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Chapter Text

Part One

 

Hogwarts.

The last place he thought he’d be on his summer vacation. Unfortunately, nowhere else in the world was safe for Draco Malfoy now. Not if he didn’t want to become the Dark Lord’s bitch. Like his father.

This was all Potter’s fault.

Voldemort had been content to let Draco go to school, let him be a normal student, even if he was expected to spy on his enemies and his friends alike. Once his father had been imprisoned for his epic failure though, the Dark Lord wanted more.

He’d made it clear. Draco would wear the Dark Mark before the next school year began. And he’d have a special purpose all his own.

A shudder started to work its way through him but Draco suppressed it, glancing around to make sure no one had seen him. For summer break, when the school should have been all but abandoned, Hogwarts teemed with a ridiculous amount of people. He’d had to wander down near the front gate, just skirting the shadowed edge of the Forbidden Forest, in order to find some peace and quiet.

He’d never found out what He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had planned for him. Because of the damn dreams.

The vivid dreams had plagued him all of his life. But since the beginning of summer, Draco had been afflicted consistently by visions of terror. Horrific images that hammered him nightly until the relief of sleep became his dearest wish. Unfortunately, every time he closed his eyes, the sharp-edged dreams pierced him with the need to change his path.

He killed someone. Or, maybe, almost killed them. Or caused their death. Or died himself. The dreams changed and blurred but the backlash of emotion always rocked him with the same sharp intensity. Pain. Horror. Hurt. Resignation. Disappointment. The waves of it had woken him, screaming his throat raw, every single night.

Draco had learned at an early age to listen to the warnings of those vivid dreams even if he’d never admit it to anyone. Prophecy was for weaklings and babbling idiots like Trelawney. The dreams were just some weird way his subconscious intuition communicated with him. Divination and prognostication had nothing to do with it.

When Narcissa had returned from the Dark Lord’s summons, though, he’d known it was past time to pay attention to the warnings of those dreams. The bastard had tortured his mother for hours. Punished her for the failure of her husband. She hadn’t had a scratch on her, her pale skin completely unmarred, but her eyes had been glassy and the shaking of her limbs had been so bad she couldn’t walk for two days after.

It had been hours before she’d even been able to talk. Hours before she could whisper in shaky words about what had happened to her. And tell Draco that he had a summons of his own to kneel before the Dark Lord. Soon.

His reprieve had ended and the time had come for him to make a choice. A choice he’d never realized he might have before the dreams made him look for a way out. He could stick with the Dark Lord and follow his father’s path. Or he could join Dumbledore and his merry band of do-gooders.

Draco sneered. Self-righteous pansies.

But that was the only choice that wouldn’t leave him the virtual slave of a madman. It had taken some fast talking to get his mother to agree, even while she was still recovering from a punishment she hadn’t done anything to earn.

It was only after his mother realized he’d been dreaming that she gave in with a resigned sigh. Not that he’d mentioned the nighttime visions in anything but oblique terms. He still had nightmares, normal ones, about the punishment he’d received from his father the one and only time he’d talked about them out loud.

No Malfoy was going to be a lowly Cassandra.

Even though Draco had never even hinted at the vivid dreams again, his mother had watched him carefully as he got older. She’d seemed to understand and believe, even if the acceptance remained tacit. Some mornings, he’d seen the familiar dark shadows of violent sleep under her eyes as well. It remained a silent, unspoken secret between them but the shared knowledge made it a little easier for Draco to bear.

The night after he made the decision to abandon the Dark Lord, the dream changed but he’d still woken in a cold sweat with his heart pounding out of his chest. He nearly changed his mind and took the Dark Mark when he realized what he’d have to do. To endure.

The dream made it clear that he could not simply give Dumbledore the information his father had collected over the years and then disappear into hiding with his mother. He had an active role to play in the coming war. The hints of which, left a bitter taste in his mouth.

But the memory of his mother’s face, blank with pain, was too fresh, too horrific. He could not, would not allow her to suffer like that again. She hadn’t liked the new plan when he’d explained it but she’d understood enough not to question.

They’d closed up the Manor and invoked nearly forgotten family wards so ancient and strong, neither Voldemort nor the Ministry would ever get in. His mother had family in France and America who reviled the Dark Lord and would not betray her to Bellatrix. He’d reluctantly sent her off without knowing exactly where she’d go. What he didn’t know, he couldn’t betray.

After she’d Disapparated, Draco swallowed back the burning humiliation and Apparated to the gates of Hogwart’s. He’d been unsurprised to find Dumbledore waiting for him with a particularly bright twinkle in his eye.

“You’ve made your choice then, Draco?”

He knew he hadn’t been particularly gracious when he’d shoved up his sleeves to show bare, unmarked forearms.

“If I’m going to be forced to take part in this game,” he gritted out through clenched teeth as he followed the headmaster into the castle. “I will not be a pawn. I will be a knight for your army whether anyone likes it or not.”

And he knew, once the school year started, no one would like it. Definitely not his former friends in Slytherin.

How the hell was he going to survive two more years with no one to watch his back in his own dorm?

Of course, Potter and his friends weren’t going to be any better with their impatient, impractical and impulsive Gryffindor ways. They’d think he was a waffling turncoat at best and a spy at worst. They definitely weren’t going to welcome him with open arms.

They’d all just have to deal, though, because Draco’s dream had shown him standing side by side with Scarhead.

Even now, Draco nearly gagged at the saccharine-sweet memory of peace and contentment radiating from them in the dream. It was an alternative to the pain and death and horror haunting his dreams every night, though. As much as it galled him, he’d take easy sleep over bloody nightmares any day.

The screech of an upset bird pulled him out of his brooding. In the sky, a white blur streaked into sight over the gates and headed straight for the castle. Draco turned in a circle to follow its flight and caught sight of Dumbledore racing out of the school, Snape following closely on his heels.

The headmaster stopped at the edge of the lawn and threw up his arm as the fluff of white descended in a rapid streak of blurred movement. Only once it settled on the old man’s wrist did Draco realize it was an owl. A snowy one much like Potter’s.

Almost immediately, the owl took to the sky again, Dumbledore said something to Snape that sent him scurrying back into the castle. Then the headmaster raced down the path, through the gate and immediately Disapparated.

Draco blinked. The lawn was completely still, empty and quiet once again. Maybe the numbing boredom had finally gotten to him and his mind had created a little excitement. Still, he moved back farther into the shadows and decided to hang out for a time. It wasn’t like there was anything interesting going on inside the castle, either.

Ten minutes later, he wasn’t disappointed. Dumbledore reappeared outside the gates with something limp in his arms. The old man didn’t even pause before taking off at a dead run for the castle. Draco had to give him credit. Despite his age, the headmaster was fast and strong.

Only after he’d vanished into Hogwarts did it register with Draco what it was Dumbledore had been carrying.

Pale gold skin. Black, unruly hair. Unmistakable scar.

Potter.

*

Harry came back from blank nothingness to consciousness with an abrupt and confusing jolt. There was a sound. Steady. Rhythmic. Comforting. The pain he’d been enduring for days receded, pushed back by the welcoming beat.

He was… moving? But not walking. Something strong held him at knees and shoulders. Carried, then.

Harry opened his eyes a bare slit, but the pain of light stabbing into them wasn’t quite as bad as he remembered from… before? Before what?

His brain was a hazy mass of suffering and an assault of invading sounds, smells and sensations.

Blurred vision finally focused on the upside down trees passing by at a fast clip. Then thick stones. Then familiar hallways.

Hogwarts. He was safe. Home.

But the sound, the beat, was fading. Disappearing behind him. He tried to listen harder, but a cacophony of other noises interfered. House elves whispered. Portraits and ghosts gossiped. Potions bubbled. Staircases creaked and groaned as they moved and settled.

Someone moaned. A loud, pitiful, pathetic sound of pain and despair. Then Harry realized the sound was coming from him.

Each sound was a clap of thunder in his head. The smells of potions fizzing up from the dungeon, the scent of cooking food drifting from the kitchen, and faint odor of various teas brewing in the Divination classroom were sharp spikes of sensation in his nose.

His clothes scraped against his skin like coarse sandpaper and the air itself tasted dark and heavy in his mouth. He closed his eyes but that did little to block out the ache. The aura of light glowed behind his lids and peeked hotly under his lashes every time he twitched.

The rhythm that had made it all bearable outside had diminished to almost nothing. If he strained passed all the intervening sounds, he could just barely make out every third beat or so. As he stretched though, it opened him up to the intolerable sensations, as well.

Then his bearer set him down on something soft yet firm. A bed. Jumbled voices surrounded him, in disjointed, painful static until he concentrated hard enough to separate out individual words.

“Found him… unconscious… woke up briefly on the grounds…”

Harry recognized Dumbledore’s voice standing very close and realized that must have been who’d carried him.

“Rash… examination… system completely askew…”

Madam Pomfrey. She’d fix it. She’d always fixed everything he’d done to himself. Or anything that had been done to him.

“Potter.”

Oh, Merlin. Snape. He didn’t want to deal with Snape right now. Wasn’t he suffering enough?

“Potter, listen to me. Tell me what you’re feeling.” He could actually hear the sneer in the professor’s demand.

“Hurts.” He whispered. Wasn’t it obvious to the bastard?

The sigh of familiar exasperation might have been reassuring. Except nothing about Snape was ever reassuring. “Yes, Potter. I can see that. I need specifics. What hurts? What’s making it hurt?”

Harry gritted his teeth and bit back the urge to tell the Potions Master how he was giving Harry a headache.

“Lights too bright. Skin itches… burns. Too loud. Too many smells. Too much. Everything.”

The voices moved off and dropped into whispers. He wanted to laugh. Or maybe cry. A few feet and a few decibels weren’t enough to stop every word from punching into his consciousness.

As they talked, the comforting beat got slightly louder. Incrementally closer. Harry was sure it was on the first floor of the school now, instead of out on the grounds.

He willed it to come closer, but it stayed below him, moving in the direction he thought was the Great Hall.

Even as he focused on the wonderful sound, he couldn’t quite block out the conversation in the room with him. Snape was doing most of the talking, though, and Harry tried to tune it out.

“Family history… Sentinel Phenomenon… researched it for Lily…”

That got Harry's undivided attention. Why would Snape be researching anything for his mother?

“James never manifested… Great Uncle… needs Guide… training…”

The conversation shifted away from his family and Harry tried to push it to the background. Let the distant rhythm wash over him again.

A few minutes later, though, the three adults were back at his bedside, casting a variety of spells around him.

The agonizing light pushing at the other side of his eyelids dimmed when a super soft layer of cloth covered his eyes. The smells beyond the antiseptic and healing herbs of the hospital wing dropped away. His clothes disappeared. The sheets over and under him smoothed out and softened.

Harry sighed in relief with every change, every slackening of the pressure from the onslaught of overwhelming input. The battle between his senses and his mind calmed a little with each breath. His tense muscles relaxed fractionally with each passing second.

Then the world around him went quiet. Every sound beyond the edge of his bed that had been demanding its share of his attention disappeared.

Including the beat he’d been holding onto like a lifeline.

Harry struggled and pushed, trying to find it. Focusing harder and harder until the world went blank around him again.

*

Meals were busier than usual at Hogwarts for this summer session, but the Great Hall still looked pathetically empty with only two of the four tables in use and only one of them full.

Some kind of international conference for magical teachers and administrators was taking place and the attendees filled the table usually used by Hufflepuff.

The dozen or so students spending the summer at Hogwarts for remedial help shared the Ravenclaw table. Unfortunately, Draco was expected to sit there as well.

Normally, he arrived late and took a seat far down the table, leaving at least a half-dozen empty chairs between him and the others. He’d glare and sneer at them through each meal and they’d stare back in bafflement and fear. Not one of them had said a single word to him since his unexpected arrival in the middle of the summer. Not even the only other Slytherin in residence had tried to talk to him. Segundus Pine was a mousy little second-year whose father was a Death Eater though, so Draco preferred not to speak to him anyway.

Of course, not talking to him, didn’t mean they weren’t talking about him. Something they did on a regular basis and took no pains to hide.

Some thought he was there to spy for the Dark Lord. Some thought he’d been deemed unworthy of a Dark Mark and outcast from the Death Eaters. Some thought his family disowned him. He was pretty sure there was a betting pool.

Draco chose to be amused by their idiocy. He entertained himself by using his superior skills to slice them to pieces, verbally, of course, whenever he got the chance. The rest of the time, he went out of his way to avoid them.

So why the fuck had he been arriving for meals early? And why was he sitting as close to the High Table as he could get? What the fuck did it matter if he hadn’t overheard a single rumor since he’d watch Dumbledore run into Hogwarts two days ago?

Not one peep about the Boy-Who-Lived looking gravely ill or injured. It seemed like no one even knew he was at the castle.

Draco really didn’t want to care but restlessness had plagued him for the past two days. A need to know.

Personally, he thought Potter was a useless prat. Both Dumbledore and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, however, put a great deal of time and energy into him. If Draco was going to survive, the Dark Lord needed to be defeated. If it meant he had to throw his lot in with a bloody Gryffindor, he’d do it. That meant the prat had to survive long enough to face Voldemort.

At the High Table, Dumbledore and Snape kept having tense conversations inside a Bubble of Silence. McGonagall looked on with narrow-eyed suspicion. Madame Pomfrey’s mouth was turned down in a pensive frown and Hagrid, whose face was crumpled in grief like his favorite Flobberworm had run away, bent his shaggy head to whisper to her. Minutes later, the two of them got up and quietly left the Great Hall.

Draco narrowed his eyes and watched them go. It took only a split second to make the decision to follow. He hung back as the two meander through the halls ending up far from the central area of the castle. When they stopped, Draco hid behind a humongous suit of armor that could never have been made for a normal human and surreptitiously cast Voxattira, which would pull their words directly to his ear.

“The poor dear.” Pomfrey sniffed and Hagrid handed her a rumpled, green-tinged handkerchief that made Draco cringe. “He hasn’t woken up once since the first day, when Dumbledore brought him into the hospital wing. We’re doing everything we can to keep stimulation to a minimum but he cries and whimpers at the slightest irritant. The charms are helping but nothing is completely shielding him.”

“Do you think Snape is right, then? About what’s wrong with Harry?”

Snape. Draco felt his lip curl. The man was a Death Eater and a spy. Now that his father was in Azkaban, the Potions Master was closest to the Dark Lord. Draco had tried to warn Dumbledore but had gotten a figurative pat on the head, a reassurance the old coot had everything well in hand and an offer of a sherbet lemon.

Fool. Snape shouldn’t be allowed near Potter. Especially when he was this vulnerable.

“I don’t know,” the matron was shaking her head. “I’ve read about this in passing, never seen it or studied it, like he has. I don’t think we’ll know for sure until Harry wakes up.”

“If Harry wakes up.” Hagrid added glumly.

“Oh, don’t worry, Hagrid. The headmaster and Severus are working hard, searching for an As—” She stopped abruptly, apparently finally realizing maybe they were talking a little too freely, even in the seemingly empty hallway.

Malfoy eased back into the shadows a little farther and amplified the spell as the voices dropped into mere whispers.

“They’re working hard to find a solution.” The odd emphasis on the last word piqued Draco’s curiosity and he leaned forward to look around the metal armor.

Pomfrey only patted the half-giant on his tree-trunk like arm and gave him a reassuring, if slightly sad, smile. “I’m going to check on Harry before getting some paperwork done in my office. I promise, as soon as he’s stable you can come see him for yourself. Right now, though, visitors are, well, stressful for him.”

Hagrid nodded his head, drooping like a monstrous weeping willow growing in the middle of the castle hallway.

Draco slid deeper into the shadow behind the empty knight, and cast a quick Notice-Me-Not spell, wishing he’d taken the time to practice and learn the Disillusionment charm. The two staff members were lost in their own thoughts though. Neither even glanced in his direction as they passed.

Draco leaned against the wall and pouted. This was not where he expected to be. Not where he wanted to be. Not what he wanted to be doing.

He’d been king of the school. Popular. Feared. Powerful. While the other students still feared and gossiped about him, the tone had definitely changed. There was no respect. No awe.

He should be frolicking and partying the summer away with Pansy, Nott, Zabini, Crabbe, and Goyle. But his father had gotten himself caught. After a life of being pampered and privileged and believing the propaganda, Draco illusions had been ripped away because Lucius had failed. Damn him.

And damn Voldemort for being so selfish and self-absorb that his cruelty and militant hatred had destroyed the comfortable life Draco had been living.

It wasn’t fair.

Now, the dreams, which had become unbearably unpleasant again, made it clear he couldn’t simply wait out the war on the sidelines. Couldn’t just wait for the two sides to kill each other. He had to work to help Potter whether he liked it or not.

Now Potter had gone and gotten himself sick. Or injured. Whatever.

Draco needed to see for himself. Maybe he could use this somehow. Get an advantage. If Scarhead owed him something, he’d have the upper hand. If he didn’t have to humiliate himself by bending to Potter’s will, his world would finally start to find an even kilter again.

*

Draco waited until the castle quieted down for the evening before sneaking his way over to the hospital wing. Technically, there was still a curfew, but Filch didn’t seem as aggressive about enforcing it with only a handful of students in residence.

He paused to listen just outside the infirmary, but the room was eerily quiet. He carefully pushed open the door and peered around the edge. The hospital wing was darker than usual with only a handful of lights brightening the long, corridor-like room. All the beds lining both walls were empty. Except one, halfway down the right that was completely surrounded by fabric screens. That must be where Potter slept.

A faint glow peeked out around the edges of Madam Pomfrey’s closed office door at the opposite end of the room. Draco pushed up onto his toes, hesitating and evaluating the risk of being caught. He was pretty sure her personal chambers were on the other side of her office and there was a good chance she wouldn’t come back out this way tonight.

He’d have to hope she didn’t come out to check on Dumbledore’s golden boy. It didn’t matter, anyway. He only needed a couple of minutes to see how bad Potter was. Then he could make contingency plans. Maybe he could convince You-Know-Who he’d only pretended to switch sides in order to spy for the Dark Lord. Maybe, if he brought back information on Potter’s condition, he’d be spared punishment.

Draco shuddered at the thought of being back under the Dark Lord’s thumb. Hostage to the madman’s whims. But a Slytherin’s top priority was always self-preservation. Even if survival came at the cost of your soul.

Something sharp pricked at him, however, when he thought about betraying Potter. It took him a minute to realize it was his conscience. When the hell had he grown one of those? And why the hell did it care about Potter?

Draco squared his shoulders and stepped inside. No decision could be made until he’d seen Scarhead for himself. If he was merely being a wimp and having a lie-in, then none of the rest even matter.

As soon as the door clicked close behind him, he flicked his wand and cast another Notice-Me-Not. The shadows deepened the closer he got to the center of the room and he realized the few illuminated lamps were at the far ends. Well away from Potter’s bed.

Weird.

Draco carefully slipped around the screen, wand at the ready, in case Potter was awake. It was even darker, with the curtains blocking out even the faint illumination. When his eyes finally adjusted, he was surprised to see how still, how completely motionless Potter lay. If it wasn’t for the faint rise and fall of the dark-haired teenager’s chest, Malfoy would have been certain he was dead.

A quick spell showed no unexpected wards guarding the bed but a double-sided Bubble of Silence stretched around him, keeping sounds out as well as in. Draco frowned. Why would they need to keep the golden boy from hearing anything? Were they trying to keep the severity of his condition from him?

Draco’s heart began to pound and ice gathered in his stomach. What was so bad they didn’t even want the patient to know? He had no idea where the irrational fear came from and he stuffed it back down inside before it swallowed him.

That was just ridiculous. Considering the state Potter was in, if they wanted to keep secrets from him, they simply had to leave the room.

More oddities took shape as Draco examined the makeshift cubicle. The soft blindfold covering the Gryffindor’s eyes. The expensive silk sheets covering the bed.

Sheets that had been pushed down to his waist, revealing he was at least shirtless. Surprisingly strong-looking, ropy muscles covered Potters chest and arms.

Draco licked his lips and paused to take in all the warm, pale gold skin on display. Then he shook himself out of it. He was not another Harry Potter groupie.

He moved closer, a little disconcerted when he past the boundary of the Bubble of Silence. He had thought the night had been quiet before, but it was jarringly still and soundless at the bedside.

The soft whoosh of wind outside, the nearly constant creak and sway of the ancient castle walls, the low-level hum of hundreds of charms and wards. All of it disappeared from one step to the next.

Draco’s breath and Potter’s were the only sounds in the darkness. Potter’s were so quiet and slow he barely even registered them. He was so still, he practically looked Petrified. Once Draco stood next to the bed, he could see angry rashes covering the boy’s hands, sprawling across his shoulders and spiraling along his sides.

What the hell was wrong with him?

This was the boy who was supposed to save the wizarding world.

But he looked wrecked. He looked vulnerable and small resting on those pale silk sheets.

Potter exhaled a soft whimper with his next breath. The familiar scar crinkled and pain was etched in a multitude of lines around his mouth.

Draco’s hand was half-way to Potter, ready to push the flopping, tangled hair back and sooth the ache, when he caught himself.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

They might, technically, be on the same side now, but Potter had been his rival for years. He was here to assess the situation, not to offer comfort. Comfort, he was sure, that would be rebuffed if Potter was conscious enough to know who was offering it.

Another soft whimper vibrated in the air between them and his hesitation evaporated. His hand unfroze and crept forward, but Draco refused to be a complete sap.

Redirecting his fingers so they landed on the back of Potter’s hand, he stepped closer, until his thigh hit the edge of the bed.

Later, Draco could never quite piece together what happened next.

Potter gasped at the contact then tensed all over. Draco was sure he did not stroke his fingers over the skin of Potter’s hand. He most certainly did not have, nor give into, a ridiculous urge to reassure his rival with the gentle caress.

No matter what he may or may not have done, the next thing he knew, Potter sat upright and wrapped around him like an octopus.

The Boy-Who-Hugged had his arms locked tight around Draco’s back, one at his shoulders, the other at his waist. Their upper bodies were pressed together as close as possible, pulling Draco partially over the bed.

And still he tried to push closer, like he was trying to crawl into the same space Draco occupied.

Potter’s face was pushed against Draco’s neck and he was inhaling in great gasps, as if he had been suffocating and could finally get clean air again.

It took Draco several minutes to realize he was holding back just as tight. One hand cradled the back of Potter’s head, fingers carding through unruly dark hair. The other arm wrapped completely around the smaller boys shoulders. He also seemed to be rocking the shaking boy and making soothing, shushing noises.

What the fuck?

He didn’t have time to learn about compassion. He was busy working on self-preservation. He’d come to make sure Potter was alive enough to save his ass.

Mission accomplished.

Potter was snuffling at his neck and muttering something about spice and cinnamon and vanilla and Draco found himself staying put with no idea why. Then Potter pulled back far enough to wriggle one hand between them and placed it directly over Draco’s heart.

“Heartbeat.”

He whispered the word with a sense of awe, like it was the answer to an age-old question.

Vaguely, Draco noted the rash on Potter’s hands had faded slightly. As he tried to figure out what it meant or how it happened, Harry pulled his hand away and reached for his blindfold.

Before the fabric came away from his eyes, Draco was grasping the hand and pulling it back down.

Potter frowned at him, but let the hand drop away from the cloth.

“S’okay. Better now.” Potter’s voice was scratchy and raw and stuttered. He reached up, unerringly finding Draco’s cheek. “Wanna' see you.”

Carefully, Draco shook his head back and forth with slow deliberation.

Potter pouted, but Draco covered the Gryffindor hand with his own, tangling their fingers and pulling the dark-haired boy’s head back into the crook between his head and shoulder.

A soft snuffling noise and an obvious relaxation of Potter’s body proved it had been a good distraction from his curiosity. Draco ignored how his own body relaxed into the embrace. How his mind and body felt peaceful and at ease for the first time since his father had been arrested.

He also ignored how soft and warm Potter’s skin felt under his hands. And the way he continued to stroke it with a perplexing fascination.

Some time later, the faint glow beyond the curtains brightening infinitesimally drew Draco back to an awareness of where he was. And the fact that he wasn’t supposed to be there. Pomfrey’s office door had opened and no doubt she’d be coming to check on Harry before retiring for the night.

He had no idea how long he stayed. Or how long he would have stayed.

Panicked, he disentangled himself from Potter, grabbing up the wand he’d dropped at some point and refreshing the Notice-Me-Not charm.

A pathetic moan stopped him in his tracks.

“No,” Harry whispered, both hands reaching out blindly. “Please. Stay. Hurts. Please. Help me.”

For a moment, Draco was frozen, heart beating hard enough to cut off his air. Torn beyond belief, he hesitated longer than he should. But the light drew closer and Harry reached for his blindfold and Draco fled in a panic. Carefully keeping to the shadows despite the charm, he waited until the nurse disappeared behind the curtains before slipping back out the door.

*

He was gone. Harry didn’t even know who he was, but the heartbeat had disappeared again. He’d been surprise to realize the soothing tempo was the steady rhythm of a heart.

“Harry! You’re awake.”

Madam Pomfrey’s voice pierced his head like a thousand screaming harpies. He moaned and clapped his hands over his ears.

“Forgot.” The word was much, much softer and apologetic but it still crashed against him like a blow.

“Harry, I know this is difficult, but I need you to tell me how you’re feeling.”

“Hurts. Everywhere hurts.” His skin was starting to burn again, like fire ants had made it into a nest. Every sound of her movements made him shudder a little. His mouth tasted like garbage.

And the smells. They wafted up his nose, moving straight to the headache throbbing behind his eyes.

“Hurts.” He reiterated. “Head. Skin. The smells. Where’d he go?”

Blessedly, the sounds of her movement stopped abruptly.

“There was someone here? Who?”

“Don’t know. Smelled good.”

That was an understatement. The scent of vanilla and exotic spice had pulled him up out of the dark well where he’d been hiding from the pain.

The delicious smell had blocked the ache in his head. The feel of soft hands had eased the burning of his skin.

“Are you sure it was a he?”

Harry started to nod, but stopped. The smell of vanilla and soft hands should make him think of a girl, but it hadn’t occurred to him to question his assumption until she asked.

He tried to shrug, but it didn’t seem worth the effort. “Not sure. No.”

“Okay, Harry. I’m going to get the headmaster and Professor Snape to help explain what’s going on. First though, I’m going to give you a potion to help dull your sense of smell and numb your skin somewhat. I know it tastes vile, but you have to drink it all.”

The phial was pressed into his hand and guided to his lips, though she carefully never touched Harry’s skin, to his immense relief.

The second the thick liquid touched his tongue, it was all he could do not to gag and spit it back out. Vile didn’t begin to cover it. It tasted worse than Bertie Bott’s vomit flavored beans and stung like a thousand pins being jammed into his tongue.

“Alright, Harry,” she said, when he finished. “I’ll be right back. Don’t leave the protection of the Bubble and don’t remove the blindfold because the potion did nothing for sight or sound.”

Blessed silence enveloped him once again and he settled back into the bed. He swiped his hand through his tangled hair and the faint scent of cinnamon and vanilla and something exotic swirled around him for a second.

He slid his hand down and inhaled the delicious smell. Again, the throbbing and aches and pains receded a little. Why? And what was wrong with him that Madam Pomfrey felt she needed Dumbledore and Snape to tell him about it?

Harry tried to remember how he got to Hogwarts but it was a disjointed set of images. Dumbledore carrying him. The Dursley’s leaving him in the woods with only a cooler and a ratty sleeping bag. He remembered feeling delusional, hearing and seeing things he shouldn’t be able to hear and see.

He remembered leaving school. He remembered summer days passed berating himself for every mistake he’d made that led to the events in the Ministry. Second guessing every choice he’d made and cursing himself for his impulsive, reckless action.

He remembered summer nights filled with ripping grief as nightmares replayed Sirius’s death over and over.

His last clear memory was another birthday, ignored by his so-called family. He smiled a little, though, when he remembered the presents and food and notes he’d received at midnight from his friends.

He remembered Uncle Vernon shouting, angry because the family had been invited to his boss’s country home and there was no way he’d bring the freak along. Leaving him alone was out of the question and Mrs. Figg’s odd relationship with her cats was beginning to make his uncle suspicious.

He’d decided the best solution was to leave Harry camping in the woods.

How had he ended up back at Hogwarts? And why was he in so much pain?

Had a Death Eater gotten him? Had he been cursed? Had he eaten a poisonous berry or mushroom? How had Dumbledore found him? Who had snuck into the hospital wing to see him without saying a word?

Tired of chasing his own brain in circles, Harry pressed his hand to his face, inhaling the lingering scent and allowed himself to drift on the sensation of peace it gave him.

*

Harry actually felt the change around him when the three faculty members returned. The way their movement sent soft eddies of air grating across his skin. The faint rise of temperature from so much body heat cramming so close around him.

And, despite the potion Pomfrey had given him, he could smell them. The sharp, sulfuric potion smell had to be Snape. The sweet, fruity candy scent of Dumbledore and the astringent smell he’d already begun to associate with Madam Pomfrey.

The pressure of curiosity welled up and he turned toward the candy smell. As angry as he’d been with the headmaster for his part in the Ministry fiasco, Harry knew Dumbledore was truly regretful. The man had been the only solid, unwavering support in his entire life and Harry needed that reassurance now.

“Professor Dumbledore, what’s happening? Am I really at Hogwarts? How did I get here? What’s wrong with me? Was I cursed?” The words poured out of him and he struggled to sit up, though his own voice was hammering at his head.

“Easy, my boy, easy. I know you have a lot of questions and we’ll answer them all as best as we can.”

Harry held back a snort. Albus Dumbledore never gave out information freely. It was always drips and drabs and mystical hints that didn’t make sense until after the fact.

“Let’s start with the easy questions. You are, indeed, at Hogwarts. As to how you got here, I brought you myself. What’s the last thing you remember?”

Ah, yes. The headmaster’s second favorite technique after talking in riddles. Answering a question with a question.

Things were starting to become clearer in his head and Harry spoke slowly while his brain started putting things together.

“Mr. Dursley’s boss invited the family to his summer cottage for a week of vacation. After Hedwig got into a fight with a neighbor’s dog, they refused to leave me alone at the house. They dropped me off in some woods a few miles away and told me to keep out of sight. That they’d pick me up in a week on the road.”

“Woods? Alone?” Madame Pomfrey gasped, sounding horrified. “But you’re only sixteen.”

Behind her, Harry thought he heard a slight choking sound, before Snape sneered. “Dumbledore, those precious blood protections you’re depending on to keep the boy alive only work if he’s actually in the house.”

“I know.” The headmaster sounded flat, with an undertone of anger in his voice. Something Harry had rarely ever heard so blatantly from Dumbledore before. “I realize I may have to re-evaluate the wisdom of the arrangement.”

Then his voice changed from cold fire to warm honey. “Go on Harry, tell us what happened next.”

“Um, well, it was fine at first, I guess. I’ve never been alone alone during the summers. The peace and quiet was refreshing. But then…” Oh, Merlin, he didn’t want to tell them the bits and pieces he remembered. They’d lock him up at St. Mungo’s.

His heart tripped into an accelerated pace. His breath ran out of control, just beyond his ability to catch it.

“Relax, Harry. It’s going to be okay.”

He felt the air around him move, as if someone had reached out then stopped abruptly before making contact with his skin.

How the fuck did he know that?

“Harry,” Dumbledore repeated his name gently. “Just tell us what happened in the woods.”

“I don’t know. Things are kind of… choppy. I, uh, started seeing things. Hearing things. Things that weren’t really there.” He admitted the last grudgingly, waiting for them to begin to discuss his sanity.

Instead, Dumbledore only asked, “Then what happened?”

He struggled to sort out the memories, the phantom images, the fleeting aches and the growing sense of unease he’d experienced in the woods. “Uh, I started to get a rash. It itched and burned. I thought I’d stumbled into poison ivy or something. I was exhausted but couldn’t sleep because of the pain.” His brow furrowed as the days came back to him. “I remember watching a hawk. It was graceful. Beautiful. I watched it flying higher and higher.”

“And then?”

Harry shook his head. “Then, everything kind of went blank. I sort of remember being carried, being here in the hospital wing, then I blanked out again.”

“Classic zone out,” Snape muttered.

“What?”

“We’ll explain as best we can, in a minute,” Dumbledore promised. “Is there anything else that you remember?”

“Um, vaguely, I remember Uncle Vernon yelling at me and kicking me to get up.” He heard Madame Pomfrey’s gasp. What surprised him was the hiss of inhaled breath from Snape. “I think I remember you talking to me. Telling the Dursley’s to go home, you’d take care of me. But it was distant. Then I smelled vanilla and spice and felt someone’s hand on mine.”

“And you don’t know who it was?”

Harry shook his head mutely.

“Madame Pomfrey said you thought it was a ‘he’, is that right?”

Harry shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Why do you think it was a boy?”

Oh, this was humiliating and awkward. “I, uh, sort of grabbed onto him. He felt good. Smelled good. It didn’t hurt so much when I touched him.” His voice got smaller and Harry huddled into himself. The heat of the blush on his cheek burned like acid on his sensitive skin but he knew they wouldn’t leave him alone until he explained it all.

“It felt like a he. Not curvy. Strong. Solid. I don’t know. It just seemed like a guy to me. Will someone please tell me what’s going on?”

Silence met his plea for several seconds and Harry resigned himself to adding this to list of things he’d have to figure out for himself. Then Dumbledore surprised him with a question.

“Have you heard of the Sentinel Phenomenon?”

“Uh,” he wracked his brain trying to sort through five years of classes he hadn’t paid enough attention to. Not for the first time, he wished Hermione was there. “No.”

“Of course not,” Snape muttered. “He’s never read a book that didn’t have ‘Quidditch’ in the title.”

Harry thought he could actually hear the amused smile in Dumbledore’s voice when he answered. “Perhaps you’d be so good as to explain it to him, Severus.”

Harry imagined Snape’s cold, superior glare. He’d been on the receiving end of it often enough.

“The Sentinel is a behavioral throwback to a pre-civilized breed—”

“Professor Snape.” Madame Pomfrey snapped.

“Well, it’s how they are described in most texts. A Sentinel has a sensory awareness that can be developed beyond normal human range. They came into existence millennia ago to protect the tribe. There is some debate about origins, as they appear in both Muggle and wizarding families. Muggles attribute it to their genetics and DNA mumbo-jumbo.”

“Many wizards believe our precursors, tribal shamans, used their primitive magic to alter certain tribe members. Those alterations still pop up from time to time in certain family bloodlines.”

Harry felt he was listening to one of Hermione’s long-winded lectures. He knew this was probably important, but it wasn’t actually answering the questions he needed answered now.

“But what is it?” he blurted out, interrupting the monotonous monologue. “And how do you cure it?”

Snape’s dramatic, long-suffering sigh filled the air. Even in his current state, Harry couldn’t actually hear an eye roll, but he was sure he was getting one, all the same.

“You don’t—”

“A Sentinel has all five of his senses enhanced.” Dumbledore talked right over whatever Snape had begun to say. “Although it doesn’t feel like it now, it is a gift. A very rare and special talent that allows you to comprehend things beyond normal range once you learn to control it.”

“So there’s no cure.” Harry said with a sinking heart. He was learning to listen for answers in what Dumbledore didn’t say. “No way to get rid of it.”

“I’m afraid not, my boy.”

“But the pain will get better? I mean, I just have to learn control, right?”

Quiet met his question once again, and he wished he dared take the blindfold off. He had a depressing sensation in his gut that, as usual, things weren’t quite as rosy as the spin Dumbledore was putting on them.

Finally, pushing hard around the lump of fear growing in his throat, Harry asked, “I’m going to be in pain like this forever, then?”

“Don’t worry, my boy. We’re going to do everything we can to find you a Guide. And it seems like there’s a compatible one here at Hogwarts, already.”

“Guide?”

Something inside him clicked when he heard the word. A warm rush of need and want pulsed through him. He had a fleeting sensation of comfort, much like the brief encounter with the stranger at his bedside earlier. Suddenly, every nerve in his body was alert, pining for a Guide.

“It’s someone with at least a small gift of Astral Magic, one that is compatible with the Sentinel. He, or she, can help ground the Sentinel’s senses and also shield him from being crushed by the inundation of sensory input. In return, the Sentinel grounds and shields the Guide from some of the side effects of drawing magic from the Astral planes.”

Harry had never heard of Astral magic and had no idea what side effects Dumbledore was talking about. But he understood how to read the undercurrents in what the headmaster wasn’t saying.

 “I’m going to be dependent on someone else for the rest of my life. That’s if you can even find someone who’s compatible and willing to be tied to me.”

He knew he was sulking, but he couldn’t help it. He was really fucking tired of being destiny’s bitch.

“Yes, well, there’s no one in residence at Hogwarts, at the moment, who has strong enough Astral talent to help you.” As usual, Snape’s bedside manner left something to be desired.

“Except,” Dumbledore mused. “There obviously is.”

“Whoever was here tonight,” Harry whispered. As much as he hated the idea of being tied to another person, he couldn’t help wishing he could be back, wrapped around his mysterious guest.

He tried to remember some clue but the sense impressions were smell and touch and heartbeat, overloaded with tremendous relief. Nothing much to help track down his… Guide.

“He smelled like cinnamon and vanilla,” Harry mumbled. “His heartbeat was soothing and his hands were soft.”

He was pretty sure Snape snorted and muttered, “That will be useful, Madame Pomfrey you sniff everyone and I’ll check their hands while listening to their heartbeat.”

Harry snarled in the general direction of Snape’s voice. “There can’t be that many people in the school, right now. It’s summer.”

Dumbledore cleared his throat, a slightly embarrassed sound hinting it wasn’t going to be that easy. It was Snape’s sarcasm, however, that answered Harry’s question.

“Normally you’d be right, Potter. But your timing, as usual, leaves something to be desired.”

The exasperated sigh Dumbledore directed at the Potions Master pulled Harry’s attention back to the headmaster.

“There are about a dozen students in residence for a variety of academic and personal reasons. There is a delegation of the schools governors who arrived after dinner this evening for an all-day meeting tomorrow. Many of them brought family members and staff. Most of the regular teaching staff is here, along with small delegations from Beauxbaton and Durmstrang and a couple of other foreign schools to attend an informal convention on curricula and student safety.”

Harry’s eyes grew wide under his blindfold as he listened to the recitation and realized how difficult the task of finding his stranger would be. When the headmaster finished, all he could manage to say was, “Oh.”

“We can’t very well announce your presence and condition to all and sundry and ask them to wander by the hospital wing so you can sniff them.” Snape added with his usual snide disdain.

“Uh, no, that wouldn’t be good. So, um, who all knows I’m here, then? I mean, you must have kept it quiet. That should narrow it down, right?”

Another eerie silence greeted his question. After a minute or two, he was ready to repeat the question when Madam Pomfrey spoke up.

“Only the three of us and Hagrid know you’re here and that you’re ill.”

Exhaustion started to seep in and the potion started to wear off but Harry fought it and tried to concentrate.

“Obviously, someone else knows. I’ll set wards to alert us the next time someone sneaks in to the hospital wing.”

“No!”

Harry actually sat bolt upright in bed, despite the pain, and would have been glaring if his eyes weren’t covered. “No. If he senses the wards, he might not cross them. He might not come back.”

His voice dropped to a whisper and trailed off into a whimper and Harry pressed his hands to his throbbing head. He didn’t want a Guide but apparently he needed one. And if he had to have one, he didn’t want Snape and Dumbledore scaring him away.

Merlin, he was tired. The sickly sweet smell of candy, combining with the pungent sulfur began to overwhelm him. He tried breathing through his mouth, but he could taste the blend in the air and it made him gag.

Madam Pomfrey must have seen his distress, because she was shooing the other two out, admonishing Harry that it was time for him to rest.

Only after all the others had gone, did he realize he still didn’t have many answers. He didn’t know how long he been at Hogwarts. Or what the hell he was supposed to do with his new super-power.

Unable to think clearly around the assault of his senses as the potion wore off, Harry gave in to the seductive lure of unconsciousness.

*

Draco slunk through the halls with a careful stride. His self-preservation instincts shrieked at him to run. But his cunning side knew that would get him caught a hell of a lot faster.

Instead, he moved at a deliberate pace, his lungs screaming for more air as he forced them into a normal rhythm rather than the great, gasping breaths he wanted to take. His heart thumped in his ears with such force, he had to strain to listen for any tell-tale sounds of approach.

It had been too close. Stupid. Reckless. Impulsive. All things he prided himself on not being. Those were Gryffindor traits.

It had been a stupid risk to take. They were hiding Potter for a reason. If they found Draco snooping around, they might think he was spying. They could kick him out of Hogwarts. Or, worse, if they thought he knew too much, they could lock him up. A shudder crawled coldly down his spine at the thought of Azkaban. And its Dementors.

When he reached the Slytherin dorm, he scurried inside, slammed the door and leaned against it.

“What the fuck did you think you were doing, Malfoy?” He cursed at himself while he finally allowed his body to react to the panic he’d been suppressing since the hospital wing.

When his heart and breath returned to normal, he became aware of the crawling sensation creeping over him. He was being watched.

The mousy second year was staring at him from a chair in the shadow of the fireplace. As soon as their Draco saw him, Segundus dropped his eyes and shrank into himself.

Draco straightened away from the door when he realized he wasn’t alone. Though he might as well be. The only other Slytherin in residence at the moment was a complete waste of space, as far as he was concerned.

A second year getting some remedial help with charms and transfiguration. The kid was so timid he squeaked every time he had to talk. Something Segundus rarely did. He ran and hid every time someone raised their voice in his vicinity.

He was a disgrace to Slytherin House. Slytherin’s may be all about self-preservation, but they weren’t outright cowards.

Draco snarled and stomped off, leaving the second year shadow to the empty common room.

As soon as the thick door to his bedroom was firmly closed, Draco descended into a good, old-fashioned temper tantrum. He raged and cursed, threw some things and blasted others.

Damn his father for getting caught. For going to prison. For making Draco look beyond the gilt-edged glamour of their lifestyle to the tarnish and decay underneath.

Damn the Dark Lord for being a petty, vindictive, sadistic tyrant who’d forced Draco to choose exile at Hogwarts over the comfort of his home and family. Damn the dreams and damn Dumbledore for expecting him to take an active role in his own salvation.

And damn Potter for being weak and pathetic and getting hurt. Damn him for not already having done his job. For being Draco’s apparent only hope of surviving.

And damn him for making Draco want to sooth and comfort him.

Draco froze when the thought whispered through his brain. He did not care about Scarhead. He had no interest in taking care of him. His only concern was verifying the Boy-Who-Lived actually lived. Now knowing that was the case, he could settle back and forget about it.

He had no intention of seeing Potter again until the school year started if he could help it. Draco wasn’t risking the wrath of Pomfrey, Dumbledore and Snape again. Potter was on his own.

Resolved and exhausted, Draco firmly pushed the memory of Potter reaching for him out of his head and crawled into bed for a decent night’s sleep.

*

Two days later, Draco slumped at breakfast pushing food around his plate and glaring at it blearily. He was so tired, his eyes kept drifting shut and he had to shake himself awake.

He’d give anything for a little rest. But he was terrified to sleep.

The dreams had roared back in full, Technicolor drama. Over and over, he saw an apocalyptic final battle between the Dark Lord and Harry Potter. Except, in half those dreams, Potter never showed up at all. And the rest, he was weak, leaning heavily on his Gryffindor sycophants, blindfold still in place as he sightlessly waved his wand. He didn’t last long against the evil, inhuman wizard. The carnage and aftermath of both dreams was horrific.

But the worst, the absolute worst, were the dreams where Draco stood as the right hand of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. The one whose duty was to dispense punishment to any the Dark Lord deemed unworthy. He’d woken himself up in the early morning hours with the need to vomit after a particularly graphic one of those dreams.

He’d been awake ever since, and the little sleep he’d managed to get had been anything but restful. A yawn snuck out, despite his best attempt to swallow it back. He glanced around quickly, relieved no one had noticed the moment of weakness.

This had to stop. He had to find a way to make the dreams go away. He’d considered going to Snape and asking if for some kind of potion but he still didn’t trust the man much. Dumbledore appeared sure the Potions Master was on his side, enough that he trusted Snape with Potter. The fact that Scarhead had survived five years at Hogwarts with a man who knew how to brew poisons better than he knew how to make breakfast suggested the headmaster might be correct in his trust.

However, Draco was wary by nature, by upbringing, and, now, by necessity. He did not trust anyone but his own mother.

Even his father had betrayed him. By joining with the Dark Lord to begin with. By getting caught and imprisoned. Most of all, by lying to Draco his entire life about the glory and eminence of Voldemort.

