Part 2

The next moment happened in a blur. Two gleaming shells of white light appeared over their seats as Severus and Lucius both cast scellean impervius. A second later, Harry's own protego spell followed, forming a third line of defense. Bright flashes below and around them showed that those in the audience with wand in hand were shielding as many as they could.

The shattered crystal sliced into the walls and curtains, but it wasn't until the shriek of flying shrapnel faded that Draco realized the loudest sounds of ripping hadn't come from the velvet. The shields in front of him had hundreds of slivers trapped within their light, keeping the family safely out of reach.

"Dear God," Severus whispered. "Lucius...our spells..."

Confused by the shock on Snape's face, Draco looked again. The shards were all imbedded in a shield spell, yes, but there were dozens of slashes where the crystal had cut through both the older men's spells, only finally trapped in Harry's shield.

Narcissa leaned forward in her seat to see around her husband. "They didn't stop--Harry, what did you cast? In all the noise, I didn't hear."

"Just a protego," Harry said, staring at the spell. "I couldn't think of anything else."

He moved closer, raising his hand to the nearest sharp edge, but Lucius seized his wrist a few inches before he touched it.

"Let's not tempt fate," Lucius said softly, letting go when Harry nodded once. "A finite incantantem should end all the magic there."

Harry cast the spell, and they all relaxed as the spells disappeared and crystal clattered harmlessly to the floor. Their relief faded when they heard the screams and cries from below, growing in force now that the shield spells couldn't block the noise. Draco knew he shouldn't, but he put his hand on the railing and looked down.

The audience was a mass of bodies and people flailing or staggering so that he couldn't make out where one person ended and another began. He tried to focus on someone not moving around so much, to find a place to start in the chaos, but as he found a motionless hand on the floor to orient himself on, after following it up along the arm, he realized that it ended where the shoulder should have been. It had simply been sliced off.

His breath hitched. The people sparkled. Blood gleamed on the crystals embedded in their flesh, jutting out of their skin as if they'd grown there, catching the light. There weren't many that completely escaped the blast.

"--cissa, Draco. Listen to me, dammit."

Blinking a few times, Draco took a step back as if stumbling out of a dream. His father had Narcissa in his hands, softly shaking her until she looked away from the carnage and stared into his face.

"Both of you," he said, glancing over his shoulder at Draco, "apparate home. Or take the carriage if you don't feel you can."

She nodded weakly, putting her hand on the chair and slowly sinking out of his hands. Draco felt torn, wanting to take his mother home and escape the nightmare below them, wanting to stay near his husband and father and--

Lucius left the box with Severus and Harry, the decision made. Draco understood the need to keep the heir safe and the need to protect his mother in case this was an attack on them, an attack that could follow them home perhaps. But for the first time, being left behind stung.

In the scheme of things, though, his feelings didn't matter. He took a deep breath and put his arm around his mother.

"Could you take me side-along?" she said, her voice thin and strained.

"Of course."

Damn, he would have preferred the carriage. He hated apparating on his own, preferring even a broom over the sensation of suddenly blinking out of existence before reappearing somewhere. He closed his eyes and concentrated, and the cold feeling of nothingness washed over him for a second. Then they were back in the cottage they called home, his mother seated on the couch as the fireplace came to life. The steady glow of the hearth was so much different than the harsh sparkling in the opera house.

So quiet. He could almost believe he'd imagined it all. Behind him, the soft scuffling of elf footsteps rushed around at their unexpected return, and his order of tea and a blanket sent them running to obey. He stood in the center of the parlor, hands shaking slightly, a sick feeling of pent up energy making him uncomfortable.

"Thank you," she whispered, one hand over her eyes. "I know you want to go back there, but could you make sure the house is safe before you go?"

Surprised, he stared at her for a moment before he realized she was right. He knew wanting to return was madness, but he couldn't deny it. Maybe Harry's stupidity was rubbing off on him.

"You're sure you'll be all right?" he asked.

