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Chapter Text

They sat next to each other in a double seat facing the direction of travel. It would have looked odd for two blokes to be seen sitting pressed together at one of the tables. Draco didn’t even complain about the lack of space. He seemed to be in a kind of trance. He didn’t say anything, just held onto Harry’s arm so strongly it nearly hurt, blankly staring at the passing scenery. Harry didn’t mind; he wouldn’t know what to talk about, anyway. It should have been awkward, but he couldn't bring himself to care, somehow. He kept touching his forehead because his scar was gone. It was gone! And now that he wasn’t being chased through a forest, he realised he felt… different. Lighter, more comfortable, and more centred at the same time. But that could just be the connection he felt with Draco. It had moved from his gut upwards towards his breastbone. When he closed his eyes, it was there. Warm, pulsing, nestled between his ribs. It felt weird and unfamiliar.

After a good while, Draco’s grip relaxed and he sat upright, straightening his back. His eyes cleared and his mouth gained a determined cast. He looked up, his gaze boring into Harry’s as if to communicate something. Harry had no idea what it was suposed to be.

“Where are we going now?” Draco asked calmly.

Harry 's eyebrows lifted. He'd expected complaining, berating or even outright hostility, but never this level of cool-headed practicality. He hadn’t even thought about the next step.

“Well, we can’t get to Hogwarts on our own,” he mused. “I don’t know where Hedwig is, but when we stay somewhere long enough, she might catch up and we could contact Dumbledore.”

Ah, there it was, that familiar twist of mouth. “Yes, I suppose we should contact the old coot," Draco said, as if forcing down some unpalatable canapé.

“Hey! Don’t talk about him like that!” Harry barked, indignation rising instatnly.

Draco let go of his arm abruptly. Harry told himself he didn’t miss the warmth of his touch on his skin.

“I talk about him however I like, Potter. It’s not like he ever did anything for me or my family. Or any Slytherin, for that matter,” Draco spat.

“You make it sound like he hated all Slytherins or something," Harry said with a private roll of eyes.

“Well, you would definitely think he did, from the way he so blatantly favours Gryffindors. At first, I thought he was just doing it to curry your favour, but Father said he’s been like that from the start,” Draco said.

“He doesn’t ‘blatantly favour Gryffindor’,” Harry protested weakly.

How they had gone from happily munching chocolate and huddling together to arguing in a minute, Harry had no idea. Malfoy was just so... so...

“Oh, come now, don’t make me laugh. He literally gave you just enough points to win the house cup nearly every year. What else would you call that?”

“Those points were deserved! And Snape takes away so many of Gryffindors points for no reason at all, it’s only fair we get…”

“Don’t you dare talk to me about fairness, Potter!” Draco hissed. He twisted in his seat to get as far away from Harry as the armrest would allow and glared at him. Something inside Harry trembled.

“You have no idea what it’s like to live in that school and get sideway glances whenever you set foot out the common room door! The only places we can relax are our own dormitories! It’s bad enough the other pupils treat us like a pest of sewage grindylows, but Snape is the only teacher who’s on our side! If you think for a minute that I will respect a man who turns a blind eye when children are being bullied whose only crime is belonging to the wrong house, you are clearly deranged!”

“That’s rich, you talking about bullying,” Harry wanted to say, but he was distracted by a flattering in his ribcage that felt really very odd. Initially, he thought it was his temper getting the best of him, but the feeling wasn’t quite sharp enough to be anger.

Before he could think of a proper response, Draco turned away, hunching back in on himself.

“And now I…” Draco swallowed hard. “I won’t even belong there anymore.” His voice was barely a whisper. “They won’t take me back. Professor Snape won’t protect me. It’s my own fault for getting into this mess. And Mother…” Draco choked. Was he sobbing?

Harry’s heart clenched when he realised what situation Draco was in. He couldn’t go back home. And he couldn’t go back to the way he was at Hogwarts, either. It wasn’t anger Harry felt inside his chest. It was abject misery. He touched Draco’s hand, or tried to, but Draco whirled around and pulled his arm away sharply. His eyes widened as he took in Harry's expression and then narrowed to sharp slits, oozing cold hostility.

“I don’t need your pity, Potter," draco spat in face and drew himself up in his seat. “You never even knew your parents. You grew up with those filthy muggles, who treated you like a house elf. The only home you have ever known is that horrible school and you threw yourself at Dumbledore at the very first sign he would give you even a little bit of love and attention. How starved for it you had to be. Poor little Potter, abandoned by his closest family," he mocked in a high sing-song. "But I am Draco Ignatius Abraxus Malfoy, thirty-seventh of my line. I will see this whole thing through and come out with my head held high. We will talk to Dumbledore. I am your Bonded now. He has no choice but to accept me, and then we’ll see. Yes, then we will see...”

Draco's eyes were fixed on something beyond his vision, glittering with determination.

Harry should be furious. He wanted to be furious. But Draco had been talking more to himself than to Harry, there at the end, and – it was somehow easier to see him condescending than… how he had been before. Dejected. Miserable. Also, Harry really didn’t want to fight. It made something inside him shrivel, so he let it go. Sitting back, he considered their possibilities.

“We could go back to Little Whinging, I suppose. The Dursley’s are on holiday, so the house is empty,” he said. “Or maybe we could stay at a motel.”

“I am not setting foot in another muggle house if my life depends on it,” Draco said. Perking up, he added: “What about Nocturne Alley? I know an inn, there.”

“Are you mad? That place is crawling with people who would turn us over in a second.”

Draco hummed. Harry briefly thought of the Phoenix Headquarters, but Professor Dumbledore was secret keeper, so he wouldn’t be able to take Draco inside before contacting him, anyway.

“We could always go to Ron’s,” he mused.

Draco opened his mouth and closed it a second later. Whatever he’d been going to say, he had evidently thought better of it. Eventually, he shrugged. “It can’t be worse than your uncle’s miniature hovel, although I am not keen on being trampled by a horde of Weasleys.”

They discussed it for another five minutes, but everyone Draco knew wasn’t safe and Harry had no idea where any of his other friends lived. They’d both had enough of Hermione’s prodding the last time around, so the Burrow it was.

“They live in Devon,” Harry said.

“And we will be using muggle transportation?” Draco guessed, making a face.

“Well, I suppose. It’s quite late already and it probably takes about three hours to get there by train. We could always take the floo, but I’m sure most public grates in London are being watched now that we’ve gone missing.”

“Oh joy,” Draco sighed.

Getting off at Swindon, they went back the other way. Harry bought new tickets. They had to go all the way down to Fentonville but they were at least lucky enough to catch the last train connection. Harry spent their forty-minute wait in Bristol fretfully looking out the window of the waiting area while Draco inspected the vending machines and flyer racks.

“Muggles are such odd creatures,” he announced, sitting down with enough reading material to cover the next five hours.

###

They didn’t talk much sitting on the train to Devon. Harry was exhausted now that the adrenaline was starting to wear off. Building that wall back up had been draining enough on his magic, but that awful chest injury afterwards had really taken its toll. His chest hurt just thinking about it. His body was heavy and slow and if he weren’t so tired and his head feeling so mushy, he would probably worry more about what had happened during the last few hours. As it was, he just tried not to fall asleep in his seat.

Draco sat next to him staring out the window. Harry had the bizarre impulse to take his hand, to see how it felt, but the way Draco had reacted earlier gave him pause. He had pitied him, just for a moment, and Draco had instantly turned on him. He hadn’t said things that hurtful to Harry in a while. Harry wouldn’t be surprised if that were the approach Malfoy had learned from his father – hiding insecurity behind cutting remarks. Antagonising people before they could see your weakness. It had worked brilliantly over the years, ever since Harry had first met him. Hadn’t it been that way from the start? He looked over at Draco’s reflection. His face was pale and his lips stood out. His eyes seemed darker that they should be. Was he thinking of his mother? His father? His hair was curled inwards at the nape and his collar was dirty from sweating and his cravat was creased. The sleeves of his shirt were wrinkled where he had pulled them up while they’d worked on the wall. The legs of his trousers where sprinkled with mud. All in all, he looked exceedingly dishevelled for a Malfoy.

'Beautiful,' Harry’s mind supplied traitorously.

All at once, Draco’s eyes moved to meet his' in the window. Harry couldn’t look away.

Malfoy slowly turned around and looked at him full on, a little crease between his brows. Otherwise his skin was smooth, except for a small cut on his cheekbone. Probably from one of the twigs when they’d raced through the trees. Harry stared at it. It shouldn't bee there, it didn't fit Draco's face at all. He gradually lifted his arm, so as not to startle Draco and touched his cheek with his right index finger, gently. He didn’t have to concentrate at all for the mark to gradually fade away. Then it was gone. Harry moved his finger along the delicate bone towards Draco’s ear. His skin was soft and warm, as if to spite Draco's cool demeanor. The tip of his ear was faintly pink. Harry cupped his face. His eyes fell to Draco's lips. They were thin and red. Malfoy moved towards him by increments. His breath warmed Harry’s skin along his neck. He didn’t dare move at all. He closed his eyes.

Something shifted and then he saw himself with his arm raised, but at the same time it didn’t look like himself at all. This person’s skin was flushed and more luminous somehow, his eyelashes were much too dark, and surely his hair wasn’t that shiny. His lips never looked as full when he saw himself in a mirror, either. He opened his mouth experimentally and suddenly he couldn’t see anything anymore, but he felt. Soft lips, the tip of a tongue against his lower lip – or was it Draco’s lip? His insides lurched and his skin prickled. Kissing had been incredible before, but this. This was unlike anything he’d ever known. Draco moved and he moved. One of them made a small noise and then it was tongues stroking and lips crashing and hands pulling. He was burning.

A quiet rasping sound startled him into opening his eyes.

“Excuse me boys, just moving through,” a high-pitched voice sounded.

Harry could just make out a dark coat moving past the edge of his vision. Draco flew away from him and turned around to look out the window again. Harry twisted to watch the woman close the door of the apartment. He relaxed, stealing a glance at Draco. The skin at the back of his neck was flushed and his shoulders moved with rapid breaths. Harry wanted to do it again. His mind played the scene over and over. It couldn’t be… that was how Malfoy saw him, could it? That dark, alluring figure with roguishly tousled hair and rounded lips? He blushed. Unthinkable.

“Uh, I’ll just… go find the loo,” he spluttered and got up.

Without another look back, he fairly sprinted towards the end of the carriage and shot through the door. He was just closing it behind him, when he noticed the woman in the dark coat leaning against the opposite wall, watching him. Her small, purple hat was slightly tilted, sitting atop mousy grey hair.

“Good evening,” she nodded at him brusquely. “Nice weather for a late outing, isn’t it?”

She fixed him with blue, steely eyes.

“Uh, uhm… yes, very mild out,” Harry stammered.

He blushed, unnerved by her direct staring. When he strode past her, he imagined seeing her hide something in the inner pocket of her coat. However, when he slowed to cast a surreptitious glance back, she was just pulling on a glove. Probably getting off at the next stop.

He shook his head slightly. He was just being paranoid.

###

When they got off the train at last, it was pitch dark beyond the puddles of light underneath the streetlamps. Draco turned towards him and arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

“Well? Which way do we go?” he asked a little impatiently.

“Ahhhh…” Harry said.

Draco groaned. “Please tell me you know where we’re going,” he said.

“Ah, well. I. I only ever went to Ron’s place by floo.” And by flying car, Harry thought, but didn’t say.

“Merlin give me strength,” Draco murmured. “It’s my fault. I was lulled into believing you had a brain underneath that nest you call hair. I should have known better. We could have done this from the start!” He reached into his pocket and pulled out something shiny. It was his mother’s pearls. “Now, give me your hand,” he demanded imperiously, holding out his arm.

“Uh, Why?” Harry asked.

The second eyebrow joined the first. “Do you want to stumble around the countryside in the dark, hoping for the best, or would you actually like to arrive before sunrise?” Draco retorted snidely. “I’d like to get a few hours of sleep in and maybe change out of these disgusting clothes if it’s all the same to you.”

Then is face fell comically. He looked at Harry, eyes widening.

“Oh no!” He gasped in horrified tones. “I haven’t… I haven’t packed anything!” He clutched the necklace in his fist. “I’m not fit to be seen like this! I didn’t take a single shirt! I mean, of course I didn’t- it’s not like I expected to need a full wardrobe for a bit of cleaning up the estate walls, but… I don’t even have a change of….”

He trailed off.

Harry was torn between laughing and reaching out to comfort him. Draco seemed genuinely distressed at his lack of resources of proper attire, visiting the Weasley’s, of all people. Leave it to a Malfoy to stay absolutely calm in the face of a horde of death eaters with their terrifying spectral hounds and lose their composure over a rumpled shirt.

“Can’t you conjure a shirt, or something?” Harry asked.

“Conjure…? A Shirt!” Draco spluttered. “Do you know what it takes to get an Armenian Hornsnail Silk Shirt like this?”

“Uhhhm…”

“Obviously you don’t, that was a rhetorical question!” Draco hissed. “You couldn’t afford a handkerchief made of this material, let alone a whole set of robes.”

Harry elected not to tell him about his vault full of coins just yet. Instead he smirked viciously and said slowly: “I am sure you can have one of Ron’s..."

Draco looked about ready to faint. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He looked like a fish. Like a very pale, very terrified fish, who just found out he had to visit a fairy princess who lived fifty miles from shore and had a liking for skewered sea creatures.

“It’ll be alright,” Harry said. “Let’s just get there first and then maybe your mum can send you a set.”

Draco’s mouth snapped shut. “Don’t be idiotic, Potter. I can’t make my mother vulnerable by telling her where we are. Use your brain- ah, I forgot. You don’t have one.”He sighed in an exaggerated manner. “No. I’ll have to think of something.” Then he took Harry’s hand in his, clasping the pearls in the other. “I’m going to apparate us. But you have to be the link. Think about where you want to go. Picture it in your mind, very clearly. Don’t think of anything else!”

“Apparate? You can apparate?” Harry stared at him. “But you are underage!”

“Of course I can apparate. I was taught by my Father when I was twelve. I can’t normally use it, because of the trace, but these are my Mother’s Providing Pearls. Now shut up and concentrate.”

He closed his eyes and after a few seconds, Harry did the same.

Draco’s hand in his felt nice. Comfortable. He wondered what it would feel like, sleeping in the same bed, the way they were now.

“Ready?” Malfoy asked.

“No, wait, just a minute,” Harry said.

He could feel Draco rolling his eyes.

Harry tried to block out Draco’s skin on his. First, he pictured the kitchen, with it's warm and welcoming clutter, but then he thought it might be a bit impolite to simply barge in like that, so he pictured Arthur’s shed, instead. The wooden walls, the Muggle scraps decorating every surface…

“Ready,” he breathed.

Chapter Text

It was just as bad as the first time he had been side-alonged by Professor Dumbledore. At first there was a twisting sensation, starting from his arm connected to Draco. Then everything went dark and a sudden weight pushed at his body from all sides at once. His eyes and ears were pressed into his skull and he couldn’t breathe at all. At last they were spat out underneath the open sky on a stretch of wet marshland.

Harry doubled over and would have fallen if Draco had not pulled him upright.

“Ugh, where are we?” Draco demanded and cast a Lumos. He lifted his foot. His shoe and trousers where sodden up to mid-calf. “Now that’s just great. Couldn’t you at least get us somewhere dry, if not somewhere inside?”

Harry touched his head and inspected his eyes with his fingers. He was half convinced they’d changed shape.

“Potter!” Draco hissed. “Where are we?”

Harry looked up. They were surrounded on all sides by tall grasses, and he couldn’t make out anything beyond. “I think we are behind the house,” he said slowly and started walking forwards.

“Are you sure?” Draco asked. He looked around sceptically. “Who cultivates marshes in their back garden? Ugh, it’s revolting. My shoes are ruined!”

Harry ignored him and kept walking. After a minute he stumbled onto dry ground and when he parted the next patch of grass, he could see the outlines of a small building.

“That’s the shed!” he announced. “This is where I was trying to go,” he added sheepishly.

“Well, either your sense of direction needs serious improving, or your good friends, the Weasleys, have warded you out of their property.”

“Nah, I don’t think that’s it. Why would they ward me out?”

“Perhaps they finally decided that mingling with the half-bloods isn’t going to improve their status as a long-standing pureblood family anytime soon,” Draco scoffed.

Harry couldn’t tell whether he was being sarcastic or not. He decided to save himself from answering by walking past the shed towards the house.

“But really, their reputation has been ruined since Josephine Weasley upended a decanter onto Arribarth Black’s head at a dinner party 1786. He wouldn’t shut up about the depravity of a certain muggle born wizard she was befriended with. That was when it all went pear shaped, of course. I don’t think a single respectable investor took their money after that. Her grandfather was livid, and then she went and had thirteen children, you know how it is, so today the Weasley fortune has been reduced to such an extent, they can’t even afford to buy their first years new robes for Hogwarts.” Harry eyed him. Draco seemed perfectly sincere. “I mean, Ginevra was in luck, being the only girl, but just look at Ronald. Hand me downs from Charlus’ days.” Draco shook his head sadly.

“Wait, Charlie’s name is Charlus?” Harry asked incredulously.

Draco gave him one of those looks that said 'I knew you were stupid, Potter, but I had no inkling about your particular kind of idiocy'.

“You do know the Weasley’s don’t really care about their reputation. And they are quite self-sufficient,” Harry continued.

Draco just huffed, as if trying to explain the workings of pure-blood culture to someone who neither cared nor had any idea of how much of a sacrifice that would be, wasn’t wort the bother at all.

“If they had warded me out, we wouldn’t have been able to walk this far onto the property,” Harry insisted. Then he turned abruptly. “Wait a minute, why can you just cross the border? I’m sure you were never included in the wards!”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “True,” he said slowly, “it must have something to do with our… situation.” He coughed delicately and looked away.

Harry could just make out his blush in the light of the Lumos. He wanted to touch him again, to feel the warmth of his skin underneath his fingertips, but he was sure Draco wouldn’t let him. And really, Draco was an arse and a pure-blood supremacist bigot to boot. Harry just needed to remember that. He didn’t actually want to touch him, at all. Instead, he turned towards the house and began walking up the stairs onto the portico at the back entrance.

“Should we just go in?” Harry asked.

“Wait just a second, would you. I’ll be right back. Don’t go in without me! I think I just saw a particularly lovely bloom over there,” Draco muttered.

With that he marched off into the garden.

Harry was left in the dark, slightly bewildered. With the light gone, his eyes started to adjust. He could make out the rail running around the back terrace and the various pots and plants scattered about. Behind the balustrade, the garden stretched out shimmering in the starlight. Some of the buds seemed to reflect the star light and shone like tiny silver bells. Harry had never seen the garden like this. It was kind of nice. Peaceful. He closed his eyes and slowly let his lungs fill with night air. Breathing out, he deliberately relaxed his shoulders. The stress of the day left his body bit by bit. They were safe here, for now.

Draco got up from his crouching position a few yards away made his way back towards him. He’d dropped the Lumos. His hair was as shiny as those fluorescent flowers. It was awful. The set of his shoulders was confident and his stride was purposeful. Something had changed from that haunted boy on the train, to become this elegant self-possessed young man. His face was pale like porcelain and his eyes glittered like grey pearls reflecting the moonlight, as he ascended the last steps.

“This ought to do,” he said. “Alright there, Potter?” he asked, head cocked to the side.

Harry cleared his throat and it was his turn to look away and hide the blush that was surely spreading along his cheekbones. Had he just thought about Draco like a little schoolgirl in love? They had kissed before and done unspeakable things in the dark and maybe they were bonded for life, but surely that was no reason to lose his head. “Uhm, yeah. Let’s just, ah…” he gestured at the door awkwardly.

Draco eyed him for a moment longer and then nodded sharply. “After you, poppet” he said with a mock bow. Harry turned towards the door, rolling his eyes.

The whole house was dark. He hesitated, arm stretched out towards the handle. “And you are certain about this?” Draco asked quietly. “It definitely would never occur to me to just swan into the Parkinson estate in the middle of the night, and I’ve known Pansy since I was two months old,” he added drily.

“We don’t really have a choice, do we?” Harry replied. “If you don’t want to spend the night on the portico, that is.” Draco eyed the porch, obviously considering this far more seriously than Harry was comfortable with. “Nah, Ron’ll understand,” he said quickly, more to himself than to Draco, and opened the door. He stepped inside before Draco changed his mind and decided to drag him bodily back into the garden. Then he had to shake his head to dispel images of Draco bodily dragging him, anywhere.

He didn’t walk two steps before feeling a wand at his throat.

“Lumos,” a deep voice sounded.

Blinded by the sudden light, his eyes squeezed shut of their own accord. Almost instantly, the pressure on his jugular lessened.

“Harry! What in the name of sweet Morgana are you doing here?” the voice asked, not unkindly.

Harry cautiously opened an eye to see Bill lower his wand. He wore red and white striped pyjama bottoms, which were sitting rather lower on his hips than Harry felt was strictly necessary, and his hair looked like it was trying to claw his shoulders to shreds. It wasn’t enough, however, to distract from the impressiveness of his torso. He looked like a wild thing. Harry tried not to look very hard.

“I could have barbequed you on the spot, you know," Bill added with a bit too much cheer. "I felt someone unfamiliar pass the wards. I thought I would recognise everyone’s signature, but I guess not.”

He shrugged his shoulders and waved a hand. Immediately the kitchen was softly lit with candles, bottoms melted to the dining table and windowsills. A fire popped up in the hearth and added to the warmth of the mild August night. The flickering, velvety light didn’t help the torso-situation.

“Nox. So, how come-“

Bill set eyes on Malfoy and his gaze became hard again, wand lifting up instantly in an aprubt gesture.

“A Malfoy?” his face had gone from openly freindly to hostile in a second.

Draco put something – a pot? – down next to the door. He sketched a deep, graceful bow, right hand crossing over his breast bone and left hand spread to the side, palm up.

“Good evening. We have not yet been introduced. I am Draco Ignatius Abraxus Malfoy, thirty-seventh of the line of Armand Malfoy. I greet the Weasley family and hereby request Sanctuary for myself and my Bonded.” At this he rose back up and gestured towards Harry. Next, he took out his wand with a little flourish, placed it across the flat of his palm and held it out towards Bill, head slightly lowered.

Harry stood there thunderstruck. He opened his mouth to… what? Deny being bonded? The Weasleys would find out soon enough. A nervous laugh escaped him. At the sound, Bill, who had been staring at Draco’s wand incredulously, looked over at him, a question in his eyes. Harry closed his mouth slowly and gave a slow nod.

“Yeah, I am not so sure what Draco meant by sanctuary, but the, ah… the Death Eaters were making a bit of a nuisance of themselves back at Malfoy Manor, so we thought it best to, ah… vacate the premises.” Draco was still holding that weird pose, clearly waiting for something else to happen. “Ah, Draco?” Harry murmured from the corner of his mouth, but Draco wouldn't even move his head. Bill studied them with narrowed eyes, but eventually huffed a sigh and stepped forward. Lifting his wand again, he hesitatingly placed it atop Draco’s, barely touching, and said flatly: “The Weasley family welcomes Draco Ignatius Abraxas Malfoy of the line of Armand Malfoy and his Bonded.”

After a tense second, an orange tinged light seemingly leaked out of Bill’s wand and spread over Malfoy’s. It wavered, before stretching out towards Harry, who took a hasty step back. Bill’s eyes widened slightly. The light sunk into Harry's wand peeking out of his shirt and into Draco's wand and was gone.

Bill sighed heavily. “I’d hoped that was a dupe," he said and turned around sharply, gesturing towards the kitchen table. “Tea?”

“Yes, please,” Harry groaned and fell into one of the comfortably padded chairs, lowering his head down onto his arms.

Pocketing his wand, Draco relaxed his posture slightly. He lowered himself next to Harry and set something heavy down on the kitchen table. Harry took a peek. It was a white flower in a pot. This is what Draco had been doing in the garden, he realised. How odd.

“Tea would be lovely, thank you," Draco said graciously, in his poshest voice.

Harry eyed him from beneath his fringe. This studied civility reminded him of how Draco spoke to his parents. His face was carefully neutral and it was only now, seeing it devoid of any emotion but polite attention, that Harry realised how open Draco’s demeanour had become around him over the last few weeks. He missed that other Draco with a sudden and fierce, hot jolt. Clearing his throat, he took a sip of the steaming tea Bill placed before him. A noise of appreciation unhooked itself from somewhere deep inside him.

Draco took his cup primly. “Thank you very much. You wouldn’t happen to have a few biscuits at hand? Harry hasn’t eaten very much since an early lunch, and it’s quite late.”

Harry nearly snorted tea through his nose. Had Draco just… commandeered biscuits for him? This whole situation kept getting weirder and weirder. Bill got a tin from a cupboard, sat down across from them, and fixed them with a stern look.

“You are Bonded?” was the first thing he said after a lengthy stretch of silence, interrupted only by their slirps of tea.

Harry and Draco shared a look. Draco nodded and Harry began to explain tentatively at first, about the potion accident, about the healing and the Death Eaters. He left out the bit about sharing a bed, but he felt like Bill got the idea anyway. When he came to their apparition after the train ride, Bill’s nose twitched and he tilted his head.

“Providing Pearls? They are an ancient and coveted artifact. Your mother must have been desperate, to give them to you.”

“What do they do?” Harry asked around his fifteenth biscuit.

“While being worn, they leech a tiny but steady thread of magical power from the person wearing them. It’s why they are considered Dark by some. They cannot be removed violently but have to be freely given. Once the wearer puts them down, they become invisible to everyone’s eyes but theirs. The strength they hold must be immense. They have been held by the Malfoy family for generations and generations. The bearer can use the power within to cast spells. I’ve heard other rumours about them, but that’s all I know for certain.”

“That’s why we were able to apparate in spite of the trace!” Harry realised.

“How come you know so much about an artifact of my line?” Draco asked tightly. His veneer of politeness had already slipped.

“I work for Gringotts.” Bill smiled a dangerous smile that made his eyes glitter. “You learn a lot about the old families and their riches by listening and speaking to the right goblins.”

Draco leaned forward and held Bill’s gaze. Harry looked away and fidgeted with his cup.

“And would you happen to have learned about a way to withdraw money from a family vault without a family member having to go there in person?” Draco asked in lowered tones.

Bill leaned back in his chair. His nose twitched again.

“Maybe. I will think about it. But for now, we’re all going to bed. You can take the twin’s room – the beds are big enough for two, if you levitate them together.”

“Where are they?” Harry asked, draining the dregs of his tea and carrying the cup towards the sink in the corner. He took Draco’s cup too. Then he blinked. Had Bill just offered them a shared room? No, worse. A shared bed? Harry wasn’t quite sure he was ready to be that close to Draco, after the… Incident. Also, he really was exhausted.

“They're all at Aunt Adalberta’s for the weekend. She says she is dying and wants to see them before she goes. She’s been saying that for the last twenty-two years.” He smiled widely. “Fleur and I just got back from our honeymoon yesterday.”

Harry stopped short. “Oh… right! Ron said something in a letter! I’m so sorry, I… with everything that’s been going on, I… Well. Congratulations!” He made as if to hug Bill, but then thought better of it, in light of the lack of clothing, and just offered his hand awkwardly. Bill laughed out loud and threw an arm across Harry’s shoulders.

“Not to worry! The feast was glorious and the twins shot loads of pictures with that Curious And Comical Camera of theirs. I’m sure they can be prevailed upon to show them to you, if you like. Now, off to bed with you. Malfoy looks like he is falling asleep in his chair. Tell him we can talk more over lunch. I don’t imagine you’ll be up for breakfast.”

He gave Harry a wink and a little wave. Rounding the first corner on the stairs, he flicked his wand and the candles went out, except for the one closest to Draco. The fire was reduced to low crackling embers. Draco’s head was propped up on his folded hands and he looked at Harry though half lidded eyes.

“What was that with the weird bow and what’s that flower doing on the table?” Harry wanted to ask, but before he could open his mouth, Malfoy beat him to it.

“Do you have a crush on him?” he drawled.

“What?” Harry squeaked.

“Well, he is rather fetching, I must say. All that wild hair and the dangerous smile and that ear piece. A man could get ideas.” He got out of the chair and glided over to where Harry was standing next to the sink. “Not to mention those muscles,” he murmured. He came very close. Too close. Then he leaned in. Harry was undecided whether to shove him off and flee or pull him closer by his lapels and snog the life out of him. Before he could decide to do either, Draco put his hands on the counter either side of Harry and inclined his head towards him. Every sense of Harry’s was on high alert. His skin tingled from head to toe, and Draco hadn’t even touched him yet. Very deliberately, Draco lifted his left hand to drag his fingertips up Harry’s arm and shoulder leisurely, leaving goose bumps in his wake. His fingers lingered on Harry's neck before twisting into his hair suddenly. Harry gave a low hiss, whether of pain or pleasure, he didn't know himself. Draco used his leverage to tilt Harry’s head to the side. His lips ghosted over the shell of Harry’s ear.

“If you look at him like that again, I shall have to teach you what it means to be Bonded to a Malfoy,” he purred.

Slowly he closed the distance between their bodies and pressed his thigh between Harry’s legs. Harry’s breathing stopped. His whole body was one tense line.

“Now, let’s get some sleep.” Draco said lightly, let go of his hair and pushed off the counter. He sauntered towards the stairs without looking back.

Harry’s breath came back in a rush and he stood there, panting. Malfoy had…! The nerve of him! And in the bloody kitchen!

Trying to get his bearing, he breathed deeply a few times, brushed a hand through his hair and chugged down a glass of cold water. When he felt more put together, he went up the stairs.

Draco was waiting for him on the first landing.

“I don’t actually know which one the twin’s room is,” he said with an elegant lift of a shoulder.

“We are not taking the twin’s room,” Harry said.

“Why ever not?” Draco asked.

“We can’t just sleep in the same bed!” Harry hissed.

Draco snorted.

“Don’t be absurd, Potter. Did you forget? We are Bonded. For life. I’m aware you don’t know a lot about wizarding traditions, but surely even you can guess that that is enough of a reason to share a bed, not to mention a living?”

Harry’s head reeled. He hadn’t really let himself think about the consequences of it all. He just wanted to go to sleep in peace. He had no strength left to argue. He was weary.

“Please, Draco. I just need… a bit of space.” His shoulders slumped.

Draco seemed to see something in his expression, because after a moment, he nodded stiffly and drew himself up.

“Well. If you would be so kind as to show me the way to my room.”

Harry felt a brief pang to have made him go all polite again, but overall, he was just glad to be spared a scene.

“Yes, of course. This way.”

Chapter Text

What Harry had not expected to see the next day, when he came down to hunt the delicious smell creeping up the stairs and through the crack of his door, was Draco Malfoy holding a lively conversation with Fleur Delacour – no, Weasley – in the midst of the homely chaos that was the Weasley kitchen. They were truly a picture to behold. He was sitting at the head of the table, cup of tea lifted daintily and top three buttons undone. He was eerily handsome with his friendly look and open mien. Fleur was standing to his left. Her apron was stained with flour and she was enthusiastically waving about a pair of serving tongs. French flowed freely from her lips and she was absolutely radiant. Her hair was carefully braided down the back and her smile so lovely, Harry took a step towards her involuntarily. He bumped into Bill’s shoulder, who was leaning against the staircase, watching the scene with an amused glint in his eyes.

“Oh, uh, sorry. Good morning,” Harry muttered, rubbing his neck.

“Good morning, Harry,” Bill answered, broad smile showcasing his white teeth.

Over at the table, Draco was listening intently to Fleur and then answered her in the same melodious tones. His hands accentuated whatever it was he was saying with wild gesticulating.

“Uhhh… did I miss something?” he asked Bill stupidly.

“Well. Apparently, Fleur and Draco have fond memories of the same holiday places in France,” Bill said. “From what I could gather they were talking about Lombardy and Brittany, among others. But I think now they’ve gone on to skin care products,” he added laughingly.

Bewildered, Harry looked back to the table, where Fleur was just reaching out to stroke a strand of Draco’s hair between thumb and forefinger. The monster that had lain dormant inside him for weeks woke up and hissed. ‘Don’t touch him,’ he wanted to spit. Abruptly, Draco lifted his gaze and stared at him. Then he smiled sweetly and said something to Fleur in French. She let go of his hair, pivoted on the spot, and saw them standing by the stairs.

“Oh, ‘Arry! Eet is so nice to see you again!” she trilled and rounded the table.

Harry shuffled his feet nervously. Draco leaned back in his chair, smirking. When Fleur reached him, she touched his shoulders lightly and kissed both his cheeks.

“Don’t worry, I will not take ‘im away from you. ‘e does not ‘ave eyes but for you,” she half-whispered in his ear.

It took Harry a moment to comprehend her meaning.

“Oh! No, I know – I mean, uh, that’s alright.” What was he stammering about? His head was probably as red as her frilly apron. She let go of him and leaned into Bill, kissing him square on the mouth. Harry hastily went to get himself a cup of tea.

Draco watched him. “Good morning, darling," he drawled. "Fleur set the table for us both.” Harry turned around, cup in hand. Draco gestured towards the table. A single red rose in an elegant vase sat between two plates, which were too close together. Cup and knife, butter and jam and chocolate spread where all on the table. It was clearly laid out for a couple. Draco got up gracefully and stepped around the chair on his right to pull it out from under the table. When Harry just stood there staring at him, his eyebrows lifted meaningfully. “Won’t you sit down?” he asked with a perfectly straight face.

Warily Harry came forward. He half expected Malfoy to pull the chair out from under him, but as he sat down, Malfoy merely took his cup and filled it from the pot, then added a splash of milk and set it down before him. “Uh, thanks.” Harry mumbled. Malfoy was unnervingly accommodating. What was his game?

“Oh, look at zem! So sweet!” Fleur stepped over and brandished the serving tongs, swiftly putting two croissants on Harry’s plate.

Bill plonked himself down opposite Harry. “Am I not to get breakfast, my angel?” he asked, noticing his lack of a plate.

“Oh, silly man, of course I ‘ave made breakfast for all of us. But us two weell eat on ze terrasse, to geeve zose two some space.” She winked at Harry.

“Oh, no, that’s alright, Fleur, really! You can eat here with us! Right, Draco?”

“Don’t be silly. I know ‘ow it eez in zis ‘ouse, wiz all ze people and never a quiet minute. You enjoy it until the ozers are back,” she insisted, while pulling her apron over her head. With that, she marched out the door, two plates with croissants, cups and knifes bobbing after her.

“Well," Bill sighed and got up. "There is no arguing with her when she gets something in that pretty head of hers. Actually, she’s a lot like mum in that way. But don’t tell her I said that!” He took one of the glasses of jam, waved at them and followed Fleur out the door.

Silence stretched. Draco was buttering his croissant and sipping his tea as if he were sitting at the high table in the grand breakfast room of Malfoy Manor, next to his family, surrounded by decadent splendour. Even his tiniest movement was graceful and precise. Harry nearly expected him to say “Mother, would you please pass the salt,” or something. (But of course, in normal wizarding families, the salt comes to the wizard, not the other way round.)

However, where Draco was actually sitting was at the kitchen table of the warm, happy, cluttered kitchen in the Burrow. Home to a family Draco had insulted time and again. A family, whose only daughter had nearly been killed by his father. Quietly eating breakfast next to a boy he had insulted, threatened, taunted and even kicked in the face when he was unable to defend himself. How in Merlin’s name could he be so …placid? How could he talk to Bill and Fleur as if he were their friend? How could he sit here with Harry as if they really were… bonded.

Harry looked over at Draco again. His shirt – it was the same shirt he had been wearing the day before – was clean and without wrinkles. When he looked under the table, Malfoy’s trousers were also clean and his shoes shone like they had just been polished. When he came back up, Malfoy looked at him sceptically, one perfect eyebrow raised. Harry really had to practice that move – it wasn’t half bad.

“Did you get sent a change of clothes after all?”

Draco snorted. “As it comes, Fleur is quite handy with all the wardrobe and cosmetic charms I never bothered to learn.”

Harry imagined Fleurs magic all over Draco’s wardrobe and touching his skin. He did his best to hold back a grunt.

