe it either. The things we do for our reputation." He examined his hand and gave it another quick polish.
Draco tried to hide his annoyance. He really did. "If the curse is contagious, you can't wipe it off, you realise?"
"Unless he wasn't cursed, just full of germs." Blaise stuffed the handkerchief into his pocket.
"You're trying to scare me off," Pansy said. "You want to be the only special Slytherin who shook his hand."
"Daphne shook his hand." Blaise leaned in, gaze darting around the platform in mock alarm. "She hasn't been seen since."
"Actually, I'm right here."
They all turned to look behind. Daphne Greengrass was indeed right there — close, but not too close. Draco had seen her earlier. She was with her sister, Astoria, but she was alone now.
"And quite a few other Slytherins shook his hand," she added.
She had her trunk with her, Draco noticed. Well, that brought the number of returning Slytherins up to… two. Draco wondered what her reasoning was; he had his, she must have had hers.
Pansy noticed her trunk too. "You're doing the year again?" she asked, not overly friendly. Daphne used to hang out with them, with Pansy especially, though not in the last two years, and Pansy could sure hold a grudge. "Whatever for? You always had decent marks."
Daphne always had excellent marks. She was indeed the last person Draco would expect to return, along with himself, but here they were. It wouldn't hurt Pansy to do the year again, but she didn't care about her N.E.W.T.s. Blaise cared, but he, like the rest of them, could still take the tests. The school governors even promised to organise examinations after Christmas for everyone who attended last year and felt ready to take the exams. They also offered up the Hogwarts library for students to use, whether or not they were taking the classes again. Spending the entire year at Hogwarts was admittedly unnecessary. At least for the Slytherins and assorted pure-bloods from other Houses — the ones who hadn't rebelled last year.
Daphne shrugged. She picked up her trunk. "I should board." She gave Draco a passing glance. "See you, I guess."
Oh. She must have realised Draco was returning, too, and gravitated towards him. Maybe expecting Draco would say something. They weren't friends. As far as Draco knew, she always disliked him.
"At least you'll have company," Pansy commented. "Such as it is."
Draco tried to decide if he was glad or upset that Pansy wasn't coming back. She could be fun, she could be annoying. Without her, he was alone.
"Go on," he said. "Go shake Potter's hand. It's why you're here."
She gave him a wounded look. "We're here to see you off."
"Sure." Draco had believed them when they got here and told him so, but that was before Potter showed up, and they turned nervous, waiting for their chance to approach him. Always fancied themselves clever, Blaise and Pansy. "He'll board the train if you don't hurry."
That got her worried. The crowd around Potter thinned somewhat.
"I might as well since I'm here already," she said, back straightening, chin rising as though she were preparing for battle. Within seconds, she was pushing through the crowd surrounding Potter. She was not subtle. She elbowed people in the ribs, and Draco heard her cry, "Out of the way!" at least three times. When she finally reached Potter, she stuck out her hand briskly, but her voice betrayed her, and her "Congratulations, well done, Potter," sounded broken. It was too far to see clearly, so Draco wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw Potter's jaw tighten. A mere second later, though, Potter shook Pansy’s hand and even managed a small smile. He said something Draco didn't catch, but Pansy gave a nervous laugh, and the other students laughed with her. Or at her.
She turned quickly, and all but ran back, looking quite pleased with herself.
"What did he say to you?" Draco asked.
Unexpectedly, Pansy blushed and shifted her weight. "Oh, well. He said it was good to know I can still spot him in a crowd." She winced as Blaise snorted. "It could have been worse," she concluded. "He didn't seem angry. More amused than anything." She beamed up at Draco. "Are you doing it or not?"
That was the plan before he got here and realised everyone else had the same idea. Well, he expected it from the others, but not from Blaise and Pansy. They just wanted to be seen doing it. They weren't thankful. Well done, Pansy had said. She didn't mean it. She didn't enjoy her last year at Hogwarts, few did, but she didn't think Potter had done well. Maybe if Potter had quietly disposed of the Dark Lord and the war and the battle had never happened, she'd appreciate it. If none of it had touched her, if she hadn't seen people die, she could pretend it was just some mildly interesting story in the news. Madman kills a bunch of Muggle-borns, gets defeated, life goes on. How curious! But this? The world shifting and turning on its head? No, she didn't appreciate it at all.
Draco was thankful. He spent no more than two weeks in the Ministry holding cell, but it felt like an eternity. There was nothing to do but replay everything that had happened in his head. Wonder how many years in Azkaban awaited him. How could his parents help him when they were imprisoned too? He didn't even know his mother helped Potter in the Forest. They didn't get a chance to speak properly. They were captured and separated, locked up and left to wait their turn before being dragged out in front of the Wizengamot, one by one. Only then did Draco learn Potter had written a letter of recommendation to the Wizengamot, arguing for the release of Draco and his mother. Saved again, not from a fire but from imprisonment. Draco was stunned. Not for the last time. Potter showed up at Draco's father's trial too. Draco had no idea what Potter had said, Father had never clarified, but he was released. Saddled with a trial period and many, many restrictions, but he wasn't in Azkaban.
That had to have been Potter's doing. He'd done all of it for Draco's mother. Nothing to do with Draco; he just got lucky. His mother got lucky by being the one the Dark Lord asked to check if Potter was dead. Potter simply paid his debts.
Draco had a debt too. One he could never repay, but he was thankful. Truly, he was. He wanted Potter to know it. That was all. He didn't want to be seen, didn't think it would change anyone's opinion of him or his family. He just needed Potter to know that Draco was grateful and wouldn't make Potter regret helping him.
Draco dragged his feet. He had deliberately waited for the crowd to disperse. He didn't want to be one of many hands Potter shook without noticing. Weasley and Granger were still there, of course, flanking Potter as always, looking as though they'd hex the first person who tried something funny.
Slow as he was, he had nearly reached Potter. Draco could see him clearly now. Potter looked the same as ever, thin in his Muggle clothes, uncombed, and somewhat paler than usual. The only difference was the crutch in Potter's left hand. Potter's fingers clutched the handle, and when Draco was close enough, he saw Potter's knuckles were white. His injured leg must have been in worse shape than what the papers had led them all to believe. The Prophet said he'd been ambushed and cursed over the summer, but he was recovering and going back to Hogwarts. That was the extent of Draco's knowledge.
Potter caught his eye, the corner of his mouth twitching as though he was trying not to smile. He looked at Draco with his eyebrow raised.
It almost seemed like Potter was expecting him, waiting for Draco to approach. Emboldened, Draco stood before him, extended his hand, and held his breath. He was pleased to see his hand looked steady. Miraculously, Potter accepted it with a smile that looked genuine.
It lasted for a whole second. A glorious second that made Draco feel like maybe things could truly change for the better. If Potter could smile at him after everything, then there was a way out of this despair, a hope that maybe Draco hadn't failed so completely he'd never amount to more than a pale copy of his father.
And then, for no reason at all, Potter's eyes widened, his expression darkened, and he all but ripped his hand from Draco's grip.
"I don't know what you're trying to pull," Potter said, looking quite irrationally furious, "but it's not funny."
Draco nearly looked behind to make sure Potter was talking to him, but he couldn't move; he was too shocked. Someone else grabbed Potter's hand and distracted him. Draco was left standing there, confused and humiliated. He thought that even Granger and Weasley looked surprised by Potter's behaviour, but Draco wasn't capable of examining their expressions thoroughly. Cheeks burning, he watched Potter and his friends Levitate their trunks and leave to board the train.
Wrong again. How did Draco even manage it?
*
It was all for the better. It took Draco a week to realise that. He was delusional. He had no concept of what was right and what was wrong. He thought he had learned something, but he clearly hadn't. It just didn't work like that. He was who he was, and there was no changing that. Potter saved his life because that was what he did. He helped his family because he felt he owed it to Draco's mother. There was nothing more to it. It said nothing about Draco's worth. Nothing about his chances to do better. There were no more chances. He fucked up and got away with it. What more could he ask for?
It was just that… It did bother him that Potter had accepted Pansy's handshake. She wanted to deliver him to the Dark Lord. So did Draco, sure, and it certainly wasn't his one mistake. But there were a lot of similarities there. Pansy, like Draco, always made fun of Potter. So did Daphne, before, when she was hanging out with Pansy. She'd always laugh when Pansy and Draco insulted Potter. It was true neither Pansy nor Daphne took the Dark Mark or tried to kill someone, but it seemed to Draco that Potter was excessively kind to them. He'd always smile at Daphne when he saw her, and when Pansy visited the Hogwarts library one day, she stopped Potter as he passed her desk, chatted with him, or rather at him, and Potter didn't exactly look interested in talking to her, but he was polite. He endured.
Draco wouldn't have gone that far. Wouldn't try to talk to Potter or expect to be acknowledged every time their paths crossed. All he wanted was to shake Potter's hand and thank him. And, well, he wanted Potter to say something kind, encouraging. Just once. Directly to Draco. Not by writing some letter Draco didn't even get to read. Would it really cost Potter that much to do it? Would it cost him that much not to pull away as though burned? He could have endured the damn handshake for five fucking seconds. Didn't have to say a thing, actually. Just endure it. Like he endured his messed-up leg. Like he endured Pansy. Like he endured everyone else constantly fighting for his attention.
Well, there was no point in obsessing about it. What happened, happened. Draco could change nothing.
At least life at Hogwarts wasn't so bad. That was a comfort. Since only Daphne and he returned, their dormitory was, well, honestly, some kind of storage space, neither in the boys' nor girls' section, but in between. However, they each had their own room and a joint antechamber. Daphne Conjured a desk and two chairs for that tiny space, and when she wasn't using it, Draco could sit there and study alone. His room was dominated by a narrow bed, and he could barely walk around it, but he had his own bathroom and shower. It was all minuscule, as if someone had shrunken a real dormitory. It might have been claustrophobic, but it also meant Draco had a lot of privacy. Daphne barely counted as company. She was quiet when she was around, easily ignored if she was studying in the antechamber, and during mealtimes she was hanging out with her sister and her sister's friends.
They had their classes with the rest of the seventh-years. N.E.W.T. classes had always been small, and it was easy to accommodate a few additional students. Not many students decided to do the year again. For the most part, it was the infamous Dumbledore's Army. Potter, Granger and Weasley, who missed last year entirely, the Muggle-borns, of course, and the rebels, who were forced into hiding by the Carrows and therefore missed too many lessons. They all stuck together in class, and the real seventh-years had their own little groups. That usually left Daphne and Draco hanging on the sidelines, but that was fine. Draco didn't feel like talking to anyone anyway. No one bothered him. Maybe he got some glares; he wasn't sure — he wasn't really looking.
Solitude wasn't so bad. He could focus on his schoolwork. That was a good thing. That was the whole point, wasn't it? If he wanted to do something fun, he'd go down to the Quidditch pitch and fly around for a bit. He wasn't on the Quidditch team, didn't even plan to try out, but it turned out he couldn't have even if he wanted to. No one who was doing the year again was allowed to play for the House teams. Apparently, it would have been unfair to the rest of the students. They were allowed back to get their N.E.W.T.s, that was all.
It was slightly boring, he supposed. He hadn't missed many classes last year. Sure, he'd been distracted during most of them, but he was still listening to stuff he had heard before, casting spells he already knew how to cast, doing homework he had already done. He made it a rule not to raise his hand and answer teachers' questions because, often, when he was forced to speak in class, his voice would crack from sheer disuse.
Boredom was what made him stare at Potter too much. It didn't take long for Draco to realise Potter was severely injured. He couldn't put much weight on his leg — that was obvious, hence the crutch — but at a glance he seemed perfectly all right. He laughed and joked with his friends, patiently replied to any serious or mundane question someone asked him, returned every nod and a smile with a nod and a smile of his own. Although, that was odd. Potter wasn't this patient and friendly before. Sure, he could have changed. Why not? Maybe defeating the Dark Lord changed a person, but the more Draco looked, the more it bothered him.
It was in the quiet moments when no one was talking to him, when no one was looking — except Draco in some corner, unnoticeable and irrelevant — that Potter's face went blank. He'd breathe slowly, blink slowly, stare at nothing, perfectly still. And then someone would say something, Harry, this and Harry, that, and the corners of Potter's lips would turn upward. Time to put the mask back on.
It was fascinating. So much so, Draco couldn't stop watching him. It was why he noticed a rare thing one morning: Potter was alone. He limped his way through the grounds, crutch in one hand, his Firebolt in the other. He didn't go to the pitch, however, but to the broom shed, which was curious, as he clearly had a broom. There was nothing in the shed except more brooms. Moreover, it looked a bit like he was sneaking around. There was only one reason Draco could think of why a student would sneak off to a broom shed if he didn't need a broom. Draco valiantly tried to talk himself out of following Potter. If Potter was meeting some girl there for a snog, Draco didn't need to see it.
Or maybe he did. Maybe it was some scandalous affair. A chance to discover something about Potter that no one else knew.
He waited a bit and then crept to the shed's entrance. The door was opened — a lucky oversight if Potter was snogging someone in there.
There was nothing exciting to see, however.
Draco lingered in the doorway. Potter's back was turned; he didn't see him yet. With one hand firmly gripping the crutch, Potter was trying to polish his Firebolt. It wasn't really working. The broom kept slipping, and Potter cursed, but he clearly had no intention of giving up. It looked ridiculous; Draco wished he could laugh. Why did it seem like Potter was here to polish his broom in secret? Did he mean to fly it afterwards? Could he fly? If his leg was busted, it would be difficult. Dangerous, even. If his friends knew, would they try to stop him?
Getting increasingly annoyed at Potter's awkward attempts to polish the broom, Draco was just about to snap and tell him to spell the damn broom still when Potter's crutch slipped and fell to the floor. Potter managed to stay upright, but he hissed in pain as he was forced to put more weight on his injured leg. He stood there for a moment, breathing heavily.
Carefully, Draco approached and picked up the crutch. Potter visibly stiffened, as though he thought Draco would attack him with it. Jaw clenched at the unspoken accusation, Draco offered the crutch to Potter with a clipped, "Here."
Potter took it in a slow, careful way that made Draco feel like Potter was trying very hard not to touch him. "Thanks." Potter gave a short nod, still stiff and alert.
"You could spell the broom," Draco couldn't help saying. "Freeze it in mid-air."
"It's fine. I can do it like this."
It was a good thing that Potter wasn't looking at him because Draco could not contain his eye roll.
Potter gripped his broom more firmly and reached for the broomstick polish with a thoughtless, jerky move. His crutch slipped again, and this time Potter was expecting it even less. Without thinking, Draco grabbed Potter around the waist to keep him from falling. In the next second, he found out it was the worst thing he could have done.
Potter gasped and shoved Draco away, so hard Draco stumbled backwards. Leaning on his broom, Potter stepped back, his eyes wide and angry. "What the hell is wrong with you, Malfoy?"
Draco could barely speak from shock. He fucking helped Potter just now, saved him from certain pain and injury. And he did it after Potter had rejected and humiliated him. He was a bloody hero here. "Well, excuse me," Draco spat, straightening. "Next time, I'll let you fall and then beat you with your stupid crutch."
Potter's eyes narrowed. His voice was vibrating with anger as he said, "I don't know what you're trying to accomplish, but I suggest you stay away from me."
Draco felt like he'd been slapped. "Gladly." He bent down, picked up the crutch, and with a quick, wild spell, let it fly. It burst outside, spinning, flying far enough for the Whomping Willow to reach out and smash it into splinters.
Not looking back, Draco stormed away towards the castle.
*
The next day, Potter had a new crutch, but his limp was more prominent. He probably couldn't fly in his state and had to walk back to the castle yesterday.
Draco refused to feel guilty. Potter had it coming. He treated Draco like someone who was diseased and dirty. As though his touch sickened him. Draco had spent the night staring at the scar on his forearm where his Dark Mark used to be. Was that the cause? The more he thought about it, the more it seemed like Potter was reacting violently not to anything Draco had said but to his touch specifically. Draco had read Potter's interviews, where Potter claimed that the scar on his forehead, placed there by the Dark Lord, caused him pain. Maybe Draco's skin was tainted too. Maybe it was full of some lingering dark magic that caused Potter pain.
Well, that wasn't fair. The Dark Mark was gone. It faded. It was just a scar. Or was it still there, beneath the damaged skin, waiting for Draco to fail again, waiting for some new evil to pull it back to the surface?
That night he cast several cleaning charms on his forearm, then rubbed it red in the shower until it bled and he cried from the pain. It left him feeling hollow and angry. Even if he was truly contaminated in some way, Potter had no right to treat him like this. To single him out like this. As though Pansy wouldn't have taken the Mark if she had been in his shoes. Or Blaise. Or even one of Potter's precious Gryffindors, if threatened by the deaths of their parents.
They might not consider it an honour, a mean little voice in his head reminded him. Draco squashed the thought with an overwhelming sense of shame. He'd been so, so wrong. He knew that. It should have counted for something.
The next day, he skipped the morning classes and sat in the antechamber, nursing his throbbing forearm. He could have healed it. He would heal it, but he let it throb for now.
Daphne showed up with her books, said, "Hello," and sat down. That was against their silent agreement. If one of them was using this area, the other would go to their room. True, Draco wasn't exactly using it, he wasn't reading or writing anything, but he was sitting here. And he was here first. He didn't feel like fighting. Well, maybe a little.
"Am I bothering you?" he asked.
"Not at all," she said. She didn't ask if she was bothering him. She should have. That was the point of his question. He asked, she said no; then she would ask, and he would say yes. Basic etiquette. She was doing her Charms homework. They didn't even have Charms tomorrow. Not until next week. It wasn't urgent.
If she wanted company, why didn't she speak?
"Why are you here?" he asked.
She looked up, frowning. "Am I bothering you?"
Oh, now she asked. Draco should have said yes and gotten rid of her. But then his actual question would go unanswered. "I meant here at Hogwarts."
"Why are you here?" she countered.
"To learn."
"Me too." She went back to writing.
Well, fuck it, then. "I'm here," he said, "because I can't stand to be home. He… The Dark Lord, he liked to visit. Liked to linger. He tainted every room. And I have nowhere else to go."
"Well, I have nowhere else to go either."
Draco waited, staring at her. He shared more. He deserved to know more.
She seemed to realise. "My sister expressed some unwanted thoughts about Muggles and Muggle-borns. And I had to pick a side, so I did."
She made it sound simple. It couldn't have been. The Greengrasses were a very old, very proud family. This was a scandal. "The Dark Lord would have loved it if your parents had sworn fealty," he said.
"Oh, they'd never serve anyone, swear anything. They spoke fondly of him though."
Yes, of course. Too proud to serve. His family served. Is that who they were? Servants?
"Were you cast out or left in a huff?" he asked.
She toyed with her quill. "Our stars were shot down from the ceiling."
Then the sisters did more than express a few thoughts. She likely didn't want to go into too much detail. "Stars on a ceiling," he mused. "Sounds nice. My family wasn't as inventive. Our family tree is an actual tree. Elm. About three feet tall, displayed in the drawing room. Rubies for the dead, emeralds for the living, sapphires for the spouses. Could look like a Christmas tree, but there are only two emeralds and one sapphire. And the dead don't sparkle."
"A poor display, yes. Not much different from other pure-blood families, as far as I know." Daphne pursed her lips. "We're becoming small and insignificant. Overrun by usurpers, Mother claims."
Draco snorted. "Yeah, that's the claim. Funny, though. Malfoys don't have many children as a rule. One son per generation, and it's been like that for centuries. Too many sons caused problems in the past."
"Let me guess," Daphne said, "the chosen heirs kept dying under mysterious circumstances?"
"Can't divide the gold, better kill your brother." Fucked up, really. The bulk of the inheritance had to remain intact, passed down from one generation to the next, to ensure the family remained wealthy and influential, strong enough to endure these trying times of dwindling purity.
"Apparently," Daphne said, "my great-grandfather killed his own father for inheritance. Couldn't wait; his father lived too long. One hundred and twenty. The nerve of him."
"Oh, I'll do you one better." Draco grinned. "One of my ancestors screwed up by marrying a Muggle-born witch after his first wife died. The tree itself removed him as the head of the family and gave the privilege to his son. What do you think he did?"
"Oh no."
"Oh yes. Killed his own son. He had to leave the inheritance to the half-blood he had with his second wife. That's the horrific part, of course. Not the murder." Draco found the story in old family records; his father certainly never told him about it. He'd sooner destroy the records. He likely couldn't.
"Wonderful idea, giving the family tree sentience," Daphne commented.
"Quite." Which ancient idiot thought of that? Old arseholes controlling everyone centuries after they died. What the fuck did they care? And how come murder could give you back your privileges? Was that what made one a proper Malfoy? "According to my father, the tree would cast me out if I disrespected the Malfoy family name." Father liked to threaten him with that.
"It hasn't happened yet, then?"
Draco rubbed his forearm through his clothes. It hurt. "Apparently not. I haven't rebelled, have I? Did everything I was told to do. Badly. But I did it."
"I don't recommend rebellion," she said. "It's rather depressing."
"You regret it?"
Her former statement was flippant; now she took the time to think about it. "I don't know. Ask me in two years."
"You have nothing," he said quietly. He didn't mean to sound mocking. It was just a fact.
"I have my sister," she said. "I have brains. I have an aunt. She's not bad. And I have an uncle. He's kind. He has his own problems, but he'll help."
"I have a brain too." Draco leaned back against the wall. "It makes stupid decisions though. I also have an aunt," he remembered. Andromeda Tonks. She lost her husband. Lost her daughter in the Battle. He heard she had a grandchild. "She'd help me too." He snorted. "Put me out of my misery, I imagine."
"Thinking of rebelling?" she asked.
Now how would that work? Daphne and Astoria had seen what the world would look like if the Dark Lord and his followers took over, and they, unlike their parents, decided they didn't want that. The Greengrasses weren't even Death Eaters. Draco was a Death Eater. He couldn't rebel against his parents. He would have to rebel against himself too.
What would be his motive? A better world? Safer for Muggles and Muggle-borns? If they depended on Draco to make the world better and safer, they were screwed.
Although Draco could make his contribution. There was a way he could make everyone a little safer. He had already decided on it, just didn't think of it as rebellion.
"I'm thinking of not marrying," he said. "Not fathering children. No more Malfoys."
"That sounds a bit drastic. I mean, it's not merely about family obligations, is it? Some people marry for love. Have kids because they want them."
Ah, but without family obligations, marrying a witch wasn't in the cards for him. He stared at her. It seemed the rumours hadn't reached her. Draco had been more discreet than he thought.
Her eyes widened. "Oh," she said.
Not that discreet, after all. She heard something.
"How would that work before?" she asked. "What was the plan?"
He shrugged. "Pansy was the plan. She's aware. She wouldn't mind." She wanted kids. Wanted to throw parties and show them off. She wanted to be just like her mother. Well, just like Draco's mother — she was richer. Draco could fuck any wizard he wanted on the side, providing he did it discreetly. That would have been his life. If none of this had happened, would he have been happy with it? He used to think so. He wouldn't be happy now, no matter what he did. He supposed it would give him some satisfaction to show up at the Manor with a male lover in tow. Perhaps a Muggle-born to really rub it in. Would his father dare to call Draco a disappointment? To accuse him of failing his family and embarrassing them? He would, wouldn't he? After everything, those words would come out of his mouth without a shred of self-awareness. Particularly if Draco caught him in that foul state between sober and not yet completely wasted. The proud head of the Malfoy family. Didn't even have the balls to speak up when his son botched another Cruciatus Curse and got punished for it. Probably found it embarrassing. His own son failing at torture. How abominable.
"I suppose I did rebel," Draco said. "But no one knows about it yet. Certainly not my parents. Not even the tree. Does it count?"
She smiled. "I don't think so, sorry. Too easy to change your mind if it only happened in your head."
Well, Draco was a coward. No point in pretending otherwise. He might change his mind after all. No one would care one way or another. In one version, he was miserable and rich; in the other, miserable and poor. Well, miserable, poor, and shunned by polite society, according to his father. Nothing terribly unusual to prefer having sex with men, as long as it was treated with a proper dose of discretion and one wasn't shameless about it. Yes, full of shame and politeness, the pure-bloods. Would this make him one of the oppressed? Would Potter think so? Would he treat him more kindly?
Or less kindly? Maybe Potter heard the rumours, like Daphne.
This thought occurred to Draco randomly during the afternoon Potion lesson. Potter had glanced at him a few times, features pulling into a frown. Was this why Potter was suddenly so bothered by Draco? Because he heard some rumours about Draco's preferences? Muggles weren't that much more accepting of this sort of thing, as far as Draco knew, and Potter grew up as a Muggle. No hope of becoming one of the oppressed, then. Shunned by everyone. Of course.
Oh no. Did Potter imagine Draco was coming on to him or something? All Draco wanted was to shake his hand like everyone else. Yes, he had also grabbed him around the waist in the shed, but that was to keep him from falling down like an idiot. And Potter had already reacted with disgust on the platform. Was there something in Draco's expression or demeanour that made Potter think Draco wanted him? Draco had some fantasies about him, but he had fantasies about a lot of people. It was the last thing on his mind on the platform. Not even close. Potter had nothing to react to except a regular fucking handshake.
Well, now Draco was angry. Casting him away because he was a Death Eater at least made sense. Casting him away because he was gay just wasn't who Potter was supposed to be. Who he pretended to be. Werewolves had his support. Werewolves. Objectively dangerous creatures. Who could bite you and make you one of them. And shaking a gay person's hand was where Potter drew the line?
Draco botched the Forgetfulness Draught with his unsteady hands and distracted mind. The potion turned red; it was supposed to be green. It wasn't a complete disaster. He had poured the almond oil much too soon. It didn't matter, fortunately. If he added more now, it would be fine. Except he didn't have any more.
Cursing under his breath, Draco stomped off to the storeroom.
But of course. Why would anything be simple? He felt like screaming when he found Potter inside. He was alone, clutching a jar of almond oil to his chest and glaring at Draco with his back pressed firmly against the shelves.
"Oh, go away, Potter," Draco snapped. "I'm not here to touch you with my dirty hands. Don't flatter yourself."
Potter didn't stop glaring. He was retreating towards the exit, looking ridiculously worried.
Unbelievable. Draco's anger reached its peak. "You sanctimonious prick," he growled, and grabbed Potter's wrists. Potter's crutch and the vial tumbled to the floor as Draco pushed him against the shelves, pressing his body as close to Potter's as he could.
Potter gasped and shivered. "Get away from me," he whispered, as though he was so disgusted he couldn't even speak properly.
"Oh, I don't think so," Draco said, doing his best to crush Potter's wrists and press his body even closer. If this was so disgusting to Potter, then Draco finally had a weapon he could use against him.
Except... Potter didn't look disgusted. He looked... Draco blinked. Potter had thrown his head back against the shelves, breathing heavily, his eyes closed. His cheeks were red, lips parted; he was shivering, but he wasn't resisting anymore. His green eyes flew open — his pupils were blown wide. And even more shockingly, Draco could feel something hard press against his thigh. Potter moaned — a needy, desperate sound Draco was unprepared for. "Oh God," Potter whispered, looking as though he was on the verge of falling apart. "What are you doing? How?"
"I..." Draco jumped back as though burned.
Potter remained where he was, still shivering, trying to catch his breath. He was staring at Draco as though he had never seen him in his life. It wasn't fear or disgust, Draco realised — it was arousal. Well, and shock.
"I'm not... I didn't..." Draco tried to understand what was happening. He didn't do anything.
Potter finally moved, walking shakily towards the exit. "Do this again, and I swear, Malfoy, I'll get you expelled." His jaw clenched. "And you better hope I don't do more. It's not funny. You can't just… Whatever hex you cast, whatever potion you drank, stay away from me until it wears off."
Draco couldn't help himself. When Potter tried to move past him, he grabbed Potter's wrist again. Potter's surprised moan was so loud the whole classroom went quiet. Potter jerked away and took out his wand. His cheeks were red. "Fine, then," he spat out, turned away, and rushed out of the classroom, his crutch and his limp apparently forgotten.
Draco stood there, frozen, unable to react. He was only vaguely aware someone threw a hex at him. It hit his cheek, burning viciously. Another hit his hip, yet another his chest. Slughorn was yelling and said something about taking fifty points from Slytherin for attacking Harry Potter, but it all seemed pretty damn irrelevant. Draco was too busy staring at his hands, trying to figure out what the hell did he just do to Potter.
*
Harry broke into a run. He ended up in front of the hospital wing. He had considered McGonagall, but the Headmistress's office was too far, and Harry wanted answers, not just get Malfoy expelled. No, not expelled. Arrested. He paused at the door to catch his breath. And that was when the pain hit him again. Sharp, burning pain pulsing in his left thigh as though someone was stabbing it with hot knives. Cold sweat prickled the skin on his forehead and neck. He shouldn't have run. It was too much for his leg. He could hardly believe he managed to run, all the way from the dungeons. Normally, a few steps without the crutch had him nearly in tears.
How could Malfoy's touch just stop it? It would have been heavenly if not for... God, what the hell was that? Like he was brought to the edge of an orgasm with a simple touch. Oh, now Harry was angry again. It was some sort of hex. How vicious. How inappropriate. What the hell was wrong with Malfoy? Was it his idea of a joke? It was no joke. It was humiliating. Harry could do nothing to stop his reactions. It was too intense. Everyone in the Potions class must have heard him.
His cheeks burning from both anger and humiliation, Harry forced himself to stand straight. Malfoy wouldn't get away with this. No fucking way. Harry kept him out of Azkaban like a fool, but he could throw him back in there just as easily.
He burst into the hospital wing and headed straight for Madam Pomfrey's office. She must have heard him come in and was already rushing out with her wand. Her expression visibly fell when she saw him. "Oh, Harry," she cried. "You look so pale. I— Oh, sweet child, we've been through this. One dose per day. I cannot give you more. It would cause more harm than—"
"I'm not here to beg for potions," Harry said tightly. "I'm here to…" God, how was he to explain this? "One student seemed to have cast a hex of some sort. On himself, maybe. Or me."
She moved closer, her wand already waving all around him. "Are you injured? I can't detect anything."
"You should probably examine him." Harry pushed down his embarrassment. "You see, when he touches me, I— my leg stops hurting."
Her frown deepened. "When he— Oh dear, you don't have your crutch."
"No, it hurts now. I just— I forgot my crutch. It's only when he touches me."
She shook her head. "I've never heard of such a thing. Are you certain?"
"Very."
"How extraordinary. A magical talent, as of yet undiscovered. Perhaps something innate? Something he was born with? Which student?"
"Draco Malfoy," Harry said, and Pomfrey's face went blank. "I doubt it's talent," Harry added. "More likely a curse."
"Well, curses cause pain, Harry, they do not alleviate it."
Harry nearly lost his courage, but his anger kept fuelling it. "It does more than alleviate pain. It… It's—" Fucking Malfoy. "It's pleasurable. Intensely. Unnaturally." He took a breath. "Sexually."
Her eyes went round and then, finally, she took the matter seriously. "Oh, that is vile. A love potion of some sort. Nasty boy. Yes, it could trick your mind. Make you temporarily forget the pain. Although… Weren't the Malfoys freed thanks to your intervention? Could this be some misguided attempt to help you?"
"Definitely not." Malfoy certainly didn't look like someone who was trying to help. He looked angry. Kept touching him, deliberately. Maliciously. "A prank of some sort. He probably thought it would be funny. He's surprised by the results, I think." That didn't excuse it. That just made it worse. A funnier prank with Harry reacting more strongly than what Malfoy had imagined.
Madam Pomfrey drew herself up. "Don't you worry, Harry. These potions are easy to detect. We'll sort this out in no time. I'll be recommending expulsion, mark my words!"
Good, Harry thought. Malfoy had gone too far. After everything, Harry actually felt betrayed. He was so sorry for him. Touched by his parents' love for him. He was sure Draco was a victim, ready to make amends. And now he pulled this.
"I'll call for him," Pomfrey said. "He— Oh my!"
Harry whirled around as the doors burst open and a procession of students rushed in. They were led by Ron and Hermione, with Slughorn at the rear, levitating something slimy and long with white-blond hair.
For fuck's sake.
"Is that a student?" Pomfrey cried.
"It was," Hermione said.
"We're calling it Slimefoy," Ron added.
"Now, now, settle down," Slughorn yelled, looking a little flustered. "Poppy, so sorry, the students were a bit overzealous. Defensive hexes, certainly. Ah, Harry, my boy, are you all right?"
Harry had sat down on one of the beds; he could no longer stand, and he didn't want to see Malfoy because now anger gave way to guilt. His friends did a number on him. And then he'd get expelled. Maybe Harry was overreacting. He was unharmed, only embarrassed. "I'm fine," he gritted out.
Ron and Hermione hurried to his side anyway, full of questions. "What did that git do to you?", "Why did you run?", "Are you hurt?", "Do you want me to hex him again?"
Ron and Hermione were looking at him expectantly.
"Nothing," Harry said because he was not discussing this with all these other students staring. Some of them surrounded him, others were still trying to get to Malfoy, including Ginny. Slughorn was trying to stop them. Madam Pomfrey seemed to have managed to hide herself and Malfoy behind a screen, presumably reversing all the hexes he'd been struck with. At least Harry didn't have to look at him anymore. "Ron," he whispered. "Please make everyone leave." He glanced at Ginny as he said it. She definitely didn't need to hear this.
Ron nodded, wide-eyed. Hermione started shouting. "Out! Come on, everyone. Madam Pomfrey can't work like this." Together with Slughorn, they managed to empty the room eventually. Though it wasn't empty enough. Harry wished Slughorn would leave too, but he couldn't throw out a teacher.
Slughorn approached together with Ron and Hermione, all three with worried expressions.
"Come now, Harry," Slughorn said. "Tell us what he did. I need to know before I report it to Minerva."
Just great. Why stop at McGonagall? Tell the school governors. The Ministry. The Daily Prophet. 'Draco Malfoy pleasures the Chosen One during class!'
"Harry," Hermione said, returning his crutch to him. "He did something to you on the platform. I know you said he didn't, but he did. It was obvious."
Harry had deflected their questions back then. They'd concluded Malfoy had a Stinging buzzer on his palm or something. He didn't tell them about the broom shed. He claimed he walked too far that day, and the Whomping Willow stole his crutch.
"He…" Harry began, wishing Pomfrey was here so she could explain. "When he… touches me, the pain in my leg stops."
"Oh," Hermione said.
"Hmm." Ron scratched the back of his head.
Slughorn pursed his lips.
Harry sighed mentally. That hardly sounded alarming. "And it also makes me…" Painfully aroused. He couldn't say that. What did he tell Pomfrey? "It feels pleasurable. You know, like…" He looked down at his knees. "Sexually. It's very intense." He was back to hating Malfoy now. He should be expelled for making Harry explain this twice.
"Oh dear," Slughorn said. "Oh dear, oh dear."
Harry finally gathered his wits enough to realise who he was talking to. He looked up at Slughorn. "Madam Pomfrey thinks it could be a love potion. Do you know of any with these effects?"
"Well, love potions induce love." He studied Harry's face. "Do you feel in love?"
"I feel infuriated," Harry assured him.
"Hmm, then sheer desire is the goal. Plenty of those potions around. Some in commercial use. It's not unimaginable it would temporarily dull the pain."
"It stops it," Harry felt the need to point out. "It doesn't dull the pain. It stops it. Ten times better than Pomfrey's potions."
"Yes, well, you're mostly immune to them by now." Slughorn sighed and took out his wand. "Easy to detect. I have plenty of antidotes ready because, well…" He waved vaguely around. "Teenagers." Harry avoided looking at Ron and Hermione as Slughorn cast a few spells at him. "Hmm, nothing here," he commented.
"I don't think he slipped me anything," Harry said. "He wouldn't have the opportunity. Maybe he took something."
"Perhaps, perhaps. Not really how these potions work, but perhaps." With an awkward smile, Slughorn left to join Pomfrey behind the screen.
"Slimy git," Ron grumbled. "Malfoy, I mean. Why didn't you tell us?" he demanded.
"Because. I thought it was a stupid prank he pulled on the platform. Disappointing, but whatever. But it went too far now."
Hermione was biting her lip. "I mean, it's such an odd prank. What did he hope to accomplish?"
That was easy. "Humiliate me."
"But why? I thought—" She frowned at the screen on the other side of the room where spells lit up the air.
"Yeah, so did I." Harry really thought they were past this. Especially with Malfoy. He witnessed Voldemort's atrocities first-hand. He had seen death and pain, was forced to torture Voldemort's servants, and Harry knew it made him ill. Out of all these young students obsessed with blood purity, Harry thought Malfoy was the one who could grasp the severity of what happened, the one who could truly understand what Voldemort was and how terrible his worldview had been. "I guess he just can't stop hating me. Resents me or something."
"Knew I'd regret getting him out of that fire," Ron said darkly.
"No," Harry said. "I don't regret that. He makes his own choices now. I'm sorry if this is it, but I don't care. I just want him out of my sight." Well, he did care. He was honestly sad about it.
Slughorn and Pomfrey emerged from behind the screen after what felt like hours. Pomfrey looked tired; Slughorn looked confused.
"I've detected no potions, hexes, or curses that I know of," Slughorn said.
"Perhaps it has worn off?" Hermione suggested. "Whatever it was."
Slughorn grimaced. "Harry, I am sorry, but if you're willing, you could help us test that theory."
It took Harry a few seconds to realise Slughorn was asking him to go there and touch Malfoy.
"He's asleep," Pomfrey hurried to say. "I had to put him under before reversing the hexes. He is quite firmly asleep, I assure you."
That didn't make it better. The only thing that could help was if they were all asleep, then maybe Harry could do it.
"Although there's little need," Slughorn added. "Clearly he had done something nefarious. No further proof needed besides your word."
No, that wasn't right. Proof was needed. Proof was always needed. Maybe Harry was wrong or something. Misinterpreted the situation. He was beginning to doubt himself now that no one could detect anything.
"I'll do it," Harry said and slowly got up. His jaw was so tight he thought his teeth would crack. God, his leg hurt. He shouldn't have run. Stupid Malfoy. He made it better for a second, and now it was so much worse.
Ron moved as though to help him walk but then must have remembered all their fights about it. Harry could do it. He could withstand it. He could walk. Just slowly.
It took forever to reach the other side of the room. The entire trip was made worse by all of them hovering around him as though preparing to catch him if he fell over. Ironically, even Malfoy had done that back in the shed.
Pomfrey pulled back the screen, and Harry hurried the last few steps, not even looking at Malfoy but aiming to sit on his bed and give his leg some needed rest. He closed his eyes as he sat, waiting for his heart to stop racing and for the pain to lessen, at least a little. No point in waiting long — it never really lessened enough.
Harry opened his eyes and only then looked at Malfoy properly. He was indeed asleep, looking peaceful and pale. He wasn't an innocent by any means, but he didn't look like much of a threat. Harry was possessed by an urge to shake him, to yell at him, to somehow convey the depth of his disappointment.
Slughorn, Pomfrey, Ron and Hermione all came closer, watching them and waiting. No point in postponing this.
Harry's hand shook a little as it reached for Malfoy's. A part of him was desperately hoping that whatever Malfoy had done didn't wear off, not for any needed proof, but to give Harry another moment of reprieve.
Harry's fingers closed around Malfoy's wrist, and a jolt of pleasure shot through him like fire. He couldn't stop a small, pathetic sound that escaped him, not caused by pleasure this time but by the vanished pain that stopped abruptly, as though there was a switch in his brain and something turned it off. It was simply incredible.
"Um," Slughorn said awkwardly. He might have said more, but Harry didn't hear him. This was pure bliss. He must have been so accustomed to pain by now he didn't even remember how it felt to exist without it.
Well, he could exist like this. Just hold Malfoy's hand, sit on this bed, and breathe without pain making him catch his breath.
His eyes flew open with sudden realisation. He looked at Slughorn. "The pain stopped completely, but the other thing, um, I felt it at first, but I think it's gone now." It wasn't quite true. To say he felt it was an understatement — he was blown away by it — and he did still feel it, the pull of desire, a pleasurable warmth in the pit of his stomach, but it wasn't as intense. It was… It was nice. Calming.
"Huh." Slughorn was studying Draco's sleeping form. "Could be a sign it's wearing off. Or the fact that he's asleep is… Hmm." He glanced at Madam Pomfrey.
"I could send an owl to St Mungo's. They might know more. Maybe they'll even send someone if I mention…" She smiled at Harry.
Of course. They'd come running if they thought the big hero was in trouble. Harry hated that idea. More people fussing over him. More tests.
Well, he could do more tests. He could test this forever. He slid his hand upward to wrap it around Draco's forearm. Draco's clothes must have been shredded, but he was wearing a hospital gown with long sleeves.
"No skin-to-skin contact necessary," Harry said. "If that's relevant." He grabbed Draco's wrist again. "Works much better though."
"Extraordinary," Slughorn murmured. "You know…" Something in his tone made Harry look up. "Perhaps the boy stumbled onto something inadvertently. Pulled a very inappropriate prank, of course, but the results are curious."
"All right," Harry said, hopeful now. He was happy to forgive Malfoy whatever he did if it could truly help with the pain. "Should we wake him up and ask him?"
"You think he'll tell us what he did?" Ron asked. "Admit it?"
Harry had no idea. If Malfoy was pulling pranks on him, then he was the same slimy git he always was. He learned nothing. Regretted nothing. He was unlikely to help Harry.
Slughorn cleared his throat. "I do have some Veritaserum on hand."
"Oh, Horace!" Pomfrey gasped.
"Can we do that?" Ron asked.
Slughorn shrugged. "A few drops and we'll know the answers."
Harry was pretty sure that wasn't what Ron meant. Was it legal was the question? Well, was it moral was a better one, as likely no one would throw them into Azkaban for it.
"If he has done something," Slughorn added, "and he tells us what, it might help us find a way to help you, Harry. And if he is innocent and this was done to him, better to prove his innocence."
Harry looked at Hermione. She was sensible and fair. Right now, Harry didn't trust himself. A promise of a cure was too tempting. It didn't even have to be a cure. He just wanted to live without pain. He was going crazy.
Hermione sighed. "It's Malfoy. He won't cooperate. I think we all know that."
"He's an Occlumens though," Harry added. "Possibly a good one." He had deflected Snape's prodding once.
Slughorn's lips twitched. "It takes years of practice for someone to learn how to successfully resist the effects of Veritaserum. Believe me, I've dedicated years of my life to mastering the ability, and I'd still trust the antidote more."
Harry nodded. Not even Pomfrey complained.
Slughorn inclined his head. "I'll be back in seconds."
No one told Harry to let go of Draco's hand, so he didn't. He closed his eyes to commit this feeling to memory. He'd been in constant pain for two months now, and it kept getting worse. The potions used to dull the pain, but they never stopped it. Not like this. What did you do, you git? he wondered, amazed. It was easy to forgive a sleeping Draco who Harry was currently using as a painkiller, but the Draco who broke his crutch and forced him to walk back to the castle, and the Draco who pushed him against the wall earlier and forced those sensations on him, he was a total arse.
The humiliation of it heated up Harry's cheeks again.
Slughorn came back as quickly as promised. There was no time for second thoughts. Well, there was, but Harry couldn't afford to have them. Slughorn propped up Draco in a kind of slumped sitting position, lifted Draco's head, and dripped three drops into his parted mouth. "Rennervate," he murmured, and Draco's eyes cracked open. He still looked half-asleep, staring somewhere down at his lap.
Draco's hand had slipped from Harry's, but Harry grabbed Draco's ankle. It still worked. Still no pain. He hoped no one would say anything about it.
"Can you hear me, Mr Malfoy?" Slughorn asked.
"I can hear you," Draco said in a monotone voice.
"Very well. Now, tell me, did you drink a potion to make Harry Potter react to your touch?"
"No," Draco said.
"Did you slip Harry a potion? Any potion?"
"No," Draco said again.
"Did you cast a spell on Harry?"
"No."
"Did you cast any spells on yourself?"
"Yes."
A moment of silence followed and then Slughorn said, "Ah. I apologise." He lowered his voice. "Terrible phrasing, too broad." He spoke louder. "Mr Malfoy, did you cast any spells on your person that would make Harry Potter react more favourably to your touch?"
"Yes," Draco said.
Harry could hardly believe it. Draco had truly done something to himself.
"Git," Ron breathed.
"What type of spell did you cast?" Slughorn asked.
"Cleaning charms."
They all exchanged glances. Slughorn wiped his brow. "I'm afraid I'm not very good at this. Too broad again, was it?"
Harry was getting annoyed. "Malfoy," he said, "when you approached me at the platform at the start of term, what did you really want?"
"To thank you. For my life."
Harry frowned. "All right. What else?"
"I— To shake your hand."
"Right. What else?"
"I… I was hoping you'd say something kind."
Harry blinked. That was actually sweet. Harry dragged that confession out of him. "All right," he said slowly, pushing down his discomfort. "Did you realise what your touch did to me?"
"Yes," Draco said. "It disgusted you."
That was not how Harry would describe it. He was shocked and disappointed that Draco was pulling something, but he wouldn't say disgusted. He supposed he could see how Draco could interpret it as disgust.
"And when you found me in the shed that day, when you destroyed my crutch, what did you want then?"
Hermione said something, sounding outraged, but Harry shushed her.
"I wanted to talk to you," Draco said.
"About what?"
Draco was silent for a bit. "I don't know."
"Harry," Slughorn said gently, "I think you're pushing him too much."
Harry could see that. But Draco said he had cast some sort of spell on himself. Harry needed to know what it was. Needed to understand. Draco wasn't making any sense. He wanted to talk to him but didn't know about what? What the hell did that mean?
"Did you know what your touch did to me then?"
"Yes. It disgusted you."
For fuck's sake. There was no point in correcting him. "Do you know why?"
"Yes. Because I'm dirty."
Harry blinked. "What?"
"Because I'm dirty."
Dirty. How was he dirty? Oh but then… Earlier he mentioned Cleaning Charms. They all thought he had misunderstood the question, but maybe he hadn't. A vein in Harry's temple started throbbing. "Why would you be dirty?"
"Because of the Dark Mark."
Nonplussed, Harry reached for Draco's forearm and pulled up his sleeve. The touch of Draco's bare skin gave him another jolt of pleasure, but Harry pushed it away. "It's just a scar now."
"The Mark is still there," Draco said. "Under the skin."
"I—" Pomfrey made a sound of distress. "There was an injury there of some sort. I thought it was another hex. I healed it."
Harry dragged his fingertips over the scar. A horrible thought occurred to him. "You— you tried to get rid of the Dark Mark with Cleaning Charms so I wouldn't be disgusted with you anymore?" he asked.
"Yes," Draco said.
Harry dropped Draco's arm. He forced these confessions out of Draco, his deepest thoughts and fears. Things none of them had any business hearing. And Draco had been hoping for kindness. Oh yes, terribly kind of Harry to do this.
Defeated but determined to make sure, Harry asked, "And in the storeroom earlier, you realised what your touch was actually doing to me?"
"I— I don't know." Draco was struggling. "You… liked it?"
"Do you know why?"
"No."
Draco truly didn't do anything. He just wanted to shake Harry's hand, thank him, talk to him, nothing else. He was as baffled as Harry was. Then this was done to him. And he was—
"Give him the antidote," Harry said quietly, his voice scratchy.
Slughorn did so promptly, and Draco slumped over against the pillow.
"The Sleeping Draught I gave him was quite strong," Madam Pomfrey said. "He's unlikely to wake soon." She sounded uncomfortable.
"This was a terrible idea," Hermione said.
"Yeah," Harry agreed. His leg was already throbbing. Good. He deserved it. "Clearly, he didn't do this. All I did was force an innocent person to bare his soul to us."
"I wouldn't call Malfoy innocent," Ron said. "I mean, we had cause." He sounded uncomfortable too.
"Sure," Harry said. He was disgusted now. With himself.
"Well…" Slughorn hesitated. "Someone or something did this. He said you saved his life? If he was thanking you for it. Of course…" He smiled broadly. "You saved all our lives, but is he referring to something more specific?"
Harry rubbed his injured thigh. "I mean, yeah. There was a fire… we pulled him out."
"You pulled him out," Ron added quietly.
"A life debt," Pomfrey murmured, glancing at Slughorn, who nodded.
"What does that mean?" Harry asked, not liking the sound of this. "He feels like he owes me? And what? He's trying to cure me?"
"Well, perhaps," Slughorn said. "I'm no expert. No one is on life debts. It's such an unexplored, unpredictable area. I've heard stories. People repaying their debts in unpredictable ways. Coincidence, fate, or magical forces, it's always difficult to tell."
"Then why… Why would it make me feel the way it does?" Was Draco pleasuring Harry out of some sort of gratitude? That was horrifying.
Slughorn rubbed his chin. "One could say the inverse of pain is the absence of pain. Or one could say the inverse of pain is pleasure. If one was trying to help, they would, I suppose, reverse the effects in accordance with their interpretation. Mr Malfoy feels the inverse of pain is no pain and pure pleasure."
That made sense. And it sounded a little less horrifying when explained like that. Not to mention, it seemed like Harry could have some control over how Draco's touch affected him. Push away the confusing, disturbing parts and keep the wonderful parts. Damn it. Couldn't Slughorn think of this before?
No, this wasn't on Slughorn. Harry fucked up. He was the one who should have known better and not let himself get sucked into giving Veritaserum to Draco in hopes it would lead him to answers, to a cure…
His leg throbbed viciously. It hurt this much on the day he decided to go flying. He'd been stalling, polishing his broom first, but that was the ultimate plan. Go up in the air and fly. He'd surely fall down. But then the pain would stop, and he wouldn't have to live like this. He clenched his fists, desperate to reach for Draco and touch him.
"Whatever this is, I can't ever accept it." And that was simply true. If Draco was doing this inadvertently, and it appeared that was the case, if he was trying to pay off his debt in such a way… Harry couldn't just take it. It was wrong. "Besides," he added. "I just ruined it. Now he will hate me forever. Which is… Serves me right."
"Will he remember it? The interrogation?" Hermione asked, as though that mattered. Harry would remember.
"There's no reason for him to forget," Slughorn said. "Unless…"
"No," Harry said firmly. Slughorn was about to suggest modifying Draco's memories, Harry was sure.
Slughorn sighed. "Then we have nothing. There's nothing here to use for a cure, only temporary relief his touch can provide."
"Well, that's that then." Harry stood up, swaying as a fresh wave of pain hit him. He closed his eyes, gave himself a moment. "He won't be touching me again," he said, cursing the hope he had for a few moments. He walked out limping, every step an agony. He welcomed the pain.
Chapter 2: The Cruciatus Curse
Chapter Text
Draco stared at the ceiling. His mind was a mess of images that didn't make much sense. He was in the hospital wing; he was hungry, that was clear. He remembered he was in the potions storeroom with Potter, and Potter was angrily aroused, which was bizarre, and Draco was just angry, which was pretty standard. And then everyone was shooting hexes at him, which was understandable because Potter had run off as though Draco had tried to murder him.
And then… Draco felt like a slug, a slimy slug stuck to the floor, sliding forward with unbearable slowness. Then someone shackled his feet? But he was floating in the clouds.
Give him the antidote.
Draco shot up in his bed. An antidote to what? Did someone poison him? No, no, Potter was sitting on the bed, clutching Draco's ankle. How odd.
I was hoping you'd say something kind.
Give him the antidote.
Who said that?
What did you really want?
Oh no. Potter was asking questions and Draco was answering. He was answering, head in the clouds.
A truth serum. They gave him a bloody truth serum. The memories came flooding back then. More people were here. Slughorn and Granger and Weasley.
Because I'm dirty.
Good Lord. Draco scrambled out of the bed, furiously searching for his clothes and wand. There were no clothes to be seen, just a hospital gown tied on his back, barely covering his arse. It didn't matter. He found his wand, he found his shoes, and he dashed out towards the dungeons.
Fuck Potter. Fuck Hogwarts. And fuck the N.E.W.T.s. What would he do with them anyway? No one would hire a Malfoy except the kind of people Draco didn't want to work for. He could live off the gold his mother would give him if his father refused. Oh hell. He could marry Pansy. Why not? There were worse fates.
"I can see your tush, dearie," a portrait yelled after him.
"Feast your eyes while you can, lady," he yelled back.
The common room was dark and empty, and Draco rushed to his dormitory. He turned on the light the moment he entered his room and went straight to his bed, scrambling to pull his trunk out from under it. He tossed it on the bed and it opened with a snap.
"Draco?" Daphne materialised at the door, wrapped up in a dark blue dressing gown. Draco had been too loud. "What are you doing?"
Draco ignored her. There was no time for folding and packing properly. He bunched up an armful of clothes and threw it into his trunk.
"Were you expelled?" Daphne asked.
Draco laughed a little hysterically, trying to gather up his socks. "Don't know. Don't care. I'm leaving anyway." Was he expelled? Potter probably told them Draco assaulted him or something, which Draco sort of did, but then they questioned him and… Draco said stupid things. Told them he was dirty. Told the truth. But still. He said it out loud. It wasn't fair. He was an Occlumens. He should have fought them off. Did they catch him off guard or something?
"What did you do to Potter?"
"When I find out, I'll… Well, I won't tell you because I won't be here." Where was his cloak? His travelling cloak. Was it under the bed?
"God, Draco, stop bending. Or dress yourself."
That was a good idea. He should dress himself.
Daphne groaned and turned around as Draco pulled off his hospital gown. He had no time for modesty. He had to run away from Hogwarts. Never look back.
"But, Draco, why would you—"
"I didn't do anything!" Draco snapped, pulling on a shirt. Where were his socks? Oh right. Already in the trunk. "I didn't do anything," he repeated, on the verge of tears. "They questioned me under a truth serum. Can you believe it? Fucking Potter and Slughorn. Dosed me up and questioned me." What was wrong with these socks? Was there even a hole here to push his feet in?
"Draco!" Daphne yelled so loudly Draco looked at her. "I don't understand," she said. "You say you didn't do anything, and they questioned you under a truth serum. But then, did you confirm it? Told them you didn't do anything?"
"Obviously," Draco said, annoyed. "That's the point of truth serums. The truth."
"But then why are you leaving?"
Draco finally got his socks on. "Too much truth. Said some embarrassing things."
"I mean, okay, but did they say anything? Did they apologise?"
Draco's mind stuttered. He whipped his head around to look at her. "Apologise?"
"Well, yes. If you didn't hex Potter and he accused you. And questioned you. And all those students hexed you. Well, then… I mean, they were all wrong. Potter was wrong."
"Apologise," Draco repeated.
"Did they?"
"No. I—" He frowned. "No one was there when I woke up. I didn't speak to anyone…" Apologise? Potter didn't apologise. He should apologise. Would he?
Give him the antidote.
There was something about that statement that bothered him, and Draco just realised what it was — he had never heard Potter sound like that. He sounded miserable, defeated. Emotional. He realised what he had done. He forced stupid words out of Draco's mouth, and Draco might have embarrassed himself, but Potter fucked up. And he knew it. Saint Potter dosing an innocent man with a truth serum. How wrong. How immoral.
Did… did Draco have the moral upper hand now? How bizarre.
What would Potter do? Would he apologise? Surely he had to. Oh, was he losing sleep over it?
This might not be such a disaster after all. Who was he kidding? This was hardly the first time Potter witnessed Draco's utter humiliation. Draco had no dignity to lose, but he had plenty to gain. He was the injured party here. Potter went too far and he knew it. He probed and prodded and…
Draco's cheeks burned. Asking Potter for kindness like that. What the— No, it didn't matter. Draco had withstood worse; he could withstand this too. If he left now, Potter could just forget about his guilt and let that undoubtedly satisfying moment when Draco called himself dirty live in his mind forever.
Daphne was still speaking. "I don't understand. Something happened in that storeroom. We all heard it. Are you sure you're not misinterpreting the situation? What exactly did you say when they questioned you?"
Of course she didn't understand. All she knew was that Potter had cried out and run away. And then Draco got accused of hexing him. She knew nothing about Potter's reactions to Draco's touch. Draco felt no need to mention it. It was, ultimately, irrelevant. Someone obviously slipped something into Potter's juice or whatever. A love potion or something. A botched one with unplanned effects. It just didn't matter. It wasn't Draco. And Potter knew it now. This meant Potter had wrongfully accused him on the platform, in the shed, in the storeroom, in the hospital wing. Draco had done nothing; Potter just assumed. He simply had to apologise. Right the wrong. If he didn't, the other students would make Draco's life hell. They would curse him and hex him for daring to harm their saviour. Potter had to make it right.
"There's nothing to misinterpret," Draco said. "I was wrongfully accused. And they have to apologise."
"Right. But I just.. I didn't mean to imply they will apologise. I was just asking."
That made Draco look at her. She had given him hope and now she was taking it away. "They have to. They were wrong."
She pursed her lips and studied him. "So were you. About a lot of things. Did you apologise?"
Well, that was just… "Didn't get a chance, did I?" he said quickly. "Potter told me to stay away from him." A fine excuse, except Draco hadn't really planned on apologising. What could he say? 'Sorry I tried to hand you over to the Dark Lord, Potter. I reckoned, better you than all of us.' How inadequate. Definitely better left unmentioned.
Besides, Potter knew Draco was sorry or he wouldn't have written that damn letter. And Potter had never apologised for that nasty Sectumsempra Curse, now did he? Well, sure, Draco hadn't apologised for breaking Potter's nose or nearly killing his best friend or…
They just didn't do apologies.
Oh. Then why was Draco expecting one now?
"I don't care," he decided. "Whatever happened before, this is now. And they had no right. No right to hear any of the things I said."
"What did you say?"
"I'm not telling you." A shiver passed down his spine. "And that's not the point. The point is they had no right."
Daphne sighed. "Draco, I agree. I just think you should calm down. Whatever happened, it's not worth throwing away your education and your future. But… I wouldn't hold my breath waiting for any apologies, either. My point is, no one likes to admit they were wrong. I reckon you know that. Just… think things through before you do something stupid." She appeared to have said her piece, and she turned around and left.
Draco stared at the empty doorway. Daphne essentially wanted him to shrug this off. Shut up and keep his head down. Because he was a bad guy and he didn't get to complain. That wasn't fair. If Draco was freed, then he was free. He wasn't a slave to Potter's whims.
Besides, Daphne was wrong. She didn't hear Potter. Didn't hear how guilty he sounded. And she didn't get it. Those three — Potter, Granger and Weasley — they had always judged him. Of course they did. All full of righteous indignation, just waiting for a chance to point their fingers at him again. This little tumble off their pedestal had to have hurt.
Why, Draco could even give them another push.
He checked the time. It was still rather early, too early for breakfast; he had plenty of time to consider how best to approach the situation. He unpacked, took a shower, and nearly made a mistake when getting dressed — he had tucked in his shirt, straightened his robes, and almost slicked back his hair the way he usually wore it. But no, that was all wrong. He was in distress. Grinning, he rumpled his clothes and hair, rubbed his eyes and even slapped his cheeks. That was much better. Now he truly looked like he'd been through the wringer. This was what the suffering of the innocent looked like.
His entrance to the Great Hall at breakfast was beautiful. Students glared, cursed at him under their breath, and two of them even tried to trip him as he went past. Except, they were Hufflepuffs and they were bad at it. Draco had to steer himself half a foot closer to one fourth-year to trip over the kid's leg.
He afforded himself a glance at the Gryffindor table. Potter was looking around with a frown, in such obvious distress Draco almost laughed. He didn't, of course. He looked down at his feet as Potter started furiously whispering at Granger.
Too soon everyone seemed to settle down; they could hardly hex him with the teachers watching and glaring likely lost its appeal with Draco ignoring them.
However, as he was finishing his breakfast, and there was no indication that Potter would approach him, Draco was beginning to worry. Would someone have to hex him before Potter stepped in? Was Daphne right after all? Maybe Potter was too worried about his reputation to apologise to a Malfoy. Well then, Draco would just have to tell everyone what happened. He had nothing to lose, but Potter playing Auror and then trying to keep it under wraps would be a blow to his image.
Or maybe Potter thought no one would care that he used a truth serum on a former Death Eater. And not just any Death Eater, but one he saved from Azkaban. That was public knowledge. The Ministry had released a statement about it; everyone knew Potter vouched for the Malfoys. Otherwise, Draco couldn't take two steps in Hogwarts without getting hexed.
Oh God. Did Draco make a mistake again? Of course people wouldn't care. Who cared about fairness? Potter could do whatever the hell he wanted with him. Draco was deluding himself. There was no apology coming. Potter was maybe distressed and annoyed because he was proved wrong, maybe he even regretted it, but would he humiliate himself by apologising to Draco? No, of course he wouldn't. Like Daphne said, no one liked to admit they were wrong. Draco had somehow managed to romanticise his view of Potter. How did that happen?
Now in genuine distress, Draco got up to leave, considering fleeing this stupid castle altogether, but Potter promptly stood up too. Draco's hopes flared again.
Would Potter follow him to some secluded corridor and apologise there? Small audience, just his friends? Oh, that wouldn't do at all.
Draco slowed his pace because Potter was slow. His limp was very prominent today; he barely let his leg touch the floor. Maybe Potter wasn't above playing it up for some sympathy. He would likely get it. That was fine. As long as Draco got his apology.
They reached the arched entrance at the same time: Potter flanked by Granger and Weasley, Draco all by his lonesome, sad and abandoned, horrifically wronged by the Wizarding World's hero. He wasn't looking at Potter and pretended he meant to walk past him.
"Draco, wait. Can I talk to you?" Potter said, and Draco stopped breathing. He hadn't misjudged anything after all. Oh, and it was Draco now, was it?
"About what?" Draco turned to face Potter, his voice low. He didn't even have to fake it. He was positively brimming with anticipation. Students started gathering around them, maybe expecting a fight would break out. Go on, Draco glanced at Potter. Grovel, you arse.
Potter didn't grovel. He wasn't hesitating or speaking quietly either. "I wanted to apologise," he said, serious, head high, gaze straight. "I accused you of wrongdoing yesterday, but I made a mistake. And I am truly sorry."
Well, that… That wasn't enough. This was Draco's one chance to be right about something. "And how do you know you were wrong?" he asked pointedly.
Potter's jaw clenched, but his voice was steady when he said, "Because I questioned you under Veritaserum."
A low murmur spread around them. People didn't look shocked. They seemed confused. They probably wanted a fight and were disappointed they weren't getting one. Useless idiots.
"I shouldn't have done that," Potter added. "Again, I'm very sorry."
It was heartfelt and not as satisfying as Draco thought it would be. Potter didn't seem mortified or awkward, didn't try to justify himself; he was just honestly sorry. There was little vindication here. Draco felt robbed. And now everyone was staring at him, waiting for his reaction. Draco could reject the apology. Tell Potter to fuck off. And then what? Nobody would side with him. Being innocent in one instance didn't erase anything. He had to accept the apology or he'd look like an arse. Stupid Malfoy being mean again after everything Potter had done for him. Draco hadn't thought this through very well.
"You're right," he said. "You shouldn't have done that." If nothing else, he could at least milk this for all it was worth.
"I know," Potter said, and God, there was that tone again. Guilt, but this time accompanied with intense staring. It was rapidly diffusing Draco's indignation, no matter how desperately he tried to cling to it.
"You're not an Auror yet," Draco added, annoyed he couldn't capture that dignified way of speaking Potter seemed to be channelling ever since he had defeated the Dark Lord right here in the hall. But Draco could at least twist the knife a little. As far as he knew, Potter wasn't supposed to return to Hogwarts. He should have been out there, catching Dark Wizards, but he got himself cursed instead. It was quite embarrassing.
Potter took it stoically. "No, I'm not."
Draco refused to feel bad. "At least now you know I'm innocent," he said, much louder.
He overdid it. Weariness crept into Potter's expression.
"Yes, you are," Potter said, with a hint of indulgence and loud enough for everyone to hear.
It almost made Draco smile. No, this was good. This was excellent. He had Potter right where he always wanted him. He wanted more of this. It was fun.
Oh. He could get more. He let himself smile. "It's all forgiven," he said grandly. "Let's shake on it." He extended his hand.
That broke Potter's composure. It was subtle, but Draco was looking for subtle. Potter's jaw twitched, he gripped his crutch tighter, swallowed. He had to shake Draco's hand now. He simply couldn't refuse.
Was he still under the influence of whatever the hell was done to him? Potter seemed to think so because his right hand shook a little when it reached for Draco's. Would he start moaning here in front of everyone?
They grasped their hands and Draco held Potter tight. "All's well, then," he declared, waiting.
Potter's eyes closed for a moment, but then he opened them and smiled, a big genuine smile, his previous stoicism forgotten. "Yes, yes it is," he said with such obvious relief Draco found himself smiling back.
Damn it. Yes, this was what he wanted. What he had hoped for on the platform. For Potter to look at him exactly like this, like everything truly was forgiven and forgotten. So Draco could move on, so he could lift his head a little higher. This stupid hex or potion got in the way, how unfair that was. Draco wished he knew who had done it, who sabotaged him. It would be hard to find out now that it seemed to have worn—
Potter wasn't letting go of Draco's hand. He shook it a little, and Draco let go, intending to pull away because that was how handshakes worked, but Potter was still gripping him, still smiling. It went on for entirely too long.
But the potion or the spell wore off. It must have. Potter didn't look mad with arousal and it was so clear in the potions storeroom. Wasn't it?
Why wasn't he letting go?
Granger suddenly grabbed Potter's forearm. "Isn't it wonderful all this got sorted out?" she exclaimed, sounding strained.
"Yeah, yeah," Weasley agreed, hand finding Potter's shoulder, obviously trying to pull him away.
"We're also very sorry, aren't we, Ron?" Granger added.
"Terribly sorry," Weasley agreed.
Potter was still gripping Draco's hand.
"Oh, your hair looks nice today, Draco." Granger smiled up at him, probably to distract him as she desperately tried to pull Potter away.
"Thanks," Draco said, looking down at his trapped hand. Potter was holding onto it like a fucking lifeline. That was far more fascinating than Granger calling him Draco and complimenting his hair.
"Doesn't Draco's hair look nice today, Harry?" Granger asked, emphasising Potter's name with obvious sharpness.
It worked. Potter released Draco, albeit slowly. He didn't even look embarrassed, just reluctant. He kept smiling, kept staring. "I really appreciate you accepting my apology. So much."
Draco had no idea what to say. That was a little too much gratitude. Honestly, Potter was making him uncomfortable.
Weasley and Granger made Potter move, and they left with big strained smiles in Draco's direction. Somehow, Potter still managed to brush his shoulder against Draco in an odd, awkward movement that Draco suspected was deliberate.
What the fuck was that?
Potions that could induce love or desire made people irrational, mad with it. There was no reasoning with them. Potter wouldn't let himself be dragged away if he was under the influence. And this — whatever it was — seemed to affect Potter only when he was touching Draco. That made no sense. And Potter wasn't trying to run away from him anymore but was actively prolonging their touching. Although, maybe that was just because now Potter knew Draco hadn't done anything nefarious. But even so, what was going on in Potter's head? Did he decide he liked the feeling so much he was using Draco's touch to get off or something? That was disturbing. And unlike Potter. Unless there was something wrong with his brain. That could be it. Maybe this curse damaged his brain.
Daphne appeared next to him. "Are you happy now?"
"Shockingly, no." He was confused. Something was going on here. Something terribly strange.
Another student approached them. "That was really shitty of Potter," he said.
Draco blinked at him. It was one of the seventh-years; they had classes together. Draco didn't even know his name, but he knew a Ravenclaw when he saw one. Well, of course. He waited for everyone to leave before expressing his support. Smartarse.
"I agree. It was very shitty of Potter," Draco said loudly.
The Ravenclaw glanced around nervously, gave Draco a weak smile, and fled.
"You know, it wouldn't hurt you to be nicer to people," Daphne said.
Draco was staring at the Gryffindors — Potter had shaken off Granger's and Weasley's restraining hands and now they stood at the far end of the corridor, bickering.
"I am being nice," Draco said. "I was utterly humiliated and decided to be the bigger person. I'm very proud." Potter and his friends finally turned a corner and disappeared from view. Draco looked back at Daphne. "You saw that, right?"
"Potter apologising and shaking your hand?" she asked slowly. "Yes, it happened."
"Yes, but… It lasted too long, the handshake. Didn't it?"
"I-I suppose it was a bit long. Is that relevant? Do you think it's a contest? Is someone handing out prizes for the longest handshake?"
"No, he—" Draco hesitated. She was already talking to him like she thought he had lost his mind. "He's not well."
"Yes, he's cursed. I don't think he's limping around for fun."
Draco sighed. No one saw what he saw. They weren't looking properly. He supposed now he would have to redouble his efforts. Watch Potter like a hawk, figure this out. Find a way to sneak in another touch. Observe the reaction.
However, it turned out he didn't even have to bother.
Somewhat expectedly, people were much nicer to Draco from then on. They were saying hello to him in the corridors, even trying to start mundane conversations. It was mostly girls, who were certainly barking up the wrong tree, but Draco liked the attention anyway, and he even stopped using hair gel as that seemed to be a popular decision.
Potter always smiled at him and nodded whenever he saw him, which was nice, or would have been if that was all Potter did, but Potter definitely did more than that.
It was painfully unsubtle, all the ways Potter tried to touch him. His best excuse seemed to be to start wobbling on his crutch when in Draco's vicinity, as though he was about to fall over and then had to catch himself by grabbing Draco's shoulder or arm. Honestly, it was quite smart because Draco couldn't jump away or refuse him without looking like a complete dick.
The touch always lingered and Potter was always apologetic, always saying, "Sorry, a bit unsteady," and "Oh no, not again." Granger and Weasley never tried to stop him because Potter stopped himself; it never went on for too long, but they were always watching, looking like they swallowed a lemon.
"Do you think he's crushing on you?" Daphne asked out of nowhere one day after Potter went by their desk in Charms and, per usual, nearly fell over only to steady himself on Draco's shoulder with another "Sorry."
Daphne no longer thought Draco was losing it, but now she'd gone mad herself.
"Oh certainly," Draco said. Honestly, he was getting uncomfortable. If Draco's touch was sexually pleasing to Potter, then him constantly seeking it out in public was just shocking. There had to be another reason. He seemed so normal otherwise. Maybe he was cursed to be awkward and unsteady around Draco. Maybe that was the curse that got his leg. Wobbling next to Death Eaters. Actually, that could be it. That could be a curse. Odd reactions near Death Eaters. Get near one and lose your mind. That could exist.
"I mean, it has to be deliberate," Daphne added. "He walks by you when he doesn't have to. Goes out of his way."
That was true. All right, maybe just seeing a Death Eater got his brain all messed up.
"And he's so polite about it," Daphne went on. "Always smiling like that."
A clear sign of madness.
"How else to explain it?" she asked. "Sweet smiles and constant touching, that's the definition of flirting."
Daphne's insistence managed to annoy him, even though it wasn't her fault. She didn't know the whole story. Although, neither did Draco. He was doing something to Potter, somehow. That was all he knew. "If Potter was into blokes," he said, "we'd know it by now. He's part of that whole 'everyone's welcome' lot. He'd wear it like a badge of honour; he wouldn't hide it. And he was always surrounded by girls. Patil in fourth year. Chang in fifth. Lovegood and the Weasley girl in sixth. And let's not forget all the things Romilda Vane was saying about him. That stuff was wild."
Daphne's eyebrows shot up. "You know too much about Potter's love life. But maybe that's just it. Too many girls. Like he was really trying to make a point."
Draco glared at the piece of fabric on his desk that he was supposed to be turning fireproof. "No. I don't believe it. He certainly wouldn't date his best friend's little sister if it was all for show."
"Well, I don't know. Maybe it wasn't deliberate. He was always preoccupied with surviving before. Maybe now he finally had the time to reflect on what he really wants."
Well… that actually sounded plausible. Draco almost forgot he knew there was something magical at play here.
Or was there? No, Draco didn't know that. Potter had a reaction to Draco's touch, a fairly wild one, and he and his friends assumed Draco had slipped Potter something, then proved he hadn't. But who else could have done it? Why? How? It made no sense. This wasn't how these types of potions and spells worked, and either way Slughorn would have reversed it by now. And if Potter's reactions weren't magical, then…
Then they were real. Why did that never occur to Draco? Daphne had made a sensible argument. Maybe Potter discovered something new about himself and lashed out at Draco because he couldn't accept it. But then he was forced to face his sudden attraction when he realised Draco had done nothing to magically fabricate it. Now Potter was flirting, and Granger and Weasley were horrified.
Was Draco crazy or did all that make sense?
No, it couldn't be true. His brain was twisting things again.
"He's staring at you," Daphne whispered, sounding fascinated.
Draco turned to glance at Potter. Sure enough, Potter was staring, but after being noticed he gave Draco a small smile and hastily looked away. His cheeks were a bit pink.
Draco stopped breathing. He forced himself to look back down at the smooth black fabric on his desk and prodded at it with the tip of his wand.
It couldn't be true. It just couldn't. Potter couldn't be interested in him. How would that happen? Did saving people get Potter's blood pumping or something? Well, it was Potter. It probably did. Oh, he saved Ginny Weasley's life too. And then he dated her. Maybe that was the fantasy. Maybe Potter was turned on by gratitude.
Draco swished his wand angrily. He wasn't that grateful to Potter. Or maybe he was. Well, if Potter asked—
"Draco!" Daphne yelled, but it was too late.
Parvati Patil screamed as her robes started smoking. Draco had distractedly waved his wand, with some vague idea to test his Charm, and he must have missed. His Fire-Making Spell hit Patil's sleeve.
