Here's the next chapter :). I will keep updating this story, but maybe not as quickly as every Sunday, as I don't think it's as popular as some as my others, and I've had a few requests for sequels etc.. So if there's not much demand for this story I might spread my writing out over others - however, I do love this story (obviously, as I've written it!) so for anyone who is reading (hi, and thank you!) I will be finishing it. :)

Chapter Three

After exhausting every possible avenue of the magic layered in the time worn pages of Draco's family spell books Harry's emotions had gone from carefully hopeful to crushingly hopeless. The look of pity in Hermione's eyes as he turned the final page of the last book was enough to carry him to his feet, to the fireplace and home without a word. He tumbled out into his own sitting room and flew through into the kitchen, hoping to find another letter, more news of Draco, waiting there for him.

The sight of a scroll on the table caused his heart to skip a beat. He ran wildly toward it – only taking three steps to cross the room to the table – before his heart crashed to the pit of his stomach. As he got closer, Harry could clearly see the Ministry of Magic seal adorning the parchment. He ripped it open without any real interest and read;

Mr Potter,

Your notice of sickness absence, for a specified period of two weeks, has been received and filed by the Ministry and will be subsequently forwarded to the Auror office. This period of absence will be fully paid. After this time, if any further sickness absence is required, the Ministry shall require further confirmation of your illness from a St Mungo's healer, mediwizard or another licenced health professional.

Wishing you a speedy recovery,

Geraldine Puddforth,

Department of Inter-departmental relations,

Ministry of Magic

If this had been a normal day Harry would have been amazed by the sheer number of departments the Ministry of Magic seemed to operate, and how he could have been an Auror for the past five years without discovering all of them. It was not, of course, a normal day, and Harry was not amazed. The only part of the letter which stuck in his mind was the amount of time that had been requested in his name.

Two weeks.

He hoped it wasn't going to take any longer than a few days – a week at most, he'd been through many kidnapping cases with the Auror's to know that after a week the results tended to bow to the results no one wanted - to have Draco back with him. Merlin, it had been less than 24 hours and he was going crazy. The thought made Harry laugh, almost manically to himself. Four years ago he would have thought himself in requirement of much more than one week off work for having such thoughts about Draco Malfoy. Now the thoughts were as natural as breathing, yet without Draco he felt as if he were re-living his second Triwizard task in the Great Lake without Gillyweed.

The feeling left him utterly desolate. He glanced at the clock on his kitchen wall; half past six. It would usually be around this time that Draco arrived home from work. Harry would always be due home around seven, though would often not make it home until a full hour after Draco. There would always be a meal waiting, prepared, cooked and served to the upmost perfection – Draco, despite the many ways that he had changed, had been unable to relinquish his need for the Malfoy house elves – and they would share their food together, with Draco teasing Harry over a potential connection between having a hero complex and perpetual lateness. Such memories did little to quell the feeling of Harry's desolation and the thought of food made him feel sick to his stomach.

Shimmying the material of his sleeve, Harry pulled out his wand and vanished the Ministry's note with a simple flick. As if mocking him with its presence, the parchment containing the first note from Draco's captors rustled in his pocket with the movement. He clawed the offending parchment from his pocket and the sight of it in his hand once more caused another aggressive, unbidden burst of raw magic to leap from Harry's palms. Before he was even aware of his anger, a blistering ball of orange flames rose in his palm, engulfing the parchment in their heat. The flames flickered and seemed to hiss as ferociously as fiendfyre. Suddenly aware of the situation he leapt into action, grappling on the table for his wand with his left hand.

"Aguamenti!" He yelled as forcefully as possible and, although a stream of water flowed elegantly from his wand it was swallowed by the ferocity of the flames beneath. Something stronger… Harry urged himself desperately, before calling out "Aqua Eructo!" Aquamenti's sister charm produced an immediate, powerful eruption of water from Harry's wand. It cascaded from the tip of the holly's polished wood and bore down onto the flames. Under the force of the stronger charm they quelled, dying down until completely extinguished. Harry barely had to consciousness to marvel at the lack of burns on his hands; instead he took in the sight of the letter, now nothing but cinders in his hands. He allowed the ashes to float from between his fingers onto the table, sighing heavily. Although he knew the letter could offer him nothing – he and Hermione had exhausted every possible avenue of spell work, both light and dark – he felt as though he had severed the only link to Draco he had.