“A problem, poppet?” Malfoy asked.

“Uh, yeah, actually,” Harry said. “For starters, please don’t call me that stupid name in public anymore.”

“What; Harry? I don’t think it’s that bad a name.”

“No… you know what I mean.”

“Well, if you insist, I will of course cease calling you familiar names in public, darling.”

“Oh, for… you know exactly what I meant!” Harry scraped his chair back from the table as he shot up and started walking back and forth between the kitchen and the living room. “How can you be so… so… argh!” He felt odd since they’d come here. He couldn’t quite place it, but something was wrong with this situation. No, everything was wrong with this situation. “How can you sit here like it’s your own house?” he accused. “How can you talk to them like they are your friends, when, a few weeks ago, you would gladly have handed all of us over to Voldemort!”

Draco put down his croissant, picked up his cup and sat back in his chair. His manner was suddenly all business.

“The situation has changed drastically from a few weeks ago. I am merely trying to adapt.”

Harry thought about this furiously, clenching his fists, pacing.

“So, we are bonded, right? And we can’t take that back, I guess,” he continued after a few minutes.

“Well, that’s why it’s called an Indissoluble Bond.”

“Yes, exactly. But now, we can be apart, can’t we? We don’t actually have to be together, like, being in the same place.”

Draco’s mouth twisted.

“Well, I suppose that’s correct. But it's not like you can be with anyone else either, so you'll just have to make do with my humble self.”

Harry stopped short. “I can’t?” he said.

“First of all, it used to be illegal by wizarding law to be with someone else when you are bound by magic and have consummated the bond – which we have! And it is still very much frowned upon. It's a matter of family honour. Second, who else did you want to be with? Who else would want to be with you for that matter, bonded to me?”

“Maybe I would have met someone,” Harry said, face flushed.

“Maybe you-“ Draco began and sat up, but Harry interrupted him.

“That’s... not actually what I wanted to talk about. Can’t we not argue for five minutes straight?” he asked, raking his fingers through his hair.

Draco’s face was grim but he sat back in his chair again.

“Well then – what did you want to talk about?” he asked flatly.

Harry started pacing again.

“Okay, well, even if we were not together,” and he held up a finger, fearing Draco would interrupt again, “if I die, you die too, right?”

Draco gave one jerking nod.

“So, you are on our side now, correct?”

“I thought we have been over this…?” Draco asked wearily.

“No, I mean yes, just making sure. We can see through each other’s eyes. And we can feel what the other person feels at times, I mean physically, right?”

Draco’s eyebrows shot up. He got a calculating look for a second, but then nodded.

“What?” Harry wanted to know. “You do too, right?”

“I –“ Draco began, but then the floo lit up with bright green flames and Molly Weasley came stepping out the grate. She landed nearly on top of Harry.

“Oh, Harry dear!” She beamed and stretched out her arms. “I hadn’t expected you to come! What a lovely surprise!” She hugged him tight and looked him up and down. “How are you doing, my dear? Ron told us all about that dreadful potions business, of course. But here you are now, so all is well, I presume?” She patted his shoulder and was about to start with the next thing when the grate flamed green again and Arthur Weasley walked out into the by now quite crowded living room. He looked over Mrs. Weasley’s shoulder and froze.

Malfoy had gotten up from his seat. He stepped forward and bowed deeply towards them. Mrs. Weasley turned around and her hand flew to her mouth. She let go of Harry’s shoulder.

“Mrs. Weasley, Mr. Weasley, we have never been formally introduced," Draco intoned. "My name is Draco Ignatius Abraxus Malfoy, thirty-seventh of the line of Armand Malfoy. I have been welcomed into this house under Sanctuary together with my Bonded,” he straightened and gestured towards Harry, "by your son William Arthur Weasley." He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and went down on one knee, tkaing out his wand in a way that looked practiced. Mrs. Weasley gasped.

“I apologise on behalf of my blood...” he paused for a second and Harry felt a sudden and immense spike of apprehension. It was over as quickly as it had appeared and left behind a profound calmnes, like all emotion had been pushed underneath the surface of a frozen winter lake. Draco drew his wand across his left palm slowly, blood pooling in it’s centre, "...for any insult or injury to any member of your line caused by any member of my line. I am your servant, excluding all services owned by my Bonded, until I pay the price you name by which I would be free.”

Harry stared dumfounded as Draco set his wand down across his bleeding palm, closed his fingers around the shaft and pulled it back out deliberately. The blood smeared across the wand, dark red and glossy against darker wood. As if it were a living thing, the wand drunk it in like a sponge and it was gone. Draco tried to get up, but he stumbled and might have fallen, had Harry not moved instinctively and, catching him around the middle, helped him back towards the chair. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley stood next to the hearth in stark silence.

Harry was not entirely sure what the meaning of Draco’s gesture had been, but it’s effect had certainly been profound. If he understood correctly, Draco had apologised? And offered something in the way of servitude? Was that to be taken literally or was it just a phrase of some kind?

After a minute, Mrs. Weasley stirred and hastened towards Draco. “Let me have a look at that, dear,” she said. Harry expected Draco to refuse or at least hesitate, but he opened his left palm obediently and set it in Mrs. Weasley’s outstretched one. “That was a very foolish thing to do, young man,” she scolded, as she drew her wand along the edge of the wound. “You well know we could ask for your land, your house, your titles and everything that you own the moment you come of age.” The wound was stubborn and did not close all the way, but it stopped bleeding. Molly made a clucking sound with her tongue. “My dear Arthur, please get me that salve and a good length of bandage from the second draw on the right, third row down, from the big cabinet.”

When her husband had handed the items over, she carefully cleaned the wound with the salve and bandaged it. Then she just held Draco’s hand in hers. “Look at me, young man.” Draco lifted his head obediently to looked at her. “It was a foolish thing to do, but it must have taken you great courage to do it.” She patted his hand, but let go when Draco started suirming a little in his seat. “Now, tell me why you are here and not at Malfoy Manor, where you were to be until school started?” she asked and sat down next to Draco.

“A fact which Ron never made us forget by complaining about it loudly and without pause,” Bill declared as he walked in the door. Fleur entered behind him and set the dishes to wash themselves, before sitting down next to Bill.

And then Draco recounted it all again. Harry would have thought him to be reluctant, but he left nothing out and gave great detail when Mrs. Weasley interjected questions to clarify something. Harry’s ears went hot a few times during the history and Mr. Weasley cleared his throat nervously when it came to the sleeping arrangements. Draco made quite clear what they had been up to. His face flushed unbecomingly, but he never paused his recounting. Fleur listened to it all with an indulgent smile. Bill merely cocked his head when he heard information that seemed to interest him, especially when it came to Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy’s behaviour. Mrs. Weasley exclaimed in shocked outrage at Draco’s description of the caning and patted Harry’s cheek when he spoke of how Harry had helped him up the stairs and healed his wounds. “Well done, Harry,” she said. When Draco finished at last with their arrival at the Burrow, the table was steeped in a contemplative hush.

“Quite the tale,” Bill huffed eventually.

“And he has not yet told you about the foolish thing he did half an hour ago, as soon as Arthur and I set foot in the house.”

Draco blushed again, eyes lowered. Harry had rarely seen him this submissive. It wasn't an ugly sight at all.

“Well?” Bill asked impatiently.

“An Oath of Servitude,” Draco whispered, “to make amends.”

After a second’s pause, Bill burst out laughing in great guffaws, startling everyone assembled.

“Sorry, I am so sorry,” he said in between crying tears of delight, “but it’s just such an incredible circumstance. The only Malfoy heir, beholden to the Weasley family!” His mirth quieted into intermittend chuckles. Fleur clapped him over the head quite sharply.

“Eet was really a very ‘onourable zing to do. You should not laugh at Draco so.” Then she turned to Draco and clasped her hands in front of her. “Eet is such a romantic story. I am glad you escaped those mean men and now you can be togezzer for ever!” She sighed happily.

“Yes, quite.” Mrs. Weasley said. “Draco, you can stay in the twin’s room and Harry will bunk in with Ronald. There will be no sharing a bed in this house until you both become of age!” She lifted an admonishing finger.

“Very well,” Draco said. Harry coughed. He had experienced enough embarrassment today to last the next year!

“But for now, let’s get lunch on the way,” Mrs. Weasley said cheerily and began cluttering about in the kitchen.

“Let me ‘elp you, Molly.” Fleur got up and put on her apron.

“Oh, no, dear, that’s perfectly alright. You go and have a nice long walk with Bill.”

“Eet is no trouble. We will go ‘ome tonight, so I will spend ze rest of ze day with all ze family.”

Mrs. Weasley sighed but resigned herself to her fate.

Mr. Weasley crossed the room to lean in towards Draco. “Molly and I will talk about all this in the evening, but rest assured: you are welcome to stay here as long as you need to.”

“Thank you, sir,” Draco responded hoarsly.

“Well,” he said, eyeing them them and cleared his throat. “Great to have you as well, Harry. I will just…” he trailed off, took his copy of the Daily Prophet and went to sit in his armchair.

Harry fell into the seat across from Draco and blew out a breath. Draco was staring at his bandaged hand as if it had turned around and bitten him.

“Can you please go back to your usual prattish self now? I really can’t cope with this meek version of you.”

Draco’s grin was wolfish. “Oh, darling, missing me already?"

"Oh, shut up." Harry rolled his eyes but couldn’t supress an answering grin.

Draco seemed more at ease, but his skin was pale.

“You ok?” Harry whispered and leaned forward. Draco’s eyes lifted to his. He just gazed at him for half a minute before clearing his throat. “Yes, I’m fine, Harry,” he said earnestly. Then he lowered his head onto Harry’s arm atop the table and closed his eyes.

“That was awful,” he added miserably.

“Draco…” Harry started but he didn’t really know what to say. Mrs. Weasley was keeping busy and Mr. Weasley was hidden behind his paper, but he bet they were listening to every word. At least they seemed to be alright with the current arrangement. Maybe Harry could be alright with things, too.

Then the flames in the hearth flamed green once more and Ginny stepped out of the grate.

Chapter Text

The whole thing had been so much like Ginny. Harry really should have expected a reaction exactly like this. What he could not have foreseen was his own forceful response to Draco being threatened in this – all things considered – rather harmless way. After all, Ginny was only a 15-year-old girl and Harry had experienced multiple attacks by grown up Death Eaters and, not to mention, faced an angry Mrs. Weasley more than once. The latter was a lot higher on the scariness scale, as far as he was concerned. Still, the panic he had felt upon Ginny’s hastily drawn wand and ear-piercingly screeched insults had been sharper than any he had felt before, even at the graveyard. Now he knew where she got her fierceness from, anyway.

He sat at the dining table, stunned, disbelieving eyes sweeping over the scene. The kitchen was an unholy mess. Pots and pans lay scattered. Shards of broken glasses, cups and plates were strewn across the floor and counter tops and even some of the windows were cracked. The armchair Mr. Weasley had sat in was still upside down and half the chairs were in pieces, all of them toppled over. The flour bag Mrs. Weasley had placed on the counter had been flung against the wall, exploded in a loud bang and by now the flour had set on every surface of the room and made the scene look eerily like a cheap Christmas shopping window display. Even Fleur looked a little dishevelled as she danced about the room, righting furniture and muttering reparos. Her every step puffed up a small white mushroom.

Ron stood on the ruined carpet, a fierce scowl on his face. He’d only just flooed in. His gaze flitted across the wreckage and got stuck on Fleur’s moving form.

“What the bloody hell happened here?” he asked the room at large after he’d finished watching her retying her French braid. “And what is he doing here?” he added, rounding on Draco, who sat in his chair, not a hair out of place, while everything and everyone around him looked like a gang of pixies had given it their all to tear down the place. A drunken, furious gang of pixies who had come back to their nest after a good round of beers in the pub around the corner, only to find their front door knocked down and their grandmothers abducted and had then sworn to take revenge on the next best wizarding lair they came across.

“It was glorious,” Fred – or was it George? – declared, before Harry could even open his mouth. The twins had exited the floo right as Ginny had drawn her wand and thus witnessed the whole sordid spectacle.

“Our dear sister-”

“-who from now on we will lovingly refer to as-”

“-the Banshee-,” they intoned together,

“-was ready to rip Malfoy’s throat right out-”

“-for daring to touch her beloved Saviour.”

They both sighed theatrically and batted their eyelashes at Harry.

“Our Harry-”

“-hero that he is-,” sung George – or was it Fred? –

“-defended his blushing bride-” (Draco glowered at them from the side)

“-and proceeded to-”

“-what was it that he did, Fred?”

“Well, George, I believe he cast a silent-”

“-and wandless-”

“-protego shield that blasted-”

“-the whole kitchen to shreds,” they finished.

“Wicked,” Ron breathed and whistled a low note as he slowly turned full circle, taking it all in once more.

“Where’s the others then?” he asked with good cheer. He seemed to be wholly unconcerned about the state of his mother’s kitchen.

“I hurt her,” Harry moaned, head in his hands. “I hurt Ginny, Ron!”

How often had Hermione told him it was important that he practiced control over his accidental magic? That he learn to keep his emotions in check? He had broken things before with his magic and had given people a scare, but never had he truly hurt anyone with an outburst.

“What do you mean?” Ron asked, demeanour changing to serious in a heartbeat. “Where is she?”

“Mum and Dad took her to see Madam Pomfrey,” Bill explained distractedly, mumbling as he put one of the chairs back together. “She was thrown back from the force of the shield and hit her head on the cabinet. Nothing serious, I’d wager, but it’s better to have it looked at when it comes to head injuries.”

“Ah, she’ll be fine,” Ron said, waving a hand. “She’s had worse on the pitch. Don’t worry about it, Harry.” He looked about for a chair to sit down in but found them all still in various states of disrepair. “But why did you defend the git in the firs… oh, right. You’d have gotten that Bat Boogey Hex too.” He clapped Harry on the shoulder. “Knew you were scared of her. But that scared…” he sniggered.

“She ‘as brought it upon ‘erself. Eet is never a wise idea to zreaten somebody’s bonded partner, especially when that certain someone is as magically powerful as ‘Arry,” Flur tutted.

“What do you mean?” Ron asked, frowning. “Bonded partner…?”

Harry hesitated. How could he explain this without Ron blowing the roof off the house?

“As we understand the situation, Ronniekins-,“ Fred stepped in,

“-Harry here has managed to get himself permanently bonded to our favourite Slytherin-,” George stated with glee,

“-if what mum tried to explain to Ginny can be believed.” They were both grinning madly, as if this was the finest joke they’d heard in a year.

“Don’t take it meanly, Harry-”

“-but this is the best entertainment you provided us with since fighting that dragon for its golden egg!” Fred exclaimed earnestly.

“Better, actually, for the show will go on in perpetuity, in the best-case scenario.”

“In the worst…” Fred waggled his eyebrows.

“Let’s take wagers on who kills whom first,” George smirked.

Ron was now staring at Harry. “But… but Hermione said the unfettering brew will be ready in September! We’ll have the git off our hands in three weeks,” he stated hotly, desperately clinging to reality as he knew it.

Harry opened his mouth but he didn’t even know where to start. He closed it again, helplessly.

“What are you doing here anyway?” Ron continued. “Don’t get me wrong, mate,  I’m glad you’re here so we can keep an eye on the ferret,” he jerked his chin at Draco, “but didn’t his father insist you stayed there for the whole month?”

“Ron, look,” Harry began, but Draco, who had been watching the exchanges with the air of an indulgent parent, interrupted him. “It’s all very well if you want to recount the events of the last two days again,” he said flatly as he got up, “but maybe you should wait with that until Granger gets here, because she’ll undoubtedly have you describe every detail you remember and have a thousand question for every detail you don’t.” He shoved past Ron and headed towards the staircase. “I’ll be in my room, if you need me.”

“What do you mean, your room!” Ron shouted after him, but Draco ignored him and vanished up the stairs.

“Let’s get the place in order before Mum gets back and then you two can sit down and discuss everything,” Bill suggested, before Ron could stomp after Draco.

Ron didn’t look happy about it, but he bowed to the wisdom of his older brother, or maybe he knew what was in store for them if Mrs. Weasley came back and found them lazing about. They all got to work quickly. He and Ron helped collect the broken shards and put them on the table in neat piles, sorted by colour and material, as much as was possible. Unsurprisingly, the twins were very handy with fixing charms. They put every item back together and Fleur rinsed each one before putting it away. In the meantime, Bill did his best to get rid of the flour with vanishing and cleaning charms. Finally, they repaired the last of the broken chairs and the cracked windows. They were done before the clock stroke two. Everything was clean and tidy. Tidier than it had been before, to tell the truth. The twins flooed home to their flat above the shop to work on a few ideas Aunt Adalberta had supposedly given them.

“She’s mad as a hatter,” George whispered to Harry, eyes sparkling, as he stepped into the grate.

“Don’t blow the place up again, Harry,” Fred laughed as he was swallowed by the green fire.

“Zose two…” Fleur chuckled, shaking her head, and went on to finish the late lunch Mrs. Weasley had started preparing earlier. Bill kept snuggling up to her, wandering hands grabbing pieces of the unfinished meal, among other things. Their incessant chuckling drove Harry and Ron from the house eventually.

Ron was still tense. His brow was furrowed and he was unnaturally quiet, even though they hadn’t seen each other in five weeks.

“Let’s practice a bit,” Harry suggested and at Ron’s terse nod, he went upstairs to get the shrunken broom he had taken along from the Malfoy estate. It was a Nimbus 2001. Ron grimaced when he saw it.

###

It was another hot August day, the sky blown wide and the sun glaring. The garden had been almost ethereal in the moonlight yesterday, but now Harry saw the patchy grass and the wilting flowers. Had the different light made it so special…?

Ron was so quiet. Why wasn’t he saying anything? He must have a thousand questions. He must be angry… They were halfway to the shed when Harry blurted: “Basically, Draco saved my life.”

It was like he had uncorked a bottle of champagne after shaking it violently. Ron stopped, then whirled around so quickly, he nearly mowed Harry over.

“Oh, he saved your life, did he? Well, then everything is just fine, isn’t it? Lucky you had Draco there to get your back,” he spat at Harry. “What do I need to know. I’m only your best friend. No need to inform me at all. Not like you need me. Gonna tell me what happened at some point? Confess what you did?” Ron didn’t even break long enough for Harry to answer, stomping on towards the shed. “I knew from the start it was a bad idea you went there. Dumbledore should never have bloody allowed it. Something was bound to go wrong!” He had clenched his hands into tight fists. “Next time, I’ll come with you. None of this would have bloody happened.” With the last word, he threw a punch against the wall of the shed with a bang. Harry flinched.

“Do you want to know what happened or don’t you?” he snapped, irritated by Ron's outburst. Ron didn’t answer at first, but then he motioned for Harry to continue with a scowl. Harry sighed.

“So, his mum asked us to repair a broken wall on the edge of the estate. We flew over,” he held up the Numbus 2001, “and put the stones back on the wall. When we were finished and turned to go, one of the boulders tumbled loose and hit me in the chest.” Harry rubbed his breastbone unconsciously. “I’d healed Draco’s back before-“ at this Ron halted on the doorstep, gave him a dark look and opened his mouth, but Harry raised his voice, “-and so we knew it was possible. He came over and put his hands on my chest. The bone was coming out and it was… not looking good. Then he somehow… pulled, or pushed, and the wound closed up slowly. There was something else there, too, that he pulled out, somehow. This horrible green goo, it’s hard to explain. Anyway, my scar is gone,” he added and lifted his fringe.

Ron came closer and stared at his forehead. Then he sat down hard on the floor of the shed.

“And you didn’t think to mention all this before?” he accused him.

Harry leaned against the doorway.

“What, send a quick note while the Death Eaters where chasing us though the forest? ‘Just wanted to tell you we’ll be coming over. My scar is gone because Draco healed my fatal chest injury. Also, we’re bonded for life now.’ Something along those lines?”

Ron looked vaguely ill. “Death Eaters?”

“Yeah. Like… 20 of them.”

“Bugger.”

“Yeah…”

Ron sat there quietly for a good five minutes, before opening the broom cupboard and making a show of inspecting every single one carefully. They were all a bit sad looking.

“He didn’t have to save me.” Harry said quietly into the silence. “He… he never even hesitated.” Looking back towards the house, Harry knew exactly were Draco was, sitting in his room, alone. Was he working on something? Was he catching up on sleep? Was he lounging around on the bed, bored?

There was a way to find out. Would it be like it had been on the train? Harry closed his eyes and focused. Almost instantly, he could see a worn wooden desk with deep scratches and scorch marks and Draco’s hand gracefully holding a quill, writing what seemed to be a letter. His fingers were long and a bit bony. With a jolt, Harry remembered where those fingers had been before. He quickly opened his eyes. Luckily, Ron hadn’t noticed his absentmindedness.

“So you chose to…” Ron coughed and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “I thought you hated him. I thought we all hated him.” His hand paused in the action of straightening some bristles, buried between the twigs.

I do, Harry wanted to say, but it wasn’t the truth anymore. Whatever he thought about Draco, it wasn’t fuelled by the same relentless, blind loathing it had been before. But how to put into words what he couldn’t even understand himself? What they had done at the manor had seemed so natural, back then.

Who was he kidding? It had been glorious. The best thing he had ever done.

“I did. But not anymore,” Harry said shortly, pushed off the doorway and mounted his broom in one smooth motion.

###

They only played for half an hour. Sweat was dripping from Harry’s every pore and he was constantly having to remind himself not to go full out. Ron didn’t stand a chance, anyway. It seemed he hadn’t played much over the last weeks and Harry had practiced with Draco nearly every day. He didn’t mention this, but by the looks Ron gave him, it seemed he at least suspected something along those lines.

“I give up. It’s just not fair with you on that broom,” Ron panted as he lay in the grass, chest heaving. Harry sat down next to him.

“Yeah. I’ll take one of yours next time,” he said apologetically, plucking blades of grass and fiddling with them. He had expected Ron to have stomped inside and started a fight with Draco by now, or to shout at him some more, or at least to ask loads of angry passive-aggressive questions. However, he was just lying there, eyes closed, breathing deeply. The lines on his foreheadonly were the only outward of any uneasiness.

Apparently, it was Harry’s job to stop ignoring the dragon in the room. “So… we arrived at the Dursley’s…” he started after a while and told Ron the whole story from the beginning, putting in things he had left out in his letters, like how Draco had cowed the Dursley’s into submission and how they’d been to Diagon together. They laughed ten solid minutes as Harry recounted the pixies incident, but Ron grew very still when Harry talked about how Draco had been punished by his father. Ron’s mood was pensive as Harry described the healing and stayed that way until Fleur called them both inside for a late lunch.

The meal was a quiet affair. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were not yet back and Draco had elected to take his food in his room. Bill and Fleur’s half-whispered sweet talk made Harry and Ron cringe and hurry to empty their plates. Luckily, the two love birds bade them farewell after lunch, having decided to leave for their new home earlier.

“This is our address, Harry,” Bill said, handing him a piece of paper. “We are not taking any chances with this war.” Harry took it gingerly. The writing vanished as soon as he’d read it. “I gave it to Draco, too,” Bill added.

At Harry’s astonished look, Bill took him aside and said softly: “At the risk of sounding patronising… I’d advise you, Harry, to be patient with him and try to understand his position. The world Draco grew up in is very different to your own. It might be difficult for you to grasp this, but Draco is committed to you now. I know how purebloods think, Harry. He will always act in your best interest. Granted, his definition might differ from yours in this, as well as his methods, but fundamentally, you can trust him. Don’t be too hard on him. And now, fare well and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” He winked and stepped over toward Fleur, who was already standing at the grate. Harry blushed. He hadn’t planned on doing anything, anyway.

“Au revoir, ‘Arry!” Fleur said, as she kissed his cheeks. Bill clapped Ron on the shoulder and Fleur made him blush as she kissed him in goodbye, too. “Au revoir, Ron!”

“Bye!” Ron enthused a bit too loudly. He waved enthusiastically until they’d vanished.

“She’s practically you sister, now,” Harry needled him as they went upstairs to take showers, “so you really shouldn’t pine after her so much.”

Ron nearly shoved him down the stairs.

“Shut up. I noticed the way you looked at Ginny earlier in the year, and she’s practically your sister, too,” he countered.

“Well, but she’s just… she really…”

“No! I don’t want to hear it! It’s just plain gross!” Ron said, holding up a hand.

They bickered the whole way through putting up the spare bed in Ron’s room. Harry knew he could ask Mrs. Weasley to put him up in Bill’s or Percy’s old room, but he preferred to be with Ron anyway. Sleeping in the eery quiet of an empty room set his senses on high alert in the same way that hearing Ron snore and shuffling about sent him right into an easy sleep.

Ron chucked a fresh pair of boxers, shorts and a shirt at him and vanished into the bathroom quickly, so the cushion Harry hurled at him in retaliation hit the door with a dull thump, to the sound of Ron’s heartfelt sniggering. He fell back onto the mattress, glad they seemed to be alright.

The water went on in the other room and Harry felt at home for the first time in weeks. He could nearly forget Draco was there in the house, writing mysterious letters and being unnaturally unobtrusive. Now that he thought about it, Draco was not at all behaving like Harry had expected. He’d been a bit rude to Ron, but there had been no taunting, no insults. Well, it would be quite the thing to insult someone in their own home, even for Draco.

And that weird blood ritual he had done. Why had he done that? Was it really to make amends? It couldn’t be. He would have been able to do it the whole time if he really felt that bad about what his family had done to the Weasleys. Mrs. Weasley had said they could ask for all his possessions, so it must be something very serious and very binding. But that was the nature of spells involving blood, wasn’t it? That’s the reason most of Blood Magic was considered Dark Magic. No wonder Malfoy knew how to do that kind of thing.

He’d just sliced his palm open without batting an eye. Harry shuddered.

###

When Harry came down from his own shower, Ron was nowhere to be seen, but Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were sitting at the table in quiet conversation with Draco. Mrs. Weasley spent half the time gazing at the potted plant Draco had brought inside yesterday, and the other half stroking its leaves tenderly. Miraculously, it seemed to have survived the earlier ordeal in perfect condition.

“Harry, dear, come sit down with us. Would you like a cup of tea?” Mrs. Weasley asked. She waved her wand and a cup and saucer came neatly flying out the cupboard. They were in a different place than Fleur had put them before. Actually, there was a whole pile of kitchen utensils and crockery sitting on one of the sideboards, evidently wating to be sorted into their proper places. Harry thought Fleurs arrangement had been quite sensible, but he prudently held his tongue.

“Draco here has just been telling us about your plans,” Mr. Weasley said, as Harry sat down and took his cup with a mumbled thanks.

“Uhm… actually, is Ginny doing alright?” Harry asked with an apologetic look at Mr. Weasley for interrupting him. “I’m really sorry about what happened earlier…”

Plans? He glanced at Draco who sat there cool as a mountain well.

“Don’t you fret, Harry, it was just an accident and she’ll be right as rain in no time. The headmaster kindly allowed her to stay in the Hogwarts infirmary overnight, so Poppy can keep an eye on her for a few more hours. It was just a concussion and a few bruises, nothing serious,” Mrs. Weasley said and patted his hand. “However, you might want to speak to Professor Dumbledore about some extra lessons in keeping that temper of yours in check. Combined with your magic’s strength, it could land you in big trouble someday. As an adult member of magical society, it’s important you learn sufficient control over your magic.”

Harry felt his cheeks heat. He ducked his head. “Yes, I… that might be a good idea.”

If only Mrs. Weasley knew what kind of extra lessons Professor Dumbledore had been taking with him. She would be horrified to know Harry had supported him in finding heavily warded, cursed and volatile pieces of Voldemort’s soul and worked on understanding his twisted worldview, in order to destroy him with that knowledge.

“I must be very against the idea of you two sharing quarters in Hogwarts, of course. But I understand very well it is not feasible for you to return to your dormitories. Maybe a set of rooms in the guest corridor? Something with separate bedrooms perhaps. Yes, that should do it. I will speak to Albus about it. He will see reason, I’m sure.” Mrs. Weasley went on.

Wait, what? What did she mean, going back to the dormitories wasn’t feasible?

“Not… not go back to the dormitories? Why would that…? …but we are still students!” Harry protested feebly.

“Of course, Harry, of course,” Mr. Weasley was swift to comfort him, “you are far too young to live as a bonded couple in my opinion, but the law is quite clear on the matter. Bonds like yours,” he looked at Harry and Draco gravely, “are considered a legal connection stronger by far than a mere marriage contract.”

“But, we are not even of age!” Harry objected with more vehemence this time.

“This is a very special circumstance, Harry. You see, the bond can only form, when…” Mr. Weasley cleared his throat and looked at his wife pleadingly.

“Bonds like this are made by magic and based on consent and on…” she blushed an unbecoming shade of red that clashed with her hair.

“On singular devotion expressed through physical union,” Draco drawled. “What Molly and Arthur are trying to explain is that a person has to be sexually matured for the bond to take hold, so underage is not a legal constraint for the bond to be recognised officially.”

Mr. Weasley nodded.

“Exactly. Well put,” he said.

Harry felt like he was floating. Something that had held him securely on the ground had been cut loose.

“I… I understand that, but why does that mean we can’t go back into the dormitories? The bond was an accident!” he said angrily. “It’s not like we want to actually be together!”

Draco’s mouth thinned. He looked at his cup of tea silently. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley went awfully quiet. Then Mr. Weasley got up.

“I think we should leave you two to talk about this. Or better yet, why don’t you two go sit in my study? Nobody will bother you there.”

“Yes, that might be best, thank you, Arthur,” Draco said and got up as well.

Harry vaguely felt offended that Draco was calling Mr. Weasley by his first name, but most of his attention was held by the increasing anxiety that bubbled up from his stomach. Why did his life have to be so complicated? Bugger that, his life had been complicated before. Why did it have to get worse every year? Like being destined to get rid of a mad Dark Wizard wasn’t enough. Like losing the last family he’d had wasn’t enough. Now he would have to give up the only thing he had truly looked forward to in his last year at Hogwarts: spending as much time with his friends as he possibly could, before he was faced with the decision of where go from there; trying to get through endless days on his own, with no assurance that, like now, he could go back home, after the holidays.

He got up numbly, following Mr. Weasley and Draco up the stairs. Mrs. Weasley, whose face was a bit pinched, was hot on their heels.

“Arthur!” she said in a loud whisper, but Mr. Weasley just kept going. They went to the third floor and entered the first door on the right, which Harry had never opened before. It was a small room with one desk and one extra armchair. The walls were crammed with books, but it was surprisingly tidy.

“Please, take your time. We’ll be right downstairs, if you need anything,” Mr. Weasley said.

“Thank you, Arthur,” Draco said. It all sounded incredibly far away to Harry, like he was floating towards the ceiling in a dream.

“Arthur, are you sure?” Molly’s voice carried through the door. “We should at least leave the door ajar…”

“They are very nearly grown men, my pearl. There is no need to supervise them and I dare say it would be rather invasive. Now, off we go.” Arthur replied gently as their steps faded.

Draco took a look around, then rolled over the muggle desk chair with a grimace and gingerly sat down, gesturing towards the armchair.

“Please, sit down.”

Harry sat.

Silence reigned.

His breathing felt funny, as if he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs to think straight. He put his head down and covered his face with his hands.

“Harry.”

Draco’s voice was barely audible. There was something heavy in it, and vulnerable. It made Harry look up. Draco sat in the ridiculous chair that made him seem very much out of place. Draco belonged in fancy leather armchairs or red velvet seats. He should not be here. This was wrong. He did not belong in this house.

The thought made Harry inexplicably sad.

Draco looked into his eyes. Then he got up gradually and came towards him, one step at a time. When Harry didn’t do anything, Draco took his wrists and moved his hands down. Softly, he cupped Harry’s chin and pulled his face up. Checking his reaction, he slowly bent down towards him. Harry couldn’t move at all. There was no energy in him to resist this intense gentleness.

Draco’s lips, when they met his, felt different than they had before when they’d kissed. There was no movement, just a lingering. It was like a consolation and a promise. Harry felt tears in the corners of his eyes. What was happening?

Draco moved back a little and then went down on his knees and hugged him. One of his hands came to rest on Harry’s hair. The other arm went around his back. Harry’s eyes spilled over.

“Shh,” Draco whispered and that simple sound was Harry’s undoing.

Sobs so broken wracked his chest that no sound came from his throat. He felt a force around his neck as if it were being pressed tight from the outside.

“Muffliato locum hocunum,” Draco whispered next to Harry’s ear.

The sobs broke forth with violence. The last time Harry had wept like this was when after the veil… This went deeper. It was as if Draco’s tenderness dragged it out of him forcefully wherever they were touching. The hand on his back tightened and soothing fingers carded through his curls. With a grunt, Harry pulled Draco towards him in one abrupt motion and buried his face in his shoulder. They were both shaking with the force of his sobs.

He did not know how long he wailed into Draco’s embrace. He cried for his mother and father. He cried for his lost childhood - a time that should have been filled with love and affection. He cried for Sirius. He cried for the crushing weight of expectation on his shoulders. He cried and he cried and he cried. At long last the heaving lessened, his breathing evened out and he went still. Draco was humming something under his breath, rocking him softly. Harry lifted his head and cleaned his face with the edge of his shirt. Ron’s shirt. If Ron knew he had been bawling like a child…

“I’m sorry,” Harry tried to say, but only a croak emerged. He cleared his throat and tried again.

“I’m sorry.”

Draco cupped his face and put his forehead against his own. It felt uniquely intimate. Intimate, but calming.

“Anything,” Draco said quietly. “Anything you want to know. I will answer you, without hesitation or ambiguity.”

Some barrier had broken down. Harry did not want to hold himself back, so he leaned forward and kissed Draco on the mouth. Draco made a surprised noise, but after a second, kissed him back with the weight of relief behind it. When he pulled back, he looked at Harry and Harry looked at him. The grey of his eyes was like a mirror and Harry saw himself in it.

Chapter Text

As Harry leaned back in order to wipe his nose again on the side of Ron's shirt, Draco immediately butted his hands away and produced a pressed handkerchief from somewhere in his pockets, pushing it into his hands. It had his initials stitched into it, of course.

“Uh… thanks,” Harry stammered embarrassedly. “I’ll just go and… get my cup of tea from the kitchen,” he said, angling to escape the mortification for at least a little bit and use the extra minute to think about what to do now. Draco, however, sprung up instantly and waved him back down.

“You’ll do no such thing. I’ll go,” he said and rushed out the door.

Harry gave a sigh. He gladly took the much-needed breathing room and blew his nose. He found himself staring at Draco’s initials, wondering again why he was being so attentive. Considerate, even. Caring to the point of awkwardness. It just wasn’t like Draco, except, apparently it was, because he couldn’t have kept up that kind of behaviour if it were all an act, could he? Was it more likely Harry had never noticed this side of him? Or maybe he’d simply never had an opportunity to notice it? It’s not like Draco had ever felt the need to be attentive to him before, or his friends. Or anyone, probably, except for his family.

His family. His family.

Harry nearly fell off Mr. Weasley’s armchair as realisation hit him like the Hogwarts Express. Draco had left his home. He’d left his family. He’d left his family and had come back home with… with Harry.

He was now… Draco’s family.

The thought emerged from some repressed corner of his brain sluggishly and Harry tried to actively resist it, because it couldn’t be, it couldn’t be. But wasn’t that what Bill had said? What Draco had said himself, last night on the stairs? That they would… share a living? (And a bed, a small voice supplied.) And even before that, on the train, hadn’t Harry felt Draco’s anguish as it had dawned on him that he could probably never go back?

Being committed, as Bill had described it, out of some pureblood sense of honour wasn’t something Harry could understand. The words meant nothing to him. But family, this he knew. This he could understand. And if he was Draco’s family, then Draco was… his family, in a more literal way even than the Weasley’s. Draco was his husband. Entirely and irrevocably. A tidal wave of protectiveness surged up inside him, so fierce, he felt his entire perspective shift. He was responsible for Draco, especially considering he had willingly and probably under considerable strain tried to integrate himself into Harry’s surrogate family. This new understanding made Harry’s determination rise in strength. He would… he would… what exactly could he do? He could start by being more trusting, he supposed. And maybe back him in case of conflict. The others all had each other, but Draco had no-one else to stand up for him, and conflict was inevitable in the present constellation.