She nodded once. "I...yes. Yes. It just caught me by surprise. I thought--I had the strangest feeling that it was the night we destroyed the manor. As if it had started all over again."

He would have asked her what she meant, if only to distract himself, but the elves returned then, plying her with blankets and pillows and tea so that he was sure she was well taken care of. He checked the rooms and made sure none of the wards on the house and garden had been disturbed before coming back one more time.

"Be careful," she said before he could speak.

"I will." He paused and looked at her again, watching her drink tea without looking at him.

How did she live with knowing everyone she cared about was in harm's way? He knew she wasn't stuck here. If she wanted to, she could have argued with his father or even come back with him now. She looked fully recovered, if a little quiet. But she made no move to stand up. He sometimes wondered what she had gone through before he'd been born.

He apparated again. Groans and cries welcomed him back to the opera house. He'd only been gone a few minutes, and people still came stumbling out of the doorways, half-tripping down the grand staircase with blood on their clothes. Most of them pressed a hand to a gash on their face or side, running away in their panic. No one noticed him as he made his way up into the hell of the audience chambers.

There were still no aurors or healers beyond those who had attended the performance. The uninjured and the walking wounded gathered up those who couldn't move and slowly arranged them in the hallways, out of the cramped seats. They passed a few people still slumped over, and when Draco went to one of the closest, he found her eyes staring distantly at the stage. Two thick shards stuck out of her neck. Blood had long since stopped flowing out of her and now soaked her blue dress.

He swallowed his nervousness and touched her face. He didn't know why. It seemed important to touch her, to confirm to himself that she was dead and her body real. The warmth lingering on her skin was already fading under his fingertips.

His wand came into his hand by instinct. He didn't know how he knew, but this was no corpse. All his fear slipped away as he leaned over her and cupped his hand against her chest, filling his palm with her blood. He wished he had a full potions cabinet with him, but dark magic would do.

"Malfoy," someone said behind him. It took him a moment to recognize Ron's voice. "Leave that one. She's gone."

"I've been around death long enough to recognize it," Draco said. "Sticenia."

The dark spell resonated with the blood and spun it in his hand like a red whirlwind. Ron gasped to see it twist like thread and follow the tip of his wand as if it was a needle, flowing to the jagged wounds and stitching the edges. Draco delicately pulled the pieces of glass up and out and continued the spell even after the gashes were closed, blindly mending her internal damage.

Perhaps she was lucky, he thought. She'd be screaming in pain if she was awake.

"But the blood she lost..." Ron said, not really arguing.

Draco nodded as if reminded. He took a deep breath and cast sangana. Her body twitched and spasmed as the blood in her clothes sank into her skin, finding its way back to her veins.

"The blood's dirty," Draco said as he leaned back, trying to think of something else he could do. He still couldn't tell she was breathing. "The shock might still kill her--"

"The aurors'll take her on the next go, then," Ron said, pulling his sleeve. "Come on."

Not even thinking that he was listening to a Weasley, Draco left the woman where she was and followed Ron down the aisle. Glass crunched underfoot and he wondered just how many crystals had made up that chandelier. A nearby auror took two people in his arms and apparated at the same time another auror reappeared and gathered another two. To his surprise, he saw a few men he knew to be Knights of Walpurgis apparating or kneeling beside the wounded.

For the next two people, he could do nothing more than close their eyes. Draco went to his knees beside the long row of people lined up along the wall. Were these the worst cases? Every other body had a coat or handkerchief draped over the face. He slowly moved over each one, passing over the dead and trying to find any living. He expected someone to come tell him to work on the less injured, but no one did, and the few times he found someone, there was always an auror at his shoulder to take them.

A second explosion shook the building.

Fear strangled him. His body tensed until he thought his bones would break. His heart pounded as he listened to glass smashing somewhere close. Fighting to breathe, he forced himself to move and look around. No fresh damage, nobody dropping from another attack. He pressed his hand against his temple and closed his eyes. He was still safe. Several aurors and knights followed the noise out onto the staircase, but he couldn't hear their voices clearly. Some of those lying on the floor began crying or screaming again.

