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Chapter Text

The Before

“ Petrificus Totalus!”

Draco, his wand pointing up to the luggage rack where he was sure he had seen movement, watched as a body appeared in the air, the invisibility cloak that had been wrapped around it pulling free. The body landed with a thud, and Draco looked down into the vivid green eyes of one Harry James Potter.

He should feel gleeful, he thought to himself numbly. Jubilant even, to have caught his schoolboy nemesis spying on him, and have him at his mercy. But he didn’t. It was hard to feel anything anymore when he was so burnt out with terror. Because that’s all they were: schoolboys. It had been easy to rage against Potter in Madam Malkin’s with his mother there to defend - everything seemed easier when it was in defence of his mother. But now? Alone? In a rapidly darkening train compartment? Things were less clear.

He sighed to himself and closed his eyes for a moment.

The urge to stomp on the other’s face was fleeting but strong. A powerful wave that had his calf flexing in anticipation, but his foot didn’t move.

He didn’t want this. He didn’t want any of it.

He opened his eyes and pointed his wand at Potter.

Potter stared up at him defiantly, not a trace of fear to be seen. Draco couldn’t help the twitch of his lips - the ghost of a smirk. If there were anyone alive who could face the Dark Lord and triumph, it was the fierce boy below him. And then the smirk fell.

“ Finite,”

Potter arms, that had been held rigidly to his body, relaxed and landed on the floor with a soft thud. Potter was half sat up in an instant, his body practically coiled and prepared to strike. And so, they looked at one another. Potter, waiting to attack, while Draco only felt increasingly irritated by Potter’s indignant expression.  

He was the one who had been spying! What did he have to be self-righteous about?

It was Draco who broke their stalemate, with a hand held out for the other to take. Potter eyed it suspiciously.

“Get a move on, Potter,” Draco snapped, “Unless you’re planning on riding this train back to London, we need to get off,”

Potter accepted his hand cautiously, and was starting to look faintly embarrassed now, straightening his clothes and pulling his invisibility cloak up off the floor. Draco watched him, cold and detached, eyeing the cloak’s odd ripple. He frowned a little: he’d never seen a cloak quite like that before.

“Dare I ask why perfect Potter has an invisibility cloak?” He drawled, “Or rather: should I ask why you were spying on me?” He added more harshly.

Potter scowled at him, rolling the cloak and stuffing it under his top and out of sight, “Jeez, I wonder why I’d be interested in what the son of a Death Eater talks about when he thinks no one’s listening?” He said, all sarcasm, rolling his eyes.

“You didn’t hear anything I care about,” Draco answered with a lazy shrug and a considering tilt of his head, “And you didn’t answer my question: the cloak,”

“I don’t have to answer questions from you,”

Potter turned to leave, and almost of its own accord, Draco’s hand was snatching at his arm to yank him back. He let go quickly though, surprise and shock loosening his grip when Potter’s fist collided with his face. He wasn’t on the back foot for long though, throwing his own punch.  

The fight only escalated from there, punching and kicking and grappling, until they were on the floor between the seats, with Potter pinned to the floor beneath him.

Draco grinned viciously at him, knowing by the metallic taste in his mouth that his teeth were stained red, but Potter didn’t look much better. His glasses were crooked and broken and blood poured freely from his split eyebrow up into his hair. Potter panted furiously, snarling and trying to throw Draco off of him but without success. Draco had his wrists pinned by his head, one in each hand, his knees on either side of Potter’s waist. His sure grip and weight advantage meant that Potter was going nowhere.

Draco chuckled to himself, feeling almost deranged with the adrenalin pumping through his veins as he leered down at the boy beneath him. And then Potter abruptly stilled. Draco tensed, half expecting another attack, but then he understood.

He could feel something hard pressing up against him where he was half sat on Potter’s groin. He was prepared to rear back and mock the other boy, when he realised that Potter wasn’t the only one with an erection. His own shame and confusion silenced him. His eyes found Potter’s lips, pretty and red, though he knew it was because they were stained with blood rather than it being Potter’s natural colouring.

Then Potter was shoving at his chest, and he found himself falling back against the seats. He expected Potter to reverse their positions. To punch him in the face some more. But he didn’t. Instead, he stormed out of the compartment, slamming the door behind him and making the glass rattle loudly.

Draco lay on the floor for a moment and gave himself the chance to get his breath back, and himself under control.

Fuck. What had that been?

He followed Potter out of the train in a weary trudge, his trunk floating obediently behind him. It was only as he stepped out onto the platform that he realised how quiet it was. They’d been so busy fighting; he hadn’t noticed the train emptying. Stepping out of the station, the sight in front of him had his heart sinking in his chest.  

There was only one carriage left, and Potter was in it.

Potter, who had been watching him, looked away quickly. He said nothing as Draco loaded his trunk onto the back and kept his silence still when Draco hauled himself into the carriage next to him. They didn’t speak the entire journey back to the castle, each pressed as close into their side of the carriage as possible.  

Draco couldn’t help but steal furtive looks of the other though, and though he never caught him, he knew that Potter was looking too.

The Now – July 1998

Draco landed heavily, losing his balance almost immediately with his tiring arms and Harry’s weight in them. His hands clutched Harry tightly to him, cradling his head protectively, but he needn’t have worried. Harry landed on top of him knocking the wind out of him. Harry settled with his head in the crook of Draco’s neck. For a moment, Draco simply laid there, staring into the darkness and feeling Harry’s shallow breaths puffing against his cheek as he came to terms with the reality of their situation.

Weighing nearly nothing, it was easy to roll Harry off of him and onto the floor below them. He was painfully careful about it though, his hand cradling Harry’s head as if he were a newborn babe and settling him carefully on the floor. He paused, his eyes fixed on Harry’s chest, checking its movement, before he turned to investigate their environment.  

He had no idea where they were, but he was quick to spot a small cushion nearby on the floor beside them, it’s faded pattern near indistinguishable in the dark. He grabbed it and positioned it beneath Harry’s head. When he was sure that Harry was alright, his chest rising and falling still and no grimace of pain on his face, he folded Harry’s hands onto his chest, checked the pulse in his neck, and then pushed himself gingerly to his feet.

They were in the centre of a small sitting room. It was musty and gave off an air of abandonment, every wall lined with books and with no obvious way out except for a single door and window. He checked Harry once again, almost compulsively watching for his breathing, before stepping cautiously towards the window. Its wooden frame had been painted white once upon a time, but now only flakes of the paint remained. He peered through its warped, grimy glass.

He found outside, a miserable front garden, though calling it a garden felt generous. It was surrounded by a dark brick wall that would have come up to Draco’s hip, with a rickety wooden fence, grey stone slabs, and not a blade of grass in sight. The view beyond the garden was equally miserable. Rows and rows of identical houses, each more depressing than the next. Industrial and narrow, he couldn’t tell if the bricks were black because they were made that way, or because they were covered in a few decades' worth of soot and smoke.

He leant back from the window and pulled the yellowing net curtains closed. He knew, intellectually, that they were under the protection of the Fidelius charm and so there was no more security that the curtains could offer, but he still felt better for the extra barrier between them and the rest of the world.  

He turned back to the room behind him, looking for a light, and finding only a half-melted candle surrounded by a thin lamp shade dangling from the ceiling. He lit it with a whispered spell. The light it emitted was dim and near useless, though it did reveal that there wasn’t much to see in the dark room in the first place. There was a threadbare sofa pressed up against the only bit of wall not covered in books, and an equally worn armchair beside it in the corner. The dim light also revealed what looked like an explosion of splinters across the floor, and he realised abruptly that they had appeared directly on top of a rickety coffee table that had promptly disintegrated beneath them.

Concerned about splinters, and wanting to place Harry somewhere more comfortable while he explored the rest of the house, he carefully hauled Harry up into his arms. Draco’s lower back protested, and his tired arms burned, but he ignored them. There would be time to rest, but it wasn’t right now. Harry groaned the smallest amount upon being moved, but otherwise continued to breath shallowly in Draco’s arms.

Draco lowered him gently down onto the sofa, catching his arm before it could slip from his chest. He pressed a kiss to his forehead and lingered there, taking a moment just to breathe the same air as him. He sighed at the familiar scent - how was it that he still smelt faintly of broom polish after all this time?

Draco spoke to him, even though he expected no answer, “Stay here, okay darling?” They’d never used pet names before, but Draco couldn’t help himself; he found the word tripping off his tongue almost compulsively “I won’t be far. I’m just going to take a look around; figure out what we’re working with here, okay?” Harry didn’t stir, though his eyes flickered behind his closed lids, “Okay,” he pressed another kiss to the other’s brow, “I love you,” Harry didn’t make a sound.

Draco stepped over the broken table, only to freeze. What was there for him to look around? As far as he could see, this was it. Though, surely not? Old, terraced houses like this surely contained more than one room? He knew he had lived a life of extreme privilege, but he refused to believe that this house had only one tiny sitting room without even a bathroom in sight. He pursed his lips, and held his wand aloft:

“ Revelio!”

With a slow creek, the bookcase directly in front of him swung open to reveal a staircase and two doors: one at its foot to the left, and one behind it to the right. His wand held out in front of him, Draco ventured forwards.

The door to the left, white and paper thin, opened into another staircase that led down into a dark cellar. He wrinkled his nose at the damp smell that floated up towards him and closed the door immediately. He’d explore that last. Instead, he turned his attention to the door behind the staircase and opened it to find that it led deeper into the house as he had expected.

He stepped through it into a small dining room. There was a circular table in the middle, surrounded by four wooden chairs. Tall cabinets stood flush with the walls - there were three, one against each wall, while the fourth held a large window that looked out onto a patio. The cabinets held not only plates and mugs and cutlery, but cauldrons, scales, a mortar and pestle, and vials and vials of potions that glowed out at him in the gloom. They were organised into neat rows and columns. There were perhaps ten different potions, but they were all replicated at least another ten times, so that they practically bulged out of the cabinet. Someone had been hard at work brewing - Snape, he expected. There was a purple, glowing potion that had nearly twenty identical copies. It was one that he was painfully familiar with.

Nutritional potions. The kind that Severus had smuggled to Harry as often as he could without raising suspicions. They’d be key to getting fat and muscle back onto Harry’s bones.  

It was this gentle glow that made Draco stop: why was he wandering around in the dark? Another murmured spell had the candle that hung from the ceiling spluttering into life, revealing the room’s pockmarked, white walls. The white should have made the room feel bigger, he was sure, but all it did was make the room’s shadowy corners appear smaller, and darker.  

He carried on through the room to the door at the back and found a narrow galley kitchen. Having learnt his lesson, he turned the lights on immediately, and discovered walls that might have once been a lemony yellow colour but were now faintly sick looking. There were counters and cabinets, an oven, a sink, a pantry built into the corner, and two doors: one to another room, and one that opened out into the garden. He sighed a breath of relief when he found the cabinets and pantry all fit to burst with food, and all of it held under strong stasis charms.

They wouldn’t starve any time soon, at least.

He continued through the deep house and found some kind of utility room. It was filled with paraphernalia that Draco knew existed in his own home (in what had once been his home), though their operation had been left to the house-elves. An enormous metal tub, a washboard, a dolly, a mangle, and an airer. In the corner, there was a log-burner and two wooden chairs that matched those in the kitchen; no doubt the burner was to help the clothes dry in the winter. Almost pointedly, a book on domestic and household spells had been propped up against the washboard. It’s meaning was clear: Draco would need it.

At the very end of the house was a bathroom. The suite appeared an odd colour in the darkness. A quick lumos revealed what the darkness had tried to hide: the bath, sink, and toilet were all a matching olive green. The shower curtain was new though. Bright white and clean with plastic rings. It must have been changed recently. He paused over the bath before he turned to leave, considering it critically; he would clean it again before he used it, he decided.

He lingered in the kitchen on his way back to the stairs to stare out of the window and into the garden.  

Where the front garden had been bare, the back was positively wild. It was completely overgrown with brambles as tall as he was, and so densely packed that, in the dark at least, he could barely see through them. He thought maybe that he could see a rotten shed just peeking out above the branches, but without the sun to see by he couldn’t be sure. The only part of the garden he would currently be able to access, was the miserable stone patio.

He paused at the bottom of the stairs; his eyes fixed on Harry’s silhouette on the sofa. He stared and he stared, watching for the rise and fall of his chest. He had been just about to turn into the sitting room again, a thrill of adrenalin in his gut, when he finally spotted movement. He let out a stuttering sigh and closed his eyes a moment. Harry was alive. He was alive. He’d still be alive when Draco came back downstairs. He was alive.

It was only this mantra that allowed Draco to push on.

The upstairs landing was tiny. It would have taken two or fewer steps for him to travel from one room to any other. The walls were the same sickly yellow as the kitchen, and the carpet was so thin that he could feel the floorboards through his shoes. There were four doors on the landing. He barely had to turn to open them and inspect the rooms beyond.

He quickly realised that the first housed an ancient boiler, dark grey and rusting at the joints and unnervingly silent. Above it, stored on shelves, were sheets and towels, clean but clearly old, as well as a spare duvet.

The next was a small box room that Draco couldn’t have laid out flat in without bending his knees it was so small. Much like the living room, the walls were covered in books, and the one that wasn’t (though Draco was sure it was only because of the window) had a desk pressed up against it, with a wireless sat in its middle. Every square inch of the room was covered in dust, and Draco closed the door with a sigh.

The other two rooms were, thankfully, significantly cleaner. Both had a double bed in their centre, and tall, ornate looking wardrobes in the corner. Draco opened them with interest and was surprised to find clothes inside - shirts, trousers, jeans, coats, shoes, underwear, everything. They were muggle and suitable for every season and, much like the sheets, they were old, but clean. He paused to peer curiously under the beds. In the smaller room he found nothing, but in the larger he found a chipped, ceramic chamber pot.  

He grimaced a little, but he could understand the necessity of it. He imagined that traipsing all the way downstairs in the depths of winter for a piss would be unpleasant. They would be there long enough to experience at least one winter, he was sure. And then… then there was Harry to consider. He wouldn’t be able to make it to the bathroom at all. The thought made Draco want to cry, but he shoved it down and focussed on other practicalities.

That being winter. He pushed himself to his feet. Heating charms would only go so far, and despite the boiler he had found, there were no radiators on the walls, and so it likely only provided them with hot water for the taps and the shower. Though the heat that emanated from it when it was on would maybeheat the upstairs. Regardless, there must be something in the house somewhere that would keep them warm beyond the coats in the wardrobes and the duvets on the bed.

He headed downstairs and paused once more to stare at Harry, before continuing down into the damp cellar. He entered with more trepidation than when he had ventured upstairs, which he knew was absurd. They were alone, and he wasn’t a child anymore, afraid of the dark. He steeled himself and buried the feeling. If there had ever been a time for him to put aside childish things, it was now.

He was relieved to find that the musty damp smell only existed on the staircase as he passed the exposed insulation in the walls. The space below was no bigger than the sitting room above, though it felt significantly more claustrophobic. Strangely, it was the only room in the house not lit by a single dim candle, and instead two gas lamps burned in the rooms far corners. The space was filled haphazardly with more blankets, cleaning supplies, more old coats, and - thankfully - heaters, three of them, the magical kind. He inspected them with skepticism: they were cast iron with flakes of rust peeling away. He ran his thumb across the small oval cages at their bottom left-hand corner, where the user would cast incendio to turn them on. He hoped they still worked. He wasn’t quite sure what he would do if they didn’t. Still. He had months until that might be a problem.

Satisfied with his inspection of the property, he headed back upstairs to Harry, a plan forming in his head as to what to do next.

The sight of a small figure gently stroking Harry’s hair had him freezing in his tracks though. His wand was out at once.

“ Stop!” He barked, fear making his voice tight; enormous, watery blue eyes turned to peer at him, and he lowered his wand a little. A shuddering breath escaped him. He swallowed, “Hello, Dobby.”

“Hello, Draco Malfoy,” Dobby said mournfully, turning to look back at Harry and stroke his hair, “We is needing to get Harry Potter into a proper bed,”

Dobby offered to levitate Harry up the stairs, but Draco refused. He found it near impossible to trust that anyone else would be able to safely get Harry up the stairs, and the idea of giving up his control over their situation left him feeling territorial and defensive.

He had been carrying Harry, on and off, for nearly an hour now, and his arms burnt and protested with their labour, but he ignored them. Harry didn’t weigh much; Draco could feel the edge of his spine cutting into his forearm. But it wasn’t Harry’s weight that posed the challenge. Rather, it was the narrowness of the staircase itself that had him struggling. Still, he persevered, Dobby hovering at his back, his hands stretched out and prepared to catch both of them should Draco fall.

It would have made more sense for Dobby to levitate Harry, Draco knew, but he was grateful to the elf for allowing him this. To let someone else care for Harry now, after everything, felt like falling at the first hurdle. He couldn’t rely on anyone else in this. If he couldn’t do this for Harry now, what would he do when things really got tough?

He chose the larger room for Harry. Dobby rolled back the duvet with a snap of his fingers, and Draco lowered him carefully onto the mattress. He slid his arms free from behind Harry’s back and legs carefully, as if Harry were a baby that Draco had spent an hour rocking to sleep and was trying to avoid waking. There was no risk of waking Harry though, Draco knew. Not now. Maybe not ever, and again, he tried not to cry.

He slipped the crooked glasses that had been clinging valiantly onto the end of Harry’s nose off. He closed them and set them on the bedside table. Draco stroked Harry’s cheek with the back of his knuckles and pressed a kiss to his brow where there existed a scar that Draco himself had put there once upon a time.

“We is needing to get Harry Potter cleaned, changed, and fed,” Dobby said firmly, a determined look in his eye, “Dobby will teach you to do these things. Then Dobby will teach you how to maintain your new home. Dobby is here to help, but Dobby cannot come often when August comes,” the look in his eye turned suddenly fierce, “You is not to be allowing Harry Potter to live in filth and squalor while Dobby is gone, Draco Malfoy. One day… one day,” his lips trembled a little, but he steeled himself, “One day, Dobby might not be able to come back. You must learn to do these things by yourself,”

Draco heard the words that he didn’t say. In times like these, death waited eagerly in the wings for all of them. He straightened and nodded.

Dobby returned his nod, “Let us begin,”

Dobby was a patient teacher. Together, they stripped Harry of the rags that had been barely clinging to him. They cleansed his body, and brushed his teeth, and trimmed his nails, and shaved the unkempt beard from his face, and tidied his hair. This, Draco spent an unnecessary amount of time on, but he was determined that Harry would be as groomed as he would have been had he been awake. He would not settle for Harry simply ‘not looking a total mess’. He would look as if someone cared for him, because Draco did. Draco loved him, and he would write it on his skin in the only way that he could.

With Harry clean, Dobby taught Draco the spell that would press a nutritional potion past Harry’s lips and down his oesophagus.  

“The headmaster is saying there is a thousand calories in each potion, and all the vitamins and minerals that Harry Potter needs to live. For Harry Potter to be more than skin and bones, you is needing to give him one three times a day. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. When Harry Potter is a healthy weight again, he may need less, but not until then. They will help him build muscle quickly when he is able to move again, and help heal his hurts,”

Finally, they dressed Harry in worn, cotton pyjamas. A t-shirt and thin shorts; appropriate for the July heat when combined with the duvet pulled over his hips.

“You is needing to be careful how you dress Harry Potter. He cannot tell you that he is getting too hot or getting too cold, and he cannot be pulling the duvet up or pushing it off himself. It is hot now yes, but it might become suddenly cooler in the night. You is needing to be aware of these things, yes?”

Draco swallowed, perched on the edge of the bed and stroking a hand down Harry’s arm and running his fingers along the new scars that now lived there; Harry was covered in new scars, “Yes,”

“Good. You is needing to be moving Harry Potter too - frequently. With such little meat on his bones, Harry Potter will be getting sores if he is kept in one position for too long. And you is needing to maintain cleansing spells on the bed - else Harry Potter will sit in his own filth and will die of infection. And the sheets. They is needing to be changed at least every other day - more if Harry Potter sweats in the heat. Dobby will show you how, and how to wash them properly too,”

Draco had no idea what time it was - the summer sun was just beginning to turn the sky orange and blue as he sat down with Dobby in the utility room - but he didn’t care. He’d work until tomorrow’s dawn if that was what it took for him to learn what he needed to know to keep himself and Harry alive and well. Dobby would have to leave eventually, and as he had said, he might never come back.

Dobby was a good teacher. Kind and patient and forgiving of Draco’s mistakes. Though Draco couldn’t understand how Dobby knew the book on household spells so well - he flicked immediately to the desired page each time Draco needed to learn a new spell. House-elves certainly didn’t need such books to carry out their day-to-day duties. Had he learnt it all specifically to teach Draco?

“Later, when Dobby comes again, he will teach you how to cook for yourself,” Dobby said sagely as he levitated the enormous stew he had made for Draco up onto the stove top, “Harry Potter will not survive if Draco Malfoy cannot learn to feed him,”

Draco said nothing. He couldn’t help but think that this lesson might not matter in the end. If Harry didn’t wake up enough in order to eat more than the nutritional potions, then he would likely waste away in the bed upstairs. And then Draco would have no need for the cooking lessons either, for he would surely follow him soon afterwards.  

Still. Draco wouldn’t give up on him. Even if that was Harry’s fate, then he would die clean, and safe, and loved, and never knowing hunger or pain.

When Draco left several hours later, the washboard was hard at work, scrubbing at the clothes that Draco had worn to the house, though he doubted he would have much need for his school robes again. On the stove, the stew that Dobby had made him bubbled away. Enough to feed Draco for a few days, he thought, with the crusty bread on the side as well.

Draco found himself stood outside, staring out into the overgrown wilderness that made up the garden while the sun began to set behind him. A chimney, possibly the largest Draco had ever seen (it was surely industrial in nature even if it now stood abandoned) loomed over them in the middle distance. Draco couldn’t help but to stare at it. He felt as if he were vibrating a few inches above his skin as the events of the last twenty-four hours crashed over him.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath in. He released it in a whoosh that turned into a choked sob on the way out. He allowed himself just five minutes to cry before returning inside and dragging himself upstairs. He nearly tripped twice, barely able to lift his feet high enough to get over the steps.

He didn’t quite remember how he came to be stood over Harry. The sleep deprivation was beginning to get to him, he knew, but he just needed to last a moment longer. He squinted to make himself focus, refreshing the cleansing charms on the bed and using a spell to push a nutritional potion into Harry’s belly. He sat heavily on the edge of the bed, and for a moment, he just looked at Harry.

He was on his back where Draco and Dobby had left him, pillows padded under his left side to tip him to his right, having been lain flat for a few hours beforehand. Draco swallowed dryly and remembered what Dobby had said about Harry developing sores. He forced himself to move, pulling the pillows out from under Harry and carefully repositioning him onto his opposite side, wedging pillows beneath him and in between his knees so that he was facing Draco now.

He looked almost peaceful, his eyes shut and his long, dark eyelashes brushing against his cheeks. The effect was ruined by the unnatural narrowness of his face and the sallowness of his skin and the way his collar bones jutted out painfully. Scars, shallow and deep, long and short, littered the skin that Draco could see. He couldn’t help but reach out a hand to trace his fingers along the deepest ones about his wrists where he had been cuffed for months and months. They were thick, and red, but were soothed under the effects of the salve that Dobby had rubbed into them. Harry twitched under his touch, but otherwise didn’t respond.

He slid his hand under Harry’s shirt to press the back of his hand to his breastbone, feeling for whether or not Harry was too hot or cold. Satisfied that he was neither, Draco withdrew his hand.

He sniffed wetly, tears trailing unchecked down his cheeks. He leant down and pressed a kiss to Harry’s temple, hovering a moment just to listen to him breath.

“I love you,” he whispered to him; he kissed him again, “I love you,” and Draco dragged himself to the other bed and collapsed into it.

He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

Dobby returned just as he said he would, and just as the stew that he had made Draco had run out too.

His lessons seemed almost never ending, but Draco listened and learnt obediently. The work that he had once dismissed as ‘servants’ stuff, Draco now found himself gaining a new appreciation for. The first time he managed to change, wash, and dry the bedsheets without Dobby’s help, the little elf had clapped and beamed up at him, and Draco had grinned back. It wasn’t all plain sailing though. Draco made mistakes and ruined meals and burnt holes in his clothes and stained the sheets.  

Dobby was due to come today - his sixth visit that month. He’d managed to come twice a week so far, but he’d warned Draco that he wouldn’t be able to visit even half as often from August onwards.

Draco was carefully repositioning Harry in his bed while gentle, mindless apologies fell from his lips. Not that Harry ever made a noise when he did this - not of discomfort or pain or anything at all, but still, Draco felt compelled to apologise as he manhandled Harry about the bed. He had been just wedging a pillow between Harry’s knees, when his shorts slipped the slightest amount, and Draco caught sight of something red out of the corner of his eyes.  

He froze, his heart pounding in his chest. He glanced to Harry’s still face, muttered an apology, and carefully pulled his shorts down just below his hips. Just over the sharpest point of Harry’s pelvis, where the bone jutted out and stretched the skin, there was a painful red welt. He blinked down at it, feeling as if ice had been poured into his guts. But… but he’d been turning Harry constantly. As often as Dobby said and more. Not knowing what to do, he took himself downstairs, and waited for Dobby to arrive.

Dobby found him sat at the kitchen table, trying and failing not to cry over a cup of tea.

Dobby blinked at him, alarm on his face, “Draco Malfoy - what’s wrong?”

It took a few tries for Draco to get the words out, shame and frustration catching at his voice, “Harry has a pressure sore I think,” he choked out, “I… I don’t understand. I did everything you said, I swear. I- I’m trying so hard all the time, and I don’t think it’s enough. I’m letting him down still, after everything,”

Dobby nodded slowly, “Dobby understands,” he shuffled forwards to gently pat Draco’s hand, “Dobby will go and look, and then we shall see what we can do,” and he disappeared from the room.

Draco allowed himself a few hiccuping sobs. As devastated as he was about Harry’s red skin, he knew he was crying about more than just that. He was crying about everything that had happened. He felt sometimes like he could cry at the drop of a hat if he would only give himself permission to, but he didn’t often. He didn’t have the time.

Dobby returned with a gentle, kind smile, “Do not despair, Draco Malfoy,” he said gently as he pottered about the kitchen; Draco watched him, wondering what he was doing at he dug through the cupboards in the cabinet that held all the potions, “Harry Potter is extremely skinny still - where his bones are so close to the skin, it will be very difficult to avoid him ever becoming even a little bit sore. You are doing a wonderful job,” a year ago, Draco would have sneered at the idea of being soothed by a house-elf, but now he felt his shoulders drop in relief, “You are taking very good care of Harry Potter,”  

Draco watched through swollen eyes as a mortar and pestle and a variety of potions ingredients, as well as a potions book, floated up onto the table. The book opened to a page of antibacterial healing salves; Draco pulled it closer, “What’s this?”

“The headmaster is saying that this salve is easy to make and good for small abrasions,” Dobby said simply, “He is also saying you is very good at potion brewing,”

Draco blinked, confused, “You’ve spoken to Snape?” He said stupidly.

Dobby shrugged a little, “Not often. The headmaster cannot be seen to be giving one house elf too much attention. It will raise suspicions. He is telling Dobby about this book months and months ago,” Draco was glad that one of them had been prepared at least, “Dobby will wash the sheets whilst you make the salve,” and he disappeared.

Later, when Draco was alone and carefully rubbing the salve into Harry’s sore skin, it was a struggle not to cry again as he watched the redness fade away into nothing. He found a new fear cropping up though. If Dobby stopped coming, Draco might be able to steal food from the muggles, but what would he do about potion’s ingredients? He grimaced a little to himself, and resolved to learn what he could about foraging for himself.

As the month progressed, Harry didn’t wake. Not even once. He did toss and turn in the night though - as much as he could at least, his head flinging this way and that in the throes of his nightmares. He’d whimper and cry and let out little aborted screams too. Draco spent more time sleeping on the floor by Harry’s bed than he did in the spare bedroom. He couldn’t bring himself to leave. How would he be able to reach a soothing hand up to stroke Harry’s arm and his shoulder and whatever else he could reach from the floor, if he didn’t sleep beside him? He’d have slept on the bed with him, but he was terrified of Harry overheating in his sleep.

Anytime he felt the frustration building in his gut - when the urge to scream and rage at the world threatened to bowl him over - Draco would remember Harry in the bed upstairs, and he would hold it in for later. Later being when Dobby had left, and Draco could cast the strongest silencing charm he knew around Harry’s room, so that he could take himself out into the garden and scream and rage until his throat was sore and he felt like he could breathe again.

The last week of the month was unbearably hot. Draco existed mostly in a cotton t-shirt and a pair of boxers, but Harry suffered the most for it. He was sweating constantly, but seemingly finding no relief for it. Draco felt as if all he was doing was rehydrating him and changing the sheets. Some days he changed them twice, and when he couldn’t bear to do it a third time, he carried Harry to his bed instead.

The heat at least had the good grace to dry the clean sheets quickly for him, but that was the only good thing to come of it.

On the last day of July, Harry’s birthday, Dobby came to visit them again. Only this time, he came with more than food and new lessons about how Draco could keep them both alive and comfortable.  

He came with a letter. A short one, (loosely) addressed to Draco, and (loosely) signed by one Minerva McGonagall.

Draco blinked down at it on the kitchen table while Dobby attended to Harry for him.

‘D.M

  Please find below: coordinates, a date, and a time.

I will see you at The Daily Grind.

Rgds.

M.M.’

He read it once, then read it again, and then re-read it a third time. He lifted his chin to stare out of the window, and then read it a final time. Being so short, it was hardly a difficult read.

He looked around as Dobby entered the kitchen, “Are you sure this is from McGonagall?” Draco asked urgently.

Dobby nodded, “Dobby is taking it directly from her hand,” he said confidently.

“And it was definitely her?” Draco pushed, “It wasn’t someone in disguise,”

Dobby frowned lightly at him, “There is more to knowing a person than simply their face,” he said cryptically, but his tone brokered no argument.

Draco bit his lip and turned back to the letter. What to do. What could she possibly want with him? He felt compelled to meet with her though. It must have been important for her to ask to meet when it would place both of them at risk to be out in the open. And he owed her. Oh, how he owed her.

But the idea of leaving Harry alone was intolerable.

Then Dobby spoke as if he had read his mind, “Dobby will come and sit with Harry Potter while you are gone,” he said simply, as if the fact that Draco would go and meet with the professor was obvious.

Draco sighed heavily and rubbed at his face, his hands slick with his own sweat.

“Well,” he said, attempting lightness, “I guess I’ll be seeing you again in a few days then.”

Chapter Text

The Before

Draco was barely able to keep the sneer from his face, listening to Little-Miss-Know-It-All Granger regurgitate what sounded like an entire textbook to Slughorn. Stupid mudblood.

He tried to ignore the way the slur made his gut clench now though. It didn’t have quite the same ring to it anymore. It just made him think of Bellatrix. It made him think of the muggle-born wizard she’d dragged into the manor and gleefully tortured to death in the drawing room, much to her husband’s amusement and her sister’s barely suppressed horror. Though he knew his mother’s horror had mostly been for the damage she’d done to the manor’s hardwood floors, and not for the man who had screamed for hours before he’d died.

Would it be Granger next? The thought made him feel sick.

“And the steam rising in characteristic spirals,” Granger said brightly; he watched her blankly as she enthusiastically described the potion that was simmering at the front of the class, “and it’s supposed to smell differently to each of us according to what attracts us,” Amortentia. The love potion. If he were less distracted, he’d have rolled his eyes, “and I can smell freshly mown grass and new parchment and -,” Granger cut herself off.

Without really thinking, Draco inhaled deeply through his nose. Leather. Broom polish. He inhaled again. The faintest hint of something sweet - treacle? Syrup? And there was something else as well. Something unique and familiar that made him think of… of…

He was jolted out of his thoughts by Nott sniggering next to him and leaning closer to murmur in his ear, “Stupid little mudblood,”

Draco didn’t manage much of a response, only shooting the other a look and turning his attention back to the front and -

Potter was looking at him. He was twisted in his seat and peering over at him with a soft frown. Draco expected him to whip around upon being caught, but he didn’t. His frown only deepened, and he carried on looking.

Draco should have sent him a two fingered salute, or sent a discreet stinging hex his way, but he didn’t. Instead, he looked back.

Afterwards, Draco lingered outside of the classroom. He… he didn’t know what he was doing, but he was almost compelled to wait. And then Potter appeared, a small golden bottle in his hand, and Weasley and Granger at his sides.

“Bit of a mixed day, wouldn’t you say Potter,” he found himself drawling, not really knowing why he was even speaking to the other boy.

Potter whipped around and scowled immediately at the sight of him. Draco didn’t miss the way that he grimaced in pain as his expression pulled at the poorly healed cut in his eyebrow. That was definitely going to scar. He found himself smug, though not for the reason he might have expected. The knowledge that he’d left some kind of mark on Potter had his heart racing. He, of course, had been left with no such scar, nor the faint yellowing bruises he could see beneath Potter’s eyes. He’d had plenty of experience in minor healing charms over the holidays, after all.

“Oh, shove off, Malfoy,” Weasley snapped, grabbing Potter’s upper arm and making to pull him along.  

But Potter shrugged his arm free and took a half step back, “Let’s hear your appraisal of my day then, shall we?” He said sarcastically with a raised eyebrow, “Since you’ve been paying me so much attention,”

Draco crossed his arms and shrugged, as if he hadn’t a care in the world, “Well, you’ve somehow managed to find yet another teacher to suck up to, and you’ve landed yourself with detention already. Though, actually, now that I mention it, both of those things seem to be pretty standard for you,” he clapped his hands together, “My mistake - just another day in Potter land. Though I suppose your face is less pretty than it usually is,” he added with a smirk, eyeing the new scar above Potter’s eye, “So maybe things aren’t quite sunny side up, after all,”

Potter froze, then swallowed heavily; he leant closer and spoke quietly, his tone baiting in a way that Draco wasn’t used to, “You think I’m pretty, Malfoy?” Draco flushed without meaning to, regretting his choice of words immediately but finding it impossible to choke out any kind of rebuttal, “I wouldn’t say that too loudly. Not sure your dad or his mates would like it,” and then Potter was gone, leading his confused friends down the corridor and away from Draco.

Draco watched him go, waiting, though he wasn’t sure what for.  

He knew immediately what it was though, the moment that Potter glanced over his shoulder at him before he started climbing the stairs. Their eyes met, green on grey, and Draco felt as if there were a thread linking them together for the brief moment that they connected. A thread so strong that it could be seen with the naked eye if one would only squint and turn their head to the side.

And then the moment was gone, and Draco was left flustered and confused.

He vowed silently, to himself, to leave Potter alone this year. He didn’t know what was going on between them, but he had more important things to focus on.

Unfortunately, it seemed that Potter didn’t get his unspoken memo, and the other boy cornered him only a few days later.

“You didn’t tell anyone,” the accusation came from behind him as he was leaving Transfiguration, and had him jumping and spinning, his hand on his wand.  

He scowled at Potter, and continued on his way away from the classroom, “Tell anyone what, Potty?” he sneered, “That you’re a massive twat? I don’t need to tell anyone that - they already know,”

Potter followed him though, close on his heels, “No,” he grumbled, “About this,” he stopped Draco with a hand on his arm, turning him back as he pointed to the now healed, but scarred cut at his brow, “I figured you’d run off and blab to Snape the first chance you got,”

Draco glanced around nervously, not particularly keen for them to be seen together like this; he steered them over towards a wall behind a statue in the corner, “You mean like you’d have run off and blabbed to Dumbledore,” he accused, shaking his arm free when they were concealed, “It’s not like you did a good job of healing it; surely people asked questions,”

Potter scowled, “They did,” he admitted reluctantly, “Hardly going to tell anyone about it though when it looks like you kicked my arse,” he barked.

Draco found himself leering closer without really meaning to, as if Potter had an innate magnetism that drew him closer, “That’s because I did kick your arse,” he drawled, looming over the other boy and making the most of his slight height advantage, “Or don’t you remember who finished on top?” Potter flushed bright red, his green eyes flicking down momentarily to Draco’s mouth.

Potter licked his lips and he nodded, and Draco could practically see his Gryffindor recklessness coming out to play, “I do,” he said softly, so that Draco had to lean closer to hear him, “I remember something else about who finished on top too,”

Draco’s breath caught in his chest. His hand twitched down by his side, the urge to lean forwards to touch Potter, even just to graze his knuckles down the back of his arm, was nearly overwhelming. When had they gotten so close? And when had Potter had such pretty fucking eyes? They practically glowed up at him, framed by long thick eyelashes. Draco would be able to see them more clearly without his glasses on. His fingers twitched with the impulse to lift them up off of his nose.

“What are you two doing?” The sudden accusatory words from behind them had them leaping apart. They whipped around to find Professor McGonagall watching them through suspicious eyes, “You should be heading off to your next period: both of you,” she added firmly.

Draco left at once, marching away as fast as he could. His heart pounded in his chest, but he kept on going, knowing that if he paused for even a moment, he’d run straight back to Potter again.

The Now – July 1998

Harry seemed almost lost in the middle of the double bed, surrounded as he was by a sea of cushions, all of them serving the important purpose of keeping him on his left-hand side. His legs were flexed, a pillow placed between them, and his arms were wound around another, but this was more to sooth Draco than anything. Without them, his arms ended up scrunched up close to his chest and face in a way that Draco couldn’t help but think looked uncomfortable.

Harry slept peacefully in a way he never seemed to do during the night, when he would tense and whimper and cry out. Draco found himself almost grateful for his weakened state, for he lacked the strength required to battle his way out of the pillow fort that Draco had surrounded him with. He couldn’t help but worry that Harry would somehow manage to topple out of bed and break something. The idea of trying to heal a broken bone only to make things worse made him feel sick.

Draco was sat perched on the edge of the bed watching him. He’d be leaving him soon - leaving him for the first time in a month, in order to attend his and McGonagall’s clandestine meeting. He could hardly bare to look away from Harry for even a moment. He couldn’t help but feel that if they parted, they’d never see one another again. The feeling was as pervasive as it was irrational but still, he could feel it practically swallowing him whole.

Not that he was even leaving Harry on his own. Dobby would be there soon, though Draco didn’t expect he would hold a vigil quite as intense as this. Not that Harry necessarily needed it, other than for being soothed through nightmares that Draco sometimes only noticed by the pained grimace on his face.

But then it raised the question of, what would Draco do if he ever needed to leave in an emergency? Though, of course, he couldn’t imagine an emergency where the correct response was anything other than sticking by Harry’s side and keeping him safe. But still. Then there wouldn’t be anyone to look after him. What if Harry were to wake up then? On his own, in a strange house with no idea as to how he had gotten there. What if he tried to get downstairs and fell and broke his neck?

Draco clenched his jaw and pressed down the feeling of panic that the thought inspired.  

He reached for Harry, as much to give comfort as to seek it, and rested his hand on the other’s leg. He found that the calf muscle there had nearly entirely wasted away. It was no surprise really. As far as he was aware, Harry hadn’t walked anywhere in nearly a year now. The nutritional potions should help when he was finally on his feet (Draco hoped), but until then, there was no way he’d be able to walk his way to the top of the stairs.

Rather than calming him though, the thought only caused him more distress.

Harry was completely helpless. Harry couldn’t defend himself against attack in anyway whatsoever. What if someone broke in and tried to hurt him while Draco was away? Draco would return to find his body and -!

His heart pounded in his chest, panic building and building as he catastrophised to the nth degree. He was on the verge of talking himself out of leaving at all, when the haze of anxiety he had built for himself was pierced by a familiar voice.

“Good morning, Draco Malfoy,”

Dobby had appeared at the bedroom door without Draco noticing. His large eyes flicked from Draco to Harry, then back again. He offered a quizzical, almost concerned smile, and Draco felt himself coming back down to earth again.

“Is everything alright?”

He was being ridiculous. The house was under the Fidelius charm, and he was the Secret Keeper. No one was getting in, and no one could hurt Harry for so long as he was there.  

Draco returned the smile weakly, “Yes. Just… just thinking…,”

Dobby gave a knowing nod, “Don’t worry. Dobby will be here. Harry Potter will be safe with me,”

Draco believed him, but still he allowed himself an extra thirty seconds at Harry’s side, his hand squeezing Harry’s leg as if that contact alone would tether them together. Finally, he let out a shuddering breath, and stood.

“I don’t know how long I’ll be,” he muttered, shuffling nervously.  

Dobby simply nodded, “Dobby will be here,” and Draco heard the gentle dismissal in his voice.

He lingered in front of the mirror that hung on the kitchen wall, wedged into a corner behind the door. He had half a mind to try and magically alter his appearance, but he couldn’t quite see the need. He barely recognised himself as it was anyway.

It wasn’t just the muggle clothes he wore though (a simple clean t-shirt and a pair of jeans that he’d had to tailor magically to make them fit properly): it was everything else. His hair was longer than he’d ever worn it before - long enough that he had taken to pulling it back into a simple hair tie to avoid it falling into his face. All but the parts closest to his neck, which were still too short to be tied up. He hadn’t cut it in over a year now. Not since… not since.

He looked tired too. Simultaneously older and younger than his eighteen years. Like a child trying on his father’s shoes to march around the house in only for them to make a comical slapping sound as his too small feet got lost in them. He had dark circles under his eyes and the weight he had lost through stress had his face even more narrow and pointed than usual. He couldn’t help but to grimace at himself. He needed to start eating more. He’d be no use to Harry if he became unwell.

Despite the days heat, he didn’t leave without pulling a light jacket over his shoulders. Used to wearing robes, he felt almost naked in the thin t-shirt, but it wasn’t only that. The idea of having the dark mark on show made him feel sick. If it weren’t for the fact that he had dire need of both of his arms, he’d be almost tempted to try and burn it off to avoid the distress it caused him. It was a stark reminder. A reminder of all the mistakes he had made, and the consequences of those mistakes.

He lingered on the back patio, eyeing the overgrown monstrosity that was the garden. In terms of furniture, the only things to be seen was a small, wrought iron circular table with pealing white paint that tipped haphazardly to one side with a broken leg, and the bare bones of a rusting sun bed. If he had to guess, if the cushions that belonged to it still existed, they’d be tucked away in the shed buried at the back of the garden, but there was no way he was trying to tackle that any time soon.

He swallowed nervously. He was stalling, he knew he was. The idea of leaving was terrifying though. What if he never came back? What if he was killed or captured and Harry was left to rot and waste away?

No. He stopped his thoughts sharply. They wouldn’t help him, and McGonagall wouldn’t ask to see him for no good reason. He had to go.

He pulled the letter from his pocket and double checked the coordinates. He took a deep breath, concentrated, his hand squeezing fiercely around the wand in his pocket, and he disapperated.

Draco appeared in a narrow alley way between two tall brick buildings. He froze for a moment, the grip around his wand tightening as he gathered himself.

While the alley was dim, at its end he could see a snapshot of the bright and bustling high street beyond. The sound of car engines built and built, starting as a soft rumbling then becoming a sudden burst of noise as they passed the alley’s entrance, only to fizzle out again as they carried on up the road. Muggles were walking past too, though with the bright light he could only make out enough to see their silhouettes.  

Draco took a steadying breath, and tried to imagine for a moment that he was simply at Kings Cross station about to pass through the barrier to Platform Nine and Three Quarters. There had been nothing frightening about going to school, and so there should be nothing frightening about this.

He stepped forwards and squinted against the sun.

As he had suspected, he found himself on a high street that was elevated a few steps above the road in the middle, though it was not quite as big or busy as he had imagined. If Draco didn’t know better, he would have said that it was magic that was making it possible for the two lines of opposing traffic to pass one another despite the row of parked cars on the side of the road. In fact, it was only the passing of a double decker bus that seemed to phase the traffic coming in the opposite direction, though it wasn’t for long.

The street was full of shops: florists and bakeries and clothes shops and furniture shops and estate agents and more. Directly opposite him was a butchers, and in the window was what looked like the entire left half of a pig suspended on a hook. Above all of them were flats, their windows paradoxically sealed shut despite the heat, though he imagined it was cooler inside of them than it was out.

Not quite knowing where to go, or what ‘The Daily Grind’ was, Draco picked a direction and began to walk. He was attracting attention, he knew he was, but he wasn’t sure if it was because of how nervous he looked, or simply because he was the only person around wearing a jacket. He was sweating beneath it, but he refused to have the dark mark out on show. It would be the fastest way to give himself away, but more than that, he simply didn’t want to see it.

He passed a pharmacy and a speciality wine shop, then a wide, long concrete drive that stretched back behind the shops. He flinched a little at a sudden loud mooing sound; he read the sign in front of the great metal gates, ‘ Thorne Green Cattle Market - Open the First Saturday of Every Month’. What a strange little village. He felt as if he were walking down the sea front of a seaside town, except that there was no sea to be seen, and the buildings around him reminded him more of the houses opposite the one he and Harry were currently living in. Narrow and tall and industrial, but significantly cleaner and obviously well loved.

He stumbled across ‘The Daily Grind’ without really meaning to, and he understood the name at once, feeling slightly foolish for not having gotten it in the first place. It was a coffee shop. It had a green front door in the middle with enormous bay windows on either side. On one side he could see empty wooden seating, and on the other he could see behind the counter where an older, black woman with short dark hair, was currently making coffee.

He swallowed, suddenly nervous again. He glanced back over his shoulder for any suspicious characters, but all he found was the library over the road. In the window, he could see a group of small children sat cross legged in a circle on the floor listening with rapt attention as someone read them a story.

He allowed himself to feel a flash of jealousy (oh, to be a child again) before he pushed into the shop.  

The bell above the door jingled merrily to announce his entrance, and the woman behind the counter looked up. Her expression faltered for the briefest moment at the sight of him, before she was smiling kindly, “Hello there, dear,” she said, a slight accent to her voice that he couldn’t quite place; Jamaican perhaps? “Can I help you?”

“I’m meant to be meeting someone here,” his voice sounded faintly nervous even to his own ears, and he struggled to sound more confident, “An older lady?”

Her dark eyes widened in recognition, “Ah, yes! She said she was waiting for her grandson?” Draco nodded, and hoped he wasn’t about to stumble across some poor old muggle just waiting to have a pleasant lunch with her grandchild, “She’s sat outside on the patio dear - through there,” she pointed past the counter to the door at the narrow far end of the shop, “She said to tell you to order yourself a sandwich and a coffee and that she’d cover the bill,”

Draco ordered himself a ham sandwich (though it seemed like a waste; he wasn’t sure he’d be able to eat at all with the roiling of his stomach) and a pot of tea.

The woman smiled; there was something in her expression that made Draco think she was being deliberately kind. As if she could see that Draco was hanging on by a thread and could benefit from a friendly face. She nodded, “As you like dear. I’ll bring it out to you,”

He nodded, and turned to the door, “Okay - thank you,” he glanced to the badge on the front of her apron, “Mary. Thank you, Mary,”

“You are most welcome, dear,”

With no reason to stall any longer, Draco stepped through the shop and outside again. He expected to find a large patio covered in picnic tables and parasols, but instead, he found a slip of land, its border surrounded by a wrought iron fence that created a path with the bordering properties. This path led back out to the high street in one direction, and deeper into the back of the surrounding properties in the other. And there was no need for umbrellas, as the tall buildings on either side blocked out the sun entirely.  

It was here that Draco found McGonagall, sat on a chair at a small table facing Draco, a brick wall at her back, and a green water pump to her side. She was dressed in all muggle clothing, though she looked less strange for it than Draco felt he did. She wore a long-pleated skirt with sensible shoes and a light blouse, with a wide brimmed hat perched on top of her head. There was an enchantment around her that made it difficult for Draco to look at her though, let alone approach.

It was only as she gave a sweeping wave of her hand that he felt the barriers lift and he was able to step into the small, triangular patio space, and join her at her table. She watched him approach. He pretended not to see the increasingly concerned pinch of her brow. Her eyes flicked past him, and she held up her hand discreetly, indicating for him to stay silent.  

Mary appeared behind him, “Here you are my dears. A pot of tea, and a ham sandwich with crisps - if you need any more milk, just let me know,”

Mary left them alone. Draco waited until he heard the door close again to speak.

“I wasn’t expecting to hear from you,” he blurted out.

McGonagall sighed and smoothed her skirt, “No. I suppose you didn’t,”

“I wasn’t expecting to hear from anyone,” he added, pouring his tea mindlessly and adding a lump of sugar, “I figured that, other than for Dobby, we were on our own,”

She looked suddenly sad, and gave a small shake of her head, “You’re not on your own Mister Malfoy,” he nodded, not quite believing her, and he sipped at his tea, “How is he?”

He froze, then let his cup fall slowly back to his saucer, “He’s… he’s alive,” he muttered, “and he’s slowly regaining weight but… but he’s not woken up since we left,”

“I see,” she said gravely; she watched him for a moment while he nibbled at his sandwich, trying to force at least some of it in, “What… what shall you do if he never wakes?”

The answer was simple for Draco - it was probably the only thing that he found simple right now, “Stay with him. Until the end. Whatever that might be. I… I owe him that, and more, at the very least. So long as he’s not in pain,” he stopped abruptly, swallowing back the emotion in his voice, “I couldn’t stand it if he were in pain,” he finished in a whisper.

“You must remember to care for yourself as well, Mister Malfoy,” she reminded him gently, “I don’t wish to be unkind, but you look dreadful,”

He only shrugged, deliberately straightening, “It’s just stress,” he muttered, “I’m looking after myself as best I can. It’s… hard. Harry needs a lot. That has to come first. I’m just not getting a lot of sleep,” he admitted rubbing at his eyes, “He has nightmares in the night. I can’t… I can’t just leave him. The only time he seems to sleep peacefully is during the day,”

“Then might I suggest that you too take the opportunity to sleep during the day as well,”

“There are things that need doing in the house,” he protested.

“Yes,” she said, dry but gentle, “and I’m sure they can be done overnight if you’re already awake,” he nodded reluctantly; they fell silent again as he finished off a sandwich and sipped at his tea, “Severus said that you were-,” she said abruptly, as if she had had to build herself up to speak. She cleared her throat, “He said that you two were… before I mean… that you were lovers?”

He sighed and nodded heavily but didn’t comment. What more was there to add? McGonagall wasn’t asking him to recount their entire love affair, and even if she was, he didn’t have the time, “What happened after? After we left, I mean,”

“Well, I had to flee,” she said with a sigh and a weary smile, “I spoke to Severus, and it was the obvious route. We couldn’t expose him to You-Know-Who, and there had to be someone to lay the blame of your escape on, so,” she shrugged, “I am, as they say, on the run,”

He grimaced, “I’m sorry - is there anything I can do? Do you need help?”

She waved him away though, “No, no, Mister Malfoy - it is not your help that I am here for, but rather I would like to offer my own,” she leant down to the handbag that was sat at her feet. From it, she pulled out a roll of paper held together with elastic bands, and she pushed it into his hands. It took him a moment to realise what it was: muggle money, “Severus and I are hoping that Dobby will be able to furnish you with whatever you might need in order to meet your needs, but it would be naive to rely upon him. Life is extremely volatile right now and death could come for any of us at any given moment, and one day there might be no one left who knows about you and Mister Potter.

“This money is for then,” she said firmly, “You are a clever boy Mister Malfoy, and I am certain that you would be able to find a way to get what you need by… by stealing or whatever other means you might utilise to survive without drawing attention to yourself. But… but this money is there incase none of those means are available to you. I hope that you won’t need it,”

He accepted it with a nod and pushed down the tightness in his chest at the idea of them being left all alone without a lifeline in sight, “Thank you. I’ll save it for an emergency,”

She pursed her lips, watching as he tucked it away within his jacket pocket. Her gaze lingered over his concealed left forearm; did she know what lurked there, he wondered?

“Severus did not wish for me to tell you this,” she continued gravely, “but I feel that I must: your parents are dead, Draco,”

He swallowed, but otherwise said and felt nothing, “I know,”

“You know? How could you possibly know?” She said sounding faintly bewildered.  

“I knew before we escaped that, whether or not I succeeded or failed, that he would likely kill them in retaliation,” he said, his voice flat and free of emotion.

She looked confused, “And yet still you tried?”

“It was their fault that he was there,” he snapped; he cleared his throat, and added in a mutter, “My fault too. I had to try. I couldn’t leave him there. They made their bed the day they threw our family in with a megalomaniac. I am sorry that they’re dead, but I am not sorry that Harry is free, and I wouldn’t sacrifice that freedom or Harry’s safety in order to bring them back,” he said firmly.

She looked tired and a little lost, “I hadn’t quite believed Severus when he told me that you boys were in love,” she said sounding almost in a daze, “You had spent so many years hating one another. I… I suppose I must believe it now. They do say that love and hate are two sides of the same coin, I suppose,”

They sat in a tense silence for a while longer as they finished their drinks. It was only when Draco had finished the last crisps on his plate, that she stood to leave.

“I will see you again, Mister Malfoy, I am sure. I will send the details along with Dobby,” she hesitated, then rested her hand briefly on his shoulder, “Good luck to you both,”

“And to you,” he muttered in her wake.

Draco lingered on the patio a moment longer, enjoying the fresh air and the brief daydream that he had simply been there for lunch, and he wasn’t currently on the run. And then he heard the door to the coffee shop open. He turned and watched as people began streaming through to fill up the space now that McGonagall had left; she must have been using a charm to deter interlopers.

He stood and made to reflexively straighten his robes before he remembered that he wasn’t wearing any. He settled for tidying the cuffs of his jacket. He left the patio through the alley way that led out onto the high-street, by-passing the shop entirely. He walked mindlessly back towards the place he had apparated too, nearly being run over by a trailer full of bleating sheep on his way in his state of distraction.  

He disapperated the moment he was tucked out of sight, and a split second later he was back in the garden of the small home he and Harry were sharing. He headed straight indoors, shrugging the jacket from his shoulders and glancing at the foaming metal tub and the washboard that were hard at work in the utility room.

He found Dobby perched on the side of Harry’s bed where Draco himself had been sat before he’d left. Dobby’s ears trembled as he turned large blue eyes towards Draco. He smiled a little.

“Dobby has changed the sheets and has been doing the washing while he waits,” he said simply, “I have also restocked the potions cupboard and have been cooking Draco Malfoy dinner for tonight and tomorrow as well,”

Draco’s eyes travelled past Dobby to Harry, who Dobby had turned at some point as he was now facing the other direction so that all Draco could see of him was the length of his back and his dark hair; he wilted a little in relief, “Thank you Dobby,”

When Dobby left them, Draco sat himself on the edge of Harry’s bed. He sat beside him in silence for a moment, simply breathing and allowing the anxiety of the day to wash away. He toed his shoes off, and swung his legs around, up and onto the bed in the slip of space available between the pillows at Harry’s back and the edge of the mattress.

He slipped his fingers between the strands of Harry’s hair and allowed himself to cry.

It was a sob that woke Draco. He was so used to being woken in the middle of the night now, that he had trained himself out of the few moments of disorientation that came with suddenly waking up. He simply went from asleep, to wide awake.

He rolled himself from the spare bed, giving himself just one second to make sure he was steady, before taking the four long strides that it took to get from the spare bedroom to Harry’s. Harry was whimpering and crying in his sleep, his head thrashing from left to right, his hands clenching into fists by his sides, but otherwise he remained still.

“It’s alright,” Draco crooned softly, padding across the room to sit on the edge of the bed and press a hand to his brow, “It’s alright, my love, it’s alright,” he was still trying out pet names. He couldn’t quite decide how he felt about them, but what he did know, was that they made the tight fist that constantly clenched around his heart easier to bear, “You’re safe, you’re safe, I’m here, it’s okay,” he ran his thumb against the scar that split through Harry’s eyebrow.

