This is a beast of a chapter that took months to conquer, thank you, everyone, for waiting so patiently. A tremendous shout-out is due to Omi-Omi for her invaluable help in making this chapter ten-times better than the original I gave her. Regarding content, I know I originally said that most of the 'M' content would be off-stage (ie, lime, not lemon), Draco and Harry were not agreeable to this arrangement. It isn't OTT, but it is definitely present in this chapter.
OoOooOO
"My what?" Harry looked at McGonagall in horror. "Is this the Ministry house? We said —"
He felt Draco's hand tighten its grip on his arm. "Let her explain," Draco said quietly, leaning so close that Harry could smell the fragrance of his soap.
"It became clear today that in order for you and Draco to adjust to the bond, you must spend time alone without the pressure of the attending classes and having to interact with your fellow students." She held up a hand as Harry tried to interrupt. "This is the original gamekeeper's accommodations at Hogwarts. When Hagrid became gameskeeper, he needed a bigger house. This one is concealed under a Fidelius charm to prevent students making use of it."
Harry nodded; Hogwarts had so many secrets, it no longer surprised him when he learned of a new one. "Where are we? I mean, where on the grounds?"
"Just past the Quidditch pitch."
"But we can have visitors? Right?" Harry looked from McGonagall to Pomfrey for confirmation.
"Not at first, I'm afraid. No one other than George Weasley and myself," Madam Pomfrey said with a shake of her head. "I observed that while you two were isolated in the Hospital Wing, the bond initially gave you very little trouble. However, as soon as you started interacting with others, the bond reacted. According to what little research is available on your rather unusual bonding, we believe that the bond is demanding that you two spend time together alone."
"But, Ron and Hermione—" Harry stopped as Draco snorted and said something under his breath that Harry couldn't hear.
"Not for the time being." McGonagall said firmly. "Madam Pomfrey will come once a day to check on your health. For your protection, a charm has been placed on you both so that she will be notified immediately if either or both of you lose consciousness."
"That isn't—"
"Harry, you and Draco were found unconscious in your room by a house elf who had come to gather your laundry. It is very much necessary. Fortunately, we had already begun to have the cottage prepared. Madam Pomfrey notified me of the need after your visit with her earlier."
Harry swallowed hard. He tried to think of an argument but couldn't, he didn't want to be in the castle with everyone watching them. As he wiped his face with his hands, stalling as he tried to figure out what he should say, he felt Draco shift next to him and he realized that Draco hadn't said anything about their new situation. He turned to look at him. "Are you okay with this?"
Draco hesitated but nodded in agreement, "If you are, we can't keep having those...attacks." He looked down where his arm was resting next to Draco's, the bondlines showing a dark red against the sheets but wasn't hurting at the moment. He closed his eyes at the futility of trying to fight the situation. "What about classes?"
"Class notes will be sent each night, but Harry." McGonagall's expression softened. "Your studies are not that important right now, you both need to accept your bond. Everything else is secondary.
"You may leave the cottage, the Fidelius charm extends over two hundred yards in all directions. I believe that you will find your day's full enough, with just getting to know one another. You will prepare your own meals, and keep the cottage tidy, no house elves."
"What do you mean prepare our own meals? I've never cooked anything in my life," Draco protested.
McGonagall said firmly, "We decided that preparing meals would be a good exercise—"
"In starving?" Draco laughed, "You can't—"
"It is okay, Draco, I can cook well enough for us to get by," Harry said. "How will we get food supplies?"
"Simply put a list of what you require on the table in the other room each night, and the cupboards will be replenished. You can also send a Patronus to send a message if something urgent arises." She looked over at Madam Pomfrey and added, "Why don't you explain the medical protections that you've put in place."
Madam Pomfrey looked sternly at Harry and Draco, "I will stop by every afternoon at four o'clock to check on your progress. If there is an emergency and you need medical help there are two portkeys on the dresser which will bring you to the Hospital Wing, they are activated when you hold one and say, 'Medicus.' Keep them on you at all times." She peered at Harry over her spectacles as if knowing he wouldn't bother with the portkey. "Now, it is very late, I suggest you two turn in for the night. You've had a trying day."
McGonagall looked over at them critically. "Considering your history, I'm a little hesitant to leave you two on your own so far from the castle, but, Madam Pomfrey has assured me that they bond will prevent you from doing any true harm to each other and it is in your best interests to get to know one another and I'm sure that it will be easier here than in the castle."
With a last warning look the two women swept out of the room and a moment later there was the sound of a door closing. Harry sank back against the pillow in relief that they were finally gone. Draco was still sitting near the edge of the bed, and Harry didn't know what to say to him. Instead, he looked around the room more carefully. Their two trunks stood open and empty near the chest of drawers. Harry hoped that house elves had put away their things and not McGonagall.
The room was bigger than their dorm room but not overly spacious. Most importantly, Harry noticed, there was only one bed. It was big, twice the size of their dorm beds. He supposed it would be better than sleeping in different beds with their arms outstretched, but how was Draco going to feel about sleeping in the same bed?
Harry remembered how comfortable it had been falling asleep next to each other the night before, and how it had felt waking up next to Draco. It had felt right.
And now he knew that Draco was gay. The tightening feeling in his gut told him all he knew about how he felt about that. He was ashamed at his reaction in the Great Hall, but finding out in front of everyone when he had been battling his guilt about his— his what? It was futile to pretend it was anything but what it was: attraction. Harry knew he hadn't been watching Draco since the school year started because he thought he was up to something. He'd paid attention to him because the tosser was delicious to look at—
A hand poking him interrupted his thoughts and he turned his head to see Draco staring at him. "What's wrong? You've been staring at your trunk for the last five minutes."
"What? Oh, nothing. What time is it? We should go to sleep."
"We've done nothing but sleep for the last week." Draco said as he stood up and started walking towards the chest of drawers. Harry's bond immediately reacted to the separation and Draco gave an oath as he stopped to glare at Harry. "Are you coming? I'm not sleeping in my clothes another night."
With a resigned sigh, Harry climbed off the bed. "We need to just tie a rope around our wrists to remember not to separate."
"I didn't know you were that kinky, Potter." Draco looked over with a smirk as they walked to the other side of the room together. "What used to go on in the Gryffindor dormitory?"
Harry glared at him to cover his embarrassment. "Don't be a tosser, you know I meant."
"We already have a rope, a magical one." Draco pulled open a drawer and pulled out his pajamas. "I put your things in the bottom two drawers, because you're shorter."
"Thanks," Harry grumbled as he bent down to pull out a pair of cotton pajama bottoms and t-shirt. "I'm not that much shorter."
"Keep telling yourself that," Draco's voice was muffled as he pulled his shirt over his head. He'd again turned his back to Harry who watched the muscles in Draco's back move as he stretched. Draco's body was slender, his shoulders just wide enough to not be considered narrow. It was easy to see that although he wasn't playing Quidditch, he was still in shape. As Draco's shirt hid his nakedness he turned towards Harry, and Harry recalled what he had said earlier.
"So, you woke up first? When?"
"Just as they were moving us out of the castle. Don't know why I woke up first this time, but it was damned awkward. They were using Levicorpus. Didn't want to apparate us in case the bond reacted. It was after curfew, though, so no one was around to see us, other than Peeves. He got quite a laugh out it."
Harry grimaced, he hated to think what it must have looked like. "Do you know what happened? I just remember fighting in our room."
"You went down, I tried to catch you but must have blacked out also." Draco said it with a shrug as he picked up his clothes and tossed them carelessly into a corner.
As Harry changed he was very much aware that Draco was watching. It was only fair, he supposed, since he'd watched him. His body wasn't much to look at but at least he'd lost the half-starved look from last year. Ron's mum had taken care of that over the summer when she had redirected her grief from losing Fred into the need to feed and smother Harry and Ron.
"What's that?"
"What?" Harry looked around in confusion, he didn't see anything in the room that would cause Malfoy alarm.
"On your chest."
"Oh." He looked down at his chest where the jagged scar tissue made a long hairless patch through his chest hair. "Curse scar."
"You mean..."
"Yea, direct hit." He shrugged, "I know it's ugly but at least he didn't aim for my head again. It would be worse having two scars for people to stare at." He pulled on the shirt, hiding the scar but Draco was still staring at his chest. "Look, I'm sorry, but we all can't have perfect bodies like you," he said with a wave of his hand toward Draco.