No, he wasn’t ready to trust anyone, yet. Especially not anyone with a Dark Mark. He doubted he would ever willingly admit the nature of his vivid dreams to anyone, either. Since there was no way Snape would give Draco anything without dragging the whole story out of him, that option was out.

The same went for Pomfrey, even if he was willing to go anywhere near the hospital wing.

He’d have to find a way to deal with it for himself. After breakfast, he’d tuck himself into the library and find a solution. Somehow.

*

By lunchtime, Draco was frustrated, worn out and ready to scream. Or cry. Hours in the library had brought up only references to Dreamless Sleep potion. He still wasn’t ready to jump through hoops to get it. If he didn’t find another solution soon, though, he might resort to begging.

His body felt like it was rebelling. It took ridiculous amounts of effort just to lift each foot an put it in front of the other. Keeping his eyes from sliding shut was a constant battle. His stomach burned and his head ached.

He had to stop half a dozen times on the way from the library to the Great Hall, leaning against walls and statues, in order to catch his breath and gather energy for the next few feet. Here he was, barely a hundred feet from lunch, huddled on the floor of a rarely used side hallway, praying no one saw the moment of weakness as he tried to gather ambition to make it the rest of the way to the Great Hall.

He knew he was drifting off, sleep calling to him like a siren. He knew he should fight it, to keep the dreams away, but he had nothing left. The hushed, whispered conversation from an alcove farther down the deserted hall woke him up in a way none of his other efforts had.

“How’s Harry? He’s going to be okay, right? Dumbledore said he was awake for awhile the other night.”

Someone should really tell the oaf that his whisper could wake the dead. If he wanted to be covert, he might want to consider sign language.

Despite his self-disgust, though, Draco couldn’t help perking up and listening hard as Pomfrey answered in a somewhat more discreet tone.

“He was awake and alert for a time.”

Draco’s breath hitched a bit, but she didn’t mention anything about unknown visitors. Maybe Potter had kept his presence a secret, after all.

Then his sleep deprived brain realized she hadn’t actually answered the question. She’d never said he was going to be okay. Or even that he was improving.

“Good, that’s good.” The big oaf didn’t notice the evasiveness. “You’ve figured out what’s wrong with him? You know the cure, right?”

“Yes, we know what we need to make Harry better.” She answered the question with precise careful words.

There was no doubt, this time, that she wasn’t telling Hagrid the whole story, though the moron missed it. Something in her voice made Draco think that just because they knew what the cure was, it didn’t mean they could actually get their hands on it.

“Can I see him?”

Draco had no idea why his stomach twitched at the question. What did he care if Potter was allowed visitors? He wasn’t intending to go back.

“It’s not a good idea right now, Hagrid.” Her voice was kind, but firm. “No one’s supposed to know Harry is here. If you start visiting the hospital wing, someone might get curious. Besides, I don’t know when Harry will be awake again.”

The unspoken ‘or if he’ll wake’ resonated in Draco’s head when the two passed out of earshot. The oaf hadn’t caught the implication in Pomfrey’s words but Draco had.

They may know what was wrong with Potter, but they didn’t have the means to fix it. Draco curled tighter in on himself, hugging his knees to his chest, while he fought to keep the painful knot of nausea from rolling through him.

He told himself the sharp-edge fear was simply because Potter was the only hope of the wizarding world. If he died, the world was fucked. Both the Dark Lord and Dumbledore believed Potter was the only one who could defeat You-Know-Who. Draco had no choice but to believe it too. Whether he wanted to, or not.

And, if that weren’t enough, the dreams drove the point home.

He didn’t understand what was going on. Or how he could possibly help. But he was beginning to understand that he wasn’t going to get any peace until he went back and saw Potter again.

 

 

 

Chapter Text

Part Two

Harry wasn’t sure what woke him this time. He held his breath, waiting for the crashing pain of an out of control sense to slam into him. Or the equally horrifying and unnerving sensation when something went completely offline, leaving him blind or deaf or totally numb.

He’d woken up a handful of times since that first night at Hogwarts. Every time, one or more of his senses had been so far out of control, he’d been sure it would eventually drive him completely mad.

Dumbledore, Pomfrey, even Snape kept telling him it was a gift. They were all bloody insane.

How the hell was any of this a gift? Even if he ever managed to get control, to not be constantly at the mercy of his senses, it was yet another thing to set him apart. Another thing making him different from Muggles and wizards alike. Another thing to make him feel like a freak.

Harry Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived. The boy who had Voldemort in his head. Who could talk to snakes. Who, now, could know your deepest secrets with a single sniff.

That is, if he didn’t go catatonic at the sound of a fly buzzing by. How the fuck was he supposed to defeat the Dark Lord like this? Voldemort wouldn’t even need a wand. A quick flicker of a flashlight in his eyes and Harry’d be zoned out and at his mercy.

The only way he’d defeat Voldemort was if the bastard laughed himself to death.

Harry squeezed his eyes tight, refusing to let himself cry. His best chance was the possibility they could find him a Guide. Someone willing to follow Harry around for the rest of his life and make sure he didn’t get distracted by anything shiny.

Dumbledore and Snape hadn’t said, but he’d gotten the impression that finding someone with a high enough level of the rare Astral ability was going to be difficult enough. Compatible willing and trustworthy were going to make it nearly impossible.

Harry tried hard not to think about the first night and the visitor who had definitely been compatible. But he’d run and he hadn’t been back and Harry could not pin his hopes on his visitor ever returning.

The only real hope was that maybe one of his friends would have at least a small level of Astral magic, because he couldn’t imagine a stranger willing to be the kind of nursemaid he’d need. Hell, Harry couldn’t imagine asking one of his friends to do it, either, but that was out of his hands.

Dumbledore was already trying to quietly arrange an excuse for Hermione to come to Hogwarts without arousing suspicion. She apparently had a low level affinity they were hoping would sync with Harry.

Part of him hoped they were right, just so he could maybe start to function again in his fucked up version of normal. The rest of him wasn’t so sure.

For one thing, Ron was already envious of him as it was. He would never understand the whole Sentinel/Guide thing. Even if his friend didn’t admit his feelings for Hermione, all three of them knew they were there. If Hermione could function as his Guide, it might drive a wedge between them all.

Secondly, Hermione was one of his best friends, but she was bossy. And a bit of a know it all. If she felt responsible for Harry, she might very well nag him into a zone out.

However, Harry didn’t think it was going to happen. He hadn’t seen her since his senses had come online, but the idea felt wrong to him. He was pretty sure she wouldn’t be compatible.

Not like the person who had come to him that first night. The memory of warmth, of gentle hands and sweet-spice fragrance eased through him, allowing tense tired muscles to relax back against soft sheets.

Harry’s eyes popped open, though his vision remained dark under the blindfold. He wasn’t just remembering the scent. It was in the room with him. And moving closer.

His entire body buzzed with anticipation and his senses actually settled into some semblance of normal. He whispered the spell that would remove the Bubble of Silence, unable to wait.

Then it was there. The steady, soothing heartbeat he’d been craving for days.

“You came back,” Harry said, unable to keep the surprise out of his whispered words.

He actually felt his visitor freeze. The air stopped moving, the scent and sound and warmth stopped getting closer. Harry held his breath and kept very still, unsure if any movement would send his visitor fleeing again.

Then, slowly, the movement started again, closer, thank Merlin, and his bed dipped slightly as whoever it was sat down next to Harry’s legs.

His hand inched its way over the silk sheets toward the heat he’d begun to label comfortable, restful and safe. A slight shift of weight away from him made him realize what he was doing.

Harry curled his fingers into a tight ball and forced his arm to remain motionless. Every instinct screamed closer, closer, closer. His rational mind was still in charge enough to know scaring away his possible Guide was a bad idea.

Instead, Harry kept his hand to himself and counted heartbeats. When he got to 134, his hand was picked up and cradled between two sets of long, warm fingers.

“I’m so glad you came back.” Harry hadn’t meant to speak but the fervent whisper slipped out.

The fingers flipped his hand over and drew on Harry’s palm.

?

Harry swallowed hard and tried to figure out how to explain without sounding crazy or ridiculously needy.

He settled for honest simplicity. “I feel better when you’re here. I am better when you’re here.”

?

He should have known. Anyone willing to sneak into Pomfrey’s domain wasn’t going to settle for that. Harry took a deep breath and hoped he could find the words to make it make sense, when he didn’t really get it, either.

“My senses our out of control. Either up so high the slightest sensation feels like a thousand knives. Or off completely, which is scary and unnerving. There are people who are compatible, who can be an anchor of sorts, for my senses. As sort of a baseline. My senses settle into a normal range and I can use that baseline to keep them in control. You’re one of those people. For me, I mean.”

Another 73 heartbeats. Then the drawing began on his hand again. Slow. Precise. Distinct.

W. H. A. T. D. O. Y. O. U. N. E. E. D. ?

Harry resisted the urge to blurt out everything. Ignored the instincts clamoring Mine. My Guide. Mine.

“I, um, touch helps a lot. And your scent. And the sound of your heart. The closer the better.”

The last sentence trailed off into a low whisper. Fear he’d said too much clawing from deep in his gut. So much for not seeming too needy.

Then the weight on his bed shifted, the body moving away from Harry with a resigned sigh.

Panic, hot and raw, arced through him. “No. Please. Please don’t go. Please. I didn’t mean… Just sitting is close enough. More than enough. Please, don’t—”

Two fingers landed on his lips and Harry wanted to squirm at the pure, electric pleasure of the simple touch. Then two soft thuds sounded in the silence as something hit the floor and his visitor was climbing into the small bed with Harry.

The stranger wrapped his arms around Harry, pulled him close, and tucked his head into the curve of a neck where the cinnamon vanilla was strong and lush.

“Thank you,” he murmured against soft skin, more grateful than the simple words could express.

He was extremely thankful for what he had. He would not ask for more, he told himself firmly, even as his fingers plucked at the linen shirt. He would not ask for more. He would not be greedy.

“Skin.” Harry heard the word hovering in the air before he realized the needy plea came from his mouth. More words slipped past the lips he tried to seal. “May I touch your skin?”

Another sigh and his companion shifted away again. Not enough to send Harry down another spiral of dread, but enough to have him biting his lip and calling himself a fool. The sound of fabric sliding over skin and dropping to the floor reassured him, though.

Then Harry was back exactly where he wanted to be, wrapped in warm, strong arms. Hot skin was like silk under his fingers and he stroked the smooth back. It was a welcome slide and weight where a chest with only a small smattering of hair pressed against his own. One of the hands on Harry’s back slid up to comb lazily through his hair. Harry nuzzled closer to the spicy scented skin, sighed and relaxed into the embrace. Let himself drift with pleasure and relief.

Despite his enhanced senses, it took Harry several minutes to get past his own comfort and complacency to notice the way the person in his arms tensed with every creak and groan of the castle.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “My hearing is working right, for now. Without the Bubble, I can hear anyone coming with plenty of time for you to sneak away. I’ll warn you.”

His companion shivered a little, then relaxed, going nearly boneless against Harry.

Primitive instincts howled in joy at the demonstration of complete trust his Guide showed in him.

Not his Guide, a sobering part of his brain reminded him. Not yet. The warm bubble of joy and hope in his heart wouldn’t be deflated though.

They stayed like that for two hours, content and quiet and close. Eventually, the hushed sounds of Madame Pomfrey reading and taking notes in her office changed. The book closed. The quill was cleaned and put away. She stood and stretched and moved to put the book back in its place on the shelf. Signs that Harry had delayed the inevitable as long as he dared.

Lifting his head up from its cozy cradle, he whispered, “Hey. Pomfrey will be coming out to check on me in a few minutes.”

The hand still in Harry’s hair tightened slightly, pulling him close. Then the body under him shifted and started to move away. Harry tried not to pout. To be thankful for the time he had. Not to feel stung that his mysterious guest didn’t want anyone to know he had anything to do with Harry Potter.

When the sounds of re-dressing ended, however, he couldn’t help the plea that blurted out of his mouth.

“Will you be back?”

Movement stopped and Harry held his breath. Then one hand cradled his, a finger once again drew precise letters in his palm.

Y. E. S.

Then his palm was raised to soft lips and a gentle kiss was placed in its center.

Stunned, he didn’t move as the heartbeat moved away and the sweet exotic spice faded with it. Reluctantly, Harry reset the Bubble, not wanting to relinquish the rhythmic beat that had become his favorite sound, but knowing his senses would soon be unmanageable without the soothing presence. He turned his head to inhale the scent still lingering on the sheets.

A few minutes later, that’s exactly how Madam Pomfrey found him.

“Oh, Harry, good. You’re awake again.”

He never quite figured out how she knew whether or not he was awake when the blindfold was on. She always did, though.

“How are you feeling tonight?”

“Fine.” He knew the goofy smile behind the bland answer would raise more questions, but he couldn’t seem to turn it down.

After a moment, the matron asked with a tremor of hesitation. “Was he here again?”

Harry tensed but didn’t bother pretending not to know who she was talking about. Still, he answered quietly, “I’d rather not say.”

“Okay, Harry.” He could hear her reluctance and concern but also her acceptance of his wishes. “Let’s check you over then we can both get a good night’s rest.”

Twenty-two hours later, Harry had half convinced himself his late night visitor had been a dream. Then that delicious scent wafted in the air, followed soon by the beautiful rhythm of his favorite heartbeat.

He remained silent, afraid it was a delusion and he might dispel it by speaking. The sounds of shoes being removed, followed by a shirt hitting the floor had his heart beating faster. He held back with all the restraint he had until bare skin brushed against his when his guest slid into bed and snuggled close. Harry finally let himself breathe easy, inhaling deep as he buried his nose against a bared throat.

Hope flared in his heart that, for the first time in his life, something might actually turn out alright for him.

*

Two weeks later, Draco found himself sneaking through the halls near the hospital wing much earlier than usual. It was nearly lunch time and, despite the fact that the wing was usually deserted for the noon meal, he shouldn’t be taking the risk of skulking around in the daytime.

But he couldn’t stay away. He told himself every night it would be the last visit. That he’d done enough already. That he would not risk it again.

Then, each following night, he found himself by the Gryffindor’s bed, losing his shoes and shirt as quickly as possible. Potter was always so happy and appreciative that Draco had returned. The trust, the easy, eager way the Gryffindor welcomed him was overwhelming.

No one had ever trusted Draco with that kind of openness. No one had ever needed him like that. It was both exhilarating and humbling. Of course, if Potter ever found out who his late night visitor really was, that open trust and acceptance would evaporate instantly. Draco’s chest tightened, his breath restricted and he had to force a deep exhale.

It didn’t matter. He’d gotten what he wanted. He had something to hold over Potter and the others if they ever decided he was too much trouble to protect.

As good at deception as Draco was, though, he could never lie to himself. He knew that wasn’t his true motivation, deep down. He found himself craving the contact, needing the nightly visits as much as Potter seemed to.

He was able to sleep well each night for the first time in a very, very long time. Not only because the dreams had receded. Those couple of hours with Potter gave him a sense of peace and contentment he’d never had. It spilled over, lasting through the night and throughout the drag of the next day. Until, late night, when he was jonesing to get to Potter and find a little of that peace again.

That contentment was still with him from the night before. Yet here he was risking way more than he should. Because he thought Harry might need it. Draco rolled his eyes.

At first, things had gotten better for Potter. Each night, when Draco slipped into his bed, he’d chatter about his day. Being able to move around the hospital, able to take the blindfold off for an hour or two and read, even work with Snape some on learning control.

His improvement plateaued quickly, though. Any out of the ordinary noise and Potter zoned. If he pushed his senses beyond the immediate area of the hospital, he’d spike.

The Gryffindor hadn’t said, but Draco got the feeling those couple of hours each night weren’t enough. Now, here he was, hoping the infirmary was empty so maybe he could give Scarhead an hour during the day.

Draco paused before turning the last corner, listening hard for any sound or movement. The creaking of the infirmary door made the Slytherin freeze. Making his breath as shallow as possible so as not to call any undue attention, he waited and listened.

 “He has stabilized, but he is not making any more improvements.” Snape’s voice, obviously discussing Potter, had him listening hard.

“I know.” Dumbledore said and the sad resignation in his voice made Draco’s blood run cold.

“I think we need to start quietly looking through that list of students who have shown some small ability. It’s obvious the bond he’s formed with his secret visitor is neither strong enough nor permanent enough to give Potter the stability he needs to improve. We will need to find someone else for him.”

A hot flare of jealousy and possessiveness brought a snarl to Draco’s lips at Snape’s off-hand comments but he managed to swallow the sound back at the last minute. Harry didn’t need anyone else. Draco could help him better than some stranger.

Then his Slytherin side caught up to his unexpected and unusual reaction. Harry? Since when did he use Scarhead’s first name? Even if only in his own mind? With a sickening, sinking comprehension, he realized it wasn’t even the first time. Somehow over the past two weeks, Potter had slowly become something more than a rival.

Then the rest of what Snape had said settled in with dawning horror. Bond. There was no way he had a bond with Potter.

A slow, thorough search of his mind, though, showed a nascent link with the Boy-Who-Lived. Fuck.

This couldn’t happen. This would not happen. He had run from You-Know-Who rather than take the Dark Mark. He wouldn’t bind himself to the other side, either.

With every skill of mind magic, Occlumency and charm he’d ever learned, Draco blocked off the tiny bond from the rest of his mind and promised himself it would not grow any larger. As soon as he could quietly slip away, he’d put this whole mess behind him.

“… will be here as soon as we can find an excuse that will not arouse suspicion. Hopefully, it will prove a compatible match for Harry.”

Draco dampened another flicker of jealousy. It would be good if Harry found another anchor. Then no one would expect Draco to be at Potter’s beck and call. To become nothing more than an appendage to the Boy-Who-Lived.

As soon as Dumbledore and Snape were out of earshot, Draco ran in the other direction. He would not think about Harry, waiting in vain tonight for Draco. Dumbledore would find someone to help him soon, and he’d be fine.

An annoying thought slipped through his mind. Harry might be okay, but would Draco ever find that kind of peace again?

*

Harry lay listlessly in bed, staring at the black emptiness of his blindfold, trying hard not to let anything catch his attention enough to cause another zone out. Pomfrey, Dumbledore, and Snape were doing everything they could think of to keep spikes to a minimum, but Harry’s life had descended nearly back to the continuous loop of pain and unconsciousness which had defined his first few days at Hogwarts that summer.

The days before his nightly visitor had first started coming regularly.

Those visits had stopped as abruptly as they’d started, though.

The first day hadn’t been that bad. He’d managed to stay conscious through most of it and the spikes had been little more than a minor nuisance. Mostly he had dwelled on what could have kept his visitor away.

He swung between worry and anger and fear.

Terror wormed its way through him at the thought something might have happened to him. Pomfrey and Dumbledore, though, had reassured Harry that no one had been hurt or disappeared from the castle.

That left Harry to wonder if he had done something to drive his Guide away. He knew he talked too much at night, held on to tight. Had his neediness driven his Guide away?

He wracked his brain, trying to remember if the last night together. Had he clung to long? Said something that might have offended or upset? He hadn’t said the word Guide out loud, afraid of demanding too much, too soon. Even though he’d been possessively calling the stranger that in his own mind since the second night.

Or, perhaps, his Guide had simply tired of the effort it took to sneak around the school. It was obvious, from the beginning that he had not wanted to be associated with the infamy of Harry Potter. Whether it was simply not wanting to be a part of his ridiculously high profile life or because he considered Harry a freak, like so many people did, it didn’t matter.

Harry was alone again. Part of him wanted to give in. To let the next zone out take him to the sheltering darkness and simply never come back. But he had a duty and a responsibility. He couldn’t leave the world to Voldemort. Giving up and letting the Dark Lord win would make him as bad as the Death Eaters. Worse. He would be betraying everyone he cared about.

To distract himself from maudlin thoughts, he did a quick scan of his senses the way Snape had been drilling him to do on a regular basis. Sight seemed normal, though it was always hard to tell for sure with the blindfold. The same with hearing and the Bubble. Smell seemed to be completely offline at the moment, and, if his experience with lunch was anything to go by, so was taste.

His sense of touch, however, had ratcheted up high and completely out of control. Harry’s skin felt raw and broken and he was staying absolutely still to keep the silk, and even the air, from moving over the multitude of nerves that felt exposed and defenseless.

Though the Bubble of Silence still surrounded him, he was tuned so high he could actually feel the vibrations of several sets of feet moving through the hospital wing.

He squeezed his eyelids shut and tried to focus on anything but the agonizing pain the movement caused. He was surprised when the vibrations stopped right outside the curtains surrounding him.

He never had visitors, other than Snape or Dumbledore. There had been way too many sets of feet for it to be even both of them. Yet, when someone moved within the Bubble and spoke, it was the Potions Master’s voice.

“Are you awake, Potter?”

For a second, he considered feigning sleep but, in general, Snape avoided him unless it was important. They had settled into an uneasy truce over the past few weeks. The snark was kept to a minimum but there was still little love lost between them.

“Yeah,” he croaked, throat dry and feeling a little unused. He’d barely spoken since the night he’d realized he’d been abandoned by his Guide. Potential Guide.

“Good.” Dumbledore’s voice surprised him a little, as he hadn’t felt the headmaster’s movement. But then, the older man often managed to surprise his senses. “We have some guests to see you.”

Harry’s body twitched in surprise and he gasped at the slight shock of pain it caused his skin. Guests? They hadn’t even let Hagrid visit him for fear of others discovering his whereabouts or condition. He’d begun to feel like the rest of the world had forgotten about him.

Two more sets of feet moved closer with cautious, shuffling steps.

“Harry?” A soft, feminine voice floated over him. “How are you feeling?”

“’Mione?” He turned his head slightly toward her voice. Then shifted again toward the cadence of breathing that sounded familiar from years of sharing a dorm. “Ron?”

“Yeah, Harry. I’m here too.” Ron’s usually boisterous voice sounded weird in the low whisper. Apparently they’d been warned about his condition.

“S’okay. Hearing is normal for now. Okay to talk.”

It was Dumbledore who spoke next, however. “Harry, are you feeling any better at all, now? Any changes?”

He did another quick scan, but everything remained the same. He licked his lips and shook his head gently. “No changes. Why?”

“Hermione has a low level affinity with the Astral planes. We were hoping she might be at least partially compatible. Enough to help you function somewhat. Especially, since the other one doesn’t seem to be helping anymore.”

“Other one?” Ron asked, followed by the soft sound of Hermione’s elbow hitting his ribs.

Harry ignored the byplay and admitted, “He stop coming.”

For a brief flicker of desperation, Harry considered asking them to find his mysterious guest. His instincts screamed at him to protect his Guide, though. Even if protecting his Guide meant allowing him to disappear from Harry’s life.

“Hermione, move closer,” Snape commanded. “From my reading, touch is the most grounding. Perhaps if you put your hand on his, it will have more effect.”

Harry could hear her move close and the air stirred over him in a way that told him she was reaching out towards him. Every muscle tensed and every instinct screamed wrong, wrong, wrong. His raw skin prickled before contact was even made and he shouted.

“No!”

Hermione gasped and another rush of air past over him as she snatched her arm back.

“Sorry,” he panted. “But you’re not… you don’t feel like… or smell… sorry…”

His words trailed off as he tried to figure out how to explain how he just knew she wasn’t compatible.

“It’s alright, Potter. The studies I’ve read, also say a Sentinel will instinctively know those who are compatible.” Surprisingly, it was Snape who quietly reassured him.

The awkward silence stretched for awhile before Dumbledore interrupted it with a cheerfulness that sounded a little forced to Harry’s ears.

“Well, since that business is over, you three can catch up and enjoy each other’s company. Everyone believes Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley are here for extracurricular lessons of magical first aid with Madam Pomfrey. No one will expect you to leave the hospital wing for several hours. Severus, you and I should leave them to enjoy their afternoon.”

Once the two faculty members left, Harry let out a soft laughed and turned his head a little toward where he knew Ron stood. “Telling everyone she dragged you here for extra classes in the summer, huh?”

“Yeah, mate. Scary thing is, everyone believed it and gave me that sympathetic look.”

Hermione huffed but then joined them in their laughter. The ice broken, his two best friends pulled up chairs and they began to swap stories about their summer.

As the afternoon wore on, Harry found himself relaxing and the worst of the itching and burning subsided a little. It wasn’t anything like having his Guide near, but the simple pleasure of friends allowed him to focus on something other than his constant discomfort.

Harry told them what he remembered about the ordeal in the woods and some of what he’d experienced at Hogwarts. However, he left out any mention of his late night visitor, since it seemed they hadn’t heard about it yet. It was still too raw, too personal, too deep to share, even with his best friends.

In return, Hermione told him all about the things she’d been studying and the museum she’d visited. Ron told him about the twin’s latest antics and Ginny’s constant practice on her broom.

“… and Charlie might come home for the winter holiday this year. And Bill said the Order is working on a memorial stone for Sirius at Grimmauld Place…”

White noise clouded over Harry’s ears, a sharp twisting of dark memories burrowed deep in his chest and left a bone deep hurt in its wake.

Sirius.

Merlin. Sirius. He’d barely thought of his godfather since waking at Hogwarts, so caught up in his own uncomfortable situation.

He’d grieved the whole first half of the summer, locked up in his bedroom on Privet Drive. Replayed every second, knew every misstep he’d made. Knew every turn where he could have made a different choice. A choice that would have ended with Sirius alive and well and with him.

Every time a memory of Sirius had slipped in since he’d come online, he’d either spiked out of control or zoned out.

Beyond the static buzzing in his ears, he heard Ron and Hermione arguing and agitated.

“… Why did you mention… Snape said… senses tied to emotion… Harry? Harry…”

The pain, the guilt, the self-loathing spiraled, the agony along every inch of his skin roared back and, instinctively, Harry reached out for his Guide. The scent had long since faded from his skin and the sheets. For a second, as he sent his senses spiraling out into the castle, he could have sworn the sweet exotic scent of his Guide hung just beyond the room. It was faint and hours old and trailed away, back to the main part of the school. He pushed his senses, tried harder and harder to follow it, to find some solace until the world finally went completely still and black again.

*

Stupid. What the fuck had he been thinking, hovering so near the hospital wing? Draco had made his decision. He had no reason to be there. No reason to feel this way just because he’d seen Harry’s friends go in to visit him.

Draco bit his lip. Not Harry. Potter. Just Potter. Nothing more.

Despite the balmy summer evening, Draco huddled on the floor in front of the lit fireplace in the Slytherin common room. He just couldn’t get warm. He sat with his legs drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped tight around them and his chin on his knees as he stared into the flames.

He shouldn’t care that Potter’s holier-than-thou friends were in residence. He should be relieved. Let one of them bond with him. Or both of them could become his thrall for all Draco cared. It wasn’t a job he wanted. He’d given up everything to be free of the Dark Lord. He wasn’t going to tie himself to the other side with the same kind of shackles.

But he’d been there, on his near-constant perch in a hidden alcove right down the hall from the infirmary door when Snape and Dumbledore brought Granger and Weasley to the hospital wing. Draco’s heart had constricted as he’d watched, threatening to burst with frustration and emotions he refused to put a name to.

Then he’d run. Like he was being chased, when no one even knew he was there. He’d run from the hospital wing, from Potter, but, most of all, he’d tried to run from his own inexplicable reaction.

Draco hugged his legs a little tighter and blamed his absurd response on lack of sleep. Hell, the whole aberrant urge to stalk the hospital wing was probably a product of sleep deprivation.

It wasn’t like he could blame his sleepless nights on the dreams, though. They’d been conspicuously absent. Draco had expected them to roar back into his life with a vengeance once he’d made his decision to run from the hospital wing and Har-Potter.

But they hadn’t. Not even a flicker. Of course, part of it could be because he immediately began to think about Potter every time he laid down. Wondering how bad he was suffering. If he was getting enough sleep. If he’d managed to get out of the bed and the Bubble that day.

That part of Draco wanted to open the link between them and peek. Just check on Potter for a second.

Every night, he fought his own mind, struggling to keep the connection sealed up tight.

Every time he closed his eyes, he missed the peace, the contentment he’d found in being accepted unconditionally. Of being held close. Of being needed. Instead, he felt jagged and raw, like he was a walking open wound.

He should be happy Hermione or Ron might be who Snape meant when he said someone was coming who could possibly help Potter. It was obvious, now that he had time to reflect, that Snape and Dumbledore had meant there were others who could do what he did for Harry.

It was a relief. Really. He could step back and let someone else be responsible and clear his own conscience of the boy’s suffering.

But he didn’t want to, damn it. He wanted to be the one who got that bright, welcoming smile. The easy acceptance of open arms. The one who felt Potter relax against him, felt the pain and tension leave his body.

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Beyond stupid, really, because the second Potter realized who he’d been snuggling with, it would all end, anyway. There’d be no open trust, no easy acceptance, no unconditional anything.

Nobody in the wizarding world trusted a Malfoy. Not those who followed Dumbledore, who’d watched Lucius Malfoy destroy the family name with acts of scheming and depravity in the spirit of the Dark Lord. Certainly not the Death Eaters, who Draco had betrayed by the simple act of running away.

No, he had no hope for more than grudging acceptance from the Hogwarts crew. But, at least, he wouldn’t be tortured for bowing incorrectly.

The sensation of being watched prickled along the back of his neck and he looked up to find Segundus staring, hands wringing in front of him.

“What do you want?”

The second year squealed, dropped his gaze and hunched back into the shadows, mumbling something about dinner.

Draco checked the time, realized exactly how long it had been since he’d run away from the hospital wing and heaved himself up. He was a Malfoy and would not show weakness. He’d managed to keep up appearances so far. He wasn’t about to start pining away in his dorm like some bloody gothic novel character.

“Let’s go,” he said, without even looking back to see if the younger student was following.

At first glance, the atmosphere during dinner seemed the same as every other meal since Draco had stopped his nightly visits to the hospital wing. Draco barely tasted his food as he covertly watched the High Table.

Professor McGonagall looked pinched and concerned, as usual. Snape and Dumbledore still exchanged worried whispers. Hagrid looked forlorn and Pomfrey continued to look determined and forcefully cheerful.

Except, tonight, an undercurrent of intensity ran beneath the surface. McGonagall was paler and the stern lines were drawn more sharply along her face. Snape and Dumbledore passed a paper back and forth, there whispers more urgent as Snape pointed out lines and Dumbledore alternately nodded or shook his head. Redness rimmed Hagrid’s eyes and a hint of dampness sparkled in his beard. Pomfrey’s lower lip quivered with emotions every time she looked up from the plate.

This wasn’t good. Something had happened, Draco was sure of it.

Reaching deep inside, he ripped off the seals he’d been carefully building and reinforcing for days. He touched the link with determination. At first, there was nothing but a blank, impenetrable darkness. His breath stopped as dread threatened to crush him.

He forced it back, forced himself to think rationally. Potter was not dead. The mood would be much grimmer at the High Table if all hope was gone. And, without knowing how he knew, Draco was certain he would feel it the second Potter died.

With a long breath to replace the air he’d lost, Draco dug deep and followed the thin link underneath the darkness.

Pain. A constant current of agony that made every muscle tense.

Then waves of profound loneliness crashed through him. A deep and never-ending chasm of isolation. The harsh, cold awareness of being abandoned. Again.

“Fuck!”

Draco didn’t notice the surprised reaction to his outburst.

Didn’t notice the crashing of the chair as he pushed himself up and ran for the door.

Didn’t notice the way every eye in the room watched with stunned curiosity as he sprinted out of the Great Hall.

Draco only knew he was needed. He had to get to Harry.

*

The dead run from the Great Hall to the hospital wing registered as nothing more than a blur. It was only when Draco pushed through the curtains and saw Hermione and Ron next to the bed of a much too still Harry that he even paused and thought about what he was doing.

In that moment of hesitation, the two Gryffindors pushed away their dinner trays, leaping to their feet to standing stalwartly between Draco and their friend. The part of his brain not completely consumed with the need to get to Harry was grateful they’d had the forethought to move outside the Bubble.

“What are you doing here?” Hermione demanded, balled hands resting on her hips.

“I need to see Har-Potter.” He swallowed back the slip and forced his best superior smirk.

“We’re not letting you anywhere near Harry. You need to get out of here now, before you regret it.” Ron said with narrowed eyes. The Weasel stepped forward, no doubt in an effort to bully Draco backwards, but he held his ground. He had to. This was too important.

Hermione’s bushy head peeked around Ron’s shoulder with a furrowed frown. “You’re not even supposed to know Harry’s here. How did you find out? Have you been spying?”

Her wand was in her hand as soon as the words crossed her lips.

Draco knew this was going to get out of hand, quickly, because he couldn’t let them stand in his way and there was no way they were going to listen to him anytime soon.

His fingers were wrapping around the base of his wand when the infirmary door banged open. Several sets of feet scurried towards them and Draco paused, but left his fingers touching the wood, just in case.

The curtains were pushed aside and Madame Pomfrey was the first to appear. Shortly followed by Dumbledore, Snape, McGonagall, and Hagrid.

“Mr. Malfoy,” the matron puffed out between panting breaths. It was obvious the faculty members had followed him from the Great Hall at a run. “What are you doing here? You do not have permission to visit Mr. Potter.”

Draco shrugged and stood his ground, turning slightly to face her without completely turning his back on the Weasel and carefully keeping Harry in sight.

“He needs me. Look, he knows I’m here.”

Ron snorted. “Right. Harry Potter needs Draco Malfoy? That’ll be the day.”

But Hermione was watching the Boy-Who-Lived with narrowed eyes as he began to sniff at the air. Draco could feel him starting to fight through the pain and darkness in a struggle back toward consciousness.

Before Draco could snidely put Weasley in his place, Snape stepped in front of him with wide-eyed shock. If the situation weren’t already so out of hand the expression would have been funny.

“You?” The Potions Master asked with complete disbelief. “It was you?”

Draco just shrugged, a little embarrassed to be caught doing something altruistic by his Head of House. Even if he still had doubts about exactly where Snape’s loyalties lay.

“Him, what?” Ron’s smug amusement slipped a little as confusion took over. The adults were all looking at Draco with varying degrees of appraisal.

“Ron, we’ll explain later, please step aside and let Mr. Malfoy get closer to Mr. Potter.” McGonagall used her best no-nonsense voice.

Of course, the Gryffindor couldn’t be rational. Instead of moving away, he stepped right back into Draco’s space, all that righteous indignation flowing right back into his stance.

“Are you mental? You can’t let Malfoy near Harry when he’s that vulnerable!”

“Mr. Weasley.”

“Ron.” Hermione tugged on the ginger’s arm and the Weasel belatedly realized exactly who he’d spoken to with such disrespect.

“Uh, sorry, Professor McGonagall. But… it’s Malfoy…”

Dumbledore finally pushed forward, and placed a comforting hand on the Gryffindor’s shoulder.

“You’re loyalty is admirable, Ron. But you need to trust us on this. No one here would ever allow anything to happen to Harry.”

As he spoke, the Headmaster carefully maneuvered Ron and Hermione further away from the bed.

When the path was clear, Dumbledore tilted his head in silent approval for Draco to move closer.

Draco’s heart sped up. Extremely self-conscious and aware of seven sets of eyes on him, he stopped with his legs barely brushing the edge of the bed and tried to ignore his audience. At least the Bubble insulated him from any commentary they might be making.

His hand trembled a little when he reached out and brushed his fingers across the back of Harry’s hand.

The effect was as instantaneous and explosive as the first time he’d found Harry in the hospital wing. The Gryffindor went from prone to sitting up without seeming to have moved at all. One hand wrapped around Draco’s wrist, tugging him closer so the other arm could snake around his shoulders and the cool nose could burrow into his neck.

Audience forgotten, Draco slid his arms around Harry and moved closer.

“You came back.” The words whispered across Draco’s neck and he shivered a little at the warm caress of breath. Not quite ready to give himself away, yet, Draco only squeezed tight in response. He closed his eyes and let himself enjoy the moment, before his anonymity was stripped away.

*

Harry followed the scent of his Guide back up from the foggy depths of his own mind. When he reached the surface of his awareness, he found himself wrapped around his Guide. The sweet smell filling his nose, the soothing heartbeat under his ear and the smooth warm hands running over his back.

Harry sighed contentedly, snuggling a little closer and letting his senses anchor into his Guide. He wanted to demand answers, wanted to know where he’d been, why he’d stayed away.

Instead, he heard himself murmur, “You came back.”

The hands on his back tightened, pulling him close. After a minute or two, one finger began to trace over his shoulder.

S.O.R.R.Y.

The air around them shifted, and soft footsteps he’d learned to recognize as Pomfrey’s crossed over the boundary of the Bubble moving purposefully toward the bed. Harry’s fingers grasped at the shirt under his hands. Would his Guide run at being found with Harry? But the hands remained on his skin, the embrace didn’t even loosen and Harry let himself relax a little.

“Harry, how are you feeling?” She asked quietly.

“Good. Better.” He clung to the solid reality of his Guide. “Much better.”

“I know this is going to be difficult, Harry, but I need a moment alone with you to, er, well, to make sure everything is okay.”

His Guide’s entire body snapped taut and he started to shift away. Panicked, Harry clung tighter, terrified his lifeline was going to disappear again. He shook his head in mute refusal. He knew he was acting like a petulant child but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t ready to lose the sweet sense of peace again so soon.

“I promise Harry, it will only be a minute or two…”

He tuned Pomfrey out as his Guide started writing on his skin again.

B.E. B.A.C.K. S.O.O.N. P.R.O.M.I.S.E.

“Yeah?” Harry tilted his head back and whispered, trying hard not to sound too needy.

Y.E.S.

With an unsteady exhale, he loosened his grasp and settled back.

Pomfrey was nattering about what she was doing and what Harry could expect, but his mind was completely focused on his Guide scent as the heartbeat disappeared outside the Bubble.

*

Draco moved beyond the curtained cubicle to give them a little privacy, but stayed close to the slight opening of the fabric so he could keep his eye on Potter. His spine stayed straight and his remained expression bored and aloof as he faced down the collected peanut gallery.

Ron and Hermione glared at him with open suspicion. McGonagall was her usual pinched, disapproving self. Hagrid alternated between hopeful and horrified stares. Snape’s shock and disgust was expected. Dumbledore’s wide, approving smile freaked him out the most.

“Well done, my boy. Well done.” Dumbledore nodded in support, while the others stared at the headmaster with open mouths and wide eyes.

Ron was the first to recover, closing his gaping mouth with an audible snap before speaking. “You can’t be serious.”

The others jumped in, a cacophony of agreements and demands and questions that made Draco very happy the Bubble was still in place to protect Harry. Also had him wishing he could protect his own ears by stepping back into it.

“This will never work.”

“He’ll hurt Harry.”

“They’ll kill each other.”

Snape’s voice rose above the others. “Dumbledore, these two will never be able to work together. We must find someone else.”

“There is no one else. For now, anyway. Perhaps once term starts. Until then, Harry needs a Guide and Draco seems willing to do it.”

Snape turned to stare at Draco with an arched eyebrow and Draco fought hard not to squirm under the penetrating stare. “Are you willing to be Potter’s temporary Guide, Mr. Malfoy?”

He shrugged. “I guess. What exactly is a Guide?”

As the Potions Master explained what would be expected of him, he noticed Hermione from the corner of his eye. Of all of them, she’d remained silent, glancing between Draco and Harry, over and over again.

When Snape was finished talking, she finally spoke.

“He doesn’t know does he? Harry, I mean. He doesn’t know it’s you.”

Draco shrugged, feigning nonchalance as best as he could. “Probably not. It hasn’t come up.”

The Weasel’s eyes went wide then narrowed to angry slits. Finally, he spit out, “Harry’s going to flip!”

Draco swallowed hard, but refused to show anything but bored disinterest as another round of debate thundered through the infirmary.

The second Pomfrey stepped back and looked as if she were done, Draco slipped back into the cubicle, unnoticed by the others. As soon as he touched Potter, he found himself pulled back onto the bed with a relieved sigh from the Boy-Who-Lived. He looked over to see seven incredulous faces and he flashed a smug smile. He’d effectively ended the argument, at least, for now.

Draco stretched out, kicked off his shoes and snuggled closer as Pomfrey deliberately closed the curtains, blocking them from the view of the others. Harry was already drifting off to sleep, and Draco felt his own eyes growing heavy.

*

Draco woke slowly, completely relaxed and refreshed for the first time in days. He was wrapped up in warmth and safety and comfort. A head full of soft hair rested on his shoulder, a pliant body curled around him, a large rough hand lazily stroked up and down his arm.

It was a good way to wake up in the morning.

Morning. Fuck.

His muscles locked rigid as alarmed thoughts rolled through his head. He’d stayed too long. He was going to get caught. Potter was going to figure out who he was.

The hand on his arm stopped moving abruptly, the head and body pulled away, allowing cool air to move between them. A sigh, heavy with resignation and defeat filled the cubicle.

“I still have the blindfold on,” Harry said with a tremor of hesitation. “Tempting as it was, I knew you’d disappear again if I peeked.”

Draco’s brain finally caught up and he remembered it was okay that he was here. Even though Potter’s entourage all knew about him, he still had a choice. He could walk away right now and keep the memories of being wanted. Needed. Without having to face the rejection he knew was coming.

Nobody wanted him to be Harry’s Guide, anyway. Except maybe Dumbledore. They would never tell the Boy-Who-Lived it was a Malfoy he’d been snuggling up with.

But Draco remembered the endless well of loneliness he’d touched inside of Harry, filled with a lifetime of abandonment, in one form or another. For once, his compassion overrode his self-preservation.

If this, whatever it was, was going to end, it would be Potter who ended it, not Draco.

Carefully, he inched closer to Potter and picked up his unresisting hand. With slow, reverence, Draco brushed his lips over the palm, like he had the first night, and every night after, to say goodbye.

“Are you leaving then?” Potter asked in a voice thick with something he tried hard to suppress.

Draco moved the hand to his cheek and slowly shook his head no. He wasn’t saying goodbye to Potter. He was saying goodbye to the easy, open, unconditional thing they’d had going.

Because, in a moment, things were going to get complicated.

With slow, careful movements, he put his fingers on the blindfold and waited. Potter gulped a deep breath, seeming to understand this would change everything. Then he nodded slowly in agreement.

Draco carefully pushed the fabric up and off, ruffling the ridiculous hair even more. The Gryffindor blinked rapidly and tried to focus, deep wrinkles appearing on his forehead. Then those pretty green eyes latched onto Draco. They closed and opened in a slow blink of disbelief.

Then he gave a decidedly un-hero-like squeak and scuttled backward until he fell off the bed. Draco rolled his eyes and was grateful he’d fallen inside the edge of the Bubble. Hopefully, that meant no one had heard or would come running.

“What the hell are you doing here, Malfoy?”

Draco leaned over the edge of the bed and glared down. He’d known it was coming and still it hurt to see the suspicion and wariness looking back at him.

“Same thing I’ve been doing for weeks. Saving your ass.”

There was that familiar stubborn defiance Draco was accustomed to.

“Go away. I don’t need you. Just leave me alone.”

Draco growled at the blatant lie. “Not that long ago, you were begging me to stay. What happens when I walk out those curtains? How long until you’re a whimpering wreck in this bed again?”

Shock flickered to be replaced by fury on the golden boy’s face.

Draco knew he was handling this all wrong. It was easier to hide behind the arrogant mask of Malfoy superiority he’d been cultivating for years, though. Better than leaving open all his vulnerable spots for Potter to poke at.

It hurt to have all that contempt aimed at him again. He’d been inured to it before. Made himself learn to be amused by it.

Now, though, he was used to something else from Potter. Ridiculous and pathetic as it was, Draco wanted that something else back.

The Boy-Who-Lived stood up, brushed himself off and glared at Draco, who was lounging with studied casualness on Potter’s bed.

“Dumbledore will find someone else to help me.”

That should not send icy spikes of jealousy through Draco’s heart. But it did. And the arrogant sneer was an instant and automatic response.

“That’s worked out really well so far. You’ve been here for weeks and I’m the only one who could help you. They didn’t even find me. Face it, Scarhead. You’re stuck with me. At least until term starts.”

Some of the Gryffindor cockiness fell away and a hint of uncertainty slipped in.

“But you’re a Death Eater,” he whined.

“Oh, for the love of…” Draco hauled himself up onto his knees on the bed and pushed back both sleeves. “Look, no Dark Mark.”

Potter pursed his lips and continued to looked suspicious, if a little less sure of himself. “Well, your parents are Death Eaters.”

A twinge of loss and pain surged through his lungs but he refused to show it. Instead he rolled his eyes and flashed a callous smirk.

“My father is safely tucked away in Azkaban. My mother has never had the Dark Mark. Besides, I don’t even—” Draco’s voice hitched and he glared, daring Potter to say anything. “She had to go into hiding when I decided to sell my soul to Dumbledore, rather than You-Know-Who.”

