To Trust the Broken

by ladyofsilverdawn

Harry is taken prisoner and then forgotten. In his cell, he slowly loses himself. Draco finds Harry and is tasked with taking care of him. With the looming threat of a new world order where homosexuality is punishable by death, how will Harry and Draco deal with their growing feelings for one another? EXTREMELY ANGSTY/DARK. Only read if you can handle dark emotional themes. SMUT.

Rating: NC-17/Explicit
Main Pairing: Harry/Draco
Other Pairings: Draco/Astoria, Ron/Pansy
Warnings/Content: EXTREMELY DARK but not very gory, Romance, Angst, Mental Anguish, Prisoner!Harry, Mindfuck, Denial of Feelings, Alternate Universe Voldemort Wins, Infidelity, Mental Health Issues, Voyeurism, Virgin!Harry, First Time, Character Death (not Harry or Draco)
Notes: Thanks to my beta IrelandSpades for her help and to the mods for dealing with my stressed-out, panicked self to get this finished. Written for the HD Tropes Exchange Fest 2016 on Livejournal. My assigned trope was Voldemort Wins AU.

Summary: Harry is taken as a prisoner and then forgotten. In his cell, he slowly loses himself. Draco finds Harry and is tasked with taking care of him. With the looming threat of a new world order where homosexuality is punishable by death, how will Harry and Draco deal with their growing feelings for one another?

---

To Trust the Broken

Dumbledore said to trust him. Dumbledore said to trust him… Over and over, I repeat what the Headmaster asked me to do. Even when Draco disarms him and points his wand at the Headmaster's heart; even when the Astronomy Tower fills with Death Eaters, I trust him and continue to breathe as quietly as possible underneath my Invisibility cloak. The Headmaster will outwit them; he will somehow defeat them. When Draco lowers his wand unable to fire, I smile.

And then I notice Snape's expression change; no longer is it impassive. Instead, it's filled with a certain type of resolve. The same resolve I've felt when duelling Voldemort or any opponent, knowing I have a choice: to kill or not to kill.

When Snape slowly starts to raise his wand at the Headmaster, I gasp. His soulless black eyes flick in my direction, but he doesn't stop. It's clear Dumbledore misplaced his faith in Snape. I won't let my trust in the Headmaster blind me. I decide to act.

As I fling off my cloak, Snape utters the first syllable of the Killing Curse. Aiming my wand at his hand, I will every ounce of my magic at the traitorous git. "Expelliarmus!" My spell completes a fraction of a second before his.

Snape's wand clatters onto the floor, and he flies across the room, striking the wall. Before I can get another spell out, Bellatrix sends a blood-red curse my way. I dodge but the Dark spell catches me on my right shoulder. Crying out in agony, my wand arm instantly goes slack, and I crumble to the ground. The stench of my bubbling flesh fills the air while Bellatrix admonishes Draco.

"Draco, you must! Our Lord gave you the honour of this task. You cannot fail him." A brief expression of worry overtakes her maniacal grin. "Think of your mother."

Draco swallows hard.

"Do it, Draco!"

Gritting his teeth, looking so resigned, Draco lifts his wand once more.

Dumbledore's concerned and disappointed face turns away from me and is replaced with immense sadness. "Draco, please—"

Green light blasts into the Headmaster's chest from Draco's wand. He plummets out of the tower window, his face appearing so peaceful and at odds with the horror of the situation.

Realizing what has just happened, a loud, shrill cry erupts from deep within my chest. Hopelessness and pain strangles me. I recall the murder of my parents. The murder of Sirius, who had been my last remaining family. And now the murder of Dumbledore, my mentor and the Wizarding world's protector. All dead. All because of me.

While Draco stares at his wand in disbelief and Snape staggers to his feet, I crawl towards where Dumbledore last stood, my shoulder having grown numb from shock. Peering over the ledge far below, I see the Headmaster, broken and unmoving. No. Nononono… Anger soon consumes my grief: anger at myself and anger at Malfoy.

"Murderer!" I scream, whipping around to find Bellatrix standing behind me, blocking Malfoy from view. Her wand trained on me, she smiles proudly, taking my accusation as a compliment, and bites the tip of her tongue like a child about to pinch a biscuit.

Snape strides over and pushes down Bellatrix's outstretched arm. "No," Snape's monotonous voice orders. "His death is only for the Dark Lord's pleasure."

Rolling her eyes in exasperation, Bellatrix slaps Snape's hand away. She again raises her wand, its tip hovering in my direction, before she raises her wand towards the sky. With a gleeful, triumphant cackle, she shouts, "Morsmordre!"

The clouds churn, and the same sickly green light that stole the Headmaster's life reflects off my face, the polluted sky flooding the landscape with the colour of death.

Grabbing Draco by the back of his robes, Snape shoves him towards the stairs. "Let us go. We have accomplished what our Lord set us to do. I can all too clearly hear the ruckus of advancing opposition, and we are already down in numbers."

Wildly laughing, Bellatrix follows Draco and the handful of other Death Eaters out of the room, leaving only Snape.

I attempt to level my wand at him, but he easily disarms me with his retrieved wand, mine landing in his outstretched hand with a wordless charm.

"You are nothing but a traitor!" I scream, staving off more tears.

Snape crouches, his steel-like eyes regarding me. "No, you are the traitor, Potter. Your inability to follow simple instruction has once again cost our cause another life. If you are our only hope, we are doomed for failure." He sighs. From his robes, he pulls out a bottle, unstops it, and pours it onto my festering wound.

As I writhe in pain, Snape rises to his feet, drops my wand onto the floor in front of me, and without a word, crosses the room and disappears down the stairs.

Once my shoulder no longer feels as if layers of my skin were peeling away, I scrabble for my wand. Racing down the steps, scorch marks and injured Order and D.A. members lead me outside. I pass Hagrid's home, now a burning pyre, and follow the group of Death Eaters into the Forbidden Forest in the direction of the front gates.

I see a clear shot through the trees and aim my wand at Snape's back. Before I can shoot, something slams into my side, causing me to collide with a tree. My attacker quickly manoeuvres an arm around me and presses the tip of a wand against my neck. I still, my chest heaving. Next to my ear, he whispers, "Fluitantis Loculo."

The advanced Dark spell causes my legs to snap together and forces my arms across my chest. Stiff as a corpse and looking ready for a coffin, my body floats up and then stops at about waist height.

Able to only move my eyes, I see the face of my attacker as he looms over me. It takes me a moment to recognize him. His face is gaunt, his hair is blackened with filth, and he's wearing a torn and bloody prison uniform. Before me stands Lucius Malfoy, newly escaped from Azkaban.

From my clutched hand, he pries my wand free and breaks it in two. I mentally scream and shout every insult and obscenity I can think of, wishing he could hear them.

Malfoy begins casting a Disillusionment Charm upon himself, twirling an unfamiliar wand around his body. He fades from view, and I feel a hard tap on the top of my head as he places the same charm on me.

As Malfoy tugs my hovering body further into the Forest, breezes cool my sweaty skin. All I can do as I'm dragged along is watch the sickly coloured clouds slowly pass by through the forest canopy. Malfoy hides us amongst shrubbery until the sun sets and I can only see the dark outlines of objects from the light of the half-moon.

After I don't know how long, Malfoy begins creeping us along the edge of the Forest. He alone exits the tree line at a quick pace. I hear two consecutive curses, grunts, and muffled impacts of dead weight hitting the ground. Malfoy retrieves me and tows me by the scruff of my neck.

Floating past the Hogwarts gates, I want to cry. I want to scream and shout. I imagine either Ron or Hermione, someone, anyone, coming to my rescue. Because I somehow know. I know once I'm completely past these gates, my life as I know it will end.

A second later, my body no longer exists. I can't breathe, see, or hear; but I can still feel the sensation of my body as it's yanked from all directions.

With an echoing crack, dizziness makes my stomach feel like a lump of lead and my head feel as if it were stuffed full of feathers. I'm confused for a moment due to the lack of light, wondering if perhaps I've somehow become trapped between Apparition points. But then a musty dampness invades my nostrils, and I know we've arrived, wherever it is we are.

Malfoy summons a lantern and ends our Disillusionment Charms. "Welcome to my home, Mr Potter," he says in a hoarse, patronizing voice. He proceeds to guide my supine body further into the labyrinth of connected low-ceilinged rooms, corridors, and sealed doors, which I guess must be the manor's vast cellar.

We stop, and my pupils contract when the ceiling above me transforms into the giant head of a Basilisk. Its eyes burn molten gold and its stone scales absorb rather than reflect the light.

Malfoy's eyes narrow at my reaction. "You see it, Potter? Well, aren't you full of surprises." He sneers. "No matter. As the head of my family, it will only obey me; not even the Dark Lord would be able to enter with his gift."

Looking directly at the serpent's face, Malfoy says, "Ouvrez pour vous maître."

The Basilisk's maw opens wide revealing a mouth full of dagger-length teeth and a pair of fangs, which protrude like two scimitars. With a quick flick of his wand, we rise into a square, windowless cell, landing on solid stone. The ceiling is so low, Malfoy must hunch over, and if I were to stretch out my arms, I would be able to touch both walls, simultaneously.

"Galay!"

I hear a pop before a soft, high-pitched voice asks, "What can Galay do for my Master?"

"Feed this." Malfoy cruelly smiles. "Malfoys are known for their hospitality, after all." He grabs the house-elf by a floppy ear. "But do not speak to him or answer any of his questions. And be sure to tell no one he's here, not a soul. Is that clear?"

Galay frantically nods his head. "Y-yes, Master."

"Good, good." Malfoy says with satisfaction, releasing the house-elf. "I want to ensure the Dark Lord hears about our newest guest from no one but me." Looking down, he squeezes my face with a hand and chuckles. "Do enjoy your stay, Potter…whilst you can." Malfoy removes my glasses from my face, crushing them in his fist. "You won't be needing these." Positioning his hand tightly around my neck, he whacks me against the wall head first and then ends the curse restraining my body.

