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Chapter Text

It began with an asinine request—the kind of bone-headed scheme only Potter could have come up with. Draco had nearly fainted when he saw Potter standing outside the Manor in a torrential downpour, droplets of water ricocheting off his face which was donning a half-smirking smile. The sight of him was almost as shocking as the words that followed his appearance.

“Good evening, Draco. Is your mum available for a chat?”

Surely, I am dreaming, Draco thought. But alas, he was not.

Potter held a large volume of an ancient encyclopedia to his chest, which he seemed to have protected from the storm with a simple water repellant charm. Why he didn’t bother to treat himself with the same care he gave the shoddy old book was a question Draco let go unasked.

Potter’s shoes squeaked across the marble floor as Draco led him through the foyer, but the sound stopped as they crossed the threshold to the living room. When Draco turned to look at Potter again, he was completely dry.

“Have a seat, please,” Draco said gesturing to the nearest armchair. “Mother should be down in a few minutes.”

Harry nodded, and Draco searched his brain for something to talk about in the interim. It had been about 18 months since Draco had seen him. Since Potter had opted not to return to Hogwarts to finish his education, Draco had wondered if they would ever see each other again. The last time he’d laid eyes on Potter was near the end of his eighth year of school, just before his NEWT exams. He’d felt ragged the whole week with the exam stress and worries about his father’s impending trial leaving him a crumpled head of greasy hair and fidgety fingers. He’d stopped dumbly in the middle of the busy corridor when he spotted Potter chatting animatedly with Headmaster McGonagall. His hair was windswept, eyes as bright as green moss in sunlight. He had the air of someone who was both very busy but also in no particular rush as he eagerly accepted McGonagall’s offer for tea and biscuits.

The pair of them turned, so they were both facing Draco. He felt as if they moved toward him in slow motion, taking minutes to close the short distance between them. Potter’s oddly familiar scent of butterbeer and broomstick polish took over the space between them. It had an instantly intoxicating effect, like the sting of a shot of firewhiskey to the brain. Potter’s head slowly turned to meet Draco’s gaze as he passed.

“Alright, Draco?” Potter asked with a nod.

Draco stumbled at the unexpected comment, and Potter placed a steadying hand on his arm. The warmth of the touch jumped through him like the electric jolt of a bolt of lightning.

“Potter,” Draco replied with a nod. He hoped it sounded casual and nonchalant, but as usual it probably sounded more venomous than intended.

Potter disappeared then, but the warmth of his touch lingered on Draco’s arm for weeks and in his mind for months following the encounter. It was embarrassing, the ferocity with which the thought of Potter planted itself in his brain and refused to leave. For months, Draco looked for those green eyes everywhere he went.  At Hogwarts. At the Ministry. At Diagon Alley. Draco was always on the lookout.

But Potter was never there, and the serendipitous moment Draco had dreamt of, taking Potter from mere acquaintance to something more, never came to fruition. Finally, Draco had given up. A year passed with no sign of Potter, and Draco’s mother grew ever more insistent that he not squander the second chance at life he’d been given.

And then, he’d met Astoria, and it was like she pulled him out of the water he’d been slowly drowning in for the past 12 months. She was warmth and sunshine personified. She was more than anything he could have dreamed of for himself after getting the Dark Mark. Draco’s soul had been tainted and torn during the war, but Astoria looked at him like he was shiny and new.

So, he’d had no reservations when, only two weeks ago, he’d asked Astoria to marry him. No reservations until now. Now, he was looking into Potter’s mossy green eyes, remembering the jolt of electricity when they touched and silently begging Potter to do it again.

But fortune was not in Draco’s favor on that front as his mother chose that moment to make her entrance.

Mother took a seat on the settee across from Potter, and Draco stood by awkwardly, not sure if he was welcome in the conversation.

“Please feel free to join us, Draco,” Potter said.

Draco took a seat on the other armchair.

“How nice to see you again, Mr. Potter. I hope you are well,” Mother began the conversation.

“Quite well, and please, call me Harry,” he replied. “I hope you will pardon my intrusion on your evening.”

“Of course,” Mother replied. “What brings you here tonight?”