“So you’re on our side, now?” Disbelief battled with something Draco couldn’t name in Potter’s voice.

Draco refused to even speculate what that something else could be. He looked away, unable to hold the indifferent façade as he was forced to talk about things he considered private.

“I was never not on your side. It’s just, anything I did or said reflected on my parents. If I wasn’t a perfect little carbon copy of my father, they’d bear the penance for it.”

That only got him a raised eyebrow. Draco laughed a little, letting a little more of the mask slip because it was getting hard to hold. And because he wanted Potter to see him. To see Draco, not Malfoy.

“Look, I’m not saying I’m not an arrogant prick, but I’m not stupid either. After the whole Chamber of Secrets thing, I realized how fucked up it all was. I started thinking for myself instead of blindly parroting everything my father said. But there was nothing I could do. Not without giving up everything.”

He waited while Potter digested that, searching Draco’s face, probably looking for lies. Draco merely waited.

“So what changed?” Potter finally asked. “Why now?”

The disheartened sigh escaped before he could shore up his walls, and Draco slumped a little as what his life had come to slammed into his body

“My father is in prison. The Dark Lord tort—” Draco couldn’t say it. Didn’t want to remember it. “He took it out on my mother. Expected me to take my father’s place. It came down to giving up everything. My family. The manor. My friends. My life. Or take the Dark Mark.”

Potter inhaled with a sharp sound and went still. Draco ignored him and hurried to finish what he had to say.

“So I sent my mother away, closed up the manor and ran to Dumbledore.”

Potter remained still and watchful and Draco sighed in frustration.

“Look, I didn’t have a lot to offer your side. Some books and Dark Magic artifacts from my father’s collection. Some information I got the feeling Dumbledore already knew.”

Draco waved a hand between them. “This is something I can do to prove I’m useful. It’s in my best interest to keep you healthy and capable of defeating You-Know-Who. Let me help you. For now, at least. Until Dumbledore and Snape can find you someone more… acceptable.”

Potter ran a hand through his dark, messy hair. “I suppose, if you were going to hurt me, you had plenty of time to do it already.”

Draco snorted at the statement of the obvious. “It would have been easier before everyone knew I was the one sneaking in. Of course, if I’d really wanted to do some damage, I’d have just stayed away.”

“Everyone knows?”

“Well, everyone who knows you’re here, yeah.”

“This is probably going to end in disaster, isn’t it?” Potter smiled a genuine smile at him. “You and me working together, I mean.”

“Yeah, but just think of how much fun we can have, fucking with the whole school’s perceptions.”

Draco held out a tentative hand, remembering the last time he’d offered it and been rejected by Potter.

Harry however, did not hesitate at all to clasp Draco’s fingers in his. He watched as the Sentinel visibly relaxed at the contact and those protective instincts he hadn’t even known he had a few weeks ago kicked in to high gear.

“You’re hurting. Come here.” He tugged Potter back onto the bed. Remembering some of the only half heard lecture he added, “Snape said you’re emotions can mess with your senses.”

They didn’t cuddle up like they had when the blindfold offered a buffer, but they lay shoulder to shoulder with hands still tangled together. It wasn’t long before both of them fell back into the peaceful embrace of sleep.

Chapter Text

Part Three

The sudden sound of whispered voices mid-conversation drew Harry up from the contented depths of sleep. Instincts he barely recognized made him shift closer to his Guide, planting himself firmly between Malfoy and any threat crossing the Bubble.

The familiar sound of Hermione and Ron arguing, however, was somewhat soothing in its normality. Harry let his muscles relax and his mind drifted while his senses lingered over Malfoy. The sleepy scent, the slower, steady heartbeat, the warmth of his Guide’s body where it pressed against Harry.

“I still say it’s just abnormal and wrong. Slytherins and Gryffindors are natural enemies. Harry and Malfoy hate each other. This is never going to work.”

“Ron, I’ve been reading the Sentinel and Guide treatise Professor Snape gave me. The important thing, at the moment, is that Harry has someone who keeps him stable.”

“C’mon, Hermione. You can’t possibly think this is a good idea. You don’t trust Malfoy, do you?”

“Well, no. We’ll simply have to watch Harry’s back. The timing is a little suspicious. The fact that Malfoy volunteered makes me wonder about his ulterior motive. But Professor Dumbledore has asked us to give it time… ”

“Bah, Dumbledore sees good in everyone. He still thinks Snape is on our side…”

Harry knew his friends well enough to know this was going to go on until someone separated them but he didn’t have the energy or interest to intervene. Instead, he tuned them out in favor of listening to the rhythm of Malfoy’s heart.

He knew he should feel the same way his friends did. He didn’t completely trust the Slytherin but he thought about what Malfoy had said. What he’d had to give up in order not to be forced to take the Dark Mark. He’d had to give up his home, his family, his friends. The things Harry had been longing for all his life.

He’d finally found a home at Hogwart’s, and a family of sorts in Gryffindor. And more friends than he’d ever expected. If he were asked to give that all up now, he didn’t know for sure what he’d do. Losing Sirius had nearly destroyed him. He couldn’t imagine giving up everyone and everything he cared about in one fell swoop.

When you add to it Malfoy had been brought up to believe in Voldemort’s bullshit, Harry found a reason to at least give him the benefit of the doubt. Especially when the Slytherin could have kept his mouth shut and let Harry suffer.

No, he didn’t completely trust the Malfoy and probably never would but, for now, he needed him. Harry was willing to give him a chance to prove he meant it when he said he’d switched sides.

The heart beat under his head increased, the muscles tensing and inching away from Harry and he realized his Guide was awake. And listening to his friends dissect his character.

Harry was about to say something when Malfoy spoke up for himself.

“You two are aware you’re inside the Bubble, right? Not that I’d expect manners from either of you.”

“Shut up, ferret. Nobody believes you want to help. You’ve weaseled your way in so you can spy.”

“I’m not the Weasel in the room, you moron.”

“Enough!”

Harry sat up, forgetting for a minute he had only the sheet and boxers as cover. Again, he put his body between his Guide and possible threat without thinking about it. Even though the ‘threats’ were his best friends.

“Malfoy could have let me die. No one has said it, but I know that’s what everyone is tiptoeing around.”

Behind him, he heard the blond gasp. Okay, maybe not everyone had realized it, but the identical, stoic looks his friends wore told him that they, at least had figured it out. Or, more likely Hermione had figured it out and shared it with Ron.

Behind him a warm hand landed gently in the middle of his back, heating his skin and grounding him. It also reminded him of his nearly naked state.

He felt the blush crawl up his face and down his chest and snatched the sheet to cover up as best as he could.

From the glare Ron was aiming somewhere past Harry’s shoulder, the Sentinel could only assume Malfoy was flashing his patented smirk. He was beginning to realize that superior mask might be as much defense mechanism as it was arrogance.

“Look, we don’t all need to be best friends. We’re going to have to figure out how to get along, though, because, for the foreseeable future we have to work together.”

The hand on his back dropped away, and Ron’s glare lessened but the scowl remained. Hermione looked thoughtful.

“We don’t have to be friends at all.”

The bitter words came from behind him. Harry turned surprised eyes on his Guide.

“I know I am not what you would have chosen, Potter. I don’t expect you to like me. I don’t expect your friends to invite me to tea. I just expect a little acknowledgement that I am helping you and a little respect.”

“I do appreciate it.” Remembering the days without his Guide’s touch sent a shiver of apprehension down his back. “They just need a little time to adjust. I had a couple of weeks to get to know you, even if I didn’t know it was you. Even if we didn’t actually talk.”

Malfoy didn’t speak just arched an eyebrow in a way that made Harry a little jealous that he’d never figured out how to do it.

“Actually, it’s probably a good idea if we’re not friends.”

Harry shot Hermione a hard look, when the icy-cold indifferent mask slipped back over Malfoy’s face.

Her hands waved as she talked. “I mean we shouldn’t be seen by the school as friends. If everyone sees us suddenly hanging out after five years of hostility, they’re going to wonder about it. They’ll be nosy and try to figure out why. If even one person knows about the history of Sentinels in Harry’s family, they might put it together. We need to keep Harry’s ability a secret for as long as we can.”

“How is that going to work, when I feel like I need to be with him all the time?”

Hermione pulled a book out of her bag and flipped through several pages. “‘As the bond stabilizes, the Sentinel will gain more control over his senses and will no longer need the constant presence of his Guide. They will need to regularly renew and reaffirm the bond through physical contact. The stabilization process can take anywhere from a few days to a few months.’”

“And we have what, two weeks until term starts?” There was a sneer in Malfoy’s voice but a surprisingly mild one for him.

“Well, it does go on to say the more the pair train together and stay in physical contact, the quicker the bond will stabilize.”

“What’s that book? Where did you get it?” Malfoy demanded.

“Snape gave it to me. It’s a treatise on the initial bonding and training techniques for new Sentinel-Guide pairs.”

Just like that, Hermione and Malfoy were discussing the book and research and the training methods. Harry and Ron looked on as both of them forgot their acrimony and immersed themselves in a conversation about theory and concepts and doctrine.

Harry quickly lost the ability to follow the conversation and looked over at Ron, whose furrowed brow suggested he was just as lost. Ron glanced back and shrugged, frown replaced by a puzzled grin.

Maybe they couldn’t be friends, but it looked like they’d at least be able to find some common ground.

*

Two weeks into the term, Draco focused on the irritation and annoyance fostered by his treatment at the hands of the majority of the school. His dark scowl and surly attitude kept most of the idiots from getting too close or risking his wrath.

It also kept him from thinking about how lost he suddenly felt. While ‘friends’ might have been stretching the definition of the word, he missed the companionship of actually being able to talk to and hang out with his Slytherin Housemates. Now he was outcast, a non-entity, completely ignored. Except when being baited. It had been made clear by Dumbledore at the beginning of the term anyone attacking Draco would risk expulsion. Instead, his Slytherin counterparts took pleasure in trying to draw him into attacking them.

The rest of the Houses merely ignored him. It was almost more painful to be looked through than it was to listen to the taunts and insults. Of course, it didn’t help that, in the weeks before term started, he’d rarely been alone. He’d spent nearly every second with Potter. And where Potter went, his cronies weren’t far behind.

While they weren’t friends, they had settled into a respectful civility that surprised them all. Granger’s intelligence rivaled his own. Once he’d managed to put aside the prejudices instilled by a lifetime of living with his father, he’d actually found her a stimulating companion. Probably the first of his age group who could keep up with him while discussing theory, philosophy and literature. Of course, they usually had to ignore the eye-rolling and pantomime of Potter and Weasley. Those two philistines wouldn’t appreciate intelligent discourse if it showered them with gold.

Weasley, though, was practically a walking encyclopedia of Quidditch and they’d actually found several things they could talk about and debate when it came to their favorite sport. He also gave Draco a challenge at Wizard’s Chess.

And Potter. They’d had two solid weeks in a secluded suite, away from prying eyes around the castle. After nearly constant physical contact with The-Boy-Who-Lived, he’d gotten a little too used to it. Too use to having someone to lean on when he was tired and hold him when he slept. As often as he’d pretended annoyance, having Potter stroke his hair while he fell asleep was something he missed.

After spending so much non-stop time together, the abrupt end of it had come as a shock. Potter, Granger and Weasley had portkeyed to King’s Cross on the first day of term, in order to ride the Hogwart’s Express back and arrive as if everything were normal.

Since then, they’d spent time together during twice weekly ‘detentions’ with Snape, earned the first day of classes while fighting in the hall. In reality, it was their time to train with in their new roles of Sentinel and Guide. The only other times they got to touch was an occasional snuggle in some abandoned corner while a disgusted Weasley or creepily intrigued Granger played lookout.

Worst of all, it didn’t seem to be affecting Potter at all. His senses were stable. No major zones or spikes. He was getting what he needed from those brief encounters with Draco. Draco, though, had gone back to not sleeping. He spent almost all of his time alone, in an old, unused Prefect’s bedroom Dumbledore had assigned him out of pity when he’d resigned his Prefect duties. He’d had to give up his position because there was no way the Slytherin’s would accept his leadership now.

 At meals he’d been shunted to the far end of the table, sitting with the first and second years, who eyed him with equal parts fear and disgust.

He’d never felt so alone and abandoned in his life.

“Well, look, if it isn’t the blood traitor himself.”

Draco glanced up at Pansy’s sneering voice. Crabbe loomed behind her, having attached himself to her when it became clear she was one of the two candidates to most likely win in the effort to take Draco’s place as de facto leader of the Slytherins. Of course, Goyle had joined Knott, who was giving her a run for her money, to Draco’s relief. Theodore was less militantly pro-Dark Lord. As long as they were fighting each other, they were less likely to focus on him.

Unless, of course, Pansy decided roughing him up was a way to show power.

“It seems none of your babysitters are around to protect you, now, Malfoy.”

The staff, taking orders presumably from Dumbledore, had pretty much shadowed Draco wherever he’d gone to prevent this sort of thing. As much as it galled him to have a constant minder, he was thoroughly pissed that whoever was suppose to be on the job at the moment had obviously dropped the ball.

Going with bravado, he sneered. “Like I need some pathetic, deskbound Professor to protect me from degenerates like you.”

Pansy’s face turned red with anger and Crabbe’s scrunched in confusion at the multiple multi-syllable words. Apparently he didn’t need to understand the insult to react however.

Despite bracing himself, the two-handed shove sent Draco flying backwards so fast the world blurred until his head hit the wall with a reverberating crack.

He tasted blood where he bit his lip on impact and fought hard to temper the fear and anger flaring through him. In the back of his mind, he could feel Potter stirring along their link. The bond was small and tentative but strong enough for heightened emotions to echo between them.

The last thing the situation needed was Potter rushing in like a Gryffindor bull. He shifted, looking for away to escape.

Except, Crabbe was right in front of him again, one heavy hand planted in the center of his chest the other coming up in slow motion with a fist the size of a club.

Draco reached for his wand, but knew it was going to be too late.

“Miss Parkinson. There you are. I’m afraid there is a bit of a problem with your recent Charms essay.”

Professor Flitwick hustled forward as he spoke, seemingly oblivious to the brewing trouble as he approached.

Crabbe backed off immediately and Flitwick insinuated himself between Draco and his would be attackers, babbling non-stop about a miss-fired third-year Charm and the effects on a stack of ungraded essays.

As soon as the other Slytherins were distracted, Draco made his escape. He wanted to run back to his room and regain his equilibrium. But he couldn’t. Not now. He had to get to his Sentinel.

He could feel the anger and frustration as Potter searched for him. He had to head the Gryffindor off before he made a scene.

Luckily, they met up in an empty hallway. He managed to direct Potter into an unused classroom and secure the door with a Locking Charm before the Sentinel had him pinned against the wall. Hands ran over him, nose sniffing in their wake, Draco tried to stay still and let Potter’s senses pass over him as he reassured his Sentinel.

“I’m fine. I’m safe. Really.”As he rambled thoughtlessly to comfort the Boy-Who-Lived, Draco tried to ignore how the Gryffindor’s hands felt moving all over his body. His life was complicated enough at the moment.

“Blood. Smell blood. You’re hurt.”

“I just bit my tongue.”

Before he could say anything else, careful fingers were opening his mouth and checking the damage.

“Amm fann,” Draco’s garbled words worked themselves out around Potter’s fingers in his mouth. A sensation that should not have sent hot shivers down his spine.

“I’m fine,” he repeated with an eye roll when Potter finally pulled his hand back.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” On the plus side, the Boy-Who-Lived seemed to have regained the ability to speak in whole sentences.

His hand lifted to rub the tender spot on the back of his skull. “I banged my head a little.”

Long fingers slid into his loose hair, careful and tentative as they probed the damage. It had become such a familiar feeling, Potter’s hands combing through his hair. So soothing and comforting and comfortable. He’d missed it like crazy.

The last of the anger and fear fueled adrenaline burned away, and Draco was suddenly very tired and weary of the giant mess his life had become. He slumped in resignation and Potter slid an arm around his waist, pulling him close.

Draco let his head drop against the shoulder, let Potter’s strength seep into him and felt himself relax for the first time in two weeks. He should be humiliated by the show of weakness. Especially in front of his oldest enemy. He was so worn out, though, and they’d been holding each other up so much lately, that he couldn’t summon the self-respect to move away.

Outside the room, Draco was vaguely aware of the sound of a voice. Too late, he realized it wasn’t a passing student, but someone whispering a counter to the Locking Charm.

The door opened and Draco’s lethargy made him slow to react.

Neville Longbottom crept in. “Harry, are you okay?”

The words trailed off when his eyes adjusted to the darker gloom of the unused classroom.

“Harry? Draco?” Confusion shifted to incredulity and his eyes widened when he took in the intimate embrace.

*

Harry froze at the sound of Neville’s shocked voice. His senses were so completely wrapped up in his Guide, he hadn’t felt the boy’s approach. The only warning he’d had was Draco’s sudden stiffening before Neville spoke.

Harry turned in a flash, shifting his body between the two teenagers. Pale, confused eyes flickered between Harry and Malfoy and back again, new wand clenched in a white-knuckled grip. “Is everything alright, Harry?”

“Everything is fine, Neville.” Harry tried to think of something, anything to explain the situation, but his mind remained stubbornly blank. He raised his hands helplessly and repeated, “We’re fine.”

The boy’s face creased with apprehension and determination. A look Harry recognized. It was Neville about to do something brave and terrifying. The slight movement of the Gryffindor’s wand hand had Harry shifting, intent to protect his Guide from whatever it was Neville thought was necessary.

Too late, the wand waved as Neville spoke deliberately. “Exhibeo!”

Harry froze mid-motion when a pale silver glow engulfed him and not Malfoy. Oh. Huh. A spell to reveal Imperious and other mind-control curses and charms. Harry hadn’t mastered it yet and hadn’t realized Neville even knew it. They watched in silence as the silver stretched out in a thin thread to connect lightly with Malfoy and turned a soft gold.

“Y-you have a bond with Malfoy?” Neville whispered in astonishment.

Before Harry could figure out what to say, how much to reveal, more voices coming down the hall caught his attention.

“Fuck. Ginny and Dean are coming,” he muttered, running a hand through his already mussed hair. Now that he was learning to control his senses, he really needed to remember to turn them up when he was trying to hide.

Neville moved first, going to the door and angling it so Harry and Draco wouldn’t be visible from the hall.

“Ginny. Dean.” Neville surprise and discomfort sounded real to Harry’s ears.

“Neville,” Ginny sounded equally surprised. “What are you doing down here?”

The teenager shuffled his feet before answering with quiet words. “Practicing Banishing Charms. We reviewed them in class today and I had a little trouble.”

His confusion and embarrassment sounded so real at the admission of being unable to perform the fourth year charm, that Harry believed him. Until he remembered Neville had just performed a spell they hadn’t even been taught yet.

“I thought this would be a good place to practice where no one would see me.” He continued then, with an edge of defensiveness, he asked, “Why are you down here?”

“Actually, we’re looking for Harry. Have you seen him?”

“No, not since lunch. Is there trouble?”

Beside Harry, Malfoy covered his mouth with his hand to muffle the laughter at Neville’s earnest concern and straight-faced lie.

“Not sure. He ran out of the library like his robes were on fire. Ron and Hermione told us not to worry, but they looked upset and left to go looking for him, so we thought maybe we’d try, too.”

“Oh. Well, if he’s upset, he sometimes goes to the Quidditch pitch. Have you checked there?”

“Oh, no. Good idea. Let’s go, Dean.”

Neville closed the door and re-set the Locking Charm.

“Well, well, well, little Longbottom can lie. That was deception worthy of a Slytherin. Never would have thought you had it in you, Horklump.”

“Malfoy.” Harry growled and the blond rolled his eyes and grinned.

“What? It was a compliment. Well, except for the Horklump part. Sorry about that, Longbottom.”

Neville stared at them with perplexed consideration.

“Neville…” Harry started, but still had no idea what he was going to tell his Housemate.

“You’re a Sentinel.”

Harry blinked. “Umm, how, I mean….”

“You knew it was Ginny and Dean but I could barely hear anything. You knew what we were having for dinner the other night when we were still up near the Astronomy Tower. Nobody else could smell it.”

“Uh, um…”

“I think what Harry is trying to articulate is that it’s supposed to be a secret, for now.” Malfoy stepped forward for the first time, and Harry could feel his unease thrumming along the link. “The only students who know are a Weasley and Granger.”

“And you.” Neville added.

Now, it was the Slytherin who found himself at a loss. “Ah, well…”

“You’re his Guide. That’s why you have a bond.”

“How do you know so much?” Harry asked “I’d never heard about Sentinels and Guides until, well, until I came online this summer.”

“My great uncle was a Sentinel. It is a point of pride that the phenomenon pops up in the Longbottom line every few generations. I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”

Neville was solemn and sincere and Harry had no idea what to say. Malfoy stepped forward and held out his hand. “Thank you.”

Tentatively, Neville put his wand away and shook the Slytherin’s hand. A sight Harry had never expected to see in his lifetime.

“Uh, it’s nearly dinner time.” Neville said awkwardly when the moment was over. “I should, um, go.”

Harry watched him leave with a bemused smile, trying to figure out how he had completely lost control of the situation.

“You should go, too, before someone else comes looking for you.”

Harry didn’t want to go. Or, at least, if he had to, he wanted to take his Guide with him. But that wasn’t safe for either of them.

Still though, the fresh memory of Malfoy’s fear and anger made him hesitate. “Will you be okay? With the Slytherins, I mean?”

“Yeah. I’m sure Snape has heard about it by now, and put the fear of himself into Pansy.”

“If you need me, you can use the link, you know.”

“I know. But that would defeat the purpose of keeping the secret, wouldn’t it?”

“Malfoy…”

“I’ll be fine. I have plenty of bodyguards.”

Harry headed toward the Great Hall and dinner reluctantly, continuously checking the link between them to reassure himself everything was okay with his Guide.

*

Draco fought to keep his heart, his lungs and his emotions under control while he watched Potter walk away. He wasn’t nearly as confident as he pretended to be when it came to his safety among the Slytherins.

They couldn’t afford Potter going off the deep end, though. Even if Draco did secretly like the overprotective instincts of the Sentinel. It was nice to feel like he was important to someone.

He knew, in his head it was the bond, this need Potter had to protect him. The Sentinel instinctively needed to protect the person who protects him and his senses. It felt real, though, in the intensity of the moment. It was easy to forget it was nothing more than a magical link and some physical chemistry.

Potter didn’t trust him. If another, better Guide came along, Potter would probably jump ship.

That possibility should be a relief to Draco. Being intimately connected to Potter made him an even bigger target. Keeping the Boy-Who-Lived functioning was not a responsibility he’d sought or had intentionally signed up for.

He told himself he didn’t want it. Didn’t want to be tied to anyone. Especially not the supposed hope of the Wizarding world. He fought daily to keep the link as shallow as he possibly could.

Still, it hurt like Cruciatus to think of being replaced.

Draco sighed. He didn’t have the time or inclination to deal with this sudden bout of self-pity right then. Or ever, for that matter.

At dinner, Draco once again sat with the first and second years like the outcast he was. Ignoring the stares and whispers of the younger students around him. Not to mention the louder comments and nasty remarks from high up the table as his old acquaintances talked about him like he wasn’t twenty feet away.

Unease settled over his skin in a cool layer of vapor, and he found himself constantly glancing around to see who was staring at him, though no one ever seemed to be. He couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, though, even when the conversation changed to the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend.

The joyful talk, however, distracted him from the unease when he began to brood about Hogsmeade. Something else he had to look forward to being left out of. Going alone was nearly as pathetic as staying in the dorm with the first years when the entire rest of the school was having fun.

*

After dinner, Harry slipped away from his friends and found an out of the way table in a quiet corner of the library. He sat by himself, staring at an open textbook. If anyone had asked, he wouldn’t be able to tell if he was reading about Charms or the magical revolutions of Russia.

Instead his mind turned inward, fighting himself over the urge to touch the link. To check on Draco. Malfoy.

Despite his reassurances, Harry knew the blond was worried about the other Slytherins. Not to mention the rest of the Houses. The Snakes looked at him like a traitor. The rest of the school believed it was a scam. Not one person had a kind word for Malfoy. At least, not in public. Harry, Hermione and Ron, were as civil as the Slytherin would allow them to be in the few quiet minutes they’d scrounged.

Even Snape was forced to ignore his former Slytherin paragon in public.

Harry knew what it was like to have most of the wizarding world turn on you. Even in his fifth year, though, when everyone thought he was deranged, he’d still had support. Dumbledore and McGonagall in their limited way. Hermione and Ron. Eventually, the DA.

Draco had no one but his former worst enemies to turn to. The funny thing was, Harry wanted to be there for him.

Considering the history between them, he shouldn’t care about Malfoy. He shouldn’t trust him. Yet he did.

He’d always believed Draco was arrogant, self-centered, condescending and narrow-minded. And he was, to a certain extent. But Harry had also seen him be generous, surprisingly self-aware and forthright, not to mention open and charming on a few occasions these past few weeks.

He’d watched as the Slytherin battled his own upbringing, forcing himself to truly examine the prejudice and bigotry inherited from his father. Harry had seen him discard his old way of dealing with Ron and Hermione. He knew it could be an act. Malfoy was intelligent and charismatic enough to pull it off.

Harry, though, could occasionally feel Draco’s intense struggles through the link. That kind of emotional turmoil couldn’t be faked.

That wasn’t to say Malfoy couldn’t be a right prat. He could still be arrogant and bitchy and downright cruel when he was in a mood. Since the beginning of the term, and the beginning of his ostracism from the rest of the school, those moods had been more frequent.

Now, though, Harry could actually feel those times Draco was the worst were the times when he was frightened or lonely or feeling insecure. Or when he particularly felt backed into a corner.

Instead of getting pissed at the crap that poured out of Malfoy’s mouth, he found himself just wanting to hug him. Or kiss him.

Harry pulled off his glasses, now nothing more than clear lenses, squeezed his eyes shut and pressed the heels of his hands into them. That was the problem he’d been trying to avoid thinking about. He was attracted to Draco Malfoy. Found himself caring about the Slytherin in a completely unexpected way.

But was it Harry who wanted Draco? Or the Sentinel who wanted his Guide?

“Harry?”

He pulled his hands away from his eyes and blinked up at Hermione. He glanced around but she was the only one near him.

“Uh, hi ‘Mione. Just, um, studying…” He glanced down at the book. “Transfiguration.”

“Harry, is everything okay?” She sat in the chair across from him, leaning with earnest concern across the table. “You never told us what was wrong earlier. You barely spoke or ate during dinner. Then you disappeared.”

The again hung unspoken between them.

Harry let his senses assure him no one was too close, then pulled out his wand.

“Silencio.”

Hermione’s eyes widened and she bit her lip. But there was determination in her face to get to the bottom of whatever Harry was hiding. And Hermione determined to get knowledge was not something Harry liked to stand in the way of, if he had any choice in the matter.

“What do you know about bonds? Like, the kind Malfoy and I have?”

He didn’t think her eyes could get any wider, but apparently he’d surprised her again.

“Well, I’ve read the treatise specifically on Sentinel-Guide pairings.” As she spoke, she rifled through her bag, pulling out notebooks and scrolls. “And The Sentinels of Paraguay by Sir Richard Burton, of course. I’ve skimmed the pertinent sections of Sentinel Phenomenon. I’ve been trying to get hold of some of the other titles on the suggested reading list Snape gave us. What have you read so far?”

Harry suddenly found the dust motes dancing in the air above his head completely fascinating.

“Oh, Harry. This is important.”

“I’m going to training twice a week. And practicing everything. Including the Occlumency lessons.” He gave a slight shudder, but Snape had actually been going easy on him this time around and he was picking it up much faster. “But with all my regular classes, well, you know I don’t read anywhere near as fast as you or…” He stopped before he mentioned Malfoy, but he didn’t think he fooled her in the least.

With a huff, she started flipping through the pages of the closest notebook.

“It’s basically a magical connection between two compatible individuals. A mental, emotional and somewhat physical link between you and your bond-mate.”

“Let’s see, ah, ‘The Sentinel will need the bond in order to anchor his senses, give him a baseline on which to balance the unusual level of input. The Guide, who always has some level of Astral Magic, in turn receives shielding and buffering from the discomfort of outside stimulus he receives from other Planes.”

“Okay.” Harry said, slowly. Then shook his head. “What does that mean? Exactly how connected are we?”

Hermione rolled her eyes and flipped a few more pages. “I’d say, at the moment, you two are still in the lowest level of bonding. There is a link, but it is fragile and could be broken by either of you denying it for too long. Or by staying out of physical proximity for several weeks.”

The thought of not seeing or touching Malfoy on a regular basis actually sent a physical spike of pain through Harry though Hermione was so enthralled by her notes she didn’t see him flinch.

“With a first level bond, you’d be able to feel strong emotions. Possibly a high level of pain or physical danger. The second level is described as a spiritual bond.” She frowned down at whatever she had written there. “I need to research that more because the description was a bit, well, new-agey and non-specific. Something about finding one another on the spiritual plane and touching souls. Frankly, it sounded like something Trelawney would spout in her class.”

Hermione snorted, but Harry had a hard time finding humor in the memory of what prophecy cost him. She sobered quickly, though when she caught the look that must be on his face.

“Uh, sorry Harry. You know I didn’t…”

“I know ‘Mione. It’s okay.”

“Right, so, apparently after the soul touching or whatever, bond mates would be able to feel those intense emotions much further away from each other and they’d be able to find each other almost anywhere. There’s some anecdotal evidence they can actually heal each other in extreme circumstances, but there’s been no real evidence shown by documented research. Also, the bond would be harder to separate, but still possible. We could still find you a different Guide, if needed.”

Harry swallowed hard and was glad she was still rifling through her notes. She didn’t see him wince at the idea.

“Finally, the third level is a physical and mental bonding. It would permanently bond the pair, so closely that one would unlikely survive the passing of the other. It involves opening the minds to one another while bonding physically.”

Harry’s ears perked up, maybe it was the Sentinel bond thing fueling his attraction to Malfoy.

“Sex?” He asked tentatively, hoping she wouldn’t notice his undo curiosity.

She waved her hand back and forth while she scanned more pages. “Could be. It would depend on the pairing. Some would use sex. Possibly a blood brother ceremony. Even some traditional forms of dance and couples meditation could be used.”

Harry ran his hand through his hair and tugged at it. Hermione finally pulled herself out of her research enough to notice his frustration.

“Didn’t that help at all? Harry? What is it you want to know?”

He felt the blood rush across his cheeks, heat flaring across his face so hot he was surprised his hair didn’t catch fire.

“I, uh, was wondering, erm, if the bond, the Sentinel-Guide thing, could make me attracted when I really wasn’t?”

Hermione stared at him for several long heartbeats. A speechless Hermione was kind of frightening.

“Are you attracted, physically, sexually, to Malfoy?”

“Er,” Harry looked down at his textbook. “Yes?”

“I didn’t know you were… I mean Cho. And Ginny?”

“I liked them too,” he said, his voice crawling up with defensiveness. “I’ve never liked a guy. Like that. But I have, uh, noticed them. Being attractive. Oh, Merlin.”

If his cheeks got any redder, somebody would think he’d been hexed with a Strawberry Curse.

“Yeah. Okay. So I’ve suspected for awhile I might go both ways. This is the first time, though, that I’ve been close enough to a guy… to know how I react to being physically close to him.”

“I… see. But Malfoy?”

“I know. See. That’s why it has to be the bond, right? The Sentinel-Guide thing.”

Hermione pursed her lips and folded her hands together. Harry swallowed down the groan. This was her, listen-while-I-lecture pose.

“From what I’ve read, there is a subtle drive within each pair that steers them toward the tertiary level of bonding. But it’s not overwhelming or something that can’t be ignored. How it manifests depends entirely on the individuals involved and how their pairing expresses itself.”

Harry blinked repeatedly, trying to sort through the avalanche of words.

Hermione sighed, leaned back and through her hands up in the air. “Oh, for… Look, if you weren’t attracted to him, it would be pushing toward a blood bond. Or, I don’t know, interpretive dance. Usually that push doesn’t even start until the bond has been around for years and is fairly solid and stable.”

“So, uh, I’m attracted to Malfoy? Impossible. I’ve always hated him. How could I suddenly want…?”

“It’s not sudden. There’s always been a lot of… passion between the two of you. Now that you’re not rivals, that energy has got to go somewhere. Plus, you and Malfoy have both changed a lot this summer. You’ve both had to deal with so much and have grown up quite a lot.”

Harry tried to glare at her for the implication that he’d been immature before. But, honestly, he had.

“This is the first time the two of you have gotten to know each other. He’s still conceited and aloof, but he hasn’t been so bad when we’re alone and he doesn’t have to keep up the mask.” She paused and pulled her hair backward in her hands with a shaky laugh. “Merlin. I can’t believe I’m encouraging you.”

Harry’s lips quirked in a answering smile. “So what do I do now? I don’t even know if he’s… well, if he’d even be interested in me that way.”

“What do you want?”

“Honestly? I want to turn the clock back to last spring and try to do the past few months over again.” He exhaled and looked her in the eye. “Right, now, understanding the whole Sentinel-Guide thing is more than I can handle on top of figuring out how to get rid of Voldemort and studying for classes and getting ready for Quidditch.”

“Then, maybe, you should let this Malfoy thing rest. At least, until you get everything else under control.”

“Yeah,” he agreed half-heartedly. But that was easier said than done. Especially when he found himself with an armful of Draco several times a week. When he needed to touch and smell and hear his Guide on a regular basis.

It was going to be a long year.

*

Their first few ‘detentions’ had been held in Snape’s office as Henry learned to focus and control each sense in turn. Learned how to anchor the unused senses in Draco, when he was close, and in their link when Snape had had him move farther and farther away.

In turn, besides learning how to tap into the energies of the Astral planes, Draco learned to use their link to be aware of Harry and to pull or push or Guide as needed. At least, when he was nearby. The bond was too new and too fragile for him to be any active help when he couldn’t be physically close to the Sentinel.

To Harry’s annoyance and Draco’s amusement, each session was ended with an Occlumency lesson and individual meditations. Draco found it relaxing. Harry could barely sit still long enough to clear his mind. And he complained that the silent blue forest they sometimes found themselves in during meditation was creepy.

Today though, they were outside, on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Snape’s wards kept prying eyes far away from what they were doing. Remus Lupin, who Potter had been ridiculously relieved to see the first evening of the new term, stood a few yards away. Draco had been skeptical and uneasy at first, but so far the wolf hadn’t snubbed or disparaged him because of his previous horrendous behavior.

Snape had snarled and simmered when Dumbledore had announced he’d somehow finagled the Governors to allow the werewolf back as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. The two professors, however, had settled into an uneasy truce in order to help Harry and Draco harness the use of their gifts. While Snape had a breadth of knowledge gleaned from a wide variety of sources, Remus had spent time with the Potter family and had picked up quite a bit of lore and presumptions. The type of oral tradition that didn’t always make it into scholarly treatises but a tidbit or two had already proved useful.

Today, the Professors had the Boy-Who-Lived attempting to name as many animals in the Forbidden Forest as he could using his senses. Draco stood at his side, one hand pressed to the small of his back and keeping him from over-extending himself.

Draco felt a slight tug along their link along with a faint stiffening of the muscles under his hand and knew the Sentinel was doing it again.

“Damn it, Potter!” His voice was sharp and loud, making Potter wince at the sound magnified by his over-extended hearing. Despite the reprimand, Draco let his fingers stroke Harry’s back with a soothing rhythm. “You can’t let your hearing get too far ahead of your eyesight. You know that.”

“But hearing can go so much deeper into the forest. Sight gets blocked with all the trees and thick leaves and stuff.” Potter pouted, but his muscles relaxed under his Guide’s touch and Draco could feel him winding his senses back in a little, to safer levels.

Draco hid his smile of satisfaction and rolled his eyes instead. “I know. Get over it. You’re getting more range with every practice. Eventually, you’ll be able to do that piggyback thing Snape mentioned. For now, you have to be patient and not exceed your limits. You do no good if you zone. And I’m pretty sure you’ve got to be getting tired of me having my hands all over you every time you get lost chasing butterflies.”

He fought to keep his face neutral when his body tightened at the thought of how much he liked getting his hands on the Gryffindor. The last thing he needed was a crush on the damn savior of the wizarding world. The first thing Potter would do, once he stopped laughing himself sick, would be to ask for a new Guide and then Draco would pretty much be left with Snape as his only social contact.

“I don’t chase butterflies…”

“You should listen to Draco, Potter. Let him Guide you. It’s his role, after all.”

Draco wanted to curse at Snape, who was sneering at them from several feet away. Harry’s half-teasing expression had shut down in favor of a blank frown and his muscles had gone taut and unyielding again. Draco wished the Potions Master would keep his mouth shut. The banter was part of how he and Harry communicated.

Surprisingly, Harry seemed more relaxed when they were snarking at each other. Their venom and hate was gone from it, now, and had been replaced by an almost friendly teasing. A relaxed Sentinel was much easier to Guide, and get along with, than a tense one.

Snape’s interruptions made Potter edgy and reminded him that he didn’t really like Slytherins. Both states, Draco preferred Harry never get to. Lupin looked ready to step in, which would make the whole situation deteriorate even faster.

“Actually, he was doing alright,” Draco chose his words carefully, knowing he couldn’t be too nice or he’d make both Harry and Snape suspicious. “He identified about twenty different species and got fairly deep in. He was just pushing his limits, which is what this is all about.”

He turned to glare a little, in order to temper the praise. “He merely has to learn how far he can push them and when to pull back.”

This time, it was Potter who rolled his eyes, but he started to relax again, anyway.

For a moment, Draco thought he saw a flash of satisfaction cross Snape’s expression. Devious son-of-a-bitch. He was testing their willingness to work as a team. Even against him and his snide comments.

Lupin smiled outright. “The two of you are making excellent progress. Perhaps a break would be useful.” He ignored the snort from Snape. “Have there been any issues or questions that have popped up since our last training session?”

Draco glanced at Potter, who was studiously staring at his toes. The pink of his cheeks should not have been so endearing. To distract himself from the thought, and wondering exactly what Potter was thinking about, he blurted out the first question that came to mind.

“Potter seems to be a bit, er, over-protective, sometimes. Is that normal? Or am I more trouble than the average Guide?”

“It’s perfectly normal. Territorial and possessive responses are common for both Sentinels and Guides.”

“Why?” Potter snapped out of whatever contemplation had been distracting him.

Lupin shrugged a little and glanced at Snape. “This is more your area, Severus.”

Snape shot a haughty glare at the werewolf. “So nice of you to include me, Lupin.” Then he turned to face Draco and Potter. “The experts believe it was part of the original magic. The Shamans created the Sentinels and Guides to be dependent on each other. It makes sense that instincts will be to keep one another safe.”

Draco felt a pang of regret even though he’d known Potter’s reaction hadn’t really been about him. He kept his face smooth, though, as Snape continued to lecture.

“No doubt, when Potter is in trouble again from his Gryffindor foolishness, you’ll feel compelled to protect him, as well. Try, please, to use a little of your innate common sense and don’t allow yourself to be ruled strictly by your instincts.”

Potter ignored the jibe to stare at him with confusion and dawning suspicion.

“Why do you know so much about this whole Sentinel-Guide thing?”

The narrowing of Snape’s eyes and the conscious tightening of his mouth said louder than words that this was a sore spot.

“I think I heard you tell Dumbledore that you’d researched it for my mother.” Potter continued, speaking so quietly, Draco was surprised the Professor could hear him.

“Yes. That’s true.”

Potter looked up, gaze unwavering and expectant. The silent stare lasted so long between them, Draco was considering whether he should dare risk interrupting them when Snape finally spoke. His voice was nearly as quiet as Harry’s had been.

“Your mother was a lifelong friend. One of the few I could truly count on. Her… relationship with your father drove a wedge between us we never quite recovered from. My own choices, well… that’s not what this was about.”

“When she first found out the Sentinel Phenomenon ran in the Potter family, she asked me to find out as much as I could. I hoped the possibility of sharing James with a Guide would dissuade her. It didn’t, obviously, but by then I’d learned quite a bit.” He rubbed his hands together, the moment of sadness replaced by scorn. “For which you should be grateful, considering it’s that knowledge now that is the only thing between you and butterfly chasing.”

Instead of being offended, the way Draco expected him to be, Harry just flashed a cheeky grin. Snape stared, nonplussed, but something eased between the two in that moment. Draco couldn’t put his finger on exactly what or why, but Potter was definitely more pliant under his hand.

Lupin’s face smooth out, relieved at the unexpected détente and the werewolf stepped forward once again.

“There’s enough time for a brief shared meditation before the end of your detention.”

Harry groaned and Draco tugged him down until they were sitting cross-legged side by side on the sun warmed grass. Surprisingly, Potter fell into a trance quickly, syncing into rhythmic breathing with Draco as they both let go of the outside world for a while.

A noise pulled at Draco’s attention until he could no longer keep his meditative state. The sight that greeted him when he slitted his eyes open had him scrambling backwards until he could get to his feet.

“Mr. Malfoy.” Snape’s reprimand was sharp and a little surprised. “Normally it’s Mr. Potter who can’t sit still through the whole session.”

“Don’t you see them?” He asked, waving to a spot a few feet in front of where Harry still sat.

“See what?” Snape turned his head, but it was obvious he wasn’t seeing what Draco was.

“The fox and the… the cat thing.”

“Cougar,” Harry said with awe from where he sat. “It’s a cougar.”

“You see them too?” Draco couldn’t help the relief. For a moment he’d been afraid the loneliness of his situation had finally sent him over the edge into madness.

“Yeah.”

“What are they doing?” Snape asked with brow wrinkling like he was trying to work out a potion ingredient.

“They’re just lying there. Well, the cougar’s lying down. The fox is sitting next to him. And they, err, they seem to be…”

Draco didn’t know why he got a sense of amusement from the pair but he did. He didn’t want to admit that to Snape, however. Apparently Potter didn’t have the same problem, though.

“They’re laughing at Draco, I think.”

“Ahh.”

“Ahh? What, ahh? What are they and why are they here?”

“I believe they are your spirit animals. I haven’t refreshed myself on that information as they don’t appear to every Sentinel or Guide. It’s very unusual that they revealed themselves to the two of you together.”

“Spirit animals?” Harry still sounded awed. “Which is mine?”

The cougar got to his feet, rubbed his muzzle in a quick, friendly caress along the fox before loping over to Harry. It nudged him once, shoulder to shoulder, before disappearing.

The fox stood then stalked toward Draco, who hesitantly dropped down to his knees. The fox paused, looking grave and sedate, before raising a delicate paw. Draco shook it with equal reverence, holding empty air when the fox, too, faded from sight.

Harry turned to him, wide grin brightening his face. “I guess that answers that.”

“Yeah,” Draco said, answering grin in place. They stayed, staring at each other in awe and joy until they were forced to turn and answer Snape’s avalanche of questions.

*

Draco really needed to stop feeling sorry for himself. It was pathetic. One thing a Malfoy should never be.

Lonely, outcast and friendless, maybe, but not pathetic.

He wrapped his cloak a little tighter to ward off the chill of the autumn morning, looked around with cool disdain at the children frolicking their way towards Hogsmeade and continued walking at his own sedate pace.

So what if he was going to Hogsmeade alone instead of as part of one of the laughing, carefree groups on the road around him? There were plenty of ways he could, and would, have fun without his old Slytherin pals.

Draco peeked over his shoulder at the group several minutes behind him.

Or his new Gryffindor acquaintances.

Especially one with green eyes, unruly hair and strong arms.

Pulling back from wayward thoughts about the Boy-Who-Lived, Draco focused on the things he’d do. Thank Merlin he still had access to his money. The Ministry had seized Lucius’s private accounts, but, because of wizarding tradition and law, they couldn’t touch the Family accounts or any of the individual family members.

He decided to start at Honeyduke's and treat himself to his favorite sweets. Then a stop at his tailor for fittings for some new robes. The bookstore and Scrivenshaft’s to browse. And, of course, Splintwitches to see the newest brooms.

Even though he obviously wouldn’t be making the Quidditch team this year. Snape had already pointed out that it would be easy for an accident to occur while he was on the broom too far up in the air for any of the staff to protect him.

Perhaps he’d stop into the Maestro’s instead and pick up some new music. It had been a long time since he’d practice with his flute. It would give him something to do in the long hours alone in his room.

He’d stop in for lunch and a celebratory butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks. Alone. In a dark corner. Pathetic.

So was lingering at the edge of the village, waiting to catch a glimpse of Potter. Turning away, he headed for Honeyduke’s first. From the corner of his eye, he saw Pansy whispering viciously to Crabbe. Then Bulstrode grabbed her arm and pointed out McGonagall and Sprout strolling along a hundred or so yards behind him.

Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the ever-present babysitters. Instead, he smirked at Pansy when he passed by, giving her a nonchalant little wave. When her face pinched into a red-flushed glare, he let his teeth flash in a patronizing smile.

He wandered from shop to shop, taking his time browsing and haggling and buying. Still, he’d pretty much done everything of interest by late morning. It looked like an early lunch at the Three Broomsticks then back his solitary existence at Hogwarts.

Draco stopped abruptly a hundred yards away from the inn. Potter was outside, laughing while he and Ron played keep away with something that apparently belonged to the youngest, female Weasley. Finally, she ended the game by tackling Potter to the ground and taking it back.

Hermione and Neville cheered her on while Ron pouted and Harry shook his head, laughed and let her help him up.

Draco sealed off the link, not wanting any of the ridiculous jealousy and self-pity he was feeling to leak through as he watched the group tromp en masse into the pub. He turned away, intending to head back up to Hogwarts, only to find the red fox sitting directly in his path.

“What do you want?”

The animal held his eyes then looked deliberately toward the door of the Three Broomsticks.

“Oh, no. I’m not going in there. I’m not putting myself through that.”

The fox looked at him, then back to the door again, a slight ratcheting sound rumbled in the air.

“Look, you go watch him flirt with the ginger brat. I’m going back to the school.”

He took two deliberate steps forward and the fox disappeared out of his path right before the third footfall. Draco rubbed his hand over his face and looked around, only then remembering that others apparently couldn’t see the spirit animals. Thankfully, no one had noticed Draco talking to himself. He ignored the shiver of unease and continued to move forward.

He was halfway back to Hogwart’s when a low hissing sound made him glance down and see the cougar pacing beside him. Of course Potter had ended up with a wild feline from the Americas as his spirit guide. He could never do anything normal.

Draco kept moving, but the cat kept pace, vocalizing its displeasure every step. The disquiet, the sense of something about to go very wrong kept pace with him as well. The energy of it reminded him of the dreams…

“Oh…” he stopped abruptly, feeling his breath leave his body as he realized what the animals had been trying to tell him. When he glanced down, the cougar had stopped and the fox had appeared by its side.

“He’s in trouble isn’t he?”

In answer, the fox turned and ran back toward the village. The cougar made a whistling sound and followed, both vanishing from sight almost immediately. Panicked, Draco ran as fast as he could, until he reached the outskirts of the village.

He slowed then, opening the link, feeling nothing urgent from his Sentinel. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, and Draco realized he had to be cautious or risk giving everything away on the whim of a feeling.

He took a second to catch his breath and pull his cloak a little tighter. The wind had picked up and now biting cold air rushed through the little village. Heading into the inn, Draco took one last look around at the scattered groups of students and villagers, wondering if the threat was out here or inside already.

Distracted, he started in the door and walked directly into someone walking out. Draco snarled and pushed past, ignoring the croaked apology from the short student, bundled against the wind.

Inside, everything looked normal. Crowded, as usual, every seat filled. Potter and his friends squeezed around a table in the back. Pansy and Theodore Knott each held court on opposite sides of the room. Various groups of other students occupied nearly every available space.

Draco pushed his way to the bar, getting as close to Potter’s table as he could, and ordered himself a butterbeer while he eavesdropped on the Gryffindors. He kept his back to the room, but his eyes on the mirror. Occasionally, he’d catch Harry’s gaze flicker over him and Draco fought not to return the attention. Instead, he did his best to scan the crowd, watching and listening and trying to figure out where the danger might come from.

“Harry, is something wrong?” Draco tried not to sneer at Ginny’s simpering. “You seem distracted and you’ve barely touched your butterbeer.”

Harry’s gaze flickered once more toward Draco, before he stammered. “O-okay. I mean, I’m okay. The butterbeer tastes a little off. Licorice, sort of.”

“Oh, we can get you another one…” she prattled on, oblivious when Hermione leaned over to speak to Harry quietly. Draco read the word ‘senses’ on her lips and knew she was suggesting it was a side effect of his abilities.

Except that was wrong. Or not wrong, but odd, because Draco could tell Potter’s senses were all under control. If he was tasting licorice, it was because something licorice was there…

Draco was moving even as his brain was still coming to a horrifying conclusion.

He saw Harry say something to Weasley’s sister, smile and start to lift the mug to his lips.

Draco pushed through the crowd, deliberately bumping the table directly into Potter and causing him to pour half the mug down his shirt rather than drinking it.

“What the hell, Malfoy?” Ron, closest to Draco jumped to his feet. But the usual anger was banked a little with curiosity.

Draco pasted on a sneer. “Sorry. How clumsy of me. Didn’t see you all there.” He leaned past Ron to drop a square of fabric in the lap of a surprised and silent Harry. “Since I doubt your tailor included a proper handkerchief in that… ensemble, take mine.”

As he pulled back, he whispered quickly in Weasley’s ear. “Poison. Butterbeer. Don’t let him drink. Get a sample to Snape.”

Then he stepped back and straightened his robe. “Don’t bother to return it. I have plenty.”

With a faked calm he was nowhere near feeling, Draco turned and sauntered out of the inn. He could feel Potter’s concern and deep confusion beating at him and he deliberately closed off the link again.

He couldn’t allow his emotions to get anymore tangled up in his Sentinel than they already were.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Text

Part Four

Harry waited a couple of turns away from the Great Hall, hoping his prey would show up soon. When the familiar blond hair finally appeared, thankfully no one else was around. Harry reached out, snagged Draco’s hand and tugged him into the dimly lit corridor.

“What the fuck, Potter?” Malfoy yanked his hand free, but didn’t step back.

“I was worried about you. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“You were worried about me?” Draco blinked a couple of times, before his surprise slipped back behind the indifferent mask. “You were the one who was poisoned.”

“Madam Pomfrey said the sip I took wasn’t even enough to make me sick. She gave me a potion just in case, but I’m fine.” Harry waved it off. “You were upset when you ran out of the Three Broomsticks. You hid in your room for the whole weekend. You cut off the link for hours.”

He tried not to make it sound like an accusation, but those few hours before Malfoy let him back in were terrifying.

“Yeah, well, I freaked out a bit.” Draco glanced at the empty portrait next to them, apparently fascinated by the vacant landscape.

Harry could feel the Slytherin’s embarrassment seeping between them.

According to Hermione, they were only supposed to be able to feel overwhelming emotions from each other at this level. When Draco wasn’t actively keeping him out, anyway. The connection, though, was getting more sensitive every day.

“Why? You saved me. You should have been gloating, not freaking out.”

Draco finally looked at him, something struggling in his grey eyes, making them stormy with indecision.

When he spoke the words were softer, and more sincere, than Harry was use to hearing from his Guide. Frustration, anger, and fear filled his tone.

“It just became real to me. I’m linked to someone half the wizarding world wants to kill.” Harry winced and watched Malfoy’s anger slip into something more self-depreciating. “That is, the half that doesn’t worship you and who would kill me if they found out I was tarnishing their savior.”

The humor disappeared and Draco drew in a deep breath. “I would have felt you die.”

“Draco.” The blond head shot up, grey eyes round and big before he masked the shock. It was the first time Harry had used his given name out loud. He could feel the discomfort humming along the link, echoing Harry’s own.

Neither of them wanted to explore those particular emotions yet. And Harry had other questions that needed answers.

“How did you know about the poison, anyway?”

Draco stiffened, lips curling into a sneer. “I wasn’t involved. If I went to the trouble, I wouldn’t have stopped you from drinking it. And I told you, I didn’t want to feel you die. I don’t think I’d have been able to block that out.”

Harry rolled his eyes at the automatic defensiveness. And the argument. He’d had to listen to Ron and Hermione hash this out Saturday night, until they’d come to the same conclusion. Draco had nothing to gain from Harry’s death.

“I know.” Harry said with defiant conviction, pushing that certainty along their link. “I was just curious.”

“Oh, right.” Embarrassment flushed under Malfoy’s pale skin. “It was the spirit animals. They made it clear that something was wrong. Even when I tried to ignore them. I heard you complaining about the taste of your butterbeer and Hermione telling you it was only your senses. I knew your senses were okay, though, so you had to be tasting something wrong with the drink. What was the poison, anyway?”

Harry could feel the embarrassment and could see he didn’t really want to talk about it. Instead of pushing for more details, he answered Draco’s question. “Altus Dulcis Far potion.”

Draco gasped, apparently familiar with it. Snape and Hermione had to explain it was a slow acting poison. One that wouldn’t show symptoms for days. By the time he would’ve known he’d been poisoned, it would have been too late for an antidote. Harry knew it had been a close call.

“Thank you.” He said quietly. Then let a small smile show through. “Again.”

Draco settled down somewhat with Harry’s attempt at levity and graced him with a sardonic smile. “It is becoming a habit. You’re going to ruin my reputation as a heartless bastard if you keep it up.”

“We wouldn’t want that to happen, now would we?” Then he tilted his head, hearing the sounds of approaching laughter. Slytherins. “So you should probably start insulting me, now, before Knott comes any closer.”

The smile curled into a sneer, ice covering up the warmth of a moment before. “I told you Potter, I don’t know what happened to your Potion’s homework. I don’t understand how you managed to find your way out of you dorm with your head so far up your ass.”

The shove that sent him wind-milling out into the main hallway and landing on his ass shouldn’t have surprised him. But it did.

“You know I’m not a threat to you anymore.” Draco continued, with a disdainful glanced toward Knott, as well. “You have other enemies now. Ask them about your damn homework.”

With typical Malfoy drama, he swirled and stomped away.

Knott’s group laughed and made snide comments. Knott, though, narrowed his eyes and looked between the two old rivals with blooming suspicion. Potter pushed to his feet and snarled out some insult, hoping to derail whatever Knott was thinking, then stomped into breakfast.

From the Gryffindor table, he kept an eye on Draco. Knott began to taunt and grill his Guide as soon as breakfast began.

“Suddenly, you’re bumping into Potter an awful lot, Draco.”

Malfoy shrugged and continued pushing food around his plate. “He keeps getting in my face. Too stupid to figure out the dynamics of power have shifted.” Then he smirked up at Knott. “Jealous he doesn’t take you seriously enough to give you a hard time?”

“Fuck you, Draco. Maybe you’re trying to flirt with him like a second year pulling pigtails. Cozy up to him in hopes someone will protect your ass. That’s it, isn’t it, Malfoy. You’re hoping Potter will make you his bitch?”

Draco snorted. “That’s what you’re really jealous of, huh, Theodore? You’re not strong enough to take my place in Slytherin and you’re not pretty enough to take my place in Potter’s attention?”

Pansy arrived in time to hear Draco’s taunt and expanded on it, pulling Knott’s attention away as the two resumed their campaign against each other.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief as Malfoy was once again ignored by his table in favor of House politics. Except, Malfoy continued pushing his food around instead of actually eating. Harry frowned and probed further with his senses, comparing them to the sense memories that he now had perfect recall of.

Draco had lost weight since term started. His skin was paler, the shadows under his eyes darker. His heartbeat and breathing were a bit more labored, as well. He obviously hadn’t been eating or sleeping properly.

Which, if Harry had thought about it, wouldn’t have been much of a surprise. The Slytherin had no one and nothing to turn to. Even Snape, in his role as double-agent Death Eater, had to keep his distance from his favorite student. The boy who’d once rule the social circles of the school, who’d had strong family bonds and people clamoring to be his friend, was now all alone.

He probably had to deal with cruelty and ridicule at every meal. No wonder he didn’t have much appetite. Harry decided he’d have to find a way to get Draco away from the Great Hall for meals, occasionally. Or, at least, start bringing some snacks to training. Maybe he could get Dobby to get some of the roast beef he’d noticed was Draco’s favorite when they were trapped together before school term started. Maybe even some of the treacle tart he’d preferred for dessert…

Merlin.

When had Harry started noticing Malfoy’s favorite foods? This went beyond the Sentinel trying to take care of his Guide. Went beyond an attraction for a good looking boy. He didn’t just want to feed him and keep him healthy as a Guide. He didn’t just want to explore the attraction with sex. He wanted to make Draco smile. Wanted to take away the loneliness. The pain. He wanted to make Draco Malfoy happy.

He cared about Malfoy. Cared like, like… his mind shied away from giving it a definition.

The chunk of melon he’d just put in his mouth lodged in his throat when he inhaled sharply in shock.

He coughed, hard and hacking, until he dislodged it, gasping for air and clutching for his juice.

“Harry!”

“Are you alright, mate?”

“Give him some room.”

His friends were instantly around him. Poking, prodding, checking, and protecting him from all the prying eyes in the Hall that turned at the commotion.

He waved them off, and when he could speak again, muttered, “Swallowed wrong. Sorry. I’m fine,now.”

When his table had returned to some semblance of normal, Harry let his senses drift back to the Slytherin table. Draco appeared to be staring at his food, but Harry could see the gray eyes peeking at him with concern from under pale lashes.

He realized that, once the adrenaline stopped pumping, Draco might be able to feel his latest self-realization. Using the Occlumency skills he’d once again been learning from Snape, he buried his interest and affection deep behind mental walls.

Once secure, he let his senses wander to distract his mind and stared up into the ceiling. For the first time since coming online, he let himself explore the clouds above. The illusion of the sky, like the real one outside, had a wide variety of shades, a play of light and shadow across the blue.

Entranced, Harry let himself get lost so quickly in the variegation that he started falling into the abyss. Losing his grip, he tried to reach for the link but it was too late and the world fell away.

*

Draco kept his head down, trying to focus on Pansy and Knott tearing chunks out of each other. Trying hard not to look over at the Gryffindor table and Potter. He couldn’t afford to give Knott anymore fuel for speculation.

Not that the stupid git was making it easy. First, there had been a kaleidoscope burst of emotions along their link, followed by gut wrenching panic. Then the Gryffindor table had erupted in some kind of commotion before settling back into a semblance of normal. At least Potter was calm now.

A little too calm. Keeping his head down, Draco carefully slanted his gaze over toward the Gryffindor table. Potter was staring up at the shifting ceiling above the hall. The hum along their link was quieting rapidly and Draco realized the prat was unblinking and unnaturally still.

Fuck. What the hell was he supposed to do now? He glanced around but the Great Hall was still full, nearly everyone in the damn school was somewhere in the room.

Granger and Weasley had noticed Harry’s condition and were whispering heatedly. Uncaring about anything but Potter he lifted his head and looked directly at the table, waiting for some sign. He could see Granger point to the High Table and Weasley shake his head. Then Longbottom leaned over and whispered something urgently and Granger threw up her hands and slumped backwards.

Weasley turned and looked directly at Draco. There was still reservation and doubt in his posture, but he carefully tilted his head toward Potter. It was a subtlety Draco didn’t think Weasley had in him but it was all the summons he needed.

Draco stood up abruptly, intent on moving before anyone could change their mind.

“Where are you going, Malfoy?”

Knott was glancing with contemplative suspicion between Draco and the Gryffindor table.

Draco realized he still had to be careful here. Needed to keep Knott and the rest off-balance and away from the truth. He let his face slide into a half-lidded smirk.

“To do something I should have done weeks ago.”

In a well-practiced swirl of robes he headed for Potter. It took all the self-restraint he had to keep his pace controlled and unhurried when everything inside beat at him to get to his Sentinel. Now.

A couple of Gryffindors noticed his approach but he was next to Potter and his friends before anyone thought to protest.

Granger bit her lip and gazed steadily at him before whispering, “I don’t know if this is a good idea.”

He knew this was the make or break point. Draco let his mask slip a little. Let her see his own concern and resolve. “Trust me, Granger. I’ll take care of him,” he whispered back.

Another second of deliberation and the tiniest of nods. Draco didn’t wait for anymore protests. Weasley had moved back and Draco slipped into the space next to Potter. He slid one hand over the boy’s chest to rest over his heart and the other into his hair pulling Potter’s face close.

He kept the kiss slow and soft, brush after brush of lips against lips. He knew he had to engage as many of Potter’s senses as possible, though. Touch and sound and scent were already taken care of by his proximity.

Carefully, he slid his tongue along the unmoving bottom lip, slipping it inside and tasting Potter for the first time.

With a gasp, Harry came alive under him. Hands reached for him, mouth opened for him and a determined tongue slid along his, over it and into his mouth to taste back. There was a soft moan and Draco had no idea which one of them had made the sound.

As quickly as it started, it was over. Potter pulled back abruptly to stare in surprise at Draco. But he did not release his hold where his hands had wrapped around Draco’s biceps.

“What the fuck, Draco?” Potter hissed quietly, glancing at the shocked faces around them. Luckily none of the faculty had seen the PDA. A quick glance at the High Table and Dumbledore’s twinkling eyes made Draco rethink that. Just none of the faculty who’d feel the need to separate them.

Draco licked his lips, tilted his head up and smiled a calm, conceited smile. He adjusted the volume of his voice so it would carry far enough that the rumors would spread like wildfire.

“I’m tired of sneaking around, pretending we’re not together. My reputation’s already destroyed anyway.” He smirked, letting a little mischief into his expression. “You were right, there’s no point in hiding our relationship anymore.”

“Huh?”

Potter’s stunned, confused expression was so worth it and Draco bit his lip to keep from laughing. Then he leaned forward, brushed his lips over Potter’s in a chaste kiss.

“Maybe we should talk about this in private.”

Harry licked his lips, like he was chasing the taste and something satisfied curled in Draco’s stomach.

“Private. Right. Good idea.” Potter still looked completely gobsmacked and Draco couldn’t help laughing under his breath when Potter dragged him out of the Great Hall.

*

In the empty classroom that was starting to feel like their second home, Draco cast the Silencing Charm. The familiar spell was calming and gave him a chance to settle himself before facing Potter again.

When he finally looked at the Gryffindor, Harry still looked lost. But the confusion was starting to turn toward anger again.

“What the fuck was that about Draco?”

“You were zoned out. Either I had to bring you out, or the entire school would see you get carted off to the hospital wing. If I just walked up and put my hands on you and started whispering in your ear, most would have jumped to the same conclusion as me kissing you. There are bound to be others, though, like Longbottom, who know about Sentinel and Guides. Others that might be curious enough to figure it out eventually. Letting them think we’re involved redirects them.”

He paused and pushed his hair back in frustration at the pinched-lipped look Potter was giving him. “You and you’re friends are the ones who thought we should keep our connection a secret.”

“I wanted to keep it a secret to protect you.” Potter exploded. He stalked forward, but his hands were gentle when they landed on Draco’s shoulders and his voice dropped to a concerned whisper.

“I don’t want anyone to know we’re connected because it would put you in danger. Now you’ve painted a giant target on your back.”

Draco blinked at the earnest, anguished expression. Potter wasn’t ashamed to have a bond with him. Potter was worried about him. He caught himself before he let his emotions get too far ahead of him.

Of course Potter was worried about him. He was the only compatible Guide they’d found so far. He pushed out of Potter’s grasp and walked a few steps away.

“I’ve already got a target on my back,” he shot back with a sneer. “My father failed and my mother and I betrayed the Dark Lord by switching sides. Knott was already getting suspicious that we had some kind of friendship or partnership. Being your boyfriend is still less dangerous than anyone finding out I’m a Guide. Or that you’re a Sentinel.”

He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “Don’t worry, Potter. If something does happen to me, Dumbledore will move heaven and earth to find you another Guide.”

“Damn it, Draco, I don’t want another Guide,” Harry shouted.

They both froze, staring at each other in surprise as the outburst sunk in. Then Harry sighed and stepped carefully forward again, putting himself firmly in Draco’s space once more.

“I know there’s a lot of history and hatred in our past. Merlin knows you’re still an arrogant bastard and an annoying git. But there’s more to you than that. You keep insisting everything you do is about self-preservation, but you could have gone into hiding with your mother. Instead you came here knowing you’d be expected to take part in whatever we needed you to do against Voldemort.”

Harry leaned forward, settling his hands on Draco’s waist, and resting his forehead on Draco’s.

“You’re smart and funny. When you’re not being malicious, anyway. You’re stronger than you think you are. And nicer. I already think of you as a partner and a friend.” His grip tightened. “I am worried about Draco Malfoy. Not my Guide. The Slytherin prick who makes my life difficult and interesting.”

Draco felt lost. His heart pounded and warmth spread through him.

“Oh. Well. Still. Uh, we needed to get people to stop speculating while they were still looking in the wrong direction. This way, they’ll think they know and start speculating about our sex life instead. Or when the relationship will spectacularly and publicly implode.”

Harry’s laughter was real and unfeigned and relieved. Draco felt the same way.

*

Draco headed off toward his first class of the morning and Harry turned his feet toward the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.

The farther he got from his Guide, the more doubts began to plague him. Had he said too much? Given too much away? Draco had seemed to need the reassurance, but Harry didn’t understand why. Was it because Harry was the closest thing to a friend that Draco had? Or did the Slytherin worry he’d lose their protection if he wasn’t contributing to the cause? Would whatever was driving Draco be enough to make him want to stay on as Guide if he figured out Harry’s feelings had started to go beyond partnership?

“Harry, there you are, mate.”

“Are you okay?”

“What was that with Malfoy all about?”

Hermione and Ron corralled him against the wall and peppered him with questions until he held up his hands and laughed at the familiar scene.

When they finally hushed, he explained the taunts and questions he’d overheard at the Slytherin table, his own stupidity leading to a pathetically predictable zone out and Draco’s quick thinking cover.

The only thing he left out was his sudden, personal insight into his own feelings. He honestly had no idea how to explain, even if he wanted to, how his fiercest rival had become the object of his affection.

Even with his silence, Hermione cast a knowing look. Ron leveled a contemplative glance his way until he finally asked, “Does this mean Malfoy’s going to be hanging around even more often, now?”

Harry had a flash of panic that somehow his friends had already discovered his deep-seated feelings. It only lasted a second before logic took over and he realized Ron was referring to the pretend relationship he was now involved in. Not the real one he was wishing for.

“Uh, probably. Is that going to be a problem?” He asked tentatively.

“I guess not. He hasn’t been so bad, when he hasn’t been pretending to still be a Slytherin prat. And he’s saved you. Twice. Which is bizarre, when you think about it. As long as he isn’t calling ‘Mione a Mudblood, I’ll keep my fist out of his face.”

Hermione looked conflicted between being flattered and horrified at the suggestion of rule breaking and violence. She finally settled on prim disapproval. “I can take care of myself, Ron. Besides, Draco has been a perfect gentleman since this thing started.”

Harry couldn’t help laughing at how normal the whole conversation sounded, considering how off the wall his life had been lately. They were a couple of minutes late for class and Lupin only gave them a warning. He was just thankful he’d managed to avoid nosy questions of his classmates when the professor began lecturing immediately. The good mood lasted all through DADA, until NEWT-level potions with Snape.

He should have known the Slytherin professor would ruin a good day. He hadn’t been in the class for longer than five minutes when an overturned bottle cost him ten House points and a command to stay after class.

Harry did notice, as he struggled to keep up with the advanced theory being thrown out rapid-fire, that Snape kept a vigilant eye on Draco. The blond, however, blithely did everything perfectly and denied Snape the opportunity to keep him after as well.

The second the rest of the class had cleared the door, Snape cast Silencio and turned on Harry with a dark frown and arched eyebrow. “Would you care to tell me what that display at breakfast was all about?”

“Oh, I, uh, didn’t think anyone at the Head Table had seen that?”

“Even if I were as blind as you seem to think, the rumor mill has been on high volume all morning. I doubt you will find anyone on the school grounds who has not heard some version of the event. Now, please answer the question.”

For the second time that morning, Harry explained everything leading up to the staged kiss.

“I see.” The words sounded as though had been torn out of Snape in a painful acknowledgment. “Then you and Mr. Malfoy are not… physically intimate?”

“What?” Harry was stunned at the question and the flush of pleasurable heat the image conjured. “No. I mean, there was the kiss. And the touching for, you know, anchoring. And the, well cuddling, I guess you’d call it…”

His babbled trailed off when Snape raised his hand to rub it hard over his forehead.

“Enough. You realize this will make Draco an even more desirable object of prey to his Housemates now?”

“Yes, sir, but I’m hoping I can at least offer him some protection from the other Houses.”

Both of Snape’s eyebrows rose and he nodded through his surprise. “Perhaps. Once they’re through warning him off.”

Harry scowled, since that potential hadn’t occurred to him. He’d have to make sure he made it clear he wouldn’t put up with that. Whether Draco liked it or not.

There was something else Draco wouldn’t want him interfering with, either.

“Um, sir, he’s getting quite a bit of grief from his Housemate’s already. I haven’t talked to Draco, so I don’t know if he’d want… but I was wondering, if he’d like to, I mean, if he could take his meals at the Gryffindor table.” Harry drew himself up and did his best to let his determination show. “I’ll make sure he’s not hassled.”

“Perhaps. I will discuss it with Dumbledore and McGonagall. Then discuss it with Draco.” Harry couldn’t quite hide the wince, which seemed to amuse the Potions Master. “I’ll let him believe it was my idea, if you prefer.”

His shoulders relaxed a little in relief. “That might be best. Yes. Thank you. Sir.”

Snape waved him off to lunch with a sharp gesture though his typical annoyance couldn’t quite mask the wizard’s amusement as Harry escaped.

*

Draco stood in front of the mirror and checked the crease of his charcoal trousers for the fifteenth time. He felt a little too casual in the simple, though tailored, green button-up shirt. He knew, however, Potter would probably be wearing jeans and a jumper and he didn’t want the Gryffindor to feel under dressed.

Satisfied that his clothes were crisp and presentable, Draco ran a hand through his hair. It now fell in a soft swing that almost brushed his shoulders and Draco worried it looked too unruly. He’d had to stop putting product in it at all since the smell had made Potter sneeze every time he got close. Potter had also developed a habit of touching Draco’s hair and it was awkward when his fingers got stuck.

“You look gorgeous, as always, Master Malfoy.” His mirror stated and he smirked out of habit, the complement did nothing to calm the tight tension in his stomach. Which was ridiculous. He had absolutely nothing to be nervous about. It wasn’t even a real date.

The Hufflepuff’s were having a party in their common room, invitation only. Harry had been invited and he’d ask Draco to go as their first official pretend date.

In the five days since he’d first kissed Potter in front of the entire school, he’d endured a two hour lecture from Snape and a short, awkward conversation with Lupin. He’d heard more than a dozen people suggest Potter needed to be check for Imperius, love potions, and lust amulets. Usually, they didn’t bother to lower their voice when they said it.

He’d been sitting at the Gryffindor’s table and that was a whole other level of uncomfortable. None of the Gryffindors had made accusations, at least in Draco’s hearing, but several of them had warned him to be very careful of Potter’s emotions.

As if.

He was useful to Potter. Also, perhaps the Gryffindor’s need to save everyone came into play. Draco hated the idea that Potter might pity him, but, at least, there had been no outward signs of it.

There hadn’t been a second kiss yet, either. Not even a public, chaste demonstration of affection. Which was fine. It was good.

Except that it wasn’t.

Some traitorous part of him wanted another kiss. Wanted to feel those surprisingly soft lips again.

Ugh. Draco wanted to tug on his hair in frustration at the unwanted attraction and need that had blindsided him. He resisted the urge, however, because he didn’t want to mess it up before going to see Potter.

People. He didn’t want to mess up his hair before going to the party and seeing people.

He wished he could blame the pathetic infatuation on the Sentinel-Guide phenomenon, but he’d done all of the reading Snape had suggested. He knew only about a third of bonded pairs ever became involved romantically or sexually. The rest remained platonic.

So it was only his traitorous body that was somehow attracted to Potter.

A knock at the door startled him. He opened it to find a surprisingly well dressed Potter. He was, indeed, in jeans but they were new and fit him well. Too well. Draco snapped his focus back up to the crisp black linen shirt, also obviously new and tailored to him.

He bit his lip to keep from complimenting Harry and instead he asked, “I thought we were going to meet at the Hufflepuff dorm. What are you doing here?”

Harry shrugged, a line of pink trailed across his cheeks. “’Mione says it’s traditional for the asker to pick up his date.”

“I’m not a bloody girl, Potter.”

The smile that got him was warm and surprisingly flirtatious. “I noticed.”

Draco blinked twice, at a loss. Then Potter turned to look back toward the hallway. “Right well, let’s get going.”

Snapping out of the stunned moment, Draco followed and smirked at Potter. “It looks like someone finally took you shopping.”

“Yeah, uh, I didn’t have much with me when Dumbledore found me. Madam McGonagall went to the Dursley’s to get my stuff and only brought back what she considered presentable. She prodded me to agree to let Hermione take me shopping while we were in Hogsmeade.”

As he spoke, he self-consciously smoothed the front of his shirt.

“Well, I have to give her credit. Granger has better taste in clothes than I would have expected. You look good.”

Draco decided he would have to compliment Potter more when a warm rush of pleasure surged along their bond.

When they walked into the Hufflepuff common room, the chatter dropped off and every eye in the place turned to look at them.

Draco was used to being the center of attention wherever he went. Normally, he invited and enjoyed the recognition. Now, though, under the heavy weight of the assessing stares pinning him in place, he began to worry maybe he shouldn’t have started any of this.

Then Potter put a comforting hand on his back and leaned into him a little while glaring at the crowd until eyes started to drop away. The chattered ramped up a couple of notches as attention fell off them and the gossiping began in earnest.

Draco let out the breath he’d unconsciously held. Despite feeling like a lifetime, the whole episode lasted less than a few seconds.

Granger and Weasley approached them as soon as they stepped out of the entry. The couple planted themselves between the Sentinel-Guide pair and the rest of the room, making an effective roadblock. The ginger pressed a butterbeer in each of their hands, and, if he didn’t have an image to uphold, Draco might have considered hugging him in gratitude.

“You really know how to make an entrance, Harry.” Ron said, grinning at both of them in amusement.

Potter shuddered and took a healthy gulp of his drink. Draco, smirked and followed suit, glad he wasn’t the only one unnerved by the whole thing.

Then he deliberately eased his usual defenses and let a little sincerity show through as he acknowledged the help. “Thanks for the drink, Weasley. And for the buffer.”

Granger shrugged and Weasley flushed a startling magenta that clashed ridiculously with his hair.

The common room was crowded. Butterbeer was stacked in metal tubs with Frigio charms cast on them and a table full of snacks stood next to the fireplace. The center of the room was well lit, but the corners were left deliberately dark and several couples had already retreated to the shadows to snog.

Eventually, Harry and Draco had to rejoin the rest of the party, though, since the whole point was to let the school see them interacting as a couple.

They made their way through the room and several people stopped Harry, pretending to chat while fishing for fuel to add to the rumor mill. Most of the time, they ignored Draco. Some were civil and made the effort to include him. The few that made snide comments, however, found themselves immediately snubbed by Harry.

When they made it to the opposite side of the room, Draco found himself in one of those shadowed corners with his Sentinel. Potter maneuvered them so Draco’s back was to the wall and he provided a solid block between his Guide and the judgmental eyes of the rest of the room.

“I’m sorry. I thought they’d be nicer to you if they saw us together.” Potter scowled and flicked a glare over his shoulder, but his words were soft and sincere.

Draco sagged back and he let himself relax for the first time since walking into the common room. “They’ve been nicer to me than I expected. Much nicer than the first few of weeks of term, anyway.”

Potter looked surprised. “But Dumbledore warned everyone…”

“That only meant they laid off the physical abuse. Not the mocking or nasty comments or scorn.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

Draco exhaled in exasperation.

“Because there’s nothing anyone can do. Nobody says anything in front of staff. No student is going to back me up if I go whining like a baby because someone called me a name. Besides, I don’t want to give them the satisfaction of thinking it bothers me. It doesn’t.” He tried to put as much indifference into the lie as he could. “Nothing they say has any meaning to me.”

“But you… I mean the Slytherins I get. But the other Houses, don’t they understand what you’ve given up?”

Draco shook his head. Of course they didn’t know. He’d been very careful about keeping up appearances.

“And me,” Potter continued. “What you’ve done for me…”

He trailed off, obviously remembering the very small circle of people who understood exactly what Draco had done for him.

“All they know is that I’ve been snogging you.” Peeking around the Gryffindor’s shoulder, he saw the furtive, speculative looks being leveled at them from around the room. “Speaking of, you’re looking pretty serious and upset. Everyone’s probably thinking we’re fighting. And gleefully awaiting a dramatic breakup.”

Draco had to give Harry credit for being better at deception than he’d expected. The Boy-Who-Lived didn’t even glance around to see who was watching. Didn’t hesitate at all.

The Sentinel simply reached out and sank his fingers into Draco’s hair, tugging his Guide forward.

When their mouths met this time, the kiss was mutual from the start. Potter never did anything by half measures. He even threw himself whole-hearted and reckless into kissing.

For Draco it was a blur of sensations and heat and want. The hand in his hair kept stroking and soothing, the other hand dropped to his waist, fingers tight and pulling their bodies close. Draco’s hand slid up to Harry’s shoulders and held on for the ride until the need to breathe finally separated them.

Potter’s head dropped to Draco shoulder and the Sentinel inhaled deeply. The position had become so familiar over the past few weeks, Draco found being scented nearly as relaxing as Harry did. This time, though he shivered from the hot breath and inadvertent brush of lips against the skin of his throat.

A second, colder shiver followed when he remembered this was all an act. A performance for their avid audience.

His body thrummed but he quashed it. The kiss was nothing more than a ruse.

He had to remember it was only an act. For Potter. And for himself.

*

Draco stared out at the snow covering the grounds around the school. A surprise snowstorm had hit them the night before and left the castle snowbound. Instead of working outside, as was their habit when weather permitted, Harry was working with Remus in the DADA classroom, practicing grounding his senses without physical contact with his Guide. Draco was in a classroom next door, theoretically studying for end of term exams. Malfoy didn’t wait for the last minute to be prepared, however. He could take the tests today if needed.

Instead, he stared out the window and tried not to dwell on the fact that, for the first time in his life, he would not be spending Christmas with his family. Even fourth year, the one and only time he’d stayed at Hogwarts, his parents had come to him to celebrate.

In a little over a week, the school would empty out and only a handful of students would remain. He and Harry would be spending Christmas day with the Weasleys, but the rest of the time, they’d be pathetically wandering the empty halls of Hogwarts. The type of students he used to taunt and tease for having nowhere to go. Actions he deeply regretted now that he had no family of his own to turn to. He hadn’t understood how hollow and alone one could feel without the love and support given freely by a strong family unit. The kind of comfort he’d always taken for granted.

“What are you thinking about so hard in here? You’re looking much too serious.” His Sentinel leaned in the door with a soft smile.

“The upcoming holiday and families. Or lack thereof.”

The smile disappeared from his Sentinel’s face in a flash of pain and Draco wanted to kick himself.

“Harry. Merlin. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… That was a stupid thing to say.”

Harry crossed the room and sank down in the chair next to him, eyes going out to the barren white landscape.

“It’s alright Draco, I get it. It’s the first time you’ve had to face it. I’m kind of use to it. In a way, it’s harder for you, because you know what you’re missing. I never got Christmas with my parents, that I remember. Except…”

Draco hesitated, they’d grown close in the months since becoming Sentinel-Guide. The expectations of their pretend relationship had forced intimacy that might have taken longer to form, otherwise. Like calling each other by first names. Or knowing each other’s favorites, be it food, music or Quidditch players.

Though they touched constantly, the kissing continued to be only in public. Draco found himself disappointed that intimacy did not extend to their time alone. And horrified by the fact that he wanted more than pretend with Potter.

They hadn’t talked much about family or the past, though. Basically, they avoided anything that might remind them of their history and the animosity they used to share. But Draco could see, could feel along their bond, something was hurting inside his Sentinel and he wanted to help, if he could.

“Except?” He asked gently, carefully trying not to push.

Harry looked at him warily for a second, then back out at the rolling white snow drifts. Without seeming to think about it, he reached out and covered Draco’s hand with his, stroking long fingers across pale skin.

“Except, I got to stay with Sirius last year, over the holidays. It… the Weasley’s were there. And Hermione. The people I think of as my family. It was… I’m glad I got to spend time with him is all. I thought it was the first of many holidays I’d get to spend with my godfather.”

Draco shifted his hand, turning it over so he could cradle Harry’s and echoed the soothing stroking of fingers on skin.

“Merlin, Harry, I’m stupid. I’m sorry. I didn’t know. You hardly talk about him, or what happened… I didn’t realize…”

“It’s okay, Draco.” The smile was tentative and brittle. “I don’t talk about him, because, well it hurts to. Also, because the day he… the day I lost him, was the same day you lost your father. It’s one of those things we talk around so we don’t end up arguing.”

Draco blinked. There were a thousand questions he knew he shouldn’t ask. But there was something he needed to know. “Was it… Did my father kill him?”

Harry tore his eyes away from the glittering landscape and looked at Draco with surprise. “You don’t know what happened?”

“No. Mother didn’t want to talk about it, and I didn’t want to push her. Honestly, I don’t think I really wanted to know. I wanted to pretend he was merely there by accident. That he hadn’t done anything horrible.”

He could see in the way Harry went still that harsh memories were flashing through his mind. Could feel cold sharp, shards of pain along the bond.

“Forget it. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.” He tightened his grip on the hand in his. “You don’t have to remember.”

“It’s alright. Your father didn’t kill Sirius. Your aunt did.”

“Bella.” He couldn’t help the snarl of contempt and Harry raised an eyebrow at his reaction. “She’s psychotic, Harry. Even for a Death Eater. She killed my favorite horse when I was twelve, because it snorted at her rudely. She terrorized my mother after Voldemort’s punishment, threatening her with more of the same.”

When he was finished with his tirade, Harry just looked at him oddly. Once he regained his calm, he realized he needed to face all of his family history, good or bad, if he was going to move forward. “Could you tell me what happened at the Ministry? If it’s not too difficult for you, I mean.”

The details of that night made Draco shiver while he listened to Harry recite it in a dispassionate voice. Draco didn’t interrupt once, realizing he probably should have asked someone else.

When Harry was done, he had a faraway look in his eye and Draco wasn’t even sure the Gryffindor was talking to him anymore.

“I was positive Sirius would just pop out the back of that arch. I couldn’t believe it when Lupin told me he was dead. I didn’t want to believe it. I still don’t. I think there will always be a part of me that expects him to walk through the door any minute.”

“Merlin, you don’t have an easy life, do you?”

“No.” Harry whispered and his spine stiffened. His haunted eyes turned blank and he became completely withdrawn. “No and it doesn’t look to get any better in the near future.”

Before Draco could figure out how to console his Sentinel, the clock chimed and Harry shifted back to himself, standing up and pulling his hand out from underneath Draco’s. “We better hurry if we’re going to make it to dinner before Ron eats all the beef.”

Harry laughed a little but it was forced and empty and he was already retreating toward the door. Draco scrambled to keep up. They’d traveled halfway to the Great Hall in awkward uncomfortable silence before Draco realized he’d left his book bag in the classroom.

The look and sensation of relief he got from Harry when he said he had to go back and get it nearly brought him to his knees.

Draco knew he was being childish but he stomped all the way back to the classroom where he’d abandoned his stuff. What the fuck had that been about? He knew it had been a mistake to ask Harry about the Ministry, but he hadn’t expected it to put a wedge between them. Even now, he could feel Harry sealing off their bond, so only a fragment of what he was feeling could get through. Not even enough for Draco to figure out what the Sentinel was thinking, let alone how to fix it.

Stupid. Reminding Harry of all the ways Draco’s family had hurt him had not been the smartest move. His Sentinel was probably remembering the times Draco had injure not only Harry but his friends, as well.

Draco gathered his things and he berated himself. When he started to leave, however, the sounds of conversation penetrated his consciousness. Slowing and quieting his moves, Draco sidled close to the open door of the DADA room.

Inside, Dumbledore was talking while Snape and Lupin stood on opposite sides of the desk, glaring at each other. That was one relationship that had not softened or improved with time and being forced to work together.

“… I’m glad to hear that Harry and Draco are working well together. I know the strain of the school’s opinion has not been easy on either of them. I wanted to let you both know Charlie Weasley will be coming home for Christmas.”

Snape nodded sagely, ever-present frown creasing his sharp face. Lupin looked between the headmaster and the Potion’s professor with confusion.

“I’m sorry, what is the significance of Mr. Weasley’s holiday plans?”

“Excuse me, Lupin, I forgot you were not here at the end of the summer.” Dumbledore said. “Mr. Weasley was identified as potentially compatible with Harry. However, there was some difficulty getting him back to England. Then Mr. Malfoy was found and it was decided to wait to see how that relationship progressed before recalling him…”

Draco couldn’t breathe. His lungs were wrapped in iron and his stomach was ready to revolt. He didn’t want to hear anymore. Didn’t want to hear how they planned to replace him with a Weasley.

Without thinking or planning, Draco ran. For a second, he could feel Harry stirring through the bond before he slammed a quick seal over it. Draco deserved privacy for his meltdown. Harry could make it through dinner without a damn anchor and if he couldn’t, well then, he could ask a damn Weasley for help.

*

The following week was awkward and strained as Draco tried his best to avoid Potter without being obvious. It galled a little that it was incredibly easy because the Boy-Who-Lived was working just as hard to avoid him.

The end of term exams gave them both regular excuses to be going in opposite directions, most of the time. It didn’t explain why they both worked so hard to keep the bond as blanked as possible. Draco kept telling himself he was relieved Potter was eager to switch to another Guide. He hadn’t wanted to bond with the Sentinel to begin with. He’d only done it to keep the hope of the wizarding world conscious and productive.

His mood wasn’t helped by the fact that the rest of the school picked up on the strained relationship. The nasty jibes that had pretty much stopped after the Hufflepuff party were back with a vengeance.

At least it was the last day of tests and tomorrow most of the students would disappear for the holidays. He’d have a measure of peace from the renewed harassment but would have no buffer between him and Harry. Potter. Draco needed to get use to calling him Potter again, once the bond was broken.

His teeth sank into his lip, focusing on ignoring the gut wrenching sense of loss when he wondered if Har—Potter would wait until Christmas Day to meet with Charlie Weasley or if he would be leaving with Ron the next day.

“Where to in such a hurry, Malfoy?”

The sneer, accompanied by a shove in the back that sent Draco stumbling forward a few steps, snapped him out of the dark place in his own head.

“It’s not like you have any place to go. You’ll be staying right here for the holidays. I wonder if Potter is even going to stay with you?”

He realized he’d walked right into the middle of a group of Slytherins. Three fourth years, who he recognized as Pansy’s lackeys, stood in a loose circle around him. A couple of second years acted as lookouts.

Pansy had pretty much lost out in her bid to become the new Slytherin leader, mostly because only the younger years supported her, but she’d never known when to quit. Apparently, she’d seen Draco’s recent estrangement from his ‘boyfriend’ as an opportunity to get a little power back.

Another shove sent him stumbling again, directly into the hands of a second Fourth year who pushed him back. Draco reached for his wand, knowing the staff had let their guard down and no longer followed him around like they had at the beginning of the year.

The first bully grabbed his arms before he could get hold of it. The second, who Draco now recognized as a Yaxley from some line or other, stepped in front of him with malicious glee. He was nearly as big as Crabbe and Draco knew he didn’t have much hope of escaping without bruises or worse.

“Poor ickle Dwaco,” the third, who looked an awful lot like a male version of Bulstrode, chanted. “We’ll leave you something to remember us by over the holidays.”

“What the hell is going on?”

All of them turned to look at Potter, who was pushing a second year out of his way like an avenging angel. Granger, Longbottom and Weasley were hot on his heels.

The Slytherin behind him released him immediately, Yaxley and the other also took a step or two away. “No problem here. Draco tripped. We were just helping him get his balance. Right, Malfoy?”

“Bullshit.” He took several steps closer to Harry and away from his tormenters. “They were planning to beat me up, figuring they could get away with it right before the break.”

Draco was surprised when not only Harry, but the other Gryffindors went for their wands, as well.

The Slytherins took off for the other end of the hall, the Second years lagging behind. Draco started to laugh at the sight of them huffing and puffing with unfamiliar exertion, but Harry was pulling him close, sniffing him, running hands over his Guide. For a moment, Draco let himself lean into his Sentinel. Let himself enjoy the possessive concern.

Then a glimpse of Weasley’s red hair reminded him this wasn’t truly his place. At least not in a few more days.

The hands that had been curling into Potter’s robe flattened out and shoved the Sentinel away.

“Draco?”

He knew he was overreacting, the strain of the past week, the hell of the past six months, and his resentment and sense of rejection fueled the anger.

“Don’t, Potter. Just don’t. You don’t have to pretend to care. I know I’m not what you wanted for a Guide. But I’ve done my fucking best. I deserved a little courtesy.”

