Disclaimer: I own nothing but the idea. If some of my sentences sound suspiciously like original lines, blame my selectively eidetic memory. None of this was copied except for one line where Harry remembers something Draco said. Chapter titles match chapter titles from books. Chapter titles you don't recognize are my own plot.
Sectumsempra
Malfoy was crying. Standing at the sink, hands gripping the edges, crying. Moaning Myrtle was talking to him gently.
Then Malfoy looked up, and met his eyes in the mirror. He spun on the spot, drawing his wand—
-And fumbled and dropped it.
"Accio!" The wand spun to Harry, who caught it. He looked up. Malfoy's eyes, once creased with rage, were wide with horror and fear, and Harry thought he knew why. He, Harry, was blocking the only exit.
"I'm not going to hurt you," said Harry, but it came out sounding harsh.
"It won't work…and unless I do it soon he says he'll kill me," Malfoy had said.
"What's Voldemort making you do?"
Malfoy only gaped at him. Harry sighed. It seemed that he was going to be the one doing the talking. He decided to try being direct.
"Did you give Katie Bell that cursed necklace? Or," he amended, remembering his conversation with McGonagall, "have someone do it?" It wasn't an either/or question. But by the way Malfoy's knees gave out, and the way new tears tracked down his cheeks, he knew he was right. "Who are you trying to kill?" he asked, now only feeling somewhat baffled, and a little irritated, a far cry from the anger he would expect from himself. Malfoy looked as though he didn't know whether to harden or cry more. Harry sighed again. He couldn't waste this opportunity and let Malfoy go. But this clearly wasn't working. He came to a decision.
"Come on, then." Malfoy looked confused. "If I have to point these at you, I will," said Harry, indicating the wands in his right hand. Malfoy's lips moved, but nothing came out. He cleared his throat and tried again.
"Why don't you?" He sounded utterly defeated, yet trying not to believe it. Harry rolled his eyes and crossed the room without thinking. He wrapped his left hand around Malfoy's right wrist, careful to keep the wands out of reach, and bent to Malfoy's level. He didn't answer, as he wasn't really sure what the answer was, only stared into gray eyes for a minute before standing and tugging on the wrist. Malfoy stayed obstinately on the floor. Harry rolled his eyes again and pointed the wands at Malfoy, thinking, Levicorpus!
He nearly burst out laughing at the blonde's squawk at being hoisted unceremoniously into the air. He didn't look at him, only tugged at the wrist again and brought Malfoy gliding through the air beside him.
"All right, all right! I'll walk!"
Harry thought, Liberacorpus! and Malfoy crashed down beside him. This time, though, he got to his feet, brushing himself off and muttering under his breath. Harry kept a firm grip on his wrist, and this time when he tugged, Malfoy followed.
On the walk up the headmaster's office, Harry couldn't help thinking that this might be the first time he had ever touched Malfoy skin-to-skin. He shook himself for having the thought, but honestly, wasn't it a bit weird, after all these years hating each other, to be practically holding hands?
They made it to Dumbledore's office with only a couple odd looks from passers-by. Harry knocked, and Dumbledore called, "Enter." Harry pushed open the door and dragged a now even more reluctant Malfoy. Dumbledore looked surprised.
"He's plotting something," accused Harry by way of explanation. Dumbledore sighed.
"Harry—"
"No, he is!" said Harry, now annoyed. "He's trying to kill someone." Malfoy tried to leave again, and Harry jerked him forward and into the chair he himself usually occupied. "He attacked Katie Bell." Malfoy's face screwed up.
"I didn't want to hurt them," he muttered.
"Them?" It took Harry a minute to realize what Malfoy meant. Then it hit. "You poisoned Ron?" They pretended he wasn't there.
"And yet you did, precisely because you could not bear to hurt a certain someone else," said Dumbledore gently to Malfoy.
"I had hoped to postpone this conversation to a safer time, but Harry as usual is too clever and too thirsty for information to, as it were, let sleeping dragons lie. I see he has your wand. So, Draco, we must speak plainly. I know of the task you have been given by Lord Voldemort."
Malfoy's head jerked up, and Harry's mouth dropped open.
"You know?" asked Malfoy incredulously. "Then why haven't you stopped me?"
"For your own safety," Dumbledore replied. "If you refused my aid, Voldemort would almost certainly read your mind and discover that I knew of his plan, which would force him to change plans. Lord Voldemort does not enjoy changing plans, and I feared it would result in your death. Incidentally, it is usually a better idea, when one knows one's enemy's plans, to allow them to continue working in that path and set up measures against their succeeding, rather than alert them and have to guess at what they will do next."
"Aid?" said Malfoy. "I don't need your help."
"Oh, but even now the consequences I have just explained to you are beginning to sink in, my boy, and you realize that you do need my help. Your choice now is simple. You can allow me and those loyal to me to hide you. We can do so completely. No one would—forgive me—be surprised that you had died in your attempt. Or, you can return to Lord Voldemort and await your fate. I very much encourage you to choose the former."