He glanced up to the candle suspended in the middle of the ceiling and set it alight with a murmured spell. With the room now bathed in a dim, yellow light, he turned back to Harry. His breath caught in his throat at what he saw though.

Harry’s eyes were open.

His expression was twisted into one of terrified agony as he stared up at Draco, his mouth and throat working desperately as if he were trying to speak or scream.

Draco jolted himself back into action.

“Harry? Harry, can you hear me?” Harry said nothing, tears spilling down the sides of his cheeks as he gasped, “Harry? Are you there? Can you hear me?” Open though they were, there was no recognition in Harry’s eyes. In fact, there was no awareness at all, just a look of glazed confusion.  

Draco tried to sooth him, stroking his brow and the back of his neck, and holding his hand, but nothing helped. Harry just sobbed and gasped and whimpered no matter what Draco did. There was something about having to see the pain and terror in Harry’s eyes that made it all that much harder. Draco was glad his eyes were open, but he couldn’t help but wish they would close again.

After an hour of constant moans and cries, Draco could feel himself coming apart at the seams. And so, in a fit of desperation, he tried something new.

He pulled the pillows from the bed, and threw the duvet to the floor, all the while apologising over and over again with every jerk and jostle of Harry’s weak body. He gathered the few pillows that remained and organised them up against the headboard. Crying himself now, tears dripping freely from the end of his chin, he hauled Harry into his arms, resting his back against the pillows and laying Harry across his lap so that Harry was cradled against his belly, Draco’s arms around his shoulders.

“It’s okay, baby,” he said, soothing both Harry and himself, “Darling, it’s alright. I’m here, I’m here,”

Harry peered up at him, his ear pressed flush into the softest part of Draco’s middle, and finally he began to calm.

The perspective was a familiar one, Harry lying with his head in his lap and gazing up at him. It had been happier before though. They’d been on lush grass with a tree digging into Draco’s back rather than a soft pillow. Draco would have taken the tree though any day. And Harry had been smiling; his lips wide and his white teeth peeking out at Draco. His eyes glowing and vibrant. He’d been beautiful. Draco could see echoes of that beauty in him still, but mostly all he saw was pain. Harry’s and his own reflected back at him. Gods how he wished there wasn’t so much pain.

“Malfoy?” Harry’s voice, hoarse and confused took him by surprise. The edge of trepidation in his expression made Draco’s heart hurt.

“It’s Draco - remember? It’s Draco,”

Harry’s eyes, still muddled and hazy, lost their tenseness; he relaxed gradually into Draco’s arms, and he mumbled just before he fell back into a peaceful sleep, “Draco…,”

Harry may have slept peacefully, but Draco did not.

The rest of August felt like the same day on repeat. Draco awoke at the same time each morning, made himself the same meals, sat with Harry, cleaned Harry, cleaned the beds, washed their clothes, cleaned the house, and then, following the advice of McGonagall, allowed himself to nap whenever the opportunity presented itself.

As Harry grew in strength, so did his nightmares. Or perhaps, Draco thought, trying not to feel sick at the idea, his nightmares had always been like this, he just hadn’t had the physical capacity to fight back against them like this before.  

Draco spent many a night with the other curled up in his lap. It seemed to be the only way that Harry could fall back into a peaceful sleep; with his face pressed against Draco’s belly and Draco’s scent filling his nose. He had worked out a way that he could position pillows about the bed to facilitate sleep for the both of them, but it was beginning to cause him some serious back problems. To combat this, he had taken to starting every day by with a series of stretches to work out the kinks in his spine from the night before.

Harry hadn’t spoken since that first night though, and of his eyes all Draco had seen was a fluttering of their whites as his eyelids flickered as he slept.

Draco had finally gotten around to tidying the sitting room. It was a room that often went neglected; there was nothing in there that he needed, and it could be bypassed completely with little difficulty.  

He banished the dust that had settled and went about doing the same with the bits of wood that littered the floor from the table they’d destroyed upon their arrival. He tried repairing it initially, but all he’d managed was a table that had quivered delicately for a moment, before promptly collapsing again and scattering splinters to all corners of the room.

It was only as he was peering beneath the sofa to ensure he’d gotten the last of the wood, that he spotted a book. Frowning and curious, he reached for it gingerly, having already picked three splinters from his hand.

With it in his hands, he sat back on his knees to inspect it.

‘ De Luxe Birmingham Dudley Solihull Walsall Wolverhampton AZ’ was written on the front, and a quick flick revealed that it was a map book. There was a piece of parchment slotted between two of the pages that focussed on a small town called Cokesworth. In the bottom corner, on a street called Spinners End, was a circle and a star. On the roll of parchment was a list of symbols - a key - and descriptions. Next to the star was written, ‘ 98 Spinners End, Cokesworth - You are here’. He compared the parchment and its keys and the map in front of him, and he realised that the key symbols had been drawn on the map in what Draco thought must have been a nearby town. The grocers, the butchers, the bakers, the pharmacy, but that wasn’t all. On the other side of the parchment was a list of potions ingredients, with coordinates written beside them. That solved the issue of foraging then.  

Draco swallowed dryly. Snape had prepared things for them should they be left on their own. So, they wouldn’t need to wander around aimlessly searching for resources. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

He stowed the map and parchment away safely where he had hidden the money that McGonagall had given him: in the top left-hand drawer of the desk in the box room/study. Draco lingered over the wireless before he left. Did it work? He’d try it out another time.

With all of the chores he could think of done, he retired to his usual spot at Harry’s side. There was a slight indent in the duvet from where he had been sat before, and Harry didn’t stir when he joined him and reached for the book he had been reading. It was some old romance novel; the last thing he had been expecting to find in, what he was beginning to realise, was Severus Snape’s home.

He ran his fingers through Harry’s hair, brushing his fringe back and checking his expression and temperature in one. His face was relaxed, and he slept peacefully. Draco wasn’t sure if it was for Harry’s benefit or his own that he repositioned the pillows around Harry so that they could sit flush together. There was something soothing about Harry’s warm cheek resting against his thigh. The comforting reassurance that Harry was alive and well, and that they were still together.

Draco had been absorbed in his book, his free hand resting on Harry’s head, when he felt a familiar prickling on the back of his neck. He was being watched.

His eyes snapped immediately to the door, but there was no one there. Then the window, but the curtains were closed to block out the sun. Finally, his heart hammering in his chest, his gaze dropped to Harry. Green eyes, clear and aware though tired, stared up at him.

Harry blinked slow and lazy, “Draco?” And Draco could hardly breath.

Chapter Text

The Before

Anxiety clawed at Draco’s guts as he stepped out of the Three-Broomsticks, sans one cursed necklace. It was a terrible plan, he knew it was, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. If he was honest with himself, which he was finding more difficult in recent days, he didn’t want it to succeed. He didn’t want to kill Dumbledore. He didn’t want to kill anyone, but he at least had to make a show of trying. If he tried and failed because of his own ‘incompetence’, he was hoping that the Dark Lord would only torture him rather than murder him.

Hope. Hope. So much resting on the mercy of a man infamous for his mercilessness. There wasn’t even a fool’s hope.

He had been about to turn to make his way up the high-street, when his eyes caught themselves on a figure lurking just out of sight. He froze, then recognised the lurker: Potter.

Ahead of him, he saw two paths. The one where he ignored Potter and marched himself elsewhere, as far from the pub as possible, and… and the other one.

He chose the other one.

Potter stepped back into the shadows in between the Three-Broomsticks and its neighbouring shop, and not really knowing what he was doing, Draco followed him.

The space between the shops afforded them both a much needed reprieve from the bitter weather, and Draco was able to drop his scarf from around his mouth without worrying about his nose freezing off.

“What?” He said flatly.

Potter swallowed, “You’ve been watching me,” he said, his voice low. Beyond their small alcove, Draco could hear the wind blowing a gale, but within it everything seemed strangely cozy and soft.

Draco didn’t attempt to deny it. He had been watching him - he’d been watching him a  lot, “It’s a free country,” he said with a sniff, “I can watch you if I want. And the only reason you know I’ve been watching you is because you’ve been watching me back,” he said, accusatory.

He expected Potter to be defensive, but he wasn’t; instead Potter said, “I have,” and Draco couldn’t think of an answer to that, “I have been watching you,” when did Potter get so close? “I’ve been wondering we’re if watching one another for the same reason,”

Draco should say no. He should tell Potter to go fuck himself. He should call him delusional and self-absorbed. But he didn’t. What he did instead, was shuffle closer, and lean his head down, “And why have you been watching me?”

Potter was stretching up to him; he could feel his warm breath puffing against his face, “I keep thinking about the train. Thinking about you on top of me,” Draco felt careful fingers curling into his cloak; ah, Gryffindor courage again, “Thinking about what would have happened if I hadn’t pushed you off of me,” their noses were centimetres apart, “Wondering what it would have been like to kiss you-  mph!”

Potter let out a surprised sound, but otherwise didn’t protest when Draco covered his mouth with his own.

Fuck. He shouldn’t be doing this, Draco thought to himself almost desperately. It didn’t stop him from pushing Potter up against the wall behind him though, or fisting the fabric of his robes in his hands. Gods his mouth was hot and wet and oh… oh this was so  good. And then Potter made the smallest sound, a whimper somewhere high in his throat, and Draco was pressing closer, cradling his face in his hands and turning his head the smallest amount to get a better angle for licking into Potter’s mouth.

It was a steep escalation, but Potter wasn’t complaining. If anything, he was pulling Draco closer, snatching breaths in between kisses but refusing to let go of the front of Draco’s cloak.

“Is there someone hiding behind there- oh! Harry!”

Draco wrenched his face from Potter’s and whipped around, panting, his heart racing with alarm. He found a young woman with mousy hair and a heart shaped face staring at them, her eyes wide and shocked.

“ T-Tonks!” Potter spluttered.

Draco didn’t wait to hear what either of them had to say. He shoved his way past the witch (his cousin, an unhelpful voice supplied, not that he knew her) and burst back into the bitter weather. He wound his scarf tightly around his face and practically ran back towards the castle.

Oh Gods. Oh Gods! What had he been thinking? He tried his best to berate himself, but it was a difficult task when all he could think about was the taste of Potter’s mouth and the shape of his jaw in his hands.

He was so absorbed with wondering if he regretted kissing Potter, or if he only regretted being caught, that it was only the sound of a shrill scream floating on the air that had him looking up from the cobbled path.

He froze. He could see the silhouette of a girl suspended in the air. Like the coward that he was, he used the cover of the storm around him to disappear back towards the village and behind a house, where he promptly vomited.

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do any of it. He couldn’t kill Dumbledore. He couldn’t repair the cabinet.

No matter which way he cut it, he was either going to die, or live as a murderer. Oh Gods.

By the time he was able to remove himself from his hiding place, he was the last student left in the village, and so there was no one there to comment on his eyes and how swollen they were where they peaked out just above his scarf.

He should have known it wouldn’t be that easy.

Potter tracked him down to confront him only two days later.

“Was it you?” Draco skidded to a halt, nearly colliding with Potter who had apparently appeared from nowhere to glare at him. He didn’t look nearly as angry as he should have though for what he was accusing Draco of.

Draco played dumb for the moment, “Was what me, Potter?” He asked tartly.

“Katie Bell,” Draco’s heart froze in his chest, “Was it you?”

He opened his mouth, a lie on the tip of his tongue, but for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, it refused to fall. Instead, he talked around the issue at hand, “You were with me, Potter,” he reminded him coldly.

Something flickered in Potter’s eyes; blazing outrage, “Were you using me as an alibi?” He hissed through his teeth. It was absurd really, that he was more upset by the prospect that Draco might have been using him, than that Draco had sent Katie Bell up to the school with a cursed necklace.

“ You were waiting for  me!” Draco protested, his furious exasperation enough to make Potter falter, “Is that to your satisfaction?” He sneered, “Did you corner me just for that?”

Potter hesitated, and Draco could practically see the moment that Gryffindor bravado won out, “Not just that. I wondered if you wanted to snog again,”

Draco supposed it was no surprise to anyone that Potter’s weakness was his own libido. With Potter pushed up against a wall again, half hidden behind a statue, Draco tried to tell himself that that was why he was kissing the other boy with such unabashed passion. It was to throw him off the scent. It had nothing to do with how Potter tasted or the small noise he made in his throat every time Draco grazed his teeth against his lips.

Nothing at all.

—

The Now – September 1998

Harry was panting, fear and fury vying for dominance on his face as he glared across the room at Draco. He’d propped himself up, though Draco wasn’t sure where he’d found the strength. He was losing it quickly though. Draco could see it in the way that Harry’s elbows trembled.

Things had been… difficult, since Harry had begun waking up.

When he wasn’t sleeping (which he still did a lot of), he spent chunks of his time looking about the room, confused and afraid. Sometimes, when Harry caught sight of Draco, the look would melt away into relief. Other times, it intensified, and Harry would shrink back from him and whimper. Or, like today, he would snarl and rage in an attempt to defend himself. Draco tried not to let it bother him, but there were only so many times he could take Harry flinching from him or slapping him away when he was only trying to help, before he had to take himself off to cry in a different room.

He always came back though, with a kind smile and gentle words and a soothing tone. The fear always left eventually, chipped away bit by bit as Harry realised, in his weak and confused state, that Draco meant him no harm. And then dawn would come again, and they’d start anew. It was exhausting, but Draco would be strong for as long as Harry needed him to be. Things were gradually getting better though. Slowly. Very slowly.

“Harry,” he said soothingly, his arms held out in front of him as he paced carefully closer to Harry on the bed, “It’s me, my love. It’s Draco. It’s just Draco,” Harry frowned at him, squinting to try and make him out better; Draco’s eyes flicked to the glasses on the side of the bed. If he could just get them on Harry’s face, he would calm down more quickly, he knew, “Harry - let me put your glasses on, hmm? Then you can see me,”

Harry’s expression twitched, “Glasses?” He said slowly, “Where… where are my glasses?”

Draco shuffled closer, and Harry tensed, “On the side table, just here,” Draco stooped a little to pick them up carefully, “Let me just…,” he leant closer, and in his effort to shrink back from Draco, Harry’s left arm gave out and he collapsed back with a grunt.

“ Stop!” He barked, when Draco made to come closer; he let out a frustrated wine high in his throat, “ Please stop…,” he whispered, fear leaking into his voice.

Draco never knew what to do in this situation – which route would cause the least harm. He knew that he needed to come closer, because Harry would feel better when he could see, but he knew that coming closer now would only cause Harry more distress.

He swallowed heavily, “It’s just Draco, Harry. I’ve got your glasses here - can I put them on for you? Please? I’m not going to hurt you,” Harry watched him suspiciously, but said nothing more as Draco leant carefully into his space to hook the arms of his glasses behind his ears and then rest them on his nose, “There you go,” Draco said gently, leaning slowly back, “There you go,”

Harry blinked at him, focussing on his face. The effect was gradual, but eventually he lost the tenseness in his expression and recognition made his eyes flash, “Draco?” He muttered.  

Then his right arm gave out, and he would have collapsed back completely if it weren’t for Draco lunging forwards to catch him instinctively. He froze, expecting Harry to lash out at him, but he only relaxed in his arms and pressed his face into Draco’s chest, “Yeah, yeah it’s me Harry,” Draco near whispered.

He heard Harry sigh against him, “I’m sorry,” Harry said, his voice muffled, “I’m sorry - I… it’s so hard to recognise you sometimes,”

Draco shuddered in relief, and hauled Harry closer to him, “I know it is - that’s why you have to let me put your glasses on for you, remember?” Harry hummed and reached out with his weak arms to try to pull Draco closer into him.

Things were always worse in the mornings, when Harry was still half locked in a nightmare. They’d go through the same dance tomorrow and the day after that, Draco was sure, but it was getting easier. Harry recognised him quicker now and calmed more easily.

Now that Draco was no longer just cooking for himself, he had started trying to improve his culinary skills and add some variety to his meals. Harry couldn’t stomach much still, and so they always started with the nutritional potions to avoid Harry becoming even more malnourished than he already was. Harry struggled to lift the potions to his mouth, his weak arms trembling with the effort. And so Draco would help, sat at Harry’s side, Harry’s hands cradled in his own as he steadied them. Harry would watch him suspiciously out of the corner of his eye sometimes - usually early in the morning when he still wasn’t quite sure who Draco was. Other times he watched Draco desperately, as if he were afraid, he might disappear. On these occasions, Draco would stroke a hand down Harry’s face and whispers calming reassurances to him.

“I’m here, I’m here. I’m not going anyway my darling, I love you, I’m here,”

It wasn’t just eating that Harry needed help with. It was everything, and whereas before Harry was a silent and ignorant recipient of his care, now he was awake and with varying levels of awareness. In the far corner of the room was now a self-banishing commode that Dobby had appeared with one day. If Harry was embarrassed by Draco having to carry him to use it, he hadn’t said so. Not that he said much anyway. Draco hoped he wasn’t embarrassed. He was just desperate to help in any way that he could.

Draco was just as desperate to know what was going on inside Harry’s head, and equally terrified of the answer. He should have asked Severus more questions about what Harry’s recovery might look like, but he’d been too busy coming to terms with the fact that there might not be a recovery. Though, he supposed the other man was just as in the dark as he was. As far as they were aware, no one else had had the slither of someone else’s soul separated from their own.

Snape had told him that there was more than Harry’s physical health to consider - that he might have psychological problems following the torture, and that was if he hadn’t suffered irreparable damage to his soul due to Severus’s intervention. The nutritional potions, a special creation of Snape’s, would help with any physical injuries - in particular, any physical damage to his brain - but only time and patience would sooth the invisible, unknowable wounds that tormented Harry now. Regardless, Draco would do his best to keep Harry happy and safe.

Draco was currently perched on the edge of Harry’s bed, brushing his hair back into a hair tie while Harry watched him quietly. If Draco could perform a task in Harry’s view, he tried to, to reacclimatise him to Draco’s presence. He hated the idea of Harry being left abandoned too, staring up at the ceiling waiting for Draco or Dobby to grace him with their company. It was easy to nip out to perform the tasks that couldn’t be done from the bedroom whilst he slept, and he slept often. He became tired quickly, his eyes drooping lazily and then falling shut as he dropped back off to sleep.

They were beginning to droop now, and his head was starting to nod, but he was forcing himself to stay awake to watch Draco. He didn’t watch with fear though, Draco was relieved to find when he glanced over, but rather as if he thought Draco would disappear if he closed his eyes.

The sound of a soft pop in the hallway had Draco freezing, then rushing to finish his hair.

“Harry? Harry can you hear me?” He called softly, closing a hand around Harry’s knee.

Harry looked up at once, but said nothing.

“I’m going out for a little bit, okay? Just for an hour or so,” Harry’s expression turned faintly panicked and his breath came in frightened pants, “Just for an hour,” Draco reiterated, shuffling closer and stroking a hand through his hair, “and then I’ll be right back, okay love? Dobby is going to stay with you, okay?” He heard Dobby pad softly into the room, “I’m going to visit Professor McGonagall - you remember her, right?” Harry nodded shakily, resting his head in Draco’s hand and closing his eyes, “She wants to hear all about how you’ve been doing. I won’t be long, I promise, and then I’ll be back. Okay?”

Harry nodded again, his eyes opening slowly; he licked his lips and said in a whisper, “Come back?”

“Of course,” Draco leant forwards to press a kiss to his forehead, “Of course I’ll come back, darling. I promise - I love you,”  

Pet name after pet name. As if it would undo any of the harm that had been done. Any of the harm that he had done.

He heard Dobby greeting Harry as he headed down the stairs, sweet and kind and gentle. Harry didn’t answer him. Draco wouldn’t be surprised if Harry had simply dropped straight back off to sleep.

He paused in the back garden before he left, eyeing the overgrown mess with distaste. He should really do something about it at some point.  

It was ridiculous really. This wasn’t even his house, but he felt the strangest urge to make it as pleasant as he possibly could. To make it into a home that Harry would feel safe and loved within. Hell, maybe, when he was stronger, he should bring Harry outside with him while the weather was still pleasant. Something to consider another time.

For now, onto business.

He took a deep breath, concentrated with all his might, and disapperated.

He appeared in the same alley of Thorne Green as he had before. The village was as he had left it, except that the street was near deserted, and no one gave him a funny look for wearing a jacket. He didn’t dither. He knew his destination this time and walked with purpose towards The Daily Grind. He glanced at the library before he stepped inside the doors: it was empty this time. No doubt all the children were in school now with it being September.

The same woman as before stood behind the counter, Mary, and she offered him a kind smile more readily this time. He doubted it was because he looked any better, but rather that she had had the time to prepare herself to cover her reaction.

“You here to see your grandmother again dear? She’s out on the patio - can I get you anything?”

“Just a pot of tea please,” he requested politely.

She gave a single nod, “As you like dear, I’ll be out with it soon,”

He nodded, offered her a tight smile, and headed out through the back door. He found McGonagall where they had met before. He expected her to look tired or in some way affected by being on the run for the last two-and-a-bit months, but if anything, she looked invigorated. Her face, that had been held tight with anticipation, fell at the sight of him.

“Sweet Merlin, child,” she snapped as he took the seat opposite her, “Are you eating at all?!”

Draco ran a tired hand over his face, “Yes,” he said wearily, “I’ve been eating. Just… just busy,”

She scoffed just as Marry appeared with his pot of tea, “Excuse me, but might we order some sandwiches as well,” she said primly, “Whichever has the most fillings,” she added, before following it up with, “And two millionaire’s shortbreads as well please,”

“How about some sandwiches to go as well?” Mary suggested lightly at his shoulder. He whipped around to send a baleful glare in her direction, but she only flashed her eyes at him as if daring him to argue.

“That sounds like a wonderful idea,” McGonagall said primly, stirring sugar into her tea, “Thank you,”

“I can’t stay long,” Draco warned her when Mary had returned with their food and left again, “Harry was upset about me leaving - I told him I wouldn’t be long,”

McGonagall froze midway through securing his extra sandwich with a discreet stasis charm, “Potter’s awake?”

He nodded, “Didn’t Dobby tell you?” He asked cautiously.

“No,” she said simply, but she looked relieved, “It was decided that the minimum amount of information about the two of you should be shared,”

“Decided by who?”

“Severus and I - the less we know, the safer you are,” she said firmly; she nodded pointedly at the sandwich in front of him, “Eat,”

Draco bit into the sandwich reluctantly. He wasn’t sure what it was, but it had two layers between three slices of bread and contained what he thought was chicken, bacon, tomatoes, lettuce, and some kind of mayonnaise. It wasn’t unpleasant, but he ate it with difficulty. His appetite left much to be desired he knew but he powered through.

“Well,” he said when McGonagall had stopped glaring daggers at him, clearly satisfied he had eaten enough for her to no longer be worried, “He is. Awake, that is,”

“And how is he?”

Draco considered the half of his sandwich that remained intently, “He…,” he started, clenching his jaw and fighting against the emotions he had been doing such a good job of suppressing, “He…,” but then his expression was crumbling and he was hiding his face in his hands, “He’s not talking much,” emotion made his voice thick and difficult to work around his tongue, “And he… he looks so afraid most of the time. I make it better sometimes, but sometimes I make it worse,” he pressed his mouth to the back of his hand to hold back the sob that was trying to escape, “He… he’s so weak right now. He can’t do anything on his own. D-Dobby turned up with a bloody fucking commode a few weeks ago,” he spat viciously, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes to save himself from having to look at the Professor, “And I know that Harry needs it, and it… it is what it is right now, but I fucking hate it. I hate that he’s stuck in that stupid bed and can’t g-get up without me carrying him. C-can’t even turn himself over in bed without help, c-can’t life a cup to his mouth without help. Gods! He’s just so helpless.

“And I should be glad he’s awake, but it just makes everything that little b-bit harder. Having to try and hold it together when he’s c-crying or pushing me away because he thinks I’m going to hurt him. Then on the same day having to sooth him that I’m coming back when I have to leave the room to make dinner or get him something. I just…,” he let out a shuddering breath, “I’m falling apart. I know that I am, but I can’t, because if I fall apart, then there’s no one to look after him -,” he stopped abruptly, suddenly unable to say more.

He heard McGonagall breath out heavily through her nose, and then felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, “You are doing well, Draco,” she said softly, “You’re doing all that you can,”

He let his hands fall, and peered up at her with a shake of his head, “What if it’s not enough?” he whispered, “ What if it’s not enough?”

She shook her head sadly, “I wish I could lift this burden from your shoulders,” she said mournfully, “For you boys to be going through this when you’re both so young…,” she hesitated, “I… I wish I could tell you that there was someone else who could help you with this, but I don’t think that there is. Severus and I have important roles that cannot be neglected, and Harry’s survival must be kept secret if he is to be kept safe,”

Draco shook his head though, trying his best to wipe his face and gather himself back together, “No. I wouldn’t want anyone to… take over or something anyway. To take him off my hands. Harry isn’t a burden, and Dobby helps plenty,” he regretted his breakdown already; he couldn’t stand the idea of McGonagall thinking he was failing Harry, “You’re right. The more people who know about Harry, the more people there are to be caught and interrogated by the Dark Lord and to give him away. No,” he shook his head, “I wouldn’t risk it. I can look after him,”

She nodded slowly, “I have no doubt,” she said softly.

He made a start on his second sandwich, ignoring how cloying the bread felt in his mouth. He need to be stronger. Harry needed him to be stronger, “Dare I ask what’s going on in the world?” He muttered around his sandwiches, displaying the kind of manners that would have had his mother scowling lightly at him. His mother who was dead and gone now. His mother who he’d never even said goodbye too. He closed his eyes for a moment and then pushed the feeling of despair aside.

McGonagall grimaced a little, “You-Know-Who is still in power, as I’m sure you expected to hear. There is still a resistance of course - the Order of the Phoenix - but it has headed deep underground and works out of safe houses trying to find a way to undo him. Though you and I are still the only ones who know of Severus’s true allegiances, but that is how it has to be. As you said, the less chains in the link, the less opportunities for failure. There are many of us all working to bring him down. I promise: you shall be the first to know when we succeed,” she said fiercely, as if she were trying to smother any fears that he might have that they would fail.  

When. Not ‘if’.

He was not as confident as she was though, “If… if at any point, you think that there might be no chance of success… if you think that failure is inevitable… will you tell me? While Harry regains his strength and gets better, we’re where we need to be right now, but… but if he ever fully recovers,” he swallowed, “If there’s no hope of the Dark Lord being killed, then I want to smuggle him out of the country. To find somewhere to keep him safe where he could live a normal life. If there’s no hope - please promise you’ll tell me?”

She pursed her lips severely, but nodded, “I swear. If there is no hope, I will tell you, and I will help you get him out of the country myself,” she vowed.

They sat in silence while they finished their sandwiches, though Draco pretended not to see when McGonagall tucked half of hers into his takeaway bag. He’d been prepared to stand to leave when she clapped her hands together, suddenly all business.

“Right then Mister Malfoy,” she said primly, “I believe, that if you are to help Potter to regain his strength, that some sort of physical therapy is in order,”

Draco blinked dumbly at her, “Physical therapy,”

“Indeed. To get his arms and legs working,”

“I don’t know the first thing about physical therapy, Professor,” he said with a tired sigh.

“No,” she agreed, “but I’m sure that the muggles do,” she pointed out towards the high street beyond, “There’s a library just over the road. You still remember how to read I hope?” Draco huffed out a tired laugh and nodded, “Good. I’m sure they’ll have some information on the subject in there, if only a book or two. Get him lifting tins of beans if that’s all you have to hand - or… or have him pushing against your hands with his legs and the such like. Little and often, I reckon that’s what you need,” she said confidently; she paused, her expression turning soft, “And I’m not your professor anymore, Draco. Please, call me Minerva,”

She left after pressing her hand briefly to the back of his neck, and promising to be in contact through Dobby. 

Alone again, Draco made to step out through the alley towards the high street, when he was stopped by the woman who had served them rushing after him - Mary, he reminded himself.

“Excuse me dear!” She said, panting a little as she rushed to him before he could step back out onto the street, “I was wondering if you could help me with something?”

Draco pressed his lips together, and fought the urge to check his wrist when he knew he wasn’t wearing a watch. He was running tight on time, and should be getting back to Harry, but stopping and helping this woman was exactly the kind of thing that Harry would do. And so instead of ignoring her and rushing to cross the road, he stopped.

“I will if I can,” he agreed reluctantly.

She beamed at him, and in her hands she held out a brown paper bag, “These are about to go out of date. I can’t stand to see food go to waste. Would you help an old woman out, and take it off my hands?”

He blinked, his eyes flicking between the bag and her kind brown eyes, “I-,”

“You really would be doing me a favour,” she insisted, pushing the bag into his chest so that he had no choice but to accept it; she smiled at him and gave his cheek a brief maternal touch, “There’s a good boy, hmm? Your Granny would be proud of you helping an old woman like this,” and then she was disappearing back into the shop before Draco could say anything else.

He felt mildly guilty, and also a little bit like he might start crying again. They didn’t need the food, they had plenty, but it did make Draco consider how awful he must look for random ladies to be shoving food upon him. He vowed to start taking better care of himself.

He entered the library nervously, holding the door for a tiny, stooped over old lady behind him, and then stopping in the entrance and staring at the rows of books ahead of him. The carpet beneath his feet felt cheap and thin, and looking down he could see that it was made out of connecting squares of material rather than a continuous roll. It was quiet as well - but not like he was used to. He was used to the echoey silence of the cavernous Hogwarts library. This was quiet in a muffled kind of way, as if he had placed foam over his ears that was absorbing any and all reverberations around him.

“Can I help you?”

He jumped a little at the voice. A woman behind the desk watched him closely, horn rimmed glassed perched on the end of her nose and connected by a chain around the back of her neck. She looked faintly suspicious of him, but he couldn’t really blame her. He knew what he looked like. Haphazard and ill. Not like some young man who had come to look for books for school or something.

He swallowed nervously, “Ah, yes please. I’m looking for books on physical therapy. Could you point me in the right direction?”  

He half expected her to shoo him out of the library altogether, but she didn’t. Instead, she stood and led him towards the back corner of the library where a group of tables were surrounded by shelves full of medical books and books on anatomy. There was already someone sat the tables; a dark skinned woman with dark eyes and long thick braids that trailed down to the middle of her back. She flashed him a brief smile, then turned back to her own work.

The librarian lingered a moment, peering suspiciously at both of them over her glasses before she disappeared back to the front. Perhaps it wasn’t him, and she was just generally distrustful of anyone and everyone when it came to the books under her charge.

“Don’t mind Betty,” the dark skinned woman said quietly with a reassuring wink, “If it was up to her, it would be illegal to read library books without a thorough background check first,”

Draco tried to send a smile her way, but he could feel on his face that it came out tight and nervous. Instead, he set his bags of food down, and turned his focus to finding an appropriate book. It didn’t take him long, though he wasn’t quite used to the almost squeaky quality of the book’s pages. Wizarding books certainly weren’t like that.

He sat down at the table with the woman, frowning again at the strange feeling of the wooden chair under his hand. It looked like wood, but it felt as if it had had layers of varnish painted on top. The table was the same. 

Flicking through the book, he found the relevant section almost immediately. He frowned as he read; there was no way he’d be able to remember all of this. He wished he could take the book home with him, but the last thing he needed was to draw attention to himself for stealing books.

“Did you want to borrow some paper?”

Draco flinched at the woman’s sudden question, and found her watching him through interested eyes. He shifted uncomfortably: being this noticed wasn’t a good thing, he thought grimly. Anyone could pick memories of him from this muggle’s mind and she’d have no defences against it. Her and Mary. Still. It was too late for that, and he really did need something to write on.

He nodded, “Please. If you have any to spare,”

Her smile was wide and friendly, and she pushed paper and what Draco recognised as a muggle pen in his direction, “You can keep the pen,” she offered, “I’ve got a million cheap biro’s in my bag, I won’t miss this one,”

“Thanks,” Draco muttered, fumbling for a moment with the strange plastic writing instrument, before beginning to scribble down as much as he could, as quickly as he could.

“Are you studying to be a physiotherapist?” She asked curiously.

Draco glanced up at her distractedly, “No,”  

“Hmm… you got a sports injury?”

Draco could feel himself beginning to become frustrated at her repeated interruptions, “No,” he said again, “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve got a limited amount of time before I need to leave,”

She held up her hands apologetically, “Sorry! I didn’t mean to bother you,”

“Thank you,” he muttered, returning to his barely legible scribbles and his attempts to copy down a rough drawing of some of the pictures to help him remember.

“I only ask because I’m a physio,”

Draco paused, he had been about to be annoyed at being interrupted when he registered what she had said; she might be able to help him, “You are?”

She nodded, “Can I help at all?”

He bit his lip and struggled to find a way to describe their situation without giving away more than he meant to, “I… I have a…,” friend sounded wrong even in his own head, “a person,” and he immediately felt stupid but he ploughed on regardless, “He hasn’t walked in a long time - he’s been bed bound, I guess, but he’s getting better now. I’m trying to learn how to help him,”

She hummed sympathetically, “Stroke victim?” She guessed, but Draco didn’t know what she meant, and she didn’t wait for a response, choosing instead to shuffle around to his side of the table. She leant over him and flipped through the book to where there were drawings of elderly people in bed lifting things above their heads, and trying to lift their legs while a hand held them down, “Better to start slow and steady,” she said kindly, “He’ll get there,”

Draco nodded, “Thanks,”

“I’m Yuri by the way!” She said brightly, holding out her hand for him to shake.

He accepted it reluctantly, “Yuri…?” He said, a question in his voice.

She shrugged, “It’s short for Eurydice,” ah, Euri, not Yuri, “My mum loves Greek mythology,” she explained brightly.

“Right,” he said, nodding, and standing to leave before he ended up drawn into a conversation with the woman. She was perfectly pleasant, but he wasn’t there to make friends. He had more important things to do, “Thank you for your help, Eurydice,” and he left before she could say anything more.

Harry was fast asleep when he returned home and Dobby, saint that he was, had done all of the housework for Draco in his absence, including making him dinner and scrubbing the bathroom for him. While Harry slept on, Draco searched through the house from top to bottom, looking for anything that Harry might be able to start lifting.

He ended up with a row of items, ordered depending on how heavy they felt to him, and he had scribbled down a rudimentary plan for them going forwards. Feeling somewhat optimistic, he placed a barrier spell around the top of the stairs so that, when Harry eventually started being able to walk out and onto the landing, there was no risk of him toppling down the stairs.

Because he would start walking again. Draco would make sure that he would. Draco was prepared to look after him until his dying day, but Harry deserved his autonomy. He deserved to not have to rely on Draco for everything, and he needed to be able to defend himself. He needed to be able to run and hide, and if necessary, run and save himself, leaving Draco behind.

Draco hoped it would never come to that, but he knew he’d sleep more easily if Harry was self-sufficient again.

When he heard Harry stirring, he carried the dinner Dobby had made up the stairs with a nutritional potion tucked into his pocket. Draco waited at the door for Harry to notice him, waiting to see how Harry would greet him. It was always a gamble when Harry had just woken up, even if he was already wearing his glasses.

Harry blinked blearily at him, and immediately brightened at the sight of him, a smile flashing briefly in the corner of his mouth, and Draco let out the breath he had been holding. He stepped across the threshold and offered Harry a warm smile.

“Hello, my love,” he murmured, pausing to drop a kiss on Harry’s brow. Harry made a soft happy noise, but didn’t say anything. He didn’t always, “Let’s get you sorted before we eat, shall we,” Harry hummed, tilting his head up to press his nose into Draco’s throat.

“‘Kay,”

Only after he had taken Harry to the toilet, changed the sheets and used cleansing spells to purify Harry’s skin and his hair, did Draco start helping Harry to lift his potion to his lips. Draco watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed, wary of the other choking and aspirating on the potion. It had never happened, but Dobby had been concerned that Harry might struggle to swallow as he had been out of practice for so long, and so had taught Draco the required spells to draw the potion back out of his airways should it happen.

When Harry shook his head to refuse anymore of the stew that Draco had made, Draco set the bowl to one side, and took a deep breath, “I think we should start trying to make you strong again,” he said firmly.

Harry blinked at him sleepily.

“Just little things,” Draco assured him, “Lifting things and the such like,” he whipped his wand through the air and a tin of beans appeared obediently in his hand, “things like this,” Harry’s eyes followed the tin of beans, “And… and trying to sit up or lifting your legs in bed. Small things. To work up to you being… being better. We have to try and make you well again,” Draco said firmly, “I will never leave you,” he assured him almost desperately, “Never. But… but you need to be okay on your own. You need to be able to survive without me,”

Harry blinked slowly at him and said nothing. Draco’s heart sank in his chest, beginning to believe that Harry wasn’t quite present in that moment, when Harry spoke slowly and dryly, “You want me to start lifting baked beans?”

Draco half grinned at him, “Yes, Harry. Yes, I do. Or tomato soup,” he joked with a shrug, “I’m not fussy really,”

Harry gave a great enormous yawn, splitting his mouth wide open; he settled back against the pillows and muttered, “Fine,”

Draco spoke again before he could fall asleep, desperate to cling on to this lucid version of Harry for as long as he could, “A muggle gave me some food, by the way,” Harry opened an eye with interest as Draco lifted the brown bag he had been given onto the bed, “Do you want some?”

“What is there?” Harry said quietly.

Draco opened the bag and peered inside, “There’s a chocolate muffin, and a brownie, and a cookie,” he pulled the cookie free and broke a part off, “Do you want to share?”

Harry nodded, lifting a trembling hand to accept the piece that Draco had broken off. Draco helped guide it into his mouth, and they sat together for a long while, sharing the cookie between them in a peaceful quiet, until Harry was struggling to keep his eyes open.

Draco hesitated, then leant forwards, pressing a kiss to his forehead and leaving his face there a moment to simply breath him in.

“I love you,” he whispered against him, but Harry was already asleep.

Chapter Text

The Before

They were kissing again - it seemed to be all that Draco did recently. Go to class, try to fix the Vanishing Cabinet, snog Potter. His order of priority was gradually shifting though, and Potter was coming out on top.

They were currently in a secret corridor behind a tapestry that Draco hadn’t even known existed until now. He hadn’t had long to marvel over it though. Potter had been quick to place Draco’s hands low on his hips and press their lips together. He’d moaned in approval when Draco had pinned him against the nearest wall. It seemed to be ingrained in their routine now – a wall to pin Potter against. Draco wasn’t complaining.

His hands were on Potter’s arse, groping unashamedly and encouraged on by Potter’s gasps against him. Draco could feel through their trousers that the other boy was hard - he was too - and it was just too easy to rub their groins together through their trousers. They hadn’t done more than this and kissing, but Draco wasn’t complaining. It was the best kissing he’d ever experienced in his life. Though he wouldn’t say no to more, in fact, some days that seemed to be all he could think about. Thoughts of what Potter looked like under his clothes. Thoughts of what his mouth would feel like on a different part of Draco’s anatomy.

He could hear a voice approaching distantly - a familiar one - but he wasn’t truly paying attention. He was distracted by Potter laughing breathlessly against him and trying to shush him, and the pervasive thoughts of Potter’s hand or mouth on his cock. He didn’t think Potter would need much persuasion, he just needed to figure out how to broach the question.

“Harry? Harry? Are you there? Hermione said she saw you around here - you’ll never guess what! I just walked in on Dean kissing Ginny! Dean! The cheek of it!” Draco reluctantly tore himself from Potter’s mouth, and had been about to snap at Weasley to shut the fuck up, but then Potter was pulling him back by his hair and he was happily silenced by an extra tongue in his mouth, “Kissing my sister! Out in public like that! It’s disrespectful is what it is - where the hell are you?”

They were suddenly bathed in light as Weasley pulled back the tapestry they were behind to stand gaping at them like a fish.

Draco reacted before Potter, “Do you fucking mind, Weasley?!” He barked.

“M-Malfoy?! H-Harry?!” Weasley stuttered.

“Eloquent as ever, Weasel,” he sneered, “Now get lost!” And he threw the tapestry closed again.

He expected Potter to be frightened upon having been caught, or angry at how Draco had spoken to his best friend, but he just threw his head back with a carefree laugh, and kissed Draco again.

It became a routine. Find Potter. Find somewhere to hide. Then kiss until they were panting, and they had one another’s robes fisted in their hands to stop themselves from taking them off. Somehow, snogging Potter was just fine, but touching his cock felt like a step too far.

It would certainly be a step too far to be caught doing it in public, that was for sure. Being caught kissing was less than ideal, but being caught with his hands in Potter’s trousers would have consequences he couldn’t come back from.

Still, he found himself pushing their boundaries every time they were together. It didn’t count if he just rubbed himself against Potter’s thigh until he came in his pants. It didn’t count if he touched Potter through his clothes. It didn’t count so long as it wasn’t skin on skin.

But then, it was coming up to Christmas, and Draco felt something snap inside of him at the idea of not being able to kiss Potter for three whole weeks, and he found himself hunting the other boy down.

Draco could hear music coming from the other side of the door: music and laughter. Was he the only person who thought it odd that a schoolteacher was throwing a Christmas party for his favourite students? It was downright predatory, that’s what it was.

He should have been up in the Room of Requirement with the cabinet, and he knew he’d have to make up the lost time at some point, but he couldn’t make himself stay away. It would be the holidays soon. He needed to see him. Anything could happen between then and the new year.

He froze the second the door opened, stepping further into the shadows he had concealed himself within so as not to be seen as he watched the guests begin to leave. He straightened at a familiar head of black hair. Potter wasn’t alone though - he was with Lovegood and Granger, but what did it matter? They were his friends, not Draco’s. It didn’t matter if they saw them together. They wouldn’t go off and tell his parents after all.

He shuffled forwards into the light and whistled high and soft. He caught Potter’s attention immediately. He whipped around and Draco could practically hear his neck cracking with the action. Green eyes spotted him, and Potter’s Adam’s apple rose and fell as he swallowed. Lovegood and Granger turned as well. Granger frowned at the sight of him, worried and disapproving, but Draco didn’t care.

“Go on ahead without me,” he heard Potter mutter, taking a step back in Draco’s direction, “I’ll be back in a bit,”

“Harry!” Granger hissed, her voice carrying despite her low volume, “This is a bad idea -,”

“I’ll see you later ‘Mione,” Potter said, ignoring her and waving her away. Granger left, but not before biting her lip and staring after Potter as he stepped into the shadows with Draco.

Draco led them back in lazy steps, his eyes fixed on Potter’s until they were well and truly hidden in the shadows of his chosen alcove, “Good party?” He drawled, soft and lazy.

Potter shrugged, “Good enough, I suppose. I spent most of it hiding Hermione from Cormac,”

“Does the man not know the meaning of the word ‘no’?” He said disdainfully, though less in defence of Granger and more as a criticism of the Gryffindor seventh year.

“To be fair to him, she did invite him here with her. I can understand why he wanted to spend time with her - he was a bit much though,”

“Why did she invite him if she can’t stand him?”

Potter’s face grimaced slightly, “She’s trying to make Ron jealous I think – not that she’d admit to that though,” Draco rolled his eyes, “You don’t look well,”

Draco ignored him; he had eyes, he knew exactly how he looked – grey and drawn, “Do they know about us? Granger and Weasley,”

Potter allowed himself to be distracted reluctantly, rolling his eyes, “Obviously. Hard to hide it when Ron caught me with your tongue in my mouth - they won’t tell anyone though,”

“I’m guessing they don’t approve,”

Potter snorted, “Course they don’t. Your reputation as a massive prick is pretty well established. Plus, the fact that I’m still convinced you’re working for Voldemort doesn’t help,”

Draco covered his wince at the man’s name by shifting against the wall and leering closer to the other boy, “If you’re so convinced, why are you here hiding in the dark with me?” He reached out a hand to Potter’s waist, threading through his dress robes so that only a thin cotton shirt stood between them, “Why do you keep finding reasons to hide in the dark with me?”

Under his hand, Potter’s breath hitched the slightest amount, “Hoping I’m wrong,” he whispered, their faces gravitating towards one another, “Hoping I can change your mind,” and suddenly, they were kissing.

Potter panted against him, practically melting into his front as their lips met again and again, until their tongues were brushing and their teeth clacking with their enthusiasm. Potter made a sound in his throat: high and breathy that momentarily broke Draco from the spell that bound them together.

“You think you’ve got a magical cock now too, Potter?” He’d meant to make it mean, and cutting, but Potter was laughing against him, into his mouth in amused huffs and pleased sighs, and Draco was overtaken by madness, “Come with me,” he said urgently against the others lips, his hands fighting to find their way under Potter’s shirt and onto his skin, “To the Room of Requirement,” Potter let out a loud, half cut off moan when their clothed, straining erections brushed together, and Draco had to hush him, “Come with me so we can be alone together - please. I want you,” he’d said ‘I want you’ but it wasn’t what he’d meant.

Potter sighed against him, “Yes, yes, I’ll come with you - I want you too,” and Draco thought that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t the only one using ‘want’ in place of another word.

The Now – October 1998

Draco was able to quickly establish that the hardest part about attempting physiotherapy with Harry, was that he wasn’t always mentally present enough to fully cooperate. He was getting better, Draco tried to remind himself when he felt despair pressing in against him. He was awake and lucid for longer, and when he was, he put in a good effort at allowing Draco to play physiotherapist for him. When he wasn’t though, when his mind went somewhere else, it was like a walking nightmare for both of them. Harry would pant in fear and call Draco ‘Malfoy’ and push him away.

It was happening less and less often now, usually after Harry had just woken up, but that wasn’t enough to sooth Draco.

They didn’t talk about what had happened to bring them to Spinners End, even when Harry was lucid. Draco didn’t know if that was because Harry was avoiding that topic of conversation, or because he didn’t remember. He half hoped that Harry didn’t remember. He hoped that Harry could forget the pain and terror that he’d been in, but he hoped that he’d forgotten for other more selfish reasons. There was a metaphorical ticking time bomb between them, even if Draco was the only one who knew that it was there.

Harry was always very pleased to see Dobby though, which Draco was grateful for. He wasn’t around often anymore, perhaps once a fortnight with a delivery of food for them, but he always served to bring a bright smile to Harry’s face no matter what mood he had been in before. Dobby always ‘brought him back’ from whatever hell he was trapped in that had him snarling at Draco across the bed and hurling whatever was close to hand at Draco’s head.

Harry would cry and apologise afterwards, and Draco would always pull him into a fierce embrace and whisper soothing words into his ear. Draco didn’t enjoy having objects thrown at him, but he couldn’t help but be quietly pleased that Harry had the strength to do so.

They were getting there; Draco would remind himself. Slowly but surely, they were getting there.

He was eating more too, and the benefits were plain to see on his face. The sharp angle of his jaw had begun to soften somewhat, and his cheeks were starting to fill so that he no longer looked gaunt or like he was actively starving. And the eating had contributed to how awake he was, even if he wasn’t always himself.  

Draco was beginning to conclude that his previous assessment that Harry’s dreams had always been terrifyingly strong and violent, he just hadn’t possessed the strength to react to them, was proving correct. Now that he was eating, and exercising, and had begun to find his voice again, he had the strength to lash out and scream himself hoarse until Draco was there by his side to try and sooth him.

It was this that had woken Draco now. A blood curdling scream that jolted Draco into the waking world. This scream was different though - Harry didn’t normally cry quite like this in his sleep. There was something devastated and guttural about. Something familiar…

Draco didn’t have time to dwell on it. He was out of bed in an instant. He stumbled for the briefest moment, and then he was across the hall and at Harry’s side.

Harry’s hands were fisted in the sheets by his sides, the muscles he had been building practically straining to escape from beneath his skin. His head was thrown back, his eyes screwed shut, and his teeth clenched together so tightly that Draco worried he might break them.

Draco sat at Harry’s side, leaning over his chest to run soothing hands up and down his arms and shoulders, “It’s okay,” Draco had to half shout to make himself heard over Harry’s groaning, shouting sobs, “Baby - Harry - it’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe - I’m here. Draco’s here… I’m…,” he trailed off, as he finally realised that Harry wasn’t just sobbing and screaming in his sleep. He was talking, and he was saying Draco’s name.

“Please… PLEASE STOP! DRACO! DON’T! Don’t do this no… please don’t go, please stop - STOP! DRACO!”

And Draco… Draco couldn’t listen.  

He stood silently, and left the room, closing the door behind him for the first time ever. He stood in the middle of the spare room and closed his eyes, willing for the screaming that penetrated the thin walls between the two rooms to stop. But he knew that it wouldn’t. Not any time soon. Not if he didn’t sit with Harry and stroke his hair and sooth him back to sleep. But… but he couldn’t. Now matter how hard he tried to make himself move back to Harry’s room; his feet wouldn’t budge.

He heard Harry sob around his name, and he was moving. But not to Harry’s room.

He grabbed his duvet and his pillows and dragged them down the stairs behind him. He opened the thin door to the cellar, and ignored the damp smell the rushed up at him. He closed the door tightly behind him, but still, he could hear the dull echo of Harry’s cries.

On the cellar floor, he threw down his duvet and pillows, and wrapped them around him as best as he could, covering his head until the sounds above him could be easily mistaken for a simple ringing in his ears.

He didn’t know when he fell asleep. He was barely aware that he had. All he knew, was that one moment his eyes were screwed up tightly against the noise, and then the next he was blinking blearily in the pitch-black cellar, wondering where he was.

In the dark, with nothing to orientate himself, it took him a long time to remember what had happened. And then he did. Harry crying and screaming. Harry begging for him in his sleep. And Draco, like the coward he had proven himself to be time and time again, had run away.

This was his fault. Oh, Gods this was all his fault.

He realised suddenly that he had no idea what time it was - no idea how long he had been down there and how long Harry had been alone. What if he needed help? What if he’d scrambled out of bed and fallen and been unable to get back up?  

Oh fuck.

Draco practically threw himself out of the cellar, racing up the stairs two at a time only to freeze in front of Harry’s still closed bedroom door. He stood, panting, his heart racing, listening for the sound of movement beyond. He licked his lips nervously and glanced to the spare room where his bed stood stripped bare. The sun was just beginning to peak up above the horizon judging by the small amount of light that circumnavigated the curtains.

He turned back to the door and swallowed.

Gods he was such a fucking coward, even now, even after everything that had happened and everything he had vowed. He was letting Harry down again and again.

No more. No more.

Stealing himself, he pushed the door open carefully, and he was so overwhelmed with relief at the sight of Harry sleeping peacefully on his side, that he collapsed to his knees with a thud. He smothered the sound of his tears with the palm of his hand and clawed at his thigh with his other.

He was lucky - so so fucking lucky that Harry hadn’t hurt himself. Harry could stand now, but he could barely walk without assistance. He could have so easily stood in his terror, then stumbled, fallen and broken an arm or cracked his head open on the floor.

It could have all gone so horribly wrong so quickly, and it would have been all Draco’s fault. Again. It would have been all his fault again.

“Draco?” The sleepy murmur of his name had Draco swallowing back his tears as best as he could, “Draco? What’s wrong?”

Draco screwed his eyes shut and fought to make his voice come out level, “Nothing, my love, nothing is wrong,” he snatched a breath. Pet names again. He’d never needed them before, but now he clung to them like a lifeline, “I’m sorry for waking you,”

At a rustling sound, he opened his eyes and found Harry reaching blindly for him across the bed, “Come to bed? I’m sleepy still,”

Draco obeyed mindlessly, tucking himself behind Harry to play the big spoon to Harry’s little. Harry fell back to sleep almost immediately, while Draco continued to cry silently behind him.

When Harry awoke again several hours later, Draco had stopped crying, but he could feel by the way that he struggled to open his eyes wide that they were swollen.

Harry hummed low in his throat, then glanced back over his shoulder. Draco half expected him to lash out in fear - he was never at his best in the early mornings - but he didn’t. His green eyes focussed on Draco, and the trepidation on his face melted away, “Draco?”

Draco let out a shuddering breath, “Yeah?”

Harry gave a small grunt as he tried to turn himself over, pushing himself up with a grimace but refusing Draco’s help when he reached out a hand. Finally, he settled in the bed on his opposite side, facing Draco. He blinked blearily at him, then his eyes widened, and he reached for Draco’s face.

“Your eyes,” he muttered, “What’s wrong?”

As his fingers trailed down Draco’s cheeks, Draco turned his head to press kisses to their tips, “Nothing is wrong,” he assured him, “Everything is fine,”

Harry gave a suspicious hum, but burrowed closer against his chest, “I had a horrible dream,” Draco’s breath caught in his throat, “I dreamt you were running away from me, and you wouldn’t stop. You were leaving me behind,”

If Draco had any tears left in him, they’d have been spilling down his cheeks again, but he didn’t. He buried his nose in Harry’s hair and inhaled deeply, “I’d never leave you behind, darling,”

Harry was quiet for a moment, then said, “You never called me darling before,”  

Draco couldn’t think of a way to explain why he was so desperate to let Harry know that he was loved with his every breath, when he hadn’t needed to before… before everything. And so he stayed silent, and Harry didn’t press him.

After that, they started sharing the bed every night, and Draco found himself regretting that they hadn’t started sooner. Sleeping in Draco’s arms and waking up to his face every morning did wonders for Harry’s nightmares, and his sense of self too. He still trembled and whimpered in Draco’s arms sometimes, but he rarely working up to anything more than an alarmed shout now. His episodes of not knowing who he, or Draco were had diminished as well. He very rarely called Draco ‘Malfoy’ anymore, or coward away from him or lashed out, but Draco knew that he still didn’t remember all that had happened.

If he did, well… if he did, he’d never have allowed Draco to sleep in the same bed as him.

Towards the middle of October, the weather began to turn a little colder, but it was still mild enough that Draco had yet to test the heaters in the cellar.

He was currently stood in the kitchen, his arms crossed over his chest, a cup of tea in hand as he peered out into the the stupid bramble filled garden. If he was actually going to clear it out, he had better do it now, or else he’d have to leave it till just after winter unless he was willing to freeze his balls off in the attempt (which he was not). He chewed at his lip, an idea occurring to him when his eyes found the rusty sun bed.  

He lingered on it for just a moment, and then he was setting his tea aside, and racing up the stairs.

Harry was in bed, curled up in the middle and swamped by the duvet. Though his nightmares and mental state may have come on in leaps and bounds since Draco had started sharing his bed in the night, Draco’s presence hadn’t had quite the same revolutionary effect on his strength and energy levels. Harry could stand now and walk to the landing and back with Draco beneath his arm, but anything more and he began to struggle.

Draco leant over the mound that he made in the middle of the bed and carded his fingers through his hair, “Harry? Hey? You awake, baby?”

Harry hummed, his eyes still shut and his mouth gaining a small smile, “Like it when you call me baby,” he muttered sleepily.

“I’m going to go and rip out all the brambles in the garden,” Harry gave another hum to show that he had heard, “If I get you all bundled up so that you don’t get too cold, did you want to come outside with me?” Harry was immediately interested, lifting his head from the mattress and nodding, “Okay… okay just give me five minutes, alright?”

A few minutes later found Draco stood out in the garden glaring down the the sun bed as if it had offended him. He couldn’t have Harry lying on that. He turned to the living room, wrinkling his nose at the dust that had settled there since the last time he’d been in the room, and banishing it with a flick of his wand. He didn’t waste any more time though, grabbing the loose cushions from the sofa and hauling them outside where he lay them on top of the sun bed. Now he just had to hope that the rusting bed didn’t give out on him.

Next, he moved on to finding something to bundle Harry up in. While Draco hadn’t found it too cold, he was well aware that Harry still didn’t have the muscle tone nor the body fat that he did, though he was getting there slowly. He found the biggest coat in the house, as well as a thick long scarf, and a pair of boots from the wardrobe that looked to be Harry’s size. His immediate thought had been to take it all upstairs and swaddle Harry like a baby up there, but then the idea of navigating the stairs with Harry while he wore an enormous coat stopped him, and so he left it all in the kitchen instead.