“Draco?”

The green eyes shimmered with confusion at his Guide’s diatribe.

Draco’s shoulders slumped, the anger burnt out into resignation and a sadness he couldn’t even define.
“You could have told me about Weasley. You didn’t have to avoid me all week.”

Harry exchanged glances with Ron, who looked even more bewildered. Then he looked back at Draco with hands outspread in a placating gesture.

“Draco, I-we, have no idea what you’re upset about.”

“Not that one. The older one.” Anger and frustration flared back to life. “Forget it, I don’t want to talk about it anymore. It’s the fucking holiday, I deserve a little peace.”

Turning, he ran, leaving a befuddled group of Gryffindors behind. A tentative whisper of concern brushed along the bond and Draco shut it down cold.

He needed to get out of the castle, away from all the curious eyes and wagging tongues. He didn’t slow until he was out on the grounds. The snow from earlier in the week had melted, leaving a maze of puddles to carefully skirt his way around. He caught his breath and meandered toward the shore of the lake, stopping only when his feet were actually being licked by the softly lapping waves.

The subtle shifting of the water was soothing and Draco watched it. Staring out into the sparkle of the sun glittering on water, he admitted to himself that he hurt. He may not have wanted to be Harry’s Guide, but, now, he didn’t want to give it up. And the physical relationship may have been make-believe, but sometimes it felt so real, Draco had hoped one day it would be.

Although he’d never admit out loud, he was even going to miss the bloody Gryffindors. They’d slowly gone from being civil to him for Harry’s sake to tentative friendships of their own.

The sound of careful footsteps pattered behind him but he didn’t turn around. Most likely one of Potter’s cronies, no doubt playing goodie two-shoes, coming down to check on Draco’s emotional state. He wouldn’t give whoever it was the satisfaction of his attention.

A second later, he realized his mistake when the wind carried a muffled Petrificus Totalus to his ears half a heartbeat before his arms and legs snapped rigid and he felt himself falling forward.

Time slowed as he watched the water rush up to meet him, unable to stop the fall or even brace himself. He hit hard and the water closed over his face instantly.

Cold, shockingly cold. Water slid up his nose, into his mouth, his throat, his lungs leaving a path of freezing pain in its wake. His chest was already tightening, panic flooded him with no place to go. He couldn’t struggle, couldn’t push himself up the six inches in order to save his own life.

As the pain and fear became unbearable, darkness started to creep in around the edges of his sight and his thoughts. Right before consciousness deserted him completely, he opened the link to Harry, letting himself feel, one last time, the warm glow that the bond and Harry filled him with.

The black closed in and, as the lake bottom disappeared from his view, a hint of blue began to shimmer in the darkness.

*

Harry watched Draco flee from him with a sinking, sickening déjà vu of listening to his mysterious visitor flee from him in the hospital wing months ago. He had no idea what had happened or why Draco was angry with him. He tried to open the link between them but, like it had been for the past week, it was sealed as tightly as his Guide could make it.

Confusion gave way to the beginning of frustrated anger. Draco was the one who had closed down, the one who had been avoiding spending more than the minimum amount of time together.

It started right after Harry revealed the events at the Ministry. Draco had suddenly remembered something pressing he had to do before dinner and had disappeared for the rest of that night. At first, Harry had been relieved by the respite. His mind had been in chaos, dealing with the riot of emotion that thinking about the events of the Ministry had stirred up. He hadn’t want to burden Draco with any more of that than he already had.

When Draco had reappeared the next morning for breakfast, though, the cool distant mask had been back and kept Harry at a distance. He had found excuse after excuse to avoid Harry since.

It had been frustrating but Harry figured that hearing the gory details of that night had given Draco second thoughts about being his Guide. It was a reminder that Harry was responsible for his father going to Azkaban. And all of the upheaval in Draco’s life after that.

It was also a stark reminder of how dangerous being close to Harry could be.

As much as Harry hated the growing gulf between him and his Guide, he hadn’t done anything to try and bridge it because he thought Draco needed a little time and space. He’d hoped maybe they could ease back together once they were pretty much alone during the holiday break.

Apparently, he’d made the wrong decision.

“Fuck it,” he muttered to himself and turned in the direction of Draco’s flight, following his scent toward the Entrance Hall. Several minutes had passed already, but the scent was still fresh to a Sentinel.

His friends were close on his heels.

“It might be better to give Draco a little time to calm down…” Hermione was skipping a little to keep up with his hurried pace.

“I gave him time all week and apparently he thought I was avoiding him.”

“Harry—”

Whatever else she was going to say washed away in the abrupt flood of emotions that engulfed him through the bond.

He dropped to his knees in the backlash of pain, fear, sadness, struggle and hopelessness assaulting him. Slowly, he centered himself and used the pain as an anchor, flinging his senses out, following the scent until he pinpointed Draco with the sounds and scents of the lake surrounding his Guide.

“Accio Broom!” He flung out his hand and waited for his broom to land in it with a solid thunk.

“Harry!”

He realized his friends had been shouting questions at him while he’d been focused on Draco. Rather than answer the questions, he shouted orders of his own.

“Get Pomfrey. Snape, Dumbledore and probably Remus, too.”

Harry climbed on his broom and he headed toward the door, fumbling to remember the door opening spell.

Behind him, Neville shouted, “Ianu Aperi.”

The door burst open in front of him and he leaned forward on the broom. Putting on as much speed as he could, Harry raced out into the bright sunlight using every skill and talent he had to get him to his Guide in record time.

He leapt off the broom when he caught sight of Draco face down in the water. Shock and pain twisting knives in him at the sight of that beautiful hair floating limply on the water like a twisted halo.

Harry dragged his Guide from the water as quickly as he could, turning over the rigid body with shaking hands. Draco’s pale face was blue, his skin too cold to the touch, that precious heartbeat silent. Harry swallowed down the urge to be sick and instead started casting every first aid and healing spell he’d ever learned.

The crack of Apparition startled him and he whirled with wand in hand to find a house elf had arrived with Madame Pomfrey and Dumbledore. Another crack brought another elf with Snape and Lupin.

Harry scrambled out of the way letting the matron take over the care of his Guide. He wanted to demand, beg, promise anything for her to help Draco but his throat was too tight to let even a whisper pass.

He watched while she cast a spell he didn’t recognize. Then another and another and another in quick succession, each more frantic then the last. Finally, she sat back on her heels and let her head fall forward before turning toward her audience. Tears streamed down her face and her voice was raw with emotion.

“He’s gone. I’m sorry. We were too late.”

“No!” The words roared out and he pushed pass Pomfrey to dropped to his knees, gathering his motionless Guide in his arms. “He’s not gone. I can still feel him.”

It was true, but the link was getting narrower, harder to hold on to, thinning to a nebulous thread.

He laid his head against Draco’s and inhaled the beloved scent, tainted now with icy cold lake water. He closed his eyes and the world fell away.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Text

Part Five

Harry was running. In and out of trees, around brush, leaping over logs then sprinting again as soon as all four paws touched down in the blue landscape.

Four. Paws.

In a blue forest. He stumbled a little when his tail knocked him off balance. Somehow he’d ended up in the blue landscape he and Draco often found themselves in when they managed to sync their meditation. He’d met his spirit animal here plenty of times. But he’d never become the cougar before.

He had to find Draco. His Guide would know the answers.

Draco.

Fuck. It all came rushing back in a swell of horror.

But Draco wasn’t gone yet. The link was stronger, here, though still weakening with every passing second. He wouldn’t lose his Guide. Not now. Not like this.

Running again, he followed instincts he didn’t understand and soon caught sight of the fox. The trees parted, giving Harry a flash of a red coat. The space between them yawned in an insurmountable expanse and the fox continued to run away from him.

Harry tried to shout but it came out in a loud, plaintiff yowl. The fox glanced back but didn’t slow its pace. Harry let the cougar take over control again and gave chase. He was faster but the fox was smaller and wilier. Every time he’d would start to get close, the fox would dart under an obstacle the cougar had to go around or would slide through a tunnel he couldn’t get more than his muzzle into.

In the distance, a lake glowed neon white in the blue air. The fox was halfway to the shimmering waters and the cat knew, if it chose to enter the water, everything was over. He’d lose his Guide forever.

The yowl was louder and longer this time, stopping the fox. Harry kept going, crying one more time and putting everything into a sound that was sad and desperate, hopeful and pleading. The fox turned around and looked at the approaching cougar. Then it was running towards him and Harry could feel the bond growing, strengthening, filling him with hope and joy.

Neither slowed, racing full tilt until they should have crashed into each other. Instead, a burst of blue light enfolded them both. Harry plunged into a feeling of ultimate connection, of being part of Draco, surrounded by him and surrounding him at the same time. The blue glow faded fast to black and he was again alone in the dark. Except for the heartbeat. The wonderful, soothing, comforting, strong heartbeat.

“Harry. Harry!” A hand shook his shoulder and he blinked his eyes back on the real world. “Harry, he’s alive, you need to let Madam Pomfrey help.”

Other sounds caught his attention now. Draco coughing, Pomfrey casting, more footsteps running towards them. Danger. Electricity zipped through his muscles and his only thought was protect the Guide. His wand was half raised before his eyes focused on Ron, Hermione and Neville pounding up from the direction of the castle. He let his body go lax and allowed Remus to pull him out of the way.

His eyes immediately snapped back to Draco. He doubted he’d ever take his eyes off of his Guide again.

*

Draco knew exactly where he was when he woke up. As much time as he’d spent with Potter in the hospital wing over the summer, he recognized it as quickly as he would his own room. He took inventory of the various aches and pains. His entire body was tired and stiff, his throat a little raw, his lungs twinged a little with every breath and his eyes were gritty. Something heavy weighed down one of his hands.

He looked down to see his fingers clenched tightly in someone else’s. Dark messy hair lay on the bed next to the clasped hands. Draco knew Harry was going to have a back ache from the awkward way he sat in the chair to get his head on the bed. Draco let his other hand move across his body to run his fingers through Potter’s tangled silky hair.

The soothing motion calmed him and he finally let the last moments of his memory play themselves out while he tried to remember how he’d ended up in the infirmary.

The lake. The feeling of helplessness. The confusion. Then the pull of Harry and the bond calling him back from the promised relief of the white waters. The joy of connecting with his Sentinel on a level he couldn’t describe.

Harry had come after him. Harry had wanted him back. But Draco didn’t know if that meant Harry wanted Draco, or simply that the Sentinel wanted to protect his Guide. Right now, though, in the quiet, dark infirmary, Draco was content to feel Harry’s hand in his, Harry’s hair under his fingers and the bond stretching between them wide open and twice as strong as he remembered.

Eventually his Sentinel began to stir, groaning as he sat up and blinked sleep from his eyes. “You’re awake?” Harry asked groggily.

“Yes. I am. Excellent observation skills as usual, Potter.”

He’d meant it to be a joke, but the Gryffindor’s face fell at the use of his surname and Draco knew he’d miscalculated.

“Harry…”

“Oh, good, Mr. Malfoy, you’re awake. I was just making my last rounds before bed. Harry, would you summon the others while I check out our patient.”

“Yeah, of course.” Harry jumped to his feet and started to move away.

“Harry?” Draco hated the pleading tone in his own voice, but he couldn’t let the other boy walk away without some reassurance. Draco just wasn’t sure who was reassuring who.

Harry smiled at him, a little tentative, but a real smile. “I’ll be back in ten minutes Draco. I may save you from Slytherin bullying but I’m not getting in Madam Pomfrey’s way.”

It was less than ten minutes, when Harry returned with the usual crew. Dumbledore, Snape and Lupin. Draco was just glad the Gryffindors hadn’t tagged along as well.

Snape, of course, had his usual bedside manner and didn’t ease into the difficult questions, though his words had a softer tone than one would have expected. “Tell us what you remember.”

He shrugged. “Not much. I was down by the lake, I heard something, then I was paralyzed and falling.”

He shivered a little, trying to forget the feeling of helplessness and complete terror he’d felt when the freezing water covered his face.

Harry pushed passed the adults to sit next to him, taking his hand and offering him support, both physically and with a steady stream of comfort through their bond.

“Who knew you were going down to the lake?”

“Ahh. No one.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed at his initial hesitation. “What were you doing down by the lake, Mr. Malfoy?”

Draco closed his eyes to keep from looking over at Harry. He really did not want to have this conversation in front of so many of his professors.

“He was mad at me.” Harry blurted out and Draco could feel his embarrassment. He wasn’t surprised, when he let himself look, to see the dark head ducked low.

Snape rolled his eyes and huffed an annoyed sigh. “I know that Mr. Potter. I was trying to determine how much Draco remembered of the incident.” Then he turned that penetrating gaze on Draco. “Do you remember why you were mad at Potter?”

“Um, yeah. It was the stress of exams…”

Snape arched an eyebrow but didn’t press. Harry squeezed his hand, but the sharp look on his face told Draco he’d probably be answering that question again later.

“Mr. Potter experienced a vision while you were… on the shore. Did you have a similar encounter?”

“Blue forest? Spirit animals? White lake? Blue glowy light? Yeah. I was there, too.” He stomped down on the wish that he could go back to that moment when he and Harry had been so intimately connected they’d become one.

Snape nodded when Draco described his experience. “How does your bond feel, now?”

Draco had been trying not to think about how wide open it was, how thick and strong it felt, connecting him to Harry. Because he should really close it off, at least a little. He shouldn’t be pushing himself on his Sentinel and intruding in his mind.

“It’s strong. It feels… bigger.”

Next to him, Harry nodded at the description. Snape stayed silent before his faced pinched. “I believe the two of you have initiated a secondarybond.”

“But that’ll be harder to break.” Draco blurted it out, without thinking it through. Harry’s fingers tightened on him painfully for a second before loosening almost to the point of letting go.

All three adults looked at him with astonishment, even Snape’s usual unflappable expression shifted slightly into surprise.

“Do you want to break the bond, Draco?” Dumbledore asked with soft concern.

“What? No. I just… thought Harry might… someday…”

“Harry, were you hoping to break the bond?”

The Sentinel shook his head with an intensity that left no doubt and Draco’s stomach unclenched for the first time in a week.

Snape opened his mouth to ask another question, but Dumbledore stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“The boys have been through a lot, today. Perhaps we should let them rest and talk with them more in the morning. I’ll add to the wards around the hospital wing to ensure they’ll be safe here, tonight.”

When the adults finally left, Harry slid off the bed, letting go of even the tentative contact where their hands had been joined. His face reminded Draco a little of Snape’s implacable mask.

“Do you want to break the bond, Draco?”

“Do you?”

In the silence that followed, he couldn’t look at Harry. Not wanting to see the Gryffindor’s sympathy, Draco plucked at the blanket instead. When he couldn’t stand the quiet any longer, he blurted out, “Look, I know about Charlie Weasley, okay? You don’t have to try to break it to me gently.”

“Um, okay. Except I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Please.” Draco growled, getting frustrated now. “I heard them. Dumbledore and Snape and Lupin. They said he had an affinity for Astral Magic too. That he’d be home at Christmas. With your history with the Weasley family, I figured you’d be compatible. That you’d prefer him. And you were so eager to go to the Weasley’s for Christmas.”

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose and inhaled deeply a couple of times. “Okay, first, no one has said a thing to me about Charlie. Not that he had an affinity or that he was coming home. Second, Hermione is my best friend and she isn’t close to the level of… whatever it is that I feel from you. Third, you and I work surprisingly well together. I don’t want to start over with someone else.”

Draco let hope rise a little, but kept it on a short tether. “Then why were you avoiding me?”

The exasperation flowed from Harry and he ran his fingers through his hair in a haphazard fashion. “I wasn’t. You were avoiding me.”

Draco’s lips drooped into a pout. “Just that first day. Then you kept it going.”

The hand in the Sentinel’s hair tugged a little and he gritted his teeth. “I’d told you how I led my friends and family into a trap. Got them hurt. Got my godfather killed. In a roundabout away, got your father sent to Azkaban. Which ruined your life. Wasn’t sure which part, but I assumed something in all that freaked you out. I thought, if you were avoiding me, I’d give you some space.”

“Oh.” Draco wanted to find something more eloquent to say, but he couldn’t manage to put any other words together.

“Draco.” He finally looked up at the soft way Harry said his name. Trembled a little at the uncertainty flowing between them. “Do you want to break the bond?”

“No.” He shook his head vehemently, not wanting the tears to show.

“Okay.” The relief was a golden fluttering along their link. Harry took a step forward then hesitated. “I’d really like contact, if you don’t mind?”

Draco held out his hand and, as soon as Harry put his fingers in it, he tugged the Sentinel into the bed. In an instant, they were wrapped around each other, like they had been every night those weeks at the end of the summer. He’d missed it in the months they’d been forced to sleep apart.

Harry buried his nose into Draco’s neck. “You were dead. So cold, smelled wrong. Everything was wrong.”

He knew he shouldn’t, but Draco couldn’t resist pressing a kiss to Harry’s temple. “I’m sorry. But you saved me. I’m okay now.”

*

A poke in the side woke Harry and he immediately rolled to face the attacker, groping for his wand before his eyes were completely open. When he finally focused on Snape’s sneering face, he let go of his wand and flopped back on the bed.

“Too early, Professor. Let us sleep a little longer. Please. Draco needs rest.”

“Draco can rest. I want to talk to you. Alone. Now, please, Mr. Potter.”

Harry recognized the tone and the glare. Knew he wasn’t getting anymore rest until Snape satisfied whatever bug had crawled up his butt. He sullenly followed the Potions Master to an area at the opposite end of the infirmary where a set of uncomfortable furniture made an improvised waiting area.

Snape cast Silencio then continued to glare at Harry. Annoyed and still tired, he flopped down in the closest chair. “Yell at me for whatever I did now, I’ll apologize and then we can both get back to what we’d rather be doing.”

The glower eased and concern slipped into his expression. “Were you and Draco intimate, last night?”

Shock kept Harry still and his mouth dropped open. Then he bristled and snarled at the professor. “If we did, it’s not any of your business.”

Snape loomed over him, menace twisting his features, though his words were silky. “Draco is a member of my House and his well-being is my business.”

“I would never hurt Draco!”

Snape stepped back and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. “I know that Potter. I am fully aware that it is nearly impossible for you to intentionally hurt him.”

“But you think I could, unintentionally?”

“Could you, just once, answer the question, Potter? Without asking a hundred questions in return.”

“No. We were both exhausted. We just slept. We, uh, don’t have that kind of relationship. I mean, the boyfriend thing, that’s just for show.”

He tried to keep his voice matter-of-fact. This was the last person he wanted to admit his feelings to. Or his disappointment that there wasn’t more between him and his Guide.

“Good. I need for you to keep it that way.”

“What is this about? I know you don’t like me, but I can’t imagine you’d care this much about my sex life.”

It was hard to tell in the dim light, but Harry thought he could see a faint hint of color high in the potion professor’s cheeks.

“I do not care about your sex life. Or Draco’s for that matter. However, you two have a bond, despite all common sense to the contrary. You two are more compatible than anyone could ever have expected. Your initial bond progressed much more rapidly than any I have ever seen. Then you slipped into the secondary phase without any conscious thought at all. Normally, it would take a great deal of preparation, a number of mental and physical rituals and years of being together before a couple could hope to form a tertiary bond. I am very much afraid that will not be the case with the two of you.”

He sighed and settled into the chair next to Harry’s. “I’m afraid you and Draco will find yourselves irrevocably linked before you even realize what happened.”

“And you want Draco to have an out.” Harry said, the words tasting bitter. He’d thought Snape had begun to, if not like, at least tolerate him while they’d worked together this term.

Snape snarled and pinched his nose, then took a deep breath and glared at Harry.

“What I want, Mr. Potter, is for Draco to survive.”

“What?” His anger hung up on the Sentinel instincts.

“Did you do any of the assigned reading? Surely at least Miss Granger explained the tertiary bond to you?”

“Yeah, uh,” His cheeks heated, remembering his admission to his friend about his inexplicable attraction to Draco.

…permanently bond the pair, so closely that one would unlikely survive the passing of the other.

He’d been so caught up in his embarrassment and his need to explain his physical reaction he’d barely heard that little, important bit of information. “Oh.”

“Oh, indeed, Mr. Potter. The Dark Lord has made it his mission to destroy you. If he succeeds, you’ll take Draco with you if you’re fully bonded. He can survive the bond you have now. He won’t if you continue on this reckless and precipitous path.”

Harry wanted to growl. To rage. To rush back to Draco’s side and protect him from all threats. Except the only threat was from Harry, himself. He slumped back in the stiff chair, dropping his head into his hands.

“I understand. I do. I’ll do my best to protect him.”

“Thank you, Harry.”

The sound of his first name surprised him into looking up. For a brief second, he caught Snape’s features soften into something less severe than the usual sharp-edged sneer.

The hard hatred between them had gradually eroded into a respectful wariness throughout the term. Now though, their mutual concern for Draco had forged a thin bond. They would probably never like each other, but the hard edges of their relationship were starting to smooth out.

Draco. What was Harry going to do about his Guide? The best thing he could do was let the Slytherin go. Initiate a lighter bond with someone else. Someone he wouldn’t get so tangled up with.

Nausea swirled through him and his fingers curled into fists. He didn’t want another Guide. Didn’t think he could accept a bond with anyone else. Not even his best friend’s brother.

Which reminded him they had been left out of that particular loop.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Charlie Weasley?”

Harry enjoyed the slight twitch at the corner of the professor’s dark eyes. It wasn’t often that he surprised Snape. “How did you find out about him?”

“Draco overheard you and the others talking. He thought I intended to replace him as my Guide.”

“And that’s why Draco was mad at you?”

“Yes. If you weren’t going to tell us about him, why were you talking about him at all?”

“We were going to tell you before you left for Christmas at the Burrow. Our main concern was how Draco would react to another potential Guide. Don’t forget, the Guides can be as territorial as the Sentinel. None of us considered it much of a problem because of the strength of the bond you and Draco were already showing.”

“Oh.” He had nothing to say to that as his exhausted mind started to fog.

“Go on back to your Guide, Harry. You both need the rest.” Harry was too tired to be surprised by the friendly pat the professor graced him with. He just let his senses lead him back to the only place he wanted to be.

Curled up around his Guide.

*

The blue forest. Again. Surprise, surprise. Draco sat cross-legged on a rock out cropping, waiting for the menagerie to show up.

First the fox strutted out from the underbrush and sat in front of his rock, fluffy tail curling around its feet. Then the cougar loped down from the trail to Draco’s right. It circled the rock once before plopping down on its side, curling around the fox and closing its eyes.

In the distance, Draco heard the lonely howl of a wolf, though it never came closer than the edge of the clearing, hiding in the shadows and thick foliage. Then came the stag, translucent and blue tinge, its head swung from side to side before strutting forward. When it stopped halfway between the trees and the rock, Draco couldn’t help thinking that it was posing, with its neck arched and head held high. Behind it, a sleek lynx followed with dainty steps. Like the stag, it was insubstantial and faintly blue.

A joyful bark rushed from Draco’s left. The huge black dog always made him flinch a little and pull back on the rock. It ran in circles around the stag and lynx before leaping forward to nudge at the cougar and opened its muzzle to let loose another excited bark.

The most disconcerting thing about the dog was the way it flickered between states. One moment, it was a solid and real as the cougar and the fox. The next, it was faint and see-through and blue. In a blink, it was fully material and real once again.

The fox stood up, drawing Draco’s attention. In a flash, the small animal blurred, growing and stretching until Draco was looking at a mirror image of himself. Except for the odd, black leather hunting outfit and the intricate braiding that pulled the pale hair off his doppelganger’s face.

“Uh, hi.”

“You must find him, before he is lost forever.”

“Uh, who?”

The double slowly turned its head until it looked directly at the huge dog bouncing around and yipping like a puppy.

*

Draco opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling of his room. Warm breath ghosted across his shoulder and a heavy arm lay across his waist.

Harry. He closed his eyes, blocked out the dream for the moment and wallowed in the pleasure of waking up with his Sentinel.

Since the incident at the lake, which Draco refused to think about, Harry had been by his side constantly. With all but a handful of students away on break, the staff had turned a blind eye to Harry spending each night in Draco’s room. Draco was trying hard not to get too use to the closeness. He had a feeling he was failing.

Which meant, as much as he didn’t want to, he needed to get out of bed and give himself a little distance from the Boy-Who-Lived and his overprotective tendencies which were only fueling Draco’s pathetic crush.

He pulled the extra blanket from the end of his bed and wrapped it tightly around his body before settling into a chair across the room. He always felt extra cold when he left Harry’s furnace-like heat.

He needed to stop thinking like that. Not that he wanted to think about the dreams, but he should probably figure out what they meant. And why they had changed.

The dreams used to be urgent. They’d drive him, leave him exhausted and confused and hurting. They showed him possibilities in flashes and horrifying images of the future that could be if things didn’t change. Or, conversely, when he was on the path they were driving him toward, the dreams showed him flashes and images of a pleasant future. Which could be just as exhausting and horrifying in their own way.

After the incident at the lake, though, they became less disturbing to his sleep and his sanity. Still not anything close to normal, though.

Now, the dreams were filled with symbols and hints and obscure meanings that he should understand but couldn’t quite grasp. Those that weren’t filled with the menagerie, that is.

He’d only had the animal dreams a handful of times, but each time it had gotten longer and stranger. The first time it had been his and Harry’s spirit animal, with the serenading wolf in the background. He’d assumed that was Lupin, though he had nothing but instinct to go on, since he never saw more than a glimpse of the animal.

The next time, the other three animals appeared. He knew he should be able to figure out who the animals represented, but he couldn’t. He didn’t see Snape embodied in the shape of any of the animals. Likewise, they didn’t fit Dumbledore, Hermione or Neville. He supposed Ron could be the dog, loyal and exuberant. Except, that didn’t feel right, either.

The talking to himself was brand new. It made him feel a little off-balance. Obviously, there was something important he was supposed to be doing. Or finding. And it had something to do with the dog. Maybe.

Or maybe it had something to do with the other dream he’d had, though he’d only had that one once and it was completely different. Alone in the near pitch black night of the forest, he could hear a child crying. Draco knew, without knowing how, the child was lost and trying to get home, though he never caught a glimpse of the kid.

He could ask. Snape or Lupin or even Hermione might be able to put together the pieces to figure out who the dream animals represented and what he was suppose to understand from them. Or if one dream was connected to the other.

He shivered, pulling the blanket closer around him. He would figure it out on his own. There was no way he was going to admit to being such an embarrassing freak.

“Wha’ time is it?” Harry’s slurred question made Draco smile. The Boy-Who-Lived was not a morning person.

“Don’t know. Early.”

“Why’re you up?” He sounded more awake now, and began to shift about on the bed.

“Don’t know. Couldn’t sleep and didn’t want to wake you.”

Draco looked up when he heard feet hit the floor and watched Harry stretch. Held his breath when the pajama bottoms separated from the top and a thick band of pale golden skin appeared to tease him. When Harry’s hands started to fall, he quickly averted his eyes before he got caught oogling his Sentinel.

Harry padded across the room and rested his hands on Draco’s shoulder. He couldn’t help relaxing into the loose embrace. His Sentinel touched him almost constantly now, as if needing the reassurance he was still alive. The kissing, however, had stopped. Apparently, Harry didn’t feel the need to keep up appearances that far when there wasn’t much of an audience around.

Draco wasn’t disappointed. Not at all. If he told himself that enough times, he might start to believe it.

“You don’t need to get up, Harry. You shouldn’t lose sleep just because I’m awake.”

“I’m not. My stomach growling woke me up, actually.” Harry started kneading Draco’s shoulders and he leaned back further into the caress. “It’s not, erm… It’s not going to the Weasley’s tomorrow that’s bothering you?”

Draco blinked and remembered it was actually Christmas Eve. And he’d agree to spend the next couple of days in the Weasley’s overcrowded hovel. Home. He had to remember not to refer to it as anything derogatory. That was a habit from the past he no longer needed.

“No. I’m good with it. Ron and I are getting along fine. He even brought me sweets when I was in the infirmary. Of course, he ate more than half of them. I suppose it’s the thought that counts.” He tried to sneer but Harry’s hearty laugh was infectious and his smirk eased into a genuine smile.

Both of them carefully avoided mentioning Charlie Weasley and the fact that he’d be there as well.

“Well, since we’re both up, let’s go get breakfast.” He let go of Draco’s shoulders and headed toward the wardrobe, where he’d stashed some clothes when he’d helped Draco back from the hospital wing and informed him he’d be staying over.

Draco tried not to sigh at the loss of contact. “At least we don’t have to fight Weasley for it.”

Harry rolled his eyes and headed out bathroom.

*

Christmas morning had dawned bright and clear and unseasonably warm. Draco had awakened to the sight of a small haphazardly wrapped present and a nervous looking Harry.

“Happy Christmas, Draco. We didn’t really talk about presents and I didn’t really know what to get. It’s not much and if you don’t like it, I can exchange it….”

Draco laughed and dived into destroying the shiny green paper. The small box held a silver charm in the shape of a regal looking fox on a long silver chain.

“It’s perfect,” he murmured with soft awe and he immediately pulled it on over his head. “Thank you.”

Harry blushed and ducked his head. Draco couldn’t help wrapping his arms around his Sentinel and hugging him close.

Then he remembered his own gift for Harry and scrambled off the bed to dig it out from the back of his wardrobe.

Once opened, Harry carefully pulled the ebony handled dagger out of the box and ran sensitive fingers over the etched runes on the blade, invisible to the naked eye of any but a Sentinel.

“It’s beautiful, Draco.”

“It’s a traditional gift for a Sentinel. It’s meant to be ceremonial. Displayed, not used.” Draco felt his skin heat slightly at the sentimentality of the gift. He hoped Harry wouldn’t realize the amount research or effort he’d gone through to obtain the special dagger.

This time, Harry reached for Draco and dragged him into a breathless embrace. “Thank you, Draco. Happy Christmas,” he breathed against his Guide’s skin.

“Happy Christmas, Harry.” He murmured back, squeezing his eyes tight.

After a leisurely breakfast, Lupin accompanied them to the Burrow. Seeing Draco’s nervousness and Harry’s tension, the werewolf graciously walked through the door first. Harry tightened his grip on Draco’s hand and gave him a reassuring smile.

A sea of red-heads mobbed them, trying to hug and speak to all three of them at once. The sound was a discordant cacophony of greetings, questions and holiday wishes. Except for one of the older boys. Man, really. Holding back behind his family, waiting. A little shorter, a little stockier, he was ripped and muscular and attractive. Charlie Weasley. Draco hated him on sight.

When the commotion died down and the tide of ginger receded somewhat, the second-eldest Weasley son took a step forward. The entire room froze, as if they’d all been Petrified at once. Not even Harry seemed to be breathing while Charlie approached. Draco’s fingers squeezed involuntarily and Harry’s grip tightened in return.

Draco knew most of the Weasley family had been let in on the Sentinel-Guide thing. Apparently, they all knew about the possible role Charlie could play as well, since every single eye was glued to the three of them.

“Harry, it’s good to see you again.”

Charlie Weasley held out his hand and Harry slowly reached out with his free one to grip it. Bile rose up, burning Draco’s stomach while he watched helplessly. Once again his entire future hung in the balance of action he had nothing to do with. He could only watch and wait for others to make a decision that could irrevocably change the course of his life.

When Charlie’s hand met Harry’s, a frisson of something passed fleetingly across their bond. Harry relaxed a little and Draco had no idea what it meant. Then his Sentinel took a deep breath and his serious expression turned upward into a slight smile. He shook his head slightly at Charlie, then tugged Draco closer.

The air rushed back into the room, along with the boisterousness as the family once again launched into multiple conversations around them.

“It’s nice to see you again too, Charlie. Have you met my Guide, Draco Malfoy?”

“Not officially. Welcome to the Burrow, Mr. Malfoy.”

Once again he held out his hand. Draco still felt a little territorial, but he could afford to be gracious in victory. Draco took the red-head’s hand and said, “Thank you. Call me Draco, please.”

“Then call me Charlie.”

They were dragged fully into the center of chaos and put to work helping set the table for lunch.

As he worked side by side with Harry and Ron, Draco tried to gauge the family’s reaction. The normal Weasley/Gryffindor exuberance made it impossible to tell if the family was relieved Charlie hadn’t replaced Draco. Or were just covering up disappointment with non-stop chatter and motion.

The holiday meal was unlike anything Draco had ever experienced at Malfoy Manor. The food wasn’t gourmet. There was no sense of decorum or solemnity, despite Molly Weasley’s admonitions to her offspring. It was more like the Halloween feast at Hogwarts. The twins shouted insults at Bill from the opposite end of the table. Food was passed and tossed and guarded as Ron tried to steal favorites off of Ginny’s plate.

The feast was plentiful and surprisingly delicious. The entire family did their best to make him feel comfortable. Mrs. Weasley kept piling food onto his plate. Mr. Weasley talked to Draco about his favorite subject, Muggle artifacts and ingenuity. Charlie thoughtfully sat as far away as possible from Harry to put his Guide instincts at ease. The twins played a prank involving fake worms and a real gnome. Ginny smiled shyly. And Ron ran interference for him whenever it got overwhelming.

After the table was cleared, they crowded into the sitting room, covering every available piece of furniture and quite a bit of the available floor space. Soon wrapping paper, bows and ribbons went flying in every direction. Draco had brought a gift basket full of sweets, breads, wine and butterbeer as a polite, generic gift for the entire family.

He hadn’t expected anything in return. So he was surprised when a lumpy package was plopped in his lap. Tentatively he pulled apart the shiny paper until the present was exposed. He forced his lips to stretch into a gracious smile.

“It’s lovely. Thank you.”

 Mrs. Weasley beamed at him, though most of the other Weasley’s were attempting to cover their amusement with various levels of success. The twins, however, didn’t even try. Fred laughed himself breathless, while George managed to huff out a few words between belly deep guffaws.

“You should. Try it on. Draco.”

He wasn’t sure if Mrs. Weasley was oblivious to the hilarity of her family or she’d just long since learned how to tune them out. “Please do, Draco. I had to guess the size.”

He wanted to scowl at the identical buffoons but he kept the gracious expression on his face when he shook out the dark green knitted jumper. It became a little more difficult when he saw the giant D knitted in gray across the front.

It was thick and shapeless once he got it on, and he was already sweating from its sheer bulk. He decided to take the same tactic as Harry, who had already shed his red and white, candy cane striped jumper.

“It fits perfectly, Mrs. Weasley. Thank you for the thoughtful gift. It’s incredibly warm and will come in handy when the weather gets cold again.”

“Oh, it was nothing Draco.” She glanced toward the fireplace, its fire banked in deference to the warm sun shining through the windows. “It’s much too warm for it today. We wouldn’t want you to get overheated.”

“Of course,” he said, keeping the relief out of his voice as he tugged the wool over his head. After he folded it away, he tried his hardest to smooth his hair back into place, but Harry’s bemused look and the twin’s continued chuckling told him it didn’t help much.

A few more presents landed in his lap while the rest tore into theirs. A pocket knife, a handful of Weasley Wizarding Wheezes, and a selection of Honeyduke’s treats.

When the pile of presents under the tree had dwindled and the pile of paper threatened to overwhelm the room, Ron snapped his fingers and shot to his feet. “I almost forgot.”

Before anyone could ask what he was shouting about, he dashed up the stairs. A few seconds later, he rushed back down with a perfectly, precisely wrapped gold-foil package.

“’Mione asked me to give this to you today, since she couldn’t make it.” Hermione’s family was having a mini-reunion somewhere near London.

Harry carefully pulled the red ribbon off and gently opened the perfect wrapping as he had with each gift he’d received. As soon as the paper was out of the way, though, Harry froze, tears springing to his eyes. Air escaped his mouth in a soft sound. Emotions chased along their bond. Joy, gratitude, a touch of old sadness.

“Oh,” he whispered, “It’s perfect.”

“She worked on it all semester. She still doesn’t think she quite captured them, but I think it’s great.”

“It is. It definitely is.”

Unable to help his curiosity, Draco leaned over to see what it was that had his Sentinel so choked up.

Harry held a surprisingly well-done, hand drawn picture in a sturdy wooden frame. It was the subject that had Draco swallowing back a gasp of surprise.

A stag stood proud and majestic in the center. On one side, a wolf sat, serene and regal. On the other, a slightly scruffy, massive dog sat with tongue lolling, looking amused and ready for mischief.

Three of the animals he’d been dreaming about for days.

Surprise registered along the bond and he looked up to see Harry staring at him. Ron also was looking at him with shock.

“What?” he asked, defensive out of habit.

“You-you’ve dreamt about them?” Harry waved his hand over the picture in his lap.

Had he said that out loud? Oh, Merlin how was he going to explain it. His breath got harder to catch, his heart thumping like it would jump straight through his chest.

“NO. I mean, I had a dream about animals. Sure. It was a whole menagerie, though.” Which wasn’t a lie, when you add the lynx, the fox and the cougar. “It was only a weird dream. Probably too much of that spicy stew from dinner the other night.”

“Draco.” Harry’s disappointed tone cut him. He knew how much the Sentinel hated being lied to. Knew how easy it was for him to tell, now. Especially when it was Draco doing the lying.

“I’m not a freak. I’m not like Trelawney, claiming to be some know-it-all. They’re just dreams. They don’t mean anything.”

His eyes darted around the room, searching for escape. But every Weasley, as well as Harry and Lupin, had dropped into silence to stare at him with questions and confusion. He did not want to admit to anything that would make Harry rethink their partnership. Their friendship.

I will not have you humiliate yourself or the family. No one respects a Seer.

His father’s words echoed as clearly in his ears as they had years ago.

He couldn’t stand to hear Harry say anything like that to him.

*

Harry hated being lied to. But Draco’s heartbeat was racing in his ears, he could feel the panic, could feel that, whatever Draco was trying to hide, it terrified him.

His senses were completely focused on his Guide now, though in the background he could here Remus attempt to cajole and coax more information out of Draco. The others were asking questions or trying to shush the one another.

“Enough.” Harry’s roar took everyone by surprise and plunged the room into silence. At least all attention was focused on him, now, instead of on the shaking blond next to him.

He inhaled, counting silently until the fight instinct settled a little. Very little. He turned to Ron and asked, “Could we borrow your room for a minute?”

His best friend blinked then nodded. “Of course, Harry.”

“I’m sorry, but if you could excuse us.” He spoke in general to the room, pulling Draco up and keeping his Guide close by his side. He maneuvered them both up the stairs and into Ron’s brightly colored room.

As soon as the door was shut, secured and warded behind them, Harry dragged Draco against his chest and buried his nose in the blond hair. He took shallow breaths, calming them both until Draco relaxed against him.

“I’m not a nutter,” Draco mumbled into Harry’s chest.

“Never thought you were. Arrogant. Conceited. Dangerous. A complete prat. But mostly sane.”

The blond head tipped back to glare up at him. The amusement flickering around the edges of his frown, though, ruined the effect a little.

It took every ounce of self-discipline Harry had not to tilt his head forward and brush his lips across the pouting ones only inches away.

Instead, he asked, “Are you ready to tell me exactly what you are insane about? Or not insane. I’m still a little confused.”

Draco buried his face back against Harry so the words were muffled but still clear to the Sentinel. “I have dreams.”

“Since you saw, well, the animals from the picture, I’m guessing you don’t mean just regular dreams.”

The head against his chest rolled back and forth and he took it as a negative. Harry bit his lip, not wanting to ask the next question but knowing he had to.

“You haven’t, uh, had a prophecy about me, or anything?”

The head rocked again then paused and grey eye’s peeked up at him. “Not a prophecy. Not exactly.”

He tried hard not to react, but the last prophecy had brought him nothing but loss. He did not want to deal with another. “What is it, if it’s ‘not exactly’ a prophecy?”

He listened intently while Draco told him about the dreams that plagued him over the summer and how it led him to the decisions he’d made.

“Now the dreams have changed. Sometimes it’s just sort of symbolic. Sometimes it’s crying in the dark. Sometimes it’s this whole fucking menagerie. Who are they, anyway? And why isn’t the lynx in the picture?”

 Harry frowned, “What lynx?”

“I don’t know. I thought you’d know. There’s our fox and cougar. I can hear a wolf, though I only catch glimpses of him. I assumed that was Lupin. Then the stag and the lynx come. Eventually, the dog comes out.”

“The lynx comes with the stag? Does it—do you think it’s female?”

“I don’t know.” Draco’s brow furrowed. “Actually, yeah. It’s delicate and dainty, despite being strong and dangerous. Yeah. It definitely seemed feminine. Why?”

“The stag was my father’s Animagus form. That’s why it’s my Patronus. The dog is Padfoot, Sirius’s Animagus form. I think, maybe, the lynx is my mom.”

“Oh. Yeah, I can see that. Was your mom an Animagus?”

“Not that I know of. But neither are we and we have spirit animals.”

“True. So what do you think they’re trying to tell me?”

“I don’t know. I wish…” Harry bit his lip, wondering if he could figure out a way to share his Guide’s dream. He’d love to see them. Maybe even find a way to communicate with them. If they’re appearing to Draco, though, maybe they had something important to share with him.

A knock on the door behind them had them both jumping. The hands slipped and a few inches of air appeared between them. Draco was uneasy again, so Harry linked their fingers together with one hand, and used his other to push the mussed blond hair away from Draco’s face.

“It’s alright. I don’t think you’re a nutter and I won’t let anyone say that to your face.”

His Guide rolled his eyes. But his fingers clung tightly to Harry’s anyway.

*

“Harry? Draco?” Professor Lupin’s soft, concerned voice floated through the solid door. “Are the two of you alright?”

Harry smiled at his Guide, who was still tense and uncertain. “It will be okay,” he whispered.

Then, louder, feeling a little silly talking to the closed door, he said, “We’re fine, Professor. We’ll be back down in a moment.”

The silence from the other side of the door might have made him think the werewolf had left, if his senses weren’t telling him Lupin was still right there.

“Actually, Harry, I was hoping I could come in. I thought, perhaps, Draco might be willing to talk to me about his dream if no one else was around.”

The heartbeat started revving again. Harry tried his best to give a reassuring surge through the bond. “It’s okay, Draco. Maybe he can help you figure out what it means.”

The blond pursed his lips and glared at Harry, but his body settled and most of the tension drained away by the time he nodded in agreement. Harry flashed another comforting smile before he removed the wards from the door and let in their DADA professor.

Remus gave them both a careful once-over before taking a seat on Ron’s bed. It was a silent invitation for them to do the same, a move calculated to put them at ease, no doubt. It seemed to work, all the same.

“Draco, you don’t have to share anything with me that you’re not comfortable with. But if you are having difficult dreams, I may be able to help you. If you’d be more comfortable with Snape, though, I’ll understand.”

“No. It’s alright. I just, my father…” Next to Harry, Draco took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “My father was ashamed of it. But I am not a Death Eater or trapped by the narrow-minded views of his ilk anymore.”

For the second time that morning, Draco shared one of his deepest secrets. Harry kept a tight arm around him the entire time, offering silent support. His Guide’s courage and strength were a constant surprise to him, considering he used to believe Draco was a devious coward.

When Draco finally trailed off, Remus looked a little stunned. But he cleared his throat and focused quickly.

“You were right, Harry, your mother never managed to transform, but I’m not surprised to find she was a feline. She always had a dangerous yet elegant grace about her.”

He cleared his throat and addressed Draco again. “How much do you know about the gifts you have that make you a Guide?”

“Well, Snape explained only those who had an affinity for Astral Magic were able to bond with Sentinels. So far, though, other than the mutual meditations, I haven’t been able to do much with it or access any of the Other Planes to draw magic.”

The professor stood up and began to pace while he spoke, and Harry had the oddest feeling, like he should be taking notes or something. Remus had vaulted straight into pure lecture mode.

“According to the most ancient legends we’ve been able to dig up, the original Sentinels were created from warriors who had, at some point, been apprenticed to Shamans. The original Guide’s were drawn from the apprentices as well. We’ve hypothesized this meant strong Astral Magic affinity was important to study as a Shaman.”

“So, what, Harry and I are going to become Shamans?”

“Not exactly. The affinity for Astral Magic in Sentinels has been found to be so low, they usually can only access it with the help of their Guides. I believe that may be why they eventually became warriors, because they were found not strong enough to continue studying with the Shamans.”

“So then, you think I will become a Shaman?”

“Do you know what the difference is between an Astral Magus and a Shaman?”

Harry always hated it when a professor answered a question with a question. From the surge of frustration and the scowl accompanying Draco’s headshake, his Guide felt the same way.

“A Shaman, a true Shaman, is one who, not only can access the other planes, but one who has walked between the worlds.”

“Huh? What does that mean?” Draco beat him to the confused question.

Lupin took a deep breath a stared determinedly out the window as he spoke.

