Author: nimrodel_13

Pairings and Main Characters: Harry/Draco, past Harry/OC, Pansy/OC, Ron, Neville

Summary: When Pansy comes to Draco nearly three years after the war to ask for his help with none other than an abused and fragile Harry Potter, what could he do but say yes? After all, he had been in love with Harry since they were eleven.

Rating: NC-17

Word Count: 109,627

Warnings: Background domestic violence, background slave treatment, violence

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Romance

Canon: Post-Hogwarts

Notes: Betas; my sister and crazyparakiss, who were indispensable and really came through for me in a pinch. My story is crazy long and they only had about a week or two to get it done. So thank you both so much! Miles to Go Before I Sleep was actually meant to be a one-shot when I began it. But then I entered Big Bang and I realized it had the potential to become so much more. Now it is a 200 page monster which I love with my whole heart. Not only that but it's not even done! I hope to write a sequel in Harry's POV sometime in the next year. With that said, thanks so much for reading and I hope you all enjoy!






One:

When Draco met Harry at the robe shop in Diagon Alley, he thought he was the most beautiful boy he had ever seen.

A boy who was short for his age, with hair as black as raven’s wings sticking up in a haphazard halo around his head and thick, clunky glasses trying unsuccessfully to hide his vibrant emerald eyes. He was skinny as well, his shoulders sticking out from the neckline of his too-big Muggle shirt. It hung unattractively around his small frame and looked faded, with patches sewn crookedly onto it as if the person who did it couldn’t be bothered to care about making them look neat. It should have detracted from his beauty but for some reason, it merely made Draco want him even more.

He wanted to walk up and claim him; wrap his arms around the slender neck and announce to the whole world that this boy with the stunning green eyes and the wild, black hair belonged to Draco Malfoy.

So he had gone about trying to make himself seem as impressive as possible, boasting of the house he was sure he was going to be sorted into upon arriving at Hogwarts and in general acting like a spoiled snot. He had thought, in his ignorance, he would impress the black haired boy but instead the green eyes had darkened with disgust and young Draco couldn’t figure out what he had done wrong. Later, when he was older and used to the painful longing that would define his life, he would realize that bragging was no way to impress Harry Potter; or anyone, really, who hadn’t been raised to be a pampered brat. Yet how could he have known that then, when his father’s money and powerful family name was all he had ever lived with? It had always seemed important to him, so why wouldn’t that impress everyone else?

For the rest of the summer he had dreamed about the little raven-haired boy and his beautiful green eyes; about the two of them having all the adventures he had always hoped to share with a good friend. After all, the boy would be going to Hogwarts as well. It would be wonderful if they were sorted into the same house. They would become inseparable: sitting in class side by side, sharing a dorm and getting into all kinds of trouble. It was with this hope that he finished his summer, dreaming about it by night and talking incessantly about the “boy with the green eyes” to his fond mother and over-indulgent father by day. For their part, they had encouraged his enthusiasm for a friend, no doubt understanding that their money tended to scare off potential friends. Their encouragement was helped along by the fact that they had no idea about the true identity of this particular green-eyed boy.

Draco was both crushed and elated when he learned the identity of his beautiful boy.

Harry Potter was a name that every child in the wizarding world grew up knowing. The Boy Who Lived, who defeated the Dark Lord as an infant while losing his parents in the process; he was an idol, famous, a hero. When his name was spoken aloud, it was said with soft reverence and an awed kind of hope. Draco had understood at an early age how special this boy was, even if he couldn’t understand the specifics of it, nor why shadows would cross his father’s face when Potter’s name was said in his presence. Narcissa, though, would sometimes tell the dark, breathtaking story of Harry Potter and how he had survived the most deadly curse known to wizarding kind and young Draco would drink up every word. So to learn that his dark haired boy from the robe shop was none other than the Harry Potter, Draco had been in just as much awe as everyone else.

At the same time, a dark jealousy rose up within him, though at the time he had not known what it was, being only eleven years old. Harry Potter was a name that belonged to every wizard, every boy and girl on that train and their parents and siblings. He couldn’t belong to just one person, not after what he had done, unwittingly though it was. A person who was such a symbol of strength and hope for an entire people would never belong to a single individual.

And yet, it only made Draco want the boy even more.

Only, somehow, he fucked it all up.

He hadn’t meant to insult the only person their age that had been nice to Potter upon being introduced into the wizarding world. He hadn’t realized that anyone would willingly befriend a Weasley of all people who, really, was one giant walking insult in and of himself. How could Draco not have slighted him, with all that horrid ginger hair, hideous freckles and Lucius’s explanation of a blood feud echoing in his mind? Besides, it was the Weasleys' fault for the feud between their families, not the Malfoys', even if Draco was still fuzzy on the specifics. At any rate, it had been offensive to him that the ginger haired oaf had the nerve to wiggle his way into Draco’s green eyed boy’s good graces. He had only wanted to put the freckled git in his place. How surprised he had been, then, when Potter had stuck up for the Weasley boy and had turned away in a tiff, leaving behind a shocked and hurt Draco.

That had been the first time Harry Potter had broken his heart.

There had been numerous heartbreaks after that but that first time, when he had offered his hand in friendship only to have it refused, hurt in a way that would quickly become familiar. Draco would learn, as time went by, that Harry would remain the only person he would ever want with an almost mind numbing intensity and the only person he knew he couldn’t have. He was so crushed when it turned out his green eyed beauty wanted a Weasley more than he wanted Draco, he had turned to anger in order to hide it, letting his hurt be masked by sharp, bitter hate. But, as the years went by and Harry got older, taller, stronger, even more beautiful, the ache of want never went away.

Now, more than two and a half years after the Battle at Hogwarts, Draco could see clearly all the mistakes he had made in regards to Potter. Harry. He realized that if he had just apologized for insulting Weasley, who would become the dark haired boy’s most trusted friend, he might have been able to make Harry see he wasn’t just a spoiled brat who worshipped his daddy and thought the rest of the world wasn’t good enough for him. But he’d had too much pride and too much hurt and the house rivalries had got in the way. Instead of trying to rise past it, trying to talk to the other boy in a normal setting like a normal person, he would see that shock of red hair at Potter’s side and his stomach would twist in anguish. Every time he couldn’t help but think, that should be me walking at his side. Weasley has no idea just how lucky he is.

It was one thought that never went away.

The second time Harry Potter broke his heart was when he took to that bushy haired know-it-all who only got better grades than Draco because she lived with her nose in a book. Despite his words, he didn’t care about blood purity and whether she was born to Muggle parents. As a matter of fact, there was only one reason why purebloods only married other purebloods and that was because it kept the magic strong. Muggle blood weakened a wizard’s bloodline over time and it was important to keep it strong. In fact, even his father, after he had married and grown out if his Death Eater stage, didn’t hate Muggles. Not the way he made everyone think. So Draco couldn’t give two shits if the Granger girl was Muggle-born. She did, however, become Potter’s friend and he hated her for that. She had taken what he wanted and no insult in the world was bad enough for her.

There were so many other occasions that Draco began to lose count. Soon the sharp ache in his chest became a constant thing, a continuous throb that never really went away. It hurt when he heard about the Golden Trio’s adventure in the dungeons after first year and then again in second. It hurt when Potter got on the Quidditch team and Draco realized they would always be playing against one another rather than together as he had so often dreamed and that the dark haired boy would be celebrating his victories with someone else. He had nearly broken down and cried in front of three entire schools during fourth year when Potter surfaced from his second Challenge and his most important person was none other than the odious Weasley.

That night, when he had fallen into his bed, sobbing into his pillow, Blaise and Pansy had sought to comfort him to no avail. Every time they said something, all he was able to say was, “It should have been me!” After a while, when they had probably got exasperated with him but wouldn’t show it because they were good friends, Blaise asked a question that turned his entire world on its head.

“Draco,” he had ventured carefully, “are you sure it’s Weasley’s place you want or is it…something else?” It had taken the blond days to figure out what Blaise meant but when he did, he realized at once it was true. Draco didn’t want to be Potter’s best friend. He wanted so much more than that. When everyone had accused the dark haired boy of being the Heir of Slytherin in second year and it tore Harry up, he had wanted to reassure him. And when Weasley abandoned him in fourth year, Draco wanted to go up to the Gryffindor and tell him he would never do such a thing, if given just one chance. No, Draco didn’t want to be Harry Potter’s friend.

He wanted to love him, like he had known on that very first day in Diagon Alley Harry should be loved; completely, possessively, passionately and without condition or question. And every time he was reminded that it would never be him to give Harry that affection, it would break him just a little bit more.

Then sixth year rolled around and it was the end of everything for a long time except figuring out how to simply survive…

Light spilled into the parlour where Draco reclined in his favourite chair; a sharp, hard winter light that was none-the-less warm as it licked at his skin through the window. It stirred him from his thoughts and he blinked wearily, studying the motes of dust as they danced through it. A mug of rich, steaming cocoa was clutched in his right hand, heating his skin until the fine porcelain was almost too hot to hold. Yet, he ignored it in favour of looking out the large windows that occupied most of the room’s wall space. Though the cocoa smelled delightful, bringing to him niggling wisps of memories from happier times, he was too distracted to acknowledge it. Instead he was, once again, like he had done every day since the summer of his eleventh year, thinking about Harry Potter.

It had been several years since the end of the war. Not many, but enough to feel the passage of time as it worked to close old wounds. So much had happened since he had been a foolish teenager with too much angst and not enough foresight. He still remembered the fear clearly, both his own and those of the people he had been trying to protect. Lucius, by then, had understood the folly of becoming a slave to the Dark Lord but it had been too late to do anything about it. There was nothing glorious about being a lackey to an evil overlord and though Voldemort had wielded great power, even Draco had been able to see that the side of the Light would win in the end.

That Harry would win.

Draco supposed that if he had not been in love with Harry Potter already, he would have fallen swift and hard the day of the final battle. Harry had been like an Avenging Angel, emerging from the Forest with his wand steady in his hand and green eyes as hard as emeralds. It had looked almost effortless when he struck down the Dark Lord, dark head shining in the weak light of the sun, face striking and remote. Oh, so beautiful he had been, dirty and injured as he was. That was the day he saved them all from the clutches of evil and returned light to the wizarding world.

But it had been too late for Draco and his family.

He often told himself ever since then that he should be grateful that both of his parents had been struck down that day. Narcissa had been killed by her own sister before the Weasley matriarch had killed Bellatrix in a fit of maternal protectiveness. Too late, his heart had wailed as he watched his aunt fall right beside the body of his mother. Lucius had turned on the Dark Lord at the last minute, standing before the doors of the dungeons where the younger children were being hidden, defending them from rabid werewolves that had smelled their young flesh and wanted to rip it apart. Draco had not seen it happen but he heard, later, that it had been Greyback himself that had torn his father’s throat out and let his drooling pack rip apart the body until there was barely anything left. Sometimes he thought that his father would have been happy to know that by dying in such an undignified way, all those students had remained safe.

He was grateful because this way, his parents didn’t have to face the aftermath.

One of the Weasley twins had laughed when he retold the story of Lucius’s death in the Great Hall after they had managed to save his brother and Draco could not say a single word. Instead he had huddled into a corner, hoping no one would notice him and leaned his head against his knees to hide his grief from the rest of the world. He’d known it would happen; someone like him couldn’t expect to do the things he had done and not be punished. And now, now he was all alone, his friends fled or dead after betraying him, his family gone and the mark on his arm sure to condemn him for a long time to come.

Alone.

It was a word he had contemplated without really understanding what it actually meant. After all, he’d always had his mother and father, he’d had his friends and he’d had the respect of the rest of the world simply because of his name. But only when he had none of that left did he truly grasp the real meaning of that word. Alone meant there was no one at all in the world that understood him, to whom he could speak freely to, who would want to have him around or simply would not spit on his shoes when he went places. Blaise was the first to flee the country, in the middle of sixth year and Draco had still not heard from him. Crabbe and Goyle had betrayed him and both were dead. Theo had denounced him entirely, turning his back and going to the side that had fought against the Dark Lord. And Pansy had left shortly before the battle started.

Leaving Draco to fend for himself.

The years in which he had lived with no one by his side had been the worst kind of hell. The only thing he had from his old life left was his wand, his Manor and the continued aching obsession for someone he would probably never even see again.

Draco often thought that if perhaps he hadn’t actually interacted with Harry since the day the dark haired boy had taken his wand from him, he might have been able to get over his thrice-damned crush for the other wizard. But Harry had proven to be as unpredictable as ever, showing compassion where he never had before and giving the blond a glimpse of something beautiful and then snatching it away again. The first time it had happened was the moment Draco realized he had nothing left to live for and had been wishing he could melt into the wall of the Great Hall, since no one would miss him after all. There had been a touch on his shoulder and he had looked up, eyes burning but dry, to see the Saviour of the wizarding world standing over him, holding out Draco’s wand to him. They had stared at one another for a minute, he in confusion, Harry with tired empathy before the dark haired boy had gestured to the wand in his hand.

“Your wand, Malfoy,” he’d said quietly, without a hint of impatience or venom the blond was used to hearing from him. “Thank you for letting me use it,” and Draco had reached up with trembling fingers, closing his hand around the dark, familiar wood. Their eyes had met then, a clash of green and grey and he had not felt the tears that tracked down his cheeks, the ones that made the other boy’s gaze soften and eyebrows knit in sympathy. Harry had opened his mouth, looked like he wanted to say something but at that moment the Weasley girl had marched over and latched onto Harry’s elbow, dragging him away.

“Come on, Harry,” she had said with a filthy glare at Draco’s pitiful figure sitting on the floor before turning simpering eyes upon the dark haired boy. “No need to spend time on Death Eater scum,” and Harry had gone without a backwards glance. Draco had watched him go, his entire body numb and after several beats, when he was sure he wouldn’t be heard, he whispered softly against his knees,

“It has always been anything for you, Harry.”

The Ministry had set up trials for the remaining Death Eaters, rounding them up and locking them in dark, musty cages before their sentences could be reached. For every single one of them, it was Azkaban and a Kiss; Carrow, Yaxley, Dolohov and others he hadn’t even known existed. Draco had despaired, waiting out the days in his cell, barely eating and having nothing else to occupy his mind other than the things he had lost and the fate he was sure to meet.

Except that he didn’t, because Harry Potter stepped in for him.

He understood now that it was never for the sake of Draco Malfoy that Harry did it. But at the time the other boy had been like a light in the desolate darkness that had taken over his life and he could not even hate Harry like he wanted to when he was led into the Court room before the entire Wizengamot and Harry spoke up for him. It was humiliating to have all the things he had done and had not done laid bare for the entire world to judge. That he was unable to kill a single old man, that he had been forced to take the Dark Mark and was not strong enough to deny it, that he had tortured and been tortured; that he had been a coward. That he couldn’t save his family and he had let a group of Death Eaters into a school full of innocent children, of his peers. He was such a hopeless, pathetic case, he shouldn’t even be sentenced.

It was humiliating and relieving and infuriating all at once. They wouldn’t take his house but they took his house-elves. They wouldn’t break his wand but they restricted the magic he could use down to the simplest household charms so that he wouldn’t have to live entirely like a Muggle. They wouldn’t send him to prison and take his soul from him, but they took all of his money then black listed him so he couldn’t even go out and get a job. The sentence was almost worse than Azkaban and Harry had protested as much when Draco himself was unable. But the ruling remained in place. What would he have said anyway? He had seen the hate in their eyes, their need to destroy every single person who had any sort of connection with Voldemort. He had known it was useless.

“I’m going to talk to them,” Harry had said without preamble the moment the trial had ended, striding up to Draco as he rubbed his raw wrists, looking like an angry god and despite his anguish and despair, the blond’s knees had gone a little weak. “You have to be able to at least support yourself.” The outrage was clear in Harry’s voice, his hero complex at full steam and just for a second Draco had allowed himself to pretend that he was not going to go home to his empty manor and slit his wrists in his bath. It would be slow but he had heard that it only hurt at first. Then he had accepted his reality and shook his head wearily, looking away from that shocking blaze of green.

“No, Potter. Don’t trouble yourself.” He’d made to walk away, thinking perhaps it wouldn’t be the bath after all but a swift, painless poison in his favourite wine. There were dozens of little phials in his father’s workroom, hiding somewhere behind a charmed bookshelf. Then a strong hand that had felt like the sweetest fire against his skin had caught his elbow and he found himself looking into determined green eyes.

“You are not allowed to give up, Malfoy. You owe me that.” The words had anger welling up inside of him, furious and trying to choke him so that he could barely breathe around it. Draco had ripped his arm away and snarled in Harry’s face.

“Fuck you, Potter. I don’t owe you a bloody thing,” he’d hissed and, without gauging the look in Harry’s eyes that he was terrified would turn out to be pity, he had stormed out. But yet, when he had returned to his manor, echoing and hollow and devoid of life, he had not drawn himself that final bath, nor had he uncorked a bottle of wine and slipped something deadly into it. He had fallen onto the couch in the sitting room right off the main entrance and had thought about Harry’s eyes when he demanded the blond not give up.

The very next day he had made his way down to the Manor’s library and started reading.

If he was going to live, then he wouldn’t remain the pathetic, helpless creature he had turned into. He was a Malfoy and he would pick himself up and put himself back together like one. It was the hardest thing he ever had to do but he did it. Living in the home where he had grown up, seeing the parents he had lost every time he rounded a corner, being so utterly isolated he even forgot what it was like to speak aloud, the stillness sometimes became almost too much. But then he would remember who he was, remember what pride was, remember that he used to have some and then, after all that, he would remember a pair of wide emerald eyes that demanded he try. Then it would ease; the despair, the loneliness, the hopelessness and he could go one more day.

It turned out that one of his ancestors had been rather obsessed with any subject on Healing, Dark or not, and he threw himself into the study with abandon, learning as much as he could, drinking it up like a cool drought of water. It gave his mind something to occupy itself with other than what he had lost, instead forcing him to think of things he could gain. There were still some rough days, especially in the beginning, when he wouldn’t want to get out of bed, wallowing away in the depressing knowledge that there would be no squeaky, desperate voice of a family house-elf begging him to get up. Other days he would attempt to drink his way through the liquor cabinet and pass out on the cold floor after polishing off nearly a bottle of gin. The hangovers, he discovered, were never worth the temporary oblivion but that didn’t stop him from getting completely pissed. Most of the time, though, he was able to keep himself occupied with the books, taking notes, learning the anatomy of a human being, how it worked, all of its components and how magic affected the body.

In all honesty, it was fascinating. Draco couldn’t get enough of it. He learned about Healing spells for thousands of different curses or simple physical injuries. He learned how to recognize Dark magic and what to do with it when he should run across, say, discerpo proprius, which was a tricky little severing spell mostly used on limbs and which tended to be permanent. He learned that some Healing spells, like correction spells for eyesight or hearing, could also have adverse affects on the human body when used a certain way and then learned about counter spells. He learned about all different kinds of Healing potions and then about a patient’s psyche while suffering under magical and non-magical ailments.

It was a way to cope as well as a way to better himself and he clung to it with avid desperation.

Money at first had been tricky and the lack of it nearly did him in. Because the Ministry had taken the Malfoy vaults away from him almost immediately after he was released from their custody, he was left at somewhat of a loss. He had some Galleons that were kept within a warded safe in his father’s old study but he knew that anywhere he went that would accept them, people would recognize him and would most likely not sell anything to him anyway. He’d had this revelation the second day, when he had wandered listlessly down to the cold kitchens with a rumbling stomach and found there was nothing to eat.

How did they expect him to feed himself if he had no money with which to buy it and no way to get Muggle money, which he recollected vaguely from Muggle Studies was a different kind of currency than he was used to? A Slytherin, however, is nothing if not resourceful and he had swallowed bile before slipping into his mother’s rooms and reverently slipping one of her elegant gowns from its hanger. It could be sold for a good deal of money, even in the Muggle world and even though the scent of her lingered on the material and he longed for her to step into the room so bad it hurt, he knew intellectually she would not need it anymore. So, with tears sliding down his cheeks and neck, he folded it up neatly and took it.

It wasn’t like he was caged in the Manor, a fact he was most grateful of because he would have starved in the first week. However, he couldn’t Apparate so he was forced to walk to get his food. There was a small Muggle town just a few hours walk from the Manor. In the town there was, luckily, a shop that would buy the dress from him. Unfortunately, the shop was by no means well off and even though he knew nothing of Muggle currency, he knew when he was being greatly underpaid for something. Once, he would have protested loudly, demanded that he got his money’s worth but he swallowed his anger and the fact that his mother’s dress was worth twenty times what he had been given and nodded his thanks. It didn’t help that the girl who worked in the shop could not stop touching it or murmuring how pretty it was. Draco managed not to snatch it back and scream “Don’t touch my mother’s dress, you unworthy bitch!” by biting hard on his cheek and walking out the door.

He had been able to get his food, though, and even had a few of the soft, colourful slips of paper that was the strange Muggle money left over. When he went home that day, it was with a heavy heart and laden arms.

It turned out that, on top of the Healing he was teaching himself, he also needed to teach himself how to cook. Which was a little bit more complicated seeing as no respectable Malfoy had ever required a cook book and thus he couldn’t dig one up from the library shelves. But in that he persevered too, going back to the Muggle town when he ran out of food with two more dresses and returning with more food as well as some books that would tell him how to prepare it. It took some improvising, since he had no Muggle appliances to cook with but after several mishaps and a few childish fits, he learned how to control his spells so that he got the results the books said he should.

Not that he would admit it to anyone, ever, but he actually liked cooking. It was relaxing and when it came out tasting somewhat decent, he felt a fortifying wave of accomplishment.

So he developed a routine, selling not only his mother’s dresses but the dozens upon dozens of expensive china and sets of silverware, of which several were solid gold. If he could not sell his possessions to anyone in the town, someone would point him in the direction where he could get money for the objects. Soon he got a reputation for always having something worth looking at. Even if the people could not afford to buy what he was selling they always came to admire his collection and he was always greeted upon entering the town with a cry of, “Hello there, Dragon-boy! Whatcha sellin’ today, lad?” They were all kind to him and they believed the rumour that he was some young Lord who had been left with his family’s debts and was trying to pay them off. Draco, in turn, began to look forward to his trips to town. It was better than not having any human interaction at all, he thought. At least the Muggles didn’t know the truth about his name nor did they understand the darkness and misfortune that was attached to it. All they saw was a young man who had fallen on hard times and needed money to survive, which he got by selling his possessions. He was more than fair, never even asking for the true value of the things he sold. Many times, he only received half of what they were worth but it was more than enough. He never complained, he never demanded and he was always unfailingly polite.

The girl at the dress shop looked forward to his weekly visits, always swooning over the dresses he bought in, touching each gown as if they were spun from moonlight and embroidered with silk from the stars (his mother actually had a dress like that, though that would remain in the back of her closet for he could hardly sell something so obviously magical in a Muggle shop). He had stopped wanting to hex her during the fifth week or so and now realized his mother would probably be happy if she could see that someone loved her gowns so much.

The girl’s name was Doreen, he had learned, and she worked in the shop because her mother was a seamstress but wasn’t well enough to leave the house to conduct business. Instead the girl took the orders and her mother would sew them. They sold hand-me-down dresses in order to compensate the low income they brought in and though the business venture had not really taken at first, there was now a steady stream of customers. It was all thanks to Draco, Doreen had informed him one day with a wide smile; because of the fine quality of the dresses he sold to them, they now had people coming in from surrounding counties to buy from them.

She had a fine smile, he often reflected with some regret and it was clear she admired him nearly as much as she admired his mother’s dresses, perhaps even more so. Surprisingly, he found he rather liked it; liked the shine in her wide hazel eyes, liked her soft, sunny hair and liked the lilting, brash way she spoke. It was so different from his refined accent and perhaps that was why he enjoyed listening to it so much. It didn’t remind him of anything but open fields and something sweet and homey. Alas for her, Draco had never really moved on from his own broken heart and knew he could not offer her the shattered pieces of what was left. It wouldn’t be fair. It was a passing fancy but nothing more than that.

With a moue of discontent, he set down his mug upon the table at his elbow and rubbed his hands through his hair, mussing it so that it would probably be horribly tangled when he tried to brush it later. He’d taken to keeping it longer lately, falling in silky waves past his shoulders and every time he saw himself in the mirror, he told himself it wasn’t because he looked so much like his father that he did it. Or at least, it wasn’t the only reason. Sometimes, isolated in this giant house as he was, Draco was able to believe his own made up delusions. Now he sat back in his chair with a sigh and just stared out the window.

It had been two years and eight months since he had first been dropped into this hell of an existence and he was much better at being able to accept the fact it wasn’t about to change but he still had his bad days.

Today had turned out to be one of them.

Usually Draco had a better grip on his emotions. After all, it was his emotions that had got him and his family into so much trouble in the first place. He was determined not to fall into that trap again. He refined his Occlumency shields, constructed them out of ice and then hid everything behind them. Though he was alone most of the time, when he did talk to other people, he kept his true self hidden tightly under the freezing confines of his mind. They didn’t need to know anything about him, about how he felt, about his past. The Aurors that came to do his annual interrogation soon learned that nothing they said fazed him in the slightest. He would not be a sport for them, would not be their personal punching bag so that they could take out the frustrations of their inadequate lives on him. No, Draco would be what he had been bred to be; strong, calm, powerful and always coming out on the other end unscathed. He had not understood what that meant when he was younger and it had been a nearly impossible lesson to learn but learn it he did.



Still, that didn’t mean he was actually made of ice. Walking through the lonely, echoing halls of the Manor, where the ghosts of his past still haunted him, would sometimes still cut so deep he felt like he was breaking all over again, one painful shard at a time. It was almost worse now because many of the rooms stood completely empty, having been stripped of their furniture and their trappings so he could continue to survive. He would look into them, see their empty spaces and in his mind he would recall what it used to be: what it still should be. Three sitting rooms, several bedrooms, the main dining room and the entire West wing had been stripped and either sold off or, the things he couldn’t sell, being magical in nature or simply impossible for him to move very far manually, stored in the cellars that had once been the dungeons. He would see their blank walls and his heart would wail.

Today he was unable to hold it in, unable to maintain control and he had gone into the downstairs parlour, the one his mother used to serve tea to her guests, and destroyed it.

A chair through the window, the small piano gutted and splintered, the heavy glass mirror in sparkling ruins upon the floor, the brass candle sconces ripped from their fastenings and sent through the walls. The couch and the throw pillows that sat upon it were nothing but a mound of thread, stuffing, and driftwood; the elegant chandelier that hung from the ceiling torn down and matching the mirror’s doom to become nothing more than fine, shimmering shards of shapeless crystal. When he was done, nothing remained intact. All once expensive possessions were now nothing more than worthless, broken junk.

Like his life had become since the war.

Like he had always been but had never realized.

Draco hurled his mug across the room so it could smash in a streak of cool brown cocoa against the wall. So much for in control, he reflected, burying his face in his palms. The restlessness and helpless anger hadn’t been this bad for a while. He had thought he was past all this by now, that he would soon no longer hear his mother’s laughter tinkling down the hall or see the image of his father sitting in his chair before the fire in his study. But they still haunted him, followed him around, and called out to him in voices filled with warmth and love. Like they used to when they were alive, before the Dark Lord took everything from them. “Draco…” they called, voices gentle and soft as spring grass, “Draco, Draco, where are you…”

There were seven rooms like the parlour he had wrecked today. Seven times when it became so much he very nearly exploded, screaming his anguish as he clawed and threw and punched and ripped. And they stayed like that, a reminder of his lack of control, of his pain, since he would not show it on the surface. Sometime he debated closing the doors and locking them for good, bolting them up from both sides, windows included, but then for one reason or another, he didn’t.

There were plenty of rooms left that remained intact and furnished as they had been for years. His own bedroom, for instance, and his parents', which he refused to touch even should he run out of everything else. Selling his mother’s dresses was bad enough but he couldn’t bring himself to desecrate the rest of their memories like that. The library also remained as it was, seeing as he couldn’t sell any of the books in there to Muggles. There were other rooms too, like this sitting room and the small dining room he usually ate in. But sometimes, at night after a nightmare or in the afternoon when it was sunny and warm, like his mother used to love, he would return to one of those seven rooms and would sit among the wreckage, letting himself remember.

With a long sigh, Draco lifted himself from the chair, knowing he should clean the mess he had made with the hot chocolate or it would stain the wall. He was allowed cleaning charms, thankfully, though not much else and was lifting his wand when he heard a noise from down the hall.

For a moment he was sure he was imagining things, that his forced solitude and heavy grief had finally addled his brains. The only thing that made noise in the house anymore was Draco. Even the house no longer sighed and groaned like he remembered it doing when he was a child. It was just as dead as everything else. But then the sound came again, a soft rustle and then the lilting call of his name.

The ghosts again, he thought sourly but then realized no, that wasn’t his mother’s voice and it sounded more solid than usual. Not only that but it was accompanied by a presence, something he had not felt for so very long. Someone else was in the house with him, looking for him. There were no house-elves to greet them, to tell him there was a guest; there weren’t even wards left on the house, since that qualified as more advanced magic and he wasn’t allowed even that. Being deeper in the house, he would never hear someone knocking upon the front door. Aurors never bothered with courtesy; they just barged into whatever room he occupied without a by your leave. But this felt different.

Curious despite himself, Draco walked through the door and out into the hall, keeping his fingers on the wand in his pocket. Just because he wasn’t allowed to perform strong spells, didn’t mean he couldn’t and he would defend himself no matter what, even if that meant breaking the terms of his parole. Yet as he came to the top of the curving elegant stairway that led to the first floor, he realized he would not need to defend himself from anything.

Pansy looked the same as she had the last time he had seen her, nearly a year ago when she met him for tea, dark, beautiful and poised. She had always cut an elegant figure and the pale ermine cloak she had wrapped around herself as she stole through the front entrance was as fine as he would have expected from her. Her steps were hesitant as she peered around her and he realized she hadn’t been here since Christmas of their fifth year and the Manor had much diminished since then. Her heels kicked up little motes of dust and he knew that he needed to take care of the cobwebs that were starting to accumulate on the ceilings. Many of the rooms on the first floor still had their furniture but with no one to take care of them, they were slowly starting to look shabby. All the brass and silver was tarnishing and the gold becoming dull while the tapestries collected dust. It was a sad state and she was sure to see the difference. What was worse, she was sure to understand why he had allowed it to come to this.

Just then she glanced up to where he stood at the balcony watching her and the sight of him made her pause, eyes going wide. They used to be great friends once, he reflected as he lifted his chin and descended the stairs to greet her, but now they barely knew one another.

Pansy had come back a year after the end of the war, after everything had calmed down a little but Draco had only seen her twice since her return. She had come back with a Spanish husband, a tall man with long, dark curls and the bluest eyes he had ever seen. Marriage had changed Pansy. She was stronger, more self-assured, still very much a Slytherin. Though she was rather prone to be a shrew, her personality was like a honed sword now, rather than a roughly hewn quarterstaff.

“Hello, Pansy,” he greeted calmly, voice vague and polite, the perfect tone for a good host, just as he had been taught. He knew what he looked like, in his scruffy jeans that were beginning to fray at the cuffs and were worn at the knees and the soft grey shirt that was missing a button halfway up but was hidden by a darker grey vest. Even his shoes, just a pair of work boots he had found at a second hand shop, were old and scuffed. He looked like a Muggle or, more aptly, like a pureblooded wizard who had simply given up. Both were close enough to the truth. His cool greeting seemed to catch Pansy off guard, though, for she took a moment to stare at him, face slightly pinched, before she answered.

“Hello, Draco. I…should have owled ahead but this visit wasn’t really planned.” In her voice was regret, though she said it smoothly enough to be the truth. He lifted one shoulder and swept his hand toward the back of the house.

“Do come in,” he said graciously, finding it odd to have her there and to be unable to properly treat her like a guest in the Malfoy home. “If you would like some tea, we must retire to the kitchens, for I have no house-elves to prepare it for us.” He was proud of how cool his tone remained, not giving one hint about how it pained him to be reduced to this in front of a former friend and classmate. She made a soft noise of surprise in the back of her throat but she simply nodded.

“Yes, tea sounds lovely.” He took her cloak from her, even though he knew the house was cold because he could not keep it warm magically by himself. Then he led her through the dark halls, once lit with the warm light of candles and charmed fairy lights, now reduced to shadows that whispered to him as he passed. The dining room that lay in a wasted ruin was unfortunately on the way to the kitchens, something he had nearly forgotten until the dark haired woman at his side stopped short with a soft exclamation.

“Oh! Draco, what happened in here?” she asked, voice horrified and eyes wide. He felt a stab of shame and stood next to her looking in on the damage he had done with his own two hands, fighting to keep his shoulders from slumping forward. Pansy pressed her fingers to her mouth before she turned to him, eyes oddly bright, “You did this, didn’t you?” she whispered and he ground his teeth together, eyes darting away. There was no accusation or disgust in her gaze but he could not stand the pity he knew he would see. There was a soft intake of breath and he winced. “I should never have left you alone here.” He could hear tears in her voice when she spoke. He took a moment to close his eyes against the jolt of hurt that threatened to climb up his throat.

“Pans, don’t.” If his command was more of a plea, then he could only blame it on the surge of emotions that wanted to slam him against the sharp, jagged edges of his past. His childhood friend studied him for a moment over her hand before she lowered it regret brimming over on her face.

“I wouldn’t have left,” she said softly, ignoring his words, “I knew I shouldn’t have but my husband…I didn’t have a choice.” Draco flinched inwardly, suddenly angry with both himself and Pansy and drew himself to his full height so that he fairly towered over her.

“Everyone has a choice, Pansy,” he responded icily, wondering if they would have a fight. They used to mock fight when they were younger, just to see what it was like because they never disagreed. But now…now everything was different. She tilted her head and sadness tugged at the edges of her red, plump lips.

“Yes. It was a choice between you and keeping my marriage. Even in Spain they had heard of Death Eaters.” It was like a punch to the gut and he had to turn away or he thought she would see what her words had done to him. Back then, he had thought he hadn’t had a choice. But there was always a choice. It was a mistake he would not make again. Then a warm hand touched his wrist, the first human touch to be freely given to him since he could remember and he felt his own tears get caught in the back of his throat.

“I’m sorry, love. I shouldn’t have said that. But it is the reason Manuel wouldn’t let me visit you. I should have been stronger, I know but…” she snuck a glance at the ruined dining room and her face darkened once more with the shadows of regret, “he’s a good man from a good family and…I can’t let him go.” It was something he thought he could understand; if he had someone like that, regardless of their blood status, he wouldn’t let them out of his sight.

“Then why are you here?” he asked coolly, hating their topic of conversation. He wasn’t jealous of Pansy. Sure, Manuel was stunning and he seemed to have taken good care of Draco’s friend. No, instead it was what Pansy had with her husband that he wanted. Sadly, there was only one person he ever wanted to share that with and that person had probably forgotten his existence. The dark haired woman looked up at him through her eyelashes and smiled softly.

“You offered me tea?” It was a sly tactic but an effective one, something he recognized from his mother as a tool used to stall for time. It worked though, and he gave her a tight nod before leading her the rest of the way to the large kitchens. He took his time with the tea while Pansy settled herself at the table, folding her hands on its smooth surface and no doubt watching him closely to see if she could read anything from his movements. He knew he was giving nothing away, outwardly cool and collected but inside he was a mess. The words she had spoken in the hall hurt him more than he thought they could because all this time, he might not have been so isolated. But she had chosen her husband’s wishes over her friendship. For all the time he had been keeping company with Muggles and ghosts, she could have been here all along.

Then Draco mentally slapped himself. There was no use crying over spilled milk and she was here now, for whatever reason. He had a feeling it wasn’t simply to see him but he supposed he should take what he could get. After all, it was better than nothing. He carried the tea over to the table when it was finished, fixing both cups and allowing himself to smile when she made a small sound of pleasure.

“Oh, you remember!” she exclaimed before taking a fortifying sip. Two lumps of sugar and a splash of milk, just as his mother used to take her tea. How could he forget something like that? He himself preferred honey and didn’t take milk at all. They drank their tea in silence, studying each other out of the corners of their eyes. Finally the dark haired woman set her cup down and looked at him steadily.

“You’ve changed, Draco,” she murmured and he felt his lips twisting in a wry smirk. What was she expecting? That he remained the same little cowardly twerp he’d been during the war? That he failed to learn the lessons from his parents’ death and his loneliness and continued to wear his arrogance like a suit of armour? No, his armour was ice, now; was stillness and blank, lonely walls.

“And how have I changed, darling?” he asked, voice deep and filled with indefinable darkness. The pet name he used to call her when they were in school caught her off guard but she recovered quickly, smiling softly. Once those smiles had been calculating and cool but they had warmed up since they’d last met.

“Well, when I first saw you, I could have sworn you were Lucius.” Draco stiffened at that, fingers tightening around his cup but Pansy, if she noticed, pretended as if she didn’t. “You used to be, well, we both remember how you used to be. But now…” her gaze was penetrating as she looked at him and he wanted to hide behind his tea cup so that she wouldn’t see… “You’re colder, now. Like your father but not at the same time. I used to be able to read you so well but I can’t see what’s going on behind those pretty eyes of yours anymore.” He blinked at her in surprise, shocked that she had given so much away but then again, she wasn’t the same person anymore either.

“Perhaps that’s a good thing,” he allowed, lips curling at one corner and Pansy returned it, though the sadness was back in her eyes.

“Perhaps,” she mimicked, though he could tell she didn’t believe it for a moment. There was a short moment of silence in which he studied the dregs of his tea and she tapped her perfectly manicured nails on the tabletop. It was a habit that used to drive him crazy but now it was comforting. It allowed him to accept that this indeed was real and he wasn’t speaking to another one of his ghosts. “Draco…” so many questions in one single word and he cut her off before he was forced to face them.

“Why did you come here, Pansy?” He made his voice soft, made sure his impatience and discomfort was well hidden. His childhood friend sighed and stopped tapping her fingers, getting up to pour herself another cup of tea. Another stalling tactic but he could wait. After all, there was nowhere he needed to be and no one else with designs on his time. He waited calmly as she stirred in her sugar and milk, waited as she took a long sip, and then another.

“I need your help,” she finally said, not meeting his gaze and he swallowed a snide remark. Of course she did. She would not have come here, risking her husband’s displeasure, if she didn’t need something important. For a moment, Draco felt a flicker of dislike for this Manuel for taking the companionship of a long time friend from him and then for Pansy for allowing it to happen. But it was gone as soon as it had come because one of the things he had promised himself when he vowed he would change would be to stop blaming everyone else for his misfortunes.

“With what?” he asked mildly, preparing his own second cup of tea. Instead of answering directly, however, Pansy reached into the clutch she kept on her wrist and pulled out a newspaper, her bottom lip caught between her pearly teeth. He saw her hesitate for a moment before unfurling the paper and pushing it across the table at him.

“Please, before you react, or make judgment, I ask that you read the whole article and then tell me what you think. Just know that it isn’t what it seems.” It was a copy of The Daily Prophet, dated two days prior. A large picture donned the front page of a man about their age with wavy black hair and a put-upon wearied smile that looked more malicious than anything else, under the headline of An Abusive and Twisted Savior? Underneath it, in smaller letters that had Rita Skeeter slime all over them, it said, your exclusive into the dark, perverted and often violent life of the Boy Who Lived. The words twisted at Draco’s heart and he swallowed disgust when the dark haired man in the picture eyed him slyly.

“What is this?” he demanded; voice a harsh rasp. It had been years since he was forced to read something about Potter and now it dredged up all those things he had strove to bury so desperately. He hadn’t read the newspaper since before the war had ended, seeing as he didn’t have a way to get it and he preferred it that way. Pansy just gestured to the article with a wave of one dainty hand and he swallowed, stealing himself as he pulled it closer to him. Even though vitriol was sure to spew from the page, he knew that reading this would only sure up his obsession for the green eyed man once more.

There have been many articles written about the Boy Who Lived, interviews and the like, giving Mr Potter’s adoring public a glimpse into the life of what it must be like to be such a well-known figure in our world. Everyone has a right to see what this man, who has saved us all from the clutches of a mad Dark Wizard, is like in everyday life. We were with him when he stepped off the battlefield, triumphant and strong and then again when he proposed to the girl who everyone thought would be the lucky one to tie him down. Subsequently, we were there too when they broke it off. That, of course, was such a big shock, for not only did Mr Potter announce that he would not be marrying his childhood sweetheart but that he was not even attracted to women!

At this point Draco made a strangled noise and dropped the paper to the table, staring at the moulted, black and white pages in disbelief. It was the usual rubbish that he had been expecting, of course, but everything the Prophet reported since the war always had some grain of truth. Potter was gay? The very thought had his ears ringing and the breath catching in his chest. Without thinking, he snatched the paper up and continued to read without prompting.

Such a discovery resulted in a public disowning of Mr Potter from his adoptive family, the distinguished Weasleys, which is understandable, one must admit, about which several in detail articles have already been written by yours truly. He stopped again and inhaled deeply, knowing his hands were shaking but not knowing how to make them stop. The Weasleys had denounced Harry, when they were not even worthy enough to lick the bottom of his boots? It made Draco sick, wondering how devastated Harry had been from that and saw a pair of stricken green eyes in his mind. It shouldn’t still hurt, he thought, to remember that gaze but it did. Almost three years later, it still did.

Pansy was watching him closely, undoubtedly noting that he’d gone white and that he couldn’t keep his hands steady. She and Blaise had been the only ones to understand how he had felt about Harry Potter, the only ones he had trusted to tell. So she would know how this filth affected him. It was probably why she had shown the article to him, though to what ends he couldn’t guess. Today, I have been fortunate enough to interview Alexander Huff, a man that has grudgingly stepped forward to admit that he is the former lover of Mr Potter. Though he comes across modest and kind hearted, I have managed to convince him to sit down to an interview with me, to talk about what it was like to be on the receiving end of Mr Potter’s affections. Draco felt like retching, tasting bile at the back of his throat.

“Thank you for meeting with me, Mr Huff. May I call you Alexander?” Mr Huff smiles, a warm, open smile that suits his handsome features and he might have laughed, had he not so many haunted shadows lingering behind his dark eyes.

“Please, just Alex is fine, Miss Skeeter.” He is like a breath of fresh air, so friendly and obliging. I must admit I am quite charmed.

“Then I insist that you call me Rita. Now, I am to understand that you and Mr Harry Potter were a bit of an item for a while?” I ask with as much sensitivity as I could. After all, it is due to his goodwill that this article is written at all. He continues to smile but I could tell it is tarnished somewhat by the mention of his former lover’s name.

“Harry and I were…together, yes,” he responds lightly as if it does not pain him to say Mr Potter’s name. I could tell otherwise, however, and that is a curious thing indeed.

“Tell me, how long were you together?”

“Almost seven months,” he answers quickly and finally his smile fades a bit, shadows of bad memories swirling in his eyes. In fact, his dark eyes practically beg to be asked the story, so he did not have to keep such dark things to himself…cont. pg 6…

Draco closed his eyes and laid the paper down, knowing where this was going. The same place it always did when Harry was involved and people pretended to know him. Pretended they owned him, pretended to give a shit about him while they tore him down and stabbed him in the back. He hated it. He hated them. He would not have treated Harry so poorly, whether he was the Saviour of their world or he was just some little orphan boy in a robe shop, with wide, wondering green eyes and a vulnerability to his slender shoulders. When he flipped to page six, there was a decent sized picture of Harry himself and Draco felt like he had been punched in the chest.

Harry wasn’t looking at the camera but at something off in the distance, green eyes misty with something indefinable. As it continued to play, the familiar face that had become stronger and even more beautiful than the blond remembered suddenly lit up, as if he had just seen a wish come true right in front of him. Draco was so jealous of the owner of that smile, he nearly choked on it.

“What…what is the point of this, Pansy?” he barely even recognized his own voice, rough and filled with things that shouldn’t be given a name. Pansy’s perfect eyebrows knitted together and she reached over to lay a gentle hand over his. Oh, she knew, damn her. She knew how this was tearing him apart.

“I’m so sorry, Draco. Read the rest and I will explain it.” He held her gaze for a long moment, wondering if he should just tell her to go to hell but this was Harry. Draco knew he would do as she asked.

“Can you tell us about your time with Mr Potter, Alex?” I ask gently and see his hesitation, as if he doesn’t want to dwell on something unpleasant. His entire face falls, that little light that shines from his face when he smiles extinguished now.

“We were…happy for a while. Harry is a very good-looking man and he, at least at first, comes across very kind. I had hired him to set up the wards for my new business and something just clicked. He was funny and had a sharp wit and I was very flattered when he asked me out to dinner. I thought I was so lucky to have been asked out on a date with none other than Harry Potter.” Alex gives a brave little smile, though it quite clearly pains him to do so and he looks nervous for the first time since we have started. Something about his words, though, catch me as slightly odd and I find myself curious about their meaning.

“I’m sorry, but you said he seemed kind at first? Surely Mr Potter isn’t anything but kind.” Though I have seen it little, many people claim that Harry Potter is a perfectly polite and respectable man. To hear otherwise is….odd.

“Oh, I did. Well, like I said, it started out wonderful. We went out more and more often, finding that we had a lot in common and he was interested about my line of work, as I was with his. But then…something started to go wrong.” Alex hesitates again, fidgeting in his seat and it is a sad sight indeed to see a man that had been so warm before seem so downcast.

“If this is too painful for you, Mr Huff…” I begin but he cuts me off with a small shake of his head.

“No, not at all, Rita. It’s just…hard, you know? I fancied myself in love with him and I thought that he loved me as well. But…well, let’s just say that what he turned out to be was a complete surprise.” As much as I do not want to disturb Mr Huff with bringing up painful memories, I must admit my inquisitive nature gets the best of me.

“I’m terribly sorry, Alex, but would you care to elaborate for me?” he sits very still for some time, like some tragic character from a classic tale of broken love and I begin to wonder whether he will answer my question at all. But then he lifts his head and looks out the window, as if the sunlight can offer some comfort from the darkness of his thoughts.

“He was…remarkable…I mean, not to be crude, but he was incredible in bed. Anything a partner could have asked for. Gentle, considerate. And then, as the weeks progressed, he got steadily more violent. It started with…with the bindings and then began to spiral out of control. I wasn’t worried at first. I thought that perhaps he just had different…preferences,” Alex laughs uneasily here, like he’s terrified about giving out such lewd secrets but willing to brave the consequences anyway. Again I am struck by his courage and give him all the support I can. “But then he started taking his violence out of the bedroom, would punish me, physically and mentally, for things I didn’t even remember doing. He became scary. Possessive to the point of locking me up in our own flat, taking away my food for days sometimes, getting jealous over the oddest things. I no longer had a life. I belonged to him, like a slave…” Here Alex’s voice breaks and I give him all the time he needs to recover, horrified by the things he had—

Draco threw the paper from him with a snarl of rage, anger coursing so thick through his veins, he was sure it would set the air around him on fire. “What utter, fucking crap,” he cried, tugging at two fistfuls of his hair while wondering where his fine honed control had gone. He never had a chance at keeping his composure when it came to Harry, though. He wanted to break something, to rage, to hurt this lying, deceitful bastard who spread such filthy lies that it made the blond so ill just thinking about them. How could anyone believe this? “Why?” he demanded, gaze hard as he stared at his friend who still sat watching him calmly from across the table, “why the fuck did you make me read that?” She titled her head to the side and sighed.

“You don’t believe any of it?” she asked cautiously, almost expecting him to lose his rage completely and he suddenly wished he could. But he struggled with his anger and reined it in, forced it back under the finely hewn ice.

“Of course not. Even a blind man could see what rubbish this is.” She smiled at that, a relived little smile as if she hadn’t been sure herself that Draco would react this way.

“Indeed. Draco, I know this isn’t going to be easy but just listen until I’m done, alright?” She waited for his sharp nod before settling into her chair and once again, folding her hands in front of her. Their tea sat cold and forgotten on the table between them. “When Manuel and I had just bought our London town home, we were looking for someone to ward the property. To my surprise, everyone I talked to recommended Potter. They said he was the best in England.” Draco made a small noise of shock and Pansy smiled knowingly. Warding anything took a good deal of both power and finesse, for the webs that the wards formed were extremely complex, even the simplest ones. Though Harry had always been powerful, it always seemed to come out in brute strength rather than done with any style: that he worked with wards was a bit of a surprise.

“He lived up to his reputation, Draco. And he doesn’t just “work with wards”. He’s a Ward’s Keeper, which is the highest level they can reach. He’s very, very good at what he does. The thing with wards, though, as I’m sure you know living in a house that once had the most complex wards in the country, is that they take a long time to set up. So we ended up spending a lot of time together.” Pansy’s smile was gentle, more so than he had ever seen it and he realized that it was for Harry. He clamped down on his jealousy once again.

“So you became friends,” he said, voice flat and his dark haired friend nodded, playing absently with the fine handle on her teacup.

“I know, shocking. Especially after the way I treated him and his friends in school. But he’s not the giant prat I had always thought him to be. He has a wickedly sharp sense of humour and he is a great listener. I could prattle for hours and he would just sit there and listen to me talk.” Draco gulped down his cold tea so that it would settle his stomach but instead it became a hard, icy block. While he had been sitting here, alone with nothing but his books and the occasional jaunt into town, Pansy had been cozying up to Potter. It left a bitter taste in his mouth and made stomach cramp uncomfortably. “I think he was lonely. It was after the Weasleys dumped him and he came out that he was gay. It isolated him from everyone except for a few others that stayed by his side. Granger did, though I don’t think I will ever like the bint.” She paused and her eyes darkened.

“Alex was the one that did the wooing, not Harry. When he met Alex, he didn’t like him at first but he was quickly won over. And…he seemed so happy. Finally, he would say, there was someone who was willing to give him a chance. Not because of his name but because of who he was as a person.” She fiddled with her cup then crossed her arms uncomfortably after a bit of a hanging pause. “How can you live in a house with no heat?” she griped, shivering a little and Draco shrugged, impatient to hear the rest of the story. He flicked his wand and uttered a soft warming charm before gesturing for Pansy to continue as soft, gentle heat eased over them. She paused then took a deep breath.

“I don’t know how it started. Harry only just told me some of what happened, so I don’t know everything. But he started getting distant, about three months after they started dating, right around when they moved in together. He would blow us off for drinks, saying that Alex wanted him home for one reason or another. Sometimes he would have strange injuries on him when we did see him, like rope burns on his wrists. When I think back on it, I can’t believe I didn’t realize what was going on but Harry hid it well.” Draco, realizing exactly where this was going, thought for a moment he was going to be sick. It couldn’t be true that someone would do something like this, let alone to Harry. Something inside of him beat against the ice he kept his heart caged in, threatening to break it.

“He started turning clients down, something Harry never did before, started closing himself in his house, refusing to even answer his Floo when one of us checked up on him. Sometimes Alex would answer and inform us that he was just tired or he was in the middle of something. But sometimes no one would answer at all, even though we all knew they were both home…” she trailed off, a deep crease marring her brow and Draco wondered what it must have been like, to have a friend in a situation like that and not knowing what was going on, getting frantic, fearing for them. She had more lines on her face than he remembered seeing on her before.

“We?” he asked in the lull, thankful for the reprieve. Though he hadn’t eaten since breakfast, it was threatening reappearance and the thundering against his defences was getting stronger.

“Oh, myself, Granger, Longbottom and a man named Daniel Sinclair, who worked with Harry a few times on some of the more difficult warding projects. After the fallout with the Weasleys, we were the only people Harry had left, including an older man who was his teacher.” Draco nodded and got up to pour them both more tea, if just to give his hands something to do. “He started to alienate us next. When we saw him, he would insult us, be rude, try to get us to fight with him. The others, they couldn’t see how much it hurt him to do it, like he needed to push us away or something even worse would happen. Not even Granger realized it.” Pansy sniffed, her distain for the other witch clear on her face. If she had been as easily fooled as the dark haired woman suggested, Draco could hardly blame her for her disgust.

“It all happened so gradually that we barely even realized it wasn’t normal for Harry to act like he didn’t want us around and only saw us because he felt obligated. Now, of course, I see that it was because Alex,” the inflection on the name was spat out with such venom he nearly flinched, “was forcing him to get rid of his friends and to make it so that we wouldn’t want to pursue his friendship or find out what was wrong. I don’t know why Harry stayed with him as long as he did but by that time I think it was fear more than anything else.” She picked at her nails now, obviously nervous and upset. He didn’t offer her comfort nor did he wish to. The person he wanted to comfort was not here; was far away and probably suffering quietly, just like he always had. Pansy seemed to be thinking along the same lines though because her face crumpled momentarily and she rubbed her fingers over her eyelids.

“I thought about coming to you before, when it first started to get bad. I kept thinking that even if Harry didn’t want anything to do with you, you would at least drive Alex away, do something to make him stop hurting Harry. But then I would think…well, I didn’t think it was a good idea.” There was a heavy silence in which he could see all the things that could have been, if different choices had been made. But he was used to that because that was how he would punish himself when he was alone and wallowing in his self-pity.

“But it’s a good idea now?” he finally ventured, voice harder than he intended to make it. Pansy met the harsh tone head on, something she had always been good at and inclined her head so that she was staring at the smiling picture of Harry in the paper.

“Harry disappeared, Draco,” she whispered and he had to hold himself very still before he could betray himself. “For weeks no one could find him. By that time, it was just me and Longbottom who still gave a shit. Granger, for all of her excuses, just couldn’t take it anymore and abandoned him like the Weasleys had. She said that if Harry really didn’t want it, then he was strong enough to tell Alex no on his own. How little did she realize, did any of us realize, just how trained the bastard had him. He…when I found him, he was…he was chained, wearing nothing but a collar and an old pair of pants. He’d been…he’d been beaten…” She gave a soft sob, hiding her eyes behind her hand for a brief moment and the feelings that were battering at Draco’s defences became more insistent, slamming against them fiercely until he was positively dizzy with it. His knuckles were white where he was gripping the arms of his chair and he could feel his magic, long since subdued and little exercised, beginning to creep dangerously from his pores. It had been so very long since he had lost control of his magic but he was about to now.

Pansy took a moment to compose herself. Her obvious distress was proof how much she had come to care for Harry. “It was almost a month after he had disappeared and I was frantic. Longbottom had Flooed everyone he could think of, searching for news on Harry’s whereabouts; he even got Minister Shacklebolt involved. But we both knew where he was. The same place he had been all along…

“It took me nearly two full days to force my way through the wards on Harry’s flat and I think the only reason I even got through was because he purposely weakened them in hopes someone would try eventually to get to him.” She took a deep breath and stared at a spot over Draco’s shoulder, eyes dark and full. “I suppose I was lucky I caught them at a time when Alex was out. He’s not a terribly intimidating person, especially not after some of the people we had to deal with during the war, but there is something about him that scares the shit out of me.” She smiled weakly, an expression more like a grimace than anything else. “Well, now that I know better, anyway.” He didn’t like to think about Harry with someone who scared Pansy, something he used to think impossible.

“Merlin, Draco, you should have seen him. Though I suppose it was good that you didn’t because you’d be in Azkaban.” She shook her head and Draco ducked his head, trying to rein in his fury. Draco didn’t give a fuck about prison; he vowed to himself that the man wouldn’t be able to do much of anything except decompose quietly in the ground by the time he caught up with him. “And I know what you’re thinking darling, but don’t. Harry wouldn’t want that.” In a fit of anger, he slammed his fists down on the table, making the tea cups rattle and Pansy jump, eyes going wide.

“Because I’m sure this bastard did all of what Harry wanted him to! Fuck! You’re right, if I ever meet this Alex, I will make him wish he had never been born!” He was seething, the emotions coming off of him in rolls of excess magic, which trembled in the air like a shimmering mirage of heat. His friend was eyeing him but it wasn’t in concern or fear but fond affection.

“Yes, I had a feeling you would react that way,” she said, not a hint of regret in her voice and Draco was suddenly reminded why they had been such good friends once upon a time. Perhaps not everything had changed after all. Her sly agreement served to settle him down some and he slumped into his seat, not even aware that he had risen in the first place. When Pansy started speaking again, her voice was stronger, as if Draco’s display of anger gave her a boost of confidence. “Anyway, when I got into the house, I found Harry chained to the wall in the study by his neck and he could barely focus on anything, he was so out of it. He didn’t even remember me at first. He just kept saying over and over again that he was sorry.” She was shaking now, furious just from her memories.

“As I said, he’d been beaten. There were bruises all over him and there were wounds on his back, like he had been whipped. Alex would…punish Harry by starving him, would leave him there for days with a fucking bucket for a bathroom. It was like he was some misbehaved Crup puppy who had torn apart the closet. Only he wasn’t as nice to Harry as he probably would have been to an animal. It was…it was…” she finally stopped, white with anger and pain for her unlikely friend. Draco listened quietly while he stormed and seethed in the privacy of his own mind. He was mentally going through the books he had still stashed away in his library, the Darkest ones that were hidden behind other less threatening books, picking curses he remembered learning from their pages and mentally categorizing them to see if he could recall the worst ones. He tried to recall the ones that would inflict the most damage and do it as painfully as possible. There were a couple of possibilities that wouldn’t even reveal him as the castor. He stored them away for future reference; there would be time to exact punishment on Harry’s behalf later.

“What would you like me to do?” He was relieved that his voice was steady and cool once more, his emotions soothed by his budding plans for revenge. His eyes had tracked back to watch the picture of Harry from the paper as the man’s smile bloomed into being over and over again, making the blond feel a little short of breath. Harry truly was magnificent.

“He’s broken, Draco,” Pansy said softly, sadly, eyes opaque. “I managed to get him out of there and I’ve hidden him so Alex can’t find him but…he’s still terrified. He can’t even function around other people. No one can touch him, he won’t eat…he’s wasting away in one of my guest bedrooms and there’s nothing I can do about it!” her voice caught at the end, despair ringing through the rapidly cooling air of the kitchen as Draco’s charm wore off, the sound extending into the silence. For a moment neither of them moved; even if the house was burning down around his ears, the blond didn’t think he could move. He took one breath, then another and another, counting each one as he did. Why did things like this happen, he wondered to himself. Why did such bad things happen to good people? But most of all, he couldn’t figure out why he felt so much hope that Pansy had come to him with this, so much hope that he barely recognized the emotion after so long of feeling nothing but chilling despair and damning regret.