Exhausted from the bout of raw magic and the emotions of the day, Harry decided that retiring to bed could only be a good thing. The sooner he slept, he reasoned, the sooner morning would arrive and with it – he hoped – word from Draco's captors.

He took the stairs, and then the corridor, to their bedroom in a daze. He pushed open the door to find it as he always would – bed immaculately made, robes already set out for both he and Draco the next morning. Despite Harry leaving the room a mess that morning, Draco's elf Wilby had clearly seen no reason not to follow his masters usual instructions. As Harry passed the wardrobe doors he brushed his fingers against the soft, woven grey fabric of Draco's robes that would go unworn. For tomorrow, at least.

Overwhelmingly weary, his heart ached at the size of their king size bed. The bed was adorned in silk sheets (at Draco's insistence) in the richest shades of green that Harry had ever seen (again, at Draco's insistence). Harry sank down onto the sheets, barely kicking off his boots before he lay back against the covers. He had, without any conscious intention, found himself laying on Draco's side of the bed. As he lay back against the pillows, he remembered the day that Draco agreed to move in.

"Something will need to be done about these sheets, Potter." Draco sneered as he placed his suitcase – or, rather, one of many suitcases – at the foot of Harry's bed.

"You've never complained before." Harry retorted, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Draco rolled his eyes in return, shaking his head with disdain. "That was before I agreed to live in them. A Malfoy should only sleep in the finest silk. I'll have Wilby bring us some from the Manor's stores."

"You're bringing your house elf?" Harry asked, momentarily thrown off track. This wasn't something they had discussed and, for one wild moment, he had visions of Hermione tearing through his home screaming like a banshee.

"All of the elves will remain at the Manor, ensuring it stays suitably kept as a token of the family name." Draco explained stiffly; Malfoy Manor had been their first considerable argument. Draco had, at first, demanded Harry come and live with him at the Manor. Although Harry had no problems visiting Draco there once in a while, the thought of living there had sent shivers down his spine. Draco had been frustrated with Harry's refusal; which, at the time, he gave no reason for. Harry now cursed himself for not being honest with Draco about why he didn't want to make the Manor his home – the memories of the war, of Hermione's torture, were still too strong. Draco had been understand beyond a point Harry had ever thought possible, admitted his own whispered fears of how the Manor's walls could still haunt him after all the years, and made love to him with the most tender care before agreeing to move in with Harry. Therefore, here they were, a few days later, moving Draco's belongings over. Harry had barely realised, so lost in his thoughts, that Draco had started talking again. "Wilby, as head elf, will still be at my call. If this is to be where his master resides, he shall serve this house as he would the Manor. Wilby!" His final word was a call of the elf's name which could not be mistaken for anything less than a summon. With a sharp crack the elf appeared in the room, bowing lowly.

"Master Malfoy, Wilby is being happy to answer you." The elf greeted as his head sunk to his toes before standing before Draco, expectant for orders.

"Wilby, bring some of the silk sheets I have for my bed at the Manor and make this bed with them immediately. Additionally, you will clean this room daily, as you would do if it were my bedroom at the Manor. Understood?" Draco's voice was authoritative, confident and – Harry had to admit – downright sexy.

"Wilby is understanding, Master Malfoy Sir. Wilby will do this now." With another crack the elf disappeared. Harry had time to raise an eyebrow, although not enough time to speak the question hovering on his lips when the elf re-entered the room with another crack. With two clicks of the his fingers, Wilby vanished the sheets that covered Harry's bed and replaced them with silk sheets of the deepest emerald.

"Wilby is glad to be serving Master Malfoy. Master Malfoy will call for Wilby again." Once again the elf bowed low, to both Draco and – to Harry's surprise – to him before disapparating.