"As far as scars go, mine are uglier." Draco held up his left arm, the Dark Mark clearly visible, the bondline crossing through it. Harry wondered if he meant the Dark Mark alone, or if he was including the bondline when he said scars, from the glimpses he'd seen of Malfoy as he dressed he hadn't seen any other marks. The bondlines were ugly, he'd have thought something that was supposed to be so magical wouldn't look and feel like a ropeburn.
"At least it didn't go on your forehead." Harry shook his head, he was so tired it was hard to think. "C'mon, I need to get some sleep."
"About that...there's only one bed."
Harry nodded. "Yeah, I noticed." He walked towards the bed and Draco followed. Harry sat on the edge of what he thought of as 'his' side.
"McGonagall offered to transfigure it into two beds, I told her that this was okay," Draco said as he walked to the other side.
"It is okay." he repeated, as he hit his pillow to try and make it more comfortable.
"You aren't mad? About not having separate beds?"
"No, I'm annoyed because you are talking and I just want to go to sleep. Lie down and go to sleep. The bed is plenty big for both of us." Harry hoped this was true and lay down facing away from Draco.
OOOooOoOoOoOOoOoOOoOOoOOoOOOoOOoOOOOOOOOoooOOOoOOO ooo
The bed wasn't big enough, Draco thought, he could feel how close Potter was before he even opened his eyes. Despite sleeping with the entire width of the bed between them, Draco could feel the length of Potter's body pressed against his. The bond, he thought, making them connect even in their sleep.
Resisting the instinct to move back to his side of the bed, he lay as still as possible to not wake Potter. Everything had happened so quickly he still could not get around the idea that he'd gone from simply trying to make it through the school year to being bonded to Harry Potter. A firebond, of all things, uniting them.
The night in the potions classroom when he'd gripped Potter's hand and the surge exploded the cauldron seemed like it happened a lifetime ago. The spark connected their magic for the first time. It was strange to think that his magic was no longer his own. For eighteen years it had been the center of who he was, and now it wasn't just his anymore.
Using the technique that his father had taught him long before he'd departed on the Hogwarts Express, he allowed himself to fully focus on his magic. So familiar to him, it had always been comforting to know, that even in the darkest days of the last few years, that his magic, his essence, was ever present and familiar. Accustomed as he was to its distinct pulse, he had a moment of panic when he didn't feel it. It was only after he took a deep breath and mentally reached out for it again that he realized that it was present but it truly was no longer his magic.
The unique stream of Potter's magic that he had felt the night of the bonding, was blending into his own. There were no longer two distinct streams but something new and foreign. Their magic was weaving together, uniting him to Potter.
Potter. Everything always came back to Potter.
Listening to Potter's steady breathing and reassured that he was still asleep, Draco opened his eyes.
He was just inches away; his black hair had a bluish tint from the moonlight shining through the windows. A lock of it had fallen forward, completely covering his eyes. Draco held his breath as he took in Potter's sleeping expression. When awake his face was always tense, constantly on guard, Draco thought he lived by Mad-Eye Moody's mantra, 'constant vigilance.' In sleep, though, his face was relaxed, vulnerable.
Draco thought he already knew every feature of Potter's face: he'd been observing him for years. Being this close allowed him to see the way his eyelashes curled against his cheek as he slept, the faintest hint of freckles on the bridge of his nose, the shape of his lips. Stubble covered his jawline, the sight of which made Draco wish he could know what it was feel like to rub his fingers along his cheek and feel the whiskers.
Of course, he'd also thought he knew everything there was to know about 'The Boy Who Lived' but since the bonding it had become clear that there was much to learn. The little comments he'd made about having to clean and cook for his relatives, not to mention him shouting about the Dark Lord possessing him. The scars on his chest.
His mother had warned him, when they'd talked in the Hospital Wing, to not assume anything about Potter. That he needed to trust Potter and open up about his own past. "You both have been through so much. You have many secrets, dark secrets, Draco. You need to share these secrets with each other. It is the only way, now that you are bondmates."
Potter had been livid when he discovered that Draco had kept being gay a secret from him. Trust, his mother had said, "You have to trust him, Draco. And he will learn to trust you."
It had been impossible, though, for him to say the words. Homosexuality was tolerated, generally, in the wizarding world, but his father had made it clear that nothing would be allowed to interfere with Draco's obligation to his family, and though his father had been dead for several months, his shadow still lingered.
Draco looked again at Potter. Was he a virgin? If he had had a lover he must be more discreet than Draco ever had given him credit for, there hadn't been a whisper of rumor in the papers, even after the break-up with the Weasley girl. Maybe he'd taken up with one of the Gryffindors.
Thomas. Draco mused, Blaise had caught Thomas and a Hufflepuff behind the broom shed during sixth year. Draco felt a flash of jealousy at the thought of Potter and the well-muscled Thomas together, and almost immediately the bond started hurting.
Terrific, if it was going to hurt every time he thought about Potter with someone else, his rest of his life was truly going to be hell. He slid his arm closer to Potter, to appease the bond. Potter shifted suddenly as he felt Draco's wrist touching him and Draco froze as Potter pushed his leg against his. Potter fussed for a moment more before settling back to sleep.
Draco held his breath as he waited to be sure that Potter wasn't awake. His movements had stretched his shirt across his chest, revealing Potter's abdomen, and the enticing trail of dark hair that led from his navel to disappear below the waistband of his pajama bottoms. Potter hadn't seemed to mind when Draco had watched him change earlier, although he'd seem self-conscious at the time, two bright splashes of color staining his cheeks as he'd taken off his shirt. Draco hadn't meant to look but found he couldn't look away; and then he'd seen the scar, centered directly over Potter's heart.
His mother had him told him that the curse hadn't missed him, as many had theorized afterwards. Draco still couldn't comprehend how Potter, the git who'd been the bane of his existence, had survived two Avada Kevadra curses. Was he immortal? If he was, then what did that mean for Draco, as his bondmate? He laughed to himself how ironic it would be if he was. He'd spent the war scrabbling to stay alive, only to find out that he was immortal, thanks to Potter.
The jagged scar on Potter's chest was still healing, unlike the one on his forehead. Realizing that he would never have a better chance to see the famous scar this close again, he impulsively reached forward to brush back the hair that was covering Potter's forehead.
Potter's eyes flew open. Draco tried to snatch his hand back but Potter grabbed it, his fingers wrapping tight around Draco's. They were locked together by their hands, so close that Draco could see the muscles in Potter's jaw tense as he studied Draco.
Draco couldn't look away from the intense green of Potter's eyes as his expression changed from sleepy confusion to embarrassed awareness. He wanted to tug his hand away but did not want to break the connection. From outside there came the cry of an owl seeking its mate that broke the silence and Potter blinked as if suddenly realizing he was awake. He looked down at his hand that was still tightly gripping Draco's and released it.
"Sorry," Potter said, his voice husky from sleep, "I—you startled me."
Draco opened his mouth to explain but no words came out. It was such an intimate thing, being so close to each other, yet Potter didn't pull back. Draco wasn't about to move if Potter didn't, and the silence grew until Draco felt forced to break it, to say something, anything. "I couldn't sleep," he said truthfully. "I was feeling the bond, it feels different now."
Potter nodded, "I noticed the connection before I fell asleep. It is harder to figure out where your magic begins and mine ends. Before, it was like hot and cold streams next to each other."
"I didn't expect to feel it like this." Draco felt safe admitting this.
"I didn't expect anything, I know nothing about bonds, other than what Pomfrey and Hermione told me." Potter shifted a little as he lifted his arm as if making sure that the bondlines were still there. Draco had noticed Potter doing this before, as if he expected that they would just disappear if he willed it enough. He didn't need any other sign that Potter couldn't stand the bond.
Potter rolled on his back and stared up at the ceiling. When he spoke again it sounded as though he was having to force the words out. "I shouldn't have said what I said yesterday, when we were out walking, about Voldemort. I know that this isn't the same."
"They're the same in that you didn't have a choice in it happening either time."
"No, with Voldemort, it happened because of what he did the night he killed my parents, but this...it was our magic that chose to become united. You didn't do it to me, I didn't do it to you, the magic made it happen—"
"You wouldn't tell me before about what you meant when you said about him being in your head. Did you mean Occlumency?"
