Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hell is empty, and all the devils are here ~ The Tempest

In our blood, in our blood, no escape

Can't outrun, no we can't get away

It's in our blood, in our blood, in our veins

This is the world we made

-Ruelle

Fire fire fire fire fire

Un, deux, trois

(breathe)

Pain!

skin splits—breaks burns brands

Un, deux-

(breathe breathe breathe)

Please  make it stop 

Un, deu-

(can't breathe)

Help me!

Mother Father  anyone

U-its

(burning burning burning)

me

breathe

                                        breathe

                    breathe

"Rise, Death Eater Draco and be greeted by your betters."

He blinks rapidly, trying to dispel the haze of agony that clouds his vision as the room swims back into focus. The numbers scatter like ashes in his mind, his mother's voice teaching him to count through his childhood fears now lost to adult terrors. Such a simple thing, meant to calm a imaginative child afraid of abstract monsters in the dark. But what counting can steady him when they are made of flesh and blood right in front of him.

He bites back a whimper. This isn't the time to break apart. Or show weakness. Malfoys don't break – they bend, they adapt, they survive.

He forces himself to ignore the sticky crimson droplets falling in dull splats on the marble floor, each one making him dread the blood he will soon be forced to spill. Ignores the desperate pull of the stares siphoning at him like dementors, hungry for any sign of weakness. Ignores the acrid black tar smell of dark magic emanating from his newly marked flesh, a scent that will forever remind him of this moment when choice became illusion.

Tremors wrack his body, threatening to send him sprawling onto the floor like a puppet with cut strings. His eyes sting with unshed tears as fire ravages his burnt skin, the Dark Mark seeming to writhe and tug beneath the surface like a living thing trying to burrow deeper. The metallic scent of his own blood fills the air, and his vision wavers as his breath comes in rapid, shallow pants.

Spines of steel.

The words – his father's constant refrain – cause his body to still, his emotions draining away like water down a drain. His fist tightens around his wand until he feels the wood might snap. He pushes down the howl of pain that tries to claw up his throat as he raises his injured arm high above his head, forcing his features into a mask of triumph. A roar of approval shoots through the assembly as if he'd cast some impressive spell instead of simply surviving torture. His deranged aunts' voices pierce the loudest of the mad cackling.

Malfoys are not good. They are not brave. They are not tough.

But they survive.

They have spines of steel forged in the pure blood of their ancestors – the same ancestors who craftily navigated around danger and preserved what was rightfully theirs. The same ancestors who would probably turn away in shame if they could see him now, their precious lineage reduced to this: a terrified boy playing at being a soldier in a war he never chose.

He meets his mother's dead blank eyes across the room, trying to convey back to her the family mantra that feels more like a curse now. Her reflective twin mirrors flare once then blink out – a hidden message of support, as weak as it feels in this moment.

He knew from the beginning he was alone in this. Knew it the moment the Dark Lord's serpentine eyes fixed upon him with cruel purpose, seeing not Draco Malfoy but a tool to punish Lucius's failures.

He gets jostled as he makes his way through the crowd of already-drunk 'celebrators,' trying not to look too much like prey among predators. A masked stranger thrusts some bottle of alcohol into his free hand, and he feels its weight like an anchor. He clenches his fist around it, hiding any trembling from sight.

In an elegant move befitting a Malfoy, he lifts the bottle to his lips, pretending to take a long drink. The urge to dump the entire thing down his throat, to let it burn away his fear along with his consciousness, is almost overwhelming. But he resists, knowing the performance he needs to put on tonight requires perfect control. The thought of failure sends ice through his veins – one wrong move, one slip-up, and both he and his parents will be dead. Their bodies probably wouldn't even merit proper burial.

Bracing himself, he walks with measured steps towards his mother, offering her his uninjured arm. Each step feels like walking through deep water, the weight of expectations and fear threatening to drag him under. The Mark pulses with each heartbeat, a constant reminder of what he's become.

She takes his arm delicately, threading her frail fingers through his. He tries not to notice how her hands shake, how her bones feel like bird wings under paper-thin skin. He focuses instead on keeping his performance flawless as they weave through faces lit up with gruesome fascination. He can read their thoughts in their hungry eyes – wondering how long the youngest Death Eater will last, placing silent bets on when he'll break.

They make it to his parents’ bedroom before they break apart. Their bodies wrap around each other, supporting each other. His blood stains her dress as he wraps his arms around her, their chests pressed together. She murmurs meaningless words into his ear in a soft detached voice, his distant brain half floating in the air.

“Shh, my dragon. I’ve got you. We’re alive. We will always be together. I promise I won’t let you go. Shh.”

She doesn't bother saying they will be okay; they both know it’s a lie.

After a few minutes of repeating the familiar soothing words, a variation of the same ones she used when he woke up from a nightmare as a child and of his fingers trailing over her spine, they pulled away. He keeps up the motion of his hand as he guides her to the bed. The skin of her back stretched over each nob, making them hard against his fingertips. 

Spines of steel.

A dark chuckle slips out of his mouth, but he stops it before it becomes a mad cackle. Their family motto feels like a cruel joke now – their steel spines bending under impossible weight, threatening to snap entirely.

He lays her down and pulls the covers over her skeletal body with trembling hands. He kisses her forehead, remembering how she used to do the same for him, back when kisses could chase away all pain.

"I love you. I promise I will save you," he whispers, his voice quiet enough to only be heard by the ghosts of the manor – and there are so many ghosts now, judging them from every shadow.

Her reply is so quiet that he almost misses it, “It is I who must save you.”

He returns to his room and opens a potion book Severus sent him, trying to lose himself in the familiar comfort of brewing instructions and ingredient lists. He tries not to track the time, tries not to count the minutes until the next horror. Five hours later his ward chimes, letting him know someone is trying to dismantle them. Draco waves his wand to dismiss them, noticing with dull surprise that dried blood still stains his arm like rust on silver.

The door opens, and Draco forces himself not to flinch. His survival matters more than ever now. Yaxley's ugly leering face intrudes through the opening.

"The Dark Lord requests your presence, for your initiation, young Malfoy." He sneers, taking in the schoolbook and bloody arm with obvious contempt.

Draco opens his mouth to call for his parents, but the words die in his throat. If his father were here and not in–

If Father were here, he would stop them, stand in front of him and remind them that he was a Malfoy, not a toy for their amusement. If his mother hadn't relinquished her power early on at the altar of her marriage, she would slice them in half with a single glare, demand why they dare throw this burden on his shoulders. But there is only him now. The only one who can restore their power and influence, their honor. The only one who can save them.

He closes his mouth. He slides off the bed and stands up.

Breath in. Un, deux, trois. Breath out.

He spells the forgotten dried blood that crusts his arm off with a flick of his wrist and walks the distance out into the hallway. Yaxley closes the door behind him and leads him down once-familiar winding halls, where he experiences his best and worst memories.

He spells the forgotten dried blood from his arm with a flick of his wrist and walks the distance out into the hallway. Yaxley closes the door behind him and leads him down once-familiar winding halls where he experienced his best and worst memories. Now it all looks foreign, its beauty warped by curse burns, claw marks, and unidentifiable spilt liquids. His childhood home has become a nightmare, every corner holding new horrors.

“The Dark Lord has something special planned just for you.”

His stomach curls in on itself. Anytime the Dark Lord took special notice of you horrible things happened. This morning was proof of that.

Breath.

Un, deux

Un.

U-

The hallway that Draco and Yaxley exit spills into what their ‘guests’ refer to as the throne room, but what his family once claimed as their most grand receiving room.

The floors are a cold, unfeeling black marble veined with gold, each step bringing the chill of death closer to their bodies. Silver viper statues coil and writhe around the furniture, poised in striking positions with gleaming fangs bared. The ceiling is a gruesome depiction of the fall of Adam and Eve, punished for daring to possess knowledge of magic. Mirrors line the walls like silent sentinels, reflecting every minuscule shift in their expressions back at them. And it is always fear that stares back at them. Once it was a haunting reminder of their miscalculations and threats against his family. Now it's that of a young boy's terror, stripped of his arrogant mask.

Draco's gaze falls upon the pathetic creature cowering at the Dark Lord's feet, his head bowed in submission. It is the only place Draco allows himself to look, unable to look in those red snake eyes. But as if sensing his presence, the creature looks up and meets his gaze.

Draco's heart stops in his chest as he takes in the arresting green eyes and jagged lightning bolt scar etched into its forehead. The same image that haunts his dreams and memories, burned bright into his mind from the day that hand first recoiled from his in disgust. A moment that once seemed so important, now rendered trivial by real horrors.

Now, all Draco sees is a reflection of himself, twisted and broken by a cruel fate neither of them deserved. Their childish rivalry seems absurd in the face of actual evil.

Breathe, Draco. Un, deux, trois. Breathe. The memory of his mother’s soft voice whispers in his mind.

When he dares to take a closer look, his heart picks up. The glamour falls away as he examines the muggles' fear-stained eyes, clouded with hints of murky brown, and streaks of blue. The muggle's eyes lack the cocky overconfident swagger Potter shields himself in like armour, the desperate burn to prove his greatness that ignites them in fire. They lack the arrogant desire to come off as good and fair. To show how being crippled by such weakness makes one a worthy martyr.

The windows of the soul after all are the hardest part of a doppelgänger to fake.

Draco knows that the real Potter rests warm and coddled with his muggle aunt and uncle. Guarded safe and sound behind the impenetrable walls of the Order of the Phoenix. This pitiable mockery of the Golden Boy, snivels like a scared child, for once aware of the danger he faces. Draco almost envies Potter now – what he wouldn't give to have protectors who protected, a cause, even one not worth fighting for, is better than this spiral into darkness.

"Your father told me about your childish rivalry with the Chosen One," the Dark Lord hisses, and the assembled Death Eaters titter like mad pixies. Nagini curls around his ankles, her scales scraping against marble. "I thought my newest recruit deserved a gift after the great task he agreed to take on for me."

I didn’t agree, you bastard, Draco thinks probing his Occlumency shields, with frayed nerves when the thought slips in.

"Thank you, my Lord."

The words taste like ash in his mouth.

He imagines the taunting sneer spreading across the Dark Lord's face, stretching the skin on that skull-like face even tighter. He keeps his eyes lowered, focused on the trembling muggle wearing Potter's face.

“You may begin.”

The muggle cowers under Draco's intense gaze, fully comprehending the pain that awaits. Draco feels his grip on his wand weakening, his resolve unraveling like the delicate threads of his mother's prized crochet pattern. But he forces himself to stop, to take a deep breath, to remember the role he needs to play.

He steels his spine.

With determination, he directs his glare at "Potter," trying to summon up that old familiar hatred. But even as he thinks of the git who always seems to have everything handed to him on a silver platter, whose green eyes filled with disgust when he turned down his hand that day on the train, the hatred feels hollow. Their schoolboy grudges seem meaningless now, in this room where real evil dwells.

Dark twisted magic courses through Draco as he raises his wand, aiming it directly at the scar on Potter's forehead. He searches desperately within himself for the hatred needed to make this work. Not the hollow rivalry of schoolyard squabbles – that won't be enough. He needs something deeper, darker.

So he thinks of Potter's self-righteous crusades that got his father arrested, that brought them to this moment. He thinks of how Potter sits safe and protected while Draco's whole world burns down around him.

The hatred builds, toxic and brutal until he can taste it like copper on his tongue. He lets it fill him up, lets it twist into something cruel and vicious because failure isn't an option. Because his mother's life depends on his ability to mean this curse.

"Crucio."

*****

Flash.

Pop.

Flash.

Pop.

The pounding thuds of his heart echo in time with the relentless camera flashes, each burst of light exposing him like a creature pinned under glass. The noise crashes against his ears in waves – shouted questions, scratching quills, the rustle of bodies pressing closer, always closer. He tries to comprehend the voiced and unvoiced barrage of accusations and demands being hurled at him in this media circus, but the words blur together into a roar of expectation he can't possibly meet.

Wretched

"Mr. Potter, over here!"

A voice cuts through the chaos, sharp as a blade.

Thud

Worthless

"No, over here!"

Another voice demands, hands reaching, grabbing, pulling.

Thud

Lying

"Is it true?"

Their faces swim before him, hungry vultures circling wounded prey.

Thud

Self-serving

"Is he back?"

As if they don't already know. As if the growing body count isn't proof enough.

Thud

Apathetic

"How do we keep our children safe?"

A mother's desperate plea pierces through the din, and Harry's chest constricts. How can he tell her he doesn't know? That he couldn't even keep Cedric safe?

Thud

Murderer

"What are your plans to stop him?"

They crowd closer, quills poised like daggers.

Thud

Say something

Harry opens his mouth, but his throat closes around the words. What can he possibly say to these people? That their saviour is just a fifteen-year-old boy who still wakes up screaming? That everyone who gets too close to him ends up dead?

Anything

Adrenaline pumps through his veins as the mob of frantic witches and wizards pushes and pulls at him like a rag doll, his heart threatening to burst from his chest. The intense flashing of Wix cameras blinds him, each pop and flash burning afterimages into his retinas – green light, falling bodies, vacant eyes. The weight of their desperate hopes and accusations pins him in place, and transforms him into a statue of the hero they need him to be.

A strong arm wraps around his shoulders, pulling him away from the overwhelming crowd. For one devastating moment, he thinks it's Mr. Weasley, saving him once again like he did when Harry tried to follow Sirius through the veil. When he tried to chase death itself rather than face being left again. But then reality settles like ash on his tongue as Dumbledore guides him out of the Ministry Atrium, away from the grasping hands and desperate eyes.

"You did good, Harry."

I didn't say anything, he thinks, the words bitter in his throat. But he keeps silent, nodding along like the puppet they need him to be. What good are words anyway? Words didn't save Cedric. Words didn't save Sirius. Words can't stop Voldemort from taking more lives, more families, more futures.

Dumbledore knows best and Harry trusts him to answer the public's questions, but those gentle words only intensify the storm inside him – guilt for every death he couldn't prevent, anger at a world that demands so much from a child, and fear, always fear, that the next person to die for the "Chosen One" will be someone else he loves. The emotions crash together beneath his skin, threatening to tear him apart. He doesn't recognize himself anymore in the mirror, in the papers, in the eyes of those who look to him for salvation. He doesn't deserve a voice. Whenever he tries to help, all he ever manages to do is get people injured and killed.

"Just your presence alone reassures them. You are their brave golden light of hope in these dark times."

The words fall like lead in his stomach. They don't see the darkness eating away at their beacon of hope, don't know that their saviour is just as scared as they are. They don't realize their light of hope is really just a boy casting shadows everywhere he goes.

***** 

Muggle Death Tolls Rise After Bridge Crash

Malfoy’s Blacklisted After Trial of the Century

Greyback on the Loose and Reigning Terror

Dread grows in Harry with every new headline his eyes skim over, chilling the warmth from his coffee. Harry's heart races as his gaze snags on the moving picture of a defeated Draco Malfoy, his face bleached of colour.

Memories of their fights are quickly overshadowed by the mixed feelings Harry feels for causing Lucius Malfoy's imprisonment in Azkaban. He refuses to regret but he can’t help but thank that Malfoy looks…scared.

They both have lost people from this war. Harry's godfather, Sirius, and Draco's father, Lucius. As he thinks about his face during the press release announcing Voldemort's return, Harry can't help but wonder if Draco is feeling the same turmoil and confusion he still feels.

“That’s a funny newspaper.” the waiter says as he peers over the side, his eyes settling on the picture of the Malfoy.

Harry gives him a nervous smile, pushing his glasses further up his nose. He remembers Hermione telling him about a similar thing happening to her when she read their newspaper in the muggle world and forgot to glamour it.

“It’s for a project for a Journalism class. We had to create our own newspaper.” He says remembering her answer.

The boy’s eyes light up and Harry feels his cheeks grow hot.

“I get off in five minutes, I would love to hear more about this project of yours.” the boy says, giving Harry a friendly smile.

Harry starts to reply, but his gaze drifts towards the window.

His eyebrows furrow and his mouth twists into a look of utter confusion as his eyes land upon the figure of Professor Dumbledore. The renowned wizard stands tall and imposing in his vibrant magenta robes, a stark contrast to the dull backdrop of oblivious muggles surrounding him.

“Umm… one moment, I think I see someone I know outside,” he says standing up as if in a daze and walking outside.

Dumbledore smiles at Harry in his grandfatherly fashion and extends his arm out to him.

“I’m afraid I will have to interrupt your date. We have places to be.”

Harry blushes.

“It wa-sn’t a date, sir.” Harry stutters out.

Dumbledore gives Harry a knowing look but doesn’t say anything more about it.

“Hold on tight,” he says as Harry grabs his arm, desperate to go anywhere but here.

Dumbledore apparates them to a street lined with houses. He hands Harry a small trunk that looks just like the one Harry keeps packed at the foot of his bed in case he needs to make a quick escape.

“I hope you don’t mind but I took the liberty of packing for you,” Dumbledore says.

“I won’t be returning to the Dursleys after this?” Harry asks, feeling his heart beating in nervous excitement.

Dumbledore's lips curl up into a small, mysterious smile instead of offering a direct answer, and Harry shrugs it off as typical Dumbledore's behaviour. The old man was notorious for his love of surprises. A chill breeze sweeps over Harry's body, causing him to shiver in Dudley's thin t-shirt. The streetlamps above cast eerie shadows across the dark pavement, giving the scene an otherworldly feel. Feeling uneasy, Harry edges closer to Dumbledore, still shaken by the Dementors' unexpected appearance at Privet Drive last year. He can sense the weight of Dumbledore's intense focus and knows better than to distract him with questions about their destination. After all, Dumbledore will reveal their purpose in due time.

“Just a little further,” Dumbledore says breaking the silence of the night around them.

“Yes, sir,” Harry says feeling a bit like one of Dudley’s toy soldiers, welcomed into Dumbledore’s army at last.

He tries not to remember how all of them lost their heads.

They come to a sudden halt in front of an eerie, dilapidated house. The shades are drawn, and the entire place is shrouded in darkness. The overgrown grass and dirt-covered cars in the driveway suggest that the occupants have been gone for quite some time. Without hesitation, Dumbledore opens the rusted metal wire gate, his wand held tightly in his other hand. Harry follows behind him cautiously, his senses on high alert as he keeps a watchful eye for any hidden Death Eaters lurking in the shadows.

As they approach the door, Dumbledore casts a powerful Lumos spell, illuminating the entryway with a blinding white light. With a loud creak, he pushes open the door and reveals the aftermath of a fierce battle. The once elegant furniture lies broken and strewn across the floor, dishes shattered into pieces, and deep gouges mar the ceiling above them. A thick, metallic smell hangs heavily in the air - blood. Dumbledore's curiosity gets the better of him as he reaches out to catch a drop of it on his finger, seemingly fascinated rather than repulsed by the gruesome scene. He brings his blood-stained finger to his lips and licks it thoughtfully before pointing his wand at a relatively unharmed upholstered chair and muttering a dark incantation.

Harry jumps in surprise when the chair transforms into an old man, wearing similar robes to the fabric of the chair.

“Horace, my old friend!” Dumbledore says in a friendly voice.

"Albus." Horace's voice trembles as he looks around anxiously, his hands wringing in nervousness.

“What gave it away?” Horace says as his beady eyes taking in the room around them. 

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled.

”The raspberry jam,” 

“I ran out of dragons blood this morning and didn’t want to risk leaving,” Horace said with a huff, "I never know who to trust anymore. These are truly dangerous times we live in."

Dumbledore’s wrinkles crinkle as he smiles.

“Quite the opposite. Horace Slughorn, may I introduce you to Harry Potter.”

Slughorn seems to notice him for the first time and his eyes seem to bug out of his head as he sees Harry’s scar. He takes a step forward and then stops himself as if coming to his senses.

“Oh no, I know what you are trying to do Albus, but you can’t convince me to come out of retirement, I like my life of leisure too much to be tempted.”

“Nothing like that, Horace we just came to visit, but if you would excuse me for a moment, I have an important Patronus to send,” Dumbledore says ducking out of the backdoor.

Slughorn walks towards Harry like he is a mirage in the desert and if he moves too quickly, he might disappear.

“Hello, sir, did you used to teach at Hogwarts?” Harry asks to make conversation.

Slughorn seems to buff up like a frog with pride and a slimy smile crosses his face.

“Oh yes, I used to teach Potions. I have a lot of fond memories of teaching at Hogwarts. I gained most of my collection during my time there.”

Harry gives him a confused look and Slughorn gestures him over to a cabinet by the wall lined with moving photographs.

“Who are these people?” Harry asks, watching as a Beater hits a Bludger and a man waves around a copy of the Daily Prophet.

Slughorn says in an excited voice pointing at the picture Harry just looked at, “They are all part of my collection! That’s Gwenog Jones captain of the Holyhead Harpies, who is always happy to let me free into any game I want.”

“And that’s Barnabas Cuffe editor of he Daily Prophet. I have a free subscription of course.”

“Who is that?” Harry says pointing to a picture of a pale man with his arms around a handsome dark-skinned man with tiny red braids.

Slughorn peers closer at the picture that Harry gestures to, and his eyes grow wider.

“That’s Eldred Worple author of Blood Brothers: My Life Amongst the Vampires. He lived with Sanguini Ashe the king of the vampires as his consort for years. I wonder how old Sanguini is doing? I should write to him, it’s only polite.”

Harry gives him an absent-minded nod, rapidly losing his attention span as his eyes land on a new photo with a familiar laughing face.

“That’s my mother!” He says in a shocked voice.

As Slughorn regards the faded picture with a wistful expression, a wave of nostalgia and longing washes over Harry. It's a feeling he's all too familiar with, the ache in his throat that always arises when someone speaks of his parents. It's like a hunger, desperate for any scrap of information or connection to them. He can almost feel their presence in the room, ghosts hovering just out of reach. For a moment, he allows himself to imagine what it would be like to have grown up with them by his side. But then reality comes back, and he swallows hard, pushing away the thoughts.

“What was she like?” Harry asks in a longing voice.

“Your mother was one of a kind, a genius in the potions lab, but not arrogant bone in her body,” Slughorn says in a quiet reflective voice his eyes going glassy.

“Harry is just as talented in Defense as his mother was in potions. With all the battle experience against Voldemort, he has gained a celebrity following. He will make a fine Auror one day, maybe even the Head.”

Slughorn’s greedy eyes grow conniving and Harry guesses he was once a Slytherin during his Hogwarts days. The expression reminds him too much of Malfoy not to be true.

“Is that so?” Slughorn says.

“I would even venture to say he would be he would be your crowning jewel, but we see you are busy so we will be on our way,” Dumbledore says with a bow of his head.

“Come along, Harry.” He says, and Harry follows him to the door.

There is a moment of quiet before Slughorn makes a worried noise.

“Wait Albus I have reconsidered, I think I can find the time to start teaching again,” Slughorn says.

“Excellent,” Dumbledore says as they walk out.

Dumbledore apparates them in front of the Burrow with a sharp, ear-splitting crack that shatters the stillness of the night. Harry stumbles to the ground, his insides churning with the familiar sensation of being squeezed through a tube. As he struggles to regain his balance, a surge of conflicting emotions washes over him - the overwhelming need for answers about his mother, mixed with a sense of comfort and belonging as he takes in the welcoming sight of the humble house that has become his second home. Dumbledore gives the door a firm knock, causing frantic footsteps to sound from within. Molly flings open the door, her usually warm expression replaced with one of shock at seeing their unexpected guests. Ginny appears behind her, equally surprised and wary.

“Hiya, Harry,” Ginny says in a bright voice, her face flushing a bright red.

Harry's heart swells as he watches her, his fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. He can't tear his eyes away from her dishevelled hair and rosy lips, complemented by her delicate nightgown. She has such life and vitality, a contrast to Harry's summer of self-loathing and isolation. But with Ginny by his side, there is hope of truly living again.

“Hey, Gin.” He says feeling a little shy for some reason.

“Harry, dear, come in, come in.” Mrs. Weasley says shooing Ginny away so Harry can fit through the door.

“I think I am leaving young Harry here in capable hands, Molly,” Dumbledore says, making his goodbyes.

Harry nods to Dumbledore as he raises his wand to apparate, disappearing with a crack, leaving nothing but the faint scent of lemon drops behind. Harry feels a wave of sadness at how much he already misses Dumbledore, after not seeing him all summer and him already leaving so fast.

“Do you need anything, Harry?” Mrs. Weasley asks, fluttering around him in the neat but cluttered kitchen, pulling out bags of tea, “No thank you, Mrs. Weasley, I just want to see Ron and Hermione.”

As if called, he hears the sound of two sets of footsteps on the steps.

“Harry!” Hermione cries, launching at him and giving him a massive hug.

Harry stumbles, nearly losing his footing for the second time that night. His heart races as he regains his balance and pulls her in for a tight hug, feeling his weight fall away. Ron smacks him on the back with a loud thud and they exchange glances before making their way back upstairs.

Once safe from prying ears behind Ron’s door they huddle on top of his Chudley Cannons bedspread, discussing Harry’s night.

“Did you battle Death Eaters?” Ron asks in excitement.

Hermione sighs through her nose.

“Ronald, Harry is underage, Dumbledore would never be so irresponsible,”

Harry doubts that remembering first through fifth year and everything Dumbledore turned a blind eye to but feels too tired to argue with her.

“Nothing that exciting. He wanted me to convince Slughorn to join the staff as the potions master this year.”

“He used your fame for his benefit?” Hermione asks in a disapproving voice.

“Hermione, I was happy to do it. Dumbledore does so much for me it's the least I could do to help.”

“But Harry, it's wrong of him to put you in that kind of situation, where you feel like you owe him. Real kindness doesn’t need to be paid back. A relationship shouldn’t be transactional.”

Hermione's eyes widen in shock as Harry's voice grows louder, his words strained with determination.

"It's not about that at all," he insists, his fists clenched tightly at his sides.

”I would do anything for Dumbledore, for what it means to defeat Voldemort and protect the world. He doesn't make decisions without reason – this is just one small piece in his strategy, and I'm grateful that he believes my help can make a difference."

Both Hermione and Ron flinch as he says the name with conviction.

Hermione looks near tears at his words and hugs him. Ron gives Harry an awkward shoulder pat, even worse at handling emotions than him and changes the subject.

“Wait so you mean Snape is getting the boot?” Ron asks when Hermione lets him breathe again. 

When Harry extracts himself from the hug, he shrugs.

“Dumbledore didn’t say, but I hope so.”

Hermione shakes her head and frowns at them but is too used to grudge against Snape to put up much of an argument.

“I wonder who is going to take the Defense Against the Dark Arts position,” she asks instead.

“Another wanker, I’m sure. We haven’t had anyone decent since Lupin.”

As they throw out absurd suggestions for professors, Harry's contentment slips away. Sirius finds his way into his mind and how much he would enjoy this conversation. Probably adding how no one could be a worse professor than Snivellus.

The image of Malfoy flashes in his mind, the only one who might understand what he's going through as laughable as that is. As if he could lower himself to think about someone else outside his family that is.

But the thought twists in his gut, in a mix of longing and disgust at his stupidity. Did Malfoy's summer with his father in Azkaban change him? Does he blame Harry for how it all turned out? Or has he finally seen the corruption in his family?

What difference could a summer make? 

Frustratingly the thought persists...maybe if he could just talk to him. Convince him come over to Dumbledores side for protection or to become a spy. That's what a true Chosen One would do.

But the doubt stays, and Harry realizes it’s pointless to wonder.

"Harry?" Hermione's voice cuts through his thoughts, carrying a note of concern that suggests she's called his name more than once.

"Oh... yes, what?"

"We're going to bed," Hermione says, her eyes studying him with that familiar mix of worry and understanding.

"Sorry, got lost in my head again."

Hermione's smile is gentle. "As long as you don't stay in there," she says, slipping off the bed and into the hallway, her footsteps fading into the comfortable quiet of the Burrow at night.

Harry and Ron get ready for bed, but even as the lights go out, Malfoy's sneering grey eyes linger in Harry's mind, following him into uneasy dreams.

He wakes hours later to weak sunlight filtering through the window, painting strips of gold across Ron's snoring form. Harry groans and rolls over, mentally cursing the Dursleys for conditioning his body to wake at dawn. His muscles protest as he stumbles out of bed and into the attached bathroom in the hall, mind still fuzzy with sleep.

His toothbrush sits innocently next to Hermione's, and that's when it hits him – he forgot toothpaste. It's such a small thing, but it sends a wave of frustration through him. Even after years at Hogwarts, Harry still doesn't know if wizards use toothpaste or rely on charms. He's always waited until the bathroom was empty before going in, old habits from the Dursleys dying hard.

Desperate, he rummages through the cabinets lining the walls, pushing aside bottles of shaving potion and containers of Sleekeazy. His hand closes triumphantly around a tube of Floris Flaming cinnamon-flavoured tooth cream. Without thinking twice, he squeezes some onto his toothbrush and starts brushing.

The door creaks open, and Harry freezes at the sight of Ginny in her Quidditch gear, looking equally startled to find him there.

"Harry?" she asks, voice still rough with sleep.

As he opens his mouth to respond, an inferno erupts instead. Brilliant orange flames shoot past his lips, dancing wildly in the small space. His heart leaps into his throat, terror for Ginny's safety overwhelming him – but she only laughs, the flames casting a warm glow across her freckled face as they dissipate harmlessly around her.

Right. Magic.

"Did you use my tooth cream?" she asks between giggles.

Heat crawls up Harry's neck that has nothing to do with the magical flames. Using something that touches her lips every day feels suddenly, awkwardly intimate.

His mind spirals, shame mixing with his embarrassment. He is supposed to be leading a revolution against Voldemort, and here he unable to even remember toothpaste. 

The prophecy's words echo in his head.

"Neither can live while the other survives."

His grip tightens on the tube, knuckles white. How many other things will he forget when it really matters? A crucial potion, a vital spell – how many more will die because of his mistakes? Cedric's lifeless eyes flash in his memory, followed by Sirius falling through the veil...

Ginny's laughter fades as she notices the shift in his expression. Her hand finds his shoulder, warm and steady.

"Harry," she says, voice soft but firm, "you can use my tooth cream anytime you want."

He sniffs.

"Yours is no good anyway," he manages, attempting a wobbly smile. "Toothpaste is supposed to be mint."

Ginny scrunches up her nose, sticking out her tongue in an exaggerated shudder. "It's tooth cream you prat. And mint? Mint is cold and bitter – who wants to put that in their mouth? Cinnamon is far superior! It's sweet and warm."

"Who wants to be burned to death by their toothpaste?" Harry shoots back, grateful for the lighter turn in conversation.

She flashes him a brilliant, cheese-eating grin. "Only cool people know how to handle the heat."

"Ha...ha," Harry deadpans, but he can feel a real smile tugging at his lips.

His eyes drift to her Quidditch gear. "Are you heading out to play?"

A wicked grin spreads across Ginny's face as she recognizes his poorly concealed excitement.

"Fred and George bought the new Nimbuses and told me I could practice with one while they're visiting – if it's before they wake up." She pauses, eyes twinkling. "Up for a game?"

Harry nods eagerly, turning to rush back to his room, but Ginny's hand on his arm stops him. He looks back, surprised to find her expression has turned serious, almost shy.

"I didn't always see it when I was younger," she says quietly. "I was too busy idolizing you and thinking you could do no wrong. But I see it now – the pressure people put on you to be the perfect soldier. To save everyone." Her brown eyes meet his, steady and sincere.

"I just... I hope you know," she continues, cheeks flushing slightly, "you don't have to carry that burden alone, Harry. We love you for who you are, not for what you can do or save."

Her words hit him, cracking the careful walls he'd built. Warmth spreads through his chest, melting away some of the coldness that's taken root there. His grip on his wand loosens. He knows the feeling won't last – it never does – but for this moment, he believes her.

"Thank you," he whispers hoarsely, offering Ginny a smile that feels more real than any he's given in weeks.

Standing there in the morning light, toothpaste foam still clinging to his lip and his heart feeling lighter than it has in ages.

"No problem, Harry," Ginny says simply, but her eyes say so much more.

The next day, they go into Diagon Alley, and Harry's freezes. Gone is the vibrant, magical place he discovered when he first found out he was a wizard. 

Now, dark clouds hang low over the street, covering everything in a grey like film. Wanted posters flutter against boarded-up shopfronts, Fortescue's ice cream parlour stands abandoned, its windows dark. The few people who dare venture out move like shadows, heads down and wands clutched tight, darting from doorway to doorway as if expecting curses to fly at any moment.

Wanted Ministry posters cover entire walls, screaming faces of prisoners leering at them from behind bars. Harry's heart sinks as he takes in the bleak scene. This is what he wanted, wasn't it? For people to finally believe him about Voldemort's return. But seeing the despair etched on every face, the fear in every hurried step only reminds him of how he felt this summer – alone, paranoid, expecting betrayal around every corner.

Hermione's quick spell to keep his hair in place feels almost unnecessary since no one looks him in the eye. His fingers find his wand, gripping it until his knuckles turn white. Is this what life will be like from now on? This constant tension, this perpetual vigilance that the fake Mad-Eye always screamed about?

After a grim trip to Gringotts, they make their way through the nearly empty street.

"Where should we go first?" Hermione's voice carries a forced brightness that grates against the darkness around them. "Flourish and Blotts, maybe? Textbooks are always a good place to start. I also wanted to pick up Marietta Gifford's book about constellation meanings and their overlap with Muggle myths that I've been dying to check out."

Harry wants to tell her it's pointless to pretend things are normal, but he sees the slight tremor in her hands, the way she clutches her book list like a shield. They both nod, following her into the dusty bookshop, grateful to escape the miserable street.

An hour later, laden with shrunk books, they stand inside Madam Malkin's, where even the cheerful tinkle of the shop bell seems muted.

"Ow! You foolish woman, that was my skin!"

The familiar drawl of Draco Malfoy cuts through the quiet.

Harry's head snaps up, and suddenly he's eleven years old again, in this same shop, meeting the same spoiled boy.

But the Malfoy before him now, standing on the platform in front of a three-sided mirror, is different than the one from his memories. There's something harder in his long drawn-out face, something dangerous in the set of his jaw, a raw desperate wildness in the tension of his eyes. Narcissus Malfoy hovers nearby, her usual aristocratic poise undercut by something Harry has never seen in her before.

Fear.

Her eyes dart between her son and the door, as if calculating escape routes. She spares Harry only a glance of agitated disdain, but it's enough to make his skin prickle with unease.

Grey eyes meet green in the mirror's reflection, and Malfoy's scowl deepens into something threatening. He turns, his gaze sliding over Harry's clothes with deliberate slowness, lingering on the torn, oversized shirt that once belonged to Dudley. His lip curls in a sneer that doesn't quite distract from the shadows under his eyes.

"This shop doesn't carry insipid mud-blood clothes, Potter. I'd suggest your mudblood and blood-traitor companion see themselves out."

The words are poisonous, and Harry feels his already loose grasp on his anger beginning to fray. There's something darker about Malfoy's taunts now. A sharper edge of genuine malice that wasn't there before.

"Take that back!" Harry's wand is in his hand before he realizes he's moved, pointing straight at Malfoy's heart.

Ron’s is out a second later, his face flushed with anger.

Malfoy doesn't flinch. Instead, his lips curl into a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

"Careful, Potter. It almost looks like you're threatening me, and away from the safety of the tottering old fool, Dumbledore." He takes a step closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that somehow fills the room. "I'd watch who I pulled a wand out on these days. You never know where their true allegiance lies."

"Sounds like something someone with the Mark would say!"

The words burst from Harry before he can stop them.

"Harry, stop, it's not worth it," Hermione hisses, just as Madam Malkin lets out a frightened, "Young man, it is dangerous to throw around accusations like that!"

"Why don't you come over and find out, Potter, if you're so sure." Malfoy's fingers play with the edge of his sleeve, a gesture that seems almost casual, but his eyes are cold and calculating. 

Dark shadows emanate from Malfoy's stiff limbs, and Harry's eyes zero in on his black silk-covered arm, unable to focus on anything else. The air in the shop feels charged and suffocating as they stay frozen each daring the other to break form first. Malfoy's smirk widens as he notices the direction of Harry’s glare, and something triumphant flashes across his face.

"Unless you're scared?" 

His mother's face drains of what little colour it had.

"Draco, we need to be moving along."

There's real fear in her voice now, urgent and raw.

"You wish," Harry whispers.

Just another echo of the past that feels rotten now, robbed of its original innocence by everything that's happened since.

Harry takes a determined step forward, but Ron and Hermione grab his arms, holding him back. Their grips are tight enough to bruise, but he barely notices.

"Harry, we should leave. I don't like the look in Malfoy's eyes, he's up to something," Hermione pleads, but Harry can't look away from Malfoy's gaze.

"He's always up to something, and this time I'm going to stop him before he hurts someone," Harry growls, struggling against his friends' restraining hands.

"Malfoy is only capable of low-level evil, save your energy for You-Know-Who, mate," Ron says, dragging Harry toward the door, but Harry sees the lie in Malfoy's eyes. They speak of a willingness to cross any line and call in on any debt to achieve his goal. 

It’s the same look his taunting imagination paints on Harry’s face when he pretends there is a way to bring Sirius back from the dead. If he is just willing to sacrifice his soul for it.

Malfoy’s eyes never leave his. 

Until the door closes with a quiet click.

*****

A couple of days later, after bidding the Weasleys goodbye at platform nine and three-quarters, Harry catches a glimpse of Malfoy through the billowing steam. He's standing alone further down the platform, his usually pristine robes hanging loosely on his wane, grey-faced frame.

"There's your baby Death Eater," Ron snickers, nudging Harry's ribs with his elbow.

"Cut it out, he's not mine," Harry snaps, stomach churning as he watches Malfoy disappear onto the train.

The absence of his parents – well, his mother at least, since Harry put his father in prison – feels oddly conspicuous in the crowd of tearful families. Malfoy should be surrounded by his cronies making fun of the overly emotional parents or enduring his mother's fussing with barely veiled impatience. Instead, he looks empty. It feels wrong somehow.

Once aboard the Hogwarts Express, the three of them claim an empty compartment. Harry's legs bounce restlessly as they settle in, his mind racing. Molly had kept them buried in chores all week, as if scrubbing floors and de-gnoming gardens could distract them from the Order meetings they were missing. They hadn't had a moment alone since following Malfoy to Borgin and Burkes, and Harry's thoughts have been threatening to burst out of him ever since.

“This confirms my theory,” Harry says his blood alight with lightning.

Hermione drops her head back against the seat with an exasperated sigh. "This confirms nothing, Harry."

"He is a Death Eater."

Ron's snigger earns him a withering glare from Harry.

"I'm serious," Harry growls, his fingers digging into his knees.

"Mate..." Ron shifts in his seat, trading glances with Hermione. "It's just hard to picture Malfoy as anything other than a schoolyard bully. He really is just pathetic."

Harry's mind flashes back to Borgin and Burkes and how Malfoy's hungry eyes roamed over his body in the dimly lit shop. A shiver runs down his spine. Pathetic isn't how that felt.

"We saw Malfoy trying to buy a cabinet," Hermione says, her voice careful and measured. "That hardly makes him a criminal."

"But it was in a wizard back alley, where criminals go to do dirty dealings!" Harry's voice rises as he gestures emphatically.

Ron snorts, shoulders shaking. "Dirty dealings."

Harry shoves him hard enough to make him yelp, but Hermione's disappointed look cuts deeper than Ron's teasing.

"Harry, you should be ashamed of yourself," she says, sitting up straighter. "Knockturn Alley is a slum where the poorest of the poor go to live. Not everyone has the same options that we do. You of all people should know that."

Harry flinches, and Hermione's expression softens immediately. She opens her mouth to apologize, but Harry waves her off, slumping back in his seat.

"You're right, Hermione," he mutters, running a hand through his messy hair. "I shouldn't have said that. I still think he's up to something, and you can't convince me otherwise."

Hermione gives Harry a hopeless look and sighs.

Hermione exchanges another look with Ron, which Harry is starting to find annoying, before sighing. "As long as it doesn't interfere with your studies, you're free to think whatever you like, but don't you think you've wasted enough time obsessing over Malfoy?"

“I don’t obsess over him!” Harry exclaims.

"Mate," Ron says, grinning, "the only time you took a break from wondering what Malfoy is up to in the last five years is when you were obsessed with Cedric."

The temperature in Harry's chest plummets at Cedric's name. He crosses his arms tight against his ribs, as if holding himself together. "I did not."

Ron's grin fades, and the compartment falls into an uncomfortable silence as they all remember how their last school year ended. The countryside rushes past their window until Hermione finally pulls out a new book, its midnight blue cover scattered with silver stars catching the light.

Ron perks up as he reads the title. "'Charting the Course of the Prophecies of the Stars'? I thought you didn't believe in Divination. You said it was nonsense for people who wanted to give their directionless existence some meaning." His shit-eating grin returns full force. "Are you saying you were wrong?"

"After last year," Hermione says with a grimace, as if the words pain her, "I figured it couldn't hurt to explore all avenues of research."

"Or your usual methods turned up nothing and you've been forced to admit that maybe you were wrong."

Harry shrinks further into his seat at the casual mention of last year and the prophecy that still haunts his dreams.

Hermione bustles on, clearly trying to change the subject. "Gifford's book comes highly recommended by the top experts in the field."

As she buries her nose in the book, Ron catches Harry's eye and mouths, 'She was wrong.'

Despite everything, Harry has to press his lips together to stifle a giggle, some of the tension finally leaving his shoulders. As long as he has his friends maybe this school year will not be so bad after all.

Chapter Text

..with the blood on his hand from my broken nose
But like every other day, he was scared to go
Back to his house 'cause his pops was home
Drowning his troubles in whiskey bubbles
Just looking for trouble

- Alec Benjamin

After the meeting with Slughorn thankfully ends, Harry follows Zabini under the invisibility cloak back to his compartment, knowing where there are sixth-year Slytherins there will be Malfoy. As Zabini goes to sit down, the train lurches, causing him to stumble into Parkinson's lap, leaving the bench free for Harry to spring up to the luggage rack. His heart stutters when Malfoy's eyes flick to where his foot appears, but then Malfoy's attention shifts back to Zabini and Parkinson smirking as he watches them untangle themselves. Zabini settles his head in Pansy's lap like a spoiled lap dog as she begins petting his hair.

"So Zabini," Malfoy drawls, leaning forward slightly. "What did Slughorn want?"

"Oh the greedy old fool is trying to align himself with well-connected people," Zabini says with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Not that he managed to find many."

"Who else did he invite?" Malfoy's grey eyes sharpen with intensity.

Zabini's lips curl into a wicked grin, as if he knows what Malfoy is really asking. 

“Potter.”

A muscle twitches in Malfoy's jaw as he scowls. Harry can't help but wonder if he's thinking about their encounter in Madam Malkin's shop.

"Oh yes, who could leave out the Golden boy?" Malfoy sneers, teeth grinding audibly.

Zabini's eyes gleam with triumph as he adds fuel to the fire, "And that Weasley girl."

Malfoy's spine goes rigid, eyes narrowing to silver slits.

“Not her!” He all but hisses.

Zabini nestles deeper into Parkinson's lap, nodding with obvious relish at Malfoy's reaction.

“Why would he invite a Weasel? Least of all her.” Malfoy growls, not seeming to be able to contain his disdain.

Harry feels a wave of protectiveness spike in his chest at Malfoy’s obvious dislike of Ginny. What did she ever do to him?

“Many boys think she is gorgeous. Potter seems to agree, he couldn’t take his eyes off of her, and acted like she hung the moon.”

Zabini voice drips with suggestion.

Harry feels his face heat up. He did not act like that; he thought in embarrassment.

Parkinson's fingers pause in Zabini's hair as she frowns. "If I remember correctly, even you said she was pretty."

Zabini goes perfectly still, as if facing down a raging hippogriff. "I'd never lay a hand on her darling, she's a filthy blood traitor. You're as pure as a princess - she's about as clean as a nasty house elf."

Satisfaction softens Parkinson's features as she resumes her petting.

"Was Lu-Lovegood there?" The quiet question makes Harry start. He'd forgotten Nott was even there, hidden behind his massive book.

“No Theo, your embarrassing, blood-traitor crush was not there,” Zabini says in a snide voice.

“Could you imagine Loony, at an upstanding social event? Just imagine the things she would say!” Parkinson squeals.

“Did you know that nargles predict the weather!” Zabini crows.

“There goes my thoughts, the Blibbering Humdinger must have stolen my them!”

“It’s wrackspurts.” Nott says in the same quiet voice.

“What?” Parkinson asks, her eyebrows disappearing behind her bangs.

“Wrackspurts float through your head and make you lose your thoughts.” Theo says in a louder voice, seeming to gain confidence from some hidden source, “And don’t call her loony, she's perfectly sane!”

“Don’t tell me, you listen to what that Janus Thickey patient says, Theo?” Blaise asks in mock sympathy.

“Maybe his brain has been taken over by Wrackspurts. Quick, we better take him to St. Mungos.” Parkinson cackles.

Harry catches a glimpse of tears in Nott's eyes before the boy bolts up from his seat. The door slides shut with a soft click that seems to echo through the now silent compartment.

For just a moment, something like regret flickers across Zabini's features, a crack in his perfect mask. "Do you think we went too far?"

“No,” Draco says, wearing a hard face, “You know how it is for him at home. How it is for all of us. Only show weakness if you want someone to crush it beneath their foot.”

“But he’s still so sensitive even after everything, how did he even end up in Slytherin?” Parkinson complains.

Malfoy’s mask sobers and he frowns, “Survival. His father would have disowned him if he sorted into anywhere else.”

****

The train comes to a halt after the words fall out of his mouth and they all gather their stuff. All of them except Draco.

“Are you coming, Draco?” Pansy asks.

“I’ll be there in a minute; I still need to change,” Draco says.

Pansy shrugs and files out behind Zabini, Crabbe and Goyle. When the door slides shut, Draco saunters over to his bag and pulls it off the rack. He throws it on the bench and unlocks it, rifling through its contents until he finds his uniform and robes. He tugs on his charcoal grey tie and pulls it off his head, tossing it into his open trunk. His fingers undo the buttons of his Parisian silk waistcoat before doing the same to his underskirt letting them hang open exposing his Quidditch-toned chest. He turns towards the luggage rack as he glides his graceful hands down his chest chasing after the moving dragon constellation inked into his skin, stopping just above the buttons of his trousers. With deft fingers he unbuttons them, exposing the waistband of his pants. With a careless motion of his hand, Draco mutters a freezing charm at the poor boy on the luggage rack, relishing their sharp intake of breath.

Draco stalks to the luggage rack and grips the elusive fabric, ripping it off Potter. He enjoys taking in the long lean lines of Potter's body without the boy being able to fight against him, feeling the first spark inside of him since their guests arrived at his home. He knew practising his wandless magic this summer would have its uses beyond distracting his nerves.

“Hello, Potter never took you for a voyeur. Doesn’t fit with the Golden Boy image.” Draco says with a malicious smirk.

He grabs the boy by the shoulder and drags down Potter's prone body onto the ground, sprawling him face up across the compartment floor.

“Aren’t you a docile little thing?” Draco coos at him, his voice cruel as he puffs out his chest letting Potter get a good long look.

Draco knows that Potter would be scowling at him now if his face wasn’t stuck in place. Though he quite likes the innocent look of shock that regards him right now. Draco stalks around him, stopping close to Potter’s head, cocking his own to the side in curiosity. He caresses the edge of Potter's face with the toe of his dragon hide boots.

“So submissive and obedient. You won’t even stop me if I do this, will you?” Draco asks, raising his foot above Potter's face and ramming it down with a satisfying crunch.

Blood spurts out of Potter's nose, running down his face in a dizzying hot stream of liquid. It kisses his lips red, as it seeps into his mouth, contrasting with his emerald eyes. A sweet golden scent fills the compartment.

A low groan vibrates in Potter's chest.

“Are you into pain play, Potter? Does it turn you on?” Draco leers at him, his eyes drawn once again to the garish colour on his lips.

Potter's face continues to stare at him, not even flinching. Draco crouches down mesmerised, hatred burning through him like fiendfyre.

“Stay still,” Draco breathes, as he rubs the pad of his thumb back and forth through the blood on Potter’s lips, smearing it.

Draco's warm breath lingers on his thumb as he surveys his handiwork. Potter looks like a vampire's debauched plaything, with blood dribbling down his chin and staining his pale skin. Draco brings his thumb to his lips and savours the bittersweet tang of the blood, feeling a rush of adrenaline and power wash over him. It's almost as if an arrow has found its target in the back of his head, igniting a spark of magic within him. A small smirk plays at the corner of his mouth as he realizes Potter is just as powerful as he always imagined. With distasteful fingers, he picks up the invisible cloak and stands tall.

“Good boy” Draco murmurs as he tosses the cloak over Potter, obscuring him from view.

Draco gathers his things and with one final superior glance at the spot where Potter lies he opens the compartment door.

“Until next time, pet.” Draco says his cruel voice dripping with sarcasm.

Draco lets the compartment door slide shut with a soft click pulling out the enchanted notebook and entering another compartment. Flipping it open he wrote down in his neat looping script,

“Target secured in compartment one hundred and five.”

“Yaxley will be waiting at the next station.” comes his father’s reply.

Draco smirks as he waltzes off the train, his weakness that dogged him since first year effectively crushed.

*******

Harry stumbles into the Great Hall, his senses overwhelmed after months of silence at the Dursleys by the noise and chatter of the other students. The smell of the feast causes his mouth to water, but he forces himself to pause and look at Luna. He tries to give her a reassuring smile but ends up wincing, his face still smarting despite Luna’s spell.

"Thanks again for healing my nose, Luna. I'm pants at healing charms, and Hermione would have thrown a fit," Harry says, glancing back at her.

Luna's face holds its characteristic dreamy expression, her smile serene as she tilts her head. "In Japanese anime, characters get a nosebleed when aroused," she says out of nowhere, her gaze fixed on some distant point beyond the enchanted ceiling.

Harry's brain stutters to a halt. "Ummm...okay, Luna, that's...interesting, but Malfoy broke my nose...I wasn't you know..." he fumbles over the words.

She winks at him, her silvery eyes suddenly sharp. "Don't worry, I'll keep your secret. I always thought there was more to your rivalry under all the fighting." Before Harry can form a response, she drifts away, leaving him gaping after her.

Harry forces himself to shake off Luna's comment as just Luna being Luna and makes his way to the Gryffindor table where Ron and Hermione wait. Almost against his will, his eyes seek out Malfoy, who's already staring at him. Their gazes lock. Hatred burns in those grey eyes, but underneath lurks something that looks unsettlingly like fear. Harry curls his lip in a sneer as Malfoy glances away first.

"Harry!"

Hermione's shriek makes him jump.

"How did you get blood on your shirt?"

The stain had completely slipped his mind after Luna's bizarre anime comment.

"It's nothing, Hermione, I just slipped," Harry says quickly as she vanishes the blood with a flick of her wand.

He doesn't need another lecture about his Malfoy obsession or the risks of spying.

“What took you so long?” Ron asks, giving him an odd look.

“Yes, Malfoy was late as well. You weren’t fighting again, were you Harry?” Hermione accuses in a suspicious voice.

Harry busies himself loading his plate, using the moment to organize his thoughts. If Hermione notices this obvious stalling tactic, she doesn't comment.

"No, I was talking to Luna, and I couldn't find a good way to get away. Then something she said surprised me and I tripped and fell," he says, the half-truth settling uneasily in his stomach.

Hermione gives Harry a sympathetic look, not being able to put up with Luna at the best of times.

Hermione's expression softens with sympathy – she's never had much patience for Luna's peculiarities. "Oh, Harry, that was very nice of you. I don't think she has very many friends."

Harry feels a spike of guilt shoot through him as he sees Luna at the end of the Ravenclaw table, alone.

“We should ask her to sit with us sometime,” Harry says to try and relieve the feeling.

Hermione gives him a hesitant look.

“Luna’s great once you get to know her.” Ginny pipes in and Harry gives her a thankful smile.

That familiar warm, fuzzy feeling spreads through his chest as he looks at Ginny. It puzzles him . He's never given much thought to girls in general, they've always made him nervous and uncomfortable. Beyond that disaster with Cho last year, he's never dated or kissed anyone. This easy comfort with Ginny is new territory. But Harry pushes the thoughts aside; with a Dark Lord to help defeat, he doesn't have time to puzzle out relationships right now.

*******

“Draco, are you not hungry?” Pansy asks, giving him a sharp look that reminds him so much of his mother that he wants to scream.

He forces another bite of his favourite tarte normande into his mouth and chews as nerves spike up and down his arms. It tastes like ashes in his mouth. He gives her a cold look. She scowls but thankfully goes back to paying attention to Blaise and his endless ego that always needs soothing. He feels…worried isn’t the right term, neither is anticipatory. He feels like pixies crawl up and down his arms and buzz in his ears, trying to get his attention and tell him something is wrong. A few seconds later Potter walks into the dining halls.

Draco stares at Potter as wave upon wave of fury assaults him. How did he escape? Was his spell imperfect? Can Potter perform both wordless and wandless magic? It should be impossible, but Draco learned long ago where Potter is concerned anything is possible. Then he sees Lovegood walk in behind Potter and sneers. Of bloody course that freak had something to do with this. He watches Potter laugh and talk with his friends and seethes as he smiles at the she weasel.

Draco grimaces in determination, let Potter laugh for now he thinks. He has no idea what danger surrounds him in the form of Draco and his housemates. All holding wands pointed at him waiting for the moment he slips up enough from one of them to tear a hole in his throat. Thought he intends to beat all of his rivals before they get the chance. No one touch Potter but him, not with his parents lives on the line.

Later in his dorm room unpacking he reaches into a bag with an undetectable extension charm and freezes as his fingers brush against something unfamiliar.

Frowning he glances across the room at Nott and Zabini to check that their attention is elsewhere, in case it is something they shouldn't know about.  He pulls out a small battered figurine. Clearly an old muggle toy.  It looks a little like Cornelius Crumpet who favoured muggle chef clothes, he thinks remembering Nott having a brief affection for the toy collection when he was a child and Draco making fun of him for it until he quit. 

Draco stares at it, perplexed. "Where did this come from?" he mutters.

He can't recall ever buying such a trinket, let alone why he would want one.

His first instinct is to vanish it. It is clearly beneath him – a Malfoy – to own such a dirty object. He stands with his wand pointed at it, but something stops him. An inexplicable feeling of... fear? A feeling of importance? He can't quite place it, but his hand refuses to move.

Frustrated and confused, Draco retreats back to his bed and glares at the figurine, annoyed by the conflicting emotions it stirs in him.

"This is ridiculous," he growls.

"What's ridiculous?" Zabini drawls with a smirk, eyes catching on the figurine.

"Potter's hair," Draco says quickly grabbing the figurine and tossing it back into his bag.

Zabini snorts the way Draco expects him too.

"What was that?" Zabini asks moving closer to Draco's side of the room. 

"Some stupid toy I nicked off a first year, I'll probably use it as target practice later," Draco forces out with a sneer, putting the bag in his truck at the foot of his bed and locking it. 

He ignores the pang of panic the mere words inspire in him. 

Zabini gives him a strange look as if he doesn't quite believe him but doesn't find the pursuit of the real answer entertaining enough. The door to the dorm slams open and a pissed off Pansy storms in her eyes zeroing in on Zabini.

"Where have you been I have been waiting for you forever," she growls. 

Zabini's eyes grow large as he drops the clothes he had been backing away in his trunk. 

"I'm so sorry mi bella, I'm coming now," he says rushing towards her. 

Pansy huffs in derision and stalks out of the room, Zabini rushing out after her. Draco smirks as he turns around to ask Nott for a game of Wizard Chess. He is one of the few people who give him a challenge.

"Nott do you wan-"

Nott's glare cuts him off. Nott climbs into his bed and slams his curtains closed. 

Draco sighs as he unlocks his truck and resumes unpacking. He’ll get over it. His friends always do.

When he is finished he fishes the bag out and finds the figurine again. He carefully wraps the figurine in a soft cloth and tucks it back into the depths of his bag. As he closes the bag, Draco shakes his head, trying to clear the odd sense of melancholy that has settled over him. He can't understand why, but somehow, he knows he wants to keep that figurine safe.

*****

Dean settles onto the floor beside Harry leaning back against the sofa behind them. 

"So, when is the first D.A. meeting?" he asks, his expression expectant. 

Harry regards him with wary eyes as he puzzles out an answer that won't leave the Common room full of disappointed sighs. Harry is torn between wanting to help and protect his friends yet feeling overwhelmed by the weight of being Quidditch captain, Dumbledore's soldier, and a student trying to balance classes. Already he can see Neville creeping closer, looking hopeful and Seamus popping his head up from the game of exploding snaps he plays with Parvati. 

"Ow!" Dean snaps as Ginny, sitting above him on the sofa pinches him.

"It is only the first night of the semester, give Harry a chance to settle in. Anyways don't you think he has enough on his plate?" Ginny says with a scowl. 

Dean looks vaguely guilty as he glances away from Harry, a faint blush on his dark skin. 

"But what about Voldemort? Do you at least have any plans for how to defeat him?" Seamus pips up. 

Harry isn’t surprised when Hermione and Ron's eyes shoot to him. He’s watched their faces fall in disappointment too many times after he’s told them the that little Dumbledore let slip to not understand they think he holds back information from them on Dumbledores orders. Harry almost wishes that was the case instead of constantly feeling in the dark until after he ends up injured or with someone he loves dead. The lack of trust often makes him wonder if even the great Dumbledore doubts if he’s up to the task of being the Chosen One. 

"Umm.." Harry opens his mouth to say what he doesn't know.

"He doesn't have to tell you anything, Seamus those could be secrets between him and Dumbledore," Ginny growls, raising her wand in a warning. 

"But he's the Chosen One! It's his job to know how to defeat Voldemort!" Seamus sneers, glaring at Harry. 

Harry feels himself grow lightheaded, darkness pushing at the edges of his vision as he presses his back further into the wall. Not for the first time he wants to give into the sensation. To let himself fall.

But who catches you when you are the hero?

Harry grits his teeth, his nails biting into his palms as he pushes against the darkness, the pain forcing himself to come back himself. He may be running on fumes but he still manages to look intimidating as he regards the shocked faces with disappointment worthy of Snape.

No one.

You catch yourself.

"I never asked to be your bloody Chosen One," he yells, the room going silent at the sound of his voice. 

And how true that statement is he thinks trying to remember a year he didn't end covered in blood.

"And if anyone had bothered to ask I would have happily turned them down," he slings at them, grabbing his invisibility cloak and storming into the empty corridors. 

Harry finds himself at the top of the Astronomy Tower, the powerful wind whipping away all his hectic thoughts. The peace only lasts a moment of course. He jumps at the distant sound of footsteps, throwing his cloak back around him, keeping it on through sheer force of will. A few seconds later Draco Malfoy's pale head steps into the open air, with a haunted look on his face. Harry stifles his startled gasp as Malfoy walks towards him, his eyes fixed on the star-filled horizon.  The blonde boy collapses in a long limbed heap inches from Harry. He lets his feet dangle over the ledge, the thin metal bars the only thing keeping him from falling and leans his head against them. Harry feels the strangest urge to grab his robes and yank him back. He resists. 

"I don't know what I am doing," Malfoy says in a desolate voice to his swinging legs.

Harry feels himself shiver, at the closeness of Malfoy's voice, it almost feels like he is talking to Harry. 

 "My mother's family believes in you, even named their children after you," Malfoy says, glancing up at the sky, his eyes darting around the bright glowing lights that out here aren't ruined by light pollution, "They say you have the power to change fate,"

Malfoy sighs in defeat. 

"I used to think she was senseless, acting like a muggle, for believing in things bigger than herself. Though now I wonder how much of that was me and how much of that was my father," 

Malfoy grips the metal bars between white fingers. His voice gets even quieter as if he feels ashamed of what he says next and Harry has to lean forward to catch his words before the wind steals them away.

"I don't know what I believe anymore. I used to believe in the Dark Lord and his vision for a mudblood-free world. I still do, but the more I'm around him the more it becomes clear that his goals are broader than that. I think if he remains unopposed he will kill anyone and everyone who displeases him." 

Or if he's bored Harry adds in his head, his hands clenching in fists at Malfoy's use of the m-word. 

"Part of me....a very small part of me almost hopes he wins, but then I think about my parents and I can't let that happen. I have to save them, they are as much a part of me as I am of them," 

“And I don’t know what I would do without them.” 

Harry all but hears him say. Malfoy frowns as his eyes scan the grounds of Hogwarts with nervous eyes. 

"So if you are up there, if you care at all, change my fate, give me a way out that saves my parents without dooming everything else." 

Malfoy squeezes his eyes shut and hunches his shoulders as a single sob wracks his thin frame. Harry wants to reach out and put a hand on his shoulder, but he imagines that will not be well received.

Something shifts in the blondes face as if fighting back for control and Malfoy shoves himself to his feet with a growl of frustration, "I'm such a twit for thinking this will make a difference. What would father say if he saw me talking to fake gods in the sky like a mudblood?"

Malfoy answers his rhetorical question a few seconds later, "He would say that I was a hopeless fool for expecting anyone else to pull me out of my mess except for myself." 

Harry would argue it is Malfoy's father's mess if it wouldn't get him a one-way ticket over the railing.

Malfoy presses his fingertips against his temples, as if trying to push away an intrusive thought. For a brief moment, confusion and pain flashes across his face, his eyes clearing before that familiar cold determination settles back over his features.

"It doesn't matter, I'll do whatever it takes, damn the consequences," Malfoy snaps to the sky, a sudden fierceness burning in his eyes.

His fur-lined cloak whips around with the force of him turning and stalking away. Harry remains up there a while longer mulling over Malfoy's words and wondering what he meant by needing to save his parents.

When Harry returns to the Common room it is empty and he finds himself sinking into a cushioned chair with conflicting emotions. He can’t help but wonder if Draco has been given an initiation task to prove his worth to Voldemort and is worried his parents will be punished for his failure. Voldemort doesn’t care about children so he doubts that he lessened that difficulty of the task just because he is young. Which leaves the impossible task of figuring out what Malfoy was asked to do by Voldemort and preventing him from doing it. He’s not even sure where to start, but right now Hermione’s watchful eyes are on him so it will have to wait until tomorrow. 

The crackling fire and soothing presence of his friends help lull him into a half-awake state as he loses yet another game of wizard chess to Ron. Hermione sitting nearby, diligently takes notes from her book every few minutes, creating a feeling of normalcy in their chaotic world.

But as Harry glances at his Marauder's Map, he feels a twinge of unease—Malfoy paces in the Slytherin common room with his usual followers in tow. Nott, surprisingly absent from the group, is holed up in the sixth-year dorms. A small part of Harry wonders if he should tell Luna about Nott's crush on her, but quickly dismisses it. He is probably the worst person when it comes to matters of romance. After all, his failed attempt at kissing Cho proves how clueless he is in that department. If Nott wants her, he can find a way himself.

“This is interesting,” Hermione says, not looking up from her book, “Did you know that you are a Leo, Harry and the animal symbol is a lion? It’s from the Greek myth of Hercules, who had to kill a lion as part of the tasks he needed to complete to overcome death and become a god. They are supposed to be confident and passionate.”

“I do seem to defy death a lot to complete tasks,” Harry says in a monotone voice.

Hermione and Ron give him sympathetic looks.

“What do you want to bet that Malfoy is a snake or a ferret?” Ron says trying to cheer Harry up and change the subject.

Harry snickers at the look on Malfoy’s face if his most hated rodent symbolised his birth month.

“I don’t know when his birthday is,” Hermione admits with no small frown.

“Wait, are you saying there is something that you don’t know?” Ron jokes.

Hermione glares at him.

“I never claimed to know everything.” Hermione replies in a heated voice.

“It’s June fifth,” Harry interjects before this turns into a massive argument.

They’d been having more and more of those lately and Harry wishes they would just get over themselves and realise that they liked each other. Ron gives him a strange look as he checkmates him for the fifth time that night. He wonders how much stranger Ron would look at him if he knew Harry almost ended up in Slytherin with Malfoy instead of here with him.

Hermione riffles through her book until she finds the right page.

“According to this, he’s a Gemini, which makes his animal a fox. Gemini’s are supposed to be creative, adaptable, and enjoy talking.”

“Well, those badges in fourth year were certainly creative.” Ron says with a snicker, “And foxes are sneaky little bastards, there's one that keeps chasing the garden gnomes, and drives mum around the bend.”

“And he never shuts up,”

Harry decides to play along glad that his friends didn’t think to question why he knew Malfoy’s birthday.

“Hmm…it says here that Gemini are supposed to get along best with Leos.”

Ron cracks up laughing, but Harry feels transported back to that day in the Great Hall where Malfoy offered his hand in friendship and Harry turned him down. Long before everything went to hell.

“So which month are the snakes?” Ron asks, “I could see Parkinson fitting that category.”

“Not Zabini?” Harry taunts, finding Ron’s unease with the Slytherin entertaining and a good revenge for all of Ron’s jokes about Malfoy.

Ron gives him the bird, a gesture that he learned from visiting Hermione’s family last summer, and retorts,

“Don't underestimate Zabini, mate. If he was anything he would be an owl. He stays above the other Slytherin conflicts waiting for them to pick each other apart before he delivers the killing blow, just like his bloody mother did with all of her husbands.”

“The only snakes that are mentioned are part of the Chinese Zodiac and they are nothing like Slytherins. They are problem solvers. All the Slytherins seem to do is create problems.” Hermione huffs, annoyed with their fighting.

“Too right,” Ron says, all too happy to let her change the subject if his red cheeks are any indication.

Harry smirks to himself, it is Krumb all over again.

“It goes on to talk about Serpens the snake constellation which is based on the story about a hunter who kills a snake, and another snake heals it with a special herb.” Hermione says scanning further down the page, “Again not very Slytherin.”

“Malfoy as a healer?” Ron asks with a nasty grin.

Harry tries to picture Malfoy wearing neon green robes of St. Mungo’s and fails.

“He would only do it for the prestige, not because he cares about saving lives,” Hermione says with a derisive snort.

“Could you imagine his bedside manner?” Ron laughs and says in a snotty imitation of Malfoy’s voice, “Oh you don’t like the way I cured you? My father will hear about this!”

They descend into a fit of giggles.

“I bet he would refuse to treat anyone who wasn’t a Pureblood or part of the sacred twenty- eight,” Hermione says in a bitter voice.

They all go silent after that no one can come up with a funny comment after that.

“So, your book is full of rubbish then?” Ron asks in the resulting silence.

“They are just symbols, Ron, they don’t have any higher meaning,” Hermione says in a annoyed voice.

“I thought that the whole point of reading this book was admitting that symbols did have meaning and to help Harry understand the ones in his prophecy.” Ron shoots back.

“Sometimes symbols don’t always have a higher meaning, sometimes they are just prejudice disguised behind a supposed higher power.”

Hermione glares at him and Harry can feel another row in the air. Over the summer Ron and Hermione spent time comparing their thoughts on the invention of religion by wizards to hide their existence and its positive or negative influence on muggles. Needless to say, they are very different.

“I’m going to go to bed,” Harry says bowing out before it gets too bad.

As he walks up the stairs, he hears them arguing about the superiority between being a fish vs. a virgin and feels good about his decision to leave.

*****

“Ugh, Ron! You're supposed to keep the Quaffle out of the goal!” Ginny cries from her seat on her broom.

“Would you like to take my place?” Ron yells back, his face bright red as he barely keeps Chambers from scoring.

Harry ducks as a bludger flies past his head, almost smashing his face in. He eyes Cho across the field who is circling above the Gryffindor goalpost, keen eyes scanning for the snitch. Harry spots a flicker of gold flash under the bleachers and dives towards it, Cho seeing his burst of speed takes after him. They weave between the posts, in a wild blur, chasing after the glint of gold that moves in and out of his vision. The snitch swoops up and they both follow, Harry’s stomach jumping with excitement as he leans forward on his broom, a cold wind whipping past his face. With adrenaline pounding through his veins everything falls away, his guilt over Sirius, the pressure of Voldemort, and the impossible expectations of the public. He never feels more alive, more himself than when hurtling through the air hundreds of feet above the ground. He hears Gryffindor score and Collin losing his fight to appear unbiased as he announces the current score a little too giddily.

Harry flies inches ahead of Cho, his bony arm outstretched as his fingertips brush icy metal. His hand closes around it, the soft flutter of its wings disappearing as he clutches it in his grasp. The Gryffindor stands screams out in victory as Collin announces the final scores and on habit Harry scans the Ravenclaw stands for a familiar blonde head, wanting to see his face pinched with disappointment. He frowns as his search comes up empty. Malfoy never misses a Quidditch Game, at least not when Gryffindor plays, almost like he’s determined to be there when they fail. Harry lands and his team surrounds him, slapping him on the back in congratulations.

“Brilliant catch, cap!” Ginny says, giving him a wide smile.

“Thanks,” Harry replies with a blush.

She looks beautiful like this, her long red hair windswept and fiery in the sunlight, highlighting the smattering of freckles on her tanned skin. So different from Malfoy’s short bone-coloured locks and unhealthy parlour. He turns away as Dean fights his way through the crowd to talk to Ginny, his mind already drifting. He feels the itch again underneath his skin to check the map and out where Malfoy. Harry makes his excuses to get out of the party that they are planning and slips through the crowd before Hermione breaks through the celebrating team and starts asking questions.

Once away from the prying eyes Harry pulls out his map and solemnly swears to being up to no good. His heart beats faster as he spots Malfoy and Anthony Goldstein in the library, their dots overlapping. Harry pokes the map with the tip of his wand, sending sparks into the paper, but the dots stay in the same position. He shrugs assuming a map as old as this is bound to glitch.

In the library Harry scans the tables looking for a pale head but comes up empty. He groans under his breath, aware of Madame Pince’s hawk-like eyes drilling into his. Malfoy and Goldstein must be in a private study room. Harry finds a table near the place Malfoy and Goldstein were supposedly and settles in to wait. The study rooms unfortunately work like the Room of Requirement, with the doors appearing when a student needs them and reappearing only when they leave. Making it impossible for sound to pass through the doors and keeping the library quiet the way Madame Pince demands. Harry pulls out his History of Magic book and a sheet of parchment. Hermione will have his head if he isn’t halfway through with his essay due in class by the end of the week. He pulls out a quill and starts writing thinking he might as well get started to avoid the lecture from her.

*****

Draco pulls out of the quivering body under him with a gasp, grimacing at the wet trail of semen and lube that drips off of him. Long red fingernail marks stand out in bright relief down Goldstein’s sides and weeping bite marks mar the white skin of his shoulders. Goldstein winces at Draco’s none to gentle treatment of him, his fingers clenching the edge of the desk Draco leaned him over, but gentleness was hardly part of their deal.

He waves his wand in a wordless cleaning spell and tucks himself away with clinical disinterest. He considers doing one on Goldstein and then thinks that he is not owed the courtesy. Goldstein eases himself up and Draco watches with impatient eyes, trying to remember how he ever found this enjoyable. He understands the appeal of seeing your own spend splattered over another man and recalls how it made him feel like a proper Malfoy heir taking what he wanted because it was owed to him, but those feelings are lost to him.

Now all he feels is sated and relaxed in the same way he would if he rubbed himself off. If anything, Goldstein got in the way of his enjoyment, with his too-light hair, and dull blue eyes. Goldstein straightens his hair he messed up just for Draco knowing how he prefers it and makes himself presentable. The marks stretch as he pulls on a shirt over his head and Draco shakes his head at the disinterest they inspire.

Goldstein turns to Draco with a flirty smile, and he fights back a cringe.

“Do you want to study and then go again? I should be ready in an hour, maybe less if you keep using that dirty mouth of yours.”

Goldstein is good for more than his ability to spread his legs, but only just. He is passable enough in Arithmancy and Herbology and occasionally grasps the topics better than Draco to provide some useful insights. Draco bites down a sneer at his tacky word choice, knowing he might need Goldstein again before this all goes down. If for nothing else than a predeath fuck.

Sweet Circe, he is depressing.

“No, I have plans,” Draco says dismissively, picking up his bag and throwing it over his shoulder.

“Of course,” Goldstein says, the emotion falling away from his face as he lowers himself into a chair with a small wince of pain.

That is another good thing about Goldstein: no risk of attachment from either of them. Everything is purely business between them, and neither is confused about the roles they need to play to meet each other's needs. Goldstein spreads his books and parchment across the desk Draco fucked him against a few moments ago without a hint of hesitation, not even looking up as Draco leaves the room. That is what he wants in a Pureblood husband, cold calculating precision, and loyalty to the family image above all else. He only wishes Goldstein smelled a bit sweeter.

Draco narrows his eyes in irritation as the door shuts behind him and disappears.

The limp body of Harry Potter lays sprawled across the table in front of the door. His signature messy black hair falls in disarray over his forehead, concealing his scar. One arm is propped up serving as a makeshift pillow for his head, which rests to the side with his flushed pink lips slightly parted. A History of Magic lies discarded on the other side of the table next to an abandoned piece of parchment.

Draco's tongue darts out to moisten his suddenly dry lips as the scent of Potter fills him, intoxicating his senses.

Potter’s wand sticks out of his robe’s pocket, and he snatches it up twirling it between his fingers once before slipping it into his own. Draco clenches his fists. He thought he would have a longer break from babysitting duty, but Potter couldn’t manage to stay in his protective ring of Gryffindor’s for even one hour. He had to fall asleep defenceless in the middle of the library where any Slytherin could pluck him up and disappear with him.

Draco’s skin prickles with anxiety and he pushes against the urge to slap Potter awake.

A small smile spreads across Potter’s face, creasing small lines into the skin by his eyes. Potter must be dreaming Draco thinks as he pauses to take in that smile. A smile he would have killed to be directed at him even as recent as last year. But everything is different now. What once felt like petty rivalry and secret admiration that he would never admit at wand point soured into hatred and a need for vengeance for his family.

His anger spikes.

All he ever wanted was to be his friend he thinks as the bitter acid of longing settles in his stomach. Reach out and twirls a piece of silky midnight hair around his pale finger, admiring the colour contrast and the golden sweetness of its scent. He wants to bury his hand in Potter’s hair, lift his head and slam it back down. He wants to kis-

Draco growls as he shakes his head releasing his confusing thoughts that battle for dominance there.

“I suppose I should thank you for turning me down all those years ago. This would be so much harder if I had figured out how to like you.” Draco muses as he gives Potter’s hair a sharp yank.

Potter sits up in a flash, his bright green eyes, looking around warily. Too late for that now pet, he thinks with a smirk, giving the strand of hair another hard tug. Potter’s head rears back with the movement and his eyes widen when he sees Draco leering at him. Potter’s hand reaches into his robe pocket.

“Looking for this?” Draco croons holding up Potter’s wand, as Potter’s expression turns frantic.

“Malfoy-, what are you doing here?” Potter stutters out, his eyes still murky with the shadow of exhaustion.

Teaching you a lesson, he thinks, shoving the tip of his wand under Potter’s chin, forcing it to tilt up until the veins in his throat strain against his skin. Potter’s eyes widen the sleep fleeing from them as they dart around searching for an ally. Dark delicious excitement like Goldstein used to produce in him thrills through Draco’s veins as he observes Potter at his mercy.

“I thought our little chat on the train would have taught you something about the dangers of being caught unaware when alone, but I guess not,” he says as he digs the tip into Potter’s pulse, feeling the thud of it reverberate through the wood.

In a flurry of adrenaline, Potter lunges at Draco and they tumble to the ground. Draco's arms instinctively wrap around Potter's waist, grasping for stability as they fall. Their weight crashes against each other with painful force, limbs entangling and thrashing to gain control. Potter's fingernails dig into Draco's scalp, sending sharp jolts of pain through his body as he tries to break free and reach for his wand. But Draco is determined, his legs clamp tightly around Potter's waist as they pant and grunt. Neither one is willing to give up, but neither making any progress either.

A shadow falls above them and they both freeze, expecting Madam Pince to give them a detention for fighting in the library.

“If you wanted Potter, I would have understood, Draco,” a voice says with a low chuckle.

Goldstein.

Draco growls and shoves Potter’s bone-thin body off of him, accioing Potter’s wand and tossing it to him with a careless flick of his wrist. Potter catches it out of the air with his seeker-nimble fingers, despite the frozen look of shock written across his face. How adorably innocent, to be so easily embarrassed Draco thinks. He supposes he used to be like that once upon a time but hearing the screams and pleas of terror and pain of their ‘guests’ chosen ‘partners’ every night, made his innocence the stuff of fairy tales. Draco glares at Potter and his big doe-like eyes. If Potter just minded his own business, if he just left Draco and his family alone none of this would have happened. They would still be safe and whole.

“Stay away from me, Potter, if you know what’s good for you.” Draco barks in warning, knowing the gormless pillock wouldn’t be able to resist keeping close to him after a pronouncement like that.

Draco stalks away without a backwards glance.

*****

Harry stares after Draco’s form confused as to what just happened.

“I didn’t know you fancied cock, Potter. I would have been the first to offer my services.” Goldstein says in an oily voice.

Harry grimaces: he always thought that Goldstein was a slimy git, and now he has his proof.

“I don’t,” Harry says, in a tight voice as he stands up.

This is the problem with Ravenclaws he thinks, they never know how to mind their own business.

“So, you only want Draco's cock? Not that I can say I blame you, I rather like it myself.”

Harry feels a blush burning across his face.

“No, I don’t want anyone’s c-ock.” he says, forcing the word out past his embarrassment and Goldstein’s knowing eyes,

“And you're with Malfoy, why would you be interested in me?”

“Together?” Goldstein smirks at him, “Oh you are adorable, Potter, no wonder Malfoy’s smitten.”

He signs at Harry’s confused expression.

“I’m not with Malfoy, we are just…letting off a little steam.”

Goldstein laughs at the stunned expression on his face.

“I at least finally have an answer for why he wanted me to glamour my hair black and messy all those times last year,” Goldstein says running a wistful hand through his blonde locks and waltzing out of the library.

*****

Draco carefully looks around at the students around him. When he sees everyone focused on their work, he dumps a valve of his salvia into the steaming potion. His eyes lost in thought, watch intently as thick pink clouds billow out of the mixture, swirling and churning until they dissipate. The liquid beneath takes on a pearly sheen, reflecting the dim candlelight in the dungeon lab. He inhales deeply, taking in the warm, comforting scents of broom oil, lilies, and golden syrup. A year ago, this familiar aroma would have brought visions of his Pureblood husband and their future children to his mind. But now, brewing potions feels like a tedious waste of time compared to his other responsibilities: fixing the vanishing cabinet in the Room of Requirement, carrying out his plan with the cursed opal necklace, and keeping his fellow Slytherins away from Potter. Each task monumental to the goal of saving his parents and he knows he must stay focused and determined if he wants to succeed.

Only today he finally has a use for his classroom project. 

