Sakuri: Haha, I'm starting to feel like there should be one of those guys shuffling the three cups in the background, shouting, "Keep your eyes on the coin, everybody! Keep your eyes on the coin..."

But yeah, let me know if I've made things a bit too complicated. I'm not really sure if that's the case or not...

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Title: Redeemable

Authoress: Sakuri

Rating: T (for now)

Summary: Beginning with yet another futile attempt at improving inter-House relations at Hogwarts, Harry soon finds himself the victim of a miscast and mysterious curse which results in him being inexorably bonded to Draco Malfoy, who in turn is on the fast track to becoming the junior Death Eater Harry always knew him to be... HPDM slash.

Disclaimer: I own nothing and no one

Chapter 4: Oversights

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The next morning, Harry had barely woken up, and was just wandering tiredly down the stairs towards the Great Hall when Terry found him. The Ravenclaw boy hurried over to him, and once again Harry noticed that there was something off about him. He seemed pale, and more than a little edgy.

"Harry. Uhm, it's been a while since I asked. Have you... have you got the coins?"

Harry blinked. "Oh. Oh, yeah. I picked them up this morning. Hang on..." He began rummaging through his pockets, finally extracted them. "Here you go."

Terry all but snatched them, before frantically examining them.

He froze. "Where's the fifty pence?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "I don't have one."

"You do!" Wide eyes fixed on him. "I mean... you must..."

"Uhm... well, I lost it actually..." Harry said, inwardly wincing at the white lie. He felt a bit guilty having given the coin in question to Ron, since Terry had asked first.

"But... I... You... lost it? You lost it?!"

The Gryffindor was beginning to feel vaguely uncomfortable. "Sorry... Terry, are you sure you're alright?"

The other boy had gone white, even looked as if he was about to throw up. Instinctively, Harry reached out to steady him.

Someone else beat him to it as a hand closed on Terry's shoulder. Both boys jumped, looking up to see McGonagall. The Scotswoman had never looked so stern, Harry thought distantly.

"Mr Boot," she snapped, voice dangerously quiet. "If you'd come with me, please."

"But –"

"Now, Mr Boot."

Harry felt extremely confused as he watched the two walk away. Something was definitely wrong with Terry, but damned if he could figure out what... He wondered why McGonagall had looked so angry.

For the moment, he shrugged the questions off in favour of breakfast. Making the rest of his way to the Great Hall, he entered with a yawn. As he headed for his own seat, he passed by the Hufflepuff table and paused a moment.

"Hey Ernie."

The Hufflepuff boy looked up in surprise at his voice, then smiled. "Hello Harry."

The Gryffindor pointed a thumb over his shoulder. "I just saw Terry. Gave him the coins you were asking about. Think he's a bit... preoccupied at the moment though."

Ernie was frowning. "What are you talking about?"

Harry shrugged. "Y'know... The muggle money?"

"Muggle money? Harry, what would I want with that...?"

"I..." The Gryffindor stopped. "You didn't ask Terry...?"

Ernie shook his head.

"Oh. Uh, never mind then... I guess..."

As he walked away, Harry could feel a headache coming on. What the hell was going on? Why did he feel like he was missing something? And what was Terry playing at?!

Shaking his head, he cast a swift glance over at the Slytherin table. Malfoy was sat with his chin in his hands, staring dully at a bowl of cereal. To his surprise, Harry noted dark circles under the blonde's eyes.

And what was so damn important about that bloody fifty pence...?

--

Minerva led the Ravenclaw boy into the Headmaster's office, where Dumbledore and Severus awaited them. She had not let go of him since finding him with Potter, but forcefully guided him along corridors and stairways. He had started to cry as they came in sight of the Gargoyle statue.

The Headmaster looked up as they entered, his blue eyes sad and tired. It had been hard, at first, to believe the story Severus had returned to him with. He couldn't stand to think of one of his students in such a position – and all without him noticing.

He stood slowly. "Mr Boot, if you would please raise your left sleeve."

The boy didn't move, and Minerva felt his shoulder tremble under her hand.

Dumbledore sighed. "Terry..."

Shaking, the teenager reached down and rolled up the sleeve of his jumper. And there, for all to see emblazoned on his forearm, was the snake and skull of Voldemort's Dark Mark. Minerva couldn't repress a small sound of distress, and Severus swore quietly.