Students were yelling, Flitwick came running, and Draco froze, bracing himself. Now he'd get hexed again.
"It was an accident!" Potter said, loud and clear, and everyone fell silent. "I saw it," Potter added, still loud. "Bad aim, that was all."
Draco held his breath, then remembered to say, "Sorry," to Patil. She was brushing off her robes, glaring, but the fire was extinguished and she seemed unharmed. Flitwick took a point from Slytherin and the students slowly went back to their assignments. They weren't happy, which was clear from their glares and murmurs, but accidents happened all the time and they seemed to have taken Potter at his word.
Clenching his fists to hide the fact his hands were shaking, Draco dared to glance back at Potter. Was that concern in Potter's eyes? Guilt? Yearning? What was it?
Draco looked away. Potter probably had seen what happened because he had gone right back to staring the moment Draco's back was turned.
This was stupid. Draco couldn't handle even thinking about it anymore. He had to get Potter alone and confront him. There had to be an explanation. And not the one Draco's brain was desperately trying to make.
The chance presented itself on Friday, a sunny, lazy sort of day that had Draco skipping his afternoon classes in favour of flying around the grounds and resting by the lake with a Butterbeer and scones. He purposely avoided thinking up new theories that would explain Potter's behaviour because they were getting increasingly wilder, but he couldn't stop his mind lingering on the little moments that were definitely real. Like Potter gripping Draco's hand and smiling, that blush when Draco caught him staring, the way he defended Draco in the Charms class, the incident from this very morning when Potter bumped into him in the Entrance Hall, truly taking Draco by surprise. Draco's hand had accidentally ended up on Potter's hip, and Potter seemed especially flustered and embarrassed.
And he kept staring at Draco, all the damn time. With longing glances, Draco could claim, but that would be a theory and he wasn't forming those anymore. The staring was undeniable.
Annoyed and hungry for real food, Draco hurried to the dungeons to put away his broom and then hurried back to the Great Hall. Or was planning to hurry back. Incredibly, he stumbled onto Potter, who was tucked away in an alcove, apparently studying in the dimly lit dungeons. It was beyond ridiculous. Not to mention, Draco had just gone past this spot on his way to the dormitory, and the alcove was empty, so Potter had maybe ten minutes to set up camp here with his books and parchments.
"Something wrong with your common room?" Draco asked when he reached him.
Potter looked up as though startled. "Oh, hey, Draco."
God, he was bad at faking surprise. And yet again, he called him Draco. That was undeniable too.
"I was just looking for some privacy," Potter added. "The Slytherins don't actually talk to me much, and I don't think anyone else would come looking for me here."
Bad at faking surprise, but not bad at making up almost plausible excuses.
"Skipping dinner?" Draco asked, even though he knew exactly what Potter would say and what he would do.
"Oh, it's dinnertime already?" Potter frowned and Draco braced himself. He wanted a chance, and he got it.
He waited patiently as the performance began. Potter got up, all awkward, clutching his crutch, packing up his things, throwing his backpack over his shoulder and, of course, of course, stumbling in the process. Draco was ready for it. He caught Potter easily, arm wrapped around his waist, and as Potter started apologising, Draco pushed him against the wall.
"Wait wait wait," Potter said, panicking now. He didn't expect this turn of events.
Draco pressed in, their hips aligned, their faces close.
"Come on," Potter said, "don't make me hex you." He sounded unsteady.
"Really? Can you manage that without falling down?"
Potter's jaw clenched. "You know, it's not polite to make fun of a bloke with a bad leg." He was barely looking at him. "Draco, come on." Potter pushed at Draco's chest half-heartedly. He wasn't really fighting it. He was just letting it happen.
Draco forced himself to focus on Potter's face, not the feel of Potter's body pressed against his. "Explain what you're up to," he said. "And I swear if you ask me what I mean by that, I'll blow up your crutch."
That made Potter set his jaw stubbornly and look him in the eye. "I don't know what you mean."
Well, damn. Draco was bluffing. Destroying Potter's crutch again would be excessively mean. But now that Potter was looking at him, it was easy to see Potter's composure was failing.
"How about an experiment, then?" Draco reached up and pressed his palm to Potter's bare neck. The reaction was instant. Potter moaned, his eyelashes fluttered, and his head pressed harder against the wall, neck baring even more to Draco's touch.
Good God, what was this? It was astonishing. Draco told himself he didn't want Potter ages ago, convinced himself a few stray thoughts and random fantasies were meaningless. But in this moment, he wanted him, desperately. No one could be immune to a reaction like that.
"Goddammit, Malfoy," Potter gasped, his breath hitching.
Draco was going to kiss him. He had to do it. He couldn't resist. Who cared what happened then?
"It's my leg," Potter gasped again, moving his head and neck in a way that made it hard to tell whether he was trying to get away from Draco's touch or lean into it. "When you touch me, it stops hurting."
The need to kiss Potter vanished. "What?"
Potter pushed him again, still feebly, but this time Draco stepped away. Potter was left gasping for breath. It took him a few moments to get a grip and look at Draco.
"My leg's fucked up. It hurts all the time. It hurts… a lot. And when I touch you, it stops. It just stops."
"That… That makes no sense." For more than one reason. Someone couldn't just become a pain-reliever, and it didn't explain why Potter was getting aroused by it.
"It doesn't." Potter grimaced. "And it does. Slughorn and Dumbledore—"
"Dumbledore?"
"His portrait. They think it could have something to do with… They think it's because I saved your life. That you feel indebted and your magic is trying to help me. That this is a manifestation of a life debt."
"What? That's ridiculous." If this was about the life debt, then Potter was doing it. Collecting the debt. That was essentially one of Draco's theories. Except Potter was using magic to force a payment. "I'm not doing anything. We've established that. With Veritaserum."
"Not deliberately." Potter was calmer now. There was a gentleness in his tone that set Draco's teeth on edge.
"So why are you getting off on it?" Draco gritted out. "That's a manifestation of what, exactly?" If Potter dared to suggest that was a manifestation of Draco's desire…
"I don't know," Potter said. "Slughorn said pleasure could be considered the inverse of pain, so… it's replaced by it, or something. I don't know. It's so intense sometimes. If it's a direct touch, no barrier, or if I'm not prepared for it. Maybe it's nothing you're doing. Maybe the relief is so great, my brain can't make sense of it. And it reacts weird."
Draco clenched his fists. "There are potions for pain. A whole bunch of them. Some can keep you floating on clouds for days. I can brew you some. I can buy you some if you're short on gold."
"Tried them all." Potter's voice was scratchy now. "Some worked for a bit, but not anymore."
"There must be a hundred Healers working on this. Curse-breakers."
"Yeah. I get weekly updates on their progress. Or lack thereof."
"What the hell kind of curse is it?"
"They don't know."
"They know something." Draco tried to remember what the Prophet said, but it wasn't much. "What exactly happened?"
Potter sighed. He was still leaning against the wall. "I drank too much one evening, out with my friends. Decided to take a walk in Muggle London, clear my head, get away from the crowd. Got ambushed. There were four of them, wearing Death Eater masks. They hit me with something in my left thigh. Felt… odd. But then one of them cast the Cruciatus Curse, and the others joined… It went on for a bit. Eventually, they left me there, maybe thought I was dead or dying, and my friends got worried, went looking." Potter took a heaving breath. "The Aurors can't find the Death Eaters. I can't help them. I don't know who they were. And the Healers theorise they ended up botching the curse with the Cruciatus. They think these two curses are, for some reason, incompatible, and they're basically fighting it out in my leg — that's how the Healers explained it to me when I asked for a simple answer. To me it feels like… like remnants of the Cruciatus Curse got stuck in my leg. And I feel it all the time."
Draco shuddered. He'd been struck with the Cruciatus Curse and not just once. The first time when the Dark Lord instructed him to torture one of his Death Eaters who failed at whatever he was supposed to do. Draco didn't even refuse to do it; he just couldn't. It just wouldn't work. Then the Dark Lord said Draco needed a lesson, feel it for himself. Oh, and Draco felt it. Screamed himself hoarse. His mother screamed too, begged, promised Draco had learned, he'd do better. Afterwards, Draco saw his father crying, silent; he never said a damn word. Later that night, when his mother came to his room, Draco told her his father's silence hurt more than the curse. But that was a lie. The pain of the curse was unbelievable. He imagined burning up alive must have felt like that. It was his only thought back in the Room of Hidden Things when the Fiendfyre surrounded Goyle and him: that he would die with this pain, that it would be the last thing he knew.
Of course this was how his magic wanted to pay his debts. It recognised the Cruciatus. How could it not? Draco knew it too well. And not just because he'd been cursed by it. He had cast it so many times…
Draco closed his eyes for a moment. "They weren't Death Eaters," he said. "All the ones I know, and I know many, are either dead or imprisoned... Or a Malfoy," he added quietly.
"Honestly, I don't really care. I just want them found."
Draco tried to keep his mouth shut, but couldn't. "Did they question my father?" He knew a lot of Death Eaters and Dark Lord sympathisers. And a lot of curses.
"They questioned everyone."
"No one questioned me."
"You weren't a suspect."
Then Draco's father was a suspect. If he was questioned, he was likely furious about it. He never mentioned it to Draco. It had to have happened over the summer. Father had appointments at the Ministry every other day. Mandated. "He still hates you quite a lot," Draco said, worried now that Father let it show when he was questioned. "He's scared of Azkaban, though."
"It wasn't him," Potter said. "You know everything about the restrictions placed on your father."
Yeah, Draco knew. No right to own and carry a wand, getting thoroughly searched whenever he left his house. 'Potter turned me into a Squib,' he liked to claim, resenting Draco and his mother every time they took out their wands to cast a spell. He couldn't have done this. And yet he was questioned. "Did you question him with Veritaserum too?" Draco couldn't help asking. "You acquired a taste for it? Because it just occurred to me — I was questioned, after all."
Gentleness crept into Potter's tone again when he said, "Not about the curse, about the cure."
"I'm not a cure, Potter." That sort of thing was impossible. He heard about people who owed a life debt performing unexpected acts of service that they might not manage otherwise, either by casting spells they previously had little talent for or by finding themselves in the right place at the right time, but reversing a curse that Healers and curse-breakers couldn't fix? That would have been a first. One for the history books.
"I know," Potter said quietly. "I misspoke. It just feels like a cure. When you touch me, the pain is gone. Better than any potion I tried."
That was insane. Senseless. There had to be another solution. "You should be in St Mungo's," Draco said, aware of the desperation in his tone. "Or home resting or whatever."
"Probably." Potter sighed. "It wasn't that bad at first. I thought I could come here and handle it. But it's getting worse." He looked away briefly. "Either way, getting locked up somewhere alone with the pain doesn't seem very helpful to me."
Draco could understand that, but… he couldn't deal with this. Not with Potter looking at him as though Draco was the answer, his salvation. "What do you want here, exactly?" he asked, near panic now. "I mean, what, drag me along everywhere like I'm some kind of painkiller? Like I'm a thing to use? And these other reactions you're having. I can't just— I mean, I'm not comfortable with—"
"I'm sorry," Potter said. "I am. I don't expect anything. I'll stop trying to touch you. It was inappropriate. I just, when I see you, I… It's so hard to resist. Even a second of relief means a lot."
That sounded like begging. Like Potter was trying to ask without asking for Draco to touch him sometimes, even if it was brief. But Draco's stomach was in knots. He had tried so hard to fight off the conclusion Daphne had reached. It was impossible, incredible, wild, but Draco deluded himself, hoped, wanted, only to learn he was just a painkiller to Potter. Worse, he was forcing his own desires on Potter, of course he was. There was no point in pretending anymore. Potter's brain wasn't doing that. It was Draco's rotten brain, casting a rotten spell to make his fantasy come to life. Almost like blackmail, an exchange. He offered relief from pain, but he put a price on it. He wasn't innocent, after all. He did it. He was doing it. Subconsciously, but that just made it worse. A depraved wish from the depths of Draco's soul dragged out to the surface.
And now what? Was he supposed to let Potter touch him whenever he wanted? For how long? It could take the Healers months to find a cure. Or they would never find it. Would it be long enough for Potter to start associating Draco with pleasure? Trick Potter's brain into thinking he wanted Draco? Brainwash him? What a terrible thought. Maybe Draco wanted him, but not like this.
"I'm sorry," Draco said, and Potter closed his eyes.
"I know. It's okay. I'll stop…" He waved at his books and parchments. "I'll stop making a fool of myself." He smiled a little. "It's okay," he said again, maybe comforting himself this time.
Draco turned and bolted before the violent twisting in his stomach made him retch.
*
Harry forced a smile as he entered the Headmistress' office.
McGonagall greeted him, looking very much like she wanted to hurry to his side and help him walk. She knew better, though.
Kingsley stood up with a patient smile, waiting for Harry to reach him. It took longer than Harry would have liked. Today was a bad day.
"Minister," Harry said, shaking Kingsley's proffered hand.
"Harry, please." Kingsley grimaced. "Do you know it still feels like people are mocking me when they call me that?"
"I doubt anyone is stupid enough to mock you," Harry said. Kingsley was always an impressive figure, even before he became Minister.
They sat down and exchanged pleasantries. McGonagall was quick to praise Harry's performance in school, which was absurd. She wasn't someone who needlessly exaggerated, but she must have been aware that all the teachers were lenient when marking Harry's work. Harry didn't care. Didn't care about special treatment or fairness or studying or learning new spells. He didn't care about anything except making the pain in his leg stop. He didn't care about Kingsley's troubles with the Wizengamot; he only wanted to know if the Aurors found something, anything that could help. Kingsley must have had some news or he wouldn't have come here himself. Harry wished he could skip all this talk and ask him to spit it out, but he couldn't be rude. Kingsley was trying; this wasn't his fault, even though Harry knew Kingsley blamed himself. As Minister, he felt that the obligation to keep Harry Potter safe was on him. But Harry was well aware the Aurors had been constantly following him during the summer. He had slipped them in a moment of drunken rebellion, wanting to pretend he was just some bloke who decided to walk around, someone who wasn't weighed down by fame and constant gratitude. Harry didn't blame himself for that; he blamed himself for coming back from the King's Cross station to defeat Voldemort. The rest of them could have done it without him. He had done his part. He could have been resting now, with his parents, at peace.
"We know who they are," Kingsley said, finally.
"All right." Harry tried not to sound too hopeful. Kingsley listed off names: Haddington, Fletcher, Ainsworth. They meant nothing to Harry.
"And Rookwood," Kingsley added. "It's him we caught."
Harry frowned. "He's in Azkaban."
"Senior is in Azkaban. This was his son. He's around your age."
"I don't know him." He didn't really know many Slytherins by name, but surely he'd remember a Rookwood. Augustus Rookwood was an old Death Eater, who escaped back in Harry's fifth year with Bellatrix Lestrange and the others. So many years in Azkaban. "I suppose his father barely knows him."
"Yes, well, the young Rookwood was out of the country with his mother. They returned when Voldemort took over the Ministry."
"What did he tell you?"
"Everything he knew."
Something in Kingsley's tone suggested Rookwood didn't know much about the curse. Harry didn't interrupt him to ask. This was something, even if it wouldn't be the news Harry was hoping for.
"He gave us the names of his accomplices. Unfortunately, they must have learned he was caught and assumed he would talk. They've escaped. But the whole Department is looking for them. He doesn't know which curse they used on your leg, but he knows Ainsworth had it. It wasn't cast on the spot. It was contained in a silver dart."
"Will that help with identifying the curse?" It seemed to Harry this wasn't some big discovery. The Healers had already claimed it was possible the attackers had used a cursed object rather than casting a curse on the spot.
"Every detail helps."
Harry interpreted that as a no. "If Rookwood told you everything, did he tell you their motives? Because they were angry. And I don't even know them."
Kingsley's expression was a pained grimace. "I am sorry, Harry. I know it helps to understand why. But no, their reasons weren't personal. You are a symbol of a new world, of reform, of a change that has been brewing for a long time. A change that a portion of our community disagrees with. Muggle-borns, those they call blood-traitors, half-breeds, they are all celebrating. It's them they wanted to punish. It's them they hate. They can't harm all of them, can't kill all of them. You are one person, one target, and by killing you they would harm many, kill their spirit."
"And they were prepared to risk Azkaban for it? If this curse kills me after all, will they think it was worth it? Consider themselves martyrs for a just cause?" How could people even twist themselves into thinking like that?
"If imprisoned in Azkaban for life, they would have no other comfort."
Harry wondered if Kingsley realised he didn't try to reassure Harry, tell him that of course he wouldn't die, it would all get sorted out, cure found, pain stopped.
McGonagall noticed. "It won't come to that," she said, unusually gentle. "The Ministry is close now. The curse will be identified."
Harry chanced a glance at Dumbledore's portrait. Dumbledore smiled and nodded at him. What else could he do?
"I'll keep you informed," Kingsley said. "The moment I find out something, you'll know it too. We're so much closer to the answer."
Harry nodded and thanked him and even stayed for a bit longer, had tea and biscuits, but his concentration was failing and he felt his mind slip. Making his excuses, he escaped, eager to get up because sitting down for too long seemed to agitate his leg. Not that standing helped, nor lying down. It was just a need to do something, anything to see if it would bring him relief. He felt like an injured animal that believed it was possible to run away from the pain and hide from it.
The landing of the circular staircase was quiet and barren, and Harry took a moment, leaning on the wall. No one was looking at him here. He didn't have to pretend that he could function, that he could have tea and pleasant conversation, play chess or study. Everyone was so sympathetic, so kind to him, but they simply didn't understand how much it bloody hurt. Harry could feel his mind was beginning to give in, getting closer and closer to some limit, and when that limit was crossed, Harry knew he would snap. Lose his mind and end up locked up with Alice and Frank Longbottom. Sometimes that didn't seem so bad. At least it looked like they weren't in pain. It was just sad. He didn't understand why he was being punished like this. He did his best. Maybe it wasn't enough, too many people died, but he tried. He was always trying. It wasn't fair.
God, Harry wanted to go find Draco and put a Permanent Sticking Charm on him. Why did the universe even give him that hope? It was so ridiculously impractical. Even if it wasn't Draco Malfoy, but one of his friends. Even if it was Ginny, he couldn't ask anyone to keep touching him, to put their life on hold and give Harry not only relief from the pain but pleasure. Though that part could be controlled. Maybe he didn't explain it to Draco properly. He probably didn't. It only seemed to happen with direct skin-to-skin contact or when Draco grabbed him unexpectedly. A little shoulder brush helped so much and didn't do anything else. Maybe if he explained and asked—
No. Draco had already refused, just like Harry knew he would. Ron and Hermione had almost convinced him that he was being unbearably stupid and unfair, stealing touches the way he had. That he should just talk to Draco, explain, ask for help, offer something in return, but Harry knew it was pointless. And not just because he had already fucked it up with Veritaserum. It was a bizarre request. Draco was grateful, for his life, for his freedom, enough to cast such an impossible spell. Subconscious or not, the willingness to help was there. But these side-effects… Yes, Harry could theoretically control himself if he was extremely careful, but accidents happened too easily. Once, when Draco had grabbed Harry's hip, the sudden touch somewhere so unexpected had given Harry quite a reaction. That was the risk Draco would have to be willing to take. Of course it would make him uncomfortable. Horrify him, probably. Harry couldn't blame him.
He wished he could cut off his leg. The Healers said it wouldn't help, the pain would just move elsewhere, if he were lucky. Or he'd risk tipping the scale in favour of one of these curses and he'd go insane or die. But sometimes he had a crazy urge to get the sword of Gryffindor and cut it off. Down the line, he would probably do it. When the madness took hold.
Voices sounded outside in the corridor and Harry pushed off the wall, gripping his crutch. He didn't want to be caught here moping by someone.
He decided to walk to the lake. A very bold decision and one he would regret later, but it was still sunny outside and the Prophet threatened with rain and cold weather next week. Maybe this was Harry's last chance to enjoy the view of the sunlit castle and the calming green of the grounds.
The trip was slow and harrowing. He met several students along the way and they all wanted to say a few words; Harry had to smile and linger and pretend he was well. When he finally reached the lake, he all but collapsed under the shade of a large tree, sighing in small relief that extending his leg and leaning on the trunk gave him. The ground was chilly and it would have been wise to Conjure a fire, but he didn't have the energy for it. Maybe he'd get a cold and die.
His solitude didn't last long. He saw Ginny walk towards him and considered escaping, but he didn't feel like getting up and she'd probably catch him anyway. She'd been trying to catch him alone for days now, ever since Hermione, presumably, told her what Draco's touch did to him.
She sat down, bumping her shoulder against his.
"Our tree," she commented.
It was. They kissed a lot under it back in Harry's sixth year.
"We never marked it," he said. "We should have. H and G, sitting under a tree."
"I would have written H and G forever, back then."
"So would I," Harry said honestly.
She was silent for a bit, and then she seemed to take a breath. "Harry, I've been thinking. Do you think—"
"Please don't," Harry groaned. "I don't want to talk about it."
She hesitated for a second. "All right," she said, sounding resigned.
She didn't leave though and Harry reconsidered. "Fine. What? What were you thinking?" He didn't want to discuss this, but he supposed it was only fair to let her speak her mind.
"It's just, well, Hermione said Malfoy is unknowingly trying to heal you, help you. And he didn't even know how much pain you're in. He didn't know you needed help. Like, his magic was just helping with whatever you needed help with. So maybe, in the same way, he's trying to help with… the other thing. It's strange, right? That he can just touch you and… you know. I realise Slughorn offered an explanation, but I thought maybe this is another possibility."
Right. "You didn't tell Hermione anything, did you? About us. And our problems?"
"Of course not!"
"So much indignation," he couldn't help commenting, "when the two of you clearly talked about me." Not only talked, but clearly made their own conclusions. It wasn't like Harry described in detail just how effective Draco's touch was. Not to Ron and especially not to Hermione. Though his embarrassment likely made it obvious Draco's touch didn't just make Harry's heart beat a little faster.
"Well, I thought you were crushing on Malfoy, so she explained. Would you rather I kept believing that?"
Harry snorted. Although, it wasn't really funny. He'd happily date Draco Malfoy right now. He'd do anything. Well, not anything. Not while he was thinking straight. But in certain moments, yes, anything. Cut off his leg, date Malfoy. The latter was more appealing than the former. Which was interesting. A year or two ago, if someone had told Harry to choose between losing a limb and dating Malfoy, he'd run to get a chainsaw.
God, dating Malfoy would be terribly practical. Maybe that was the approach Harry should have taken. It would ease the awkwardness. Maybe Draco was grateful enough to go for it. It seemed to happen to a lot of people. Harry kept getting love letters, from girls, mostly, but a few boys had written him too, with propositions. That had been a shock. Not as big of a shock as fully grown adults writing him love letters. People Harry barely knew or never met in his life. How funny. Some complete strangers wanted to marry him, the others wanted him to die suffering. None of them bothered to meet him first.
He could only hope he would never be that far gone to try to turn Draco's gratitude into something more. Luckily for Draco, Harry wouldn't know how to seduce someone, especially if his heart wasn't in it and he was doing it out of desperation.
"I doubt he's unknowingly trying to fix my… performance issues," he said. "It's just some kind of side-effect. Slughorn could be right. He was making sense." He wished they would stop talking about this. If only he had run away. "Ginny, I'm not doing it on purpose. It's so intense. I can't help my reactions."
"I'm not blaming you!" she said fiercely. "It's magic. I get it. I don't feel threatened or something."
Maybe. But she was confused. So was Harry. After the war, after things settled down, they could finally be together. That part should have been uncomplicated. It was what they both wanted — find comfort in each other. Except Harry couldn't get hard, not even a little. Theoretically, it could have been something physical. He didn't know. He never went to see the Healers about it, even when Ginny begged him. And she begged him because Harry was embarrassed and angry and she took the brunt of it. Until he finally let her go. Or cast her away as Ginny claimed. Either way, it was the right thing to do. Ginny wanted to move on and live her life to the fullest, not be saddled with a fucked up, angry boyfriend.
"It's just…" Ginny sighed. "I did tell you. We could have worked it out. We wanted too much, too soon. We weren't ready."
It was kind of her to say we. Harry wanted too much, too soon. Ginny kept saying it was fine, he shouldn't push himself, he should give himself time. But Harry felt like he was already behind schedule. He never had the time before for a proper relationship, for sex, which, as he found out, people were having. Everyone paired off after the war. Some lasted, some didn't, just post-war summer flings. Neville and Hannah were all over each other at one point. Lavender and Michael Corner. Ron and Hermione, of course. They were all doing it. Worse, students were doing it before the war, right here in school. Ginny did all sorts of things with Dean, in her fifth year. Harry was the only one scandalised by that. Well, Ron would be if he knew. Teenagers had sex. Harry knew that. He just wasn't one of them. He was obsessing about Voldemort and it passed him by. And then Voldemort was gone and Harry was supposed to move on. But he couldn't.
And now suddenly he could. Draco Malfoy resolved the problem with a simple touch. There was some fucked up irony in that.
"I'm sorry," he said because what else could he say? "I'm sorry things turned out the way they did. It's bizarre. I know it is."
"But that was always the problem." She huffed. "You not realising you don't owe me an apology. Not for that. You know, I'm happy for you. You were so bothered by it. But now… I mean, clearly everything works just fine. Whatever the cause, at least you know that. It's a good thing to know. For the future."
Right. The future. How incredibly comforting to know he could, theoretically, have sex in the future. All he had to do first was fight off madness and death. He wished he could go back to those two months when not getting it up was his big problem, causing him embarrassment and misery. How stupid of him. At least Ginny was spared of this. She was freed before the curse. Wasn't tied to any responsibility to carry all of Harry's burdens. It would be easier for her to truly move on, after…
"There is a future for you, Harry," she said quietly. She knew his thoughts. "Please don't lose hope."
He forced a smile. He had to. He didn't want to make anyone miserable. Especially not her. "Of course there is. I got twenty-seven marriage offers. Now that the equipment's working, I might accept all of them. There's an elderly witch in Devon who offered me lessons on love-making. Will visit her first."
"That's not funny." She laughed anyway.
Harry snorted. "It's objectively hilarious. Her letter was very polite. I think she's sixty or something. Imagine all that experience."
"Stop!" Ginny said, still torn between amusement and dismay. "You know, I was the first one to write you a love letter. A poem even. Makes me your first and biggest fan."
"Eyes as green as a fresh pickled toad," he said solemnly. "My favourite verse in the universe. True poetry."
"I was possessed. I blame Voldemort for those verses. He got a toad in there. Funny bastard." She was smiling as she reached for his hand and stroked his fingers. "Why can't my touch help you? You saved my life too."
That would have been simpler, though not simple. Terrible to drag her back in like that. Awkward after everything. Though not nearly as awkward as having Draco Malfoy pleasuring him with a few random touches.
He shrugged. "Dumbledore said since Draco managed to cast such a powerful spell accidentally and wandlessly, it's essentially not dissimilar to what magical children do before they learn to control their magic and deal with their emotions. It suggests a great emotional turmoil. Basically, all his guilt and confusion and trauma fucked up his magic and focused it on me, thanks to the life debt."
Ginny pursed her lips. "Did Dumbledore say fucked?"
"He did." Harry nodded. "He also said, 'They gave me a small fucking hat and now my ears are cold.'" She giggled.
Dumbledore hadn't used any profanities, but he had complained about his hat. Twice now, with exactly the same words. Harry avoided talking to him after that, unless he needed information.
Eventually, Ginny grew serious again. "Did you talk to Malfoy? Is he still refusing to help?"
Harry supposed that was unfair, calling it refusal to help. If their roles were reversed, would Harry help him? He'd probably think Malfoy was messing with him. Wouldn't believe he was in this much pain. "He's avoiding me. Not even looking at me. Freaked out, I'm guessing." Harry stayed away as promised. God, that was difficult.
"Maybe, given time—"
"Don't," Harry said. "I don't want to give myself hope. We never liked each other, to put it mildly. And he's dealing with his own stuff; he has his own choices to make. I don't know which way he'll go, and if he chooses to stay the same spoiled, bigoted prick, I'll blame him for that, but I can't blame him for this. He's still a person, not a potion I can just take."
"He could be kind," Ginny said quietly.
Harry leaned back on the tree and closed his eyes. "He wasn't taught to be kind." His mind was slipping again. His thoughts muddled. There was a range to the intensity, from almost manageable to near insanity. No reason to it. It came in irregular waves. Nighttime was the worst. Wave after wave of pain, no pause in between, probably because he fell asleep when it lessened slightly so it always seemed continuous.
"Solitude or company?" Ginny whispered. "Truth now."
"I think I'll sit here for a bit longer. Alone. Sorry."
"Shh, it's all right." She kissed his cheek, got up and left.
And then it was just him and the pain and the sun on his face. Maybe if it was warmer he could enjoy it, focus on that, sleep.
It didn't take long for Harry to wish he hadn't sent Ginny away. He wanted company. It was a distraction. Sometimes it was hard to concentrate and carry on a conversation, but that was the distracting part that forced him to think about something else.
Honestly, he didn't know what he wanted. Maybe he could get up and run. Show the stupid leg. He was always so careful with it, not putting too much weight on it, not keeping it bent too long. It still hurt. Maybe he should break it. Mess it up so bad they would have to cut it off. Maybe the Healers were wrong and he'd be freed from both curses. Could be worth the risk.
Ginny came back. Harry heard her sit down next to him. She must have realised he would change his mind. Good thing, too. Taking his Firebolt for a spin was becoming more and more tempting with every—
The pain stopped. Someone pressed against his shoulder and the pain stopped. It wasn't Ginny, then.
Harry's eyes flew open. Draco was right beside him, pale, jaw tight, sitting close enough for their shoulders to touch but not too close. It was more than enough. It was bliss.
"That working?" Draco asked, voice hoarse as though he spent a long time without speaking.
"Yeah." Harry must have said it too breathlessly because Draco's eyes narrowed.
"And the other thing?"
"No," Harry said quickly. "Not like this. Only when it's…" This was his chance to explain better. "Direct contact does… the other thing. Not a light one like this, through clothes."
Draco's cheek seemed to twitch. He nodded. "All right then. I have homework," he added, and it took Harry too long to make sense of that statement. He was in near-delirium from sheer relief. Draco had a book with him. "It's Runes," Draco said when he noticed Harry looking at it. "I have a whole chapter to read."
"All right."
"I need peace and quiet." There was a definite sharpness to that declaration.
"Yes, of course," Harry agreed. He'd agree to anything.
Draco opened his book and leaned back, settling in. His shoulder and upper arm were more firmly pressed against Harry's now.
Horrifyingly, Harry's vision blurred. "Thank—"
"Shut up," Draco snapped, not looking at him.
Harry did so, leaned back and closed his eyes. Draco wasn't looking at him; he could let the tears fall now. He forgot how it felt to exist like this, without pain. And it wasn't just a few stolen moments, it went on for a while. Draco was right there, reading his book, and Harry's tears dried up. He opened his eyes, afraid he'd fall asleep and let this precious time go to waste. He watched the other students instead, laughing, flying, kissing, playing games. He didn't even envy them.
For the first time in the last two months, he was happy to be alive.
Chapter 3: The Enemy's Den
Notes:
I know, my posting schedule is weird. Monday? What even. But this chapter is a little bit shorter, around 9K, and I went through it pretty quickly. And the next one doesn't seem to need many interventions, so I'll likely post it on… Friday? You guys are so awesome you made me ignore everything this weekend in favor of getting the next chapter ready. I have nothing clean to wear, but eh.
Chapter Text
Eventually, Draco closed his book. "It's getting dark. And it's cold."
It was true. The clouds started gathering. Too early. The rain was supposed to hit them in the night, not at dinnertime. The Prophet was still untrustworthy.
They could have cast charms, warmed up, lit their wands. Harry could have suggested it, but Draco was aware of all that. He helped, he had enough, and he wanted to stop now. Get back to his life. It had to end, Harry knew that. It was fitting that it should end when the sun was about to set.
"Yeah, it's— You should go to dinner," Harry said. "I'll stay here for a bit longer." He told Ginny the same thing, to release her.
Draco lingered; Harry didn't dare to look at him. He couldn't be the one to break contact. He wasn't strong enough for that. Every second mattered.
"Do you think the house-elves serve better food at the Gryffindor table?" Draco asked nonsensically. "I bet you're their favourites. You know, allies and whatnot."
"I— think they take too much pride in their work to deliberately botch something." Harry tried not to be argumentative, but he honestly thought the idea that house-elves made that kind of distinction when preparing meals was ludicrous.
"I mean," Draco said, "I could check. Make sure."
Amazing. Harry was actually stupid. Draco was offering to come with him to the castle, sit with him at dinner. That was kind. Too kind. Harry couldn't accept it.
"People might find it strange," he said.
"Would that bother you?" There was anger in that question. Draco thought Harry wouldn't want to be seen with him or something.
Harry turned his head to look at him. "I can't even begin to explain how much that wouldn't bother me."
Draco turned his head too, to look back at him, and… this was exactly the kind of problem Harry imagined would happen if Draco agreed to help. They were too close, sharing the same air, as lovers would, and they weren't even friends. Harry wasn't bothered; Harry was in heaven. But Draco could be, would be, maybe already was. It was a big ask.
"I don't care," Draco said. "I'm a Death Eater who got away. So no one really likes me. I was interesting for maybe two weeks when you apologised and shook my hand."
Was that Draco's motivation then? He hoped people would like him better if he helped Harry? That was good. It meant Draco could get something out of this.
"What do we say when they ask a million questions?" Maybe Draco had a plan of some sort, instructions on what Harry should say to make Draco look better, make him more popular. Harry would do it. He was ready for anything.
Draco shrugged. "We tell them to fuck off and mind their own business."
Ah. Harry wasn't ready for anything after all. And Draco wasn't trying to win a popularity contest. Or he was putting up a front.
"I can't tell my friends to fuck off. They're all so worried. They care." Maybe he was brave enough to refuse because he wasn't in pain right now. Maybe when Draco told him to fuck off and left, Harry would run after him.
Draco huffed impatiently. "Fine. Whatever. Tell them the truth. What else is there to say?" He snorted. "Want to tell them we're dating?" He pursed his lips and made smooching sounds. "Gonna have to kiss me, Potter." He laughed at his own joke. "Or we tell them I've invented a cure because I'm so brilliant. But it's the kind of cure where you have to touch me all the time, because, you know, that wouldn't make me look like an incredible creep..." His voice broke off and he looked away.
Harry would agree to all of that. He'd happily kiss Draco right now out of sheer gratitude, but Draco was clearly uncomfortable.
"So… we tell them about the life debt?" Harry asked. He had to make sure that was what Draco wanted. He didn't want to make a mistake.
"Obviously. I don't want to make up tales. That sounds exhausting. It would stress me out eventually."
"All right." Harry mulled over that statement: It would stress me out eventually. His brain was sluggish today. Everything Draco just said, about pretending to date, inventing the cure, getting stressed out, even the truth about the life debt, it all sounded like long-term planning. Not a quick excuse they could give to explain why Draco was at the Gryffindor table by Harry's side today. That was what Harry was asking.
Did this mean there was more to come? More relief, more painless minutes, maybe hours. Slowly, Harry sucked in a breath and then released it even slower. He was possessed by a wild urge to thank Draco again, but Draco had made it clear he didn't want to hear it.
"I mean…" Draco was looking down at his hands. "You could maybe not mention why I was in the Room of Hidden Things. Seems like not many people know. The Wizengamot didn't know."
That was true. Harry had told the Aurors that Vincent Crabbe destroyed the Room of Requirement with Fiendfyre and died there, but he hadn't mentioned Draco and Goyle. They acted out of fear, did what a whole bunch of Slytherins wanted to do — give Voldemort what he asked for to save themselves. Out of everything Draco had ever done and said that was easiest to understand. The Ministry could have seen it differently. It could have hurt Draco's chances during his trial.
"We could say you were there to offer help," Harry said. Ron and Hermione would back them up, without question. So would Ginny. Neville knew the whole story too. He'd probably go along with it if Harry asked. Or begged. No one else knew, if Harry remembered right. So much had happened, there was so much to tell. Draco Malfoy succumbing to fear was… less relevant. Not an exciting tale, just a sad one.
Draco laughed a little and twitched his shoulder. "It works that well, does it? Want to also tell them we used Polyjuice to switch and it was actually I who defeated the Dark Lord?"
Voldemort, Harry wanted to correct him but held his tongue. Well, this was an interesting hypothetical question — how far would Harry go to get rid of this pain? Draco was likely joking, but still, Harry wouldn't agree to it. Pain or no pain, this curse might end up killing him anyway. At least he would leave something behind. There was value in that. Not for Harry, he'd be dead, but for everyone else. He was supposed to be a symbol or whatever. He didn't want to be a symbol; he wanted to be Harry, but it was too late now. Kingsley had a point. His death could disillusion many. Piling on lies on top of it would make it even worse. Problem was, it was easier to think now, earlier he hadn't been this rational.
"You might not like that," Harry said. "It would make you a target. The consequences aren't fun."
Draco looked away again. "No one would believe I helped with anything."
"But you did. You refused to identify me back when the Snatchers got us and took us to your house." Harry mentioned that part to the Wizengamot, in his letter.
"Refused," Draco repeated in a mocking tone. "Strong word for a few moments of hesitation. Besides, I regretted it. Thought it over later. Maybe if I had told Bella it was definitely you, it would somehow change the sequence of events, and you wouldn't have taken my wand and escaped. And the Dark Lord wouldn't have punished us for it. I promised myself not to make the same mistake twice." Even now he sounded bitter. It was hard to tell why — for hesitating in identifying them or succumbing later and trying to deliver Harry to Voldemort.
"If I hadn't escaped and taken your wand, Voldemort might still be undefeated. Some things are worth a little pain." He thought about that. "I guess some things are worth a lot of pain."
"So…" Draco swallowed. "No regrets, even now, after this?"
"A million regrets, for not doing more. But yeah, I don't regret getting rid of him, even now. I mean, right this second. Ask me again when you're not this close. I might tell you I regret I was ever born."
Draco didn't say anything for a while, and Harry didn't want to push him. He wished he knew what was going on in Draco's head.
No, he knew. Draco told him under Veritaserum. He was looking for kindness. But so was Harry. Draco had a way to give it; Harry didn't know how to offer it in return.
"I told Pansy and Blaise I went there to hide," Draco said eventually. "We could go with that. It's plausible enough."
"We can do better than that."
Draco scrambled to his feet. The loss of contact caused a twinge in Harry's leg, but the pain didn't flare up. His panic did, however. He wasn't sure if he had said the wrong thing and Draco changed his mind.
"Tell them whatever you want," Draco said, and Harry relaxed a bit, even though Draco sounded annoyed. "Come on, I'm freezing. Do you need help getting up or something?"
"No, it's fine," Harry said quickly and reached for his crutch. It took a while to get himself upright, but it wasn't as hard as Harry thought it would be. The effects of Draco's touch seemed to linger. Though putting some weight on his leg made it hurt again.
"Do your friends even know how much pain you're in?" Draco moved to Harry's right side and grabbed his forearm, near the wrist, clearly careful not to touch Harry's skin. The pain lessened immediately. It wasn't entirely gone though. Harry only realised it now when he was standing. It was definitely manageable, incomparable to how much it hurt without Draco's touch, but not exactly perfect. Skin-to-skin would likely be perfect, but that subject was closed. They had established boundaries, and Harry was more than happy with what he got.
He neglected to answer Draco's question because he was too wrapped up in finding the best way to walk, trying not to put too much weight on his leg.
The delay must have prompted Draco to expand on his question. "I mean, the Slytherins don't know, I can tell you that. Some of them think you're faking it, others think it's just a limp, you know? Leg's fucked and you can't be an Auror so you're angry at the world. Some are hoping it hurts. And some, well, they just agree with everything, so who knows what they really think."
"Which group did you belong to?" Harry asked.
"Second one."
Right. Angry at the world because he couldn't be an Auror. Harry supposed he was angry about that, though it got pushed down on his list of priorities, like everything else.
"The Gryffindors know," Harry said, though it always seemed to him no one knew how much it hurt. But they knew he was in great pain, and the curse he'd been struck with was dangerous, threatening with more than just pain. Harry knew it by the careful way they spoke to him, always smiling, encouraging, kind. Some of them full of pity, others genuinely scared for him. "Guess I'm a better actor than I thought," he mused. He tried not to show it, not in front of the whole school, but he had spent hours in the Gryffindor common room sprawled in a comfy armchair by the fire, eyes closed, focused on breathing in and breathing out, listening to his friends talk and laugh and grumble. They tried to give him space at first, leave him be, keep quiet and away, but he told them he preferred them close. It was a comfort, to be surrounded by friends, to pretend he was a part of the life they were living, and when it got too much, he'd leave for the dormitories and no one tried to stop him.
"This isn't working." Draco let go of Harry's arm. "You look like you're in pain. Why is that?" He sounded irritated. "Am I helping or not? I can't tell."
Harry's mind scrambled to find the words to explain, in the nicest way possible, that Draco was dragging him and making it hard to walk. Harry got accustomed to walking with the crutch, but Draco was throwing off his balance, which meant Harry ended up putting his full weight on his leg and then it hurt.
"I—" Harry began, but then quickly changed his mind. He was complicating things. The pain was manageable. There was no need to look for perfection. "I got confused. I forgot I don't really need the crutch now." He lifted the crutch up to hold it.
Draco frowned, huffed a little, and grabbed Harry's arm again.
Harry gritted his teeth and forced himself to walk normally. This was nothing compared to how it hurt before. He could withstand it.
Ten steps later, Draco huffed again and pulled away. "You're not a good actor, Potter."
Dammit. Now Harry had no choice; Draco could get annoyed enough to leave. "It's— you're kind of dragging me. And it still hurts a little when I walk. But it doesn't matter," he added quickly. "It's loads better, either way."
A deep frown knitted Draco's eyebrows together. "You're so— You should have told me that," he snapped, looking ready to walk away in a huff, but instead he offered up his arm. "I can't know what you— Honestly, Potter. Just grab me and lean or whatever."
Carefully, Harry gripped Draco's arm, the way Draco had gripped his earlier, near the wrist but careful not to touch skin. Draco kept his arm bent at the elbow and firm, so Harry could lean on it, though he tried not to, not too much. This was better. He could use his crutch now and set the pace.
Draco couldn't seem to stop grumbling. "You had no problem falling all over me up until recently and now suddenly you can't even explain what you need. I mean, if I'm helping, then I'm helping. If I'm not, then why would I even bother.? And you acting like—"
"You are helping," Harry hurried to interject. "There's an enormous difference between horrible pain and manageable pain."
Draco fell silent after that. Maybe he realised what would make Harry's leg stop hurting entirely, and he didn't want to prod further.
It was a long walk and several students went past them, giving them odd looks, but it seemed no one dared to say anything. They probably didn't know what to ask and how to ask it.
The Great Hall was already packed; they were late. It seemed to Harry that conversations died down when they entered, and a hushed whisper spread around the hall as they made their way towards the Gryffindor table. Harry threw caution to the wind and hurried a little.
Ron and Hermione spotted them instantly, eyes round, and they quickly made space for Harry and Draco to sit right between them.
There was a strange awkward moment where Harry automatically moved to sit beside Ron, because Ron was on his left, but Draco almost pushed him towards Hermione so he could sit down next to Ron instead. Harry nearly stumbled and fell after getting manhandled like that.
"Sorry," Draco said. "But your left leg is hurt. I thought this would be better. I don't know. Maybe."
Harry didn't know what to say to that. It didn't occur to him; he was surprised it occurred to Draco. He sat down and Draco pressed closer, his thigh flush against Harry's thigh. And that was better. All that walking worsened the pain and now it was bliss again. He didn't realise he closed his eyes, but when he opened them he found a whole bunch of his classmates staring at Draco.
All of them usually stuck together: Dean, Seamus and Neville, Lavender and Parvati. Ginny was always close too, with some of her seventh-year friends. They all stopped talking. Only Ginny was beaming at him. Draco served himself dinner, not looking at anyone.
"Is it a mix-and-match sort of day?" Seamus asked, watching Draco eat as though he'd stolen the food from him personally.
"Then I could go sit with the Slytherins," Ron joked and waved at the Slytherin table. Harry looked back to see many Slytherins frowning.
Draco gave them a glance too. "We could tell them we're dating," he said, not overly quiet. "It would be hilarious."
"You're dating?" Parvati asked, looking ready to faint. She must not have heard Draco properly, or pure shock forced her to focus on the word dating alone.
It would be funny, Harry thought, but instead he said, "Draco is helping me out." That got everyone's attention on him, so he hurried to explain before the Gryffindors got all worked up about this and chased Draco away. He kept it brief and simple, and a little vague. He saved Draco's life during the Battle of Hogwarts, it resulted in strange unexplored life debt magic, and now Draco being close helped with the pain. End of story. Not the end of questions. Ron and Hermione had to confirm it. Ginny pitched in with lots of "Shut up! He just told you it's helping him," sort of statements, and Harry had to mention talking to Dumbledore, but they accepted it.
"I'm not in pain anymore, after all this time," were the magic words that got all of them to shut up. Maybe it wasn't the words, but the unsteadiness in Harry's voice.
If only Draco said something, maybe that would help, shorten the conversation, prove that he meant well, but Draco wasn't speaking, wasn't looking at anyone; he was entirely focused on eating his dinner. Slowly, everyone went back to their food and conversations, and a murmur spread over the Gryffindor table: the ones close enough to hear everything recounting what they had heard to the others who were too far away. Harry could only hope the tale wouldn't get twisted and changed into something bizarre and untrue by the time it reached the other Houses. Not for his sake but for Draco's.
"Where were you today?" Hermione asked, sounding a little strained, likely trying her best to start a conversation and make things less awkward. And it was awkward. Harry didn't have a clue how to behave now, what to talk about, with Draco Malfoy right there.
"Sitting under a tree," Harry said, fearing he had just ended the conversation.
"Earlier, after lunch, Harry," Hermione said exasperatedly, sounding more like herself. "You got some note and left."
"Oh." That felt an eternity away. Back then he was lost in his pain and now he was alive again. For a second he was hesitant: he didn't know if Draco would be upset if he started talking about Death Eaters, or rather Voldemort sympathisers, in front of him, but if that were the case, then this would never work. They all tried to not talk about the war too much, but it happened, all the time. And this particular incident was a frequent topic — everyone wanted Harry's attackers to get caught. They knew what it could mean. "Kingsley came to see me," he said.
Neville abandoned his apparently hilarious conversation with one of Ginny's friends, Emily, a pretty girl with long bangs and the rest of her brown hair up in a long ponytail. "Is there news?" Neville asked. "Did they get them?"
All eyes were on him again, and Harry had to tell another story. He didn't even mind. His voice was steady, he could talk normally, think normally. He felt like himself again.
"Bloody weird, that is," Ron said when Harry was finished. "Was that kid avenging his father? I mean, Rookwood, he was one of the nastiest. His son would have been better off if he'd stayed where he was. Now they get to rot in Azkaban together."
"Well," Hermione said, "if I had never met my father and I finally got a chance, even if it's because he broke out of prison, I would want to meet him."
"Meet him, sure," Dean said. "But not let him ruin my life. Parent or not, he doesn't get to do that."
Draco had stopped eating. He was just sitting there, staring at his empty plate. This was upsetting him, but Harry couldn't make everyone shut up. He definitely couldn't make Dean shut up. Dean wasn't very happy with Harry. He had vehemently disagreed with Harry's decision to help the Malfoys weasel out of Azkaban. Of course it bothered him. After everything he went through when he was on the run, he ended up as the Malfoys' prisoner together with Harry, Ron and Hermione. Dean conceded that Draco had been scared and hesitant when asked to identify them, but he still called Harry a fool. "You think he's the first racist bully I met?" he asked. "I met plenty of them in the Muggle world. They just hate me for a different reason there. But they're all the same. They don't change. Yeah, no shit his parents fucked him up. It's how it goes. If you wanted to give him a chance, you should have left his parents in Azkaban."
Harry had disagreed. He had argued that would only turn Draco bitter. And Harry did owe Narcissa Malfoy. And, ultimately, he felt like defiance to Voldemort, no matter how late it came, no matter how hesitant, should be rewarded. Should have a positive outcome to inspire others, in the future, if another Dark Lord tried to ensnare people.
"That's a nice little dream you have," Dean had said with a sigh. "Good luck with it."
Dean had dropped the matter eventually, but now Harry brought it back up himself. Almost literally shoved it in Dean's face.
"Honestly," Ginny said, stabbing her sausage, "I don't particularly care what was going through that kid's mind. It was nothing sane if he managed to cast the Cruciatus Curse on Harry with so much enthusiasm."
Draco's thigh twitched and Harry worried he would bolt.
Ginny tended to speak first and think later. Harry usually loved that about her, but it had its downsides. Draco was forced to cast the Cruciatus Curse too many times, forced to mean it, encouraged to find pleasure in it. Harry knew that. Did Ginny? Did Harry ever talk to her about it? He couldn't remember now. He had failed to talk to her about too many things.
Draco shifted his weight, perhaps on the verge of getting up, but then Ron started whingeing. "Gin, come on, please don't curse. It's weird when you do it."
Ginny randomly cursed more, because of course she did, and the matter dissolved into bickering.
Draco stayed put and Harry could breathe again.
Dean didn't want to let the subject go. "It's a shame all they got was some messed up little fucker who barely knows anything," he said. "The others are the real deal. I bet they used him to boost their numbers. Throw him under the bus, if something goes wrong. And he, like an idiot, was all proud and grateful for being included."
Harry closed his eyes. That was an obvious dig at Draco, who was once proud of being included in the top ranks. Dean just wanted to indirectly call Draco an idiot.
There was no time to worry if Draco would flee now, because Draco finally spoke. "Ainsworth is pretty bad," he said and everyone fell silent.
"You know him?" Harry asked. He didn't know why he was surprised. He shouldn't have been.
"Saw him at a few parties."
"What, Death Eater parties?" Parvati asked.
Draco gave her a look that had her leaning back a little. "Regular parties. You know, social events."
"Right," Seamus said confrontationally. "Anyone get killed at those parties?"
Harry winced. He had to get Seamus alone, explain things better, explain what Draco being here meant to him.
"Only a few lambs prior," Draco said in his lazy drawl. "They like to gorge, the rich, after a few bottles of wine."
Seamus and Dean grimaced, and Harry hurried to ask, "What sort of person is he?"
Draco looked at him; he seemed hesitant, or he was mulling it over. "Unworthy of the Mark but very eager for it."
"Unworthy why?"
Draco shrugged. "His mother's a Squib; his father's a drunk. Too many Muggle-born ancestors, not rich enough to compensate." He frowned. "Everyone always said he… disposed of his parents. He claimed they moved to France. I believe the case is still open. Missing persons."
"Sounds like he should have been a suspect from the start," Ron said, somewhat indignantly.
"One of many," Draco said.
Harry wanted to know how many bad wizards Draco knew exactly.
"And the other two?" Hermione asked. "Did you know them?" She was the only one whose tone seemed softer when she addressed Draco. She at least understood the need to tread carefully around him. Of course she did. Harry would have to get her to help, talk to the others.
Draco shook his head.
"I knew a Haddington," Emily chimed in. "Years ago, he lived in a little house at the end of my village. He looked funny, his face was all messed up, and he'd walk around talking to himself. Mum always told me to stay away from him."
Draco pursed his lips. "Impoverished and inbred, then. Likely also unworthy and eager."
"So they are bad wizards who were proving their worth?" Emily asked. "Proving they could achieve what the worthy ones couldn't?"
Harry stared at her. There was nothing wrong with her question, or her conclusion, which was sensible. But the way she said it… Softly, not trying to be kind like Hermione, but with a drawl that matched Draco's. She even cocked her head, exposing her neck. Neville was frowning at her too. So was Ginny. Draco's eyebrows rose. Harry wasn't the only one who noticed — she was flirting. Using such a subject to do it. A polite, quiet Gryffindor girl flirting across the table with an ex-Death Eater.
This could be a problem. Not necessarily Emily — because judging by Ginny's expression, the poor girl wouldn't survive the night — but someone else. Draco wanted people to like him, be more popular; he nearly confessed as much. If doing this for Harry helped with that, and Harry even hoped it would, then Draco might have a chance to get a girlfriend. Honestly, a really good chance. He was always popular with the Slytherin girls and now the pool could widen. Maybe this was why he was suddenly wearing his hair like this, letting it fall to his cheeks. It made him look softer, more approachable.
But if Draco got a girlfriend, where would that leave Harry?
He shouldn't be thinking that, but he was. He tried to gauge the level of Draco's interest. Draco seemed to have perked up and the corner of his mouth twitched. He definitely noticed the flirting and enjoyed the attention, though he grew more serious when he said, "Well, they failed and would likely get caught."
"Wouldn't say they failed, exactly," Harry said and, horribly, he only said it to get Draco's attention and stop Emily's flirting. Maybe he could at least postpone the inevitable moment when Draco would either get a girlfriend, or grow bored of helping Harry, whichever came first.
"Clearly they did," Draco said. "The Ministry knows who they are, what they look like. They can't hide forever. The man who thought they were incompetent got knocked down too. They hardly stand a chance."
"That's a good point," Parvati said bracingly, smiling at Harry.
Harry instantly felt better. Not just because Draco chose to say something comforting and called Voldemort the man who got knocked down, but because he did it in front of others. That might endear him to the Gryffindors at least a little. And well, Draco's attention was back on Harry now.
The conversation dispersed, moved onto other subjects, and Harry dared to feel hopeful. Draco handled the conversation well. He didn't run off. He didn't get defensive. He was really trying, it seemed.
Harry ate as slowly as he could until he realised that most students around them left, even Ginny, who dragged Emily away, none too gently. Only his classmates lingered, finished with their dinner but staying put. Harry was trying to hold Draco back, make this last a little longer, but he was holding everyone back. His friends didn't want to leave him alone with Draco.
Ron finally asked the question Harry was reluctant to ask.
"Got any plans for the evening, Malfoy?" Ron sounded overly casual but normal enough. "We got a crate of Butterbeer. Among other things."
Seamus grinned at that. He probably got some alcohol and would claim he personally transformed it, but in reality had snuck out and bought it.
"We planned to have a lazy evening up in the Tower," Ron added.
"I thought I'd go out flying," Draco said.
God, Harry wanted to go out flying. He didn't want Draco to go, but it sounded like Draco refused Ron's implied invitation.
"It's too cold for that," Ron said just as Harry asked, "You want to borrow my Firebolt?"
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Ron was mouthing something at him, probably telling him he was an idiot for trying to send Draco away, but Harry couldn't focus on Ron because Draco was staring at him. Draco had strange eyes. Pale like the rest of him but with a dark ring that gave them a sharpness Harry had never noticed before. He was never this close to him. Inexplicably, Draco's cheeks tinged.
"I'll take you up on that," Draco said. "But it probably is too cold right now."
Then Draco wasn't planning on leaving him. That was extraordinary. He was waiting for a direct invitation, and it looked like no one else was going to give it. Harry hoped he could say it without sounding like he was begging, though it would be difficult, with Draco's thigh so warm against his, taking the pain away.
"You could come up to our common room with us," Harry said. "Some Butterbeer and rum would warm you right up."
His voice hitched a little, but then Seamus groaned and cursed. "Shut up about the rum, already! Eight years, for fuck's sake. I got Firewhiskey. I don't even like rum."
"Well, if it's not rum, I could come up for a bit." Draco actually smiled and Harry let out a breath. It wasn't over yet. He wished this day would never end.
Everyone cleared out soon after, with Harry being the slowest, though his leg felt pretty great, even when Draco moved away to let him stand up and arrange his crutch. Ron and Hermione lingered, following them as Harry grabbed Draco's offered forearm.
"Um," Draco said when they reached the Entrance Hall. "I'll just run to the dungeons real quick to get rid of the cloak and my book. Be right back."
Harry almost stopped him and pointed out Draco could come up in his cloak and with his book. Nobody would mess with his stuff. But maybe that wasn't true. Who knew?
"Weird," Ron commented, standing next to Harry.
"Yeah," Harry said.
Hermione grabbed Harry's arm. "Did he say anything? Why is he doing this? How long will he do it? Did he make you any promises? How's your leg?"
"My leg's good. Honestly, even now. Not sure how long the effects would last. He didn't really make any promises and didn't explain why he changed his mind. I mean, he did mention no one likes him and I think it bothers him."
"All right." Hermione nodded. "He has his own interest, then. That's good."
"Not so sure." Ron was frowning. "He could be up to something."
Hermione gave him an unimpressed look. "Are we doing that again? Really?"
Ron pulled a face. "That's just it. He could be planning his revenge."
"But he doesn't have to plan anything," Hermione said. "Not helping would be a very effective revenge. At worst, he's faking kindness, hoping to use this to get popular and get ahead, which…" She shrugged.
"Yeah," Harry said. It was a good point, though Harry would prefer it if Draco were honest with him. Harry needed him too much; Draco was surely aware. They could have reached a deal. Draco was welcome to make requests. Harry was prepared to fulfil as many as he could. Which reminded him. "Hermione, would you please tell everyone to be careful around him. Watch what they say? I can't afford to scare him off."
Hermione seemed affronted. "I think it all went rather well. Everyone was polite to him."
"I was a bloody angel," Ron grumbled.
"I mostly mean Seamus and Parvati," Harry said. "With their jokes about Death Eater parties and people getting killed there. That was unnecessary."
"It was a legitimate question," Ron said.
"It was," Hermione added. "Harry, everyone's got your back, but it's Draco Malfoy. No one trusts him, for good reason."
"You—" Harry tried to contain his indignation, but failed. "You just told off Ron for not trusting him!"
Hermione drew herself up as Ron started nodding in agreement.
"Regretting how things turned out is one thing," she said, "reflecting on your whole belief system is quite another. Not to mention, we're forcing people like Dean, who spent months on the run for having the wrong kind of blood, to share meals with one of his jailers. You can't expect this to go any smoother. I realise you're stuck with him and have to be careful. We're all aware. But we all lived through some horrible things we can't just forget."
Harry withstood her gaze, aware she was unlikely to forget being viciously tortured by Bellatrix while Draco stood there and watched. "I wasn't talking about Dean," he said quietly. "I was talking about Seamus."
"Yes, Seamus, who's indignant on his friend's behalf." She sighed. "Trust me, it's better if I don't talk to him. It would only irritate him." Her expression was full of sympathy. "Harry, Draco Malfoy just had dinner with us and no one got hexed or punched. Everyone understands, but you can't make them like it." She got on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. "See you up in the common room in a bit."
Harry wanted to discuss this further, but Draco was coming back.
Ron bumped Harry's shoulder and whispered, "Don't worry. I know how to talk to Seamus." He left after Hermione.
"Everything all right?" Draco asked when he reached him, glancing after Ron and Hermione. He was slightly out of breath, Harry couldn't help noticing. As though he had run back from the dungeons. He had even promised he'd be quick; he kept his word.
"Yeah." Harry nodded.
"And the leg?"
"Not bad. Feels well-rested."
Draco frowned. "Maybe you don't need me anymore, then."
Oh God. That wasn't what Harry meant. The leg was definitely better but…
"Um, I mean, it's a long way to the Tower."
Draco offered his arm, looking like he was trying to contain an eye roll. "You shouldn't lie, then."
Oh. Draco was teasing him. Harry wasn't sure how to react to that. He gripped Draco's arm. "I'm not lying," he said as they made their way down the corridor. "Thing is, the pain isn't always the same. When it gets really bad, the tiniest relief feels good. And it got really bad this morning, and you helped, and now it feels so much better, even when you're not… touching me. So, comparatively, it's not bad."
Draco said nothing until they reached the first staircase. Then he pulled away, looking annoyed. God, Draco was such a bundle of nervous energy, Harry found it hard to keep up.
"Here's a thought," Draco said. "A wild idea, but maybe, just maybe, your leg wouldn't hurt so damn much if you didn't climb up to the Tower every single day, possibly several times a day. Not to mention all the classes you're attending, all of them on different floors. There are such things as levitating chairs, do you not realise?"
Harry realised. They offered him such a chair at St Mungo's.
Draco went on when Harry didn't say anything. "So you are lying to everyone by pretending you can just take the stairs."
"Like I said, some things are more important."
"Like your pride?"
"No. Like not giving those unworthy wizards and others like them the satisfaction of knowing how bad they got me." That was exactly what they wanted.
Draco opened his mouth to say something but then seemed to change his mind. He sighed.
Harry waited, unsure if Draco would give up on him now. Honestly, Harry thought he was getting by all right. He often took advantage of all the shortcuts he knew, and he knew many, and between the bannister and the crutch he could climb up and down just fine on good days. Admittedly, those were getting increasingly rare.
"I mean," Harry said, "there were days I spent sitting or lying down. And the leg still hurt. I'm supposed to move around. Because if I don't, then, when the curse gets reversed, I'd be weak and it would take longer to get better." The Healers had said that; although, they had also said he should take it easy. But they didn't understand either. Harry needed to move around, not sit and wait.
Unnerved by Draco's silence, Harry added, "Why don't you go up ahead and I'll catch up? I've managed before, and now with you waiting up top, I'll have something to look forward to."
Draco gave him a sharp look at that, and inexplicably his cheeks tinged again.
Harry had no time to wonder about it because suddenly Draco grabbed his hand. The effect was instant: a jolt of pure pleasure shot through him, in waves like the pain always did, but the pain was forgotten and the inverse feeling gripped him from head to toe. This was insane. Did people feel like this when they had sex? He had experienced orgasms. This was more.
"Can you control it?" Draco asked, voice a little low. "I mean, there's zero pain now, right?"
Harry opened his eyes. God, it felt good.
"No pain," he managed. He could fly up these stairs, he surely could. No, he couldn't control it. Maybe if Draco hadn't grabbed him like that. If he had done it slowly, if— His mind did clear a bit. A tiny bit. Then a little more.
"I think, yeah, maybe." The feeling did lessen. It wasn't gone, still came in waves, made his skin hot and tingling, but it was more of a hum, spreading from Draco's touch. "Yeah, I think I can. It's… good now." He was lying again. Good was a stupid word for it. Unworthy word.
"Can we climb up, then, you know, normally?" Draco reached over and took Harry's crutch.
"Yeah," Harry said, still breathless; he couldn't help it.
This was a bad idea. Harry had thought through arguments against it. But it was also a good idea because Harry could truly walk normally. The difference between direct touch and a tentative brush through layers of clothing was startling. No twinge of pain announcing it was about to get worse, no feeling like he was dragging a tonne of lead rather than his own leg. He could skip, he could jump, he could run.
He did no such thing, of course. All his efforts were focused on forcing away the seductive pull of arousal that sent shivers down his spine. With every step it got easier. His mind was clear now and the pleasure was there, but it was just pleasant, like magic soothing him, starting from his hand and spreading all over, wrapping around him like… like a hug that Harry wanted to get lost in. But he didn't need to get lost in it. It was just there and he could enjoy it, almost lean on it as he climbed up, unable to stop smiling. He answered some of Draco's mundane questions about what kind of snacks they had and how and where they got them. He even laughed at Draco's indignation when Harry told him about the secret passage to the Honeydukes.
Ron greeted them with a "Come on, you two," at the portrait hole, which was open. They probably didn't want Draco to hear the Gryffindor password. If Ron noticed Draco was holding Harry's hand, he didn't show it.
The common room was already loud and packed. Saturday parties lasting well into the night were a tradition by now. Draco seemed a bit shocked, maybe by the noise and brightness. He squeezed Harry's hand, inadvertently, most likely, and it gave Harry another jolt of pleasure. It was curious. Almost like Harry could feel Draco's emotions when they were heightened. Although, that was exactly how Dumbledore had described it. He said Draco had lost control of his magic and his emotions. Was that what encompassed Harry's whole body then? Why was it so wonderful if Draco was in so much distress?
A wide space on the sofa near the fireplace was waiting for them and they settled in, with Draco on Harry's left. He released Harry's hand but immediately pressed his thigh snugly against Harry's. Draco was nothing if not dedicated.
It was hard not to feel bereft once Draco stopped touching Harry's skin, but it didn't really matter. That particular pleasure was gone, but Harry was surrounded by friends, his leg didn't hurt at all, for real this time, and he was in one of his favourite places in the world.
Firewhiskey was tempting and he mixed a little bit with his Butterbeer, but he didn't want to get drunk and miss these moments. He didn't know how many he'd get in the future. Draco stuck to Butterbeer and only the bottles he took directly from the crate. Letting his guard down in a room chock-full of Gryffindors clearly wasn't an option. He might have thought someone could slip him something. Maybe more Veritaserum. He didn't talk, didn't engage or joke, but he was watching, listening, his brow increasingly furrowing as the conversation inevitably turned to swapping war stories. It was lucky this turned out to be one of those lighter evenings, where they celebrated their victories and successes rather than mourning their losses and remembering the darker days. It could have been partly because Draco was there, but Firewhiskey tended to loosen everyone's tongues, and there was no telling where the conversation would lead. Sometimes Dean remembered his terrifying run-ins with the Snatchers, sometimes Lavender talked about Greyback; the others would remember more horror stories involving the Carrows and their lessons, and, if he got drunk enough, Ron would talk about Fred and make Ginny cry.
This time Seamus went on a tangent while they discussed the Ministry's attempts to catch Harry's attackers, and he ended up — fondly and drunkenly — retelling all the details of Harry, Ron and Hermione's Ministry break-in.
Draco was staring at him with narrowed eyes, quiet, and hunched beside Harry on the sofa. Seamus finally noticed him and burst into giggles. "He doesn't believe me!" he exclaimed and pointed.
Harry felt Draco stiffen.
"To be fair," Harry hurried to say, "I wouldn't believe you either, the way you told it."
Seamus found that hilarious. "Go on, then. Have some more Veritaserum on hand? I'll drink it!"
For fuck's sake.
Draco straightened suddenly and Harry almost grabbed him to prevent his escape, but then Ron yelled, "Give you Veritaserum, Finnigan? What, so you can confess your secret love affair with Madam Pince? No one wants to hear that, believe me."
Seamus's eyes widened. "I told you! She's a friend of my mum!" he spluttered. "That's why she's nice to me!"
Harry held his breath as Ron and Seamus stared at each other. A few tense moments later, Seamus shrugged a little. "I'm just saying… Malfoy doesn't believe me and I'm not lying."
Draco was still stiff, but Seamus had made an effort, which meant Harry had to make one too.
"I mean, it's all true," he said, daring to glance at Draco.
That made Draco turn his stare on him. He looked terribly sceptical.
Honestly, that wasn't surprising. It all sounded ludicrous. And it wasn't something one could read in the Daily Prophet. Harry had given no big interviews. He told the Ministry everything he felt they needed to know. He didn't tell them every tiny detail, didn't mention the Deathly Hallows, but he told them about the Horcruxes, what they were, how and where they got them. The stories spread like wildfire far and wide anyway, and bits and pieces did end up in the Prophet, but there was no official, coherent version one could read somewhere. Harry supposed that made it easier for some people to pretend it was all nonsense.
"You three should tell him about breaking into Gringotts and escaping on a dragon," Parvati suggested.
That got Draco's attention. "Right," he snorted. "The dragon. I heard that one. How gullible do you think I am?"
Everyone laughed and Draco's smile slipped. Either because he thought they were mocking him, or he realised there must be some truth to it.
Hermione giggled; she sounded tipsy. "You're not ready to hear how I used Polyjuice to impersonate your aunt."
Draco stared at her, then looked back at Harry. "Come on, the goblins must have—" He hesitated when Harry smiled.
Harry heard that version of the story too. Some people insisted the goblins had betrayed Voldemort and simply handed Harry this supposedly important Horcrux item. It certainly seemed more plausible than a bunch of teenagers breaking into a goblin bank. Someone could have snapped a picture and there would still be those ready to deny it ever happened.
"You couldn't have broken into that vault," Draco said. "And, come on, a dragon?"
Harry grinned. "What I want to know is why did Bellatrix have a skull with a crown on it in the vault? I mean, why keep the skull?"
Draco's eyes widened. "That's Rabastan's. It's ancient. Couldn't be separated from its owner so… Well, the head was separated from the body." His eyes narrowed. "Which curses protected the vault?"
"Flagrante and Gemino!" Hermione yelled, as though answering a teacher's question. She even raised her hand.
Everyone laughed again, this time at Draco's face. Harry couldn't help joining in.
"All right, fine," Draco said, clearly annoyed. "Tell the story." He glanced at Hermione. "What do you mean I'm not ready to hear it? I barely knew Bellatrix. And she was psychotic."
Draco might have said that because he thought he ought to, put on the spot like that in the Gryffindor common room, but now that Harry thought about it he realised it was true that Draco barely knew Bellatrix. She was in Azkaban all through Draco's childhood, and he only first met her when he was fifteen. How much time could he have spent with her? Two summers, if that, with Bellatrix eager to follow Voldemort around like a puppy. Did they bond when Bellatrix gave him Occlumency lessons? She was unlikely to be a kind and patient teacher. Maybe Draco had something in common with the Rookwood kid, who was loyal to his family, a father who didn't raise him, to the point of risking his life and freedom to avenge him. But Draco wasn't after revenge, too invested in repaying his life debt, finding his place in this new world, maybe finding a path to popularity and power — not the noblest of goals but not a hateful one either.
"All right. I'll tell it." Harry grinned, then glanced around, happy to find that the Firewhiskey bottle wasn't empty yet. Close to it, but that stuff was strong. "If—" He reached for the bottle and offered it to Draco. "If you drink this."
"Yeah, right, Potter."
"The story's better if you're drunk," Harry assured him.
"I'm not drinking that. Especially not if you're offering."
It was hard to tell if he was genuinely upset. He was definitely concerned.
"No one's trying to slip you anything," Harry said. "Here." He wiped the mouth of the bottle with his sleeve and took a sip. It burned his throat and warmed up his neck instantly. He offered the bottle to Draco. "There's barely another sip left."
"That's more than a sip," Draco grumbled, but he accepted the bottle, leaned back, and drained it.
He didn't wipe it first. Which was… Well, not that odd. Some people didn't mind sharing like that. Although, Harry never imagined Draco would be one of those people. Moreover, Harry would sooner expect Draco pointedly wiping something that had previously been in Harry's mouth. It made Harry feel a bit funny, or maybe that was just the Firewhiskey. That sip certainly coloured Draco's cheeks.
"I'll regret this," Draco sighed.
And he might have, at first, because the beginning of that tale wasn't fun. It was right after they had escaped from the Manor. Dobby was dead, murdered by Bellatrix, Hermione tortured, and they had the rest of the Malfoys' prisoners to take care of. Draco was staring at him, unblinking, during that part of the story. He seemed positively hungry to know what happened after they had escaped. Or he was apprehensively waiting for the moment Harry would realise who he was talking to, and his story would devolve into angry accusations. But Harry was well aware of who he was talking to, just as he was aware Draco never had the power to decide who to capture, who to torture, or who to kill. He was there, though, participated, no changing that. Honestly, Harry was impressed Draco sat here and listened. It was, he thought, unexpectedly brave of Draco. Agreeing to come up to the Gryffindor common room was brave in itself, though Draco would surely conclude he was safe enough, considering he was here to help Harry. But encouraging Harry to tell this particular story, in front of everyone, and enduring it almost stoically, that was taking it much farther than Harry could have imagined.
Harry didn't hold back. The Firewhiskey loosened his tongue and, eventually, it loosened Draco's too. He spluttered and kept telling Harry he was a lying idiot. Which was a very Draco Malfoy thing to say, but everyone kept laughing at him. He insisted they got really lucky because if the Horcrux had been in the Malfoy vault, they would have been killed instantly upon entering. "The curse in the vault is linked to the Family tree. If you're not on it, it gets you. There are two dead thieves in there already." His eyes widened. "Been there for hundreds of years. You can't arrest us for it."
Seamus found that hilarious. "Arrest him, Harry! Arrest him!"
Draco looked a bit concerned, and Harry had to laugh at his expression. After a while, Draco cracked a smile.
He stayed with them well past curfew. Only after Seamus started snoring and Parvati curled up in front of the fireplace like a cat, did Harry realise most of his friends were either asleep or, in Ron and Hermione's case, focused on each other.
"I should go," Draco said quietly, cheeks pink.
"Probably." Harry smiled.
"Maybe you're all set for the night."
"Could be." There was no way to predict how long the effects would last, but Harry already decided to claim they lasted throughout the night. It seemed to him Draco thought this wasn't worth the bother if his help wasn't absolute.
Draco stood up, a little unsteady, and Harry scrambled to his feet, worried now that Draco would stumble out of the portrait hole and get angry and embarrassed about it.
"I'll walk you out," Harry said.
Draco complained all the way to the corridor, insisting Harry was trying to undo Draco's efforts by needlessly walking around, but Harry ignored him, focused on making sure Draco didn't stumble and fall, which he almost did twice. The Firewhiskey really took him out and Harry was the one who made him drink it. God, he had to stop making Draco drink stuff that made him vulnerable. It wasn't his intent this time; he just wanted Draco to relax a bit.
"You have the stupidest common room entrance," Draco said, righting his stance and glaring at the portrait hole.
Harry had to smile. It was true.
Draco shifted his weight, looking uncomfortable, and Harry couldn't stand it anymore. "Thank you—"
"Argh!" Draco cried out. "Shut up, shut up." Now he looked even more uncomfortable. "I'm not even doing it on purpose."
"You stayed with me today on purpose," Harry pointed out quietly.
"Yeah, well…" Draco shrugged, not looking at him.