"Draco!"

A blonde girl ran to his side. Blood streaked her face and hair and completely covered her arms up to her elbows, but she moved as if she wasn't hurt. She knelt next to him and took a second to catch her breath.

"Take as many as you can apparate to St. Mungo's," she said. "Whatever you do, don't come back."

"But I can only take two," he said. "I can take more--"

"The front windows exploded," she said. "Probably meant for anyone coming to help. Merlin knows there might be more. Get going."

She left before he could ask her anything, and only as he gathered the two unconscious children beside him did he recognize her as Luna.

St. Mungo's hummed in frantic chaos as healers tried to find the most serious cases first. More healers appeared in the fireplaces in the front lobby, summoned from home and working in their pajamas. Someone took the children from him and he stood for a moment, not knowing what to do. He was used to fighting the Ministry, not working with them. He withdrew into a corner and leaned against the wall. All the chairs were full, so he sat down on the floor.

Did he dare apparate home? He didn't think he could do it without splinching himself in half. People moved by him in a blur. He hoped his father and master hadn't been near the second explosion. Harry could take care of himself when he bothered, but not knowing for sure left anxiety pooling in his stomach. He looked for his family but he couldn't pick out individual faces in the crowd.

When he tried to stand up again, his legs refused to take his weight. He could get his feet, but they trembled and slid out from under him again. They felt as if they'd turned into a tail and he couldn't move. Giving up, he brought his knees up to his chest. He hoped someone found him and then hoped no one found him, Ministry or family alike. No one had ever seen him this battered, no one except--

"Here you are."

Harry knelt beside him and carefully ran his hands down Draco's body, checking him for any cuts. Draco closed his eyes in relief.

"Ron told me you were back there," Harry said. "I almost didn't believe him. Are you hurt?"

"I--tired," Draco said, touching his messy hair. His hand trembled with the effort. "I cast so many spells..."

"Then let's take you home before your father finds out you came back," Harry said. He gathered Draco in his arms but didn't stand, making sure he had a good grip on him and looking over his shoulder so he didn't apparate while someone touched him.

"Father's all right?" Draco asked, fisting his hand in Harry's robes. "And Sev'?"

"They're fine. They're talking with the Minister right now, I think. Ready?"

Either Harry was getting better or Draco was too tired to feel the side along apparation, surprised when they arrived in their bathroom. Except for a little moonlight from the high window, the room was dark and thankfully still. He didn't mind that they were sitting on cold tiles, even though they reminded him of the ward in St. Mungo's. These weren't stained with blood.

Although the sconces on the wall were charmed to flare into life whenever someone walked in, Harry took the moment to douse all but one light. The warm glow barely threw the shadows away from the center of the room and the bathtub. Large and square, the tub took up most of the space, crowding everything else. It was covered in mosaic, but it had the air of being stone underneath.

"Are you sure you aren't hurt?" Harry asked. He undid the top button on Draco's collar, slowly working his way down. "You look awful."

"I feel awful," Draco said, his voice slurred from exhaustion. He leaned heavily against Harry and let him peel his top robes off, pulling his arms out of his sleeves. "I'm tired and sore and--and I shouldn't have had that drink."

"I don't think it's the drink making you feel like this," Harry said, smiling at him.

Draco frowned and didn't answer. Alcohol made wyverns burn hot and cold. Right now his head hurt and his stomach felt like it was full of rocks. He never felt this way after a fight before. Not even during the war.

"I'm sure it was the champagne," he mumbled. Harry bent over to unlace Draco's pants, so Draco leaned on top of him, not caring if his husband minded his weight. As expected, Harry only chuckled.

"If you say so. Why'd you have it then? You know it makes you sick afterward."

"False courage," he whispered. "They all know what I am."

With a half smile, Harry sat up and brushed Draco's mussed hair from his face. "Not to make them sound like bugs, but they're more afraid of you, I think."