He had to stop himself in his tracks again when it came to getting Harry down the stairs. What he wanted to do, in his heart of hearts, was cradle Harry in his arms and carry him down. But he was meant to be trying to help Harry to regain his strength - to become independent again - and carrying him everywhere wouldn’t help him towards that goal.

He ended up stood at the top of the stairs with Harry’s arm around his shoulders.

“And how are we tackling this then?” Harry said mildly.

“Uh…,” he hadn’t quite thought that far ahead.

Harry sighed with an amused smile, “Guess it's the good old bum shuffle,” Draco frowned in confusion, “Help me down will you,” Draco followed his lead, lowering Harry slowly down until he was sat at the top of stairs; Harry winced.

“Are you alright?” Draco asked anxiously; perhaps he should have just carried him.

Harry waved him away though, “Just… got a boney arse now,” he muttered, “No padding so it hurts,”

“Guess I’ll have to get some more of those cakes into you,” Draco joked lightly, following behind closely as Harry began to shuffle his way down the stairs, one step at a time, “The ones that that muggle woman, Mary, gave me,”

Harry glanced up at him and scowled a little, “Don’t. Don’t like you leaving,” Harry muttered, turning back to watch where he was going, “I worry you won’t come back, like before,” he said it idly - mindlessly even - and clearly hadn’t registered what he’d said.

Behind him, Draco froze and swallowed dryly. Did… did Harry remember?

Harry looked up when he realised, he was no longer being followed, “You oaky?”

Draco cleared his throat and moved down the stairs to catch up with Harry, “Yeah, I’m alright. And don’t worry about me - I’ll always come back to you,” no… no Harry didn’t remember. It was as if he was functioning on autopilot sometimes, guided by how he felt about Draco and what he could remember in between the gaps, and using that to inform his behaviour. It made Draco wonder if Harry knew he had forgotten something, or if he didn’t realise that anything was missing as all.

At the bottom of the stairs, Harry needed help to stand, and help again to get through to the kitchen where he allowed Draco to wrap him up warm while he stared about with interest. Draco forgot sometimes that Harry had never actually left the bedroom while awake. Harry rolled his eyes at him when Draco finished off by shoving a hat down onto his head.

“It’s not that cold,” he protested as Draco helped him over to the sun bed, “Do I really need all of this?”

“You said it yourself,” Draco said as he lowered him down and lifted his legs up, “You’re skin and bones. I don’t want you getting sick. We can’t exactly go to St Mungo’s, can we?”

Harry was silent for a moment, and then he asked, his voice small, “Why… why couldn’t we go to St Mungo’s?”

Draco froze, his eyes snapping to Harry’s open and faintly frightened face, “Do you… do you not…? What do you remember Harry?”

Harry answered him reluctantly, “I’m not sure… there are holes. Lots of holes. I don’t mind the holes though - at least I know something’s missing. It’s the rest that bothers me. The things I don’t know I’m missing,”

Draco let out a shuddering breath, and nodded, “Okay… okay… that’s okay. Just one more thing for us to try and fix, yeah?” He tried to be reassuring, “Just another muscle to bring back up to strength,”

Harry nodded nervously, and rested back against the sun bed, “Yeah. Yeah, okay… why can’t we go to St Mungo’s?”

Draco perched gingerly at Harry’s side, reaching out to rub Harry’s hands between his own, regretting not getting him gloves, “Because we’re on the run, Harry,” he reminded him gently, “Because the Dark Lord took over the Ministry, and we have to keep you safe from him. Do you remember?”

Harry blinked at him, his eyes flicking between Draco’s as if he was trying to find his own memories within them; he nodded, “I… I think so,”

Draco tried to smile at him, “Are you comfortable?”  

Harry rolled his eyes, and tried for levity, “Oh yeah, very. I feel like a swaddled baby,”

Draco pulled his hat down lower over his ears until Harry’s glasses were smushed down on his nose and he was scowling up at Draco, “Good - I’m going to get started now, okay?” Harry waved him away with a lazy waft of his hand.

It took Draco nearly the entire day to clear the garden, hacking and vanishing and burning back bit by bit the overgrown brambles to reveal the mud below. It must have been a lawn once upon a time, or perhaps a vegetable patch, but no grass nor vegetable remained now.

He took several breaks throughout the day, though all of them were for Harry and not really for himself. He brought out lunch for him and a nutritional potion too, helped him to the toilet, kept him well supplied with cups of tea and glasses water. He even paused for an impromptu physical therapy session that had Harry groaning in displeasure.

“I thought I was watching you do all the work today,” he muttered petulantly as Draco had him repeatedly standing and then sitting on the kitchen chair that he had pulled outside.  

Draco playfully rolled his eyes and said, “Stop being such a baby. Come on - or you’ll never beat me in a wrestling match,”

At this, Harry froze. Then, very slowly, he said, “Last time… last time, you came out on top, right?” Draco gulped, “On the train. We fought - didn’t we?” He touched his eyebrow slowly and the scar that cut through it, “You gave me this. Right?”

Draco nodded, and said hoarsely, “Yeah. I did. Do you remember anything else?”

Harry looked at him silently for a long while, then said, “I remember that I love you,” as if it solved everything, “And that you love me,”

Life would be so much easier if it did.

“I do,” Draco confirmed, “I do love you,”

Draco returned to work reluctantly. The bulk of it was done, but the closer he got to the shed at the back, the thicker and more ferocious the branches became until Draco was half convinced, he was tackling a tree that had simply grown horizontally, rather than a bush.  

Draco had been trying to save himself some work by holding the branches back and out of the way with magic, so that he could hack at the roots, when his spell had slipped. He flinched, preparing himself for a face full of twigs (and probably thorns knowing his luck), except the branch didn’t budge.

He looked round, stunned, to find that Harry had half heaved himself up and off of the sun bed, and had his hand outstretched in Draco’s direction. It was clear to Draco instantly that Harry had stopped the bush with magic, though how he had managed it without a wand and without saying anything either, he wasn’t quite sure. But then Harry’s hand trembled a little, and his power failed. The bush slapping Draco straight in the face was painful, but his heart sang at the sound of Harry’s breathy laughter.

Perhaps he should see if McGonagall could get Harry a wand? It was no good them sharing one, especially as Draco took his everywhere with him. If he were killed outside of the house, then Harry would be left without one.

When he was done, he paused, considering Harry where he lay all wrapped up, his eyes beginning to turn tired and bleary.

Harry frowned up at him, “What?” He asked slowly.

Draco glanced towards the house behind him and back again, “Did you fancy a bath?” Harry’s eyes flashed with interest, and he nodded even as his mouth split open into a wide yawn, “Okay, give me a minute,”

Draco didn’t try to make Harry walk his way back into the house; he saw the way his legs trembled upon standing, and so he simply lifted the other up into his arms.

Harry let his head drop back and pretended to swoon, “Oh, my hero!” And then proceeded to laugh to himself at Draco’s somewhat put out expression. Personally, Draco thought it was very romantic to be able to scoop one’s lover into their arms. He just wished he hadn’t had quite so much practice with it recently.

Draco sat on the floor next to the tub while Harry enjoyed the heat and the steam with his eyes closed. He had Harry’s hand in his so that he could rub a salve gently into the scars about his wrists. Supposedly, the salve would reduce their appearance, but he’d seen little evidence of any difference so far. Though he guessed it was only magic and not an actual miracle.  He couldn’t see how anything could undo the damage that had been done.

“This bathroom is hideous,” Harry said quietly, and Draco hummed his agreement, “Draco?”

“Yes?”

“Where are we?”

Draco froze, “I… somewhere in the West Midlands. Between Dudley and Wolverhampton,”

Harry was quiet for a moment, “But… but where are we?”

And Draco understood, “I think this is Snape’s house,” it was Harry’s turn to freeze, “Do you… do you remember what happened with Snape?”

It took Draco a moment to realise that tears were leaking out of the corner of Harry’s eyes as he blinked up at the ceiling, “Some bits. But… but not always. It comes and goes. I dream about it, I think. I remember… remember the dungeons…,” Harry was starting to pant in fear now, his eyes staring up wide and frightened at the ceiling.

Draco leapt into soothing him, sitting up over the bath to run his fingers through his wet hair, “Hey, hey - it’s okay… it’s okay. We’re not there anymore, baby,” pet names; they felt like a crutch propping him up, “Snape helped me to get you out of there - Snape and McGonagall. He set this house up under the Fidelius charm. I’m the Secret Keeper, and only he, Dobby, and McGonagall know where we are. We’re safe, okay?”

Harry nodded, biting his lip, and he mumbled, “Safe,” up to the ceiling above, his eyes falling shut as the exertion from the day finally caught up to him, “How did I end up in the dungeons?”

Draco’s heart stopped in his chest, but Harry had fallen asleep in the water before he had to answer. Draco watched him sleep, his previously still heart now racing.  

He couldn’t ignore Harry’s missing memories, but he didn’t know where to start. Confronting Harry with a chronological list of everything he could possibly have forgotten sounded like a recipe for disaster. It sounded traumatising and distressing. Perhaps it would be better to simply address them as they became relevant. As they organically returned to him. Perhaps they would benefit from a gentle teasing rather than a forceful dragging.

But what would he do when Harry remembered how he had ended up in the dungeons at Hogwarts?

Harry woke up when the water began to turn chilly. Draco ended up using magic to dry him before he wrapped him up in the too thin towels and lifted him to his chest and carried him back up the stairs to bed.

Gradually, more of Harry’s memories started to come back, slowly but surely. Draco confirmed them where he could, and just listened when he couldn’t. They didn’t come back chronologically though. Harry remembered that they had had a confrontation in Madam Malkin’s between fifth and sixth year, before he remembered what had happened in the Department of Mysteries.

Draco had been carefully trimming Harry’s hair, when Harry had stopped him with a hand on his wrist. He’d met Harry’s eyes and balked to find they were full of tears.

“Harry? What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

Harry had swallowed thickly and said, his voice hoarse, “Is… is Sirius really dead?” And Draco had understood,

Having to gently confirm to Harry that his Godfather was really gone, had been heart breaking. He’d had to watch as fresh grief had washed over the other’s face. They’d spent that day in bed together.

On the last day of October, McGonagall had requested another meeting with him, and so he was doing his jacket up in the bedroom, preparing to leave a livelier than usual Harry with Dobby. Harry was wearing a jacket on top of his clothes in the bed, even with the duvet keeping him warm. Draco would have to fish out the heaters soon. He just hoped they worked as they were meant to.

“Right,” Draco said reluctantly, “I’m going now - okay?”  

Harry’s expression turned briefly frightened, but he swallowed heavily and nodded, glancing to Dobby who was sat at his side on the bed, “Yeah, yeah oaky. Say hello to McGonagall for me?” Draco agreed easily and left only after pressing their lips together in a quick kiss.

He found McGonagall where he had expected to on the patio of The Daily Grind, having given Mary a wave of greeting but politely refusing her offer of a hot drink on the house. She was a kind woman, and she left Draco feeling guilty for every awful thought he had ever had about muggles.

McGonagall looked more familiar than ever beneath a thick tartan coat; it was almost like being back at Hogwarts.

“Are we always going to sit outside?” Draco grumbled, stamping feeling back into his frosty toes as he took his usual seat opposite her, “Come rain or shine?”

“You’ll cope, I’m sure,” she said dryly, “It’s unlikely to get anywhere near as cold as it does at Hogwarts this far south,”

Draco rolled his eyes, but ignored her comment, choosing instead to say, “Harry says ‘hello’ by the way,”

She was immediately interested, “How’s he getting on?”

“Better,” Draco said simply, remembering how he had broken down in front of McGonagall the last time they had seen one another, “He’s getting stronger again - with help he can get out of bed and walk around rather than being carried, but he gets tired easily. I think Snape’s potions helped a lot - Harry just eats what I eat now though. We’re going to start trying to tackle the stairs next week. Very carefully,” he added, “but I wanted him to be able to take care of himself if something should happen to me,” he sighed and slumped a little with a bitter twist to his mouth, “At the moment, I worry that he would die on his own,”

McGonagall gave him a relieved, pleased smile, “It sounds like you’re doing a wonderful job, Draco,”

“Did Snape tell you?” He asked, suddenly harsh without meaning to be.

She was painfully tolerant of his outburst though, “Did he tell me what?” She responded calmly.

Draco’s lips trembled the slightest amount, “That it’s my fault,” he whispered, “That it’s all my fault. Him being in the dungeons at Hogwarts. Being tortured and tormented. It’s my fault that his memory is all-,” he choked a little, “-all fucked up. That he cries in his sleep. It’s all my fault,”

She looked at him closely, considering her answer carefully, “He did,” she said gently, reaching across the table to take his hand in hers, “But Draco… you were just a boy. You’re still just a boy. You were placed in an impossible situation. People older and wiser and stronger than you, have bowed to the will of You-Know-Who. I don’t blame you for that Draco. But remember: people older and wiser and stronger than you bow to the will of You-Know-Who still, but you’re not bowing now,” she said fiercely, squeezing his hand, “You are standing up tall and you are being courageous. Never forget it,”

He chuckled, weak and wet, “Not sure I’m built for bravery - I am a Slytherin, after all,”

She just smiled, “Oh Draco - one can be both cunning and brave. The two are not mutually exclusive. Just look to Severus if you’re in doubt,”

When she stood to leave later, he caught her hand, “I nearly forgot - is there any way you could get hold of a wand? Any wand. Something that might work for Harry,”

She pursed her lips in contemplation, “I shall try my best, Mister Malfoy, but the sale of wands is now restricted,”

He nodded, and released her, “That’s all I ask. Thank you, Professor,”

She smiled at him, and patted his shoulder, “It’s ‘Minerva’, remember?”

He returned home (but not after having more pastries that were ‘ sure to go bad just about now, do an old lady a favour,’ shoved into his arms) and found Dobby and Harry in the bedroom frowning over the wireless that had been in the study.

“What are you doing?” He asked curiously, going to shrug off his coat but then thinking better of it with the cold air: he’d need to bring up the heaters before the end of the week. The boiler on the landing kicked out a decent amount of heat when it burst into life to heat up the water for Draco’s shower or the hot tap, but it wasn’t quite enough to cast off the chill.

“Trying to fix the wireless, Draco Malfoy,” Dobby said with a light scowl, “It is proving… more difficult than expected,” his shoulders slumped in defeat.

“Why don’t you have a look at it, Draco?” Harry offered it up to him.

Draco frowned, “I don’t know the first thing about them - though I suppose…,” he trailed off, his words catching. He had been about to say how he hadn’t known anything about the Vanishing cabinet either.

“You suppose what?” Harry said curiously.

Draco swallowed, “I suppose I could always try and get us a new one, if we can’t fix it,” he said with a weak smile, “My understanding is that you can use muggle radios so long as they’re not too technologically advanced. I could get one from a charity shop or something,”

“That’s a good idea!” Dobby agreed brightly, “We shall see next time, perhaps? For now, Dobby is needing to be off,” he eased himself down carefully from the bed.

“Thank you, Dobby,” Draco said sincerely.

“Yeah - thanks Dobby!” Harry parroted with a smile.

Dobby beamed up at both of them, “I’ll see you soon. Goodbye!” And he was gone with a pop.

Neither of them knew it at the time, but it would be the last time that Draco or Harry would ever see Dobby again.

Chapter Text

The Before

They’d have to leave soon, Draco knew, but Harry was snoozing in the middle of the bed that the Room of Requirement had conjured for them, and he was finding it difficult to wake him.

‘Potter’ had become ‘Harry’ immediately after the Christmas holidays had ended. It was impossible to maintain the distance that surnames provided when he’d had the other’s cum on his hand. Or at least, that was what Draco told himself when he was trying to make what they did together dirty and impersonal.  

The truth was more difficult.

That ‘Potter’ and ‘Malfoy’ were enemies, but ‘Harry’ and ‘Draco’ were something else. Something that made Draco want to reach out and touch Harry, but not to try and persuade the other boy to have sex with him. He wanted to touch Harry just because. To stroke his hair and his cheeks. To kiss him - gentle, affectionate kisses. Not hot, wet ones that were secretly asking for something more.

He’d heard Blaise bragging about the latest girl he’d charmed into his (metaphorical) bed before, and Draco had kidded himself into believing that that was what he wanted from Harry. A conquest. Someone to charm into offering their hand or mouth to him. Someone to use and be used by.

This wasn’t that. He knew that it wasn’t. He could see it in the way that Harry smiled at him whenever he saw him unexpectedly; the smallest widening of his eyes and a pleased uptick at the corner of his mouth, before he remembered himself and he looked away. He never lost the smile though, and he always looked back one last time before he disappeared from view.

A word had been vying for his attention for weeks now, but so far, he’d managed to stamp it down.

He had to stamp it down.

Things, of course, began to slide for them when, rather than giving the poisoned wine to Dumbledore, Slughorn had given it to Ron Weasley. But it wasn’t only Weasley who ended up in the hospital wing as an oblique consequence of his attempt on Dumbledore’s life. Harry had wound up their too.

The hospital wing was dark, the sun was setting but the gas lamps had yet to burst into life. Harry was in a bed (unsurprisingly, he had a terrible track record) and Draco was sat in a chair at his side (significantly more surprising, even to those who knew about them, Draco imagined; he doubted Granger or Weasley would have expected him to be the kind of person to sit at the bedside of his… of his what exactly?).

“Why on earth did you put that moron on the Gryffindor quidditch team?” Draco asked with a sigh, wincing in sympathy as Harry rubbed his obviously aching head. Being hit in the head with a bat would do that, Draco imagined.

“In my defence - he was meant to be playing keeper,” Harry answered dryly, “I never expected him to get his hands on a beater’s bat,”

Draco hmm’ed sceptically, “Right,”

“And he wouldn’t have been playing keeper at all if Ron hadn’t been ill,” Harry’s voice was suddenly cold, his eyes fixed and piercing on Draco’s, “Sorry. Not ill. Poisoned,”

Draco ignored the sick feeling that swirled in his gut, “Why are you looking at me like that?” He said defensively.

“You know why,” Harry answered quietly, “Slughorn offered me that wine too, you know,” and all the blood drained from Draco’s face, “Ron just got there first,”

It took a moment for Draco to find his voice again, the idea that he might have killed Harry choking him for a moment, “I don’t know what you’re talking about,”

Harry ignored him though, “You need to stop this Draco - whatever he’s got you doing, you need to stop. First Katie - don’t deny it - and now this,”

“It’s not as easy as that,” Draco snapped, “He’s going to kill my entire family if I don’t give him what he wants! Not that you’d understand that I suppose,” he sneered, regretting it immediately as Harry fell silent.

For a long, tense moment, they simply looked at one another. Harry cleared his throat a little.

“Maybe… maybe I don’t understand. But Draco, whether or not you succeed, Voldemort is still going to try and kill me. Though I suppose you’ll get there first at this rate,”

Draco was standing and leaving before Harry finished speaking, emotion choking him.  

He’d nearly killed Harry.

He’d nearly killed Harry.

Paradoxically, his feet led him to the Room of Requirement and the Vanishing Cabinet, and he spent mindless hours trying to fix the Cabinet and burying the feeling of his heart cracking and breaking in two as deep as he could.

Their… whatever it was that they shared, had been somewhat frosty since they had argued in the hospital wing, and yet still they couldn’t keep away from one another. It was if they were compelled to seek one another out. Draco would have described it as hate sex, except he didn’t hate Harry, and he could tell by the misty, sometimes tearful look in Harry’s eye, that he didn’t hate him either.  

After Weasley and Bell, Harry should have kicked him to the curb, but he hadn’t. They hadn’t made any confessions, but he was beginning to believe that the strength of feeling that kept Draco coming back despite the risk it posed to his parents' lives, was the same strength of feeling that had Harry opening his arms every time, despite the risk to his own life.

They were in the library that evening. It was one of the only places they ever met in public; at the back in the far corner, wards surrounding them to discourage unwanted onlookers from coming any closer to them. He didn’t know why they bothered really. It wasn’t like they were secretly necking or anything. They just sat and completed their homework and spoke quietly to one another.  

It was… nice. It was everything that Draco shouldn’t have wanted. Peaceful companionship. It wasn’t what he and Harry were meant to be. And yet there he was, his and Harry’s ankles knocking gently together.  

“Can I ask you something?”

Draco rolled his eyes, “Clearly,” he said dryly.

Harry glared a little and kicked him lightly, “Slytherins are meant to be sneaky right? Or cunning, or whatever,”

Draco hummed, his eyes fixed on his essay, “Supposedly, but then again, Crabbe and Goyle are Slytherins, so I’d take that with a pinch of salt,”

Harry snorted - the sound was unflattering and plebeian, but it made Draco smile fondly anyway, “You can say that again,” he chortled, “Anyway: as a Slytherin, what would you do if you wanted to try and get someone to tell you something, but they didn’t want to tell you?”

“Excluding illegal means, you mean?” His mind wandered to the Dark Lord, and he had to suppress a shudder.

“Yes,” Harry said firmly, “Underhanded is fine, but nothing illegal or overtly amoral,”

Draco hummed to himself and allowed his quill to fall, “Give them something they want,” he said simply.

“What if I don’t know what they want?”

“Then figure it out,” Draco said with a shrug, “I’ve heard credible rumours that you have a brain; consider using it,” Harry scowled at him, but Draco could see the amused grin threatening at the corners of his mouth, “I don’t mean like, buying them their favourite chocolates or something. I mean like doing them a favour or… or building a relationship with them. Find something that connects you and use it as leverage. And no,” he clarified immediately, “I don’t mean blackmail. There are many different types of leverage in the world: not all of them are sinister,”

Harry leant closer, the toe of his shoe pressing up against Draco’s calf as he ran his thumb across his bottom lip and briefly worried at the nail with his tongue; it was only when Harry spoke that Draco realised, he was being played, “You mean that kind of leverage?”

Draco cleared his throat and fought against the flush that was building high on his cheeks, “Ah, yes,” and for the first time, he realised that Harry had power over him, “Exactly. Anyway,” he continued brusquely, “I suppose you could always use magical assistance - if you’ve still got that bottle of Felix Felicis left that is. Or is that too close to illegal?”

Harry leant back and considered him with an impressed look; he let out a huff of laughter and shook his head, “Draco: you’re brilliant!” He was suddenly on his feet, making Draco jump a little, “I’ve got to go, sorry, I’ll see you later,” he grabbed Draco’s face between his hands and kissed him soundly on the mouth, “Bye!” And he was gone.

Draco’s heart pounded in his chest.

Fuck.

He needed to stop this.  

He would stop this.

And yet, Draco allowed himself to fail at the first hurdle of trying to break things off with Harry without a second thought.

The other boy suddenly appeared outside of the Ancient Runes classroom a few days after their conversation in the library, when no one else was around, and Draco had been about to go down to dinner. He grabbed Draco’s hand and pulled him close.

“Come with me,” he said breathlessly in Draco’s ear, “Come to the Room with me - I want to say thank you. Come with me,”

Draco nodded and followed dumbly. Somehow, they managed to get all the way up to the Room of Requirement without stumbling across another soul, though Draco didn’t know if it was fortune or Harry’s doing. He forgot to care though when Harry pushed him down to sit on the bed and dropped to his knees between Draco’s spread thighs.

He forgot to care about anything else at all really, his head thrown back and panting up to the ceiling, his fingers wound into Harry’s absurdly messy hair. He wanted to watch - he desperately wanted to watch - but he knew he’d cum immediately and he didn’t want that either.

Later, when he was watching Harry wipe his mouth on the back of his hand, Draco said, “Not that I’m complaining, but what was that for?”

Harry grinned and pressed their lips together; Draco felt his groin threatening to stir back to life at the taste of himself on Harry’s tongue, “For being brilliant,” he said simply, his expression unbelievably fond. And then he slapped Draco’s thigh and said, “Come on. We’ll miss dinner,”

After dinner, Draco returned to the Room of Requirement alone, and cried bitterly in front of the Vanishing Cabinet.

The Now – November 1998

Draco was making their lunch for something to do with his hands other than anxiously worrying at his nails with his teeth. He would have had to make them lunch anyway, but he hadn’t needed to make them carbonara. Sandwiches would have done, but then lunch would be made already, and his hands would be unoccupied. All the washing was done and put away after all. He could have tried to sit and read a book out loud for Harry, but neither of them were in the mood to pay attention to something like that.

Dobby was late. Nearly five days late in fact. He’d never not come when he’d said that he would, and Draco was driven to distraction for the elf. Though, not just for the elf.

It was an effort to avoid peering over his shoulder towards their pantry.

The pantry that Draco had had to reapply the stasis charms to when they’d randomly failed the week before. He tried not to dwell on what that might mean.

They were fine, he reminded himself firmly, they were well stocked. They had enough food for perhaps a month if they were careful - more if Draco skipped breakfast and made himself smaller portions (he was determined that Harry would remain well fed no matter what, he couldn’t afford to lose the calories). And they still had the money that McGonagall had given them, but the idea of using it made him feel sick. It was meant for an emergency, and Dobby not coming back wasn’t an emergency. If he never came back, it would be their new normal.

And McGonagall was right. He was resourceful. He would make it work through whatever means necessary, even if that meant placing muggles under the imperious curse to get them to give him their money or get them to go and buy food for him.

But he wouldn’t be able to approach places repeatedly - not in small towns and villages where his targets were more likely to know one another and draw attention to the weird shop where they all ‘accidentally’ bought things they didn’t mean to. He doubted that the Dark Lord placed much interest in the dramatics of small muggle villages, but he equally had no idea how much effort the Dark Lord was putting into finding them. He could be listening for, and investigating anything that had the muggle’s chins wagging.

Which meant he’d have to try his tactic in larger places - cities - but then spending time in such places felt even more dangerous. It meant more people to try and keep an eye on - more people who could be working for the Dark Lord, and more people who might see the end of his wand. He could be spotted by another witch or wizard, and even if they didn’t support the Dark Lord, they would potentially confront him for using the unforgiveables on muggles and then where would he be?

Every thought had his heart racing. He was only pulled from his building panic by the sound of the spaghetti water bubbling over and making a hissing noise as it landed on the hob. He swore and lifted the pan from the heat as he turned it down.

He needed to calm down. He was working himself up for no good reason - there could be many reasons why Dobby might be late. He was clearly busy, otherwise Draco expected he’d have chosen to spend all his time helping Draco care for Harry – it was clear how much Harry and the elf loved one another. Maybe the Dark Lord was present at Hogwarts and Dobby was staying in the castle so as to not draw attention to himself. It could be literally anything.

If he was honest with himself though, he didn’t truly believe that. He was near certain in his heart of hearts, that the poor elf was dead, and was never coming back to them. Why else would the stasis charms have failed?

He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, and for just a moment, allowed the panic and grief to wash over him. And then he placed it to one side, releasing his breath in a whoosh. He needed to hold it together, he thought to himself grimly as he finished off their lunch. He needed to keep his head. Harry was relying on him.

He carried their lunch upstairs to find Harry walking almost mindless between their bedroom and the spare bedroom. When he got from one to the other, he would pause, sit down on the bed, catch his breath, then work his way back. He was lucid more consistently now, and though he still had nightmares that left him shaking and confused for minutes afterwards, it was now rare that he would call Draco ‘Malfoy’ and shy away from him.

He hadn’t asked about the dungeons again. Draco was secretly grateful that he hadn’t, but he couldn’t help but wonder why not. Was he protecting himself perhaps? By not perusing memories that he knew would be painful. Or was it a sign that he was beginning to slowly decline, and Draco just hadn’t noticed.

No. Harry was fine. He was getting better, in fact. Draco was just expecting the worse as usual.

“Have you seen Dobby yet?” Harry asked anxiously upon spotting him on the landing.

“No,” Draco answered calmly, setting their plates of carbonara and homemade garlic bread down on the side table, “I haven’t seen him - come and sit with me and eat,”

Harry joined him on the bed, and Draco watched as his arms trembled as he pushed himself further back on the mattress to sit with his back against the headboard. He’d over done it today in his anxiety, Draco could tell. He’d been over doing it for days now, ending up half passed out in bed every night, to the point that he struggled to fight back his nightmares.

“What’s happened to him?” Harry asked anxiously, twirling his fork with difficulty. He scowled, and made to give up and simply scoop the spaghetti into his mouth.

“Don’t,” Draco said gently, not wanting to treat him like a child but knowing it was for his own good, “Do it properly. It’ll get easier. Practice, remember?”

Harry sighed, and persisted in trying to twirl the fork; his dexterity had suffered for the muscle wastage in his forearms, but he was getting there, “What’s happened to him?” He said again, more firmly.

“I don’t know, Harry,” he admitted with a sigh, biting into his garlic bread and wincing at the taste of its burnt edges.

“What are we going to do?” Harry muttered, “Is there any way that we can help him?”

“I don’t know, Harry,” Draco repeated, trying and barely succeeding in keeping the helplessness out of his voice, “but… but if you’re okay, after we’ve eaten, I’m going to go to the coffee shop I normally meet McGonagall in, and see if I can leave a message for her,”

Harry nodded, though he looked faintly nervous at the prospect of being left on his own, “Yeah, okay, I’ll be okay on my own for a bit,” Draco wasn’t sure if Harry was reassuring him, or himself, “What are we going to do about food?”

Draco waved away his concerns, “ I’ll sort it, don’t worry,” he said it with an easy confidence that didn’t ease the anxious clenching of his gut.

He would sort it. He had to. Harry was relying on him. But Harry didn’t need to know how uneasy the idea of sneaking into the muggle world to steal their essentials made him feel, because he wasn’t going to use the money that McGonagall had given him unless he absolutely had to. He’d keep it for them just incase - what if they needed it for something more important? Something that they couldn’t easily steal, like tickets on a muggle plane to take them out of the country.

Harry bit his lips a little, but nodded anyway, “Yeah, okay. We’ll be fine,”

Draco flashed him a smile, “We’ll be fine,” he agreed.

When Draco was ready to leave, Harry insisted on saying goodbye to him downstairs in the kitchen, but Draco only agreed after Harry promised not to try and get back upstairs without him. Harry rolled his eyes, his expression playful on the surface, but Draco could see the fear the lurked beneath.

He kissed him at the kitchen door, “Stay inside, okay? If you get tired, nap on the sofa - I’ve left a spare blanket on the armchair for you, and there’s left over carbonara in the pantry if you’re hungry,”  

Harry nodded, “Okay,” and stole one last kiss, “Be careful,”

“Everything will be fine,” Draco assured him, squeezing his fingers and then stepping out into the November air. It was steadily getting colder but was still relatively mild for the time of year.

He pretended that he couldn’t see Harry watching him anxiously from the kitchen, turning his full attention to not splinching himself at the worst possible time.

In Thorne Green, Draco was jittery and nervous in a way that he hadn’t been even the first time he had visited the village. Walking towards The Daily Grind, he could see that Christmas lights had been strung up above the shops, and that an enormous, lopsided Christmas tree had been set up in the small square outside of the library. Even without the lights on, he was surprised by the amount of effort that had gone into such a small village’s Christmas decorations.

The effects of McGonagall’s past presence on the small coffee shop were clear when, upon opening the door, he found himself at the back of a queue of people all waiting to be served. He tried not to look nervous as he waited to speak to Mary behind the till, but he couldn’t help the anxious shuffling of his feet that had the middle-aged woman in front of him glancing over her shoulder at him.

He flashed her an apologetic smile, and deliberately stilled his feet.

“Oh hey!”  

Draco flinched at the enthusiastic greeting, and looked around sharply to find the dark-skinned woman from the library joining the queue behind him - Eurydice, he reminded himself, “Oh, hello - Euri, right?” He said politely, glancing anxiously to the slowly moving queue in front of him.

“Yeah! That’s right,” Euri said brightly, a familiar kind smile on her face, “But I don’t know your name, you see, because you never gave it…,” she trailed off meaningfully.

Draco stuttered out an answer, “Oh, uh it’s…,” his mind circled through all the names he knew, and for no real reason at all, Theodore Nott popped into his head, “It’s Theo,” why was she so interested in him? She was at least a decade older than him - there’s no way she was interested in him like that. (Ignoring the fact that Draco didn’t exactly scream of sex appeal these days.)

“Nice to see you again Theo,” she said, her tone painfully genuine, and then he realised that she felt sorry for him, in the same way that Mary felt sorry for him. He thought he was starting to look better, but he supposed there was no escaping the tired look on his face or the worn quality of his clothes.

“Oh! Hello dear,” without realising it, he had ended up at the front of the queue, and Mary was looking at him with naked concern on her face, “Are you alright dear?”

“Yes, sorry,” he muttered, not really knowing why he was apologising, “I was wondering if you’d seen my grandmother recently?”

She frowned and shook her head, “I haven’t dear - do you need help organising a wellness check?”

Draco didn’t know what that was, but Eurydice piped up before he could answer, “My fiancé’s a policeman - he could help you out if you need it?”

Draco looked nervously between them, and stepped away from the counter, “No thank you, uh, could you just let her know that I was here if you see her, please?”

“Yes, of course dear,” Mary agreed at once.

“Why don’t you stay for a coffee, Theo?” Euri said kindly, “You look tired,”

His knee jerk reaction was to be offended, but ironically, it turned out that he was too tired to be, “No, thank you, have a nice day,”

He stepped out of the shop, turned left, and apparated home nearly immediately, and somewhat recklessly.  

He found Harry perched on the edge of the sofa waiting for him, and he leapt up immediately at the sight of him, only for him to wobble precariously. Draco was able to catch him before he could fall thankfully.

“Careful!” He hissed through his teeth, lowering Harry carefully down onto the threadbare sofa, “You’ll hurt yourself!”

Harry ignored him though, “Did you see McGonagall?” He asked anxiously.

“No,” Draco said calmly, trying to sooth Harry with his energy alone, “but I didn’t expect to Harry. I wanted to see if she’d left anything for us, and she hasn’t done that either. Now come on - let’s get you upstairs and back into bed. You’ve over done it a bit the last few days,”

“I don’t want to go to bed!” Harry barked, frustrated, “I’ve been in bed for months!! I want… I want…,” and he looked suddenly as if he might burst into tears.

Draco sighed heavily through his nose, and fought to get a hold of his own fraying temper before it ran away from him, “Shall we go into the kitchen then?” He asked shortly, “We could make desert at the dining table together,”

Harry looked completely thrown, a confused frown working its way onto his face, “Desert?”

“Hmm, apple pie,”  

Harry’s eyes narrowed on him, “Are you trying to distract me?”

“Yes,” Draco answered simply.

Harry just looked at him for a long moment, his eyes bouncing between Draco’s. Finally, he said dubiously, “Have you ever made apple pie before?”

“Nope,” Draco said with a pop, “but there’s a first time for everything. Come on,”

Their attempt at making apple pie together was poor to say the least and had Draco wondering if this was really the time for them to be wasting flour when he wasn’t quite sure how he was going to get more. Still, it was worth it for the distraction it provided. It calmed Harry down and gave Draco time to think.

That was at least, until Harry paused with a rolling pin in his hand, and said, “I… I remember being with Ron and Hermione,” Draco’s eyes snapped to him, “We were at Bill and Fleur’s wedding, I think. It was around my birthday, but then… there was a patronus with the message that the Ministry had fallen,” he turned to Draco for confirmation.

Draco breathed determinedly through his nose to suppress his reaction, “That sounds about right,” he agreed.

“Where are Ron and Hermione?”

“I don’t know,” Draco answered honestly, working the pastry between his hands anxiously and no doubt ruining yet another attempt at their desert, but it didn’t matter. This conversation was what mattered.

“Are they dead?” Harry’s voice came out choked and he looked as if he were about to cry.

“Not as far as know,” Draco shook his head, “I think, if they were dead, that I’d have found out about it. I think they’re still alive,”

“But they don’t know where I am?”

“No,” the word came out as a near whisper.

“Do they think that I’m dead?”

Draco struggled to answer, “I think that a lot of people think you might be dead,” Harry sniffed a little, dropping his flour covered hands into his lap miserably, “and… and I know that it’s upsetting, but it’s for the best right now. The more people who think you’re dead, the less people there are trying to find you,”

“But… but Ron and Hermione wouldn’t hurt me,” Harry said, his tone near desperate, “They’d want to help,”

“They would,” Draco agreed with a nod, “but what if they were caught? The Dark Lord doesn’t need to torture people for information - he can just pull it from their minds. If they knew, they could give us away without meaning to. I know it’s horrible,” he was quick to say when Harry wiped at his eyes with the clean back of his wrist, “I know you miss them, but it’s what Snape and McGonagall decided was best,”

Harry’s head snapped around at Snape’s name, “Snape… he’s… he’s on our side, right?”

Draco nodded, “Yes - he helped me get you out, remember?”

“You told me that while I was in the bath,” Harry said nervously, as if afraid even his most recent memories couldn’t be trusted.

“Yes, I did,”

“And this is his house,”

“I think so, yes,”

“Were Ron and Hermione in the dungeons as well?” And Harry turned green, trusting eyes in his direction.

“No - no, I don’t think so,” Draco answered weakly, feeling tortured as he waited and waited for the question that Harry would ask next, ‘How did I get to the dungeons?’. It was a question that Draco dreaded but had vowed he would answer with the truth.

But Harry only nodded and turned back to the pastry on the table in front of him.

Draco watched him for a long moment.  

Why hadn’t he asked it? It… it was the obvious next question.  

Perhaps, he thought, his heart sinking, that somewhere underneath all the damage, Harry knew the truth, and was protecting himself from it.  

Draco swallowed heavily, and went back to working towards making them something edible for desert.

They spent over a week trying to distract themselves. Or rather, Draco spent a week trying to distract Harry. It wasn’t that he wanted the elf to be forgotten, not at all, but Harry became so agitated at the thought of the elf, that it was starting to affect his wellbeing. He’d exercise to the point of exhaustion and would then spend the next day near bed ridden he was so tired.

The weather had finally started to turn colder as well, and they had both taken to wearing thick jackets over their jumpers inside now. The log burner in the utility room was on nearly constantly (and thankfully had an ever-burning log in its centre), and Draco had finally brought the heaters up from the cellars. They became incredibly hot but didn’t actually seem to put out that much heat into the room, and so Draco had positioned them around the bed (and placed small safety wards around them, paranoid that Harry would stumble and burn himself on them), where they spent as much time together as they could while keeping warm, reading books to one another and talking.  

Today though, Draco was venturing back out into the world. Their diminishing food supplies were beginning to make him nervous - they still had reserves, but they very quickly wouldn’t if he didn’t do something. The idea of Harry going hungry because Draco couldn’t look after them made him feel ill.

Harry was watching him anxiously, a scarf wrapped around his neck as he leant back against the kitchen table and waited to say goodbye, “You’re going to come back though, right?” He asked nervously.

Draco stepped into his space, abandoning his gloves for the moment, and taking Harry’s cold hands in his, running his fingers along the thick scars about his wrists, “I will always come back,” he said seriously, “I promise. I will always come back home to you,”

Harry nodded, but then was suddenly pulling Draco closer and kissing him fiercely. Draco’s eyes fell shut, and he sighed into the other’s mouth. For a moment, he could pretend that it was like old times when they’d kiss anywhere, they could. Harry reluctantly released him.

Harry peered into his eyes, “Ron caught us snogging behind a tapestry once, right?”

And a surprised burst of laughter escaped Draco, “Yeah,” he chortled, “Yeah, he did. Do you remember the look on his face?”  

For a split second, he worried that asking if Harry remembered something was the wrong thing to do, but Harry was chuckling and smiling, “Yeah, I do. Like a trout fresh out of the water,” his green eyes searched Draco’s face as if he were afraid, he might forget it, then they caught on the ponytail at the back of Draco’s head and he reached out to stroke it carefully, “I like you with longhair,” he mused.

“I like you however you come,” Draco countered.

Harry didn’t smile though, “You’ll come back?” He asked again. The question left Draco wondering: what memory was niggling at the back of Harry’s mind for him to keep asking? It was a stupid question. He knew which memory it was.

Draco pulled him close to his chest, and murmured in his ear, “I’ll always come back,”

Harry let him go reluctantly and watched him intently as he stepped out onto the patio. Draco could just disapperate from the kitchen, but there was something ritualistic about disapperating from the patio. Like a man kissing his wife goodbye and heading off to work (or his husband, in this case).

He sent Harry a last smile, then disapperated.

Draco was both less and more nervous as he stepped into The Daily Grind and joined the queue this time. He didn’t feel quite as panicked about their situation, but he was anxious about whether or not McGonagall had appeared in his absence.

Mary spotted him immediately and gave him a cheery little wave, before disappearing into the back with a smile. She had a helper today; a girl who looked about Draco’s age, though somehow significantly younger at the same time. Draco expected it was more likely that he was aging prematurely.  

She spotted him out of the corner of her eye and did a double take, fumbling with the change she had been passing to the person at the front of the queue and dropping it everywhere. She flushed bright red and scrambled to pick up the coins she had dropped, and in the process knocked over the coffee on the counter. It wouldn’t have taken her that long to clean up, he thought, if she hadn’t kept spotting him again and fumbling with whatever was in her hands at the time until the two people closest to the front took pity on her and started helping.

In all the ruckus, Mary reappeared from the back with an envelope in her hands and a bemused frown on her face, “What on earth happened here, child?” The girl mumbled something, her blush now turning her neck and ears red, and glanced up nervously at Draco; Mary made a resonant clicking noise in the back of her mouth, “Good God my girl - we’re never going to get you a boyfriend at this rate!” And if it were possible, she turned even redder.

If Draco hadn’t been so anxious, and so utterly focussed on getting home safely to Harry, he might have been flattered. As it was, he was just mildly embarrassed for the poor girl. He tried to avoid looking at her as he leant around the display of cakes to address Mary without pushing into the person in front of him, “Mary - I’m sorry to cut in, but I don’t suppose my grandmother has come here since I saw you last?”

Mary tapped the envelope in her hand on her opposite palm, “She has indeed - she left this with me for you,” she handed it over and Draco knew immediately what was inside by the feel of it: more money and, he thought with a thrill of excitement in his chest, a wand, “Let me make you a coffee my dear, - no, no!” She spoke over him when he tried to protest, “I’ll not hear a word against it. You look so cold you might drop! Just you wait there for me - I won’t be long. I’ll give it you in a to-go cup if that’ll make you hush,”

If Draco didn’t know better, he’d have said the woman had cast a sticking charm on the soles of his shoes. Despite how desperate he was to leave, he felt compelled to stay by the woman’s kindness. He shuffled out of the way of the rest of the queue and waited anxiously for the coffee she had more or less demanded he take.

He heard the bell above the door jingle, and then heard a familiar voice.

“Theo!” Euri grinned at him, panting a little as she unwound a scarf from her neck to hang it on the coat hook by the door, “How are you?”  

He eyed her warily, “Well, thank you, yourself?” He glanced to the counter, willing Mary to hurry up with his coffee.

“I’m great!” She said enthusiastically, “Sit and have a coffee with me! You look like you need one - can I have my usual please Mary?”

But Mary was already pushing two coffees across the counter, and much to Draco’s displeasure, neither of them were in a to-go cup. Eurydice scooped them up in instant and tilted her head in the direction of an empty wooden booth tucked into the corner, “Come on!” She said brightly.

Draco wanted to leave, and if he hadn’t had dire need of this coffee shop as his go between with McGonagall, he would have done. As it was, he did, and so he followed Eurydice reluctantly, and gingerly took the seat opposite her.

“So, how’s your friend doing?” She asked kindly, sipping at her coffee carefully.

For a moment he was confused, and then he remembered, “He’s, uh… getting there, I suppose,”

“How’s his strength coming along?”

“Better,”

“Is he still bed bound?”

“No. He’s up and about to a certain degree,” he answered carefully, warming his hands against his cup and willing it to cool faster so that he could neck it and leave as soon as possible.

“That’s wonderful! And how about you, Theo - how have you been doing?”

The question felt strangely loaded, “What do you mean?” He asked slowly.

Euri shifted nervously in her seat, “Only… only you don’t look so well. I noticed it before as well. You look like you need help. Are you and your friend struggling to get by?” She asked sympathetically, “There are some charities around this way, you know? They can help you if you’re homeless or struggling for food? I work for them on my days off, when I can,”

Draco wasn’t quite sure how he could look so unwell that he was attracting offers of charity, and yet look good enough to make the girl behind the counter fumble about, but he was distracted by the mention of food. The idea of stealing from a charity made him feel ill though, and he could hardly frequent the same place again and again if he wanted to stay off of people’s radars. It was bad enough that he had already become a recognised face at The Daily Grind.

And so, he tried to brush her off, “Ah, no, it’s fine,”

She caught his tone though, “Are you struggling for food, Theo?”

He shrugged, and muttered, “Not yet,”

She pressed her lips together, “Can I write the addresses down for you? Of the charities I was talking about. You don’t have to go, if you don’t want to, but if you need them,” as she spoke, she pulled paper and a pen from her bag, and began scribbling down addresses.

He watched her quietly, then said softly, “Why are you doing this?”

She flashed him a kind smile, “You look like you need help, and I can help,” she pushed the paper across the table to him.

“Thank you,” he muttered, putting the paper in the same pocket that he’d put the envelope.

She hesitated, then said, “You look like you might be in some trouble… are you in trouble, Theo?”

He smiled sadly at her, “More trouble than you can help with, but thank you,”

“I can go to the police with you, if you need me to?” She said very seriously, “If you’re trying to escape a bad situation, if I can help you, I will,”

He shook his head, feeling unexpected tears gathering in the corners of his eyes; fuck, it felt like all he did was cry now, “Thank you but… but this is many many magnitudes beyond that,” he shuffled back in his seat and made to leave, “I have to go back to my friend,”

She stopped him with a sudden hand on his wrist, “Theo: none of these charities will ask you any questions. None at all. Not about you, or about your friend,” she said the word ‘friend’ as if she knew he was using it when he meant something else, “Okay?”

He nodded hesitantly. She released him with a kind smile and didn’t comment on the fact that he hadn’t taken a single sip of his coffee.

His immediate instinct was to go home, but all he could think about was the gradually dwindling contents of their pantry. He had to make the most of this trip.

He wandered through Thorne Green nervously, keeping an eye out for a supermarket or a greengrocer, or just for anyone who was watching him more closely than was expected. He eventually spotted someone carrying a bag of vegetables, and he headed in the direction they had come from until he stumbled across a large supermarket with ‘Safeway’ written across the roof in glowing letters.

He sat on a low wall opposite the shop for a moment, thinking about to do. He watched as muggles wheeled empty trolleys in and exited with trolleys full of bags. He could go into the shop himself, but he wasn’t willing to spend the money he could feel rolled up in his pocket if he didn’t need to. He could confound the cashier, he supposed, but then what if someone else noticed he hadn’t paid. Another customer or another member of staff. How many people would he have to confound to get out safely? How many would it take to draw the attention of the Ministry, and then the Dark Lord.

He bit his lip. The answer was obvious to him, he just wasn’t overly keen on it. He took a deep breath and stood.

Around the corner from the shop, he waited for a passing muggle to imperio. It took him longer than it needed to because he kept finding reasons why the muggles who walked past him weren’t suitable. They were old - they probably didn’t have much money. They had children traipsing after them that they needed to feed. They were shabbily dressed, he imagined they were going to struggle buying their own shopping, let alone extra for him and Harry.

In the end, he bit the bullet, and cast the curse on a middle-aged man in a smart suit. A glazed look overcame the man's eyes, and he wobbled slightly; Draco scrambled for an instruction, “Buy double of everything you were going to buy anyway, and then bring me the extra,” the man steadied, then strode off towards the shop.

The man returned with four bags. He pushed two into Draco’s hands, then waited for further instructions. Draco froze, not knowing what to do; he licked his lips, “Carry on as normal,” the man turned mindlessly and began walking down the road away from Draco. When he was far enough away, Draco cancelled the curse, and the man stumbled a little. He turned unsteadily, and spotted Draco. His eyes opened wide, and he made to point in Draco’s direction, “ Obliviate!” Draco said sharply, and the man’s expression turned placid. He should probably have done that sooner.

He turned his attention to the bags in his hands - there were some fresh vegetables, meat, fruit, milk, and bread, but there was also playing cards, cigarettes, sweets, a large bottle of something bright orange that defiantly wasn’t orange juice, and crisps. Well. His idea had worked, he just hadn’t quite thought it through. The man could have just come back with six bottles of wine, and though they might have gone well with dinner, they would hardly save them from starvation. He’d have to be more specific next time.

He apparated back to Spinners end, but found that Harry wasn’t downstairs anymore. He couldn’t help his twinge of worry that the other had tackled the stairs without him, but he supposed Harry couldn’t be restrained to one floor forever.

Once he had put the food away in the pantry, he turned his attention to the envelope he could feel pressing in against his side through his coat .

There was indeed another wad of cash inside, and a letter, but it wasn’t these that had Draco grinning widely. There was a wand, and if Draco wasn’t mistaken, it was actually Harry’s wand. Harry would be so pleased!

Tucking it into his back pocket, he turned his attention to the letter. It was short, and his face had fallen by the time he reached the end.  

‘D.M

Please find enclosed: muggle money, and one wand, property of H.P.

It is with great sadness that I write to inform you that Dobby was killed by Death Eaters as he tried to smuggle food to another safe house. He will be sorely missed. This leaves me and S.S as the only people who know of your continued fight for survival. For obvious reasons, S.S cannot help you, and I am frequently out of the country. Still, I will try my best to keep in contact through the usual means.

Unfortunately, my worst fears have come true, and you are on your own.  

But I have the utmost faith in you. We both do. You can do this.

Regards.

M.M.’

For a long moment, Draco stood and stared at the parchment.

He was numb as he walked up the stairs. He found Harry in bed, asleep, though his eyes flickered at the sound of Draco’s feet on the landing. Harry smiled in relief at the sight of him, but then he faltered at whatever he saw on Draco’s face.

“Draco? What’s wrong?”

Draco sat down carefully on the edge of the bed and considered the letter in his hands; he swallowed heavily, “I… I have to tell you something,”

Harry listened to him silently as he spoke.  When Draco had finished, there was a brief moment where he did and said nothing. And then his expression crumpled.

Chapter Text

The Before

Draco had thought about it before. He’d thought about it a lot before, actually. Usually when his hands were shamelessly groping Harry’s arse through his trousers and Harry was moaning in his ear. He’d always been too nervous to bring it up though, if he was honest. It was a new and vaguely frightening step. Plus, he had images in his head of Harry agreeing but expecting him to… to be the one on the receiving end of things. He wasn’t sure he could do that. He wasn’t ready for it, he knew he wasn’t, but it felt hypocritical to ask Harry to do it when he wasn’t willing to himself. When the thought of it made his stomach clench with anxiety.

In the end, it hadn’t mattered. Harry had been the one to ask.

“I was wondering,” Harry asked slowly, nervously, as they sorted out their uniforms before they left the Room, “If… if you wanted to try having sex next time? Proper sex, I mean - not that this isn’t ’proper sex’,” Harry stuttered, “I mean… like… penetrative sex,”

Draco wanted to tease him for the flush on his cheeks and the fact he had chosen possibly the least sexy word to describe a sexual act, but he couldn’t. He was too busy flushing red, “Uhh…,” he felt suddenly like a child; admitting that he found something too frightening to even attempt.

“It’s okay,” Harry said quickly when he didn’t answer after five seconds, “It’s fine. I mean - we don’t have to,” Harry flashed him a weak smile and was suddenly hurrying to get dressed; Draco could practically see the mortification he was trying to force down, “I like how we do things now anyway - we don’t have to change things if you don’t want to. It’s fine if you don’t want to fuck me, I get it. Not for everyone, I suppose. We can re-visit it again in the future if you want to, but its fine if you don’t want to as well. It’s all fine,”

Harry had been rambling so quickly, the flush on his face fading as he went from embarrassed to just plain miserable, that it took Draco a second longer than it should have done for him to register what Harry had said, “Wait - what? Back up - you want me to fuck you?” He snatched out a hand to stop Harry from fumbling with his tie.

Harry could barely meet his eyes; he shrugged, looking a bit like he wanted to cry, “It’s fine. I’d just been thinking about it is all. It doesn’t matter if you don’t want to,”

Draco hesitated, “Well, it clearly matters a little bit,” he disagreed, “You look really upset,”

Harry near snarled at him and tried to snatch his hand back, “Well yeah, Draco!” He barked, sniffing wetly as a single tear rolled down the side of his face, “Even if I understand and accept it, being rejected when you’ve been building up to something really hurts! Of course, I’m upset!”

He tried to pull away, but Draco didn’t let him go, pulling him closer until Harry was reluctantly allowing himself to be enveloped in Draco’s arms, “I’m sorry,” Draco muttered into his hair, “I didn’t mean to make you feel like that. I didn’t even really mean to reject you, I just hadn’t understood what you were asking,”

Harry snorted weakly against him and finally relaxed into his embrace, “I’m not sure what there’s to be misunderstood by ‘penetrative sex’,”

Draco grinned, “Yeah, not the sexiest of phrasing I agree,” Harry grumbled and slapped his chest but burrowed closer, “I thought you were asking to do it the other way around,” Draco admitted, “And… and I’m not going to lie Harry, the thought of putting anything up my arse makes me feel funny, never mind that I’ve seen the size of your dick. I can’t see that going up there easily,”

Harry was laughing now, leaning back and grinning up at Draco, “Thanks, yours is pretty big too I suppose,”

Draco sighed against him, “Don’t be a child, Harry. Let’s not make this into a literal dick measuring contest,” he said with a withering sigh, “Anyway: my point is, if you want to try it with you on the bottom then… then yeah. I’d like to try that,” he dropped a lingering kiss onto Harry’s mouth, “I’d really like to try that,”

Harry shuddered against him, “Next weekend?”

“Yeah,” Draco said, kissing him again, “Next weekend,”

And that was how they ended up like this: in the middle of a lush king-sized bed in the Room of Requirement losing what was left of their virginities to one another.

Draco was sat, completely naked, with his back up against the headboard with Harry in his lap. His hands were flexing nervously at Harry’s waist, just holding him, not trying to move him, as he peered up to where Harry’s head was bowed above him. Harry’s eyes were closed, and his brow furrowed in concentration as he lowered himself carefully, his arms trembling a little and his breath coming as shallow pants.  

Draco swallowed nervously, his concern for the other distracting him completely from the pleasurable, tight heat that was slowly encompassing him, “Do you want to stop?” He whispered, his hands petting anxiously at Harry’s sides, “We don’t have to keep going, we can stop, it’s okay,”

“I don’t want to stop,” Harry grunted above him, his fringe falling over his closed eyes.

“But it’s hurting you,” Draco protested. He’d have relished the idea of hurting Harry last year, but now the idea left him feeling ill, “I don’t want to hurt you,”

Harry paused, peering at him through squinting eyes, “It’s okay,” he whispered, the hand at Draco’s shoulder stroking up into his hair, “It doesn’t hurt. It’s just… a lot,” he huffed out a laugh, and shifted lower, only to have to breath out through his teeth.

“I don’t believe you,” Draco said firmly, “We need to stop - maybe we didn’t do the prep spells properly?”

“Draco,” Harry murmured, pressing their foreheads together, his eyes closed, “It doesn’t hurt, I promise. Please. I just want to be with you,”

Draco peered into his face, watching as his expression relaxed and the frown on his brow lifted. Merlin he was beautiful. Had he always been this beautiful? But then Harry was moving, a gentle rise and fall of his hips, and Draco lost the capacity for higher brain functions.

Harry was moaning against him - the soft little breathy ones he sometimes did that sent Draco crazy and had him pressing closer for more. But not today. No, today, Draco was restrained, biting his lips and swearing under his breath, his hands resting on Harry’s hips and following his path up and down.