My head throbbing, I drop to the ground retching. Grinning, Malfoy sinks through the floor, taking with him the only source of light.

In absolute, terrifying darkness, I hear a shuffle followed by two snaps. The smell of cooked food overwhelms my senses, and my stomach roils. With acid burning its way up my throat, I hurriedly crawl to a corner and vomit.

As I wipe my mouth with a sleeve, a blast shakes the walls of my cell and I hear a thud from below, followed by coughing.

"Bloody hell, Hermione—" more coughing "—a little more warning next time."

"Sorry," Hermione croaks. "I didn't expect the spell to be so…abrupt. But it did work. Harry must be here somewhere. We just need to find him before someone else finds us. Lumos…"

Hearing my friends' voices instantly fills me with hope. Scrambling to the centre of the room, knocking over my plate of food in the process, I place my lips as close to the floor as I can. "Ron, Hermione, I'm here! I'm up here!"

"Hermione," Ron says, his voice high-pitched with fear. "I think…I think I see something on the ground up ahead."

"Above you!" I continue on. "I'm right above you!"

Hermione gasps. "Oh, no! It can't be…" She sprints past and stops a few paces away. "It's not Harry," she declares with relief. "But whoever it is, he's sustained a serious head wound. Here, help me roll him over."

After a grunt of effort, Ron swears. "How in Merlin did he escape Azkaban? Is he—"

"He's dead," Hermione confirms, regret and sadness heard in her voice.

"Well, good riddance, I say; one less Death Eater to worry about."

"Malfoy's dead!" I scream, full panic setting in. Malfoy was the only person who knew I'm here! I yell even louder, "Hermione, Ron! I'm. Right. Here!" Tears wet my cheeks, my nails scratching at the stone floor. "I'm right here!"

"Ron," Hermione chides, "he was a horrid man; I agree, but it's not our place. We have laws for a reason. And look," Hermione urges. "Harry's glasses. If Malfoy were still alive, we might have been able to use him to learn Harry's exact location. Come on! If Malfoy's free, it likely means many more Death Eaters are roaming about. We have to find Harry before it's too late."

As the sound of Ron's and Hermione's trainers grow more distant, my yells turn to sobs. "I'm right here," I repeatedly whisper to myself, my hope turning to ash.

---

When I wake, I'm unsure whether it's night or day, but I do know the pressure in my bladder can't be ignored. Groaning, I sit up, my head spinning. Feeling around with my hands, I find the tray of food is gone. I take a deep breath of cool, stale air and huff it out. At least the stench of my sick is also absent. Galay must have paid a visit while I was asleep.

Choosing a random corner, I relieve myself and then shamble the few steps to the other side of my cell, turning around once I reach the wall, sliding onto the floor. My stomach growls, and an instant later, I feel a disturbance in the stagnant air. Carefully, I reach down and come into contact with the rim of a metal goblet. Seizing it with two hands, I gulp large mouthfuls of cold water, not caring that with each swallow my throat throbs from my earlier screaming. I sigh heavily, my dry mouth quenched and the bitterness coating my tongue lessened.

"Galay, are you here?" I rasp into the blackness, but silence is my only answer.

Sighing once more, I do the only thing I can: investigate the food. Since no silverware is provided, I'm forced to use my hands. I pick up a mass, covered in long, slimy strands and take a bite, grimacing when I taste liver and onions. The dish has never been a favourite, but I've learnt never to turn away food. As I tear pieces from the mealy organ, I wonder about my friends: if they're safe or not, if they've given up on finding me. But I refuse to consider that they may be dead.

My thoughts turn towards the Headmaster, and my eyes sting as tears well up. Would he still be alive if I had remained hidden? Different scenarios rack my brain. I should have attacked from underneath my cloak. I should have known not to trust Snape sooner. I should have been more aware of my surroundings…

Snarling, I throw my metal plate against a wall, burrowing my face in my hands. There's nothing I can do while I'm stuck here, and the only being who knows where I am is a house-elf, who refuses to speak to me.

With a growl, I grab the tray on the floor and jump to my feet. Taking a firm grip, I loudly beat the metal sheet against a wall.

"Galay!" After every crash of metal, I repeat his name. "Galay! Your master is dead. Please help me. Please! Please talk to me."

Mid-swing the tray in my hand vanishes, and I scream in frustration, pounding my fists against the wall. "Let me out! Let. Me. Out! Tell someone I'm here. Anyone. Please!"

But the house-elf stays loyal to his master, even in death, and doesn't speak a word.

---

I lie with my ear against the floor, listening. If I'm not eating or sleeping, I listen. Sometimes I can't sleep, so I listen. Sometimes I imagine I hear footsteps when there are none. My life consists of complete darkness and three meals a day. No more, no less.

I only have a vague idea of how long I've been trapped in this void. I now have a full beard, which means I've been here for months. On occasion I still plead with Galay, but for the most part, I listen.

---

"One… two… three…" During my next press-up, sweat trickles into my eye. I ignore it and finish my set.

My life is my routine: breakfast, exercise, lunch, nap, dinner, exercise, sleep. And maybe if I'm feeling up to it, I'll give myself a wank. Over and over and over and over and over. Always in perpetual night. But I refuse to give up. I can't. I can't let my parents' sacrifice or Sirius's or the Headmaster's mean nothing.

---

Once again ignoring the wafting aroma of food, I rock, my arms holding my bent legs tightly. I feel as if the six bare walls that are my world are closing in on me. I miss softness. I miss comfort. I miss light. Removing my tatty shirt and jeans, I roll each into two balls and hug them close, imagining the sun on my face.

---

I'm saved! Ron and Hermione have found me at last. I weep as their arms surround me.

"I knew you'd find me. I knew you'd never give up." I hug them closer.

Pop.

I open my tear-filled eyes. Darkness. The pong of eggs, mushrooms, and fish heavy in the air.

"Nonononono…" Relaxing my arms wound around my chest, two bundles of fabric fall free onto the stone floor.

---

"Ron, could you pass me the bacon?" I ask, grinning at his reluctant expression.

"Sure, mate." Ron dumps a large pile of the crispy strips onto his plate before passing the serving dish over.

"How are your studies coming along, you two?" Hermione inquires, neatly taking a bite, fixedly observing me.

"Not the best." I avoid her stare, focusing on my plate. "It's been hard concentrating because I've been so knackered lately… The nightmares are bothering me again."

Ron regards me with worry. "The ones where you're stuck in the dark room."

Nodding, I pick at my beans.

Hermione sets down her fork. "Harry, you should really see Madam Pomfrey or speak to one of the professors. It's been happening on and off for a while now."

"Are you sure it has nothing to do with" —Ron lowers his voice to a whisper— "You-Know-Who?"

"I don't know how I know, but I just do. It has nothing to do with him."

"Regardless, you should talk to someone." Hermione folds her arms across her chest.

Sighing but then smiling fondly at my friends' concern, I finally agree. "Alright, I will, but after Quidditch practice." With a mischievous grin, I change the subject. "So…will you two be going to Hogsmeade together this weekend?"

Ron and Hermione both turn strawberry-jam red, and my grin transforms into hearty laughter.

"Shut up, Harry," Ron mumbles, rubbing the back of his flushed neck.

Composing herself and then clearing her throat, Hermione asks, "Have you thought about whom you will be asking to accompany you?" Her eyebrows lift and become hidden behind her fringe as she waits for an answer.

"Uhhh…"

Her face assuming a know-it-all expression, Hermione spouts, "From what I've gathered, Luna heard from Ginny, who heard from Neville, who heard from Seamus, that Dean would be going with you."

Smirking, Ron suggestively mouths a sausage link, wriggling his eyebrows, prompting Hermione to cuff him on the back of his head.

"Ow!" Ron exclaims more in surprise than pain. "Bloody hell, Hermione."

"No need for vulgarity, Ron." Turning back towards me, she asks hopefully, "Is what I've heard true?"

Now it's my turn to blush. "Yeah…it's true."

"About bloody time," Ron comments with a crooked silly grin, chewing a mouthful of eggs.

Smiling widely at Ron, Hermione laughs, ignoring his lack of table manners. "For once, we agree."

I grin at my friends' behaviour and then laugh along, loving how happy we all are.

---

Sitting on the edge of a bed in the infirmary, I kick my hanging legs and chew on my lip, waiting for Madam Pomfrey. I feel both anxious and listless: worried about what Pomfrey might find and tired from both practice and the hot shower I took afterwards. My stonker due to seeing Dean starkers and the subsequent wank hasn't helped matters either.

The doors to the supplies cupboard squeak shut and the click of heels near and then still. "Mr Potter, I must say I'm surprised to see you here. It's a new record; I haven't seen you since your physical at the start of the year. I had happily become quite used to not seeing you on such a regular basis. What can I do for you this evening?"

"I'm here because my friends were a tad worried. I mean; I feel fine. Besides a little tiredness that is."

Pomfrey purses her lips and hums. "Well, let's start with the basics." She lifts her wand and taps my nose, left pinkie, right knee, and then asks me to stick out my tongue.

"Mr Potter, are you still a virgin?"

"Ummm, y-yes."

"Hmmm..." She casts more spells, disturbingly close to my groin. "Are you at all sexually active?"

"I don't think so… I've kissed before, but that's it."

Madam Pomfrey nods as she comes to a conclusion. "Well, Mr Potter," she says, looking at me with pity, "I know what's wrong with you—you're mad."

I furrow my brow in confusion. "W-what?"

"You're mad."

"I don't un—"

"Round the bend. Batty. Off your trolley—"

My head begins to ache and a black fog drifts into my vision. "Please stop," I plead, closing my eyes and grabbing my head.

"—Mad as a March hare—"

"Stop," I gasp, my chest feeling as if a boulder were torturously being lowered onto it.

"—A Knut shy of a Galleon—"

"Shut…up!" My eyes burst open. Darkness all around me. The only sound is my erratic breathing. I scream low and long until my throat croaks and chest burns. My next breath is a deep sob.

"I'm here," I repeat between sobs, grounding myself, reminding myself. "I'm here."