"This will be my side of the bed." Draco said decisively as he sat himself down on the side of the bed which faced the large, bay window of Harry's bedroom which looked out onto the back garden, which was small but neatly presented. After several months after the war living in Grimmuald Place Harry had grown weary from the weight of the memories it bore down on him. He had offered the home to a charity for war orphans and set about restoring the home in Godric's Hollow that had belonged to his parents. He had been told, by several experts, that such dark magic could not be countered, but Harry had simply retorted that no one was meant to survive the dark magic of the killing curse either and, as if further explanation was needed, turned them away with a point toward his lightning bolt scar. After several months of work he had been able to turn the house from rubble and ruin to a home and it suited him perfectly.

"Excuse me." Harry interrupted, pacing over to where Draco had sat himself. He hadn't challenged him on anything yet – from the most recent change of the bed sheets in Harry's room to the insistence that the spare room become altered by wizard space to allow for his abundance of, in Harry's opinion, completely ridiculous collection of robes – but this was something he wouldn't just accept. The side of the bed may seem like a trivial thing to argue about but, to Harry, it was important. "That's where I sleep."

Draco turned to him, raising a questioning brow. "Well, it's where I sleep now. I have the side of the bed which faces the window, always."

"Well so do I." Harry pouted, crossing his arms. He knew his expression and actions made him look like a petulant child at best but he was unable to control them. Yes, he'd invited – begged, even, not that he would admit that – Draco to move in with him, but that didn't mean he would roll over and change everything to please him.

"Tell me why then." Draco challenged with a dangerous glint in his eye.

"What?" Harry asked, momentarily taken aback.

"Tell me why. If your reason is better than mine then by all means, I'll let you have it."

"By all means, let me have it, it's my house anyway!" Harry muttered angrily under his breath, just loud enough for Draco to catch some words but not others. His mutterings, however, did little to unseat Draco. He stayed in his claimed position on the bed and looked patiently over at Harry as if waiting for him to speak.

"Fine!" Harry sighed in exasperation, running a hand through his hair. He strode to the window, putting his hand on the ledge and seeing the sunlight that dappled across the garden, touching the plants below with its golden glow. He appreciated the view for a moment, the annoyance dropping from his tone as he spoke. "Since the war, with everything… All the death, with never knowing if I would make it or not… I like to wake up every morning to the sunlight, I like to be reminded that there's life left in the world."

A moment of silence passed between them and, for a moment, Harry was sure that he had won. Not that his speech had been engineered to win – it was the truth. Darkness had ruled Harry's life for so long and now that it was gone, he craved the light in any way he could.

"Touching, Potter, but not good enough." Draco's voice came from behind him. Harry was thrown by his tone, cold and collected. He spun on his heel, watching as Draco patted the bedcovers around him and began to plump the already enormous pillows, no doubt surreptitiously improved by Wilby's magic.

"What?" He asked in disbelief, watching as Draco began to make himself more and more comfortable. "No. Oh no!" His exclamation did nothing to deter Draco from his nesting so Harry crossed the small step to the bed and sat down beside him. "It doesn't work like that. I don't tell you something so personal without you telling me yours. I want to hear it."

"Hear what, Potter?" Draco drawled, his tone still cool, although it did nothing to put Harry off. In fact, it only pushed him harder – he had now known Draco well enough, and intimately enough, to know that this was a defensive move.

"The story that means you deserve this side of the bed more than I do." He replied, keeping his voice level and steady. He liked to think he'd come a long way from the hot headed person he had been; in times gone by he would bite back at Draco with an equally cold and cutting tone resulting in a disastrous argument; whilst he still allowed himself the luxury sometimes (for it always ended in brilliant make up sex… well, eventually, anyway) he had taught himself that the best way to handle Draco in these moods was to be calm but firm. Sensing his partner's hesitation Harry reached out his hand and placed it on the blondes knee. "I'm listening." He said, this time whispering reassuringly.