Harry’s eyes sprang open, green and glowing, and Draco felt pinned in place by them, “I love you,” Harry whispered, his hands coming around the back of Draco’s neck to bring their faces together, “I love you,” he whispered again, urgently this time, pressing their lips together and speaking into Draco’s mouth, “I love you,” his right hand released the back of Draco’s neck and trailed down to Draco’s arm - his left arm - and Harry’s fingers stroked against the dark mark that had been burnt into his flesh, “ I love you,

It wasn’t the first time that he had taken his shirt off in front of Harry, but it was the first time that he’d removed the glamour from his arm. The idea of doing this with Harry without him knowing the whole truth left him feeling sick. As if he were coercing Harry into something under false pretences. He’d expected Harry to reel back in shock and horror, but he hadn’t. He hadn’t even looked surprised. He’d just smiled sadly, and said, “Oh, Draco. I’ve known since the train,”

Draco closed his eyes against the memory and the tears he could feel building, “I love you too,” Harry gasped against him, throwing his head back and revealing the long line of his neck, “I love you so much,”

Draco didn’t know how the Room of Requirement worked. He didn’t know if each room it created occupied the same physical space, or if the door was simply a gateway to a place that existed outside of time and space entirely.

Either way, it didn’t matter when Draco could practically feel the Vanishing cabinet looming over them on the bed.

It was poetic, he supposed, in a tragic and heart-breaking kind of way, that he was making love to Harry in the very room that he was also working towards helping the Dark Lord to kill him.

After that, Draco found it hard to concentrate on anything that wasn’t Harry.

It felt like every other day he was hunting the other boy down and crowding him into a discreet corner somewhere to kiss him and pant into his mouth, asking him to come to the Room of Requirement. Harry always agreed, ending up on his back or on his front, his legs spread, panting and begging for Draco’s hand, or his mouth, or his fingers, and then eventually more.

They’d done it the other way around too eventually, when Draco had built up the courage and the curiosity required. Draco had enjoyed it more than he’d expected, but he had to admit that he had a preference. That preference being holding Harry down. Relishing in the control that Harry offered him - that he handed over willingly. It seemed to be the only control he had in his life now.

He’d have felt like a selfish lover (something he was determined not to be) if it weren’t for the fact that it was always Harry who decided what they did. If Harry whispered in his ear that he wanted Draco over on his knees, then Draco turned over gladly, but it was becoming rapidly apparent that Harry had a preference too. His preference involved allowing Draco to move him where he pleased and touch him as he liked.

It didn’t matter to Draco, really. So long as they were together. And it always ended the same; with them panting broken ‘I love you’s into one another’s ears and then pretending not to see that the other was crying.

Towards the end of the school year, they turned positively reckless, and Draco should have known better, but it was impossible not to be. Not when everything felt as if it balanced upon a knife’s edge.

They were out in the open, sat around the lake at its furthest edge where few students ever bothered to venture. Weasley and Granger were acting as reluctant lookouts for them, though Draco knew they didn’t approve. It was only their fierce love for Harry that had had them consenting in the first place, he was sure.

Draco glanced over at Granger and just caught the moment that she looked away and down to the book in her lap. He watched her for a moment, and then turned his attention to his own lap.

Harry’s head was in it, his ear pressing against Draco’s thigh as he buried his face in Draco’s stomach, his eyes closed, his glasses sitting off to the side in the grass. Draco was sat with his back against an enormous tree. He wasn’t even remotely comfortable if he was honest; the bark was hard and jagged, and even though he had managed to find a spot on the ground without roots breaking through the soil, it still wasn’t great. He didn’t care though. Not when he had Harry cradled to him like this.

“What are you thinking about?” Harry murmured into him, snuggling closer, his eyes still closed.

“How good you look like this,”  

Harry’s eye sprang open at his simple confession, and he tilted to squint up at Draco. A smug lazy smile spread across his mouth so that Draco could just see a hint of his teeth, “You think I’m pretty,” he accused in a leering tease.

“I think you’re beautiful,” he admitted easily, and Harry was silenced.  

He blinked up at Draco through wide eyes, then his expression became soft and pleased. He burrowed deeper into Draco’s middle, and he muttered, “I love you,”

Draco carded his fingers through the other’s hair, and whispered back, “I love you too,”

And knowing that the feeling would not remain for long, Draco allowed himself to be happy.

The Now - December 1998

December ushered in the true beginning of winter, and the house was quickly on its way to becoming frozen. Draco could only imagine that Severus had never noticed how poorly his home fared in the cold weather for the simple fact that the man was never there for it. The Manor had been cold in the winter, it was true, but it at least had enormous roaring fires in almost every room.

Draco had had to learn quickly about keeping draughty muggle council houses warm, but luckily, Harry seemed to know more than him.

“My uncle was cheap,” Harry had muttered as he’d helped Draco use magic to make an old torn coat into a draft excluder for the bedroom door, “He’d turn the heating on at the last possible moment, but my aunt felt the cold, so she started doing stuff like this as early as the end of September. I saw some old newspapers at the back of the cupboards - if we scrunch it up, we can put it in our coats, and it’ll help. There wasn’t a radiator near my cupboard, so it’s what I did when I was little,”

Draco hated these stories - the ones about Harry’s childhood - but he knew that his indignant rage only served to make Harry faintly nervous and upset, and so he controlled himself and listened quietly. He didn’t ask follow-up questions for his own sanity. He’d learnt quickly that the answers he teased out were always worse than the story that Harry had originally given willingly.  

Harry managed to find ancient hot water bottles in the same cupboard as the newspapers, but there wasn’t a chance in hell that Draco was risking either of them being scolded by the rubber failing. He replaced them as quickly as he could so that he could pull the newspaper free from inside Harry’s coat and wedge a hot water bottle down there instead.

And so, he and Harry spent the majority of their days huddled up together in the middle of the bed, surrounded by the pathetic heaters, keeping warm while they played cards or read aloud to one another from the books that Snape had collected downstairs. More than once, Draco found himself soothed to sleep by the sound of Harry’s voice, though he had to admit that Harry’s choice of literature didn’t help him stay awake. Harry had chosen to work his way through Snape’s books on advanced magic, and while it was interesting, there was only so much that one could hear about advanced counter-curses before one fell to sleep.

They never slept apart anymore, to the point that the spare room’s door hadn’t been opened in weeks. Harry had mused absentmindedly to himself one morning about why they had ever slept in separate rooms to begin with. It had left Draco feeling sick. It was a cutting reminder that Harry didn’t remember exactly what had happened and it left him racked with guilt and half-tempted to return to the guest bedroom immediately.  

Draco didn’t know if it was because Harry was finding a new purpose in helping Draco keep them warm, or simply the passage of time, but Harry was starting to remember more.

“We went to Grimmauld place after the wedding, I think,”  

“Yeah?”

“Hmm… I think we were nearly caught though first. In a muggle cafe,”

And:

“I think George lost an ear trying to help get me away from my relatives safely,”

“I heard about that - not about his ear, but about them ambushing you,”

“Yeah… Mad-Eye died. And so did Hedwig,” here, Harry’s bottom lip had trembled, and he’d let out a sad laugh, “It’s fucked up that I’m more upset about my owl dying than about Mad-Eye, isn’t it?”

“She wasn’t just an owl though, was she?”

“No,” Harry agreed quietly, “No, she wasn’t,” he’d fallen silent for a long moment, before saying, “I never wanted anyone to die for me,”

And:

“Dumbledore is dead, isn’t he?”

“He is,”

“How did he die?”

Draco’s heart had stilled in his chest for a moment, and he’d felt like he might be sick as he answered, “Death Eaters got into the castle. Snape killed him, but Snape said it was prearranged. That he’d been dying already,”

Harry had pinned him in place with a piercing gaze, and Draco waited for the sword to fall. But again, it didn’t. Harry looked back to the soup he had been stirring at the time, and said in a mutter, “I think I was there,” Draco had opened his mouth to disagree; Harry hadn’t been there, he knew he hadn’t, but how could he explain that without revealing that he had been. Then Harry had said, “He said ‘please’,” and Draco had could hardly breath.

How had Harry known that?

It became clear to Draco that Harry’s memory was truly beginning to reform into its proper shape, when he walked into the bedroom to find Harry staring at himself.

“Harry? Baby?” He called up the stairs, winding his scarf around his neck. Pet names - Harry loved hearing them, almost as much as Draco loved saying them, “Are you coming to say goodbye to me? I’m going out soon,”

Venturing out into the muggle world to find food and other resources had become so routine at this point, that it didn’t even occur to Draco to be nervous anymore. What was the point in working himself up about something that needed to be done? It was doing nothing but adding unnecessary anxiety to their lives.

“Harry?” He called again, frowning as he took the last two steps in one, “You okay?” He pushed the bedroom door open, and found Harry stood in the middle of the room with his shirt off, “What are you doing? It’s freezing darling…,” but then his voice trailed off as he understood.

Harry was staring down at himself, his fingers tracing carefully along the scars that crisscrossed his chest and arms.

Draco watched him, fighting to control his breathing.

They didn’t talk about the scars. Not ever. Harry barely even acknowledged that they were there other than to offer his hands to Draco whenever he pulled out the salve that he routinely rubbed into Harry’s wrists. It had gotten to the point that Draco wondered if Harry’s mind was simply blocking them out, as well as the questions that they inspired.

“Are you okay, baby?” He asked quietly.

Harry glanced at him briefly, then turned his attention back to where he was working his thumb and forefinger around his wrists, “I… I got these in the dungeons, didn’t I?” He said softly.

“You did,” Draco approached cautiously, stooping down to snatch Harry’s jacket up from the floor, “Do you remember?” He slung the jacket about Harry’s shoulders and tried to rub warmth back into him.

Harry ignored the jacket and his rubbing hands though, “I had chains on,”

“You did,” Draco confirmed again, watching his face carefully.

“Snape was there. And you were there,” painfully blank green eyes turned on him.

“I was,” Draco said in a whisper.

“Why were you there?”

Draco tried not to react, breathing carefully and shallowly, “The Dark Lord sent me there. He… he believed that I had betrayed him - that I would betray him. It was a test. To see how I would react,”

Harry stared at him for a long, silent moment, and then his eyelids flickered a little. He released his wrist and pulled the jacket tighter around himself. He didn’t protest when Draco helped him to put it on and zip it up. He flashed Draco a smile, “Well - I guess he had a good reason to be nervous,” the smile became a half grin, as if they were sharing a joke, “You did betray him, after all,”

Draco struggled to smile back, but Harry didn’t notice, already pulling his coat on and pushing a hot water bottle in between his bare chest and the jacket.

“I did,” Draco agreed out-loud.

‘ But I betrayed you first,’ he said only to himself.

“Come on,” Harry said softly, “The faster you go, the faster you come back,”

Draco followed him down the stairs only after allowing himself two seconds to feel the despair in his chest.

At the door, with a blanket he had nabbed from the back of a chair around his shoulders, Harry muttered, “I could come with you, you know,”

“No,” Draco answered firmly as he laced up his boots, “I want you safe and here where no one can find you and hurt you. Where the Dark Lord can’t find you,”

“He’d hurt you as well, Draco,” Harry protested, “You’re a traitor. He’d kill you, and worse for having defied him,”

Draco sighed to himself and rubbed a weary hand across his face, “Yes, but you matter more than me,”

Harry scoffed at him, “Why do I matter more?”

Harry let out a surprised yelp when Draco turned abruptly and pulled him into his arms and smothered his face with kisses, “Because you do, my love” he stroked his hair, “I’d be lost without you,”

“I’d be lost without you, too,” Harry said, near petulantly as he pretended to only tolerate Draco’s affections, but Draco could see the smile in the corner of his mouth.

Draco shook his head and smiled even though it was difficult to with the clenching of his heart, “No you wouldn’t,” in the back of his mind, he could hear the ticking of a clock that crept closer and closer to midnight, “You have plenty of people who love you other than me. You’d be just fine,”

“You have other people who love you as well - what about your parents?”

Draco froze but covered it with a kiss. Of course, Harry didn’t know. How could he?

He brushed past it though, “What do you want for dinner then, hmm?” He rubbed his hands up and down Harry’s arms, finding it near impossible to let go of him, “What shall I get for you?”

Now that Harry was able to stand for longer, they had taken to completing the housework together until Harry reached his limit and had to tap out. Of all of the chores though, the one that Harry had near claimed for himself (unless he was sleeping and couldn’t stop Draco from taking over) was cooking.

Harry hummed softly up at him, “I vote spaghetti bolognaise,”

“From a jar?”

Harry scowled, “ No, not from a jar,” he said the word like a slur, “Do you need a list?”

“No, I don’t need a list,” Draco said with a chuckle and a shake of his head, “I won’t be long, okay?” He turned to leave, but then paused at the door before he stepped out, “Hey, what do you want for Christmas?”

Harry blinked at him, nonplussed, “What? Christmas?”

“Yes - it’s just around the corner now. What do you want?”

“For you to come home to me,” Harry said very seriously.

Draco had to leave before Harry saw the tears in his eyes. He knew that when Harry’s memories came back, he’d be glad to see the back of him.

He had picked the town he apparated to from the map that Severus had left them - he was beginning to mark it with the key that Snape had already started, for supermarkets and whatever else might be useful to them. In a fit of madness, he had drawn a tiny flower on the map when he had found a florist. It was a luxury they didn’t need, and stealing the money required from a muggle had been a risk he hadn’t needed to take, but it was hard to regret it when Harry had flushed red at the bouquet Draco had produced from behind his back when he returned home one day.  

He was beginning to feel more and more like a man returning from a hard day at work to find his loving husband waiting for him. It was an idea that gave him more pleasure than the reality of their situation, and so he clung to it in the privacy of his own mind.

Draco didn’t struggle to find a muggle to imperio, and he was currently in a side street, leant up against a wall, waiting for the muggle to return. He glanced around the street, always wary that he was being watched. While he didn’t find any on-lookers, he did find a shop that had him straightening in interest: ‘Nightingale and Son’s Audio and Visual’.

It wasn’t the large record player in the window that caught his attention, but the significantly smaller wireless that was sat on a table next to it.  

He’d told Harry that he’d try and fix their wireless, but then Dobby hadn’t returned, and it hadn’t seemed important anymore. Perhaps it would make a good Christmas present, if Draco could fix it. And if he couldn’t, maybe this shop could do repairs.

He made to move away from the wall behind him to step across the road towards the shop, when he noticed that the muggle he had cursed was currently approaching him, mindlessly pushing a trolley down the road towards him. Draco winced at the sight: that was sure to attract attention. He’d have to start waiting nearer to the shops themselves.

He left the town with one last considering look at the audio shop, before disaperating home.

He found Harry snoozing on the sitting room sofa, clearly waiting for him with an enormous coat on (which, judging by the way they bulged a little, had more than one hot water bottle shoved down them), a blanket over his lap, and a book slowly falling from his fingertips. Harry blinked himself awake when Draco pushed his way into the room, only to flinch when the book finally broke free and toppled to the ground.

“You okay? Draco scooped up the book before Harry could.

“Fine - you?” Harry spoke around an enormous yawn.

Draco smiled fondly and dropped a kiss on his brow, “I’m well. I got everything we needed. Give me those hot water bottles. I’ll refill them - you go up to bed. I won’t be long,”

Harry paused to stroke his palm against Draco’s cheek, sighing through his nose in relief and satisfaction at the contact, before disappearing from the room and climbing the stairs carefully.

While the kettle boiled on the stove, Draco considered the yellowing wireless with interest, frowning down at it in between his hands. Knowing it wouldn’t work, he still tried to turn the dial. Unsurprisingly, nothing happened. He considered it for a moment, then pulled his wand from his pocket.

“ Repairo!” He tried the dial again, but nothing, “ Sonus Repairo!” He tried the dial once more, and this time the lights briefly flickered into life, but that was all. He sighed and rubbed his face as he turned to take the simmering kettle off the heat. Well, he had a few weeks yet to figure it out.

Harry was all snuggled up in bed waiting for him. He opened a bleary eye and squinted up at Draco, then lifted the duvet with an arm so that Draco could crawl in with him and wedge the hot water bottles around them. It took them a moment to settle, rearranging themselves and loosening taught fabric that had become caught, until they were sharing a pillow with their arms wound around each other.

For a moment, they simply laid together, breathing one another’s air.

“Draco?” Harry murmured against him, into his throat.

“Hmm?”

“Where are your parents now? Are they still with the Death Eaters? Even after everything?”

Draco closed his eyes, and pressed his cheek into Harry’s hair, “They’re dead, Harry,” he said gently.

Harry reeled back, staring up at Draco with horrified eyes. He looked so devastated for him, that Draco couldn’t bring himself to tell him not to be sorry - that they had feathered their own nest, and that all of this was their fault as much as it was Draco’s.

He worked on the wireless in secret as much as he could, but it was a task that proved difficult when he and Harry spent nearly all of their time together. Draco ended up resorting to sneaking out of the bed whenever he was sure that Harry was well and truly asleep and working on it in the office next door. It was hampered further by the fact that the office was freezing cold, making it difficult for Draco to move his fingers, but Draco wasn’t willing to take one of the heaters away from Harry.

Finally, in the week before Christmas, Draco gave up.  

Technically, the wireless was less complicated than the Vanishing Cabinet had been, but it had electrical elements that Draco had no idea what to do with. He had fixed the magical ones, he was certain, but if the bastard thing wouldn’t even turn on, then it was completely useless anyway.  

And so, when it came to getting their food for Christmas dinner, he returned to the same village that he had seen the audio shop in. It was difficult to smuggle the wireless out of the house, but it was made less difficult by the fact that Harry was practically agonising over the list he had written out for Draco, checking and double checking that he hadn’t missed anything that they might want. He seemed determined to try and make this Christmas feel like any other Christmas, and so while he had been debating the merits of turkey versus beef, Draco had quickly relocated the wireless from the office to the patio.

“What do you think Draco?” Harry asked, straightening just as Draco had carefully pulled the kitchen door closed.

Draco froze, feeling caught, before he hurried to cover for himself, “Let’s have beef. Turkey is rubbish, I’ve never really liked it, and if we have beef, we can use the juices in the gravy - yes?”

“I suppose you’re right,” Harry agreed, tapping his lip with the quill, “This isn’t too much, is it?” He added anxiously, glancing up from the long list he had written, “I mean - isn’t it a bit of an unnecessary risk? This entire list is for one day, basically. We could get two weeks worth of food in the same trip,”

Draco snatched the list from him before he could change his mind, “Harry - shut up,” he said kindly, kissing him quickly, “Everything in this life is a risk, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t worth it. I want to have a nice Christmas Day with you, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Just because we’re in the middle of… of this,” he gestured vaguely to the house around them, “doesn’t mean we aren’t allowed to try and be happy, right?”

Harry didn’t look convinced, but said, “Right,” anyway.

“And besides,” Draco said, shrugging and tucking the list away, “The leftovers will probably keep us going until New Year anyway,”

Harry sent him off with a fierce kiss.

With some poor hapless muggle heading off to the supermarket with their shopping list and strict instructions to wait in the car park for him, Draco turned his attention to the audio shop he had seen before.

The wireless tucked under his arm; Draco pushed his way into the shop nervously.  

It was small, and musty, and despite the enormous shop windows, it was surprisingly dark. There were all kids of muggle electrical paraphernalia on show - speakers and modern muggle radios, plus what Draco thought were TBs or… uh… TDs? No - TVs! That was it. Harry had told him about them once upon a time, but it had been so foreign to him that remembering even a little of what he had said was difficult.

At the back of the shop was an enormous wooden counter, behind which Draco could see what looked like hundreds of black ropes hanging from the wall. In front of them, stood a muggle that Draco could only describe as ‘generically middle aged’. He almost looked as if he had been designed to blend into the background, with his only real defining feature being his heavy brow. Otherwise, had Draco described him out-loud, he could have been describing half of the male population in the country - dark short hair, muddy brown eyes, pale skin (but not so pale as to be interesting), and of an average height and build.

Draco guessed that this was Nightingale (or perhaps Nightingale’s son).

“Good morning,” Nightingale greeted pleasantly, “Can I help you?”

“I hope so,” Draco said politely, placing the wireless on the counter, “I’ve been attempting to repair this, but I’ve not been getting very far,” he admitted, “I didn’t know if perhaps your shop provided repair services?”

“We do,” the man answered mildly, pulling the wireless closer, “Is this in heirloom? Haven’t seen a model like this in a long time,”

“It was left to me,” not technically a lie - Snape had sort of left it to them, “Will it take you long? I was hoping to have it ready for a Christmas present,”

Nightingale hummed, producing screwdrivers from a belt around his waist and beginning to carefully undo the screws at its edges, “Let’s have a quick look inside. If its something obvious then it might only take me an hour or so. Anything more complicated and you might need to come back later in the week - we tend to keep parts to hand, but with a machine this age, we might need to order them specially, which may not arrive till after Christmas at this point,” with the back off, the man peered down into the wireless’s inner workings and hummed under his breath, “Well - just from looking, it looks like you’ve got issues with the soldering. Can you see?” He pointed with his little finger, and Draco nodded, though he honestly didn’t know what he was pointing at or what it meant.

“Can you fix it?”

“I can re-solder it for you if you give me an hour or two. That might be all it needs and its a pretty cheap fix. Anymore and it might be worth just buying a new one, unless it has sentimental value to you,”

“It does,” Draco said quickly; buying a new one felt like giving up, and he was sure that repairing the wireless that Harry and Dobby had worked on together would mean more to Harry, than simply replacing it.

The man nodded, “I can understand that. Give me an hour, and I’ll see what I can do,”

Draco ended up wasting time in a cafe nearby after collecting his shopping and shrinking it so that the alarming number of bags could fit into his pockets. His eyes were near fixed on the clock above the door as he sipped at his tea. He couldn’t leave it too late or else Harry would worry - he’d have to come up with some excuse for the amount of time he’d been gone as it was. Perhaps he should go and find a florist and buy some flowers to distract him with - Harry always went all red and flustered when Draco gave him flowers.

Finally, exactly an hour later, Draco returned to the audio shop.

Nightingale was stood where he’d left him, and he brightened immediately upon seeing Draco.

He produced the wireless from somewhere below the counter and turned it on with a flick of a switch, and cheerful music floated back through the shop towards Draco, “Tadah!”  

Draco didn’t bother suppressing his excited grin.

“Draco?” Draco didn’t open his eyes; he was warm and cozy, and someone was stroking his hair, “ Draaaaco?”

He sighed through his nose, his eyes still closed, and said petulantly, “What?”

“Merry Christmas,” the words were whispered close to his ear, and he felt lips press against his cheek.

It took a long moment for Draco to register the words that had been said, but when he did, he fought to drag himself into wakefulness. It was still dark when he opened his eyes, but he could see Harry’s gentle smile. He hummed, and stretched, then grabbed Harry and pulled him into his chest. Harry let out a surprised yelp as Draco dragged him down and over so that they were pressed tightly together.

“Merry Christmas, my love,” Draco murmured back, rubbing his cheek into Harry’s hair.

Harry chuckled below him and enjoyed his attention, before slapping his chest, “Come on - let’s get breakfast,”

They had bacon sandwiches for breakfast and made the effort to drag two of the three heaters downstairs to try and help keep warm as they exchanged fond smiles across the table. They didn’t need them in the kitchen though - with the heat from the oven and the log burner in the utility room, the room was practically toasty as they prepared Christmas dinner together. By the time the windows were covered in condensation from the boiling potatoes (that they were planning to roast half of and mash the other half; Harry had insisted that they needed two types of potato), Harry was beginning to flag despite his protestations to the contrary.

He reluctantly allowed Draco to shepherd him into the sitting room and onto the sofa, swearing that he was only going to shut his eyes for a few minutes, but he was still sleeping deeply by the time Draco had taken the beef out to rest, and was using the juices to make the gravy.

Later, sat around the table with their overflowing plates in front of them, Draco felt a little like he was in a dream. Harry was near grinning opposite him, looking ridiculously soft beneath the warm light of the candle that hung from the ceiling - light that Draco had criticised months ago, but now he couldn’t imagine anything else. There was a lopsided Christmas hat on his head, just as there was one on top of Draco’s. They hadn’t needed Christmas crackers, but it was worth it for the surprised, pleased widening of Harry’s eyes when he’d produced them from the back of a cupboard.

With their leftovers stored in the pantry under a tonne of preservation spells, and the treacle tart that Draco had gotten specially warming in the oven, he had produced his second surprise for Harry.

“What’s that?” Harry asked curiously as Draco pushed a gift bag across the table to him.

“A Christmas present,” Draco said simply.

“But… but I didn’t get you anything,” Harry said, his expression flitting between eager and heart broken, “I didn’t get you anything,” he repeated more mournfully.

Draco shuffled closer to press a kiss to his cheek, “Don’t turn all maudlin on me, Potter,” he joked, “We’re not exactly in the best situation to be getting presents for each other, and if I’m being honest, this is for both of us,”  

Harry didn’t look sure though.

Even as Harry’s memories returned, and the time that he spent confused about who he was and where they were diminished to basically nothing, to the point that Draco could almost kid himself into believing that the old-Harry was back in the room with him, this hadn’t changed. The insecurity, the nervousness, the need for reassurance. It was fear, he was sure, that unpinned it all. The fear and the trauma. The trauma came out in his nightmares, and the fear in this.

It was alright though. Draco would make sure that it was alright.

“Are you going to open it?” He asked when Harry only chewed his lip nervously.

“What’s there to open - it’s just covered in tissue paper?” Harry tried to joke; Draco scoffed dramatically next to him. Finally, Harry pulled his gift from the bag, but only blinked in confusion at the wireless.

“It’s fixed,” Draco clarified immediately, “I got it fixed,”

“ Oh!” The sound was pleased and surprised, then Harry’s expression crumpled a little as the significance of the action hit him, “Oh,” he said more wetly, reaching out a hand to turn the switch, and adding the sound of Christmas music to the low hum of the oven, “Thank you,” Harry whispered, leaning into Draco’s side, “Thank you,”

Later, when they had eaten desert, had had a two-hour nap curled up in bed together, and they had just finished washing up in the kitchen, Harry surprised him with a kiss.  

Draco could feel the intent behind it - the want and the need, and he couldn’t help but give into it, kissing back just as deeply, remembering back to the days when they did this all of the time. He threaded his still damp fingers through Harry’s hair and opened his mouth when he felt the brush of a tongue against his lips. It was hard to say no to this unspoken request for intimacy. It became easier when Harry posed it as a question.

“Will you take me to bed?” He panted against Draco’s mouth, “Want you to fuck me - we did that before didn’t we?” He murmured, brushing their noses together, “I remember you were so sweet about it - worried about me. I just remember it feeling good though. Having you inside of me. Want to do it again,”

Draco kissed him, but gently, sweetly, to give himself cover to think of something to say. He had left Harry hanging before when he’d asked this question, and he could still remember the look of misery on his face when he’d thought he’d been rejected. He couldn’t bare to see that expression again.

But the simple fact of the matter was, as much as he wanted Harry, the idea of having sex with him when he didn’t know the whole truth made him feel like a monster. Harry wouldn’t want this if he knew. He wouldn’t want anything to do with him. Sleeping with him now didn’t feel loving - it felt manipulative.

And so, Draco separated them reluctantly and simply leant their heads together, “I love you,” Draco whispered against him, “I love you so much,”

“I love you too,” Harry murmured.  

Harry tried to lift up to press their lips together again, but Draco stopped him with his hands around his arms, “I love you,” he repeated, “but I don’t think we should sleep together right now,”

Harry’s head reared back, and his eyes snapped open; he peered between Draco’s intently, and then his gaze fell, “Is it…,” he started, his voice thick, “Is it because of the scars?”

“No, oh my darling, no,” Harry reluctantly allowed himself to be drawn into Draco’s chest, “I think you’re beautiful, no matter what. I want you so much it feels like it shouldn’t be allowed, and I’d want you no matter what you looked like. I think you could swap bodies with Filch and I’d still want you,” Harry let out the smallest amused huff of breath again him, “But I think we should wait. Until more of your memories come back. I… I worry that you would regret it, if we slept together now, and you didn’t have all your memories,”

Harry leant away and frowned up at him, “But… but what have I forgotten that would change anything? I love you - that’s all that matters. Even when I barely knew who I was, I knew that I loved you,”

Draco shook his head, “You’ll remember, and then we can talk about it then,”

“And what if they never come back,” Harry said simply, “What then?”

Draco swallowed heavily, “Then… then I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you everything I think you still don’t remember. But… but I’m sure they will. They’ve been coming back faster than ever this week. I’m sure you’ll remember by the end of January, but if you don’t, I swear I’ll tell you. Instead of reading you one of Snape’s awful books, I’ll tell you the story of us, okay baby?”

Harry stared it him intently, before letting out a heavy breath, and nodding.

In the end, they didn’t need to wait for the end of January.  

Between Christmas and and New Year, as Draco had predicted, they essentially lived on their left-over Christmas dinner. Draco carved up what remained of the beef, and they had it in sandwiches, the mashed potatoes he used on cottage pie, and the rest of the left over veg Harry made into something he called Bubble and Squeak. Draco didn’t understand the name at all, and he was mildly dubious as he watched Harry cook it, but in the end, he had to admit it wasn’t half bad.

It wasn’t until New Year’s Eve that they actually remembered the repaired wireless that they’d left in the kitchen. In the sitting room, Harry sat in the middle of the floor trying to find them a good station to listen to while Draco lit candles around the room, both for their light and their extra heat. He encompassed each one in a barrier ward - the last thing they needed was to burn their home down.

Harry briefly lingered on a wizarding station but moved on quickly and finally settled on what sounded like the New Year’s celebrations in London. Two voices that Draco didn’t recognise, a man and woman, were talking over the sounds of live music and cheering.  

‘ That was a snippet of the New Years broadcast that can be found over on BBC One - for now, we’ll return to our flashback of some the years best tunes, but don’t worry! We’ll be back in time for the countdown to the New Year! For now, though, we turn to the wonderful Céline Dion and her Oscar winning song,’ the voice began to be overlayed with piano and what Draco thought might have been a whistle of some kind, ‘ My Heart Will Go on! For all you lovers out there - enjoy!’

Harry and Draco stood in silence for a moment, listening to the song together.  

Harry gave a small hum, “Pretty,”

“Depressing,” Draco added, “What’s an ‘Oscar’?”

“You know what a film is right?” Draco nodded, “They’re a type of award for films. The winner gets this gold statue of a weird, man, figure thing,”

“You aren’t explaining this well,” Draco said with a chuckle, lighting the last of the candles, “Real gold?”

Harry wrinkled his nose, “Probably not - not solid gold anyway,”

“But this is a song - how can it win an ‘Oscar’?”

Harry shrugged, “Must have been in a film, I guess,”  

“And I wouldn’t have dedicated this to ‘the lovers’,” Draco scoffed, sitting down with Harry on the floor, “This sounds like something you’d hear at a funeral,”

“It’s meant to be romantic; I suppose. Loving someone forever, even if you’re apart,” and that shut Draco up. It was hard to disparage a sentiment that he identified so strongly with.

When it came to Harry, he felt as if he had fallen into a deep, bottomless well, with no foot hold in sight and no chance of climbing out again. Except rather than panicking about his situation, he had accepted it and embraced it.

To cover his silence, he leant across the wireless and pressed their lips together quickly. Harry smiled at him, as if he knew something that Draco didn’t.

‘An amazing record there from Céline Dion - in the top ten for eleven weeks this year! Amazing! And now, a slightly less famous song, but a personal favourite of mine: Iris, by the Goo Goo Dolls’

They sat together quietly, listening again, their fingers tangled together.

“I like this,” Draco concluded quickly, “More than the other song, at any rate,”

“Me too,”

“Do you want to dance?”  

Harry looked at him, naked surprise on his face, before it melted into a shy smile, “Yeah… yeah, okay. I’m not very good though,” he warned as Draco pulled him to his feet, pausing only to set the wireless somewhere that they wouldn’t kick it over.

“Don’t worry - I doubt they’re going to play anything we could mess up too badly,”

They ended up swaying in a circle mostly, though Draco branched out to twirling Harry on the spot before pulling him into his chest and stealing a kiss from him. When the song had ended, they didn’t sit down, even though the next song was frankly bizarre, as far as Draco was concerned.

‘ Everybody was kung-fu fighting!’

“What on earth is this song?” Draco said with a shake of his head, “You know - I quite like it actually, I think,”

“I’m happy for you,” Harry chortled.

“It’s bouncy - not sure it was made for dancing though,”

“We can stop if you want to?” Harry offered hesitantly, looking as if he might sit down.

Draco snatched his hand before he could though, “No, no - I don’t want to stop. This is fun,”

Harry allowed Draco to swing him around, to hold him close in his arms and then jump up and down with him at the more energetic songs. For the slower songs, they ended up holding one another close and swaying again.

‘ You’re still the one I run to, the one that I belong to, you’re still the one I want for life,’

Harry was humming into his chest along with the chorus.

“Do you know this song?” Draco asked curiously.

“No,” Harry said with a shrug, “Never heard it before now,”

“How are you singing along then?”

Harry shrugged again, “It’s predictable I guess - catchy. ‘You’re still the one I kiss goodnight’,” Harry sang lightly, a small smile on his face, “Probably why it’s in the charts,”

“You’ve got a nice voice,”

Harry smiled, pleased, but didn’t say anything else.

‘ And now, one more song before we change to the count down to the end of the year,’ as the presenter spoke, a song began playing over the top of her, ‘ By very popular demand - Robbie Williams with ‘Angels’. Thank you for listening to us this year, from me and everyone else here at BBC Radio One, we hope to see you again in the new year! See you in nineteen-ninety-nine! Happy New Year!’

‘ I sit and wait, does an angel contemplate my fate, and do they know, the places where we go, when we’re grey and old…’

Predictably, Harry was humming along by the second chorus, and was surprisingly accurate despite claiming to have never heard the song before. Draco took full advantage of having him close to him, burying his nose in his hair and trying his best to memorise his scent. Harry clung back just as tightly, the hand on Draco’s shoulder having worked its way up and into his hair.

Finally, the song came to an end, and the audio changed to what was clearly live audio, with screaming and clapping in the background again.

‘ Ten!’

Ah the countdown.

‘ Nine!’

Harry leant back from him and smiled fondly.

‘ Eight!’

The bang of a firework going off prematurely in the distance made Harry flinch a little.

‘ Seven!’

The expression on Harry’s face suddenly stilled as he stared up at Draco.

‘ Six!’

“Harry? Are you okay?”

‘ Five!’

Harry opened his mouth but said nothing.

‘ Four!’

Harry snatched his arms away from Draco and took a stumbling step back.

‘ Three!’

Draco reached out instinctively to catch him, but Harry slapped his hands away.

‘ Two!’

“Harry?”

‘ One!’

“You… you wrote me a letter,” Harry whispered, and Draco felt as if his guts had turned to ice.

‘ Happy New Year!’

“This… all of this,” Harry shook his head a little, his voice becoming choked, “It’s all because of you, isn’t it?”

Fireworks exploded in the distance, and all that Draco could say was, “It is.”

Chapter Text

He’d been crying in the girl’s bathroom on the second floor, hunched over the sink, his shoulders shaking. Crying not because he was failing, but because he was succeeding. And then he’d seen a flash in the mirror - a shadow in the dark - and he’d spun around, his wand outstretched and one of the vilest curses in existence on the tip of his tongue. And then he’d seen who it was.

Harry looked stricken, as if Draco had just backhanded him. Except Draco had been about to do much worse.

With a sob, Draco collapsed to his knees, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry - I’m s-so sorry, Harry, p-please. I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry!”

If he were Harry, he’d have stormed out and left him to his misery. But Harry had always been a better person than he was. Instead, Harry joined him on the floor, gathering him in his arms and holding him tightly, “Please - please Draco,” he whispered in his ear, his voice shaking, “Please. Let me help you. I love you. P-Please, Draco,” he whimpered, “I can feel you slipping away from me - please. Please stay with me. Let me help you. I love you,”

Draco just shook his head, sobbing into the other’s neck. Harry couldn’t help him. No one could help him. Instead of speaking, he turned to press their lips together in a kiss that was more teeth than anything else. Harry didn’t stop him, if anything he kissed him back even more fiercely. 

“Yes,” Harry murmured into his mouth as Draco pulled him up onto his feet and pushed him against the nearest sink so that he was half sat in the basin, “Yes. Take whatever you want from me - I love you. You can have it. Please!”

Their embrace was almost violent in its desperation, all teeth and tongues and Draco pressing his hands beneath Harry’s clothes and grasping at everything he could for the fear that it would be ripped away from him with only a moments notice. He’d have worried that he was hurting Harry, except that he could feel the other’s nails raking down his shoulders towards his back, and he could hear him panting out moans in his ear.

“What on earth is happening here?!”

They burst apart, panting and disheveled. Harry was shuddering lightly, his shirt near torn off as he leant against the sink to steady himself. Draco stood tall and true, though it was only to cover the sick feeling that was threatening to drown him.

Stood in the bathroom, staring between them through wide, horrified eyes, was a shocked Severus Snape. Draco didn’t think he’d ever seen the other man so shaken. He barely managed to gather himself before he spoke again, “Potter. Get back to your dormitory, now,” Harry hesitated, glancing at Draco fearfully, “NOW!” Snape barked, and Harry was gone, stumbling slightly as he pulled his shirt closed.

Draco watched him leave, feeling as if he were speeding his way through the five stages of grief as he went. This… this couldn’t be happening. Snape would tell the Dark Lord. Why couldn’t he just be happy? How dare the world take this from him?! Perhaps he could persuade Snape to say nothing. He’d spoken to Harry of leverage once; what leverage did he have over the potions master? The answer was none, and Draco felt despair threaten to drown him. This was it, he thought bitterly, this was the end, and there was nothing he could do about it.

“Malfoy,” Snape said sharply, “follow me,”

They didn’t speak on their journey to the dungeons, and Draco’s mind had by this point stilled. Any thoughts of bargaining or begging had deserted him, leaving only the numb acceptance that it was over. 

When Snape’s office door closed behind him, what he said was not what Draco had expected.

“Have you lost your mind Draco?” He hissed, “I may be able to protect you from a great many things, but sexually assaulting the boy-who-lived in the bathroom is not one of them!! There will be consequences as a result of this Draco. Serious consequences that will likely result in your expulsion but could just as easily land you in Azkaban with your father! And though I doubt the Dark Lord will care about you harming Harry Potter, he will most certainly disapprove of you getting yourself sent to prison and jeopardising his plans! He might kill you for this Draco - you and your mother both! And then your father when he can lay his hands on him!”

“You’re despicable,” the words escaped Draco without him meaning to let them out, but he found he couldn’t regret them.

Snape blinked at him, taken aback, “What?” He said softly, his voice dangerous.

“I said: you are despicable,” Draco repeated more loudly, “You are a despicable, disgusting human being. You, my mother, my father, the Dark Lord, all of you! And… and me too, I guess,” his voice shuddered a little, but now that he had started he found it impossible to stop, “You thought you’d caught me raping someone, and your immediate response wasn’t to help my victim, but to warn me that you might not be able to protect me from the consequences of my actions,”

Snape’s eyes flashed, “I would choose your next words carefully, Draco,” he near whispered.

Draco scoffed, “Or what? What’s the point to any of this! I was always set up to fail - we both know it! He was always going to kill me!”

“Draco - I made a vow to your mother-,”

“I don’t care,” Draco said simply, “I do not care. Let me fail. Let the Dark Lord kill me. And yes, you’ll die too, I suppose, for having failed in your vow, but to be honest, I think the world would be a better place without people like you and I in it,” he swallowed, “And, by the way - I wasn’t assaulting him,” Snape gave a half confused shake of his head, “Harry. I wasn’t assaulting him, or raping him, or whatever you thought I was doing. I wasn’t doing anything to him that he didn’t ask me to do,” 

There was a flicker of something in Snape’s eyes, something that Draco thought might have been relief, though relief from what, he couldn’t have said. That Draco wasn’t a rapist? Or that Snape wouldn’t have to try and defend him for being one perhaps.

Nothing in his voice gave him away though, “This is a dangerous game you are playing, Draco,” he said lowly, “A very dangerous game. I would be within my rights to tell the Dark Lord of this. And I would, were it not for the vow that I made to your mother. She risked much in asking me for my help Draco. Do not squander her efforts now because you cannot control your sexual urges,” 

The disdain in his voice sounded off to Draco’s ear. Forced even. But Draco was too consumed by his own despair to take much notice.

“It’s not about sex,” he said simply, “I don’t think it ever was,”

Snape said nothing, and even when Draco wrenched his office door open and marched out, still, he said nothing.

Draco walked mindlessly through the castle. He’d meant what he said. That the world would be better without him in it. But something that Snape had said kept reverberating in his mind. His mother. She would die if he failed. And he knew now, had known now for several days in fact, that he wouldn’t fail. He was perhaps a few attempts off success, and it was this that had had him sobbing in the bathroom.

Like a pigeon coming home to roost, he found himself in front of the Vanishing Cabinet. From his back pocket he pulled a sheet of parchment, and he folded it carefully into an origami bird. Then, when it was complete, he tapped it with his wand, and in his hand, he had a living, breathing finch. The bird fluttered in his grasp but otherwise did little to try and escape, and it allowed him to set it gently in the middle of the cabinet.

He closed the door. He cast the spell and waited for five seconds. He opened the door and was unsurprised to find the bird gone. Now for the real test.

He cast the spell again and waited. His breath held, he opened the door, and released his breath in a sob at what he saw within. 

The finch, alive and well, and he knew that it was the beginning of the end.

It was a nightmare. All of it. The Death Eaters in the castle, the headmaster on his knees before him, the sounds of battle coming from the staircase below. All of it. 

Oh Gods: where was Harry?

“I haven’t got any options!” Draco hated how his own voice trembled; he could feel a sob trying to work its way up and out of his throat, “He’s going to kill my parents! He’s going… he’s going to kill my family!” The tears he had fought so hard to suppress were forcing their way out past his defences, “But I… but I…,”

“But what Draco?” The headmaster asked gently, and it made Draco want to kill him, and then himself in equal measure.

“He’s going to kill Harry,” he whispered, “He’s going to kill Harry. I can’t let him kill Harry,”

The headmaster’s expression turned understanding and painfully kind, “You are in love with Harry, Draco,”

Draco nodded without meaning to, “Yes,” he whispered, “Yes. I love him. And he’s going to die because of me,” his wand arm trembled and collapsed, and he found himself bending at the waist, nearly crippled by the tears he was trying to hold back, “He… he told me that the Dark Lord would kill him, but that he thought I might get there first, and oh!” He let out a bark of laughter that turned into a sob on the way out, “He was right. He was more right then I thought he’d be,” he was nearly on his knees, desperation settling into his bones, “Please,” he whimpered, “Please help me,”

But it was too late. Feet thundered up the stairs and the Astronomy Tower was swarmed with the Death Eaters that Draco himself had let into the castle. He barely registered the flash of green light from the end of Snape’s wand or Dumbledore’s body as it went tumbling over the side of the tower. 

He’d expected it to be louder.

Suddenly, he was out in front of the castle, his aunt’s hand on his upper arm, her nails digging into him as she dragged him out of the grounds. Shouting from behind them caught all of their attention though. Shouting devastated and furious and horrified in equal measure.

Draco made to look over his shoulder, but he managed only a glance. It was enough. 

“Please - stop! PLEASE! NO!” Harry was screaming, tears rolling down his face; Draco expected him to be screaming at Snape, but he wasn’t. His eyes were fixed on Draco, “DRACO!! DON’T GO! PLEASE STOP!  DON’T! DON’T PLEASE! STOP! NO!”

His last terrible, guttural scream of Draco’s name was still echoing in his ears when he appeared on the Manor’s front lawn.

Draco had thought the Astronomy tower was a nightmare, but he was wrong. Oh, he was so wrong.

This… this was the nightmare.

His father in his face, a letter held out accusingly and pressed into his chest. A letter that ended with ‘I love you’ and was signed in Harry’s hand. A letter that had ushered in Draco’s worst nightmares made real.

His father was going to tell the Dark Lord. 

“Don’t you see, Draco? We can use this - all will be forgiven, you’ll see,”

He was going to tell the Dark Lord that Draco had seduced Harry. That Draco could lure Harry out for him.

“What do you mean, ‘no’?!” His father had slapped him, harsh and hard, “You will do this Draco. One way or another. We are calling for an audience with the Dark Lord. If you don’t do as I say, he will kill you Draco. You, and then your mother and I too. Do you understand?” He’d slapped him again, “Do you understand Draco?! He’s as good as dead anyway! I will not let you throw all our lives away over some half-blood whore!!”

Day turned into night, then into day again, and only after hours and hours of coercion and persuasion from his father and aunt both, did Draco find himself stood in front of the Dark Lord himself - no, not stood. Knelt. His head bowed as he regurgitated every lie they had whispered into his ear, a letter by his side ready to be sent with the first owl available. It was a letter he had written weeks ago, only to turn coward before he could send it. While the contents of the letter may have been written willingly, the date, time, location and his signature on the bottom had been written with his father breathing down his neck and his aunt’s wand pressed into his throat.

The Dark Lord looked at him, long and silent. Draco stared at the floor, but he could feel his eyes burning into the back of his neck. He didn’t believe him. He didn’t believe Draco - he would kill him. He’d kill them all, and still use the letter that Draco had written to trap and kill Harry too.

Draco wished he’d killed himself. Burnt the letter the moment he had written it, and then slit his throat just to be safe. 

Oh Gods! 

Harry was going to die, and it was all his fault. He deserved death. He longed for it.

But the Dark Lord didn’t kill him.

“Very well…,”

He wished that he had.

Five days later found Draco stood in the shadows just outside of a small-town square in the middle of the night, staring into the square’s centre. The August heat was unbearable, even without the sun, the humidity pressing down on him and prompting sweat to drip down the back of his neck.

To the eyes of anyone watching, he was all alone. But he wasn’t. He was being watched discreetly from the space between two shops by Bellatrix, an invisibility cloak around her shoulders. Her wand was trained on him - he didn’t need to be able to see it to know that it was true. She was under strict instructions from his father to stop him from doing anything stupid. He knew her left forearm was bare as well - ready and waiting to call to the Dark Lord to send reinforcements. 

A quiet pop at exactly four am had Draco straightening. 

But there was no one.

He had almost begun to relax when he saw a figure appear beneath a streetlight, an invisibility cloak being pulled from their head. 

Harry peered about nervously.

Then three things happened in quick succession: the mark on his forearm began to burn, the wand in Harry’s hand went flying through the air, and Bellatrix and at least fifteen Death Eater’s stepped into the square. 

“Hello there ickle baby Potter,” Bellatrix said with a mad giggle, “Have you missed me?”

Harry’s eyes widened in alarm, then settled into the look of defiant determination that Draco had seen staring up at him from the floor of a train compartment once-upon-a-time. But then Bellatrix leant back into the shadows and caught Draco by his wrist to drag him into the light. 

Harry’s eyes flashed at the sight of him: confusion became a furious denial.

“I’ve missed you Potter - so has the Dark Lord,” Bellatrix simpered.

Denial broke down into heartbreak.

“He’s got plans for you Potter, oh such wonderful plans. And we all have the clever Draco here to thank for it,” her words were designed for the Death Eaters around them; to leave no doubt that it was the power and cleverness of her family that had brought Harry to ruin. The words had their own effect on Harry though.

Heartbreak became despair, and Draco watched in real time as all the hope and strength drained from Harry, until all that was left was a look he had never imagined he would see in Harry’s fierce green eyes: defeat.

Harry was weeping silently, tears streaming down the sides of his face, though Draco knew that it wasn’t for the fear of what was about to happen to him, but for the betrayal that had led to his downfall. He didn’t fight back when Dolohov backhanded him, sending him crashing to his knees with the force of the blow.

Draco made to step forwards, but Bellatrix’s grip on his wrist tightened and twisted so that her nails were gouging into his wrists. 

“Don’t be stupid Draco,” she hissed, “You’ll get yourself killed,” Harry was screaming now as Macnair held him beneath a cruciatus, “He’s just a half-blood whore, Draco. You’ll thank me, when you’re older and married to some pretty pureblood with half a dozen children,”

The last thing Draco saw of Harry before his aunt had bound him in chains and pulled a black bag over his head, was the empty look in his bloodshot eyes.

Another school year, and another day that Draco dwelt on how much easier everything would have been if he’d ignored his aunt’s nails digging into his arm and had shouted out to protest Harry’s capture. The Dark Lord would have killed him, and that would have been that, rather than this dragging, torturous existence.  

Nothing would hurt any more, and he’d have been with Harry again. Not that he thought he deserved to be with Harry. Harry would be with his family in the afterlife - people who had loved him and had died for him. That wasn’t Draco. If Draco had loved him properly, then he’d have died for him too. He wished that he had.

He was on his way back to the common room from the great hall when one of the Carrows stopped him. The sister. He didn’t care to know her name.

She sneered at him a little, “You’re wanted in the dungeons,”

He followed her mindlessly, wondering vaguely if he was about to be tortured and killed. The idea wasn’t as horrifying as it should have been.

The Slytherin common room had been relocated from the dungeons, as well as the potions classroom and Slughorn’s office. Snape had said something about concerns over its structural integrity, but everyone knew it was bullshit. They’d all seen the Death Eaters coming and going from there. He was certain that the dungeons were being used as their name suggested they should be. As actual dungeons.

Carrow left him in a room alone - a room he’d never seen before, enormous and dark and made of stone with what looked like scaffolding of rotting wooden beams hung on the back wall, and various worktables covered in cauldrons and beakers and other equipment that Draco could only guess what they were used for. The room was silent for a moment after Carrow had closed the door. Then Draco heard the sound of chains gently knocking together, and he realised that he was not alone.

The scaffolding at the back of the room had a body hanging from it with great enormous iron chains.

He approached carefully. His eyes fixed on the figure’s bowed head - a man, or a boy. His arms were held apart by thick chains at his wrists that looped up and over the scaffolding - apart and up, holding him taut so that his toes brushed against the stone as he dangled. He wore rags that were torn with some patches of fabric completely missing, revealing the deep wounds to his skin. Not that his skin was easy to see for the grime and blood that covered him and dripped lazily onto the floor below.

Draco froze, realising who was hanging in front of him just as the dungeon door opened again.

He whipped around to find Snape stood in the doorway, “Ah, Mister Malfoy,” he said, his voice soft and cold as he closed the door behind him, “The Dark Lord has asked me to pass on his orders: you are required to assist me with my work however I require of you - I don’t need to tell you that this work is secret, and that sharing it will result in your painful death, as well as the death of whichever unfortunate soul you should choose to confide in,” Snape paused and glanced at the youth that hung from the ceiling, “I’m presuming that your’s and Mister Potter’s past will not cause you to fail in following your orders?” He asked dangerously.

Draco didn’t look back at the body behind him. If he did, he’d be sick. Instead, he said:

“No, sir.”

“I’m not doing this!” Draco barked, dropping the tools in his hands with a clatter and turning to march from the room, “Why do you even need me?! I’m not helping! This is a waste of my time!”

He tried his best not to look at Harry as he strode towards the door. He hung inert and silent. He wasn’t always silent though. Whatever it was that Snape was doing to him made him scream and cry and sob in wordless pleas for mercy. Listening to him, every single evening and all day on a Saturday and Sunday, was sending Draco insane. More than once his feet had mindlessly led him to the Astronomy tower, where he had stood and peered down at the ground below.

Was it called being suicidal, if you had no plans, and only day-dreamed about how much nicer it would be to be dead? How much more peaceful. He didn’t want to jump, in the same way that he didn’t want to become a famous rockstar, but still… it was nice to dream sometimes as to what life might be like if he did.

They weren’t the only ones who visited Harry and made him cry. More than once, he and Snape had had to interrupt some Death Eater or other and whatever fresh hell they’d decided to inflict upon him.

“Nothing permanent,” Bellatrix had said, shrugging and grinning as she’d left, “The Dark Lord wants him presentable for a public execution when you’re done with him,” 

She was there more than anyone else. She was trying to teach him a lesson, he knew, but he wasn’t sure how she’d have articulated it if he asked for clarification. Something about forgetting that Harry existed, probably. Draco felt it was more likely a punishment and a reminder. She knew his greatest crime, loving a half-blood boy, and she was torturing him only because she couldn’t torture Draco. Not without raising questions, at least.

Draco didn’t make it to the door. Snape caught him with a harsh grip on his upper arm, swinging him around so that he was pinned in place by the man’s tunnel like eyes.

“You seem to be under the impression that your presence here is voluntary,” Snape said coldly, “Let me dissuade you of this notion. It is not. You are here because the Dark Lord does not believe you Draco. He does not believe that you seduced Potter with the goal of handing him over. He believes that you truly loved the boy, and betrayed him only under duress,” Draco stared defiantly back into his eyes, anything like fear having been burnt out of him long ago, “If you leave Draco, he will kill you, and then he will kill your parents too,”

Certain that he had effectively communicated his message, Snape released him and returned to his ‘work’. Draco didn’t know what the man was meant to be doing, but it was making him sweat, and making Harry whimper and cry. Draco stayed rooted to the spot, and though he made no sound, on the inside he was screaming.

He could feel a resolve beginning to form. The resolve he hadn’t had when he tried to kill Dumbledore, he was now sure he had to kill Snape. But… but that wouldn’t help Harry.

The resolve shifted.

He had to save him. He didn’t know how, but he had to try, and if he died in the attempt, well… he could finally count himself as someone who loved Harry enough to die for him, and maybe he’d have earned his place with him in the after life.

Draco’s heart was racing in his chest as he crept his way down to the dungeons. 

He wasn’t particularly concerned about being caught on the journey - the Death Eaters in the castle were occupied trying to subdue Hagrid’s giant half brother, who was currently destroying the Transfiguration courtyard. Harry had told him the story once, as they lay in bed gossiping with one another. Of how Hagrid had tried to rescue his younger half-brother from the bullying of the other giants and had hidden him within the forest. 

It had been a massive gamble on Draco’s part to presume he would still be there, and he would have felt a twinge of guilt for the giant who he had imperio’d into attacking the school (the Death Eaters would surely kill him), were it not for the fact that the forest’s centaurs had apparently taken it as some kind of rallying cry, and had joined in his offensive with no input from Draco at all. He hadn’t realised quite how many centaurs lived in the forest. They would be fine, he was sure.

He hesitated at the entrance to the dungeons. There was almost certainly some ward in place to alert someone, likely Snape, should he try and enter without permission, but there was nothing for it. He simply had to hope he would be fast enough to get in, grab Harry, then run as quickly as he could for the edge of the castle’s boundaries. He didn’t know where he’d go from there, but it was a start.

The door to Harry’s cavernous cell opened with a gentle creek. Draco fought against the urge to hesitate, and rushed across the floor as quickly as he could, his wand raised and ready to start removing the shackles from Harry’s wrists. Knowing it wouldn’t work, he started with the unlocking charm, and then began working his way through every single charm, curse, hex, and spell he could think of that might break Harry free.

“Draco?” The muttered, hoarse call of his name had him freezing.

His wand raised, ready to try another spell, his eyes snapped to Harry.

Harry watched him through bleary, dull, green eyes.

“Harry,” he whispered, reaching out hesitantly to stroke his cheek, “Can you hear me?” Harry’s eyes flickered, and made to close, “Harry?” Still nothing; Draco gulped, and whispered, “Please, baby,” Harry lifted his head the smallest amount, and Draco saw just a slither of green before Harry was slumping back in his restrains. 

“What are you doing, Mister Malfoy?” Snape’s voice, cold and soft, came from the doorway.

Draco whipped around, finding himself stood defensively in front of Harry as if he were any match for the man in front of him. He’d just signed his and his parents’ death warrants, he was sure, but he couldn’t bring himself to honestly care. This was all their fault. Gods. It was all his fault.

