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 6: Spot of Trouble

--

Severus Apparated just outside the wards surrounding Malfoy Manor, making his way through the wrought iron gates and through the lavish garden, where the white peacocks hurried out of his path. On his arm, the Dark Mark flared again, reminding him of his Lord's anger. Severus quickened his step.

One of the Malfoy house elves greeted him at the door, but he swept past it without acknowledgement. The gilt-framed paintings murmured as he hurried by, heading for the large dining room that served as the Dark Lord's sanctuary and meeting place.

Lucius waited for him at the door to the room. The other wizard stepped aside and opened the door. He did not raise his eyes to look Severus in the face, and the Potions Master used his behaviour to gage the amount of trouble he was in.

Nothing seemed to have moved since the last time Severus had been here. The long dining table was as impressive as ever, stretching the length of the room. At its head sat his Lord, waiting for him. The two muggles were once again suspended near the ceiling, but they were conscious this time. A Silencing spell had obviously been cast upon them, however, for although tears streamed down the woman's face, lightly splashing the glossy tabletop now and then, and her husband's mouth worked in a constant litany of panicked and fearful obscenities, not a sound could be heard.

Severus did not look at them very long. Averting his eyes, he moved towards his master, kneeling obediently. This was not a meeting. Severus was the only Death Eater present, having been summoned by the burning of the tattoo on his arm. With his head down, he waited for the punishment he'd been expecting for the last few days.

"You have defied me again, Severus." The voice was a sibilant whisper, soft with deadly anger. "And your actions have cost me greatly, this time."

"I –"

"NO!" his Lord suddenly thundered, leaning forward in the chair he occupied. "You will not make excuses this time! Traitor! Spy!"

The Potions Master kept perfectly still, barely daring to blink.

"Your intervention has ruined my plan. My agent did not manage to bond with Potter. What's more, he has fallen into the hands of the Order and is now unreachable – all your doing!"

Severus mentally gathered himself before he spoke. He knew his argument would be a weak one, and there was a good chance he wouldn't survive the punishment meted out as a result. He braced himself and whispered contritely, "My Lord, you must understand that I have to offer Dumbledore something if he is to continue believing –"

"You offer him nothing – nothing! – that jeopardises my efforts!"

"My Lord assured me that nothing I reported to Albus Dumbledore would have any effect on your plans inside Hogwarts. I deemed it harmless information."

That was a dangerous move, and Severus knew it. If he managed to escape – yet again – with his life, he would definitely receive a Crucio for his impertinence. He did not normally play so fast and loose with his own safety, bandying information and excuses between his two masters in such a way. But this time he'd had no choice. An attack had slipped through Dumbledore's defences, placing Potter in direct and immediate danger, and he'd been the only one in a position to diffuse the situation.

It seemed his heroics had cost him the last measure of trust his Lord placed in him.

The man seated before him was silent, for so long that Severus's heartbeat began to race with nervous anticipation. Finally, when bursts of adrenaline into his system were beginning to make him tremble, his Lord spoke softly.

"In my circle, you are the only one granted the liberties you enjoy. I treat you like an errant child, Severus, looking the other way when you go running back to Albus Dumbledore with whatever titbits you have gathered at my councils, all in the hope that one day you will regain your senses and remember. Remember why you originally sought me out all those years ago." The Dark Lord shook his head, almost wistfully – if he'd been capable of that sort of sentimental emotion. "I have been fond of you, Severus. You were once a good and faithful servant. You have been valuable. You are still valuable – fortunately."

The Potions Master shivered, and that was the only sign of immense relief he allowed himself. He remained in his submissive stance, knowing he wasn't about to escape completely unscathed.

"Stand up."

He did so, and stayed perfectly still as his Lord also rose to his feet and began to circle. It didn't come naturally to Severus, allowing someone to dominate him in such a way, but his Slytherin survival instincts generally overrode his sense of pride.

"It would seem, due to your indiscretions, that I no longer have need of... incentives."

The Potions Master dared to glance at the dark wizard, following the red eyed gaze up to the ceiling where the pair of muggles cried and screamed silently. He felt his stomach give an unpleasant lurch.

"It would be small repayment," the Dark Lord went on, "for you to rid me of their distasteful, wasted presence..."

Severus clenched his teeth until his jaw hurt. This was a new form of creative punishment Voldemort favoured lately. Suspecting Severus's true loyalties, he had taken to leaving it to the Slytherin spy to perform Avadka Kadavra on the captives who passed through Malfoy Manor. He seemed to gain vindictive amusement from it.

Currently, Severus looked directly at the muggles, forcing himself not to turn away. He would do them that honour, at the very least. These were not just nameless faces he could disassociate himself from. These were the parents of a boy he'd taught for the last six years. However indirect, there was a link there.

Probably why his Lord was making him do it.