Draco blinked and looked down. His gaze was trained carefully on his shoes although his hand slowly lifted to cover Harry's. Harry sat, waiting patiently, not pushing Draco until he was ready to start.

"After you escaped the Manor, my aunt was furious. She knew, as soon as the battle erupted, who you were and…" Draco paused, a nervous tongue darting out to wet his lips – not a gesture he did subconsciously, Harry knew, but a purposeful one to give him time to rest. "And that I had lied to them. She was furious, determined to hand me over to the Dark Lord." Draco's eyes closed and with this pause a shudder wracked his frame. "My mother begged her not to; my father was indifferent, naturally." A sneer broke through Draco's cold reserve at the mention of his father and it was all Harry could to not to ball his fists in anger. "Eventually my mother must have worn her down. But she still demanded a compromise… So I was taken to the Malfoy dungeons. You thought you saw the worst of them when you rescued Olivander and the Lovegood girl." Draco paused to laugh here but it was a cold, emotionless sound. "Not at all. She put me in the smallest cell, barely big enough for me to stand, right in the depths of our chambers. She kept me there for a month."

Silence crept across the bedroom as Draco's story came to an end, Harry all too aware of the way his lovers hand trembled atop of his. He curled his hand so his palm rose to meet Draco's and wound their fingers in a comforting embrace.

"So, you see. You might like to see the light every morning, but I need to see it."

Harry snaked an arm around Draco's waist and gently prised their fingers apart, gently lifting them to cup the blonde's cheek and lift his gaze to meet his own. "It's your side of the bed." Harry murmured softly, slowly stroking his thumb against the pallor of Draco's soft, pale cheek. "Besides, if I see you every morning, that's better than light to show me there's still life left in the world."

Draco rolled his eyes at Harry's speech, although a smile remained on his lips and he didn't move away from his tender touch. "Sap. The Sorting Hat should have put you in bloody Hufflepuff." He muttered, although Harry could tell he was pleased by the words.

"It wanted to put me in Slytherin, actually." Harry told him, delighting in the way that Draco's eyes lit with wonder, suspicion and, above all, a thirst for gossip, that made Harry laugh aloud. "But that's a story of another day."

He clutched Draco's pillow to his chest, burying his face in the soft, silk cover and inhaling the scent of his expensive cologne which lingered, but also the citrus and the natural scent of all things Draco. His body heaved with dry sobs, every single one without a tear as if afraid a single drop would wash his lovers scent away, until he fell asleep.

-oo-

When Draco awoke, he knew a day had passed. He had slept for some time, he could tell from the aching of his bones as he pulled himself up and attempted to stretch in the small space which accommodated him. He took check of each of his limbs, slowly moving each arm and leg before he extended to fingers and toes, nodding to himself as he accounted them all. No visits from his captors in his sleep then.

Not physical ones, anyway.

Despite the long sleep he was sure he had his eyes drooped with fatigue. He knew this came from the hunger which knawed at his stomach and, more uncomfortably, the thirst that dried his throat. His last meal had been breakfast on the day he had been kidnapped; he would say yesterday but, as he had realised himself, he had no idea how long the enchanted sleep his captors had put him in had lasted for. Minutes? Hours? Days? All he knew that it had been a day now since he had been conscious and that was a day too long. He let out a breath of frustration, throwing his head back against the stone of his cell. Damp trickled down the wall behind him, running down the collar of his robes and over his neck. His tongue ached with thirst at the cool feel of water on his skin but he pushed the feeling away – Malfoy's, of all people, certainly did not lick walls.

With nothing but silence to haunt him, the taunting voice of his captor rung in his ears. Malfoy… Malfoy… Malfoy… The more the greeting replayed itself in his mind, the more certain Draco became that it was a voice he knew. Who the voice belong to, however, he could not say. The more he forced the memory upon himself, the more lost he became, conjuring his name in the voice of many people. As the hours rolled on, the only voice that would come to him was Harry's, calling his name in the many ways he had throughout the years.

"Malfoy." He sneered, raising his wand in sixth year before casting the curse which cursed Draco forever.