"He'll win," said Malfoy defiantly. "He'll kill me for sure if he finds me."
"Your death would at least be postponed," said Dumbledore. "And I can assure you that such a victory is not as likely as it seems. Choose life, Draco. I must admit that if you do not, I will be forced to modify your memory, which Voldemort, if he so chose, could unfortunately undo and see this entire conversation. You would also, having forgotten this discussion, continue in your path, which you now know is almost certainly doomed."
"How do you know the only thing keeping me from doing it now is that Potter has my wand?" asked Malfoy bitterly.
"You are not a killer, Draco," said Dumbledore simply. "Not insignificant either are the facts that I am much older than you, with far more spells up my sleeve, and reasonably clever. Would I risk my life on something I was not sure of? Give him back his wand, Harry."
Harry stared. Dumbledore looked at him as if to say, Do it. Harry did.
"Well, then, Draco. Do you find you can murder me in cold blood?" As Draco pointed his wand at Dumbledore slowly, Harry realized what Draco's mission had been, and stared, horrified. Draco's wand hand shook, and his face screwed up. In a rush of movement, he dropped the wand and buried his face in his hands.
"Well, Draco," said Dumbledore, softly. "Do you accept my offer? Will you let me help you?" Draco nodded, but didn't speak.
"Very well," said Dumbledore, standing. "I must speak with a few other people concerning this, I'm afraid. I am going to lock you in. When I return, we shall make arrangements." He swept out, leaving Harry and Draco alone. Harry looked at Draco. The other boy's shoulders were shaking with suppressed sobs, and Harry hesitantly laid a hand on his shoulder. Draco jumped a little, but didn't otherwise react, and Harry slid the arm slowly around the other boy, kneeling. All at once, Draco threw himself into Harry's arms, and Harry, startled, caught and held him as he sobbed. The strangeness threatened to overwhelm. This was about the last situation Harry had expected to be in when he'd followed Malfoy into that bathroom, but seeing him cry, seeing him point his wand at Dumbledore and drop it…what else could he do but hold him?
After a few minutes, Draco quieted, but it was another minute before Harry let him go. They looked into each other's faces. Draco's normally pristine, pale face was blotchy and tear-streaked. Harry took his hands and squeezed.
"I can't imagine," he said quietly, "what it must be like to turn your back on everything."
Belatedly he thought that that wasn't quite true; he'd turned his back on everything when he left Number Four, Privet Drive with Hagrid, hadn't he? But it wasn't the same. He'd escaped the Dursleys, constant misery, and being treated like a dog, and followed the path he'd been heading towards from the first time he'd done accidental magic. Draco had left a life of being a prince, his parents who loved him, and his path laid out for him by his parents.
Fawkes let out a low hoot, enough warning for Harry to drop Draco's hands and stand before Dumbledore re-entered.
"Myself and certain members of the Order of the Phoenix," said Dumbledore, "agree that it would be best if we acted at once. You will be moved to a safe house, Draco. Hogwarts students and the Ministry of Magic will be informed that you made an attempt on my life just now, and were, most unfortunately, killed in the attempt, as you did not take into consideration the protective enchantments in this office. Your personal effects, unfortunately, will have to be sent back to your parents, or they will suspect. If there is anything that you do not feel your parents would miss, a house-elf will retrieve them for you now. Additionally, if there is anything I can easily replace, such as clothing, please, enlighten me, and it will be done."
Malfoy looked at him in disbelief. "I've been trying to kill you since the start of the year, and not only are you offering me asylum, you're willing to replace my things?"
"Common courtesy," replied Dumbledore, smiling slightly.
Draco looked at him for another second, then began to list, ticking items off on his fingers.
"I'm assuming these protections of yours obliterated me, eliminating your need to produce a body?" At Dumbledore's acquiescence, he continued. "Then I can keep anything that might have been on me. If I really had come in here to kill you, I'd have brought my Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, my Hand of Glory, and my Scarab of Anubis. As for things my parents wouldn't miss, well, they used to go through my possessions, so the only thing they don't actually know about is a black book in the Room of Requirement." He flushed slightly, but continued to meet Dumbledore's gaze. Harry, however, tensed.
"That, as I'm sure you're aware, even I can't retrieve without knowing what to ask for," said Dumbledore mildly. "And I'm afraid, as you are supposedly dead, I cannot allow you to retrieve it yourself. You might be seen."
"I could get it," said Harry quickly. "If you told me what to ask the Room." So could Dumbledore, said the voice in the back of his head that sounded like Hermione, but Harry was still eager to see just where Malfoy had been going all year. Malfoy turned an accusing eye on him.
"Whatever you may or may not have just done for me, Potter, I don't trust you," he said. "That book is private. And you can be quite the snoop when your curiosity's piqued."
"I wouldn't!" exclaimed Harry, though he knew the statement wasn't without some truth.