Was it the flickering torchlight, or the loose hair, or the Firewhiskey that made Draco seem so warm? Because Draco Malfoy was always synonymous with cold in Harry's mind. He always looked cold, acted cold, sounded cold. Or was it the things Draco had said under Veritaserum? Those words were now wedged between Harry's chest and his throat, burning when Draco looked him in the eye. Harry had gone poking around Draco's mind, scratched beneath the surface, and found an open wound. And he couldn't unsee it.
Draco broke the illusion by straightening and putting on his usual drawl. "Good party, Potter," he said and extended his hand. "No one gorged, no one got killed for funsies. Top-notch."
That was inappropriately flippant, considering Death Eaters had gathered to kill people for funsies, but Draco was fighting against awkwardness and he was offering his touch. One more time before he left. Harry couldn't refuse. He grasped Draco's hand and closed his eyes. The jolt of pleasure was intense, but Harry was ready for it and he forced it away. But the other sensation, Draco's magic wrapping around him, there was no forcing it away. Maybe if Harry tried harder, but he didn't want to.
Draco was staring at him when Harry opened his eyes. Harry had braced himself for that too. Draco was fascinated. So was Harry.
"I'll see you tomorrow," Draco said. It sounded like a promise.
"Yeah." Harry smiled, filled with hope.
Draco released him, slowly, fingertips dragging over Harry's palm as he pulled away, leaving a trail of tingles that maybe weren't even magical, just unexpected. Then he turned around and walked off. It looked like he had found his balance, not swaying and stumbling as he descended the stairs, but Harry leaned over the balustrade and watched him for as long as he could see him.
Chapter 4: The Instrument
Chapter Text
This wasn't the first time Draco's world turned upside down. It was — God, he lost count — the third? Fourth?
The first time it happened after the Dark Lord had returned. It didn't affect Draco that much initially. Life went on as it usually did, except Draco was on the top of the world. The other Slytherins looked at him with new respect. Because he knew things. Knew things the Prophet didn't, things that Potter didn't, and Draco could see the fear in their eyes, enjoy the careful way they spoke to him, worried they'd offend him.
But then his father ended up in prison and everything truly changed. Not necessarily for the worse, it seemed to Draco, then. He got the Mark, got his special assignment, a chance to save his family and earn glory. Funnily enough, he did feel guilty, not for the Mark or the assignment, but because no matter how upset he was that his father was in Azkaban, a tiny part of him was gleeful that now he could succeed where his own father had failed. One-up him, finally. Be his father's saviour and earn his respect. For a few months, it felt like power was at his fingertips.
It snuck up on him, the failure, the complete understanding there was no glory waiting. Only death. Death he would cause no matter what he did. No chance was given to him, only punishment — kill or die. He didn't want either. He didn't want the glory anymore. He wanted to go back. Get a cool new broom from his father and a package of sweets from his mother, and laugh at Potter, who didn't have a father or a mother, but he did have a Firebolt, which didn't matter because eventually Draco would wear his father down and get one too.
Instead, Draco had found himself sitting at a table, watching a Hogwarts teacher get devoured by a snake. Found himself clutching his wand and making people scream in agony at the Dark Lord's command. Found pain and terror and darkness pressing in from all sides. No presents, no sweets, no brooms, only eyes full of fear wherever he looked — his parents, his classmates, the mirror.
And then it all got turned around again, thanks to Potter. Free of the Dark Lord, free of Azkaban, back with his parents, still rich, not respected, but they'd weather it, his mother claimed. They had weathered worse. Slowly, carefully, with enough gold and charm, they'd get back to where they were. But Draco didn't want to go back to the way he was because that felt like he was moving in circles. What if failure and death crept up on him again before he failed to notice their approach?
No, something had to change. Draco had to be alert, think things through from every angle. Not trust his instincts, that was the key. His instincts were telling him to be selfish and mean; they'd been telling him that his whole life. That was simply a fact. Now they were telling him to run, to spare himself the pain that would undoubtedly follow once Potter was healed and well. A chance to maybe endear himself to some students and have Potter feel like he owed him one didn't seem worth it. It would be forgotten the moment he stepped out of Hogwarts. After everything that happened, fondling Potter for a bit would hardly redeem the Malfoy name in the eyes of wizarding society. Potter would forget him too, ashamed of reacting the way he had to Draco's touch, and ultimately he would realise he didn't owe Draco anything. Draco owed him — that was the whole point.
So Draco thought this through, carefully, and reached a rather fascinating conclusion: this wasn't about him. He was irrelevant. An instrument. The Dark Lord used him like one to cause pain. It was one of Dark Lord's favourite things. Whenever he wanted to punish one of his Death Eaters, Draco was called forth, and he was the one who had to do it. At first, Draco thought this too was a punishment for his parents, but then he realised it wasn't meant to be a punishment. It was supposed to be a lesson. The Dark Lord was well aware of how ill it made Draco; how much he didn't want to do it. The goal was to teach him, make him accept it, make him like it, make it a part of his nature. The Carrows wanted to use him for demonstrations too. "Come, you show them how it's done, Draco," they would say. Except they had no power over him, and he could dodge them with a scoff and a drawl. But they kept trying.
How many people did he hurt? How much pain did he cause? His hands, his wand, his magic. That was the debt. He was a different kind of instrument now, one that could stop pain, bring pleasure. It wasn't redemption, the universe wouldn't offer him that, it was payment. And if he didn't pay it now, it would come back to bite him later. Demand something much worse.
So, yes, obviously, Draco would get his heart broken. It only took half a day with Potter to realise how much that was true. Draco would fall for Potter, and he would fall hard. Potter might even reciprocate in his magically induced delirium, and Draco didn't even know if he was supposed to refuse Potter or accept it as part of his payment. Maybe it didn't even matter, because it would all end. Potter would get better, realise Draco had nothing else to offer, nothing Potter really valued, and Draco would be discarded. Like an instrument the universe used to help the deserving, to help Potter. Because this was about Potter. All the stars in the sky were desperate to keep Potter alive. They had aligned before to save him from the Killing Curse — twice. This curse Ainsworth and the others threw at him should have killed him too, but it hadn't. Potter still needed saving and the universe was getting truly desperate, relying on Draco now. Pure convenience. Draco was a useful tool thanks to his debts.
It wasn't so bad. Draco would get over it. He'd even get some nice memories to look back on. He already had some. Listening to Potter talk about his adventures was an experience. Draco had fun trying to guess which parts were true and which parts were bonkers. Reflecting on it now, he concluded it was all true. Because Potter was bonkers. And Draco already knew it. He didn't know why he was so surprised by everything Potter had told him. Nothing was more unbelievable than Potter in the Great Hall facing down the Dark Lord, challenging him, taunting him, calling him Riddle. And Potter not only survived, he won. Draco saw it with his own eyes. Breaking into the Ministry and a goblin bank was a walk in the park compared to that.
A part of Draco had clung to the idea that Potter was just hiding the whole time, waiting for his moment, leaving the world in disarray, so he could emerge when the time was right and take the glory. Draco used to get furious imagining it — Potter hiding somewhere safe with his friends, dawdling and goofing around, and in the meantime, all the people who had failed to capture him were twitching and screaming at Draco's feet.
But no. Potter was out there, trying. Always trying. Nothing could stop him, not even pain, not even now.
Draco sighed as he reached the dungeons. Yeah, it was hopeless. He would end up besotted. He could already feel it creeping up on him, or else he would be put off by Potter's incredibly dumb insistence to climb up and down all those stairs in his condition. To not give anyone the satisfaction of knowing how bad they got him. God. What an idiot.
Daphne was waiting for him in the antechamber, beside herself with concern. Draco found it baffling. He had withstood Death Eater meetings. A room full of Gryffindors was annoying, but hardly comparable.
Of course, Draco had forgotten the Hogwarts rumour mill thrived on scandals and outrage.
"Do you realise," Daphne said, pulling on the belt of her dressing gown, "everyone's been saying you agreed to provide sexual favours for Potter as payment for all the help he has given you?"
Draco was drunk enough to laugh at that. Potter certainly never mentioned the unwanted side-effects of Draco's touch. It seemed the story got spun around, shed the facts as it travelled towards the Slytherin side of the Great Hall, and somehow picked up the unmentioned kernel of truth. Well, Potter added fuel to this fire back when he was looking for excuses to touch Draco. The Slytherins must have thought Draco had given in.
"Is it funny?" Daphne demanded. "The others think you found a new lord to serve."
Oh. No, that wasn't funny. Was that what he was doing?
Daphne huffed and forced him into a chair. "Explain," she ordered, as she sat down too.
So Draco explained, as best as he could, how messed up Potter's leg was, how Draco could help, why he had to help. He started telling her about all the things he had heard in the Gryffindor common room too, but she stopped him.
"All right, all right, shut up," she groaned. "I'll never ask you to tell me anything ever again. Once you start talking, you can't stop, can you?"
That was unfair. She did ask.
"Potter's not my lord," he said, worried he hadn't made that clear.
"I told you what other Slytherins think, not what I think."
"So, what do you think?"
She cocked her head. "Do you care?"
"No," he said with a scoff, but then mulled it over. "But maybe you know what I think. I don't."
"I mean…" She pulled a face. "It's odd. This life debt magic. I heard stories. A witch who managed to fix her rescuer's broken leg even though she was terrible at healing and never performed that spell in her life. A wizard who visited his rescuer at exactly the right time to stop her house from burning down. It's all like this. Coincidences and people doing extraordinary things under pressure. This sounds more like you've invented a spell and are performing it wandlessly. It's pretty insane."
Right. She was missing the point. "I told you. This is about Potter. The stars aligned—"
"Please stop." She reached up to rub her temples.
Draco watched her for a while. She seemed to be spinning; she probably wasn't. Draco shouldn't have drank that Firewhiskey, but Potter had offered it with a smile and a challenge.
"He's in a lot of pain," Draco said eventually.
That made her look at him.
"And I owe him," he added. "Listing facts here."
Her lips twitched. "Do you need permission to do a good deed? Cosmic interference?"
No, she really didn't understand. "I heard stories about life debts too," he said. "Read up on them, even." He had looked through a bunch of books over the summer. He knew what he owed; that was never in question. "It's magic at its deepest. A bond. You can't fight it. You're not supposed to."
She seemed to be searching for words. He wasn't sure if she found them or gave up when she straightened and said, "Sounds like you made your decision. I guess it doesn't really matter what anyone else thinks."
"I suppose." Draco wished he could stop caring about what others thought, but he cared. He had always cared. But it was too late now. Those who knew the truth would think he was an arse if he didn't help Potter, and those who refused to know the truth would find a way to think ill of him no matter what he did. It sort of tipped the scale in favour of helping. "I wouldn't mind knowing what you think," he said, reluctant.
She smirked, of course. "I think…" She paused, probably for effect. "I'm really glad I'm not you."
Despite himself, Draco laughed. "You're useless."
"Sorry." She shook her head, smiling. "I feel like… you should make this decision on your own. Also, I wouldn't want to meddle and upset the stars."
"Right. Smart."
"Well, to avoid being completely useless. I can tell you… My uncle knows a lot of people at the Ministry and quite a few goblins. He has that kind of job. He heard all about Potter's break-ins. And he… Well, he has this friend who was brought in for questioning with the other Muggle-borns when Potter broke into the Ministry. He saw it all happen. He was one of those who Potter led to safety. He spent months on the run after that. Wasn't fun, but it wasn't Azkaban."
"Still useless. I know it's all true," Draco said.
She was silent for a bit, but then said, "That friend of my uncle, he's not just a friend of his. He's more than that. My uncle's very grateful to Potter. I know he'd help him if he could. You know, even without deepest magic or whatever making him."
It took Draco's tired brain a few moments to make sense of her statements. Oh, the friend was her uncle's male lover. How scandalous. A male lover and a Muggle-born. That had been Draco's fantasy, a way to shock his father. He didn't even have to bother now, did he? The word about this situation would reach Father eventually and Father would make his own conclusions. Potter might be worse than a Muggle-born. The rebellion had begun. Real action. Your move, Father.
"I imagine your parents don't like either of them much," Draco said. Could be this triggered the fight. Probably was. The Greengrass sisters defending their uncle and his lover, pointing out the horror of it all; that was enough to get them shot down.
She laughed. "To put it mildly. They were hoping Voldemort would do them a favour and get rid of the black stain besmirching our impeccable reputation."
Draco wasn't sure what made her share that with him. Perhaps to balance things out, share something in return. Or to point out her uncle would help, which made it the right thing to do. She obviously thought highly of him.
It was interesting, though. Potter had saved so many lives. All those people were indebted. Maybe Potter should visit them, grope them a little.
But no, it wouldn't work. Those people deserved to be saved. The universe wouldn't force them to help; it wouldn't be fair. Draco was the more obvious choice.
"You're saying his name," Draco reflected. "Dark Lord's."
"He's dead. Proper dead."
"He is." Every piece of him was gone; Potter made sure of that. Or maybe the touch of Dark Lord's tendrils still lingered in those who took the Mark. Draco leaned back in his chair. "Voldemort," he tried. Was it his imagination or the scar on his forearm throbbed? "Voldemort. Voldemort. Voldemort." It did throb. It truly did. But well, some things were worth a little pain. Draco put on a deep voice. "Voldemort." He snorted. "Trips the tongue."
"You're drunk." Daphne sighed, got up, and looked down at him. She waited for him to look up at her. "Don't fall in love with Potter," she said.
"I'm not in love with Potter." She kept staring, so he added, "What does it matter, anyway? I can feel whatever I want. It's not like it would ever go anywhere. I'm drunk, I'm indebted, I'm exceedingly gay, but I'm not stupid."
She hesitated. "Like I said, my uncle knows a lot of people at the Ministry. He hears a lot. I wrote to him to ask about Potter's curse. He didn't mention it hurts Potter this much, but he did say everyone at the Ministry knows it's killing him."
Left alone, Draco rejected that thought. Potter wouldn't die; he was too hard to kill. Too stubborn. He wouldn't give anyone the satisfaction. The Dark Lord didn't get that, but Draco did. The Dark Lord… Voldemort was an idiot and he was proper dead. And now it was up to Draco to make sure no one knew how bad they got Potter. Until they found a cure, which they would, likely sooner than later. This was all temporary.
He wondered if Potter and his friends knew the Ministry believed he was dying. Did they tell him?
In the upcoming days, it became obvious Draco hadn't made himself clear. Potter was in a constant state of surprise, apparently not expecting Draco would be by his side all the time: during meals and lessons, as well as studying and leisure time. That shouldn't have been shocking — it was the obvious solution, especially when in the morning after the Gryffindor party they found out the effects of Draco's touch hadn't lasted throughout the night. That was apparent the moment Draco stepped into the Great Hall at breakfast. Potter spotted him instantly, his gaze clouded and hopeful. And he lied to Draco again, claiming it wasn't that bad, but the relieved smile that stretched his lips the moment Draco sat down beside him was telling.
In all honesty, Potter's continued surprise and gratitude were becoming annoying fast. It wasn't some great deed Draco was doing out of kindness; he had to do it. What was the alternative? Enduring the annoyance of students and teachers and the universe itself while he lived his life, and Potter was right there a few feet away miserable and in pain? They were in the same castle, mostly attending the same lessons, on the same timetable, getting the same assignments. It wasn't like Draco was putting his life on hold.
They easily developed a routine. They'd meet at breakfast, Draco would sit beside Potter and endure some small talk from Potter and his friends. They'd take their lessons sitting next to each other with some light leg contact. They studied together in the library and spent their evenings in the Gryffindor common room sitting by the fire. Draco didn't even have to talk much. Potter and his friends tried to engage him in conversation, but Draco would keep his answers short and his attention on his food or books or lessons. Most of the time someone else was around talking to Potter.
It would have been easy. All that really changed was that Draco had some company now. He always hated being alone. And it was even interesting listening to Potter interact with his friends as well as other students. Everyone wanted his attention. They always had questions to ask him, about Quidditch or some defensive spell. They asked for his opinion on every article in the Daily Prophet and sometimes tried to extract some more information on everything he did during his hunt for the Horcruxes. Potter was polite and fairly diplomatic on every subject, except maybe Quidditch and Defence, where he had more to say. He was definitely reserved though. With most girls, too, who were so obviously flirting with him. At first Draco thought Potter didn't realise that, but after a while, and thanks to Weasley's teasing, it became clear Potter was well-aware of every explicit and implicit offer he received but simply wasn't interested. Of course he couldn't be now: he was either in pain or attached to Draco.
What Draco wanted to know was what happened with the Weasley girl. They obviously weren't together, but they seemed very close and sweet to each other. Maybe they were on a break because of Potter's condition, but Ginny seemed too flirty with Dean Thomas for that to be true and Potter seemed unbothered by it. Leave it to Potter to stay on such good terms with his ex.
With Draco quietly reading, writing, or eating beside him, it was easy for Potter to almost ignore him, forget he was there. It happened sometimes. When they were alone with Weasley and Granger, Potter seemed more relaxed and talkative, as though Draco didn't count as a stranger who forced Potter to be more alert. It was funny, hearing the change in his tone when he realised he forgot himself and he wasn't alone with his friends.
Of course, things weren't that simple. There was the continued problem of stairs. There were just so many of them. Classes were on different floors, the Gryffindor Tower was a tower and very high up. Wherever they went they had to climb and climb and then go back down again. The solution was clear, the execution made both of them uncomfortable. Whenever they approached a staircase, Draco would offer his hand balled into a fist. That seemed… safer. It was still skin. They didn't have to hold hands. Potter would wrap his hand around it, and then they had to wait a bit for him to get himself under control. Draco always had to look away because seeing how much Potter enjoyed that touch was unbearable.
Another problem was Defence class. Their new teacher was enraptured by Potter and always had him demonstrate spells and defensive moves. And Potter politely agreed, walked over to the teacher's desk, abandoned his crutch, and did it. He made it seem easy, like it was no big trouble. But after he sat back down next to Draco, his breathing would speed up and he'd clench his fists. What was Draco to do? Touching him a little with his leg wasn't enough, though Potter always smiled at him in gratitude.
So Draco started putting his hand on the desk in offer. He'd twitch it, touch the back of Potter's hand briefly and waited. He wasn't sure if Potter would risk a direct touch like that in the middle of class in front of everyone, but Potter would catch Draco's eye, whisper, "You sure?" and after Draco's nod, he'd press the back of his hand against Draco's.
Draco was never particularly good at Defence; now he was getting worse.
And then there was the nighttime. Every morning it was clear Potter had a rough time during the night and likely little sleep, but Draco couldn't spend the nights with him. He just couldn't. He never offered. Certainly no one would expect that. Certainly not Potter. Draco did offer to skip his Ancient Runes and Arithmancy lessons, but Potter wouldn't hear it.
"I don't have to attend all my classes again. No one else is doing that," Draco had argued as they climbed towards the Runes classroom one day, following Granger and Weasley, who were up ahead. Potter went with him, claiming he was going back to the Tower, which was stupid because of all the needless stairs. Or he wanted another chance to touch Draco's skin.
"But you did so far," Potter said. "Why do the year again if you won't attend your classes?"
How could Draco explain he hated being at his house so much he'd rather be here to avoid it? He didn't want to talk about that, so he said, "Yeah, you're right." It was only an hour. If Potter survived the nights, he'd survive this.
Although…
They reached the point where they had to separate and Potter withdrew his hand.
"Wait," Draco said. "Here." He took Potter's hand back, really holding it this time, not the way they usually did it, Potter's hand over Draco's fist.
"Um," Potter said and then gasped when Draco clasped his hand between both of his.
"You know, to hold you off until later," Draco explained, as Potter tried to calm himself. It took a bit.
Granger and Weasley were waiting, trying to look like they weren't waiting, but obviously Weasley was going to the Tower with Potter, and Granger… Draco hoped she wasn't waiting for him. She was heading for Runes too.
They were a funny duo; Potter's great protectors, always hovering, even though Potter clearly didn't need protection, not from the other students, not from Draco. Potter demonstrated that during every Defence class. A show-off, Draco would have thought before, but in reality too proud, too stubborn, and too focused on some higher goals. It made Draco want to punch his face.
Well, no. Not punch him. That would hurt. It was the last thing Potter needed. Just grip him real tight and make him stay put.
"You think that might work better?" Draco asked because Potter was showing no signs of pulling away, and they couldn't just stand here. Draco would be late for Runes. He didn't really care, but Granger was looking antsy and Weasley's mouth was getting thinner and thinner.
"Yeah. I mean, we'll see," Potter said and Draco pulled away as Potter clearly had no plans to do it.
"We have Charms later," Draco pointed out. "Third floor. You should wait for me at the Tower."
"No, it's fine. I can manage," Potter said, stubborn as a mule.
"But you don't have to manage. In fact, you should wait for me in the mornings. Not go down to breakfast by yourself, but wait for me to come get you."
"That's too… You don't have to do that."
But he did. "It makes sense," Draco insisted and then sighed. "If you don't wait, then I'll have to get up early to catch you before you come down, and that's just unfair. I don't want to get up early."
"I can't accept that."
No, Draco did want to punch his face.
"All right," Draco said, inhaling. "Imagine something for me, Potter, really imagine. Someone snaps their fingers, and just like that, our situation is reversed. You're fine and I'm the one in pain. And your touch is the only thing that helps. What would you do? Fuck off to play Quidditch? Sit three rows behind me in class and make faces at me? Would you find it so goddamn difficult to walk me to breakfast or my classes?"
Potter's face went blank. He stared at Draco, utterly silent and still.
Oh my, this was breaking his brain. Draco had done it. He'd broken through the endless waffle of bashful rejection.
It took Potter some time to recover. "It's unfair you're asking me that now after all this, after you helped me so much. Of course I'd—"
"Yes, yes, because you're grateful, right? Funny thing that, isn't it? See? It's not unfair; it's exactly the right time to ask that question."
Potter fell silent again; another win for Draco.
But then Potter pursed his lips. "I thought I wasn't allowed to be grateful."
"You're allowed," Draco said. "I'd just prefer it if you shut up about it."
Potter was running out of arguments. "Would it be easy for you to accept that much help?" he asked eventually.
Draco thought about it. "Yes. It'd be kind of funny, actually."
Potter didn't seem to know what to say to that, so Draco said, "Just wait for me," and left him before Granger combusted.
He was rather pleased with himself. It almost didn't bother him he ended up walking with Granger to class. Mercifully, it was a short walk and Granger was silent. They were definitely late. The doors were closed and no one else was around.
Against his better judgement, Draco paused at the door and looked down at Granger.
"What?" he asked. "You're not even going to threaten me? 'Watch your step, Malfoy. I'll curse you with pimples spelling arsehole on your forehead if you hurt him, Malfoy?'"
Her eyebrows went up. "Well, clearly I don't even have to say anything. Thanks for the idea though."
Ugh. Draco didn't know why he bothered. Staying silent and not engaging with Potter's friends was the right move.
He went to open the door, but Granger caught his wrist. Draco couldn't help grinning at her. "Checking to see if it works on you as it does on Potter?"
She grimaced and promptly released him. "Hardly." She cocked her head. "Although, I did help save you and Goyle."
"You wouldn't have bothered if not for Potter."
"I wouldn't bother with a lot of things if not for Harry."
Draco didn't know what to tell her. He had to struggle to hold her gaze. Sometimes, when he looked at her for too long, he'd see her screaming in agony at Bella's feet.
"I didn't actually want to threaten you," she said. "I mean, obviously, if you go crazy and curse him or something, it's hardly just me and a few pimples you have to worry about. You seem to be aware of that. But if you decide to stop helping him, for whatever reason, that's okay. I mean, not great obviously, but understandable. There'd be no repercussions. Not on our end. Certainly not on Harry's. Quite the opposite. He'd made sure no one was giving you a hard time over it."
Draco was honestly baffled. "Why are you saying this? Why would I stop?"
"Well, I can't answer that because I don't know why you're doing it in the first place."
"He saved my life. I wouldn't be standing here talking to you if he hadn't. I'd be ashes."
"All right, yes. Yes, he did. It's what he does. He'd save Crabbe, too, if it had been possible. He doesn't see it like… He doesn't expect servitude in return."
What a lovely thing to say. Potter would save anyone, Draco was nothing special, and she, like a whole bunch of Draco's housemates, thought he was acting like a servant.
"You think I'm looking for a new Lord to serve?" He couldn't keep anger out of his voice.
"What? No," she said, clearly taken aback. "I think you're looking for a new way to live your life. And that's good. That's the whole point. It's what Harry is fighting for — giving people a chance to live their lives, make their choices, hopefully better choices. That's the reward, not gratitude, not repayment."
Draco wished he knew what she was trying to say. "Is Potter aware you're trying to talk me out of helping him?"
"But I'm not!" She looked truly concerned. "Of course not. I can't tell you how much this means to us. Harry more than anyone, of course, but to us too. We were losing him. He was right there beside us and he'd shut down; it's too much pain to handle. We got him back now, thanks to you. I absolutely don't want you to stop. I just wanted you to know, because Harry would want you to know, there'd be no hard feelings if, eventually, you decided to move on with your life, free of obligations affecting every second of your existence. Because we don't know how long it will take the Ministry to catch the attackers, if they'll say anything about the curse, whether it would even help with the cure, and we don't know how long Harry can resist this."
So they were well aware Potter could die. Draco wouldn't have guessed it by the way all three of them were acting, always joking and bickering. "It's only been a couple of weeks, Granger," he said. "You could have at least waited two months to give me this pep talk."
"I thought it better you knew this sooner rather than later. It feels fair."
"Well…" Draco reached for the doorknob. "If I do decide to stop helping, I'll make sure Potter knows you talked me into it."
He heard Granger sigh and concluded she didn't take him seriously. Smart, because he wasn't serious. He wouldn't stop. There was no reason to stop. Not while they were in Hogwarts together, and they'd be here for months and months. Potter would be cured by then. Probably closer to the end of the school year. All the exciting things seemed to happen then, historically.
They developed a new routine after that. Potter was waiting for him in the Gryffindor Tower every morning, and Draco would climb up to get him. He did get there a little earlier the first few times to make sure Potter didn't just give up, being as stubborn as he was, and go down by himself. Draco would wait around in front of the entrance as groups of students climbed out of the hole — a hole with a really high step, another thing working against Potter.
Gryffindors smiled at him and said hello, sometimes asking him if he was waiting for Potter. Sometimes Draco would reply and say, "No, for Longbottom," or "No, I'm flirting with the Fat Lady and you're in my way," or "No, for you," if it was a pretty girl. They'd giggle and blush, and Draco was quite smug about it.
Potter always looked happy to see him, always surprised. Now it was easy to guess Potter was waiting for the day Draco would get tired of helping him and move on with his life. Move on where? What was he even supposed to do? The future looked bleak, pointless, boring. Far and scary outside these walls. He had a purpose here, and this time it wasn't murder.
One morning Daphne was watching him gather up his clothes to get dressed, hurrying because he overslept.
"Rushing to get your princess in the tower?" she asked sweetly.
"You know I'd laugh, but you're not funny." He had politely wrapped a towel around his hips after showering, but now he pulled it off to scandalise her.
She was unperturbed. Got used to it. Shame. "Better hurry," she said. "You can't let Potter suffer, not even for a second."
"For the record," Draco said, "I'm still not in love with him. I thought I would be by now, but nope. We're not talking much. That's the key."
"It's good that you're so self-aware," she said patronisingly.
"Leave me alone, or I'll throw my underpants in your face," he told her.
She grimaced and left.
Draco was late, but Potter was waiting, alone in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady. She was laughing and cooing at him. Loved by the Hogwarts portraits, too, Draco's princess in the Tower.
Draco shook his head and offered his hand to Potter, who took it promptly. They weren't doing the hand-over-closed-fist thing anymore. It was stupid and awkward.
"Sorry, overslept," Draco said after giving Potter a moment to collect himself.
"If I can't say thank you, you can't say sorry," Potter told him.
Draco rolled his eyes. "It's a thing people say when they miss the appointed time. I'm not crying about it."
"Well, thank you is a thing people say when someone offers a helping hand." He smiled a little. "And I'm mostly not crying about it."
"Fine. No sorrys, no thank-yous, and definitely no crying."
"You're in luck. I'm too happy to cry."
That was a lovely statement. Draco enjoyed it quietly for a few moments. "Rough night?" he asked, like he always did.
Potter shook his head. "Not too bad. Got some sleep."
"No sorrys, no thank-yous, no crying, no lying."
"Not lying. It's… I have mornings to look forward to. Makes it so much easier." Potter was still smiling at him.
"You should lose the crutch," Draco said, eager to focus on something other than Potter's smile. "You don't really need it anymore. You're just carrying it around. And slowing us down."
"But I do need it. When…" He raised their joined hands. "It's easier with the crutch then."
Right. Because hand-holding was for the stairs. Which one of them made up that rule? They were breaking it anyway. It was for the mornings too, for the evenings when they said their goodbyes, for Defence classes…
"You could shrink it and put it in your pocket," Draco suggested rather than stating they should simply hold hands all the time.
"I could." Potter seemed to think on it for a second and then he started fiddling with the crutch because he couldn't hold it and spell it at the same time, and he clearly didn't want to let go of Draco's hand. It would have been too early; he hadn't regained his strength after the whole night of not touching.
Draco took the crutch from his hand. "Here. Just mind your aim. Don't shrink me."
Potter's lips were twitching as he took out his wand. "But then I could put you in my pocket too."
Goddammit.
Draco was in love. He just realised it. He knew it would happen, and it still snuck up on him. Not talking didn't help. Potter talked plenty. Joked, teased. And sometimes he'd look at Draco with so much warmth Draco felt like shielding his eyes the way one would shield them from the sun.
It didn't matter, though. It wasn't real and it wouldn't last. It changed nothing.
Well, not nothing. Draco decided he liked it, having that feeling within him. That was real and it was his. It would never be returned, but it was still a comfort.
Potter didn't shrink him, but he shrunk the crutch, and after that it stayed in Potter's pocket.
Evenings continued to be complicated. They were usually spent up in the Gryffindor common room and Draco would stay late. Sometimes they studied, but more often than not the other Gryffindors gathered around them and talked or played stupid games. It was easy enough not to participate, pretend he was reading, or just listen without saying much, but sometimes it got exhausting. Always watching his mouth, enduring horrific stories about last year, imagining they were all giving him nasty looks when they mentioned Death Eaters. Whether they did or didn't, Draco had no idea because he'd always look away when they talked about it. Mercifully, on school nights there was no alcohol or long stories of misery and fear.
On Saturdays, though, all bets were off. Sometimes it was fun and Draco learned more about Potter's adventures, even old ones from earlier years, other times he had to look down at his knees a lot, hoping the others forgot he was there, seeing him only as a crutch by Potter's side.
Once, Dean Thomas had one sip of Firewhiskey too many and talked about being on the run, all the people he met, the ones that were killed or taken by the Snatchers. Everyone got quiet as he talked in circles, and Draco drank and drank because he knew Thomas's story had an end, and it ended when he was rescued from Draco's cellar. Finally it looked like Thomas was done, and he finished the story with Ted Tonks's death — Draco's uncle, Draco reflected with detachment. He was fairly certain he'd seen him once in Diagon Alley, years ago, walking down the street with Aunt Andromeda, who Draco hadn't recognised either. Mother had grabbed Draco's arm and dragged him into a nearby shop. She ranted about it to Father that evening. The word shameless was thrown around a lot.
Thomas wasn't done after all. He seemed to spot Draco who was trying to fuse with the sofa and pretend he wasn't there. "What about you, Malfoy?" Thomas asked. "Still want to hunt down Muggle-borns? Lock 'em up?"
Potter's hand squeezed Draco's: a warning, a comfort? Something involuntary? Draco had no idea. Potter didn't say anything, no one said anything. They were waiting for Draco's reply.
Draco didn't know why his mind tripped over the question. He was practically waiting for it. He was ready. No, of course not, he'd say. Maybe give a heartfelt apology. But then he looked up at Thomas and that was a mistake, because all he could think about was the shock he had felt when the Snatchers brought Potter, Granger, Weasley and Thomas to the Malfoy Manor. Draco's former classmates all of a sudden bound and bloodied and bruised on the floor in Draco's house. Draco could tell himself that Potter and his two faithful lackeys turned themselves into targets by stupidly defying Voldemort, but Thomas had done nothing. He was just.. a Muggle-born. It was simply who he was. And Draco used to think that was enough to get Thomas to go back to where he had come from or suffer the consequences.
How could he just sit here and tell Thomas he changed his mind? It would sound like such a lie. Because the idea that the Muggle-borns didn't belong, that they had to be forced out, was Draco's comfort throughout it all. He'd cling to it. He'd tell himself this was ugly and terrible, but it had to be done, and once it was over, things would go back to how they were. He realised too late that there was no going back, and it was ugly and terrible because he was surrounded by people with twisted souls who derived pleasure from the suffering of others. If the Muggle-borns didn't exist, they'd get their pleasures elsewhere, find someone else to writhe in pain before their feet so they could feel powerful.
Thomas huffed. "Got nothing to say? Shocked, are you? You don't think Muggle-borns have dirty blood anymore? That was your whole thing since you were eleven, and earlier probably, but I didn't know your sorry arse then."
Potter squeezed Draco's hand again. What did it mean?
It probably meant Draco should speak. Say what he was supposed to say. But the Gryffindors would see if Draco tried to lie. They'd know if he tried to pretend he was someone else, someone who never did or said all those things.
"I—" He spoke before he knew what he was going to say. Thomas' words echoed in his mind. One word in particular — dirty. That was what he always thought about Muggle-borns. That they were dirty, tainted. But Draco was the tainted one. He'd said as much under Veritaserum. Confessed. It was true then. There was nothing dirtier than letting Voldemort brand him with the Dark Mark. Draco even thanked him for it. He was proud of it then. Only sixteen! Everyone would be so jealous. So respectful and afraid of him. It hurt when Voldemort did it, but Draco withstood the pain. He was proud of that too. That was before he knew real pain. Before he realised he'd made himself a slave to a psychopath. Became a criminal who ought to be hunted down and imprisoned. Him, not Muggle-borns. Oh, but then it wasn't a lie. He could say it. "No, I was wrong," he said, pleased he could say it with conviction.
The Gryffindors were frowning at him. Thomas, in particular, looked disgusted. "What the fuck? It took you half an hour to say that?"
Oh. Surely it wasn't half an hour. But he had been silent for too long. Well, he had to think it through. He had to. He made a whole decision about it. Think things through from all angles before saying anything. Words had no meaning otherwise. If Draco just said things he thought he ought to say, repeated what he heard others say, then he was doing the same thing he had always done. Being a parrot. A follower. He didn't want to be a follower.
Maybe he should clarify. Make a sentence out of his jumbled thoughts. Explain himself. But he was too drunk.
Or…
Not drunk enough.
"No no," Potter said, wresting the bottle of Firewhiskey out of Draco's hand. "You had quite enough." Potter's jaw was clenched. He wasn't happy with Draco, so Draco had to say more.
"Voldemort was wrong. I know that." That was an easy truth. Just plain obvious.
"Sorry, didn't catch that," Potter said. "Who was wrong?"
Was Draco slurring his words?
Oh. No no. Draco said Voldemort. Potter liked that. Draco had been practising. Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort. Proper dead.
"Voldemort," Draco said boldly and Potter smiled.
That was a great reward. He didn't know there'd be rewards. "Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort," Draco kept repeating and Potter's smile widened. Draco's forearm didn't hurt at all.
"You shouldn't let him drink," Lavender said and Potter said, "I know."
Then Potter moved his thumb slowly over the back of Draco's hand and made a shushing sound. Draco could no longer speak after that.
It wasn't Draco's best moment, but he was drunk, and no one mentioned it afterwards. However, on another evening, Draco fucked up all on his own. It wasn't even a Saturday, just a mundane Thursday. No one was drunk; they lounged around, half-heartedly studying, trash-talking the new teachers. Parvati complained about the Muggle Studies teacher.
"I miss Charity," she said with a sigh. "She made the class fun. Wish I knew what happened to her. The Prophet said Voldemort killed her, but they never found the body."
Draco didn't know why he spoke. What possessed him to open his mouth and let the words come out. "She was eaten by a snake," he said. "In my drawing room."
Everyone fell silent and Draco wanted to run, but Potter had a tight hold on his hand.
Parvati's eyes filled with horrified tears. "Eaten alive?"
"No," Draco said quickly. "Voldemort killed her before… Before she was… eaten."
Parvati's breath hitched. "At least it was quick, then."
It could have been quicker. Those moments while she hung above the table, begging, crying, knowing she'd die, felt like hours to Draco.
"But…" Seamus frowned. "What do you mean in your drawing room? What, was it the evening's entertainment? You all sat there and watched?"
Bile rose in Draco's throat. "I have to—" He wrenched his hand free. "Bathroom break," he told Potter and ran. He went to one of the bathrooms in the Gryffindor Tower. He wasn't sure if he would hurl or cry; he didn't want to do either in front of Gryffindors.
There were tears on his cheeks, but he didn't hurl, didn't start sobbing. It was just some kind of panic attack. Sweating, gasping, heart-thumping; he could work through it. He just needed a minute. He needed to stop thinking about it. The way it took forever for Nagini to consume her. A whole person, who Draco had seen at the High Table at Hogwarts, talking to the other teachers. She had an irritating laugh; Draco imitated her a few times to make the other Slytherins laugh. And then she was dead, and inch by inch, she was gone, the shape of her apparent beneath Nagini's skin. Sometimes, in his nightmares, she was alive and screaming throughout it all.
You sat there and watched? Of course he did. He couldn't stop it. Snape couldn't stop it. Draco couldn't stop any of it. He was small and insignificant.
When he returned, they moved on to other subjects, subdued and quiet, and soon they dispersed. Only Potter stayed, holding Draco's hand. He had no choice. He probably already knew all about Charity Burbage. The details hadn't reached the Prophet, but Potter likely knew them, from the trials, from the Aurors, from the Minister. Potter seemed to know a lot of things. That meant Draco shouldn't have said anything either. People didn't need those kinds of grotesque images in their heads. Maybe Potter was angry now. He didn't show it.
Only two days later, Draco fucked up again. This time it was a Saturday and everyone was fairly drunk, except Draco. He tried to stay away from alcohol. It wasn't a bad night, not too many awful stories, no one tried to question Draco. But conversation was sparse and Draco got drowsy and too relaxed; he fell asleep.
He dreamed he was back in the Manor and Voldemort accused him of being a Muggle. Hung him upside-down above the table in the drawing room.
"Show me your wand, Draco," he said. "You don't have one? What does that make you?"
And Draco promised he'd get a new one. It was no trouble. They'd just go over to the shop. "Right?" he asked his father, who stood there, miserable, crying and apologising. He wouldn't say it though. Nagini advanced and Draco kept begging him to speak. "I'm your son! And you'll buy me another wand! Tell him!"
"Shhhh." His father pressed a finger to his lips, eyes wide and terrified. "I can't say anything. He'll be angry."
"But she'll eat me!" Draco cried, and his father cried too, told him he loved him, but he wouldn't defend him, wouldn't say the words, 'He's not a Muggle, he's a Malfoy.'
"I'm on the tree!" Draco remembered suddenly, desperate. "The Malfoy Family Tree! My emerald is right there!" But the tree was gone; Draco couldn't see it, no matter how much he twisted around.
Nagini reached Draco, she was right below him. She opened her mouth and Draco screamed. And woke up.
He tried to scramble away. He didn't know where he was.
"Draco, it's okay," Potter said quietly, gripping his hand. "Just a bad dream."
Draco knew where he was then. The same place as ever, on the sofa with Potter, surrounded by too many Gryffindors, all of them staring at him. His dream was slipping away and awareness followed. He realised now he'd been leaning to his right towards Potter. Was he sleeping on Potter? It felt like he had rested his head on Potter's shoulder. And Potter just let him.
The Gryffindors were looking at him strangely.
"Did I say something?" Was he screaming?
"No," Potter said promptly. "You just fell asleep."
"I didn't hear anything," Granger added in a strained tone. Some of the others shook their heads and mumbled their no's.
They were lying. That was clear. Draco was happy to accept it and pretend with them.
It was time to go. It felt very late.
Draco hastily said his goodbyes, but Potter insisted on accompanying him outside, which was stupid because then he'd have to climb back through the hole on his own. But Draco did want to talk to Potter in private and ask for the truth. Which he did promptly, the moment they moved away from the Fat Lady's earshot.
"You weren't talking in your sleep," Potter insisted, still holding Draco's hand.
Draco freed himself, annoyed. "I did something. Stop lying."
Potter sighed and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "You mumbled a bit. Maybe said a few no's." He hesitated. "Mentioned your father twice. Woke up with a start."
Well, that sounded bad. Wrong. Mentioning his father in that context… Who knew what they concluded. The truth seemed better now.
"It was just a nightmare; it didn't happen," he said. "Voldemort accused me of being a Muggle and Nagini was trying to eat me."
"And your father?" Potter asked because of course he did.
"Nothing, he was just… He didn't tell Voldemort he was wrong. Too scared to speak." That part did happen, it kept happening, but Draco didn't say it.
Potter's jaw clenched.
This seemed like a good moment to breach the subject. "What happened at his trial?" Draco asked. "I know you were there. You must have helped him somehow, or they'd lock him up. Why would you? Why him?"
Potter's expression was blank. "Your mother came to me, asked for help."
Draco didn't know that, but he wasn't surprised. "You went to see him in Azkaban. I know that."
Potter looked away, hesitating, but then with some resolve, said, "I told your mother if Lucius wanted something, he ought to ask me himself. So he did."
Begged probably. That must have needled.
"So what did you say? At the trial?"
Potter hesitated again. "The truth," he said finally. "That Lucius was a Death Eater who enjoyed inflicting pain. That he failed as a man, a wizard and a father. But from what I've seen, he regretted his choices, regretted putting you in danger, didn't fight for Voldemort in the Battle. I said I thought he was maybe ready to do better if given a chance, for your sake, for your mother's. Your father agreed, expressed remorse, described some of the things Voldemort did to all of you, promised to strive to be of value to society, and obey whichever restrictions the Ministry placed on him."
No wonder his father still hated Potter. Failed as a man, a wizard and a father. And he had to agree, had to thank Potter for that accusation. Nothing hurt more than the truth.
But then Potter knew a lot about what was happening in the Malfoy Manor.
"Did he talk about what happened after you escaped?"
"He did."
Of course he did. Good story for the trial. Great to get some sympathy. Voldemort was so angry he told Draco's mother to cast the Cruciatus Curse on her son. She was the only one with a wand. She refused, so he made her. Tortured her, Imperiused her, but she resisted, couldn't do it, even though Draco begged her to do it when she was screaming in agony. Then Voldemort had enough and compelled Lucius to take his wife's wand and Crucio his son. And he managed just fine. He couldn't fight the Imperius. Draco supposed he shouldn't blame his father for that. Few could fight it. His mother never could before being told to hurt her son. But Draco was angry at the way things turned out that day. Voldemort didn't give Draco's father a choice — to do it willingly first. He must have been too impatient for more games. But Draco wanted an answer to that question — would his father manage to do it if he weren't compelled?
Potter was giving him one of those warm looks that Draco couldn't handle.
"I never thanked you for that," Draco said. "For the trials. For what you did for me and my family."
Potter's lips twitched. "No sorrys, no thank-yous, no crying, no lying."
Right. That was the agreement. "You kind of did try to lie earlier," Draco pointed out.
"I'd apologise, but…" Potter grinned and shrugged. No sorrys.
"I forgive you." Draco offered his hand. Earlier he had taken the touch away as though to punish Potter. He didn't mean it like that.
Potter accepted it, as he always did, with a sharp inhale, closing his eyes. No matter how many times they did this, a new touch always came with this reaction.
"How does it feel?" Draco asked when Potter opened his eyes.
Potter's cheeks tinged. "Uh, it's pretty obvious, I think."
"I mean, now. After you get some control over it or whatever it is you do."
"Oh, well, now it's just comforting. I suppose it's a bit like the Imperius Curse." Draco must have looked horrified because Potter's eyes widened. "No, I didn't mean it like that. That was a stupid comparison. I meant, it's a kind of pull, threatening to cloud my mind, make me let go or something, but I can resist it. It just takes a bit of effort."
Then it was exactly like the Imperius Curse. Was that what Draco was doing? Trying to compel Potter to like him? It just didn't work because Potter could resist it, like he could resist the Imperius Curse. Or maybe it was working a little.
"It's not affecting my judgement," Potter said as though he read Draco's mind. "I can feel it. I can feel the difference between lacking control and having it."
Draco raised their joined hands and gripped Potter with his other hand too.
Potter gasped.
"Not trying to be an arse," Draco said. "It's just… one for the road."
With a breathless laugh, Potter said, "Yeah, okay."
"Wish I could just take the pain away," Draco said. "Without additional complications."
"I don't. Like I said, it's comforting. Like being wrapped in a warm blanket on a chilly day."
Well, that was a romantic description. Potter must have been aware because he was blushing, though maybe he was still struggling for control, and his mind wasn't fully his own yet.
Draco wished he could feel it, too, that comfort. That was how he imagined being wrapped up in Potter's hug would feel like. Warmth and comfort and a pull Draco would never think of resisting.
"Maybe this will be a good night," Draco said. "It's pretty late." And he slept on Potter. That was a lot of touching.
"Maybe." Potter smiled.
They stayed like that for a bit longer, not saying anything of importance. Draco was the one who usually had to pull away; Potter was always reluctant. That was where his control failed him. Draco didn't want to pull away. He wanted to stay here. Sleep with Potter right here on the floor, or the sofa, or go up to Potter's dormitory and sleep on Potter's bed. He almost suggested it; that was when he knew it was time to leave. If Potter could have control despite magical incentives, Draco should have it too.
It turned out it was a good night for Potter. Staying with him a little longer in the evenings helped. So Draco stayed. After everyone else went to sleep and left them alone in the common room, he'd linger holding Potter's hand. God, they should have done that before. It became Draco's favourite time of day. They studied, they talked, sticking to lighter subjects, but it didn't feel like Draco had to watch himself that carefully. Not with only Potter there. Though, there was so much he couldn't say. He couldn't share his jumbled thoughts about everything that had happened, afraid it would all come out wrong, even though, sometimes, it seemed like Potter wanted to hear about it and actively tried to get Draco talking.
Draco had to keep reminding himself this was all temporary. He was here to pay his debt, to help, not take advantage of the fact that Potter was grateful and was prepared to listen and say kind things because of it.
The most confusing part was that sometimes it seemed Potter's gaze lingered on Draco's face, sometimes it lowered to Draco's lips, sometimes he'd caress Draco's hand with his thumb and ask questions in a tone so soft Draco shivered. But that could have been magic and in a blink of an eye, Potter got his control back.
Draco told himself there was no point in obsessing about it. There was nothing he could do. No conclusions he could draw. Potter claimed he could resist the pull of this magic, but how could either of them know that was true? And that was something to worry about only if Potter asked for more. Draco wouldn't be the one asking. So why even wonder about something that might never happen? It was wiser to be thankful that Potter was resisting whatever Draco's magic was trying to do to him besides taking the pain away.
Per usual, Draco fucked up there too.
It was a particularly difficult Monday. They had Double Defence and Double Potions on Mondays. And this time, Potter had to make several demonstrations in the Defence class, and Potions were always trouble — it was hard to keep contact with them both working on their potions. On top of all that, Draco had Arithmancy on Mondays, right before dinner.
Potter looked exhausted. Draco couldn't help with that. He couldn't erase the fact Potter's body had spent the day struggling. He wasn't a cure; he was a half-measure. It was clear Potter was in no shape to get through a complicated chapter for tomorrow's Transfiguration class. Draco tried to engage him and so did Granger, but they both failed. Later, when they were left alone, Draco picked up the book again and told Potter to listen as he read to him. He even tried joking and reading in a funny voice, hoping some of it would stick around in Potter's head.
It was of no use. Potter fell asleep. Worse, he fell asleep with his head on Draco's shoulder. Draco considered waking him up because this felt dangerous. It was breaking Draco's resolve; he'd end up asking for more and risk ruining everything. How awkward it would be if Potter refused him. How terrible if Potter decided he had no choice but to indulge him.
But Potter sleeping peacefully after such a day was a blessing. Honestly, he should do that more often — take a nap with Draco around. He clearly wasn't getting enough rest or he wouldn't be so pale and there would be no dark circles under his eyes.
Draco tried to read some more but soon gave up. Instead, he very carefully shifted so Potter could sink more comfortably onto Draco's shoulder, with Draco's arm wrapped around his back. Then, with even more care, he removed Potter's glasses. Potter mumbled a bit, but Draco said, "Shhh, sleep," and Potter's breathing evened out.
Draco shouldn't have enjoyed this so much; he was just a comfy pillow, nothing special about that. But it felt special.
Maybe it was strange to compare, but he had experienced this feeling once before.
A black cat wandered to the Manor grounds one day. Draco was a child, maybe five years old, and the cat was small, thin and underfed. Dobby found it, and Draco found Dobby feeding it. Young though he was, it was plain to Draco that Dobby was doing something he wasn't supposed to. So Draco told him off. But Dobby wasn't afraid of him, not then, and he argued back. The cat was hungry and he only gave her leftovers. It could be useful and hunt down the gnomes.
"It's just a harmless kitty, young Master," Dobby insisted.
It wasn't anything Dobby said, it was the way the cat was looking mournfully at the last piece of chicken in Dobby's hand. It made a little sound that was simply adorable, and when Draco relented and Dobby gave her the rest of the food, it munched on it very audibly, making Draco laugh. He ended up on the ground playing with her; she grasped his fingers and nibbled on them and purred when Draco stroked her head. In the end she fell asleep on Draco's lap, trapping Draco there behind a blossoming azalea bush for an hour because he simply didn't dare to move and disturb her. His parents got worried, of course, and when they found him, his father was livid. He chased the cat away and even threw hexes after her as Draco screamed and cried.
"A diseased, flea-infested stray from the Muggle World!" his father raged. "Why would you even touch such a disgusting thing? Look at the state of your clothes!"
But Draco was inconsolable. Eventually, his father grew tired of Draco's tears and left at Narcissa's urging.
"It truly was a very dirty animal," his mother said as she gathered him up in her arms. "And clearly very ill. It could have infected you."
"But we have all kinds of potions," Draco argued through his tears. "The ones you give me when I'm sick. We could give her some."
"I know it sounds harsh," his mother said, "but that cat lost its family and it now must fight for survival. If it's strong enough and clever enough, it will survive. If not, then it was never meant for this world. It's why family is so important. Your family can be your strength before you find your own."
None of it made any sense to Draco then. He cried about it for days and scourged the grounds, hoping he'd find her. He'd nearly forgotten about it eventually, maybe he'd forget entirely, but for years later he'd catch glimpses of a large black cat roaming the grounds. It always made him smile. She made it. She was strong enough after all. And clever enough not to cross his father's path. His mother's words finally made sense.
It was only now, right in this moment that he realised — that kitten was young and sick, and it would never make it on its own. Dobby must have taken care of her. Healed her, fed her, hid her from Draco's parents. In fact, after Dobby left, Draco never saw the cat again.
She wasn't saved by strength or family; she was saved by kindness.
Was that why he thought of it now? Because he had Potter in his arms, also sick, the curse chipping away at his strength, and there was no one else around with the power to help.
Or was it the black hair and the green eyes that made him remember?
Carefully, Draco ran his fingers through Potter's hair. Potter didn't react, so Draco did it again. Did stroking Potter's hair fall under direct touching category or touching with a barrier category? With Potter asleep, Draco couldn't know. It felt nice. He liked Potter's hair, the look of it, the feel of it. Dark as a blackboard, Ginny Weasley had said long ago. It was hilarious, then. Silly little girl writing poems about her hero while Draco was disappointed the Mudbloods were only Petrified, not truly turned to stone.
And now Potter was in his arms, not Ginny's. That didn't seem fair. But when was Draco fair? It was quite in line with who he was. A taker. Greedy. He was given his life, and he wanted more. Offered a way to pay off his debt, but he wanted more. He had Potter trapped, and he still wanted more.
Did his lips have the same power as his fingertips? Maybe more power. He bent his neck and dropped a kiss to the top of Potter's head. Potter stirred. He didn't wake, but he buried his face deeper into Draco's neck, seeking his touch in his sleep. Draco closed his eyes and dropped another kiss. And then another, a longer one, inhaling, imagining his lips could cure Potter if he tried enough. And when he opened his eyes, he saw Hermione Granger standing before him, wrapped up in her dressing gown, eyes wide, mouth open.
"I forgot—" She stumbled over her words. Draco didn't catch the rest. "Never mind. I'll get it in the morning," she said and fled.
Draco could do nothing but stay there, cheeks and lips burning as Potter slept.
Chapter 5: The Hope
Chapter Text
"I have this cousin," Dean said as they were all getting ready for bed. "Distant. He's a dick. But that's irrelevant. His mum— we're not related. His dad was my mum's second cousin. Well, he's dead. She remarried."
"Is that relevant?" Seamus was struggling with his pyjama bottoms, looking very drunk. They were all drunk.
Dean had to think about it. "No. Point is, his mum — she's very annoying. Always speaks in these phrases, sounds like a walking holiday card. But her job is, like, talking to people. And apparently, it helps them."
Ron was sitting on his bed, half-naked and frowning. "Are you saying we should get Malfoy a holiday card or that he should speak to your cousin's mum?"
"No." Dean looked indignant. "I'm saying it's her job. She's a… uh, a psychiatrist is what they call them. I'm saying, I'm asking if there's a magical equiv— wow, that's a difficult word. Is there something like that in the Wizarding World?"
Oh. Dean actually had a related point. Harry got a bit lost too. They were discussing Draco, his odd behaviour, the nightmare he had earlier, and then Dean started talking about his cousin.
"No, there isn't a magical equivalent," Neville said, sounding sure of himself. He wasn't very drunk; he rarely was. "I looked into it once. Mental health professionals, both Muggle and Wizarding. Best we have are Healers in St Mungo's dealing with spell damage that affects the mind."
Of course Neville looked into it. Trying to help his parents.
"Then we should all talk to Dean's cousin's mum," Harry declared.
Dean looked unreasonably angry. "Not her specifically. Someone like her."
"Depends." Seamus finally put on his pyjamas. "Is she hot?"
Of course that made Dean very angry, and Seamus's attraction to older women was crudely brought up, but Harry missed the rest of the argument because it turned incomprehensible and he stopped listening.
Neville walked over, grimacing at the noise Dean and Seamus were making. "They have potions for that," he told Harry. "Anxiety, depression. You know, all the stuff Madam Pomfrey probably told you about, but the lot of you decided Firewhiskey was the answer."
"Yeah, it is!" Ron said happily.
Harry shook his head at Ron, but then he smiled up at Neville. "I wouldn't worry about the Firewhiskey too much. See, I think we're being rather responsible. It just makes it easier to talk. I guess, that's the point. We have each other to talk to and Draco is just… He doesn't have his friends anymore and even if he did, those friends were just like him, bigoted gits, but they didn't see the things he saw. They can't relate."
"I mean, that's kind of his choice," Neville said. "Not having friends. We're being extraordinarily nice to him. It's easier than I thought it would be. He's doing a good thing for you and isn't being a dick when we're all together, but him not talking and ignoring us is his choice."
"Maybe you could tell him he should try those potions," Harry suggested cheekily.
"You're the big brave hero." Neville grinned. "I just decapitate snakes."
"Ugh, snakes," Ron groaned. "I had nightmares about it. Being dinner. What a fucked up story. Them just sitting at the table while Nagini devours a person. I mean, what the fuck?"
"Yeah," Harry said, thinking about Draco's face when he told them about it a few days ago. Harry had heard the story before, at Lucius Malfoy's trial. Lucius haltingly told it, not holding back; he cried about it too. Kept saying how terrified his poor son was, how he apparently fell off his chair when Voldemort killed the teacher. Lucius did that a lot during the trial — talked about his son and what was done to him. It seemed calculating to Harry, a way for Lucius to capitalise on the sympathies his teenage son was more likely to gather. It was annoying, but then Harry remembered the Malfoys huddled together after the battle and concluded they would have a better chance to heal if they were together.
Harry hadn't shared everything he heard during that trial with anyone. Not even Ron and Hermione, just bits and pieces, not all the gory details. A few Aurors had shared some of their horrific tales with Harry too, and he wished they hadn't. He had enough nightmares of his own. He imagined that was how his friends felt too. But then he had to tell all of them about Charity Burbage after Draco blurted it out. It wasn't fun, but it also made him realise his friends didn't know as much about Draco as Harry did. They hadn't seen him looking lost and hesitant on the Astronomy Tower, hadn't seen the terror on his face when Voldemort made him torture Rowle, didn't know there was a point where Draco became truly lost and couldn't make his own choices anymore. He hadn't innocently stumbled into that situation, but the price was too high.
"That's the kind of stuff that makes me feel sorry for him," Neville said. "And I'm very proud of it, mind you, all things considered. He was a nasty git to me all these years, and that's not even the worst of it. But with him being so tight-lipped, I don't know what he's thinking. Maybe he's thinking, sure, Voldemort sucks and he screwed me over, but I wish my mate Goyle were here instead of the blood-traitor Longbottom."
"Yeah," Harry said again because it was a fair point.
Neville sighed, shrugged, said goodnight and went to bed.
Ron put on his pyjamas and fluffed up his pillow. "It's all going well, though, right?" he asked, yawning. "It's been a while. No one's fighting with him. He hasn't given up."
"It's going well, yeah," Harry said. "I mean, for me. He doesn't seem well. It bothers me."
"Dunno what to tell you. He fucked around and found out. If he wants to turn things around, he's gonna have to talk to people. Like Neville said, we don't really know where he stands now. Is he questioning what he was taught or just regrets things went bad for him? It's not the same thing."
"It feels like he is questioning everything. Like he's confused. He chooses his words carefully."
"Sure. That's a conclusion. Maybe you're right. Or maybe he has enough brains to watch what he says in a room full of Gryffindors. I mean, like you said, he's an Occlumens. Maybe not good enough to fool Veritaserum. He said too many weird things back then; I definitely don't think he faked it. But hiding what he really thinks is second nature to him."
"Yeah," Harry said, just to say something.
Ron sighed and lay down. He turned on his side to face Harry. "What's the plan here, mate? Malfoy turns over a new leaf, this curse gets reversed, then what?"
Harry wanted to ask what Ron meant by that, maybe look confused while he asked it. But he knew what Ron meant. He knew how it looked. Harry spent almost all his waking moments with Draco and all the other moments thinking and talking about him.
"We don't know if and when this curse will get reversed," he said eventually. "So I can't make plans."
He lay down and said goodnight, hoping Ron wouldn't ask any more questions.
If not for Draco's pale, terrified face haunting Harry's mind, this would have been a wonderful night. He wasn't in pain. Not even a little. Draco had been snuggled up to him and slept for half the evening, then lingered outside holding Harry's hand. All that wonderful comfort. He wished he could turn it around somehow, let Draco experience those feelings. Not the pain, of course, but everything else. He actually thought Draco needed it more.
What would be the plan if Harry were to make one? With all these sensations, the closeness, the kindness, it was incredibly hard to tell if there was something else there. What would happen if all of that got stripped away? Just an old enemy regretting his choices and repaying a debt? Was there more to Draco's feelings than mere gratitude? Draco certainly had a lot of feelings; that was very clear to Harry. Ron was wrong. Occlumency had failed Draco completely. Draco's feelings were out in the open for Harry to see. Whenever Draco touched him, there were differences in the sensations: when Draco was particularly emotional, it was stronger: when he was sad, it was gentle; when he seemed happier, it was exciting; when he was asleep, there was nothing; when he was having a nightmare earlier, the sensation that shot through Harry was the strongest one yet — it had filled Harry with yearning that wasn't his own.
What did it all mean, though? There were times when Harry would smile at Draco, and if they were holding hands, a new jolt of pleasure would pass through him. Draco's reaction to Harry smiling. It had to be. But what was going through Draco's head in those moments? Was he looking for Harry's approval and was pleased when he got it? Or were his thoughts more romantic? It was seductive, the intensity of Draco's feelings. They felt romantic. But Harry had no idea what to do with that knowledge. It should have been simple. If Draco developed feelings for Harry and decided to act on them, Harry would let him down gently. Because he wasn't interested in men. He never was.
But if that were true, Harry wouldn't have spent their most recent Charms lessons utterly distracted, simply because, after all the spells made the air hot, Draco ended up unbuttoning the top buttons of his white shirt and rolling up his sleeves. Staring at Draco doing that didn't help with the pain. There was no touching, no magic prickling Harry's skin, just Draco doing what half the class did. The arousal Harry felt was as incomprehensible as it was real.
But then again, there was no denying the fact he craved Draco's touch the way he craved Pomfrey's potions back when they still helped.
He couldn't blame anyone for thinking he was falling for Draco. He didn't even blame himself for thinking the same. But there were no plans he could make. It was something new and unexpected to consider, certainly. But not now. And likely not with Draco. Harry saved Draco's life and Draco was saving Harry from pain, and that would always be confusing and impossible to untangle. Best Harry could do was enjoy these moments and be grateful he got them.
Two weeks later, Hermione found him alone in front of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. He was leaning on the windowsill, waiting, and she went past him, carrying three large tomes. It must have been her History of Magic homework. Quick stop to the library right after class, before dinner, to make sure she checked out all the relevant books first.
Hermione did a double take, eyes widening.
"Oh, I didn't recognise you, Harry," she said smartly. "You look halved."
He snorted. "Hilarious."
She leaned on the windowsill next to him. "Where's the other half, then?"
"Assaulting our Defence teacher."
Her eyebrows rose. "Because he makes you do all those demonstrations?"
Harry laughed. "No." What a conclusion. "Because he got a bad mark on last week's essay. I did warn him. He let me read it, but then ignored everything I said."
"Oh. I'm surprised he didn't ask you to come with him. To sweet talk the professor."
Harry shook his head, smiling. "Actually, I suspect he knows he got it wrong and is begging for a second chance. And he doesn't want me to see."
"Now, that's hilarious," she said.
Harry replayed what he said in his mind and had to agree.
"For what it's worth," she said, "I think it's genuine. His remorse. The search for a second chance."
"Yeah, I think so too." He had no reason to doubt it. Not anymore.
He didn't notice her staring, but once he did, she gave him a sad smile. "You look tired," she said. "Are you getting enough sleep?"
"Yes," he said, quite patiently, in his opinion. "We've been staying up late, and it helps." He'd fallen asleep in the common room yesterday. Woke up in Draco's arms. That was... He found it hard to even think about it. His stomach twisted into knots whenever he remembered it. It made Draco uncomfortable too. He had fled yesterday and was jittery when he came to pick up Harry for breakfast this morning. He was reserved ever since, even more than normally. Quite unfortunate, because Harry was constantly fighting off the urge to lean against him whenever they sat somewhere together. He had daydreamed about it all through their Transfiguration lesson, eyeing the spot on Draco's neck where Harry could bury his nose, inhale, and rest. The urge to do it filled him with excitement and sadness all at once.
"That's wonderful, then," Hermione said.
Harry knew her too well. There was something forced about that statement. "Does it bother you?"
"Does it bother me you're not suffering every minute of every day?" she asked irritably. "No, shockingly. Thanks for the accusation."
"No, I know that. It's just…" It was one thing to be stuck with Draco out of necessity; it was quite another to enjoy every second of it. "I'm a little obsessed with him," he said. "I realise that."
Her lips twitched. "Well, that's nothing new, is it?"
Harry considered that. She was right, he supposed. Draco always drew his attention. Always made his blood boil. Draco always fought for his attention too. Was Harry attracted to him all this time, but never realised? He didn't think so. Draco was such a little shit. Harry couldn't see past that. He never thought there was anything past that to see. But, maybe, physically, he did capture Harry's gaze. With his distinctive hair and pale eyes and his stupid sneer. And Draco was always tall; it took time for Harry to catch up. Harry had to admit, Draco was always noticeable. "I'm learning new things about myself," he said. "Didn't see that coming."
"Nor I. I thought you and Ginny were a sure thing."
A pang of regret hit him. He had once thought Ginny and him were a sure thing too. Maybe there was even a part of him that hoped they'd get back together, eventually. It didn't seem likely now. These new exciting thoughts were too exciting. He honestly thought it wasn't just about Draco. Harry had seen a glimpse of new possibilities and now he couldn't get it out of his head. "I think I ruined it when I broke up with her at Dumbledore's funeral," he said. "It seemed sensible, maybe it was, and she had agreed. But it's… It's like I mentally let her go and then couldn't let her back in."
"I hate to tell you this, but you were always single-minded and obsessive."
"You love telling me that."
She smiled and shifted her hold on the tomes. They must have been heavy. She could have spelled them, levitated them, it would have been wiser, but she loved holding books close to her nose. Her comfort and safety.
"You need to be reminded," Hermione assured him. "And in case you need more reminders, you're allowed to think about your happiness. No matter what anyone else thinks. Including me."
He hated she said that. He wasn't about to start a relationship with Draco Malfoy because of some sudden confusing attraction, not while he was cursed and couldn't even differentiate between magic, his feelings and Draco's feelings, but it still bothered him that it sounded like she definitely objected. It probably showed on his face because she sighed and added, "Like I said, I think he genuinely regrets his part in all this. I really do. He's horribly traumatised, no one could claim otherwise. And I love what he's doing for you. I'd just like to be sure that when he looks at me he doesn't see a… a you-know-what, whose company he has to withstand. It sure took him a long time to answer Dean's questions a few weeks ago."
"Yeah," Harry said, troubled. It was pretty much what Neville had said. Harry could see glimpses of Draco's feelings, but not his thoughts. He'd like a real answer too. Draco was full of guilt and remorse and trauma, but the truth was, he could be still sitting there thinking that enduring the company of Mudbloods and blood-traitors was his well-deserved punishment.
"But it doesn't really matter," she said. "Change doesn't happen overnight. He's trying, and that's more than I expected."
Harry sighed, fully aware he was being ridiculous. He was bothered by her objections, and now he was bothered by her obvious encouragement. She honestly thought he was making plans. She and Ron must have discussed this, fretted, wondered, talked each other into being supportive. Maybe even rehearsed a little speech to be ready when the moment came. It was sweet and annoying all at once.
"Hermione, I'm cursed and under some kind of spell. And Draco is… confused and feels indebted. And now I feel indebted. What exactly do you think I plan to do here? Take him to Puddifoot's for a spot of tea and a snog?"
She shifted her hold on her books again. "Well, you don't sound like you're under a spell. And you can't go to Puddifoot's because you can't walk that far."
"I can with him."
"Just because you can, doesn't mean you should."
"You got that right."
She gave him a long look, but Draco walked out of the classroom, startling them both. His cheeks were pink, and when he took Harry's hand, the jolt of pleasure that passed through Harry was rather harsh. Not unpleasant; it was never unpleasant, but it was intense. Harry managed not to react. He could control his reactions well enough by now, unless Draco was particularly emotional or grabbed him too suddenly. Which, admittedly, Draco did a lot. Sudden emotional grabbing was Draco's specialty. And yet another secret pleasure for Harry.
"Everything all right?" Harry asked.
Draco shrugged. "I have a week to fix it." His bottom lip jutted out a bit. It made Harry smile.
"Well, that's good," Harry said bracingly.
"I suppose."
Defence wasn't Draco's best subject. It bothered him endlessly. He knew the theory, probably better than Harry, but this assignment asked them to describe what they would do in various hypothetical situations, and that was where Draco got lost. The same thing happened whenever the teacher gave them a practical assignment, whether in class or for homework. Draco's methods were either overly aggressive or overly cautious.
"He's very demanding," Hermione said.
"He is!" Draco agreed quickly, indignation in his tone.
"But he's a good teacher," Hermione added. "It's good we got someone like that in our last year."
Draco huffed. "If he's so good, why does he keep making Potter demonstrate every single spell?"
Harry smiled. Draco really was bothered by that. He'd tense every time Harry was asked to make a demonstration, and afterwards he'd grab Harry's hand and spend the rest of the class positively caressing it. Harry would never tell him, but all that accomplished was giving Harry more incentive to never refuse a demonstration.
"Because," Hermione said, "he knows the rest of the class would pay more attention if Harry does it."
Draco gave a kind of jerky nod in begrudging agreement. Or he just didn't want to argue.
"If you like," Hermione said, with a hint of hesitation, "I can take a look at your essay when you finish it. Harry criticised my essay too, but I got an excellent mark."
"I didn't criticise your essay!" Harry said indignantly. Honestly, he'd been surprised and flattered when she asked him to take a look, and he took the task very seriously. He only mentioned, in passing, that he found her methods overly cautious too, which he did, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing, obviously. He'd argue the matter further, but Draco said, "Sure. I'd appreciate it," and Harry held his tongue.
Both Hermione and Draco were really trying, and Harry didn't want to ruin the moment with pointless bickering.
Draco was in a sour mood the rest of the evening, and only after they were left alone in the common room did he admit to Harry that their Defence teacher told him off. He didn't just call Draco's methods aggressive, but claimed they were cruel.
Harry sighed inwardly. Their Defence teacher was a Muggle-born, and he lost friends in the war. He didn't like Draco much, that was clear, but he was usually more professional. He must have lost his temper when Draco started arguing with him. Or he saw something cruel in the essay because he wanted to see it. Harry almost kept his thoughts to himself but then decided against it and shared them with Draco. Not that it helped.
"I've read your essay too," Harry added. "I saw nothing cruel in it."
"You wouldn't tell me the truth. You wouldn't want to offend me," Draco said, determinedly morose.
Harry bristled. "No lying, remember? And I'm not exactly known for keeping my mouth shut. I've criticised Hermione's essay apparently. Now that was dangerous."
Harry didn't even get one little smile for that. God, could Draco sulk.
"You're not cruel," Harry said.
Draco shook his head. "Doing cruel things makes you cruel. Now I can no longer see the difference."
"I see the difference," Harry said.
Draco wasn't facing him directly, but Harry thought his expression changed, that he got through to him, but then, quite suddenly, Draco turned towards Harry, trapping Harry's hand between both of his in a forceful grip. Incredibly, Harry managed not to gasp. The shocks of pleasure that shot through him shook him from within. He bit his lip but couldn't fight off a shudder that ran down his spine. Draco didn't seem to notice; his eyes were bright. "Do you think my soul is damaged?"
"What?" Harry was still struggling for breath.
"My soul. Do you think it's damaged? Like Voldemort's. I didn't kill anyone. Not directly. But I've cast the Cruciatus Curse so many times. The Dark Arts, they damage the soul. I heard it before, but I thought it was rubbish. But it's not. Look at what Voldemort did. And…" He was staring at Harry, hesitating.
"What?" Harry asked, quiet, afraid he'd scare Draco off and make him retreat again.
Draco looked away, but didn't release Harry's hand. "It got easier eventually." He swallowed. "Torturing people. No matter how much I hated it. It got easier the more I did it."
But that made sense. It was how the Dark Arts worked. He wanted to tell Draco no, of course his soul wasn't damaged. Draco looked so horrified by the idea. But he couldn't lie, not about this. Truthfully, Harry didn't know. Dumbledore had said Draco's soul was not yet so damaged he'd let it rip it apart on his account, but that sounded like he believed it was damaged. "I don't know," he said because he didn't know. "I know a damaged soul can be healed. I told Voldemort as much."
"Feels like he was past that point."
"I honestly think even he had a chance. Remorse, that's the key. And wanting it, that's the first step."
"I do want it." Draco looked back at him, focused on Harry's face. It sounded like he was saying he wanted Harry. Or like he tied his perceived salvation to Harry. That probably wasn't healthy. But what was Draco supposed to cling to? His family failed him, his friends couldn't understand him, he even failed himself. "But it feels like," Draco added. "Like I'm too worried about the damage to my soul than the damage I've caused. That can't be right."
"Well, like I said, it's the first step. It's how walking works. You can't take all your steps at once."
For a second, it looked like Draco might say more, but then he snorted. "Quite a conundrum, Potter. Now I have to wonder whether you're wise or under my spell. But I think we both know the answer to that."
Right. Jokes and jabs. Draco was retreating again. And what was Harry supposed to do? Interrogate him? He had done that already with Veritaserum; now he lost the right to insist Draco revealed his thoughts to him.
Although, Draco breached the topic. Opened the door enough for Harry to take a peek, see what troubled him the most. And Harry might have understood better than Draco believed.
"Bellatrix really liked bossing you around," Harry said.
Draco stiffened but said nothing.
"I noticed it when we were brought to the Malfoy Manor," Harry added. "What did you do with those Snatchers when she told you to get rid of them?" They were all dead, Harry knew that.
Draco stared at their hands. "I did what she told me to do. Left them outside for her to kill. What do you imagine I did? Killed them myself? Woke them up and told them to run?"
"I imagine you were relieved you didn't have to kill them. That she would do it for you."
"Yeah, well, made no difference to them, did it?"
"No, it didn't. But she wasn't trying to do you any favours. Not with those Snatchers." Harry hesitated. "And not with that Muggle-born witch who was brought to the Manor two days later."
Draco's gaze snapped up to Harry's face. His eye twitched. "Father mentioned her? At his trial?"
"He did." Lucius told the story when presented with the witch's watch and cloak found on the Manor grounds. She was one of those who had disappeared. Another meal for Nagini. She was brought to the Manor as a prisoner at the worst possible moment. Voldemort was there, still furious, and in a mood to play games. He made Draco torture her. The first and only time he had him torture a prisoner. Before that, he only made Draco torture other Death Eaters. Voldemort wanted Draco to kill her, raged about it, insisted, threatened, but Bellatrix stepped in and did it herself.