---

I don't know who I am. In the empty stillness, I ponder who I could possibly be: a sick criminal incarcerated in the worst of prisons, a person stuck in a vegetative state. Perhaps I'm a child inside his mother's womb waiting to be born. A fleeting smile touches my lips at the thought. Would I be wanted? Would I be born into love? What would my name be?

Scores of names filter through my head, some lingering more than others. James… Dumbledore… Hermione… Malfoy— For a fraction of a second, I feel the ground beneath me violently quake—and then I feel weightless.

Who am I, echoes through my mind like the whisper of a scared child. Are you sure you want to know? What if the truth finally breaks you? I ask myself, calming myself, pulling myself away from the hungry jaws of hysteria. Facing the hollowed-out remnant that I am, I bravely state, I need to know. What's my name? Who am I? Why am I here?

You are a wizard, a hero, a failed hero. You are the cause of your loved ones' deaths. You are Harry Potter, and you must wake up. Wake up for…your parents; wake up for Sirius; wake up for the Headmaster; wake up for your friends; wake up for your vengeance. Wake. Up!

My eyes fly open, and I gasp in pain from the torrent of remembered memories and the crushing weight on my legs. Tasting blood dripping from my forehead, I madly grin. Change. I bask in the change of my environment, effortlessly distancing myself from my physical pain. Concentrate. Concentrate! Look!

And then I see it; it's no larger than a pinprick, but it fills my world: light. It frightens me and enchants me. I stare at the point of illumination, my breathing growing more rapid and shallow, my eyelids growing heavier. But my will continuously yells at me to focus on the light, to take my next breath, to not give up, to not let death take me.

My stomach growls with hunger, another change. However long I've been in this cell, Galay has never once refused me a meal. He must be dead, I conclude and laugh aloud. Dead. What a brilliant notion… Concentrate! Why should I bother? I'm soon going to be dead, too, either by starvation but most likely from blood loss. The Wizarding world will probably be better off without than with a barking mad Harry Potter, anyway. Voldemort was a heartless psychopath, but at least he had control of most of his faculties. I can't even tell if my current situation is real, another wishful fantasy, or another nightmare.

The spot of light winks out, and I chuckle, bitterly. "Well, it was nice while it lasted," I utter hoarsely.

Bits of rubble drop onto my face, and I turn my head to the side, blinking my eyes. I hear a muffled voice, and without conscious thought, I wheeze repeatedly, "I'm here… I'm here…"

Blinding brilliance causes me to cry out. I shut my eyes tightly, weeping and laughing from deep, intense, happiness. I've been found. I've been found! My joy overwhelms me, and my laughter becomes louder and more hysterical.

"Who…is it?" someone with a familiar voice asks.

"This is your bloody place. Shouldn't you know?"

I frown. The last speaker reminds me of Ron, but the voice is deeper and sounds more…stuck-up than Ron's ever would.

"It looks like he's at death's door. Let's get him out first and ask questions later."

The foul taste of a Blood-Replenishing Potion slides down my throat; followed by a potion that numbs my body and causes my eyeballs to go dry. Squinting open my eyes, I distinguish the blurry forms of two wizards perched above me like vultures. I feel as one of their hands moves aside the sweat-soaked strands of hair covering my face and forehead. Before I pass out, I hear two shocked inhalations and smile. This, by far, has been one of my more interesting dreams. I wonder what Ron and Hermione will think when I tell them…

---

Warmth. Softness. I sigh in bliss, languidly lifting my eyelids. Beautiful sunlight shines boldly and without apology, reflecting off surfaces creating pure white streaks, illuminating all but the shy corners and underbellies of the room. Tears sting my eyes as I stare in awe.

"This seems so real," I rasp.

"That's because it is, Potter." Lucius Malfoy stands from a nearby chair, advances, and proceeds to place a pair of spectacles on my face.

I gasp as the room goes from dreamy to sharp-edged. The clarity cuts me, but I shake my head in denial, laughing. "This can't be real, Malfoy. You're dead. And since I can't see through you, you aren't a ghost."

Malfoy frowns. "Why do you think I'm dead?"

"Because Hermione and Ron said. I heard them say it." Malfoy looks otherworldly with the natural light shining behind him. "You hurt your head in the—" I shudder "—cellar."

"You're thinking of my father, Potter. I'm Draco, not Lucius."

"Draco…" I sense he's telling the truth, but I don't understand. "But…Draco is my age, and you…you look…" I begin to tremble. "No! This isn't real. It can't be real. I want to wake up!"

"Potter, calm down."

I hug the fabric of the bedding to my chest and close my eyes. "Wake up. Wake up. Wake up…" As I'm swallowed whole by panic, I rock, limbs shaking, heartbeat beating as rapidly as the to and fro movement of my upper body. "Hermione!" I keen, needing her, needing my best friend.

"Harry, what's wrong?" Hermione asks with alarm, wrapping her arms around me.

"I… I…" Too much is wrong with me. Too much. Where would I even begin?

"It's okay. Shhh." She croons to me, rubbing my back soothingly with a hand. "I'm here, Harry. You'll be alright. Shhhhh."

I feel so confused. Part of me demands I open my eyes, to stop being weak, and part of me wants to stay in my friend's caring embrace forever. Part of me hopes I'm finally free. Free from my half-life. Free from my pitch-black nightmare. Free to exact my revenge. Free. However, a darker part of me is afraid I've simply given up one delusion for another. Am I falling deeper into madness? What should I do, I ask myself over and over. Then a new thought occurs to me. Draco Malfoy killed the Headmaster. Delusion or not, will you give up the opportunity to…carry out justice?

"Hermione?" I mumble into her shoulder.

"Yes, Harry."

"I think I'm broken."

Giving me a tight squeeze, I feel her shaking her head. "No, Harry. You've survived because you are so very, very strong." Her voice grows thick as she fights back tears. "You have no idea how strong you are," she whispers fiercely. "But you can't ever give up. You must be brave." Hermione kisses my head. "If you can't trust your eyes or even your mind. Trust your heart. Always trust that."

Her warmth and tenderness spark something deep inside me, something new or long forgotten. "Trust my heart," I softly say to myself. For a countless period of time, I hold her as if she were a lifebuoy, and then steeling myself, I let her go and open my eyes.

---

I'm once again in the lavish bedroom where I was met by a much older Draco Malfoy, but this time, instead of sunlight, tapered candles illuminate the space. Finding myself alone, I slowly let my eyes roam around the room, and even in the dimness, the vibrancy and realness of my surroundings stun me.

The door handle on the other side of the room jiggles, and burying my body further into the mattress, I draw the duvet past my nose.

As the door swings open, I hear muted giggling and a dismayed groan.

"Perdita," a young blond wisp of a boy whispers, "we should leave."

"Scorpius, you're as bad as Perseus," the auburn-headed girl mocks. "Stiff upper lip. We're only going to take a peek and then be on our way."

"This only proves that your brother was right. This type of folly screams Gryffindor. Ow! I'm going to tell my—"

"No it doesn't, and no you aren't. And you can't fool me. I know you're just as curious as I am; don't deny it…"

They remind me of when Ron, Hermione, and I were first years. A smile stretches my chapped lips, causing them to split. Easily ignoring the stinging pain, I slit my eyes and watch as the pair tiptoe towards my bedside.

"And you're sure your father said 'Harry Potter?'" Scorpius asks, his voice cracking.

"I'm positive."

Fully closing my eyes when they reach my side, I relax, feigning sleep.

"What are you doing?" Scorpius hisses.

"How else are we to know it's truly him?"

Opening my eyes, I see a small hand reaching towards my long fringe.

With an unhinged grin, I say thickly, "You could always ask."

Perdita's hand freezes, and soon begins to tremble. She swallows hard, fisting her outstretched hand, and lowers it to her side. "Well, then… Are you, indeed, Harry Potter?"

I admire her courage and agree that she's a Gryffindor through and through.

Chuckling, I lower my blankets and sit up straighter, combing my fingers through my gnarly beard. "That's what my mind last told me, but it's been known to be unreliable. Maybe you can help me." I widen my eyes at the girl. "What colour are my eyes?"

Perdita leans in closer. "Green," she answers without hesitation.

"Harry Potter was known for his green eyes," I say to myself. "He had his mother's eyes." I glance at Scorpius and then back to her. "Did you know that?"

They shake their heads no.

"Yes, he had his mother's eyes…" I lick my cracked lips tasting blood, recalling a woman pleading and falling to the floor lifeless. Guilt pokes at my heart like jabbing pins, and I gasp, beginning to rock in place.

"Sir?"

"Hmmm," I hum, refocusing on their faces. Seeing their apprehension, a laugh bursts from my mouth, causing them to start. Yanking back my fringe, I wait for their reactions.

"Perdita! Scorpius!"

We all turn towards the strident voice, clapping eyes on a tall, red-headed man; wearing tailored trousers and a white shirt with rolled-up sleeves. He looks different, older for sure, more put together, but I recognize him instantly.

"Ron!" I shout with elation, shoving aside my bedclothes; exposing my ghastly-white, naked body.

"But Dad—"

"Out now," Ron growls, marching into the bedchamber.

Gritting my teeth and breathing with effort, I drag my legs over the edge of the bed. "Ron," I say again, outstretching my arms towards him, and slide off the side of the mattress. Unable to hold my weight, I collapse onto the woven carpet.

Ron rushes to my side, helping me back onto the bed. Turning to the children, he says, gritting his teeth, "Go."

As he shifts my still-healing legs, I notice something on his left forearm and grab it, sinking my bitten fingernails into his flesh. Twisting his arm, I stare at it in disbelief.

"Harry—"

"Why do you have this on you? Why? Hermione would never… Where is she? Where's Hermione?"

At the rising shrillness of my voice, the children smartly decided to scamper out of the room.

Ron's face remains emotionless, and he yanks his arm out of my hand.

"What did you do? What's happened…" Tears flood my eyes. "Answer me!"

Unsheathing his wand, he points it at my breaking heart. "Harry…" Ron's eyes have a sheen, but otherwise his face stays impassive. "Stupefy."