“I don’t know what I am doing wrong, I followed the instructions exactly,” Pansy growls under her breath. Draco looks up from his potion, his white face feeling blotchy from the fumes and frowns into her cauldron.

“It looks fine to me.” he says in a dismissive voice returning to his work.

Pansy gives him an incredulous look. Draco imagines she is waiting for him to glance back at Potter, preparing to sneer as his potion turns a sickly shade of puke green or orange to match girl Weasel’s hair. Maybe make a joke about how the troll blood smell of the potion means his future spouse is part troll or something equally droll.

“But Potter’s is mauvelous and mine is carnation.” Pansy hisses.

“So?” Draco says with a shrug.

Despite the tension brewing in the air from the war his classmates still seem to waste brain space to obsess over petty things like who did better than who on a class assignment. It drives Draco mental to listen to them. He wants to scream at them too notice the war happening around them.

“There's a big difference between those two colours! Amortentia at its best is mauvelous.” Pansy drawls in a superior voice.

She watches in irritation as Potter takes a vial of his potion to Slughorn, receiving a much higher grade than she ever managed in this class.

“If you say so,” he says with a careless shrug not able to summon the interest of the old him at Potter miraculously getting good at potions.

This newfound skill will not prevent or help him kidnap Potter, therefore it doesn’t matter.

He can tell Pansy wants to say something about his lacklustre attitude to his old favourite victim but dares not when she doesn’t know where his family stands with the Dark Lord due to her own family's lack of importance.

“Feel free to bring a date to my little gathering next week.” Draco hears Slughorn tell a blushing Potter.

Potter stutters something incomprehensible to the bumbling idiot and makes his way back to his seat with a wary glance at Draco. Draco gives him a nasty smile, his sharp eyes noticing the piqued interest on the faces of the green-clad students around him. He resists the urge to grind his teeth in territorial irritation, something must be done about them. Draco waits until Slughorn wonders off, disappearing into the storeroom before saying,

“Good luck finding a date Potter. One has to wonder if you are capable of getting one after your performance at the Yule Ball and your supposed kiss with Chang last year.”

Potter turns back to look at him with a triumphant expression on his face, which Draco is not expecting.

“Jokes on you Malfoy, I already have a date.”

He should be thrilled, it means that no other Slytherin can ask Potter out. For reason the thought sends a bolt of anger through him. Who is this person who dares to date Potter?

“A date with the mudblood or the Weasel doesn’t count, Potter,” Draco replies with a smirk.

“It’s not Hermione or….Ron. It’s someone so unexpected your pea-sized brain would never think of them.” Potter says though his face shows some discomfort at the mention of his best friends name and Draco vaguely remembers the ridiculous prejudice that muggles hold about same sex relationships.

Must be the she-beast then. 

“Did you finally take pity on Weaslette and ask her out? She’s been panting after you like a bitch in heat.”

Potter’s face spasms, looking awkward for a moment before transforming into anger.

Hmm, Draco thinks, so her feelings are finally returned by the great Saviour. Let the Weasels rejoice that money will finally fill their empty coffers.

“Don’t call her that,” Potter growls.

“Ah, it is her. I can only imagine what your children will look like with her hair colour and your messy bird's nest of a hairstyle. A true match for the ages.”

Potter surges forward with raised fists, only to be held back by the mudblood.

“Harry, it’s not worth it.” the mudblood says, putting a hand on Potter’s shoulder.

“Yes, hide behind your little friends like you always do.”

From the expression on Potter’s face Draco knows that the only thing that saves him from a painful hex is the return of Slughorn. Potter looks like he could kill him with his glare alone and a bit of fear slides in his gut at the power in those green eyes. It’s worth it though. Greengrass and Shinohara have lost the look of interest they developed when Slughorn mentioned Potter not having a date. He couldn’t risk either one of them slithering up to Potter and stealing him away before Draco enacts his plan.

Chapter Text

You set sail alone, there is no crew
No one on the deck who can help you
This is all your own battle to win
This is your ship and you are the captain

-Fin Argus

Draco's heart pounds as he creeps through the shadowy corridors of Hogwarts, his footsteps muffled by a carefully cast silencing charm. Ahead, the tall figure of Albus Dumbledore moves with surprising swiftness for a man of his age.

For weeks, Draco has been searching for a weakness, any vulnerability in the old wizard's routine. In the beginning he thought him a tottering fool walking in mindless circles but nights of coming up empty teaches him otherwise.

The more he follows the more he observes moments when the age creased face shifts from vacant complicity to cold calculation and back again. The changes happen in the blink of an eye, his aunts training the only thing that allows him to catch it. It makes him shudder each time it happens reminding him too much of the Dark Lord when he is considering which prisoner to make his pet’s dinner. It pains him to admit that the facade appears better than even his father's who he modeled his own after. 

Dumbledore pauses at an intersection, his long silver beard gleaming in the moonlight streaming through a high window. Draco presses himself against the cold stone wall, hardly daring to breathe.

The Headmaster seems distracted, muttering to himself as he turns a ring around and around on his blackened finger. Loosening it with every turn.

Suddenly, a loud crash echos from the dung bomb that Draco set on a timer in a distant corridor. Dumbledore's head snaps up, his attention diverted. In his haste to investigate, the ring slips from his finger, landing on the stone floor with a soft clink.

Draco watches, scarcely believing his luck, as Dumbledore hurries away without noticing the dropped item. He waits, counting to thirty in his head, before creeping forward.

There, on the floor, lays a simple black stone set in an old ring. It looks unremarkable, yet Draco feels a strange pull towards it as if it calls to him. He glances down the corridor where Dumbledore has disappeared, then back at the ring.

With a quick movement, he scoops up the ring, surprised by its warmth in his palm. Whatever this is, it has to be valuable to Dumbledore. And that makes it valuable to Draco's mission.

As he pockets the ring and slips away into the darkness, Draco can't shake the feeling that he's just changed the course of everything.

If only he knew how right he is.

*****

At ten minutes to eight, Harry emerges from the Gryffindor common room and meets Luna in front of the bronze eagle knocker that guards the entrance to Ravenclaw tower. She greets him with her usual dreamy smile, her radish earrings swaying gently from her ears. Her robes are a patchwork of fabrics, each one vibrant and unique as if she had sewn random scraps together. He can't help but imagine Malfoy wearing a similar outfit, their blond hair and sharp features making them look like siblings. To avoid any misunderstanding, he stifles a laugh and smiles warmly at Luna instead.

“Your outfit is as unique as you, Luna,” Harry says for lack of anything better to say. 

He really is pants with girls. Miraculously Luna beams softening any resemblance she bears to Malfoy and says,

“Your outfit suits you too Harry.” 

Harry smiles. Hermione helped him pair his black dress robes with an emerald undershirt that she said brought out his eyes. She also taught him some of the spells she used to wrangle her hair into place during the Yule Ball and let him borrow her Sleazy Hair potion. He must admit he looks pretty good for him. 

“Thanks,” Harry says as they make their way to the party. 

Harry immediately feels overwhelmed when they step into the party and Professor Slughorn yells as he embraces Harry, 

“Harry my boy! So glad you could make it.” 

Every eye in the place looks at him with great interest and people start clamouring around him to talk to him. Harry does his best to smile and nod at everyone, trying not to grimace as they ask insensitive questions about his scar and what he remembers from that night. They poke and prod at him like a museum display until they realise they won’t get anything interesting out of him.

Girlish giggling draws his attention away from his fervent admirers, his eyes catching on a umber-skinned boy that makes his mouth unhinge. The boy, as if noticing his effect, gives him a knowing smirk, his fingers playing with the ends of his garnet ponytailed hair that looks like someone soaked in blood. All the while Harry drowns in his deep reddish-brown eyes that seem to take the measure of his soul.

“A vampire. I’ve read they are supposed to be very alluring,” Luna’s ethereal voice says breaking the spell on him, “Though I still favour Gulping Plimpies for looks,”

Harry laughs as he steals his eyes back from the devilish beast, only Luna would see a dangerous vampire and call him ugly. The vampire seems to have heard her and frowns in response. 

“Oh, Harry that is Sir Hippolytus, he is the leading expert on Gulping Plimpies. Let’s go greet him.” Luna says in an excited voice, pulling him further into the crowd.

During the first half of the Slug Club party, Harry uses Luna as a shield to keep people away from him. People who come up to talk to him get thrown off by the strange things that come out of her mouth and quickly find other conversation partners. This works out well until Lady Equoren, a centaur decides to stick around starting a discussion about a celestial story involving two snakes and a hunter that Hermione would find fascinating but goes right over his head. Harry endures it until Luna turns to him with a smile and says, 

“Draco is a Gemini.” 

“Okay….” Harry says with a shrug, thinking this is the only safe response.

He didn’t want to know what Luna might say if he said I know.

He still feels a little wary about the topic of Malfoy around her after the incident in the Great Hall on their first day back. The centaur looks at Harry with curiosity not usually seen in their kind in regards to humans, especially wizards. 

“You two must be friends then.” the centaur guesses.

“Yes, Luna is a great friend,” Harry says only half listening. 

The centaur looks at him in confusion, “I meant the human named Draco. Luna informed me that you are a Leo. Leos and Gemini are known for the tight bonds they form between each other.” 

Harry startles at the mention of him and Malfoy being friends. It’s the strangest idea ever, belonging better in an alternate universe. 

“We are not friends,” Harry spits out when he recovers himself, “We are nemeses.” 

“Are you referring to enemies?” 

Harry frowns at the distant way that word portrays their relationship. Voldemort and he were enemies. Malfoy and him were something much more complex. 

“It's more personable than just two people fighting against each other,” Harry says. 

“I’m not familiar with this human concept, then.” the centaur says with a bland face. 

Harry shrugs, not sure how to describe to an outsider their volatile relationship that his closest friends at times struggle to understand. 

“Draco is the moon to Harry’s sun,” Luna says simply. 

To Harry, those strange words make little sense unless she means that Draco is bound for a path of darkness with Voldemort and Harry to a path of light with Dumbledore. It seems to clear things up for the centaur though because she nods, and they both fall back into an easy discussion about the stars.

Harry listens with mounting boredom before giving in and walking away. He drifts through the crowd until he finds a closed door that opens into an empty sitting room filled with couches. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves cover the walls with cracked leather covers and various magical objects. He feels his heart rate slowing down and lets the noise of the party fade into the background as he wanders around the room exploring the contents of the shelves and nursing his butterbeer.  

“I could help you with your little problem.” a soft voice whispers in his ear, causing cool breath to caress his neck. 

Harry jerks, dropping his drink with a smash of glass and turns in surprise, taking in the stranger who regards him with a wicked expression of mirth. His eyes follow the lines of thin, tight black pants and a high-collared white frilly shirt that emphasises the dark colour of his skin. Soft garnet braids tumble from his head and frame eyes that are now more red than brown. Harry instantly recognizes him as the vampire surrounded by all the girls when he and Luna first walk into the party. He wonders which ‘little problem’ the vampire refers to. Voldemort, or his failing grade in Defense? Or the raw uncontrollable power slamming at his insides, desperate to be unleashed, his unshakable loneliness despite being surrounded by people on all sides. 

“I believe I owe you another drink,” the boy says instead with a soft laugh. 

He scrunches up his face in disgust at the mess before darting forward and snatching the wand out of Harry's pocket with lightning speed. With a flick of his wrist, the shattered pieces of glass began reassembling themselves into the shape of a bottle. The once-spilled liquid flows effortlessly back into its container, leaving the floor spotless. Handing a stunned Harry the newly restored bottle, the boy's cold fingers brush against his, causing him to shiver.

“You are the vamp-ire” Harry stutters. 

What a keen observation, Potter. Malfoy’s voice whispers in his head.

“That’s what I am, not who I am, sweet one,” the vampire says, extending his bloodless hand, “My name is Sanguini Ashe, it is a pleasure to meet you, Harry Potter.” 

“Don’t call me that,” Harry growls. 

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he realises that maybe it is not a good idea to back-talk an all-powerful vampire wizard without a wand, but as Hermione says foresight is not one of his strengths. 

To his luck, the vampire smiles, instead of draining him. 

“I think you meant to say the pleasure is all mine.” the vampire mock whispers at him, in a laughing voice, “Or have human customs changed since I last spoke to one?”

Harry frowns at him as he hesitantly takes his hand. When a shock of cold goes up his arm, he yanks it back. He pulls it to his chest, with a wary expression on his face, longing to cast a warming charm, or better yet a shield.

“I do apologise, I forgot about our difference of temperature and the discomfort your kind feels upon touching us,” Sanguini says with a small smile impish on his luscious predator lips, making Harry doubt him.

Harry’s distrust is further sparked the longer it takes the vampire to return his wand.

“Give me my wand back,” Harry mutters. 

Sanguini shakes his head as if to say no can do. Harry seethes in frustration as he lunges to grab it, but the vampire holds it out of reach, setting it on a high shelf.

“You don’t need to defend yourself. I just want to talk to you.”

Harry glowers, not believing him for a second and crosses his arms against his chest.

“What do you want?” Harry asks, feeling cagey beneath those all-seeing eyes. 

“To offer myself as an ally sweet one and to grant you a boon.” the vampire says in a mysterious voice.

Harry regards him with suspicious eyes. 

“What sort of boon?” 

“A mutually beneficial one, I assure you,” Sanguini says, taking a step forward towards Harry, the fabric of his pants straining against the powerful muscles in his legs with every movement. 

Harry in turn takes a step back. 

“Why would you, a dark creature, want to align yourself with me?” Harry asks, with wary curiosity.

“Dark times are approaching for humans, and that affects my kind when you are our main food group.” 

Harry feels a thrill of unease, pounding through him and takes another step back. His eyes narrow, not appreciating being called food. Sanguini tracks his movements with a playful smile.

“I still don’t understand what it is you are offering me?” 

Sanguini takes another step forward and Harry moves back again in a strange dance.

“I think it would be better if I showed you, preferably somewhere out of sight of so many students, sweet one,” the vampire purrs. 

Harry takes one wild guess at what the boy is offering. Or more likely what he wants from Harry.

“Thanks for the offer, but I’m good,” Harry says, trying to move away, back towards the crowds of people. 

Sanguini lunges at Harry, trapping him against the dungeon wall with a hollow thud. He cages him in with his overpowering strength, slamming his hands on either side of Harry's head and pressing their bodies together in a suffocating grip. Despite feeling his magic surge up to protect him, Harry knows he is defenseless without his wand to filter the magic- risking not only his own life, but the entire school's destruction if his powers overwhelm him. Without a wand things around him tend to go boom.

Sanguini hungrily sniffs at Harry's neck, causing him to writhe while the vampire groans against his skin,

“Mmmm…. You smell like golden syrup and butter cookies.” 

“Get off me.” Harry hisses in a hoarse voice as his own senses get assaulted by the mixed scents of coppery blood and roses.

A sharp growl cuts through the scene causing them both to freeze. 

“I knew you fancied dangerous redheads, but isn’t a vampire a bit overkill, Potter?” Malfoy draws in a lazy voice from the doorway. 

Malfoy's body is tense, coiled like a venomous snake ready to strike. His face contorts with possessive rage as if daring anyone else to touch his favorite victim. Harry can't help but think of his cousin Dudley, who would fly into a violent frenzy whenever someone challenged him. It's a familiar pattern that makes him wonder how Malfoy would react to being told of their shared similarities.

The vampire raises his eyebrows at Malfoy in amusement, his nostrils flared. His face moves into an exaggerated look of disappointment as he looks at Harry.

“I didn’t realise you were spoken for, sweet one. I was looking forward to getting to know you better, but such is the way of life,” the vampire says in a mournful voice, a lingering hand running down the side of Harry’s chest.  “A waste though really, you have such…spirit, I’m not sure how I’ll replace you.” 

Malfoy follows the movement with narrowed eyes looking like he wants to rip the limb clear out of Sangini’s body. It's a strange emotion for the Slytherin Ice Prince to wear in regard to Harry, almost like he cares. Then Harry remembers how much of a blood purist he is and thinks Malfoy must be angry that a wix is mingling with what in his eyes is inferior blood. 

Or is it the fact that it is a boy that presses up against Harry that bothers Malfoy. Harry grew up around muggles who tormented anyone with different tastes, so wix like Malfoy being the same way wouldn’t surprise him. 

Sanguini laughs, leaning closer to Harry until their chests touch.

“I’m not-” Harry starts to say, before Sanguini cuts him off, running a cool finger across Harry’s lips. 

He recoils under the vampire's gentle caress, his skin crawling with a mix of fear and planted desire. No one has ever touched him like this before, and as much as he tries to resist, he finds himself getting lost in the crimson haze of the vampire’s gaze. Malfoy stiffens, his body radiating tension as if he struggles to keep himself in check in.

“Shush, the adults are talking, sweet one.” Sanguini murmurs. 

Harry scowls and Malfoy snorts, trying to look causal and uncaring and failing.

“Drain him dry if you want, but Potter won’t make a very good meal, he’s too malnourished, and skips too many meals. He’s a joke of a Saviour when it comes to taking care of himself.” Malfoy says in an unaffected voice. 

Sanguini face adopts a questioning look as his hand slips under Harry’s shirt and runs down Harry’s chest again, slower this time, his fingers lingering on the skin stretch tight over each exposed bone and then pausing on the hollow dip of his stomach, giving it a teasing stroke. The gentle touch sends a strange calming energy through him, but unlike with the imperius curse that Harry’s brain easily fights back against, he fails to push against its cloying powers. The ancient sensation makes the other curse seem immature and young in comparison. The feeling forces Harry to bite back a gasp as he shivers from the cold. Getting felt up by a creepy vampire is not how Harry thought his night would go.

“That’s rich coming from you. When’s the last time you ate, Malfoy?” Harry forces out around the fog in his head, hoping to distract the vampire from touching him like that again.

”Powerful, aren’t you,” the vampire murmurs with a smirk, pressing down a little harder as he continues with his disorienting stroking, seeming satisfied as Harry falls into a strange half daze underneath him. 

Harry floats feeling warm, warm, warm, each searing stroke ending with small explosions of liquid heat. 

“As curious as I am to see how you would react to someone else sampling his blood, young one, I don’t think I will tempt it,” Sanguini says with a smirk, cupping the back of Harry’s neck with a cool hand, his thumb pushing against his pulse point.

A niggling thought in the back of his head tells him he needs to fight hold but he resists no more than a rag doll under the vampire’s careful ministrations.

“A bit of advice moving forward if you do not want others to go after his neck, consider not leaving it so bare.”

The vampire presses hard against his pulse and he feels the suppressed strength behind the gesture, knowing it would take nothing for the vampire to gouge a hole in his neck. Malfoy must sense this too because he freezes his eyes zeroing on the spot. 

Sanguini studies Malfoy for moment before releasing Harry with a light chuckle. Within seconds Malfoy stalks across the carpeted floor and snatches up Harry’s hand, squeezing it tight, yanking Harry close to his side. He almost falls into Malfoy but his battle-practised feet keep him from tripping. Malfoy reaches up with his superior height and grabs Harry’s wand from the shelf before dragging him through the room, muttering A vampire, really Potter, could you be more of an imbecile? the entire way. If Harry stopped and thought for a moment, he would have fought against Malfoy’s punishing grip but the events around him swirled too fast for him to consider a sane thought.

“We will be waiting for you, Draco, when this all ends.” the vampire says, giving Harry a sad look, the first genuine looking expression to grace his features, “You belong with your kind.”

The shock of the statement brings Harry back to himself. He will never like Malfoy or ever reconsider being friends with him, but he resents the clear ownership in that statement. It reminds him of the expectations of the Order of the Phoenix pressing down on him and before he knows it the words that he never musters up the courage to speak for himself slip out of his mouth. 

“He’s not yours to claim.” Harry hisses, as he tries to pull out of Malfoy’s grasp.

Malfoy tightens his hold and Harry stops fighting lest he lose the rest of his circulation. Malfoy shoves Harry’s wand into his hand and pulls him the rest of the way out of the room.

The vampire’s responding laugh sounds hollow, seeming to cause Malfoy to drag Harry even fasting out of the room making Harry almost miss the vampire’s last muttered words, 

“Oh to be young enough to still believe in the illusion of choice,” 

Malfoy, so intent on leaving the room, doesn't notice a familiar dark-skinned individual in front of him until he runs smack into him. Zabini turns to berate whoever dared to knock against him and then spots Malfoy. His eyes widening in shock.

“Draco, what are you doing here?” Zabini’s suspicious voice asks.

Malfoy immediately drops Harry’s hand and steps away from him, in an obvious attempt to put distance between them. 

“Crashing the party of course,” Malfoy says this time managing to pull off his bored drawl.

“Did Potter sneak you in?” 

A wicked smile spreads across Malfoy’s mouth, “No Potter has been too occupied offering his neck up as a hors d'oeuvre to a vampire. Shame I walked in before it finished him off.” 

“Oh, piss off, Malfoy, he wasn't going to eat me,” Harry says trying to convince himself almost as much as he is Malfoy.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Malfoy says with a wink.

Zabini watches their exchange with a fascination that Harry knows bodes badly for future him. Malfoy scans the party with disinterest and yawns.

“As riveting as this is, I have better things to do,” Malfoy says with an apathetic smirk.

He sends Harry a parting glance as he walks out of the party, tossing over his shoulder, 

“Try not to attract the most dangerous thing in the room while I am gone, Potty.” 

Harry is too stunned to come up with a proper reply. 

“That was strange,” Harry says to no one in particular. 

Zabini narrows his eyes at him. 

“Gryffindors,” he says with a shake of his head, “I pity the whole naive lot of you.” 

He walks away leaving Harry even more confused than he started.

****** 

Draco's blood boils with rage, each step he takes away from the vampire only increases his desire to unleash his anger on something, anything. He paces back and forth in front of the come-and-go room, imagining it as a duelling room. When the door appears, he yanks it open with such force that it nearly breaks off its hinges. Slamming it shut behind him, he can already feel the adrenaline in his veins. Without hesitation, targets materialize on the wall in front of him - each one adorned with a braided wig of blood-red hair and sharp, fangs.

The smile that spreads across Draco's face promises of death as he reaches for his wand and stalks towards them. It's almost comical, really - the supposed Saviour of the wizarding world nearly brought down by a mere creature of the night. But in this moment, all Draco can focus on is exacting revenge. His grip tightens on his wand as he envisions the monster teasing its elongated fangs along Potter's unmarked throat. Seeing Potter trembling under the unnatural press of his body. Hearing Potter sound more and more aroused with each hitched breath and tell-tell whimper. The thought makes Draco growl and he shakes his head vigorously, trying to rid himself of the sickening images.

Potter better thank his lucky stars that it benefits him to keep the Chosen One alive for now, otherwise Draco doesn’t like Potter’s chances of making it to the end of the year. Draco brandishes his wand as he stands across from the targets, letting his anger burn through him as he mulls over what spell he wants to use. Then he remembers the last spell Aunt Bella taught him during the summer holidays. 

“Quinque pilas ignis.” he barks, his mouth a hard determined line. 

Five fireballs appear in the air in front of him, and with a wave of his wand, they hurtle towards their targets. They go up like flash paper, missing only the unnatural screams of the real creatures. He imagines one day soon he will get the opportunity to use this spell on Potter. Then he will know the consequences of wronging a Malfoy. 

*****

Draco sneaks back into the Common Room at midnight, greeted by the not so surprising sight of Blaise and Pansy cuddled up on one of the couches, snogging. Draco gives them a disgusted glance wondering how they summon the desire for that in the middle of a war. When they see Draco they break apart neither one looking embarrassed as they narrow their eyes at him.

“Where have you been?” Blaise asks in a suspicious voice, “The party ended hours ago.” 

“That is none of your business,” Draco says in a cold cut-off voice.

Pansy casts a silencing charm around them before she asks her next question even though they are the only ones here.

One could never be too careful in the Slytherin Common room. 

She gives him an imploring look, “Draco, I know we don’t always have the most Hufflepuff way of showing it, but we care about you and we are worried.” 

Draco feels the low simmer of icy anger in his stomach and resists the urge to hex her for her hypocrisy. He still remembers, fourth year after the Yule Ball all too vividly and how she told everyone what he got up to with the Durmstrang boy. 

“I’m fine, I have everything under control,” he says dismissively. 

“But what do you have under control, Draco? Is it something to do with your family?” Pansy says. 

She always reads him too well for comfort. 

“My parents are as safe as they can be with our…. houseguests,” he lies in a snide voice.

“Potter then?” Blaise asks, “Don’t think I forgot that I saw you at the party holding his hand.” 

Draco scowls in disgust remembering Potter’s warm sweaty hand crushed between his fingers and his nervous green eyes. The one-time Draco needed Potter to be the quick-witted and self-reliant Saviour and he failed him.

“Is something going on between you two? Is that why you are always disappearing from meals at the same time and why you stop any other Slytherin from going near him?” Pansy asks, her voice dangerous and low, Because this would be a very bad time to indulge in your crush,”

Draco fights back a frozen laugh at how far off the mark they are. 

“Congratulations you uncovered my nefarious plot, I’m buggering Potter. There’s just something about that rat nest hair and those slime-green eyes that do it for me” Draco says in a frigid voice. 

They relax noticeably and Draco scowls, irritated that a part of them really believed he could sink so low as to pursue the Boy Who Lived. 

“Oh, we know how you feel about his features.” Blaise says snorting despite himself, “You wrote that adorable little love note in second year and then tried to pass it off as the girl Weasley’s.” 

“I did not.” 

“Oh, I remember that” Pansy says with relish, “Didn’t it go something like, his eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad,”

“His hair is as dark as a piece of coal.” Blaise chimes in. 

Blackboard Draco, mentally corrects him, then berates himself for playing along even in his head.

“I wish he was mine, he's really divine,”

“The hero who conquered the Dark Lord.” Blaise finishes. 

“How Potter ever convinced himself she wrote it is beyond me. All those cowardly plebeians call him You Know Who. Only one of us would be respectful enough to call him the Dark Lord.” 

Draco thinks the title is more out of fear than respect, but he keeps that thought to himself.

“You two laugh it up if you want, I am going to bed.” he mutters, heading his dorm, as they both break out into a fit of giggles. 

Once in the dorms Draco heads to the boy showers and lets the hot water pound into his skin washing away the scent of Potter that lingers in his nose. He massages his familiar spearmint scent shampoo into his hair letting himself relax for the first time tonight while surrounded by empty stalls. As he changes into his nightclothes he glances at Theo’s bed. He still hasn’t talked to him since that incident on the train, saying that he wants an apology first before he forgives him. It’s such a Hufflepuff sentiment it makes Draco sick. Love he decides is the most dangerous emotion of all, posing an even greater risk of death than the Dark Lord himself. 

*****

A couple weeks pass with no new movements from Malfoy which leaves Harry on edge. Malfoy still sneaks around the castle disappearing off the map during meal times and late at night, but despite following him, Harry feels no closer than before to figuring out what he is up to. What’s odder still are Malfoy’s constant interventions anytime anyone on Slytherin tries to approach him or talk to him. On Thursday in Defense, Dora Murk of Slytherin eyed Harry hopefully when Snape called everyone to partner up, but then Malfoy swooped in to take her place.

Snape gave Malfoy a strange look, but otherwise left it alone. While Malfoy left him sweaty and bruised a niggling part of Harry felt like he held back for some reason. It happened again in the Great Hall before dinner when Owen Pandit, a Slytherin fifth year, asked him for help in Transfigurations and Malfoy stalked up to where they stood, insulted Harry’s ability to tutor and demanded that he help Owen instead. Owen had tried to refuse, but after the look Malfoy gave him, he relented. Harry didn’t know what to make of it to say the least.

It was after Slug Club that the third strange occurrence took place. 

“Harry my boy, why don’t you stay back for a moment, I have something that might interest you.” Professor Slughorn says as the rest of the Slug Club comes to a close.

 Harry watches in envy as the rest of his classmates leave to return to their warm dorm rooms. Professor Slughorn shuffles behind his desk, rearranging his no doubt large assortment of gifts to find the one he wants to show Harry. He pulls out a large wicker bastle stuffed to the brim with small glass bottles, each pictured with different desserts drawn on their colourful labels. 

“An entire basket of limited edition butterbeer flavours!” Professor Slughorn exclaims radiating excitement. He looks at Harry in expectation and Harry tries to summon some sort of emotion when all he wants to do is lay down.

“Umm…cool,” he says.

“Very cool, my boy! I have been collecting these for many, many years now, and my students often send them to me whenever they come across a new one during their travels." Professor Slughorn continues. 

Harry stifles a yawn wondering how long he needs to stay to be considered polite. 

“Which ones are your favourite?” Harry asks, pretending to be interested.

 “Oh, goodness, Mr. Potter, you can’t just drink limited edition Butterbeer. It is for display only.” 

“Oh.” Harry says, losing his last bit of hope that this staying back will at least get him a cool story to brag about, preferably to Malfoy. 

Professor Slughorn’s eyes soften and he pulls one of the bottles from the basket handing it to Harry.

 “I’m sure just one won’t hurt. I’ve heard through the grapevine that you favour Treacle Tart.” 

Harry holds the bottle in curiosity, looking at his favourite tart pictured on the label. He pops open the cork and is amazed by the familiar flavour that slides down his throat. 

Warm and sweet with an edge of something else, something almost minty with a hint of apple. Harry dumps the rest of it back in one gulp hoping it means he can leave sooner. 

“Delicious.” Harry says, licking the last drop off his lips. Professor Slughorn nods with a creepy calculating smile.

“I agree, Mr. Potter. It was very generous of Mr. Malfoy to gift it to me. I think he will make a fine addition to the Slug Club.”

 “Mal-foy” Harry sputters, fighting to not gag on his name, the taste of the butterbeer sour on his tongue.

 “Yes, yes fine boy, unfortunate what happened to his father.” Professor Slughorn tuts as if Malfoy senior caught a rare illness instead of winding up in prison. 

His stomach gives an odd gurgle and Harry frowns at the sharp pain starting in his head, feeling lightheaded. He bets the contents of his Gringott vault that whatever Malfoy added to the drink caused it. 

“Sir, please excuse me. I think I need to go to the hospital wing.” Harry says, stumbling towards the door.

 Professor Slughorn jumps from his seat after him. 

“Mr. Potter, allow me to accompany you…” Professor Slughorn starts to say, before Harry’s vision blurs. 

His legs turn to jelly and he feels himself start to trip. He throws out his arms to catch himself, only to be caught against a strong warm chest emitting the most amazing smell. His heart, which started to feel slow and sluggish in his chest, picks up its pace, his blood pumping in his veins. Feeling overwhelmed, Harry buries his face in the soft fabric he rests on, breathing in the heady scent of spearmint, apples and the musk of dried plants. In the back of his mind, he registers how taunt the body he leans against goes.

 “Mr. Malfoy, how peculiar we were just talking about you,” Professor Slughorn says in surprised delight. 

At the name Malfoy, feels a deep longing awaken in him, like a magnet attaching him to the boy in front of him. He takes a steading gasp of air, the heavy scent from before further clouding his senses.

 “Is he okay?” Malf-Draco, his mind corrects, asks, his forbidding voice tinged with concern.

Harry shrinks into himself at Draco’s tone, but his mind quickly reassures him that Draco isn’t mad at him, just worried for Harry’s well-being. Because Draco cares. He cares so much that Harry would be stupid not to trust him with his whole heart. Draco wants to protect him and to do that Harry needs to do as he says. Draco would never hurt him or lead him astray. Harry smiles in contentment at his thoughts, cuddling deeper into Draco’s gentle warmth.

  “He was feeling unwell and mentioned going to the hospital wing a second ago and I of course offered to accompany him, but when you walked in he collapsed.” Professor Slughorn answers. 

Draco’s arms tighten around him and the awakened part of Harry ignites with power, spreading giddy light throughout his body. He feels accepted and desired.

“Professor, allow me to escort him,” Draco says in a quiet protective voice.

 Harry’s eyelashes flutter with the vibration of Draco’s voice against his cheek and he opens his eyes to gaze in adoration at Draco’s stubborn face. He feels a wave of oppressive warmth overwhelms his chest at the perfection of his features.

 “I’m fine, Draco,” Harry says, pushing himself away from him, ignoring the drunken way the room sways.

  Draco’s expression shutters for a moment, hate flashing across his features, before pulling into an effortless smile.

  “Good, I was worried about you,” Draco says reaching out a hand to clasp his shoulder, steadying him. 

“Professor I will take P-Harry back to his dorm, he needs rest,” Draco says, guiding Harry by the shoulder back to the door. 

“How kind of you, Mr. Malfoy, I know he’s in good hands with you,” Slughorn says.

 “A strange grin quirks on Draco’s mouth and Harry finds it hard to look away. 

“I’ll make sure he gets back alright,”  Draco says his voice sounds more like a threat, as his fingers dig into Harry’s shoulder. 

Once the door shuts Draco sidles up against Harry and wraps his long thin fingers around the top of his tie. Harry feels his face grow hot as Draco slips it out of his shirt and starts stroking it.

“Potter,” Draco purrs close to his ear. 

“Hmm?” Harry manages to choke out, his nerve endings fried.

 “I could tuck you safe and sound back into your dorm and that will be the end of it, or you could meet me after curfew for a….continuation of the evening,” Draco says with a cruel seductive smile, his implication clear.

 “Umm…” Harry says.

With his head full of thoughts of Draco’s perfection he finds it difficult to concentrate on anything else. 

“I don’t want to pressure you, of course, pet. Think it over and if you decide to, meet me outside the Slytherin dorms after curfew.” Draco croons into his ear in a silky sweet voice, the tip of his tongue tracing the shell of Harry’s ear. 

Draco releases Harry’s tie and walks towards the tower, with Harry stumbling behind him, feeling a deep appreciation for the bagginess of wizard robes with every step.

*****

Pansy swears as she rips the bottom of the page in the potions textbook in front of her with the force of her turning it. Blaise gives her an amused smile and Draco signs in frustration, pulling out his wand and repairing it.

“Are you still worried about Potter’s potion being better than yours, dearest?” Blaise asks with a smirk tearing his eyes away from Greengrass’s skirted bottom.

Pansy gives Greengrass’s skirt an interested once over as she flips her hair. She meets Blaise’s eyes and gives him a noncommittal shrug.

“If it was just once it would be a fluke, but Potter has bested me at Potions every class. It’s inconceivable. He must be cheating; I must figure out how.” Pansy growls flipping another page. 

Draco would love to blame the improvement in Potter’s grade on their senile professor, but even he sees no fault with Potter’s potions.  

He leans his head back against the emerald armchair letting the fire blazing in the Common room hearth settle him. Perfect or not his potion still affected Potter, enough to convince him he felt attraction towards Draco. He couldn’t afford to lose focus on pointless mysteries now that he was so close to his prize.

A first-year interrupts his thoughts by casting a shadow over his book. Draco raises an annoyed eyebrow at him, preening with satisfaction as he shudders in discomfort.

 “Speak,” Draco commands in a bored drawl.

 “H-harry Potter is outside looking for you.” the first-year whispers in his ear. 

With a lazy flick of his wand, two galleons appear in the hand of the first year. His eyes grow as big as the coins, and he hurries to pocket them and get back to his friends. Draco shakes his head, so easy to impress these days he thinks in disdain. Blaise and Pansy look at him in suspicion.

“What was that about?” Blaise asks.

“There’s a book in the library I want tonight, and I paid the firstie to watch the hallway until it was clear,” Draco says.

Pansy narrows her eyes at him.

“Draco, if that were the case you would have paid the boy to take the risk of retrieving the book for you, just tell us what's going on. We can’t help you if we are in the dark.” Pansy insists.

Draco is tempted for a moment and then thinks of his parents' faces when he was assigned these impossible tasks and how he only has one slim way out. He knows he doesn’t trust Pansy or Blaise not to take advantage of the knowledge to secure their own families against the Dark Lord’s unpredictable moods. His only luck in this entire situation was Blaise’s family's neutrality, Pansy’s family's low ranking that kept them out of the inner circle and Theo’s father’s ailing health that caused him to miss many meetings.

“Some tasks can’t be trusted in other’s hands,” Draco says in a dismissive voice, his implied double meaning clear enough.

 He ignores the hidden looks of hurt on their faces as he takes his time sliding off the chair and putting his books away. Pansy and Blaise’s eyes stay glued to him the entire time. No need to appear too eager, he rather keep the saviour on his toes.

He looks around in confusion as he enters the empty corridor. 

“Potter?” he hisses in a harsh whisper. 

Potter appears out of thin air inches from him and Draco stumbles back with a curse. Potter smirks as he takes in Draco’s stunned expression. 

“Did I scare you, Draco?” Potter asks with a chuckle, almost seeming more like his usual arrogant self.

Draco glares and fights the urge to shoot a sting hex at his face, thinking it might not fit the behaviour of a paramour.

“That wasn’t funny, Potter.” Draco says scowling. 

Potter only laughs. 

“Potter? What happened to, pet?” Potter asks with a sarcastic pout. 

Though Draco suspects it isn’t completely put on, he remembers how red Potter turned at the use of the endearment earlier. A slow smile unfurls over Draco’s face as anticipation and intrigue settle in next to his usual feelings of abhorrence. It had been a while since he got to enjoy yanking Potter’s strings around in all this keeping him safe nonsense. Draco almost misses the familiarity of humiliating the Chosen One and no one ever said he couldn’t have fun while he served up Potter on a silver platter to the Dark Lord. He closes the distance between them with a few steps forcing Potter to tilt his chin back to meet his eyes.

“You would like that, wouldn’t you? For me to call you that again.” 

Draco asks in an enthralling voice leaning closer until his breath brushes Potter’s lips. He watches feeling drunk with power as Potter’s eyes glaze over.

 “I-I don’t know what you're talking about.” Potter manages to stutter out.

 He knows it's the potion causing Potter to act like this, but Potter’s refusal to meet his eyes and the blush creeping up his neck makes it feel all too real. Draco leans further into Potter’s space with a predator smile that grows sharper as he hears Potter’s breath stutter.

 “Are you lying Potter?” Draco croons.

 Potter seems unconscious of his movements as he sways even closer to Draco and lets a maybe slip out of his lips in a rough voice. Draco pats him on the cheek harder than necessary and says in a sweet voice, 

“Then stop acting out, endearments are earned.” 

Potter gasps in surprise as Draco slips his hand in his and pulls him along down the corridor. 

“Draco, wait.” Potter sputters out, and Draco almost swats at him, not used to his first name falling out of the golden boy's mouth. 

Potter digs into his pocket, pulls out a blank piece of parchment and points the tip of his wand at it.

 “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.” 

Draco sucks in a startled breath as ink swirls across the page, creating a map of the castle complete with moving footprints of all its occupants. Potter and his dots stand right next to each other a little way away from the Slytherin Common room. Severus’s dot appears about to turn around the corner to where they stand. 

“Quick!” Potter whispers under his breath tossing the same invisibility cloak from the train over them both and crowding Draco against the opposite wall. 

Neither dare to say a word as Potter leans into Draco under the cloak, his face pressed into Draco’s neck. He scowls as he feels Potter’s toned chest shift against his, resenting how muscular Potter is despite his skinny frame. Draco holds his breath, counting the seconds as Severus walks past, not glancing at them. He distracts himself by examining Potter’s appearance, or at least the parts not pressed against him. Potter’s hair still looks like a home for birds and his clothes under his robes are muggle and too big on his skinny frame, but it does appear neater than usual. Like some effort was made for his sake. He wonders if he is supposed to feel touched. Mostly he wonders if Potter tries harder for Weaselette, the girl he is actually trying to woo. 

He breathes out in relief as his godfather disappears. Potter noses the hair behind his ear, sighing in a rush of hot air. A spike of aversion shoots through Draco and he feels uncomfortable, like his skin is on fire with Potter’s powerful heat burning through him. 

“You smell so good, sharp, almost herbal with hints of apple.”

 “It’s called shampoo Potter; you should try it. Maybe then you won’t smell like the Quidditch changing room.”

It’s a lie of course that Draco only admits to in the confines of his head. Potter smells…well not good, but not bad. His scent possesses a certain golden caramel sweetness that Draco finds fitting for the goody goody Saviour. Instead of moving away and getting mad, Potter chuckles, giving him a love-sick grin. 

“I love it when you get prickly, darling, it's cute.” 

“Don’t call me that, I am not your darling.” 

He suppresses a groan of frustration. Of course, the love potion Potter is more unbearable than the usual one. Draco shoves him away as he feels Potter’s lips graze his neck. He grits his teeth and snarls in frustration,

 “Stop that, Potter.” 

Unperturbed, Potter moves back in and kisses the skin below his ear, continuing to mark a line down his neck with sloppy moments of his lips, his unsteady finger skating across the waistband of Draco’s pants, as Potter shoves open his robes. Draco grabs him and yanks Potter behind him, marching him down the hall. This is not going how he pictured it at all.

 “Where are we going?” Potter whispers, giving Draco a curious look. 

“The entrance hall. I fancy a walk to Hogsmeade tonight.” He forces out, irritated that he keeps losing control of the situation. 

“Wouldn’t it make more sense to take the secret tunnel that leads to Honeydukes?” Potter asks, looking confused. 

Draco feels a spark of excitement explode in his chest. He never dreamed of the Saviour of the wizarding world to provide help in his kidnapping.

 “You know of a secret tunnel to Honeydukes, pet?” Draco demurs, his thumb brushing against the back of Potter’s hand. 

Potter looks pleased with the return of the endearment, a tentative smile spreading on his face. If only he knew it was the hated name that Pansy called him during their brief dating stint at the beginning of fourth year. He still resents her whenever she or Blaise reminds him of that time. 

“Yes, it’s behind the hunchback witch statue,” Potter says, pointing the tunnel out on his charmed map. 

Draco traces the path they need to take and swears as he sees McGonagall and Flitwick standing mere feet from the entrance.

“What’s wrong?” Potter asks, looking at him with concern. 

Draco shakes off his rising fear, determination growing in its place, there's nothing he won’t do to save his parents.  

“Nothing I can’t take care of.” He says, in a light unconcerned voice. 

If he snuck behind the professors with Potter's cloak and then stunned them, he should be able to take them by surprise. He takes the lead, dragging Potter along the corridors, and down the staircases, their footsteps whisper silent. He stops within earshot of his targets and shoves Potter into a hidden alcove in the wall. 

“Wait for me,” Draco whispers his command, his silver eyes lingering on Potter’s lips in a silent message.

Potter’s eyes grow wide, and Draco feels a little breathless as the Saviour ducks out from under the cloak and sits down on the ground like an obedient krup without complaint. Draco resists calling him a good boy and patting his head, even though previous events show Potter responds well to that sort of treatment. Strange, to find out that the Golden Boy bends so easily. 

Still under Potter’s cloak, he peers around the wall, listening to the steady rise and fall of his professor’s voices. When he hears the name, Harry, he freezes and casts a one-way silencing charm. Then slides down and leans forward to catch more. Beside him Potter yawns slumping sideways against Draco, his head cradled on Draco’s shoulder, the position knocking his glasses askew. With a biting frown, Draco ignores his revulsion at the warmth leaching into him. 

“Are you sure the defences around the boy are enough Minnie? The trace can be removed by a powerful enough dark wix.” Flitwick murmurs looking around nervously as if expecting said dark wix to jump out of one of the portraits.

 “We’ve been through this Filius, if Potter dares to take a step out of the castle, secret passageways included, Dumbledore will be alerted, and the entire school will go on lockdown. We have people monitoring all the exits of the secret passageways as well.” McGonagall says with an impatient flick of her wand. 

Draco feels himself spiralling a thousand thoughts racing through his head each more nauseous than the last. Him finally getting Potter out only to be surrounded by Dumbledore’s cronies. Him standing trial and getting sent to Azkaban. Him dying alone in his cell while his parents are tortured to death for his failure. 

“Draco,” Potter whispers, but Draco doesn’t hear him. 

“Draco,” Potter’s voice insists again, giving him a little shake. 

Draco startles, turning to see Potter’s face much too close to his own.

 Their eyes lock as a daring expression spreads across Potter’s face, his eyes drifting down to Draco’s lips. Before he thinks to stop him, Potter lunges forward and smashes his lips against Draco’s. It’s nothing more than skin against skin slamming together. Not dissimilar to a punch to the face, or at least that is what Draco tells himself as he lets Potter attempt to conquer his lips. Potter nips and licks at Draco using every tool at his rather limited disposal yet Draco refuses to open to him. Before Potter gets the idea to bite down harder, Draco shoves him backwards, the dazed look of the possessed clouding his eyes. Potter shakes his head. The clouded look clearing into an alert one.

 Draco’s heart beats wildly in his chest as he sees the angry fire burning in those blazing green eyes. He feels the burden of his lack of foresight settle on him as he remembers Potter’s ability to resist the imperius curse.

“Malfoy!” Potter growls, lunging at Draco with all his strength, trying to knock him back. 

In a rush of quick-thinking Draco stops resisting him and lets their lips collide in a stubborn heady rush. As Potter's weight settles on him and he freezes looking confused, Draco digs into his pocket and grabs the amortentia. He shoves Potter back as Potter yanks away gasping, the combined force sending Potter reeling back, arms flapping for balance. As Potter hangs suspended in the air Draco pulls his arm back and splashes the potion into Potter’s open mouth. He watches as Potter catches a large gulp full of potion and involuntary swallows. 

A love-struck look replaces the awareness and Potter crawls forward with downturned lips. Draco frowns before he shoves him back, admiring the wonder of Potter looking contrite instead of pissed. Draco straightens his touseled hair and smirks despite himself knowing Potter thinks he messed up their ‘date’. 

“Am I a bad kisser?” Potter asks in a nervous voice.

 Yes, Draco thinks, the drunk Durmstrang student he kissed in the broom closet after the Yule Ball utilised more control of his mouth than Potter. The longer it takes Draco to answer the further Potter’s face falls, until he looks near tears. Draco sighs internally. 

 “Shh pet, it’s okay.” Draco soothes, lying through his teeth as he fights the urge to snicker.

 “Can we try again; I promise to follow your lead,” Potter asks, his face painted in colours of desperation and addiction. 

Draco considers it, tempted by the offer to have him at his mercy, to press Potter against the wall and shut him up for a little while. A willing boy is a willing boy after all even if said boy is the Golden Boy.

 “You look tired. Maybe we should call it a night.” Draco says, shocked to see he doesn’t need to lie. 

Dark circles stain the bottom of Potter's eyes, and his face looks too wane and pale. Potter nods in disappointment, falling back against Draco. Draco cringes as the wetness touches him, but lets it go in the name of remaining in character.

 “I haven’t been sleeping much, nightmares,” Potter grumbles with a shrug. 

An alternate plan forms in Draco's mind at those words. He pulls out the bottle of dreamless sleep he always carries on him, pops open the cork and pours the small vial he brewed earlier into the bottle. It wouldn’t solve his problem, but it would provide a lovely spot of revenge for their failure. He hands the bottle to Potter who gives him a sceptical look. 

“Aren’t you supposed to take a Dreamless Sleep when you are already in bed?” The corner of Draco’s lips twitches. 

Potter looks so stupid with his soaked sleep-rumbled hair and droopy eyes.

 “I’ll make sure you get back safe and sound, pet, trust me,” Draco assures, giving Potter a winning smile as he wipes off his cheap crooked glasses and attempts to dry his rat nest hair with a handkerchief.

 Potter’s face heats up under Draco’s attentive hands. He figures Potter appreciates the magicless gesture since he constantly seems to forget he is a wizard and performs tasks the muggle way to Draco’s utter disgust. 

“They’re, all better,” Draco says letting his fingers smooth the droplets off of Potter’s jaw as he lowers them. 

Potter looks hesitant as he takes the bottle and brings the rim to his lips. His eyes lock with Draco and Potter gives him a small smile. Something weird in Draco squirms in disgust.

“I do trust you, Draco.” He says as he downs a large drink.

The potion’s effects are instant, Potter’s eyes drifting closed seconds later, his head growing heavy on Draco’s shoulder again. Draco gazes at Potter's relaxed face and sneers. What a twit he thinks, wondering how anyone even under a love potion could be so gullible.

Chapter Text

Oh-oh, forgiving who you are, for what you stand to gain
Just know that if you hide, it doesn't go away
When you get out of bed, don't end up stranded
Horrified with each stone on the stage, my little dark age

by MGMT

Sweat and maybe tears drip down his face as he ignores the pain in his bent aching back and the late hour on his watch. He is out of options. Out of time for another failure. His hands tighten on the splintered old wood in front of him in frustration. In fear. His first childish attempts at murdering Dumbledore failed, resulting in Katie Bell getting hurt. Then Potter escaped his grasp once again last night. He must make this cabinet work, or it will be the last thing he does.

Draco turns his head on the hard floor, groaning against the pounding in his head as the Room of Hidden Things comes into focus around him. The accursed cabinet stands in front of his prone form, mocking him for his inability to fix it. Draco pushes himself up on hands and knees shoving back against the avalanche of images and memories that assault him at once. He sorts through them categorizing the useful ones in planning his next steps and disregarding the others associated with guilt and fear. They will only slow him down.

He remembers administering the antidote to the love potion that he mixed with the sleeping draught to Potter. Then obliviating him and dumping him in the library for Filch to find. Draco spent the rest of his night obsessed working on the cabinet to no avail.

With trembling hands, Draco forces himself up from his knees and casts a quick spell to clean the dust and grime from his robes. He slips on a smirking mask, disguising the despair in his eyes. Clenching his fists, he straightens his back and strides forward with an arrogant gait. Last night's events hold little weight. There is still something to be salvaged from the wreckage of his failures and it all depends on a single boy who will be waking up soon, unaware of the role he will play in Draco's plans.

*****

Harry wakes up to a pawing at his nose. He groans and covers his face with his hands, cuddling deeper into his hard pillow. The cat persists, clawing at Harry’s pyjamas instead. 

“Hermione, your stupid cat snuck in here again,” Harry grumbles without opening his eyes, hoping it will scare the cat away and he can go back to sleep. 

 “Mr.Potter, lower your voice; this is a library.” Madam Pince's voice cuts through his sleep-foggy brain. 

Harry shoots to his feet, surprised to notice that his ‘pillow’ is an open book with a puddle of his drool staining its cover. He stares down at the title, blushing in embarrassment as he reads A Pureblood Wife’s Guide to Eliciting Spellbinding Excitement in the Bedroom. Madam Pince seems to notice too because she frowns down at her damaged book with a scowl, hissing a spell at it that cleans it and sends it flying to its proper shelf. A meow from the floor causes Harry to look down to see that the cat that woke him up is Miss. Norris, not Crookshanks. The cat rubs against Filch’s legs, purring like a psychopath.

 “Mr.Potter, sneaking into the library at night, not even the Headmaster can save you from this,” Filch says with a sneer, “Since you like breaking the rules so much maybe another walk in the Forbidden Forest will take away your arrogance” Filch grabs Harry by the collar when he tries to move away and drags him along.

 “But I don’t even remember coming to the library last night.” Harry protests, trying to break out of Filch’s strong grip. 

At a distant table, he spots a white blonde head bowed over a book, writing furiously in a notebook. “You!” Harry growls, breaking out of Filch’s grip with the force of his anger, barreling towards Malfoy and ripping the notebook from him.

 “How did you do it?” Harry demands, scanning Malfoy’s neat, precise script, looking for a clue. “Did you poison me? Polyjuice as someone I know and mess with my memories? Imperius me? And what are these strange symbols? Do they have something to do with your evil plan?” 

Malfoy looks at Harry with shock-filled eyes, which are clearly an act and backs away as if Harry is a savage animal. 

“This is a library, Potter. I came here to study, and those strange symbols as you call them are Ancient Runes which you would know if you paid attention in class,” Malfoy says with a satisfied smirk. “See?” 

Malfoy picks up the book next to him and offers it to Harry. He glares at Malfoy in frustration, seeing that the book Malfoy holds out reads, Sixth Year Ancient Runes. Filch catches up to Harry and says in a delighted voice, 

“That will be another night of detention.” 

Malfoy gives him a mocking wave as he is dragged off, mouthing what Harry thinks are the words Bye, pet. 

It makes Harry’s blood boil. 

*****

Draco frowns as Potter disappears out of the library door. The frustration he pushed away when he first woke up came back in full force. He was so close to stealing him away from his beloved Gryffindors, but then, of course, Dumbledore thought of everything. Always three steps ahead of every step that Draco takes.

To soothe himself, he remembers the image of Potter’s incensed face this morning when he read the book Draco left him on. It is a particular favourite of his mother's, so he hopes that the girl Weasel appreciates the gesture.

As much as he hates to admit it, though, it felt shocking when Potter reacted towards him in anger. After only a few hours, he got used to cuddly Potter, who thinks that Draco can do no wrong, instead of the hissing hero versus villain act of this morning. He shakes his head, clearing his jumble of thoughts. Whether Potter comes willingly on a leash or kicking and screaming, Draco will save his parents one way or another.

 Now, if he could just work detention in the Forest to his advantage. 

*****

Harry stares at the basket of shiny red apples in the middle of the table, remembering the crisp, tart smell of apples floating out of his potion and lingering in the spot of his missing memories of last night. He spies Ginny further down the table laughing with Dean and Luna, her head thrown back, spilling her red hair out behind her, her cheeks an inviting pink. 

“Does Ginny like apples?” Harry asked Ron, trying to keep the interest out of his voice. 

The last thing he needs is an overprotective brother attacking him or worse for Ron to approve and try to help him. Ron, too distracted by the array of food in front of them, doesn’t even blink an eye as he answers while heaping more Shepard’s pie onto his plate. 

“I guess. She’s into all that healthy stuff, always talking about eating right to stay in shape. Though I think her favourite fruit is cherries.” He says through a mouthful of food.

“Oh,” Harry replies, deflating in disappointment. 

Harry’s shoulders sink, and Hermione delivers the killing blow when she brings up the topic of his detention and what led to it. 

“But I don’t remember saying that,” Harry grumbles as he pushes his food around moodily on his plate. 

The grey clouds that cover the ceiling in the Great Hall crackle with lightning, reflecting his mood. 

Ron gives them a wary look as if expecting rain to pour down at any second and shrugs, 

“That’s what you said, mate. That you couldn’t concentrate in the Common Room with all the noise we were making and were going to the library, and when we offered to go with you, you said we would distract you. We fell asleep on the couches waiting for you to come back.”

Hermione pours herself another glass of pumpkin juice and gives Harry a shrewd glare. 

“Harry, it was irresponsible of you to fall asleep in the library and miss curfew. You should have set a timer on your watch to wake you up in case you did fall asleep. You can’t be too prepared.” 

“Yes, Hermione,” Harry grumbles, putting his head in his hands and looking away from her. 

“We are just worried about you, mate. You’ve been…different this year. Not sleeping as much and always gone at night.” 

Sort of hard when you have nightmares about causing the death of your godfather every night, Harry thinks bitterly.  

“What do you mean different?” Harry snaps.

 Ron and Hermione exchange a nervous look. 

“You’ve been very…focused on Malfoy this year. More so than usual.” Hermione says, but Harry isn’t listening; his eyes are across the room looking for Malfoy.

When he spies Malfoy’s empty seat next to Parkinson, he tenses, desperate to check the map but knowing he can’t pull it out now with everyone around.

 “Don’t you think it’s suspicious that Malfoy is missing from dinner the night after I get caught for ‘falling asleep in the library’? It’s even his favourite tonight, Cornish hen, he always eats two servings whenever they serve it. I bet he knows I’m on to him and is too scared to show his face,” Harry says with vehemence.

“On to him, how, Harry? You aren’t honestly going to blame Malfoy for falling asleep in the library, are you?” Hermione asks, sounding frustrated. 

“You don’t get it, Hermione! I don’t remember even going to the library, much less falling asleep there.” 

“You looked dead on your feet last night, Harry. You were so dazed I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t remember all of yesterday much less last night. You might think we haven’t noticed, but you’ve been distant. Is it Padfoot? Do you want to talk about it?” Hermione says in a soft voice, giving Harry a pleading look. 

Harry felt a sharp ache in his gut. Sirius would have believed him; he is sure of it. If only he hadn’t-, if only he was still- Harry cuts himself off, knowing finishing either of those thoughts won’t do him any good.

 “I don’t want to talk about it,” Harry mumbled, shoving his food away from him as he left the table. 

Hermione catches him on his shoulder, 

“Just know we are here for you, Harry, whatever you need,” Hermione says.

 Harry forced himself to smile and nod. They mean well, and he appreciates it; he just wished they had a little more faith in him. 

“Thanks, Mione.” He scrapes out. 

*****

Harry meets Hagrid at the edge of the Forbidden Forest for his detention, Malfoy standing next to him, his pale blonde hair illuminated in the moonlight.

“ ‘Arry!” Hagrid waves in an over-eager greeting. 

“Kind of you to finally join us, Potter.” Malfoy drawls. 

“What are you doing here?” Harry growls in irritation.

“The head of my house evidently doesn’t trust you to gather potion ingredients yourself, so he sent me to make sure you do it properly.” 

Harry scowls. 

“I’m perfectly capable at Herbology,” Harry mutters under his breath. 

“Feeling capable enough to risk Professor Snape's wrath?” 

“I’m not scared of him any more than I’m scared of little bullies like you.” 

Malfoy seethes, looking like an insult posed on the edge of his tongue, but before he can spit it out, Hagrid interrupts him. 

“All righ boys tonight yeh will be looking fer potion ingredients fer Professor Snape,” Hagrid says, handing a list to Malfoy. 

Malfoy looks over the parchment with a quick glance before shrinking it and tucking it neatly in his pocket. 

“See yeh at Midnight.” 

*****

Draco pulls out a silver compass with a snake curled around the face, examining it as the hands spin around and around. He growls, shaking it, until the hands point north. 

“Come along, Potter, you wouldn’t want to fall behind. I shan't be saving you this time,” he says, not bothering to glance back to see if he follows. 

Potter waits a moment before scampering behind him like an obedient little krup.

“This time? You cried for mummy last time and went off screaming into the woods like a baby. I don’t need you to save me, I’ll probably have to save you before the night is over.” Potter taunts. 

What Potter doesn’t know is that Draco already took out one rival Death Eater child, who currently lays stunned in a storage closet in the Dungeons. If Draco hadn’t overheard the stealthy little git, it would have been Marxley, not Draco, who led darling trusting Potter through the Forbidden Forest. Draco doubted that Marxley would have been able to withhold the desire to harm Potter during the journey either, so Potter will have him to thank for ending up at the Dark Lord’s feet relatively unharmed. Draco keeps his eyes peeled, not doubting that other Slytherins with Deatheater parents seeking glory lay in wait in the Forest to ambush them. 

“I was referring to saving you from the vampire at Slughorn's little soiree.”

“I didn’t need you to. I had it under control.” Potter says with a pout.

Draco scoffs. 

“You lost your wand to the vampire king, who was also a powerful wizard in his other life and can use any wizard's wand, no matter the allegiance. He’s just that powerful. And that’s not even mentioning his allure, which you are definitely not resistant to. So, you most certainly didn’t have it under control” 

Potter gives him a blank look.

“The vampires have a king?” 

Draco groaned, throwing back his head. “Why do I even bother? You are hopeless.” 

Potter ignores him and changes the subject. 

“Are you sure you know where we are going, Malfoy?” Potter asked in a suspicious voice. 

Finally, a pint of survival instincts. 

“Yes, Potty, this is a magical compass. It’s charmed to direct the holder towards their desired location.” 

“And that would be?” 

Home, Draco thinks. Out loud he says, 

“Towards potion ingredients, you ninny, it is the entire reason we are out here.” 

Potter grumbled, brushing up against Draco and leaning over him to get a better look at the compass. Draco ignores the desire to shudder in abhorrence and gives him a gentle shove away.

“Look, Potter, baby’s breath, go pluck it,” Draco said to distract him, pointing up ahead on the path. 

Potter frowns.

“Why do I have to go get it?” 

“It’s your detention,” Draco said with a careless shrug.

“That you caused!” Potter snarls as he stomps over to the patch of flowers, yanks the plants with rough hands from the ground and tosses them in the basket. 

If Draco had any intent of taking these plants back to his godfather, he would stop him, but he knows no one will see them but Potter and him. 

“Careful, Potter, it sounds like you are accusing me of causing you to fall asleep in the library.” 

“I am.” 

“Too bad you can’t prove it. I have an alibi.” 

“A lying Slytherin alibi.” 

Draco doesn’t argue with him. He isn’t wrong.

“That’s enough, Potter, come along.” 

“I’m not your dog.” 

Not yet, Draco thinks, entertaining the thought of playing with Potter the same way that his aunt played with her victims (and sometimes him) over the summer to pass the time. Then, he remembers Potter’s ability to resist the Imperius curse and thinks it best to surrender Potter to his quick death at the wand of the Dark Lord. 

 The rest of the night progressed in much the same way, with Draco directing Potter to pick up plants and Potter grudgingly complying. 

“Ow!” Potter says in a surprised voice.

The smell of lilies and toasted sugar filled the air as he observed the form of Potter huddled next to a Wormwood thorn bush, bleeding from a large gash on his hand.

“For the love of Merlin.” Draco hisses as he crouches down and presses his DM embroidered handkerchief against the cut to clot the blood while he fumbles for his wand. 

Draco pulled back the handkerchief from the cut as he got a good hold on his wand and pointed it at the cut, muttering a healing charm that came in handy more times than he dared to admit over the summer. He pockets the handkerchief without thinking and stands up, stowing his wand away. 

“You’re good at those,” Potter says in a blank voice, staring at his healed hand. 

Draco is glad it is dark outside as he feels himself turn pink.

“Every wix should be proficient in at least one healing spell, Potter; it’s just common sense. You’d think you would have picked up one as many times as you have ended up in the hospital wing.” Draco says in a snide voice to keep Potter from asking any dangerous questions. 

“That might have something to do with how I am usually unconscious when I am there.” Potter says equally snidely. 

“Or maybe since you have a dark wizard trying to kill you.” Draco continues as if Potter hadn’t said anything. “Knowing some healing spells wouldn’t go amiss.” 

Potter grumbles something unintelligible and then says, “Sod off, Malfoy.”

Draco feels tempted to hex him, but then remembers how close he is to saving his parents and shuts his mouth. What feels like an hour later but is most likely a few minutes he sees the trees begin to thin. He breathes out a sigh of relief, almost there he thinks. The further they walk and the more the trees thin the more the area looks familiar, until the outline of the oaf's hut comes into view. 

“FUCK!” Draco screams at the top of his lungs throwing himself to the ground. 

Or at least he does in his head. In reality he clenches his fits and grits his teeth as he pushes past Potter and he storms to the castle. He ignores Severus who is waiting for him in the Great Hall with a pinched disappointed face. 

“Draco.” Severus says in an imperious voice, “Did you think it would go above my notice that you lied, about my needing of Potions ingredients in the Forbidden Forest to Flinch?” 

“You said you would help me.” Draco says in a grating voice not bothering to slow down as he stalks in the direction of the come-and-go room. 

“I made an unbreakable vow to help you with your assigned tasks. Not with the ones you have foolishly taken upon yourself to complete.” Severus hisses, following close behind him. 

“If I let anyone get him, everything I’ve done for the other tasks will be for nothing. Even you can’t deny that.” Draco growls.

Snape ignores him.

“Did you really think that the Headmaster wouldn't set wards on the Forbidden Forest that made navigating to the other side impossible?” 

Draco didn’t, but he kept this thought to himself. 

“You are useless to me! Leave me alone, I don’t need your help, for the last time.” Draco growls. 

Severus sighs, sounding infinitely disappointed in him. Draco wants to tell him to get in line. 

“When you are willing to see reason come and find me,” he says, melting back into the shadows of the corridor.

The come-and-go room pulsates with anticipation as Draco enters, its shelves stretching endlessly towards a towering ceiling that seems to mock him. He spins in a frenzy, his wand slicing through the air with deadly precision, sending sparks flying and books exploding into fiery chaos.

But it's not enough. With each book he destroys, his panic and fury only grow stronger, fueled by the endless weight of responsibility on his shoulders. No matter how hard he tries, he can't protect and kidnap Potter, kill Dumbledore or fix the cursed cabinet. And now, tears pour from his eyes like boiling acid, burning with the frustration of being forever inadequate.

He collapses to the ground, defeated and broken, and grabs a random page to wipe away his tears. But as he looks closer, his breath catches in his throat as he realizes what it is - the missing piece to his plan. Trembling with excitement, he frantically searches for the rest of the pages, knowing that this could be his only chance at success.

It just might work. 

*****

Severus sneers at them from the front of the classroom, his expression turning conniving as Potter trails in last and slides into a table in the back. Next to the mudblood and the blood traitor of course. He feels revenge thick in the air as the words leave his godfather’s mouth.

“Potter switch with Parkinson.” Severus barks. 

Draco groans knowing this will be a long class with boy wonder sitting next to him. Pansy gives him a sympathetic look as she moves to the back to the empty table Potter sat at and Potter slides into the seat next to him in the front. The sweet smell of caramelised sugar fills his nostrils and he fights back the urge to lean forward and nuzzle his nose into the crock of Potter’s neck. He instead forces himself to focus on writing his notes and following along with Severus as he continues as if he didn’t just interrupt the flow of his speech. 

“-ampires differ from turned vampires in their increased level of strength and their greater ability to control their thirst, even in the days following their transformation. They also retain their magic if they are wix, due to still being partially alive, unlike turned.” 

“Can anyone tell me the process that ensures their grasp on sanity?” 

Draco snickers as he watches Granger exhaust herself with the waving of her outstretched hand. 

“Someone other than Ms.Granger,” Severus glowers, “Potter, perhaps?”

Severus turns his vicious sneer as Potter’s pretty green eyes widen and his face flashes first to panic and then to indignation. Draco listens as the pounding pulse in Potter’s throat racks up in speed, increasing the tempting scent and Draco’s desire to get closer. 

“No,” Potter mutters in a challenging voice, the same one Draco imagines he uses on the Dark Lord. 

“Ten points from Gryffindor,” Severus hisses, ignoring Potter’s answering glare.

Draco raises his hand without pause. 

“Mr. Malfoy,” Severus says in a bored tone. 

“Born vampires kill their first victims.” 

“Correct ten points to Slytherin,” Severus says.

“But, sir, this wasn’t in the chapter about vampires.” the Granger insists in her whiny know it all voice. 

You wouldn’t need to be taught if you had purer blood flowing in your veins, Draco thinks. It was the worst kept secret in pureblood circles, that the dirtier pureblood families possessed ties to the ancient vampires, who were the first of their kind and who long since died out. Ties that showed up in the form of creature inheritance, but unlike Veela or other more benign creatures it came with deadly consequences for the first victim. Draco shudders to think of the shame that befell any family unfortunate enough to produce one of those half breed throwbacks of the ancients. 

Severus gives her a withering glare and says in a low threatening tone, 

“Only a fool would restrict their knowledge to the textbooks assigned in class and only an arrogant fool would assume he didn’t need to read the assigned textbook at all.” 

This time Severus’s eyes rest on Potter who glares back with matched passion. 

******

“He’s a dreadful Professor!” Hermione exclaims as they make their way out to the lake after Defense. 

Harry wants to agree with her, but with the third-rate professors that they have had for Defense, he can admit Snape, unlike Lockhart, at least has a lesson plan. His class might even be interesting if it weren’t for the barely concealed insults he slings at Harry regularly. 

“He’s the worst!” Ron pipes up, always ready to take Hermione’s side these days in hopes of staying in her good graces. 

“He didn’t even include the most important part of born vampires! They don’t just kill their first victim, they become obsessed with them slowly over the time of their transformation.” 

Harry perks his head up, her words not making sense in his head. 

“What do you mean transformation, I thought that they were born as vampires?” 

Hermione’s eyes light up, a sure sign of her falling into lecture mode. 

"No, the name is a misnomer. They are not born vampires as infants, but instead transform over time" she states firmly. "They live as humans until a certain age, and then something happens to trigger the transformation." She paused, her piercing gaze scanning the courtyard. "Unfortunately, there have not been enough cases of vampire inheritance to study it properly. We do not know if it is a specific level of mental maturity or an external factor, such as a traumatic event, that prompts the change." Her words hung in the air, leaving a sense of mystery surrounding the elusive nature of vampire transformation.

“I bet there were ancient vampires that performed special rituals so that when they died or were killed they came back again.” Ron pipes in breaking the mood. 

Hermione gives him a look worthy of Professor McGonagall and opens her mouth to argue with him. Harry jumps in before she can start a fight. 

“Wait,” Harry's brow furrows in confusion. “But what would happen if a turned vampire killed their first victim? Wouldn't they also become as strong as a born vampire?”

Hermione turns to him, her eyes alight with knowledge and excitement. She can never resist responding to a question she knows the answer to.

“A turned vampire's transformation is sudden and violent, leaving them no room for choice or control. They are thrust into a new existence without any opportunity to adapt or enhance themselves. But a born vampire's change happens slowly, allowing them to weave their enhancements naturally into their bodies and make them a seamless part of their system. It gives them time to grow and evolve into something more than just a mere vampire.” As she speaks, Hermione's words flow like honey.

“Wait then how can someone tell the difference between a wix and a born vampire?” Ron asks, looking confused.

Hermione makes a distressed face as if she doesn’t like the answer to the question. 

“As they reached maturity, born vampires like wix often experienced erratic powers, changes in appetite and tumultuous mood swings. These signs were subtle at first, easily brushed off as mere coincidences or quirks of adolescence. But as time passed and the born vampire continued to grow stronger, people began to take notice. But by then, the Born- those who had fully embraced their powers- were far too formidable to be taken down by average wixs. Fear of these destructive creatures ran rampant and in ancient times if a wix seemed to be growing in power too fast they were often executed as a precaution. This fear claimed many innocent lives.”

Harry frowns. He feels a striking wave of empathy for these people who live their lives as humans and then one day are forced to reject everything they thought they were. On top of all that, if they manage to survive to adulthood, they are expected to keep on living with death on their conscience. 

“But why do they have to kill? Wouldn’t drinking blood from the chosen victim be good enough if they have all that time to develop that a turned vampire doesn’t get.” He asks.

“As the transformation nears its completion, the minds and bodies of both vampires are drained, their energy depleted from enduring the change for so long. They crave an equal transference of power to sustain them through the intense final phase of the ritual. The ancient dark magic that fuels this process is rooted in the long-lost art of Alchemy, drawing upon the deep, conflicting emotions of trust and betrayal, protection and destruction between prey and predator. In the moments before the final transformation, there is a power transfer between life and death, love and hate, creation and destruction. One wrong move spelt disaster for the vampire.”

“How do they pick their victims? I reckon they wouldn’t just want anyone if the first one is that important.” Ron asks, scratching his head.

“According to legend, the first drop of blood that passes their lips during the start of their transformation is their chosen one. They hover around this person, at first plagued with thoughts of protecting them. Fixated on not letting them spill so much as a drop of blood. The victim in turn feels a compulsion to be near the vampire, drawn in by an inexplicable pull that borders on dangerous obsession. Many soon-to-be vampires and their victims mistake this connection for the beginning stages of love or a deepening of the love they already feel for each other. However, it always ends in tragedy once the transformation reaches its peak and demands a sacrifice. They often report killing their significant other in a need for sustenance. Even for those who try to resist their urges, the intense intimacy and…particular activities associated with relationships become too tempting to resist." Hermione's voice trails off as she blushes and steals a glance at Ron, who is listening intently.

It doesn’t seem romantic at all to Harry. The entire thing reminds him of a nature documentary he watched while cleaning the sitting room at the Dursley’s where a lion ‘adopted’ a baby monkey into its pride. Ironically Petunia thought it was heartwarming. A couple of days later there was nothing left of the monkey save a blood stain on the ground, Harry sympathised with the monkey.

“So it’s like a love potion then? If the victim and the chosen don’t have a choice in the matter?” Harry asks.

Hermione looks conflicted as she considers Harry’s words.

“I hesitate to compare any two types of magic with each other, especially from two different fields and especially one that is understudied. But for a rough and short answer, they share many overlapping characteristics.” Hermione says wringing her hands.

Ron looks at Harry with wide eyes, ”I bet if you were doused with love potion powered with the spit of your chosen even you would get all lovey-dovey for them.”

Harry gives Ron an exasperated look.

“The chances of that happening are about as good as Dumbledore willingly shaving his beard,” he says.

“Yeah, mate, but it’s you. All the bad stuff always happens to you. It’s like there’s an Accio bad luck curse on you or something.”

“Ronald that’s not a real curse,

“But I bet it could be, just imagine all the bad luck in an area going to a person as soon as they walk into a new room,”

“That would be assuming that bad luck is even something that can be measured, or exists in the first place, and isn’t just something people use to justify their own failings,”

Harry fights the urge to groan and walk away.

“Where did you find this, if it wasn’t in the textbook?” Harry asks to distract her back to her favourite topic, research.

Hermione smiles deviously. 

“A book I found in the library called Tearing Down the Walls of Pureblood Culture: Hidden Secrets and Forgotten Customs. It’s by a muggle-born who married an outcast Pureblood and wrote down all knowledge that the Purebloods use to feel superior about themselves. It is banned in every bookshop in Wizard England, but I found a copy in a little shop in Wizarding China when my parents and I visited this summer.” Hermione says wearing the same expression as Ron when he wins a chess match against one of his brothers.

Harry snorts, “You really are something, Hermione.” 

*****

A couple weeks later Draco finds himself in the library. He collected all the needed ingredients for the ritual either through owl order or by stealing them from Severus’s lab. The last thing he needs is a book, preferably muggle if he doesn’t want it to trigger any of the wards that guard the castle. Draco scans the selected titles in the muggle section with disdain, mumbling the words to himself, Brain Fever, The Beauty of Men, The Ghost Road, In the Beauty of the Lilies,....Twilight. He pauses, drawn to its simple white text.

He pulls the book off the shelf examining it further. The cover imagery of white hands holding an apple reminds him of the Christian myth that Godric Gryffindor used to hoodwink muggles. It allowed them to use their magic in the open and persecute wizards who didn’t fall into line. He remembers the scene from History of Magic with the snake who is Salazar offering muggles knowledge of magic knowing it will lead to their downfall and eventual control. They picked their symbols the same way they picked them for their houses. Godric the brave golden lion and Salazar the conniving poisonous snake.

Draco reads the back of the book, his face contorting in humour,

 “About three things I was absolutely positive about. First, Edward was a vampire. Second, there was a part of him- and I didn’t know how dominant that part might be that thirsted for my blood. And third, I was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him.” 

I am absolutely positive, this is utter dribble Draco thinks suppressing a shudder. His grin widens as he continues to read the rest of the back wondering based on the synopsis who would be doing the killing, the vampire ‘lover’ as if such a thing could ever exist or the ‘brave’ muggle sacrificing herself in the name of her supposed love. This Bella character dies either way because how could someone dumb enough to fall in love with their natural predator expect to have a long life?

It is perfect.

*****

A couple of weeks pass after Harry’s detention, with no new plots from Malfoy. He feels on edge, staying up late into the night to stare at Malfoy’s dot, finding it difficult to concentrate in class because his eyes always stray to the back of Malfoy’s blonde head, missing meals to follow Malfoy's aimless walks around the school. He of course finds nothing of interest other than Malfoy disappearing off the map for hours, but there’s no way to prove he is leaving the castle to have secret meetings with Death eaters.

Harry sits at a library table with Ron and Hermione ignoring Hermione’s glare as he scans lazily over instructions for the Prince’s made-up Draught of Disease. He gives up on it keeping his attention and instead switches to the map, watching the Malfoy dot with devoted concentration.

 “What is he doing in the library?” He says with a frown.

 “I imagine he is studying, mate,” Ron says in a bored tone without looking up from his Transfiguration essay. 

“Like you should be doing Harry,” Hermione says in an arch tone raising her eyebrow at Harry’s essay he abandoned a while ago. 

“He’s plotting something, I'm sure of it.” He says in a stubborn voice, “His plan with the necklace failed, and whatever he intended to do with me in the library failed. Now he’s plotting something new. I just wish I knew what his endgame was.” 

Hermione and Ron exchange worried looks.

 “Harry just because Malfoy was looking at the same necklace doesn’t mean he had anything to do with what happened to Katie, and there is no way to prove that Malfoy had anything to do with you falling asleep in the library.”

“How does that not prove anything I saw him skulking about the Three Broomsticks before Katie had her attack. He could have Imperiused Madame Rosmerta to give Katie the necklace so she could give it to Dumbledore! He’s the only one Voldemort is afraid of so it would make sense that he would want to take the Headmaster out.”

Ron gives him a hesitant look.

 “Maybe there is something to all this, but until you have proof you can’t go to Dumbledore,” he says, but Harry isn’t listening. 

“Malfoy is in the muggle section!” Harry says excitement thick in his voice.

“And?” Hermione asks, looking confused. 

“Why would Malfoy ever go to the muggles section unless he was up to something evil.”

Hermione and Ron look at him like he lost his mind.

 “He could be doing research for class,” Hermione suggests, a helpless look in her eyes.

 “In the muggle section? I know he’s not taking Muggle Studies because he’s in Arithmancy during that block and what other class would he need a Muggle book for?” 

“He could just be reading for fun,” Ron says with a shrug. 

“But it's Malfoy. He is a Pureblood supremacist, he would never read a muggle book for fun,” Harry strains. 

“Hard to forget when you keep reminding us,” Ron mutters and Harry ignores him. 

“I’m going to go check it out,” he says standing up and grabbing his bag. 

“Harry, are you sure that's the best idea? You two are always fighting and getting into trouble. Just because you are cheating in Potions with that book of yours doesn’t mean you can slack in your other classes.”

 “I’ll be right back, Hermione, it will only take fifteen minutes,” Harry says his mind already picturing Malfoys surprised and annoyed face as Harry stops him from doing…whatever it is he’s doing. 

Harry barrels around the corner, glaring at Malfoy with suspicious eyes. 

“What are you doing in the muggle section? Plotting a curse that unleashes whenever someone touches the books? Vandalizing them with the dark mark?”  Harry demands. 

Malfoy looks up at him with a suspicious surprised expression that fades into his usual look of arrogance. 

“Oh keep your knickers on, Potter, I’m reading muggle books, which I seem to remember your little mu- band of do-gooders encouraging. I decided to finally take your advice. But go ahead and arrest me, oh great Saviour.” Malfoy sneers, offering his skinny white wrists to him. 

Harry feels his face heat up with embarrassment.

“Don’t call me that,” he mumbles.

 “Oh, is Saviour too familiar for you? Maybe you preferred The Boy Who Lived or The Chosen One,” Malfoy croons, slinking towards Harry and forcing him to back up. 

Harry shakes his head in distress, a heavy frown on his face. Malfoy's eyes take on an evil glint as a new idea seems to come to him. 

“Or maybe you’d prefer I not speak to you at all, do you want me to kneel and kiss your boots.” Malfoy sinks to his knees in one graceful move, leering up at Harry through his feathered lashes, looking for all the world like the one in control. 