"No, not Occlumency," Potter's voice was tight with strain, "No one knows about this but Kingsley and McGonagall, and Ron and Hermione. Since we are like this now, you should know about it, I guess." Draco heard him take a deep breath and then say in a rush, "Do you know what a Horcrux is?"
A shiver went through Draco's body. Horcruxes. The word immediately took him back to afternoon lessons in his father's library, sitting upright in a straight backed chair as he translated the Latin texts his father put before him. His father lectured on magic that they had never and would never teach at Hogwarts.
Potter turned his head to look at him, Draco nodded, still not understanding why Potter would mention Horcruxes. "Father mentioned it once, but only as example of how even wizards interested in the Dark Arts know that there are boundaries that should never be crossed."
"Your father was right," he gave a bitter laugh., "Those boundaries didn't exist for Voldemort. He tore his soul into pieces to create the Horcruxes and then hid them to preserve himself for eternity."
Draco jerked upright, "How could he— how do you even know he made one?"
"Not one, seven." Potter sat with his arms wrapped around his knees as if to shield himself. Draco sat two feet from him trying to comprehend what it would do to a person's soul to be torn apart seven times.
Draco struggled to remember what exactly his father had shared with him about Horcruxes. "Aren't they made by killing someone and —"
"Yes. He was a killer, but he used those slayings, at first, to create the Horcruxes. That is what we spent last year looking for: before he died Dumbledore figured it out and found two of them. Ron, Hermione and me had to hunt down the rest. The last one was —"
"That old diadem that you were looking for in the Room of Hidden Things." Draco was thinking back to how he'd been so confused that Potter had been in there looking for something while a battle raged outside the castle, but Potter shook his head.
"That was the fifth one, there were still two left after that."
"That last day? What else?"
"Nagini, the snake." Potter said. "During the battle I told Neville to kill it if he got the chance. If he hadn't then Voldemort wouldn't have died."
"A living thing can be a Horcrux? How? Surely only objects can be Horcruxes."
Potter pulled up his legs and wrapped his arms around them. Draco was aware of the bondline starting to burn, a faint tingling feeling that wrapped around his arm. He had the same feeling of dread that he used to have trying to slip through the corridors of the Manor when Voldemort was in residence.
When Potter spoke again, his voice had a hard edge as if he was having to force the words out, "Voldemort created two Horcruxes within living things. The snake and me."
Draco heard the words but couldn't comprehend them. "How could you be a Horcrux? What does that even mean?"
"I became the Horcrux the night he killed my parents, and it became part of me. I could see what he was doing, I could feel his anger or even worse his fits of excitement that told me something bad was about to happen. That is why I had to die, why I walked into the woods and let him cast the killing curse. When I died, he killed his Horcrux...it's complicated."
Draco looked over at Potter, his face was illuminated by the moonlight that was flooding the window. He wanted to get up, needing to move, to think, but couldn't because of the bond. Without thinking he reached out with his left arm for Potter's right, pressing the bondmarks together. They sat there silently, feeling the bond flowing through them; Draco still trying to comprehend how Potter could have been a Horcrux...
"Let's go," Draco said at last, getting off the bed and nodding with his head towards the door. "Tea."
Potter stared at him for a moment and then laughed. "Tea. The cure for everything including shared souls with maniacal mad men."
"Exactly. Sometimes I think it is the only thing that kept me sane over the last couple years." Draco watched as Potter climbed off the bed, his pajama bottoms had slipped down so that Draco caught a glimpse of Potter's hip bones and the faint trail of dark hair leading downwards before he hitched them up again. It took him a moment to remember what he'd been saying, "Mother would find a way for us to slip away to the conservatory and we would have a few moments to ourselves. It was our only reprieve from the horror."
"I remember your testimony, wondering how you stood it. Horror doesn't seem like an adequate word."
Draco didn't want to think about the trial or the crimes he had to confess to. "Tea," he said as he turned and walked out of the room, knowing that Potter wouldn't have a choice but to follow.
The main room was twice as large as the bedroom and had a fireplace with bookshelves on either side. Antlers from an animal Draco couldn't identify were mounted over the mantlepiece. A comfortable looking sofa faced the fireplace and two armchairs were placed next to a broad window that faced the Quidditch pitch. Draco supposed that the former gameskeeper liked to look out of the window and watch the teams playing.
On the far side of the room was a small kitchen area, pots and pans were hanging from one wall on hooks and the facing wall held rows of cabinets. A small range sat in the corner.
Potter picked up the kettle and filled it with water at the sink. "Look around for the tea?" he asked as he set the kettle back on the range.
Draco nodded and started opening cupboard doors until he found one that contained a variety of tea packages. "What kind?"
Potter looked over his shoulder at the selection. "Anything but the lapsang."
"Have something against drinking tea that tastes like you are licking a piece of burnt wood?"
"My aunt would serve it when we had company, I had some when she wasn't looking and have been grateful ever since that I didn't merit the 'good' tea. P.G. Tips is good enough for me."
"What kind is that?" Draco asked as he pulled out the package of earl grey.
Harry gave a laugh. "Muggle tea."
Draco found the cold storage cupboard that was filled with milk, eggs, butter and other supplies. He took out a pint of milk and then poked around. "Looks like they gave us enough supplies to last a month."
"Do you think we will be here that long?"
"Maybe. I don't know, it depends on the bond and us, I guess." He wouldn't mind it, he thought with a bit of a start. It was actually a relief to know that it was just Potter and him. That he didn't have to worry about the students in the next room or walking through the corridors with everyone staring at him.
A tea tray sat in the corner of the counter and Potter picked up the hedgehog-shaped teapot with a doubtful look on his face. The mugs on the tray were decorated with other woodland creatures, their ceramic tails curling around to form the handles. The teapot's whiskers twitched as Potter filled the teapot with hot water and swirled it a couple of times before dumping it out and refilling it, adding the tea. "Why not just use a warming spell?"
Potter shrugged. "Always done it this way, I suppose."
They brought the teapot and mugs to the sofa and Potter poured the tea and pushed the sugar bowl over to him. Draco took a spoonful in and stirred it before adding the milk. Potter fixed his tea with his usual two teaspoons and settled against the end of sofa his legs stretched out on the cushions, heedless of Draco who was sitting on the other end.
Draco shifted to give him more room and ended up leaning against the other end, stretching his legs out so that they lay next to Potter's. There was a blanket thrown over the back of the sofa and Potter pulled it down, covering their legs with it. The act seemed so intimate that Draco almost objected but the room was cold and he had no desire to go back in the bedroom for his wand.
Taking a sip of the tea he realized it was too hot and lowered the mug, cradling it in both hands to warm them. He stared down at the rising vapor to avoid meeting Potter's eyes. The oddity of the situation made him want to laugh; two years ago (or even a month ago) he never would imagine that he would be up in the middle of the night, having tea in his pajamas with the Boy Who Lived to Make His Life Hell Potter.
Horcruxes.
Draco looked up to see Potter staring at the empty fireplace and looking as though he was miles away.
"When did you find out about the Horcruxes?"
Potter didn't turn his head but Draco could tell by the tightening of the muscles in his jaw that he'd heard. Sipping his tea, he waited.
When at last Potter spoke, he had to search for the words, it was obvious to Draco that he was uncomfortable with the telling. "Dumbledore told me during sixth year. He knew he was dying and wanted to be sure than Ron and Hermione and I knew enough to look for them ourselves."
"You found out that you were a Horcrux and—"
"No. Dumbledore liked his secrets," Potter's voice was tense. "He suspected I was a Horcrux but left it to Snape to tell me. I didn't find that out until the last battle."
The room suddenly felt ten degrees colder as he stared over in confusion at Potter who was still looking at the fireplace. Draco remembered the chaos and horror that he had felt that night and obviously it had been nothing to what Potter had gone through, there obviously were many missing parts to the official story that the Ministry had released to the newspapers.
"Why don't you start at the beginning?"
"Are you sure? It's complicated and to be honest, your family, well, your father has a role in it."
Draco shifted uncomfortably on the sofa at the mention of Lucius but nodded. "That Father was involved doesn't surprise me in the least. Start talking, we have nowhere to go, no schedule to keep."
Potter took a deep breath and then started. "The Horcruxes were why Dumbledore wanted Slughorn at Hogwarts during sixth year. He had been head of Slytherin, of course, when Riddle was there and Dumbledore suspected - knew - that Slughorn knew more than he had revealed about Riddle's time at Hogwarts.