“An Astral Magus has to die to become a Shaman.”

“Draco didn’t die.” The denial burst hot and angry out of Harry’s lips. He pushed to his feet, angling himself to shield Draco as though Lupin’s words alone were a threat.

The professor put his hands up and went completely still. One predator recognizing the danger of another. His words were firm and unwavering, though. “Yes. He did. Briefly. His heart stopped. His breathing stopped. For so long, Pomfrey was concerned about brain damage until he woke up.”

Draco swallowed audibly and Harry scowled at his professor. He’d been careful not to let anyone say those two words around his Guide. Even though it hadn’t occurred, he knew his vain companion would consider the possible loss of his intellect a close second to death itself.

“But he’s fine. He’s alive.” His hand found Draco’s shoulder and squeezed. His Guide leaned into the touch.

“Yes. He is. He managed to walk between both worlds and survive. Which means he should be able to tap into the rare and extraordinary magic Shamans use.”

“How? Why?”

Lupin shook his head. “I have worked with a couple of Shamans, but they keep their secrets better than the Centaurs. Somehow, the act of dying and, essentially, being reborn when you were revived triggers the development of many gifts.”

“But how will I learn to use them?”

“I have some knowledge. A Shaman elder helped me to gain some of the control I have over my other form. I have no doubt, if I ask him for help, he will agree to teach you what you need to know.”

“So, more lessons then?”

“I’m afraid you’re going to earn another detention your first day back to classes, Mr. Malfoy,” Remus answered with mock severity. “In the meantime, it might be best if you kept a log of any dreams you have. They will be meaningful. If not to you, then to Incacha.”

Once Lupin left them alone, again, Harry sat back down as close to his brooding Guide as he could. “Are you alright with this?”

“I don’t have much choice, at this point, do I?”

“Shamans are rare, aren’t they?” Harry tried another tact to gauge his Guides state of mind.

“Yeah. They tend to be recluses. Mostly because people are afraid of the power they have and no one understands the ancient magic they use. They’re not really Wizards and their not really Muggles.” Draco sagged back with a sigh. “Plus, everyone usually thinks they’re freaks.”

Harry rolled his eyes at the blatant self-pity. “Well, since everyone already thinks I’m a freak, and they don’t even know about the Sentinel thing yet, I guess we make a pretty good pair. We can be freaks together.”

Draco let out a startled laugh and wrapped his arms around Harry. The Sentinel let himself enjoy the hug as long as he dared, but Snape’s warning about not letting things get far, physically, always nagged in the back of his head. No matter how much his body wanted to ignore it. Besides, Draco hadn’t shown any notice that Harry had backed off on the intimacy that had been growing between them before… well, just before.

Of course, that intimacy was only supposed to be a ruse, anyway. So maybe Draco hadn’t noticed because it hadn’t meant anything.

Derailing that train of thought before it could lead him to dark, depressed places, Harry stood up and led Draco back to the waiting holiday frivolity below.

Chapter Text

Part Six

The open book in front of Draco held little interest for him. Instead, he sat and stared with hard eyes at the lonely, dust collecting broomstick languishing in the corner of his room. Harry was out at Quidditch practice. Again. And Draco couldn’t play at all.

It was more than a little dangerous to be fifty feet in the air when you couldn’t trust members of your own team not to aim a Bludger at the back of your head. During the fall term, he’d gone out flying with Harry every now and again, but it wasn’t the same as the rush of a game.

In the two months that school had been back from holiday break, the Sentinel and Guide barely saw one another at all.

Gryffindor had beaten Slytherin in the fall, which had been a no-brainer. They’d replaced Draco with Knott, of all people, who couldn’t spot his hand in front of his face if he waved. But the score had been low, and Ravenclaw had beaten both Slytherin and Hufflepuff by several hundred points, putting them well in the lead for the House Cup. Harry was determined to soundly thrash Hufflepuff in their upcoming match and had been holding practice as often as he could get away with.

In addition to their regular classes, they were still meeting with Snape and Lupin once a week and had also added Apparition classes to their schedule. Not that Draco needed it. He’d learned to Apparate from his father when he was eleven, but he was trying hard to fit in this year and didn’t want to remind everyone exactly how much his family enjoyed flouting the rules.

Of course, he also had an additional ‘detention’ thanks to Lupin. He spent one evening a week with the werewolf’s strange, feather and war-paint bedecked friend. They portkeyed to a green-drenched rainforest, the location of which Lupin refused to tell Draco. Each time, Lupin would cast a translation spell so the Guide could understand his native Shaman teacher.

Although, most of the time, the man spoke in such strange riddles, he might as well have been speaking in his own odd language.

On top of those lessons, the DADA professor piled as much reading material as he could on Draco’s plate. Chronicles, biographies and speculative treatises on the Shamanic history of Great Britain.

Harry and Draco hardly spent any time together outside of their classes and training as they were pulled in opposite directions. Their bond was strong and solid however, and Draco couldn’t even use a need to bolster it as an excuse to snuggle up with Potter once and awhile.

Hell, the rest of the school was beginning to speculate that their imaginary relationship was on the rocks. At one point, there had actually been a rumor that Harry was cheating on Draco with Ron, since the two were spending so much time together, strategizing for the upcoming Quidditch match. As if. Ron was nice enough, he supposed, now that they were friends of a kind. Though who with working eyes could believe Harry would choose the ginger prat over a Malfoy?

Not that it mattered any more. Those rumors had been put to rest when Professor Sprout had caught Hermione and Ron snogging, hot and heavy, in the greenhouse.

Granger had blushed for a week straight.

Of course, even with the rumors of an impending breakup, no one had dared to harass Draco since they’d been back. The staff once again kept a depressingly close eye on him. And whenever Harry couldn’t be close to his Guide, which was most of the time lately, he made sure one of his hanger’s on was nearby. Draco had gotten used to Thomas, Finnegan, Weasley, little Weasley, Granger and even Longbottom trailing him from class to class.

Longbottom, after his time in the DA and his experience at the Ministry, had picked up quite a bit of confidence. With the new, suitable wand he’d acquired, the Gryffindor was quite fierce with a hex now and no longer Hogwarts favorite whipping boy.

At least Draco could ditch them in the evenings, since he spent most of that time locked up alone in his room studying the mountain of extracurricular reading Snape and Lupin thrust on him.

Speaking of which, Lupin would be quizzing him on the reading material when he came to collect Draco for their weekly visit to Incacha’s jungle home. No matter how dry and boring The Life and Times of Phineal Perry-Whyte, Last Shaman of Manx might be, he had to finish Chapter Six in the next hour or so.

He flipped back a couple of pages because, while his eyes had traveled over the print, his brain had absorbed none of it. When the pages fell back, however, one particular passage caught his attention this time.

Perry-Whyte was one of the few Shamans capable of carrying physical objects between various planes of existence. It is even rumored that he used soul-retrieval techniques to rescue a man who had inadvertently traveled to the Aegir Plane. Another such fantastic story claims he retrieved both the body and soul of a child who had been accidently trans-located to the Realm of Death.

Of course, these rumors are completely unsubstantiated and only appear in the biography written by Perry-Whyte’s brother several years after his death. Most likely they are exaggerations or outright myths made up to add sensationalism to the legend…

Draco dropped the book and rummaged through the pile for Shamanism for the Muggle-born: a Beginners Introduction, and paged through it until he found the definition he needed.

Soul-retrieval: A healing skill used by Shamans in which they Astrally travel to the underworld and collect lost souls, whole or in pieces and return them to the ill petitioner.

Could it be possible to collect not only the soul but also something material that had ended up in another plane of existence? Incacha had implied Draco was one of the strongest apprentices he had ever mentored. And his dream self had told him to find someone before they were lost. He thought about how Padfoot flickered in his dreams between the solid reality of his own spirit animal and the blue translucence of Potter’s parents.

Could Sirius be trapped? Could he be hovering somewhere between life and death? Could Draco bring back Sirius for Harry?

He popped up, ready to run to ask Lupin but stopped abruptly with his hand on the door. Lupin would tell Snape and Dumbledore and Harry. The adults would insist it was too dangerous for him to try. And Harry would be torn.

The Sentinel would want to protect his Guide. The godson would give anything to see his godfather again. Anything for a chance at redemption. No matter how many times everyone told Harry that Sirius’s death was not his fault, Draco knew, deep down inside the Sentinel did not believe it. He blamed himself.

Draco pulled his hand back from the door. Harry couldn’t know. Not until, Draco knew for sure if it could be done. How it could be done. And had an answer for every argument the others would throw at him.

Despite feeling like he wanted to jump out of his skin, Draco sat back down and finished reading his assignment. There was absolutely nothing he could do until after he spoke with Incacha.

*

By the time Draco and Lupin arrived in the lush green landscape where Incacha waited, he’d changed his mind a hundred times. What he was considering was dangerous, and, while not a coward, Malfoys had a strong sense of self-preservation. But something tugged at him. The dream. The bond. A need to do something to prove he was on the right side for once. The need to do something for Harry. He didn’t know what the motivation was that simmered in him, but he knew, ultimately, if it was possible he was going to have to try.

Normally, Incacha would work with Draco and Lupin for the first fifteen minutes or so before pulling Draco away to steep him in the Shamanic secrets that could not be shared with those who did not carry the gifts of the Shaman.

This time, however, Incacha studied him with that blank-eyed stare that saw everything. As soon as Lupin finished the translation spell, the wise man waved Draco over to his side.

“Come, little fox, we have much to discuss. Lupin, I have arranged for a friend to talk with you tonight.”

Surprise rocked Draco, though it shouldn’t have. Incacha was always several steps ahead of him. From the trees, a black panther prowled and both Draco and Lupin froze until it shifted, standing upright as a man. He wore only a loin cloth, but his body was a mass of steely muscles. His face was painted with the same red ochre as Draco’s mentor and his long hair had several similar intricate braids. He was obviously a warrior, though, if he had to guess, Draco thought perhaps a different tribe as the feathers he wore and the symbols painted on his body were much different from Incacha.

“An Animagus?” Lupin asked, though the warrior looked nothing like any wizard Draco had ever seen.

The elder Shaman shook his head. “Otoronco is no wizard. Just a warrior who was bitten by the were-jaguar. Like you, his nemesis is the moon. But he has learned to harness the curse and use it as a gift at other times. If you cast your speaking spell, I think he may be able to teach you to do the same.”

Lupin’s eyes were wide and his mouth dropped open. Draco and Incacha were already passed the tree-line and out of sight before he heard the werewolf gather himself enough to incant the spell again.

“Sit, little fox.”

Draco dropped down to the familiar spot on the river bank where they often went on spirit journeys together. He was already preparing his breathing in anticipation of the order to set his mind free when the Shaman dropped next to him.

“What is the question pressing at your mind?”

For a second, Draco’s throat closed tight, letting no air and no words through. Once he asked, there was no going back.

“The path has already been set, young one. Your feet are already upon it. Ask or do not ask. The choice is yours. And so are the consequences, either way.”

He was right. No matter what choice he made, now, he’d have to live with the consequences.

“Is it possible for someone living to survive in the underworld? And if they did can I get them out?”

Incacha stared for so long, Draco began to wonder if the Shaman had gone on a spirit walk rather than answer his questions. Which did not bode well for the answers.

“The soul and the body will be divided when they touch the realm of death.”

Draco’s shoulders slumped as the bubble of hope leaked out inside his chest. “So he’s dead, then.”

“No. Material items will remain untouched for a year and a day. If the soul and the body are brought out of the underworld at the same time, they can be reunited by a strong Shaman.”

“Then you could do it? You could bring Sirius back for Harry?”

“No.”

“But you said a strong Shaman…”

“And I am the strongest. Though I believe, in time, you will be stronger. Those who are Guides carry a great deal of power. But I cannot, for many reasons. One, the Shaman must have a connection to the soul in order to find the body. I do not.”

“We are related, through my mother.” Would it be enough?

“You also have a bond with his godson. You can follow Harry’s connection as well as your own. Second, you must use the door into the underworld closest to where the material body went in. Only a Shaman of the land where the door is can bring an object out of it.”

“Then I’d have to use the Arch at the ministry…” His mind was churning already, trying to figure out how to get into the Death Chamber. Security had been tightened a great deal since that night when Sirius died.

“NO. That is not a door. That is an abomination.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The arch is the result of dabbling by wizards who wished to tamper with the fabric of the world they did not understand. It is not a door. It is a black hole, a dark sucking thing that should never have existed. Do not ever attempt to enter it, because you cannot come back out. You must know where the other doors in your land are.”

“Oh. Okay, then where are the other doors?”

“I do not know. I know my world. My land. You must learn yours.”

“Will there be a map? Or writings?”

“I doubt it. Has any of the reading you’ve done for your professor been written by the Shaman’s themselves?”

“Well, no, actually.”

“That is because we do not tell our secrets. We teach the next generation. Although, we do like to leave riddles and hints behind.” He flashed an impish grin. “In order to find the doors you will have to use the skills I teach you and search for the clues left behind by those who have come before you.”

“But you will teach me? You will help me find Harry’s godfather?”

“I will. If the spirits are moving you there, then you are ready.”

“We have to hurry, though. It’s been nearly a year already.”

“I will teach you what you need to know in time. It will be up to you to find the proper place. I think, perhaps, it is best we do not share this with your wolf, just yet.”

“No. Lupin won’t understand.”

“Wizards have never understood us. They are frightened by anything beyond their one world. Those of us who walk the many understand death is simply another world to walk.”

*

Draco had started making plans as soon as he’d returned to Hogwarts. He knew he’d need help to go through the mountain of books quickly enough to find the clues and hints to the closest door into the underworld. And he knew who the best person in the school was to help him with his search.

He just had to figure out how to convince Hermione to help him. Then convince her to keep it a secret from Ron and Harry.

The two days until the next Quidditch practice seemed to drag for an eternity. By the time Harry and Ron disappeared with their brooms, Draco had to force himself to wait half an hour to make sure practice was well underway before he searched out his quarry. It didn’t take him long to find her in the library since she spent nearly every evening there anyway.

Of course, she couldn’t be sitting alone. No. That would have made Draco’s life easy. She was surrounded by some study group or other with a bunch of Gryffindors and Ravenclaws who Draco had never cared enough about to learn their names. He decided on a frontal approach, striding up to the table full of purpose and self-confidence.

“Granger. I need to speak with you for a moment.”

She looked up at him with annoyance flashing in her eyes. “I’m in the middle of something, Malfoy. Can’t it wait?”

He knew this was going to require swallowing his pride, but he’d hoped he could find a way around it if he tried. Obviously, that was not going to be the case.

“Granger. Hermione. I need your help with something important. Please.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but pushed away from the table and followed him to a quiet spot near the restricted section.

He cast Silencio and quickly filled her in on what he’d already discovered about soul and material retrieval.

“But, Draco, that’s dangerous. The professors can’t think this is a good idea.”

“That’s why I’m not telling them.”

Her face hardened and he knew it was the wrong thing to say. “I don’t mean I’m not going to tell them before I try. That would be foolish. I want to be able to give them a complete picture. Show them I’m serious. And by then, Incacha will have taught me everything I need to know. He’ll be able to say whether I’m ready or not.”

She softened and he relaxed a little, giving another small push. “But I can’t prepare and do the research and keep up with my studies and the training with Harry. I need help. And you are the best when it comes to research.”

She pursed her lips, then stuck out her tongue and laughed at him. “Nice try, Malfoy. But I’m not one of your Slytherin buddies, easily swayed by flattery.”

He shrugged and laughed as well. “Some habits are hard to break.”

“I suppose I can do this for Harry. If he and Ron help…”

Draco was shaking his head vehemently before she finished speaking. “You can’t tell Harry. And you can’t tell Ron because he’ll tell Harry. It has to be just us for now.”

“You have to tell Harry. Do you know what this will mean to him?”

“Oh yes. I know. I can feel the bone-crushing pain and the knife-edged guilt that swallows him every time anyone mentions Sirius.”

“Oh.” She looked stunned and a little sick. “I didn’t know it was still so raw for him.”

“Yeah. Which is why we can’t tell him. Not yet. I can’t give him that hope until I’m sure. I don’t want to be the one who has to snatch it away from him if I find out I can’t do it. Do you?”

Hermione shook her head silently, tears sparkling in the corners of her eyes.

“But you’ll help me? And keep it a secret?”

“Yes. Not much choice, is there? We can meet whenever they have practice.”

Then she lunged forward and hugged him, her bushy hair getting in his mouth as he awkwardly patted her on the back. When it seemed she might never let go, he cleared his throat.

“Um, I have some books here to get started with. I only have about half an hour before I have to meet Harry in the Dungeon for detention.”

“Right, yes, of course.” She shuffled back with an embarrassed cough. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

*

Harry smirked when Draco came running down the hall, cursing under his breath. Normally it was Harry who couldn’t make it to their training sessions on time and Draco knew he wouldn’t hear the end of it from his Sentinel for awhile.

He paused to straighten his robes into some semblance of order and Harry leaned over to sniff him curiously.

“You smell like Hermione.”

For a heartbeat, Draco panicked and nearly spilled the whole story before he caught himself. Luckily he’d learned how to partition off emotions or he’d have given the game away in that moment.

“Yeah, I had to check something in the library and she was studying there too. We sat together.” The lie came easily to his tongue, just like old times. Unlike old times, however, a huge slice of guilt slid along with it.

Harry frowned and sniffed again. Draco wondered if his senses were so acute now, that he could tell the difference of scent from sitting next to each other and the hug she forced on him. And if so, how he’d explain it.

But Harry leaned back into his own space and smiled. “Good. I’m glad you two are getting along, even when I’m not there.”

Before Draco could answer, the door in front of them opened and Snape was glaring down at them. “You two are late. Again. You’re lucky Dumbledore won’t let me give you any more detentions or you’d be scrubbing cauldrons until you take your NEWTS.”

Behind him, Lupin stood next to the fireplace and rolled his eyes at Snape’s bluster. Draco bit his lip to hide his amusement but Harry let out a little snigger.

Snape huffed and stepped aside to let them in and transferred his glare to Lupin.

*

Harry floated above the pitch, observing practice while keeping one eye out for the Snitch, so he could get a little practice on his own. Ron’s confidence had grown in leaps and bounds and now he was a valuable Keeper.

Ginny was brilliant as a Chaser. She and Dean Thomas played in perfect sync with each other. Their blossoming relationship off the field also eased Harry’s mind. He no longer had to dodge her attempts to get close to him. Or be careful not to trample on her feelings. She’d finally outgrown the crush she’d had on him and was becoming as good a friend as Ron and Hermione.

Neville, with renewed confidence in himself, had even tried out for the team and had earned himself a place as a backup Chaser. Now, he floated around the edge of the pitch and occasionally subbed in to learn a technique or move or play. All in all, the team had shaped up nicely this year and, while he was satisfied with the two wins so far, he knew they needed to up their points if they were going to win the Quidditch Cup. It was mid-April already and they only had a month until they went head-to-head with Ravenclaw to decide the whole thing.

From the corner of his eye, Harry caught a flash of gold circling on the far edge of the pitch. Before he even shifted his weight to turn his broom, though, a splash of orange light streaked from somewhere near the stands and he jerked his broom sideways to avoid it.

While he was trying to regain his balance, it stopped in mid-air, turned and came hurtling back at him. He had only a second to realize it was some kind of wizard-seeking fireball then he yanked the handle of his broom to accelerate straight up out of its path. Harry fumbled for his wand trying to untangle it from the sleeve of his robe but the fireball was already coming at him again.

He twisted his body and broom in an aerial acrobatic move even he hadn’t known he was capable of. In the midst of the maneuver, however, he lost his grip and shouted when the wand fell from his hand.

The fireball had somehow ended up straight over his head and was plummeting towards him with ferocious speed. Harry threw himself into a full-throttle nose-dive in an attempt to avoid it. Fear and anger burned inside of him, but all he could do was hold on and keep trying to avoid it.

The rest of the team finally realized something was wrong. Some shouted directions and warnings and he dodge from side to side as the ground swiftly rose up to meet him. Others kicked up on their brooms to intercept Harry but they were all too far away.

All except Neville, who like Harry, had been hovering at the edge, while he watched practice. Neville pushed his broom into a shallower dive, his wand out and pointed slightly above Harry. Inches from the ground, his friend was finally close enough to shout out a spell at the menacing ball. “Finite Incantatem.”

The fireball winked out as if it had never been and the sudden darkness made Harry blink.

He managed to pull up in time and, with the momentum slowed, he rolled off his broom to land on the ground with a soft thump. Arms spread in relief, he lay there with his lungs heaving while he tried to convince his body he was no longer in danger and that it was okay to calm down again.

All around him, his team landed and multiple voices asked him questions too fast for him to answer. He only nodded his head and waved his hand to let them know he was alright.

Ginny handed him his wand and Ron handed him his glasses, one of the lenses cracked, of course. Thankfully they weren’t necessary anymore, but he’d have to remember to feign difficulty seeing until he could fix them.

When Neville’s worried face appeared in the crowd, he accepted the offered hand up. “Thanks, Neville, that could have been bad.”

“Are you okay, Harry? What happened?”

“Someone cast a Fireball. Somehow it got fixated on me.” He waved vaguely toward the empty stand. “Probably one of the other teams realized exactly how good we’re getting and decided to interrupt practice. Too bad for them we were pretty much done, anyway. Everyone go ahead and head in. We’ll call it a night.”

A hand on his shoulder held him back when he started to follow the rest of the team into the locker room. Ron stood pale and concerned. Next to him Neville looked at him solemnly, wand still gripped tight in his hand.

“Harry, considering the other… incidents… this year, you can’t believe this was just a prank by another team.”

“No. I don’t. Not really. We’ve found nothing yet, though. Not even with the Order’s help. Whoever it was, they’re long gone, now. There’s no point in scaring the rest of the team when they’re not the ones at risk.”

“You’ll tell Dumbledore, though, right? I mean, Hermione’ll know five minutes after Ginny gets back. I’ll never hear the end of it if you don’t tell an adult.”

“Yeah, I will. Also, once everyone else is gone, I’m going to go over and sniff around. Maybe he left a scent or a clue he thought was too small to see. I’m not taking it lightly. Especially not with my Guide’s life at risk. I just don’t want to advertise I’m being stalked again.”

“Okay. Good. You know if you need anything…”

“Me, too.” Neville spoke up finally relaxing enough to shove his wand back into his robes. “I’ll help any way you need.”

“You’ll be the first ones I ask. Well, after Hermione. She scares me more than you do.” The chuckle they shared relieved a lot of the tension as they headed back into the changing room.

Several minutes later, Harry had dawdled long enough that he was the last one in the locker room. He’d barely finished packing up his gear when the sound of the door banging open startled him.

He whirled, reaching for his wand but found himself with an armful of Malfoy.

His Guide wrapped tight around Harry babbling the entire time. Without thinking, his own arms curved to cradle and soothe the upset blond.

“Oh, you’re okay. Ron and Neville said… but… I felt you. Falling, scared, angry. I ran to the infirmary but you weren’t there. Then I saw the team coming in but you weren’t with them, either. Weasley and Longbottom told me you were here and fine but I had to see.”

Harry realized the low buzz of concern he’d been feeling since nearly being knocked out of the sky hadn’t been his alone, Draco’s emotions had slid in with his.

“It’s fine, Draco, I’m fine.” He buried his nose into Draco’s hair and inhaled his new favorite scent of spice and vanilla while he gave his Guide the quick version of what had happened.

As he talked, he sorted through the other layers of scent on his Guide. Paper and a faint hint of ink. Lavender and rosewood. Scents he’d learned to associate with Hermione. His memory began to click over all the times he’d met up with Draco after Quidditch practice and had subconsciously noted those scents lingering on his Guide, though Draco had only once mentioned studying with Hermione. Even then, he’d made it sound like an accident.

Something dark and possessive reared up in Harry. Instincts he’d fought to keep buried shunted aside his normal sensibilities. His voice was low and aggressive and hard when he asked, “Where were you tonight, Draco?”

He felt a flare of panic, quickly shut out. Heard the heartbeat trip and race. Smelled the faint sheen of perspiration spring up along Draco’s skin. He knew the untruth was coming before his Guide even opened his mouth.

“My room. Studying. Alone.”

Something in Harry snapped and the Sentinel instincts slid over any rational thought. Mine. Mine. Mine. A constant rhythm in his head.

His hands gripped Draco’s shoulders hard, pushed him back against the lockers and he snarled into the surprised grey eyes.

“Liar!”

Draco jerked slightly in his hold, Harry only tightened his grip.

“Liar,” Harry repeated, though the low rumble sounded more like an angry animal noise than a word.

“I can smell her.” His hands tightened on Draco’s arms and he buried his nose in Draco’s hair, dragged it down until he was sniffing at his Guide’s neck and robe.

“She’s in your hair, on your robes. She’s clinging to you.”

The haze of instinct and territorial possession clouded his every move. All he could think was to remove the other scent. To replace it with his own. To make the Guide smell like his Sentinel. With tugs and rips and pulls, the robe disappeared followed quickly by the shirt underneath until there was nothing but skin.

Harry shifted his grip, wrapping his hands around Draco’s waist and pinning him in place. He pushed forward, into Draco, against Draco until he knew he was all his Guide could see, could smell, could feel. Him. Only Him.

“Mine.” He snarled, mouth a hair’s breadth from Draco’s. “My Guide. Only mine. Mine.”

“Yours, Harry. No one else. Just you.”

Satisfied with the surrender, Harry claimed Draco’s mouth with fierce ownership. It was a clash of teeth, a plunging of tongues until Draco surrendered to him. It was possession and promise and Harry lost himself in it until he was surrounded by nothing but his Guide. Sweet scent, thundering heartbeat, smooth, warm skin, hot coppery blood.

It was the taste of blood on his tongue that finally wrenched Harry back into control of his own mind, his own body. He jerked back. Saw the small cut on Draco’s bottom lip where his own teeth had grazed his Guide’s delicate skin.

He stepped back, his stomach already rolling like a tiny boat in the midst of a ferocious storm. Red marks, in the shape of his hands, dotted the blonde’s skin. Shoulders, biceps, waist. Everywhere Harry had touched was evidence of his violence.

“D-Draco. M-Merlin. I-I-I’m sorry.” He stuttered out the apology, knowing it was too little, too late.

His Guide stared at him in surprise through disheveled hair. Draco breathed hard through his nose to catch his breath, one hand wiping absently at the blood on his mouth.

Harry gagged unable to hold back the bile and the guilt and disgust at what he had done. He ran for the door, barely making it outside before getting violently sick on the grass.

He had to get away. To leave. He couldn’t force his presence on Draco anymore. He shut everything down that connected him to his Guide and ran out into the rapidly darkening night.

*

Emotions washed through Draco as Harry’s body pressed up against his. His mouth was plundered and he opened gratefully, letting himself drown in Harry’s need. Harry’s want. Harry’s possession.

For the first time, he felt how much Harry wanted him. Knew the passion, the need, the care he felt for his Sentinel was returned. It flowed through him, wrapped around him, integrated itself so fully inside of him that he couldn’t tell whose emotions he was feeling anymore.

And when Harry finally broke the kiss, Draco was still so wound up in the thick weave of emotion, he could only stare blankly. He knew Harry was speaking, thought it was probably important, but the flood of heat simmering through his veins made it impossible to concentrate.

Then, in an instant, Harry was gone and so was everything that connected the two of them. He couldn’t feel anything, not even the a hint of what his Sentinel was feeling.

The sudden cessation broke him, drove him to his knees. Why? Why would Harry give him everything then take it all away?

Bit by bit his brain began to piece the fragmented moments together. Whatever had just happened, it had been those primal instincts Lupin and Snape had been warning them about. It had been the Sentinel. Not Harry.

He had lied. And being lied to was the one thing Harry could not stand. He’d been lied to his entire life. By his so-called family. By Dumbledore, through omission. By the Ministry.

And now by Draco. He pushed himself to his feet. He had to fix this. He would fix it.

Because it might have been the Sentinel who had released the hold on the passion and the affection Harry had been burying deep, but Harry felt those things for Draco. And Draco would be damned if, now that he knew they were there, he’d give them up without a fight.

First, though, he had to find his Sentinel and convince him to listen. Draco ran all the way back to the castle and up to the Gryffindor tower.

The Fat Lady sneered at him and demanded a password. He ignored her and beat on the edge of the frame until Parvati Patil appeared in the opening to Gryffindor’s common room.

“What are you doing, making all this racket? You’re not even supposed to be here.”

Draco sighed in resignation. While the Gryffindors reluctantly accepted him, most of them still didn’t care like him. Patil particularly detested him. He could only assume it was because she was one of the score of girls, and boys, who had a crush on the Boy-Who-Lived and resented Draco’s relationship with him.

“Look, I just need to talk to Harry. Is he here?”

“Oh, did you and your boyfriend have a fight?” The gleam in her eye told him he’d been right in his supposition.

Before he could decide what hex to blast her with, Hermione was beside her and edging her out of the way. “It’s alright, Parvati, I’ll take care of Draco.”

Patil glared at her then at Ron and Neville who were crowding behind Hermione. She sneered one last time at Draco and flounced away.

“We have to talk. In private,” Draco demanded, gripping Hermione’s wrist and pulling her out into the hall. Of course Weasley and Longbottom followed close on her heels before the portrait swung shut. Draco didn’t have time to care.

“He knows about us, Hermione.” He nearly cried and plunged a shaking hand into his tangled hair. “He smelled you on me and I tried to lie….”

“He knows about what, exactly?” Ron was suddenly between them, fists cocked and red anger splotching his face between the freckles. His eyes swung from side to side to glare at each of them.

“Not like that, Ron.” Hermione placed a gentle hand on her boyfriend’s arm when Draco rolled his eyes and started pacing.

“Look, Granger’s nice enough, but she’s not my type.”

The scowl deepened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, for the love of Merlin, Weasley. Make up your mind. Do you want me to have the hots for your girlfriend or not?”

“Not,” the ginger answered sullenly.

“Good. We’ve just been doing some research I didn’t want to tell Harry about until we could actually answer all of his questions.”

Ron opened his mouth to ask more but Hermione waved her hand and shut him up. Draco wished he could learn that trick, but he suspected it was a privilege that only came with snogging the prat and he wasn’t that interested.

“Draco, where did you get those bruises? And the split lip? Did Harry hurt you?”

Draco huffed out a laugh at her defensive mama bear tone. Was she really going to defend a Malfoy against Potter? “It was the Sentinel instincts. I’m fine.”

“Draco…”

“Seriously, ‘Mione. I’m a Slytherin despite a couple of Gryffindor-like moments of temporary insanity. If I thought for a second Potter was a danger to me, don’t you think I’d be running in the other direction, not looking for him?”

Granger studied him like a potion that wasn’t quite the right shade of blue, but finally relented. “Okay, we’ll help you look, but, first, Ron could you let him borrow a shirt? He’s going to catch a cold running around the castle like that.”

Draco and Ron both blinked at her in surprise, but soon he was wearing a worn cotton button up that hung off him while they prowled through the castle looking for a sign of their missing hero.

If he’d been thinking clearly, the Astronomy Tower would have been one of the first places they looked. Harry had snuck off there more than once, when he wanted to brood. But Draco’s mind kept running in circles of elation and guilt, confusion and pain, making it hard to focus.

He knew whatever he felt for Harry, it was returned. But had he found out too late? Had he ruined any real relationship they could have had before it even started?

When they finally found him in the tower, Harry sat in the shadows of the wall, clinging to the obscuring darkness, but he spoke when they drew closer. “Just go away. I want to be alone.”

“Harry.” Hermione spoke, and Draco winced at the ‘be reasonable’ tone of her voice.

“Just. Go. Away. Please?”

“Can I talk to him alone?” Draco asked in a low, urgent whisper, though he knew Harry could hear them if he tried.

All three looked like they would protest, so he spoke to forestall them. “I promise, if it doesn’t work I’ll come get you guys. But this is my fault. My mistake. Let me try to fix it. Please?”

Reluctantly, the three headed back down the stairs, leaving the Sentinel and his Guide alone under the starry night sky.

*

Draco inhaled a deep, fortifying breath and he moved toward Harry. Every step he took, though, sent his Sentinel scooting backwards, until he ended up with his back against the wall.

“Stop, Draco.” Harry’s voice was raw and low. He turned his head away to stare up into the night sky. “Don’t. Don’t come closer. I hurt you. Don’t wanna do it again.”

“You didn’t hurt me.” Surprised rocked through Draco. “Is that why you’re hiding up here? I thought you ran because I lied to you. Because you were jealous of Hermione and me.”

Draco inched closer as he spoke. Harry, eyes glassy like he was lost in thought, didn’t notice. The Guide in Draco was worried his Sentinel was close to zoning. The wall of emotional distance loomed huge between them, though. Could he breach it enough for Harry to let him help?

“I don’t like that you lied.” He still didn’t look at Draco as the words tumbled out fast and breathless. “I am… I was jealous. But I have no right to be. I don’t… I know it was stupid. I know you don’t want… I know it’s a bad idea for…”

Eventually, Harry trailed off, frustration evident in every tense line of his body.

“Wow. There’re a lot of conversations all tangled up in that.” Draco laughed a little shakily and stepped forward some more. “Let’s take them one at a time, shall we? Thank Merlin it’s Friday. I don’t think either one of us is getting much sleep tonight.”

He kept his tone light, but he couldn’t even get Harry to look at him, let alone smile. Exhaling, Draco tugged a hand through his hair in frustration before taking the last couple of steps to bring him within inches of Harry.

“Look, use your damn senses. Do I smell afraid?” He slid down the wall to sit next to his Sentinel. Not quite touching, but as close as he could get. “Am I flinching away from you?”

Harry nodded then stopped, shook his head and finally, finally, looked at Draco with wide, tear-rimmed eyes. He knew he had to talk fast, before Harry got swallowed up in the guilt and self-recriminations again.

“Look, we were both warned about the territorial drives and instincts when we started this. I knew better but…” He paused and it was his turn to look away. “You’ve been so distant, lately, it didn’t seem like that big a deal. I didn’t even think you’d notice. Then you were all territorial and in my face and my Slytherin instinct was to lie my way out of trouble.”

Harry flinched, his eyes took on that guilt-broken look again. Fuck. Draco had no idea what he’d said this time, but, damn it, he was going to fix this, even if it meant neither of them got any sleep tonight.

Frustrated with himself, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “I’ve gotten bigger bruises from Quidditch practice.”

Draco knew it was a mistake as soon as he said it. Harry’s gaze was intense and absorbed, the Sentinel instincts moved once again to the fore.

“Bruises? You’re hurt. Of course. I’m sorry. Let me see.” Before he knew it, his borrowed shirt was unbuttoned and Harry’s hands were ghosting over the finger shaped bruises that had darkened from red to a kaleidoscope of blue and green and purple.

The touch was feather-light and exploring, forcing Draco to bite back a moan. For months, they’d been engaging in this strange dance of foreplay that was part fiction and part fate. The touch of Harry’s fingers on skin was sweet torture. And now that he knew Harry felt the same attraction, it was even harder not to lean into the touch, to invite more, to take it further.

He knew those weren’t the instincts driving Harry at the moment. And now wasn’t the time to jump into that pool. So he drew back tight on his libido and leaned away. In a slow drawl, he did his best to shake Harry out of Sentinel over-protective mode.

“If you’re going to kiss the boo-boos and make them better, this really isn’t the place.”

Harry jerked back, raising his hands and tucking them back behind himself. He dipped his chin, and murmured, “I’m sorry. I have no right.”

“Oh for— Bloody Gryffindor.” Draco grabbed Harry by the shoulders, then tucked two fingers under the Sentinel’s chin and forced the dark haired teenager to look at him.

“How about this? You, Harry Bloody Potter, have permission to check me, Draco Malfoy, over for damage, any time you’re concerned about my well-being.”

Harry blinked behind those useless, cracked glasses. “Y-you don’t have to… I don’t expect…”

“I know.” Draco said softly, leaning in a little closer, against his better judgment. “I’m offering. Because it will make you feel better and, hopefully, at least stop you from fighting yourself over one instinct.”

He sat back and let his hand drop into his lap. Tried to give his patented smirk. “Just, if you feel the need to strip me down, try to find us a little privacy.”

Harry actually laughed a little and the hard knot of fear in Draco’s stomached loosened. Then Harry’s hands were back on him, his nose close to sensitive skin as he used his senses to examine the extent of each and every bruise. It was all Draco could do to remain still and not squirm and whimper under the sensual onslaught.

In an effort to distract himself, Draco started rambling. “I should probably mention, with skin this pale and thin, I end up bruised when someone looks at me too hard. I wasn’t kidding about Quidditch practice. If I were still on the Slytherin team, I’d be covered in black and blue marks…”

Harry, satisfied the damage wasn’t severe, sat back and frowned. At least he was looking at Draco now.

“I am sorry, Draco.”

He opened his mouth to blast Harry, but the Sentinel covered his lips with three fingers to stop him before he started.

“Whether intentional, instinctual or accidental, whether you think it’s a big deal or not, I hurt you. And I am sorry for that.”

Draco had a hard time thinking past the urge to suck those fingers into his mouth. He was really going to have to convince Harry to give into this attraction. But, not tonight. Tonight, they had a whole bunch of other vital topics to talk about.

“Alright,” he murmured around the fingers. “Apology accepted.”

Harry nodded and pulled his hand back. Draco missed the heat immediately.

“Now for the hard part,” Draco said and shifted a little closer and twisted his own fingers together. “Hermione and I—”

“It’s fine. You don’t owe me any explanation.” The Gryffindor frowned and shook his head. “Well, it’s not fine, exactly. Ron. Ron deserves an explanation. And probably an apology…”

Taking a page out of Harry’s book, Draco pressed his fingers against Potter’s lips to stop the flow of words.

“It’s. Not. Like. That.” Slow, small words. Deep breath. “I like Hermione, as a friend. And I can’t believe a Malfoy is saying that. You’ve ruined me Potter. We were, are, meeting to research something. I have never laid a hand on her. And I’m pretty sure she’d hex me if I tried.”

He stared into the vivid green of Harry’s eyes, wide with relief and guarded hope. “Do you believe me?”

Harry nodded and his mouth moved under the fingers. Draco’s body went hot and tight and he had to close his eyes against the electric rush the sensation sent through him. He slid his hand away, allowing himself a brief caress of Potter’s cheek before pulling back completely.

“Yes. I believe you.” The words were warm and sweet and made Draco shiver a little in relief. “So what are you two researching?”

Draco’s heart raced and he knew Harry could hear it. Could see the Sentinel reacting, pulling back. His hand shot out and gripped Potter’s wrist before he could move too far away.

This was the sticky part. He wouldn’t, couldn’t, lie to Harry again. But they hadn’t found a solid enough lead yet. Didn’t know if it was possible. He didn’t want to disappoint Harry.

Sliding his fingers down until they tangled with Harry’s, gripping tight as he forced his mind and his body to calm.

 Apparently, he was quiet too long, because Harry began to fidget and finally spoke, in that withdrawn, resigned tone.

“You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to. If you’d rather keep it a secret. I just…”

Draco’s fingers ended up on Harry’s lips again, as if they had a mind of their own. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you. It’s that I. We. I don’t know for sure if I—if it can be done. I don’t want to get your hopes up. I don’t want to disappoint you, Harry.”

He pulled his hand away from Harry’s mouth and ran it through his hair, knowing he was messing it up even more. He didn’t know why he left it loose and natural so much now.

Not true, he admitted silently, as he watched Harry’s eyes follow the movement of his fingers through the blond strands. Thought about all the time his Sentinel reached out and sank his fingers into Draco’s hair when he was tired or upset or distracted. Draco had no doubt Harry was thinking the same thing as he watched the Gryffindor’s tongue flick out and touch the lower lip where Draco’s fingers had been. His hands were balled up in tight fists in his lap, turning white at the knuckles.

If Harry felt this hot need too, why hadn’t he done anything about it? Why did he just leave Draco hanging and frustrated?

Not now, not now, not now. He chanted to his tight, thrumming body. Squeezing his eyes shut, he willed himself to not think about things he couldn’t have. At least not at the moment.

“I’m use to disappointments, Draco.”

Draco’s eyes popped open, thinking for a second Harry had somehow read his mind. Then his brain caught up and he remembered the thread of the conversation before he’d gotten distracted by his body.

Harry shrugged at him, then slumped back, letting the stone wall support him while he stared up into the stars. “I’m learning to brace myself for it.”

 And that was probably the answer to Draco’s frustrated, silent question. He’d learned so much about Harry’s life in the past few months. He’d been abandoned and neglected so many times, either accidentally or on purpose. He already depended on Draco to keep him sane and healthy. Why should he trust Draco, or fate, by making it anything more than the Sentinel-Guide bond?

He’d lost his parents to Voldemort and his godfather to Azkaban before he was old enough to remember them. He’d been left with Muggles who despised him and kept his heritage from him. The wizarding world, Hogwarts, even some of his ‘friends’ alternately worshipped or reviled him.

Then, like some kind of sick cosmic joke, he’d been given Sirius back just to have him ripped cruelly away again. By Draco’s family, no less.

Draco settled back against the wall next to Harry, shoulder pressed tight against the other boy’s. He wasn’t sure if he was offering support or asking for it.

“Lupin gave me a ton of books on Shamans.” Draco had no idea how to start, but that seemed as good a place as any.

“Okay,” Harry drew the word out and furrowed his brow while he tried to follow the change in conversation.

“One of them is a boring biography about some Shaman from last century who is regarded as the greatest Shaman of Great Britain. He could heal unhealable wounds of the body and the mind. He could travel outside of his body for hundreds and thousands of miles. He could even retrieve lost souls.”

From under his lashes, Draco glanced at Harry to see his reaction, but the Boy-Who-Lived only stared at him with a puzzled expression. He should have realized he was being too oblique.

“He could retrieve souls of the living lost in other planes and dimensions.”

Harry closed his eyes and opened them little by little, his breath seemed to have stopped and his skin was paler than the moonlight bathing it.

“Sirius. You’re talking about Sirius. But he’s not lost.” The last word flowed bitter and stark from his lips. “He’s dead. Dumbledore was definite. He was dead the second he passed through the arch. No one comes back from that.”

Even with the bond still as closed off as the Sentinel could make it, the pain bleeding through their link would have brought Draco to his knees if he wasn’t already sitting. Harry was hurting, barely closed wounds breaking open inside of him. This was exactly what Draco had wanted to avoid. Especially because he could be wrong. Or he could be right and still fail. He couldn’t lie to Harry anymore, though. And he couldn’t keep secrets that made Harry feel rejected.

“I know that’s what he believed, but he’s wrong. I’ve talked to Incacha. The arch is a one way door, but there are other doors to the underworld. If I can find another one, my soul can go through it. Because of our family connection and our mutual connection to you, I should be able to find Sirius.”

“But he won’t have a body to come back to. Would he be like one of Hogwart’s ghosts?”

“A powerful Shaman can carry physical items in and out of the realm of the dead. If he wasn’t dead when he went through, then his body will remain in stasis for a year and a day, while his soul floats free from it. I’d have to bring them both out, then bind them back together.”

“And you’re powerful enough to do that?”

“I hope so. I have to be.”

“You’d have to leave your body, find the entrance, enter the realm of the dead, find Sirius, body and soul, get them back and rejoin them?”

Draco smiled a little depreciatingly. “In a nutshell.”

“It sounds impossible. And dangerous.” Draco looked away but knew it was too late and the Sentinel’s senses had already caught his attempt at omission. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Incacha doesn’t know any Shaman who has actually done this, before, other than rumor and stories. I’d sort of be winging it. And…”

“And?”

“Once I leave my body, the thread holding my soul to it is delicate and tenuous. If some happens to the link, my body won’t survive a separation from my soul a second time.”

“No.” Harry pushed forward, grabbing Draco’s hands with a careful, gentle grip. “Absolutely not. I’ve come to terms with losing Sirius. I’m not losing you, too.”

He stopped, then dropped his gaze and let go of Draco’s hand. “I mean, I need my Guide.”

Draco’s heart rose then sank as Harry backtracked. Then he got pissed.

“Look, I’m not a coward, but I still have a Slytherin’s sense of self-preservation. I’m not some bloody noble Gryffindor who’ll go running of half-cocked. I have no intention of trying it unless I can succeed. Which is why I didn’t want to tell you about all this in the first place.”

Harry vibrated with tension, holding himself so tight Draco thought he’d snap in two if the wind picked up at all. “Sorry,” he whispered. His hands came up to rub his temples. “Sorry, I just… I don’t know…”

Fuck. His Sentinel was hurting. Draco didn’t even think about it. He turned to face Harry fully, brushing the Sentinel’s hands away as he leaned in a massaged the boy’s head while whispering soothing nonsense in his ear.