Sometimes, Severus would try to justify the act by reminding himself that his victims would have met a worse fate by far at the hands of another Death Eater, or the Dark Lord himself. His were purely mercy killings.

Steeling himself, the Potions Master raised his wand, ready to put the unfortunate muggles out of their misery.

A claw-like hand suddenly grasped his arm, nails digging in until he winced. Voldemort leaned in close, and he was overcome with the scent of ash and mildew. The unnatural, sibilant voice hissed directly into his ear, "Take your time, Severus," and emphasised the words with a vicious clench of his hand.

He wasn't sure if he hated his Lord or himself more, as he once again raised his wand and whispered the dreaded Unforgivable. "Crucio..."

Voldemort removed the Silencing spell.

--

Of all the insults ever thrown his way – and there had been many – no one had ever called Draco stupid. In fact, he was far from it. Draco was among the top students at Hogwarts, perhaps second only to Granger – and he credited even that to the fact that most professors favoured her above him.

The point remained, Draco was clever. He noticed things. He noticed people; often saw the things about them they didn't want him to see. For example, there was his little insight into Potter's mockery of a relationship with the Weaselette. Draco was shrewd enough to know this talent of his gave him power. He watched and he listened to the people around him, even when he appeared barely to acknowledge their existence. He was much the Slytherin spy himself, keeping a mental dossier of any observations or suspicions he found interesting.

And it was times like these that Draco was grateful for his people-studying habits. Certain things were beginning to come together, although he wasn't yet sure where his deductions were leading him. As he'd found worked best, he lay with his eyes closed and allowed his mind to wander where it pleased.

It had started after his flight from the Hospital Wing. Finally given half the chance to think, when the initial relief of escaping Pomfrey's constant watch had passed, he'd started to question his quick and unexpected recovery with suspicion. What had changed to so drastically improve his health? Why a week or more of deterioration, only to do a complete turnaround in a matter of hours? Pomfrey hadn't done anything; had found no sudden cure for his illness nor explanation for the unknown 'magical signature'. The only thing to set that particular day apart from all the others which had made up his monotonous stay had been Potter's presence.

That thought had naturally led to memories of their conversation and his budding curiosity about the Gryffindor's... preferences. Oh, Draco could just imagine how the Daily Prophet would run with a topic like this. He smirked to himself at that thought. Yes, there was fun to be had there, but surprisingly he'd meant what he'd said to Potter. He could keep a secret. For now. It would doubtlessly come in handy to finally have leverage over the famous Boy Who Lived...

Not that Potter wouldn't deserve it if Draco somehow let the secret slip. The Slytherin was still smarting over the implied insult Potter had delivered to him in the form of gift-wrapped muggle money. Honestly. As if–

Draco stopped. His mind abruptly slotted the different pieces together with almost audible clicks. He sat bolt upright on his bed, eyes wide with alarm.

With sudden clarity, he remembered the moment he'd opened the Secret Santa present. He'd touched the silver coin and felt a spark – the spark of magic. Now that he thought about it, he even recalled wondering if Potter had put a curse on it!

And he'd been right! The git had! He must have!

It had been almost immediately after that when he'd started to get the initial symptoms of his mysterious illness. He'd simply gotten worse and worse... Even Madam Pomfrey had said it seemed 'unnatural'. Because it was! It was magic! And that magical signature on him... The mark of Potter's spell?

Hadn't he only felt better when he was around the bloody Gryffindor?! Yes, twice now. After their fight in the Astronomy Tower he'd felt brilliant – for a little while. And then there was earlier, in the Hospital Wing... Potter's proximity had worked like a miracle cure on him! But...

Why would the Boy Who Lived, of all people, cast a spell on Draco Malfoy, Prince of Slytherin, that would cause him to need to be around Potter?! Draco, Slytherin to the core, naturally went to the malicious motives first. He supposed if the Gryffindor really wanted to hurt him, it was quite a good idea. Draco would fade away of seemingly natural causes, and none of it could be pinned on the Gryffindor, who would never even have to go near Draco...

But that didn't seem very likely, if he was honest with himself. Potter wasn't really the devious type...

Then why –?

The final piece clicked into place, revealing the puzzle in Draco's mind.

Draco's thoughts on his rival's orientation came fresh to his mind, and suddenly Draco felt a little bit sick again. Oh Merlin no. It couldn't be... He wouldn't... But if Potter really was gay... Why else...?

The Slytherin shot to his feet and raced from the room.

--

Harry idly rotated his wrist as he walked out of the Hospital Wing, the joint finally healed. He'd always been amazed how quickly Madam Pomfrey could fix injuries. He'd only taken the Skele-Grow a couple of hours ago, his wrist badly broken from an awkward crash landing. Now, it felt like there had never been anything wrong.