"Dumbledore had shown me his own Pensieve memories of finding Riddle at the orphanage, and even earlier memories of what his mother's family, the Gaunts, were like." Potter gave a grimace but didn't say anything more about those memories. Draco knew enough about the Gaunts to know that they they'd been lowly regarded among the Pureblood families.
"I didn't learn anything from Slughorn, though until the end of April. Dumbledore had scolded me for not trying harder. And truthfully, I really hadn't tried, there was so much else going on that year. I know now that Dumbledore was afraid that he would die before the secret of the Horcruxes was discovered."
Draco couldn't help but wince at his words, because he knew what had distracted Potter that year: he had, with his mission to kill Dumbledore. The madness that had consumed him, knowing that if he failed that his parents would be killed. He felt a nudge on his leg and was reminded that Potter was next to him. 'You didn't get the information for Slughorn because you were too busy watching me."
"True, Slughorn seemed like such a buffoon, I couldn't believe he could be of any use, but you." Potter gave a laugh, "You were clearly up to something and I just wanted to prove it and get you expelled."
"You were right; I spent the whole year trying to kill—"
"But you didn't," Potter cut him off before he could finish the sentence. "We went through all this during the trial, let's not do it again. Dumbledore knew what you were trying to do, he knew that Voldemort had threatened your parents—"
"If the positions had been reversed, would you have tried to kill Dumbledore?" Draco set his mug down on the table and looked at Potter. "I don't think so."
"If there is one thing I've learned it's not to second guess another person's motive, I always get it wrong. We both know I wasn't always honorable."
"So what happened next?" Draco said, not wanting to lose the track of the conversation.
"After Dumbledore took me to task for not pressing Slughorn for the information about Riddle and the Horcruxes I resorted to using the Felicis that Slughorn had awarded me in class at the beginning of the year, and it worked. Slughorn confessed that he had told Riddle about how to make Horcruxes, which led him on the path to becoming Voldemort."
"Curses of Salazar," Draco whispered, unable to believe all that happened while he was obsessed with fixing the cupboard hidden away on the seventh floor.
"I showed the new memories to Dumbledore and that is when he told me about the significance of the diary that your father gave to Ginny during our second year. It was a Horcrux and Voldemort almost was able to use it to return..."
Potter went on to tell the full story of the basilisk, revealing the secrets of the Chamber of Secrets and his father's role in the matter. When the events had been unfolding during their second year, Draco recalled being outraged that Potter had been able to get away scot free. It was clear just how fine line Potter had had to dance in front of the Wizengamot to not reveal the horror of the Horcruxes but still giving a truthful testimony about what had happened that year and his father's involvement.
Draco had known about the diary and his father's role in its return to the school, that had been revealed during those dark days in the Manor before sixth year; but he'd never understood why the Dark Lord had been so furious with his father. Now one of the reasons for his father's downfall was becoming clearer.
"Dumbledore had already destroyed the ring, that was when he was cursed. And I'd destroyed the diary. Dumbledore believed that there were four more Horcruxes. It was only later that I learned he knew I was a seventh Horcrux, but he didn't want to tell me."
"Afraid you would bugger off and join Voldemort?"
Potter flinched and turned his head to look at Draco. "Why did you say that?"
Draco didn't know why, the thought of Harry Potter and the Dark Lord as partners was so ridiculous that it shouldn't even have occurred to him. "Because the thought is beyond consideration — anyone who knows you—"
"No, I think you are right. I think that is why he didn't tell me. He made up an excuse saying that he didn't want to burden me with the truth, but the reality is Riddle and I had more in common than not. Orphans. Parselmouths. Same wand core."
"He was Slytherin and you're Gryf—"
"No, I would have gone into Slytherin when we were sorted but I talked the Sorting Hat into putting me somewhere else."
For the first time since they'd sat down on the sofa Draco felt like laughing, the idea of Potter in Slytherin was preposterous. He nudged Potter with his leg. "You were not supposed to be in Slytherin."
"I was, or at least the hat wanted to sort me into Slytherin."
"Why did you ask it not to then?"
A flush came up Potter's cheeks and he sat up and reached for the teapot and refilled his mug. Draco knew that the tea must be cold, as neither of them had bothered to cast a warming spell. Potter sat, hunched over, his elbows on his knees.
Draco pressed the question, even though he was sure he knew the answer, "Why didn't you want to be in Slytherin?"
"Because of you." Potter gave him a quick glance to see how he reacted to the statement. "You'd already insulted the first two people that had been nice to me and you reminded me of my cousin Dudley. So I told the hat to put me anywhere but Slytherin."
Draco tried to imagine how things would have been different if Potter had been in Slytherin, he shook his head. "You never would have lasted, we would have eaten you for breakfast."
"Somehow, I don't think so, and if I had been in Slytherin we would have had figured out this bond thing sooner." Potter looked down at the mark on his arm. "George said he and Fred bonded when they were fourteen."
"Maybe. Would it have made a difference?"
"If we were friends before we bonded? Sure. At least we wouldn't have nearly caused each other's deaths after the bonding. And if we had bonded earlier, maybe all the other things wouldn't have happened. Maybe Fred and Cedric and all the others would still be alive."
"Doesn't matter one way or another. We can't change the past, but one thing I'm certain is that you would not have become friends or partners with Voldemort. I doubt Dumbledore thought that either."
"Maybe," Potter sounded doubtful. "The night he died we'd been out searching for the next Horcrux."
Draco's stomach gave a twist at the mention of that night up on the Astronomy tower. He'd learned during his trial that Potter had been witness to it, he'd never hated him more. Ironically, it was only because Potter had been there that night, that he was not in Azkaban.
"You gave a vague explanation at the trial, about where you'd been. Just said he was already dying by the time you got back to the castle."
"True, but he was dying because of the trap Voldemort had set." Potter described how he and Dumbledore had found the Horcrux in the cave. Draco couldn't imagine the horror of the place and the Infieri. He felt the bond starting to send warning signs and he didn't know if it was reacting to Potter or Draco, or both. He again reached for Potter's forearm. Potter returned the touch. Draco didn't know what was stranger, that he was sitting next to Potter holding his arm, or the fact that he'd done so without even getting it a second thought.
After a long silence he seemed to give himself a shake and looked over at Draco. "It was only after he died that we learned that the locket was false. Someone had already taken the real Horcrux."
"What?"
"They'd left a note. Dumbledore drank the poison for nothing, and if he hadn't done that..."
With Potter's words, Draco realized that the piece of the puzzle had finally fallen into place. In all the times he had replayed his race up the steps and confronting Dumbledore, he'd never had been able to understand how he could have disarmed Dumbledore so easily.
He finished the sentence that Potter had left hanging in the air. "He would have had his full strength, I wouldn't have been able to disarm him. He could have fended off the Death Eaters."
"What happened, had to happen. If you hadn't disarmed him then you wouldn't have become master of the Elder Wand, and I wouldn't have been able to duel Voldemort."
Draco shook his head., "I suppose we could argue until the Nargles leave the fairylands but, you are right, we can't change the past. How did you find the real locket?"
Potter gave a smile and shrugged. "We disguised ourselves and walked into the Ministry of Magic and got it back."
"You did not."
"We did. Right at the beginning of September. Umbridge had the locket and we got it."
As Potter described how he and the others had done the impossible Draco couldn't help but remember what he'd been doing at that same time. Snape was officially the headmaster, but the Carrow brothers had taken control of the school. They had immediately assigned him to be the captain of their patrol squads. Draco had had no choice but to accept the 'honor'.
Snape had pulled him aside and warned him to tread very carefully, mask his feelings as best he could. 'Sometimes to bring about change you must risk it all. An advocate for the devil can succeed where others fail.'
The rest of the school year became a blur as he gave the appearance of obeying the Carrows, all the while doing his best to misdirect the patrols to protect the rebel students from being caught and subjected to the Carrows' punishments that bordered on torture.
A few times he had considered reaching out to Longbottom and the others, but had been afraid that the gesture would have been rebuffed. The memories of the events from the past year still haunted his nightmares.
Draco shook his head at the narrow escape that they had had from the Ministry and how their safe house had been compromised by Yaxley.
"Why was none of this brought up in the trials?"
"Do you think the Ministry really wants it known that three seventeen year-olds snuck in and penetrated one of the most secure areas of the Ministry?"