Finally, he couldn’t sit there anymore and stood abruptly, the sound of his chair scraping along the tile loud and startling in the still kitchen. The window in the back of the kitchen faced the gardens that his mother had once loved enough that she tended them herself and he stood close enough to it that he could feel the sharp cold seeping in from around the glass. In the past two years, most of the garden had turned to ragged, overgrown weeds that now looked like nothing more than a tangle of twigs. There was one section, though, now dormant in the face of winter, which Draco had remembered to diligently tend every year once the earth thawed. Neat rows of leafless rose bushes that stood even taller than him marched in even lines at the very heart of the garden, which would bloom with huge, richly coloured flowers in the summer. They were one spot of beauty left in his life and when he walked through them, their full scent always reminded him of his mother’s smile. Though they were just rows of knobby sticks now, the sight of them calmed his racing heart just a bit.

“Why?” he whispered, warm breath misting against the clear glass. “What do you think I can do?” what makes you think he will even allow me near him? But that question remained unasked, for he feared the answer. What would he do if he went to see Harry, to help him, to hold him, to heal him and the man pushed him away like Draco suspected he probably would? They hadn’t parted ways as enemies but neither had they been friends. Pansy sighed behind him, a soft exhalation of air.

“Darling, do you know that the world was done with him the moment he killed the Dark Lord? They didn’t care about Harry; he was their source of entertainment. One moment they loved him and the next, he was being ostracized, criticized for the choices he made, for just being himself. Who else, then, would care enough to help him, if not you?” She waited a breath as the blond sucked in an icy breath of air then said. “There is no one else who loves him like you do…like you always have.” He closed his eyes tightly against the words but they lingered anyway. His one weakness, the one thing that could always break through whatever defences he had built, no matter how impervious he believed them.

How will any of that matter? he nearly asked but as he pressed his forehead against the chilled window, he remembered the words his mother had spoken to him one hazy summer day in the very garden he looked out upon now, her words illustrated by the cloying smell of the roses and the warm touch of the wind. “Draco,” she had said after he had reluctantly confided in her about unrequited love and giving up on it, “the strongest and most beautiful force in this world is love, no matter its form. To give up on it, even if it is never returned or it breaks you beyond repair, is the greatest sin one could ever commit. Remember this, my son, if nothing else; keep your heart open to love. It will be returned to you one day.”

He still remembered them as clearly as if his mother had spoken them to him this very morning. Though he had yet to see proof of her words and he believed that one had to do something to earn love rather than just wait for it to come along, there was still something in him that wished it was true. When he finally opened his eyes, he saw that snow was slowly beginning to fall; tiny, lacy flakes that looked so brittle against the stark, bleak landscape of the neglected Manor grounds. He didn’t know if he could see Harry again; he didn’t know if he even wanted to because he was afraid of the pain, afraid of how his heart would be sure to break all over again if he did.

But then, he realized, he had already made his decision. It didn’t matter if Harry would ever return his love or not. He wasn’t going to do this for that reason. He was going to do it because, despite everything, his heart still beat for just one man. It had never stopped. Turning, he gathered his courage around him and lifted his chin as he met Pansy’s eyes.

“Take me to him.”



Two:



Manuel Aguilar came from an old, Spanish pureblood family that ran the powerful wizarding underground in Madrid. They had nearly as much money as the Malfoys in their prime, but most of theirs had been earned by force from the people in the city they controlled rather than by cunning and cleverness. As was true of many pureblood wizarding families from Europe, they had helped fund one side or the other in the war now being labelled the “Battle against the Dark”, remaining anonymous and safe on the other side of the bay but still feeling like they were part of something worthwhile. The Aguliars were one of the families that had supported the British Ministry and the side of the Order, being smart enough not to throw their lot behind a crazy maniac that was sure to lose; unlike the Malfoy family.

This was the reason why Manuel wouldn’t let his wife see her former best friend, who had also been once a Death Eater. Not only because of the tattoo on his arm but also because the Malfoy name was associated with the losing side and no self respecting pureblood family that didn’t have the same tarnish of such a mistake on their name would have anything to do with one that did. Draco could understand the politics behind it but it didn’t make it any easier.

The man stood in the foyer of the large, costal Estate house in Spain where Pansy preceded Draco through the Floo, waiting for them to exit the fireplace one at a time with a shadowed frown on his dark features. His wife was already at his side, speaking softly in his ear, a quelling hand on his arm as Draco slowly brushed soot and Floo powder from his worn clothing, looking decidedly unfriendly. For a moment he was sure that the dark haired man would throw him straight back through the fireplace but whatever Pansy had whispered in his ear must have stilled any protests for the moment for when he strode up to face the tall blond, he didn’t try to kick Draco out.

“Mr Malfoy,” Manuel started, arms crossed threateningly over his chest, “if it was not for the fact that my wife thinks you can help Mr Potter, I would call the authorities on you for trespassing. I don’t like you and I don’t want you here.” Draco opened his mouth to protest indignantly. It was Pansy who had brought him here to begin with, so he technically wasn’t really trespassing. But that wouldn’t stop anyone who had a vendetta against his name; which was just about everyone. So he closed his mouth again without saying anything. If Manuel saw the flash of anger, though, he ignored it, his Castilian accent rich when he continued, “However, she has convinced me that you can help Potter and he is in serious need of help. Do not make me regret it.” The clear blue eyes flashed in warning and Draco swallowed against his screaming pride and the need to protest, nodding sharply instead. Pansy was frowning as she watched them, lips pursed and he felt a little better when he recognized her expression, the one that promised someone would be getting a stern talking to at a later time. If she chose to, his childhood friend could make ears bleed.

“You won’t,” he said stiffly and wanted to add, not that I would ever do anything to jeopardize Harry, but he didn’t. When he turned to Pansy, her frown had turned worried and he nodded to her, even though what he really wanted was his solitude back. His hands were clammy and his mouth was dry and he wanted to run. He didn’t want to see Harry again, for Harry to see him, looking like he had just stepped out of a Muggle thrift shop, probably smelling like old books and his hair in desperate need of a brush. What was more, he didn’t want to see the wreck Harry had surely become either. Though he was positive the dark haired man was going to turn him away as soon as he saw the blond, Draco would still see Harry and he wanted to keep the memory of the beautiful, strong Harry in the picture from the paper, of the triumphant hero he had watched step off the battlefield, of the boy who was so breathtaking on a broom. It wasn’t because he didn’t want to see Harry broken but because if he did, the need to have him, to protect him, to keep him away from the rest of the world would become too much and this time he was afraid he would not be able to help himself. “Lead the way, Pans.” So cool, so calm he sounded but he was so afraid…so afraid of falling again.

“He’s across from our rooms,” she said as she gave her husband one last hard look before waving Draco to the left, up the big, curving staircase that presided on either side of the entry way. It was an elegant house indeed, perhaps even more so than the Manor, with its bright open spaces illuminated by huge windows that dominated the wall space. All the floors were white marble shot through with dark silver veins and the walls a pale blue that reminded him of the sky on a hot summer day. Pansy spoke as they walked, once again composed though there was lingering relief around her eyes. “We have to sit with him all the time because he’s afraid of being left alone, so we gave him a room that was close to us. We have a house-elf keeping him company now.” The blond frowned as they walked down a long, mirrored hall and then up another staircase, this one nearly as large and as lavish as the first.

“He doesn’t like being alone?” It was strange, since everything he had read about abuse victims stated they tended to not want people around them all the time, since it made them anxious, waiting for someone to land a blow or spew abuse. Mind Healing was a little trickier than Physical Healing because a victim could hide within their own mind the wounds that had been inflicted upon them. Especially if they were a gifted Occlumens but he had studied nearly as much of that as other types of Healing. It was worrisome that Harry was already not fitting the profiles he was expecting to see. Pansy’s face darkened and she pulled on her earlobe, an anxious habit she’d had when she was young.



“Alex would leave him for days at a time, sometimes chained up or sometimes just locked in the flat or in a certain room. He…doesn’t do well when he wakes up alone.” She had her head turned so that he couldn’t quite make out her expression but he thought he could detect the distress in the line of her shoulders and the set of her jaw. He wanted to say something to comfort her, wanted to tell her it would turn out okay but he couldn’t say something he wasn’t sure of and there was no comfort in him to give. Thankfully, he was saved from having to say anything at all when Pansy stopped in front of a door at the end of a wide, lavish hallway and knocked softly on the glossy white surface. “It’s me, Piddy.” There was a pause and then the door swung open to reveal a small house-elf dressed in a neat, frilly tea cosy and looking up at them with huge eyes.

“Mistress, I’m glad you is being back,” it squeaked, looking slightly panicked as it wrung its hands. “Master Harry was being sick. Mistress told Piddy to get him to eat but he can’t be keeping anything down. Piddy not knowing what to do!” It looked like it wanted to punish itself but it was saved the self inflicted pain when Draco pushed his way into the room, heart beating uncomfortably fast. Pansy comforted the elf, calming its nervous squeaking before she followed the blond into the room. It was a small, comfortable sitting room, which was unoccupied at the moment and he forced his legs to keep moving toward the door on the other end that stood open and would surely reveal a bedroom…and Harry.

“Is he still sick now, Piddy?” Pansy asked kindly, something she had never been to elves when they were younger and the little house-elf seemed to calm down a little bit. It shook its head, long ears flapping against its head.

“No, Mistress, Master Harry be sleeping now,” was the response, relief obvious in the high, squeaky voice. The frown that felt like it had been permanently etched between his eyebrows deepened a little. If Harry was getting sick, the situation sounded like it was worse than he had thought, though he wouldn’t know for sure until he had a chance to run a few scans on the dark haired man.

“How long since he’s eaten?” The blond thought his own voice sounded oddly clinical, tinny, ringing slightly hollow but his dark haired friend seemed to take comfort from it, as if she was afraid of this meeting as much as Draco was.

“Well, before we got him here, I don’t know. He eats a little bit during meals but not enough to sustain himself,” she gnawed her lip as they reached the door, “though he’s never gotten sick before.” It sounded like he was just not used to eating and had probably either tried to eat more than his body was used to or the food served was too rich. There were Nutrient potions he could give Harry and they could just feed him liquid for the time being, like simple soups, until he was able handle something more. Words he had read flitted through his mind, giving him insight on everything that could possibly be wrong and then the solution. It was the first time he was going to have someone in his care but he was confident in his studies that he could do this.

Then he stepped into the bedroom and everything else crumbled away.

Harry was sitting at the window in a large, comfortable looking chair, feet propped up in front of him and head tilted towards the light that poured into the room. At first Draco thought the man was sleeping but then he realized Harry was breathing too fast and his hands were clenched on the arm rests until his knuckles were white. He looked small and much too thin, like he was about to be swallowed by the armchair, his skin much paler than the blond remembered it being. Dark circles were etched around his closed eyes. He looked fragile, like a strong breeze would knock him over. Nothing of the strong, vibrant man he had been in his picture was left.

And yet...

…And yet, he was still the most beautiful thing Draco had ever seen.

“Harry.” Pansy rushed past him into the room, kneeling beside the big chair and curling her hands around the white fingers wrapped tightly over the armrest. Her face was pulled tight with worry and Draco felt another stab of jealously. “Harry, love, wake up.” She bit her lip and he realized with a start that, yes, the dark haired man was indeed dreaming. The jealously was replaced by gnawing worry, especially when his friend turned to him with dark pleading eyes and tangled one of her hands with Harry’s. Draco looked back into his face and tried to swallow past the sudden painful lump in his throat.

It wasn’t normal for someone to dream like that, like he was trapped by his own mind and couldn’t find the way out. The only way someone could get so stuck like that was if their subconscious knew they didn’t really want to wake. Though Pansy gently continued to cajole the dark haired man, shaking his leg and even going so far to pinch the skin of his wrist, he remained asleep, the tortured expression never once leaving his face. He looked haunted and exhausted, despite the fact that he was sleeping and Draco wanted to step closer, wanted to touch him, to make sure he was really there. Not just physical healing would need to be done here, he realized, but so much Mind Healing he was afraid he wasn’t equipped to handle it. He’d read books, so many of them, but now that that it was no longer just a practical theory on blank, unfeeling pages, he was so afraid he would botch it up. With Harry’s neck tilted back like it was, it looked so long and slender and his skin was so ridiculously pale that he looked like another one of Draco’s ghosts.

The distress on his face was very real, though, and it cut at the blond so sharply, it made breathing difficult. Oh, how he wanted to hurt the person who had done this, to cut him into little, messy chunks, to slip into his mind and show him such horrors, he would wish for death just to escape his own fear. And then he wanted to heal Harry, to build him up again, make him strong, invincible, so that he would never have to wear such an expression again.

That was when he realized, that was what he was there for: to heal Harry. He was there as Harry’s Healer, to take what was broken and to make it better. For the moment, there was no need for Draco’s emotions and the desperate crush he had on the other man. So he gathered all of his desire and his raw, frayed hopes and pushed it deep, under the ice of his protective armour. It wasn’t needed here, not yet. This was about what Harry needed. Draco took a deep breath, straightened his spine and stepped forward.

“Pansy, perhaps I—” though the dark haired man would not wake to Pansy’s voice, as soon as Draco spoke, Harry jerked awake, emerald eyes so wide the bright green of them almost swallowed the rest of the room. They immediately honed in on the blond standing in the middle of the room, pupils dilated with fear and stubborn, lingering sleep. He could see the rapid pulse beating furiously in the slender neck, could see the way his hands shook from reaction to waking so suddenly and the remaining dregs of his nightmare.

They stared at each other for a long, breathless moment, Draco desperately striving to keep his face smooth and Harry sitting so still, it was as if he was afraid the blond would attack if he so much as twitched a muscle. Pansy sat back on her heels, gaze flickering between the two men, one comforting hand on Harry’s knee. The blond noted that the other man did not relax when he finally recognized who else was in the room with him. In fact, he pressed himself further into the chair, teeth pressing indents into his bottom lip.

Fear. There was so much fear there, in his stuttered breath, in the shine of his eyes, in the tight white of his knuckles.

“Hello, Potter.” In an attempt at keeping things as normal as possible, those were the first words Draco could think of. All at once, he felt like time had reversed and they were teenagers again, the history between them so thick it could almost be seen. The moment didn’t last even a second because he couldn’t ever remember the other man being so afraid just to be in the same room with him; Harry had never been afraid of the blond, even though there had been times when he should have been. The shaking had become more pronounced, thin shoulders hunched over and trembling, hands clenched and knees nearly drawn up so his feet barley touched the floor. How in Merlin’s name was he supposed to fix this, if the man was terrified just from seeing Draco?

“What’s…he doing here?” Harry’s voice was rough, deeper than the blond remembered but so fragile it seemed as if the very sound could shatter. The clouded green eyes darted to Pansy who was biting her lip and squeezing one of the dark haired man’s knees. It almost looked as if she was trying to keep him from fleeing rather than comforting him.

“He’s here to help you, Harry.” Her voice was at its most soothing, which Draco noted on more than one occasion was not much at all. Pansy had never really had much of a bedside manner, though he had to give her points for trying. He remembered her not usually caring all that much, though back then he hadn’t really thought much about it. He hadn’t been friends with her for her compassion. The emerald gaze was staring intently at Draco again, as if Harry was afraid to look away for too long but he could see the betrayal in the lines of his face.

“H-help me?!” the man cried, fingers clutching desperately at the chair arms. “How can he possibly help me?! The only reason Draco Malfoy would ever want to see me is to hurt me!” The blond frowned but it was more from the tone of Harry’s voice rather than the words that he was practically shrieking. The other man was practically hysterical, eyes darting around as if looking for an escape and his knees were now pressed closely to his chest. Even his breathing was becoming elevated with panic.

“Potter, calm down. I am here as a Healer. I’m not here to hurt you.” He knew not to get any closer, though he longed to wrap his arms around the shivering form, so thin, so much diminished than it used to be. Harry made a whimpering noise deep in his throat, looking more like a cornered animal than ever and swung weakly at Pansy when she stood and tried to touch his arm.

“That’s a fucking lie! You…you can’t be a Healer! They wouldn’t…they hate you…you’re lying! Stop LYING!!!” Draco took a step back in surprise, confused at the anguished twist of Harry’s features and the way the other man wouldn’t even let Pansy close now, shaking so hard he was practically rocking in his seat. It seemed he was also having trouble drawing a full breath. He’s panicking, Draco realized and though he really would rather not have to knock the man out, it seemed like it was becoming the most viable choice.

“I’ve not got my certificate, certainly, but I know more than those monkeys in…” he stopped when Harry turned away, head bowed and chest heaving as he tried to breathe.

“No…no…go away…please go away…I’m sorry…sor—” Draco hit him with the strongest sleeping spell he knew, unable to listen to anymore. Silenced, Harry slumped over, dark lashes fanned out over his sharp, pale cheeks, looking like ink upon parchment. At once his breathing slowed and his body relaxed into sleep, the trembling easing until it was barely noticeable. He looked so sad like that, head tilted at an odd angle and knees still drawn up but listing to the side now that he wasn’t actively keeping them upright. The chair practically engulfed him, making him look like a child and that surge of protectiveness threatened to overtake Draco again, making him ache.

There was a long few minutes of silence before Pansy backed up to the chair that sat opposite from where Harry now peacefully slept and sat rather gracelessly upon the cushion. Her bottom lip trembled, like she would break into tears but it only lasted a second before she reined it in. Crying in front of him once was enough; he knew she wouldn’t do it again, not so soon.

“What…was that?” she finally whispered, hands clasped in her lap and dark eyes fixed on Harry’s face. It was smooth now, all the lines of stress and illness and pain eased by the spell he was under. It would keep the man asleep even should he be bodily picked up and relocated. He would stay under its effects until Draco cast its counter. But he couldn’t do that until he was sure the dark haired man would remain calm enough to hold a conversation with.

“That was a panic attack,” he murmured as he stepped up to the chair and leaned in to press his fingers to the man’s forehead. His skin was warmer than normal but not alarmingly so and it was slightly clammy, no doubt from him being so scared. Then the blond held out his hand to Pansy without looking away from Harry’s still features, still manually checking his pulse, trying to tell himself that he didn’t care how smooth the man’s skin was. “I need your wand.” For a moment he thought his childhood friend had not heard him so he turned around to repeat himself and paused when he caught the hesitation on her face.

“Why?” Why indeed. All at once, Draco was mortified. Mortified that he had to ask another person, a woman who had once been a good friend, to borrow their wand. Wands were deeply personal to a wizard, connected to their core of magic and they only ever obeyed a single master. It was the reason why winning another wizard’s wand over was so serious. That wand would never obey its formal master again, unless it was won back and they didn’t work well for someone else otherwise. It was also the reason he had been so upset about his wand being stolen from him by the very man whom he was here to help.

Even so, he couldn’t use his own wand for more than simple cleaning and cooking spells. The sleeping spell had been strong enough and had they still been back in Britain, the Aurors would have been all over him already. As it was, anything more and they would show up here as well, regardless that he was in another country. He gritted his teeth and tried to form the best answer to get her to agree.

“Because there is a monitoring spell on my own that will let the Ministry know when I do magic stronger than basic charms. I am frankly surprised that last spell did not alert them. Anything else and not only will I be arrested but you will need to find another Healer for Potter here.” He gestured to the other man, to his wan appearance and his lovely flyaway curls and thought that his heart would never be whole again if he was not the one to heal Harry. Still, it made his cheeks go warm from embarrassment when Pansy stared at him in surprise.

Cool, hard wood slipped into his fingers a moment later and then it was his turn to blink at the dark haired woman in surprise. Truthfully, he would not have been shocked at all had she refused but then he reminded himself that this woman was not the same person he had known at school. She was far, far more than that girl and he found he loved her for it. Her dark eyes were calm and steady when their gazes met and she smiled when he gave a small, grateful nod. I trust you, Draco. But she wouldn’t say it. It would become redundant if she did.

Her wand didn’t want to cooperate, not at first, but the blond finally forced the diagnostic spell through its core and it settled after that. Which was a relief because there would be a lot of spells he needed to cast, none of them insignificant in the least. Colours spilled into the air, one after the other as he ran through each system, checking the blood, the digestive system, etc. They each meant something, the warmer colours meaning healthy while cooler colours, such as blues and greens, meant varying levels of injury or illness. Harry was malnourished, though Draco could have spotted that even without the spell and his immune system was so low, he could succumb to a simple cold. As Draco went through the diagnosis, he cast another spell that would create a chart in the air that would solidify onto a piece of paper once the first spell had run its course. It made things easier to keep track of, should he need to.

There was a lot of evidence of bones that had been broken and then set poorly or not at all, allowed to heal crookedly. No doubt Harry would be in a lot of pain during the winter, the old injuries aching from the cold. Luckily those were an easy fix, needing nothing more than a Resetting Potion to straighten them and a Bone-Strengthening Potion to get rid of the pain that could become chronic. The slight scarring on his left lung, however, would be a little trickier and Draco put a note next to that line to get more peppermint leaves and Luna Moth’s wings for the potions he was going to need to brew. There was also evidence of internal injuries, proof of more violence and negligence, for these had never been treated. It was a wonder Harry was even still alive, considering how badly he needed to have been beaten to get these injuries.

By the time the colours faded from the air and the words shimmering in the air were spelled onto a conjured parchment, Draco was crouched on the floor in front of the chair, face white with rage and fingers tight around Pansy’s wand. The back of his mouth tasted bitter and he had to take a deep breath before he could speak without wanting to scream. Oh, the man who had done this was going to pay.

“Pansy, I need a Calming Drought before I can wake him up and then I’m going to need several different types of Nutrient Potions.” She wasted no time summoning a house-elf to her and asking it to get the Calming Drought. Convenient things, house-elves, Draco thought as he stood, wincing as his knee cracked, and told himself he didn’t miss them. It wouldn’t matter, since he wasn’t allowed to have any anyway. Instead he looked at Harry, at the deep, bruised skin under his eyes, at the way he was so pale, the blond could make out the thin, trailing lines of veins underneath, at the full lips that were as deathly white as the rest of him. Why did he say that Draco was lying? He’d said it so adamantly too, as if the thought of someone lying to him caused great distress. Something else it seemed his ex had done. Something else that would need to be healed.

And why did he apologize?

For his fear? For yelling at Draco, for telling him to get out? They were all strange things for him to apologize for but again, it must have stemmed from whatever abuse he had been subjected to. Draco just hoped that he would be able to heal Harry, that he would have the strength to make him whole.

It was only moments before the house-elf, not Piddy he noted absently, brought a glass phial filled with a light, crisp blue potion. Draco carefully tipped the potion into the other man’s mouth, fingers gently pressing against the full bottom lip that felt dry and cracked. Then he tapped the tip of Pansy’s wand against Harry’s slender throat and whispered the spell to force him to swallow. Though potions like the Calming Drought, known as Emotion stimulants, took effect immediately, he still waited a minute before he thought it safe to wake Harry. It would do none of them any good if he continued to panic.

Green eyes blinked open slowly, focusing at first on the air in front of him then slowly becoming clearer. The dawning consciousness in the emerald depths was incredible to watch, like the lazy kindling of a fire or the sun working its way up to the horizon after a long, cold night. It flickered around the room a bit, resting quickly on Pansy before settling on where Draco stood a few feet away. He couldn’t help but hold his breath under the brilliant gaze and Harry did the opposite, exhaling sharply as if in surprise. Then he crossed his arms over his chest as if they could serve as a shield and stared at the tops of his knees.

“You’re still here,” he said, voice flat and a little rough. He was still afraid, the blond could see, but no longer on the verge of panic. There was a hum of tension in the slender line of the man’s body despite the Calming Draught and Draco wondered how bad it could have gotten if he hadn’t spelled Harry asleep and given him a potion. Not that he would have allowed it to continue; panic would only have made things much worse. But the fact that the dark haired man was still so distraught through the potion was telling.

“Indeed, Potter,” was his own quiet answer, the sound of his voice, even though it was calm and soft, making the other man flinch. He ignored the reaction for the moment, filing it away to be examined later. “I have been asked to help you and I’m not going anywhere until you are healed to my satisfaction.” The green eyes went wide for a moment and the pale lips trembled before the dark head turned away, shaking quickly back and forth as if in denial.

“You? A Healer? Don’t make me laugh, Malfoy. Even if that was true, even if you were allowed to get your certification, why the hell would you help me?” The arms tightened until the dark haired man was practically hugging himself and his shaking was visible once more. The words stung but admittedly, the man had a point. There had never been a time when he had exhibited any concern for Harry’s wellbeing, not so that the man could recognize it for what it was. Even Draco’s attempt to keep him unidentified during the war had been lame and could have been taken as cowardice. Thankfully, Pansy seemed to sense his hesitation for she was the one to speak up first.

“Draco may not have his Healer’s license but he has been studying the subject for the past couple years. Regular Healers get two years of full training only in their specialized fields. Draco studied all of them.” She glanced at the blond for a moment and gave him a tiny, fond smile. “Plus he has always been abnormally clever. He knows what he’s doing.” It was more faith than he was expecting from her and he could feel the heat threatening to turn his face a bright pink. Personally, he wished he had hands-on training like most Healers got but he knew the theory backwards and forwards and knew that he could apply it with at least some confidence. Harry was still turned away and hugging himself like he was trying to physically hold himself together.

“Why him?” it was barely audible, a harsh whisper that betrayed enough anguish to make Draco’s chest ache. He wanted to step forward, to take hold of those thin, quivering shoulders and just hold the man. Pansy seemed to have the same idea for she slipped off her chair and pressed her hands against Harry’s crossed forearms. The man turned his head enough to look down at her doubtfully, flinching at her touch.

“Would you rather I get someone else?” she asked quietly and the blond held himself as still as possible. “Would you rather another Healer? One who you don’t know, who doesn’t know you, a stranger that could have motivations other than healing you?” Harry’s breath hitched and he ducked his head so his face couldn’t be seen but then he shook his shaggy head, looking so small and miserable.

“How…how do I know he doesn’t have other motivations?” the dark haired man finally ventured in a small voice after a long pause, still not looking at Draco. The blond let out a breath that stirred the hair falling over his forehead before he met Pansy’s questioning glance with his own level stare.

“You may have forgotten that I owe you a life debt, Potter, but I have not.” It was certainly not his most important reason for doing this but it was the one that might most convince the dark haired man and it wasn’t even a lie. He did owe Harry a life debt for pulling him out of that fire in the Room of Hidden things and then a deep debt of gratitude for killing the Dark Lord. The fact that these were only minor reasons why he wanted to help Harry was of no consequence.

For a long moment he watched as Harry drew up his knees again and buried his head in them, still shaking, still afraid. Pansy reached out to smooth the dark, unruly hair with one hand and again the man flinched. She didn’t pull away from him, though, saying something in soft, soothing tones that Draco couldn’t hear but it didn’t seem to help and he wondered if the other man was even listening to her. Finally she sighed and stood back up, one hand still gently stroking his wild curls. The sight of her pale hand in his dark hair made the blond’s stomach cramp with jealousy but he refrained from allowing it to show.

“Perhaps we should get him another Calming Draught?” she ventured, dark eyebrows drawn in worry and Draco opened his mouth to reply, to say it wasn’t good to administer a potion with essence of mulberry bark at its base so close together but he didn’t get a chance to speak when Harry’s head snapped up, eyes wide with terror and face even whiter than before.

“You gave me a potion?!” he looked like he was trying to scream but his voice was a low, desperate rasp that made Draco nearly take a step back, “Without me knowing?” before anyone could react, the man was halfway out of the chair and doubling over to vomit onto the soft, expensive carpet. It didn’t make a large mess, for he had not been eating very much to begin with and he had gotten sick not long before but there were tears streaking down the sunken cheeks and he didn’t stop even though there was nothing more to bring up.

Draco was at his side before he even registered moving, a hand curled around the back of Harry’s clammy neck and murmuring a spell that would temporarily ease a roiling stomach. He tried to be as gentle as possible, the smell of acrid sick filling his nose as Harry tried to catch his breath, gulping in great swallows of air. Now that he was touching the other man, he could feel the trembling under his fingers and once again he found himself fighting back a wave of protective anger that would no doubt terrify Harry should he be careless enough to display it. The man was babbling now, hands pressed to his knees and head bowed, sweat shimmering on his pasty skin but the blond couldn’t understand a word he said.

“Alright, Harry, just breathe. Come on, deep breaths,” Draco murmured, trying to pick up on what the other man was saying. It took a moment for the words spilling from Harry’s mouth began to make sense.

“…sorry…I’m sorry…I wasted the potion…You can give me a-another one. You can give me two! Please, I’m s-sorry…” The darkened skin around the green eyes was now swollen and Draco swallowed his urge to snarl a command to shut the dark haired man up. It wouldn’t make the situation any easier and would no doubt scare Harry even more. It was all just too much. He hadn’t been expecting something like this, this roiling mess of emotion that bounced from one extreme to the next until the blond’s head spun. First Harry was so upset about being given a potion without his knowledge that he throws up and then, just as suddenly, he’s sobbing through apologies.

He’s afraid of punishment.

Gone was the strong, confident man that had conquered a Dark Wizard at the age of seventeen by dying, that had lost so many friends and loved ones they could not even be counted on a single hand but still made it through to the other end, still strong, still radiant. Gone was the bright glint in the green eyes and the strength in the square hands, in the breadth of the once-broad shoulders, in the powerful legs. Instead, the man that sat in front of Draco was shattered, tears dripping from the straight nose, fear bowing the dark, proud head. It was heartbreaking to see, to witness such a man reduced to this.

“Okay,” he said as gently as he could, still slowly stroking the soft skin at the back of Harry’s neck and trying not to be distracted by the way the soft curls brushed over his fingers. “It’s okay. You didn’t waste the potion. And I won’t give you any more unless you approve them, alright? I’m not going to do anything to hurt you, Harry.” It was so hard not to give in to the impulse to gather the man to his chest, to comfort him with physical contact that Harry no doubt would not welcome. He thought when the unruly head tilted enough so a single shining green eye to glance uneasily at him, he could touch his fingers to the man’s chin in order to lift his head more. The motion, however, sent the dark haired man jerking backwards into the seat, eyes huge and arms half lifted as if to ward off a blow.

Draco took a slow breath then another in order to calm his pulse that was slamming uncomfortably fast in his veins then sat back slowly on his heels, so that he was not so close to Harry. He tucked away his sadness, lifting his hands so the man could see them, Pansy’s wand balanced on his knees out of sight. “I have no desire to hurt you.” His voice sounded weaker than he would have liked but he figured that was okay because Pansy was the only one who would pick up on it anyway. The emerald eyes, so wide and entrancing, especially without the glasses, assessed him closely and he could feel the air in the room going very still as he waited for the other man to either reject or accept him.

Finally Harry lowered his arms and swallowed before nodding with a quick, jerking motion that made his curls fall over into his face. It was like a huge victory and Draco felt tension seep from his back and shoulders. He had almost forgotten about their audience until Pansy breathed a soft sigh behind him and then called for a house-elf to come clean up the rug. The dark haired man didn’t take his eyes from Draco, the depths of them shadowed with distrust. The blond tried to make his expression as bland as he could. He doubted Harry would believe he was sincere if he tried to be friendly or even offered a smile so he opted for detached professionalism.

“I ran a diagnostic spell on you before,” he started, still crouched before the chair, not even noticing when the floor beside him was spelled clean and the air was freshened with a subtle charm. “The most worrying thing I saw was how malnourished you are. It needs to be addressed immediately or you can start to have kidney and liver problems. It is a simple but slow fix. If you know what the potions are when they are given to you, is that alright?” The green eyes remained intent on his face as he spoke and he could see Harry slowly beginning to relax into the chair, no doubt exhausted from the hectic bite of his rampant emotions. He opened his mouth to answer then closed it again, looking away as he bit his lip.

“If…if I can take them myself, I think so,” was the slow response and Draco nodded briskly. With a wave of the unfamiliar wand in his hand, he conjured a small roll of parchment and a Quick-Notes Quill, rattling off a list of potions he knew he was going to need. Harry looked slightly alarmed but he didn’t say anything as the blond handed the list to Pansy.

“I’m afraid the potions will have to be bought,” he said when she took it and perused the list with a knowing eye. When it came to potions, Pansy had always been knowledgeable. She smiled when she looked back up at him.

“Of course, Draco. Back in a moment.” For a second it felt like they were sixteen again, good friends who would do anything for one another and who worked so well as a team, they had often joked they could take over the world. But then the moment was gone and Pansy was gently squeezing Harry’s fragile shoulder before sweeping from the room. The dark haired man watched her go, looking like he would like to call her back but he didn’t. The shadows under his eyes had deepened and he looked as if he would fall asleep right where he sat. Only he wouldn’t because Draco was in the room and Harry was afraid of him.

The man who used to be afraid of nothing, the blond thought as he scrubbed his hands through his hair, now look at him.

“You need to rest, Potter,” he said as kindly as he could, making the man start and blink up at him a little wildly. “I’ll help you to the bedroom if you need it.” That got him a scowl and the expression was so reminiscent of their days back at Hogwarts, an image of a younger Harry flashed through his mind, glaring in righteous anger.

“I’m not an invalid,” he grumbled in a show of the personality that Draco remembered and to prove his point, he dropped his feet to the floor and stood. His balance looked a little off but Harry was indeed not crippled. He walked a few steps towards the door to the left of the windows while never really turning his back to the blond. Standing he looked even thinner, his once muscular limbs now spindly and gawky. Harry looked so much like the small boy in the robe shop, with the huge green eyes and the skinny body that Draco nearly choked on the sudden flare of memory.

Harry stumbled when he reached the doorway and had barely caught himself on the doorjamb when Draco caught his elbow, steadying the man as he wobbled. He jerked in Draco’s hold but he didn’t pull away, instead just flicking startled eyes over his shoulder where the blond stood. He heard a catch of breath and felt the fine tremor of fear under his fingers and he forced himself to loosen his grip, to keep his distance.

“It’s because you haven’t eaten right in so long that you are weak,” he said in an effort to fill the suddenly looming silence and it was nearly impossible not to slip his arm around the slender waist when Harry continued his trek through the room towards the large, extravagant bed that took up much of the far wall. “You should eat something before you sleep. Do you feel up to it?”

Harry half fell onto the bed, prompting Draco to hurry to his side again but he was waved off before he could touch the dark haired man. Fingernails made little crescent shapes in his palms when he clenched his fists while watching, hating that he was unable to help the other man drag himself up towards the pillows. Curls the colour of ink spilled over the abundant throw pillows that Harry propped himself up against and the green gaze was vivid when he turned it on the blond again.

“Yeah, I think I can manage something,” he responded softly. Draco wasted no time calling for Piddy, the only elf whose name he was familiar with, and asked for a bowl of hot broth and fresh bread. The little elf was eager to help, throwing a worried look at the man sitting on the bed before popping back out of the room. It made the blond smirk as he spelled the covers out from under Harry so he could settle them around the other man. It earned him a funny look that he chose to ignore.

“I see that charming house-elves wherever you go hasn’t changed,” Draco said as he leaned against the post at the foot of the bed, watching the way Harry was nervously smoothing the blankets under his hands and was looking anywhere but at the other man occupying the room. There was an acknowledging jerk of the dark head and a twisting of the full lips that might have been a smile but might have been a grimace as well.

“What do you mean?” as if he had no idea what Draco was talking about and the blond snorted. The sound made the dark haired man jump and glance over quickly out of the corner of his eye but he relaxed again when he saw that Draco hadn’t moved. Again, he ignored it.

“I mean that they fawn over you, no matter where you are. Surely you noticed how devoted they are.” It was meant as a joke but it clearly made Harry uncomfortable, fingers plucking at the blanket. Thankfully Piddy returned with a tray on which rested a steaming bowl of soup and large, fresh pieces of white, floury bread. It was settled across the other man’s knees with deliberate care and Harry thanked the elf, much to its delight, before reaching a shaky hand for the spoon. His entire attention was suddenly taken with the food and he dipped into the light, yellowish soup with grim determination.

Neither one of them spoke as Harry ate; Draco watched closely as the slender hand slowly moved the spoon between the bowl and pale lips. If his continued observing it made the dark haired man uncomfortable, no comment was made and the emerald gaze remained on the tray. Only once did he look up and when he met the blond’s silvery gaze, he jerked so bad the soup splashed over the rim of the bowl onto the covers. For a second there was absolute stillness, as if Harry was horrified he made a mess but Draco whispered a cleaning charm under his breath and the other man seemed to relax. Odd behaviour indeed, he thought, getting so distraught over a simple thing as spilling a little soup. Even without magic, a few dabs with a wet cloth and it was quickly managed. It was the same with the potion earlier, reacting so drastically over something so minor. Harry was dropping a chunk of bread into the bowl when he startled the blond by breaking the silence.

“You called me Harry before.” There was a question in his voice that Draco wasn’t sure how to answer. He hadn’t even realized he had said it. It had become such a habit to think of the other man as Harry now that he didn’t even notice when he slipped and said it out loud. Not that it mattered anymore. There was already too much distance between them as it was. What difference would it make if he called the man by his given name?

“I suppose I did,” he allowed, meeting the curious emerald gaze with his own which dropped back to the soup bowl a moment later. Just like that, the conversation was over and he breathed a silent sigh of mingling relief and disappointment.

Draco didn’t get a chance to dwell on it much before Pansy breezed back into the room with a small bag on her arm that clinked softly as she moved. Her arrival seemed to distract Harry from his meal and he pushed his tray away, greeting her with a tiny smile. Most of the food had been eaten, so the blond let it go, simply levitating it from the bed onto the night table for one of the house-elves to clear away later.

“I got all of the potions except Jasmine Tear. The Apothecary said he should have some in by tomorrow,” she said as she handed the bag to Draco and then slipped onto the bed with Harry, smoothing his dark hair back like he was a child. He didn’t flinch when she touched him but he did look slightly uncomfortable with the intimate gesture. Intriguing, the blond thought, pretending to be rummaging through the bag even though the one he needed lay on top. It wasn’t just the touches but the familiarity of them too.

“Thank you, Pans,” he said distractedly, pulling out a small bottle filled with a murky grey potion. It didn’t look pretty but it would do what he needed it to. Pulling the top off, he handed it to Harry, who looked at it askance, as if its contents would leap out and strangle him. “That is a Nutrient Potion. It will help replenish the vitamins and other important nutrients you’ve lost while repairing any damage you might have to your digestive system. It also tastes like it looks so fair warning,” he explained and then held his breath as Harry continued to hold it away from himself and eye it with knitted eyebrows. There seemed to be some kind of internal battle going on behind the expressive green eyes before the dark haired man came to some kind of conclusion, downing the potion in two gulps. The face he made when he lowered the glass phial again was priceless, all scrunched nose and puckered lips. Once again Draco found himself fighting a smile.

“You were not wrong about the taste,” the man groused and the complaint somehow gave the blond a glimmer of hope. Harry was still in there, behind all the broken shards, the fear and the hurt. He just needed to be coaxed to the surface again, needed to know that he could be strong and no one would punish him for it. Pansy tucked him in, acting like a fussy sister as she patted the pillow and smoothed blankets, making the other man say something Draco didn’t catch. There was a soft expression on his face, though. Not precisely a smile but something close that made the blond’s chest tighten. Quickly, he looked away, taking the bag of potions over to a desk on the other side of the room and pulling out more of the potions he was going to need later. He didn’t want to see something he wished for and would never receive. He didn’t want to feel that dull, familiar pain again.

Only when Pansy stepped away from the bed again and had one of her many elves lower the shades and darken the room so Harry could sleep did Draco face the bed again, holding another potion in his hand. The dark haired man looked so small bundled under all those blankets, his skin pale even against the white sheets but he didn’t shy away too much when the blond once again approached the edge of the bed.

“I have some Dreamless Sleep here, if you want it.” He put the phial on the night stand beside the bed, well within Harry’s reach and stepped away. “You don’t have to take it but you really do need sleep. We will talk about the other things when you wake later. If you need one of us, I will put a charm on your door to let me know you are awake.” Draco hesitated then added, “You needn’t fear being left alone.” The green eyes stared at him for a long moment before slipping away. The dark head nodded wearily, black curls rustling against the fabric of the pillowcase and it was all the blond could do not to reach out and run his fingers through them. There would be permanent marks in his palms from his nails as he fought the urge to touch, he suspected, by the time this was all said and done. Pansy was waiting for him by the door when he turned away and he had nearly reached her when his name was called. Turning, he carefully masked his surprise behind a mildly curious expression.

“Why are you really doing this?” He couldn’t see Harry’s expression from where he stood but he didn’t need to see it to know the man was frowning. Why indeed. If only Harry knew. He would probably demand Draco from the room and another Healer to attend him, as frightening as that prospect might be. After all, he sure as hell wouldn’t take kindly if he were answered with the real truth. Because I love you. Because I’ve always loved you. Because I’m going to fix you, I’m going to make you better and then I’m going to make you mine. Draco almost snorted out loud. Right.

In the end he didn’t give an answer at all.

“Because you need me to. Go to sleep, Harry.” Pansy was watching him carefully as he closed the door, the corner of her lip trying to curl up. Amusement flickered in her eyes and he glared at her. “Shut it, you,” he snarled, walking over to the chair Harry had abandoned and flopping inelegantly into it. It was still warm from the other man’s body heat and he had to deliberately stop himself from turning his head and chasing the faint, earthy scent Harry had left behind on the chair’s fabric. His childhood friend raised her hands in surrender as she stopped next to where he sat, finally giving in to the smile.

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you are talking about,” and Draco had to smile too, a small, reluctant one. They both sobered quickly though and Pansy perched upon the arm of the chair, her eyes unusually dark. “There is another problem, though.” The serious cast to her voice caught his attention and the blond straightened as she pulled a letter from one of the pockets in her skirt. The paper was dry under his fingers when he took it from her and the seal on the back that had been broken was a dark blue scene of an eagle flying over a castle. The letter had been addressed to Pansy. When he glanced at her, she motioned towards the letter with her chin. “Read it.”

So he did, opening the envelope and pulling out the letter, opening the single sheet to lines of meticulous, blocky handwriting. Then he sucked in a breath, rage flaring through his chest like a thunderbolt.

The letter was from Alexander Huff.

* * *

To Mrs Pansy Aguilar,

I suppose you think you are terribly clever, breaking into my flat and stealing away my property. Which is exactly what you did when you took Harry away from me. He’s mine and I will have him back. No matter where you take him, I will find him eventually and all your efforts will have been in vain. And I know it was you; I would recognize that perfume stinking up the air anywhere.

Feel free to take this to the authorities. They won’t listen to you, especially not after that little interview I did with the lovely Miss Skeeter. Useful little thing, isn’t she? I will simply deny having ever written this letter and whom do you think they will listen to? An upstanding, law abiding citizen or you, nearly a Death Eater and not even a British citizen? Don’t forget, I know you and your husband very well and I will find you eventually.

Don’t think that you can keep Harry from me forever. I’m coming to get him.

Alex

Draco ran his fingers though his long hair, probably mussing it beyond help but not caring. The letter sat on the smooth, shiny surface of the table in front of him, crumpled along the edges and looking a little worn from all the times it had been handled. He himself had read it several times, feeling more ill with each read through and no doubt both Pansy and Miguel had read it more than once as well. The paper was stark against the dark, expensive wood of the stately, dining room table but the words were even more so, looming like a promise of doom. It probably would be, to Harry anyway, if his ex actually managed to carry out his threat.

Across from him sat Pansy, hands folded in front of her and eyes dark. Her husband was beside her, looking warmer than Draco had seen him yet. At least it was better than the frosty glares he was expecting. Then again they had a common interest, which was seeing Harry safe and well. This was more serious than the observation of pureblood politics and he was glad the man had enough sense to see it. They sat informally at the table, having chosen this room in which to confer because it was close enough to Harry’s room that Draco would hear the charm he put on the door that would alert him should the dark haired man leave the room but not close enough to disturb him should they raise their voices.

Like he felt like doing now. He almost couldn’t believe that there was someone out there that had the nerve to write a letter like the one sitting in front of him after doing what had been done to Harry. Almost couldn’t believe it and then he would think of what he had seen when the Dark Lord was in power and he could. He had seen what people were capable of when they were angry enough or crazy enough to do something so horrible it boggled the mind. And he had already seen the evidence of what this particular man was capable of.

“Do you think he will find Harry here?” the blond finally asked, breaking the tense silence abruptly and making two sets of eyes slide up to meet his own. The desire to find the man who had written this letter and flay him until there was nothing left welled up within Draco again, hot and choking. It would be so easy, too. Though he had never killed once in his life, even when he had orders to do so, he did not think he would have any trouble being the one to end Alex’s life. As a matter of fact, he would think of Harry’s terror stricken eyes, once so bright and alive, and he would laugh as Alex’s blood ran down his arms. Pansy tapped a neat, rounded nail against the table briefly, stirring him from crimson-tinted thoughts of murder and uncertainty flickered over her face.

“I think he’s just crazy and obsessed enough to try,” she answered, voice slow. “He works as an Unspeakable so who knows what kind of magic he has at his disposal. Besides, he already knows the main Aguilar household is right outside of Madrid. Anyone who cares to do a little research knows that. Though this particular location is somewhat removed, it’s still close enough that he could find it with relative ease. As for the wards…” she trailed off and shrugged, now picking uneasily at the nail she had been tapping, “He dated Harry long enough to pick up things about wards and the ones on this house not as strong as they could be.” She exchanged a quick look with her husband, whose face was dark with some unreadable expression and who remained silent, though he picked up Pansy’s hand and curled his fingers around it. It was a gesture of comfort and familiarity and it made jealousy prickle at the back of Draco’s throat.

“What about a Fidelius?” he ventured, the suggestion seeming like an obvious choice to him but Miguel was already shaking his head, dark curls brushing against his shoulders to rasp against the expensive material of his robes.

“I would have done so long ago, if I could. But the house belongs to my family, to the bloodlines and thus I cannot do anything to it that would bar the Lord Aguilar, my oldest brother, or any of his heirs from the property.” He sounded a little bitter about it as he spoke and Draco found himself staring at him, a little aghast. He had heard of such a practice before, something the older pureblood families did when they had more than one heir. It was a practice of control and manipulation and was rarely done anymore mainly because any younger siblings would simply get homes of their own. Of course, there had been a way to control that too, namely disownment but, again, that wasn’t something that was practiced anymore. So it was surprising that Miguel’s family did; Draco found he had very little respect for such a family, who clung to the old ways so hard they still kept traditions that squashed the freedom out of any family members that were deemed less.

He wondered, though, how many tasteless traditions the Malfoys had hung on to before his father had been made head of the family. For all his faults, Lucius had had enough sense to shun the more archaic pureblood traditions because they were frowned upon by the rest of the wizarding world and he needed to have as much positive influence as he could possibly garner. Anything that could tarnish his political standing and make people doubt his intentions was done away with. Unfortunately for him, though, Lucius had always been enamoured with Dark Magic and while that could be hidden much better than familial practices, it was still the source of his downfall.

“Harry and this man can never meet again,” he said at length, his tone so sharp it made his childhood friend sit back and for her husband to narrow his eyes. He hadn’t meant it to sound so vehement and he was only stating the obvious but if Harry wasn’t safe here, in an entirely different country and hidden in a private manor, then just where would he be safe?

“We know that, Draco.” Pansy’s voice was soothing on the surface but there was an underlying helplessness evident in her words that he hated to hear. Her eyes darted to the side, something she did when she wanted to say something she wasn’t sure she should but was going to say anyway. Then she took a deep breath and looked right at him. “Which is why I think it’s best if you take him to the Manor with you.”

Draco couldn’t help it. His jaw fell open, a protest leaping up his throat. Miguel, too, turned to Pansy and hissed something harsh in denial. But she didn’t waver, her eyes steady upon the blond and he really had no idea what to say in response. It didn’t even occur to him to take Harry to his own home, for many reasons.

For one, Harry would no doubt not wish to set foot anywhere near Malfoy Manor, both because of the trauma he had so recently suffered and because of older memories that had been created in that house. Draco would not blame him for that and did not think he could drag the dark haired man there against his will. A familiar feeling of desperation began to claw up his throat and he swallowed it down with difficulty. He had always wanted Harry in his life, would have taken him just about any way he could get him, barring force. But he didn’t think bringing Harry to the Manor was the best idea.

“Pans, he’s not going agree to that and you know it.” He hated how his voice held a note of desolation he was unable to mask under his normally steadfast cool exterior and it earned him a searching look from Miguel and a knowing one from Pansy. If Harry was in his home, he didn’t think he would be able to keep his secret for very long; he would want to tell the man everything, would want to confess and lift the weight that had been pressing upon his chest ever since he was eleven. A weight that Harry would surely not accept. Draco knew this and would drive himself mad for wanting. It would be right in front of him, the one thing he had wanted most for so very long and even layers and layers of ice could be eroded by longing.

“It doesn’t matter right now,” Pansy was saying, breaking into his harried thoughts and drawing his reluctant gaze. “He’s in need of physical and mental healing and he can’t get that in a place that is vulnerable to an attack by the very person we are seeking to keep him from.” Before Draco could react, she was reaching across the table and taking hold of his fingers that felt too cold against her warm touch. Her eyes held his and they offered a familiar kind of comfort, just like they had when he had agonized over this same man in the past, “I know, Draco,” she whispered, “but if Alex finds him, I fear the Harry we all knew will be lost for good.”

The words she spoke were the truth; he knew they were. Draco had seen what Harry had been reduced to and he knew what it was like to be rescued from something, to be given a glimmer of hope only to have that shining door slammed in his face again. Draco could not do that to him, could not chance that kind of pain on anyone, let alone Harry. Still, having the man there, in his home with him, seeing the blond’s own miserable existence and loneliness; it would be…difficult seemed too mild a word. When the silence seemed to gather dust around them, he scratched his fingernails against the surface of the table and bowed his head. He didn’t want it and yet he did, so very much, and he knew his mind had already been made up the moment it had been suggested.

“Yes, alright,” he finally murmured through the curtain of his hair.

When he looked up again, the relief in Pansy’s eyes looked oddly like victory.



Three:

The grounds of Malfoy Manor glittered serenely under a thick layer of fresh snow, which must have fallen while he was away. It softened the stark landscape and muffled its harsh edges, making Draco pause while walking past the large, looming windows in the east wing’s second story corridor. There, by that big oak tree, he had built his first snowman when he was five under the enthusiastic supervision of his mother and there, where the snow looked a little flatter, was the buried fish pond upon which his father had taught him how to ice skate. In the stark loneliness brought on by the silent winter days, he was reminded of them more forcefully than usual and even now, as he stood very still before the chilly window, he could see their ghosts, gliding above the snow, smiling and waving to him. He could hear them calling his name, asking him to join them.

If only I could, you know I would. His mother’s smile had always reminded him of sunrises and her laugh was that of the summer breeze. He was not surprised that today of all days he would see them more clearly. His mother had always loved freshly fallen snow and his father had loved her happy. It was on days like this that they were anchored more securely in the living world; they weren’t always around but when they were, he felt just a little less isolated.

‘Draco...the snow is beautiful today…come play with me.” He smiled and reached out to splay his open hand upon the glass, hard and cold under his palm. The echo of her words hummed through his memory so warm and rich, like they had been in the past, when she was alive. “Come out and play with me!” She would laugh, her refined features relaxing into a happy, excited grin. She would have on her winter robes, a full, fur-lined cloak and red mittens he had gotten her for Christmas when he was eight. And she would just look so happy. As he looked down at the ethereal figures upon the snow-covered lawn, he wondered when the smile on her ghost had gotten so hazy. He couldn’t even make out the colour of her eyes anymore. Hadn’t they been blue, like a calm afternoon sky? The hue of them had been lost over time and for a moment he suddenly couldn’t breathe for the loss.

I can’t. You aren’t my mother; you are just a shadow. His heart ached at the knowledge but in a familiar way, the same way it did every time he tried to turn away from the insubstantial forms that had been haunting him for nearly three years. Sometimes he was unable to. Sometimes he would answer them, listen to them rather than turn away. It didn’t matter either way; the pain was the same every time. What was worse was that they weren’t proper ghosts, not like the Bloody Baron or Nearly Headless Nick. They couldn’t be seen by anyone else because they were made from his own grief and loneliness. He knew this and yet…

Come…come, Draco…the snow...come play with me, my darling…it was alluring, the voice, just like how he remembered it and it amazed him at times that he had not yet given in and tried to join his parents. Three years was a long time to be alone with nothing but one’s ghosts. He had thought about it often enough, about how easy it would be. And then he would think of blazing green eyes and how they looked when they told him not to give up. Now he could look down at the shining snow and the figures of his parents that were not real and he only felt sad. The glass around his skin had begun to mist from the heat of his body and he could almost smile when he answered.

“Another time, Mother,” he breathed. “Remember that green eyed boy? He’s here and he needs someone now…I intend to be that someone. I must stay here.” It felt odd to say the words aloud, even though they had been burning in his mind for a few days. Like they carried more weight, became almost a promise, if not directly to Harry then to himself. His ghosts couldn’t hear him, of course. They never responded to his spoken words even when he tried to have conversations with them. They merely uttered phrases that he knew he had heard them say while they were alive. Still, it felt good to say this aloud and he turned to look down the hall at the door behind which Harry now resided. A man who had his own ghosts, ones that were tormenting him more solidly than Draco’s ever had. To himself he whispered, “He’s here…” though the words were no less believable now than they had been when he had first uttered them three days ago.

* * *

Predictably, getting Harry to the Manor was a trial in patience and persuasion. And perhaps a little Slytherin cunning, a trait he was happy to note he had not lost. After the conversation he’d had with Pansy and her husband at the big, empty table, he had tried to come up with ways of breaking the news to Harry, preparing little speeches in his head while pacing the floor in the rooms he had been given for however long he would need to stay. They were right next to Harry’s rooms and every once in a while he would pause and stare at the wall, as if he could see through it to the sleeping figure just on the other side. Of course, he could give the man no choice but to go back to the Manor with him, but he suspected that Harry was given nothing but ultimatums for who knows how long and he discarded that possibility immediately. There was the option of telling the dark haired man exactly why they couldn’t stay in Spain but again, he didn’t know if he should remind the other man about Alex, afraid of what his reaction might be.

“Fuck it,” he had announced to the room at one point, pushing his hair from his face and glaring at the wall again. “You’re coming with me, Potter, and that is final!” and then he had collapsed onto the huge, elegant bed, his laughter sounding just this side of sane. Stars had appeared before his eyes as he pressed his fingers hard against his eyelids and he had suddenly realized he felt something more than desolation for the first time in years. The moment Pansy had shown him that newspaper article his emotions had been stirring, as if emerging from atrophy. They were sluggish and still somewhat muted but they were real.

When he had lowered his hands to the bed, eyes blinking away lingering pressure spots, another emotion was pressing against him, making him feel lighter, making him feel almost alive again; determination. This was his battle and this time, he would win. Not just for the sake of winning but for what he hoped he would win at the end.

Harry didn’t sleep as long as Draco had thought he would, waking as soon as the potion wore off and looking like he’d not slept at all. The alarm had chimed softly from the next room only four hours after the blond lay back on the large, welcoming bed and he was on his feet before he was even really awake, feeling dizzy and disoriented. He hadn’t even realized he had dozed off, thoughts of convincing Harry to come with him and what it would be like to have the man in his home circling endlessly in his mind. As he moved through the guest suite and out into the hall, he tried to shake the fuzziness from behind his eyes with little success.

Which was probably why he handled his next meeting with Harry with less poise than he would have liked.

The man was standing outside the bedroom door when Draco stepped into the darkened sitting room, looking like death warmed over and his eyes nearly black as they dominated his face. The sight made him take a sharp breath of surprise because Harry looked like a wraith, almost as if he had just stepped out of a nightmare. It took the blond a moment to realize he probably had. And he just stared at Draco from across the room, lips bloodless and eyes so lacking in expression it almost hurt to look at him. Thankfully, Pansy’s arrival, followed by a worried house-elf, at that moment stopped him from sweeping across the room and doing something stupid like throwing his arms around the bony shoulders in hopes of putting a more human expression on Harry’s face.

If she was concerned about Harry’s appearance, she didn’t remark upon it, simply bustling up to him and steering him to a nearby chair as if she was worried he would fall over. Perhaps he would, since he barely looked strong enough to blink. She fussed over him, her voice low and soothing and Harry let her, though his expression remained slate-like. He accepted the throw she tucked around him and even managed a wooden smile when she smoothed his dark, wild curls back from his face. Though clearly uncomfortable with the gentle touch, he seemed to relax slowly, as if this was not the first time this had happened. His comfort in her presence made Draco feel like he was an outsider looking in on something he shouldn’t be seeing and he turned away, trying to ignore the burning at the back of his throat.

He let her comfort Harry and instead walked to where he had left the potions he’d asked for, more to keep himself occupied than anything else. It wasn’t Pansy’s fault that he couldn’t get close to the dark haired man, couldn’t be the one gently soothing him, tugging at his dishevelled clothes and making him smile that small, reluctant smile. She wasn’t to blame but he almost wished she was because that would be so much simpler. Instead he had to force his way through years of mistrust and now fear someone else had driven into Harry and Draco wasn’t entirely confident he would succeed, regardless of his previous determination to make this work.

He’d been shaken from his thoughts by Harry’s soft, rough voice saying something he didn’t quite catch and he made himself step over to the chair, holding a potion bottle in his hand. The green eyes flashed to him as soon as he moved and they didn’t let him go when he stopped beside the chair, holding out the small phial of greenish potion. Pansy too had fallen silent as Harry eyed the blond and his potion bottle distrustfully. It almost made Draco smile because the expression was nearly familiar.