Still dressed in his Quidditch gear, he decided to stop by the Gryffindor common room for a change of clothes before he went to find Hermione and Ginny. Ron would still be down on the practice field, and Harry felt like he'd had enough of Quidditch – at least for this one day. With the run of luck he was having lately, he'd only end up back in the Hospital Wing yet again...

He was just coming to the staircase which would lead him towards Gryffindor Tower when he heard the footsteps. Curious, he leaned over the banister and looked down, only to see a familiar blonde Slytherin pelting up the stone stairs. Just then, Malfoy happened to look up and catch sight of him. Grey eyes widened and the blonde jabbed a finger at him. "Potter! Don't you dare move!" And then he was running again. Harry could hear his breath coming in pants, and raised a shocked eyebrow, wondering what he'd done.

Malfoy skidded into the corridor Harry stood in and suddenly the Gryffindor found himself facing the other's hawthorn wand. Malfoy angled for his throat and appeared to be positively trembling with rage. "Potter, you sick twist!" Harry had never seen him so furious.

"What did I do?" he asked, surprised into sounding wounded.

The Slytherin didn't answer. Instead, he steadied his aim and issued a curse in Harry's direction.

The Gryffindor ducked the red bream emanating from Malfoy's wand just in time, before scrambling to the side as it was followed up by several more vicious bursts of magic. Harry grasped the banister and bounded up the stairs, fumbling in his pocket for his own wand as he tried desperately to keep moving and avoid the hail of hexes he was being bombarded with.

Malfoy had gone mad! He really had this time! He showed no signs of self-control or even the patented Malfoy dignity. His face was contorted as he continued his attack, stalking after the hastily retreating Gryffindor.

Finally gathering his wits, Harry cast a Protego Charm as he came to the next landing, forming a protective shield around himself which the Slytherin's curses bounced off of in all directions. "What the hell is wrong with you?!" he yelled incredulously.

"You cursed me!" Malfoy screamed hatefully. "Just so I'd... So I had to..." But he couldn't seem to finish that sentence, breaking off with a disgusted snarl. "You're sick, Potter!"

"What are you talking about?!" Harry continued to back away, so shocked by the behaviour that he couldn't even summon the anger he usually felt towards the Slytherin.

"That fucking coin!" Malfoy all but shrieked. "I know you cursed it! I know what you've done to me!"

"Malfoy, I haven't –!"

"Furnunculus!"

Harry dodged backwards and tripped on the next flight of stairs, landing on his back staring up at the enraged Slytherin. Malfoy was on him in a second, his wand tip lodged painfully under Harry's chin. The Gryffindor's mind was awhirl as he tried to figure out what had just happened.

"Malfoy...!" His last defence was taken as the blonde suddenly grabbed his newly healed wrist and slammed it against the stairs. Pain lanced through his hand, and his wand fell from numb fingers.

"Look, Potter, I don't give a fuck if you want to pretend you're as straight as they come. I don't. Go fuck the Weaselette, for all I care, and try to explain why you only ever want to do it from behind." The Slytherin spoke with thorough scorn, and pressed his wand harder into Harry's throat for emphasis. "But you will not drag me into your little sexual identity crisis!"

"What?!" Finally, Harry had regained himself somewhat. Stunned by the sudden attack and barrage of accusations, it occurred to him that he had no idea what Malfoy was ranting about. He sounded... delusional, for God's sake, and Harry had to wonder if he was really as healthy as Madam Pomfrey had deemed him. "Malfoy, get the hell off me! What's wrong with you?!"

"Don't you dare turn this on me!" the Slytherin continued to rage. "Did you think I wouldn't figure it out?! Your curse wasn't exactly subtle!"

"What curse?!" the Gryffindor demanded cluelessly, resisting the urge to struggle. Though Malfoy was smaller than him, and light enough that he could easily have thrown him off in a fair fight, he had to keep in mind that the Slytherin was the only one in possession of a wand.

"You know damn well! You're the one making me sick! I knew I felt magic on that bloody muggle coin of yours!"

"I didn't do anything to it! I just... I thought it would be funny, okay?! Now get off!" He made to shove the blonde away, but Malfoy's wand jabbed him again. He was going to have one hell of a bruise. What's more, the rather wild expression the other wore was starting to unnerve him. Harry wondered if there was any chance of Madam Pomfrey entering the corridor and finding them. Surely she'd released Malfoy too soon, and would want to rectify that mistake...

"So what is it then?" the Slytherin asked snidely. "Some kind of... of crush?! I always knew you were obsessed with me, Potter, but this...! This is twisted, even by my standards! You think you can force me to spend time with you or something? Trust me, Potter, I'll take being sick over that any day!"

Harry had heard enough. He had no idea what Malfoy was babbling about and didn't care to find out.