Draco gave a laugh at the thought of the three of them just blindly entering the Ministry and, through sheer luck and madness, making it out again without being captured. "That was a completely Gryffindor move, charging straight into enemy territory with no planning, no escape route."
Potter protested, "We had an escape plan, it was run like heck for the doors."
Snorting at the idea that 'running' could be considered a plan, Draco prodded him to continue. "So, you had the locket."
"Yes, but we had no way of destroying it and there were still the others." Potter talked on, his voice hesitant as he described Ron Weasley's abrupt departure, and the Christmas trip to Godric's Hollow.
"I was there when the Dark— when he realized you had slipped through his fingers. He went insane with anger. I was afr—"
Potter turned to look at him. "Afraid of what?"
"I was afraid he would kill Lovegood. She had just arrived at the Manor and he wanted blood," Draco whispered. He'd already witnessed a teacher being murdered, he didn't think he could have borne the murder of a fellow student.
The fears of that night had been tempered by the relief he'd felt at Potter's near escape. Potter's near capture forced him to fully accept the fact that he was desperately counting on Potter somehow coming through and finding a way to destroy the Dark Lord. It had seemed an impossible task, at the same time he was living in the same house as the madman and was powerless.
"But he didn't."
"No. He tortured and killed the Death Eater who had been stationed outside the house. His job had been to bring back the snake."
Potter pointed to two small scars on his arm, just above the bondline. "I hated that snake."
"It got you?" Draco ran his fingers over the scar.
"Hermione patched it up with Dittany." Harry yawned. "Let's call it a night. It is going to be morning soon. We can talk more later. I'm wiped out." He shifted so he was stretched out along the sofa again, rubbing a hand over his eyes.
Draco looked around the room in surprise as he saw the streaks of pink and orange coming through the window, it was already dawn. Draco stood up. "Come on, Potter. The bed is in the other room."
Potter shook his head and instead he reached and grabbed Draco's hand and tugged, Draco pulled back, resisting him. "I'm too tired to move, sleep here."
Draco protested, but Potter tugged on his hand again and Draco allowed himself to be pulled onto the sofa, what difference did it make? Potter gave a satisfactory grunt and turned on his side, leaving Draco to settle between him and the sofa back. Potter was asleep before Draco could spread the blanket over them. Refusing to ponder if either of them would have regrets when they woke up, he wrapped his arm around Potter's waist because there was no other place to put it and closed his eyes.
When he woke he immediately was aware of two things: sleeping on the sofa had been a terrible idea and the cock which his right hand was in the process of stroking was not his own.
Fully awake in an instant, he tried to pull his hand away but Potter whined and grasped his hand tightly, stopping him. "Please, I just... don't stop..." The need in Potter's voice was clear as he started pushing back against Draco, his arse against Draco's cock which was already hard and aching.
Refusing to ponder the wisdom of what they were doing, Draco cursed the narrowness of the sofa as he wrapped his legs around Potter, pulling him as close as he could, his hand joined with Potter's as they stroked him together. Potter flung his head back against Draco's shoulder, his eyes shut tight, as his body thrust back and forth against Draco, until at last he cried out, covering both their hands as he moaned his release.
Dizzy with his own need, Draco reached forward with both hands and grabbed Potter's hips to hold him still and ground against him, wishing he could Vanish their pajamas in order to feel Potter's flesh against his own but he was not willing to stop or part long enough to even pull down the material.
Draco squeezed his eyes shut, he could feel the rasp of Potter's whiskers against his own, Potter's breath was ragged as he moved his pelvis against Draco's. He reached back with his arm to grip Draco's hips as if to force him closer. It was Potter's whispered, "Come on, Draco" in his ear that pushed him over the edge, he had to bite his cheek to keep from shouting as he came.
Potter kept his body snug against Draco as he thrust through the last of his orgasm. Only after he stopped did Potter shift, just enough to get some space between them. Draco willed his breath to return to normal, his heart to stop racing. He knew he should move, but he didn't have the energy to open his eyes, let alone get up.
He felt Potter's hand drift up to run along his arm. If it had been anyone else Draco would have thought the gesture would be one of affection; knowing it was Potter meant that it most likely was the bond guiding the caress. He was surprised that Potter was even still lying next to him, that he hadn't sprung off the sofa in horror at what they'd done. Resting his head against the cushion Draco tried to compose himself enough to know what to say. 'Sorry for wanking you in my sleep' apologies were not ones his mother had ever covered during her etiquette lessons.
The condition of his pajamas made Draco painfully aware that they were both in need of cleaning up, and their wands were in the other room. There was nothing to be done but to face the consequences as best he could.
"It seems I can add wanking Harry Potter to the list of things that I did not anticipate happening this year." His head swam slightly as he sat up and put his feet on the ground. "Give me your shirt."
"What? Oh." For once Draco was glad for Potter's natural inarticulateness as he pulled off his shirt and handed it over without saying another word. Draco cleaned himself as best he could and then tossed the shirt on the floor.
"I need to change." He stood up and looked down at Potter waiting for him to join him. Potter bit his lip as if he wanted to say something but in the end he just nodded, and they crossed over to their bedroom.
Draco pulled open his drawer, randomly grabbed some clothes and went directly into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. He sagged against it in relief. Bloody Harry Potter. The subject of his schoolboy fantasies and now...
Draco went to the sink and turned the taps on full blast. Splashing water on his face, he relived the moment that he realized that it was Potter's he'd been stroking. Salazar. He straightened and looked at his reflection in the mirror. How was he ever going to look Potter in the eye again? He'd been wanking the git, in his sleep. Fuck.
Wishing he had the option to stay in the bathroom the rest of the day he dressed as slowly as he could and then reluctantly opened the door. Potter was stretched out on the bed, dressed only in a pair of Muggle jeans, his arms crossed over his face. Draco swallowed hard at the sight of the top button of his jeans that had yet to be fastened, the muscles of his abdomen were stretched tight and Draco imagined what it would be like pull down the zipper and trace those muscles with his tongue.
Potter spoke, his face still covered, "I'm sorry. I woke up and I could feel you and Merlin it felt good, and I couldn't stop—"
Draco almost laughed with relief at Potter's confession, if he was willing to take the blame for what just happened, far be it from Draco to argue. "I get it, Potter. It isn't like you were molesting someone's who has never been touched."
"You've...? I mean, of course, you have..." Potter turned a bright shade of red and Draco thought to himself with some satisfaction.
"First time getting off with someone?"
"You could say that," Potter ran through his fingers through hair, the tangled mess looked no worse than usual for a night spent on the sofa.
"I did say that."
"This is going to be a very long day, isn't it?" Potter sat up and seemed to be gearing himself up as he stood and secured his jeans before pulling on a shirt.
"Most definitely," Draco said with a smirk. "The least you can do to make up for abusing me in my sleep is to make breakfast."
"Sure." Potter seemed to be eager to have something to do and he was halfway out the door before he skidded to a stop and gave Draco a look of astonishment.
"What?"
"Look at us. I mean, look at how far apart we are." Potter motioned with his arm, "And the bond hasn't started hurting."
Draco calculated the distance, they were at least eight feet apart, farthest than they'd been apart since the night they bonded. Thinking about it, the bond should have hurt when he'd retreated into the bathroom. Interesting.
"Well done, Potter, you hit upon the one sure way to appease the bond —"
"You mean?"
"It is the only thing that we've done that could have made a difference." He looked at Potter, it was easy to see what he was thinking. If wanking together let them stand this far apart, what would happen if they did more? Draco felt his cock stiffen at the thought of testing the theory.
"Should I see how far I can go?"
Draco nodded and Potter walked backwards a few more steps and when he was about twelve feet away the bond started burning.
"That's better at least. We'll be able to walk around the room without being right next to each other."
Draco shrugged. "It is an improvement. I'm starved and you still need to prove you can cook."
They walked into the kitchen area and Potter opened the cooling cupboard. "We aren't going to starve, I told you I can cook." Potter pulled out a plate of bacon and a bowl of eggs. "Bacon and eggs, okay?"
Draco looked doubtfully at the bowl of eggs. "What are you going to do to them?"
"Cook them," Potter said with a smile. "They taste better that way."
"You've eaten them raw?" The idea was disgusting, Draco couldn't imagine Potter even wanting to try raw eggs.