“It’s just a physical relaxant. It’s like a Calming Draught only not as potent and it relaxes the body, not the mind. It’s perfectly safe.” That emerald gaze remained on his face as he spoke, the depths of it unfathomable but Harry took the potion from Draco’s hand after a long moment, face slightly scrunched. It seemed as if he wanted to trust but was having a difficult time forcing himself past whatever trauma had made him terrified of unidentified potions in the first place. The blond watched him drink it down with some satisfaction, though there was a moment when Harry gagged afterwards and not from the taste because this particular potion was heavily flavoured with mint.

Harry’s fingers were distressingly warm when they touched upon his own and it was all he could do not to jerk his hand back like he’d been burned. Alarmed, he unthinkingly reached down to touch the man’s forehead, only to pull up short when Harry jerked in his seat and nearly scrambled over the arm of the chair to get away.

“Don’t touch me!” the dark haired man hissed, clinging to the chair arm like it was a lifeline, the fear and sharp warning in his voice cutting like a blade. Startled, Draco straightened, scolding himself in the privacy of his own mind for being ten types of fool. Pansy took a breath, as if to say something but he spoke up first, drawing his mantle of ice around himself as best he could.

“I apologize. I am worried you might have a fever and I did not think.” His voice sounded so detached he wondered how it didn’t break in midair. Yet it helped to ease the defensive fire in the other man’s eyes somewhat. Accidental touches were acceptable, if not comfortable but touches with intent were not, “Perhaps if you would allow Pansy to check?” Harry eyed him for a moment before nodding slowly, hair sliding into his face so that it brushed against the bridge of his nose. Even like this, he was beautiful.

Pansy’s hand looked dark against Harry’s pale skin and he envied it, his own palm tingling.

“He does feel rather warm.” Her voice was low with concern and Draco wasted no time summoning another one of the potions, this one a fiery red that he knew tasted and burned like hot cinnamon. Instead of handing it to the dark haired man this time, he slipped it into Pansy’s slim hand, not wishing to distress Harry further. This was hard enough without mucking it up completely by being careless.

“It’s just a fever reducer, Potter,” he said when this potion was given the same hateful look the last one had gotten and he wondered if his voice sounded as weary as he suddenly felt. Merlin, it was difficult to have to monitor his every move, not to say the wrong thing, always make sure he moved with deliberation and did not come close enough to the other man to touch him. Things he would have done automatically he would have to train himself to think of before he acted, or he would lose whatever semblance of trust he might have had; which wasn’t really all that much.

Not until he was sure Harry wasn’t burning with fever and they were all sitting around a merry fire Piddy had stoked to life in the large hearth did they venture to bring up the subject of bringing Harry to Malfoy Manor.

“No.” The dark head shook fiercely before Pansy had even finished trying to explain. As soon as he had heard the words “move” and “Malfoy Manor” his defences had snapped up, stronger than Draco had ever seen them. “No, no, not there,” and all at once he was hugging himself and looking lost, staring at his knees while his head never once stopped swinging back and forth. The blond shared a quick look with his childhood friend and he wished they had discussed ways to approach this before stumbling blindly into it.

“Harry,” she said gently, reaching over to touch his knee, making him jerk and turn his head away, “if there was any other option, you know we would take it.” But his head never stopped moving, back and forth, a little bit like a person that had been hit with a Confundo. Draco could see from where he perched in his chair the blunt nails digging into Harry’s arms, the tips of them white with strain and he winced in sympathy. “It’ll be fine.” Another sharp shake of the dark head.

“No! No, I can’t!” The last word came out as a broken yell, the emerald gaze glittering with fear. The thin shoulders were shaking so badly now, it was a wonder they couldn’t hear his bones clacking together. Such overwhelming sympathy surged up within Draco, he thought he would drown in it. The blond had suspected this was how it would go but it didn’t make it any easier to bear. Alex had done more than just break this man’s courage and instil so much fear in him that he could barely function. He had broken the very essence of Harry.

Then Harry, as if sensing his refusals would be met with more opposition, gasped softly behind his hands and then proceeded to climb shakily from his chair so that he could crawl to where Pansy sat. His hands gripped the bottom of her yellow skirt so tightly, his knuckles went white.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped, eyes so wide and beseeching the blond could almost hear the cracking of both his own and Pansy’s hearts. “I’m sorry if I’ve done something wrong. I won’t try to presume again. But…” he bowed his head and his voice was thick with fear, “Please don’t send me away…” for a moment Pansy gaped down at the dark, wild curls before her eyes filled with tears and she threw her arms around Harry’s neck, not even noticing when he flinched at the sudden contact.

“Oh, Harry…I want nothing more than for you to stay here with me...” Draco could hear her choking on her emotions and he averted his eyes, wondering if the hand around his own heart would ever release its stranglehold, “but it’s not safe for you here, darling.” The slender back trembled and he could see the dark curls catching on the expensive fabric of Pansy’s blouse. Back and forth Harry shook his head, sharp, jerky motions that almost looked painful. At first the blond thought the other man had simply slipped into silent denial but then he realized soft words were being muttered brokenly against rich yellow fabric.

“…be really quiet…I won’t be a bother…I’ll be good. I’ll be good,” over and over, like he had been thinking the words all along and he could no longer keep them to himself. It hurt to hear them. He was like a little child who was afraid of punishment promising the world if he could just have this one thing he wanted. It hurt so much Draco actually pressed his fingertips to his chest, almost afraid to find it was no longer intact. Pansy was trying to halt the distressed stream of words to no avail, voice like the soothing flow of clear water, her elegant, red-tipped fingers easing over flyaway curls. Then their eyes met over that dark head and the blond just couldn’t listen anymore.

Without thinking past the initial action, he pulled the letter from Harry’s ex-lover out of the worn pocket in his jeans where he had shoved it earlier and bent to lay it upon the dark haired man’s lap. It was probably not the best plan ever, he would admit; surely there were other ways to make the man come around to realizing that taking him to the Manor wasn’t nearly as horrible as he seemed to think it was. At the moment, however, the blond just couldn’t watch that horrid pleading. An attack of petrifying fear would be better. Pansy saw him and she drew in a sharp breath, her protest almost visible on her tongue. Yet when he shook his head and crossed his arms tightly over his chest, expression icy, she paused.

“No, Pans,” he said over the top of Harry’s weaving head, “he should know,” and he should. It would be crueler to hide things from Harry and let him find out about it later, breaking whatever trust he might have built up by then. Draco’s voice seemed to act like an electric current, making Harry jerk as if in his distress he had forgotten about the other people in the room. The unruly head lifted from where it had been buried against soft, buttery fabric and the green eyes were shaded with confusion.

“Should know?” he parroted, blinking up at the blond. There was a second where the weakened, broken man in front of him was replaced with an image of another Harry, stronger, eyes flashing as he asked “What should I know?” like he would have if he wasn’t crouched on the floor and whimpering like a small child. The Harry that he should be, his mind supplied. The Harry he will be again, he returned. Draco let his features soften, enough not to procure anymore mistrust from the other man and nodded to the letter lying dejectedly across the other man’s knees.

“The reason why we need to bring you to the Manor. Read the letter, Potter.” The pale lips trembled a little as he glanced down at the parchment slowly beginning to slide from his knees to the floor. His hand, however, was steady as he picked it up. Pansy made a soft noise in the back of her throat and she moved suddenly, as if to snatch back the parchment before the dark haired man could read it, making Harry flinch.

“Don’t…” she started but it was too late anyway because the other man brought the page closer to his face and was reading the blocky handwriting. Too late, perhaps, said the lines of concern on Pansy’s face but Draco knew it was better this way. The dark haired man would never be able to heal if he wasn’t faced with the entire truth. He needed to know the depths of cruelty that lingered in Alex’s mind, the reality of the obsession the man had for Harry. Not just the abuse and neglect but the rest of it too.

The emerald gaze swept the page and for a moment Draco almost thought that it might be okay. He thought that maybe the other man wasn’t as shattered as he kept displaying. Just for a moment. Slowly, however, the vivid eyes grew wider and his breathing became stilted. The parchment in his hand shook so hard, it filled the room with the sound of crinkling flaps. He could see stark terror misting behind Harry’s eyes, turning his skin even whiter despite how pale he was already and making his teeth click as they chattered.

Clearly, he was headed towards another panic attack.

“C-coming…coming for me…he’s…” his bloodless lips merely formed the words, his voice so weak it added no sound to back up the movements. A tear tacked down his cheek, silent, completely unnoticed and Draco reached for his wand, quietly summoning another Calming Draught. Pansy was on her knees now, reaching for Harry who mindlessly struggled away from her, face perfectly blank. Yet, instead of a breakdown, like he was expecting, the green eyes cut to the blond where he was poised to intervene, sharper than they had been since Draco had arrived, “He can’t find me,” the dark haired man said clearly, with so much strength and conviction it brought both of the former Slytherins up short. “I can’t let him find me, he can’t. Not again…not again.” At the end, the flare of life in his eyes dwindled back into fear but his hand was reaching out, as if he was looking for something to lean on even though he was already sitting.

So Draco took it, letting himself be what Harry leaned against.

Crouching down in front of the other man, he was close enough to smell him, deep and musky and wonderful, and he met the dark, troubled gaze as directly as he could. So much green, he thought in wonder, and it was such a rich, bright colour. Swallowing, he held that slender hand tightly in his own and his heart soared when the dark haired man didn’t pull away.

“He won’t,” Draco stated like it was an already known fact, voice hard as steel. “He won’t be allowed go anywhere near you. Ever. Again. I promise, I will see that he is de—locked up forever before he can come near you, if that means I must die to see it done.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realized what he must sound like and could feel a deep blush working its way up his neck under his skin. Every word was true, of course, and he had no intention of taking them back. Still, it revealed more than he wished and he wasn’t prepared for the fallout should Harry refuse him. Clearing his throat, he hedged around the gaping hole his statement had made, “That is why we think it is best you come back to Wiltshire with me. It is secure there and you were never connected with me. Pansy will surely help me put the Manor under Fidelius. If you would like, you can even be the Secret Keeper.” His words sounded a little rushed and he quickly shut his mouth before more reassurances could spill forth.

Harry had sat back on his heels, staring at Draco with parted lips that no longer trembled and an expression that was wiped clean with shock. Behind him, the blond could see Pansy’s raised eyebrows and the little smile she was unsuccessfully trying to hide behind her dainty fingers. Damn her for looking all smug and knowing. Draco shot her a quick glare and received a slow rise of one shoulder. When he looked back at Harry, he drank in the other man’s expression, so open and unclouded that he thought he needed to memorize it for fear he would never see its like again. Then the dark head ducked, wild curls obscuring most of Harry’s face and sliding over his shoulder to brush his collar.

The place where their palms were connected burned.

“Can I trust you?” It was such a small question, uttered in such a small voice and yet, it was the most monumental four words he had yet to face. Harry’s head lifted and the tears that had dampened that expressive green gaze had fallen, leaving wet tracks down his skin and making the emerald of his eyes shine. Draco felt like he had been slammed in the chest with a strong Stunner and it took him a moment to coax his voice out of the vice that was his throat.

“Yes,” he croaked weakly, “you can trust me, Harry,” and he spoke nothing less than the truth. Slowly, the other man nodded, looking incredibly exhausted and finally unravelled his fingers from Draco’s. The blond flexed his hand and pretended it didn’t suddenly feel so cold or lonely.

“Thank you,” the dark haired man whispered and then a slow, shaky smile curled on his pale lips. “Do you think I can have some more of that Dreamless Sleep?”

It wasn’t until much later that Draco realized that was the second time he had called Harry by his given name.

* * *

After that, a couple house-elves were sent over to the Manor as soon as Draco had bustled Harry back to bed so they could clean it up some. The east wing had been given to him the day he turned sixteen by his parents but it was much too big for one single person and he had turned half the rooms over to his newly acquired houseguest. Unfortunately, the rooms had been kept about as well as the rest of the house, which made the house-elves necessary. The only thing he made sure of was they touch none of the rooms he had wrecked; those were to be locked up and left as they were. He didn’t know why but the evidence of his own grief was oddly comforting, like the presence of those broken rooms showed him that there was a place his grief could go without him exploding from it.

They stayed at the Aguilar estate house long enough for Harry to sleep off the potion again and to get the Floo at the Manor up and running. It had been disengaged ever since his sentence had first been administered and he never really needed it anyway. Before, Pansy had Apparated them both to a small wizarding pub he didn’t recognize somewhere in Knockturn Alley where their presence wouldn’t be remarked upon so that they could Floo to Spain. But they couldn’t risk Flooing to a public place with Harry in case he was recognized. They needed a direct route to Draco’s house and that meant they needed the Floo network up and running. Especially since he technically wasn’t supposed to leave England at all: mandate of his probation.

“The only place you can Floo to and from will be my house,” Pansy had reassured him when he had voiced his concern about the potential insecurity, “and it can be locked by an individual’s magical signature, so only myself and Miguel will be able to use it,” which was a huge reassurance, truth be told. Though the Manor was to be secured under Fidelius, he still felt better with any extra precautions that he could get. Plus, he thought with no small amount of glee, not only would it keep Alex from finding Harry, it would also help with the unannounced visits from the Ministry. There was no stipulation in his probation that said he could not make his house Unplottable, if only because it was assumed, with the spell restriction he had on his wand, he simply couldn’t do magic for it.

True to Draco’s suggestion, Harry became the Manor’s Secret Keeper, which seemed to warm him to the idea of staying there, if only a little bit. He was still very quiet and was given to bouts of panic that would have to be subdued with a gentle cheering charm and a Calming Draught. Though Draco wasn’t fond of giving him so many potions, it was better than the man delving into full-blown anxiety attacks that would result in hyperventilation and could even have him passing out. On top of everything else, Harry didn’t need to be collapsing from fear. Sometimes it was a battle to get Harry to swallow the potions. Sometimes he vomited them back up again. It was frustrating and more than a little terrifying. And he only trusted the blond on the surface. Draco was under no illusions that Harry’s trust went any further than being sure the blond wouldn’t hurt him. Not physically anyway.

Harry said nothing when Pansy preceded him through the fireplace and still nothing when Draco followed him through to his parlour. His eyes were still, like dark pools untouched in forgotten forest glades and he kept his head down, as if he was afraid of being noticed. As a matter of fact, if he wasn’t the sole reason why they were all together at the Manor in the first place, he would very nearly have been successfully overlooked. It was uncanny. Even when every single one of Draco’s thoughts were occupied by Harry, Harry’s green eyes, his thick, black hair, his smile, even when it was wavering and fleeting, still so beautiful, the man nearly managed invisibility while standing only a couple of feet away.

Draco took note of it but refrained from remarking upon it. At least for the moment.

The Manor had been cleaned so thoroughly by Pansy’s team of borrowed house-elves that as they walked through the corridors, he barely even recognized it. Gone were the cobwebs in the corners of the high, sweeping ceilings, the dust swept off the floors and removed from the furniture. The glass of the windows and the wall sconces once again gleamed and any silver or brass in evidence had been polished until they nearly gave off their own light. It almost looked like the way it had when he was a child, before his parents were killed and before a Dark Lord had taken up residence within its walls. The sight of it made his stomach clench painfully. The accumulation of dust and grime had kept the harsher memories at bay simply by being different than how it used to be. He liked it that way; now he had to look at a house that was very near to what it had been in its days of glory and it hurt to see it again.

If only he could have requested that the east wing be cleaned up but the rest of the house remain untouched. Only Pansy and her husband could tell the house-elves to do something, though and he had no wish to explain why he didn’t want the rest of the house cleaned as well. It would be harder to ignore the ghosts now. He could already feel them, shimmering at the edges of his awareness, waiting for him to step around the corner. It was hard to pretend even as he showed Harry and Pansy through the house and was grateful for her as she airily spoke of good times they’d had as children in the rooms they walked past.

Still Harry said nothing and hid his face behind his wild hair.

The rooms were quiet and neat and filled with afternoon light. Draco allowed himself to be quietly impressed with how well the house elves had done their job. Because he had neglected them for the past couple years, they had been filled with dust, cobwebs and smelled like stale air. But when he opened the door and stepped into the small drawing room, everything was crisp and fresh again. He felt like he had stepped into the past for a moment and couldn’t help but smile when Pansy voiced his thoughts a moment later. These would be Harry’s rooms for his stay and the blond was happy to see that no dark shadows lingered in the corners of the room. If Harry was surrounded by light, then perhaps it would be just a little easier not to dwell on the darkness of his past.

Of course, they couldn’t expect miracles and even though he was told several times as Draco bustled them through the rooms that they would belong to the dark haired man for however long he wished, Harry simply remained standing near the doorway of the sitting room. It wasn’t until he was expressly invited to look around did he drag his feet and obligingly enter the rest of the rooms, not even peeking up through his hair to take a look. It was just a little bit worrying that he was taking no interest in his surroundings but the worst thing to do would have been to push. So Draco let the man wander off once he had finished showing them around, watching sadly as Harry curled up on the window seat in his newly appointed bedroom and proceeded to stare listlessly out the window.

He was grateful when Pansy dragged him from the room and out of earshot because his heart felt like it was cracking apart.

“I know I asked a lot from you, but thank you.” Her fingers dug into his arm where she held it and the blond covered her fingers with his hand, hearing the raw gratitude in her voice. One day, he thought, he would ask her about the full story of how she and Harry had become such good friends, and what had happened to the ones he used to have.

“You know you don’t need to thank me,” he answered softly, squeezing her fingers once before letting go, “I just hope that I can live up to be half the Healer you are making me to be,” especially since I have no formal training, though he didn’t voice the last concern aloud. When it came to Healing, at least, he did know what he was doing, regardless of the fact that he had taught himself. Whether he could execute that knowledge with skill still remained to be seen. She returned his doubtful words with a smile, one he had seen often when they were alone together in the common room late at night and the masks of distain they needed to wear in front of their Housemates could be dropped for a time.

“What Harry really needs right now is love,” she said softly and he felt his face heat. “If nothing else, I know you can give him that.” Draco ducked his head but couldn’t deny it. After all, it was only the truth. Even if his Healing skills fell flat, the blond would do anything for Harry; would have done even when he was eleven. It had not changed now that they were twenty. Pansy had seen the acceptance on his face and patted his shoulder gently. “Good man. Now, I have two things to give you.” She reached into her little handbag that was undoubtedly all the rage in Paris at the moment and pulled out an unfamiliar wand.

“This is a spare wand I keep just in case something happens to the one I have now. I know it won’t work as well as your own but seeing as you might need to cast something stronger than a few heating charms, I think you have more need of it than I.” She handed it to him and Draco took it carefully, shocked at the incredible gift he knew he was being given. It was long and slender, more so than his own, its wood a very light strip of birch. His friend was smiling at the bewildered look on his face. “It’s birch and a thread of fairy-spun gold. If nothing else, it will surely bring a bit of luck,” and she gave a low, tinkling laugh when he gave his wrist a little turn so that silvery sparks flew from the end. It was light in his hand and it felt friendly, as if it could sense his need of it and that it had been given as a gift. When he met the dark eyes of his childhood friend, he had to swallow past a lump that had formed in his throat.

“Thank you, Pans,” he breathed, pulling her in for a one-armed hug, “thank you so much.” She clasped him back for a long moment before pushing him away and clearing her throat, fussing with her sleek waves as if he had mussed them. Her eyes were suspiciously bright.

“You’re welcome, love. Which leads me to the second thing.” Composed again, she grinned, clearly proud of herself. Draco felt a stab of intrigue. “As you know, every pureblood family has young house-elves born every year which they can either keep to be trained for their own household or can sell, should they have no need of them.” Draco nodded, knowing all of this already, having learned all the pureblood traditions and politics at a very young age. “I’m sure you also know that house-elves are only bound to a family once they are fully trained and can begin their service.” She peered at him through the sweep of her dark fringe and the blond lifted one eyebrow.

“Yes, Pansy, I am aware of this. What does that have to do with anything?” She fretted at the folds of her skirt and cleared her throat, something he knew she only did when she was trying to suppress excitement.

“It means that there are always house-elves in a pureblood residence that are not bound to any one family and you are in need of at least two.” Draco felt his heart skip a beat, for surely he had heard her wrong. Her bright grin proved otherwise. “I talked to Miguel and he agreed that with Harry here, you are in need of some help. As I can’t stay all the time, I am giving you three house-elves that will be bound to you and will become yours.” The blond stared at her for a good long minute, even more shocked than he had been when she had given him the wand now clutched tightly in his fist before all of his breath left him in a rushed, wordless exclamation.

Instead of a hug, he flung his arms around Pansy’s waist and twirled her around, not caring when he got a mouthful of her hair, which tasted like fruity-scented hair potions. She laughed brightly and smacked him on the back weakly, her protests more for show than anything else. And Draco was overcome with relief. In a rush, he understood that he wasn’t alone anymore. Maybe it had been for Harry’s sake that Pansy came back into his life, but now, with not only her but Harry and the promise of regaining a little of what he used to have when he was younger, he didn’t mind. Even after he had stopped spinning her, Pansy kept her arms curled around his shoulders and he relished the warm contact of another human holding him.

“I will send the house-elves over next week, when their training is complete,” she said briskly when they broke apart and Draco knew he should try to thank her again, though surely words couldn’t express the depth of his gratitude. “Until then, I will come every day.” She reached out and pressed her palm to his cheek, eyes filled with regret and affection. “I should never have left you, Draco. Not a day goes by that I am not sorry for that,” she whispered and he believed her. Maybe one day, he could forgive it too.

When she left, he walked back to the doorway of the bedroom and watched Harry sit quietly on the window seat until the sun dropped from the sky.

* * *

That was three days ago and Draco was beginning to worry over Harry’s silence and unresponsiveness.

In the mornings, the Manor was always full of bright, unyielding light, silvery now in the winter months, and he thought he could almost feel its warmth as he walked down the corridor to Harry’s room. In front of him hovered a breakfast tray with a bowl of mixed fruit Pansy had brought for him and which he had cut into little chunks. There was a glass of orange juice and a cup of tea that steamed and was fixed how Harry preferred. There was also a plate stacked with toast, a pot of butter, jam and marmalade (a favourite of the other man’s he had noticed, though Draco didn’t know how he could abide the stuff). Next to it was another plate with a few links of sausages and two eggs, which he didn’t expect Harry to be able to finish but hoped that he would at least try some. And to the side was an empty bowl and a box of Muggle cereal. The blond had bought it the last time he had gone shopping only because he had been amused by the strange grinning tiger on the front sticking its thumb in the air. He hadn’t tried it yet but he hoped that Harry might like it.

The rooms where still cloaked in soft, grey shadows, as the shades were all still drawn but when he knocked on the door that lead to the other man’s bedroom, Harry was already sitting up in bed, looking small amid the copious amounts of rumpled covers. The green gaze darted to Draco as he stepped into the room before ducking away again, hiding away in a far corner of the room. Undeterred, as this was Harry’s normal behaviour now, the blond smiled at him and settled the tray on the nightstand beside the bed before spelling the curtains open.

“Good morning,” he said brightly as light flooded the room, illuminating the dark circles under the other man’s eyes and the empty phial of Dreamless Sleep he had left for Harry the night before. He didn’t let his worry show as he moved the tray to Harry’s lap, like he did every morning, then sat in the chair he had moved to the side of the bed. He had to stay and make sure the other man actually ate because left to himself, he wouldn’t. It was like eating was a chore he didn’t have the energy for or even forgot to do, like he didn’t even care what happened if he stopped eating altogether. The last couple mornings, Draco had brought oatmeal with honey and cream and a plate of toast but now that he had been forcing Harry to regular meals, he should be able to start eating food richer in protein.

This morning started out the same, with him gently coaxing toast slathered with marmalade and a few bites of eggs and sausages into the dark haired man’s mouth. Draco talked calmly about mundane things, like the weather, which had been unnaturally cold the past couple of days and what he thought he would make for lunch. He had started Harry on a regimen of potions to straighten and fix the bones that had been broken and not set properly and had given him a salve to fade the scars that littered his skin. He still had a problem downing potions but he didn’t fight Draco. The blond wasn’t sure if that was good or not.

Today was the same as the two days that came before until Harry lifted his head from where he was staring intently at the tray in his lap and spoke for the first time in three days.

“I like Frosted Flakes,” he said it in a small voice, so that Draco almost missed it. He would have, if Harry had not spoken during a lapse in the blond’s one-sided conversation. Blinking in surprise, it took him a minute to formulate a reply.

“Frosted whosit?” he asked intelligently, caught completely off guard and was rewarded with a flash of emerald green from under the dark, wild fringe of curls that fell into the other man’s pale face. If he didn’t know better, he would have said Harry was amused. The dark haired man picked up the box and opened it before pouring a little bit of the dry, flaky cereal into the empty bowl. Then he held it out so that Draco could look at the box properly.

“That’s what they’re called. Frosted Flakes,” which Draco knew, because he remembered wondering at the strange name. He reached out and took the box from Harry, who only flinched for a moment, rather than cowering like he had the first day when Draco had moved towards him. He pretended he didn’t notice it but as the other man poured milk into the bowl with the little pale flakes, he danced in his mind.

“But why frosted?” he pondered, peeking into the box and the strange, crinkly wrapping the cereal was kept in. “Are they cold?” The green gaze was watching him closely, amusement clear in the pale features and he wondered if he was showing his ignorance a little too blatantly. Harry simply took a bite from the bowl with the spoon he had used for his tea and for a moment, his features relaxed, making him look young. Not happy, not quite, but he didn’t look quite as haunted.

Intrigued, Draco cautiously reached into the box and took out a couple flakes of cereal, studying it before popping it into his mouth. Now, in his defence, he didn’t usually buy the strange Muggle food at the supermarket when he went shopping. He tended to stick with things he recognized, like fruits, vegetables, meat and sometimes bread. So he didn’t really know about the other boxed or tinned things that sat on the store’s shelves. But he was pleasantly surprised as sweet flavour flooded his mouth when he chewed the flakes. Blinking, he looked back into the box and felt himself grin.

“Oh! But these are good!” and dove in for another handful. And Harry ducked his head and took another hurried bite of his own cereal, but not before Draco heard his soft huff of laughter.

Hearing it was like a victorious tolling of a bell.



Four:

That little laugh carried him through the rest of the day and into the following one. Though he knew better than to hope that Harry would make such breakthroughs every day, it was clear that the tranquil atmosphere of the Manor and Draco’s presence, which he made as easy and as nonthreatening as possible, was doing the dark haired man’s shattered soul some good. He still didn’t say much but now his eyes strayed to the blond’s face when he talked and his wane features didn’t look so pinched. And while Harry was eating better and his colour was slowly starting to improve, he still resembled a puppy that had been kicked too many times and then neglected. Draco knew it would take time for that to go away, if it ever would. Harry had been seriously abused, his trust in people completely shattered and it would be nothing short of a miracle if he ever got that back.

It was strange, Draco found himself reflecting as he cleaned up after lunch in Harry’s room, to have people in the Manor with him again. He had assumed he would continue to be alone until he could somehow manage to take the Healer’s exam so he could get his license. Though he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do after that, he knew that returning to the wizarding world again would be a fight, one he would have to wage alone. But now there was someone who needed his help, whom he needed to help. The Manor was no longer empty and while it was indeed something that took some getting used to, Draco was happy for it.

He no longer only had ghosts to talk to, though the spectres that haunted him did not go away.

It was nice spending time with Harry, even if the other man didn’t speak very much and tended to watch the snowflakes fall slowly from the frozen sky. So used to the quiet as he was, Draco didn’t mind that the other man didn’t fill the space between them with words. Though Pansy was there during the day, sitting with Harry much of the time, her light voice and bubbly laughter brightening the room just a bit, it was Draco who stayed with the dark haired man after she left. He stayed because Harry didn’t like being left alone for too long and because the other man was slowly coming out of his frightened shell and Draco didn’t want to miss the flashes of life that would flare in his emerald eyes. He stayed because, even though he knew it was real, he was so afraid that if he turned his back just for a moment, Harry would disappear and Draco would go back to being alone.

More than that, he stayed because it was Harry.

Harry, who was looking just a little more alive with each sunrise, who was able to sleep a little longer each night, who was so beautiful sometimes Draco could barely tear his eyes away. Harry, who had come looking like a wraith and was now starting to resemble the man he used to be. Harry, with whom Draco fell a little more in love, with every tiny smile, with every bright glance, with every time the dark head tipped in his direction, acknowledged him in any way. It frightened him, the reawakening of the feelings he had been unable to squash when they were still in school but it was inevitable. He could no sooner stop it than thwart a killing curse. Even more terrifying was that he didn’t want to.

He wasn’t afraid because the feelings were new, because they weren’t. He was afraid because in the few years he hadn’t seen the other man, his blazing want had settled some. It didn’t burn so bright he was afraid it would consume him; instead it had smouldered quietly in the corner of his heart where he had assumed it would die eventually. Now…now he could feel it coming back to life, slowly warming like the sun lifting from behind the horizon.

It didn’t help that through the dark vulnerability that cloaked the other man shone little bits and pieces of the Harry he had been before Alex had gotten his hands on him. The bursts of amusement continued, whenever Draco might say something sarcastic, as he was prone to do, or made an offhand remark that he really didn’t mean to say aloud but was glad he did anyway when the green eyes peeked out from behind ebony hair, shining with laughter.

Harry ventured out from the perceived safety of his bedroom the day after the discovery with the flakey Muggle cereal. Draco found him in the sitting room when he brought lunch up, listening to Pansy as she expounded upon one shopping trip to Paris or another. His feet were curled under him and he looked more content then Draco had ever seen him. He had slept almost all the way through the night before and the dark circles under his eyes were fading bit by bit. Though he wasn’t really contributing to the conversation (he didn’t need to, really, as Pansy had both sides of it covered all on her own) he was listening avidly, as if he cared about the three new dresses or the pair of stilettos Pansy had purchased while out of town.

The most important thing in Draco’s mind at that moment, though, was that Harry finally seemed interested, regardless of the topic. After his miserable, frightened apathy, it made the blond’s heart soar with hope.

Two days more and the other man was asking, shyly and with much hesitation at first, if Draco might have a few books he could read or if the blond would play a game of Gobstones with him. “I’m terrible at chess,” he had confessed, playing with the sleeve of the shirt he was wearing, borrowed from Draco’s closet and looking a little big on him, “but I’m not so hopeless at Gobstones.” He didn’t look at the blond as he made his request but there had been a hopeful lilt to his voice that Draco could not bear to let down.

So in the late afternoons, after Pansy had left for the day, he would set up the board on a table in the sitting room and would play until the other man was trying to hide yawns behind his hands. He still had trouble sleeping through the night and sometimes his nightmares were horrible enough, Draco could hear him sobbing through the walls and it would take a dose and a half of a sleeping potion to get him back in bed, so he got tired easily. But they usually finished two or three games until Harry could no longer keep his eyes open. And it never got boring. Not once did Draco’s attention wander or did he wish he was elsewhere. He loved watching Harry’s expressions as he huddled over the board, eyes intense with concentration and full lips pursed. It made the blond wish he could lean over and lick that intent pout away and could smooth his fingers over the dark, drawn brows. Of course, he’d wished he could touch Harry a lot in the last week and had restrained himself every time. The longing, unfortunately, never got any easier to bear.

Harry was telling the truth when he said he wasn’t terrible at the game. In fact, he beat Draco more often than not, much to his amusement. Gobstones was not a game of strategy like chess was. It was an aggressive game, played on a board with brightly coloured squares that made up a twisting road, leading to the “safety” in the middle. There were runes on the stones that dictated how far the player could move but other than that, there weren’t really any rules. It was typical that if you landed on a square another player occupied, the stones, charmed to be animated much like wizard chess, would take form and attack. Many times, they were left breathless with laughter as they tried to get the other player out.

Whether laughing or concentrating on defeating Draco, Harry was beautiful. The blond could watch him all night and never get tired of it. In fact, he often did, staying in the dark haired man’s room until he fell asleep, sometimes reading quietly in the chair beside the bed, and sometimes just watching the rise and fall of the slender chest under the duvet. If Harry minded, he didn’t say anything and still gave Draco a small yet radiant smile the next morning.

When Draco wondered what he had done so well to deserve even just this little bit of joy, he realized he had done nothing at all. Sometimes it felt as if he was simply waiting to see what the catch was, or how long it would last until it was taken from him for good. There had never been happiness in his life that wasn’t taken away from him eventually. And while he knew that Harry was only here because he needed a safe place to stay while he was healed, Draco couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, he might get a second chance at this.

All he wanted was another chance.

* * *

It took a little more than a week for Harry to leave his suite completely.

By then, Pansy had sent Draco the three house-elves she had promised, who turned out to be an invaluable help. Draco hadn’t realized just how much easier the little elves made things by being around; he had forgotten in the time he didn’t have any to rely on. It was okay when it was only himself but he couldn’t leave Harry long enough to walk to the Muggle town and pick up food. Though Pansy did bring necessities with her most days, he felt better when he didn’t have to ask her to pick up a carton of milk for him or more bread for toast. He didn’t want to have to depend on her any more than he already did. She had already given him a wand that he could use without getting in trouble (which actually worked quite well for him, if not as well as his own) and a set of house-elves. He couldn’t take more from her or expect her to continue to take care of him.

The bonding of the house-elves to the Malfoy estate was actually nothing more than a Naming Ritual. Because they remained without names until the moment of their binding to a wizarding family, it was that simple naming that solidified the bond. Of course, it was often times the reason why they had such strange names, though the house-elves themselves didn’t seem to mind.

The three that stood in front of him on the dreary winter day a week after he had brought Harry to the Manor were all young, their great bat-like ears not yet fully grown and their noses little buttons that would grown into their true shape when they reached their eleventh year. He was never quite sure why that was; if it was some sort of coming of age thing or simply house-elf puberty, something he vowed never to contemplate again because the thought was horrifying. Though they were young now, elves matured faster than a human did but lived longer, sometimes serving three generations of a family before passing.

They each looked subtly different, something Draco knew he would not have taken note of when he was younger, when he was…different—ignorant, intolerant, confused, lost—a time of his life he was still trying to move past. A time he was still paying for. The house-elf on the right was smaller than the other two, it’s huge, vibrant green eyes slanted on an angle so that they almost looked feline. He was the calmest of the three as well, looking nearly dour as he accepted the bond. Pansy wove her wand around the little elf and Draco’s right hand as the blond named him Kimble.

The other two he was told were female, sharing the same height but the elf in the middle was fairly vibrating in excitement as she was named, grinning from ear to floppy ear as she received the name of Fern. The last actually wept in gratitude, so happy to be bound to Draco’s home, squeaking and sniffing happily when the gentle purple light wound around their hands. Her name became Jet, for her perchance for wearing black scraps of lace.

Kimble, Fern and Jet became his new team of house-elves and they very quickly became indispensable. They cleaned all the rest of the rooms except for the ones he had closed off, they cooked, they cleaned the paths on the grounds, slowly bringing the Manor back to its former splendour. Not only that but they all seemed to adore Harry, even Kimble who remained dour and mostly silent around Draco. Whenever they brought meals directly to the rooms, their hesitant fondness for the dark haired man would bring a small smile to Harry’s face. Draco wondered if it was because the young house-elves reminded the other man of an old Malfoy elf who died back during the war.

He thought that it was because of them, at least a little bit, that Harry finally worked up the courage to finally venture out of his rooms. Another job of a house-elf, besides serving their appointed wizarding family, is to protect the family, anyone connected intimately with said family, whether it be distant relatives that are close or friends while they are within the house, and the grounds connected. They were another line of defence to keep unwanted visitors out and could use magic wizards had no understanding of to keep their masters and mistresses safe. So on top of the web of wards and Fidelius charm netting the house and property, they were the last line of defence inside the house.

Draco was in the library when Harry slipped out to find him, having left the other man to Pansy’s diverting care. The house-elves had obviously tried to straighten up the large table at which he sat when he studied but to no avail. The blond had never been a neat worker and every time he would end the day with books and scrolls upon which he wrote his notes strewn everywhere. He couldn’t be arsed to clean after himself as he went, being as immersed in his work as he inevitably became.

That day he must had lost track of time. He had discovered a tome hidden away on one of the back shelves on some of the Darkest curses he had ever had the misfortune to come across. The book itself required a drop of his blood to open and he had to wear heavy leather gloves in order to turn the pages, lest the dark poisons leech into his skin. He hated the Dark magic books hiding on the shelves but he read them because in order to heal, one must understand the malady that affected the patient. He knew for a fact many of these spells his own father had used during the war, though thankfully never against innocents.

Reading them made him feel sick and tainted but he read them anyway, never sure when he would come across a spell such as the ones in that book. Sometimes, he was even able to pretend it was not for punishment that he did it.

What he truly was attempting to do, though, was to find counter-curses for them. He would study the spell so he truly understood how it worked, what it did and how, and then he would reverse it, theoretically. It was still on paper but he was slowly working his way through the Dark magic books the Manor held, developing new spells that would dispel the curse. Many of the counter-curses, ironically, were Dark magic as well but in the interest of Healing, it really didn’t matter if it worked.

A soft creak in the doorway of the library stirred him from where his nose was trapped between the pages of the old, menacing book and he expected to find Pansy standing there to tell him she would be back tomorrow. Instead it was Harry who peered through the door and into the gathering gloom of the library. His dark hair looked a fright, if an adorable one, and his green eyes were so wide, he could have passed for one of the house-elves. Surprised and a bit worried, Draco carefully closed the book in front of him.

“Harry. What brings you here?” He thought it was probably best not to bring up how remarkable it was that the other man was standing there at all, instead making it seem like it wasn’t so extraordinary at all. Harry bit at the corner of his plump bottom lip, glancing around the vast room before looking back at the blond.

“I’m…sorry if I’m disturbing you,” he responded softly, plucking at the too-long sleeve of his borrowed shirt. “Pansy had to go home a little earlier and I thought…that is, if you don’t mind…I’d…come find you,” there was that little hopeful lilt at the end of his broken sentence and the blond felt his heart catch a tiny bit in his chest.

“Of course you aren’t bothering me.” Draco reached over and pushed out the chair next to him, a clear invitation for the other man to come join him at the table. “You are welcome to join me whenever you want,” he said it as calmly as he could but in reality, he felt like he was soaring somewhere near the ceiling. Harry was here, braving the Manor outside his rooms and though he looked delicate and jumpy, his eyes still roving around the library and even occasionally behind him into the hallway, the fact remained that he was beginning to press through his fear.

“Um, are you sure? You look busy.” He was plucking at the button on the cuff of his sleeve before continuing to twist the material around his hand. He was still so nervous and uncertain but speaking coherently and there was a victory all of its own.

“Harry, for as long as you are here, this is your home as well. You can go anywhere you please at anytime it suits you,” the blond smiled and gestured towards the chair, “and I wasn’t terribly busy.” He thought it was the smile more than anything else that convinced the dark haired man to shrug his shoulders nervously then slip into the room, quietly closing the door behind him.

Harry practically tip toed across the space and after giving Draco one of those cautious looks from under his curly black fringe, sat in the chair the blond had pushed out for him. He might have bitten his lip the whole time, tugged fretfully at his sleeves and kept his head low upon his shoulders but he still sat. He was still there. He wasn’t running away, wasn’t shivering in terror. There was life once again lending colour to his face, adding depth to his eyes and Draco had to swallow against the lump of relief that threatened to clog his throat.

Most of his notes were still laid out over the table, cluttering its surface and surrounding the thick book that seemed to be drawing the shadows to it. Harry peered cautiously at the table, looking more than a little uneasy as he laid eyes on the Dark tome. Strangely enough, his reaction remained mild so the blond took that as a good thing. Perhaps, when working with wards, he was more familiar with it than anyone might realize but that could have been an assumption on Draco’s part as well.

“Don’t worry, I’m not planning anything nefarious,” he said lightly as the other man continued to eye the book askance and pressed himself against the arm of his chair. Draco had said it with a teasing little smile and it earned him a flash of amused green eyes that held a small hint of relief in their depths. Not that he blamed the dark haired man, as their shared past was less than stellar. Clearing his throat, he reached for one of the scrolls and unfurled it over the clutter in front of them. It was filled with his own meticulous handwriting and charts he had made mapping the magical properties of the spells he had been studying. “Here, I’ll show you.

“This spell is called calx somes, sanus mens. It turns the body to stone from the inside out until it leaves the victim completely immobile. The heart stops, the lungs stop, they can’t eat and eventually waste away,” Draco started, pressing the tip of his index finger to the name of the spell at the top of the scroll. Harry’s lips were parted as he listened, faint lines of disgust marring his forehead. “That in itself is, of course, Dark but what makes this spell special is that the victim is kept aware of their surroundings the whole time. Basically they become trapped in their own bodies.” The dark haired man gave a little shudder of horror and Draco was inclined to agree. It was a nasty spell.

“Unfortunately, no one has been able to find the counter curse. Until now.” He couldn’t help his own small smile, especially when Harry looked up from the scroll in surprise. His eyebrows nearly reached his hairline.

“You mean, you found it?” he asked softly, wonderingly, and the blond felt heat rise to his cheeks at the way the other man was obviously impressed. He hadn’t told Harry this to impress him but it was certainly a pleasant, if unforeseen, outcome. He tried to swallow the warmth that flooded up from his toes and spread through his body. Tried and failed.

“Well, truthfully it was more like stumbled upon it. I was studying the theory behind Healing spells because there seemed to be so few of them. I wanted to see if I could make more specific ones to suit the situation better rather than generalizing, which is what most Healers do. Many times, it’s the simple matter of unravelling the damaging magic, if the problem is a spell. Which, considering that we are wizards, is often. The problem with that is unravelling a spell takes a lot of time and usually more than one person. I wanted to see if I could find direct counter curses for spells that would work instantly and leave behind no side effects.” He gestured to the charts he had drawn and the other man leaned in to look, his face open with admiration.

“There is always a fundamental base to anything magical we do, whether it is a spell, a Potion or a Ward,” the last made Harry smile a little, as Draco knew it would and the warmth filling him only grew, “This is the magic itself, what makes what we do as wizards possible. But there is something else added to the base magic that makes the spell do what it is designed to do. It’s one of the reasons why spells have to be named when they are cast, even if they are cast wordlessly.” Harry was now sitting on the edge of his chair, eyes huge and following Draco’s fingers as they pointed out the different places in his notes that would illustrate his point.

“It’s called Magic of Intent. It takes that base magic and winds around it so the spell doesn’t remain as pure energy. It becomes more. That’s why a Stunning Spell is crimson and the Killing Curse is poison green. It’s what gives them their nature.” The dark head was nodding slowly, indicating that the other man was following his explanation so far. It felt good to be able to talk to someone about what he had been working on and as he got into it, his hands began to try to mould his words into the air and he felt full in a way he hadn’t ever recalled feeling before. “The Dark curses I’ve been studying don’t usually have bright colours, merely because of their nature. This particular spell uses several different elements of intent. It is a spell to harm, so that is the foremost element. That’s what makes it Dark. There is always one emotional tie to a spell and then there are at least two elements that make up its physical nature.

“There are four for this one. Pain, when the spell takes hold. Body for what is affected. Stone to turn the body. There is also a branch off element for that, to make sure the solidification begins from the inside out. The last is awareness of mind, the thing that makes the victim awake through the entirety of the spell.” Now the dark haired man was studying Draco closely, eyes sharper than he’d seen in a long time. He had never thought Harry was dim; he couldn’t be to have defeated the Dark Lord if he was. And then to go on and become a Wards Master with only two years of study? That was nothing less than impressive. Now, having that bright intellect turned on him made his heart skip and his face heat, wondering uneasily what Harry was thinking. Then the man smiled slowly and pulled the scroll towards himself, reading through the notes the blond had written.

“So how did you use that to make a counter curse?” the other man asked, sounding fascinated. Excited, Draco scooted his chair closer so that he could see the scroll too, noting that the dark haired man didn’t try to inch away.

“The counter curse must hold the exact amounts of opposite intent. The opposite of stone is water, right? Then, in the element of body, the stone must be forced back the way it was spread until it’s gone. A second spell of Healing is woven in, to soothe the damage that had been done and to unravel the intent for harm and pain.” It was actually harder to execute than he made it sound but it was hard to describe the technicalities beyond that. Flopping back into his chair, Draco ran his fingers through his long hair and sighed, eyeing the clutter on the table in front of him. “Unfortunately, I’ve found that doing it this way takes a lot more power than most witches or wizards have at their disposal so I haven’t eliminated the need for a second person just yet.” He shrugged then glanced at Harry who was once again watching him.

“Even so,” the other man said quietly, “I think it’s brilliant that you’ve figured out this much. Why haven’t you applied to get your license? Your research would save so many lives.” The green eyes were achingly sincere and they sent a pang through Draco’s heart. He looked away because how did he answer a question he wished he didn’t have to face every day and know that the answer would only hurt. Licking his lips nervously, the blond plucked at his jeans.

“The world was…not a place for former Death Eaters after the war, Harry. Something you know well enough. They would never have let me even apply, let alone give me a job, no matter what it was.” It was the reason for it all. His family had chosen the wrong side and this was his punishment. It was only fair, seeing as his parents had paid theirs in full. He heard the other man take a breath as if to say something else but he didn’t want to talk about it anymore. It didn’t matter anyway. So he cleared his throat, knowing the dark haired man would take it for the hint it was and forced himself to brighten his demeanour.

“So, would you like me to show you some more?” and he knew with a flare of relief when Harry gave a small yes, that the matter would be dropped. For now. Perhaps, when more of the former Gryffindor’s tenacious personality surfaced, he would be willing to discuss it further. With renewed purpose, he gathered the clutter of notes to himself and began to explain in length his theory. Not once did Harry seem to get bored or lost. He listened with rapt attention and asked intelligent questions, offering his own opinions if there was a hole or a missing connection in Draco’s notes. Though the dark haired man’s expertise was Wards, it was actually interesting to hear his insight, since he was coming at it from a different approach.

They talked until Jet popped into the room looking for them, worried because it was an hour after their usual dinnertime and they hadn’t called for their meal. By then it was dark outside and Draco realized that while talking to Harry he had lost track of time. It was such a good feeling, he felt like he was floating as they walked back up to Harry’s rooms where their dinner had been set up. Each footfall felt lighter, as if he was walking on atmosphere rather than marble and he could see that the dark haired man had relaxed almost completely in the last few hours, not even flinching away when they knocked shoulders.

When Draco handed Harry his Sleeping Draught for the night, the other man lifted his head and gave him the fullest smile the blond had seen yet, “Thank you for talking to me like an equal, rather than assuming off the bat that I was stupid,” he said, emerald gaze haunted. Draco felt his heart go cold but he smiled around that lump of ice.

“I’ve never thought you were stupid, Harry,”

After that the dark haired man followed him around the house, even dragging Pansy along with him. When she was there, they spent much of their time in the upstairs formal drawing room, one that hadn’t been touched by one of the blond’s violent bouts of grief, or in the Game room on the third floor. It was like, now that Draco had opened up to Harry and shown him something important to himself, the other man finally decided to trust him completely. Physical touching was still a problem but Harry had started to stick to the blond like glue. It was a good feeling and when Pansy wasn’t there, he showed Harry around the Manor.

Draco showed him long abandoned rooms that his ancestors had built and then had been closed off. They were accessible by hidden passageways that had been built between the walls and then hidden by magic. Harry found them endlessly fascinating, especially every time Draco showed him to rooms he already knew by twenty different ways. They could not be accessed by anyone without Malfoy blood but the other man didn’t seem to care.

Other times he would sit in the library with Draco and would either discuss the blond’s research with him or would curl into a nearby armchair and distract himself with one of the many wizarding novels that graced the shelves. “They are so different than Muggle literature,” he said when Draco asked him why he liked them so much. “I didn’t realize that wizards lived like this,” to which the blond responded to with a snort and a casual, “That’s not all that surprising, Potter,” which earned him a grin and a two fingered salute.

It was one of the most carefree interactions they’d had since Harry had come to stay with him and he had to look away lest the other man see the joy lighting up his face.

Harry wasn’t going to be better for a long time, not by a long shot. But at least it was a start.

* * *

One day Pansy stepped through the Floo hours later than normal, followed by what had to be hundreds of bags and boxes. They piled themselves on the parlour floor as she brushed soot from her skirt and shed her thick black fur coat to hand it off to Kimble. Draco, who had been a little worried about her, had been sitting in the room when she arrived. Harry was next to him on the couch, reading another one of those novels he couldn’t seem to get enough of. Bewildered at the massive pile that continued to grow on the floor, the blond stood.

“What’s all this?” he asked in lieu of a greeting, peeking into the bag sitting closest to him. It was stuffed with paper but he thought he could make out some kind of dark material in between the winkled paper folds.

“Hello to you too, darling.” She shot him a look from under her perfectly swept bangs and Draco returned it with a lift of one curved eyebrow. The sight of his haughty expression made her huff and Harry snorted around his book, the one that was pressed to his face as a pair of startling bright green eyes peered over the pages.

“Hello, Pansy,” he deadpanned, “lovely of you to drop in,” there was another snicker from the man next to him and he had to keep himself from grinning. “Now, I repeat, what is all this and what is it doing cluttering my parlour?” she gave a mock squawk of indignation, one hand on her hip. Only to ruin it a moment later when she acknowledged Harry’s amused grin with one of her own.

“This isn’t clutter,” she huffed, as if she had been deeply offended, “I went shopping, of course. Shocking, really, that you can no longer tell the difference.” Pansy gave a little sniff, as if she couldn’t believe she actually had to explain this to him, her nose tilted upwards. “How positively rustic of you.” Now it was Draco’s turn to act offended and as Harry laughed softly at them from behind the binding of his book, the blond realized why this felt familiar.

When they were younger, in school and carefree, this was exactly the sort of way they would joke around. Only instead of a dark haired, green-eyed Harry, it used to be Blaise. Blaise, who used to sit back and let the other two snipe jokingly at each other, as he added sharp little comments around his laughter. Draco was glad it was Harry now, looking bright and happy.

“Who’d you go shopping for? The entirety of London?” he demanded as the flow of the bags and boxes through the fireplace finally slowed to a stop. The pile was gigantic by now, teetering dangerously, which made him back up a few steps as he eyed it warily. There was more here than when his mother used to go shopping every spring in order to procure the newest fashions for the whole family.

“Oh, ha,” Pansy rolled her eyes before snatching one of the smaller bags that sat on top of the pile and moved over to deposit it on a startled Harry’s lap. “One cannot remain in hand-me-downs forever, so I figured I would pick up some things. I hope you don’t mind Harry.” Her voice softened when she addressed the other man and the green eyes that had been watching Draco and Pansy were now blinking down at his lap.

“For me?” he fairly squeaked, eyes so big they looked as though they took up half his face. Draco glared at the dark haired woman. “Some?” he barked, “and I resent that hand-me-down remark! I’ll have you know he’s been wearing my clothes.” He didn’t know when she had gotten all this shopping done but he suspected she had started as soon as she had rescued Harry from the clutches of his twisted ex. Now it was Pansy’s turn to lift a disbelieving eyebrow.

“Draco, I believe that is the definition of hand-me-down,” she replied, lips quirking smugly. “And I probably guessed correctly when I say they were already used when you got them.” Then she plopped onto the couch, carefully sweeping her skirt back so it wouldn’t wrinkle, taking Draco’s spot and leaning on Harry’s shoulder as she addressed him, “Yes, of course, darling. You needn’t wear them if you don’t wish to but they will be there if you want. I think they will also fit better than what you’re wearing.” She gave him a little nudge as Harry just sat there, staring at the pale blue bag in his lap. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to say something but seemingly unable to find the words. Pansy had a nervous frown on her face now, clearly worried she had done something wrong and had upset her friend. That concern deepened when the dark haired man ducked his wild head and fingered one of the string handles on the bag.

“I don’t…have to wear them?” he asked, voice tiny and Draco stilled. There was a world of past pain and fear behind his questions that made the blond’s senses fairly crackle. Pansy carefully gathered Harry’s hands into her own and squeezed them gently.

“No, love, you don’t have to. They are gifts. You can do whatever you’d like with them. In fact, I kept all the receipts just in case so every single one can be returned. Your choice, darling.” That seemed to be the right thing to say, for Harry looked up with a small smile, his lips a little pale. He turned his hands in Pansy’s grasp so he could squeeze back.

“Don’t take them back, Pansy. Thank you.” He slipped his hand into the bag, rustling through the tissue paper that Muggles seemed to be so obsessed with and pulled out what was inside. Between his fingers glittered a platinum belt buckle crafted into an elegant lion. Its shape was simple and rather stylized, and the metal looked light. The mane of the lion shape was studded with glittering diamonds. What was really nice about it was that it wasn’t bulky so it wouldn’t look ridiculous on Harry. Draco noticed how reverently the other man was holding it. Over and over he turned it in his long, thin fingers before looking up rather helplessly at the woman beside him. “I couldn’t possibly accept this,” he breathed only to have his protest waved away by one elegant hand.

“Nonsense, Harry. If you like it as much as you appear to, then you can most certainly keep it. And all of the rest of this.” She indicated the rest of the boxes and bags heaped on the parlour floor, trying to seem calm and enigmatic but Draco could see the excitement bubbling just underneath the surface of her pale skin. He looked away to hide a smile. She had always loved giving presents to people, claiming that the joy of receiving something nice lighting up another’s face gave her great satisfaction. Once, he had thought she was full of shit but looking at her now, as her face lit up when Harry went back to marvelling over the pretty little belt buckle, he knew that buying all this for the other man had made her as happy as receiving it would make Harry.

Soon there were empty boxes and fluffy drifts of tissue clouds filling the room as they made their way through the pile. Pansy really had outdone herself. There were silk button down shirts of all colours, beautifully patterned ties, sharply pressed dress trousers and half a dozen cuff links, each made of some expensive metal and adorned with precious stones. There were also soft jumpers made from the finest wool and cashmere, also in an array of bright colours, at least two-dozen pairs of designer jeans and, shockingly enough, quite a few t-shirts. Draco had raised both eyebrows when he saw them, making Pansy shrug.

“He likes them. I would rather he be comfortable than always fashionable.” Then she had turned to Harry, who was holding out a simple black short sleeved shirt that had the words Catch Me if You Can on the front and Seeker on the back. “As long as you promise to use some of the other clothes sometimes,” to which the dark haired man laughed and readily promised. He was practically glowing by the time they made their way through most of the bags, looking young again like he should, rather than tired and haunted. There were no longer any shadows lingering in the emerald depths of his eyes and colour stained the high ridges of his cheekbones.

They had set up a little partition in the room, Draco magically raising curtains that blocked off one of the corners so that Harry could try on some of the clothes. It wasn’t really needed for most of the clothes that came out of the bags didn’t need to be completely fitted (though when Harry had insisted on trying some of the jeans and a beautiful, form-fitting black jumper, the blond nearly fell all over himself. Not only did it make his slim figure incredibly sexy, but when he turned around, Draco wanted nothing more than to walk over to him and worship his arse. The jeans didn’t even need to come off) But in the boxes, it was another story entirely.

First Pansy had gotten the dark haired man three stunning suits, one grey, one black with thin, silver pinstripes, and the last a deep green that looked so incredible on Harry, Draco actually had to look away or risk embarrassing himself. Each one fit like a glove, matched with beautiful cotton shirts, ties she had bought to go especially with the suits and smart pocket kerchiefs. Then came the tux, old fashioned but gorgeous that made Harry laugh and declare he felt like a penguin, a joke that Pansy laughed at but which went right over Draco’s head. Even so, he looked incredible and the glimpses of the back of his thighs the blond caught around the elegant tails of the jacket made his mouth water.

There were shoes, so many shoes even Draco was jealous (he always did have a soft spot for shoes). There were belts and jackets, two of which were leather and when Harry put them on, the blond suddenly had breathing problems. She had even gotten him droves of socks and tight, fitted pants the blond did his best not to imagine what Harry might look like while wearing them. They laughed and joked and exclaimed over every outfit the dark haired man put on, because each looked incredible on him, no matter what it was. And in the aftermath, Harry looked at Pansy and reached out to take her hand.

“You really didn’t have to do all this,” he said quietly, hair even more askew than normal from pulling shirts off and on over his head. Before she could protest again, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her cheek, eyes suspiciously bright, “but I’m really glad you did. Thanks again, Pans.” Draco pressed his hand to his lips when his childhood friend blinked madly to dispel the sudden tears, trying to hide his grin so as not to ruin the moment if she happened to catch him.

“Okay, no need to get emotional over it,” she bluffed, turning pink when Harry laughed, kissed her again and went to change out of the last outfit he had tried on. Draco dropped his hand and watched as she cleared her throat and tried to compose herself. Unable to help it, he walked over and wrapped an arm around her waist, smiling down at her.

“You did good, Pansy,” he whispered, “It’s the happiest I’ve seen him yet,” the words made her quirk her full, glossy lips and her dark eyes glittered when she looked up at him.

“It wasn’t just me, Draco. If it weren’t for you, he’d still be hiding in his room, unable to eat or sleep.” He tightened his hold and swallowed against the memory of what Harry had been before. It was true he was getting better. He didn’t need nutrition or supplement potions anymore, his physical scars were mostly gone and he had voluntarily kissed Pansy twice today. It was better progress then he had hoped to gain. She must have been thinking along the same lines because when she moved away, kicking at a stay puff of tissue paper, her face looked older than her years. “I thought it was hopeless. I thought we had lost him forever and…” she met his eyes and lifted her chin, “Thank you so much for what you’ve done.” An ache he had thought gone with Harry’s presence in his life struck him hard and he looked away.

“Pansy, you know why I did it.” She was suddenly standing in front of him and forced his eyes back to her own when she cupped his cheek with one warm hand.

“I know, love. I know why. I think that’s why it’s working,” then her face changed, suddenly not so serious and as she pressed a kiss to his nose, she murmured, “You’ll find your own gifts in your room.”

He decided right then that he would love this woman forever.



Five:

They were in the kitchen when it happened.

Draco, though he was forever grateful for the invaluable help of the house-elves, found he missed cooking. He missed the bright, open kitchen and the manual labour of creating his own meals, even if they weren’t horribly fancy. He missed the clang of the pots and utensils as he worked, missed the heat from the stove, augmented by spells and the ever-changing scent of food cooking. So, one day, not too long after Pansy had descended upon them with the contents of half the Muggle shops in Paris, he decided that he would make dinner for both himself and Harry. It was a huge argument with the elves, one of whom was offended he would even mention it and the other two sobbing because they thought they weren’t doing their jobs well enough. Finally he had to get down on their level and explain to them that he wasn’t unhappy with them but that he was used to doing it himself and he actually enjoyed it. As a matter of fact, it would make him very happy if they let him cook every once in a while.