But then, rather than executing him immediately, Snape was closing the door behind himself carefully and warding it with a flick of his wand.

“I presume the giant attacking the school is your doing,”

“Yes,” Draco said, his voice hard.

“And the centaurs?”

Draco sneered a little, “I’m afraid I can’t take the credit for that one, headmaster. They joined in by themselves. It appears we aren’t very popular with them these days. Probably something to do with all the discrimination, torture, and murder,”

Snape’s eyes were so dark, that Draco could only tell he had blinked by the way that the light that reflected in them briefly disappeared, “And what was your plan with Mister Potter then?” He asked quietly.

“Get him away,”

“And then what?”

“No idea,” Draco answered honestly.

Snape tilted his head a little, “Surely you knew that you were both likely to die in the attempt?”

“Death is better than this,” Draco said firmly.

“Even for you, Mister Malfoy?”

Draco gritted his teeth, “Even for me,”

And then Snape was approaching him across the stone floors, “Do you know why Potter is still alive, Draco? Why the Dark Lord hasn’t killed him yet?” Draco gave a slow shake of his head, “Attached to Potter, is a small slither of the Dark Lord’s soul. The Dark Lord wishes for this slither to be removed from Potter before killing him, so that it may be stored safely and further tether him to life. He has tasked me with this separation of souls, and I am very close to success. Another month, and I will be there. You must wait to rescue Potter until I am done,”

Draco shook his head, confused, “I don’t understand…” he whispered.

“Think Malfoy,” Snape barked, “With this portion of his soul tied to Potter’s, he cannot be truly killed. And the Dark Lord would tear the country apart looking for Potter should he escape, but if he were to escape with a piece of the Dark Lord’s soul attached to him, he would burn it down. Do you understand? I will help you, Draco. Do you hear me? I will help you.”

The door was locked and warded to protect them from interruption, and Harry was laid out flat on his back while Draco stroked his hair gently. With his charade as the Dark Lord’s right hand man well and truly dropped, Severus never worked on Harry unless he was in the deepest sleep that magic could achieve.

Draco watched, his eyes wide and wary as Snape pulled something that looked like black smoke clear of Harry’s heart and deposited it within a golden necklace. The necklace turned a sickly purple colour briefly, as if it had been poisoned, and then Snape let out the breath he had been holding.

Snape half collapsed against the desk, mopping sweat from his brow, “It is done,” he gasped, “We must act quickly, Draco. I can only conceal my success for a short while. We must act before the weekend,”

Draco nodded, carefully petting Harry’s hair and sweeping it back and out of his face, “Where will we go?” He asked softly.

“I have arranged it,” Severus answered, stepping closer so that he and Draco could reluctantly slide the chains back around Harry’s wrists; Harry whimpered a little as the iron cut into the sores at his wrists, but it would undo everything if their treachery were to be discovered by one of Harry’s other tormentors, “There is a house prepared for you. I have placed it under the Fidelius and made you the Secret Keeper - do you understand?” Together, they cranked Harry back up onto his toes; completely unconscious once more, Harry didn’t make a sound, “So long as you stay within its boundaries, you will survive,”

“We’ll starve Severus,” Draco pointed out, his heart hurting at the sight of Harry hanging limply in front of him.

“There is a house elf who will help you,” Severus assured him, “He cannot stay with you, for he is much needed elsewhere, but he will help as often as he can,”

“A house elf, Severus?” Draco shook his head, despairing, “They wouldn’t be loyal to me - they’d be loyal to the headmaster. If the Dark Lord replaced you, they’d be compelled to reveal the truth of where we are,”

“This house elf is free,” Severus said simply.

Draco knew at once who he meant. He swallowed, and nodded, “This weekend then.”

Harry was in his arms, limp and silent and weighing nearly nothing. Ahead of him, Severus carried a map that Draco had seen Harry use once, though he had no idea how Severus had come by it.

They daren’t risk a lumos, and so instead they were rushing about the school’s halls in the dark while Severus cast a spell that acted like a black cloak dragging along the walls, protecting them from the gaze of even the portraits.

At a T-junction, Snape paused, and Draco felt dread building in his gut.

“What’s wrong?” In his arms, Harry stirred a little, moaning softly in his throat.

“The Carrows,” Snape muttered, “The Carrows or Minerva. We must meet one of them if we are to proceed,”

Draco didn’t know why he bothered posing the question when the answer was so obvious. Severus turned left, and Draco followed him. Draco found himself almost bitterly grateful for the practice he had had in carrying Harry in the recent past, for it meant that he did not struggle now.

His eyes darted between the edges of Snape’s cape as it swept behind him, and the fluttering of Harry’s eyes behind their lids. He hoped they stayed closed. He didn’t want Harry awake for this: their desperate escape. Not if it ended in tragedy. 

If they were caught, he knew what would happen. The Dark Lord would kill Harry first, he was sure, so that he could make Draco watch. But Draco could tolerate that, and whatever torture came after before his own death, if only Harry’s were quick and painless. He’d had enough pain in this life, and Draco was prepared to help Harry on to the next one himself if it meant sparing him from more. 

He was so distracted, that he almost didn’t notice when they stumbled upon Professor McGonagall at the end of the hall. 

She turned quickly, her wand held aloft, a lumos illuminating them. Her eyes narrowed, “Headmaster,” her voice was hard and cold, “I did not expect to see you in the corridors at this late hour - and with a student, no less,” her gaze found Draco, and then flashed in surprise at the body Draco had bundled into his chest, “What on earth-?”

“I’m afraid we are in need of some assistance, Minerva,” Snape’s voice was calm, but Draco could hear the edge in it, “I was hoping that you might be amenable, though I recognise that this will be at great personal risk,” and Draco lost his patience.

He practically elbowed Snape out of the way and felt Harry’s head drop backwards in his arms so that his face was tipped up towards the ceiling; he heard McGonagall gasp, “Please help us,” wide eyes darted from Draco to the unconscious Harry in his arms, “Please! If you don’t help us, then we are all dead,” he said harshly.

McGonagall got ahold of herself quickly, and she gave a sharp nod.

It took only minutes for them to escape the castle walls, but to Draco it felt like hours. They did not turn towards the gates as Draco had expected, but instead towards the Whomping Willow. Severus and McGonagall spoke urgently as they walked, but Draco barely listened, focussed instead on keeping Harry secure in his now aching arms.

“It was arranged Minerva - he was dying anyway. He wished to spare the innocent and solidify my place amongst the Death Eaters. No one could know. No one did know,”

“I… I can hardly believe it. But to what end was this kept secret?! I would have helped you Severus, damn the risk! You know I would have!”

“The risk would have been to more than you or I, but to the very hope that the Dark Lord could ever be defeated,”

“And… and what of Potter. I thought… it was never announced that he was dead, but I thought he must be! I knew that he had been captured. Weasley and Granger reached out for help from what remains of the Order immediately, but no one knew anything!”

“The Dark Lord - he realised that the boy harboured a piece of his soul, fractured and torn away when he was destroyed by his rebounding curse all those years ago. He wished to separate them before killing the boy. To place it within another vessel for safe keeping. I… Minerva, I must ask something else of you,”

“Name it,”

“I succeeded in separating the Dark Lord’s soul from his. I must destroy it, but he cannot know that it was me. I must maintain my place here,”

“Consider it done,”

“He will hunt you, Minerva. Across the country if he must,”

“Then I shall lead him on a merry chase. You mean to tell him that it was I alone who assisted Mister Malfoy in escaping with Mister Potter, yes? And that I took the item that harboured his soul with me?”

“Yes,”

“I can see no other way. You must not be revealed as a spy. Your place is too important here. You will look after the children though, in my absence?”

“As best as I can. I swear it,”

“And what of Potter and Malfoy? Where will they go?”

“Into hiding. I have arranged it, but I will say no more. The less anyone knows of it the better. The less there is to discover upon interrogation. You understand?”

“Of course, Severus, of course,”

“Good. We are nearly at the Willow - we shall save our farewells for when we are through to the shack beyond. I must return with haste and raise the alarm before anyone notices mine or Potter’s absence,”

Draco watched numbly as, using an enormous stick, Snape poked and prodded at a specific knot in the tree. He was glad for McGonagall’s involvement when it came to trying to feed Harry through the tunnel at the tree’s base. Harry weighed little, but Draco’s arms were tired and aching, and while he could carry him, he was now struggling to lift him. He refused assistance though when it came to carrying Harry through the tunnel. He couldn’t stand the idea of them being parted even a minute longer than was necessary.

With the shack creaking around them, the walls swaying just the slightest amount in the breeze, the three of them stood and looked at one another. 

Severus held an old tin can in his hand, “This portkey will take you where you need to go,” he said, his voice threatening to turn hoarse, though with emotion or exertion, Draco couldn’t have said, “You may be there years,” he warned lowly.

McGonagall at Severus’s side, sniffed wetly, and took a step forward to run her fingers through Harry’s hair. She leant forwards and dropped a kiss onto his forehead, then rested her hand on the back of Draco’s neck, “You can do this,” she said fiercely, as if she could smell his self-doubt, “You’re a brilliant young wizard, you always have been. And you’re driven and self-reliant and… and… I think, underneath it all, you’ve grown into a good man. I believe in you,” she squeezed his neck, “May we meet again under better circumstances,” and she released him. She paused to exchange a meaningful look with Severus, before she was disappearing out of the shack.

And then Draco and Severus were alone.

Severus swallowed heavily, “Malfoy… Draco… what was done to him. Not only the torture but what was necessary to separate his soul from the Dark Lord’s,” he shook his head slowly, “He may never recover. He may never wake again, and if he does, he will not be as he was,”

Draco swallowed thickly, tears threatening in the corner of his eyes, and considered the pale boy in his arms, “Then I will keep him safe and comfortable,” he vowed, his voice breaking, “until… until he dies, or I do,”

Severus was looking at Harry, something pained in his eyes, “Will you…,” he started slowly, “Will you tell him that I’m…?” He swallowed and seemed incapable of finishing his sentence.

Draco didn’t need him to though, “I’ll tell him,” he promised. He tried to make his voice strong, but all that he managed was a choked whisper. 

Severus nodded once, “Good luck, Mister Malfoy,”

He handed Draco the portkey, and Draco felt as if he had been snagged by a hook somewhere behind his navel, and the shack was gone.

Chapter Text

January

“You… you wrote to me…,” Harry was backing away, his hands trembling faintly by his sides, “You wrote to me…,” his breath was coming in anxious pants as the blood drained from his face, “You said that you wanted to run away. That you wanted to break from your family…,”

“Harry,” Draco whispered, approaching him carefully, “Please… please… I know this is difficult-,”

“That you wanted to run away with me -,”

“- but you need to calm your breathing -,”

“- that you wanted to help me destroy him -,”

“- you are going to make yourself unwell, if you don’t stop hyperventilating -,”

“- you told me that you loved me,”  

The pure anguish in Harry’s voice had Draco’s words sticking in his throat. He tried to swallow them back, “I do love you,” he whispered.

“You betrayed me!” Harry cried.

“I… I never meant for it to happen…,”

Harry sneered, the expression painfully foreign on his face, “I’ve heard a different rat say that before,” but then the expression crumbled into anguish, “Was it all a lie?”

“No,” Draco said at once, stepping closer only to freeze when Harry backed away.

“You… you lured me into a trap,” he choked, “Did you ever love me? Was it the plan, all along?”

“Please Harry - I loved you then and I love you now,” Draco didn’t know when, but at some point, his own tears had started to pour from his eyes, “Please,” he whispered, “ Please - the… the letter. I wrote it immediately after I received yours. But I was never as brave as you-,”

“Do you know what they did to me Draco?”

“- I never sent it. I locked them away - my letter and yours - but my father found them -,”

“They tortured me Draco! For… for I don’t know… I don’t know how long,” Harry let out a sob, “I don’t know how long I was there, or how long I’ve been here!”

“Please Harry - I’m so sorry. I don’t expect you to forgive me, but please listen to me -!”

“You were there,” Harry’s voice trembled a little, “You and Snape. You both tortured me,”

“ No!” Draco denied at once, “No - never, please, Harry, you don’t understand. Let me explain - I would never, ever hurt you, I love you - please baby-,”

“I’m not your fucking baby!” Harry barked, suddenly furious, striding forwards to push past Draco and race up the stairs, his rage and heartbreak invigorating him with more strength than Draco had seen in him for months.

“Please - please, Harry! Please listen to me!” Draco followed him up the stairs, desperate and shaking, but the bedroom door was slammed shut in his face and sealed with a spell, “Harry? Please, please talk to me!” Draco pressed himself up against the door, his eyes screwed shut to try and hold back the tears in his eyes and the sob he could feel building in his chest, “Please - we need to talk,” beyond the door, Draco could hear the sounds of Harry’s steps on the floor and that of a wardrobe door being thrown open and then slammed shut, “Harry? What are you doing? Please come out - please just let me speak. I’m begging you!”

Draco nearly collapsed forwards into the room when Harry abruptly threw the door open. Draco had a moment to gape at him - he had dressed himself in a thick coat and had thrown a scarf around his neck and pulled boots onto his feet - before Harry was shoving past him and marching down the stairs. Draco followed him, pleading still, though he was barely aware of what he was saying.

It was only when they were in the sitting room and Harry was making his way to the front door that Draco realised what he was doing. He lunged forwards desperately, catching Harry’s sleeve and collapsing to his knees.

“ LET GO OF ME!” Harry tried to wrench himself free, but Draco re-doubled the grip around his wrist.

“Please Harry - please don’t leave! I am begging you! They will kill you when they find you - that’s if they don’t throw you back in the dungeons. Please, please… please!”

“I don’t understand - you led me to them Draco! You gave me up! And now you’re here, begging me to stay?” Harry struggled to pull away, but after everything that had happened ( that had happened because of Draco, a cruel voice whispered in his ear) Draco was many magnitudes stronger than him, “Let me go! I don’t- I don’t understand,” Harry sobbed, “You set a trap for me. You gave me up! I thought you loved me! You said that you loved me!”

“I do love you,” Draco gasped, pressing his forehead to the back of Harry’s hand and clinging on, “Please - my father and aunt had their wands to my throat for nearly two days - I didn’t want to help them, but I… I was a coward Harry. They said he’d kill my mother and that you were as good as dead already. I was a pathetic coward. Please - I do love you - I’m so sorry. I’m sorry!”

Harry wasn’t listening though, near shouting over the top of him, “All this fucking begging and apologising! Do you really think it will make a difference? You… you used my feelings to trap me!”

“I am sorry,” Draco insisted, peering up to Harry’s devastated face from the floor, feeling the deep scars in Harry’s wrists beneath his fingers, “I swear that I am, but I know that there’s no apology I can give that will ever exonerate me or- take it back, so I’ve been trying to undo some of the harm I caused you instead. Please, Harry - I just want to look after you and keep you safe here,”

“So, I’m a prisoner!” Harry cried, trying again to pull away from Draco, but he lost his footing and ended up on the floor in front of him instead.

Draco swallowed wetly, and carefully released his grip; he half expected Harry to spring back up, but he didn’t. He sat awkwardly on the thin carpet, his chin dipped down as he sobbed into his chest.

“You’re not a prisoner, Harry,” he whispered, his heart clenching at the idea of allowing Harry to walk out of the door, “You can leave whenever you want, but Harry, I am begging you not to. If the Death Eaters find you, they will torture you, and then execute you publicly in the most painful and degrading way they can think of,”

“I have to find Ron and Hermione,” Harry whimpered, “They… they’re trying to destroy him without me - they need me,”

Draco shook his head and ducked forwards, trying to catch Harry’s eye, “Oh Harry - my dar-…,” he stuttered over the word that he knew Harry wouldn’t want to hear, “You’re still so unwell. You get better everyday but you’re still so weak and you tire so easily. I… you’re still lost in yourself Harry,”

“Dumbledore set me a task,” Harry whispered, “I’m meant to destroy him!” There was something desperate and terrified in his voice, though Draco didn’t know if the fear was of failure, or of having to try and face the Dark Lord at all.

“Please, you’re still so weak Harry - I still have to carry you up the stair's half of the time because you’re so tired, and your memories are still settling. You need taking care of still - please… please let me take care of you and keep you safe. You aren’t strong enough to fight a Dark Lord right now,”

“I am perfectly fine!” Harry shouted, panting and trembling a little, contrary to his words, “I could be out there! Tying to end him!”

Draco shuffled closer, reaching out carefully for Harry’s hand and rubbing carefully at his fingers, “Please don’t leave,” he whispered, “Don’t. You’ll die. Think of Dobby - think of all he did to help me look after you,” fresh tears built in Harry’s eyes and he let them fall with a miserable sob, “Dobby would want you to stay, where it’s safe. McGonagall would want you to stay, and Snape would would want you to stay,”

“Snape?” Harry hissed, “What do I care what he wants?! I remember. I remember the dungeons. I remember you both…,” his rage faltered with a bitter cry, “I remember it all…,”

“I know, Harry, I know - please, I’ll explain everything, just please stop trying to leave,” he crept closer, pressing a hand to the back of Harry’s bowed neck, “He and McGonagall and Dobby risked so much to save you and keep you safe - please don’t leave,”

Harry shuddered, then turned desperate green eyes on him, “And what did you risk?”

Draco swallowed, salty tears dripping from the end of his chin, “Nothing,” he whispered, “Nothing. There was no risk for me, because you’re everything, Harry. There was only rescuing you, or death. Please… please don’t leave,”

For a long time, Harry just looked at him, panting with exertion or with his sobs Draco wasn’t sure, and then he crumpled forwards, half throwing himself into Draco’s arms and breaking down. The noises coming out of him were animalistic. Devastated and guttural. As much as he was trying to cling to Draco, he was trying to push away from him - Draco could only imagine what was going through Harry’s mind. The desperate need for comfort battling with the heartbreak at Draco’s betrayal.

“I… I hate this,” Harry whined against him, “I hate it. Even when I didn’t know you - even when I didn’t know myself - I still knew how much I loved you. And now…,” a choked sound escaped him, “even now… I still love you, and I hate it,”

Draco closed his eyes, pain stabbing through his heart like a stake. He let out a heavy breath and held Harry to him, letting him beat weakly against his chest and burrow deeper into his arms, “I love you,” he whispered into his hair, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You can hate me. Hate me all you want, it’s fine. I’ll still love you; I’ll still look after you. I love you,”

Draco didn’t know how long they stayed huddled on the floor together; Harry whimpering and crying, Draco rocking him and soothing him, but by the time Harry had quieted but for the hitching of his breath, the fireworks heralding in the new year had long since fallen silent. When Draco tried to encourage Harry to his feet again, Harry simply blinked blearily up at him, dazed and clearly exhausted.

Harry didn’t protest when Draco worked his hands beneath his knees, and behind his back, and lifted him into his arms. Harry didn’t fight him as he carried him up the stairs, but he didn’t melt into Draco’s arms the way he would have normally. He simply tolerated the experience. He watched through blank eyes as Draco deposited him in the middle of the bed, then turned and left him alone, surrounded by blankets and the heaters.

Draco closed the door behind him, then turned to the door that had been closed for months now.

The spare bedroom was freezing cold, and covered in a thin layer of dust that he could see glistening in the moon light. He banished the dust with a flick of his wand and went through the motions of slipping beneath the duvet, still fully dressed because it was so cold, and trying to make himself comfortable.

He lay there for a long time, numb, shivering, blinking into the darkness and waiting for the burning pain in the centre of his chest to fade. He ignored the wet patch that was building beneath his ear where his tears were dripping off his face and gathering in a pool. He’d known this was coming. He’d known that it would hurt. And yet he didn’t think anything could have prepared him for quite how much.  

He didn’t imagine it compared to the pain that Harry must be in though - to learn that the one he loved had betrayed him so thoroughly and successfully. He imagined that Harry would be suffering the consequences of Draco’s cowardice for years to come, and it was only this that stopped Draco from simply leaving Harry to the house and safety, and taking himself off somewhere to rot until the Death Eaters caught him. But he’d told Harry he’d always come back to him, and he would, until his dying day.

When Draco had no tears left to cry, he pushed himself wearily from the bed, and pulled on yet another coat, before collapsing back into bed, and finally sinking into oblivion.

They ended up sat opposite one another in their small dining room the next day.  

Harry wouldn’t look at him, his eyes fixed on a knot in the tables wood next to his hand, listening in silence as Draco tried to explain in halting words what had happened.

“I locked your letter in my desk,” Draco whispered, his head bowed, “and the one that I had written back in my brief moment of bravery. I… I don’t know what prompted my father to go snooping through my room, but he did, and he found them both. I’d been having dinner with my mother when he and my aunt appeared. He… he’d never hit me before then… not like that. Bellatrix walked my mother out and told her to stay away if she knew what was good for her, and then I had both of them in my face.

“Bellatrix tried the cruciatus for a little bit, but… but I wasn’t giving in quickly enough and my father was worried I’d end up mad, so they took it in turns. Sometimes just sitting and talking to me, telling me all the awful things that would happen to the family when the Dark Lord found out on his own. That at least this way we could control the narrative and elevate ourselves. Sometimes shouting and berating me in between hitting me, and then healing me to make sure there were no marks that would make people question what had happened.

“They didn’t let me eat or drink. Didn’t let me sleep. Bellatrix might not have used the cruciatus except for in the beginning, but there are other spells. Other means. It wasn’t even that though, that had me giving in. I could cope with being hit, but listening to them spin and poison everything in my mind - that you were just going to die anyway, what was the point in me dying as well? That he’d torture my mother and she’d suffer for my crimes. That I was deluding myself - that you didn’t love me, how could you possibly love a Death Eater? You were lying to me. And that I didn’t love you, I was just young and thought I was in love because you were the first person, I’d been with like that, and that we were just stupid teenagers who confused sex with love.

“Once I’d signed it and written what they wanted me to, they trussed me up and dragged me in front of the Dark Lord and had me spinning their tale for him. How I’d been scheming in secret trying to draw you in so that I could hand you over to him. The whole time I was on my knees in front of him, I… I kept thinking about how wrong my father was. He’d said I might as well save myself if you were as good as dead anyway, but I… the idea of being alive in a world without you in it was intolerable. I kept wishing that I’d burnt your letter and slit my own throat so that I could never have been used against you.

“He didn’t believe me anyway. The Dark Lord. He saw through it all - of course he did. The most powerful legilimence in the world. There was no hoodwinking him. So, he… he sent me to work with Snape. To test my allegiances or to punish me, I don’t know - probably both. I didn’t even know that he’d kept you alive until I saw you hanging from that scaffolding. I spent months contemplating how much easier things would have been if I were dead. Then something snapped, I guess. I couldn’t stand seeing you like that - I knew I had to do something, anything, and that even if I failed in the attempt, at least I’d have done what I should have done in the beginning and died for you with my head held high.

“I imperio’d Hagrid’s giant brother in the forest and had him attack the school. The centaurs ended up joining him and they caused all kinds of chaos. While the Death Eater’s were busy, I snuck into the dungeons and tried to set you free - except Snape caught me. I thought that was it, that I was dead for sure, and all hope for your freedom was lost. Except… he didn’t kill me. Instead, he said that he would help me.

“Turns out, he’s been playing spy this entire time. Dumbledore… I’d been tasked with killing him, and he’d known it. Snape said he was already dying, and made Snape promise to kill him so that I wouldn’t have to,”

“I remember the astronomy tower,” Harry interrupted suddenly, flashing his green eyes briefly in Draco’s direction, “I was there under an invisibility cloak - Dumbledore immobilised me,”

Draco swallowed heavily, “I wish that he hadn’t,” he whispered, “I think… if I’d seen your face on those ramparts… I wouldn’t have struggled with myself at all. I’d have taken one look at you and given up immediately,”

“It was already too late,” Harry said quietly, “The Death Eaters were already in the school. It was already too late,” Harry glanced from the table to Draco’s face and then back, “He’d still be dead. And so would I, probably,”

“All three of us,” Draco muttered; Harry scoffed at him, and shook his head, “What? You think I could have just stood and watched them kill you, and not tried to stop it?”

“That’s what you did do, Draco,” Harry said coldly, “In that square. You stood still, and you watched, and you did nothing,”

Draco’s lips trembled, and he nodded as he bowed his head. Harry was right. What more was there to say? He swallowed and struggled to carry on with his story.

“Snape said… Snape said that on the night that the Dark Lord killed your parents, and was destroyed by his own rebounding killing curse, that a part of his soul broke away and latched onto you. He said that the Dark Lord had discovered this and refused to kill you until it had been removed and had tasked Snape with figuring out how. He… he said that I couldn’t rescue you until he was done, because otherwise the Dark Lord couldn’t be destroyed without you dying first, and that if we ran off with a piece of his soul, he would hunt us like dogs,”

“There are others,” Harry murmured, “Other things harbouring his soul. Horcruxes. That’s what Dumbledore set me to do - to find them and destroy them. That’s… that’s what Ron and Hermione were helping me with,” he looked suddenly tearful, “That’s what I should be doing but I…,” he gulped, “I think I’m broken now,” he whispered, “I feel broken and I’m not sure there’s any putting me back together again,”

Draco reached across the table carefully and took Harry’s hand delicately into his own. Harry simply looked from his hand, where Draco was stroking its back, up into Draco’s eyes. He tolerated the touch for a moment, the tenseness of his shoulders gradually fading away, before he pulled his hand back slowly and settled it in his lap.

“So that’s why Snape was hurting me,” Harry said softly, wiping at the tears on his face, “to separate our souls,”

“It’s my fault, really,” Draco admitted, “He didn’t think he could trust me so… so he had to keep up appearances. Once he knew I wanted to free you, he started only working on you when he’d dosed you with the Draught of Living Death. He… he wanted me to tell you that he was sorry. Sorry for hurting you,” Harry said nothing, “So… when he had separated your souls, we snuck you out of the castle. We stumbled across McGonagall, and she helped us get you out, and then she took the blame and has been on the run as well ever since. That was in July,”

Harry breathed out heavily, “So I was there for… for nearly a year?”

Draco nodded, and whispered, “Yes,”

He watched as Harry swallowed heavily, then gave a single nod, “Right,” and he pushed himself up from the table and left the room without another word. Draco watched him leave and didn’t try to stop him.

They slept apart for two weeks. In fact, Draco barely saw Harry for two weeks.  

While Draco tried to potter about as normally as he could - cooking and cleaning and heading out to get food for them from the muggles - Harry kept himself holed up in his bedroom almost exclusively. Eager to make sure that Harry didn’t feel so trapped as to neglect eating, Draco made sure to keep to the spare bedroom as well whenever he didn’t need to be in the rest of the house.  

He’d close his door, then stand with his hand pressed against it, his eyes closed as he listened for the moment that Harry’s own door would open with a click as he ventured out. In fact, other than when Harry had tried to give him a heater on the second day of their separation (which Draco had refused firmly), the only evidence that Draco had that Harry was even still in the house were the three plates of food that Harry cleared and then cleaned a day, and the water left in the bath after his showers. Otherwise, Harry existed like a ghost in the room next door, and Draco never heard so much as a peep from him.

That changed on the fifteenth day of their silent cohabitation.  

Draco awoke with a slight jolt, blinking into the strangely bright darkness. He frowned, then twisted awkwardly to the window where he could see an unexpected light peeking out from around the curtains. He climbed slowly to his feet, shuddering a little at the draft of cold air, and dragging the duvet with him to the window.

He opened the curtains to find the air full of enormous snowflakes, and at least two inches of the stuff that had already settled on the ground and was reflecting the light of the bright moon up at him. Above, the sky looked as if a thick blanket had been pulled across it, the clouds above filled to the brim with more snow waiting to fall.

Well at least he wasn’t having to walk to the greenhouses in this weather, he thought shrewdly, rubbing a tired hand across his face and turning to return to bed.

But then he heard what must have jolted him awake in the first place - Harry was coughing next door: wet and hoarse. As if he had been coughing for hours and hours, rather than simply clearing a tickle in his throat.  

The sound had dread filling Draco’s guts.

He sat himself carefully on the edge of the bed, barely daring to breath as he listened, waiting for the coughing to stop. When it didn’t, he spent fifteen minutes working up the courage to approach Harry’s bedroom door. He’d been determined to give Harry as much space as he needed, to pretend he didn’t even exist if that’s what Harry needed, but this couldn’t be ignored.

He lightly rapped his knuckles on Harry’s door and pushed his way in cautiously.

“Harry?” He said softly, “Are you okay?”

In the dark room beyond, he could see Harry sat on the edge of the bed, his head bowed tiredly as coughs made him shake. When the coughs settled, he sighed softly.

“Just… just a cough,” Harry muttered, his voice hoarse, “Sorry for waking you,”

“Let me see if we have anything,” Draco said at once.

The feeling of dread in Draco’s gut only intensified as he stood in front of the cabinet that contained all their potions. They hadn’t needed any of them for weeks and weeks now - not since before Dobby had stopped coming. If they had, then Draco would have realised that the stasis charms maintaining their freshness and potency had failed. Dobby must have cast them, and when he’d died, they’d cancelled out. And while Draco had had much reason to keep an eye on their pantry, this had gone forgotten.

He opened the drawers that held their ingredients, but he could barely see them in the dark, and now was hardly the time. They wouldn’t be any more ruined in the light than they were now. He disregarded them and reached for the pepper-up potion, and the cough potion. He sniffed the pepper-up potion nervously and grimaced a little at the smell. It hadn’t gone bad, but it was nowhere near what it should have been. The other potion was the same.

Hopefully they would still work well enough for what they needed.

Harry noticed the difference as well, necking the pepper-up potion and frowning, “This tastes weird,”

Stood in front of him in the dark, Draco sighed, “I know. The stasis charms around them failed, and I didn’t notice. I think Dobby must have set them and when he died…,” he trailed off meaningfully.

“Oh,” Harry said flatly, finishing the rest of the potion and exchanging the empty vial for the other one in Draco’s hand.

“I’m sorry - I should have noticed,”

Harry shrugged, grimacing around the second potion, “I didn’t notice either,” he rubbed at his chest a little.

“Better?” Draco asked anxiously.

“Bit, yeah - thanks,”

“I’m going to leave the doors open, okay? In case you need anything,”

Harry nodded and didn’t protest when Draco helped him swing his legs back into bed upon seeing how he was struggling. Draco had to hold himself back from carding his fingers through Harry’s hair.

He lay awake in bed, staring up at the ceiling, waiting to warm back up again and for sleep to come. He couldn’t help but to strain to listen for Harry though. As if he would be able to hear Harry wheezing as he breathed from there. Harry wasn’t coughing at least.

Then there was the lightest creek at his bedroom door, and he realised suddenly that someone was at the door - Harry.

“Harry? Ba-,” he practically had to bite his tongue, “Are you oaky?”

Harry was silent for a moment, then said, “Will you… will you come and lay with me? It’s cold and I…,” he sniffed wetly, and Draco realised that he was crying quietly, “I don’t feel well,”

Draco was up immediately, stepping in Harry’s direction; his eyes shone with the tears that gathered in them, “Yes, of course I will,” he followed Harry as he turned and shuffled back towards what had at one time been Draco’s bed as well, “How long have you been feeling sick?”

Harry shrugged, and Draco could see how he shivered through the action, “A few days - week maybe,” Harry practically collapsed on the bed, curling into a ball on his side, “Just s’cold,” he murmured.

Draco shrugged the extra coat he was wearing from his shoulders, so that when he climbed into the bed behind Harry, he was able to pull him tightly into his chest and wrap his arms around his waist. He could feel Harry trembling in his arms.  

He didn’t know what this meant, why exactly Harry wanted him near, but he imagined it had more to do with how awful Harry felt rather than for any sort of reconciliation.

Harry spoke as if he were reading Draco’s mind, “I haven’t forgiven you,” he muttered, his words near slurred, “I… you… you destroyed me,” tears sprang to Draco’s eyes, “I don’t know if I can ever forgive you,”

Draco nodded against him, burying his face in the back of Harry’s neck and hoping that he couldn’t feel the dampness on his skin from Draco’s tears, “I know. I know. I understand - I’m not expecting forgiveness. I love you - I’ll love you in whatever way you allow me to. I love you,”

Harry shuddered in his arms and said nothing. They lay together in silence, simply breathing together and taking comfort from one another’s proximity and warmth. Then Draco felt cautious fingers closing over his wrist where it pressed into Harry’s stomach.

When Draco woke several hours later, it was to Harry’s coughing again.

Harry was half sat up, leaning over the edge of the bed so that Draco’s arm slipped away from his waist, and coughing into his hand.

“Are you okay?” Draco said, his voice rough with sleep.

Harry’s breath rattled as he exhaled in a heavy sigh, “It’s just a cough,” he murmured, hanging his head and clearly exhausted, “I’ll be fine,”

Draco didn’t need to be a healer to know that it wasn’t just a cough.  

A week later, and Draco could feel desperation threatening to drown him.  

Harry wasn’t getting better. He was taking the potions that they had left to them twice daily, and while they relieved his symptoms for hours at a time, they always came back. They needed help - they needed better medicine. Even if Draco were able to forage and scavenge for fresh ingredients (because, as he had thought they might have, much of their stock had gone bad; fortunately, the majority of the potions hadn’t fared quite as poorly), he didn’t think it would solve their issue. They needed the sort of potion that only St Mungo’s and professional apothecaries would have the ingredients for.

And so, he had apparated to Thorne Green with a letter addressed to McGonagall in his pocket and was currently in the queue at The Daily Grind. Mary had spotted him immediately, waving jovially at him and then disappearing and leaving the till to the same poor girl who had spilled coffee everywhere when he had been there before. She had returned by the time he had gotten to the front of the queue.

“Ah, my young friend! If you were looking for your grandmother, then I am sorry to say I have not seen her since you were last here,”

Draco tried not to visibly wilt - it was exactly what he had feared might be the case, “Ah, right, yes,” he muttered, working his letter between his hands, in which he had requested for McGonagall to meet him in just seven days on the first of February. If she hadn’t been there since he had, then he doubted she’d happen to visit in the next week, but he had to try. For all he knew, the place had a ward on it that told McGonagall if he came by, “I don’t suppose I could ask you to hold onto this letter for her? Just in case she comes by,”

“Of course, you can,” she accepted the letter with a nod, her eyes flicking to the door as the bell jungled.

“Theo!” Draco froze, then turned slowly to find Eurydice approaching with a man on her arm; he was tall and broad with a friendly smile on his face and a shiny bald head, “Come and have coffee with us!” She said enthusiastically, gesturing him over to the table in the corner, “This is my fiancé Connor - Connor, this is Theo,”

“Hello,” Connor greeted pleasantly, though Draco could only bring himself to incline his head warily.

“Come on then - what are you having? It’s on me,” Euri said brightly, taking a seat.

Draco followed her reluctantly, “Just tea is fine, thank you,” he should leave. He was drawing unnecessary attention to himself. But if he was honest, he desperately needed to speak to someone, anyone, about the gradually unravelling situation at home. Though they enjoyed one another's physical presence, Harry didn’t seem to have much to say to him anymore, though he couldn’t decide if that was because of the tenuous nature of their relationship at the moment, or because he was feeling too unwell to make conversation. Harry refused to acknowledge that anything was wrong, shrugging off Draco’s concerns but taking his potions obediently whenever Draco pushed one into his hand.

“So how have you been?” Euri said, blowing over her own tea before taking a sip, “How’s your friend doing?”

Draco swallowed heavily, running his finger along the rim of his cup, “Not well. He has a cough that won’t budge,”

She looked immediately concerned, “Does he need to go to the hospital?”

Draco snorted and shook his head, “Doesn’t matter if he does - we can’t take him,”

“I’m a police officer, Theo,” Connor interrupted, “If you need help - if you need protection - I’d like to try and help you,”

Draco shook his head again, then opened his mouth, only to close it again. He rubbed at his eyes, “You can’t help us,”  

“Why not?” Euri asked anxiously, “Are there no friends or family that we could contact for you?”

Draco gritted his teeth and fought to find a way to explain the precarious situation they were in, “Harry’s parents are dead, and his only living relatives made him sleep in a cupboard until he was eleven years old. And my parents are dead, and my only living relatives are psycho’s who were imprisoned for…,” he puffed out his cheeks, “many many terrible crimes. Not that they’re in prison now. Wish that they were,” he added in a mutter.

“Are your family trying to hurt you, Theo?” Euri leant closer over her tea, and Connor frowned down at him, naked worry on his face.

“They did hurt him,” he muttered, “Harry, they… they really hurt him,” he realised abruptly that he was near tears, “and it was all my fault. Fuck,” he stood while wiping his face clean, “Look - thanks for the tea, but I’ve got to go,”

“Theo - please let me help you,” Connor said very seriously, “If you’re worried because you think we won’t help you because you’re gay, you’re wrong,” at this Draco blinked in confusion, not quite sure how Connor had come to that conclusion. Though he supposed their story did sound like two gay teens running away from abusive families, “My little brother is gay. It doesn’t make a difference to either of us,” next to him, Euri nodded, “We just want to help you both,”

Draco stared down into his painfully earnest face and bit his lip anxiously as he mulled over what to say, “Listen,” he said finally, “you don’t understand. Me and Harry? We’re not a part of your world,” they exchange slow confused looks, “Imagine that there was a civil war going on in this country - a secret civil war happening right under your nose. Now imagine that a brutal dictator led a coup that took hold of the entire country in a night. Now imagine that, for one reason or another, the person that you love most in the- the world,” he stuttered briefly over his words, “imagine that he’s persona non grata number one to this dictator.

“Now…now,” he took a shuddering breath to try and control the tears he could feel building again, “Imagine that your family support this dictator, and they use you to capture him, this person that you love, and they torture him for nearly a year. Then you break him out and go into hiding where only three other people know where you are. Imagine that one of them, the one who kept the closest contact with you, is dead, and that you’re on your own now,” he shook his head slowly, and finished in a whisper, “Trust me: you can’t help us,”

They were stunned into silence, and didn’t say anything to try and stop him from leaving.  

Harry coughed and he coughed, until he winced and cried out in pain, clutching at his ribs. He coughed until the potions they had made no difference at all, and until he had to sleep completely upright surrounded by pillows. He coughed until he started trying to push Draco from the bed, insisting that Draco should get some sleep in the guest room, but Draco always refused. He coughed until his coughs stopped sounding like real coughs, and started just sounding like pained wheezes as he struggled to conjure up the energy required to cough properly and clear whatever was sat suffocating him in his chest.

Every day felt more desperate than the one before, until Draco was lying in bed with Harry on the last day of January, counting down the hours left until the first of February. He stroked Harry’s hair gently, feeling his hot brow beneath his palm. His chest rattled now with his every shallow breath.  

He could only hope that McGonagall would be there tomorrow, and that she would bring with her some miracle to dig them out of the mess they were drowning in.

Chapter Text

February

Harry was watching him through tired bleary eyes, the wireless on the windowsill playing some love song or other. It was his constant companion, even when he was asleep. It made everything feel slightly less bleak.

‘I give my hand to you with all my heart! Can’t wait to live my life with you, can’t wait to start!’

His cheeks were flushed red, and he shuddered occasionally despite the duvet that he had pulled up to his chin. Draco couldn’t help but feel like they were back at the end of summer again, when Harry could barely get himself out of bed and barely said a word.

As if to prove him wrong, Harry spoke, though his voice was barely audible, “She won’t be there, Draco,”

Draco froze in the middle of pulling his socks on, then forced himself to move again, “We don’t know that,” he disagreed mildly despite his inner conviction that Harry was right.

“I’m not getting better,”

Draco swallowed back the sick feeling that Harry’s soft words inspired, and flashed a reassuring smile over his shoulder before he stood to carry on pulling on layers to combat the bitter February air, “I think your immune system is probably compromised after… after everything,” Harry’s eyes tracked him as he moved, “It might just take a bit longer to recover. Doesn’t help that the potions aren’t their best anymore,” he added with a mutter, pulling a shirt over his head, “But it’ll be okay. If McGonagall isn’t there -,” she wouldn’t be, he was sure, “- then I’ll think of something else,” he had no idea what else to do.  

They had no other allies he could try and contact, and he didn’t even have any gold to buy a better potion if he risked venturing into the wizarding world. And St Mungo’s… well… he supposed healers were more likely to be the sort of people to try and protect Harry, but he had no idea who else might be at the hospital. He’d heard that the Ministry had installed Ministry approved security at the hospital. No one had said so, but he knew it was to try and flush out undesirables. More than one muggle-born had been caught because of it.

“Draco…,”

“Yeah?” Draco said, deep in his own thoughts as he wound a scarf around his neck.

“I meant that… that I might not ever get better,”

Draco felt as if he’d been punched in the gut; his eyes found Harry’s dull green pair, and they just looked at one another for a long moment. Draco took a shuddering breath, and worked on tucking the ends of his scarf into his coat, “You’ll get better,” he said firmly, “Now: do you need anything before I leave? The toilet? Something to drink maybe?” Harry just looked at him though, sad and tired, and said nothing.

Draco hesitated but couldn’t help himself. He stepped closer and brushed his fingers through Harry’s hair, ignoring the sweat that had left the strands damp. He didn’t know where they were with one another these days - they slept wrapped around one another, but they hadn’t spoken about all that had happened since the new year. Harry leant into the contact though, and sighed softly against him. He muttered something that Draco didn’t hear.

“Pardon?”

Harry licked his lips a little, “I just need you to come back,”

It felt natural to squat down next to the bed to press a kiss to Harry’s warm brow, “I’ll always come back,” he leant their foreheads together for a moment, “Always. You can’t get rid of me ba-,” he cut himself off, then smiled tightly, “Can’t get rid of me,” he repeated more softly.

Harry hummed under his breath and flashed Draco a small smile.

Draco only left after filling several glasses with water and leaving them on the bedside table.

At the The Daily Grind, Mary flashed him as sad smile and shook her head when he approached the counter.

“I’m sorry my dear, she hasn’t been for that letter,” his despair must have been clear on his face, “Why don’t you have a sit down? Let me get you some tea and something to eat - on me, I insist,”

Draco ended up sitting himself out on the small patio. The surrounding buildings shielded him from the worst of the wind, but it was still bitterly cold. As McGonagall had said, it was no where near as cold as Hogwarts, but at Hogwarts he had had heavy winter robes and an enormous thick cloak and gloves lined with fur. He had no such things now.

He sat for a long time - long after his tea had turned cold, and the edges of his sandwich had turned hard and unappetising.  

The idea of going back to Harry without having gained something made him want to cry. He didn’t have any other ideas. He didn’t have any other options. He didn’t have anything at all. This was all his fault - if he’d just checked the potions when the stasis charms on the food had failed, then maybe they’d have worked the way they were meant to.  

He felt as if he were drowning in blame.

Finally, when the ends of his fingers were turning numb, and the lasts dregs of hope he’d had left in him that maybe, just maybe, McGonagall would come, had died a death, he pushed himself up to his feet, and began the slow weary trudge to the alley-way that led out to the high-street. He didn’t get very far though.

“Theo! Hey!”

He stumbled to a stop, looking up and finding a panting Eurydice stood opposite him, wearing a heavy coat and scarf with what looked like a work uniform on underneath. He shook his head a little in disbelief - it felt like she was always there when he was.

His heart dropped.

She was always there when he was.

“Are you following me?” He asked harshly, his fingers tightening around his wand in his pocket.

Her eyes flashed in alarm, “No, I -,”

“How are you always here whenever I am?” He barked, “No matter the day or the time, you are always here!”

She raised her hands peaceably between them, “Calm down Theo - I’m not following you, I swear,” she tilted her head towards the coffee shop, “My Auntie Mary runs the shop - I come here most days anyway on my lunch break, but she knows how much I worry about you, and about Harry too. So she calls me when she see’s you, and if I can, I run over,” she flashed him a weak smile, “I didn’t think I’d catch you this time, to be honest. I was with a patient - I’m a community physio you see, so I was in the next village over when she called. How is Harry, Theo? Is he still coughing?”

The furious panic that had had him half shouting at her in the alley had faded with every word that she spoke, until only the fear remained.

He felt his expression crumble, “I think he might be dying,” he choked out, “He- he’s not getting any b-better and he just coughs so much and the p-potions aren’t h-helping anymore - ,” he realised suddenly what he had said, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, “ - and I don’t know what to do. I can’t take him to get help because they’d kill him, but if we d-don’t get help, I think he’ll d-die anyway,”

Euri nodded slowly, her hands falling slowly down by her side, “Can I ask you something without sounding insane?” She asked slowly.

He sniffed, and said, “Yeah,”

“Are you a wizard?”

Draco could only blink at her in shock, “ Wh-what?”

“It’s just… Connor said that he thought you might be,” she continued very quickly, “I thought he’d lost his mind, but then he told me that his brother was one, and that your lot - w-wizards and witches - that you were in the middle of a massive war, and that his brother had gone into hiding with his husband,”

Draco simply looked at her in silence for a moment as he absorbed what she had said. And then he sniffed wetly, “Can’t really call it a war if you’ve already lost,”

“So… so you are one?” She said hesitantly.

He nodded, and whispered, “Yeah… yeah I am,”

She took a deep steadying breath, her hands trembling faintly by her sides, “Right… right…,” her expression turned suddenly steely and determined, “Right. How can I help?”

He shook his head, “I told you - you can’t -,”

“Let me take a look at him,” she said firmly, “You just said that your p-potions aren’t work,” she stumbled over the word uncomfortably, “but we have medicine too - us, uh, non-wizards,”

“Muggles,” Draco said dully, “That’s what we call you,”

“Muggles? Really?” She said incredulously, and Draco nodded, “Is that a slur? It feels like a slur,”

“It’s not,” his words came out flat and tired.

“Well, anyway, we have medicine too. Maybe I can help you. I work with cystic fibrosis patients, and they’re really prone to respiratory tract infections. I might be able to help more than you think,” she gestured to the street beyond, “I’ve got all of my stuff in my car - please. Please, let me help you,”

Draco didn’t know if it was the earnest, pleading expression on her face, or the hopelessness that was threatening to strangle him, but he gave in easily despite the racing of his heart in his chest, “Okay,” he said hoarsely, “Yeah - alright,”

She flashed him a relieved grin, “Right - excellent. Come on then!” He followed her marching pace out onto the street and towards a bright red car that had been near abandoned outside of the coffee shop, “Shall I drive us? Or uh… do you have a broom or something?” She shifted uncomfortably, clearly feeling uncertain, “Do you guys fly on brooms?”

“We do,” Draco admitted, and her expression turned intensely curious, “but I have a much faster way. We need to get out of sight though,”

She gave him a firm nod, “Right, let me just grab my stuff,” she threw open the boot of her car and revealed a duffle bag that she slung over her shoulder, “Let me just give the keys to Mary so she can move it - I shouldn’t really park here, but I was worried that I’d miss you,”

Draco waited impatiently for her; he tried not to look through the window where he could see Eurydice and Mary discussing him with anxious expressions on their face. When Euri returned, her determination seemed to have increased ten-fold.

“Right. After you,”

Draco didn’t bother walking her all the way to his usual alley, choosing instead to take refuge in the space between the coffee shop and its neighbour. She faltered slightly, clearly taken by surprise that he wasn’t leading her away.

“Take my arm,” he offered her his elbow, and she wound her hand around it hesitantly, “You need to hold on tight,” her grip doubled, “Now: this is going to be very uncomfortable,” he warned her, trying his best to prepare her, but not frighten her, “You’re going to feel as if you’re being squeezed through a tube - I always imagine its what it would be like to suddenly dive to the bottom of the sea - all that pressure making you feel like you might implode. But it lasts only a second, okay?”

She nodded nervously, shuffling closer to him, “What are you going to do?”

“It’s called apparition - it’s essentially teleportation. I’ll use magic to apparate us both from here, to where Harry is,” he paused, “You’ll probably vomit when we arrive, just so you know,”

She grimaced, “This sounds awful,”  

Draco shrugged, “Lots of us don’t bother with it, but it’s the fastest way to get around, and…,” he swallowed heavily, “it could take us hours any other way,”

She nodded, visibly preparing herself, “Right. Yeah. Okay,” she let out of puff of air, “Let’s do this,”

“Okay - on three?” She screwed her eyes shut, “One… two… take a deep breath in,” she sucked in air through pursed lips, “Three,” and they disappeared with a pop.

They reappeared almost instantaneously in the garden of Spinner’s end, a familiar industrial chimney looming over them in the middle distance.

Eurydice let out a loud gasp, and doubled over immediately, the back of her hand pressed firmly to her lips, “Oh God,” she moaned, “You weren’t joking - that was awful,”

Draco tried to be patient while she tried to catch her breath and avoid being sick, but all he could think about was Harry in the bed upstairs, “Are you alright?”

She waved him away, straightening gingerly and pressing her lips together tightly, “Yeah, just… just… Jesus Christ,” she screwed her eyes shut for a moment, “Right,” she focussed on him, “After you,”

He led her through to the kitchen, and towards the dining room and the stairs. She lingered briefly in the kitchen, and he heard her gasp at the sight of the wash tub at work cleaning their clothes.

“Wow,” she whispered, turning to follow him; he heard her give a vocal shudder, “It’s bloody freezing in here,”

“The heaters are in the bedroom,” Draco said over his shoulder, “Heating charms are short lived - I’ve enchanted the blankets, but that’s about all I can do really. It’s not too bad in the kitchen near the log burner, and the bedroom is pretty warm, its just everywhere else. I always make sure that Harry’s warm enough,”

“I’m sure you do,” Euri said gently at his back, as if she could hear the desperation he didn’t let leak into his voice.

He pushed open the bedroom door carefully, and sure enough they were met with a wall of pleasant warmth.

Harry was asleep in the middle of the bed and didn’t stir when they entered. He didn’t stir either when he coughed weakly in his sleep. Draco felt strangely vulnerable having someone at his back as he crossed the room to Harry. He rested a gentle hand on Harry’s shoulder and shook him a little.

“Harry? Harry wake up,”

Harry’s eyelids flickered, and he peered up at him groggily, “What? You’re back,” his relief was palpable.

“I told you - I’ll always come back,” Harry’s brow was warm beneath his palm, “I’ve brought someone with me. Someone who might be able to help,”

Harry looked past him, but froze at the sight of Eurydice closing the bedroom door behind her, and setting her bag down, “Who…?”

“Hi, Harry,” Euri greeted him kindly as she slung some instrument made of rubber tubing around her neck, “My name’s Eurydice, but people just call me Euri. Theo here says you’ve not been well - he asked me to come and take a look at you,”

Harry only looked more confused, “Theo?”

Draco grimaced a little, “She’s a muggle, Harry - and sorry, my name isn’t Theo. It’s Draco,”

She hesitated, glancing down at Harry, “Is Harry not his…?”

“No, Harry is his name, I slipped up,” he admitted with a sigh.

“No McGonagall?” Harry said tiredly.

Draco crouched down by his side, “No McGonagall,” he said reluctantly; he couldn’t help but to reach out and stroke Harry’s cheek. He wished there had been time for them to figure out the boundaries of their new relationship before Harry had become ill. As it was, he struggled not to fall back into their old dynamic with the clenching of fear in his gut at Harry’s every wheeze. He tried to remind himself that Harry was sick, and that he was his only source of comfort. He couldn’t presume that this would continue when he recovered.

And he would recover.

“But I told you I’d think of something, didn’t I?” He continued lightly.

Harry nodded and let out a wheezing cough.

Behind them, Eurydice let out a low whistle, “Well, that doesn’t sound very good does it,” she slotted the white ends of the piece of equipment she’d brought with her into her ears, “You’re not doing a very good job of coughing anymore, are you?” Harry just sighed and said nothing, “I’m going to take a listen to your chest, if that’s okay Harry?”

Harry nodded, and gave himself a moment, before struggling to pull his shirt up. Draco scrambled to help, and soon he was watching Eurydice’s expression intently as she pressed a silver disk to Harry’s chest and listened closely. She didn’t stay in one spot, moving to listen in different areas, and finally ending up behind Harry and listening from the back.

She beckoned Draco closer as she pulled the earpieces out, “Come here,” she offered him the equipment, “Put them in your ears,” Draco did as she instructed cautiously, and flinched in surprise at the magnified sounds he could hear; she pressed the equipment to Harry’s back, and said, “Listen,”

He paused and focussed: it sounded almost as if he were listening to something under water. He could hear Harry’s heart beating, rapid and fluttery, and something else. Something crackly, like slurping at the bottom of a nearly empty cup with a straw, that started as Harry breathed in, then paused, then resumed as he breathed out. There was another sound as well - almost a creaking sound. It reminded him of walking on freshly fallen snow.

“What is that?” He asked, knowing that the answer was nothing good.

“Pneumonia,” she said gravely, “He… he needs to go to hospital Theo- Draco,”

“No,” Draco said at once, “We can’t,” he pulled the equipment from his ears and thrust is back towards her; Harry blinked up at him tiredly, but said nothing, “They’ll have questions that we can’t answer, and we’ll be surrounded by people who could recognise him and tell the Ministry about us. No,”

“Draco - look at his lips,” Euri insisted urgently, “They’re near blue with hypoxia. He needs oxygen. He could die if you don’t take him,”

“If he’s caught, they’ll do worse than kill him,” his words came out desperate and frightened; he felt cold fingers close around his wrist, and found Harry was holding onto him, but still said nothing.

“Can’t you… can’t you enchant people or something?” Euri near cried, “Isn’t that the point of being a wizard?”

“What you’re asking me to do,” he shook his head, “you don’t understand. I’d have to manipulate and curse and enchant a constant, ever changing barrage of people. Your healers and nurses. How would I keep track? That’s an enormous undertaking - an impossible undertaking. And that sort of disturbance in the muggle world would get us noticed. No. It’s not as easy as you think,”

“Why don’t we ask Harry what he thinks? It’s his health, after all,” she implored.

They both turned to look at him. Harry blinked up at Draco, and spoke slowly but clearly, “I would rather die here, with you, then risk going back to the dungeons,” his shallow breath stuttered, and there was a flash of panic in his eyes, “Please. I… I’m sorry Draco. I can’t go back to the dungeons. I’d rather die than be captured again,”

Draco sniffed wetly, “Why are you sorry?”

“It’s an impossible choice - and if I die, you’ll be the one left behind,”

Draco only stroked his hair. He could imagine the look of heartbreak on Harry’s face now, if he told him he had no intentions of being left behind.

Eurydice shifted behind Harry, carefully rolling Harry’s shirt down and sniffing back her own tears, “H-he needs antibiotics,” she said firmly, “Strong ones. Even if it’s viral, they’ll at least help with any bacterial infections that might be brewing. And he could benefit from physical therapy to try and help him clear his chest. You get those antibiotics, you do the therapy, and if he hasn’t improved in a week, you come and find me, and we figure something else out. Do you understand?”

“How… how do I get anti… anti-bi…?” Draco stumbled over the foreign word.

“Antibiotics,” Euri corrected gently, smoothing Harry’s shirt, “Normally they have to be prescribed by a doctor and you get them from a pharmacy, but I’m sure you can get around that somehow. You’d only need to use magic on the pharmacist, and I’d come with you to make sure you got the right medicine,” she pulled a hair band out of her pocket, one that was much longer and thicker than the one that Draco used to pull his own hair back, and she wound her braids around and around and tied them in place on top of her head, “Right,” she said determinedly, “I’m going to teach you how to help Harry get all that nastiness off his chest - he’s not coughing effectively anymore so he needs help. If we don’t help him get it up, then it’ll just help bacteria fester and it’ll make him even more unwell, understand?”

Draco felt like he had when Dobby had been teaching him household spells, except he hadn’t had this feeling of panic sitting in his fingertips - there hadn’t been quite so much riding on him being able to learn to clean the sheets after all. He watched silently, and if he was honest, dubiously, as Eurydice smacked rhythmically on Harry’s back. Harry winced a little, but tolerated the treatment with a frown, until he was coughing, and Euri was helping him to sit up.  