Harry stumbles back into the bookshelf behind him, knocking several books off the shelf. They hit the ground with loud duds and Harry feels temporary relief that the muggle section is in a secluded part of the library lowering the chance that Madam Pince heard the books drop. He rallies his confidence and glares down at Malfoy. If he wants to play dirty with nicknames then Harry can do the same.

 “I saw you laughing, you twitchy little ferret, that is a romance book, is your love life so pathetic you have to look towards your enemy for advice?” Harry says, glancing down at the book at Malfoy’s feet, remembering seeing his aunt blushing over something similar looking few summers ago. 

He conveniently forgets the fact that he and Ron did the same thing to several of Hermione’s Veela romance novels. A patronising grin spreads across Malfoy’s thin mouth. 

“Well spotted pet, it is a romantic book, a romantic comedy,” Malfoy says, picking up his book and rising to his feet towering inches over Harry. 

His stomach drops to the floor as Malfoy’s pale silver eyes regard him. Harry opens his mouth to protest Malfoy calling him his pet, but for some strange reason, the words refuse to come out. 

“I’ve found it very enlightening,” Malfoy says with a parting menacing smile, before walking away leaving Harry gaping after him. 

*****

Draco's hands tremble as he ascendes the spiral staircase of the Astronomy Tower, his footsteps echoing in the stillness of the April night. The stolen ring weighing heavily in his pocket.

As he emerges onto the open platform, the vast expanse of the night sky stretches above him. Draco's eyes immediately seek out the stars he needs – Unukalhai in Serpens and 46 Leonis Minoris, glowing with unusual brightness among the sea of stars.

With practiced movements, he sets up his equipment: a silver cauldron, vials of rare ingredients, and the book – "Twilight" – its Muggle cover incongruous among the magical items.

Draco glances at his watch, 11:58 PM. Almost time.

He begins to chant in an ancient language, words he's spent weeks memorizing. As his voice rises and falls as he says the words not really taking them in, something about memories and sacrifices or some nonsense that doesn’t concern him in the least. Unukalhai and 46 Leonis Minoris seem to pulse in response, their light intensifying.

At the stroke of midnight, Draco raises his wand. Twin beams of starlight shot from Unukalhai and 46 Leonis Minoris, converge on the cauldron. Shimmering stardust rains down, dissolving into the midnight-blue potion with a hiss.

His heart racing, Draco reaches for the ring – the catalyst, the sacrifice of an important magical object. As he holds it over the cauldron, he hesitates for a split second wondering if he should really be doing this. Then he thinks about his parent’s faces cold and vacant in death, the fate that awaits them if he fails. He drops it in.

The potion erupts in a fountain of silver sparks. Draco stumbles back, shielding his eyes. When he looks again, the liquid has turned a deep, swirling blue, flecked with points of light like a galaxy in miniature.

With shaking hands, he takes out the handkerchief, stiff with Potter's dried blood and mutters a rehydrating charm watching as it becomes soaked and heavy. He tosses it into the potion, the crimson streaks swirling through the starry mixture.

Draco dips a phoenix feather quill into the blood-infused, star-powered potion and traces runes onto the book's cover. His hand slips, the quill's sharp tip nicking his finger. A drop of his own blood falls into the mixture, which flashes brilliantly, now swirling with additional streaks of silver.

The air crackles with magic, heavy with potential. Draco raises his wand, ready to complete the ritual—

"Malfoy! What are you doing?"

He whirls around, his heart stopping. Potter stands in the doorway, wand drawn, eyes wide behind his glasses.

"Potter," Draco snarls, not yet realizing the magnitude of his mistake, "You're just in time."

Everything happens at once. Harry lunges forward.

"It's over Ma-,"

He hears Severus' voice shouting his name in warning, but it's too late.

As darkness swallows them, Draco's last coherent thought is that he should have known better than to ask the stars for help. After all, aren't the heavens known for their cruel twists of fate?

Chapter Text

Well, you look like yourself

But you're somebody else

Only it ain't on the surface

Well, you talk like yourself

No, I hear someone else

-Flora Cash

The world tilts sideways, and Draco finds himself plummeting through empty space. A whispered voice echoes through the void: "And so the lion fell in love with the lamb..."

His stomach lurches as strange objects float past – a cluster of white and purple wildflowers that seem to glow with their own light, spinning lazily in the void.

Another voice, musical and strange: "Your scent is like a drug to me...”

"What in Merlin's name?" he gasps, reaching out to grasp at anything solid.

His fingers brush against something cold, a delicate silver bracelet with two charms: a crude wolf carved from what appears to be common metal, and a gaudy crystal heart that catches impossible light.

Potter tumbles through the void beside him, his glasses somehow still clinging to his face.

"Malfoy! What did you do?" His voice echoes strangely, distorted as if underwater.

A velvet voice whispers from the darkness: "You are my life now."

"I didn't – this wasn't supposed to –“

Draco's words catch in his throat as they pass through a cloud of diamond dust that sparkles like fresh snow but smells impossibly sweet, like honey and sunshine. A strange Muggle ball soars past them, accompanied by what looks like a silver stick with rounded end.

"Make it stop!" Potter shouts, his voice tinged with panic.

Red caps with flat square tops rain around them like autumn leaves, each bearing an inexplicable years' worth of collected dust. A haunting voice drifts past: "Death is peaceful, easy. Life is harder..."

Draco's head spins as they fall past a weathered copy of "Wuthering Heights," its pages fluttering open to reveal pressed meadow flowers.

"The spell wasn't meant to – this isn't what was supposed to happen!"

A pristine white envelope drifts between them, sealed with an intricate crest he doesn't recognize, trailing black ribbon that seems to move with a life of its own. The air grows colder, wetter, and somewhere in the distance, Draco swears he can hear wolves howling.

Another whisper, somehow both alluring and terrifying: "About three things I was absolutely positive..."

Above them, a grand fountain appears, its stone angels weeping what looks disturbingly like blood. 

"Malfoy!" Potter's voice has changed now, genuine fear creeping in.

In the fountain's crimson spray, Draco catches a glimpse of his reflections – too pale, too perfect. Wrong.

A final voice echoes through the void: "No one will surrender tonight..."

"Draco!" Potter calls out one final time, and the darkness swallows him whole.

The last thing Draco sees is a flash of gold – a reflection of his eyes in the water falling around him, but different somehow. Inhuman

Through the void, a final whisper follows them down: "I'd never given much thought to how I would die..."

And then there was nothing but darkness.

Draco blinks his eyes wearily against the green light filtering in the room, groaning at the strange buzzing sensation in the back of his head and the impression of emptiness in his body. He sits up and rubs his forehead, shocked at how smooth and granite-like his skin feels, shimmering like crystals where the sun touches it. Wait, shimmering? 

He thrusts his steady hands out in front of him catching the weak sunlight filtering through the trees outside the wall of windows surrounding him. Light reflects off them in beams of brightness, making his skin look like it’s made from pounded diamonds. His fingers caress his face, noticing that his sunken cheeks have filled out and his features have transformed from pointy to tapered and refined. 

He runs a hand through his hair and feels a wave of shock spike through him at how thick it feels between his fingers. His hair has been thinning for months due to stress and lack of eating. On top of that, the weakness and sluggishness are gone; he feels stronger like he can run for miles and not break a sweat. He sniffs the air smelling the heavy scent of alcohol coming off of him in waves. He gags, he’s always hated the smell, even more so since he associates it with the worst of the Deatheaters. 

He winces as he notices a painful burn in his throat and wonders if, despite his newfound strength, he is coming down with something. He pushes the worry away for later, he needs to figure out where he landed himself if he wants any hope of solving it. When his eyes adjust, he opens them and gasps in shock as he looks around the room he finds himself in. Or closet might be a better word for it. 

Two walls are boxed in, in floor-to-ceiling sheets of glass, a door cut into the wall furthest from where he lays on the white plush settee. The wall across from him contains floor-to-ceiling white shelves displaying strange thin clear boxes with words on their sides. 

When in unfamiliar territory learn your surroundings. Keep track of places of safety and danger. 

His father's voice breaks through the disturbing blankness in his mind and compels him to move. Feeling curiously numb Draco slides off the settee and walks over to the shelf, his limbs reacting in strange ways. Too graceful and soundless, making him feel like a petite dancer or a stalking predator.

 He starts reading the boxes one by one. A box called Black Sabbath catches his eye. He pulls the clear box off the shelf and takes a sharp breath when he sees a picture with a skeletal figure that resembles the Dark Lord wrapped in a blue cloak on the cover. His grip on the box tightens and the clear material on the cover shatters into clear powder scattering across the carpeted floor. Draco gasps, his chest heaving with heavy breaths. Fear and panic trickle in through the numb as his situation settles in around him. He’s in a foreign place with no idea who he is or…even what he is. 

He waits for the unavoidable racing heart, for his magic to rise in him and lash out. The things that precursored his attacks as he came to call them over the summer, but feels nothing, other than his feeling of rising panic. He takes a deep breath in and out of his mouth but notices no change in his panic and relief from the heaviness in his chest. With frantic fingers, he feels along his neck searching for his pulse and comes up empty. His body starts to shake as he sinks to the floor, his breath stuttering in his chest, his heart still as a stone. This means that whatever he is, he isn’t human. 

He feels a crushing weight sag on him that has nothing to do with the state of his heart. He knows his father will be so disappointed in him. 

At the distant sound of footsteps approaching the room, Draco reaches for his wand, only to come up empty. Seconds later the door opens to a willowy figure with white blonde hair. For a moment Draco feels a leap in his emotions thinking that the figure is his mother, but a closer look dashes his hope.

 Oh Merlin, his parents. The weight of responsibility crushes him as he realizes his parents are still in danger. His heart races with guilt for not thinking of them sooner. In his panic, he’d forgotten about their plight and the impossibility of them appearing anywhere near him. Guilt forces its way through him at his selflessness, he needs to be strong for them because they are the only ones that matter. 

Know your allies, know your enemies. Understand their vulnerabilities and strengths, then exploit them mercilessly to achieve your goals.

Once again, his father’s voice saves him and he becomes steady. He’s sacrificed too much not to pull through now. So instead of wallowing in his aloneness, he faces the newly arrived figure.

His eyes fall upon Luna Lovegood, who appears strikingly different from his memories. Her features are chiselled, her face resembling a sculpted stone visage like his own. Her white blonde hair is sleek and lustrous, while her eyes appear black, accentuated by deep purple shadows beneath, captivating him despite his indifference towards her gender. However, it is more than just her physical appearance that strikes him as different; it is how she carries herself, exuding a certain deadly grace that renders her otherworldly, not quite human. Another peculiarity he notices is the absence of any palpable magical energy emanating from her or, for that matter, from within himself. Even as a creature, he should have been able to sense it. 

"Loony?"

“Draco we are getting lunch are you com…” she trails off seeming to take him in. 

Her face creases with concern.

”Are you okay?”

What a question Draco thinks.

Does she mean at this exact moment in time, or does she mean ever, because Draco doesn’t think he has been alright since the end of the fifth year? Even though he can no longer use Occumency he visualises the inside of his mind, picturing all his emotions flying into individual boxes. He puts his fear in one and shoves it far into the back recesses, it only impedes him right now. He needs information and as distasteful as he finds talking to her, she is his only option.

“What are you doing here?” Draco asks, his numb shock replaced with utter confusion. 

Loony raises an eyebrow at him. 

“Draco, it’s just you sound…English” Loony Lovegood asks in a distasteful American accent.

She frowns as her eyes narrow. 

“Have you been drinking again?” 

Draco wears an insulted expression, and snaps, “Just because my heart isn’t beating right now doesn’t mean I would stoop to such an uncivilised method of dealing with my stress.” 

Loony’s eyebrows get even higher on her forehead. 

“Draco we are vampires our hearts are never beating.” 

Draco feels the panic he had been trying to ignore come to a head. 

Vampires. 

He is a vampire. 

Suspecting that he isn’t human is one thing, but knowing he decides feels much worse. It’s the reason why his body feels so unfamiliar. His addled brain flashes back to the summary of the book he read in the library, the one he touched seconds before he woke up here. The only obvious conclusion he finds is he got sucked into the story with Potter as the vampire character, but unlike the ritual dictated, he retained his memories of the real world. Though why is Lovegood here? As far as he knows she wasn’t anywhere near the book when he sucked Potter in. The door opens again and someone else sticks their head in.

“Is the old man done brooding about his unfortunate existence, yet? I’m hungry.” Zabini asks, a playful grin on his mouth, his accent also appallingly American.

“Zabini?” Draco says feeling his remaining calm leave him all at once. 

Zabini looks different as well. He possesses the same strange cut to his features as Loony and the same appealing cast to his black hair and eyes. The same predator-like elegance in his movements. It sets Draco on edge.

Zabini regards him with a blank expression. 

“Well isn’t that a blast from the past? Is there a reason you sound like a Brit?” 

“It’s your name and our country of origin,” Draco says confused and hating that he sounds like a prat.

Zabini laughs, “Maybe a hundred years ago, but I much prefer the name Cullen now and you talked like us as of yesterday.” 

Draco stares after him frozen with shock. Loony gives him a small smile.

“You are a vampire too,” Draco says, his voice breathless. 

Blaise gives Loony a knowing look. 

“Alcohol?” Zabini mouths.

“It appears so,” she says in a kind voice. 

“Well, the best cure for overindulgence is food, as I always say.”

“No, you usually say more alcohol,” Draco mutters.

Zabini slaps him on the back.

“Well, at least some of you are still in there.” 

*****

From Zabini Draco learns that whoever inhabited this body before him possessed a disgracefully large drinking problem, and often lost his memories for periods. Even forgetting who and what he is. This works to Draco’s advantage allowing him to ask more questions. Zabini tells him to act ‘normal’, whatever that means for this pathetic individual, around his mother and father because his ‘drinking’ upsets them. Draco whips around to stare at him.

“Mother and Father?” he asks, a desperate note in his voice. 

Zabini gives him another strange look.

“Yeah? You remember our parents, right?” Zabini asks, his voice is a tad nervous. 

“Of course,” Draco says, wondering how he could forget the domineering man and his elegant mother. 

The phrasing of our parents does give him pause though. His dead heart skips a metaphoric beat at the thought that his parents are in this world as well. Were they vampires too?  Was he just as much a disappointment to them in this world as he was in his own?

“Are we related…?” Draco asks in a stilted voice. 

Zabini gives him a lazy smile. 

“In every way that counts.” 

“So by blood then?” Draco asks, thinking it is the only way that counts.

Zabini looks at him like he has lost his mind. 

“You are fourteen years older than me and born in a different country. It's a little difficult to be related, don't you think?” 

Draco thinks about how many children Pureblood families have, and how spread out they become and thinks it is very possible but keeps it to himself. 

Loony gets a far-off look in her eyes and says, “They are expecting us.” 

Zabini gives Draco a stern look and says, “Remember your favourite food is mountain lion and don’t ask questions.” 

“And buck during mating season,” Loony says with a small laugh, a mischievous smile on her face. 

“Not human?” 

A dark eerie look crosses Zabini’s face. 

“No, we don't eat humans,” Loony says, looking at him worriedly.  

Draco feels an icy cold feeling settle into his chest as he regards their almost horrific reactions. He didn’t enjoy hurting muggles, but needs must. He did think something needed to be done with them since they took land and resources from Wix, the dominant race. It isn’t his preferred method but he doesn’t see how being a vampire will make the situation any different. They are very effective in the Dark Lord’s army, he thinks in a distant voice, remembering their feral grace displayed at meetings.

“Mountain Lions are better than humans.  Put up more of a fight, and make it more fun,” Zabini says with a savage smile.

 His throat aches again at the mention of food but he pushes past the pain. He can’t imagine that he would ever pick a lion over a muggle unless he is referring to a Gryffindor lion. He is sure he would enjoy taking a bite out of Potter in his new form. 

“Perhaps.” 

He knows he is no match against both of them in battle, so if he wants to have a chance to speak with his father, he will have to play along for now. Know your enemies, he reminds himself. They motion for him to follow and lead him out of the room through a door into a hallway lined with glass walls. A grand, spiral staircase looms ahead, leading to other floors. Hanging next to it is a large rectangular frame adorned with vibrant fabric squares in every colour imaginable, adding liveliness to the otherwise sterile hallway. An image of similar items falling around him flashes through his mind before it disappears. 

Loony notices his gaze. 

“We need to buy a bigger frame, the graduation caps for this year will not fit,” Loony says in a conversational voice. 

“What are you talking about?” Draco says already forgetting about his ban on questions. 

“We are Seniors!” Zabini cries and Draco bemoans the loss of his classmate's Pureblood decorum. 

“Again,” Loony says in a melancholy voice, “Maybe Theo and I will go to college this year. I’ve heard they’ve made improvements to the arts program at UoW.” 

Draco ignores his confusion at most of that sentence and zeros in on the one part he does understand. 

“Nott?” 

“You really are stuck in the past today aren’t you?” Zabini says as they reach the main floor a surprisingly open space filled with light and nondescript furniture. 

Despite the muggle-like modern aesthetic of the space, everything exudes a sense of luxury and comfort. However, Draco sneers at the sight before him. Nott and Pansy sprawl lazily on two plush sofas, their skin shimmering with flecks of glitter in the bright sunlight that filters through the large windows. Draco's eyes widen in surprise - despite all his extensive reading on vampires, he has never heard of their skin having such an ethereal glow. He had always been taught that their skin was like paper, burning and crumbling at the slightest touch of sunlight. As Pansy notices their entrance, she gives Draco a perplexed look, her glittering skin making her appear otherworldly.

“Draco?” Pansy says in surprise, surprise, a flat American accent. 

“Draco is having one of his bad days,” Zabini says coming up beside him. 

 “One of those days where he gets drunk and speaks like it’s still London in the nineteen hundreds,” Nott grumbles.

Zabini shrugs with a smile instead of an answer. 

Pansy groans.

“One of these days I am going to smash all of those bottles again,” she growls with a vengeful light in her eyes. 

Nott scoffs.

“Don’t you remember what happened last time?” he asks. 

“Buying a new bathtub was worth it,” Pansy says in a matter-of-fact voice. 

Zabini nods sagely, “The old one never lost that gin smell after he used it to brew in.” 

He, a Malfoy brewed gin? In a bathtub of all places? What backward world has he landed himself in? 

“I’m too hungry to deal with Draco’s latest screw-up. Let's eat first and then we can inform father and mother. Come along children,” Pansy says, getting off the sofa and directing them outside. 

Outside awaits an even stranger sight. 

A feeling of faintness washes over Draco as he gazes at his godfather, whom he had just seen in Defence Against the Dark Arts this afternoon. But now, under the filtering sunlight peeking through the trees, his greasy black hair seems to transform into sleek, saintly locks that glimmer in the light. His pockmarked skin appears smooth and almost iridescent, contrasting his usual blemished complexion. The black depths of his eyes twinkle with an intensity that sends shivers down Draco's spine. And most striking, the usual hunch of his shoulders is gone, replaced by an aura of power and confidence It's almost unsettling how happy he looks, like a predator who has just caught its prey.

“Good of you to finally join us, Draco. It isn’t like we were waiting for you or anything.” Severus sneers. 

“Severus, leave him alone, he’s a grown adult, he can make his own decisions on when he decides to eat.” Lily Potter says, looking just like she stepped out of that laughing picture his mother showed him all those years ago. 

Tremors ran down Draco's spine.

The sole distinction is her trademark emerald eyes, Potter's eyes, which appeared black rather than green. Apart from the most crucial difference of her being a Muggle-born and Potter being a half-blood. She possesses the same strength in her gaze that he missed in Potter during their initial unfaithful encounter, a challenge not to underestimate her. She is forged from fire and steel, which marks her as a light to extinguish, almost as much as her blood status. 

“Severus?” Draco asks in a strained voice. 

“One of your distracting long-worded apologies, isn’t necessary right now, son” Severus drawls with an American accent as he blurs off into the forest.

Pansy, Zabini, Loony, and Nott follow after him. Draco gaps at the speed of their departure and the word son that slipped so easily off his lips. 

Severus can’t be-

Severus isn’t- 

His father?

Did that mean that his real father didn’t exist in this world? If so, how did Severus come to replace him? 

“Honey are you coming?” the mudblood asks and it takes him a moment to realise that she is talking to him since everyone else vanished. 

The longer he stares at the mudblood the more he feels the cracks in his limited knowledge. Why is he here with Potter’s mother?

It always came back to Potter, like everything else in Draco’s life. His anger which he managed until this point to keep behind a wall in his mind, crashes through his defences. 

“No,” he hisses, his voice cold, “I’m not hungry.” 

The mudblood’s face shifts, looking hurt and worried for a moment. It shifts again the next moment, and she smiles at him looking as bright as the sun. A look of determined patience towards a loved one that only comes from time and blood relation. 

No! 

He refuses to accept that notion. Not only is his perfect blood infected with creature blood, but he calls a mudblood his….mother. He shudders in disgust at the thought. 

“That’s okay.” She says, “It seems like you need some space right now. Come along when you are ready.” 

She gives him a kind smile that makes his skin crawl and then she disappears in a blur leaving him alone in front of a strange house in a strange world. 

Draco storms around the side of the house not caring what direction he heads in, trembling with fury. He knows this entire mess only has one explanation. 

Harry Bloody Potter.

He hates Potter. He hates him. Hates him. He wants him dead. Despises his very existence. Draco breathes heavily out of his mouth surprised when it comes out as an animalistic hiss. He does it again, hissing and snarling as he stomps through what his distant conscious registers as a garden filled with stone statues. A garden that looks nothing like his mother's gorgeous topharies and flower beds, but still reminds him of her. 

A wave of grief fuels his anger as he throws a punch at a male statue sending its decapitated head flying into a tree trunk, smashing into dust. It feels good. Lethargic to release his anger physically after forcing himself to cage it up ever since this summer at the manor. Even if it’s a muggle way of acting and disappointing to his father. It’s the way Potter and he settled their feuds in the past, so it feels right to throw the next punch and topple the rest of the statue. When nothing remains but a pile of dust Draco turns to destroy the next one.  

Soon he finds himself surrounded by pieces of stone and marble, his fury barely dented. His eyes find the flowers haphazardly scattered across the space, each an arrow piercing his heart. He grips one by the stem, a daffodil, his mother's voice reminds him, and yanks it out of the ground and tosses it with dirt still clinging to its roots banishing it to wilt alone. He kicks at a patch of disappointed white orchid, lashing crooked gouges in the dirt to silence it from calling him a failure. He slams his fist into three weeping alstroemeria who think they can relate to his pain. He beheads a preening gardenia and a sneering sunflower that condemns his reckless decisions and failed plans. He stops when he spies a lily sitting proudly in a dirt-filled pot, the inscription A loving mother, carved into the stone. In a blind fury, Draco picks up the pot holds it high above and head and throws it down. The echoing smash rings through him making him feel undefeatable and powerful.

He hears a soft gasp behind him and turns around to see Nott looking at him with devastation. Draco’s emotions seize like a snake and prepare to strike with venom-soaked words, but a surreal sense of calm falls over him sweeping his feelings back. 

“What have you done?” Theo asks in a whisper.

Draco tries to battle through the calm and reclaim his anger, but it’s no use. The unnatural calm persists. 

“Stop it,” Draco says in a relaxed voice, “I don’t know how you are doing it, but give me my anger back.” 

Nott gives him a blank look. 

“You’ve finally done it, haven’t you? You’ve forgotten who you are.” 

“My name is Draco Malfoy, I know exactly who I am.” 

Nott’s face sinks, he looks weary and tired. 

“I would wish you congratulations because I know this is what you wanted all along, but forgetting your life doesn’t seem to have made you any happier.” 

Severus comes up behind Nott and stands next to him, giving Draco an inscrutable look. 

“Theo, please release him.” 

Draco imagines he would feel shocked at Severus’s use of the word under different circumstances. 

“No,” Nott says. 

“Theo,” Severus says, his eyes narrowing.

Something seems to snap in Nott at Severus' tone.

“Why should I? You’re just going to have a ‘talk’ with him and slap him on the wrist. Then we will all be forced to forgive him because poor little Draco is lonely and can’t find a partner. I was sympathetic the first hundred times, but enough is enough. He destroyed Luna’s garden, which she made for all of us.” Nott yells, looking close to tears. 

Draco feels a deepening nothingness. 

“Theo you are pushing too hard,” Severus warns. 

“Do you know how hard she worked on that garden? It took her three years to figure out the correct amount of venom to use to allow the flowers to grow in this rain-drenched, sunless forest. Her venom that she extracted herself! Those statues that took you two seconds to smash in your little tantrum took her another two years to be perfect to her exacting standards.” Nott shouts. 

Draco sinks to the ground as every emotion in him sucks out of him in a vortex. 

“You’re s-o so selfish. You don’t care about anyone, but yourself!” 

“Theo it’s okay. I’ll plant a new one.” Loony says with a sad smile, placing a hand on Nott’s shoulder. 

He relaxes, leaning into her touch and Draco’s emotions trickle back into him. First the fear, then the slight embarrassment, and then the anger. The anger flickers and spikes in the face of embarrassment. Malfoys don’t lose control, they possess spines of steel, yet he feels on edge like he might snap at any moment.

“Draco, come with me.” Severus prompts as he walks back into the house. 

Pansy and Zabini stare at him as they walk by their expressions of hurt and horror mirroring Nott’s. He doesn’t meet their eyes. Draco straightens his shoulders to the point that would be painful if he were still a human as he follows Severus into the house, back up the stairs, and down a hallway lined with doors. He stops in front of a door with a large wooden cross hanging over it and opens it, walking in without pausing to see if Draco follows him. Along a back wall of windows, a large mahogany desk sits drawing most of the attention in the room. Severus positions himself behind it sitting down and gestures to a far less comfortable-looking chair than his own in front of the desk. Draco sits down feeling the same nervousness and anticipation that he used to feel when he sat in his father’s office at home. Before the Dark Lord invaded it, that is. Severus opens a drawer in his desk and pulls out a large red liquid-filled vial. Clouds of fog drift out of the lined drawer as he places the vial in front of Draco. 

“Drink, I’m sure you are hungry.” 

Draco feels a wild unnatural hunger roar in him like a caged beast, clawing through the bars to get out. He shudders in fear and clenches his teeth together. Drinking means accepting what happened to him. Severus sighs and says,

“Even without your memories, you are still impossible,” 

 He unstoppers the vial, letting the room fill with an intoxicating smell. Draco without thinking snatches the container and dumps it into his greedy mouth, the vial cracking in his unyielding grip causing the liquid to spill between his fingers. The cold congealed liquid slides down, soothing the burning sensation in his throat, and imbuing his limbs with strength. Spare liquid drips from the sides of his mouth and down his chin and he knows his mother would cringe if she saw him now. He must look like a wild animal. Severus hands him a cloth handkerchief and he wipes the liquid off his mouth and hands feeling mortified. It tastes…okay. He can’t say it satisfies the bone-deep craving lingering in his brain. It feels a bit like eating raw vegetables, filling but rather bland. Severus notices his reaction. 

“I only have doe.” he says in an almost apologetic voice, which is out of character for him.

Draco tries not to think of the fact he just drank deer. Severus levels him with a serious look, his fingers steepled in front of him. 

“How much do you remember?” Severus asks.

Draco considers how to answer, weighing his considerable acting and lying skills with Severus’s ability to see right through him. He settles with telling some of the truth. 

“I remember Nott, Zabini, and Pansy in vague terms. I remember their last names from their past lives at least and their personalities but I have no context for why I know them. I remember Loony-Lovegood-” Draco corrects himself at Severus's sharp look, “I don’t remember the red-haired woman or that I was a…vam-pire.” 

Draco’s voice cracks at the word vampire, a new sense of loss overwhelming him now that the initial shock and anger were wearing off. He isn’t his parents' perfect pureblood son anymore, he isn’t a Malfoy or even a Black. Purebloods have been burnt off their family trees for less than being turned into creatures. 

There is something different about Severus’s face as he regards him, a softness Draco was too busy panicking to notice before. He can’t put his finger on the cause, but he notices the addition of it when it disappears.

“You will not be informing your mother of this. You will pretend to have some idea who she is. I will help you of course. You are an adult and your choices are your own but I refuse to let your personal actions hurt her.” Severus snaps at him. 

Draco’s eyes bug in his head at his words. He’s about to demand why, but then he recognizes the change. Sees the rust that eats away at Severus’s iron-clad mask. 

Love. 

A weakness, a disease. The entire reason he got himself trapped in this situation in the first place. 

“You love her? Lily Potter? You?” he asks, having a hard time staying in his seat and not jumping up in shock. 

This must be some cosmic joke. A Death Eater, the Dark Lord’s right-hand man, falls in love with a mudblood, and not just any mudblood, but the mother of the Dark Lord’s biggest enemy. It can’t be true in his world. It must be some strange glitch in this one, that the two of them end up together. How could Severus possibly love a dirty mudblood like her? She resembles girl Weasel and Potter too much for anyone to find her appealing.

“Evans,” Severus says. 

“What?” Draco asks, confused still catching up from the onslaught of information. 

“Her last name in her previous life was Evans, not Potter.” 

So, that would mean she is not Potter’s mother in this life. Strange and a little unfortunate for him, his green eyes had been his only good feature. 

“What do you mean by mother?” Draco asks, acknowledging the other thing that nagged at him about Severus’s words. 

“You can’t mean to say she’s my-” 

The look Severus gives him shuts him up. 

“In the strictest sense of the word, no, she is not your mother by blood, but she is your mother in every way that matters.” 

“No, I refuse to acknowledge a mudblood as anything close to equal with me,” Draco hisses, “She is not my mother, she is absolutely nothing to me.” 

The dark angry look Draco is used to seeing on Severus’s face makes a glaring comeback at his words. 

“I assume this transition must be hard for you, as I no doubt can guess. Though let me be the second to remind you that this state you find yourself in is your own doing. The only people you have in your corner are the ones you seem so content to grievously insult. If any of the old Draco remains in that empty head of yours I’d hope it is your sense of self-preservation, which you seem to lack at the moment.” 

Draco feels his spine straighten in his chair at Severus’s tone, one he is all too familiar with. 

“Yes, sir.” Draco finds himself saying in reflex. 

Severus frowns.

“What?” Draco asks, confused. 

Severus sighs, “Nothing that can be addressed now.” 

He stands up and gives Draco one more world-weary look. 

“Pretend to know your mother and resist the temptation to destroy any more of your siblings' possessions. That’s all I ask of you.” Severus says walking to the door. 

“That’s it?” Draco asks in an incredulous voice. 

“Your life is your own Draco, to live however you see fit. It’s all I’ve ever wanted for you. To make your own decisions. You struggled with that with your upbringing, but I thought you were making some progress these last fifty years or so. I guess I was wrong.” 

“But what about my past? How long have I been…”

“A vampire?” Severus asks, his voice tinged with amusement as he sits back down.

“Yes.” 

“Since 1901.” 

“What is the year?” 

“2005.” 

Draco blinks. He’s a hundred and four years old and nine years into the future. Theoretically. 

“How old was I when I…became this?” 

“You were 18 when I turned you.” 

“Is that how I died?” 

Something almost akin to panic crosses Severus's face, then flits away. He looks uncomfortable, his eyes shifting away from Draco’s, looking out into the rain-drenched forest beyond the wall of windows. 

“You were never very interested in your past before,” Severus says in a heavy voice. 

He seems sad as if he now carries a burden that he used to share.

“And you didn’t approve?” Draco guesses.

“Whether I approve or not is irrelevant. I said before your life is yours to build or to wreck. All I ask is that you live it.”

This statement sits as funny with him as the first time Severus said it. No one had ever told him to do what he wanted with no expectations; no strings attached. Even his parents' gifts came with the cost of obedience and loyalty to them and the family. It felt too suspicious, and Draco didn’t trust the feeling for a second. Some like Potter might see it as callous or cold, but it is only logical, why would you help someone who couldn’t return the favour? 

“So, are you going to tell me?” 

“Spanish Influenza. I was your doctor; your parents were already dead. I chose you because there was no one to miss you being gone.” 

Draco’s Slytherin instincts tell him that Severus is lying, though the reason why he can only guess. 

“If that will be all, I should get back to the hospital,” Severus says standing up. 

Draco recognizes that word, something he heard in horrified whispers at his parent’s Pureblood parties. A place where muggles cut each other open to ‘fix’ their medical problems. How it often resulted in death. It was the day he realised that muggles were too backward to try and save. 

“But all that blood….isn’t it hard?” Draco asks, wrinkling his nose. 

He wonders if Severus hates muggle as much as he does in his world or if it has something to do with being a vampire.

“I’ve trained myself to resist the urge to drink. I barely notice the smell anymore.” 

Same old Severus, always pushing himself to his limits. 

“Is that all then?” Draco asks in a petulant voice.

Severus moves over to his desk with a determined, almost sentimental expression. He pulls out a handwritten note, a rough sketch, and some creepy unmoving muggle pictures that hold memories of a different life. Draco's heart constricts at them, thinking of the Malfoy family album that used to sit on the coffee table in the main sitting room. Before Rowle set it on fire that is. Draco examines them for clues, trying to understand their purpose while feeling a sense of unease. A smiling Loony sits in the garden he destroyed, Nott beside her looking at her like she’s a forest nymph he stumbled upon. In another Pansy and Zabini tangle together in a different part of the garden, looking at each other with a desperate sort of hunger in their eyes. The mudblood and Severus lean into each other looking content in the third. They all look so happy that looking at them for too long is almost painful.

The last picture stands out to Draco the most - where he stands off to the side with a forced smile, his gold eyes filled with an unknowable sadness. The thought that even in this life he ends up sad and alone makes something twist inside him, but he quickly pushes it away and picks up the sketch. The sketch is a drawing of the garden's layout, divided into sections, each with a number. The note lists each corresponding number with a type of flower and the amount needed. 

“If you are looking for ideas to fix this mess you have created, those might help,” Severus says leaving the office. 

Sneaky bastard, Draco thinks as he gets up and wanders around the top floor opening random doors until he finds the room he woke up in. He scowls, there is no way in hell he will replant that maniac’s garden. He didn’t need her. He didn’t need anyone. He flops down on the settee in an unMalfoy-like manner and feels pain in the back of his head as he is flooded with memories of his mother scolding him for his uncivilised behaviour. It only adds to the weight on his shoulders.

Everything feels like too much - being stuck in this foreign world without magic or power, struggling to cope with a new reality and versions of people who were supposed to be allies, and becoming a monster. He refuses to go along with this story that has taken over his life, but deep down he fears it is all futile. And worse what if he can't escape its grasp, and it absorbs the person he used to be?

Draco pushes away those thoughts, knowing they are impossible. He will never forget his parents, no matter what this story tries to force him to do. 

*****

Death hadn't been on his mind -- at least, not until recent months when the threat loomed closer than ever before. Though for all his pessimism could never have envisioned the chilling scenario unfolding before him.

His gaze fixes unwaveringly across the vast expanse, meeting the dark, piercing eyes of the predator. An eerie calm washes over Harry as their eyes lock, his hunter regarding him with an almost cordial expression.

This is a noble way to die -- sacrificing himself for the sake of love. Such selflessness should carry some weight and meaning beyond the physical realm. Or at least so he would think.

This fateful confrontation would never have occurred had he never ventured to Forks. Yet despite the terror gripping his core, he found no space for regret.

When the cosmic forces align to grant you a dream beyond your wildest imagination, it seems foolish to lament its inevitable conclusion.

The hunter flashes a disquietingly warm smile as he casually advances, ready to deliver the death blow that would permanently extinguish his flame.

*****

Sirius's Jaguar glides to a stop in front of the airport, the engine's purr fading into the sounds of rushing families checking the car one last time for luggage and hugging visiting relatives goodbye. In the past Harry always felt outside of such scenes, his blank face always hiding his jealousy as he stood next to the Dursleys fussing over Dudley. Now on the other side, he is not so sure. His stomach twists with an ominous weight as if his body knows this farewell carries more significance than they're willing to admit. He turns to his godfather—his best and only friend, really—the man who fought his prison sentence just so he could be there for Harry.

"Are you sure about this, lion cub?" Sirius asks, his fingers drumming an anxious rhythm on the steering wheel. His casual tone can't quite mask the worry etched in the corners of his eyes.

No, Harry thinks but swallows the word before it can escape. He can do this for Sirius.  He might even make a friend his age for once. One who didn’t only want to be around him for his fame. Wouldn’t that be a sight?

"Of course! Keep this up, and you'll prove Remus right about becoming a mother hen." Harry forces a grin, watching as Sirius's expression melts at the mention of Remus, love softening the sharp edges of his features.

"Take that back!" Sirius laughs, the sound rich and free, a far cry from the hollow ones of the last few years.

Padfoot barks in the backseat, the black dog's tail thumping against leather echoing his laugh, forever Sirius’s shadow. Sirius grins at the black dog and high-fives his paw. 

 "That's right, buddy. I'm no mother hen."

The playful moment only demonstrates everything he is missing and intensifies the sadness coiling around Harry's heart. What is he going to do without these two, his unlikely family?

"I'm going to miss you," he chokes out, fighting the burning tears threatening to spill.

Devastation flashes across Sirius's face before he pulls Harry into a fierce hug, the gear shift digging uncomfortably into Harry's side, not that he cares.

"Me too, cub, me too," Sirius whispers into his hair. "But the year will fly by, and before you know it, we'll be back together. And you'll have Albus looking after you."

Padfoot whines, shoving his wet nose between them until they break apart with watery laughs. Harry buries his fingers in the dog's thick fur as Padfoot licks away the few tears that escaped, his tail never stopping its hopeful wag.

"Yes, boy, I'll miss you too," Harry manages, his smile wobbling but genuine.

His hand finds the door handle, and he's halfway out when Sirius's fingers wrap around his wrist. Harry turns back to find his godfather's grey eyes intense with emotion.

"And remember, my lion cub. Ceux qui nous aiment ne nous quittent jamais vraiment," Sirius says, his voice low and sure.

“Vous pouvez toujours les trouver dans votre cœur.” Harry finishes with a sad smile.

It was his father's favorite quote, one of the first pieces of French Sirius had taught him—just as he would have wanted. Harry lingers for one last look, trying to photograph the morning sun catching the silver starting to thread through his godfather's dark hair as he gives Harry one last concerned smile. This isn't the last time, he reminds himself firmly as he finally turns away, shouldering his bag and walking into the airport. This isn't goodbye—it's just until next time.

The airplane touches down in Portland hours later and Harry sinks in his seat, wishing to put off the inevitable. Uncle Vernon waits outside the airport wearing a scowl as he stands in front of his police car. 

“Get in the back.” He growls. 

Harry wrinkles his nose, but compiles hoping that no other 'riders' puked back there recently. Harry takes his first deep breath of Forks air in since last summer as Veron rolls down the front windows and the damp, earthy scent floods his nostrils - the unmistakable aroma of the tiny perpetually-clouded town nestled among the lush Olympic forests. As the town rolls by the windows, Harry notes that not much seems to have changed since he was last here. The same modest houses and buildings lined the main street, constructed of wood and brick that must have gone up in the early 1900s during Forks' logging heyday.

The evergreen trees crowd in from all sides, their dense foliage weighing heavy with the persistent drizzle he's always associated with this corner of Washington. He tries to appreciate the lushness of it all, the vibrant greens after leaving the dry desert behind. But it is hard not to feel a sense of dreary oppressiveness from the dim, soggy atmosphere.

'Isn't it great to be back?' he thinks as Veron turns down one of the side streets. At least the rainforest seclusion still offered plenty of privacy and peace, he reasoned pragmatically, something impossible to find in Sirius's tiny house in Phoniex. The dense woods crowding Forks allows the small town to hide away from the rest of the world. He tries not to think about how easy it would be to get lost in a place like this. As he nears his destination, he resigns himself to making the best of his return here. After all, it could be... cosy. Harry is almost relieved when they pull up in front of Dursley’s house, even if being there means a different kind of torture. His platitudes were wearing thin already. He knew this homecoming was going to be an adjustment.

At first glance, it appears a perfectly respectable two-story home surrounded by pristinely manicured shrubbery and lawn. But looking closer, Harry can see the slightly worn weathered gray siding, the sloped roof undoubtedly meant to shed the ceaseless rainfall this part of Washington endures.

Part of Harry hoped for even the slightest hint that this place had evolved and lost some of its artificially sterile blandness in his absence. But Harry can already envision the inside. The stiff plastic-covered living room set angled with ceremonious exactitude, the kitchen scrubbed and polished within an inch of its life, not a solitary mug or dish daring to be out of place. In other words hell.

Harry’s eyes widen as he sees Ginny straddling a black motorcycle on the curb in front of the house. Vernon's face goes purple when he spots her as well. 

“If she causes even a hint of trou-” he growls.

“She’s not breaking the law by parking there.” Harry cuts across him, challenging him to finish that sentence. 

“For now.” His uncle warns, which Harry translates to mean if she doesn’t leave soon he will come up with a reason for her to. 

Harry meets Ginny’s eye as he climbs out of the car, throwing his light bag over his shoulder and shivering in the cold, rainy afternoon weather. He gestures with his hands towards the house, silently communicating with her that he will be right back. In seconds he moves through the house, and up the stairs, depositing his bag on the bed of his hard-won room, which Albus helped him get.  He takes a few steps off the porch before a cloud of red and black collides with his body.

“Hey, Gin- oofa.” Harry gaffs as Ginny runs into him and wraps her arms around him, squeezing him to death. 

“I missed you so much!” she yells in his ear.

 Harry flinches at the noise and the unexpected closeness, but after a moment hugs her back. When she lets him breathe again, he steps back to appreciate her ride. He whistles. 

“Nice wheels,” he says and means it. 

The sleek, midnight-black metal of the bike gleams like a predator in the sunlight, giving it a dangerous air. Bold, realistic flames dance across the gas tank, their fiery colors seeming to come alive under the light. In the bold, slanted script, the name "Firebolt" is emblazoned next to the flames, completing the eye-catching look of the motorcycle.

“I’m glad you like it because it is yours,” Ginny says, petting the leather seat of the cycle. 

Harry looks at Ginny in stunned silence. 

“What do you mean, mine?” 

“Sirius shipped it to me in parts and I assembled it for you. I might have taken it on more than a few test drives.” 

“Ginny, you didn’t have to do that!” Harry says guilt rushing through him. 

“But I wanted to! It’s great practice for when I open my garage. And he paid me! Plus with that money and the money I got from selling my old orange clunker to some gullible townie, I should have enough to buy all the Harpies jackets.” Ginny exclaims. 

Harry gives her a sheepish smile and another hug. 

“Thanks, really this means a lot to me.” 

He has been dreading riding the bus every day or walking to school if worse came to worst. This allows him to have a similar feeling of independence that his Nimbus 2000 gave him with Sirius. 

“Oh, I have one more thing for you,” Ginny says, pulling a wrapped bundle from the saddlebag. 

Harry's trembling hands rip through the paper and is left speechless at the sight before him. The object in his grasp is more than just a helmet; it's a masterpiece. A fierce lion's head, crafted from shimmering gold painted fur, snarls with bared teeth around the face shield. Its piercing green eyes seem to follow Harry's every move, daring him to challenge authority. The etched cursive red letters "Lion Cub" add to its intimidating presence. As Harry gazes at it in awe, memories flood back of the similar helmet his dad gave him when he was just a young boy. The emotions swell within him and he can't help but feel tears welling up in his eyes. This is so much more than just a gift; it's a reminder of his past and a symbol of his future.

“Do you like it?” Ginny asks in a nervous voice, her feet shifting from side to side. 

“Ginny, this is amazing,” Harry says in a breathless voice as he runs his fingers over the buffed surface of the helmet following the curve of the lion’s jaw around the face shield. 

Ginny put such detail into the teeth and fur that he expected the hot breath to brush his fingers and for the jaw to snap down on his hand at any moment. 

“But were the ears entirely necessary, Gin?” Harry asks, playing with rounded golden nobs on the top. 

“They look cute,” Ginny says with a devilish grin. 

Harry narrows his eyes at her and pouts. 

“Motorcycle drivers are not supposed to look cute.” 

“Motorcycle drivers are supposed to look however they want to,” Ginny says a touch of challenge in her gaze. 

“Touche.” 

Chapter Text

I wanna fuck you like an animal

I wanna feel you from the inside

I wanna fuck you like an animal

My whole existence is flawed

-Nine-inch Nails

September 20, 1980

Malfoy Manor 

“Through the night, my little one, the wind whispers low 

Of your father's deeds, to the Dark Lord he goes

 Hunting those deemed unworthy, a purging embrace 

Yet in my arms, you'll find shelter, a sacred place…” 

His mother's voice drifts like a warning to him from up above and he kicks his socked feet in the air banging against the walls of his bassinet in protest. The wind howls and shakes the windows in their panes and the rain lashes in torrents against the manor walls as if stirred up by his cries. The curtains do not manage to hold back the pale moonlight from seeping through the inky clouds, casting long, grasping shadows that stretch hungrily toward the bassinet like the hands of the Dark Lord. 

His mother's familiar silhouette paces before the crackling fireplace, her elegant figure taut with worry, as if she too guesses the meaning of those shadows and her inability to stop their progression. Her eyes periodically turn towards the ornate wooden door, as if willing it to open with her glance alone. Thunder booms and lightning lights up the sky, revealing the gauntness of her face and he gives a fierce cry. She rushes towards him, her features softening as she begins another verse of the haunting lullaby.

"Sleep now, my baby, let the shadows conceal

The sins of our kin, that I dare not reveal..."

Her voice is velvet-wrapped steel, simultaneously soothing and laced with melancholy. 

"Close your eyes, dear innocent, and dream without fear

For mother's devotion will ever keep you near..."

As the last lyric's refrain fades, there is an explosive splintering of wood. The door flies open with a thunderous bang, admitting a tall, cloaked figure silhouetted by lingering emerald light. Mother gasps, her wand hand raised defensively until she recognises the unmistakable silhouette of Father.

Lucius Malfoy stands framed in the doorway, his robes billowing. The skull-like mask conceals his expression, but he can see his left arm is bared, the Dark Mark still smouldering upon his pale skin like a haunting brand...

*****

Draco shakes off the images unsettled to think about it after all these years, not sure how he came to relive a memory of when he was a baby.

“You usually give in by now.” a sour voice says, causing him to glance up.

Severus stands in the doorway looking down at him with distant curiosity holding Draco’s weekly dose of blood. It took him two weeks to succumb to the urge to drink the gruel again, but he came to Severus weak and crawling on his knees. Severus the absolute cock just handed it to him with a sneer. Draco is beginning to suspect that manners are just a false veneer for the mudblood.

After the third dose he started calling it blood, feeling like engaging in delusions regarding one's unfortunate fate was unbecoming for a Malfoy. Or maybe that is just his parents' voice in his head again. It has become impossible to tell the difference between them when they are the only ones talking to him. Even if it is just in endless contradicting circles. Though he is all too used to it after his childhood.

 He now takes it weekly to avoid becoming so pathetic and vulnerable again. His lip curls in disdain as he gives Severus a cold glare, making it clear how he feels about the sentiment. With a heavy sigh, he reluctantly opens the disgusting muggle book once again, knowing it is the lesser of two evils presented to him. The scent of blood vials fills the air as Severus follows their unsaid procedure and leaves them on the side table.

He wouldn't be reading this muggle book if he didn't believe it to be his only escape from the boredom and loneliness that plague him in this room. The creature inside of him, as he has come to call it, constantly begs for Draco to give in to his animalistic instincts. It wants to run wild through the forest, barefoot and screaming at the moon like a savage beast. It longs to climb trees and rip them from the earth with nothing but its brute strength. These thoughts terrify Draco, yet he feels trapped and hopeless, like a caged animal in this small glass box of a room. And it's all his fault. He failed his parents worse than if he had simply abandoned them to die. At least then Draco would have survived and carried on the family name. But now no one is left because he doesn't know how long he will be trapped here, unable to reproduce, forced to face the consequences of his actions alone.

Hence the muggle books, the one compromise he needs to make to stay sane despite what he knows his father would say. 

“A children’s book, really Draco?” Severus tries again with a smirk, settling onto the floor due to the lack of available furniture, somehow making his relaxing sprawl look elegant. 

Draco fights the urge to snort, which he imagines is Severus's goal. Despite the rabbits, the central characters, the book is hardly Babbitty Rabbitty and the Cackling Stump. So far most of the characters die due to incompetence of the leadership and it isn’t hard for Draco to guess the allusions to muggle society and government the author makes. Even muggles agree that they are inferior and need better leadership. It is palatable for a muggle book, a distraction from everyone in the house's thoughts. 

As if reading his mind Severus lowers the shield only seems to keep on his mind, with any regularity. He ignores the tempting buzzing in the back of his head and holds his imaginary occlumency shields higher. He made the mistake of giving into the temptation to follow the odd feeling in the back of his head after his first day coming here and discovered to his horror the creature possessed the ability to read minds. He experienced the unfortunate moment of Zabini climaxing and never wanted to hear anything like that again. He fights against the instinct whenever it rears its ugly head, reminding him too much of the reason why he had such good occlumency shields in the first place. Dam his Aunt Bella to the deepest pits of muggle Hell. 

“I find the theme of your reading choice interesting, with your desire to have no hand in your fate.” 

Draco scrunches his face in frustration.

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” he says then curses himself for breaking his vow of silence.

“Based on how you are acting, I assume then that you would prefer to be one of the dead rabbits in your book,” Severus says pouncing. 

Draco glares at him in silence as he gets up and grabs one of the glass vials. He takes a drink and represses a shudder at the taste. Squirrel, his least favourite.

“Blaise's hunting scared off all the deer, so we couldn't catch another one for you after he got his bear. We only managed to catch squirrels, but you would have been aware of that if you had joined us.” Severus says in a dismissive voice. 

Draco scowls as he slams back another vial. While he suspects that the story is true and could check it by taking a trip into Severus’s mind, he doesn’t think it's the whole truth. He thinks Zabini made more noise on purpose so there would be nothing left, but squirrels. They were trying to freeze him out and it was not going to work. This story would realise soon enough that Draco wasn’t willing to participate in it and kick him out of it. He just needs to keep waiting. 

Two more weeks pass and he’s read all of the books in the house. Much of the book's contents are lost on him due to the muggle terms, but they filled the long tireless hours better than staring at the walls seemed to. By the second set of two weeks, he succumbs to his temptation to listen to his former dorm mates' thoughts. Not that they are very interesting. Nott just reads boring textbooks about muggle history and something called science. Zabini thinks about cars, sex, and hunting in that order. Pansy about clothes and a strange longing to be human. Her jealousy surprises Draco because he never sees her haughtiness as a front to hide an inferiority complex in his world. He also doesn’t understand a world where Pansy desires to be a muggle.

He stays out of Loony’s, the mudblood’s and Severus’s head for the most part due to most of his thoughts revolving around blood and muggle medicine which still grosses Draco out. 

It’s in the middle of the third set of two-week intervals that he breaks from the continued silence and boredom after rereading all the books. He blames his lack of perseverance on the squirrel's blood. He figures talking to Pansy, Zabini and Nott couldn’t incorporate him into the story too much, since they must be minor characters and therefore unimportant. 

Draco bursts into Severus’s office an hour later. 

“No one will talk to me! Make them talk to me!” 

Severus looks up from his desk for a moment in irritation, his eyes taking in the taunt lines of Draco’s body. His eyes dart back to the strange box shaped muggle device in front of him as if he longs to ignore Draco and resume whatever he worked on before. 

“You must think highly of my position in this family if you think I can ‘make them talk to you’,” Severus says with a dark raised bow.

Draco cringes away from the word family. He feels no particular attachment to any of them barring Severus, but enough is enough. He can’t take the wall of united silence that the three of his former dorm mates surround themselves in whenever he walks into a room. He still can’t believe that his old ‘friends’ were picking Loony over him. Draco Malfoy! His only option proved to be to talk to Loony or the mudblood both of which he refuses to stoop to. 

“But you’re…father,” Draco says failing to convey the heavy meaning that word holds for him. 

Power, respect, an almost yielding sort of fear and now disappointment, but he tries to forget that last one.

“I am just one member of this household, equal to all others,” Severus says in an unimpressed voice. 

Draco feels stumped. He’d expected to be able to storm in here and state his problem and Severus would…make it disappear. Much like his father did for him in the past. It hurt a bit to realise that the all-encompassing power ceased to exist in both worlds. 

“Have you tried the miraculous solution of apologizing?” Severus draws, interrupting his thoughts. 

“I can’t do that!” 

Severus sighs in a put-upon way and looks away from the metal rectangular device again. 

“And why ever not?” 

“Then they would have power over me.”

“And you are completely free of their power right now?”

Draco thinks for a moment. He reflects on the information Severus gave him and even more on his relationship with his dorm siblings. Or lack of one. A year ago, Draco would have laughed at the notion that one of his peers wouldn’t overlook his actions, but now he isn’t so sure. He no longer can runs to his parents every time someone doesn’t like him or refuses to acknowledge his superiority. He knows now what it feels like to experience a fall from grace. In his world, he didn’t need anyone's help because he possessed magic and a deep understanding of the inner mechanics of his society. He didn’t have magic here and didn’t know the first thing about this world. Even he knew he needed help to get back to his parents. His only allies in this unknown place were Severus, Nott, Pansy, and Zabini. He would do well not to allow them to stay mad at him if nothing else than to keep him from going insane from the silence. 

“What do I usually do, when I mess up and they are mad at me?” Draco says. 

Severus' frown deepens. 

“Nothing.” 

“Nothing?” Draco asks, stunned. 

He may be a manipulative person who uses people to his end, but he always makes sure that there is either some benefit to staying with him or some punishment for leaving. The fact that he just expected them to forgive him when he possessed nothing to hold over them seemed short-sighted to him. 

“Given enough time they always forgave you. This time is different though. You aren’t you anymore. You forgot them on purpose and that hurts them. You need more than a simple apology to get back into their good graces.” 

“Then why are Lo-Luna and the mu-Mother talking to me then?” Draco demands in a cross voice. 

“They are always the first to forgive you. The reason is beyond me, but imagine it has something to do with love.” 

Draco scowls, really beginning to hate that word. 

“I don’t want their love. I don’t even need Theo, Pansy and Blaise to like me. I just need them to talk to me.” he hisses. 

Severus just grins at him in a satisfied way. 

“They are aware,” Severus says, pushing the odd buttons on the muggle device in blurry rapid-fire movements.

And they will use this to force his hand, Draco finishes for him. He would almost respect their tactics if he wasn’t on the other end of them. 

“So what do I do?” he grumbles

“I believe I answered that question for you a week ago.” 

Draco thinks back to the scraps of paper and pictures that Severus handed him in his room with a frown. 

“Where do I purchase those items?” Draco asks. 

Severus gives him a strange look as if not remembering the full extent of his ‘memory loss’. 

“You are still so much yourself I forget sometimes,” he says almost to himself, “I am busy at the moment reviewing these patient files, but I am sure your mother would be more than willing to take you shopping.” 

Draco grimaces at the thought of spending time with the mudblood on purpose, much less engaging in muggle shopping. He decides to sink his pride and try to talk to Nott who seems the most pissed at him and hopes the others fall into line. He groans as he gets up, slumping his shoulders in defeat. His mother would have his head if she saw him right now, but Severus just smirks. 

“You're welcome,” Severus says in a darkly amused voice as Draco slams the door shut.  

Draco finds Nott in what must be his room, judging by the way his scent permeates every inch and the massive bookshelf Draco pilfered during his first miserable weeks here. He still can’t believe that Nott succumbed to becoming a blood traitor in this world, but Draco always knew he was too soft. Noty reads a muggle book with a blonde girl in a pinfold chasing a white rabbit on the cover while muggle music plays in the background. Draco sneers at its garish sound. Nott shuts the book at the sound and narrows his eyes at him. 

“I have come to apologise, I shouldn’t have torn up your darling girlfriend's garden. I will replant it,” Draco says in a halting voice. 

“Wife.” Nott hisses.

"Your darling wife's garden, then," Draco amends.

Nott raises an eyebrow at him as if to say that’s it and then raises his middle finger at him and continues to read. 

Draco is not sure what the crass muggle gesture means, but he takes a wild guess that it’s insulting. 

“You can’t ignore me forever.” Draco insists. 

Nott turns a page in his book. Draco feels a burst of desperation in his chest.

“Pl-ease.” Draco tries. 

The word feels like a thousand stinging hexes on his tongue but he shoves it out. 

Nott sighs as he shuts his book. 

“You could plant a thousand new gardens and it wouldn’t make a difference because I can tell you aren’t sorry for destroying it. It’s not even about the garden, not really. Luna would forgive you in a heartbeat, in fact, she already has because she’s Luna and she's more than you’ve ever deserved in a sister. It’s that you thought it was your right to let your misery drown you and then leave us the mess to clean up. You never think of anyone but yourself, since the day I met you and I’m sick of it.” Nott says in a world-weary voice.

He wants to scream at Nott that he thinks of his parents. That he would kill and die for them, even if it destroyed his soul to keep them safe. It is the entire reason that he is here. But he buries the anger deep down and forces a pleasant smile on his face. 

“What can I do to make it up to you then?” 

Nott looks like he thinks for a moment, then he says, 

“Spend time with mom, she misses you, why I don’t know.” 

Draco clenches his teeth against the desire to say he doesn’t know why Nott spends time with the crazy blood traitor, unless he is brain dead too, but resists. 

“Then will you talk to me again?” 

“It will be a start,” Nott says, opening his book and falling silent. 

Draco's steps echo through the glass and wood house as his nose scrunches up in disgust, tracking the scent of the mudblood through the halls. He hates using the creature’s instincts; it feels like a violation of nature, but even his pride won't allow him to reject perfectly good tools. Finally, he reaches a door that swings open to reveal a room that reeks of paint and creativity. Vibrant pictures line every inch of the walls, each depicting a different subject with an array of colours that make Draco's eyes ache. His gaze falls upon one in particular - a scene of tall trees surrounding a meadow carpeted in a sea of delicate flowers. In the centre lies Draco or the vampire, his usually pale form reclined back on his arms with a peaceful expression on his face, contrasting sharply against the vampire's face in the muggle photograph.

“That’s one of my favorites.” the mudblood says, and Draco feels himself stiffen. 

“It’s very beautiful Mrs-mother,” Draco says in a clipped voice. 

The mudblood gives him a wry smile, “I know you don’t remember me Draco, you don’t have to pretend for my sake, no matter what my husband may have told you. I can tell it makes you uncomfortable and you aren’t as good an actor as you think you are.” 

Draco grinds his teeth at the insult. He knows for a fact that he is an excellent actor. He just isn’t giving his best performance for the benefit of a lesser individual. 

“Should I call you Mrs.Cullen then?” Draco spits out.

His hostility doesn’t seem to faze the mudblood as she just grins at him and gives him a wink. 

“No need to be so formal, Lily works just fine.” 

Draco gives her a curt nod, his skin tingling with disgust the longer he spends in her dirty presence. 

“What can I do for you?” she asks, giving him a determined look. 

“I need to buy plants for a new garden,” Draco says in a grudging voice. 

"I'd be happy to take you, Draco," she says with a beaming smile, and something in her eyes reminds him of Potter in a way that makes his skin crawl.

She methodically washes her brush in a cup of water and screws the tops on her paint bottles, humming a unfamiliar tune that reminds him of how his real mother did the same when she cleaned up her potions ingredients. The familiarity of it makes his chest ache with emptiness.

“Do you still remember how to resist the temptation to snack on a succulent mortal morsel?” the mudblood asks in a casual voice. 

Draco sputters at her word choice. 

Her face twitches before breaking into a huge grin, a giggle bursting out of her mouth that sounds far too young for someone supposedly many years older than him.

“I’m joking, of course, your control is second only to your f- to Severus’s. He told me even when you were younger you always managed to resist when needed.” 

“That’s good to know,” Draco says, uncomfortable with her friendly personality. 

He doesn’t know what to make of her joking about their condition or the fact that she seems so calm about him forgetting her. In his world, mothers didn't giggle like schoolgirls. His mother carried herself with grace and dignity befitting the Lady Malfoy. He follows her out of the room and through the window-lined hallways, watching despite himself as rays of sunlight peek through the trees and glitter on her skin like scattered diamonds. She catches his gaze and smiles, holding her hand up to the light with childlike wonder. She twists it, watching the light refract across the surface in a carefree display that would have horrified his father.

“I imagine this is where the myth that vampires avoid the sunlight came from,” she says in a mischievous voice as they descend a staircase that takes them to a cavernous space filled with muggle transportation devices. 

Rars he thinks they are called, so named for the sound they make when they are turned on. They were like carriages without horses if he remembers correctly. He thinks he remembers Potter crashing a flying one of these into the Whomping Willow in Third Year and barely getting slapped on the wrist for it.  Severus was livid and claimed he was just like his arrogant father. Draco despite not knowing the man couldn't help but agree from the stories Severus and his parents told him.

"Yes, I imagine a mu-" he catches himself, though barely, "human would notice if your skin started glittering like a diamond," he says with calculated disdain.

The mudblood just laughs, the sound echoing off the ceiling. It's nothing like his mother's carefully measured social laugh.

“This is why places like Forks are amazing places to live. There is almost no sunlight here, so we blend in with ease.” 

Draco can’t help but feel like the mudblood is trying to tell him more than just the wonders of Forks but to appeal to him not to leave. He brushes this thought aside, as impossible. She couldn’t possibly care for him, not after the way he treated her. Not for the things he thinks of her. Or maybe Granger is an exception among mudbloods and she is more stupid than he assumed. Either way, she is nothing more than an inconsequential means to an end. They all are. His real parents are the only thing that matters. 

The mudblood opens the door to the rar and slides in looking at Draco with confusion when he still stands watching her. 

“Are you coming?” She asks with a wicked smile. 

Draco's phantom heart races as he fights down the fear bubbling in his throat determined not to show any signs of weakness. The thought of being trapped and killed inside that chaotic contraption sends shivers down his spine. But he forces himself to follow the mudblood's lead, pushing open the door and collapsing into the plush leather seats. As he sinks back, he can't help but be impressed by the luxurious quality of the muggle invention - a fact he would never admit to his father. Suddenly, the mudblood inserts a key into a slot and turns it, unleashing a soft purr that vibrates through the car. Draco's body tenses involuntarily as the mudblood watches him with an amused look. He scowls and clenches his fists, refusing to let this muggle machine intimidate him. After all, he is Draco Abraxas Malfoy - he will not be cowed by anything or anyone.

“You don’t remember, cars do you?”

He grimaces thinking he is close enough. 

“No.” he bites out. 

"That's nothing to be embarrassed about, Draco. They're perfectly safe, don't worry. I'm an excellent driver." Her voice softens. "Besides, there's not much that can kill us anymore."

The mudblood's voice drones on as the car speeds through the streets, his hand gripping a notch in the door for stability. His ears hear the words but his mind is elsewhere, storing away the information with his quick vampire brain. 

The car screeches to a halt in front of a muggle building overflowing with plants, looking more like Professor Sprout's greenhouse than any proper establishment. The mudblood confidently exits the vehicle and strides into the building without a care. Draco's hand instinctively reaches for his wand, only to find it missing - again. Six weeks without magic, and the loss still feels like a fresh wound every time he reaches for it.

Inside, the harsh fluorescent lights above illuminate every inch of the room, leaving no shadow in which to hide his discomfort. The walls and floor are an unrelenting white, almost blinding in their sterility. As he inhales deeply, an overpowering mixture of scents assaults his enhanced senses. He smells the earthy smell of freshly upturned soil, the sharp tang of various plants, and underneath it all, the metallic note that can only be blood. His new instincts stir at the thought of such an alluring fragrance, and he realizes with disgust that no thought of proper food has crossed his mind since arriving in this cursed story.

"Draco, keep it together," the mudblood says, giving him a gentle shove that breaks his statue-like stance.

He tries to get his breathing under control, but every intake fills his lungs with the delectable flavour that hangs in the air. 

"Stop breathing, it helps," she whispers in his ear, and he complies.

It's not comfortable, but it dulls the maddening thirst somewhat.

“Let’s see that list of yours.” the mudblood says, holding out a pale hand. 

"Let's see that list of yours." She holds out a pale hand, and he digs into his pocket for the crumpled piece of paper, watching her face break into that same adoring nostalgia he's coming to hate.

“I remember when she wrote this. She was so excited to bring some color to our green-saturated world.” the mudblood says with a fond smile. 

“She worked so hard on it too. There were so many months when Theo had to remind her to eat because she was so taken with figuring out the perfect formula to get them to grow.” 

Draco wonders if this tactic of the mudblood is supposed to make him feel guilty. If so, it fails. He feels nothing for Loony’s ridiculous garden. It falls short of his mother’s masterpiece at the Manor, though most do. Draco remains silent during this emotional display, following her around as she places plants in a metal cart with wheels, marking them off the list as she goes. The whole scene feels beneath him , a Malfoy, reduced to pushing around muggle shopping carts like some common servant.

“I know you will make it even more beautiful Draco, you are a very talented artist,” the mudblood says, laying a hand on Draco’s arm.

Draco flinches back at the foul touch of her skin against his and scowls. The mudblood looks embarrassed as if remembering herself, though she looks a little sad. 

“I am not an artist.” Draco spits out. 

Father always sneered at the notion of creating art, claiming it was beneath the Malfoy's status to do anything but collect and consume. To him, the lower class must entertain and amuse their betters like dancing hippogriffs. And as for Loony, it is no surprise that she has sunk to such depths - her dirt-stained hands reflect her lowly place in this world.

“But you play the piano so beautifully, if that’s not art I don’t know what is.” 

Draco feels a headache forming if that is even possible for a vampire. In his world, he indeed wrote music and on a rare day when he stayed home while his parents attended a gala without him, he played it, for himself. He never played for anyone else’s enjoyment, keeping it well out of the realm of the paupers who slaved away for mere coins.

“I don’t play the piano.” Draco sneers. 

She gives him another of those sad looks that make him want to break something, but mercifully drops the conversation. A forced smile appears on her face as she says with conviction, "There are plenty of other hobbies you can pick up."

“I don’t want a hobby, I just want to go home,” Draco growls under his breath, though he guesses with her superior senses she hears him.

Once they acquire all of the plants the mudblood pays a muggle in front of a peculiar device with flashing lights, not with galleons or even muggle money, but a thin hard rectangular object. The mudblood explains in a voice too low for the muggle to understand that it is a credit card and is connected to the Cullens’ bank account. The more she explains about credit cards the more it sounds like magic. How does the card know how much money to draw and how does it know which account to draw it from? Draco leaves the store mystified despite himself and is quick to slap a scowl on his face lest the mudblood mistakes it for fascination. His father would be so disappointed.

*****

Harry reclines on a love-worn couch in Albus Black’s living room, sipping from a can of Sprite, debating whether or not to ask Albus to borrow the books he needs for his AP. Lit. class from his extensive library or just break down and buy it. Ginny sits next to him, his legs lying over her lap, playing a game of chess against her father. A 60-Minutes rerun about childhood obesity plays in the background on the television that Harry pretends to watch, but his eyes flick back to the game every few seconds. Ginny moves her black werewolf knight two squares forward and Albus frowns. She looks pretty like this: her red-dyed streaked black hair pulled up in a messy bun, pieces of hair falling into her face, her lip bit in concentration between her lips. Harry sometimes fantasizes about kissing her, but then he risks losing this:

Lazy Saturday afternoons at the Burrow, away from the Dursleys. Plus it would break the no-dating rule he set a month before he moved here. 

Albus counters his white vampire rook, cutting off her next move. The board is a Halloween chess addition, playing on the rivalry between vampire and werewolf fans. Ginny always plays as the werewolves no matter who she plays against. Harry stopped trying to beat either of them, sick of losing to their strategic minds. 

Ginny groans as Albus captures her bishop, adding it to a growing pile of black that far outweighs Ginny’s meagre pile of white. Albus always wins. A few minutes later the game is over. Ginny scowls as they set the board to rights, she is always a sore loser.

“I hear you will be starting your Senior year at Hogwarts High, Harry,” Albus says leaning forward in his wheelchair and looking at Harry with interest. 

“Daaaaddd, don’t drag Harry into a conversation about work,” 

With unwavering determination, Albus weaves his way through the bureaucratic maze of the Bureau of Indian Education. As the leader of The Order of the Phoenix homeschool organization, he is relentless in his pursuit to provide top-notch supplies and curriculum for the children of the Balsam Tribe. He pulls strings and calls in favors from local and corporate businesses, as well as works with other tribes in the area, using his natural charm to secure deals and partnerships that rival even the most prestigious public schools in the area. While battling with the unyielding Dolorous Umbridge for resources, Albus also utilizes his connections to rally support from the community and government officials. His efforts are often bolstered by the appearance of his friend Harry Swan, whose celebrity status draws even more attention to their cause at rallies organized by Albus himself.

“Yeah,” Harry says, not looking forward to starting school and losing time with Ginny, his only real friend in Forks. 

“It is hardly spying on the enemy to ask questions,” Albus says, his black eyes twinkling. 

Ginny groans, “But school is so boring, especially since he has to read all those dusty old classics by those dead old white dudes. I don’t know how anyone could enjoy reading them, but it’s an absolute disgrace that Harry does when he could be reading books by Sherman Alexie or Angeline Boulley. Though I’d much rather be in the garage either way.” 

Albus gives Ginny an exasperated look. While he is supportive of Ginny’s all-girl motorcycle gang the Holyhead Harpies and her work to refurbish and sell old cars and motorcycles, he wants her to go to college. Ginny wants to go into the mechanic trade. It’s been a point of contention between them for years. 

“There’s nothing wrong with liking reading Ginny,” Albus replies with a tense laugh. 

“I have read both of those books in my free time outside of class and I agree they are great reads. Some of the classics aren’t too bad. I read Paradise Lost over the summer it's about-” Harry starts to say.

“Harry let’s try out your new bike on the track, I bet she can make it even higher on that one jump than your Nimbus 2000.” Ginny interrupts with an eager look on her face. 

Harry checks his watch, one of his few reminders of his dad and frowns.

“I should probably be back to the Dursleys’, I need to make dinner.”  

“Can’t they make dinner for themselves for once?”

They go through this conversation every time he comes over, Ginny saying that the Dursleys mistreated Harry during the summers he stayed with them and Harry insisting that he was fine. He made sure not to allow details of his life there to slip out after the first time. From the knowing look in Albus’s eyes, Harry suspects that he knows there is more than Harry lets on about the situation, but he never pushes Harry for details. A fact Harry always feels grateful for.

“You know my aunt; she would probably burn the kitchen down if left to her own devices.” He says with a forced laugh. 

“Right,” Ginny says in a doubtful voice. 

Ginny’s eyes light up a second later and she jumps up from the couch and runs to her room, knocking Harry’s legs off her lap. 

“I’ll be right back,” she calls over her shoulder.

Albus gives her an indulgent smile as he watches her disappear for a few minutes, the sounds of shifting clothes and boxes floating from the open door. 

“She’s been excited about this surprise for a while,” he says. 

Harry opens his mouth to reply, but Ginny reappears holding up a black leather jacket, the name Harry printed in a green stylized script in front of the shoulder. Ginny blushes and she tosses it at him as she says, 

“I thought maybe you would want your own jacket now that you are here full time, so you could help me advertise,” 

Harry catches the jacket, still maintaining his reflexes despite his lack of practice. He turns the jacket over and smiles despite himself as he sees the yellow bird claw surrounded by green stitched into the back, the words Honorary Member of the Holyhead Harpies around the emblem. 

“You can’t be an official member due to the unfortunate status of your sex, but you’ll make a nice walking billboard.” 

Harry snorts as he shrugs the jacket on. 

“Thanks, Gin,” he says standing up and giving her and then Albus a hug, “But as great as this has been though I need to go.”

He walks down the steps when runs into Sybil who works at the the city council and often visits Albus to give him a heads up on Dolores’s moves, somehow always seeming to guess her actions before even Dolores does. Sybil startles her eyes focusing on Harry and clouding over. 

“Sybil I’m so sorry I didn’t see you there-”

“When the moon and the sun align, and spare is killed. The hunter will pierce the snake that wears the skin of the lion and the fox shall decide who lives and dies.” she intones in a haunting voice.

Sybil blinks and her eyes return to normal, 

“Oh, Harry didn’t see you there,” she says with a tittering laugh, patting his shoulder as she steps around him. 

He stares at the spot where she stands with wide eyes and shakes his head. It’s probably nothing he thinks as he gets on his Firebolt, and its engine starts with a rumbling purr. It’s probably nothing.

*****

Draco holds his upturned palm out to Loony, and she pours more seeds into his hand. He dumps the seeds into the hole he just dug and holds the dropper filled with his venom over it. He squeezes out three drops and then shoves the dirt back over it. 

“I think that this is the last one,” Loony says as she dusts off her snow-white knees. 

Draco stands back, his chest still as he surveys their handiwork. The once beautiful garden is still a mere shadow of its former glory, broken by his own destructive hands. But with each step in the restoration process, a small sense of satisfaction blossoms within him, surprising even himself. His mother's gentle voice echoes in his mind, urging him to take pride in the garden and carry on her legacy. He can almost feel her disappointment at his current actions. But it is his father's cruel sneer that haunts him the most, a constant reminder of his failure as both a son and a Malfoy heir. A sickening knot forms in Draco's stomach as he imagines facing his father's disapproving gaze once again.

“Draco, this looks amazing!” the mudblood exclaims walking out into the garden. 

“Thanks…Lily.” Draco says and tries not to shudder at her name falling out of his lips. 

Draco put up with her company because he knew he needed to make an effort with her to not completely isolate his ‘siblings’ but he didn’t enjoy it. The mudblood was too…sweet. It threw him off and made him feel wrong-footed. Somehow, he suspects that the mudblood knew this; and it only encourages her to try even harder to be nice to him. He misses Potter, he is so easy to hate and to make him explode in fiery anger. 

“Luna, can you take a little more off my nose? It looks a little…” 

“Pug like.” 

“Blaise.”

“But that’s just the way it looks dearest.” 

“Ow!” Zabini exclaims.

“I’m married to a brute,” Pansy mutters as she stands by her statue frowning at the nose with distaste. 

“And I’m married to a harpy.” Blaise shoots back. 

“Where’s my statue, Lo-una?” Draco interrupts long since used to their bickering even before he found himself trapped in this book. 

Loony looks up from where she twined herself around Nott with a small frown. 

“Your’s isn’t ready yet,” she says. 

“Why?” Draco demands, feeling overlooked when he sees all of his siblings' statues scattered around the new garden. 

“She probably couldn’t get your pointy nose right without it breaking off,” Pansy says with a cackle.

Draco growls at her, but it’s all for show. Secretly he is thrilled that they are reluctantly talking to him again.  He never realised how much he enjoyed their company until they withheld it. They still claim to not have forgiven him for the garden, but Draco thinks they are on their way to it. Loony shakes her head and frowns. 

“I’m waiting for something, but I’m not sure yet what it is. Just a feeling that something is missing and I won’t be able to complete it until it shows up.” 

“Ugh, I’m hungry.” Pansy groans as she lays back in the sun. 

It is a rare day of sunlight and the beams bounce off her skin in dazzling rays of light. She looks like a sculpture made from diamonds.

Nott pulls out what Draco learned is a phone, which is a muggle communication device that mixes patronus and Firecalls as far as he can tell. He refuses to use his, much to his siblings' annoyance, Draco doesn’t need to see his father’s face to know how he would feel about him using a muggle device no matter its supposed practical uses. It made him ache for his magic back, almost as much as he ached for his parents and their ancestral home. 

“I’ll text the group chat and tell them we want dinner,” Nott says, and a few seconds later the chunk of metal in his pocket buzzes. 

“Can you believe we all lived in a world without phones?” Pansy says. 

“And television,” Zabini says.

“And computers,” Loony says. 

“And radio,” Severus says in a wry voice as he steps into the garden. 

“Yes we get it Dad you are the ultimate old fart,” Pansy says, and Draco tenses waiting for Severus’s response, Severus the bitter old coot never knew how to take a joke. 

To Draco’s surprise, he chuckles. 

“Jokes on all of you. I was around for all of those things.” the mudblood says, appearing out of nowhere to stand beside Severus. 

“Wait Mom, does that make you dad’s trophy wife since you are so much younger than him?” Zabini asks with a smirk. 

The mudblood pretends to look offended. 

“The only way I’m like a trophy is all the cases I won this week in court.” the mudblood replies.

Draco also learned in the last few weeks that like Severus, the mudblood works in the muggle version of the Wizengot to save people from ‘domestic abuse’ with evidence and fancy speeches. He is still not sure why either of them works when they seem to have as much money as his family. Neither one of his parents ever sunk so low as to hold a profession or work long hours to improve someone else's life. Draco thankfully is not expected to seek out one of these professions, though he is expected to go to something called high school which according to Zabini is little better. 

“Race you,” Pansy says, jumping to her feet and running into the woods. 

Draco realises he missed the rest of the conversation due to his daydreaming. His siblings do not seem to notice or mind, so he assumes it seems part of his usual behaviour. Not that he is sure he wants to imitate his old vampire self anyway since he seems such a bore, always moping and drinking. 

“No fair, Pansy!” Zabini yells, taking off after her. 

Nott, Loony and Severus follow quickly on the heels of Zabini. Draco watches them with trepidation unsure about his vampire powers. He assumes they will come naturally to him if he only uses them, but it still feels like a betrayal to everything he is as a Malfoy and Pureblood to use the power of an inferior dirty creature. As if he is embracing it and his situation. He doesn’t want to tempt the storyline to lock him in. But the Slytherin in him knows that he needs every advantage he can get. He is sure his father would agree.

“Are you coming, Draco?” the mudblood asks with a worried expression on her face. 

“Yes,” Draco says, hoping that running comes instinctually or he is going to make a fool of himself and in front of a mudblood no less. 

The mudblood, her hand outstretched, waits patiently for Draco to grasp it. With a resigned sigh, he reaches out and takes it. She takes off in a blur, her lithe movements fluid and graceful compared to his clumsy ones. He stumbles after her, trying to keep up as she leads him swiftly through the forest.

Draco's limbs feel ungainly and awkward in his new body, but the mudblood doesn't seem to notice. Suddenly, he slams into a tree with a loud crack. In horror, he watches as a domino effect occurs - one tree knocking into another until five trees come crashing down with a resounding thud. The mudblood stops and turns around, regarding him with a serious expression and a twitch of her lip.

Fear swirls through Draco, images of the mudblood and Severus's disapproving faces flashing before his eyes. His mouth hangs open in shock as she snorts and bursts into laughter.

For a moment, all Draco does is stare at her in disbelief. But then, despite himself, he starts to laugh too. Their mirth fills the forest, momentarily drowning out all other sounds. Amidst their chuckles and gasps for air, Draco realises that he missed the sound.

“That’s a new record,” she says between helpless giggles. 

Draco makes an unintelligible noise. 

“Your last record was three I think,” she says with a shake of her head, “Come on let’s catch up to the others before Blaise steals your mountain lion.” 