Potter's hand hesitated as he reached up for a frying pan that was hanging on a hook on the wall. "Not by choice. Last year, we spent a lot of time camping whilst we were hiding. Food was difficult to come by, cooking up proper meals was even harder. How do you like your eggs?"
Draco was still trying to comprehend Potter and his friends eating raw eggs to survive. "What?"
"Your eggs, how do you like them?"
How did he like his eggs? He'd never been asked how he wanted his eggs. The house elves at Malfoy Manor served breakfast following the menu set up by his mother. And his mother followed a regular ritual, scrambled eggs on Mondays, soft boiled on Tuesdays, etc.
"What day is it?"
"What day—" Potter looked at him curiously. "Sunday, I think, yeah, Sunday."
"If it is Sunday, then they should be poached."
Potter shook his head and laughed as he set the pan down. "I am not a house elf, scrambled or fried?"
Draco felt his nostrils flare in annoyance but waved his hand. "Just fix something before we faint from hunger." He looked over to where the table and chairs were, the distance was farther than the bond would allow he was sure. As a result he stood disconcertingly in the middle of the kitchen, uncertain what to do with himself.
"There was some bread in that cupboard. Can you slice it for the toast?" Potter asked as he set the kettle on the other burner for tea.
Finding the loaf of bread, Draco pulled a knife out of the wood block holder on the counter and started cutting into the loaf. To his dismay the loaf squished down as he was cutting and he ended up with a slice that was an inch thick on one end and paper thin on the other end.
Setting it aside he tried again, digging the knife harder into the loaf. The next slice looked worse than first one. His father would have punished any house elf that had dared to serve such slices of bread. He was about to try again when he heard a chuckle. He looked over to see Potter standing next to him with a bemused look on his face.
"What?" He asked, a little more aggressively than he meant to.
Potter reached over and pulled a large knife from the wood block. "Just like there are different stirring rods for potions, there are all kinds of knives for in the kitchen. You're trying to use a paring knife, this is a bread knife. Try it, it'll work better." Potter turned back to the cooktop and started draping slices of bacon along the bottom of a pan.
Draco resisted the urge to call Potter on his not subtle jab at Draco's tutoring lesson that had started this whole nightmare. He picked up the knife and jabbed it into the bread; to his surprise the resulting slice was almost respectable looking. He cut three more slices and then turned back to Potter.
"Now what?"
Why don't you try to figure out how to make the toaster work?" Potter said without stopping what he was doing.
"Perhaps you don't understand the concept of never cooked before. What's a toaster?"
"It turns bread into toast." Potter pointed at a device on the counter. "Problem is I've never used a magical one before, on a Muggle one there is a lever to press down to turn it on."
"There's no lever on this contraption," Draco said as he turned it one way then the other. There were three slots on the top. Not knowing what else to do he picked up three slices of the bread and placed them in the slots. Immediately the toaster began to hum and a red glow emerged from the openings. Draco looked up with a grin as Potter gave a laugh of delight.
"Well, that was easy." Potter turned back to the counter and started to crack eggs into a bowl. Looking over his shoulder back at Draco, he added, "Can you find me a fork or a whisk?"
Not about to show his ignorance and ask what a whisk was, Draco opened drawers until he found a fork and handed it to him. Potter took it without a word and started whipping the egg mixture.
"Why don't you use magic for cooking?" Draco asked as he watched, thinking that one must be able to use magic to do the tasks that Potter was doing.
"You can, if you know how, Ron's mum does, but I don't know the cooking spells. This is how my Muggle aunt taught me." Potter eyed the bacon that was sizzling in the pan and used the fork to turn the rashers.
Taking advantage of his distraction, Draco studied him from the back and decided his opinion Muggle clothing might have to be re-evaluated. There was no question that they highlighted Potter's assets. Draco's mind reluctantly turned to the bigger issue: he knew what it felt like to be pressed up against said assets, he even knew what Potter's cock felt like in his hand.
How was he going to spend every night in the bed next to him without wanting more? Potter clearly had been embarrassed by what had happened and wouldn't want a repeat. The bond was allowing them greater distance, but it still left the issue of the bed. How could he make his body stay on his side of the bed? He couldn't risk a repeat chance of embarrassing himself by throwing himself at Potter in his sleep.
He was forced out of his musings by a pop and the three pieces of toast flew out of the kitchen and landed on the counter. Potter turned to look over his shoulder and silently pointed to the shelf where plates and bowls were stacked. Despite his doubts about Harry's abilities, the room was filling with a tantalizing smell of bacon. How had Potter learned how to cook?
"You helped your aunt in the kitchen?"
"I had to, by the time I was nine or ten, I was cooking breakfast for everyone and had to help with supper." Potter pointed towards the cupboard where he'd found the eggs and bacon. "Butter is in the fridge, I mean, in there,"
Draco pulled out the butter. It was so cold that it would be impossible to spread onto the toast. Pulling out his wand, he smiled to himself, he would show Potter how handy magic could be in the kitchen. He pointed at the ceramic jar and cast a warming charm. There was a popping sound as foam bubbled over the top of the jar. Draco looked down in confusion.
"What did you do?" Potter asked, looking around. Draco tried to push the jar out of his sight but Potter leaned over to look into the jar and then Potter's lips started twitching.
"Don't you dare laugh, Potter."
With that, he did start laughing, "Might want to temper that warming charm of yours."
"How was I supposed to know that it would melt the stuff? There must be something wrong with it."
"Butter has a low melting point." Potter opened the cold cupboard. "Looks like that is all the butter, we'll have to put it on the list for tonight."
Draco was annoyed by Potter's smugness; he knew that it didn't take a lot to melt butter. He hadn't used that strong of warming spell on it. "Won't it just go back like it's supposed to?"
"It separates once it's been melted. Isn't as good for cooking, but it will make it easy for you to butter the toast." He turned back to the range and left Draco staring at the little jar of bubbling butter.
"If they can send over food supplies I don't see why they can't just send our meals."
Potter didn't respond and Draco continued to grumble as he spooned butter onto the toast. It dribbled off the toast and left a cooling mess on the worktop.
Potter pulled the bacon out of the pan and reached over and took the butter from Draco, and added a little into the pan and then deftly poured the egg mixture into the pan. Five minutes later Potter plated up the eggs and bacon and they sat down at the table together. Potter pushed the food around on his plate, not looking at Draco.
"You should eat," Draco found himself saying. He didn't know if Potter was still embarrassed by what had happened on the sofa or because of all they had talked about the night before. Potter had revealed —trusted— him enough to tell him the darkest secret of his life.
Trust, his mother had said.
He needed to show Potter that he trusted him as much as Potter did him, but where to start? Forcing himself to eat a few bites of scrambled egg he realized that there was really only one place he could start the conversation.
"I wanted to apologize to you."
Potter looked up at him in surprise. "For what?"
"For not telling you earlier that I was gay. I should have, when you told me you were, up in the Hospital Wing."
"Why didn't you?"
Draco stared down at his plate, but knew he had to answer. "I'm used to keeping secrets. Just opening my mouth and saying something like that, I wasn't ready."
"I know how that goes, but I guess we are both going to have to learn to share our secrets. How long have you known that you were gay?" asked Potter as he pushed back his plate and stretched his legs out under the table. Harry's leg rubbed against his own and Draco couldn't help but wonder if it was deliberate.
"Something happened fifth year that made me realize that I was gay without a doubt, but it didn't exactly come as a surprise, I'd always had a feeling that my interests lay elsewhere."
"What happened that made you certain?"
Draco pushed the eggs around on his plate, he shouldn't have indicated that it was a singular event. "I was shoved up against someone on the Hogwarts Express, on the way home, and let's just say it was an eye-opening experience."
Potter grinned for a second and then Draco could see him starting to think about it, "Fifth year?" he asked, his expression cautious, Draco nodded.
"That was when..."
"You and your Gryffindor hoodlums turned Goyle and...Crabbe and me into five foot slugs."
"You attacked us first," Potter objected, "If you hadn't—"
"Yes, yes, but that is what we did, we fought, hexed and cursed at each other for the past seven years," Draco argued.
"How the hell did we end up bonded together?" Potter muttered more to himself than Draco as he pushed back his plate.
"You would have to ask the bond, and it isn't talking."
"So what happened? Did you and..." Potter's voice trailed off and Draco knew he wanted to know which of their classmates had been the subject of his revelation and he wasn't about to reveal that secret.