---

Dark thoughts pummel me as I once again waste away in my well-acquainted unlit cell. Ron left me to rot… He wears the Mark… He's a traitor… He must die… An image of the auburn-haired, hazel-eyed girl intrudes into my frenzied brooding. But he has children. Would killing him make you happy? I-I don't know…

Like hitting the pavement while fast asleep, I'm jarred into consciousness, the lingering dizziness of a Rennervate charm buzzing about my head.

"Potter."

Blinking my eyes, I turn towards the smooth, cultured voice. "Malfoy." A crooked smile, mostly hidden behind my facial hair, graces my face. Even though he's a cruel murderer and will eventually need to pay for his crimes, the normalcy of our exchange is amusing.

Backdropped by the morning dawn, Malfoy, sheathing his wand into his walking stick, stands straight in sharp flint-grey robes, various medals adorning the left side of his chest. He's handsome, beautiful even, but the ugliness of his past actions surmounts any real attraction I could have felt for him.

"I thought you were dead," I mumble, picking at my worn nails. "But I guess most thought I was dead, too. I still could be dead; I'm not sure… But I do know I'm mad, quite mad." My harsh laughter turns into whooping coughing.

Handing me a glass of room temperature water, Malfoy says, "Remember, I'm Draco, not Lucius."

I cock my head to the side. "You're the one who killed the Headmaster?"

He stills before curtly nodding his head. "Yes, it was my honour."

Smashing the glass against the headboard, I pick up a large shard and launch myself at Malfoy, aiming the sharp point at his neck.

"Petrificus Totalus."

My body going rigid, I slam onto the floor face first in front of Malfoy's glossy Oxfords. The clomping of boots nears, and then the toe of one digs into my stomach, lifting and flipping me over, revealing my traitorous former friend studying me.

"I'm…surprised." Ron evenly comments, returning his wand to his robes after vanishing the pieces of glass. "In all the years that I've known him, he's never attempted murder, not once."

"He must be very eager to prove himself and join the ranks," Draco quips and then casts a spell to float me back onto the bed. Taking my right hand, he performs a quick healing charm, sealing the long cut on my palm. "Maybe Bellatrix and he can braid each other's hair when she returns from her summer holiday."

Ron snorts. "Now that's the stuff of nightmares."

"No, what's a nightmare," Malfoy grouses, tucking the covers around my body, "is me having to care for Potter like a bloody house-elf. I have less than a month to get him sane enough to present before the Dark Emperor."

Inside me I feel a growing boil. A fury. A dawning understanding that's just out of reach.

"That's what the Emperor commanded?"

"It's his wish; Severus informed me before rushing to join him. Because of the attack yesterday, the Emperor decided to leave early for America. The situation there has grown too unstable and must be dealt with sooner rather than later. If something isn't done, there will be no one left to inhabit the continent."

As they converse, I seethe, hating how they are treating me worse than a child, like a nonentity. I hate how chummy they are, bantering on about Quidditch, laughing at inside jokes, discussing family outings.

"Let's continue this discussion in my study over a nice game of chess," Malfoy suggests, smirking, clapping Ron on the back. "Astoria and Pansy will be busy all morning and afternoon shopping with the children. Theo said he and Marietta might be stopping by later for a visit. I'll see to Potter later. Stupefy."

---

I scowl at Malfoy when I see him calmly standing at my bedside.

"Now, none of that, Potter. If I can't trust you, you'll force me to use an Imperius. With your fragile state of mind, I'm afraid what the repercussions might be." He shows me a spectrum of filled vials. "Blood-Replenishing Potion, Healing Restorative for your legs, Draught of Peace, Invigoration Draught, and" —He waves the glass tube filled with lapis-coloured liquid— "this is a Mind-Healing Potion.

"In addition to cleaning you up as best as wand-work allows, I've applied Murtlap Essence to your legs."

I glance down and notice my beard has been shaved. After I rub my jaw, enjoying its smoothness, I trail my fingers through my trimmed hair, now soft and free of matted grime.

Malfoy clears his throat, his ears colouring. "Take your potions, Potter; then you can use the lav, and we'll head outside for dinner. You're beyond grotty" —I glare— "and could use some fresh air." He offers me the Mind-Healing Potion first.

Knowing this would be a great opportunity to learn more about my whereabouts and what's happened, I accept and swallow down the slimy concoction, my face screwing in disgust. Some things never change, and the vile taste of potions is one of them.

Once I've downed every prescribed potion, I take a moment cataloguing myself, wiggling my fingers and toes, closing my eyes and taking in a deep breath. And I come to the conclusion that I feel…good: pain free, content, but most of all grounded, grounded in reality. Opening my eyes, I sigh, a silly grin on my face.

"Before we leave this room," Malfoy warns, looking me directly in the eye, "you must promise that, while you're staying here, you won't attempt to escape or harm anyone or anything."

"How can you trust my word?" I ask with incredulity. "How can you trust me at all?"

"I don't," he chuckles, rubbing the front of his neck with a hand, "but I do trust in your desire for additional information." Arching a brow, Malfoy knowingly smirks. "Do I have your promise, Potter?"

"Yes, I" —My face grimaces with distaste— "promise."

"Excellent. Come along then." He aids me off the bed.

Shutting my eyes for a second, I savour being able to stand upright and not hunched over.

From the foot of the bed, Malfoy picks up and then places a cheery lemon-yellow dressing gown on my shoulders, waiting for me to thread my arms through the sleeves.

"If I weren't already awake, this surely would do it," I comment, fixing the collar of the robe while Malfoy ties the rope at my waist with deft tugs.

"Once Astoria, my wife, heard of your circumstances, she felt the need to pick out a few things for you. She was hand-selected for me by the Dark Emperor because of her lineage and has proven to be a brilliant mother to Scorpius due to her kind-heartedness."

Malfoy offers an arm and I accept it, holding on for support. "I feel your last sentence ends with a but."

As we slowly make our way to the attached loo, he snickers and the corners of his eyes crinkle. "Caught that did you. I'll only say that there's a reason why I've only sired one child with Astoria."

My stomach flips at his charm and close proximity, and I immediately become disgusted with myself, but soon excuse my reaction. It's understandable. I haven't had any caring physical contact with another person for a very long time, and Malfoy is a striking wizard, more so now that he's filled out.

Ignoring the heat emanating from Malfoy's body, I mull over his previous words and then stop in my tracks when I grasp what he alluded to. Overcome with shock, I vehemently whisper, "You're…bent."

Without missing a beat, Malfoy replies, "I said nothing of the sort, Potter." Encouraging me to resume walking, he says, "The world has changed. It has changed a great deal. What's now accepted as pure, right, and good has become very narrow. If a wizard or witch is found not to fit, it means death or, at the very least, slavery."

We reach the bathroom entryway, and Malfoy, staring me straight in the eyes, places a hand on my left shoulder. His tone softer, he asks, "Do you understand?"

I know Malfoy and I are nearly the same age, but in this moment, I feel very young. Bobbing my head, I break our eye contact and say, "I understand."

"Good." He gives me a small smile.

"Will we be eating dinner with them, your family?"

"No, it was decided that they would reside elsewhere while the manor is undergoing repairs."

"You can't be with them because of me," I state sadly. "Because I might hurt them without meaning to."

His fingers gently squeeze my shoulder, and he chuckles. "Trust me. It's more for your welfare. Scorpius seems to have inherited the Black family proclivity for mischief, and Astoria would likely talk your ears right off. Now's the time for you to focus on getting better…and taking a much needed slash so I no longer have worry over the carpet."

Malfoy's trying to cheer me up, I realize, and a slight smile teases at my lips. "Then you better lead the way before it's too late," I say, playfully matching his taunting tone.

The corner of his mouth rises in amusement. His hand lingers on my shoulder for a moment, before he removes it and directs me towards the toilet.

With Malfoy's assistance, I relieve myself, feeling very self-conscious while doing so, even though he's already seen me starkers. We leave the lavatory and make our way to the bedroom exit.

Turning his attention to the door, Malfoy extracts his wand and waves it at the doorknob, murmuring a litany of words under his breath.

Gooseflesh rises from my body when what sounds like muted, agonized moaning and screaming comes from the door. The silver metal of the handle turns red hot and then oily black, before returning to its quiet, ordinary appearance.

Wide-eyed, I stare at Malfoy as a wily grin twitches at his lips.

"Oh, by the way," he smoothly says, "it's not recommended you touch the door whilst it's locked from the inside."

My jaw clenches and my fingers itch to wrap around his graceful, pretty neck. After taking a deep breath, I smile. "Thanks for the tip, but I shouldn't be surprised. Malfoys are known for their hospitality towards their guests."

A bark of laughter precedes Malfoy's hand slowly rounding my waist, pulling me close. "Right you are, Potter... Right you are."

I want to shove the blighter away, but know if we're to walk a few steps without me soon collapsing, I would need his help. Reminding myself that Malfoy is only playing with me, and telling my confused cock to settle down, I drape my arm around him, setting my palm on his far shoulder.

Exiting the bedroom, we step directly onto a familiar landing, and I see a portrait of a dark-haired-grey-eyed young woman removing petals from a daisy, one by one.

"…He loves me. He loves me not…"

Recognizing her, I blurt, "Miss Carina," causing her to pause and look up.

Carina's hand shoots over her mouth as she gasps. "Harry…" A huge smile brightens her face as a soft blush suffuses her cheeks.

Frowning in confusion, I glance at Malfoy. "We're in Grimmauld Place… How is it we're here?"

Giving the fawning portrait a warning glare and guiding me away and down the stairs, Malfoy explains. "A year after your disappearance, the Ministry officially declared you deceased, and the Black family estate was divvied up between descendants. This abode was given to me as part of my inheritance. Since then, I've used it as my office and for business dealings..."

While Malfoy speaks, I regard the spotless walls, dust-free, updated furnishings, and notice the absence of mounted house-elf heads. "It looks like you did a lot of redecorating."