Terry sucked in a shuddering breath and swayed back against her. Hurriedly, she conjured a chair and sat him down, where he immediately hid his face with his hands. "I'm sorry! I'm s-so sorry! I d-didn't have a ch-choice! He was going to k-kill them...!"

The Headmaster moved forward and kneeled in front of the distraught boy. "We know, Terry. We know. But you have to tell us exactly what you've done."

The boy shook his head. "Nothing," he sniffed. "I haven't done anything..."

Standing at Dumbledore's shoulder, Severus scowled impatiently. "We know about the curse. We know you were supposed to target Potter."

Terry nodded in admittance, wiping a hand across his eyes. "I was. But it went wrong. He... You Know Who... told me to have it done by now. I-I was supposed to cast the spell on something of Harry's, but then I had to get Harry to give it to me. He had to willingly give it, he said. But I waited too long. I didn't want... Harry's a friend, y'know? And he's Harry. I couldn't..." Terry shook his head wretchedly. "But he said he'd kill them if I didn't. So I asked Harry. But... but he said he'd lost it! He'd lost it, and it's all gone wrong...!"

The adults cast glances at each other. Dumbledore slowly leaned forward. "Terry. Slow down. What are you saying? Do you mean that the curse will no longer work?"

"I-it can't. It's supposed to affect the first person he gives it to, but if he's lost it..."

"Lost what? What did you cast the spell on?"

The Ravenclaw waved a hand. "Just a muggle coin. But he doesn't have it anymore..."

Severus frowned. "The muggle coin. Why did you use that? Does it have any significance?"

Terry sniffed. "No. I just had to pick something he wasn't likely to give to anyone else. I mean, what was he going to use muggle money for?" He let out a humourless laugh. "That worked well..."

"Terry, how did you cast the spell? When?"

"I... I was in the Gryffindor common room a few days ago. I went into his dorm room. The coins were the first thing I found in his trunk."

"Yes, but how?" Dumbledore pressed. "This sounds like very dark magic. Beyond the capabilities of the average Sixth Year..."

"I... I just had to find something to use. You Know Who cast the curse... th-through that." He looked down at his arm and the tattoo that marred his flesh, shuddering at the memory of the experience. "I don't know what it was or what it did."

Dumbledore rose to his feet. "I am sorry Terry, but you must know you cannot be permitted to remain in the school."

Terry bowed his head, hands clenching and unclenching in his lap.

"Minerva, take him to Alastor. He should be kept safe."

She nodded, guessing what the Headmaster intended. As both an Order member and an Auror, Alastor Moody would be able to arrange protective custody for the boy, as well as keep word of his actions quiet. The Order would therefore have the first chance of questioning him under Veritaserum, to make sure he really hadn't completed the curse, and that there was nothing else he knew.

She touched his shoulder. "Mr Boot..."

"W-wait. What about my parents?" The boy looked frantically between one adult and the next. "Please. He still has them. They won't know what's going on. Please, you have to do something!"

The Headmaster regarded him sadly. From what Severus had said, there was very little chance of saving the boy's parents. As the Headquarters of the Dark Lord, Malfoy Manor was under almost as many wards as Hogwarts, and guarded constantly by Death Eaters. And no doubt Tom would soon take his anger out on his muggle prisoners when he found out his curse had failed...

Dumbledore shook his head. "I'm sorry, Terry..."

The boy shook and cried again. Moving swiftly, Minerva bundled him towards the fireplace, where she would Floo him to Grimmauld Place, headquarters to the Order of the Phoenix.

When she had left, Dumbledore moved back to his desk and lowered himself into his seat. He looked tired and worn. "Ah, Severus... How has all this happened right under my nose?"

"The Dark Lord did not tell anyone, Albus... Of course, I would have tried to help earlier, if I'd known..."

"I know, my boy. It's just... Do you realise, the only reason we have avoided complete disaster is simple luck? What if Harry had activated the curse? A curse we know nothing about!"

"He said it was to establish a 'connection'..."

"Too vague, too vague..." The Headmaster shook his head. "We have allowed Tom to be one step ahead of us, Severus, and in doing so we came far too close to losing this war before it has even begun."

Severus said nothing. He was busy wondering how he would explain to his Lord why the plan had failed, especially when he'd been specifically warned not to intervene...

"We have been fortunate," Dumbledore went on. "We must make sure such oversights do not happen again."