The mudblood takes off again and Draco follows her, his movements now more graceful and coordinated as he navigates around the trees with ease. As he ran, a sense of freedom and exhilaration washed over him, bringing a rare smile to his usually stoic face. It's like flying, but without a broomstick, and it's invigorating. He laughs at the adrenaline rush coursing through his veins, temporarily forgetting about the war and all its chaos. With a swift kick of his leg, he effortlessly turns a tree stump into splinters, feeling a surge of strength and power course through him. Flowers appear to bloom in slow motion around him and insects fly at a snail's pace. He can see every dirt particle in the air and taste the rain that is about to fall. It’s like being in sync with the world around him. 

But then, an unfamiliar scent catches his attention - not mouthwatering, but edible. An innate impulse kicks in and Draco knows he must follow this scent to find sustenance and quell the burning sensation in the back of his throat. He picks up speed, hunger intensifying with each breath filled with the irresistible aroma.

The overpowering smell leads him to the base of a towering mountain, its jagged rocks looming above him. With unwavering balance and strength, he grapples his way up the treacherous terrain, his movements fluid and precise. A savage smile curls at his lips as he imagines the power he holds now - one touch from him and every bone in Potter's pathetic Chosen One body will shatter.

Finally reaching the summit, he sees Zabini stalking towards a large dusty brown cat with rippling muscles, backed into a corner on an outcropping ledge. The creature hisses at them in warning, its sharp teeth bared. In his wizard form, Draco would have been cowering in fear, but the powerful thrum in his muscles assures him that he is no longer human. The alluring scent that had led him here surrounds the beast like a misty mirage, beckoning him forward in a drunken stumble.

Zabini lunges for the cat at the same time as Draco, but Draco's sheer force knocks him off course, reminiscent of their days playing Quidditch. They tumble off the side of the mountain and crash onto the ground below with a loud thud. Quickly recovering, Draco pushes off of Zabini and begins climbing back up, his eyes fixed on the elusive cat like it's a golden snitch. Frustration bubbles within him as the creature scurries into a crevice between rocks, evading capture once again

“Oh no you don’t,” Zabini growls, “I saw it first.” 

He grabs onto Draco’s ankle and tries to yank him down, but Draco escapes from his grasp shoving the back of his heel into Zabini’s jaw with a hard bang.

“Damn you,” Zabini mutters, as Draco blurs his way back up. 

Draco pounds with waves of sudo adrenaline as he stalks towards the dark cave, his eyes adjusting to the shadows and allowing him to see every detail around him. The scent of the lion fills his nostrils, fueling his primal instinct to hunt and conquer. He sees a shift of fur in and shadows and stiffens. He pounces on the creature, feeling its fur, muscle, and bones crunch beneath his weight as they crash to the hard cave floor. Draco's skin feels impenetrable, as it tries to strike back with razor-sharp claws, and he relishes in the thrill of invincibility as they bounce harmlessly off him. He loosens his grip, savouring the fight for a moment longer before allowing the lion to rise and push him back with pathetic bites that barely graze his throat. In a moment of pure animalistic pleasure, Draco sinks his teeth into the lion's foot, tasting its hot blood and moaning in ecstasy. He lets it escape briefly before pouncing on it again, pinning it down as he straddles its stomach.

In this moment, he imagines it is not a lion beneath him, but Potter himself - struggling against him in a pitiful attempt to break free. He envisions running his hands through a mane of silky dark hair instead of coarse fur, pulling him close as he kisses and nips at Potter's neck. He teases the pulse point with his teeth, driving them both wild with desire as he listens for that final gasp of defeat, of surrender before tearing into the flesh. Draco wraps a vice-like grip around Potter’s neck drawing his body closer and grinding into it as he guzzles pint after pint of liquid until the body slumps, falling still under him.

Leaving the corpse behind, he walks out to find his dorm mates watching Zabini battle a bear on a rock outcropping. Pansy, Nott, and Severus sit off to the side with cool analytical gazes, while Pansy scowls up at Draco with disdain.

“You couldn’t have lasted one more minute?” she complains.

Draco shrugs his shoulders in a careless gesture but in reality, he pictures his father lording over him after Slytherin lost a Quidditch match to Hufflepuff because he caught the snitch too early. The punishment for that left him without a box of chocolate from his mother for a month. He shoves the flashback away and instead analyses what happened in his mind in that cave a few seconds ago. The startling vivid image he conjured of Potter under him. The only thing he ever wanted from Potter was his pain and suffering, or so he always believed. He feels strangely scared like he crossed some uncrossable line when he pictured Potter under him in such a vulnerable position. Nott breaks him away from his thoughts by giving him a rare smile. 

“You were perfect Draco,” Nott says, his voice oddly soothing, washing his fears away.

Nott turns to Pansy with a wicked smile.

 “I’ll take your Amazon stock please.” 

Pansy sighs, “Why am I not surprised that the nerd wants the book stock.” 

Nott exchanges a secretive wink with Luna, “I don’t know I have a good feeling about that company.” 

Pansy wears an infuriated expression, “That’s cheating you bastard. Father tell him he’s not allowed to use his wife’s insider knowledge to interfere with our bets.” 

“I didn’t use it to win the bet, I used it to take advantage of winning the bet,” Nott says in an aggrieved voice.

A death knell of a roar rips through the clearing, and a small smile spreads on Severus’s face. 

Pansy groans down at the stopwatch.

“So what do you want, father?” she asks in a put-out voice.

“For you to help your mother with the Pulaski case. You know she’s stuck on that one and will refuse to take a break until she figures it out.” 

“Ugh…fine. But this is hardly fair, that's practically a reward for him, all that boring research in dusty law libraries.” 

“Theo won’t be helping you, he will be working with me in my lab, improving his tolerance,” Snape says in a matter-of-fact voice. 

Nott blaunches, “Can’t we switch?” 

“Growth is at the edge of your comfort zone.” mudblood calls back in a cheery voice. 

If you say so, Draco hears Pansy mutter under her breath. Zabini vaults up the side of the mountain and zooms over to Pansy, depositing a kiss on her lips. Draco relaxes back on his hands, content to listen to their bickering.

*****

That night Draco runs through the forest near the Cullen’s house, testing the limits of his powers. He comes upon a clearing and pauses, to watch the strange show. Loony twirls barefoot through the tall grass, her arms flung out wide as if conducting an invisible orchestra, strange lights flashing around her. She looks utterly at peace, like a wood sprite dancing among the wildflowers.

"You seem awfully cheerful for a vampire," Draco remarks, finally announcing his presence.

Loony ceases her spinning and smiles serenely at him.

"And you seem rather glum for one. Did the fireflies steal your sense of wonder?"

Draco scoffs at her nonsensical ramblings as usual. Fireflies were a made-up thing.

"I'm not meant for this life, Lo-Luna. Surely you can understand that?"

He tilts his head up at the stars avoiding her no doubt judgmental gaze. They shine bright above them laughing at the situation he got himself in.

"On the contrary," Luna replies in that infuriatingly calm tone, "I feel more attuned to my destiny than ever before as an immortal child of the night."

She drifts closer, her eyes looking like stars in the moonlight.

"Don't you realize the extraordinary freedom our condition allows? We're unburdened by the limitations and prejudices that shackled us before."

Draco opens his mouth to protest, but Luna keeps musing.

"In my life before, my visions were blurry and uncompleted. My parents thought that I was crazy, and locked me away for it. When I awoke in my new life, I'd never felt such clarity. The mysteries of the universe were finally laid bare before my awakened eyes."

"Is that so?" Draco can't resist playing along, an edge of sarcasm in his tone. "And what great truths did you uncover, Oh Enlightened One?"

Luna doesn't rise to the bait, her gaze seeming to bore straight through his sneering mask.

"That all lives are precious and interconnected, from the faun to the shark to the deathly wolf. We're all exposed threads in the inescapable tapestry of existence."

She cocks her head, studying Draco intently.

"You could unravel yourself from the tangled knots of your past. Allow your spirit to be rewoven into a new, vibrant pattern embracing all of nature's glorious oddities, Draco."

Draco's mocking retort dies on his lips as Luna's words somehow say what he asked the stars for, albeit using more flowery language.

She extends her hand invitingly.

"Will you dance amidst the fireflies with me? It's ever so lonely twirling alone, you know..."

Draco stares at Luna's outstretched hand, every fibre of his upbringing screaming at him to reject this bizarre girl's invitation. And yet, he feels an undeniable pull towards her - a craving to understand the effortless peace she seems to have found amid their circumstances.

"Oh Merlin, why not," he mutters under his breath.

Draco reaches out and grasps Luna's hand.

Surprised delight crosses her face as she pulls him firmly into the moonlit clearing. Without warning, Luna begins twirling and swaying in a series of eccentric, freeform dance moves. Draco watches, dumbfounded, as she mimes lassoing falling stars and chasing the yellow glowing lights.

"You're mad, Luna!" he sputters, unable to stifle an incredulous chuckle.

Luna doesn't miss a beat, her bare feet whisking up clouds of pollen.

"Madness is just another word for unbridled imagination, my friend. An undervalued trait in this modern world of ours."

She extends her arms and arches backwards in a dramatic spiral.

"We're creatures of the night now, Draco! Don't you feel it thrumming in your veins - that electric hum of the universe?"

Before he could protest, Luna grabs his hands and spins them both in a dizzying circle.

"Let your feral spirit run wild and untamed under the moon's elegant gaze!"

The words are utterly barmy, and yet Draco is breathless from the ebullient energy coursing through Luna's lithe form. Despite himself, he feels his lips quirking into a grudging smirk as they whirl and cavort through the tall grass.

Maybe something is intoxicating about surrendering to the present moment instead of agonizing over the past and future. As Luna's peals of delighted laughter wash over him, Draco can almost taste the exhilarating freedom she embodies.

When at last they collapse in a boneless heap amid the wildflowers, Draco finds himself grinning at the girl he'd once derided as a raving lunatic.

"You're absolutely cracked, you know that?" he says, not unkindly.

Luna's eyes dance with mirth.

"And you're still fighting against the glorious, untamed force that's awakening within your soul. But I'll help coax it into the light."

In that moment, Draco feels a glimmer of what could be - an existence unchained from a stifling heritage of expectation. He is tentatively intrigued to explore where this bizarre new path with Loony can lead.

Loony's breath catches in her throat, her eyes wide with shock as the colour drains from her face. Her features contort into a blank mask, her body going limp as if in a trance. In a split second, Draco is by her side wondering if he needs to get Nott. But she doesn't faint - instead, her eyelids flutter shut and her lips move in a silent chant, the only audible word being a desperate whisper of "Harry,"

Draco's heart skips a beat as he watches Loony's strange reaction. He had seen her in moments like this before. 

He hesitates for a minute, then decides it is his right to understand what is going on and dives into her mind.

He feels the tension in the vision, like an electric current that seems to emanate from the very core of her being. A realisation washes over him as he sees himself standing next to Potter, a dreamy look in his eyes. His world is flipped upside down, and he no longer can ignore the feeling that Potter has somehow become a vital piece to his story. As the scene further unfolds in his mind, Draco can't help but feel a sense of unease, a gnawing feeling that the universe is conspiring against them all. It is impossibly hard to see him fail his parents so greatly.

He glances over at Nott who appears at the edge of the clearing seeming to sense Loony’s visions as they happen. In that instant, Draco sees that Theo like him can feel how vitally linked they all are by this moment.

Only Draco knows he needs to seduce and kill Harry Potter to set things right.

*****

“Are you settling in okay, cub?”

“Yeah, I’ve mostly been hanging on the Rez, with Ginny,” Harry says, folding his arm back behind his head as a pillow.

“How is she then?” Sirius asks and Harry can practically hear his excited tapping on the table over the phone.

“She’s great! I love her,” he says shifting himself on the hard bed, trying to get comfortable.

“I always knew you had a crush on Ginny, but don’t you think you two are too moving fast,” Sirius says and Harry can hear the smile in his voice.

“Sirius!” Harry hisses and hears Sirius cracking up on the other end of the line.

“I know. I know you meant the bike. You have to let me have my fun,”

Harry groans but lets it go.

“We’ve been riding the tracks, testing her limits,"

"Well don't go getting into too much trouble now," Sirius chuckles,

"Though I reckon you could use a bit of fun after being cooped up with your aunt and uncle all summer."

Harry smiles wryly.

"You don't know the half of it. But hey, I actually called because...well, I had another one of those dreams last night."

There is a concerned pause on the other end.

"The ones about that unopenable doors again?"

The ones where you wake up screaming bloody murder, he doesn’t say.

He nods even though Sirius can't see.

Harry explains, "Yeah…but I got it open this time and was walking through all these strange rooms. There was one with an aquarium filled with green liquid and brains, a room with a fountain that smelled like apples and mint and another with all these strange talking glass spheres filled with swirling clouds."

He describes the details of the bizarre dream, wondering if Sirius has any insight. As his godfather, Sirius has become someone Harry confides his strange visions in because knowing it makes Sirius feel important.

"Where do you come up with these things, kid," Sirius says with a laugh once Harry finishes. "Could be nothing, but could be your mind trying to tell you something too..."

“To eat more apples?” Harry jokes as he hears Padfoot bark in the background and Remus, telling him he is a good boy.

“Probably. Mooney would say they keep the doctor away,” Sirius says with a put-upon sigh.

“Not as well as wearing a helmet would,” Remus grouses in the background.

“But I like to feel the wind in my hair when I ride,” Sirius whines.

“You are such a dog,” Remus jokes.

“Woof,”

Harry grimaces, while he suspects things about Sirius and Remus’s bedroom activities he never wanted to know more about their sex lives than he had to.

There is silence on the other side of the phone connection and for a minute wonders if Sirius hung up. Then he hears the wet sound of kissing and creaking of furniture mixed with the rough sound of pants. Harry grimaces as he hangs up. This is why he came to Forks in the first place. To give them some space. Sirius deserved it after having Harry thrust on him after he got out of prison, for a crime he didn’t even commit. He pulls out his portable CD player and slides the headphones over his head, pushing play. The Linkin Park CD, that Remus gave him for his birthday plays over the speakers blurring out his thoughts and emotions. A loud knocking jars him out of his peaceful state a few minutes later and Dudley screams through the door,

“Mom says you better start on dinner, or else!”

Harry sighs as he climbs out of the bed, reminding himself again that he is doing this for Sirius. 

Chapter Text

I was in, but I want out
My mother's love is chokin' me
I'm sick of words that hang above my head
What about the kid?
It's time the kid got free

By: Lorde

June 5, 1985

Malfoy Manor 

Draco beams as he tears through the last green and silver-wrapped package. A brand new wizarding chess set, the pawns already strutting around haughtily. He casts it aside, eyeing the towering chocolate cake the house elves had prepared. It looked too perfect to eat.

"Can I have a slice, Mother?" he asks, licking his lips.

Narcissa smiles indulgently. "Of course, dragon. But first, why don't you show your friends your lovely new gifts?"

Pansy, Blaise, and Theo ooh and ahh over the miniature broomstick models, the junior potions kit, and the enchanted toy soldiers marching in formation.

In the corner, Draco's father's voice carries over the chatter. "....preposterous they'd allow a mudblood a seat on the Wizengamot. If things had gone differently..."

"Lucius!" Narcissa's tone hardens. "Mind your language in front of the children."

But Draco already heard that word many times before from sneaking out of bed to listen at his father’s office door when he had secret late-night meetings. He puffs out his chest importantly.

"Come on, let's play Conquerors," he tells his friends, opening the new board game box.

As the game progresses, Theo severely outnumbers Draco's army, cornering him. Just as Theo closes in for the kill, he hesitates.

"I don’t want to hurt anyone," Theo says in a worrying voice, pulling back some of his pieces. "Let’s have a truce."

Draco's eyes narrow calculatingly, but he nods. "Alright, truce accepted."

The moment Theo relaxes his guard, Draco strikes without mercy. His remaining soldiers swarmed Theo's soldiers from all sides in a ruthless blitz attack.

Within minutes, Draco's army leaves Theo's army decimated on the board.

"No!" Theo cries out in dismay, “That’s not fair!”

"You fool!" Draco crows victoriously. "Showing mercy is what mudbloods like you do. And that's why you'll always lose!"

Harsh laughter erupts from Pansy and Blaise, while Theo fights back angry, humiliated tears. Draco basks in his conquest, knowing compassion and mercy are weaknesses to be exploited. Draco misses the worried look his mother gives him, too busy focusing on the look of pride on his father’s face.

Draco hisses clutching his head in his hands as the memory fades and curses himself once again for not doing more in-depth research on the ritual before using it. He worries about what they mean, these vivid visions of his past, summoned up from his mind as if he experienced them yesterday. In situations like this, he would usually consult Severus or his parent's extensive library, but here there is only him and his memories of his world, that feel further away by the day.

*****

Despite the freezing rain and biting wind, Harry stands outside the office of Hogwarts High School, his hand trembling as he debates whether or not to enter. Part of him longs for the warmth inside, but another part is filled with dread at what awaits him. With a deep breath, he finally musters up some Gryffindor courage and pulls open the door. As he walks towards the reception desk, his stomach churns with anxiety as he watches her fidget nervously. He knows this interaction will not be an easy one. It never is with fans.

"You're Harry Swan?" she asks, her voice shaking with anticipation.

He stands in front of the adoring woman, feeling his insides knotting with unease. He hates these types of encounters, where people only see him as a famous ballet dancer, daredevil stunt performer, or recently the all-star baseball player.

He longs for someone to see him as just Harry. But he forces himself to play along, ignoring the twinge of annoyance that rises in his chest. It's all part of being a celebrity he thinks as he forces a smile onto his face. He has spent hours practicing his interview persona in front of the mirror, but it still feels fake.

"Yes, that's me," he responds quickly as he shuffles papers on the desk.

"I'm a huge fan of your ballet performances and my son is obsessed with your stunts," the woman gushes, her eyes filled with admiration.

Harry nods and thanks her in his best interview voice, trying to keep his patience intact. The gushing is both flattering and suffocating at the same time.

"This might be unprofessional, but could I possibly get your autograph?" she asks with an apologetic look.

Harry fights back the urge to roll his eyes and make a snarky comment about the obvious unprofessionalism. Instead, he takes the paper from her and signs it with a practiced hand. But no matter how much he practices, his handwriting will never compare to his godfather’s over-the-top flawless script.

“Thank you so much!” she exclaims.

She eyes the paperwork Harry gave her in confusion for a moment as if she forgot that she works here and then realization takes over her face. With the quick competence that Harry wanted from the beginning, she gives him a map and a sheet for all the teachers to sign.

“Just return that at the end of the day!” the receptionist says in a bright voice.

He gives her another tight smile before he opens the door and returns to the rainy outside, fighting against his homesickness for Sirius and Phoenix's hot sun.

****

Draco straightens his black, blue cervelt fibre ‘shawl’ with ivory clasps in the front, its luxurious material draping just past his hips like a cloak of royalty. The intricate embroidery of simmering gold threads depicts the constellations of the Black family, serving as a reminder of his pureblood lineage. Beneath this is a cream-coloured Himalayan cashmere ‘sweater’ that clings to his lithe form and accentuates every contour of his muscular chest. His tight dark silk pants hug his legs tightly, emphasising every powerful movement and sure to catch Potter’s eye. He completes the ensemble with leather boots.

“You look ridiculous,” Pansy says coming up behind him.

Draco sneers at her. She wears muggle clothes without a hint of wizard heritage in a simple tan cashmere dress that shows too much of her legs to come off as proper attire for someone of her status.

“Is that crocodile leather?” Pansy asks in distaste, her face mired by a frown.

“Maybe.” Draco hedges.

Crocodiles seemed like the closest creatures to dragons that Theo's strange magic box, known as a 'computer', could conjure up. Draco relied on this device for all of his clothing purchases. Hours were spent with Theo as he showed Draco the many uses of the tiny buttons on the ‘keyboard’ and how to navigate through various ‘websites’ in search of proper attire. Frustrated by their failed trip to the mall, Pansy and Loony had left Draco to fend for himself.

"What is this?" Draco hissed, eyeing the clear, shiny bundle of fabric in his hands. The package slipped and slid between his fingertips, encased in a stiff yet pliant clear covering that confused and irritated him.

“It’s wizarding robes,” Loony says in a cheerful voice.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” Pansy says in a false falsetto voice.

Draco studies the unmoving 'wizard' illustrated on the front of the package once more, taking in every detail. The muggle depicted is older, with a fake scraggly white beard that hangs down to his protruding stomach. He is dressed in threadbare blue robes adorned with gaudy gold-painted stars, looking more like a clown than a sorcerer. A drooping pointy hat, made of the same flimsy fabric, sits atop his head in a sad attempt at traditional wizard attire.

“What is poly-e-ster?” Draco tries to pronounce the strange word on the label, ignoring Pansy’s question.

“It’s a synthetic fabric made from-”

“No, I don’t want anything made with synthetic fabric.” Draco spits out and walks out of the ‘shop’ if a place that sells such low-quality merchandise can even be called such a thing.

Behind him, he hears Pansy and Loony carry on like he didn’t just end the conversation.

“I wonder what wizards wear if they don’t wear that,” Loony says.

“Why would they wear anything when they can just create the illusion of clothes and walk around covered in warming charms? Then they don’t have to bother with all the heavy and tight fabric humans force themselves into.” Pansy replies.

Draco stiffens, he needs to reevaluate how much of the original Pansy remains in this story. All of the magic she just mentioned is possible, if not preposterous, and this is an idea she would suggest to do with it.

“But I like clothes,” Loony says with a pout, her ghastly turnip earrings swinging in her ears.

“You can wear clothes if you want Luna, it’s an imaginary world you can do whatever you want.”

Draco takes that back, Pansy would never say that, especially to Loony.

“I think you look nice, Draco,” Loony says, coming into his room and drawing his mind away from the bad memory.

Draco gives his outfit another once over, trying to see it through different eyes. If Loony found approval in his outfit there must be something deeply wrong with it.

With his newfound speed, he swiftly removes his clothing and replaces them. The new black silk button-up shirt hugs his frame, emphasising his toned muscles. His leather pants, soft and supple against his skin, exude an air of edginess. Satisfied with his appearance, he slips on a light robe made from Vicuna fabric - the most expensive fabric in the muggle world, according to the magic box. The dark green fabric swirls elegantly around him, delicate strands of real spun silver catching the light. As he admires himself in the mirror, he feels a sense of familiarity wash over him, as if he's back home amongst his finest clothes. Pansy watches him with interest, tilting her head and pursing her lips in contemplation.

“You need a belt,” she says and hurries off into his closet to find one.

“This one looks nice too,” Loony says, coming up to smile at him in the mirror.

Draco glares at her, feeling his sense of accomplishment wash away.

“Is there any outfit you don’t like?” he asks her, eyeing her candy cane striped stockings under her torn denim with disgust.

Loony gives him a curious look, “No, I think everyone should be free to wear whatever they want.”

Draco's lips were already curling into a sneer, ready to dismiss her words and mock her for her foolishness. But before he could even utter a word, Pansy's hand shoots out with a triumphant glint in her eyes. Between her fingers dangled a belt of shining silver moons, each one intricately connected to the next. Each moon boasted its unique shape and design, representing all the different phases of the lunar cycle. And at the very end of the chain hung a small but bold silver sun, as if daring Draco to challenge its radiance.

“Perfect!” Pansy exclaims as she tightens the belt around him, drawing the robes close to his body.

Tears prick at the corners of Draco's eyes as he stares at his reflection, feeling a heavy weight in his chest. He longs for his parents, especially his mother who taught him everything he knew about clothes and used to advise him on his outfits. But thoughts of them are quickly replaced with determination and resolve. He can't get distracted now - not when he's so close to meeting Potter and completing the first step towards ending this war. His heart hardens against the ache as he reminds himself of his ultimate goal: seduce and kill Potter, just as the Dark Lord commands. Nothing will stand in his way. Not even his own emotions.

*****

Whispers buzz like gnats over a dead carcass as he makes his way down the hallway to his homeroom.

“Is that Harry Swan?”

“I’d climb him like a tree.”

“Isn’t he gay?”

“I thought he was straight, didn’t he date Cho Chang?”

“According to Skeeter, he cheated on her with that Malcolm guy.”

“I’m not surprised you know what they say about bi people.”

“Do you think he’s on steroids?”

“He has to be to break all of those records.”

“Then why is he so skinny in person?”

“Photoshop. His whole life is fake.”

Harry's head pounds as the cacophony surrounds him, an unrelenting barrage of noise assaulting his senses. He longs to cover his ears and block out the constant chatter, but no one cares that he can hear every word. With gritted teeth, he endures the overwhelming chaos, cursing himself forever thinking Forks would be different. But in the end, high schools are all the same - a never-ending storm of noise and drama.

Out of nowhere arms link through his arms on both sides.

“You must be Harry Swan.” a low voice croons into his ear.

Harry turns his head side to side so hard that it cracks as he stares at mirror reflections of the same person in different clothes on either side of him.

“Hello…”

“I’m Fred Yorkie,” says the redhead in the green shirt on his right.

“I’m George Yorkie,” says the redhead in the same shirt but blue on his left.

“We are twins,” they say at the same time, somewhat unnecessarily.

“Right,” he says, still catching up.

“We heard you bat for the same team in more than just baseball,” Fred says with a knowing smile.

“Let us know if you ever want to experiment with twins,” George says wagging his eyebrows suggestively.

Harry flushes with anger and embarrassment, Malcolm's face flashing in his mind and trips over his feet almost faceplanting with the ground. The twins' arms stop him just in time.

“Fred! George! Leave the new kid alone.” a confident voice yells as another redhead rounds the corner, this one covered in freckles.

“Oh Won Won, we were just introducing ourselves,” Fred says in an innocent voice.

The tall newcomer towers over Harry and his face turns almost as red as his hair.

“Would you two let it go already? It’s been a year since I dated Lavender.”

“Why would we let such custom-made material go, Ronnikins?” George snorts, as both twins release Harry.

He stumbles at the loss of support but manages to stay on his feet.

“You’re not very steady on your feet for an athlete and a ballerina.” George jokes, slapping him on the back.

Harry winces thinking about his season on the Phoenix Werewolves with Remus and how every reporter claimed he only got on the team because Remus was his dad’s childhood friend. No one bothered to report that Harry got signed on before Remus. His record-breaking hit in the first game at least quieted the rumors.

“Yeah, people are always telling me that. My godfather says I’m so absorbed in my own world that I forget where my feet are.” Harry says with a sheepish look on his face.

He feels a pang in his chest at the mention of Sirius, but he shoves it down.

“You two better get going if you don’t want detention, the bell is about to ring,” Ron says looking at an expensive watch on his wrist.

“Yes, hall monitor,” Fred says in a false complaint voice.

“He’s getting as bad as Percy,” George says under his breath as they saunter off down the hall.

“Hey I heard that!” the tall boy calls after them, to no effect.

The boy grumbles and turns back to Harry, sticking out his hand.

“I’m Ron Newton, I assume you just met my cousins. I apologize for anything they said and everything they will say,” Ron says in a resigned voice.

Harry laughs at the look on his face feeling lighter already.

“Just be glad you didn’t grow up here Harry, it’s impossible to find a decent date. Everyone is either related to you or you’ve known them long enough to feel like they are related to you and no new one ever moves here.”

“I don’t plan on dating, I’d prefer some time off,” he says and wishes it could be that simple.

“Well let me be the first to welcome you, then, to the dating desert in the middle of one of the rainiest places in the United States,” Ron says with a chuckle.

“Glad to be here,” Harry says, following Ron to his locker assignment.

The day flies by after that. Mrs. Vector who teaches Trigonometry is of course the only teacher who makes him introduce himself to the class and he hates her even more for that. He doesn’t mind Mrs.Babbling, his Ap French teacher, because he can have a conversation with her and the nice girl, Luna who sits next to him that the rest of the class doesn’t understand. She is a bit odd, but Harry has a feeling she will grow on him. An intense girl named Hermione corners him after the class and demands that he study with her since he is already so far ahead. She invites him to lunch as well and he is happy to find that she is friends with Ron as well, because Ron invited him to his table as well and Harry hates to disappoint one of them. He then meets with Principal McGonagall to schedule a career discussion with her, a requirement for all seniors.

It is while sitting at a lunch table with Hermione, Ron, his cousins, a fierce-looking girl named Astoria and a quiet boy named Neville that Harry notices them.

The air around them buzzes with a magnetic pull as if a force is drawing them together. The four of them moved in sync, their steps perfectly aligned, and their bodies angled towards each other. It was an instinctual connection that Harry could sense like they were meant to be together. As they walk, their energy creates an orbit of its own, spinning around each other like two planets in the vast expanse of space. He finds it easy to pair them off the longer he watches them, their differences becoming clearer by the second, despite their disorienting similarities. The flawless white-skinned girl with a tumble of dark hair with the hulking umber-skinned boy. The pale skinned honey browned haired boy with the frost-colored girl with blonde hair. Luna, he realizes a second later, recognizing her as his table partner from Ap French. He sensed her otherness in class surrounded by people who put off an aura of belonging, that only a lifetime of living in the same place and experiencing the same things builds. Now circled on all sides by almost mythic creatures like her, he sees her separation from the others go deeper.

Sitting next to him, she radiated a sense of freedom and openness. But now, her face is blank and vacant as she pushes her food around on her plate, her gaze fixated on the honeyed brunette sitting next to her. Across from her sits the fierce-looking girl with jet-black hair, just as disinterested in her meal as Luna. It makes Harry wonder about the girl's alarmingly powerful-looking figure. What strikes him as even more surprising, though, is the three boys at the table’s disinterest in food. They are all undeniably attractive, with perfect features and an air of effortless beauty. But there is something cold and distant beneath their flawless exteriors, a warning to keep a safe distance. Danger seems to emanate from their very pores.

But amidst these harmonious pairings, one stood out to Harry - the last boy trailing behind them like a break in a linked chain. Harry sees the weight of his loneliness on his shoulders, a heavy burden that he carries with him. And yet, Harry can't help but wonder how he senses all of this from just a simple glance at the young boy.

The boy wears a twisted determined grimace that further sets him apart from the others' blank faces. His eyes, a piercing black, hold a fierce independence that captures Harry’s attention. He intended to pass this boy by like the rest until an urge seized him - to touch the icy white strands of hair and feel their softness against his fingertips. His face flushes with embarrassment at the thought.

The blonde boy locks eyes with Harry, his gaze calculating. He runs a hand through his tousled hair, a smirk playing on his lips as he sizes up Harry with a predatory look. The longer he stares, the more Harry feels a sense of unease wash over him as if the boy can see right through him. Irritation and hatred radiate from the boy's face, clearly finding Harry lacking in some way. With a scowl, the boy clenches his fists and for a moment, Harry is frozen in fear at the possessive animalistic glint in his eyes. When the boy releases him with a frustrated huff, Harry takes a gasping breath of air feeling like someone held him under water and tried to drown him. He slumps back in his chair, unaware of how tense he has been. The boy gets up and stalks out of the room, Harry’s eyes following him the entire way. The other people at the table turn to him with amused expressions.

“Who are they?” Harry asks in a breathless voice.

He doesn’t need to elaborate as everyone at the table exchanges knowing smirks.

“The Cullens” Ron finally replies in a mysterious voice.

“Pansy, Blaise, Luna, Theo and Draco.” George says and Harry’s eyes follow him as he goes around the table.

Fred snorts breaking some of the tense mood around the table.

“What was Draco wearing? Don’t the Cullens usually wear bland clothes?”

Draco, he thinks. The boy wearing the silver phases of the moon belt. Unusual names he thinks. Old-fashioned and British.

“Maybe he finally acquired a personality?” Astoria says in a bitter voice.

“He has certainly acquired something, he’s never shown as much interest in anyone as he has, Harry,” George says with an amused smirk.

Harry fights against a blush and turns an appealing look at Hermione knowing she would be more than happy to give him the facts. As he guesses she is.

“They keep to themselves, they don’t join clubs or sports, or attend games. It’s no surprise that they are still outsiders despite living here for two years.” Hermione says with a frown.

A surge of anger courses through Harry's veins, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. He feels like the Cullens might have a good reason not to join clubs or sports. Maybe with their popularity, they fear they will be given an unfair advantage. Harry can relate. Memories flood his mind of being the center of attention because of his own fame in school. His jaw muscles tighten as he forces down the urge to lash out in frustration.

“They have money and influence, but they don’t seem to use it,” Fred says in a bitter voice.

The fire in his chest ignites, searing through his veins as he recalls the countless accusations hurled at him and Sirius for their supposed selfishness. How many charities have they been scorned for not devoting everything to volunteering or donating money? The rage bubbles inside him, threatening to consume him whole.

“No one else knows where they live, but they are ‘all together’.” Astoria Mallory, a girl Harry hasn’t had the opportunity to talk to much says in a dramatic whisper.

Harry looks at Astoria in confusion.

“You know, like incest-y. Except for Draco, Draco doesn’t date. No one here is good enough for him apparently, so don’t bother trying.” she says in a flat tone, that makes him think that she asked him out and failed.

Harry raises his eyebrows and takes another look at the Cullens, his defense of them shrinking in his throat.

“But Pansy and Theo are Hales though so it isn’t exactly incest,”  Hermione cuts in.

Harry feels his indignation return with a fire. It is very typical of people to misconstrue facts so that they seem more juicy and get a better reaction from their audience. Skeeters has done it more times than he can count to him.

“Yes, but they are the mother’s sister's kids, she can’t give birth.” Astoria pipes in as if not being able to get pregnant is a deadly disease.

He grits his teeth thinking that just because his dad and father didn’t give birth to him didn’t make them any less parents in his eyes.

“There is just something about them that is just freaky,” Ron says with a shudder.

Harry stiffens as the word plays over and over in his head sounding like a scratched record, his vision clouding over with red.

“Harry are you…?” Hermione begins to ask before trailing off as she sees Harry’s sneer.

“I thought you guys were nice and accepting because you didn’t say anything about my fame or…the bi thing, but I can see now why the Cullens want nothing to do with you. I’m only not included as one of the outsiders and freaks because of my last name, isn’t that right?” Harry growls.

Everyone at the table wears matching expressions of shock and Ron looks drained of blood, his mouth hanging open.

“But you are nothing like them-” Ron says.

“They are no different than me other than they had the misfortune to be here longer than I.”

Harry picks up his tray and throws it away, stalking out of the lunchroom and after Draco.

*****

Draco hunches at his lab table in the front of Chemistry class, picking at his nails. It’s driving him wild knowing that Potter's mind is closed to him. Without his glasses, Draco’s view of his soul has technically never been clearer, but when has anything made sense where Potter was concerned? His one ticket to finishing the storyline quickly went just like that.

The guiding influence in the back of his head keeps prompting him to do things like look at Potter earlier in the lunchroom and it is becoming increasingly annoying. A dive into Potter’s head would have provided the perfect distraction.

Draco is so engrossed in his thoughts he almost misses as Potter comes swaggering into the classroom with a purpose in his step. He watches with narrow eyes as Potter hands a slip to the teacher to sign. Then makes his way to Draco’s desk. Draco gets a whiff of Potter's cheap strawberry shampoo before everything goes blurry. Potter slides into the stool next to him and thrusts out his hand.

“Hello. I'm Harry.” Potter says, his expression so different from the one all those years ago.

Where were you when I was eleven, Draco wants to growl. Instead, he glares at his hand in distaste, feeling attacked by the scent that teases his nose. P-Mr. Slughorn gets up and turns on a cylindrical muggle device with paddles that create disturbances in the air. Then he leaves the classroom, closing the door behind him. He smells the triumphant burn of sunshine that suffuses his body after winning a Quidditch match, the fragrant scent of lilies in his mother’s garden during the peak of spring, and a warm sweet scent that reminds him of home, memories, and warmth. He wants to drink it dry.

“Draco, are you alright? Your expression is a little scary….” His prey gasps, their expression is full of concern.

He grabs their hand in a death grip, preventing them from running away, as they notice the monster beside them. Their heartbeat is a hypnotic rhythm in his ears as its frantic pounding increases.

“Draco, that hurts. Let go,” they say, pulling their hand back in a desperate attempt to disentangle their hand.

As hunger consumes him, he lunges forward, his movements swift and merciless. His hands grasp at their struggling form, pulling them back towards him with an ease that belies his strength. With each pitiful attempt to escape, Draco's grip only tightens, trapping his prey in his embrace. He presses his nose against the exposed crook of their neck and inhales deeply, intoxicated by the heady aroma that floods his senses. It's like a blazing Fiendfyre tearing through his sanity, leaving him high and delirious. His captive writhes and claws against his hold, but the friction only serves to excite him further.

“You smell incredible,” Draco groans.

Their body stiffens against his chest, and their breathing turns erratic with fear. The presence screams at him in anger, somewhere in the back of his mind but he ignores it. His prey shoves at his chest and twists and he snarls warningly, daring them to try and break free. Eventually, the sweet-smelling thing falls limp in defeat, whimpering softly against his cold grip.

“What are you-“ they start to say.

“Shhh,” Draco murmurs hovering a millimetre over their lips and cutting them off.

Draco's long fingers glide through their soft, silky hair before his lips claim theirs with a fierceness that steals their breath. With his tongue, he worships their mouth, coaxing it open until they yield to him. His intoxicating venom-laced kiss caused them to relax against him in a haze of pleasure. As he pulls back, he gazes into their eyes now consumed by black. He briefly considers whispering words of false comfort, promising that this will not hurt at all, as the presence would want him to take them lovingly. But in a moment, that thought vanishes as he flips them around, their backs now pressed against his chest. His lips find the throbbing pulse on their neck, and with the tip of his tongue, he teases along the path of their vein.

He inhales deeply, savouring the metallic tang of blood rising hot against his prey's skin. They groan in response as Draco drags his teeth across the heat and then sinks them into their flesh, moaning as the warm liquid bursts in an intoxicating rush of sweetness against his tongue. They whimper in pain and he runs his fingers down their chest, feeling their muscles tense under his touch. He stops to rub and pinch their nipples through the thin fabric of their shirt, causing them to writhe and grind against him. Slowly, he lets his hand slide further down across their pelvic muscles and cups their erection, pawing at the growing bulge until it strains against the fabric. His prey gasps for air, their lungs struggling to get enough oxygen as they tremble under his touch. In response to their heightened state, Draco presses harder at the wound on their neck. With a confident smirk, he sets an aggressive rhythm in time with his sucking and a little later his prey cries out, soaking the fabric underneath his hand in satisfying wet heat. As they quiet down, Draco wraps his arms around them in a tender embrace and lets his eyes flutter shut in pure contentment.

In the background, students run out of the classroom screaming, rushing to escape from the beast. Someone, probably Weasel, throws a textbook at him. He flicks it out of the air effortlessly, without even opening his eyes. Zabini is wrong, humans were more fun to kill than mountain lions. The world fades as Draco leaches the last bit of warmth from Harry’s body. Harry….

Draco gasps as if surfacing from underwater and shudders at the sagging weight against his chest. Potter rests like a statute, his body cold and unmoving in his arms and Draco knows at once that he is dead. That he killed him. His brain rebels in numb horror against the sentiment and what it means, the way it changes him. Ironically, he tried to steal Potter away to avoid murder only to meet the same fate, at the saviour's own hands. Loony’s pale head bursts through the classroom door, her eyes wide with shock as the trembles take over Draco’s body. Draco closes his eyes and lets the world blur and fade away, as it all disappears.

*****

Harry walks into the Chemistry classroom, noticing with trepidation a free seat next to Draco. Mr.Slughorn signs his slip and goes on for a little bit about how his father was his favorite student. He didn’t mention his dad, but if the stories Sirius told him about the pranks they pulled off in high school are true then Harry can guess why. Mr Slughorn looks at his seating chart and points at the spot next to Draco. Harry feels his heart rate increase as he takes hesitant steps towards the seat, praying this isn’t the moment his feet fail him. Draco spares a single glance at him before his face contorts in horror, his body stiffening as he curls in on himself. He glares at Harry with hostile eyes, as if Harry’s existence offends him and dares him to come a step closer. Harry dares, he doesn’t see much choice in the matter as he slides into his assigned seat next to him. Draco scoots his chair as far as the table will allow from Harry, clenching his hand into fists, as if to resist the urge to shove Harry away. In a panic, he wonders if he smells and takes a subtle sniff of his shirt. It smells like the lemon laundry detergent he uses and the faint traces of his strawberry shampoo. He notices several people looking over at them and whispering. It occurs to him that maybe Draco is intimidated by Harry’s fame and worried that he will try to steal his popularity and the air of mystery surrounding him. Harry wants to tell him not to worry because he isn’t interested in popularity but one look into those black eyes changes his mind.

The boy, if such a human term even applies to him, traps his gaze for several long drawn-out heartbeats, before Harry manages to look away. He still feels Draco's gaze boring into him, but he ignores the cold sparks of electricity it shoots through him. He lets out the stuttering breath he held and wishes he had grown his hair out long like Sirius suggested so he could use it as a curtain to hide his red face. He fumbles around pulls his notebook out of his bag and opens it to a clean page as Mr.Slughorn stands up to start class. He scratches words on the pages as he attempts to follow along with the lecture, his handwriting messier than usual and his focus all over the place. As soon as the bell rings Draco is out of his seat and gone. Harry questions the legibility of his notes as he stands on shaky legs, he is so glad that is over. Ron comes up to him, looking apologetic.

“Look, I was out of line earlier. I shouldn't have said what I did.”

“No you shouldn’t have, but I forgive you as long as you remember to think before you judge next time,” Harry says, feeling like maybe he judged Draco too soon if the way he acted around him is any indication of his behavior.

He doesn’t want to admit it but maybe everyone had a point in keeping their distance from them.

“Thanks, man,” Ron says in relief and slaps him on the back.

“That was a long class,” Harry says in a shaky voice.

“What did you do to Draco anyway? I’ve never seen him that mad at anyone before. Did you ask his girlfriend out or something?” Ron says with a laugh.

“He has a girlfriend?” Harry asks in a distracted voice, still stuck on the way the muscles in Draco’s back moved as he left the classroom and the hint of apple and mint he left in his wake.

“He must because he ignores all of the girls here as if they do not exist. He can’t be gay either because Krum has never drawn his eyes either and you’d have to stick straight not to find him a little bit appealing. When he hits a homerun even I question my sexuality,” Ron says with a fanatical look in his eyes.

Harry personally disagrees, he finds Draco more appealing than Krum, but to each their own, he guesses.

“Too bad he’s straight or I’d be your wingman and help you score him,” Ron says with a disappointed sigh.

Harry flushes and asks, “Draco?”

Ron gives him an odd look, “No, Krum. Maybe it’s for the best that Krum’s straight I can see your mind has already caught on the unattainable.”

“I told you I’m not dating this year,” Harry says in a firm voice.

“If you say so, man,” Ron says in a doubtful voice, “Ready to go to the gym?”

A smile stretches across his face.

“Yeah, let's go,” he says, pushing Draco and his moodiness out of his mind.

*****

Draco crouches in the snow staring at a text from Loony on his phone. He couldn’t say with any real feeling that he liked Alaska, but it was far away from Potter which is where he wanted to be right now. He still reels from the taste of Potter’s blood, the phantom memory haunting his tongue even now. He wants more, but he acknowledges it as useless to risk another taste. Potter hasn’t fallen in love with him yet, so killing him will only make his guide scream in his ear again and move back to the plotline again. Or trap him in this story without even Potter to end it. A fate he doesn’t want to contemplate.

Hence his stay in Alaska with the Denali, in the wild hope that distance helps his bloodlust, like Severus predicted. Sea lions were at least not any worse than deer, but they still felt less satisfying after his almost little slip as Blaise calls it. Not that they knew how big the slip-up was. He imagines that they would disown him if they realised that he killed one of their precious muggles. Another text from the mudblood lights up the tiny screen followed by one from Pansy. The one he sent to Severus still sits unread, the last text he sent stating Draco needed to reply to the ones the mudblood and Loony sent before he would respond. Draco tried to call, but the phone went straight to voicemail every time.

*****

Harry slips into his seat next to Luna the next day, trying not to ask for the fifth day in a row where Draco is. He disappeared after that first day and never came back. It worries Harry because even though it is inconceivable he feels like he caused Draco to leave. Maybe he gave him some sort of disease or maybe he did smell bad. Harry glances at the clock in the front of the classroom and frowns. He has time to ask her if he is quick about it, he thinks. He braces himself for a quick dismissal and blows on.

“Hey, Luna?” Harry asks in a small voice.

Luna turns her vacant golden stare on him and away from her phone that she fiddles with her lap. He resists the urge to shiver a little. Ever since he saw her with the Cullens he sees her unnatural beauty and her distinct resemblance to Draco. However, it remains to be seen whether he feels drawn in by infatuation or fear.

“Yes, Harry?”

“I was just wondering…um where Draco is. We have Chemistry together with Mr.Slughorn, and I sit next to him.”

Luna gives him a thoughtful look, her thumbs flying across the keyboard of her phone.

“Draco’s shy. He gets panic attacks when he feels cornered or if there are too many people around. He can come off as cold and hostile, but he just doesn’t know how to communicate with people. The first day of school is always overwhelming for him and sometimes he needs to go stay with relatives until he has a chance to calm down.”

A slight worrying expression crosses Luna’s face as she thinks for a moment.

“Though this is the longest he has ever been away. It is a little concerning.” She says, the skin around her eyes tightening with stress.

Harry feels his heart constrict with empathy as he remembers elementary and middle school where Dudley scared any kid who tried to be his friend away. Harry never felt more lonely than the years before Sirius won back most of his custody from the Dursleys. All but the summers.

“That must be hard on him and you guys,” Harry says in a quiet voice.

He feels bad for thinking that Draco was rude to him now that he knows more information. He is no better than everyone else if he always jumps to conclusions before finding out why people act the way they do. Luna gives him a breathtaking smile, her white teeth glinting in the overhead light.

“It can be since Draco has pulled away even from us. He barely talks anymore and is always by himself.” Luna says, her voice sad.

Before Harry can think to stop himself he opens his mouth and says, “I could try to talk to him, you know since we are partners in Chemistry.”

Luna’s face lights up even brighter and she leans forward a little as she dazzles him with another smile. He pictures Draco for a moment wearing that same smile and loses focus of his surroundings for a moment.

“That would be perfect Harry!” she whispers.

Harry abruptly realizes class has started as the teacher calls on Hermione, whose hand always shoots up first when she asks a question. Despite the lesson going on around him Harry feels adrift in a world of his own, trying to picture what it would be like to talk with the god-like individual. He feels tingly at the thought of Draco and him having a real conversation and maintaining friendly eye contact. Maybe even getting to see him laugh. He wonders what he will talk to him about and then stops that line of reasoning, shaking his head. He is getting carried away, they are just lab partners, not boyfriends. Not even friends. Anyway, he doesn’t feel that way about Draco at all. Luna gives him a funny little smell as if she is somehow aware of his antics. Which is crazy of course. Harry forces himself to pay attention to the board, that's where his focus belongs.

*****

“Are you sure this is smart? Pushing the lamb near the lion?” Theo asks in an arch voice.

Blaise chuckles, “More like pushing the lion cub near the snake if we are doing religious references. Draco is no brave lion, otherwise, he wouldn't be licking his paws in Alaska.”

Theo lets out a harsh snort, “Agreed,”

“Draco’s lonely, I think being friends with another outsider like Harry could be good for him. Maybe he will open up to him in ways he doesn’t with us, now that he doesn’t remember who we are.” Luna says in a serious voice.

“Nothing good ever comes from getting close to your natural food source, especially if you are trying to avoid consuming it,” Theo says with a grave shake of his head.

“But he has the best control out of all of us, barring father,” Luna protests.

She hasn’t had another vision of Draco attacking Harry after he left for Alaska. She has an inkling of a feeling that they belong together if she could just figure out how to get them together. These feelings are never wrong.

“He had the best control out of all of us. That human seems to undo all his control with just one whiff of his scent,” Theo says with a self-satisfied expression.

“Maybe he will change,” Luna insists, “Maybe he just hasn’t met the right catalyst yet.”

“Draco doing something without a clear gain, doubtful,” Pansy says in a dismissive tone.

“Draco lost all of his memories, yet he is still the same stuck-up, prickly bastard as he was before. He can’t change. He’s forever locked in as an eighteen-year-old little boy.” Theo says in a bitter voice.

“It’s disappointing, but there is nothing we can do! Nothing he will let us do anyway.” Pansy says.

“Which is such a shame because when Pansy and I went to Puerto Rico for Spring break last year we met the most gorgeous man that I would love to introduce him to,” Blaise says with a saucy grin, “The positions we managed to get into.”

“Ugh I don’t want to hear about your sexual exploits,” Theo says, covering his ears and glaring at Pansy, “How do you put up with him?”

Pansy smirks, “He has a big dick.”

*****

Draco drinks the last drops from his seal lion when he feels the shock of Millie’s hand on him.

“Bloody fuck, Mil,” he shouts as sparks fly off his skin.

He shakes the water from his hair and twists it into a braid, as she smiles at him looking unapologetic. He never knew vampires' hair grew, but in this world, everything he thought he knew about vampires was proven wrong.

“You are going to endanger the species if you're not careful,” she says in a disinterested voice.

Draco admits he is hogging the animal due to its Gryffindor name and its relation to Potter. He hoped it might bear a hint of Potter’s flavour in its blood and found himself disappointed. Only the mountain lion offered him a respite from his hunger and he isn’t sure if that will even work anymore.

“They are not predators, it’s better than me hunting the lynx into near extinction.”

Severus explained the predator-prey hierarchy during his second time hunting, telling him they focus on prey animals because nature provides more of those. Mille raises a judgmental eyebrow at him.

“You shouldn’t focus so hard on any particular animal, Draco. You should be more like Vince and Gregory.”

Draco scowls, he hadn’t particularly missed his minions, much to his surprise, and was taken aback when he met them up here. They didn’t bow and scrape for his attention or seem content to do his bidding. They mostly ignored him, seeming too wrapped up in each other to notice him. They also smelled vaguely guilty, which Draco found discomforting.

“They have no taste, they would eat anything you put in front of them. I bet they would even eat mu-human food.”

Mille snorts and nods in agreement with his assessment.

“Do you know when you're going back?” Mille asks.

Draco notices that she says when and not if. He doesn’t answer her, because he isn’t sure how.

“They miss you,” Millie says in a small voice.

A voice designed to guilt him.

“You’ve been talking to them?” Draco growls annoyed by the effectiveness of her tactics.

“Hard not to when your mother calls every other hour. I don’t know how she gets any work done with her clients.”

“She’s not my mother.” Draco snaps.

Mille just raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him.

“Just because you lost the memory of her doesn’t mean she ceases to fill the role.”

“But I don’t want her to, shouldn’t that count for something?” Draco says feeling harassed.

“Not in Lily’s book, she will fight to the end of the earth for someone. She certainly did that for Severus to open up to her.”

A small part of him wants to hear the story about how Severus fell for the mudblood, but he bites down on his lip. Asking more questions will only encourage her. Mille smiles as if she can read his thoughts instead of the other way around.

“If she wants to waste her time, then fine.”

“I never claimed to agree with her. I’d leave you to moulder if it were up to me.”

Draco scowls as he kicks the sea lion’s corpse into the ocean. Millie sighs as she sits down, as if settling in for a long talk. Draco starts to walk away not wanting to get trapped in some moral philosophy discussion that even the real Millie enjoys. Sometimes he thinks she is as bad as the Gryffidors’s if it weren’t for her politics.

“You don’t get how lucky you are, do you? At first, I thought you were just being your bratty self, faking a little bit to get some attention, but not even you are this good of an actor.” Millie says in a cynical voice.

“Why would I pretend to lose my memory?” Draco demands.

“You were pretty miserable and selfish. Only ever thought about yourself.”

Draco frowns remembering Theo screaming those same words at him after he ruined Luna’s garden. It would appear no one liked him here. It wasn’t a surprise, but it didn’t make him feel any better.

“Who else is there to think about? You only ever have yourself.”

And your family, but he didn’t have that here.

“I don’t get paid enough to be your therapist,” Millie mutters to herself.

“I don’t pay you at all!”

“Precisely,” Millie says, giving him an odious look.

Draco silently glares at her.

“Do you even know about my life before I became a vampire?”

Millie answers him before he can reply.

“Of course, you don’t because you squandered all of your memories away. Well let me give you a chance to practice your empathizing skills,” Millie says and Draco clenches his teeth in annoyance for all the times he’s blamed for his vampire self’s mistakes, “The year was 1830 and being a girl back then, well let's just say it was unpleasant. I was one of three girls from a well-off family. My mother never wanted children, but she had no choice but to have us. She saw us as little better than cows. ”

Draco stifles a yawn, this sounds like every pureblooded tale of woe. Oh, I have to marry and my spouse doesn’t love me and I have to have children. It didn’t make them unique by any means, instead, it usually made them look at the risk of becoming a blood traitor. The continuation of the family line and the strengthening of magic in the blood was the purpose of marriage. It seems like these muggles had the right idea. Love was reserved for mistresses behind closed curtains.

“By the time I was thirteen both of my sisters had been sold off to marriage at the age of fourteen and fifteen. To powerful nobles no less with coffers full of gold.”

Draco’s eyes bugged at the age, but he figured Millie was old. A few generations back that was a normal age for Purebloods to get married. They were being taken care of. If Draco wasn’t the sole heir, he would kill for a marriage where he got to lay around and eat bonbons while a rich husband paid for his lifestyle. In his situation, his husband's every whim would be coming from his vaults.

“My sister’s marriages took them overseas and I never saw them again, as their husbands didn’t permit them to visit or write.”

Millie looks off into the distance, her face sad.

“What do you mean permitted?” Draco demands.

“The wife was the property of the husband. We possessed no rights of our own our husband didn’t allow us.”

“But that's…barbaric.”

Typical bloody muggles. Pureblood spouses of the less affluent and powerful families were expected to be more reserved and bear the children, but never to be subservient in everything. To be a little better than a house elf. Even in ancient times.

“I agree. It was a barbaric time.”

“Was a marriage between a man and man or a woman and a woman any different?” Draco asks.

Millie looks at Draco like he has lost his mind.

“That wasn’t allowed back then. Though no marriage at all would have been my preference. You could be killed if anyone found out you were queer.”

Draco stiffens.

“Killed?”

Millie gives him a grave nod.

“Or committed to an insane asylum or work camp, which at the time was one in  the same.”

Draco tries to imagine having sex with a woman and shudders. The muggle world treated this completely differently than the Wix world but maybe it was because there were no potions or magic to allow two men to bear children.

“What does queer even mean?”

“Its meaning has changed over the years. It used to be an insult to anyone who wanted to live a different lifestyle than what was considered the norm. These days it’s an umbrella term for anyone in the LGBTQIA+ community.”

“What is the point of the terms though? Why not just ask a person who they are attracted to or if they even are attracted to anyone?” Draco asks in disgust.

“Because without a name we don’t exist. We disappear in a sea of straights.”

Draco thinks about the divide between Purebloods, Halfbloods, and Mudbloods, how those names mean something and how belonging to one or the other determines so much about your beliefs and life path. He fails to see how something as simple as the level of attraction compares to blood status.

“Once you name something it becomes important, I simply don’t think who you find attractive to be important, so I think a name is pointless,” Draco says with a shrug.

Millie gives him a shrewd look, “That may be true in a perfect world, but I didn’t have that luxury. I was married to a man who was four times my age when I was sixteen. He forced himself on me and beat me when I resisted. When he found out I was using a contraceptive to prevent children he started using a knife.”

Draco looked at her with galleon-sized eyes. Purebloods both knew going into the marriage that children were expected. They simply gritted their teeth and bore it into the number of children specified in the contract. Then found a lover or didn’t and never touched each other in that manner again. His parents were one of the rare cases, and Draco didn’t hope to get that lucky. A small voice in his head said he heard rumours of such happenings before, but only in cases when the family’s blood flowed with hidden muggle or creature blood, which caused them to act like beasts, which is further proved by Millie’s story. Anyways his parents would never allow such a thing to befall him.

“He went too far one night after a long night of drinking and I felt like I was dying. I knew I wouldn’t get very far, but the prospect of another night there felt worse than death. That’s when I ran into Kingsley. He couldn’t save me through conventional means but he managed to bite me without draining me. He saved my life and Crabbe and Goyal welcomed me with open arms.”

“I am very sorry that happened to you Millie, but I fail to see how this has anything to do with me.”

Millie looks at him with dour eyes.

“Because it's the same thing that happened to Pansy and though you never told anyone the tale, I imagine it is the same thing that happened to you.”

Draco feels a red-hot wave of anger when he thinks of Pansy going through something so horrible. He wants to resurrect the dead muggle who did that to her and kill him all over again.

“I was dying from influenza in England just like my parents. That’s hardly your level of trauma” Draco says in a careless voice, parroting what Severus told him.

“So he says, but no one looks the way you have always looked without carrying some serious baggage. Though I imagine you were English, your accent is back.” Millie says.

“You think he lied to me.”

“I think he was trying to spare you from the truth and honour your decision to lose your memories in the only way he knew how. Severus has always been soft when it comes to his children and his marriage to Lily has just made it worse.”

Draco opens his mouth to agree when his phone buzzes with Luna’s face. Millie gives him a judgmental look and he groans hitting the ‘answer’ button, his thumb rubbing over the eagle owl sticker on the back of the case in annoyance.

“Draco!” Loony’s sweet voice chirps from the speakers.

“Lo-Luna,” Draco says in a dull voice that makes Millie glare harder at him and raise her lightning hand in threat.

“You won’t believe who I spoke to today.”

Draco sighs in a put-upon way, he hates guessing games.

“Who?”

“Harry!”

Draco choked, or would if he needed to breathe to stay alive. Millie gives him an odd look.

“Isn’t that the boy you ran away from like a blushing virgin on their wedding night?”

“No,”

“Yes,” Loony says in a dreamy voice.

Draco mouths I hate you at Millie, she gives him the wand or the ‘finger’ as Zabini calls it.

“Why?” Draco growls.

“He was asking about you and looking worried. It would have been rude to ignore him.” Loony says in her innocent voice, that Draco is learning is far from it.

“And what did you tell him?” Draco asks, already dreading the answer.

“I said you were shy and prone to getting overwhelmed and having panic attacks. And that's why you went to stay with our relatives up north to help relieve it.”

Draco’s mouth drops open in shock. Millie falls over cackling, the sound of her voice so loud she disturbs the rest of the sea lions further down the beach, causing them to rush for the water.

“Tell him you made a mistake yesterday and that I am not shy.”

“But it’s perfect Draco, it will give you an excuse to talk to him and show him we are perfectly safe to be around. He stood up for us, you know, to his friends.”

Millie raises her eyebrows at Loony’s use of the word safe.

“What?” Draco asks, still lost in a haze of irritation from what Potter must think of him.

“His friends were calling us strange and insulting moms. Harry told them off and stormed out. It was very considerate of him so we owe him in return.”

Draco clenches his fists in anger at the Weasel who no doubt brought up the less-than-flattering opinions about him. He wonders if Loony heard right, he doubts that Potter would ever defend a Slytherin even if his life depended on it. Though this Potter wasn’t the one he knew, maybe he would be easier to seduce than Draco thought. He could play on Potter’s massive hero complex to convince him that Draco was a pathetic little thing in need of help. Maybe Loony wasn’t a total waste of space for giving him this opportunity either.

“I agree, Luna, I think talking to P-Harry will greatly benefit us both, it sounds like he needs some real friends to watch his back.”

Millie gives him an odd look.

“Oh, that’s lovely to hear Draco! Harry will be thrilled! He looked so lonely.”

Loony hangs up and Draco smirks to himself, picturing Harry's grateful face as Draco rescues him from his lonely existence.

*****

Harry tries to smile as twenty pairs of eyes stare at him in awe, but he knows it comes off looking stiff and uncomfortable. Madame Maxime stands beaming next to him, radiating pride.

“Anyone who has danced with the Paris Opera Ballet troupe needs no introduction, but for those poor ignorant fools, this is Harry Swan. I want you all to make him feel welcome as he has graciously volunteered his free time to be my assistant director for Swan Lake and to dance as the black swan. Give him your best listening ears as we all have much to learn from him.”

“Happy to be here,” Harry says in a faint voice, red creeping up in his cheeks.

“Everyone start warming up now, we have much to get through tonight! Harry and I will come around and correct your posture and positions.” Madame Maxime says with a snap of her fingers.

The crowd breaks off along the mirrored walls, doing rises at the barre, butterfly and bridge stretches and prancing.

“Regulus would be so proud,” Madame Maxime says in a low voice as she gives his arm a soft squeeze.

Harry gives her a sad smile. He would like to believe that of course, but his parents died when he was five so he struggles at the best of times to remember what they were like. Sirius tries to tell him stories about them, but Harry knows he hates talking about them after his stay in prison for supposedly killing them. Even though he was proven innocent ten years later, he never quite recovered from his stay there.

“Cedric, who is playing Prince Odette needs some help with his Fouetté turns, Harry and you know my feet aren’t what they once were.” Madame Maxime says puttering over to him and giving him a gentle shove to get him going.

Harry grimaces but gets moving figuring he didn’t volunteer to just stand and stare at everyone. He stands back and watches as the boy comes into the turn, paying attention as his toned muscles stretch and pull with the movements.

Cedric is striking.

With his high cheekbones, enviable bone structure and his grey eyes which are framed by gently upswept lashes.

“Hey, Harry,” Cedric, says as he stops spinning, a polite smile playing on his lips, his double-lidded eyes crinkling into crescents.

Cedric runs a casual hand through his thick black brown locks, which tumble forward in an artful style Harry wishes his Harry could pull off. His face shows none of the frantic excitement or embarrassment the others displayed and for that, Harry feels relief. It makes what he needs to do next easier.

“Do you mind if I reposition you?” he asks, having made the mistake in the past of phrasing it as ‘touch you’, and seen people turn to a useless pile of mush at his feet.

“Of course,” Cedric says, relaxing his graceful body, so Harry can nudge it into place with light movements.

“There’s no substitution for practice of course, but I would add more strength exercises to your routine,” Harry says, trying not to let his eyes linger on Cedric’s toned quads.

“Thanks, Harry, I appreciate it,” Cedric says, giving him a wink as if noticing Harry’s gaze.

Harry feels the heat rise to his cheeks as he recalls Draco's intense, disapproving gaze when he caught Harry staring at him. He can't help but admire him. Cedric's bright gray eyes and dark hair were the complete opposite of Draco's piercing midnight black eyes and pale blonde locks. Their personalities also seemed worlds apart, Harry muses as he spends the rest of practice correcting everyone's positions. Despite his best efforts, his eyes still stray back to Cedric multiple times throughout, unable to resist the magnetism between them.

Chapter Text

It took me by surprise
The hatred in his eyes
I've pushed this man as far as he could go
But he lacked the words to let me know

by: Maria Mena

November 20, 1988

Malfoy Manor 

Eight-year-old Draco stands with Pansy and Blaise on the fringes of the grand ballroom, their eyes wide as they watch the swirling robes and glittering jewelry of the adult guests. Theo lingers nearby, not quite part of their group but close enough to hear.

"Look at them all," Pansy whispers, awe in her voice. "We'll be just like that someday."

Blaise nods, his chin lifted proudly. "Of course we will. We're purebloods from the best families."

"Father says we'll be running the Ministry before we're thirty," Draco boasts, puffing out his chest.

He glances around at his companions, his gaze lingering on Theo. A smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "Well, most of us anyway."

Theo shrinks back, but he doesn’t look surprised, long since used to Draco using him for target practice.

Draco turns fully to Theo, his voice dripping with false sympathy.

"Can't exactly follow in your father's footsteps when he's hardly around, can you? And without your mother to guide you..." He shrugs his eyes moving up and down Theo’s clothes, "Well you end up looking like a hand-me-down disaster."

Theo's face reddens, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. But he remains still and blank faced, knowing any reaction will only fuel Draco's taunts.

Pansy giggles shrilly, while Blaise smirks, both silently relieved not to have Draco’s attention.

Draco, emboldened by his friends' reaction, continues.

"Of course, if my mother was dead, I suppose I'd have to wear last season's robes too. At least your father remembers you exist long enough to send you here."

Theo's eyes glisten, but he holds his chin high, refusing to give Draco the satisfaction of seeing him cry.

"Come on," Draco said, turning back to his closer friends. "Let's go see if we can sneak some fire whiskey. No point wasting time with those who'll never measure up."

As they walk away, Draco feels a familiar surge of satisfaction. He'd made sure everyone knew their place – just as he’d watched his father do countless times at other parties just like this one. He can already picture his father’s proud face when Draco recounts the story in his office at the end of the night.

Draco gasps as he opens his eyes, his room coming into focus around him. The lyrics of "Twilight Time," drifting over the speakers, match the peaceful night outside his glass walls, giving his brain something to hold onto after that insignificant little trip down memory lane.

He scoffs internally, dismissing the memory as inconsequential. Yet, his fingers unconsciously clutch at the leather of the settee, knuckles whitening.

He wonders, not for the first time, at the connectivity between his memories of the real world and the characters in this story. The instinctual hatred Theo feels towards him and Pansy and Blaise's tendency to fall in line behind him. He didn't blame Theo for hating him, of course not. Why would he? At the same time, he couldn't bring himself to regret any of his actions towards him. If it hadn't been Draco tearing him down, it would have been someone else doing it.

A muscle in his jaw twitches, betraying the tension he's desperately trying to ignore.

And without the protection of being a bully, it might have been Draco being torn apart. It is just the way of the world, he tells himself firmly, even as his stomach churns uncomfortably.

He takes a deep breath, forcing his body to relax, to appear as nonchalant as he's trying to convince himself he feels. But the slight tremor in his hands as he runs them through his hair tells a different story.

*****

Draco runs over what he plans to say in his mind one more time. He is going to ask Potter if he likes Forks so far and figure out why he moved here. Pansy approves of his script even if she doesn’t approve of his use of it, and if she knew his real reason she wouldn’t change her tune. She seemed as against killing muggles as the others are. Draco startles as a loud noise careens over the parking lot and a dangerous two wheeled muggle car blurs past him. He catches the word Firebolt etched into the side, surrounded by eerie motionless flames. 

“What is that?” Draco gasps. 

Blaise raises his eyebrows looking impressed, “Your boy has some taste, that is a custom Sirius Dwyer soon to be Dwyer-Lupin bike, though I would expect nothing less for his precious godson.” 

 “Who?” 

The name Sirius holds his attention because it is the name of his outcast cousin who Draco remembers hearing was named Potter’s godfather, but he thought he was dead. 

“He’s the president of the Gryffindor Lions bike club, a mad genius motorcycle stunt man, and a god with any engine. He owns Siriusly Custom Engines in Phoenix. I’ve commissioned all of my cars from him since he opened.” Blaise with a dreamy sigh. 

“Why soon to be Dwyer-Lupin?” Draco asks, watching as Potter, dressed in torn jeans, a thin t-shirt, and a leather jacket, removes his lion helmet (typical) and tosses his messy mane of black hair.

Draco sees the shivers racking his body from over here. 

“Remus Lupin, the Wolf of the Diamond?” Pansy demands. 

“What part of no memory do you not understand?” Draco hisses. 

Pansy sighs. 

“He’s one of the most underrated baseball players out there. No decent team wanted to take him because he has epilepsy and worried he would have an attack in the middle of the game. So he played for crap teams for years working his way up. Last year was his big break when he signed on with the Phoenix Werewolves. Of course Harry Swan stole his thunder by being signed on the same team. Sirius and Remus grew up together, and were estranged when Sirius was falsely accused of murder. They made up and now are engaged to get married.” Pansy says with hearts in her eyes. 

Draco also remembers something about Sirius being accused of giving away the Potter’s location and locked in Azkaban. Though it appears that instead of escaping he got out through legal muggle means. The rules are always bent for Harry Potter Draco thinks in disgust. He wonders if Lupin is a disgusting werewolf in this world as well and that’s the real reason for his little episodes. Draco tracks Potter as he makes his way up towards the school, noting with satisfaction the dejected look on his face. If Draco finds himself still stuck in this mess he wants Potter to feel just as miserable as him. The Weasel standing next to his orange monstrosity of a truck, spots Potter and a light goes off in his eyes. Draco smirks, expecting a lovely show where Potter trounces the Weasel into the ground for daring to insult Draco and his fellow Slytherins. 

“Has Ron’s ass always looked that good in jeans?” Blaise says, his eyes trained on the Weasel’s backside.

Pansy scowls and whacks Blaise on the shoulder.

“Ow!”

“No humans! We made a deal remember.” she hisses.

Blaise pouts but his eyes glance away.

The Weasel approaches Potter and Potter’s face lights up in a smile. Draco growls under his breath. Maybe Potter is giving the Weasel hope only to yank it away, that is a plan that Draco would approve of. The Weasel sidles up against Potter as they walk into the school and Draco dashes after them at a human pace. He stares in amazement as Potter plays the long game and continues to talk to the Weasel.

The harsh muggle lights make the green in Potter’s eyes flare like the sun with joy. Draco feels a smile pushing at the corners of his mouth and he forces himself to concentrate. Maybe Potter needs Draco’s help to disentangle himself from the Weasel, he always came off as a leader in the real world, but maybe in this one he’s just a hapless little follower. 

“Harry!” Draco calls after him shoving through the crowd of milling muggles, ignoring the buzz of their thoughts as they brush against the edge of his subconscious, to reach his prize. 

Potter looks up in curiosity and his lips forming a tentative grin as he lifts a hand in greeting. The scent of Potter hits Draco like a hot bubbling Potion being thrown down his throat and his face twists for a moment as he adjusts to the smell.

“Draco, are you okay?” Potter asks sounding concerned.

He forces himself to think around the pounding desire in his head, clenching his teeth, against the urge to yank Potter close to clamp his teeth around his throat. Draco shoves into the Weasel, hearing the angry muggle curse in his head, and situates himself next to Potter. He leans forward gagging on fire and forces a suave smile on his face.

“Never better, Harry,” he purrs, his head swimming with pain as the Weasel inches around him to get between he and Potter.

“Move over, Newton, Swan knows better than to hang out with your sort.” Draco says the words coming out of his mouth before he can stop them. 

Draco faces away from Potter, his gaze locked on the Weasel, so he misses as Potter’s face turns dark with anger.

“And what sort would that be, Draco?” the Weasel says with a scowl. 

“Poor desperate no good, fame chasers. Is your family so beggarly that you need to hang off the only celebrity in town to attract business.” Draco sneers, tempted to spit the bubbling venom in his mouth at Weasley to see if it would burn his face.

Potter pushes his way between him and the Weasel, his green eyes shiny with emotion. 

“Harry,” Draco croons, “Luna told me you wanted to be my friend. I would be more than happy to accept your hand in friendship.” 

He holds his hand out just like he did on that fateful day five years ago. This time though Potter reaches out his hand and…. 

“Ow,” Draco says, jumping back in offence and pretend pain, because he knows it is expected of him to maintain his weak human mask, “You slapped me!” 

“And you insulted one of my best friends! Why would I want to be friends with someone like that?” 

The Weasel looks as stunned at Potter’s words as Draco feels. 

“Best friend? But you just met him!” 

Potter’s hands clenched into fists as he stares Draco down.

“And he’s already better than the majority of the friends I’ve had in the past.” Potter spits in his face.

“But-” 

“But what?” Potter sneers. 

“You’re supposed to want me?” Draco says in a question, his world and surety burning away from him leaving ashes in its place. 

That’s what the book said, that Potter would fall in love with him at first sight, despite the obvious danger. Maybe because of it, the brain dead Gryffindor.

“I will never want someone who treats a person like that.” Potter says with a glare, “Come on Ron, Hermione wanted to meet us in the library.” 

Potter and the Weasel stalk away without a backwards glance. 

“Oh that was beautiful, congratulations Romeo.” Blaise says coming up behind him and jarring him with a slap to the back.

“Draco, what were you thinking? That’s not what we planned at all.” Pansy says in a harsh voice.

Draco feels his chance to save his parents slip through his fingers as Potter disappears around a corner. He thought that after he killed Potter the storyline would correct itself if he did something wrong, but now he isn’t sure. What if he only gets one chance to get this right and he used up his one redo?

“Pride goes before the fall.” Theo says in a snide superior voice. 

“You could have helped me!” Draco growls at him.

“My influence is temporary, you would ruin it by opening your mouth again.” Theo sneers at him. 

“You know nothing,” Draco spits. 

“I know enough to understand why you are still single.” Theo spits back. 

“I don’t need your help.” 

“I wasn’t offering.” Theo says stalking off in the direction of his home room. 

Draco crosses his arms and turns back to Luna, not needing to think about what his mother would think about his stance.

“I will prove him wrong and will win Potter.” 

Luna gives him a worried look. 

“You don’t win at love, Draco, you give it.” 

Draco ignores her. 

“You just wait and see,” he mutters. 

*****

“What was that about, man?” Ron says still laughing, Harry presumes at the stunned look on Draco’s face when Harry slapped his hand away. 

Harry shakes his head in confusion, “I have no idea. Luna said last week that he was shy and needed friends, so I said that I would be happy to be his friend. I don’t know why he thought that attacking you would make me like him.” 

Ron gets a mischievous look in his eyes, “Maybe he wanted to be more than friends and he saw me as competition.” 

Harry thinks about the possessive glint in Draco’s eyes when he looks at him and shudders.  

“Maybe. It doesn’t matter either way I don’t plan on dating anyone.” he says. 

“The more you say that, the more they are going to want you. They will see you as a challenge and think that you are playing hard to get.” 

“But that’s not it at all.” Harry grumbles under his breath. 

“I don’t know what else to tell you man.” 

****

In the next period, Draco finds himself in AP Literature sitting next to Astoria Greengrass or Mallory in this world, a girl with a clear crush on him. Draco smirks at how obvious she is without even his ability to read minds with the way she smiles at him and bats her eyes flirtatiously. As the class delves into a discussion about the classic novel "Watership Down," Draco feels a pang of familiarity wash over him. It was one of the books he had read during his ‘vampire adjustment period’, as Luna refers to it as. He remembers that it bashed on muggles, but little else.

Despite being behind in class due to his time in Alaska, Draco is secretly relieved to be in an advanced class with the mudblood. He strategically positions himself to sit among his classmates, to catch a glimpse of her thoughts when the teacher calls on him.

As the teacher leads the literary analysis, she calls on Astoria to talk on the themes of the book so far, despite the mudblood’s desperate waving hand.

"Watership Down really speaks to themes of hope and new beginnings despite the darkness that seems to be closing in from all sides. It's quite poignant."

The mudblood huffs in disappointment at a missed opportunity to be a complete show off. Draco nods, fighting down a sneer at Astoria’s wishy washy answer. He mostly remembers the dark themes and bloodshed that happened in the book, he skimmed past anything that ventured towards real connection viewing it as boring.

*****

Draco glares at Potter as his head tips back in a laugh, exposing the long white column of his throat. He seethes. All those Gryffindors over there with Potter at their centre, their entire universe pulled into his orbit, even here. All he needs to do is make Potter fall for him and then eliminate him, like the story calls for. Then he can go home to his parents. He feels a spike of fear shoot through him at the thought of his parents unsure how time works in this strange universe and if they are even still... He pushes the word away. He is a Malfoy…or well a Cullen and Cullens like Malfoys he decides always get what they want. What they deserve. And he deserves Potter simpering and offering his neck to Draco.

“Draco cut it out. The way you're staring it’s not very…human and it’s drawing attention.” 

Pansy whispers in his ear, breaking his concentration. He glances around noting some of the Gryffindors and other unimportant muggles looking at him with nervous expressions. Potter, his heart pounding to the rhythm of stress and fear against Draco’s heightened senses, uses his distraction to make a hasty retreat, returning his eyes to the empty table. 

“Does he still smell….appealing?” Theo asks with a small smirk playing around his full lips. 

Bastard, Draco thinks sneering at him. He heard from Luna that Theo still struggles to control his thirst, so Draco can only imagine the thrill he gets at seeing him suffer.

 “No,” Draco hisses in a derisive voice,

 “I just hate the way the mug-humans flock around him. He’s not even that attractive.”

Blaise cackles causing several nearby tables to stare. 

“So you’ve been checking him out?” Blaise asks with a lascivious grin.

 “Of course not but there is not much else to look at in this dump.” 

“I will drink to that,” Blaise says, inciting a glare from Pansy.

He raises his bottle of muggle beverage to his lips and pretends to drink. Or Draco at least hopes Blaise pretends to drink. Draco tried a sip earlier and thought it tasted foul. Draco picks up the green apple on his plate tossing it between his hands as he thinks. Potter seems different in this world, more nervous and twitchy. More defensive. Less confident. It is as Draco suspected, now that Potter no longer has his saviour level fame to bolster him up and reassure him of his greatness he is nothing. Making him easy prey. 

****

Harry ignores Draco as he takes the lab stool next to him and continues his conversation with Cedric, who seems to genuinely enjoy his company. 

“Do you miss Phoenix, Harry?” Cedric asks with a kind smile.

Harry smiles back at him and pretends to not feel Draco’s eyes boring into his back. 

“Yes, my godfather and I were really close. I miss him so much. And the weather, I can't say that I am fond of all this rain.” 

Cedric chuckles. 

“I figured that from the way you dress. Do you think you can bring out the sun with stubborn willpower alone?” 

Harry laughs with Cedric but his laugh sounds hoarse with his discomfort. 

“Phoenix doesn’t stock much in the way of winter clothes and I haven’t had the opportunity to drive to Seattle yet. Motorcycles aren’t built for distance in rainy places.” 

A light goes off in Cedric’s eye and he leans forward a little bit to give Harry a disarming smile. 

“I have a car with a roof and everything if you need a ride.” Cedric says. 

*****

Draco tilts his head to the side in interest. The pain hasn’t subsided, but he is starting to get used to the burn the more time passes. At first Draco was taken back to see the dead boy in class, but after finding out his cousin is alive in this world, he feels less shock. Different rules must apply here since Potter should be dead after last week. His eyes narrow as the annoying Cedric Diggory slides his stool up next to Potter and starts talking animatedly. Draco feels resentful at how easily Cedric commands Potter's attention.

“I have a car with a roof and everything if you need a ride,” Cedric says.

Draco's fist clenches involuntarily. That smarmy git is trying to get alone time with Potter. The thought makes Draco's blood boil. Potter is his to seduce and pursue according to the storyline he is trapped in.

He watches Potter consider Cedric's offer, feeling apprehensive. If Potter accepted, it would ruin all of Draco's carefully laid plans to insert himself into his life. He had to find a way to prevent it.

“Thank you so much for the offer, b-” 

Draco scowls, jabbing Potter in the ribs with his elbow as he hears Professor Slughorn coming down the hallway. He can't let Cedric get that close, can't risk the prat winning Potter's affections first. He vows to learn to drive immediately, picturing himself sweeping in to offer Potter a ride instead. He'd make the other boy look pathetic by comparison.

Yes, he will get his way. Potter belongs to him now, whether the boy knows it yet or not. He'd make sure of that, no matter what Diggory or anyone else tries. With renewed determination, Draco begins plotting how to properly insert himself into Potter's life.