"And you still think I'm not cruel?" Draco asked. "Maybe I would have done it. Kill her. If Bella hadn't."
"Or you wouldn't. Because it wouldn't work."
"Maybe. But the moment would come, sooner or later. The moment when it would work. I told you. It was getting easier. Bella taught me how to cast the Cruciatus Curse properly." Draco was looking away, his eyes catching the burning light of the fireplace. "You see, the way it works, you have to mean it. Relish in the pain. She taught me how to use Occlumency for it. You find one positive thing about it, focus on it, suppress everything else. For me, it was the thought that it's not me. It's not me feeling that pain, it's someone else. That's how I did it. The relief of that knowledge was my satisfaction. That's who I became. And when I cast the Curse on that witch, I knew I was truly broken. With other Death Eaters, I always thought, well, they'd do it to me in a heartbeat. I was so sure it wouldn't work with her. I didn't know her, but I knew she didn't do anything. Nothing deserving of a punishment like that. She was angry and scared. And she looked so small. Thin, short woman. And I still did it. On my first try."
No wonder Draco didn't want to talk about any of it. It was hard to listen; it was probably hard to even think about it. But Harry had a point to drive home. "You understand it was deliberate, right? They played these games with you on purpose. Voldemort went in hard on you and Bellatrix came offering help. Earning your loyalty by teaching you how to avoid his punishments and by killing instead of you. Acting like she was doing you a favour. But loyalty to her meant loyalty to him. It was planned. Calculated." As calculated as Lucius Malfoy's sob stories about his son, but Harry didn't say that. "Bellatrix wouldn't have defied him if she hadn't been sure she was supposed to."
Draco sniffed and shrugged. "Well, it worked. They wanted to turn me into a weapon, I know that. And they did."
"No. They tried. You're not a weapon. And they're dead."
Draco shook his head. "You're only saying that because—"
"I'm telling you what was going through my head during your father's trial."
Draco fell silent, but it didn't last. "I bet you thought it was stupid of me to let them manipulate me like that."
"No. Just sad. Because you were with your family and… Well, I never had a proper family, but I always imagined it means having someone who'd always make you feel safe. Someone you could trust with your life, no matter what. Someone you could trust with your soul because they're supposed to know better and guide you."
There was that yearning again. Draco's or Harry's, Harry had no idea. A pull that made Harry want to wrap his arm around Draco's shoulders. Was Draco asking for it somehow? Or was Harry just desperate to do it? Return the favour.
"Mother tried," Draco said softly. "She hated the Dark Arts. Always tried to keep me away. It used to annoy me, all her fussing. Annoyed father too. They fought about it sometimes when she caught him trying to teach me something she didn't like. But then the next day, he'd show up with a beautiful necklace or something, and it was all forgiven and forgotten. He'd fastened it around her neck, and wink at me, and I'd laugh. What a good joke. Making Mother back off. I was always impressed. And then he… I know Bella was a lunatic. But she still helped me more than he did. He's an Occlumens too. He never tried to teach me. He could have offered a few pointers when I had trouble casting the Cruciatus Curse. He never had a problem with it. He came back from Azkaban a wreck of a man. Never stepped up, never tried to spare me of anything. Especially if Voldemort was around. Mother tried, but… What could she do? It was too late." He huffed. "Keepers of my soul."
Harry hardly knew what to say. He wanted to know Draco's thoughts and now he had to wrap his mind around these impossible questions. A father failing to teach his son how to properly torture someone, a lunatic aunt poisoning her nephew's soul but teaching him survival. A mother who tried, but didn't try hard enough.
They all failed him.
But they got another chance. Harry had made sure of it. "And now?" he asked. "What are they doing now?"
Draco shrugged. "Mother is trying to socialise, throwing parties, making donations. It's all she talks about. And Father is… drinking. Ranting about the unfairness of it all. He can't go anywhere. He can't Apparate, our Floo's been disconnected, he's afraid of flying without a wand, and the Aurors keeping an eye on him wouldn't let him up in the air anyway, like they won't let Mother and I Side-Along with him. If he wants to go anywhere, he has to take the Knight Bus. He has to attend the Rehabilitation Programme at the Ministry so there's no escaping it." He snorted. "The rides make him ill, but it's the only way. If he dares to go to Gringotts or make a purchase in Diagon, the Aurors thoroughly search him. He's not happy these days."
Harry could well imagine. But Lucius Malfoy was dangerous. The Ministry would never let him roam free if not under close supervision. It was either this or Azkaban.
It didn't sound like they were doing much with the chance given to them. "Do you think it's unfair?" he asked. There was no denying Draco's tone was bitter.
Draco's pale eyebrows knitted together. "Of course it's unfair. The three of us getting thrown into Azkaban would have been fair."
"You don't belong in Azkaban."
"I literally Charmed you into thinking that, Potter."
"Again. I'm telling you the things I thought before you cast this spell." Harry was confused and unsure about a lot of things, but Draco seemed to think that every little thing Harry did and said was magic. Harry shouldn't have compared the sensations to the Imperius Curse, but they did remind him of it. A tug on his mind promising everything would be all right if he just let go. But there was no chance Harry would let go. He had no idea what that would mean. He was afraid it meant he would take something from Draco, something he wasn't supposed to.
"And things you thought before my father's trial," Draco said. "Before you realised how far gone I was."
Draco was refusing to listen. "Did you know I cast the Cruciatus Curse on Amycus Carrow?" Harry asked. "It worked fine."
Draco gave him an unimpressed look. "Oh, did you now? A single Cruciatus on Amycus Carrow? How silly of me. You understand perfectly then."
Harry ignored the sarcasm. "I'm just saying, it's easier to get sucked in than I thought it would be. When you're desperate enough. Or angry enough."
"It doesn't feel like I got sucked in. Feels like I was steadily moving towards it."
"And now you can steadily move away from it."
Draco gave him a sideways glance and then huffed out a laugh. "You're—" His lips twitched. "Tenacious."
"Thanks?" Harry grinned. "Sounds better than single-minded and obsessive. That's what Hermione says."
He shouldn't have mentioned Hermione. Draco's amusement vanished. But he started rubbing Harry's hand between his palms again, staring right at it, so he must have been aware he was doing it. "How much does she hate me?" he asked softly. "Granger?"
Harry let that question wash over him. It was soothing to know that was what Draco was worrying about. "She doesn't hate you," he said. "Not anymore. Not after this." He twitched his captured hand a little. He wished he hadn't because Draco stopped caressing it.
"But she proved she could withstand a lot," Draco said. "I watched her claim that sword was fake even after what Bella did to her. My company might be even easier to withstand than Cruciatus."
Draco had a point there. All of Harry's friends knew they had to withstand Draco because of Harry. And they did it. But that was before Draco had proven his unfailing determination to take all of Harry's pain away, asking for nothing in return. Before they saw tears on his face when he talked about Charity Burbage. Before he screamed in his sleep, begging his father to help him.
It was funny, though. Draco was as worried Harry's friends were only withstanding his company as Harry's friends were worried Draco was withstanding theirs. That was a bracing thought. "Maybe," Harry said, "if you look up more often, you'd notice no one's hating on you here. Mostly, people are just wondering what sort of thoughts are running through your head these days."
Draco's gaze searched Harry's face. "Are you wondering?"
"All the time," Harry said honestly. A little shiver of pleasure passed through him. And he felt that longing again.
"Why?"
Harry had to think about it. "I suppose you made it a mystery. And I happen to like those."
Finally, that had Draco smiling. "Well, if that's the allure, I shouldn't tell you anything. Better to keep you on your toes."
"But I like solving mysteries. That's the thrill."
Draco's smile widened and excitement bubbled in Harry's chest. He was pretty sure it was his own this time.
*
"Terry Boot is gay," Ginny informed him next Monday as they sat under their tree, waiting for Draco to finish his Arithmancy lesson. Harry and Draco had a whole row about it. Draco kept insisting he should skip Arithmancy on Mondays and Harry kept refusing. They compromised by making Draco five minutes late in favour of standing in front of the classroom and holding hands. Both hands, for double effect. Draco seized the moment to point out every ink stain on Harry's skin, pushing his fingers beneath Harry's sleeves to see if there were even more blotches hiding on Harry's wrists. That meant Harry had to linger outside the classroom alone for another five minutes, fighting off a blush and very obvious arousal.
Ginny directed her wand at the little blue fire she had Conjured between them and it flared up with too much force. The thin layer of snow around them melted.
"So I should date Terry, is what you're saying?" Harry asked, surreptitiously checking if his eyebrows were still there. "Give it a whirl? See what's what?"
"Oh no. He's too smart for you."
"Incredible. You just insulted both of us, you realise?"
She snorted.
"And Draco," he added.
"Well…" She dragged out the word. "He had his blunders. And so did you. Not Terry, though. It'd be like dating Hermione."
"It's all pretty irrelevant," Harry said. "There's only one real question worth asking — is Terry into another bloke holding my hand while we do it?"
Oh, he did it. He scandalised her. Her blush matched her hair. She didn't back down, though. "Terry is into Slytherins," she said, hissing the s's.
"No." He matched her scandalised tone.
"Mm-hmm. Dated a Slytherin fellow in my year. The bloke didn't come back this year, so I can't point him out, but you just had to have noticed him. Tall, brownish hair, he'd tie it down, but it was pretty long. Girls liked him. He was very flirty."
Her description invoked some images. "Hey, I do remember him. Paxton, was it? He was—" He stopped Harry in the third-floor corridor once, in Harry's sixth year. He heard Harry had a vial of Felix Felicis and wanted to know all about it. Harry had found it annoying. A Slytherin, probably trying to rob him. He wore his hair down that day. His smile made Harry flustered. Definitely looked like he was up to no good, got a little too close, tried to hold Harry back by grabbing his arm, then he apologised and let go with a smile. After that, Harry got uncomfortable whenever he saw him.
Good God, he was flirting with Harry. He wasn't after the potion; he was flirting. And now Harry remembered thinking the bloke had extraordinarily full lips.
"Oh." Ginny was staring at him. "You do remember him. You noticed him, did you now?" Her voice got a little breathy. "His last name is Adcock, did you know that?"
Harry determinedly didn't laugh. "You made that up."
"Nuh-uh." She shook her head. "Paxton Adcock, Harry's first gay crush."
"Oh, please." Ridiculous. There was no crush. Just a… a noticing. "He didn't even play Quidditch."
"Oh." Her eyes got round again. "That's right. That's the pattern. And not just any Quidditch player, right, has to be a Seeker? How specific. What are your thoughts on Victor Krum?"
"A firm no. On Krum. And you're a Chaser."
"But Seeker-adjacent. Had to play the position in my fourth year when you got kicked off the team. For punching Malfoy, coincidently. You only got interested in me after that. Oh, how about Jeffery Adair? The new Tornado's Seeker. He's a pretty one."
"I can't date a Tornado player. Ron would kill me."
"You think he'd prefer Malfoy?"
"That's a great question for Ron. I'll ask him the next time he gets drunk."
"Oh, there's a wager. A Galleon on him preferring a Tornado player for you."
"Gutsy." Harry considered the matter. "I accept. But I wager he won't give us an answer. The question will break him. He'll get stuck in a loop, Malfoy or Tornado player, Malfoy or Tornado player, wondering for all eternity."
She snorted. "You didn't answer my question. Do you think he's pretty?"
"Ron?" Harry blinked innocently. "Weird you went with Ron. Bill would be a better—"
"Adair," she breathed, then blinked. "Wait. What? Bill?"
"Joking," Harry said quickly, then indulged her by actively trying to assess Adair's appearance. He'd seen pictures, heard excited conversations about him from girls. "Sneaky of you to choose a blond bloke," he accused. "And yes, he's objectively handsome. Not relevant, though. Draco's not pretty. I don't think he's pretty. He's angular. Sharp. Sharp cheeks, sharp jaw, sharp chin, sharp mouth, sharp eyes…"
"Hmm," Ginny commented. "Half of those aren't bad things to say about a bloke's appearance, you realise? And sharp eyes? That's a clear compliment. Not sure what sharp mouth means. Like he says sharp things? He's not even doing that lately."
"Means… hard. Hard lips." The kind that would give hard, greedy kisses. Kisses that would feel like a struggle Harry would want to lose.
Damn it. Now he was thinking about it again.
"That's some keen focus on Draco Malfoy's appearance."
Harry sighed. He wasn't prepared for this. Men. And Malfoy, with his terrible stories of torture and death. And a curse and wonderful, seductive magic.
"What about you?" he asked. "Tornado player or Malfoy? Which one would you prefer for me?"
"Tornado player, obviously. I'd get to meet him. It could boost my career."
"For me. You know, thinking about my happiness."
"Well, I don't know Adair. I do have a long list of reasons why not Malfoy. Pretty sure my list matches your list. On the other hand, it's hard not to like him a little because of what he's been doing for you. Messes with my previously resolute hate. Messes with yours too, I imagine."
"I stopped hating him before all this. Felt sorry for him. Still do. Also not a great basis for a relationship, is it?"
"We had a good base? Didn't we?" She smiled. "Didn't help. But, Harry, you're… you're eighteen. So what if Malfoy turns out to be your foolish, young mistake?"
"Huh." Well, that was an interesting take. He never really thought about these things in those terms. "That's not a bad point."
"I know." She laughed. "I keep trying to explain that to my mum. She wants me to find the one right this second, marry, start having children. And I'm not, I mean, I'm not even opposed. Well, to children, right now, yes, very opposed, obviously. But the thing is, there's a whole world out there, outside of Hogwarts. I have other things to do and my one could be, I don't know, French. And I won't even meet him before I turn thirty. Unlikely I'll know him by sight. So am I supposed to just wait? Skip over possibilities, concluding beforehand that some other bloke isn't it? But maybe it is. How am I to know?"
"I should give it a whirl, is what you're saying?" The idea was exciting. A real possibility. There was so much less pressure to it if he was just trying it out, seeing if it worked. And then maybe it would. Or it wouldn't. Didn't work with Ginny. It wasn't the end of the world. Maybe, deep down, Draco was still wrapped up in blood-purity ideas and it would come out eventually. Maybe when this magic or the curse broke, they would realise none of it was real. Maybe Harry would realise blokes weren't for him, maybe Draco would. Maybe Harry would die. "But I can't," he said. "We could try it, it becomes a disaster, and I screw myself over because he won't help anymore. Or it goes great and I die and that's cruel to him."
"Well, if you think it's likely it would go badly and go badly fast, then, no, definitely don't go for it. As for you dying, I don't believe that. What I can tell you is, if something happened to you last year or if these attackers managed to kill you, I'd never regret what we had. Don't regret it now, wouldn't regret it then. We had some good times, we have some great memories. It's better than not having them. I guess you have to decide if you want it enough to take some risks."
But Harry didn't want to risk losing Draco's help. That was a horrifying thought, going back to that pain. These days, those early morning hours, when the effects of Draco's touch wore off, and it wasn't yet time for breakfast, weren't easy to get through. Which was ridiculous, spoiled; it was so much worse before. The thought of going back to that… It seemed so stupid to risk it.
In those few liberating moments when Ginny suggested he could just try it, now, the idea was exhilarating.
"Do you know," he said, thinking. "I miss him right now? I'm not in pain, not at all. He wouldn't even have to touch me. I just miss his company. That's strange, right? It's been half an hour."
Ginny's lips twitched in an uncertain smile. "A little strange. Because he's so quiet. How much is there to miss?"
"I don't know. Maybe it's just a habit by now, to have him close. He does talk to me when we're alone, lately especially. We're staying up late and he talks. He regrets it all so much." Harry felt it all the time now. He still couldn't know exactly what Draco was feeling, but every time he mentioned things that happened, the bad things he'd done, Harry would get a sense of that yearning that made him want to… grab him. Pull him close. Not let go. "And he reads to me," he added. "He reads boring lessons in a funny voice."
"Oh, Harry," she sighed. "A little late for these discussions, it seems." She shook her head. "We're not getting rid of him, are we? He'll end up spending Christmas at the Burrow."
Harry had to laugh at the thought, but then he realised, Christmas holidays were relatively close, a little more than a month away. What would happen then? Draco would go home, of course, spend Christmas with his parents. Harry couldn't come with him, for a million obvious reasons. It would be a painful Christmas.
"Oh." Ginny seemed to realise it too. "You didn't talk about that? Christmas holidays?"
Harry shook his head. "I stupidly thought they'd catch the attackers by then. No word on that, no leads or someone would tell me." There was a lead, a hope, a few weeks ago; Kingsley flew here instantly to tell him. It didn't pan out. Maybe they wouldn't be so quick to tell him if they had something.
"I'm serious about the Burrow," Ginny said. "Mum and Dad would do it, you know they would. For you, anything."
"I do know." Harry smiled. "Your mum and dad aren't the problem."
She pulled a face. Maybe imagining Malfoy at the Burrow. Stepping in willingly. "Some other arrangement, then. You could meet up. Grimmauld, rent a room at the Leaky, anything."
"Yeah, maybe. Renting a room at Diagon would be hilarious. Can you imagine the Prophet headlines?"
"Do you care?"
"No," Harry said firmly. "He might."
"He doesn't seem to mind holding your hand all over the castle. It's very public. I'm surprised it hadn't reached the Prophet. A whole bunch of students do think you're dating."
"Kingsley's blocking the story. He told me. Protecting my privacy. I think he thinks Draco and I are dating."
Kingsley seemed rather embarrassed when he told Harry about it, and then he randomly mentioned knowing two Ravenclaw girls back at school who were still living together in a flat in Muggle London. He had assured Harry that the three of them occasionally met up for lunch, even after all this time. Harry had no idea what he was supposed to say to that. Award him points?
They weren't very common, Harry had gathered, these kinds of relationships. They were seen as questionable, embarrassing. He remembered Uncle Vernon ranting about it a few times, too, calling it unnatural. Harry hadn't understood much back then, but he remembered thinking Vernon must be wrong, because Vernon was always wrong.
Harry let his fingers touch the fire. It was warm, but Draco's touch was warmer. "Did you ever hear any gossip about Malfoy?"
"Sorry." Ginny scrunched up her nose. "All Malfoy's romantic endeavours start and end with Pansy Parkinson. Never heard anything else."
Then maybe Harry was wrong about Draco's feelings. Or Draco was as confused about them as Harry. Or he was being deliberately secretive. Their closeness and hand-holding were public, true, but an explanation existed and many people would confirm it. It would always be just a rumour.
What did it matter anyway? What could he hope for? Draco didn't cure him; Harry was still cursed. He had nothing to offer. He'd been relieved he had broken it off with Ginny before the curse; the last thing he wanted was to saddle someone else with obligations and concerns, and he had already done that to Draco. A relationship would just make it worse.
Maybe if he got better. Maybe then.
And there was that yearning again. Definitely his this time.
They had a free period next Wednesday because their Transfiguration teacher had a nasty cold. Usually, they spent their free periods studying because Draco would always suggest it, and Harry was quick to agree to spend their time the way Draco wanted to spend it. However, it was a beautiful day. The grounds were covered in snow and it was finally sunny outside. If he were healthy, Harry would spend this time flying. Maybe playing Quidditch with Ron and whomever decided to join them. He couldn't do that now. Having a firm grip on the broom with your thighs was quite essential to flying. But they could take a walk, at least. Or—
"Hey," Harry said as they made their way towards the library. They were going there without agreeing on it, so there was still a chance to suggest something else. "You said you wanted to try out my Firebolt, remember? The weather's nice. We could go down to the pitch. I'd like some fresh air." Harry hoped the Firebolt was incentive enough.
Draco gave him an odd sort of look, which Harry might have only imagined looked odd, because in the next second Draco said, "That sounds great."
Well, that was easier than Harry thought it would be. He turned around and got himself pulled back so suddenly he stumbled. Draco caught him, and the jolts of pleasure were back.
They were too close; Draco's arm was around Harry's waist, his lips inches away from Harry's, and for a split second, the moment seemed perfect — Harry almost leaned in and kissed him.
But the moment was far from perfect — Draco looked annoyed.
"What are you doing?" Draco asked, releasing Harry and stepping back.
Harry was still catching his breath, an apology on the tip of his tongue, terrified his intent had been obvious and, worse, unwelcome, but Draco added, "Were you about to go to the Tower to get your broom?"
Oh. Right. The Tower. And all those stairs to conquer in between. It was shocking how consistently Draco worried about it. He never forgot. Not for a second. The thought of Harry in pain distressed him.
Who cared about magic? This kind of stuff was threatening Harry's control. It was more gratifying than the pleasure prickling against his skin. "Um, I'll Summon it from the grounds," Harry said. "Will surely break the window, but I suppose I can fix it later."
"Yes, you can, Potter," Draco said, sounding exasperated.
God, now even Draco's eyerolls and drawls seemed endearing.
They went down to the pitch, and Harry pulled out his wand to Summon the Firebolt. He hoped none of his dorm mates were in the dormitory or they'd suffer a nasty shock.
The Firebolt zoomed towards them, making Harry smile, and he caught it neatly when it reached them. He enjoyed the feel of its beautiful wooden handle for a few seconds, mourning the fact he hadn't flown for so long, but then he handed it to Draco with a grin. Honestly, not too long ago giving Draco his broom would have been unimaginable. He'd worry Draco would break it or sabotage it, but now he truly trusted him to be careful with it. As careful as he was with Harry.
Draco examined the Firebolt with obvious admiration. "I was so jealous of this." He grinned. "Father wouldn't buy it for me. He said I'd get it only if I beat you in a match."
"Uh." Harry couldn't help himself. "Sounds like you'd never get it."
That earned him a glare. "You're making me want to change my mind."
"Er…" Harry wasn't sure what to say to that. He was happy to keep his promise and lend Draco his broom for a bit, but he wasn't desperate to do it. What a strange threat.
Draco gave him that odd look again, and this time Harry was sure he wasn't imagining things.
"I was thinking," Draco said, "maybe we could go flying together. We'd be touching, obviously, so you could do it, right? Especially if we keep it short and don't go too high."
Oh, that was something Harry wanted very much. He was desperate to go flying. He missed it terribly. But the point was to give Draco a chance to fly the Firebolt. Everyone wanted that. Draco had just confessed he'd been jealous of it. With Harry tagging along, it would hardly be the same experience. Unless, Draco wanted to fly with Harry more than he wanted to fly the Firebolt. Maybe it would have been fair of Harry to decline, maybe it wouldn't. He had no idea.
"I'd like that," he said because he wanted it too much and simply couldn't refuse.
It was the right call. Draco looked relieved. "All right," he said and released the broom. It promptly arranged itself in midair, perfectly aligned for Harry to mount it.
Harry took a step back. "You get on. And I'll get behind you."
Draco hesitated. It seemed that was what he wanted, but he shook his head. "No, I'll keep worrying you'll fall off or something."
Honestly. "I remember how to fly," Harry said, insulted. "The pain is the problem. Without it, I won't be falling off."
"See that?" Draco's eyes narrowed. "This overconfident attitude is exactly what has me worried. Forget it. My way or no way, Potter."
Oh, great. Now Harry wanted to throttle him. Or at least simply refuse. But he also wanted to go flying. There was a chance Draco wasn't being purposely difficult but was honestly concerned. And well, Harry did want to steer, otherwise it wasn't really flying — it was just him being taken for a ride.
He relented and mounted the broom. Wincing, he secretly admitted to himself Draco was maybe right — Harry was overly confident. He had recklessly swung his right leg over to mount, leaving all his weight on his left. It immediately made him pay for it, throbbing viciously. Two seconds later it didn't matter. The pain vanished and Harry was in heaven — Draco had got on the broom, his front pressed to Harry's back, his thighs aligned with Harry's, his arms wrapping firmly around Harry's waist. Harry heard himself gasp, his body pulled tight, pleasure building so intensely he actually feared he'd lose control entirely. Fucking come in his pants.
He wasn't sure how long they sat like that, but somehow, with enormous effort, Harry calmed down and started breathing again. God, this felt good. Draco and his magic surrounded him. If they were… If they were together, if they were dating, Harry could have this all the time. This was how it would feel.
But no, that couldn't be right. This was too much. There had to be a price or something. This couldn't exist without a price.
He wanted to sink back against Draco and stay like this, rest, sleep.
No, he wanted to… He wanted to cry. He had a very real, very strong urge to fucking cry.
"All right there?" Draco asked, his voice low in Harry's ear.
Harry shivered. At least the sound of Draco's voice pulled him back to reality, though in reality he was still in an impossibly tight embrace. "You could have done that slower," he reproached, more upset with himself than Draco.
"Sorry. You looked like you were in pain."
Great. That wasn't at all helpful. Just another kind of pleasure. He could well believe it — Draco panicking and scrambling to take away Harry's pain. This was too much.
He would not cry. He would not cry because Draco Malfoy hugged him.
"I'm okay now," Harry lied and kicked off with his feet.
They shot up into the air and Harry's heart soared. This was better; this was familiar. He'd nearly forgotten how good it felt, how exhilarating. The sharpness of wind on his face, the expanse above him, the blurring of the world below. Draco's warmth around him, a new addition to Harry's biggest source of happiness. Boundless fuel for every future Patronus.
They'd flown together before, Harry couldn't help remembering, but back then Draco was a tight ball of panic, distracting Harry when he was trying to spot Ravenclaw's diadem. An afterthought in those moments; saving Draco and Goyle was more important.
"I said not too high!" Draco yelled in his ear. "Watch your leg, you absolute idiot!"
That at least made Harry laugh. Draco was still a tight ball of panic.
Thinking it unfair to cause Draco more stress, Harry directed his broom down towards the Forbidden Forest and flew in circles above the snow-covered treetops.
"Happy now?" he yelled back.
"Moderately," Draco said in his ear. Harry could hear the smile in Draco's voice. He was smug about his little victory.
They were up in the air long enough for Harry to calm down. Not completely. It was impossible with Draco wrapped around him. There was no forgetting or ignoring it.
When they touched down and dismounted, Harry didn't even have the time to feel properly bereft — Draco promptly took the Firebolt in one hand and grabbed Harry's hand with the other. "It's possible we just ruined your night."
Harry laughed because he could sense Draco's concern through the intensity of his touch, but he forced himself to stop when Draco threw him a glare.
"I love how me being concerned is funny to you," Draco said, clearly annoyed.
"I love that you're concerned." The statement left Harry's mouth before he had a chance to think it through. It sounded too fond, too honest, and a rush of excitement that wasn't his own passed through him. He couldn't take it back now. He didn't really want to. It was true. Everyone was concerned and Harry often found it suffocating — with Draco, it was thrilling. Maybe because it was so unexpected and because the reversal was so complete. Every time he scolded Harry for doing something reckless, it felt like a little gift, a little piece of himself that Draco was trustingly sharing. The last thing Harry wanted was to discourage him. In fact, he felt like he owed it to Draco to carefully consider whether his reproaches and warnings were warranted.
"We can stay up a bit later," Harry suggested as they walked back to the castle. Draco likely had a point and all the flying might have strained his leg too much.
"Oh, can we?" Draco said, with a hint of mocking. "You're willing to jeopardise my good night's sleep?"
"You can take a nap on the sofa."
"So many things I can do." Draco shook his head. "I assume I'd wake up with a moustache or rabbit ears or something."
"You think I'm a prankster? List one prank I did."
"Are you kidding?" Draco looked incredulous. "Third year. Outside of the Shrieking Shack. You made me think I was attacked by an army of ghosts and then your head appeared, just your head, floating in midair."
Harry laughed. Oh, he forgot all about it. That was legitimately hilarious.
"I was traumatised," Draco added and Harry laughed harder. "I thought you died by decapitation, joined the Headless Hunt, and would spend the next few years at Hogwarts flinging your head at me."
Okay, Draco was now purposely making him laugh.
"You're right," Harry said. "You're not safe with me. I could give you a moustache." He eyed Draco critically.
"Better make it really long." Draco was smiling. "So I can twirl the ends evilly."
Harry laughed, imagining it.
Were they flirting? This definitely felt like flirting. All their interactions felt like flirting. And Harry still wanted more of it. No, he wanted to kiss Draco. Tug him close and kiss that smile.
Could he do that? What if he just did it?
No, of course he couldn't do it. There were too many arguments against it. Real, important arguments.
But it was so easy to forget them and it was getting exponentially worse. Draco's mood kept improving, and when they were alone, he'd joke around, about classes or Quidditch or the things he read in Witch Weekly, which he apparently read religiously, or he'd tease Harry, constantly slinging insults, except they always sounded fond now.
"Come on, Potter," Draco said one evening. "Confess. Are you just lazy or you're assuming they'd let you in Auror training even if you fail all your N.E.W.T.s?"
"Uh." Harry tried not to smile. "I mean, I only came back to Hogwarts because of the curse. Kingsley had already said the N.E.W.T.s didn't matter. I was supposed to rush through Auror training and join the ranks as soon as possible."
Draco's eyes widened. "Oh no. The blatant favouritism! My faith in the justice system is shook."
"Well, they're desperate," Harry defended himself. "They already hired a bunch of young Aurors without proper training. They had to."
"Too late." Draco simulated fainting against the sofa's back and looked up from his reclining position with wide innocent eyes. "My disillusionment is immeasurable. Harry Potter, falling prey to nepotism."
Harry burst out laughing, though it was hard to even suck in a proper breath. What had he told Ginny? That he didn't think Draco was pretty? Well, he didn't think he was pretty. He thought Draco was beautiful. Right in this moment with his hair splayed out over Gryffindor red, with his clear pale eyes and his warm smile, he was so beautiful Harry had to fight with every cell in his body not to lean down and kiss him. He wouldn't even have to lean in a lot. Just a little bit. They were always so close and lately they were positively glued to each other, touching from shoulders to knees, hands clasped together. And yet it still wasn't close enough.
Draco looked so relaxed. God, it would be so easy.
But Harry didn't have the right to ask for anything. He had considered the matter obsessively and one thing was clear to him — he, personally, had nothing to lose and everything to gain. A relationship with Draco would just make everything better. Even if it wasn't real and he changed his mind later, it wouldn't even matter. He'd likely be sad it was just magic, but it wouldn't change the fact Draco had helped him so much and made all these weeks — months — incredible. Harry couldn't imagine himself regretting it. And if he died, at least he would die happy.
But where would that leave Draco? Harry would be just another person Draco had placed his hopes in, only to get disappointed again. Abandoned, through eventual lack of interest or death. Harry couldn't do that to him. It would have been cruel and selfish.
He did ask about Pansy, though, when the opportunity presented itself. It was pointless and shameless to gather information on Draco's past relationships, but Harry couldn't help himself.
Pansy visited the Hogwarts library that week, with Blaise. The two of them were always together when they came. Draco spent some time with them, alone, at Harry's urging. It seemed important to Harry, to get Draco to talk to his old friends. Give him some room to breathe. That probably also applied to Christmas. Draco deserved a break.
Harry wasn't far, also in the library, with Ron and Hermione by his side. Pansy talked a lot, probably bringing Draco news from the outside, maybe asking about Harry. Draco didn't talk much and he kept an eye on Harry, possibly looking for signs of distress. Harry kept smiling whenever he caught Draco looking his way, even when his leg started twinging. Still, maybe Draco somehow realised, and he was back soon to take that smidgen of pain away.
Harry didn't ask him about it much; he left that for later, for their time, late in the evening when they were alone again on the sofa, pressed close with Harry's hand trapped between Draco's, on Draco's lap, then he asked.
Draco shrugged. "Lots of people are getting married, including Pansy. And apparently, my mother's parties are less popular than her letters would have me believe."
"Pansy's getting married?" Harry was honestly perplexed.
Draco grinned. "Betrothed to Blaise."
Harry looked for signs of lying. "That's insane. You're having me on. They're eighteen."
"The actual marriage won't happen tomorrow, maybe in a year or so. It's a plan, of sorts. Get their parents to give them some gold, set them up for a new beginning, a life away from here."
"Oh. They want to move."
"Somewhere far. Where they can just forget it all."
"Would you want that?" Harry asked, careful to keep his tone neutral.
Draco looked at him, his eyes searching. "I'm unlikely to forget anything due to geography."
It wasn't quite what Harry meant and Draco must have known that. It would be easier for Draco to start a new life somewhere else. But Draco's answer still applied. He wasn't looking for easy.
"And Pansy getting betrothed, does it bother you? Seemed to me you were dating. For ages."
Draco started playing with Harry's fingers, caressing them, gripping them. He did that a lot lately. "Strange to call it dating," Draco said. "We always assumed we'd get married. Our families would have been pleased, and it just made sense to us. I never considered alternatives. Until my sixth year. Then I reckoned I'd… die. One way or another. Then I started considering alternatives. You know, the things I'd want to do before I die."
"And what did you want?"
"Apparently, a long-haired, Slytherin pretty boy." Draco's fingers stopped moving. He wasn't looking at Harry. He seemed to have frozen up, waiting for Harry's reaction.
Harry was a little shocked. That Draco would just say it, that it was… "Paxton Adcock? Seriously?"
Draco looked at him, blinking. "Didn't think you'd guess that."
"Um, I heard rumours." Recently, but still. Draco's eyes widened slightly. "About him," Harry added. "Not… you. That was in our sixth year?" He didn't mean to interrogate Draco, but he didn't want to not ask questions.
Draco looked away again. "Seventh." It seemed that may be the only thing he'd say, but he went on eventually. "It wasn't anything serious. It was… a difficult year, obviously, and we'd meet up and… do the deed." He shrugged. "That was mostly it. Went on for about a month."
Do the deed. Harry felt his cheeks heat up. He wished he could stop it. So Draco Malfoy was out there, doing the deed, and Harry was confused and up until recently unable to do much.
Draco wasn't finished. "He seemed nice, right?" He gave Harry a sideways glance. "For a Slytherin."
Honestly, Harry disagreed. In his mind, he went back through his encounter with Paxton several times and decided he'd been right to feel uneasy around him. Yes, Harry was foolish for thinking Paxton was trying to rob him, but there was so much intensity and entitlement in the way Paxton had grabbed Harry's arm it set Harry's teeth on edge even now.
Harry forced a smile. "I suppose."
"Yeah. Well, I thought so. And then, the Carrows caught some kid breaking into the hospital wing. Probably for some healing potions. Lots of injured at the time. Brought him down to the Great Hall to make an example out of him. And as always it was, 'Come, Draco, show them how it's done.' Crabbe and Goyle usually volunteered because they liked doing it. They liked that I was always hesitating and they could one-up me in this one thing. Suited me just fine. Except they weren't there that day. And then Paxton gets up, says, 'Hey, I'll curse the little bastard.' And I thought, wow, he's doing it to spare me. How sweet. He'll torture someone so I wouldn't have to. I think I fell in love a little." Draco laughed; it sounded hollow. "And then I saw his face. I've never seen him cast the Cruciatus before, wasn't in his class. But I saw him then. He liked it too. Enjoyed it. Later he tried to claim he did do it for me. Got all sweet about it. But he lied. I know that look, that flush of pleasure. I've seen it before, on Voldemort's face, Bella's, my father's, even mine, back when I didn't actually know pain. He had that look. I didn't notice it before. Maybe a little mean streak, enough to make him spicy." He bit his lip and tried for a smile. "And thus endeth the tragic love life of Draco Malfoy. I dated myself, basically. Figured that one out later. He was who I was supposed to be. Charming and popular, and discreet about all his little urges. The kind of son my father wanted. Careful to keep up appearances, not squeamish and weak. He's still doing what he's supposed to. He's getting married, too. Some Swedish girl. That's where he is — Sweden. Going after all the blond Swedish boys. To fuck on the side." Draco snorted. "Paxton Adcock. Wanker."
Harry closed his eyes, irrationally hoping that could contain his sudden fury. All of Draco's shrugs and attempts to diminish the impact Paxton had on him were too easy to see through. Draco had fallen for him. Believed he had found someone to put his trust in, only to realise he drew in another psychopath. No escaping them, no hope for comfort, just another disappointment.
Harry wished he knew what to say. He could hardly wrap his mind around the fact Draco shared this with him.
"That was my plan too," Draco added and Harry realised he'd been silent for too long. He should have said something. But Draco still wasn't finished. "I was going to marry some witch and find alternatives on the side. That was before I stopped giving a fuck about disappointing my father. No, that's a lie. I do give a fuck. I actively want to disappoint him. I didn't tell him yet, but I will — the Malfoy line ends with me."
Harry tried not to wince. Draco sounded so bitter, so angry. Harry didn't know how to fix it.
Or he did.
He told himself he had nothing to offer, but maybe that wasn't true after all. His real, important arguments against their relationship were melting away.
He thought they might not make it work, but why wouldn't they? It would be just like this, except they could do so many other things. Harry wouldn't have to fret and pull away, but he could pull Draco close and kiss him. Why would that ruin anything? That made no sense.
He thought he was enthralled by Draco's magic, but it was more than that. Harry understood now — yes, Draco was paying the debts he felt he owed by inverting Harry's pain, but underneath it all, something else got loose. Every good feeling Draco suppressed with Occlumency, every shred of empathy and kindness he couldn't allow himself to feel, was now released, unbridled and raw, exposed to Harry's senses. If those feelings eventually got back to Draco's soul, where they belonged, it didn't mean they would disappear. They'd still be there even if Harry couldn't physically feel them. He would know they're there. He would always know. He could wake up one day and find the magic gone, but not that knowledge, and the knowledge was more important.
He thought they couldn't base their relationship on gratitude and guilt and regret, but some people started dating because they got drunk at some party and made out. Why would they have a better chance?
He thought he would die. But he thought that when he broke up with Ginny. He was sure it was hopeless and he wanted her to be free. But then he lived and it was too late, too much had happened and they grew apart. Was he supposed to miss this chance too? He didn't want to.
And if he died, then maybe he could be a good memory, not another bitter story.
He didn't know what to say, but he knew what to do.
"Come on." He got up.
"What?" Draco frowned at their hands, resisting as Harry tried to pull him up. "It's past midnight."
"You think our carriage turned into a pumpkin?"
"What?"
Oh right. That was a Muggle thing. Harry laughed. "Come on. You need mischief to cheer you up."
"Do I? I think I need to not get expelled. Or get detention."
"You think that's likely?" Harry reasoned. "Tell me you don't want to take a midnight flight across the lake. We can get a school broom from the shed. You won't let me fly fast, anyway."
Draco's expression lit up. "I never did that."
"Really? That's outrageous," Harry said with conviction. And then the moment Draco stood up, he tugged on Draco's hand, hard enough to catch him off guard and make him stumble — right into Harry's arms.
"My, aren't you unsteady," Harry teased, his hand on Draco's hip.
Draco's expression was uncertain, but his breath hitched and pink patches blossomed on his cheeks.
Harry's heart swelled, the last shreds of his doubts falling away. "Come on," he said.
If this was the last thing he ever got to do, he would do it right.
Chapter 6: The Miracle
Notes:
A week from hell, this was. And I just changed one Darco to Draco before posting, but I'm sticking to my schedule!
Chapter Text
Draco's shoes made squishy sounds all the way to the dungeons. Using a school broom had been a terrible mistake. It had bucked violently when they had reached the middle of the lake, and they ended up splashing in the dark, freezing water. Reaching the shore took a while and the Giant Squid didn't help, slapping at them with its tentacles, likely agitated after being woken up so rudely. They were soaked through and chilled to the bone, and though they used every spell they could think of to dry up and warm up, it barely helped.
It was, quite honestly, as horrible as it was hilarious. Draco never laughed so much.
Potter apologised a million times. "This is not what I had in mind," he kept saying, grabbing Draco and leaning on him to keep his balance as he laughed. "I wanted to cheer you up."
Well, it worked, up to a point. Draco's amusement was slowly waning now that he was alone. There was a moment when they reached the shore that filled Draco with regret — Potter had straightened, his glasses lost in the lake, the moonlight deepening his frown, and his wild hair lying flat for once. It felt like Draco was granted a glimpse of the future. Potter, years later, all grown up and serious, busy catching Dark Wizards and commanding respect.
Seconds later, Potter Summoned his glasses, dried his hair somewhat, and gave Draco an infectious grin, breaking the illusion, but Draco couldn't forget the image. Potter had never looked more unattainable. He had laid a path for himself, had goals and a will to achieve them. Where would Draco fit in? He'd only taint the image. Make things complicated and harder. A relationship with a man and a former Death Eater. It would forever be a problem Potter would have to deal with. Eventually, it would exhaust him.
Draco now wished he hadn't said a word to Potter about Paxton or being attracted to men. There was no need for it. Potter hadn't reacted badly or anything, but Draco might have made things weird. If Potter had any suspicions about Draco's feelings for him, Draco had only confirmed them. Or at least made Potter wonder, if Granger hadn't done that already. She had found him fondling and kissing Potter's hair but made no mention of it to Draco, and he certainly didn't ask her about it. But it bothered him endlessly. Did she mention it to Potter? Surely she would. But Potter said nothing about it either. Maybe she told him, but Potter kept his mouth shut. Why say anything if he didn't want Draco?
It left Draco in the dark, left him wondering about it every single day. If he were honest with himself, that was why he told Potter about Paxton. To test the waters, see if he had a shot. He didn't really get an answer.
Or he could blame his mother's letter. It had arrived that morning and upset him so much he opened his big mouth, looking for support that he clearly wouldn't be getting from her. The rumours had reached her — her son was strutting around Hogwarts with Harry Potter attached to his hip. No mention of life debts or Potter's condition. The person who had told her about it either didn't know the whole story or refused to believe it. Or she refused to believe it. She knew him. Of course she made her own conclusions.
When he got back to his dormitory, he sat on his bed, and picked up the letter again despite his better judgement. It was a polite letter, of course it was. No direct threats. She didn't explicitly mention she was disappointed in him. She talked about her struggles to clear the Malfoy name, her parties and her generous donations, her willingness to interact with those she used to consider unworthy. They were all terribly ungrateful, apparently, refusing her tolerant offers to grace even the Muggle-borns with her presence. Nothing throwing around gold couldn't resolve, she was certain. Her outrageous donation to St Mungo's was already making waves in the society, she boasted. Draco assumed it made waves in the Malfoy Manor too. His father had likely thrown a tantrum about it, like he always did when Mother spent his gold. She didn't mention that part, of course.
And then it came out, the real reason for her letter.
Draco, darling, it's quite unnecessary for you to demean yourself by satiating Harry Potter's need to make a spectacle of himself. I have made no mention of it to your father, of course. You know him well; he is a prideful man. However, he is more than willing to bear the burden of gratitude to this misguided child. I, myself, am immeasurably grateful to Potter, but we must not delude ourselves. He has no love for us. You owe him nothing. He had no choice but to conduct himself in the manner he had been bred to emulate. It would serve him ill if he had chosen to disregard my defiance to the Dark Lord.
Please, do not let him take advantage of your sweet disposition. Naivety does not become you, darling, and your father's indulgence has its limits. We have indulged you when you insisted on retaking your classes and spending the entire year away from home. I know you are aware of your responsibilities, now more than ever. The holidays are fast approaching — do as you must until then. I only implore you to be more discreet. Then, I beg you, come home and forget this foolishness. You can take your N.E.W.T.s right after Christmas. I need you home to help me regain the respect of the wizarding society, not trapped at this accursed 'school', doing your best to derail my efforts.
She always used to write to him mid-December, and she'd always enclose a little pouch filled with Galleons for holiday purchases. Not this time. A silent blackmail. A warning. Like the letter itself. She hadn't told Father, but she would. He must come home where she could keep an eye on him. Potter would use him and discard him.
He was foolish. She was right about that. He stupidly thought she would support him. If it were true and he had found someone who made him happy, he thought she would want that for him. Whoever told her about Potter, did they mention how much Draco had been smiling lately? Was that part not newsworthy? Maybe if he explained it to her. Maybe if it wasn't Potter but someone else, she could accept it.
But no, she wanted grandchildren. She wanted more children too, but it never happened. Well, that wasn't Draco's fault. Father got his heir; that was all he wanted.
She would never accept it, would she? This was it, then. He either went back and did what his parents wanted or he was on his own. He had spent what little gold he had on him on school supplies before he came to Hogwarts. Mother didn't offer to buy them, didn't accompany him to Diagon, didn't fill his pockets with gold. That had been a silent protest too. He was well and truly broke. Not the biggest problem in Hogwarts unless he ran out of supplies. Would he end up begging someone to lend him a quill? He would have to be careful not to spill any ink bottles. What if he broke his wand or ripped his winter cloak? And when he left Hogwarts, what then? He had nowhere to live. He would have to rent a place, but he didn't have any gold. How would he pay for it? Surely someone would hire him, but that would take time, who knew how much time. He didn't have a friend he could stay with. Neither Pansy nor Blaise had a place of their own, and their families wouldn't help him. Daphne would maybe help, but she couldn't. She was in a similar position and had to worry about herself and her sister. Would Potter help? His friends? Maybe Potter would, if Draco asked. But Draco couldn't ask him.
Was Potter his friend? That option never occurred to Draco before. He was constantly obsessing about a possible relationship with Potter, but there was another possibility — having Potter in his life as a friend. Could that happen? If Draco didn't ask for anything more, they could meet up, have a pint, talk. It wasn't much, but it made the future seem a little less bleak, a little less terrifying. Maybe Potter would help him out a bit, vouch for him, recommend him to a potential but reluctant employer. Was it terrible of Draco to make these sorts of plans? It wasn't terrible to ask a friend for help, surely. It wasn't terrible to expect to get it. He got to know Potter now. It wasn't fair to judge him how Draco's mother had judged him. That part of the letter bothered Draco the most. Potter wasn't keen on making a spectacle of himself, on the contrary. And he wouldn't cast Draco away when Draco exceeded his usefulness. Potter wasn't like that.
God. Draco wished he kept his mouth shut even more now. With Draco's confession, the side-effects of his magic, and the thing Granger saw, it was so easy for Potter to guess how Draco felt. Draco turned himself into an awkward problem; he should have been aiming for friendship.
The light of the next day didn't bring him any comfort, only more concerns. For the first time in a long time he wasn't looking forward to seeing Potter in the morning, but he had no choice but to go up to the Tower and face him. Nothing in Potter's demeanour suggested he lost sleep worrying about what Draco had told him yesterday. Which could have been a good thing if Draco only wanted friendship. Disappointing if Draco wanted more. If only Draco could get his thoughts in order, if he could firmly decide that friendship would truly be enough, then he wouldn't be the one acting strangely. Potter even asked him if everything was all right, which meant Draco was fucking things up and couldn't seem to get a grip.
They were halfway through breakfast when Potter nudged him and said, "Hey." He had his left hand placed palm up on his thigh. "Give me your hand."
But Draco was eating. He had a spoon in his hand.
"Your left hand," Potter added, smiling a little.
Draco took Potter's hand in his, concerned. "Are you in pain?" They had never held hands during breakfast before. It was, as far as Draco knew, unnecessary, and awkward for both of them to eat one-handed.
"Not at all," Potter said, still smiling. He gripped Draco's hand tight and went back to eating.
Then what was this? Potter never asked to be touched, not with words. He always waited for Draco to offer it.
Draco smiled down at his porridge. Then this was meant for him. The support he'd been looking for with his bad mood and awkward behaviour. They were friends, at the very least. Potter was letting him know. He didn't freak out after what Draco had told him yesterday. He wasn't uncomfortable with their touching.
Maybe they could be more, maybe not, but either way this was real. Harry Potter was his friend.
Even better, Potter seemed to be in a good mood. And if Draco's imagination wasn't deceiving him, he was suddenly very handsy. It was the little things, so it was hard to tell for sure, but they were quickly piling up.
After they would finish their meals or lessons, Potter would reach for him, unusual in itself, but the way he'd do it — sliding his hand down Draco's forearm and wrist to take his hand — that was the definition of a caress.
And then, during Potion lessons, when he'd manoeuvre around Draco to reach for some ingredient on the other side of the workbench, he'd put his hand on the small of Draco's back. He kept doing it, kept reaching for stuff he needed one at a time instead of grabbing a whole bunch. Potter's touch was always warm and unexpected, and it lingered. And, ridiculously, it made Draco's knees go weak.
When Potter had a thought to share with him in the library, something mundane about whatever they were currently studying, he'd lean in close and whisper it in Draco's ear. Draco shivered every time.
It was hard to decide which idea appealed to him more: the thought that Potter was doing it deliberately, perhaps testing the waters himself, or the thought he was doing it without realising; that he got so comfortable with Draco he sought out his touch on instinct. Either way, Draco felt like he was being seduced, which was insane and completely unnecessary — he'd already fallen hard — but it was an undeniable change and Draco enjoyed every second of it.
One evening, two days later, they found out they'd been spotted during their ill-fated midnight flight. Draco had been alarmed, but Potter readily confirmed it and shared the story with the rest of the Gryffindors, making everyone cry with laughter. Draco decided he liked being a part of one of Potter's infamous rule-breaking stories.
"Why would you use a school broom?" Dean wanted to know.
"Why would you go outside so late?" Hermione demanded.
Parvati smirked. "Is that your idea of romance, Harry?"
Draco stiffened, but Potter said, "Yes, it is," without missing a beat. Then he glanced at Draco, the corner of his mouth twitching.
Uncertain, but determined not to show it, Draco frowned. "Were you trying to romance the Giant Squid? You could have told me, Potter. I'd give you two some privacy."
Everyone laughed, teasing Potter now, and Draco looked around, catching Parvati's eye — not on purpose; he'd looked around in near-panic, but they seemed to have glanced at each other at the same time.
Her eyebrows rose. "What?" He saw her mouth the word more than heard her because everyone was still laughing and throwing jabs at Potter.
Draco shrugged a little and shook his head. He had no intention of calling her out on her joke and drawing more attention to it.
She seemed confused, but then Lavender said something and Parvati turned away.
It was such a tiny moment, but it made Draco examine the current situation with new eyes. Potter was sitting so incredibly close, practically leaning on Draco, and they were holding hands, fingers intertwined, right there on their connected thighs for everyone to see. And Potter had just laughingly told a story about the two of them flying across the lake in the middle of the night. Not to mention, Parvati's joke about romance wasn't even malicious, more exasperated than anything.
Did Parvati think they were dating? Did they all think that? Who could even blame them? Now that he thought about it, it occurred to Draco that girls had stopped approaching Potter weeks ago.
But no one said anything about it. So… what? They just accepted it? No insults, no shock, no lips curling in disgust? They simply let Potter get away with this. Like it was normal and uneventful, just another couple that had to endure a little mocking and teasing when they showed their affection in public.
All that acceptance and Potter and he weren't even…
Were they? Were they almost there?
Something twisted in Draco's chest. It wasn't unpleasant, but it left his heart thumping madly.
Experimentally, Draco pulled Potter's hand into his lap. Potter was half-heartedly arguing with Dean about something, but he turned towards Draco in an instant. "What?" he asked quietly.
"We should do that again," Draco said, equally quiet. "Go flying across the lake at night. On the Firebolt, obviously."
Potter leaned in even closer. Impossibly close. If anyone was looking at them, they could be wondering if the two of them were kissing. And still no one said anything.
"Want to go now?" Potter asked.
Draco didn't mean now. Although, why not now? "Yeah," he said. "Let's go now."
"All right. I'll go get the Firebolt." Potter promptly tried to get up but was hampered by Draco's grip. His mouth curled. "With your permission," he teased.
"I suppose it's not too far," Draco said, keeping a straight face as he released Potter's hand. Not completely — Potter still had to tug himself free, and he did so with a smile. Draco stared after him, his chest still twisting madly.
Potter getting up and leaving for the dormitories immediately drew attention.
"Oi, where are you off to?" Seamus asked.
"I'm getting us some earplugs so we can keep enjoying your company," Potter called out.
Seamus rounded on Draco. "And you just let him go? That's ten medium-sized steps, at the very least. What if he falls and breaks his neck? What then, Malfoy? What then?"
Draco endured the laughter. "Then I'll have a spare pair of earplugs," he said calmly, though a part of him wanted to run after Potter, afraid Seamus's joke jinxed him.
Fortunately, Potter returned quickly enough and diverted everyone's attention with his broom.
"Seriously? You're going out flying now?" someone asked in disbelief, but Draco wasn't even sure who, because he was busy getting up and grabbing Potter's hand.
"Harry, you can't," Granger complained. "It's freezing outside."
Seamus imitated her tone. "And it's dark and scary and you haven't got your sweater."
"Oh, shut up," Granger said, and Draco seized the moment to pull Potter outside.
How many of them were sure the two of them ran off for a romantic night ride and a snog? And they only found it somewhat amusing.
Giddy now, Draco stopped Potter at the top of the stairs. "I mean, we don't have to walk." He took the Firebolt from Potter, who relinquished it immediately, and mounted it. "Come on, get on."
Potter's eyes widened. "But what if I fall off?"
Draco laughed. "Oh, fuck off and get on."
Grinning, Potter did so, sat behind Draco and wrapped his arms around Draco's waist. And that was pure magic. Exactly as Potter had described the effects of Draco's touch — like being wrapped in a warm blanket on a chilly day.
They sped down towards the Entrance Hall, dismounting when they got close so they could sneak outside with some attempt at secrecy. And then they got back on the broom again and were off. It was snowing, but they spelled their clothes to repel snowflakes, and flew across the lake, over the Forbidden Forest and almost all the way to Hogsmeade. They stayed in the air for far too long because Draco didn't want this to end.
When they got back to the common room, which was quiet and empty now, Draco guiltily grabbed Potter's hand and stroked it, waiting to see if Potter would find it odd and pull away, but Potter sank back against the sofa and smiled.
He looked tired, so Draco picked up a copy of Witch Weekly he'd left lying around two days ago and started reading the juiciest articles out loud. Potter kept laughing, trying to peek at the magazine to make sure Draco wasn't making things up, which Draco absolutely did. Eventually, Potter started yawning, his head leaning against Draco's shoulder, and soon after he fell asleep, exactly as Draco intended. He pulled Potter close, into his arms, and shamelessly stroked his hair.
Potter stirred well after midnight, too aware and alert for someone who had slept soundly a second ago. Could be he had woken up earlier but didn't show it, kept still, and didn't say a word while Draco played with his hair.
Back at the dungeons, as he carefully went through every single thing that happened that day, Draco concluded Potter had definitely been awake, possibly the whole time. Potter's breathing had sped up a few times and he'd squirm a little — faking restless sleep. He had to be.
Draco imagined he got his confirmation the next day because Potter was in an extraordinarily good mood.
He greeted Draco by practically wrapping his arm around Draco's and declared he had never slept better. Then, during breakfast, he kept stealing food from Draco's plate, insisting Draco was hoarding the crispiest bacon. He paid no attention during classes but instead kept scribbling on Draco's notes, rewording every single thing Draco wrote down and made it sound obscene, drawing truly terrible drawings in the margins, and adding outrageous spelling mistakes. Draco was torn between genuine annoyance and very real and very unfortunate arousal that kept building every time he glanced at Potter and caught him giving Draco a mischievous smirk.
Driven mad during their Transfiguration class, Draco finally retaliated by shoving his hand between Potter's thighs. Potter's breath hitched, but he managed not to cry out. His fist clenched as he worked through the sensations. It got him bad, that was clear. He'd gotten too good at controlling himself when Draco held his hand, but this was new. That's right, Draco thought savagely, I'm the one with a secret weapon. He leaned in to whisper, "Looks like the pain is making you restless. I hope this helps."
Potter reached below the desk and tried to remove Draco's hand, but Draco kept it stiff. There was no way Potter could remove it without this turning into a wrestling match, which would draw too much unwanted attention.
It took a nice long while for Potter's breathing to even out, and he left Draco's notes alone after that. Draco glanced at him a few times to make sure Potter wasn't really annoyed, but Potter kept biting his bottom lip, clearly trying not to smile. He was enjoying this. And so was Draco. The tiniest brush of his fingertips had Potter's breath hitching again. Draco tried not to do it too often, just in case plausible deniability was needed.
By the end of the class, Draco firmly decided to drag Potter in the first dark corner he found along the way and kiss him senseless. But when the moment came, he lost his nerve. Yes, Potter was flirting like his life depended on it, but Draco had promised himself he wouldn't be the one asking for anything more. If Potter wanted more, he would have to act on it.
Besides, joking and teasing and touching was one thing, but what if Potter recoiled when Draco tried to kiss him? What if that made him realise this wasn't what he wanted? Draco couldn't bear a rejection like that.
They had a free period after lunch and Potter wanted to go flying, but a heavy downpour messed up his plan, and they ended up in the library where Draco tried to fix his ruined notes. Potter was still in a good mood, still teasing, and Draco was trying to find a balance between being receptive, but not too receptive. He didn't want to risk making a move first, but he absolutely didn't want to discourage Potter.
Just as Potter accidentally brushed his quill against Draco's cheek for the fifth time ("So sorry, lost control of my hands again!"), Madam Pince brought a small stack of letters for Potter. Not an unusual occurrence — they were all opened, checked for hexes, possibly even for inappropriate content. As far as Potter knew, all letters addressed to him were intercepted by McGonagall, and the Aurors thoroughly screened them. Potter didn't seem to mind. Apparently, he'd received some upsetting and dangerous messages in the past and was glad he didn't have to deal with it anymore.
Potter set down his wayward quill and hastily went through the letters, picking just one and shoving the rest of them away.
"Can I read them?" Draco asked, testing the boundaries of their newfound closeness.
Potter frowned at the letters. "Sure." He pushed them towards Draco. "Nothing exciting there, trust me." He shook his head and went back to reading the letter he had picked from the pile.
Potter was very wrong. The letters were hilarious. Almost exclusively written by enamoured fans. Very young fans, for the most part, but sometimes the letters seemed too eloquent and mature to be written by adoring children.
"Oh my," Draco commented, reading one particularly racy letter. "Does McGonagall read these?"
"With her afternoon tea, I like to imagine." Potter grinned and leaned in very, very close to peek at the letter. If Draco turned his head, he could effortlessly kiss Potter's temple. He could smell Potter's shampoo. He was familiar with the scent by now. Something citrusy. "Oh, that's very explicit," Potter concluded.
"Inventive, too," Draco added fairly.
Potter turned his head to look at him. Oh yes, they could definitely kiss now. What was it? Two inches? That was too close for friends, wasn't it?
Potter was smiling. "Do you think I should take her up on it? Any contact information?"
Draco crumpled the letter. "No. Sadly."
Honestly, Draco couldn't handle that playful look in Potter's eyes.
"It wasn't meant to be, then," Potter declared and leaned back.
If Potter aimed to drive him crazy, it was working.
"What are you reading? Another love letter?" Draco asked, jealous now because he realised Potter was truly engrossed in that one letter worthy of his attention.
Potter laughed. "No. It's—" His smile slipped. "Um. It's from your aunt, actually."
All of Draco's thoughts came to a screeching halt. "Sorry?"
"It's from Andromeda Tonks. It's an update about my godchild, Teddy. Teddy Lupin." Potter looked uncertain now. "I've mentioned him. I'm sure I did."
He did. Draco remembered. Teddy this and Teddy that, and Teddy, my godchild, always said with a big grin. But Draco didn't really connect the dots there. He thought Potter and his friends were talking about another Weasley. He thought maybe the eldest Weasley had a kid and named Potter as godfather. Who could even keep track of all of them? And Draco always tried hard not to listen when Potter mentioned Andromeda, which Potter rarely did, possibly on purpose.
But no, of course, with a name like that, it was—
Will you babysit the cubs? Voldemort had asked.
Bella was so angry and embarrassed she killed her niece.
"Yeah, Teddy," Draco said, trying to not let his thoughts show. What an unbearably cold shower. What was Draco thinking? He knew he could never fit into Potter's world. Sure, some people would tolerate him being a part of Potter's life while Potter needed him, for the sake of Potter's happiness, but that wouldn't last. And Andromeda… How could she ever even look at him without remembering he'd been Bella's ally?
"Hey," Potter said. "What's happening in that head of yours right now?"
Reluctantly, Draco looked up. It truly felt like Potter was reading his mind. Seeing Draco's dark thoughts and preparing himself to fight them.
"I'm thinking…" he said. Should he lie? He was sick of lying. "There are a lot of people who hate me out there. People you care about."
Potter reached for Draco's hand, in that new way of his, sliding his palm down Draco's forearm. "Well, I'm thinking, people can change their mind."
The caressing was wonderful, but the words didn't bring Draco much comfort. "Sure," he said. "Maybe you can curse Andromeda and we'll see if I can help her. Or we keep it simple and I just Imperius her." That set Potter's jaw into a sharp line. Draco was instantly sorry. "I didn't mean that," he hurried to say.
"Of course you did." Potter sighed. "You think that if I hadn't been cursed and your touch couldn't help me, then we wouldn't be here holding hands. And you're probably right. But I wouldn't hate you. This curse messed things up, but if you had come to me on the platform, asking for friendship, I wouldn't turn you away."
Draco stared at him, daring to believe it. In fact, he'd been so sure on the platform that Potter was waiting for his approach and was ready to shake his hand. A sudden urge to share all his thoughts overwhelmed him. He was so tired of his doubts. "It would be easier for you," he said, "not having me as a… as a friend. I mean, after the curse is lifted."
"You think I'm looking for easy?"
"Well, no, but you should be. After everything that happened."
"I don't know if you noticed, I don't really like doing what I should be doing."
"All right, but—"
"It's beside the point, anyway. It's too late now. Not having you as a friend after all this would be the opposite of easy." His eyes narrowed. "Hard is the opposite of easy, for clarification, if you need it."
Draco huffed out a laugh. "Thanks. Was going crazy trying to think of an antonym for easy. The intellectual tasks you force on me, it's too much."
"You want an intellectual task?" Potter squeezed Draco's hand. "How about you try spending ten minutes of every day pretending everyone doesn't hate you?"
Draco intertwined their fingers. "Even Andromeda?"
That made Potter hesitate. "Some people are wary," he said. "That's not hate."
Admittedly, that didn't sound too terrible. Wariness was easier to deal with. A knot in Draco's stomach eased a bit. He managed a smile. "I'm sorry, this task is unclear to me now. Am I supposed to pretend everyone is wary of me or everyone positively adores me?"
"You know what?" Potter did that thing again, where he pretended he had to be really close to Draco and whisper. "You'll just have to use your judgement and decide who's likely to be wary of you, and who's likely to positively adore you."
A surge of emotion shot through Draco and Potter took a sharp breath.
Draco tried to fight off his embarrassment. This kept happening. Draco would get emotional and it gave Potter another jolt of pleasure. No matter how much Draco tried to convince himself he was only imagining it, it was becoming undeniable. There was no chance Potter hadn't made that connection by now too. Everything Draco felt was right there for Potter to see. There was nowhere to hide.
But then again, Potter was the one who almost said he adored Draco. He should be embarrassed. Maybe he was. His cheeks were flushed. Potter didn't acknowledge what happened, but smiled instead. "Can I make a request?"
Anything, Draco almost said, but stopped himself and nodded. "All right." He wasn't sure what to expect.
"You see, I've been trying to get Andromeda to let me visit Teddy for a while now. But it's always something: he has a cold, a fever, or not sleeping enough, or has an upset stomach. I mean, Andromeda is always worried and fussing, and I get it, I do. I'm in a school, and it's winter, and I could infect him with something, theoretically, I suppose. But she's finally relented and says I can come whenever. So, I'm thinking, I should go right away. Today. Before I get another owl where she changes her mind."
"All right," Draco repeated, still unsure where Potter was going with this. He certainly hoped Potter wasn't about to suggest Draco should come with him because that was an absolute no. If Andromeda was worried about letting Potter see Teddy, she'd curse Draco out of the house.
"My plan is," Potter said, "to ask McGonagall to let me use the Floo. I'd go before dinner, after Defence. Double Defence. Which could be unfortunate."
It would be. Their last two Defence lessons were of the "wands out, books away" variety and this one was likely to be the same.
"But if we skip Defence." Potter grinned. "And… I have time to prepare for the visit…"
Draco gasped. "Harry Potter," he said breathlessly, "are you suggesting I sacrifice my education for the Chosen One's whims?"
The corner of Potter's lips twitched. "Oh, it's even worse than that. I'm also suggesting we tell our Defence teacher I'm in too much pain to attend the class."
Draco clutched his chest. "Good Lord."
Potter burst out laughing, head falling forward so his forehead bumped against Draco's shoulder. Draco fought off an urge to hug him.
It was quite a change — Potter asking for help, even making Draco skip his lessons. Draco knew him better now; he knew Potter saw asking for help as admitting a weakness, but he did it anyway.
Potter's breath hitched again; Draco was losing every shred of control.
"I had other plans for tonight," Potter said quietly, as though confiding a secret, still so very close. "But I really need to do this first."
Draco couldn't even think. Was that some kind of promise?
"What sort of plans?" He simply had to ask.
Potter bit his lip. "We'll just postpone them for a few hours. All right?" His gaze searched Draco's face.
It wasn't exactly an answer, but there was a plea in that all right, and Draco was helpless to refuse him. "Yeah," he said.
There was no time to obsess about it. They arranged everything the way Potter imagined it. They made their excuses to their Defence teacher (who actually looked concerned, but Draco still wanted to slap him), with Potter grimacing and limping heavily, something Draco couldn't stop teasing him about until he realised Potter was absolutely desperate to see his godchild and would stoop to anything to make it happen.
Then Potter went up to the Headmistress's office and Draco seized the moment to run off to the nearest bathroom for a very quick, very furious wank. He needed clarity if he was about to spend two whole hours touching Potter and enduring his teasing.
Exiting the bathroom, he nearly ran over Daphne.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, aware it sounded defensive and rude. There was no need to be embarrassed. She couldn't have known what he had just done in there.
She moved to the side, lifting up her arms as though in surrender. "Do you think I'm following you?"
"No, I just—" He suddenly remembered the Divination classroom was somewhere around here. He never took that class, but Daphne did. "Sorry," he said, abashed. "I was—" Why were 'rubbing one off' the only words in his mind right now? He tried to concentrate. "Potter's with McGonagall. I'm just waiting."
"I didn't ask," she said.
That was true. She didn't. She kept staring.
"You'll be late for Defence," he said.
"So will you."
"No, I'm skipping today's lesson. Potter is—" He couldn't tell her Potter private affairs. It wouldn't be right. "Potter's not feeling well."
Her expression transformed into one of concern. "Oh." She glanced in the direction of the stone gargoyle up ahead. "Yeah, I noticed."
Draco blinked. "What?"
Her gaze snapped back to him. "He's very pale. And looks like he lost too much weight."
"No, he's—" Potter wasn't unwell. It was just a lie they told. Though, admittedly, paleness and weight loss weren't a part of that lie. "It's winter," he said instead. "Paleness is an epidemic."
She opened her mouth, but then visibly forced a smile. "You're right. I'll be late for Defence."
She left before Draco could decide whether or not to demand she explained herself.
He went back, all the way up to McGonagall's door, and waited, leaning on the railing. Soon enough, Potter stepped out, and Draco tried to assess his appearance. Maybe he was a little paler and thinner lately, but it was nothing drastic. Potter smiled then, and it lit up his whole face. He didn't look ill. He looked happy.
He reached for Draco and tugged on his hand. "Why are you pouting?"
"Am I?"
"Are you?"
"No," Draco decided. Daphne was all about doom and gloom. Her uncle told her Potter would surely die and now she was looking for confirmation. Potter was cursed, Draco was aware, but he was fighting and he would win. He needed more rest, that was all. A good night's sleep. Maybe that was another thing Draco could give him.
"So what's the plan?" Draco asked. "The common room?"
Potter grinned.
Apparently, Potter's bed was the plan. They hid there with the curtains drawn, which was unnecessary as everyone was in class, but Draco wasn't about to argue the point. Everything around them was shockingly red and gold, but the bed was big and comfy, and the warm colours gave Potter's skin a healthier hue.
"Go on, then," Draco said as they sat sprawled, leaning on the headboard and holding hands. "Tell me about your godchild."
Potter laughed. "He's a baby. There's not much to tell." Then, after a beat, he said, "Well, he's a Metamorphmagus, like his mother, so his hair keeps changing colour. And when he sees me, it turns pink, which I'm positive means he really likes me. Oh, and he loves my glasses; he's always reaching for them."
"Or he hates them and wants to get rid of them," Draco said. "Or he's after your eyeballs because he's a werewolf."
Potter gave him a sharp look. "He's not a were— That's not funny," he said when he realised Draco was smiling.
"It's a little funny," Draco argued. "If he's a little werewolf."
Will you babysit the cubs?
Draco shook off the thought and the image.
Potter smiled. "He doesn't even have teeth. He'd be a poor werewolf. Objectively adorable."
Potter shifted a bit, this way and that, and Draco didn't know what he was doing until Potter leaned his head on Draco's shoulder. Draco held his breath as Potter glanced up at him through his fringe. "I'm maximising the touching. I don't want to be in pain and leave after a half an hour visit."
"Yeah," Draco managed. Breathe. He had to breathe.
"I want to see him grow up," Potter said quietly.
Why did Potter do that? Replaced blissful happiness with fear in a heartbeat. Daphne wasn't the only one with gloomy thoughts. Potter was afraid too.
Draco took a moment to calm his breathing, so his voice would sound steady and sure when he said, "You will. This will get sorted out." He placed the palm of his free hand on Potter's left thigh. Potter sucked in a breath. But Draco's magic calmed him, made him feel safe; Potter said so himself.
"Yeah," Potter said eventually, but he was still quiet as he went on, "It's just… I was so happy when I found my godfather. I know it's not the same. My aunt and uncle hated me, and Teddy has a grandmother who adores him, but I still want him to have everything. Everything I didn't have."
"I'd pledge some gold, but I don't have any." The moment those words left Draco's mouth, he wanted to take them back. He was supposed to think things through before speaking. He never planned to whinge about it to Potter. It was just a thought in his head. He had nothing to offer to Andromeda's grandson except gold, but then he remembered he didn't have gold either.
Potter lifted up to look back at him. "I didn't mean gold. I— What do you mean you don't have any?"
Draco had to answer the question now. "I'm getting disinherited, aren't I?" He forced a shrug. "I told you. No more Malfoys. I'm not getting married to some pure-blood witch. Father won't let that slide."
"Really? What about your mother? For the sake of your happiness? I can't believe they'd just, what? Never speak to you again? You're their only son. What do they have without you?"
Draco snorted. "Gold. Superiority. Other people's envy."
Potter shook his head. "I just can't believe they'd persist. What, for years? Forever?"
Draco sighed. "I don't know. I honestly don't know. Maybe, in a few years, they'd be willing to reconsider. But if I get disinherited, that's pretty final. Our family was always very protective of our gold. We have this family tree that's linked to the family vault and as long as your gem is on that tree, you can access the vault with a key. Once the gem is removed, you can't just… put it back on. I can never access the vault again without dying instantly. Father is the head of the family, he's the only one who can remove me. My mother has no say. I won't be an heir anymore, and I know my father would never be willing to mess with the curse or make withdrawals for me without asking for something in return. He'd rather have that gold gather dust in Gringotts for millennia out of spite. Malfoy family wealth, forever untouched and protected. He'll disinherit me the moment he realises I won't be backing down and doing what he wants. After that, asking him for anything would feel like admitting I was wrong, begging for crumbs."
Potter's gaze was searching. "Are you scared?"
Draco almost denied it, on instinct, but he felt so safe here, with no one around but Potter, cocooned in Potter's bed, safe enough to tell the truth. "Terrified," he said.
Potter didn't look disappointed. He smiled. "I think that's really brave. You standing up to them and going after what makes you happy."
Draco didn't deserve that praise. He enjoyed it, but he didn't deserve it. "Haven't actually done anything yet. Didn't stand up to them. Not really. They didn't want me to spend the whole year here, and I said I must or I'll fail my N.E.W.T.s. It wasn't some big fight."
"So that was your decision? Coming here? I thought maybe your parents wanted you to do the year again, worried about your education. You didn't exactly have fun here in the last two years."
Draco snorted, though he wasn't really amused. "Didn't have fun at the Manor either." He hesitated. There was something he never told Potter, and he doubted his father mentioned it during the trial. Father was too embarrassed. And so was Draco, by his own cowardice. But he wanted to share everything with Potter. "Remember that Muggle-born witch I tortured and Bella killed? Well, she's still there, in the Manor. Came back as a ghost. She hangs around the cellar. I think she doesn't want us to hear her cry every night. But I hear her. She hates me the most. Sometimes, she comes to my room. And stares." He looked up to see Potter's face fill with horror and sadness. No judgement. No teasing because Draco was afraid of a ghost like some Muggle. Another knot in Draco's stomach eased. "I can never go back there," he said. "Even without her, I— I can't stand it. But with her there… It's a nightmare."
Potter's grip on Draco's hand intensified. "I didn't know that. Your father never mentioned a ghost. I don't think the Aurors saw her."
"Theoretically, she could be forced out by the Spirit Division. She probably didn't want to risk it and show herself. And Father… Can you imagine the embarrassment? A Muggle-born possessing the Malfoy Manor. Oh, the shame. He kept trying to talk me into getting rid of her. Telling me which spells to try. But I can't do it. I can't even face her. Probably wouldn't work anyway."
Potter's thumb was caressing Draco's knuckles. Draco closed his eyes for a few moments, to fully enjoy it.
"To me it sounds," Potter said, "like you made a decision, and you did stand up to your parents. You don't have to do it literally. You don't have to face them, or the ghost, if you don't want to. You can just leave it all behind. That's okay. It's done if you decide it's done."
That sounded wonderful. And yet still terrifying.
"I mean," Potter added, "I don't know what it's like to grow up being proud of having a gem on a tree, but to me it feels like living with a constant threat. So, if it gets removed and can't be put back on, then the threat is gone, isn't it? Your father can never use it against you ever again. Isn't that a liberating thought?"