Draco watched him stand and lean over the bathtub, turning on the hot water so that steam rose up. Harry sat on the edge, testing the temperature with his hand as he toed off his shoes and absently unbuttoned his robes with one hand.

Slowly relaxing as the room warmed up, Draco eased out of the rest of his clothes and joined Harry on the tub's edge. He lightly touched the water a few times, dipping in his hand when he grew more confident of its temperature.

"Go on," Harry prompted. "It's fine."

A touch too hot, but Draco didn't think it worth arguing over. He eased into the tub, sinking a few inches at a time as he adjusted to the heat. Gradually settling down, he curled up in the corner and gathered water in his hands, covering his face as he whispered the prayer that cleansed excess dark magic. Drops of blood and darkness clouded the water, then disappeared.

More water sloshed over the side as Harry came in, groaning at how hot he'd made it. He moved behind Draco and put a hand on his shoulder, gently turning him.

"You sure you didn't get cut?" Harry gathered water up to Draco's hair and the side of his face, rinsing blood and sweat. "There was a lot of glass lying around."

"None of it's mine," Draco murmured.

"Mm. Why'd you come back?" Harry ran his fingers through Draco's hair, soaking it until it looked blonde again. "Why didn't you stay here where it's safe?"

Now with him at his side, Draco knew the answer he couldn't think of before. Harry was there. He didn't reply, though, lying still and letting the water lap against his throat.

"You're too quiet," Harry said.

The comment made Draco think of the ruined opera house and the witches and wizards still slumped in their chairs. He'd seen death before, but where those incidents had frightened him, this night hadn't. Instead he felt a deep, hollow emptiness inside of himself.

"Why are you so calm?" he whispered harshly. "I don't want to fight another war--how can you be so bloody calm--?"

"Because I'm getting used to not being able to spend a boring hour at an opera," Harry said over him, cutting off his rant before he could get going. "The Boy Who Lived can't go anywhere without something terrible happening. Last year was just icing on top."

Draco lowered his eyes. "A lot of that was my fault."

"No," Harry said. "It's not your fault people tried to hurt you. But yes, keeping you safe is a full-time job." He tightened his grip on Draco and sank a few more inches into the water, relishing the warmth. "Hasn't gotten easier, either."

Draco wished he could relax, but tonight the hot water felt cold. He turned onto his side so he could put his arms around Harry, closing his eyes as he felt the return embrace. Firelight glimmered on the water's surface, reflected on the walls in orange streaks.

"We could've died tonight," he whispered.

No answer. Harry couldn't reassure him when they both knew it was true.

They lay together listening to the water and watching the moon through the window. The house was mostly silent, although Draco heard crickets chirping outside. It sounded miles away. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend everything was miles away, and nothing existed except Harry and the water.

The knock on the door startled Draco, but Harry held him tight until he recognized the voice asking them for permission to enter. Draco grumbled under his breath. Malfoy elves were forbidden to simply appear in the bathrooms.

"Come in, Filly," Harry called out. With a softer voice, he nuzzled Draco's ear. "Don't want to blast your mother's elf, do you? She'd be crushed."

Draco didn't answer, casting a wary eye on Filly as she came in.

Like the other Malfoy elves, Filly had gone feral during her time with Narcissa in the wilderness. She'd finally replaced her vines with a torn pillowcase, but her fangs and claws had not fully retracted yet and she crept rather than cowered, her eyes always focusing on anything that moved. Draco thought she acted like a predator stalking its prey.

"The mistress wants Masters Draco and Harry downstairs," Filly said, a growl lingering in her mouth. "She says there's wizards coming and yous gots to look decent."

"Damn," Draco cursed under his breath. "Father must've demanded a meeting. God, couldn't this have waited 'till morning?"

"Technically it is," Harry said. "Filly, could you bring us clean clothes please?"

Draco grumbled but didn't argue as Harry wriggled out from under him, leaving the tub to dry off. A moment later Harry held the towel open in invitation. Tempted to beg off saying that he was sick or nauseous, Draco merely scowled and got to his feet. Although he teased his husband for his muggle habits, having Harry towel him off was one he didn't mind.