Kimble still continued to give him betrayed glares and Jet looked liked she was ready to start pulling on her ears any moment but they let him do it. Not that they really had much choice, seeing as he was their master but they’d get it eventually. And he really did like cooking, especially since Harry had opted to follow him down to the kitchen to watch him. When he had said to the dark haired man that he didn’t have to if he would rather do something else, he had looked at the blond oddly, quirking a crooked smile as he said,

“I have to see for myself Draco Malfoy cooking.” It was something he suspected Harry would have said before, as Draco had taken to thinking of the time before Alex had gotten his hands on the other man. Shattered, fragile Harry wouldn’t tease because he was too afraid of being taken seriously, too afraid of the consequences. But the blond had never once said a cross word to him and Harry had realized, in the weeks they had spent in each other’s company, that he didn’t need to be so afraid. Physical contact remained iffy at best but as long as he kept his distance, no matter how hard that might be at times, Harry continued to come back to himself.

And then Draco went and did something stupid.

That day was not one of the good ones, for himself if not for Harry. He had been able to fend off the visions of his parents and even sometimes his dead friends most of the time, so that Harry would not see him at a moment of weakness. But that day his father had been dogging his steps since Draco woke up to find the spectre of the man standing over his bed. Sometimes Lucius spoke to him but much of the time he was silent. It was just his presence that was setting the blond on edge and he suspected the strain was going to begin to show. Pansy hadn’t come at all, as she started to do now that Harry was comfortable out of his rooms. She had told Draco it was because she didn’t want the dark haired man to rely on her presence most of the day but he suspected it was because Flooing from Spain to Wiltshire everyday was becoming a strain. Floo did make international travel easier but it could still become stressful if done too often. He was glad she hadn’t shown up; she would have noticed something was wrong with him right away.

It was the main reason why he wanted to cook his and Harry’s dinner that night in the first place. Yes, it was partially because he missed it but also because he needed somewhere for his stress to go. Every time he moved his eyes to look somewhere else, he could see the long, white figure of his dead father standing beside him. It made him want to scream, to break something but then he would catch sight of Harry, sitting across the room with his feet tucked under him as he read and he would bite the inside of his mouth until he tasted blood. A few times the spectre whispered something to him, words his own father had spoken to him in the past and then he would stand there, a silent witness that only Draco could see. Through breakfast, taken in Harry’s room, through the rest of the morning when Draco showed the dark haired man the West side courtyard filled with frozen pools and silent fountains, through lunch, when Lucius told Draco he wished for his son to swear his allegiance to the Dark Lord, which nearly made the blond spill his pumpkin juice all down his front. Lucius stood at his back while he bent his head over the tomes in the library, shattering his concentration so badly, he’d asked if Harry could read a few pages to him out of the current novel his nose was stuck in. The request had, reasonably, surprised the other man and Draco forced himself to smile tightly.

“I’m sorry but I have a bit of a headache and I can’t concentrate. Do you mind?” he asked, not noticing how rough his voice sounded. The vision of his father shifted in the corner of his eye, looking through the books next to him and murmuring how one was an excellent reference for Dark revenge curses. Harry had looked at him uncertainly, book hovering over his lap with his finger stuck between his pages so he wouldn’t lose his page.

“Are you sure?” The dark haired man clearly wasn’t sure what to make of Draco’s request but the blond needed something else to take his mind off of the pain in his chest and the way he could feel every heartbeat in his temples. “You won’t know what’s going on.” Draco tipped his head back against the plush, leather chair back and closed his eyes. At least his ghosts didn’t exist behind his eyelids.

“That’s alright.” I just want to hear you talk. Harry did read to him then, his voice starting out shaky and then getting stronger as he got back into the story. He was right when he said Draco would have no idea what was going on but that didn’t matter. He wasn’t really listening for the plotline anyway. He was listening to the soft rise and fall of the other man’s rich baritone, the sound of it filling the space around him and easing the knots of tension in his body. It felt good sitting there like that, knowing that it was Harry’s voice gliding over him like so much rich silk. It eased the ache within him enough that he was able to forget for a few blissful moments that the moment he opened his eyes, his father would still be standing there, would still be watching.

Draco wasn’t sure how long he sat like that but the next thing he knew, there was a gentle touch on his shoulder pulling him back into awareness and Harry’s voice calling him name. It didn’t feel like he fell asleep but he must have because when he opened his eyes, it was already dark and the lights in the library were already lit. Green eyes peered down at him, a little dark with worry and he pretended those were all he saw because he refused to acknowledge the way his father’s ghost was watching him.

“Draco, are you alright?” Yes, Harry was worried and he suddenly felt bad. With a smile and a throb of his head as his headache reinstated itself with a vengeance, Draco pushed away from the chair so he could stretch. The other man watched him apprehensively, making the blond wonder if Harry had picked up on his distress and felt like an arse. Harry was here for Healing, not to be worrying about Draco’s problems.

“Yes, of course. I just didn’t sleep well last night,” he lied before standing and clapping his hands together, the sound of it loud in the muffled room, which made Harry jump and look at him oddly. “In fact, I was thinking I could make us dinner tonight. How does that sound?” Harry’s lips had twisted in doubt, a look that was so utterly cute it made Draco’s own smile a little less brittle.

“Right. It sounds like hell has frozen over.” Despite that, Harry still followed him down to the kitchens, the two of them teasing and bantering with each other as they had started to do the last few days. It had an easy, familiar rhythm to it, almost like what they had been at school but lacking in animosity. Draco was careful to curb his more scathing comments just in case, as this too was still new and he was afraid to lose it but Harry gave as good as he got and it was fun. Enjoyable enough, in fact, that the blond nearly forgot there was a third, unwelcome presence trailing along behind him until Lucius spoke up again.

“Harry Potter is the enemy…he is nothing but a worthless, dirty-blooded brat…”

Sometimes the ghosts had been known to say things like that. Most of the time, what they said made Draco ache to be with them, to follow them into the next plane. But never had any one of them spoken so loudly and so clearly before. Not since the beginning, anyway. The sound reverberated through him and he actually stopped short and spun around, half expecting to see his real father, alive and well, standing behind him. The spectre of Lucius stared back, looking upset but still, like a reflection on water. Draco’s heart beat so loud, he wondered how it was not echoing through the wide, open corridor.

“We should hand him over to the Dark Lord…you know we must…Draco…I’m disappointed in you, Draco…”

“…aco…Draco,” there was a gentle tugging on his sleeve and the voice of his father melded into that of Harry, who was standing beside him, warm and alive. The blond sucked in a sharp breath, ripping his gaze away from the ghost and looked into the uneasy face of the man next to him. He was a few inches taller than the other man but he suddenly felt tiny, diminished, especially as the bright, confused emerald gaze flickered between Draco’s face and the place the blond had been staring at. “What’s wrong? Is there something there?” The way Harry bit at his lip and looked like he was trying not to cling to Draco made his chest constrict and he carefully placed his hand over the pale, slender one clutching his sleeve.

“It’s fine, Harry. I thought I heard Pansy’s voice in the Floo. Must have been imagining things,” and he gave the brightest smile he could, cheered a bit that Harry still hadn’t pulled his hand away. Hesitantly, the dark head nodded and the cool fingers slid out from between his own. Turning, he led the rest of the way to the kitchens, gritting his teeth against the pain throbbing through his head that was now beginning to lace down his neck. If it got any worse, he would either need to take a Pain potion or collapse. All the while, he ignored the way his father’s voice followed him.

“Draco…I’m disappointed…disappointed…with Potter’s life, we can save our own...you’ve let me down, Draco,”

After the argument with the house-elves, which made him want to scream because on top of the spite that continued to bombard him from a shade only he could see, he really didn’t want to listen to their chorus of shrill voices as they protested. Between his commands and Harry’s gentle pressing, they popped away, Kimble giving him one last sharp look before disappearing. With them gone, he couldn’t help but sag against the counter, pressing his fingertips to his eyes. It had been a long day and the hardest thing, he realized, was hiding it all from Harry. He wanted to be able to tell someone, tell them about the ghosts that followed him around, about the days when he wanted to curl up in the rooms filled with broken glass and shards of furniture and weep. Most of all, he wanted to be strong against this, so that he could help the person sitting at the round, wooden table behind him the way he deserved to be helped. But how could he, without burdening Harry with more shit?

“So,” he said suddenly into the stillness, lifting his hands from his eyes to see the other man watching his quietly, uncanny calculating eyes filled with concern, “what would you like for dinner? There is a wonderful salmon recipe I found some time ago that I can’t get enough of or I believe there is lamb, which tastes excellent in a thick, raspberry sauce.” He turned and hunted down his cook books, which the elves had stashed away in a forgotten cupboard as they had no need of them. They were a bit dusty but he felt a tiny surge of satisfaction when he unearthed them and set them on the table so he could find the two recipes they would need to choose from. Though Harry still looked a little askance at him, his face none-the-less lit up at the mention of food.

“You can make all that?” he asked rather breathlessly, face avid and Draco nearly laughed. Or, he would have if his father’s voice hadn’t risen in volume again, you know we must…he is only a boy…filthy little half-breed scum…Trying to concentrate, he grinned stiffly at the dark haired man and was thankful Harry didn’t seem to notice.

“I can indeed,” he responded, finding the recipe for the lamb and turning the book so Harry could read it. The green eyes skimmed the page, alight with excitement and the other man was smiling when he lifted his gaze again. So bight, his eyes, so full of life, like they had not been more than a month ago now—Draco, you know what you must do…we will die—and he met them as best he could.

“This one sounds amazing.” The dark haired man pushed the book back towards Draco on the table and the blond picked it up with a nod—I miss you, Draco. When will you come home…

“The lamb it is,” and he said it as brightly as he could, practically falling over when Harry gave a little laugh, eyes shining so brightly in the magical lights of the kitchen, they looked practically fey. His heart gave a little throb at the sight and for just a moment, the sound of the other man’s laughter dispelled the spectre of Draco’s father altogether. As he gathered all the pots he would need, then the utensils (some of which had been moved; he would have to have a little chat with the elves) and then the ingredients, Harry settled down at the table and began to leaf through the rest of the cookbooks that the blond had left on the table.

“So have you made all of these?” Harry asked as Draco spelled the simple ceramic plates that were the entirety of a wizard’s stove to heat with the pale, birch wand. He glanced over his shoulder and nearly jumped when he saw the ghost of his father standing directly behind the oblivious dark haired man. The pale grey eyes looked blankly down at the top of the wild, black curls and he couldn’t choke down his sudden alarm.

“Get away from him!” he gasped it more than shouted, one hand reaching out but before he could do anything, Harry looked up quickly, face clouded in confusion and surprise. Lucius disappeared and Draco was left staring at the spot, eyes wide and heart racing so fast he could feel it on the back of his tongue.

“What?” Draco blinked, then dropped his eyes to the other man who was once again craning his neck to look at the spot the blond was staring wildly at, “Stay away from who?” The green eyes darkened with scepticism and the full lips pulled down, paling slightly. Fuck, Draco was scaring him but when he went to explain it away, he found the words he needed had shrivelled away in the back of his throat. “Um, are you sure you’re okay? You’re really pale.” Draco wet his lips with the tip of his tongue and nodded jerkily.

“Yes. I’m sorry. I must be more tired than I thought.” He rubbed his eyes again, then his temple and desperately wished for something to ease the raging storm trampling through his skull. Harry stood and moved as if to walk over to him, though what the man thought he could do, Draco didn’t know.

“You don’t have to cook tonight,” he said softly, dark, arched brows drawn together prettily. Draco hated that Harry thought he needed to take care of him, hated that he was crumbling away right in front of the other man and he didn’t know how to stop it. Shaking his head, he pushed his hair from his face and took a deep, steadying breath, pulling calm around him like a blanket. Inside, he was terrified. The ghosts, his parents, never did this. They wanted Draco to join them, not to hurt him. Worse, the words he was hearing from his father now had only been spoken in desperation when the man was alive. Lucius had loved his son and his wife with all his heart; if he knew what his ghost was doing to Draco now, he would be devastated.

But the ghosts were not his parents. That was part of the problem.

“I’d like to,” he said finally, with a smile that felt somewhat crooked. “It helps when I’m stressed, or in this case tired.” That bright gaze continued to look at him for another long moment, his eyes piercing Draco until he was sure Harry could see straight through him. He felt pinned, exposed and found he couldn’t breathe until the other man nodded slowly and slipped back into the seat he had abandoned. It was the first time those eyes had looked at him like that, sharp behind the frames of his glasses and made even more intense by the black hair that tumbled about his head. Draco found himself wanting Harry to look at him like that more, only for different reasons.

He made it halfway through preparing the meal before the ghost of his father was back, now standing almost directly in his way, forcing Draco to move through his image at times. It was unnerving and made every hair on his body stand on end.

“Do you need help with anything?” Harry asked at that moment, just as the murmurings started up again, whispers about the Dark Lord and Harry Potter being better off dead and it took Draco a moment to figure out which voice to answer aloud.

“If you’d like to set t-the table,” he managed, mixing the last of the crushed raspberries into the sauce that was simmering in the pot. He didn’t even realize he had stammered as he fought to keep his wits about him. It had been a relief when Kimble popped discreetly into the kitchen and slipped a phial of a strong pain potion onto the counter right by the blond’s elbow. But the headache was still there, if dulled a bit, despite having downed the potion in a moment when Harry was occupied with the books in front of him.

“You need to turn him in,” whispered Lucius as Harry cheerfully asked where the silverware and plates were kept.

“Tell us, tell us, is this Harry Potter?” Pain behind his eyelids, it was getting worse again and he couldn’t concentrate on cutting the shiny red peppers and the onions for the salad.

“This is beautiful china, Draco,” the other man was saying, carrying two gold-trimmed plates over to the table. “Do you have a preference where we sit?” then he laughed, that beautiful laugh that made his heart soar but which could not now erase the ghost and its words from the air. “Though I guess it doesn’t matter; it’s a pretty small table.” Draco tried to smile back but the sauce was beginning to boil and it wasn’t supposed to do that-

“The Dark Lord is waiting, Draco. If we let him down, we die. Is this Harry Potter?” Draco very nearly spilled the too-hot raspberry sauce all over the stove, catching it last minute and forgetting the pot would be hot as well.

“Draco…”

“Draco…”

“Draco…I think the lamb is burning—”

“Draco,”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!” The pot with the sauce exploded all over the stove as he screamed, pressing his fingers to his forehead because it felt like his brain was about to do what the sauce had just done. “SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP!!!” The plates on the table rattled and the pan in which the lamb had been indeed burning burst into flames. Tears leaked from his tightly squeezed eyes and for a moment, he was sure he would lose complete control over his magic. Every cabinet door rattled on their hinges and even the salad bowl, sitting on the counter beside him, took a few leaping bounds and shattered on the floor.

In that moment, he was sure he would die.

But slowly, as if released by his screaming, the pressure within him eased. The air came easier to his lungs and the pain in his head began to ebb, leaving him feeling light headed and woozy. Blinking, he lifted his head and looked around. Lucius was gone; that was the first thing he noticed. The kitchen itself was in shambles but the house-elves would take care of that, though he wondered where they were now. Any good house-elf would have come immediately, with that kind of magical disturbance.

And…Draco sucked air so quickly, he nearly choked on it because, there, in the middle of the kitchen, knelt Harry. He was on his knees, in the most submissive position possible, arms crossed in front of him at the wrists and hips tilted back. The slender shoulders trembled slightly but his face, ducked so that his eyes could remain lowered, fixed on the tile by his knees, was completely blank.

“Oh…oh fuck…” The blond felt a fission of panic lace down his spine and he practically ran over to the other man, banging his knees painfully on the floor when he dropped in front of him. Harry didn’t even flinch. “Fuck…fuck…” He reached out and cupped the other man’s cheek gently, half afraid he would send Harry into a fit but the green eyes didn’t so much as flicker. “Harry,” Draco breathed, rubbing his thumb slowly over the rise of one smooth cheekbone, “Harry, please look at me. I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“I must not look at Master. Not until I have been punished. Not until I have learned my lesson.” The other man’s voice sounded like one of those Muggle mechanical voice recorders, words strung together without meaning and so lacking in intonation, it didn’t even sound human. That was what Harry sounded like now, like he wasn’t even alive. The worst part, the part that felt like a knife in the gut, was when he called Draco “Master”. This was what Alex had done; he turned Harry, so beautiful and full of life, into a veritable Inferi. A sob caught in Draco’s throat and he leaned forward, hand still curled around the strong jaw, to press his forehead to Harry’s.

“No…no, I’m not your master,” he murmured, breath heating the skin right in front of his lips, skin he wanted to press so many kisses to but was afraid to at the same time. “You did nothing to be punished for, Harry. Nothing. It is I who should apologize.” He was rocking them without even realizing it, his other arm wrapped around Harry’s waist. He could feel the warmth in him, feel the life but when he shifted his head to look, the green eyes were still dead.

“I’ll be good.” The words cut through him like a curse, making him ache and causing more tears to slide down his cheeks. He couldn’t have stopped them any more than he could have stopped touching Harry. Could have stopped holding him, breathing him in, pressing his nose to the other man’s cheek that smelled slightly of skin and soap. “Please, punish me, Master. I must learn my lesson.” Not once did his voice waver or crack. Not once did his eyes lift or focus and he kept his hands in front of him, as if he was expecting to be bound. He probably was.

“Harry,” the blond whispered, running his hand down the slender neck then back into the mess of wild curls, “Harry, it’s me. I’m not going to punish you. Please. Look at me.” He tried tipping the man’s head so their eyes would meet but Harry was good at letting his gaze slide away, unable to be met or caught.

“I am not your equal, so I must not meet your eyes,” Harry was whispering now, a fine trembling beginning in his body that Draco could feel where they touched. Harry felt brittle again, more like he had when he was still at Pansy’s, like he was ready to shatter away into a fine powder under the blond’s hands. Taking deep breaths to soothe his own rapid heart rate, he smoothed the soft locks of jet-black hair under his fingertips and tried to think of what to do. Harry wasn’t snapping out of whatever protective trance he had thrown himself into and there was no potion or spell that Draco knew of that would help. The fact that the other man wasn’t trying to tear himself away from someone else’s touch, especially with the way the blond was practically pressed up against him, only proved how far he had retreated into his own mind.

Though, the only proof Draco really needed was the dead blankness of the emerald eyes and the way the dark haired man continued to whisper about punishment and learning his lesson. It was like he was caught in a nasty waking nightmare, his natural defences snapping into place after having been treated like nothing more than a slave. That the other man even needed to resort to something so drastic was not only telling but horrifying and it made the blond’s blood boil with fury. Fury, however, was the least productive emotion for the situation and he was afraid the longer Harry remained stuck in his mind, the harder it would be to bring him back. If only Draco knew how to wake him up.

And just like that, he knew what to do.

“Jet! Fern!” he was careful not to shout, knowing that would only alarm the man he still had his arm wrapped around, though Harry didn’t even seem to notice. His shaking had gotten worse, and his face had gone deathly pale. His arms were pressing hard into the Draco’s ribs and he kept nudging him with them, like he was searching for the shackles he expected to be clasped around them.

The two house-elves he had called popped into the room almost instantly, as if they were waiting for his call, both trying to bash their heads on something hard, wailing and more bug eyed than usual. Irritated by their behaviour, Draco turned a bit so he wasn’t pressed so close to Harry. “Stop that at once and listen to me.” At the sharp command, they obeyed instantly, Jet’s nose dripping onto the black upholstery she wore. “Good. I need a dose of Calming Draught, which is kept in the bathroom in Harry’s rooms and a glass of water. I also require his wand, which I believe he keeps in his bedside drawer.” Fern instantly curtsied and whisked once more out of sight. Jet just sniffed loudly and twisted the linens she wore in her long, bony fingers.

“Jet, do you think you can put this kitchen back to rights for me? I apologize for the mess.” It seemed to be the wrong thing to say for she started to cry again and proceeded to slam her head on the nearest chair leg.

“We’s be sorry, Master Draco, sir! We’s felt the magic in here and we’s be knowing you be needing help but we’s not being able to get in!!” The last word was one long wail, making Harry involuntarily flinch against the blond and Draco longed to push his fingers into his ears.

“Stop it!” he hissed, checking to make sure the green gaze was still dead before looking back at the still-sobbing house-elf. “I command you not to punish yourself. Please just clean this up, okay?” She nodded hesitantly, sniffed wetly and hobbled away, throwing grateful looks over her shoulder. He must have been keeping them away with his magic, though he didn’t recall ever having done something like that before. Thankfully, it seemed that the ghosts were gone for at least a while and he turned back to the dark haired man that was muttering more insistently now, looking like he was ready to break apart because the punishment he was expecting wasn’t coming.

The next moment, Fern was back with the potion and the water, which was cold enough to mist the glass, followed quickly by Kimble, who was reverently holding Harry’s often-neglected wand in both of his hands. Draco nodded at them and turned back to the man in front of him, who was neither leaning into nor pulling away from his grasp.

“Alright, Harry,” he whispered, relishing the feeling of his fingers smoothing through dark curls because he didn’t know if it would be the last time he could before levelling his borrowed wand at the other man’s chest, “this might feel a little odd,” before whispering a spell he had found in one of the more obscure books on emotional trauma. He suspected, as it was kept in with many Dark books, that one of his late family members (he hopes ancestors but his grandfather had always had a sadistic streak) kept it as a reference for creative torture. The book itself was actually rather informative, going into detail about emotional stress and the different treatments for it. It was, of course, as many of the books in the Manor’s library were, rather outdated but when cross referenced with other scattered research he had found on the topic, he found it to be accurate. The spell he used now was one of the few in that book but it was the only one directed at emotional shock.

It was designed to bring the person experiencing the shock back into themselves, to draw them back out of their mind when the trauma forced them to retreat into it. It was only to be used sparingly; depending on what put someone into emotional shock, sometimes it was best that they were not jarred back into reality. This, however, was not one of those instances. He feared that the longer Harry sat here like this, eyes dead and completely unresponsive, the harder it would be for him to come out of it. He was expecting punishment. The reaction had been conditioned into him and that was more difficult, in some ways, to get around.

First thing was first, however, and bringing life back into the other man’s eyes was all that mattered. Draco was willing to deal with whatever happened after as it came. The spell that dragged a person from a state of emotional shock left the end of his wand in a soft, light blue light and would wrap around Harry’s body like a web of tiny stars. It did start out physical, those little pinpricks of light becoming cold, similar to falling into a soft spray of snow. It would seep into Harry’s skin and fire along his nerve endings until it reached his brain, where he had currently walled himself off. The spell was harmless, just a basic stimulus that would jar the person on whom it was cast back to reality. Of course, it was when they came back to themselves that the real trouble began.

Draco knew the instant the spell worked. Harry jerked his head back like he had been slapped and gasped, drawing in a desperate breath. His eyes, before flat and expressionless, at once turned wild, flaring with green fire and he looked wildly around, huddling in on himself protectively. The blond leaned back on his heels, drawing away in case his touch frightened the other man further. The movement gave something for Harry to focus on, honing his attention on Draco. Their eyes met and for a second he was sure the dark haired man would scuttle away like he always did when they got too close for his comfort.

But Harry didn’t jerk away. Instead he took a deep, shuddering breath and leaned forward, dropping his head onto Draco’s shoulder. Shocked, the blond just sat there, blinking wildly down at the head of dark curls. He barely registered at first how the other man had fisted his hands in the front of Draco’s shirt and that he was shaking so hard, it was jarring right though both of their bodies. Awkwardly, he wrapped his arm around the slender back and rubbed the space between prominent shoulder blades.

“You’re not him,” Harry whispered, so softly Draco nearly missed it. The words sent a ripple of grief through him, grief for the fear that this man had to suffer through, was still trying to break free of, the hurt, the broken trust and even more, the shattered heart. He realized that Harry must have loved this Alex at first and to have that man do this to him; Draco couldn’t even imagine what that must feel like. Clutching Harry closely to him, the blond turned his head so that he could breathe in the scent of him, assuring himself that Harry would never have to suffer through such a thing again.

“I’m not him,” he answered, holding the shaking form a moment longer before pushing Harry back gently by his shoulders and catching the overly bright emerald gaze, “I’m not him and I will never become him. I’m sorry I yelled like that and I assure you, it wasn’t directed at you.” Dark lashes swept down several times in silent acknowledgement but Harry didn’t say anything, continuing to stare and shake. Draco squeezed his shoulders where he held them and, because all he wanted to do was to drag the other man back into his arms, he dropped his hands and sat back. “Alright?” The dark head nodded and he was satisfied that he got a positive response. Smiling, he waved the two waiting house-elves over, who had been watching with wide, fearful eyes.

First he gave the dark haired man his wand, glad he had asked for it when a tiny flash of relief flittered across Harry’s face. “You should get used to keeping it on you at all times. It’s yours, as it should stay,” then he waved over Fern and took the potion from her. “Here’s a Calming Draught for you. No, wait,” he held his hand out when Harry went to argue, gently touching the back of the other man’s hand who closed his mouth obediently.

“I only want you to take half a dose, I know you don’t really need it. Trust me, it’ll help. Then we’ll take dinner up in your rooms because this clearly was not a good idea,” Draco said the last bit with a wry twist of his mouth and it made Harry smile shakily after accepting the potion. His hands still trembled terribly when he took the dose but the tightness around his eyes eased and he didn’t look ready to fall into a million jagged pieces. When he gratefully downed the glass of water, his eyes were once again clear and his fingers were steady.

“If…if I did upset you…” Harry started, gaze dropping to his knees and hands grasping at the material of his trousers. The blond could have slammed his head against the floor as his own punishment for carelessly causing Harry to regress. He was allowing touch, surprisingly, but the confidence he had been gaining over the past weeks was once again trampled by his fear. Reaching out once more, Draco loosened one of the other man’s slender hands from their white-knuckled grip on his trouser leg and rubbed his fingers over it before drawing away again.

“You didn’t,” he murmured and this time it was he who looked away, “it wasn’t you. It was…” but he couldn’t say it so he choked on the words, feeling foolish and very much ashamed. How could he tell Harry, who was here not only as a guest and to be kept safe but also as a patient that his Healer needed serious help of his own? How did he tell this person, the one he had been in love with for half of his life, that he was crazy and he saw ghosts that no one else did and they said things to him they had only said when they were alive? Most importantly, he was terrified of letting that go. As much as he didn’t want the spectres of his parents always there, always around him, he didn’t feel quite as alone when they were. He needed to be able to pretend, when he missed them so much he thought he would shrivel away with wanting, that they were still with him.

“Is it because…you’ve been alone here for so long?” It was nearly a whisper, so soft was the question but there was no way he could have pretended not to hear it. Though they were not touching, he could feel the heat from Harry’s legs against his knees and all he would need to do to kiss that full, pretty mouth was to lean forward a few inches. The question itself, though, blew a ragged hole through him and he had to turn his head away to hide the answer he was sure flared in his eyes. His mother had always told him his eyes gave everything away. This was something he was not ready to talk about.

“It…yeah, something like that.” He wanted to tell. He actually wished he could open his mouth and explain to Harry that he had been completely alone for almost three years except for the ghosts and the Muggles in town. He wished he could talk about the grief and living in the Manor that stood as silent as a stone and waking from nightmares screaming with no one to comfort him. But then he remembered the man Harry loved had beaten him and then broke him and Draco’s problems became like mist. Lifting his eyes, he met the emerald gaze, which was studying him closely, the episode that had just taken place already dwindling into the background. “I…I can’t…not yet.” The dark haired man must have heard the plea in his voice because he touched his knee to Draco’s gently and didn’t ask anything else.

“So. Chicken Parmesan for dinner?” Harry asked and Draco found himself grinning gratefully at the other man. There was a lot unsaid between them, Harry’s past and his own, that they would need to address before they could move on. He hoped that, when the time came and the other man was himself again, he would be willing to listen to Draco when he needed it. But for now, they recognized the potential in each other and that was enough.

“That sounds good,” he answered with a little laugh and it was good after all.

* * *

Despite the understanding they had come to while sitting on the kitchen floor, Harry remained jumpy for the rest of the night. He kept looking over his shoulder as he ate and though they managed some light talk sprinkled with laughter, staying on topics like the books Harry had been reading and the blond’s research, it seemed like he was far away. It made Draco jealous, though he couldn’t say what he was exactly jealous of. He hated that, after weeks of trying to win the other man over, and slowly starting to succeed, Harry’s attention had been stolen away by a man that wasn’t even there. Of course, Draco felt like a complete git for giving Harry back a reason to feel that way but if something like that could bring the fear back to the surface then the issue still needed to be addressed.

He had known Harry’s fear wasn’t entirely gone, of course, but he had thought that, if given time and shown that not all people would be like his ex, Harry would be able to move past the abuse and the broken state it had left him in. Yet while the other man was pulling free of his protective shell, the trauma could be triggered and he would only continue to regress. Next time, Draco might not be able to pull the dark haired man free or he might once again withdraw into fear. Draco was deathly ashamed of himself for not being able to fend off Lucius’s ghost and snapping the way he had. He had never needed to shout at any of them before but at least it had made the spectre leave him alone. And though he swore he would never allow it to get to the point again, the fact remained he had this time.

Once was enough. He could never let that happen to Harry again, making him relive something that sent him cowering into his own mind. At least, he wouldn’t be the one to do it and if it should happen, caused by something else, then he would simply have to be there to bring the other man back again.

“It’s odd, isn’t it?” Harry asked him that night. They were holed up in Harry’s private sitting room, hovering over a chessboard that had been broken out at the insistence of Harry. The man was, admittedly, the worst chess player that Draco had ever come across but the way he laughed when his poor pieces cursed and hurled abuse at him was worth it. As long as Harry didn’t mind losing horribly every time they played, which he didn’t appear to, the blond would play a thousand games. If he continued to laugh and his eyes twinkled in mirth then that was all that really mattered. Now Draco looked up, eyebrow arched in question.

“What’s odd?” he asked then directed his bishop to one of Harry’s knights, which effectively gave him a check and the knight snarled angrily as he was beaten down with the miniature bishop’s staff. He grinned at the other man, who groaned good-naturedly and flopped back into his chair in defeat. His bright gaze focused on Draco’s face, unnervingly direct when Harry answered.

“This. Us. Getting along like this,” a slender shoulder rose in an oddly graceful shrug and the blond couldn’t help but hone in on the movement. “We used to hate each other as kids but I feel like...I mean, I know you’re my unofficial Healer but…” he looked away, suddenly shy, “I never thought we could be this comfortable together. Like friends,” he said that last part hesitantly, his face flushed pink but he looked at the blond from under his lashes, waiting to see how Draco would react. Truth be known, he felt like he was flying. Like he could simply levitate straight off his chair using only the magic of those words alone, and touch the vaulted ceiling.

Joy burst through him in a wave of glittering bliss and it made controlling the grin that wanted to break out across his face difficult to control. How long had he wanted to hear those words in school? Though his jealousy and his longing for Harry had driven him to act like a complete arse-wipe in school, he had wanted nothing more than to hear Harry Potter say they were friends. Clearing his throat so that he could speak around the flood of emotions that clogged it, he gave the other man a smaller but no less genuine smile than the one that had nearly threatened to break his face a moment ago.

“I think,” he said carefully, “that the potential was always there. Though, I suppose we did change since then.” He watched the chess pieces in front of them reassemble themselves, a pawn that had gotten nearly decimated magically putting itself back together so it could be whole when it got trampled in the next game. Harry laughed across from him, shifting so he could tuck his feet underneath him and making himself look a little smaller, more vulnerable. He was wearing one of the new outfits Pansy had brought for him, the dark red jumper reminding Draco of their Hogwarts days. He found he didn’t miss them.

“You definitely changed.” Harry grinned, pulling absently at his sleeves so they hid his knuckles. Then he abruptly sobered and looked away, eyebrows knitting over his fantastically green eyes in what looked to be an expression of guilt. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. Of course you would have changed…” Draco hated to see the way those eyes dimmed and the other man obviously berated himself for saying something he deemed insensitive. The blond leaned forward and touched Harry’s ankle gently, the gesture received without a flinch and a hesitant yet hopeful glance from under jet eyelashes.

“It was only the truth, Harry. I did indeed change, though more because I had to than because I wished it. I’m certainly not offended by reality.” The look the other man sent him was relief, followed by a tiny smile and the matter was, temporarily, laid to rest. It was still there, unspoken between them like everything else was but Draco could wait. He would have to.

They started another game after that, quietly watching the pieces fight among themselves. This time, Harry listened to the advice of his queen, who was rather sharp for an animated chess piece, and he didn’t lose quite as spectacularly this time. He did still lose, though and suggested, with a wry smile, that perhaps chess was not his game. Draco laughed when several of the pieces snorted and one went so far as to shout something about understatements of the century. It was with amused smiles that he saw the dark haired man off to bed, giving him a dose of Dreamless Sleep before heading to his own rooms.

Eventually he was going to have to cut down on the sleeping potions, he mused as he walked through the short, dimly lit hall to his own rooms. As it was it was going to be a challenge weaning Harry off of them but he didn’t want to have to add potion dependence onto all of the other mental hurdles that still needed to be jumped. There were other potions he could use, ones that were milder but still muffled the dreams so they didn’t feel as real. There was even a spell or two he had run across in his reading that would ease a person’s dreams if they became too much. It would have to be soon, too. Perhaps next week, he thought, already trying to come up with a regimen that would be the most comfortable for Harry while weaning him off the potion he was using now.

Draco was barely in his room when Jet appeared next to him with a quiet pop, her ears drooping and eyes wide.

“Master Draco,” her voice was unusually soft as she twisted the black tea towel she now wore around her bony fingers, “there being someone in the Floo who be wanting to talk to you.” He took in the way her small brow creased in concern and he felt a flash of apprehension. She didn’t say it was Pansy, which she would have done if it were. In fact, she would have been cheerful about it because all three of his elves were grateful to her for giving them to Draco to be bound. He wasn’t immediately concerned, as the wards on the Floo would prevent anyone from actually coming through except for Pansy and her husband but he wasn’t sure he wanted to speak to anyone else.

“Who is it, Jet?” he asked, pressing his hand against his right sleeve where he had stashed his wand. Its presence and accessibility was reassuring, making him feel a little less vulnerable but it didn’t dispel the worry completely.

“He be naming himself Ronald Weasley, Master Draco.” The blond blinked at her in surprise then all at once relaxed, shoulders drooping with it. With it came a different kind of tension. Like what the fuck Weasley thought he was doing, putting his head in Draco’s fireplace. Jet looked more upset then she should, though, by just having a stranger asking for her Master in the Floo. “He be asking to see Master Harry, sir,” and that was the crux of it, wasn’t it? Draco huffed in annoyance, because like hell was the Weasel talking to Harry, especially after today. Though he had promised himself to be more understanding of people, he suspected his intense dislike of the man waiting in his Floo would never go away.

“Like hell he will,” Draco snarled and whipped around, stalking back out of his rooms and into the darkened corridors, a worried Jet trotting at his heels. He didn’t know the particulars of the Weasleys’ break with Harry. The only thing he knew was what Pansy had told him and he hadn’t thought to ask about them since. From his point of view, it was better off that they were no longer in Harry’s life. They hadn’t treated him as well as he should have been treated then, what good would the Weasel talking to the dark haired man do now?

None, if Draco could help it. He supposed the childhood rivalry he had always felt with the golden trio was rearing its ugly head again; the desire to keep them broken up was so strong it nearly choked him. How would he be able to compete with Ron? The red head had a history with Harry that Draco couldn’t even hope for, even if they had years to build their—whatever it was they had now. Friendship, he supposed, though he wouldn’t have thought so if Harry himself had not said so only twenty minutes ago.

The small, welcoming parlour where the Floo was located was dark when he stepped into it, lit only with several candles and the light from the fireplace itself. He hesitated only for a moment when he saw that the flames did indeed burn green, wondering if it was too late to just have Jet tell the Weasel to go choke on ash. But then he wondered what Harry would think if he did that should he somehow find out. He pictured disappointed emerald eyes in his mind, hurt turning down the lovely corners of his full mouth and the blond took a deep breath. Of course he would talk to Weasley because, even if he hated it, if the other man could make Harry happy in any way, then what could Draco do but give it to him?

“Malfoy.” Ron’s disembodied head was indeed floating in the fireplace and the blond had to swallow down a sneer of disgust when he saw him. Three years later and the other man hadn’t changed one bit; long nose, abundance of freckles and the crooked mouth that Draco had wanted to punch more than once. Then he told himself he was going to handle this like an adult so he forced his face smooth and his head to nod. If the nod was stiff and made him feel like his neck would snap, he was the only one who had to know.

“Weasley. What can I do for you?” He was proud of himself because what he really wanted to ask was what the fuck do you want? But, no, he would behave himself. Inside, however, he was fairly itching with irritation. The red head cleared his throat roughly, looking extremely embarrassed and the breath of air sent a flurry of ash over the hearth.

“Um, well, Parkin—I mean Pansy said that Harry was there.” The other man’s eyes, sickly green from the fire, looked up at the blond, beseeching. Draco just folded his arms and glared down at him. “I’d like to talk to him.” Draco almost snorted in response, rather outraged that the Weasel would even have the gall to ask that. The man who claimed to be Harry’s friend and yet had abandoned him over something the dark haired man had no control over; that Pansy had even allowed this was infuriating. Draco vowed he would have a few strong words with her come morning.

“And if he was here, why should I let you?” he demanded, voice chilling the air so effectively he felt it and wondered how it didn’t dampen the flames. Instead of flaring up in anger, like he had expected Weasley to do, the man ducked his head, hair of green flames falling about his face. He looked ashamed and contrite and even a bit like he agreed with Draco.

“Because,” he said quietly, the reddening of his ears even visible through the Floo, “I want to tell him I was wrong. I…I want to apologize,” his very voice rang with sincerity. And Draco felt his shoulders sag and the ice around him crack because he knew that this would make Harry happy and how could he refuse that.

All he was able to do was nod his head in assent.



Six:

Ron Weasley stepped from the Floo in the Manor the following morning.

Breaking the news to Harry during breakfast had been painful and he had nearly choked several times when he told the other man about his conversation with the redhead the night before. Merlin, he didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want that man in his house and he didn’t want him insinuating himself back into Harry’s life again. Most of all, he was afraid that if the dark haired man forgave Ron and they somehow picked up their friendship where it had left off, Draco would be effectively replaced. Though he knew it wasn’t right, or healthy, he wanted to be the only one in Harry’s confidence; the only one Harry trusted.

And what would happen, he wondered, if something else happened somewhere down the line? What if Harry forgave the Weasel but then the freckled git abandoned him again? He had done it more than once already and Draco hated seeing Harry hurt. It would only break the dark haired man’s slowly budding trust and how many times could he live through that until he gave up on other people altogether? Yet Draco managed to finally tell the dark haired man about it, watching as Harry munched slowly on a slice of toast and his green eyes followed the lines in the book he was reading. His face betrayed his surprise but Draco didn’t miss the small glow of hope that infused his expression. It made his heart ache with bitterness.

“Ron did?” Harry asked around his mouthful of toast, a small smudge of butter and marmalade on his lower lip making it shine. Draco swallowed his sudden overwhelming impulse to lean over and lick it off, taking a large bite of his own breakfast of fluffy pancakes so he would be forced to chew before he could answer.

“He did. He said he wants to talk to you. To…to apologize.” The word was razor sharp against his tongue when he uttered it, swinging back around and feeling like it tried to slice his throat into pieces. The emerald gaze dulled, no doubt remembering the reason why the redhead needed to apologize to begin with and he seemed to swallow painfully before setting his toast back onto its plate.

Draco was on the verge of asking about what had happened but he held back. If he heard a recount of the events that had taken the Weasleys out of Harry’s life, the blond would be even more hard-pressed to be civil to the redhead than he was already inclined to be. Still watching the dark haired man, he could see him hesitating, slowly chewing his toast and his gaze fixed far away. “Do you want to see him?” The green eyes met his own, surprised by the question but Harry didn’t answer right away.

“Erm…” he picked at the tablecloth, dark eyebrows knitted. He shrugged his slender shoulders, “I do miss him. He was my best mate since…” he shot a look at Draco who was doing his best not to scowl because, yes, he remembered vividly just when Harry Potter and Ron Weasley had become friends. It was something he tried to forget on a regular basis. Harry was smiling sheepishly at him from under his wild curls and the blond felt his fingers itch with the desire to push the dark hair from the other man’s face. “I guess you know that bit, huh,” and Draco couldn’t even feel the typical sting because those beautiful eyes were adorably crinkled at the corners.

“Hmm,” it didn’t need an answer so he didn’t give one, “it’s up to you, Harry,” he said softly instead, because the other man had not answered the question. “I can fire-call right now and tell him a different day. Or never, if that’s what you prefer.” He tried to keep the hope from colouring his voice but he suspected he failed when the dark haired man eyed him with his more piercing expression. Pretending calm, he took another bite of his pancakes even though he was no longer hungry.

“No, it’s fine.” Harry’s voice was slow, thoughtful and the hope was back in his eyes even though Draco could see the other man was trying to squash it. “Yeah, I’d like to see him.” The blond nodded and this time he was able to hide his reluctance and dread. He could do this, though, if only because he couldn’t bear to be the one to replace that tiny, glowing anticipation in the emerald gaze. Before he could rethink having a Weasley in his house, he called Fern to him, pushing away his mostly full plate and missed the way Harry glanced at it before fixing him with a sharp stare.

“Yes, Master Draco?” Fern curtseyed when she appeared, wearing what he suspected was supposed to be lace draperies. He decided not to say anything because Pansy would be more than happy to redecorate the Manor if the need arose (because that’s exactly what she would do given half the chance. A set of curtains would become an entire room).

“Mr Ronald Weasley will be visiting at eleven today,” he said, voice flat. “When he steps through the Floo, I’d like you to take him to the Observatory and serve him and Harry tea there.” She nodded hard enough that her ears flapped against her head, eyes wide as she listened to his directions. “Make sure it has enough Warming charms; it gets cold in there.” She nodded again and then popped away when he nodded his dismissal. Harry watched him as he sipped at his glass of pumpkin juice.

“The Observatory.” A dark brow was arched and he thought he detected a slight curling of the full lips. Draco crossed his arms over his chest and lifted his chin, knowing it made him look frosty. The Observatory was a huge room at the back of the Manor, made entirely of glass so one could see nearly the entire back of the grounds. The floor was made from white marble and the furniture, sparse but comfortable, was all white as well. At night, millions of tiny fairy lights twinkled along the glass, reflecting back and looking like a million twinkling stars. During the day, it drew in the outside so it was hard to tell where the yard ended and the room itself began, even though they were separated by a layer of glass. It was impressive at any time of the year but in the winter, it was breathtaking. All that white had a stunning effect.

“Yes, it is a perfectly acceptable place to entertain guests.” He was aware that his voice was at its snobbiest and he nearly broke out into laughter when Harry lifted both brows this time, grinning at him is disbelief. The other man leaned back in his chair, watching him carefully, amusement brimming in his eyes.

“So are the fifty other parlours and sitting rooms this house has,” he said and Draco refused to acknowledge that he had a valid point. “This has nothing to do with trying to intimidate your guest, does it?” The blond huffed, not sure if he should be pleased with the fact that other man had come to know him quite well or that Harry had seen right through him. Bringing a person like Weasley, who had been raised without the luxuries that Draco had, to a room like the Observatory would indeed guarantee at least some intimidation. The blond supposed he didn’t grow up as much as much as he thought.

“Of course not,” he lied, not meeting the other man’s gaze. “Nothing wrong with putting the best foot forward, is there?” He was surprised when Harry laughed lightly, eyes dancing in mirth. Every time he heard that laugh, saw that smile, Draco had to catch his breath and his heart knocked painfully against his ribs. It wasn’t fair. He had already been in love with this man but now, after they had spent the last month together, getting to know one another as he tried to help Harry through his pain, now he knew it was hopeless. Every little thing he learned about the dark haired man only made his heart beat faster, made him fall deeper.

“The Observatory it is,” Harry said and Draco couldn’t help but dart a quick smile at him. He noticed at that moment how much like his old self Harry looked. Even if it was with the aid of sleeping potions, he was sleeping through the night now and there were no longer dark circles shading his eyes. He was still rather thin but during the month that he had been in Draco’s care, he had gained enough weight that he was no longer sickly looking. The blond had done everything he could for the rest of the other man’s physical injuries in the beginning and Harry had used up the salve for the scars on his skin a week ago. Harry had gone from delicately beautiful to something even more breathtaking and with the bond of friendship winding ever tighter around them, the blond wondered if he would ever have the strength to let Harry go once the time came. Draco must have been staring because the dark head tilted from behind his teacup.

“I was just thinking,” he started, glad he didn’t have to think about Weasley and his impending invasion for the moment, “perhaps before the day is over I should run another full diagnostic. I think its time you were given a clean bill of health.” Physical health, of course but that went unsaid. They were both aware, especially after what had happened the night before, that Harry had a long way to go before he was able to overcome his mental and emotional scars. The physical ones had been the easiest to fix. The green gaze dulled and Harry put his cup down onto the table with a shaky hand, clearly upset by something.

“Okay…” the other man’s voice was slow like the syrup puddled on Draco’s plate and he felt a flash of concern. “Will you…find another place for me to stay then? I-I bet Sirius’s old house could be warded and—” The blond felt his stomach plummet when he realized how the dark haired man had taken his words and he quickly cut him off by reaching out across the table. He didn’t touch Harry but his intent was clear.

“No, Harry,” he said, the green eyes suddenly intense as they met his own. “I’m not saying that I want you to leave. Stay here for as long as you want. This is your home until the day you wish for another.” His heart thudded in the back of his throat because the day Harry left was the day he would probably shrivel up and cease to exist. How could he go back to the way he had been living now that he knew there was something else? Now that he knew there was this, those green eyes looking at him from across the breakfast table and that black hair falling into them like it wished for Draco to reach out and smooth it away. This, Harry’s laugh rumbling through the once silent rooms of the Manor, filling its empty halls with his presence that, though diminished at first because of the callous hand of his ex, was beginning to bloom again. This, the one person Draco had been longing for since he was eleven now talking to him like they were friends, because they were and wasn’t that a novel concept, and looking at Draco with amusement, understanding, acknowledgement in his eyes. This, how they were looking at him now, with gratitude and hope making them shine such a clear emerald.

“Thank you,” the other man said softly and that was all he needed.

* * *

Every muscle in Draco’s body felt like it was strung tighter than a piano wire. He could feel the tension coiling in the back of his neck and making his back and shoulders ache. Just sitting beside Harry in the cool light spilling into the Observatory while waiting for Weasley to show up was tying the blond into knots. They occupied the single couch in the room, its cushions comfortable and Harry was curled up with his feet tucked underneath him, his nose once more caught between the pages of a book. It should have been strange, Draco thought to himself, for he didn’t recall the other man being such a ferocious reader. As a matter of fact, Draco was hard pressed to recall a moment when he saw Harry reading at school. Now he practically devoured them, a new book in his hands nearly every day and seemed perfectly happy to do so. His face was serene as he read and the only evidence of his emotions was the way the foot that hung over the edge of the couch bounced anxiously.

Unable to sit still a moment longer, Draco pushed himself up from the couch and paced quietly over to the glass wall, staring out over the landscape that was still covered in soft, glittering snow. He could see Harry’s reflection in the glass, watching him from over the top of his glasses that had slipped down while he was reading. His lips were pulled down in a frown and his eyebrows were drawn but he didn’t say anything. They had already talked about how the blond felt having Ron as a guest and while he hadn’t given the true reasons for his concern, which was mostly Harry and fear of being left behind, the dark haired man was aware that Draco was willing to tolerate, not necessarily enjoy it. Of course, Harry had tried to convince him that he didn’t really want to see Ron after all, especially if it was going to bother Draco having the redhead there. He had quickly dissuaded Harry of that. Draco suspected that if this meeting went well, it might help restore some more of Harry’s confidence.

He just wished it didn’t have to be Weasley.

Shooting a glance at the clock hanging on the only wall made from white blocks of granite rather than glass, he fidgeted despite himself. Weasley was a good ten minutes late. Harry didn’t seem to have noticed or if he had, he wasn’t bothered by it, though at the moment the blond couldn’t read him. The green eyes had hidden themselves back behind the words in the book and Draco made himself look away before he was caught staring. After one last glance at the clock, he forced his mind away from the source of his anxiety before he made himself sick. Instead, he thought about earlier that morning with a small burst of warmth.

He had run the diagnostic spell right after the breakfast table had been cleared, moving them to a low, long ottoman so they could sit side by side. At once, he noticed how Harry didn’t draw away when their shoulders touched and though he did look a little wary when Draco cast the spell, he didn’t bat a single dark, curly eyelash. Instead he watched with bright interest as colours began to read out in front of him like a glittering rainbow.

At once Draco could see the difference from a month ago when he had cast that spell the first time. He had done solitary diagnostics over the past weeks but not a general one that gave him the full picture. All of Harry’s ill-set bones had been reset and straightened early on, as had the internal scarring and badly healed injuries. The reds proudly predominated the visuals, warm for health and neatly healed tissue. Harry was also no longer malnourished, his nutritional levels almost normal, though the spell picked up that he was still too thin for his frame. Draco wasn’t worried now that Harry no longer hesitated to eat during meals, many times even eating more than the blond did.

As the spell ran through the lists, Draco calmly explained to Harry what he was seeing. The colours reflected in his eyes, fascination flaring in their depths and he listened to all of the blond’s explanations, even when they veered towards more technical wording. It made him wonder if maybe the other man was just taken with magic itself. As a Wards Master, especially at Harry’s age, he needed to have studied avidly all different kinds of magic. Not only that, but he needed to understand it, on the most basic levels and the more technical ones. He remembered that the man excelled at Defence of Dark Arts in school and he had even appeared to enjoy Potions once Professor Snape was no longer teaching it. Still, Draco felt himself rather pleased with Harry’s undivided attention.

Best of all, he was indeed able to give the other man a completely clean bill of health.

The green eyes had lifted to his own once he let the spell die, bright with an emotion he couldn’t put a name to but which made Draco’s heart give a little flutter in his chest. For the first time since the other man had come to the Manor, Draco’s love for him wasn’t something abstract he kept pushed in the back of his mind with the knowledge that nothing would ever come of it. In that moment, it had blazed within him, passion like a fire eating at his blood. So hot it was he had forced himself to look away because he was terrified Harry would be able to see it.

“You’ve been amazing, Draco,” the dark haired man had said softly, his hands folded loosely in his lap. The blond had watched the curled fingers because it seemed the safest place for his gaze to rest at the moment. Though even Harry’s hands stirred something bright inside of him, wide and long fingered and strong. “I know I asked this but…why? Why are you even bothering with me?” This time, it was harder for Draco to answer.

“I told you,” he had managed, finally bringing himself to meet the other man’s eyes, “Life debt.” He had felt shaky, unbalanced, like he could have been knocked over with the smallest breath of air. After what had been done to Harry, he couldn’t know the real reason Draco had agreed to help him. At this stage, he was sure the other man would only be driven away by the truth. The most important thing between them was trust, out of which was budding a careful but comfortable friendship. That was all that could matter. The dark head had tipped to the side and Harry had smiled crookedly.

“Right. You did say that,” but his tone suggested that he didn’t believe Draco for a minute. And wasn’t that terrifying.

The doors opening behind him jarred him out of his thoughts and he turned in time to see Fern in her neat, lacy drapes bowing into the room. “Mister Ronald Weasley is being here,” she intoned, sounding the least hyperactive he’d ever heard her. The blond shot a quick look to Harry who had put down his book as soon as the doors clicked open and he realized the other man wasn’t as calm as he had thought. A line of tension marred the space between his dark eyebrows and his fingers were worrying the page he had left his book open to. He was nervous and Draco wished he had a way he could comfort him. The blond nodded to the elf, who stepped back out of the room and he was proud of her for not simply leading the man in like many new house-elves made the mistake of doing. That extra few moments of waiting helped to put an unwelcome visitor on edge, something he had been taught on his mother’s knee and he refused to feel bad for it.

A moment later, Ron Weasley was stepping into the room, jaw set and offensive red hair nearly reaching his shoulders. He looked big, bigger than Draco remembered him and the man had been tall even then. Perhaps it was the neat, gold trimmed Auror robes he wore or the way he flung his broad shoulders back, making them look even wider. Clearly he had just come from work and hadn’t the time to change but Draco knew the man would have worn them anyway and not for Harry’s sake. It was all he could do not to narrow his eyes at the redhead. Like he needed to be reminded the man was everyone’s favourite Auror. Draco was placated a bit when Weasley’s eyes strayed around the room, widening ever so slightly and his shoulders hunching just a bit. A Ministry success he may be but this man would always be awed despite himself in the face of true wealth.

Then he saw Harry, who was standing quietly next to the couch and he paused. The blue eyes flickered and darkened, an expression of festering guilt marring his expression. As well it should be, Draco thought nastily though he was careful to keep his face as smooth as the glass walls behind him.

“Hey, Harry.” Ron’s voice was a low growl, a deep bass that was rather shocking and commanding all at once and made the blond resist a frown. Of all people, he did not expect Weasley to become such an intimidating presence. A fire-call did nothing to prepare Draco for this and he realized it was for his own benefit to keep his sharp mouth in check. In the past couple years, he had learned how to curb it but he didn’t want to be civil to Weasley.

“Hi Ron.” Harry was perfectly calm, voice smooth and giving nothing away. Draco felt a flash of pride. He could see where Harry had his hand pressed against his thigh that it was trembling slightly but he stood up straight and met Weasley’s gaze with his own without hesitation. He also didn’t say anything else, just waiting for the redhead to talk, watching him almost as if this meeting had nothing to do with him at all. It made the redhead shift uncomfortably and shoot the blond a helpless glance. Drawing himself up, Draco moved away from the window, towards the door.

“Perhaps I’ll leave you two—” but he got no further before Harry spun to face him, eyes a little wild as he gasped.

“No!” it was almost a cry, startling Ron and making Draco stop dead in his tracks. “No, please stay.” he could see Harry swallow tightly, could see him trying to pull himself back under control but he was clearly afraid of being left alone with the redhead. “You don’t mind, right?” insecurity rang in his voice and the blond gave him a quick, warm smile.

“Certainly not. I’ll stay if you wish.” The dark head nodded, clearly relieved and the clear, emerald gaze only turned back to Weasley when Draco walked over to the couch and settled into his original seat. To tell the truth, he was rather uncomfortable being there, feeling like he was the wedge that stood between the two other men facing each other with the entire room between them. At the same time, however, the blond was secretly elated that Harry felt safer in his presence than he did with Ron. Granted, they had much more time to get to know one another recently but the dark haired man had known Weasley from before. Now it was the redhead’s turn to experience that bitter knowledge like a twist of lemon at the back of his throat. And he was, Draco could see it in the resentful flicker of his eyes. But he couldn’t question since it was Harry’s forgiveness he was seeking after all.

“Um…Harry, look, mate…” The blond almost felt bad for Weasley as he shifted from foot to foot, his unease rendering him less intimidating, more human. Harry seemed to see the same thing for he took pity on the man, waving towards one of the armchairs that sat across from the couch.

“Why don’t you sit, Ron,” he suggested quietly, sinking back down onto the couch himself. Draco felt the cushions dip but he watched the redhead shuffle over, still looking nervous now that he realized this was probably going to be harder than he anticipated. As soon as he was seated awkwardly, Fern appeared with the nicest tea tray Draco had left, three cups on the tray instead of the two he had specified. He made a mental note to give her an entire drawer of lace curtains when this was over.

“You look good,” Weasley stammered once the tea had been poured and Draco was glad for his own cup so he could hide behind it. “I-I mean, you know, con…sidering…” He looked away, clearly not knowing what to say and making a right mess of it. Harry’s face remained still as he held his cup balanced on his curved palm, watching the man sitting across from him with rather unnerving intensity. It compelled Ron to sigh and put his tea back down on the table, untouched. “Okay, right. Clearly I’m dithering about,” he looked straight at Harry and his jaw was clenched in an expression Draco had long ago labelled as “Gryffindor”, “I miss you. I miss being friends with you and having you around and being your best mate. I know…I know what my family—what we did to you was wrong…” Draco nearly snorted into his cup but he must not have been able to hide his reaction as much as he hoped because Weasley shot him a withering look.

“You publicly denounced me, Ron,” Harry said quietly, looking into his tea so that his wild curls obscured his face. “Ginny I can understand but the rest of you…especially you.” Draco could see him biting his lip and this time he didn’t outwardly react. Inside, however, his anger was raising its ugly head at the hint of lingering hurt in Harry’s voice. Weasley looked miserable, eyes pleading as he looked at the man who had once been his best friend.

“I didn’t…Harry, you have to understand, I couldn’t defy my entire family. You don’t know how much I wished I could but…Mum was so angry and Gin…she’d loved you since she was ten. I tried to talk to them before they cornered you but they wouldn’t hear of it and Mum, she threatened disownment if we all didn’t support her. I don’t…I don’t think she would have done it but…at the time…” Weasley shook his bright head and his shoulders slumped. “I’m so sorry, Harry. I wish every day I hadn’t let them do that to you or at least had the courage to stick with my convictions.” Draco suddenly found himself commiserating with the redhead. He’d had a family once too, one that he would have done anything for and very nearly had. To defy them and know that in doing so would leave him out in the cold; that was a difficult decision to make. Though he was surprised at Ron’s cowardice for making the choice he had. Draco’s tea was warm when he took a sip and he pretended to be looking out the window when Weasley glanced uneasily at him again.

“What were you most upset about?” Harry asked after a long, painful pause, sounding small but like he was going to ask what he needed to ask no matter how unconfident and weak he felt. “That I broke Ginny’s heart or that I am gay?” Green met blue and Draco watched it out of the corner of his eye, still taking slow, fortifying sips from his cup. The tension flared through the room, crackling like breaking ice and he carefully kept his head turned away.