Then the thought of having a husband caught up with him and he flinched back, mentally. A husband!

However, if being with Draco was anything like it had been over the last few weeks, it actually wasn’t a terrible image at all. Especially if he considered his actions over the last two days. Something had shifted. He had been good company – charming and funny – before, at times, and sexy, Harry had to admit to himself, but the way he had held him just now; it spoke of dedication. It spoke of devotion. He blushed fiercely at the whole idea, but half of it was for pleasure. Hope blossomed in some part of him that he hadn’t realised had been empty for a long time. It made him nearly giddy.

At that moment the door opened and Draco stepped inside, a tray with tea and biscuits trailing after him. With a small wave the tray set itself down on the desk and a glance from Draco was all it took to make the pot pour for them. He half expected Draco to smirk at him, but there was only a little fond smile playing around his lips when he noticed Harry watching.

A horrible thought crossed his mind. Was Draco actually a nice person and Harry had never noticed before? No. That was taking things one step too far. He might be charming and he might be caring, but he was definitely not nice.

Except, he kind of was. Prickly, yes. Arrogant and condesending maybe, but...

“Well?” Draco asked, eyebrow raised. “I know basic courtesy is not something you were taught, but a simple ‘thank you’ would have sufficed,” he said blandly, inspecting his fingernails. “I am already regretting my choice.”

There. See? Not nice.

Wait, ...what?

“Well, I didn’t force you to save my life,” Harry retorted, stung.

Draco sat up abruptly. “My choice to get you tea, you imbecile. What did you think? I would put up with this household if I weren’t sure of you?”

“Put up with…?” Harry spluttered. “Is it so horrible to be treated decently and be cooked for and…”

“Get hexed behind my back?”

“Yes, well. That’s just Ginny. She has a bit of a temper.”

“I noticed.”

They locked eyes grimly. Harry took everything back. Draco could hold his own in a fight quite without his help.

A cup nudged his hand. He grabbed it, took a sip without braking Draco's gaze and promptly burned his tongue. Draco snorted.

“So, what’s that plant you gave Mrs. Weasley,” Harry asked aggressively, putting the cup back down on the desk.

Draco's eyebrows flew straight into his hairline. “Are you for real? I give you carte blanche to ask me anything and you inquire after a plant?” he moaned disbelievingly.

“It has to be something special, the way she kept touching it," Harry reiterated.

“It’s a charmed plant. A simple Evergreen spell, if you must know.”

“What does it do?”

Draco looked heavenwards as if to communicate to some unknown entity the depth of his frustration with mortal men. One mortal man in particular.

“It’s in the name, Potter. Ever-green? You plant it in your garden and it protects the other flowers from bad weather.”

“If it’s such a simple spell, why was Mrs. Weasley so happy about it?” Harry kept on digging.

“It’s… not a very widely known spell,” Draco said carefully. “And it’s kind of one of Mother’s specialities, so Molly would not get hold of it under more ordinary circumstances.”

“And how come you call her Molly!” Harry complained.

“She offered, naturally. Do you take me for a neanderthal?” Draco replied indignantly.

“Hm,” Harry grunted.

He took a more careful swallow of tea and leaned back in his armchair. What were they even doing? He could never talk to Draco sincerely. Somehow, one of them always ended up offended over something the other person said. Maybe it was their shared history of mutual resentment. Harry just couldn’t take anything Draco said without a grain of salt. But he’d promised himself to try, so try he would.

He cleared his throat awkwardly.

“So… how did you envision this,” he waved a hand between them, “to… go on?” he asked hesitantly, blushing again.

Draco stiffened slightly and then lounged back into his chair so casually, it was evidently a calculated move. His good breeding probably stopped him from betraying himself in a more obvious way, but Harry could tell he was surprised by the straightforwardness of his question.

“Well,” he started and paused.

“Well?” Harry asked, raising his eyebrows in mimicry of Draco’s usual gesture. Two could play at this game!

Draco gave an amused shake of his head.

“In the long view, I guess we have to do something against the obvious obstacle to a long and happy life together,” Draco deadpanned.

Harry stared into his tea.

“So… you think that’s possible?”

Draco cocked his head.

“A long and happy life, I mean. With… me.” If Draco would not genuinely appreciate the immense effort he put into this, he would strangle him.

“Are you asking me if I can imagine being with you for the rest of my life? I think that train has rather left the station, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes, but… how can you just accept all this so easily and move on?” Harry asked bewildered. This was what he really wanted to know, he realised.

“What else am I supposed to do? Fight it?”

Draco got up and went over to the window, studying the countryside, maybe. The sunlight spilling over his form made his hair nearly translucent at the ends. The side of his neck was smooth and it made Harry’s fingers itch.

“Move away and leave everything I’ve ever known? Waste my time searching for a way to undo it all? You are my best life insurance at this point, anyway.” He turned around and fixed his eyes on Harry. “What point is there in making a nuisance of myself? My alternatives are few. I can’t go back to the Dark Lord. He would kill me as an example for what happens to traitors. And I like my life here. I like the possibilities that being the Malfoy heir offers.” At that, his pretty mouth curved into a grimace. “Not that it’s very likely I’ll stay the heir for much longer, anyway. But there is nowhere else I’d want to be. Some are moving to France.” He shuddered. “It’s nice for a holiday, but who’d like to spend an entire life there?” he asked in apparent revulsion. “They’re so… rude. No etiquette in the purist circles. And did you know it takes nearly twenty minutes to get a glass of water in a Parisienne café?”

Harry laughed. He couldn’t help it. Draco was just so… posh.

“That is no laughing matter!” Draco protested in mock outrage.

With arms crossed and indignant expression firmly fixed on his face, Draco was the most tempting vision Harry had ever seen. He found himself pulled into his orbit and for the first time, truly uncaring to resist the pull, he simply stood and approached him, still, with some wariness. Draco followed his process and studied him with a quizzical air and a quirk of lips. His eyes were a shining silver where the sun touched the irises. There were tiny crinkles in the skin next to them and his gaze was… fond? He was hyper aware of every textured detail of Draco’s face. As soon as Harry reached him, however, he couldn’t remember what he’d wanted to do once he was there.

Draco’s smile turned predatory.

“Come here,” he said, stretching out his hand in invitation. Harry couldn’t look away. He slowly lifted his hand to touch Draco’s. His fingers were cool in spite of the heat outside. Their skin brushed where Harry slid his fingertips along Draco’s waiting palm. He shivered. It was like a current against the sensitive pads of his digits. Very deliberately, Draco closed his grip around Harry’s hand and dragged him near. Harry went to him. He was gently manoeuvred to lean against the window. The windowsill dug into his backside. His heartbeat accelerated as Draco unhurriedly pressed his body against his.

“Are you ready now to admit to yourself that you want me?” Draco asked in a near whisper as he leaned in to touch soft lips to Harry’s neck where it was exposed by the shirt’s collar. Draco pressed him against the windowsill unhurriedly and Harry's brain just switched off. Nothing mattered anymore, just this little bubble of shared warmth. His whole body hummed in satisfaction at their closeness. Draco’s hair tickled his cheek. His waist was slim where Harry had lifted his hands to dig his fingers into Draco’s sides. His spine tingled and he could slowly feel his hunger awaken, a rising need to touch and to be touched in return, to let his hands glide along Draco’s skin and feel him tremble in response, preferably naked and underneath a soft blanket. He was nowhere near inclined to admit this out loud, however. It felt like he would somehow lose to Draco if he did.

His lull came to a sharp end and a gasp escaped him as Draco bit him. It nearly overloaded his senses. He could feel his body react in a distinct way.

“Say it.”

Draco's voice was gentle but firm.

“No,” Harry pressed out.

“No?” Draco asked in deceptively calm tones. “Then I’ll just have to show you,” he purred.

Keeping their bodies in contact, he dragged himself down Harry’s front until he was down on his knees. Only this time, his goal was not to comfort him, it seemed. Harry gripped the sill firmly as Draco looked up at him briefly, through hooded eyes. Whatever he saw in Harry’s face, it seemed to satisfy him, because he cupped Harry through his shorts in one smooth motion, rubbing in slow circles.

“Draco!” Harry wanted to chide him, but it came out a lot softer than he had anticipated.

With his other hand, Draco got out his wand and threw a locking charm at the door casually. Then he put his wand next to Harry’s fingers onto the sill. This simple gesture made a last knot of resistance in Harry smooth out and evaporate.

“Yes,” he ground out.

Draco’s eyes gleamed.

“Yes, what?” he inquired, smiling beatifically.

“Yes, please, do it!” Harry pleaded. He wanted it.

He had to commend Draco for not hesitating a moment longer. He simply opened the short’s buttons and moved Ron’s boxers out of the way and put his tongue to work, moaning loudly at first contact. Or had that been him?

“I warded the room,” Draco said hurriedly, pausing. “No sound gets out,” before getting back to it.

Harry only moaned again. There was no way in heaven and on earth he was ever going to give this up again, ever. How could it feel so good?

At a particularly wonderful pull he closed his eyes and there it was, like a new door inside his chest. He knew he could feel what Draco felt if he chose to. There was only a second of apprehension before he stepped trough that door and the fullness of having a man in his mouth assaulted his senses. When Draco moved all the way forward, he could feel himself hit the back of Draco’s throat and at the same time he felt that Draco couldn’t breathe anymore and that he was hard and leaking.

He moaned unrestrictedly because he somehow expected the sound to get stuck in his throat but instead, it rang loudly into the room, over the muffled noises Draco was making.

Draco pulled off.

“Touch my hair!” he groaned and made a move for Harry’s hand. When Harry hesitated, Draco clucked his tongue in irritation and snatched both of Harry’s wrists and put them on his head. “Grab it!” he growled and only when Harry had curled is fingers into Draco’s soft hair did Draco let him go to clutch at his shorts again, opening his lips. This time Harry couldn’t close his eyes. He was mesmerised by Draco’s lips being stretched around him; mouth filled. The way his throat worked as it adjusted to this unfamiliar intrusion. The way he was starting to sweat slightly at the temples. The way his eyelashes fluttered.

Then Draco put one hand down between his own legs, rubbing in quick motions. The sight almost undid him.

When Draco pulled off again Harry entertained thoughts of mass destruction, but then Draco said, cool as a cucumber: “Fuck my mouth.”

“What?” Harry croaked, blinking.

Draco’s eyes glittered angrily as Harry was still trying to comprehend what Malfoy was asking of him. Wouldn’t that hurt?

Suddenly Draco grabbed his hips, pulled him away from the window sharply, shuffled around on the floor and leaned his head back against the wall, Harry’s fingers still buried in his hair.

“Now,” he said sharply. “Move,” and opened his mouth. He managed to seem commanding even whilst being pressed between Harry and the wall.

“I… okay,” Harry mumbled. It didn’t look like Draco would move his head on his own, and if Harry had to decide between stopping and doing the work himself, he would get started right away. Tentatively he nudged himself back between Draco’s lips. Draco closed his eyes and somehow telegraphed being deeply unimpressed by Harry’s lack of oomph.

“Okay,” Harry said again. “But if it’s too much, you pat my leg, okay?” he asked. When Malfoy didn’t react, he pulled out and yanked Draco’s head back, making him look up. Draco groan deeply. “OK?” Harry asked forcefully.

“Yes, yes,” Draco croaked. “Now get to it, kitten.”

Harry started off slowly but when Draco’s whines got louder, Harry sped up and soon got lost in the pleasure of it. His thrusts were strengthening and he cut off Draco’s breath with every push. His hands tightened in Draco’s hair and at some point he was fucking Draco’s mouth, holding him in place whilst plunging in and out with abandon. His grunts were getting louder, too, and Draco had opened his own trousers at some point and had one hand buried deep inside, doing something Harry couldn’t see from this angle, and with the other, he’d taken himself in hand, stroking slowly but powerfully. His whole body was shaking and the noises he was making! Harry had never seen him come so undone. There was no sign of the haughty, collected pure-blood left.

Fascination wrestled with mindless pleasure, but the second won out as he came up towards that crest he was searching. He could feel his toes curl even before it started and when it hit him, he had to cling to Draco to keep upright. His knees bent slightly and his hips twitched rhythmically. He was buried inside Draco’s mouth as deeply as he could go, clutching his hair and Draco swallowed and swallowed, and shook with his own release. It lasted longer than Harry had expected and when he was finally done, he slowly unclenched his fists and moved back on unsteady feet to give Draco some space. They were both gasping, Draco pulling in huge gulps of air. His eyes were still closed and his head was leaned back against the wall, exposing his long, pale throat. His fingers were covered with his pleasure and even his trousers had gotten their fair share. Harry pulled his boxers up and plonked himself down on the floor in front of him, looking for signs of distress.

A smile began to form on Draco’s face and it widened so dramatically, it made him look nearly deranged. His hair was a complete mess and his lips were very, very red. When he moved his head down, he opened his eyes and grinned at Harry like a madman, eyes practically shining. Harry felt an answering grin spread across his own face. Soon they were chuckling together in delight.

“Oof!” Harry said, still smiling. “If I didn’t know you were planning to keep me as life insurance, I'd bet you were trying to kill me!”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“You could have had this yesterday evening, and more! In a perfectly nice bed with the house nearly empty,” he retorted. “And now I’ve had to promise Molly not to share a bed with you, so this will be it for the next few weeks, probably. Except if we can sneak off sometime in between, but somehow, I doubt it,” he added drily. “Be a darling and hand me my wand.”

Harry handed him his wand and watched as Draco performed a cleaning charm and something that made his clothes look freshly ironed after he had tucked himself back in.

“I hope they haven’t come looking yet…” Harry mumbled as he got up.

“I expect Molly would have been in here five times by now, offering us more tea or brining up cupcakes, but I am quite certain Arthur was opting to give us some privacy, if you know what I mean.”

He stretched out his hand towards Harry. “Here, help us up,” he commanded haughtily.

“You are incorrigible,” Harry said, but heaved him up anyway.

Draco went back to his chair and sat down primly, looking for all the world as if they had been sitting there talking about the weather this last half hour. Except for...

"Your hair..." Harry said and sat back down, too, amused. Draco actually blushed, after everything they had just done, and furiosly tried to smooth it back down.

“Is there anything else you wanted to talk about, before you decide to declare to the whole household again how much we loathe each other and how we are not planning to be together, anyway?” he asked blandly, unlocking the door and reheating their tea with a lazy wave of his wand.

“I won’t,” Harry said. “But now we're at it… why can’t we go back to the dormitories?”

“Oh, You really don’t know,” Draco said with a slight frown.

“No?” Harry replied.

“Well, you see. Married persons have the right to room together, and since we are… more than married, so to speak, we would be allowed even though we are still students. Now, nothing would hinder you from going back to your dorm, but I am a filthy traitor and it might not be the best idea to sleep with three blood purists in the room. If I am removed to other quarters, I would still be… vulnerable, shall we say, on my own. So us two rooming together is really the most sensible option,” he explained. “And also, it would be frowned upon by most traditional wizards and I don’t plan to antagonise even more of them. I do still want to go into politics after this is all over,” he added primly.

Harry shook his head in fond disbelief. Trust Draco to take his reputation among Voldemort sympathisers more serious than threat to life and limb.

“And on top of that, think of the shagging we could do every night.”

This, Harry had to concede, was a good point.

Chapter Text

Draco’s life had ever been charged with contradictions. His allies were not his friends and his opponents were not his enemies. His house was not his home and his father was also his tormentor. His mother, his earliest confidante, his most ardent supporter and closely trusted friend, had never spoken plainly of the things she’d had on her mind. And now she had sent him out into the world, and left him.

It was his father’s lessons he had heeded since he was a small boy, eager to please him, but it was his mother’s he remembered when he sat on that train that carried him into an uncertain future.

His father had striven to make him into a blade of steel. Cunning, cold, unyielding, eager to exploit the weaknesses of his enemies, to thrust into the soft and hidden places. At the same time, he was meant to be a lump of clay. Pliable, lukewarm, spineless – moulded into any shape by the same hand that would wield the dagger. His mother’s quiet education had been towards a different purpose. She had warned him to be like a willow tree. Strongly rooted in the earth, but bending with the wind, so as not to break whilst facing the storm. Proudly humble, boldly reserved, shrewdly gracious.

A dagger’s only purpose was to be used, and indeed it was useless without a wielder. A lump of clay had no shape of its own and a willow grew where it was planted. Yet a blade could bite its owner, clay hardened when it went through fire and a willow… A willow, in the wizarding world, might leap and move on its own.

###

The first time he had seen a woman naked, he was four years old. He’d had a nightmare and stumbled into his parent’s bedchamber. His father was nowhere to be seen, but his mother sat on the chair at her dressing table, fingers gliding through rows of glittering pearls and stone necklaces. The landscape of her back was flawless; a meandering expanse of smooth, unblemished skin. He ran to her, thinking she would be a warm comforter, as he knew her to be, but when he touched her back, she was cool. In his child’s mind, fraught with the lingering taste of his bad dreams, this felt very wrong. He flinched back.

His mother turned around and with unseeing eyes she grabbed at him and drew him into her lap. She pressed him close and hummed, rocking him back and forth. He tried to get away and struggled in her embrace, but she was cold as marble and as hard. Her limbs had turned into a cage, smothering him. He could not breathe. In a last attempt, he threw himself off her and when he hit the ground hard, she was gone. He was alone in the darkness.

Draco sat up, panting. The sheets were rumpled and he had kicked away the blankets. The room was unfamiliar even in the soft light of dawn, the shapes looming out of the dim twilight, the walls to close.

Then he remembered Harry’s eyes reflected in the window as he had thought: ‘beautiful’. Harry’s eyes on him in the garden, the same sharp focus of his green gaze. Slowly, warmth replaced the cold dread clinging to his thoughts. He let himself fall back into the mattress and think of green eyes instead of blue, of a hot temper and gentle hands and a blushing neck.

And even if he had to demean himself, he would not lose this. This Bond was his strength now, his anchor and his weapon.

He turned around and fell asleep swiftly.

Chapter Text

Harry and Draco at last decided it was time to end Molly’s torment and head back downstairs. Sighing, Harry heaved himself out of Mr. Weasley’s very comfortable armchair. If his attachment to it grew any stronger, he would start to transmute into one like Professor Slughorn. Draco was standing by the door, watching him.

“Actually,” he said, holding onto the doorknob and studying Harry with a critical eye, as if assessing his adequacy to be seen in public, “maybe you should go to the bathroom to freshen up a bit.” He leaned forwards and brushed his thumb gently along Harry's left eye.

Harry froze like a deer in the headlights. Such an easy, tender touch, given without conscious thought. It made his skin tingle. It communicated a kind of intimacy he hadn't ever shared with anyone before. He shivered. Draco’s eyes never left his as he continued to stroke his thumb lightly back and forth across Harry’s cheek. His skin was sensitive and Harry wouldn’t be surprised if he looked like Dudley after the pixies had descended upon him. The moment stretched until Draco bent down purposefully, slight smile curving his lips.

“You smell like me,” Harry whispered, gaze clinging to Draco’s mouth.

“Let’s see if I taste like you as well,” Draco teased. “By your leave?”

Their slow drag of lips lit embers inside Harry. He could do this for ages, he realised. He wanted to. Exploration merged into passion and Draco’s back hit the door with a slight thump. Harry just couldn’t get enough.

When they managed to separate at last, Harry was breathing hard again and Draco looked… he looked irresistible. There was a particular smug pride in his eyes that suited his face very well, Harry thought. His chin was raised in a manner Harry would have found infuriating only a week past.

With a last twitch of lips, Draco opened the door.

“After you.”

###

Ten minutes later, Harry still examined his reflection in the cracked bathroom mirror.

His hair was as messy as it always had been and his cheeks were still distinctly puffy from… crying. Like a child. In Draco’s arms. Which was somehow even more embarrassing than having the most sensual experience of his life right by Mr. Weasleys work desk.

“Aaargh!” he groaned, rubbing his face with both hands.

Actually, he had been astonished to see the same ordinary young man looking back at him from the mirror. The same ordinary young man as two days ago in the huge gilded looking glass in Malfoy manor. It felt like a lifetime ago. His main ambition had been trying to pass his days without punching Draco in the face and waiting for school to begin so everything could go back to normal. Trying not to punch Draco had soon turned into trying not to complete the bond by applying Hermione’s suggestion. And now he was a bonded man. Burdened with responsibility for yet another person. He felt like his appearance should reflect the added weight his circumstances had saddled him with.

However, this new, unplanned outlook on life also brought with it a kind of weightlessness and joy that reminded him of his first Christmas in Hogwarts. His insides still squirmed when he thought about the feeling of Draco’s mouth and the knowledge that this won’t have been the last time it happened. In fact, as soon as they were out from underneath Mrs. Weasley's thumb, he might learn to get used to it. Maybe they could even–

A knock sounded at the door. “Harry?” Ron’s voice called.

“Yeah, just a minute!” he shouted back and quickly washed his face over the basin.

“Thank Merlin. I nearly forgot Malfoy is here somewhere. The thought of sharing a bathroom is too creepy,” Ron whispered with a shudder when Harry stepped into the hall.

“Well. You can hardly let him share Ginny’s...” Harry muttered.

“I’d like to see him try!” Ron laughed, hitting Harry on the back as he stepped past him into the restroom.

Harry slumped against the wall. He could hear Mr. and Mrs. Weasley in the kitchen. He suspected she would ask him about his talk with Draco, so he went upstairs instead and sat down on his bed listlessly. This day’d had more than enough excitement. His body felt sluggish. Come to think of it – he hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before.

His glasses on the bedside table, he fell asleep swiftly.

###

When he woke up, the sun was just beginning to set. Lifting his arms above his head, he sighed as his back made a particular satisfying pop. He hadn’t rested that well in ages! He got up languidly and padded through the hall, down the flights of stairs and into the kitchen. Yawning and scratching his head, he settled at the table. Ron was standing at the counter next to his mother, grumbling and peeling potatoes.

“Of course he gets to nap while I have to do house elf work,” he muttered.

“And if I hear you complain one more time, you can clean out tomorrow’s chicken as well,” Mrs. Weasley added mildly.

Ron turned around and threw Harry a dirty look. Harry chuckled and leaned back in his chair, sighing contentedly.

Ron’s face froze as his gaze fell past Harry and he quickly turned back to his potatoes. Frowning, Harry twisted around and saw Draco reclining in the weirdly patterned armchair in the corner, book open in his lap, watching him. A smile was pulling at the corners of his mouth and Harry was surprised at the distinct urge to kiss it. The smile became a full-blown grin and before Harry had even thought about it, he was getting up and striding over towards where Draco sat.

He sunk down into the brown armchair next to him and put his feet on the table.

“What are you reading?” he asked when Draco didn’t say anything.

Draco lifted the book. Harry leaned closer and squinted to decipher the title. How Do Airplanes Fly? And More Answers To Questions Your Children Will Ask You.

“Arthur lent it me,” Draco said, still grinning. “I never realised how crazy muggles really are.”

“You have no idea,” Harry said. “Have you heard of submarines?” He widened his eyes playfully.

“Let me guess. They go underwater?” Draco’s tone was coloured by horror and fascination both.

“How did you know?” Harry asked, mildly astonished.

Draco smirked and Harry wondered how in Merlin’s name he had never realised before how attractive Draco was when he smiled.

“Latin,” he said loftily with a toss of his head.

“Ah.”

Harry looked away, willing his face to remain cool. He just hadn’t seen Draco smile that often. It had always been cruel sneers or condescending cackles.

Draco was quiet.

Harry fidgeted with the quilt thrown over the armrest. When he glanced back up, Draco was still studying him. Why wouldn’t he just continue reading his book? He just kept looking at him.

“What?” Harry asked flatly.

“Nothing,” Draco said, casually crossing one leg over the other. “I’m just appreciating the… ‘straight out of bed’ look. So innocent; soft and sleep tousled. And come to think of it, I’ve never seen you without your glasses.” Draco leaned in and lowered his voice. “I’m looking forward to our shared rooms in Hogwarts,” he murmured and gave Harry a very obvious once-over. In the background, Ron was making audible gagging noises. The thump that followed resulted in continued muttering and complaints.

Harry plonked his head back onto the backrest and called over his shoulder: “Make sure to clean those potatoes real thorough. You know how much I hate bits of peel on my potatoes!”

Draco snickered. Something flew past Harry’s head at high speed and bounced off his armchair, straight at Draco’s face. He ducked away just in time and the potato thunked against one of the coloured paintings stuck to the wall, leaving an unshapely smudge on it.

“Ronald Bilius Weasley!” Mrs. Weasley’s shrill voice reverberated thought the house. “You will go to your room immediately and you will stay there until you remember how to behave!”

“Wh-what!?” Ron stammered. “But mum, that’s unfair! Harry–“

“I don’t want to hear any excuses. You will go and think about how we treat guests in this household. No dinner! Now go!”

“But-“

“Not one word!” she said tightly with her finger raiser in his direction.

Ron’s shoulders tensed as he went over to the sink to wash his hands. Harry winced. It seemed he had gravely misjudged Ron’s mood. When they’d talked earlier on, he’d seemed more... cheerful. Had something happened in the meantime?

He got up, glancing over at Draco again but his face was carefully blank and held no indication of anything amiss.

“Ron, I’m sorry,” Harry said. “Mrs. Weasley, please, there’s no need. I’m sure Ron just forgot Draco was there and he… well, we do stuff like that all the time, don’t we, Ron? It’s all just in good fun.” He nudged Ron in the side.

“Uhh…” Ron said, “yeah.”

Mrs. Weasley didn’t look the slightest bit inclined to lessen Ron’s sentence, however. Her hands had taken permanent residence on her hips and her cheeks were flushed an angry red.

“Ron knows better than to throw food around my kitchen, be it in good fun or otherwise,” she said sternly.

Harry wanted to retort something, but Ron grabbed his shoulder.

“Leave it, mate,” he said tiredly.

When nothing more was forthcoming, Mrs. Weasley nodded brusquely and turned back to her chicken.

“I’m really sorry. I’ll sneak you dinner later,” Harry mouthed towards him as Ron glowered at Draco on his way to the staircase.

Draco sighed in a way that somehow expressed his ongoing and deep dissatisfaction with life in general and got up with a look at Harry that clearly said “I don’t know why I do this for you and I hope you die an early death of the most painful kind” and stalked over to where Mrs. Weasley was gutting the chicken using increasingly aggressive methods.

He stopped next to her and put a tentative hand on her arm. His expression had changed from night to day in a second.

“Molly,” he said softly. Mrs. Weasley stilled. “Please let it go. I know very well how hard it must be for your family to accept my presence in this house. I would feel terribly uncomfortable knowing Ron missed dinner on my behalf.”

His tone was dripping earnestness.

“Well,” Mrs. Weasley said, seemingly flustered. “Well. I guess in that case.” She wrung her hands.

Harry’s mouth dropped open. How in Merlin’s name had Draco done that? Harry had only ever seen Mr. Weasley placate Mrs. Weasley like that and never with such ease.

Rounding on Ron, she added: “But you better take care to be on your best behaviour!”

Ron stood by the stairs, looking as shocked as Harry felt, face changing slowly from disbelief to outrage.

“Why thank you, Mum, but I think I’d rather go to bed early. I won’t be able to watch my tongue with him around,” he spat at Draco and vanished.

###

They ate without Ron.

Mr. Weasley came in from the shed and Harry helped Mrs. Weasley with the rest of dinner preparations. He listened bemusedly to Draco navigating his way through a conversation about radios and toasters with an enthusiastic Mr. Weasley. Occasionally, Draco would glance in Harry’s direction with that same put-upon look from before, but to Harry’s ongoing astonishment and Mrs. Weasley’s obvious amusement, managed to hold his own.

When their plates were empty and Mrs. Weasley began clearing the table, Mr. Weasley scraped back his chair and looked at his wife with serious eyes, clearing his throat.

“Ah, yes. Harry, my dear, why don’t you take that up to Ronald, he must be very hungry,” she said distractedly, pushing a plate into Harry’s hands. Potatoes and mushrooms were piled high, surrounded by peas and carrots, drowned in gravy.

“Don’t bother with the plate, you can bring it back down tomorrow morning. Sleep well!” She fairly shoved Harry towards the stairs, handing him fork and knife as an afterthought.

Harry looked over at Draco who lifted his right shoulder in an elegant shrug.

“Right. Yes, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry said. “Good night, Mr. Weasley. See you tomorrow, Draco!”

Draco nodded at him and as Harry was creeping up the stairs, balancing the plate on one hand, he heard Mr. Weasley say: “Well, Draco. Molly and I had a talk with Bill over the floo earlier and we all…” before he moved around the corner and the voices became too quiet to make out clearly. Should he go back and listen?

But first, he had to get Ron his dinner.

###

Ron was sitting on his small balcony, watching the night. When Harry stepped outside, Ron glanced at him and went right back to studying the sky.

“I brought you some dinner,” Harry tried and sat down next to him.

Ron brightened a little and uncrossed his legs to balance the plate on his thighs. As soon as Harry handed over knife and fork, Ron began stuffing his face.

“Quidditch,” was all he said and swallowed. “Forgot how hungry it makes you.”

Harry studied him from the side. His hair was even shaggier than before the holidays and could it be that he was a bit wider, as well?

“Why haven’t you been training?” Harry asked.

“I did at first,” Ron answered past a mouthful of potato, “but it’s just not a lot of fun, on your own, you know.” He shrugged.

“But… wouldn’t Ginny play with you? And what about Fred and George?”

Ron ducked his head. “Well,” he said after a while, “Ginny just wants me to be keeper all the time so she can ‘practice her aiming and trick shots’. We did play a few games over the summer, but Fred and George are always busy, either with their shop or doing secret stuff for the Order.”

Harry frowned.

“But Ron, you are keeper. That would have been perfect training!”

“Yes, but it doesn’t really keep you in form! And when Hermione was here, I didn’t want to spend too much time just doing drills and stuff. You know I hate drills. And Ginny just kept complaining that I wasn’t good enough and needed to practice more and I just…” He sighed like a huge load was pressing down on his shoulders. “I think it’s just not as important as it used to be,” he added. “Playing, I mean. There is so much going on… Dad has two days of vacation left, but then he’ll have to go back to the ministry and he’ll be working overtime and… you should have seen him last month, the circles underneath his eyes. Even when he did get home in time for dinner, he would just sit there and stare, sometimes. He wasn’t sleeping well either, I could tell. He won’t tell me what’s going on but You-Know-Who has half the Ministry undermined and they’re planning something big, I just know it! And Mum gets really weird when he is gone too long, she cooks way too much food and looks out the window every few minutes. Hermione spent a lot of time here and when we weren’t doing homework, we were thinking about what you told us about the Hocruxes. With you gone for a whole month, we didn’t get any news, because Dumbledore won’t talk to us and Mum forbade us to join them on the order meetings, even though we were there last year! How the buggering boggarts are we supposed to help when no-one tells us anything! And then your letters got less and less and we knew there was something you weren’t telling us, but how could we have guessed you decided to start shagging Malfoy instead of trying to get rid of him! And then you just swanned in here with a baby Death Eater in tow without any thoughts as to what they could be planning! He ridiculed us for years! He called Hermione a…” Ron stopped and growled low in his throat.

“His father nearly killed my sister!” He was shouting now. “He would have killed you in the Ministry! His aunt killed Sirius and you just… you…. How can you just trust him?!” Ron was breathing hard. He’d carelessly flung his plate to the side and his fists were balled in his lap.

Harry blinked. Sirius' name left a dull throb in his ribcage. He had expected his all-too-familiar temper to rise halfway through that tirade, but it hadn’t. The anger, like a burning sea of rage that had become less and less controllable over the last year – it did not come. He felt a bit overwhelmed at Ron’s ire and he was annoyed Ron brought Draco’s trustworthiness up again. He shared Ron’s worry for his family and then realised he should also share his concern about how to deal with Voldemort, but his mind was unexpectedly clear. He held up a hand.

“Ron…” he started. “I… I am sorry for not writing about everything before.” He grimaced. “It’s just not something to write in a letter. I wasn’t even sure what I thought about it myself. And if everything had happened the way we’d thought with the unfettering brew, it certainly wouldn’t have mattered.”

Ron frowned and gave him a disbelieving look, but some of the tension left his body.

“Mate, I hate to say this, but you don’t really think you can just… bugger someone and it doesn’t change anything? And I’m not even talking about the foolishness of wanting to bugger Malfoy in the first place.”

“Okay,” Harry said, “but can you please stop saying bugger?”

Ron snickered. “You know Hermione and I-“

“No, stop!” Harry yelled and threw himself at Ron to cover his mouth with his hands. “I don’t want to hear this!”

Ron’s shrieks of laughter echoed into the night and soon they were rolling across the floor, Ron shouting things like “Buggering!” and “Love!” and “Help! I’m being raped!” until Harry hit the plate with his elbow and it sailed straight off the balcony and landed in the garden with a thump and a crash.

They stilled and listened for half a minute but when nothing else happened, their held back laughter burst out forcefully. The wheezed and cried for ten minutes straight. Whenever the giggles started to subside, Ron would start laughing again, or say something funny, or just look at him, and it set Harry off again. They laughed until Harry's stomach hurt and he pleaded for mercy.

Then they just lay there and looked up at the stars until Ron leaned back against the wall and pulled up his knees.

“You know, I’m thankful he saved your life. But from what you said, it was a spur of the moment decision he made under pressure and I’m sure he only thought of the consequences afterwards. He wasn’t willing to let you die when he could prevent it and that shows he’s a human being. But it doesn’t mean he has changed in any fundamental way, Harry.”

Harry made himself consider this.

“Okay, you may be right, but what about this… pledge he made to your parents? With the…” he made a slashing motion across his palm.

“The blood magic. That might have just been to get us to trust him. He must know that my parents are too noble to really take anything from him or do anything to him.”

Harry thought about this, too. He couldn’t believe it of Draco, not after what happened earlier today. Nobody was that good an actor. He blushed remembering what Draco had looked like after their little tryst. Nobody could have acted that, surely. But he could hardly say that to Ron. There was something else nagging him, anyway.

“But… you know he would die if I died, right?” he asked Ron.

“What?” Ron said, eyes wide. He turned and stared at Harry. “Are you sure?”

“Well,” Harry said slowly, “he told me so.”

“Ah.”

It was all Ron said, but his face spoke volumes.

“I’m sure he didn’t lie about that. We can ask Hermione, she would know.”

“Hermione!” Ron cried and sprung up. “Have you told her?”

Harry stopped short. He hadn’t even though about it. She didn’t even know they were here! Harry slapped his face hard and shook his head, getting up.

“I forgot,” he mumbled and turned pleading eyes on Ron. “She is going to kill me!”

“Not before she kills Malfoy,” Ron snickered. “Well, you better write her a letter."

Chapter Text

“You really sure it’ll be enough?” Ron asked nonchalantly. He was stretched out on his bed reading the Qidditch Times.

“If I started with the explaining I wouldn’t know where to stop, so I’ll just send it like this,” Harry replied, a little hassled at this point. His hands kept slipping off the tiny string he’d been trying to use in order to fasten the letter to Pig’s excitedly quivering little leg. As soon as he managed to tighten the knot sufficiently, Pig took off in a flurry of feathers and swept off the balcony.

Harry had written a single line:

Hermione, Draco and I are at the Burrow, we are fine, come over for explanations.

Harry

He watched Pig disappear into the night. They had seen neither beak nor feather of Hedwig and Harry was beginning to get worried. Usually she arrived at places even before he himself got there.

“Why didn’t you just use a sticking charm?” Ron asked without looking up from his magazine.

Harry groaned.

“Why didn’t you remind me of that five minutes ago?” He plonked himself down next to Ron using his momentum to give him a good shove. Ron grinned and shoved back.

“That’s because it’s amusing to see you suffer. Your pain causes amusement. Your suffering is a constant source of satisfaction. It’s fun to-“

“Yes, thank you, I got it!” Harry choked out around his laughter and snatched the magazine from below Ron’s face.