"Is being poor liberating?" Draco asked, though he supposed Potter had a point — Draco lived with that threat for as long as he could remember. Was that the point of the tree? To always be there as a reminder, keeping the fear alive.
"Depends on your definition of poor, I guess."
"Not having gold is my definition of poor. I have nowhere to live. I might end up on the streets, begging for Knuts and spending them on alcohol when I get them."
Potter wasn't impressed. "There's middle ground between living in a manor and living on the streets. You just need a job, like the rest of us."
"I might not have many options."
"Rubbish. You've been publicly cleared of all charges. There'll be those who won't hire you, sure, but there'll be those who will. Besides, you're kind of a nerd, I've noticed. You'll impress employers with your N.E.W.T. results."
Sheer indignation pulled Draco out of his depressing thoughts. "A nerd, am I? Why? Because I don't do my homework half an hour before the deadline in a complete panic, begging for help?"
"I don't beg," Potter said, looking insulted.
"Really? Then what's this?" Draco jutted out his bottom lip and made his voice go sickly cute. "Can you look at my essay, Draco?"
Potter burst out laughing. "I don't do that!"
Draco stuck out his lip even more. "Can I borrow your notes, Draco?"
Potter could barely speak, he was laughing so much. "Stop. I've never sounded like that in my life."
"Can't you read that chapter for me—"
"Stop!" Potter reached out to physically push at Draco's pouting lip. And then he gasped and pulled away.
Draco felt a blush creep onto his cheeks. He liked Potter touching his lips too much, and it must have given Potter an unexpected stab of pleasure. Or it would have happened anyway because that was a new kind of touching, and Potter was taken aback and lost control.
Potter was drawing shaky breaths, one hand clenched into a fist, the other still gripping Draco's to the point of pain. Awkward now, Draco laughed, a little forced. "You know, I just realised we were talking about you and your godchild, and I started talking about myself. One of my great talents. Sorry."
It took Potter a few moments to calm down and glance at him. "Well… I don't like talking about myself, so that suits me just fine."
We're a match, Draco wanted to say but didn't dare.
"Although," Potter's expression turned sheepish. "If you really want to talk about me, I was wondering, if you're not going back to the Manor… Um, what are your plans for Christmas?"
Oh, for fuck's sake. Potter looked truly concerned. "I thought I'd go sunbathing in the Maldives. You know, soak my thumbs and have a good laugh about you being in terrible pain for Christmas."
Potter relaxed, the absolute idiot. He really thought Draco would leave him to deal with the pain on his own.
"I mean, if you were to go to the Maldives, I'd follow you," Potter said. "I just can't follow you to the Manor."
"Oh good. You can pay for the trip." Draco sighed. "I'm staying here, Potter. That was always the plan, even before this. And of course it's the plan now. I think I'm actually insulted." Draco considered that. "No, I'm fully insulted. You wanker. How did you even twist your brain into thinking I suddenly wouldn't give a fuck?"
Potter was looking at him with a charged look that was melting Draco's annoyance.
"I thought maybe you'd like a break," Potter said.
"I mean, at the moment you are kind of exhausting," Draco said fairly. He made a pouting face again. "Will you stay with me for Christmas, Draco?" he mocked.
Potter didn't laugh this time, but he was smiling, and then he leaned in, his gaze flickering down to Draco's lips… There was no mistaking it. Everything about Potter spelled his intentions. Draco was staring right into the vibrant green of Potter's eyes. Their lips almost touched.
Draco stopped breathing, but Potter took a sharp breath and pulled back.
"I have to go see Teddy," he said. He inhaled again, staring at Draco. "We can't do this right now." He looked absolutely miserable.
Draco's brain was struggling to fully understand. Potter so plainly wanted to kiss him, but he—
Oh. He was afraid of what kissing Draco would do to him. Because just touching Draco's lips with his fingertips earlier had him gasping and struggling for control.
What would kissing Draco do to him? At one point, Draco had wondered if his lips had more power, a fanciful daydream back then, but if the intensity of Draco's feelings intensified the magic, then it wasn't such a crazy idea. Because if Potter kissed him, Draco's magic would go wild and who knew how intense that would be for Potter. Draco could take Potter apart with a kiss. And Potter knew it. And he wanted it. He just didn't want it now because he had other plans.
"It's all right," Draco said because it was all right. He could wait. He waited this long; he could wait a few more hours. He couldn't even be upset that Potter's wish to see Teddy trumped his wish to kiss Draco, because it proved Potter's mind was his own. Rational despite the magic. He couldn't see Teddy whenever, but he could absolutely kiss Draco whenever. "I'll be here when you get back," Draco added, then laughed, remembering where they were. "Well, not here."
Potter was still staring at him, maybe reconsidering, but now Draco didn't want him to reconsider. Seeing Teddy was too important to Potter.
"Come on, then." Draco freed himself and shifted around, making Potter protest in confusion. "You brought me here to do a job," Draco said, and Potter stopped resisting, letting Draco manoeuvre them around. They ended up with Draco sitting with his legs spread wide and Potter nestled in between, back pressed flush against Draco's front. Draco wrapped his arms around him and trapped both of Potter's hands in his. "How's this?" he asked, smug, because Potter's breathing was erratic.
Potter laughed, then drew a few deep breaths. His hair was tickling Draco's chin. "This is exactly the kind of thing I wanted to avoid before visiting Andromeda."
"You'll be fine," Draco said, grinning. "Give it a minute."
It took a while, but Potter calmed down, and so did Draco. This was perfect now. He could spend hours like this. They should spend hours like this. Then Potter would never be in pain.
Draco stared down at the wild mop of black hair. "You know, I wondered something for a while now." He leaned in. "Is this a direct touch?" He pressed a kiss to the top of Potter's head.
Potter jerked upwards and gasped.
"Sorry," Draco said quickly. He didn't expect this reaction. Good God. Were they even likely to survive actual kissing? Maybe they would kiss and then die together.
Potter laughed again. "I just didn't expect it. I could use a warning."
"All right." Draco considered that. "Warning," he said, then dropped another kiss, a lighter one, a little to the side. "Better?"
"Um, yeah," Potter said, still breathless. He looked up at Draco, upside-down. "But you have to stop now."
"One more?" Draco said and took Potter's wry smile as permission. His lips caught Potter's temple this time and Potter shuddered. Draco kept his lips where they were.
"Draco…"
"All right. Stopping now," Draco promised, inhaling deeply. He was positively lightheaded. He never imagined he could have this much power. He always wanted power, but he never expected it would feel like this. Both wonderful and terrifying, because he absolutely didn't want to abuse it in any way, yet he was afraid that was in his nature and he would somehow succumb.
Potter settled back more comfortably against Draco with a contented sigh.
God, how could Draco even handle this much trust?
"You need to calm down," Potter whispered.
He really did. He had calmed down and then worked himself up all over again and made things difficult for Potter. He took a breath and leaned in to speak into Potter's hair. "Come on, I want to hear more about Teddy."
"Do you really?"
"Of course. He's my cousin, isn't he? I want to hear all about his drooling habits."
Laughing, Potter did as asked. He told Draco about some of the things Andromeda had written in her letters, like Teddy already crawling around, which had Potter worried Teddy was growing up too fast and he'd miss all these moments because he was stuck in school.
Eventually, Potter's breathing evened out. Draco closed his eyes, enjoying the weight of Potter's body, its warmth, the knowledge he had Potter in his arms because this was where Potter wanted to be.
Could Draco really have this? Was he supposed to refuse it? But that would make both of them miserable. Maybe they should wait for the curse to be lifted, move forward after making sure Potter wasn't under some unwanted influence. Although, moving forward carefully was exactly what Potter was doing. That was a comforting thought.
Draco couldn't let Potter sleep for long. Half an hour later, he pressed his lips close to Potter's temple and whispered, "Hey, time to go."
It took a few tries. Draco had to press his lips firmly against Potter's skin to wake him. Well, he didn't have to, but it seemed kinder than shaking the bed or yelling.
Potter woke up slowly, groaning and grumbling. "I don't want to go anywhere."
"Yes, you do." Draco laughed. "To see Teddy, remember? You made me suffer because of it."
That got Potter to wake up fully. He looked up at him, upside-down again. "You're suffering?"
"Immensely."
"I'll make it better later," Potter promised.
God, Draco wanted to kiss him. Just a little bit, at least. Just touch Potter's lips with his. For a second. But he didn't want to kiss Potter and then watch him leave. He blew out a breath. "All right now. Better go or McGonagall will end up waiting for you."
They managed to disentangle themselves and then Potter annoyingly chased him away to get ready. Apparently, this visit demanded a quick shower and a change of clothes, and, when Potter was done and climbed out of the portrait hole, Draco was surprised to notice Potter even tried to comb his hair.
"Is Andromeda scary or something?" Draco asked as he offered Potter his hand.
Potter cocked his head, smiling. "Why are you still here?"
Draco frowned in confusion. "To escort you to McGonagall's office," he said. They hadn't explicitly agreed Draco would wait and go with him, but surely it was understood.
"It's not far," Potter said even as he took Draco's hand. "You should get some dinner."
"All right, then." Draco turned around, but Potter didn't release him and pulled him back instead, rather sharply. Draco ended up in Potter's arms. They stayed like that for a few moments, with Potter's palm splayed against Draco's lower back. Potter's eyes looked darker in the torchlight.
Draco had to force himself to step away. "Come on, the sooner you leave, the sooner you'll come back."
He walked Potter to the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to the Headmistress' office, planning to go all the way up with him, but two Aurors were already in the corridor, likely waiting for Potter so they could escort him to Andromeda's. The way Potter set his jaw when he saw them, Draco assumed he hadn't been told he'd have an escort. He should have expected it after what happened the last time he went off on his own.
In that moment it occurred to Draco just how much Potter hated being coddled and fussed over. God forbid Weasley tried to help Potter get up or Granger asked if he ate enough today, and those two could get away with more than any of his other friends. Yet suddenly, Draco was the exception. Potter specifically asked for Draco's help today, asked to be coddled and cuddled and fussed over. It made Draco wonder: how much fussing and coddling would Potter let him get away with?
He wanted to test those limits immediately and insist on climbing up to McGonagall's office with Potter, but as soon as they reached the Aurors, Potter released Draco's hand, smiled and said, "See you later."
That was one limit then: no fussiness in front of Potter's future colleagues.
That was fine. Draco would fuss later. He could wait. He could. How long could Potter be away? An hour, two, three? Teddy was a baby; he would have to go to sleep early. But Potter would surely stay for dinner.
Still, Potter would come back soon enough, and Draco couldn't stop smiling all the way to the Great Hall.
When he reached the entrance, he paused, suddenly at a loss. Where should he sit? He couldn't sit with the Gryffindors without Potter around. Could he? There was no reason for him to be there now. And he couldn't sit with the Slytherins either because he hadn't sat at their table once in months. They'd assault him with questions, maybe even insults, throw jabs. Did Potter finally cast you away? He spotted Daphne and considered sitting next to her, but she was just as likely to dampen his spirits.
No, Draco didn't have to deal with any of it. He turned on the spot and headed for the dungeons. He would skip dinner. He was hungry, but he wouldn't die.
He didn't get very far when someone called out, "Draco, wait."
Expecting Daphne, Draco turned around, surprised to see Granger hurrying after him.
She was slightly out of breath when she reached him. "Here," she said, carefully handing him a heavy, folded napkin. He took it on instinct, but must have looked confused because she added, "You could have sat with us. No one's going to attack you just because Harry isn't there." Her mouth twitched. "I mean, we're aware he's coming back."
Right. She saw him hesitating in the Great Hall and fleeing, so she brought him food. That was nice of her. He peeked inside the napkin and found a ham sandwich and some biscuits. It was excessively kind of her to include dessert too.
If she had more to say she wasn't saying it, so Draco thanked her and turned away.
He reconsidered in an instant and turned back. "Granger," he called. She was already walking away, but she paused and went back.
"Yes?" she prompted because Draco was hesitating.
He had a swell idea to question her, but was quickly losing his nerve. It didn't even matter now, but it had nearly driven him crazy at one point, and he wanted to know.
"Did you… Did you tell Potter about that night when… When you found me…" He couldn't say it. "You know."
"Kissing his hair?" she offered helpfully.
Draco considered turning around and fleeing. Maybe tell her to fuck off for good measure. But she only spoke the truth. And she had brought him biscuits. "Yeah." He sighed. "It's just… You never mentioned it, and he never mentioned it, and I think that's strange."
She didn't look amused anymore. "I mentioned nothing about it to anyone because I feel it's not my place to meddle. I made a whole decision about it. I'm proudly sticking to it."
"Oh." Draco pursed his lips. "All right. That's good. Wise." But she clearly had an opinion. And well, it did matter. Just like it mattered that Andromeda hated his family. It mattered that the Weasleys probably hated them too. They all lost people in the war. Draco and his parents didn't kill their loved ones, but they carried a lot of responsibility for what happened. And they were free to move about and remind everyone of what they had lost. Potter loved all these people, they were his friends, his family, so yes, it mattered if Granger was fuming silently on the sidelines. "And if someone were to ask you to share your opinion?"
"It's better if you don't," Granger said. "You wouldn't like it."
Draco sighed. She was fuming on the sidelines. "Let me guess. You think I'm up to something, exploiting the situation, exploiting his need for me. Seducing him or brainwashing him or something."
Her eyebrows rose. "Are you?"
"No! He says he has full control of his mind. He's not someone who is easily manipulated. That's his whole… thing."
"Well, honestly I don't know anything about what your magic is or isn't doing. No one knows. We don't have an explanation, only theories."
"But I'm not—"
"I don't care!" she snapped suddenly. "You want my opinion? I don't care if what you're feeling or what Harry might be feeling is real or magical or whatever. Draco, don't you understand the situation? He's cursed with something obscure and ancient. Even if this Ainsworth character gets caught, what can we possibly expect him to say? Odds are he got this cursed dart somewhere and has no idea what it does beyond killing the victim. Do you know how many Healers and curse-breakers examined Harry? They can't help. We're waiting for a miracle. We're expecting a miracle because it's Harry. If it were anyone else—" Her voice broke.
"You think he'll die," Draco said, shocked. Granger couldn't think that. Daphne thought that, but Granger should know better.
"Draco, the way things stand now, he is dying. The curse is in his blood. Some kind of unexpected reaction to the simultaneously cast Cruciatus didn't stop it. At best, if the Cruciatus Curse wins this fight, he'd lose his mind because he was tortured for too long. That's his best chance." She huffed through her tears.
"Or Potter wins this fight," Draco said, ignoring the way she closed her eyes as though exhausted by his stubbornness. "A miracle already happened. He should have died, but he didn't. He should have lost his mind, but he didn't. He should be in terrible pain, but here I am. Unexpected strokes of luck, one after the other. Why would it stop now? Why not one more?"
"I said I'm waiting for a miracle. We all are." She took a step closer. "You see, if you can give Harry some happiness right now, I don't care if it's real or some kind of enchantment. It doesn't matter to me. Ultimately, it won't matter to him. That's the situation. You're worrying about the wrong thing. And I'm being selfish because I want him to have this. But you could be setting yourself up for more misery than you ever imagined. You placed all your hopes for a second chance on him, that much is obvious. I worry what might happen to you if he… If there are no more miracles in store for him. I'm afraid you're not thinking straight. I know he's not. You can't count on him to be noble and protect your feelings right now. You have to do it yourself. Because you took his pain away and gave him hope."
"That's a good thing."
"For him, yes."
"But that's all that matters."
She stared at him the way one might stare at a wounded animal that was beyond saving and had to be put down. She was scared, he understood. But she was also wrong.
"He defeated everything thrown at him," Draco said. "He'll defeat this too. I never believed in him. I thought he was a bug Voldemort would squash. I'm not making that mistake again. He'll survive this. If you don't know it, I do."
She looked away and sniffed. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right." She looked back up at him. "He'll be fine."
She didn't believe it. She just didn't want to argue anymore. She had warned him: she cared about Potter's happiness more than Draco potentially getting hurt.
Granger smiled sadly. "You know, just to be clear, no one is cursing you under their breath, waiting for a chance to hex you. No one's worrying you have him under a love spell. What you're doing for him, that's real and it's appreciated. You made a lot of friends in the last three months. Don't forget that."
Draco could do nothing but stand there, motionless, as she gave him a quick hug, turned around and left.
His mind rejected everything she said.
No, not everything. She was right about one thing — Potter had hope. If he didn't, he wouldn't be making any promises. And if Potter believed he could defeat this, then he would. It was as simple as that.
Chapter 7: The Fall
Notes:
I'm a little bit late. In my defence, it's a longish chapter.
Also, check out this gorgeous artwork by artkiving @ tumblr! Inspired by the hair-kissing scene in chapter 4. 😍😍😍
Chapter Text
He overstayed. Harry was well aware of it as he limped towards the Gryffindor Tower. It wasn't his only mistake. Teddy found Harry's little shrunken crutch in his pocket, and worried he'd put it into his mouth and choke on it, Harry hastily Transformed it into a rattle. Thankfully, Andromeda hadn't noticed Harry had brought dangerous small objects with him, but Harry had left the crutch behind.
And then they sat and had dinner as Teddy slept, and Harry opened the subject Andromeda kept refusing to address. God, she was so stubborn and proud. Black family genes were a true horror. She was on a tight budget — that was obvious. She had to quit her job to take care of Teddy. She claimed she had ample savings and the necessities (and non-necessities) Harry had bought for Teddy were more than enough, but she was too frugal for that to be true, and Harry had glimpsed Muggle notebooks with many underlined expenses.
He would wear her down; he was sure of it. She wasn't one of the Weasleys refusing to accept charity. Harry had a responsibility to his godchild, and he wouldn't let her take that away from him.
His leg was beginning to throb in waves again. It was easier to withstand the nights when he was lying down; he spent the last two hours sitting on a chair and arguing.
A few more steps, and — God, was Draco even in the Gryffindor common room? They hadn't made any arrangements. Harry didn't know how long he'd be gone. Would it be strange to ask someone to go get him? It would make him look desperate. But he was desperate.
He spoke the password, and the portrait of the Fat Lady swung open. The moment he stepped into the common room, the pain vanished. It was a true wonder how Draco managed to materialise next to him in a second. As though he had Apparated. He gripped Harry's hand, saying something about the crutch, chastising him for being away for so long. Harry leaned forward to press his forehead against Draco's, and Draco stopped talking. It was bliss. No jolts of pleasure; Draco was too worried. Just that wonderful feeling of being snuggled up somewhere safe and warm.
"We're not alone," Draco whispered.
Harry was aware of that; right then he didn't care. He wasn't sure if Draco cared or the warning was for Harry. He straightened reluctantly; he needed to sit down anyway.
Draco was frowning; he looked so worried. Harry wanted to kiss that frown away.
"Next time," Draco said, "I'm coming with you. I'll Polyjuice into a Weasley if I have to."
"You can have some of my hair!" Ginny yelled. Draco hadn't been quiet enough.
"You'd be my first pick. How did you guess?" Draco said loudly.
Harry had to wonder how long was Draco here, alone with the Gryffindors, fretting and getting teased about it. The thought made him smile.
"You don't look so good, mate," Ron said as Harry and Draco moved to sit on the sofa.
"Actually, you do," Hermione countered. "That's a very nice shirt."
"I picked it," Ginny bragged.
She did. She made him buy too many clothes one day. It was excruciating, trying out countless outfits, but he didn't mind finally throwing out Dudley's old stuff.
Draco was staring at the shirt now as though it offended him, but he stopped when Harry squeezed his hand and smiled.
"Seriously," Ron said, "is everything all right with Teddy?"
Harry gathered his wits and told them all a bit about his visit, not mentioning the quarrels about gold, of course, just stuff about Teddy. He didn't say it and he hoped he didn't show it, but he really wanted to be alone with Draco. He'd been trying hard not to kiss him the entire afternoon because he was afraid he'd have an intense reaction to a touch like that, something he didn't need before visiting Andromeda, but now he could finally do it if only they were alone. Trouble was, he was too exhausted to go somewhere in search of privacy. Draco could take away the pain, but Harry felt like he'd been through a battle that tired him out, leaving every inch of him sensitive and stiff.
It was a school night, though. Realistically, the common room could empty soon. There were a few stragglers around, but for the most part it was just his friends, who were maybe waiting for him. It took about half an hour for all of them to say goodnight and leave for the dormitories. At least Harry felt stronger by then.
Ron was the last to leave. He took a bottle of Butterbeer out of his backpack and handed it to Harry. "Nicked it from the crate under your bed," he said. "Figured you could use one after Andromeda."
Harry accepted it, grinning.
"There, there, Malfoy," Ron added and took out another bottle, handing it to a bemused Draco. "Got you one too. Can't have you crying about it."
Draco shook his head as Ron left. "I'm not sure what to address first," he said. "Why do you have a crate of Butterbeer under your bed? Is Andromeda scary somehow? I already asked that; you never answered. And does Weasley even remember I almost poisoned him?"
"He remembers," Harry said, taking a swing out of his bottle. "But if you drink that and it's not poisoned, you can consider yourself forgiven."
Draco scoffed, opened the bottle, and drank almost half of it in one go. Then he waited a bit, considering. "Could be a slow-working poison."
"Nah. Ron would go for instant kill. I think you're good."
Draco smiled and bumped Harry's shoulder. "You owe me a scary Andromeda story."
"Oh well…" Out of the corner of his eye, Harry noticed the very last student in the common room beginning to pack up. "She looks a lot like Bellatrix, has Sirius's attitude, and your mother's haughtiness. It's pretty tasking, talking to her."
Judging by Draco's expression, he could well imagine just how formidable such a person would be.
"And I have a crate of Butterbeer under my bed because I'm on Butterbeer duty for the whole group, but I've learned it's best to keep a stash and dispense in moderation." He grinned. "And… we're alone."
Draco looked around. "So we are."
Harry set down his Butterbeer on the table and then reached for Draco's to set it down too. Draco relinquished it with a smile, but he was watching Harry with obvious concern. "You look exhausted," he said.
Harry was exhausted. What did it matter? As if that could stop him now. "I can think of something that could help. Can't you?"
With a twitch of his lips, Draco reached up to brush Harry's hair away from his cheek. A shudder passed through Harry. It was possibly one of Harry's favourite things — Draco touching his hair. Last night, Draco spent what must have been a full hour running his fingers through Harry's hair while Harry struggled to stay awake so he wouldn't miss a second of it. He never knew such a simple touch could be so soothing.
Draco must have guessed how much Harry enjoyed it because he kept doing it now, fingertips rubbing Harry's scalp, fingers playing with the strands, likely making them stick out even more.
"Big secret revealed," Draco murmured. "Harry Potter is actually a cat."
"Surely I'm something a little fiercer."
"Cats are fierce," Draco said. "Dangerous, even. But when they're cuddly, they're really cuddly."
Harry had to laugh. "I've never fancied myself cuddly. Must be your doing."
Draco's smile slipped. "My magic's doing."
Harry shook his head, at least tried, but he ended up leaning into Draco's touch even more. "I barely feel the magic right now. This is just you."
Oh, well, he certainly felt the magic then. It rushed through him like a wave, spreading from Draco's fingertips.
"Can you tell me the truth?" Draco asked and Harry opened his eyes. He hadn't even realised he closed them. His expression must have shown his confusion, because Draco added, "How are you feeling? Truly."
Harry tried to contain his smile. "Right now?"
Draco dropped his hand. "Yes, right now."
Harry sighed, feeling bereft. Draco was still firmly holding his hand and taking the pain away, but Harry wanted Draco's fingers back in his hair. No, he wanted to kiss him. Not talk.
"I'm fine," he said.
"No lying."
Harry resisted the urge to sigh again. If he did it, he might end up yawning. "I'm tired. I'm sleepy." And his joints felt stiff and his muscles felt tender, but that would go away soon enough, as long as Draco kept touching him.
"It just feels like," Draco said, "a month or two ago, you didn't tire so easily, and we weren't even holding hands all the time."
Was that true? Harry had to think about it. "The leg hurt more then, though."
Draco swallowed, still staring at Harry with a frown.
They did have to talk. Harry knew that. That was always the plan — making sure Draco knew what he was getting into. Harry got distracted by all his fantasies of finally kissing Draco, he almost skipped this step. And he couldn't do that.
"You're not a cure," Harry said. "I know it. You know it. It's one of the first things you told me because you knew it was impossible. Madam Pomfrey corresponded with a bunch of Healers at St Mungo's, and they all agree — you help with the pain, and that's extraordinary, but that's all. They even said it's not unprecedented. They found some old records about stuff like this; they're still looking into it, but… I need a counter-curse to live. There's no other way. So, no, I'm not getting better. Although, it doesn't feel like I'm getting that much worse, either."
Draco was still silent, and Harry took a breath. "They never told me how much time I have left without the counter-curse. They don't know."
"There are curses without a counter-curse," Draco said quietly.
"There are." Dumbledore was struck by one of those. Snape gave him a year. "I could die, I know that. But the way I see it, I've been here before. Didn't have the greatest odds after Dumbledore died, did I? Even before I— I can't count the number of times I thought I was done for. And it could be that's my life from now on. I kept thinking about it, you know, over the summer. How I always attract danger. Put people close to me at risk. I reckoned that means there are some things I can never have. And I tried to make my peace with that. But you showed me what I'd be missing out on. These last few—" No, Harry couldn't put it to words. He just wasn't eloquent enough to do it justice, and Draco kept staring at him. "If you don't want to risk it, I absolutely understand. But I don't want to make your choices for you. Not after you were robbed of making so many of them. I want you to forget that stupid tree and pretend your gem isn't on it, and you're free to do what you want. Maybe that means you want to be with me and maybe it doesn't. But it's your choice."
Draco was silent for a few moments, then unexpectedly huffed out a laugh. "I mean, it's too late now. What, you think if you die tomorrow, I'd shrug it off and say, 'Oh, well, at least I didn't shag him, so there's no need to cry about it.'"
Harry tried not to blush. He tried not to smile either. He failed at both. "You'd cry for me?" he couldn't help asking.
"No," Draco said snappishly. "I'd be angry. You can't die. You just can't. That'd be stupid. After everything, you just can't."
"I'm not planning on it," Harry said gently. "It could still happen. I— I mean, even if I get through this, it could still happen down the line. That will always be a risk."
A muscle in Draco's jaw twitched. "Ever considered a less dangerous profession?"
Harry did consider it. And rejected it. "That's the thing. It's too late for that too. Auror or not, I and everyone around me will always be targets. The world's a little safer now, without Voldemort, but people who thought he had the right idea are still out there. If I'm an Auror, I at least get to do something about it. I'm not going to put myself in a bubble, sit around and wait. See, that's my choice, the one I'm making. If I live, I will spend my life protecting what I love. There's no magic in this world that would convince me otherwise. Try it, if you don't believe me."
Draco shook his head a little, looking as though he was on the verge of rolling his eyes. "I mean," he said, "now you're making me want to test that theory."
Harry wasn't impressed. "Do you realise that the fact you're worrying so much that your magic is brainwashing me, is one of the things that's drawing me in?"
It was hard to tell if that statement gave Draco any comfort. He looked even more concerned as he leaned in, so close their foreheads almost touched. "Except I'm not worrying enough," Draco said softly. "If I were, then I'd say let's wait for the curse to be lifted before we go any further."
It was the last thing Harry wanted. He thought this was it. That they'd give it a try. That it was too late to back down now. But he also said he'd respect Draco's choice. With difficulty, Harry said, "If that's what you want, then that's what we'll do."
"Would it make you miserable?"
Yes, Harry wanted to say, but he wasn't even sure which answer Draco was after. Admitting it would make him miserable might get Draco to change his mind, despite his better judgement. Saying it wouldn't make him miserable would be a lie and Draco might even be disappointed.
Harry hesitated too long and Draco added, "I mean, nothing else has to change. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. We just… We just don't take it further."
Then Draco had made his choice. "Right." Harry forced himself to nod. "Of course. That's—" Goddammit. They said no lying. And yes, Harry had promised he'd accept Draco's choice, but that didn't mean he couldn't voice his very reasonable opinion. "It's just that, I don't see how a little kissing is a big deal in the grand scheme of things."
Draco's eyes looked so big up close; Harry couldn't look away. "What if…" Draco was practically whispering. "What if kissing is like… opening the floodgates?"
"But aren't they already open? Isn't that what you said?"
"We were talking about you dying. I'm talking about my magic making you—"
"Draco, if you don't want to take it further because you're worried that I'll die, and you'll regret it afterwards, I understand that, but if you're worried I don't really want this and that's why you want to wait… Well, that would make me miserable. I love what your magic is doing to me, of course I do, but that's not why I want you. These side-effects are a bit of an obstacle right now, if you haven't noticed. I want you for a bunch of reasons, but more than anything because you're fighting with everything you got against who you were brought up to be, and I think that's incredible."
A jolt of pleasure rushed through Harry and Draco's expression transformed into one of pure shock. Harry had never imagined his words would have that much impact.
Draco pulled back slightly, as though to see Harry better. "I don't feel like I'm fighting with everything I got."
"Well…" Harry considered that. "It's what fighting feels like, I guess? At least it always did for me. It's what got me to try harder. To not give up. That's what I'm saying. I see you trying every day. That's what got me. And the way you worry about me. The way you make me laugh. That's not magic."
The shivers of pleasure that swept through Harry this time were building, refusing to release him. Draco's features hardened, gaze filling with the sharpness that Harry rarely saw these days. The one from earlier years that was usually accompanied by horrible insults and threats. No insults followed this time. "You know what, Potter?" Draco said. "I can fight with everything I got. Fuck the gold, fuck the tree, and fuck this curse. You want a fighter, you got one. I won't let you die."
It wasn't a promise Draco could realistically keep, but the sheer conviction in Draco's tone gave Harry more hope than any reassurances the Healers and the curse-breakers had offered. Draco had already helped him more than the Healers ever did.
Harry pressed their foreheads together. What was one more wave of pleasure in a sea of them? "What if I die because you won't kiss me?" he asked. "Did you think of that?"
Draco's gaze softened. "I was worrying about the opposite. What if I give you a heart attack or something?"
Then I'd die happy, Harry thought, but didn't say it. "Keep still," he instructed instead, sure now Draco wouldn't refuse a kiss.
Draco nodded, then froze, still as a statue, waiting. Harry cocked his head, braced himself, and pressed his lips to Draco's.
The stab of pleasure that passed through him had no business being so intense. Harry had done it so slowly, so gently, and still it felt like an electric current swept against his skin, clenching his muscles with shockwaves of sensation. Like he was touching fire, but the burn was delicious, building and building with every tiny brush against Draco's lips.
Was Harry supposed to fight it? He didn't want to.
But then Draco's fingers curled into Harry's hair, angling Harry's head, and Draco's mouth pressed in, his tongue sweeping against Harry's bottom lip, and that was too much. Harry's whole body clenched and the pleasure that seized him felt like an actual orgasm.
It released him suddenly when Draco pulled back.
"Shit. Sorry, so sorry," Draco was saying as Harry struggled to breathe. "I forgot. Slow, we have to go slow. I know that."
It took Harry a few panicky seconds to realise he hadn't come in his pants. He wasn't even fully hard. God, what the hell was that? His lips were still on fire, as was his whole head that Draco still held captured between his hands.
Draco was staring at him, wide-eyed. "Sorry," he said again, in a small voice.
Shaken though he was, Harry managed to laugh. "I'm not exactly in distress." And that was true. He had panicked, but the sensations were incredible. "Okay, let's try again."
Draco's brows knitted together. "You sure? That looked like too—"
"Positive. Just— keep still." Harry was asking for the impossible, he knew it.
"Should I—" Draco moved his hands as though to release Harry's head, but Harry hurried to stop him. "No no, that's good. Just don't move."
He didn't wait for Draco to agree, but pressed their lips together again. And all the sensations came back instantly, with full force. Maybe even stronger, threatening to overwhelm him, bringing him closer to the edge… But there was another feeling underneath it all, nudging against his mind, promising everything would be all right if Harry just let go. Harry felt it before. That was the part that reminded him of the Imperius Curse, the part that felt dangerous, as though Draco was offering more, offering too much…
It was the way Draco's fingers twined in Harry's hair that kept Harry grounded, the gentle touch of fingertips massaging his scalp that reminded him to be careful, as careful as Draco was being. With a determined effort, Harry closed his mind and pushed the danger away. It didn't stop the pleasure, but it brought him back to the moment, put a sharper focus on the feel of Draco's lips against his, gave him a chance to explore their shape, their warmth, the little twitches as Draco struggled to keep still.
Of course, Draco lost his patience eventually, grabbed a fistful of Harry's hair, and kissed him hungrily. But it didn't matter by then; Harry had found his bearings. And this was exactly what he wanted — hard kisses. That was what he had imagined and that was what he got. Draco sure knew how to kiss, how to kiss Harry, heated and unrelenting, almost greedy. No, definitely greedy, constantly trying to pull Harry even closer, nothing slow and soft about the way he gripped Harry's hair, twined his tongue, assaulted Harry's lips with bruising force. Harry never felt this desperately desired. He didn't know which part was more exciting — letting Draco do to him whatever he wanted or putting actual effort into the struggle to give back as good as he got. No matter what he did, it seemed to urge Draco to redouble his efforts, teeth grazing Harry's lips, one of his hands tightening in Harry's hair, the other pushing low against Harry's back, pressing Harry's body even closer, as though trying to trap him, which was needless because Harry wasn't going anywhere.
Slowly but surely, the sensations intensified and Harry reached up to tug on Draco's hair. It was meant to get Draco to pull back; Draco moaned instead. It must have surprised and embarrassed him because he did pull away after that. He was flushed, breathing heavily, looking apologetic again.
"No sorrys," Harry said quickly. "This was perfect. You're doing great." He was half-teasing more than giving genuine praise, but Draco's flush deepened, and he bit his lip, smiling. Inexplicably, the sight of Draco reacting like that to simple praise tugged at Harry's heart.
He reached around to splay his hand on the small of Draco's back, stroking him through his shirt. Draco shivered. He liked that. Harry had noticed it during their Potions class. Every time Harry touched him there, Draco would stiffen, but then relax and lean into the touch. Emboldened, Harry seized the soft, silken fabric of Draco's shirt and yanked it free. When Harry pushed his hands beneath the shirt, Draco gasped and arched his back. His reaction made Harry shiver too.
"Did I find your weak spot?" Harry asked, dragging his palms up and down Draco's back. Draco kept shivering.
"I—I don't know. I guess." Draco leaned forward to lower his forehead to Harry's shoulder. "God, that feels good."
Harry smiled into Draco's hair, torn between amusement and excitement. It looked like Draco didn't know this about himself.
Draco was dropping distracting kisses against Harry's neck, mumbling something Harry didn't quite catch.
"What?" he prompted.
"Don't stop." Draco sounded a little desperate, and Harry wasn't as amused anymore.
"I won't," he promised, making his touch a little firmer, dragging his palms over Draco's back slowly, soothingly. Draco got heavier in Harry's arms as he relaxed, positively melted. This wasn't some sexual quirk, Harry realised. Draco was seeking comfort, of course he was; Harry knew that. How many stories had Draco told him in the last few weeks? All of them full of terror. Harry had wondered how Draco knew what Harry needed, knew how to help him, even before he knew anything about the curse, but Draco didn't know. He simply gave Harry what he craved himself — comfort, in every way he could think of.
They stayed like that for a good long while with Harry dropping kisses into Draco's hair as he rubbed his back. He'd thought about this, finding a way to turn this magic around so Draco could feel it. But he didn't need magic. This worked just fine. He pushed his hands as high as Draco's bunched-up shirt let him, then dragged them low to the waistband of Draco's trousers. Draco shivered occasionally, made quiet little sounds, halting moans he was perhaps trying to suppress. God, Harry could do this for hours. Was that insane? Draco made him addicted to touching. How did he go through life not knowing how good this could feel? And not just Draco touching him, but this too — having a whole other person in his arms seeking his touch as though it was something special. Oh, but this was how Draco felt when Harry asked for his touch. Now Harry finally understood. This was no chore. This was wonderful.
His touch couldn't stop pain, but he imagined it could heal the bruised parts of Draco's soul. Infuse Draco with warmth he was searching for.
He wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, but eventually, Draco lifted his head, awkward. He avoided Harry's gaze. "Sorry," he said.
"For what?" Harry asked, baffled. He'd stilled his hands but kept them firmly where they were.
Draco shrugged a little, just a twitch of his shoulders. "Making things weird."
"This was the opposite of weird." Reluctant to withdraw his hands, Harry forced Draco to look up with a quick kiss. It worked. It even made Draco smile.
Harry slowly moved his palms against Draco's skin again and Draco closed his eyes.
"This is how I feel when you touch me," Harry said.
"This isn't magic."
Harry frowned. "Oh sure. Rub it in. Yes, what you do is ten times better. My deepest apologies."
"No, I meant— It's not weird to enjoy magic. I—"
"It's not weird," Harry said firmly, unsure why Draco was insisting on it.
Draco was staring at him, and then, in that abrupt way of his, wiggled away and stood up. "All right, come on, lay down."
"Er," Harry managed, and what followed was a confusing minute where Draco waved his wand at the sofa, Conjured a pillow and a blanket, then started manhandling Harry, tugging and pushing, and even pulling off his shoes, none-too-gently. Harry patiently let him do what he wanted, too curious to resist. And what Draco wanted was to lie down in Harry's arms, half on top of him, head tucked underneath Harry's chin.
"You can stroke my back now," Draco said. "If it's not weird." He lifted his head a bit to look up at him.
Harry couldn't tell if Draco was being a smartarse or he was truly looking for more confirmation. "You are a little weird," Harry admitted. "But I like it."
Draco smiled and settled back with his head on Harry's chest.
Amused beyond words, Harry pushed one hand beneath Draco's shirt again, but kept the other in Draco's hair, massaging his scalp.
"Mmm," Draco sighed. "We can't sleep here, though."
"Why?"
"Because. Your housemates could wake up before us, find us here and then make fun of us."
"Well, then we'll give them donkey ears and make fun of them."
Draco huffed out a laugh. Moments later, he already sounded sleepy when he said, "I just don't want anyone to find me like this."
Harry thought about that as he struggled to stay awake. He understood Draco’s concern. Perhaps it would have been reasonable for Harry to feel the same. He imagined, not that long ago, if someone had found him happily sleeping in another man's arms, he'd die on the spot out of sheer embarrassment. But right now, he couldn't care less. Maybe Draco's magic did mess with his mind a little. Or maybe it was all that pain that rearranged his priorities. He wanted more of this. More quiet moments where he could just exist and be calm and happy. Not care about what anyone else had to say about it.
They fell asleep, of course, and were woken up early by a group of loud first-years. They giggled and snickered and pointed, and Draco flushed and scrambled to get up.
"Hey, it's just first-years," Harry said, lifting up too. "They actually do that every time they see me." And that wasn't even untrue. It was a little excessive this time.
"Yeah, well…" Draco managed a smile. "Still. I need a shower and a change of clothes."
Harry couldn't argue with that. They had slept in their clothes and it showed.
The sound of more students making their way to the common room had Draco hurrying to put on his shoes and running out in record speed.
Harry wasn't nowhere near that fast and some of his housemates found him on the sofa, rumpled, pulling on his shoes and folding up the blanket. All they did was smile and wish him good morning.
Momentarily seized by sentiment, Harry decided to keep the blanket Draco had Conjured, but when he got up and made his way to the dormitories, it Vanished into thin air. It served its purpose and was gone. Harry should have remembered that would happen.
His dorm mates were still asleep, but Harry's untouched bed stuck out like a sore thumb. It was possible at least one of them went looking for him in the middle of the night or early morning and found him in the common room with Draco; however, after Harry showered and changed and they all woke up, no one said anything.
In fact, it was slowly becoming clear no one noticed something had changed. Which was funny, because for Harry, everything changed. In the mornings, he wasn't greeted by Draco Malfoy, a former Death Eater who was repaying his debts, but by Draco Malfoy, his boyfriend, who always greeted him with a smile and a kiss.
They didn't really kiss in public, considering Harry's often wild reactions, but their morning greetings couldn't have gone unnoticed. Those first morning kisses were Harry's favourites, because Draco was still sleepy and sluggish, and Harry didn't even have to fight the resulting hums of pleasure Draco's touch gave him. Which was why they got carried away sometimes, heedless of the people walking past them on their way to breakfast.
No one said anything, though, not to Harry. Maybe people thought the two of them were already together or maybe they thought it was inevitable. Or they were too embarrassed to mention anything. Or maybe there were people who pointed and snickered, but Harry learned to ignore that ages ago.
In all honesty, Harry didn't spend much time wondering about people's reactions. He was too busy shoving Draco into every single hidden passageway in Hogwarts, and he knew so, so many of them.
"This is ridiculous," Draco said when Harry pulled him through a tapestry up on the fourth floor, and they ended up in a cramped passage that Harry knew would cut their trip to the Transfiguration classroom in half. "The castle is forcing these into existence for you."
"Complaining?" Harry asked, already pushing Draco against the wall and cocking his head to press kisses along Draco's jaw. He loved to start out like that. It was less overwhelming than going for the lips straight away, and Draco's demeanour would instantly defrost and his voice would turn softer.
"Only because we could have used all these shortcuts all along to spare your leg," Draco said, already a little breathless.
Harry lifted his head, grinning. "Well, I wasn't sure how you'd react if I kept pulling you into dark corners."
"Yes, of course. Nothing to do with the fact you just wanted to hold my hand all the time."
"We barely have five minutes," Harry told him. "So shut up." He braced himself and kissed Draco's lips. Telling Draco to shut up never failed to rile him up, which was Harry's goal because a riled-up Draco went in hard, grabbing Harry's head and tirelessly working his jaw and tongue as though set on taking away Harry's ability to speak. Harry couldn't get enough of it.
They spent all their free time kissing. Every break between classes, every free period, the entire evening, shamelessly showing up late in the common room after everyone else went to bed, so they could kiss on their sofa some more.
Harry was rapidly becoming an expert at controlling his reactions while they kissed — up to a point. Eventually, they'd both get too worked up and had to separate and take a break. Which was hard. Especially late in the evenings when they had no obligations and could theoretically kiss for hours, but then Harry would feel that insistent push against his mind and he'd panic and pull away.
Twice they managed to calm down enough to snuggle up on the sofa and sleep, but more often than not Draco would leave for the dungeons, and Harry would rush to the showers to find release, usually twice in a row.
The whole thing kept Harry so preoccupied, it was perhaps no wonder that it took Ron more than a week to bring up the topic. It was Friday morning, the last day before the holidays, and Draco and Hermione left for their Ancient Runes class while Harry and Ron walked back to the Tower.
"Draco Malfoy," was all that Ron said, unprompted and with an air of someone who was told he got a quiz question wrong but simply couldn't stop doubting it.
"Yeah," Harry said because there were moments where he felt exactly the same way.
"Well, at least it's not Adair," Ron added.
Harry grinned. Ginny got to ask her question then. And it looked like they both lost that bet.
"Is Adair even gay?" Harry wondered.
Ron looked surprised. "Yeah, yeah. You didn't know that? Rumour is he got married to his boyfriend in Belgium. Two months ago. Their Ministry issued them a marriage seal. Ours didn't allow it. Dunno if it's true. I heard some people say nasty things about him."
"Huh." Harry never really thought about it. Actual marriage. But of course, why not? If Adair and his boyfriend were in love, of course they wanted to get married. But if they were denied two months ago, it wasn't the old Ministry that denied it; it was this one. The new, better one. "I guess the world is still kind of shitty."
"Well, yeah. Something to consider. If you want to make it less shitty, you should stick around."
Harry gave Ron a sideways glance. "I plan to." And he did. But planning and hoping was one thing, the reality another. And it seemed Harry was out of touch with reality. No one said anything nasty to him about Draco, but apparently the courtesy didn't extend to Adair. That meant it wouldn't extend to Draco either, without Harry. "Ron," Harry said and stopped walking. "Please, can I ask you something? If I don't make it—"
Ron's eyes widened. "Mate, come on—"
"Ron, please." Harry waited for Ron to stop clenching his jaw. He didn't wait for Ron's ears to stop reddening because then he'd be waiting forever. "Draco says he'll get disinherited because of this. Which means, if I don't make it, he's on his own. He'll need a friend."
"I need a friend too," Ron said dejectedly.
"You have a big loving family, and Hermione, and a whole bunch of friends."
Ron pulled a face. "Oh right, I forgot. Well, off you go, then."
"Ron…"
"You don't have to ask, for fuck's sake," Ron snapped. "You're making me feel like shit right now, do you realise? If you— You really think I'd tell him to fuck off? After all of this?"
"I mean, he'll probably tell you to fuck off. Because he'll blame himself or something, and he'll lash out."
Ron huffed. "If only I knew how to deal with angry fuckers."
Harry didn't know whether to smile or be insulted. "You're an angry fucker," he said.
Ron opened his mouth, looking ready to argue, but then he seemed to change his mind and he shrugged instead. "See, we're already finding things Malfoy and I have in common. Happy times."
"Hey," Harry said, sorry now that he probably upset Ron. "I plan on fighting with everything I got. Especially now. Ron, I'm— I'm really happy."
Ron was staring at him, then shook his head and sighed. "Draco Malfoy," he repeated in that same exasperated tone.
"Yeah." Harry grinned.
"Well, at least it's not Adair."
Oh. Ron was stuck in a loop. Harry had a Galleon to collect.
Calmer now, Harry followed Ron to the Tower, patiently agreeing with Ron's long list of things that should also make Harry happy and make him want to stick around.
Back in the common room, they sank down into the squishy armchairs nearest to the fire, smugly ignoring Draco's and Hermione's instructions to study, and instead stuffing themselves with sweets and Butterbeers. At one point, Ron let it slip that he, Ginny and Hermione were considering not going home for the holidays.
"Seriously?" Harry asked, after swallowing a mouthful of chocolate with difficulty. He'd crammed too much of it into his mouth to spare himself of making any comments while Ron discussed the likelihood of Chudley Cannons reaching the semi-finals.
"Well, yeah. I mean, it is our N.E.W.T. year," Ron said, looking a bit shifty-eyed. "Ginny and I wrote to our mum. We're waiting for the return owl. If her letters arrive all soggy, I guess we'll have to go home for a bit."
Ron's tone was nonchalant, but Harry couldn't imagine Molly and Arthur calmly accepting Ron and Ginny's absence for Christmas. Or that Hermione wasn't eager to go home to her parents after last year when she made them forget her. He couldn't help thinking they were planning to stay here because of him, afraid he'd slip away if they took their eyes off him for too long.
"Huh," Harry said. "Can't say I'd mind the company. But, well, can't say I'd mind having the dormitory all to myself. It'd be kind of practical." He grinned, waiting for Ron to connect the dots.
Ron didn't disappoint. "Oi!" he cried, sitting up straight, eyes widening. "Watch what you do in there! Even if I leave, we'll all come back, you know."
Harry laughed. "Do you think we'll demolish the whole dormitory?"
"I don't know." He waved his arms around. "You might turn it green or something."
"A little green with all the red would make it look Christmassy."
Ron looked insulted. "Unbelievable. So that's where your mind is. Kicking me out to get your boyfriend in there. Cheeky bugger."
Ron kept grumbling and complaining, and warning Harry to stay away from his bed; however, over the weekend Ron, Ginny and Hermione packed up, hugged Harry fiercely, and left.
And Harry sighed in relief. He couldn't stand it if they all missed spending Christmas with their families because of him. Not after all the horrors that happened. If they had stayed, then Harry would have been torn, maybe end up asking Draco to consider spending some time in the Burrow, which Draco might agree to for Harry's sake. It felt like a big ask; Draco wasn't ready for that. And honestly, Molly might not be either. Draco had led the Death Eaters into Hogwarts back in their sixth year, including Greyback, who ended up mauling Bill.
It was too soon. But there was time to deal with all of it, Harry hoped.
The empty dormitory was both a curse and a blessing. They could spend all of their time there, completely alone and undisturbed, but having Draco in his bed was giving Harry ideas that kept him perpetually hard.
Draco was getting frustrated too. And cranky.
"Can we renegotiate?" Draco asked after three full days of nonstop kissing.
They were lying on Harry's four-poster bed, staring at the ceiling, dishevelled and red-faced, recovering from yet another heavy make-out session.
"About?" Harry asked, acutely aware of how sore and swollen his lips felt.
"I know we said there's no harm in moving forward, if it's just a little kissing, but there's harm." He rolled over onto his stomach, closer to Harry and lifted up on his elbows. "There's unexpected harm. I'm sore. I'm sore in places I don't like to be sore in."
Harry tried not to smile. "The bathroom's right over there."
Draco quite plainly pouted. God, Harry wanted to kiss him again.
It took Draco a few seconds to regroup. "You know what I think? I think, if you let yourself… you know, if there's a culmination, it'd be easier afterwards. You'd be calmer. The magic might not affect you as much."
That was likely. Harry had considered it, many times. But he wasn't sure if letting go and allowing himself to come was the same as letting that tap against his mind push through. He never mentioned that part to Draco, because Draco would likely be horrified, thinking he was trying to Imperius Harry. But if he were, Harry thought it would be easier to fight it off because he knew how to do it. This was something else and Harry had no idea what, so he couldn't risk it and let it in. Maybe if he was better at Occlumency, he could make a distinction, be surer in his mind's ability to reject what needed to be rejected and accept the things that felt intense and overwhelming and even intimidating, but not dangerous.
"I need more practice," Harry said, and Draco went back to pouting. That wasn't helping at all. Harry groaned. "Come on." He forced himself to get up.
"Come on what?" Draco whinged. "You said you need practice. Get back here and let's practise."
"The bed's not going anywhere. It's Christmas Eve and I haven't done my Christmas shopping. The shops will close soon."
Draco lay back down. "It's snowing, and it's cold, and I don't want to fly all the way to Hogsmeade."
"I haven't even bought you a present."
Draco grinned. "You don't need to buy me a present." He pointed at Harry. "Got a present right here. You just need to let me unwrap it."
Harry laughed. "That's adorable," he admitted. "And lazy. Come on, get up."
Draco didn't get up, but he lifted up a bit to look at him. "You forgot. I'm poor, remember? I can't go Christmas shopping. I don't have any gold. Literally none. Maybe a few Sickles. Somewhere in my trunk."
Oh. Harry didn't exactly forget. He just wasn't aware Draco didn't have any gold. He thought he'd get cut off in the future, not that it already happened.
Draco's cheeks got pinker. "I had a deadline. Back home before Christmas, or else. Mother sent another letter. She's not veiling her threats anymore. Not very well. And she's not sending gold."
Harry suppressed the urge to chastise Draco for not telling him about it; he had no right to insist on it. He suppressed the urge to write a letter to Narcissa too. Or better yet, Apparate to Malfoy Manor and remind her of what he told her when she got on her knees and begged him to help her husband. Harry smiled instead. "Did you know," he said, "couples get to buy a single present for someone and say it's from both of them?"
"Sure, if they're married or together long enough to have a joint budget."
"Right. But consider this — we get everyone Christmas cards and sign them with 'Love Harry and Draco.'"
Draco smiled tentatively.
"Including Blaise and Pansy," Harry added and Draco's expression lit up.
"I mean," Draco said, "that's a little funny."
"Right?"
Draco scrambled to his feet. "All right. But I'll pay you back. As soon as I'm able."
"Or, you'll buy all the presents next Christmas."
That had Draco smiling widely. "Next Christmas," he repeated.
"Yeah."
"How presumptuous," Draco teased, but his mood improved considerably, and by the time they reached Hogsmeade, he had forgotten all his embarrassment and replaced it by outrage at Harry's gift-buying ways. He accused Harry of being cheap and shopping like a twelve-year-old, and insisted on picking all the presents himself. Harry didn't mind, especially when he realised Draco had put some thought into each gift, even chastising Harry when he attempted to buy a red and blue scarf for Dean.
"It's too thin," Draco all but raged, "and the colours are all wrong. You need claret and sky blue if you're thinking of those Muggles he has up on his wall."
The scarf Draco picked looked quite similar to Harry, except it cost a lot more, but Harry wisely kept his mouth shut, even after the costs kept piling up, and he spent the last Galleon he had on him in the post office.
It occurred to him he got himself a boyfriend with a very expensive taste, who would soon turn him poor, but he made his peace with it right then and there because Draco was happy with all their purchases and bragged about his smart choices all the way back to Hogwarts.
They returned in time for dinner and Draco immediately scanned the Slytherin table, presumably for Daphne, but she wasn't there yet.
"How come Daphne doesn't get a fancy perfume?" Harry asked as they sat at the mostly empty Gryffindor table. Draco had picked a bottle of shockingly expensive perfume for Pansy, but bought Daphne a backpack. Which was also nowhere near cheap, and it was all fancy-looking too, not to mention Charmed with a whole list of protective spells. But still, it was a backpack.
Draco shrugged. "Thought I'd go with something practical, considering her situation. Her backpack seems to be held together by magic alone at this point. You know how it goes, all the Charms wear off eventually."
"Her situation? Isn't her family rich?"
Draco blinked. "Oh, I didn't tell you? She got disinherited too, for the crime of an unwanted opinion. She and her sister are off the Greengrass tree."
"I didn't know that." Harry glanced at the Slytherin table. He realised now a lot of Slytherins stayed at Hogwarts for the holidays. Well, not a lot, but definitely more than in previous years. Perhaps they were reluctant to go home and listen to their families bemoan Voldemort's defeat. Quiet rebels who had faced harsh realities last year, for the first time in their lives.
"What?" Draco asked, likely noticing Harry staring at the Slytherins.
Harry looked back at him and leaned in to press a quick kiss to Draco's lips.
"What?" Draco asked again, smiling uncertainly now.
"Nothing. I'm just thinking the world isn't perfect, but I'm hopeful."
Draco looked between Harry and the Slytherin table. "For what? Slytherins getting poor?"
Harry laughed. "No, Slytherins getting brave."
Draco scoffed and shook his head, but then spotted Daphne entering the Great Hall. "Come on," he said, getting up. He was so eager to give Daphne her present, he almost forgot to wait for Harry and take his hand. He stopped himself on time and waited for Harry to get up. Harry wished he could do it faster, but the trip and the shopping tired him out and he was beginning to feel it.
Daphne patiently waited for them near the entrance after Draco waved at her.
"Yes?" she asked curiously when they reached her, though she must have noticed Draco was carrying a very obvious gift box.
"Just wanted to give you this now," Draco said, handing over the present, "because, uh, we have plans tomorrow. Um, Merry Christmas."
They didn't have plans, unless staying in Harry's bed and kissing until their lips fell off counted as one; Draco was just terribly impatient.
"Thank you," she said politely, and peeked beneath the lid. She looked stricken. "Oh. It's a backpack."
"Yeah, I reckoned you need one." Draco sounded unsure and uncomfortable now.
"Yes, indeed. I—" She looked uncomfortable too. "I haven't done my Christmas shopping yet."
"Oh, that's all right," Draco said grandly. "I'm partial to strawberry-flavoured Liquorice Wands, just so you know."
They just bought about twenty of them because Draco had refused to let Harry buy him a gift, and Harry had noticed him eyeing the wands. And they were really cheap.
She smiled. "I'll bear it in mind." She held the gift box awkwardly. "I should put this away before dinner," she said, thanked them again and turned back towards the dungeons. Harry watched her long enough to see her wipe at her eyes with the back of her hand. He breathed a sigh of relief. It had been a somewhat baffling interaction, and it was hard to tell if she was pleased with the gift or not.
Draco was staring after her too. "I wasn't sure if we're gift-giving type of friends."
Harry squeezed Draco's hand. "Well, you are now." He took a chance and added, "You did good."
Praising Draco was the right thing to do. Draco smiled and visibly relaxed, but then gave a big sigh. "Being poor sucks."
Harry pressed his lips tightly together. There was no need to point out how Draco used to make fun of Ron for being poor. Draco didn't forget it. Draco didn't forget anything. That was all that mattered now.
"At least you have a rich boyfriend," Harry said instead.
Draco's eyes narrowed. "Are you rich?"
Harry had to think about that. "Dunno. There's a lot of gold in my vault. I didn't count it."
"Could you count it? Would it take an hour? A day?"
"Er…" Harry tried to make a reasonable estimate. "A few hours, I guess?"
Draco shook his head. "You're not rich."
Harry laughed. "Come on. We should have some dinner. We have plans, remember?"
And Harry had a plan, and the plan was to learn to navigate whatever Draco's magic was offering. It was just another challenge with a prize at the end, and Harry wasn't half-bad at facing challenges.
And it was easier than he thought it would be. He had no other concerns on his mind. He wasn't in pain because Draco was always with him; he didn't get exhausted because there were no lessons to attend and nowhere to go. They couldn't even go flying because it was freezing outside. The holidays were a blur of kissing and Draco finding new ways to entertain him. Draco's good mood held strong ever since Christmas morning when they woke up to find a mountain of presents stacked at the foot of the bed, and Draco realised that many of them were for him. He got presents from all of Harry's friends, as well as Molly and Arthur Weasley. It was mostly sweets, as likely no one was sure what to get him, but Draco seemed touched anyway. Blaise and Pansy sent him gifts too, and most importantly so did Draco's mother. She sent him beautiful diamond cufflinks and a bottle of Draco's favourite cologne. The card was signed 'From Mother and Father, with love,' but Draco claimed it was unlikely his father even knew what Mother had picked out and sent. Still, he was happy, and Harry was happy for him. It gave him hope that Narcissa wouldn't be so quick to abandon her son, despite her warnings and threats.
Closer to the end of the holidays, the troubling nudging against Harry's mind seemed to have disappeared entirely. Harry wasn't sure if Draco's magic stopped offering whatever it was trying to offer in the first place, or if Harry managed to decline the offer for good, but it was just gone. Harry wished he knew what it was, but there was no doubt in his mind that refusing it was the right thing to do.
It made him bolder, surer in his belief that there was nothing threatening in Draco's magic, no force, just offers Harry could refuse or accept. So one day, Harry, when things got heated again, with Draco lying beneath him on the bed and Harry stretched on top of him, kissing Draco's lips, his jaw, his neck, Harry pressed his hips downwards, moving them with purpose.
"Hey, are we doing that?" Draco asked quietly, arms wrapped around Harry's waist and his pupils blown wide.
"Yeah," Harry decided. He couldn't hold back anymore. It was torture.
He sped up his thrusting, and Draco gasped into his mouth. New jolts of pleasure hit him in constant waves that began to blur together, and Harry was truly lost. But Draco's hands were squeezing his arse, and Draco's teeth were biting his earlobe, and that was something he could cling to when the shock of his orgasm ripped through him, frighteningly intense, bordering on pain for a moment before glorious release that had him convulsing. He heard himself cry out and felt his whole body shudder. And just when he thought it was over, Draco groaned into his ear, and another wave of pleasure hit him. Not his own, he realised, drunk on the feeling. That was Draco's orgasm, lingering on every nerve-ending, prickling down Harry's back, pulsing in his thighs, spreading from every point of contact with Draco.
And the sensations just refused to stop. Harry melted into a shivering mess. His muscles ached, tensing, releasing, drumming, the pleasure of it constantly building low in his back. He was still fully hard. He felt like he was about to come again.
Draco wrapped his arms around him. "Are you all right?"
"I don't know," Harry said honestly, though he laughed as he said it. "I think the theory that if I let go, I'll have more control afterwards might not be true."
Draco's fingers found their way into Harry's hair and the shivering intensified.
It wasn't a bad feeling, but it was honestly terrifying.
They stayed like that for a long while before Harry felt strong enough to slide off Draco and lie down beside him. Draco promptly got his wand and waved it around, likely casting Cleaning Charms because the uncomfortable wetness in Harry's pants disappeared. Harry could do little but lie there and worry all his nerves and muscles had melted, and he'd never have any use of them again.
Draco brushed his hair briefly and Harry shivered. He'd moan too, but he anticipated it and bit his lip. "I can't tell if I should be concerned," Draco said, "or smug?"
Harry laughed, staring fondly up at Draco's flushed face; his skin seemed to be glowing and his eyes were bright, not their usual colour of storm clouds but softer, like pure silver.
Oh, there it was. Harry had lost his mind. He'd gone poetic. "I think you broke me," he accused.
Draco's smile was tentative. He brushed his fingers through Harry's hair again, and Harry closed his eyes. This time, the shudder that swept through him, shook him from within. But Draco kept at it, stroking Harry's hair, and slowly, the sensations were ebbing away.
Draco seemed to have concluded Harry had recovered enough, which he hadn't, and his hand slid lower to the waistband of Harry's trousers. He must have noticed Harry was still hard. His fingers toyed with the zipper. "Yeah?" he asked.
What could Harry say except gasp out a yes and even a please because he was already on the brink again. Draco didn't even do much. He managed to take out Harry's cock and wrap his hand around it, and after a few quick tugs, Harry came again with a dragged out moan he would surely be embarrassed about if he had the energy to care. It lasted even longer this time and left Harry feeling utterly boneless.
It took a while, and a lot of gasping and a lot of shivering, but slowly the effects receded, and Harry's mind cleared enough he could laugh at Draco's unbearably smug expression.
"The Chosen One," Draco drawled. "Defeated by my hand. Reduced to a wreck of a man."
Harry laughed and reached for Draco to pull him in his arms and stroke his back.
They kissed afterwards for a long time, slow and languid, no struggle for control necessary.
Things got a little crazy after that.
Draco made it his mission to take Harry apart with multiple orgasms, obsessively pushing Harry's limits. There were no words to describe how Harry felt when he'd wake up in the mornings, Draco sleeping soundly beside him, arms and legs wrapped around Harry's body, promising another day of pure joy.
Well, not pure joy. It was joy and a couple of surprising conversations.
One afternoon, when Harry had Draco shirtless on the bed, exploring Draco's chest with his lips and tongue and teeth, he found a thin white line stretched horizontally over Draco's ribcage. It was long and straight, like a slash made by a knife.
"Is that…?" He looked up at Draco, who frowned, then promptly rolled his eyes.
"Yes, yes, your handiwork, Potter."
"I thought there wouldn't be any scarring." Snape had sounded so hopeful when he had healed Draco.
"It's just the one."
"I'm so sor—"
"Ugh, Potter." Draco squirmed. "We duelled. I lost. And I started it. So, whatever. Don't look at me like that."
"I could have killed you," Harry said, remembering the blood that covered Draco's face and chest. If Snape hadn't shown up, who knew what could have happened.
"I could have killed a lot of people," Draco said quietly. "But I got a pass, so…"
Right. Harry got a pass too. Snape had healed Draco, Harry got detention, and that was it. But, looking back now, that was the moment when Harry began to see Draco differently. And not just because he'd seen Draco scared and crying, and then, not that long after their confrontation, he'd seen him hesitate when he had Dumbledore at his mercy. But because in those horrifying couple of minutes, Harry had realised how quickly things could go wrong, even if he didn't intend them to. He wondered now if seeing Draco on the bathroom floor, bleeding out and convulsing, cursed by Harry's hand, made him feel like Draco's well-being became his responsibility. A thought that was in the back of his mind when he took a risk and got Draco out of that cursed fire. Fact was, Harry had hurt Draco too easily — helping him had to be just as easy.
Harry leaned forward and pressed kisses along the scar. His lips tingled with every touch. Draco's fingers ended up in Harry's hair, because of course they did. Harry closed his eyes, enjoying the sensations.
"I kind of like that scar," Draco said quietly, making Harry open his eyes to look up at him.
"Why would you?"
"Diverts the attention." Draco was still massaging Harry's scalp, looking down at him. "From the other one."
It took Harry a moment. Draco meant the one on his forearm, from the Dark Mark. Harry noticed only then Draco was holding his left arm straight against his side, pressed against the bed, as though hiding it.
Harry dropped another kiss against the white scar and looked up at Draco. "I'm not Obliviated. I know you took the Dark Mark. I don't need to see the scar to remember. What's done is done. We're here now."
"Yeah, all right," Draco said, voice unsteady, but then Harry reached down and cupped Draco's cock through his trousers.
He grinned up at Draco. "What if I put it in my mouth?" he asked and Draco spluttered something incoherent.
Harry didn't get to put it in his mouth that day because after he gripped Draco's cock in his hand and stroked it for a bit, Draco came with a cry as though he was the one under a spell.
And ridiculously, Harry came too. Just from that. Just from feeling the intensity of Draco's orgasm.
They laughed and kissed for a long time after that, and when they snuggled up under the covers, Harry dragged his thumb over the Dark Mark scar on Draco's forearm until Draco stopped shuddering and fell asleep.
On Saturday evening, the day before everyone would be returning to Hogwarts, they set up camp in a spacious passageway on the second floor, so Draco could prove to Harry that losing the empty dormitory was irrelevant, and troubling themselves by sneaking off to the dungeons where Draco had his own room was needless. With a few waves of his wand, he Conjured a big comfy armchair and dozens of floating candles overhead. He even lit up a row of blue fires along the opposite wall to keep them warm.
Harry was quite impressed, but Draco was not, and he accused Harry of being a very poor student who would surely fail all his N.E.W.T.s.
"I can easily Conjure a bed too," Draco bragged.
"I mean, this is amazing, but what's wrong with your room?"
"I don't know," Draco said with a bit of a whine. "Some of my housemates could get rude if I bring you to the dungeons. I don't want to deal with that. And using the Invisibility Cloak all the time is such a bother. I don't want to feel like I have to hide."
Harry stopped pushing. "All right. I'm not complaining. This is perfect." He grinned. "And this armchair is perfect." He grabbed Draco's hips and turned him around, then pushed him towards the armchair. "It's giving me ideas."
"Is it?" Draco asked, smiling as his calves hit the armchair and he had no choice but to plop down on it.
"You need a blowjob," Harry said with conviction and knelt down in front of Draco. His leg didn't like kneeling much, but Draco was wide-eyed and pink-cheeked, and Harry could withstand a lot more than a twinge of pain for that expression.
He didn't have to withstand anything though. The moment he took Draco's cock in hand, every smidgen of pain vanished. Harry couldn't stop smiling — it was logical, skin was skin and of course touching Draco's cock would have the same effect on him as touching Draco's hand or lips, but it was still hilarious.
Draco was staring at him, frozen, as Harry stroked it for a bit, but the moment Harry's lips touched the crown, a jolt hit him so hard he actually yelped.
"Sorry," Draco said, a mindless apology; it wasn't like he was doing it deliberately, but it was clear by the way his eyes widened and darkened, and the way his skin flushed all the way to his neck that he was painfully aroused. His magic had gone wild.
"No sorrys," Harry said, shivering even as he tried again. He managed to lick it a bit, get a taste. He even pulled the head into his mouth, giving himself a moment to feel the fullness and the weight of it before sucking on it lightly. He had to wonder if he liked this so much simply because he liked the look, the feel, even the bitter taste of it, or if the magic was taking over, making him delirious, but it didn't really matter because Draco clearly loved it, and that would have been enough to make Harry try harder, get more of it into his mouth. He did it inexpertly, he knew it. Too focused on keeping his teeth covered to even consider what to do with his tongue, how to apply any suction, how to get it deeper into his mouth when it just wouldn't go. He really tried, even when Draco's magic became overwhelming, making Harry moan and closing up his throat.
It didn't last long. Draco lost it, cursing incoherently, and Harry failed to think things through. He didn't want to pull away and risk interrupting Draco's pleasure, as well as his own, but then Draco's come filled his mouth, and Harry did his very best to swallow, but he choked and that forced him to pull away. He gasped and coughed, shuddering violently, but he laughed too, because he fucking came. He had half-anticipated it already, but it was still a shock. The familiar shivers shook his body as he wiped his mouth, catching his breath.
"Sorry," Draco apologised again, for losing it that quickly or for coming into Harry's mouth, Harry wasn't sure, but then Draco started justifying himself. "You were moaning. Fucking moaning, Potter. Who does that while sucking off? I didn't stand a chance."
"Apparently, I do," Harry said, still laughing. He grabbed Draco's arm. "Come on. Help me up."
Draco hurried to do so, and soon Harry was sprawled on the armchair, shivery and weak, but content. He must have looked like a right mess because Draco's expression softened, and he declared, "This was the best blowjob I ever got."
Harry laughed. "The others must have been terrible." Honestly, he thought he did it really, really badly.
Draco didn't laugh. He frowned a bit. "Well, I mean, yeah." He rolled his eyes. "I told you. There was just Paxton. And he was… I don't know. Perfunctory. I don't think he liked it much. You know, gave it to get it." He shrugged. "Or he was just bad at it, like he was bad at kissing. Stiff tongue, too much drool."
Harry grimaced. "Why did you—" He stopped himself. He had no business asking that; besides, Draco had already told him all about Paxton. It wasn't a romantic story.
Draco answered anyway, somewhat irritably. "Sex, Potter. Thought I was done for, wasn't gonna die a virgin. And, you know, without trying it with a bloke."
"I get that," Harry said honestly. He didn't want to die a virgin either. He almost did. Still could… "I just… The more you talk about this guy, the more I hate him."
Draco seemed appeased. "Well, I didn't have a lot of choices." His lips twitched. "Didn't know you were an option."
Harry snorted. "In our seventh year? You'd make the Horcrux hunt more fun."
"Sure." Draco's smile slipped. "If me grabbing you and delivering you to Voldemort is your idea of fun."
Draco's expression was too serious. Harry bumped their knees together. "As if you could have grabbed me."
"Is that so?" Draco scoffed, but his expression brightened. "I could grab you right now. Want me to show you?"
"Give me a few minutes. Then, yeah, grab me."
Draco shook his head, smiling. "I suppose I do regret it now. Paxton, I mean. But… whatever. At least you're not getting the virginal version. That'd be embarrassing."
Harry stared at him. "Would it?"
"Obviously. Come on, what with all your girlfriends. At least you haven't done it with a bloke. Right? I got you beat there."
Harry didn't know what to say. Which part to address first. That Draco thought Harry had a bunch of girlfriends. That he thought Harry had sex with them. That he wasn't completely sure if Harry had been with some bloke or not. Or that he saw it like some sort of competition. Was it a competition? Harry was losing spectacularly then.
But how did this happen? Draco had shared so much about himself, even before they got together. Harry told him things, all the exciting stuff that happened to him over the years, fighting Voldemort, fighting to stay alive, but there was so much he didn't tell him. Nothing too personal, nothing about the Dursleys, or Sirius, or his troubles with Ginny. He hated talking about it all, but… Draco's perception of him was all wrong.
"I had a lot of girlfriends?" Harry asked tentatively.
"I don't know your definition of a lot, but I heard a lot of stories."
God, what sort of stories did the Slytherins believe about him? Surely they'd jump at the chance to accuse him of being a virgin. Or was that too boring?
"About Ginny?" Harry prompted.
"Well, yes, obviously, but the others before Ginny."
"Cho?"
Draco seemed annoyed now. "Yes, Cho. Everyone was saying you dumped her real quick after you got what you wanted. I mean, she was crying about it for months and you didn't seem to care."
Well, that was hurtful. Was that what Draco thought of him?
But Draco was just getting started. "And there was Parvati Patil. Also dumped after the Yule Ball. She was very unhappy with you. And Lovegood, of course. Everyone was saying she must have been putting out, and that's why you picked her as your date for the Slug Club party. And Romilda Vane. She had some racy tales about you. Oh, there was talk about you and Granger too. And that thing with Fleur."
"Fleur Delacour?" Harry asked in utter disbelief.
"Well, yeah. Some Slytherins were saying you saved her sister to get some."
"Some Slytherins? Was it you?"
"No!" Draco was getting defensive now. "I always assumed that part wasn't true. I told everyone as much. You were fourteen. It was beyond ridiculous."
"And the other stuff? You believe it?"
Uncertainty crept into Draco's expression. "I mean… no? Obviously, people were trying to make you look bad. But… the rumours didn't come out of nowhere. Every year there was a different girl. In sixth year you went through three."
Three? It took Harry several moments to work out Draco meant Luna, Ginny and Romilda Vane. For fuck's sake.
Harry's expression must not have looked very friendly because Draco squirmed a bit. "What? Potter, come on, what? It's not like I believe you deliberately used these girls and dumped them. Of course not. But the fact is girls kept throwing themselves at you. Tracey Davis cried for weeks when you started dating Ginny Weasley. Pansy hexed her twice."
"Harry," Harry said, morose.
"What?"
"My name's Harry. You should call me Harry, not Potter."
Draco looked confused by the subject change, but Harry was suddenly annoyed that Draco was still calling him Potter.
"Er, sure," Draco said. "It's years of habit though. And there are a bunch of other Harrys in Hogwarts. You're not just Harry, you're Potter."
"No, I'm definitely Harry. And I just had your cock in my mouth so you have to call me by my first name."
Draco's eyes widened. "That was a bit crude. Are you angry? Why are you angry?"
"I'm not angry," Harry said, even though he was, but more at himself. "I just…" He sat up a little straighter. "Okay. I had one girlfriend. Ginny. That's it. I dated Cho for half a second, we kissed once. She cried because her boyfriend was killed the previous year, and I ended up annoyed with her because she refused to realise that forcing Dumbledore to flee the school was a terrible thing for all of us. Nothing ever happened with any of the others. They're my friends. Except Romilda Vane, whom I barely know, and she tried to slip me a love potion. And Ginny, God, I was hardly going to do anything more than snog her in our sixth year after a few weeks of dating and with her being Ron's little sister. And after the war, it didn't work out between us, obviously. We didn't get very far. So, I mean, you're the one getting the virginal version." He blew out a breath. "You're getting Harry, the virgin. Not Potter, the heartbreaker."