Potter placed the encyclopedia, which had been resting on his lap on the coffee table in front of them. He opened the pages to a chapter entitled “Inferi, the Undead, and the Dark Magic that keeps them alive.”

“I’ve been doing some research related to inferi,” Potter explained. “I haven’t been able to find much on the topic at the Ministry nor at Hogwarts. Given the dark nature of the magic that creates them, there seems to be little information available about them, but I was told some of the older wizarding families, such as yours, often have volumes in their libraries that are no longer commonly collected. I’ve already checked the library at the Black home, but I believe the relevant volumes to have been valuable and stolen during the war when we were using the home for Order meetings. Do you know if you have any books on the topic?”

“I am not sure, but I would be happy to give you access to our library to check. I’m sure Draco would be happy to assist your search. He is much more familiar than I am with the obscure organization system my husband’s father employed when arranging it. I must ask, Harry, why would such a topic be of interest to you? I do not recall any inferi being involved in the battle, and I thought the Ministry was finished with making arrests related to the war.”

Harry nodded, “I’m not doing this on behalf on the Ministry. I only worked with the Aurors long enough to catch all the remaining Death Eaters, and then, I resigned. I want to focus on other things, and right now, what I am working on is righting many of the wrongs I witnessed over the years but had no means to correct at the time. Voldemort made many inferi to protect one of his horcruxes, and I believe one of them is someone who was a great service in defeating him. In the limited information I have found, it seems that the soul of the inferi cannot move on until the body is laid to rest. I would like to make sure that happens. He deserves that after everything he sacrificed.”

“Nobel as always,” Mother replied. “May I ask the name of this hero?”

Potter swallowed slowly. Draco watched, nearly forgetting to breathe.

“Regulus Back,” Potter finally replied.

For the first time in the entire conversation, Draco turned his attention away from Potter’s face and to his mother’s. Her eyes were wide. If Draco didn’t know better, he’d have thought Potter had just slapped her across the face. She stood slowly, seemingly struggling not to shake as she did.

“Regulus?” She pressed.

“Yes,” Potter replied.

“Sirius’s brother? My cousin? Walburga’s son?” Mother’s voice got louder with each distinction.

“Yes,” Potter replied.

“Regulus Arcturus Black? Born August 17, 1961 to the patriarch Orion Black of the Ancient and Most Nobel House of Black?”

“Yes,” Potter replied.

Tears began to pool in the corners of Mother’s eyes as she got down on her knees in front of Potter and took his hand.

“Well then, hear this, Harry Potter, I will do all in my power to assist you in this mission, and my cousin Regulus will be laid to rest and his soul put to peace if it is the last thing I do on this Earth.”

Potter was the one with wide eyes now. Clearly, he had underestimated the bond between the two cousins.

“Excellent. Wonderful. T-thank you,” Potter sputtered.

“I’ll show you to the library,” Mother replied, wiping the tears from her face and returning to her feet. “Draco, make sure all Harry’s needs are met.”

Draco gulped as he watched Potter and his Mother disappear down the corridor toward the library.

Chapter Text

A deep line formed down the middle of Potter's forehead between his brows. It was the same stern look of concentration Draco had seen on his face every time they were on the Quidditch pitch together. Potter's mossy green eyes seemed to darken when they were searching for something: a snitch, a passage in a book. Draco wondered if he ever looked at people like that, searching them for some deeper truths within. Draco certainly did when he looked at Potter. Was there something he was missing? Was there an obvious signal Potter was putting out that Draco was failing to pick up on or was that his hopeful imagination talking? Maybe, if Draco didn't spend so much time pondering such questions when looking at Potter he'd have caught the snitch more.

Potter bent over the thick volume on the table in front of him, gently caressing the pages as he flipped them. There was a fire in the hearth casting its glow across their faces, and Potter didn't seem to notice that Draco was spending more time looking at him than at the book in front of him.

Draco didn't need to. He'd read this book before. Dark Magic and Its Origins was a fascinating read, but it was more about history than practical application. There would be nothing within it's pages about how to resurrect inferi. Draco turned back to the shelves behind him and scanned the spines for something potentially relevant. A Brief History of Lost Souls, no. Phantoms and Poltergeists, no. Haunt on the Heath, definitely not. Oh, The Inferi Wars, that sounds promising...