*****

Harry blinks in surprise, not expecting the offer from someone as uninterested in his fame as Cedric. Harry stiffens, but ignores his thoughts, as his heart pounds in his chest. As much as he would appreciate the ride, without money it means nothing. 

“Thank you so much for the offer, b-” 

Draco jabs Harry with his elbow this time almost knocking him out of his seat. 

“What do you want, Draco?” Harry hisses. 

“Class is about to start,” Draco says in a neutral voice, looking at the board in front of him. 

Sure enough, Mr.Slughorn bustles into the room a second later, calling everyone to attention. Harry frowns at him and Draco shoots him a superior grin. Luna must be blinded by familial love if she thinks that he is shy. 

“The polite thing to do would be to thank me,” Draco says.

“Good thing I’m not polite then,” Harry mutters. 

“Today we will be working on color-changing solutions. I want everyone to turn their textbooks to page fifty-six in their textbooks.” 

Harry hurries to comply, pulling out his notebook and rifling through his book until he reaches the correct page. He scans through the words and descriptions of PH indicators, relieved it’s all review. Draco beside him continues to watch him, not moving, like a creepy statue. Harry opens his notebook to a blank page and begins to copy the words that appear on the board. 

“A Universal Indicator changes colors over several pH values. Most commonly from four to fourteen….An example of this is the annual changing of the leaves….” 

Harry tunes in and out of Mr.Slughorn’s droning remembering doing a similar experiment as a freshman. 

“Get your tray of chemicals from the back and complete the experiment on page seventy-three.” 

Harry lets out a heavy sigh, the sound echoing through the dimly lit classroom. He turns the page in the book and carefully retrieves their set of chemicals, lining them up on the table in front of them. From the corner of his eye, he watches as Draco reaches for the sodium carbonate and begins to pour it into the vinegar.

Without thinking, Harry's hand jolts out and wraps around Draco's wrist, stopping him just in time. The contact sends shivers down Harry's spine as their skin brushes against each other, sparks of cold fire igniting in its wake. Draco's touch is like ice, yet there is an underlying heat that makes Harry's heart flutter. He means to scold Draco for potentially ruining their experiment, but as their gazes meet - Draco's golden eyes locking with Harry's emerald ones - all rational thought escapes him.

“Do you wear contacts?” He asks instead and then curses himself for his stupidity of showing interest in Draco. 

He knows from experience that causes people to read more into it than they should. Instead, a hint of confusion crosses Draco's face. It makes his sharp colorless features and piercing eyes soften. Harry thinks it almost makes him look endearing.

“No,” Draco says in an unsure voice. 

“I swear your eyes looked black last time you came to class.” 

Draco adopts a haughty grin. Smoothing over his unsurety and any trace of human emotion in his face, looking like a predator that just cornered its prey.

“You remember what my eyes looked like a week ago?” 

“Yes, unlike you I can absorb what's happening around me. And thank goodness for that because you almost ruined our experiment.” He growls, snatching the sodium carbonate from Draco’s hands. 

Draco looks at him in outrage, which Harry recognizes as a shield for his embarrassment. 

Harry groans, “You didn’t read the chapter for this class, did you? I know you didn’t pay attention just now because you didn’t write a single line of notes.” 

Harry pushes the vial of phenolphthalein solution and one of the five red cups towards him. Then he hands him a dropper. He scoops out an eighth of a teaspoon of the sodium carbonate and adds it to the blue cup. 

“Add six drops of phenolphthalein solution to this cup,” Harry instructs, giving Draco a pointed look. 

Draco sneers but he does what Harry tells him to do, his eyes narrowed in irritation all the while. Harry consults the book again and picks up an empty dropper filling it with water from the pitcher. He adds three drops of water to the blue cup in front of him watching the water turn cloudy. He pulls out his journal and writes his observations down, noting the chemical reactions that he sees. 

“What are you doing?” Draco asks in a snappish voice. 

“We are supposed to keep a journal of what we observe during our experiments,” Harry says in a dull voice. 

Which you would know if you bothered to show up past the first day of class, Harry adds in his head. 

“But nothing happened, what could you possibly be writing.” 

Harry releases a long breath through his nose. 

“By dissolving sodium carbonate in water we created carbonic acid and sodium hydroxide, which increases the pH number,” Harry says without looking up from his notes. 

He pulls the worksheet towards him and begins to write a more involved answer. 

“Well said, Mr. Swam,” Mr. Slughorn says, coming up to their table.

“Thank you, sir.” 

“Looks like it is coming along nicely, so what are my two star students going to do next?” Mr. Slughorn says, admiring the scar on Harry’s face with interest. 

Harry bites back his scowl and his surprise at Draco being referred to as a ‘star’ student. 

“Draco was just about to fill all the glasses with water and then add them back to the pitcher,” Harry says feeling vengeful. 

To his surprise Draco does as he asks and pours water into four glasses. He watches Draco’s eyes widen as the water comes out red. He looks like a little kid who still believes in magic. Harry pours all five glasses into the pitcher and tilts it so that Slughorn sees that the water is clear. 

“Fabulous boys! Now tell me why it happens.” Mr. Slughorn says, directing his expectant eyes at Draco.

Draco squirms under that gaze. His eyes drove into Mr.Slughorn’s as if searching for the answer there. Harry enjoys it for a moment, before realizing it’s his grade on the line too. 

“A pH indicator is a phenolphthalein and changes colors when it reacts with bases. Sodium carbonate is the base and by pouring the four glasses back into the pitcher the water transformed into the color red. You need acid, vinegar in this case, to turn it back.” 

“You are a wonder Mr. Swan. First correct answer I’ve gotten all day. Do you kids simply not know how to read anymore?” Mr. Slughorn says, shaking his head in exasperation. 

Harry gives him a modest shrug, and Draco looks vaguely guilty, which is an improvement over smug. 

“Well carry on!” Mr. Slughorn says going to the next table, where Ron looks nervous about his approach. 

“How did you know all that?” Draco says, looking at him with shrewd eyes. 

Harry picks up the textbook and waves it in the air. 

“It’s all in here,” he says. 

“But you are not good at school.” 

Harry wears an affronted look. 

“Says who? I’ve received straight A’s for the last three years and taken all advanced placement and AP classes.” 

Draco gives him an incomprehensible look. 

“You better start reading the book, that was a review from last year or so I’m told. It will only get harder from here on out and I don’t appreciate a partner who drags me down.” Harry says before he can think better of it. 

A strange change seems to come over Draco as if something Harry says to him sinks in for the first time. Draco leans forward, his honey eyes fierce and locked on Harry’s. 

“I can guarantee by the next class you will be the one holding me back, Swan,” Draco says between clenched teeth. 

“You wish,” Harry says in a careless voice. 

******

Draco storms into Severus’s office and looms over his desk watching him rifle through what he has learned are patient files on his desk, writing down notes as he goes. 

“What can I do for you, Draco, since you were so patient as to knock before coming in.” 

If he still possessed his human body he might have blushed, but this was not the case. Nor would he have barged in if he was still in his real life and this was his father’s study. 

“I need to learn about Chemistry.” 

Severus sighs and stops writing to look at him. 

“I did warn you to at least glance at your school books to keep up appearances,” Severus says in a monotone voice. 

Draco clenches his teeth in frustration and embarrassment but then forces the words out of his mouth.

“I need a more entry-level text,” he admits in a hiss. 

Snape's eyebrows raise in surprise before he returns to his notes. 

“Ask your mother, she has a PhD in Chemistry. I merely have a master's.” Severus says. 

As if understanding Draco’s confused silence, he says, “A PhD is five and half years and a master's is two.” 

“And that’s not enough?” Draco demands, sick of Severus’s constant manipulation to force him to talk to the mudblood, “And I told you she is not my mother.” 

Severus magnanimously ignores his second comment, seeming to realise it’s the best way to send him around the bend.

“I just thought that you wanted the best and your mother is the best person for the job, but if you want a second-rate education then….” 

“No!” Draco shouts, thrusting his hand out to still him.

He imagines facing Potter tomorrow with a less-than-perfect understanding of Chemistry and shudders in horror. Severus gives him what he thinks is a pleased smile, stretching his face in a comical mask. 

“I’ll ask her.” 

“Excellent,” Severus says, returning to his files.

Draco hesitates at the shut door, his father's words, Malfoys never admit weakness to anyone. He feels a flare of irritation at his father’s way of thinking. If he never asked for help with the garden there is no way he would have managed to regrow it. He would still be given the silent treatment by everyone, but the mudblood and Luna and have to excerpt his own energy to get around instead of riding in the car if he followed his fathers advice. 

Even if he limited himself to only asking advice of Severus or his fellow Slytherins as his father would prefer, he couldn’t. Severus once again refuses to help him and Theo, Blaise, and Pansy would make fun of him the entire time. Luna, well he never knew how much concrete information he would get out of her. The mudblood was his only option. Unless he wanted to go all the way to Alaska and ask Millie….which he did not.

Draco's body tenses as he catches sight of the mudblood, but instead of standing in front of a canvas delicately painting flowers and blades of grass with precise strokes, she is in a room he had failed to notice before. The door was closed, but now it stands open, revealing a scene that unsettles him. For a fleeting moment, he sees his mother in her potion-making days, pale hair pulled back as she bends over a bubbling cauldron. He quickly pushes the memory away as he cautiously steps into the room, taking in the stainless steel countertops and strange bubbling instruments that rest upon them. He can't help but anticipate one of the inferior muggle mechanisms exploding in a mess of glass and acid. But the mudblood stands poised over a blue burning flame, her focus trained on a clear liquid bubbling away in a glass beaker. Next to her are small moulds filled with white powder. He vaguely remembers her mentioning something about making medicine for the hospital and wonders if these are some of her creations. 

“I need help with Chemistry,” Draco says without preamble, not knowing how else to get her attention.

A smile lights up the mudblood’s face and she puts down her tongs. 

“Of course, I would be happy to help you. What are you working on in class?” 

Draco fights not to snap at her and grits his teeth. 

“We turned water red and then made it clear again.” 

The mudblood’s eyes light up in excitement and interest and Draco fights not to scowl at how much they look like Potter’s. 

“I always wondered if that chemical reaction was the real explanation for Jesus's ability to turn water into wine in the bible.” she muses as she turns off her equipment.

“But it’ just red water.” 

The mudblood gives him a kind smile. 

“People see what they want to believe. Science didn’t exist as a concept yet, so magic made more sense.” 

“But if anyone took a drink they would know it’s not wine,” Draco says in consternation.

“But wine makes a better story and as it’s passed from person to person it changes until it’s so far from the truth it is not even recognizable anymore. It’s why it’s important to take a closer look before you make a final judgement.” 

Draco thinks about the Weasel and his friends and the wild stories Luna said they told about the Cullens rather than notice that they are vampires and thinks it makes a little sense.

“Did you want to go over the experiment results then?” the mudblood asks. 

“I think I need to start at the beginning,” he says in an even voice his mother would be proud of, if not for the undeserving recipient of the tone.

The mudblood’s face stutters for a moment and then resets itself so quickly that he wonders if he imagined it. She moves to a bookshelf that he failed to notice at first and pulls an armful of books off of the shelf. She beckons him over as she opens up the top book on the stack which is old and frayed. 

“This is Severus’s. It’s a book on Alchemy.”

Draco’s eyes raise with interest as he hears the word Alchemy. It’s a lost art, an old art, he didn’t realise that the muggles knew anything about it. She flips through the pages covered with strange drawings. A ritual called Velamen Inter Mundos Discerpens stands out to him, but Lily turns the page before he can read all of it.

“None of it worked of course but from the lost steps of Alchemy Chemistry was born.”

They just didn’t have the magic to power it, Draco thinks derisively. 

“Humans through their determination kept experimenting and eventually their efforts paid dividends. Pottery, perfumes, and alcohol all come from Chemistry.” Lily gives him a laughing smile, the memory of the embarrassing bathtub experiment playing in her mind. 

Draco gives her a look but lets it slide. 

“The one that interested Sev the most was medicine.” 

Draco shudders at the mention of muggle medicine. It still manages to gross him out, this senseless mutilation of the body in the name of health. The mudblood notices. 

“I know it’s hard to imagine willing to be around all that blood. It still amazes me from time to time, but Severus is truly incredible,” she says and Draco aches when he hears the love in her voice, the same love he sometimes catches in his parent's voices when they talk about each other.

He wants that for himself, but with the rise of the Dark Lord, it feels less and less likely that he will find it. She shakes her head as if realigning herself and pulls out another book. This one looks a little newer, the cover similar to his school book. She opens to the first page and Draco stares at the multi-colored stacks of blocks that greet him. 

“Okay, let’s start with the periodic table and then work our way from there,” she says, handing him a paper and a muggle version of a quill. 

Draco takes and sets his it to the paper, writing until the pesky sun rises on the horizon. 

*****

Harry’s stomach grumbles as he waits in the lunch line. He wasn’t quick enough this morning to steal more than an egg and a burned sausage link. His small allotted money Sirius gives him barely stretches enough for gas and a lunch here and there. And whose fault is that a voice in Harry’s head says. Harry ignores it. If he asks for any more Sirius will refuse on the account that he doesn’t want Harry to become spoiled or he will start asking dangerous questions, like why he needs the money. It makes Harry feel sick to think of Sirius going to bat for him after he already did so much for him just by reducing his sentence at the Dursleys to the summer instead of the entire year. He doesn’t think he can risk asking for more. 

Harry grabs the biggest of the green apples displayed and feels thankful that this school decided not to charge by the weight of your lunch. Hermione looks at his tray in suspicion. 

“Harry, you don’t seem to be eating much.” 

“I’m not hungry, I had a big breakfast.” he lies. 

Her face relaxes and he resists the urge to breathe out in relief. He is good at lying, he’s done it his entire life. He pays for his apple and walks into the lunch room not noticing the shadow that looms towards him until he slams into a wall of cold stone. He pulls back and his tray tilts and jerks in his hands, spilling his apple to the ground. A white flash shoots through the air and his apple stops half a foot from the ground, showing pale fingers wrapping around his lunch. Harry tilts his head up and frowns as he regards Draco’s reddish-gold eyes, his hand holding Harry's apple towards him. 

“I didn’t realise you were that into me, Swan you almost took quite the fall for me.” 

Harry grimaces at the terrible line and considers his apple. On one hand, he feels his hunger as if it is a living thing. It is only an apple, there is no deeper symbolism here, a voice says. Harry feels himself agreeing with it, but some sort of gut feeling knows this little game means so much more to Draco. Almost like taking it means that he agrees to engage in Draco’s theatrics. 

“Keep it.” Harry says moving past him, not caring that Draco looks like a rearing, hissing snake about to strike.

Knowing Draco’s determination he really shouldn’t have been surprised when he finds it sitting in front of his lab table stool when he walks into Chemistry, the slight indentations from his fingers still there. Harry pushes it to Draco’s side of the table with his Chemistry text, in order to touch it as little as possible. He feels like it is tainted just by coming into contact with the strange pale boy. 

“Swan.” Draco sneers. 

Harry gives Draco an unimpressed look. 

“Draco.” he cuts out, refusing to be dragged into Draco’s strange last names game. 

“It's not poisoned, you know. It's even organic.” Draco says pronouncing the word organic as if it is some strange new concept. 

“I know. I bought it.” 

It was one of the many ways that Umbridge tried to one up Albus, through her ‘Ditch the Dirty Dozen’ campaign. Draco clenches his teeth and faces forward as Mr. Slughorn swans into the room. As Mr.Slughorn gets deep into his lecture, he watches in amazement as Draco pulls out an honest to god eagle feathered quill, clay ink pot and crinkly edged parchment paper and starts taking notes. 

Draco looks at Harry as if he is the one being strange.

“What? Unfamiliar with how people with class take notes, Swan?” he asks with a smirk. 

Harry gapes at him and then shakes his head writing notes with his perfectly fine mechanical pencil and college ruled paper. What era did he think it was? The middle ages? Then Harry remembers Draco’s strange outfits made up of long shirts styled with mythical beasts and far away planets, always paired with cloak-like jackets and a wild array of shoes. Maybe he did? Was that why he talked in a soft lilting British accent when none of his siblings did? 

Harry later watches in astonishment as Draco raises his hand for every question, even before Harry himself can think to and answers it correctly. 

He leans over the gap between them and asks in a whisper, “What are you doing reading his mind?” 

Draco scowls an irritated look crossing his face, his nose scrunching up like he smells something bad, “Even if I was, he’s the type to not think of the answer in his head just to screw with me, the absolute wanker,” 

Harry stifles a snort, he forgets sometimes that despite the posh exterior Draco has a dirty mouth. Harry banishes that thought from his head, as his brain conjures other uses for that mouth. 

“So you read the chapter last night then?” Harry asks as Draco gives him a curious glance, his nostrils flared.

He feels better about the upcoming lab today.

“I read the entire book,” Draco says in a dismissive tone. 

Harry looks at him in surprise.

“You…what?” 

Draco gives him an odd look. 

“Haven’t you?” 

Harry tries to remember if he ever read a book in one sitting. He can only think about novels he read, but no textbooks. 

“No,” Harry says, dumbfounded. 

Draco gives him a self-satisfied look.

“Maybe you are not as devoted to school as you claimed to be yesterday, then?” 

“Or maybe I have better uses of my free time.” Harry mumbles. 

Cedric snorts from the table over and Harry exchanges a grin with him. Draco glares at Cedric, his eyes going unfocused for a moment before he scowls. 

“That’s right, you go to Madame Maxime’s Ballet school, do you not?” 

Harry frowns he doesn’t want that to get around because he worries that more fans than dancers will show up to practice. 

“How do you know that?” Harry asks in a whisper leaning closer to Draco. 

Draco raises an eyebrow, “Why are you whispering, Swan? Even you don’t have the hope of keeping a secret that’s already front-page news.” 

Harry feels a rush of panic. 

“What are you talking about?” Harry demands. 

Draco pulls out a gossip magazine, the Daily Forkful, from his bag and tosses it on the lab table. A picture of Harry covered in the feathers of his Odette costume next to another one wearing his Odile costume fills the front cover with the headline, “Star Turned Spare by the Swan With Many Faces Before Opening Debut.” With frantic fingers, Harry flips through the pages until he gets to the one about him. 

Star Turned Spare by the Swan With Many Faces Before Opening Debut.

By Guest Writer Rita Skeeter

Harry Swan, the only surviving son of James and Regulus Swan, disappeared from the public eye without a word a few months ago. Leaving his baseball team the Phoenix Werewolves without their star pitcher. 

“He left without warning and we are all suffering because of it.” Anthony Goldstein, an important member of the Werewolves reports. 

“You are the waterboy, Goldstein, how would you know how the team is faring?” Harry mutters under his breath. 

He also turned down the chance to rejoin the Paris Ballet Opera troupe, a never before seen honor offered to the one so young. The Gryffindors Lions will be going without their top stunt rider this year as well. Is America’s Favorite Golden Boy too good for the priceless opportunities offered to him, despite his alcoholic reputation? 

“I had one sip of a drink, you lying cow, which of course is the second you took the picture.” 

Dear readers, hold onto your hats, this investigative journalist believes it’s so much more than that. 

Our story starts in Forks, Washington, a peaceful picturesque town, known for their Sasquatch festival started by James Swan and Sirius Dwyer in their misbegotten youth. Harry Swan will take his senior year at Hogwarts High while living with his relatives and dear friends of mine Vernon and Petunia Dursley, two names I’m sure you remember from when I reported on the retrial of Sirius Dwyer and the custody battle between….

Harry scans the article, ignoring Skeeter’s useless name dropping and getting to the meat if it could even be called that. 

Harry Swan, unable to resist reaching for the spotlight finds it in the only place he knows how. In the shadows. Unable to get it through normal conventions like trying out for the baseball team or the ballet he instead gets paid positions as ‘assistants’ and ‘alternates’ in case one of the participants is injured. It’s fitting he is cast as the Black Swan in the Swan Lake.

“He takes over every practice and the coach only pays attention to him.” a source close to Hogwarts Baseball team.

“I swear he only took the role to sabotage Cedric. I’m just waiting for one of the ‘accidents’ to happen and for him to get the starring role.” 

“I didn’t ask for these positions and I’m was not paid.” Harry growls, at the glossy pages. 

Harry pushes the article away from him and glances over at Cedric. Could he actually believe this garbage? He was friendly to Harry just moments ago, but maybe he hasn't seen the article yet. Cedric meets his gaze with a warm smile that never fails to make Harry's heart flutter.

"Cedric, I'm not-" Harry begins before he's cut off by Cedric. "It's fine, Harry. I don't read gossip magazines, and even if I did, I would never believe the nonsense they publish."

The tension in Harry's chest dissipates and he can breathe easier now.

"I believe you too," says Draco, leaning forward with an almost too-eager smile on his face.

Harry's heart races as he gets lost in Draco's golden-amber eyes. He tries to shake himself out of it, breaking Draco's hold on him.

"Do you?" he asks in a sarcastic tone, his voice slightly breathless.

Draco nods confidently, still staring intently at Harry and sending shivers down his spine.

"I guess that means I don't believe you then," Harry retorts as the bell rings, grateful that Draco can't follow him out of the classroom.

He joins Cedric and Ron in their conversation about gym class next period, glad to be distracted by Draco and his penchant to irritate him.

*****

“What are you doing here?” 

Ron’s harsh voice draws him away from his conversation with Cedric about the advantages of Nikolay versus Bloch when buying pointes. Harry tenses, Chemistry was bad enough today with Draco looking smug and secretive the entire time and refusing to answer any of Harry’s questions about the reason why.

He glances behind Ron and his eyes widen as he spies Draco Cullen standing a few feet away somehow managing to look like a Sports Illustrated model wearing the sad school gym uniform. His toned white skin glistens in the harsh fluorescent lights, highlighting his perfect long limbs and chiseled face. Draco preens like a peacock looking at Ron like he just puked slugs at his feet. 

“For those of us with the right connections we can get into any place we desire.” Draco says in a snooty voice.

Ron scowls his hands balling into fists as he charges up to Draco. 

“Listen here you bastard!” 

 Cedric turns to Harry in panic and the rest of the class gathers around chanting fight, fight. Draco steps forward with a gleeful expression on his face, looking like nothing would please him more than to lay Ron flat on his back. Harry sighs knowing as usual it comes down to him to stand between everyone else and the chaos. Harry leaps between Draco and Ron before Ron can get anymore implicating words out of his mouth or worse punch him. He faces Draco with a cool expression and pushes Ron back behind him. 

“Look Draco, I don’t know what your issue is, but we are not interested in fighting with you. We don’t care how or why you transferred into our class. Just leave us alone and we will as well.” Harry says with a hard face. 

Draco smiles as Coach Hooch walks into the gym, a resigned look on her face. She hates gym class because she thinks everyone but the sports teams are pathetically out of shape and are depressing to watch. 

“You know the drill. Partner up and get your rackets, we are still on our tennis unit.” she yells with a clap of her hands. 

Harry takes a step towards Cedric about to partner up with him as usual, but Coach Hooch’s voice stops him. 

“Swan, you will partner with Cullen. He switched into this class today and I want you to show him the ropes.” 

“Yes, coach.” Harry says, trying to keep the groan out of his voice. 

Harry gives Cedric an apologetic look and watches as Ron partners with him instead. By the time Harry forces himself to go over to Draco, he has already returned with two rackets and a tennis ball. He holds one out to Harry and Harry takes it with a grim face, walking about ten feet away from him and facing Draco. Draco bounces the ball and they are off, neither one missing a single ball, though Draco makes it look effortless to swing his racket with graceful yet lazy flicks. He honestly looks bored, as Harry starts to feel his heart rate picking up from trying to keep up with the ball. 

Draco starts to sing just loud enough for Harry to hear, a small mischievous smile on his face. 

“Weasley is our king. He cannot hit a single thing.”

Harry frowns; he is not familiar with this song, but he knows where there is Draco there is evil. 

“That is why the Slytherins all sing. Weasley is our King.” 

Draco starts to use his superior height to try and mess Harry up and he pants as he catches the ball with the edge of his racket. Harry is not sure but he gets the sense that Draco could end this at any time and is just playing with him like a cat with a mouse. Though he performs better than poor Ron who misses half the balls that Cedric serves.

“Weasley cannot serve a thing. He cannot backhand a single shot.”

“Draco cut it out.” Harry hisses. 

He can’t prove it but he knows Draco is using the song to make fun of Ron, even if Weasley is clearly a made up name. Draco winks at him and lowers his voice as their classmates gather around to watch their ongoing battle, but Harry still sees him moving his lips. Harry’s eyes lock onto Draco’s with concentration, his insides warming as he gets absorbed into their yellow amber pools. 

“Go Harry!” 

Harry turns at the sound of the voice, his eyes catching grey as he gives Cedric a sloped smile. The next second later pain bursts over his chest. 

“Point to Draco!” Coach Hooch yells as the bell rings. 

A weak cheer goes through the assembled students and Harry grins despite the pain knowing that most were rooting for him. Draco blows off his racket in a self-satisfied way when Harry glances at him, posing to best show himself off. Harry scoffs as he passes by with Cedric and Ron following him to the dressing room, Draco’s gaze burning into his back.

*****

“It’s been a week, and he still will not talk to me in gym or in class! And I know he’s hungry. Anyone could hear his stomach growling from a kilometre away.” Draco growls as he paces in the ‘living room’ an American term if there ever was one. His ‘siblings’ sit on the couch watching him with amusement, "Do you think it's because he is scared of me?" 

Theo snorts but doesn't answer him, leading Draco to think he is correct.

“Have you tried giving him more apples, he seemed to like that the first hundred times,” Blaise asks with a wide smirk.

Draco had hoped that Potter simply didn’t like green apples and so he spent the last week giving Potter different kinds of apples. He refused to take any of them.

“Have you tried complimenting him? Tell him how impressive it is that he broke so many motorcycle stunts and baseball records.” Pansy chimes in.

“Or broke so many barriers both in gender and sexuality in ballet?” Theo adds not looking up from his book.

Draco had taken the opportunity to research Potter to better understand this version of him, in the hope of cracking him. Instead, he found evidence that no matter what universe Potter exists in he always shows off. 

“Yes. He doesn’t care! He brushes them off like they are nothing because he is so arrogant. Then he acts all shy when someone points out how freaking lucky and skilled he is to be able to do that. It’s insufferable.” 

Despite popular belief his mother did teach him conversational skills, he just never needed to use them. His ‘friends’ either hung onto his every world or he was the outcast of the Slytherins and didn’t need to talk to anyone.

“Have you tried just asking him questions about himself? What his favorite book is? Does he have any pets?” Lily asks, walking into the room holding a dish towel and whipping down a clean bowl. 

She told him during one of their Chemistry jam sessions, her words not his, that she misses cooking and baking from her human days because she is still relatively young for a vampire at just eighteen years old. She still makes food occasionally and brings it in for her clients or the office. Draco wrinkles his nose as the smell of chocolate chip ‘cookies’ not biscuits waft in from the kitchen. Human food smelled horrid. 

“Yes, he shoved the apple in my mouth and told me to be quiet, so he could focus,” Draco says with a frown.

“Does the apples have anything to do with your obsession with Paradise Lost?” Lily asks innocently. 

His siblings collectively groan. 

“Mom? Why must you mention that loathsome book?” Theo says with a dramatic sigh. 

“I know! We are so lucky that it wasn’t one of the few memories he managed to keep.” Pansy says. 

“He quoted it all the time…” Blaise says in an exasperated voice. 

“What’s Paradise Lost?” Draco asks in confusion. 

“Nothing,” Blaise mumbles. 

“The origin story of the devil. It’s like religious fanfiction!” Luna says merrily as she enters the room and plops down on the couch next to Theo. 

Draco makes a confused face, “What is fanfiction?” 

“Oh no, don’t get her started, we will be here all night.” Blaise says in a whiny voice. 

A couple hours later after Draco has learned more than he ever wanted to about Superman and Lex Luther fics, he sits in his closet of a room listening to ‘Earth Angel’ on the ‘stereo’ system Luna showed him how to work. She assured him it was one of his favourites but Draco wonders yet again about the taste of his previous vampire self. He walks over to his bookshelf and pulls off Paradise Lost and opens the cover, his eyes jumping to the writing on the title page that says, 

“To my favourite fallen angel”

-James

In neat handwriting. 

*****

Draco pushes the red delicious apple towards him and Harry looks at it like a dehydrated man who stumbled upon an oasis in the desert. He found these variety of apples far from delicious but he overslept his alarm this morning and was so rushed making food for the Dursleys that he didn’t get a chance to snatch any for himself. His ‘gas’ money is officially gone for this month and it would be a few days before Sirius sent him more, so he didn’t have anything for lunch. Harry picks the apple up with decisive fingers and feels Draco shift beside him. He glares at him as he takes a bite and forces himself not to groan in relief. 

“This doesn’t change anything between us.” Harry mumbles, with his mouth full of apple.

Draco gives him a beaming smile that says he doesn’t believe him. Harry ignores him in favor of eating. 

*****

Luna slides a CD with the title "Grease" across the front of the disk, claiming it's the best thing to listen to while learning to drive. If he were feeling more himself he would sneer at the title., as the cheesy lyrics blast over the speakers. 

"I solve my problems, and I see the light. There ain't no danger we can go too far..."

Draco's fingers tremble as he fumbles with the key in the ignition, his pride taking a hit at the thought of Blaise, Pansy, and Theo judging him from the backseat. He refuses to look at Luna beside him, afraid that one wrong move will confirm their suspicions that he is not capable enough to drive. But as his sweaty palms slip on the steering wheel, he can feel their eyes boring into his back, amplifying his nerves.

Blaise yawns, “Come on lets get this show on the road.

Draco's knuckles turn white as he grips the key, his body tensing in anticipation. With a loud roar, the car jolts to life and Draco winces, feeling every vibration shoot through his bones. He curses the muggles for creating such a noisy mode of transportation.

"You are doing great, Draco,” Luna says from the passenger seat beside him,”

Draco's jaw clenches as he swiftly shifts the car into drive and presses down on the gas pedal, sending the vehicle lurching forward with a surge of power. His foot hovers anxiously over the brake, ready to slam down at any moment. Every muscle in his body is tense, his mind racing with thoughts of escape as eases the car forward.

“Go grandmama,” Pansy groans.

“I think I’ve seen grandmother’s drive faster than this,” Theo quips.

With a growl, Draco slams his foot down on the gas pedal, pushing the speedometer past thirty miles per hour. The roaring engine and screeching tires are like music to his ears, drowning out the sounds of the ungrateful brats in the backseat. He imagines Potter's reaction to his impressive driving skills, the very reason he had been determined to learn in the first place.

"I need to learn how to drive," Draco declares as he bursts into the living room, his eyes blazing with determination.

"Why?" Theo asks in a disinterested tone, not bothering to look up from his book as he turns a page.

"Because...I just do," Draco replies through gritted teeth, trying to contain his anger at their lack of interest.

"It's about that human boy, isn't it?" Blaise chimes in with a devious smirk. "I heard you 'accidentally' hit Cedric so hard with a tennis ball that he had to go to the nurse for smiling at Harry."

Draco's glares at them. Yes, it was all because of Potter, the one person who could make him feel such intense emotions.

Pansy glares back at him.

“Draco! Your obsession with this human is getting dangerous! Your…wardrobe is one thing,” Pansy says giving Draco’s outfit a once over, ”but showing off in gym is going to give us unwanted attention.”

Draco paces over to her, determined to get in her face but Blaise throws a pillow at him when he stands in front of the ‘television’.

“Door not a window,” Blaise growls at him, as he tries to see around him.

Draco huffs and moves.

“It’s not a obsession! I need to him to acknowledge that I am better than him and to do that he needs to pay attention to me.” Draco whines, sprawling out on the couch in an undignified manner that would cause his mother to give him a ‘look’ if she saw him. 

Theo snorts. 

“I would say there’s no danger of him not doing that,”  he says, “All you need is a collar for your cape and you will look like a proper vampire.”

Draco glares, as he wraps his cashmere cloak self-consciously around himself. He had gotten particularly odd stares wearing it today, but it wasn’t his fault muggles possessed no sense of fashion.

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that Cedric offered to drive Harry to Seattle?” Luna asks.

“How do you know about that?” Draco hisses.

“Harry told me, we are friends.”

Blaise smirks. "Ah, I see. Feeling a bit jealous, are we?"

Draco glares at him. "I am not jealous! I just...I don't want that prat alone with Swan in a car for hours."

Pansy crows as Blaise’s character a green ‘plumber’ gets hit with a fireball. 

“Take that Luigi,” Pansy says with a grin.

Blaise and Pansy play some sort of strange game where men in red and green hats jump over tubes and bricks to escape a fire-spitting…monster. Both of them yell insults at each other as Pansy jumps onto a flag pole and wins the game. Blaise groans as Pansy cheers. Draco can’t help but think of Slytherin versus Gryffindor with the colours. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to learn how to play video games next?” Blaise asks looking hopeful. 

“Don’t listen to him, darling, he’s just a sore loser who knows how terrible you are at these silly human electronic things. Anyways your driving lessons always manage to scare Mr. Reckless himself, so this will be very entertaining.” Pansy says with a winsome smile. 

“Fuck you,” Blaise hisses.

“Later,” Pansy says taping Blaise playfully on the nose. 

Draco watches the banter between his siblings with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. Their antics always served as a brief reprieve from his own tumultuous thoughts. With a dramatic sigh, he rises from the couch, straightening his cape as he does so.

"I want to learn how to drive and that's final," Draco says shutting down the conversation, hands on his hips as he scans the room, daring anyone to challenge him.

Luna looks up from where she sits cross-legged on the floor, her dreamy expression giving way to a quizzical frown. "Driving can be quite liberating, Draco. I think it would suit you."

Theo chuckles under his breath, finally closing his book and tossing it aside. "Well, if Draco is going to learn, we might as well all witness the spectacle."

Blaise raises an eyebrow. "Who's going to teach him, then?" he asks, glancing around the room at the mismatched group of friends.

“I will!” Luna says standing up and walking to the garage. They all shrug, never ones to turn down free entertainment.

“Darling for the love of God go somewhere else, we are just going in circles,” Pansy says breaking him out of his recollection.

Draco squeezes the steering wheel with white-knuckled desperation, his heart racing as he inches out of the abandoned parking lot and onto the busy road. Every nerve in his body is on edge.

"Good job, Draco," Luna said with a nod. "Now give it a little more gas and---"

Draco slams his foot down on the accelerator with reckless abandon. The car jerks forward violently, causing everyone to be thrown back in their seats with bone-jarring force, well they were muggles that is.

"Finally" Theo exclaims from the backseat where he had been lounging.

Draco shoots him a withering look in the rearview mirror.

The car hurtles down the deserted side road, its engine roaring like a wild beast unleashed. Pansy smirks as she leans into Blaise, her white teeth flashing dangerously. Blaise cackles with reckless abandon, his voice matching the manic energy of their speed. Luna appears serene but inside her mind is spinning with thoughts and emotions as the scenery blurs past them in a chaotic blur. They are all consumed by the thrill of the moment, knowing that even if they crash they won’t die.

"I think you should slow down!" Luna's worried tone is drowned out by the screeching of tyres as an older lady steps onto a crosswalk.

In a split-second decision, Draco slams on the brakes, sending his siblings flying against the back of the seats.

Pansy shrieks, “My hair!” her perfectly styled hair is now a dishevelled mess.

Theo glares at Draco with hatred and mutters, "I can't believe I'm stuck with you even in death."

Draco shakes as he realizes just how close he came to causing a fatal accident.

“Remember what Father says we are not dead, this is just our second life,” Luna says unbuckling her seatbelt to turn around and kiss Theo on the lips.

Draco feels a weird squirm of something in his chest as he watches the two of them looking so perfectly in sync.

“He would have killed his human though, with a stop like that.” Pansy quips as he allows Luna to take the wheel and turn the car back around.

Over the next few days, Luna takes Draco out in the silver Volvo, to the same empty parking lot. This time without their entourage. At first, Draco struggled with even the basics like starting the car and using the pedals properly.

"Bloody hell, how do m-humans do this?" he yells after stalling the car again.

"It takes practice. You've gone from horse-drawn carriages to this. Give it time." Luna says in her dreamy voice.

“Luna, you do understand I have no memory of my human life, I’ve never driven even that.”

Luna nods absentmindedly, her bright hazel eyes flickering between the road and Draco's hands as she directs him to turn the key in the ignition once more. A furrow forms on Draco's forehead as he focuses intently, determined to get it right. He repeats this process for days, his knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel so tightly. Finally, with Luna's patient guidance, he can navigate through town roads confidently. And after a week of practice, he can conquer the intimidating highways without fear.

Draco pulls the Volvo into a gas station and parks, turning to Luna.

She gives him a wide smile, “I think you are ready!”

Chapter Text

How can I decide what's right?
When you're clouding up my mind
I can't win your losing fight
All the time

August 21, 1992

Malfoy Manor 

The sound still echoes in his head.

Draco's hands grip the toilet seat with a desperate strength, fingernails digging deep into the porcelain. He gasps for air, chest heaving as his teeth grind against each other to suppress a guttural sob. Fiery tears stream down his face, scorching across his skin.

The sound still echoes in his head.

Draco's fingers curl into pale claws, the tendons straining against his skin as if ready to snap. The metallic scent of blood fills his nostrils, sending a surge of acidic bile up his throat. Images of a writhing body and splattering crimson flood his mind, memories that he both caused and could have stopped. But he didn’t. All in the name of tradition. The guilt gnaws at him like a ravenous beast.

And the sound. The sickening shrieks that should not be possible for any living being to produce coming from the house elf at the mercy of his wand. He retches violently, spewing the remnants of Dobby's botched breakfast into the water below. It had been mere minutes ago, but it felt like hours.

“Draco?” His father calls accompanied by the sound of knocking on the door of the bathroom he ran to as fast as his twelve year old feet could carry him.

Draco knocks back the potion his mother slipped him before his fathers heavy hand on his shoulder led him away to the ‘cellar’. He spells his face dry as his stomach settles and his throat heals. He cancels the silencing charms. He smooths out the wrinkles in his robes and opens the door. His fathers inquiring face waits for him on the other side.

“Yes, father,” Draco asks in an almost bored voice, his face a blank mask.

“I’m proud of you son,” his fathers says, giving him a rare genuine smile, “You behaved exactly as the heir to the Malfoy’s legacy should,”

“Thank you, father,” Draco says, a smile forming as the sound grows more distant in his head.

The bright light of his fathers pride always managed to muffle it.

With a sudden jolt, Draco's eyes snap open, his senses immediately assaulted by the bitter taste of bile and the metallic scent of blood that lingers in the air. He can feel his stomach churn at the memories these sensations bring to mind - visions from his past that he can never escape. Desperately, he looks around at the idyllic meadow that surrounds him, the same one depicted in Lily's painting, willing himself to only smell the sweet fragrance of flowers instead of the stench of death. But even as he tries to leave the past behind, he knows deep down that his future in his world is infinitely darker and more treacherous than anything he has faced before.

*****

Harry groans and rolls over as persistent light slices through his eyes. Seconds later his alarm rings. He throws the covers off and frowns hard at the sight that greets him outside of the window.

Hail bangs the glass filling world outside with the sound of annoying pinging. Finally, he thinks something worse than the rain.

He digs into his tool bag that Sirius sent him with in case he needs to make a quick fix before going to Ginny and pulls out his snow socks for his tires. He would unfortunately need them today.

He makes the Dursley’s breakfast in a blind haze, managing to sneak two eggs and a piece of toast, because they seem to be as distracted as Harry is by the hail. He feels confident as he pulls into the school's parking lot early, thinking he will not need to eat Draco’s apple. This allows him not to give in again to whatever sick twisted game he is playing with Harry, by giving him free fruit. He swings off of his motorcycle and walks over to Ron's truck feeling the insatiable eyes boring into him. Draco, he thinks as he sighs meeting his gold eyes across the parking lot. The screeching of brakes and skidding wheels, followed by a scream breaks his concentration. The last thing he sees is a mini van moves uncontrollably towards him knowing he will never be able to get out of the way in time. 

****

As the car careened towards Potter, Draco's heart races with conflicting emotions. He always believed in Potter's ability to escape any danger, but now, as he stands frozen in fear, he realises that his faith may have been misplaced. The story’s voice that he silenced after killing Potter screams at him once more, begging him not to let this happen. But doing that means crossing a line he vowed never to cross - risking his own safety for his enemy. His tattoo seems to burn against his skin, reminding him of the consequences he would face if he chose to save Potter. And yet, as the seconds tick by and the car hurtles closer, Draco can't deny the urge to push Potter out of harm's way.

His heighten senses strain against the pressure, urging him to make a split-second decision as his body moves on pure instinct. He propels himself through the storm of icy spheres, violently pushing Potter out of the way and crashing into the hard metal of the van, his back slamming against Weasel’s orange monstrosity behind him. The impact rattles the van, but he barely feels it as he reaches out desperately, his hands holding it up with ease.

Potter is thrown backwards, his head colliding with the hard surface of the ground, with a loud thud. Draco lunges forward and scoops Potter up with one arm, swinging legs out of the way, before letting the van settle. He lays Potter in his lap. The smell of sugary sweetness and warmth almost overwhelms him as he clings to Potter's thin unconscious body. He is glad he fed yesterday, or the van would be the least of Potter’s troubles.

Potter stirs in his arms, his ugly doe eyes fluttering open. They lock onto Draco's face with an intensity that sends shivers down Draco's spine. As they stare at each other in silent fascination, forgetting about the chaos around them.

“Dra-co?” Potter asks in a wavering voice breaking the spell.

“Shush, pet you’re in shock,” Draco soothes, stealing the word from Luna’s head and pulling Potter closer so his head rests against Draco’s chest.

Disgust roils through him but he forces himself to stroke Potter’s hair, the soft locks slipping through his fingers like water. Potter lets it happen for a moment, his exhaustion palpable. Draco sneers. Potter’s face looks so tired and sweet as if he trusts Draco not to hurt him. Then Potter seems to remember himself and shakes his head furiously, his killing curse eyes shooting through Draco’s as he tenses.

“How did you get over here so fast?” Potter demands, his expression too sober for Draco’s liking.

He panics for a moment wavering on how to explain away his practical apparition to Potter’s side. Then he remembers it is gullible Potter who he is dealing with and gives him a placating smile.

“I was just one car down from you,pe-Swan.”

“No, you weren't, you were way over there,” Potter says pointing to the other side of the parking lot.

“Harry! Oh my God!” the mudblood screams as a horde of muggles descends around the car squawking like the peacocks at home.

“I am fine, Hermione,” Potter says, struggling to get out of Draco’s arms.

Draco tightens them in response.

“Don’t you dare Swan; you might have a concussion.” Draco hisses, consulting Luna’s endless stream of panicked thoughts again.

He places his hand on the back of Potter's head and feels the bump, surprised when Potter relaxes in his arms and sighs in relief. Draco grimaces as a loud piercing sound assaults his ears. He glances down at Potter but sees him unaffected by the noise, meaning he most likely can’t hear it yet. Sometimes having superior hearing is more annoying than it’s worth, he thinks.

“Harry!” The mudblood squeaks in worry, “Listen to Draco he could be right.”

Draco resists the urge to growl at the ‘could’ and focuses on feeling for cracks in Potter’s skull.

“Just keep your hand there, please, it feels good.” Potter moans leaning into his touch.

Draco feels his dead insides squirm even though he knows Potter is referring to the numbing properties of his cold bloodless hands. The whining noise increases in volume until it feels like hammers pounding on his ear drums. Draco moves to stand up and jump over the cars to get away from the sound but Luna’s voice in his head stops him.

Draco do not move, if Harry has a concussion it’s important that he stays still. The paramedics and Mrs. Vector are going to pry the cars apart, wait until they check him out.

“Harry the ambulance is here.” the mudblood says, peeking over the crushed cars yet again.

Behind her Professor Vector and what Draco assumes are the two paramedics, utilise a strange muggle machine to render an opening between the crushed metal.

Potter stiffens in his arms, his body unconsciously shifting into Draco’s as if he can merge with him.

“No, I don’t need them,” Potter says in a tight voice.

“Harry, you hit your head, you need to get it checked out,” the mudblood insists, running between the cars once Professor Vector and the paramedics move back.

“I’ll drive to the doctor on my own then, I don’t want an ambulance,” Potter says in a harsh voice, his eyes darting to the newly opened escape route.

Draco hears Potter’s heart accelerate and his breathing turn into harsh pants. The acid in his throat bubbles as Potter’s scent grows stronger. He thinks about Potter stumbling to the hard pavement when he tries to walk and the strenuous effort he exerted to save Potter from certain death. In reaction, his arms turn to stone around twitching Gryffindor twat.

“Harry, that’s dangerous! You could crash on your motorcycle in the state you are in right now-”

“I’ll take him.” Draco finds himself saying, lifting Harry’s prone body as he stands, the acerbic scent of Potter’s fear making his nose wrinkle.

Potter squirms against his grip, his pupils dilating to cover up the merciless beauty of his green eyes, making him look like a wild-cornered animal.

“Draco put me down,” Potter hisses in a voice as cold and hard as Draco’s skin.

“You’ll fall and your friend will have even more reason to force you to use the ambulance you so dread.” Draco bites back, shouldering around the stunned paramedics.

The mudblood seems to be explaining to them that Potter refuses their services, and to focus on Collin. Draco feels the slight pressure of Potter’s fingers on his arm and observes his hand making pincer motions. He smirks as Potter’s fingers keep skating off his skin.

“Are you trying to pinch me Potter?” He asks with a laugh.

Potter growls his hands turning into ineffectual claws as he scrambles against Draco’s iron-like hold.

“Put me down,” Potter hisses in such a perfect imitation of the Dark Lord’s parseltongue that Draco almost drops him then and there.

He steels himself against the desire and meets Potter’s stubborn eyes that look similar to how they usually do before Potter lets off a dangerous curse or explodes in waves of otherworldly power. Draco feels like he cradles a muggle bomb that Blaise told him about when he explained the world war Theo participated in as a human.

“I’ll scream,” Potter whispers, breaking him away from his thoughts.

Draco's mind races as he surveys the situation. He could risk Potter screaming and drawing the attention of the paramedics and the students in the parking lot into thinking he is a kidnapper or Potter falling down and scraping his hands or knees and bleeding in front of him. Potter shifts again, his restless legs kicking against Draco’s arm and Draco feels his patience wearing thin. His eyes narrow in annoyance. How does the Order put up with this reckless child for more than a minute?

“You are going to hold onto me and if you so much as stumble, because you are trying to move too fast, I will pick you back up whether you scream or not,”

His irritation must have shown on his face because Potter shoots him a glare before reluctantly nodding in agreement. Draco lowers Potter's feet to the ground, keeping one arm securely around his shoulders to support him. They stumble across the parking lot, Potter swaying on unsteadily shaking legs, but Draco's grip remains firm each time he stumbles. And though he fights the urge to smirk at Potter's obvious struggle, he can't help but notice the determined expression that takes over his face, reminiscent of the one he wore during the Triwizard Tournament. He almost…admires it. The mudblood hovers anxiously next to them, whispering words of encouragement, while the Weasel trails behind with a look of white-faced worry.

Despite their slow progress, they eventually see Draco's car. But just as they do, Potter stumbles once again. Without hesitation, Draco swoops in and catches him under the arms for the third time before pulling Potter back up and depositing him firmly on his feet. Though red-faced with embarrassment after each time it happens, Potter remains silent until they finally reach the safety of the car, as if daring Draco to make good on his promise.

Draco unlocks the car. The mudblood looks at him with big imploring eyes full of gratitude and Draco bites back the derisive comment that is dying to slip out of his lips. He starts to help Potter into the back seat of his Volvo, but Potter shoves his hands off muttering,

“I can do it.” in a stubborn voice.

Potter crawls on weak, shaky arms and legs but manages to collapse on the seat, his face panting into the leather.

“Thank you so much for helping Harry, Draco. I’m not sure what I would have done with Ron’s truck….out of commission. Ron picked me up today, otherwise, I would of course drive him, and Ron’s cousins rode with Lee…and we wouldn’t have all fit. And I’m not sure Harry would let anyone else he has-.” the mudblood babbles.

“Hermione!” Potter exclaims, managing to turn on his back and glare at her.

Draco steals the word from her head easily enough. So famous little Potter struggles with trust issues Draco thinks in amusement, looking at the exhausted boy laying back on his leather seats.

“Harry, your seatbelt,” the mudblood says as she clambers over Potter and attaches the belt for the middle seat around his waist.

Draco resists the urge to stop her and lets the mudblood infect his car with her nasty mudblood germs and scent.

“Thanks, Mione.” Potter says in a drowsy voice.

“Anything for you Harry, we will meet you at the hospital,” Hermione says.

That seems to wake Potter up. He stains against the seatbelt as he tries to sit up.

“Hermione, you will miss class,” Potter claims, smelling of pure panic.

“This is more important,” Hermione says in a determined voice.

“But we have a test in French today!” Potter argues.

The mudblood’s face falters as Draco stifles his gasp of surprise at the fact that Potter takes French. Draco wasn’t aware he was fully proficient in one language much less working on two. Potter shoots the Weasel a significant look while the mudblood looks down in worry.

“Didn’t you tell me that Mrs. Vector was doing an important lesson today that she recommended no one miss.” the Weasel says.

The mudblood gasps and her eyes widen in fear as she looks at Harry, who returns the gaze with a cool, detached expression.

“Harry I’m really-”

Draco ignores the girl's internal and verbal struggle as he gracefully slides into the driver's seat and starts the car. The engine rumbles to life, its powerful roar filling the air. When the mudbloods apologetic voice fades away and the door slams shut he pulls out of the parking spot.

As he drives, Draco catches whiffs of Potter's scent drifting towards him, a heady mix of wood and something sweet that makes his mouth water with desire.

Draco smirks as he adjusts the settings on his car, turning on the heated seats and watching as Potter visibly relaxes against the warmth. He can't help but notice how underdressed Potter is for the weather, his black denim shorts and tight thin black Sabbath t-shirt no match for the chilly early October air outside. On top of that Potter grew up in a much warmer climate, his body must still feel the shock of the transition to its new environment and require more clothes than locals. It's almost comical how little Potter seems to care about dressing appropriately though, always opting for oversized and ripped clothes that give off a rebellious vibe. Caring more about his image than logic.

As they drive, soft piano music plays through the car speakers, adding to the moody atmosphere. Draco takes a deep breath and inhales Potter's scent again, this time picking up on a hint of sadness that hangs in the air. He wonders briefly what could be troubling Potter before dismissing it from his mind.

Navigating through the lingering students at the scene of the accident, Draco focuses on driving smoothly and safely. But even as he keeps his eyes on the road, his senses are filled with nothing but Potter - his scent, the music of his heartbeat, his presence next to him in the car. And for once, Draco doesn't mind it one bit.

“Debussy?” Potter asks and Draco spies him in the rearview mirror on his side with his cheek resting against the warm leather, his expression interested.

“How did you know?” Draco asks in a curious voice.

He knows his Potter isn’t musically inclined, but this Potter seems to be full of surprises if the way he cuddled into Draco was any indication.

“My father used to play it. It was one of his favorites. Or so I am told, I don’t remember much about my parents. Sirius, my Godfather still plays sometimes when he is home.”

Draco tries to picture James Potter the lazy troublemaker that his mother and father painted for him playing the piano and fails. Then he remembers that in this universe James married Regulus Black his cousin. The most obvious candidate for a piano player between the two of them, if his mother’s stories about the origin of his musical talent ring true.

“What do you mean when he is home?” Draco asks, feeling a twisted sense of retribution as the scent of sadness coming off of Potter grows stronger.

This is what it feels like to miss someone close to you, you buffoon, Draco thinks vengefully. Potter flushes as if someone caught him out in a lie. Or as if he said more than he meant to, Draco corrects, wishing once again that he could read Potter’s thoughts.

“He travels sometimes for the stunts that he performs and for Remus’s games,” Harry says in a quiet voice, his eyes glued to the world passing by out of the car window.

The werewolf Draco thinks, an idea going off in his head as he remembers the gossip about the dementor attack on the train and how Lupin gave Potter chocolate afterwards. Pulling to the side of the road, Draco digs into his glove department and pulls out a bright blue box embossed with a gold crown, passing it back to Potter.

*****

“Fancy a chocolate, Potter?” Draco asks him.

Harry takes the box, reading the names ‘Debauve & Gallais’, and smelling the intense smell of cocoa powder drifting out of the box as he removes the top. Harry blinks in surprise at the almost jewel like chocolates that rest nestled in the dividers. Harry hesitates as he stares at the truffles, not sure if he should take one or not.

“Draco, are you sure? These look expensive.”

“Please, take one. I recently found out that I’m allergic.” Draco says in a mild voice, though Harry thought a trace of annoyance played under those words.

“What about your family? Surely, they will want to try some.”

“My entire family is allergic,” Draco says in a flat voice.

“Oh,” Harry says, unsure how else to reply as he picks up a pink rose-shaped one and pops it in his mouth.

A low, guttural groan escapes his lips as he savors the rich, velvety flavor of dark chocolate melting across his tongue. Mixed within is a delicate hint of mint, a refreshing contrast to the smooth sweetness. Underlying it all is an earthy flavor, like a freshly cut meadow or a steaming cup of green tea. Each taste lingers on his taste buds.

“Draco…this is…this is wow.” Harry says as warmth infuses his body, soothing the bittersweet sadness he felt at hearing Clair de lune play on the stereo.

Draco chuckles as he pulls back onto the road.

“I am glad that you like it, the box is yours.” Draco says in a velvet voice.

Harry feels himself flush.

“Oh-Draco I couldn’t.” Harry stammers.

“Nonsense, who in my house is going to eat them?”

“You could try to return them?” Harry asks hopefully noticing only two truffles missing.

“They are from France, so it's a little difficult to do that.”

“France?” Harry chokes out.

Draco glances at him in the rearview mirror as if concerned.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, that’s just a long way for chocolates,” Harry says in a small voice.

Draco narrows his eyes, surveying Harry with a quiet expression.

“I only accept the best,” Draco says in a serious tone.

Harry is about to reply when he notices them pulling into the hospital parking lot. Harry feels his panic return all at once, his heartbeat skyrocketing and his breathing going uneven. He forgot in his conversation with Draco about the prospect of going to the hospital.

“Potter, what’s the matter?” Draco asks in a tight voice.

“I’m fine. I’m more than fine actually. I really don’t need to go to the hospital, I just need rest that's all. If you could just take me back to my aunt and uncle's house I would appreciate that.” Harry says in an even voice.

Draco gives him an odd-searching look and then shakes his head, stepping out of the car. He opens the door by Harry’s feet and crawls over Harry’s body until his face hovers inches above Harry’s, his hands on either side of Harry’s head. Harry shifts uncomfortably under him as Draco’s intoxicating minty apple scent caresses over him. Draco gives him a pointed glare, his yellow eyes flashing in a clear sign of danger.

“You will unless you would like me to call Stanley and tell her that you refused to go in.” Draco threatens between gritted teeth.

Harry feels a spike of worry until he remembers something.

“You don’t have her number.”

A slow smile spreads across Draco’s face as he digs into his pocket and pulls out Harry’s phone. On the screen Hermione’s picture smiles back at him as Draco’s thumb hovers over the call button. He deflates in defeat.

“I am willing to go to any means necessary. Do remember that next time you decide to challenge me.” Draco says with a sneer, his cool breath washing over Harry’s face.

Harry grimaces mentally thinking how much it will cost him of Sirius’s latest infusion of cash to pay for the medical bills. Then he thinks of the perfect way to dissuade Draco from letting him go without a check-up.

“If you make me go in, I’ll refuse to pay because you forced me to go under duress and it’s a waste of money. That will cause a scene and it will be very embarrassing for you,” he says.

Draco just smiles, his ice-cold hand sliding under Harry’s shoulders and leveraging him up and out of the car.

“I’ll pay,” Draco whispers close to his ear, sending shivers that have nothing to do with the cold and his inadequate clothing down his spine.

Draco tilts his head in thought and shrugs out of the fur-lined half cloak embroidered with silver dashing foxes and green slithering snakes that he wears. Harry, long since used to Draco’s unusual wardrobe, hardly notices what he wears anymore except to admire the stylized aspects of it. Draco drapes it over Harry’s shoulder, wrapping his biting scent around him. Harry moves away from him in irritation.

“You can’t just throw your money at every problem,” Harry says through gritted teeth.

He can’t bring himself to take the coat off though, it’s so warm.

“I can when my fathers the doctor and I ask him to see you for free. Now come along.” Draco says snatching Harry’s arm and half dragging him towards the entrance.

“Draco, wait.” Harry says stopping in his tracks, “I’ll go without protest if you promise to tell me how you stopped the car from killing me. What you did shouldn’t have been possible.”

Draco must see from Potter’s immovable stance that pulling him along will cause more problems than solve them.

Draco gives him a furious look, and then grits his teeth and spits out, “Fine,” and stalks through the door, not bothering to see if Harry follows.

The receptionist at the desk jumps in her seat when she sees Draco, her eyes getting the same glazed look that many others get when faced with his full intensity.

“Mr.Cullen, your father is busy seeing clients at the moment, but you are welcome to wai-”

“Inform my father that there is a patient that he needs to see immediately,” Draco says in a hard uncompromising voice.

“It really is-” Harry begins to protest before Draco cuts across him turning the full force of his eyes on him.

“Immediately.” He repeats as Harry shudders back.

Draco doesn’t wait for a response as he drags Harry down an unknown hallway, throwing carelessly over his shoulder the words,

“We will be in my father’s office.”

*****

Potter squirms in the seat next to him, his scent an uncomfortable smell of nerves and sweat. Draco hears Severus’s footsteps long before he reaches the door and the annoyance echoes in every step. Some things never change even in an alternate universe.

The door slams open behind them and Potter jumps, his little rabbit heart dancing in his chest. Severus whirls past them, his white lab coat fanning behind him the same way that his bat wing-like robes did in Potions. He drops down into the seat behind his desk, his and fixes Potter with a brief look of astonishment before disappearing behind his mask of indifference. Draco probes the edges of his mind but finds that once again he is unable to get in.

“Is this the reason you pulled me away from my patients?” Severus asks with a slight nod at Potter.

Draco can tell from the tightening of his face that Severus is holding back a sneer. Potter notices as well from the slight tensing of his body beside Draco.

“This is Harry Swan. He was almost hit by a car today. He hit his head and I thought that he should be checked out.” Draco says in an even voice.

Draco thinks that he hears Severus mutter under his breath the famous Mr. Swan, but he can’t be sure without asking.

“Is there a reason for your complete disregard to standard operating procedures? Dr. Snow would have been available to see him.”

“You're the only one I trust.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Draco.”

Draco knows from the slight widening of his eyes that Severus is lying. What sort of Circe cursed lout was his former vampire self that he made Severus look surprised by a mere compliment from him?

“Sir, I feel perfectly fine, you do not need to waste your time,” Potter says in a polite voice.

Fast as light Draco taps against the wound on the back of Potter’s head, watching in amusement as he flinches and glares at Draco.

“Ow!” Potter yelps scowling.

“Forget about it so fast?”

“Draco,” Severus hisses, causing Draco to stiffen, “If your friend is injured as you say, then it’s imprudent to cause more damage to him.”

“Sorry,” Draco mutters, not feeling an ounce of shame.

“Follow me, Mr. Swan, before my son injures you beyond repair,” Severus says in a drool voice, getting up and leading Potter to the examination room attached to his office.

“Shut the door behind you,” Severus says, causing Potter to glance back at him as if checking for instructions.

He gives Potter a small smile and a nod, he is telling the truth he does trust Severus not to drain or damage Potter before Draco needs to for the story. Draco does question the amount of caring for his victim he seems to be forced to do, but he guesses that the vampire in him enjoys gaining his prey's trust before pulling the sheet out from under them. Draco certainly enjoys fighting and tricking Potter into accepting his help. He listens with half an ear to the questions Severus asks as he rules out a concussion or any brain damage. Draco lets out tension he didn’t even realise he is holding at that. He would hate for Potter to die from some muggle ailment.

Severus emerges with Potter a few minutes later, declaring Potter free to go back home. He holds Draco back though when he attempts to follow Potter out. Draco turns to Severus in curiosity, knowing Potter won’t get far from him without a car.

“Your friend is unusually underweigh for his age category and his body is covered in bruises.”

Draco frowns at that testament, having come to a similar conclusion himself but not liking that Severus, an expert at muggle mind and body in this world, to confirm it.

“He does perform reckless stunts for money, I read on the internet,” Draco says in an indifferent voice.

Severus raises his eyebrows at him, but if it is because he is surprised by his tone or that he did research on a muggle it is hard to tell.

“These are much too recent. If you care for him like you claim, I would keep an eye on him. He seems to be accident-prone.”

Draco smirks.

“He does seem to attract danger,” he says, thinking about all the times that Potter made a miraculous escape at the end of each school year.

“Make sure he eats; his blood sugar is particularly low after his ordeal. I forced him to drink some orange juice, but he needs something more.” Severus says.

“What am I his nanny?” Draco grouses.

Severus levels him with one unimpressed look.

“You took responsibility for him the moment you dove in front of the minivan to save him. Don’t think Pansy didn’t text me as soon as she saw you.”

Draco flinches still feeling a sense of guilt to his and Severus’s cause for saving the Saviour, even if it was in the name of saving his parents.

“Yes, fine, I’ll make sure he eats,” Draco says, flinching in reflex at his tone and how his parents would react if he used it on them.

Severus looks unsurprised.

“Good. And prepare for a battle when you get home, Pansy will not let go of the danger your reckless actions have thrown us in easily.” Severus says, his voice holding a dire warning.

A warning Draco would take more seriously if he didn’t know that he needed to be where Potter is to continue the plotline.

“I’m not worried,” he says, knowing that Luna and Lily will take his side.

If he has Luna, then he has Theo. Blaise will take Pansy’s side at first but he knows from experience that Blaise can be swayed to see the more reasonable side of things given proper motivation.

“On your head, son,” Severus says, returning to his work as if the conversation never happened.

“I presume my bill will be coming from your account?”

“Yes,” Draco sighs, accepting Potter as his responsibility.

*****

Harry’s eyes stay glued on Draco as he starts his car and fiddles with the GPS on his dash.

“You promised,” Harry says, fidgeting under the weight of the unanswered question.

He hates not knowing things, especially things that explain why he is alive when he shouldn’t be.

“Promised what?” Draco asks in a distracted voice.

Harry scowls, but remains silent, making Draco wait. When Harry refuses to answer, Draco turns away, his face disinterested.

“I am hungry, so we are getting food.”

“I am not hungry,” Harry says, ignoring the faint rumbles of his stomach, “And you promised to tell me how you stopped that car.”

“I promised to tell you, I didn’t specify when. If you're good and let me buy you a meal, maybe I’ll tell you afterwards.”

Harry gapes at him unsure how Draco slipped so easily out of his agreement. Draco smirks at him like he hears his stomach too and types something into his GPS.

“Starting directions for Tête de Porc.” the robotic voice says.

Harry frowns at Draco as he turns onto the main road, still ignoring him.

“You want to go to the Hog’s Head?” Harry asks in confusion.

“I thought it would give you a chance to practise your French, Luna says you are falling behind.”

Harry glares at him, “She does not, she knows as well as anyone in the class that I am fluent.”

Draco raises his eyebrows in surprise.

“How did you manage to become fluent in French?”

Harry shrugs.

“Sirius taught me. My father and he were both expected to learn both languages growing up and he thought it would be useful for me to know. Can you speak French, Mr. Fancy pants?” Harry challenges.

Draco’s eyes burn into his eyes before he turns away looking reluctant.

“No,” Draco says, looking like the concession cost him something.

The look reminds Harry of the moment when he realized no matter what he did he would never receive the Dursley’s love or attention. Because he’s a freak. Harry hesitates, still mad at Draco for tricking him earlier, but seeing him so upset makes his stomach burn with acid.

“I could teach you if you want,” Harry says in a grudging voice.

Draco gives him a slow smile, “That’s very sweet of you Swan, but I find it more advantageous in this situation to remain ignorant.”

Leaving Harry to wonder what the hell he could mean by that.

*****

The meal went about as expected with Potter being such an utter twat, Draco thinks as Potter sits beside him in the front seat giving him a determined glare. There were a few things that threw him off his game.

The first surprise being the appearance of Madam Rosmerta and her absurd protective instincts towards Potter. He still feels guilty about imperioing her in his world, but not enough to back down from her searching glances and probing questions as she tried to pin down his intentions like some Pure-blood mother protecting her child’s virtue. Another was the friendliness of Aberforth to Potter.

Though he admits most of it comes from Draco’s cousin’s loan to help him start his restaurant and his letter of recommendation to the French Culinary school, the dean, a friend of his cousin’s uncle, that he went to. Not that Potter accomplished any of that, but as usual he manages to take the benefit of others’ good deeds, Draco thinks with a sneer.

“Draco, you promised,” Potter says in a sharp voice, bringing his mind back to the present, where his car is parked in front of Potter's large house.

“There’s a concept that allows mothers to-”

“Yes, yes, I know all about that. It doesn’t explain how you managed to save me. You do not even like me,” Potter says with shrewd eyes trained on him, “And you can’t get out of telling me with more food. I demand an answer.”

The look in Potter’s eyes tells him that he plans on hunting the answer to the ends of the earth. Draco feels panic take over, his senses blurring as he feels himself start to get sloppy. Then he takes a breath. Un, deux, trois. He remembers.

He is a Malfoy.

He is a Cullen.

He is a vampire.

He is the hunter and Potter is the prey.

“Get out of my car.” Draco hisses.

Potter’s face breaks out into an expression of surprise.

“What?” Potter asks.

“I said get out.” Draco says in a low threatening voice.

“But-”

“I barely know you, Swan. I saved your life, paid for your hospital bills, and your dinner. Yet you demand things of me that I can’t give you. Did you not consider for a moment that it does not concern you? That I was keeping the information back to protect my family from the same relentless gossip that follows you wherever you go.”

Potter shrinks back at his words; the hurt and guilty expression all Draco needs to see to know his words hit the intended mark. He gets a moment to preen and admire a cowed Potter before the expression burns away. Draco smells the scent of Potter’s angry, burnt treacle with a hint of caramel, and draws his mouth in a tight line as Potter leans forward his nose inches from his.

“I didn’t ask you to, so I owe you nothing,” Potter growls in a dangerous voice, “I will figure out what you are hiding.”

Draco clenches his teeth to keep from lunging at Potter and holding him down while he bites him.

“I hope you enjoy disappointment then.” he sneers.

Potter scowls as he slams the door behind him.

Later as Draco is walking into his home he thinks that pissing Potter off might not be a productive way to woo anyone. Pansy is the first to give him this clue when he storms into the living room and finds her, and the rest of the family assembled on the couches. They all sit still as the statues in Luna’s garden watching the debate as if this argument decides the fate of the world.

Draco grimly thinks it decides his.

Pansy’s eyes lock onto his, her spiced pear and vanilla scent choking the tense midnight air.

“Draco, what have you done?” She hisses her face livid as she throws the newspaper displaying Draco's body curled around Potter down on the coffee table.

The news report about them drones on the tv in the background.

“What I needed to do to protect my family,” Draco growls, falling back on the old Malfoy tradition that defends all actions.

It didn’t matter that Pansy would assume he meant the Cullens.

“For the family?” Pansy spits looking incredulous, “The only thing you were thinking of when you dove in front of that car was your dick.”

Draco ignores the fierce buzzing in his head of the thoughts of all his siblings trying to break through his concentration. He draws his mouth in a thin line and stalks towards Pansy until they stand mere inches apart and says in the quiet dangerous voice his father uses when Draco disappoints him,

“And what do you think would have happened when that boy’s blood was spilt, hot and tempting all over the pavement? To Theo who exists suspended over a cliff ready to fall. To me, who craves his blood above nothing else.”

Draco catches Luna as she looks at Theo with a worried expression and knows he has won. Lily’s eyes darkened with sadness and Severus pulls her close whispering something unheard in her ear. Even Blaise’s stoic expression twitches a little. No one can deny that it would have resulted in a massacre. Only Pansy remains sure of her position.

“Your control is unmatched and you already resisted once. You knew what was going to happen seconds before it did, you and Theo could have run away! You should have run away.”

“There is no distance far enough to stop the temptation that Harry presents me with. Even with hundreds of miles between us, I thought about his blood night and day. I would have slaughtered anyone who stood between me and consuming him.” Draco says his voice almost in a trance as he remembers the taste of Potter’s blood rushing in sweet delirium over his tongue.

“There’s a solution to this, even if no one wants to say it out loud,” Theo says.

Draco slips into his mind and stumbles back at the fierce level of anger he feels at Theo’s thoughts.

“Theo, no!” Luna gasps in horror.

Theo ignores her as he glances at Draco.

“I’d make it quick, Draco, he wouldn’t feel a thing.”

Draco feels a snarl growing in his chest. He didn’t care how gently Theo slaughtered Potter, he was Draco’s to kill, no one else’s.

Pansy rallies herself as she glares at Draco.

“Those are the options to cleaning up this mess, darling. Either we put Swan in a permanent sleep or Draco moves,”

Draco slips into Luna’s brain as the possibilities play out in her mind. He sees himself stopping Theo at every turn when he tries to kill Potter. Luna looks distressed as they flit past her, each one Draco and Theo getting more and more violent.

“Theo, please, he’s not a danger to us, I don’t see him giving us away.” Luna begs.

Theo looks at her and Draco can tell from a glance in his mind that he is melting. Draco bites back a sneer, he always knew Theo was a weakling, this is just more proof. But at the moment it benefits him.

Pansy throws her gaze around the room, noticing for the first time her declining support and scowls, her face shutting down.

“You are driving the nails into our coffin by doing this,” she hisses, “One day you are going to regret choosing him over your family.”

She storms out of the room, Blaise a blur behind her. Luna gives him a pitying glance before she disappears and Theo gives him an appraising look, his expression torn. Severus nods at him once acknowledging a decision made by the unspoken vote of the family.

Severus gestures for him to follow him and leads him to his office upstairs. He shuts the door and settles behind his desk with a resigned expression. Draco sits across from him, uncomfortable at once again being blocked from Severus’s mind.

“I should have done this when you first lost your memory, but I was selfish. I wanted to forget and to put it behind us at last. I also wanted to spare you the pain of remembering.” Severus says at last.

“What are you talking about?” Draco asks feeling panic seeping into him.

“You’re making this decision without all the cards in your hands. There are things about this world that you don’t understand.”

“I understand perfectly. My decision is made, there’s nothing you can say to change my mind,” Draco says in a dismissive voice starting to stand up.

“I don’t think you do. You had an entire life before I met you. Parents who loved you, that you were forced to give up.” Severus says in a dark voice.

If Draco’s body allowed him to cry, he knew that he would be bawling. As it was, he frowns.

“Severus, I don’t care to hear anything about the pathetic coward I was in my ‘past’ life. I need Harry. There’s nothing you can tell me that will convince me to give him up.”

Severus sighs, “You were never a coward, son. In this life or your other one. You are one of the bravest men I had the honor of knowing.”

Draco didn’t believe that. He knows he is a coward every time he feels relief that he doesn’t have to face another day under the dark lord’s thumb. In a way, he is safe here under the protection of his messed-up spell.

“Then you know I can’t leave him here to face this alone. Nor will I let our family be driven out of the place we call home,”

Severus sighs one of his long-suffering sighs and places his head in his hands.

“I had a feeling I wouldn’t be able to convince you, but if you change your mind and do want to hear about your past, you know where to find me,”

Draco feels an echo of deja vu, thinking about how Severus offered the same help with the tasks given to him by the dark lord. It makes him wonder how much the story is pulled from the real world and how much is pulled from his mind. Draco leaves the office and returns to the living room where Lily still waits for him. She opens her arms to him and Draco walks over to her at a sedated human pace and sinks into them, letting her smooth back his hair.

“You love him, don’t you,” Lily says, her heartbreaking and fragile voice framed as a statement, not a question.

Draco nods without lifting his head to meet her eyes, it is easier to agree with her than to explain the real reason for his obsession. Pansy is wrong, there is nothing he will not do for his family, even if it means changing tactics and following along with where the story pulls him.

*****

That night Harry dreams of Draco. In the dream, Harry stumbles just behind a dark-cloaked Draco through a familiar forest of menacing trees. The air is thick with a malevolent presence and the fog seems to swallow him whole. No matter how hard he tries, he can never catch up to Draco as they move through the eerie landscape. Just when Harry thinks he's lost him, the landscape shifts into a dark, slimy tunnel that drains all the warmth from his body.

"Draco?" Harry calls out frantically, his voice echoing off the putrid walls.

He can see Draco's dark figure up ahead, but he doesn't slow down or even look back at Harry. It feels like hours pass as they continue until they finally reach a chamber with a massive stone head looming over them. As Draco turns around to face him, Harry realizes with horror that his face is covered by a silver mask etched with swirling patterns.

Before Harry can process this betrayal of Draco being a Death Eater, Draco raises his wand and his eyes flash with pure malice. A deadly curse hangs between them until Draco's lips suddenly curl into a sneer.

"Kill him," he hisses, and the stone head slides open to reveal a monstrous snake.

Its eerie yellow eyes bore into Harry's soul, and he felt himself fading away.

Harry wakes up in a cold sweat, gasping for air as the memories of his nightmare still linger in his mind. He sees Draco's blurry face staring at him from outside his window. In a panic, Harry reaches for his glasses to find an empty window, when he gets them on.

He laughs at himself for being so foolish as he lays back down but then the question of what a Death Eater is gnaws at his thoughts until he slips back into a restless sleep.

Chapter Text

We are the crowd
We're c-coming out
Got my flash on, it's true
Need that picture of you
It's so magical

by Lady Gaga

July 1, 1995

The Wizarding World of France

“Paris Breast,” Draco says in a bored drawl as he twirls his wand.

He just reached the front of the line of La Baguette Magique, the premier bakery in Ruelle Enchantée. The alley proved far superior to Diagon in its offering of shops and higher fashions than the swill of the Three Broom Sticks and rags of Madame Malkins.

Without missing a beat, the waiter's mischievous smile widens at Draco's choice.

"A Paris Breast for Monsieur Malfoy. Excellent choice," he replies, his French accent dripping with amusement.

Draco can't help but feel a prickle of annoyance at the implied mockery in the waiter's tone. How dare this insignificant peasant question his taste?

"I assure you, I know exactly what I want," Draco retorts sharply, meeting the waiter's gaze with a glint of challenge in his silver eyes.

The man simply raises an eyebrow, unfazed by Draco's haughty demeanour.

"Well, I thought someone of your... caliber might prefer something a bit more of a….mouthful," the waiter teases cryptically, his hazel eyes twinkling with hidden knowledge.

Intrigued despite himself, Draco leans in slightly, his curiosity piqued by the waiter's words.

It can’t be what he thinks it is. No one would be that crass, that obvious and in the middle of a bakery.

"And what, would you suggest instead?" he asks with an air of calculated nonchalance.

“A baguette with salami and mayonnaise,” the messy-haired waiter says with a wink.

Draco raises his eyebrows at the overt form of flirting the waiter employs.

“Is that so,” Draco says in a considering tone.

“I prefer to live on the edge,” the waiter says with a wry smile.

It is then that Draco notices that his pupils are ringed with bright green, creating a startling contrast with the waiter’s dark hair. He leans forward across the counter, his fingertips brushing the waiters.

“I see,” Draco says with a predatory smirk, “It would appear you have convinced me,”

The waiter makes the sandwich quickly and hands it to Draco with a flirty smile.

“If monsieur would like a recommendation for his picnic, I would suggest in Le Jardin des Merveilles Magiques, under the big oak tree. It is best at 3 p.m., the crowds disperse around then,”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Draco says with a smile, tipping the waiter an outrageous amount for a sandwich.

Draco blinks bleary against the fading light in the meadow, his new favourite place to escape everything. These strange visions have been terrifying, but he at least remembers experiencing all the ones that happened before this one. He remembers going to the bakery, but that’s where his real memory diverges. He recalls the waiter being forgettable, barely sparing him a glance and he never went to that park afterwards. He went to a gallery to view Pureblood artwork and then back to their villa to have a pleasant meal with his mother.

So where did that strange boy come from and what did his sudden appearance mean?

*****

Harry wakes up to bright flashing lights, blinding him outside his window. As he squints against the intrusive glare, he realizes that his house is surrounded by a throng of reporters, their cameras clicking away furiously. The sound of their questions filters through the glass, muffled yet insistent.

"Harry, can you confirm that Draco Cullen saved your life in the accident?"

"Mr. Potter, do you have any comments on Draco's heroism?"

"Is it true that you owe your life to Draco Cullen?"

The onslaught of voices is enough to make Harry's head spin. He feels a surge of anger building up within him, threatening to spill over. How dare they intrude on his privacy like this? How dare they reduce the ordeal he went through to a spectacle for their headlines?

Feeling overwhelmed and suffocated by the unwanted attention, Harry takes a step back, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. The loud voices outside seep through the walls of his relatives’ house, shattering his peace.

And then, amidst the sea of reporters, Harry spots Collin, holding up a poster that reads "Stand Under the Mistletoe with me?"

The audacity of it all pushes Harry over the edge. He storms downstairs, passing his Uncle Vernon who is counting a fat stack of bills in his grubby hand. Harry scowls but ignores him, knowing yelling will only make things worse for him. He isn’t surprised anyway. The settlement deal between them and Sirius over his custody only said that they couldn’t call the reporters on Harry, not charge them to stay on private property once they already caught sent of a trail. He stomps across the lawn in fury shoving his way through the horde, until he gets to Collin growling,

“What are you doing here?”

Collin looks at his angry expression in surprise.

“I want to help you control the narrative about the crash, so I thought I would help you change it with the happy news of being your date to the Christmas ball. Everyone loves a romance story,” he says looking so desperate and hopeful it makes Harry’s skin crawl with disgust.

Harry’s mouth twists to the side and he forces himself to smile,

“Thank you, for the offer Collin, but I’m going to Seattle that weekend, so I won’t be able to attend at all,”

Harry doesn’t stick around to watch Collin’s face fall as a hundred cameras capture his expression from every angle. He pushes to the street where his bike waits on the curb. Before he reaches it, a strong arm pulls him into an embrace and Harry looks up in surprise to see Ginny and Albus a little way off. Albus glares at the reporters, giving them a stern talking about how the Order of the Phoenix valued students’ privacy and protects them against privacy invasion against acts like this. He inserted that public schools should look to them as an example. Ginny looks mournful and distressed as she lets him go.

“Ginny, Albus, what are you doing here?

“We came as soon as we heard! Are you okay?” Ginny asks in a desperate voice.

Harry feels a small part of him melt with relief. They had come to save him. Another part of him feels sick with guilt that he needed rescuing in the first place.

“Harry!” Albus exclaims pulling Harry down into a warm hug his long black beard tickling his skin.