It was grim. All of it. But there was very little that Draco wouldn’t do for Harry.

“Is this what you do then?” Draco said as he copied Euri on Harry’s other side; strangely, Harry seemed to be almost falling asleep under the treatment, curved as he was into Draco, his brow against Draco’s upper thigh, “Help people cough stuff up? I thought your job was all about making people’s muscles strong again. Helping them to walk again and such like,”

“That’s what some physio’s do,” she agreed, “but not me. I usually work with cystic fibrosis kids - they have a genetic disorder that means they make too much mucus in their lungs. Without this kind of treatment, they can die. I imagine you lot - wizards - have got some magical cure for it though,”

“I’ve never heard of it,” Draco said with a shrug.

“Do wizards not get genetic diseases?” She asked curiously.

“We do - but not like that. They’re magical in nature usually, and often just as fatal,”

“Huh… I guess I figured you guys must have the answer to all thing's disease and despair,”

Draco nodded down to Harry and said grimly, “Clearly not,”

She offered him a tight smile, and parroted, “Clearly not,”

By the time they were done, Harry looked exhausted, his eyelids drooping as he lay half on his front, his face buried in the pillow.

“Right - we need to get those antibiotics,”  

Draco nodded distractedly, leaning down to brush Harry’s fringe back from his face, “Yeah - yeah okay. Do you know where to go?”

“There’s a pharmacy in Thorne Green - they’ll have what we need,” Draco could hear the hesitation in her voice.

“What?”

“The people in the pharmacy - you’re not going to hurt them, are you?”

Draco shook his head, and peered over his shoulder at her, “No… no, the spell I’ll use is… it’s illegal, obviously, because it takes away your free will, but it doesn’t hurt. Feels like floating on air,”

“Someone’s used it on you before,” she deduced instantly, looking concerned.

“Yeah,” below him, Harry blinked up at him lazily; Draco tried to smile for him.

“Who?”

“My father,” he admitted easily.

“Why… why would he do that to his own son?” She said, aghast.  

Draco found himself glad for her; glad that she couldn’t imagine why on earth a father would try and use a curse like that on his son, “He was trying to make me give up Harry - I can throw the curse now. It doesn’t affect me. And besides,” he swallowed bitterly, “he didn’t need the curse in the end,” he felt fingers curl into his shirt above his belly; Harry was watching him, and Draco found a word tripping off his tongue that he hoped Harry would forgive him for, “Baby… me and Euri, we’re going to go and get you something to try and make you feel better, okay?”

Harry yawned, then gave a wheezing cough, and said, “Okay - you’ll come back?”

“I’ll always come back,” Draco reminded him, dropping a kiss on his brow.

He turned from him, to find Eurydice watching them through sad eyes.

Getting the antibiotics was no more difficult than imperio’ing a muggle to get their food shopping, except this time he had Eurydice at his back. He had enchanted the door to the pharmacy the moment that they’d entered, so that no one else would disturb them, and they’d waited patiently at the back of the queue until it was only them, the lady at the register, and the pharmacist in the back.

“ Imperio,” Draco whispered, his wand pointing at the cashier, and her eyes went suddenly glazed, “Go to the bathroom, and wait there for fifteen minutes,” she turned immediately and left through the door behind her.

Euri watched her leave, “That was… disturbing,”

“There’s a reason it’s illegal,” Draco reminded her, “Is that the pharmacist then?”

Eurydice let out a puff of air, “Yeah - I know him,” she said grimly, “It doesn’t hurt them, right?” She asked again anxiously.

“No - I promise. And I’ll make them forget it afterwards as well,”

She nodded, and pursed her lips, “Hi Gerald!”

They saw the top of the pharmacist’s head turn from behind tall shelves, and he popped his head around the corner and then peered over the top of his glasses at him. He smiled, and took a step forwards, “Eurydice!” He greeted pleasantly.

“ Imperio,” Draco said again, and Gerald’s expression turned blank and open, “Now,”

Euri nodded nervously, and pushed a piece of paper across the counter, “Gerald - we need what’s written on this paper, yeah?” He accepted the paper, peered down at it, then turned to head back behind the shelves.

Draco snatched the paper from his hand before he could get too far away, and burnt it with a flick of his wand; Eurydice gave him a strange look, “If these pharmacies are anything like apothecaries, he’ll have a list of the stock he should have,” he said grimly, “and he’ll notice that the stock he’s expecting to have doesn’t match. Better to let him believe its one big mystery, rather than for him to have something written in your handwriting to stir the pot,”

“Right,” Eurydice said anxiously, shuffling on the spot, “Right. Do you do this a lot?”

“Do what?”

“Steal things - get people to steal things for you,” she clarified.

“It’s either that or we starve to death,” he reminded her, and she fell silent.

Gerald returned quickly with the medicine, and Eurydice turned to leave but Draco stayed where he was, “Are we not going?” She asked, sounding confused.

“We need to wait for the cashier to come back,” he reminded her, “So I can wipe both their memories,”

“Ah… right, got you,” and she wandered back to his side where he stood leant against the counter, “Draco, I…,” she started, then stopped herself with a twist of her mouth.

“What?” Draco said, not meaning to be rude but beginning to feel incredibly drained by the day.

“I noticed the scars on Harry’s back,” she said quietly, “and around his wrists and the two on his forehead,”

“The one’s on his back are from being tortured,” he said simply, unable to put the necessary gravitas into his voice without bursting into tears, “the one’s on his wrists are from being shackled, suspended in the air,” Eurydice made a small noise high in her throat, “and the forehead, well,” he couldn’t help but to smile a little, “the one through his eyebrow is from me,”

“From you?”

“Hmm - we hated each other,” he admitted fondly, “Hated each other for years. We had a fight just before the start of school one year,”

“Did you get into trouble?”

“No - he was terrible at healing charms, so he looked like I’d beaten the shit out of him. So, I couldn’t tell on him, because I looked perfectly fine, and he wouldn’t tell anyone on me, because he looked like he’d had his arse handed to him, and he was too proud to let anyone think I’d beaten him,” he grinned fondly at the memory.

“How did you end up together then?” Euri asked curiously.

Draco shrugged, “It was after that fight. I realised I couldn’t keep my eyes off of him, and he was the same. We ended up kissing one day. And then kissing turned into more than kissing,” next to him, Eurydice chuckled and elbowed him, “And then next thing you know, I’m head over heels in love with him,” he smiled mirthlessly, “It took me a little bit longer to realise that he was it,”

“The one?” Eurydice said lightly.

“Yeah,” he whispered, “by the time I realised it, it was almost too late,” he rubbed his face before she could see the tear that had escaped, “He deserves better than me,” he admitted bitterly.

She fell silent, only to say, just as the cashier wandered back through, “Do you think Harry thinks that?”

Draco snorted as he pointed his wand first at the cashier, “ Obliviate,” and then Gerald, “ Obliviate,” and then he cancelled the imperio, and watched as they glanced around dazedly before wandering back to what they had been doing before Draco had cursed them, “Harry’s never been loved properly in all his life - if he knew better, he’d never have let me be the person to love him in the first place,”

Eurydice said nothing as they left the pharmacy.

He left her at The Daily Grind, but not before she practically threw herself into his arms and clung on tightly to him until he managed to hug her back.

“Remember,” she said fiercely in his ear, “One week. And then if he’s no better, come and get me, and we’ll figure out a plan, okay? Connor and I will say he’s of no fixed abode and we found him in the streets or something, okay? … Okay?!”  

He sighed into her shoulder, and said softly, “Okay,”

Harry was still asleep when he arrived home, but he was easily coaxed awake, and sat obediently on the edge of the bed, his hand outstretched to accept the foreign pills that Draco was giving to him.

Harry swallowed them with a mouthful of water, then sat and shivered. He rubbed his hand across his face.

“I could do with a shower,” he muttered.

“I’ll help you downstairs,” Draco said at once, “I need to make us dinner anyway,”

Harry nodded slowly, “Thank you,”

Draco pulled him to his feet, and Harry stood and swayed in front of him for a moment. His green eyes stared up at him, flicking between Draco’s grey pair. He sighed, and leant forwards to press his forehead into the centre of Draco’s chest, his head bowed, “I…,” he started, but then he said nothing.

“What?” Draco said carefully from above him, a soothing hand rubbing up and down his back.

“I’m just so… so fucking heartbroken still,” he gasped, “So… angry isn’t the right word. Angry with you doesn’t cover it. Betrayed maybe. I haven’t forgiven you,” he pulled back abruptly so that Draco could see the tears in his eyes, “but I just… I want to forgive you ,” and he collapsed against Draco’s chest.

Draco held him close, blinking away his own tears, “S’okay. I love you. You can be angry with me forever – hate me even, and I’ll still love you,” his gaze fell on the box of medicine that he’d brought home with him; the muggle miracle to trump their magic.  

He only hoped that Harry lived long enough to be angry with him forever.

Harry was reading to him - it was an old muggle book that Draco had never heard of before but was thoroughly enjoying, especially when it was read by Harry who had a singular talent when it came to bringing the dialogue to life, even if his voice was raspy and breathless. He had to take frequent breaks to cough and sip at water, but he was still alive, and his lips weren’t tinged with blue anymore. Draco could have cried with relief.

They had finished all of the pills that Eurydice had helped him get, but Harry had still been coughing, and so Draco had snuck to a different pharmacy to get more, pushing the empty box under the pharmacist's nose and asking for the same again. Two weeks of antibiotics later, and while Harry was still slowly improving, it was clear to Draco that the pills weren’t doing anything more for him.

He’d watched Harry with bated breath - waiting for the moment that he began to decline, but he hadn’t. He breathed more easily than Draco had heard in weeks and weeks, even though he still coughed and became easily winded. He wasn’t a rattling, wheezing, bed-bound mess anymore, and that was enough for Draco.

It was near the end of the month now, and the weather was finally turning milder, so that it was no longer a daily mission to avoid leaving the bed for as little time as possible. Still, it was where they spent most of their time.

“‘ Do you think I can stay to become nothing to you? Do you think I am an automaton? A machine without -,’” Harry broke off in a hacking cough that made his eyes water and Draco wince in sympathy. They were in bed together, lying opposite one another on their sides.

“I don’t know why we don’t just play cards,” Draco said warily.

Harry glared up at him as he finished coughing, “What? So, I can watch you lose your temper playing solitaire again? I’m alright thanks,” he scoffed, then coughed a little more, “And besides - this was the compromise! Reading this rather than the book I wanted to read,” he stared meaningfully at the enormous tomb that sat on the end of the bed - some rubbish about counter-curses that went into far too much detail.

Draco sighed, “At least let me read then,”

“It’s still my turn,” Harry said, pulling the book into his chest.

Draco only shook his head at him, amused.

“I was thinking,” he said while Harry sipped at water, “I might go back to Thorne Green next week - to see Eurydice. I bet she’d want to know how you’re getting on,”

Harry nodded, and returned to the book, “Okay, if you like,” he paused, “Just be careful - make sure you come back to me,”

“I’ll always come back to you,”

They hadn’t spoken about New Year’s Day again. Not since Harry had cried over still loving Draco, despite everything. He hadn’t said the words since, but Draco saw how he flinched when Draco did. How he curled away from them. But these were words he said easily and readily: come back to me. He said it when Draco went to the loo, when he went to get their food, when he went for a shower.  

Come back to me, come back to me, come back to me.  

The words made an irrepressible feeling boil up in his chest – a feeling that overwhelmed him so completely that he was half convinced it was branded on his skin.

“Now, where was I… ah: ‘ A machine without feelings? And can bear to have my morsel of bread snatched from my lips, and my drop of living water dashed from my cup? Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain, and little, I am soulless and heartless?’”

Propped up on his elbow with his face in his palm, Draco couldn’t help but to reach out a hand to carefully brush Harry’s fringe from his eyes. Harry didn’t stop reading, he simply glanced up from the words on the page, the slightest smile curling at his mouth, and continued.

Yes, Draco thought to himself as he listened, he would fight with his dying breath to get back to Harry if that was what it took.

Chapter Text

March

Harry, for the first time in weeks, wasn’t in bed.

He was sat at the dining room table looking like he wanted to go back to it though, leaning against the table with his forehead resting in the palm of his hand and yawning his head off. He’d brought the wireless downstairs with him, and it was playing a song in the corner, so Draco could only assume he intended to remain out of bed for the foreseeable.

‘And if you want these kind of dreams, it’s Californication,’  

Draco had been half terrified that every ounce of progress that they’d made between August and December had been undone by his pneumonia, but he was springing back in strength much faster than before. Though just walking down the stairs had left him winded, he had recovered his breath much more quickly than he would have done in October.

“Do you think you’ll hear news from McGonagall?” Harry asked lightly, his eyes following Draco as he brushed his hair back into a high ponytail; his hair was long enough now that it all fit.

“I don’t know,” Draco said simply; he was heading back to The Daily Grind today, to give Eurydice an update on Harry’s wellbeing. It was a late one really - he should probably have gone to see her sooner, but he was half convinced she’d try and make him take Harry to a muggle hospital and it would end up with Harry dead, “I’m hoping she’s been there since I was last, but I’m not holding my breath. We’ll only end up disappointed,” his eyes flicked from his reflection in the mirror, to the reflection of Harry, “Why don’t you go back to bed ba-,” he cut himself off and cleared his voice, “to bed Harry? You look exhausted,”

“Maybe when you’ve gone,” Harry with a shrug through another yawn, “I want to see you off,”

“I don’t know how long I’ll be,” Draco warned him, ignoring the warm pleased feeling in his gut, “If Eurydice is working, I need to give her a chance to get there,”

“It’s the weekend, isn’t it?” Harry said with a frown.

“Yes - but she might work weekends, I don’t know,”

Harry shrugged and let out a little wheezing cough, “I suppose so,” the coughing fits were now few and far between, though Harry still winced and clutched his ribs when they came, “Say thank you to her for me, will you?

“Of course,” Draco agreed easily, finally stepping away from the mirror and turning back to Harry, “Now go and get some more sleep or sit on the sofa with a book or something - I’ll see you later,” he dropped a kiss onto Harry’s hair, and murmured against him, “I love you,” they were words that Harry still struggled with. Draco could only imagine that he struggled just as much with the feelings he still had for Draco.

And so instead he said, “Come back to me,”

“Always,”

At The Daily Grind, Mary visibly jolted at the sight of him as he joined the back of the long queue for drinks (the young girl at the till flushed deep red and refused to look at him). She ignored the people ahead of him and peered around the display cabinet.

“Are you alright child?”  

“I was looking for Eurydice,” Draco said.

Mary gave a serious nod, “I’ll call her immediately,” and she turned to disappear into the back, where Draco presumed, she must have had a muggle telephone at her disposal.

“Make sure she knows its not urgent!” He called after her, but she had already disappeared.

He sent the other curious patrons a tight smile and wandered his way deeper into the shop before sitting down at the table he and Euri had sat at before with her fiancé. He shuffled uncomfortably, painfully aware that he hadn’t lost the attention of the other interested customers. He rubbed a tired hand across his eyes, and when he wasn’t looking, a steaming pot of tea had been pushed under his nose.

He blinked down at it, and then up at Mary, who was smiling kindly at him, “You look like you need it boy,” she flashed her eyebrows a little, “I spoke to Euri - she’s heading right over,”

Draco sighed gratefully, “Thank you,” and he reached for the few notes he had brought with him in anticipation of getting something to drink.

Mary waved him away though, “Your money’s no good here, child. It’s on me, you look like you need it,”

He smiled weakly at her, and put his money away, “Thank you - I don’t suppose you’ve heard from my grandmother, have you?”

Her expression turned sad, “I’m sorry, dear: I haven’t,”

Draco nodded, “Right, okay, thank you,” he hoped that she wasn’t dead. He should probably have worried about it before, but he’d been so busy worrying about Harry, that it hadn’t even occurred to him to worry about her. If she was dead, that would leave just Snape who knew about them, and Draco could hardly see him being of any help to them now.

“Draco!” The sudden calling of his name had him looking up from his teacup, and he found that he was being approached by Eurydice, Connor at her back and serious frowns on both of their faces: they looked ready for battle.

“What’s going on?” Connor said, sitting down heavily, his palms flat on the table.

“More importantly, how can we help you?” Euri added, barely blinking an eye when two coffees were carried over to their table, “Thank you, auntie,” she said distractedly; Mary gave the top of her braids a fond pat before she wondered back towards the counter.

Draco raised calming hands in front of him, “Take a breath. Everything is fine - I came just to tell you you that Harry is getting better, calm down,”

Eurydice leant back, peered up to the ceiling and gave a great sigh, “Ah, thank you God! I’m so glad!” She lifted her cup to her mouth and sipped at the steaming liquid delicately, “I was so worried that he’d gotten worse, and you hadn’t listened to me. Have you been doing the physio?”

“I have yes,” Draco assured her, “but not so much recently. He doesn’t really need it. He still wheezes a little bit and gets out of breath quite quickly, but the coughing has nearly disappeared. He’s getting there, little by little,”

“It’ll probably take a while to recover completely,” she said shrewdly, “Especially with how unwell he was. The antibiotics did the trick then?”

Draco gave a deep nod, “They did,”

“Thank God,” she muttered, “See! Not so useless after all are we, us muggles,” she exchanged a grin with Connor, “Though I have to admit, I did worry that it might have been viral after all and I’d just sent you off to give it more time to fester without intervention,” she said all of this very quickly, then took a deep breath in, “I’m glad that that wasn’t the case,”

Draco shook his head fondly, then glanced at Connor out of the side of his eye, “So…,” he said at length, “your little brother’s a wizard,”

Connor nodded, “Yup - got his letter from that school when he was eleven,”

“What’s his name?” Draco asked curiously, though he didn’t truly expect to recognise the name of a muggleborn; he’d never exactly thought they were people worth knowing, after all.

“Donaghan,”

Draco shook his head apologetically, “Sorry - I’ve never heard of him,”

Connor sighed though, and looked like he was preparing himself, “Donaghan Tremlett,”

Draco frowned, the name immediately familiar, “As in… the guy from the Weird Sisters?” He said incredulously.

And Connor rolled his eyes with a fond grin, “Yeah, I hear that he’s pretty famous amongst your lot,”

“I saw him perform once,” Draco muttered with a slow nod, “At school a few years ago. How… how is he?”

Connor’s grin turned into a sad smile, “I haven’t heard from him in, oh,” he took a deep breath in and shook his head, “well over a year now, maybe nearly two,” he shrugged, and for a moment he looked deeply upset, “He told me that he’d contact me when he managed to get out of the country but I…,” he sniffed, and Eurydice rubbed the top of his leg beneath the table, “I haven’t heard anything at all,”

Draco swallowed heavily, “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, his voice faintly hoarse.

“It’s fine,” Connor shrugged, and wiped away the tear that had escaped, “What about you? I guessed from what you said before that you weren’t muggleborn like Don,”

“No, I’m a pureblood,” Draco said with a shake of his head, “My entire family going back generations has been magical,”

Connor’s expression turned faintly wary, “Oh… the way that Don went on, I’d have thought that you’d be on the other side of this then. With the people who are persecuting people like him,”

Draco sat back in his chair, bringing his cup into his lap, “I was,” he admitted grimly, “I was a pureblood bigot through and through - everything that my parents raised me to be. My family are… were,” without having had the closure of a funeral or having seen their bodies, Draco sometimes forgot that his parents were dead; it sounded ridiculous, but he was so far removed from his old life now, that anytime he imagined it, they were still there, “his biggest supporters. I probably would still be too but I… I fell in love with Harry. He’s half-blood, and literally the biggest opponent to the Dark Lord. My family found out and… and the rest is history I guess,” he wiped away his own tears, “Sorry - I shouldn’t be putting this all on you. It’s just been so hard… he’s been so unwell on and off for months, not just physically but mentally, and looking after him is…,” he swallowed, but then felt a gentle hand closing over his wrist.

“We want to help, Draco,” Euri said kindly, “In anyway that we can - we’re here to be your friends,”

“You have done,” he assured her firmly, “You… you saved his life,” he said with a disbelieving laugh, “You know,” he licked his lips nervously, “if you’d have told sixteen-year-old me, that I would be accepting help from a muggle - hell!” He let out a self-deprecating laugh, “That I had muggles for friends, I… I’d never have believed it. I’m sorry that your brother is suffering at the hands of people like me,” he turned to Connor earnestly, “I’m so sorry. I wish I could help you get in contact with him,”

Connor only shook his head with a tearful smile though, “But they’re not people like you, are they?” He said gently, “Not anymore,”

“No,” Draco agreed softly, “I suppose not,”

“Come back in a few weeks time,” Euri said suddenly, “If you can, I mean,” she added nervously, “I worry about you, you see. I would feel a lot better if I heard that you were okay, from the horse's mouth. Maybe I could even come with you and check Harry out?”

Draco nodded slowly, “Yeah, oaky - I’m sure that Harry would like to see you again. He,” he let out a huff, “he’d probably like to see a face that wasn’t mine to be honest. He’s been stuck in that house since July and the only other person we ever saw…,” he trailed off, clenching his jaw, “he died,”

“Well - sounds like its time for a visitor,” Euri said kindly.

Draco had been right - though Harry had been nervous at the idea of a visitor initially, he had quickly warmed up to Eurydice, and they were currently chatting happily together in the dining room, the wireless playing while Draco served up their desert: a fruit pie that Eurydice had brought with her.

“My mum always says not to go anywhere empty handed,” Euri had said brightly when he met her and Connor at The Daily Grind, “Will it survive the journey?” She had added anxiously.

Fortunately for all of them, it had, and the smell of cherry pie had Draco’s mouth watering.

He levitated their bowls, and the small jug of custard through in one go, mostly to show off some magic to Eurydice as she had reacted with delight when she’d watched the potatoes for their shepherd’s pie mash themselves.

‘ It’s so natural, you belong to me, I belong to you!’

“Here we go,” he settled it all on the table, not missing the way that Euri’s eyes followed her floating bowl with intense interest.

“This is literally magical,” she said as the bowl settled down, “In both senses of the word,”

“So, what was the verdict by the way,” Draco said after he had poured custard over his desert, “Did you listen to Harry’s chest?”

“Hmm!” Eurydice said around the pie in her mouth; she hurried to swallow, “He’s sounding great! Still a bit of crepitus but miles and miles better than before - the wheeziness and tiredness should resolve on their own. It’s not unusual for the recovery from serious cases of pneumonia to take a while,”

“Good,” Draco said with a relieved sigh, “That’s good,”

“Harry was just telling me how you met,” Euri said with a wink.

Draco groaned, “Oh, please no,”

“What?” Harry protested.

“You’re going to have made me out to be this great villain, no doubt,” Draco said shrewdly.

Harrys scoffed, “You were a prick, Draco,”

“I was eleven!”

“You were eleven, and you were already a prick!”

Draco scowled a little at him.

“Well, it sounds like you’ve both changed a lot to me,” Euri said diplomatically, grinning between them.

“No,” Draco snorted, “I’ve changed - Harry’s always been the same. The perfect paragon of all things good and annoying,”

“You were doing so well,” Harry said dryly, “you just couldn’t help yourself,”

“Oh, come on, you were a little goodie-two-shoes! It was annoying!”

“I was not!” Harry denied in a splutter, “I smuggled a bloody dragon out of the castle!” Draco raised his spoon to argue, but couldn’t think of anything to say, “I snuck into Hogsmeade under an invisibility cloak!” Hmm, he had, “Me and Ron took polyjuice potion to transform into Crabbe and Goyle!”

“You what?” Draco said incredulously, “When the hell was this?!”

Harry’s answer was interrupted by Eurydice’s amused laughter, “Oho,” she said, pointing at them with her own spoon, “You boys are little cuties, aren’t you. I wouldn’t be surprised if your teachers secretly had a betting pool on when you’d get together,”

“I doubt it - when we’d kill each other most likely,” Harry joked, and for a split-second Draco was nearly dragged down by the fact that he had nearly killed Harry.

But then Euri was laughing again, jolting him out of his melancholy before it could settle in, “Nope! I bet you boys were secretly obsessed with each other! I bet you knew everything about one another, and noticed when things changed or if the other one was upset or something,”

Harry opened his mouth to argue, only for his mouth to close slowly as he frowned lightly, “…Now that you mention it,” he said reluctantly, “Draco was always the first person to notice if I was wearing something new, or if I’d had post - he normally used it to try and bully me, to be fair, but he did notice,” he turned considering eyes in Draco’s direction.

Draco gave a dramatic sigh, “I hate to burst your bubble, Potter, but I have not been secretly pining after you since we were eleven years old,” it didn’t even sound like the truth to his own ears.

Harry said nothing, and Euri only grinned as she looked between them.

She sat back in her seat, and drummed her fingers against the table, “I don’t know if it’s allowed: but I want to be at your wedding,”

“Woah, woah, hold your horses,” Draco said with a shrewd smile, “Let’s try and survive till the end of the year first,” he turned to share his smile with Harry, only to find the other looking away from him quickly.

When it was time for Eurydice to return to Thorne Green, she enveloped Harry in a tight hug, and whispered something in his ear that Draco didn’t hear.

“Harry is lovely,” she said, smiling to herself as Draco walked with her from his apparition point to The Daily Grind, “You really are such a sweet couple - I’m surprised I haven’t come away with diabetes from all the sweetness,”

“I don’t know what that is,”

Euri ignored him though, “I wasn’t expecting a couple of wizards to be listening to Boyz II Men, though,”

“I don’t know what that is either,”

Again, Eurydice ignored him, “Oh look! There’s Connor,” the man was just stepping out of The Daily Grind; he must have seen them walking down the road.

“Draco!” Connor greeted pleasantly, “Did you guys have a good afternoon?”

“It was so cool, Con!” Eurydice enthused, “Draco levitated the pie over to me!”

Connor gave a hearty chuckle, but anything he had been about to say was interrupted by a gasp from behind them.

Draco turned instinctively and saw two people he hadn’t expected to see at all.

His eyes immediately locked with the wide baby-blues of Ronald Weasley. Out of his school uniform, it took Draco a split second to recognise him. He was staring at Draco with naked shock on his face. At his elbow, stood Hermione Granger, her mouth working open and closed like a fish brought onto dry land. She looked quickly from Weasley, then back to Draco. He didn’t miss the way her hand was working slowly towards her pocket.

They stood in silence for a split second, just staring at one another.

And then wands were out, and spells were flying.

Draco immediately cast the strongest shield he could think of around Euri and Connor, effectively pinning them between it and the shop window. It was an action that he didn’t regret, but that cost him dearly. He let out a cry of pain as a red curse from Weasley’s wand slashed through him; he felt hot blood blooming where it had struck between his shoulder and neck. He gritted his teeth against the burning pain and worked through it.

Weasley was attacking viciously, sending curse after curse, not taking even a moment to summon a shield or any kind of defence. Not that he needed one. Draco wasn’t attacking, not really, not with anything anywhere near as fatal as what Weasley was sending his way. He was casting anything he could think of to incapacitate Weasley without hurting him. He didn’t want to kill Weasley - Harry would be heart broken if he did - but there was no way he could convince him to just talk, and so instead he was defending as if his life depended on it (because he was certain that it did).

He was backing away, trying to create enough space between them so that he had time to focus on apparating away with out fatally splinching himself. He needed to get away - he needed to escape. He hadn’t told Harry that he’d be back, and in his irrational mind, in the heat of the battle, he was terrified that Harry would believe that he had chosen to leave him, rather than that he had died in the middle of this stupid village. The village he had visited so many times before without incident.

Blood was dripping down to his elbow now, and trailing up towards his little finger, making his grip on his wand slippery. He was running out of breath too, dipping and dodging his way out of Weasley’s curses as he stumbled back. Weasley could tell; he could see it in the triumphant glow in his blue-eyes.

Granger wasn’t fighting, he realised distantly. She was focussing on shielding the surrounding muggles from stray spells - mostly Draco’s. His aim was slipping as his head began to spin. Fuck. How much blood was he loosing?

And then Draco’s stomach dropped, and he gasped in alarm, as he lost his footing and crashed to the cobblestone street beneath him. An angry red curse went soaring above his head, missing him by millimetres. He lifted a shaking hand up to look at the blood that coated his skin and had soaked into his sleeve. Merlin.

He could hear screaming - he thought it might have been Eurydice. She would know where Harry was, at least, he thought desperately. She could tell Granger, if he managed to get a word in before she or Weasley tried to wipe her memory. She’d be able to enter the house and coax Harry out.

Through his bloodied fingers, he could see Weasley approaching, his wand lowered, a snarl on his face.

“I’ll kill you with my barehands you Death Eater SCUM!” He roared.

No. No, Draco couldn’t die. Who would look after Harry? Harry who wheezed when he walked up and down the stairs. Harry who still had nightmares that made him tremble in his sleep. Harry who would be tortured and killed by the Dark Lord if he were caught outside of their home.

No. Draco couldn’t die here.

Resolve settled into Draco’s bones, and he scrambled to feel for the wand he had dropped when he fell.  

Weasley advanced upon him, his white teeth flashing in the sunlight at him. Weasley was looming over him, reaching down for him just as Draco’s fingers closed around his wand.  

Draco felt as if time had slowed down around them. He focussed. He could see the grey, miserable patio of their surprisingly happy home, with its rusted table and sun bed, and the black chimney that loomed over them in the distance. He frowned with the effort, gritting his teeth together in determination, as he took the single, deliberate mental step from Thorne Green to Spinners End.

He disapperated with a crack, but not before the long fingers of Ronald Weasley closed around his wrist.

Draco reacted instinctively when he landed on the hard, stone patio. He lashed out immediately, punching Weasley in the face with all of his strength. He felt Weasley’s nose break under his fist, and the other boy reared back in shock, letting out a howl of pain. Draco scrambled to his feet, but Weasley recovered quickly, and it appeared that they had both mostly forgotten that they were wizards.

Weasley attacked him with a ferocity that Draco could almost sympathise with, “ WHAT DID YOU DO TO HARRY?!” It was a ferocity he would have appreciated, had it been in defence of Harry in any other scenario. Right now, though, it was a ferocity that near terrified him. Weasley grappled with him around his middle, slamming his back into the house wall and punching him furiously in the ribs while Draco drove his elbow as hard as he could into the others back.

He was torn. Torn between keeping the raging Weasley as far from Harry as he could - he had no guarantees that in his current state, Weasley wouldn’t accidentally fling a curse in Harry’s direction - and hoping that the sight of Harry’s face would make Weasley stop and ask questions rather than continuing to try and beat him to death.

Draco managed to force Weasley away, driving his elbow down one last time and catching the back of his head with its point. Weasley stumbled back, blinking rapidly and clearly dazed, and Draco threw himself into the kitchen, slipping on the blood on his shoes and slamming into the cabinet with a loud bang. He tried to throw the door shut - it wouldn’t keep Weasley out in the long run, but it might be enough for him to calm down to listen to Draco - but it was no use.  

Weasley launched himself in after him, winding his fingers around Draco’s collar, wrenching him forwards only to slam him back against the cabinets in an action that made Draco’s head spin. Weasley was positively roaring in his face, though Draco couldn’t have said what he was saying. He tried to fight back, ignoring the hands at his collar to punch and kick at the flesh available to him - his sides and his legs and his shoulders. He was weakening though - his wand arm was screaming at him with his every effort, the wound at his shoulder leaking both his blood and his strength.

And then there were hands at his throat, squeezing the breath from him as well, and he gave up his attack without meaning to. He scrambled to clutch at the wrists at his neck to try desperately to prise them free. He achieved nothing, and Weasley pulled their faces close together so he could feel Weasley’s spittle on his face as he spoke.

“This is for Harry,” Weasley growled at him. Draco tried to say something, to protest, but all he managed was a strangled whine.

Oh Gods. He was going to die. He was going to die! But… but that was okay. Weasley would look after Harry. Harry would be safe. Draco could die happily so long as Harry was safe.

Rather than strangling him to death, Weasley threw him bodily across the room towards the dining room door, and Draco landed with a crash and a yelp. He tried to sit himself up, but he slipped on the blood on the floor and collapsed backwards. He watched, his breath coming as frantic gasps, as Weasley stood over him, righteous fury on his face like some kind of avenging angel.

“Accio!” Weasley’s wand flew through the air and smacked into his palm; it was quickly turned to point at Draco, “This is for Harry,” Weasley hissed through his teeth, “This is for Harry!” He took a deep breath in, and Draco couldn’t look away, “ADVADA -!”

“EXPELLIARMUS!” Weasley balked in shock as his wand went flying through the air, “GET BACK!” Draco, trembling on his elbows, tipped his head back to find a ghostly white Harry approaching with both his, and Weasley’s wands in hand, “GET THE FUCK BACK!”

“ H-Harry!” Weasley stuttered, his eyes wide and shocked, “What-?”

“GET BACK!” He shouted again, shooting a nonverbal blasting curse at the cabinet to Weasley’s side and making him yelp in shock, “BACK!”  

Weasley raised his hands, stepping carefully back into the utility room, “I’m backing up - I’m backing up. Please… Harry… wh-?!”

Draco watched, gasping and feeling increasingly weak as Harry flicked his wand, and a chair from the utility room snapped forwards and caught Weasley in the back of his knees, causing him to tumble back into it with an alarmed shout.

“Stay,” Harry hissed furiously, “Don’t you dare fucking move,”

Weasley looked as if he might be about to cry, “H-Harry… it’s me!”

But Harry wasn’t listening to him; he was pushing the wands into his pocket and bending over Draco looking positively horrified.

“I’m okay,” Draco tried to say, but it was nearly lost around his gasping breath.

Harry hooked his arms beneath Draco’s armpits, and let out a small grunt, “D-Draco,” he stuttered in his ear, “ P-please - you need to help me sit you up. I… I’m not strong enough, you need to help me!”

Draco tried, digging his heels in and groaning, and together they managed to have him sat with his back against the cabinet. He felt hands at his collar again, but rather than trying to strangle him, they ripped at the fabric.

“O-oh Merlin, Draco…,”

“I’m okay,” Draco said weakly, “I’ll be okay,”

“Your neck!’

“I’ll be oka -,”

“Shut UP, Draco!” Harry barked, and suddenly he was gone, leaving Draco to sit panting and staring blearily at the cupboard opposite him.  

From the shoulder down, his wand arm was soaking wet and growing increasingly cool. It was blood, he knew distantly, blood that continued to pour down his back and front with every traitorous beat of his heart. His head barely managing to stay up right, he turned to look at Weasley.

He was sat where Harry had put him still, ashen faced and clearly in shock, though Draco didn’t know if it was at the revelation that Harry was still alive, or that Harry was defending Draco from him.

“Drink this,” Harry was back, and barking in his face, a position vial pressed to his lips.

Draco did as he was told, spluttering a little around the hot, bitter potion - a blood replenishing potion, he realised as his faculties started to return to him. It would do nothing for the still bleeding wound at his neck.

“And another one,” Harry said distractedly, pushing another vial into Draco’s right hand as he peered over his left shoulder; Draco did as he was told, the spinning in his head fading gradually, “ Vulnera sanentur,” Draco tried to peer over at what Harry was doing, but Harry held his head determinedly away so that he could work, “ Vulnera sanentur,” he repeated again in Draco’s ear, his voice a soft hum, almost like a lullaby.

“How d’you know this?” Draco mumbled, but he went ignored.

“ Vulnera sanentur,” the spell finished, Harry pushed another blood-replenishing potion into Draco’s hands.

It was only as the haziness of Draco’s mind cleared completely, that he realised that Harry was shaking.

He was sat on Draco’s thighs, curved into Draco’s chest, covered in his blood, and panting faintly.

“Harry?”

Harry only shuddered, and gasped, “So much blood,”

His eyes flicking about, the truth of it was easy to see. The cabinets were sprayed with red, with red footprints covering the floor, and red handprints seemingly everywhere. And then there was the pool surrounding Draco to consider. The pool that Harry was currently kneeling in and was slowly being soaked up by his jeans.

“So much blood,” Harry whimpered again, his breath coming in weak, panting, snatches of air, “I can’t do this, I can’t do this…,”

Draco’s arms came up instinctively, wrapping around Harry’s back and pulling him to his chest, “It’s alright, it’s alright,” Harry sobbed into his shoulder, “I’m alright, I’m alright,”

“Draco… Draco… the blood, there’s so much blood…,” Harry clung to him, shaking and gasping and crying.

Draco worked a hand down to Harry’s side, feeling for the wands he had stashed away. His hand closed around the handle of one of them, though he wasn’t sure whose, and he used it to banish the pool of blood they were sitting in with a swish; it would be more difficult to get it out of their clothes he imagined, “There - it’s all gone. It’s okay, it’s all gone,”

It was then that Weasley found his voice again, “What the fuck is going on?” Draco’s eyes flicked to him, and he found that Weasley had recovered the rage that shock had briefly replaced, “What the fuck is going on?!”  

Draco ignored him though, clutching a trembling Harry closer to him and stroking the back of his head, “It’s okay, Harry, it’s okay. I’m alright, baby,” Harry shuddered at the pet-name, burying his face in Draco’s neck, “Shh, I’m okay, we’re okay,”

“Harry… Harry, mate, can you here me?” Weasley called; out of the corner of his eye, Draco could see him creeping towards the edge of his seat, “Harry? You don’t have to stay here - you can leave with me,” in his arms, Harry flinched almost imperceptibly at the word ‘leave’, “Mione’ and me - we’ve been beside ourselves with worry for you,”

Draco wasn’t really sure what Weasley was thinking - it was clear to anyone with a brain, that the Harry clinging desperately to Draco, and shaking in his arms, had no interest in being coaxed into leaving at that moment.

“What have you done?” Weasley hissed, “Have you imperio’d him?” The chair beneath him creaked as Weasley made to stand.

Draco reacted a second too late in lifting the wand in his hand.

“ Incarcarus!” Harry had spun and barked the spell, his hand outstretched and no wand insight. Despite this, ropes sprang from the air and bound a gaping Weasley tightly to the chair. His arm still outstretched; Harry was panting out anxious, faintly wheezing breaths.

Draco reached for him carefully, curling his fingers around Harry’s cheeks and trying to turn his face from Weasley, “It’s okay, Harry,”

Harry resisted for a moment, “I can throw the imperius curse,” Harry bit out, before allowing Draco to turn him.

“It’s okay,”

“He… he wants to take me away,” Harry whimpered, collapsing against Draco, “I don’t want to go away,”

“No one’s taking you away,”

“I don’t want to leave you,”

“You’re not,”

“I don’t want you to leave me,”

“I’m not,”

Whispered words exchanged for their ears only, repeated and expanded upon and pressed into the others skin. A circle of reassurance and affirmation that finally had Harry stilling, and simply breathing against him.  

Weasley watched them silently, though it wasn’t because Harry had bound his mouth. Draco watched him back out of the corner of his eye. He needed to be dealt with, and the only way forward that Draco could see was to get him on side. Him and Granger both.

Harry was resting with his head on Draco’s shoulder, where Draco expected he had a new ridge of scarred skin. One scar for the multitudes that Harry had. It didn’t seem fair. He carded his fingers through Harry’s hair.

“Harry,” he said softly, “Why don’t you go upstairs?” Harry froze against him, “Let me and Weasley have a chat,” Harry leant back, so that he was sat in Draco’s lap and peering down at him, but he didn’t say anything, “Go on - it’ll be okay, here,” he pulled the second wand from Harry’s pocket, Weasley’s, and pressed Harry’s back into his hand (not that he apparently needed it), “I’ve got a wand, and he doesn’t,”

Reluctantly, Harry stood, and offered a hand to help Draco clamber to his feet. Draco fought to mask his sudden dizziness, but fortunately Harry was too distracted with watching Weasley warily to notice. It took encouragement to turn Harry away; it took less encouragement to slot Harry under his arm and steer him towards the hallway. Harry practically collapsed against him.

“You’ll keep the door open?” Harry asked anxiously, “In case you need me?”

Draco would have liked to scoff and say he could take care of himself, but Harry had demonstrated that even when he was still weak and recovering from pneumonia, he was more capable in a fight than Draco. It made Draco wonder how he had ever ended up pinned beneath him on the Hogwarts’ Express.

“I will,” Draco assured him, “I promise,” still, Harry hesitated, “I’ll be fine, I promise. Unless you want to stay and talk to him,” Harry shook his head the smallest amount, “Exactly, so go upstairs. It’ll be fine, and if its not, you can come and rescue me again,”

“He was going to use the killing curse, Draco,” Harry said lowly, “I can’t save you from that,”

Draco tried to remain confident despite the sudden swooping feeling in his gut; he had almost forgotten that, “I’m sure he won’t again. I have his wand remember. Go on, I’ll be fine darling,”

Harry shuddered a little, then nodded, and turned to head upstairs.

Draco watched him until he disappeared into their bedroom; then he steeled himself, and returned to the utility room, and Weasley and his chair.

Weasley hadn’t moved. He glared coldly at Draco as he approached. Draco deliberately ignored him for the most part, inspecting the blood splattered walls and cabinets to give himself time to think of something to say. Finally, stood in front of the obstinately silent Weasley, the open kitchen door to his right, he inspected Weasley’s wand in his hand.

The wand that had very nearly killed him.

He sighed heavily through his nose.

“ Accio wand!” His wand clattered a little as it navigated its way from the garden through the door. Draco caught it in midair. He contemplated Weasley’s wand again. He couldn’t give it him back. Not yet. He’d lied to Harry - he wasn’t even remotely certain that Weasley wouldn’t try and kill him again.

What to do, what to do.

In the end, Draco opted to take a decidedly Gryffindor approach.

“ Finite,” Weasley’s bonds fell away, and Draco turned his back on him to walk towards the dining room, “Come on, Weasley,”

His posture was loose and relaxed, not because he was anything of the sort, but because he was near exhausted. He sat heavily at the dining room table and watched through tired eyes as a suspicious Weasley joined him in the room. Draco gestured to the chair opposite him.

“Sit down Weasley,”

“I don’t sit with Death Eaters,” Weasley responded coldly.

Draco just looked at him. He shook his head a little; of course, when had Weasley ever made anything easy? “Say whatever it is that you want to say,”

“What the fuck is going on here?” Weasley spat, “You betrayed him! Lured him into a trap and sold him to You-Know-Who! And now what? You’re holding him here as some brain-washed prisoner? What the fuck is wrong with you?! I told Harry that you couldn’t be trusted, way back at Hogwarts, and I was right. Once a snake, always a fucking snake!”

Draco breathed, and looked at him, “Feel better?”

“No! I’ll feel better when I’m leaving this fucking house with Harry and taking him far away from you!”

“He doesn’t want leave,” Draco said simply.

“Because you’ve cursed him or something!”

“He’s been able to throw the imperius curse since we were fourteen - we both know this, and he said so himself,” Draco rubbed his eyes, “When you leave this place, because you will be leaving,” he added harshly, “what will you do?”

“Come back with a bloody army and get Harry out!” Weasley said immediately. Stupid Gryffindor – as if revealing his violent plan would in anyway persuade Draco to let him leave.

“Well, it shall have to be an army of one,” Draco answered dryly, “This place is under the Fidelius charm, and I’m the Secret Keeper,”

“Well, I guess that I’m never leaving then,” Weasley growled, “Not without Harry,”

Draco let out a humourless laugh, “I thought you’d say that,” leaning back in his chair, staring up at Weasley, Draco considered him. He took a risk, “How about this: next week, I’ll meet you back at that coffee shop. Bring whoever you want to, and we can talk,” it was a significant risk. Weasley, and whoever he brought, could hold him prisoner and demand he tell them where Harry was, and he would tell them, of course he would, because Harry could die on his own. He’d either starve to death, or venture out to not starve to death, and be caught and then die anyway.

“What’s there to talk about?” Weasley ground out, “Let Harry go!”

“I’m not keeping Harry prisoner, Weasley,” Draco tried to stay calm, but he could hear the building fury in his own voice, “I’m trying to keep him alive! He doesn’t want to leave,”

“Let me speak to him,” Weasley demanded.

Draco shook his head, “If Harry wanted to speak to you, he would be here in this room now, so he clearly doesn’t,”

“You’ve cursed him!”

“We’ve already established that he can throw the -,”

“ Brainwashed him then!” Weasley insisted furiously, “Manipulated him into believing your bullshit story that you love him and only want the best for him,”

Draco had to hold his breath, cold fury closing a tight fist around his heart; he’d have liked nothing more than to raise both of the wands in his hand to show Weasley what a curse really looked like. But he couldn’t do that. He took a calming, deep breath in, then exhaled slowly through his nose.

“Next week,” he repeated, “to discuss Harry’s well-being,”

“Harry should be a part of any conversation about his well-being,”

“And he will be,” Draco agreed, deliberately calm, “but only when he wants to be a part of it, and as you can see,” he gestured to the empty room around them, “he doesn’t want to be right now. I will meet you and whoever you choose to bring with you, but I’d ask you not to be your typical Gryffindor self and act rashly. I’d like to remind you as well,” Draco added pointedly, “that I don’t need to let you go at all. You are completely at my mercy right now. If I wanted to, I could chain you up in the bloody shed until you listen to reason. I am trying to find a way for us to come to an accord Weasley!”

For a long tense moment, they glared at one another across the room.

Then finally, Weasley nodded.

“Fine,” he said tersely, “Fine, a week. If you don’t show, you best believe I’m coming back here and tearing this fucking house apart - do you hear me?”

Draco heard the slightest creek in the floorboards above, but judging by Weasley’s unwavering expression, he hadn’t.

“Fine,” Draco said coldly, “One week,”

They parted on the patio. Draco handed Weasley’s wand back while maintaining intense eye-contact, practically daring him to attack him again. Weasley accepted it with a sneer.

“One week,” Weasley said again, before he disapperated with a loud crack.

It was only now that he was alone, that Draco allowed himself to sag.

He hurt all over - as if he’d been run over by a heard of hippogriffs. He’d be black and blue come the morning, he was sure. He’d run himself a hot bath and try out some of the salve that he had rubbed onto Harry’s bedsores once-upon-a-time, but for now, he needed to find Harry.

He didn’t have to look far; he found him sat silently at the top of the stairs. They looked at one another in the dark for a moment.

“Are you okay?” Draco asked gently.

Harry let out a peel of hysterical laughter that had Draco rushing up the stairs to sit next to him on the step, “Am I okay? Am I okay?! He nearly slit your throat!” Harry reached for him, closing his fingers around Draco’s torn shirt and pulling him slower, “You n-nearly died, Draco. He n-nearly killed you,” Draco allowed himself to be pulled in as Harry reassured himself that he was alive, “I h-heard what he said,”

“I’d never let him do anything to you,” Draco said fiercely at once, “And you know Weasley - he’s your friend - he’d never hurt you,”

“It’s not me I’m worried about!” Harry slapped his chest in frustration only to draw him back and burry his head in his chest, “What if he comes back and tries to take me away? I don’t want to leave you,”

“I’d fight tooth and nail to stop anyone taking you, you know I would,”

Harry was shaking his head though, “That’s not what I… you can’t fight the world for me, Draco,”

“Says who?”

Harry let out a bark of laughter, and then was suddenly kissing him, his hands on his face and holding them together, “You’ll come back, right?” Harry murmured against him, pressing their lips together again and again, “From this meeting? You’ll come back,” finally, he let his forehead rest against Draco’s shoulder, and allowed Draco to hold him.

“I’ll always come back,” Draco whispered into his hair, hearing the words Harry still struggled with, “I love you.”

Chapter Text

April

Harry had been quiet in the week leading up to the meeting - clingy and distant in equal measure, as if he wanted nothing more than to keep Draco as close as possible at all times but found himself uncomfortable with this impulse. Draco could feel himself stretching thin under the constant tension, but he’d tolerate it and more. He could be the unmoving mountain that Harry clearly needed him to be.

To try and make the week pass more easily, Draco tried to distract him as much as he could. He’d ventured out specially and had started the work of tilling the soil in the garden, adding compost, and planting seeds. It was as easy as breathing in comparison to repotting mandrakes and pruning venomous tentacular. He planted vegetables, in case they really were there years as Snape had suggested. Draco would have said that Harry helped happily, except that, despite his enthusiasm, he spent the entire time glaring down at the soil as if it had wronged him.  

He still didn’t have the same stamina as before, even as the last of his wheezing had resolved, he took frequent breaks lying out on the sun bed (the cushions for which Draco had found along with the gardening equipment in the dilapidated shed) and watching Draco with a look in his eye that Draco couldn’t quite decipher.  

He was starting to think that maybe, this was it. Harry was as strong as he was ever going to get and all the torture and the separation of souls and the pneumonia had done damage that couldn’t be undone. He should be grateful really. When he had smuggled Harry out of the castle, he had been prepared to nurse Harry through his gradual decline and eventual death. It was a miracle that he was even up and walking and talking.

On the day of the meet, Harry hovered nervously at the kitchen door while Draco brushed his hair back into a high ponytail.

”Your hair is getting long,” Draco glanced at him out of the corner of his eye at his small comment, “How come you’ve let it grow out?”

Draco hmm’ed, “Seemed like too much effort to cut,” 

“You cut mine, though,” Harry muttered.

Draco said nothing though. How to explain that which he didn’t understand?

They stood in silence together, Draco brushing his hair and Harry staring. Draco frowned at him in the mirror, “What’s wrong?”

Harry was quiet for a long moment, then he said, “I’m afraid,”

Draco frowned, pulling a jacket on and stepping closer to Harry, “Of what?”

“That you won’t come back,” Harry muttered, allowing Draco to step into his space.

Draco swallowed heavily, and decided on the truth, “If… if they stop me coming back, don’t worry. Weasley would come for you - he wouldn’t leave you here alone, and he’d look after you,”

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” Harry snapped, only for his glare to falter, “I’m not just afraid of that though… I’m afraid that they’ll want me to rejoin the war and I…,” his lips trembled, and his expression turned haunted, “I don’t think I can,”

Draco pulled him into a fierce hug, and spoke into his ear, “No one is going to make you do anything, do you hear me? No one. You’ll see,”

Harry nodded against him. When they separated, he trailed his fingers across Draco’s left shoulder where it sloped up into his neck, and where Draco was sporting a thick, ugly scar from Weasley’s curse. He closed his eyes and exhaled heavily through his nose, “Come back,” and he kissed Draco fiercely, “Come back,”

Draco nodded dumbly and turned away to head for the patio. Harry had kissed him twice in a week now. They didn’t kiss at all following New Year’s Eve, and Draco wasn’t complaining, he only wished he knew what it meant that Harry was kissing him now.

He apparated away with a look over his shoulder at Harry waiting anxiously in the window.

Upon seeing him enter The Daily Grind, Mary looked faintly shocked to see him.

“Don’t call Eurydice,” he said at once, “Please. I… there are people meeting me here. It’s nothing to worry about, I promise. There won’t be any trouble. We’ll sit out back, and we won’t cause you any problems,”

Mary pursed her lips, “Eurydice was very worried about you! So was I - that was quite a scene!” Draco bit his lip, not quite sure what to say. He was faintly surprised that Granger hadn’t wiped their memories of the incident. Seeing his nervous expression, Mary rolled her eyes, “Child, you witches might hide yourselves in this country, but back home we all knew about the magic man who lived by the river,”

Draco gave an aborted nod, and said, “Oh,” well, he hadn’t been expecting that, “Well, you can tell her that I’m fine, and I’m sorry for frightening her,” Mary gave a deep, unimpressed hum; he pulled a note from his pocket, “Is this enough for a large pot of tea?”

“I told you – your money’s no good here,” Mary said with a sigh, “How many cups?”

How many cups, indeed, “Uh, three?” He guessed, “I’m just going to…,” he pointed to the door with his thumb.

He waited alone on the patio, sat at the small table that he had once shared with McGonagall, staring back at The Daily Grind, nursing a cup of tea. He ended up applying a warming charm to the pot to stop it from going cold when no one appeared after twenty minutes. Was it a tactic to put him on edge, perhaps? It seemed a waste of all their time as far as Draco was concerned when he was already falling to pieces with his nerves.

Finally, he saw movement through the window, heads bobbing in a line as they walked through the shop towards the door and the patio.

Granger emerged first, her expression drawn and tense. He felt almost pinned in place by her heavy gaze, and he was reminded strongly of the girl who had punch him in the face at fourteen. He’d be a fool to discount her as a threat. If anything, she was the real threat. The girl who blackmailed witches and locked them in jars to make a point. Harry had said once that he’d nearly been sorted into Slytherin, but Draco imagined Granger would have done well in the house as well.

Behind her, as he expected, was Weasley. It appeared that he wasn’t very good at healing spells either, and his nose was crooked in a way that Draco knew it hadn’t been before their altercation, and he had yellow, fading bruises beneath his eyes. If it had been anyone else, Draco would have offered to help with the nose as a peace offering, but knowing Weasley, the offer would be taken as some disingenuous dig (which, if Draco was honest, was what it would have been). He practically snarled at the sight of Draco, but he controlled himself and maintained his weary trudge at Granger’s back.

Finally, bringing up the rear, was someone that Draco hadn’t been expecting to see: Remus Lupin. He supposed it made sense. He was the best friend of Harry’s father and godfather; of course, he would have an interest in Harry’s wellbeing beyond that of an ordinary member of the Order or ex-teacher. If Harry’s parents had lived, he imagined that Lupin would have been like an uncle to him. As much a father figure as James Potter and Sirius Black.

The three of them pulled up chairs opposite him. He was grateful that they chose to leave a wide birth between themselves and the small table in front of Draco. He’d never realised how small it actually was when he’d been sat at it with McGonagall.

Their silence was painfully tense, and Draco fell back on old techniques to sooth himself; flippancy, “Tea?” He offered, pouring himself another and clearing the hoarseness of his throat.

“We’re not here for tea,” Weasley snapped.

“We’re here for Harry,” said Granger, her voice just as hard.

Draco half-expected Lupin to be the peacekeeper amongst them, but his expression was just as unforgiving.  

Draco nodded heavily, feeling suddenly as defeated as he had the day that Weasley had nearly beaten him to death, “I know you are,” he said hoarsely, “but it… it’s not as simple as that,”

“It is as simply as that,” Weasley insisted furiously, “Let him go!”

“He’s not a prisoner,” Draco said wearily, feeling as if he could easily burst into tears, “He is not a prisoner,” he insisted more firmly; on any other day, he’d have been horrified by the emotion he could hear in his own voice, but today he was too tired to care. He was exhausted down to his very bones, “He doesn’t want to leave,”

Weasley reared back and scoffed, “Doesn’t want to leave - yeah, right,”

“He doesn’t!” Draco insisted.

“Because you’ve poisoned him!” Weasley shouted, making to stand, but Granger hushed him and cast a privacy ward around them, “You lured him into a trap, handed him over to You-Know-Who, then decided to kidnap him and isolate him from everyone who loves him so you can control him completely,”

“I didn’t!” Draco tried to argue, but he could hear the weakness in his own voice.

“You didn’t lure him into a trap and hand him over to You-Know-Who?” Weasley asked sarcastically, “After helping the Death Eaters into Hogwarts, let’s not forget, and helping them to kill Dumbledore!”

Draco swallowed, his lips trembling, “I did,” he confessed in a whisper, “but it’s… you don’t understand,”

“And we don’t need to understand Malfoy,” Granger’s voice was cold as ice, “we just need you to do the right thing, and let Harry leave with us,”

“That isn’t happening,” Draco bit out, “not unless Harry wants to, and at the moment, he really doesn’t - you don’t understand,” he tried again desperately.

“Then make us understand,” Lupin said, speaking for the first time, his voice calm but in no way soft or gentle, “The last that any of use knew, the Death Eaters had taken Harry, but then we heard no more. No news of his death or of his escape. Nothing, as if he’d turned to dust,” he flashed a meaningful look at Weasley, and he reluctantly sat and sealed his lips, “Tell us what happened,”

Draco swallowed, suddenly seeing all of his guilt and self-hatred reflected in the three pairs of eyes opposite him; he fought to talk, “That letter… the one I sent Harry. I wrote it and then… then changed my mind,”

“Coward,” Weasley muttered, and Granger elbowed him, but Draco didn’t bother to argue.