Draco pulled the books off the shelf and opened it to the table of contents.

"I already checked that one," Harry said suddenly. "I asked Hermione about this a few weeks ago, and it was one of the first books she suggested. No instructions though, just history of battles and such."

"Granger wasn't able to find anything?" Draco asked incredulously. If that was the case, this was going to be more difficult than Draco originally guessed.

Harry shrugged, "She's really not a fan of dark magic, a lot of it being blood magic and the history with muggle sacrifices and all that. She was wary of the whole thing. I didn't even get the chance to tell her what I was going to do with it. Plus, she is in the middle of campaigning for Kingsley's election and that's taking up pretty much all her waking hours."

"She'd leading the charge for him?"

"Yeah, she's basically his Josh Lyman."

"Who?"

"Sorry, muggle reference. Yeah, she's leading the charge."

Draco nodded and turned back to the shelves, wondering if Potter felt as lost in this room as Draco felt talking about muggle stuff. Surely not. Potter had gone to Hogwarts for 6 years. But Draco recalled all the private tutors he'd had. The long conversations with his father, passing on customs and secrets that no books or classes at Hogwarts held. Were the origins of the Order of Merlin as lost on Potter as whomever this Josh Lyman was to Draco? Could such differences be surmounted or would there forever be wall between them because of it?

Before Draco could get too lost in this thought spiral, there was a knock on the library door. He turned to see Astoria walking in. Draco looked at the two beautiful people standing before him. It made his brain hurt. It was like trying to look at the moon and the sun at the same time. Astoria was all brightness and warmth, some unseen force infinitely powering her perfection. And yet, Potter pulled to him, like the moon pulled the tides. It was too much to take them both in at once.

He gestured for Astoria to meet him in the hall, and as he closed the door to the library behind him, he felt one of her warm hands grab his and squeeze.

"Are you alright, Dear? Your mother told me you've been up here for hours with Potter."

"She filled you in on all the details?" Draco asked.

Astoria nodded.

"Yeah, we'll probably be a while longer. It's not commonly published information."

"Would you like to take a break for dinner? If not, I could bring something up for you both."

"I don't think I could eat. Potter looks like he wouldn't stop if a train hit him."

"Is everything going okay? I know you two didn't exactly get along in school."

"Yeah, it's fine no dueling or anything."

"Well, if you need a mediator or just a fresh set of eyes, you know where to find me."

Draco nodded, "Yes, thank you, Story."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss. Draco still flushed every time she did, perpetually self-conscious that he wasn't worthy of her affection. Her soft brown hair fell into her face, and he brushed it away with his hands and caressed the sides of her face as she pressed into him. Her sun-like warmth radiated over him. For a moment, he forgot everything else.

But soon, she pulled away, and Draco wondered how Potter was doing without him.

He bid Astoria goodnight and went back in to the library.

Potter had removed his coat and unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt, exposing a small amount of skin that might have been tattooed, but it was hard to tell. Draco felt himself begin to sweat. He'd seen Potter like this before, at the Yule Ball. After Potter abandoned the dance floor, he'd pulled off his coat and tie and unbuttoned his shirt the same way. Pansy was off somewhere dancing with Blaise. Draco was all alone, left to do what he always did when his friends left him alone near Potter, yearn for him. Draco recalled his face feeling hot and how suddenly the room seemed to be sweltering. Potter seemed to notice it too, and soon he was leaving the ballroom in favor of the snowy courtyard just outside. Draco followed. In the courtyard, Draco passed a carriage which was rocking in a rhythmic motioned that Draco forced himself not to think about too hard. Potter was on the other side of the courtyard now, chatting with the Weasley Girl. Draco skulked along the bushed, trying to proceed without being seen. He could have sworn that through the bushes he spotted Igor Karkaroff and Madam Bones snogging in the middle of one of the walking paths, but Draco paid them little attention. His mind was locked on Potter. The Weasley Girl returned to the ballroom, and Draco watched as Harry sat alone in the courtyard, watching a light dusting of snow fall from the sky.