"Malfoy." He nodded, tight lipped, as he returned his wand at the end of the Battle of Hogwarts, as every pair of eyes that weren't maddened with grief watched on.

"Malfoy.." He began, in a soft, pitiful tone before he told the Wizengamot why they should pardon him for his many listed war crimes.

"Er… Malfoy…" He mumbled, the first time he had asked Draco to join him for a drink, red faced and refusing to meet his eye.

"Draco.." He breathed, the first time he said his given name, in the same breath that he had requested Draco call him by his.

"Draco.." He moaned in pleasure, the first time they fucked, and every time after that.

As his thoughts of Harry's voice penetrated his subconscious gnawing of hunger he thought of Harry, of their kitchen, of Wilby and the meals he always so excellently prepared. Summoning Wilby didn't work – of course, he had already tried – his captor clearly knew enough Dark Magic to ward out a house elf. He thought of the times that Harry woke before him and made them breakfast in bed – if there was one thing to be said for the awful muggles who raised him, it was that Harry had learnt how to make a good breakfast – and spent the morning together beneath the sheets.

Unable to take the weight of his emotions any longer, Draco began to cry, yet no tears escaped him. His body was dried from thirst.

Perhaps, he thought, Malfoy's weren't above licking walls after all.

-oo-

The exhaustion from Harry's emotions, and the bursts of raw magic that had flown from him in his anger, left him sleeping right through until a persistent tapping at the window awoke him. He blinked furiously as light bathed his eyes, first flying into a wild panic. Shit, he was so late for work. That owl would definitely be from Robards who always seemed to be looking for the way to put Harry down to prove killing one Dark Lord didn't make a true Auror. Well, now he clearly had something to start with – and Merlin, why was Harry still wearing his robes from the day before? He jumped from the bed, barely pausing to puzzle why he had been sleeping on Draco's side, and rushed to the window. But it wasn't a Ministry owl…

Sudden realisation hit Harry as the previous day's events washed over him. In a trance he stumbled backwards until his calves hit the bed behind and he sank down onto it, resting his shaking elbows on his knees and putting his head between his hands.

Draco, gone, the note…

He was allowed no more time, however, to dwell on the situation. The now familiar owl tapped persistently at the window and Harry stood once more to open the window, allowing the bird to fly into the room and offer Harry the note tied to its leg. The bird then took flight once more, disappearing without a single beg for a treat. That was very unusual; clearly the owner of the owl had told the bird that the letter was very important.

He tore the scroll open and read;

Harry,

Open your Floo – I know you're not well, but I think I have some potions that could make you feel better.

Hermione

Confusion only clouded Harry's find for a moment before he dropped the note in his eagerness to reach the fireplace in his sitting room. Of course Hermione would be writing in code – they had learnt during the war that owls could be all too easily intercepted – and he had barely time to consider what Hermione could mean before he waved his wand with a non-verbal gesture, opening the wards over his Floo and threw in a familiar handful of green powder into the flames before bending to put his head into the now harmless flames.

Hermione's face instantly swam into focus; she looked drawn, pale with dark rings around her eyes as if she had spent most of the night awake reading. Harry instantly felt guilty for the length of sleep he'd had; if his friend could spend the night awake searching for answers to find Draco, surely he, Draco's husband, could do the same? Her eyes, however, twinkled with the bright light which always overtook them when she had an idea. For the first time, Harry allowed hope to uncurl within him,

"Harry!" She called before dropping down to her knees before the flames. "Can I come through? Rose is at The Burrow for the day and Ron's at work."

Harry only nodded before he stood, pulling his face from the flames and stepping back to allow Hermione entrance. A few moments later the flames shone emerald and his friend stepped from the flames, a heavy book under her arm.

"I simply can't believe I didn't think of it! I'm so sorry, Harry, I was so busy thinking of spells that I didn't think of potions…" She slammed the heavy tome down onto the antique coffee table Draco had insisted on bringing with him from the Manor – Harry could just imagine the grimace such an action would cause – and began to leaf through its pages.