"You might lend Mr. Malfoy your Invisibility Cloak," suggested Dumbledore.
"I'd never see it again," said Harry. "And what if he saw Crabbe and Goyle and decided to say goodbye?"
"Well, then, the only solution seems to be for the two of you to share the Cloak." Harry had the distinct impression that this had been Dumbledore's plan all along.
"Fine," he said.
He pulled the invisibility cloak from his bag. Malfoy stepped close, and he draped it over both of them. They crept down the seventh-floor corridor, and paced back and forth three times in front of the blank stretch of wall. The door appeared obediently, and Malfoy pulled it open. They stepped through, and Harry gasped. The room was as high as a cathedral, and as deep. It was filled with towering shelves, piled high with what Harry knew must be the hidden objects of generations of Hogwarts students. Sherry bottles stood in a vase near him. A Fanged Frisbee drifted lazily overhead. Harry pulled off the Invisibility Cloak, and followed Malfoy down the room. Malfoy bent down next to a black cabinet, pulling out a small black book from one of its drawers.
"How do you tell this cabinet apart from all the others?" Harry asked in bewilderment.
"One, it's near the Vanishing Cabinet, which is where I work," said Malfoy, thumbing over his shoulder without looking. Harry looked, and saw, indeed, the old Vanishing Cabinet Montague had got lost in once. "Two, I look for the oddball things on top of this particular cabinet."
Harry looked and saw a stone bust, a glittering tiara, and a fluffy pink wig.
"This is where you've been all year?" he asked. "I've been trying to get in for ages to see what you were up to!"
"So it was you who kept scaring Crabbe and Goyle off?" said Malfoy in surprise. "I thought you were Snape, trying to stop me or help me, I could never figure out which."
They arrived back at Dumbledore's office, where Dumbledore and a small bag were waiting. Malfoy started at the sight of the bag, and Harry realized this was all Malfoy now owned in the world. Without thinking about it, he reached out and gave Malfoy's hand a sharp squeeze before removing the Cloak from them both. If Malfoy started again, both Harry and Dumbledore pretended not to notice.
"Are you ready, Draco?" asked Dumbledore calmly. Malfoy nodded.
"Are you taking him to—" Harry tried to say "Grimmauld Place," but couldn't form the words.
"It is always good to know that one's charm still holds," remarked Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. He turned to Malfoy.
"The former headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, now a safe house and legally belonging to Harry Potter, is located at Number 12, Grimmauld Place. You are now bound by the Fidelius Charm. I assume you know how it works?" Malfoy nodded. "You are, therefore, duly warned that an attempt to Floo elsewhere will have severe consequences, especially since you will be completely unable to divulge the information to Lord Voldemort. He will not even be able to read your mind to find it. Do you understand me?" Again, Malfoy nodded. Dumbledore stepped briskly to the fireplace, lit a fire with a wave of his wand, and dropped a pinch of powder he drew from a small pouch into the fire. The flames roared emerald green, and Malfoy picked up the little bag. He locked eyes with Harry, wearing an unreadable expression, then stepped into the fire.
"Number 12, Grimmauld Place!" he said clearly, and he was gone. After a minute, Dumbledore nodded to Fawkes, who vanished.
"A message to the current residents of the house that they are not, in fact, being invaded," he explained. "Now, I believe you know, Harry, that it must be kept secret what really happened tonight, though you may, if you wish, confide in Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger. You will be widely believed to have witnessed an attempt at my murder and the death of Draco Malfoy. I believe I shall have you confined to the hospital wing tonight and discourage visitors. Trust me, Harry," as Harry began to protest. "It is easier by far to remove oneself from confrontation then to act out trauma at the death of someone who you violently disliked. You are not so hardened as to be utterly unaffected by watching even Draco Malfoy disintegrate."
"I know what you mean, sir," said Harry simply, and he went to the hospital wing as directed, and took a potion for dreamless sleep without complaint, for he knew that his relationship with Draco Malfoy had changed irrevocably, and he had no idea what to do with that information.
Ron and Hermione came to visit him, and he gave them the basic outline of the truth after casting Muffliato upon Madame Pomfrey's office door, but he made it sound like he'd disarmed Malfoy and taken him by force, and he didn't mention Draco crying in his arms. Somehow, he felt that this vulnerability was for him and him alone, and that to share it would be a betrayal of Draco. A betrayal of him who until that moment had been one of the top five people Harry hated most in the world? (Voldemort was top of the list. Bellatrix, Wormtail, and Snape were also there in some order.)
This highly preoccupied Harry for the next few days, and he was almost glad of the Malfoy-killed-in-front-of-him story to explain his quietness—most of the school felt sorry for him and did not ask uncomfortable questions, and Ron and Hermione and those teachers who knew the truth believed he was putting on a show for the rest of the school and did not ask uncomfortable questions either, leaving him at peace to mull over the situation and remain unsettled.