Draco recalled how long he'd watched Potter. He recalled wondering if he should say something. Tell Potter that he did a good job out-flying that dragon or that his willingness to save Fleur's sister was admirable or that Draco wished he'd have been able to ask him to the ball without garnering the scorn of his fellow pure-bloods. Back then, Draco didn't think any woman would ever measure up to his feelings for Potter, and he'd have been praising Merlin if he knew that one day he'd have someone like Astoria in his future.That he'd have the opportunity to secure his own happiness and his family's approval in who he loved. This sinful pull to Potter was something he'd just have to ignore, he told himself. He's not meant for you.

Draco cleared his throat, "Maybe we should wrap it up for the evening. Your girlfriend must be expecting you back home."

Potters head sprang up like he'd accidentally touched a hot cauldron.

"Girlfriend?"

"Weasley?"

"Oh, she and I broke up ages ago," Potter said this like it was nothing. Like he was commenting upon the weather. "But I can leave if I'm overstaying my welcome."

"Not at all."

After several minutes of silence and Draco hopelessly perusing the shelves while forcing himself not to look in Potter's direction, Potter jumped up, exclaiming, "I think I've found it!"

Draco moved to where he could read over Potter's shoulder, definitely not noticing the familiar scent of butterbeer and broomstick polish.

The book was titled Recipes for Resurrection: A mostly comprehensive guide to souls and their finicky ways . The passage Potter was pointing to read:

The souls of the inferi are a special case, indeed. Depending on the manner of death and the soul's speed in vacating its vessel, if vacation was achieved at all, the soul may or may not still be attacked to the body. In the case that is it, the inferi's body can usually be summoned from it's hiding place with an object of particular emotional significance to them. If the identitiy of the inferi is unknown, fire may be used to corral the creature, but be warned, this tactic runs the risk of injuring the vessel in unintended ways that may affect the possibility of resurrection.

There are two possible avenues for a soul still attached to an inferi. If the body is beyond repair or the soul has already accepted their place in the beyond, nothing may be done to restore the soul to a living body, but the body may be momentarily restored and properly killed, allowing the soul to disconnect fully from this realm and move on. If, however, the body is well preserved and the soul still determined, a full resurrection may be a possibility (exact details of the ritual for this resurrection at the end of the chapter)*.

Harry flipped to the end of the chapter.

"This is it!" He exclaimed. "This is it!"

Harry suddenly threw his arms around Draco in a hug, and Draco nearly fell over from surprise. Potter's sweet woody smell engulfed him now. It was intoxicating. It was a spiritual awakening. Draco didn't ever want to smell anything else.

Before he could return the hug, Potter let go and ran off, excitedly calling for Narcissa to come look.

Draco turned back to the passage they'd just read, looking to the bottom of the page where a footnote warned:

*Resurrection is a tricky business, and one may return to the realm of the living different than they left, with some personality traits more or less prominent than they were prior. Please use caution in resurrecting particularly powerful witches and wizards as the process can make their magic difficult to predict or control.

Draco swallowed, waiting to point out this note to Potter when he returned, but when Potter returned with Mother, they were both already in their cloaks ready to leave. Throwing Draco's own cloak to him, Potter exclaimed, "Let's go!"

Chapter Text

The cave was pitch black inside. Only the glow from their wands provided a source of light. Draco expected it to be silent too, but a low whisper echoed around the walls like the flutter of bat wings. The walls were damp, and Draco had to focus and step carefully to avoid stumbling. Hopefully, it’s just water , he thought. But in matters of dark magic, nothing would surprise him.

They passed through the main tunnel which Potter had to slice his hand open to gain entry into, and it led them to a larger chamber. There was a small stretch of shore where they stood, but the rest of the room was covered in water, except a small island near the center of the lake.

Ahead of him, Draco watched the outline of Potter as he led the way. The light glinted off the handle of a sheathed dagger on his belt. His breath was visible in the cold cave air, pluming like little clouds around them. Normally, Draco would have enjoyed being so close to Potter, but it was taking all his focus not to trip or let his teeth audibly chatter. He should have worn his self-warming cloak. Behind him, Mother, who had the foresight to wear thick dragon-hide gloves, was bracing herself against the stone wall with one hand. In the other, she clasped a bag of ingredients for the ritual.