After Filly brought their clothes and left again, Draco reluctantly dressed, deliberately lacing up his pants and doing each button. Halfway through, he grimaced and turned slightly to one side. He liked to make Harry do things for him, especially dressing and undressing him, but not because his fingers were too weak. He huffed when Harry came up behind him, reaching around and finishing Draco's robes for him.

"Everyone else will be tired and sore and in shock," Harry whispered in his ear. "It won't last long. And then we'll go to bed and I'll talk to you until you fall asleep."

"I'm sorry," Draco said softly. "I promised to talk to you tonight, before everything happened."

"There'll be time later," Harry said. "Ready?"

Lingering against him for one last moment, Draco stepped in front of the mirror and looked at himself, smoothing back his damp hair and straightening his clothes. He took a breath and stared into his grey eyes, standing straight and squaring his shoulders. He raised his head, then paused and glanced up at Harry's reflection.

"You'll stay awake 'till I fall asleep?" he asked.

Harry nodded.

Draco almost smiled.

Downstairs, they joined a small crowd in the parlor. Narcissa looked as if she hadn't lived through an explosion, speaking with Lucius. Tea had been served on the table where Dumbledore sat with Severus while the Prime Minister conversed with Shacklebolt, and they all looked up when they heard the two youngest enter.

"Harry, Draco," Lucius said with a nod. "You're both all right?"

So his father knew he'd returned to the opera house against orders. Draco smothered his wince as he chose a free spot at the edge of the parlor, leaning against the bookshelves.

"Yes, father, thank you."

An awkward pause settled on the room. Everyone had questions, but no one wanted to ask something that might offend the other half of the room and potentially send the meeting spiraling into arguing. Narcissa turned just enough to face most of the room, drawing attention to herself without having to announce herself.

"Do we know who was hurt?" she asked.

Though he was right beside her, Shacklebolt answered to the room. "It looks like both sides were hit pretty evenly. It'll take awhile before things settle down enough that we can take a head count, but the whole audience was struck."

"As were the performers," Severus added. "I believe they were the first removed to St. Mungo's."

"It's lucky any of us escaped injury," Scrimgeour said.

Lucius leaned against his desk, tapping the edge as he thought. "More lucky than we know, perhaps. Severus and I managed to cast two separate scellean impervius spells over our balcony. The shrapnel tore right through them."

Scrimgeour frowned in confusion. "But then how--?"

"Because Harry cast his own protego spell after us," Lucius answered. "His spell saved our lives, not our own."

"But..." Shacklebolt mused. "Most of the audience was made of light wizards. They would've cast protego spells, too."

"If they had time to draw their wands," Lucius said. "We also don't know how strong their spells would have been. Harry is used to combat by now, and we all know he's exceptionally powerful."

"So," Dumbledore started, "designed to tear through a dark spell yet powerful enough to perhaps destroy light spells. Even at this early juncture, I would hazard a guess that whoever did this was targeting both communities.

Severus laughed once, bitterly. "Very few people approve of the recent reconciliation between the light and dark."

"Unfortunately," Lucius aid slowly, "we may have worse problems than this attack."

Severus straightened and looked sharply at him. "Lucius..."

"We don't have a choice." The Malfoy patriarch looked Scrimgeour straight in the eye. "If you examine that chandelier and the windows that exploded, I believe you will find it to be the same dark spell that plagued Hogwarts for a time."

Dumbledore beat Scrimgeour to the question. "You refer to the sabotage at the school, when a window exploded as Harry walked by?"

"Yes. From our inspection, the spell looked the same as the dark lord's."

Scrimgeour glared at both Severus and Lucius, clearly torn between asking for more information or punishing them for tampering with the chandelier, before aurors could look at it and while people were injured. His political duty won out over his temper.

"You recognize this as a Death Eater's spell?" he asked.

Lucius nodded once.