“My father found it. He and Bellatrix made me sign it and send it. I… I never meant to betray Harry. It wasn’t some scheme that I’d been cooking up for the whole of sixth year, no matter what my father made me tell the Dark Lord. I thought they’d killed him. But they hadn’t. They had him in the dungeons at Hogwarts,”

“Ginny said that they’d all been banned from the dungeons,” Granger muttered, “But I… I’d never have guessed that they’d put Harry down there - why?”

Draco sipped at his tea to help his dry throat, and wiped a tear from his cheek, “I didn’t know at the time - the Dark Lord made me go down there, to act as an assistant to Snape. That was the first I knew of him not being dead,”

“Snape?” Lupin said sharply, his lips twisting with hatred.

Draco nodded, “At the time, I thought he was just… just experimenting with torturing Harry in his own way, while the Dark Lord punished me for… for falling in love with him. He never really believed that I’d been running some grand scheme - seducing Harry to take him down. Snape said he was testing me but… but no. It was just punishment. I tried to break Harry out - I set Hagrid’s brother on the castle as a distraction,”

“We heard about that - that was you?” Weasley said incredulously.

“Yeah - Snape caught me though,” he took a deep shuddering breath, “Turns out Snape’s been a spy the whole time,”

“He killed Dumbledore,” Lupin pointed out.

“He said it was arranged. Said he was dying anyway, some curse that Snape had trapped in his arm for him. Anyway. He said that the Dark Lord had found out that a bit of his soul was bound to Harry, and he wanted Snape to separate them,” Granger and Weasley exchanged sharp looks, “He told me I had to wait. That I couldn’t take Harry away until he succeeded. He managed it eventually, and we snuck Harry out of the castle with McGonagall’s help, and we’ve been in hiding ever since. Is… is Snape still alive?”

Lupin nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on the table as he took in all that Draco had said, “Yes… has he really been on our side the entire time?”

Draco shrugged tiredly, and poured himself another cup of tea, feeling almost compelled to drink while the other’s ignored the pot, “Apparently. If he wasn’t, I don’t think he’d have helped me get Harry out and then set us up with a safe house. He’d have just killed me. Is McGonagall still alive?” Lupin nodded again, and Draco let out a heavy sigh, “Good. That’s good,”

“When was all this?” Granger asked, “When did you get him out?”

“July,”

“Why didn’t you contact the Order?” Weasley said harshly, “Why have you kept him locked in that house all this time?”

“Hiding him,” Draco muttered, “He was so… so unwell. After everything that happened… the Death Eaters torturing him and Snape… what Snape did to him might have been for the greater good, his and the rest of the Wizarding world, but in doing it he caused Harry significant physical and mental harm for months,” he shook his head a little and wiped away the tears he’d been unable to suppress; at school, he’d have been horrified at the idea of letting his emotions control him like this, but after the last eighteen months of hell, he couldn’t bring himself to care, “Snape told me he might never recover. He was unconscious for a month, then bed bound for another, and then after Christmas he got pneumonia, and I ended up having to ask a muggle to help us. He nearly died. If that muggle hadn’t helped us, he would have,”

“We want to see him, Draco,” Lupin said softly, the hardness gone from his eyes, “Please, let us see him,”

Draco rubbed his face roughly, “I will,” he said tiredly, sitting back and abandoning his third cup of tea, “Of course I will, but I need to speak to Harry first. He won’t be happy if you all just turn up - he needs time to process and prepare,”

“Prepare?” Granger said slowly with a frown.

Draco nodded, “He’s… I don’t want to make it sound like I’m calling him weak, because I’m not. He’s so unbelievably strong to come out the other side of everything that’s happened. But he is more delicate than he was. I want to set him up for success, not failure. If you came back with me now, he would struggle, I know he would. Just a few days to adjust to the idea, that’s all I’m asking. He wasn’t particularly thrilled about me meeting you today as it was,”

“ Why?” Weasley said sharply, sounding aghast; then he turned accusatory, “What have you been doing? Have you been turning him against us?”

“Ronald,” Granger snapped, “This isn’t helpful right now,”

“I think,” Draco started hesitantly, giving voice to something he struggled to think about, “I think he’s hurt from everything that happened in ways that we can’t see. Mentally and physically. He’s so, so much better than he was, even before the pneumonia, but he’s different too. He isn’t the Harry you remember precisely, and I think he knows it as well. Just give him a bit of time to process that. Just two days, please, that’s all I’m asking, and I’ll meet you all here again. Okay?”

Weasley was on the verge of arguing, but Granger silenced him with a gentle hand on his arm. They exchanged looks, while Lupin kept his gaze set on Draco.

Finally, Lupin let out a breath through his nose, “Two days,” he said tightly, “and then we want to see Harry,”

“Or I’ll-,” Weasley started, but Draco interrupted him.

“Tear the house apart, yes, I know, you’ve said,” Draco stood.

“It’s not an idle threat,” Weasley near growled.

  “I’m sure it’s not - I have physical proof it’s not, after all,” he ran his finger through his collar and pulled it aside to reveal the ugly scar between his neck and shoulder; Granger gasped quietly, “I would, however, prefer it if you didn’t make such threats in Harry’s ear-shot next time,” he added coldly, “I’m sure you can appreciate why he may not respond well to threats of violence in a place he feels safe in,”

Weasley gritted his teeth rather than arguing. None of them tried to stop Draco as he turned to leave, but he didn’t apparate away until he was far enough from them to avoid risking one of them latching on again and coming with him.

Harry hadn’t left the kitchen, and his tense expression relaxed in relief immediately at the sight of Draco pushing his way through the door. Harry caught him by the arm and pulled him into his chest at once, and then proceeded to fuss over him like a mother hen, checking his face and his neck and running his hands over the scar at Draco’s throat before working his way down to his fingers in an anxious silence.

“Aren’t you going to ask me how it went?” Harry nodded, finally releasing Draco’s hands but saying nothing, “I saw Weasley, Granger, and Lupin,” Harry nodded again, stepping back to lean against the counter behind him, “They want to see you. They’re worried about you,”

Harry swallowed heavily, and muttered, “Makes sense,”

“Do you want to see them?”

Harry looked nervous, “What if they’re… they’re disappointed?”

Draco frowned in confusion, “What do you mean?”

Harry only shook his head though, and changed his question, “What if they want me to rejoin the war? Or… or I suppose it’s just a resistance at this point,”

“Then we tell them no,” Draco said with a small shrug, stepping forwards to run soothing hands over Harry’s shoulders, “it’s as simple as that,”

Harry still didn’t look sure.

Two days later, and Draco had cleaned the house to within an inch of its life. He was half desperate to make a good impression - to make sure there was no suggestion that he’d been allowing Harry to live in squalor. They didn’t need to know that he and Harry had effectively lived in only one room for the majority of winter.

Harry had watched him feverishly clean the living room, to the point of trying to mend the threadbare sofa as best as he could using a tailoring spell and a cushion cover and had understood exactly what was going on without Draco having to say a word. He leapt into helping, bleaching the yellowing net curtains as best as he could and working out the mould that had settled into the sealant around the windows, until he inevitably had to sit down and close his eyes for just a moment while Draco worked around him.

Together, they moved from room to room, never saying a word but never needing to either. Instead, they worked in a companionable, comfortable silence, interacting only to ask for the other’s help in removing particularly stubborn stains, or to carefully shuffle past one another as they moved onto the next task. Harry would stop him as he passed, to squeeze his arm or stroke his shoulder, and Draco would inevitably drop a kiss to his temple before he moved on.

Though they weren’t in complete silence: Harry made sure that the wireless followed them around the house, and more than once Draco caught him singing along softly to whatever song was playing. He seemed to know all of them nearly off by heart. Draco knew he listened to it a lot, but he apparently hadn’t realised quite how much. He didn’t ask Harry about it though; he worried Harry would stop singing if he did.

Finally, the day they’d been working towards arrived; Draco was preparing to leave, while Harry looked as if he could vomit at any moment.

Draco frowned lightly at him as he zipped up his jacket, “What’s wrong?” Harry only shook his head and pursed his lips, “Harry? What’s wrong? Are you worried that they’re going to make you leave?” Silence, “They’re your friends Harry - they love you, and they wouldn’t do that to you,” he deliberately ignored the fact that Weasley had near threatened to drag Harry from the house.

“They’re going to be disappointed in who I am,” Harry bit out, clenching his hands in tight fists down by his sides, “I know it. They’re going to put on brave faces and pretend to be glad to see me, but really, they’ll just be sad that I’m not who they were expecting,”

Draco shook his head, and took a step towards him, “No, they won’t,”

“Yes, they will,”

“Harry - they won’t -,”

“ Yes, they will!” His sudden shout silenced Draco, “You heard Ron. He thinks I’m under some curse or- or that you’ve conditioned me or something! When… when really…,” his lips trembled.

“Listen,” Draco rubbed his hands soothingly down the other’s arms, “Harry. They love you - they love you so much. They were desperate to see you! They love you,”

But Harry pushed him away and retreated back towards the dining room, agitated and distressed, “No, they love who I was! I… I’m not that person anymore. We both know that I’m not. It’s the hardest bit about remembering everything, you know?” Draco froze at his soft confession, “Not… not remembering the dungeons or how I got there,” how I let you down, an unhelpful voice whispered in Draco’s ear, “But remembering who I used to be. I remember… I remember talking back to Snape and arguing with Umbridge and diving in headfirst into every situation. I remember being strong and brave and cocksure, and never… never really knowing what it was to be nervous or anxious.

“I remember…,” grief washed briefly over Harry’s expression, “I remember running around the castle with you, kissing whenever and wherever we could without being caught. I remember lying in bed for hours and hours with you after curfew, and then sneaking back to the tower with the map. I remember you kissing me, and telling me that you loved me, and how you looked surprised by it every time. I don’t -,” Harry cut himself off, and he swallowed heavily, “I don’t know how to be that person anymore,” he gave a despairing shake of his head, “I don’t understand how you could love me anymore,”

Draco was stunned into the silence, the confession, one he hadn’t even seen coming, ringing between them.

“Harry…,”

“No,” Harry near barked, “No, I don’t want to hear it. I’m not Harry anymore: I’m this… this thing, who looks like him and sounds like him, but who isn’t him, and I know that I’m not. I feel like a fucking changeling or something. There are bits of me missing! And I don’t know why, but you don’t seem to care that you’re living with this imposter, but I know that they will! You’re the only person who feels safe anymore and I… I don’t know what to do with that. I don’t know how to be who they think I am anymore,” Harry shook his head, his expression pained but resigned, not a tear in sight, as if he had already accepted the irrevocable truth of his words, and he confessed again, “I don’t understand how you could love me anymore,”

Draco struggled for a moment - struggled both to find the words, and to find his voice.  

This was important. He could feel it in his bones, that whatever he said next risked defining Harry for the rest of his life, and the idea of setting these wounds in stone without meaning to made Draco feel sick. He could practically see Harry pulling away though, and so he jumped into action, and hoped that the link between his heart, head, and voice would save them both.

He stepped across the kitchen and pulled Harry into his arms, pressing their chests together and holding him tight, “Do you…,” he started hesitantly, not quite sure what he was going to say but knowing that he had to commit, “Do you think that I wouldn’t love you, if you had to have your leg amputated?”

There was a moment of confused silence, then Harry said, “What?”

“Your leg - if you lost it. There’d be bits of you missing then. Do you think I wouldn’t still love you because of it?”

Harry shook his head against him, “A leg isn’t the same,”

“Would I stop loving you? Because it was gone?” Harry leant back to stare up blankly at him, but he said nothing, “How about… in ten years time, when we’ve both grown into completely new people, guided by our experiences, leaving bits of ourselves behind and picking up new parts. Do you think I’d stop loving you then?” And again, Harry said nothing, “How about when you’re old and grey and wrinkly? How about then?”

Harry shook his head, “It’s not the same. You know that it’s not. I’m not the same person,”

But Draco spoke over him, “How about: when you’re grey and old, except your mind is going as well. You don’t remember quite who you are, or who I am, and you’ve forgotten how to speak, and how to eat, and how to walk,” the description was a painfully poignant one; it was where they had been less than a year ago, “What about then?” A single tear rolled down Harry’s cheek, “Do you think I’d still love you then?”

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but made no sound, and so Draco continued.

“Do you think I’d stop loving you when you needed me most? Or do you think I’d stay with you, and cherish every second we had together?”

Harry sniffled wetly, and he spoke with a croak, “But how?”

“Because you’re Harry,” Draco said simply.

“I’m not,”

“You are,” Draco insisted, “now and forever. I know you inside and out Harry, the good and the bad, and I have done since I was eleven years old, and I didn’t understand why I couldn’t bare to look away from you. I don’t believe in soulmates,” he let out a huff of laughter, “and yet I believe with all my heart that you’re mine. I believe that there is no version of Draco Malfoy that doesn’t love Harry Potter. And I’ll spend the rest of my life convincing you of that if I have to - if you’ll let me,”

Harry let out a sob, and collapsed into him. Draco held him fiercely, burying his face in his shoulder to hide his tears, and murmuring into his neck. He didn’t know what he was saying though - the link between heart, head, and voice fracturing and cutting out the middleman so that every feeling that he’d held dear in his chest came pouring out of his mouth.

Harry pushed him back, but only so that he could life his head enough for him to press their lips together, “I love you,” Harry gasped into his mouth, “I love you,” they were words that Draco hadn’t heard in months, and without meaning to, he found himself crying. Harry separated them reluctantly, and cradled Draco’s face in his hand and his gazed into his eyes, “I never said it… but I forgive you,” Draco let out a sob, “For all of it. I forgive you,”

“You don’t have to -,”

“But I do. I did the moment you told me, I think, it was just hard to accept how easily I had,”

“I’m sorry,” Draco gasped against him, “I’m so, so sorry,”

“I know you are. You…,” Harry shook his head, “you were in an impossible situation, Draco,” he said, his voice painfully understanding, “They’d have killed you,”

“Then I should have died,”

“No,” Harry interrupted, his voice hard, “No you shouldn’t have. I never wanted anyone to die for me - least of all you. I just… I just needed time to process everything. And for it to stop hurting. I love you,”

“I love you,” the words came out whimpered and half-lost in a gasp, but it didn’t matter when they were near swallowed by Harry as he kissed him again.

They stood, wrapped in one another’s arms in the middle of the kitchen exchanging soft, lingering kisses for a long time. Draco wished they’d had this conversation the night before, when they could have gone up to bed together and laid down and held one another for hours and hours, only to be separated by the dawn. He didn’t regret that they’d had it. He just regretted that he needed to leave.

“I need to go,” Draco whispered against Harry, his eyes closed and their foreheads resting together, “I’m already an hour late. Weasley will be having an apoplectic fit, I’m sure,”

He felt Harry nod the smallest amount, “Okay… will they stay long?”

Draco leant away with a deep breath, and finally opened his eyes, “How about, I pre-warn them that it’s just a drink. An hour or so,”

“They’ll be upset that I don’t want to see them,” Harry muttered.

Draco shrugged, “We’ll blame me then,”

“Then they’ll hate you,”

Draco scoffed, “They already hate me,”

Harry looked anxious though, “I don’t want them to hate you,”

“Well, I’d better be on my best behaviour then,”

Harry nearly smiled at him, “…you won’t leave me alone, will you?”

“Not if you don’t want me to,” Draco assured him.

“I don’t want you too,” Harry said firmly.

“Then I won’t,”

He left Harry in the dining room listening to the wireless. He flashed him a reassuring smile, and apparated to The Daily Grind.

He found Weasley pacing furiously about the patio, while Granger watched him anxiously. Lupin was stood with his arms crossed, a stony expression on his face. He spotted Draco first, straitening immediately and relaxing his arms by his side. Draco didn’t miss the way his hand hovered over the wand in his pocket. Weasley spotted him second.

“You!” He barked, stilling, “Why the fuck are you so late? What have you been up to?”

Draco stilled, and took a moment to gather himself, bringing up the barriers that Harry had so effectively disarmed.

“I was delayed,” he said simply.

“Delayed doing what?” Granger asked flatly.

Draco resisted the urge to bare his teeth in frustration; Lupin spoke before he could though, “Surely you understand how suspicious this is,” he said simply, his fingers wrapped around the handle of his wand now, “An hour later to a meeting none of us thought you would come to in the first place,” he glanced at Weasley out of the corner of his eye, “We’re already putting a lot of trust in you, allowing you to side-along us to we know not where. An explanation is required if we are to proceed peaceably,”

Draco felt his frustration bubble over; he rubbed his hand harshly over his face, “If you must know,” he near spat, “Harry required additional emotional support prior to your visit. Unexpected, additional emotional support. Does that satisfy you?”

“Emotional support over what?” Granger asked suspiciously.

Draco struggled with what to say - an entire detailed explanation felt like betraying Harry’s confidence, and so he kept it brief, “Over how you would react to him,” they exchanged looks; he gritted his teeth, “I would request your discretion, of course, but he is concerned you will be unhappy that he is not exactly the same as he was when you saw him last - that you’ll be disappointed,”

“Disappointed?” Weasley balked, “We’re ecstatic that he’s even alive!”

“And what did you say to Harry, Draco?” Lupin’s question was mild, but Draco could hear its underlying suspicions.

“I told him that you were his friends, and that you love him. That you were desperate to see him,”

“We do,” Granger said quietly, looking suddenly sad, “And we are,”

“Good,” Draco sighed, “Now: the plan is, you stay for a drink and biscuits - an hour or so,”

“An hour?!” Weasley cried, starting to get angry again. Granger glanced nervously at the coffee shop, but whatever wards she had erected were standing strong and no one paid them any mind.

“It’s a start, for fucks sake Weasley!” Draco barked, “You stay for an hour, and then you leave, but if he wants you to stay, then you’re welcome to!”

Weasley sneered at him, “You’re busy acting like this is all in his best interest. Like you’re looking after him. But you wouldn’t be in this caretaker role if you hadn’t taken him out at the knees to begin with!”

“You need to stop this,” Draco cut in before anyone else could say anything, his hand held out peaceably between them, “This constant attack. I told you. You’re going to make somewhere that Harry feels safe in, feel unsafe, and I won’t stand for it. You don’t trust me - fine. But you trust McGonagall, and she trusted me,”

Rather than calming him down, every word that Draco spoke only seemed to wind Weasley up further, until Lupin spoke, “That’s enough Ron,” and he finally seemed to get a hold of himself, “Let’s go and see Harry,” he said simply.

It felt surreal voluntarily apparating people to Spinner's end. It was as much Draco’s safe space as Harry’s, and having three people there who were intensely hostile towards him left him feeling on edge. He ignored how they inspected the garden suspiciously and turned towards the house.

“This way,” he muttered, not checking to see if he was being followed.

He felt as if one moment he was in the garden, and then the next he was stood in the dining room, stepping to one side to allow the other’s through to where Harry was stood waiting nervously, the wireless still playing. Harry’s eyes followed him anxiously, and he tried to make his expression reassuring, but it was difficult to hide how wrong footed he felt.

Granger stepped through first, Weasley at her shoulder. He heard her gasp quietly, as if she hadn’t quite believed Weasley when he’d told her what he’d found when he’d grabbed onto Draco as he’d apparated away.

“Alright Harry?” Weasley greeted, and Draco was relieved to hear that he had quashed any of the fury he was carrying, and his voice was gentle and warm.

Harry’s eyes flicked to his for a moment, before he looked back to the three stood opposite him, “Hi,” he said, his voice small.

“Oh, Harry!” Unexpectedly, Granger rushed forwards and practically threw herself into Harry’s arms, crying loudly.

Harry flinched, and Draco tensed, ready to intervene at a moments notice, but he needn’t have worried. The look of near frightened bewilderment on Harry’s face, had more to do with having someone crying on him, then from Granger’s sudden movement. Again, he looked to Draco, and Draco offered him a gentle smile. It was all he needed to find his voice, “Hi, Mione’,” and he patted her back carefully.

“Oh- oh! We missed you so much,” she sobbed into his shoulder, “We- we looked for you. We looked for months - we thought you were d-dead,”

He saw Harry swallow nervously, finally truly returning her embrace, “I’m not dead. I’m okay,”

Draco watched, feeling every bit a spectator, as Weasley approached carefully as well, to wrap his arms around both of them. Lanky as he was, he managed to rest nearly his head on top of Harry’s. Any anxiety that Draco had felt about allowing them into their home was washed away. They might hate him, but it was worth it for this. To see Harry so enveloped in the arms of people who loved him.

Lupin stepped further into the room, a tired, relieved smile on his face, “Let’s all sit down shall we,” Weasley and Granger released Harry, stepping to the side (where Weasley wrapped an arm around a still crying Granger) so that Lupin could come closer, “Hello, Harry,”

Harry’s lips wobbled a little, tears gathering in his eyes as he worked past his initial dazed reception of them; he smiled wetly, “Hello, Remus,” and he didn’t hesitate in returning the man’s gentle embrace, sighing against him and pressing his face into his shoulder.

Yes. It might have nearly killed him, but Draco couldn’t regret what had happened with Weasley when it had led to this.

Draco summoned the pot of tea he had made before he left, and as much as he wanted to be by Harry’s side, he didn’t protest when Harry ended up sat between Granger and Weasley. He was glad though that he had Lupin as a buffer between him and Weasley, who had at least decided to ignore him rather than continue to spit poison in his direction.

“How have you been mate?” Weasley asked with an anxious smile, his hands curled around a cup of tea.

Harry’s eyes flickered briefly to him, “Fine, I guess,”  

Draco honestly didn’t know what response Weasley expected to get from the question. It wasn’t a lie, he didn’t think. Broadly speaking, Harry was okay, or he hoped he was. But it certainly didn’t account for the months and months of heart ache they’d been through together.  

There was a moment of tense silence, when it became clear that Harry wasn’t going to elaborate.

“We’re very glad to see you Harry,” Lupin said gently, leaning across the table, “There are a lot of people who have really missed you, who will be glad to hear that you’re alive and well,”

Draco tensed involuntarily, and felt compelled to speak, “How many people know that Harry is alive?”

Weasley shot him a nasty look, but it was Granger that answered, “Just us,”

“I would ask that you keep it that way,” Draco said slowly, resisting the urge to demand their silence, “The less people who know that Harry is alive, the better. I have no idea if the Dark Lord has mounted any kind of hunt for him, but he certainly will if he has definitive confirmation that Harry’s alive,”

Weasley continued to glare at him, though he said nothing.

“That makes sense, until we can reassess,” Lupin answered diplomatically, and Draco tried to calm the anxious racing of his heart. It certainly didn’t sound like an agreement.

“What have you been doing, Harry?” Granger said, and Draco was effectively sealed out of the conversation again, “In this house?”

Harry shifted uncomfortably, and Draco could practically see him trying to bridge the gap between the ‘Harry’ that Granger remembered, the ‘Harry’ that sat in front of her, “Taking a leaf out of your book,” he said, a light joke in his voice, “Been reading a lot. Mostly… mostly books on advanced magic. There’s an entire library of them in the sitting room,”

“Really?” Granger smiled wide, her eyes still swimming in tears as she leant closer to him, staring at him as if she were afraid, he would disappear if she looked away; it was a sentiment Draco could identify with, “Anything interesting?”

“Lots,” Harry said simply, seeming similarly enchanted with the sight of her, “Draco isn’t a fan though,” and all eyes were on him again, “He prefers romance novels,”

“Shut up, you liked Jane Eyre just fine,” Draco drawled, sipping at his tea, “And I didn’t particularly enjoy spell theory when we were at school, I’m not going to enjoy it now,”

Harry wrinkled his nose a little, “Jane Eyre was okay, but I didn’t like Wuthering Heights at all,”

“Well, since you won’t let me play cards,” Draco said lightly.

“Because you’re a sore looser,” Harry reminded him immediately, “Even when you’re playing against yourself, you’re a sore looser,”

“So, have you just been cooped up in here then?” Weasley interrupted before they could continue their fond bickering, and Draco could practically feel him trying to close the metaphorical door that bared Draco from their conversation again.

Harry shrugged, “In the winter. It was cold. Where…,” Harry swallowed, looking like he didn’t want to ask the question, “Where have you guys been staying?”

“Grimmauld place mostly,” Weasley answered, “But sometimes mum and dad’s, and Bill’s too,” he glanced over his shoulder to Lupin, “Remus has been with us since you were taken,” his eyes narrowed on Draco again, but he looked away, “We’ve made progress with his Horcruxes - we managed to get one from Umbridge, but it was close. We nearly got caught. And Ginny found one at Hogwarts,”

The expression on Weasley’s face, his near grin, made Draco think he was expecting some kind of eager, interest questioning from Harry. But Harry only shifted uncomfortably and glanced away from him. Weasley wilted and had a look on his face that Draco was glad Harry hadn’t seen. Disappointment.

Granger had more tact, “What do you do now the winter’s over?”

“We’re trying to do something with the garden - Draco got us some compost and seeds. Who knows if we’ll grown anything though,” once again, the room became tangibly uncomfortable with Draco’s reintroduction to the conversation.

Granger had the sense to not try and redirect Harry again, “What are you growing? Flowers?”

“Vegetables - Draco did most of it though,”

“You did plenty of it,” Draco argued immediately.

“I had a nap every twenty minutes, Draco, you’re being generous,” Harry said dryly.

“What’s this that’s playing?” Weasley interrupted. Draco was sure he saw the flash of a frown on Harry’s face, “Is this muggle radio?”

Harry nodded, “Yeah,”

“You know there’s secret radio stations for the resistance?” Harry immediately tensed at Weasley’s words, flashing an anxious look in Draco’s direction, “If you like, we could programme them in for you? So, you can listen for updates,”

Though Harry looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole, Draco had to admit that such a thing might be useful, “That would be helpful, thank you Weasley,” but Weasley only looked annoyed that he’d spoken.

Harry gave an aborted shake of his head, “I don’t -,” he cut himself off.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to listen,” Draco assured him.

“What’s this station?” Lupin asking lightly, sensing Harry’s mood, “The music is familiar - I think I remember your mother listening to something similar,”

Harry brightened with interest at the mention of his mother, “I don’t know the name, but it plays older music,” Harry paused to listen, “I think this is ABBA,”

“Ah yes,” Lupin said with a fond smile, “Your mother was a massive fan of them. She’d bring their albums to Hogwarts,”

“My parents love ABBA as well,” Granger said, a strained smile on her lips. Harry didn’t catch the pointed looks she was throwing in Weasley’s direction, “Was the wireless in the house when you got here?”

“Yeah, but it didn’t work. Draco got it repaired for me just before Christmas,”  

And so, their encounter continued. They would ask a question, and inevitably Harry’s answer would circle back to Draco. He could feel their collective tenseness grow with every mention of his name, but he didn’t know what they had expected. They had been one another’s world for nearly a year now. He knew they didn’t see it that way though. They saw it as Draco having dug his claws deep into Harry, and they would always see it that way if they never saw Harry on his own.

They left reluctantly, hovering for longer than necessary and clearly hoping that Harry would ask them to stay, but he never did. They sent him a last lingering look and promised to come back in two days time.

“What do you think?” Draco asked Harry when they were alone again.

Harry let out a shuddering breath as his nerves from the day left him, “I… it went okay,” he said uncertainly, “I… I didn’t like that Ron kept bringing things back to what’s going on in the world. I kept waiting for him to ask me when I’m coming back,” he muttered, “And they don’t like me talking about you,”

“They don’t,” Draco agreed easily, “I was thinking, when they come back, maybe you should see them without me in the room - I’d only be in the kitchen making dinner,” Draco assured him quickly at his frightened look, “But… but I think maybe it would make things easier?”

Harry chewed his lips for a long moment, before he nodded, “Yeah, okay,”

“You don’t need to be afraid of them,” Draco tried to reassure him, “They love you,”

“Yeah,” Harry muttered to himself, “They love me.”

Two days later, and as promised, they were back.

They greeted Harry with wide smiles, though Granger was still teary, and other than Lupin who offered him a short nod, they ignored Draco.  

Draco hovered briefly at the dining room door, “I’ll start making us some dinner - everyone alright with lasagne?”

“That would be lovely, thank you,” Lupin answered politely, and though Weasley only looked at him, Granger gave a small smile.

He could have found dry pasta sheets, but he’d decided to make it fresh instead, for something to occupy himself with while he kept one ear on the conversation and music trailing in from the dining room. Enough distance to try and assuage Weasley’s obvious assumption that he was subtly controlling Harry, but not so far as to not be able to intervene if Harry wanted him too.

It was only as he was beginning to build the layers of the lasagne, that he realised that the soft voices coming from the dining room were beginning to grow in volume. He hesitated, before ultimately deciding to check on what was happening.

His heart sank at he crept into the doorway. Harry was on his feet, stood with his back to the wall looking equal parts furious and frightened. Weasley was stood too, and judging by the way he held out his hands, he was trying to get Harry to do something.

“But Harry! You don’t have to stay here anymore!”  

Of course. He was trying to get Harry to leave. Draco couldn’t even blame him, not really. He’d want to get Harry away from him as well after what had happened. He wanted to intervene, but it felt like the stairs all over again. Harry needed to be able to fight his own battles, in case Draco wasn’t there, and they’d never accept Harry’s decision if it came from Draco.

“No!” Harry barked, “I don’t want to leave!”

No one noticed Draco as he hovered quietly in the doorway.

“There are other safe places you could stay, Harry,” Remus said gently, “You don’t have to stay with Malfoy,”

“Bill and Fleur’s place is under the Fidelius too,” Granger said, her voice reassuring and careful. Coaxing, but not coercing.

“And mum and dad’s,” added Weasley, “Anyone of them would have you in a heartbeat,”

“This isn’t the only place you’ll be safe Harry,” Lupin followed up, reaching out a hand to him, “Why don’t you sit back down?”

“And then you’ll know what’s going on Harry,” said Granger, “You’ll be able to see people,”

“I don’t want to see people,” Harry barked, half snarling and pressing himself against the wall, “and I don’t want to know what’s happening!”

“You can’t stay here forever, Harry,” Lupin was half on his feet now, leaning towards Harry, “You-Know-Who is still at large, I know, but he won’t be forever. We’re going to win in the end,”

Naive, Draco thought immediately, but he hoped the man was right.

“Yeah!” Weasley said in a desperate mockery of brightness, “And you can even fight again if you want to, Harry,”

Draco knew immediately that it was completely the wrong thing to say.

“ No!” Harry shouted; Draco flinched in alarm when the teapot in the middle of the table promptly exploded and showered the room with cooling tea.

“ Harry!” Granger cried, frightened, “It’s okay Harry, calm down,”

“Harry, please, everything is alright,” Lupin looked faintly shaken as he stood fully and took a half step to Harry.

Harry flinched back, “No,” he said again, “I don’t want to fight. I don’t want to leave. You can’t make me! You can’t make me leave!”  

And Draco had had enough, “Nobody is making Harry do anything, that he doesn’t want to do,” he said coldly.

Harry’s eyes snapped to him, and he let out a small cry of relief. Then there was a loud crack, and Draco was suddenly staggering back and fighting to stay upright. Harry had apparated across the room and directly into his arms so that they collided with a thud. Steady now, he wrapped his arms around Harry’s back.

“I don’t want to leave,” Harry said in his ear, “Please. You promised they wouldn’t make me - that they couldn’t make me,”

“And they can’t,” Draco assured him.

“What the fuck is this, Malfoy?” Weasley as good as spat across the room, “What have you done to make him so stuck to you? Have you been hurting him?”

“Okay, let’s all calm down,” said Lupin, his hands held out between them as if to stop Weasley from throwing himself across the room.

“I bet two weeks away from you and Harry would realise he doesn’t need you at all!” Weasley shouted.

“No one is taking Harry anywhere he doesn’t want to go,” Draco said dangerously over Harry’s shoulder.

“Of course, we won’t,” Granger said desperately, looking as if she might cry, “We’d never do anything to hurt Harry,”

“No - that’s your job,” Weasley snapped.  

They all flinched when the window cracked, and Draco was suddenly shoved behind a furious Harry, “Shut the fuck up Ron!” Weasley reeled back in shock, “Shut the fuck up! You don’t know anything, about anything!”

As much as Draco wanted to fight and rage against Weasley for upsetting Harry, all he could see was the happy smiles and warm hugs that had been exchanged when they’d visited two days prior. Weasley loved Harry, he just had the emotional control of a small child. This situation needed to be diffused immediately.

“Harry,” Draco said softly, “Why don’t you go upstairs?” Weasley balked, but Draco ignored him, “Tempers are running high. You don’t want to say something you’ll regret,” Harry turned to look at him in disbelief, “You love this stupid Ginger idiot,” Draco reminded him gently, squeezing his fingers, “Gp upstairs. We’ll try again another day, okay?”

Harry huffed at him, snatched his hand back, and stormed out of the room.

“I think that was very wise, Draco,” Lupin said calmly.

With Harry out of ear shot, Draco couldn’t help but roll his eyes a little, “Oh please,” he said tiredly, “like you weren’t just trying to persuade Harry to leave as well,”

Lupin didn’t look even remotely chastised though, “I want what’s best for Harry,” he said firmly.

“And so do I,” Draco snapped, “and that includes not pressuring him to do things that he doesn’t want to do! Like leaving!”

“Over my dead body are we leaving Harry here with you, you fucking snake,” Weasley hissed.

“Exactly,” Draco said quietly, “It will be over your dead body. And the body of anyone who tries to make Harry leave, if he doesn’t want to,”

“ Enough,” Lupin said sharply, “No one is killing anyone, and no one is making Harry do anything he doesn’t want to do, including leaving or rejoining the resistance,”

“What?” Weasley cried, aghast, “No! I won’t leave Harry here!” And he looked suddenly, intensely distressed, “He won’t let him leave!”

“Harry is free to go,” Draco said simply, “He is not a prisoner. He can leave whenever he wants,”

Granger’s eyes narrowed on him, “And yet you won’t even give us the opportunity to persuade him that maybe this isn’t the best place for him,” she said, accusatory.

Draco closed his eyes, and took a deep breath in, then exhaled heavily through his nose, “So long as you avoid upsetting Harry, you are free to return. And if you want to spend the whole time trying to persuade Harry to leave, you can do that too,” he pulled his wand from his pocket, and pretended not to see the way all three of them immediately reached for their own, “ Repairo!” The teapot reformed and trembled for a moment on the table, and the window repaired itself with a high pitch ringing sound, “Believe it or not - I love Harry,” Weasley scoffed, “and I only want the best for him. And if he decides that the best thing for him, is to leave this place and to go with you, then I won’t try to stop him,” while Lupin’s expression was painfully blank, Granger and Weasley both looked dubious, “And I know you all love him too. And so, you will always be welcome here. But today? Today, we’re done,”

Weasley had to be half steered out of the house by Lupin’s hand on his elbow. There were no farewells, no handshakes, and barely an acknowledgement that Draco existed.

He couldn’t blame them though. Harry had had months to forgive him. They had had days. He would tolerate their treatment.  

He’d tolerate anything if it meant that Harry would be happy.

Chapter Text

May

Weasley, Granger, and Lupin returned almost daily.

As he had said he would, sat in the sitting room, Weasley manipulated their wireless so that, with a tap of their wands, it would tune into the secret channel he had told them about. Harry stiffened immediately when the music was replaced by the chatter of voices from the speakers. Weasley turned a hopeful expression in his direction, but Harry only looked at him blankly.

Weasley barely suppressed his scowl of displeasure when Draco said, “Thank you, Weasley,” but Draco followed it up with, “but perhaps this is better for now,” and returned the channel to muggle music. Harry visibly wilted in relief, and Draco pretended that he couldn’t feel Weasley’s eyes on the back of his head when he’d left the living room for the kitchen to make a loaf bread.

They always tried to get Harry to sit in the living room with them. It was obvious why: it was the one room in the house that Draco couldn’t casually wander into without purpose. They were trying to separate Harry from him, and Draco had to bite his tongue and watch it happen. There was no winning in this tug of war. It infuriated Draco on some level, that they’d accuse him of manipulating Harry if he behaved in the same manner, with the claim that he had Harry’s best interests at heart to excuse himself.

But then he’d remember why they were so suspicious of him, and he’d start another loaf of bread. It was therapeutic in many ways, the kneading and the pounding and the stretching. It gave him something to do that wasn’t waiting for Harry to realise that they were right, and he’d be better off anywhere else other than with Draco. And Draco would accept it. Of course he would.  

“They keep trying to persuade me to leave,” Harry would mutter when they were alone again, “They won’t stop. It’s driving me crazy,”

As it happened, the variable that none of them seemed to have accounted for, was Harry himself.

He did not tolerate playing the rope in their one-sided tug of war at all. He refused to be cornered in the living room and found ways and reasons to draw them all out of it.

“Come on - we can make desert at the table while Draco makes dinner,” and, “My back hurts from that stupid sofa - lets sit to the table,”

Or else, he found a way to draw Draco to them.

“Draco - come and sit with me? The dinner won’t cook any faster with you staring at it,” or, like he had done now, “Draco - would you bring us some tea please?” Only Harry caught him by his wrist before he could leave and pulled him down by his side on the pillows on the floor. Draco caught the hard look that Harry was aiming in Weasley’s direction when he made a protesting sound high in his throat.

Lupin’s face from the armchair was deliberately blank, he was sure, but from the sofa, Weasley and Granger exchanged conflicted looks. The conversation stalled with his presence, so that the radio that had previously been only background music, took precedence.  

‘ But it don’t snow here, it stays pretty green, I’m gonna’ make a lot of money, then I’m gonna’ quit this crazy scene, I wish I had a river, I could skate away on,’

“This song’s pretty,” Draco said in Harry’s ear, determined not to be silenced by the oppressive atmosphere.

“This is my favourite radio station,” Harry admitted, loud enough for the whole room to hear, but Draco knew he was speaking only to him, “It only plays older music, but I prefer it to the more recent stuff I think,”

“What, you mean that king-fu song wasn’t the height of musical genius?” Draco joked.

Harry smiled wide, leaning into him in an act that Draco would have called performative in anyone else, but in Harry, it felt natural. As if he could hardly bare to be separated from Draco. It had Draco curling into him in return, feeling drawn in the way he always was by Harry. As if they were connected by strings, and it was all he could do but to bow and bend as Harry demanded.

“It was a funny song,”

Draco blinked, and it took him a moment to realise what they were talking about, “It was ridiculous,” he clarified, “but yes, it was in some ways enjoyable. I think I prefer the pretty ones though,”

‘ And now we continue with our Joni Mitchell special hour with another song, which is set to be re-released in her new album later this year, the wonderful, ‘Both Sides Now’…’

“The ones we can dance to,” Harry clarified.

“Can dance to anything if you’ve brave enough,” Draco countered, “but I’m not very brave, so there you go I suppose,”

“I think you’re very brave,” Harry disagreed, and for a moment Draco felt as if they were suspended in time and space together. The room melted away, and they were alone. There were no disapproving friends, no war and no resistance pressing in at the edges. Just Harry and Draco, who loved each other despite the mistakes and pain of the past.  

‘ But now they only block the sun, they rain and they snow on everyone, so many things I would have done, but clouds got in my way,’

And then Harry said, “You killed that spider all by yourself last week,” with a grin, “So you’re braver than Ron at least,” and the world came back into focus.

Draco glanced at Weasley out of the corner of his eye, and found he was being watched closely, though without a sneer for the first time.

Draco tried to keep his discomfort off of his face when he smiled down at Harry, “Maybe,” he cradled Harry’s face briefly in his hands and dropped a quick kiss on his brow, just above the scar through his eyebrow, “I need to start dinner, my love,” and he stood and left the room before Harry could stop him.

He thought that the most challenging part about having the other three in their house, was how difficult it was to be vulnerable around them. To be open and soft with Harry - something that had become second nature at this point. And so, he ran away instead and saved it for when they left, and he and Harry could be alone together.

In the kitchen, he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, and pulled vegetables and seasoning and dry dumpling mix from the pantry and laid them out next to the beef that he’d yet to do anything with.

“Can I help?”

He flinched involuntarily and spun, to find that he had been followed into the kitchen by Lupin, who was watching him with the hint of a kind smile on his face. His eyes flicked briefly to the Dark Mark on Draco’s forearm, and his expression froze almost imperceptibly. But then he looked away from it, and his smile became more overt.

Draco didn’t know what this was.

“You don’t need to,” Draco answered, his voice painfully level and devoid of any of the trepidation he could feel in his chest; he fought the impulse to roll his sleeves down, “Thank you, though,”

“I insist,” Lupin said, stepping closer, “You’ve fed us everyday for, oh,” he tutted, “Nearly two weeks now? It’s the least I can do - I should have offered sooner, in fact,”  

Draco swallowed, and nodded reluctantly, “Would you dice the vegetables?”

They worked quietly side by side but for the sound of Lupin’s knife on the chopping board, and eventually the sound of the now seasoned and cubed beef sizzling on a skillet as Draco browned its edges.

“I hope you won’t take offence,” Lupin said, breaking the silence, “but you’re a better cook than I’d have expected,”

Draco shrugged, “Had to be,” he muttered, and they fell into silence again. Draco could feel them though. Words. Sitting just behind his lips and desperate to be shared. The opportunities to confide in someone had been few and far between, and he refused to off-load his worries onto Harry. Harry deserved to be light and care-free, not weighed down by Draco and the pain that was almost imbedded into him at this point.

“Harry was so skinny when we first got here,” he stuttered to a stop, his own words surprising him, but it was almost impossible to stop now that he had started, “His bones stuck out he was so thin. I needed him to want to eat, so I tried to make my cooking as appetising as possible. Learnt what he liked best and how he liked it. I’d practice when he was asleep,” he confessed, “I cooked so much in those early days, before Dobby died, that sometimes we’d go weeks living on the leftovers,”

“Well, the practice has paid off,” Lupin said kindly.

“Before- before you started coming around, Harry did most of the cooking. He’s much better than I am,”

“Well,” Lupin said lightly, “I suppose Harry shall have to cook for us then, one day,”

Draco shook his head but was interrupted before he could answer.

“That smells good,” Harry had appeared at the door; he inhaled deeply, “Stew? I love your stew,” and he was suddenly at Draco’s side, stretching up to press a kiss to Draco’s cheek, “Just grabbing the biscuits for the tea - don’t worry, we’ll only have a few,” he smiled softly, “Wouldn’t want to ruin my appetite,”

“Eat as much as you want,” Draco said with a shrug, feeling thrown off balance by the display of affection in front of Lupin, “It’ll be over an hour before dinner is done,”  

He expected Harry to leave, but he didn’t. He lingered; his head pressed against Draco’s arm as he watched him turn the cubes of beef over methodically to brown the edges. The sound of a knife hitting a chopping board stopped for a long moment. Draco didn’t need to use his eyes to know that Lupin was watching them. And then Harry was kissing his mouth, the casualness of the action screaming of familiarity and routine, as if they’d done it a million times. Which they had, but not so much in the recent past, and never in front of anyone else.

“Okay - love you,”  

Harry left, and the chopping resumed.

With the veg diced and the meat browned, Lupin stepped back to watch Draco add the mixture to a large pot.

“You and Harry,” Lupin spoke suddenly, and Draco froze in the middle of dissolving a stock cube into water, “You… you’re very comfortable together, aren’t you?”

Draco swallowed, and resumed what he had been doing, “Yes,” he said tightly, “Why?”

“You…,” he heard Lupin swallow, and his voice became deliberately light, “You remind me of James and Lily,” he turned his attention from the jug in his hands, to Lupin’s face; he looked suddenly older and sadder, “James used to look at Lily the way that you look at Harry,”

“Like what?” Draco asked quietly.

“Like he’s all that you can see,” Lupin said softly, “Like no one else exists in the world. I think…,” his smile was tense and pained, “I think Sirius would have liked you,”

For a moment, they simply looked at one another, music from the living room floating softly towards then.

And then Draco put a lid on the stew and placed the pot on the heat.

“No,” Draco said, resigned, rolling down his sleeves roughly, “he wouldn’t have,” he turned away from the man, “I’m going for a shower,”  

Lupin let him leave without another word.

Draco was in the garden on his hands and knees, ripping weeds from the soil.

For the past four days, it had been just him and Harry. What with the full moon, the others had stayed away.

“I’ll only be tired and cranky,” Lupin had said with a self-deprecating shrug, “We’ll come back when I’m more pleasant to be around,”

Harry was in the house with them now - in the dining room, where they were playing cards and listening to the wireless. Draco could hear music and muffled laugher. None of it was Harry’s though, he didn’t think. They were being deliberately light today. Perhaps it had been a difficult full moon? Or perhaps there had been some travesty out in the world that he and Harry would never hear about.

Weasley’s attitude to him had changed somewhat. He now stared rather than glared, as if Draco were a puzzle to be figured out. Granger was polite, but she had always been polite, especially when Harry was around. But now it felt less sharp. More genuine. Or rather, as if she wished she could be genuinely polite to him. There was still a forced quality to it.  

“Dare I ask what that dandelion did to deserve such treatment?”

Draco looked up sharply to find Lupin watching him with a tired smile on his face, and it was a struggle to fight against the impulse to roll his sleeves down. The man had seemed determined to make an effort with him ever since their conversation in the kitchen. He’d turned into the de facto buffer between all of them. Draco appreciated his efforts to foster peace, but he wasn’t convinced that his efforts weren’t misguided. Some arguments needed to be had - not simply swept under the rug. His singular half attempt at acting as a buffer between Harry and Draco had been quashed by a hard look from Harry. They needed no buffer - they had been buffeting in the waves together for months now and had worn away one another's sharp edges so that they fit together as if they’d been made that way. No. They needed no interference.

Draco turned back to the soil, and tried to find it in himself to be amicable, “What are they playing?”

“Snap,” Lupin answered simply, “though Ron keeps on complaining that it’s not as good when the cards don’t explode. He keeps threatening to bring a wizarding chess board over and play all of us at the same time,”

Draco hid the rolling of his eyes by focussing them down to the earth below him, “How very confident of him,” he ripped out a weed from the root, and chucked it aside.

“So, what are you growing?”

Reluctantly, Draco sat back on his heels, realising that there was no escaping this conversation other than to plough through it; he began to point at the rows of tilled soil, “Carrots, potatoes, parsnips, beetroot, and turnips,” he grimaced a little, “Harry’s request, that last one. I hate turnip,”

“Does Harry help you with the garden?”

Draco turned back to his weeding, “Sometimes,” he wished Lupin would go away rather than forcing this pointless conversation; this attempt at building bridges through mindless chit chat, “He gets tired quickly. Normally he just lies out on the sun bed and sleeps with the wireless next to him,”

“I’ve noticed he has coughing fits,”

“It’s the pneumonia,” Draco spoke to the dirt, “My muggle friend came over to listen to his chest, and she said it was getting better, it just might take a while to shake completely,”

Lupin fell silent for a moment, but Draco could practically hear him chewing over his words. Then he said, “Draco… I… do you know…?” He sighed, “I hate to be the one to tell you this, but your parents -,”

“Are dead,” Draco interrupted, “Yes. I know,”

“… I’m sorry, Draco,”

“Don’t be,” Draco said shortly.  

“They were your parents,” Lupin said, faintly bewildered.

“And I loved them,” Draco stabbed his trowel into the ground and sat back on his heels again, “but they twisted my arm, and my mind, into betraying the love of my life,” he shook his head, “By all rights, I deserve to be dead too. They were my parents, and I loved them, but they weren’t good people, and they’re dead because of their own actions as much as my own,”

Lupin looked at him for a long time, the wind catching his greying hair, before he said softly, “I don’t think you deserve to be dead, Draco,”

Draco scoffed, “Really?” He said incredulously; he shook his head, “You wouldn’t be saying that if you’d seen Harry hanging from his wrists in the dungeons, bleeding and crying, and knowing that I was the one who put him there. You really think that Sirius Black would like me, knowing that? I don’t. He wouldn’t. You shouldn’t,” he swallowed heavily, “Harry shouldn’t,” he turned back to furiously ripping weeds from the ground with his hands, ignoring the trowel by his side.

“You were just a boy, Draco,” Lupin said gently, “You’re still just a boy,”

Draco sat up abruptly, “Is there a point to this conversation?” he said sharply, and Lupin said nothing, “Because if there isn’t, I’d ask you to leave me alone. I’m busy. Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes. Come and get me then,” and he turned back to the soil for a final time.

Lupin lingered for a moment, and then left silently.

Later, when the other three had left, he and Harry took themselves upstairs to lie in bed together, the wireless playing on the side table and both of them with a book in hand. Draco knew though, despite the lack of any outward sign, that Harry wasn’t reading as peacefully as he pretended to be. He was unsurprised therefore, when he spoke.

“Ron says that they’re making progress in destroying them - the Horcruxes, I mean,”

“Oh?”

“Yeah… before he died, Dumbledore was teaching me about destroying him. About his Horcruxes and what he thought they were and where they might be,”

Draco grimaced a little, and let his book fall, “Plural?”

Harry nodded, and he too abandoned the book in his hands to turn towards Draco, “Yeah,”

“How many?”

“Six. Ron said there were only two left though. His snake, and the cup of Hufflepuff. They think the cup is in Bellatrix’s vault,”

Draco frowned, “Why do they think it’s there?”

“Something she said, apparently,” Harry said with a shrug, “Ron said they were briefly captured a few months ago but managed to get away. They said she freaked out about them having the sword of Gryffindor, which should have been in her vault. So, they think the Horcrux is in there, as well,” Harry paused, licking his lips nervously, “He said they’re going after it soon,”

“He asked you to come with them,” Draco said immediately; Harry nodded silently, “What did you say?”

“No,” Harry said softly.

Draco swallowed back his relief, “And what did he say?”

“Not a lot,” Harry muttered, “He looked… disappointed,” he admitted sadly, looking like he wanted to cry, “I’m letting them down, aren’t I?”

“They’re letting you down,” Draco corrected instantly, “They shouldn’t be putting this expectation on your shoulders. Why is this your job? To destroy the Dark Lord? Because Dumbledore said that it was?” He reached out a hand to stroke Harry’s cheek, “You’ve done enough, Harry,” he said softly, “You’ve done so much more than anyone our age should be expected to do. As glad as I am that Granger and Weasley are working to destroy them, that this is a task placed on the shoulders of teenagers is outrageous. At least Lupin is a grown wizard. Where are all the other witches and wizards his age? Why aren’t they involved in this quest? You’ve done enough,”

Harry sniffed wetly and banished the books between them with a wave of his hand and climbed into Draco’s arms. They still hadn’t spoken about the wandless magic.

Without meaning too, Draco fell asleep with Harry’s head buried in his chest.

When he awoke, it was to a dark, quiet bedroom. He blinked up at the ceiling as he pulled himself awake. It took him a moment to realise that Harry wasn’t in bed anymore. Draco made to sit up but stilled almost immediately at the bedroom door opening and closing. He relaxed back into the bed.

“Hey,” he said softly, blinking the sleep from his eyes, “You okay?”

Harry hummed, “Yeah - needed the loo,”

Draco shifted over to make space in the bed, lifting an arm so that Harry could snuggle into him, but rather than lying next to him, Harry swung a leg over him and settled over his lap. Confused, Draco blinked up at him.

“Harry?”

But Harry didn’t answer. He leant forwards over Draco and took Draco’s hands in his own and placed them on his hips and pressed them into his bare skin. It was only then that Draco realised he was completely naked in his lap. Draco swallowed dryly and could only watch as Harry moved his hands for him, first up his sides and around his chest wall, his fingers rolling over the ridges of his scars and his ribs, and then down again. Down past his waist, past his hips, and behind him.

“Harry?” Draco asked again weakly.

“You said,” Harry gasped out above him, shuddering at he encouraged Draco’s left hand further back behind him, “you said we could do this when my memories came back, if I still wanted to,” Draco’s breath stuttered out in a moan at the wetness that his fingers found; Harry had been doing more than using the loo, “And I do. I still want to. Please, Draco. Please - I want you. Please,”

Draco could barely stutter out a yes, not because he was frantic, or rushing, but because his words were trapped in his throat.  

Harry pushed Draco’s pyjama bottoms down his thighs but didn’t bother wasting the time to work them all the way off. There was no need to when this worked just as well. Draco could barely breathe, watching as Harry took him in hand, and sank slowly down onto him. Draco found himself clenching his teeth, his hands flexing about Harry’s waist as he fought to control his reactions.

“Let go, Draco,” Harry groaned above him as he finally settled back down onto Draco’s lap, “Just let go,” he slumped forwards to press their mouths together in a hot kiss, that had Draco arching to try and follow him when he sat up again, “Let go,” he whispered. He began to move, and Draco’s control snapped.

He tried to watch, he really did, but it was near impossible when his head was thrown back, choked moans working their way out of him as he thrust upwards into Harry’s tight heat. He caught snatches though. Harry’s eyes glinting in the dark. Harry’s chest turned shiny with sweat. The long line of Harry’s neck and the high breathy sounds Draco could hear coming from his throat. It took Draco a moment to realise that Harry wasn’t just moaning - he was speaking.

“Draco… Draco… feels so good… I missed this. I missed you. I love you - love you so much,”

Draco’s hips stuttered. Harry tilted his head down to look at him, but Draco only caught a glimpse of the question in his eyes before he was moving them. Harry didn’t make a sound - he didn’t seem surprised even when Draco flipped them so that he was on his back with Draco between his thighs. He simply wrapped his arms around Draco’s neck, spread his legs, and held on.

Afterwards, they didn’t separate. They barely moved in fact - only enough so that Draco could lie on top of Harry without crushing him. He could feel Harry tracing shapes on his back with the tips of his fingers. The action was gentle, and soothing, and had Draco placing gentle, lazy kisses along the side of his throat.

“I love you,” Draco murmured into him, clinging on for as long as he could before they became uncomfortable and sticky and had to do some kind of clean up, “I love you,”

He felt Harry shift beneath him, and watched through tired eyes as Harry twisted his head around to look at him. He tilted his chin up, and accepted the kiss that Harry pressed to his mouth with a sigh, “I love you too,” Harry whispered against him, “I love you.”

The last day of May was glorious - the sky was blue, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and the sun was out and blazing hot.

When Granger, Weasley, and Lupin had arrived the day before, Harry and Draco had already been out in the garden, scrubbing the ancient BBQ they had found in the shed to within an inch of its life to work free the grim and rust that had incased it. Lupin had taken one look at them, and said, “Ah!   Now that’s an idea,” and that was how they had ended up like this.

They had dragged the sofa and dining room chairs out into the garden, along with a few kitchen chairs, and while Draco tended to the BBQ with Lupin lingering near him, Granger had stretched out on the sun bed, Weasley had perched on a dining room chair (ignoring the rickety, broken garden chair) and Harry had reclined on the sofa. Each of them had a bottle of butterbeer in hand (curtesy of Lupin, though Draco hadn’t asked where he’d gotten it from) and, for the first time in weeks, Harry looked genuinely happy amongst his friends.

He was smiling and laughing, and though his eyes frequently found Draco, Draco thought it was less to check in with him as he cooked their dinner of burgers, sausages and increasingly burnt chicken, and more to share in his bright mood. He was humming along to the wireless as well - of course he was, he always did, except now he was joined by an equally melodically gifted Granger. It made Draco faintly jealous, that he couldn’t sing along with Harry without ruining the tune.

‘ You make me take of my shoes before you let me get in, I can’t believe you kiss your car good night, come on baby tell me - you must be joking, right?’

Lupin was stood with him, rather than sitting with the others, and they exchanged light if somewhat forced idle chit chat. A deliberate effort on both of their parts to meld together into one cohesive group for Harry’s benefit, though Draco was beginning to slowly believe that Lupin might genuinely, if reluctantly, like him. It was… unexpected.