Potter wasted no time. He pulled an old tarnished locket from his cloak pocket. “An heirloom of Regulus’s,” Potter explained. He approached the water with the locked dangling on its long chain from his right hand.

This is a bad idea , Draco thought. They should have strategized more, but before the words of protest could reach Draco’s lips, Potter was on his knees by the water’s edge, slowly lowering the locket toward the still surface.

A wet, decaying fist burst forth out of the water. It latched onto Potter’s wrist. Potter lunged backward, pulling the beast with him. Its skin was a sickly, putrid grey pulled taunt over a skeletal frame. Its teeth appeared to be rotten and would probably have fallen out of the creature’s mouth if not for the dark magic holding it together. Its mop of black hair was coated in algae and littered with specks of sand and tiny twigs. The eyes were cloudy but not white as described in the encyclopedia. This creature’s eyes were red and vein-y, giving it the appearance of being exhausted.

If it was tired, Draco couldn’t tell from the ferocity with which it lunged at Potter. With an angry sound, somewhere between a growl and a scream, it moved its hands to Potter’s throat. At the same time, dozens of the other inferi began to slowly rise to the surface, checking on the commotion.

Draco’s pulsed raced at the sight, and he ran to Potter and tried to free him from the creature’s vice-like grip. When that failed, Draco ripped the locket from Potter’s hands, shaking it by the chain to get the creature’s attention. He was shocked at his own desperation to see Potter safely delivered from harm’s way.

Nevertheless, it worked. The creature let go of Potter and lunged toward Draco.

“Keep an eye on that one, Draco. I’ll take care of the others!” Potter shouted.

Potter jumped up as the first of the other inferi reached their slender stretch of shore. The creature lunged at Draco again, and he jumped back again. It was close enough now for Draco to smell its rancid breath. It was like a mixture of rotting fish and sour milk. The creature struggled with its footing on land, slipping on its own wet feet, the skin of which was sloughing of like the outer layers of an onion and leaving a trail of wet flesh behind it as it clamored after Draco.

Potter had corralled a small group of inferi with a circle of fire, but one of the dumb beasts tried to walk through the flames, setting itself ablaze. The choking smell of burning flesh filled up the chamber. The poor beast wailed. Its high pitched shrieks echoed in the cave and reverberated in Draco’s brain in a way he knew he’d never forget even if he was obliviated a hundred times over.

The beast shrieked and cried so hard that most of the remaining inferi retreated to the water in fear. The beast thrashed and seized until even Potter, who’d seen horrors even Draco couldn’t imagine, couldn’t take it anymore and put out the fire charm. But it was too late for the poor beast. Charred and wheezing, it now looked more like a half-melted wax figurine of a skeleton than like something that was (or at least used to be) human.

Draco coughed as the smell of smoky flesh moved through his throat, pulling back from the creature’s grip as it lunged for the locket in his hand again. This time, Draco misjudged the distance, and his back slammed into the stone wall. He coughed even harder as the wind was partially knocked out of him.

Mother jumped forward and caught him in her arms. The creature paused, seeming to study her.

“Oh, Regulus,” Mother whispered softly, and for the first time Draco considered how much more horrible this sight must be for her. Though he knew in theory the inferi were humans, he’d thought of them more as monsters than people. It wasn’t as easy to think of them that way when you knew one’s name.

The one that had been ablaze finally silenced, and Draco assumed it must be dead. Potter seemed to come to the same conclusion, and he finally turned away from the pitiful sight. Draco’s concern for Potter’s well being finally subsided, replaced by burning rage.

“What the hell were you thinking, Potter?” Draco couldn’t stop himself from shouting. “That thing could’ve killed you! Typical Gryffindor waving an antique artifact around a cave full of dark magic with no plan at all!”

Potter’s eyes narrowed as if offended, but then, he quietly replied, “Yeah, that was kind of stupid.”