"I—" he shrugged and went with the truth, "Nothing happened. My mother met me at the station, and returned me to a non-sluglike appearance."
"Do you prefer ferrets or slugs?" Potter asked with a smile as he picked up their abandoned plates and walked back into the kitchen.
"Neither, thank you very much," Draco replied as he stood up to follow Potter into the kitchen.
Potter filled the sink full of hot water and handed him a towel. Draco stared at blankly, not knowing its purpose until Potter handed him a wet plate. Grateful that his father wasn't around to see him, he wiped the plate dry and put it away.
"So what happened?" Potter asked as he turned back to the sink. "You said that you didn't get together with him. And you were only fifteen, right?"
Draco shook his head. "I was sixteen, my birthday falls at the end of term."
"Still, what does a sixteen year old do?"
"That summer, things were...complicated at the Manor. My father was—."
"In Azkaban," said Potter. Draco nodded, he hadn't forgotten Potter's role in his father's incarceration, deserved though it may have been.
"Yes. The Manor had become the gathering place for his associates, those that were not in Azkaban that is." Draco took a deep breath, not wanting to recall the details of that summer but knowing he must. "I escaped his notice when I first returned from school, thanks to my mother. She made sure that I stayed well out of sight of him."
"From what I remember of you talking in school I would have thought you would have been eager to take part," Potter spoke carefully as if afraid to offend him, but Draco couldn't blame him. The person he used to be had been a braggart and a fool.
"It is one thing to boast among your classmates, completely different to be faced with the reality. Besides, I had had this revelation and needed to consider the significance of it."
Giving it a final wipe he set the last pan on the counter. The conversation and the small cottage was making him feel claustrophobic. "Can we continue outside?"
The cottage had a small paved area facing the pitch with two chairs and a small table. The afternoon sun was still high in the sky, holding his hand up against the glare, Draco could see that a team was at the pitch practicing.
Gryffindors, he realized with a grimace. Potter who'd stepped out of the doorway behind him had come to a stop, watching the players—no, he was watching Ginny Weasley. It was easy to spot her red hair as she hovered high above the pitch directing the players into a new position.
Draco glared at the dirt that covered the wood chairs. The cleaning that had been done in the cottage had obviously not extended to the outdoor furniture. Wiping off the worst of it off with his handkerchief he sat down and tapped his fingers against the armrest as he waited for Potter. It was several long minutes before Potter remembered him.
"At least, you didn't have to break up with someone. Just hide from a dark lord," said Potter. Draco tried not to shudder as Potter sat down in the other chair, never noticing the filth that covered it.
"Right," Draco agreed, trust Potter to make a joke about a madman living in one's house. He waited a moment, trying to think of a way to explain what happened next. "I needed time to think and to get away from everything that was happening in our home. Mother made it possible for me leave the Manor during the day. I would go flying."
It was easy to remember the rush of relief he had felt back then when he'd escaped from the wards of the Manor. "I often ended up on a hilltop overlooking a Muggle town, I still don't know its name. That's when I met him." He clenched his hands, knowing that he had to tell Potter, but still finding it difficult to say the words.
"You met someone? Who?"
"A Muggle boy about our age," Draco said, waiting for the reaction what he knew would come.
Potter's eyes flew open with surprise. "Muggle?"
"Yes. His name was Scott." In the past two years, he'd never dared to say his name out loud, let alone talk about him. He'd scarcely let himself even think of the dark-haired, blue eyed boy and their brief relationship or the price it had cost him. Knowing his voice was shaking he started to tell Potter what had happened that first afternoon on the hilltop.
Draco had just landed when he'd seen a boy running along the ancient footpaths that criss-crossed the Muggle countryside. Scott had slowed and stopped when he'd seen Draco. Draco had been so caught off guard he'd scarcely had time to hide his broom behind a nearby tree. Scott's chest had been heaving from his running and had called himself a cross-country runner. Draco hadn't understood the expression but it was easy to see that the boy was fit, and judging by his lingering glances, he'd thought Draco was too.
"So, you and a Muggle named Scott..." Potter shifted uncomfortably, it was only when he gripped his arm that Draco realized that the bond was hurting again. He shifted his arm closer to Potter's and after a moment's hesitation Potter did the same.
"Yes. He was quite...straightforward in what he wanted." Draco allowed himself a smile. Scott had not missed Draco eyeing him, and had not been put off when Draco had stood up and coldly told him that he was expected elsewhere.
Scott had dismissed him instead, "Go on then. I'll just have a rest," and had proceeded to strip off his shirt and lay down the grass, as if to take a nap. His chest still sweaty from his run. Draco had turned and started to walk down the hill, only to turn back, telling himself that he would have to retrieve his broom and obliviate the Muggle. Instead he had found himself standing next to the Muggle. Scott, as he learned was his name, had given him a big smile as he patted the ground next to him.
Draco had returned to the Manor two hours later, with the knowledge that there was absolutely no doubt that he was gay, and that blow-jobs really were all that Blaise had bragged about. For the next two weeks they had met on that hilltop almost every day until the fatal day in mid July when Draco learned that his absences from the Manor had not gone unnoticed.
He'd returned to the Manor late in the afternoon, slipping through the opening to the stone wall near the conservatory he'd turned to find Yaxley waiting for him. The older man had taken him by the arm and dragged him protesting into his father's library.
Standing in the center of the room was the Dark Lord, his red eyes glowed with rage as Draco entered the room. Behind him stood Severus Snape and Helmut Goyle. His professor's face was emotionless, but he'd given a slight shake to his head when Draco had opened his mouth instinctively to protest what was happening.
It was only then that he saw his parents on the floor.
Yaxley had shoved Draco onto the floor next to his parents. Trying to comprehend why his father was not still in Azkaban, Draco turned to look at him. His father's robes were in shreds, his body filthy and bruised. Next to him, her blue sapphire robes crumpled around her, was his mother, her normally pale face parched white. Only a slight tremor in her hands gave away her fears as she stared down at the floor.
The Dark Lord began speaking, his voice cold and clear as he listed the treasonous acts that the Malfoy family had committed against him. Draco scarcely paid heed to what he was saying as he slowly began to comprehend that this was merely the prelude to their executions.
Then, he heard his own name spoken, he jerked his head up and looked directly into the glowing eyes of the wizard that he had worshiped for years only to realize the truth about him.
"Enjoy yourself this afternoon, young Malfoy? I think we should not keep your parents in the dark any longer, let us show them how you have betrayed your Pureblood heritage with filth."
With a flick of his wrist, a shimmering silver cloud appeared. In the center an image began to emerge, that of the hilltop and of Draco on his knees in front of Scott, who was leaning against the tree, his Muggle jeans pulled down to his knees.
His father's eyes stared at the image unblinking before lowering his gaze to the floor. His mother had, under the cover of her robes, found Draco's hand and squeezed it tightly. Bile rose in this throat and Draco fought to keep it down as he stared at the patterns of the rug and waited for Voldemort to speak.
Voldemort allowed the scene to play three more times before he'd flicked his wand and the silvery cloud and its damning evidence vanished.
"I demand an offering, Lucius," the Dark Lord's voice rang out clear and hard, "An offer to prove that my trust in you and your family has not been misplaced. You must make reparations. What do you have to give me?"
"My son," his father had spoken the words without hesitation, not even turning to look at Draco as he said them. His mother, he remembered, had given an anguish cry of protest. He'd said nothing, even as Gregory's father had dragged him forward and tore his sleeve, exposing his left arm. They had held him down as the Dark Lord came and stood at his feet.
"This will bond you to me and assure your compliance, however, the Dark Mark is an honor, an honor which you have not yet earned. As such, you will not be given the privilege of potions to ease the pain."
What happened after that, Draco could scarcely remember. There had been screaming as the Dark Mark had been burned into his skin but whether it was his own screams or his mother's protests he did not know. When he regained consciousness two days later he was given the task of killing Dumbledore.
Draco's voice cracked and he turned to look at Potter, who had been silent the entire time as Draco revealed one of his darkest secrets, "And that was the end of my first and only experience with someone. With the mark on my arm and the knowledge that death awaited my family, I had no ability or interest in anyone else."
"Did you love him?"