"Hermione…" Harry began as he took in the title on the spine of the book. "Why do you have a copy of 'Moste Potente Potions'?"

Hermione's cheeks coloured lightly before she admitted; "I bought it a few years ago… For memories." Harry didn't have time to comment on how strange it was that Hermione had bought a book with such questionable content for memories of their second year because she flicked her hair over her shoulder and continued; "Anyway, you ought to be glad I have it, because I found this." She stopped with her finger on the title of a potion which spanned across both of the books open pages.

"Visus Amatorum" Harry read aloud, before puzzling his gaze down at the list of ingredients and raising his eyebrows… It contained some frowned upon items at best and a few downright illegal ones at worst.

"Lovers sight." Hermione translated for him; clearly her Latin language book was becoming her new best friend. She pointed to a passage of text to the right of the ingredient list Harry had become absorbed in and read "Once brewed, Visus Amatorum will do exactly as its name implies in allowing the drinker to see where their true lover lies whenever the connection is required. The drinker will not be physically present, nor visible or audible in any way. Such a connection requires a bond between two souls and, in their quest to seek their lover, the drinker must prepare to sacrifice their singular soul to be with their mate."

"So I'd be able to see Draco? Exactly where he is, right now?" Harry asked, scanning over the words Hermione had read to him. "That's perfect! If I knew where he was, I could-"

"Harry James Potter." Hermione stopped him with a raised hand. "You need to understand the consequences of this. It's soul magic, the sacrifice it talks of… 'the drinker must prepare to sacrifice their singular soul to be with their mate'" She quoted, a haunted look overtaking her features. "It's considered as dark as splitting your soul, Harry, combining it with another. If Mal- Draco were to ever die, you wouldn't survive. He could survive without you, but as the drinker, you'd be pnning your soul to his, you existence would cease when his did."

"So if Draco dies, I die… But if I were to die, he wouldn't?" Harry clarified and, when Hermione nodded, set his face determinedly. "Well, I don't see anything wrong there." He said stubbornly.

"It's not just that, Harry… When we die, the soul moves on, beyond the Veil; you saw it as well as I did when Sirius…" She paused, swallowing uncomfortably. Harry knew she was, as he now was, remembering how Sirius passed through the veil to the other side; before they had all witnessed his death, only Harry and Luna had been able to hear the whispers of the souls beyond. Long after that day Hermione admitted that, once she had witnessed death, she could too hear the whispers of the souls through the veil. "But if you tamper with your soul, Harry, if you change it in any way, you won't be able to go on. You will… cease to exist." Her last words were a mortified whisper and, for a while, Harry was thrown. He thought of the moment in limbo where he met Dumbledore, when he was given the option to move on or to go back; how tempting it had been to think of seeing his mother, his father, Sirius… And now Remus, Tonks, Fred and so many more joined that list… He had been able to turn away, to come back, knowing that one day he would be able to see them again.

But if he saved Draco, he would never…

He shook his head, banishing the thought before it began. Those people were dead. Draco was alive. Harry had to do whatever he could.

"It doesn't matter." He replied, his voice more firm than necessary, as if he were convincing himself as well as Hermione.

"But Harry…" Hermione began, with everything from her tone of voice, to her body language to the look in her eyes pleading "They have him.. What if they…"

"Then my life wouldn't be worth living anyway." Harry said icily, decision made the second he thought of Draco with his captors, his tongue as sharp as a blade as it cut her protests to silence. His gaze bore her down, challenging and hard, daring her to attempt to convince him otherwise. If Draco were here he would roll his eyes and scorn Harry's martyr complex.

But, Harry knew, Draco would do the same for him too.

"Even so," Hermione sighed wearily, clearly accepting that she would be unable to dissuade Harry – if she hadn't wanted him to use the potion, why had she brought it to him anyway? – and taking a different tactic. "Where are you planning to find these?" She asked, tapping her finger against the two illegal ingredients the potion required.

"Well, that's the easy part." Harry said as he grinned from the sheer delight that, for the first time since he received the letter, he had a plan.