He sent a binding charm to the limbs of the presumed-Regulus-creature in front of them, and he fell to the ground with a thud. Then, as Potter stepped back toward the rest of their little group, another of the inferi-creatures shot out of the water and tackled Potter.

Potter yelped as the monster grabbed at his throat. Moving quickly, Potter unsheathed the dagger strapped to his hip and plunged it into the monster’s abdomen. Some grotesque sludge which might have once been intestines seeped out of the hole as Potter pulled the dagger out and stabbed it back in again.

The monster finally fell off Potter and rolled over with a groan.

“Really stupid,” Potter muttered.

Potter walked back to where Draco and Mother were waiting for him with the still bound Regulus-creature. Potter motioned for the bag of ingredients Mother still held clutched to her chest, but Draco stopped him. His hand briefly met Potter’s in the air, and Draco was sure he saw a flicker in Potter’s eyes at the jolt.

“Perhaps we should take him somewhere a bit safer to do this. Last thing any of us needs is to get decapitated in the midst of this good deed,” Draco said.

Harry nodded, and Mother agreed.

Draco conjured a gurney and levitated the bound Regulus-creature back through the tunnel and out of the mouth of the cave where they all apparated back to the Manor.

A low groan slipped from their patient at the landing, which Draco hoped was a good sign. His mother had lost so much to the war and sacrificed so much to keep him safe. She deserved this.

They levitated him to the nearest guest room. Once he was on the bed, they got right to work.

According to Recipes for Resurrection , a body isn’t dead for sure until it’s warm and dead, so the first step was to slowly warm him up. Draco placed a gradual warming charm on him while Mother monitored his temperature. Once the patient was back to a toasty 98 degrees, Potter and Draco began to prepare for the ritual. They steeped the mandrake leaves until they were soft and mixed them with boar tusk powder and Phoenix tears (which was an incredibly rare ingredient that Potter vaguely claimed to have acquired “from a friend”). The used a mortar and pestle to grind the ingredients into a paste, which they then smeared over their patient’s tongue.

Potter sat awkwardly close to Draco on the edge of the bed as they waited. Draco wondered if Potter could tell how anxious he was. His heart was racing, and there were beads of sweat forming over his brows. He kept shaking his leg nervously, then forcing himself to stop, then doing it again without thinking.

After about 90 minutes of Draco’s heart pounding loudly in his ears, he noticed that their patient’s once grey skin had begun to take on a pinkish hue. The cloudiness was beginning to fade from his eyes, and the scent of decay was slowly fading from the room.

“It’s time,” Mother announced.

She pulled out her wand, and carefully casting it over the body, she recited the lengthy incantation from the book.

This was the moment of truth. There was no way to know whether the soul was still intact or not until he awoke, and if it was not, Mother would have to watch another one of her loved ones die a most gruesome death, as inferi bodies could not be killed gently.

The three of them waited in absolute silence. A deep rattling breath shook through the body. Mother called for the house elf to bring her a bucket of water and shampoo, and she washed the man’s hair, combing through the matted patches and wiping away the twigs, sand, and algae. Once his hair was clean, she washed the rest of his body, which Draco noticed was no longer skin and bones. He was still slender, but with definite muscle tone and thick veins in his harms. Mother used one of her own exfoliating brushes to remove the layers of dead skin that lingered. Then, she dried him and dressed him in a pair of Father’s old house robes which made him look dignified but comfortable. She brushed his hair and his teeth and even tweezed his eyebrows. Anyone would be lucky to be cared for by his Mother in life or in death.

Finally, the patient took another long, deep rattling breath and opened his eyes.

Chapter Text

Regulus's eyes opened to reveal icy blue-grey irises. Draco watched as Potter leaned in to look at him. Probably thinking how much he looks like Sirius , Draco thought. The resemblance was hard to ignore. The Black Family had a look. Some might think it was haughtiness or arrogance, but really, it was the magical aura that flowed untamed through generations of the most powerful magic family in Britain. Most wizards these days suppressed that aura for the comfort of those around them. Even the Malfoys contained it to a degree., but the Blacks let it fill up the space around them. Some found it repulsive; others magnetic.