The Potions Master nodded. "Indeed."

--

Draco was unhappy. He'd had an almost constant headache since midway through the day before. He hadn't slept. He hadn't received any word from his parents, and he was getting worried. And he still had that niggling feeling that something was... missing. What the hell was that about?!

He missed having real company, not just Crabbe and Goyle. He was only halfway through the Christmas break and was already going mad without Pansy and Blaise. That, in turn, made him feel pathetic for being lonely.

Bored, he had decided to take his Nimbus 2005 out into the skies. Walking out into one of the castle courtyards, he'd mounted the broom and spiralled up into the air. Cold wind sliced through his clothing, biting into his flesh and pulling at his hair. Almost immediately, his hands turned numb on the broom handle, and he was forced to squint against the drifting snowflakes.

Draco gritted his teeth and flew higher and faster. He hoped the freezing winter chill and the exhilaration of flight would refresh him, clear his head of the dull ache that plagued him and the malaise of discontent.

Up he went, until the clouds began to gather around him, and the tears from his watering eyes began to freeze. He gasped in the biting air and relinquished control of the broom. In freefall, he saw whirling images of the castle towers, the snow covered trees of the Forest, and the iced lake.

Only at the last moment did he pull up, yanking hard on the handle and all but screeching to a halt mere metres from the ground. His stationary state didn't last long. As soon as he'd regained his bearings, he was off again, zipping away across the white landscape. He kept to the remote areas, where he could be certain he would not be spotted, and would not be in danger of crashing into some unsuspecting student out on the grounds. Zigzagging along the hills and dips of the field, snow spraying up in his wake, he flew until his breath came hard and fast and a pain in his side forced him to slow.

The headache had not dissipated in the least. Nor had his depression.

Frustrated, he backflipped higher into the air, and at a more leisurely pace began flying back towards the castle.

It was later than he'd thought by the time he'd finished his antics. Past curfew, he realised, after casting a quick TempusCharm. Changing his angle, he headed for the towers of the castle, where he landed on the observation platform used during Astronomy lessons. Shouldering his broom, he slipped quietly into the tower and began descending the spiralling staircase, hoping Filch wasn't around to catch him sneaking in.

He was only about two levels down the tower – not even halfway – when he first heard them. Draco froze as he recognised the soft sounds drifting up to meet him, and fought the urge to swear. Bloody couples in the bloody Astronomy tower. Just once, couldn't they find somewhere else to get each other off?!

Hovering near the inside wall of the spiralling stairs, Draco slowly crouched and tried to peer down at the lower level without being seen himself. It was an awkward angle, unfortunately, and he had to crane his neck to get any decent view.

Where the stairs levelled out to a small landing, two students were obviously midway into their make-out session. The girl sat on the ledge of a narrow window, and her partner stood before her. Unseen in his hiding place, Draco pretended to gag and rolled his eyes. He took out his wand and pondered what spell to use that would successfully disrupt the pair.

"Harry..."

The whisper made him freeze. He squinted at the couple a second time, and belatedly realised who he was spying on. Draco almost gagged for real, then. Oh bloody hell, he was watching Potter and his little Weasel girlfriend go at it!

The Slytherin voice in his head was screaming at the top of its voice for him to hex them or look away or both. But he was transfixed with a horror that was akin to watching a train wreck: it was just so morbidly fascinating.

As he watched in this state of vague revulsion, Weasley took hold of Potter's hand, where it had innocently been resting on her arm, and moved it towards the hem of her sweater. Draco's eyes bugged and he fought not to make some strangled noise of disgust. Eeeeew! This was beginning to verge on the taboo concept of Weasley-sex. Draco cringed. Good Lord, how had he ended up in this unique position...?!

And then, abruptly, Potter backed off. He snatched his hands back from beneath her clothing and held them up as though in surrender, while the redhead stared at him in confusion. "Look... Ginny..." the Gryffindor whispered, and Draco knew the beginning of a rejection when he heard one. Well, this had suddenly become interesting...

"I... I just thought..."

"I don't... I mean, I can't..." Potter was beginning to stammer, even backing away, and his girlfriend was looking more than a little annoyed. Draco bit back a chuckle. He supposed it must be galling to have your boyfriend clearly demonstrate his aversion to touching the 'good bits'.

"Harry, if you're not ready..."