“For me?” Ron sounded tired, like he’d had this argument many times before and he lost it every time. “That you broke her heart. She’s my little sister and you dated her for almost a year before you told her the truth. Of course I was angry about that,” then he sighed and leaned back into the chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “But…after a time, I could see that Mum, Ginny, Percy and even Bill and Fleur were fixated on the fact that you…prefer blokes rather than…” he waved his hand about, “rather than the other things.” Harry still had not moved or looked away but Draco could sense he was upset and it was getting worse the longer the redhead talked. Subtly, the blond shifted in his seat, making sure the dark haired man could feel the movement. Sure enough, the emerald green gaze flickered to him and Harry seemed to relax just a little.

“I see.” It was a whisper, a small flutter of a sound, conveying all of the aching, raw feelings this meeting was no doubt drawing to the surface. The Weasleys had been Harry’s surrogate family and they had abandoned him when he needed them over something like his sexual orientation, which would have been an already touchy subject. “Why did you change your mind?” Weasley seemed to take some confidence from the question and his shoulders seemed to ease just a bit.

“I miss you. I missed you the minute I realized it was possible to never see you again. I mean,” he scrubbed his hands through his shaggy hair in remembered frustration, “you’ve been my mate since we were eleven. That’s impossible to turn my back on.” Harry seemed to be breaking down, slowly beginning to be drawn out from his cold shell of doubt and hurt.

“Alright. But something must have happened, more than you just missing me, to bring you here. Didn’t it?” The redhead seemed to be taken back by Harry’s perceptiveness but he didn’t deny it. In fact he grinned lopsidedly, the expression there and then gone. Grudgingly, Draco was willing to admit that perhaps the ones who had changed were not only Harry and himself. Ron was not the boy he used to be either.

“Charlie is gay,” he stated without preamble, shrugging lightly as if it really didn’t matter to him and maybe it really didn’t. Harry made a small noise in the back of his throat and Draco glanced at him quickly to see him struggling to hide his shock. The blond wasn’t. All of those brothers, it was a very good possibility that one would end up preferring men. “I know. I found out a few months ago. He told me first but last week he said something to Dad. Dad would have kept it from Mum but she overheard and…well, it’s a big thing. And he’s…not taking it well. I saw the way he looked when Mum fire-called him in Romania and…I can’t do it anymore. I can’t pretend it bothers me because it doesn’t. I don’t give a flying Hippogriff’s arse who someone else fancies. That’s your prerogative, not mine….so…” he broke off, clearly embarrassed by his rather impassioned speech and Draco could no longer pretend he wasn’t listening.

“Well said, Weasley,” he murmured into his teacup and was rewarded when those blue eyes jerked to him in surprise. The blond merely curled his lips into a cool smile and returned the look. Perhaps, just maybe, this man wasn’t as bad as he wanted to believe. Harry took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, rubbing his palms over his arms like he was cold. Draco doubted he was for there were enough Warming charms on the room that he could see them shimmering where they met the glass if he moved his eyes quickly enough.

“This…isn’t the first time you’ve done this to me, Ron.” Harry’s voice was shaky, like he wanted to forgive him but he was afraid to let himself be set up for failure again. The redhead looked pained, really and truly, because it was only the truth.

“I know,” it was his turn to whisper, eyes brimming with remorse, “I know, Harry. I’m so sorry. I told them yesterday that they were full of shit because—I want to be your friend again and this time, I promise I will prove to you that I can be there for you, no matter what happens.” Draco listened to him talk and he couldn’t stop his own flash of resentment. At the same time, he couldn’t begrudge the redhead this, nor Harry who so clearly wanted it.

“Okay, Ron,” Harry said slowly, picking at the brocade on the couch and not looking at either of the other men in the room. “I believe you. I just…give me some time, yeah? If…” he looked over at Draco, eyes shining and looking overly bright from under the wild fall of his hair, “If it’s okay with Draco, maybe you can visit?” There was a sliver of hope burning in the clear emerald depths and the blond felt whatever ice in his heart that was lingering resentment of Harry’s friendship with Weasley melt away. He nodded shortly, noticing the way the redhead was watching their exchange closely with thinly veiled anxiety.

“I’ll add him to the Floo wards when he leaves,” he conceded and Harry’s bright, sudden smile belonged only to Draco.

True to his word, Draco went with Weasley to the Floo forty minutes later when the redhead left so that he could tune him into the wards. They were completely silent during the walk through the halls, their echoing footsteps like the vibrating bodies of struck bells. He had an irrational thought of some kind of rabid Weasley beast stalking him, gibbering as it chased him to drag him to the Ministry so he could be charged with some fabricated, heinous crime but he told himself not to be silly. The man wasn’t some drooling moron Draco liked to pretend he was and while he might be an Auror, which meant that Draco’s general mistrust for them still applied, the redhead had so far mentioned nothing about the blond’s part in the war or made a light on his family. Draco wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or worried.

Their mutual understanding of silence lasted until they reached the parlour, Draco stepping to the side to let the redhead through before him. Let no one say, his mother’s voice whispered in his mind, her figure glittering insubstantially in a corner for a brief second, that a Malfoy had lost his manners, no matter the circumstances. He ignored her, watching instead as Ron stopped in front of the fireplace and turned to the blond, his cool blue eyes hard. Wary, Draco paused in the doorway and touched his fingertips to his wand where he kept it hidden in his sleeve. Even now his gut told him to make sure he could defend himself.

“Parkinson told me about what that bastard did to Harry,” Weasley said, his voice that low rumble that made Draco think of thunderstorms and danger. The redhead even looked dangerous and the blond was very glad it wasn’t directed at him. “There’s already been an official investigation filed against him at the office but we haven’t been able to find him. It’s like he’s disappeared into thin air.” He shook his ginger head and ran his fingers over the bridge of his nose in frustration. Draco felt a slither of trepidation upon hearing that Alex was not only being investigated by the Aurors but that he was missing. He didn’t like the thought of that man running loose without anyone able to keep tabs on him; or arrest him as the case may be.

“He’s gone?” In that moment, he was incomprehensively glad for the Fidelius they had placed on the Manor, along with all the other precautions they had set. For Harry’s safety, it almost didn’t feel like enough.

“Like smoke. Can’t find a single hint to where he might have gone.” Ron shivered a little, looking uncomfortable. “Bloody Unspeakables. Give me the willies.” Draco was struck by the oddity of that statement, having a big, fully trained Auror of Weasley’s reputation saying something like that. At the same time, the blond found he was rather inclined to agree. Unspeakables were unpredictable at best and they now had one who was obsessed with Harry and who probably hadn’t found them simply because of the protections layered upon the Manor.

“Who submitted the case?” He knew Pansy wouldn’t have done so. She was as mistrustful of the Ministry as Draco was and would rather hire her own team of investigators rather than rely on Britain’s finest. And of course he wouldn’t because they would undoubtedly take Harry away from him, regardless of the fact that the dark haired man was here of his own free will.

“Neville did.” The redhead’s face was still grim and Draco was gratified to see how serious Weasely was about this. He never thought that Ron and Harry’s friendship was less than true but the lines now etched around Weasley’s eyes and mouth suggested what he had said before to Harry about being there for him was the truth. They would see how long it lasted this time, “He was the one I found out about this from.” His voice slid down, now a little more than a growl and the blond was suddenly very glad he was on their side. “He would have been the one to take Harry in but Alex would undoubtedly go there first looking for Harry. It’s definitely safer this way.” Something angry flared in Draco’s chest because that sounded an awful lot like he was being granted permission.

“Well, Weasley, as long as it suits your needs, right?” Draco hissed, furious. The bushy ginger brows drew together sharply over bright blue eyes and Ron crossed his arms over his powerful chest, prompting Draco to lift his chin. He refused to be intimidated by this man in his own house.

“Look, Malfoy, I want to say…I appreciate what you’ve done for him.” There was a definite reddening of the freckled cheekbones and tips of the other man’s ears, his lips turned down in an unhappy, reluctant frown. Draco could feel his own eyebrows lifting in surprise. “I don’t know what your motives are but Harry looks much better than what I was told he had been and…” he ran his hands through his hair again and huffed, “thanks, Malfoy.” Their eyes met and Draco debated saying something nasty about the redhead’s rather arrogant assumption that he was even involved enough to be grateful on Harry’s behalf at all.

“I’m not doing it for other people’s gratitude. Especially yours, Weasley,” was what he settled on instead and even managed to keep his voice calm and matter of fact. They were both adults, after all, and he supposed it wouldn’t kill him to act like it.

“I know.” The ginger head dipped in a nod of acknowledgement and they shared a moment of understanding. Weasley turned away to throw a pinch of Floo powder into the fire before he was away with a growl of his destination. Draco quickly used that moment to adjust the wards so that the man could come through, using his magical signature as it moved through the flames to anchor the change. Then he stood there for another long moment, wand held limply at his side, and breathed in the dusty scent of ash.

Of all the ways he had thought the meeting with Weasley to go, that was certainly not what he had expected. He’d anticipated animosity, anger, bitterness or even entitled posturing like the man had often done in school. Yet there had been none of that and Draco was glad for it. Glad because if Harry wanted his best friend back in his life again, the blond would need to get along with Weasley in order to hopefully remain by Harry’s side. It didn’t mean Ron had to become his friend in order to get along with him. I can do this, he thought to himself as he turned away, No matter what happens, I cannot lose Harry.

* * *

It started snowing again later that afternoon, the heavy flakes filling the air like little curls of frozen lace and Fern’s shouts of excitement could be heard echoing throughout the house. Pansy had fire-called shortly after Weasley left, announcing she would be away in Rome for the next couple of days. The message had been a little short sounding but she had left it with Kimble instead of talking to Draco directly so he couldn’t be sure he wasn’t just imagining it. Left to their own devices, he and Harry found themselves migrating to the library, alternately reading and watching the snow fall outside the windows.

The atmosphere after Weasley’s departure felt muted, like waiting and waiting for something horrible to happen only to realize that the blow had not fallen after all. He could see that Harry seemed to feel something similar as his posture was slumped with relief. The pages of the book he was reading were turned slowly and left to lay open on his lap, unworried by nervous fingers. That deep line between the dark brows was smoothed out now, completely invisible and the blond was happy to see it. Which made him wonder just what had happened between Weasley and the dark haired man during their falling out. Not the abbreviated, second hand story he had gotten from Pansy but Harry’s version: the one that truly mattered.

Putting his quill down after an hour or two of attempting to take notes, Draco quietly watched the dark haired man for a moment. He liked how the black, sooty lashes completely obscured the vivid green of Harry’s eyes as he concentrated on the words of his book and how his wild hair curled sweetly around his ears. Every once in a while he would part his lips to bite and nibble at the corner of his mouth then he would reach up and rub at his eyebrow with one fingertip. Behind him, snow blurred out the rest of the world but Harry looked warm and comfortable, curled up in his chair.

“Harry.” Draco hadn’t really meant to speak up and break the silence but once he had, he could feel the questions surging up the back of his throat. He wanted to know this man, not just from observation but from the things Harry told him. Though they had spent a lot of time in each other’s company, every day for the last month, their conversations had never delved into their pasts or into the deeper thoughts dwelling in the recesses of their minds. He knew he couldn’t ask for all of that now but there was something he thought Harry might be ready to talk about.

When the green eyes lifted lazily from the book, sending a tiny jolt of heat through the blond that he squashed with vengeance, he took a deep breath through his nose. “I wanted to ask…what happened?” The other man tipped his head in confusion and Draco quickly clarified, “I mean, I know the gist of it but I’d like to hear what happened with the Weasleys from your side.” For a second he thought Harry was going to refuse. He could see the memories he had dug up with his question, the ones Ron’s presence had already drawn to the surface earlier that day, hurt the other man. It was in the tightness of his lovely green eyes and how he tapped his fingers against the arm of the chair. But then he sighed and closed his book, putting it aside so he could face Draco completely.

“Fair enough,” he said, shifting so he could curl his legs under him more comfortably. Harry pursed his lips for a quick second, looking towards the window to see the snow swirling gently down to earth. “I didn’t mean to hide it from them,” he started, voice quiet and full of guilt Draco wished desperately he could scrub from existence. “I had broken up with Ginny before the Battle at Hogwarts because I didn’t want to put her in danger but she assumed that once the danger was gone, we were back together again,” he shrugged his shoulders, “I was too afraid to tell her at first that I had changed. I didn’t love her anymore. Or I did, but like a sister and not a potential lover,” Draco nodded when the green eyes sought his. He himself had never really got Harry with the Weasley girl, even in the beginning.

“It was confusing, the months after the war,” his voice was rough and his gaze faraway, “everyone wanted to thank me, wanted to treat me like some kind of god. What they didn’t realize was that I did what needed to be done. I was the only one who could do it so I did. It was nothing more than that.” The blond begged to differ. He believed what Harry had done was extraordinary but he wasn’t going to say that aloud because the dark haired man seemed uncomfortable with the very idea. Harry took a deep breath before continuing.

“In the confusion, I didn’t realize Ginny still believed that we were going to get back together. I barely saw her for all the useless Ministry functions I was forced to go to and the…the trials.” He broke off and glanced up at Draco as if he was afraid he had upset the blond but he just nodded for the other man to continue. “In that time I realized that…well, what every gay man realizes when he finds himself more attracted to other men rather than women. I was so busy during the time Voldemort was alive that once he was gone, I learned all these things about myself that I didn’t know were there before.” He understood what Harry was saying as the same thing had happened to himself. Once the fear and the desperation were gone, there was suddenly all this time to discover all these things about himself that he didn’t have time before to discover.

Then he realized that he had not flinched at all when Harry said Voldemort.

“There was…his name was James. I met him when I started with David Reid, my Warding teacher. He was David’s apprentice and…he was the first person I had met outside my circle of friends who didn’t seem to care that I was Harry Potter, Saviour and all that rot. It was just a fling, really, an experiment in my case but he was kind and he didn’t care that he was my first man.” As Harry spoke, the blond twisted his hand in the folds of his shirt, swallowing against thick jealousy. He hated that the dark haired man had been with anyone else but then he had to tell himself that it was an unreasonable thing to be envious of because there was hardly anything he could do about it. Not only that but Harry didn’t belong to him and probably never would. At least, not outside of his own mind. “We were…at my flat one night and…” he was blushing now with remembered embarrassment, heat staining his cheeks pink, “Ginny never really did learn how to knock. Or maybe she did and we just never heard her. Either way, she caught me with him, on my knees with his cock in my mouth and clearly enjoying it.” Despite his flushed cheeks, bitterness had bled into his voice.

“I’m sure she learned to knock after that.” It was Draco’s wry attempt to lighten the atmosphere and he was grateful when Harry’s green eyes brightened just a little when he smiled.

“Probably not, knowing her.” He ran his fingers through his hair, making the wild curls stand on end for a moment and his smile faded like the light of a falling star. “Needless to say, she did not take it well. I tried to tell her that I had assumed that we weren’t a couple since my sixth year at Hogwarts but she didn’t want to hear that. She was so concerned with the fact that I had turned into a poof she didn’t want to hear anything I said. Like I had tainted her or something.” He shook his head as Draco tried not to react to the tainted comment. He had always known the girl Weasley was a grasping little bint but he didn’t realize it was to such an extreme extent.

“That’s ridiculous,” he scoffed, completely disgusted on Harry’s behalf and was rewarded with another quick, flaring smile. “For all of their posturing, the Weasleys seem to have clung to an archaic pureblood mind frame.” It was true that purebloods had frowned upon same sex couples but that was only because of the worry over continuing bloodlines. In the early 1900’s, a Healer by the name of Constance la’Rue discovered that conceiving a child was possible for gay couples with a Potion commonly called Myth. After that, it became accepted. It wasn’t about close-minded traditions but continuing the family name. In this, the Muggles seemed to be rather outdated, along with, it seemed, the Weasleys. Harry bit his lip and looked rather helpless.

“Yes, it would seem that way,” he said quietly. “I was not shunned by the rest of the wizarding world when Ginny ran to the papers, which she did the following day. It was a shock, I think, but if anyone had anything negative to say, it was not printed. Everything was kept neutral and even respectful, which is surprising because Skeeter is always looking for a scandal,” which was only the truth. “Honestly, I think Hermione had something to do with it. She was my biggest defender until…” he broke off and his eyes went flat. That was another conversation they would need to have, Draco suspected, but he wanted to hear the rest of what happened with the Weasley’s first.

“Um, anyway.” Harry cleared his throat and shook his hair out of his face. The motion was unconscious and sent the blond’s heartbeat racing. “I think Gin was expecting some big, public humiliation and when she didn’t get it, she felt put out. So she did something else. She got her mother on her side, which guaranteed the rest of the family would side with them and they cornered me when I was in Diagion Alley.” He sighed again and leaned his head back against the chair. His eyes looked sad as they blinked up at the ceiling, his full lips pulling down in a frown Draco was beginning to find was upsettingly familiar.

“I honestly don’t remember most of it. I remember that they made such a scene, Prophet photographers were there in two minutes and I can list every ugly name they called me.” His breath hitched but he didn’t stop talking. “I know that Ron stood in the back and refused to meet my eyes. I can remember thinking that it wasn’t really betrayal because this was his family but…since then I’ve stopped believing that. Mr Weasley too, didn’t really get involved and Percy and Charlie weren’t even there. But…” He sounded dull, flat, like he didn’t care. Draco knew better. For a moment, he regretted asking, hating that he was the one who forced Harry to relive something so painful. Yet he didn’t stop the other man’s story; in the end, it would be better that Harry was no longer living with this festering in his soul like rotting garbage.

“Ginny and her mother…they spared me nothing. George was almost worse because he kept making disgusting jokes in between all the screaming and no one stopped him. Bill…” Harry’s voice dropped so that Draco had to lean forward to hear what he was saying. “Bill told me that if I couldn’t get myself cured then I was nothing more than an animal.” A book went skittering off the table to slam against the wall, startling the dark haired man and Draco forced his magic back under his skin. Harry looked at him for a moment then smiled a slow, quiet smile that was full of something the blond couldn’t define.

“I apologize,” Draco said, trying to keep the harshness of his anger from his voice and was almost glad he couldn’t when the other man’s smile only warmed. At least Harry knew that the rush of furious magic was directed at the group of redheaded fools and not him. What made Draco’s anger dissipate like fog in sunlight though, was how the other man seemed to appreciate the show of rage. It heated something in the pit of his stomach and he had to look down at the table so he wouldn’t smile back like some gap-mouthed fool.

“I know,” Harry said softly, “when I got home that night, I broke more than just a cup, believe me. I think I understand Ginny’s anger but…they betrayed me. They told me I was part of their family but when all was said and done, I was nothing more than the boy who turned gay.” His eyes were clear as they watched the blond, honest and open in a way Draco had never seen before. It was beautiful to see Harry like that, willing to give a small part of himself, baring a pain he had been living with for much too long.

“I never did think the Weasleys were good enough for you,” Draco muttered under his breath, only lifting his head when Harry asked him to repeat what he said. “I’m sorry. No one should have to go through that.” This time he spoke so the other man could hear him and wished once more that things between them had gone differently when they were younger. Maybe then none of this would have happened; maybe life would have gone a little easier on both of them. But he halted that thought before it had the chance to run rampant because if wishes were Galleons, he would never have needed to sell a single silver fork so he wouldn’t starve. The other man fidgeted, nose flaring slightly as if he was annoyed and then met Draco’s eyes directly.

“But hardly the worst that could happen to someone,” Harry murmured, voice little more than a breath of air and discomfort prickled along the blond’s skin. “What happened was a choice of their own, and mine for not giving in to them. I can hardly bemoan about my circumstances when you…you had nothing.” Draco felt his breath catch and his chest restrict and suddenly the conversation had turned from Harry to himself. There was a softness about the other man’s brilliant eyes that reminded him too much of pity and he didn’t want that. He didn’t want anyone to feel bad for him because he had used up enough self-pity for the entire world.

“Harry…” His own voice sounded like crumbling mortar, breaking under the pressure of those eyes. Harry’s jaw was set though, determined expression as stubborn as a Crup puppy trying to catch a butterfly and Draco could feel himself quailing under it.

“I can hear you, sometimes.” It wasn’t accusing, not in the least, but more of a plea to understand and it jolted through the blond like a blade to the gut. “I hear you talking to people who aren’t there and I’ve seen the empty rooms. Pansy said you haven’t set foot into wizarding society since your trial. Have you really been entirely alone this whole time?” He supposed it was only fair; Harry told him something he may not have wanted to talk about and in exchange, he wanted to hear about Draco. But the blond couldn’t do that. He couldn’t break through that layer he had tightly wrapped around his heart, couldn’t let this man see that part of him. It wasn’t because of pride but because what if, when all this was said and done, Harry decided to leave? When Alex was caught and the dark haired man was safe, Harry had a life to go back to. And then where would that leave Draco? Here, alone again with his ghosts, slowly going mad. It was a wonder he wasn’t already, truthfully.

“It’s not…I’m fine, Harry,” he managed, voice cracked. Even to his own ears it did not sound convincing. The other man made a quick movement but when the blond looked up, he was still sitting in his chair, staring intently at Draco with face pulled taught with confusion and frustration.

“Was it your mother you yelled at last night? I hear you call her sometimes.” A fine haze of heartache was clouding Draco’s gaze, making the room seem grey and dim and his breathing had gone funny, like he couldn’t quite remember how to do it properly. He wanted to demand that Harry shut up, wanted to scream at him, but how could he when all that was being said was the truth? “Or is it your father. You call him by name, you know.” Harry was still watching him, determination filling his expression and for the first time since he was eleven, Draco hated the sight of it. He could feel himself shaking and his breaths had turned panicky and he needed to stop Harry now before the pressure building behind his eyes had a chance to escape in a burst of anxious magic.

“I think its dinner time soon.” Draco made his voice sweetly cheerful as he pushed himself out of his chair, refusing to look directly at the other man. “Maybe we should go see what’s on the menu?” and he turned away, not waiting for a response. Everything seemed oppressive and he wanted to run away, wanted to throw something. He hated how vulnerable he felt. Harry’s voice stopped him before he was able to make an escape.

“Draco.” It was said softly, kindly, without any force and the blond found himself turning despite himself to look at the other man through the long sweep of his hair. The bitter tang of uncertainty clogged the back of his throat and made his limbs feel like they were made of rubber. For a moment he thought Harry was going to push the issue but then he smiled once and nodded. “Yeah, alright,” and he stood to follow the blond.

When he turned back around to walk out of the library, Draco nearly choked on his relief, wondering why it felt so much like disappointment.

* * *

It was cold and nearly pitch black in his mother’s destroyed sitting room. The storm outside continued to rage on, blocking any light that might have snuck through the windows had the night been clear. He was forced to cast a spell for light, picking one his mother had taught him when he was four and afraid of the vampires he was convinced lurked under his bed. Hundreds of tiny lights, barely bigger than the tip of a wand, darted about the room and clung to the walls and ceiling, becoming a twinkling web that looked very much like stars. It had been his favourite spell when he was young, keeping him company during those long, frightening hours of darkness. Now it gave him just enough light to see by without tripping over splintered debris.

The house-elves had locked all the doors to the rooms he had destroyed, obeying his command not to clean them up but spelling them to discourage entrance. It had been easy to dismantle the locking charms though, most likely because the Manor still recognized him as its master, for which he was grateful. He didn’t want to have to struggle with the door in the middle of the night. The room smelled thickly of dust and a closed in space left untouched and he slowly made his way through it so he could sit down on the other end of the room. He sank slowly down to the floor with a long sigh, feeling his shoulders rub against the smooth surface of the wall.

The sound of glass crunching under his feet was familiar as he raised his knees so he could rest his arms on them. The room in all its deconstructed glory spread out in front of him and the sight of the rubble he had created had the strange effect of easing all the tension in his body. It always did and he wasn’t sure why. Maybe the display of what his grief and pain had done showed him that he didn’t need them all the time. They were a part of him but they didn’t completely define him. Every once in a while, though, he needed a reminder and so he would come back here to sit, remember, and let himself think about what he missed.

Harry had dropped their earlier conversation after they had left the library, not picking it up again during dinner or later when they sat by a roaring fire reading peacefully. It was all so domestic but Draco had been unable to enjoy it because he had been terrified that the other man would bring the dreaded topic of himself back up. He didn’t thankfully and went to bed with his usual quick smile and goodnight like he always did. Yet Draco was too high strung to even contemplate sleep. After aimlessly wandering through the Manor, he found himself here, in front of the locked door lifting the spells so he could enter.

It was colder in here than the rooms that were being used, as if it had been forgotten when the house-elves had used their own magic to warm the house. Silence hung over him like a shroud, the air so still he could hear the snowflakes touching upon the windowpane. He thought about a Warming charm for a moment, feeling the draft wafting over him and seeping through his trousers but he wasn’t frozen yet so he didn’t bother reaching for his wand. Besides, he wasn’t here to be comfortable. He was here to remind himself that everything in life could be snatched away in a blink of an eye and that he needed to be careful how close he let himself come to another person.

Especially when said person had the power to break him so absolutely there wouldn’t even be remains.

It was so hard to allow himself to trust someone else again. When this whole thing had started and he had agreed to help Harry, he had thought that it would be about getting the other man to trust him, to like him and then, maybe eventually, they could find a way past friendship into something else. But what Draco failed to realize then was that something like that took both people involved. He couldn’t just expect Harry to open up to him without reciprocation. The problem was, he was terrified of letting the dark haired man see Draco Malfoy. He was afraid that if Harry did, he would seem weak, unworthy, touched in the head. Or Harry would remember why they were never friends in the first place. It could happen like that anyway, he supposed, even if he did allow himself to get any closer but at least this way, he didn’t have to lay his soul bare to make it happen.

He loved Harry but if or when the time ever came, he didn’t know if he could allow Harry to love him. Because what else was he besides a lonely man who had lost nearly everything he ever had, including, he was beginning to see, his identity as a wizard? Draco was scared. That was all. Underneath it all, he had never stopped being the coward he had always despised himself for being. If he had, he would have forced his way back into the world he belonged in, would have grasped what he wanted with both hands and never let go. But he hadn’t done that. It had taken a friend he barely ever saw to beg for his help so that his frozen way of life could change. In the end, though, he could see that he hadn’t thawed very much. He wanted to, he really did. He wanted to be a person strong enough and brave enough that Harry could look at him not just a friend but a partner, a lover, a person he could spend many, many years with and never get tired of.

All that Draco had loved had been taken away from him. What made him think that Harry wouldn’t be too?

He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there when the stillness around him changed. It was still quiet, distractingly so but something shifted, a presence melting from the silence and it made him look up, not accustomed to being disturbed while he sat in the broken rooms. Then he caught his breath, eyes widening and heartbeat quickening as he stared at the other end of the room.

Harry stood framed in the shadows of the doorway, face as still at the air around them. The tiny, shimmering lights that netted the room gave enough glow to illuminate the depths of his eyes, making them shine brightly enough that Draco could see their colour from across the room, and highlighted the messy curls of his hair. He stood in his pyjamas, a pair that Pansy had bought him made from the softest black cotton the blond had ever felt, looking steadily at Draco sitting across from him on the floor. Not once did his eyes stray to the mess strewn about the room nor did his lips move to ask about it. Harry just pressed one hand to the doorjamb and remained utterly motionless.

Only when he realized that Draco had noticed him and was watching him carefully did he break the silence. “May I join you?” he whispered, clearly in an attempt not to disturb the quiet too much but even that sent echoing ripples of sound through the air. The blond nodded, not sure whether he felt ashamed of Harry seeing this room or nervous about what he might say. But Harry just picked his way across the room to him by the dim light of Draco’s spell and said nothing. Even when he nudged a broken piece of what was once a chair out of the way so he could sit beside the blond, he remained silent.

The tension that Draco had carried around with him ever since the other wizard asked him about his ghosts was back, coiling through his shoulders and around his spine, making him wish he could tap his fingers against his legs. Not that it would help anything but he wanted to just the same. Yet as the minutes slowly ticked by and Harry continued to sit beside him quietly, he felt himself relaxing once again. Draco could see him, leaning against the wall with his legs stretched out in front of him and his hands folded on his thighs. In the strange shadows that the tiny little lights cast, the blond could see that Harry’s face was calm and unmarked by wrinkles. He looked peaceful, the most Draco had seen him look except when he was asleep. It was beautiful, seeing Harry look young and unmarred by life. It wasn’t the truth, of course, but right now, it almost seemed as if it could be.

Outside, the storm continued to turn the world white but with Harry sitting right beside him, his warmth seeping into Draco’s right side until his entire body tingled with the awareness of it, the storm felt like it was miles away. It was just he and Harry, sharing the semi-darkness and listening to each other breathe. Never before had he just sat with a person like this, feeling the rhythm of them beside him, aware of their presence but not doing anything about it except memorizing how it felt in his mind. And when the other man gave no indication of noticing him looking, Draco shifted so he was leaning his chin upon his folded arms and turned his head to the right, facing Harry.

Looking, he found, was infinitely better than just feeling because then he could watch each inhale Harry took, watch how an errant curl slowly crept down into his eyes, take in each slow blink of his beautiful green eyes. And, oh, how Draco wanted him. The ache of his desire had long since settled deep within him, like a hunger he couldn’t sate no matter how much he ate. Desire to touch, to hold, to kiss but most of all, to possess.

If only he had thought of that before agreeing to this. If only he had known how far he would fall. But then again, Draco had always been helpless for Harry Potter.

“So, I was thinking.” The quiet around them caved under the sound of Harry’s tentative voice, mingling with the scattered glass and wooden splinters covering the floor. The blond watched him form his words, wanting to lean over and lick at his slightly damp bottom lip just to see what it tasted like. The earlier expression of contentment was gone, replaced by something nervous. Hoping to banish it, he tipped his body quickly to the right, nudging Harry with his shoulder.

“That’s never a good thing, Potter,” he teased and earned himself a mocking, exasperated glower. Just like that, Harry’s demeanour eased and Draco caught the flicker of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Prat,” the dark haired man mumbled. It was the first time he dared to insult the blond in jest, though this wasn’t the first time they exchanged light banter. Draco found himself turning his head enough so that he could hide his grin in the crook of his arm. “Anyway,” another perfunctory glare was tossed in his direction, “if we get a clear day sometime soon, we should go do something.” Draco jerked his gaze up to meet Harry’s and found the shadowed eyes pensive. “Something outside this house,” and the blond’s smile fell away. There was something in the other man’s voice that held not only hope but a hint of calculation. Calculating Gryffindors were dangerous beings, he thought.

And for a brief moment, as appealing as it sounded, Draco knew he would have to refuse. It wasn’t safe to leave the Manor’s wards and he had only just had the conversation with Weasley about Alex disappearing off the face of the earth. Which meant Alex could be anywhere looking for Harry and that anywhere could very possibly be close by. Especially when he had magic at his disposal they didn’t know about. Draco wasn’t sure he could defend against this man, with a wand that was not attuned to him specifically and three years of casting nothing but cleaning and warming spells.

Then he thought about the Muggle village he used to frequent and stayed his refusal. So far, Alex had not found where Harry was, by evidence of the wards remaining intact and the Fidelius making it impossible for anyone without a specific invitation to even recall there was a Malfoy Manor. Nor did Draco have any prior connection to Harry, unless one counted school, which he didn’t because even then they hadn’t been friends. Pansy was the only link and no one but a select few who were all trustworthy and loyal to Harry knew Draco was even involved. They would not travel to town using magic nor would they do any while they were there, just in case Alex knew a spell to track magic signature. Draco rather thought he might but if Harry didn’t do any then it wasn’t an issue. What was more, it was a Muggle town and no one would even know who Harry was.

The more Draco thought about it, the more he began to see it wasn’t a completely horrible idea. Harry did need to move about in other environments, get used to people being around him that weren’t Draco or Pansy. Plus the walk would do both of them some good. They could use some of the beautiful winter clothes Pansy had so graciously bought, charmed to keep the wearer warm and cosy no matter how cold. That way they could walk through the snow covered lanes without freezing. If they didn’t get another storm, the lanes should be cleared in a few days.

“There’s a town,” he said slowly, warming to the idea now, “it’s Muggle but I’ve been going there to get weekly provisions and such. They all know me by sight and I’m sure they’ll welcome you just as readily. We could…go shopping and then the pub or…there’s a little restaurant too.” He lifted his shoulder and caught the way Harry’s eyes shone through the shadows.

“That sounds wonderful,” he breathed and it really did.

When the silence settled over them again, it felt different. Lighter, perhaps. Charged with plans for the future and the excitement of something to look forward to. Maybe it wasn’t that safe, bringing Harry outside the wards but it was safer than it would have been if Harry had stayed with Pansy or another one of his friends. You’re one of those friends now a little voice whispered happily in his head and Draco had to turn away to hide his small, secret smile.

When he shifted so that he was leaning against the wall with his feet stretched out in front of him, mirroring Harry’s position, the other man leaned a little closer. His dark head was bowed when the blond looked at him, face obscured by shadows and the fall of his hair and Draco wondered if perhaps the shift was unconscious. Not that he minded, of course. His proximity made the warmth pressing into Draco’s side intensify and he could smell Harry now, a soft, rich scent that reminded him of days spent in the Manor’s orchards when he was a child and something earthy, musky. It made him long to turn his head and bury his nose in the wild fall of the dark hair. Actually, it made him want to do more than that, to the point his fingertips fairly itched with his desire and he curled his fingers into his palms as if that would make the heat curling through his veins go away.

It wasn’t until a soft, warm weight suddenly fell upon his shoulder that he realized that Harry had dozed off. Startled, Draco froze, entire body stiffening when he felt warm breath upon his neck. They had touched before, quick, nearly forgettable moments of brushing fingers or a hand on an arm or shoulder. This was neither quick nor put easily from mind, though the blond would admit to no one but himself that he remembered every single time they came into contact. This was Harry trusting Draco enough that he could fall asleep on his shoulder. This was the heat and the feel of the dark haired man, curling into the blond as he breathed deeply even in sleep. This was the man Draco had always been in love with, with his dark hair falling over the blond’s shoulder and his breath touching upon Draco’s skin and he thought for a moment he would cry from the need to hold him.

But why not, he thought a moment later. Harry was asleep anyway and wouldn’t it be more comfortable for both of them if he put his arm around the other man’s shoulders? That way, they could lean together and Harry wasn’t in danger of sliding off. Heart galloping wildly in his throat, half terrified that the dark haired man would wake with his slightest movement, Draco was able to work his arm out and around the slender shoulders, stopping a half a dozen times when he thought Harry would certainly wake. He never did and soon the blond had that dark head pressed against his neck, holding Harry as closely to him as he dared.

It was scary and it was wonderful and he wanted nothing more than to stay in that room, holding this man forever. Now he could bury his nose in the abundant black curls and he could breathe in that scent, the one that was all Harry. Every time the dark haired man drew in a breath, Draco could feel it and matched his own to the rhythm of it. He did all of those things, relishing the weight of this joy in his arms, and his eyes stung with tears.

This was all he had wanted for so many years, this heat, this arousal, this slow, melting happiness and while he knew it couldn’t last, he let it sweep over him, feeding his ever persistent hunger for just a few moments. Just like this, he let himself feel at peace.

Draco joined Harry in sleep some time later, still holding him against his chest, as the snow outside continued to fall and the silence became their blanket against the cold.



Seven:

February gave slow and grudging way to March. More than a week had passed since the night Draco had fallen asleep in the destroyed space of his mother’s sitting room with Harry’s head on his shoulder. The storm, when it had finally blown itself out, had dumped drifts upon drifts of snow onto the countryside, making the clearing of roads for the Muggles difficult. The house-elves could clean up the pathways on the Manor property with very little effort but that did little good once they left the property. So if they wanted to leave the grounds, they needed to wait for the inefficient process the Muggles used.

Draco found himself at turns grateful for the delay and restless to be free of the Manor. Grateful because he was still nervous taking Harry outside the ward’s protections. Anything could go wrong and when it was anything, he could not be sure he was prepared for it. One of the house-elves would come with them, ordered to remain hidden unless they had need of protection. Unfortunately, house-elves were strongest within the property they were bound to and could only stand up to a full fledged wizard if they managed to take them by surprise if they were outside it. Leaving was a great risk.

Yet, Draco could see the way Harry looked out the windows, staring through the glass with longing filling his face. It would be good for him to get out of the house. His excitement was a nearly tangible current that Draco found himself sharing with the other man, filling the spaces between them during meals and quiet moments in the library. He remembered from school how Harry would be out of doors nearly all day on the weekends they got lucky and the weather was nice. Whether it be flying or mucking about by the lake, it was clear he didn’t like being trapped indoors for long periods of time.

How long had Alex had Harry chained up in that flat? Chained to a single wall in a single room, for hours, for days, many times without a single trace of human kindness or company. For someone who had such a restless spirit as Harry, it was one of the cruellest things that could have been done to him. It wasn’t something Draco had thought about until the other man had asked him about leaving the Manor. The blond had observed this about him when they were younger, yes, but he had never seen naked longing to be out there, free, unconfined by man-made walls like he had in the past week. It wasn’t about responsibility; Harry had that in spades, the prime example his destruction of the Dark Lord. It was about the simple yet underestimated joy of being able to go out and see other things, like the open sky and the faces of people never encountered before and air not yet breathed.

Draco understood this because sometimes he would see the same expression in the mirror.

Sometimes, he wanted nothing more than to take out a broom and greet the sky just for the sake of that feeling of freedom but all the Manor’s brooms had been taken away. Sometimes, he wished to walk down the streets of a wizarding community and not be in constant fear of being driven away. Sometimes, he wondered why he stayed here at all.

Still caught in the web of his father’s folly, he was able to read Harry’s desire and found that he knew it very well, as he longed for the same, though for different reasons.

Logically, he knew that the other man’s request meant he was growing confident enough that he no longer wished to hide. Of course they couldn’t go anywhere Harry would be recognized, for his face would undoubtedly be plastered all over the papers the following morning. But he still wanted to get out and that was a vast improvement from when he wouldn’t even leave his room. That he was able to want that, the need to get out and do something meant he had made a huge stride in his recovery.

Letting himself get caught in Harry’s excitement, Draco was able to tell himself he had forgotten all about the morning they had woken up together in the midst of broken glass and furniture. Not that he wanted to, but rather needed to for the sake of his own sanity. Because he wanted it to happen again so badly, the cavity under his ribs ached with it. Because he wanted so much more, he was afraid he would go and take it even though Harry was surely neither interested nor ready for it. Even so, even knowing all of this, it didn’t make the throbbing burn of his desire any less. Now that it had been ignited, the blaze was so bright he felt it would consume his very soul. He could not hope to ever extinguish it again.

That morning had been the very best. And the very worst.

It had not happened by design. He wouldn’t do something like that, for both his own sake and Harry’s. But it happened anyway and sometimes accidents had more impact than something that had been planned.

Draco had woken sluggishly not from the cold but because he was sleeping funny on his arm and it was going numb. The first thing he was able to discern was that it was still rather early. There was light spilling into the room from the windows but not much and even with cloud cover, it was still a bit too grey to be anything but early. For a moment he let this sink in, feeling tired and rather grey himself, thinking of nothing other than the fact that he should probably move his arm before the numbness became painful.

Only, as it turned out, he wasn’t the one sleeping on his arm at all.

That wasn’t what he became aware of next, for he could tell at once that he was not sleeping on the comfort of a mattress. As a matter of fact, he didn’t realize the one using his arm as a pillow had a wild thatch of dark curls and was breathing slow, steady puffs of warm air against the blond’s shoulder. Draco noticed it was the floor he was curled up on, hard marble making his back ache, though that could have been what felt like a splintered piece of couch gouging into his spine. There was a soft, fluffy blanket thrown carefully over his shoulders, one he recalled typically warming his own bed and a charm had been cast on it so he was wrapped in a bubble of heat. Last night he remembered feeling the chill seeping up through the tiles and under his skin but that morning…

Last night…

His eyes had flown open at once and he had lain very, very still. Because he wasn’t in his own bed and he certainly had not moved Harry from his shoulder before drifting off. Which could only mean that the warmth he felt pressed against his side, the heat he had assumed came from the warming charm placed on the blanket that must have been tucked not only around himself but the other man as well, was, in reality, Harry. Harry pressed against his side, dark head on Draco’s outstretched arm, the warmth of him so very alive. It made the blond catch his breath on a painful hitch and wonder if perhaps he was dreaming. But no, the night before had really happened and the morning would play out, as it must.

As it did.

It could have been minutes he lay there wide awake, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling and counting every breath Harry touched upon Draco’s shoulder. It could have been hours. He wasn’t quite sure but he knew that he didn’t care. In fact, he could have lain there forever like that, cataloguing the way a slender hip felt pressed against his own, the weight of a careless hand rested on his stomach, the curl of another’s calf fit around one of his own. It was so intimate, something he had never had with another human being before. That it wasn’t even in a bed didn’t matter. The discomfort in his back and shoulder from lying all night on unforgiving marble mattered so little next to this. And it wasn’t just the intimacy of waking with another person curled around him but that it was the person he was desperately in love with.

This was the way he imagined waking up for years, in the hopeless way anyone dreams of holding the unattainable. Yes, he would indeed stay like that forever. But what he really wanted, as unrealistic as it might have been, was for a single moment for Harry to be in love with him as well. A moment of that over an eternity of reality.

He didn’t even want to think of the other consequences at the moment, including what Harry’s reaction might be when he woke up and became aware of Draco’s morning stiffie that had turned into a full-fledged hard on thanks to the direction of his thoughts. It wasn’t fair, he thought, wishing just for a second he was allowed the weakness of tears. It wasn’t fair that everything he had ever wanted was right here, pressed all against his side and breathing so soft and disarming. All he could do was to lie as quietly as possible while he burned with the need to turn on his side and wrap his arms around the man whose breath warmed Draco’s skin. It was comparatively easier not to think about where and how he wanted to rub his erection, though the thrum of arousal between his thighs was impossible to completely ignore.

He felt a flare of panic the moment the other man stirred, his breath hitching, becoming irregular as sleep fell away from him. The hand draped over his abdomen curled into a fist and pulled at the material of his shirt before falling open again. The leg curled between his own shifted, moved alarmingly higher and the bony hip pressed more insistently into his own. Draco was grateful Harry stopped his movements before they could cause sufficient embarrassment for both of them, though it could certainly be explained away with the “it’s the morning” excuse. The blond just preferred not to use it, afraid of what expression he might see on Harry’s face if he did.

As it was, he was bracing himself for the negative reaction he was sure he was going to get when the other man realized in what position they had spent the night curled in. Or, more importantly, curled in together. A minute ticked by, stretched into two and though he was sure Harry was awake now, there was no flailing limbs or a hurried, terrified retreat. No sound came from the man at his side except for the small whispers of his breathing. Maybe Harry realized and had done the same thing as Draco had and gone as still as possible. He didn’t feel as if he had tensed but after how many months with an abusive, psychotic ex, he was probably quite good at acting.

Only, when Draco let impatience get the better of him and he turned his head so he could see the dark haired man, there was no disgust or fear or discomfort in the dreamy greenish gaze that blinked at him from behind crooked glasses. Just quiet, somewhat sleepy surprise.

“Good morning,” Harry’s voice was rough, thickened with sleep and whatever dreams he had seen behind his eyelids. Obviously no nightmares for the blond would have been awakened by the fearful struggles that usually accompanied them. It made Draco wonder. Was it because the other man had not slept alone that he hadn’t dreamed or was it because the person whom he slept beside he trusted, felt safe with. It was a hope too bright for the blond to contemplate for very long but the tingling reality of it didn’t go away.

No, it burst into glorious, glaring flames because after Harry said good morning, he smiled. Smiled, a slow yet open thing that shone like honey in sunlight and made Draco’s heart completely falter in his chest. Smiled like he was happy to find himself using the blond’s arm as a pillow after spending a night on the floor with hard marble and wooden splinters for a bed. Smiled. Oh, how he smiled. It stole everything from the blond and gave him back even more until he knew nothing but that beautiful, breathtaking, soul-stealing smile. It made him feel wobbly, like he was going to fall over even though he was already lying down. He felt unbalanced, too full and, well, it didn’t help his erection at all, either. There was something he should respond with, he knew this but whatever it might have been was blown away by the sweetness of Harry’s half-lidded eyes and his good morning smile.

Finally Draco was able to croak out a greeting, hoping the other man took the roughness of his voice from just waking as well. The green eyes had remained fixed on him and the dark head unmoving on his arm until he couldn’t take it anymore. He was either going to roll Harry over and have his way with him or he was going to explode, messily, all over the room. Maybe bits of Draco would go with the décor. Somehow, he managed dig up a few coherent words out of the untidy muddle his brain had tangled itself in, “Sorry but…my arm is a bit numb,” and tried for a smile of his own, though his suspected it came out a bit sour.

“Oh! Sorry,” Harry moved quickly away, nearly knocking his knee into the blond’s groin but Draco was glad because it gave him an excuse to curl his own legs up towards his chest in an attempt to hide the tent that would surely give away his physical state. As soon as the other man’s head lifted from his arm, though, a tingling rush moved in and he winced, trying to hold as still as possible so he could keep the worst of the pins and needles at bay as he sat up. The blanket that had covered both of them tumbled to his lap and tangled around Harry’s legs as he propped himself up against the wall. For a moment Draco wondered if things were about to get awkward but when he looked at the other man, still huddling his tingling arm in his lap while trying to avoid his slowly receding hard on, the green eyes were bright and full lips still curled upwards in a shadow of a smile.

“I don’t even remember dozing off.” An upwards sweep of slender shoulders and corners of full lips lifted before the dark head tilted when Harry laughed a soft, tinkling laugh. “I would have the best night’s sleep while on the floor.” Draco caught himself before he could say why he thought that might be, a lot of which because of the blond’s presence. It was logical but perhaps not something the other man wanted to hear.

“No Sleeping Draughts, either,” he reminded Harry gently, which made the dark haired man grin. It was such a free expression, trusting and full of the simple emotion of relief and happiness. And sleeping without the aid of a potion was something to be happy about because that meant that Harry had the capability of sleeping through the night without being haunted by nightmares. The dark haired man hummed a soft, satisfied noise as he raised his knees and propped his chin on them. If Draco had hoped he’d be able to stand up without humiliating himself, that little noise poked a hole in that theory and the blond nearly huffed aloud in exasperation.

“I did have a dream, though,” Harry said softy, thoughtfully, his eyes fixed on a spot in the distance. “I don’t really remember what it was about. Everything’s already kind of fuzzy but…it was nice. Safe.” He tipped his dark head to the side, his wild curls sliding over his shoulder. The clear emerald of his eyes flickered briefly to Draco’s face, deep and assessing but they didn’t linger and for that he was glad. He didn’t know what his face would give away and Harry was becoming more and more perceptive at reading the blond. Which made sense, as they had been nearly constant companions for the last month. Only when Pansy visited did they have contact with someone other than each other.

Draco couldn’t let Harry see how his words made his heart skip and his breath catch sharply in his chest.

Jet had come in after that, casting a disgruntled look around at the ruined room before announcing breakfast. Draco was reluctant to let the quiet, sleepy moment between them slip away but Harry was already untangling himself from the blanket and getting to his feet. It wasn’t until later that he realized that while their moment waking nearly tangled together was gone and not likely to happen again, something had changed between them. He couldn’t say what it was or how this something had changed but it was there, like the heavy weight before a storm, waiting to break. It wasn’t really heaviness in the true sense of the word but it was there and its presence carried a kind of weight of its own. What it was, he could not, for the life of him, name. All he knew was that it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

A week and a half later, Draco was still trying to figure it out. In his dreams, he would see the way Harry looked when he woke up, how he blinked slowly like he was trying to focus through molasses, how he smiled and stole just a little bit more of the Draco’s heart. During the day he put it out of his mind because he wanted it so much and it would do neither of them any good if he started to pine after it. It wasn’t going to happen a second time so it did no good to continue to hope for it. At night, however, his dreams were much more honest.

They also planned the little outing they had spoken about in the days that followed. It was just a romp into town, and a Muggle one at that, but it didn’t matter. For Harry it was a chance at change, at escape. For Draco, it wasn’t something as tangible as that, though it was certainly part of it. He used to hate walking into town every week or two to make sure he didn’t starve, dragging items from his childhood home, things that belonged to his mother, his father, his grandparents. But he had gotten over the dislike for the chore, as it offered most of the human interaction he got for several years. Yet this time he wouldn’t have to go alone. Well, he wasn’t quite sure what to make of that. He was excited, certainly, but there was something else. It was like that non-heaviness that now resided between him and Harry, indefinable but there all the same.

Pansy had picked up on it the third day after he and Harry woke up tangled on the floor of a broken sitting room, able to see it even through the green flames when she fire called. Her stay was inexplicably extended, though she acted strangely elusive when he asked why. Her dark eyes that looked odd in sage coloured fire but they were as direct as ever.

“Draco Malfoy, what have you done?” she had asked and if she could, he thought she would have had her hands on her hips. He had wondered if maybe he looked guilty for some reason and then he realized what she was talking about. He never had been any good at hiding things from Pansy. Not that he was trying to hide this but he was admittedly afraid she would talk him out of it. And she did try, when he explained Harry’s request for leaving the Manor. “You know how much of a risk that is, darling,” she had all but hissed, eyebrows wrinkled and drawn with worry. “What if he’s recognized? That’s all Harry needs. The papers were told he’s out of the country on a job and won’t be back for a while. If he’s spotted…” Draco knew the risks; he didn’t need her to remind him.

“It’s an entirely Muggle town,” he’d said as soothingly as he could, “And Harry asked for this. We can’t not go, Pans.” It hadn’t helped any, nor erased any of the concern that was drawing lines over her pretty features. He wanted to reassure her more but even he knew this was probably not the best of ideas. Who knew the methods Alex had to find Harry? Surely he’d been looking ever since the dark haired man had been moved into the safety of the Manor. Pansy’s face had flickered in the flames, like she had glanced quickly over her shoulder and her voice could have been mistaken for the crackle of the fire had he not been listening closely.

“Draco, you shouldn’t do it. I’m not in Rome by choice. Alex, he…he came to the house. Only Miguel was there at the time, thank Merlin. He knows how to…track people through the Floo.” Her hand came out of nowhere and rubbed across her face, making the fire flicker oddly. A flash of dread curled in Draco’s stomach, trying it ‘round like knots. “If we hadn’t put the Manor under Fidelius…” she trailed off, biting her lip. The blond took a deep breath.

“He would have simply found us sooner by a different method. Which was why we did it.” Draco reached through the flames and touched the side of her face. “Look at me, Pansy. Harry had no previous connection to me. As a matter of fact, even you didn’t. Our only connection is Hogwarts and there are dozens of other people Harry could conceivably be staying with to avoid being found. There is nothing to suggest I have anything to do with it. That’s why we did this.” Her dark eyes flickered uneasily to his but he could see her fear easing slightly. It disturbed him that Alex had found his way into her home but he was glad she had not been there when he was.

“And if he does find us,” he said, just before they ended their call, “I will never let him have Harry.” His statement had made his childhood friend smile softly at him, though her anxiety did not abate.

“I know, darling.” She had taken a deep breath then given him a direct look that made him wish he could hide. “When will you tell him, Draco? Harry deserves to know how you feel.” If he could have hid, he would. Instead he looked away and sat back.

“It doesn’t matter, Pansy,” he’d said, sounding tired even to his own ears. “As of right now, I can’t tell him. Enjoy Rome, love,” and the call was ended.

Later that day, he caught Harry watching him carefully, face closed off and eyes hidden behind the shine of his glasses. Nothing was said but he got the feeling that the other man wanted to say something, like he had a question but he couldn’t bring himself to voice it. It made Draco nervous but he couldn’t explain why.

The strange heaviness between them deepened.

* * *

The day of their trip into town dawned bright and almost warm.

Though it was the very beginning of March and several feet of snow had just been dumped on them, with the sun climbing into the sky it was bearable. The storm had been rather late for that time of year but he could remember a few that came later so they could possibly get another if the weather was so inclined. He rather hoped not as winter was not his most favorite season. It was bleak and cold and the long hours without sunlight had always just reminded him again how isolated he really was. Perhaps he wasn’t so alone anymore but only time would tell if the way he viewed winter would change. He rather thought not.

Harry was fairly vibrating with anxiety. They ate breakfast, for the first time, in Draco’s private lounge off his bedroom. It was strange to wake up and step from his room to find the other man sprawled on the huge, cushy couch. His dark head was propped up on a tasselled pillow as his clear green eyes stared out the window that looked out over the apple and cherry groves which would bloom in white and pink come spring. Now the branches hung naked and dead, waiting patiently for the winter to relinquish its hold on the world. Draco was a little surprised that Harry didn’t have a book open in front of him since lately he was fairly glued to the pages of one book or another. The slender hands were still on the other man’s lap and he only looked around when the blond cleared his throat.

“This is new,” Draco remarked, moving to sit on the other side of the couch. The dark head followed his progress, curls obscuring the emerald gaze so it was hard to guess at what Harry might be thinking as he watched the blond. It was the first time Draco had been in the other man’s presence in only his pyjamas but he could not think why that would make those full lips curl strangely in what was almost a frown but not quite. There was a short, heavy pause where he was conscious of nothing but the weight of Harry’s gaze on him, unnerving since he couldn’t quite see it. It was almost as if someone else was looking at him, studying him, staring at him. Or, if not someone else but another part of Harry that Draco had yet to see. Then the dark head tilted and the strange expression his lips had faded into a small smile.

“Morning. I hope you don’t mind me being in here.” Just like that, Harry was back to himself, no trace of the odd moment or the weight of his eyes left. It was just Harry, with his bright gaze the colour of spring grass, peeking out from behind onyx curls while his voice and the lift of one shoulder remained shy and unsure. Draco wondered if he had caught a glimpse of the true Harry, the one he was before, though the blond could still feel his own unease tightening his shoulders. Whatever that was, he didn’t know what to make of it and he let it fade as he responded.

“Of course not. Just surprised. You haven’t shown an interest in seeing my rooms.” He made his voice as easy and light as he could. “They are not so different from yours. In fact, the ones you have now were part of this suite.” Too many rooms. When he was sixteen, it was a distinguishing number since none of his friends had quite as many as he had. But all too soon things like that stopped mattering and he liked that Harry was making use of them now.

“I just wasn’t sure if you didn’t want me in here. You never invited me in.” It was a bit of a shock to realize that this was true. He hadn’t invited the other man to come to his rooms. It was usually Harry’s sitting room they would frequent, especially at first when the dark haired man didn’t want to leave them. A precedent had been started, he supposed and by then it was just natural for Draco to dress and knock on Harry’s door so they could have breakfast together. He was certainly not adverse, however, to the switch. In fact, he was rather delighted with it. The other man looked perfectly at home on the couch in Draco’s lounge and he decided he could certainly get used to it.

“I am sorry for that. As you know, I’m not used to having to invite people anywhere.” He gave an apologetic little shrug, almost missing the way the green eyes darkened a fraction. “If you were not welcome, I would simply lock the door.” That made the other man utter a surprised little laugh, the sound of it clean and bright in the light of the clear winter morning. “Is there a reason for this or were you merely curious?” He knew part of the reason already and the sheepish way the dark haired man grinned solidified Draco’s suspicions.

“I admit to a fair amount of curiosity,” he conceded, brushing a few curls from his face back absently. “But I guess I’m a little bit like a kid at Christmas. Can’t stay in their room waiting to open their presents.” He laughed and rubbed the back of his neck, face turning adorably pink. Draco decided that it was a good look for him, especially when the corners of his eyes crinkled just like that, making his eyes shine and his eyelashes look even darker than they were. Merlin’s beard, the man was beautiful. The blond told himself to breathe. Breathing was good.

“Yes, it is good to be able to get out of this house for a while.” Draco pieced his words together while carefully not looking at Harry. Or his wild curls. Or his bright green eyes. Or his lovely hands that were absently following the swirls on the pattern of the couch. Taking a deep breath, the blond steadied himself and plastered on a smile when he looked up again. “I will call Kimble for breakfast and then we can get ready to go. Sound good?” and how could he not be caught up in the way the other man’s face lit up, so bright Draco could not hope to drag his gaze away.

“Sound’s brilliant!”

* * *

It was the first time Draco made this trip in someone else’s company.

Harry walked right next to him, close enough that sometimes the back of their gloved hands would brush or he could feel the swirl of the other man’s cloak against his calves. The cold, hard sunlight of winter was slowly becoming not so cold or hard. It seemed as if, now that one big storm had been dumped upon them, the weather decided enough was enough. It still wasn’t, however, warm enough to be outside without charmed cloaks lined with fur and hats, gloves and boots to match. It had been a bitter winter and they had a long ways to walk. It took a good two to two and a half hours to make this trip one way; the Malfoys had made sure their property would remain isolated.

All the Manor paths had been cleared and the Muggles had cleaned up their roads by now as well, though the sun would undoubtedly have melted any stray patches. Though the snow on the lawns and under the trees was still quite high, Draco could tell it was starting to look a bit flatter, losing inches under the bright face of the sun. Small, wet paths of melting water darkened spots on the roads and his heart soared a little to see it. Melting snow could only be a good omen.

Harry looked a wonder in his outerwear. Everything he wore had been gifts from Pansy. All the warming charms sewn into the fabric would keep him from getting even the slightest chill no matter how long they remained out of doors. Everything fit Harry perfectly and Draco admired how fine he looked in them. His own winter attire was once his father’s as his old winter clothing no longer fit and the expensive cologne his father used to wear still clung faintly to the fur lining of the cloak. The set of winter clothes fit him eerily well, making him wonder if, had his father lived, they would be the same height. The entire set was black, cloak, gloves, hat, and embroidered in black silk thread. The fur lining, however, was a rich silver pelt that flashed bright against the black outer material when he moved. It had looked impressive on his father but he suspected that it made him look simply washed out.