"It was a must," Malfoy remarks, helping me off the last step. "The previous residents left it in quite a state."

Not about to say that the former occupants were members of the Order, I inquire, "What about the house-elf, Kreacher, that came with the house? Where is he?"

"The elf has since died."

"Oh." I could feel all my swirling emotions crashing against the protective dam the Mind-Healing Potion created: an indifference to the house-elf's death, guilt over that indifference, great worry over my friends, their circumstances still unknown, hatred towards all those who have wronged me, and immense fear that all this is only my shattered mind grasping at pieces of sanity.

We reach a set of French doors looking out into a private garden. I glimpse brick walls covered with jasmine and honeysuckle, a breeze ruffling the blossoms. Bees, butterflies, and fairies flit from bloom to bloom, competing for nectar.

Breaking the silence, Malfoy opens a door and warns me to watch my step. Noting how worn the descending five stone slabs of the stairs are, I take his advice and carefully place my bare feet on each one, using a handrail heavily.

When I enter the outdoor space, at first I'm overwhelmed and become frozen on the brick-paved ground. The infinite, clear blue sky terrifies me. I feel my heart stutter, but again, the potion cocktail I took earlier keeps me from falling apart.

As Malfoy leads me further into the magically expanded garden, I enjoy the warmth radiating from the sun-soaked ground. I delight in how the wind whips my dressing gown around my ankles and how the greenery waves in greeting and farewell as we pass by. I inhale long, deep breaths, appreciating the mixture of sweet and earthy scents, but stop when I realize what I'm appreciating is the fragrance of Malfoy's cologne.

The temperature decreases a few degrees when we stroll underneath a square pergola swathed thickly with wisteria. At its centre sits a small, round glass table with two cushioned chairs.

Malfoy helps me into my seat, its legs scraping against the stone when he pushes me in. He takes his own, and with a loud pop, food appears on the table.

My vision goes black, and I'm once again trapped in darkness, the stench of another meal brought by Galay tormenting me.

"Potter—"

Potter… Is that my name? I-I can't remember…

"—Potter, what's wrong…"

"Dark. Dark. Always dark…" Open your eyes.

"…Potter! Potter…Harry."

Open them!

I see a face, a beautiful face, looking at me with concern. Raising a hand, I lightly follow the chiselled plane of a cheek and watch as sharp, deep-set eyes widen. I lean forward wanting to know how his lips might feel. A brush of softness, a moment of returned pressure, before a hand over my chest nudges me back.

"Harry," the lovely man says, "have you forgotten again?"

"Forgotten?" I ask, frowning. As tears begin to drip from my eyes, flashes of memory overlay my vision. A blond boy offering me a hand in friendship. Me doing aerial acrobats on a broomstick around the boy, laughing with exhilaration. A young man lying on the ground bleeding from his chest, me kneeling at his side, apologizing profusely.

"Malfoy?" I ask in a small voice, rocking in place.

"Which one?"

"Draco."

Malfoy sighs in relief. He returns to his chair, plopping down in his seat. "Some progress."

I'm hoping I only hallucinated that I tried to snog Malfoy, but from the tingle on my lips, I know it's only wishful thinking. I can't believe my first real kiss with a bo— man was with Draco Malfoy.

"I thought the Mind-Healing Potion would be enough," Malfoy comments, placing a cloth napkin on his lap, "but it looks like I'll need to add a Memory Potion to your regimen."

"Do you think the potions will cure me?" I ask, studying my trimmed and filed nails to avoid having to look at Malfoy's face.

"Cure, I doubt—" He takes a large swallow from his wine glass "—but over time, decrease the severity of your condition, definitely. However, we live in a world of magic so who knows. Now, Potter, our meal has grown cold enough."

I peer at the food before me displayed on fine china. So used to combinations of liver, mushroom, eggs, and fatty fish, I poke at the bright-red crustacean with a finger. Picking up a piece of white meat, I set it on my tongue. I slowly chew, moaning in appreciation as the sweet, clean flavour activates my taste buds. I quickly pick up another piece, this time dipping it in the provided butter.

Malfoy clears his throat, and I glance up. "We're not animals." He raises the smallest fork I've ever seen as if he were the Greek god Poseidon, who had been hit by an Enlargement Charm.

I snort and then begin to chuckle. Soon, I'm laughing so hard tears are leaking from my eyes. My insides feel light and amused, and for a moment, I forget about my dark place.

"Potter?" Malfoy drawls, apprehension causing frown lines to mar his forehead.

"I'm fine," I say, wiping tears from my cheeks. "Found something amusing is all." I give him a large, genuine smile in reassurance.

His Adam's apple bobbing from a hard swallow, Malfoy takes a sip of wine, his face already seeming to have become flushed from the deep-red beverage.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" I ask, picking up my own tiny utensil. "Are you hoping I'll change my mind about having to kill you."

Malfoy's fork stops an inch away from his mouth and lowers. "I'm not being nice, Potter. I believe in doing what the Emperor tasks me to the utmost of my abilities. It's his wish that I ensure your well-being until he can return and deal with you himself, so that's what I'll do.

"And when it comes to having to handle people desiring my demise, get it line. I'm the Lord High Treasurer for all of the Dark Wizarding Empire. Only a handful of others outrank me, and I've had to cheat, blackmail, and kill many to retain my position within the Dark Emperor's inner circle."

"Who outranks you?"

"Well, Snape is Voldemort's top advisor and is the Chief of Imperial Defence—"

"Snape!" I grind my teeth, my hatred of the spy causing my vision to darken around the edges with a blood-red haze.

"Potter," Malfoy barks. "Potter, breathe."

With a trembling hand, I grab the glass of wine in front of me and begin swigging it. Once the entire glass is empty, I sigh, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

"Better?" Malfoy inquires, taken aback.

"Yeah," I say roughly, my head already beginning to feel woozy. "Is Ron part of the inner circle, too?"

Malfoy chuckles. "One month is a long time, Potter. I'm not going to tell you everything you want to know all at once.

"How about I make you a deal? Today's Sunday. If you, for the rest of the month, take all your potions and take care of yourself, including eating all your meals, then every Sunday you can ask me any question, no matter what, and I'll answer it. We'll call your last question a freebie.

"No, Ron is not one of the inner circle, but he did finagle himself the position of Head Auror—with my help and influence, of course—and, as a marked Death Eater, is a member of the Pure-blood elite. Now eat. I'm sure you're sick of constantly eating foods high in vitamin D. No need for that anymore, since you once again have access to sunlight. Oh, and for dessert, lemon tart will be served. Then you'll need to take a bath, and maybe after that, I'll read you a bedtime story."

I'm at a loss for words, and seconds pass in silence. "C-could I get some more wine?"

Malfoy chuckles and, grinning widely, pours me more wine from a chilled carafe. For the rest of the meal, he catches me up on the latest Quidditch season, and I hate to admit it, but I enjoy his company. I enjoy it too much.

---

Climbing the endless number of steps back to my gilded cage is far harder than it was descending them.

Covered in a sweaty sheen and still caned from the wine, I let Malfoy direct me through the bedroom and into the lav.

He pulls his arm from around my waist, and I grab onto a nearby heated towel rail for balance. I feel a tug and look down to see him untying my dressing gown. All my mind comprehends is a handsome fellow in the process of undressing me. My nipples become erect, and my cock hardens. The silken fabric falls from my shoulders, and I shiver.

I'm turned around to face a large tub filled with jewel-toned bubbles. Malfoy's chest touches the length of my back, and a bulge pushes into my buttocks. I grind my arse against his erection, smiling when I hear him gasp.

"Potter…I see you're going for the slow kill."

Soft, dark laughter rumbles from my chest. I move my hands behind me wanting to touch what was so tantalizingly rubbing against me, but he stops me by encircling a hand around each of my wrists.

"In the tub, Potter."

I groan, from both Malfoy's brush-off and the growing pounding inside my head. Holding on firmly to Malfoy's right hand, I step into the claw-foot bathtub. As I sink into the sudsy, warm water, I close my eyes, moaning loudly.

The copious amount of wine I drank having lowered my inhibitions, I wrap the hand that had just been touching Malfoy around my cock. My neck arches, and my mouth parts. Most of my past fantasies have starred either Dean or Oliver, even Cormac on occasion, but never Malfoy. However, when I imagine it's him touching me, pumping my hard member, I lose any semblance of restraint and moan his name.

From a short distance away, I hear a soft curse, then the quick tap of leather soles on the tiled floor. The latch of the door clicks open.

"Don't forget to wash behind your ears," Draco recommends huskily before the door thuds shut.

You're driving him mad.

I choke on my mirth when my balls tighten and thick spurts of come shoot into my other hand cupping the head of my cock, preventing most of my release from contaminating the bath water. Breathing harshly, I wipe off my soiled hand on a towel laid on the porcelain edge of the tub. Choosing one of the many bottles of soap at random, I proceed to wash myself, including the area between my toes and behind my ears.

---

With the sour and briny taste of a Memory Potion and what must have been a Sobering Potion on my tongue, I hide my face in my hands, moaning with mortification. The light, freeing sensation of intoxication completely gone, I fret over how I wantonly threw myself at Malfoy. He's a murderer…and…and I hate him. You're lying to yourself…

I groan at my stupid, second-guessing mind. Talking with Malfoy over dinner had been the first time we conversed without posturing, without insults. It had almost felt like a first date. So should I just let him get away with everything he's done? Sweep it all under the carpet? Let bygones be bygones? He admitted it himself that he's guilty of murder many times over, that he's proud of it even… Kill him or fuck him, it's up to you…

Growling with frustration, I look up to find Malfoy bringing over a chair and ask, "What are you doing?"

From underneath his arm, he shows me a teal hardbound copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard.

I stare at him dumbfounded. "When you said you would read me a bedtime story, I thought you were only having me on, not being serious."

"Consider yourself lucky, Potter. Because of certain themes, such as a witch falling in love with a Muggle and how the Dark Arts will lead to ruination, it's on the banned book list. However, since this" —He strokes the binding with his fingers— "is a signed first-edition, it's deemed a valuable collectable and permissible."