Draco gave a bitter laugh, "No, of course not. He wasn't of our world, he didn't know who I really was, but he was..." his voice trailed off. He didn't know, even now what Scott meant to him even now. "At the time, I thought it was such a stroke of luck, that at the exact time I had come to the realization that I was gay, I just happen to stumble across a boy my age who is not only gay but ready and willing? Afterwards, though, when I had realized that the Dark Lord had known all along about what I'd been doing, I wondered if he'd created a trap. If they had used Confundus or Imperius on Scott to make him be willing and used it to force my cooperation."
"Did he act like he was under a spell? Muggles tend to act a little foggy-headed when magic is used on them."
Draco shook his head and said with certainty, "No, he never acted confused, he had a sharp sense of humor." Draco flushed and added, "I'd always assumed that Muggles were rather dull-witted, but Scott, he was anything but dim."
"Then he wasn't under Imperius," Potter said the words firmly.
Draco wanted to believe him: if Scott had not been under a spell...it meant that he had participated with full consent. What Potter said made sense.
"What happened to your friend, to Scott?" Potter asked.
"I don't know," Draco whispered, confessing aloud the worst of the guilt he'd been carrying for two years. "I never knew his last name, or even where he lived. Until this summer I never dared to go back to where we'd met, afraid I would be followed. I went a few times after I was released but he never came by."
They both sat in silence and Draco knew he didn't need to express his fear. Voldemort had killed indiscriminately. What would have kept him from killing a Muggle who dared to touch a Pureblood wizard?
"If Voldemort had killed him, he would have bragged about it to you. He would have thrown his body at your feet."
Draco looked at Potter in shock, he'd never thought of that before. Of course, the Dark Lord would never have been able to hold back his enjoyment in torturing or killing Scott in front of Draco.
"Knowing him, I bet Voldemort planned on using him later to force you to do something else but never got the chance." Potter reached out and touched Draco's arm, gently wrapping his fingers around the bondmark that was still burning. Draco returned the touch, so their hands were wrapped around each other's arms, he closed his eyes and let the bond ease the pain.
Potter didn't try to talk and it was easy to let his mind drift back to Scott. Strange how Potter could, with just a few comments, relieve him of the guilt he'd been carrying around for over two years. He had no lingering affection for Scott, but it was a relief to think that he was probably still on the planet, hopefully still using his talented tongue bringing others off in parks across Britain.
He opened his eyes to steal a look at Potter who was looking towards the Quidditch pitch and found himself wondering if Potter had ever had a blow job. Draco followed Potter's eyes to where Ginny Weasley and her teammates were walking back to the castle. Had she been liberal in her affections? An emotion that Draco refused to acknowledge as jealousy made Draco hope that she had not; he would love to see Potter's expression when he felt his cock being sucked for the first time. Before this morning's encounter, Draco never would have even hoped that he could be the one to taste Potter for the first time, but he couldn't forget how Potter had felt in his hand, pressing against him and he wanted—needed—more. Which made him realize that he still did not know how Potter had discovered he was gay.
"What about you?" Draco said the words lightly, "When did you figure it out? You went out with the Weaslette for a long time for someone who is gay."
Potter hesitated and then with a flush in his cheeks he admitted, "Her name is Ginny, not Weaslette, but I...well, this last summer."
"Eighteen and just figuring it out? A little slow on the uptake, weren't you?" Draco didn't bother to constrain his laughter.
Potter smiled and gave a little shrug, "You could say that, but then I did have other things on my mind for the last few years."
"I take it that it took a flashing ten-foot sign to explain to you that you were gay, you were never very good at subtle."
Potter laughed. "Pretty close to it, I'm afraid. It wasn't as if I hadn't noticed blokes, you know, passing by or in class. The way their hair might curl around the collar of their robes, or their shoulders, or someone's wrists..." He flushed as Draco looked down at where Potter's fingers were wrapped around his own wrist. Potter tried to grab his away but Draco wouldn't let him. He wasn't going to let him retreat that easily.
"So, appreciating all things male didn't tell you anything?"
"I suppose it should have but, I had Ginny and that was okay. It was comfortable, you know, being with her, but it was never like the others described their encounters. It was just nice, having someone—"
"And this didn't clue you in?" Draco asked, rolling his eyes.
Harry shook his head. "Not until this summer. Ginny wanted to go to a club she heard about in London, Muggle place. And we hadn't been there five minutes when I noticed a bloke sitting at the bar near us and he was gorgeous."
"And that made you realize you were gay?" Draco asked, doubting that one bloke in a club would be enough to Potter that he was gay, if he hadn't noticed while living in a boy's dorm.
"No, it was when his partner walked up and started kissing him that I knew, I might be slow on the uptake, but getting hard while watching two guys snogging was a clue that even I could recognize. It was if something clicked and I'd been seeing the world upside down the whole time and not knowing it, then suddenly having it flip right side up."
"Did the Weas—Ginny throw a fit?"
"No, she had this knowing look on her face as she leaned in close and asked me if there was something I wanted to tell her."
After a minute of Draco's laughing, Potter joined in. Ginny Weasley had realized Potter was gay before he had even known himself. "And that is when you broke up? Like you told me about in the Hospital Wing?"
"Obviously," He glanced over at Draco. "Couldn't exactly have stayed with her knowing that I was gay."
"You didn't think about staying with her anyway?" Draco asked curiously.
"What? Of course not, what would have been the point?"
"Well, you would have needed a wife, eventually." Draco said, amazed that Potter still needed the obvious pointed out to him, "It sounds like you were more friends than lovers anyway and that is the best foundation for marriages of convenience."
Potter stared at him in confusion. "What do you mean? Why would I marry Ginny or any other witch?"
"Don't you want a Potter heir? I may be gay but I always understood my responsibility to marry and provide a Malfoy heir."
"What?"
"Did not anyone explain this to you? I suppose the Weasleys wouldn't have considered it, there is enough of them to populate the entirely planet with Weasleys."
"Don't distract. You would have gotten married? How? I mean—"
"I was expected to marry, produce and heir and only then would it have been acceptable to form an alliance, or alliances, if I so desired, with another more suitable to my...nature."
"Why?" Potter was staring at him like he was a two-headed Bildersnatch. "Ron's family told me that homosexuality wasn't considered unacceptable. It is fairly accepted in the Muggle world, as well."
"It isn't forbidden, of course not. It is accepted that you will pursue your own interests in your marriage, but only after you fulfill your responsibilities to your family."
"You would have cheated on your wife with a—"
"With a man, of course. If it is done with the consent of your spouse it isn't cheating. Pureblood families recognize homosexuality for what it is, but it doesn't mean that a family should endanger its line because of it."
"But now..."
"Firebonds trump all," Draco said simply. "No wizard or witch alive would dare to consider marrying someone with a Firebond."
"But it doesn't mean that the Malfoy family line will end, there is always adoption. Or surrogate parenthood. Muggles do it all the time." Potter sounded uncertain and Draco realized that it was likely that whatever his conversations with the Weasleys about homosexuality, they had never covered the issue of children.
"There are methods," Draco agreed. "But not one that I'd ever needed to consider before. Up until a week ago I had never thought that a firebond would interfere with the traditional way of handling these issues."
Potter stood up. "C'mon, we've been sitting and talking the whole afternoon. I need to move." Without waiting for Draco he turned and headed down the path. Draco glanced at the sky and saw that Potter was right, the sun was low in the western sky, no doubt Pomfrey would soon be arriving.
Potter was turning in a circle, as if trying to spot the wards. "How far did McGonagall say the Fidelius charm went?"
"Couple hundred yards in all directions. Probably to about the edge of the forest that way, and to the pitch the other way," Draco guessed. "Do you want to walk around and see if we can figure it out?'
"Sure."
Together they walked towards the pitch, as they drew within ten feet of stands there was a faint shimmer in the air just in front of them. Before Draco could stop him Potter took another step, there was a snap and they were both thrown back, sprawling to the ground.
"Well done, Potter." Draco stood and brushed off the leaves and debris from his clothes. Potter just laughed and reached out a hand and felt the push of the magic wards that were keeping them from going any farther.
"Guess thats it then," he said with a shrug. "Why don't we follow it around, see exactly where the boundaries are around the cottage." Not having anything better to suggest Draco agreed, after all the time spent in bed and in the Hospital Wing it was good to be outside, and it had the added benefit of him being able to observe Potter without him noticing.
They had come along the far side of the cottage when Potter nudged him and pointed towards the castle. The figure walking down the path past the pitch wasn't Madam Pomfrey. It was George Weasley.