“How that school of yours failed to provide you with the most basic protections against the press is disgraceful,”

Like sharks sensing blood in the water, the reporters jump on Albus’s statement, their hungry eyes turning to Harry.

“Harry, do you have any comments on the latest decision Dolores made regarding the nutrition standards of school lunches?” A lady with bottle blonde hair and glue on eyelashes asks thrusting a microphone into his face.

Harry opens his mouth to say no, feeling awkward and put on the spot, but Albus huffs with irritated ignition, “Of course he does, the boy is nothing but skin and bones from the lack of standards in those meals.”

Albus settles a grandfatherly hand on Harry’s back and gives him a slight shove forward. Harry clenches his teeth against his nerves as lights blind his eyes.

“Umm…” Harry says before he forces himself to begin speaking.

*****

Harry looks around the cafeteria at his friends' doubtful faces. Fred had been giving him increasingly worrisome looks all day as if he thought Harry’s rejection of Collin meant that he needed to try his hand at asking him out before someone else did. Harry was almost glad for the distraction of his friends' disbelief.

"I'm telling you, it was Draco Cullen who pushed me out of the way! Collin’s van was going to crush me." Harry says.

"Harry, man, we were all there," Ron says through a mouthful of food. "I didn't see anyone push you. The van just...stopped somehow."

Hermione nods in agreement. "It was very strange how it seemed to almost...bounce off an invisible force field or something."

"That's because it all happened so fast!" Harry insists. "One second I was staring at the van, the next thing I was on the ground several feet away. And Draco Cullen was right there holding me."

Harry blushes as he remembers the cool heat of Draco’s skin and the soft murmur of his voice when he makes sure Harry is okay. Fred seems to notice and raises an eyebrow,

“You really think Draco would do something that selfless for you? Didn’t you say he barely tolerates you in class?”

Harry frowns as he thinks about it.

“When he’s not trying to ask him out!” Ron crows and Harry glares at him.

“He never tried to ask me out,” Harry says as he sees a hint of jealousy on Fred’s face.

“What do you think that little game with the apples was? He was yanking your pigtails in hopes you would take the bait.” Ron says with a knowing smile.

“He must have noticed that Harry was hungry. Harry did say that Draco took him out for dinner after the hospital,” Hermione says in annoyance.

“He took you out to dinner?” Fred says jumping on the one detail Harry hoped to avoid mentioning for this exact reason.

"I just don't remember seeing anyone else near you except the people who ran over to help," Neville says sceptically with a furrowed brow, bringing the conversation back into focus.

"But he was there! Right next to me! He's the one who shoved me out of harm's way!"

Harry is starting to feel exasperated that no one believes him.

Hermione looks hesitant as she answers, “He must have only been a few cars down from you to get to you so much faster than everyone else and have time to climb over those cars. It’s a good thing to because you looked so out of it when I finally got to you, Harry.”

Slumping his shoulders, he pushes back his frustration, Hermione is a least getting the main point of his entire speech.

“I'm telling you, he's the real hero here," Harry says.

The others exchange uncertain looks. Hermione pats Harry's arm sympathetically.

"Look, we're not saying we don't believe you. Maybe you did see someone in that split second. But are you sure you didn't just...imagine it in the panic of the moment?"

Harry opens his mouth to protest but stops short as his eyes land on Draco Cullen entering the cafeteria with his adopted siblings. For a brief moment, their eyes meet and Harry swears Draco gives him a ghost of a wink.

*****

Harry slides into his seat for Chemistry, still feeling shaken by the barrage of people who wanted him to assure them that he was okay. Cedric immediately turns to him eagerly,

"Harry! Thank God you're alright! Collin looked like a wreck when I visited him, I was worried you would look so much worse."

Harry grimaces at the mention of Collin, his blood boiling at the audacity of his display earlier.

"Yeah, it was really lucky how it just...stopped before crashing into you," Cedric says, looking perplexed.

"That's because someone pushed me out of the way at the last second," Harry insists. He looked pointedly at Draco’s empty seat.

Cedric follows his gaze with a doubtful look, "You mean Draco saved you? That’s not what everyone else is saying, but I was sick that day so I can’t say for sure."

"Of course they are, it happened too fast for anyone to notice," Harry replies, a little annoyed even Cedric didn’t believe him. "But I'm telling you, it was Draco Cullen. He shoved me out of the van's path right before impact."

Cedric's eyes go wide. "Are you sure?"

"Positive," Harry says firmly. "I was right next to him after he pushed me to the ground."

Cedric still looks unsure.

"That doesn't make any sense. Why would he randomly save you like that? I thought he couldn't stand being around any of us 'normal' people."

"That's what I'm trying to figure out," Harry admits with a frown.

Cedric shakes his head. "Well, whatever happened, I'm just glad you made it out okay, Harry. You had the whole school going mental worrying about you."

As the teacher started the lesson, Harry couldn't help but run through the series of events again in his mind. He knew what he saw - Draco Cullen had definitely travelled from the other side of the parking lot and pushed Harry to safety.

The question was...how and why? What is Draco's secret, and what compelled him to use it to save Harry's life?

*****

Draco sits down on the lab stool next to Potter and isn’t surprised when the assault of questions begins from the students around them all wanting to know if Potter is okay after the crash. Potter’s been experiencing the celebrity treatment all day, strutting around like a brave war survivor. His two sidekicks sticking close to him like human shields. Potter keeps faking modesty as if Draco is the one everyone should be concerned with, but Draco knows it was all a ploy to make people think he was so sweet and thoughtful not worrying about himself. A quick dive into the heads of everyone Potter talks to show how effective Potter’s devious plan is. Draco’s jealous he never thought to use it at Hogwarts when he was younger and had fewer pressing problems.

He watches Potter squirm under the intense scrutiny, and a part of him wants to reach out and tell them all to back off, if only for a little peace for himself. But Draco doesn't. Instead, he busies himself with setting up their Chemistry experiment, meticulously measuring each substance, his movements precise and controlled. Despite the silence between them, Draco can feel the tension radiating off Potter. It makes no sense, that Potter loves the spotlight, it’s why he constantly threw himself into it during their childhood.

Potter finally manages to stammer out a response to the last of the questions in typical Potter fashion, and Draco sneers at the pathetic pitter-patter of his heart. Draco feels surprised at how badly Potter holds himself together under pressure after he’s fought dragons and defeated the Dark Lord. The one thing Potter fails at Draco excels at having received training in how to handle the public and media from a young age.

As they work on the experiment, Potter's hands tremble slightly, and Draco smirks at the show of vulnerability wanting to mock him for it. But Draco pushes down the urge, not wanting to tempt himself into starting a long conversation. The silence stretches between them, broken only by the occasional clink of glassware or the Potter’s soft breathing. That is until Potter shatters it.

“Draco, about last week-”

“You have quite the nerve you know,” Draco says interrupting him.

Potter gapes at him looking confused.

“What?” he asks his large green eyes blown wide.

“You seem to be under the impression that I put myself in danger to save your life, but you’ve yet to thank me for it.”

Potter wears an expression of innocent shock.

“-Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

“Draco-” Potter starts again.

“You need to get over this desire to think everything is about you, Potter. I know your fans have been swarming you all day filling your head with all this nonsense that you matter, but don’t you think you have been taking up enough of everyone’s time?”

For a moment Potter looks like he is going to fall apart, but then a stormy expression crosses his face, and he turns back to the worksheet he is writing on. Draco’s mouth quirks into a smile as he adds a few drops of the phenolphthalein indicator to the Erlenmeyer flask of vinegar. His job is done.

*****

Harry's initial gratitude for Draco's continued silence quickly turns to frustration as the weeks drag on without any progress in uncovering his secret. Despite still attending school and maintaining the facade of a normal student, Draco remains closed off and distant, only exchanging a few words with Harry here and there. Yet even these brief interactions offer no insight into what he may be hiding. In class, Draco sits beside Harry, but their once-heated exchanges have been replaced by icy glances and sullen silences. It's almost a relief from the constant taunting and teasing, but Harry can't help but feel unsettled by the sudden coldness between them. He longs for even a hint of friendliness from Draco, but every attempt at conversation is met with curt responses and dismissive gestures. As they finish their Chemistry assignment early one day, Harry musters up the courage to speak to him, only to be shut down again and again with one or two-word answers.

“What are you doing this weekend?”

“Hiking.”

“Where?”

“Elk Creek”

“Is that your family’s favorite place to hike?”

“Yes.”

******

“What are you reading?”

“Paradise Lost,”

“Are you enjoying it so far?”

“Yes”

“What’s it about?”

“The devil”

“.....”

“What part are you at?”

“He’s constructing Pandemonium.”

*****

“Still reading the same book I see.”

A nod.

“I looked the book up last night and started reading it. It seems to center on Satan’s constant search for God’s attention and approval. Then moves to rebellion when he fails to get either.”

A nod.

“I think it’s really interesting how it is from Satan’s perspective because by doing this Milton allows you to feel sympathy for the devil. I mean if God just paid a little more attention to him, he could have avoided this whole mess.”

A smirk.

“Where are you now?”

“The Garden.”

“First visit or second.”

“First.”

“Me too,”

*****

“I got to the second visit to the garden where he chose the form of the snake. Or lizard I guess since he is condemned to slither on the earth after he falls so he must have had legs before. Or maybe he flew. What do you think, Draco?”

A shrug.

“I also think that the fallen angels should have sent someone less emotionally involved to speak to God’s new creation. Satan was going to be discovered from the beginning because he was the one who cared enough about God to start an entire rebellion. If they picked someone else, then maybe they would have been able to tempt Eve sooner.”

A sigh. A glance at a watch.

“Though I understand why he wanted to be the one to go. He must have wanted to be the first one to see the ones who replaced him, and it must have been hard to keep a mask up when he saw how well God treated them. Especially since God just started to get to know them. To shower them with all that goodwill from the get-go and only give the devil scraps after being his general for so long must have hurt.”

A frown. Silence.

******

“He won’t talk to me.”

“I thought you would be relieved, man.” Ron says through a mouthful of food.

Harry would be if he knew Draco’s secret, but it is eating him alive not knowing how Draco saved his life that day.

“I am,” Harry lies instead, “I just want to know why he stopped talking to me. It seems like it could be important.”

Hermione frowns at him, ”It is not healthy to obsess over someone like that Harry. Live and let be as my parents say.”

Ron smirks at Hermione, “Oh so is that why you staked outside Roger Clemmons house all night until he agreed to let you interview him about his job at the recycling plant for the school paper?”

“But I am the editor! I need to make sacrifices of my time in order to inform the public. The world deserves to know that recycling is nothing more than Green Marketing pushed by big corporations to pull the wool over our eyes about our wasteful production processes,” Hermione says in an imperious voice, sounding like she is holding a press conference in front of a bunch of flashing cameras versus some bored high school kids.

“Save it for the articles, Herm,” Fred says as he slides into a seat next to Harry, throwing a causal arm around him.

Or at least Harry hopes it’s casual. Collin on the other side of the cafeteria glares at Fred with clear envy in his eyes as he pouts at a table by himself. Without his permission Harry finds his eyes gliding over to the Cullen table where Draco sits laughing with his siblings. He never so much as glances at Harry during the entire lunch hour. Or in Chemistry. Or in Gym.

Harry is pulling his Firebolt out of the parking space after class when Draco pulls his Volvo right in front of him and parks at a sideways angle preventing him from safely swerving around him, and locking him in. In his rearview mirror, he sees Fred approaching him and he removes his helmet and pastes on his friendliest smile when all he wants to do is rear-end Draco’s car.

“I’m sorry Fred, Draco’s blocking me in,” Harry says as Fred comes within earshot.

“Oh, no, Harry this is perfect actually, I wanted to ask you a question.”

“Okay…” Harry says not liking where this is going.

“I was wondering Harry, if you would be my date to the dance?” Fred asks his face full of nervous anticipation.

Harry stares at him wondering how Fred missed the news broadcast this morning or the gossip in the hallways that followed him like a phantom all day. Maybe Fred is above all that nonsense drama and didn’t pay attention to it, Harry thinks feeling hopeful.

“I am going to Seattle that day, so I won’t be able to attend,”

Fred's faces falls in surprise, “I thought that was just a lie you told Colin to let him down easy,”

Harry feels his hope disappear, frustration taking it’s place.

“No, it wasn’t a lie, I’m really not going to the dance with anyone,” Harry says through clenched teeth.

Fred rallies his face lifting up in a slight smile, as he darts forward and presses a kiss onto Harry’s cheek.

“Well there is always Prom,” Fred whispers before he pulls away.

Harry stares after him in shock missing, Draco’s siblings sliding into the Volvo in front of him. He is brought back to life when he hears Draco gunning the engine and pulling away, his laughing face reflected in his mirror.

*****

Draco lounges back on the tree branch he rests on thankful for his body’s ability to be comfortable on any surface or position for an infinite amount of time. Even in the pouring rain and buffeting wind.

It’s been two weeks, and the sounds Potter makes are still the most fascinating part of his vigils. Occasionally Potter even mutters queer phrases like ‘too green’ or ‘too wet’ and Draco recalls Potter and Diggory’s first conversation about the weather. What the story feels Draco needs to ‘guard’ Potter against he has no idea, but the lack of danger doesn’t stop the presence from dragging him to Potter’s side every night since the ‘accident’.

Potter's restless whimpers break the stillness of the dark room, causing Draco to whip his head towards him. With sharp eyes accustomed to searching for any hint of danger, Draco scans Potter's pale and scrunching face. He notices tears gathering at the corners of Potter’s eyes as the dark-haired boy shifts awkwardly in his sleep, one leg hanging off the bed as if ready to lunge forward at any moment. The tension in the room is palpable as Draco wonders what could be causing Potter such unrest.

Potter turns over again this time whimpering the name Sirius, his brow furrowed with distress. Draco freezes holding in his unnecessary breath as he hears his exiled cousin's name fall out of the saviour's lips. Though in this world he is not exiled Draco thinks.

“Sirius!” Potter cries again this time a hint of desperation in his voice.

Potter tangles with the sheets on his bed trapped in his dream, his hand reaching out to grab something or pull someone back. Draco narrows his eyes as he watches Potter’s grasping fingers, claw through the empty air and the tears trail down Potter’s face. Draco starts to creep towards the window to do, what he doesn’t know, but then he stops himself. He frowns at the strange tugging sensation in his gut that tells him to feel something at the pathetic display in front of him. To go and...comfort Potter.

“Don’t go.” Potter breathes, his hand falling limp at his side, the muscles in his face slumping down.

Potter misses his dead godfather, Draco thinks. Though not dead in this life. Draco wonders which would hurt more. To be abandoned by the dead or the living. Then shakes his head at the ridiculous, useless thought.

*****

“This place is nice,” Cedric says sipping at his water.

Harry gives him a tentative smile as Madame Rosmerta comes to take their orders.

“Where do you find all these adorable boys and where can I get my own?” Rosmerta says giving Cedric a wink.

Harry blushes. Cedric asked him to grab dinner with him after ballet practice and Harry starving from skipping lunch earlier to save money agreed. Cedric wanted Harry to pick so he of course picked Tête de Porc.

“Should I be jealous that you took other boys here?” Cedric asks with a teasing smile.

“Oh, does he not know he has competition?” Madame Rosmerta says with a devilish expression, playing along.

Harry feels panic creeping up his spine as he sputters, “I-t was just Draco.”

Cedric chokes on his next sip of water, and Madame Rosmerta looks at him in concern.

“You brought that asshole here?” Cedric asks looking at Harry indignantly.

“It was after he saved my life before he stopped talking to me,” Harry says quickly, in a low voice, feeling his heart sink in his chest.

Cedric’s expression softens as he reaches across the table and squeezes Harry’s hand.

“I will never do that to you, Harry. How he is treating you is cruel,” Cedric says his eyes glowing with passion.

“How touching, I almost felt, my heart flutter in my chest,” a voice drawls from next to Harry and he feels himself freeze.

“What are you doing here, Draco,” Cedric growls, drawing his hand back into a fist.

“Astoria and I have been waiting forever for some service, so if you could order sometime tonight that would be fabulous,” Draco says in an impatient voice his nostrils flared as if he smells something unpleasant.

His eyes fall to Harry’s abandoned hand, where the sleeve of his light jacket has ridden up enough to reveal the top part of the healing cut Dudley gave him this weekend. Without meeting his eyes Harry causally pushes the sleeve back with a slide of his wrist before Cedric notices it. He focuses his gaze on Astoria Mallory. Standing next to Draco, she appears like a vision of pure beauty. Her white, blonde hair cascades down her back in perfect waves and her pale blue eyes sparkle with happiness. They look like a perfectly matched pair. A strange emotion stirs within Harry, almost like anger.

“It would be my pleasure,” Cedric grinds out.

Cedric turns to Madame Rosmerta with a look of confidence as he orders two of the fanciest things off of the menu, “I will have the Duck Bourguignon and Harry will have the Salmon Quenelles.”

Harry sees Draco smirks as he watches Harry’s nervous fingers twist the paper napkin in his lap and Madame Rosmerta frowns in disappointment.

“Harry prefers simple food like the cured deer Croque Madame Confiture,” Draco says in a self-satisfied voice, “Don’t you, Harry?”

Harry feels a jolt go through him as Draco uses his first name for the first time, but quickly ignores it. An embarrassed expression crawls across Cedric’s face as he turns red and Harry feels his anger explode in protective fury.

“I think the Salmon Quenelles sound perfect,” Harry says through clenched teeth.

Madame Rosmerta looks unsure as she writes it down, knowing Harry’s hatred of the sea, but he’ll be damned if he lets Draco win this round.

Draco smiles like a shark as he says,” Enjoy your date, Harry, it seems like he knows you well.”

“I will,” Harry growls not bothering to correct him on it being a date.

Draco notices, a scowl taking over his face as he stalks away, Astoria following behind him with a confused look on her face.

“What an ass,” Harry spits out his fingers clawing at the wood grain of the table, watching as Draco settles into the furthest table away from theirs, giving his full attention to Astoria.

Cedric smiles softly as he leans forward his hand catching Harry’s again in a warm embrace. His thumb rubs in gentle circles into his skin, making heat pool in Harry’s stomach as he meets his calming grey eyes.

“Let’s not talk about him anymore,” Cedric says in a warm voice, “I’m more interested in hearing about you,”

Harry smiles leaning forward as well, “What would you like to know?”

They spend the next few minutes talking about what their childhoods were like and their interests and hobbies. Cedric tells him about his dotting father who supported his sexuality and cheered him on at all of his ballet recitals. He elaborates on the summers they spent in South Korea visiting his mother’s family and how he wants to travel to other countries when he graduates. With passionate eyes, he explains his aspiration to be open a ballet studio for kids to inspire their dreams the way his father did for him. Harry feels directionless in comparison. He skims over his childhood with the Dursleys, moving quickly onto his time with Sirius.

“He let you ride a motorcycle at fourteen by yourself?” Cedric asks with wide eyes, looking at the scar on Harry’s forehead as if it has a new meaning.

Harry curses himself for slipping up and forgetting that Sirius’s parenting style is a little more laissez-faire than most. He just feels so comfortable around Cedric that for a moment he forgets that he couldn’t tell him everything.

“I was about to turn fifteen. He had just gotten out of jail, and he felt bad that he missed so many of my firsts. He wanted to teach me something new, that no one else had,” Harry says in a lighthearted voice he uses when talking about Sirius’s little misadventures.

Madame Rosmerta comes in before Cedric can reply and places their food in front of them. Harry mentally sighs in relief when he sees the light brown color of the dumplings and the white color of the sauce. Cedric looks at Harry’s plate in confusion.

“I’m sorry, dear but I couldn’t waste the salmon and prawns,” Madame Rosmerta whispers to him, “This is what Aberforth was able to come up with as a substitute.”

Across the room Draco sniggers at something Astoria says.

“Of course,” Harry says happily popping one of the salal berries sprinkled on top into his mouth.

It breaks apart in a bright burst of flavor, complimenting the creamy taste of the venison Quenelles and the bechamel sauce. Harry groans as his hunger dissolves and continues to eat. His eyes wander to the other side of the room where Madame Rosmerta places a Duck Confit in front of Astoria and then a cup of the same thimbleberry juice that she surprised Draco with last time, in front of him. A glowing smile lights up Draco’s face in thanks as he takes his first sip, tilting his head back, seeming to savor the taste in his mouth.

“Harry…?” Cedric asks.

Harry whips his gaze back to him.

“I’m sorry did you ask me something?” Harry asks with an embarrassed look.

Cedric gives him a reassuring smile.

“I was going to ask you if you were enjoying your food, but you have already cleaned your plate, so I think that question was answered.”

“It was delicious,” Harry says a little evasively resisting the urge to glance back at Draco.

“I noticed it looked a little different than I expected,” Cedric says, his tone questioning.

“Yeah, it’s venison and bechamel sauce.”

“Oh, Harry I’m sorry I didn’t realize you didn’t like salmon.”

Harry gives him a small smile.

“It’s not just salmon it’s all large bodies of water and everything that comes from them. They just give me the creeps. Sirius found out the hard way that I hate going to aquariums or the beach,” Harry says with a shudder, “It’s not your fault anyways I didn’t say anything because of Draco. It felt like it would be letting him win.”

“I know the feeling,” Cedric says with a chuckle, “But what do you mean gives you the creeps? Is it the eyes and the slimy feeling?”

Harry feels nervous as he tries to explain his aversion to water. He frowns, racking his brain.

"I...I'm not sure, actually. There's just something about it that rubs me the wrong way." He stares down at his empty plate, feeling a strange sense of unease wash over him.

Flashes of memory flicker through his mind's eye - a vast, dark expanse of water...ghostly figures drifting beneath the surface...screams and splashes as he fought against something slimy and scaly, struggling to breathe...

Harry shivers, the fork clattering onto his plate. "You know, now that I think about it...I think I almost drowned once. In a lake or something. With...with these weird things..."

Cedric's eyes widen. "Seriously? When was this?"

"I don't know," Harry admits, rubbing his temples.

The fragmented memories are quickly fading, slipping through his fingers like water.

"It's all kind of a blur. But I remember being terrified, fighting against these...these things in the water. Maybe that's why I've never liked fish since."

He let out a breathless laugh, trying to shake off the unnerving recollection. A part of his mind feels like there is something deeper there, some wider context he is missing. But the details remain maddeningly out of reach.

"Well, we'd better stay away from lakes then," Cedric jokes, though his expression was tinged with concern. "How about we get you some dessert to take your mind off of it?”

Harry nods gratefully, pushing the thought of fish aside. As he smiles at Cedric, the lingering wisps of the mysterious memory drift away.

*****

Draco parks the car outside of Tête de Porc and holds the car door open for Astoria like the true gentleman he is. He doubts that Diggory did such a thing for Potter. Potter’s nervous voice and Diggory’s annoying thoughts float his way out of the restaurant.

“I-t was just Draco,”

The flustered, blushing way Harry tries to cover for "just Draco" coming here with him makes something twist in Draco's chest. So, Potter still thinks about that time, does he?

“I will never do that to you, Harry. How he is treating you is cruel,”

As Draco enters, he spots Potter sitting across from that oaf Cedric Diggory. What over-the-top frippery, Draco thinks, in a blind rage as he stomps over to their table. If Diggory wants to paint him as the villain with his sanctimonious drivel about cruelty, he is happy to oblige.

“How touching, I almost felt, my heart flutter in my chest,” Draco drawls putting a hand to his chest to reflect the same dramatics that Diggory just used.

“What are you doing here, Draco,” Diggory growls, like a puppy.

“Astoria and I have been waiting forever for some service, so if you could order sometime tonight that would be fabulous.” Draco sneers.

“It would be my pleasure,” Diggory grounds out putting on a show for his date, but inside Draco knows he is an insecure nervous mess.

Draco sneers as Diggory scans the menu looking for the most over-the-top dishes to impress Harry with his knowledge of fine cuisine and seemingly put Draco in his place. Do you even know the person across from you, Draco wants to ask.

Diggory turns to Madame Rosmerta with a look of fake confidence as he orders two of what he thinks are the fanciest things off of the menu, “I will have the Duck Bourguignon and Harry will have the Salmon Quenelles.”

Draco smirks watching Potter’s nervous fingers twist the paper napkin in his lap and Madame Rosmerta frowns in disappointment. Though her reasoning behind her disappointment surprises Draco despite all of his watching of Potter in the Great Hall he never knew Potter didn’t like fish.

“Harry prefers simple food like the cured deer Croque Madame Confiture,” Draco says in a self-satisfied voice knowing it would be too strange if he guessed Potter’s fish phobia, “Don’t you, Harry?”

Potter heats up prettily under Draco’s attentions and Draco’s mouth waters at the sight.

“I think the Salmon Quenelles sound perfect,” Potter growls through clenched teeth, ever the stubborn arse.

Madame Rosmerta looks unsure as she writes it down, thinking about the wasted fish and how she could convince Aberforth to go through with the order, despite it.

Draco smiles like a shark as he says,” Enjoy your date, Harry, it seems like he knows you well.”

“I will,” Potter growls his eyes already going back to Diggory.

Draco scowls as he stalks away, Astoria following behind him with a confused look on her face, not understanding his little interaction with Potter. Draco resigns himself to a night to pretending to be attracted to her.

Throughout the interminable wait for their food, Astoria prattles on about Watership Down, but Draco barely registers her words as his gaze is transfixed on the Boy Who Lived to Vex Him. That messy black hair, those bright green eyes - it’s like a beacon drawing him in against his will. The way Potter would bashfully smile at Diggory's flattery makes something ugly twist in his gut. What is this feeling? One not worth pursuing obviously he thinks dismissively.

Rosmerta places a plate of Duck Confit in front of Astoria and a glass of flavoured venison blood in front of Draco. He licks his lips remembering how much superior it is to the ilk Severus gave him that first week. He takes a drink and suppresses his groan. It’s even better than he remembered.

“My compliments to the chef,” Draco says raising the glass to her.

A knowing smile stretches over Rosmerta’s golden face, making him wonder how much she knows.

When Potter's eyes drift over and meet his, Draco quickly looks away, refocusing on giving Astoria his full attention. He catches Harry staring at him a few times throughout the night, a contemplative crease between his ridiculously expressive eyebrows. Draco longs to invade his mind, but as usual, he can get into any mind but the one he wants. He contents himself with listening to their conversation, not surprised when Potter mentions having trauma concerning water. He overheard Potter telling his two shadows about almost drowning during the second task. Even if he hadn’t seen the look on Potter’s face when came out of the water, then. He could see how much the memory affected him now.

He looked shattered.

*****

Harry smiles at Cedric as he holds open the door for him. He still wonders what Draco and Aberforth talked about when he lingered at Draco’s table. They seemed to only engage in casual conversation, but Harry saw Aberforth laugh in a way he rarely saw except when Sirius came to visit him. Astoria seemed to hang onto every word out of Draco’s mouth as she sat across from him. He has a sinking feeling they were meeting for a date, but he isn’t sure why he cares. Draco can go out with whoever he wants as long as it is not Harry.

“Harry, are you in there?” Cedric asks waving his hand in front of Harry’s face.

Harry meets Cedric’s eyes and jolts back at the blank, dead look in them, all the seemingly blood drained from his face. He blinks rapidly and Cedric’s smile face reappears. Cedric chuckles at the expression on his face.

“You look like just saw a ghost,” he says.

Harry shakes his head as he gives him a tight smile, brushing it off as nerves. Draco a couple of cars down, gives him a curious look, as if he hears them.

“Nah, just tired,” he says.

“Well, let’s get you home then,” Cedric says kindly.

Harry nods as he lets Cedric open his door for him.

In the dead of night, Harry's dreams of inky black waters and suffocating darkness pressing from all sides against his skin. His hands are transformed into webbed claws, and monstrous mermaids armed with spears hunt him mercilessly. He desperately swims away, Ron and a strange, blonde girl floating behind him like lifeless specimens trapped in a jar. The more he struggles to escape, the tighter his chest constricts until every breath is a painful gasp for air.

As Harry fights against the crushing pressure of the water, a cold hand clamps down on his foot. He thrashes desperately, trying to break free from the grip that feels like solid stone. A glimpse downward reveals the smirking face of, Draco Malfoy, his sharp fangs glinting in the murky darkness. Panic sets in as Harry watches helplessly as Malfoy twists his ankle towards his mouth and bites down. Bubbles swirl around him as he screams, choking on the blood-clotted water.

Chapter Text

I'm gonna catch ya
I'm gonna get ya, get ya
Oh, ah, oh
I wanna taste the way that you bleed, oh
You're my kill of the night

Gin Wigmore

July 10, 1995

The Wizarding World of France

Draco's knees sink into the hard ground, sharp sticks and rocks digging painfully into his skin, but he barely registers the discomfort as his lips press urgently against the boy's. A surge of electricity courses through him as the other boy gasps in response, parting his lips ever so slightly. With a hunger growl, Draco delves deeper into the kiss, his fingers tangling in the other boy's hair and pulling him closer. The boy responds eagerly, his arms wrapping tightly around Draco's neck as his fingers thread through his hair, the strands tickling his fingertips. In this moment, nothing else matters, but the clash of their tongues.

Draco decides to pull back and look into the other boy's eyes, something he dares to never do because it makes it something that will never last feel too real and instead of hazel ones he sees deep green ones. 

“Draco?” Potter asks in confusion, waving a hand in front of his face.

Draco blinks as the smell of pine is replaced with the metallic scent of lab equipment. He shakes off yet another strange vision that he fails to recall and grimaces as he registers his massive hard-on. He is suddenly very glad he chooses to wear wizarding attire instead of the tight scraps of fabric that pass for clothing among muggles.

“Are you okay?” Potter asks, poking Draco’s hand.

Draco flinches back at the unexpected touch and a hurt look crosses Potter’s face. Draco can’t find it in himself to apologize.

“I’m fine, Swan,” he snaps.

“You didn’t look fine,” Potter mutters under his breath, as he turns away and starts gathering his stuff.

It is then that Draco notices that class is over and that everyone else is packing up. Cedric looks over at Potter, eager to snatch up his attention.

“Harry?”

Potter glances at Diggory a soft look entering his eyes, and Draco bites back a sneer.

“What time are you coming over tonight?”

Potter grins as he follows Diggory out.

“Ten o’clock, same as everyone else,”

Draco bares his teeth at the direction of Diggory’s thought, of having Potter over earlier to do some less than savoury activities.

“Well, I was wondering if you would-”

Draco shoves between the two, hissing, “Stop blocking the door,” ignoring Diggory’s scowl as he wears a grin to the gym.

*****

“Luna, we are going to a Halloween party. You are going to be an Angel” Draco announces as he barges into her room ignoring Theo tangled up with her.

Draco exudes a dangerous energy, clad in a sleek Slytherin black snake leather jacket and matching pants. His slim figure is defined by the tight white 'tank top' that hugs his torso. The way he has slicked back his hair, a style he favoured back in his second year, adds to his overall sense of confidence and allure. A silver choker adorns his neck, its pendant in the shape of a coiled snake with sparkling emeralds for eyes. His slitted yellow 'contacts' give him an otherworldly gaze, without the need for any type of illusion or charm. When he speaks, his thin, elongated fangs peek out from behind his lips, adding to the seductive and dark aura that surrounds him.

“Oh I have the perfect outfit,” Luna says in an excited voice and then disappears into her expansive closet.

Theo sighs, sitting up and raising an eyebrow at him. 

“Still unable to accept the undeniable failure of your religious-themed plan?” Theo asks with a cackle. 

“No, it’s not a failure! It is a success.” 

“But you two never talk anymore, and Harry always feels all mopey instead of mad,” Theo says with a confused look.

“No, but he talks to me more than ever. My silence drives him insane, which means it is working because he is interested in me.”

Theo shrugs and lays back down.

“If you say so.” 

What do I know about romance? It's not like I have a longstanding wife or anything…

Draco growls and yanks himself out of Theo’s head, as Luna emerges from her closet, Draco's eyes widen in shock. He can't believe what he is seeing - six feathered wings sprouted from her back, each one adorned with intricate hand-painted eyes of different colours. Her white tights are covered in tiny hand-sewn eyes, and the same can be said for the white dress that hugs her body, with a large eye sewn directly onto the chest. The overall effect is eerie, like a creature out of his worst nightmare.

“What are you wearing?” he asks in a faint voice. 

“It’s a real angel costume, " Luna says nonplussed. 

Draco thinks about the effort and time he could waste trying to convince her to wear a sexy and appropriate costume for a teen party according to his internet research. Then decides it’s not worth it. Especially since Theo will inevitably take Luna’s side. Annoying how he always fought for her to be true to herself and all that nonsense.

“Right,” Draco says in a defeated voice.

Theo grins lazily at him, manipulating the air in the room towards a more hopeful feeling. Draco hates it when he does that. It feels like having an Elixir to Induce Euphoria shoved down his throat. Blaise walks by the open door and wolf whistles at Luna. Luna spins around giggling and Draco gives him the finger.

“Oh cheer up Draco, with Luna by your side Harry, won’t be able to take his eyes off of you,” Blaise cackles.

*****

Harry leans against the wall, nursing his drink as he watches the party unfold. Cedric beside him, dressed as Prince Caspian, a warm smile on his face.

"You know your costume only technically passes the theme?" Cedric asks, his eyes twinkling.

Harry shrugs, offering a small smile in return.

“A book based on a movie is still a book,”

“I think Hermione would disagree,” Cedric says with a smirk.

“Too disappointing Hermione,” Harry says clinking his red solo cup against Cedric’s and downing the rest of it.

“Are you enjoying the party,” Cedric asks, his eyes lingering on Harry’s lips.

Harry blushes.

"It's... different from what I'm used to."

Cedric chuckles. "Small-town parties take some getting used to. But hey, at least the company's good, right?"

As they chat, Harry can't help but feel a sense of comfort in Cedric's presence. Yet, there is something missing, something yet to arrive - a spark, an excitement that Harry can't quite place. He is not entirely sure what he is waiting for but there is a sense of expectation grinding between the twisting bodies of the dark makeshift dance floor in Cedric’s cleared-out living room.

Hermione dressed in a Cheshire cat costume more than a few shots in, gives Harry a loopy grin as she leans over and whispers something in Ron’s ear, who is dressed as Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz, having lost a bet with Fred and George. Whatever she says makes Ron turn bright red and grab her hand pulling her into the sea of bodies.

Harry smiles at the stunned look on Ron’s face as he tugs Hermione closer to him swaying to the new slower song that comes over Cedric’s father’s expensive speakers. Harry glances over and shares a smirk with Ginny dressed as the White Queen, who dances with Lavender and Parvati who are dressed as the Red Queen and Elphaba. They both knew this was a long time coming.

"Hey, have you heard about the hikers going missing lately?" Cedric asks, breaking the pleasant buzz of the atmosphere.

Harry frowns. "No, what hikers?"

"There've been a few disappearances in the woods around Forks. The police are saying it's probably animal attacks, but..." Cedric trails off, looking uneasy.

"But what?"

Cedric shakes his head.

"Nothing. Just be careful, okay? Don't go wandering off into the woods alone."

Harry suddenly feeling way too sober points to his empty drink, “I think I am going to get a refill,” he says, not waiting for Cedric to respond before plunging into the crowd.

Harry's senses are jarred as he feels a sudden rush of cool air brush against his skin.

“Hello,” a melodious voice whispers in his ear.

He whips his head to find himself face to face with a breathtaking boy, whose inky hair falls in tussled locks around his pale face. The boy's piercing red eyes seem to glow in the strobe lights. His alabaster skin looks smooth and flawless. He dons a high-collared black cape, complete with fake vampire fangs that glisten in the dim light, and a frilly white shirt that adds elegance to his dark attire.

“Hello,” Harry replies in a hesitant voice.

The mysterious boy's lips quirk up in a charming smile, his eyes gleaming with some hidden knowledge.

"I'm Tom, it’s a pleasure to meet you," he introduces himself, extending a hand towards Harry.

As Tom's cool hand clasps his own, Harry feels an inexplicable shiver run down his spine. There is something eerily familiar about the boy's touch, reminiscent of... but no, that can't be right. Harry shakes off the thought, chalking it up to the alcohol clouding his judgment."

"Harry Swan," he responds, studying Tom's features closely.

There's something peculiar about him, something that tugs at the edges of his memory like a forgotten dream.

"What brings you to Forks?" Tom inquires casually, his red eyes locking onto Harry's green ones with an intensity that sends a shiver down Harry's spine.

"Just... visiting some family," Harry answers vaguely, not wanting to reveal too much about his true purpose in this secluded town, not that the papers haven’t already had a field day inventing a reason.

Tom nods understandingly, his gaze never leaving Harry's face.

"Well, let me refill your drink," he offers smoothly, taking Harry’s cup and weaving towards the kitchen before Harry can protest.

Harry just loses sight of Tom when he feels a tap on his shoulder. He turns to find Collin standing there, looking nervous.

"Hey, Harry," Collin says, his voice barely audible over the music. "Can we talk? Maybe... outside?"

Harry hesitates, remembering their awkward encounter earlier in the week. "Collin, I don't think-"

"Please," Collin interrupts, his eyes pleading. "It's important."

Before Harry can respond, he feels a cool presence behind him. Tom's smooth voice cuts through the tension.

"Is everything alright here?" he asks, his arm snaking possessively around Harry's waist.

Collin's face falls, his eyes darting between Harry and Tom. Without another word, he turns and disappears into the crowd, leaving Harry with a strange sense of foreboding. Tom releases him and hands Harry the refilled cup breaking his reverie.

“Thank you,” Harry says in an embarrassed voice, bringing the glass to his lips and downing half of it in one go, his heart pounding in time with the music.

“Brave, aren’t you to trust a complete stranger to make you a drink,”

Harry laughs feeling a little manic.

“Stupid, others would say,” Harry says thinking of Draco.

“I don’t know I like your spark,” Tom says snatching the same glass from Harry’s hand and taking a long drink.

“Are you from here?” Harry finds himself asking, wanting to solve the mystery of this strange boy.

Tom smiles as if enjoying a private joke and says, ”I was once. Now I prefer to travel, I’ve seen most of the world, but Italy was always the closest thing that felt like home,”

Harry raises his eyebrows. Sure in Phoenix people travel, but in Forks, he found it hard to meet someone who had left the state.

“How old are you?”

Another private smile.

“Nineteen,”

“You don’t miss your family, traveling as much as you do?” Harry asks, thinking about the summer he spent in Paris dancing for the Paris Opera Ballet.

He had missed Sirius fiercely.

“They are dead,” the boy says in a bland voice.

Harry feels his chest constrict in sympathy.

“I’m sorry,”

Tom gives him a curious look as if observing an interesting chemical reaction.

“Why are you sorry? Did you kill them?” he asks with a dark twinkle in his eyes.

Harry blanches and he forces out the words, “Of course, not”

Tom laughs. It's cold and empty.

“Then why feel anything at all?”

“Because…” Harry starts to say and then stops, unsure how to describe the very nature that calls him to empathize with a complete stranger.

Words fail him, so he says,

“Death is sad,”

“What an odd way of thinking about a natural phenomenon for all living things,” Tom says tilting his head to regard Harry.

Harry lost for how to reply to that, gives him a stiff shrug, his stomach bubbling with unease.

“Death can bring such a feeling of relief, of lightness to people who are experiencing immense pain or who are unable to cope with the heavy reality of the world. Even those seeking justice. Or at least hearing about my parent's deaths felt like to me,” Tom says with a distant quality to his voice.

“What?” Harry says in surprise, taking a step back.

Tom smirks at Harry’s reaction as if he finds his disquiet amusing.

“My father abandoned me at an orphanage at a young age. My mother I learned died shortly after giving birth to me but my father still lived and I thought it suiting that death came for him as punishment for leaving me behind before his time. You see Harry I do not take rejection well,”

Harry feels a flare of sadness spark in him at Tom’s tragic tale. To lose your mother before even meeting her and then to have your father leave him sounded like a fate much worse than his. His parents never would have left him if they could have stayed.

“What do you mean before his time?” Harry asks, catching on to the one thing about the statement that failed to make sense.

Tom leans forward as if to share a scandalous secret and Harry does too, drawn to the light scent of lavender that drifts off him. Tom’s lips brush his ear and Harry shudders.

“He was quite young when he died, for a man of his health and his death confused coroners across the country, because though he was drained of blood there was no grievous wounds on him, nor did it appear that the body was moved post mortem,”

“Oh,” is all Harry manages to say, while his mind races to make sense of Tom’s words.

Tom leans back and smiles as if he just told Harry about his upcoming trip to Morocco. He swipes the drink from Harry’s hand and takes another long drink. Harry's gaze fixates on the mesmerizing sight of Tom's neck, where the muscles visibly flex and relax with each movement. The sight gives him an irresistible urge to move his own body in time with the music, to fully lose himself in ecstasy. Malcolm always teases him about having no rhythm unless he is wearing his points, but in this moment, Harry is perfectly attuned to the pulsing beat of the music and Tom's captivating presence.

Tom smirks at Harry's admiration, the hint of danger in his eyes sending a thrill down Harry's spine. Tom holds his hand out to Harry in the invitation,

“Do you want to dance?” he asks in a velvet voice.

“I don’t know,” Harry says hesitating.

Harry thinks this might be wrong, that he is betraying Cedric somehow, but the allure of Tom's sinister charm is strong. Cedric and him weren’t dating, they hadn’t even kissed…

"You came to this party to let go, didn't you? To have a little fun?" Tom asks, his voice low and seductive.

Harry nods, unable to tear his eyes away from Tom's mesmerizing gaze. Then he shakes his head trying to focus his thoughts.

"I came for Cedric," Harry says, a hint of guilt creeping into his voice. "He's my…friend,"

Tom chuckles a dark sound that sends shivers down Harry's spine. "Oh what a pity it is to only be a friend," he murmurs, the words hanging heavy in the air between them.

“I don’t know I’m a loyal friend,” Harry says as Tom laces their fingers together.

Tom smirks again drawing Harry into the pulsating crowd and against his cool body, his hand weaving through Harry’s wigged hair to cradle his head.

“I’m sure you are, Harry,” he whispers before he presses his lips against Harry’s and he forgets his own name.

Tom's mouth morphs into a ravenous creature, ripping aside his collar and leaving a trail of cold kisses down Harry's neck. Waves of icy pleasure shoot through Harry as Tom's tongue ravishes his pulse point, causing it to beat erratically and his breath to come in desperate gasps. Tom's hands roam hungrily over Harry's back, muscular fingers digging under the fabric of his shirt and tracing teasing circles on the skin beneath. Keeping Harry on edge, trapped in Tom's grasp as he nibbles and sucks at his neck with a maddening intensity.

As Harry loses himself to Tom’s touch, a part of his mind drifts to the bizarre events of the past few weeks. The impossible speed of the Cullen’s, the strange golden eyes, Draco's inexplicable mood swings...

For a moment, the world seemed to tilt on its axis. Is he losing his mind? Or is there something more to Forks than met the eye?

Tom's voice cuts through his thoughts. "You seem distracted, Harry. Should I stop?"

Harry blinks, focusing on Tom's hypnotic gaze. "It's nothing," he lies, pushing away his doubts. "Just... enjoying the moment."

He startles when a hand touches his shoulder. Harry pulls away from Tom, his eyes widening as he sees Collin standing there, looking more manic and unhinged than ever before. His eyes are wild, his clothes dishevelled, and his voice trembles with urgency.

"Harry," Collin pleads, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please, come talk to me. Alone."

Harry's initial instinct is to refuse, to pull away from the chaos that seems to follow Collin, in case he asks him out again. But as he looks into Collin's desperate eyes, a pang of pity tugs at his heart. Collin looks so lost and Harry is familiar with that feeling.

Reluctantly, Harry nods to Tom, excusing himself from the dance floor. Tom smirks knowingly, his gaze following Harry and Collin as they move away from the pulsating crowd.

As soon as they are out of earshot, Collin grabs Harry's arm with surprising strength and pulls him out of the house and towards the dark woods that ring Cedric’s backyard. Harry stumbles along, caught off guard by Collin's sudden burst of energy. His heart thuds in his chest as they enter the shadowed woods, eerie and foreboding in the moonlight. Branches claw at his skin, snagging on his clothes as Collin drags him deeper into the darkness.

"Collin, what's going on?" Harry asks, his voice tinged with a mix of concern and apprehension. The air grows colder, sending a shiver down Harry’s spine as he struggles to keep up with Collin's frantic pace.

Collin’s breath comes in ragged gasps as he drags Harry through the labyrinth of trees, their shadows stretching across the ground like ghostly fingers. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves, the only sound is the rustle of their footsteps and Collin’s hoarse breathing. They finally come to a clearing, bathed in silvery moonlight that casts an otherworldly glow. Collin turns to face Harry, his eyes wide and pleading. There is something feral about him in this moment, as if he is driven by forces beyond his control.

"You don't understand, Harry," Collin gasps, his breath coming in ragged bursts. "I saw… I saw Draco standing on the other side of the parking lot before I lost control of my car. Then he is suddenly right next to you. It’s like he teleported or something. You should be dead.”

“He was right next to me, Collin I promise, you just must be remembering it wrong. You look stressed it’s been a long week, maybe you should call someone to take you home and sleep it off,” Harry insists unsure why he is protecting Draco’s lie, but unable to stop himself.

“You don’t understand, I have proof, you just need to follow me,” Collin says in a distressed voice, before taking off and running into the woods.

“Collin! Wait,” Harry yells as he runs after him stumbling every few feet over the uneven ground.

Harry curses his alcohol-induced clumsiness as he stumbles over a root and crashes to the ground. He winces in pain as he feels a sharp rock slice through his palm. Struggling to get back on his feet, he realizes that Collin has disappeared into the darkness of the forest.

"Fucking great," he mutters, taking in his surroundings for the first time and realizing he is much further from the safety of Cedric's house than he thought.

He squints, trying to clear his blurry vision and curses again when he notices that his glasses are gone. He regrets wearing them just for his Austin Powers costume. He shuffles around some more not seeing the comforting light from the Cedric back porch light shining through the branches. He has no idea what direction to walk in to get back to it.

*****

As his prey disappears into the woods with the weak human, Tom's charming smile morphs into a predatory grin. This is just too easy he thinks, like a wolf luring a trusting sheep from the herd. His red eyes gleam with anticipation as he melts into the shadows, stalking the tantalizing smell of their combined fear.

"Oh, my little lost lamb," Tom muses to himself listening to the frantic pitter patter of their heartbeat, "you have no idea what's in store for you. This game of ours is just beginning."

Tom licks his lips, savouring the moment. Soon, very soon, he would make his move. And his prey’s pathetic life would shatter.

*****

“Draco?” Cedric asks in a confused voice as he regards Draco and Luna standing on his porch in the dark.

“Hello, Cedric, we came for your party,” Luna says in a bright soothing voice, that causes Cedric’s eyes to glaze over.

Draco gives Cedric a dazzling smile, as he pushes his way past the brunette, his face so full of life still causing Draco discomfort.

“Thank you so much for inviting us to your gathering, Diggory,” he says, in his lulling voice that always works wonders on Potter, as he shoves the three bottles of expensive wine from their cellars into his arms.

Blaise told him it is essential to bring alcohol to any party you plan on crashing. Cedric seems too stunned to protest as they disappear into the crowd.

Draco's gaze scans the pulsing crowd, his sharpened senses picking up on every movement and sound. His sharp yellow eyes dart from group to group, searching desperately for a familiar messy-haired figure amidst the throngs of costumed party-goers. The overwhelming noise and laughter only add to his growing frustration and concern as he navigates through the lively gathering, Luna at his side.

"Any sign of him?" Luna asks.

Draco shakes his head, a scowl deepening on his face. "He should be here by now. Something's not right."

Luna's eyes glaze over, her body going rigid. In her mind's eye, he sees flashes of Potter in the woods, surrounded by darkness. A pair of gleaming red eyes appear, and then... nothing. Luna gasps, coming back to herself.

"Draco," she whispers urgently, "I sense danger, but it’s hard to tell where it is coming from,"

Draco's fists clench at his sides. The urge to tear through the house, to track Potter's scent, is almost overwhelming. But he forces himself to maintain his human facade, even as worry gnaws at his insides. If something else kills Potter before he can…

"We need to find him," Draco mutters, more to himself than Luna. "Before it's too late."

Spotting Cedric by the refreshment table, Draco strides over, his eyes locking onto Cedric’s with intensity.

“Diggory, have you seen Swan around?”

Draco’s tone is clipped, betraying his unease.

Cedric glances around before turning back to Draco, a puzzled expression on his face.

“I haven’t seen him since the beginning of the night,” Cedric replies, furrowing his brow.

“Some girl named Bella has been clinging to me and won’t let me talk to anyone else. I just got away from her. Doesn’t seem to get the message that I’m gay,” he adds with an irritated edge to his voice.

A girl with wild black hair and a familiar face flits through his mind, but he pushes the image away as unimportant. Draco’s jaw clenches in worry as he tries to parcel through the many scents mixing in the air. He catches a faint scent of Potter on the wall next to the bathroom mixed with a strange but familiar scent. Luna appears behind him her face creased with the same defeat he feels.

Luna's eyes suddenly widened, her body going rigid. Draco turns to her, instantly alert.

"What is it?" he demands.

"Other vampires," Luna whispers, her voice barely audible over the music. "They're here, Draco,"

Draco's eyes dart around the room, his nostrils flaring as he tries to catch an unfamiliar scent. "Are you sure?"

Luna nods solemnly. "We should be careful. The future is... uncertain."

Draco hesitates, torn between investigating Luna's vision and continuing his search for Potter. In the end, his concern for Potter wins out.

"Keep an eye out," he told Luna. "I need to find Swan."

Before Luna has a chance a scream rips through the air. Draco barely controls himself enough to stay at a human-paced run as he dashes out of the house and into the forest tracking Potter’s scent.

Draco runs through the dense forest, his heart pounding in his chest as he follows the trail of Harry's scent mingled with a metallic tang of blood. The trees loom overhead, casting eerie shadows in the darkness as he rushes deeper into the unknown.

As he pushes through a thicket of brambles, Draco's sharp eyes catch a glint of silver on the ground ahead. He skids to a halt, his breath hitching in his throat at the sight of Harry’s spectacles on the ground. Panic seizes Draco's chest, and he rushes forward, dropping to his knees to pick them up. They reek of him. He carefully slips them into his pocket and follows Harry’s scent, all the while picturing Harry’s dead body laying broken on the ground while a vicious vampire sucks greedily from his neck. Draco growls like an animal as he pushes through the foliage. He starts to see red until he hears branches breaking up ahead and spies Harry’s ungainly form.

“Harry,” he breathes as he rushes to him and wraps his hand around his bony shoulder, spinning Harry around to face him.

Harry yelps in fear as his eyes meet Draco’s, his heart beating in his chest like a hunted rabbit’s. His eyes dart around the clearing until the settle on Draco, his eyes straining to see. 

“Easy Swan, it’s Draco, you are safe,”  Draco says in a calm voice, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into Harry’s skin. 

“Draco?” Harry asks tentatively, his posture loosening. 

Draco smirks in amusement at Harry’s ability to recognize him even without his spectacles.

“Missing these?” he jokes as he slides them back on Harry’s face.

But as Harry moves to adjust them, Draco's gaze falls upon the gaping wound on his hand, dripping with blood.

The metallic scent slams him like a punch to the gut, overwhelming and intoxicating. He stumbles a step back, grimacing as the smell assaults him worse than it ever did on that first day in the too-warm classroom. Draco feels his control slipping. His vision tunnelling as he focuses solely on the crimson liquid seeping from Potter's palm. The monster inside him roars, demanding to be sated.

“Draco, are you okay?” Potter asks in a nervous voice, taking a step closer to him.

Draco clenches his fists, his nails digging into his palms as he fights against his instincts. He can feel the venom pooling in his mouth, his muscles coiling, ready to spring. It would be so easy to give in, to taste just one more drop...

“Draco?” Potter asks again, the worry in his voice is more pronounced as his hand reaches out for Draco’s shoulder.

No, he thinks, forcing himself to move out of Potter’s reach and hold his breath. He focuses on Potter’s face, his bright green eyes, his beating heart, anything but the blood.

“You need to cover your cut, it could get infected,” Draco says in a strained voice.

“But if I bind it, it definitely will get infected,” Potter argues.

“Lick it,” Draco finds himself saying.

Potter looks at him like he has lost his head.

“What?”

“Human salvia is a natural disinfectant,” Draco recites from one of Severus’s medical journals he started reading when he ran out of chemistry textbooks.

Harry gives him a doubtful stare, as he raises his hand to his mouth and gives a tentative lick.

“Hurry up, Potter,” Draco growls, mesmerized by the way the red droplets stain the tip of Potter’s wet tongue.

Draco’s urgency must have finally sunk into Potter because he rushes to clean up the blood and dirt, his movements quick and efficient. He tears off a piece of his costume fabric to wrap around the wound, but cheap material barely holds together. Draco growls in frustration, the sound causing Potter to jump and drop the flimsy fabric. Draco stomps forward tears off a long strip of his costume and snatches up Potter’s hand. He wraps the fabric tightly around the wound before tying it off.

He takes a tentative breath, the scent of blood still lingers in the air, but thankfully he no longer feels the overwhelming urge to attack and drain Potter. Taking this moment to calm down, Draco finally drops Potter’s hand and takes in Potter's appearance. He is dressed in a cheap polyester dark blue velvet suit, with a ghastly ruffled lacy spilling out at the cuffs and the collar. A wild reddish-brown wig sits atop his head, even messier than his usual hair. And perched on his nose are a pair of clunky black glasses that Draco remembers seeing in Potter's room during one of his "visits". The whole ensemble remains him of Weasley at the Yule Ball.

“What are you wearing?” Draco asks choking on a snicker.

“You’re one to talk, you always look like you are wearing a costume,” Potter says looking red and flustered.

“There’s nothing wrong with my clothes,” Draco snaps.

Potter’s dazed look turns into a wicked grin.

“Sure if we were still living in the fifteenth century. Anyways how could you not know that I’m Austin Powers, the American equivalent of your James Bond.”

“James who?”

“James Bond, 007, the best secret agent in the MI6,”

“You’re a spy, how fitting,” Draco scoffs, “And what do you mean by, my James Bond?”

“You are English, aren’t you?” Potter asks, looking confused.

“Well, I am certainly not American,” Draco huffs, deciding once he gets home to look up this ridiculous Austin Powers character already knowing Bond will prove better.

Americans were ridiculous.

A thoughtful expression crosses Potter’s face and Draco wants to make a quip about how rare it is, but realises this isn’t true. Potter in this world is much smarter than the one in his world. Without a doubt due to growing up without Granger to do everything for him, forcing him to work for himself.

“I wonder what you would sound like as an American,” Potter says, sounding genuinely curious.

“Is that a kink of yours, Swan,” Draco asks before he considers his words.

Before Potter can answer another scream pierces the air, this one shorter and cut off after just a few seconds. Potter meets his eyes and takes off after the sound before Draco can grab him at human speed. Draco has no choice but to follow Potter or reveal his secret and tackle him. Minutes later Potter bursts into a clearing ahead of him and stops, his breath coming in quick shallow gasps. Draco slips in beside him and freezes at the smell permeating the air.

The putrid smell of burnt flesh and blood that he wishes he didn’t know so well.

Collin's lifeless body hangs from a sturdy tree branch, swaying gently in the breeze like a macabre pendulum. The rope around his neck has left deep, raw imprints on his scorched skin, evidence of the intense agony he must have endured. His emaciated frame is a gruesome sight to behold, with tattered shreds of muscle hanging from his bones like torn fabric. Blood drips steadily onto the ground below, pooling at the base of the tree. The once vibrant shock of hair on his head is now completely gone, revealing charred and blistered flesh where his eyes should be. His lips are burned off, exposing gnarled and blackened teeth in a grotesque grin. Through his mangled hands, nailed in place with rusted spikes, hangs a crudely written sign that bears a chilling message: "Will you go to Prom with me, Harry?" The scene reeks of death and despair, a stark contrast to the innocent teenage romance it was meant to represent.

A broken sob breaks through Potter’s throat and his shaking knees give out under him. Draco rushes forward before he falls to the ground and catches him under his arms.

Draco wraps his arms around Potter, a sense of protectiveness swelling within him as he tries to shield him from the horrific scene.

“Don’t look, Potter,” he whispers urgently, trying to spare him from the ghastly sight by pulling his head against his chest. “Stay with me.”

With a firm grip on Potter's trembling body, Draco takes a cautious step back, his keen eyes scanning the surroundings for any signs of danger. He can't afford to let his guard down, but he also knows he can't stay rooted in this spot forever. The distant sound of approaching footsteps sets him on edge as he frantically tries to come up with a plan. Suddenly, the shrill scream of terror pierces the air, followed by more anguished cries that rise in intensity. Accusatory glares fixate on Potter's hunched figure, their harsh whispers cause Potter to flinch.

People rush into the clearing as their curiosity overrides their fear. Draco feels himself being pushed and pulled by the crowd, his head spinning from the influx of scents.

Voices rise in a cacophony of shock and horror:

"Oh my god, is that a body?"

"Someone call the police!"

"It can't be real, right? This has to be a prank by the twins..."

Draco tunes them out, he knows this is no prank.

“Cullen?” one of the partygoers sneers, pointing an accusing finger at Draco. “What are you doing here? Wait is that Harry?”

“Doesn’t that sign say, Harry?”

“Do you think it was him?”

“It must be! Remember Collin asked him out last week and Harry turned him down.”

“Didn’t Harry yell that he rather go out with anyone, but Collin and that he would kill him if he tried again?”

“Yeah, I think that’s what Rita wrote,”

“That’s why Harry’s been missing for so long. He must have murdered him for revenge when Collin tried again at the party!”

“Poor Collin!”

“Poor Cedric, his land will be haunted now!”

“What a freak!”

“I always knew there was something off about him…”

Draco tenses as the whispered accusations spiral into something far from the truth.

He shakes his head vehemently. “No, it’s not him,” he insists, his voice shaking. “I don’t know who did this, but it’s not him,”

A murmur of disbelief ripples through the crowd as more people approach, their faces twisted with horror and disgust. Police sirens blare in the distance and Draco figures someone must have called them. Draco can feel the weight of their judgement, but he knows he can't let it show.

He turns his attention to the grisly scene before them, his eyes taking in every detail. The once vibrant emotions in the word "Prom" are belied by the dark words scrawled beneath.

His heart sinks further as his mind registers the true nature of the scene - it's a trap. Someone wants to frame Potter for Collins’ death.

With a frenzied rage in his eyes, Potter's uncle storms into the forest. His presence is immediately reinforced by a team of grim-faced police officers, their strong arms wrapping tightly around Potter's struggling form. They yank him away from Draco with brutal force, their grip unyielding, Potter’s voice hoarse as he screams that he's innocent. Draco rushes to his side, pleading for his release. But it is all in vain as Potter's uncle barks orders at the top of his lungs, commanding the officers to take them all into custody. Granger, Weasley, and the fierce Weaselette put up a valiant fight against the overpowering cops, but their efforts only result in being forcefully restrained and dragged alongside Potter, their fate now intertwined with his.

Draco follows the cop car discreetly through the woods, with a cold feeling in his chest. He listens to Potter’s quiet sobs as a cuffed Weasley leans against him in comfort. Potter mutters it wasn’t me, it wasn’t in a desperate voice over and over again. Once in the station Potter and Weasley are thrown in one cell and Granger and Weaselette in another. They interrogate Potter for hours but after they conclude Potter will only keep telling them the same information they are forced to stop. Weasel, Granger, and Weaselette are equally tight-lipped, only giving away the barest of facts to the cop's questions about Harry’s past history with violence and his motives to kill Collin. Draco hears something about them keeping the group overnight for resisting arrest and underage drinking. He decides that there’s nothing else he can do and heads home.

He comes back to a mad house, not dissimilar to the one in the forest.

“This is your doing!” Pansy accuses as he walks into the living room to see them all gathered around on the couches, with blank faces.

“So I guess the news has already reached you,” He says with a sneer and a glare at a guilty-faced Luna.

“Don’t bother blaming her, Draco, father was already called to identify the body and the cause of death,” Theo says in an edged voice.

“And?”

“It was vampires,” Blaise says in a sombre voice, his usual jovial spirit crushed under the air of death in the air.

“How do you know?” Draco demands wanting so badly for it to be wrong.

“The body was completely drained despite there not being a speck of blood at the crime scene. The wrists were slashed and the body was burned. Common signs of an expert hunter, who leaves little evidence. The humans will assume the blood burned up or shake their heads at the lack of it but won’t pursue it further. Then there’s the clear signs of the venom, invisible to the human eye, but not to our superior senses. Father and mother have been studying the effect of vampire venom for years to attempt to develop medicine, so it’s not something they would miss even with all the fire damage to the body,” Pansy snaps.

"How is this my fault?” Draco demands.

“You’ve driven other vampires here! Made them curious of our presence and your interactions with a human, just ask Luna,” Pansy hisses.

Draco turns to Luna.

“It’s hard to tell precisely what drew them hear, but they are surrounded by visions of curiosity and a desire to linger here. Their future seems weakly entangled with Harry’s but it’s so light that it could change at any moment. It could be the result of you saving him from the car crash and not Harry himself. It feels like they could decide to move along at any point and they don’t seem to have a plan for any future actions,” Luna says.

“My answer remains the same, I am not leaving him,” Draco mutters, before, leaving the room to let the chaos erupt behind him.

He trusts in the story to guide it back to staying in Forks, he knows that it can’t continue on unless he and Potter are near each other. He rushes up to his room and slams the door shut behind him. As he collapses onto his bed.

He tries not to think about Potter, locked up in a cold, dark cell with only the Weasel for company. The fragments of the conversation he overheard during the interrogation replay in his mind like a broken record. The sharpness of the police officers' voices as they demanded that Potter confess to his alleged crimes echoes through his head. He can almost feel the roughness of their hands on Potter’s body as they searched him for any signs of wrongdoing. It reminds him of when the Aurors interrogated his mother and himself after his father's arrest. The overwhelming sense of humiliation and dehumanization still lingers in his memory, along with the fear that they would also take his mother away and lock her up. He shakes off the memories and focuses on the future and what it may bring for Potter and himself. He can't shake off the feeling that there is more to it all.

Then he remembers why the face of the rogue vampire looked so familiar to him. It is the same face from the pictures his mother used to show him from his childhood. The young face of his aunt Bella.

Chapter Text

'Cause they wanna go and build you up
So we can watch you fall
Then they go ahead and build you up
And we all watch you fall

by: Dabin

June 31, 1995

The Wizarding World of France

Draco leans against the cool stone wall gazebo, his eyes fixed on the starry sky. Beside him, the other boy sits cross-legged, his wand idly twirling between his fingers. They had been meeting up for weeks. Draco had meant for it to be a one off thing, to never talk to the boy again, but as always he can never seem to turn away from what sparks his interests.

"So," Draco begins, breaking the comfortable silence, "I've been wondering. What's the story behind your name?"

The boy chuckles softly. "It's nothing fancy like 'Draco'. My parents just liked how it sounded. What about yours? I bet there's some grand pureblood tradition behind it."

Draco feels a slight twinge at the mention of pureblood traditions, he had made a point to never mention his last name, but it seems he had been found out in part.

"It's a constellation. The dragon. Father says it represents power and nobility." He pauses, then adds quietly, "Sometimes I think it's just another expectation to live up to."

The boy nods thoughtfully. "Names can be a lot to carry sometimes. But you know, I've always thought dragons were more than just power. They're also about freedom, flying wherever they want."

Draco turns to looks at him, surprised by the insight. "I... I've never thought of it that way."

"There's always another way to look at things, other ways to reinvent the same tired tale," the boy says with a gentle smile.

"So, besides living up to your name, what interests you, Draco no last name?"

Draco hesitates. No one had really asked him that before. They’d always known or just assumed. Filling in the blanks without his permission.

"I... I enjoy potions. The precision, the creativity. And flying, of course. The freedom of it."

He smiles, remembering the boy's words about dragons. There is a silence that follows and Draco feels the strangest urge to return the favour.

"What about you?”

The boy's eyes light up and Draco feels himself holding his breath.

"I love baking. It's like potions, but sweeter. The way you can blend magic and ingredients to create something that not only tastes amazing but can actually affect people's moods or even grant temporary abilities - it's incredible."

Draco quirks an eyebrow at him. He’d thought that his job at the bakery was nothing more than a way to make money. To think he did the same thing same thing so many other did to him. It fills his mouth with a sour taste. 

"Magical baking?"

Draco finding  himself genuinely intrigued leans forward, his eyes intent on the boy before him.

"I've never really thought about that before. What kind of things do you make?"

The boy blushes an experience Draco’s grown used to.

"Well, nothing much yet, or nothing that’s turned out completely right,"

Draco doubts that, knowing that the boy has very exacting standards of himself and never accepts anything less than perfection. The boy looks a touch shy as he says in a tentative voice. 

“But I have plans drawn up for so many recipes,”

Draco gives him an encouraging smile, his curiosity seeping deep into his bones. 

 "Confidence-boosting cupcakes, memory-enhancing macarons, levitating lemon bars. The recipe I’m working on right now is for eclairs that can make you temporarily understand Mermish.” the boy replies enthusiastically.

Draco can't help but be impressed. "That sounds... actually quite brilliant,”

The boy gives him a self deprecating smile, “It can be frustrating at times. It’s not like how it is in the books and shows where a mage waves their wand and magic is just absorbed into the food. Potions don’t always mix well with certain ingredients and lose their potency. The same can be said for spells. I never realized how much effort my work had to put into inventing and making their creations until I had to recreate them myself,” 

A few weeks ago Draco would have scoffed at the mugglish way of thinking but now he smiles. 

“You'll have to let me see you work some sometime."

As they continue talking, Draco feels something shift inside him. This isn't just physical anymore. He is genuinely enjoying learning about this boy and seeing the world through his eyes. For the first time in a long while, Draco feels like he can just be himself, not the Malfoy heir, not the Slytherin prince, just... Draco.

As the night wears on and their conversation deepens, Draco realizes with a mix of excitement and trepidation that he is falling for more than just the boy's looks. He is falling for his creativity, his passion, his very essence.

And that, Draco thinks is both thrilling and terrifying.

Draco blinks the scene of the living room coming into place before his eyes. 

“Draco, are you alright?” Lily asks him hovering over his prone body. 

Draco shakes his head to further clear it, noticing with embarrassment that the rest of his family is sitting around him looking at him as if he just fainted. 

Luna’s head swims into view.

”It looked like you had a vision for a second,” she says, her voice curious.

“Great, now there’s two of you,” Blaise says in an exasperated voice. 

Blaise yelps as Theo hits him in the shin. 

“What did you see?” Pansy asks in a bored voice that he knows hides concern. 

Draco can’t exactly tell them that he saw memories from his real life that never happened. Even they will think he is crazy. 

“Theo’s going to divorce Luna and marry a dog,” Draco says in a full voice, getting off the couch and pushing past them. 

Theo scoffs in irritation, mumbling something about how he can’t believe he was worried about him for a minute. 

“Draco wait!” Luna says rushing after him, as he stomps out the back door and into the forest. 

A run he figures will be good for his head. 

“What?” He says in a tired voice.

”These visions, I think they are trying to tell you something, something important,”

Draco freezes and spins around, “Can you see them too?”

Luna gives a sad shake of her head, “No but I’m familiar with what it looks like when someone experiences one and the weight one carries to know more than one wants to about the world,” 

Draco sighs and runs his fingers through his perfect hair.

”I can’t tell you what they are about,” he says.

Luna gives him a sad smile.

”I figured, but I just wanted you to know we are here,”

A strange warm feeling fills his heart and he smiles, “I appreciate that,” 

****

Harry's eyes dart frantically from left to right as he peeks through the curtains of his bedroom window, spying the reporters down below. They push and shove each other as they stand in his front lawn each fighting their way to the front of the group to get the first picture of him coming out the door. He grits his teeth as he rams the curtains shut, blocking them from view. His entire body aches as he scrambles to throw on clothes, careful to not touch the large bruises on his wrists from his night spent in the jail. Not that that compared to the beating that his uncle gave him for getting arrested in the first place.

He watches them swarm around the Dursleys with sick amusement, as they leave for work and school, desperate for any scrap of information they can get about him. For once they seem reluctant to give a quote. Harry assumes it is due to Vernon arresting his nephew only to release him the next day. Harry leaves the safety of his room and grabs a granola bar that he knows Dudley will never miss because it’s too healthy.

Ginny and Albus are nowhere to be seen when he steps onto the front porch, so he has no shield to protect him when the questions hit him.

“Was killing Collin a cry for help? Do you feel abandoned by your Godfather?”

“Do you have a quote in defense of yourself?”

“How much did your uncle pay to bride the judge to let you off the hook?”

There's a heavy weight of suspicion and accusation hanging in the air, suffocating him. He can almost taste it, bitter on his tongue. Suddenly, a blinding light flashes in his face and a hand grabs him roughly by the back of his jacket. They're getting closer and closer, invading his personal space, for the chance of a quote. He feels his breathing increase in speed as he raises his hands in alarm to keep the crowd back.

Just when he thinks he can't take it anymore, a jarring revving noise tears through the air. A glimmer of hope sparks in his chest as a shiny black motorcycle comes crashing into the front yard, sending debris flying everywhere. It skids to a dramatic stop in front of him, trampling over the neatly manicured grass of the Dursley's lawn. The driver removes their helmet with a swift motion, revealing a shock of vibrant red hair streaked with black. Loose strands fall around her face as she grins wildly at Harry.

With a sly wink and an effortless flourish, she swings her flute from her back like a warrior unsheathing their sword. Harry knows she pretends to hate those music lessons, but deep down he knows she secretly loves them - especially when they teach her how to give amazing blow jobs, something she always teases Albus about.

"Need a ride, damsel?" she asks with a mischievous glint in her eye.

Without hesitation, Harry swings his leg over the ‘steed’ and wraps his arms tightly around Ginny. He can't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all.

“My knight in black leather armor,” he jokes.

"You better believe it," Ginny replies with a smirk before revving the engine once more, leaving the stunned reporters behind in their dust.

*****

School isn’t much better.

Trying to maintain his usual facade of confidence, Harry strides through the echoing corridors of Hogwarts High, the whispers following him like his shadow.

“Murderer. Murderer. Murderer.”

The accusing glances from his classmates skate over him and his eyes hold a flicker of doubt as he navigates the judging stares focused on his aching cuff scars. As if they prove his guilt.

Hermione and Ron exchange concerned glances as they trail behind him, their footsteps matching the uneven rhythm of Harry's gait. The air around him is tense, the unspoken words hanging heavy between them. Despite their shared worry, they remain silent, not daring to address what threatens to consume their friend.

Harry's once vibrant spirit feels dulled, his laughter sounding distant and fake even to his own ears. His friends at lunch try to close ranks around him, not one admitting to believing the rumors, but every sideways glance and side step of his classmates wears him down more. It only gets worse in Chemistry when Harry leans over to try and talk to Cedric. Harry gives him a tentative smile but the dark haired boy glances away, his eyes guilty.

Cedric's reluctance to meet Harry's eyes causes Harry’s heart to sink, he knew things at school would be different but somehow he forgot about Cedric. The tension in the air stifles any attempt at conversation between them. Harry swallows the lump in his throat, trying to push down the rising unease as he watches Cedric fidget with his pen, avoiding his gaze.

Finally, unable to bear the silence any longer, Harry leans in closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "Cedric, what's going on? Why won't you look at me?"

Cedric's shoulders tense at the question, a fleeting shadow of regret passing over his face before it disappears. He meets Harry's eyes briefly before dropping his gaze to the table, his voice barely audible over the hum of the classroom.

"My dad's lawyer instructed me not to talk to you."

The chemistry lab around them fades into the background, the bubbling beakers and humming Bunsen burners nothing but white noise. Draco shoots Harry a worried glance, which Harry finds surprising, he thought that his kindness last night was caused by alcohol. Cedric's words hang heavily in the air. Harry’s brows furrow in confusion, a mix of hurt flickering across his features as he struggles to comprehend them.

Swallowing hard against the lump in his throat, Harry leans in closer, his voice edged with desperation.

"But why, Cedric? What does your dad's lawyer have to do with us? We're friends."

Cedric's jaw tightens at the word "friends". Cedric's gaze remains fixed on the desk, his jaw clenched in conflict. With a heavy sigh, Cedric finally meets Harry's eyes, a mix of emotions in his gaze.

"Harry, I... I don't know how to say this," Cedric begins, his voice laced with regret. "It's about Collin's parents."

Harry's heart lurches at the mention of Collin. He braces himself for Cedric's next words.

"They... they're suing my dad," Cedric confesses, his voice barely above a whisper as their classmates around them lean forward to listen in.

Ron glares at them and they reluctantly lean back.

"They blame him for what happened at the party, for not keeping us safe."

His mind races as he tries to make sense of the implications. He looks at Cedric’s face twisted in helplessness.

"I-I didn't mean for any of this to happen," Harry stammers, his voice cracking with emotion, "I never wanted anyone to get hurt."

Cedric's gaze softens slightly at Harry's words, a flicker of understanding passing between them before it's replaced by resignation.

"I know, Harry," Cedric replies softly, his eyes holding a mixture of compassion and sorrow, "But it doesn't change what's happening now. My father is pulling me out of any class I have with you."

Harry feels a sinking feeling in his chest. The thought of losing his friend, especially now when everything feels like it's falling apart.

"But... but we can still talk outside of class, right? When no one else is watching,"

Harry's voice is almost pleading, wanting to hold on to at least that.

"But people are always watching you, Harry,"

A bitter taste fills Harry's mouth as he struggles not to speak anymore. He had never hated his fame so much.

*****

Seeing Potter's desperate attempt to salvage their friendship outside of class, should make him thrilled. Now he has Potter all to himself, but it doesn’t. As Diggory talks to Potter, Draco finds he doesn’t have to resist the urge to smirk and there is a peculiar feeling swelling in his gut, something new but somehow familiar as if he saw other people experiencing the same feeling. It's a side of Potter he's never seen before, stripped of his usual bravado and confidence. Potter looks almost…defeated. It’s a look that Draco finds doesn’t suit Potter much at all.

Without thinking, Draco leans over towards Potter, an almost protective feeling bubbling up in him.

"Are you okay?” he asks.

The words hang heavy in the air.

Potter's eyes flicker with a mix of surprise and disbelief, his expression caught in a moment of vulnerability. A slight flinch crosses his face as he braids his fingers tightly together making the dark bruises on his wrists stand out more. Draco wonders what is the point of trying to hide the gesture, until he remembers what it was like with the Death Eater’s. How weakness equals death. Maybe Potter felt the same way.

The question seems to catch Potter off guard, and Draco can see the turmoil swirling in Harry's eyes as he processes the unexpected gesture. Potter’s lips part slightly, as if he wants to say something, but the words seem to elude him.

Draco watches as different emotions play across Potter's face - gratitude and relief. It's as if a crack has formed in the impenetrable mask Harry wears, revealing the pain beneath. For a heartbeat, silence hangs between them. Then, slowly, Potter's features soften.

“Not great,” Potter says in a quiet voice.

“Oh,”

When Potter turns away all the life drains out of him and he slumps forward like a puppet with its strings cut. He lays his head on his folded arms and stares straight ahead. Draco feels the strangest urge reach over and stroke Potter’s soft looking black hair.

He pushes the feeling away.

*****

Harry sits alone in his room, staring at the ceiling as he listens to the soft hum of the forest outside. His mind swirls with a mix of emotions - relief at Draco's unexpected questions, disappointment and guilt for a crime he didn’t commit but still seemed to cause.

With a heavy sigh, he reaches for the phone on his bedside table. The numbers are familiar under his trembling fingers as he dials Sirius' number. The phone rings once, twice, before a tired voice answers on the other end.

"Harry? Is everything alright?" Sirius's voice is laced with concern, echoing through the receiver.

"Yeah," Harry replies softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just... I needed to talk to you."

Sirius pauses on the other end, sensing the weight in Harry's words. "What's wrong, lion cub?"

Harry takes a deep breath, steeling himself to tell Sirius about the past few days. He knows he will freak out, that he will jump to extremes for a solution and he will have to inevitably talk him back down to earth. It would be touching if Harry didn’t find the whole thing exhausting.

He tells Sirius about the accusations even though the news covered it in more than enough, the whispers, and the night in jail. He leaves out the bruises on his wrists and body and the fact that Vernon was the arresting officer, though he imagines Sirius can guess the last one. He also leaves out that Madam Maxine turned him away when he showed up for practice due to all of the bad press.

“So when can I come back?” Harry asks, tracking every tick and twitch that her face makes.

She fights to keep a professional smile on her face as her eyes flicker to the crowd of flashing lights behind him.

“I’ll let you know, dear,” she says in a wavering voice, not meeting his eyes, “It’s just they raised the rent and we were barely keeping this place open…”

“Harry?” Sirius asks in concern.

“Sorry, I forgot what I was saying for a moment,” he says shaking his head.

“You were telling me about how they are treating you at school,” Sirius says in a soft, protective voice, and for a moment it almost feels like he is in the room with him, holding him, supporting him.

He clears his throat, lest it crack as tears stream down his face,

“It was fine, everyone was very supportive and no one believed the rumors,”

Sirius listens intently, his silence a comforting presence on the other end of the line.

As Harry recounts everything, from Collin's death to Draco's unexpected words, he feels a sense of release wash over him. The burden he's been carrying seems lighter to have talked about it, especially with someone who’s spent time in jail before.

"I was cleared of all charges, Sirius," Harry says, his voice stronger now. "They have no evidence against me."

Sirius lets out a breath Harry didn't realize he was holding. "I knew you couldn't have done it, Harry. I'm so relieved to hear you're safe."

It's Sirius’s next words that undo it all.

“Harry, I know this has been a nightmare for you,” Sirius begins, his voice filled with a tenderness that Harry rarely hears. “But I have an idea. You can come home to Remus and I!”

As Sirius speaks, Harry feels conflicting emotions swirling within him. The idea of Sirius and Remus coming home to support him fills him with longing. Things were so much simpler in Phoenix. But knows he will miss Forks, where he’s made his first friends and reconnected with Ginny. Running also feels like a cowards way out and Harry’s never been a coward. And though he hates to admit it, maybe even a certain blonde-haired boy has something to do with it too.

“But then you will have to cancel all of those stunt shows that you sold tickets for! Your fans will be so disappointed and Remus will miss the opportunity to play in the major leagues. You don’t want to take that away from him, after he’s worked so hard”

The thought of being the cause of Sirius's unhappiness tugs at Harry's heart. Despite everything that has happened, the bond between them is still strong and he doesn’t want to be the reason it breaks.

Harry hears Sirius loudly exhale on the other end, “You're right, Harry, you are a good kid, you know that? Strong like your parents,”

“I know,” he says with a heavy smile.