He bucked suddenly, taking the Slytherin by surprise. Malfoy almost lost his balance, perched atop Harry as he was, and was forced to throw out an arm to steady himself. His wand was taken from the Gryffindor's throat, and Harry took full advantage of the fact. He made a grab for it, and the two went tumbling down the stone stairs.

Harry elbowed the Slytherin in the stomach on the way down. Malfoy grunted, the breath knocked from him, and couldn't help but relinquish his hold on the wand. Harry snatched it triumphantly, already fighting to get to his feet. But, realising the advantage he'd lost, the Slytherin lashed out and dragged his opponent back down, before making a desperate dive for Harry's wand, which lay abandoned at the foot of the stairs.

"Accio wand!"

Malfoy missed the coveted object by inches as it flew past him and back into Harry's hand. The Gryffindor clutched it tightly, and temporarily pocketed Malfoy's.

Rendered helpless, the blonde could only glare impotently up at Harry from where he kneeled on the stone steps. With what dignity remained to him, he climbed carefully to his feet, smoothing down his white shirt.

"Give it back, Potter," he ordered quietly.

Harry ignored him entirely.

"I don't know what is wrong with you, Malfoy, but I have nothing to do with it! I don't – I can't – Are you delusional?!" Harry shook his head, lost for words with disbelief. From what he could gather from the Slytherin's fragmented accusations, Malfoy thought Harry was making him sick, so that... So that what? So that Draco had to spend time with him? What the fuck?!

"Why would I willingly want you anywhere near me, Malfoy?!" Harry vented, throwing his hands in the air. "I wouldn't. I never have! Take a fucking hint, for God's sake, and stay the hell away from me!"

Malfoy snarled. "Then you explain it, Potter! Ever since that stupid Secret Santa game, why have I had to be near you to feel even halfway human?!"

Harry took a step back, and then another. He shook his head slowly. "Don't care. Don't want to know. Just... go away."

And then the Gryffindor took Malfoy's wand from his pocket, held it over the drop beyond the banister, and let go. The Slytherin cried out in protest, almost toppling after it as he tried desperately to stop Harry. Wide eyed, Malfoy watched his precious wand fall three floors before being caught on one of the moving stairs. "Potter!" His voice was a little higher pitched than usual with incredulity.

Harry shrugged, all innocence, and the Slytherin could only stare at him in shock, stunned, as if seeing an entirely unknown side to the Gryffindor. "Fine," he snapped suddenly. "Don't admit it. Just get rid of it. I swear to Merlin, Potter, if you don't, I'll tell Dumbledore. I'll tell the papers! I'll tell my father if I have to!"

Malfoy hesitated, then with one last glare, turned and stormed away, worry for his beloved wand visibly tugging at him.

Harry snorted. Then, after a moment's pause, he too leaned over the banister and shouted after the Slytherin, "And for fuck's sake, I'm not gay!"

--

Draco was panicking. He was starting to get the feeling he'd just made a very big mistake. Minutes ago, he'd been thoroughly convinced that Potter was responsible for his illness. His reasoning had been sound. After all, he was amazing – why wouldn't Potter fancy him if he was into guys? Besides. The Gryffindor had always been that little bit unhinged. The Prophet could portray him as the tortured, noble hero all they liked – but Draco knew the truth, and he wouldn't have put a curse like that past Potter, if he could work the magic well enough.

But now... Potter had just seemed so genuinely horrified. His words still rang in Draco's ears. Why would I willingly want you anywhere near me, Malfoy?! I never have! The Slytherin's lip curled. He couldn't help but think back to his first day at Hogwarts, when Potter had so bluntly rejected him like it was nothing. Like he was nothing! The friendship of a Malfoy so casually dismissed...

So if the Boy Who Lived really didn't have anything to do with whatever was happening to Draco, had he, in his outrage, just given away far too much information...? Had he said anything Potter could use against him?

He cringed, remembering his own words. Ever since that stupid Secret Santa game, why have I had to be near you to feel even halfway human?! Well. He could have phrased that better. But he didn't think Potter would say anything. After all, he still had his own bargaining chip, didn't he? And the Gryffindor's last-minute, half-hearted denial wasn't fooling anyone, thank you very much...

Still, something had to be done. Even if Potter wasn't responsible, Draco knew something was wrong. He didn't know why he hadn't realised it sooner. Now that Madam Pomfrey had drawn attention to the magical signature on him, he imagined he could feel it under his skin. It was uncomfortable and distracting, tugging his mind somewhere else when he should be concentrating. It was obviously wreaking havoc with his health, and he had the strange suspicion that it was affecting his dreams, though he could never remember them...

Draco would not tell Dumbledore, whom he didn't trust as far as he could hex. Nor would he go to the Prophet, as he'd threatened Potter – not when he didn't yet know the consequences it would have for him.

He would, however, do what he always did when he found himself in a spot of trouble at school...

He would write to Daddy.