"Then you believe this is the work of You-Know--of Voldemort's remaining followers?" Scrimgeour growled under his breath in growing frustration. "We're still trying to identify who died during the massacre of Hogsmeade and the battle at Hogwarts. None of us knows who's still alive and following Voldemort's crusade."

"I do not think that the Death Eaters are Mr. Malfoy's main concern," Dumbledore said. He set his tea down as he thought. "They are dangerous, yes, but only insofar as they can strike handfuls of the wizarding world at a time. The true danger is that they might inflame the passions of other wizards who have deep feelings against allowing the dark community to come out of hiding. Passions which, I'm afraid, need little outside influence to stir them up, and which may have some legitimate cause."

"Tread carefully," Lucius said lowly. "You walk on shaky ground there. There hasn't been a true night ride against you for over fifty years."

"Well within our lifetime, though," Scrimgeour said. "The people who died then still have living relatives who remember."

"We considered it a war of defense against you," Lucius said as his words grew clipped and agitated. "Don't expect any apologies."

Scrimgeour tugged on his beard thoughtfully. "You said that Voldemort subsumed the Knights of Walpurgis. Were the masks his idea as well?"

Masks for a dark wizard were merely an extension of the shadows they lived in. To the light, however, they were symbols of cowardice. For a moment Draco was sure there would be a fight. His father's eyes were narrowed like a snake about to strike, his teeth bared like fangs. Draco fought down his own urge to retreat upstairs or draw his wand, knowing that would trigger a duel for sure.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and half-smiled to himself. Harry. He'd almost forgotten his husband was there.

Noticing how tense the men had grown, Dumbledore cleared his throat and stood, taking a few steps into the middle of the room. He waited to make sure he had everyone's attention before speaking.

"I think Scrimgeour has unintentionally happened upon the true heart of the matter. The wizarding world has only a handful of Daily Prophet articles and Ministry documents to inform them about dark magic, beyond their children's books. What Severus and I have been speaking about and which I think would help matters greatly is a way to educate society more broadly."

While the Ministry officials looked at him in confusion, the Malfoy family including Harry all looked at Severus, who bowed his head slightly in deference.

"He means a course of study," Snape explained. "Dark history, dark theory perhaps."

"Teach them our spells?" Narcissa asked in a whisper, staring at him in disbelief. "Without a proper apprenticeship?"

"No, of course not," Severus assured her without any sarcasm. "But I would rather see them learn about us from us than from their storytellers."

Lucius paused. "I suppose we could permit it. As long as only our most basic spells are displayed."

"If at all," Scrimgeour said. "I don't know that we should allow dark spells to be taught, simply for safety's sake. You yourself have said your spells are dangerous."

"I taught them there for a little while," Draco said. "No one seemed hurt then."

"In any case," Dumbledore said before anyone could speak, "that will be decided upon once the school is properly rebuilt, which won't be for awhile yet. In the meantime, however, something a little less ambitious might suit our purposes nicely."

"What did you have in mind?" Scrimgeour asked.

"A lecture series, I think," Dumbledore said. "To cover the basics--history, beliefs, that sort of thing."

A sick anticipation welled up in Draco. The old wizard was up to something, he knew it, but he couldn't tell what.

"When?" Lucius asked. "Where?"

"When and where should come after we decide on who," Dumbledore said as his smile broadened. "As for that, I think we have our answer right in front of us. As he said, young Mr. Malfoy did already teach something quite similar. Only his audience would change."

Draco froze, staring at the wizard until he remembered that he must never look into Dumbledore's eyes. He wrenched his head away and focused on the carpet pattern.

"Oh, is that all?" Draco breathed. "We're afraid some of these wizards might try to kill us, but I should just walk blithely in front of them and hope for the best?"

When it seemed that Dumbledore would press him further, Narcissa stepped closer to her son.

"The Ministry's security is never foolproof," she said, anticipating his argument. "There is no way you could guarantee his safety."

Unfazed, Dumbledore looked at her in genuine curiosity. "Could you?"