Harry slumped, the tension releasing out of his body at Draco’s touch like a marionette with its strings suddenly cut. Harry nuzzled into Draco’s hair, slid into his arms, and settled into his Guide like it was home.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t mean to push you or hurt you or be possessive. I’ll try harder to rein in my instincts.”

Draco squeezed tighter and kept his tone light, though his heart was throbbing in echo of his Sentinel’s anguish. “And I’ll try harder to remember that your Sentinel instincts, paired with your Gryffindor impulsiveness is a horrible combination that needs to be babied and coddled.”

Harry’s snort eased the last of the stress trembling between them. With a smile of relief, he tried to sit back to see for sure how his Sentinel was doing. Harry clutched at his shirt, a soft whimper escaping before he released the fabric.

“Hey,” Draco said softly. “Hey. It’s late. We’ve both had a rough day. Let’s get some sleep and talk about this tomorrow, alright?”

“Yeah. Okay. Yeah.”

Draco kept his hands on Harry as they stood and started back toward the main part of the castle. He kept up a steady patter of nonsense and gossip and stupid bits of trivia. When they got to the corridor outside the Gryffindor dormitory, Draco stopped and gently reached up to brush the hair out of Harry’s eyes. The dark head bent to lean into the touch.

“Okay, one more time to make sure you get it. I don’t blame you for what happened earlier. I’m not hurt. And I’m not angry. Considering how long I can hold a grudge over the smallest slight, that’s saying something.”

The smile that bloomed on Harry’s face was real and happy and true for the first time in a long time.

“Thanks, Draco.”

“For what?”

His eyes tightened, a spark of humor curled his lip. “For not being a complete prat. Just, you know, a partial one.”

The laughter bubbled up and the bond between them slid wide open again. Later, he’d never be able to say for sure which one of them moved first, but lips met in a soft press, hands tangled in hair, bodies pressed close.

For how long they stood like that, he couldn’t say. It was like a moment out of time, a perfect bubble with just the two of them inside.

A soft cough behind them broke the spell and they turned to find Hermione, Ron and Neville standing with varying degrees of embarrassment and surprise.

He was going to step away, give them some excuse about hearing someone and keeping up appearances, but Harry grabbed his hand and tugged him close, dropping another quick kiss on his lips before greeting his friends.

Chapter Text

Part Seven

Harry had no idea why he’d given in to the impulse. Why he’d felt the need to kiss Draco, to claim him, in front of his closest friends. But Draco’s resignation, the pulse of sadness quickly stifled when his Guide realized Hermione and the other’s were near had tugged at him.

Something had shifted between them on the Astronomy Tower. Harry didn’t understand what it was yet. Didn’t know where it was going. He only knew he didn’t want to go back to the way things had been for most of this term. He’d just have to be careful to heed Snape’s warning going forward and protect Draco as best he could.

The three Gryffindor’s shifted, drawing his attention back to them. They looked uneasily at each other until Ron shuffled forward. “So I guess, uh, you’re okay now, Harry?”

He couldn’t help the wide smile that spread across his face and squeezed Draco’s hand. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Draco rolled his eyes and squeezed back.

“What are you guys still doing up?”

“Well, we were worried about you. Someone tried to kill you today, for one, Harry.” Hermione’s embarrassment had faded, and she was in full mother hen mode now.

He waved his hand. “Someone’s tried to kill me every few months since I was eleven. Today’s attempt was rather pathetic, in the grand scheme of things.”

Hermione’s faced pinched into the scowl that preceded one of her lectures. Neville shifted and pulled everyone’s attention when he cleared his throat. “Erm… You know ‘Mione and Draco were… weren’t… um, that is…”

“I know they were doing research. Not snogging.”

Hermione looked hard at Draco as Ron and Neville looked down at their feet.

“Yes, ma’am,” Draco said with a slow drawl. “I told him everything.”

Her shoulders sagged and her face smoothed out as she sighed. “Oh, good. I hate keeping secrets from Harry and Ron. I, uh, told Ron and Neville too.”

Ron blushed and slid his hand possessively around Hermione. Harry understood completely.

“Uh, sorry, Ron.” Draco’s apology took them all by surprise. The Guide scowled at the slack jawed looks he received. “I could have phrased it better so you didn’t think I was shagging your girlfriend.”

“Are you okay with it, Harry?” Neville asked tentatively. “I know this can’t be easy.”

Hope and grief twisted inextricably together and lodged sharply in his heart. Fear slicked its way in and around the sliver. He’d give almost anything to get Sirius back. But he didn’t want to sacrifice Draco for a reunion with his godfather.

“Yeah. Well, we have a lot to talk about and figure out before Draco is even going to think about trying.” Draco rolled his eyes again, but stepped closer, pushing in against Harry’s side.

“We should also tell Snape and Lupin and Dumbledore. They may be able to help us with the research… Oh—”

She stopped abruptly, hand flying to her mouth. “I can’t believe I forgot. Lupin came looking for you. Apparently rumor of the ‘prank’ at practice has made it all over school. You have to go talk to him and Snape first thing in the morning.”

“Oh, good. Just what I want to do with my Saturday. It’s not like they’ve found out who tried to poison me, yet. Or if it was even the same person who tried to drown Draco.”

Silence, uncomfortable and drawn out, met his harsh words.

Finally, Neville tentatively spoke up. “So, uh, you didn’t find anything useful when you checked out the stands?”

Harry’s eyes opened wide and his brain stopped abruptly. Practice seemed like weeks ago instead of only hours. In the drama of his Sentinel instincts, he’d forgotten completely to check for clues of his attacker’s identity.

“Well, I guess I’m not getting to sleep just yet.”

“You’re not going back out there, now, are you?” Hermione’s affronted glare reminded Harry of Mrs. Weasley.

He shrugged. The longer he waited, the more any scents or other evidence would dissipate. He hadn’t been able to learn anything after the poisoning at the pub. His skills had been too new and the pub had been so full, it had been impossible for him to separate anything useful from the muddle and press of bodies.

He’d been glued to Draco’s side for days after the incident before Christmas. By the time it even occurred to him to use his senses, nothing remained on the lake shore but the faint hint of lemon, which was more likely from Dumbledore’s candy than any assassin.

“Harry, it’s almost curfew. If you get caught…”

“They’ll what, give me more detention?”

Draco tensed next to him. “You can’t go swanning about the grounds after curfew by yourself when someone is trying to hurt you.” The Slytherin took a deep breath. “If you’re going, I’m going with you.”

“I’ll go too.”

“Ron, we’re Prefects, we can’t break the rules like that.”

Ron started to argue but Harry stopped them before they could get started.

“It’s okay, only two of us fit under the cloak now, anyway. Could you go in and get it from my trunk, please?” He asked Ron, who scowled like he wanted to disagree but slipped into the common room without a word. Then he reassured Hermione. “We won’t be long, I promise.”

Draco was frowning at him. “It’s not that cold, we won’t need to share a cloak for a quick run down to the Quidditch pitch.”

Hermione giggled and Neville hid his grin behind his hand but Harry gave him a thin smile and said, “You’ll see.”

As soon as Ron returned and handed him the cloak, he swung it dramatically and watched Draco’s face when he disappeared from sight.

It flickered from suspicion to astonishment to resigned comprehension. “Well, this explains so much…”

*

The trip down to the stands of the Quidditch pitch was quick and quiet. The first thing Harry noticed was the faint, fresh trampling of the grass around the bottom of the stands.

He got closer and opened his senses, one by one, keeping a tight lock on Draco, both through the link and through their clasped hands. Inhaling deeply, he sorted through all the surrounding scents. Unfortunately, a Hufflepuff team meeting made it all but impossible to narrow down any particular scent that might help. Except…

Sharp. Astringent.

“Fuck. Goddamnit. Fuck.”

Draco tilted his head. “Problem, Potter?”

“Lemon. Fucking lemon.”

“Um, okay. What does that mean?”

“After,” he almost choked on the words, but swallowed hard and started again. “After you nearly died, I didn’t go back to the lake until I knew for sure you were okay. When I came back, the emotions… my senses were so out of whack, all I could smell was lemon. I dismissed it. Thought it was Dumbledore’s damn candy.”

“You’re sure it’s not?”

“Yeah. Dumbledore smells sweet and sort of fake lemon-flavored. This is sharp and sour. More like cleaning products.”

“Did you smell it at the Three Broomsticks?”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know. There was so much going on that day and I was still getting use to the whole Sentinel thing. I was keeping everything dialed down.”

Draco crossed his arms and gave Harry a look that would have done Hermione proud. “Are you going to make me hold your hand through one of Snape’s sense memory exercises?”

Harry didn’t even try to hold back the slow, sensuous, mischievous smile. “Yes.”

His Guide breathed out an exaggerated sigh, but his eyes brightened and he reached for both of Harry’s hands, thumbs caressing the sensitive skin before he started talking the Sentinel through the light meditation.

“Close your eyes. Go back to Hogsmeade. The Three Broomsticks. Your friends are around the table. What do you remember most from that day?”

“You.” He knew, later, he’d be embarrassed by the immediate answer, but, right now his filters were completely disconnected. “I remember you.”

“What do you remember about me?” Draco asked, his voice a little breathless.

“Your heartbeat first. Heard it coming before you even walked in the door. Watched you walk in. Tried not to be obvious. I couldn’t not look, though. I was still off balance when we didn’t spend enough time together. And we never got to spend enough time together.”

“I remember you did alright.”

“No. Always needed your scent. I’d hang around in hallways so I could inhale when you were near.”

“Really?” Draco shifted his fingers until they slid along Harry’s, slid between his knuckles and knotted their hands together. “Did you search it out that day? In the Three Broomsticks, with the food and the drink and all the people between us, it was probably hard to single me out, huh?”

Harry sighed and relaxed into the touch, enjoying both memory of the scent and the reality of it surrounding him. “Cinnamon and vanilla and some exotic spice. Always find you. Always.”

“But you had to filter stuff out to get to me, huh?”

“Yeah. So much interfered. Hermione’s lavender soap. Butterbeer. Cheese fries. Ron’s pine aftershave. Neville always smells like dirt and a hundred herbs. The soap residue on the dishes and the lemon….”

Harry’s eyes popped open in surprise. “The lemon cleaning products. Which probably weren’t cleaning products at all.”

“No. Probably not. So now you just have to sniff out lemon.”

“Yeah. Great. You make one bloodhound comparison and you’ll regret it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Potter.” His voice was serious but amusement flittered around his lips.

They both realized their hands were still clasped and Harry started to pull away but Draco held on tight.

“You kissed me, twice, tonight.”

“I apologized for the locker room…”

“Not going there again. I’m not complaining. I just, it felt as if you meant it. Not just a… territorial, Sentinel thing, but maybe a relationship thing.”

Harry dropped his eyes and pulled his hands away, successfully this time. He swallowed hard and tried to figure out how to get out of this without admitting to his embarrassing crush. He’d been too out of it to notice if the first kiss was more than one sided. The second kiss, though, Draco was definitely kissing back. But was it because he felt the same way Harry did? Or was it because he felt Harry needed some kind of pitiful reassurance?

His first instinct was to lie, to hide it, to protect himself. But that kind of subterfuge had already gotten them onto very dangerous ground once tonight.

“Look, I don’t expect you to return any… feelings I have for you. Your friendship, you acting as my Guide, it’s more than I could have asked for. If it makes you uncomfortable, knowing I,” he paused and squeezed his eyes closed. “Knowing I have a crush on you, we don’t even have to pretend. We can find another wa—”

His words were cut off abruptly when a pair of soft lips covered his. A sleek, lithe body pressed against his, long fingers sunk deep in his hair. He opened his mouth to the questing tongue, rested his hands low on his Guide’s hips and let Draco lead the kiss.

It was sweet, at first, and tentative. Questing and learning each other in a slow give and take. Then heat and an edge of desperation flared along the bond and they plunged into each other, lips demanding, tongues probing and hands roaming until the need for breath drove them apart.

Draco dropped his head to Harry’s shoulder, inhaling deeply. The Sentinel buried his nose in the soft blond hair.

“So, er, what does this mean?” Draco whispered against Harry’s shirt.

He rubbed his hand absently along his Guides sleek back. “I have no idea. What do you want it to mean?”

Draco clutched his shirt a little tighter but didn’t answer. Harry realized it was up to him to speak first.

He cleared his throat and could feel the slow flood of blood through the blood vessels of his face. “I like the friendship we have. I like kissing you. Touching you. I’d like it to be about more than just the bond.”

Draco finally lifted his face and smiled. “I’d like that to.”

Relief coursed through him and Harry hadn’t even realized how nervous he’d been.

“Good.” The hug was tight and long. Silently, he promised himself he’d make sure they took it slow. That they did not accidentally move into the last stage of bonding. At least not until after the threat of Voldemort had been taken care of permanently.

Then Draco yawned and Harry found himself echoing the sound. They got back under the cloak, staying close and touching at every opportunity until they arrived at Draco’s door.

The goodnight kiss was hot and sweet and cut short by another round of yawns.

As he loped back up the multitude of staircases to the tower, Harry wished he could have stayed with his Guide.

*

The next morning, Draco waited near the Great Hall and mused how odd it still felt to have some students greet him with friendly smiles. Of course, there were still quite a few who ignored him. And the familiar glares and sneers of his Slytherin House-mates had only intensified. None of that bothered him as he waited, though.

His worry was growing, the longer he stood there. He and Harry had gotten into a rhythm and almost always arrived at breakfast within seconds of each other but Draco had been waiting for nearly fifteen minutes already. He couldn’t help getting edgy as the seconds ticked by and fears started to prick at his brain. Had Harry changed his mind? Was he having second thoughts about their conversation the night before?

At the moment, though, all he could feel along their link was a buzz of irritation. No fear or anger or pain or even regret. If he was having second thoughts, surely he’d be having some combination of those emotions?

Draco started to tie himself up in knots chasing ‘what ifs’ but the sight of a scowling Harry stomping toward him pulled him out of the spiral. His Gryffindor entourage trailed behind him looking both concerned and faintly amused. The hint of mirth allowed Draco to relax fractionally, though he was still worried about his Sentinel’s distress as he continued to trudge down the hall.

Harry didn’t stop moving until he was well inside Draco’s personal space. So close, he could feel the Gryffindor’s breath on his cheek.

“What’s wrong?”

Harry groaned and dropped his forehead to rest against his Guide’s. Draco couldn’t help the flare of pleasure he experienced when the touch was followed by one arm wrapping around his waist. Before, he’d initiated almost all of their feigned PDAs. Harry had always seemed uncomfortable and stilted when he attempted to returned the affectionate touches.

But the Gryffindor hadn’t hesitated for even a second before reaching for Draco, despite the amount of students and staff around.

“Did you know that lemon is a main ingredient in Clara Tergum’s Astonishing Anti-Acne potion?”

“Um, no?”

“Well, it is. I nearly put Colin Creevey through the bathroom wall before I realized half a dozen other boys in the bathroom all smelled like lemon from slathering it on their spots. By the time I got to the common room, I realized half the girls smelled like it too, under their various lotions and perfumes. It’s one of those smells that’s so pervasive, I’ve been automatically filtering it out like soap or floor wax, the way Snape taught me to keep from being overwhelmed.”

“As we came downstairs, he sniffed two third year Ravenclaws, a second year Slytherin and a whole herd of Hufflepuffs.” Ron was snickering, no longer even trying to hide it.

Even Hermione’s lips twitched a little. “It seems it’s an extremely popular remedy.”

Harry groaned again. “So much for my senses finding us a clue.”

Draco wrapped an arm around his back and patted his hand against the solid muscle. “We’ll figure something out.”

While they talked, the last stragglers wandered into breakfast, leaving them alone in the hall. Except for Professor Snape gliding toward them, the scowl so fierce on his face Draco wondered if he’d been sucking on Tergum’s potion.

“Mr. Potter.” His tone was deceptively mild by his glare was fierce. “I understand you had a bit of difficulty at Quidditch practice yesterday. Would you care to explain why you did not go to an adult immediately? Especially considering the history you and your… boyfriend have had this year.”

“I, uh, forgot?”

Snape actually looked flabbergasted then he pinched the bridge of his nose, looking up at the ceiling for a long uncomfortable silence before growling. “You forgot someone tried to kill you? Again?”

Harry winced, shifted closer to Draco. “Uh, no, I mean, I remembered, but I got distracted by a, uh, Sentinel thing. And forgot to find Dumbledore or McGonagall. Until after curfew, I mean. I was going to talk to someone after breakfast.”

“Yes. You will. As soon as you are finished with your meal, you will meet me in my office.”

“Yes, sir.”

Snape didn’t bother to acknowledge the agreement before walking away.

The subdued group moved into the Great Hall and tucked into breakfast with an unnatural quiet. By the time they’d finished eating, most of the hall was empty. Hermione, who’d opened her mouth a half dozen times, only to shut it again when she glanced around their public setting, finally gave in and cast Silencio.

“How much are you going to tell Snape? Just about the attempt? Or about Draco and the underworld and Sirius?”

Harry paused with the last bite of toast halfway to his lips.

“We,” he answered and popped the crusty bread into his mouth.

“We? We what?”

“We are going to tell him. Everything. Because I’m not facing him alone.”

“You want to tell Snape everything?” Ron looked up in surprise. Draco swallowed his own shock.

“Well, I’m going to insist that Lupin and Dumbledore are there too, but yeah.” Harry looked around at the various stunned faces staring back at them. “I know. Usually I’d rather not deal with the professors ignoring us until it’s too late or only giving us half the information or telling us to let the adults handle it and not do anything. But what Draco wants to do is dangerous. I’m not letting him think about it unless I’m sure we’ve covered every base.”

Harry reached under the table and slid his fingers through Draco’s.

“So why do we have to go with you to tell them?” Ron asked.

“Because misery loves company. I figure it’s going to take us hours to convince them this is a good idea. If I don’t want to talk myself hoarse, we’re going to have to tag team them.”

After that, there was little more for them to say, or eat, so they trudged down to the dungeon.

*

Harry took a deep breath to settle himself. Draco pressed close to his left side, Ron fidgeted on his right. Hermione stood next to Ron, straight and ready to use all of the logic at her disposal. Neville hovered somewhere behind Draco, uncertain but ready to jump in anyway.

He barely rapped his knuckles against Snape’s door before it swung open and a fiercely scowling Potions Master glared out at their little group.

“Mr. Potter,” he drawled out the name with exasperation. “I believe I summoned you. Not your entire entourage.”

In the past few months, Harry had learned to ignore Snape’s prickly defense mechanisms. Snape was a lot like his neighbor’s cat. All the hiss and claws were smokescreens to hide the affection he really felt.

“Neville and Ron were witnesses to the attempt on the Quidditch pitch. In fact, Neville is the one who countered the hex. Draco’s my Guide.” Harry pulled his shoulders straighter and met the professor’s eyes, daring him to demand more than their bond for his presence. Then he added, “And there’s, um, other stuff. Stuff Draco and Hermione have been researching.”

The longer Snape stared at him, the harder Harry had to tense his muscles to keep from squirming. Eventually, the professor stepped aside in a dramatic swirl of robes and waved them in. Harry was relieved to see Lupin and Dumbledore already waiting, seated in two obviously conjured comfortable looking chairs by the fireplace.

Snape conjured a couple of hard wooden benches for the students to settle on.

“Harry, are you okay?” Lupin leaned forward, face creased with concern. “You should have gone to see Madam Pomfrey immediately.”

“I’m fine, professor. I was shaken up a little but Neville cast the counter before it hit me or I hit the ground.”

Harry couldn’t help the warm glow he felt at the concern. After eleven years of the Dursleys’ disdain, this hodge-podge family he’d gathered around him was not something he would ever take for granted. Even Snape’s gruff annoyance, he’d begun to realize, hid concern.

He started talking about what happened at practice, with Ron and Neville jumping in to give details from their perspective. He finished with the part about the discovery of the lemon scent and the problem with the Acne Potion.

“You should tell your friends that Tergum couldn’t brew a proper potion if her life depended on it.” Snape sneered.

Dumbledore, however, was leaning forward his eyes twinkling with possibilities. “Harry, when we are done here, would you mind accompanying me to check out a couple of gargoyles?”

“Dumbledore,” Snape snarled in shock. “You can’t be serious.”

“Severus, we need to find out if the saboteur and the assassin are one in the same or if we have two different agents of Voldemort inside Hogwarts.”

“The gargoyles?” Hermione gasp. “Is someone trying to sabotage the school’s wards?”

All eyes turned to her.

“What, pray tell, do you think you know about the wards of Hogwarts?” Snape asked, with a dangerous drawl.

“I, ah, don’t exactly. But in A Critique of Hogwarts, A History, Gordo Rambkin posits that the seemingly random placement of gargoyles scattered around the school and its grounds are in fact the framework of an intricate web of magic that supports the school’s wards.” She glanced around, but nobody spoke and no one seemed likely to, so she continued. “Of course, in An Essay Refuting Gordo Rambkin’s ‘A Critique’, Marion Batts argued against the notion, pointing out there are no known Arithmantic formulas which could account for the configuration of the gargoyles. Uh, so when the headmaster mentioned the gargoyles and the possibility of a saboteur, it seemed like a logical conclusion.”

“Very good, Miss Granger,” Dumbledoe leaned back in his chair and conjured a cup of tea. “Ten points to Gryffindor for an excellent show of logic.”

“Albus.” Snape shifted his scowl toward Dumbledore.

“Relax, Severus, the horse is out of the bag, as they say. There’s no point in trying to chase it back in.” He turned to face the students. “There is a great deal more to the school’s wards than the gargoyles, obviously, but Gordo Rambkin was on the right track.” Dumbledore frowned and turned toward Lupin.

“I have copies of both works,” the werewolf answered before the headmaster could ask. “I will check them over to see if I can determine any place else he may strike.”

“So someone has been trying to bring down the wards?” Hermione asked with wide eyes.

“Someone has been vandalizing gargoyles, with no effect whatsoever on the wards.” Snape answered. “It has yet to be determined if it is anything more than a childish prank.”

“Which is why I would like Harry to see if it is the same person who has been making attempts on his life. Or if we are looking for two different people.” A frown pulled at the corner of the headmaster’s lips.

“If half the school smells like lemon, how can you tell if it’s the same person or not?” Surprisingly, it was Ron who asked.

Harry blinked, something that had been niggling at him all morning finally pushing its way into his conscious mind.

“I think I can. While Creevey smelled of lemon, the scent of it only lingered for a few minutes and faded quickly after he left. The other one, the scent was still there, much later. If the scent is still there, then it’s probably the same person.”

“So, then you can use your nose to find out who’s trying to kill you.” Ron blurted out excitedly and a thrill of hope and anticipation shot through Harry.

Hermione only shook her head. “Not really. Not unless he wants to follow around every single student with spots to see how long their scent lingers. It would take months, and people would probably notice the weird behavior long before he found the culprit.”

“Oh.” Both Harry and Ron said it at the same time, both deflating like punctured bicorn bladders.

“Do you really think there’s a Death Eater in the school?” Draco asked, turning narrowed eyes on the professors. “Possibly more than one? How could you let that happen?”

Dumbledore and Snape looked at each other, a minute long stare where they seemed to communicate without a single spoken word. Finally, Snape huffed and crossed his arms.

“Voldemort has been keeping details secret from even his closest followers.” Twinkling eyes flickered toward Snape then away, before Dumbledore continued speaking. “He’s implied that certain people should be prepared for a major event in or around the school this year. Since he hasn’t given details, we cannot be sure what exactly he is referring to.”

All eyes turned toward Snape who glared resolutely into the fire.

Then Dumbledore slapped his thighs and spoke again. “Harry, my boy, I believe you told Severus you had something else to discuss with us?”

Harry’s hand slid to the knee pressed close against him and gave Draco a reassuring squeeze. “I think it would be better if Draco explained.”

“Thanks, Potter.” His Guide muttered, but he shifted slightly so Harry’s hand slid more solidly onto his leg.

Once again, Draco launched into the story of his dreams, Incacha and the research with Hermione. When he finally finished, the three adults looked completely stunned.

Snape was the first to recover. He turned on Lupin with blazing eyes. “How could you let this happen under your nose?”

Remus looked at a loss, still shaking when he whispered. “I don’t know. Incacha, he won’t allow me to witness all of the training. Shaman’s secrets.” He stopped, took a deep breath and looked directly at Draco. “Do you really think Sirius could be brought back?”

Harry knew exactly how he felt. The hope brimming over while his heart was still broken with loss and afraid to hope.

Draco shifted uncomfortably. “I think so. Incacha thinks so.”

Snape’s glower slipped a little when Remus closed his eyes and the hope and pain bloomed across the werewolf’s face. Then the scowl returned when he shifted his attention to Dumbledore. “You can’t seriously be thinking of allowing Draco to endanger himself this way?”

That touched off an argument that lasted nearly half an hour. Snape was adamant, Dumbledore considering. Hermione was logical and Draco vocal. Even Ron and Neville inserted a comment or two, here and there.

Only Harry and Remus remained quiet. The werewolf still looked stunned, confused and conflicted. Harry knew exactly how he felt. He watched his DADA professor look from Draco to Dumbledore to Snape again and again. He sank a little more into himself with every circuit. Finally, Harry couldn’t stand it anymore, for himself or Remus, and stood up.

“Enough. Merlin knows I would do almost anything to get Sirius back.” He met Lupin’s eyes and the werewolf smiled sadly at him. Then he turned and faced Snape straight on. “But Draco is my Guide and I will do anything and everything I can do to protect him. So, until Incacha is certain he can pull it off, there is no way I would let him try.”

Draco snorted a little behind him and Harry smiled. “Of course, he’s Slytherin enough to sneak around behind our backs to do it by himself. Wouldn’t it be better if we give him all the help and support we can to make it as easy and safe for him as possible?”

Snape’s lips twitched from a snarl to a frown but his head dipped ever so slightly in agreement.

“None of these arguments mean anything, anyway, until I finish my training with Incacha. Plus, we still have to figure out where the hell the closest door to the underworld is first.”

“Oh!” Hermione jumped up, excitement bubbling up as she began to ramble. “I forgot. I kept researching last night while I was waiting up for… waiting until I was tired enough to fall asleep. Anyway. The book mentioned the deities of the underworld. Which reminded me of a Muggle book of ancient Greek myths I brought with me from home.”

She rummaged around in her ever present bag until she pulled out a huge hardcover book and began flipping through pages.

“Let’s see, er, Persephone… Queen of the Underworld… spent six months of the year in the land of the living and the remainder of the year in the land of the dead… um wait. Oh here it is. ‘The entrance to the Underworld, referred to as the Grove of Persephone, was filled with black poplars and willow trees.’”

She looked up and pinched her lips when she realized not even the adults had followed her leap in logic. “Don’t you see? Willow trees are associated with the entrance to the underworld. And we have a large one, right here on the school grounds. One that already hides a secret entrance. Law of Ethereal Correspondence suggests it would also have a metaphysical entrance.”

Dumbledore, Draco and Lupin began talking at once, discussing possibilities and research and testing. From the corner, Harry caught the sound of a throat clearing so softly he knew no one else had heard it. He looked toward the sound and saw Snape looking torn. When he noticed Harry’s gaze, his scowl returned ten-fold.

“She’s right.”

The conversation stopped abruptly.

“I am?” Hermione asked.

“Obviously, I don’t know for sure, but I have done some research on the Whomping Willow. It was planted when I was a student here, for a specific purpose.”

Draco looked confused when everyone looked toward Lupin. Harry reached out and squeezed his wrist in a silent promise to explain later.

“It was replanted from a grove rumored to be sacred and powerful. The stories suggest they developed the Whomping for protection from wizards who kept chopping into them for potion ingredients and wands and other magical uses. The last wizard allowed to take a wand from that grove was Vlinder Yasmine, a Shaman from Brussels.”

The significance of the revelation left the room quiet while they each digested the information and what it meant.

Lupin snapped his fingers, the light of curiosity outshining the dark fear and hope. “What about the other dream, Draco? The crying child? Could something in that dream help us?”

His Guide shook his head. “Incacha says the dreams aren’t related. That it’s another soul I’m supposed to help later. That, when the time comes, I’ll find the clues I need. Like I did with Sirius.”

This led to a conversation between Snape, Lupin, Hermione and Draco about the role of synchronicity in Shamanism versus wizarding and how they could use it to improve their research. Ron, Harry and Neville were lost almost immediately and kept glancing at each other with perplexed expressions.

“Well,” Dumbledore broke into a short lull in the conversation. “We all have time to learn and explore all of these possibilities. Perhaps Harry, Ron, Neville and I can take a walk and look at those gargoyles while the rest of you consider the best way to proceed with the information we’ve gathered.”

Harry gave Draco one last squeeze before following the headmaster out with Neville and Ron on his heels.

*

By the time they got to the gargoyles outside the staff room, the little group of Gryffindors trudge with heavy feet along behind Dumbledore. Harry could hear the stomachs rumbling in concert behind him.

The scent of lemon tickled his nose before he even leaned toward the stone.

“These ones too, Professor,” he said then sniffed again. “More recent, though. Maybe a couple of days ago.”

Dumbledore nodded sagely, the twinkle in his eye dulled to a faint glimmer.

Neville cleared his throat and chewed on his lip before working up the courage to speak. “This is bad, isn’t it? That someone has been messing with the gargoyles? They could do something to the wards?”

The headmaster patted him on the shoulder with an indulgent smile.

“It will be fine, my boy. If one is tampered with, nothing will happen. Even if two go down, they have to be directly connected for there to even be a small hole made in the web of the wards. So far, there is no rhyme or reason to the attacks. I believe the saboteur is only guessing and has no idea what he’s doing. Even if he did, it would take an incredible amount of magic to damage a gargoyle. Two attacks would incapacitate a normal wizard.”

Before Harry could ask what would happen to a stronger than normal wizard, the headmaster was shooing them toward the Great Hall for lunch and rambling about beef casserole with mashed peas.

*

Draco stared up at the Whomping Willow, a few feet out of range of its deadly limbs. In the past month he, along with the rag-tag group Harry had somehow collected around himself, had studied the tree in every way possible.

Harry had used his senses, from a safe distance, to learn its physical characteristics. Hermione had researched its history in enough detail to put them all to sleep when she recited her findings. Snape had discovered every magical property, documented and conjectured, of the tree.

Draco had learned to walk in a variety of planes and had viewed the tree from every one. He knew exactly where the door to the underworld was. The only thing left was to actually go through it.

Tomorrow. In less than twenty-four hours, he’d be walking among the dead. His stomach hollowed, his mouth went dry and fear shivered through him. Incacha insisted Draco was ready. Reassured him that his blood connection to Sirius would be enough to help find the man’s physical body. His emotional connection to Harry would just be icing on the cake.

Harry. The best and most confusing part of the last two months. The Boy-Who-Lived was surprisingly sweet and affectionate while still challenging him and snarking with him at every turn.

If only he could convince the bloody Gryffindor to stop treating him like some blushing virgin. Every time things started to heat up between them, moving beyond cuddling and kissing, Harry put the brakes on. Insisted they needed to take things slow.

If they went any slower, they’d be going backwards.

Arms wrapped around his waist from behind, breaking into his brooding and Draco allowed himself to lean back into his Sentinel. His boyfriend.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.” Harry whispered, concern and worry humming along the bond.

“I kind of do, now that Dumbledore’s gone to all the trouble and all.” He answered with a little laugh.

The headmaster had announced a special Hogsmeade weekend. The first and second years were going to be allowed to go, too, with most of the staff acting as chaperones. The school would be practically deserted when they made the rescue attempt, giving them relative privacy.

“Draco,” he murmured, warm breath sending tingles down his spine. The anxiety was still there, though.

He turned, resting his hands on Harry’s hips and smiling at his Sentinel. “I want to do this. For you. And for Lupin.”

And wasn’t that a surprise? Draco Malfoy and the werewolf had become close in the months since he’d begun learning to be a Shaman.

He could feel Harry’s conflicting emotions. Hope. Fear. Want. Reluctance. “It’s dangerous for you, Draco. You’re taking a big risk.”

“Not really. The biggest risk is something happening to my body before my soul can get back to it. And since you and your band of Gryffindor bloody heroes will be watching my back, I’m not too worried.”

Harry’s smirked. “Aren’t you worried us Gryffindor heroes will do something stupidly heroic and get into trouble?”

“That’s why Snape will be there to backup the backup. Hopefully he can rein in your more extravagant impulses.” He laughed when Harry stuck his tongue out playfully.

Draco squeezed a little, serious thoughts pressing into him. “It’s not going to be a picnic for you either. You know what’s going to happen as soon as I walk through the door to the underworld.”

Harry shuttered a little and pulled Draco even closer. “I know. It’s going to feel like the bond is broken.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’ll be fine as long as you come back to me. No sightseeing.”

Harry’s hand migrated to the back of his Guide’s neck and his lips brushed against Draco’s temple, across his cheek and pressed firmly against his mouth.

Draco shivered when the kiss deepened and their bodies wrapped tightly together. The Guide gave Harry an unspoken promise he’d do everything in his power to come back to his Sentinel.

*

By midmorning, nearly every single student and teacher was on their way to Hogsmeade. Draco, however, was on his way toward the Whomping Willow along with his hodge-podge escort. If he’d been told a year ago what he’d be doing today, he’d have laughed in the face of whoever suggested it.

On his way to take on a dangerous task, in the company of a group of Gryffindors, a Death Eater spy, a werewolf and the Hogwarts’s headmaster. No one would have believed it, yet here he was, shaking out a blanket on the grass in front of the violent tree and pulling out the protective medicine bag Incacha had helped him carefully construct over the past few months. It would protect his body from any nasty spirits who might try to take it over while he was… gone. His spirit would also be able to use it as a beacon to find his way back if he got lost.

When everything was set and ready, he turned to his Sentinel. Harry’s eyebrows were drawn close, his mouth twitched down into a frown before it opened to speak.

Draco put his fingers on Harry’s mouth to forestall his words. “Yes. Yes, I’m sure I want to do this. I’m as sure as I was last night when you asked. And yesterday afternoon. And pretty much every day since I first told you about this.”

Harry nipped his fingers but reached his arms around Draco’s waist. “Promise you’ll be careful?”

“I promise. Now let me get to it.”

Harry stepped back and Draco dropped to a comfortable, familiar cross-legged position on the ground. With a sigh, he closed his eyes and tried to quiet his mind. It was a little harder than usual to drop into a meditative state with everyone standing around staring at him.

Eventually, he managed to push awareness of his surroundings to the background and slowly dropped down deep into his mind. When he opened his eyes again, it wasn’t the physical eyelids that slid open. It was the metaphysical ones.

The entire world had shifted into shades of black and white and gray. He could see Harry staring at his body with intense eyes and glanced around at the others before looking toward the grey bark of the looming tree. Buried in its roots, the echo of the secret tunnel glowed a brilliant white.

He stood up and the now familiar electric tingle buzzed through him as he separated his spirit from his still seated body. When he reached the white hole, Draco paused. If he had a stomach in this state, he knew it would be jumping chaotically. For a second, he wondered what the fuck he was doing. A single glance back reminded him, however. Harry continued to stare at Draco’s motionless body, intent and concerned. Draco knew he would do anything for his Sentinel.

With a final, deep breath to fill phantom lungs, he took the single step forward and entered the realm of the dead.

*

Despite knowing what to expect, the feeling of the bond blinking out of existence slammed into Harry with unexpected impact. He felt as if the heart in his chest stopped beating, the air in his lungs disappeared. He’d thought it would be like when they blocked each other out. But even when they couldn’t feel each other’s emotion, there was still a sense of connection, a presence in the back of his mind that never went away.

Harry dropped to his knees, reaching out for his Guide and gasping to catch his breath. He could still hear the heartbeat, still smell the sweet and spice. When his fingers closed around Draco’s wrist, the warmth and softness of his Guide’s skin helped to reassure him.

“Harry!”

Hermione was by his side in a flash, Ron close behind.

“Mate, are you okay?”

“Yeah.” His voice was a barely audible rasp. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “Yes. Just didn’t expect it to be quite so harsh.”

“How are your senses?” Snape’s question was abrupt and to the point as always, but there was a current of concern underlying it.

He sorted through them, testing them automatically as he’d been learning to do for months until it was second nature. “A little erratic, but I think once I get use to it, I’ll be okay.”

Snape nodded in a quick, sharp punctuation. Neville, Ron and Hermione helped Harry stand, though he stayed within touching distance of Draco, and all attention turned toward the tree to wait.

*

An hour later, they were all sprawled on and around the blanket. Ron was picking at blades of grass next to Hermione, who had one of her ever-present books open on her lap. Neville and Lupin were having a quiet conversation and Dumbledore sat not far away occasionally unwrapping a piece of candy and popping it in his mouth.

Harry and Snape, however, both kept their attention focused on the menacing tree in front of them.

Eventually, a couple of House Elves appeared and passed out sandwiches, drinks and crisps. Harry unwrapped his, stared at if for a while then handed it to Ron.

“Are you sure, Harry? You should probably eat something.”

He shrugged. “Not really hungry right now. When Draco gets back I’ll probably be starving. If I try to eat now, I doubt it would stay down.”

“Well, alright,” Ron said, lifting the sandwich to his lips. Then, around a mouthful of crumbs, he added, “I’ll save the crisps for you, just in case.”

“Thanks.” Harry laughed, his mood lightened by his best friend.

“Aaarrrggh.”

Harry whipped around, wand in his hand to find Snape hunched over gripping his forearm. Dumbledore was already kneeling by his side. “Severus, is it the Dark Mark?”

“Yes. I have to go or he’ll be suspicious.”

“Of course, of course. Mr. Malfoy will be safe with us and Madam Pomfrey is on standby.”

Snape got to his feet and handed the bag of various healing potions he’d brought to Hermione. Then met Harry’s eyes with a questioning look. Harry knew he was looking for a promise and nodded his assurance. He would do everything in his power to protect Draco. The professor’s features relaxed a fraction before he turned in a swirl of robes and headed toward the gate.

The Potions Master was barely out of sight when Dumbledore gasped and stumbled slightly.

“Professor?”

“Is everything okay?”

The headmaster flapped one hand and straightened. “Yes, fine, just taken a little by surprise. It seems I underestimated our saboteur and Tom Riddle. One of the gargoyles has been deactivated. If he can manage to take another one, he could let the Death Eaters in. And there’s no one in the castle to protect it. I have to go. Lupin?”

“I’m right behind you.”

The two professors were gone in a flash leaving the four Gryffindors still grappling with the information.

“We have to go protect the castle!” Ron shouted, searching his robes for his wand.

“But, Draco…” Hermione glanced from Harry to Draco’s unmoving body and back toward the school, lip held tight between her teeth in indecision.

Harry stepped closer to Draco, unwilling to leave him unprotected but his senses were already out, searching.

Noise and shouts and conversation drew his attention.

“The front gate.” He whispered it, but he had his friends’ attention. “I can hear them. The Death Eaters are waiting for the wards there to go down and let them in.”

“We have to go,” Ron insisted.

The Sentinel was torn. Protect the tribe or protect the Guide. The impulses were equally strong and tore him in two separate directions. “I can’t. Draco needs to be protected. I promised him.”

Ron suddenly looked like one of his older brothers, serious and sure. He stepped forward and put a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I know, mate, but if those Death Eaters get through the gate, there’ll be too many for us to stop them. Our best chance is to get them while they’re bottled up coming through it.”

Harry knew he was right, but, a glance at Draco kept his feet frozen to the ground. “I promised him I wouldn’t leave him alone.”

“I’ll stay with him.” All three turned in surprise at Neville’s steady words. He blushed a little, but looked resolute. “You’ve trusted me all term to watch his back from curses of the Slytherins. If you guys are keeping them at the gate, I can handle any that get through.”

Harry remembered Neville at the Ministry, holding his own despite fear and injury.

With a nod, he held out his hand. “Thank you, Neville.”

His friend stood straight and proud when they shook hands. “I’ll keep him safe for you Harry. And Sirius, too, when Draco brings him back.”

Harry pulled him into a hug, then Ron and Hermione joined in. A moment later, Hermione handed off the bag of potions to Neville and the three of them were once again rushing headlong into danger and Death Eaters together.

Chapter Text

Part Eight

Draco stumbled as soon as he crossed the buzzing white barrier. The shock of his connection to Harry snapping left him off kilter and aching. He paused to try to recover some equilibrium inside his own mind and take a moment to check out the landscape around him.

Permanent twilight cast a gray pall and thick fog lazily swirled in thick eddies making it impossible to see more than ten feet in any direction. Deeper shadows flitted and twisted and vanished within the dense mist. If he’d still been attached to his body, Draco had no doubt his heart would have been pounding.

He knew what he had to do, though. He’d practiced it on the elemental plane over and over again with Incacha. This was his first time in the underworld, though, and his mentor had warned him a Shaman must limit his time in the realm of the dead. Their souls balanced carefully between life and death. Each time they moved through the underworld, it shifted that balance a little more, making it harder to come back to the land of the living.

Draco had carefully downplayed that possibility when he explained everything to Harry. But now, already lost in the heavy twisting fog, the chance he might not make it back out seemed much more real and terrifying.

Pushing away those gloomy thoughts, Draco forced his mind to focus on the task at hand.

The connection he had to his Sentinel was gone, for the moment, and therefore so was Draco’s connection to Sirius through Harry’s love for his godfather. And without a body, the blood that connected him to his Black heritage was completely out of reach.

But Draco had the memory of those things. And on the astral planes, memory was more than enough.

He concentrated, letting those ephemeral ties and the need to find Sirius flood out any other thoughts until a tug began deep in his chest. He followed the impulse, not daring to let any doubts trickle in as he trekked through the murky landscape.

It may have been minutes, it could have been hours later that Draco began to feel something in the mist. There was a window to the plane of the living, somewhere nearby. But it felt wrong. So wrong that he wanted to turn and run in the other direction. Unfortunately, the tug pulled him toward the sensation.

The closer Draco got, the more he understood what Incacha meant when he described the arch as an abomination. He’d explored many of the astral planes as he’d studied with his mentor, enough that he’d learned to recognize the various doors, windows and thin spots that connected one plane to another. This one was an aberration and it offended whatever it was inside that made Draco a Shaman and an Astral Magus.

It wasn’t natural. Some Dark travesty of magic had created something that should never have existed.

But logic, and that inexorable tug, said the body of Harry’s godfather would be close to the window created by the arch. A few more steps, the fog parted and there it was on the ground.

Eerily unmoving, more like an incredibly lifelike statue than a person. Draco knelt next to the body of Sirius Black.

Now came the first tricky part. He moved his immaterial hands until they rested just above the chest, keeping them steady so they didn’t slip through the flesh.

“Waqyay Nuna Sirius Black.”

The swirls of fog twisted tighter, the dark shadows flickered faster until a shape formed and Sirius Black’s insubstantial soul stood in front of him.

“Malfoy!” The scruffy spirit waved an translucent wand at him.

Draco rolled his eyes, he pushed back to his feet and flicked a disdainful look at the wand. “You do know that won’t do any good here, don’t you?”

“I’ve learned a thing or two to protect myself,” he warned. “What are you doing here? You’re not dead.”

“You can tell? How?” Draco asked, surprised. Incacha had never mentioned the spirits would be able to tell the difference.

“You feel different. More solid, even though I can see through you.” He swished the wood in his hands again. “Now answer the question.”

Draco shifted slightly and glanced down at the motionless Sirius. The spirit followed his gaze and gasped, wand hand dropping.

“Is that…?”

“You didn’t know it was here?”

“No. I’m dead. I assumed it… I didn’t think about it.”

“You weren’t dead when you went through the veil. If we reconnect your body and your spirit on the other side, you’ll be back to normal.” Draco shifted toward the body on the ground. “I’m here to take you, both parts of you, back to the world of the living.”

Sirius bristled again, scowled deep and he moved to put himself between Draco and the body. “I don’t think so. I will never put myself voluntarily in the hands of a Death Eater.”

And this was the second tricky part. Convincing Sirius to trust him. He held out his unblemished arms. This was getting old.

“First, not a Death Eater. No Dark Mark. See.”

“Fine, then, the son of a Death Eater.”

Draco rolled his eyes again. This was getting them nowhere. He knew he had to just cut to the chase.

“Padfoot.” That got his attention. “Prong’s son and Moony sent me here to help you.”

That got Draco a translucent wand to the throat again.

“What have you done to them? They would never have told anyone those names.”

“I’m working with them.” If Draco had teeth, he’d be grinding them to nothing in frustration. “Do you think either of them would give up secrets to hurt you, even under torture?”

“Veritaserum?”

“Merlin. You’re nearly as stubborn as your godson when his Sentinel instincts kick in. I. Am. Here. To. Help.”