Draco wasn't blinking at all. "Oh," he said. Then his eyes widened again. "Wait! I said that's embarrassing. That's not fair. It doesn't count. I didn't know. I meant it would be embarrassing if I was— because you were— It's not fair. You didn't tell me."
"I realise that."
"You should have told me."
"I realise that. I'm sorry."
Draco calmed down a bit. "Not even with Ginny? How far is not far?"
Harry sighed. Well, fuck it. "Not far means… I couldn't even get it up. At all."
"Oh."
"You can laugh if you like," Harry lied.
Draco's expression softened, and Harry relaxed. "Why would I laugh?" Draco asked gently. "After everything that happened, come on. Do you think I spent the summer wanking? I was hardly in the mood." A sudden frown sharpened his features. "Did she dump you over it?"
Harry held back a smile. Draco looked like he might run off to hex Ginny if Harry said yes.
"No," Harry said firmly. "I broke it off. I was a complete arse about it. I thought now that it was all over, I could finally get the things I missed out on. But then I'd look at her and… I don't know. She'd just make me think of Fred dying and Ron almost bleeding out after he got Splinched. She looks so much like them and..." He shrugged. "I was just… messed up."
"Was?" Draco cocked an eyebrow. "You're saying you're not messed up anymore? My magic can't be that good. Too many messed up things happened. It would be messed up if you weren't messed up."
"Fair enough," Harry said, soothed. "I guess I'm still messed up, just a little less virginal. I'm kind of hoping the 'little less' will become 'not at all' soon."
Draco stopped blinking again. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. He nodded with a breathless, "Yeah." He ran a hand through his hair and laughed a little. "You could have told me. It's not like I'd mind. Bit of a relief, quite frankly. Seemed like all of your relationships were short-lived. I suppose I understand you not trusting me enough to tell me."
"No, it's not that." Harry took hold of Draco's hand. They didn't do much hand-holding lately. Now he found that he missed it. "I just don't like talking about things like that. It's not just you. I don't like… You know, sharing boring, uninteresting stuff about myself. With anyone."
Draco seemed to consider that. "So… the real Harry is boring and uninteresting?"
"No, I'm not saying that. I just think I'm bad at judging which things about me are things no one wants to hear because they're uninteresting. Or irrelevant because, I mean, what happened happened, and there's no point in talking about it because it can't be changed. I guess sometimes it turns out some things are relevant, but I didn't realise."
"Huh. All right. What if you try talking about something, and I promise I'll tell you if it's boring and you can shut up about it? I can do that."
Harry laughed. "Then I'd probably never tell you anything ever again."
Draco spluttered. "Good God. Add fucking sensitive to the list of your flaws." He sighed and sank back against the armchair. "At least you warned me."
"You have a list of my flaws?"
Draco nodded sagely. "It's long."
Harry laughed. "I'm joking, though," he assured him. "It's not a bad suggestion. We might try it."
"Sure. But I have to warn you — it could be the kissing and all the other stuff — but, currently, I think watching your eyelashes grow is interesting. So I might be a poor judge."
Harry felt heat spread from his neck to his cheeks. "You know, I think that's the most romantic thing anyone ever said to me."
"Yes, well, I'm very smooth," Draco said without missing a beat, but his gaze was warm. "Let's try it out, then. I want to know the whole story about Cho Chang because she was very upset, and back then I was dying to know what happened."
"All right." Harry could do that. It was a confusing and somewhat embarrassing story, but he could tell it. "Well, I was—"
Draco put a finger on Harry's lips. "Sorry. You know what? I want to know, but not right this second. Don't ask me why; I can't explain it, but you telling me you're a virgin… It sort of turned me on quite a bit." He sat up. "So why don't you tell me the story after I give you your first-ever blowjob?"
A jolt of excitement passed through Harry, and he wasn't even sure if it was his or Draco's. "It's not going to work, you realise?" he said.
Draco was already slipping down onto his knees. He parted Harry's legs to settle between them, hands stroking Harry's thighs and moving up to his crotch.
"Of course it will," he said. "I'll put it in my mouth and you'll come. That's exactly how blowjobs work. I'm speaking as a professional."
Harry laughed but then stopped abruptly when Draco cupped him through his trousers. And just like that he was shivering again.
It happened exactly as Harry had predicted. The moment Draco's lips wrapped around the head of Harry's cock, Harry came and came hard. At least he got that image burned into his brain now. But then he got another visual — Draco on his knees in front of him, stroking himself as he stared up at Harry. The sight of it made Harry groan. He felt exposed, shuddering on the armchair, his muscles weak and twitchy, still fully hard, cock on display, and the way Draco was looking at him, with obvious hunger, would surely make him squirm if he had the energy for it.
He couldn't decide if it was amazing or cruel of Draco to grab Harry's cock as he came. It was too sudden and too intense, and Harry cried out and came again, his spine arching, body convulsing in a prolonged moment of bliss.
He was gasping and twitching, only vaguely aware of Draco cleaning up, even zipping up Harry's pants, which had Harry convulsing again as Draco's fingers touched his spent cock.
Draco trapped him into a hug, pulling Harry's legs over his lap, and then, the utterly devious Slytherin that he was, he fucking questioned him. Shamelessly took advantage of Harry's half-conscious state and mushy brain to make him talk. And not just about Cho. Fifth year was too painful; it was impossible to stop there. He ended up talking about Sirius, how it felt to discover he had a godfather, someone who finally saw Harry as a priority, only to lose him after stupidly falling for Voldemort's trick.
Draco listened and kissed him, and kept saying he was sorry, for his part in all of it, his father's, his aunt's.
"We said no sorrys," Harry finally reminded him.
"But I am sorry. And I need you to know that. That's the point." He took a shuddering breath. "I got so excited when Umbridge said she'd Crucio you. I didn't know then. I— I thought it'd be a laugh to see you in pain. If she had done it, I probably would have laughed. Because I didn't know. The first time he tortured me, that's when I knew. That's when I realised I'm an idiot who doesn't know anything. Only then. When it was done to me."
"I'm sure plenty of Death Eaters got tortured by Voldemort," Harry said. "And they realised nothing."
"Just means I have a low tolerance for pain."
"Or it means you were meant for more."
Draco wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "Sure." Then his eyes widened. "Oh God, I did it again. We're talking about me again."
"Well, I'm lucid now. Your sneaky questioning session is over."
"Sneaky, am I? You questioned me with Veritaserum. In front of witnesses."
"Sorry," Harry said.
"Now who's breaking the rules?"
Harry smiled, thinking. "Don't get angry," he said. "But I'm probably not as sorry as I should be about the Veritaserum. I was at first, but looking back now, it would have been harder to trust you if I hadn't done it, and then we might not be here now."
Draco didn't look angry; his lips twitched. "Fine, then. I won't feel guilty for blowing your mind with my incredible sexual powers to make you talk to me."
Harry laughed, easily accepting his fate.
The next day everyone returned to Hogwarts, and Harry and Draco greeted them in the common room, with Draco wearing one of Harry's old T-shirts with a picture of a sad donkey printed on the front. Harry wasn't sure if it was some sort of deliberate statement because it wasn't the first time Draco had picked out one of Harry's shirts to wear, but he couldn't stop staring at him.
Hermione gave Draco a warm smile and complimented him on his shirt, then hugged Harry for a full minute.
"Yes, I'm still here," Harry teased.
She wasn't amused. She pulled back to study his face. "How are you feeling?"
"Isn't it obvious?"
She cracked a smile at that, but she kept throwing worried glances at him throughout the evening. Harry did his best to ignore it.
Draco kept his promise and for days later, he made it his mission to drag out every thought Harry ever had when Harry was in his vulnerable post-orgasm state. He'd pull Harry into a hug, stroke his hair, and ask a million questions. Harry even told Draco about his childhood and the Dursleys.
"I wondered, you know," Draco said. "Since first year. I mean, you were Harry Potter, but your clothes looked poor and too big for you, and you always stayed here for the holidays. Never made much sense to me. I never heard anything about your parents being poor, and I bet half the Wizarding World would be happy to adopt you and give you everything you ever wanted. Figured it was some Muggle thing I didn't understand."
"They're not all like that, you know," Harry said, worried this would make Draco distrust Muggles even more.
"I'm not actually stupid, Potter," Draco said irritably. "I get it. There are bad ones and good ones, just like with wizards. But you'd be better off here, being magical."
"Or I'd be dead. Even without the blood protection. The Muggle world is a good hiding place. You lot, the pure-bloods, are so easily confused by it."
"You'll show me around one day."
"I can do that," Harry said, cheered up. "There's loads to see." It would be amazing to spend a whole day with Draco in the Muggle World. Draco would love it. He probably didn't think he would, but Harry would make sure. But that could only happen if Harry got better. Right now, even that quick trip to Hogsmeade for Christmas Eve had tired him out.
"You know," Draco said, holding him a little tighter. "What you said about finding your godfather and finally being someone's priority, I get it now. You obviously weren't that to your family. And your friends, I know how much they care about you, but they have their own families and... I just… I want you to know, you're my priority now."
That was beautiful to hear. And sad. "You have your own family too," Harry said quietly.
"I do. And I love my parents, of course I do. But they aren't my priority. Not anymore. You are."
Harry shouldn't have loved that. Draco was hurt and disappointed in his parents, and he got attached to Harry too easily; it would only hurt him more if Harry didn't make it. Guilt was making Draco say this, regrets and shame, and gratitude. But snuggled up here in Draco's embrace, talking about things he thought he'd never talk about with anyone, Harry felt like Draco's priority, and it felt wonderful. It was probably selfish to accept it, but he wanted it too much. So he closed his eyes and believed it.
Mid-January, the news that Harry Potter was dating a former Death Eater finally broke out in the Daily Prophet. Maybe it was because Harry and Draco were becoming painfully obvious, even sharing quick kisses in public, and sometimes Draco's fingers sneaked into Harry's hair, unprompted and shameless, right there for everyone to see. Or maybe Kingsley couldn't block the story anymore. Or he realised Harry didn't care.
And Harry didn't care although it wasn't the most positive article. It wasn't hateful, it aimed more to shock, and it did unfortunately suggest Draco Malfoy had Harry under a love spell.
Draco cared about the article. He tried not to show it, but he was upset. Harry did his best to reassure him, promising he'd write a statement and send it to the Prophet, shout about it in the Great Hall, make a spectacle in Diagon Alley. Draco declined, laughing, but he'd turn gloomy every time he'd get letters in the morning. Some were from random angry people and some were from his parents. Draco never read them and set them all on fire.
"If my father hadn't disinherited me already," he said, Vanishing the ashes from his plate, "he's probably writing to threaten me with it. He put enough words in my head. I don't need any more."
Harry leaned in, angled his head, and pressed a few soft kisses against Draco's lips. "You're going to be fine."
"I know," Draco said, already in a better mood.
Eventually the owls stopped bringing the letters, and Draco seemed calmer.
For weeks, everything was almost perfect. Which was why, looking back, Harry should have seen it coming.
It was the second week of February and Harry and Draco were in the common room studying when it happened.
It was pretty late, and they were alone, and Harry was reading the assigned chapter for Charms. Actually, he was cheating, not reading, only pretending, and in reality replaying what happened earlier in one of the hidden passageways. Harry had finally managed to give Draco a proper blowjob, one that lasted a good long while, long enough for Harry to firmly decide he loved doing it. The magic didn't affect him too much, and he could concentrate on the moment, the whole experience of giving Draco pleasure, hearing his gasps and moans, gripped by a strange sort of pride as Draco's cock hit the back of his throat. He didn't choke but welcomed the feeling of having his mouth filled, first with Draco's cock and then with Draco's come, which he swallowed greedily this time. Draco had repaid the favour and that was over quick, but at least it hadn't turned Harry into a quivering mess.
And in that quiet moment in the common room, after Harry spent hours extensively touching Draco and was touching him now, through their clothes only as they were sitting close, but also with Draco occasionally running his fingers through Harry's hair, distractedly, a mere habit, and still, inexplicably, Harry's leg started throbbing.
Harry smiled at Draco, took his hand, kissed him, doing nothing suspicious, just trying to make the pain go away without Draco noticing. It helped. And minutes later, it stopped helping. It hurt again.
A fluke, Harry thought. He overexerted himself. Maybe it was the kneeling. Though it was hardly the first time and it was never a problem before. Maybe they got careless and too comfortable; they weren't even holding hands until now because it wasn't necessary, and it was easier to study and underline and turn pages with two free hands. They didn't spend every night together either. They'd go back to their dormitories early in the morning to get more sleep and shower and a change of clothes, and it didn't seem to matter because Harry's leg didn't hurt at all.
Except, it occurred to Harry then: he was so proud of the control he had. Draco's touches affected him less and less. They were so focused on pushing Harry's limits so they could do more that Harry hadn't realised — simple hand-holding stopped affecting him entirely. Touching Draco like this, kissing Draco, though always wonderful, wasn't magical. Harry only felt the magic when they got all worked up and were trying something new.
Harry rejected these thoughts. It was a fluke. It had to be.
But it wasn't. The next day he woke up in pain, his leg stiff and throbbing. And later, when he was finally dressed and went down to the common room, he grabbed Draco's hand, hugged him, kissed him, making Draco laugh and breathe out, "Missed me, did you?"
It was better, but the pain wasn't gone.
This was a fact that Harry had always been aware of — sometimes, the magic simply wore off.
Chapter 8: The Bond
Notes:
More art? Thank you Tumblr's "For you" feature! lorenzocarrera0 @ tumblr has been drawing the most adorable Beholden art. Look, it has its own tag! I can't pick a favorite. Possibly pocket!Draco. Or sitting under a tree. Or the latest one for chapter 7, which… it pains me to say it, because I can't wait to read your comments after I post a chapter, but to be fair that last art post contains some sound advice.
Chapter Text
Draco slid down onto the floor, his back against the stone wall. Granger was saying something; it sounded surprisingly soothing. Must have been the result of the Calming Draught he'd drunk, because she didn't usually have the most soothing tone of voice.
He didn't know whether he regretted drinking the Draught or not. He didn't want to be calm. He wanted to rage and scream and hex someone. Preferably the St Mungo's Healers who had chased him out of the hospital wing. Rationally, he knew hexing them wouldn't help anyone, especially not Harry, but he still felt like doing it. He was angry with Harry too. Harry had spent days acting odd and withdrawn, and Draco had begun to fear Harry was getting tired of him, fear that the magic was wearing off after all, and Harry had realised he didn't want to be with Draco. It never occurred to him, not once, that the magic wearing off meant the pain would return.
He didn't even know if whatever Harry felt for him was gone now too. There was no time to wonder. Harry had woken up in too much pain, and he couldn't hide it anymore. He admitted it when Draco got to the Tower this morning. A beautiful Sunday. They were going to spend the day together, Draco had hoped.
Instead, Granger, Weasley and Draco rushed Harry to the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey Floo-called the Healers, and everything after that was a blur. Draco remembered yelling and taking out his wand. He remembered Harry's pale face scrunched up in pain as he sat on the hospital bed with Draco desperately touching him and kissing him and hugging him, and it just wouldn't help.
"I don't know if you heard," Granger's voice floated from somewhere close, "but Madam Pomfrey promised she'd keep us informed. We have to give the Healers a chance to examine him."
Draco nodded, or at least he thought he did. Maybe he was just dizzy. He kept his eyes closed and forced himself to breathe.
How did this happen? Why? Was he no longer grateful enough? Because he was. More than ever. For every wonderful second he had spent with Harry. Why take it away now? Maybe Draco overstepped, tried to take too much, spent his magic on gratification and happiness. But why punish Harry for that?
He didn't know how long he sat there on the floor, but the Calming Draught must have been wearing off because when the hospital wing's door opened, Draco scrambled to his feet, his heart pounding.
Madam Pomfrey smiled at them, but she looked tired.
"Harry is asleep at the moment," she said. "We have found a pain-relieving potion that seems to work. It made him drowsy."
"Seems to work?" Draco repeated. If it made Harry drowsy, it must have been strong.
"Harry says it stopped the pain."
She knew him well, then. She knew that just because Harry had said the potion stopped the pain, it wasn't necessarily true. There seemed to be a level of pain Harry could endure and think nothing of it.
"Sorry?" Draco asked, realising Pomfrey was looking at him expectantly. She must have said something else.
"Healer Warwick wishes to speak to you. He's in my office."
Granger and Weasley started complaining. They wanted to see Harry; they wanted to speak to the Healer too. Pomfrey promised to come back and tell them everything she knew as soon as she escorted Draco to her office, and they fell silent.
Draco followed her mutely, not questioning her wish to escort him as though he couldn't find the office himself. He understood why she went with him when they reached Harry's bed. Draco moved towards him, no thoughts in his mind, but she held him back. "Mr Malfoy," she whispered urgently. "It's wiser not to wake him."
Draco couldn't tear his gaze away from Harry's face. He seemed peaceful, too peaceful; Draco wanted to come closer to make sure he was breathing.
Pomfrey tugged on Draco's arm and he let her pull him away. He wasn't being rational. Harry was still here. He was sleeping, that was all.
The Healer was sitting in Pomfrey's office, not behind her desk, but on one of the visitor chairs. He stood up when Draco entered and offered his hand. Draco shook it automatically.
"Mr Malfoy," the Healer greeted. "Emerson Warwick. I believe we've met."
Only then did Draco recognise the man. He hadn't recognised him earlier when he tried to hex him for trying to send Draco away. There was nothing remarkable about Warwick — an old man with greying hair, wrinkled face, average height, average weight, nothing that would set him apart. One of many wizards Draco had met during some social events his mother wanted him to attend. Draco only remembered him because his father wanted Warwick to treat Draco's fever a few years back. They went to St Mungo's, and Father insisted Healer Warwick should be brought in at once. Claimed they were friends. Except they weren't. They were pure-bloods whose paths crossed a few times. Father believed that should count for something. His son should be treated by a renowned expert on spell-damage, not some Mudblood hack who said Draco had a cold and just needed a double dose of Pepper-Up. Warwick never showed up, Draco got his double dose of Pepper-Up and got better, and Father told everyone who would listen Warwick was a blood-traitor.
Pomfrey left, and Warwick and Draco sat down. Draco didn't know what to expect from this man who likely had no love for Draco's family, but would surely have Harry's best interest at heart.
"How long does he have?" Draco asked, hoping the abruptness of his question would prompt a sincere response.
Warwick inclined his head. "If I were honest, had you asked me that in August when Mr Potter was first brought to me, I'd have never guessed he would survive this long without a counter-curse. And yet, here we are."
"In other words, you don't know." Draco immediately regretted his tone. He didn't mean to be rude. It was unwise to anger someone who was trying to help. Draco had sounded just like his father. "Why is he in pain?" he asked, forcing his tone to soften. "What changed?"
Warwick didn't seem annoyed; his eyes were kind. "The curse is winning, Mr Malfoy. It fought off the Cruciatus; it's fighting your magic. It's too powerful to be stopped by either."
"Fought off the Cruciatus?" Fresh fear gripped him. "But… that was keeping him alive. The unforeseen effect, the incompatibility. That's what stopped the curse."
"Yes, the Cruciatus had interfered and prevented this curse from manifesting. It's why we couldn't determine its nature. Not without symptoms. It was our fear the symptoms are likely such they would take Mr Potter's life instantly. However, it appears we were mistaken. It means we have more time. We already know more today. The pain he feels now is caused by a Transfiguration process that had begun in his leg, at the point of impact."
Draco felt his eye twitch at the mention of a Transfiguration process. That meant this curse would transfigure — disfigure Harry before the end.
"It's horrifying, I realise," Warwick said, apologetic, "however, it does help with narrowing down this curse's classification. It's not impossible to fight unknown curses, with existing countermeasures against known curses with similar symptoms."
"Can't you just…" Draco felt stupid for asking that, but… "Try every existing countermeasure and see if one of them works?"
Warwick's mouth twitched. "It may very well come to that, more or less, but not at this point. We need to know more. Otherwise, we could make things worse with inappropriate countermeasures."
More and more, it seemed Granger was right. "You're waiting for another miracle," Draco concluded. "Hoping the symptoms would manifest gradually so you could counter them, or that the dart would be found at the last possible moment, even though it's been months and those wizards are likely half a world away. But the truth is, if the effects of the Cruciatus wore off, and my magic wore off, he could be gone in an instant."
Warwick's eyebrows rose. "You're quite the pessimist, Mr Malfoy. It's not what I expected to find, considering you gave everyone so much hope."
That stung. Draco was supposed to be the one who had faith. Where did it go now? Was it gone with the magic? Harry was still here. It was another miracle. "Why can't I help anymore?" He was nearly pleading. "Can we bring the magic back? Harry said you have a theory. That this isn't unprecedented."
Warwick studied him for a second. "Your help was the result of your life debt. If the debt has been paid, there's nothing we can do."
Was it paid? So simply? Draco's life must not have been worth much. "Right." He tried to gather his thoughts. "But I was paying this debt by casting some sort of spell. If it's an existing spell, we don't need a debt or chance to cast it again. We can just do it."
Judging by Warwick's expression, it wasn't that simple. Draco assumed it wouldn't be, but complexity shouldn't matter.
Warwick managed to surprise him when he said, "I've shared my theory with Mr Potter earlier. And he had asked me not to tell you anything. He seems to think it would needlessly upset you."
Draco was temporarily lost for words. The nerve of Harry, making a request like that. "I'm already upset. And it's hardly needless. And it's my spell. I have a right to know what I did." He sounded angry again. Good. He meant it this time.
Warwick sighed. "I don't disagree with you. But no, you won't like it. And no, we can't cast it again."
Draco waited, staring, trying to will Warwick to tell him the truth. His hands hurt because he had dug his nails into his palms.
"I believe," Warwick said, "you have tried to bind yourself to Mr Potter."
Draco's mind went blank. "I—I don't understand."
Warwick hesitated. "I don't know if you're familiar with the practice, but there are wizards and witches who have tried to make their marital agreements magically binding."
"Marital—" Draco's stomach rolled. "Complete nutters do that. Make their vows unbreakable and then — shocking no one but themselves — die. It's dumb. I would never do that."
"I'm pleased to learn you're aware of that, intellectually. However, the effects of your spell do align with the effects of magical marriage bonds. The goal is to be as one. Form a strong emotional and sexual connection, conquer adversities together, share sickness and health. Till death do you part."
Draco shook his head. "I wasn't trying to marry him." Whatever he had done, he had done it back on the platform when he had first tried to shake Potter's hand. He was grateful, so very grateful, but he wasn't in love. Not then. He didn't even know how dire Potter's situation was. "I wasn't— We're together now, yes, but when this happened my feelings for him weren't romantic."
"I believe you, Mr Malfoy. I'm not claiming you had romance in mind. The spell is undoubtedly the result of your life debt." Warwick clasped his wrinkled hands on his lap. "I've read the records from your trial. Your parents' trials as well. They paint quite a picture. You strike me as someone who has a strong sense of duty. And it is my conclusion, it has led you to offer everything you have in an attempt to pay your debts. To the point you have tried to make your offer binding. It's essentially a similar idea — committing absolutely to another person. And Mr Potter's needs were specific and had no doubt conditioned the type of spell you could use in order to make it effective. A certain level of intuition on your part was at play, too, I imagine."
Draco had nothing to say to that. Marriage was not on his mind, fucked up bonds formed by lovesick nutjobs even less, but the need to pay his debts, to let himself be used, that wasn't even buried that deep in his subconscious. He had come to fully believe it was necessary.
"What does this mean?" he asked. "Are we—" A sudden fear gripped him. "Am I cursed?" Good God, Harry would never forgive himself.
"No, you're not," Warwick said kindly. "The bond never fully formed. Your offer was rejected. It couldn't have been accepted under the circumstances. Any type of Unbreakable Vow requires informed consent. And neither you, nor Mr Potter could give it, because you didn't know what was happening. It's why we never shared the theory with you. I was informed your relationship had turned romantic, and, forgive me, I do not know you or Mr Potter enough to be certain you aren't... nutters, as you say, who'd attempt to form such a bond if made aware of the possibility. Had you done so, you would have been cursed."
"Meaning what? If you're sharing it now, it can't be done anymore?"
"No, it can't be. At this point the curse would not suffer the bond to form. We won't be casting the Cruciatus Curse on Mr Potter either. What's done is done. It doesn't matter how and why it was done, and how peculiar these methods were as countermeasures. They did their part, but ultimately, they both failed."
It was insane what Draco tried to do, he understood that, but… "How come the unformed bond helped so much? Doesn't that mean that a fully-formed one would—"
"Curse you. And kill you both. You cannot defeat a curse like this with will alone. Not one will, not two. I thought we understood each other, Mr Malfoy. An effective marriage bond asks too much. Even if it were a cure, would you truly want it?"
Draco had no answer ready. If it could save Harry… Draco would do anything. Wouldn't he?
Warwick leaned in. "There's no need to give too much credit to this bond. The help you have provided was extraordinary. Do you realise you have countered the effects of the Cruciatus Curse? The bond has given you a way to use your magic, but it couldn't have given you powers you don't have."
It took Draco's distracted mind too long to make sense of Warwick's words. He snorted. "You seemed to have done a thorough research on me. Which part of my trial records or academic achievements hinted at extraordinary powers?"
"The part I just mentioned. Yes, yes, people who have formed these bonds shared sickness and health, meaning they could mitigate the effects of a common cold or fight a high fever together, but this goes well beyond anything I've encountered. If the bond could give people actual powers, it would be far more popular, despite the doom that accompanies it."
Warwick sounded like he truly believed that. Which was misguided. "I'm not powerful. I'm… Well, I'm all right, at best."
"Or you're powerful at something you have never considered before. You know, Mr Potter has an interesting theory as well. One that doesn't contradict mine, but rather complements it. He had suggested you have tried to suppress every shred of empathy you possess with Occlumency, and when you were given a chance to release it — and this bond gave you the chance — the results were overwhelming. I find it quite plausible. People sometimes find their strength when they least expect it. After all the horrific experiences you've been through and all the things you've tried to suppress, you may have unleashed powers that lay dormant until then."
Draco tried to spot any sign that would reveal Warwick was messing with him. "Dormant powers," he repeated slowly.
"A talent for healing, Mr Malfoy. A rare one, I'd say."
"That's funny," Draco said honestly. "Considering I haven't healed anyone. Certainly not Harry."
"Well, I didn't mean to suggest you can perform miracles with a touch of your hand. Impressive talent or not, a Healer needs training. I'd expect great things from you, should you choose the profession. Great things, not impossible ones."
"Fantastic. How fast can you train me?" Draco asked with obvious petulance.
"Healer training takes years," Warwick answered as though he believed Draco had asked a serious question.
"Then what's the point?"
Warwick gave him a long look, and eventually straightened and smiled. "Perhaps we should revisit this conversation at another time. Do not succumb to despair just yet, Mr Malfoy. Like I said, we have always assumed that the moment the Cruciatus withdraws, the curse would take Mr Potter's life in seconds. Something is still blocking it. It must be your doing."
"Then I should be by his side." Not waste time listening about dormant healing powers. How absurd.
"Considering Mr Potter no longer feels the effects of your magic when you touch him, I fear there's nothing more you can do. The remnants of the spell you've cast persist for now, but would likely vanish at their own pace." Something in Draco's expression must have revealed his disappointment because Warwick added, "Staying by his side cannot hurt, of course. Any emotional support you can now provide is invaluable. And at this point, it would be unwise of me to claim your touch isn't helping."
It sounded patronising, but Draco smiled gratefully nonetheless. The man was kind. Too fascinated by what Draco had done and too lost in exciting theories, but he had given Draco some hope; there was no denying that.
Draco lingered for a while longer, seizing the chance to ask questions about the dart and Ainsworth, hoping there was some news about it. Warwick only had more theories to offer.
"Ainsworth certainly hadn't kept the dart," Warwick said, "if it was indeed a cursed dart. We believe the dart itself vanished upon impact. Which means it was Conjured. Therefore, technically, it's not a cursed dart, but the dart itself is the curse. And it makes more sense if the dart was part of a set. It would indicate the existence of a, shall we say, dispenser. A cursed container with more darts. Likely too ancient and too powerful to simply be destroyed. Not an uncommon occurrence in ancient Egyptian tombs, with traps like these set at the entrance. It's an option being explored by the curse-breakers. If this dispenser is found, Mr Potter's chances increase astronomically. If Ainsworth is found, he could tell us where he got the dart. It could lead us to the source. It could place the curse itself on the palms of our hands. There's much we could learn from it. Why, we saved a cursed student from your school two years ago because we had the cursed necklace she'd touched in our hands. Katie Bell, I'm sure you remember."
"Yeah," Draco said, looking away. Warwick seemed to have mentioned that incident for some sort of personal amusement. "I'm surprised you kept your theory about the bond secret. Wasn't it worth a shot? You could have told Harry anything, convinced him to do it; you could have assumed I'd agree, since I was the one who had cast it in the first place. Or you could have lied to me too. There was a chance it would work. Save Harry's life. Or I'd die, which, I imagine, would be an acceptable risk. Considering who I am."
Warwick gave him a withering look. "Ignoring everything I said about informed consent and the high probability of the bond ending in Mr Potter's death eventually, because rash Unbreakable Vows inexorably lead there… I'm not in the habit of placing the value of one life over another. So, no, your death would never be an acceptable risk to me. Whether you were remorseful or not. As a Healer, I endeavour to save lives, not endanger them. It's something every aspiring Healer must be willing to do — fight for all lives with equal fervour."
That was Draco's cue to end the conversation. There was no room in his mind to consider a profession he hadn't considered once in his life and that seemed at odds with everything he had ever thought and said and done.
Soon enough they parted with another handshake, and Warwick left to attend to his other patients in St Mungo's. Pomfrey let Draco stay by Harry's side, sat on a chair and ordered to be still and quiet. She even produced a big platter of food, making Draco realise he hadn't had a single bite today, and he was fairly certain it was past lunchtime.
He tried to prepare himself for every possible turn of events as he ate. The fact the effects of his magic were wearing off could mean Harry wouldn't want Draco anywhere near him. Or he could be angry and disturbed by Draco's attempt to bind them together. Or he could be in too much pain to consider anything at all. Draco had to be ready. None of it mattered now. Staying by Harry's side should be Draco's only goal because maybe he could still help. He couldn't let Harry push him away.
Harry slept for three hours straight. He woke up with a sharp intake of breath, and Draco shot out of his chair and was by his side in a second. His hand found Harry's, his gaze searching Harry's face. "Are you in pain?" he hurried to ask, hoping to catch Harry in a half-awake state when he was more likely to tell the truth.
Harry blinked at him in confusion, but then smiled. "Um, no?" He frowned and looked around. "Oh. Right. They gave me a potion." His eyes seemed to clear a bit. "Seems like it's working. A little too well. It wiped me out completely."
It took some time for Harry to find his bearings. Draco rambled at him; he wished he could stop, but he just kept at it, telling him how long he had slept, asking if he was hungry, explaining what Warwick had said about Draco's magic still helping. He repeated himself several times, he was aware, but Harry kept listening and staring, quiet.
Who knew how long Draco would keep talking if he hadn't noticed the corner of Harry's mouth twitch.
"Having fun?" Draco asked, irritated.
"Warwick told you about the bond, didn't he? And you're freaking out."
"Damn right he told me." Draco forgot all his plans to watch what he said and how he said it. "What were you thinking telling him not to? You had no right to ask that."
Harry's expression turned sheepish. "Would you forgive me if I told you I was still in pain when we discussed it and I wasn't thinking clearly?"
"Convenient," Draco said, though his voice turned scratchy and his annoyance left him.
"I just never knew people did that. Commit to each other with an Unbreakable Vow. It sounds—"
"Mad," Draco finished for him, looking away. "I know. I heard about it. Stories about people so in love they cast this spell because it supposedly triggered something. A connection that feels… Well, I guess you got a glimpse of it, so you know. But they'd lose themselves in the magic, abandon everything else. Their jobs, their families, their friends, and then, eventually, they'd get tired of it, regret it, and die. Because regret disrespects the vows. I mean, some of them disappeared, never to be heard from again. Maybe it worked for them." He looked back at Harry's frowning face. "I don't know why I tried to do that. It's just a bunch of wacky stories I heard and I always laughed about it."
"It doesn't matter now. It didn't work."
But it mattered. Because it meant Draco was too far gone and he didn't even realise. Ready to give up everything. His life, his sense of self. A part of him knew it, but now that it was dragged out to the light of day, he was ashamed. He had almost pulled Harry down with him.
Draco leaned in to peer into Harry's face. "You know what matters? You telling me the truth. If you're in pain, I need to know. If you're freaked out about what I tried to do, I need to know that too. If you don't want me by your side anymore, I… Just tell me the truth."
Harry stared at him. "If you try to leave me now, I'll… I'll put a Permanent Sticking Charm on you. My version of a bond."
Draco closed his eyes for a moment. "I mean…" He smiled a little. "That would also be very dangerous, and obviously permanent."
"Well, I was threatening you. That's how one does it."
"I'm not going anywhere," Draco promised, soothed. "How do you feel?"
"I— I'm achy. Stiff. Tired. A little nauseous."
Draco pushed down his fear; that sounded terrible. "If you want to go to St Mungo's, I'll go with you. You know that, right? Maybe it would be wiser."
"I hate hospitals. I don't want— I don't want to go to St Mungo's. I don't want to stay here either. I want—" His green eyes lit up. "I want to go to the dungeons. Sleep in your bed. It's not even that far. We can fly up here in seconds if something happens."
"All right," Draco said, though he had no idea if Pomfrey and Warwick would agree to it. "Healer Warwick seems optimistic to me. You noticed that, right?"
"Yeah." Harry managed a smile. "Definitely more optimistic than the last time I saw him."
That was actually comforting. "I like him. He said I was powerful. Imagine that."
"Sounds like a smart bloke," Harry said seriously.
"Right?" Draco grinned, and Harry's corresponding smile seemed more genuine. It slipped quickly when Draco told him Warwick had requested to be notified the moment Harry woke up, because he wanted to cast more diagnostic charms.
Harry wasn't one to throw a tantrum, but he came very close to it. He only stopped complaining when Pomfrey showed up.
Things were out of Draco's hands after that. Warwick returned with a team of Healers, and Draco had to move out of the way, watch from afar as they cast spell after spell over Harry, drawing blood from his arm and probing his injured thigh. Harry endured it all stoically, and Draco wished he was outside so he wouldn't have to see it.
The conclusion was the curse was progressing incredibly slowly, which sounded promising until Draco realised they meant it was incredibly slow compared to what they had expected, and they had expected it would take seconds. Harry had hours, days. Weeks? That was unlikely.
They made Harry drink half a dozen potions, vitamins, stuff for his nausea, nutrition, and Draco had to admit Harry looked better after, with more colour in his cheeks and he was sitting up straighter. He smiled too much, though.
The moment it became obvious the Healers were getting ready to leave, Draco rushed after Warwick. He'd prefer if the room wasn't full of people, but that wasn't happening, so Draco steeled himself and asked if Harry could go down to the dungeons with him.
"Absolutely not," one of the Healers said. "He needs close supervision."
"And he'll get it with me," Draco said, with all the authority he could muster.
"I'd love to go to the dungeons," Harry put in, somewhat unhelpfully as he was obviously drugged up.
"It's not far," Pomfrey added, surprising Draco. "I'm sure Mr Malfoy can watch him and bring him here the moment something changes."
Warwick hesitated for a long moment, but eventually smiled. "Perhaps it's a good idea. He was in your care so far and it certainly hadn't harmed him."
The other Healers weren't too happy with this, especially one of the younger ones who was supposed to stay behind and watch Harry, but Warwick was in charge.
It was only after they all left, and Pomfrey started explaining which potions Harry should take in the mornings and which in the evenings, that Draco realised her hands were shaking. She wouldn't let Harry out of her sight if she thought there was something she could do to save him. She only agreed to release him because she wanted to indulge him and make sure he spent his last days the way he wanted.
They didn't get to leave for the dungeons immediately. Harry's nausea was gone and he was ravenous, so he ate first, and then showed signs of wanting to go up to the Tower to see his friends. However, Pomfrey sent word to the Gryffindors and they came bursting through the hospital wing's door in minutes.
It was painful, watching them interact, all of them smiling and joking, clearly determined not to show their concern. They must have noticed Harry was not quite himself, but no one mentioned it. Granger pulled Draco aside to question him, but he had little to tell her. Pomfrey had already told her and Weasley everything the Healers had said, except she likely hadn't mentioned the bond, and Draco certainly had no plans to mention it either.
"I think it's a good idea," Granger said at last, "for Harry to stay with you. You've kept him safe so far."
She was just like Pomfrey. She wanted Harry to be happy for as long as it was possible.
After everyone left, Harry and Draco went to the dungeons. Harry was still smiling, obviously loopy, and he refused the crutch Pomfrey had given him, claiming he didn't need it. Draco took it and shrunk it, and put it in his pocket.
When they entered the common room, Harry greeted the assembled Slytherins with a cheerful "Hello." Some said hello back, looking surprised; some looked disinterested, others glared. Two younger girls and a boy were smiling at Harry and showed signs of wanting to approach him, so Draco hurriedly pulled him away towards the dormitories.
"That went well," Harry commented.
"Yeah, well, they're in shock."
Draco ushered Harry into the little antechamber, only to find Daphne there, doing her homework.
"Oh, we have a guest," she said promptly. "It's a good thing I cleaned up."
Harry grinned and looked around curiously. There wasn't much to see. Two chairs and a desk.
"Are we disturbing you?" Harry asked.
"Oh, no. I have silencing charms cast all over the place."
Harry grinned and Draco blushed. She assumed Draco brought Harry here to get laid. He hurried to explain, telling her a little about Harry's current condition and the fact they were waiting for the symptoms to manifest. Harry listened, nodding encouragingly. He looked like he also thought they were here to get laid.
"I'm sure they will find the cure soon," Daphne said. She was lying. She never thought that. But it was kind of her to say it.
"They will," Harry said and nothing in his tone suggested he didn't believe it.
"Make sure the door is locked if you go anywhere tonight," Draco told her and ushered Harry into his room.
"Oh," Harry said when he entered. "This is… cosy."
"You can say tiny."
"Still." Harry grinned. "Your own room. That's a luxury. And your own bathroom," he noticed, peeking inside. "Your own shower and everything. We really should have come here before."
"We should have." Back then Draco was worried about what the other Slytherins would say. If they would snicker and point and make fun. Or even do something worse. Now he didn't care. He'd like it if someone tried something; he'd get an excuse to throw some hexes.
Draco handed Harry one of his warmer pairs of pyjamas so he could change after showering. "Tomorrow, I'll fetch you some clothes from the Tower," he said. "I do have a bunch of your shirts here." At least four, by Draco's estimate. And another one under his pillow because he was sleeping in it. Harry didn't need to know that. Draco could hide it while Harry was in the shower. "But you'll need more than just shirts."
He got a smile and a kiss for his fussiness, and got called stingy for apparently being unwilling to share his clothes.
"My legs are longer!" Draco yelled as Harry went to the bathroom. "My trousers wouldn't fit you!"
Left alone, Draco sat down on his bed and took several deep breaths. Was he supposed to be strong now? He didn't think he could manage it. Where did all his faith go? It was so much easier to have it when Harry seemed well. And was it stupid to let Harry come here with no one to watch him but Draco? If something bad happened, there was no spell Draco could cast to help him. Everything Warwick had said was guesswork. Harry could be gone in a second. Maybe it was time to admit Draco was no better than Pomfrey and Granger. There was nothing to do now except keep Harry happy.
After Harry was finished in the shower, Draco took a quick one too, and then they went to bed, even though it was still rather early. Despite his best efforts, Draco couldn't expand the bed. The room must have been charmed by house-elf magic, and Draco couldn't counter it.
"That's all right," Harry said, snuggling up. "We'll just sleep like this."
"Or I'll end up on the floor when you kick me out of bed. You do that. You kick in your sleep sometimes."
"I mean, it's because I feel like I'm sleeping with an octopus. You seem to grow an extra pair of limbs during the night."
"Because I actually do." Draco wrapped his leg around Harry's legs. "And you didn't even realise. Don't you feel silly now?"
Harry laughed. His eyes seemed clearer; the potions were wearing off. That meant the pain could return soon, and nausea and stiffness. There was not a moment to lose. Draco pressed in closer to kiss Harry's lips. He felt like he hadn't kissed him properly for ages. And he missed it. He never valued kissing. It was just a means to an end, an introduction to more exciting things, but kissing Harry was something else. Draco loved it all — when Harry got really into it and made Draco feel like an inexperienced first-timer who kept forgetting how to breathe, or the way he kissed back now, slow but firm, forcing his pace without actual force, no pauses, like he was set on doing it forever.
"Do you miss it?" Draco couldn't help asking eventually, after he got a chance to press kisses along Harry's jaw and neck. "The magic? That feeling you felt when I kissed you?"
"Mmm, no," Harry said, though it sounded like he had to think about it. "I always had to struggle for control. It was hard to relax enough to fully enjoy it."
It was a perfect answer.
Draco lifted his head to look at Harry's face. "And that feeling you got— You said it was like being wrapped up in a warm blanket? Do you miss that one?"
Harry's mouth twitched. "Who needs a blanket when you have an octopus?"
Draco had to laugh, but then a sudden thought occurred to him. "You should relax," he said. "Just lie here and don't move. Don't strain your leg."
Harry frowned. "That doesn't sound fun."
"Oh?" Draco grinned. "We'll see about that. You know, silver lining and all that. I get to do stuff I couldn't before."
Harry's expression brightened. "Didn't think of that."
Draco thought of that. He thought of that a lot in these last few weeks. Making Harry come with a few touches was fun, but sometimes it was frustrating. It was all over too damn quickly.
Draco got rid of their clothes — carefully in Harry's case, haphazardly in his — then kissed his way down along Harry's stomach. He could indulge himself as much as he wanted to now. Kiss Harry everywhere for as long as he wished without Harry trying to stop him, afraid of losing control. But Draco had a more important goal in mind.
Harry wasn't fully hard yet, but that would just make it last longer. Draco took Harry's cock in his hand and eagerly sucked it into his mouth.
Harry's sigh sounded wistful and content, and his fingers twined into Draco's hair. Slowly Harry's cock hardened in Draco's mouth. Draco forced himself to slow down then, to tease Harry with his tongue, as he stroked the thigh of his injured leg, making sure Harry didn't move it too much.
It took Harry a while to come. Draco had to put in more effort, take him deeper into his mouth, bob his head faster. His jaw began to hurt, but he didn't mind. He couldn't help Harry with the pain anymore, but he could do this, happily, for even longer if needed. He listened to Harry's quiet gasps, eyes half-open, focused on the patch of dark hair in front of him that he couldn't quite touch with his nose no matter how much he tried.
Finally, Harry's hips jerked upwards, his palm firm against the back of Draco's head, pressing in, and Draco was torn between concern for Harry's leg and embarrassingly intense pleasure at having his mouth used like this. Harry might not have even realised he was doing it.
It took some time for Harry to stop pushing his cock into Draco's mouth and release Draco's head. With a shudder, Draco pulled away, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and crawled upwards to lie down beside Harry. He took Harry's hand and wrapped it around his cock.
"Yeah, yeah," Harry said, his eyelids heavy, his cheeks flushed. He looked relaxed, maybe a little sleepy, but not overwhelmed as he used to look. His lips were soft and accommodating, and Draco kept kissing them as he moved their hands, getting himself closer to coming.
"I want you in my mouth," Harry whispered. And God, that had Draco's cock twitching.
"Some other time," he breathed out.
"I could sit on the bed," Harry said. "You could stand. Wouldn't strain my leg."
Harry knew exactly which part bothered Draco. He didn't think of that solution. Leave it to Harry to find a way.
"Yeah, okay," Draco promised. "Some other time." It was too late now. The memory of Harry doing that to him a week ago sent him over the edge, and he came gasping into Harry's mouth.
Afterwards, when Draco had cleaned them up with magic, they kissed again, more asleep than awake, but they couldn't stop.
They slept naked, with Harry's back pressed firmly against Draco's front, Draco's arms and legs wrapped around him. Draco imagined nothing could happen to Harry if he held him like this.
In the morning, after Harry took his potions, he was in high spirits again, smiling and joking, and he even agreed not to go up to breakfast but to wait there for Draco to bring him food and a change of clothes.
It was surprisingly sensible of him, especially since the potions clearly made him loopy again. Draco thought he'd have to fight Harry on this, convince him to stay in bed. It made him worry that Harry was in pain and was only pretending he wasn't.
"I'm fine," Harry said, smiling when Draco expressed his concerns. "It's just… No one has ever pampered me like this before. I kind of want my boyfriend to bring me breakfast in bed."
Well then. Draco knew everything about pampering. He never pampered anyone himself, but he knew it all.
He leaned in and gave Harry a quick kiss. "I'll get you a piece of treacle tart."
"Maybe it's not on today's menu."
"I will get you a piece of treacle tart," Draco repeated, and Harry laughed.
Draco caught Daphne before she went down to breakfast and asked her to please stick around and keep an eye on Harry until he got back. She sighed and said, "I'll protect him with my life." It was certainly mocking, but she stayed.
Though, annoyingly, when he got back, he found her in his room, sitting on the bed, chatting with Harry, and laughing. Draco wasn't jealous, exactly, but he thought it shouldn't have been so easy for Harry to charm Slytherins. It was Draco's fault. He'd been gone too long. He had to go all the way to the Gryffindor Tower to get Harry's clothes and endure Weasley fussing about what to pick. And then there really wasn't any treacle tart on the menu, and he had to go to the kitchens to beg for it. Well, not beg. He just said, "Could I have some treacle tarts for Harry Potter?" and they whipped it out in seconds and ladened Draco with tarts and pastries and scones. He could feed and dress a small army with everything he was carrying. He had to levitate most of it.
"Did you leave any food for the rest of us?" Daphne asked, and before Draco could answer, she added, "Oh! There's treacle tart? Finally. It's been a while."
Draco sighed. He supposed he could part with one piece.
Harry laughed as Daphne left with two pieces of the tart — one given, one stolen. He kept looking at Draco fondly as Draco set up the tray and arranged everything.
"I like her," Harry said. "She reminds me of you."
Draco was momentarily taken aback. "She's blond," he admitted. "Entirely different shade of blond, though."
Harry laughed. "No, she's… fun."
She must have really been trying to entertain Harry. "Did she mention she has a gay uncle?"
Harry frowned. "She did."
"Funny." Draco sat down on the bed. "Everyone keeps doing that. Randomly mentioning every gay person they know to us."
"I suppose they mean well. You know, like, 'It's not that weird, I've seen it before,' kind of support."
"Well…" Draco served Harry Pumpkin Juice and raised his own glass. "Here's to supportive friends."
Harry raised his glass too. "And the gay people they've spotted during their lifetime."
Draco snorted. It was strange and a little bit annoying support, but it was more than Draco's own mother had offered. He'd been violently reminded of her cruellest expression earlier when he had stepped into the kitchens and seen all those house-elves.
Anything for you, my darling, she'd tell him, sweet and loving, and then yell at Dobby to bake that chocolate cake Draco wanted, and Draco would laugh at the little house-elf scrambling around, repeating, "Yes, Mistress," in a terrified tone. And if he wasn't fast enough or Draco complained about the shape or taste, Dobby would be punished. Worse, made to punish himself when Mother expressed her disappointment.
Draco wasn't bothered by cruelty then. What if these Hogwarts house-elves refused to make him some tarts for Harry? Would he make them? Abuse them to show his love for someone else? He thought he wouldn't, but maybe just because he knew Harry wouldn't want that tart. What would become of him once Harry was gone? Would he go back to being hateful? What would be the point of pretending he was a good person if Harry wasn't there?
After breakfast, Harry's mind cleared, and annoyingly, it made him less sensible. He kept insisting they should attend their classes. It was beyond ridiculous. Skipping lessons never bothered Harry before and now it was… Did they even need them? For what?
Draco even went as far as trying to persuade him to stay in bed with kissing and offers of more, but Harry was adamant. Maybe he wanted to spend time with his friends. Maybe he wanted to pretend he was well. Or maybe he didn't want Draco to miss his classes.
Draco relented, of course, because what else could he do.
Harry seemed fine. He talked to his friends, smiled at Draco during the morning classes, and had lunch in the Great Hall, not talking much but listening. He broke down during the afternoon Potions class. He simply abandoned his potion, sat down, and looked up at Draco. "I think I need to lie down," he said, and Draco didn't need to be told Harry was in terrible pain. He wouldn't risk everyone seeing him limping out of the classroom in the middle of a lesson for no reason.
They went to the dungeons, Harry drank his potion, and they lay down together in Draco's bed, with Harry clinging to him, clenching his fists. It took too long for the potion to start working. When it finally did, Harry fell asleep half on top of Draco, restless at first, and then finally calming down. Draco didn't sleep at all. He ran his fingers through Harry's hair, trying to will his magic to help somehow. Call it back. His extraordinary powers. Fucking useless. And the pain-relieving potion was already failing too. The Healers said Harry could have one dose per day, and he had already taken it in the middle of the night. Draco had heard him.
Harry woke up late, maybe around nine; Draco wasn't sure. He claimed he was better, just hungry, so Draco went to get food again. He didn't ask the house-elves for tarts this time, but he got them anyway.
They ate, they talked, they kissed, and Harry fell asleep again.
The next day, Harry didn't insist on going to class, and he took his potion right after breakfast. Draco had no idea if he had taken it during the night too. Finally, after a few more hours of sleep, his eyes cleared, and he was smiling again.
"It's better now," he said. "Double dose, all I needed."
Draco was losing his mind, but he couldn't show it.
They kissed for a bit. When they did that, Harry's eyes were closed, and he couldn't see Draco trying and failing to hold back tears. When Draco regained control of himself, he tried to convince Harry to go see Madam Pomfrey.
"We're waiting for the curse to manifest," he said. "Maybe it did."
"But I can't see anything." He rubbed his leg. "Shouldn't I see something?"
"I mean, we don't know. Maybe Pomfrey can do some spells. Notice something we can't."
"But then she'll do a million spells. And I'll be stuck there for hours. And then the potion will stop working, and I'll have wasted all that time."
"Got better things to do?"
Harry grinned. "Well, yeah."
Draco sighed at Harry's sultry tone. "Harry, come on."
How that argument would have ended, Draco had no idea, because a knock on the door interrupted them. It was Daphne with a message from the Headmistress: Minister Shackebolt was here and he wanted to see Harry.
The following hour was pure torture. Harry had to get dressed, and Draco was helping him, both of them nervous wrecks. If Kingsley was here, there was actual news, maybe even actual hope. Maybe they finally caught the attackers. Found the curse. But then where were the Healers? The curse-breakers? Why just Kingsley? He could have come here first, the moment they caught them, and the rest would follow. So many questions and Draco could do nothing but wait outside in the corridor after Harry went up to McGonagall's office. Harry wanted Draco to come with him, but the Minister didn't ask for a former Death Eater's company while he discussed official Auror business.
Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Neville showed up soon after. Draco had asked Daphne to find the Gryffindors and tell them about this. Good news or bad, Harry would want them here. They were disappointed when they realised Draco didn't know anything more than what Daphne had told them.
"But they must have caught them," Hermione said. "Kingsley wouldn't come here to tell Harry they almost caught them."
"I mean… " Ron's stuffed his hands in his pockets. "There's that thing Dad told me about."
"What?" Draco asked sharply. He didn't know anything about it.
Ron seemed a bit uncomfortable. "He sent me a letter Monday morning. He asked about Harry and mentioned the Ministry was in an uproar. You know, time… time running out. He thought they were planning something. The Aurors. Some big raid."
"But Dad gets excited sometimes," Ginny added quickly. "Draws the wrong conclusions. I mean, he's so worried."
"We thought it better not to say anything to Harry just yet," Ron said. "It wasn't confirmed news. We didn't want to get his hopes up."
"Could have told me," Neville said, so Draco didn't have to.
"We may owe Dad an apology." Ginny sounded hopeful.
"Maybe," Hermione said in a small voice. She didn't seem convinced.
"What about the curse itself?" Neville asked. "Is it manifesting?"
Draco shook his head.
"But did you go to the hospital wing at all?" Hermione asked.
"Not yet."
"But you have to," she said in that bossy tone of hers. "You have to convince Harry. I know he's difficult, but—"
"I'm trying, Hermione," Draco snapped.
She blinked at him, looking surprised, and he was sorry he yelled.
"I know. I'm sorry," she said, and Draco suddenly realised she wasn't surprised by the yelling. He'd called her Hermione. He didn't think he had ever done that before. He even thought of her as Hermione. It was Harry's fault, constantly going on and on about Ron this and Hermione that. It rubbed off.
Harry finally descended, gripping his crutch and immediately taking Draco's hand. Draco took one look at his face and lost all hope.
"They caught them," Harry said, and Draco's hope flared for a second, but it was clearly not as simple. "They went all out," Harry added. "Decided to act fast. Not worry about legality. Searched houses that belong to people who were never accused of anything, only rumoured to support Voldemort, no evidence of any involvement. Kingsley is in trouble with the Wizengamot, but it worked. They found them hiding with one of those families. Took them by surprise. But they fought back. And… during the confrontation, one of the young Aurors — he was defending himself and his partner — he panicked. He killed Ainsworth."
Hermione let out a strangled sound.
"And the other two?" Neville asked as the rest of them couldn't say a word.
Harry shook his head. "They don't know anything more than what Rookwood already told the Aurors. Nothing about the curse itself. Ainsworth had it; that's all they know."
"That Auror, he's incompetent," Ron said angrily. "What was he thinking? He shouldn't have been aiming to kill."
"No, he shouldn't have," Harry said. "But he did."
There was finality in his tone that scared Draco. Harry was losing hope. Draco couldn't let him. Yes, Ainsworth was their best chance, but Warwick promised it wasn't the only one.
"We should go see Pomfrey now," Draco said. "You're already on your feet."
"Yeah, okay," Harry said, sounding resigned, though he managed to smile.
They walked to the hospital wing together. No one seemed to know what to say. Harry talked for a bit. Explained what the Ministry's next move was. They would cast a wider net, be bolder in their search for someone who might know where Ainsworth got the curse. Find the source, find more darts.
"I told Kingsley to be careful," Harry said, because of course he did. "I don't want him to question half the country on my account. It's not right."
"Or it is and he should have done it sooner," Draco said. He didn't know the family that harboured the fugitives, but he knew of several families who would celebrate Harry Potter's death. They should all be questioned.
Harry squeezed his hand; Draco wasn't sure why.
They fell silent and then Hermione said, "Draco called me Hermione."
She was on point. Harry genuinely smiled at that. "By accident? Nice."
"Do you know my name?" Ron asked.
Draco scoffed. "Of course I do, Roger."
They all laughed. There was no fixing their mood though.
Pomfrey examined Harry and had nothing to tell them. She squeezed Harry's shoulder and said, "Means you're still fighting it. It's not a bad thing."
Later, they wanted Harry to get some lunch, but he claimed he wasn't hungry and wanted to lie down. Hermione tried insisting, but Draco made her back off as gently and as firmly as he could. There was still some food in Draco's room and Draco could always get more. If Harry wanted to lie down, then he had to lie down.
Harry took the potion after getting into bed, a third dose within twenty-four hours. Maybe even the fourth. It was too much, but of course Draco didn't say anything. When Harry fell asleep, Draco went to the antechamber, sat down, and hoped to have a good cry. The tears didn't come, though. He felt empty. Catching Ainsworth was their biggest hope. The rest were fanciful theories. Miracles that followed Harry Potter around.
There had to be another miracle. How could the world go on without Harry? It didn't seem possible. Would they all just stay here, attend classes, get their N.E.W.T.s, keep living? All that with Harry gone. How?
And why couldn't he cry?
Daphne showed up at one point. She sat down, too, and didn't ask for an update. She either heard or could read the hopelessness on Draco's face. Draco told her everything anyway; he felt like talking.
"I hope they'll question my parents," she said. "They know a lot of dark curses."
So did Draco's father. "Ainsworth could have gotten it anywhere. So many cursed objects all over the world. He could have stumbled on it in some Muggle shop. That happened in the past. Cursed gems finding their way into Muggle jewellery, cursing whole generations."
"Mother would say it serves them right. For stealing our possessions."
"More likely planted on purpose. Maybe even sold by wizards for Muggle money and exchanged for Galleons in Gringotts." That seemed obvious now. Muggles didn't steal wizards' treasure. How could they? Just another lie. Wizards relinquished those treasures, either out of malice or because some rich Muggles paid too handsomely. "Thanks, by the way," he said. At Daphne's frown, he added, "For not saying I told you so."
She smiled. "Well, I thought you would regret it horribly, but now I'm thinking you don't."
Did he regret it? If he had stayed away, Harry would have ended up in St Mungo's months ago, his mind lost to pain. Then the effects of the Cruciatus would wear off and he would die alone if no one got there in time to be with him. Draco wouldn't have known him this well. He'd be sad, he'd feel guilty, but he'd get over it, wouldn't he? It seemed horrifying now. These months they spent together, they were pure happiness, for both of them. Draco didn't regret a second of it, loved every moment, even now when the end seemed inevitable.
Harry woke up late, in a good mood, obviously drugged up. He stretched and smiled and asked for food, and Draco hurried to get it.
He was stopped by several Gryffindors along the way and did his best to be polite and tell them about how Harry was feeling, that he was doing okay, still fighting, just hungry, so Draco really had to hurry. He wanted to yell at all of them to get out of his way, even hex them, but that was an instinct he was trying to fight against. Harry wouldn't want him yelling at his friends for being concerned. If he found out, it would only distress him, and it was the last thing he needed right now.
When he returned, Harry was sitting up on the bed, his eyes clearer, but he was still in a good mood, looking refreshed. His hair seemed a bit wet. He'd had a shower and changed his pyjamas. That was a good sign; he wasn't succumbing. He seemed a bit nervous though, distracted, and didn't really eat much. Draco felt like Hermione, pushing him, asking him to please have another bite.
It became increasingly obvious Harry had something to say, and Draco wasn't sure he wanted to hear it. He couldn't stop him though.
Draco cleared out the bed of platters and cutlery and food, and they lounged and talked about nothing of importance, and kissed for a bit. And then Harry said, in an offhand sort of voice, "You know, I was thinking. I'm feeling pretty good at the moment. No pain." He gave Draco a strange sideways glance, his lips twitching uncertainly. "We could do something fun."
"Thought we were having fun," Draco said carefully, not sure what Harry had in mind.
"More fun."
And now Draco knew what Harry wanted. He knew it by the look Harry was giving him, the nervous smile, the quiet tone, the way he rolled the oh in more.
"Harry…" he began, but Harry talked over him.
"You're worried about the leg, but you don't have to be. I have it all figured out. We can just… I mean, I know it's not the most exciting offer, but it could work fine if I just, you know, don't move much and you do all the work." He laughed nervously.
"You're drugged up," Draco said, but then realised — that was deliberate. Harry took the third dose for this. He planned for it.
"My mind's clear." Harry's smile dropped. "I know what I want. I want this memory. I want it in my head. And I want it now before I—" Before he died. "Before the potion stops working, before the curse takes over."
Draco didn't trust himself to speak. He understood Harry perfectly, but it hurt — it wasn't supposed to happen like this.
Harry kept going, maybe misinterpreting Draco's silence as refusal. "I mean, you don't have to worry about —" His voice wavered. "I did some spells earlier, in the shower, you know…"
Spells in the shower. Yeah, Draco knew which spells. Harry planned carefully, prepared himself. "How do you know about those spells?"
Harry blushed. "Um, I asked Terry."
God, now that was bravery. Terry Boot, of course. Draco had his suspicions about him. "When?" he asked. They were always together.
Harry looked away. "When my leg started hurting again and you had Runes."
So that was when Harry started thinking about it. That was when he lost hope, when the pain returned. That was when he knew it was over. Now Draco felt like crying, now when he absolutely shouldn't. What he should do was reassure Harry and give him what he wanted. Of course he had to, of course he wanted to.
"I never actually did that part," he felt the need to say.
Harry seemed confused. "But you said—"
"I mean, I did the part you're about to do. Not… the part I'm about to do." He shrugged. "Paxton didn't really want that, and I didn't really care. Sex is sex, I reckoned." A bit annoying in retrospect, but Draco wasn't really analysing things back then.
"Oh." Harry looked uncertain. "Well, we can do it like that if you'd prefer. I could lie down on my back and you could get on top and —"
"No no." God, that was… too advanced. Embarrassing. Draco couldn't do that; he felt his cheeks heat up. "I'm just trying to temper your expectations," he said. Harry was seriously overestimating Draco's experience. He'd only done it a few times with Paxton. They usually got each other off with their hands and mouths in some dark cupboard. Those few times they did more, Draco asked for it. He liked it. It was odd and kind of painful and didn't last long, but he still liked it. He was always imagining someone else. Even Potter once.
Harry was smiling. "I'm so sorry. My expectations are very high. You'll just have to live up to them."
Honestly. That was bloody pressuring. But Harry was smiling, and well, Draco did know what to do, how to do it, how he'd like it. He'd thought about it enough times.
"You're right," he decided. "Besides, you're drugged up and inexperienced. It all works in my favour."
Harry laughed, like it was a joke, but it was true. Harry was relaxed and trusting, and that helped immensely.
They kissed for a long time. Draco got rid of their clothes and got Harry to lie on his stomach, legs straight. Draco could think pragmatically too. He knew Harry. If Draco let him find some purchase, Harry would not keep still.
Draco knelt next to him, right next to the cursed leg. It looked perfect, unmarred, the thigh smooth, leading up to the curve of Harry's arse. Draco stroked the thigh gently.
"Does it hurt?"
"Not even a little bit." Harry sounded shivery, looked shivery. From anticipation though; he wasn't scared, not Harry.
Draco gave himself a moment to enjoy the sight of Harry's arse, and then he reached down to trail his fingers over the curves, dipping one finger in between Harry's arse cheeks. He didn't mean to tease, just commit the sight to memory. Harry wasn't complaining, not yet, perhaps enjoying the attention. It made Draco smile — enjoying the attention didn't come to Harry naturally.
Draco slicked up his fingers, using the little container Harry had found in Draco's drawer, because of course he had gone through Draco's drawers, searching for it.
When Draco pressed his finger inside of him, Harry gasped.
"Does that hurt?" Draco asked, stilling his finger immediately.
It made Harry laugh breathlessly. "That's not pain," he said.
Of course, Harry knew pain. This didn't even register.
Draco pushed his finger deeper, pulled out, pushed back in as far as it would go. Harry's gasps didn't stop him again. He kept at it, fascinated. He had never done this before. Well, he had done it to himself, but not to someone else. More importantly, it wasn't just someone else. It was Harry. And Harry was loving it. It was so easy to tell this was giving him pleasure. When Draco pushed two fingers inside and sped up the thrusting of his hand, he had to splay his palm over the small of Harry's back to stop him from moving. Harry loved that too, arching a bit, his breath coming out in quick, quiet pants. God, Draco could do this forever. The indecent wet sounds his fingers made, the heat of Harry's arse, the tightness inside that was giving in — it was driving him mad with lust. He could make Harry come like this; he was sure. He could hear it in Harry's voice, by the way he gasped out Draco's name, low and pleading.
But no, Draco had to stop. Harry wanted more. And Draco wanted more. He pulled away, and Harry made a sound of distress that had Draco reaching down to hastily slick up his cock before he stretched out and lowered himself on top of Harry. He held himself up on his forearms, mindful of Harry's injured thigh. "Don't move," he said, nearly begging.
"No, I know, I know," Harry gasped out, as Draco reached down, aligned himself, and pushed inside. He went slow, so slow. He had to think about Harry; he couldn't think about how good it felt. He couldn't look down, see the curve of Harry's spine, the muscles in his back shifting underneath the skin as Harry plainly struggled for breath. It was easier to push in than Draco thought it would be. Harry was tight, but his body opened up for Draco, and only once Draco was fully inside, Harry clenched around him, gasping. Nearly overwhelmed, Draco lowered his head to kiss the back of Harry's neck, his temples, every bit of him he could reach.
It took a few moments for Harry to calm down, relax again, and Draco blew out a breath, face in Harry's hair. He was desperate to ask again if Harry was in pain or not, but he had a feeling Harry wouldn't appreciate constant concern. Tentatively, Draco moved his hips, pulling out a little, then pushing back in.
Harry sucked in a breath and said, "Yeah." It sounded almost like a question, so Draco did it again, rocking slowly.
Emboldened by Harry's quiet gasps, Draco pulled out even more, went back in a little surer, but still slowly, carefully, but then Harry said, "Draco, come on," a mixture of annoyance and begging in his tone. He squirmed, twitched his hips, did everything he wasn't supposed to do. Because of course, of course, Harry didn't want slow and careful. He wanted to feel as much as he could, sear this into his memory.
Draco abandoned all his plans to go slow and snapped his hips forward, harder, faster, and God, that felt good. Felt even better to hear Harry's gasping encouragements, an occasional little yeah and don't stop, because Harry knew he had to reassure Draco, let him know he wasn't in pain.
Pleasure was building, and if Draco kept this up, it wouldn't last long. He always hated that part: that it took Paxton a couple of minutes to get off and it was done. Harry didn't want a few fleeting moments of pleasure. He wanted this to last. Draco had given in to Harry's request, but Harry didn't know. He didn't know Draco could make this even better. He slowed down despite Harry's protests. He kept at it, rolled his hips, let Harry's moans guide him. One particular twitch of Draco's hips had Harry gasping, "Oh God," and burying his head in the pillow. Draco did it again, same little twitch, his thrusts getting harder, more shallow as Harry was shuddering beneath him.
And then, Draco stopped. He buried his cock as deep in Harry as it would go and stayed like that.
"Draco," Harry said. It sounded like both a moan and a reproach. But Draco kept still, nose in Harry's hair, breathing in its scent; he only twitched his hips occasionally trying in vain to go even deeper. Each time he did that, Harry gasped. He was saying something, probably begging Draco to move, to do something, but it was incoherent, interspersed with desperate moans. Too quiet, though. Draco kept at it, not really pulling out, only enough to press in again with every ounce of strength his hips had, deeper and deeper, to fill Harry up as much as it was possible. It didn't take Harry long to start shuddering beneath him, cursing now, louder, clenching, trying to move, but it was impossible with Draco keeping him pinned.
I'll show you pleasure, Draco thought feverishly, even though it felt like he'd lose it, just from this. He twitched his hips again, and this time Harry's moan sounded like a sob. That was what Draco was waiting for. For Harry to let go, lose control entirely, forget everything else.
Draco pressed his lips against Harry's temple. "Feels good?" he asked, with another twitch of his hips.
Harry managed to groan out a yes and a please. Draco twitched his hips again, a shallow thrust but a hard one, and then another, and another, keeping a painfully slow pace. Harry was incoherent, choking out gasps, his whole body shuddering.
Draco pulled out a bit more, still slow, pushed in hard, waited a bit before doing the same thing again. Harry cried out each time, then started chanting Draco's name, sounding reverent.
It was pointless to pretend Draco could last any longer. But he still tried, determined to get Harry to lose control now that he finally could. He tried until their bodies were slick with sweat and Harry was all but sobbing beneath him. Draco sped up his thrusts eventually, rolled his hips, making his back ache, but Harry yelped every time he did that, as though surprised, and even sobbed out a God, yes a few times.
It made Draco desperate to postpone his orgasm, even though it felt like he was teetering on the edge. Harry was beside himself, but Draco could give him more, more than the magic ever did. He felt his orgasm build; there was no escaping it now. He was sure Harry was close too, but if he was wrong, Draco would suck him off later, finger him, make it good for him. A dragged-out moan escaped him as he came, with Harry tight around his cock, getting tighter, forcing tears out of Draco's eyes.
Harry was a sweaty, shuddering mess beneath him, groaning into the pillow, his muscles twitching. It took enormous effort not to collapse on top of him. Catching his breath, his limbs heavy, Draco pulled out carefully and managed to lie down next to Harry, awkward and uncoordinated. It was a good thing Harry wasn't looking at him.
"Are you all right?" Draco asked, brushing Harry's hair away from his forehead. Harry moved too much towards the end, clenched too much. "Did you come? Are you in pain?"
Harry's shoulders shook, and relieved, Draco realised he was laughing.
Audibly blowing out a breath into the pillow, Harry moved his head a little and gave Draco a sideways glance. He was sweaty and flushed, his green eyes bright, his lips very red. He must have been biting them. "You're insane," he declared.
Draco grinned, preening a bit. He did well. Harry didn't have to tell him that; his expression spoke volumes. He looked pleased. Happy. Satisfied. Maybe even a little shocked.
"This was a good idea," Draco said. Maybe he wouldn't think the same tomorrow if Harry's leg got worse, but right now he was happy they did it. Harry wasn't the only one who wanted this memory. It was Draco's now. Nothing could take it away.
Harry rose up on his elbows. "This was…" He smiled and shook his head, looking abashed. "Clearly I was meant to wait for this."
God, Draco's cock twitched at that. He was completely spent and achy and exhausted, but Harry's fascination and praise could get him going again, he was sure.
He forced himself to clean them up a bit with magic because they were a mess. Then he scooted closer, sneaking his way beneath Harry, who was still on his stomach, holding himself up on his elbows. Harry budged up a bit and lifted one arm to let Draco lie where he wanted. Draco relaxed into the pillows, wrapping his arms around Harry's waist and looked up at him with a smile. "I'm the best you ever had, Potter. I love that's a fact."
Harry's lips twitched. "I mean, technically, you're also the worst I ever had."
That was a fair point, but Draco was too pleased with himself. "I'm a phenomenal shag and you got properly fucked," he declared.
Harry shook his head, smiling, but he didn't deny it. His gaze was soft. "I never imagined it could feel like this."
Draco swelled with pride, smitten by Harry's unguarded fervour. He never imagined it could feel so good to give someone else pleasure. And this time it was just him. No questionable magic. Just Draco trying his hardest. God, he'd do anything for Harry.
Maybe some of his thoughts showed on his face because Harry's expression grew serious. He was quiet for too long, staring. "This bond you tried to form…" he said at last, and Draco froze. "It sounds to me like it's done by people who got lost in their dreams. Lost in some overpowering feeling, with a need to prove something. I understand why it would be tempting. I do. Because it felt amazing. But… I wouldn't want that. It's just magic. It's not real. This is real. And I want this. But not… "
"I know," Draco said quickly.
"But I need you to really know. I don't know what this curse will do to me. If it will do something to my mind, make me think differently. So I'm telling you now. If I'm living, I want to live a real life. And I want you to live a real life. With or without me."
And now Draco understood what Harry was afraid of, why he was saying this. He thought that despite everything Warwick had said about the bond, how it can't be done anymore, that Draco would somehow find a way to do it, to bind them in his desperation to save Harry's life. But Draco thought about this a lot, in the moments when Harry slept, and Draco had nothing to do but go over and over everything that had happened, and he found that the truth was something else.
"I think I'm the one who stopped the magic," he said, with a heavy heart, "stopped the bond, took back the offer. Because… you see, I— After the trial, being stuck at the Manor and thinking about everything that happened, being reminded of it daily, by Mother and Father and the ghost… Especially the ghost. I was so desperate to turn it all around. Make it all stop, somehow. There were moments I thought about ending it, truly ending it, but then I'd wake up in the morning and pretend it was just a nightmare. But see, I knew I was indebted. It kept me going, that thought. I couldn't pay my debts if I was gone. It was my purpose, my one purpose. And back when I saw you on the platform, I told myself I just wanted to thank you, but what I wanted was for you to absolve me somehow. I guess it made me want to give it all, put myself in your hands. I'm forgiven, if you say I'm forgiven; I move on, if you say I can move on; I disappear, if you say I should disappear. My vows, I guess. Letting you determine my fate, take what you need. And then I— I told myself I fell in love with you way back in the beginning, after a handful of weeks, but I was wrong. It wasn't love then. It was infatuation, attraction, gratitude, not love. And I know that now because I fell in love with you, truly fell in love, after we got together. I know the difference now. And I believed you. I believed you see something in me I don't, I believed you when you said I can move on and make a life for myself, and I believed that what we had was something real. And after all that… I stopped feeling like I owed you my life because I knew you would never take it. I stopped looking for forgiveness because you gave it, convinced me others would too. And they did. And every day we spent together, the more I got to know you, the more I loved you. And I was happy. You— You healed me. Pulled me out of my desperation. Pulled me out of everything that made me feel like I'm just a thing to be used. Everything that was fueling that spell. So no, I won't be casting it again because it was never about love for me. Love stopped it."
Harry was staring down at him, his dark hair framing his face, his green eyes bright. "That's a good thing, you realise? It should have been stopped. I'd stop it if you hadn't. You got me past the Cruciatus. You probably couldn't have done more, either way."
"You don't know that. Maybe I could have given you more time."
"By being miserable? By feeling like a thing to be used? I wouldn't want that time. I prefer the time we had."
Draco's eyes burned. "I want more time. And I promised I wouldn't let you die."
"Finding the counter-curse was never on you. Neither was my life. You're responsible for your own life. That's it."
"But I don't know what to do. And I don't know what will happen to me if you—"
"Hey." Harry leaned down to press a kiss to Draco's lips. "You'll be a Healer, obviously. You'll save a whole bunch of people. Lose some, yes, but save many."
Draco huffed. "Warwick's really spreading that theory."
Harry smiled. "We had a nice chat about you. It gave me hope."
"For me."
"Yes, for you."