"It's just... There's something I need to ask –"

And oh, Draco would have just loved to hear the rest of that explanation, but unfortunately he could no longer contain his reaction. He began to laugh, slowly and quietly and cruelly. Potter and Weasley sprung apart and whirled in his direction as Draco casually descended the stone stairs. He knew he looked the picture of nonchalance, broom balanced over his shoulder and pale hair windswept, especially compared with Potter's guilty, self-conscious blush, and he knew then he had the power in the situation.

"Go away, Malfoy," the Gryffindor ground out, obviously furious that his rival had witnessed the deeply personal and frankly embarrassing moment.

"Why?" Draco questioned innocently. "I'm obviously not interrupting anything..."

"Just go fu–"

Ginny interrupted before the obscenity could be voiced. "You've been out past curfew," she accused, looking at the broom he held.

Draco examined his nails. "Yes, well, we all have our night time activities – don't we Potter?" He flashed a smile, thoroughly enjoying the discomfort of the other boy. Before either had the chance to respond, he sauntered closer, narrowing his eyes at the Weaselette and whispering confidentially, "If I were you, and my boyfriend spooked at the thought of a bra strap – well. I'd have to start wondering if he was batting for the other team, so to speak..."

He honestly hadn't thought much of his throw-away innuendo. It was merely the first thing to pop into his head that he thought might rattle the clingy Weasley and affront Potter's male pride.

He had not expected Potter to turn a dramatic shade of pale. Ginny, standing in front of the boy and facing Draco, was oblivious to his reaction, but the Slytherin saw it all too clearly. Draco's eyebrows shot up, and in turn Potter went even paler, if possible.

"Merlin, I'm sorry!" the blonde gushed gleefully. "Was... was that supposed to be a secret?"

"Sod off, Malfoy!" the Gryffindor growled, futilely.

Draco could almost feel the alarm radiating off Potter. In fact... Yes, he could feel it. Draco didn't think about this too much at the time, only revelled in the sensation. Potter's heart was beating with the surprise of what Ginny had wanted, then Draco's sudden appearance, and the fright of his accusation. His panic and anger seemed practically tangible to the Slytherin, who grinned viciously in response.

Oh this almost made up for the crappy Christmas he'd been having so far...

And then, Draco had a split second warning of what was about to happen when the sense of alarm changed rapidly to stony hatred. He blinked, right before Potter's fist collided with his jaw.

Abruptly, he was falling backwards, and reached out to catch hold of the Gryffindor's shirt on instinct, dragging his rival down on top of him. Potter landed with a grunt, but quickly recovered enough to hit Draco again. Somewhere in the distance, Weasley was shrieking at them to stop, but neither paid her much attention.

The Slytherin, knowing he was outweighed and outmatched by the taller Gryffindor, resorted to the only thing available to him: he brought his knee up, hard, between the other boy's legs.

Hovering over him, green eyes widened in wordless pain, and Potter seemed to be stricken temporarily immobile by the blow. Seizing his advantage, Draco stretched to one side and grasped the handle of his Nimbus, before swinging the broom into the Gryffindor's ribs.

Potter was knocked off him with the impact, and Draco scrambled to his feet, panting. He could taste blood. His shoulder hurt where he'd fallen on it awkwardly. His breath came too fast and too sharp.

And he didn't remember feeling this good in the last week.

Movement at the corner of his eye snapped him to attention and he spun on Ginny Weasley, wand automatically in hand, just in time to cast a Disarming Spell in her direction. She glared helplessly as her own wand clattered down the stairs behind her. He debated hexing her – just for good measure – but reluctantly discarded the idea as more trouble than it was worth.

Wiping blood from his lip with the back of his hand, he eyed the red stain it left critically. Then, with a final sneer at Potter's prone form, he stalked past them both and continued his way down the Astronomy Tower.

Even after reaching the Slytherin dorm rooms, Draco could still feel the high of exhilaration. Unable to consider sleep, he paced his bedroom restlessly, wand in hand and itching to be used. He wanted... he wanted to go back. He wanted to do that again, feel the rush of excitement and rage that had taken him when he and Potter fell. Never before had a scrap between himself and the Gryffindor felt so... satisfying.

It didn't occur to Draco to think there was anything strange about this reaction.

When he eventually calmed and slid under the green quilt of his bed, he almost instantly fell into satisfied sleep, headache forgotten about and no longer haunted by the feeling that something was missing.