“Hey, give that here!”

“When do you think Hermione will get here?”

He rolled the magazine into a perfect weapon and whacked Ron’s arm with it.

“Oi! What was that for?”

“It’s amusing to see you suffer. Your pain causes amusement,” Harry mimicked with a straight face and threw the magazine at Ron’s head. Ron dodged it neatly.

“So, what do you reckon? About Hermione?” Harry repeated.

Ron turned over his side and rolled off the bed, picking the curled magazine up off the floor in one fluid motion. “I don’t know. Pig knows the way pretty well, so it only takes him about three hours.” He straightened the magazine’s pages out with broad sweeps of his hands and tossed it onto his desk. “If she decides to go right away, she’ll probably take the Under-the-ground-train to the Leaky and floo from there, but it’s pretty late, so maybe she’ll go first thing tomorrow, in which case she’ll be here at about 7ish maybe? It’s hard to tell. You know how she gets when there are things in this world that she doesn’t know about. She might turn up at 1 o’clock tonight.”

He grinned lopsidedly and shrugged.

“She sneaked in here a while back and woke me up in the middle of the night just to tell me about something-or-other she’d read in a book about no-idea-what. Absolutely can’t remember. Totally bonkers, of course,” he added and shook his head, yet his eyes shone as he said it.

Harry smiled, but a tongue of sadness flickered up inside. He’d missed out on things here while he had been busy dealing with his own problems. He’d been totally absorbed in Draco, hadn’t he? Grimacing, he remembered last year’s sneaking about. Maybe that wasn’t actually a new phenomenon.

“I just wanna see Malfoy’s face when she starts in on him. Do you think she’ll hit him like third year?” The unholy gleam in Ron’s eyes made Harry uncomfortable. Had they always spoken of Draco like this?

“You know,  I… uh.” But what could he say, really? Ron hadn’t been there over the summer. Ron couldn’t know Draco the same way Harry did, thank God for small mercies. “I’m pretty much knackered. Let’s just… call it a day.”

“Alright, mate. She’ll get here when she gets here. No use worrying about it.”

While waiting for Ron to finish in the bathroom, while brushing his teeth, while trying to find a comfortable position on the worn through mattress, Harry kept mulling things over. How was he going to explain everything to Hermione?  How could he make Ron see that Draco wasn’t… wasn’t just a bad guy? How could he make this work?

###

“Harry James Potter!”

A thundering on the stairs and a booming voice tore Harry from peaceful slumber. The door blasted open and a frazzled looking girl with hurricane hair and iron feet strode through. Her eyes were fixed on him unblinkingly, her chest contracting and expanding with rapid breathing.

“Harry!”

She marched towards the bed. She looked like she was about to hex the living daylights out of him. However, she resorted to non-magical means, leaned over the bed and cuffed him over the head sharply.

“How come you have been here for two days and I have to hear everything from Mr. Weasley, of all people?” she huffed. She stood there just fixing him with this look. Then her bottom lip quivered.

Instinctively, Harry scooted back on the bed, but before he was even half-way up, he had a face full of bushy curls and a lap full of sobbing Hermione.

“Hermione?” Ron groaned from the bed, lifting his head from the pillows just enough to glance towards them through a cracked eye.

“I- I- I’m so sorry!” she hiccoughed. “Stupid, stupid, stupid! I should have known they were planning something! I should have seen it coming!”

Harry opened his mouth to say… something, but strands of hair plastered themselves onto his tongue.

Ron sat up blinking. Then he reached behind himself and got a packet of tissues from the floor.

“If only- If only I had warned you more urgently…” She hid her face in Harry’s shoulder and broke down into unintelligible muttering.

“Hermione…” Harry said, spluttering past Hemione’s locks. He didn’t know where to put his hands, so he just patted her back awkwardly. How on earth had Draco managed to deal with this so effortlessly yesterday?

He had to console her somehow, help her calm down.

“Hermione,  I… I’m not wearing anything underneath that blanket,” is what came out of his mouth.

She tensed and then flew away from him, her face a red moon.

“Of course, I’m so sorry!” she snivelled and turned towards the door. “I’ll just… I’ll just wait downstairs.”

“Ah, I didn’t mean… I just meant to say, I’m not wearing a shirt, so…” Harry got up and snatched a shirt from Ron’s altar of clothes on the chair and pulled on a pair of shorts. The whole pile wobbled dangerously, but held.

“All done, I’m decent,” he pronounced and made space on his bunk bed, shifting blankets and cushions aside. “Come, take a seat.” He sat down cross legged at the head and patted the mattress in front of him.

Hermione turned around and slowly stumbled over. When she had folded herself onto the bed, Ron sat on the edge of his and leaned over, handing her the tissue box. “Alright?” he asked more tenderly than Harry had thought him capable and stroked her hair back from her face, taming the wilderness back into shape.

“Thanks,” Hermione mumbled, blew her nose and dabbed at her eyes. Harry averted his face when Ron murmured something into her ear quietly. She shook her head and dislodged another few strands in the process. “No, I’m fine, Ron. Thank you.”

Then she turned to Harry.

“I heard about the Bonding from Mr. Weasley just now. About what Mrs. Malfoy did and about the healing and the Death Eaters.” At this her eyes teared up again. “Oh Harry, I am so sorry about everything.”

Ron handed her another tissue.

Harry scratched his head.

“Uh… not that I don’t appreciate it, Hermione, but… what exactly are you apologising for?”

“Well,” she waved a hand, “this whole mess. You know, what I wrote in the letter, when I jokingly… advised you not to… Well. It never occurred to me that you were ever really in danger of forming an Indissoluble Bond! But it should have been obvious that the Malfoy’s would make a political move and use it as a resource to gain the upper hand. How could I have been so blind! Urgh!” she growled and beat her fist against her knee. “If I had seen it coming, I could have written to Dumbledore… well, I did write do Dumbledore, but I could have pressed him some more! I’m sure he would have seen sense. You could have come here, and damn what the Malfoys said about it.”

“Hermione-“ Harry tried, but she just barrelled over him.

“No, listen to me. Draco is a perfectly placed piece on the board. He is untouchable because of his connection with you but in no way can he be held responsible because he just saved your life, right? That could even be construed as making up for the previous years of antagonising you. Yet in no way is he beholden to our side. His morals are shady at best, his motivations are unknown and his loyalties certainly don’t lie with us. That makes him the ultimate spy!”

If Hermione’s eyes weren’t so full of steel, Harry would have laughed at this pronouncement. Draco, a spy?

“Hermione. I get what you’re trying to say, but I don’t think Draco reports back to Voldemort. You should have seen him on his way here. He was absolutely stunned by everything that happened and I really don’t think he is that good an actor.” He smiled.

Harry should have known better than to hope to derail her so quickly.

“How could you tell? It’s not like you really know him.” Hermione crossed her arms. She was radiating ‘stubborn’.

“Exactly,” Ron said. “He is playing you for a fool.”

“And the whole thing was planned meticulously!” Hermione continued. “I’m sure Draco would like to make you think it was an accident, but the timing of your injury could not have been a coincidence. Mrs. Malfoy must have arranged that somehow. For the Death Eaters to appear right that moment…. Harry! Don’t you see?” Her voice was getting desperate and her eyes were pleading with him to understand.

Harry sighed. “Hermione… I already know Mrs. Malfoy did that on purpose, because Draco deduced exactly the same thing just minutes after we safely landed our brooms. He wasn’t trying to convince me of anything. And believe me when I say, he had no idea. Just… trust me on this, ok?” He looked at her earnestly.

Hermione’s shoulders sagged. “Well. He might not be involved all that deeply, but Harry… would you bet your life on it?”

“And that’s exactly the thing. It’s not like he can just kill me or have me killed or something.” Even saying the words made Harry cringe inside. He just knew Draco wouldn’t do that. “If I die, he dies.”

“That’s what he said, anyway,” Ron interjected.

This gave Hermione pause. The wheels were visibly turning in her head. “Huh. There has been no conclusive evidence of this in any of the documents I studied. I mean, one Bonded often died quite quickly after the other, but technically that’s statistical correlation and can’t be taken to have a causal relationship.”

“Uh… so it might be true, but you don’t know?” Ron asked.

“I can’t say for certain. I found references to other, more experimental works, but the London Wizarding Library didn’t have those. They are considered Dark.” She tapped her lips with an impatient finger. “However, an old and Dark family library like the Malfoy’s might have books about experiments in that field. They have to have some! Otherwise, how could they have known about the possibility of an Indissoluble Bond forming, in the first place? Oh! They might even know of a way to break the bond!”

No! Undefinable dread surged up inside Harry like a tsunami. That couldn’t be. Surely that couldn’t be. That’s why it was called an Indissoluble Bond, right? Because there was no way to dissolve it. And even if the Malfoys had books on the subject, they wouldn’t experiment on their own son, would they? It would be unsafe, even if it were possible. They wouldn’t dare. And if they did try something… well. They’d have to go through him first!

No, wait. What was he thinking?

He started upright. The same powerful urge to protect Draco had roared to life and caused so much damage yesterday. He had to remain calm. 

Still, breaking the Bond was no option.

“I don’t think breaking the Bond is possible,” he said hotly. “At least not without a lot of collateral damage… We don’t know how deep the bond is. There might be parts connected that I can’t even see or feel. I’d rather not risk it. It’s not like I wouldn’t want the bond gone, of course, but I’ve… kind of… gotten used to having him around… a bit?”

“Well, nobody said anything about messing around with the bond, Harry. At least not without being a hundred percent sure you wont be hurt in the process” She narrowed her eyes at him and hummed. “Are you alright? Is there something else you haven’t told me yet?” She looked at Ron, too.

Harry went through all the things in his head he hadn’t told her about and made a face.

“What is it? Tell me!” she demanded. Honestly, she was like a sniffer dog following the scent of blood ten miles against the wind.

“Well, what has Dad told you so far, ‘Mione?” Ron inquired sensibly.

“He spoke about the accident, the healing, the Death Eaters and your journey here, by train! Honestly, Harry! You could just have called the Knight Bus!”

Harry imagined Draco’s face had he suggested they travel by bus. He could picture it too clearly. ‘As if a pure-blood like me would set foot in a tiny stinking vehicle like that…’ or something similar. The thought made him smile.

“Harry? So, what is it?” Hermione asked again impatiently.

“Oh, right! His scar is gone!” Ron blurted and reached over to lift up Harry’s fringe.

Hermione’s eyes went huge like saucers. Tentatively, she lifted her hand and with a quizzical look, touched his forehead, stroking a finger over where the scar used to be tenderly.

“It’s really gone,” she breathed. “But how?”

Harry cleared his throat. Both Ron and Hermione snatched their hands back abruptly. Hermione giggled nervously. “Sorry, it’s just fascinating, isn’t it? Where has it gone?”

“Well… I don’t really know myself. When my chest was smashed open (“Oh Harry!”), Draco put his hands on the wound and pulled the- the pain and the hurt into himself and that’s how the wound closed.” He shuddered. It had been a rather gruesome image. “But when the wound had closed all the way, it felt like he wasn’t done. I know he felt the same. So he kept on pulling and pulling and this green goo-  came out.” He looked down at his hands. He remembered how the stuff had clung to Draco’s. Goosebumps spread along his arms and back in spite of the warm room. “It felt really horrible,” he whispered. “Like I would never be happy again.”

“Like a dementor?” Ron asked quietly and shuddered.

“More like this uncontrollable misery and wrath packed into lots of pain.”

Now that he thought about it, he had felt the effect of the removal immediately, on the train. A quiet, calm centredness, less quick-hot anger. He had written it off as an effect of the Bond, but the door that he pictured as their connection had a different quality to it. They were probably two separate things. He closed his eyes and took a slow measured breath. It should be easy enough to inspect.

“Harry? Does it still hurt?” Hermione asked carefully.

His eyes snapped open. The expression on his freind's faces reflected sympathy and concern.

“No, I’m alright. I just felt different afterwards and I wanted to see if it’s still like that. Better, I mean. I feel better.”

“Well, that’s good, isn’t it?” Ron said. “Whatever it was, it had something to do with your scar. It must have something to do with the night You-Know-Who…”

“Killed my parents, right!” Harry slapped his forehead. “I didn’t even think of that before!”

“We have to tell Dumbledore, right now,” Hermione said fiercely and got up. “This can’t wait.”

###

When Ron and Harry joined Hermione downstairs, hot cross buns were waiting on a neat stack in the middle of the kitchen table. They smelled heavenly. Ron’s stomach growled. He eyed Hermione, who got up from her chair.

“No way, Ronald! This is much more urgent! We can eat later!”

“What do I ‘ear? I ‘ave made zeese especially for ze boys. You cannot go out weethout ‘aving breakfast!”

Fleur floated around the corner. She was wearing a flowery, frilly apron and looked altogether lovely.

Hermione tensed. “We have more important things to do than hot cross buns! We have to speak to Dumbledore immediately. Come on, boys.” She strode towards the floo but Fleur cut off her way.

“Dumblidore left or right, eet eez no good to force a man to work weezout food een ‘is belly. Dumblidore can wait a ‘alf ‘our. You go on your own, no? You ‘ave eaten.”

Before Hermione got over her indignation, Fleur sauntered back around her and motioned for Ron and Harry to sit. Ron’s face was twisted in indecision. He glanced from Hermione to Fleur to the pile of food on the table. Then he swallowed and faced Hermione with an apologetic smile.

“Fleur’s right, you know. A man needs his food. Half an hour won’t hurt,” he said at last and plonked himself down.

The buns did smell nice. Harry slowly sat down as well.

“It’s going to be fine, Hermione. We don’t even know if he we’ll get ahold of him, right? Let’s have breakfast and then go.”

Hermione dithered for a moment longer, but then sighed and joined them at the table, throwing Fleur a dark look. Fleur seemed unperturbed as she served them buns, jam, chocolate spread and double cream. Cups of tea floated over as well and when she had finished wiping the counter, she sat down opposite Ron.

“You ‘ave slept well, no? Before someone stormed een and woke you, yes?” she asked and smiled at them. Hermione bristled and bit her lip. She glared at her cup of tea as if it had called for house elves to be thrown back into slavery where they belonged.

“Very well, thanks.” Ron mouthed around his bite. “These are really good!”

“Why, zank you!” Fleur beamed. “They are Bill’s favoureete. Molly’s rezeepe.”

“Really? I think they are better than Mum’s, actually. Did you change something?”

“I added somezeeng, but eet eez a zecret.” She winked.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Is Draco still asleep?” Harry asked, half to change the subject and half because he had just thought about whether they shouldn't take him along, too.

“Oh, no, ‘ee ‘az eaten a long time ago,” Fleur laughed. “‘ee eez at ze cottage, viziteeng wiz Bill.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “He hasn’t said anything.”

Puzzled, he blew on his tea to cool it. What was Draco doing at the cottage? He could have said something, really. Now that he knew Draco was indisposed, the urge to take him along became nearly unbearable. He hadn't even felt him leave...

Frowning, Harry took a sip and promptly burned his tongue. He hissed angrily. When he looked up, he saw Hermione studying him. “Too hot," he mumbled and shrugged, smiling self-depreciatingly. Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. Harry sighed. She would ask more questions later.

When they had eaten and Ron had at last torn himself away from Fleur’s radiance (Hermione shoving him towards the fire place had probably helped), they made their way through the floo. Harry dragged his feet as he took a fistfull of floo powder. He stood there for nearly a full minute, before he clucked his tongue at himself for dawdling. Draco would not appear out of thin air right this very instant, just because he wanted him to.

If he flung the powder into the hearth's bed a bit forcefully; no-one was there to see it.

"The headmaster's office!"

Chapter Text

If anyone had told Bill Weasley he would be sitting at his kitchen table at 9 o’clock on a Sunday morning calmly drinking tea with Lucious Malfoy’s spawn, he would probably not have believed them. He would also have used his connections to cheerfully but systematically corner their work colleagues, their friends and their family until he found out just what kind of political manoeuvring made a scenario like this probable. As it happened, no-one had told him that he would be sitting at his kitchen table at 9 o’clock on a Sunday morning calmly drinking tea with Lucious Malfoy’s spawn, so unfortunately no cornering had taken place and he felt woefully unprepared to deal with this situation.

Fleur had not been amused when he’d rushed off in the afternoon the day before, but what was he to do? No warning, no information, no preparation. And then Friday had happened with the two lovebirds just swanning into the Burrow like… well. Like somebody was after them. And then Saturday was even worse. Couldn’t the Malfoy boy NOT get bonded to somebody for a bloody day? Lifelong servitude, honestly. Granted, Bill had been entertained at first, but the longer he thought about it, the more dangerous he judged the situation. There was no accounting at all for what this massive, over-night change in the game would do to the carefully imbalanced political mine field. As soon as it all became public knowledge, anyway.

Bill cocked his head and studied the way Draco took his tea. Collected. Poised, really. Every motion just so. No thoughts betrayed by his countenance. Polite yet dispassionate mien. Bill had always believed the Malfoys to be a cunning, opportunistic and careful sort of breed and he could almost believe it, watching Draco. If he had not seen the way he acted around Harry, that is. Draco was trying very hard indeed to play at politics like his father did, but he wasn’t in the least experienced enough to pull this off with his heart as involved as much it was and so many unknown factors. Lucius would rather have castrated himself and his only son than become beholden to a blood traitor family, even if he might have been able to work the bonding itself to his advantage a few years ago.

Draco however… He needed all the help he could get. The blood ritual had been a sloppy move.

“The blood ritual was a sloppy move,” Bill said.

Draco looked up, quizzical air.

“I… beg your pardon?”

Bill laughed and shook his head. “Look at you!” he chortled. “There’s no need for all that with me. Let’s make a deal. You be honest with me and am honest with you.”

“I don’t think I can quite follow…”

“No, I think you stopped following a few days ago and are trying your hand at making do on your own. A little advice.” Bill leaned forward in his chair, seeking Draco’s eyes. “It’s not going to work. My family are kind and honourable, but your little games will not convince anybody who knows their business. You need my help.”

“Well,” Draco said, visibly taken aback.

His shoulders straightened and he opened his mouth, but nothing more came out. His eyes restlessly searched the room before resting again on Bill. When Bill just cocked his head at him, Draco held his breath for a moment and then exhaled slowly. His shoulders moved forward an inch. Bill would have missed it, had he not paid such close attention. He just waited. The best way to make someone talk was to make them feel responsible for filling the silence. He listened to the seconds tick by on the lavender clock on the wall.

“Well, I…” Draco trailed off. He was deep in thought, but what about? His cloudy eyes were distant again, unseeing. Bill hated not knowing something. He had to get a better grasp of this boy, and soon.

Suddenly, Draco’s back straightened and he lifted his head to look at Bill in a direct stare. Bill raised his eyebrows in surprise. That had been a quick recovery. Maybe he had underestimated Draco.

“Thank you. I would be glad for your help,” Draco said, “in whatever way you can give it.”

Bill relaxed and threw his arms over the back rest of his chair, spreading his legs. This was a good start. He hadn’t expected Draco to jump on the bandwagon this easily. Lucius would have been a lot more stubborn about it. No, he probably wouldn’t have accepted help at all, obstinate, prideful man, least of all from a Weasley.

“Why don’t you start by telling me what the bloody hell you were thinking when you flung your inheritance at my parent’s feet,” Bill said a bit unkindly.

Draco flinched. Good. He was on the defensive, now. Thrown off balance, easy to read.

“I needed you to grant us Sanctuary…” Draco’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. He glanced at Bill. “And I need you to support us in front of Dumbledore. With the same move, I made you my perfect allies and I took legal guardianship away from my parents. They’d have taken me out of school on the first day and…” his face was pained, “probably just brought me to him. Well. I’m sure Mother would have found a way, but I’m not letting her get into any more danger. Now they have no legal hold over me and therefor he can’t use them to get at me. On top of that, any emotional connection I have with my parents is useless to exploit, because I have no say over what I do if given a direct order. That means Mother is safe! You must see how well this all works out!”

With each sentence, Draco’s confidence grew, echoed by his posture and expression.

“Those are all valid arguments at first glance, but didn’t you forget about one tiny detail?” Bill asked, smiling. He was enjoying this a bit too much, maybe.

“I…” Draco faltered. His eyes moved around the room, jumping from the table to the counter, to the clock on the wall rapidly. Bill could see the wheels turning in his head. “Nothing!” Draco said at last, a bit desperately. “I thought this through dozens of times! It’s absolutely watertight!”

He fixed Bill with an intense gaze. “Tell me,” he demanded, pebble eyes hard and chin tilted up.

Bill laughed. He couldn’t help himself. He was beginning to warm up to the boy.

“You remind me of my wife. All pleasant smiles and polite words but there is steel underneath that veneer of silk.” He smirked at Draco in a predatory way. “You are lucky I like that,” he teased. Draco lowered his eyes. Was that a blush on his cheeks? Bill’s grin broadened further and he tutted. “Don’t forget you are a Bonded man,” he said in a reprimanding tone.

Draco’s whole face slipped and he drew himself up in his seat. “What are you…! Are you implying- I… I wasn’t thinking about…! You are a married man yourself!” he spluttered.

Bill’s uproarious laughter echoed through the cottage. Who would have guessed Draco would be so much fun?

Draco’s mouth thinned. “What’s so amusing?” he bit out.

Bill calmed himself, but he couldn’t supress his grin.

“What I meant was, you forget you are a Bonded man. You are legally considered an adult because the Bond took hold. Or did you not know about that?”

Draco furrowed his brow.

“I’ll explain it to you. A Bond like yours and Harry’s can only take hold when the two partners are physically matured. You are basically judged an adult by the Bond and that law is a lot older than any of the legalities about coming of age. You have overridden your parent’s guardianship already by Binding yourself to Harry. The blood ritual of Servitude was unnecessary in that regard.”

“Ah. Boggart. I knew about that in theory,” Draco said, “but you are right, I didn’t think… I absolutely didn’t think to apply it that way.”

He frowned and stared holes into his teacup.

“Father would never have made a blunder like this,” he murmured, so quietly Bill nearly missed it.

“There, there. It’s still good for protecting Narcissa a little bit, at least. But that’s what I mean when I say you need help. You are young, yet.”

Bill took a sip of his tea and grimaced. It was stone cold.

“Still, I am quite impressed by how you managed to get through the last few days without being murdered by either Ron or Ginny. Even though it was a close call,” he chuckled.

Draco remained silent. After a while, Bill got up and poured the sad remains of his tea into the sink.

“Why are you helping me?” Draco asked at last, soberly.

Bill pondered this while going through the soothing motions of boiling water, rinsing his cup and opening the box of tea bags.

“That’s a good question,” he said, letting the tea bag drop into his cup.

Why was he helping Draco? Politics was the obvious answer. To help the Order along in any way he could and weaken the opposite side. But he couldn’t tell Draco that. And he suspected there was more to it, but he hadn’t bothered to consider it yet. He poured his tea and added a splash of milk. Then he turned around, leaned against the counter casually and said: “I think it just hurt my heart to see you stumbling about like a new-born baby deer pretending to be a dangerous animal in front of a herd of friendly fierce lions.” He barked a quick laugh. “Ha! Even Harry had to protect you from the little lion cub!”

Draco looked up in bewildered outrage. It was so easy to rile him.

“I could have handled that fire spitting little minx on my own perfectly well!” he protested vehemently.

“I’m sure you could have,” Bill said and walked over to ruffle Draco’s hair.

“You- stop patronising me!” Draco hissed.

Bill laughed again and sat back down. Draco was trying to fix his hair, glaring at him. After a minute, Bill thought he could make out a tiny smile lifting the side of Draco’s mouth.

“I’m absolutely done for when she comes back, aren’t I,” he stated dryly. “What am I going to do? She will hex me as soon as my back is turned. She was fawning over Harry since second year. Do I even stand a change in the face of the insurmountable strength of teenage infatuation?”

Bill chortled.

“Don’t worry. She will fear Harry’s wrath too much to do any lasting damage.”

“I sure hope so!”

Bill set his cup of tea down on the table and grabbed another tin box.

“Biscuits?”

###

When Harry stumbled over the unfamiliar line of bricks surrounding the fireplace, he was surprised to see that he wasn’t in Dumbledore’s office at all, but in a comfortably decorated room filled with sofas and wall hangings and side tables. He had a moment of panic until he saw Ron and Hermione standing in the door talking to someone.

It was Professor McGonagall. As soon as he laid eyes on her severe grey bun, her green hat and her sharp tartan robes, he was flooded with a sense of security and home so strong it brought tears to his eyes. It was like a part of him had stayed behind at Hogwarts, as it always did, when he had boarded the train at the beginning of summer and was only now returned.

“Professor!” he called eagerly and strode over.

“Mr. Potter.” She nodded at him brusquely. “Good to see you well.” The warmth in her face smoothed out some of the lines framing her mouth and eyes. “As I was just explaining to Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley, Professor Dumbledore is currently unavailable. I’m sorry.”

“But we really need to talk to him, Professor. It’s to do with You-Know-Who,” Hermione insisted.

“I understand perfectly, Miss Granger, but I have no way of contacting him at the moment. The only option I can offer is to send for a cup of tea so you can be comfortable while you wait for him to return.” Her tone very much pronounced the discussion to be over. “Mr. Potter, a word with you in my office, if you please.”

She nodded at him again, then turned around abruptly and strode off.

“Do you know what Professor McGonagall wants to talk to you about?” Hermione asked Harry with a tilt of her head.

“No idea,” Harry said.

“Maybe it’s about the bonding. She must know, because she didn’t exactly seem surprised to see you here without the ferret,” Ron said.

Harry sighed. He definitely wasn’t looking forward to another round of questions.

“That… was very insightful, Ron! You may actually be right,” Hermione said and turned around to blink at him.

“Hey!” Ron said. “I can be insightful. I’m insightful all the time.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t, I just-“

“See you guys later, I guess. You’ll be here?” Harry interjected, before they got into serious bickering.

Ron shrugged. “I guess."

“We’ll be here, Harry,” Hermione said and smiled at him warmly, touching his arm. “It’s good to have you back. I missed you.”

“Oi!” Ron said.

“Mr. Potter!” the Professor’s voice called sternly from the hall.

“See you!” Harry said and hurried to catch up with Professor McGonagall, who was waiting at the next intersection of corridors. Unfamiliar corridors.

Harry looked around. The walls were decorated with purple curtains, huge oriental looking carpets and countless portraits that he’d never seen before. Some depicted green hills and sheep, others were full of flowers, overgrown stone walls and quaint garden furniture. People were sitting at groaning tables burdened with foods of all colours, sizes and tastes, talking and cheering and drinking from mead tankards. One red cheeked man tipped his hat to Harry and lifted his mug in greeting. They generally exhibited scenes of peace and quiet or merriment and cheer. Purple seemed to be a recurring colour. Even the floor was carpeted in a rich mauve with moons and stars moving about it lazily. But… where were they? He stepped closer to the window and saw the rooftops of the greenhouses underneath. On the right, the view opened over the Great Lake. The were evidently somewhere between the Bell Towers and the Central Towers, along the Long Gallery.

Professor McGonagall took the left hallway and walked along quickly.

“Uhm, Professor… What is this corridor?”

“This,” she said with a slight sneer, “is the guest wing, Mr. Potter. We reopened this corridor over the summer holidays and installed an additional floo place. With the amount of guests we were entertaining, it was getting quite inconvenient for them to keep travelling through the headmaster’s office.”

“Guests, Professor?”

Professor McGonagall eyed him. “You remember the condition you were in a few days ago, I trust?” she asked, but she didn’t wait for him to answer. “Albus contacted quite a few experts on the matter and soon we were having a whole band of ‘professionals’, who ‘only wanted to help’ and the matter got quite out of hand, if you ask me.” She sniffed pointedly. “I think by the second week they were just enjoying the intellectual exercise of the argument.”

They turned left two more times and went up a flight of stairs, when Harry recognised one of the secret passages leading to the infirmary. He ducked his head, thinking of Ginny who must be going home right about now.

“Here we are,” Professor McGonagall said a few minutes later, as she was coming up to her office. She brandished her wand and the heavy, wooden door opened. The familiarity of the transfiguration office was comforting. Red dominated the room no matter where you looked and the open windows let in a slight breeze.

“Have a seat, please.” The Professor gestured to the chair in front of her desk. “Tea?”

“Oh, thank you, we just had breakfast.”

“Very well.”

She clapped her hands sharply and ordered tea for herself from a doe eyed little house-elf with furry ears.

Professor McGonagall shuffled a few papers around while the waited for her tea. Harry really wasn’t keen on starting this particular conversation, no matter how much he had missed Hogwarts and how happy he was to be here. It seemed like Professor McGonagall was in no hurry either. The longer the silence stretched, the more nervous he became. Was he going to get scolded for getting Bonded? Would she deduct points? Surely not. The year hadn’t even started. And wasn't there a rule against deducting points for anything that happened during the summer holidays? What else could she do? Forbid him from wearing school robes like sixth formers?

He hated knowing that everyone would have to accomodate him, as always. He was going to stand out even more than usual and the gossip would be... well. Harry had enough experience at ignoring the other students, but it didn't mean it wouldn't affect him at all. And as always, his friends would get caught in the crossfire. When tea finally arrived and the elf had disappeared, Professor McGonagall opened one of her desk's drawers and took out two letters.

“These are for you and Mr. Malfoy,” she said, handing them to him. “Your Hogwarts supply lists for your final year. I was going to give them to Molly later, but since you are here…” she trailed off. “Also, these trunks were delivered to us by anonymous source. We were told they were yours and Mr. Malfoy’s school trunks. Do you recognise them?”

Harry took a deep breath. It seemed like Professor McGonagall was not angry with him, at least. He got up and knelt down in front of the Gryffindor chest. When he touched it, he felt his familiar protective magic on it.

“This is mine, yes. I can’t say for Draco’s, though…”

He trailed his hands over the well-beloved wood. Who had brought them back from the Manor? Mrs. Malfoy?

“They were thoroughly checked for any kind of maleficent magic or spells, of course, but please open it up for me once, to make sure nothing escaped our attention,” Professor McGonagall said.

Harry did as asked and placed his wand against the chest. It flared a quick white and the lock clicked open. When he lifted the lid, he instantly felt like something was wrong. However, when he peered inside, nothing happened. It looked the same it always did – somewhat chaotic but everything in its place. He closed the lid and replaced the safety spell.

“It’s all as it should be,” he said, retaking his seat opposite the Professor.

“Very well. Please tell Mr. Malfoy to come by before the start of term and pick up his chest at Professor Snape’s office.”

“Uhhh... Of course.”

Being in a position to take along messages for Draco felt odd. But now that they were family, it only made sense. Family! It was still so weird. Draco and him were a... a family.

“Now on to a different matter,” the Professor said brusquely.

Harry was still so caught up in figuring out how exactly being Draco's family made him feel that he nearly missed what Professor McGonnagall said next.

“You and Mr. Malfoy have been assigned a set of rooms in the guest quarters. Two bedrooms with a desk each, a bathroom and a small sitting room for entertaining guests. The rules are as follows: You will attend breakfast, lunch and dinner the same as all other students, downstairs in the Great Hall. You may use the homework room, the library and the Great Hall to study. You will not enter any of the house common rooms-”

"What?" Harry asked and perked up in his seat. He couldn't have heard right.

"The house dormitories and common rooms are off limits for you this year. I'm sorry, Mr. Potter."

“But – Professor! I can’t go into the common room? I’m a Gryffindor! What about my friends?”

His heart quickened. This couldn't be true! He was nearly just reconsiled with not sleeping in the dormitories, half for the prospect of getting tremendous amounts of uninterrupted time with Draco, but not being able to be with his frineds, to sit around the fire, to celebrate quidditch wins...!

“Mr. Potter, please sit down. If you want to meet with somebody, you may invite them into your quarters.”

“But-“ Harry began to protest, but was immediately interrupted.

“I know this is not how you planned to spend your last year at Hogwarts, and for all it is worth, I am truly sorry.” Her eyes were shadowed with sadness for a moment, but qickly cleared. “However, it would not be prudent to allow Mr. Malfoy to enter the Slytherin common room, for his own protection. For the sake of fairness, this prohibition will be extended to the both of you.”

Harry shut his mouth with a snap, but he could still feel his muscles working. Of course, he understood that it would not be fair for Malfoy to be the only one not allowed into his house rooms, but it was even more unfair that he had to stick to this rule, even though he didn’t need this protection in the slightest! What had he done to deserve this? Not a single thing.

“Furthermore, you are a married couple in the eyes of the law and even though the current situation is somewhat… unusual, Hogwarts rules are very clear on providing housing and quarters.” Professor McGonagall sighed deeply and fidgeted with her pen. “There is another matter. Concerning your private relation with Mr. Malfoy.”

What else now. This couldn't possibly get any worse. Was she going to give him relationship advice?

“How to begin…” she said slowly.

“Professor, I don’t think you need to-“

“Spare me, Mr. Potter. I must and I will.”

She sighed once more and then fixed him with her unapologetic gaze, setting down her pen.

“Seeing as you grew up with the family you did and that I have always judged them to be absolutely unsuitable for raising a child properly and that Hogwarts does not cover same-sex sexual relations, I find myself in the position to make sure you and Mr. Malfoy know how to practice sex safely.”

Harry gawked. He wanted to look away from the Professors face, but he felt frozen, like a deer watching the headlights of an uncoming truck race towards it. He just couldn't drag his eyes away. His ears grew hot and his face was starting to burn, too. His own heartbeat seemed impossibly loud to him. He couldn’t utter a single word, even if he had known what to say. Professor McGonagall took out her wand and waved it, muttering something. Diagrams and drawings appeared in the air between them. Drawings of unmistakable content. If Harry had been embarrassed before, he felt ready to implode right about now. This could not be happening.

“Now, seeing as you are already Bonded, I don’t think I need to remind you of the mechanics, but please note the following spells that will…”

Harry’s brain switched into survival mode and he stayed absolutely quiet, just shaking his head when Professor McGonagall asked him if he needed clarification on something. The sooner they got this conversation over with, the better.

When he was dismissed at last, he stumbled out of her office in a daze.

###

On his way back to the guest wing, Harry got lost twice. When he finally found the floo room, he fell into one of the sofas and threw an arm over his head, hiding his face in the crook of his elbow.

“Wow,” he breathed.

That had been… something. If Draco knew, Harry would never hear the end of it. He would spend the rest of his earthly existence being torturously reminded of having gotten the talk from Professor McGonagall. He could tell no-one about this, ever. Heat still stained his cheeks and flared in his belly as the pictures danced before his eyes.

Dangers of anal penetration without lubricant… dangers of anal penetration without protective spells… dangers of transmitting sexual diseases…

If he hadn’t faced Voldemort on his own on a graveyard aged fourteen, he might have said this had been the worst experience of his life.

No. Maybe even then.

He groaned again and scrubbed his face hard, as if he could rub away the memories that way, too. When he opened his eyes, he suddenly realised he was alone. He sat up and swept the room with a cursory glance, but Ron and Hermione were gone. Surely they wouldn’t have returned to the Burrow without him and the would have waited got him if Dumbledore had come back already, wouldn't they? Before he had a chance to work himself into a proper snit about it, the floo flared green and a woman stepped out.

Her petite hands moved over her hips to smooth the red dress she was wearing. Her long, black hair was pinned up at the sides and tumbled down her back and shoulders in waves of shiny rivulets. She wasn't very tall inspite of the ten inch heels of her shoes. The red dress accentuated her small waist and even though she showed no cleavage, little was left to the imagination by the clinging fabric. Her hands wandered to the back and then she patted the sides of her head, checking her hair. When she seemed satisfied that all was in order, she looked up. Their eyes met and an inviting smile sprung to life on her face, pulling at her painted lips. Her eyes were the same brilliant green as Harry’s own.

In all honesty, Harry had never seen a woman like this in real life before. The girls from Beauxbatons had been pretty and angelic, but the way this woman held herself spoke of self-confidence in more than her looks.