What about Draco's hopes? He grabbed a fistful of Harry's hair and stared at him, unblinking. "Could you please try not dying? It's too soon. We only just got together. I'm not ready. Not yet. I need you."
There was pain in Harry's expression. He was trying to say goodbye, but Draco couldn't accept it.
"I'm still here, aren't I?" Harry said eventually. "Come on." He turned them around, lay down on his back and pulled Draco into his arms. A good thing too, because hot tears fell down Draco's cheeks, and he didn't want Harry to see them.
"I never said I'm done fighting," Harry whispered.
Draco nodded against Harry's neck, trying to believe it.
Chapter 9: The Stone
Chapter Text
"I'm going to die," Harry said.
"Don't say that," Daphne scolded. She was sitting on the bed, keeping him company while Draco was away running more errands, getting a change of clothes for Harry and more food for dinner.
How terrible that Draco got saddled with all of it. Harry didn't want that for him. He had honestly believed it wouldn't come to this. That he'd find a way to live, defeat this curse and move on with his life, enjoy this newfound, completely unexpected happiness. But he had made a mistake, and now Draco was paying for it.
Harry thought he was doing the right thing, letting Draco make his choices. He realised now he'd been selfish because he wanted Draco too much. It was too late to break things off now; it would only hurt Draco even more. No way to fix it. Harry kept taking every bit of comfort Draco offered so willingly. He could only hope Draco would forgive him, that he wouldn't regret any of this, that he would move on.
"Please don't," Harry said. "I can't talk to anyone about this. They don't want to hear it." He had gone to the Great Hall a few times, to the library, too, just to see Ron and Hermione and Ginny. They were trying to be strong, but their eyes were always red and their voices unsteady. They were in no shape to discuss this.
Daphne looked away and jerked her head in some semblance of a nod. "All right."
"It's just that, you said your uncle is a solicitor?"
She looked back at him, frowning. "Yes. Yes, he is."
"I don't have a will. And I— Could he help me with it? Like, really quickly?"
"Oh, yes, of course. It's good to have a will. In either case."
"I mean, I'd pay him, obviously," Harry hurried to say, realising it might have sounded like he was asking for a free favour. She had mentioned her uncle was grateful to him for saving his lover.
"There's no need—" Something in Harry's expression must have made her change her mind, and she nodded. "Of course."
They talked for a bit about how that worked and eventually agreed Harry would tell her what he wanted to do with his possessions, she'd write it down, and her uncle would draw up a draft for Harry to sign with a spell she said she would show him. She hurried to her room to get a quill and parchment, and was back in moments.
It wasn't some big list. Maybe if Harry had more time, he'd think about it carefully and do something different. Make sure he left out no one and nothing, but he could barely think, and he wanted to be quick and list his plans before Draco returned.
"I'm not sure how much gold there's in the vault," Harry said, "but I want half of it to go to Teddy Lupin, my godchild. His grandmother, Andromeda Tonks, should take care of it until he comes of age." At least there was some satisfaction in that. He found a way to force Andromeda to take his gold. But Teddy would lose his godfather after all. Harry mentally apologised to Remus. He tried. He really did. "The other half, I want it split in two. One half to Ron and Hermione, together." They might bicker about what to do with it, but they'd make better decisions jointly than individually. "And the other half, I want Draco to have it."
Daphne's quill stopped scratching. She looked up at him with a pained expression. "He might not need it. He might not have been disinherited yet. Maybe even won't be. And… I'm not sure he'll accept it."
"It's his decision. He can do what he wants with it. I don't want him to feel trapped. I don't want his parents to blackmail him." That was Harry's biggest fear. That after he was gone, Draco would give up, not care anymore. That he'd go back to his parents and make himself miserable for the rest of his life. Healer training would take time; Draco would need gold to get through it, if he decided to take that route.
Daphne sniffed and started writing again.
"I have a house," Harry said. "Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. I want that to go to Molly Weasley." It was cruel to saddle her with that house, but she was the only one who could maybe do something with it. Organise to get it cleaned out properly and then maybe sell it. That house was a chore and a gift wrapped up in one. Molly might not want a gift, but she would accept the chore. "I want my Firebolt to go to Ginny Weasley." She was serious about going professional. She would need a good broom. "And all of my other possessions, if I forgot something, that goes to Ron and Hermione, too." Like his Invisibility Cloak. They would keep it safe. They'd make the funeral arrangements, go through his things, see what needed throwing out and what could be useful. They were strong, they had each other, they'd be fine. He wished he had time to write letters to all of them. Maybe he did, but he didn't have the mental capacity for it.
The effects of the curse felt different. It wasn't just his leg anymore; he hurt everywhere and felt so weak, stiff, slow, like he was already half-gone. All those potions he'd been taking in the mornings and evenings weren't helping anymore. The pain-relieving one still helped. It stopped these strange feelings, cleared his head for a few hours. But it was wearing off too quickly now. Soon it wouldn't work at all.
Dutifully, Daphne wrote everything down. "I'll send it to my uncle, and he'll make it his priority to send back a draft."
"Thank you," he said, beyond grateful. He wasn't sure who else would have done this for him without tears and insistence it was unnecessary. Although, her eyes looked a bit red too.
God, she reminded him of Draco so much. Not with her looks, though she was blond and pale too, but because she had Draco's haughtiness, those eye rolls and drawls, and underneath it all she was scared and lost. Confused by everything that had happened, wondering where she fit in now. Harry wished he could see it: more of these young pure-bloods defying their families and their ways, deciding they didn't want another Voldemort to rise years later. He thought he could help with that. Be a part of a better Ministry, better leadership that wouldn't hide behind bureaucracy, wouldn't clutch their cushy chairs, hoping all the problems would just go away. He was supposed to make sure things would truly change. Draco had given him so much hope, for everything.
"I can count on you to check in on him, right?" he asked. "My friends would do it, but I think he feels more comfortable with you."
She nodded. She didn't say a word. She looked like she needed to go and have a good cry.
"Better go send that letter," he added, so she'd know it was all right to leave.
She smiled, got up, and fled.
What a sad sight he must have been to move a fairly random Slytherin girl to tears. All he could remember about her was that she used to laugh when Pansy made fun of him.
Draco returned soon after, and Harry remembered how he used to make fun of Harry too. Speccy, orphaned scarhead, his most favourite insults. And here he was now, giving Harry a quick kiss and looking at him as though Harry had hung the moon.
Draco's gaze searched Harry's face. "Please don't get difficult now," he said, "but Healer Warwick is here and wants to examine you."
It took enormous effort not to groan and complain. The last thing Harry wanted was to get up and go to the hospital wing, but Draco looked so concerned; Harry didn't want to make him feel worse. "All right," he forced himself to say.
Draco gave him a smile. "Do you want to eat first? And we can fly up on my broom if you'd prefer."
Harry absolutely didn't want to eat. Flying up was tempting, but he wanted to try walking. He felt so stiff.
He didn't bother getting dressed, just pulled on a dressing gown. It was bottle green, embroidered with silver threads, and it felt smooth and soft. Harry felt quite fancy in it, though that wasn't why he liked it. It was Draco's — could have been a sheet, Harry would love it the same. The Slytherins turned their heads and whispered as Harry and Draco made their slow way through the common room, but no one approached them. It took too long to get to the hospital wing, and Harry regretted not accepting Draco's offer to fly up. At least the examination was quick. Warwick had nothing relevant to say, at least not to Harry, but Draco had made a whispered request, asking Warwick to stick around for a bit longer. What Draco hoped to learn, Harry had no idea, but he imagined Draco was looking for reassurance and hope that Harry was failing to give him.
He wished he could go back to the dungeons on his own, or even maybe take his potion and sleep right here in the hospital wing, so Draco wouldn't have to run back and forth to speak to Warwick, but the pain was starting to flare up and there was no way he'd make it to the dungeons by himself. He was desperate to go back to Draco's bed, bury his head into Draco's pillow, and breathe in Draco's scent before he fell asleep.
So they went back to the dungeons together; Harry took his potion and pretended it knocked him out instantly. It hadn't though. Maybe for a few seconds, because Draco closing the door as he exited gave him a start and he couldn't fall asleep again. A definite sign the potion wasn't working as well anymore. At least it stopped the pain and returned some of his appetite.
He had a few spoonfuls of porridge Draco had brought and went to the bathroom to freshen up. He wasn't in there long, but when he exited, he found Daphne by the door, her expression full of panic.
"Oh Lord." She blew out a breath. "Draco asked me to keep an eye on you. He said you were asleep."
Harry had to smile. "Did you think I ran?"
"No, but…" She gave him a pleading look. "Please don't get worse on my watch. He'll never forgive me."
Harry shook his head wearily. "The Healer examined me not half an hour ago. If he thought I had no time left, I wouldn't be allowed to come back here. I think we're safe at the moment. Besides, I can't get worse while Draco isn't here. He'd never forgive me either." He went to sit on the bed. "You don't have to be here," he added. "I'm assuming you're not getting paid for this babysitting gig."
Her face went blank. "I— That was rude of you."
It took Harry a moment to reflect on that and realise she had a point. "Sorry," he said honestly. "I guess I'm not used to Slytherins being nice to me."
She hesitated, biting her lip, then cocked her head. "How are you feeling right now?"
It felt like there was something behind that question. Like she maybe wanted something, depending on Harry's reply. "Well enough," Harry answered carefully. The potion was working for now. He probably had a couple of hours before it would start wearing off.
"Do you want to go to the common room for a bit?"
Harry blinked. "The—" He had almost asked if she meant the Slytherin common room, but of course that was what she meant. "Why?"
She shrugged. "Some distraction? If you're not sleeping. And Draco isn't here. Could be fun."
"Could it?" It was impossible not to sound sceptical. Draco always made sure they didn't linger in the common room, always looked around with a worried expression, free hand hovering close to his wand, and he'd always remind Daphne to lock the antechamber's door at night.
"Sure," Daphne said. "There's loads of people there that would love to talk to you. Like my sister."
"That sounds like one person, not loads of people."
She rolled her eyes, reminding Harry of Draco again. "Others too." She smiled. "It's a bit of an oddity. Harry Potter with us in the dungeons. Sleeping in Draco Malfoy's bed." She cleared her throat. "I mean, people are curious. Fascinated. And they don't really know much. It's not like I'm going around telling everyone everything Draco told me. Well, to my sister, yes, obviously. But not… I'm not saying they'll try to question you. It's just… It can't hurt, can it? To say hello?"
It could literally hurt if someone hexed him. He was in no shape to defend himself. He wasn't in the mood to argue with anyone either. Although, would anyone even bother? He was a goner; they all likely knew it by now. Daphne seemed to think there was no danger, and this meant something to her. Harry wasn't sure what, but she clearly liked the idea. He owed her one, certainly. For the will. For giving Draco some peace of mind by watching over Harry when he couldn't.
It wasn't like Harry was afraid of Slytherins; he was more concerned about Draco's reaction if someone tried something. It would be nothing but needless stress.
Oh well. Why not? It certainly would be a distraction.
He got up. "All right. Let's go."
"Really?" Daphne looked very surprised.
"Sure." Harry frowned down at himself. "Do you think I need to change or something?" He was still in Draco's pyjamas and wrapped in Draco's dressing gown.
"Um, no." She blinked a few times, rather rapidly. "It's not a formal occasion."
It felt like a formal occasion, though. The Slytherin common room always seemed big and dark and cold to Harry, but now he noticed it was rather quiet too, even though it was far from empty. The Slytherins were all divided into tight groups, sitting straight on their high-backed chairs, speaking quietly so only the people close to them could hear. The atmosphere reminded Harry of a post-funeral gathering. The flickering torches and the green tinge weren't helping.
The quiet murmuring stopped when Harry and Daphne entered. Harry was acutely aware of the dull clank-clunk sounds his crutch made against the stone floor. He was leaning heavily on it. It occurred to him then just how used to he was walking with Draco's support. Daphne had offered her shoulder, and Harry had put his hand on it, but he didn't dare to put much weight on her. She seemed too small and slight.
Daphne led him to one of four fireplaces where a small group of students gathered quite close to the fire. Harry recognised Daphne's sister Astoria, and two seventh-years, a boy and a girl, who attended classes with Harry. There were two more girls there and a young boy Harry only vaguely remembered seeing in passing. He had never really focused much on the Slytherins, except Draco, of course, and those closest to him.
The six Slytherins seemed to have frozen up when Harry and Daphne approached. Harry greeted them, and though they were wide-eyed, they quickly produced two more high-backed chairs from somewhere.
They were damn uncomfortable, those chairs. Narrow and shallow, intent on forcing him to sit up straight, which Harry didn't like even when he was healthy. He must have been too wrapped up in his squirming and trying to get comfortable because when he lifted his gaze the number of Slytherins around him had grown to a dozen. He'd worry he was seeing double, but the new arrivals were standing.
"How are you feeling?" Astoria asked. She was seated across from him. She had a kind smile and she didn't sound as haughty as her sister, but they were very much alike otherwise.
"Quite well, thank you," Harry said, determined to be as polite as humanly possible.
"Even though Draco isn't here?" one of the girls asked. She had leaned in somewhat, but straightened quickly when Harry looked at her.
"He's— er, the magic of the life debt has worn off. He can't help with the pain anymore."
The girl gave a jerky nod, but didn't exactly look satisfied.
"I don't understand," one of the seventh-year boys said, somewhat confrontationally. "Weren't you in so much pain the potions weren't helping? If Draco was helping with that and now he's not, why aren't you in pain?"
They were all staring at him. It occurred to Harry then that Daphne might have brought him here so he could explain it all because they were pestering her for information, and she didn't know what to tell them. The Gryffindors knew so much more and would have shared their knowledge with their friends in Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, but the Slytherins likely had to rely on whispered conversations they had overheard.
Well, none of it was meant to be a big secret, except the bond and Draco's state of mind when he had tried to form it. So Harry explained it all. About the Cruciatus temporarily stopping the curse, about Draco's magic stopping the pain, how both effects wore off, and that they were now waiting for the curse to manifest.
They were avid listeners, quiet and watchful, waiting for Harry to finish before asking more questions. Harry answered them all patiently, and somewhat apprehensively because he wasn't sure why they were so curious. Was it just an exciting story to them or was the outcome somehow important? He couldn't read their expressions very well, but fearing their pity he made sure to add, "Healer Warwick is quite hopeful."
"Emerson Warwick?" asked one of the younger boys who had also appeared out of nowhere. When Harry confirmed it, he nudged another boy standing next to him and said, "Told you it was him."
Realising they found Warwick impressive, Harry simply couldn't help himself. "According to Healer Warwick," he said, "Draco has an extraordinary talent for healing. He said that's why he could help so much with the pain caused by the Cruciatus." He was positively bragging with it; he could hear it in his tone.
"Really?" Daphne asked. "Draco didn't tell me that."
"Well, he's been preoccupied," Harry said. Truthfully, he wasn't sure how Draco felt about it. He seemed surprised and pleased by Warwick's claims, but beyond that, it was hard to tell if healing was something he was interested in pursuing. It wasn't an easy path. So much studying and training, and he'd constantly be around people who were sick or dying.
"He's a Slytherin, you know," said the girl who had asked about Warwick.
"I know." Slughorn had mentioned that to Harry at one point. He had sounded as proud of it as this girl.
"Can Draco cure you?" the girl asked. "Is that the plan?"
It was a rather naive question, but no one called her out on it. They all seemed to be waiting for Harry's reply. Was this what they were hoping for? For one of their own to save Harry Potter? Not Warwick, it wouldn't be enough, but one of their peers. One who was enmeshed into the whole Death Eater business and then rose above it. Harry was sorry to disappoint them, but it wasn't up to Draco. It was unfair to expect that from him.
"This curse is…" Harry searched for the right words. "I need a whole team of Healers and curse-breakers. Draco is a part of it. He had already helped more than anyone else."
He couldn't tell if they found that disappointing or bracing, but no one else got a chance to ask anymore questions, because Draco walked in and everyone stiffened. Funnily enough, Draco went right past them with a purposeful stride, not looking their way, but then must have sensed something because he gave them a quick sideways glance. Harry grinned as their gazes met.
Draco doubled back, walking straight towards Harry with a murderous expression. Harry determinedly clenched his jaw, refusing to laugh. A futile effort because when Draco reached him and asked, "What's going on here?" several students stepped back in fear and the boy sitting on Harry's right scrambled out of his chair.
Draco was glaring at Daphne specifically.
Harry grinned. "I couldn't sleep. Thought I could use a distraction, say hi."
Draco's expression wavered. He looked between Harry and the Slytherins. Daphne said nothing, clearly happy to let Harry take the blame.
"You can sit here, if you'd like," said the boy who had vacated his chair earlier. Harry thought that was rather brave of him.
"That's all right," Draco said curtly, gripping the back of Harry's chair. Courage abandoned the boy and he took a step back.
Even though it looked like all of them were positively terrified of Draco, Harry had a feeling they very much wanted Draco to stick around and hang out with them. But Draco looked so damn uncomfortable Harry thought it would have been unfair to force him to linger.
"I should probably lie down now," Harry said, pretending not to notice that the Slytherins looked disappointed.
Amidst echoing goodbyes, Harry got up, gripped Draco's forearm and they walked off towards the dormitory. Harry held his tongue until Draco closed the door.
"They really wanted to talk to you," he said, just a little reproachful.
Draco scoffed. "Did they now? Did you know they've been going around saying I'm providing you with sexual favours out of gratitude?"
Harry laughed, but stopped quickly at Draco's glare. "Really? I mean… these particular Slytherins, or the ones glaring daggers at me from the corners?"
"I— I don't know," Draco admitted.
"Because this lot seemed pretty fascinated to me."
"By you."
"By you."
Draco frowned. "You're biased," he concluded.
"Obviously." Harry smiled. "Doesn't make me wrong."
Draco walked closer and wrapped his arms around Harry's waist. "What's with the sudden interest in Slytherins?"
Harry considered that. "Well, they're your housemates. You made an effort and befriended my housemates. I reckoned I should do the same."
Draco shook his head, smiling. "Doesn't count. This lot, they're easy targets, a bunch of youngsters. You want to make an effort, you should befriend Blaise and Pansy. Now, that's a challenge."
"Challenge accepted," Harry said easily. "Just get them here. See me charm their pants off."
Draco's smile slipped. "Yeah. Yeah, sure, I'll send them an owl."
Harry tried not to react to Draco's sudden mood change. It wasn't hard to guess what had caused it. There wasn't much time now to send owls and make friends. Maybe Warwick said something else to Draco; Harry didn't want to ask. What would be the point? "You know what?" Harry said instead. "I think I'll lie down now."
Draco gave him a quick kiss. "All right."
But Harry couldn't sleep. He lay down on his side, head on the pillow, and watched Draco manoeuvre around the room, unpacking the bag he'd brought back from the Tower earlier, which was then chucked aside because they had to go see Warwick. Draco noticed he was awake and kept him entertained, chatting as he set out a change of clothes for him, so it'd be ready in the morning. He kept saying stuff like "this undershirt seems warmer," and "I like this colour better on you," and "Muggles really like making their clothes tight, don't they?" He tried and failed to talk Harry into eating more, and then cast a few charms on the food so it would stay warm and fresh if Harry changed his mind.
"I got your shampoo here too," he said as he took it out of the bag. The last thing he unpacked. "Ginny made me." He huffed. "She said you absolutely had to have it or your hair would go crazy. Not sure how much crazier it can get, but it scared me." He grinned, examining the bottle. "You drove her batty, I've noticed. Picking your clothes, picking your hygiene products. I suppose I don't hate it. You got some nice stuff. The shampoo smells wonderful. Very pricey. I'm surprised you splurged."
"I love you," Harry said. It hit him right then, a burst of emotions, prompted by Draco's constant chatter, his desperation to hide behind the brave mask he determinedly wore to make Harry feel better. It wrenched Harry's heart. He should have said it yesterday after Draco's heartfelt confession, but Harry couldn't think about his own feelings then, only Draco's.
Draco froze. He looked like he wanted to speak, but no words came out. Clutching the shampoo bottle, eventually he managed to say, "I should put this away," and disappeared into the bathroom. Not long after, Harry heard the shower running.
Harry shouldn't have said it. The moment was all random and wrong. Or it wasn't about the moment. Maybe Draco didn't want to hear it. What was the point now? Harry had nothing to offer except the words themselves. All he did was remind Draco of what he was about to lose. It looked like Draco was on the verge of tears and he was trying so hard not to succumb to despair. Harry had ruined his efforts.
His leg throbbed. So soon after he took the potion. He could withstand it for a while, but once the pain flared up and spread, it took forever for the potion to work. Harry reached for the vial and took a small sip. Before, Pomfrey had given him the same potion in a charmed vial, one that let him take a sip only once a day. No one bothered with that charm this time. They knew it didn't matter anymore.
The potion made him drowsy, but he still couldn't fall asleep. At least the throbbing stopped.
When Draco came back, Harry pretended he was sleeping, but then Draco stretched out next to him and wrapped his arms around him, and Harry didn't want to pretend anymore. He turned around to face him.
"How are you feeling?" Draco asked.
"Pretty good." It was true. He wasn't in pain and Draco was right here beside him. Whatever emotion had seized Draco earlier seemed to have vanished. Draco's lips were close enough to kiss, so Harry kissed them. If he could only freeze this moment and stay in it.
He grinned as a familiar scent reached his nostrils. "You used my shampoo."
Draco smiled, abashed. "I couldn't not try this powerful magic that can make your hair so soft."
Harry ran his fingers through Draco's hair. It felt nice, like silk. "We can use the same shampoo. I never would have guessed."
"See, the thing is…" Draco was whispering now. "If I'm not careful when I dry my hair, it gets a bit wild."
"No," Harry gasped, since Draco shared it like a big secret.
"Yes. It sticks out in places. You can't tell anyone," he added seriously.
"Wouldn't dream of it. We can't both have wild hair. How would people tell us apart?"
"Oh, quite right." Draco grinned. "I hope my vision never goes bad. If I put on a pair of glasses, people might mistake us for twins."
They laughed, and then they kissed, slow and soft, until Draco made it more heated, pressing Harry against the pillow, kissing him hungrily. It was funny — the magic was gone entirely, but the shocks of sensations running through Harry's body remained. Not magical, not as intense, but it was there. Just Draco and his touch, his kisses, as exciting as they ever were. And Harry could still guess how Draco felt. There was no mistaking his desire, the careful way he manoeuvred around Harry's leg, the hunger of his kisses, the constant need to tread his fingers through Harry's hair. Harry didn't miss the magic at all. There was nothing to miss with Draco in his arms.
"Did you—" Draco tried to speak and kiss him at the same time. "Did you take your potion? Are you sleepy? Tired? How do you really feel?"
"Not sleepy." He was a little sleepy and a little tired, but he didn't want to say it because Draco clearly wanted something.
"I thought, maybe you could—" Draco lifted his head to look at him, but his cheeks coloured and no words came out.
Harry waited in vain. "Yes?" he prompted.
"Um." Draco leaned down to press kisses against Harry's neck. Or to hide his face. Harry barely heard him when he said, "Maybe you could, um, use your fingers on me a bit?"
It took Harry a moment to make sense of that request, but when he did, every hint of his drowsiness vanished. "Yeah. Yeah, definitely," he breathed out. Oh, he should have thought of this before. He absolutely could do that. He loved it yesterday when Draco did it to him. "Where's the—" He looked around, trying to remember where Draco put that little container of lube.
Draco shifted, got it from the drawer, and pressed it into Harry's hand, his face completely red. Unsure why Draco seemed so embarrassed, Harry pulled him back in the same position he was in before, half-lying on top of Harry with his face buried in the pillow next to Harry's head.
Nervous now because Draco was nervous, Harry took it slow. He stroked Draco’s back, kissed Draco's temples, his ear, all the places he could reach, before he pushed his hand low beneath Draco's pyjama bottoms to touch the warm, smooth skin there. Draco squirmed and shifted to lower his pyjamas, still not looking at Harry.
Draco's breath hitched as Harry gripped and squeezed his arse, then spread the cheeks a little. Harry waited a bit, with a sudden urge to tease. He spread Draco's cheeks even wider, waiting for a complaint. But Draco didn't complain. He started shivering, waiting too, audibly drawing sharp breaths, and Harry no longer felt like teasing. He slicked up his fingers, blindly and awkwardly, and then slid them down to the puckered skin of Draco's opening. Draco gasped into Harry's ear.
Harry wished he could see what he was doing and for the angle to be more convenient, but Draco squirming and shuddering in his arms just from light touches of Harry's fingertips more than made up for it. Draco's breathing kept getting heavier as Harry slowly worked his finger inside. Draco was so tight, it seemed like it would never work, and Harry was terrified he would hurt him, but it got easier, and Harry was getting bolder, pushing in deeper, harder. Draco lifted his head a bit, his lips close to Harry's ear. Every little gasping Ah! went straight to Harry's cock, making him restless, making him move his fingers faster, fighting through every resistance Draco's body tried to give, heedless of the unfortunate angle that made him strain his arm too much.
Draco started cursing, a stream of fucks and yeses that were beginning to sound like whimpers, and Harry sped up even more, pushed as deep as he could, awkward and messy, but thrilled he could at least do this for Draco.
"Wait," Draco said suddenly and Harry froze.
"Sorry," he gasped, letting his fingers slip out with a wet sound that made him blush. He was worried he'd gone too far, made it painful. "Are you—"
Draco lifted his head to look at him and Harry fell silent. There was no reproach in Draco's expression. He looked wild, sweaty, flushed; his eyes were dark.
"I want to—" Draco said but didn't finish. He squirmed, shifted, and Harry waited, confused, but excited too when Draco started stripping and pushing off the covers.
There was no more confusion when Draco, beautifully naked now, reached for the lube and straddled Harry's thighs. The injured thigh throbbed in protest, but Draco had a firm grip on Harry's cock, stroking him, and Harry had to struggle not to lose it before Draco did what he wanted, what he had refused yesterday with a blush. He didn't look embarrassed anymore, just eager, determined as he shifted upward along Harry's body and reached back to align the head of Harry's cock against his opening.
Harry held his breath as Draco slowly sank down. His face was scrunched up as though in pain, and Harry's hands flew to Draco's arse to slow him down before Draco hurt himself in his eagerness. Draco's prolonged moan echoed in Harry's ear as Draco's body clenched tight around Harry's cock. This was unbearable, too tight, nearly to the point of pain, but Harry only wanted more of it, wanted to push up and bury his cock fully inside. He didn't, though, but instead tried to make Draco go slower. And Draco went slow, for the first few inches, hands gripping Harry's upper arms, rocking his hips, but then he pushed down with force, and Harry gasped, overwhelmed. Until yesterday, he was certain nothing could ever match the wild orgasms Draco's magic had given him, but then Draco had pushed inside of him, filling him up so completely he felt pinned, helpless to fight the maddening build-up of pleasure, and then that became something nothing could ever surpass. Oh, but this was a different kind of heaven. Knowing he was deep inside Draco's body, seeing Draco's face go slack as he breathed in and out, with eyes half-closed, the incredible heat of him enveloping Harry's cock. Harry was torn between regret he hadn't done this before, that he'd robbed himself of it, and joy that he'd been led to this moment where he got to experience it with Draco for the very first time.
Slowly, Draco started rocking his hips again, lifting up, sinking back down, his grip on Harry's arms intensifying. And no matter how incredible it felt, Harry felt robbed again, robbed of the chance to be the one giving Draco pleasure, not just lie there, letting Draco do all the work yet again. It wasn't fair. Draco should get a chance to experience—
"Wait, what are you doing?" Draco asked as Harry lifted up, not even aware he was doing it. But he was aware now, and he'd made his decision. Jaw tight against the pain that would surely come, Harry wrapped his arms around Draco and turned them around. It wasn't easy or smooth with Draco struggling and panting, "Your leg, your leg," and Harry's cock slipping out of Draco's body, but Harry managed to get on top, lying right between Draco's thighs. His leg throbbed viciously.
"Fuck the stupid leg," Harry said, looking down at Draco's concerned face. He bent down to kiss Draco's lips and reached below to grip his cock and align it to Draco's entrance.
Draco stopped complaining when Harry pushed back in, slow, but determined. Groaning, Draco raised his legs even higher, letting Harry push deeper.
"Yeah," Draco breathed out. "That's—"
"Perfect," Harry finished for him. "You're perfect. You feel so good."
Draco shuddered.
Oh, he liked that. Liked the praise. Of course he did. He was starved for it — comfort and praise. Harry knew that already. He moved his hips, careful at first. His leg hurt, but it didn't matter; he could withstand. He quickened his pace, remembering what felt good when Draco did it to him. Unyielding, deep strokes, a hard push in, a slower pull out. And the words Draco wanted to hear kept coming. He told Draco how tight he was, how good he was making this for him, how beautiful he looked, so eager, so open, a perfect fit. It reduced Draco to sobs. He gripped Harry's arse, stroked his back, twined his fingers into Harry's hair, desperately pulling him closer. They kissed, sloppy and panting, and Harry felt Draco's hand move between them as he stroked himself.
"Wait." Harry grabbed Draco's wrist and pulled his hand away to stop him. Pain shot through his leg, and he pressed Draco's wrist into the pillow next to Draco's head with too much force. He only meant to give himself leverage, but Draco cried out, "Fuck," and Harry hurriedly released him.
"Sorry," Harry breathed out, miserable.
"No no no." Draco's eyes flew open. "Do that again."
It took Harry a second to comprehend, but once he did, a jolt of sensations shot through him. Draco's request was melting his brain. He seized Draco's wrist and pressed it into the pillow, and the other one too, with a firm grip. Draco was watching him, wide-eyed, his legs bending even more, wrapping around Harry like long, slender vices.
Delirious now, from both pain and Draco's mindless surrender, Harry thrust his hips, unsure where his strength was even coming from. No, he knew. It was Draco's expression that egged him on. It was one of absolute abandon; he seemed lost in whatever he was feeling, his eyelids heavy but his gaze firmly on Harry.
Could Draco come like this? Could Harry? Pain was building, but Harry kept thrusting, determined to follow through, crushing Draco's wrists, whispering words of praise: so good, so tight, so eager, so beautiful; he hardly knew what he was saying. Draco must have known because he kept agreeing with everything Harry said, gasping and shuddering. Harry lost all sense of time. He couldn't tell if it was over quick or lasted forever, but when Draco cried out and clenched tight around Harry's cock, the world spun out of focus and nothing else mattered. Pain was forgotten as Harry came, lights bursting in front of his eyes, dizzy from this new kind of pleasure — coming deep inside Draco, as Draco urged him on with cries of "Yes, yes, oh God."
Harry was possessed by a need to thank Draco for letting him do this, for showing him what he wanted so Harry could give it to him. Maybe he actually said it because Draco gasped out again and grabbed a fistful of Harry's hair.
The return to reality was cruel. The moment the pleasure subsided, the pain in his leg hit him with full force. He barely managed to pull out and collapse onto the bed. He must have groaned and let it show he was in pain because Draco was instantly alert and on him, Harry's vial of potion already in his hand.
"Drink it. Come on," Draco said urgently.
"I'm okay," Harry said but took a sip.
"No lying," Draco said angrily, waving his wand and cleaning up, all of it quick and haphazard, so he could lie down next to Harry and wrap his arms around him.
"Not lying," Harry said, even though he was in pain, and Draco compulsively stroking his thigh wasn't helping. "I'm more than okay," he said honestly. It was worth it, there was no doubt about that in Harry's mind.
"That was—" Draco seemed to be searching for words. "Very stupid of you."
That wasn't what he meant to say, it was clear by the way he was looking at Harry. Concerned, yes, but shaken underneath. The kiss he gave Harry felt like the sweetest thank you, gentle, loving, and Harry smiled despite the pain.
"I don't regret a single second," Harry said. And that was pure truth.
Draco was staring at him. "I don't regret a single second either. I need you to know that."
He wasn't talking about what they did just now, Harry knew. He meant the last few months. He meant deciding to give them a try despite the risk. It was a comfort. Maybe Draco would come to regret it later. Turn bitter for not sparing himself of this pain, but maybe he wouldn't. Harry could be a good memory, a hope for a better future. Draco could find someone who would truly love him, make him happy. Maybe he knew now not to accept anything less than that. Did he know?
Sleep threatened to overtake him. He drank a double — triple? — dose and his mind was slipping. He struggled to open his eyes. "That's what I want for you. To make choices you won't regret. I hope I didn't ruin it for you."
"No, no," Draco said, kissing him. "You didn't ruin anything." He might have said more; Harry didn't know. He fell asleep.
*
Harry unstopping the vial woke up Draco in the middle of the night. He didn't show he was awake. Harry always seemed self-conscious when he reached for the potion, as though he was admitting failure by taking it too often. Moments later, Harry lay back down, pressing firmly against Draco's back, his arm draping around Draco's torso, palm spreading against Draco's stomach.
Unbearable sadness overwhelmed Draco at that moment. No regrets, he told Harry, and he meant it. Helping Harry with the pain, being with him, those were the best decisions he had ever made in his life. But what did it matter when he had so many other regrets? If he had made better choices sooner, been Harry's friend, maybe he could have prevented this from ever happening. Be the one who had nothing better to do than to keep an eye on Harry at all times. Spot those little lies Harry liked to tell, trying to convince everyone he was all right. Be his solace when he got overwhelmed so he wouldn't run off on his own.
But who knew if Draco could have stopped any of it? Fanciful daydreams, all of it. Like wishing he could erase Paxton from his mind, so Harry could be his first everything. He realised only now how wretchedly hollow his encounters with Paxton had made him feel, how unfulfilling it was to do it with someone who had no respect for him, who didn't give a single fuck about what Draco needed. Somehow, his parents had managed to convince him he could never find love with a man, just sex on the side to satisfy his wicked needs. Anything more than that could only be one-sided — Draco proving he was weak by looking for a man who was loving. Yet another lie etched into Draco's brain without him questioning its validity.
Bear in mind, Draco, his father had told him once after finding a stack of pages ripped out of Witch Weekly. No one will ever love you more than your family, more than your parents, more than your children. Your wife, she will love you for everything you can provide, riches and comfort, the admiration and envy the Malfoy name evokes. There's nothing you can offer another man except a game of conquering and surrender. If that is a game you wish to play when the urge strikes, you must be aware of the risks. They are playing the game too. You cannot trust them. You cannot let yourself get attached to a plaything. Or you will become a plaything.
How funny to call this a game when playing games was all his parents ever did. Frivolous games, dangerous games, with influence and power as the promised reward. Did they ever truly love each other? Draco had wondered that before. Did they just love the thought they were winning the game? Riches and comfort, admiration and envy, and an heir to justify it all. An excuse, so they could imagine they weren't being selfish but self-sacrificing. A grateful heir, though. Otherwise, it would all fall apart.
So many lies and Draco believed them all. And why wouldn't he? If not for Voldemort, he'd never question them. If not for Harry, he'd never see through them. And here he was, eyes opened, about to lose something he never knew he wanted this much. Never knew it was possible to want something this much.
The little hope Draco had was melting away. Warwick had tried to convince him not all was lost, but Draco had dragged out an estimate out of him. The curse was progressing and they still didn't know what it would do to Harry; he had days, two days, maybe three. They couldn't stay here anymore. They would have to go to St Mungo's. He hadn't told Harry yet. He couldn't do it, and he promised Warwick he would, refused Warwick's offer to explain it to Harry himself.
Now, in the dead of night, he wished he'd taken Warwick's offer. Draco wasn't equipped to deal with this. With any of it.
What would become of him now?
He kept thinking about the plans he had made during the summer. Well, not plans, just a bunch of dark thoughts that had plagued him when he couldn't sleep. He'd been so angry. Everything had fallen apart, and Mother pretended it hadn't, and Father pretended that not being allowed to carry a wand was the worst thing he had to endure.
In his anger, Draco imagined it — what would happen when he told them he had no plans to marry and have children? Would Father truly cast him out? Draco knew exactly what he'd say if Father tried to remove Draco's emerald from the tree. He'd tell him he would get to the damn key somehow, go to Gringotts, and step inside the vault. Let the curse take him. It would trap Draco's body there forever, just like the two thieves that were already in there, for centuries, impossible to remove. It was an ace up Draco's sleeve, that threat. It would surely give his father a pause. Get him to imagine seeing his son's body in there every time he went to make a withdrawal.
But that was Draco pretending he only wanted to threaten his father with it. Fact was, it would have been convenient. Instant death, no trouble, no mess. Poetic even. As far as the rest of the world would know, Draco would simply disappear. And he'd have a resplendent tomb. The last Malfoy, buried with his family gold.
The thought pained him now. He didn't want to disappear.
Earlier, Warwick showed him some spells. First aid stuff, so he'd know what to do if the symptoms manifested when he was alone with Harry. There wasn't much he could do with a quick spell or two, getting Harry to the hospital wing as fast as possible was more important, but depending on the symptoms, there was a chance he could help at least a little. It was only a handful of spells, but it was incredible how easy they were to perform, how natural they felt to him. He could feel the magic; it brought him joy. He had cast healing charms in the past, but it never felt like this. This was new. And exciting. Warwick got all excited about it too, impressed and encouraging. Afterwards, the guilt tore Draco apart. How was it possible he'd been handed this gift while Harry was dying? What selfish urge drove him to find pleasure in this magic at a time like this? And it wasn't just guilt, but fear. With Harry gone would Draco get sucked into the abyss again? Snap and abandon it all. Go back to his dark plans. It was a terrifying thought. He didn't want to go back. He wanted to learn what he could do with this gift. But how could he take it when it felt like Harry's life was the price he had to pay for it?
The next day, Harry drank nearly the whole vial of his pain-relieving potion. He woke up on Monday morning full of smiles and plans, obviously drugged up. He wanted to go to the Gryffindor Tower, visit Hagrid, sit by the lake. Say goodbye to all of it — Draco read between the lines. Draco only smiled and told Harry to wait right there, and he'd make it happen. Afterwards, he'd tell Harry they had to go to St Mungo's.
He asked Daphne to keep an eye on Harry again while he went to get breakfast from the kitchens and Harry's Firebolt from the Tower. When he returned, he found her exiting his room with a scroll in her hand.
That didn't make sense; it could hardly be homework and she looked guilty. He snatched the scroll as he passed her by.
"Draco, stop," she said, as he tried to unravel it. But there was nothing to unravel. There was no seal, no edges, just a smooth surface.
"What is this?" he demanded, annoyed. There had to be an edge, a way to open it. He took out his wand and Daphne seized the moment to snatch the scroll back.
"You can't open it. Not yet. Not while—" She looked away.
Draco suddenly remembered he'd seen a scroll like that once. One that wouldn't open for as long as the person who charmed it was alive. He stared at Daphne.
"My uncle's a solicitor," she said. "Have I not mentioned? I mentioned it to Harry."
Draco's stomach rolled. "That's his will? He made a will?"
"Well, it's smart. A precaution. He has a godson whom he wants to take care of. And his friends, the Weasleys, leave them with something. And… It's just smart."
There was something about the way she was hesitating and holding the scroll protectively that made Draco realise…
"And me. He wants to leave me something. Because I told him I didn't want my father's gold." This is what Harry was worrying about. Making sure Draco got the chance he wanted. Live his life the way he imagined. Get a headstart. But Draco didn't need Harry's gold for that; he needed Harry. It was all pointless without Harry. "I don't want it." Draco tried to snatch the scroll.
Daphne took a step back. "It doesn't matter," she said sharply. "It's his will. You don't get a say. Afterwards, you can do what you want with it, but it's his will." She closed her eyes briefly. "Draco, you're eighteen. You have your whole life ahead of you. He wants you to live it."
Draco didn't want to listen to this, didn't want to think about it. Harry wanted to do things, visit people, see places. Daphne was right. The will didn't matter. After didn't matter.
Harry grinned when Draco entered the room with the Firebolt. "We could have used your broom."
"As if," Draco scoffed. Harry loved his broom too much. He should get to fly it one more time.
After they breakfasted and dressed, Harry indulgently followed Draco's instructions, sitting sideways on the Firebolt in front of Draco and letting him steer them all over the place.
Students laughed and waved at them as they flew through the corridors, and Harry laughed and waved back, endlessly amused.
"Just like our first date," he said.
"Was that our first date?" Draco wondered. "I'd say it was the one where we ended up in the lake. It's a better story."
"I should have kissed you then," Harry said wistfully. "And we should have used the broom more. It's too much fun. Actually, I should have been flying around the castle all these years."
Draco smiled, carefully taking turns and manoeuvring around the bends and twists. Harry couldn't have done this before; the teachers would have stopped him, yelled, even given him detention. Not even the Chosen One could go around causing havoc and treating the school as if it were a Quidditch pitch. No one would stop them now. Flitwick saw them. He waved too, but his smile was sad.
They caught their classmates as they exited the Defence classroom. Draco descended and everyone gathered around them, cheering, amused by their dramatic appearance. Even the Slytherins laughed. Gryffindors' smiles seemed frozen on their faces. Draco avoided looking at them.
Later, they flew to Hagrid's hut for some tea and rock cakes, but Hagrid started crying and they had to leave quickly. They flew around the lake for a bit, but Harry was getting tired. He wasn't smiling anymore. Hagrid's tears had wrecked him.
They went to the Gryffindor Tower because Harry got a sudden urge to take a nap in his bed. Draco offered to get him more potion from Pomfrey, but Harry claimed he wasn't in pain, just tired.
When Harry fell asleep, Draco went down to the common room to sit in front of the fireplace in the same spot where he spent months with Harry by his side, holding his hand. Hundreds of happy memories. A million seconds filled with hope. What was he to do now?
He didn't notice Ron and Hermione before Ron sat on one of the armchairs, and Hermione sat right next to Draco. She gripped his wrist and asked, "Draco, are you all right?"
He didn't know why, but he broke then, and it wasn't just a few wayward tears. Why this moment, why this question, he had no idea, but he buried his face in his hands and sobbed. He didn't care that Harry's friends were right there and the common room was far from empty. He didn't care.
He was barely aware Hermione had her hand on his back, and Ron got up twice to tell someone off in an angry whisper. He could only think about how horribly, how completely, how unjustifiably unfair this was. Harry had so much to do, so much to live for. He had his whole life figured out, sure of his purpose, of his place in the world. A career that would let him help people he loved, fight for what he believed in, a godson he was determined to do right by, friends who were there to both guide him and follow him. And Draco, for as long as he wanted him, to love him more than anyone else in the world. So why Harry? He was needed.
"There's still a chance," Hermione said softly after Draco tired himself out and could only breathe in shallow gasps.
"You don't think so. Harry doesn't think so." Harry lost all hope. That was clear. He had already resigned himself to death back when he went to meet Voldemort in the forest, and now he had accepted it again. "You know what's truly horrible? I'm not just crying for him. I'm crying for me. Because what the hell am I supposed to do without him?"
"Don't say that," she said sharply. "I know it seems impossible now, but you—"
"You don't get it!" he snapped. She looked so worried, full of sympathy. It was all wrong. "I'm not a good person. I never was. I was just pretending. Trying to convince you and him and myself that I could be someone better, someone Harry could love, but I'm not. I'm rotten, on the inside, born rotten, raised rotten, and with him gone, there's no point in pretending otherwise. What does it matter?"
She didn't recoil, horrified, as he imagined she would. She didn't even remove her hand from his back. "Draco, that's how it works. You pretend and you try and you do the right thing even if you hate it, even if it's irritating and hard, and you keep doing that even if you're angry about it, and if you do it long enough, it becomes a habit, and then it's just who you are."
He sniffed. "It can't be that simple."
"But it's not. What you call pretending, I'd call making a choice. And it's constant and it's not easy and not always clear, and it doesn't matter what sort of temper tantrum you throw over it in your head if you still choose to do what's right. The reason doesn't matter. You say you were trying to do better for Harry. Well, fine. Then keep doing it for Harry."
"Why?" Draco asked, feeling his jaw clench. "He'll be dead."
"Things he cared about will still be here." That came from Ron, and Draco whipped around to look at him. Ron didn't look sympathetic. He looked tired. His eyes were red. "Things he wanted to do will still be here," Ron added. "They'll still need caring, still need doing."
Draco scoffed. "You'll do them. The lot of you. You don't need me."
"We need a hundred of you," Ron said. "That's the point. Loads of people trying to do better and not fucking up the chance he gave us."
"What about Teddy?" Hermione asked.
Draco looked back at her. "What about him? I don't know him. I've never met him."
"Harry knows him," she said. "Harry loves him. A child without parents, who's about to lose his godfather too. Can you imagine how much that hurts Harry? Can you imagine what sort of godfather Teddy will lose?"
Draco could imagine it: Harry as a godfather. He'd be kind and fun and loving; he'd give Teddy the world. A better world.
"He has his grandmother," Draco said. "He'll have Harry's inheritance."
"Oh yes, gold will solve it all for him," Hermione huffed.
"Andromeda would never let me near."
"She would now."
The thought froze Draco's brain. Teddy Lupin. Draco's cousin. Harry's face lit up whenever he mentioned him. My godchild, he'd say every time, with clear pride. As though it needed clarifying again and again.
"Will you babysit the cubs?" Voldemort had asked, and Draco was so scared, upset that some marriage between his old professor and a cousin he was barely aware of turned him into a butt of a joke.
Will you babysit the cubs?
Yes, Draco wished he could say. Go back in time and say it to Voldemort's face. I'll babysit the cub. His name is Teddy and Harry loves him. Maybe Draco could do that. Love what Harry loved. Love when Harry couldn't anymore. Maybe he could give Teddy a better world...
"Draco?"
For a second, he thought he heard Harry say his name in his mind, but then he realised it was real. He shot up, gaze at the entrance to the dormitories, where Harry was standing in his pyjamas, pale and swaying on his crutch. "I think something's wrong," he said, and Draco jumped over the couch, rushing towards him with other Gryffindors at his heels. He caught Harry before he fell down. He didn't lose consciousness; his leg seemed to have given out.
"There's something there, growing," Harry panted out. "It feels strange. And it hurts."
Something growing. The idea made Draco's mind stutter, but there was no time to think. He shot one of the spells Warwick had taught him at Harry's leg, then Summoned the Firebolt, and with Ron's help, got Harry to sit on it. There was no way to do it gently and Harry broke into a sweat. Conjuring a stretcher and levitating him would be kinder, but this was faster.
In seconds they were off, flying through the portrait hole someone had opened. They shot downwards, one of Draco's hands gripping the broom handle, the other arm wrapped tight around Harry's waist. He was aware of words coming out of his mouth, pointless reassurances, promising it would be okay, they'd be quick, Madam Pomfrey would fix it, but Harry didn't react. Draco imagined all of Harry's efforts were focused on not crying out in pain.
By the time Ron and Hermione caught up to them, Harry was already on the hospital bed, bottoms of his pyjamas pulled off as Madam Pomfrey cast spell after spell over Harry's thigh. Draco wasn't looking at the leg. He focused on holding Harry's hand, kissing his temple, even though Harry seemed barely aware of it; his face was scrunched up tight.
"What—" Ron began but cut himself off. Pomfrey asked for space. Draco could barely spare a glance at Ron and Hermione; they both looked horrified. Draco had seen it, Harry's thigh wrapped into something grey, like a wide, ugly bracelet, expanding in both directions. There was a sound to it too, like gravel shifting under one's shoe.
Whatever it was, Draco could only hope it would be quick. That Harry wouldn't have to suffer for long. Harry was panting, moving his head left and right. Didn't make a sound though. Draco wanted to tell him it was all right; he could scream. Then Draco could scream too.
"I— I think I stopped it for now," Pomfrey said, and Draco whipped around to look. It wasn't gone, but it stopped shifting and expanding. It looked like about ten inches of Harry's thigh had turned into… something else. Something that looked—
"Here, help me." Pomfrey had a potion vial in her hand. Distracted, Draco helped her get Harry's head to lift a bit, so she could pour the contents of the vial into his mouth.
Harry moaned in pain and Draco's heart broke. He was so pale. Pomfrey murmured, "Shh, it's all right now. Rest."
It was almost instant. Harry's face went slack, his body limp, and he sank down onto the bed, asleep.
Draco's lungs burned.
"What is that?" Hermione managed to ask. "What's it doing to him?"
Pomfrey's wand shook. "I— It might not be as bad as it seems right now," she said. "There are many curses like this, which means even if we don't discover the exact curse, there are options. Ways to reverse it. It has happened in the past. Similar effects—"
"But what is it?" Ron snapped.
But it was obvious what it was. Now that the curse was stilled, there was no mistaking what it looked like.
"I—" Pomfrey sniffed. "It appears he's turning into stone."
Draco barely heard what Ron and Hermione shouted, what Pomfrey was saying about options, contacting the Ministry, St Mungo's, curse-breakers, how it made sense this curse was incompatible with Cruciatus because you couldn't hurt stone.
Draco knew these curses, blood curses. They were savage, they were quick. They were supposed to be instant. There weren't any options. Only an option to slow it down. Torture Harry for days.
He had seen the results of these curses. Two stone statues right at the entrance to the Malfoy family vault.
"This is what happens to thieves," his father had told him once when they entered the vault, and Draco stared at the statues, so ancient the stone had turned their faces smooth. It sounded like a story then, not real, just a scary story, not actual people who tried to break into the Malfoy vault long ago. "It's what ought to happen to all thieves." How excited Father was when the Slytherin monster Petrified those students in Draco's second year, how disappointed when he realised they wouldn't be turning to stone. "The Mudbloods have stolen our magic," he had raged. "They should suffer the punishment of thieves." And Draco had raged with him, told everyone who would listen.
But his father couldn't have done this. Why? He was angry at Harry because he was an angry man, but Harry helped them, saved them….
And said Lucius failed as a man, a wizard and a father. No, Father wasn't grateful for that. Harry was just another thief to him, one who had robbed him of magic, who helped Draco and Mother, but didn't help him enough.
But no. Father couldn't have done this. He simply couldn't. It was some other curse. There were a number of them. Pomfrey said so herself. Father was questioned. Followed. Searched. Couldn't use a wand, and the Manor was stripped of everything suspicious. Though, not the vault. But he couldn't take anything but gold out of the vault.
But…
Mother could.
No. It couldn't be her. Maybe she'd do it after she learned Harry and Draco were together, to get Harry away from him, but not before. Harry had done everything she had asked. She had no reason to harm him.
And there was nothing in the vault to take. Draco had seen no silver darts there. No container, nothing. It just made no sense. It wasn't —
Draco looked down at his hand, still gripping Harry's limp fingers. The curse on the vault wouldn't hurt a Malfoy. And Draco tried to bond with Harry. Make him a Malfoy. Get him on the tree. Make him immune.
"Mr Potter's needs were specific," Warwick had said, "and had no doubt conditioned the type of spell you could use in order to make it effective. A certain level of intuition on your part was at play, too, I imagine."
The bond was the cure. It was always the cure.
But Harry had asked him not to go through with it. He had begged him. Draco didn't even know how to do it. And this didn't change all the dark reasons that pushed him towards the bond, nor all the wonderful reasons that made him withdraw the offer. It wasn't the way; it was a desperate measure. And it was too late. Warwick said the curse wouldn't suffer the bond, not at this point. There was only one way — Draco needed to get into that vault.
"Draco, what are you doing?" Hermione yelled. Draco was barely aware he had gotten up. If he'd been disinherited, he couldn't get into the vault. No one could, except Mother and Father. Right now, it didn't matter which one of them did it and why. What mattered was that his father was wandless. And famously couldn't fight off the Imperius Curse.
Harry woke up with a groan. Whatever Pomfrey had given him was already wearing off.
Draco flew to him and grabbed his face between his palms. "Harry, Harry, Harry," he called urgently, but Harry's eyes were shut tight and his face was twisted in pain. "Potter!" Draco snapped and Harry's green eyes flew open. "Wait for me," Draco ordered. "Fight. Just a little more. Please. I'll be quick." Harry blinked and Draco kissed his lips, then steeled himself and ran to grab the Firebolt.
"Draco!" Hermione yelled. "What are you doing? You can't leave!"
Draco looked at her as he mounted the broom. "Get the curse-breakers here. I know this curse."
"Draco!" she yelled again, but Draco was already gone.
Chapter 10: The Tree
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Heavy raindrops hit Draco's face and blurred his vision, but the faraway lights of the Hogsmeade village guided his way.
Harry's Firebolt was incredible; Draco didn't know one could fly this fast. When they went flying together, they always had to be careful. There was no need to be careful now. He was in Hogsmeade in what felt like seconds. A sharp dive brought him right in front of the Three Broomsticks. He wasn't careful enough and nearly ran over Madam Rosmerta who had just exited. She stumbled and then paled when she saw him. She whipped out her wand.
"You!" she cried. Her eyes widened. "Is that Harry Potter's Firebolt? You nasty little thief—"
"Sorry," Draco said — a worthless thing to tell someone he had kept under an Imperius Curse,but there was not a moment to lose. Something smashed against his hand as he Disapparated. He found himself in front of the Malfoy Manor's iron gate without the Firebolt. Rosmerta must have knocked it out of his hand. Draco cursed, but there was no time to worry about it.
He broke into a run. It was a wonder he didn't fall and break his leg. The old gravel road was now nothing but a narrow path covered in sludge.
He burst into the Manor, temporarily stumped by the darkness. It looked like no one was home. It was possible. Mother was determined to keep her social life alive. And Father… Who knew? He had to check in with the Aurors every other evening, no exceptions.
Fine. If Draco had to go to the Ministry, he'd go to the damn Ministry. But maybe not. He needed to see the tree first. Maybe his emerald was still on it. And he knew where his father kept the vault key.
Intent on reaching the drawing room, he almost failed to notice that the door to his father's study was cracked open. Faint flickering light seeped into the hallway.
Draco doubled back, pushed the door open, and stepped in. His father was here after all, in his travelling cloak, a glass of whiskey in his hand. Just came back or was about to leave, Draco wasn't sure. He looked unwell, greasy-haired and sallow. Quite obviously drunk.
"Ah, Draco, how fortunate," his father drawled. "You nearly missed me. So you have decided to come after all. It certainly took too long for the content of my letters to sink in. No matter. As long as you're here now."
"Never read your letters," Draco said.
His father's eyes narrowed. "Oh? Reconsidered on your own? Not caving to threats, of course." He laughed. "Very well. I'll believe it if you wish me to."
Draco didn't have time for this. "How did you do it?" he asked.
His father raised an eyebrow. "Pardon?"
"Was it your idea, or did you merely provide the curse that would turn Harry Potter into stone?"
A look of pure delight flitted across his father's face. In the next second, he looked furious. "Shut your mouth!" He glanced around. "They could be surveilling us. What are you thinking, levelling an accusation like that? My own son."
But it was too late. Draco had his confirmation. His father failed to hide the pleasure he felt at the thought it worked, that Harry was stone by now.
"All that effort," Draco said, voice vibrating with anger. "Arranged a meeting with Ainsworth in Gringotts? Bribed a few goblins to look away? Risking a questioning session with Veritaserum. Tricky. Not easy to get the antidote, and Occlumency could have failed you. And Ainsworth could have been caught. Could have talked. Would have talked…" Draco's mind cleared. "Oh. Of course. All these young, inexperienced Aurors around you. You got to one. Picked the weakest link. Blackmailed him? Bribed him? He did it all for you. He even killed Ainsworth for you." His father couldn't hide his smug expression; Draco knew it too well. "All that risk. Why? Harry saved you. Saved all three of us."
That had his father's face twisting in rage. "Saved me?" he asked incredulously, his concerns about surveillance apparently forgotten. "Pray tell, how was I saved? I was tricked. By him and your mother. You forget. This was not my first trial. No one saved me the first time. My defence was all planned out. Admit nothing, except being a victim of the Imperius Curse. You think the members of the Wizengamot cannot be bought? Please, do not be naive. Anyone can be bought. Oh, but Narcissa convinced me otherwise. Potter helped her, helped you, he will do the same for me. And I believed her. And I believed him. He even promised. And then he stood in front of the entire Wizengamot and humiliated me. Conditioned my release. Oh yes, it was his idea. A trial period. No magic. No freedom. A captive in my own home. If I step outside, two Aurors are already searching me. Rehabilitation — regular meetings in the Ministry where I have to listen to absurdities about equality from Mudbloods and blood-traitors. If I miss one meeting, I'll end up back in Azkaban. Explain to me again, how was I saved—"
Draco took out his wand and pointed it at his father. "Can't miss a single one, and it's back to Azkaban? Really?"
His father looked disgusted. "What has he done to you?"
"He saved me!" Draco yelled. "He saved you too. You're delusional. Every other Death Eater is either dead or imprisoned. We're the only ones still here. Because of him. You resent him for telling the truth. Whingeing about the trial period. That was the only way to get you released, don't you understand that? You can't bear it for two meagre years? You preferred your life with Voldemort?"
Father's eye twitched. "No. That's the point. We paid our dues. We served our punishment. We were victims by the end. That's the real truth. It all happened because of Potter. The Dark Lord came back wrong. I did fail to realise it at first. I admit that mistake. But how long did it take Potter to fix his Mudblood mother's interference? When the Dark Lord tortured our family, where was he? We suffered like no other. And instead of words of commendation, gratitude for what my wife did for him, he spits on me and expects me to thank him? The way you're doing? He thinks you're scum, and you happily bend over and take it. Have you no shame?"
"Have you no sense left? He helped you and now you've ruined—"
"It was done, Draco!" his father yelled. "I'd be freed without him. I let myself think—" He laughed bitterly. "I thought, why not? Let the hero speak for me. It'd be far cheaper than paying the price those withering old fools in the Wizengamot demanded. And here I am now. Taking the Knight bus. The Knight bus, Draco."
God, was Father right? Could the Wizengamot be so easily bought? The new better Ministry. What a sham.
"So you screwed yourself," Draco said. "By being cheap."
His father's face contorted. "So much time and effort spent on trying to teach you how the world works, and you just…" He huffed. "I always feared it was pointless. My only son. Spent the summer crying into his pillow like a little girl. Found his purpose in becoming Harry Potter's toy. Well then…" He set his glass down with needless force. Anger and confusion made Draco lose precious seconds as the Malfoy family tree sprang up from the middle of Father's desk, and his father grabbed Draco's emerald. No, not just Draco's emerald. Mother's sapphire too. "Potter still lives," his father said with a sigh. "And you're here for the key."
Afraid though he was, because he needed to get into that vault, Draco couldn't help being relieved that his father thought Mother needed to be cast out too. That meant she had nothing to do with this. She didn't know. And Father believed she might even help Draco save Harry.
"The Ministry will get into that vault," Draco said. "They'll make you give them the curse."
His father laughed. "That will take time. And judging by the state you're in, you don't really have much time, do you?" He stuck out his free hand. "Let's be quick then. An unbreakable vow. No binder present, but we'll seal it with blood — we're family. I will give you the antidote. Go and save Potter, be a hero. You will not mention my involvement, of course, and you will abandon this embarrassing charade you're pulling with him."
"You don't have the antidote." That was ridiculous. Why would his father have it? The curse was supposed to kill instantly and it didn't hurt Malfoys. "You just want me to get close so you can take my wand."
Father lowered his hand. "So much distrust. After everything I've done for you. You never made a wish I hadn't fulfilled. I always—"
Draco stopped listening, distracted. The gems glistened in his father's hand. Draco couldn't see them, but he could see their glow — green, Draco's emerald; blue, Mother's sapphire; and red, sparkling red. But the rubies didn't glisten. Dead was dead. The tree was full of them, full of dead Malfoys. There was no light in those gems.
And why was the tree here? Hidden in a secret compartment in his father's desk. It was always proudly displayed in the drawing room. There was no reason to hide it. No one could tamper with it except the head of the Malfoy family.
It occurred to Draco suddenly that in his panic, he'd failed to think things through. Disinherited or not, he couldn't help Harry with the bond because he couldn't get someone on the tree. Not him, only the head of the family had that power. Father had that power.
And yet, Draco had helped Harry. The bond was never fully-formed but it helped. It was still helping. Warwick said so. Remnants of the bond were still slowing down the curse, even now. Harry rejected the bond, Draco rejected the bond... How was it still helping? How did it ever help?
"The tree recognises strength," his father told him once when Draco was a small child and had spent the day playing games with another boy, a son of Mother's friend. "It recognises weakness. And little boys who hug and kiss other boys are weak."
"But Trigg is my friend," Draco had said. "I was just happy to see him."
"Little boys who hug and kiss other boys," his father repeated, enunciating every word, "are weak. The tree knows. It will cast you away, just as an apple tree discards its rotten fruit."
Well, I kissed other boys, Draco thought now, but the tree didn't cast me away. But did it truly recognise strength? Who even knew the parameters some ancient idiot had in mind when he charmed this tree? What did being a Malfoy mean to him? What did he consider a show of strength?
One thing seemed obvious, Draco thought, staring at his father: this wasn't strength, by any definition.
"Petrificus Totalus!" Draco yelled and his father froze. Slowly, he leaned to the left and then fell flat on his back. His stiff hand had pulled on the gems, the tree shuddered, but the gems stayed where they were.
Mesmerised, Draco approached the tree. There was a sapphire next to Draco's emerald. It kept changing colour: red, blue, black. It was very clearly labelled with the word Harry. Unformed bond, confusing the tree. Harry teetering on the brink of death.
Hand unsteady, Draco took hold of his father's emerald. With the gentlest tug, it came off and turned black. Father had lost his privileges. Who even knew when that happened? It had to have happened before Draco tried to shake Harry's hand on the Platform. It could have happened months and months ago. No one noticed; why would they? No one noticed Harry's sapphire had snuck up there either. Not until Father had had enough of Draco's disobedience, went to the tree, and spotted an intruder. And the tree wouldn't let him remove a single gem.
Draco let the blackened emerald fall from his hand and roll down next to his father's head. His father's frozen expression looked like pure shock.
"Harry forgot to mention," Draco said, "you failed as a Malfoy too."
Draco looked back at Harry's twinkling gem. "Hold on," he told it and reached for the ornamental cigar box. It contained no real cigars, but it had a false bottom that let Draco's fingers pass through and fish out the vault key.
Without another glance at his father, he spun around and froze. The ghost of the Muggle-born witch haunting the basement was blocking the door. Her head was cocked, her eyes narrowed.
"So much drama in this family," she commented. "So rich and yet so unhappy. Breaks the heart."
"I'll tell you what," Draco said. "You want some revenge, don't let anyone through that door except the Aurors."
"I'm dead," she said irritably. "I can't let or not let anyone do anything."
"But if you hang around the door, my mother or any of her visitors won't come near you."
She huffed. "And you? You're not afraid? What's my revenge against you? Tortured me to near insanity. Stood there with everyone else as I was killed. Didn't do a thing."
That was true and Draco couldn't change it. "I'm sorry. I can't help you. But you can have the Manor. All yours to haunt for as long as you choose. You won't have to look at us. Mother will have to move."
He didn't wait for her reply; he stepped forward, right through her to get to the door. The cold chilled his bones, but he had no time to feel it. He ran out of the study, out of the Manor, down the path, back to the iron gates. He Disapparated directly to Diagon Alley and ran the rest of the way to Gringotts.
It took too long to get through the goblin's security checks. They escorted him down to the vault, but he walked the last few feet alone — goblins knew to hang back as far from the Malfoy vault as they could. He unlocked the door and stepped in. Something fluttered past his ear, though he saw nothing, felt nothing but that fleeting flutter. He had been to this vault several times and yet he had never noticed anything. It felt like a rush of air, a mere draught. He could only guess the direction by sound. It came from high above, from the top left corner of the room.
Determinedly not looking at the two stone statues that he now knew were real people once, he built makeshift stairs from boxes of gold, ancient artefacts, and old bejewelled chairs, and climbed up to reach a small hole in the wall. Something silver glistened inside, and carefully Draco pushed his hand in and drew out a small silver dart. It vanished in a second.
For fuck's sake. Of course, the damn thing vanished upon impact. But if Father took it out, then so could Draco. He tried a few spells, hoping to contain the curse, encase it with magic, but then he remembered his father didn't have a wand. He couldn't have used magic. Well, Father solved everything with gold. Frantically, Draco looked around and spotted a small jewellery box. There were several tossed around, but this one was made of gold. Made by goblins, of course, only the best for the Malfoy family. If anything could contain the curse, that would do it. Draco Summoned the box, caught it, and unceremoniously dumped its contents — a pearl necklace, bracelet and earrings — onto the floor. It took three tries to get the dart in there without it vanishing, but he finally managed and closed the lid.
He all but ran out of the bank and then paused, considering his options. He thought he'd Disapparate straight to Hogsmeade, and use one of the hidden passageways Harry had told him about to get to the castle, but that would take forever. He had lost so much time already. The Hogwarts gates were closer, but they were guarded by Aurors. Officially, they were there to protect all students, but in reality they were keeping an eye on the most important one. The magical protection around the castle would let Draco through — he was a student there; he could go in and out as he wished — but the Aurors would not. They'd stop him, search him, question him… waste his time.
Draco took out his wand. What did it matter? He'd done worse than Stun a few Aurors.
He turned on the spot and Disapparated, and the moment his feet touched the ground he blindly cast a Stunning Spell in a sweeping half-circle. There was a yelp and a thud, and Draco whirled around, dizzy, and found an Auror lying on the ground right next to the open gates. Just the one. Not pausing to question his luck, Draco ran. He ran past groups of people, likely other students, though it seemed there were an extraordinarily large number of them. They kept getting in his way, yelling something but nothing could have stopped Draco now, unless someone decided to hex him.
He was out of breath by the time he reached the hospital wing. He burst inside only to run face-first into someone. Someone with a horribly scarred face and long red hair. Temporarily speechless, Draco stared at Bill Weasley, who didn't seem happy to see him. "Where were you? He was asking for you," Bill said.
That gave Draco his focus back. Bill Weasley was a curse-breaker. "I was—" He lifted up the jewellery box in his hand and opened the lid. "Can you help him with this?"
"What the—" Bill stared at the dart, then looked at Draco, horrified.
Draco realised how this must have looked. "I didn't—" His voice broke. "My father gave this to Ainsworth. It's a curse that guards the Malfoy family vault. I didn't know. I didn't know before seeing what the curse does." Justifying himself was less important now, but Draco couldn't stand the thought of being accused of having something to do with this. They wouldn't let him near Harry. He had to focus, explain better. He tried, haltingly telling Bill about the Malfoy family tree, the Malfoys' immunity, the bond he tried to force on Harry, and Harry's gem on the tree.
Bill listened, wide-eyed, and then snatched the box from Draco's hand. "Gadzen, come look at this!" he yelled, and only then did Draco realise the room was full of people: curse-breakers, Healers, Weasleys. "And Lucius Malfoy?" Bill asked sharply. "Where's he?"
"I— Petrified," Draco said. "The Aurors should be on their way to him. He missed his Ministry-mandated appointment."
"Oh, we'll make sure of that," someone said and rushed outside past Draco. Arthur Weasley, Draco realised belatedly.
"Draco!" Hermione was beside him, gripping his arm. "Where were you? You said you knew the curse and just—" She gasped when she saw Bill Weasley examining the dart with one of his friends. He had taken it out of the box with some spell and made it twirl and glow with his wand. It gave Draco hope that Bill knew what he was doing.
He looked down at Hermione. Was that betrayal in her eyes?
"Father did it," Draco said. "I didn't know," he added thickly, not knowing if she would believe him.
She blinked, then tugged at his arm. "Come on. He's asking for you."
Draco's stomach twisted into knots as she led him deeper into the room. He wanted to be with Harry, but he wanted to know if Bill knew what to do. If the dart would help. He saw Ron stay behind, right next to Bill, listening. Healer Warwick was there too. This was out of Draco's hands now.
Hermione tugged his arm again and led him behind a screen that was pulled around Harry's bed. One of the many Healers was there, waving his wand, but Draco only had eyes for Harry. He was awake, pale as a sheet, eyes shut tight. The curse caught both of his legs. They were stone.
Terrified, Draco flew to him, grabbing his hand and kissing his forehead, his face, his lips.
"Draco?" Harry opened his eyes and somehow, incredibly, managed to smile. "Where were you?"
Draco couldn't speak. Hermione answered. "Draco got the curse, Harry."
That sounded wrong. Like he found it through some cleverness.
"My father—" Draco began.
"You're going to be all right," Hermione cut him off, a little sharply.
Draco pushed down his guilt. Hermione was right. This was not the time for Draco to recount any tales. To talk about his father. To say how sorry he was. Harry needed hope.
"That's right," he said. "I got the curse. You're going to be okay."
Harry's green eyes were dark. "I missed you," he said.
Draco held back his tears. "I'm sorry. I'm right here."
"Draco," Harry said and then said it a few more times, clearly delirious. "In Godric's Hollow, there are statues of my parents. That's where I want to be placed. With them."
Draco's throat tightened and he couldn't say a word. Harry's mind was gripped by terrible, dark thoughts. Was it too late?
Harry shut his eyes and cried out. Horrified, Draco watched as the curse caught Harry's right hand.
Draco wanted to scream, but his throat was still too tight. He couldn't bear this. Harry was in so much pain and Draco could do nothing.
Time seemed to stop. Draco kept kissing Harry's temple and murmuring words of comfort, begging Harry to fight, to hold on, just a little more.
Someone grabbed Draco's shoulder. Bill stood next to him, shoving a vial of potion into Draco's hand. "Drink this."
Draco drank, without a single thought. "What is it?" he remembered to ask as Bill ran around the bed and grabbed Harry's shoulders, lifting him up into a sitting position, supporting his weight with a one-armed hug. Harry cried out in pain again, and Draco felt a crazy urge to hex Bill.
"The dart, mostly. Liquefied," Bill said. "A bit of a concoction. It should prompt a response. If you're immune, your blood will fight it off."
"All right," Draco said, trying not to panic. Bill had a plan; he wasn't about to murder Draco.
Someone else grabbed Draco's and Harry's joined hands and started wrapping them together with some kind of ribbon.
"Draco, listen to me," Bill said urgently. "We don't exactly have time for tests, but our theory is solid. We'll do a blood transfusion and a… a simple spell, just enough to trick the curse into thinking Harry is a Malfoy. It's just temporary. Just a trick."
Draco stared at his wrist that was bound to Harry's. Were they trying to bind them after all? Was it the only way? But Harry didn't want it.
"Mr Malfoy," Warwick said, appearing next to Draco and grabbing Draco's shoulder. "This isn't a bond. It is a trick. It's reversible. Nothing to worry about. But the magical transfusion is a problem. You and Mr Potter don't have the same blood type. We can work around it with a few spells, but they will mix your blood. We do not know the extent of your immunity and the curse has progressed too far. I— in all honesty, I'd never recommend… We simply don't know enough. And there's no time. I told you, it's never my goal to jeopardise one life to save another, but I will not rob you of your choice. I am hopeful, exceedingly at the moment, but you need to be aware of the risk."
Draco didn't have to think about it. "Do it," he said. He wasn't afraid. This would work.
Bill nodded at Warwick, who promptly placed the tip of his wand against Draco's and Harry's bound wrists. Bill did the same.
With a jerky movement, Harry tried to pull away. "Wait!" His eyes were open and suddenly looked clear. "Could Draco be harmed?"
Draco had no idea how much Harry had heard and understood. He might have been reacting more to the fact they had bound him to Draco than anything that was said.
Harry kept wincing, trying to maintain eye contact with Bill. Draco stared at Bill too, mentally begging him to lie. Come on, he thought, I'm the reason you look like this. I led Greyback to Hogwarts.
Bill finally glanced at him. Draco didn't know whether he read something on Draco's face or if he just didn't care, but he looked back at Harry and said, "No harm at all. The only danger is that it might not work."
Harry frowned. "I— Okay?" he said, tentative, but in the next moment pain overtook him.
"Do it!" Draco said quickly, and Warwick and Bill directed their wands at Draco's and Harry's wrists again, both of them murmuring incantations.
The pain was so sudden and intense it was a miracle Draco didn't scream and wrenched his hand away. That was why they bound them, he realised. So Draco wouldn't pull away on instinct. He pressed his lips shut, terrified Harry would hear him and put a stop to it.
Was this how Harry was feeling the whole time? How could he stand it? Draco was sorry he hadn't stepped on his father's face, the way he had stepped on Harry's once. Broke his nose for doing this to Harry.
His forearm felt strange and Draco dared to look at it. It was turning grey, dark and hard, turning to stone. It didn't work. How could that be? Draco was so sure. And now they'd turn to stone together. Placed in Godric's Hollow with Harry's parents. Three war heroes and Draco. Well, that wasn't so bad. In a way, he would be with Harry forever. One of the Potters.
No. No, that was unacceptable. Harry had to live. They had to live. They fucking earned it. They were stronger than this curse, stronger than any curse. Draco should have never doubted it.
The world spun and the pain lessened. Draco's arm regained its colour. And so did Harry's. And so did Harry's other arm. Harry was leaning on Bill, breathing heavily, his eyes closed.
"It's working!" Hermione cried out. "Ron, it's working."
Draco looked down at Harry's legs. The stone was receding, disappearing, from his right leg, then the left, lingering on the left thigh, where he'd been first struck.
Someone pulled on the ribbon that bound their wrists, and Draco said, "Wait." He watched the greyness vanish completely and then reached with his free hand to run his fingers over the smooth skin.
"Draco," Bill said, surprisingly gentle, and Draco looked at him. "It worked." Bill was smiling. Crying too, but smiling. "It's gone. It's over. It worked."
"Yeah," Draco said. He was so dizzy he felt like collapsing. From relief or blood loss, he wasn't sure. Bill tugged on the ribbon and it came off. Draco's wrist throbbed but it was a good pain. It made him feel alive, the way he hadn't felt for days.