Malfoy sits and turns to the first page of "The Fountain of Fair Fortune." As he reads, his smooth, refined voice relaxes me, and I find myself closing my eyes, imagining the three witches and Muggle knight on their adventurous journey. Before I know it, I'm dreaming, and it's not of darkness; it's of a beautiful garden and a handsome, brave knight, who so happens to be blond…

---

Every day the following week, Malfoy visits me at breakfast and lunch, giving me my required potions, and every evening, he shares dinner with me, later reading me to sleep. My nightmares become less frequent, my troubled thoughts less dark, but my attraction to Malfoy only increases.

By the end of the week, I can walk and dress unaided. I wear the uncomfortable, form-fitting clothes Draco's wife purchased for me. Today, it's white trousers, a creamy pistachio-hued shirt, and sandals. My time in the garden has helped my complexion go from sickly pale to a healthy ivory.

Tonight's dinner is once again enjoyable. Now sitting side by side, our knees touching, I laugh as Malfoy proudly recounts how Scorpius accidentally caused his tutor's eyebrows to freely roam about the wizard's body like a pair of bushy caterpillars.

Our dessert plates sprinkled with crumbs and smeared with raspberry syrup vanish, and I fidget, knowing it was now or never.

"Malfoy?"

"Are you ready to ask your question?" he gently replies, a trace of apprehension heard in his voice.

I give a quick nod. My heart speeding up, I fold my hands together to keep them from visibly shaking and ask the one question I'm ready to learn and know Malfoy can answer. "H-how long was I trapped in the manor?"

Meeting my gaze, not hiding his sorrow, not hiding his compassion, he says, "Twenty years."

"Twenty years," I repeat, hollowly.

Over half my life, I've spent in a windowless cage, only to be found because of chance. Like a pet that became too troublesome, I was abandoned and forgotten by those who I thought cared for me. I was pulled from the brink of complete insanity by my enemies, not by my friends. Where were they? Why did they give up? Why did they give up on me?

A tear trickles down my cheek. I feel mostly numb, but dark thoughts twist in the depths of my mind wanting to lash out; wanting to pulverize as many as it takes of those who wronged me until my heart no longer feels as if it were an empty shell.

But then I feel Malfoy's warm arms around me, lifting me up and carrying me away. I burrow my face in his neck, taking comfort in his rich scent as his feathery hair tickles my cheek. At the moment, I don't care whether he's a friend or foe. All I care is that he's here with me now, calming the churning darkness within me.

As Malfoy ascends up the main staircase, he remarks breathily, "You're a lot heavier than you look," grunting when he stops for a moment to reposition me in his arms.

The mix of his musk and cologne strengthens from his exertion, and I tighten my grip around his neck, nuzzling his jawline with my nose. My lips graze the damp skin of his neck, and I flick out my tongue tasting salt.

Malfoy's chest vibrates against my own. "Damn it, Potter... You need to stop or you're going to cause both of us to topple down the stairs."

Contenting myself with only taking deep lungfuls of his scent, I shut my eyes and rest my head on his shoulder, contemplating my behaviour. Others may call me Harry Potter, but I'm not him, not anymore. Harry Potter would never so easily give into his desires and abandon his principles. Harry Potter would never fathom torturing or killing another being. Harry Potter died all alone in a small, dark cell, an unknown number of years ago. So then who are you? I don't care who I am as long as I'm not alone.

Once we enter the bedroom, Malfoy places me on the bed. He pulls off my sandals, setting them on the floor. Ignoring the chair he has been using the last week, he sits down beside me. The sides of our bodies touching, he Summons a hunter-green book with gold inlay. On the cover, I read Peter and Wendy by J. M. Barrie.

"A Muggle book," I say with surprise, moving to rest my head on his well-muscled arm, admiring the illustration of the title page.

"You had a big shock today. Close your eyes and try to relax."

As he begins to read, I do as he says, the words flowing from his mouth without a stumble. I smile and an emotion stronger than fondness, lust, or even hate begins to bloom in my chest. Do you still want to kill him? I ask myself. No, I want to keep him.

---

The next evening, Malfoy reads to me from the chair, and since then, there have been no more innuendos or lingering touches, only distance and restraint. But I can tell he still wants me. I can tell by the way he looks at me; by the way he licks his lips or has to discretely adjust himself when I strut around half-naked in the morning and at night.

His reticence has only increased my desire to make him mine. I'm desperate to feel his nearness again, his warmth and kindness. I need to touch him and taste him. I have to know what it would feel like to have him inside me, joining us, making us one. But his unsaid refusal also enrages me. If not for the potion cocktail I faithfully take every day, this room would be as broken as I am when he leaves. Why won't he accept me? Is it because of some misplaced guilt? Is it because he fears being found out as bent? Or is it simply because he believes in upholding his marriage vows?

My on-going frustration this week continuously brings up memories, past pain, and questions, confusing me further. Do I want Malfoy draped around my body, pleading for more as I tenderly stroke his cock, or do I want his last sight to be of me dispensing justice?

"Why did you do it?" I ask out of the blue, leaving my planned question about the past unanswered.

Malfoy finishes his mouthful of truffle risotto, closing his eyes in appreciation as he swallows. "Do what?"

"Why did you kill Dumbledore?"

His demeanour turns stoic, only his shrinking pupils showing his unease before he looks away.

I chance touching him, gently squeezing his left wrist, and smile internally when he doesn't pull away. "Please. I feel as if my reality has turned into sand and is slipping between my fingers. I need to hear something real."

Slowly setting down his fork, Malfoy takes a deep breath and then centres his eyes on me. "You want to know something about me—not about your friends, not about the world at large?"

"I-I need to know why you did it," I reiterate as I gaze at Malfoy's alluring face, taking note of the sharp cheese knife laying on the table at the bottom of my field of vision. A tendril of darkness tempts me grab it, but a solid wall slamming down in my psyche thwarts the urge.

His eyes distant, Malfoy remains silent for a moment and then quietly explains, "I did it because I was afraid. I was afraid for my mother, and I was afraid for myself. It was clear; if Dumbledore didn't die, one of our lives would have taken his place.

"And the fear has never left. Since then, I've killed again and again at the Emperor's command because I knew. I knew if he found displeasure in me, it would cost the lives of my family." His eyes shining with a fervour and a conviction I've never seen before, he says, "Everything I do—everything I have done—is for them."

His answer both troubles me and causes my heart swell with long lost empathy. "If you're frightened, why don't you help to stop Voldemort?"

"Don't speak his name," Malfoy hisses, running a hand over the top of his head through his fine hair. "He can't be stopped… He's ruthless, a tactical genius, and has proven himself immortal. And with his rule, the world has morphed into something unrecognizable. Muggles and low-bloods are slaves, segregated to labour villages, while the Wizarding elite rules. The Emperor is more than a leader: he's worshipped as a deity. You've seen him. He's awe-inspiring when he's in his element. I'm more afraid of what would happen if he wasn't here to keep the world from imploding. A revolution would decimate us.

"All I can do is continue to ensure Scorpius feels safe and loved; that he doesn't have to witness or participate in the atrocities of this world; that he retains his innocence for as long as possible. He is my son…and all that ties me to this plane," Malfoy finishes gruffly.

Understanding him more, I can't fault Malfoy for the dedication and the love he has towards his family; instead, I respect him greatly for it, and I yearn for the same affections.

"Malfoy, you've done the best with the circumstances handed you, and besides giving up, that's all a person can do. Everything you've had to do…sacrificing your soul. You're an incredible father. You're…incredible." I move my hand from his wrist to his fingers, squeezing them.

Malfoy's eyes shimmer with unshed tears as he glances down at my mouth. I gently pull on his hand, and he slowly leans forward, his breathing accelerating. Our lips lightly touching staggers me. It's more than lustful skin-on-skin contact; it's acceptance and forgiveness.

He raises his hands to cup my face, my right hand still atop his. Opening my mouth, his tongue slips inside, and I moan as tingles travel throughout my body. My hand travels from the top of his, across his arm to grasp the back of his neck. With an unbridled hunger, Malfoy massages the sensitive, slippery curves of my mouth, the kiss becoming deeper and more possessive with each passing second.

When he jerks back, I gasp for a much-needed breath. I coax him towards me again, but Malfoy resists, removing his hands from my face.

Both of our chests heaving, he swallows and then husks, "I can't... I can't risk…becoming attached."

"But—"

"You needn't worry over it, Potter." Malfoy's eyes become so chill that I shiver. "I already have a clandestine arrangement for my…indecent urges."

My hand drops lifelessly from his neck as talons grip my heart and shred. Blistering anger surges, despair, and then I hear myself distantly screaming as the dark waters of Lethe drag me under.

---

"…let me talk to him, Draco. Let me explain," I hear Ron plead while I groggily blink my eyes.

"No. I know I said he's made amazing progress, but I can't risk another setback. I'm afraid speaking with you would strip away all his improvement. Only a week remains until the Dark Emperor's planned return. It's been an impossible task getting in touch with Severus to confirm the actual date."

"When do you think I can speak with Harry then?"

"Not until after the audience."

"But Draco—"

"My decision is made. Go wait in the study."

"As you say, my lord," Ron tightly says, sarcasm lacing in his words.

When I can no longer hear the stomping of boots, the door opens and then softly shuts. I fling the covers from my bare body, languidly stretching my limbs. A devious grin appears on my face when I hear Malfoy's step falter.

I ignore him, as I have been doing the past week, and begin playing with my pink nipples. Caressing my skin, my hands lower enticingly. My right hand surrounds my morning erection while my left kneads my bollocks.

"Dammit, Potter," I hear Malfoy spit, slamming my food tray on the nearby chest of drawers. "You have to put a stop to this filthy behaviour. You're not going to change my mind and…and you're only embarrassing yourself."

I don't say a word; I don't look at him, but I do moan as I rub pre-cum around the head of my cock.

Since he gave me the push off last Sunday, I haven't spoken a word to him. Remarkably since then, my emotions have also stabilised and are no longer swinging between suicidal and homicidal at the drop of a hat. But I haven't lain around like a pumpkin, either.