“You must be Harry Potter,” she said and strode towards him. The ‘r’ in his name rolled of her tongue like silk, but her accent was prononunced; a slight hint of an ‘ah’ behind every word. Definitely Italian. “I am Maria della Valpolicella. Potions Consultanta. I worked on your case with S-ah… Mr. Snape.”

She reached out her hand and Harry shook it automatically. Her grip was firm and the little lines around her eyes spoke of a life filled with laughter.

“Hello, pleased uhm... very pleased to meet you. I’m Harry. Harry Potter. How are you doing, Ms. Valpolicella?” he asked politely.

She gave a loud, throaty laugh that made the lines in her face deepen.

“Please, call me Maria, Harry. I am fabuloso, thank you. What brings you here? I understand term does not start until September?”

“Uh, I’m here to see Professor Dumbledore about something, actually.”

“Oh!” she said abruptly turned around, searching the room.

To Harry’s shock, her dress was open at the back. He stared fixedly at the floo place.

“Where is Mr. Malfoy? He cannot be far, sí?” she asked.

Right! She had consulted on their 'case'. She knew about their fettering, but she obviously didn't know about their Bonding.

“Uhhh. Well, that is… uh. He is…”

Harry trailed off. He had not spoken to Dumbledore about what he could safely reveal. More importantly, he hadn’t spoken to Draco about what to tell people. Would he even be comfortable with the public knowing? Was this whole case classified information? He had to tell her something, though.

“We found a… different solution. I don’t understand any of it, you would have to speak to Professor Dumbledore…”

Ms. Valpolicella whirled around. She didn't look happy.

“A different potion? Where did you get it from? Who brewed it? I wasn’t informed about any other team working on this case!”

“No, no potion. A… uh spell, I guess. Very ancient magic," Harry said.

That much was true, at least. Ms. Valpolicella narrowed her eyes at him. Harry felt snared by her gaze in a similar way he had felt trapped earlier in Professor McGonagall’s office.

“Really? How come nobody told us? We have been working and working on this for weeks!” she snapped. Harry took a step back.

“It was all very sudden. I’m actually here to talk to Professor Dumbledore, as I said, but he is not available. I’m sure he would have informed you immediately," he tried.

The staccato of Ms. Valpolicella's heeled foot tapping the floor beat almost the same rhythm as Harry’s heart. How was he going to get out of this without having his head bitten off by this woman?

“This is outrageous!” she snarled. “I have spent my invaluable time trying to educate so-called 'Masters' in this field, preventing the most heinous mistakes and debating with morons, only to have some grullo find a way behind my back!” Even though she was noticeably smaller than Harry, he was beginning to fear he would be shipped back to the Burrow in a lunch box. His only consolation was that she had yet to draw her wand. “I shall speak to Severus. He is the only one in this entire school with a sensible head on his shoulders!”

With this proclamation she spun on her heel and marched out the room. The door slammed shut with considereable force.

“Uhm… ” Harry said.

He stood there staring at the space she had left for a solid five minutes, trying to wrap his head around what had just happened. It was like a tornado had blown through and he was surprised to find all his limbs still attached. He could certainly picture her lay into an entire room full of people and she was probabl the only person who would be able to make even Snape falter in his tracks. They must have been working together for quite some time. It seemed their little problem with the unfettering had been more complicated than he’d realised, if the school had hired an entire group of people to work on a solution together. He'd always assumed Snape would just whip up a potion and that would be that.

Obviously, he had been wrong.

Chapter Text

Harry's search for Ron and Hermione was much more effortless than he had anticipated. He’d passed two of the guest wing's doors and gotten stuck in front of a particularly enticing painting of an elegant woman in a loose kimono. She was smoking a cigarette with one of those long holders he’d once seen in a movie. Hermione’s voice spilled through the door to his right, which was slightly ajar. Drawing near, he was about to open it when he heard his name spoken inside by a hard, angry voice.

“…never felt it to be necessary. It is said Harry Potter is a great sorcerer. Ve all know ze story, of course. Vhy vas he not apprenticed in a Guild? Or sent to a Internat for gifted?”

“You mean a boarding school, Hart,” a mild voice said.

“Yes, boarding school, zank you. He could have developed his skills a lot more focused. Also, how exactly is he supposed to fight Voldemort? He is only a teenager. All of zis is absolutely irresponsible. It is a zing for ze adults, not for ze children.”

“Well-“ Hermione started, but it seemed the angry man was not finished.

“I mean, look at vhat happens vhen children are left on their own. How did Dumbledore allow zis to happen? He has clearly no control over zis whole situation.”

“However, it has to be said that it was a splendid idea of him to get professional help,” the mild voice interjected. “A thing like this hasn’t happened since the Hackenberg case, not that I know of at least.”

“No, you forget ze Palestinian Apotheker who spilled a form of the binding potion on his camel,” the other man corrected.

“…Ah, Jafari, wasn’t it? Yes, you are right, as you so often are," the mild one said in a teasing tone. Harry could hear the man’s smile through his words. He sounded fondly exasperated.

There was a short pause.

“I-“ Hermione tried again, but the angry man continued as if she had not spoken.

“Anyvay, if I were in charge of zis operation-“

Harry stepped back from the door. Should he go in? He wasn’t particularly keen on meeting the owner of the voice. Something told him the angry man would have no compunctions to say the exact same things to his face. And the way he put it – he was right, wasn’t he? Harry was just a teenager. How was he supposed to fight Voldemort, hocruxes here or there? He should just go back to the Burrow and let Hermione explain everything to Professor Dumbledore and wait for him to make a desicion. He could look for Draco and talk to him about everything.

Before he could turn around, the door opened and he stood face to face with a tall man who carried himself like every inch of his body was under his conscious command. In the time it took Harry to blink twice, the man had taken a step out of the room, closed the door behind himself with his right hand and pointed his wand low towards Harry’s gut with his left. His stance was defensive, but he looked ready to strike in an instant, with only little effort involved. Harry stumbled backwards and lifted his hands placatingly for the second time in under half an hour. The man straightened, pocketing his wand. The menacing aura around him disappeared and from one moment to the next, the man seemed as unassuming as his colourful clothing suggested. He smiled ruefully at Harry and cleared his throat.

“I’m sorry,” he said with a little laugh. “Yusuf Al-Keydari. At your service.”

He moved his bronze robe sharply with an elegant little flick and bowed deeply at the waist, offering Harry his right hand to shake. The mahogany curls framing his face couldn’t hide the mischievous sparkle in his gold-brown eyes, as he grinned at Harry from beneath his fringe.

“Harry Potter. Nice to meet you,” Harry introduced himself, shaking Mr. Al-Keydari’s hand.

The man lowered his head over their intertwined hands for a short second, curls tumbling into his face, before releasing him. He gave Harry a little wink as he straightened that should have been more off-putting than it was. Charm oozed from his every pore and Harry tried his best to dislike him on principle, but couldn't quite manage. For all his apparent aggreeableness however, the man's russet hands were kept close to his gut in a casually defensive position. A broad belt secured the azure gown he was wearing underneath his robes, cut in a foreign style. They fit snugly around the chest and were buttoned from chin to waist, but flared wide open from the hips downwards, revealing the gleaming belt and the bright gown. With every movement, gold thread shimmered where it lined the deep blue fabric with intricate and exotic patterns. Harry had never seen wizarding clothes as elaborate as that. It must have cost a small fortune.

“I had a feeling," Mr. Al-Keydari said. Harry's eyes snapped back up to the man's face. "Your friends were quite adamant about staying at the Arrival Chamber, but I told them I would look for you periodically, so we were able to persuade them to take a seat in the lounge.” He gestured behind himself. “Would you like to join us?”

Harry hesitated. Mr. Al-Keydari picked up on Harry’s indecision instantly. His mouth twitched.

“You heard Hartmuth, ey? He can be a little… fierce, but I can vouch for him. He is a very noble-hearted man,” Mr. Al-Keydari said.

“No, I mean yes, that’s fine. Thank you,” Harry replied. Well, now he had no choice but to go in.

Mr. Al-Keydari looked around the corridor once before he turned to open the door. Even this simple movement communicated a kind of concentrated power Harry could only envy. When the man took a step, Harry saw the tip of something long and slim sticking out from beneath the hem of his robes. Was that a sword? Why would anybody need a sword at Hogwarts? Why would any wizard need a sword when he had a much more dangerous weapon at hand? This man's story had to be most unusual.

As Harry followed Mr. Al-Keydari inside, his puzzlement was instantly forgotten. The room screamed in the most horrifying colour combinations he had ever seen. It looked like Professor Dumbledore had randomly chosen ten of his most flamboyant robes and scattered them all over the place. How anyone was supposed to relax in here, he didn’t know. The sofas were green with orange dots, pink, purple and red striped, dark blue with lavender floral patterns and brown leather, respectively. They stood in the left part of the room, all facing an oval table covered by a white tablecloth sporting birds of all colours. A huge bouquet stood at the centre, along with cups and saucers, pots of tea and a plate piled with biscuits. The walls were purple, a darker shade than the hall. The curtains were a bright yellow and the ceiling was painted sky blue with clouds moving about lazily. Cabinets filled nearly every available wall space, crammed to bursting with books, games, tableware, stuffed animals, crystals, vases in all shapes and sizes, little wooden figurines and other miscellanea.

“Harry!”

Hermione jumped up and bundled over. “Harry, I’m so sorry we left, but the gentleman was not to be swayed,” she whispered loudly, throwing a look over her shoulder at the gentleman in question. If Harry hadn’t been standing in Scotland’s only wizarding school, he would have thought the man a muggle. He wore a sharply cut black suit, dark grey vest, silver tie and shiny leather boots. He held himself like a swan in a chicken pen. When he noticed Harry, the man got up immediately and approached them, hand outstretched. His hair was blond and tied neatly at the nape in a style that reminded Harry uncomfortably of Lucius Malfoy. His eyes were a muddy blue and Harry would bet his last pair of trainers the man had been born scowling.

“Hallo. Reichel,” he said in clipped tones. He really was even taller than Mr. Al-Keydari and stared at Harry’s forehead with a frown, before looking him up and down.

“Harry Potter, nice to meet you,” Harry said qith a gulp, shaking his hand reluctantly.

“Yes. But tell me, vhere is the famous scar? You do not glamour it?” the man barked.

“Uh…” Harry said.

“Hart, let the young man have a seat and a cup of tea before you start interrogating him, yes?” Mr. Al-Keydari said with a twitch of lips and guided a protesting Mr. Reichel back to the couch.

Actually, Harry would rather forego any interrogation, thank you very much. He wanted to turn right around, floo back to the Burrow and curl up on one of the comfortable armchairs to listen to Draco’s quicksilver remarks about ‘muggle monstrosities’ (as he had begun to call any muggle invention that could move, make noise or ‘in any way, shape or form imitate magic in that terrifying and unnatural way’).

He sat down.

“We were just talking about your many accomplishments,” Mr. Al-Keydari said smoothly.

“Vhe where doing no such zing,” Mr. Reichel contradicted. “Vhe vhere vhondering how it is zat Dumbledore has neglected to-“ he stopped talking and looked at Mr. Al-Keydari, who had put a conciliatory hand on the other man’s elbow, and sighed deeply. Mr. Reichel closed his eyes for a second and when he opened them, a hint of softness had crept into his features.

“Forgive me. I am… quick to jump into discussions. Tell me, how are you doing? How is Master Malfoy?” he asked. He was still studying Harry more intently than he felt comfortable with, but at least his tone had evened.

“We are doing fine, thank you. He chose to stay at home to… study.” Hermione elbowed him in the ribs. Mr. Reichel’s eyebrows lifted and Mr. Al-Keydari chuckled.

“So you live togezer?” Mr. Reichel asked pointedly.

Mr. Al-Keydari shook his head and put his left hand over his mouth, which didn’t do much to disguise his twitching lips. Mr. Reichel frowned at him fleetingly and looked back at Harry with a questioning mien.

“No, we are uh… staying over at Ron’s place until term starts,” Harry said, gesturing towards Ron, who waved awkwardly.

“We’ve all been friends since first year!” Hermione enthused. “It’s become a kind of ritual to stay together before term starts,” she said and eyed Harry in a way that seemed to be communicating something. Most likely how stupid he was being. Ron nearly gagged next to him, probably at the suggestion they had been friends with Draco for six years. He treid to disguise it as a cough that wouldn't have fooled Dudley, let alone that sharp-eyed, blunt-tongued man.

“I see,” Mr. Reichel said flatly.

“It’s amazing how deep friendships become when one spends practically their whole life together at boarding school,” Mr. Al-Keydari said, eyes twinkling.

“Yes, exactly!” Hermione said. “We have a very deep connection.”

“I’m sure you do,” Mr. Al-Keydari said, looking at Harry, smiling, even though his eyes were smouldering like coals. Harry lowered his gaze. Did he know something? When Harry didn’t answer, an awkward silence ensued that seemed to fill the whole room. Instead of succumbing to the crushing need of filling it with even more potential self-incriminating information, he busied himself by pouring tea.

“What do we do now?” he quietly asked Hermione as he poured. “Do we just wait here for Professor Dumbledore?” Ron leaned in to catch their hushed exchange. “I’m not sure,” Hermione whispered back. “It might be best to go back to the Burrow and come back this evening.”

“Yes, please,” Ron said. “I feel like we will tell them all our secrets if we stay here for another minute.”

Harry straightened and handed Ron a cup. “Let’s finish this and then head back,” he said. Hermione nodded and took her own cup, looking straight at Mr. Reichel.

“So, how come you were invited to help with this case? You are not a potions master, as far as I can tell,” she asked him with a small, triumphant smile.

“You are right, I am no potions master. Fortunately, I have an assistant who is more versed in that area than I am,” he said, gesturing towards Mr. Al-Keydari.

“Come now, we have been partners for over a decade. Don’t let them think I take orders from you,” Mr. Al-Keydari said, raising one eyebrow back at his elegant friend.

“I apologise. You have proven your merit in more areas zan one,” he answered matter-of-factly.

“Have I, now?” Mr. Al-Keydari asked in a slow, drawling manner. Mr. Reichel pointedly did not look at his companion, instead leaning forward to take a sip of his tea.

“I have specialised in pazological core alterations,” he addressed Hermione.

She perked up. “You mean magical core diseases?”

“Not diseases, no. Alterations. It means ze changes are not yet known to the medicals or are not part of a verified disease. Zey can happen because of an accident or psychological problems or anyzing else. Every case is different to ze next, but ze subject suffers under zem, meaning pazological, unwanted,” he explained.

“That’s quite amazing!” Hermione said, sounding impressed despite herself. “What about you, Mr. Al-Keydari?”

“Oh, I am a jack-of-all-trades. I dabble a bit at potions, but I am more interested in chemistry. The two intertwine more often than not. However, I also have a license for alimentary osteopathy and I read everything about the biochemical cycle and the nervous system I can get my hands on,” he replied.

“He vants to find out vhere in our bodies ze magic comes from,” Mr. Reichel added.

“Don’t make it sound so simple, it is far more than that,” Mr. Al-Keydari retorted a little hotly. “Of course it comes from the magical core, but where is the connection between the biological and the magical sphere, huh? How does the magic travel through the body when a wizard does a spell with his wand? Without his wand? How does the magic know his intentions just from a thought when it’s not connected to his nervous system? Is it like an extra muscle? Why does blood magic work and would a person’s magic change if they got a full blood transfer? Is magic transplantable? Can a squib or a muggle be given magic?”

He sounded very excited about this prospect. Harry had never thought about any of these things and by the look on Ron’s face, neither had he. Hermione’s eyes were practically glowing.

“So, are you saying you've done experiments?” she asked, edging forward on the couch.

The two men looked at each other. “Well…” Mr. Al-Keydari said, “let’s say we’ve come across some interesting cases and have made studies, but we haven’t ‘experimented’ on anyone.”

“Oh no, I didn’t mean it like that!” she was quick to reassure him. “I just think those are really interesting questions and finding answers would do so much to further tolerance and acceptance of squibs and muggleborns. Did you take some of your material with you? Did you publish your findings? Could I borrow some?” she asked, nearly falling off the sofa in her excitement.

“Well…” Mr. Al-Keydari said again. He glanced at the man to his right, but Mr. Reichel didn’t seem to mind either way. “If you want to, you could have a look at our office library. We take it with us wherever we go, so we’ve got it in our rooms, just down the corridor.” He gestured towards the door.

Hermione sprung up.

“Oh, that would be amazing! Thank you so much!” she said and actually clapped her hands.

“Vhat, right now?” Mr. Reichel asked, perplexed.

“Oh…” Hermione’s face fell. “Oh. I’m sorry, I just assumed… no, of course. We can make an appointment, if you prefer.” She was about to sit back down, but Mr. Al-Keydari got up gracefully and pulled Mr. Reichel up by his elbow.

“Of course we have time. Nothing to do now that we can stop working on the case,” he said and winked at Harry, again. That answered the question whether he knew about the bonding, anyway. But how did he knoe? Had Hermione and Ron explained everything, then? Harry glared at Hermione, but she was busy staring at Mr. Al-Keydari with starry eyes, so he glared at Ron, instead.

“What?” Ron mouthed at him.

Harry just shook his head slightly and mouthed “later”.

Hermione opened the door, then turned around abruptly. “Oh, Ron, Harry, you don’t mind, do you? I’ll be right back!” she said and out the door she was.

Mr. Al-Keydari bowed towards them, robe flourishing in that extravagant way of his. “Until next time, my friends,” he purred and followed her. Mr. Reichel approached them and shook both their hands. “Goodbye. Goodbye. See you,” he said and stepped outside, closing the door behind him. Harry turned around and scowled at Ron.

“Well, so much for flooing back to the Burrow,” Ron said and drained his cup.

“Why did you tell them about the bonding?” Harry asked, trying not to sound too accusatory.

“What?” Ron asked. “We didn’t.”

“What do you mean, you didn’t? He obviously knew, otherwise he would have asked where Draco was, don’t you think? Also, he said he wouldn’t have to work on the case anymore. Why would he have said that?”

Ron’s eyebrows lifted.

“Well, he seemed like a clever guy, so maybe he just figured the fettering broke, seeing as the ferret is obviously not around,” he said with a shrug, eyeing Hermione’s cup.

Harry’s scowl deepened. That didn’t feel right somehow, even though it made some sense, logically.

“Or maybe he had a feeling about the bonding. Seems like those two know a lot about bonding cases in general,” Ron suggested further. He leaned over and drained Hermione’s cup as well. Harry grimaced. If Ron and Hermione got any closer, they would start finishing each other's sentences like Fred and George.

“Yeah, that must be it,” he conceded. "I'm sorry."

He deflated and swept his eyes around the room. It really was very colourful. Draco would have a fit. ‘This isn’t decoration, this is abuse! Who allowed that man to misuse a perfectly proportioned room to such an extent? He’d have to show it to him as a surprise without telling him where they were going when term started. He smiled into his cup. What was Draco doing right now, anyway? Harry sneaked a glance at Ron, but he’d lain down on the pink sofa and placed the biscuits on his lap, happily munching away. Harry closed his eyes and there Draco was. A warm presence to his right. This was getting easier every time. He'd barely needed to concentrate.

He shifted his focus and saw Bill sitting on a chair back to front, gesticulating wildly, then throwing his head back laughing, neck exposed. He couldn’t hear anything, but he felt the warm cup between Draco’s fingers and the chair underneath him. He was in a kitchen he’d never seen before. The walls and furniture where white-washed and a picture of Bill and Fleur in their wedding attire decorated the opposite wall. Their home, then.

Draco was chuckling now, rhythmic vibrations rocking his body. What was so funny? Harry had never managed to make Draco chuckle like that. And why was he so comfortable? It’s not like he’d ever been there before. Right? It’s not like Draco and Bill were friends.

Harry opened his eyes and found Ron looking at him oddly.

“Mate… you alright?”

“I’m alright,” Harry snapped.

Ron's eyebrws flew up.

“Sorry, I… it’s just…” Harry faltered. “You don’t really want to know,” he finished dejectedly.

Ron’s mouth twisted, but he sat up and put the biscuits on the table.

“Spill,” he said simply, looking determined.

Harry sighed. Ron wouldn’t understand.

“It’s about Draco.”

Ron squared his shoulders. “Alright,” he said slowly.

Harry leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees, wringing his hands. “It’s just that… we’ve been glued together this past month, alright?” he said a bit aggressively. It wasn’t his fault for getting used to the git’s barbed comments and thinly veiled innuendos. It wasn’t his fault either that they’d had to leave without him this morning. And it definitely wasn’t his fault that being here on his own felt like wearing a bath robe to a fancy pure-blood reception he hadn’t been invited to in the first place. Too exposed. Too… naked.

“He should be here, too. This involves him just as much as it involves me. I don’t like leaving him out of the loop,” he told Ron.

This was it. This was what had been bothering him. He realised it the moment the words left his lips.

“But we can’t trust him, Harry. You know what-“

“In fact,” Harry interrupted Ron and stood, “I think I’m going to go back to the Burrow. We can leave a note for Dumbledore. He can contact us when he’s back.”

“What? What about Hermione?” Ron asked incredulously.

“You know what, I think she will be just fine. But you can wait for her, I really don’t mind,” he said with a quick smile and walked to the door.

“Harry!” he heard Ron shout as the door closed behind him with a decisive thud.

He rushed along the corridor and into the Arrival Chamber, grabbed a handful of floo powder before he could change his mind and threw it into the hearth.

“The Burrow!”

Chapter Text

Upon his arrival, Harry immdiately sensed that Draco was not inside the Burrow. He was in the same place he had been this morning, so he was probably still at Bill’s place. At a loss with what to do with himself, Harry made tea and sat down in the kitchen.

“I’m an idiot,” he said out loud and thumped his head down on the kitchen table.

He’d run out on Ron like a headless chicken, all puffed up with the determination to talk to Draco as quickly as possible. He supposed he’d wanted to get it over with, to spill everything about the scar and Voldemort and the hocruxes. He knew he could trust Draco; he just couldn’t explain why, at least not in a way that would convince Hermione. She'd gone along with his instincts before, though he severely doubted she would do so now. And why should she? Draco had never been anything but horrible to her. And the last time, when they had visited her at her parent’s house and she had done all her experiments concerning the fettering charm, they had unanimously agreed to conveniently ignore the situation until the unfettering brew would make everything go back to normal. But nothing had gone back to normal. And now he had to find a way to make his friends and his partner get along or be caught in the middle for the rest of his life. He thumped his head onto the rough wooden surface a few more times for good measure, but no helpful answer was coming forth. So he tried to clear his head with a bit of flying, instead.

Grabbing his broom, he chased the Weasley’s snitch around the gardens, but his manoeuvres were half-hearted, at best. Even though the little golden ball seemed way too slow compared to Draco’s cup-quality snitch, he only managed to catch it a handful of times, before he gave flying up as a lost cause. He couldn’t remember it ever having been so boring before. It turned out not to be an adequate distraction at all. Instead, it just made him miss Draco. His thoughts dragged him further and further down by the minute. He was going to be stuck in the middle for the rest of his life, wasn’t he?

Landing softly, he swung off the broom and collapsed in a heap on the porch stairs. Of course, he remembered what it was like to loathe Draco Malfoy, too. He'd been a bastard and a bully and a snob.

Since he’d gotten to know him so intimately, however, all his previous bad memories took on a new light, somehow. After all, he knew what Draco looked like, what Draco sounded like, in his bed at Malfoy Manor, back muscles shifting underneath Harry’s fingers. What it felt like to be allowed to touch him naked, and look at him writhe and pant, and kiss his open mouth, and rub against him, and even be inside him. Draco was beautiful and he had taken Harry’s breath away.

He thought of Draco’s face tilted up at him in Mr. Weasley’s office, lips swollen and red, eyes shining.

His pained groans when he’d healed Harry’s chest wound.

His impressive self-assurance in dealing with the Dursley’s.

How lost he’d looked on the train.

All these memories took up their places unapologetically in his mind and slid in right alongside the much older, much nastier ones. Draco calling Hermione a mudblood. Draco making a fuss over Buckbeak. Sneering at him. Reporting them to Umbridge. Making fun of Ron and his family. Harry had already decided the day before to stand up for Draco. The crucial question was: was he willing to get into a serious fight with his two best friends in the whole wide world over Draco Malfoy?

He sat there contemplating this matter until he heard Ginny’s voice from inside and perked up instantly. She sounded quite pissed off, which he couldn’t blame her for. Desire to make sure whether she had recovered warred against his instinctive caution in regard to her more dangerous moods, but the first won out. Mr. Weasley was sat at the table reading the Daily Prophet, while Mrs. Weasley had an arm around Ginny’s waist, evidently to offer unsolicited support on her way up the stairs. Three sets of eyes swivelled towards him as he nervously closed the back door.

“Hey, Gin,” he said, studying the worn-out carpet. “I… are you okay?”

“Splendid,” she spat and batted away her mother’s arm to stomp up the stairs. Around the last bend, she threw Harry a look so dirty, he shrank back against the door, handle digging into his hip. He’d expected her to be angry, but it still stung. They’d been quite friendly over the last year. Until the incident with the binding potion, that is. Then she was gone and the thunderous bang of a door being flung shut made them all jump slightly. Mr. Weasley sighed loudly and turned a page.

“Well,” Mrs. Weasley said, making her way to the cupboards to pull out pots and pans with a flick of her wand. “She seems to be doing just fine,” she said. “Harry, my dear, would you mind terribly giving me a hand with lunch?”

Cooking unexpectedly provided the dearly needed distraction flying hadn’t managed to offer. Harry spent an hour and a half cutting vegetables, marinading beef and tasting two different kinds of gravy. He learned four new cooking spells and found that actually, he quite enjoyed the whole process – when he wasn’t forced to do it alone, without magic and with the stinging knowledge that he wouldn’t eat a single bite afterwards. Twice, he nearly dropped what he was holding when he heard the familiar swoosh of the floo, but he ostensibly didn’t turn around to see if it was Draco.

The first time, it was the twins. They casually spread a near inexhaustible number of colourful applications on the kitchen table, all the while explaining what each one did to a semi-attentive Mr. Weasley. Harry listened with only half an ear, concentrating fully on his mushrooms sizzling in the pan. The background chatter added pleasantly to the cosy atmosphere and Harry found himself relaxing into his tasks.

“Harry,” George said ten minutes in – or was it Fred. “I see you are already practising for your new role.”

Harry stopped in the middle of sprinkling salt onto his piece of beef and glanced at them, caught off guard.

“Or do we have it the wrong way round…?” Fred added, smirking suggestively.

“You never know, Fred,” George said, “modern marriages are quite adaptable. The husband might cook and clean and take it up the-“

Mrs. Weasley threw her large wooden spoon at them, bits of cooked vegetable flying everywhere, before he could finish that particular sentence.

“Mother, don’t worry,” Fred said magnanimously, ducking behind a chair. “We are all consenting adults in this room.”

“Also,” George continued, “I’m sure you and Dad-“

Which got them thrown out into the gardens by a highly bright-cheeked Mrs. Weasley, with firm instructions to come back in only when they had worked off their exuberance after a thorough round of de-gnoming.

“Don’t you listen to their foolish talk,” she huffed while ploughing the dough for next day’s bread. “And anyway, it’s quite alright to- …and nobody’s business, anyway.”

“Uh, yeah,” Harry mumbled, cheeks burning.

The second time the floo went off, it was Ron and Hermione. Hermione immediately started laying the table (as much as the twin’s clutter would allow). She brushed close by Harry on her way to get the plates and whispered: “We’ll talk after lunch.”

Harry wasn’t particularly looking forward to it.

Ron looked at the twin’s pile of stuff and his eyes lit up like Christmas Morning. “Wow, is that…? I can’t believe they’ve finished it already! And this! What is it?”

He examined every item thoroughly, double amounts curiosity and envy on his face. Some of the things emitted weird noises or changed shape, while others did nothing at all. Harry was just glad Ron didn’t seem to be angry with him. When a little hat let out an excruciatingly loud scream, Mrs. Weasley cleared the whole table with a swish and sent everything flying into one of the many drawers of the living room cabinet.

The rest of the time passed in a noisy and comfortable manner with everyone pitching in to help. Harry was nearly done, just seasoning the darker gravy with a bit of cinnamon (he remembered reading about this in one of Aunt Petunia’s magazines) when the floo went off a third time and Harry abruptly felt Draco’s presence amplify tenfold. The sudden difference made tangibly obvious how ill at ease he’d been before. Like a tension around the eyes, he hadn’t realised had been there until it was gone.

Draco stepped into the room, brushing off his lapels with precise movements. When his eyes caught on Hermione, he flinched slightly, but Harry was sure nobody else had noticed.

“Good day, Molly. Arthur. Harry,” he said with a small but warm smile. “Weasley. Granger,” he nodded in turn. “Anything I can do to help?”

Under Hermione’s incredulous stares and to Ron’s obvious bewilderment, he began cutting and washing the lettuce the way Mrs. Weasley instructed him to, although it took him six tries to get the spacing of the cutting spells to come out right. He seemed to be absolutely lost in his work, but Harry could feel the tension radiating off his back. He wanted to smooth his hand over it and lean his head against Draco’s neck.

“Ronald, dear, would you go up and get Ginny to come down for lunch?” Mrs. Weasley said, when Draco was just finishing slicing the tomatoes. Then she opened the kitchen window and shouted for Fred and George to be done and wash their hands. Harry sat down across from Hermione and caught her scrutinising him like a flobberworm that had suddenly began to fly instead of crawl. A flobberwomr she was about to slice open with a knife to investigate what exactly had instigated this absolutely uncharacteristic behaviour. Then he realised with a gulp that he had done nothing but watch Draco make salad for the last ten minutes. He took a swallow of his stone-cold tea to hide his face, cheeks blushing furiously. There was no way she hadn’t picked up on that.

Harry startled slightly when Draco’s cold fingers brushed his arm as he sat down beside him. “Hello, darling,” Draco said quietly, but not so quiet that Hermione couldn’t have heard it. She opened her mouth and Harry felt apprehension surge up inside, but Fred and George chose that exact moment to burst in through the backdoor, laughing and singing:

“To wee Harry’s dread and our glee,
the snake is now sitting on his knee,
and when the time comes to bite or flee,
he’ll take off your head and go!”

Mrs. Weasley fixed them with a stern look, then patted their heads, saying “Oh, go and wash your hands!” and then Ginny and Ron came in and sat down next to Hermione, and the saucers, bowls and plates piled high with food floated over to the table and everyone started helping themselves. Draco was serving Harry with Hermione studying his every move. Harry felt intensely self-conscious, but he was so glad Draco was back that he just thanked him politely and passed the gravy.

“Well, well well,” Mr. Weasley said, looking around the table until everyone had settled. “We are all glad Harry is back here with us,” he continued, looking at Harry and lifting his glass. Everyone quickly followed suit. “And a very warm welcome to Draco as the first Malfoy guest in our home. May this Bond bring happiness and prosperity to you both and friendship to our families in the future!”

“To friendship!” Mrs. Weasley added and lifted her glass, beaming. Next to her, Ginny’s hand shook and pumpkin juice spilled over the rim of her glass onto the tablecloth. She set it down with an audible clack and stared at her food, lips pressed together. “Hear, hear!” Fred and George chorused heartily and a quiet “To friendship,” was echoed by Hermione, with Ron looking on, stone-faced. Harry lifted his glass and drunk deeply, as if it were wine instead of juice.

“I am deeply grateful for your hospitality. As well as humbled by your forgiveness, which I neither expected nor deserve,” Draco said, and Harry couldn’t quite bring himself to believe he actually meant that.

“Too right,” Ginny hissed.

Mrs. Weasley exclaimed “Ginny!” but Draco hastened to say: “No, it’s all right, Molly. I am well aware of the grief I caused and the reparations I have yet to make. I will not demand mercy where none can be hoped for.”

Harry furrowed his brows, trying to figure out whether that had been an admission or a well-placed insult, and by the time he’d decided probably both, the conversation had carried on without him. Slowly the table fell quiet, everyone busy with cutting and chewing their food, but Ginny was glaring holes into Draco’s head and Ron didn’t lift his eyes from his plate at all. Mrs. Weasley spent a goodly amount of time whispering to Ginny, who was increasingly murderous looking. Hermione seemed permanently on the edge of bursting and Harry had half convinced himself she would get it all out and over with right now, Sunday lunch etiquette be damned.

Fred swished his knife through the air like cutting a piece of cake and put the imaginary slice on George’s plate, who was holding it out to him with a pompous expression.

“Fancy a slice of tension, George?” he asked in an irritatingly fake posh accent.

“Oh, why thank you, Fred, I’d absolutely love to,” George said.

“Now, now,” Mr. Weasley admonished them and then turned towards Draco: “How are Bill and Fleur settling into their little seaside cottage?” and the rest of lunch was spent making awkward small talk about school, the wedding and the unusually hot and humid August, carried on mostly by Mr. Weasley and Draco.

As soon as they were done eating and it was polite enough to excuse oneself, Draco did and vanished to his room. Harry watched him squeeze past Fred’s chair, around the corner and out of sight, trying his best not to feel disappointed. He had been acutely aware of Draco’s closeness during lunch, and whenever their elbows had brushed or their feet had touched underneath the table, goosebumps had spread over his whole body. His thoughts had become mroe and more preoccupied with smooth skin and rocking bodies and though he’d seen Draco eye him from time to time or shift unconsciously in his chair, he’d stoically carried on his conversation with Mr. Weasley and Harry hadn’t gotten to say a single word to him. He was beginning to see what Fleur had meant about enjoying the privacy of an empty house. If things continued on like this, he wasn’t going to get a single quiet moment with Draco until they went back to Hogwarts.

Now they were clearing the table and when everything was back in its place and Fred and George had collected their miscellaneous items and vanished back through the floo and Mrs. Weasley had sat down in front of the wireless to listen to a Celestina Warbeck Birthday Special, Hermione went up to Harry.

“We need to talk,” she said. “Let’s go for a walk.”

Harry threw one last, longing look at the stairs, before he sighed and nodded.

###

The three of them went in the direction of the forest and meandered down a small path to a clearing with a little pond, where Hermione sat down neatly, patting the grass beside her. Reluctantly, Harry sat down next to her and Ron plonked himself down as well. It was way too warm this time of day, even in the shade. Harry tried to fan some air into his shirt, and when Ron saw, he got out his wand and cast a cooling charm over them, shaking his head fondly. Harry smiled back ruefully and shrugged.

“Thank you, Ron. First of all, we brought your trunk, Harry. You left it in the Floo Room at Hogwarts,” Hermione said a little sternly.

“Oh,” Harry said. “Right. Thanks.” He couldn’t look her in the eyes. They had to have this conversation, of that he was grimly aware, but he still really didn’t want to.

“Also, I left a note for Professor Dumbledore asking him to write to us as soon as he is back, so all we can do now is wait. Oh, I hope he will be back soon! He has to be informed about all of this. Whenever I think about your scar being gone and what you said about the healing, I feel like there is an obvious connection I am missing. I’ll have to do some more research. Maybe the Professor will give me a Pass for the Forbidden Section,” Hermione mused. She was vacantly staring into the middle distance, but Ron was watching him.

“Mate, what’s wrong? You stormed out like an angry herd of hippogriffs earlier on,” he said bluntly.

Harry sighed and Hermione immediately turned to look at him, too.

“You like him, don’t you?” she asked quietly.

Ron grimaced, saying “Really? That tosser?”

Harry didn’t know what to answer. Did he like Draco? He supposed he did, but not in a like like way. He was still an irritable little pure-blood snob, but he was also funny and caring and intelligent. And he let Harry touch him.

“It’s not like I suddenly think he is a good person, or what he did in the past doesn’t matter, but I just… got to see a side of him that’s not all together horrible, that’s all,” Harry said stubbornly.

Hermione’s face morphed into a mask of compassion.

“Oh Harry. And that would be a good thing, a great thing, even, if we could just trust him. But until he has proven himself one way or another, that just… complicates things.”

“I don’t need him to prove himself! He did that when he healed me, don’t you think? He could have just let me die, Hermione. How would that not serve Voldemort, if that is what he wanted?” Harry asked.

“Wait, wait, how would it be a good thing?!” Ron said incredulously.