Regulus seemed to possess this aura in spades.It pulsed in the air making the room hot. Clearly, Potter was one of those individuals who found this affect magnetic. He sat on the bed beside Regulus and took one of the man's hands in his own. Potter looked down at him as though hypnotized. Regulus didn't seem to mind. He blinked slowly. His gaze drifted over the room, taking it all in: Draco, Mother, the mahogany vanity, the crystal chandelier, Potter.

His eyes halted suddenly on Potter. Their icy blue was taken over by an expanse of black pupil. His lips quivered slightly as he spoke for the first time, "J-James?"

Before Potter could correct him, Regulus pulled him into his chest in an embrace that bordered the line between passionate and aggressive. Potter's face was pressed against his chest, and Regulus let out a small cry, almost a whimper.

"Oh, James. James," Regulus continued to mutter.

Again, Potter didn't correct him. If anything, he seemed to sink into the embrace, and this sight sent Draco's mind reeling. First about Potter because thoughts about Potter always came first in Draco's mind. What did this reaction say about him? Was Potter merely responding to the familiar embrace of someone who looked like his godfather? The way Regulus spoke James's name did not evoke familial love but something far more intimate. Did Potter like being spoken to that way by a man? Was Potter interested in men? Was Regulus for that matter? Of the hundreds of stories mother had told him about her cousin over the years, this had never come up. Did she know? Would this sight upset her?

Draco chanced a glance at his mother, but the only emotion on her face was relief. Yes. That was the only thing that was important to her. Her cousin was alive.

Draco looked back at Potter. Regulus was stroking his hair now, still moaning quietly, "James... James... James..."

Mother approached him carefully, a shaking hand reaching toward her cousin as if she needed tactile confirmation that what her eyes saw was real. Her hand landed ever-so-gently on the side of his head, and Regulus turned his attention to her again.

"Cissy," he said, rolling the word around in his mouth like a foreign object. "You brought me back to him, Cissy. You brought me back."

"Of course, I couldn't leave you there," she said.

Regulus attempted to reply with his gratitude, but the words came out stuttering and garbled.

"Shhh..." Mother chided. "You need to rest right now. There will be plenty of time to talk once you've regained your strength."

Regulus nodded and let his eyes flutter closed again. Mother moved to pull Potter from his embrace, but when she did, Regulus let out a deep, guttural growl.

"I suppose it would be okay for Harry to stay as long as Regulus gets some sleep. Come with me, Draco. We must prepare some potions for him Surely, he is malnourished and weak after all he's been through."

Draco nodded and reluctantly left Potter and Regulus snuggled on the bed while he and mother made their way to the potions lab.

______________________________________________________________________________________

Draco and his mother had been working in the lab for a couple of hours when Astoria knocked. Draco opened the door, and the sweet scent of a nutrition replenishment elixir filled the hall. Draco's skin was moist and sticky from the condensation of the boiling potion. He looked at Astoria the same way he always did, like a kid opening presents on Christmas morning. He leaned in to kiss her sweetly and her heart fluttered in her chest.

"I thought you and your mother might like something to eat," she said as she gestured to the levitating tray of sandwiches and lemonade beside her.

"Very thoughtful of you, Story," Draco nodded appreciatively.

"Oh, Astoria! Your timing is perfect," his mother said, poking her head out of the lab. "Draco and I will be a while. I want to have any potions Regulus might need at the ready. Would you be a dear and go check on him? He's probably still asleep, but I'm sure he'll be starving when he wakes. I asked the elves to make a good, hearty stew for him. You can leave a bowl of it next to the bed with a warming charm. Maybe bring him another blanket too. It's supposed to freeze tonight."

Astoria nodded, taking mental note of all the instructions, "I'd be happy to."

Draco's mother disappeared back into the lab, and he pulled Astoria in for another kiss, nibbling on her neck gently which made her face flush beet red. Since they were following mostly traditional courtship rules, they hadn't done much more than snogging yet, and the ideas Draco suggested as his lips trailed down her neck and edged the tops of her breasts made her squirm in his arms.

Her parents took the courtship rules very seriously, and a wave of self-consciousness hit her at the thought of them seeing her in this compromising position. She politely pushed Draco back, and like the perfect gentleman he was, he made no protest as he unwrapped his arms from around her.