Every morning, I've presented him with the same display that I'm showing him now. And every day, he lingers a smidge longer than the previous one, before rushing off.

Malfoy growls in frustration as I start moving my hand up and down with purpose. I decide to try something new and lift my left hand towards my mouth. I place my entire forefinger past my lips, sucking and moaning as I imagine it's his cock.

"Fuck, Potter," Malfoy says in a low, rough voice.

Removing my slippery finger from my mouth, I use it to tease my tight virgin opening and gasp at the sensation. I play and explore the ring of nerves, enjoying the jolts of pleasure it gives me. The tip of my finger barely penetrates my entrance when I feel the rushing pleasure of my first spasm.

"Ah! Oh, fuck! Fuck…Draco…." My release is so strong it lands on my face, chest, and stomach. Heavy-lidded and breathing hard, I turn and notice Malfoy, his face flushed and full of longing, standing next to me.

I languidly rub circles in the spunk on my middle while staring at him, letting my legs fall open onto the bed.

Spinning around, he races to the door, and as it slams shut, I grin crookedly.

---

After eating dinner in silence, we walk through the garden under a light summer rain and enter the house. The moisture in the air causes my silky dressing gown—the only article of clothing I've bothered to wear—to cling to my body like a second skin.

While we climb the stairs, I contemplate the question I plan to ask. I know the answer will likely be difficult to hear, but I'm ready.

Entering the bedroom, I disrobe, tossing the bright yellow garment onto the foot of the bed. I hear Malfoy sigh as I plop on top of the duvet. Lying down, I rest my head on my hands, my arms bent and resting on the below pillow.

It's a struggle to stay awake as Malfoy reads from the latest book, The Secret Garden, but I know I must if I'm to ask my question.

"Let's save the last two chapters for tomorrow," Malfoy says, shutting the book.

As he sets the book down on the bedside table, I ask, "Why is it that Ron is a Death Eater?"

Closing his eyes, he groans, raking a hand through his hair. The bed dips as he takes a seat beside me.

I sit up, crossing my legs, and wait, feeling both a sense of dread and determination.

He hesitates a moment before answering. "Soon after Ron and Granger infiltrated the manor to rescue you, they were captured. For days, they were tortured for information, but neither said a word. That was until Ron was forced to watch…until he was forced to watch her die."

"N-no…" I shake my head in denial, tears now freely flowing down my cheeks. "She can't be dead…"

Wrapping an arm around my back, he softly asks, "Would you like me to stop or go on?"

"Go—" I clear my throat "—Go on."

"Ron's torturers swore they would find every member of his family and do worse than what they had done to Granger unless he gave them the information they wanted. He was half out of his mind, in severe mourning over the love of his life, and terrified for his family; he broke.

"For the promise that his family would be kept safe, Ron agreed to take the Mark and disclose the location of The Order of the Phoenix's headquarters: number twelve Grimmauld Place. During a meeting, which included newly initiated members from the D.A., they were attacked. Nearly everyone present was slaughtered; even the two house-elves that had resided here were killed. Only those present with the surname Weasley were spared… I'm so very sorry, Harry."

A loud sob bursts from my mouth as I begin rocking back and forth. "They're gone… They're all gone…"

Draco pulls me into his arms to stop my unhealthy rocking, hugging me tight. "I'm so sorry…"

I kiss him hard, desperately. "Please… please…" I beg between kisses. "I need you."

He moans, burying his head into my neck. "I…can't."

"Please…"

Holding me so tightly that his body shakes, I gasp when he shoves me onto the mattress, and then melt when he starts devouring my mouth. Draco's hands greedily caress my body: the dimples of my hips, the flat plane of my stomach, and the hardened rosy nubs on my chest. My cock quickly thickens, and I love how it feels as it rubs against the soft wool of his trousers. When he wraps a hand around my erection, I cry out, my back bowing off the bed.

While Draco's thumb teases my cock, he nibbles, sucks, and kisses the valley of my neck. Sliding his tongue across my collarbone, he reaches my right nipple and grants it the same attention. My legs squirm below as I attempt to hold off my approaching climax. But then he blows a steady cool stream of air onto the reddened point, and I stiffen. My muscles begin to spasm, shooting come between our bodies.

A satisfied smirk on his face, Draco watches me as I lose myself to pleasure. Once the last wave crests, he gives me slow, languid kisses. "You're so responsive, Harry. I bet you'd come just with my cock inside you."

I close my eyes at the thought and moan. "Yes, I want you inside me."

Draco glances down my body, and his surprised expression turns delighted at the sight of my length still fully erect. Without a word, he shimmies down my body until he's kneeling between my legs. My eyes widen when I realize what he's about to do.

I whimper when he places his hot mouth around my glans and starts to suck. It's so sensitive, it almost hurts.

"Oh, Merlin… Fuck…" I gasp, writhing beneath him. "Draco, it's too much."

He looks up at me with a glimmer of mischief in his eye and, still sucking, lowers his mouth until I can feel the top of my cock touch the back of his throat. When he starts pumping my member between his lips, I clutch fistfuls of the quilt and moan.

My chest, glistening with come and sweat, rises and falls at the same pace as Draco's bobbing head. I hear a word I don't recognize and feel a wet, tingly coolness inside my bum. Like I did to myself this morning, he massages my entrance with a finger, and once again, another orgasm quickly mounts.

"I'm going… I'm going to come again."

As I'm about to reach climax, he slips in a finger past my sphincter. I hiss and the unexpected, searing pain causes my erection to wilt.

Draco regards me with wonder and, letting my cock slip from his mouth, asks, "Harry…are you a virgin?"

"Yeah…" I reply nervously, worried he might want to stop.

I relax when I hear his lustful moan, "Fuck…" Then he scowls at me. "You should have let me know."

"If you'd known, would you have…"

He smiles. "Probably not… For your first time, it should be special."

"This is special. And let's be honest; in a week's time, I might not be—ah!"

He flexes the finger inside me, stopping me from finishing my sentence. The exquisite sensation rapidly hardens my cock. Using his wand, he casts the unfamiliar spell I heard earlier, twice more. I feel as fluid seeps out of my opening and dribbles over my tailbone.

Instead of taking me inside his mouth again, he uses his hand to stroke my length, while at the same time; he slowly and gently slips his finger in and out of me.

Reading my face for any discomfort, he asks, "How does it feel?"

"Good," I choke, my head lulling back.

"Now, push like you're using the loo."

I do as he says without question, and with great care, he inserts another finger, stretching me wider. I feel an uncomfortable pressure, but it doesn't feel like fire searing my insides. Draco repeats the process once more until my hips are meeting the thrust of his fingers.

"You're ready," Draco comments huskily, slipping his digits from me. After Vanishing his clothes, he positions the head of his cock at my entrance.

I relax my muscles as he taught me, and we both moan as I sheath him to the hilt.

Draco forces himself to remain still. "Sweet Slytherin, you're so fucking tight."

Canting my hips, I encourage him to begin.

At first, his thrusts are controlled, restrained. I know he's trying to protect me from pain, but I want him selfish, passionate, wholly himself.

Digging my heels into his buttocks, I plead. "Harder, Draco. Fuck me harder."

He groans, grabs my hips, and begins to mercilessly drive into my prostate.

"Yes," I moan, my nails digging into his back. "Like that…feels so fucking good." As he pounds into me, the past recedes, only Draco is my present.

All too soon, I'm screaming in release; I feel weightless and worshipped. Closing my eyes, not minding the darkness, I feel free.

Draco's thrusts slow and become shallow. His lips smash onto mine, and as his pulsing cock spurts deep within me, we kiss.

After Draco cleans us off with a quick spell, we lie down and face each other on the bed. Smiling, he strokes my cheek and, with a hint of sadness in his eyes, says, "You can ask me anything you like."

And I do and can, because I know he's right next to me if I need him again.

---

The past three days have been heaven. Draco no longer locks my bedroom door. While he's away, I can visit the kitchen and make myself a cuppa or a snack, browse the library, or relax in the garden. And best of all, we've made love every night.

At the moment, I'm in the drawing room reading The Hex Codex by Rutherford Stringfellow.

"There you are," I hear Draco say from behind.

A smile lighting up my face, I turn to face him. "How has your day been?"

"Painful," he answers, leaning against the doorframe, his posture exuding power and sex appeal. "I've been running around all morning, putting out fires. It was noticed today that your name is no longer on the Office of Misplaced and Unfindable Thing's master list."

I set down my book on the nearby coffee table. "If you come here, I can rub your feet."

Draco hums in appreciation at the thought. "I wish I could take you up on your offer, but there's no time." He strides to the settee I'm lounging on and then encourages me to stand. "There's someone waiting in the garden who's been nagging me to meet you."

I freeze, an image of Ron flashing in my mind.

Draco smiles and strokes my cheek. "Trust me; you have nothing to worry about."

My body relaxes at his touch and I nod. "Alright… Lead the way."

When we reach the garden, I grow slightly anxious as we walk past the pergola and towards a wall of ivy. Draco flicks his wand and an arched gate appears. Once it opens, I see a small field of grass and, on it, a blanket, a picnic basket, and Draco's son munching on an apple.

A huge grin spreads across my face, and a salty bead rolls down my cheek. "Are you sure…"

His eyes having the same shine as mine, he says, "Yes, I trust you."

I feel my chest tighten with both fear and love. But I decide to trust my heart and allow Draco to guide me through the gate.

---

That tomorrow is my birthday is fitting; it also will be the day I meet the Dark Emperor. I've already told Draco, if the opportunity is offered, that I'll agree to pledge my loyalty and take the Mark. Tomorrow, I'll enter the throne room as one man and leave either changed or as a corpse.

I glance at the clock above the fireplace in the sitting room; only a few more minutes until Draco arrives home. Home. Grimmauld has become my home. I recall how, last night, Draco promised I could stay here for as long as I desire. I smile happily at the memory.