“Oh Ron, think about it. If you were forced to be stuck with another person for life, wouldn’t you rather like that person, at least?”

“Well, of course,” Ron said, “but that surely doesn’t apply to Draco Malfoy.”

“Well, funny how I like him anyway. And I trust him, alright? And I wish you could trust him, too.”

Hermione looked grim. Ron looked like he had swallowed his tongue and was trying to get it back out.

“I don’t think that’s a possibility, Harry,” Hermione said gently. “First of all, you can’t demand trust. I am inclined to distrust him anyway, because of our past, but even if I weren’t... he is still the son of a high-ranking Voldemort supporter from a very old pure-blood family, and on top of that from a long line of Slytherins. It would just be unwise of us to take what he says at face value, given the situation. He was brought up thinking muggle-borns are inferior wizards, not to mention his inbred prejudice against all that is muggle-related. Even taking Voldemort out of the picture completely, his political views are conservative right-wing rubbish and he is the only heir to a vast fortune - he will in all likelihood be very active politically, to preserve his family’s influence. And even if he did save your life; not wanting to be a murderer doesn’t make him an altogether trustworthy person.” Harry received this speech with a mulish expression and folded his arms. He knew it would do no good to interrupt her, but it was a near thing. “What I’m saying is this,” Hermione continued, “his values, his morals, his background and his ambitions are all such that we should- no, we must distrust him until he has shown his true colours.”

“He might be the Malfoy heir now, but probably not for much longer,” Harry rebutted. “Draco is Bonded to his family’s worst enemy and on the run. His father is going to disinherit him, which means I am his family now. He has no-one else left, Hermione, don’t you see? The Slytherins will turn their backs, his friends will abandon him and he has no support from any of the other houses, so even Hogwarts won’t be a safe place. He is so isolated, we had to seek sanctuary with you, of all people,” Harry said, motioning towards Ron.

“Are you even listening to yourself?” Ron nearly all-out shouted at him. “With ‘us, of all people’?! We take you in and you-“

“That’s not how I meant it,” Harry said quickly. “For a Malfoy to seek Sanctuary with the Weasley family is more than absurd and would have never happened if Draco could have thought of anyplace else safe to go. You know I love you, Ron and I am glad we are here, I am, but think of the strain it must cause him. He would never have come here voluntarily.”

“Oh, yes, the strain on him is sure great,” Ron jeered. “Poor little Malfoy has to live with the family he has hated and ridiculed for the last six years, how horrible for him.”

Harry paused. Put like that, Ron did have a point, actually. He was pretty quick to think of Draco’s discomfort instead of the pain he caused his near family.

“Not having anyplace else to seek Sanctuary with is either a lie, in which case he has been planning to come here all along, or it’s true and goes to show that his whole circle of friends and family are untrustworthy,” Hermione said. “And really, Harry, you are not making a case for Draco when you try to assure us how loathe he is to be here.”

“No, it’s not like that,” Harry said. “It’s not that he hates you personally, I think, not anymore, anyway. It’s just that he has to acknowledge he was in the wrong all this time, which he is doing but must sting pretty bad. I think he used to be quite jealous of you Hermione, actually, especially because you are muggle-born.” Hermione grimaced. “Show a little compassion for him. I mean, he has lost everything, his family, his home and his friends and his whole worldview has basically turned upside-down over the last three months. It can’t be easy.”

“Or it hasn’t,” Hermione simply said.

They sat there staring at each other for a solid minute, until Ron said wearily: “I don’t think this is something we can solve by arguing about it. It’s only going to make us pissed off at each other.” He turned to Hermione. “We’ll just have to accept, for now, that Harry won’t suspect Draco of any ill intentions and therefore we’ll have to watch him all the more.”

“I’m not liking this,” Hermione said. “You always used to have a blind spot when it came to him, but oh, how I long for the days when you tried to convince us Draco Malfoy is up to something.”

Chapter Text

After they returned from the meadow, Hermione made her farewells along with the firm promise to visit the London Library of Magical Arts and History the next day, in order to look up vanishing curse scars. They agreed to meet in Diagon Alley afterwards, around noon, to shop for school supplies.

“I’ll tell mum,” Ron said. “I bet she’d want to come along with Ginny.”

Hermione sighed. “I guess Draco had better come along, too,” she said with a frown, before distractedly kissing Ron on the cheek and vanishing through the flames. Ron grunted.

It always amazed Harry how readily Hermione ignored other people’s discomfort for the sake of satisfying her own curiosity. She had asked a bunch of increasingly detailed questions about the Bond on their way back, which, after the initial spike of anxiety, had had the predominant effect of boring Harry nearly to death. And also made him realise how little he actually knew about the Bond himself. He hadn’t really taken the time to investigate all the Bond’s consequences and side effects yet. He was fairly certain he could see through Draco’s eyes and feel what he felt whenever he concentrated hard enough. But whether he could still connect at twenty miles, or fifty miles, or when he was distracted by pain or tiredness or someone touching his shoulder were all things Hermione wanted to know, but he’d certainly never thought about.

To be truthful, there were rather more interesting uses the Bond could be put to than figuring out the exact effect distance had on the quality of transmitted visuals. Expect, maybe if said visuals included certain things Harry preferred to see up close, anyway. He was glad Hermione’s line of questioning hadn’t gone down that route, but he generally didn’t put it past her. Better to resign himself now to that kind of inevitable torture in the near future.

He collapsed onto one of the Burrow’s comfortably worn armchairs, pushing back his hair from his sweaty forehead.

“You got another one of those cooling charms?” he asked Ron.

“Coming in,” Ron said and flicked his wand.

They sat in mutually contented silence for a few minutes, until Mrs. Weasley called from around the stairs: “Ron, Harry, my dear, there is homework left for you to do,” and the contentment ended right there.

“Why can’t we just enjoy our holiday for once,” Ron grumbled on his way up the stairs. He’d tried arguing, of course, but the more he’d tried, the more insistent Mrs. Weasley had become.

“I’ve… actually nearly finished mine,” Harry said, a bit sheepish.

“What?” Ron groaned. “Hermione made me do about half, but I still got Potions and Transfigurations.” He eyed Harry sideways. “How did you get anything done without Hermione? Has to be the ferret’s daddy-boy influence. Did his old man correct your essays, too?” He barked a short laugh and then grimaced at his own joke. “Nah, don’t tell me, actually. I’d rather die in blissful ignorance.”

“There wasn’t that much else to do at the Manor,” Harry said. He tried to sound as bored as possible and definitely not think about what else they’d gotten up to, after blowing all caution to the four winds. Motivation had been rather thin on the ground with the offered alternative of shagging Draco senseless day and night, so he still had to finish his Transfiguration essay.

With much grumbling and dragging of feet, Ron heaped all his books onto the kitchen table and started sorting through last year’s notes. Within minutes, the surface was covered with generous piles of parchment and school books, separated loosely by school subject. Harry took out his book, parchment and quill and set to work.

In hindsight, he had to be thankful to Draco for being such a neat student. Harry had covertly monitored his way of organising notes while studying together at the Manor and undeniably improved his approach to sensibly structuring arguments simply by watching Draco work his way systematically through every essay. Draco’s habit of mumbling to himself while arranging complex lines of reasoning in his head had offered Harry some unsought after yet helpful insights; especially with the Potions essay. He’d done his most humanly possible to disguise that fact, but as soon as Draco had cottoned on, he’d magnanimously demonstrated his professed mental superiority by explaining his conclusions in the most gleeful and snide way possible. It had burned twice; once for the way it had made Harry flush with embarrassment and twice, because Draco’s grin had reached all the way to his eyes and Harry hadn’t been able to look away.

Harry and Ron worked all the way up to dinner, when Mrs. Weasley ushered them back out the kitchen to lay the table. After Harry had tidied his things away in his trunk, they made their way back downstairs, but Harry hesitated in front of Draco's door.

“Go on,” he told Ron, interrupting his speech about why Professor Slughorn’s essay about the advantages and disadvantages of using Dragonwurz as a base for antidote potions was designed purely to torture him. “I’ll get Draco for dinner.”

Ron just rolled his eyes, but went ahead without him, heavy footfalls thumping down the steps.

Harry’s tummy squirmed as he turned to rap at the door. He hadn’t been inside Draco’s room before. He suddenly wondered what Draco was doing all this time he spent ensconced in there. All his things were still in his trunk at Hogwarts and other than his wand and his broom, he hadn’t brought anything along from the Manor. Expecting those pearls.

Had Draco fallen asleep? Harry knocked a second time. Nothing happened. So he knocked a third time, more insistently. The door cracked open and Draco looked at him with a faintly disapproving scowl.

“I said, come in,” he said and pulled the door wide. Two beds were shoved all the way against the wall on either side of the room, coverings faintly buzzing with little figures of wizards and witches on brooms. One of them was rumpled from use and Harry blushed as pictures of Draco stretching out beneath the blankets bloomed to life in his mind without asking.

“Really?” Harry questioned, stepping inside. “I didn’t hear anything.” In front of the window across the room stood a long, narrow desk with tubes and other odd stuff cluttering the surface. Draco had cleared a little workspace for himself in between all the twins’ old equipment. An abandoned quill lay next to a piece of parchment. So, it seemed he had been doing some work.

“Hmm,” Draco said and squinted at the door. “Step back out the hall.”

“What? Why?” Harry asked, but Draco just shoved him unceremoniously back out and shut the door in his face. Harry stood there gaping speechlessly for a moment, until Draco yanked it open again and asked: “Did you hear that?” sounding genuinely intrigued. His eyes were sparkling.

“I… no?” Harry said, perplexed.

“Fantastic,” Draco murmured and pulled Harry back inside, closing the door firmly. “Shout something,” he commanded with the absentminded air of expecting to be obeyed, while crouching down and drawing his wand along the crack beneath the door.

Harry crossed his arms. “I’m not shouting the house down,” he said - reasonably. What was Draco thinking?

Draco stood and examined the keyhole, tapping his wand against it and murmuring something underneath his breath. “I think the Weasel twins put an automatic silencing charm on the door. Quite clever of them, considering the most likely cause of the majority of scorch marks in here is without a doubt an unreasonable number of explosions,” Draco said, eyeing the door admiringly. Then he turned and suddenly, they stood very close.

Draco raked nervous fingers through his hair, dislodging one white strand. It fell across his forehead, its ends brushing a little ink stain smudged high on his right cheek. Harry’s heart began to beat faster in his chest as he unwittingly stared at Draco’s face. He hadn’t consciously thought about how beautiful Draco was since that night when they’d had to flee Malfoy Manor. Little details sprang out at him now, like the dark grey sprinkles in his irises. His nearly translucent eyelashes seemed to enhance the darker flecks that were scattered throughout the swirls of lighter grey. The charcoal outer ring on the outside made his his eyes look almost otherworldly.

There were a few lines etched into the space between his brows. Had he been frowning a lot lately?

Harry let his gaze travel over Draco’s face and flicker down to his collar, where the first two buttons of his shirt were opened. One dark mole graced the white creamy skin of his neck, just below his right ear.

Draco wet his bottom lip slowly, drawing Harry’s eyes. He swallowed and took a step, crowding Draco against the door. He wanted to taste him, to bite that bottom lip and feel Draco’s reaction. He wanted to make Draco want it as much as he wanted it, to sigh and squirm against him.

“Potter,” Draco said as if to protest, but it came out weakly. Harry put his nose against Draco’s hairline, right next to the mole, and inhaled slowly, eyelids fluttering shut. His body shuddered involuntarily and his skin crawled, heat spreading from his chest outward. He could feel his blood pulsing down. He’d missed being this close to Draco. He missed falling asleep and waking up surrounded by his scent and warmth.

Draco moaned, a quiet thing, stealing out from between his lips right into Harry’s ear- and Harry pressed forward, pushing his whole length against Draco’s front. Draco’s hands lifted and twisted into his back, and Harry’s nerve endings sang were fingernails dug in, almost painfully. He panted against Draco’s soft skin, heart pounding, muscles tense, waiting for something… anything.

Draco was as breathless as he was and it occurred to Harry that this was what he wanted. Every single day.

“Potter,” Draco said again, or tried to. It was more of a whine, really.

“Yes,” Harry said, and Draco slid his hands down to grope at his bottom, while shifting his thigh to press between Harry’s legs. The pressure was so good, he stopped breathing momentarily. He could feel Draco hard against his hip. They started pushing against each other, measured at first but quickly gaining urgency. Still, it wasn’t enough so Harry turned Draco’s face towards him.

“Open your mouth,” he said breathlessly and Draco groaned (“Yes!”) and did. Harry followed Draco’s bottom lip with his tongue and then slipped inside, gliding along the ridge of teeth. When their tongues met, the velvet friction was ecstasy. Harry put an arm around Draco’s neck and pulled himself as close as he could get. They were rocking against each other determinately now with long, slow movements. Draco made little sounds that Harry wanted to capture and hide in a place deep inside of him to listen to whenever he wanted.

It finished as swiftly as it had started with both of them holding onto each other as first Draco and then Harry came, knees trembling, sweat sticking wherever their skin touched. “Ugh, disgusting,” Draco complained, even though his legs were still shaking from the effort of holding himself up through what had sounded like a fantastic orgasm. Harry laughed, he couldn’t help himself. The delight of being so close, coupled with the lingering bliss of sexual release made him bold and playful. “You are ridiculous,” he pronounced and kissed Draco again.

“Ugh, stop it, you vile-“ but Harry waved his hand and cleaned them up without even stopping to attack Draco’s lips in between laughs. When Draco tried to shove at him halfheartedly, Harry captured his wrists and pinned them against the door above his head and kissed him deeply until he stopped squirming and gave over at last, melting against Harry in a most satisfying way. It was languid and rich and hot. Harry stopped only when he begun to feel dizzy from lack of air. He let go of Draco’s wrists slowly and Draco lowered his arms onto Harry’s shoulders, putting his head down against his neck.

Harry would have been content to stay like that for the foreseeable future, or maybe move things over to the bed while they were at it.

“Hrm,” Draco made after a while.

“Hrm,” Harry echoed, forehead pressed against the cool wood of the door and “I love you,” sprawled itself languorously across his thoughts, quite without his explicit permission. He stiffened and Draco stiffened in response, so he disentangled himself clumsily.

Draco cleared his throat. Harry couldn’t look at him.

He’d never noticed the faded yellow wallpaper before. And that water mark next to the door frame really made the most interesting patterns, he thought. Really, nothing could be quite as fascinating as the neatly placed etchings in the bed post-

“My dear, don’t fret,” Draco said, as he rightened his shirt and spelled it back to its former pristine glory. Then he stepped closer did the same for Harry, knuckles brushing against his throat. “If anyone asks, you made me look at your abominable potions essay from hell, which would perfectly explain the state I am in. Nothing happened, really,” he added with a wave of his hand. “There, all done.”

But that wasn’t true either, so he scowled at Draco, sticking out his chin stubbornly. “Like hell,” he said and when Draco didn’t answer, just shrugged and gazed at his nails, Harry stupidly came out with: “At least your parents didn’t care whether we slept in the same room. This sneaking about is a pain in the buggering-”

“Yes, I believe I comprehend your meaning,” Draco interrupted him loftily and Harry snorted despite himself. “What was the reason you called?”

“The reason why I called was to get you for dinner, you insufferable snob, ” Harry said and he feared he was not hiding the fondness he felt cery well at all.

###

Dinner was a light but delicious salad with garlic bread and crisps. It went a little better than lunch had, mostly because Ginny didn’t say a single word to Draco, only glared at him whenever she thought no-one was looking. She had, however, changed her approach when it came to Harry and was full of happy chatter. He was glad she didn’t seem to be angry anymore, but the way she smiled at him so sweetly made his teeth hurt a bit. Not wanting to aggravate her any more, though, he went along with it and they talked mainly about the Gryffindor quidditch team and Harry’s practice plans.

After dinner, Draco helped Mrs. Weasley with the washing up, so Harry stuck around and put away the plates and cutlery Draco gave him, even without being asked to. Ron had slinked off before being roped in and Ginny made good on her word and went upstairs to think about strategy, since she wasn’t allowed to fly for another week, on Madam Pomfrey’s orders. When they were done tidying everything away, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley went for a walk. Harry and Draco lingered in the kitchen, not wanting to part but also not really sure what to do with themselves.

“A cup of hot chocolate wouldn’t go amiss,” Draco said leisurely.

A cup of hot chocolate sounded like he was going to die of heat stroke, Harry thought.

“Sounds wonderful,” he said and proceeded to make them both a cup of hot chocolate, while Draco sat down in his by now customary orange armchair.

“If anyone had ever told me I’d be sitting in the Weasley’s rundown living room one day, sipping hot chocolate made by the great Harry Potter himself from a chipped mug, I’d have pronounced them absolutely mad!” Draco laughed in a slightly maniac way after taking the first sip. Harry let his eyes drift over the beloved knickknacks; the self-crocheting needles and the sizeable collection of vases and bowls on the huge cabinet, the threadbare carpet in front of the stairs and the happy little faces on the family clock. They were all set on “home”, except for Bill’s, who was apparently still at work. The wooden floor boards were getting rather thin in quite a few places and there wasn’t a single piece of furniture that didn’t have chips or stains on it. He supposed for someone who was used to living in a castle-like place like Malfoy Manor this living space must seem lika a collection of utter rubble. He could sort of see how Draco had grown up to think of everybody else as inferior, especially with his parents driving home that fact, using their money and status and pedigree as enough reason to look down on everybody who wasn’t up their standards. And they obviously were richer and no doubt more distinguished than many other people. It wasn’t Draco’s fault he’d been born into that particular family. It was the way he’d used to fling it in everybody’s faces that had made him so unlikable. Well, that and the bullying and the taunting.

“I love it here,” Harry said. “You see that scratch in the wall over there?” he asked, pointing to the bottom of the stairs. “When I came here for the first time in second year, I tried to drag my trunk up the stairs, but because it was so heavy and the stairs are so narrow, it got stuck and the corner of my trunk scraped along the wall. Mrs. Weasley didn’t bat an eye and just gently told me I could use a featherweight charm. When I said I didn’t know how to do it, she taught me.”

Draco didn’t look at him. He was sitting very still.

“My father gave me five strokes once when I ran down the hall on our way to the back gardens and knocked over a vase. He repaired it instantly with the flick of a wrist, of course, but it was the principle of the thing, he said. ‘A Malfoy doesn’t blunder about. A Malfoy doesn’t hurry anywhere. A Malfoy is waited upon. A Malfoy always shows decorum. A Malfoy never shows weakness,” Draco recited quietly. “He made me repeat it after every stroke.”

Harry swallowed.

“My uncle once made me scrub the whole bathroom with my bare hands, after I’d thrown up. I hadn’t had any food for two days and then I ate too much that evening and my tummy wouldn’t keep it. I didn’t make it to the toilet in time.”

Draco’s fists clenched. “I will kill them,” he said in deadly tones.

“In that case, I get to kill your father,” Harry retorted.

Draco turned towards him. “That’s different!” he said heatedly, “that was just a measure of instruction! Starving… Starving a child… punishing it for, for…” his breathing accelerated and his cup was shaking precariously in his fingers. “Those monsters abused you!” he hissed.

“And your father abused you!” Harry nearly shouted. “Do you think it’s normal for a parent to hit their child when it accidentally knocks over something because it’s excited? Do you?”

“Keep your voice down,” Draco whispered urgently, “the whole house doesn’t have to hear.”

“Well, it’s not normal,” Harry continued, more subdued. “I don’t think either of us were raised normally. That should be normal!” he said, pointing again at the wall.

Draco fell silent, looking at the scratch marks. “For an obscure pure-blood family with abundant offspring living below their status it might be, but for the sole Malfoy heir it is not. I was raised according to my position with the goal to take over family business. Do you think I would have it any other way? Our family has been here for nearly a thousand years and it’s on my shoulders to make sure it stays that way.”

Harry closed his eyes. He could practically feel Draco’s pride. From a really screwed up perspective, he could understand Draco’s position, but it was totally inconceivable all at the same time.

“There are other ways of instruction,” Harry said. “When I have kids, I will never ever lay a hand on them, under any circumstances. And anybody who tries to will get to know my fury.”

Draco’s mug fell from his fingers and bounced off the coffee table, the dregs of his drink absorbed by the washed-out carpet. He flinched at the noise, his eyes darting from Harry’s face, to the sides and back again. He had blanched completely. 

“What,” Harry spat, crossing his arms. Was that really such an extraordinary thought for Malfoy? “Would you actually hit your son, after you know how it feels first hand?”

“What?” Draco asked distractedly. He had composed himself and was crooking a finger at the cup, which rolled up off the floor and floated back onto the table. “Of course I would discipline my heir, Potter,” he said in almost bored tones and Harry felt anger in a way he hadn’t for a long time.

“That makes you just as much of a monster as your father is,” he growled and got up, grabbed their cups and marched over to the sink, dumping them inside with a loud crack. When he whirled around, Draco had gotten up and was on his way to the stairs.

“I’ve got some matters to attend to,” he said matter-of-factly. “If you will excuse me.”

“What matters?!” Harry shouted, but Draco didn’t answer and was out of sight a moment later.

“Fine!” Harry yelled. “I’ll be outside flying!”

That was when the floo place spat out a distressed looking Bill Weasley onto the living room floor. His hair was all over the place and he panted like he’d been running.

“Harry, thank Merlin. Where is Draco?” he heaved.

“He has some ‘matters’ to attend to in his room,” Harry said. He knew he sounded like a petulant child, but he just couldn’t help himself.

“Great,” Bill said and hurried towards the stairs, but Draco was already coming down. He must have heard Bill’s voice.

“Draco!” Bill called, “We need to go to Gringott’s! Right now!”

Chapter Text

Bill stood rooted at the bottom of the stairs, Draco a few steps higher up. They were just staring at each other. Seconds ticked by. At last Draco nodded like he’d been expecting this to happen - and maybe he had. After all, Harry had no idea what the two of them had been discussing since Draco apparently hadn’t deemed it necessary to inform him about it.

“I brought some robes as well, we need to make the right impression from the start,” Bill said. He pulled a briefcase from his coat pocket and enlarged it with a spell. “We’ll need to transfer the Malfoy crest from your other robes, but Fleur can do that fairly easily, so we’ll stop by the cottage on our way there. I’ve got some documents in here I need to brief you on. We could…” he trailed off, glancing about nervously. “You know what, let’s do all of that at the cottage. I’ll brief you while Fleur works on the garments. Do you have your wand?”

“Of course I’ve got my wand,” Draco said snidely. “I’ll go, have a brief shower and get my robes and purse. Anything else?”

“No time for a shower-“

“I will not stumble about Gringott’s smelling like…” he trailed off, and Harry could see his ears go red even from three feet away. “Anyway. Goblins have a keen sense of smell, or so my father said. I’m not yet that experienced in dealing with the creatures.”

Bill’s eyebrows vanished into his hairline as he casually turned on his heel to throw Harry an amused look.

“In that case, shower at the cottage,” he said. The glint in his eyes did not put Harry at ease. “Maybe Harry can join in, to save us all some time,” he added with a smirk.

“What a splendid idea,” Draco said blandly. “I’ll go get my robes, shall I.”

Harry would have put his foot down and demanded to be taken along, but it turned out he didn’t have to. Bill left a note for his mother and then everything happened decidedly quickly. He found himself sitting in the living room of Shell Cottage with a glass of homemade lemonade Fleur had pressed into his hands, before she ushered Draco upstairs to get prepared for… something. Something important. Bill sat opposite him on a settee, leafing through the pages of parchment he’d taken out of his briefcase, left knee bouncing up and down skittishly.

Harry unwittingly took a sip of lemonade. It was delicious. That was beside the point! “Bill, what is happening? What’s going on?” Harry asked, putting away his glass with a clunk.

“Draco is an adult, that’s what’s going on,” Bill said and leaned his head back with a sigh, closing his eyes. As he relaxed, the weariness in his face became more apparent.

“What do you mean?”

Bill opened one eye to glance at him. “I’m not sure how much I should tell you,” was the infuriating reply.

Anger came creeping back in and indignation, too. Why were all the adults in his life intent on shutting him out of all the important conversations? Dumbledore had recently started to let him in on some of the things he had been researching about Voldemort and the Hocruxes, but still Harry felt like some things were being hidden form him. Dumbledore was keeping his cards close to his chest and Harry was just about done with it. And now Bill was doing the exact same thing.

“If you consider Draco an adult, how in Merlin’s name can you justify not treating me like one?” Harry asked evenly, in an attempt to project a calmness he in no way felt.

“It’s not a matter of you not being old enough. It’s a question of prudence. The political situation is on the knife’s edge, to say the least. We need to move quickly and stealthily.”

Harry had no idea what Bill was talking about, but surely telling him wouldn’t do any harm. “It’s not like I am doing anything at the moment besides sitting at the Burrow, finishing my homework and exercising quidditch!” Harry said. “What harm could it possibly do to let me know?”

Bill studied him with an odd look. “Alright,” he said at last and sat up, fixing Harry with beady eyes. “But promise me you won’t tell anyone else without my express permission. No-one. Not mum or dad, not Hermione and certainly not Dumbledore. Do you understand?”

Harry fell silent. What on earth would Bill ever do that Dumbledore couldn’t know about?

He’d never doubted Bill’s loyalty, but this statement made him suddenly wonder. Percy was on his best way to support a ministry that did nothing to stop the killing of muggle-borns and their family members, so why was he extending unquestioned trust to anyone just on account of bearing the Weasley name? On the other hand, if Bill was planning anything nefarious, how would he figure out without giving this promise? Wasn’t it better to be in the know?

“I promise."

“Unbreakable Vow,” Bill countered and offered his left hand.

Harry hesitated. He’d read about the Unbreakable Vow. If you violated the terms… you died. What on earth was Bill trying to do?

“But… don’t you need a witness for an Unbreakable Vow?” His voice came out much higher than he would have liked. Suddenly, he felt a bit exposed in this room, alone with Bill. Harry folded his hands. He wished Draco were done already.

“That’s only the extreme version. There is a weaker version without needing a witness. Honestly Harry, did you think I would make you perform an oath that might potentially kill you if you slipped up?” He laughed out loud, but Harry didn’t laugh along. “No, don’t worry. This version merely freezes you up for a few minutes, whenever you try to violate the terms.”

That didn’t sound too bad. And he really, really wanted to know what Bill was up to. He could always… put the memory in a pensieve and let Dumbledore watch it.

“Alright,” Harry said, before he could change his mind and grasped Bill’s arm.

“Brilliant!” Bill beamed. “Take out your wand and put in on top of your wrist, just below the back of your hand. After you repeat the incantation, I will ask you a question and you will answer ‘I will’. Got it? All right, here we go.”

The spell was a bit unwieldy, but Harry managed to get it right on the first try. As soon as he finished speaking, faint yellow lines snaked out of their wands and looped around their wrists and hands in pretty diamond shapes.

“Will you, Harry James Potter, divulge the secret information I present to you to any other living being only ever with my express permission?” Bill asked. His eyes gleamed with the yellow light and his cheeks seemed a bit sallow.

“I will,” Harry answered. Well, there went his idea to use a pensieve.

“And will you speak, write or otherwise make aware any other living being of any magical vow you have entered with me only ever with my express permission?”

“I will,” Harry said.

“And will you never ask for my permission for these things where any other living being might hear, see or otherwise be made aware of the asking?”

“I will,” Harry said again, and Bill tapped his wand three times and the lights vanished.

Harry shook his hand surreptitiously. His skin was crawling, the sensation travelling up his arm and settling over his whole body in the course of three seconds, before subsiding abruptly. He looked back at Bill, who was smiling at him broadly. This had been quite a lot more thorough than he had expected. There was no way around the oaths that he could see.

“Excellent. What I am telling you today is secret information, do you understand?” Bill asked him quietly.

Harry nodded. Bill really was making sure the wording of the Vow would take hold. Was he getting in over his head? Surely he must have good reasons for taking these precautions... On the other hand, if anyone would be able to help, it was Dumbledore. So why couldn’t he be in the know? Harry didn't believe Bill capable of outright betraying the Order, but it did seem like he had his own agenda. The question was: how dangerous was this agenda to their mission of destroying the Hocruxes?

“Now tell me,” Harry demanded.

“Okay, listen to this,” Bill said excitedly. “Draco is considered a legal adult as of Friday evening, when you two entered the Bond.”

“Yes, Mr. Weasley explained as much.”

“Do you have any idea what that implies for the sole heir of one of the oldest and richest pure-blood families in the world?”

Bill’s eyes were fixed on him so fiercly, Harry leaned back againt he backrest of the couch to flee their intensity. He’d never been afraid of Bill, but suddenly, he asked himself, why on earth not? Bill was one of the cleverest wizards he knew, his magical ability was outstanding and he was obviously playing the political game as well as any Slytherin. And the way he acted made Harry’s skin crawl and not just because of the oath.

“He will get some sort of control over family business?” Harry guessed.

“Precisely, but not only that. It’s called ‘coming into one’s inheritance’. Draco came into his inheritance on Friday evening at about four pm. He now theoretically holds full control over the Malfoy fortune, as well as any other holdings that have been maintained by the goblins for him until the first new moon after his 21st birthday, when he would originally have come into his inheritance. Of course, the late Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy are still alive, so he is only the Heir-Apparent, but since nobody has anticipated this situation - the last time it happened was in 1487, when Eustace Fawly was bonded to his fiancée in a spell - anyway, nobody anticipated it, so there are no prepared documents in place, limiting his influence as long as his parents are still alive. That paper, called the Coalescence of the Heir-Apparent, which is traditionally written up on the Heir’s 20th birthday and would only grant him authority over those parts of the inheritance that he or she showed a particular interest or aptitude in, like managing the estate or holding the political seats or leading the societal aspect and so on, has not yet been written up by the Malfoys. Since it has always been fairly common that pure-blood families have only one or two children - unkind tongues might say that’s because of the inbreeding - giving over full control would be held back until the Heir-Apparent’s first child is born, thus ensuring the continuation of the line.”

Harry’s head was reeling with all these new, unfamiliar terms. So Draco co-owned Malfoy Manor? What good would that do with Voldemort and his Death Eaters literally camping out in the guest quarters? It’s not like he could do anything to get them out. And he certainly couldn’t go back there.

“What are you saying? In how far does-“

Something moved in the corner of his eye. Harry gaped, thoughts short-circuiting completely as he saw Draco descending the stairs across the room. His gaze was drawn to him like the world had fallen away and Draco was the only thing left in it. It wasn’t the robes, even though they accentuated his height and made him seem more imposing and grown-up than usual. It wasn’t his hair, either, which was styled to one side, his natural curls not slicked back, but falling down the side of his head and into his face. It wasn’t the jewellery, though even Harry could see that the pearls he wore completed the vision perfectly, with that big, smooth green gemstone hanging down the centre of his chest, catching the light. He looked… he looked like that painting of himself in the Green Hall back at the Manor come to life.

Without realising when he’d gotten up, Harry was standing in front of him, fingers gliding along the glistening pearls standing out on the smooth green fabric. The round baubles themselves looked the same as when Harry had seen the necklace last, at the train station. However, every other one had been replaced by a longish black stone shaped like a small Basilisk fang. Still, he was quite certain they were the same pearls Draco’s mother had given him before she’d said goodbye…

“They change appearance to fit their wearer,” Draco breathed, as if reading his mind. His hand came up to stroke along Harry’s arm in a soothing gesture.

“What is happening?” Harry whispered. “Bill tried to explain it to me, but I didn’t get it, really. What are you doing?”

“Oh, we are just playing dress up to impress the goblins,” Draco said. “Fleur really knows her cosmetic charms. She even wove a small allurement charm into the fabric of my cravat.”

“Seems to be working,” Harry said and made himself step back. It cost more effort than should be warranted, but he felt uncomfortable standing so close together in front of Bill and Fleur. In a wholly untypical gesture, Draco took his hands.

“Wish me luck. I’m going to take back every single Malfoy sickle Voldemort has his hands on.” The smile that broke across his face was dazzling. “And then I’m going to play some politics.”

Bill cleared his throat. “We are going to play some politics,” he corrected Draco.

“Yes, we are going to play some politics,” Draco said, and took Bill’s arm and before Harry could answer, they had disapparated.

“Good luck,” he said into the empty space where Draco had just stood. He missed him instantly.

###

The waiting was a pain in the neck.

After Bill and Draco had gone, Harry had hastily excused himself to Fleur. He felt a bit bad about claiming a headache, but the urgency to know at least a little of what was going on prevailed, so he sat himself down on the wide bed in the little guest room he and Draco were going to share. It was rapidly becoming dark outside. In the dimming light, the white-washed furniture transformed into odd shapes and planes, so he closed his eyes to focus his attention solely on the inside.

One deep breath and he opened up his mind. It wasn’t even hard to find Draco’s consciousness; like it had just been sitting there, waiting for him to touch it and dive in. He couldn’t hear anything, unfortunately, but he got used to that fairly quickly. After a while, it was like he himself was slipping through London’s hidden back alleys, taking care never to let the dark figure in front out of sight. He slunk through a very sturdy but smallish back door that Bill had to open with a drop of his blood and followed him through shadowed corridors. Torches were lit few and far between. He was greeted by a rather scruffy looking goblin whose eyebrows shot up when he saw him step out from behind Bill, but he still scrambled up and bid them follow him. They were led into a rather spacious office room where another goblin, much older that the first one, sat in an armchair, shuffling through papers and scratching her balding head. The little hair she had stood wildly on end. Her glasses slipped to the tip of her nose as she scribbled something down into a ledger furiously. When she looked up, the expression on her face turned to stone for a second, before what maybe counted as a smile for goblins split her lips apart. The light in her eyes as she looked Draco up and down turned calculating, but she did not seem displeased. Intrigued, maybe. She got up and bowed deeply to them, before speaking and holding out her heavily wrinkled little hand. Draco nodded and rummaged around in his pouch, producing a little golden key.

Harry’s link slipped a little as he blinked in perplexity. Had Draco been carrying that change purse when they’d worked on the wall? He tried to picture him in his rumpled shirt on the train, but he couldn’t remember clearly enough. The only thing that stood out in his memory were Draco’s pale face, his gloomy eyes and his lips.

He went back in to watch. The three had sat down at the huge shiny oak desk. The goblin’s chair was raised on a dais, so they had to look up at her. Bill was explaining something with hands gesticulating feverishly off to Draco’s left side, but Draco was looking at the goblin intently, probably trying to catch her reactions. Oh what Harry would give to hear what they were saying!

Bill did the lion’s share of talking, but Draco interjected the odd word or two. It was disquieting to feel his throat work and mouth and lips move without hearing what sounds he actually produced. Disquieting and frustrating.

When the talking had gone on for about half an hour, Harry truly grew restless. He couldn’t parse any more information about what was going on, but he didn’t want to stop watching either, for fear of missing something important.

At last, the goblin waved to someone behind Draco and the first goblin, who apparently had been standing off to the side the entire time, hobbled over with the documents from before. He spread them on the table and receded from view. The accountant - for that’s what Harry guessed her to be - picked out one or two and pushed them across the desk towards Draco. They were mostly complicated looking tables of numbers and words. Properties, interest rates, revenues, costs and deductions were words Harry picked out before his eyes got stuck on a number at the bottom of the page. But that… that couldn’t be what it meant, could it? Surely, even counting all the lands and the huge Manor and other properties the Malfoy’s apparently owned… surely that couldn’t be the right number.

Harry opened his eyes and was back in his dark room in Shell Cottage, feeling like someone had drenched him with a bucket of ice water. His legs felt numb and he had clenched is fists in the covers so hard, his fingers hurt. Slowly, he unfolded them and gingerly moved his legs into a different position. The pins and needled shooting up and down them a few seconds later made him gasp. How long had he been sitting there, motionless? The tempus charm informed him that it was nearly half past ten. Draco had been gone for a bit over an hour.

He lay there until his legs stopped tingling, but still he could not wrap his mind around what he had just seen. With this much money… it was no wonder Lucius had managed to avoid prosecution after the war. Harry was pretty sure that even the most stiff-necked and scrupulous of politicians would at least hesitate to make an enemy of someone that rich. Not to mention how old the family was and how many ties they had undoubtedly collected over the last… hundreds of years.