"It worked," Draco repeated, staring at Harry.
"I think he's asleep," Bill said quietly. "Exhausted." Carefully, he pulled away and settled Harry down onto the pillow.
Draco wanted to wake him. What if Harry was having bad dreams? What if he dreamt about being a statue?
"He can't sleep," Draco said. No one said anything and Draco leaned forward, kissing Harry's lips gently, not caring who was watching.
"Hey, Potter," he said, and Harry's eyelashes fluttered and opened. "You're okay," Draco told him. "You're cured. No more curse. Look. Look down."
Harry frowned and looked down at his feet. "It's gone?" he asked. "For good?"
"For good," Bill said.
Harry's breathing sped up a little, but it looked like he could barely keep his eyes open. He found the energy to smile up at Draco.
"You saved me," he said. "You kept your promise."
And that hurt. Because Draco had done nothing heroic. He just cleaned up his father's mess. But that was a conversation for later, after Harry got a good night's sleep.
Draco couldn't confirm Harry's words, but he could tell him another truth. "I love you."
Harry smiled and fell back asleep. That was fine. He was more likely to have better dreams now.
Someone pushed another vial into Draco's hand and told him to drink it, so he drank. He wasn't sure what it was, but it was sweet and made him feel better. He was vaguely aware of people talking, and someone kept trying to manhandle him and push him somewhere, away from Harry perhaps, but Draco wasn't about to let go of Harry's hand and go anywhere. He thought he may have ended up wrestling someone, but all the images and conversations blurred, and soon he was aware of nothing except Harry's warm hand in his.
*
He dreamt he was in his bed at the Manor, wrapped up in soft covers, head resting on fluffy pillows, but the world outside of his room was dark. Voldemort was lurking there, and ghosts, and a stone statue with a smooth face that Draco didn't want to see. "We'll place the statue in the drawing room," he could hear his father saying. "Instead of the Malfoy tree." Afraid, Draco forced his eyes to open.
He was seated in an armchair, the upper half of his body sprawled over a hospital bed. Harry's hospital bed. Because Harry was right there, propped up on several pillows, smiling down at him. His fingers were in Draco's hair.
"It's real," Harry said. "It all happened. I'm fine."
Draco must have looked terrified to prompt such a response. It was exactly what he needed to hear. This was real. The curse was gone.
Light streamed from the windows, illuminating Harry's face, still pale, still thin with dark circles under his eyes. This fight was too brutal. No spell could fix it all in an instant. It would take time. But they had time.
Unable to resist, Draco rose up and reached for Harry's left leg, squeezing the thigh through the sheets, making sure it wasn't stone. "It doesn't hurt at all?"
"No," Harry said. "Er, unless someone is trying to crush it with their hands. But I think it's supposed to hurt then."
Draco let go. "Sorry."
Harry grinned. No, not just grinned. He was giving Draco such a soft look, Draco didn't know what to do with himself. The heat from his neck was spreading towards his cheeks.
"I need to tell you what happened," he said because now that Harry was awake and aware, he should know about Draco's father and the Malfoy curse. Draco hadn't gone on some heroic quest, fought off a dragon, and found a curse on the other side of the world. All he did was fail to realise sooner that his father was capable of something like this.
Harry didn't lose his smile, but it turned sad. "No, you don't. Kingsley was here earlier. He told me what happened. The Aurors questioned the Manor ghost."
"Oh." Draco tried to guess what Harry was thinking. "My father didn't escape or something, did he?"
Harry visibly swallowed and shook his head. "No. He's in a Ministry holding cell. So is the Auror he'd bribed. Kingsley is very distressed about it. Your father's solicitor was arrested too. The Aurors are hoping he'd tell them who he tried to bribe in the Wizengamot. He had to have been the one who made the arrangements as your father was imprisoned at the time. If your father was telling the truth about that."
Draco had no idea. "And my mother?"
Harry hesitated. "Well, she's also in a Ministry holding cell. She's not charged with anything," he added quickly. "No one accused her of having anything to do with this. Not Lucius, not the ghost. She claims she knows nothing. They're waiting for you to confirm or deny it. Come get her."
"She—" Draco stopped himself before claiming she didn't know. Did he truly know that? Did she suspect something? "She was so grateful to you. Genuinely, it seemed. And Father thought it necessary to deny her access to the vault too. I don't think she knew. But… I'll talk to her." He considered it some more. "I mean, it sounds like she's perfectly safe. It doesn't have to be now." Maybe it would do her good to reflect on her life a bit.
"Hey," Harry said, and Draco looked at him, smiling, because Harry was smiling. "If you think your mother is innocent, you should go get her. Not fair keeping her imprisoned."
Draco couldn't help huffing. "There are no innocent Malfoys."
Harry sighed. "I realise you're angry and disappointed. So am I. But not realising what your father is capable of isn't your mother's fault. Or yours. Or mine. I— I meant well. I thought I was helping him. Thought I could get him to take a good, hard look at his life and choices and decide to do better for yours and your mother's sake. I suppose that was arrogant of me. Or naive."
"I see. So you're not blaming me or my mother because you're blaming yourself."
"No," Harry said. "I'm blaming your father exclusively. And I'm so, so sorry you had to confront him like that. I can only imagine how hard it was. And I imagine you wish your mother had done that herself. Wish she had figured it out and done something."
"She knows him best," Draco said quietly. "I must have known, on some level. In the back of my mind, I knew, suspected, enough to try to bond with you and save you. I just didn't want to know. Made it worse for you."
"That's ridiculous. You couldn't have known. When you cast the spell, you didn't even know what happened to me. You can't blame yourself for going to extreme lengths to pay your debts and help me, just because it turned out you were in a unique position to actually do it. If your magic somehow recognised the curse and guided you, you can't blame yourself for that either. It couldn't have been conscious."
"Then why do I feel guilty?"
"Because you keep forgetting you're not your father?"
Draco sniffed. "He raised me. And he's rotten and it took me forever to realise it."
"You didn't do this. Your mother didn't do this."
"Even so, she's not much better. I suspected her too. It was too easy to believe it. Truth is, if the circumstances were different, if you got in her way somehow, she'd do it. I know she would."
"You can't blame her for something she didn't do just because you think she's capable of doing it. And you're free to love her, regardless. You're free to love your father too. Love the good moments you had with him."
Draco shook his head. "I have no feelings for him. Not even hate. There's just nothing."
Harry reached for his hand. "How about this?" he said. "We get dressed and get some breakfast, and then we go down to the Ministry to get your mother."
"You don't have to come with me," Draco said. "You look exhausted."
"I am exhausted. Physically. Mentally. I really thought it was over. I made my peace with it. I can't believe I'm still here." He stared at Draco. "You're not going to pull something stupid now, are you?" Harry asked. "Spin some all-Malfoys-are-bad tale, you're-better-off-without-me rubbish?"
"Are you joking?" Draco asked, surprised. Was that what Harry was worrying about? "Do you even know me? I don't do noble. And I'm absolutely convinced you're better off with me than with anyone else. You want me, you're stuck with me."
God, Harry looked relieved. He honestly thought Draco would retreat now. How absolutely ridiculous. Draco was horrified by what his father had done, and it was hard not to feel guilty, but Harry was the hope that made it all bearable.
Draco scooted closer to peer down at Harry's face. "Does that mean you haven't changed your mind either?"
"About you?" Harry's smile was answer enough, but the surprised tone was soothing too. Harry reached up to capture a strand of Draco's hair. "You're one of the rare things that still make sense to me."
"And what doesn't make sense?"
Harry's shoulder twitched as though he tried to shrug. "I don't know. I just… I got really scared. I mean, the last time, with Voldemort, I did too, but it all happened so quickly and people were dying… This time, it felt so pointless and terrifying. And now I don't know how to stop being angry about it."
"I'm so sorry—"
"I'm not angry with you. It's not even about your father. It could have been someone else. I'm just… like you said — exhausted. That this is my life."
"Well, I'll— I'll fix that."
That had Harry smiling. "After everything you did, I feel like I should refuse more comfort." Before Draco even got a chance to splutter in indignation, Harry added, "No, no, I won't. I guess I'm not that noble either."
"Good. I have no patience for noble. You'll get better soon. I'll make sure of that."
Harry ran his fingers through Draco's hair. "Do you —" He cocked his head a little, still smiling. "Do you know we're married?"
Draco blinked. "What?"
"Oh." Harry's eyes widened. "Sorry. I thought— I shouldn't have said it like that. God. Sorry."
Draco straightened. Every single thought in his mind vanished. "What? We're what?"
Harry sat up, staring at him. He wasn't blinking. "Um, Bill and Warwick said they told you they'd try to trick the tree. I mean, that was the trick. It all happened so quickly, they weren't sure if they explained every detail."
"Detail?" Draco repeated. "Detail? How—" His mouth opened and closed. No sound came out. He'd lost the ability to form words.
The corner of Harry's lips twitched. "Er, well, you see, Warwick argued they just needed to do a blood transfusion. That it's enough. But Bill thought it'd be smart to try to appease the curse by getting me on the tree. So, they did both. I mean, we didn't need to be bonded to get me on the tree. It's not what your ancestors did. It's not what your Mother and Father did. We just needed to… get legally married."
There was that word again. Harry really said it. Draco hadn't misheard. And now it had another word attached to it — legally.
Harry bit his lip. "I mean, it's how one becomes a part of a family, right? And marriage, unlike a bond, isn't necessarily permanent."
Draco shook his head. He couldn't comprehend this. "But that's… There's a procedure. You need a marriage licence, a marriage seal with a spell to put our names on record. It's not… How did we even… I mean, we're… Can men even legally marry?"
"Well, Kingsley was here. He arranged it all in seconds. Considering the situation, no one dared to oppose it. He got the licence, the seal. And… we're on record."
"But—" Draco meant to point out that he couldn't just marry someone and get them on the tree — the marriage had to be approved by the head of the family — but then he remembered that was him now. There were no obstacles. "I could have married you and cured you months ago."
Harry smiled. "We couldn't have known that. We still don't know it. Warwick thinks the blood transfusion cured me. He says, whichever ancestor cast that curse on the Malfoy tree and the vault, likely never considered this possibility — someone getting cursed and then getting married to a Malfoy. Means the outcome is completely unpredictable. They married us because there was no time and, you know, it was better to be safe than sorry. They sort of panicked. They apologised to me a lot. But they said it's pretty easy to get an annulment."
"Annulment?" Draco repeated. What was Draco supposed to do with this information? He was married to Harry. And they could annul it. Should they? "I— You have to tell me what you're thinking." He was aware of the panic in his tone. "I don't know what I'm thinking. I can't think."
"I—Well…" Harry was still staring at him. "I'm on record as Harry Malfoy, which…"
"No, I hate that too," Draco said quickly. It sounded so wrong.
"It saved my life," Harry said. "You saved my life, but…"
"Stop explaining," Draco said. "I get it. I'm not insulted. I don't want to be a Malfoy. Not after what my father did. I certainly don't want to saddle you with that name."
"I… All right. I mean, on the other hand, it's easy to change my name back in those records. People can change their names; it doesn't affect the… marriage."
Draco's head was spinning because he'd forgotten to breathe. "Yeah," he said, not sure if Harry was arguing for or against a quick annulment.
"Also," Harry added, "like I said, they don't really know for sure how this tree of yours and the curse work. It's all theory. Theoretically, well… I suppose, there's some chance Warwick is wrong and the annulment could somehow reactivate the curse."
"What?" Honestly. Harry should have mentioned that first. Draco didn't have to think about anything anymore. "Yeah, okay, here's what's happening. I'm dismantling that tree and the curse. I was going to do that anyway. We'll get the curse-breakers to confirm whether you can change your name back to Potter in the records or if that can reactivate the curse too. And then, and only then, we decide what to do with…" His voice betrayed him then. He cleared his throat. "Um, with our marriage."
Harry nodded, lips pressed tightly together. "All right. Good plan."
Did Harry look happier? What did that mean? Was he glad they were postponing this discussion? Or did he think Draco would be horrified by this turn of events and would want a quick annulment? Which meant Harry didn't want it. No, no, this was a discussion for another day. They had resolved the matter for now.
But Harry was his husband. Legally.
No. Thoughts for another day. In the future. Not now.
His husband.
Harry shook his head. "All right, whatever you're thinking, stop now. We have things to do." And then he pushed off the covers, slid from the bed and stood up. On instinct Draco shot up too, his arm moving to wrap around Harry's waist. He got so dizzy he ended up leaning on Harry instead.
Harry grabbed his shoulders, staring at him with a frown. "Yes, this is what massive blood loss does to a person."
"Right. Like I'm going to regret it all now because I got a little dizzy. It's your fault. What were you thinking getting out of bed so suddenly? You should be on bedrest for… a month. At the very least."
"You're not a Healer yet."
"No, but…" Draco couldn't resist. "I am your husband."
Harry stopped blinking again. Draco needed to know what that meant. He needed to know what Harry was thinking.
"Upon my word!" Pomfrey cried as she rushed out of her office. "Back to bed! Both of you!"
"Together?" Harry asked boldly.
Pomfrey wasn't amused. She looked ready to Stun them. Draco hurried to explain he had to go to the Ministry and get his mother out of prison, and Harry insisted he had to accompany him. That gave her a pause, and awkwardly, she relented, but not before she stuffed them full of potions, cast a dozen charms on them, and then gave them a whole itinerary — they were to go the Great Hall and have breakfast, then return to the hospital wing for another checkup before she decided if and when they could go to the Ministry.
They agreed to all of it, which was hardly surprising since they were both medicated to the point of confusion. She had them sit and wait for an escort to take them to their respective dormitories, so they could shower and change. Harry was in a hospital gown and Draco's robes were caked in mud.
It turned out Ron and Hermione were their escort. They burst into the hospital wing and assaulted them both. Hermione tried to strangle Draco, and Ron tried to dislodge Draco's lung, though Hermione insisted that was meant to be a hug, and Ron argued he only gave him a pat on the back.
"You're a violent one, Roger," Draco said, coughing dramatically.
It was meant to be a joke, but Ron ruined it by looking concerned and apologising.
"I'm fine," Draco said irritably because now Hermione was wringing her hands and biting her lip.
"You don't look fine," she said. "Either of you. Are you sure you have to go to the Ministry today?"
"Well, I thought it'd be funny to leave my mother in jail for a few days," Draco said, "but Harry disagrees."
"I do," Harry said firmly.
They had to separate then because it made more sense for Harry to go to the Gryffindor Tower as most of his clothes were there, especially the fancier items and his travelling cloak he'd need for the Ministry visit. Hermione went with Harry, and Ron — despite Draco's protests — walked Draco to the dungeons. It was, admittedly, necessary, because Draco stumbled a few times.
"You're very tall," Draco acknowledged after he was forced to grab Ron's arm yet again to steady himself. "I never had a tall friend. I was always the tall friend."
"Yeah." Ron scratched the back of his head. "I'm nearly as tall as Bill."
"If you say so. Didn't have my measuring tape with me at the time."
"Mmm."
Draco gave him a sideways look. It seemed like Ron had something to say, which… Draco was too exhausted if it was something annoying. And it could be.
"What?" he prompted anyway.
"What?" Ron raised his eyebrows but then must have realised he was no good at faking confusion. He sighed. "It's nothing. It's just— You understand Bill wasn't trying to do you in, right?"
Draco didn't have to fake his confusion. "Obviously. That would hardly help Harry."
"Well, yeah, but I mean — I was there and I heard him lie to Harry. Heard him promise the transfusion wouldn't hurt you. That there was no risk. But Bill did that because… if he were you, he'd do the same, you know? He'd want a chance to save someone he cares about. So the thing is, he understood. He understood what you wanted and respected that. He didn't think, 'oh well, it's just Malfoy; if he dies, whatever.' You get that, right?"
"Sure," Draco said, though he had wondered what was going through Bill's mind at the time. But Ron's explanation made sense. There was no time to reason with Harry and question Draco's decision.
"Right?" Ron's expression was a little sour. "Because Harry's a bit upset about it. We were in the hospital wing earlier when Kingsley came by and then Harry mentioned Bill, and… Well, he's upset."
Draco had to smile. Yeah, he could well imagine how Harry felt when he realised Draco had risked his life and Bill not only let it happen but lied about it.
"But you get it?" Ron asked again.
"I do," Draco assured him.
"Good. That's good."
They reached the entrance to the Slytherin common room by then.
"You don't have to wait for me," he told Ron. "I'm fine." And he was. Madam Pomfrey knew what she was doing. His mind was clear now and he felt stronger.
"Nah, I'd thought I'd go in with you." Ron craned his neck as though to see through the wall. "Look around. Say hi."
"Everyone's at breakfast. And there's nothing new to see. You've been here before. Harry told me."
Ron grinned. "Yeah, in our second year. That was fun. You were such a slimy, pompous—"
"Goodbye," Draco said pointedly.
Ron pulled a face. "Fine. But if you don't show up in the Great Hall in fifteen minutes, I'll—"
"Yes, yes, fine," Draco said impatiently. Ron already half-turned to leave when Draco realised something. "Wait wait wait—Did you just try to get me to talk to Harry about Bill? Like… put in a good word for him?"
"Um, well…" Ron scratched the back of his head again. "If you want to. If you think it would help… Sure. I'd appreciate it."
"I—" Honestly. What line of thought led Ron to this idea? Was Draco the calm, rational one? Were these his husband duties? Well, that was… interesting. Draco couldn't help smirking. "I'll give it some proper thought."
Ron seemed pleased with that, and Draco grinned about it all the way to his dormitory. Was he the one most likely to talk some sense into Harry? That was quite a task. And he was entrusted with it. Who would have guessed?
After a quick shower, Draco picked out one of his better outfits to wear for the Ministry visit. The fancy shirt needed cufflinks and he distractedly remembered Mother had sent him a pair for Christmas. He found them in one of the drawers and took them out of the box. They were painfully beautiful, glistening on his palm. Draco stared at them. They were his father's. Draco wasn't sure why he hadn't recognised them. It had been ages since his father dressed up for a formal occasion. Since Draco's fifth year when he had ended up in Azkaban. His father neglected his appearance afterwards. Too scared or too drunk to care.
But these were definitely Father's. He renounced one of his precious heirlooms for Draco. Christmas was Mother's deadline; Draco was supposed to be home by then, but it must have been an empty threat. She didn't tell her husband about Draco's relationship with Harry. Back then, Father wasn't angry with Draco. He still wanted Draco to be his heir, still hoped for it. He had changed his mind after the Prophet's article. But in that moment, when his parents picked and wrapped Draco's Christmas present, they were thinking of him and his happiness.
Draco sat on the bed and let the tears come. So many presents. There was a time Father couldn't step into the Manor without a present for his son. Draco used to run into his arms, and Father would pick him up and call him his little heir, bursting with pride. He'd tell Draco stories, and he'd take him outside to show him how to fly a broom.
Harry said Draco could love the good moments, but they were all bitter now. Father's stories were full of cruelty, his presents a drop of gold in an ocean, and his lack of faith in Draco's flying abilities caused him to bribe the Slytherin Quidditch team so they'd let Draco play.
But Father was so terrified of Azkaban. And now he would most likely spend the rest of his life there.
"You idiot," Draco said and wiped his tears. "This is all you get." He wouldn't cry for him again.
He fastened the cufflinks. They were his now. It was all his. He didn't want it, but he got it. Maybe he could do something good with it.
Harry was waiting for him in front of the entrance to the Slytherin common room.
"You escaped your jailer too?" Draco asked.
"I've convinced Hermione this was too important. I came to escort you to breakfast."
Harry looked better, smartly dressed, his eyes vibrant. All of Draco's misery was instantly forgotten. He pulled Harry close. "I wish I weren't so hungry."
"But you are," Harry said. "And you have to eat." Even as he said that, Harry cocked his head and pressed his lips against Draco's. God, Draco missed that warmth; he thought he'd never feel it again.
"Tell me how good you feel," Draco said, still kissing Harry back.
Harry smiled, arms wrapped tight around Draco's waist. "No pain whatsoever. No twinging, no throbbing, no stabbing, no nausea."
That soothed every cell in Draco's body. "Sorry I left you," he said. "Just when it got really bad."
Harry pulled away to frown. "Are you seriously apologising for that? For leaving to get the cure?"
"I'm not apologising. I'm stating a fact. I hate that I wasn't with you. It must have been terrifying and painful, and you didn't know where I was."
Harry pressed another kiss to Draco's lips, indescribably gentle. "I was pretty out of it. It's mostly a blur."
Draco could only hope that was true. "And I'm sorry you're on record as Harry Malfoy."
Harry's eyes widened. "When did we abolish the no sorrys rule? And why are you apologising for the things that saved me? And that were out of your control?"
"Again, not apologising. Stating facts. And I am sorry about it. It seems especially unfair now."
"It's reversible, remember?" Harry said. "I can just change it. Or, well, if we annul the marriage…" And there it was again — Harry stopped blinking.
Draco licked his lips; his mouth was dry. They weren't supposed to talk about this. They had agreed. But Draco couldn't stop thinking about it. He had made a firm decision not to marry. Ever. But he didn't know he could marry Harry. He had married Harry. "What if I don't want to annul our marriage?"
"I don't want to annul it either." Harry said it so quickly and with so much relief Draco huffed out a laugh. Back in the hospital wing, it did seem Harry kept listing arguments against the annulment, but Draco didn't dare to hope. "I mean," Harry added, still getting his words out quick, "I just don't see a downside. Sure, I didn't plan to marry at eighteen, but it happened, and… I don't want to take it back. And it's not like we can't annul it later if we decide to—" He gave Draco a quick kiss. "I'm not saying that will happen, or that I'm planning for that to happen, I'm just, you know, trying to be pragmatic and realistic here. And pragmatically, do you realise if we annul it, we might never get the licence again? You know, if we decide to go through with it in the future. These were special circumstances and… Well, this new better Ministry doesn't feel that much better."
"Yeah." Draco nodded. All good points, and realistically, it was too soon, too sudden, done to them. For good reason, obviously, but still. But where was the harm? What was the downside? Draco couldn't think of one either. "So…" he said tentatively. "We stay married and see how it goes?"
Harry was fighting a smile. "Yeah. I guess, yeah."
"Can they make us get an annulment? The Ministry?"
Harry's smile widened. "I'd like to see them try. They married us."
"Then this is real? We're just… We're married? You're my…" Draco sucked in a breath. "Husband."
Oh, Harry liked that too. He really did. "Yeah," he said, a little breathlessly. "I mean, it was very real before we decided it was real, but yeah."
"Do people know?"
"A handful of them. We can tell everyone or tell no one."
Draco tried to read Harry's expression, guess what he wanted. Although, if they were married, then this was a partnership, and Draco could say what he wanted, and then they could discuss it, and decide what to do together.
"I don't need any big announcements," Draco said, "but I don't want it to be a secret. I want— I-I want to hear you say it. When we meet people, you say, 'This is Draco Malfoy, my husband.'"
Harry kept nodding. "Okay. Yeah. Definitely." Then he paused and started shaking his head. "No, no. I want an announcement. A big announcement. In the Daily Prophet."
"No, you don't."
"I do. I want it to be a known fact. I don't want to deal with stupid questions and suspicions. People won't believe us. I'm going to get angry about it, I know it. And… everyone should be aware that it can be done. That it was done."
"All right," Draco said easily. If he were honest, he wanted everyone to know. Harry was his husband. It made Draco want to cry and laugh at the same time. His neck burned. "I want—"
"No," Harry said firmly.
"You don't even know what I was going to say," Draco accused.
"I do know. And no. Not now. You have to eat. And then we have to get your mother. And our stamina is kind of questionable, to put it mildly."
All right, maybe Harry did know what Draco wanted to say.
Harry pulled away and took Draco's hand in his. "Come on, husband," he said, and Draco's brain froze again. This was it. All Harry had to do was call him that, and Draco would do anything for him and follow him anywhere. Entrapped by a word.
They were greeted by thunderous cheers when they entered the Great Hall. Many Gryffindors ran towards them, shaking Draco's hand, thumping his back, and hugging Harry. Ginny Weasley hugged Harry for so long, Draco was getting annoyed. She caught Draco's eye and smiled. "Better get used to me."
"You know," Draco said as she finally let go of Harry, "since I'm calling Ron here Ron, I can just call you Weasley. It wouldn't be confusing."
"Actually, you've been consistently calling me Roger," Ron put in.
"All right, then," Draco said. "I'll call you Roger and call her Ron."
To Draco's surprise, Ginny snorted and hugged him too.
"You can call me whatever you like," she said with so much emotion, Draco's eyes got blurry. "For like a month or two," she added as she pulled back. "Call me anything but Ginny after, and I'll throw a Bat-Bogey Hex at you. I think you remember that one."
He did. Vividly. "I'll bear it in mind, Ron," he said. She sighed audibly, likely regretting her words.
Someone tugged at his sleeve, and Draco turned to see Daphne smiling at him. "Do I get a hug?"
"Do you do that sort of thing?" he asked but then hurried to hug her so she wouldn't think he was refusing. "Thank you," he said.
She pulled back. "For what?"
"Quiet support, emphasis on quiet. I needed that. The Gryffindors are loud. And…" He lowered his voice. "For helping Harry with his will. It was smart and I couldn't have done it. Would be hard for his friends too."
She shrugged a bit, but she was smiling. Some of the other Slytherins came to shake his hand. Younger ones who looked taken by the atmosphere and Daphne's sister and her friends. Many of them lingered at the Slytherin table, some looking curious, others looking annoyed. Most seemed hesitant. A few students waved, and surprised, Draco smiled at them. He wondered what Pansy and Blaise would say and do if they were here.
"Hey, Daphne," he said as she turned to leave. "Why don't you have breakfast with us?"
"Er, like you said, the Gryffindors are loud."
Just then, Harry freed himself from a bunch of Hufflepuff girls and reached for Daphne's hand. "No, no, you have to," he said. "They'll be teasing him about the article," he added in a stage whisper. "He'll need someone to defend him."
"What article?" Draco asked, worried, as Harry reached for his hand too, and led both Draco and Daphne towards the Gryffindor table.
"Oh, you haven't read it?" Daphne asked, lips twitching.
Draco was now positively terrified, but got distracted as they sat down with Draco on Harry's left side and Daphne on Harry's right. Draco's hand immediately went to Harry's thigh before he remembered he didn't have to do that anymore. He still stroked it for a bit, to soothe himself, enjoying the fact Harry wasn't in pain anymore. Enjoying Harry's wry smile too.
A copy of the Daily Prophet was soon shoved in front of Draco's nose. Draco stared at the front page that declared: "DRACO MALFOY, FORMER DEATH EATER, CHOOSES THE CHOSEN ONE."
"Good Lord," Draco commented as he scanned the article. He got distracted by the photographs. There were several of Draco's mad dash through the corridors. Draco barely recognised himself. A wild looking man cutting through crowds and jumping over three steps at once.
There was a grainy photograph of Harry's hospital bed too, clearly taken from afar. It showed Harry lying down, and Draco half-sitting on the armchair, with most of his upper body sprawled on the bed, one hand gripping the sheets, the other Harry's thigh, his head resting somewhere near Harry's stomach. Harry was awake, smiling down at him and stroking his hair. The expression on his face was incredible. Pure tenderness.
"You're supposed to read it," Daphne said, leaning forward. "Not just look at the pictures."
"I will," Draco said. He couldn't do it now. His vision was blurry. "How did they even get these photographs?"
Harry answered, eyes narrowing in that special annoyance he reserved for reporters. "They swarmed the school. Madam Rosmerta called them. Aurors too. She claimed you finally snapped, must have done something vile, stolen my broom, and did a runner—"
"Oh no, your Firebolt!" Draco remembered.
"Safe at the Tower," Harry assured him. "Apparently, it was chaos. The Aurors were chasing the reporters all over the place. Kingsley ended up giving an official statement. You know, bare facts. He told them what your father had done, and that you confronted him and got back here with the curse. Saved my life."
Draco was now even more afraid of the article. "Is this—" He glanced back at the Prophet. "Do I want to read it? Is it, I don't know, positive, negative, stupid?"
"Er…" Harry said, but then Seamus stood up with a goblet of Pumpkin Juice.
"To Draco Malfoy!" Seamus cried. "For saving the Saviour! For melting stone with his tears!"
As everyone laughed, Draco folded the Prophet. "Yeah, I'm not reading this."
Smiling, Harry leaned over and pressed a kiss to Draco's cheekbone. "Just endure it with a smile, husband. They'll get tired of it eventually."
Well, Harry said the magic word, and Draco easily endured the teasing. No one mentioned his father, just stupid melodramatic quotes from the article, and Draco was grateful.
All in all, it was pleasant, it was joyous, and Draco could almost forget he had to get his mother from prison afterwards. He didn't forget though, he fretted about it, and clung to Harry's comforting promise he'd go with him. After breakfast, they obediently went to see Madam Pomfrey for another check up — and yet more potions — and then went up to the Headmistress's office to ask for her permission to use the Floo.
She agreed of course, but not before hugging Harry fiercely, if somewhat angrily. "Twice now you did this to me!" she said sternly. "Made me think you…" She drew a breath, her nostrils flaring. "See that you don't do it again."
"I'll do my best," Harry promised, looking touched.
She then grabbed Draco's shoulder and said, "Don't think you can keep flying on a broomstick all over the castle. Exceptions were made, but now it's done."
"Yes, of course, professor," Draco said, a bit baffled as he had no intention to go joyriding through the corridors. She squeezed his shoulder so hard it hurt, and her face wrinkled even more. Maybe it was a smile.
"That meant, 'Thank you and I like you now,'" Harry told him later when they arrived at the Ministry.
"Really? I thought it meant, 'Your shoulder had done me great offence.'"
Several Aurors accosted them upon arrival, behaving not unlike the Hogwarts students. God, did people love Harry. It made Draco feel a bit threatened. I love him more, he wanted to tell them. He's my husband. But it also had him preening because Harry could have anyone, but it was Draco's hand he was holding; he didn't release it, not for a second.
Fortunately, Arthur Weasley rescued them and led them down the terrifyingly familiar corridor. Draco had spent two weeks here himself, stuck alone in a holding cell, afraid he'd never get out. Worse, that he'd be shipped to Azkaban. No Dementors, but he imagined it was cold and damp and dark, and he'd spend years there wondering if his parents were somewhere close or if he was truly alone. But that never happened. His rescuer was right here beside him, giving Draco a concerned look when they arrived in front of Draco's mother's cell. "Would you like me to go inside with you or stay here?"
Go with me, Draco wanted to say, but he shook his head. "I should talk to her alone."
Arthur Weasley squeezed his shoulder; Draco wondered if that meant he liked him too now.
"Listen, Draco," he said, "your mother was questioned several times, and she claims she had no knowledge of what her husband had planned. In fact, she and your father are both adamant in their claim that Ainsworth must have cast the Imperius Curse on your father. They're both saying they had no reason to harm Harry, who helped them so much."
A treacherous sliver of hope seized Draco: maybe that was true. Maybe his father really was under Imperius. But then he came to his senses. This was exactly the kind of defence his father had planned on using. That he had always used. He told Draco so himself.
"The curse on the Malfoy vault was a family secret," Draco said. "That's the point of it. Some low-level Death Eater wannabe couldn't have devised such a plan. Wouldn't have bothered with my father. It makes no sense."
"Agreed," Arthur said gently. "It is… It doesn't bode well that your mother gave the same story as your father."
Fresh fear gripped him. She couldn't have done this. She wouldn't have. Though, if she had known or suspected, would she have told someone? Should she end up in Azkaban for it?
Draco stepped forward, releasing Harry's hand, but Harry held him back. "The question is whether she participated or had full knowledge of the plan, not if she had suspicions but refused to acknowledge them."
Harry knew him well. Draco wanted answers to both of these questions, but no, he didn't want to send his mother to Azkaban if she merely wondered.
He nodded and entered.
His mother flew into his arms at once. "Oh, darling! I was desperately waiting for you. I can't believe this is happening. How outrageous. Are we to be blamed for every little thing that happens to Potter now? Is he here? Is he with you? Have you spoken to him?" She appeared not to have noticed Draco's stillness, but she noticed now and her expression wavered. "Draco, darling? Did something else happen?"
What else could happen? Wasn't this enough?
"I don't know what they told you," Draco said, extracting himself from her arms. "But I was the one who Petrified Father and left him there for the Aurors."
She looked shocked. She didn't know, then. "Why would you—? Draco, your own father. He had no reason to do this. I keep telling the Aurors. This man, Ainsworth, I know him. Nasty man. Uncouth. He was always so very jealous of our wealth. Must have been furious when we were freed. It's all a terrible ploy to make your father look guilty. A clever one if it fooled even you."
"Oh? So it was the Imperius Curse that made Father gloat and delight in the thought he'd successfully turned Harry to stone? Was he forced to feign rage when he told me why he did it? He blames you, too, you know. Said you and Harry tricked him. He believed he'd do better on his own, suffer no consequences." Draco huffed. "Maybe he's even right. He managed to bribe an Auror, why not the Wizengamot?"
She straightened. "This relationship with Potter… Is that why you're like this? Draco, I understand. I do. He saved your life, kept us from prison, and you always had those… urges…"
For fuck's sake. "Mother—"
"No, it's all right. It happens. It doesn't matter. What matters is that you hadn't thought this through. A whirlwind romance, always delightful, and he is clearly taken by you, why not? Look at you, so handsome and rich and undoubtedly too indulgent with him because of your gratitude, but this cannot last, Draco. Potter is God to these people. The new Dumbledore. Second coming of Merlin. He'll move on to the next bright thing; there are so many on offer. He'll grow tired and where does that leave you? A romance like this burns out. I know you're young and don't want to hear it, but it's what happens. Family is what remains. Family is what matters in the end. Blood, Draco. Not the whim of a boy drunk on fame, searching for new ways to satisfy his craving for excitement and rule-breaking."
Every word was abhorrent. His mother didn't think much of him, did she? Handsome and rich and misguidedly indulgent. If Harry cast him away, there would be nothing left. She was preying on his feelings of inadequacy, the ones she and Father had instilled in the first place. How did he never see it before? Why was it so clear now?
Not long ago, hearing her say this would have been devastating. Now, these were just empty words, spoken in fear, in a desperate attempt to control him. She didn't know what Draco knew. She didn't know Harry loved him, despite everything. She didn't know Draco had friends who brought him biscuits and Butterbeers, who hugged him and teased him. She didn't know he was ready to become a stone statue and considered it a better fate than life in the Manor. She didn't know Draco's hands were meant to heal, not cause pain.
He stared at her. "And what terrible thing could Harry possibly do to me?" he asked. "Do you think he'll convince me to serve a madman who'll torture me for sport?"
That hit a nerve. As it should have. She recovered too quickly. "You're choosing this boy over your own father."
"I'm choosing not to have a guilty conscience the next time Father hurts someone. I have my own guilt to deal with; I don't need his too."
"So what now? What do you want? Are you here to question me like everyone else? And if I say I knew about this plan, then what? Will you run outside and tell them to lock me up too?"
She really believed that. She was hurt. Insulted. But that was good. If the idea Draco thought she was involved insulted her, then she really didn't know.
"I want you to stop defending him," he said.
She made an angry sound, a near hiss, but her eyes filled with tears. "But I'm the only one defending this family. I've been trying to keep us together. Save our reputation. Move forward. And you… You left, and he just kept drinking and complaining about the donations I wanted to make. He said I was throwing away his gold. But I've been trying. All along. I begged Potter to help him. Begged and pleaded, went down on my knees."
Draco closed his eyes. Harry never told him that. That was what got Harry to help Draco's father. Harry couldn't bear it and he promised to help.
"Do you know what Potter said to me?" she added. "He said that if we put just one toe out of line, he'd throw us right back into Azkaban. And here we are. Isn't that amusing?"
"You're here because Father betrayed you," he said. "Betrayed us. Can't you see that? Was he thinking of our family when he did this? Even his precious tree cast him away."
She made feeble attempts to wipe off her tears; her hands were shaking. "Draco," she said, pleading now, "if your father ends up in Azkaban, no one will ever speak to me again. They'll always wonder if I was involved. If you have wondered, so will everyone else. No one will want to have anything to do with me for fear of implicating themselves. You say he betrayed us, but now you're betraying me."
He took her hands in his. "No, Mother. I'm trying to help you. Listen, you don't have to stay here and endure. You can leave. Anywhere in the world you want. Start over. Somewhere where no one knows you."
More tears slid down her cheeks. "You're sending me away? You were supposed to come back home. Get your N.E.W.T.s and come back."
"I was never going to go back to the Manor. Do you really want to live there? With Father drunkenly trying to dodge any and all responsibilities? Always fighting about gold? Or now, alone in that horrible place?" He took a breath and held back his tears. "Or do you want to go somewhere warm and sunny? Live by the sea. It doesn't have to be forever, but for a time. Until things settle down. I'll visit. We'll Floo-call. We'll write letters. You can leave the Malfoy name behind if you're worried. Use your maiden name. Make friends. Make as many donations as you like. I'll arrange it so you can make withdrawals from anywhere. No limits. Do what you want. Buy what you want."
She stopped crying. She didn't expect that. The promise of gold calmed her down. Well, that was terrible. Though, perhaps understandable. She never had that freedom, never had unrestricted access. Every bigger withdrawal went through Father's hands and he always complained, always nagged about every coin spent unless it was his idea to spend it.
"I do like the sea," she said eventually. "We went so rarely."
"I know."
"You'll really visit? Not just once a year?"
"I'll visit."
"With Harry Potter in tow?"
"According to you, that won't last, so you hardly have to worry about it."
She looked away and sniffed. "I don't want you to be unhappy. The two of you hated each other. You made sure to tell us that on many occasions. I just don't see this ending well. I didn't say I want you to get hurt."
"I heard perfectly what you said."
She didn't look up at him.
"There is a condition to this," he added. She looked up at that. "Stop defending him."
She sniffed again, but she shrugged. "Well, I didn't know. It's just so terribly stupid of him, I was sure he'd been set up."
"No, not stupid," Draco said. "Cruel." You're cruel, too, he wanted to say, but didn't. He didn't want to think it either. He couldn't stand to lose her too. He kept remembering the way she screamed when Voldemort tortured him. She loved him. And she was trying, in her own way. But she was who she was. Raised rotten like Draco. Passed from one dark family to the next one.
He didn't linger long after that. He told her he'd get her released, set her up in a hotel, arrange everything, even though he wasn't sure if him saying she had nothing to do with this would be enough to get her released. But it was.
When Draco went back to the corridor and said he thought his mother knew nothing about the curse, Arthur Weasley nodded. "She was brought in because she confronted the Aurors when they came for your father. She was held back because they both gave the same story. No one has implicated her."
Arthur left to speak to the Aurors and Draco took Harry's hand.
"You all right?" Harry asked.
Draco shrugged. "I don't really know if she knew anything or suspected anything. Her best defence is that she thinks Father did a stupid thing. I suppose if she wanted to harm you, she'd do a better job. Quite a heart-warming thought."
"I think you're being a bit too harsh," Harry said, because of course he did. He had an image of his mother on her knees, begging him to help. "I'm aware she wouldn't have surrendered her husband to the Aurors herself if she found out something, but she does know how hard they screwed up, and she wanted to put it behind her. Unlike your father, she sacrificed her pride willingly. For her family. For you."
It did make Draco feel better to hear Harry speak kindly about her. He wished she'd spoken kindly about Harry. Maybe she would, given time. Maybe she would discover she was someone else, not just Mrs Lucius Malfoy. Just as Draco discovered he could be Draco. Just Draco. He was someone new now. Someone he could like.
"I didn't tell her about our marriage," Draco said, smiling because that thought kept making him smile. "I don't think she can handle it right now."
Harry shrugged. "I'll charm her. Put in a real effort. Can't have my mother-in-law hating me. How hard can it be?" His lips twitched. "I got you. Real easy, too."
"Well, damn," Draco groaned. "I inflated your ego. That's terrible."
Harry's eyebrows shot up. "I mean, did you see my husband? I fucking scored. Damn right, it's an ego boost."
Draco laughed, happy and light. "I got you easy, Potter. You were deprived and horny, and you gave it up after a little fondle. To your nemesis."
"It's adorable you think you were my nemesis."
Well, that was needlessly insulting. "I haunted your dreams. Admit it."
"You're right." Harry scrunched up his face in thought. "I did have a dream once where you beat me at Quidditch and caught the Snitch. The only time you actually managed."
Fucking hell. That was brutal. "I want a divorce."
"Denied." Harry wrapped his arms around him. "You can get a rematch. One-on-one. I'll even take off my glasses to keep us on equal footing."
"Oh, you fucker—" Draco shut him up with a forceful kiss.
Harry's hands stroked his back, and it struck Draco suddenly: this was his life now. Harry was his. Draco would spend the rest of his days wrapped up in Harry's embrace. All his dark thoughts fell away; there was nothing but light ahead.
A sudden, incredible, wonderful thought made him pull away.
"What?" Harry asked.
Draco studied Harry's face, golden in the torchlight, his green eyes shining. Draco's husband, warmth personified, all but glowing in a dark, cold corridor. "Let's not go back," Draco said. "We don't have to go back to Hogwarts. You'll be an Auror, no matter what, and I never needed to do the year again. We can still take our N.E.W.T. exams. We can study. But we don't have to go back. I don't want to wait to start our life together. I know you love Hogwarts and you'll miss your friends—"
"No, I—" Harry laughed. "I mean, yes, obviously, I love my friends and I'll miss them, but you're right. We don't have to go back to Hogwarts." The way he said it sounded like he had just realised it. His arms tightened around Draco. "I only came back because of the curse."
Was that magic in the air? Wrapping around Draco and making him catch his breath. "We'll find a place, rent something, whatever," Draco said, getting excited, a million plans in his head. "And we can go to the Hogwarts library on Saturdays, see your friends. Visit the Burrow. I'll charm the Weasleys, you'll see. And we can visit Teddy. I want to meet him. I was going to look after him if you—" He couldn't say it. "I would do it. He'd never want for anything. And I'd tell him everything I know about you."
Harry swallowed, nodding, his gaze soft. He looked overwhelmed. He looked in love.
"And down the line," Draco added, "we'll decide where we want to live. Anywhere you want. We can build a new house in your parents' village." The thought just occurred to Draco. He could do it. He had the gold now. He could build Harry a home he never had.
"You need to calm down and slow down," Harry said gently, still compulsively stroking Draco's back.
"No, I don't," Draco said with conviction. "See, it's official now. You're my priority. We're married. You're my family."
Harry's smile lit up the dark corridor. Lit up the whole world, Draco's entire future.
The row of torches exploded, one after the other, making them both jump.
Draco laughed, recovering from the surprise. "Did you do that, or did I?"
"I have no idea." Harry shook his head, grinning, and pulled him in for another kiss.
EPILOGUE
"I hate you," Ron cried as Harry ran past him.
Harry laughed and ran faster. If he tried, he'd pass Ron again. Really rub it in.
It was sweltering, the sun still high in the sky, sunrays hitting the small creek, making it glisten. Harry did a sharp turn, jumped over the makeshift bridge, and ran back towards Ron.
"Bloody chosen one!" Ron wiped his brow, panting, but found the time to flip off Harry from the other side of the creek as Harry went past him.
"Better hurry!" Harry yelled. "Or I'll catch you again."
He couldn't hear Ron's grumbling anymore, but in no time he reached the next crossing and went back.
Ron had already given up. Harry found him sprawled on the grass, arms wide. "I don't want to be an Auror," Ron told him. Third time today. It was an improvement. "If I don't pass the Endurance test, then it wasn't meant to be."
Harry shook his head and sat down next to him. He was a little tired himself. A quick Aguamenti Charm had water flowing from the tip of his wand into his mouth, and all over his face and hair. It was a terribly hot day.
"You'll pass the test," Harry said. "You just won't catch many Dark Wizards. Not if they run."
Ron waved his arms around. "I'll catch them with magic."
"If you say so."
Ron lifted up on his elbows. "Is that a dig at my N.E.W.T.s results?"
"How would that make sense? We don't have them yet. They're late, aren't they?" Harry wasn't terribly worried, but he wasn't not worried. If his marks weren't good, getting into the Auror Programme would feel like cheating. Not that Harry would refuse it, but well, it would be nice if he got everything right. Including these Endurance tests.
"I think I did all right," Ron said. Fourth time today. These statements were getting more frequent.
"You did fine," Harry said. Again. He considered Ron for a moment. "I mean, it doesn't matter, really. You do realise that? You want to be an Auror, you'll be an Auror. If you don't want it, you'll do something else. It's simple."
Ron squinted up at him. "Then why are you torturing me with this?"
"Company. I'd get bored otherwise."
Ron went back to staring up at the sky. "I mean, it's a bit of a let down, isn't it?" he asked.
"Yeah." Harry knew what Ron meant. Six Wizengamot members were arrested for promising Lucius Malfoy's solicitor they'd argue for Lucius's release in exchange for gold. It made Kingsley dig deeper. More Wizengamot members were under suspicion of taking bribes from other pure-bloods. Three more Aurors were arrested for tampering with the evidence. Several workers fired for abusing their positions.
And they thought the Ministry was cleaned up after the war. But no, it was a bottomless pit of corruption, with old arseholes stuck in their ways, and new, young arseholes hoping for riches and power.
"Doesn't it make you want to, I don't know, tell them to stuff it and give up?" Ron asked.
"Tell who to stuff it? Kingsley? He's the one who's trying." Harry ran a hand through his damp hair. "Look, I learned a few lessons. I know I have to be careful. I want to be more careful. And I know I have to keep my eyes open. I don't want to end up taking orders from a corrupt Ministry. And I want the training. I need it. And then… I guess we'll see. Maybe this was a turning point and Kingsley will weed out the bad eggs. Or maybe he'll need help and I can give it. Or… The thing is, I'm not opposed to saying screw it and just leave if nothing changes. I'm not going to waste my time and throw away my life for nothing. There are other ways to fight. So I'm not going to be upset if you say screw it and decide to do something else. Seriously, Ron, if your heart isn't in it… Don't do it for me. I'll be fine. I'll have a personal Healer at home. And I'll have said personal Healer's agent keeping an eye on me."
Ron laughed. "Daphne? You think Draco's forcing her into the Auror Programme?"
"Obviously. It's all a big ploy," Harry joked. It wasn't, of course. Daphne wanted to fight too, prove something, change the world. Oh, but she'd be Draco's little helper, no doubt, always pulling on Harry's sleeve, telling him not to be rash.
"I don't know, mate." Ron sighed and then got up. "I know I'm done. For today. Literally well done from this heat."
"All right." Harry got up too.
Ron stared at him. "Please Disapparate."
Harry shook his head.
"Aw, come on," Ron whinged. "You can't run back all the way to the cottage. It's not that near."
"That's the point." Harry was already warming up again.
"Do you know how many people will hex me if you collapse from the heat?"
Harry sighed inwardly. Five months of perfect health and everyone was still fussing.
"I wasn't defeated by the forces of darkness," Harry said grandly, turning away, "I won't be defeated by the sun."
"Yeah, you say that because you're not ginger!" Ron yelled after him. "The sun is a killer!" As Harry waved, Ron added, "Don't forget dinner!"
"Can't forget!" Harry yelled back, laughing. "We still can't cook!"
Harry picked up his pace, running uphill. Ron was a complainer; this wasn't that hard. It got easier every day.
He reached the cottage in no time. His heart skipped a beat when he saw it, small and peaceful on the top of the hill. Flowerbeds lined the path to the door and Harry smiled at them fondly. These were a fairly new addition. Not grown, but Conjured. They still looked nice. Homey.
The door was opened and Harry approached carefully, hand on his back pocket, just in case. Draco was at the kitchen counter, sitting on one of the barstools, with his back to the door. He threw Harry a look over his shoulder. "Oh, you're back." He grinned. He didn't turn around. There was something very suspicious about his posture.
Harry took another careful step forward and noticed a flash of pink half-hidden by Draco's arm.
Unbelievable. "Draco," Harry groaned. "Please tell me you didn't kidnap Teddy again."
"I would never!" Draco cried, turning around, and sure enough, there was Teddy on his lap.
Teddy clapped his hands and yelled, "Arry!"
"Hey, you." Smiling, Harry walked over and leaned in to kiss the top of Teddy's head, even as he glared up at Draco.
"I didn't kidnap him," Draco insisted as Teddy cried, "Ew! Wet!"
"Andromeda knows he's here," Draco added. "She'll stop by the Burrow later to collect him. And what happened last time was a complete misunderstanding. Now, where's my wet kiss?"
Harry studied Draco for a moment, assessing his story, but then leaned in and kissed his lips.
"Ew, you're wet," Draco said and Teddy laughed. "You need a shower, Potter."
Harry let his lips twist into a smirk. "I'll be right on it, Coco."
Draco hissed and Harry laughed. Really, Draco had only himself to blame for his unwelcomed nickname. He'd been chanting Draco, Draco, Draco at Teddy for weeks, and only co-co got stuck in Teddy's ears.
"Prize!" Teddy cried suddenly as his hair turned white-blond.
"Oh, you timed that perfectly," Draco said.
"Oh, yes!" Harry said after a beat, realising this was their planned surprise for when Harry came back home. "How shocking, how clever! Why, you look just like Coco."
"I swear to God, Potter." Draco glowered as Teddy preened. "And why are you so sweaty?" he added irritably. "You overdid it again. Go drink some water."
Harry sighed. "This is water. I drank. I sprinkled. I took breaks. I'm fine." He plastered a big grin on his face. "And we're yelling because we're happy Teddy's here."
Teddy giggled, and Draco looked somewhat chastised, though he mouthed, "Shower," at Harry and managed to make it look bossy.
With a shake of his head and a wry grin, Harry went to take a shower. He afforded himself another backwards glance. Draco whispered something at Teddy — definitely some ridiculous comment about Harry — and Teddy giggled. They were quite a pair now, with their identical white-blond hair. Andromeda would have a fit if she saw it. She was wary of Draco. She suffered too much loss and Draco was an unwelcome reminder. But Draco also sent his father to Azkaban and saved Harry's life. And there was no denying the fact that when Draco and Teddy first met, it was love at first sight. All Teddy had to do was reach up with his chubby little arms and smile, and Draco was absolutely smitten. Andromeda found it unfair to try and keep Draco away when he was ready to dedicate hours to Teddy's entertainment.
Even better, now Andromeda had to fight two people offering financial aid. They were definitely wearing her down.
Harry hurried to shower and change, eager to spend time with Draco and Teddy before they all went to the Burrow.
Teddy's hair was electric blue by the time Harry came back to the kitchen, or rather their sitting room. It was actually just one room that served as a kitchen, a dining space, and a sitting room. It was cramped, but it was cosy and theirs. It hadn't been easy to find a place to rent back in March, on such short notice. They learned about this cottage through Luna. Draco bought it outright because Harry got excited about it, since it was so close to the Burrow. They didn't really plan to live here forever. They'd likely need more space once they start their careers, and the Weasleys being within walking distance created some problems.
They got along reasonably well, all things considered, because everyone was making an effort, but Molly Weasley's way of making an effort meant she sometimes showed up unannounced, laden with food, trying to clean up their cottage, and Draco's way of making an effort was not hexing her when she did that. Harry made an effort to find a compromise and now they dined with the Weasleys twice a week and accepted a mountain of leftovers so Molly had no need to visit. Draco didn't like her overbearing nature, but he did like her cooking. And Molly liked that Draco always showed up with a bouquet of exotic flowers, and fancy, foreign chocolates.
It was a precarious truce, and Harry was forced to admit they'd all get along much better if they lived further apart.
The afternoon was spent playing an invented game of wizarding peekaboo, where Harry would hide under his Invisibility Cloak, and attack Teddy with tickles — and sometimes Draco too — while Teddy tried to catch him. Draco supposedly didn't like that game. He kept throwing Cushioning Charms everywhere, worried Teddy would bump against something and hurt himself or fall down, but he also laughed a lot because Teddy was having fun, and well, because Draco was very ticklish and was forced to laugh when Harry managed to sneak up on him.
Just as Draco caught Harry and wrapped his arms around Harry's invisible body, yelling, "Get him, Teddy!" someone knocked on the window. Seizing his chance while Draco was distracted, Harry wiggled away. His Invisibility Cloak slipped off.
"Arry!" Teddy yelled, clearly happy he could finally see him.
Laughing, Harry picked him up and twirled him around, as Draco went to open the window so a big brown owl could sweep inside. If Harry was not mistaken, it was carrying two envelopes with the Hogwarts seal.
The owl landed on the counter and stuck out its leg importantly.
"Teats!" Teddy yelled, and Harry and Draco both froze.
"Treats. He meant treats," Harry realised.
Draco snorted as he went to get the post, and Harry repeated, "Treats," at Teddy emphasising the r.
"Definitely our N.E.W.T. results," Draco commented.
"Hermione wanted us to open them together," Harry pointed out.
"Hermione is a busybody." Draco was already opening his envelope, but stopped when he saw Harry handing Teddy an owl treat. "No, no, he's too small!" he fretted. "It'll peck him!"
"It won't," Harry said calmly. "If it does, you'll heal him."
But the owl took the treat carefully from Teddy's hand and earned itself another. Teddy ruffled the owl's feathers, looking very proud of himself, but Draco relaxed only after the owl flew away. He sighed and opened his envelope, clearly nervous, making Harry nervous too. Draco would need excellent marks for his Healer training. Emerson Warwick already offered Draco an internship, which was, as Harry understood it, a very big deal, but Draco needed his N.E.W.T.s for the Healer Programme, and they even heard Warwick always demanded Outstanding marks from his intens. Although, he hadn't mentioned anything of the sort to Draco so they weren't really sure if Draco not getting Outstandings would be a problem or not.
Draco blew out a breath and smiled, and Harry relaxed.
"It's all O's, isn't it?" Harry grinned. "You nerd." But then he took a peek at the letter and realised it wasn't all O's.
"Oh," Teddy said, leaning in with Harry, as though inspecting the results himself.
"You got an E in Runes and an A in Arithmancy?" Harry sighed. "That's my fault, isn't it? Because you spent all those months worrying about me during those lessons."
Draco bristled. "Do I look like Hermione Granger to you? I don't even need those N.E.W.T.s for my Healer training. I wasn't going to waste my time on them. And I hate Arithmancy. It's boring and useless. And you're missing the most important thing. I got an Outstanding in Defence. Defence."
Harry allowed himself a proud smile. That was a good point. Harry had given Draco lessons in Defence Against the Dark Arts. Draco even managed to produce a Patronus — a big silver cat.
"That should be enough to impress Warwick," Harry said and leaned over Teddy's head to give Draco a quick kiss.
Draco looked quite pleased with himself. "Come on. Let's open yours." He didn't wait for Harry to agree and quickly ripped open the other envelope. He studied Harry's results with a frown.
Apprehensive now, Harry didn't dare to look. "What? Is it bad?" Damn it. Harry thought the examinations went fairly well. Probably not great in Transfiguration and Potions, but it surely wasn't too terrible. Draco gave him lessons too.
Draco sighed and showed Harry the results.
"Oh," Teddy said again, and he was actually very right. It was all O's. Nothing but O's. Even Potions.
"I predicted this," Draco said.
He did. Harry should have believed him. All the examiners seemed much too excited to meet Harry.
"We can never, ever show this to Hermione," Harry said. She'd be outraged. It was blatant favouritism.
"And you said we should open them together," Draco scoffed. "You have to learn to listen to your husband."
Harry's grin matched Draco's. God, they were married for more than five months now and it was still an incredible novelty.
"Prize!" Teddy yelled and his hair turned white-blond again.
Realising they'd been neglecting him, Harry and Draco hurried to praise him with oooohs! and ahhhhs! and Harry spun Teddy around and lifted him high in the air. "Want to go flying?" he asked. Dinnertime was getting near and one of the best parts of living in the cottage was the fact they could jump on their brooms and fly to the Burrow.
"Yes!" Teddy said as Draco complained, "Oh, come on. I never get to take him flying," which was objectively a blatant lie.
"That's because you're too slow," Harry said anyway and took out his wand to Summon his Firebolt.
It took Draco a while to gather the obligatory presents for Molly and pack up some of Teddy's things. Harry and Teddy were waiting for him outside, flying over the treetops, looping and diving and spinning as much as Harry wanted without Draco around to scold him.
Draco walked out with a backpack slung over his shoulders and squinted up at them, shielding his eyes from the sun.
"Where's your broom?" Harry yelled.
"Can't find it," Draco yelled back.
Right. "And if I Summon it?"
"Go on." Draco grinned. He must have done something to it and it wouldn't work.
Shaking his head, Harry descended. "Smartarse," he accused.
"Arse!" Teddy agreed.
Damn it. "Smarty-pants," Harry said hastily. "Draco is such a smarty-pants, isn't he?"
"Arse!" Teddy argued.
"Just ignore it," Draco whispered as he climbed up on the Firebolt behind Harry. "He'll forget." He batted Harry's hand off the handle so he could be the one who'd steer. Harry relented and tickled Teddy for a bit so he'd stop chanting arse.
"Hey," Draco said in Harry's ear, and Harry turned his head to look at him. "Let's not stay long. I got some… plans for later."
"Oh, do you?" Judging by the way Draco's lips curved, Harry was sure he could guess the general idea of his plans. Although, there had to be more to it. Something new Draco thought of. He did that a lot. "Okay. We'll cut it short," Harry said. That earned him a couple of quick kisses. Whatever it was, Draco was rather excited about it. And now Harry was too.
It wasn't easy to cut the visit short. Hermione showed up because she got her N.E.W.T.s results too — a long column of Outstandings, of course, just like Harry, though they didn't tell her that. Andromeda came to collect Teddy and had promptly joined them all for dinner. Molly was very pleased with Ron's N.E.W.T.s (no O's but lots of E's and he passed them all) and she cracked open a bottle of wine, so the whole thing turned into a celebration.
When Draco's hand ended up stroking Harry's left thigh underneath the table, Harry knew it was time to leave. Draco didn't do it to entice him or remind him of his promise. Harry had realised months ago Draco stroked Harry's thigh when he got restless or overwhelmed. It seemed to bring him comfort and soothe his nerves. His evening plans must have been more serious than Harry had imagined.
It took nearly another half an hour to say their goodbyes, as they had to wait for Molly to pack them a mountain of leftovers. The trip back was quick, but when they were nearing the cottage, Draco shot up high in the air.
"I thought you were in a hurry to get back," Harry yelled, laughing, as wind whistled in his ears.
"Yeah, but flying makes you randy," Draco yelled back. "Like I don't know. You deviant."
That was possibly a little true. Always was, but even more so when the two of them flew together like this.
"You need me randy for these plans?" Harry asked.
"I always need you randy," Draco assured him and swooped down, twisted them around and shot up again.
They were breathless and windswept when they got back to the cottage. As always, Draco beat him to the bathroom, which was unfair as his evening routine took much longer than Harry's. He had a lot of fancy potions he applied to his skin after showering, claiming it was necessary because his skin got dry and was prone to redness if he wasn't careful with it. That was one of many things Harry learned about Draco since they were living together.
He also learned Draco could be a mean, cranky horror in the morning, always waking up starving, and he'd morphed back into a human being only after a good meal and a strongly brewed, disgustingly sweet tea. That was a side of him he had kept hidden back in Hogwarts.
Another thing Harry learned was that Draco cared a lot about gold, though he tried not to show it. He'd been in some kind of frenzy for two months when he first got unrestricted access to the Malfoy vault as the chosen head of the family. He seemed determined to spend it, doing all but literally throwing it away. Owls carrying letters with requests for donations that used to arrive at the Manor now came directly to Draco, and he'd always pledge to donate ridiculous amounts without even reading the letters. He'd given loans to Pansy and Blaise, though they could hardly be called loans when no contracts were signed. Pansy and Blaise immediately broke off their engagement and decided to stay in Britain. They were outrageously sweet to Harry whenever they'd meet up. Draco literally bought their kindness.
But then, one day, Daphne dragged Harry and Draco to meet her uncle, and Draco spent two full hours locked up with him in his study. Afterwards, Draco changed his tune. He carefully read every letter requesting donations, looked into the charity's finances, and made sure his gold would reach the right hands. He paid more attention to existing family investments and made new ones, with Daphne's uncle as his advisor in all of it. Harry was relieved because he was afraid Draco would empty the vault in the name of rebellion and then come to regret it later.
The only problem now was that Harry had to be very careful when they talked about gold because if he inadvertently used the phrases "Malfoy gold" or "your gold," Draco would instantly get annoyed and sometimes sulked for hours. "Our gold!" he'd cry. "We're married! It's ours!"
God forbid Harry mentioned wanting something, whether small and cheap, or extravagant and pricey. Draco would instantly Disapparate and return with the item in seconds. It was both charming and extremely annoying. Harry wished he could prove to Draco that he didn't have to fulfil his every whim. It didn't help that a part of Harry secretly enjoyed Draco's unfailing dedication to keeping Harry well and truly pampered. Up until just a few months ago, if someone had told Harry he'd enjoy such a thing, he'd probably be insulted by the suggestion. But back then he didn't know a person could feel so loved.
When Harry was finished in the bathroom, still drying his hair with his wand, he found Draco on the bed, hastily putting away a piece of parchment. Curious, but knowing it was wiser not to mention it, Harry plopped onto the bed beside Draco with a grin.
"So, what's the big plan?" he asked, excited. He always liked Draco's plans.
"Uh, well." Draco shrugged. "I thought I'd fuck you for an hour or two."
Harry laughed. "How shocking."
It wasn't shocking, but it was a little unusual.
Harry had learned another interesting thing about Draco — he really, really loved having Harry's cock up his arse. He'd demand it, beg for it, so often and with so much fervour, he got Harry obsessing about it. And Draco would let go completely in those moments. It didn't matter how they did it — Harry could have Draco on his knees, on his back, on his stomach, or bent over a piece of furniture — Draco loved it all. And if Harry restrained Draco's wrists and praised him for taking it so well, Draco was truly lost.
But then sometimes, Draco would get into these moods. There was usually a trigger, according to Harry's speculations. Something that set off Draco's possessive gene and sent his mind into overdrive. Sometimes it happened because Harry got accosted by too many fans on the street, or if he had a quick pint with Ginny in the Leaky, and once even when Pansy and Blaise went over the top with their nice behaviour and said their goodbyes by kissing Harry's cheek. Other times it wasn't about jealousy, but Harry expressing — inadvertently — a need to be comforted. Oh well, sometimes Harry did do it deliberately, if he felt like getting buggered. It wasn't exactly hard to get Draco in that mood. Just a bit inconvenient sometimes. Because then Harry would end up with a sore arse and a melted brain that wouldn't stop reliving the experience for hours the next day. Because Draco wasn't kidding about fucking Harry for an hour or two. He was so damn impatient normally, but this was where he took his sweet time, taking Harry apart with his fingers and tongue and his cock. Harry could make it last when he did it to Draco, but Draco went to impossible, insane lengths. Teasing Harry mercilessly, taking actual breaks, make Harry shudder with Draco's cock buried deep in his arse for far too long. If Harry did that to Draco, he'd get himself hexed.
But Harry loved it when Draco did it to him, loved desperately waiting for those blissful moments when Draco would twitch his hips and fuck him so good before stopping and making Harry wait again.
It was beautiful and exhausting, and now Harry had to mentally prepare himself for it, and even though he was already getting hard just thinking about it, it was also a bit worrying because Draco had made this request for the third night in a row.
And Harry had no idea what triggered it. The last few days were fairly uneventful.
Draco quirked an eyebrow. "You ready for it?"
"Yeah," Harry said, because he was ready, physically. That was just the reality of the act. Some preparation in the form of cleansing charms was needed and Harry had dutifully performed them, half-anticipating this turn of events by the way Draco had gripped him around the waist when they were up in the air earlier.
"Presumptuous." Draco grinned, clearly pleased.
Oh, this would be a long night.
And yet Harry still didn't know what triggered this rush of possessive emotions that had Draco in their grip for days. Maybe it was something internal. Draco's brain went on strange tangents sometimes that Harry found hard to follow.
Or…
"What's that?" Harry asked, glancing at the folded piece of parchment on the bedside table. He knew it was better not to ask because Draco was a giant tease, and Harry showing too much interest in something could make Draco withhold information for even longer than planned. But Harry was too damn curious.
"Uh." Draco glanced at the parchment too. "That's for later."
Oh was it now? Later, when Draco turned Harry's brain to mush. Well, that was devious.
"If it's something important, you sure you want to do it like that?" Harry asked.
"I am."
They stared at each other.
Eventually, Draco rolled his eyes and huffed. Then he seemed to get an idea. "You want some alcohol?"
"No," Harry said slowly, very intrigued now. "Draco, come on."
And now, for the first time, Harry realised Draco was actually nervous. Fidgety. It was hard to tell if Draco was nervous before and Harry failed to notice, or if this was some sort of culmination of whatever Draco was obsessing about. And he was definitely obsessing about something.
Draco gave Harry a sideways glance. "You can't laugh. It would kill me if you laugh. It would actually kill me dead. I need you to know that."
Oh God. Harry feared Draco was serious. Could be Draco got himself worked up over something Harry would never laugh about, or could be it was something potentially funny, in which case Harry could fuck up spectacularly.
Though, if Draco was this worried about it, there was little chance it was a laughing matter, surely.
"I won't laugh," Harry promised solemnly, determined to keep a straight face no matter what happened.
Draco was unconvinced and hesitant, but he reached for that mysterious piece of parchment and fiddled with it. "It's my application form. For the Healer Programme." He handed it to Harry.
Carefully, Harry took it, bewildered. What could possibly be funny about that? If anything, it was a bit anticlimactic.
Draco squirmed again. "I need your help with it."
All right. That was a little funny. Draco was the one who had filled out Harry's form for the Auror Programme because he claimed Harry had done a terrible job of it.
Aware he was in some dangerous territory, Harry nodded and unfolded the form. Expectedly, it was filled out very neatly and professionally, and Harry could not see where and why his input would be needed.
"Er, this looks perfect," Harry said carefully. "And I thought you filled this out weeks ago?"
"There's an unanswered question," Draco said, somewhat irritable.
Was there? Harry looked back at the form. He couldn't find it.
"Up top," Draco gritted out.
Up top? There was nothing up top except general information about the applicant— Oh, there was an empty box.
Harry determinedly kept his expression impassive. This was some kind of joke he wasn't getting.
Very carefully, he asked, "You need help remembering your name?"
Oooh, that was too much sarcasm; Draco didn't look happy. But this made no sense. It had to be a joke. Why would Draco—?
One strange possibility flitted through Harry's mind, but he squashed it. That was surely wrong. "I'm sorry. I don't get it," he said.
Draco's cheeks were beginning to get that pink hue Harry normally loved, but now it worried him.
"It's…" Draco took a breath. "You know how you said… I mean, we changed your name in the marriage records—"
Oh God. Harry stopped breathing.
"—and I absolutely support that decision," Draco went on, talking fast now. "But I did like that we had the same last name. And it's just, it occurred to me, we can make a different choice. We have a choice. Another option. Another surname we could both use."
Harry looked down at the form and the little empty box where Draco wanted to write… "You want to—" It was obvious what Draco wanted, but Harry still didn't dare to say it.
"I want to write Draco — don't laugh — Potter."
"I'm not laughing," Harry said, forcing himself to say it as quickly as he could. He understood now why Draco was so worried. It wasn't funny, but it wasn't… It was strange. "I mean, are you—" He glanced at Draco and found him wide-eyed, holding his breath. God, Draco was honestly terrified of Harry's reaction. "Are you sure?" Harry asked as gently as he could. "I mean, what if you regret it? Did you think—"
"You think it's weird," Draco concluded.
"No. No, I—" Damn it. "I just— I met you as Draco Malfoy. I've always known you as Draco Malfoy. I fell in love with—"
"Me. Draco."
"Well, yes, but— The Malfoy name can mean something different now. It already does."
"Not to me." Draco shifted so he could face Harry more directly. "Look, come September, I'm starting my Healer training. I'll have classes and my internship. I'll meet a whole bunch of new people. It feels like the beginning of a new life. And in that life, I don't want to be Mr Malfoy. Because that's my father. It would always be my father. Every time I hear it, I'll think of him. And… Mr Potter, well, that will make me think of you. My husband, who I'll barely see because you're starting your Auror Programme—"
"Don't say that. It's not true. We'll be busy, I know, but—"
"I'm not being dramatic or regretful, I'm just stating facts. We want what we want, and we made our decisions, and the reality is we'll have our studies and training and night shifts and overtime… So, yes, there'll be days when we'll hardly see each other. And I want that connection when I'm out there doing my separate thing."
That sounded like a really good argument. They were living in a peaceful, happy bubble now and things would soon change, and this could be a nice daily reminder.
"The Malfoys are finished," Draco added. "I'm not crying about it. It's not who I am anymore. I'm Draco. And I'm proud of that. And being Mr Potter… Healer Potter. That's a bonus. A little thrill I want to have because I can."
It made sense to Harry. It did. Parts of that explanation were beautiful. But other parts… Other parts were sad. Draco lost too much. His father was locked up in Azkaban, and his mother was travelling all around the globe, introducing herself as Cissy Black. The Manor was already decaying, turning into a haunted ruin. And Draco kept insisting he didn't care. Good riddance to all of it, he liked to say. But he didn't mean it, Harry knew. Draco wanted to move on and start a new life, but he needed a link to his old life too. A reminder of the good parts that he was afraid to love and miss. Just like he was afraid to admit he wanted to go to Azkaban and see his father. He kept vehemently arguing he never wanted to see him again, but Harry would catch him sometimes, toying with the cufflinks his father had given him for Christmas, staring at them with yearning.
Harry didn't want to push Draco if he wasn't ready to see his father, but he also wanted to make it clear Draco had his support if he ever decided to visit. Finding a balance there wasn't easy. But this? Their married names? This was much easier.
"No," Harry said. The clear hurt in Draco's expression had him hurrying to explain. "Malfoys aren't finished. I have one right here and he saved my life. That's what the name Malfoy means to me. It means I get to have a life I almost gave up on. A life I never imagined having. I love my life. And I love you, all of you. And I love your name, your whole name. And I want the thrill you mentioned. I want to hyphenate. Potter-Malfoy, Malfoy-Potter, whatever. But that's what I want."
Draco's gaze turned soft. It took him a few moments to speak. "No, you don't. Come on. You don't want my father's name. He tried to murder you, for fuck's sake."
"Your father's name is Lucius. When I think of Malfoy, I think of you. I always think of you."
Draco shook his head. "We went to the Ministry to change your last name back to Potter. That's what you wanted. And that's fine. I don't mind."
"All right, yes, it's what I wanted. It was a shock, initially, I admit that. But now that you explained why you want my last name, I— I changed my mind. I like what you said. And combining our last names, that's different than just taking yours. It didn't really occur to me before. But I like it."
"You're being impulsive. And… it's cumbersome. It sounds like a roll call. Or like we're getting scolded. Potter, Malfoy! Detention!"
Harry laughed. "But that's brilliant. I love it. And I want it. I'm starting a new career and a new life too. I want this connection, something to take with me."
Draco bit his lip. "Everyone will hate it."
"Who's everyone? Our friends? We're Harry and Draco to them. My fans?" He snorted. "They're already heartbroken, poor things."
"Your colleagues."
"If it bothers them that I fell in love and married a person who saved my life, and then did what a bunch of married people do, then they can fuck right off."
Draco stopped listing arguments and stared instead, speechless, so Harry took out his wand to Summon his Auror application form, then reached for the quill on the bedside table.
"Go on," he said, offering the quill and the forms to Draco.
After a beat, Draco took them. His movements were slow and hesitant, but he filled out the little empty box on his form with Draco Potter-Malfoy. He gave Harry a sideways glance. "That order all right? You're right here between me and my last name. It's symbolic and whatnot."
Harry laughed. "All right."
Draco unfolded Harry's form too, the tip of his quill hovering next to the words Harry Potter.
"Go on," Harry said again, and Draco carefully added a hyphen and Malfoy. Then he stared at it for far too long.
Harry poked him in the ribs.
Draco smiled and gave Harry another soft look. His eyes were a bit red. "I like it," he said. "I like it a lot. It looks good."
"Yeah." Harry liked it too. He adored seeing how much it meant to Draco. "We have to change it in the registry," he added. "Make it official. We'll go first thing tomorrow."
"Uh-oh." Draco shook his head. "Not tomorrow. You won't be able to walk tomorrow."
"Why— Oh." Harry burst out laughing.
"Me neither, probably."
"Really? That's ambitious."
Draco nodded sagely. "It's going to be a very long night."
"Well, I do need to be in good shape for my Endurance test," Harry said. "I could use a good workout."
"Oh? Noted. We'll cover all the major muscle groups."
"I don't think you realise how many major muscle groups there are."
Draco set aside the forms and the quill and then shifted closer. His hand snuck down to Harry's left thigh, caressing, massaging, sliding upwards. "I don't think you realise how turned on I am right now."
"Yeah?" Harry leaned in too, captured Draco's bottom lip between his lips, swept over it with his tongue, and then bit down on it lightly before releasing it. "How about now, Mr Potter-Malfoy?"
Draco's gaze darkened.
It was, indeed, a very long night.
Notes:
See you again in 10 years? I'm kidding. I don't know. This was fun and you guys are amazing. I'll probably go and read some new fics now, see what I missed.
My tumblr is here: faith2wood. I don't actually use it much, but that's where I'd make an update about any potential new fic or something I've read. Or if you have a question, you can reach me there. ❤️
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