Rising to my feet, I straighten my black robes, treating this Sunday's dinner like an actual date. I pick up the gardenia boutonniere I made earlier and exit the room, descending the stairs two at a time.

Wanting to see Draco as soon as he arrives, I round the staircase and head for his study, the location of the only fireplace connected to the Floo Network.

I reach the dark-stained door of his study and turn the knob. Pushing it open, what I find makes me forget to breathe.

Draco stands in front of his desk, and Ron is kneeling before him, deep throating his cock.

"What. The. Fuck!" I shout at the top of my lungs, crushing the delicate white blossom in my fist, letting it fall to the ground. All control I have evaporates. The room takes on a red tinge, and I storm in.

Ron stares at me dumbfounded and begins to scramble to his feet. "What's he doing out—"

Seizing large clumps of Ron's hair, I wrench him away from Draco and slam his pasty, freckled face onto the mahogany desk; the crunching sound of his nose breaking puts a cruel smile on my face. I again slam his face against the hardwood surface for good measure, and he sinks to the floor, groaning and covering his face with his hands.

Draco holds out his hand in a placating manner. "Harry—"

"Shut. Up!" I scream, tears streaming down my face. "I thought you lo—" I clench my jaw, stopping myself from speaking my naïveté. "I should have just fucking killed you when I had the chance!"

"Harry, please…" Draco begs, his voice sharp with rising panic.

My response is a punch square in his face. Draco's eyes roll back, and he collapses, unconscious.

"Harry!" Ron yells for my attention, red rivulets pouring from his misshapen nose. He spits out a mouthful of blood and then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "One minute, mate. Can you give me one minute to explain?"

"Why?" I ask coldly, my hands keen on grabbing the nearest heavy object so that I can finish bashing his skull in for touching what is mine.

Ron quickly grabs his wand and casts two consecutive Episkeys on his nose, grunting when it cracks back into place. With a smooth swish, he raises a Muffliato Charm and then sets his wand on the desk within my reach.

"For…" His tough, indifferent demeanour drops, and his voice becomes heavy with emotion. "For old times' sake, Harry. Please…"

Seeing a glimmer of my old friend, I sigh and nod. "Fine... One minute."

He glances at Draco to make sure he wasn't rousing before fixing his bloodshot eyes on me. "In a moment of weakness, I sold my soul—" He motions to the Mark underneath his sleeve "—and I deserve to be killed without a second thought…" Tears start to drip down his blood-covered face. "Every day, I try to atone for what I did and have been working as a double-agent for the Resistance.

"With the intel I've secretly garnered from Malfoy and other elites, we came the closest we've ever come to killing the Emperor and freeing the world from his tyranny. But maybe the reason we've been unsuccessful for so many years is because it has to be you that does it." He snatches his wand and places it in my hands. "You can end him, Harry; tomorrow, you can end him. Do it for your Mum and Dad. Do it for Sirius and the Headmaster. Do it for H-Hermione…" He breaks down and begins to weep. "D-Do it for what they did to her..."

After listening to Ron, I want to both hug him and kill him where he stands. It's all too much, and I run out of the study and up to my room, his wand still clutched in my hands.

---

Ever since I woke up early this morning, I've been staring at the unfinished children's book residing on the bedside table. I remember how I refused to talk or even look at Draco when he brought up food. I remember how I cried myself to sleep, the stiffness of my cheeks from dried tear tracks proof of my sorrow. I've never been betrayed in such a way, and the pain is bone deep.

Knowing Draco would be arriving soon with breakfast, I whisper to myself, "It's now or never… Wingardium Leviosa."

After so long, I feel my magic swelling and dancing within me, rushing towards the outlet Ron's wand provides. I gasp when the book on the inlaid table begins to float.

When I hear footsteps outside my bedroom door, I quickly cast the counter-spell and hide Ron's wand in the groove between the bedframe and mattress.

The door swings open, and Draco cautiously walks in, carrying a tray, which holds a large slice of chocolate cake and a tall glass of milk. Instead of placing the tray over my lap, as usual, he sets it down on the nearby chest of drawers. Looking forlorn, he lowers himself onto the bed beside me.

From where I sit I can easily see that his left eye is swollen shut and surrounded by a deep-purple bruise.

"You didn't heal your face," I state, matter-of-factly.

My voice startles him, and he regards me with a hopeful expression. "No… I didn't heal it because I…because I deserved it.

"Harry, I… I don't— I'm sorry. I'm so sorry you had to witness what you did. What you saw was an arrangement I've had with Ron for years. He's given me the sexual release I crave, in exchange for me helping him gain power by climbing the Pure-blood society ladder. He's as straight as a wand, so no one would ever suspect my punishable-by-death leanings.

"I've been avoiding him and excusing myself from our usual rendezvous all week and knew he was becoming suspicious… I don't feel for him the way I feel for you. I've come to…to care for you a great deal… I never wanted to see you hurt," Draco finishes with sincerity.

My heart still twinges when I think back on what I saw him and Ron doing, but after his explanation, the fierce, vengeful anger which plagued me all night has disappeared.

Sighing, I interlace the fingers of my left hand between his and tug him towards me, scooting to the side. "Hold me. Hold me until it's time."

He lies down behind me and wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me flush against his body.

"Harry?"

"Yeah."

"Remember when we spoke about you ever being cured."

"Mmmhmmm," I mumble, enjoying the comforting heat of his embrace.

"For the past three days, you've been on placebo potions."

I flip over and gape at him. "Really?"

Draco brushes the pad of his thumb across my cheekbone. "Really."

I close my eyes and lightly kiss his mouth.

"Happy birthday, Harry," Draco softly says, his lips barely touching mine.

A fleeting smile turns up my lips. "Thanks…" My face grows sombre. "I… I hope I live past it."

He hugs me tight against him. "Me too."

---

I find myself gawking at my surroundings like a holidaymaker as Draco and I make our way to the throne room. The splendour around me is no different than what I've seen at Malfoy Manor or Hogwarts, but I can't help myself. I'm bloody walking through the corridors of Buckingham Palace, now headquarters to the Dark Wizarding Empire.

On either side of the throne room entrance is a Death Eater adorned in full regalia, each of their faces covered with ornate masks. Both Death Eaters hit their fisted left hand over their hearts in respect, and Draco returns the gesture.

They then slide open a set of pocket doors, revealing the formal chamber in all its finery. From a picture I remember seeing in a primary school textbook, I can tell that, at some point, it'd been redecorated. The red curtaining, wallpaper, and carpeting have been replaced with materials in shades of deep green.

Except for Voldemort sitting straight ahead, wearing plain black robes, the room is completely empty; even his snake familiar is absent. I swallow hard and enter beside Draco.

As we walk, I debate what I should do. Should I kill or should I join? Kill him, my mind urges, but I swat the thought away.

Once we reach the edge of the dais, I follow Draco's earlier instructions and, bowing my head, kneel on one knee.

"Your Majesty," Draco announces, his fist over his heart, "I present Mr Harry Potter."

"Rise, Draco," Voldemort orders in his whispery voice. "You've done well."

"Sire," Draco respectfully responds, gracefully returning to his feet.

"Harry Potter, you may look upon me."

Something about him makes me grind my teeth—Kill him—but I do as he commands.

Voldemort studies my eyes for a long moment before narrowing his own. "Tell me, Potter, how you came to be an expert Occlumens."

"I'm what?" I exclaim in astonishment.

"And," he sneers, "no cheery red and gold robes."

I look down at my flowing black robes and frown. "These are…comfortable," I say in explanation. "I don't like wearing tight clothes."

"You were always such a disappointment, Potter."

I glance up to see Voldemort's wand pointed at my face, and a fury begins to churn in my middle.

"Avada—"

"No!" I hear Draco shout as he places himself between Voldemort and me. "Sire, he doesn't need to die," Draco implores. "He's told me in confidence that he will accept your Mark and join the fold."

Voldemort sighs, exasperated. "Step aside, Draco. Harry Potter cannot be allowed to live."

Hearing Voldemort's words, I know I have to make a choice—and I do. Shoving Draco aside, I point Ron's wand at Voldemort's alarmed face and choose to forever taint my soul. "Avada Kedavra!"

Voldemort slumps on his throne—dead.

"Harry," Draco screams, "what have you…"

We both watch in fascinated horror as Voldemort's skin begins to ripple, and within a few moments, it's not him we see—but Severus Snape.

"Harry Potter…"

My mouth parts in comprehension when I hear the familiar voice that I thought was my own speak.

"Yes, I've been with you, my last Horcrux, since I was slain by my most trusted during the Resistance attack at Malfoy manor.

"It was I who helped you find yourself when you were lost. It was because of my urging that you ignored death's tempting call. It is me who has been shielding your mind from madness."

"Harry," Draco asks, "are you alright?"

"Y-yeah… Just thinking what we should do next."

"Check his robes."

I climb the two steps to the top of the dais and search Snape's pockets. When I find a flask similar to the one used by Barty Crouch Jr., I take a sniff: Polyjuice Potion.

"Drink it."

I take a swig and grimace at the foul taste, observing as my hands pale and elongate. Why haven't you just taken over my body?

"I am too weak. I can influence you, but I cannot control you—I've tried."

I chuckle at his candour.

"Harry Potter, you never have to fear being alone ever again..."

Smiling, I pick up Voldemort's wand and rush over to Draco, showing him.

"Draco, it's over." I lift him up and laugh joyfully, spinning him around. "It's over."

"It's over," he repeats stunned and then buries his head in my chest. Looking up at my face, he beams. "It's over!"

Mine, I think with happiness.

"No, Harry Potter, he is ours.

And I then realize, through me, Voldemort has finally experienced true joy and love. He has fallen in love with Draco right along with me.

I smile. Hermione was right; I trusted my heart, and now, I'm no longer broken.

The End

---

Thanks for reading! Comments are always welcome. :)

End Notes:
House-elf's name Galay is from the French word galet, which means pebble, stone, rock
Perdita is the lost daughter of Hermione in The Winter's Tale.
Fluitantis Loculo means 'floating coffin.'