Slowly but surely, it dawned on Harry that he had absolutely no clue what it meant to be the heir to such a family fortune. And he did not envy Draco one bit.

###

He must have fallen asleep over his musings because the next thing he knew, he was blinking up at the ceiling lights. Fleur stood in the door, beaming at him.

“They are back, ‘Arry, they are back!” she exclaimed excitedly and was gone.

Half disoriented, Harry stumbled out the room, along the hall and down the stairs.

“…and the way her lips quirked when I signed, I am telling you, she is my new biggest fan!” he heard Draco’s exuberant voice even before he saw him standing at the hearth, glass of sparkling wine in one hand and waving about with the other. He was grinning from ear to ear - not an expression Harry had ever seen him wear before.

Fleur laughed and clapped her hands delightedly.

“And when… Harry!”

Draco hurried over in a flurry of robes, grabbed his hand and twirled him around into a pirouette. Harry shook his head, bewildered, but he couldn’t help the silly smile on his face.

“Draco…! Stop it, you are mad!” he laughed.

“A glass! A glass for the saviour! No, wait- here take mine!”

Draco thrust his glass into Harry’s hands and whirled around, snitched another one from the low table and was back at his side in a second, crowding into his personal space with his pretty hair and his shining eyes and his stupid grin.

“To us! To Bill and that ingenious red head on his shoulders and to ludicrous pureblood customs and to that outrageous Bond of ours!” he exclaimed and clinked his glass against Harry’s. Fleur was looking on indulgently and Bill was leaning against the mantle casually, raising his glass in salute, then drinking deeply, twinkling over at them. Harry took a sip, but the bitterness and the bubbles made him cough a little.

“Harry, we did it! Can you imagine, we did it! I never would have thought… I really had no inkling, none at all!”

“Did what?”

“We took it all!! Well, not literally all of it, I’m not a monster. I left him enough to feed himself and the elves for about a year, but everything else… Harry, it’s all mine!”

And he drained his glass in one, put it down, grabbed Harry’s head and kissed him squarely on the mouth. Harry nearly lost grip on his own crystal flute, before he could feel it plucked from his hand, and then he lost himself in Draco’s mouth for a minute.

“Hmmm, stop, stop it, tell me what happened, first!”

“I need not remind you that this is not supposed to reach any other ears…” Bill murmured. “Let’s sit down and I’ll explain.”

And he did.

Draco had inherited early, but not only had he inherited Malfoy Manor and all it’s assets, he had apparently also inherited the Lestrange Estate in Surrey. The Malfoy holdings were still joined property with his father, of course, but since his aunt’s life-sentence in Azkaban, she had lost all claim on her shares in the Lestrange Estate. So, that estate and the connected properties belonged to Draco only. And they had seized all of the liquid funds - all the money that could be moved from one account to another without too much fuss - and put them into Draco’s new vaults. Where his father could not reach them.

“Yes, I’m quite the catch now, actually,” Draco purred, slinging one knee over the other. “You should count yourself lucky.”

“Well… it’s not like I’m penniless, either,” Harry said.

“Capital isn’t the whole of it. Yesterday I told you my father would probably disinherit me…” Draco’s grin turned feral, “but he can’t anymore, because I’ve already inherited. It seems we won’t have to emigrate to France, after all!”

And then Harry remembered the number on that parchment and realised that in comparison to Draco... in comparison to the Malfoy heir, he was rather on the underprivileged side of things. Draco drained the last of his (second, Harry noticed) glass of wine and sat there with an air of such boundless smugness, Harry couldn’t decide whether he wanted to kiss him or cuff him sharply over the head.

“You realise this makes Draco one of the big political players. Especially considering he is now your Bonded partner. Both sides, the pureblood faction and the muggle-sympathising lot now have a reason to… stay friendly, to put it mildly,” Bill added.

“And we will milk that advantage for what it’s worth,” Draco said. “The war has just begun… And we are now on a level playing field. The rest of it will be fought on political ground. And when it comes down to it, the Death Eater sympathisers will stray to my side, if we don’t blunder too badly. Any competition without a nose is no competition at all,” he claimed loftily and raked his hands through his hair. They tumbled back into his face in an annoyingly attractive move. “Many of the members of the Wizengamot, who were still on the fence about the Dark Lord, will have an easier time following a less radical party. And seeing as I’m not a blind follower of the muggle-loving section, which the old families can’t trust on principle, my chances stand a lot higher than Dumbledore’s to actually gain any majority.”

Draco leaned across him and poured himself another glass of wine, lifting it to Bill in thanks.

Harry studied Draco Malfoy, the sole Malfoy heir, as he sat there in his fancy robes, with this powerful magical artefact dangling from his neck, a family heirloom, probably hundreds of years old; posing, for all intents and purposes like a rich, entitled pureblood Slytherin and plotting his political career. And the sinking feeling in his stomach grew stronger and stronger: did he actually know this man?

Harry sat back heavily. This… didn’t really sound like Draco was planning to throw his weight in with Dumbledore…

His head was hurting for real, now. He had absolutely lost grasp on the implications of all this. He needed to discuss all of this with Hermione, as soon as possible. She would know what to do.

Abruptly, he remembered the oath he had given only hours before. He couldn’t talk to Hermione, about any of it! Nor Ron! And not to Dumbledore, either!

Oh, what had he gotten himself into?

Chapter Text

Draco stood in front of the slim, full length mirror next to the dresser, unbuttoning his fancy robes with graceful fingers. He was scowling at them as he went along, but whether that was his frustration with lack of cooperation by the buttons themselves or by the seemingly stubborn Mr. Droightingale, whom he and Bill had argued about earlier with increasing passion, Harry didn’t know. He felt a bit woozy since he'd pried Draco's third glass of wine off of him and downed it himself in one go. Bill and Draco's bickering had receded into background noise as he'd helplessly slid into brooding. He’d known Draco’s heritage was important to him somewhere in his mind. He wanted to be happy for him, he really did, but the developments of the last few hours had gotten out of Harry’s depth. This wasn’t just about being accepted by his family anymore. It had quickly turned into a question of loyalty and trust. Could he trust Draco now, who trusted Bill? Was Bill loyal to Dumbledore? He sure as hell knew Draco wasn’t loyal to Dumbledore. But… he might be loyal to Harry, now. However, Harry was loyal to Dumbledore, wasn’t he?

Bugger, what a mess. He was too tired to figure this out. And possibly just a little bit drunk, as well.

"You do realise I can see that face you are making all the way from over here," Draco drawled, meeting Harry’s eyes in the mirror.

Harry sat slumped on his side of the bed. What was he supposed to say to that?

“Do you even trust Bill?” he blurted before he had given his tongue permission to speak.

Draco snorted as he looped his cravat over the back of the wicker chair in the corner. “Don’t be silly, of course I don’t trust Bill. I don’t trust anybody,” he explained, making it sound quite reasonable. “But that doesn’t mean he isn’t very useful to me at the moment. I’ll have to repay him somehow, of course. I’ve got an idea about that, actually.” He hung up his robes in the wardrobe and took off his pearls next, stroking them tenderly and smiling down at them like they were his firstborn child.

“Anyway, why are you asking this? Don’t you trust Bill?” Draco inquired pointedly and Harry suddenly remembered that Draco was good at finding the sore spots and turning things around.

“I-“ How much could he say without violating the terms of that stupid oath? “I don’t know if I trust him to have the Order’s best interest at heart.”

Draco made a low whistle. “Who would have thought? A Gryffindor mistrusting one of his own? A very part of his extended family, one might say? I am intrigued. What did poor Bill do to warrant such misgivings?” he mused as he stepped out of his pressed trousers. Harry’s eyes travelled up Draco’s calves over the backs of his knees towards his thighs and-

“You… aren’t wearing any pants.”

“And you are staring,” Draco tutted, removing his socks. “How improper of you to ogle your roommate as he is getting undressed. Now spill, my dear, what did Bill do? Weren’t you absurdly fond of him since he came to watch you during the Triwizard Tournament quest with that charming dragon?”

“Why aren’t you wearing any?” Harry persisted in what his brain had decided was by far the more pressing subject of conversation. Draco turned around languidly and started unbuttoning his shirt. The dark patch between his legs was vaguely visible underneath. Harry licked his lips.

“I see it was foolish of me to expect you to stay on the matter at hand while such easy distraction is readily available. The Gryffindor intellect, everyone!” Draco proclaimed grandly and lifted both his arms in a sweeping gesture that raised the edge of his shirt up even more. “Boggles the mind! Bewilders the layman and confounds the expert.”

Harry’s mouth had gone dry. As dry as his brain was, apparently.

Draco’s arms dropped to his sides and he rolled his eyes. “It ruins the line, Potter. Not that you would understand.” Slowly he advanced on Harry, who felt rather like a deer frozen before it’s predator.

“I… I’m not… He didn’t” Harry spluttered, but just then Draco’s navel became visible as he undid the second-to-last button. On the last one, he paused.

“Want me to open it?” he asked faux-innocently.

Harry was quite aware that ordinarily this whole interaction would make him want to run away and hide. A little part of him still wondered at why that wasn’t the case. But a very much larger part didn’t care at all. A very much larger part of him wanted to see if Draco would do it, if he asked nicely enough.

“Uhm… yes, please?”

Draco’s hands slipped the last button free ever so slowly. “So you can answer a direct question. I was beginning to wonder.” Draco’s knees hit the carpet as he lowered himself right between Harry’s legs, shirt gaping wide nonchalantly. “Now, my love, answer this question of mine: What. Did. Bill. Do?”

Exploring fingers stroked over Harry’s trousers, up along the seams and over his flies, brushing him through the fabric lightly with a maddeningly soft touch. Leaning in, Draco whispered: “Or is it that you are jealous?” Harry didn’t answer, he couldn’t answer. All his senses were focused on the slight pressure of Malfoy’s fingers.  “Or is it a little bit of both?”

Harry closed his eyes and pushed his pelvis forward ever so slightly into Draco’s touch.

“Nah, ah, ah!” Draco admonished and his fingers vanished. “Not before you haven’t answered my question.”

“Draco!” Harry growled and used the heel of his own hand to press down on himself.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Draco said darkly and batted his hand away. “Put our hands behind your back and leave them there.”

His tone was so strict, Harry obeyed instinctively. Embarrassment tinged his cheeks as the burning wave of arousal hit him quite out of nowhere. The tingles spread until even his toes were hot where they curled in his socks. Suddenly, Draco’s fingers splayed across his thighs were more erotic than their simple touch warranted for. He wanted them to creep higher, to open his zip and slip inside, but at the same time, the sweet agony of waiting on Draco’s pleasure to do it made his blood pump faster.

Surely this was the alcohol speaking!

“Oh…” Draco made a noise like finding a rare vintage in his cupboard after being convinced he had run out. “Harry Potter, our fearless leader, likes being ordered about in the bedroom! This is an interesting turn of events…”

Should he be offended by this? He probably should. All it did was fill him with heady expectation. He must really be quite drunk. And yet, he closed his lips firmly to make sure nothing stupid came out to ruin whatever this game was they were playing.

“Oh, you want this. You really want this, don’t you?”

Fortunately, Harry’s eyes were still closed as he felt his face flame hotter, still. He nodded, slowly.

“Tell me,” Draco commanded.

Harry swallowed. Opening his lips was suddenly the hardest thing he had ever done. He wanted to, he didn’t want to, he hated this-

“I… I want this,” he whispered.

“What do you want, exactly?” Draco asked sweetly.

A deep breath. His hands were sweating.

“I think I… want you to… tell me what to do.”

“Please.”

Draco knew exactly what he meant. Why did he have to say it again?

“Tell me what to do, please.”

“Good boy,” Draco said and Harry’s tummy squirmed at the praise. It squirmed! This was outrageous. He was a grown man. “Lay back and cross your wrists above your head.”

Harry did, even without hesitating. He didn’t open his eyes as he did it, though. Feeling his insides all aflutter as he followed Draco’s orders… he wasn’t sure he would ever live that down as it was. Seeing Draco’s - no doubt - smug face would be too much to bear. He would be forced to flee the room and sleep on the couch, in his clothes, and tomorrow he would have to take a portkey and emigrate to Australia, so he would never have to see Draco’s smug face ever again.

He felt the mattress dip left and right and Draco’s weight settled right atop his thighs. The stretch of his trousers as they were pulled down a little brought his awareness viciously back to how tight they were. His erection was bordering on painful, but it was a delicious pain, an exquisite torture, a glorious agony. He had trouble stifling a groan.

Draco shuffled around, tiny movements that brought him closer, closer and then: stopped. This time he couldn’t hold back the noise of frustration he made, although it couldn’t have been too loud, if he did say so himself. The glare he turned Draco’s way was possibly hindered in it’s effectiveness by Harry’s shameless staring: Chest and abdomen framed by the open shirt, curls still thrown over the side of his face in studied casualty, blazing eyes trained on him; Draco sat on his lap like a fantasy come alive. Not a fantasy of his, mind, but maybe a fantasy of a very horny Slytherin fifth year, who had had a crush on Draco for the better part of his school years and had followed him around Hogwarts like a stalker.

Then Harry realised: there was no gloating to be seen. No haughty eyebrow or mocking curve of lips. No cruel smirk or mischievous twinkle of eyes.

“Like what you see?” Draco asked, and there it was, the smug little smile he had expected. Instead of humiliation, however, Harry only felt a delighted sort of excitement at how beautiful Draco was, how glorious in his confidence. He could have gone through all his life not knowing the unexpected pleasure of Draco Malfoy sitting on him half-naked, ordering him about. And he was suddenly very glad he did.

It seemed Draco wasn’t waiting for an answer this time. He leaned forward, intertwined their fingers above Harry’s head and kissed him. The world reduced itself to the pressure of Draco’s body on his, the slide of lips and tongues and the building fire inside his veins. Draco was quite evidently enjoying himself just as much and started rocking against him.

That’s how Harry came in his trousers for the second time in a day.

“Ugh, why does this always have to be such a mess?” Draco grumbled, sounding genuinely annoyed. He lowered himself down on his back next to Harry, still panting. Harry couldn’t formulate any coherent thought except for wow, that was amazing, oh my god.

“Now, where were we? Ah, right. Your misgivings about poor Bill.”

“Don’t make me think of Bill right this moment, please,” Harry huffed. He gingerly moved his arms and waved a hand sloppily to clean them up.

Draco chuckled. “Point taken. That’s very impressive, by the way. Did I tell you last time?”

He got up and slipped his shirt off with a shrug of shoulders. Harry lifted himself onto his elbows, watching Draco’s naked form openly as he smoothed down the shirt and hung it up neatly next to his robes. Standing there without the ridiculously posh disguise made it difficult for Harry to remember his panic from before. This was the same Draco he had gotten to know over the last few weeks, the same Draco that had snickered at Dudley and nearly cried on the train, that he had healed after being beaten by his father and that had saved his life. Saved his life whilst understanding full well that it would cost him his place in the Malfoy family. A place he had been raised to fill and had striven to be worthy of… since Harry had first met him, actually.

He lowered his eyes. The sting of burning cheeks was for a whole different reason this time around.

When Harry gingerly felt for Draco’s back in the dark a while later, he found it stiff. Slowly, limb by limb, he crawled over. Draco grumbled about the heat and the stickiness and the lack of breathing space, but he did not shove away Harry’s arm, nor did he move a single inch. And just before he fell asleep, Harry could have sworn he felt Draco snuggle back against him.

###

Draco’s room was awfully bright. Had the elves opened all the curtains already? Harry pressed his face into Draco’s shoulder in search of another half an hour of peace. The sun didn’t usually shine through the windows until evening and surely it couldn’t be that late, could it? When he at last decided to face the day, Harry blinked around the room in perplexity. It took him another ten seconds to make sense of the washed-out furniture and the white, billowing curtains and the little shells covering the blanket. They were at the Cottage. Right.

“Hmmmm, I haven’t slept that well in ages,” Draco murmured, stretching, and covered a yawn. “Must be all the money and the power and the influence,” he drawled. “That, and dreaming of my father’s face as he reads the letter over breakfast.” He chuckled and looked up at Harry with a cat-in-the-cream smile.

“Yes, I’m sure it’s the money and not the way you were clinging to me all night,” Harry quibbed.

“Excuse you, a Malfoy never clings.” Draco sniffed. “A Malfoy merely deigns a sufficiently subservient subject to bask in the presence. And you certainly showed a pleasing amount of that yesterday.”

Harry blushed, but barked a laugh. “The way your eyes crinkle at the corners betray you.”

“Because today is such a grandiose day, I shall overlook your mockery,” Draco said haughtily and threw back the covers. “Where is breakfast? Life is so inconvenient without any elves.” Before his feet could touch the ground, however, he exclaimed in delight: “Oh!” and clapped his hands twice, calling: “Sherry!”

With a loud crack, a little house-elf appeared next to the bed, wringing his hands. Harry had seen him before. He’d been attending Lucius Malfoy at dinner.

“Sherry. Breakfast, if you please. Freshly pressed orange juice for both of us, and pancakes with fruit. Oh, and a bottle of the 1959 Dom Perignon,” he said offhandedly.

“As you wish, Master,” the elf croaked and vanished.

Draco settled against the headboard and arranged the covers over his legs with a satisfied sigh.

“How does that… isn’t that dangerous?” Harry asked with a frown.

“Dangerous?” Draco echoed, one eyebrow raised.

“Yeah, I mean, he could tell them where we are,” Harry said.

“She, actually. And don’t be stupid, Potter. This house is under the fidelius. She can only travel here because I called her to where I am. She has no clue where we are, and even if she did, she couldn’t tell anyone without asking my permission. She might inform Father about you being with me, and I sure as hell hope she informs him about the Dom Perignon; he certainly boasted about that particular bottle enough times that it is my pleasure to open it for him,” he said with an unfamiliar light in his eyes. “This day needs to be celebrated!”

Harry shook his head, fondly exasperated.

“Let me guess. It’s champagne.”

“Of course it’s champagne!” Draco said. “It’s worth quite the sum, although I don’t know how much, exactly. He never said anything about the actual price. He isn’t uncouth, after all. Ah, here is breakfast.”

Draco made a toast and forced Harry to drink his whole glass of the stuff. It wasn’t any better than what they’d drank last night, but Harry wasn’t foolish enough to comment on that. The pancakes were delicious and Draco made Sherry bring him quite a few extras and then ordered her to get a particular sharp looking set of black and silver robes from right out of his wardrobe at the Manor. Unfortunately, he made her get a set for Harry, too. When he tried to refuse, he was quite sharply reminded that he was the Bonded partner of a Malfoy, he wasn’t going to embarrass Draco in public and ruin his reputation on the first day and his political life was on the line and didn’t Harry know how even a little piece of gossip could turn the tides against them? He went on quite a while in that vein, actually.

So Harry put on the robes, mostly to shut him up, but he did grumble about it where Draco couldn’t hear. They were made of a very soft, velvety material and quite comfortable. They made him look good, too. He wasn’t going to tell Draco about that either, though.

“I could have done this all this time,” Draco complained as they were going down the stairs. “Instead, I made do with these silly grooming charms!” He waved a hand in the air emphatically.

“The horror,” Harry murmured to his back and cocked a smile when Draco just sniffed and glared at him in mock indignation.

Upon entering the kitchen, Fleur looked up from a magazine and beamed at them.

“Don’t you look so ‘andsome!” she crowed and got up to kiss them both on the cheeks. “’Ow about some breakfast, no?” she asked.

“We’ve already eaten, thank you, my dear,” Draco said magnanimously.

“Eaten breakfast?” she asked sceptically and made Draco explain all about the elf. “A cup of tea, at least?” she asked, after she had accepted the remaining half of the Dom Perignon as a thank you gift for her hospitality under heavy protest.

“We would love to, but we have business in Diagon Alley. I promise you we will have that cup next time we call,” Draco reassured her, but she still pouted a little.

“Business?” Harry asked on their way to the floo, after they had said goodbye with much hugging and cheek-kissing and promises to visit again soon.

“Hermione sent me an owl yesterday, asking me to meet with you three in Diagon Alley for school shopping. I cannot imagine you weren’t extended the invitation,” he said, looking at Harry with faint surprise.

Right. Hermione was doing research at the Library and they were meeting with Molly and Ginny afterwards. No way this could go wrong, at all.

###

They arrived at the Leaky Cauldron precisely at quarter to twelve. Since they had another forty-five minutes until they were to meet Hermione at the the bookshop, Harry used the time to inquire after Hedwig at the bar. He didn’t have any well-founded hope she should be here; after all, she had always been exceptionally well tuned to his location, but she still had not appeared at the Burrow and he was beginning to get legitimately worried that something had happened to her. He wouldn’t put it past the Malfoys to keep her captive, but he was reluctant to ask Draco about it. He was a bit touchy when anyone other than himself implied his father in anything.

As he had expected, Tom hadn’t seen or heard anything and he eyed Harry with some trepidation. When he followed Harry back to a little corner booth that Draco had sat down in, shielded mostly from view, his eyes widened and he hastened into a wobbly bow.

“Mr. Malfoy! Welcome, welcome, is there anything I can do for you?” he asked and looked around the pub as if expecting Voldemort himself to emerge from the shadowy cupboard underneath the staircase.

“Thank you, Tom. A pot of tea would be lovely, and maybe a couple of biscuits. How is business going?” Draco asked politely.

“Sir, uh, it’s going… alright?” Tom said in a questioning manner, looking between them with a perplexed air and wringing his hands nervously, still glancing about.

Harry remembered the last time he had come through with Hagrid and he studied the other tables now, nearly devoid of any patrons. One elderly man sat at the bar, nursing a pint, and a couple of darkly robed witches were having tea across the room, heads bowed together in urgent whispering. Business couldn’t be going well for the Leaky. Many witches and wizards were avoiding public places since violence against muggle-borns and their families had increased and the ministry was visibly dragging their feet when it came to investigating related crimes. The place should be filled with people having lunch, especially during summer holidays. Come to think of it, maybe they should head on. If most of wizarding Britain deemed it unsafe to be out and about, it couldn’t be a good idea for Harry to be here. He wondered now why Hermione hadn’t thought about that.

“Thank you, Tom,” Harry said with a nod. “We’ll call you if we need anything else.”

“Very well, Mr. Potter,” Tom said, bowed and retreated behind the bar to prepare their tea, visibly glad to get away.

Harry sat down across from Draco and leaned towards him.

“Is it even safe to be here? Maybe we should head on,” he suggested.

“No, this is as safe as the street outside,” Draco said, waving a hand. “It’s the best place for introducing the idea of a friendly acquaintance between the two of us to the general public. Those witches already picked up on it. Gossip will spread. Now, relax and look as if you are enjoying yourself,” he said and laughed as if Harry had shared a delicious titbit of news. One of the witches looked over.

“You are impossible,” Harry said.

“I know. Impossibly handsome,” Draco said and waggled his eyebrows at him.

Harry smiled despite himself. He was used to being watched and measured, but it still felt different somehow to sit here in these fancy robes in Draco Malfoy’s company, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Now, tell me about the classes you are taking,” Draco said and then shared his insights into the latest gossip about the teachers and made impressions that had Harry laughing along without thinking about it. He didn’t even realise when Tom brought their tea and only became aware of himself again when he lifted his cup for another sip and found it empty. The witches were gone and Draco signalled Tom over.

“I’ve got it, darling” he said graciously to Harry and Tom nearly dropped his wallet as he took Draco’s galleons.

“Was that really necessary,” Harry whispered on their way out the back.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Draco said blandly. “You didn’t take your wallet and no change either, I imagine, so naturally I covered-“

“That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it!” Harry hissed. “’I’ve got it, darling’? Really?”

“Well,” Draco said and rightened his cravat, apparently flustered. “We have to take it in small steps. Rumours will grow until we are in everybody’s mouth, so to speak, and then, when the anticipation is highest, we will carefully craft public opinion to be in favour of the supposed tragic love between Harry Potter and the son of his most opposed political enemy, Lucius Malfoy. People will lap it up. The public just loooves a tragic love story.”

Harry sighed heavily. He found no joy in being the focus of public interest any more than he already had been, but clearly this was important to Draco and it didn’t exactly harm him, either. He hoped.

Chapter Text

Harry and Draco stepped through the opening brick archway into Diagon Alley. The emptiness that stretched before them echoed equally hollow in Harry’s heart. He could see all the way to the towering Gringott’s building where the cobblestones made a gentle curve to the left and parted for it’s imposing facade. A pair of Aurors in their bright red uniforms slouched against the building next to it. They were the only splash of colour, standing out starkly against the dark stone. Those few other witches and wizards who were about walked along hurriedly as if they had other places to be. Devoid of the colourful, crawling bustle he was used to, Diagon Alley was a different place and he felt a keen longing for the wondrous world he had known as a child.

On their short way from the Leaky to Flourish and Blotts, Harry spied two empty shop displays further down, their black windows yawning wide. It was hot, yet Fortescue’s stood closed still, as it had been since the attack last year. If this was allowed to go on, the whole street would vanish into nothingness. Why did Voldemort's followers accept this? They never tired of accusing muggle-borns and half-bloods of endangering the traditions and customs of their world and yet they allowed the soul of Wizarding London to be sucked dry? Anger and determination flared inside Harry. This maniac had to be stopped before his adopted home crumbled away beneath his fingers.

“There they are,” Draco said, strolling along like it was any other summer day. If he registered the changes, he made no comment, even though a frown creased his forehead.

"Merlin’s beard. Molly and Ginny are here! This cannot end well,” Draco hissed from the corner of his mouth. His expression smoothed instantly as they advanced on the three figures. Before Harry had any time to worry, Draco stopped right in front of Ginny and swept into a grandiose bow, flicking the tail end of his robes in an eerily snapiesque manner.

“My ladies, it’s a pleasure to see you,” he drawled. “Ronald.”

Ginny glared and stepped right past him, grabbed Harry’s arm and started towing him across the street. “We need to talk,” she said tightly.

Harry knew from bitter experience that it was no use trying to extricate himself, so he resigned himself to his fate.

“Don’t go too far!” Mrs. Weasley warned.

Suddenly, there was a tight feeling between his shoulder blades and his scalp tingled. He could have sworn they were being watched. He glanced left and right to scan the street for anyone suspicious, but no-one seemed stood out. Still, he checked his wand, just to be sure. He looked over his shoulder to search Draco’s gaze, but the twat was busy letting Mrs. Weasley fuss over his lapels. The others seemed unconcerned, too. Ron slouched against the window, looking more than fed up with his mother’s attentions to Draco.

Ginny stopped in front of Rosalea’s Tea Bay and turned towards him.

“Now listen here,” she said as she faced him. “You- what in Merlin’s name are you wearing?”

Disbelieving eyes travelled up and down his form like he had chosen to dress up as a toddler on a whim.

“Uhm… These are…” Telling her that these were Draco’s robes probably wasn’t the best of ideas, so he went with “Draco said it was important for his… reputation?”, trying to make it sound non-chalant and exasperated at the same time.

“Right,” Ginny said slowly. “You look like a prat.”

“Thanks.”

She regarded him a moment longer, then shook herself. “Never mind that now. Listen here, Harry." Adding insult to injury, she also spoke to him like he was an obstinate three-year-old, slowly enunciating every word and oozing fake patience. "I know this whole situations is absolutely bonkers and it can’t have been easy for you, but if you don’t start getting your act together right about now, I’ll have to make your life living hell,” she explained reasonably.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, taken aback by the frightening calm of her demeanour while her eyes were spitting fire at him.

“What do I mean?!” she exploded and several passer-by glanced their way. A strand of her flaming hair fluttered as she took a deep breath to calm herself. “Well, you didn’t have to see Ron’s face yesterday when he came downstairs and mom told him Bill had left a fucking note saying you had fucked off to his place with Draco, because you weren’t fucking there!” she forced out through clenched teeth. “I played hours of exploding snap with him and made every new joke in my book and he didn’t even smile out of politeness, not even once. Do you know how worried he was for you over summer? And then you come swanning in, stringing Malfart along into our home and you don’t even have the decency to sit us down and utter even one single word of apology?! Nooo, instead you act as if it were the most natural thing in the world to insert the very nitwit who made our life difficult over the last years into our private lives and you expect us to sit iddly by and dutifully make small talk and watch as he pretty much seduces you? You showed absolutely no regard for Ron’s friendship- for our friendship for that matter!-and I am more than disappointed in you, Harry. And now you will go over there and apologise that you left without saying goodbye yesterday and if anything like this happens ever again, I swear I will string you up the-“ she glanced Mrs. Weasley’s way and leaned in, “shoelaces and boil your head in bubotuber juice, do I make myself clear?”

Harry blinked, momentarily at a loss.

“Do I make myself clear?” she repeated, words pronounced so succinctly, he felt himself internally removed to the potions classroom.

“Uhm, yes,” he stammered and stood gaping as she whirled around and marched back towards the others. She grabbed Draco by the sleeve and pulled him inside the shop, her mother trundling along after them. Had he been less flabbergasted, he would have laughed at Draco's shocked face. As it was, it took him a moment to collect his spilled guts off the cobblestones, thoughts rattling around in his head. In dawned on him that she was right. He hadn’t even thought about telling Ron what was going on. His focus had been elsewhere, as seemed to become more and more of a habit. Grimacing, he remembered Ron’s episode with Lavender and how insignificant he’d felt. Surely he and Draco weren’t as bad!

He took a fortifying breath and slowly made his way to where Ron was still leaning against the wall. Gingerly, he mimicked Ron’s pose, the window pleasantly cool against his back. Ron didn’t say a thing, so Harry took the chance to surreptitiously examine the witches and wizards walking up and down the street.

“Hey,” he said eventually.

Ron regarded the street, too, eyes unwavering.

“About yesterday… I’m sorry I didn’t say anything.”

Ron sighed. “S’alright,” he mumured, scuffing his shoe against the cobble stones.

Harry’s heart sank.

“I… there’s… We…”

He couldn’t think of a single explanation that didn’t brush dangerously close to the oath.

“I’m sorry.”

 Silence stretched and Harry began to fear he had truly blown it, until a grin ghosted across Ron’s face.

“Ginny gave you a right talking to,” he said. “I’m gonna rub that in your face for a while, alright?”

Harry groaned. “Can’t I just buy you lunch and we’ll forget about that bit?” he asked.

“Are you kidding me, mate? You looked ready to shit yourself over there.”

“Yeah, yeah, alright, I got it. Ginny is scary and I’m a helpless coward,” Harry conceded.

Ron chuckled. "As long as she doesn't threaten your dear little pure-blood, that is."

Harry blushed.

"Just don't vanish on us again, mate." Ron said and pushed off the glass to enter the shop.

"I won't" Harry said.

A young witch was sitting at the till opposite the door. She looked up from her book and nodded at them unenthusiastically. “Mione’s upstairs,” Ron said. He went up the staircase just left of the door and made a beeline to a section at the back. The amount of people in the shop seemed disproportionally large compared to the street outside. A cluster of boys stood around a magazine, snickering. Hassled parents were herding their children through the thickets of shelves, hunting for the necessary school books for the new term. A woman with a bright pink hat was sitting on a window sill, nose buried in a large green book and a man in star-sprinkled robes had snatched himself one of the coveted armchairs, absolutely lost in a book that read “The Bold Approach” on the cover.

Ron lead him into the very back of the shop where Hermione was very much alone.

“Oh, hi Harry,” she said, eyes glued to the massive volume she was balancing on one arm, while clutching three books with the other.

“Give those here,” Ron muttered and took them from her.

“Thank you, Ron!” she said with a brief smile. “See here, this is the fourteenth volume of Advanced Arithmancy Studies of Modern Day Magic that just came out last week. I’ve been wanting to have a look at that one study they published. It tries to elucidate whether individual crafting of complex spells can be made to fit the magic wielder's specific magic strength and intuitive wielding style. Mr. Reichel said something about it yesterday. Did you know that we could potentially re-word every single spell to fit our individual wielding style and core strength? The problem about it is that it’s such a complicated process that doing so would be absolutely impractical, but it’s possible in theory. If we optimise the methods we have of discerning magical core strength and wielding style and teach more about Arithmancy and spell wording in school, it might one day be a natural evolution of the way we word spells at the most basic level! It’s absolutely fascinating!”

“That’s great, Hermione. Have you seen Draco? Ginny dragged him in here and I don’t know whose well-being I should be more concerned about - his or hers.”

Hermione didn’t even lower her book. “I’m pretty sure Malfoy can survive without your supervision for a few minutes, Harry. Anyway, Molly is with them, I suppose. It’ll be fine.”

“Wouldn’t bet my knuts on that,” Ron muttered

“There was something I wanted to talk to you about, anyway,” she continued, shutting the dome with a soft thud. “Come over here.”

She sat down on a little couch in the corner and put up a silencing charm. Ron thumped the three books down on the low table, making Hermione glare at him. He held up his hands, pledging innocence. Hermione sniffed.

“Alright. First, I’ll share the latest news,” she said too brightly. “Because I think it’s important that we do that to stay on top of things” she added with a steady look at Harry.

Great. So Ron had told her about him and Draco leaving yesterday. However, unlike Ron, Hermione would insist on talking about it. He sighed heavily.

“As you know, I’ve been to the library this morning. There are hardly any recordings of severe curse scars vanishing. The only two I found were caused by Dark Magic and the scar was a direct link between two individuals. Stray bits of magic or thoughts could travel through the link from one to the other. That does sound familiar, but neither of them involved the killing curse. I mean, that was to be expected, because no-one ever survived the killing curse before you, so it’s a moot point, anyway.”

“Fair enough,” Harry said.

“However, in both cases, the curse scar vanished the exact moment the other person died. I think we would have heard by now if Voldemort had bitten the dust, so there’s no use hoping for that, I’m afraid, haha!” The forced chuckle didn’t reassure Harry in the slightest. “Anyway, since that’s not probable, the only other explanation I could come up with is that- there is no easy way to ask this, so I’ll just come out with it. Harry... did your heart maybe stop beating for a moment when Draco healed you at the Manor?”

“I don’t think so,” Harry said after giving himself a minute to recall the wall and the blood and Draco’s hands half inside his chest. “I got knocked back and I think I blacked out for a second, but I remember seeing… the wound and I didn’t lose consciousness or anything.”

“Hmm. I think I need to ask Malfoy about this,” Hermione said, eyebrows dark. “It’s not that I don’t believe you,” she amended, “it’s just that the more information I have about this, the better. I might miss something otherwise.”

“I get that ‘Mione, but do we really have to ask the f- Malfoy about it?”

“Who else was there, Ronald,” Hermione said matter-of-factly.

Ron grinned.

“We could find one of those Deatheaters that chased them afterwards. Maybe they saw something and would be happy to help. Can you imagine that? We could send them a letter and invite them for tea or something."

Harry chuckled. “Dear Deatheaters, we are looking for witnesses to the following incident. If you saw or heard anything, please come by the Burrow on Wednesday for tea and biscuits,” he quibbed.

"You two are being ridiculous," Hermione huffed.

“Your testimony might make the crucial difference between life and death!” Ron said seriously, hand held over heart.

Harry started snickering. Ron grinned at him.

“Maybe buy some space in the Daily Prophet?” Harry asked. “To every Deatheater who was at Malfoy Manor three days ago: have you witnessed the following incident? Special homemade cake awaiting the first informant.”

Ron guffawed loudly and Harry laughed at Hermione’s long-suffering expression.

“Are you quite done?” she asked.

“Yes, yes, I’m sorry Hermione,” Harry rasped and cleared his throat repeatedly.

“Where was I. Ah, yes. The other thing, Harry. Where were you last night?”

Bugger.

“We, uhm… we went to Shell Cottage with Bill?” Harry said slowly and waited. Nothing happened, so that obviously hadn’t triggered the oath.

“And I’m sure there was a perfectly good reason for this.”

“Uhm…”

At that moment, Harry had an idea. This might just work to explain the shiftiness of it all.

“Well, you see. We ah… That is, Mrs. Weasley said we couldn’t…” He felt his ears go red. “We aren’t allowed to sleep in the same room in the Burrow and so we thought we would just… go somewhere else…?”