Though not a colour Draco would have expected to look good on the other man, the dove grey of Harry’s cloak looked smashing on him. The fur lining was the colour of snow and there was scrolling silver embroidery worked around the edges. It was held closed with a silver clasp worked into the shape of a rearing unicorn. The hat that came with it matched the fur lining and the gloves were a rich, soft grey leather lined with the same, snowy fur. Oh, and the boots. Made from the finest dragon leather, also a soft grey in colour and lined with that white fur that had been charmed not to crush, they fastened right under the knee with a long row of tiny silver buckles.

“Won’t the Muggles think us wearing cloaks is odd?” the other man had asked when he had slipped on the cloak, fingers running in awed wonder over the soft, downy fur. Draco, hungrily watching Harry’s reaction, had simply shrugged as he handed the dark haired man the boots that had also come with the set.

“They think it’s because I’m rich and a bit eccentric. I do have regular coats but I find cloaks to be much warmer. No one has remarked upon it yet, don’t worry,” and then he had to stop talking or risk saying something stupid because Harry had put the first boot on. Draco could see them now, flashes of them every time the other man lifted his knee to take a stride. They fitted the slender calves to perfection, giving them a clean, sexy line. Of course, it wasn’t only how the boots fit that the blond couldn’t stop staring at. He also loved how the sunlight caught in the black curls that escaped from under the fur hat, toying with them and making them shine. He loved how the cold had nipped at Harry’s cheeks and the tip of his nose, turning them red. He loved how the air misted white for a couple of seconds every time the other man breathed out and how his eyes shone like gems from behind his glasses.

Yes, he loved all of that but what he loved the most, what he would cherish in his memory was how utterly happy Harry looked.

Such a simple thing, really, a walk down a few country lanes with snow sparkling all around them and bare tree limbs clacking in the gentle breeze. Just a bit of sunlight and fresh air but that was all it took. This man had been locked away for Merlin knows how long, kept in the dark, away from all that was bright and good. He was neglected and abused by turns, treated so abominably, he was quite literally not the same man he had been. Draco could see how sometimes it still haunted him, clouding his gaze and making him look ten years older than he was. Hollow. Broken.

How could Alex have preferred that version of Harry when this one, the one walking beside Draco at that very moment, was a million times more beautiful? It was unfathomable. Unthinkable. Everything that Harry was should have been cherished, nurtured. So that, when the time came, his eyes could turn the very colour of spring, of hope, of everything right. Every minute, the dark head turned at least four or five dozen times, trying to take it all in. Even though the air was still frozen, he breathed in deeply, no doubt enjoying the cold burn in his lungs as he savoured the clean, sharp scent of the world around them. There was nothing but great open fields and rows of leafless trees in the area immediately surrounding the Manor but that seemed to be enough.

“When it gets a little warmer, perhaps I can persuade Pansy into bringing us a couple brooms and we could go flying,” Draco said sometime in between Harry’s great gulps of air and furious head-swivelling. He didn’t want to think about the reason why she wouldn’t be back for a while so he didn’t. It was worth it to have Harry’s head jerk around, eyes so huge the blond could see his own reflection in them, the full lips parted in hopeful wonder.

“I would like that,” the man breathed then burst into a grin that shone enough to dim the very sun.

Most of the time, though, they didn’t speak. They didn’t really need to. They had been in the same house together for a month, with mostly just each other and three house-elves for company. There were still many important things left unsaid between them, pertaining to things either one or the other didn’t wish or didn’t want to address. This was fine, though, for the moment; the comfortable silence was becoming more and more familiar. While used to the bitter silence of being alone, this one between them was full, rich. Like they knew they didn’t have to fill every gap with something and, in turn, this made the things that were voiced aloud that much more meaningful. And this was not the time for a big, heavy discussion on pasts and reasons and issues of broken hearts and broken trust.

This was a time for them to walk, to breathe, to touch shoulders, elbows, hands, to catch each other’s eyes, to smile, to laugh, to be free. This was a time for Harry to kick happily at the snow banks on the side of the road and fling his head back as if to drink in the rays of the sun. To sneak a handful of snow down the back of Draco’s cloak, making him shriek from the shock of cold and indignation, then run away laughing, hat sitting askew upon his dark curls. To howl when the blond retaliated with a barrage of snowballs, scooping up a few of his own until the air became thick with flying snow and rich laughter. Anyone coming down the lane would think they were a couple of hyper school boys. It was a time to surrender with raised hands and a smile that stretched clear across his face, hair now dripping icy water onto his glasses (thankfully, the cloaks were charmed to keep them dry even if dunked into a pond). This was a time for all of that without the weight of what they had come from casting a dark pall.

If Harry could continue to smile like this forever, carefree and like he had nothing to lose, Draco would need nothing more.

They reached the town around midday, a little tired from a second round of let’s-see-who-can-hit-whom-with-more-snow and their stomachs rumbling rather loudly. The town itself was, he supposed, rather small. There were several main streets that ran through it, only a few blocks lined with stores while the rest was residential. It was a nice place, where the buildings were all old and made mostly from stone, where the people were not poor but weren’t rich either, where no one needed to be afraid of wandering around at night because everyone knew everyone else. Best of all, if either he or Harry were to get second glances as they walked down the mostly empty streets, it was because Draco had not been there in a while and it was the first time he brought someone else with him. Not because Draco Malfoy the Death Eater was walking down the street with Harry Potter.

At this time of the day there were a few people out on the streets but because it was still cold out, they bustled to their destinations, heads mostly down under their hoods. He was a little relived because he didn’t want to talk to anyone just yet. It was inevitable but he wanted to watch how Harry couldn’t stop looking around him, eyes flickering every which way in order not to miss anything for just a little longer.

Most of the streets were paved with regular smooth black stuff Draco didn’t know the name of but the sidewalks had been kept their original cobblestone, rounded with years and years of feet treading upon them. They went well with the houses and the wrought iron street lamps, though he supposed they were like that less for the ambience they gave off than the townspeople’s disinclination to change them. Snow dripped off the roofs, sometimes on their heads as they walked under them, and melted in puddles on the sides of the road. Cars, those loud, monstrous metal machines the Muggles drove that Draco still couldn’t get used to, would swing past them every once in a while, though that didn’t happen too often, for which he was glad.

The first time he saw a car, he had nearly screamed and ran, almost dropping his armful of groceries he had been carrying at the time. It was terrifying, moving at speeds he had only seen brooms go, except the car had been forty times bigger and made out of unforgiving metal. It was in no way close to him, rumbling down the other end of the street and had not, he discovered in time, been moving all that fast. Apparently there were limits to how fast a car could go in certain places. The Muggles had looked at him a little oddly when he asked about it, fear still colouring his voice, but he bluffed his way through it by saying he didn’t get out much. Which was true.

Now he didn’t jump every time one passed by but they still made him nervous. What was to stop one from jumping over the curb and chasing them down the sidewalk? It was ridiculous and he knew that but the irrational fear never really went away. Thankfully, today was rather quiet. He supposed that might be because it was lunch time, a fact his stomach kept reminding him of in regular intervals.

“How did you find this town?” Harry asked as they walked, hands now tucked inside his cloak for added warmth. It was an innocent question and a valid one, for Draco had been known for his dislike of Muggles when they were in school. Even so, he didn’t like being reminded of those awful couple of weeks he had struggled to survive, forced to sell his parents’ things just so he could eat. He didn’t like remembering how hungry he had gotten before he broke down and did what he needed to do. Now he had enough money saved up to keep him for a little while, which he had allowed the house-elves access to so they could worry about the food. There would come a time, though, when he would have to come back here and try and sell some more.

“Well,” he said slowly, avoiding a dip in the cobblestones that was filled with icy water, “we always knew this town was here. It’s been here nearly as long as the Manor, if any of the family history books are correct.” Draco shrugged and hoped that the other man wouldn’t pursue it. It wasn’t a happy tale to recount by any means. Harry was looking at him closely, though, slowing down noticeably so the blond was forced to either swing around to face him or to match his pace. He chose the latter because he wasn’t sure what Harry would find hiding away in his eyes.

“You seem to be very familiar with it.” Harry was nothing if not tenacious, a trait Draco usually admired. Unless, of course, it was being turned on him. “Do you come here often?” There was a hint of steel in Harry’s voice and the blond sighed, seeing that the other man was hardly going to let this go. In an entirely different context, he realized it was a good thing that Harry was pushing his questions. Before, he always backed down, even that time when he asked about why Draco talked to thin air. While he had asked, when he saw the blond was not going to answer it, he dropped the subject. This time it appeared Draco was out of luck.

“I…did not have any money right after my…after my trial.” The words felt like they were trying to serrate his throat. The green eyes were still watching him but he could not read the emotion behind them so he looked up the street they were walking, watching a few shop signs swinging and creaking in the breeze. “There were a few Galleons in my father’s vault but it was clear, by the way I had been treated at my trial and the scorn I received leaving the Ministry afterwards, I could not go into a wizarding shop and buy what I needed. I could not Apparate either and Wiltshire is much too far from Diagon Alley to walk.” He shifted his shoulders under the heavy weight of his cloak, suddenly feeling stifled. Still those clear eyes were watching him.

“So you came here,” Harry said softly, wonderingly, dark curls catching on his eyelashes as he blinked in the sunlight, “but you couldn’t use Galleons here.” Draco fiddled with the clasp nestled over his clavicle, the silver ridges of the snake’s scales cool to the touch.

“No, and I knew that.” He took one deep breath then another, watching how it puffed out from his lips, misty and pale. “I…sold a dress of my mother’s. There is a shop here for that kind of thing and…” he swallowed then caught Harry’s eye, “I needed to be able to eat and I couldn’t think of another way.” His voice sounded weak and breathless, almost a mere whisper and he looked away in shame, hating that the dark haired man had to see this weakness. Before he could dwell on it too much, though, there was a gentle touch on his elbow and he was being dragged to a halt. The green eyes shone like faceted jewels in the light with compassion and regret.

“I’m sorry that it came to that, Draco. If I had known, I would have—” The blond jerked his arm away before he could think about how warm and comforting Harry’s touch was, his throat tight and aching.

“Would have what, Harry? What could you have done if you had known?” It came out harsh, harsher than he would have liked and Draco nearly winced at the sound of it. This was why he didn’t want the other man to know. He didn’t want his pity. Rather, he didn’t want to need it. He wanted to keep the feelings between them positive; he admired Harry, admired his strength, his beauty, his determination and the way he refused to allow the thing that had happened to him to completely break him. If it had been complete, they would not be where they were now, walking wintry streets under the sunlight. Not once did Draco pity him, not in the true sense of the word. He wanted him, wanted to make him better, to protect him, to bring his smile back but everything he had done had been out of love.

While Draco knew that whatever Harry did feel for him did not come from the same place, he hoped that there was something genuine behind it all. There seemed to be, especially now that the other man trusted him. The bright gaze continued to bear into him, the air becoming like frozen ghosts between them.

“I would have at least tried to help you get your life back, rather than just letting you…fade.” Harry’s voice was soft and full of sincerity. It was that same sincerity that the other man seemed to approach everything with. Draco selfishly didn’t want to be thrown in with the rest of that everything. Aching with a long, familiar ache and wishing Harry wasn’t so bloody fair, he shrugged his shoulders uncomfortably and said the first thing that he could think of in hopes of cutting off this conversation.

“Always the Saviour, huh?” he muttered, scrubbing one gloved hand over his face. The scrape of the soft leather felt raw against his skin, catching on nearly invisible stubble. Though the words themselves were not meant harshly, his voice still snagged on the rough edges of his emotions. Harry lifted one shoulder and the corner of his mouth tilted down in a crooked frown.

“Not really. If I were, I would have gone into the Aurors. As it was, I had been guaranteed a spot in their ranks after the war,” it was his turn to lift one slender shoulder and his cloak flittered around his frame, “but I’m not.” His gaze was brutally honest and Draco found he couldn’t look away. Was there anything in the world as green as Harry’s eyes? In that moment, he was sure there wasn’t. “It’s just, when I see an injustice, if there is something I can do about it, I will,” and wasn’t that the truth. Except, the blond thought mournfully, wishing he could reach out a hand and touch the neat curve of the other man’s cheekbone, Harry had gotten caught up in his own injustice and had been unable to escape in time. Or maybe there was time but he just didn’t see it coming. It was Draco’s turn to frown, slender brows knitting together above his long, straight nose.

“You didn’t do anything about yours, though, did you?” Finally, those piercing eyes flickered away and the intent look on Harry’s face morphed into unease and pain. They both knew it was only the truth, of course but as soon as the words were out of his mouth, Draco wished he hadn’t spoken them aloud. With a sigh, he gave in to the impulse to reach out one hand and gently touch the other man’s forearm in a gesture of apology. It ended quickly, that tiny little touch but his heart lifted when Harry smiled fetchingly at the blond from under the shadow of his white fur hat. Draco wished in that moment he could lean forward and steal that smile right from those full lips. To quell the desire, he had to turn away, hoping it looked like his cheeks merely burned from the cold.

“Yes, so,” the blond cleared his throat because his voice sounded as if he had swallowed a bucket of sand, “would you like to eat lunch? There’s a place around the corner that makes decent sandwiches and their tea is quite good.” He could feel Harry beside him, still watching him with that pretty smile gracing his lips. It was disconcerting but it still made his heart beat just a little bit faster. Trying to ignore it, Draco started walking again, picking up a brisk pace and forcing the other man to either follow or get left behind. He heard Harry chuckle softly, a deep, lovely sound that hummed through the blond’s nerves and made them heat, a burst of warmth lighting up his entire body. He suspected the chuckle was for the blush still darkening his cheeks but even so, he pocketed a little bit of that sound so it could continue to warm him through the rest of the day.

The little café they stepped into for lunch was warm and decorated in dark rich browns and shiny yellow brass. When he had first started coming into town, he had been forced to eat in the Muggle establishments merely because his visits were all-day affairs and it was hard to walk all the way back to the Manor while carrying his groceries for the week on an empty stomach. Draco hadn’t wanted to admit anything the Muggles made was any good but this café far exceeded his ungracious expectations. There was one pub open in the afternoon he sometimes went into and a restaurant that served mostly fish that he was sure never to step foot in again after one unfortunate incident. It was a small enough town that there really wasn’t much to choose from but he was fine with continuing to frequent the little café.

The older gentleman who worked behind the counter, whose name was George, recognized him as soon as the blond walked through the door. His faintly lined face lit up in a smile. “Why, it’s the young Lord Dragon!” Draco nearly winced at the nickname he was called, having forgotten how much he disliked it and he could have sworn Harry snorted out a quick laugh behind him. “How are you? You’ve been gone awhile; everyone’s been wondering about you.” George liked to chatter, he recalled in that moment, smiling at the older man as the three other patrons in the café watched on with naked curiosity. He wondered what they thought of him and Harry.

“I am quite well, thank you George,” Draco said, unclasping his cloak from around his throat and swinging it from his shoulders. It was much warmer in here than outside and the contrast was making his cold skin tingle as it heated. “It has indeed been a while.” Though he had always had one of the more cultured accents at school, thanks to his rigid, pureblood upbringing, he always made sure it was at its most polished when he was among the Muggles. It gave their assumption that he was just an eccentric noble with financial trouble more credit. Though in the winter he refused to give up the warmth of his cloaks, he otherwise made sure he acted as unsuspicious as he could. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Harry smirking as he watched on, clearly amused by the blond’s act and dark hair falling about his face as he pulled off his hat.

“This is my friend, Harry,” he said when George’s eyes flickered to the dark haired man still standing near the door. “He has been staying with me for a while and I thought I would show him around town.” He made it sound like he was showing Harry about London and not some little dinky town far out in the country. Draco thought he preferred this teeny little town to share with Harry rather than London and he wondered when this too had changed. George moved to shake the dark haired man’s hand but Harry shied away, pretending to be busy pulling off his gloves. But he smiled disarmingly and the blond rather suspected the older man didn’t mind all that much. It was interesting that his companion wouldn’t take George’s hand, a clearly harmless gesture, but he had no problem allowing Draco to touch him.

He knew it shouldn’t have pleased him but it did all the same.

They were shown to a small table near one of the immaculate windows, their cloaks taken with a look of wonder to be hung on the rack near the door. The smell of coffee and something sweet filled the air and the blond felt suddenly at ease. His father would have died a thousand deaths to know his son could feel at home among Muggles but then again, his father was the one who died. They ordered their lunch and a pot of tea to share and George disappeared with a twinkling smile to fetch it for them.

As Draco looked across the table at Harry and was caught up in the violent green gaze, he felt a smile of his own tugging at the corners of his lips. His heart raced when it was returned. In that moment of time, that was all he needed: Harry sitting across from him and smiling that smile, full of warmth and quiet gratitude.

“Who would have thought?” the dark haired man said softly, leaning one elbow on the table. “Draco Malfoy, Healer extraordinaire and Friend of Muggles.” He made it sound like those titles were part of his name. Once Draco would have been furious but now all he could do was toss his head back and laugh. It was so ridiculous when said like that and while Harry was exaggerating, it was nearly the truth. But this was how life had turned out and he didn’t regret it.

“Shut it, you,” he said good-naturedly and earned himself another smile. This one was warmer than the last and he almost felt the heat from where he sat across the small café table. The green eyes had a look in them he didn’t recognize, confusing him and making his breath catch. They trapped him, pulled him in, made him feel like he was about to melt and his poor, desperate heart rattled, shaken, in his chest. There were words stuck in his throat, something threatening to spill out, something he had been holding onto since he was eleven. It struggled at the back of his throat, scorching him until he nearly opened his mouth, nearly let it spill like broken shards of glass across the table surface.

Then George placed the tray for their tea in front of them and the moment was broken.

Yet even as he poured them both the tea into their plain white cups and fixed them how they both liked it, he could feel the fine trembles of shock coursing through him. What had he been thinking, almost blurting out how he felt? Just because he got caught up in that compelling gaze didn’t mean he could completely lose his senses. Even more frightening was that the more time he spent in Harry’s company the harder it got to keep his own secret.

Worst of all, sometimes he was almost able to convince himself he might feel better once he did.

Yet, as he took a long, fortifying sip from his cup and lifted his eyes to peer once more across the table, he knew that if he told Harry how much he loved him, he would lose the other man forever.



Eight:

Lunch was a mostly quiet affair, the two of them eating slowly, savouring the rich flavour of their tea.

When Draco had said the tea at the café was decent, he was understating it quite a bit. In fact, he had not tasted tea of this quality since his mother ran the Manor household. Both the superiority of the leaves and the manner in which they were steeped produced a tea that was incredible. He would make the trip here simply for the tea alone, even if he didn’t need to purchase anything. While he sipped it, letting it linger on his tongue with the hint of honey he had dressed it with to sweeten it up, he watched Harry across the table as he munched on the sandwich that he ordered, licking vinegar off his fingers when it dripped.

The moment they had shared before being interrupted by the arrival of the tea tray was not remarked upon nor revisited. Draco found himself both glad for it and inexplicably disappointed. Instead they made small talk between bites of their lunch, the blond telling the other man a little more about the town while Harry remarked on what he had seen. It was an easy place to like, very different from the city the dark haired man had lived in before and Draco was glad he had decided to bring Harry here because when he smiled, it was a free type of smile, one without any shadows lingering behind it.

This was what Draco had been hoping for when he brought the other man here. This openness that was somewhat dampened while Harry was stuck indoors. It gave him a sense of independence, of freedom that couldn’t be found behind blank walls and closed doors. There was that time of healing, in the beginning, when the walls and the doors and, sometimes, the locks were needed. It did its work. But sitting in a strange place, eating someone else’s food with the sunlight falling through a strange window onto their hands was a kind of healing too.

This was the next step, one of the final ones. It was the reason why Draco had waited until Harry had asked for it. He needed to know the other man was ready. Sure, he could have taken him out on strolls through the garden paths at the Manor, where it was probably safer and they could go inside whenever they wanted. But that would have offered no challenge, no real freedom. They still would have been inside the wards and thus its appeal would not have lasted very long. This, however, would make Harry feel like he didn’t need to be protected, huddled within layers and layers of wards and walls until he felt suffocated and no more used to dealing with other people and different environments.

Harry was still relatively safe, of course. Draco wouldn’t have risked it otherwise. Alex was not to know whose company the dark haired man was in nor his location. There were Scrying spells he could cast and locating spells but most of them took blood to work and they were slow. The rest were only marginally accurate. Draco would have Harry back within the safety of the Manor’s protections before Alex could find them.

Still, he could see the way the curious green eyes kept darting to look out onto the street beyond the window and over at the three other people occupying tables in the café that this was doing him a world of good. So he wouldn’t let someone he didn’t know touch him. Draco could hardly blame him for that. But this was a good solid step that had been taken today and he was immensely proud of Harry.

George wished them well when they finished and paid the bill, telling them to come back soon as they swept their cloaks back over their shoulders. The warmth of the tea they had drunk offered an added buffer against the blast of cold that hit them as soon as they stepped out the door. Still he winced, dragging the fur collar of his cloak up to his chin with a shiver. Harry, however, paused on the sidewalk and threw back his wild head to laugh up at the sun, stretching his arms over his head like he was trying to touch the tiny white sphere of light.

Draco had to ball his hands into fists and press them into his side to keep from marring that wild beauty with his touch.

“That was very good,” Harry said, eyes sparking bright as he looked back at his blond companion, grin stretching wide across his lips. “Thank you, Draco.” He wanted to say you’re welcome, he really did, but the words caught on the underside of his tongue and twisted it all around until all he could manage was a slow nod, returning Harry’s smile weakly. The other man took a deep breath of cold winter air and then dropped his hands, breathing out a puff of white behind which the blond could see his full, shining lips.

And, oh Merlin, how he wanted to taste that breath Harry exhaled and lick the shine away from his mouth.

“Draco?” another voice broke into his hazy, muddled thoughts of want and need, and he gratefully turned, licking his own lips that would undoubtedly be chapped by the time they returned to the Manor. The girl that stood on the sidewalk behind him was familiar, her hand holding that of a little boy who was hopping impatiently from foot to foot, looking like he was ready to wet himself. They were both bundled in thick, winter clothes, looking vaguely like colourful crab puffs that were often served at the Manor as hors d'oeuvres during Christmas parties. He felt himself smiling.

“Doreen. Fancy meeting you here.” It was their line, one they shared every time he walked into her shop or they ran into each other while he was in town. It made her laugh now, a gentle, tinkling laugh he once thought he wanted to fall in love with. But he had just heard Harry’s laugh, could see him now out of the corner of his eye, standing quietly and watching the blond girl with the little boy with an odd look on his face. And Draco wondered how he could ever have thought he could settle for her when someone like Harry existed in the world. When he knew he was in love with that Harry and especially when that Harry stood real and solid next to him, eyes as green as grass, hair as black as pitch and beauty as mesmerizing as the stars, he could never imagine wanting to love her.

Poor Doreen could not even hope to come close.

“And you,” she was saying, head tilted and strands of blond tresses falling free of her hat to drift across her face. She looked fetching, Draco supposed, and he felt nothing. Her eyes flickered to the man standing behind him and her smile faltered just a bit before renewing itself and brightening just a notch. He glanced at Harry who was looking rather unassailable at the moment and wondered what she saw when she looked at him. Did she see what Draco saw? A fragile exterior hiding great, burning strength that was brightening with each day and a heart as wide as the sea, or did she see only what everyone else saw. Just a man with glasses and wild, untamable hair who had a crooked smile and hard, green eyes. He rather hoped she couldn’t see what he did but she had seen right through Draco once upon a time. He wondered if she could do the same for Harry.

Then the dark haired man did something completely unexpected. He stepped forward and held out his hand to shake. It was as steady as his gaze.

“I’m Harry.” Even his voice was as unwavering as stone and it baffled Draco. He didn’t understand the sudden shift, like the man sensed a threat form this gentle, fair-haired girl. Why would he react to Doreen in such a manner? “I am a good friend of Draco’s.” He even emphasized the word “good” rather than “friend” and the blond was left even more confused than before. Doreen took his hand with her single free one, eyes strangely passive and knowing as she gently curled her fingers around Harry’s gloved palm.

“Doreen. Nice to meet you, Harry. I am glad Draco has such a good friend. He always seems so lonely.” Her voice was a little sad and Draco felt himself blush, feeling like he was caught up in something he didn’t quite understand. There was something going on and he was missing a piece to this interaction so he was unable to grasp the entire picture. Clearing his throat, he touched Harry’s shoulder, who held onto Doreen’s fingers a little longer than necessary and Draco was glad when the slender hand dropped away. Right before the moment got awkward really fast, the little boy at Doreen’s side seemed to realize he had been forgotten and he was going to let everyone know he didn’t like it one bit.

“Rorie!” he whined, his voice a little nasal, no doubt from the cold which was making his nose drip and Doreen looked down at him in surprise and affection.

“Oh! How could I forget?” she leaned down and buffed the boy’s cheek, making him giggle. “This is Lenny. He’s my cousin who’s visiting from Cornwall for a few weeks.” He waved one small, mitten-covered hand around and grinned, chubby round face red from being out in the chill. Beside him he could feel Harry relaxing and when Draco glanced at the other man, he was looking at Lenny and smiling warmly. Ah. So he liked kids. Draco didn’t know why that surprised him but it did. Not being a fan of children himself, he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about it. The boy seemed to sense he had a sympathetic audience in Harry because he addressed the man a moment later, voice high and sweet.

“I’m four and three-quarters!” he exclaimed proudly, holding up his hand where he was clearly trying to illustrate the number on his fingers inside his mitten. It made Harry laugh softly and squat down in front of him so their faces were almost even.

“Are you?” Harry asked softly, shaking the little hand when Lenny stuck it out for him. “And here I thought you were definitely five.” It made the boy puff out his chest and grin for all he was worth, glancing up at the girl who still held his hand and was watching the proceedings with an air of familiar tolerance and warmth. Then the dark haired man leaned forward, his white hat brushing over one round cheek as he whispered something in the boy’s ear. When he pulled back, Lenny’s brown eyes were huge and he was staring at Harry with something close to worship.

“Really?” the boy breathed, awed by whatever the man had told him and Draco felt his curiosity spike. Harry nodded, curls once more escaping to tangle about his face and his cheeks were rosy from the cold when he stood again.

“Really,” he put his finger to his lips and winked, “but it’s a secret, okay?” The boy nodded hard enough to make the tassels on his hat fly about and hit him in the forehead, miming the action of locking his mouth and throwing away the key. Harry’s shining green eyes and the way he made Lenny light up with barely an effort made something in Draco’s chest tighten. He wasn’t sure why he was so affected as he would have been content with his life to have nothing to do with kids but the scene was touching and filled him with a different kind of longing. Not for a child, no, but he wondered if, one day in the future, when everything was a little more sorted and things, perhaps, maybe, hopefully, worked out between himself and the green eyed man he loved, he could give Harry that. Could give him a family he so clearly wanted.

For Harry, Draco thought he would do just about anything.

“Rorie,” Lenny had turned to his older cousin while Draco had been tussling with his emotions, tugging at her coat now in excitement, “can Mr Harry come with us to the park? Please please please??” He was practically jumping on the spot and Harry was laughing softly at his antics, clearly charmed. The blond swallowed hard around the lump in his throat, standing by awkwardly as he watched. Doreen pretended to think, making Lenny squirm excitedly, biting his lip the whole while before sighing a great, theatrical sigh and rolling her eyes.

“Oh, all right. As long as Harry says it’s okay,” and of course the dark haired man couldn’t hold up against those giant eyes when they turned his way because he shrugged his shoulders and smiled that crooked, happy smile Draco wanted to snatch away so no one else could see.

“Certainly. That sounds like fun.” He barely had the words out of his mouth before Lenny was rocketing over to him and snatching Harry’s hand before attempting to drag him away, triumphant shouts echoing through the street. The dark haired man looked over his shoulder as he let himself be led, shrugging helplessly and laughing. Stunned, Draco watched them go for a moment, not quite sure what had just happened. He’d had the dark haired man stolen away by a four-year-old boy with eyes the size of dinner plates and a frightening lack of manners. Not only that but Harry was clearly enjoying himself, his rich laughter chasing the lighter, higher voice of Lenny through the cold winter air. It wasn’t until a gentle hand touched upon his elbow that he blinked and glanced down at the girl smiling up at him.

“Shall we?” she asked, using her chin to indicate where Harry and Lenny were making their way towards the end of the street. He nodded mutely and let her slip her arm through his, not caring that his cloak had to fall open to allow the action. Draco was too busy wondering if feeling jealous of a child was a trifle foolish because he certainly didn’t get to hold Harry’s hand even though the desire to do so burned through him often enough. He also found himself wondering what the dark haired man had said to endear the boy to him so quickly.

He and Doreen followed Harry and the boy at a more sedate pace, using the white hat sitting atop jet-black curls as their guide through the streets. Once Draco was called out by a middle-aged woman who had bought a set of his silverware about a year ago from across the street, asking him if he would be returning with any more. “My sister’s daughter is getting married in two months and a set of that beautiful silver would be a perfect gift!” she’d said, loud enough for the entire town to hear. Immediately a set came to mind, still hiding in one of the chests in one of the attic rooms. His mother’s set from the Black side of the family, wrought on the edges of the handles with gold and subtly spelled to never tarnish. Draco knew he would never use it, even his mother never had, and promised to bring it with him on his next trip to town.

When he looked back at Harry, he caught a glimpse of the man’s face, turned to watch him but he turned around quickly when he saw Draco had noticed.

“So, Draco.” Doreen wasn’t clasping his arm very hard but he could feel the heat from her hand where it rested on his wrist. He glanced at her, lifting an eyebrow in a way he knew made her roll her eyes and many times call him a pretentious snob. He was not disappointed. “Harry, huh?” Her hazel eyes glanced up at him through the loose strands of her hair, giving the question a direction he wasn’t sure he was entirely comfortable with it going. Looking away so he could watch Lenny finally pull Harry into a playground that had been mostly cleared of snow, he lifted his nose into the air with feigned nonchalance.

“What about Harry?” he asked, haughty in a way he knew she didn’t like and was rewarded with a gentle smack on the wrist. Harry was already chasing Lenny down a long, yellow slide by the time Draco and Doreen made it to the park, pausing by a clear bench so they could watch on without getting involved. The dark haired man was laughing at something the little boy said right before he slid, screeching, down the slide, glasses glinting as they caught the sunlight. He looked odd up at the top of the slide’s ladder in his fur lined cloak that must have cost Pansy a good 100 Galleons at least, matching hat as crooked on his head as his smile on his lips. Odd but not wrong and the blond found it rather endearing.

“You know,” Doreen freed her arm and they sat in the sunlight upon the bench, close enough to feel the heat from each other’s bodies but not close enough to touch. It was comfortable, rather like how he felt when he was with Pansy and he realized that all this time he was not as alone as he had thought he was. If only he had chosen to see what a good friend this pretty blond girl could have been to him sooner, “I used to think, when you came into my shop every week with another dress and spoke in that posh, pretty accent you have that I’d like to keep you for myself.” Her words made his eyes widen and he jerked his head around to look at her, completely stunned. Doreen laughed and folded her hands in her lap.

“I know, sudden confession. Sorry.” She shrugged and then smiled as Harry lifted Lenny so he could swing from high, evenly spaced bars that had been painted blue. “You were handsome and polite and you could have stepped straight from a fairy tale. I’d like to see any girl hold out against that.” He sputtered here, face reddening because the life he had stepped out of was hardly a fairy tale. It was more like a nightmare, though she didn’t need to know that. “I could tell, though, rather quickly that your heart belonged somewhere else.” She sighed and glanced at him again, perky nose red from the cold.

“Was it that obvious?” he muttered, tucking his arms under the safe warmth of his cloak and watching as thin, undefined clouds scuttled high across the sky. Doreen gave a helpless little lift of her shoulder that was more like an apology than a shrug and he sighed softly, watching his breath dissipate as it rose into the air.

“Maybe not but it was hard to miss every time I nearly worked up my courage to ask you out.” Again he looked at her sharply and saw for a brief moment the knowledge of loss in her eyes. It wasn’t painful, he didn’t think. She did not mourn the loss of him because she had not truly fallen in love with him. Maybe she had sensed something else about him as well, like the fact that he was hiding more than unrequited love for someone else. Like he was from an entirely different world, where there was magic and scars from a war only just over and that he had let himself be forgotten by that world because they didn’t want him. Or he didn’t want them.

But that world held Harry and he wondered how he thought he could escape it forever.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Her question shouldn’t have caught him off guard but it did anyway and he started, staring at her with wide eyes. He was almost afraid that Harry had overheard and he glanced quickly at him just to make sure. But the dark haired man was spinning Lenny about on a strange disk that had square bars jutting from it so the person riding it could hold on to something. Around and around it went with the little boy on it screaming and laughing the way only a child could. “He’s the one who you’re in love with,” and how could he deny it when Harry looked stunning as he grinned and tossed his black head, standing just across the playground from where Draco sat.

“He’s the one I’ve always been in love with,” he breathed, unable to look away even when Doreen hummed softly and leaned against his side, a warm, friendly presence. Harry looked at them a few times, eyes bright but assessing, as if he didn’t like what he saw but wasn’t going to do anything about it. Once again Draco was swamped with confusion and let the blond girl stay where she was. He didn’t understand why the dark haired man would care at all.

* * *

Doreen finally left an hour later, having to physically haul Lenny away from the swings with the threat of telling his mother he had misbehaved and that he would be sent to bed without dessert. It seemed that the little boy had become more attached to Harry than anyone realized because it took the dark haired man once more whispering something to the boy before he would settle and agree to go with his cousin. She kissed Draco’s cheek as she left, eyes bright as she whispered a few parting words of her own. And then they were gone, Lenny turning to wave over his shoulder a few times, round face mournful. Harry waved back.

“I would say good luck, Draco, but I see the way he looks at you and I rather think you don’t need it.” A wink and then she was gone, towing her small cousin after her. The words rang in his head like a struck gong, doubt and breathless, agonizing hope waging such a war within him, he could almost hear the clanging of swords. Surely it wasn’t true because he would have noticed that, wouldn’t he? Would he? Then Harry touched his elbow and he was smiling that smile again and Draco felt his knees go a little weak.

“The swings?” the other man asked him hopefully and he found himself nodding. The swings were off to the side, in a patch of sunlight that felt almost warm as it hit his back. They were a little difficult to manoeuvre with the cloaks but they managed and soon Draco was swaying back and forth as Harry kicked off from the ground, pumping his legs so he could go higher. Behind him the cloak billowed out, looking like storm clouds. “Lenny is magical,” Harry said suddenly, catching his hat before it fell off and tossing it to Draco, who nearly fell off the swing trying to snag it from the air. Shocked, he gaped at the dark haired man whose hair rushed back and forth as he swung before looking down the road where the little boy had disappeared with Doreen a few moments ago.

“How do you know that?” he demanded finally, curling his arms around the swing’s chains and holding the white hat to his face. It smelled of Harry’s hair and he quickly dropped it to his lap before another burst of arousal could give him away. The other man snorted before slowing himself by dragging his feet over the ground. Draco winced to see his boots treated thus but he didn’t say anything. The dark haired man could do with them as he liked. Still. They were dragon hide, for Merlin’s sake.

“When I was studying with David, that was one of the first things I was taught.” Harry scraped to a halt beside Draco, hair completely wind tossed and face red. He buried his nose into the fur at his collar for a moment before continuing. “As a Ward maker, you have to know not just ward magic but the magic of the people you are working for as well. The most effective wards are the ones tuned to the magic of the people they are protecting. It isn’t easy to sense whether someone has magic at all, let alone pick up on the subtle differences between each person. If you can, though, it makes those wards that much more powerful.” He met the blond’s gaze, gloved hands looking big wrapped around the chains of the swing. “Lenny’s father is a wizard. He told me while we were on the monkey bars. Doreen doesn’t know about magic, I would imagine, but Lenny did.”

Despite the fact that he had been taught to do it, the fact that the dark haired man could sense people’s magic enough to distinguish them was awe-inspiring. Harry had been right that most witches and wizards wouldn’t be able to sense whether someone had magic or not in the first place. Draco had always known the other man was powerful but this was something else entirely. Unable to look away, he saw what he always did when he looked at Harry but now he caught a glimpse of something else too, a something that had not really played a part in the blond’s feelings, though he had acknowledged that it was there.

Along with his courage and his strength and that incandescent beauty that shone like the very sun, there was power. Taking a deep breath, Draco tipped his head back to look at the sky, the swing shifting under him so he drifted slowly back and forth.

“That’s…too bad. I think Doreen would love to know about magic,” he finally said, opting not to say anything about the rest of what Harry said. He was worried what might come out of his mouth if he did. Like the thought of all that power hiding quietly under the other man’s skin made him weak in the knees and his own magic feel like it was surging restlessly through him in response. There was a scrape of boots next to him against the frozen ground and when he looked, the dark head was bowed between the swing’s chains.

“Do you…know Doreen very well?” The words were muffled from under the mop of wild curls yet even so, he could hear the strange, reluctant note it carried, almost as if the question was dragged out of Harry against his will. Surprised, he shrugged his shoulders even though the gesture wouldn’t be seen and watched as the man next to him pushed himself back with his toe against the ground.

“I…suppose,” Draco said slowly, leaning against the taut, cold chain that was closer to Harry, watching the way the breeze ruffled through the exposed curls. “She bought my mother’s dresses from me, in the very beginning. After several years, we became sort of friends.” There was no need to bring up the fact that he once wished he could forget his feelings for Harry long enough to get to know the girl a little better than friends. It would mean revealing not only the fact that he was in love with the other man but of something that would never have happened simply because he had been unable to bend his heart to his wishes. Not that he could ever hope to stop loving this man: not even if he lived to be a hundred year old. It would always be Harry.

“Oh. Okay.” There was a creak from the swing as it moved and Draco could have sworn he heard the man whisper a soft “friends” but he wasn’t completely sure. For some reason, the conversation left him feeling off balance, like there was something he should be seeing but just wasn’t getting. It had been happening more and more often and he didn’t know why. Like something else had changed about Harry but he just kept missing it. And why did the man care about Doreen? Hadn’t he liked her cousin well enough to chase him around the playground for more than an hour and then talk about magic with him? Why did he care?

“Harry?” Draco hadn’t realized how much time had passed in silence until he knocked it away with his voice, “could I…ask you something?” He didn’t know what he wanted to say until the question was out of his mouth and then suddenly his heart was trying to beat its way out of his throat and his palms felt clammy inside of his gloves. It was probably way too soon to bring this up but for some reason, it felt like it was time. The other man hummed softly in encouragement, gaze still fixed on the tops of his boots and Draco swallowed thickly. “Will you…tell me about Alex?” There was a very long pause, in which he watched the slender shoulders tense under the fall of the grey cloak and Harry’s hands tightened hard enough on the chains that the blond could hear the leather of his gloves creaking softly.

Then the dark head tipped back and Harry let out a long breath that had soft, warm mist curling around his face. The green eyes reflected the pale blue colour of the sky, making them look like the surface of the sea that sparkled under a noon sun. His lips were a little pale but he didn’t look upset. In fact, Draco could see him relaxing, shoulders dropping as if he was deliberately trying to calm himself. Though the blond felt a little bad for bringing it up, he still found himself needing to know. When Harry turned his head to look at him, Draco was able to meet his gaze with a direct one of his own.

“I’ll tell you,” the dark haired man said softly, “but could I ask some questions of my own?” A story in exchange for some answers. It was rather Slytherin of him Draco had to admit. Under his admiration, though, was a healthy dose of trepidation because he knew what kind of questions the other man would ask. Questions that he wasn’t ready to answer, answers he wasn’t ready to face. Even so, he found himself nodding his head.

Those beautiful green eyes were very warm when Harry smiled and for a moment he was sure the man was about to reach out and touch his fingers to Draco’s face. He didn’t but the desire to do so was naked for even the blond to see. It confused him so badly he was startled into silence. The other man had never shown the inclination to do so before but perhaps it was his way of offering comfort?

“Don’t look so worried, Draco. I don’t ask so I can judge you.” The way he said Draco’s name made the blond shiver. Spoken in a low, rumbling tone, he felt the sound of it travelling through his bones, eradicating the chill that had started to seep under his skin and making him want to hear it a hundred more times. It had been said like Harry liked saying it, odd as that might sound. Again the blond nodded, still leaning against the chain and swaying gently on the swing. The fierce emerald gaze caught his own. “Who is it you talk to when no one else is around?”

The question hit him like a punch across the face and it took Draco a moment to remember how to breathe. He knew it was coming, he did. Harry had already asked him this and he had refused to answer. Even so, it didn’t make the shock of it any better. And why should it be a shock, he wondered? All that he knew about the other man, all that he watched him go through and he really couldn’t face this stupid question? Harry could see how he had been living for the past three years of his life, with nothing more than his studies, his great, empty home and a few Muggles who thought he was something else entirely. Here he was thinking he had no pride left but when it came down to it, it turned out he still had too much.

“My parents,” he whispered into the cold winter air, “I talk to my parents.” He felt so bare, so exposed, like he had been cut open with a knife and his heart and stomach and lungs and intestines were all laid out for everyone to see. Intellectually he knew it was only Harry doing the looking but that didn’t make the feeling go away. His parents were dead but he still saw and spoke to them like he had when they lived. They were ghosts of his memory, leaking through the cracks of his grief. He didn’t want the dark haired man to see this part of him.

“You talk to them in your head?” Harry asked, sounding perplexed and Draco felt a bitter smile curling on his lips. If only it was that simple. Then perhaps he would have sunk into his own mind and left the real world behind for good. Shaking his head, he watched a bird flutter through the trees and into the sky. He wished he was that bird, able to fly wherever he wished without a care for who he left behind. But no, he had already proven he could not leave Harry behind after all, even in the privacy of his own heart.

“They’re real,” he caught the concerned look he was getting from the other man, the way he caught his plump bottom lip with his teeth and furrowed his brows. “What I mean is, they aren’t simply in my head. Sometimes they…affect things around them, like a real ghost might if it was focusing its energy to make it happen.” He shrugged, looking at Harry helplessly. It was impossible to explain something he didn’t really understand himself.

“Ghosts? But…you’re the only one who can see them.” The dark haired man only sounded curious, and maybe a little worried but Draco fidgeted, trying to hide his distress. What did it matter anyway, that the force of his grief had tried to return his parents to him only so he wouldn’t feel so alone? Why did this man want to know so badly? He tried to see past the knotted expression on Harry’s face but could not. He took a deep breath of cold, slicing air, and then another, hoping to steady the trembling that had started in his limbs. If he needed to, he could pass it off as being cold but he doubted the other man would believe him.

“I missed them,” his voice was just a breath, a murmur of sound that even he could barely hear but he was not asked to repeat himself, “I missed them so much and I had…no one else. I think…my magic projected my memories for me so I would not feel quite so…bereft.” Draco swallowed and dropped his head with a sigh. “That is the only explanation I can come up with, anyway. If I was going crazy, I would have succumbed to it a long time ago.” There was a hand on his knee, warm and surprisingly strong for all he knew of its slender form. Though he wanted to, Draco could not make himself look up and meet Harry’s eyes.

“Tell me, Draco,” he whispered, voice so close the blond could imagine him leaning in close, lips nearly brushing his forehead. “Tell me what it was like.” It was like a flood. The words that had been barred behind the wall of fear and grief and years of endless pain broke free of the dam he had been holding them behind and he told Harry all of it. How in the beginning he would go to bed wishing to never wake up again, how he didn’t know if he could live with his grief, how he was suddenly poor and hungry and left floating in this new existence without a kind word from any direction. How he broke things and screamed, how he forced himself to change, to study, just to keep his mind off of it all, to prevent it all from happening again. He told him how it felt to have the Ministry put such harsh restrictions on his wand, he could barely spell his water warm without worry of breaking his parole and how the Aurors would show up at the Manor and harass him under guise of checking to make sure he wasn’t breaking his agreement.

Through the whole thing, his voice was flat and soft and his eyes burned but never filled. Harry listened quietly, barely breathing as he watched Draco’s face, eyes intent and filled with such remorse it actually hurt the blond to see. And when he finally finished, he bowed his head and waited, feeling drained and broken. Long strands of his pale hair drifted across his vision and he counted them, breathing when Harry breathed, blinking to remind himself he didn’t need to cry now. That part of his life was done. Though the dark haired man might leave him someday to live his own life again, he doubted Harry would walk away completely. They were friends now, he and Harry.

“Draco.” Harry’s voice was still soft, so gentle and the blond found himself glancing up despite the impulse to keep his face turned down. Oh. That look was back on the other man’s face, the one that had been confusing Draco for several days now and which left him lightheaded and weak. All he could think was oh. “Now tell me the real reason why you brought me to the Manor and treated me like I was more than just a patient.” He was caught, oh Merlin, and the green eyes were so deep, so demanding and Draco knew at once he could no longer lie.

This time, when he closed his eyes against the flood of emotion that unfurled in his chest, hot, salty tears squeezed out from under his lashes and dripped down his cold cheeks.

“Because,” it was a rasp, raw and horrible, “because I love you, Harry.”

And it was said.

It could never be unsaid.

Ten years he had kept that deep in his heart, had let it define him but never let it free, except to a few close friends who would understand. He liked what he had with the dark haired man now; yes it was a long time coming but at least he could see Harry every day, could be counted as a friend. That was perfectly okay with him, despite what his heart might tell him from time to time. But now…

Now it would change. Now there were those three words between them, creating walls and expectations and no doubt uneasiness on Harry’s part. After all, he had just been freed from an abusive relationship a month before. How could he take kindly to this now? Draco kept his eyes closed, unable to stop the hot, salty tears from dripping down his chin and pressed his forehead to the frozen chain as if it could be an effective lifeline in the storm he just threw himself into.

And then…

Then there was a touch on his cheeks, bare fingers, the fine leather gloves removed, the skin so warm against his own. For a moment he thought he was imagining it because he wanted it so much. But it didn’t go away, following the tracks his tears made down his face as if trying to catch them or make them stop. No, surely he was dreaming because this couldn’t be. Yet Harry whispered his name, said it so softly it was more of a suggestion of sound and his thumbs rolled gently against the ridges of the blond’s cheekbones. It wasn’t a dream a corner of his mind supplied, not a dream, real, real, real.

Draco’s eyes flew open to fix upon the man on the swing next to him. He expected to see understanding pity or horror or just plain acceptance, the last being the worst. He expected to feel, once more, the quiet shatter as his heart crumbled into even smaller pieces. Instead Harry gently dried the blond’s tears with his fingers and there was none of that in his eyes.

No, because where Draco expected to see rejection of some form or another, there was a smile.

It was a smile but one like he had never seen before. It fairly glowed, like Harry’s face was lit up from the inside, illuminating his gaze until Draco was almost afraid to look at him. One of the other man’s thumbs was rubbing against his cheek before running gently across his bottom lip. The touch sent a shivery thrill right to his very toes and he felt his lips part on a silent gasp. Bright, shining green eyes watched it happen, falling to Draco’s mouth and the flash of hunger in them made him feel brittle and overheated. It only lasted a moment and then Harry let his hand fall away but he didn’t make any move to go anywhere. He just tilted his head to the side and pumped his legs once so that the swing moved forward, then back. He was still smiling.

“I thought so but...” He shrugged his shoulders as Draco’s mouth fell open and his face reddened. His lip still tingled where Harry touched it but he refused to follow the path of that finger with his own like some lovesick girl. Had he really been that obvious about how he felt for the dark haired man? Or was Harry better at reading people than he thought?

“You—you knew?” Draco managed to croak, looking properly horrified and he received a little, lopsided smile in return. Harry wasn’t laughing at him, that much he could see but he still felt completely flat-footed. The other man cleared his throat, breath misting white in front of his face then paused his swing to look down at his fingers, hands now bare of his gloves. Draco could see the way he was rubbing his thumb and forefinger together, like he was remembering touching the blond, remembering and savouring it. Draco’s heart skipped a beat.

“I suspected,” Harry corrected, before sighing and leaning to the side so that he was suddenly very close, green eyes looking huge and flawlessly clear. It made the blond suck in a sudden breath, frozen under the weight of it. “I should have known right away. You didn’t treat me like glass the way Pansy and Miguel did. You treated me like I was special, like I mattered. The only reason I missed it was because I wasn’t ready to see it.” Draco had to swallow, mouth dry and he realized that if his face got any redder, smoke would start coming out of his ears and his head would probably simply drop off. Wouldn’t that make a lasting impression, he thought a little hysterically.

“Oh.” Merlin, he sounded so pathetic, his voice cracking all over the place, wavering with the trembling tears that were still threatening at the back of his eyes, prickling in warning. But what else could he say? He was still trying to process the fact that Harry hadn’t gone running in the other direction or, worse, apologized and went on to feel bad about not returning the blond’s affections. It was a good thing; he was sure of that. If he was correct in his assumptions, the other man was happy about it. That train of thought was even more confusing. Then again, it was rather hard to think very clearly when Harry was still leaning towards him, black hair flopping into his eyes.

“You still look like you’re ready to cry, Draco.” The dark haired man knotted his eyebrows and the blond gave a little laugh, looking away to wipe his face even though his tears had already dried.

“Sorry,” he began but a gloved hand snatched his wrist in a surprisingly strong grip, forcing his gaze back up again.

“Don’t.” Harry’s voice was forceful and his gaze as direct as the light spilling from the sky, making Draco blink rapidly in surprise. “Don’t apologize. Don’t say you’re sorry…I’m not sorry.” For a second there was a breath of complete and utter stillness. He even swore that the very breeze dropped off completely, like it was holding its breath. Then his heart started beating, racing so fast it was painful. It hurt to breathe, to swallow. Ten years. That was how long he had been holding those words back and though he had only really gotten to know the dark haired man in the past month, there was still all that history behind his feelings that couldn’t be forgotten. Ten years he had been carrying them around, yearning, pining, the strength of them ever growing but never set free.

Now they were. Now those three words were there, shimmering in the space between them and Harry was not turning him away or letting him down.

“What?” He swore his voice would never be the same, bound to crack horribly every time he opened his mouth. Well, it was Harry’s fault, obviously, and he would tell people that every time they asked why he was squeaking like an overexcited house-elf. Because Harry kept saying these things, things that Draco had only dreamed were possible. How could he get his heart to ever beat normal again?

“Yeah, um,” and of course now, as the blond felt like he could have been knocked off his perch on the swing did Harry suddenly lose all of that blazing confidence. He was rubbing the back of his neck with his hand, curls snagging on his fingers. “I thought that…there was something when you…when we were in the kitchen that day.” By the look in Harry’s eyes, he knew at once to which day he was referring. “But I was only sure when we woke up on the floor last week. You looked so at peace and when I tried to move, you wouldn’t let me go.” Heat like fire blazed up into Draco’s cheeks, tipping his ears crimson and he wondered just what else Harry might have noticed that morning.

“I didn’t…” He dropped his face into his hands, utterly mortified. There was a soft sigh, close enough to ruffle his hair where it fell against his hands and then Harry was back to holding his wrists, both of them this time, prying them gently away from Draco’s face. He didn’t want the other man to see. Yet even when he kept his head bowed and turned away, Harry manipulated the swing so that he could duck his head to peer into Draco’s face.

“Draco,” he said softly, coaxingly, so smoothly that the blond couldn’t help a tiny little shiver in response. “I may not…feel the same way just yet nor quite understand the entirety of your feelings for me in this moment but I—” Harry broke off with a wince, biting nervously at his bottom lip in that unconscious way he had, drawing Draco’s eye to it. He took a deep breath before continuing, eyes on the ground between their swings. “The last man who told me he loved me wanted me as a possession, a toy a…a conquest. He loved that he had conquered Harry Potter in every way possible and when he told me he loved me, he meant he loved seeing me on my knees, broken and unable to fight against him.” Draco swallowed a lungful of cold air, both angry and terrified. Angry for Harry but terrified that he would be compared to Alex.

“I would never even think to do that to you.” He didn’t realize he had reached out until his hands were cupped under the other man’s jaw, making those green eyes lift, the shadows lingering in them vanishing for just a moment. Their eyes met, held and then Harry smiled again, not shying away but leaning into the blond’s timid touch, curling his own fingers into the spaces between Draco’s. Heart thumping loudly in his chest, he wanted to savour the sight of their hands tangled like that but he found he could not bear to look away from the wide, emerald eyes that continued to hold his own.

“I know you wouldn’t. I know that I can trust you.” Harry dropped their hands from his face but their fingers remained twined upon his knee, his one bare hand looking as pale as the moon against the black of Draco’s gloves. “Where he tore me apart, you picked up the pieces and put them back together. I am…more than grateful for that. There’s more to it, though. More than gratitude and…” he licked his lips and shifted on his swing, “and friendship, I think. You won’t hurt me, you won’t want me to be anything…less than what I am. Not like…” The blond squeezed Harry’s fingers tightly, offering as much reassurance as he could and the dark haired man snuck him a grateful smile. Of course, the entire time the other man was speaking, Draco was trying not to allow his skin to fly off his body. It just couldn’t contain the fierce joy that was pounding through him and he felt like he was in very real danger of spontaneously combusting with it. In an effort to bring his emotions back under some semblance of control, he nudged Harry’s knee with his own and wrapped both hands around Harry’s, keeping them warm.

“Will you tell me about it?” he asked slowly. Harry had already said he would and he was almost relived to get off the topic of his attachment. He didn’t want to push, to ask what the dark haired man thought of Draco. He had already said more than the blond had ever hoped for and it was enough for the moment. Now it was time to listen to Harry’s story, to see what was behind the shadows that still lurked in his eyes and waited for him in his dreams.

The things that Alex had done.

Harry nodded and took a breath, a deep one that expanded his chest and made his nose flare. He was visibly gathering his courage, clinging to it with all his might, letting it fill him up so that when he dug up his memories, he would have the strength to endure it. Draco watched, keeping his hold on the other man’s hands tight, reminding him that he didn’t have to go back there, that he wasn’t alone. “Alex and I met in Diagon Alley. I literally tripped over him. He was picking up something he dropped right outside of Gringotts when I stepped out the doors.” The blond didn’t know how much the dark haired man would tell but he had not been expecting from the very beginning. It was a good thing, a cohesive chain of events. He knew, from his studies, that the more willing a victim was to talk, the faster the acceptance for what had happened to them would come. Only once they had accepted it could they begin to truly be on the path to a full recovery. It made Draco’s heart soar with hope, feeling all at once full and weightless at the sight of Harry’s strength.

“To be honest, in the beginning I wasn’t really interested. It was only a few months after what had happened with the Weasleys finally died down in the papers and I knew if I got into a relationship the media would treat it like another scandal. Alex was nice and though he wasn’t really my type, I thought he was cute. He laughed about getting tripped on, making a few jokes and I guess he was charming.” Harry shrugged his shoulders, face looking pale but otherwise composed. Though Draco had heard some of this from Pansy, it was interesting hearing it from Harry’s point of view. “I just…I wasn’t really ready for that,” the dark head shook back and forth, “I should have just followed my instincts. They had always served me well before.

“Alex was persistent, though. When I turned him down the first time, it was suddenly open season, like he couldn’t take no for an answer. He would owl me at least once a day, sometimes to ask me out, sometimes to just ask about my day. I bumped into him twice more and he would ask those times too. At first I just thought he was like a very enthusiastic fan who bypassed the annoying star-struck stage and was stuck in stalker-stage. But…I don’t know. After a month or two of this, I finally figured I might as well go out with him at least once, just to get it over with.” Harry was looking at their entwined hands, eyes veiled by the thick, dark sweep of his eyelashes. Draco wondered what the other man thought of it, his own bare fingers curled under the blond’s gloved ones. At least he made no move to pull away because Draco didn’t know if he could let go if he tried.

“So it started out with a pity date?” he asked when Harry didn’t resume speaking. It hadn’t been meant as a joke but the dark haired man glanced up at him with a smile curling at the corners of his lips, clearly amused.

“That’s one way of putting it. More like a date to get him off my back,” his face darkened again, like the onset of a thunderstorm and Draco could almost feel the chill. “When we went out, though, he was…charming. Really charming. Really sweet. He said all of the things he knew I would fall for. And I did.” Harry voice was bitter and a little sharp, like he was furious now at himself for falling like he had. It was the first time he had exhibited anger at what had been done to him. Draco wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. “By the end of that first date, I thought that maybe he genuinely wanted to date me and I wasn’t opposed to the idea anymore.

“Of course he would act the part at first. He played it so well that I was able to look past the fact that he practically stalked me for a month. Merlin, I thought…” Dark curls fell into the green eyes as the other man shook his head. “I don’t know. I thought that he genuinely liked me. He didn’t seem to care about the fame or my name or how much money I had. He listened when I talked and remembered all the stupid things I said. It was nice to have someone who really cared about me. Well…I thought he cared…” Harry swallowed hard, anger bleeding into something else and the blond gently squeezed the other man’s fingers, offering comfort and if not comfort then at least support. Harry didn’t look at him but his hands did tighten briefly. Draco did his best not to smile.

“It was rather wonderful at first. Alex was perfect. I should have known then that there was a problem. I was too happy.” He gave a little twist of his lips, eyes flickering to meet Draco’s and the blond was left at a loss. He wanted to promise that he would make Harry happy forever, that he would do anything for him but he couldn’t promise that. Besides, he didn’t want to give the other man the kind of happiness he’d had with Alex in the beginning of their relationship; the kind that was skin deep and illusionary. He wanted the happiness that came with truly being with someone, which meant the disagreements and the stupid things that went wrong and bad things that would happen to them which they would have to work through together. He wanted to give Harry true happiness and all that might mean.

“I didn’t notice anything odd for the first month or so we were dating. I didn’t see him much then, because of his job and mine often took me all over the country. But then he started wanting to see me more, started demanding more of my time and making me feel guilty when I wasn’t able to give it. It wasn’t obvious. He would say things and I would just feel bad and he would get his way. I didn’t even realize it was happening.” He snorted. “Happy. Right. I think at the time I thought it was so nice to have someone who actually wanted to be with me that I wasn’t much bothered with it.