"Sorry," he blushed.

"It's okay," she replied. "I'll be back to check on you two after dinner."

As she wandered back toward the kitchen, Astoria pondered the lingering feeling of Draco's lips on her body, and her heart palpitated anxiously at the thought of their wedding night. She'd read many books about it and imagined what it would be like, but she couldn't imagine losing herself in the throws of passion the way the heroines in her novels did. Draco was a wonderful man. She didn't want to disappoint him, but she was certain her nerves would prevent her from enjoying it.

It was too much pressure. Pressure to prove to him that he'd picked a wife who could please him sexually, even though she had to idea what she was doing. Pressure to quickly conceive and produce a suitable heir to the Malfoy dynasty which was at risk of dying out completely if she didn't. Pressure to adhere to the rules of propriety set up by her parents. Even pressure from herself to enjoy it and prove to herself that she'd made the right decision. The line between what she wanted and the desire to please her family was so razor thin that sometimes she couldn't tell the difference. But this wasn't like choosing to play violin when she would've rather joined the choir. There were no take-backs in a pure-blood marriage. If they realized it was a mistake after the fact, they would have to live with the consequences for the rest of their lives.

Astoria entered the kitchen. She filled a bowl with stew, and it levitated after her as she made her way upstairs to the linen closet. She grabbed a velvet throw from the middle shelf and folded it over her arm as she made her way to the guest room.

The halls of Malfoy Manor were much like those of her childhood home. She could picture herself and Daphne running through them, playing tag or hide-and-go-seek. Those simple days of their childhood had ended far too quickly thanks to the war, but truthfully Astoria felt no less like a child now walking into marriage than she did walking into the halls of Hogwarts for the first time when she was 11 years old. Mum says that feeling never goes away, and even at thirty, she felt like a teen mother raising Astoria and Daphne.

Astoria quietly knocked on the door of the guest room so as not to wake Regulus. There was no response, so she cracked the door just enough to peek inside.

Regulus was awake. And beautiful. Astoria's jaw dropped at the sight of him. His body was long, slender, and muscular. His dark hair fell in wavy tendrils around his face which housed stunning icy blue-grey eyes. His shirt was half unbuttoned, and she could see the muscles of his chest as he lifted himself up and turned toward Potter, who appeared to be sound asleep.

Regulus lifted Potter's face with one hand reverently and kissed him from forehead to jaw. He was muttering something that Astoria couldn't make out. He trailed his hand down Potter's body and wrapped his arms around his waist, pulling him in tightly and grinding his hips into him.

Astoria was transfixed, feet immovable. Her eyes locked onto the motion of Regulus's hips. The warmth of the sun that Draco always said was constant in her eyes moved down her body and pooled between her legs.She felt a pull like gravity that begged her to open the door wider, so she could switch places with Potter and feel Regulus's hips gyrating against hers like that. She had never felt like this before. She had no name for this hot, pulsating feeling inside of her. It was only when the wetness began to drip out of her that Astoria realized what it was, and with a jolt, she snapped herself out of this trance with a loud gasp.

Regulus's eyes immediately snapped up to meet hers. Without breaking the gaze, he stood up and walked to the door. He was taller than she expected, taller even than Draco. The top of her head only came up to his mid-chest, which meant she had to stand on her toes for what she did next.

Abandoning all reason and the anxiety that plagued her for years, Astoria crashed into Regulus. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him in to a kiss. He fell back into the door. His knee bent, and she climbed on top of it, grinding into his thigh the same way she'd seen him grind into Potter.

The pulsating need between her legs grew stronger, and she couldn't control herself. She pushed into his thigh harder and faster until it was covered in her wetness, and the pulsating culminated in an electric paroxysm that took over her whole body.

She looked up at him, panting as the electricity slowly faded. She pulled back suddenly, though Regulus looked at her with no sign of offense, only a mix of interest and surprise.

"Oh Merlin. Oh, goodness. I'm so sorry," she said.

Her face flushed with embarrassment at what she'd done, but Regulus cocked his head to the side as if to ask, "For what?"