As Sirius continues to talk, recounting stories about Harry's parents that he has heard a hundred times before, Harry can't help but feel a flicker of nostalgia mingled with a dull ache in his chest. It's as if through these tales, his parents become tangible—real people who laughed, loved, and lived before they were reduced to mere images in faded photographs.

Sirius's voice carries a mixture of pride and sorrow as he talks about his brother and his best friend. Harry closes his eyes, letting the memories wash over him like a gentle wave, falling asleep to the familiar rhythm of Sirius’s voice.

*****

Draco crouches in the shadows outside of Potter's window, his breath heavy with adrenaline as he struggles to control the overwhelming urge to slip inside. It’s been months of this. Watching from the outside for half the night scared to stay longer because his sibling might notice his absence and worry more about his supposed obsession.

Scared to go further in because that’s too close to them being right. 

His mind whirls with conflicting thoughts. The story drives him to protect Potter, to ensure that there are no threats lurking in the shadows, but deep down Draco knows it's more than that. There's a magnetic pull towards Potter that goes beyond their rivalry and animosity.

With trembling hands, Draco slips into Potter's room, the moonlight casting an eerily ethereal glow over everything. He stands frozen for a moment, taking in the sight of Potter sleeping soundly in his bed. But before he can stop himself, he begins to snoop around the room, drawn to the personal possessions that he has pretended don’t interest him for weeks.

His eyes fall upon an enormous poster of a graceful ballerina frozen mid-spin on one wall, his tutu a kaleidoscope of vibrant hues. Beside it is a sleek motorcycle magazine opened to a spread depicting death-defying stunts performed by skilled riders. The contrast between these two interests only serves to deepen Draco's curiosity about the enigma that is Harry Potter.

Potter’s dresser is a hodgepodge of baseball memorabilia - signed bats, balls, and pennants from what Draco has learned from Pansy are different major league teams. A well-worn catcher's mitt sits atop it all signed by Randy Johnson. Framed photographs crowd the remaining surfaces. A smiling frozen image of the Weasel and Granger rests next to one of his convict cousin grinning mischievously, his arm thrown around a younger Potter. In the centre is a photo of Potter's parents dancing happily on their wedding day. Regulus’s face looking much happier than it ever looked in any of the family photo albums. Happier to be without his magic and family, married to the enemy. Everything Draco thought happiness required. 

But what catches Draco’s eyes the most is the cluttered desk in the corner. Piled high with sketchbooks and drafts of what looked like choreography notes. As looks at them closer it becomes clear that Potter has found an outlet to blend his multitude of interests through through these drawings. He flips through a few of them noting with confusion how similar the poses are to Defense stances in class. Did Potter remember more than he realized?

A pained grunt causes Draco's gaze to fall on the boy lying on the bed and he can’t help but be drawn to the telltale cuff scars on Potter's wrists. Mottled patterns of sickly yellows, greens, and deep purples stain his delicate human skin. One wrist bears a bruise about the size of a plum, angry and swollen, while the other wrist shows signs of dried blood mixed with vivid blues and purples that wrap entirely around its slim circumference. Draco tries not to wince as he takes in the damage, knowing all too well the pain that must haunt them.

His hand trembles as he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a jar of medical grade scar cream that he stole from Severus's hospital supply cabinet after school, when he first noticed them in class today. The cool, bitter scent of medicine fills the room as Draco carefully applies the cream to the marks on Potter's wrists. It's not as potent as Thaumaturge's Bruise Tonic, but it will have to do. He tries not to think about the prisoners he was forced to feed in the cellar over the summer, their bodies resembling Potter's thin malnourished body.

As he hovers over his enemy, or rather, his prey, Draco is consumed by a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. His dead heart stirs with unfamiliar sensations, twisting and contorting as he watches Potter sleep soundly beneath him. Without a second thought, Draco's fingers trace the outline of Potter's face, brushing away stray strands of hair that tickle his closed eyelids. The vulnerability in Potter's sleeping form is almost childlike, and Draco feels a strange sensation growing in his gut.

The irony of their current situation is not lost on Draco – to be so intimately close to his enemy, yet not feel the urge to harm him further. It's almost laughable in its absurdity. A sudden rustling interrupts Draco's thoughts and he freezes, his hand still gently resting on Potter's hair. He holds his breath as Potter stirs, fearing the worst, but relaxes when the Potter settles back into slumber with a content sigh.

In that moment of stillness, Draco can hear nothing but the sound of Potter’s heartbeat and the soft murmurs emanating from Potter's lips. And then, like a bolt of lightning striking through his body, he hears it –

"Draco...," Potter whimpers like a whispered plea, sending shivers down Draco's spine.

They are just two small syllables, but in that moment Draco fears they might one day have the power to rewrite everything.

*****

Harry, Ron, and Hermione sit in the cafeteria during their lunch period. Harry keeps glancing at his wrists, which are looking better thanks to the bruise healing cream Ron gave him.

"Thanks again, mate," Harry says. "Where'd you even get it from, anyway?"

Ron swallows a bite of his food. "Oh that? Crazy story actually..."

Ron launches into recounting the morning's events.

"So I wake up and brush my teeth every morning. But when I went into the bathroom this morning and opened up the sink cabinet where I keep my toothbrush, all of a sudden this little container comes tumbling out and bonks me on the head!"

Ron mimes it dramatically, making Harry snicker and Hermione frown with disapproval.

"I'm like 'Damn, that nearly gave me a bruise to use the bruise cream for!' But then I read the label and saw it's this mega powerful medical-grade salve."

"Ronald, how did your mother get access to that? Those are restricted supplies." Hermione says in a suspicious voice.

"Maybe my overprotective mum ordered one 'just in case' from some medic friend of hers. You know how she is, prepped for the absolute worst case scenarios."

Ron shakes his head in amusement. "Anyway, with you dealing with those bruised wrists, I just nicked it figuring you'd put it to better use than my clumsy self."

"Well I'm certainly grateful you did," Harry said, flexing his wrists experimentally.

“I’d be careful putting that on Harry, there’s no telling how old that stuff is or if it is a convincing fake disguised as the real thing,” Hermione says in a worried voice leaning over Harry’s shoulder as if to check his wrists.

Harry hides them away under his sleeves feeling self-conscious to have her stare at them.

"Come on, 'Mione. It's from my mum. When has she ever steered us wrong?" Ron says through a mouthful of food.

Hermione opens her mouth to answer, but Harry tunes her out. He couldn't bring himself to question the cream's origins too deeply - not when his wrists were finally looking and feeling better.

"I'm just glad it worked. Doesn't matter where it came from at this point," he says with a shrug.

Across the room Harry sees Draco smirk and Harry gets the strangest feeling that Draco can hear him.

*****

Draco can't resist the self-satisfied smirk that creeps across his lips as he watches Potter gingerly flex his wrists in the cafeteria. The utter fool has no idea the bruise salve that healed him had come from Draco's own hands. The fact that Potter believes that the Weasel Matron somehow managed to get her grubby little hands on such expensive cream is just too much.

"What's with that look, Draco?" Pansy says, her shrill voice cutting through his thoughts.

She clearly notices his lingering stare in Potter's direction.

Theo and Blaise turn towards him as well, matching skeptical looks on their faces. Of course his friends would be suspicious of any civil behaviour towards the dark haired boy after weeks of no contact.

"Seems very friendly, giving Harry healing supplies," Blaise states slowly, his eyebrow cocked.

"Unless you're pulling one over on him?" Theo says in a questioning voice, his brow furrowed as he reads Draco’s emotions.

“Draco you were supposed to be staying away from him, not sneaking him treats like a child with a misbehaving dog,” Pansy says with a frown.

Draco ignores her and the sting of annoyance her words bring him.

"Precisely," Draco drawls to Theo, regaining his composure.

He leans back nonchalantly and speaks the story he has used on his siblings many times to justify his odd obsession with Potter, who is nothing more than a dull human to them.

"He will learn to like me, then love me, then I will dump him for someone better and he will see how pathetic he is compared to me,"

The cruel smirk returns.

On the surface, his plan allows Swan's wrists to heal, lulling him and his idiot friends into a false sense of security and well-being. But in truth, Draco merely replenished Potter's strength enough to make his eventual downfall all the more satisfying. His brain was too brilliant for even himself to register sometimes.

“And then you leave him alone and go back to playing by the rules,” Pansy asks almost a little too hopefully.

“Of course,” he says with a smile.

Draco reasons that he will no longer be in the storyline so his other self will have the burden of filling that request. 

*****

Harry's heart races as he grips the handlebars of his motorcycle, feeling the rumble of the powerful engine beneath him, beating in time with the with the voices in his mind.

Murder, murder, murder

He takes a deep breath trying to block them out and steel his mind. Releasing it, he twists the throttle and blasts forward, the tires kicking up dirt in his wake as he accelerates down the track, trying to out run them.

Murder, murder, murder

Harry accelerates on his motorcycle, shifting his weight back until he's practically lying on the seat. He grips the handlebars with all his strength and pulls them towards his chest, causing the front wheel to lift off the ground.

Murder, murder, murder

Ginny's voice eggs him on but he blocks it out, focusing solely on pushing himself to the limit, as he continues to gain speed. He leans even further back, defying gravity as he balances precariously on one wheel.

Murder, murder, murder

With a roar of the engine, he suddenly shifts his weight forward and slams down on the front brake, sending the motorcycle into a violent stoppie. The back wheel shoots up behind him, and for a few moments he feels like he's flying before expertly bringing the bike back down to the ground.

Murder, murder, murder

His hands on the handbars, slips and he knows it would be dangerous to keep going. He stays still on the bike for a few more moments until he knows his devasted expression is gone. He removes his helmet and holds it under one arm. Panting and exhausted, Harry looks over at Ginny and pastes on a triumphant grin.

"I think I’m done for today,” he says trying not to sound defeated.

“Are you sure, Harry?” Ginny says, sounding disappointed, and even scarier, worried.

Harry’s heart jumps in his chest as he registers this and slams the helmet back down on his head. He revs the engine once more, the roar of the motorcycle drowning out any semblance of reason. He stands up on the foot pegs, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he releases his grip on the handlebars. The whispered voices getting quieter by the second.

"No hands!" he cackles to himself, feeling like a madman as he spreads his arms wide and balances precariously on the moving bike. The wind whips past him as he maintains his position, defying reason for a moment.

"The fearless lion cub!" she boasts, watching with awe.

But Harry is not done yet. With a reckless abandon, he speeds up even more, pushing the limits of the machine. And then, without warning, he leans back and yanks on the handlebars with all of his strength. The motorcycle catapults into the air, both wheels leaving the ground in a death-defying stunt. As he soars through the air, Harry's laughter mixes with the rush of adrenaline and for a brief moment, he believes he can fly away from all of his troubles and fears.

As the bike lands back on the ground, Harry rolls to a stop, his heart pounding with adrenaline. He smiles at the rush of excitement he feels.

“That was great, Harry, but it’s my turn now, so budge up” Ginny says as Harry is removing his helmet. 

“Don’t you have your own bike?” Harry says with a raised eyebrow, but getting up all the same.

“I built this beauty with my own two hands, a connection like that needs to be nurtured with regular riding, your own talentless hands wouldn’t understand,” Ginny  says, wrapping her gloved hands around the handlebars. 

Harry just snorts and shakes his head letting her have her fun. A couple of hours later finds them both leaning against trees on the damp ground drinking Sprites.

“Thanks, Gin, I really needed this,” he says after a large gulp, signing as the sugar pounds through his veins.

“Nothing like risking your life, to distract you from the assholes at your school,” Ginny jokes, knocking her shoulder against his.

Harry lets out a weak chuckle, if only she knew how true that was. He of course gave her the same lie that he gave Sirius. That everything at school was the same.

“Yeah,” 

“They are still not giving you too hard of a time, right? Because if they are me and the girls will beat them up,” she says with a vengeful expression crossing her face.

As Harry opens his mouth to speak, the rehearsed words, but they fail him. Ginny is the one person he can talk to who isn't embroiled in the situation. Hermione and Ron may be great friends, but they attend Hogwarts High with the very people tormenting Harry. If Harry told them then they would defend him and make themselves targets. He can't risk being the reason for their classmates turning on them, especially after years of knowing each other. The weight of responsibility sits heavy on Harry's shoulders as he struggles to find the right words amidst a storm of emotions.

But then he thinks of all the burdens that Ginny is already carrying - helping her father, running a notorious motorcycle gang, and still managing to go to school. He grits his teeth and forces a smile onto his face, masking the fear and worry that threaten to consume him. He knows that Ginny can take the weight, but he doesn’t want her to have to. Not for him

“Of course not, they have been very supportive. But if they weren’t who cares what they think?” 

“That’s the spirit!” Ginny says, knocking her bottle against his in a rough toast.

Harry wishes desperately that it was true. 

“So do you want to hear what monsters Dean and Sam killed this week?” Ginny asks in a eager voice.

Harry laughs at Ginny’s enthusiasm for supernatural teen television shows and her uncanny ability to know that the Dursley’s would never let him watch it. Or show for that matter, but Ginny doesn’t need to know that.

“You know I do,” Harry says with a lazy smile, adjusting his back against the tree to get comfortable.

He knows this is going to take a while.

*****

As fall bleeds into winter, Draco notices a distinct wane ness to Potter that only seems to grow by the day. Almost like the whispers about him murdering Collin are eating him alive. His eyes look dull and sunken and his skin bone white and lifeless. Yet despite it all his face never dips from the beaming smile he wears around school.

“Your pet human doesn’t look good, brother mine,” Theo sneers as they watch Potter in a unguarded moment staring listlessly at the food on his tray. 

Though calling it food is a bit of a stretch considering it is no more than a single slice of greasy ‘pizza’. 

“I’m worried about him,” Luna says visions flashing before her eyes, one with Harry looking healthy and one where he looks like a walking skeleton. 

“You know I think even I am too, he doesn’t look good even by human standards,” Pansy says with a furrowed brow. 

“Must be that motherly instinct of yours finally kicking in,” Blaise jokes.

Pansy gives Blaise a stricken look and leaves the table as fast as a human pace allows her. 

“Oh fuck,” Blaise exclaims and races after her. 

“How long has Pansy wanted children?” Draco asks confused, only getting scraps from their minds, with their erratic thoughts.

“Since she was born in her first life,” Theo says, “I think it’s all she’s ever wanted really,” 

“Theo! That’s Pansy’s story to tell,” Luna says in a disapproving voice. 

“Our family isn’t really known for respecting privacy, Lu,” 

“Which makes it all the more important to maintain what we have,” Luna says. 

A soft look comes over Theo’s face and he nods at her.

“Of course, darling,”

Sap, Draco thinks in disgust. He would never be so weak.

*****

Harry emerges from the shadows, clad in all black. The icy snow crunches under his boots as he navigates the deserted alleyway. His eyes dart nervously from side to side, ensuring no one is following him. He arrives at a hidden door, hidden within the faded brick wall adorned with graffiti. With precise movements, he taps in the code - nine, three, four - on the frigid keypad and hears the satisfying click of the lock releasing. Pushing his way inside, he quickly secures the door behind him.

The interior is dark and musty, but Harry knows his way around. He makes his way down a series of long hallways, each one seemingly darker and more foreboding than the last. Finally, he reaches his destination: the stage door.

With a flick of a switch, he illuminates the small backstage area. As he moves through the space, he can feel the energy building within him. This is one of the two places where he feels most alive - on the track and stage.

Not that it stops the voice. They still haunt him, in his waking hours and Collin’s face haunts his dreams. Even here they slither over him, circling in out of his brain like hissing snakes. He pushes them back as he enters the dressing room, slipping the black feathered costume from the hanger and donning it. He laces up his flats with practiced ease and strides onto the stage, his black feathers glistening like obsidian under the piercing lights. The haunting melody begins and he spreads his arms wide, embodying Odile, son of the sorcerer. The murmurs fall away at last chased away by words from the past that rush into his head, filling him with his father’s advice.

“Elongate your lines, create that swan-like silhouette,”

His body quivers with controlled energy, each bourrée sending him closer to closer to the feeling of perfect connection. With a graceful leap, his back leg extends behind him in an arabesque, but the strain in his face reveals his anguish and despair. His father's insatiable thirst for power beats him down as he dances with frenzied determination, embodying the turmoil of Odile.

“Breathe with the music, Harry. Inhale as you rise, exhale as you sink into the penché. Let your breath guide your movements.”

Collapsing onto the stage, he throws himself forward in a desperate penché, his fingertips just grazing the floor before he's pulled upright again. Spinning wildly, his arms flail and writhe as if desperately trying to break free from the invisible shackles that hold him in this wretched half-existence, robbed of all control over his own fate.

“Yes, lovely! Now, as you move through the turns and arabesques, use your epaulement. Tilt your head, neck, and shoulders to convey Odile's longing and vulnerability.”

The music builds to a devastating crescendo, forcing him into a frenzied dance as he spins and leaps with desperate urgency. His movements wild and fueled by a determination to break the spell without making a sacrifice. But it is all for naught. The hopelessness of his situation becomes clear as he realizes there will be no happy ending for Odile in this tragic tale.

 “Fully commit to that pose. Let your body go limp, as if all hope has left you. Don't be afraid to linger there, to let the audience feel the weight of his sacrifice.”

With a silent gut-wrenching cry, he throws himself into a final arabesque, his back arched in agony as tears stream down his face. The weight of guilt crushes him like a vice, and the only way to break free from his father's spell on the other swans is death. As he collapses to the floor, arms outstretched in a desperate plea for release, the stage lights flicker and dim until everything fades to black.

“Above all, believe in the story you're telling. Connect with Odile's pain, his desperation, and his tragic choice. Let that authenticity shine through in every step.”

Tears stream down his face as he holds the final pose, his father's voice echoing like a haunting specter in his mind. The melancholic melody and tragic tale colliding with the weight of grief he already carries for Collins' untimely death. As the music comes to an abrupt halt, plunging him into eerie silence, a profound heaviness settles in his chest, as he hesitates to move and sever the connection between him and Odile.

The sound of a door shutting breaks the trance and he raises his head, only to find every seat in the audience unoccupied.

*****

Draco stands before his AP literature class, his unbeating heart pounding a ghost rhythm like a relentless drumbeat in his chest. He clutches the casserole dish of roasted root vegetables and dandelion salad with a death grip, trying to channel the confidence he once possessed at Hogwarts. He didn’t know anything about muggle books, least of all this one. What had he been thinking not faking sickness. With each step he takes towards the front, his inwardly trembles uncontrollably, but his vampire abilities keep him outwardly composed. He doesn’t know why he cares they were just stupid muggles, of little importance, but for some reason he’s desperate for them to like his project. As he scans the script, he feels an overwhelming urge to flee, but he forces himself to stay rooted in place.

“Greetings everyone. Today I'll be discussing the symbolic meaning and role that dandelions and root vegetables play throughout the classic novel Watership Down by Richard Adams,” Draco says to the dull eyes of his classmates, keeping back the buzz of their thoughts.

“Whoo! Go Draco!” Astoria shouts. 

Draco gives her a strained smile and imagines he would have turned red if he possessed the ability to. He shuffles his note cards in his hand. 

“What is Watership Down, you ask? It’s a book with twists and turns, where a brave group of rabbits leave their warren after one of them has a prophetic vision of its destruction by humans. They face down many challenges and dangers in their journey to establish a new home on the hill of Watership Down,”

Draco's hand shakes as he grips the water bottle, his mind racing with fear and desperation. He takes a fake sip, a suggestion he read about on the web, trying to calm himself and gather his thoughts without drawing suspicion. He forces himself to continue speaking through gritted teeth.

“In Watership Down, dandelions play an important role - the rabbits rely on them as a food source in the beginning when they leave the oppression of their old warren. The dandelion greens represent the simple, natural sustenance they need to survive as they start their quest for freedom.”

Astoria gives him a beaming smile from the back row and even Granger stops frowning at him in disappointment. Draco feels his hesitation grow weaker as he continues, finding the old rhythm his mother taught him to speak at when he was young. 

“The roasted root vegetables like carrots, beets, parsnips evoke the earthiness of the rabbits' new home and their return to a more natural way of living in harmony with their environment after escaping Efrafa.”

He holds up the casserole dish in his hands.

“This dish symbolises the hope, resilience and nourishing new beginnings that are central to the protagonists' journeys. I don’t know how to cook, unfortunately and had my mother helped me, so I hope you like it,” 

He watches the class line up to try some and thinks to himself how he would have pulled this off without the help of his adopted family. Lily helped him make the dish, Luna and Theo helped him write his flashcards, Blaise and Severus gave him speaking points and Pansy helped him pick his outfit. Could he have managed at all in this world without there help? He suddenly thinks not.

As these thoughts flood his mind, his mood begins to plummet. Is he truly that weak and dependent? What would his father say if he could see him now?

“Not bad, Draco,” Granger says behind him and he stops himself from using vampire speed to turn around and stare at her. 

He slips inside her head and is surprised to find that she actually means what she says. 

“Thank you,” Draco says in what he hopes is a civil voice. 

This class had taken the same route as the real world, pitting them against each other, each fighting for the best grade in the class or the quickest answer. Draco had to work hard not to ‘phone it in’ as the American phrase goes and steal the answers from her head. 

“You sit by Harry in Chemistry, don’t you?” Granger asks.

“Yes,” Draco says in a light, trying to pretend he is clueless as to where Granger is going with this.”

“Does he talk to you?” she asks, knowing very well that Harry did, but it was another matter altogether on whether Draco bothered to respond.

“Sometimes,” he says evasively. 

Granger leans forward like a dog catching a scent, her thoughts displayed across her face even without his power. 

“What do you talk about?” she asks.

“If you are expecting a squealing gossip session better fitting to middle schoolers, then you are much mistaken.” he growls his bland face turning into a sneer.

Granger isn’t perturbed by his hostility, if anything it makes her more determined. 

“Do you talk about your lives outside of school?” she asks and she might sound subtle if she was talking to anyone else. 

Does he talk about the reason for his odd bruises, why his clothes are improper for the weather and ill fitting, why he is nothing but skin and bones. Does he smile and pretend to be happy around you when it’s obvious he’s not?

“I don’t know any more than you do, Granger,” he says in a tired voice. 

Which isn’t technically true, but his theories can’t be trusted without proof and despite staying there every night Draco has yet to find any. 

Granger’s face falls, “Well if anything changes, please let me know,” she says in a defeated voice.

“You’re a good friend, you know that, right?” he finds himself saying. 

Not good enough if I can’t stop this.

“Some situations aren’t always in our power to change,” Draco says and Granger looks surprised that Draco seemed to know what she was hinting at the entire time. 

“Thanks, Draco, that’s nice of you to say,” 

“Draco, that was amazing! I don’t know why you were worried,” Astoria says, bounding up behind him and giving him a hug.

Her flowery scent envelops him and he feels a slight flare of fire in his throat. Nothing compared to what Potter makes him feel, but enough to tempt him, especially since he didn’t have the same incentive to refrain from draining Astoria right now as he did Potter.

“Astoria, what did I say about hugs?” Draco says in an arch voice. 

Astoria wears a mischievous smile, “To not,”

Draco sighs in exasperation. 

Was Harry right, are those two dating?

A slow smirk spreads across Draco’s face, so Potter thought that he and Astoria were a item. Draco leans forward and brushes a chaste kiss on the top Astoria’s head.

“So of course you didn’t listen,” 

She forgave him surprisingly quickly when he admitted that Potter had been his real target all along. She since decide redirected her feeling towards Neville and they came to a mutual agreement to help each other out when they could.

Astoria, the little devil, winks and leans into him, easily catching onto his plan without prompting. Yes, mother would have adored her. He puts his arm around her shoulders and walks out with her, leaving Granger gapping at them. 

*****

murder

Ping 

murder

Ping

MURDER

PING

Harry's bat slices through the air with a deafening whoosh, sending the baseball hurtling towards the net with an explosive force. His heart pounds against his ribcage like a caged animal begging for release as he gasps for air, sweat dripping down his forehead in rivulets. As he takes aim at the arm action machine, he can't help but imagine Skeeter's head in place of the next ball, wanting to smash it to pieces. The whispered words that haunt him echo relentlessly in his mind, each one feeling like a physical blow to his bruised and battered psyche.

The weight of expectations crushes Harry's chest, suffocating him with the burden of being liked, the pressure to maintain a perfect image. He falls to his knees, consumed by hopelessness as he sees no way out. The loaded machine clicks and whirs, aimed directly at his head. But in his dazed state, Harry barely registers the danger as the machine clicks and shoots out another ball. A cold force shoves him to the ground and holds him down as the ball slams into the net behind him and hits the floor and a loud crack. 

“Swan, what in Merlin's name do you think you are doing?” a familiar voice hisses over him. 

“I-I,” Harry stutters but the more he tries to force the words out the more they get trip on his tongue. 

A whimper escapes from his throat, tearing through his chest as he crumbles under the weight of everything. Tears flood his eyes and his whole body shakes with silent sobs, feeling like he's being ripped apart from the inside. The figure above him lets out a panicked sound and rushes to turn off the pitching machine, before scooping Harry up in their arms and pulling him against their chest. Their cool skin soothes his trembling body, while the scent of apples and mint fills his senses. A hand rubs his back in a steady rhythm as he sobs out all the emotions he's been holding in for weeks, unable to contain them any longer.

“Shh, pet,” the figure hums in his ear.

Harry feels something in himself rebel against this thought and shakes his head trapped against their neck.

“Oh…do you not like being called that,” they ask in a questioning voice, “what should I call you then?”

The hand moves slower down his back as they appear to think about it for a moment. 

“Darling?” they say, as if testing the way it sounds. 

Harry doesn’t move, the word not clicking with him.

They try again with a bit of amusement in their voice, “Sugarplum,“

Harry grimaces shakes his head in revolt as something twists in him in disgust. 

“No, I didn’t like that one either, sweetheart,” they says with a laugh.

A warm feeling fills Harry’s chest and he cuddles deeper into their neck, his hands coming up to wrap around their torso. 

“Shh, sweetheart I’ve got you,” they whisper into his hair until Harry’s sobs subside, rocking him back and forth in their lap. 

Harry hiccups as he pulls back to sit up and look into their eyes. Shock spikes through him when he meets golden ones. 

“Draco?” Harry chokes in a confused voice. 

Draco gives him a gentle smile and says in a soft voice, “Yes, Harry?” 

“What are you doing here?” he mumbles dumbfounded.

Draco is quiet for a moment, his body going completely still. He regards Harry with a thoughtful look.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay.” He says at last.

“But you don’t like me, you would have saved yourself a lot of trouble if you had just let Col- the van hit me, I deserve it even since it's my fault he's dead,” Harry says in a defeated voice.

Draco stiffens, his arms coming around Harry like a cage, pulling him tight against his chest. 

“Never say that again,” he hisses in a furious voice.

“But it’s true,” Harry mumbles from his crushed position against Draco’s body,

"I couldn't stop him from running off into the forest and now he’s dead,” Harry whines.

Draco growls and mutters, “You're impossible,” under his breath. 

Draco loosens his hold and carefully tilts Harry's head to meet his eyes, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. Draco’s expression takes on a look of concentration as he assembles his words. 

“Whoever killed Collin was a monster, and that's the furthest thing for what you are," Draco says in a serious voice that brokers no room for argument, "And I’m so glad I saved you, you are the most important person in my life right now, Harry,” 

Harry feels shock go through him, at Draco’s words and the use of his first name. 

“But what about your family?” Harry gasps, the dead sinking feeling in his chest lightening.

“They are very important to me as well,” Draco says, his fingers coming up and combing through Harry’s hair.

Harry leans back into the cool soothing touch.

“But you’ve always been at the pinnacle of everything I do. Every time I think I am making an independent decision you come and show me how my fate was twisted up in yours all along,”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Harry mumbles with closed eyes, feeling half asleep due to Draco’s touch.

Harry lays his head back on Draco’s shoulder feeling exhausted all of a sudden.

“I know,” Draco says and Harry hears the smile in his voice. 

The growling of his stomach breaks the strange intimate mood.

“Are you hungry?” Draco asks in a questioning voice. 

“Yeah,” Harry says and finds that it is true by the sudden pangs of hunger in his stomach, “I think I skipped lunch.”

Draco groans as he drags a glass dish Harry hadn’t noticed before closer to him and rooms the cover. 

“Here,” Draco says, shoving the container in his hands.

The container is filled with roasted root vegetables and some strange leafy green things. Harry picks one up with hesitant hands and brings it to his mouth, biting down.

“Mmm, this is pretty good, did you make this yourself?” Harry asks.

Draco, despite no red coming to his cheeks, looks like he is blushing.

“My mother helped me,” he says in an almost shy voice.

“That’s sweet,” Harry says, eating more of the vegetables, they weren’t bad, “What are the green things?”

“Dandelion salad with garlic lemon dressing,” Draco says as he watches Harry take a bite. 

“Mmm that’s good, you should pursue this, it’s impressive to make something so good out of simple ingredients,” Harry says, eating the last carrot in the now empty bowl. 

Draco looks at his dirty fingers with distaste.

“My mother says it’s all about the balance of flavours,” Draco says, his eyes soft as he takes the empty container from Harry and hands him an embroidered handkerchief he pulls out of his pocket.

“What does the M stand for?” Harry asks, for some curious reason the initials seem familiar to him.

“Malfoy,” Draco says in a careful voice, eyeing Harry as if waiting for a bad reaction.

Harry resists the urge to snort, the name is as unique as Draco's first one.

“But your last name is Cullen?” Harry asks confused.

"It wasn't always," Draco says in a empty voice.

Draco is adopted. Harry tends to forget because he seems to be close to his family. 

“Oh, right, sorry” 

“But I think it might be time to get another made with a C,” Draco says, his face conflicted despite the confidence of his words. 

As if he only said it to keep up appearances. A feeling Harry recognizes.

“You know it’s okay, to have two families. To hold multiple people close to your heart. I used to feel like it was a betrayal to the memory of my parents to think of Sirius as filling the role of my dads but it’s never a crime to love and cherish more people, to have them fill a space in your life,” Harry says in a quiet voice, he knows his words are simple, that they won’t fix Draco complex feelings, but he feels desperate to offer the comfort he can.

If Draco seemed conflicted before he looks cracked in half now. Harry leans forward against Draco’s shaking chest, wrapping his arms around his neck in a makeshift hug. 

“You have time to figure it out, an entire lifetime, in fact, it doesn’t all have to be all right now,”

Draco hesitates for a moment, then threads his arms tight around Harry, his head resting on top of his. If for only a moment they stay like that, two bodies, one warm and one cool, holding the other together.

Chapter Text

I think you ought to walk with me and be safe

Gonna keep my sheep suit on

'Til I'm sure that you've been shown

That I can be trusted walking with you alone

By: Amanda Seyfried

Augusts 2, 1995

The Wizarding World of France

The late afternoon sun filters through the leaves, casting dappled shadows on the grass where Draco and the boy lay, resting after a very productive afternoon. The boy's head rests in Draco's lap, his eyes closed contentedly as Draco's fingers gently comb through his dark hair.

After a comfortable silence, the boy opens his eyes entranced, gazing up at Draco with a soft smile. "You know," he murmurs, "with the sun behind you like that, you look like an angel."

Draco's hand freezes mid-stroke. His heart races as alarm bells ring in his mind. No pureblood would ever say such a thing – Muggle religions are considered blasphemous in his circles. He feels horror turn his stomach to ice.

That would mean he is a… mudbood.

For a moment, Draco feels a flash of disgust, years of ingrained prejudice surging to the surface. He did many intimate acts with a mudblood. It was a travesty, a betrayal to everything he believes in. And the worst part is he enjoyed every second of it. He needs to shove him away before it’s too late and he gets caught.

But as he looks down at the boy's open, trusting face, he can't bring himself to pull away. He can feel his feelings for the boy growing stronger with each stolen kiss and confessed secret. The boy already knows more about the real Draco than his friends of fifteen years knew. Soon he worries he won’t be able to stay away even if the boy turned into something as disgusting as a vampire.

"You say the oddest things," Draco says, forcing a laugh to cover his unease. He quickly changes the subject. "Tell me more about that levitating lemon bar you were working on."

As the boy launches into an enthusiastic explanation, Draco's thoughts whirl. He knows his father would disapprove – no, he would be furious if he knew Draco is knowingly associating with a Mudblood. But the thought of letting this boy go makes Draco's chest ache in a way he doesn't care to explore.

The scene dissolves, and Draco finds himself walking up the path to his family's summer villa. As he enters, his father's voice cuts through the air. Draco stifles his gasp of surprise as he takes in his fathers stiff frame. He hasn’t seen him all summer except on the way in and out of his office followed by the shadows of his schoolmates fathers. Meetings he claimed in a important sounding voice that speaks of grand conquests and winning wars. It worries him because usually when his father gets like this it spells bad news for him, like the aftermath of the Quidditch World Cup. But his father promised that he had nothing to do with that and Draco trusted him more than anyone.

Just not with this.

"Draco. Where have you been?" Lucius asks, his tone sharp with suspicion.

There is something different in his father's demeanor, a dangerous edge that makes Draco's stomach churn with fear. His heart pounds and he is sure that his father can somehow sense the muggle residue that coats his lips from the kiss goodbye he gave the boy minutes ago. But he keeps his face neutral.

"Just exploring the village, Father. There's a rather interesting magical bakery I discovered."

Lucius studies him for a long moment before nodding. "Very well. Don't wander too far in the future. You never know what sort of... undesirable elements you might encounter."

"Of course, Father," Draco replies, relief washing over him as Lucius seems to accept his answer.

As he climbs the stairs to his room, Draco's mind returns to the boy in the park. He knows he is treading dangerous waters, but he can't deny the pull he feels. For the first time in his life, Draco finds himself questioning everything he’s been taught to believe.

Draco’s eyes snap open and he feels anxiety, his skin practically crawling with unease.  Not even the meadow flowers around him can calm him down. He doesn’t remember falling for any of his numerous paramours over the years. He barely even remembers their names once he tosses them aside and hunts for a new one. He just can’t reconcile the version of him in the vision with who he thought he was during that period of his life.

Which mean these visions must not real, because how could he ever fall in love with someone so below him. 

*****

“Why are we in a pet shop?” Draco asks in a derisive voice. 

Draco wrinkles his nose as the smell of fear and piss hits his nose. He frowns at all of the garish Christmas decorations and themed toys. He always hated muggle Christmas, any wix worth their salt knows the only real wizard holiday is Yule. He only came with Luna because she insisted that she felt a good feeling about him coming with her to run an errand. Draco hoped that good feeling meant a solution to him being sucked into the story, but no such luck. 

“I want to get a bigger fish tank for Francis for Christmas for Mom,” Luna says. 

“Who is Francis?” he asks already knowing that he is going to regret asking.

“The goldfish father got Mother for Valentine's Day last year,” Luna says, examining a row of different shaped glass tanks. 

“And she named it Francis?” Draco mutters, sneering at a mini ceramic Christmas tree that Luna places in the cart.

“Green or blue rocks?” Luna asks, ignoring him, as she holds up too bags.

“Green,” Draco says in a distracted voice, his eyes wandering over to the cat section, feeling the presence tugging him in that direction. 

Luna smiles and puts the green ones in the cart, Draco doesn’t notice they are the exact colour of Potter’s eyes.

The closer he gets to the cat containers the stronger the presence tugs at him and the louder quieter the cats become. As Draco peers in the cages, he sees that each cats is huddled at the back of their container, their pupils large and their hair standing on end as their bodies quiver in fear. They let out low hisses at him, baring their sharp teeth. A sharp growl breaks his attention on the other cats as he finds himself in front of a cage a little further away from the others. A snowy white cat with strange dark markings on the top of its head and sides of its pelt crouches inside like it’s about to pounce at the container door and claw Draco’s eyes out. Its lamp-like yellow eyes narrow at Draco as he takes a step closer, noticing that the markings on its pelt almost resemble the distinct shape of owl wings. 

“Wow, she really hates you doesn’t she?” Luna says coming up behind him. 

“How do you know it’s a she?” Draco asks in an annoyed voice. 

“Her name is Hedwig, it means Female Warrior, she does seem fierce,” Luna says pointing at the sign above the cage Draco failed to notice. 

“She likes yeh,” a familiar voice says from his nightmares behind them as Hedwig lets out another fierce hiss. 

Draco turns around to see the giant oaf whose class caused him to get his arm slashed open. 

“You call that liking?” Draco asks in an incredulous voice, the oaf is just as crazy in this world as he is in his own.

The oaf wears a dopey grin and says, “She jus a little feisty,”

“That's one way to put it,” Draco mutters, taking a step back as Hegwig’s paw reaches through the container door with claws out.

“Will yeh be taking her then?” the oaf asks. 

He starts to say no before the word yes slips out of his mouth. Luna looks at him with shock while the oaf crows with joy. 

“She'll be so happy. We've had the hardest time selling her, I have no idea why.”

“Really?,” Draco says in a sarcastic voice. 

A few minutes later the oaf has the mini harpy locked in a plastic cage, the monster glares at him with hate-filled eyes. 

“Oh Draco look at this,” Luna says in an excited voice holding up a black leather collar covered in frosted mistletoe and a gold bell.

“Absolutely not,” 

*****

They walk out of the store with Luna carrying a deeply unhappy Hedwig in her container, the bell around the cat's collar jingling with her every step. 

“Did you buy her for Harry?” Luna asks as they stow the she-beast in the back seat.

“Why would you think that?” Draco growls.

Luna raises an eyebrow at him, “Because the rest of us would be tempted to eat her.” 

“Maybe I bought it as a snack for later,” Draco says defensively.

Luna snorts, “Whatever you need to tell yourself.” 

*****

Harry wakes up to a rare morning with a quiet house and stumbles out of bed, throwing on a worn sweater that was once Sirius’s. Once downstairs he spoils himself with an egg and a piece of toast and starts a load of laundry and marinades chicken breasts for later. Then he grabs a blanket from the closet and a book and heads to the backyard, while he waits for the laundry to finish. He spreads the blanket in the grass and lays down luxuriating in the temperate day with no rain. He is a few pages into The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe when he hears loud hissing and screeching and the sound of a bell. He freezes as he listens to a human-sounding low growl and watches as the brush on the outer edge of the wood shifts and shakes.

“Is someone there?” he asks in a hesitant voice, sitting up with careful movements.

A white cat bursts out of the brush as the words leave his mouth, running straight at him and leaping at his chest. Harry gasps as the heavy warm weight bowls him over and knocks him back down on the blanket. The ball of fur starts purring loudly and cuddles into him and Harry feels something in his chest melt as a gentle smile spreads across his face.

“Hello,” Harry murmurs in a soft voice, his hand carefully petting the cat's patterned head.

“You're a pretty kitty, aren’t you, darling,” Harry coos, and the cat seems to purr louder in response, nipping softly at his fingers, its smug eyes staring at an unknown spot in the trees as if in challenge, “What is your name, precious?” 

Harry turns the collar reading the name painted in fancy gold script, “Hedwig? Is that your name, girl?” 

The cat meows, rolling around in his lap, making her bell ring. 

“A beautiful name for a beautiful cat,” Harry compliments, wishing to the bottom of his heart he could keep her, “But I can’t keep you,”

For now, he decides to pretend that he can, if only for a little while. He sits back down and opens his book, inviting Hedwig to lie beside him. She curls into his side as he continues to read, his eyes drooping with every page he turns until they fall shut completely. 

***** 

Draco creeps out of the forest where he watched Potter regard the cat with the same softness he used to witness between Harry and his owl across the Great Hall. He used to be so jealous of their relationship, his eagle owl, Artemis, barely giving him a passing glance. It confused him because he offered Artemis the best treats and the best toys to no avail. He understands why now, he sees how tightly Potter holds onto those he loves, sees the care he puts into his relationships. How Potter treats strangers better than Draco used to treat his friends.

When Draco is a few feet away from the blanket, the cat hisses at him and Draco glares at it putting a finger over his lips. 

“Quiet, you mongrel, you are going to wake him up!” he hisses.

Somehow the cat seems to understand him and falls silent as Draco closes the distance between them. He sinks onto the blanket, eyeing the dark circles under Potter’s eyes with irritation.

“Why don’t you ever take care of yourself, you idiot?” he grumbles as he picks up the book Potter was reading and lies on the edge of the blanket. 

At least he is sleeping now, he thinks. Without thinking about the why, he slips his hand into Potter's limp one as the boy mumbles Draco’s name and rolls closer to him. Draco feels a weird fizzing energy in his limbs, but he dismisses it as his body's reaction to the cold. He scans the first few pages before he finds himself growing bored. Giving up he blurs to Potter’s room and retrieves the book he started last night but was unable to finish due to Theo texting him wondering where he was.

He runs his fingers across the glossy cover, tracing the cursive letters spelling out the words, “Swan Lake by Bathilda Bagshot,” It was the author’s name that originally caught his attention but the gorgeous graphics that kept it. As did the dedication to Regulus Dwyer- Swan. It embarrasses him, his addiction to a childrens book, but he’s made so many concessions to his belief system in this world, what is one more?

Draco flips through the colorful pages full of enchanted forests and old timey castles, absorbing the story of Odette and Odile, secret brothers torn apart at birth. He watches as they both fall in love with Prince Siegfried and Odile works with his father to come up with a plan to get Odile the crown and the prince. Though unbidden his eyes glance to Potter and their intertwined hands when he reads about Von Rothbart, who performs the curse on Odette, trapping him in the form of a swan during the daylight hours. There is that strange twisting in his chest again. He holds his breath as he witnesses Odile’s waning faith in his father’s plan in the face of Odette’s pain and his realization that what they are doing is wrong.

Draco is so absorbed in the book that he doesn’t notice when a couple hours have passed, until he hears Potter shiver beside him. He looks up in confusion and sees the sun set low in the sky and feels the air gathering a more biting chill. Or he would if he were human, that is. Instead he just feels the idea of cold against his skin but no discomfort. Potter shivers again and Draco without missing a beat slips out of his jacket and covers him with it.

"Tu vas prendre froid avant que j'aie une chance de te faire en moi-même," he murmurs, tucking the fabric tight around the boy’s body.

The cat gives him a suspicious look but lays her head back down, deciding it isn't worth pursuing. Draco lays aside the book still shaken from Odile’s unexpected sacrifice despite reading it several times as if through repetition the ending might change. He glances at Hedwig and pokes the cat on the head, causing her to hiss at him again.

“Come on you, we have to get going, back in the cage, he can’t take care you right now,” 

Hedwig growls at that statement, but with one last reluctant lick to Potter’s hand, she stalks back to the edge of the forest. Draco's fingers tremble with anticipation as he reaches out to gently stroke Potter's cheek. A shiver runs through his body as he feels the warmth of Potter's skin under his touch. He can't help but smile as Potter nuzzles into his hand, seeking more of his affection.

“Sweetheart, it’s getting too cold for your fragile human body, you need to get up,” Draco whispers close to his ear, giving Potter’s shoulder a gentle shake. 

With a low, groan, Potter's eyes screw shut as he struggles against the pull of waking up. Draco never thought he would envy such a terrible sensation, but after months of not getting to experience it he does. He allows himself to linger for a few more moments, savoring the ability to view Potter up close. Meanwhile, Potter stretches his body out, his eyelids still heavy with sleep. As Draco blurs away, the echo of his name lingers on Potter’s lips, muffled and slurred by drowsiness.

The only proof that he was there at all.

*****

Draco smiles like an idiot as he slips what according to Luna is a winning scratch off for three hundred dollars into the monster cat’s collar and places her on top of the motorbike seat. She puts up with this indignity about as well as any cat usually does, growling and puffing up her impressive tail when Draco touches her. He likes to think he might be growing on her.

*****

Harry walks into the cafeteria and almost has a heart attack.

Draco is not sitting with his siblings. Harry doesn’t care, he really doesn’t. It’s not like needs to thank Draco for comforting him after his breakdown. Harry decides to spend the meager money he is not spending on Hedwig’s care on gas and grabs a soda. 

“Oh, Harry I forgot to tell you that Draco asked to sit with us at lunch, I said yes since I know you sit by him in Bio and are his partner in gym class.” 

Harry almost drops his soda as he stumbles. 

“Harry, are you okay?” Hermione asks, looking at him with concern. 

He doesn’t know how to answer her, because at that moment he sees Draco sitting at their table facing down the stars of both Fred and George. Neville looks awkward and keeps eyeing the door and Astoria looks entertained beyond means. Ron just looks deeply embarrassed like he wishes he could be anywhere else as Draco finishes saying something. Draco spies them and gives them both a little wave. Hermione beams at him and waves back.

“I think I’m going to eat in the library.” Harry says feeling even more sick. 

“Harry James-Regulus Swan, you will do no such thing. Don’t be rude, come sit with us.” Hermione says, in her Mrs.Newton voice. 

Harry moves on robot stiff legs dropping into the only seat left at the table which is of course right next to Draco. 

“Hermione!” Draco cries with a smile, enveloping Hermione in a hug. 

“I thought she was Stanley?” Harry mutters. 

“Things changed Swan.” Draco says with barely a glance in his direction. 

Harry scowls at the back of his head and opens his soda, taking a sip. 

“Draco, aren't you going to eat your lunch? Whatever's in that bottle can’t be that filling.” Hermione says with a frown eyeing the steel water bottle in front of Draco and his full lunch spread that is sitting untouched.

Draco wears a strange expression as he says, “You’d be surprised. It’s a protein shake, my siblings and I have a dare going on to see who can last the longest eating only them for lunch. Our mom is unaware of this though and is still packing us lunch. She would disapprove if she knew.” 

Harry glances at the Cullen table and sure enough each of them has a steel bottle and untouched lunch in front of them as well.

“Your mom still makes your lunches?” Fred asks, in a judgmental tone. 

Harry feels something in his chest spark in his chest in jealousy, but he focuses on the anger that Fred’s words bring. He interjects,

“Doesn’t your mom still do your laundry, Fred?” 

Beside him George snickers.

“She’s your mother too, you twit,” Fred snaps at him.

“Yes, but I do my own laundry,” George says sticking his tongue out at him.

Draco raises his eyebrow at Harry’s outburst.

Fred turns as red as his hair as he sputters, “Well that's perfectly normal-” 

“But having your mom making your lunch isn't?” Harry demands. 

Fred scowls at Harry and Harry glares back at him. 

“That can’t be healthy.” Astoria says with a sniff defusing the situation, looking at the water bottle with distaste.

Draco gives her a reassuring smile, and Harry feels something in him bristle remembering what Hermione told him about them dating.

“I agree you should at least eat something solid, I would hate for you to faint during class,” Hermione says in a disapproving voice.

“I assure you it is. I read my father’s medical journals and it all checked out.” Draco says with a small smile.

Across the room, Harry hears Pansy snorts at a joke one of her siblings tells her.

“If you say so,” Hermione says in a hesitant voice, “What are you going to do with the food? It’s wasteful to throw it away.” 

Ron perks his head up in interest and Hermione gives him an irritated look. 

“Honestly Ronald you are not actually thinking of asking Draco for his food, are you? You have already eaten four pieces of pizza, as it is. If anyone should get Draco’s food, it should be Harry. He hasn’t eaten anything today,” 

“No,” Ron mutters looking deflated.

“Swan would never finish my Phaal, it is too spicy for his delicate palate to handle,” Draco says.

“You don’t know that!” Harry says indignant. 

“Do you want to bet?” 

“Boys, there's no need for this,” Hermione says trying to interrupt them but they both ignore her.

Draco wears a challenging smile, all but daring Harry to run away. 

“What do I get if I win?” 

“I tell my mother to make whatever you want for as long as I stay in the challenge. Which should be a while, I don’t like to lose.” 

“Neither do I. You're on.” Harry says. 

Draco gives him a devious grin before he hands him a clear container with dark red sauce and chunks of meat floating in it. Harry takes it, his stomach growling and shoves a mouthful into his mouth. His tongue immediately lights on fire and he starts choking. He forces himself to swallow though he refuses to lose to Draco.

Draco gives him a pleasant smile,  “How is it?” 

“Delicious.” Harry rasps after swallowing a few more mouthfuls.

“It is a spice level six.”

Harry tries to smile but he has a feeling it looks more like a grimace. 

“Oh I thought it was a one,” Harry says in between coughs. 

Ten minutes later Harry manages to finish it and keep it down. He is sweating from every pore in his body and his stomach is on fire. It is worth it though to wipe the satisfied smirk off Draco’s face. 

“Congratulations Swan, what will your first meal be?” Draco hedges looking disappointed. 

“Ummm…” Harry tries to think of something he really wants but comes up blank.

“PB&J?” 

Draco sighs a long-suffering sigh. 

“You are hopeless, Swan.” 

****

Mr. Slughorn pulls out a TV on rolling wheels, pushing it in front of the classroom. 

“Today we are going to watch a video on the…” Harry tunes him out knowing what is coming next. 

The reality of the situation is that Slughorn doesn’t want to teach today so he is going to put on some video from the Stone Age and have them watch that instead. Harry puts his head on the desk prepared to face let another class of radio silence from Draco. He figures that lunch was just some strange fluke of the universe that is bound to happen every once and a while. As the light flips off, a strange buzzing sensation bombards his limbs, making them feel stiff in the darkness surrounding him, but he brushes it off as tiredness. 

 He waits for Slughorn to fall asleep and predictably Slughorn does a few minutes into the opening credits of the ‘movie’. He envies him. He hadn’t been sleeping as well because of his alternating dreams about Draco and the haunting one of Sirius falling into a strange stone arch. Harry fills out the follow along worksheet in seconds and sets it aside scoffing at how simplistic the answers are. Something pokes Harry in the arm and he glances in the direction in surprise. Draco mirrors his tight position, his sunshine eyes boring into his. On the table between them is a piece of parchment paper with the words,

*Hello

written on it. Harry raises his eyebrow at the paper and almost writes, This is different. Instead, he writes down a quick,

You acted….different at lunch today. 

Harry watches Draco give him a mirthful smile as he pulls the paper back and writes,

*I decided if I’m bound for hell I might as well go all in.

Harry frowns at the paper in confusion as Draco pushes it back to him. What the hell does that mean, he wonders. 

"I’m not sure what you mean.

Draco continues to wear his smirk as he takes the paperback. 

*I know. 

*I think your friends are angry with me for stealing your attention.

Harry snorts remembering Ron’s angry posturing and Fred and George’s jealous looks. Then he looks around in embarrassment wondering if someone heard him. No one looks at him though, their gazes glazed as they stare at the TV. 

They’ll survive. 

*But I may decide to keep you

Something dark and dangerous that craves attention and risk shivers in Harry but he pushes it back where it belongs. Draco’s just trying to rile him up. Draco releases a soft laugh. 

 *Are you worried?

 No. Surprised. I thought you were trying to keep your distance.

*I’m giving up.

 Giving up?

Harry feels a trace of disappointment. He wonders what it means.

*Yes - I’m just going to do what I want for once, consequences be damned

A strange tightening starts in his chest. He thought Draco wanted to date him and was desperate in fact to do so. Could he have changed his mind? Decided Harry wasn’t worth the trouble? Harry already knew that from his string of failed lovers, but a small part of him hoped Draco was different. No one before him had pursued Harry this long or with this much determination. An insidious voice in his head said no one who looks like Draco would ever love him anyway. It makes him wonder if Draco faked it the entire time, just to mess with Harry, but it makes no sense. Why then would Draco now want to be his friend? 

I think I’m confused again.

 *I always speak my mind with you- it’s a real problem.

Harry always thinks he doesn’t say enough. 

Does it matter when I don’t understand any of it?

Draco winks at him.

*I’m hoping you don’t

 So, in British English, we are friends.

Draco snorts.

 *Friends…

 Or not…

 *Well, we can try. But I’m not the sort of person you take home to meet your parents.

Harry resists the urge to write, it’s a good thing I don’t have parents then but doesn’t want to be too dark.

I have heard that before,

 *I imagine you have a history of ignoring it when people say it.

Harry blushes as he reads Draco’s words.

 I get it. Do you think I’m dumb?

Draco gives him a mere shrug in apology. Harry figures this is the best he will get. Something in his chest loosens knowing that Draco is talking to him again. 

 So, if I stay dumb, will we try to be friends?

 *For now.

A minute passes as Draco stares deep into his eyes, his concentration focused on Harry. Draco turns away sighing in frustration. 

*What are you thinking?

Harry shakes off the sensation of getting lost in the gold color of Draco’s eyes and doesn’t even notice the words he writes down until Draco steals the page.

 I’m trying to figure out how you stopped that car.

Draco gives him a patronizing smile and Harry resists the urge to stick his tongue out at him.

*Any good guesses?

Harry makes a face.

 No.

Draco gives him a superior look and probes Harry further, his eyes merry.

*Tell me one of your guesses.

Draco’s, so I can laugh at them goes unsaid, but Harry hears it all the same. He shakes his head, avoiding Draco’s eyes. 

I know you will just laugh at me.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Draco scowl at him, his eyes drilling a hole in Harry’s head again. 

*You frustrate me when you say no.

Harry growls in anger, thrown by Draco’s Jekyll and Hyde mood swings and unreasonable asks. 

Of course not. It's perfectly understandable why that would be frustrating - having someone constantly withholding their thoughts from you, and making vague comments that steal your sleep at night trying to decode them...why would anyone find that frustrating?

Draco tries to take the paperback, but Harry holds onto it, continuing to write.

Imagine someone who not only saved your life in unprecedented circumstances but also acted strangely towards you the very next day, without ever explaining their behavior despite their promise to do so. That would certainly not be frustrating at all.

 *You’ve thought hard about this, haven’t you?

Harry scowls.

I have had a lot of time, with you ignoring me. 

Draco gives him an irritated look, as Harry glares at him, daring him to contradict him. Draco’s eyes lose focus, and he snickers a nasty sneer on his face.

What?

Draco looks at him with a self-satisfied smirk. 

*Your boyfriend believes I'm being rude to you and is unsure if he should intervene in our argument.

Harry doesn’t even bother to glance over at Fred. 

Fred is not my boyfriend.

 *Tell that to him.

There’s no way you know what he is thinking anyway.

*Most people wear their thoughts on their faces I find.

Except me, of course.

This seems to frustrate Draco and he gives Harry an imploring look.

 *Yes. Except for you.

Harry meets Draco’s eyes with a teasing smile, a soft ache in his heart. This feels different. Nice. Maybe being friends won’t be so bad.

Will you do something for me?

The lights flash on, directing his stare to the front of the classroom. He was so wrapped up in talking to Draco he didn’t even notice that the bell rang and class was over. Draco steals the paperback and pushes it into his bag. He stands up and throws it over his shoulder.

“Gym?” he asks with a taunting smile. 

Harry gets up signing, preparing to be beaten at every game by Draco. 

*****

Draco stands in the middle of his kitchen, surrounded by pots, pans, and various ingredients.

Pacing back and forth in a frenzy, Draco's mind races with thoughts of failure until Lilly appears in the doorway, a knowing smile playing on her lips. She takes one look at his distressed face and leans against the counter next to him. She doesn’t ask him what the problem is, instead, she asks,

“How can I help?”

“I volunteered to make Harry lunch, but I still don’t know how to cook,”

Her face softens reminding him so much of his mother that his heart aches.

“Of course, what are we making?”

Draco's expression turns to one of confusion.

“All I know how to do is make tea. I’m not even sure where to start on making human food.”

Lily shakes her head, a burst of laughter escaping her lips.

“You never do things by halves do you,” she says with a snort. 

Draco feels himself tingle with embarrassment as he realizes that he should have planned this better. 

“I’m happy to help in any case,” she says with a smile, “And I know just the place to start,”

She quickly links her arm with his and leads him towards the garage. As they walk, she explains that humans purchase their food at large shops called 'grocery stores' - similar to the plant shop but for sustenance instead. The stores would be filled with rows upon rows of shelves, stocked with various foods and ingredients. Once purchased, these items are stored in larger versions of the cooling container from the kitchen known as a 'fridge'. The concept is still foreign to Draco, but he can't help but feel intrigued by this muggle way of life.

The drive to the store is short with Lily’s driving and they park outside of a large blocky building called ‘Forks Outfitters’. The grocery store is a bustling hive of activity, but Lilly navigates the aisles with ease, grabbing a cart like they did at the plant shop.

“So what are we making?” Lily asks.

“Umm… I am not sure,” Draco says making that appalling sound that Potter makes when he is unsure of what to say.

“Well, what does he like to eat?” Lily asks.

Draco is about to say he has no idea, but then his perfect vampire memory overrides him, “Treacle tart, Yorkshire pudding…simple food, nothing too spicy,”

“French food,” he says thinking of the Hog’s Head.

“We can work with that,” Lily says with a thoughtful smile.

She goes through various aisles picking up ham, potatoes and Swiss cheese, frozen mixed vegetables, cream, bread crumbs, lemon and butter. He looks at her in confusion as she moves to the ‘baking aisle’ and adds golden syrup, flour, and sugar to the mix.

“What could we possibly make with these ingredients?” he asks.

Lily winks at him, “Something that has never existed before, but is about to,”

With groceries in tow, they make their way back to the industrial kitchen. Lily immediately sets to work, pulling out pots and pans and directing Draco on how to use them. The rhythmic clanging of metal against metal echoes through the room as he slices potatoes, sautés ham, and vegetables together. Under Lily's watchful eye, he also learns how to knead pie dough for a flaky crust and prepare other dishes.

By the time they are finished, the once-tidy kitchen is transformed into a chaotic mess of food splotches and spills. But standing proudly on the counter are two masterpieces. One is a strange ‘mish mash’ as Lily calls it between a Monte Cristo and a shepherd's pie. Its golden mashed potato crust is filled with layers of savoury ham, mixed vegetables, and melted Swiss cheese. Beside it sits two dozen mini treacle tartlets, each adorned with a dollop of freshly whipped cream. Lily scolded Draco when he reached for the 'Redi-whip' canister at the store, insisting on using only homemade whipped cream in her kitchen.

“I can’t believe we just did that,” Draco says in a quiet voice, already knowing what his father would think of him for using so many muggle devices but not finding it in himself to care.

“You did everything. I just directed you,” Lily says with a soft smile, “I am really proud of you, Draco”

Draco feels a strange warm glow that usually only his father and on the odd occasion Severus could produce in him.

“Thanks, Mother,” Draco finds himself saying before he can even think about it.

Lily wears the most heartbreaking look of hope on her face as she smiles back at him.

“You’re welcome, son,”

*****

"Spider-Man is your favorite superhero?" Fred asks Astoria, his face twisted in horror. "But he's so basic,"

Ron groans, rolling his eyes. "She only likes him because she thinks Tobey Maguire as Peter Parker is cute and sensitive,"

Harry watches as Astoria's face clouds over with indignation. He can almost see the steam coming out of her ears.

"I do not like Spider-Man just because I find Toby McGuire attractive," Astoria snaps, her voice dripping with disdain.

"He's more interesting than other heroes. He completely revolutionized the world of comics."

She pauses, taking a deep breath. Harry braces himself for the incoming tirade.

"You only think he's basic because all the others copied Stan Lee's formula," Astoria continues, her words rapid-fire, "Peter is relatable and quick-witted. There was no one else like him at the time!"

George turns his interested gaze to Astoria, intrigued by her passionate defense of Parker.

“She makes a valid point,” George says with a wink at Fred.

Fred frowns and looks at Harry.

"Who is your personal favorite, then?" he asks, inviting Harry into the discussion.

Harry, however, is lost in his own thoughts as Draco's cold strong thigh presses against his own under the lunch table. He takes another bite of the surprisingly delicious shepherd's pie and treacle tart, using it as an excuse to buy himself some time. Both dishes are so good, and Harry can't help but wonder if Draco's mother is a skilled cook to have reinvented such a classic English recipe with such success. Leaning closer to Harry, Draco whispers in his ear, causing shivers to run down his spine.

“Fred wants to know who your favorite, superhero is, he is hoping you will agree with him on Iron Man,” Draco says, his voice playing over the words Iron Man in a slightly confused tone.

Harry fights back a shiver as Draco’s cool breath brushes his ear.

“Magneto,” Harry says, saying the first name that comes to his mind.

Fred gives him a leering grin, ”That’s a villain, Harry,”

Draco gives him a curious look and Harry feels himself heat up, wishing he would have given his answer some more thought before blurting it out.

“I meant to say-”

Hermione sighs in irritation because she knows nothing about superheroes and like Neville hasn’t been able to participate in the conversation for a while. In almost a desperate voice she cuts off Harry’s defensive reply,

“Is there anything new with you, Harry,”

Harry thinks about it shifting through the useless observations that he collected about Draco, like he wears some shade of green every Friday, that the ‘quills’ that he writes with are eagle feathers and when Draco is frustrated his eyes turn a shade darker.

He assumes Hermione doesn’t want to hear these things.

“I got a cat,” he says at last.

Hermione and Neville light up and even Astoria leans in looking interested.

“Do you have any pictures?” she asks.

Harry pulls out his phone and shows them his pictures of Hedwig sitting on his motorcycle with the mini bike helmet he bought her.

“Oh wow she looks like a little badass,” Fred exclaims, stealing the phone from the girls.

Draco sneers, “She has a good deal more pure royal blood, than you do Fredrick, even her posture is better than yours,”

“She is very well-behaved,” Harry says before Fred can respond to Draco’s teasing.

Harry is still not sure what to make of the posturing match that him and Draco seem to be conducting.

“She’s clearly a rebel, just look at that glint in her eyes,” Ron says, leaning over Fred.

“She’s very fiery,” Harry says with a smile remembering the way that she shredded apart a white peacock toy he had bought because it reminded him of Draco for some reason.

“What’s her name?” Neville asks looking at the cat with awe.

“Hedwig, it was on her collar when I found her,” he says.

“You just found her and you didn’t take her to the vet? The cat could have diseases,” Fred exclaims.

“And when was the last time you went to the vet? You're practically an animal yourself, and I’m sure you are overdue,” Draco hisses.

“She didn’t look like a stray to me, her fur was clean and she looked well-fed,” Harry says trying to diffuse the tension at the table.

“You can never be too careful,” Fred says with a glare at Draco.

*****

The next day the same thing happens as yesterday. Mr Slughorn rolls out a TV and slips in the same educational video. When the light turns off the buzzing starts in his muscles again and he hunches down on the lab table. Draco smirks at him as he copies his pose. Then he pulls out the paper from yesterday and passes it to him. 

 *What do I get in return?

Harry takes the paper reorienting himself into the conversation.

Is everything always transactional with you?

*Yes

Harry sighs.

What do you want?

*Something equal to whatever you ask for.

 Nothing huge. I just want a heads-up before you decide to stop talking to me.

Draco laughs under his breath. 

 *Done

Harry wears a small smile on his face.

 Thanks. 

*Now it’s my turn. I have a request for you.

Harry wonders what Draco could want from him.

 Yes. 

*Tell me one theory.

Shit, his stupid impulsiveness, Harry thinks, his heart rate speeding up. His handwriting is quick and messy as he writes 

 I change my mind.

Draco’s unmovable face regards him.

*You can’t back out of a deal once it is struck.

Harry gives Draco the stink eye.

Like you’ve never done that.

Draco smirks looking unrepentant.

 *We are not talking about the past; this is about now.  

Harry reaches forward to crumble the paper in his hands and ignores Draco for the rest of the class. Let's see how he likes the silent treatment, but then Draco’s hand settles over his, forcing him to pause. His cool fingers stroke Harry’s hot skin. 

*Please?

 Draco tilts his and looks right into Harry’s soul with heat-filled eyes making his insides melt. 

Yes?

 *Just one answer?

Harry’s brain short circuits.

 Spider-Man’s origin story?

Draco looks thrown by that answer. He raises one of his immaculate eyebrows, the corner of his lip twitching. 

*What?

Harry looks at Draco in confusion. Who doesn’t know Spider-Man’s origin story?

He’s from Marvel comics and movies. He was bitten by a radioactive spider.

Draco chuckles at the words as he reads them.

*No.

Given a green ring by a dying alien?

Draco’s smile is hard and taunting.

 *Not even close.

 Hit by cosmic rays while in space?

*No.

Radioactivity?

*None.

Hmm

Draco’s soft breathy laugh caresses his ears, filling his senses with the smell of mint and apple. 

*Where are you even coming up with these answers?

Harry shrugs.

They are superhero origin stories and you promised not to laugh remember.

Draco shrugs. 

I won’t stop until I solve your mystery

Draco’s expression turns dark.

*You might not like what you discover.

 Because…?

 *I’m not the hero in one of your made-up stories. I won’t save you.

Oh.

*Are you finally getting it?

Harry thinks about it. About all of his interactions with Draco leading up to this one. He could be rude, like when he implied Ron was only Harry’s friend for the fame and he could be cruel demonstrated when he froze Harry out. But…there were moments of unmistakable sweetness. The consistency of the apples, comforting him when the gossip about Collin got to be too much, sitting with his friends and talking to them at lunch. Then there was the not-so-small fact that he saved his life. He looks at Draco, taking in the toned lines of his face and the pointiness of his chin.

 I think I am. You’re trapped in a bad situation outside of your control.

Surprise shows on Draco’s face, he tries to hide it, but Harry catches it before he can tuck it away. Draco tries to look unaffected as he writes,

*You don’t know anything about me

He wears a wicked grin that draws him in and Harry leans forward as he writes his response. 

I don’t think you're the villain. Or at least not the biggest one in my life. You are too morally grey and indecisive as if you have yet to decide who you want to be.

Draco sneers at him, his hand clenched in a fist over Harry’s.

Any other insights about me, Oh wise, Saviour?

Harry thinks for a moment, wondering if saying what he has been thinking for weeks is worth Draco’s possible pushback.

I think the important question to ask isn’t if you will decide to save me or not, but whether you can save yourself.

The bell rings again signaling an end to their conversation. Draco stows the paper once again and without a word they walk to the gym, Ron chattering on Harry’s other side the entire time.

*****

“I don't want to go to class, we are done with that movie so I can’t sleep anymore.” Ron groans in annoyance the next day as they sit at their usual lunch table, “At least we have the beach trip to look forward to this weekend.” 

“I still don’t think we have the same concept of beach,” Harry says to Ron, “Beaches are supposed to be hot and sunny, not cold and rainy.” 

“A beach is a beach. You can still swim, surf, and build a sandcastle at this beach, so it is the same as any you are used to.” Fred says with a shrug.

Harry shudders thinking about actually getting into the water of this beach. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to go, Draco?” Hermione asks him, as she flips through her draft of the Daily Fork, incapable of taking a break. 

Harry perks his head up with interest. Draco has been uncharacteristically silent today and it has Harry more curious than ever to uncover his secrets. Draco looks at Harry in consideration as he weighs his response. When he seems to decide something, he asks,

“What beach are you going to again?” 

“The one down at La Push, The First Beach,” Ron answers.

Draco grimaces, his eyes turning darker for a moment as he looks at his hands twisting in his lap.

“I have plans, but thanks for the invitation,” he says in a polite voice that is the complete opposite of the one he used on the first day of interacting with his friends.

Sometimes Harry feels whiplash at how different Draco acts from when he first met him. The bell rings signaling the end of the lunch period before Harry can think to ask what his plans are. 

“Do you want to skip Harry?” Ron asks as he reluctantly packs away his lunch. 

Hermione swats Ron with her copy of the Daily Fork. 

“Ronald, today they talk about the blood drive and do blood testing. It’s important.”

Ron looks relieved. 

“Oh right! So, it will be an easy day then,” 

Hermione glares at him, “That’s not the point, people need this blood. It will save lives.” 

“I don’t know Herm, I think a little skipping now and then is healthy,” Draco says, playing with his napkin with disinterested fingers. 

Fred looks put out that he has nothing to say against Draco’s statement unless he wants to lose his troublemaker image. Draco's coq au vin turns to ashes in Harry’s mouth at those words.

“Oh Draco, not you too! You're supposed to be the responsible one out of the boys.” Hermione frets.

“You are not going to class?” Harry asks, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice. 

Draco shrugs his posture relaxed as he sips from his water bottle, his lips-stained blood red. 

“I still remember everything from last year, so I don’t see the point in doing it all over again,” he says. 

“Are you coming to gym at least?” 

Harry finds it difficult to pinpoint the emotion in Draco’s smile. 

“No,”

Harry slumps in his chair, checking out of the rest of the conversation as he resigns himself to not seeing Draco for the rest of the day. Hermione’s question to Draco breaks through his haze.

“Do you already know your blood type, Draco?” Hermione asks.

Draco shoots Harry an imperceptible glance, his eyes narrowed.

“I do.” 

As Harry is leaving their lunch table with Ron and Hermione to go to class Draco walks past him slipping a piece of paper in the back of his pocket. Harry watches as Draco pushes open the side door to go out into the courtyard, glancing back with a final wink before disappearing. He pulls the paper out and scans through their previous conversations until he gets to the end. Two words are written at the bottom in Draco’s neat script. 

You’re wrong.

*****

Draco reclines back in the driver’s seat of his silver Volvo listening to Love Potion No. 9 by The Clovers float through the car, waiting for the day to end. But his mind is occupied with other thoughts - Potter and him are growing closer each day and it feels like the right time to put his medical plan into action. As much as he tries to push it away, Draco can't ignore the worry that creeps into his mind every time he sees the gaunt lines on Potter’s face deepen despite his best efforts.

Suddenly, voices broke through his reverie, accompanied by the familiar scent of Potter. Without hesitation, Draco reaches under his seat for the emergency blanket he had stashed there - just in case of Potter-related emergencies - and steps out of his car to follow the scent. On the sidewalk outside of the school, Weasel Twin Two looms over what appears to be Harry's lifeless body. Panic grips Draco's chest like a vice as he rushes forward.

“What’s wrong with him?” Draco demands his voice tight with worry. 

The only thing keeping Draco from killing him is the faint sound of pulse beating from Harry’s body. 

“He just collapsed in the middle of class. I’m not even sure if he pricked his finger.” Weasel Twin Two says his face almost as white as Harry’s.

Without a word, Draco plants himself in front of Harry and quickly undoes his belt, determined to provide him with some better airflow. He pulls the blanket tightly over Harry's trembling body, tucking it in snugly. In a gentle gesture, he brushes his fingers over Harry's clammy forehead, feeling the beads of cold sweat that have formed there. Harry stirs at the touch, letting out a quiet moan as he weakly opens his eyes.

“Draco?” 

“Yes, sweetheart I’m here,” Draco whispers in a soft voice. 

“Did you just call him, sweetheart? Is that like a nickname or something?” Weasel twin two, demands.

Draco suppresses a growl, with all his concentration on Harry he had forgotten the tosser was here. 

“I don’t see why that is any of your business. Unless you have a crush on him or something” Draco says in an arch voice. 

Weasel twin two sputters, but Draco ignores him and turns his attention back to Harry. 

Draco takes in Harry’s chapped lips and rough voice and shifts out of his jacket, bunching it up and sliding it under Harry’s legs to prop them up. 

“Why did you do all of..that?” Weasel twin two with vague movements, his eyes guarded. 

Draco narrows his eyes, “The blanket will keep him warm, loosening his belt and raising his legs will increase blood flow.” 

“Shouldn’t we move him?” Weasel Twin Two asks, looking like a lost krup. 

Pathetic, Draco thinks with a shake of his head, what are they teaching children in school these days?

“No,” He snaps, feeling himself lean further over Harry in a protective fashion, “I don’t know how hard he hit his head and if he has a concussion or not. It is not safe to do so until I know for sure.” 

Weasel Twin Two gives him a dubious look. 

“How do you know all of this?” 

“My father,” Draco growls. 

Weasel Twin Two seems to surrender to this and wears a glum but defeated expression. Draco pounces on it.

“Now go to the cafeteria and tell them one of the students passed out. Ask for orange juice, then get Nurse Pomfrey and bring her to us.” Draco details to Weasel Twin Two, who surprisingly responds to the commanding tone of his voice and rushes off. 

“How are you feeling, Harry?” Draco asks as he scraps the back of his knuckles down Harry’s jaw.

Harry turns his head to meet his eyes. 

“Don’t move your head, idiot.” Draco reprimands cupping the side of Harry’s head with his hand to force him to be still.

He startles when Harry leans into the touch, his lips brushing Draco’s thumb. Harry just grins.

“You have a terrible bedside manner,” he mumbles.

“Answer the question, Swan.” Draco hisses.

“You called me Harry earlier.”

“Swan!”

“I’m fine. Really. I think I can sit up.” he says, attempting to shift into a sitting position. 

“Damn it, Swan, I will sit on you if I have to.” Draco threatens, shoving his other hand on Potter’s chest, holding him down with ease. 

“I told you I’m fine.” Potter cries struggling under him.

“I’ll be the one to determine that,” Mad-Nurse Pomfrey huffs, placing her worn leather bag on the ground with a thud.

The smell of antiseptic and herbs wafts from it, filling Draco's nose. She reaches inside and pulls out a bottle of cool orange juice, offering it to Draco who takes it gratefully.

Nurse Pomfrey raises an eyebrow at their positions and Draco feels Potter flush under his touch. As he moves back, relieved that Weasel twin two has stayed away, she sits gracefully on the soft grass next to Potter's head. Her fingers gently probe and examine the back of his head as she asks a series of questions that Draco recognizes from the book Severus had given him about concussions. He holds his breath, pleading for Potter to answer no to each one. Finally, he lets out a sigh of relief when Potter does just that.

Draco unscrews the cap of the orange juice bottle and helps to raise Potter's head so he can take a few sips. The cold liquid should soothe Potter’s parched throat and give him some much-needed energy. All around them, the sounds of muffled conversations and footsteps fill the air as students and staff continue with their day, oblivious to the drama.

“You seem to only be suffering from low blood pressure, Mr. Swan, but that should wear off in a short time.” Nurse Pomfrey says in a brisk voice, “Good thinking on raising his legs, Mr. Cullen, it helped keep him stable until I got here.”

Draco nods once in acknowledgement, refusing to take his eyes off his patient until he finishes the bottle. Once he does, he tucks it in his pocket and gently lowers Potter’s head.

“I trust you to see him to the office to call his relatives, Mr. Cullen.” Nurse Pomfrey says as she gathers her things. 

Potter’s eyes widen at the mention of his relatives, and he moves to protest, but Draco silences him with a hand on his shoulder. 

“I will see that he gets home,” Draco promises in a silent message to Potter. 

Nurse Pomfrey gives him a satisfied nod before she walks back to the school. 

“Do you need help standing?” he asks, offering his hand to Potter. 

Potter shrugs him off but turns white when he tries to stand on his own stumbling into Draco. 

"Careful," Draco hisses, grabbing hold of Harry's arm.

Harry feels a jolt of electricity at Draco's touch, a mix of irritation and something else he can't quite name. He hates feeling weak, especially in front of Draco. Memories of the Dursleys' sneers whenever he was ill flood his mind, making him want to prove his strength even more.

"I'm fine," Harry huffs, walking forward with a determined look on his white face. His legs feel like jelly, but he'd rather collapse than admit it to Draco.

Draco grumbles, keeping his grip on Harry's arm as they follow him inside. Harry is acutely aware of Draco's cool fingers on his skin, steady and reassuring despite his protests.

"I could just carry you," Draco says as they make slow progress.

Harry's heart skips a beat at the suggestion. Part of him—a part he's not ready to acknowledge—is tempted to say yes, to feel Draco's strong arms around him. But his pride wins out.

"Bridal style? No, thank you." He tries to inject as much sarcasm into his voice as possible, hoping Draco doesn't notice the slight tremor in his words.

Draco snorts, and Harry feels a strange mix of relief and disappointment.

"I was thinking of throwing you over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes."

Harry scowls at the mischievous glint in Draco's eye, fighting back a smile. He's starting to enjoy their banter, even if he'd never admit it out loud.

"Absolutely not," he growls, but there's less heat in it than he intends.

He realizes, with a start, that he trusts Draco—trusts him enough to argue, to show weakness, to let him help. It's a foreign feeling, and it both thrills and terrifies him.

“Your loss,” Draco says with a shrug.

Once they reach the front office, Draco uses his charm to convince the secretary to let him bring Potter home without involving his relatives. When he returns, he finds Potter sitting on a chair with a nervous expression on his face, looking sicker than Draco remembers leaving him.

“So, do I have to go back to class?” Potter asks with a grimace. 

Potter forced him to agree that if he couldn’t convince the secretary to let Potter leave by himself, he would tell her he would be returning to class, rather than call his relatives to come get him. 

Draco smirks, “Ye of little faith.” 

Potter’s eyes go wide as he stands up, his heart beating rapidly under his frail skin.

“Thank you,” Potter says in a hesitant voice. 

“Of course. Now let's get you home.” Draco says walking out the main door and holding it open for Potter. 

“Where are you going?” Potter asks, confused. 

“Do you really think I am letting you drive that two-wheel death machine in the state you are right now?” 

“I’m fine.” Potter grumbles as he follows him through the parking lot, the blanket from Draco’s car pulled tight around his shoulders. 

He looks a bit like a petulant toddler, with pouty lips and Draco has to resist the urge to laugh. Potter’s eyes light up with suspicion as a thought crosses his mind.

“What about my Firebolt? I can’t leave it here. I wouldn’t be able to get to school the next day.” Potter complains. 

“I’ll get Blaise to drive it back. He has been wanting to take it for a joy ride.” 

“You're going to let him drive it back? Are you crazy? Is he wild and reckless? He’ll crash it for sure.” Harry says thinking of all the times Blaise narrowly hit a student in the parking lot on the day it was his turn to drive the Volvo.

“I’ll have you know that Blaise possesses impeccable reflexes,” Draco says with an amused secretive look.

“Ginny will kill him if gets so much as a scratch on it.” Potter huffs.

*****

“Telling him that will probably only encourage him, but I will keep that in mind,” Draco says as he opens the door of his silver Volvo for Harry. 

It’s as clean and polished on the inside as he remembers from the day of the crash. He leans back on the luxurious cushions and breathes in the familiar scent of spearmint and apples. It relaxes him after a long day. Draco gives him an unreadable look, turning the key in the ignition. The car purrs to life and a song from the fifties plays through the speakers. 

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” Draco says with a sigh as he adjusts the setting on the dashboard, turning on the heated seats and cranking up the heat.

“Like what?” Harry asks, biting back a sigh at the rush of heat.

No matter how long he lives in Forks he doesn’t think he will ever get used to the cold wet weather.

“You only get in my car when you’ve injured yourself,” Draco says exasperated. 

“Is that a future invitation, then?” he asks then curses himself for how awkward and flirty it sounds. 

Draco and him barely maintain the awkward relationship of friendly acquittances, without Harry encouraging him to act like a self-absorbed jerk again. Harry’s worries are unfounded though because Draco just smiles.

“Maybe,” He says in that mysterious tone of his.

Draco messes with the dials on the radio, ejecting the disc in the player.

“I didn’t mind that song,” Harry says as he watches Draco pick up the CD. 

Draco regards him with an amused expression sets the disk down and presses play, “Have a thing for love potions, do you, Swan?” 

Harry feels his cheeks heat up and he looks away.

“Hey it’s a good song, my godfather used to play it all the time when I was growing up.” Harry protests as the familiar lyrics fill the small space. 