The wand drooped again. “Harry’s a Sentinel?”

“That’s what got through to you?” Draco tried to run his hand through his hair and got even more frustrated when it didn’t work.

Sirius ignored that, his translucent face looking stunned. “When? How?”

“The fucking Dursleys left him alone in the woods for a week while they went on some posh vacation. He came online alone and zoned. That was how Dumbledore found him.”

“But he’s okay, now? They found him a Guide in time?”

“Um, yeah. It was a little complex in the beginning, but it’s working itself out.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes, looking both thoughtful and suspicious. “Who’s his Guide?”

“Uh, I am.”

Sirius nodded, like it was the answer he’d been expecting the wand disappeared and he turned to look back down at the shell of his body.

“So, how do we get me out of here, since neither of us is corporeal?”

“That’s it? You believe me just like that?”

“My only other option is to stay here. I’ll take the risk to live again. The fact that you’re here means you inherited the Black’s gift for Astral Magic. The Guides and Shamans of our line usually ended up as fairly decent wizards.”

Draco glared, unsure if Sirius was insulting him or not. But he didn’t dare argue and risk the Gryffindor changing his mind again. Holding out his arms, he called on the gifts that allowed him to pull magic from other planes and formed the unfamiliar words Incacha had drilled into him.

“Astay Aya.”

Draco felt like a hundred pounds of clothes suddenly wrapped around him and he fought to stay on his feet. Slowly, the heaviness faded, but the feeling of being wrapped all over in a thin layer of cloth remained.

“Time to see if that worked.”

He knelt, carefully slipped his arms under the body’s shoulders and knees. With a grunt he lifted and stood.

“Great. Don’t drop me.” Sirius looked around at the eddying mist. “How do we get out of here?”

Once more, Draco called on the memory of his connections, this time the ones to his body and to the magic of his medicine bag, and led them out of the realm of the dead.

*

As much as he wanted to keep his hearing trained backwards toward Neville and his Guide, Harry forced all of his senses forward to the Gate. He could hear Snape, talking to whatever Death Eater bastard waited on the other side.

“Why didn’t the Dark Lord warn me this was coming?”

“He didn’t tell any of us until he called a few minutes ago. The wards should go down any minute. You’re to wait here to escort him into the castle once we take it over. He intends to be in control of the School when the students come back. He wants to personally greet Harry Potter.”

When they came into sight of the Gate, Harry heard a sizzling sound in the air. The sound was pitched so low he doubted anyone else caught it but he was pretty sure he knew what it meant.

“The wards are going down. We have to cut them off before they get through the gate!”

Harry shouted and kicked into another gear.

He pointed his wand, already knowing who his first target had to be. “Stupefy!”

The red jet of light poured out of his wand, striking Snape square in the back. The professor flopped forward, slumping to the ground. At least thirty Death Eaters crowded around the gate, looking on in surprise at the three students rushing toward them.

The shock didn’t last long, though, when the first masked wizard stepped through the gate.

One of them started to cast Avada Kedavra in their direction, but another knocked his arm away before he could finish the incantation.

“You fool. The Dark Lord wants to kill Potter himself. Do you know what he will do to us if he is denied that pleasure?”

The first wizard snarled and brought his wand back up to cast a lesser hex.

“Portes Obsaepio.” A bolt of pale blue sizzled over Harry’s shoulder seconds after Hermione’s and created a crisscrossing barrier of energy covered the open gate, blocking those who had not yet come through.

“Good job, ‘Mione.”

“It’ll only last fifteen minutes, if they don’t know the counter. And it will only stop physical objects. Hexes and spells can get through it.”

And they still had to physically face the ten or so who made it through before she got the barrier up. Masked figures whose stunned surprise quickly burned into anger as they turned to face the oncoming children.

A half dozen curses came flying at them, but ‘Mione came to the rescue again, throwing up a strong shield spell around them. Harry and Ron shared impressed glances.

“Awesome. Can you hold that for a while?” Harry asked.

“I’ll try.”

“Good. Ron and I will attack.”

They took turns leaning around the shield, firing spells and jumping back to safety.

Expelliarmus

Impedimenta

They fought to keep the Death Eaters pinned against the gate both to block the ones outside the barrier from casting spells and to prevent any of them from getting loose on the school grounds. The world around Harry became a badly adjusted TV. The sound flickered between silence and a deafening roar. Odd colored rainbows shifted around everything when it wasn’t too dark or too bright for him to see at all.

Harry groped for his bond, his anchor. His Guide. He needed Draco in order to get his senses back under control. But the Sentinel was on his own. Only a gaping hole remained in the space where his center should be.

The urge to collapse, to howl in frustration at the unfairness roared through him. He couldn’t give in, though. He had to protect the school. Protect his friends. Protect Draco.

He used every technique he could remember Snape teaching him in the past ten months. Used every ounce of self-control and discipline he could muster just to wrestle his senses into some semblance of normal.

“Petrificus Totalus,” Ron shouted next to him. And a Death Eater collapsed.

“Stupify!” Harry bounced out from behind the shield and back again as twin streaks of silver and red flew towards him. The hexes hit Hermione’s shield at the same time and all three disappeared in a shower of sparks.

Hermione staggered a little, but Ron was by her side, one hand on her elbow as he continued to shout spell after spell to give her breathing room.

“Hermione?” Harry asked concerned by her paleness and the way she slumped against Ron.

“I’m okay.” She forced herself upright, though her breath was still a little shaky. “I got this.”

The shield came back up just as twin streaks of blue arced down on them. The Death Eaters sensed their advantage now, and began to press, combining attacks, trying to weaken the shield faster.

Harry and Ron managed to incapacitate a couple more, but the barrier holding the others back was starting to crack at the edges.

Fear and despair started to drag at Harry’s heart. His senses reeled but he squared his shoulders grabbed tight to the remaining threads of resolve and faced the monsters at the gate head on.

“Stupify.”

“Impedimenta.”

Pop.

Dobby, holding Lupin’s hand, appeared.

Pop, pop.

More house elves arrived with the teachers who’d gone into Hogsmeade. Hagrid came running from the west, umbrella waving wildly as he charged into the fray.

Colored light became a constant as the battle began in earnest, filling the air like low hanging fireworks. In front of him, Sprout was battling a masked intruder. When the barrier finally broke and the remaining Death Eaters poured through, the Herbology professor didn’t notice the wand being pointed at her back.

“Stupefy!” Harry shouted and the Death Eater dropped before he could ambush Sprout.

Another masked wizard turned toward him though and Harry realized too late he’d moved several steps away from the safety of Hermione’s shield spell. He dodged two curses before jumping back toward his friends. A third red streak sizzled by, so close Harry could see the path of scarlet sparkles floating in its wake.

Fascinated, his eyes narrowed onto a single glowing dot until the edges of his vision blurred and he was swallowed by the darkness.

*

The trip through the fog felt like it took twice as long the second time. Even with the magic and Sirius’s too thin frame, the effort of carrying the body through the thick fog wore away at Draco’s reserves.

When the glowing, bright white, natural doorway appeared in front of them, he wanted to cry with relief.

Standing at the edge of the portal, he turned toward Sirius.

“You won’t be able to cross until I get your body to the other side, revive it and call you back. You must stay close to this doorway. The farther you go, the harder it will be for me to reach you. Time feels different here, no matter how long it seems to take, you have to stay close. Do you understand?”

“Yeah. I got. Stay close to the door, even if it feels like an eternity.”

Draco nodded once, then took the single step that brought him out of the fog-shrouded twilight and back into the black and white of the living world seen through the eyes of the bodiless.

The bond with Harry slammed back into him with the force of a stampeding unicorn and he stumbled, nearly dropping Sirius. With effort, and every instinct railing against it, he sealed off the link until later, when he didn’t need total focus for the task at hand. The life of Harry’s godfather hung on his ability to concentrate. The second he’d stepped through into the land of the living, the body in his arms, empty of its soul and its heart and lungs stopped, began to die.

Gently, he lowered the body to the ground in front of the tree then flew back to his own body. He noticed with a slight wrenching of his heart that only Neville remained to guard his physical form. Something dire must have pulled the others away and it added fuel to the fire of urgency burning in him.

Sliding into his body was always a relief, but this time he didn’t take time to enjoy the comforting sense of completion. He forced himself up through the layers until his conscious mind once again became aware. His eyes popped open to find a wide-eyed, slack-jawed Neville staring at him.

“That was… weird. The body just… appeared… out of nowhere… floating….”

“No time, Longbottom. Did Snape leave the potions?”

The Gryffindor silently held up a full pack that tinkled with the sound of glass.

“Good.” He stood up and cast the spell Dumbledore taught him to tame the tree. “Grab the bag and let’s go.”

He ran back to where he’d left Sirius, Neville close on his heels.

“Hand me the red one.” Neville didn’t argue just pressed the phial into his hands and Draco dropped to his knees once again by the body. “Open his mouth for me.”

Neville dropped down on the other side and pried the teeth open so Draco could pour in the potion that would restart the heart and various body functions.

“Keep it open.” He rummaged in the bag until he found the healing draught that would take care of any spell damage done to Sirius before he went through the archway.

When that bottle was empty and Harry’s godfather was breathing steadily if shallowly, Draco grabbed the Dreamless Sleep and pressed it into Longbottom’s free hand.

“Here. The second he opens his eyes you need to pour this down his throat, okay?”

“Yes. Okay. But why…?”

“No time.” He pulled off his medicine bag and tied it around Sirius’s neck. Then Draco closed his eyes, pressed his hands over the bag, anchored his soul firmly in his own body and opened his third eye to see the world in a way that few ever got to.

“Afrisi Q’aytu Kawsay.”

Slowly, a thin silver thread emerged from just above Sirius’s heart, floating and waving in the air of Draco’s second sight. He touched it gently, gave it focus and direction and the order to grow. To seek. As it spun out, he urged it toward the tree, toward the white glowing portal and the soul waiting on the other side.

Draco held his breath until it finally slipped through the white then let himself go limp with relief when it snapped taut. Knew it had found the other half it sought. Then a translucent Sirius stepped out, staring down at the thin silver thread emerging from his chest.

He followed it, trance-like until he stood inches from his body and stared in surprise and delight at Draco.

“You did it.”

“Not quite yet, but almost. Are you ready?”

Peripherally, Draco could see Neville staring at the seemingly empty spot that he was talking to with a perplexed look. He wanted to laugh but there was no time.

“Nuna Kaskachay Kwirpu.”

The spirit shimmered, becoming a vaguely human-shaped mist before raining down onto the still body of Sirius Black.

The unconscious man gasped and jerked, his eyes flying open in a wide, unseeing stare. Neville never hesitated. The Dreamless Sleep potion was pouring into the man’s mouth before he could even think of closing it. The body gasped again and twitched twice before the eyes slid shut and he fell into a peaceful sleep.

Draco and Neville both slumped, breathing harsh and ragged in the sudden stillness.

Then the Guide gave into the need and slid the seal off his bond to touch his Sentinel again.

Wrong wrong wrong.

The sense slithered through him making him retch before he caught himself.

“Draco. Are you okay?”

“Harry. Something’s wrong. Where is he? What happened?”

“The wards went down. Death Eaters at the front gate. Harry and Ron and Hermione went to stop them.”

“I have to go… I have to help him—” Draco pushed to his feet and he was torn. Harry was in trouble. But Harry would want the vulnerable Black protected.

Neville squared his shoulders and stood up. “He trusted me to watch over you. He’d trust me to watch over Sirius. If he’s in trouble, you need to go to him.”

“Thank you, Neville.” He started to reach out his hand to shake the Gryffindor’s then surprised them both by pulling him into a quick hug before turning and racing toward the front gate. And his Sentinel.

*

As soon as Draco got within sight of the front gate, the scene that met him was pure bedlam. Death Eaters and teachers surged and ebbed in a violent dance. Curses flew like tropical birds streaking brightly through the air and bodies dropped here and there amid the chaos.

He ignored it all, searching until he saw Hermione and Ron standing shoulder to shoulder in front of a totally motionless Harry.

Fuck.

His Sentinel had zone and he hadn’t been there for him. Without even the security of their bond, he’d had no place to anchor his senses.

Draco ran, pushing himself to go faster, dodging curses of friends and foes alike as he made straight for his distressed Sentinel.

As soon as Hermione caught sight of him, she blocked a curse and waved to him urgently. “Draco! Harry is—”

“I know.” He cut her off, already focusing on Harry. He winced, when he realized how short it probably sounded. “Sorry, Hermione. I just need to—”

“I know… Stupefy!… Do what you have to…” She fired another curse at a Death Eater who’d stepped too close.

“Yeah mate,” Ron patted his shoulder absently. “We’ve got your back… Expelliarmus.”

Hermione cast another shield then she and Ron took up position to protect the Sentinel-Guide pair.

Draco put one hand over Harry’s too slow heart-beat and slid the other into the dark messy hair. He leaned into the warm, familiar body and whispered nonsense words into his ear. He blocked out the mayhem around them and let his voice, his touch, and his scent envelope the Sentinel, drawing him back.

Eventually the glassy look cleared and Harry blinked emerald eyes into focus.

“Draco.” He breathed the name, full of awe and relief and confusion while his hand settle around his Guide’s waist.

The battle sounds surged, but, for one second, nothing matter but the two of them reconnecting on every level.

“Fuck!”

The sound of Hermione’s curse pulled Draco back into the moment. Before he could turn to see what the problem was, more shouting erupted.

“Look out!” Ron’s panic shout had barely registered when Harry was already shoving Draco away.

He hit the ground, rolled and sprang back to his feet, wand in hand and looking for the threat. But Draco was too late, the dark light of a curse slammed into Harry and he crumpled to the ground.

“Harry!” The cry tore from his throat, and he turned to protect his Sentinel from any more spells, a Dark curse already hovering on his lips.

The closest masked figure, however, was falling under duo hexes cast by Ron and Hermione.

Loud cracks sounded from beyond the gate and Draco moved to straddle Harry’s prone body, a shield blooming from the end of his wand to protect the downed Gryffindor.

Then he recognized Moody and Tonks, followed by the matching Weasley’s and a few others he didn’t know but assumed were part of the Order.

He dropped to Harry’s side, but none of the anti-jinx or healing spells he knew were working.

“I think it was some sort of draining spell,” Hermione said, dropping next to him. “He’ll need Pomfrey, but he should be okay if we get him to her soon.”

Draco only half listened to the conversations swirling around him as he held Harry.

“Is everyone okay?”

“Pomfrey and her staff are on the way.”

“Are all the Death Eaters secure?”

“Except for the handful that Disapparated away.”

“I think two ran toward the Whomping Willow.”

Someone laughed. “Well, the tree will take care of ‘em for us.”

Draco froze and looked to Hermione and Ron who were already on their feet and heading in the direction of Neville and Sirius. He pushed halfway to his feet, but he was torn, glancing down at where his hand refused to let go of his Sentinel.

“Stay with Harry, Draco.” Lupin’s hand on his shoulder gently pressed him back down. “I think Hermione and Ron have it under control, but I’ll follow along, just in case.”

*

Uncomfortable quiet settled around Neville and the unconscious Sirius as soon as Draco disappeared from sight. Concerned and wary, he strained for any sign of danger or threat, listening hard when the winds shifted and brought him sounds from the battle.

Part of him wanted to be with his friends, facing the Death Eaters and protecting the school. That urge would have surprised him a year ago.

It’s not that Neville wasn’t still terrified of the Dark Lord and his followers. It’s just that he’d learned the idea of letting them win was even more terrifying than facing them. Now that he’d had success defending himself, and others, the confidence made it easier to find the courage within.

As much as he’d like to stand shoulder to shoulder with his friends right then he knew what he was doing was just as important. Harry and Draco and the others needed a clear head to face the monsters at that gate. They needed to know Sirius was safe and protected.

As he mused, the sounds of the battle got clearer. Neville could hear Hermione yelling directions and Ron shouting spells. The winds brought the scorched scent of hundreds of curses, hexes and jinx. He relaxed a little when he heard the pops of Apparition and then voices of familiar Order members…

“Oh, no.”

Neville exhaled sharply, bobbling his wand when he realized he should not be able to hear the battle so clearly that he could make out individual voices among the chaos. He should not be able to smell the faint ozone scent of spells, no matter where the wind blew from.

There’d been hints the past few weeks, but he’d ignored it. He wasn’t a hero. He wasn’t anyone special. Why on earth would he come online? He couldn’t really be a Sentinel.

But he knew a Sentinel could come online at any time, at any age. Situations of stress and hyper-awareness could hasten the emerging phenomenon. A description that aptly fit his state since Harry and the others had first left him alone.

The sound of running feet heading toward him pulled his attention dangerous situation at hand. Two sure strides placed him firmly between Sirius and whoever approached.

He spotted the two masked figures several seconds before they saw him. A flick of his wand Stupefied the closest as soon as they came in range. The other one, however, took that split second to shield before Neville could turn his wand on him.

Calling up a shield of his own, Neville settled into a duel with the Death Eater. He let his sight and hearing roam free, using the new input to anticipate every curse and hex before the masked wizard could speak them. He knew it was a risk, but he was depending on adrenaline and the need to protect Sirius to keep him grounded.

Biding his time with jinxes and minor hexes to lull the Death Eater, Neville waited for his opportunity. It came a few minutes later, when he noticed the microscopic fraying of energy at the edge of his opponent’s shield. The sound of more people approaching increased the urgency and sent his heart racing into a dangerous rhythm. He let loose with a string of hexes that battered and finally broke through the shield. A final flick and the dark wizard was Stupefied and motionless on the ground next to his partner.

Once sure the Death Eaters were no longer a threat, Neville pivoted to face whoever was running toward them. Relief hit him and he immediately lowered his wand when he saw Ron and Hermione, with Lupin a few yards behind. He pushed out his sight, fascinated by the way he could actually see every individual strand of hair on Hermione’s head.

“Neville, mate, that was awesome.”

He tried to pull his attention back, tried to answer but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the fascinating threads that glinted and sparked in the sun.

Oh, no.

With that thought, the world evaporated.

*

Draco sat by Harry’s bedside. Again. He was really getting sick of the hospital wing. The curtain partitions Pomfrey had put around Harry were starting to make him feel a little claustrophobic. Especially when they offered little privacy, considering the number of people popping in and out to check on his Sentinel.

Whatever curse had hit Harry, it had somehow zapped and drained his physical energy. Madame Pomfrey had given him a couple of Reviving potions and reassured Draco that Harry would wake up again once he’d had a day or two of rest.

That had been a few hours ago and Draco was bored. He’d already visited briefly with a grumpy and irritable Snape. The Potions Master was relieved his cover as a spy remained intact due to Harry’s quick thinking. However, he was also embarrassed by the way it had been achieved. Draco had left him snapping crossly at Lupin, though there was something sharper and darker in his undertone when he poked at the werewolf.

After that, he’d checked on Sirius, who would remain unconscious from the Dreamless Sleep for another hour or two. He’d even stopped in to check on Neville. Draco’s presence had seemed to settle the pain, and even brought the Gryffindor around, briefly. But Draco hadn’t been able to ease him the way he’d eased Harry right from the beginning. And he hadn’t been able to keep Neville from zoning out again a few minutes later.

Now, he sat stiff and edgy and bored in the uncomfortable chair watching Harry sleep. And listening to Ron and Hermione whispering to each other. They must have thought Harry had a Bubble of Silence around him again, like Neville. They apparently hadn’t realized it wasn’t necessary now that the bond was reestablished.

He had to assume that because he couldn’t think even a Gryffindor would be so rude as to talk about Draco like he wasn’t there when he sat ten feet and one thin curtain away.

“…That means not only could Sirius be a Guide, he could also be a Shaman.”

Hermione had just finished one of her long winded lectures explaining to Ron how Draco had inherited his Astral Magic abilities from the Black side of his family.

“So, Sirius could be a Guide for Neville?”

“Yes, but…”

Draco tipped his head back and counted the seconds, waiting for Ron to get what Hermione was hinting at.

“But, what?”

Draco actually smiled or, perhaps, it was more of a grimace, but he answer through the thin fabric. “She means, he could also be a Guide for Harry. One who isn’t a Slytherin.”

“Draco?” Hermione’s surprised voice piped up before her bushy hair popped through the curtain. “I… We didn’t… that is… er….”

“You didn’t know I was here, eavesdropping?”

“No, well yes, but I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No? You should.” He dropped his head into his hands. “He felt something for Charlie, did you know that?”

“But he said…” He could hear the confusion in Ron’s voice and the slow realization in the way his words trailed off. “He never said anything at all, did he? He just shook his head.”

“I felt it, a little, through the bond. A little zing of recognition. Not exactly what he and I have, but stronger than the reaction he gets from Hermione. He could have worked with it.”

“Then why didn’t he say anything?”

Hermione answered before Draco could.

“Because Harry is Harry. He’s loyal and he’s considerate and he’s modest.” She moved forward and pulled Draco’s hand away from his face and forced him to look at her. “But he also cares about you. He wouldn’t have traded you for Charlie then and certainly wouldn’t now.”

“He should. I’m a selfish git and I should tell him it’s okay. But I can’t. I don’t want to. I want to be his Guide. And he’s stuck with me because he’s too loyal to trade me in for someone he’d rather be with.”

“What the fuck are you talking about Malfoy?”

Three heads whipped around to look at Harry, now wide awake and sitting up.

“How are you feeling, Harry?” Hermione was the first to find her voice, and her eyes darted uncertainly between Draco and Harry.

“Like I zoned out then got hit by a curse.” Harry answered her but his gaze never strayed from Draco. “I feel tired and stressed and like I really need my Guide.”

Draco didn’t even think about it. He was out of the chair, crawling onto the bed and into his Sentinel’s arms in seconds.

Harry still didn’t look up when he asked, “Could we have a couple minutes?”

Hermione smiled and pushed Ron out, casting Silencio on the curtained cubicle as she went.

“I’ll ask again, Draco. What the fuck are you thinking?”

“C’mon. You can’t tell me you would have chosen me if you’d had Charlie or Sirius to choose from eight months ago. I’m just being realistic. I’m being selfish. I should let you go. If Sirius is a decent match, I should… you should…”

He trailed off, not even able to say the words out loud. He couldn’t even think about breaking the bond. He remembered how bereft he felt when he was in the underworld. Living with a gaping hole in his soul for the rest of his life was not something he even wanted to contemplate.

The silence stretched and he hated that Harry was thinking about it. That he’d planted the idea in his Sentinel’s head. By the time Harry spoke, Draco was ready to hear the worst.

“In that tangled mess of logic and instinct, did you ever think the reason you don’t want to walk away and let me be with someone else, is because, deep down, you know I’ll only be happy with you?”

“But you love Sirius…”

“Of course I love Sirius… but I…” Harry took a deep breath and for the first time since waking up, he glanced away from his Guide. “I love you too.”

Draco was sure he must have heard wrong. Slowly, he asked, “You do?”

“Yes.”

“But you don’t even want to…” Draco could feel the heat stinging his cheeks at the way he blurted that out. “I mean you always stop when the kissing gets too hot.”

“I do want to Draco. I’m just afraid of pushing the bond into the third level.”

Draco froze. Of course Harry didn’t want to bond any further. He might think he loved Draco, but it was probably just the stupid Gryffindor loyalty. Squirming, he tried to shift away, move away, get some breathing room so he could think.

“No, damn it, Draco, that’s not what I meant. I want it to be a choice, if, when it happens. Not an accident. The other two times, it was forced.”

Confused, and trapped by the tight hand Harry wrapped around his wrist, Draco stopped squirming and listened.

Harry loosened his grip a little and started talking again. “Look, bonding is supposed to be about choice. You’re not supposed to be able to accidentally fall into it. But we have. Twice. You had no idea what you were getting into when you touched me the first time. And when you… at the lake. I followed you out to the spirit plane.”

Raw regret scraped through him and Draco whispered, “I never meant to force the bonding on you. It just happened. I’m sorry.”

Harry sat back, blinking with owl-like eyes. Guilt and fear scraped at Draco until he dropped his own gaze.

Then two strong arms wrapped around him, pulling him close. “No. Draco. I meant I felt like I forced you. With the first bond, there was no one else. I know no one came out and said it but I’m sure you felt like you had to do it even though I told them to leave you alone.”

He took a deep breath, but didn’t give Draco a chance to respond before he was talking again. “And the second time. I didn’t give you any choice at all. I just plunged after you on the spirit plane and yanked you back.”

 Draco stomach unknotted and he let himself lean into Harry’s strength.

“I had choices. I mean, yeah, at the beginning there wasn’t anyone else. They could have rushed back Charlie quicker, though. Or found someone else, if I insisted it was temporary. That I wanted out as soon as they found someone else. I could have been out long before we got to the second bond.”

“On the spirit plane, I felt you coming. Had plenty of time to crossover before you got there. And when we merged,” Draco stopped, took at deep breath and let the memory curl through him with warm pleasure. “When we merged, I had to choose that too. I chose you.”

“Yeah, well, a choice between me and death…”

“Didn’t really think about it that way. It was more that I wasn’t ready to give you up.”

“Oh.”

“I hadn’t thought about the next level of bonding.” He dropped his head on Harry’s shoulder. “But I think I’m willing to risk it.”

“I’m not.”

The words splashed like ice water and Draco backed up again ignoring Harry’s attempts to hold onto him. He was tired of this emotional roller coaster. Anger burned through the hurt and he let it. Fury was easier to deal with than rejection.

“Look do you want me or not? As a Guide, a boyfriend, friend? All of the above? None of it?”

“Draco, I’ve already made you more of a target and no one even knows about the bond, yet.” Harry swallowed hard, his eyes tight and glittering. “If we bond completely, it’s unlikely you’d survive my death. I have Death Eaters actively plotting to kill me, and, at some point, I’m going to have to face Voldemort again. According to the prophecy, my survival of that is a fifty-fifty proposition.”

It took a minute to sink in. That Harry wasn’t sure about his own survival and he didn’t want to take Draco with him.

“You’ve been pushing me away to protect me?”

“I wasn’t trying to push you away. I was trying to keep myself from forgetting and going too far. I want… all of the above,” he said, smiling for the first time. “I can’t risk a tertiary bond until… after. I can’t risk your life, too.”

Draco snuggled closer again, relieved and surprised how loose his body felt now that the fear and tension he’d been carrying had slipped away.

“We’re quite a pair,” he told Harry, slipping his arm around his Sentinel. “Maybe we need to work on communication, a little huh?”

The Gryffindor chuckled, his mouth press close to Draco’s ear. “Yeah, well. Considering our history together, it’s amazing we can actually have a conversation at all.”

Stretched out with his head on Harry’s chest was pretty much where Draco wanted to stay for awhile.

After a few minutes of quiet cuddling Harry murmured. “I’m assuming that since you were talking about Sirius, you succeeded in bringing him back?”

“Yeah. It worked. He’s still sleeping, but Pomfrey looked him over and said that other than being too thin and a little malnourished, he was surprisingly fit. She’s got him tucked into one of the quarantine rooms to keep him away from any prying eyes that might let his return slip to the Ministry. He should be waking up soon.”

“Thank you. For bringing him back to me.” The arms around him tightened so much, Draco had to squirm a little in order to breathe.

The old Draco would have basked in his glory and taken unashamed advantage of the Sentinel’s gratitude. Now, though, he didn’t want that gratitude. He’d only done what he had to do.

“Yeah, well, he’s nearly as stubborn and impulsive as you are. If his wand had worked he’d have hexed me before I could have said a word. Then, he just decides to trust me and follow along. Bloody Gryffindor.”

Harry chuckled again, and the vibration eased Draco even more.

“How is everyone else? Was anyone else hurt?”

“Nothing fatal or permanent. Snape got trampled a little, when the Death Eaters came through the gate. I think his pride’s hurt more than anything else at being so easily incapacitated.”

They shared a grin, then Draco sobered a little. “Neville is a couple of beds over.”

“Is he okay? I shouldn’t have left him alone.”

“He’s fine. And I left him alone, too. He did alright, though. Took down two Death Eaters all by himself while protecting Sirius.”

“Then why is he here?”

“Surprisingly, he came online as a Sentinel. Hermione has a theory about stress and protective instincts. You can ask her about it the next time you need a sleep aid.”

“Behave Draco. And really, it’s not so surprising.”

“No?”

“Up until Voldemort killed my parents and tried to kill me, the prophecy was equally valid for both of us. If the bastard wasn’t so bigoted, it could easily have been Neville with this scar and not me.”

“Yeah, but he’s always been so wishy-washy. Until recently, that is.”

“If our lives had been switched, maybe that would have been me. But he’s strong and it shows now that he has confidence. And his own wand.”

“Yeah, I suppose.” Draco bit his lip, wondering how much more to tell his territorial Sentinel. He must have given something away, though, because the muscles under him tightened into rock hard lumps.

“Are you… Can you help him? The way you helped me?”

“The pain gets better when I hold his hand, but it’s not the same or as lasting as what I did, do, for you.” He shoved at Harry’s tense shoulder and glared up at his Sentinel. “Besides, can you really see me cuddling with Longbottom? You’re doing enough damage to my reputation already.”

“Yeah. I suppose. Slytherin snob.” But his smile was back and the muscles loosened. “Anyone else hurt?”

“A couple of Order members had damage from minor curses and hexes. And Dumbledore is recovering from physical and magical exhaustion. He had to repower both of the gargoyles in order to fix the wards. It pretty much took everything he had.”

“What happened to the wards? Did they catch who did it?”

“No one’s quite sure. Pomfrey won’t let anyone talk to the headmaster until he recovers some more. A second year student was found unconscious near one of the gargoyles, but he hasn’t woken up yet, so nobody knows if he saw something or what happened to him.”

Harry nodded and opened his mouth, then stopped. His head turned, his eyes taking on that glassy, faraway look he got when he listen to something no one else could hear.

“I think Sirius is starting to wake up.”

“And you want to be there when he does?”

“Yes.”

“You know Pomfrey will kill me for helping you out of this bed, right?”

“Yup. But you will, anyway, won’t you?”

Draco gave his best put-upon sigh, but stood up and held out his hand to his Sentinel. There was very little he wouldn’t do for Harry.

*

Harry couldn’t believe how tired he was, but Draco steadied him with an arm around his waist and a strong shoulder to lean on.

They moved down the rows of beds, empty and occupied, and Harry’s attention concentrated on the sounds coming from the quarantine room. Until a sharp scent spiked through his nose and tugged his focus sharply to the side.

“Who is that?”

Draco glanced at the small, unconscious boy in the bed where Harry stopped.

“That’s Segundus. The second year Slytherin they found by the gargoyle. Why? What’s wrong?”

“He smells like lemon.”

“Oh.” Draco shrugged. “Well, he’s a little young but he could’ve used the Anti-Acne potion.”

Harry shook his head. “No. The smell of the Tergum potion was on the skin. This… it’s coming out of his pours. Something he ate or drank. Or maybe something that’s in him.”

“He’s a kid. He couldn’t have done all that.”

“Maybe. But he was there. I’m sure of it. He has to know something.”

“Okay. Let me get you to Sirius’s room, then I’ll talk to Lupin.” He shifted, moving Harry not so subtly toward the secure room a few feet away. “He can have someone keep an eye on Segundus. And he’ll want to know Sirius is coming around, too.”

Harry was still alone in the room, sitting in one of the infirmaries uncomfortable chairs when his godfather’s eyes fluttered open.

“Pup?” The voice was hoarse. So quiet no one else would have heard it.

Heart pounding with relief and hope and a whole host of emotions, Harry grabbed a nearby glass of water. Familiar with waking up in the hospital wing, he conjured a straw and held it up to Sirius’s lips.

“Is it really you, pup?” His voice was stronger, steadier, his eyes were both wary and hopeful as they raked over Harry.

“Yeah.” Harry couldn’t hold back the smile stretching across his face. “Yeah, it’s me. And it’s you. You’re here. You’re really here.”

“I’m here. Thanks to your Guide. Draco Malfoy, huh?”

His heart plummeted a little bit. How could he make Sirius understand? “Yeah. I know it’s weird, but he’s not like what you think.”

“I noticed. If you chose him, if you trusted him with something like this, he must be alright.” Sirius sat up, huffing a breath when he was done from the exertion.

“I’m so sorry I left you alone. I was impulsive and stupid. Can you forgive me, pup?” He opened his arms, fear etched on his tired face.

Forgetting his own exhaustion, Harry launched himself into his godfather’s arms, tears burning tracks down his face.

“I missed you. So much. It was my fault. I shouldn’t have gone. I forgot about the mirror. I should have realized it was a trap. I’m sorry. So sorry. Sorry.”

He sobbed into his godfather’s chest until the tears emptied themselves out. The arms around him stroked his back, the voice he thought he’d never hear again whispered reassurance and he slowly let himself relax.

“It wasn’t your fault, Harry. I was the one who kept taunting Bella. I was the one who didn’t stop when I should have. I was the one who rushed headfirst into danger, laughing like I was still a child. I’m the one who’s sorry.”

Harry blinked up through wet lashes to see that Sirius looked as wrecked as he felt.

Before he could figure out what to say, how to make it better for both of them, a bored voice drawled from behind him.

“How about you both admit to being bloody Gryffindors, promise not to do it again and call it even.”

Draco stood at the end of the bed, his casual, bored posture would have fooled anyone but Harry, who could feel his Guide’s compassion and concern.

Lupin stood next to the blond, tears glittering in his eyes as well, but he chuckled a little at Draco’s words. “The fact that they are bloody Gryffindors means they can’t make a promise they know they can’t keep.”

“Moony.”

“Padfoot, you great shaggy fool. Don’t ever do anything like that again.” Then Harry found himself in the middle of a hug between his parents’ two oldest friends.

“I thought you just told Malfoy I couldn’t promise not to be a Gryffindor.”

Laughter chased away the last of the tears and the strange reunion warmed something that had gone cold in Harry nearly a year ago. The only thing wrong was Draco, standing on the edge of their absurd little family.

Sirius must have seen the look Harry cast in the Slytherin’s direction, because he was shifting over, making more room. “C’mon Draco. You’re not getting out of this sentimental Gryffindor reunion.”

“I don’t… you don’t have to…”

“Look, I know enough about Sentinels and Guides to know Harry’s not going to be going far without you. Plus you saved my life. C’mon cousin. You’ll just have to get use to hanging around with Gryffindors.”

“More Gryffindors, you mean,” he muttered, but gingerly sat on the bed next to Harry. Lupin settled on the other side of Sirius.

That was how Madame Pomfrey found them half an hour later when she came to check on Sirius.

*

Harry was stronger after the rest and the revitalizing visit with his godfather and Lupin. Still, Draco used the excuse of his weakness to stick close to his Sentinel’s side after Pomfrey kicked them out of Sirius’s room. Harry didn’t seem to mind as he leaned on his Guide and flashed him a knowing smile.

They moved back toward the curtain cubicle that was practically Harry’s second home and Draco was content for the first time in a long, long time. Of course, that’s when a familiar sound invaded his happy little bubble. He stopped abruptly, causing Harry to stumble a little.

The sound came again. The whimper of a child in distress. A sound Draco had heard before. The lost child who occasionally eluded him in his dreams.

Looking now at Segundus, Draco thought again how much he hated the mystic symbolism bullshit. The kid obviously wasn’t lost. He’d been at school all year. So what the hell had his dreams been trying to tell him?

“Draco, what’s wrong?” Harry’s hand settled on his lower back and Draco leaned into the support.

“Apparently my Shaman duties aren’t done for the day.”

“Huh?”

Rather than answer, Draco took a deep breath and settled his consciousness into a slightly lower place, then opened his second sight. His eyebrows rose a little at what he saw.

“Well that’s different.”

“Draco?”

“I’m fine Harry, but I’m going to have to go deeper into the spirit plane. It’d probably be good if we had Snape and Pomfrey close by first.”

He let his eyes shift back to normal, blinking a few times.

“Draco?” This time it was Lupin who asked with concern. “Is something wrong?”

“I honestly have no idea. Segundus is the child from my dream. And there is something odd about him.”

“Odd, how?”

“His spirit is out of his body. But he has two cords. Like he had two souls, which, as far as I know, is impossible. One of them is broken and blackened. The other one is lost somewhere on the spirit plane and I’m going to have to go find him.”

“Are you sure it’s safe?”

He cocked an eyebrow and smirked at his Sentinel. “Is anything we ever do safe? Bloody Gryffindors are rubbing off on me.”

“Draco.” His name was a growled warning from his Sentinel.

“Look, it should be fine. I’m just going to go in and find out what happened and why he’s out of his body.”

Lupin cleared his throat and the two boys turned to look at the werewolf.

“It’s possible the destroyed cord was Segundus and something else has taken possession, now. Whatever you find at the other end could be dangerous.”

“I know,” he said with a sigh. “And believe me, I don’t want to do this. But even though the dreams have changed, I’ve learned not to ignore them. Things just get worse. I’ll have you and Snape here. And Harry knows how to find me on the spirit plane. Not to mention I’ll have backup from the cougar and the fox.”

An hour later he was sitting next to the hospital bed in a chair Lupin had conjured for him when Harry had insisted Draco needed something less torturous then the visitor chairs. Way too many eyes watched him as he settled and started to shift his awareness in preparation for meditating his way to another plane.

Hermione and Ron stood next to Harry, tasked with keeping him from overdoing it. Snape and Lupin and Pomfrey were waiting, in case Draco or Segundus needed their help. The area around the bed had been curtained off, the way Harry’s usually was, and the full space made it feel claustrophobic.

Draco blocked out his audience and slipped into the blue forest of the spirit plane. The cord stretched in front of him, meandering around trees, under foliage and disappearing into the darker, thicker grove of trees.

Draco followed it cautiously into the deepening shadows, the whimpering and crying growing louder until he found the source. Segundus was curled up on a fallen stump, the sounds he made heartbreaking as they echoed off the surrounding trees.

“Segundus?”

Draco said the boy’s name softly, but it still startled him into almost falling off his perch.

With red-rimmed eyes so wide they seemed to take up nearly half his face, the second-year looked up at him in surprise.

“Draco Malfoy? How… Where… You know my name?”

Draco forced down the impatience that made him want to just yank the kid back to the mortal plane. Even if that would work, the boy was already traumatized enough by whatever had left him here.

Carefully, he lowered himself down on the log, far enough away not to spook Segundus. He thought about how Harry would handle this situation. With a sigh, he consciously softened his voice and his demeanor before speaking again.

“Of course I know your name. We spent last summer sharing the Slytherin dorm. I know I wasn’t exactly friendly, but we did exchange a few words.”

Segundus started sniffling again.

“I don’t know much about what happened this past year…”

The tears started to flow in earnest as the story flooded out of him while Draco listened in stunned silence.

*

Draco returned to his own body, seething with anger and determined to do as much as he could to fix the trauma Segundus had endured. He opened his eyes and ignored the expectant gazes as he searched out Snape.

“Do you have an anti-dote for Exorcizo potion on hand?”

“Exorcizo? Lemons. Off course. I should have realized. I’ll need to go to my office.” The Potions Master stood up, wincing at his healing injuries.

Lupin stepped over to help him, but Snape jerked his arm away. “Not necessary,” he snapped at the werewolf. “I’m sure Mr. Weasley will be able to accompany me.”

Ron blinked in surprise. “Uh, sure. I guess.”

Snape was already beyond the curtain and the red-head had to scramble to keep up.

For a second, Draco ignored the questions and looked at Pomfrey. “We’ll need to give him Dreamless Sleep, as well.”

The matron patted an unseen pocket. “I never go anywhere without it.”

Draco nodded then addressed the rest of the group but leaned into the hand Harry pressed against the back of his neck. “Exorcizo is a potion to keep spirits or other astral beings from entering a body and taking possession.”

“It’s brewed in a base of lemon-soaked nettles.” Hermione said with a snap of recognition. Then she wrinkled her forehead as she tried to put the pieces together. “Why do you want an antidote? You’re not going to let something possess the poor child, are you?”

“No.” He said with an exasperated, exhausted sigh. “I’m going to let the poor child get back to his own body.”

“Huh?”

“Look, it’s been a long day,” he paused and glanced at the black star-filled sky beyond the window. “And even longer night. Once Snape gets back and we get Segundus fixed up, I’ll explain the whole thing.”

It didn’t take long. Snape returned and Pomfrey got the antidote into the second year. As soon as he woke with a surprised cry, they poured the Dreamless Sleep into him, as well. Like with Sirius, a long bout of uninterrupted sleep was the best treatment for allowing the soul to settle back into the body after a protracted absence.

Draco reached out and tangled his fingers with Harry’s before quietly telling the tale Segundus had shared with him.

“His father is Decius Pine. A minor Death Eater who’s been trying to get into the inner circle. When he heard the Dark Lord ranting about wanting to get a spy into Hogwarts, he apparently had an epiphany and dragged Segundus to see the madman.”

When Draco paused to clear his throat, Harry pressed a glass of pumpkin juice into his hand. He took a grateful sip before continuing.

“Between them, they cast a dark spell which allowed Decius to put his own body in stasis, then they cast Segundus’s soul out and Decius took over his son’s physical body. As long as he took the Exorcizo on a regular basis, Segundus couldn’t get back in. He could, however, get glimpses through his own eyes when his father went too long between doses.”

He paused to drink more pumpkin juice. “Apparently, Decius had a miniature portrait he could use to communicate with You-Know-Who. He knew, before coming here, that the gargoyles were the key to the wards, but he didn’t know which ones so he’d had to test them. The attempts on Harry’s life, and mine, weren’t part of the plan. At least, not the original plan Segundus had been around to hear about. His father has an impulse control issue.”

The group was silent for a long time. Harry’s hand stayed tight around his and eased some the anger and frustration he was feeling. Finally, Snape asked what all of them were probably thinking.

“What happened to Decius?”

Draco shrugged. “Segundus doesn’t know. All I know is the thread holding him to this body snapped somehow. Maybe the power he had to use to bring down the wards burned out his magic resources and made it impossible to hold the connection anymore. His body is stored in the wine cellar of his cottage. Maybe you could send some Order members to check on him.”

Madame Pomfrey stood up then. “This is more than enough for now. All of you need a good night’s rest.”

She shooed them all on their way, but turned a blind eye when Draco followed Harry back to his curtained bed.

The second they were out of sight of everyone, Harry had him wrapped up tight, lips on lips in a heated kiss. Soon Draco found himself on his back on the bed wrapped up with his Sentinel. Safe, comfortable, wanted and needed. Things he never thought he’d feel again. With a contented sigh he turned into Harry and whispered, “I love you, my Sentinel.”

He started drifting off to sleep but smiled when he heard the soft whisper near his ear. “I love you, my Guide.”

*

Harry sat at the Leaving Feast, one arm around Draco, laughing at something Ron had said and nibbling at all the sweets spread before them.

A year ago, he’d been at the lowest point of his life and sure there was no hope of it ever getting better. He’d lost Sirius. He’d been facing another summer with the Dursley’s. Voldemort had seemed to be all powerful and hell-bent on killing him. He’d felt so completely alone.

Now, Sirius had been returned to him. They’d moved him secretly to Grimmauld place and soon Harry and Draco and Lupin would be joining him there for the summer. Dumbledore had finally realized the blood protection of his mother’s estrange family weren’t enough to make up for what the Dursleys put him through.

He glanced up at the High Table. The headmaster had recovered, but the sparkle in his eye had dimmed a little. Harry trusted Pomfrey’s word that it was just a matter of time and rest before Dumbledore would be back to his old self, though.

Voldemort might still be roaming free and as dangerous as ever, but nineteen more of his followers were now living in Azkaban after the attack on Hogwarts. And Decius Pine was in St. Mungo’s. There was little hope he would ever regain consciousness.

Harry would have to face Voldemort again, eventually. Hopefully, though, the bastard would take a while to lick his wounds. Give Harry at least the summer to spend with his friends.

Hermione and Ron were cuddled close across from him and planning to visit often during the summer. Ginny was tossing food and flirting with Dean while some of the others teased them both.

He sighed, a little sad that Neville wasn’t there to enjoy the frivolity. Unfortunately, the attempts to find him a Guide, so far had been slow going. As with Harry, they were being careful to not parade everyone through the hospital wing and reveal his new gifts. Draco, at least, could help ease him.

A growl threatened to rumble out of his throat and Harry had to swallow hard to push it back down. The possessive side of his Sentinel was still having difficulties with sharing his Guide, even temporarily, but Harry was learning to deal with it.

A quick knowing smirk flashed across Draco’s lips, and Harry knew his Guide had felt the momentary flash of jealousy. Then a warm, long fingered hand settled on his thigh and gave him a reassuring squeeze.

Harry leaned into Draco and settled a soft kiss on his Guide’s lips. His life wasn’t perfect, but it was as close as it was ever going to be.