“Even so, I was somehow convinced I was in love with him. Or at least falling in love with him. I couldn’t see the subtle manipulation under the way he smiled or sent me silly little notes or flowers when we couldn’t get together. No, maybe then, in the very beginning, I was falling in love with him.” Harry huffed in frustration and gave Draco a rather pitiful look from under his curly fringe. “You must think me horribly naive and pathetic,” he said with resigned acceptance and Draco felt a sudden wave of impatience. Did he really think the blond could think that way about him?

“You must have a shorter memory span than a gnome because you seem to have forgotten everything I just told you,” he said a bit shortly, making the green eyes widen slightly before Harry gave a little snort. “Including…including that last bit.” Draco tried valiantly to stave off his blush with minimal success but it made the dark haired man brighten slightly at the reminder, face relaxing and full lips tugging upwards in a tentative smile.

“I haven’t forgotten,” Harry answered softly and the blond was struck once again with the fact that the truth of his feelings was out in the open and the other man actually seemed to be comforted by it. No, he didn’t return them but he felt something. It was still so unreal, so seemingly impossible that Draco couldn’t even dwell on it or he was sure he’d do something stupid. Like kiss Harry on those pretty, expressive lips of his. “So,” the dark haired man cleared his throat and looked back down at their clasped hands, “well, by then, he had all my friends charmed as well. Neville and Hermione, Daniel and Pansy. He was fun to hang around in a pub with or knock about at someone’s house listening to Quidditch on the wireless. The only person he never wanted to meet was my mentor, David. I didn’t think much of it at the time but I should have,” his eyelashes fluttered slowly as if he had winced at something only he could hear. “David is very good at reading people. Not just through magic, though I’m not quite sure how he does it. Intuition, maybe,” he shrugged then shook his head, “I should have known something was odd then but….well, I didn’t obviously.”

Draco wanted to say something to soften the hard, bitter expression that had filled the clear emerald gaze. Something true and comforting and kind. He wanted to say something like, ‘you couldn’t have known, Harry’ and ‘it wasn’t your fault’. But everything he could have said would only sound tacky and cheap and no doubt it would only upset the other man. So he kept still and quiet, letting Harry bounce his memories and the tumult of emotions that accompanied them against the solid presence of support that was Draco.

“We…started having sex two months in.” Now it was Harry’s turn to blush, the heat of it adding to the flush that was already there from the cold so it turned the ridges of his cheekbones and the tips of his ears a rich, dusky red. Draco would have thought it endearing if he wasn’t trying to get the image of the man he had seen in the Prophet a month ago and Harry having sex out of his head. With Alex on top, moving over the dark haired man, moving in him—the blond shut down that part of his brain before he could sick up. Or start screaming aloud in fury. “It was nice. Well, of course it was, it was sex. I can see now, though, that I wasn’t ready for it, that I didn’t know him well enough, that it was too soon. But, like everything else, if he received a no at first, Alex would soon get what he wanted…Draco…you’re hurting me…” It was the sound of Harry’s voice, tinged in fear and pain, that brought the blond back from behind the haze of incoherent rage and he blinked at the other man who was wincing and trying to pull his hands away. Looking down, he saw that his own knuckles were white where they curled around Harry’s fingers and he realized with a jolt he was squeezing his hands much too tight.

“Salazar! I’m sorry.” He jerked his hands away, moving to tuck them into his cloak in shame and abject guilt that he had just hurt the other man. But Harry caught his wrists before he could retreat and gave the blond a thin yet brave smile.

“It’s okay. Maybe we should…continue this at another time?” He sounded uncertain, fingers warm around Draco’s wrists. It was probably a good idea, maybe when he wasn’t quite as jealous as he was at the moment. But he knew that for as long as Harry continued to remember this man, the one who had made him fall in love then ripped him apart, Draco would remain nauseatingly jealous. He shook his head and forced himself to relax.

“No, it’s alright. Lets just…” He wanted to say get this over with but he didn’t want to make the other man feel like he really didn’t want to listen to the rest. He did; it was just a struggle to keep tight hold over his emotions. They kept threatening to spill out over the rim of his control, splashing over his skin like a flood of lava. Harry nodded his dark head but he didn’t let Draco’s wrists go. He simply pulled the blond’s hands back into his lap, resuming their prior position.

“Um, the uh…the sex was good at first. Like I said, nice. Nothing unusual or untoward. The only thing that should have bothered me at the time was that he would never let me…top. I didn’t think about it too much because I do like it the other way around. But then…” Harry shuddered and looked away, eyes roaming out over the playground, face still deeply flushed. “He started to pin me down. Hands over my head or at my side and he would make sure I couldn’t lift them the entire time. Again, I didn’t really think much of it. Some people get off on that and I figured Alex was one of them. Then he started using the bindings. Rope, spells, handcuffs and even sometimes he would use a set of manacles. I suppose in the way of kinks, it’s kind of vanilla.” He blushed even harder when he said that but he bravely met Draco’s eyes as if searching for reassurance. Feeling completely ill, the blond twisted his hands around so that he could grasp Harry’s hands back. “Only, he never asked me if I wanted it. I would have said yes if he asked but he never did.”

All at once the world felt colder and Draco shifted his swing so he was closer to Harry, their hands clasped upon the other man’s lap and their bowed foreheads nearly touching. It was painful to hear this, as he had known it would be but it had to be all that much more difficult for Harry, exposing all of this to another person, even one he might trust.

“One night I asked if we could…switch. If I could tie him down like he did to me every night. He laughed at me. He told me I didn’t have it in me to be the dominant partner. He made it sound like he was saying the ‘owner’ and told me he didn’t want to talk about it again. Of course, I thought that if I kept trying, he would eventually give in. I mean, it’s nice to be taken care of sometimes but he never even entertained the idea that I might want to be the one to do that too.” Harry took a deep breath and when he let it out, it shuddered. “It was around this time he started to estrange my friends from me. First he would make plans so that I couldn’t see them and when I told him I wanted to see them instead, he got pissed. He got mad a lot.” The dark haired man hunched in on himself, eyes going hollow. “I hated when he got mad,” he whispered and Draco couldn’t help it. He leaned the rest of the way and pressed his forehead into the other man’s chest.

There was a pause, a moment of stunned silence before Harry tentatively reached up and touched his fingers to the blond’s long, platinum hair. It was awkward because he had to hold his swing with his heels braced against the ground so it was close enough and the chain dug into his shoulder. But Draco didn’t care. He could feel the other man breathing, could hear the faint echo of his heartbeat and the wild, musky scent of him filled the blond’s nose.

“You don’t ever have to see him again,” Draco whispered back, voice hoarse and the arm that had wrapped around his shoulders so that Harry could touch his hair tightened. Hot breath heated his scalp and despite how awkward it was to sit like that on a pair of swings, the blond decided that he could have stayed there forever.

“I know that. I do. But sometimes I’m so afraid I’ll wake up back there, chained to the wall and waiting to be whipped again, or kicked or cursed simply because he…because he thought he owned me. And…by then it wasn’t about sex. It just became the dynamic of our relationship. He was the owner and I was his pet.” The sharp emotion in the other man’s voice made Draco reach up and grasp the material of Harry’s cloak, pressing his face deeper into the fur of the collar. He took a deep breath, committing how it felt to sit like that to memory. Then he pulled back and once more curled his fingers into the spaces of the other man’s hand, making his heart flutter a little when it was a perfect fit.

“You own you, Harry. Only you. Everyone else is just landscape.” It was something Draco’s father had always told him when trying to teach him as a young boy how to act and carry himself like a Malfoy. It made the other man blink at him before bursting into laughter, shaking his dark, shaggy head as he did. It wasn’t meant to be funny but the blond supposed there were some things about this man he would never fully understand.

“You know, sometimes I forget that you’re the Draco Malfoy I went to school with. But then you go and say things like that and I realize you are indeed one and the same.” Harry chucked deeply as Draco gaped at him, miffed. Which of course only made the dark haired man laugh all the more.

“Well, that’s the last time I ever say something nice to you,” he grumbled, turning away so he could properly cross his arms and pout. He wasn’t really put off, of course but Harry didn’t know that. He was now trying to placate him with a hand on his shoulder, making the swing rock slowly. Finally the blond peered at the other man who looked properly remorseful and he had to laugh just a little. After what they had been talking about, he had been worried something between them would change but he should not have been. “It’s getting late,” he said, tipping his head back to look at the sky, where the sun was slowly starting to sink below the trees. “We should probably be getting back.” Harry nodded, taking his hat from where it sat in Draco’s lap and placing it crookedly on his head with a goofy face that made the blond laugh. The sound was still ringing through the cold air as they both stood, straightened their cloaks and made their way back towards the street.

“Thank you for listening, Draco,” the dark haired man said softly as they followed the sidewalks they had taken in, the shadows laying different patterns on the ground now that the sun had moved. The blond glanced over at Harry who was walking close enough that their shoulders brushed with nearly every other step. It sent a thrill through him, to know that the other man was there and that he knew that Draco loved him and had not turned cold or tried to run away.

“You listened to me as well,” he pointed out, watching as Harry pulled his gloves back on. “You can tell me the rest anytime you need to. Or not, if that’s what you want.” Again that dark head nodded and full lips pulled upwards in a grateful smile which Draco returned with a tiny one of his own. It felt colder all of a sudden, the sun dodging in and out from behind the houses that lined the quiet streets. Somewhere out of sight he could hear a couple children yelling and laughing, sounding like they were engaged in a snowball fight and the smell of cooking filled the air, making his stomach rumble. It was nearing suppertime, he realized with a little jolt of surprise. It hadn’t felt like that much time had passed while they sat talking on the swings.

They were out of the town’s limits and walking along the snowy road back towards the Manor when Harry spoke up again, “You are not at all who I expected you to be, Draco,” he said rather shyly, drawing the blond’s attention to the very green colour of his eyes and to the way his eyelashes looked like dark smudges of coal over his lids. “I just…” those eyes looked at him, bright as the sun and he forgot how to breathe, “I’m glad it was you.”

They walked in full, heavy silence the rest of the way back to the Manor, mostly because Draco was trying very hard not to grin like a complete fool.

* * *

The moment he stepped into the Manor, he was greeted by a worried Jet who was dry-washing her hands on her black tea towel and a frantic Pansy. The feeling of floating high above the clouds disappeared and he was sent crashing back into reality.

She was pacing in the front entryway, hair actually mussed from its usual sleek tresses and he caught her running her fingers through it, messing it up even more. It was something he had seen her do only once before, when her father was under investigation by the Wizengamot when they were in fifth year for fraud. He was innocent but it had been no less nerve wracking for his family. Her hair had always been important, especially before she grew into her face, so running her fingers through it in frustration or fear was unacceptable. Something truly bad must have happened if she was doing it now while wearing a stripe of finish off the marble in the entryway.

Draco’s suspicions were confirmed when she saw them paused in the doorway and fairly launched herself at him, looking ready to burst into hysterics. Shocked, he patted her on the back as she clung to his neck like a lifeline. Harry’s eyes were as wide as his own felt when he looked over at the other man and the slender shoulders lifted in a puzzled shrug.

“Oh, Merlin! Draco!” Pany’s eyes were wet when she pulled away to look at him, nails digging into his shoulders almost painfully. “Where have you been?! You’ve been gone for hours and your house-elves said you went on that little trek to the local Muggle village!” She was in full shrieking mode now, face blotchy with high emotion. “What the fuck were you thinking, taking Harry outside the wards!?!” He winced as his ears protested the nearly impossible pitch her voice hit, catching her by the shoulders because he could tell she was about to start shaking him. Her panic, however, had a shiver of fear snaking down his spine.

“Hold on, Pans,” he said as soothingly as he could, “we talked about this. It wasn’t that high of a risk if we didn’t use magic and only went into town.” It didn’t seem to help because she jerked away from him and thumped him rather painfully on the arm with her open hand.

“Well, it was high enough! Fuck!” She whirled away, her hands flying up into her hair to pull on it. He became genuinely worried and perhaps a little frightened at her display. Harry was watching on, eyebrows knitted in a frown and confusion darkening his gaze.

“Pansy...what’s going on?” he asked slowly, taking a step towards her as she resumed pacing. At first he thought she hadn’t heard him because she continued to pace, making Jet even more nervous so that she started pulling frantically on her ears. Then, just when Draco was going to repeat himself, Pansy whirled around again and strode back, looking fairly wild.

“While you were out lollygagging along the countryside, unprotected and vulnerable, I was paid a little visit while I was in Rome. You were found, Draco. Alex knows Harry’s being held behind a Fidelius in Wiltshire where Malfoy Manor should be.” All at once the bottom of his stomach fell to his shoes and he couldn’t breathe for a moment. Behind him he could hear Harry suck in a sharp breath and he made a soft, questioning noise that tugged at the blond’s heart. Turning, he could see a frozen, helpless look on the other man’s face that made him want to fill the gaps between those slender hands again and draw Harry close. But before he could do that, Pansy was off again, ranting and pulling at her hair and he had to catch her shoulders to still her again.

“Okay. Hey, deep breaths. Tell me what happened.” Surprisingly enough, she listened, calming down by taking slow, shaky breaths, though her dark eyes remained a little wide around the edges.

“We were…we were sitting down for lunch in the hotel we’ve been staying at while in Rome. Miguel was tired after I dragged him shopping, as usual, so it was quiet. At first, when the letter showed up, I thought it was just another one of his business correspondents that owl all hours of the day and night,” Draco growled with impatience for her to get on with it, not caring about any of that and she snarled back. “I’m getting there! The letter wasn’t for Miguel. It was for me. From Alex. It…unfolded itself into a shape of a crow and spoke in his voice.” She shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself. “‘I’ve found him,’ it said. ‘All I have to do is find my way around the Fidelius. You failed.’” Tears clung to her eyelashes, dark eyes looking past Draco at Harry who was standing stock still, face as white as a sheet. Before he could say anything, which probably would only have been a weak, bleeding mother fucking hell, there was a whoosh from down the hall and Miguel came striding in. He looked forbidding, his blue eyes lit with a furious light.

“The Floo is completely disabled. No one’s getting in that way.” He slipped one arm around Pansy’s slim waist, stilling her fretting slightly. Draco felt a surge of gratitude for his presence. Even though Miguel still didn’t like the blond, he was still willing to protect Harry and that, at the moment, was all that mattered.

“Thank you,” he said formally, mind already trying to think of other ways he could keep them protected, keep Harry away from Alex, when a noise behind him drew his attention away.

“He’s…coming here?” It was Harry’s voice, so weak he barely heard it in the huge entryway and Draco turned to look at the other man just in time to see him collapse to the floor.



Nine:

“I’m fine, Draco,” Harry said for the fifth time in ten minutes. He looked rather exasperated but he couldn’t hide the way his lips looked ashy pale or the way his hands trembled uncontrollably. Still, Draco couldn’t help tucking the blanket that was wrapped around the other man a little bit tighter. It earned him a look but Harry wasn’t pushing him away so he supposed he wasn’t entirely opposed to it. Either that or he was too distraught at the moment to really bother.

At first when the dark haired man had crumpled to the floor in the middle of the entryway everyone thought he’d fainted. Draco had moved before Harry even finished falling, not even hearing Pansy’s cry of surprise, and managed to catch him with a quickly cast Cushioning Charm so that when he hit the cold, hard marble he wouldn’t get hurt. Yet when Draco reached the other man’s side a moment later, the green eyes sought his own and when he reached out to clutch at Harry’s hand, his own fingers were clutched weakly back.

“Sorry,” Harry had whispered, lips trembling as the blond helped him sit back up, “I’m sorry.” His eyes couldn’t get any bigger and he jumped when Pansy knelt beside him, touching his elbow gently. His fingers were tight around Draco’s, holding onto them like he was afraid to let go, which he may have been considering how jumpy he was. The blond cursed himself, using his free hand to push back some errant curls that fell into the wild green eyes. Harry looked like he was trying not to jerk away, sitting unnaturally still. His eyes, when they lifted, were unaccountably apologetic and Draco felt a sharp tug on his heart.

“Shh, don’t apologize. There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he said gently, glancing up to see Pansy leaning back, watching them with worry and warm affection that softened her face. Then Harry sighed and seemed to sag, listing to the side so that he was pressed heavily against Draco’s shoulder. His face looked worn and tired in his fear. He whispered something so softly, it got lost between them but the blond had seen the words ‘thank you’ on his lips and he tightened his grip on the other man’s hand briefly, soaking in the warmth from their tangled fingers. “Let’s get you off the floor,” was all he said and was grateful that both Pansy and her husband gave them distance when he helped Harry stand.

Tucked against the soft cushions of the overstuffed chair in the formal drawing room off the entryway, Harry once again looked small and worn, like he had in the beginning of the month, ghostly pale against the dark blue of the blanket Draco had forced around his shoulders. The regression made the pit of the blond’s stomach feel hollow and he desperately wished he could go back and change his mind about taking Harry out to town. He had thought they would be safe, that there was no way that they would be found. It would be the first and last time he ever underestimated an Unspeakable. Clearly, there were so many more things they knew than the average wizard that one never could be sure what they were dealing with.

When he looked at Harry again, bundled up on the chair and looking pitiful, a familiar surge of anger swelled within him, like a silver headed dragon roaring and scraping at the inside of his chest.

Whatever happened, Alex would never lay a single finger on Harry ever again and Draco would do anything to ensure that.

“Harry,” he coaxed gently from where he sat on the footrest directly across from the dark haired man, “what are you thinking?” It was not the first time he dared ask the other man such a question but usually it was in reference to a book or something not quite as personal. The only time they had truly touched upon the topic of Harry’s ex was only earlier that day but it couldn’t remain a delicate subject to be tiptoed around like he had expected it to remain for at least a while longer. Its immediacy was staring them in the face right now and the person this entire situation circled around was Harry. The vibrant green eyes met his own and he could read the terror the other man was desperately trying to squash.

“Nothing,” he said softly with a shrug but the way his gaze flickered away meant he was lying. He never had been the best of liars. In fact, Draco was pretty sure the man was the worst liar he had ever met. After living in a den of Slytherins in school and at home, he knew a good liar when he saw one. It almost made him feel bad for Harry.

“Harry,” he started, tugged at the edge of the blanket covering the other man, “talk to me. Please.” The last was a whisper but it was that please that had Harry meeting his gaze again, his expression resembling defeat. Though he didn’t want the other man to feel like he had lost anything, he hoped that by getting him to talk, he wouldn’t disappear into himself. Then the dark head tipped to the side and that tight, frightened expression eased.

“You really do care about me, don’t you?” he murmured and Draco felt a hot flush bloom across his cheeks. A quick check across the room showed Pansy and Miguel kneeling in front of the fire, talking to who he thought sounded like Weasley. As soon as they were done, the connection for even a fire-call would be closed off as well. He couldn’t hear what they were saying but by the expression on their faces, it was serious. He had spoken to Pansy one time about bringing in the Aurors if it looked like they needed to and he supposed it had come down to that after all. It made him feel a little better that they wouldn’t have to do this alone, though he felt a stab of resentment that he couldn’t be the one to protect Harry. The dark haired man was watching him closely, something akin to a smile curling on his lips.

“I already said I did.” He shifted uncomfortably on his perch and fiddling with a bit of the blanket’s fringe. “And that was a rather skilful subject change,” he said it with a small smile and when it was returned, he felt a little bit better. They shared a moment, one where the tension of the moment was pushed to the background and the freedom they had shared that afternoon washed over them like a calming breeze. Then Harry nodded and reached up to brush some black curls from his face.

“I…don’t know, Draco,” teeth bit into the bottom of the other man’s full lip, his expression beginning to close off again, “I thought…” His voice dipped down into a sharp whisper, “I thought it was over. Even though…I know he’s still out there and I know he’s looking for me, I thought…this would work. And then I had to ask to go out…and we…and he’s probably out there right now.” Trembling hands hid distressed green eyes from view and the blond felt a complicated wave of guilt for taking Harry outside the wards even though he’d known it wasn’t entirely safe and fury that the dark haired man had to feel this way in the first place. Reaching out, Draco gently removed Harry’s hands from his face so that he could look at him.

“It is over, Harry. Regardless of what kind of magic he knows and how much of a fight he will put up, did you think I was going to give you up now that you’re here? Do you have any idea how long…” he stopped himself before he could say anymore but by the sudden light in the other man’s eyes he knew he’d already said too much. The blanket slid off Harry’s slender shoulders as he leaned forward, eyes intense from under his wild curls.

“You will not get hurt for me,” he said, voice a lot stronger than it had been a moment before. His pulse in his wrists thrummed under Draco’s fingertips, rapid with the same emotion that was making his eyes shine like polished jewels. The blond could tell Harry meant every word of it and if he did not promise to do as the other man asked, Harry would keep demanding until he got the response he wanted. So he nodded slowly, pretending sincerity even though he knew that if he had to step in front of an Avada Kedavra to keep Harry safe, then he would. Another pang of guilt wrapped hot, steely fingers around his heart when the dark haired man clearly believed him but then he thought of this beautiful man back in the clutches of his ex-boyfriend and he didn’t feel quite so bad anymore. Harry may not forgive him if he got hurt, or died, but at least Draco would have done everything in his power to keep him safe.

They sat quietly for a moment, listening to the murmurs from across the hall while staring at how their fingers had naturally twined on top of the blanket when Harry spoke up again. “How long, Draco?” he asked quietly, intently, and there was no mistaking what he was asking. This time the blond didn’t blush. Instead all the heat rushed from his face, no doubt leaving him as pale as Harry was. It was almost easier to tell Harry he loved him in the first place rather than have to face the length in time he’d had those feelings. Draco took a deep breath then another and studied the tops of his knees as if they were the most fascinating things he’d ever seen.

“It…doesn’t matter,” he tried and winced when those slender hands showed their strength, squeezing his own painfully. Harry’s eyes were nearly baleful when he peeked through his long hair that had fallen in front of his face when he glanced down.

“It does. How long?” and he couldn’t even breathe when Harry looked at him like that much less refuse to answer him.

“I…it was…since—”

“We just got done with the fire-call to Weasley,” Pansy’s voice cut through his own as she walked over to them. Grateful, Draco turned in his seat to see the set expression on her face and the way she clenched her jaw very much the way Harry did when he was in his “determined Gryffindor” mode. He could see, a little, why the dark haired man and his old childhood friend had become friends. The conversation he’d been having hung like two pieces of a gossamer silk web that had been severed, floating away with the wind and disappearing from view as he watched. It would be revisited, the web re-spun but at the moment it faded away with a huge sense of relief. He could keep at least one secret to himself. “They’re setting up a perimeter around the Manor as we speak, just outside the ward’s limits. Weasley said they had three teams on this plus his own, which makes it four. That’s eight extra wands on our side.” Eight. With eight, surely they had a chance.

Right?

After all, Alex was only one man.

When Draco glanced at Harry, the news had not brought any of the colour back into his face and he was gnawing on his bottom lip again. Where their hands remained tangled on the dark haired man’s lap, he could feel the pressure of tightening fingers, see the knobby knuckles go white. They had eleven people protecting Harry, eight of them full Aurors and yet the other man’s fear had not abated. Alex was only one man but he was insane and knew things about magic that was kept secret simply because it couldn’t be released to the masses for reasons like danger and unpredictability. Though the four teams of Aurors might be a precaution, it was still a lot to apprehend one man.

And for a moment Draco felt a slither of doubt. The Dark Lord had only been one man as well and look at what he had done. Yes, he had his Death Eaters but he too was crazy. Who was to say that Alex didn’t have other people on his side, either forced or another reason?

Even so, Draco thought to himself as he gazed at Harry’s drawn face, this was Harry. There was no room for doubt here. Alex would simply not get through their defences and that was that. He couldn’t because unknown magic or not, Draco would kill him if he set foot onto the Manor’s grounds. One way or another, Harry would never fall into this man’s clutches again.

“Harry.” It was Pansy’s voice that broke through Draco’s thoughts, dragging him back to the present to see that she was reaching for their clasped hands to curl her own around them. “You are safe here. No matter what, we love you and nothing will happen to you while we have breath left in us. Do you hear me? I promise,” and she squeezed their hands tightly, eyes warm and full of fire. The blond smiled. His Pansy had always been so strong and he was glad to see that strength had gotten stronger in the past few years.

“Love,” Harry whispered, eyes wide and then, inexplicably, he burst into a wide smile. “Yes, it always comes down to that, doesn’t it?” Confused, Draco shared a quick look with Pansy but she looked just as baffled, shrugging her shoulders before pulling away. Harry looked down at his hands still curled between the cage of the blond’s fingers and the smile slid slowly from his face. Draco thought he had been perhaps a bit shaken by his fear but when the dark head lifted, there was a grim fire burning in the depths of the green eyes that would have knocked the blond’s feet right from under him had he been standing.

“You’re right,” he said, voice hard as the look that accompanied it. “Which is why, after dinner, there are a few blood wards that I could use your help with, Draco.” The full lips pulled into a flat line. “There are a few that I didn’t tell Alex about that might be of some use.” Pansy’s grin was sharp and the blond felt a little shiver of desire flicker like the lapping tongue of fire down his spine at Harry’s sudden display of strength.

“If you knew about these, why didn’t you say something before?” he asked and was rewarded with that burning green steel boring into him, making him dizzy with its intensity.

“Because they are of my own design and I’ve never used them before.” He seemed to brace himself then sighed, freeing one hand so he could drag it through his messy hair. “Because they are very Dark…and very dangerous if not done right.” All Draco could think was, ‘that’s all’? This time, it was the blond who was grinning, teeth glinting sharply in the light of the lamps that had been lit upon the onset of night.

“All the better, then,” and he loved Harry’s beautiful laugh.

* * *

It was the middle of the night when Draco was awakened by the sound of his bedroom door opening softly before closing again with a nearly inaudible click. At once he was awake, lying still in his bed and trying to keep his breathing even so that the intruder thought he was still sleeping. As he pretended, he inched his hand under his pillow where he kept his wand at night, fingers closing around warm, familiar wood. Soft, padding footsteps made their way across the room, drawing closer with every frantic, panicked beat of his heart. It was too soon, he thought a bit wildly, though if he was to be rational about it, he supposed Alex wouldn’t need to check every bed in the Manor to find Harry so he would have no reason to be in Draco’s room. Still, someone friendly wouldn’t be sneaking and surely he would have woken up if the person had knocked…

He flipped over and had his wand out as soon as he heard the footsteps drawing near to his bed, a particularly nasty hex on the tip of his tongue.

Only to see Harry’s huge eyes staring back at him, glowing in the silver light of the moon that was spilling into the room from the window behind the bed. He jerked his hands up, an automatic response and Draco let his breath out in a long sigh, flopping back onto his bed in relief and throwing his wand onto his pillow.

“Merlin, Harry! I almost just made your eyes disappear into the back of your skull!” Well, no point in being subtle. It was the middle of the night and his heart was still leaping like a startled frog in the back of his throat, the surge of adrenaline making him feel shaky. The other man gaped at him in momentary horror.

“You can do that?” he squeaked only composing himself when the blond gave him a pointed look he suspected the other man couldn’t really see very well in the dark. It got the point across, at any rate. He cleared his throat softly then looked away, as if losing his nerve. Curious, Draco pushed back his covers entirely and swung his feet over the side of the bed so that he was facing the other man. They were close enough the blond could feel the softness of Harry’s pyjama bottoms against his own.

“Is everything alright?” he asked when the stretch of heavy silence stretched too long. Everything wasn’t alright and he knew it before even voicing his question. It wasn’t surprising that Harry wasn’t able to find comfort in sleep that night. With the threat of coming face to face with Alex again, who had beaten and neglected and treated the dark haired man like an object, Draco supposed he should have been expecting this. This couldn’t be easy for Harry, even with the added wards they had started lifting today and would finish tomorrow. The thought that Alex might be out there, just beyond the boundaries of the wards was unsettling for him. He couldn’t even imagine how Harry felt. All he knew was that the other man’s burst of confidence and fiery strength from earlier was gone.

“Um,” Harry fidgeted, fingers plucking at his t-shirt nervously and eyes dropping to the floor, “no, I…uh…” Taking pity on him, Draco shuffled back on his bed so that he could sit cross legged and patted the empty spot beside him. Silver light glinted off of the other man’s glasses, illuminating the hesitation that briefly tightened his expression. Then his shoulders dropped and he let out a long sigh before climbing onto the bed and settling onto the sheets beside the blond. There was another pause, shadows thick between them despite the watery light falling through the window but he could still see the other man fiddling with a lose string on the hem of his pants.

“Harry…” he whispered but was cut off when the dark haired man quickly twisted so he was facing the blond. One slender hand clamped tightly onto his knee and he found himself staring into wide, shadowed eyes that looked black in the off light.

“I…haven’t told you why Alex is so dangerous, other than that he is an Unspeakable.” There was a fine trembling in his voice, wavering despite the intensity of his gaze. His words made Draco want to shiver but most of his attention was on the warm palm pressing heat into his skin. Harry was so close, and in his bed for Merlin’s sake, but he was afraid to reach out and touch, afraid to scare the other man away. “The Aurors would probably know this, if they extended their investigation to find out what he was studying when he was working for the Ministry.” He took a deep breath. “I’m sure you already know that there are more than just three spells that are labelled Unforgivable.” The blond did know this; knew a lot of those spells himself but the words made his heart tremble just a little. Harry waited for Draco’s nod to continue,

“That was his field of study. He didn’t really talk about it much, obviously, but I picked up bits and pieces here and there. I don’t even think he realized how much I knew.” He dragged in another deep breath, easing his grip on the blond’s leg slightly as he did. “The three most ‘popular’ Unforgivables, the ones everyone knows, are the easiest to cast, which is why they are, unfortunately used so often. But there are so many more…so many. Every single one of them are worse than Crucio, Imperio and Avada Kedavra…and Alex…he knows every single one of them,” Harry’s voice dropped off, became hoarse with something raw and terrified and Draco couldn’t help reaching out and touching his fingers to the other man’s shoulder.

“Hey. Look at me.” The shadowed eyes flickered up to meet his own and he didn’t like the helplessness he could see in their depths. “We have four teams of Aurors and so many wards around the Manor, it would take him a week to get here to use those spells. They might even arrest him before he can do anything drastic. He’s just one person, Harry.” The other man made a small noise and ducked his head, eyebrows drawn to make a deep indent above the bridge of his nose.

“He can become more than that,” Harry rasped, starting to shake under the blond’s hand. “I’ve seen what he can become, Draco and he…he…” He closed his eyes and for a moment Draco thought he would crumble under the strain. For a moment he was looking at the Harry that had first come to the Manor, silent and broken and terrified. It hurt to see him like that. But then he seemed to gather himself and reached up so he could grasp the blond’s hand where it rested on his shoulder.

“I won’t let him touch you ever again,” Draco whispered, using his free hand to push away those dark curls that would need cutting soon as they brushed along the ridges of the other man’s cheekbones. And then Harry did something unexpected. Instead of just letting the blond tuck back his hair like he had planned, he turned his face into Draco’s palm, cheek against fingertips and black eyelashes looking like soot against his pale skin. It made the blond suck in a surprised breath, mesmerized by the sight. A slender hand slid up his wrist so that the other man was holding it in place, letting it cup gently against the contours of his face. It was unreal, the touch moving through him like a storm and churning up his insides until he felt like he wasn’t even himself anymore. Then those eyes, black with shadows yet still so incredible, fluttered open and met his own.

“I know, Draco,” Harry whispered before turning his head and pressing a burning kiss to the centre of the blond’s palm. Something funny had happened to his breathing, becoming painful and difficult to draw. He knew that Harry did not feel the way Draco felt about him but at the moment it almost felt like he could. It almost felt like all those years he had pined away might not be in vain after all. He could almost believe that someday, he could have the thing he wanted most; the man sitting across from him, breath bathing Draco’s palm and eyes as dark as the winter night sky. “I don’t want…Alex to own me anymore,” Harry breathed, leaning forward slightly. “I need…I need a favour from you…”

And Draco knew at once what the other man would ask.

“Harry…please…” he looked away, eyes feeling hot and throat threatening to close up on him, cut off his airways. Maybe the dark haired man felt something for Draco but…fuck, how could he do that for a reason like this? He couldn’t even look at the other man when two hands bracketed his face and turned his head back.

“Draco. I’m not…I can’t be in love with you right now. There is too much…he still has too much influence over me. But…Draco, I know that if…if we have more time…” He lifted up onto his knees and shuffled closer, eyes filling up the blond’s vision until he could see nothing else. Nothing but his full lips that looked so incredibly soft and his eyes so dark Draco felt like he could fall into them. “Please mark me,” Harry whispered, sliding his hands down the blond’s shoulders and this time the touch was less like a storm and more like Fiendfyre. “Please.” Those hands moved to his wrists and lifted them, pressing them against the other man’s chest.

“You don’t play fair,” he managed to rasp before his hand darted up and buried itself into the abundance of wild black curls. It was soft and thick, wrapping around his fingers like living snakes. Even more fascinating was the little noise Harry made in the back of his throat, eyes going heavy-lidded and arousal pulsed through Draco, burning and heavy in his veins. The meeting of their lips was slow, slower than he thought he had the control for and the sensation exploded through him. Oh, how he had wanted this, the wet slide of lips against lips, Harry’s so full and soft against his own, warm enough to drive him crazy. Searching hands eased into his long, pale hair, making him shiver and open his mouth on a gasp. And…Merlin! How incredible was it to finally taste him, have Harry’s tongue slip into his mouth and curl wetly around his own. So many nights he sat up and tried to imagine what it would be like but now…oh, now…

“Not…playing…” Harry gasped out when they broke apart, eyes huge with wonder and something else Draco couldn’t identify. His head was positively spinning and he had to take a moment to try and slow his rapid heartbeat. He couldn’t get enough of the feel of the dark hair sliding and curling through his fingers, of the heat of the other man’s body where it pressed against his own, of the lingering taste that clung to his lips and tongue. Meeting Harry’s eyes by holding his head steady, he gave him a long, searching look.

“You know that I’m not either,” he said seriously and to illustrate his point, he used his free arm to wrap around Harry’s waist, yanking on him so that he lost his balance and was forced to press flush against the blond’s side. The dark haired man squeaked in surprise then blinked down at him, still on his knees above the blond. The air was charged, filled with the heat from the kiss they’d shared and the thing that Harry asked him to do. Mark me…I don’t love you but…but he could. He probably very nearly did, although Draco knew better than to get his hopes up. If we have more time… Slender fingers touched his cheek, then his neck, each place that was touched tingling delightfully, spreading through the blond’s body until he felt it all the way to his toes.

“I know,” Harry whispered, “I know,” and then leaned down to press another kiss to Draco’s lips. It was different than the last, deeper and shook the blond down to his very soul. It didn’t matter that his feelings were not completely reciprocated. It didn’t even matter that he was being used just a little bit. When the rich taste of Harry flooded his mouth, breath hot against the insides of his cheeks, tongue unravelling him from the inside out, Draco would let himself be used a hundred times and he would not care one bit.

Still, this was the first time he had ever kissed someone like this, like nothing else mattered in the world but this kiss and this taste and this singular moment. In no time his hands were trembling where they held Harry and his heart raced so fast it was a wonder it didn’t just leap free of his chest and leave him to clean up the mess. When the other man curled his tongue over the roof of Draco’s mouth, he could not stop the rough, needy noise that spilled free. Self-conscious, he made to pull away but the sound must have done something because the hand in his hair tightened, holding him in place and Harry forced his jaw open wider so he could repeat that move over and over again.

It must have been a particularly sensitive spot because it had desire coursing through him, making a straight line to his cock which was already half hard. It felt so good, in fact, that within moments he was perilously close to coming right there inside of his sleeping trousers. With a grunt, he pushed the other man away by the shoulders, face flaming and erection throbbing just this side of pain. There was a quick, heavy silence as they caught their breath before Harry slipped away, fingers untangling themselves from Draco’s fine hair. For a moment he thought the dark haired man had taken his push as rejection and he nearly panicked. But Harry was only moving back so he could take hold of the edge of his shirt and lift it over his head, removing it in one smooth, fluid move. Practiced, a traitorous voice in the blond’s head hissed but he told it to piss off. He didn’t want to think about the other man having been with anyone else and for that night, he didn’t have to.

Because, of all that was good and holy in the world, Harry was beautiful. The very sight of him stole Draco’s breath away. He was still a little thin but not perilously so. In the silvery shadows of the moonlight, his skin shone an unearthly pale, dipping in all the right places, curving subtly in others. The scars that had been there a month ago had been healed, leaving nothing but a smooth, unbroken expanse of beauty and Draco realized that everything Alex had done had almost disappeared. Even internal blemishes he had tried to burn into Harry were fading and for all of that, there was nothing to show for it. All that he had done to try and control the dark haired man will have been for naught, especially once Harry was able to find his closure.

“Every place you find that you like,” Harry was whispering now, head turned coyly away but eyes turned to look steadily at the blond, “make it yours.” For a second Draco thought for sure his heart would stop. Surely he had heard wrong. But when the other man continued to kneel there, shirtless and willing, all the blood rushed straight to his cock and his mouth watered with the possibilities. Reaching out, he caught one of the slender wrists and moved so that he too was kneeling, crawling the short distance so he could press his nose against Harry’s ear.

“Not mine,” he whispered, shivering as the scent of warm skin and the shampoo the other man used washed over him. “Just placed there by me,” and sucked on the earlobe his lips had been brushing against. There was so much skin to touch, to taste that he didn’t even know where to begin. He loved each and every square centimetre of this man; picking spots he liked more than others would be impossible. Harry made a soft sound when the blond’s teeth grazed his skin and they fell back onto the bed, Draco sprawled over the other man in a moment of dazed bliss. When he lifted his head and looked into the darkened eyes, he saw nothing but anticipation and hunger staring back at him. “This may take a while,” he murmured against Harry’s lips, giving him a long, lingering kiss before straying.

It would take a while because Draco was going to press his mouth to every single place on this beautiful body, back and front, top and bottom and everything in between.

He started with the faded, lightning bolt scar, letting his lips drag along the raised skin before tracing over it with his tongue. It made Harry groan and wrap one arm around the blond’s shoulders, clinging to the material of his shirt. Down one side of the dark haired man’s face and up the other, memorizing the feel of the straight nose, curved cheekbones and thin, fluttering eyelids. He loved the feel of the soft, curling eyelashes when they brushed against him, making him recall the way they looked like smudged soot around the vibrant green of Harry’s eyes. Loose, black curls snagged on his own eyelashes and tickled his lips when he ran them over the other man’s forehead, feeling the dip in his temples and breathing in his scent.

The long, sinewy neck followed, the one he had wanted to lick and suck for years. The thudding pulse gave away Harry’s nervousness and arousal, leaping when Draco sucked at it, gently sinking his teeth into the bruise that would no doubt be left behind. The first one of many. Again the dark haired man groaned, low and broken and the blond wondered how long he would last, listening to those noises the entire time without going crazy. Every last centimetre of Harry’s neck was kissed and teased, some more than others if he got a reaction. Right under the other man’s ears made him gasp and he practically thrashed when Draco dragged his teeth over his Adam’s apple. Every single one he catalogued, storing them away for another time. Just in case his mind supplied. Just in case this was not the only time he could touch Harry like this.

It couldn’t be. Now that Draco had it, he would probably quite literally go insane if he couldn’t have it again.

The dip in the middle of the dark haired man’s collarbones was heaven, tasting of salt and something else less definitive. The blond could have quite literally spent an hour licking in and around it, his own saliva collecting in it only to be licked away again. But if he did that, he wouldn’t get to nibble his way across the ridges of the bones themselves or suck on the triangles of muscle that connected Harry’s neck to his shoulders. And he couldn’t resist the interesting contours of the whipcord arms, taking each one in his hands and kissing his way all the way down to the shaking fingertips, sucking on them one by one. The inside of the other man’s elbows were incredibly sensitive, as were his wrists and the spaces between his fingers where Draco’s own fit so well.

Every soft, shuddering moan and hitching sigh made him want more, to seek out every piece of skin he could get his lips around. Like the firm planes of Harry’s pectorals, susceptible to being sucked into Draco’s mouth until red marks that were faint in the dim light littered them. Like the small, round peaks of Harry’s nipples that hardened under the swirl of the blond’s tongue and tug of his teeth. They seemed to be incredibly sensitive, making Harry arch his back as his cries got caught in the back of his throat. Draco plucked and licked at them until they were overly stimulated and the other man twitched when a mere breath washed over them. Draco would not be surprised in the least if there were rings of bruises around them come the morning.

It was with regret he moved away from the hardened, dusky peaks that were now rather swollen from his careful attention. That regret lasted all of about a second or two; the time it took to kiss his way over to Harry’s underarm, lift his hand gently above the dark head and bury his nose in the patch of dark hair there. It made the other man gasp and jerk in the blond’s loose hold, moaning softly when Draco dragged the tip of his nose upwards, along the underside of the pale underarm. He didn’t smell dirty, like body odour or like he hadn’t washed. Yes, the scent of him was strong there but it wasn’t repulsive in the least. The blond took in a lungful of it, lust coiling through him before repeating it on the other side, making the man lying under him squirm and gasp.

And then, from above him, there came a soft whisper, almost intelligible from the prier moans, “Draco…more…”

For a moment all he could think was well, hell, that nearly did it and he had to take a few deep breaths to get himself back under control again. Looking up, he could see the dark head tipped back and Harry had kept his hands above his head. He was the picture of the perfect surrender, letting the blond do to him whatever he wished. Draco knew that the other man had not been asking for sex, not really, but Merlin if he didn’t look like it. Wanting to touch every last bit of him, Draco dragged his hands all the way down Harry’s body, starting from his shoulders and spreading out his fingers so they wrapped around his sides as he moved them down. It made the dark haired man lift his head for a moment, gaze shining down at the blond where he hovered over Harry’s stomach.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathed in answer to the question in those eyes, feeling himself tremble with the knowledge that he could touch Harry like this and not only would the other man let him but he gave himself over to it. “Do you know how beautiful you are?” The dark haired man made a low noise in throat and turned his face away, a dark blush spreading over his bare chest and neck. Well, that was interesting and just a little bit distressing. Clearly Harry didn’t agree and it embarrassed him to be told that. Except it was true and Draco wanted him to see what he saw every time he looked at him.

Then he realized of course Harry wouldn’t think he was beautiful. Alex had kept him chained to a wall and had beaten him on a regular basis. It was hard to have a positive image of oneself in such circumstances. It was a miracle he had gotten this far, letting Draco touch him, kiss him…mark me he’d said. Crawling up the other man’s body, he leaned his weight on one hand and used the other to gently turn Harry’s face back around.

“Do you think I’m just saying that?” The flush was deepening and the shadowed eyes wouldn’t meet his own. “Or do you just think that I couldn’t possibly know what I’m talking about?” Harry made another distressed sound in the back of his throat, pulling his chin from the blond’s grip and twisting to bury his face in the sheets beside his head. Draco wasn’t having any of that though and he worked his fingers back under the strong chin so he could coax the other man to look at him again. “Harry,” he whispered, brushing his lips over the tip of Harry’s nose, “I would never just say something I didn’t believe was true. Not about this.” He pressed a slow kiss to the corner of the full lips. “You are,” another kiss to the other corner, “the most beautiful person,” his tongue traced the contour of the top lip, the taste of it exquisite, “I’ve ever met.” This time Harry kissed him back, winding his arms around Draco’s neck and holding him close until they were completely breathless. There were tears in the dark green eyes when the blond pulled away.

“How can you think that?” His voice was broken and shaking, hands trembling where they clutched at the ends of Draco’s hair. His heart clenched at the sound of such sorrow. Harry could be strong and brave and selfless but he couldn’t see how incredibly stunning he was. If the blond did not kill Alex for the abuse itself, he would kill him for taking this from the dark haired man. Cradling the pale face between his hands, Draco pressed his forehead to Harry’s, breathing him in and holding him tight.

“How could I not?” he responded and kissed him again, tasting water and salt as the tears slipped down the other man’s cheeks. He ignored the way Harry’s nails dug into his shoulders through Draco’s shirt and the way he tried to muffle his soft sob, drinking in the sound instead. He licked it out of the insides of the hot mouth, the insides of his cheeks, the roof of his mouth, the top and underside of his tongue. He didn’t stop until Harry was a gasping mess, clinging to the blond and looking like he was about to unravel. “I’ll prove it,” Draco said against the full, parted lips and trailed sweet, slow kisses back down the other man’s neck and chest. He followed the line straight down to Harry’s navel where he sucked hard on the skin around the pert little indent until the dark head tipped back again and a low groan rippled through the room.

He could feel the heat building between them, could feel the hard erection that was pushing up against Harry’s pyjama bottoms and feel it in the heat of the pale skin under his fingers and lips. Slowly, he slipped his fingers under the waistband of the trousers, pulling and kissing every part of the other man’s hips as they were exposed. The hard ridges of his hipbones were made to be bitten so Draco did, hard enough that the marks of his teeth would last. The pain made Harry cry out but he didn’t reach down to stop the blond. He did, however, reach up to clutch desperately at the sheets with his shaking hands, like he needed to be anchored or he would go insane.

That was actually quite similar to the way Draco felt, desire, need, hot, hard lust making it difficult for him to think let alone continue his slow trek over Harry’s body. The soft sleeping pants were quickly discarded, baring the dark haired man in his glorious entirety. Though he was self-conscious, shying away slightly when the blond took a long, hungry look, there was no hiding the impressive curve of his cock arching and hard against his stomach or the beautiful, straight lines of his legs. And Draco wanted every last bit of him. He licked into the creases where the slender thighs met the other man’s torso, sucked on his knees and his ankles and his toes. He left marks all down the hard shin, over the curves of lean muscle above the knobby knees and even on the curve of Harry’s insteps. Every place on the front of the other man’s body received attention except his hard cock and his round bollocks.

Then Draco turned him over and started all over again.

It wasn’t until he was lapping at the creases where thigh met arse did he realize the dark haired man was moaning steadily and rolling his hips desperately against the sheets in search of friction. The blond felt his own cock twitch at the sight of it, the way the muscles in Harry’s back moved as he did, the way he looked like he was trying to resist the urge to part his legs and just rut. And, fuck if Draco didn’t want to see that. But he wanted something else, too, something he had only read about in a book once while he was in school. Read about and wondered about and wanted to try so much, it had been a star fantasy of his for years.

Well, that is, until all the fantasies ended.

But this was his second chance and not a fantasy at all. This was real; the sounds that Harry was making, the desperate motion of his hips, the scent and feel and taste of him that lingered on the blond’s lips. So without further thought, he caught hold of those slim hips and pulled up on them, lifting the dark haired man’s arse so it was in the air. Harry made a soft sound of protest but when he turned his head to look back at Draco questioningly, he was soothed with a gentle hand sliding down his spine.

“Relax,” he murmured, pressing kisses to the dimples in the other man’s back. “Let me.” There was a pause and then Harry seemed to sink back into the bed, keeping his arse in the air like an invitation. Merlin, it was incredible and Draco’s mouth watered when he thought about what he was about to do.

He started with long, sucking kisses to the mounds of the other man’s beautiful arse, kneading the skin with his hands and leaving as many marks as he could. Every time Harry sat down for the next couple of days, Draco wanted him to feel every place he’d been touched. Slowly, he worked his way inwards, pulling the cheeks apart to reveal the tiny little pucker of skin. And, oh, Merlin, he didn’t think he could get any more turned on but he could feel the sticky spot on the front of his own pyjamas growing larger at the sight.

“Draco! What’re you—” he broke off with a strangled gasp because the blond couldn’t resist the urge to lick a hot stripe down the exposed crack to the underside of Harry’s hanging bollocks. Then he sucked his way back up, lapping hungrily at the wrinkled skin of the other man’s entrance. The taste of him was dark and rich and made the blond ache in ways he didn’t know were possible. Even when Harry tried to protest, tried to close his legs. “D-don’t…it’s dirty…ah…” Draco just moved his body between the dark haired man’s thighs and held his hips still so he could continue to lick wet circles around his entrance.

“Let me, Harry,” he murmured and fastened his lips around that sweet little pucker so he could suck on it, flicking his tongue against the opening in the middle. Harry’s legs shook on either side of him and his hands grasped and tore at the sheets, hips involuntarily pressing back into Draco’s mouth. The tight entrance slowly relaxed under the press and swirl of the blond’s tongue, opening up to him and accepting him inside when he pushed. And it wasn’t nearly enough; he wanted it deeper, wanted to find out how deep he could go with just his tongue, wanted to…wanted…

Harry actually cried out when the blond stiffened his tongue and pressed it into all that tight, delicious heat, eating into him like he hadn’t tasted anything so incredible. It wasn’t ambrosia, he would admit that much but it didn’t matter because the way the other man was trying to grind his arse against Draco’s face was the only thing that really mattered. It must have been too much because soon the other man was trying to reach under himself, trying to grasp his cock so he could release the pressure building up inside of him that was making him move and grunt and gasp and spread his legs wider. But the blond knocked his hand away and reached around to curl his own fingers around Harry’s cock, finding it dripping steadily onto the bed and throbbing hotly with need.

Blind desire slammed through him and he used his tongue to fuck the slick hole of the other man’s arse while trying to keep the same rhythm with his hand. Saliva dripped from his chin and Harry’s bollocks but he didn’t even notice because the sounds the other man was making were churning him up, sending the fire filling his veins pounding into the hard length of his cock and tightening in his own balls. At this rate, he wouldn’t even need a single touch to come. Over and over he slicked his tongue into that hot, waiting hole, sliding and twisting his hand up and down Harry’s erection, tightening his fingers with every pass.

And then Harry let out a broken, hitching cry and his hips stilled, entire body trembling as his orgasm flooded over him. His entrance squeezed tight around Draco’s tongue and his cock pulsed with each hot spurt of liquid heat that splashed to the bed, over his chest and the blond’s knuckles. Everything about it was so spectacular that Draco couldn’t even wait until the dark haired man collapsed to the bed before he was slipping his hand into his own trousers, cock spurting hotly only after two hard strokes.

There was a long moment where he thought he was floating, bliss beating steadily through his veins and the remains of his pleasure fizzing pleasantly through his limbs. It made him wonder if it had all been an incredible, if rather realistic, dream because he still couldn’t believe that Harry would let him do all that to him in reality. Yet when he opened his eyes he saw that, no, it hadn’t been a dream. Everything that had just happened was very real. So real, that when he looked over, Harry was still naked, still there, laying on his side and tracing a line of marks on his arm with his fingertips as he tried to catch his breath.

He looked…Draco’s mouth went dry. His dark curls were damp and even more mussed than usual, falling carelessly about him and looking like ringlets of ink spilled across the white sheets. Spatters of his come still clung to his stomach and chest, shining in the dim, silvery light and where his body was illuminated the blond could see the haphazard patterns littering the pale skin that he had made with his own lips and teeth. And it wasn’t like ownership, those marks. It was Harry simply bearing the lingering touch of another person, a person who thought he was beautiful and could not bear not to touch him. Draco didn’t want to own him but at the same time he wanted him. There was a difference and though it was small, it was that difference that mattered.

The shadowed green eyes looked at Draco when he rearranged himself so he was lying next to the dark haired man, looking fathomless and making him blush at the reminder of what they had just done. He needn’t have worried though because Harry settled onto his stomach, keeping his head turned towards the blond and reaching out his hand so he could curl it into Draco’s.

“Thank you,” he whispered after a long pause, blinking slowly, sluggish with exhaustion. A small smile curled at the edges of his lips, nearly invisible in the shadows and the blond was grateful he could see enough so that he didn’t miss it. A surge of emotion swept through him at that moment, seeing the man he had loved since he was eleven lying next to him on his bed, sated from an orgasm Draco had given him and smiling at him like he didn’t want to be anywhere else. The blond had to bite his lip and blink quickly to prevent those emotions from spilling over. There was a restless shuffle next to him and then Harry was leaning over the blond, face intent. “How long, Draco?” he whispered, fingers reaching out to gently push the long, blond hair from grey eyes.“How long did you want this?” Draco looked away and thought about not answering. But in the end, he knew he would anyway.

“That? Sixth year,” he responded in a flat voice. “You? Since I saw you in Madame Malkins when we were eleven.” It seemed so insignificant now when he thought about it, all that waiting and wanting and knowing he would never have it. But he had it, had him. Now all that remained to be seen was, would Harry stay? There was a sharp intake of breath and he dared a peek to see the expression on the other man’s face.

Harry was staring at him like he had announced he could fly without a broom, mouth hanging open and eyes so wide he could almost make out the green of them.

“That long?” the dark haired man gasped, voice sounding rough and Draco wondered if it was horror that was behind the inflections on his words. “But…you were horrible to me! And…and my friends! You were such a little git!” The blond winced then laughed, falling onto his back so he could throw his arms over his face. It was almost as if, if he couldn’t see that look on the other man’s face, it didn’t exist.

“Yeah,” he croaked through his laughter, which was completely devoid of mirth, “yeah I was.” It wasn’t like he could go back and change it. Not that he could if he tried, anyway. Things had happened the way they did and there was no use wishing they had been different. What hurt more, though, was that he had wanted this since he was eleven. But what about Harry? Harry had only known about Draco’s feelings for a short while and he didn’t completely share them. Where did that leave the blond? If the other man wanted to go back to how things were before, as friends and nothing more, Draco was sure it would break him for good. Then he realized that, whatever Harry was, he wasn’t cruel. This was not something he had asked for lightly and he knew walking into the blond’s room that he wouldn’t be turned away. There was more to this than just him needing to feel like Alex no longer had a claim on his body was well as his mind.

When warm, gentle hands curled around his wrists and pulled his arms from his face, he let go, staring up into Harry’s darkened features with what he felt was his heart written all over his face.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” the dark haired man’s voice was so intense, it sent a little shiver through Draco. He was so close, leaning into the blond so he could see him, the heat of his body still so enticing even after what they had done. Probably because of that, if he was honest with himself. Especially when he remembered what Harry had sounded like, tasted like, felt like when he came.

“Because…because I was a proud, pretentious little snot and you chose Weasley over me. Because you are Harry Potter, the boy who every little wizard our age grew up hearing stories about. Because…because…” his voice broke, the air feeling thin, not enough of it filling his lungs. “Because you were so…so beautiful that day when I met you and I wanted you and you…you didn’t want me. So I was horrible because it fucking hurt.” That was as far as he got because Harry was kissing him, lips so warm and full against his own that it nearly shattered him. The wide eyes were shining when they broke apart again, looking down at him with compassion and something warmer and deeper that had the power to mend every single broken shard of the blond’s heart, to make it whole again.

“Does it still hurt?” Harry whispered and it was his turn to press his forehead against Draco’s, comforting, gentle, and blissfully real. He felt so full he thought that he would explode in every which direction at once. Something warm and wet trickled into his hair at his temples but he paid it no mind because he was shaking his head, unable to utter a word. The other man smiled down at him, that familiar crooked smile and Draco finally, yes, finally, found out what that smile he had been admiring for years tasted like.

Harry was the one who cleaned them up a few minutes later, stealing slow, deep kisses every few seconds as he uttered the spells and pulled his clothes back on with a hint of shyness. And when they laid down to sleep, Draco having refused to let the other man go back to his own room, they didn’t tangle together or drape themselves over the other. They didn’t need that.

Instead Draco settled onto his back and Harry onto his stomach, their eyes doing the tangling until they both drifted off to sleep.

Between them, on the mussed sheets, their hands twined together, never once letting go through the night.

Ten:

Alex showed up at the Manor the next morning.

His entrance was heralded by a mist that was as red as blood and which fanned out over the Eastern end of the grounds in a matter of minutes. Draco had no idea how it was able to get in through the wards but it did and as he watched its alarming progress through the far gardens that had long ago turned into a wild jungle, he felt a moment of trepidation. He knew that if the man had truly forced his way through their protections the Aurors, who were keeping diligent patrol of the property, would have notified him. Still, he really didn’t like the look of this at all. It wasn’t a kind of magic he recognized, though it did resemble a spell he had come across once in one of his father’s books that he’d rather not think about ever again. Something in him flared with rage to see his home being touched again by Dark magic so soon after the war.

“What’re you looking at?” The voice came from beside him as Harry joined him at the window, his arms wrapped around himself as if to ward off the morning chill. His green eyes still looked sleepy and even bigger without his glasses and Draco wanted to touch him, to wrap himself around the other man so he could spare him this. The night before seemed so far away now and he wanted to solidify it again, even if it was just to hold Harry’s hand again. But even if he did that, it would not make the threatening red mist crawling over the cold ground, inching ever closer to the house, go away.

When he had woken up that morning, it was to the dim light of the hour just after dawn, grey light bathing the room and throwing insubstantial shadows around. For a moment he had blinked hazily at his ceiling, mapping out the familiarity of it with his eyes, just letting himself feel. He felt good even though he knew he had not gotten all that much sleep. Good happy. Good sated. Good invincible, something he had not felt since he was a reckless and somewhat thoughtless fifteen-year-old.

The reason why lay beside him, curled against his side and holding his hand to a slender chest that rose and fell with soft, even breaths.

Harry. His reason. With his wild, inky black hair that fell about the pillows like a spilled inkwell and his sooty eyelashes that curled softly against his cheeks. With his full lips that were parted in his sleep, red and looking like an invitation that was nearly impossible to resist. With the purpled marks that showed clearly on his pale skin, littering his neck and arms where the blond could see them. Marks made with Draco’s own lips, like the key that had freed him from the chains that were his ex. Harry’s face looked peaceful as he slept, undisturbed by dreams or the shadows of his recent past trauma. Their hands looked so right, cradled against the other man’s chest so that Draco could feel the gentle thump-thump of a heartbeat. Harry’s heartbeat.

Harry, whose eyelids fluttered open what felt like interminable minutes later to find Draco watching him silently, taking in every little detail he could because he was still not sure how long this would last. His sleepy gaze was like little chips of jade, returning the blond’s stare for long, silent moments. Perfect moments. And when those eyes blinked a few times and the film of sleep slipped away like morning fog, Harry didn’t draw away or try to flee like Draco was half afraid he would, nor pretend like nothing between them had changed. No, instead the dark haired man smiled a slow, lopsided smile and closed his eyes again, looking utterly content.