“I like it too. Reminds me of simpler times,” Draco says in a longing voice.

“I didn't know if it was day or night. I started kissin' everything in sight.” he mumble-sings along with the lyrics, watching as the trees speed past the window.

 The car hums softly as they drive, the rhythmic swish of windshield wipers keeping time with the pitter patter of rain. Harry watches droplets race down his window, each one distorting the passing scenery into a blur of green and grey. Just when Harry is sure they will spend the entire ride in silence Draco breaks it by asking,

“What was your godfather like?”

Harry smiles as he thinks about Sirius. 

“Outgoing, brave, and loyal. A little reckless at times. When he gets excited about something it’s hard not to get caught up in his joy and say yes to whatever he wants to do. He can be a bit disorganized and forgetful, so it is for the best that I involve myself in whatever he is doing anyways,” Harry pauses thinking for a moment, “He’s my best friend and one of the only connections I have left of my parents.”

His voice turns sad at the thought of his parents. 

“You miss him,” Draco says, his face sympathetic. 

“Yes,” Harry says, aching at how much he means it. 

It has been a while since he last called Sirius and he decides to do it tonight.  They lapse into silence and Harry decides to turn the question on Draco, but the words stumble in his mouth, unsure how to politely ask what he wants to know.

“Do you still have…um. Are they still…? You know since you are…?” he says feeling wrong-footed after the silence.

Draco's fingers tightened imperceptibly on the steering wheel.

“Do I still talk to my parent because I am adopted?” Draco finishes with a laugh that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Yeah…” 

“I’m not sure. I lost contact with them when I came here. For all I know they have been dead for months or even years, I would never know,”

Harry feels a pang in his chest, recognizing the raw pain in Draco's voice.

“But they are your family,” Harry says, even though he doesn’t quite believe that means much, it just feels like something you are supposed to say.

When he thinks about Dursleys and his father and Sirius’s family and the way they treated them, it's hard to see family in a positive light. His own parents are little more than ghosts, so it's hard to use them as a comparison. 

“I’m learning that family is more complicated than I previously thought,” Draco says in an annoyed voice.

“Were you close?” Harry asks though he guesses from Draco’s previous answer that they were not.

“Yes,” Draco says and Harry flinches at Draco’s harsh voice, “They were my entire world before coming here.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, feeling a strange sense of guilt even though he knows it's not his fault. Draco's eyes flicker to him, sharp and probing as if he agrees where the blame rests, before returning to the road. The silence stretches between them, heavy with unspoken thoughts.

“It’s fine,” Draco says not seeming to really mean it. 

Harry ventures a look at Draco’s stone-cold face. He seems lost in his own recollection of the past, his eyes creased with pain and Harry is hit with the urge to pull him out. Harry fidgets with the edge of his blanket, searching for a way to break the tension.

"So, um..." he starts, wincing at his own awkwardness. "Your adoptive parents... what are they like?"

Harry’s curiosity mingles with a complex mix of emotions.  Draco slowly breaks from his reverie and turns his eyes to meet Harry's. A small smile tugs at the corner of Draco's mouth, as some of the tension eases from his shoulders and softness in his eyes. It makes his breath catch.

"Yes," Draco says, his voice warm. "Lily is a great listener and good at giving advice. She always knows the right thing to say to make you feel better."

He thinks of his own unconventional family history - his two fathers, James and Regulus and then the years with the Dursleys before Sirius came back into his life. He feels a pang in his chest, wondering what it would be like to have a parental figure like that. He loved his parents, but he can’t help but wonder how different things would have been if he had been given more time with them.

Draco continues, "Severus is an... intelligent, even though he's not very patient or a great teacher," he says with a grimace that makes Harry chuckle softly.

"But he's supportive of my goals no matter where they lead me. He always tells me the truth and encourages me to think for myself."

Harry absorbs this, struck by how different Draco's experience with adoption seems from his own tumultuous journey through family systems. He feels a complex mix of emotions - happiness for Draco, a twinge of envy, and a deep appreciation for the family he's built with Sirius and Remus, even if it isn’t always perfect.

"Sounds like quite the pair."

"They are," Draco agrees, his smile growing.

"You love them," Harry says, summing up all of the emotions on Draco's face.

He tries to keep his voice neutral, but a hint of understanding creeps in. Draco seems to catch this, his gaze sharpening as he studies Harry's face.

"I am very thankful for them," he says, neither agreeing nor denying Harry's statement.

There's a pause, and then Draco adds softly, "It's not always easy, though. Sometimes I feel... guilty like I'm betraying my birth parents by caring for Lily and Severus."

The admission hangs in the air between them, weighty and vulnerable. Harry nods slowly, understanding all too well the complicated emotions that come with found family. He feels proud despite all the turmoil clear on Draco’s face. The fact Draco is now able to admit to what he hinted at when he comforted Harry during his… episode is impressive.

"I get that," he says slowly. "After Sirius took me in, I sometimes felt guilty for being happy, like I was dishonoring my dads' memory. But I think... I think they'd want us to find happiness where we can, you know?"

Draco looks at him, surprise and something like gratitude in his eyes. "When did you get so wise, Swan?"

Harry shrugs, a small, bittersweet smile playing on his lips.

"Let's just say I've had some experience with complicated family dynamics. Between my dad and my father, the Dursleys, and now Sirius and Remus... well, I've learned that family comes in all shapes and sizes."

Draco nods, seeming to absorb this. "I suppose we both have, in our own ways."

For a moment, they sit in comfortable silence. Harry feels a newfound connection with Draco, seeing how similar they actually are.

Abruptly Draco changes the subject.

“Why did your uncle marry the w-Remus?” 

Harry looks away, from the vulnerability still visible on Draco’s face, feeling like he should give him some privacy. He can imagine how hard it must have been to adapt to a completely new environment after tricking yourself into thinking your life would always stay the same.

“They grew up together here in Forks and were inseparable during that time. When my dad, my father and Sirius moved to Phoenix he followed him there. They grew apart though the more reckless Sirius acted and everything blew up when Sirius was falsely accused of killing my parents in the car crash. They got in a huge fight when Remus didn’t believe Sirius and Remus ended up walking out of their relationship. I don’t know a lot of what happened during the years that Sirius fought and won his case against the court because I was at the Dursleys and Sirius doesn’t like to talk about it. All I know is a few months before I came here Sirius got a call from him apologizing for everything. They talked back and forth for a few months until Remus got signed to the Phoenix Werewolves and they started dating. After that everything is history.”  

“They moved fast,” Draco says. 

“The attraction and feelings were already there; they just needed to figure out how to communicate again. How to balance the past and the present and build something new.” 

“You are very mature for your age Harry, are you sure you are only eighteen?” Draco teases.

Harry shakes his head smiling, “Someone has to be the grownup.” 

Harry is surprised when they stop in front of the Dursleys' house, it feels like he just stepped into the car. Draco looks at him, his expression sad with understanding.

“It shouldn’t always have to be you though,” Draco says in a heavy voice.

Harry isn’t sure what to say to that. A part of him knows that Sirius and his relationship is flipped. That Sirius should be the one taking care of him, but the pattern of care runs so deep in him he doesn’t know how to lay down the responsibility. It’s why Draco’s care feels so special and why he’s so thankful for it.

“Thank you, Draco really. It means a lot to me that you drove me here.” Harry says feeling his heart clench in his chest.

Draco’s smile is soft and gentle as he looks at him.

“Of course Swan, anytime.” 

Harry feels a stab of guilt go through him and wonders if he is taking too much without giving anything back. 

“Let me know if there is any way for me to repay you.” 

A mischievous look lights up Draco’s face Harry notices Draco trying to hide. Harry feels his stomach sink at Draco’s next words.

“Well there is one thing, but you’ll probably say no.”

“What is it?” Harry asks, imagining something horrible like helping Draco with math homework.

“I plan on going to medical school and I’ve been shadowing my father but I'm not allowed to help him with actual patients because I’m still in high school. So I need a volunteer test subject,” Draco says.

“What sort of things would you be doing?” Harry asks, wary.

He’s never been a fan of doctors, especially growing up with the Dursleys. 

“Just basic check-up stuff. I’m not going to perform surgery on you or anything and I’ll pay you for your time of course.” Draco says with a chuckle.

“You don’t need to pay me.” Harry blurts out before he thinks about it.

Draco smirks at him, “At least let me take you out for dinner afterwards then.” 

“Okay,” he says, realizing that without meaning to he has agreed to this strange arrangement.

“Swan,” Draco says as he is getting out of the car.

Harry pauses, looking back into those yellow eyes, feeling the strangest thought that they should be grey.

“You seem to be accident-prone,” Draco says with a smile, “Try not to fall off any cliffs this weekend,”

Harry scowls and slams the door on Draco’s laughing face.

Chapter Text

And I will make sure 

To keep my distance

Say I love you

When you're not listening

By Christina Perri 

August 10, 1995

The Wizarding World of France

The sweet scent of cinnamon and sugar fills the air as Draco slips through the back door of the bakery. Luca stands at the counter, flour dusting his dark curls, his expression a mix of joy and wariness. He lets Draco kiss him to his relief. His lips are warm and taste like fresh bread against his and Draco can feel the tension from his conversation with his father draining out of him. As Draco moves to deepen the kiss Luca pulls away and Draco lets him with reluctance.

"You're late," Luca says, wiping his hands on his apron.

Draco shrugs, hiding his guilt with the casual gesture. A Malfoy never admits fault.

"Father insisted on a lengthy dinner discussion about my future as the Head of the Family and all the responsibilities I will need to complete as a Wizengatem member,” Draco says in a bitter voice, “I came as soon as I could."

“But I thought you wanted to be an experimental potioneer and compose music? How will you have time to do that if you are having to deal with all of the Pureblood politics,”

Over the last few weeks, Draco has been educating Luca about the intricacies of Pureblood heritage and culture. It is slow going. Some things can only be understood if you are born into them.

“My wants are irrelevant in comparison to the family’s needs,” Draco says in a dismissive voice.

“But what if your wants are a need? How can you be happy without pursuing your own life?”

Draco sighs, this is the problem with educating outsiders on their ways, they always question things and misconstrue the simple facts of their life.

“I will be happy because I am serving my family and fulfilling my father’s vision for me,”

“But…” Luca starts to say and then trails off.

“But what?” Draco asks in a harsh voice, feeling judged.

“Your parents shouldn’t…” Luca says, his voice wavering.

“My parents shouldn’t what, Luca?” Draco growls in a dangerous voice.

Unease mixed with disappointment flashes across Luca’s face for a moment and he takes a step back, looking unsure.

"Nothing," Luca says in a hollow voice. "It's just... never mind. Did you want to try the new éclair recipe?"

Draco’s irritation lingers but he pushes it back and moves closer, reaching for Luca's hand.

"I thought we could go for a walk. The weather's perfect."

Luca pulls away, gesturing to the stack of dishes. "I can't. I've got another hour of cleanup, then early prep for tomorrow."

"Can't you skip it? Just this once?" Draco presses needing the clean air to clear his head.

The more time he spends with Luca the more he realises how stifling his day-to-day life is.

"Skip it?" Luca asks looking uncomfortable. "Draco… I can’t. This is how I support my family, how I'm saving for Aggie's school fees. If I skip then my papa will have to pick up an extra shift at the Muse and he already did that twice this week to pay for Aggie’s birthday present,"

Draco frowns in confusion.

"I could help with the fees, it’s no trouble at all,"

"It’s sweet of you to offer, Draco, really,” Luca says looking uncomfortable, “But it would make me feel like your charity project,”

"It's not charity," Draco protests. "You're my boyfriend, I care about you. I want to help,"

For as long as I am allowed keep you that is, Draco thinks.

Luca turns away looking conflicted, his shoulders drooping. "I understand that, but the best way you can help is by talking about our differences and working to understand them. I notice you change the subject every time family comes up,”

Draco falls silent, watching Luca scrub a mixing bowl, with sluggish movements. Sees the exhaustion clear on his face and the callouses on his hands from manual labour instead of flying. The distance between them looks vast, despite the small kitchen. He feels guilty, but at times like this, he questions if it is all worth it, this constant miscommunication.

"I'm trying," Draco says softly. "It's not easy for me. Everything about this — about us — goes against everything I was taught."

Luca turns, meeting Draco's gaze.

"I know. But Draco, if this is going to work, we need to see each other. To share things. Our life, our struggles, our family. The good and the bad. Not just the parts that fit into the happy little world we’ve created."

Draco swallows hard.

"I want to,” and it’s only partially a lie, “I do. I just... I don't know how."

Luca's expression softens slightly. He reaches out, taking Draco's hand.

"Then let me show you. No more sneaking around. Come to dinner. Meet my family. See how we live."

Draco's heart races, fear and curiosity warring within him. He shouldn’t his father is sure to catch on eventually, but if he says no, he could lose Luca.

"I... okay. Yes. I'll come."

As Luca smiles, squeezing his hand, Draco realizes this is just the beginning of their trials and that it will only get harder. A nagging voice in the back of his mind whispers about the risks he's taking. What if his father finds out? What if someone sees him entering a muggle neighbourhood? The consequences could be severe, not just for him, but for Luca and his family as well. Yet, as he looks into Luca's eyes, he finds himself willing to take that chance.

Draco blinks the sun from his eyes as it filters from the windows above him. His sparkling fingers hover over the ivory keys, sending tiny fractals of light around the room. He'd just settled in front of the piano after a night watching Potter twist around on his bed mumbling Draco's name, when the vision hit him.

They are getting uncomfortably intimate, these glimpses of fancy. He is sharing things with this imaginary person, this Luca, that he never thought he'd tell anyone but his mother. Though even she didn't know about his hidden desire to be a potioneer. He'd rarely admitted it to himself as far as he can remember. What makes him the most uncomfortable is the concessions he's willing to make for the muggle boy. Agreeing to meet the boy's parents? It was unheard of without a formal engagement contract being started in Pureblood culture. It made his muscles tense uncomfortably.

He pushes all thoughts of the visions away and presses down on the F major key, its flat note steadying him. The rich scent of wood and polish fills his nostrils, evoking bittersweet memories of the Manor's music room, unused and gathering dust. Lily had made it abundantly clear since his little outburst in the plant store that the piano on the second landing was his to use whenever he wanted. He had sneered at her at the time, declaring boldly that he would never play it, but now with all his siblings out hunting he finds himself drawn to it.

A lifetime of conditioning makes his hands hesitate, hovering just above the keys. The voice of his father echoes in his mind, reminding him that Malfoys do not lower themselves to common entertainment. Draco glances around furtively, half-expecting to be caught in this moment of weakness.

Unbidden, a memory surfaces: the Great Hall at Hogwarts, filled with the sounds of chatter and laughter. A Hufflepuff boy, Justin Finch-Fletchley, sitting at a conjured piano, fingers dancing across the keys. Draco remembers the sneer that twisted his own lips, the cruel laughter of Crabbe and Goyle as they mocked the performance. "Look at the little monkey dance," he had drawled, loud enough for nearby tables to hear. The hurt in Justin's eyes, the abrupt end to the music – it all comes back with startling clarity.

Draco shakes off the memory, his jaw clenching. 'This is different,' he reassures himself, straightening his posture. 'This is merely an intellectual exercise in musical theory and composition. Nothing more.' But even as he thinks it, Draco knows he's lying to himself.

It's been months since he played last but it doesn't seem to matter as his fingers finally make contact with the keys, the cool ivory both foreign and familiar against his skin. He begins to play and is immediately startled by the speed and precision of his movements. His vampire physicality allows his fingers to fly across the keys at inhuman speed, producing a complexity of sound he'd never achieved in his human life.

He plays Swan Lake, an album he found in the vampire’s extensive music collection after discovering the book he read is based on a ballet. A ballet that made Regulus Black and later Potter famous for their performances in it. Draco smiles as he thinks about Potter and the sweet smile he wore on his face right before Draco left him. He thinks of Harry - no, Potter - and his graceful performances on stage from the videos he saw online. Had Potter felt this same rush of freedom, of pure expression? The thought both irritates and intrigues him, much like the boy himself.

The contemplative mood of the song shifts as Draco finds his fingers moving of their own accord, trying to capture the gentle yet tense feeling that washes over him when he watches Potter sleep, when he hears Potter murmur his name, when Potter cries out for Sirius in his sleep. The guilty somberness Draco feels knowing what Potter sees is reality, not a dream.

As he plays, the music seems to take on a life of its own, evoking emotions he's been trying to suppress. The tenderness, the confusion, the unexpected joy - all of it pours from his fingers into the keys. It's as if the music is the only magic left to him now, a new form of expression to replace the wand he can no longer use.

Fighting against the ingrained disgust at 'dirtying his hands' with such a pursuit, he picks up a blank notebook and a muggle pen lying on the bench next to him and starts writing down the notes he plays, crossing out some and keeping others. The freedom to create whatever he wants is intoxicating, so different from the strict, approved melodies he was allowed to hear growing up. He feels a warmth growing in his gut, a feeling so foreign yet addictive that it momentarily overrides his shame.

He missed this, and for once he didn't have to worry about being ready to jump up and pretend he was simply reading about Pureblood customs in case his parents appeared in the floo. As a vampire, time feels different - more fluid, less pressing. He loses himself in the music, barely noticing as minutes stretch into hours.

Too absorbed in his task to notice his surroundings, he doesn't even hear as his family filters in from their hunt or that the music flowing from his fingers speaks of hesitancy, a willingness to keep one’s distance, to watch and observe, as something grows hidden underneath, something that will derail all his carefully laid plans and will refuse to be stopped.

The morning of the beach trip Harry allows himself to feel a small ray of hope as he sees weak sunlight shining through his window. Maybe just maybe it won’t rain today. Harry’s luck holds out as he pulls into the parking lot of Ron’s dad’s sports store, parking his Firebolt near Hermione’s bug. He says hello to his friends as they climb into the back of Lee’s truck with Fred, George and Neville. When they pull into the park they go off to find Ginny. She sits with a group of other members of The Balsam, laughing around a green and blue fire.

Ginny, with her vibrant black and red hair flowing in the wind, approaches Harry and pulls him down onto a log next to her. Ron blushes as he sits on a log next to Hermione and leans close to her. Fred and George make kissy faces at him when Hermione’s back is turned and Ron gives them the finger. Ginny pulls him into a warm hug, the familiar scent of cedar and pine washing over him and whispers,

“It’s good to see you, Harry.

“Harry, Ron, Hermione meet, Parvati, Seamus, and Lavender,” Ginny announces to Harry’s friends.

“It’s nice to see you again” Ron says with an awkward wave.

It takes a few minutes of stilted conversation but soon both groups are talking like they’ve been friends for years.

“Harry was so sweet, he invited Draco, but he couldn’t make it.” Hermione chimes in.

Parvati’s face goes dark as she looks at Harry, her face full of disapproval.

“The Cullen’s don’t come here,”

Harry feels a rush of cold go down his spine and he curls in on himself as a chilly wind blows through him. Hermione pulls the conversation towards the differences in their curriculum seeming jealous of their ability to cover more nuanced aspects of history than their prehistoric lesson plans allow them.

Ginny’s gaze is filled with a mixture of excitement and nostalgia as she gestures towards the vast expanse of La Push Beach ahead of them.

"Come on, Harry. I can't wait to show you around," Ginny says eagerly, her eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief.

Harry follows Ginny along the sandy shore, the rhythmic sound of crashing waves causing him unease, but he tries to push it to the back of his mind.

“What did Pavarti mean, by ‘The Cullens don’t come here?” he asks.

“Oh, that?” Ginny says with a nervous laugh.

Harry nods and smiles at her to ease her tension.

“Well, it’s has something to do with the origin story of my people.”

“I’d love to hear it,” Harry says trying not to sound too eager.

“Alright,” Ginny says with a smile.

As they walk, Ginny recounts the fascinating origin story of The Balsam tribe, and their encounters with the mysterious "pale faces."

Listening intently, Harry is captivated by Ginny's storytelling, weaving a tale about ancient monsters disguised as people who preyed on her tribe. She explains how her people eventually made a treaty with a particular group of pale faces because supposedly they didn’t hunt humans, though it made them no less dangerous. The sun sets casting a golden hue over their faces, as Ginny’s voice trails off and they descend into silence.

“Wait?” Harry asks confused after a few minutes, “How could they be the Cullen’s if it happened a long time ago?”

Ginny leans forward into his face and says in a spooky voice,

“Unless they don’t age.”

She laughs at Harry’s expression of horror.

“Impressed?” she asks with a grin.

“Yes, I found it very informative.”

Ginny smiles.

“Come on Harry, lets get back to the others,” Ginny says, grabbing his hand and pulling him along behind her.

Harry follows her, knowing he has a lot to think about.

*****

Harry joins the group again, but his mind is consumed with thoughts of the mysterious Cullens. As they part ways for the night, Harry bids everyone goodbye and retreats to his room, unable to shake off the unsettling feeling that has settled in the pit of his stomach.

Once alone in his room, Harry paces back and forth, his thoughts swirling with images of immortal beings and ancient myths. Unable to resist the lure of knowledge, he settles down in front of his computer and delves into a whirlwind of late-night research.

Hours pass as Harry immerses himself in articles, folklore, and legends. His heart races as he uncovers dark and unsettling tales that make his blood run cold. He reads about Lamashtu, a malevolent demon who preys on infants, and Revenants, undead beings seeking revenge from the living. The stories of striges, vampiric creatures that feed on human blood, send a chill down his spine. And when he stumbles upon the legend of Lilith, a seductive entity known for her beauty and thirst for blood, Harry's hands tremble involuntarily. She looks so much like Luna, that Harry finds it hard to look away.

As the night wears on, Harry's mind becomes a battleground of rationality and fear. The creatures that he has researched match certain aspects of what Ginny mentioned-cold skin, immortality, beauty, and blood-drinking but none he reads about fully align with all of the characteristics.

With trembling fingers, Harry continues his search, desperate for answers that seem to dance just out of reach. The enigma of the Cullens hangs heavy over him. Could they truly be something so beyond human comprehension?

Images of pale, cold-skinned figures with unearthly beauty linger in his mind like a haunting nightmare. Every time he closes his eyes, their piercing red gazes bore into him, sending shivers down his spine. Paranoia makes the scent of blood seem to permeate the air around him, as though its insidious touch has leaked into the fabric of reality itself. With a trembling hand, he pulls the covers over his head, knowing he is being childish but being comforted by the gesture anyway.

*****

Harry glances around at the graveyard that surrounds him. Most of the headstones are worn down to smooth stone surfaces, the names that adorned them long forgotten by the living. An old graveyard he thinks, as he walks further through the headstones, reading off the few readable names, hoping to find a clue to determine his location. An odd sense of foreboding is building in his gut, but no recognition follows the feeling. He hears the sound of pounding footsteps up ahead and frowns as Ron and Hermione jet towards him. 

“I’m so sorry, Harry!” Hermione babbles, “We should have listened to you.” 

“You were right, mate!” Ron cries.

“I was right about what?” Harry asks in frantic confusion as a shaking Hermione leans into Ron. 

“Draco…he is a Death Eater.” Ron chokes out. 

Terror races through Harry’s veins at those words and Hermione lifts up her tear-streaked eyes to meet his.

“Run,” she whispers in a soft voice as she and Ron take off. 

Harry wants to follow them, every nerve in his body screams to get away but he walks on, drawn to a giant cauldron at the center of the graveyard. One of the few graves with the full name and date printed on it looms tall with a grim reaper-like statue next to it. Harry reads the name, Tom Riddle, as shudders rack through his body. He remembers bonds and a knife….

“Harry, run! He’s coming! You have to get out of here.” Ginny screams appearing behind him. 

Harry looks at her in confusion feeling like she just broke him from a daze, or maybe a memory. 

“Harry! Please, he's almost here. It’s not safe for you.” Ginny insists in a desperate voice, yanking on his hand. 

“Harry,” a new voice croons, playing hell with his entire system.

“No Har-” 

Ginny’s shouts are cut off with a yelp as she falls to the floor convulsing. 

“Ginny!” Harry cries as red hair covers her body and her features morph into those of a red-furred wolf. 

“I always knew she was a bitch,” the sweet voice mutters. 

Harry’s head whips around, his eyes meeting with a striking creature that sprawls back against the headstone. Harry freezes at the demonic red eyes that contrast the being’s halo of angelic white hair and milky smooth skin. The being’s robes fan out like powerful ash-colored wings making him look like one of Lucifer's fallen angels poised to snatch up lost souls. Another figure comes from around the headstone carrying a moving bundle and an intricate carving knife. He reminds Harry of a rat, keeping his head low to the ground and his shifty eyes averted. Harry winces as pain shoots through his forehead, just looking at the bundle. 

“Lord Draco, I brought the knife.” the man says in a pathetic voice, bowing forward and holding the blade out in offering. 

“No, need Wormtail. I have everything I require,” the angel says sharp fangs descending from his mouth.

The angel gives him an ethereal smile as he beckons in a feather-light voice, “Come here, Harry,” 

Harry freezes as he feels all of his senses attuned to that perfect treble bell sound. He takes a step forward in a daze. A growl reverberates behind him and Ginny launches herself at Draco. Harry screams but he’s not sure which one he fears for more, the wolf or his angel. 

Draco throws the wolf into a nearby tree with a sickening thud, the trunk cracking down the middle from the pressure. The wolf slides down in a boneless sprawl and refuses to get up, no matter how much Harry urges her to. 

“Is she dead?” Harry asks the angel in a pathetic small voice. 

Draco sneers, beckoning him forward with an outstretched hand.

“Trust me if I wanted her dead she would be. Now come here unless you would like me to change my mind.” 

Harry feels the force of the command as he moves within the angel’s reach, not a thought in his head to fight it. The angel’s heavenly glowing hand snaps out and grabs his wrist in a punishing grasp, twisting it around so it reaches his mouth. As Harry struggles against the grip, Draco’s fingers continue to push down until he feels his bone creak. 

“Draco that hurts,” Harry whimpers, suddenly remembering the name.

Draco's other arm circles his waist pulling Harry’s back flush with his chest, his fingers spread out against Harry’s stomach. Harry flinches as a cold wet tongue strokes his sensitive skin and sharp scraping teeth glide along his pulsing veins in gentle movements. Draco’s sculpted lips follow his tongue and teeth, brushing and sucking the skin until Harry’s blood feels boiling. The strange sensation must be melting his brain because a moan slips out of his mouth and Harry starts to feel white-hot pleasure pool in his gut. Draco purrs as Harry starts to grind against him, his arms tightening around him, bringing them closer together. The rat man, Wormtail, eyes the display nervously, worrying his lip between his teeth. 

“Lord Draco…is that necessary.” 

“Shut up Wormtail,” Draco growls.

Harry, lost in his haze, doesn’t notice as masked-robed figures start to emerge from behind the gravestone forming a circle around them. After a few more minutes of this a cold voice full of contempt cuts in, 

“The Dark Lord awaits, son, you don’t have time to play with your…dinner.” 

Draco sighs his cool breath caressing Harry’s wrist as he pulls his lips away. Without warning Draco’s fangs slash back down opening a deep flowing cut, across the skin his angel just worshipped. 

“Ahhh! Draco that hurts! No stop! Draco please!” Harry shrieks.

His pleas land on deaf ears as Draco drags him over to the cauldron, holding his wrist over it. His eyes were cold and empty, his grip like stone. 

“Draco?” Harry whimpers, in a hopeless voice, hot tears rushing down his face and blurring his vision. 

Harry falls silent, accepting his fate when Draco fails yet again to answer. Rivers of blood stream out Harry’s wrist and into the cauldron coating the bottom in a garish pool. When Harry begins to feel weak and sways on his feet, Draco pulls his wrist to his mouth and lapping at the cut and soothing the pain. Through the numbness that settles over Harry, he sees that Draco healed it. The ice in his angel’s eyes thaws as he looks at Harry's pale snot covered form. He takes several steps back drawing Harry’s shaking body against his and cupping the back of Harry’s head with his hand as Harry sobs into his chest. 

“Shh, sweetheart, I’ve got you. We’re alive. We will always be together. I promise I won’t let you go. Shh.,” his angel murmurs into Harry’s ear, rocking him gently in his cool arms.

Harry wakes up choking on his tears, a strange cold feeling lingering in his limbs as if he’d been covered in snow. He swears the scent of apples and spearmint lingers in the air.

******

The weeks pass in a flurry and Harry is forced to say goodbye to Sirius and Remus who came home for Christmas so they could spend it with him as the holiday season ends. January brings snow and each day turns into a white blur of icy cold and wind. With the change of the season, the gossip about Collin and Harry dies down, but Cedric never talks to Harry again and he is unable to continue ballet. It makes Harry sad, but he is unsure what to do about the situation without making it worse. Draco provides more than enough of a distraction in any case. They do a strange dance around each other neither one wanting to break the standoff of bring back up the topic of Draco’s strange abilities. They fall into a temporary holding pattern that Harry knows will only last for so long. Throughout it all Draco still sits with Harry’s friends at lunch and even seems to win Fred over, though the interested gleam in Fred’s eye is still visible when he looks at Harry. Harry also keeps up his end of the bargain and allows Draco to play doctor on him. It’s really not too bad and they always go to Alberforth’s for dinner afterwards so it’s no real loss to Harry. Rosmerta dotes on Draco and they team up to make sure that Harry always finishes his plate and finds room for dessert. Draco and Aberforth talk business which Draco displays an exceptional amount of knowledge in for one so young. Strangely Aberforth doesn’t seem so surprised.

Harry also finds himself gaining weight with Draco giving him his lunch and inviting Harry and his friends for dinner after school at a local restaurant more often than not. Ginny even joins them if she is able to and she and Draco become fast friends, both seeming to enjoy teasing Harry. Harry feels bad that Draco spends so much money on him and his friends but when Harry brings it up, Draco always waves him off, saying his family has enough for small luxuries like this. Harry gives up and admits to himself that it seems to do Draco good to hang out with someone other than his family. Despite it all Draco refuses to call him Harry and still seems uncomfortable on the first day of school when Harry calls him Draco as if no time has passed for him.

Early on a February morning Harry, sees Hermione and Draco in the library, heads huddling over books, smiles on both their faces. It makes him uneasy because he knows that Ron likes Hermione though he still hasn’t worked up the courage to ask her out. He puts it out of his mind though knowing Draco will respect his friend. The next morning he spots a silver Volvo parked in Madam Puddifoot’s Coffee House on his way to school. He suddenly feels a caffeine craving and pulls in. He tries to order a black coffee, but the barista frowns at him. 

“We are only serving drinks from our heart collection today,” she says. 

“Umm…why?” Harry asks, confused. 

“It’s Valentine's Day.” 

Harry's eyes bug and he looks around, taking in the pink, white and red heart-shaped decorations and wonders how time passed so fast. He glances at the menu she pointed at and picks one at random. 

“An Amortentia Latte…I guess.” 

“Good choice,” she says, giving him a sly smile.  

“Are you that desperate, Swan?” a voice behind him sneers. 

Draco, Harry thinks, his heart beating out of his chest. He smiles as he turns around. His smile grows as he takes in Draco’s outfit. He wears a tight blush pink cable knit sweater with silver hearts sewn into the weave and tight black jeans. Glittery pink eyeshadow coats his lids emphasizing his gold eyes, and matching his pale pink dyed hair. A single heart-shaped silver earring hangs from one ear. Black combat boots finish the look and add a touch of masculinity to the ensemble.

“I lost a bet to Blaise, the punishment was he got to dress me in Pansy’s clothes. I guess I should be thankful it wasn’t Luna’s or I would be wearing heart shaped radish earrings.” Draco mutters, taking in Harry’s expression.

“I like Luna’s earrings.” Harry says feeling a spike of defensiveness for Draco’s sister. 

Draco’s face transforms into a soft smile that Harry sees more and more of. 

“I know, she told me,” 

To stop the fluttering in his heart, he asks “What did you mean, when you asked if I am that desperate?” 

Draco’s expression drops away and he says with a disparaging look.

“Amortentia is the most powerful love potion in the world according to myths, only someone who wants to send out the message that they are desperately searching for love would order it.” 

Harry goes pink wondering if that’s why the barista smiled at him. He shakes his head in refusal. Draco is just making something up to mess with him. 

“So? It’s not like the other options were any better,” 

“You didn’t want to try Espresso of Envy or Broken Hearts Brew?” Draco asks with a smirk, “You certainly leave a lot of those in your wake.

“Haha,” Harry says thinking of the poor freshmen who had somehow not heard about Harry’s desire to stay single and asked him out yesterday.

She had cried when he turned him down and Draco and Ginny wouldn’t let him hear the end of it. He looks around the cafe and is surprised when he spot Hermione, who sits in the far corner of the with her head stuffed in a book and earbuds in her ears. She looks dressed up and pretty, like one would for a date in a red knitted sweater with a large gold heart on it and pink lip gloss. Harry wants to go over and say hello, but he knows from experience that she is lost to the world right now. Harry spies Draco's messenger bag slung over the chair across from her and raises his eyebrows.

“What are you two doing here?” 

“Hermione and I are here for a date.” 

“Date?” Harry says in surprise, not expecting that.

“You know what a date is, right Swan? When two people elect to spend time together-” 

“I know what a date is, Draco.” Harry sputters. 

“Amortentia for Harry,” the barista calls out, placing a milky pink drink swirled with edible silver glitter on the counter.

Everyone in the small cafe swivels their heads around and stares at Harry, their eyes growing big as they recognize him. Excited whispers break out of all of the tables with none too subtle glances in his direction. Harry feels his face turning red as he pulls up the hood of his jacket attempting to hide his face. During Harry’s distraction Draco rushes forward and grabs the drink shoving the end of the pink straw into his mouth.

“Hey what are you doing?” Harry demands, reaching unsuccessfully for his drink.

Draco takes a large gulp, his eyes never leaving Harry’s. Harry watches in fascination as Draco’s Adam apple bobs up and down, before he forces his eyes away. Draco screws up his face and scowls, as he shoves the drink at Harry. He hisses, 

“ Nice pick Swan, now if you’ll excuse me I have a date to get back to,” 

Harry frowns, trying to understand Draco’s stranger than usual behavior as he watches him walk away. On his way out he grabs another straw, knowing he has no intention of actually using it. 

Twenty date rejections later, Harry, sits in front of his computer and reads mouth agape, that Amortentia is in fact a real myth and the spit of the chosen paramour is the catalyst that makes the potion work. 

****

“Draco?” Harry asks as Draco carefully inserts a needle into his arm, his eyes strangely tense as always.

"Harry, look at me," Draco commands in a firm voice, drawing Harry's eyes away from the blood flowing through the plastic tube and the smell in the air.

Draco had laughed when Harry explained that was why he almost fainted that day in class. They had been doing this for so long that Harry didn’t mind. Harry playing Draco's reluctant patient and Draco his doctor. After of course he signed a large number of consent forms, that Draco's mother drew up for him, since Draco wasn't licensed to do this. Though he was better than most of the nurses that took his vitals in the past, always incredibly gentle as he put the needle in. Harry usually barely felt a pinch. It was doing something to ease Harry's fears of the doctors office and allowed him access to pain medication he never had with the Dursley's. Harry wasn't certain what it was doing for Draco, but he seemed happier as of late. Through trial and error they discovered the only way Harry got through the occasional drawing of the blood was for Harry to stare deep into Draco's eyes. It almost put him into a sort of trance and he forgot all about the blood smell drifting through the air.

“Yes, Harry?” Draco asks as he puts the vials away.

"What?" Harry asks still dazed from Draco warm eyes.

"You asked me a question?" Draco says with a patient expression.

“Oh, yes right. Umm…Are you interested in Hermione?” 

Draco quirks his brow.

“Why?” 

“Well on Valentines day you said that you were on a date. Then Ron saw you two talking to each other in the hallway after AP Psych. He said that you guys looked very….friendly.” 

“So?” 

“Well….Ron likes Hermione so it would be bad form to go after her.” 

“Why?” 

“Well….Ron’s my friend and you’re-” 

“ Not his friend,” 

Draco maintained the stubborn argument that despite spending all of his lunch periods and most of his free time with Harry’s friends that he didn’t consider himself part of the group, nor did he want to be included.

“I know . I was just going to say that we are classmates and that comes with a certain level of comradery, ”

A snort. 

“If you say so," Draco says, "Now shirt off, swe-Swan"

Harry grumbles but does as requested, exposing his chest to the cold hospital air. Immediately goosebumps rise up along his skin. Harry fights back a flinch as Draco's cool latex-gloved fingers smear bruise paste on the place where Dudley kicked him in the stomach after tripping him on the stairs. He is glad Draco never asks him where he gets the bruises because then he would have to say that he got them from motorbike stunts which would only be part of the truth and he doesn't want to lie to him. Draco grimaces as he notices,

"I asked them to turn up the heat, but it would appear that they didn't listen to me," Draco growls, "Despite my father being the best doctor here and my family's many donations,"

Harry raises his eyebrows at Draco in disdain, "Just because you have talent and money doesn't mean people should bow down at your feet,"

Draco's face softens as rubs burn cream on the spot where Harry accidentally burnt himself taking a pan out of the oven without a oven mitt, "Yes, but you think they would listen to me because it's a good idea and they care about the comfort of all their staff and patients,"

"Sure," Harry says in a doubtful voice.

"Oh hush, you, or this will take longer," Draco grumbles.

When Draco motions for him Harry to put his shirt back on he sighs in relief, even if Dudley's cast-offs aren't terribly thick or fashionable it's warmer than his Phoniex clothes and better than nothing at all. He jumps in surprise when something heavy settles around his shoulders and sees with surprise that it's Draco's winter jacket. Draco's scent fills his mouth and Harry has to stop himself from burying his nose in the fabric and breathing deeply.

"You looked cold," Draco says as way of explanation, looking awkward.

"Oh, thank you," Harry says pulling the jacket tighter around him as he slips off the cushioned table, "I will give it back once we get to your car,"

Draco doesn't respond for a moment and then in a tight voice he says, "You can keep it…if you want,"

Harry stares at him with wide eyes.

"Draco I couldn-"

Draco cuts him off, "It's so last season, I was going to throw it away anyways, so it's either you or the bin,"

Harry's mouth falls open in surprise, he’s never seen Draco wear it before and he all but takes notes of Draco’s every outfit, but he nods, grateful for Draco's unexpected gesture. Before he can fully process the situation, Draco is striding purposefully towards him with a determined expression. He presses a thick green hat with a large H on the front onto Harry's head.

"Let me see your hands, Swan," Draco demands, his voice sharp.

Confused but obedient, Harry extends his hands towards Draco. Without hesitation, Draco shoves thick warm gloves onto his hands. The outside is made of intricately woven green fabric, and a large H is stitched on the top of each glove. The insides are lined with soft fur, providing the ultimate warmth and comfort. Harry wonders where Draco got these gloves from because the material feels strange and luxurious. As he looks at the gloves adorning his hands, he can't help but feel touched by Draco's thoughtfulness and care for him.

"Are these so last season too?" Harry asks in a joking voice.

Draco doesn't laugh like he expects, if possible he looks even more uncomfortable.

"They are a late Christmas present from Luna and I," he says, "The materials finally came in so she was able to make them,"

"Oh wow, thank you! I love them," he says looking at the Hs on them with new meaning.

For some reason, it brings a warm nostalgic feeling in his heart to see the first initial of his name sewed on his clothes.

"Dinner?" Draco asks holding out his hand in invitation.

"But I didn't get you anything," Harry says suddenly filled with a sense of guilt.

"You can buy dinner tonight Swan," Draco promises.

"Okay," Harry says in a hesitant voice, as he slips his gloved hand into Draco’s, reminding himself that he doesn’t want this to be a date.

*****

"I never asked how visiting your godfather over Winter break was," Draco says, his golden eyes glowing in the flickering candlelight.

Harry's hand trembles as he brings the roll halfway to his mouth, unable to tear his gaze away from Draco. The way the light caresses his features, highlighting every hollow and curve, makes him almost ethereal. Harry's heart races. He can't deny that Draco is undeniably attractive - like a god-made flesh. But admitting it doesn't mean he is attracted to him... does it?

"Yes, Sirius was thrilled to see me," Harry manages, forcing himself to focus. "We rode our bikes together for hours until Remus scolded us to come in. The weather was nice as well. I missed the heat and the lack of rain." His eyes are drawn to the windows where the rain batters against the glass panes, threatening to turn to ice.

Draco frowns at that, but tries to hide it by taking a large gulp of his drink - the same one Rosmerta brings him every time he sat down. Harry notices he never actually seems to eat or drink much of anything else, yet he looks more filled out than Harry could dream to look.

"Do you approve of Remus dating your godfather?" Draco asks in an arch voice, one perfect eyebrow raised.

Harry raises his eyebrows in return, surprised by the question.

"Well, it's not really any of my business who my godfather dates," he replies, fidgeting with his napkin.

Draco shrugs his shoulders, his frown deepening. A strand of his platinum hair falls across his forehead, and Harry has to resist the urge to reach out and brush it back.

"Do you think your godfather would give you leeway in whoever you choose to date?" Draco asks, a strange look entering his eyes. Is that... hope?

Harry swallows hard. "Well, I am eighteen. He hasn't really voiced an opinion on who I was dating since I was fifteen and about to go on my first date."

He remembers how Sirius had handed him a fifty and instructed him to buy Cho's popcorn and to be home by midnight. It had been the most money any adult had given Harry up to that point, and he had a hard time making himself spend it and not hoard it for emergencies.

"No one too scary, right?" Draco asks with a smirk, leaning forward slightly.

The movement causes the fabric of his sheer grey undershirt to shift, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of his marble-like skin.

Harry snorts, trying to imagine himself with someone Sirius considers scary. They would probably wear pressed tweed jackets and dress slacks and leave their house ten minutes early for plans in case of traffic.

"Of course," he says with a confused smile.

"Do you think that I could be scary?" Draco asks, his perfect white teeth glinting in the low light of the restaurant.

There is something almost predatory in his gaze now, and Harry feels a shiver run down his spine - not entirely from fear.

Harry scoffs, leaning back in his chair and examining Draco with a critical eye. He is dressed impeccably, donning a bell-sleeved grey almost sheer undershirt that reveals glimpses of his toned chest and arms. A shimmery silver waistcoat hugs his torso, accentuating his lean form, and perfectly pressed slacks cover his long legs. His 'cloak' - as Harry calls it because he can’t come up with any other words for the strange loose jacket-like thing that drapes over Draco like a sheet - hangs on the back of his chair. He looks like a young medieval Lord examining his kingdom, waiting for a servant to hand-feed him grapes.

"Maybe to some people," Harry says at last, thinking of Sirius and how he might react to someone so... put together.

Too put together, almost.

"Are you scared of me?" Draco asks, leaning further across the table until he is all but sprawling across it.

The ice in his empty cup clinks softly.

"No," Harry says in a hesitant voice, his heart beating so fast he is sure Draco must be able to hear it.

He notices other diners stealing glances at their table, whispering behind their hands. Harry fights against the urge to hunch down in his seat, he wishes it wasn’t always like this when they were together. But with his fame and Draco’s beauty, they always draw every eye in any room.

Draco's smirk widens, but before Harry can explain that he isn't scared of Draco per se, but the way that he makes him feel , Rosmerta sets Harry's food in front of him.

The tantalizing aroma of his meal momentarily distracts Harry, but he can't shake the intensity of Draco's gaze, or the way it makes his skin tingle with a mixture of anticipation and something he isn't quite ready to name.

"More drinks for the happy couple?" she asks, her eyes twinkling as she glances between them.

Harry feels his cheeks flush.

"We're not—" he begins, but Rosmerta cuts him off with a gentle laugh.

"Oh, don't be coy, Harry," Rosmerta chimes in with a playful wink, "I've seen the way you two look at each other. It's about time Forks had a proper romance to gossip about!"

Harry feels his cheeks burn, ducking his head to focus intently on cutting his steak. "It's not... we're not..."

"Now, now," Rosmerta continues, clearly enjoying herself. "There's no need to be shy. Draco here would be a much better catch than that Malcolm fellow if you ask me."

Draco's eyebrows shoot up, genuine curiosity sparking in his golden eyes.

"Malcolm? Who's Malcolm?"

Harry groans internally, wishing he could sink into the floor. But Draco's gaze is intense, expectant, and he finds himself answering despite his reluctance.

"It was... a while ago," Harry begins hesitantly, "When I was studying ballet with the Paris Ballet Company. Malcolm was a violinist – award-winning. We dated for a bit, but..."

He trails off, unsure how to continue.

Draco leans in, his expression unreadable. "But?"

Harry sighs. "His father didn't approve. Of Malcolm dating men, I mean. He wanted Malcolm to focus on his classical music career. I... I encouraged Malcolm to be true to himself, and to explore playing the violin for popular music like he wanted. It caused a lot of tension."

"I see," Draco says, his voice carefully neutral. "And what happened?"

Harry shrugs, pushing a piece of smoked venison around his plate.

"What usually happens, I guess. Malcolm chose his family's expectations over... well, over me. Over himself, really."

Rosmerta clicks her tongue sympathetically. "Well, that's his loss, isn't it? And all the more reason why you two should—"

"Rosmerta!" Harry interrupts, mortified. "Please, can we just... can we change the subject?"

Draco's lips quirk into a small smile. "Of course. Though I must say, I find myself rather curious about your ballet days now, Swan. Perhaps you could show me a few moves sometime?"

Harry looks up, caught between embarrassment and a strange flutter in his chest at Draco's teasing tone.

"I... maybe. If you're lucky."

Draco's smile widens, and for a moment, the rest of the diner seems to fade away.

*****

“Do you think they can do it?” Rosmerta asks, her eyes pinched with worry.

Aberforth stays silent as he watches the couple through the glass hole in the kitchen door. The way Draco’s eyes softens when he thinks that Harry isn’t looking, the way that Harry keeps stealing glances at Draco with a small smile playing on his lips, the way their hands keep brushing against each other as they walk out of the restaurant. 

“It’s hard to say. I don’t want to get her hopes up only to have them let down,” he says in a tired voice. 

“But Ginny-”

“Is still Albus’s daughter. Loyalty to family must always come first,” 

Aberforth says the line with a bitter resentment, as if he no longer believes such a statement. 

“Only time will tell, for now all we can do is observe and wait,”

*****

“Just imagine how amazing Dracula would have been if Van Helsing had been a badass woman,” Ginny says in excitement, as she lays down the Dracula book she had been skimming.

“But Van Helsing is a man,” Ron says with an arched eyebrow.

“So? We change stories all the time,” Ginny argues, “Just look at Cinderella. In the original the step sisters cut off their toes and when they tried on the shoe it filled with blood,”

Ron gives her a nausea look, ”That’s disgusting, I’m so glad we aren’t related.”

“Oh if you think that’s gross, at the end Cinderella’s feathery friends peck the stepsisters eyes out. I think it’s a fitting punishment for how they treated her throughout the story,” Ginny says with a devilish smile.

“Mione! Make her stop!” Ron whines.

“Hermione agrees with me!” Ginny says in a condescending voice, That’s why she hasn’t saved you yet.”

“What just because she is a female?” Ron asks confused.

Hermione groans and drops the Chemistry book that she was reading on the library table with a thud.

“I don’t even want to know what either of you were talking about, as I can already tell that it isn’t related to school,” Hermione says with a glare, “Please just go somewhere else so I can have some peace and take Harry with you,”

Harry’s head shoots up out of his own Chemistry textbook, in indignation.

“Hey! I didn’t even say anything,” he says.

“Harry you’ve been reading the same page for the last ten minutes,” Hermione says with an exasperated sigh, ”Just take a short break, walk around the block or go to some shops, but we didn’t come all the way to Port Angeles’s better stocked library for you to fall asleep,”

He follows Ginny and Ron out of the library and onto the main strip his eyes taking in the unfamiliar town. Harry eyes the storefronts as he follows a skipping Ginny and a sour-faced Ron along the main strip.

“I can’t believe she kicked us out, this was going to be my moment when I finally asked her out,” Ron grumbles.

“Ron, oh dear brother that’s thankfully not mine, you were most certainly not, or you would have picked a better time than when Herm was nose deep in a book,”

“It’s scary when her full attention is on you though,” Ron complains, “I was hoping that she would be a little distracted and wouldn’t realize what she was saying when she said yes,”

Ginny gives Ron a dull look, “How noble of you,” she deadpans.

“Hey, I think I am going to check out that book shop,” Harry says as he spots the shop name he looked up when they made the plans to come up here.

Ginny groans, “But we just left a place full of books, don’t you want to go somewhere else?”

“There’s a book that I want to buy that isn’t at Forks and Blotts,” he says with a shrug.

“Come on Ron, I see a Harley Davidson store, I need a new three pocket batwing fairing pouch, ”Ginny says, dragging a reluctant Ron to the store, “We will catch up with you later, Harry,”

Ron sends a pleading look at Harry before he disappears into the crowd and Harry resists the urge to chuckle. He is glad that all of his friends get along. He worried that they wouldn’t and is pleasantly surprised by Ginny and Ron’s sibling dynamic and that Hermione seems to appreciate having another girl in the group. A few minutes later Harry leaves the store disappointed and empty handed. The shop owner says they haven’t stocked that book in years and that the only place he could think of that may stock it is a store owned by a member of Ginny’s tribe about a twenty minute walk from here.

A part of Harry knows it would be a good idea to ask Ginny and Ron to come with him, but he feels bad about asking them to come and make Ginny to look at more books. If Harry texts them where he is going Ginny will insist on coming with him or following him. So instead he decides to go to the new bookshop quickly and then pretend he was at the first one the entire time when he meets back up with them.

He is sure nothing bad could happen to him in such a small amount of time…

Chapter Text

Oh, your in my veins

And I cannot get you out

Oh, you're all I taste 

At night inside of my mouth

By: Andrew Belle

Harry clutches the book to his chest as he exits the store, a chill running down his spine that has nothing to do with the rapidly darkening sky. The streetlights flicker to life, casting long shadows that seem to reach for him. He quickens his pace, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up as he hears footsteps behind him, slightly out of sync with his own.

His heart begins to race as he notices not one, but two men trailing him, their reflections visible in a shop window. Sweat beads on his palms as he fumbles for the map in his backpack. He spots an alley—a shortcut—and darts into it, hoping to lose his pursuers.

The alley closes in around him, damp walls glistening in the dim light. The stench of rotting garbage assaults his nostrils as he navigates around overflowing bins. His foot catches on a discarded bottle, and he stumbles, barely catching himself. The sound of it rolling away seems deafening in the enclosed space.

For a moment, silence. Harry's breath comes in short gasps as he strains to listen. Then, a low murmur of voices at the alley's entrance. They're still following.

Panic rises in his throat as he pushes forward, feet splashing through murky puddles. He wishes desperately that he hadn't lied about Draco's plans to his friends, knowing that the blonde would never have let him out of his sight. 

Draco, with his ability to make Harry feel safe despite his cool exterior. Draco, whose eyes soften when Harry smiles, who tends to his wounds and truly listens. Draco, who sees past his fame to the person underneath.

A cat yowls, knocking over a trash can. Harry jumps, a startled cry escaping his lips. The voices behind him grow louder, closer. He needs to get out of this alley, to find his friends, to see Draco again.

With renewed determination, Harry pushes himself to move faster. He'll make it out of this. Maybe even work up the courage to ask Draco if he’s dating Astoria and if not-

Before he can finish his thought, a rough voice calls out behind him, followed by another. Harry's blood runs cold as he realizes he's trapped.

*****

August 17, 1995

The Wizarding World of France

The days leading up to the dinner are filled with a mix of anticipation and dread for Draco. He meticulously plans his excuse to his parents, rehearsing it in the mirror until it sounds believable even to his own ears. As he makes his way through the unfamiliar streets, his heart races with each step. The buildings grow smaller, the streets narrower, and he feels increasingly out of place in his expensive robes, charmed to look like muggle clothing.

Draco himself standing outside a modest apartment building, his heart pounding. He double-checks the address Luca gave him, then takes a deep breath and knocks on the door.

Luca answers, his smile warm but nervous. "You came."

"I said I would," Draco replies in a terse voice, stepping inside.

Luca smile drops, and Draco curses his defensiveness.

“Your house looks very cosy,” Draco says breaking up the silence that follows.

The tension in Luca’s shoulders eases and his smile reappears.

“Do you want a tour?” he asks shyly.

“Of course,” Draco says slipping his hand in Luca’s.

The apartment is small, cluttered with mismatched furniture and personal touches. Pictures of Luca and Addie at varying ages line the mantel places and smile back at him. He chuckles at one of Luca covered in cake batter from one of his earlier experiments that went wrong. Luca’s room is about the size of his closet and a small twin bed is crammed in a corner and a cheap looking desk in the other. Posters of famous bakers hang on the walls and even a few unmoving muggles ones join the mix. They creep Draco out with their vacant eyes and frozen facial expressions.

“It’s very you,” Draco smirks examining the Knick knacks on his arranged neatly on his desk, making noticing the missing Helga figure in his set of Wizarding Whisk Wonders collectable figurines and makes a note to owl it to him for his birthday.

Luca leans against him noticing the object of his attention.

“She’s impossible to find,” Luca grumbles eyeing the missing spot next to Wilhelmina Whiskbatter with frustration, “Everyone wants her because they made that limited addition Helga Hufflepuff figurine of her, not because of her-”

“Enchanted Treacle Tarts that sing the person’s favourite song when it is cut, a magical feat that no one else has been able to reproduce, not even Barnabas Butterbatch who is still trying to this day,” Draco finishes with a preening look.

“So you do listen when I talk,” Luca says with a heart-stopping smile, eyeing Draco’s lips in temptation.

Draco leans forward to oblige him when a voice of a little girl yells,

“Luca, Maman says you aren’t allowed to horde Draco in your room,”

Draco stiffens in embarrassment, but Luca just laughs, grabbing his hand and pulling him into the sitting room. The aroma of home cooking fills the air, so different from the formal meals prepared by house elves that Draco is used to.

A young girl bounds into the room, her eyes wide with excitement as she all but bounces up and down.

"Is this him? Is this Draco?"

Luca laughs. "Yes, Aggie. This is Draco. Draco, meet my little sister."

Draco awkwardly extends his hand, but Aggie ignores it, wrapping him in a tight hug instead.

"Luca talks about you all the time!"

Draco stiffened, unused to such casual physical affection from anyone, but his mother and even that is rare.

"Oh, um, it's nice to meet you too."

When he gets his bearings, he notices with amusement that Luca has turned a bright shade of red. He leans over smirking and whispers in his ear,

“All the time,”

“Shush, like your ego needs any inflating,” Luca jokes shoving him back.

Luca's parents emerge from the kitchen, both wearing warm smiles. As Draco observes Luca's parents, he's struck by how different they are from his own. Luca's father, despite his weathered appearance, exudes a warmth that Draco finds both foreign and intriguing. His face is lined with the marks of long hours and hard work, likely from his numerous shifts at the Muse. His hair, a tousled grey mop reminiscent of Luca's own unruly curls, speaks of a man too busy living to be overly concerned with appearances. Yet, his eyes catch Draco off guard. They sparkle with a youthful light, full of life and mirth that seems at odds with his tired frame. It's a stark contrast to Lucius Malfoy's cold, calculating gaze.

Luca's mother, Elena, is a whirlwind of colour and energy that Draco can scarcely comprehend. Her clothes are a vibrant patchwork of hues that would make his own mother recoil in horror, yet somehow Elena makes it work. She moves with a free-spirited grace, her laughter bubbling forth easily and often. What captivates Draco most is her natural beauty - she wears no makeup, no expensive jewels, yet she glows with an inner radiance that outshines any of the meticulously groomed pureblood ladies he's accustomed to seeing.

The juxtaposition is jarring. Where his own parents are like exquisite ice sculptures - beautiful, pristine, yet cold and unyielding - Luca's parents are like a warm hearth on a winter's night. They may lack the polished exterior of the Malfoys, but they possess a vitality, a genuine aliveness that makes Draco's own family seem ancient and ossified in comparison.

As he watches them interact, the easy affection, the casual touches, the unguarded smiles, Draco feels a peculiar ache in his chest. He's witnessing something he's never truly experienced. It's both alluring and terrifying, and Draco finds himself both drawn to it and unsure of his place within it.

"Welcome, Draco. I hope you're hungry," the mother says.

Luca glances expectantly at his father, but the man shakes his head. Luca sighs in frustration but walks into the dining room.

As they settle around the small dining table, Draco feels distinctly out of place. The chairs don't match, the plates are chipped, and everyone serves themselves from mismatched dishes in the centre of the table. The aroma of hearty stew fills the air, mixed with the scent of freshly baked bread. The clinking of utensils against plates and the casual chatter creates a symphony so different from the formal, often silent dinners he's used to at the Manor.

"So, Draco," Luca's mother begins, passing him a bowl of stew, "Luca tells us you attend Hogwarts. How does it compare to Beauxbatons?"

Draco accepts the bowl, careful not to let his surprise at the simple fare show, "It's... different. Older, I suppose. With a rich history."

As Draco speaks about Hogwarts, he notices a flicker of something in Luca's eyes. Pride, certainly, but also a hint of... concern? Unease? Luca's smile tightens almost imperceptibly when Draco mentions the school's "rich history."

"It must be quite different from Beauxbatons," Luca says, his tone careful. "I imagine there are a lot of... longstanding traditions at Hogwarts?"

Draco catches the underlying question. He chooses his words carefully, aware of the potential minefield.

"There are, yes. Some more worthwhile than others, I'm finding."

Luca's eyebrows raise slightly at this, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Oh? And what's brought about this revelation?"

Draco feels heat rise to his cheeks, aware of Luca's family watching their exchange.

"New perspectives, I suppose," he says quietly.

Luca's smile widens, genuine warmth replacing the earlier caution in his eyes. He reaches under the table to squeeze Draco's hand briefly.

"I bet it's huge!" Aggie chimes in, "With secret passages and everything!"

Draco can't help but wear a small smile at her enthusiasm, "It is quite large, yes. There are indeed many secrets to discover."

As the meal progresses, Draco finds himself relaxing slightly. The conversation flows easily enough considering the family isn’t trained in dinner conversation etiquette, punctuated by laughter and gentle teasing. He watches as Luca's mother insists on giving him seconds, how his father's eyes crinkle with pride when his wife discusses Luca's baking skills, how Aggie hangs on every word of their Beauxbatons stories.

"Are you excited about attending Beauxbatons too, Aggie?" Draco asks, genuinely curious.

Aggie's smile falters slightly, glancing at Luca for confirmation.

"Ah…yes,"

Draco's guilt shoots through him as he remembers Luca telling him how hard he worked to save up for the fees and how he lied to his parents about taking extra shifts saying he was with Draco. His expensive robes suddenly feel like acid against his skin knowing they are easily worth a year of tuition. He glances at Luca, who gives him a small, sad smile.

"I'm sure you'll love it there," Draco says awkwardly.

As the dinner continues in silence Draco feels his mother’s voice in the back of his head, prompting him to make up for his faux pas.

"The food is delicious, Mrs..." Draco pauses stumbling again as he realizes he doesn't know Luca's last name.

His face flames, oversight making him acutely aware of how much he still has to learn.

Luca's mother smiles warmly.

"Please, call me Elena. And I can’t take the credit it’s my husband who runs the kitchen."

Draco fights not to raise his eyebrows in surprise. While Pureblood families tended towards equality in their marriages, he figured muggle-borns would be like muggles, the husbands lording their power over their wives.

“Luca must have gotten his talent from you then, sir,” Draco says in a polite voice.

Draco notices Luca making the same eye movements at his father as before, but his father doesn’t seem to notice, instead he just beams at Draco’s compliment and continues eating. Luca beside him looks disappointed.

Draco takes another bite, savouring the rich flavours. It's different, but there's a comforting quality to it that he finds surprisingly appealing.

"It's wonderful," he says sincerely, earning a pleased look from Luca.

As the conversation continues, Draco finds himself watching Luca more closely, noting the way he interacts with his family, and the ease and affection in every gesture. It's so different from his own family dynamics, and he feels a mix of envy and fascination.

As the evening winds down, Draco helps clear the table, a task he's never done before. In the tiny kitchen, Luca bumps his hip playfully.

"So, what do you think?" Luca asks, his voice low.

Draco is quiet for a moment, processing.

"It's... not what I'm used to," he admits. "But I can see why you love them so much. They're... warm. It’s different,"

He thinks about the last time his mother gave him a hug unprompted and comes up blank or his father discussed his potion achievements with pride. It makes a small bubble of envy grow in him, that he usually inspires in others.

Luca's eyes soften. "Thank you for coming. For trying."

As Draco prepares to leave, Aggie hugs him again, this time he returns it awkwardly. Luca's father shakes his hand warmly and his mother pulls into a warm hug, inviting him to come over again soon. 

Outside, under the stars, Draco turns to Luca. "I still don't understand everything," he says honestly. "But I want to. Can we... can we do this again?"

Luca's smile is brighter than any star. "Anytime, Draco. Anytime." 

*****

“-the night that I first fell in love to, those magic changes, my heart rearranges…”

Draco blinks the vision away in irritation. They aren't surprising or noteworthy anymore and he is resolved to ignore them in hopes of them going away. He turns his attention back the Greece sound track that Luna gave it to him as a Christmas present, saying, "Everyone needs this in their car's CD collection, Draco. It's a classic."

He didn’t hate it, though he thinks it’s melodramatic and still prefers music that is actually from the fifties, like his former vampire self. He loathes to admit it but the vampire actually had decent taste. Draco flips another page in the “Wizard of Oz,” a book that he is giving another shot to entertain him and continues reading about a girl who wanders around a strange land with her uncles. He gets a kick out of the lion being the cowardly one thinking of Longbottom the least Gryffindor student he ever met.

The sound of Weaselette's panicked voice shatters the peaceful bubble in his mind.

"Where's Harry?" she asks in a panicked voice, sending chills down Draco's spine.

"I thought he was with you," Hermione responds, her voice laced with worry.

Draco curses himself for not noticing earlier that the dunderhead was missing. He watches as Hermione's mind replays the moment Harry leaves the library with the two Weasels, and he feels a twinge of guilt for not paying closer attention.

"He was, but then we separated when he went into a bookshop. The clerk said he was there but left when they didn't have the book he wanted," Weaselette explains frantically.

"What book was he looking for?" Hermione asks, confusion evident on her face.

"He wouldn't say, claiming customer confidentiality," Weaselette sneers, rolling her eyes, “He thought we were crazy fans,”

"No, it’s because you threatened to beat him up if he didn’t tell us, Harry’s location,” Ron says in a putout voice.

“And it would have worked too if he had any experience with my special bat-bogey swing,” Weaelette huffs.

Draco tunes out the rest of their conversation, his mind already racing ahead as he pulls out of the parking lot and onto the main road. He knows which bookshop Weaselette is talking about, having seen it in her mind. He parks outside and strolls in, leaning against the counter until the clerk that he saw in the Weaselette’s head appears to help him.

“What are you looking for today?” he asks in a chirpy customer service voice.

Draco forces a charming smile on his face and purrs in a low musical voice, “I’m a friend of Harry Swan’s we were supposed to meet here, but it appears he’s run off,”

A dazed look enters the man’s eyes for a moment before he shakes it off and narrows his eyes, but it is enough for Draco to catch the flicker of the name of the bookstore Potter went to as his human brain invertedly thinks about it.

“Customer information is private,” the man snaps as he stalks off to the next customer.

Draco doesn’t linger as he races back to his car, and shoves the key into the ignition. With a dangerous fishtail maneuver, Draco turns his car around and speeds off in Harry's direction, catching glimpses of Harry’s face in the minds of the cars he passes.

As the area around him turns grim and rundown, Draco feels a surge of terror course though him. It's getting dark now and he hasn't seen another person in quite some time. Finally spotting Harry's back in a stranger's mind, Draco's heart plummets at the sight of him clutching onto a bag with white-knuckled fists.

In a blink, Draco watches the image move showing a horrifying slow motion scene of Harry huddled on the ground, surrounded by a mob of men raining down blows on him until his body is bruised and bloody. As the scene turns darker Draco yanks himself out with every fiber of his being, knowing it will only fuel his rage and further risk Harry’s safety.

Growling in frustration, Draco slams his foot harder on the gas pedal and races towards Harry's location. His senses are flooded with fragments of the others' minds - thoughts that would have once made his human self cower in fear. Now, they only serve to stoke his determination and anger, reminding him that these fragile humans have no idea who they are messing with.

As he swerves into an alleyway and catches sight of Harry in defense position with a stick raised like a wand, as if from muscle memory. Draco’s fear spicks knowing that there is no magic to protect them now.

The approaching monsters hesitate when Draco revs the engine in a menacing manner, giving him just enough time to roll down the window and snarl at Harry, "Get in, Swan."

Harry looks at him with fear filled green eyes and for a terrifying second Draco thinks Harry will run away and he will have to drag him in, but then the fear melts from his eyes. Harry lunges for the door handle and throws himself into the car. Draco feels himself calm incrementally as Harry’s scent burns his throat. He swerves wide almost hitting the monsters, who retreat into the alleyway and drives away. Harry’s heart thrums in his ears like a pulse and the smell of adrenaline fills up the car.

“Put your seatbelt on Swan,” he barks and Harry scrambles to do just that.

“Are you hurt?” Draco growls, in a tight voice, after he sees Harry buckled in.

He doesn’t smell any blood but he knows there are ways to hurt people other than bloodshed.

Harry shakes his head, his eyes wide and his pupils dilated, tremors wracking through his body. They did that to him, he thinks a fierce desire to turn around and destroy them burning in his veins. He can’t though, not with Harry still in his care. He is about to open his mouth to try and comfort him, though it’s not really in his wheel house when Harry’s eyes glance at the speed optimeter and widen further.

“Draco why are you going under the speed limit?” Potter asks in a slightly panicked voice.

Draco glares at him for asking such a ridiculously obvious question.

“Because it’s too high,” Draco growls.

“The speed limit is seventy and you are going forty-five?” Potter says, looking out his window as another car goes around them.

“The slowest you are legally allowed to go on a highway,” Draco says in tight voice.

Potter gives him a confused look seeming to have calmed down completely, “But, why?”

“Ninety-nine percent of individuals survive head on crashes at speeds lower than fifty miles an hour. This drops to thirty-one percent when speeding up to fifty miles an hour. The chances at seventy miles an hour are next to none.” Draco recites in a academic tone that sounds worryingly like Hermione’s.

Potter gives him an unimpressed look.

“Are you planning to crash your car?” Potter deadpans, not looking nearly as worried as he should.

“Of course not but I can’t control other people on the road,” Draco says in a harsh voice.

“I…guess that makes sense,” Potter says before falling silent and fiddling with his hands in his lap.

Draco's piercing gaze falls upon the shallow scratch on Potter's palm, his vision turning red with a bloodlust. He must have tripped running away before Draco got there he thinks, venom filling his mouth.

"Keep distracting me," Draco snarls through clenched teeth, his fingers digging deep trenches into the leather steering wheel.

"How?" Potter asks, his face filled with curiosity and a hint of amusement.

"Say something, anything!" Draco hisses, the urge to tear someone apart rising back up in him with alarming speed.

Potter should be scared, he should be a shivering pile of goo on Draco’s floor boards, yet he regards Draco with the most trusting of expressions.

“Is it true that Astoria and you are dating” Potter blurts out.

Draco scoffs, typical Potter always so unobservant.

“Yes, Swan that’s why I’m spending my Friday night with you, because Stori and I are just so in love,” Draco growls out. 

“You even have cute nicknames for each other! She calls you Dray, you know, when you aren’t around,” Potter exclaims looking annoyed.

Merlin, what a airhead Draco thinks with a groan.

“Swan she asked me out, but I turned her down,”

Potter looks at him with shock focusing on the least important part of the sentence as always.

“Wait, she asked you out? When?” 

“Last semester,” he says with a grimace. 

She was a sweet girl, his mother probably would have loved her. Alas the stars were not in line for them.

“Then why did you crash Cedric and I’s date with her, if you weren’t on a date?” 

Ah so it was a date he managed to wreck, Draco thinks for a moment with satisfaction, before the bloodlust takes over again. 

“It was a study date, much like the one I went on with Hermione,” he grinds out, trying not to picture how satisfying those goon’s blood would feels dripping down his fingers.  

“Oh,” Potter exclaims relaxing, “I think Ron is finally going to ask Hermione out,” 

And she will probably say yes to the absolute buffoon, despite her ability to do much better. 

“Not meaningless school drama,” Draco groans through gritted teeth tempted to rip Potter’s head off just to get some relief. 

Potter goes quiet and the unmistakable scent of fear hits Draco like acid. Draco stiffens in frustration as he turns into a deserted parking lot and slams on the brakes, causing the car to screech and shake. His grip on the steering wheel turns white-knuckled as he contemplates letting Severus handle the aftermath of his murderous thoughts towards the humans, especially once he gets rid of Potter. He whirls towards his passenger, prepared to try and leash all of his pent-up anger and reassure Potter, but before he can even speak, Potter's warm lips are on his, engulfing him in a passionate and desperate kiss. Time stands still as Potter's tongue explores every inch of his mouth, electrifying his nerve endings like a muggle television. With ease, he reaches out and grasps Potter’s hip lifting Potter onto his lap and pulling him closer.

Potter lets out a low growl as Draco wrestles the control of the kiss from him and devours his mouth, slamming his frail body against the steering wheel with bruising force. With a possessive grip on Potter's head, Draco locks him in place, kissing and lightly nipping and sucking down the skin of his neck careful not to leave marks. Potter willingly surrenders, melting into Draco's embrace.

“Draco,” Potter mews.

Potter whines at his lips being neglected and Draco returns to him with renewed force. Teeth and tongue collide as he ravages every crevice of Potter's mouth, drawing out desperate whimpers and writhing movements. Each kiss threatens to push him over, his control teetering on the brink of destruction. Potter's hands hook and claw at Draco's shirt, pulling and tearing at the fabric as his nails rack down his skin and push against his shoulders, his body smouldering with feverish want.

Potter can’t breath, Draco thinks distantly, the thought clouded by the need still pounding through him.

Potter can’t breathe! He is suffocating him with the kiss.'

Draco forces himself to picture Pansy’s breasts until the hunger and desire goes back to manageable levels. He pulls back from Potter and the boy collapses onto his chest, gasping for air. 

“Swan?” Draco asks in a small worried voice. 

The boy shifts on his chest, the corners of his kissed bruised lips going up in a wobbly smile while small tears drip out of the corners of his eyes. Draco feels his chest constrict with guilt and he brushes away the evidence of his loss of control with his thumb.

“I’m fine, just give me a minute,” Potter pants in a strained voice, “You have a very high lung capacity,” 

Potter cuddles into Draco, his head cradled in the crook of Draco’s neck, his hot breath staining his skin. Draco, feeling indulgent after almost killing him with a kiss, lets him, making soft comforting noises and soothing a hand up and down Potter’s back as his breath evens out. His lips brush the top of Potter’s head in a almost kiss. I’ve got you, he thinks, wrapping his arms loosely around Potter and pulling him closer to his chest.

Potter looks so vulnerable, his warm body molded against Draco's in the dimly lit car. With his long lashes brushing his cheeks and his delicate lips slightly parted, he probably wouldn’t even fight him if Draco bowed his head a few inches and…

“Harry?” he asks in a tense voice, distracting himself.

Potter’s eyes flutter open looking up at him with a relaxed sleepy expression.

“Hmm?” Potter hums in question.

He looks so…trusting. It makes him ill at ease.

“How are you so calm?”

Draco checks for the tell tell glassiness of a impending panic attack. Potter eyes open wider and his sleepy expression becomes more alert.

“What do you mean?” Potter asks a touch of confusion colouring his voice.

“Any m-human would be a trembling, shaky mess after what you just went through but you are just…,” he trails off feeling Potter cuddle deeper against his neck, against the very monster who put him there in the first place and almost killed him two minutes ago.

He shakes his head in irritation. No, not a monster, he argues fiercely shoving the thought away, he isn’t good but he is doing all this to save his parents.

“Fine,” he finishes lamely.

Potter’s next words are so quiet Draco almost misses them.

“I feel safe with you,”

Draco chokes on a unnecessary gasp of air.

“You-what? How?” Draco stumbles on his words.

Draco hears Potter heart rate speed up in embarrassment as he sighs, his breath tickling his neck.

“You are always saving me whenever I am in danger, how could I not feel safe with you?” Potter says as if it is as simple as that.

Draco’s heart drops to his stomach as nausea consumes him. No one had ever said anything like that to him before. Not even his childhood friends. This must not be the correct moment to end him, he justifies desperately. It doesn’t feel climatic enough, or imbued with enough meaning. Though maybe Draco is giving the muggle author too much credit, by assuming it will be a big moment.

The growl of Potter’s stomach breaks his tense thoughts.

“Have you eaten yet?” Draco asks relieved to be back on familiar ground of keeping Potter fed.

Potter’s head moves back and forth in answer, and Draco runs affectionate fingers through Potter’s hair, causing Potter to blush a lovely shade of red.

“Let’s get you something to eat then,”

*****

Draco turns the car back around and heads towards town, it is then that Harry feels his phone buzz for what has to be the millionth time. He turns on the screen and sees fifty missed calls from Ron, Hermione and Ginny. He feels guilt creep into his stomach at the thought of worrying them.

“I need to call my friends to let them know that I am okay,” Harry says, his voice still roughed from the lack of air.

“Go ahead,” Draco says without taking his eyes off the road.

Harry dials Ginny’s number knowing that she will not be driving.

“Harry!” Ginny exclaims over the speaker, “Where are you?”

“I’m with Draco,” Harry says in small voice.

There’s a pause on the line and he hears Ron and Hermione’s muffled voices on the other end.

“Oh…you’re alone with Draco,” Ginny says in a sly voice, “I thought you said he had plans when I told you to invite him? Or did you just want him all to yourself?”

“Ginny!” Harry hisses pressing the speaker closer to his ear, thankful that he didn’t put the phone on speaker, so Draco can’t hear.

“So I guess you don’t want to meet up for dinner with us, then?” Ginny asks laughing, “Since it’s a date and everything,”

“It’s not a date,” Harry hisses in a low voice.

Draco gives him a strange look as if he is questioning his sanity. Harry is as well.

“Uh huh,” Ginny says doubtfully.

“You guys haven’t eaten yet,” He says, changing the topic.

He feels guilty that they waited for him.

“And make you eat by yourself! Of course not what kind of friends would we be if we did that to you?” Ginny exclaims, “Have fun, Harry, I expect a full update later or I am revoking your jacket privileges,”

Harry listens as the line goes dead, feeling grateful for his friends, as he pockets his phone. When he glances out the passenger window he notices that the car has stopped and they are parked in front of a Italian restaurant.

“Ti piace il cibo italiano, tesoro?” Draco murmurs leaning so close that his minty apple breath brushes against Harry’s face.

Harry blinks his eyes slowly as he tries to register the words with Draco’s close proximity.

“You speak Italian?” he asks.

Draco laughs.

“Only the few phrases, Blaise taught me,” he says sliding out of the car and seconds later opening Harry’s door.

Draco holds out a hand and Harry grabs it blushing, as Draco pulls him to his feet.

“So, what did you ask me?” Harry asks, feeling frustrated that he took French instead of Italain.

He has a feeling Draco will not be entirely honest with him.

“Do you like Italian food?”

“Yes,” Harry says as they walk into the warm exterior, thankful for what he still thinks of as Draco’s coat wrapped around him.

Draco holds the door open for Harry as they walk into the restaurant his intense gold eyes never leaving his face. The hostess, a young woman with flowing caramel hair and bright blue eyes, greets Draco with a warm smile. Her eyes linger on Draco, who remains oblivious to her subtle admiration. She doesn’t register Harry’s fame to his relief. He follows Draco to a large table, but Draco smoothly requests a smaller, more intimate one. The hostess obliges with reluctance, leading them to a quiet cozy corner table, partially hidden from the other guests and their prying eyes by a well placed plant.

As they settle into their seats, Harry observes the elegant interior of the restaurant. Soft golden lights cast a warm glow over the walls adorned with scones and terracotta bricks . The chatter of other diners weaves into a soothing symphony, creating an atmosphere of old-school romance and charm.

Their waiter, a young man with a charming smile and an air of confidence, glides over to their table. He effortlessly takes Draco's order, flashing him a flirtatious look that makes Harry feel slightly uncomfortable. The waiter seems to have eyes only for Draco, his gaze lingering on him as he takes in every detail. Draco clears his throat in annoyance and gestures towards Harry, giving the waiter a pointed look. Realizing his mistake, the waiter blushes and turns to Harry for his order. Harry quickly scans the menu and orders a coke and mushroom ravioli, the first thing he sees. The waiter rushes off to put in their order, returning moments later with a basket of warm bread and their drinks. He lingers awkwardly for a moment, but when it becomes clear that Draco's attention is solely on Harry, he leaves with a huff. Harry almost feels bad for him. Almost.

“Are you magic or something?” Harry blurts out, blaming it on his low blood sugar.

Draco gives him a startled look and asks, ”What?”

“You dazzle people,” Harry says in a quiet voice as if he is admitting a embarrassing secret, “Like earlier with the hostess, she was so stunned by your appearance that she didn’t even recognize me and it happened again with the waiter,”

“I’m so sorry that I stole your thunder, Swan,” Draco sneers in a sarcastic voice not looking sorry in the least.

Harry gives him a adoring look, “No, it’s incredible, I wish you would come with me everywhere, you are like a fame shield,”

Harry heats up as he realizes how that sounds.

The sneer slips from Draco’s face.

“You like that I stop people from fanning over you?” Draco says with a unfathomed look on his face.

“I love it,” Harry says in a ecstatic voice, relishing the freedom to look around the room and observe the other diners, knowing all eyes would be on Draco.

“Why?”

Harry feels confused for a moment then he remembers that this is one of the many topics that they haven’t covered during their dinners with his friends and after the doctor appointments. After hearing about Draco’s childhood growing up in a manor house in England, the summers he spent in France and sharing the PG version of the details about his own it’s easy to forget that a few short months ago they were at each other’s throats. That there was still so much that they don’t know about each other.

“I hate my fame,” Harry says in a bitter voice, “And all the attention that comes with it. Everything that I do is watched and judged and found wanting,”

Draco looks thoughtful for a moment and then says, “I can empathize with why you dislike the negative attention, but I am confused as to why you reject the positive,”

Harry sighs, this is what Malcom always struggled to understand about him as well.

“Because it’s not real,” he says, balling his napkin in his fist, “They don’t adore me, they adore an idealized version of me, someone they see as brave and out ballet dancer, or a daredevil stunt person. They don’t see my doubts or my fear, and when they do they are disappointed,”

Without warning Draco’s hand reaches across the table, and covers Harry’s, his intense eyes boring into his.

“I’m not disappointed,” he says in a quiet voice.

Draco pulls his hand back when waiter come by with Harry’s food. He sits the plate down without looking at either of them and then leaves. Draco’s eyes follow him, an angry grimace on his face.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asks concerned that he missed something.