“No! Stop talking!” Ron cried and his hands flew up to cover his ears. “I can’t believe you are making me listen to this. You are definitely violating the code of bros here, mate.”

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“We had to listen to you wax poetic about Lav-Lav’s tender kisses for months, Ronald. I think you can stand to listen to Harry talk about his love life for at least a little bit,” Hermione said cooly, sitting up straighter. “Harry, I don’t want to pry, so I won’t. But if you ever feel… coerced into… anything, you know you can talk to us, right?” she said, her eyes shining with sincerity.

Ron shook his head, wild-eyed. "Not to me!" he mouthed.

Now Harry felt even worse about hiding Draco’s meeting with the goblins. However, there was no telling what would happen if he tried to divulge any more information. Maybe he could do some research and find a way around the oath on his own. No, he had to find a way around it.

“It’s alright, Hermione,” he said, not knowing where to look. “He is… it’s… it’s fine.”

“Well,” she dragged out on an exhale and slumped back in her seat. “I’m glad we got that out the way. But we are not done talking about Draco! Hey, you can stop that now,” she added and hit Ron in the shoulder, who let his hands fall from his ears.

“Ow! This is domestic abuse, this is!” Ron said and slapped her thigh with a laugh.

“Wh- Ron!” she shrieked and kicked his shin.

Harry picked up one of the books, but he didn’t even understand the title, so he looked around the room, instead. The woman with the pink hat was browsing for a new read near the window. Harry squinted. She looked familiar, but he couldn’t exactly place it. She was murmuring as her fingers glided along the backs of the books, but he couldn’t hear anything through the silencing charm. A red glinting was the only warning he got, before the hex shot it’s way towards them.

His instincts probably saved Ron’s hide. He was half-way over the table, before he even realised he had gotten out of his armchair.

“Down!” he shouted and felt the hex hit his left shoulder. Agony blazed down his arm and he fell onto Ron, who was scrambling to get up and shouted something back at the witch. Harry shook his head to get rid of the haze. He concentrated on the sharp throbbing of his arm and the heat extending towards his hand, which helped clear his focus even though it hurt like a bastard.

“Impedimenta!” Hermione yelled and her magic singed over Harry’s head.

He grabbed his wand and twisted around on his knees. The woman had just taken the corner around the bookshelf, her footsteps thumping down the stairs. He got up and started running after her.

“Harry, wait!” Ron called, but the Harry knew only thing: Ginny and Draco were down there. When he reached the corner, he halted and got on his knees, peeking around the shelf with his wand ready.

“Bombarda!” the witch shouted and everything exploded into chaos. He was thrown back against the next shelf over and hit his head on the edge. It rang like a clamouring bell and he sunk to the floor, trying to shield himself with his hands. For an instant, everything went black and dull.

“Protego!” Ron cast as his knees hit the floor beside Harry. “This will hurt,” he growled and Harry heard a soft popping noise in his left ear. A moment later, scalding heat erupted on his whole arm. He could hear bursts and cracks, people shouting and Hermione hurling incantations, but it took him a few moments to get back to himself, like he was wading through deep water.

Suddenly, everything was eerily quiet except for a faint ringing in his ears. His head still felt like someone was hitting it with a hammer at regular intervals, but his arm wasn’t in agony anymore, just dully pulsating. He turned his neck slightly to look at it. It was like inspecting somebody else’s limb as he took in the shredded sleeve. Everything was full of blood and angry crimson lines were carved into his skin from halfway to his wrist all the way up his shoulder.

“Draco will be so angry with me,” he whispered.

“That was a vein bloating curse,” Ron hissed. “That bitch.”

Harry laboriously sat upright. Everything hurt. His vision was blurry.

“Keep still,” Ron said, and held up a pipette, dripping little drops of stuff onto his neck. As he followed the movement with his eyes he realised that bits of wood were twisted into his robes. His neck burned and tingled and then there was relief where before there had been pain. He tried to feel his neck, panicking. “Keep still!” Ron admonished again and lifted the pipette over his face. The burning and tingling sensation repeated itself and pain he hadn’t been aware of ebbed. His face felt hot. He wiped at it with the good sleeve. It came away bloody and full of splinters.

“Were…were those in my face?” he asked.

Ron looked grim. His hair was streaked with dirt. “Good thing Hermione had some dittany. Reparo,” he added, holding out Harry's glasses. Harry wanted to lift his arm to take them, but it wouldn’t move properly, so he had to use the other.

“Thanks.”

Bit’s of wood lay everywhere, from splinters to shards to chunks. The neat and tidy lines of shelves were gone. Charred pieces of paper were floating all around and dust and soot were so thick in the air, he could feel them coat his tongue and throat with a dry, sticky layer. The sun illuminated the wreckage through the shattered window and made it impossible to see very far through the cloud of dancing motes.

Ron was using the dittany on his arm and Harry watched splinters of all sizes being pushed out of his skin with detached interest, grimacing every now and then when one was buried deeper than the others. Compared to the blazing agony of the curse, though, this felt more like the stings of an insect.

“Come on,” Ron said when he had finished and packed away the dittany. He dragged him to his feet. “Can you stand?”

“I’m fine,” Harry said and leaned against Ron briefly. He didn’t want to be a burden, so he figured he would just have to stay in motion to combat the swirling. Slowly they picked their way to the stairs, but they were empty. They looked over the railing into the lower floor. There must have been more than one explosion down there. There wasn’t a single shelf untouched from what they could see. Some were reduced to shreds, others scorched or fallen over and books lay all over the place, clouds of dust and wood shavings floating around and slowly settling on torn pages. This must be Hermione’s worst nightmare.

When had this happened? He had only been out for a few seconds… hadn’t he?

“Hermione went after her,” Ron grunted and hurried down the stairs as quickly as he could while trying not to make too much noise. Harry wanted to follow him, but he couldn’t match the pace. Halfway down he had to pause, leaning against the window seat. He noticed movement outside from the corner of his eye. A dark shadow swirled past the window and consolidated into a masked, hooded figure. Another snaked it’s way lazily through the closed stalls. It was a woman.

Bellatrix.

“Deatheaters!” someone shouted downstairs and he heard the familiar popping sound of disapparition. So there had still been people here.

He reached the bottom of the stairs, but neither Hermione nor Draco, Ginny or Mrs. Weasley where anywhere to be seen. The left side of the store was mostly in good order, but the right side was nearly completely destroyed. Ron made an urgent sign at him and ducked behind one of he tilted bookshelves. He turned on his heels to look for a hiding place. In the far corner, the woman with the pink hat lay on the ground, half covered by books and pieces of shelving. Ropes wound tightly around her legs. So Hermione had taken her down. But where was she?

He heard footsteps approach from the outside and managed to dive into the dark corner underneath the stairs a heartbeat before he heard the little bell above the door ring through the quiet of the shop. He was wedged between the stairs on his right and a bookshelf on his left. He held himself completely still, wand in hand. His breathing seemed too loud to him, but trying to hold it would probably just make him cough.

He had to find Draco. No, he had to find Hermione and Ginny first! Draco could hold his own with the magic of those pearls he had.

Wait! Draco could apparate them all out with those pearls. Couldn’t he?

“Come out, come out to play!” Bellatrix’ high-pitched voice floated through the shop eerily.

Harry closed his eyes. I’m not here, I’m not here, he chanted in his thoughts. The situation seemed suddenly so achingly familiar, he nearly laughed out loud. Invisible under the stairs, indeed! A sudden, loud crash made his heart beat faster as glass clinked onto the stairs above him. With a heavy thump, another Deatheater landed on the steps right above his head. He felt the wood shudder at his shoulder.

“Yes!” Bellatrix shouted, followed by a blood curdling, shrill laugh, as all the glass in the the store shattered at once, glittering shards raining down onto the floorboards from the door and windows. A pitcher next to the till burst violently. Just then, between the two rows of shelves in front of him, he saw something move behind the counter, right at the bottom. It was Hermione’s bushy hair. Bits of glass landed on her brown curls.

“I know where you are hiding!” Bellatrix sing-songed into the stillness. Her footsteps crunched on the broken glass.

Harry inched his way forward, but before he could look around the edge of his hide-out, he heard Ron’s voice: “Reducto!”

“Argh! Little rat! Crucio!” Bellatrix shrieked.

No! Ron, you fool, don’t! Another inch and Harry could see two dark figures advance towards the counter while Bellatrix dived in and out of rows of shelves, hurling hexes as she went.

“Where are you, little rat? Come out!” she shrieked and Harry heard Ron scream in pain somewhere at the back. Bellatrix’ cruel, gleeful laugh made his blood turn to ice.

He had to help!

Harry leapt from his hiding place, crossed the aisle and crouched down behind the first row of shelves. From here he could see the other two Deatheaters more clearly. They were nearly at the counter. Harry lifted his wand at the back of the taller fellow and was about to cast, when he heard it.

“Incendio,” a voice whispered just behind him. A hefty pile of books burst into flame right next to the two unsuspecting Deatheaters. Harry twisted around. Draco’s blond hair glinted above the bottom row of books behind him. He was hiding right behind him!

The Deatheaters were shouting, but Harry didn’t turn to look. Crawling towards the shelf where Draco hid, he took out a couple of books from their tightly packed ranks to whisper: ‘Draco, Hermione is behind the register. Get her out!’ but before he could utter a single word, Draco dived forwards while the Deatheaters were busy putting out the fire. He run towards the counter in a crouch and jumped into the opening.

“There!” the taller Deatheater yelled, but Draco’s hand darted out and with a little flash he was gone and Hermione’s bushy hair, too.

Harry huffed a quiet sigh of relief. Now on to help Ron.

“Look what I found! The little rat!” Bellatrix screeched and Harry heard a thwack and a groan.

He turned around and crawled back towards the aisle. He moved slowly, on all fours, to lower the chances of being spotted. Shards of glass dug into his knees and hands and he couldn’t suppress a wince at the sharp, hot pain they elicited. Draco’s pretty robes dragged through the glistening pools of blood his hands left behind.

“How about a little cruuuucio?” Bellatrix said lovingly.

“Aren’t we here to get Potter?” her smaller companion said. They had managed to put out the fire, but the pile was still billowing smoke. The taller one was leaning over the counter. “No-one here!” he reported.

“We are going to play a little game,” Bellatrix laughed. “Crucio,” she said quietly, almost reverently. Ron’s scream echoed off the walls and borrowed itself deep into Harry’s heart.

“Sectumsempra.”

He whispered it underneath his breath without even thinking about it and hit the taller Deatheater in the leg. He went down screaming and Bellatrix stopped, looking around wildly.

“Where are you?!” she howled in sudden rage, unhinged.

A loud boom shook the shelf next to his. It trembled and toppled over unto the next row. Harry turned around to flee and looked directly into a masked face. A gnarled wand pointed straight at his chest.

“There he is! Crucio!”

Harry jumped into motion and zig-zagged through the shelves, dodging crucio twice before another hex hit him in the back and he fell, muscles cramping all along his spine. Without warning, someone touched his neck and before he could scream, the pain ebbed. His back, his hands and his knees, his head and his neck, even his arm. Everything went away. The ringing in his ears stopped, too. Draco grunted and helped him sit up against the shelf. He had a nasty gash on his cheek, going past his right eye. The idiot! Why had he come back?! That had been his perfect chance to escape! He would throttle the idiot if they got out of this alive!

Draco’s grey eyes locked onto his and for a heartbeat, there was only relief.

Then he was whisked away.

“Confusio!” a strangers voice called in the distance and then he felt the floor hit his back and the familiar sight of the Burrow’s living room ceiling greeted his eyes. He groaned and grabbed Draco’s arm, but Draco extricated himself.

“See you,” he whispered and was gone.

“Draco!” he yelled, sitting up, but he was too late.

“Harry!” Mrs. Weasley's voice was full of relieve. She was trying to get up from her armchair, leaning heavily on the armrest.

“You sit back down, mum,” Ginny growled in an attitude that made Harry momentarily less preoccupied with Draco’s disappearance and more worried for Ginny’s life. Mrs. Weasley sat back down heavily. "Ginevra Weasley! I do not appreciate that tone!"

“You okay, Harry?” Ginny asked, as she got up from the floor next to the couch. That’s when Harry saw Hermione’s head of curls on the sofa. She was lying on her stomach.

“Hermione!” he shouted and grabbed Ginny’s offered hand to pull himself up. “Hermione, what’s wrong?” he half yelled and stumbled towards her prone form.

“Dad is gone to get Madam Pomfrey,” Ginny said as she gingerly lifted the blanket they had draped over his best friend.

Harry looked at Hermione’s back as it was slowly exposed by the fabric. Her spine had a weird, unnatural form.

“Oh Hermione,” he whispered and settled down on the floor beside her face.

Her breathing was steady but shallow. She could have been sleeping peacefully but for the streaks of dried blood on her face and patches of her hair glistening wetly with it. He wanted to touch it, stroke her head and whisper in her ear that everything would be fine.

“What happened?” he asked, voice shaking. He swallowed back the tears. “Tell me what happened,” he repeated, a bit firmer this time.

“This witch came rushing down the stairs and collided with that man in the star-patterned robes. He had just gotten out of his armchair without looking up. They tumbled to the floor and she started shouting at him. Then Hermione hurled a hex at her from the top of the stairs. The woman shoved the man off, but he grabbed her arm and her bombarda went astray and one of the shelves just exploded. People were panicking by then and disapparating. Then everything happened so fast, I…” A sob escaped her throat. “They were all duelling, mum and Hermione and the woman and… and the man went down and was buried underneath this huge bookshelf.” Tears started welling in Ginny’s eyes and she swiped at them angrily. “Hermione was standing in front of the counter by then. Mum and I were hiding behind the shelf near the exit. Mum wanted to disapparate, but I… I broke free and when I stepped out into the hallway… Harry, I swear, it wasn’t on purpose!”

The tears were now running down her cheeks freely, painting rosy trails. She kneeled down next to him and grabbed Harry’s arm.

“Harry, I swear!”

“It’s fine, Ginny. It wasn’t your fault. Now tell me, what happened next?”

“But it is my fault! It is! I stepped out of our hiding place and Hermione turned towards me. I distracted her, Harry. The woman got her square in the back with a… with a bone breaking curse…” she buried her face in Harry’s arm. Her shoulders were heaving with sobs. It took her a minute to continue and Harry wanted to shake it out of her, but he just put a hand on her hair tenderly.

“Hermione got flung over the counter," she continued at last. "When she landed, her screams cut off abruptly. I got so angry, I saw red, Harry. I… well, I got the bitch good, may she rot in hell, but now Hermione might die and it’s my fault!” she whispered. “It’s my fault.”

“Shhh,” Harry said and pulled Ginny into his arms. “Shh, it’ll be fine. Madam Pomfrey will be here soon,” he said and cradled her head against his shoulder, rocking her gently like Draco had done for him. He looked over her head at Molly. She too had her face buried in her hands. There was blood on them.

A pop and a thump sounded to his left.

Draco was gingerly laiying Ron down on the carpet. Ron was shaking, curled in on himself like a child. Draco lifted his eyes and when he saw them, a stab of pain in his chest made Harry flinch slightly, but it was gone as soon as it had come.

“Ron!” Harry rasped and Ginny lifted her head with such force, their foreheads nearly collided.

“Ron!” Ginny hiccuped and crawled over to her brother’s side.

“He is fine. Well, as fine as can be. It’s just the aftereffects of the crucio,” Draco explained hurriedly.

“Crucio?” Mrs. Weasley asked sharply and this time she got to her feet heavily and limped over.

“I’m fine,” Ron croaked. “I’ll be fine. Where’s ‘Mione?”

“She’s safe, Ron, she’s here. Everything is alright-“

“Madam Pomfrey is on her way. Rest now,” Molly said and put a pillow beneath Ron’s head gently, silent tears on her face. “It’s alright.”

“Thank Merlin,” Ron breathed and closed his eyes. Tremors wracked his body every few seconds.

Harry got up.

“Draco. Are you okay?”

“Just a scratch or two,” Draco said and smiled, pained.

“Let me see,” Harry said and stepped towards him.

“No, I got to go to St. Mungo’s,” Draco said. "I’m late already.”

“What- late? What do you mean, late?” Harry asked.

“Draco Ignatius Abraxus Malfoy, you will most certainly-“ but before Molly could finish her sentence, Draco had disapparated. “-not go to St. Mungo’s… that boy.” Molly said, shaking her head. “What is he thinking?”

“I’d like to know that myself,” Harry murmured.

He looked down at Ron who had fallen into a fitful sleep. After a moment, he went back to Hermione’s side. Gingerly, he took a strand of her bushy hair, curled his fingers around it and held it to his face. Then he leaned his head against the edge of the couch as he waited for Madam Pomfrey.

Chapter Text

“Harry. Harry.”

Startled, Harry yanked his head up as his arm was gently shaken. Sharp, sudden pain shot from his shoulder into the back of his neck. Grimacing, he stretched the snarling muscles and gingerly turned his head to check on Hermione. She lay in the transfigured sofa-bed covered by a light sheet, next to his orange armchair. Her unnaturally slow breathing made her chest rise and fall in reassuring steadiness, even though the stasis charm had slowed her pulse down considerably. Madam Pomfrey had reapplied it after she was done with the emergency treatment.

The competent medi-witch had treated Hermione for over three hours. They had been the longest three hours of his life. Poppy Pomfrey had swept into the Weasley’s living room with eyes blazing from a face set in stone. “Out, all of you,” she had ordered curtly, spreading the insides of her leather bag on the scourgified coffee table, bottles and bandages and ointments. The last thing Harry had seen, before they had all been thrown unceremoniously out of the room, was Hermione’s chest moving ever more shallowly.

He’d known there was no use in arguing. The greater part of his prudence was aware that he could not help. Still, removing himself from the room had been like cutting, one by one, at the strings that held together the remainders of his sanity. He’d sat there on top of the lower staircase, feeling them snap with every passing second. After about a minute, he heard a loud moan that was unnaturally cut off in the middle and then - nothing. He stumbled down the stairs, Madam Pomfrey be damned, but then, on the third step down, he sensed the tingling magic of a silencing charm. Hermione was probably being… too loud. He wavered. Every second that Madam Pomfrey had to waste on him, she wasn’t treating Hermione. So, his feet as heavy as his heart, he made his way back up and dropped down heavily onto the landing, leaning against the wall for support.

Straining his ears, he settled in to wait, making sure to catch even the tiniest creaking of floor boards. The familiar sound of rushing water from the shower mingled grotesquely with Ron’s quiet moans as he was half-carried up the stairs by his parents. He’d been the lucky one, even though it was him they were after. Again, the people closest to him had paid for his sake. How long was this going to continue? How long until they could all just live in peace?

The rushing water intruded on the silence. The sound swelled, louder and louder until his ears were ringing with it. The noise drowned out everything but his own heartbeat. His lungs suddenly failed to capture enough oxygen, his head spilling over with all the horrible possibilities: What if Madam Pomfrey couldn't heal Hermione? What if she…died? Or worse: What if she didn’t wake up? What if she never woke up again, just lying there trapped in a never-ending sleep, people visiting less and less often, until only Ron and him were left and-

“Harry.”

The voice cut through his ruminations. He was still in the orange arm chair in the living room and Hermione was still breathing slowly beside him: alive, at least. Madam Pomfrey was done for the moment, having exhausted all her skills and was taking a nap in the guest room.

“Here, take this.”

A hot cup was pressed into his hands. It’s familiar, warm shape provided immediate, if little comfort. Mrs. Weasley was hovering over him with a sizeable plate of biscuits, her assessing eyes shining with worry.

“How are you feeling, my dear? Are you in any pain?”

Harry shook his head gingerly.

“No pain, Mrs. Weasley. I’m alright. Just a cricked neck.”

“Well. I don’t suppose you would like a biscuit? Or maybe I should make a spot of late lunch? I have some potatoes left and…” she trailed off, throat working.

Harry coughed.

“A biscuit would be lovely, thank you, Mrs. Weasley.”

He took one from the overflowing tray. How he would eat it with his insides in knots, he didn’t know, but he forced a grateful smile, anyway.

“I’ll have one too, mum,” Ginny said and plonked herself down on the floor next to Harry’s legs, grabbing half a dozen in one smooth motion. Mrs. Weasley managed a tremulous smile.

“A cup of tea for you too, my dear?”

“A cup of tea would be just the thing,” Ginny said around her mouthful.

“Right, right,” Mrs. Weasley nodded brusquely and bustled off.

His first sip of tea made Harry realise how parched he was and he drained his whole cup in three enormous gulps, burning his tongue in the process. Hissing, he put it down hastily. “Aguamenti,” he cast and drained the water, too.

“Easy,” Ginny said.

“Sorry,” he rasped, wiping his stinging mouth. “Dry throat.”

“Yeah,” Ginny said. “All that dust, I gather. You should take a shower already. It works wonders, I promise you.”

His mind immediately shoved images at him in a messy tumble: a pink hat, exploding shelves, pain. Dust motes dancing in the air. He closed his eyes, a tight squeeze, but that only served to enhance the haunting sounds: A taunting voice. Tinkling glass. Pain.

Hermione.

He looked over, but her chest was still moving in the same unhurried rhythm. He watched it rise and fall for another minute and felt himself relax.

“I don’t know what to do if…”

Ginny trailed off, cradling her freshly made cup of tea it in her lap, worrying her lip.

“Shh, it’s going to be fine. She’s going to be fine, Ginny,” Harry asserted. He couldn’t stomach listening to Ginny’s worries on top of his own. Ginny didn’t contradict him, but she didn’t need to. A blind man could see Hermione was decidedly not fine.

“That doesn’t look too wonderful,” she said instead, gesturing towards the arm resting atop his thighs.

Harry looked down at his ruined robes.

“It’s… it’s not too bad, I think. At least it doesn’t hurt anymore. The ointment really helped.”

“What happened?” Ginny asked quietly, nibbling her biscuit.

Harry touched the bold lines peeking through his torn up sleeve with a quivering finger. They were tender, but tolerably so.

“Ron called it a ‘vein bloating curse’. That witch cast it directly at his head.”

Ginny’s face darkened.

“That bitch,” she spat, crumbs spraying Harry’s knee. “Oops,” she added mischievously and brushed them off non-too-delicately.

“It’s fine. When I jumped up, the curse hit my shoulder instead, but Ron had some dittany, so… it was alright. Not that big of a deal, really.”

He shrugged.

“Oh well in that case,” Ginny deadpanned, flopping a hand. “You’ve definitely had worse, and straight to the head, too,” she said earnestly, looking up at him through her lashes innocently.

Harry’s eyes narrowed.

“Actually, now that I think about it, it was pretty horrible. Dreadful, one might say.”

“Oh was it,” Ginny said, lips twitching.

“Yeah, I nearly lost the arm, actually. Then and there. I wouldn’t have been surprised if it had just straight… fallen off.”

He winced.

Ginny guffawed loudly, incredulous. “That was a lame finish! You should have said it nearly exploded into countless parts and sprayed its bloody pieces straight into the witch’s face in a huge, crimson arc.”

She mimed it with a swooping gesture, hands painting a semi-circle into the air vividly with an expression that was entirely too eager.

“You are disgusting,” Harry snorted.

“I know,” she said triumphantly, eyebrows waggling and snapped her last biscuit in half as if she imagined it to be the accursed witch’s neck.

They grinned at each other in mutual delight and for a moment, life was easier.

“Where do you think Malfoy pissed off to?” she asked unexpectedly. “I’m just not convinced that he went to St. Mungo’s. He didn’t seem hurt at all. I can’t shake the impression that he is up to something.”

Harry hunched his shoulders.

“You know… Draco saved my life, again. And hers too, probably,” he said tiredly.

Ginny made a face. “Don’t remind me,” she said. “I am painfully aware I will have to reevaluate my opinion of him eventually, but by Merlin, give me a few more hours, at least. You’ve had weeks.”

“Right,” he said and caught her gaze deliberately. “I’m sorry, you know. About… everything.” He encompassed him and her in a vague, explanatory gesture.

“Don’t start,” she said, waving it off. “I know you didn’t exactly choose, but Merlin and Morgana both, Harry. Did it have to be him?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop bloody apologising,” she said, punching his leg. “It’s really not that big of a deal, compared to only a bloody war going on. Literally.” Her words were true enough, but she didn’t look at him while saying them. “I’m not pining away or anything.”

He studied her. Ginny’s petite fingers drew lazy patterns into the carpet. Her fiery hair was thrown into a messy bun, still damp. The curve of her back was familiar from countless times of flying loops around the quidditch pitch, watching her from his position above the field, when he should have been looking for the snitch. Thinking about it elicited a strange longing he hadn’t felt in a while now. A longing to have… someone. A family.

In a different life, they might have been together. He could still imagine it and it felt comfortable. Happy, even. Briefly, an image flickered to life inside his mind: red-headed children being chased around the garden by Ginny, in full quidditch gear. Mrs. Weasley calling them inside for dinner and sternly telling them to “go and wash your hands now, all of you”. They would all sit at the table and eat together. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Ron, Hermione, Fred and George, Bill and Fleur, Charlie, and all their partners and a whole bunch of children. They could have been a real family and him one of them. A real Weasley.

 Now he would just be… a friend.

“Ginny…” he started, even though he had no idea what to say next.

“So, are you gay, then?” Ginny interrupted him, fixing him with a strange glint in her eyes.

“I… what? Am I- …Ginny!” he spluttered, face reddening.

“What? If anyone’s allowed to know, it should be me, right?” she said a bit bluntly.

Harry took a deep breath and put his elbows down on his knees in an attempt to ground himself. As much as he admired her fierceness, this exact moment he’d rather she were a bit more considerate.

“I…well, I don’t know, really,” he said, fighting for composure. “It’s not like I…well, you know. With a girl.”

“Huh. But you did, with Draco.”

He rubbed the back of his head plaintively and sighed, looking down at his toes. “Well… yeah,” he mumbled eventually.

“How was it?”

Heat throbbed in his gut at the flash of Draco astride him, shirt open and smirk firmly in place, ordering him to put his arms above his head.

“It was…” he exhaled noisily. “It was…” he struggled, but no sufficient descriptor came to mind. Hot? Breath-taking? Mind-blowing? They all seemed too hollow to match the experience.

Ginny whistled.

“That good. I’m impressed.”

Harry felt his face take flame.

“I’ve always been suspecting that Slytherins start practising young,” Ginny mused.

“It’s not necessarily a matter of practice,” Harry said, too quickly.

Ginny cocked her head, frowning.

“Wow. You do have it bad,” she said slowly. “You think you were his first, then?”

Harry shrugged. The thoughts of Draco being with some other bloke stung, oddly. Or girl, rather. Draco would probably have been with girls before, right?

Wait a minute… Was it even allowed to be gay as a pureblood? Didn’t they have to marry to produce heirs or something? Especially when you were an only-child. Draco’s words echoed in his ears: “I was raised according to my position with the goal to take over family business. Do you think I would have it any other way?”

Isn’t that what he had said? And then… he had panicked. Harry had started speaking about his hypothetical children and Draco had gone white as a sheet.

Because… because they would never have any. They would never have children.

Obviously, being two men.

The red-headed band of children would not be his, they would be Ron and Hermione’s. They would take them back to their little cottage or something, and he, he would just go home to a big empty house at the end of the day.

Alone with Draco.

He looked up at Ginny and her bright eyes and her flaming hair and her freckled nose and his eyes stung suddenly. There was a big lump in his throat that resisted his attempts at swallowing it down.

“I think I’ll go and have that shower,” he croaked, getting up.

“Wait,” Ginny said, and grabbed his hand. She pulled her wand from her pocket and cast a water repelling charm on his arm. “Just to make sure.”

Harry nodded.

“I’ll stay here, by her side,” Ginny said. “You go.”

He nodded again, grateful and went. His skin prickled where she had touched him.

###

Harry had been planning to shower quickly and get back to Hermione, but his earlier realisation wouldn’t leave him alone. The knowledge that he would be forced to live without a family hit a lot deeper than he had expected. He’d never deliberately planned to have children, but the thought had always vaguely accompanied his visions of his future after Voldemort had been dealt with. Just having a normal family, a normal life. Sitting at the kitchen table with his wife and their children, laughing and talking about their day.

The vision faded and there was no warmth to replace it with when he tried to imagine himself with Draco in some big, posh house, being served by house elves.

He stood underneath the spray until it went cold and even then, he only switched it off when his hands began feeling numb and stiff. The water sloshed pink around his feet when he stepped out. The towel kept slipping through his fingers and the world seemed to slow around him. His breathing was loud in his ears. He sat down on the tiled floor, suddenly exhausted. The shaking started back in, but it hardly registered. His thoughts were too sluggish, random pictures dancing before his heavy eyes. A child smiling. Ginny talking. Draco scowling. The cold ceased to matter.

I ’ll just go to sleep. Just a little.

####

When he woke in Fred’s bed, Madam Pomfrey sat beside him in the rickety chair she’d dragged over from the ruined desk. It creaked when she leaned forward to touch his forehead lightly. The fierce glint of her eyes was not diminished, despite the dark rings beneath them.

“Mr. Potter,” she said matter-of-factly. “How are you feeling?”

His head was pounding like his brain was intent on leaving the earth’s premises prematurely, with or without him. When he looked down, he was surprised that his fingers rested easily on the blanket, because they felt like they were submerged in burning hot water, as did his toes. His arm throbbed underneath a heavy bandage. He was exhausted.

“Just a bit tired,” he said, voice croaking.

Madam Pomfrey tutted. “Don’t lie to me, young man. I’ve not the patience for it right now.”

She looked even more exhausted than he felt. Harry swallowed his words and listed his symptoms reluctantly.

“Foolish boy! Blood loss and hypothermia. What were you thinking, draining your body of the last energy it had? When I told you to drink lots of water and rest, did you imagine it to be a suggestion? I thought you old enough to be more responsible, but it seems I was sorely mistaken. As you fail to follow simple instructions, you are sentenced to bed-rest until you learn to use that head of yours as more than just a cover to prevent the rain from falling down your neck!” she admonished him sternly.

Harry grimaced.

“Yes, Madam Pomfrey.”

“Good. Now drink this.”

She handed him a glass of purple liquid that tasted metallic and salty, but he drained it all underneath her watchful eye. Then she made him wiggle his toes and fingers, roll his shoulder and at last sit up, which resulted in him nearly throwing the purple stuff back up as his head swam in dizzy circles.

“Just as I thought. You will stay in bed for two days.”

“Two days!” he exclaimed.

“Yes, two days. Your body needs rest and my time is dearly needed elsewhere.”

A pang of guilt made the protests die in his throat.

“I’m sorry, Madam Pomfrey. I will rest, I swear, but can’t I sit downstairs in the living room?”

“Are you really.” She paused and sighed heavily. “I will come back in the morning and if you’ve behaved yourself until then, I will consider your request.”

Harry brightened.

“Thank you!”

“Yes, yes. Now go to sleep.”

Instead of leaving, she settled back in her chair and watched him expectantly. Harry closed his eyes against his instincts.

“Madam Pomfrey… will they be alright?” he asked quietly.

“Mr. Weasley will sleep it off in a few days. As for Miss Granger… she will be well again. When that will be, I cannot tell you”

Harry breathed deep. His whole body tingled from relief and he sank into the mattress, the bed hugging his form and coaxing him into a dreamless sleep.

###

They day began like the last had ended; with tiredness, aches and worry. At least he was allowed to sit at Hermione’s side after Madam Pomfrey had checked in on him. He’d slept nearly fifteen hours, but it felt more like five. Draco had not come home in the evening, as Harry had realised when he woke up and the bed next to him was empty.

Typical! Draco just swanned off to Merlin-knew-where doing Merlin-knew-what without feeling any necessity to inform him. He nearly missed being fettered. Being left alone was… unsettling, like the vague feeling of having forgotten something important, but being unable to remember what it was.

He was so angry for half an hour that his attempts to check on Draco failed twice, before he manged to calm down enough to concentrate on the door inside him. The sounds of Hermione’s breathing and the clickety-clack of Mrs Weasley’s knitting needles accompanied him over the threshold.

He saw Bill, bent over a piece of writing in fancy script, talking slowly. The sofa was comfortable. He stayed and watched for a few minutes. Somethings, he dimly picked up on Draco’s emotions, even though they weren’t very close to the surface. Satisfaction? Or smugness, maybe? Bill seemed relaxed and Draco had one knee over the other, gesturing with his hand from time to time and sipping tea with the other.

Good for them, having a great time while he was sat here worried sick for his friends.

The screeching of an owl interrupted his brooding and he was half out of his chair, thinking it might be Hedwig, before Mrs. Weasley waved him back down.

“I’ll get it Harry, dear. It’ll just be the Prophet.”

He sunk back down into the chair, disappointment stinging.

“Harry! Harry!” Mrs Weasley called excitedly and rushed over from the kitchen. “Look at this!” She shoved the prophet into his hands.

There, on the front page, was Draco limping out of a smoking Florish and Blott’s, half carrying the wizard in the starry robes with the help of an Auror. He looked to be in pain, but still held himself regally, fully composed.

“THIS HAS TO STOP Malfoy heir insists” the headline read, before changing to “MALFOY HEIR ATTACKED in Diagon Alley”.

The Malfoy heir was shopping for school supplies with his friends when the attack happened. ‘The Deatheaters forced their way into the bookshop, destroying private property and attacking innocent bystanders left and right with no regard for public safety,’ Draco Malfoy tells our reporter Algerard Rustlecock. Apparently, he had just been talking with a shop assistant, when the upper floor suddenly shook with explosions. After emergency spells activated, many customers disapparated on the spot, but the Malfoy heir was not prepared to abandon his friends. Waiting for an opportune moment, the determined young man helped the Aurors apprehend two of the four criminals. He suffered deep cuts to legs and hands, a broken cheek bone and bruised ribs. We interviewed him after his treatment in St. Mungo’s. Details on page 2.

Harry turned the page. There was a picture of Draco reclining on a hospital bed at St. Mungo’s, featuring an extremely bandaged leg and a band-aid across the left side of his face. He sprouted a few bruises, his hair dishevelled and dusty, with an expression altering between thoughtfully worried and grimly determined.

“Malfoy heir prepared to take political action” the title read.

This is not the first attack leaving a family business in ruins, if one thinks of the disaster that struck Fortescue ’s ice cream shop last year. However, this time it brought near certain financial ruin to an old and respected establishment, owned by a relative of the late Karrustra Shafiq (died heir-less in 1937) who wants to stay anonymous.

The young family heir voices strong opinions on the matter: ‘The Malfoy’s are truly last in line to cater to Dumbledore’s short-cited and radical political agenda, but in this one thing I must agree with him: we as a society can no longer tolerate open terrorists from roaming the streets, smiting witches and wizards as they please and taking the law into their own hands. This country has rules and regulations!’ he declares angrily. ‘If it takes Harry Potter to fight the usurpers, let him fight. But let us take the political responsibility and make sure the rights of good and upright witches and wizards are preserved!’

Draco Malfoy will finish his education at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the summer of next year, but to our reporter he disclosed his intentions of hiring home tutors and taking his final exams early. As some readers might know, the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery holds exceptions for single heirs of the Sacred Twenty-Eight that are needed to take over family businesses early.

“LUCIUS MALFOY UNDER IMPERIUS?”

Tragically it seems as though Lucius Malfoy, current head of the Malfoy family and holder of the Malfoy Seat in the Wizengamot may have been acting under the influence of the imperius curse for the last year, as the Malfoy heir hints. ‘I am shocked and grieved that my family was so cruelly used to facilitate the establishment of this dangerous political fanatic in our political landscape and I am prepared to do everything in my power to live up to my responsibility as the Malfoy heir. I will make sure the interests of good pure-blood families are accurately represented. Dumbledore is in many ways a stumbling block to achieving our goals on the long run, but the Death Eaters and their headless leader are an immanent and direct threat and I say: enough is enough!’

Will the Malfoy heir go against his father? Our expert on political affairs discusses implications on page 5.

Harry lowered the newspaper, dumbfounded. This could not have been a spontaneous reaction, surely. But had Draco anticipated the attack? And if so, could he not have prevented it?