“ ‘morning,” he hummed, voice a rough mumble, yawning right after he had spoken. It was such an intimate thing, watching someone wake up like this and then greeting one another while their heads still lay upon their pillows. It made Draco’s heart catch and he squeezed his hand that still held Harry’s.

“Good morning.” Draco managed to breathe at last, still unable to believe this was really happening. There was a lump in his throat that he was having difficulty swallowing around and he was strangely unwilling to break the quiet around them even more than it already had been. With Pansy and Miguel in rooms one wing over, even if they should have an explosive row-which was rather doubtful anyway-they wouldn’t be heard in the blond’s rooms. And the house-elves knew better than to disturb him in the morning unless he called for them. It was just himself and Harry, lying side by side in his great bed, waking together in the cold winter light. The connection that had been growing for a month between them had deepened, no longer as one sided as it had once been.

It may have been because of last night but Draco wondered if maybe it hadn’t happened sooner and he just wouldn’t let himself believe it because he was too afraid it wouldn’t last.

“I feel like I should get up but…” the other man sighed, eyes still closed and the blond saw him crinkle the sheets with his toes as he curled in a little closer. He could smell Harry now, warm and heady from sleep and before he could check himself, Draco was pressing his nose into the wild curls, holding the other man close while just breathing him in. At first there was a tense moment of surprise but it slipped away as soon as it came, along with a slender arm sliding under his own and holding him fast. The blond decided that if the other man heard his heartbeat crank up a few notches, he really didn’t give a flying Hippogriff in space.

“Breakfast in bed?” he asked eventually as he listened to Harry’s soft breaths that warmed the front of the blond’s shirt. There was a soft humming sound and the other man seemed to settle in, head pressed right under Draco’s chin.

“Few more minutes,” Harry mumbled and promptly drifted off again. Eventually Draco called Fern to bring them breakfast, a big one with everything she could think of. It had made her squeak in excitement before popping out again and Draco had to chuckle to himself as he ran his fingers through curls of jet black, breathing in the wonderful scent of them. It had felt right to lie there like that, holding the other man to him as he slept while the rest of the world slowly passed them by. He wanted to stay like that forever. He wanted Harry to stay there forever.

Not until after breakfast, when he wandered to his window and peered out curiously did the little bubble of pretend he had been building in his mind shatter into a thousand pieces.

Now Harry was staring out beyond the cold glass, gaze fixed on the snowy ground that was slowly being swallowed up by the red mist and his face was so pale, it looked nearly translucent. Draco did take his hand then, fitting their fingers together and hoping that his presence would help steady the dark haired man. The mist crept like a harbinger of some kind of twisted doomsday, crimson treadles of bloody fog dying the snow and anything else in its path. It was horrifying to watch, like they were just standing there and waiting for it to swallow them whole, noxious fumes or whatever it contained choking off their airways until they suffocated. He had no idea how he would even stop it, either. How did one stop the sneaking fingers of evil that were so intent on its target even the strongest wards and charms could not stop it.

“I know that spell.” Harry’s voice creaked when he spoke and his eyes were fixed unblinkingly out the window. It sounded like he was ready to break apart, fear making him almost brittle. Holding his hand tightly, the blond followed his gaze back out the window to watch the progress of the strange mist. It did look like fog but he realized that it behaved like no fog he had ever seen before. Where he had at first thought it was spreading out like a normal mist would, this one seemed to almost rove back and forth as it moved, like it was searching for something. Chills overtook him and he was glad for the warmth of the other man at his side. Harry took no notice of it, though and he was shaking uncontrollably. “It's…a Seek familiar. It l-looks for the thing you want most and can’t be detected by any wards…or the Fidelius…” which would explain how it was there in the first place. “He probably didn’t use it before because it’s a c-close range spell but…I don’t…how did he get my blood? It can’t work without b-blood…” Draco recognized the signs of an impending breakdown and stepped in front of the dark haired man, blocking his view of the window.

Gently, he took hold of Harry’s shoulders and waited until those luminescent green eyes lifted to his. They were glazed with panic and despair but they focused on Draco’s face. “Harry. Listen to me. He will never touch you or come near you again. He won’t because I won’t let him but more importantly, because you won’t let him.” The sooty eyelashes flickered and he could see the panic slowly easing, becoming more manageable. “You are Harry Potter. You are no one’s property and no one has the right to make you feel less than what you are. You are the most magnificent person I have ever met and no one, not even this man who has made you so afraid, can make you any different.” Like the night before, his positive words had Harry’ eyes filling with tears and spilling over to trail down his cheeks. But at least he didn’t try to deny it this time. Instead he let out a broken sob and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, trying to hide his reaction.

The lump that had clogged his throat earlier was back again, feeling even bigger and more suffocating. Easing his hand under the other man’s chin, he lifted the wet face and leaned his forehead to Harry’s. Black curls caught in his own long hair and he savoured the way Harry’s breath tasted against his own lips. “I love you,” Draco whispered and leaned in so he could kiss away the ragged sound that his declaration tore free from the other man’s throat. This time, it didn’t just taste like tears and the heady flavour that he was beginning to associate with Harry. It tasted like a promise sealed, like desperation and fear but also like feelings returned. When they broke apart, the green eyes were clear and dry and the full lips that were now an alluring red quirked into a shaky smile.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to you saying that.” Draco chuckled, not thinking about the searching mist sneaking across his grounds or about the man who had sent it. He only cared about the way his hands looked as they pushed those dark curls back from Harry’s face and the way the other man felt in his arms.

“Get used to it,” he whispered and stole another long, scorching kiss. He was about to take another and then a third but just then a frantic Jet popped into the room with a rather startling crack that made both men standing by the window nearly leap off their feet in surprise. She was sobbing and twisting her long hands into the strip of black lace she wore, nearly incoherent in her distress.

“Master Draco! The…the nasty man! He being…oh…he…” and she broke down completely, large tears rolling down her face and snot streaking her little lace outfit when she wiped her nose on it. Harry’s face had lost its tentative, hopeful shine and he was clinging to Draco’s arm so hard the blond could feel his fingers going numb. Taking a deep breath, he steadied his nerves and told himself this would not intimidate him. He had been a coward for so long and he would not become one again. Alex might have a terrifying knowledge of magic but Draco’s father had once been a powerful Dark wizard. Lucius had been sure to teach his son well.

“Jet,” he barked, startling the poor, sobbing house-elf, “enough. Are Pansy and Miguel up?” She shook her head, still trembling and weeping. He knew that all the Auror teams would have already spotted the spell travelling towards the house and he needn’t worry about them. “Get them up and tell them to meet me in the front foyer.” She nodded hurriedly before flickering away again, calmer now that she had something to do with herself. Then he turned to Harry and was caught by the expression in his eyes. Not fear but affection and trust and a million other things that made his heart race, “Ready?” he asked and was happily surprised by the other man’s response.

“I think so, yeah.” Then he smiled a jaunty little smile and titled his chin with an arrogance Draco had only ever really seen in the mirror. “I’m Harry Potter, after all,” he joked, twisting Draco’s earlier words of encouragement into a light hearted joke. They shared a small, if somewhat nervous laugh but, refusing to be shaken completely, the blond squared his shoulders and turned towards the door. It was never going to end any differently than this, he thought during their quiet descent to the foyer. The moment that Pansy rescued Harry from his flat and brought Draco, who would do anything to ensure the dark haired man’s health and safety, into the equation, this was how this would end. And he did not regret it one bit.

In fact, though he despised the way it had to happen, he supposed he should be grateful. If not for this, he would still be rotting away in his Manor, pretending that he would actually venture out into the world again to become a Healer, still living with his ghosts and his shame and his grief as his only friends. And he would not have Harry. That in itself was worth everything. Harry, who walked quietly at his side, face set and pale lips compressed into a thin, nervous line. Without a thought, Draco caught his hand as it swung and curled his fingers into the spaces between Harry’s, the spaces where they fit with perfect ease. Green eyes flickered to meet his own and he got a squeeze where they were connected, offering and taking reassurance.

Everything that was about to happen. Everything that had happened. This man was worth it all.

They got a bit of a surprise when they stepped off the last landing of the stairs that lead into the huge, open entryway and were greeted with what seemed like a dozen people milling about. He could see the bright red hair of Weasley in the corner, surrounded by several more people who all wore the same crimson Auror robes, though he towered over all of them. The hard blue eyes barely gave them a glance, registering their clasped hands before he turned his attention back to his team. It was the two men who stood beside Pansy and Miguel, talking in hushed, worried voices that made Draco pause. The tall, slim man with sandy hair that flopped inelegantly into his face Draco didn’t recognize but the second one he did. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of the incongruous sight of Neville Longbottom standing within the walls of the Manor.

Harry, on the other had, was obviously pleased to see them. “Neville! Daniel!” he called, unravelling his hand from Draco’s so he could greet his friends. “What are you two doing here?” Draco hung back, studying the other blond with curiosity. So this was the Daniel that worked with Harry on occasion. He didn’t look like all that much, though his smile was shockingly pretty when he turned at the sound of his name being called. Harry’s friends greeted him with enthusiasm, their genuine concern showing in their eyes.

“It was Pansy who called us over,” Neville was saying, looking rather apologetic when he looked over at the blond standing quietly behind Harry. Draco just returned his stare, not quite sure what to do. He didn’t mind that they were there; the show of support for Harry was both heartening and encouraging, making him think that maybe they had a chance. Then he was squashing a sudden surge of annoyance when Daniel gently touched Harry’s shoulder, only gratified when the dark haired man unconsciously shied away.

“We wouldn’t not be here, Harry,” he said with that pretty little smile of his and the dark haired man returned it with surprising confidence, making Draco grit his teeth. Before anything else could be said though, Weasley was striding into the middle of the huge hall, sharp eyes looking as intense as ever and mouth set into a grim line. For someone who Draco had wondered about getting into Gryffindor while they were in school, he had turned into a rather ferocious lion.

“Okay, listen up.” His group of Aurors immediately stood at attention behind him, faces set and determined. “We all know why we are here.” Eyes flickered to where Harry stood, looking pale but determined and he flushed a little bit at the attention. “Our target sent a spell through the wards a few minutes ago, a rather nasty tracking spell that sucks in anyone who tries to stop it. Whatever happens, try to stay the hell out of its way.” The hardness in his eyes flickered, clearly disturbed and Pansy gave a small shudder. It was all rather gruesome and Draco had a feeling it was only about to get worse. “I have two teams out there now, trying to find its source. The rest of us will protect the house itself. As long as the Fidelius is in place, it will be hard to locate so we will use our Patronuses to keep in contact. This is important,” he stressed this, looking around at the people all gathered in the entry who were watching him with varying expression of trepidation and resolve. “Neville and Daniel, you stay in here with Harry. I understand there are extra wards on the house so that will help. Hopefully we won’t have need of them.” His tone turned grim and Draco was inclined to agree.

He thought Miguel said something, a question that he probably needed to have heard but his awareness was suddenly pulled away, along the old, reconstructed family wards and the several new ones that were connected to him. They were humming in warning, buzzing under his skin, hissing at him that there was someone tampering with them and they were slowly crumbling under the pressure. He raced along their perimeter and could see the place were they were being attacked, a natural weakness where they overlapped. At the moment, they were still holding but the normal blue glow of them in his consciousness was turning brown in that spot, rotting away under the barrage of attacking magic. The whole thing only took a moment but it was long enough for everyone to notice that he was far away, head turned in the direction of the disturbance.

“Draco, what’s wrong?” Harry’s voice was soft and his eyes dark when he reached out to touch the blond’s arm, a touch that Draco felt through his entire body. It dimmed the uncomfortable tug of the Manor’s wards and he let it relax him, easing the tension he had not noticed before in his shoulders and back.

“The wards,” he murmured, rubbing the ache the strange sensation of disturbed magic was causing to build up in his temples. “He’s attacking the wards around the property.” One of them shuddered and he felt himself shiver with it. It was unbalancing and he suspected he stumbled a bit but then Harry slipped an arm around his waist and leaned in close, eyes taking up nearly all of Draco’s vision. He could see the marks he had left on that pale skin the night before, peeking out from under the other man’s collar and showing when he lifted his arm, decorating his wrists. The sight of them steadied him, drew him back into himself. The racket the wards were making in his mind eased to an irritating hum. Dimly, he was aware that Ron was rounding everyone up and giving last minute instructions but all he really cared to pay attention to was Harry, pressed against him and watching him warily.

“Stay in here with me,” the dark haired man whispered fiercely, fingers curling into the material of the blond’s shirt. “Don’t go out there. Please.” he was sinking back into his fear, letting it slowly start to take over again, making his lips tremble and his eyes black. Not caring that Weasley, Longbottom and Daniel were watching, Draco cradled Harry’s face in his hands, fingers brushing at his wild curls.

“You know that I know the most Dark magic out of everyone here. I have to go out there and help them.” A ward fell, tumbling down in the back of his mind and he had to suck in a steadying breath before going on. “I won’t let him in here, Harry. I won’t let him touch you ever again.” Those brilliant green eyes flared hotly for a second before the other man was nodding reluctantly and letting him go. Draco wished he could taste Harry’s beautiful lips once more but the entire structure of the outside wards crumbled and he knew they had run out of time. Gently pushing his fingers through the wild black hair, he tried to give the other man an encouraging smile. “I’ll be right back,” fell like a rock from his lips, the lie clattering silently to the floor but what else could he have said?

Harry must have thought so too because he made a small noise and threw his arms around the blond’s neck, burying his face in the long fall of silvery blond hair.

Draco was careful not to look back when he finally extracted himself from the other man’s arms, clinging to the warmth from their embrace and pulling his wand from where he kept it hidden in his sleeve. He didn’t want to give in to the temptation to stay with Harry so he could personally look after him. But he hadn’t been lying when he said it was better for him to be out there, countering Alex with his own knowledge of Dark spells. Not only that but he was the only one with Healing knowledge that would probably come in handy.

Weasley was giving him a rather steely look, clearly not approving of how close the blond had become with Harry but Draco ignored him, making for the doors that were left open when the rest of the Aurors and Pansy and Miguel exited out of them before. He could barely see the outside past the magic that protected them but he didn’t need to. He could feel what was waiting, feel it prickling along the small hairs of his arms and the back of his neck. The hole in his wards was like a small but festering sore on his consciousness and he murmured the words to disconnect himself from them temporarily so they wouldn’t keep wearing on him before stepping through the veil of magic on the doorway to the porch outside.

What he saw made him stop short in shock.

The red mist that had been crawling about the grounds had stopped and it looked like it had surrounded the house, hovering a good fifteen feet from the walls. It looked like a barricade, nearly solid in its form and it took him a moment to realize that it was marking the place where the Manor stood, which was still invisible to outside observers thanks to a rather ambitious Ward Harry had created the night before. Pansy and Miguel stood together at the bottom of the short staircase that led from the house, their wands at the ready. Another Auror team was waiting off to the side, standing perilously close to the wall of blood-coloured mist. The others he gathered were out of sight, doubtlessly protecting the rest of the entrances into the house. “This is some serious Dark shit.” Weasley’s voice was a low rumble at the blond’s shoulder and Draco had to snort. Serious Dark shit indeed.

“I’ll show you some serious Dark shit,” he growled and strode from the porch, letting his fury build within him, growing to a crescendo until he could feel his magic responding to the emotion, roiling just under the surface of his skin. This was the real reason why Dark magic was so dangerous. It wasn’t simply because of the hideousness of the spells, though that was certainly part of it. It was because of the negativity of the emotions that drove them. Hate, anger, jealousy and even fear. Those were what made the Dark magic powerful, twisting and distorting it. So he harvested his fury and harnessed it, letting it curl with his magic. Surprisingly, or not when he stopped to think about it, Weasley was right next to him, wand held at his side and his eyes watchful.

“The bastard is in there somewhere,” the redhead muttered, jaw twitching. Draco nodded, not taking his eyes from the dense red mist in front of him. It looked like a storm of blood paused in motion, pulsing as it waited. He felt like it was watching them, assessing and transmitting what it saw back to its caster. There was a muffled shout from around the side of the house and a disturbing crackle but from where he could see, nothing moved. It just waited and watched.

So Draco made the first move. Lifting his wand chest level, he murmured a complicated incantation, making a circling motion before directing the surge of power from the tip of his wand into the ground at his feet. Ron looked at him warily but didn’t question it, opting to mirror the blond who had lowered his hand and returned to staring back into the mist. Draco could feel his heart rate pick up slightly as he waited for the result of his spell to come back. It would take a few moments but he was glad to see that it seemed to have worked. Because it originated from the ground, the magical wall of mist wouldn’t think it was spells attacking it, which it wasn’t. Actually, it was similar to the bloody fog because it acted like surveillance. It went into a place the wizard himself could not go and came back with what it picked up.

Draco hoped that it had sensed Alex and could tell him where the man would most likely attack.

His spell came back to him in the form of an eagle, winging swiftly through the mist straight towards him with a cry. It was huge, bigger than a real bird would be and it shimmered along the edges, like it was a mirage. The redhead next to him gave a shout of warning but the blond simply stepped forward and opened his arms, letting it come. Usually, he wouldn’t take power back into himself like that but channelling it through his wand took longer. It had the same effect anyway, flying straight into him and filling him with temporary electric power. A large hand on his shoulder steadied him but when Ron went to ask him if he was okay, Draco held up one hand to stop him. He needed to reorient himself with the sudden flood of information the spell was now sending coursing through him, a torrent of images that raced over the back of his eyelids.

The wall of mist wasn’t all that thick but the spell picked up on its sinister nature, an evil undertone that pressed in against him even though he wasn’t inside of it. Everything else was normal, though, left untouched by the spell. Just when he was beginning to think Alex was going to find a different way in, he caught a glimpse of something dark moving through the fog, something separate and human shaped. Then another eagle cry shuddered through his mind and the spell shattered, leaving him back in his own body and blinking at the dense wall of mist. He could feel it, though, the thing that was not a part of the fog, over to the right and pushing ever closer.

“What was that all—” the red head started but Draco pushed him away, pointing his wand in the direction of the disturbance.

“He’s there. He’s coming,” he said and barely recognized his own voice. It sounded distant and cold. Like the snow crunching under his feet but he could not feel the cold against his skin. At once Weasley was at the ready, sending his Patronus to his teams stationed around the house. His efficiency and the fact that he didn’t waste precious time questioning the blond was invaluable. We all grew up sometime in these past couple years.

And then he didn’t have any more time to reflect because the first attack came barrelling out of the mist.

Even though he was half expecting it, he still barely had enough time to get his shield up when hundreds of black arrows rained down at them, pin pointing all of their locations and pelting them over and over, breaking against their hastily raised shields until even the splinters became dust. There was a cry from behind them where one of the other Aurors hadn’t spoken the spell quickly enough and she lay on the ground under her partner’s shield, a pitch black arrow protruding from her shoulder.

Once the arrows were gone, great black dogs the size of small Thestrals barged through the mist, teeth gleaming like razor blades and eyes as white as bone. Their baying was more like the growls of a lion and their tails were tipped with stingers that dripped something deep purple and which looked poisonous. They learned the hard way that shields didn’t work this time when Weasley almost lost his hand, dozens of dogs flowing over the ground and trying to get the better of the wizards furiously trying to fend them off. Slicing hexes tore into the braying dogs, which oddly turned them to misshapen clumps of clay that writhed about on the ground as if they didn’t want to forget the magic that had made them mobile and deadly. Unfortunately, there was another cry from around the house, this time in the opposite direction and he realized that someone else had not been so lucky.

The third wave didn’t wait for all the dogs to be dispersed, jet black ribbons of light that sounded like great bells being struck as they sliced through the air. These, too, could not be shielded against and in the tumult, Draco saw one of the poisonous dogs slip through Pansy and Miguel’s defences. It caught the Spaniard by the calf, making him cry out and it whipped its tail around, stabbing him in the side with the stinger. Pansy dispelled the dog with a scream of rage before dropping to her knees beside her husband, who was holding his side with both hands and looking ready to pass out. Dodging one of the black curses that felt like decay as they shot by, Draco shouted for Weasley’s attention, who was fending off two of the eerie dogs with his own dog-shaped Patronus while ducking the bolts of black light.

“Weasley! We need to cover Pansy!” he screamed, slicing through one of the dogs so that the silvery dog shaped Patronus could rip into the last one and dispel it for good. Ron didn’t waste time, moving them both back so that they were between the horrifying magic still spilling from the red mist and husband and wife both prone on the ground. She was screaming Draco’s name and he realized Miguel had started seizing, lips turning blue from the black dog’s poison. The blond dropped instantly, pushing her away so he could wave his wand over the dark haired man on the ground.

It wasn’t a poison he had encountered, though that would hardly matter as they all required an antidote. Though he didn’t like doing it this way, Draco cast a hasty Stasis spell over the man as the poison was spreading fast, suffocating the blood of its oxygen. Then he caught Pansy’s arm and forced her to pay attention. “He’s under a Stasis. You need to Levitate him inside…”

The black light struck with surprising grace for such an aggressive looking spell, hitting Pansy square in the back and sending her tumbling to the ground. Stunned, the blond scrambled to her side, and turned her over. The dark eyes were open and unseeing but her chest still rose and fell, the motion somewhat choppy. Running another quick diagnostic and ignoring another spell, this one royal blue in colour as it rushed by the blond’s right ear, Draco read the spell he ran as quickly as he could.

And promptly gagged.

There was a reason why it felt like decay when it passed by. The black spell was actually aging Pansy from the inside out, taking years in seconds until she died from old age and started to rot away. It would all happen within moments and he had no way of stopping it. Panicked, he did the same thing he’d done to her husband, throwing an extra strong Stasis spell over her until he had more time to figure it out. Harry hadn’t been lying when he said Alex knew an incredible amount of Unforgivables. This he suspected was tame compared to what the spells attacking them could be. Ron gave a hoarse shout, barely knocking away what looked like a tiny cyclone twisting in the air with a powerful Reducto. Then Draco looked at Miguel lying on the ground and Pansy who would die in a matter of minutes as soon as his spell was removed and the Auror with the arrow in her shoulder still being fiercely protected by her partner and his rage had him seeing red. Instantly, the blond was on his feet and pointing a Sonorus at himself, wild magic crackling around him like a lightning storm.

“Stop hiding, you fucking coward!” he screamed, magnified voice making the ground fairly tremble. All at once, the spells stopped, the sudden silence after the violent barrage of spells unnerving. He could hear Weasley’s harsh breathing next to him, the pained moans from the Auror struck by the arrow and the soft breeze that should have felt cold against the sweat on his skin but didn’t. At first he thought that Alex wouldn’t do it; that he would continue to hide behind the deadly wall of red fog. But as he watched, the blood-coloured mist slowly dismantled, like it was a physical structure being taken down, and disappeared.

“Bloody hell,” the redhead standing next to him mumbled, shifting uneasily. “Don’t know if I should be worried about this.” The blond ignored him, watching the grounds for movement. Adrenaline ran hot through his veins, raising his heart rate and sharpening his senses. With each breath, he calmed, centred himself a little more until he could hone his magic like a blade, waiting to be released through the end of his wand in an explosion if power.

Alex didn’t simply walk over, though it looked as if he could have. He appeared on the lane that led to the front porch of the house out of thin air, like he had Apparated but without the pop of sound or the displacement of magic. Like he had been made from some of his mist and simply solidified right there in front of them. A trick then, Draco thought, watching as the man walked down the lane towards them like he was taking a stroll in the park. Arrogance flowed around him like a cloak, along with a shadow that looked like a flock of tiny birds.

“Draco Malfoy.” His voice, like the smoothest velvet, flowed across the snow-covered grass to meet them. It was spoken in a normal tone even though he was still too far away to be heard at that volume. Like a Sonorus only more refined. It grated on Draco, like rubbing skin against rusty metal and he hated how this man said his name like he knew everything about him. “You really should not have done that.” As Alex drew closer, the blond could see the curl of a smirk, twisted in such a way that was almost more chilling than any of the spells he had sent their way.

“Alexander Huff,” Ron stepped forward, standing at Draco’s shoulder, every inch the Auror, shoulders squared and chin lifted, “you are under arrest for the charges of kidnapping, prolonged aggravated assault, several attempted murders and the use of multiple Unforgivables, to name a few. You can either cooperate and come quietly or you will be taken in by force.” Any weaker and probably more sane man would have been at least disturbed by such an account of their own crimes. Not Alex. But then again, Draco had determined that this man was not in his right mind. No, Alex threw back his head and laughed. The sound was as hard and as cold as the ground upon which they stood.

“Ah, and you must be Ronald Weasley. I’ve head about you.” His grin had something wild lingering behind it. Something unhinged, maniacal. “Well, you are welcome to come arrest me,” the grin widened and he lifted his arms to either side of him, like an invitation, “if you can.” Draco nearly snarled aloud at the blatant show of condescension, wishing he could hex the man inside out. Bastard. He must have been one hell of an actor because the blond was pretty sure Harry would never have fallen for this man if he had been like this. Weasley actually smiled, though, a hard, chilling smile that made Draco very glad it wasn’t directed at him.

“Sure of yourself, aren’t you?” the red head rumbled, fingering his wand that he still held calmly at his side. The strange shadows around their adversary flickered, moving like a thunderstorm, angry and roiling. It was nauseating to look at and Draco let his eyes slide away. Alex had stopped a good five meters away, close enough to be heard but with enough space to act like a buffer if spells were thrown. His long hair fell about him in a wave of coiling curls and he wore all black, making his skin look white and reminding Draco uncomfortably of what Voldemort might have looked like if he had not gone all snake-like in the end.

“Shouldn’t I be?” Alex gestured to Pansy and Miguel lying as still as rocks behind the blond and then the Auror who was trying to help his partner with the arrow in her shoulder. “It was a cake walk. I wasn’t even trying.” White teeth glinted in the pale light of the morning sun and Draco felt a deep surge of fury, greater than any he had felt for this man so far. So great that he could almost see it, like a red shade in front of his eyes. So great that he couldn’t stop the spell that leaped from his wand, its incantation uttered in an inelegant bark and fairly ripping across the space towards its target. He didn’t even recall what it was, only that Alex reached into the shadows behind him, uttered a soft word and Draco’s spell was gone before it could even reach him. Undeterred, the blond took a step forward, teeth bared and wand raised.

“You are trespassing,” he hissed, feeling his magic curling around him again, lifting the hair at the nape of his neck and prickling along the small hairs of his arms. “I’d thank you to kindly get the fuck off my property!” Weasley actually snorted, shaking his ginger head but Alex went inexplicably serious, the wild, crazy glint in his eyes turning into something darker. The shadows around him pulsed.

“Not until I get what’s mine,” and from the shadows around him shot what looked like pitch black blobs, connecting to the flickering darkness that surrounded Alex as it raced towards the other two men. Remembering how most of this man’s spells could go right through a Protego, Draco chanted out the strongest shielding spell he knew. Unfortunately, it also drained him and those it protected, a small fraction of their magic for every thirty seconds it was up. For the moment, though, all that mattered was that it worked, the blobs cracking against the solid wall of magic and disintegrating like they were glass.

“Harry belongs to no one,” Draco bit out just as Ron shouted, “Good one, Malfoy!” a red streak flashing from his own wand around the shield. The shadows ate that spell too and Alex looked truly angry now, a long length of a wand appearing in his hand as he reached into the darkness clustered around him, drawing out a handful of them. It looked like the blobs that had shot out of the shadows moments ago only it was thin and solid, held like a staff or a spear. At the same time, he silently flicked his wand, a black jet of light like the one that had hit Pansy struck the shield, bringing it down with ease.

Draco and Ron didn’t even wait to see what the black, shadow-created staff would do; they darted in opposite directions, rolling out of the way as Alex spun it through the air. It sounded, oddly enough, like a wind chime caught in a gale. The result wasn’t as cheerful, though, creating a black ring where they had been standing of uprooted ground and browned air. It was like it had sucked the very life out of that area. Fear trickled down his spine as he took cover behind the low stone wall that surrounded the dormant front garden. It was a kind of magic like he had never seen before. The shadows were surely made from some kind of spell but the thing that Alex had pulled from it had conducted magic as well. In all of his research and his books, he had never come across something like that.

Weasely was shouting something but the wind was picking up, crackling with unnatural magic and Draco peered over the top of the wall to see what was happening. The red head was just barely holding off the magic spilling from the black staff, throwing spell after spell at Alex in such quick succession that the other man barely had time to fend them off let alone hit Weasley with the destructive magic from his shadow-staff. The shielding spell Draco had used seemed to have worn the big Auror though, enough that he stumbled a bit between spells, leaving a deadly opening.

Draco knew at once what spell he would use, even though he had less than a second to cast it. It wasn’t Dark, surprisingly, but it was powerful and he was so familiar with it, he could cast it in his sleep. He had actually found it when he was nine in a book tucked away in the recesses of the library. He had been summer holiday, two months without tutors and he was so bored that he actually ventured in there to see if he could amuse himself with a book, something he never did before. This particular one caught his attention because, in the shimmering title embossed on the spine, was his own name.

The Dragon spell, he called it, though he knew it had another name he never bothered to learn. As a nine year old, it was too complicated of a spell to actually cast and he hadn’t a wand to do it with. Sometimes, as a treat, his mother or father would let him borrow theirs to light the lamps or some other menial thing like that but he knew even then they would never let him use them for this spell. Not only that but if the caster’s will was not strong enough, it could become extremely dangerous. Even so, he had taught himself the incantation, repeating it over and over when he was alone and the unfamiliar Latin words just felt right. Like this spell was meant for him. Draco had never cast it before because he had never had the need to. It was the perfect weapon, though, the best they had at the moment.

Because, not only was it powerful but it was also impervious to any Dark magic. And darkness seemed to be all Alex relied on.

The incantation shimmered bright in his mind, hovering behind his eyelids and in his heart as he cut his wand through the air in a hasty x. He didn’t even need to speak the words; the spell was right there, at the tip of his fingertips, as if it had been waiting for him all along. The magic rushed through him, funnelled through the tip of his wand and…

The dragon that leapt into the sky was huge and gleamed pale silver, wings beating through the air that had been slowly darkening, sending gales of powerful gusts cutting over them. Its roar shook the ground he stood on, like an earthquake or a huge rumble of thunder. With its silver scales that gleamed in the dimming light, it looked less like a living dragon and more like a winged blade made from tempered steel that breathed plumes of orange fire into the air. It wasn’t a living dragon, conjured by magic only but it would behave like a real dragon and would feel like a real one when it attacked. Which was what he was counting on.

The first thing he needed it for succeeded, the sight of a giant, magical dragon appearing out of nowhere causing Alex to pause before he attacked an open Weasley, both of them gaping at the sky where Draco’s spell circled restlessly, waiting, watching. The red head, thankfully, was able to pull himself together and duck out of the way just as Draco commanded his dragon from the sky, swooping down on Alex with another bone-rattling roar. He supposed he wasn’t surprised when the dark haired wizard didn’t even bat an eyelash in fear, simply lifting that eerie staff and swinging it with a purpose at the oncoming dragon.

The two magical sources collided with a shocking lack of sound, Dark hitting Light in a pulsing wave that nearly knocked all the onlookers off their feet. He knew, though, that he need not worry for the hum of his dragon spell still resonated in his mind. Then the silvery form glided right through the magic of the shadow-staff, pulling out of its dive but still as intact and powerful as before.

The sight of it made Alex snarl in rage, aiming his strange dark staff at it again as the silver creature banked and came back around for another try, its great maw open and molten fire dripping from between its gleaming teeth. Once again, the Dark magic from the shadow-staff did nothing, this time not even getting a shocking collision. It just flowed uselessly through the silvery form and Draco flicked his wand with a satisfied smile, the dragon’s consciousness melded perfectly with his own. Fire burst from its mouth, a roaring flood of volcanic flames that tore a black stripe into the earth, headed straight for the spot Alex stood.

This time the dark haired man didn’t rely on his shadow-staff. Instead he threw up a shimmering shield the colour of opals that displaced the air around him and which surrounded him completely. A second later, he disappeared behind the wall of flames which crackled through the air and filled it with the smell of fire. Draco watched on with bated breath, heart leaping in his throat as the dry, consuming heat nearly stole the very air from his lungs. Lightning flashed overhead, the sky now black with a storm that felt like dirty, rotting magic, making every hair stand up on his body. Wind not from the dragon’s wings whipped his long hair about his face and he flicked a glance upwards. Then it dawned on him.

Alex was calling forth a storm.

The silver dragon lifted once more into the sky, flames dying off and leaving a long, wide scorch mark in the middle of his snowy lawn. Well, not so snowy now, as most of it had melted in the heat of his dragon’s fire. He held his breath, waiting to see if it worked, aware that Weasley, who was watching with an open jaw just on the other side of the burned ground had his own shield up in order not to get singed. Their eyes met and understanding leaped between the connection. For this to work, they needed to do it together and they needed to do it before whatever Alex planned with the blackening storm hovering over their heads happened. As nice as the thought might be, they both knew the blast of fire would not take out an opponent such as the one they faced.

Sure enough, as soon as the grey curls of smoke were blown away by the whipping wind, he could see Alex still there, crouched under his odd shield that now sported bright red cracks in its surface. He looked a little frazzled but not shaken, dark eyes as cold as ever. He dispelled his shield with a snarl, turning on Draco with a wild light in his eyes that rivalled the lightning dancing around them. The blond didn’t wait. He lifted his wand arm and jerked it down again in a sharp motion, his dragon following the movement. Twisting impossibly in the sky, it tore back down again, wings beating so it could fly full speed straight down at Alex.

This time there was no shield and the strange shadow cloud that had followed the dark haired man around had dissipated, as if he couldn’t maintain that and his opal shield. Which meant the shadow-staff was gone as well, leaving the man with just his wand. There was no use running from the dragon; Alex would never make it in time. Instead he did something strange. He lifted his wand directly above his head and planted his feet, staring the dragon down as it came barrelling out of the sky. Lightning cracked and flared overhead, the thunder rumbling like it was a living thing and the silver dragon opened its mouth, teeth shining like swords. And at the same time, he and Weasley lifted their wands, shouting two different ground-rupturing spells.

They hit under Alex’s feet at the same time the dragon slammed down over him, the crash of its flesh loud against the ground. The ground blew apart and the silver dragon burst apart in a spray of silver sparks and scales…only to be sucked back in again.

It was like a vortex, where all the spells had struck and where Alex had stood, all the black clouds of the unnatural storm getting drawn into it like a cyclone and forcing the blond to duck when a rather unnerving fork of lightning struck too close for comfort. Power fairly crackled as it was drawn into the centre of that cyclone, appearing like flashes of blue and red and green amid the pale blue flashes of electricity. It made Draco stagger and he found it hard to breathe, dropping to one knee and holding an arm in front of his face as if that would help. It picked up intensity, swirling more and more until it just…stopped.

Everything went instantly still, the twisting winds of magic falling away and his eardrums rang with the suddenness of it. Bits of debris from the broken ground dropped back to earth and he thought for a moment it had worked. Between where he and Weasley stood in his dirty Auror robes was a great, broken crater, burnt earth and rock strewn across the yard with no sign of the man for which the spells had been meant. He could still feel his dragon, faint but lingering yet in his consciousness, though there was no sign of that either. It lay dormant, waiting for him to dispel it.

“Did it work?” Ron shouted across to him, shaking his ginger hair from his eyes and looking around wildly. Draco didn’t know how it didn’t work, honestly, but he had seen the way Alex had looked right before it struck, the way he planted his feet and pointed his wand like he was expecting it, waiting for it to come. A small wriggling of doubt nudged at his mind and he tried to call back his dragon only to find it couldn’t respond. It wanted to but it was stuck and he was pretty sure that wasn’t supposed to happen. Weasley had sent his Patronus around to the rest of his teams, checking their statuses when they heard it.

Cold, mad laughter, the sound of it icy cold.

“Impressive!” Alex stood on the Manor’s porch, tapping his wand against his thigh and smiling like he hadn’t just stepped away from two blasting curses aimed at the ground below him and a dragon crashing into him from above. In fact he looked...bigger, the power around him feeling thick and sinister. The black clouds of the storm that had stilled when the spells struck churned again. “But not enough! Pulmonis opprimere!” The spell hit them so quick, Draco didn’t even have time to defend himself.

It came in a heavy, crushing weight on his chest, a tight fist around his lungs that choked all the air from his body and left him clawing at his throat in vain desperation. Every breath Draco tried to bring in died on his tongue and he wanted to scream as his very veins felt like they were trying to burst, his need for air immediate and overpowering. In his struggles, which had brought him to the ground where he writhed ineffectually, he could see Weasley and the other Auror team contorting on the ground from the same spell. They looked like they were screaming but he could not hear over the roar in his ears.

The roaring that sounded like someone calling Harry’s name. Harry…yes, Harry…I want to say goodbye to him…I wish I had more time so I could tell him…

“Alex…” the voice broke through his consciousness and the spell withholding the breath from his lungs eased just enough for him to take a shallow gulp of air. Harry’s voice. Harry was there. “Let them go.” Another breath and the black spots that had started to dance across his vision gave way. Blinking, he turned his head with difficulty to see that Harry was no longer inside the safety of the Manor’s walls but stood in the doorway, wand pointed right at Alex and his face pale but set. Draco wanted to scream but couldn’t even draw enough breath to cough. He was supposed to stay inside! Fear beat at him, black wings of terror making it impossible once again to breathe.

“Harry…” Alex’s voice changed as he turned to face the man he had once reduced to a broken husk, sounding silky and nearly sane. Harry visibly trembled, but he refused to back down, green eyes fiercely bright against the backdrop of his terror. “I’ve been looking all over for you. They took you away from me.” He reached out, though he was far enough away that he couldn’t actually touch the other man and Harry recoiled, back thumping against the doorway and wand nearly falling out of his hands.

“No…” His voice was a rasp and his green eyes were so wide, Draco could see the brilliant colour of them from where he lay on the destroyed lawn, “No, I wanted to get away from you…me. I don’t…I’m not your property, Alex, to do with as you like.” As he spoke, Harry’s voice grew stronger and his chin lifted in defiance. It was weak, still, but it was there, a reminiscent flicker of what Draco used to see when they were in school. There was a heavy silence before Alex hissed, taking a sharp step forward. The blond wondered where the two men who were supposed to be protecting Harry had gone as he tried to struggle to his feet, still weighed down and breathless. Then he realized with a burst of despair that they wouldn’t have let Harry go out. Which meant the dark haired man had probably bound them up inside.

“No?” Alex growled before jerking his free hand in a grabbing motion that ripped the shirt from Harry’s torso, exposing his pale skin and the haphazard pattern of bruises Draco had left on him the night before. “Then who do you belong to?! Him!?” he pointed at Weasley who was still down for the count, chest barely rising and Draco held still, mouth dry and lungs still burning. Then Alex whipped around to look at him, eyes holding such a murderous light the blond actually wished he could crawl into the ground. “No, it was him. Malfoy.” He didn’t even have time to suck in another breath of air before Alex clenched his fist tight, fury twisting his features into something hideous and Draco contorted in agony.

This time it felt like something was crushing his chest like it was a grape, the pressure so great he thought he would explode from it. The world was secondary to the need to breathe, contorting his body as he tried to arch his back, needing relief, air, anything, soon…air…breath…Harry…

He was going to die.

And then…

The pressure was gone, lifted from his chest so suddenly, he couldn’t even process it at first. All he could do was tip his head back and suck in as much air into his bruised lungs as he could, clutching at the grass beside him like that would help. Slowly, as the desperation turned into milder need, he opened his eyes to see the dark clouds overhead and the rubble by his cheek where he lay. Everything in his body hurt. It felt like he had been trampled by a herd of centaurs after they used him for target practice. It hurt to move, hurt to breathe, hurt to blink his bloody eyelids. All he could do for long moments was to lie there and wonder if death might have been preferable after all.

A crackle of magic charged the air to his left and then he remembered. Harry. Alex. And everything became real again.

With a pained moan, Draco forced himself to turn over and lift his head, forced himself to see what was going on. The ground was rough under his fingers and his chest ached with every breath but none of that mattered when he saw…

Saw Harry, now standing at the top of the Manor’s steps, chin lifted and eyes furious as he pointed his wand at the man in all black that he had clearly pushed from the porch and was standing not far from where Draco lay. It was so similar to what he had seen that day in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, the day when Voldemort fell that he felt his eyes sting and fill. Alex might be twisted and powerful and clinically insane but when Harry had that look in his eyes and his shoulders squared in just that manner, nothing could defeat him.

“You belong to me, Harry!” Alex was screaming, face red with rage and spittle flying from his lips. Then he lifted his wand, swirled it over his head like he was mixing the very clouds before pointing it at the green eyed wizard with that mad look in his dark eyes. “I will make you SEE!!” The storm congealed at the end of Alex’s wand, funnelling in another vortex that spiked lightning and rattled with rumbling thunder before it rushed at Harry, the Dark magic tainting the very air. Fear bubbled under Draco’s skin as he watched, crying out and managing to scramble to his knees when Harry didn’t move because he doubted his now dormant dragon could even stand up to something like that.

But Harry did.

His wand moved so fast the blond could barely make out the movements it made, a blur of motion that was nearly dizzying. Even over the sound of the directed storm Draco could hear him chanting, a low, rhythmic sound that was beautiful and soothing and made him feel oddly safe. Even in the middle of a maelstrom Harry had that effect on him. It was confusing, though. The kind of spells that needed long strings of chanted Latin were not typically used in a fight.

Then the funnelled storm hit a barrier several feet in front of Harry and bent around it, like it had come across something it simply would not go through and shifted its course. Draco gasped. Wards! Harry was battling with wards! As the storm fell apart with a low growl and a shudder, he muttered something else, made another complicated wand movement and every tainted tingle of Dark magic that had been holding the conjured storm together vanished.

The yard fell very quiet, morning sun once more shining warmly down at them, illuminating the destruction that was the front lawn of Draco’s Manor. Alex looked flabbergasted, wand held uselessly at his side as Harry descended the stairs, walking towards him with not a tremor in his step and no fear in his eyes. Draco felt a shiver of delight; Harry had realized that he was stronger than Alex when he wanted to be. He had been all along and it wasn’t weakness that was the reason why he let this man destroy him. Most importantly, Harry was his own man and he had just proved it to both of them.

“You are nothing to me, Alexander,” Harry whispered, the sound of his words ringing through the air despite how softly they were uttered. He flicked his wand and Alex’s soared into his hands where he snapped it without a second thought. “You mean nothing, not your words or your actions or your twisted affections.” He waved his wand again and Alex trembled before standing utterly still, dark eyes still wide and unblinking because of the spell he was now caught in. There was a cough from where Weasley was lying, followed by a curse and Draco felt a rush of relief. The redhead was okay, “You are nothing,” Harry raised his wand, eyes flashing and Draco realized he was going to kill the other man.

“Harry! Stop!” Ron’s voice was rough but it still made the dark haired man pause, the green eyes flickering to his ginger haired friend. The desire was there, something dark that was aching for revenge and Weasley must have seen that because he struggled to his feet and took a shaky step forward. “You told me once that you never wanted to murder someone ever again.” The wand in Harry’s hand shook, lowered a fraction and Draco was almost disappointed. Almost. He knew what it would do to someone like Harry if he killed out of revenge.

You are not a killer. The words rang out in Draco’s head and he felt a stir of something against his consciousness. Harry dropped his wand to his side, eyes going flat with something the blond couldn’t define and he looked at the still form of his ex with deadened pain in his gaze. He wanted to but he wouldn’t because Ron was right. He would never be able to live with himself if he killed like this. You are not a killer. The dragon stirred again, hissed at him and he knew.

The dragon had been absorbed by Alex’s magic.

Slowly, the blond climbed to his feet and reached into the depths of himself, dragging on his own magic. It was greatly depleted and was reluctant to obey but when he lifted his wand and murmured the words, the spell still sprang to life, moving through him nearly as strong as it had the first time. In his mind, the dragon roared and from the still form with the long, sleek curls and the cruel eyes sprang the solid form of a silver dragon. It leaped into the air, knocking Weasley off his feet and making Harry cry out in surprise, burning the clear skies with its bright fire. Draco closed his eyes for a moment, savouring its freedom and how much it loved its flight through the sky before saying the single word that turned it into a spray of sparks to be lost on the gentle breeze.

Alex toppled to the ground like a broken tree.

“Is he dead?” Ron was still on the ground, leaning on his elbows and peering over so he could see the prone figure lying on the grass. Draco, wishing he had something to lean on as all the aches returned tenfold, sighed and pushed his hair from his face. He had no idea and, quite frankly, he didn’t care. The dragon had done something; all the blond wanted was a hot bath and a long nap. Harry leaned over Alex, though he was careful not to touch him before shaking his head.

“Not…no. His magic, though…” his voice shook and he slowly fell to his knees, staring blankly at the still body of his ex like he couldn’t comprehend what had just happened. “His magic is gone.” Hollow. He looked hollow. The slender shoulders were slumped and his wand was forgotten on the ground in front of him. Unsteadily, Draco dragged himself over to the dark haired man and sat beside him, wrapping his arms around him so he could hold him close.

“It’s done, Harry,” he whispered, feeling Harry shaking so hard it was making his teeth chatter. “It’s done.”

When Harry’s tears came this time, they weren’t from fear or despair or horror. They were warm and cleansing and tasted like release when Draco kissed them from his lips.

* * *





Epilogue:

The Spell Damage ward at St. Mungo’s smelled of stiff cleaning spells and Healing potions. It was a solemn place, with people hanging out in the lobby waiting on news of their friends or loved ones who had been gravely injured by magic. The Healers moved about on soft soled shoes, even their lime green robes a gentle whisper hush, like they had been spelled quiet just for this ward. It was not a happy place and, other than the geriatric ward, Draco knew that they probably saw the most death here. In fact, there had almost been another just the night before.

Pansy lay very still on her bed under the gentle shimmer of monitoring charms that chimed every time her heart beat. It was a little slow but given what they had gone through just to keep it beating in the first place, this felt like a victory.

Everything after Alex had been subdued was a mess of confusion. With the taste of freshly fallen tears and something uniquely Harry on his lips, Draco had drawn back at the sound of Weasley’s commanding bark across the lawn. He was limping slightly as he tried to reassemble the Auror teams he’d brought with him, picking his way carefully around the rubble of rocks and grass and churned up mud. It looked like a war zone, deep craters created with magic and tattered remains of a few trees that had gotten caught up in the fray. Three of the Aurors, they found, had been injured, one severely and had slipped into a magical coma he had yet to wake up from. A fourth was dead. Alex had done a tremendous amount of damage which he would spend the rest of his life answering for, a life without the use of his magic.

It was a fitting end for him but somehow it didn’t feel like it was enough. The dull expression in Harry’s eyes when he watched Ron bind his ex after seeing the injured Aurors to the hospital and carting Alex’s limp body to the Ministry said that he didn’t think it was enough either. It didn’t feel like enough because Pansy and Miguel were still huddled under their Stasis spells upon the broken ground, frozen in their dying.

“I don’t know how to save them,” Draco had whispered when he and Harry knelt at their sides. Their faces, taken out of time and frozen the way they had fallen made him wish he could cry. Pansy, his best friend in Hogwarts, was dying by a spell he had never seen before and didn’t know how to reverse. Beautiful, stubborn, wilful Pansy, with her lightning quick whit and her loyalty for those she loved. Now she lay as still as death, the Dark spell that would kill her in a matter of moments only paused by Draco’s frantic Stasis spell. Harry leaned against him, having never once let go of him since the blond had kissed him in the middle of the lawn, his warmth slowly becoming welcomingly familiar.

“You don’t have to do this alone, Draco,” the dark haired man said, reaching out to run his fingers along the limits of the spells looped around Pansy and her husband in protective bubbles. “Even the best Healers work in teams on difficult cases.” The blond knew at once what Harry was trying to say and he gritted his teeth, resentment trying to flood over him. It wasn’t because Harry didn’t have faith in him. Draco knew that without the proper resources, there was no way he could heal his friend. Maybe Miguel but not Pansy. At least not alone, though he knew that once he stepped foot in a place where people recognized him for his name he would not be allowed to stay. It was that thought more than anything else that hurt most. But he could not let Pansy die.

St. Mungo’s was bustling when they Apparated in, Harry clutching Miguel’s shoulder and Pansy stiff in Draco’s arms. They didn’t want to let the blond come with them at first but for different reasons than he expected. No one gave his sharp features and silvery blond hair a second glance. In fact, he could almost believe that if any of the nurses or Healers that descended upon them on their arrival had even noticed he was a Malfoy and a war criminal, they didn’t care. All they saw was Harry Potter, his scar visible through his wild curls, and two people who needed their care.

“Please, sir,” said a short woman with iron grey hair pulled back severely into a bun and wearing the green robes of a Healer stopped him as Miguel was taken upstairs to Poisons and Potions and Pansy to Spell Damage. “No one but Healers in the Emergency Care unit. I’m sorry.” Tightness closed up the back of his throat and he felt useless and frustrated. He hated not being able to help her, hated watching her being levitated away when he knew he could help her given half a chance and the right environment. Then Harry stepped up behind the blond, face set in his ‘hi, I’m Harry Potter’ expression and one slender hand clasped Draco’s shoulder.

“I assure you he’s a Healer. Just because he doesn’t have his certification doesn’t make him any less knowledgeable. I think he could be of some help.” It was delivered in the nicest way possible but there was a bite behind Harry’s voice that made the grey haired Healer eye him warily. Then she looked over Draco with doubt lingering in her eyes and a flat, unhappy line to her mouth.

“The moment you get in the way, you’re out.” He barely had time to be grateful. It lasted the time it took to follow her to the room where they were working on his childhood friend. Then he was lost in a sea of worry and fear as he stepped inside, heart nearly stopping to see Pansy looking still and frail in the midst of the chaos of the room. Three Healers occupied the room, consulting each other in furious voices and sounding more and more concerned as time went by. Draco understood how they felt. The results of the diagnostic spell were bound to be a nightmare for any Healer. They had minutes to find a way to reverse the spell or Pansy was dead.

And then he knew what needed to be done.

It was a long day and night that followed. Long and nightmarish. Draco managed to convince the other Healers of his plan, explaining to them how he thought they could contain the magic that was rotting her from the inside. It would give them more time to work and hopefully they would be able to remove the spell from her body completely. It was a shot in the dark but better than any other suggestion any of them might have had.

She nearly didn’t make it. The strain the spell put on her kept stopping her heart and congealing the blood in her veins. Because it had been aging her so quickly, her body simply couldn’t handle it so not only were they trying to lift the curse but were also frantically healing the damaged parts of her before they gave out. Slowly though, as the Dark magic was forced out by the system of concentrated Stasis and Containment spells Draco devised, she stabilized and slipped into a natural sleep.

“Where did you learn to do all that?” They were all exhausted by that time but the Healer who stepped in front of him had a hard expression on his face. The blond could feel his own body sagging with the lack of sleep. It was far into the night and he just wanted to curl up next to Harry who was probably still anxiously waiting to hear news and fall asleep. But Draco drew himself up, willing the heaviness that had settled around his shoulders into the background.

“I studied,” he answered flatly, trying to hide his nervousness. It was in that moment that he realized that he wasn’t used to being in close quarters with a lot of wizards. The Healer was big, broad about the shoulders and tall, though not as tall as Draco and it was completely unnerving. The other man looked at him for a long moment, light brown eyes sharp as they studied him before he cracked a slow grin.

“That you did, my boy.” Surprised, Draco just blinked at him and the tension in the room dropped a good ten degrees. “When you get your papers, come back here. I would be glad to put in a good word for you.” The Healer clapped him on the back and slipped from the room, followed by the other two Healers who both just gave him weary nods. As tired as he was, he felt a little lighter, pleasantly relieved. No one had asked his name; they didn’t even seem to care. Maybe, just maybe he didn’t really have to hide away in his Manor after all. It was a frightening and wonderful thought.

When he turned and went to tell Harry that Pansy was going to be okay, it was with a renewed sense of purpose and confidence.

* * *

“Draco…” someone was calling his name, a soft voice that he had not heard in several long years. He looked around himself, standing in a grassy field, the light from the sun bright and warm. The scent of roses filled the air and long, sweeping grass brushed against his knees. The place he stood in looked like the Manor’s back garden but he couldn’t see the house and the sunlight was so thick he couldn’t see through it. “Draco, my love….here…” Slowly, as if he was trying to move through honey, he turned around.

Behind him, amid abundant bunches of fragrant roses, stood his mother.

“Hello, my Dragon.” Her voice was as warm as the sunlight that surrounded them and she smiled her beautiful smile that he had thought he had forgotten. Draco felt his breath catch in his lungs and tears prickled at the corners of his eyes. She looked so real, not at all like the shadows he was used to seeing around the Manor. Like he could reach out and touch her and she wouldn’t fade away.

“Mother,” he breathed, taking a few steps forward. Her smile widened and it was so familiar, he felt the grief he had been harbouring all this time in his heart fade, melting away with the thick light.

“You look well, my son,” she murmured, hair falling in burnished gold curls around her face. She looked like she had when he was young, without the worries and cares of the world fading her out. “I am so sorry for leaving you alone but you have been so brave, so strong…so beautiful.” She reached out her hand now that he was close enough and he could feel her fleeting touch slide against his cheek. He tried to smile, her loving praise sweeping over him but he couldn’t manage it through the tears spilling down his cheeks.

“Mum…” he rasped and was enveloped in her very real embrace. The scent of roses disappeared and the smell he had grown up with, the one he associated with comfort, love, safety…his mother, filled his nose.

“Oh, my lovely Draco. Don’t cry, my love. Your father and I are in a better place now.” She pulled away and cradled his cheeks in her hands. The action made him feel like he was ten again and his breath shuddered on a soft sob. “I’ve come to say goodbye. I didn’t want you to be alone so I thought that by staying with you, it was the only way we could make you a little less lonely. But there’s someone else now,” she smoothed his tears away with a kiss. “Your green eyed boy, right?” Sniffing, he nodded, thinking about Harry with his beautiful green eyes and his crooked smile.

“Are you happy, mum?’ he whispered, breathing in the scent of her so he wouldn’t forget it. She kissed his cheek again then stepped away. Her edges were starting to fade and the sunlight around them dimmed.

“I am. Now it’s your turn to be happy. I love you, my dragon,” and then she was gone, the only thing left of his dream the lingering scent of roses and warm sunlight.

“Draco…”

“Draco…”

Draco started awake to find Harry leaning over him, a worried frown on his face that reflected in his wide green eyes. Momentarily confused, the blond glanced around himself before remembering he was at St. Mungo’s in the private room Pansy had been moved to after surviving Alex’s curse. He took a deep breath, his dream still lingering behind his eyes and he could have sworn he could still smell the roses. Then the dark haired man squeezed Draco’s shoulder and his mother’s goodbye was suddenly bittersweet rather than just bitter.

“Are you alright?” Harry was asking, black curls falling across his face. “You looked so sad as you dreamed.” The other man was leaning over from his seat beside the blond, both chairs pulled up beside Pansy’s bed where she slept on peacefully. Draco didn’t remember falling asleep but the past day and night must have worn him down enough that as soon as he sat down he had passed out. He smiled at Harry shakily and passed a hand over of his face.

“Yes, I’m fine,” he murmured, glancing over at the bed where his childhood friend lay under her monitoring charms. Miguel had been checked out sometime during the night and was sitting in the waiting room when Draco went to tell Harry Pansy was going to be okay. It had been a surprisingly common poison that hit Miguel and he supposed Alex counted on its fast acting nature to do the job. He’d been pale and terrified for his wife and had not once budged from her bedside. Now he slept soundly too, one hand curled around Pansy’s and his head resting on his arm as he leaned on the bed. The silence was only broken by the charms that hummed softly around the bed and someone’s shoes as they walked outside in the hall.

“I didn’t kill him.” Harry’s voice was soft and raw, emerald gaze fixed on Pansy’s still profile. The blond watched him closely, trying to figure out what he was feeling. Then the dark head swivelled towards him and he was caught in that wide, luminescent gaze. “I…think I’m glad I didn’t. I don’t…think I could have lived with that, as angry as I was.” Draco reached over and brushed away an errant curl. It made the other man smile at him and the expression was warm and full and made the blond’s heart skip. He could see the bruises he had left two nights ago and he couldn’t resist the urge to touch two that peeked out from under Harry’s shirt collar. Green eyes darkened and this time Draco’s breath was stolen away.

“He’s gone, Harry,” he said softly, trying to ignore the pleasant swooping of his stomach as he watched a faint blush bloomed over the dark haired man’s cheeks. The plump bottom lip was caught between white, even teeth and he gently used his thumb to free the soft, abused flesh. “Everyone’s going to be okay and Alex won’t ever be able to hurt you again.” When Harry met his eyes again, there was something shining behind his expression, something breathtaking and beautiful. It took Draco a moment to realize what it was.

Freedom. Relief. Affection.

Swallowing the sudden thickness in his throat, Draco ducked his head and fiddled with the blanket that had been laid over his lap sometime while he slept. “Um, so, do you have any idea what you’re going to do now?” The question stung, his heart pounding in sudden anxiety. He supposed he could help Harry find another flat because surely the other man wouldn’t want to go back to the one he’d shared with Alex. He wished he could just ask Harry to stay with him but it was unrealistic. The other man had to get back to his own life sometime and despite the hope that had bloomed in his heart, he didn’t have the courage to be denied.

“When Pansy wakes up, we’ll go back home and maybe Kimbly and Fern will make us chocolate stuffed pancakes.” Harry was grinning when Draco looked up at him in surprise. “I’ve always wanted to try those.” We, he’d said. Home. There was only one place the other man could be talking about and that was the Manor. Draco’s Manor. Not ‘your house’ or ‘the Manor’.

Home.

Joy flooded over him like a storm and the great silver dragon that resided in his chest curled contently around his heart. “Yeah,” he whispered and laughed when Harry leaned forward to press a kiss to his cheek, clasping their hands together in his lap. “Yeah, home.”

Their home.

When Draco met Harry at the robe shop in Diagon Alley, he thought he was the most beautiful boy he had ever seen. Ten years later, nothing had changed. Only now, Harry wasn’t going anywhere.

Draco’s beautiful green-eyed boy was there to stay.


The End.