Regardless, even with the BBQ and the butterbeer and the music and the light conversation, Draco could feel the atmosphere that the other three had brought with them. They were there to tell them something.  

“So…,” Weasley said finally, “we just wanted to let you know Harry, that… that you might not see us for a while,”

Harry froze, and it was only then that Draco realised that he hadn’t noticed the atmosphere, “Why?”

Weasley glanced nervously to Granger, who sat up from her reclined position and continued the conversation for him, “We’ve made a plan to get the last of the Horcruxes… and then him,” Harry’s face twitched in the briefest flash of distress before he controlled himself, “We can’t afford distractions, or risk being caught travelling. So… so you won’t see us again until it’s… it’s done,”

Or they were all dead, Draco finished privately. He hoped they didn’t die. He hoped they succeeded. As much as he loved the home, he and Harry had made for themselves, he’d never envisioned it being permanent.  

The idea of stepping into the wide world with Harry, felt like letting him go though. With the world available to him, Draco found it hard to believe that Harry would stay. He would realise, once and for all, what the others had been trying to tell him. That he would be better off without Draco. And Draco would accept it. What else could he do?

Harry looked as if he were about to cry, “ Oh,” he said, his voice small.

Draco paused in turning the chicken, staring at Weasley hard and silently daring him to ask Harry to go with them.  

Weasley caught his eye and froze; Draco gave the smallest shake of his head. Weasley visibly swallowed and smiled tightly, “Yeah mate,” he said, false cheer in his voice, “so the next time that you see us, he’ll be dead and gone, and you won’t be in danger anymore. Neither of you will be,”

Draco expected that Weasley had only tacked him on in order to appeal to Harry - to sooth him by counting them as a unit. Harry always became upset at any suggestion that they should be separated.  

When it was clear that Harry had nothing to add to the conversation, Lupin redirected them.

“I’m fairly certain that the chicken is burnt, Draco,” he said mildly, sipping at his butterbeer.

Draco scowled a little at him, but sighed and removed the chicken from the flames. He’d scrape off the charcoal later and see if any of the meat could be salvaged for sandwiches or a salad another day.

With their dinner cooked and served up on plates with salad and burger buns and cheese, Draco took a seat next to Harry on the sofa and instinctively made space for Harry to fold himself into his arms without knocking their food or drinks to the ground. He pretended not to see the way that Lupin watched them, something equally fond and pained in his eyes. Was he seeing James and Lily Potter when he looked at them? Or remembering someone else?

Together, feeling as if they were stood on the perimeters of realty, they ate their lunch, they spoke, they laughed, they enjoyed the music, and they pretended that hell wasn’t threatening to knock on all of their doors. Harry struggled to pretend though. He buried himself in Draco’s embrace and ate very little. Draco didn’t need to see his face to know that his expression was shuttered.

They stayed until the sun was setting below the horizon, and when they left it was only after folding Harry in a fierce embrace. While Lupin held Harry tightly to his chest, his eyes closed as if he were memorising the moment, Granger surprised Draco by drawing him into a hug as well.

“You’ll look after him?” She whispered in his ear, her voice wet and trembling faintly, “If we don’t come back - if we fail. You’ll look after him?”

He gulped, and slowly returned her embrace, “I have money,” he whispered back, “Muggle money. Lots of it, in the drawer upstairs. I’ll listen to the wireless when Harry is asleep. If… if I hear that you aren’t coming back, I’ll smuggle him out of the country. I’ll look after him. I swear it. Until my dying day - I swear it,”

Later, when they had left, Draco sat on the sofa, which had been returned to the living room, and pretended to read while Harry washed up in the kitchen, music from the wireless a soft whisper on the air.

It wasn’t even that Draco was thinking while he pretended to read. He couldn’t. His mind was all white noise. He should have been making plans. Contingencies for if the others never came back.  

A sound penetrated the cage of a misery he was slowly building for himself before it could fully form. It was Harry. He was singing, soft and low, an octave below the voice coming from the wireless.

“Just before our love got lost, you said, ‘I am as constant as the northern star’ and I said, ‘Constantly in the darkness, where’s that at? If you need me, I’ll be at the bar’,”

Draco swallowed and put his book to one side. It took him a moment - just a moment - to put aside the despair that was threatening to swallow him as well and push himself to his feet. He padded quietly from the sitting room, through the dining room to the kitchen where the wireless and Harry’s voice were louder.

Harry was stood with his back to him, his hands in the sink scrubbing the last of the plates clean as he sang under his breath. He hadn’t noticed Draco yet.

Draco couldn’t help himself. He stepped closer, pressing his front to Harry’s black and winding his arms around his waist. Harry froze for a split second but was quick to relax back into his hold. He glanced over his shoulder and offered Draco a small smile. He sighed happily and leant into the kiss that Draco pressed to his cheek.

“Dance with me?”

Harry nodded and made to dry his hands, but Draco stopped him, “My hands are all wet, Draco,” he protested.

Draco shrugged through, and pulled him into his chest anyway, “We’ll dry, I’m sure,”

Harry chuckled against him, and leant his head against his shoulder, allowing Draco to lead them in a gentle sway in the dim kitchen light. Light that Draco had once seen as miserable suddenly felt soft and warm.

“You’re in my blood like holy wine,” Harry sung softly on his shoulder, “you taste so bitter and so sweet, oh I could drink a case of you, and I would still be on my feet, oh I would still be on my feet,”

Draco spread his fingers out across Harry’s back to feel as much of him as he could. He leant his head back to the ceiling, his eyes closed to trap the tears that he could feel building behind them. Harry clung to him as they swayed, his hair tickling against Draco’s neck.

“I remember that time you told me, you said, ‘Love is touching souls’,” a sob caught in Draco’s throat, but if Harry heard it, he didn’t mention it, “Surely you touched mine ‘cause part of you pours out of me in these lines from time to time,”

It felt like a pipe dream. That the Dark Lord might be destroyed. But if he was… where did that leave them? This safe house that they’d made into a home… what would they do when they no longer needed it? Would it still be a home for them? Or just a house full of memories of misery and pain. And what of Draco? Would he be that for Harry as well? A lingering reminder as to the horrors he’d lived through. He didn’t know what that made him. He supposed… it made him whatever Harry wanted him to be.

“I met a woman she had a mouth like yours, she knew your life, she knew your devils and your deeds, and she said, ‘Go to him, stay with him if you can be prepared to bleed’,”

The tears he’d been trying to suppress leaked from the corners of his eyes. Gods. He loved him so much - more than life itself. He wouldn’t complain - he wouldn’t argue. He deserved whatever Harry said that he did. He’d be what ever Harry wanted him to be, he only hoped he could hold onto him.

He felt Harry’s hands reach up to him, taking a hold of his cheeks and tipping his face downwards. Draco blinked the tears clear from his eyes and gazed down at Harry’s gentle expression.

“Oh but you are in my blood, you’re my holy wine, you’re so bitter, bitter and so sweet,” Harry murmured up to him, leaning to whisper-sing against his mouth, “I could drink a case of you, darling,” he kissed him, “Still I’d be on my feet, I would still be on my feet.”

Chapter Text

June

They were sat in the dining room together the day that everything changed.

Dinner was cooking and wouldn’t require any intervention from them for at least half an hour, and so they were passing the time by amusing one another. Harry was leant on his hand and grinning at Draco, pleased and oh, so amused. The look, that should have made Draco’s breath catch in his throat, was somewhat spoilt by the piece of parchment that Harry had stuck to his forehead with a weak sticking charm.

(A lie. Even with the parchment, Harry was still breath taking.)

Harry was the one who had proposed this game. They were currently trying to guess the names that had been written on the parchment on their foreheads. It had proven more difficult than expected though, as it transpired that their pop culture knowledge had very little overlap, with Harry’s leaning more towards the muggle side of things, and Draco towards the wizard. In the end, they had compromised by guessing only people that they actually knew in real life.

Harry currently had ‘ Professor Binns’ taped to his forehead. He seemed less interested in winning the game though, and more entertained by Draco’s complete inability to understand the rules. Draco wanted to say that he was messing up deliberately to make Harry laugh, but he wasn’t. He’d had it explained to him multiple times, but he still wasn’t sure what he was doing, and he refused to ask again. Stupid muggle games.

“So,” Draco said with a huff, “I’m confused. I’m a woman… but I’m not a professor or a student… but I am someone who’s at Hogwarts?”

Harry grinned at him, “Yup! My turn,”

“Hey - wait, wait! That wasn’t my question!” Draco protested.

“Sounded like one to me,” Harry said, “Do I teach Care of Magical Creatures?”

“No,” Draco said through a sigh, trying not to turn petulant and mostly failing, “Uh… what house am I in?”

Harry laughed and kicked him lightly under the table, “Yes and no questions only! How many times do I have to tell you?” Draco grumbled, “You forfeit this round - my turn! Do I teach History of Magic?”

Draco sighed, “Yes,”

Harry shifted happily in his seat, “Your turn,”

“You might as well guess,” Draco said, rolling his eyes.

Harry leapt at the opportunity to win sooner, “Am I Professor Binns?”

“Yes,” Draco said petulantly, pulling the parchment from his own forehead to check the name written there, “ Mrs Norris!” He near screeched, “How is a cat a woman?!”

“Ah, ah!” Harry waggled his finger looking incredibly pleased with himself, “you asked if you were female, not if you were a woman,” Draco raised his own finger, prepared to argue the point, only to realise that Harry was right; he scowled, and tried to pretend that he wasn’t sulking, “Owl,”

Draco frowned, confused, “Owl? She’s a cat, not an owl,”

“No,” Harry said, suddenly breathless and scrambling to his feet, “ Owl!” He stumbled a little and nearly fell as he fought his way past his chair.

“ Careful,” Draco hissed, reaching for him, but Harry was gone. He shoved his own chair back, and followed Harry through to the kitchen and out into the garden to find that he was right: there was an owl. Two in fact.

One was a tiny ball of a thing, that hooted excitedly and hopped about awkwardly, weighed down as it was by not only a letter tied to its foot, but by the rolled-up newspaper that it had delivered to them as well. It cooed in pleasure when Harry captured it in midair and cradled it to his chest.

“Pig!” Harry cried, which only served to confuse Draco further, “This is Ron’s owl!”

Adrenalin thrilled through Draco. What did it mean? That Weasley was writing to them? To Harry? Was it done? Was the Dark Lord dead? Or was he writing to tell them to run?

He swallowed heavily, and turned to look at the other owl that was hooting demandingly at him. It was regal and grey, and stuck its leg out determinedly upon catching Draco’s eye. Draco carefully unwound the twine that held its delivery in place, his fingers trembling near imperceptibly with nerves. His name was on the front, though there was no postal address written on it. Clever things, owls.

It leapt into the air the moment it had been relieved of its load.

“But the Fidelius,” Harry murmured nervously as he worked his own post free with one hand, cradling the small owl to his chest with the other. Unlike the grey owl, this small owl (Pig? Was that its name?) stayed put in Harry’s hand once he had worked his post free.

“I doubt the Fidelius affects owls,” Draco said with a heavy sigh, “Come on. Let’s go inside,”

The tiny owl in Harry’s hand fluttered away from him the moment they were indoors, following them through to the dining room and perching on the back of a chair. Harry and Draco sat side by side, but Draco was hardly interested in reading his own post. He was entirely focussed on what Harry had been sent.

Harry unrolled the paper first, his hands trembling more obviously than Draco’s had been as he spread the paper out flat. The front page was all headline, and nothing else:

‘YOU-KNOW-WHO DEAD!’

They stole quick glances at one another, barely daring to breath as Harry opened the paper, where there was more than a simple headline.

There was an enormous photo of Snape staring out at them. It was the one that had been published when he’d been announced as the headmaster of Hogwarts. He stared out at the camera, severe and unsmiling, his hands held smartly in front of him. Above him was written:

‘ SEVERUS SNAPE DECLARED HERO! AWARDED POSTHUMOUS ORDER OF MERLIN!’

Posthumous.

Draco swallowed back the emotions he hadn’t expected. He could feel tears threatening, but he blinked to stop them from falling. Did he know, Draco wondered? Had McGonagall told him, that Draco and Harry had survived? That they were, in many ways, thriving? That all he had done had been worth it in the end. Draco had to hope that he had.

To distract himself from the grief he couldn’t quite explain, he turned his attention to the other photograph on the double-page spread. It was a wizard that he recognised from his father’s trial after fifth year - a, tall, black, regal looking man.  

‘ KINGSLEY SHACKLEBOLT SWORN IN AS EMERGENCY INTERIM MINISTER – AURORS TO TAKE CONTROL OF MINISTRY!’

It was only with the two photographs staring up at him, that the reality of the situation finally hit Draco.

Fuck.

It was over.

Hardly daring to breath, he looked down and left, turning his palm out slowly to look at his Dark Mark, something he actively avoided. A stuttering breath escaped him - the last time he had looked at it, it had been vivid and furious. But now, it was already beginning to to fade, looking as if he had worn it for decades rather than just a few years. He wasn’t surprised he hadn’t noticed. He liked to pretend that it didn’t exist.

He turned instinctively to Harry, only to find that Harry wasn’t reading the paper at all. Instead, he was reading the letter he was holding, a single tear trailing down his cheek. His green eyes snapped to Draco’s grey. He said nothing but offered Draco the letter.

The letter was short and succinct, and served to drive home the irrefutable truth.

The Dark Lord was dead.

‘ Harry,

It’s done. Voldemort is dead - it’s finally all over. Please come home. We miss you. Come to The Burrow - Mr Weasley has cancelled the Fidelius. They don’t need it anymore, and neither do you.

All my love

Hermione’

“Do you… do you recognise the handwriting?” Draco said cautiously, half convinced that it was one enormous ruse to draw them out.

“Yeah,” Harry whispered, brushing the tears from his cheek, “Yeah, it’s defiantly Hermione,”

“Are you going to go?” Draco asked gently, setting the letter down.

Harry bit his lip, “I don’t… yes, but I…,” he huffed in frustration, “I don’t know how to be around them anymore. I don’t know how to look them in the eye,” he said softly, “They’ve all fought in this war for all of our freedoms and lives,” he shook his head, “and I hid here,”

“You weren’t well, baby,” Draco protested at once, reaching to thread his fingers through Harry’s hair, “They’ll understand that,”

“I was when they left, though,” Harry argued, “When they asked me to go with them,”

“No, you weren't, and you still aren’t. You’re still easily fatigued, and besides, there are other components to your health, than your physical well-being,” he said carefully.

Harry grimaced and refused to meet his eyes, “You mean my mind,”

“Yes, I do,” Draco said simply, “I… I think that, maybe, you should see a mind healer,” Harry turned to looked at him sharply, but said nothing, “I can see how uncomfortable it makes you - how unhappy,” Draco continued delicately, “that you don’t feel the way that you did before. That you don’t feel like yourself,”

“I feel weak,” Harry said bitterly.

“You’re not weak,” Draco disagreed immediately, “You’re the strongest person I know. You’re just hurt, and you need to find the right kind of healer to, well, heal that hurt,”

Harry sighed deeply, “Right,”

“So… are you going to go? I think the owl is waiting for a response,”

Harry nodded, still looking deeply unhappy, “Where’s the ink and parchment?” Draco scrambled to find fresh parchment in the kitchen, and seated himself again at Harry’s side, “When shall I say that we’ll be over?” Harry said distractedly as he scribbled his response; Draco couldn’t see what it said, but it was short and to the point.

“I… I’m not sure that they’ll want me there, Harry,” Draco said gently.

Harry only looked confused though, pausing in his writing to turn to Draco, “What? I… what?”

“The letter isn’t addressed to me,” Draco pointed out, “and Granger knows I’m here. I doubt I’d be welcome,”

“I don’t care,” Harry near growled, looking away and signing for both of them, “When are we going?”

Draco swallowed; it was obvious that Harry would not be dissuaded, “How about late tomorrow morning? Maybe… maybe we could swing by The Daily Grind on the way. We could see Euri,”

Harry nodded, “Yeah, yeah okay,” and he folded up his letter and sealed it with a murmured spell. He still seemed nervous though.

Draco caught his hand before he could reach for the owl, “Hey - it’ll be fine, remember? These people love you. They’re just worried about you, and want to see you,”

Harry smiled tightly but didn’t seem convinced. He tied his letter to Pig’s leg, and released him through the window, but not before offering him some of the bacon left over from their breakfast.

“What did your letter say by the way?” Harry asked, and it was only this that reminded Draco that there had been another letter at all.

Draco turned the letter over in his hands, “It’s from Gringotts,” he said, tapping the wax seal that held the letter closed, “that’s their coat of arms,” he opened it, and skimmed its contents; it was significantly longer than the letter that Harry had received, “It sounds like they’re trying to organise the handover of the Malfoy estate to me,”

“Why are they only doing that now?” Harry asked curiously, leaning against him.

“I imagine the Dark Lord stopped them. He wouldn’t have willingly given up my parent’s assets - he was especially fond of the Manor, I know,” Draco sneered lightly at the memory of the man sweeping about his ancestral halls, “Anyway - something to deal with another day,” he turned to Harry with a strained smile, “We have more important things to do first.”

Draco was stood in front of the mirror.

The top he was wearing was short-sleeved. He never wore short sleeves outside of the house, or if they had company. But… but they were free now. The Dark Lord was gone. He could wear short sleeves if he wanted to. Just the thought of it though, of people seeing his deepest shame laid bare on his skin… he wasn’t sure he could stomach it.

“You ready?” Harry appeared in the reflection behind him; his face was shuttered despite the lightness of his voice.

Draco lifted his chin to nod but found it near impossible.

“What’s wrong?” Said Harry, his concern for Draco overcoming his own anxiety.

“I… I don’t know what to wear,” Draco muttered, glancing down at his arm.

Harry understood immediately, “Ah,” it felt like a sudden reversal of their normal dynamic. For Draco to be the uncertain one, and Harry to be the one providing reassurance and comfort, “It is very warm to be wearing long sleeves,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, but…,” Draco trailed off, biting his lip.

“If I was being self-conscious about my scars, you’d tell me not to be, wouldn’t you?”

“This isn’t a scar,” Draco said bitterly, glancing at Harry’s bare arms in the reflection, his eyes lingering on the rings around his wrists, “This is… this is one of my worst mistakes branded into my skin,”

Harry was quiet for a moment, before he said softly, “We all make mistakes, Draco. It’s not fair that you have to live with yours on your arm. I wish I could get rid of it for you,” Draco felt warm fingers trail down his back, “Sleeves, or no sleeves. Wear what makes you most comfortable. You could wear your pyjamas and I’d still walk down the street holding your hand,”

Harry left him alone after dropping a kiss on his shoulder.

Draco looked at himself for five long minutes longer, before deciding. He took a steadying breath in.

No sleeves it was.

In the end, when they pushed their way into The Daily Grind, Mary didn’t even let him speak.

“Oh! You must be this Harry that I’ve heard all about from my niece!” Mary said jovially, stepping around the counter and towards them.

Harry was tucked closely into his side, his hand squeezing Draco’s so hard that he was losing the feeling in his fingers. Draco squeezed back almost as hard, a constant reassurance that everything was fine. That they were fine. It was a mantra he kept repeating to himself, as if Harry could hear his thoughts.  

He thought, for a moment, that maybe he could, because Harry released a shuddering breath and took a careful step towards the warm woman, “You must be Mary?” He said nervously, glancing back to Draco for reassurance.  

“I am,” she said.

“I had some of your cookies - they were good. Thank you,” Harry’s words were small and stilted.

Mary’s face spread into a wide, kind smile, “Oh, Euri was right. You are a sweetheart,”

Harry flushed, and Draco didn’t bother suppressing his smug smile. That someone else recognised how wonderful Harry was left him feeling strangely proud.

“Talking of Euri - could you let her know that we’re here. If she’s free, that is,” said Draco.

“I can,” Mary said with a deep nod, “Or, if you prefer, you could always visit her for a change. You and your boy,” she said with a wink, “She’s at Connor’s parent’s house. The one at the end of the street. The one with the red door and the big oak tree out the front. You can’t miss it,”  

She didn’t let them leave before pressing a hand to each of their cheeks and saying, “Your eyes are the most beautiful shade of green,” to Harry.

They walked hand in hand down the high street. Harry stayed fixed to his side, peering about nervously and flinching occasionally at the sound of the cars as they passed. Draco could feel it though as Harry gradually, slowly relaxed. His wary gaze turned faintly curious, and he whispered good morning under his breath in response to the greetings of the muggles that they passed. Draco couldn’t tell if it was in his own head, but the village that he’d grown strangely fond of appeared brighter than it ever had. Warmer and more inviting. The flowers were in bloom, the sun was high in the sky, and it was as if the world around them knew that they were free.

They found the right house easily, with a red door and an enormous tree in its equally large front garden. They didn’t manage to walk far up it however, as a sudden muffled scream had them freezing.

Harry was at his back suddenly, pressed flush against him and breathing anxiously through his teeth. But then the red door was thrown open, and the source of the scream was made immediately clear. Eurydice was stood in the doorway, her arms held high above her head and an expression of elation on her face. And then she threw herself down the path and threw her arms around them and pulled them into an enormous hug.

“You’re here!” She cried, nearly deafening them as she rocked them in a warm embrace, “You’re actually here! I can’t believe it!!” She released them, only to press a smacking kiss on their cheeks each in turn, “You’re HERE!!” She cried again, grinning at them.

“We’re here,” Draco said, smiling despite himself, “It’s over Euri,”

“I know, I know!” Euri cried, holding his hands in hers and shaking them, “Connor’s brother - he came back! He told us the good news! That the war is over!” She peered between them, still beaming, “You can go home!”

“Yeah,” Draco said, “Yeah, we can,” but there was something about the statement that put Draco on edge.

Home. Where was home? He had no home, not anymore. Not that would have him, at least. The thought left Draco feeling on edge and off balance. What was home now?

“Draco!” A call from the door caught their attention, and a beaming Connor approached them, half jogging towards them, “And you must be Harry?” Harry nodded timidly, and accepted Connor’s held out hand, “It’s good to meet you!” He staggered a little, “Whoops! We’re having a drink to celebrate,” he admitted ruefully.

“It’s only just past nine,” Draco pointed out.

“I’ve only had one,” Connor said defensively, “but I am, admittedly, a lightweight,” he added, leaning into Euri and gazing at her lovingly, “Why don’t you stay?” He said brightly, “Have a drink with us!”

Draco felt Harry stiffen next to him, “Ah, thank you for the invitation, but this is a swinging visit - we have our own celebration to get to, I think,” he squeezed Harry’s hand, and smiled at him.

Harry took a deep breath, and if anything, he looked even more apprehensive at the prospect of going to the Burrow than he had at staying and drinking with Connor’s family. He pursed his lips though, and nodded, “To the Burrow?”

Draco nodded, “We’ll come back,” Draco added, “Another day. We’ll come back, and I’ll actually finish a coffee for once,”

Euri slapped his shoulder and threw her head back in a laugh, “Ha! Yes! Deal!”

Draco shook his head fondly, “Come on - let’s go.”

The Burrow was a house like nothing that Draco had ever seen before. As if it had been stretched and pulled and added on to again and again. A tower leaning precariously and clearly held up by magic, though Draco could only guess what wards had been beaten into its foundations to stop it from toppling over. Chimneys, five or six of them, were dotted about the roof, though only one had smoke rising from it.

They had apparated to just outside of the yard’s gate.

Draco reached out to open it, but Harry caught his hand, “Harry?” He said cautiously.

“Just… just give me a moment,” Harry whispered, his eyes wide and staring, flicking between the windows and the front door and the chickens that pecked about the yard lazily; Harry swallowed, “O-okay. Okay. I’m ready,” and his hand fell from Draco’s.

Watching Harry still, Draco opened the gate with a creak, and lead the way down the path towards the house’s front door. Every step forward felt like a step out of the world of horror and fear that had haunted at their edges, and into something fresh and light and new. It should have brought Draco comfort, and it did to some degree. But it didn’t feel quite right. It didn’t feel like them. Open and borderless as it was. He was used to cozy cramped rooms now, and only just having enough room to move around in.

Suddenly, there was a woman with flaming red hair at the door, and they came to an abrupt halt. Draco knew who she was despite never having met her - the matriarch of the Weasley family. Her eyes were fixed on Harry, just staring, as if she weren’t quite convinced of what she was seeing.

And then she was approaching them carefully, taking in Harry’s face hungrily, her eyes flitting about him, bouncing from his eyes to his hair, to the scars that were on show with the simple short sleeved t-shirt he was wearing, lingering on the deepest ones about his wrists. She looked away quickly though, and she was soon toe to toe with them.

For a long moment, she just looked at Harry quietly, but when she spoke, emotion caught in her voice, “Oh,” she said softly, forcing out a smile despite the tears in her eyes, “when-,” she cleared her throat, “when we found out he was gone. You-Know-Who. That he was gone for good. Kingsley told me that I could stop worrying about the children. That… that we had been lucky. To have left the war with as many children as we’d entered it with. That none of them were dead,” she swallowed back a sob, “But I t-told him that he w-was wr-wrong,” she sniffed, tears falling down her cheeks, “That I had lost a child - my youngest son, in all but blood,” she reached out hands to cradle Harry’s cheeks and wipe away his tears with her thumbs, “But then… then Ron and H-Hermione, they told me that you were alive,” she whispered, “and I thought, that if that was the only prayer of mine that the Gods ever answered, that I would die a happy woman,” her lips trembled, “Oh Harry!” And she pulled him into her arms, “O-oh Harry!” Harry fell against her, embracing her just as tightly and near collapsing into her chest.  

Draco tore his eyes from them, to find someone else had appeared in the doorway. A balding red-headed man that Draco recognised instantly as Mr Weasley - even if Draco had never met him before, he’d have recognised him for his father’s disparaging descriptions of him. His father who was dead.

Mr Weasley stepped out into the yard. He was smiling and crying at the same time as he approached. He faltered for a moment upon spotting Draco, his eyes flicking briefly down to Draco’s bare left forearm. Draco half expected him to recoil in horror. But he did no such thing. He recovered, his smile widening as he stepped closer with an outstretched hand.

“You must be Draco,”

Draco swallowed, shaking the hand mindlessly and glancing to where Mrs Weasley was gazing lovingly up at Harry as she stroked his cheeks, “Yes, sir,”

“Please,” Mr Weasley said kindly, “call me Arthur,”

When Mrs Weasley stepped back, Mr Weasley stepped forwards and pulled Harry into a tight hug all of his own, and for the first time, Draco felt every inch of the orphan he now was. Though, was it called being an orphan if you were an adult when your parents died? He wasn’t sure, and he had no one to ask.

He was distracted from his upsetting conundrum though, by Mrs Weasley pulling him into her arms, “You must call me Molly,” she said in his ear, squeezing him a little and rubbing his back as if she knew, by whatever instincts had served her in raising seven children, that he needed a mother’s hug, “It’s so wonderful to have you both,” she stepped back, and rested her hands on his shoulders, “Come inside,”

It was surreal following the Weasley’s into their home - like stepping into a dream, not only for the feeling of unreality that settled over Draco, but for the strange architecture of the house. The downstairs gave the impression of being open plan, but everywhere he looked there seemed to be a secret hidden space tucked away. The Weasley family themselves were in no way hidden and waited in clear suspense for them.

Harry glanced nervously over his shoulder at Draco as Mrs Weasley led him forwards with an arm behind his back, cradling him to her. Draco flashed him a reassuring smile and a nod, and it was only after this that Harry turned towards the mob of ginger in front of him. The mob though, took great pains to be gentle with Harry.

The twins - Fred and George, one missing an ear, the other with an enormous scar across his face that started at his chin and cut up through his eye - reached for Harry with careful hands and kind smiles. Their joy at seeing Harry was palpable, and they spoke to him, though Draco didn’t hear what they said. It made Harry smile though, and that was all that mattered. They hugged him in turn, then passed him along to the next Weasley.

Next was the sister - Ginny - whose lips were trembling despite being pressed into a hard line. As if she was determined not to cry but struggling to hold it together. Much like Granger had, she practically threw herself into Harry’s arms, and Harry stumbled a little but stood true. Draco didn’t miss the way that Weasley (Ron) reached out, clearly prepared to catch him. He sighed in obvious relief and lowered his arms. Granger rubbed his back, and they exchanged tight smiles. They spotted him hovering awkwardly with the Weasley patriarch and offered him a nod that was more amicable than he had ever expected from either of them. He returned is nervously, half tempted to turn from the room and sprint away.

Harry moved onto the next Weasley brother - Charles, the dragon tamer if the enormous scars on his arms were anything to go by. He shook Harry’s hand and squeezed his shoulder with a good-natured grin, then passed him along to the next brother. Percy. Harry blinked in surprise at the sight of him, but again, Draco couldn’t hear what was being said. Percy’s expression turned sheepish as they shook hands. Then, finally, onto the eldest brother, Bill.

The man was covered in scars - none of them as deep or as wide as Harry’s, but all of them just as much Draco’s fault. After he had drawn Harry into a fond hug, Bill’s eyes found Draco. He expected a glare or a sneer, but he received only a polite nod of his head. He wasn’t alone though. At his shoulder was a woman that Draco recognised - Fleur, and in her arms, she held a baby that she held up carefully to introduce to Harry. He heard Harry gasp, small and delighted, and he reached out a careful hand to stroke down the baby’s tiny nose.

For the first time, the scars about his wrist were on prominent display, and though Ginny inhaled sharply, no one else acknowledged them. Draco was glad, both for himself, and for Harry. He didn’t want Harry to think people were staring, and the less attention they garnered, the less attention would be drawn to Draco’s greatest shame. That they were both branded by Draco’s greatest mistakes made him want to cry. At least he had chosen his - had stuck out his arm and consented. Harry had had no such choice.

The scene in front of him was warm and loving, and Draco couldn’t help but to feel painfully on the outside of it all.

“Hello, Draco,” Draco flinched at the gentle hand on his shoulder. When he hadn’t been looking, Mr Weasley had been replaced by a familiar face.  

Lupin smiled down at him. He looked incredibly tired, but unbelievably happy at the same time. Taking Draco completely by surprise, he reached forwards to bring Draco into a tight hug. It took Draco a split second to return it.

“You did it then,” he said when they separated.

“We did,” Lupin said with a pleased sigh, “I’ll tell you the details another time, though,” he added, glancing over at Harry with a fond smile, “I doubt Harry wants to hear it right now, and we should be celebrating, not dwelling on what happened,” Draco nodded a little, “Molly wanted to throw a party - just a little one,” Lupin clarified at Draco’s nervous expression, “Everyone has been warned to be… careful with Harry,”

“He probably wouldn’t like to know that people are handling him with kid gloves,” Draco muttered.

“Then we shan’t tell him,” Lupin said with a shrug, “There’s no need to. And it’s nothing really - this party. People will just pass through and say hello and grab some food, but it will be just us this evening for dinner in the garden. Just a simple easing of him back into the world - and you too,” Draco looked at him sharply, “He’s not the only one with trauma, Draco,” Lupin said gently, “You’re just used to putting yours to one side so that you can look after him without being drowned by it,” Draco looked away back towards Harry, but he didn’t argue; it was hard to when it was the truth, “Have you thought that maybe you need time to look after yourself for a bit, Draco?”

“What do you mean?” Draco said cautiously.

“Surely you need some respite from this role of carer - so that you can look after yourself,”

“I’m fine,” Draco said firmly.

Lupin sighed, and gave a tight smile, “I’m not sure that you are though,” but he said nothing further, turning to greet Harry who had spotted him and was grinning tentatively at him. He was clearly on the verge of being overwhelmed but was doing an excellent job of holding it together.

Draco supposed that Lupin was right - he did have trauma. Perhaps Harry shouldn’t be the only one to find himself a mind healer. It would be the first thing he would do, he vowed, once he had sorted his affairs with Gringotts. He’d find help for them both.

The morning and early afternoon were a constant parade of people moving through the house - it was impressive really, how so many people managed to visit without any of them ever making the house feel too busy. They must have timed it carefully. There were many faces that he didn’t recognise, but almost as many that he did.

Longbottom and Lovegood arrived together. Lovegood looked positively awful - pale and painfully thin, but still she managed to sport a pleased smile as they wandered around conversing with Harry and the others currently in the house. They were among the small number of people that acknowledged Draco’s presence after parting from Harry.

Longbottom looked wary, but still led them both over to the small table in the corner that Draco had made his while he watched from afar as Harry was carefully passed from person to person, “Hello, Malfoy,” Longbottom greeted cordially.

Draco tore his eyes from where Molly Weasley was speaking quietly to her eldest son out of Harry’s view: she had her arms held out, and she circled one wrist with her fingers demonstratively, tears trailing down her cheeks. Draco didn’t need to hear to know what she was talking about.

“Longbottom,” Draco said wearily, blinking in surprise when the pair drew up chairs opposite him, “Lovegood,”

“Hello, Draco,” Lovegood said, her voice soft and warm, “I wondered what had happened to you - I thought he’d killed you as well,”

Draco blinked: he’d completely forgotten that Lovegood had been held prisoner in the Manor. He felt as if he had almost blocked out the year that Harry had been in the dungeons to spare himself the pain, he just hadn’t realised how effectively he’d managed it.

“That’s quite a scar,” Longbottom said carefully, “Though I suppose we’ve all got new ones, even if you can’t see them,” he added wisely.

Draco turned his head so fast that he heard his neck crack, immediately irritated that Longbottom was drawing attention to Harry’s scars, when he realised that the other was instead looking at Draco, and the thick scar that peaked up just beyond his collar.

Draco resisted the knee-jerk urge to rearrange his collar. It would give the impression he was self-conscious, he was sure, when he really wasn’t. Or rather, he was self-conscious - he reached to pull down a sleeve that wasn’t there - just not about that.

He shrugged and let his hand fall, “Weasley gave it to me,”

“Ron?!” Longbottom cried, aghast.

Draco nodded, “Hmm. We fought a few months ago - it was… mostly a misunderstanding,”

“I like your hair, Draco,” Lovegood said airily before Longbottom could comment further, “Are you growing it out for a reason?”

Draco gave a half shake of his head, confused, “What do you mean?”

“Oh, well, daddy says that hair is symbolic to some people. Like, in some cultures, people cut their hair to show shame, or grief, or when they become an adult. Things like that. Cutting it or not cutting it, it all means something,”

Draco swallowed, but found he had no answer for her.

Why hadn’t he cut his hair? He’d cut Harry’s, so it wasn’t because of the effort like he’d told Harry. Was it because Harry had said he liked it? Or because… because he felt like he couldn’t. As if cutting it would act as some demarcation of their before and after. Were they in the after, yet? He thought they must be, and yet still, the idea of cutting his hair made guilt swirl in his gut.

He turned quiet and introspective, and Longbottom and Lovegood left him not long after. He wasn’t alone for long though.

He’d been watching Harry - of course he had, he’d been watching him all day - and so didn’t notice until they were stood mere feet away from him, that someone and approached him. He looked at his visitor and froze, and for a moment he was convinced that Bellatrix had snuck her way into the gathering. But then he realised - it wasn’t Bellatrix. It was the aunt he had never met before and had barely heard of.

She stared down at him, and sighed deeply, “Hello, nephew,”

“Aunt,” he greeted simply, his pounding heart beginning to slow.

“Looks like we’re the last family we each have left,” she said, her tone boarding the line between pragmatic and sad.

He opened his mouth to ask about his cousin - the witch who had interrupted him and Harry kissing all those years ago - but he stopped himself. It was clear from his aunt’s phrasing, that her daughter was dead.  

Instead, he glanced past her to where Harry was smiling nervously at a grinning, if thin Dean Thomas, “It doesn’t have to stay that way though,”

She looked over her shoulder, and chuckled tiredly, “No, no I suppose not. Family is what we make of it I suppose,” she turned back to him, “I hope we can make ourselves a family, Draco. In spite of everything,”

He nodded, and smiled at her, “So do I, aunt,”

The ‘not-quite-a-party’ gradually moved outside, and Draco followed it, feeling compelled to keep Harry within his eyesight. Not because he thought Harry was in danger, but because the idea of being parted from him made his chest physically hurt. He could see that Harry was grateful for it though. Even in and amongst his friends and found family, he still turned constantly towards Draco, looking for him and sighing in relief when he found him. He sometimes looked like he wanted to beckon him closer, but he never did.

Draco didn’t miss the way that some of the party regarded him with ill disguised suspicion and disdain. The twins, Ginny and Lee Jordan in particular were wary of him, eyeing his dark mark with scowls and sneers. Strangely, it was Ronald and Hermione who turned them away from him with a shake of their head. Granger even sent an apologetic smile in his direction. There was an old man as well, with long grey hair and a long grey beard who he was sure owned the Hog’s Head, who nearly snarled at him and left him feeling on edge. He wasn’t there long, thankfully.

It wasn’t until McGonagall arrived though, that he felt his iron clad control slip.  

She ducked through the house, dipping her head to avoid losing her tall, pointed hat as she stepped out into the garden. He spotted her before she spotted him. For the first time, he was overcome with emotion, and without thinking, he marched over to her and pulled her into a silent embrace. Her eyes had widened and filled with tears a split second before he had wrapped his arms around her.  

He felt her arms come up around him. The garden was suddenly silenced, until Lupin cleared his throat loudly and resumed his conversation with Hagrid.

McGonagall pulled away and pressed a palm to his cheek; she glanced past him briefly, then whispered, “I knew you could do it - I knew it!”

When he had had enough of lurking awkwardly at the edges of a gathering where he knew he was not wholly welcome (despite Mr and Mrs Weasley’s warm greeting), Draco ended up sat at the peripheries leaning up against a tall tree and watching from a distance as Harry caught up with his friends. He looked happy, but he was getting tired. Draco could see it in the way he blinked for longer and longer. He was currently hiding a yawn behind the sandwich he was eating, in fact.

He realised suddenly that someone was crossing the yard towards him - Bill Weasley. If Draco had been less burnt out, he’d have tensed.

Bill smiled kindly, and gestured to the space at Draco’s side, “Do you mind if I sit with you?”

Why on Earth would he want to sit with Draco? Draco didn’t say that though; instead, he said, “By all means,”

Bill sat down with a groan, “No one tells you that having kids ages you by about ten years overnight,” he joked, “She’s a little angel, but my God I could probably sleep for a year and still be tired,”

Draco looked over to the small baby in Fleur’s arms. Harry was looking over at her with interest as well - like she was a puppy that he wanted to pet but was afraid that he’d somehow get it wrong.

“She’s very cute,” Draco said honestly, “What’s her name?”

“Victoire - I call her Vicky for short. Only when Fleur isn’t in ear-shot though,” he added with a grin, “She’d kill me if she heard,” Draco chuckled weakly; Bill sobered suddenly, “I meant to say: I’m sorry about your parents,”

“Really?” Draco said incredulously with a raised eyebrow.

Bill puffed out his cheeks in a sigh, “Well. No. Not really. But I am sorry for you. It must be hard - them being gone,”

“I didn’t ever really notice that I missed them until we arrived here,” Draco admitted, “I’ve been so busy. Trying to survive is a good distraction. I haven’t really even thought about them,”

“I heard from Remus what you were dealing with - looking after Harry. It must have been hard,” Bill said, sounding genuinely sympathetic, which Draco supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised by. Noble Gryffindors.

“It was necessary,” Draco said simply, “It was what I needed to do, and so I… I did it. I had to make amends,” he whispered, “Though I’m not sure I’ll evermake amends,”

Bill’s response was unexpectedly light; he hummed gently, “Looking at Harry now, I don’t think he’s asking you for reparations. Do you?”

Harry finally had the baby - Victoire - in his arms and was letting Fleur carefully teach him how to feed her from a bottle. He looked pleased and terrified in equal measure.  

“I think you need to stop punishing yourself, Draco,” Bill continued, “You were a child. Barely seventeen. I don’t know what I’d have done in your situation, at your age, and anyone who say’s they’d have known exactly what to do is lying. You need to forgive yourself…,” he trailed off, and Draco turned to look at him, “but I’m not sure you can do that while you’re still acting as Harry’s caretaker,”

Draco swallowed heavily, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, that I think you need some time apart. You’ve created an incredibly dependant, highly emotional relationship over the last year. We - my mother, father, and Remus - have been talking, and we think that Harry should stay here. You both need time to grow on your own. We’re worried that you’re becoming dangerously co-dependent,”

“You… you want me to leave him here,” Draco whispered, suddenly understanding what Lupin had been trying to get at earlier in the day, “You want me to leave without him,”

“No, not quite. If you’ll accept, I’d like to extend an offer for you to come and live with me and Fleur. We don’t want to tear you apart and leave you floating off in the dark with no support system Draco,” Bill continued, painfully reasonable and kind, “And we don’t want you to never see each other again, or anything like that. Not at all. It’s clear how much you love one another. But we don’t think you should live together, the way that you have been. Harry has become reliant on you, and you on him. You’ve been everything to one another for so long. It’s time to let him go, Draco, just a little bit,” Bill reached out a hand to squeeze his wrist, and it was only then that Draco realised tears were trailing down his cheeks against his will, “You did what you needed to do, and you did an excellent job. He’s alive, and well, but now you need to take a step back. For him, and for you. You need to rest,”

In a way, it felt like it had when his father and aunt had been cajoling him into betraying Harry to the Dark Lord. Except, rather than coercive, it felt encouraging and supportive. Was that worse? Draco hated how much sense he was making - how kind he was being about it all. How reasonable. But… at his core, Draco didn’t want to be parted from Harry. Not ever. But what if it was what was best for Harry in the long run? How could he say no?

“Just think about it,” Bill said gently, squeezing his wrist one last time before he stood up and left.

Watching him go, and now alone, Draco allowed himself to cry freely. No one could see him from there - no one would know that he was crying despite his blank expression. He didn’t want to leave Harry. He wanted to build a life with him - a home, not a safe house. But what if Bill was right?

While he’d been distracted, he hadn’t noticed Harry approaching. He rushed to clean his face, and by the time Harry was smiling down tiredly at him, there wasn’t a tear in sight.

“I’m exhausted,” Harry admitted with a sigh, flopping down onto the ground next to Draco.

“Why don’t you ask Mrs Weasley if there’s somewhere you can go and have a lie down?” Draco suggested.

Harry gave him a strange look at the unsteady quality of his voice, “I don’t want to be away from you,” he admitted, “Can I just lie down here with you?”

Draco nodded; as if he would refuse Harry anything, “Yeah - of course you can,” he masked his wet sniff by readjusting so that Harry could lie down with his head in his lap.

Draco glanced up and caught Granger looking away quickly. It felt like the time that she and Weasley had stood guard for them, except rather than facing the peaceful lake, they were facing a sea of people.

He felt Harry snuggle into him.

“What’s wrong?”

Draco looked down sharply at him, “What?”

“What’s wrong?” Harry repeated carefully, reaching up and wiping away a tear that Draco had missed, “What did Bill say? You’ve been crying,”

Draco pursed his lips. His instinct was to hold the story back. To let nature take its course - it felt almost inevitable that they would be pulled apart, after all. But then the story came spilling out.

“They want you to stay,” Draco whispered, “Here, I mean. They don’t think you should stay with me. That you’ve become dependent on me, and I on you. They think you need to grow without me. Bill was offering for me to come and live with him while you stay here,”

He expected tears, and heartbreak, and choked protestations that they should never be parted.

But instead, Harry looked… not furious even. Just… grumpy. He scoffed, and burrowed further into Draco’s stomach, “I’ve had enough of it,” he grumbled, “The fuck do they know about you and me? Were they there? Did they live it? No. I’ve had the twins and Ginny all day trying to suggest that I stay, and we have time apart to ‘cool our heads’. To see how we feel after emotions have calmed down or some total bullshit. As if this has been a trauma bonding thing, and I don’t really love you. I think they’ve all forgotten that I loved you before this all happened, and it wasn’t some quick nosedive. It took me months and months to fall in love with you,” he scoffed again, “This isn’t rushed. And what makes them think they have the right to have a say in our lives?”

“They love you,” Draco said softly.

Harry suddenly froze against him and looked up at him carefully. It was only then that he looked heartbroken, “Do you… do you want me to stay here?”

“No,” Draco answered at once, “I never want to be parted from your side ever again. But… my job is done. You’re alive, and you’re safe, and if you wanted to, you could move on without me and live your life free of me. You shouldn’t feel tied to me, if you don’t want to be. That isn’t why I… why I did everything that I did. So that you’d feel beholden to me or something. I did it because I love you. But you have the choice to live your life as you see fit now,”

“And I choose you,” Harry said, near snarling and burying his face in Draco’s stomach, “I love you, and I choose you. Will you choose me?”

“I’ll always choose you,” Draco whispered, stroked his fingers through Harry’s hair.

“They have no right to decide my life for me - for us,” Harry murmured, settling against him, “And okay, yes, maybe I am a bit dependent on you, but we’re going to work on that right? Get mind healers?”

“For both of us,” Draco said firmly.

“Right - and they’re not trying to make me not dependent. They just don’t think I should be dependent on you,”

“They mean well,” Draco muttered, surprised himself that he was defending the Weasleys and Lupin and that he actually meant it.

“How nice of them,” Harry said simply, “It doesn’t mean we’re obligated to follow their advice,”

Draco sighed and stroked his hair, “So what are you going to say when they ask you to stay?”

“What do you think?” Harry asked, yawning against him.

Draco nodded, and continued to pet Harry’s head until he was breathing in deep, soothing breaths, and was fast asleep.

He thought, if he were a better person, that he’d let Harry go. Allow this separation and trust that they’d come together again. But he couldn’t bare to be parted from him, and maybe that made them dysfunctional, but that was something they could work out in therapy, not with the Weasley family.

Harry awoke just as the sun was beginning to set past the horizon, and Mr Weasley was finishing off the BBQ.

Harry stood with a small smile, “Come on - let’s get food,” and Draco followed him back towards the house and the two large tables that had been set out end to end.

Draco grabbed a plate while the others were distracted, keen to stay out of their way, and sat himself at the far end of the table. He was quickly joined by Lupin at his right, and then by Bill and Fleur opposite him, Victoire asleep in her bassinet behind them. Was this strategic, he wondered, to separate him from Harry, or was it merely happenstance?

In the end, it clearly didn’t matter to Harry. When he arrived at the table to find that a space had been saved between Ron and Hermione for him, but that there was no space near Draco, he looked the table up and down with a displeased frown before taking his seat. Draco tried to flash him a smile, shaking his head a little. Harry reluctantly started to eat, but he was nowhere near as chatty as he had been. Could he see it as well? How delicately they were being held apart.

They’d ask him to stay soon, Draco knew, and he felt strangely at peace with it. He could see it came from a place of love, and he’d accept whatever answer Harry gave when confronted directly with the option of staying.

“We were going to play a game of quidditch after dinner, Harry,” Ginny said, leaning around Ron, “Fancy a game?”

“I’m quite tired,” Harry admitted with a polite smile, “We’ll probably head off soon,”

The reaction to his statement was instantaneous. Harry knew this would happen - Draco could tell by the hardness in his eyes, and for the first time in a long time, Draco was reminded of the boy who had glared defiantly up at him from the floor of a train carriage while in a full body bind.

“Actually, Harry dear,” Mrs Weasley stated delicately, “we thought that, perhaps, you would stay with us?”

Harry blinked once, and it was a struggle for Draco not to stare; he alternated between looking at Harry and looking at the table, “What - both of us?” He said, deliberately stupid in a way that made Mrs Weasley exchange a nervous look with her husband.

“We thought that perhaps Draco could come and stay with Fleur and I,” Bill interjected.

Draco expected Harry to turn angry, but he remained innocent and confused, “Why would he do that?” And Draco lost the ability to look at him. He found his eyes fixed on the table as he listened to the argument unfurling around him.

“We think,” Lupin started carefully at his elbow, “that perhaps you two would benefit from some time apart. Some time to remember who you are as individuals rather than as a unit, when you haven’t got the world trying to kill you both. There’s no need to be in survival mood all of the time anymore, Harry. The world is safe again. You can take a breath. There’s no need to stay hidden,”

“I didn’t say we’d stay hidden,” Harry said, his voice neutral, “We don’t need to be separated for me to come out of hiding,”

“We don’t think it’s healthy,” Mrs Weasley said gently, “for either of you to be so reliant on one another. You need to build other relationships. You both do,”

“I see,” said Harry, slowly, and for a moment, Draco thought he was giving in. He couldn’t blame him.

“It’s for the best, Harry,” said Lupin.

But then Harry said, “Remind me: how old am I?”

There was a moment of quiet, “What?” Said Lupin, confused.

“How old am I?”

There was the sound of uncomfortable shifting around the table.

“Well, eighteen -,”

“So,” Harry said, cutting off Lupin, “an adult in both the magical and muggle world, and nineteen in just over a month,” Harry’s voice was surprisingly hard, “and therefore perfectly capable of making decisions for myself, and in no way obligated to do what you ‘think is best’,”  

“Please, Harry,” said Lupin weakly.

“We just want to look our for both of you,” Mr Weasley interrupted calmly, “No one is suggesting a permanent separation,”

“We would visit all of the time,” Fleur chimed in anxiously, “I come with Victoire most days. Draco could come as well,”

“It’s been an incredibly hard two years, Harry,” Mrs Weasley pleaded gently.

“A traumatic two years,” Lupin clarified.

“Exactly. You both need time to heal,” continued Mrs Weasley.

“And we can’t do that together?” Harry barked, “Why can’t we do that together?”

“We’re concerned that your dynamic is unhealthy,” Mr Weasley said kindly, “You’re setting yourselves up for heartbreak if something should happen between you,”

Harry snorted, “That you think this is avoiding heartbreak is ridiculous. You’re just dragging it out,”

“Harry - you need time to regroup,” said Lupin, still painfully reasonable, “You need time to decide what you want to do with your life,”

“Yes, exactly,” said Mr Weasley, “Your education, your career, where you want to live and what you want to do,”

“That draughty house hardly screams of forward planning,” said Lupin, “as homely as you and Draco have made it. It’s barely habitable. You can’t have a future there,”

“So, we move,” argued Harry fiercely, “Draco’s just inherited the entire Malfoy fortune, for fucks sake! And I have money too,”

“You’re going to move to that awful manor?” Lupin said incredulously, “Really? And last I heard, it was still in the Ministry’s possession while they investigate the multitudes of crimes that took place there,”

“Then we’ll go somewhere else,” Harry said through gritted teeth.

“And then what?” Lupin said gently.

“What do you mean, ‘and then what’?”

“What are your life plans?”

“Why do I have to have life plans? I’m only eighteen!”

“Ah!” Lupin said softly, “Are you an adult with goals, or an eighteen-year-old who’s scrambling for purchase on life?”

“I can be an adult, and still be a little bit lost,” Harry said harshly.

“We’re trying to help you find your way, Harry. Both of you. We don’t want either of you to be hurt,”

“Find my way?” Harry scoffed, “Find our way, you mean,”

“Harry - Draco’s plans, can’t be your plans,” there was the faintest note of anxious impatience in Lupin’s voice now.

“Why not? We’ve been in this together, why can’t we stay together? Why can’t we forge a future together? Build a life,”

“You need to know who you are alone first, to build a strong foundation,”

“Fuck off,”

“ Harry!” Mrs Weasley cried, aghast.

“No, fuck off,” Harry repeated firmly, “All of you. Fuck off. I love you, and I know you mean well, but you don’t know anything about us or the life we’ve had together for the last year, or what it means to either of us. You don’t know anything about our future or the ‘strength of our foundation’ or any such bullshit. None of it! So, fuck off, and stop trying to tell me what to do!”

“I notice that Draco hasn’t said anything in all of this,” chimed in Bill, and Draco looked up from the table to find him looking at him meaningfully, but kindly.

He was expecting Draco to do as he had suggested. To be another ‘reasonable voice’.

Suddenly, something that he had said once to Harry leapt into his mind. He’d promised to tell him the story of them, but who said it had to be of their past, rather than what was yet to come?  

Euri had said that they could go home, and he hadn’t realised it at the time, but he was already home. Wherever Harry was, was home.

With this realisation, the words came easily. Draco dropped his eyes back to the table, and just imagined.

“I think… a house in the country,” he said simply.

He heard Lupin sigh next to him, “Draco -,”

But Draco spoke over him, “In the sort of village where everyone knows everyone, but where a new, down on his luck stranger, rather than being chased out, is welcomed and cared for and given free tea and free meals. It wouldn’t need to be a big house - but it would have to have grounds. A front garden with wildflowers and a stone wall around the edges. A back garden - oh! A big back garden, I think. With a patch of grass large enough to throw a quaffle around on, but with soil for planting seeds as well. Vegetables -,”

“And flowers,” Harry interrupted him, his voice heavy with emotion.  

Draco looked to him, and found their eyes glued together, “And flowers,” he agreed, “and a small patio with a bench, and a large tree at the back with a rope swing. Downstairs, there’d be a sitting room. It would have a sofa and an armchair, a fireplace and a bookcase, but it would be barely big enough to fit it all in, so that it was warm and cozy and close. And a kitchen diner. So that we can cook together and eat together, without tripping over one another or elbowing trays out of each other’s hands -,”

“That was one time,” Harry laughed, tears gathering in his eyes.

Draco grinned, and continued, “And a study, to fill to the brim with things - a desk to work at and maybe an upright piano if we can fit it in. An easel -,”

“Neither of us draw,”

“Neither of us play piano,” Draco pointed out, “We can learn. We can learn together. And upstairs, just three bedrooms. The master with an en suite so that we never have to traipse downstairs in the freezing cold ever again. It’ll be light and airy, with Venetian blinds and sheer curtains that catch in the summer breeze. There’ll be a spare room as well, reserved for guests, because we never sleep separately. Even if we’ve argued, we always share a bed,”

“Always,” Harry agreed softly.

“And then the third room - the smallest, well,” Draco shrugged, and was suddenly inundated with mental images flashing through his mind - a room full of all the junk they didn’t quite know what to do with yet while they were unpacking, and then all of the things they thought they needed, but didn’t know where to put, and then eventually all of the things they didn’t actually need but wouldn’t part with for one reason or another, “It’ll start off being filled with all of the random shit that doesn’t really matter, but then…,” the image changed; an office, a potions room, a reading room, a room full of house plants, a room for an overly spoiled pet, but then Draco’s eyes found the bassinet behind Fleur, and he caught the briefest flash of a nursery before Harry was closing the door and shushing him with a smile; he nearly choked on the sudden wave of feeling that crashed over him, “ Oh!” He swallowed, “Then it’ll hold the most important things of all.

“It’ll be full of music, and love, and warmth, and happiness, and it’ll be all ours, for as long as it brings music and love and warmth and happiness into our lives. Which, I hope will be for a very long time,”

The table was silent.

Draco looked up from Victoire to Fleur and found that she was watching him with tears trailing down her cheeks. He turned from her to look at Harry. Harry, who was crying and smiling all in one.

Harry took a deep breath, “I’m tired, baby,” he said softly.

Draco smiled at him, “You ready to go home, darling?”

Harry nodded, and pushed himself back from the table, “We’ll come back tomorrow,” he promised, glancing around the table.

“In the afternoon, probably,” Draco said, standing as well, “I should probably visit Gringotts - I might get my hair cut as well while we’re in Diagon Alley if the barbers are open. Thank you for your hospitality,” he inclined his head to Mr and Mrs Weasley, “We’ll see you tomorrow,”

No one stopped them as they walked around the table to link hands, “Are you really going to get your hair cut?” Harry asked curiously.

“Why? Do you like me with long hair?” Draco turned to lead them towards the gate.

“I like you however you come,” Harry said simply, following Draco through the gate.

On the path, Draco turned to him, “Ready to go home?”

And Harry smiled, and said, “Yes.”