She opened her mouth to snap at him, then closed it thoughtfully. Tilting her head, she glanced at her husband from the corner of her eye.

"We might," Lucius answered for her. "There are a few gathering places we use on occasion. If we are permitted to ward it properly, we could keep it safe for all concerned."

Eyes widening, Draco began to fear that they would make him do this. His father was clearly adding this into his long term plans, his mother was scheming alongside him, and it had been Severus' idea in the first place. His last hope lay somehow with Harry, and he turned and looked up at him for help.

"Don't worry," Harry whispered, "I'll be with you the whole time."

Not what he wanted to hear. Hopes dashed, Draco slowly faced the parlor again and sighed.

"Wonderful."

Draco didn't pay much attention to the rest of the meeting, but it ended soon after that. Once the last guest had left, he let his shoulders slump and leaned back against Harry. He was vaguely aware of his mother sitting down by Severus and putting her hand on his.

"Draco," Lucius said, wearily glancing at him with half-shut eyes. "We can discuss this more fully in the morning, but...you need not decide tonight. Although I would feel more confident with you doing this, the fact remains that it will be dangerous. This is your choice alone."

Not fair. Draco felt the old urge to whine and stomp his foot. If his father had ordered him to do it, Draco could have complained and ranted and declared the entire world against him. But given the choice and the responsibility of knowing how much his father counted on him, he still had no choice. Well, no choice except between maturity and childishness.

"I don't want to," Draco said softly. "But I will."

"Decide tomorrow," Lucius repeated, but he nodded once in relief. "I think we'll take tomorrow off in any case. Let the healers and aurors find out what they can before we act."

Small consolation, but Draco would not say no to sleeping in. He bid his parents good night and returned upstairs, unbuttoning his robes and dropping them on the floor as he walked. Harry grumbled and picked up after him, but Draco didn't bother telling him to let the elves clean up. Harry always picked up, a bad habit Draco wondered where he'd developed. He stepped out of his shoes and pants along the way, and Harry's grumbling stopped.

The candle on the nightstand came to life as they entered their bed chambers. Draco constantly looked forward to the day when the manor was rebuilt and he would have a decent room again. Although the cottage served its purpose, he wanted his walk in closet, his private bath and his own study again.

But the bed was adequate, at least. He pulled the blankets back and sank onto the cool sheets, turning on his side and nestling up to one of the pillows.

"You rotten brat," Harry said without any anger. "You're right in the middle of the bed again."

A moment later Harry slid behind him, nudging Draco over and forcing him to turn onto his other side. Draco obeyed like a rag doll, his eyes already drowsily unfocused.

"Harry," Draco mumbled, letting himself be arranged to his husband's liking. "Why're you always cleaning? You're not an elf."

"I know," Harry said softly. He stroked his hair and snuck kisses as he spoke. "Just habit, I guess. Back with the muggles I used to live with, I didn't use magic often. Cleaned by hand. Good thing, too, or else you'd be living in complete squalor."

"But Filly can..."

"Filly has enough to do with the house and getting back to normal than cleaning up after a messy Malfoy." He pulled the blankets up and settled in, and after a few seconds of no movement, the candle went extinguished itself. In the darkness, he gently reached out and found Draco's shoulder, then put his arm around him.

"Harry?"

"Yes?"

"Don't you ever get scared?"

"I used to. Not anymore, not really. Just nervous sometimes. 'Sides, in a fight, I'm too busy to be afraid."

"Oh."

"Why?"

"...sometimes it feels like I have to be scared for both of us."

"Foolish Gryffindor bravery? Then I can be brave for both of us." Harry kissed Draco's hair, smiling when he heard his husband's deep, rhythmic breathing. He closed his eyes and breathed out. "Good night, love."

TBC...

Author's Notes:

1. sticenia -- from the Old English stice, to stitch/sting
(a spell I'd come up with in the early chapters of Oath Breaker, and now I finally get to use it)

2. sangana -- from the Latin sanguis, blood