16.

The candlelight tinted Draco's hair and skin the same delicate shade of gold. Even his eyes were golden and warm as he blinked up at Harry. "Please." The word was breathed out through lips made swollen and pink by their kisses. Harry almost took pity on him - almost.

"I can't hear you."

The iron bed frame made protesting noises as Draco writhed against his bonds, lean body slick with sweat but breathtakingly beautiful, perfect skin shown to its best advantage against the blood-red sheets. "Please," he said, louder, the one word full of need and frustration. Harry watched those long slim legs spread for him and heard himself groan aloud. "Fuck me, Harry. Please."

How could he refuse a request like that?

Harry clambered onto the bed, hooked his arms under Draco's knees and -

Yes…God, that was amazing, even better than doing it between his thighs -

Draco looked up at him, grey eyes suddenly clear and sharp and distinctly lacking in golden adoration. "You did read up on this, didn't you, idiot? Whatever happened to lube and preparation? And I would never beg, Potter. And you fantasised away my scars and my Dark Mark - you shallow bastard -"

Harry woke up, reaching out for Draco even as he blinked in bright light and tried to breathe in hot, heavy air and his brain caught up to the fact that he was alone in bed. The bed sheets stuck to his skin as he tried to roll onto his back, his usual morning wood irritatingly present and correct. Hardly surprising, given that dream - though the ending of it should have made him wilt a bit.

He sighed and reached down to deal with it. He didn't need fantasies - he could call up memories of a blond head in his lap, or entwined fingers crushing his cock against Draco's, or muscular thighs pressing tighter and tighter until he was almost begging for mercy -

As he bit off a moan, he was suddenly aware of a stony silence in the room, a distinct lack of Ron's usual snoring. Oh, fuck, no…The sudden flood of humiliation got rid of his hard-on in a rather less pleasant way than he would have liked.

With an entire floor of the hotel in a scorched mess, Harry's own room in a similar state except for added crushed mutant spiders, and a new influx of volunteers needing beds, sharing a room with Ron had seemed like a good idea. Or, at least, the kind of offer that couldn't be turned down without seeming like an ungrateful prat or revealing just who he'd really like to be sharing with and why.

Thank god the room's got two singles at least. God, this is awkward…

They both laid there in silence for a few minutes. Then Ron cleared his throat. "You need to get laid, mate. Really."

Harry tried to laugh. "This is going to be one of those things we never mention again, right?"

He heard a somewhat forced chuckle from the other bed. "How good are you at casting Obliviate? Or am I going to have to go with booze and pouring bleach in my ears?"

"Booze doesn't work. Seamus tried it last year, when someone kept waking everyone else up every night." Harry lobbed his pillow in Ron's general direction, and heard an "uff" and a laugh. "Oooh, Laven-" He was cut off by the pillow being returned, with added violence.

"I can't help it if I'm crap at silencing charms!"

One pillow fight and one - thankfully solitary - shower later, the embarrassment had faded. Oh, the incident probably would get mentioned again - like the love potion incident, or Ron's forgetfulness when it came to silencing charms, or Seamus' rather traumatising experiment with engorgement charms. He had a feeling Fred and George would be teasing him about it at some point in the next twenty-four hours.

At least Ron didn't know who Harry had been dreaming about. There'd be no joking about that; Ron's trauma would probably never end.

Neither the good mood nor the fresh and revived feeling from the shower lasted long. Harry got only a few steps down the corridor before his clothes were stuck to his body again. The heavy, humid air stank of rotting seaweed - unsatisfying to breathe, though that wasn't the worst of it. The worst was the way he felt his temper rise.

It was an alarming feeling, as if someone else was in control of his emotions. Harry had the mad thought that perhaps it wasn't him at all, that the anger and the frustration were coming from beyond him, carried on the air like that rancid smell, sucked into his body with every laboured breath he took.

He found himself holding his breath. The thought was pure fantasy, however - Harry didn't need an outside force to manipulate his feelings. He had more than enough reasons to be angry.

It was good to have other people helping in the search for the Horcruxes, of course it was, and it was good that messages had been sent to Akunin, and that his attacks had ceased, however temporarily. And Lupin hadn't lectured Harry, or tried to scold him.

He'd just taken everything out of Harry's hands. Harry understood why, but it made him so angry -

The corridor seemed to be going on forever. A little voice in his head seemed to be ordering him to keep walking, and he noticed it - and recognised the feeling that went with it - at the very moment he tried to push back the anger.

Imperius?

Fuck that.

Every scrap of willpower he possessed surged up against it.

The corridor walls flickered, changed, and when the world snapped back into focus he was on the third floor landing of the grand staircase. His hands reached out automatically for the broken banisters as he stepped out into thin air…and the Imperius broke.

Harry wobbled for a moment, balanced on the toes of one foot. A queasy flicker of vertigo shot through him as he looked down past his outstretched foot. It was only twenty-or-so feet to the tiled floor of the foyer - he'd fallen from greater heights than that while playing Quidditch, for God's sake - but he still felt shaken as he eased back from the edge…shaken, but rather exhilarated.

He might be currently forced to sit on the substitutes bench when it came to the war, but someone was still trying to kill him.

I really shouldn't be so happy about that.

Draco drifted between sleep and consciousness, in a comfortable haze of tiredness and potions fumes. The table was hard against his head, but it was so nice to close his eyes -

"Stir Cauldron One!"

Fuck, so soon? But while his brain was wishing he hadn't enchanted the egg-timer to shout at him, his arm was already reaching out to do as it said.

It took him a moment to realise that his wrist was gripped by strong fingers, and to wonder why the timer now sounded like Harry Potter.

Draco forced open one eye.

"You've got a couple of minutes before the timer runs out," Potter said, grinning down at him. His thumb rubbed against the sensitive skin above Draco's pulse, and Draco bit back a moan and pulled his arm free. Draco wanted to punch that grin off Potter's stupid face, especially when he shrugged - stupid revealing Muggle clothing, stupid lean muscles, stupid tan-lines… "I couldn't resist."

"You're so funny." Draco frowned as he saw a steaming mug of coffee and a bowl of what looked like beige sludge amongst his carefully laid out herbs. He reached out for the coffee with slightly embarrassing eagerness, then noticed that the sludge had a spoon in it. "Are you expecting me to eat that?"

"It's Weetabix," Potter said. Draco stared at him. And that really doesn't answer my question. Despite the coffee, his mouth was suddenly dry - and he really wasn't interested in talking about the gloop. But Potter, it seemed, was. "Ok, so I might have put too much milk in it, but it won't kill you."

Draco looked down at it and wrinkled his nose. Food talk it is, then. "Don't you have lightly scrambled eggs on toasted muffins, or warm croissants with chocolate sauce, or -"

He looked up to see Potter smiling at him, a mixture of exasperation and amusement in his eyes. "I'm so sorry, sir," he said, his voice loaded with sarcasm. "We did try to get the staff, but there aren't too many five-star chefs on the run from Voldemort."

Draco managed to hide his reflexive flinch. What's wrong with him? Does he think dropping the Dark Lord's name all over the place makes him look tough?

"There wouldn't be. Most Death Eaters are of a class raised to appreciate quality food." He poked at the sludge. "This isn't quality food."

Potter grinned and dropped himself into a chair. "Just drink your coffee, snob." He stretched slowly. Draco took a hasty gulp of coffee and made an undignified squeak as the hot liquid damn near scalded his throat.

This wasn't fair. Potter could usually be guaranteed to jump him whenever he was feeling horny - what was wrong with him?

"Cauldron One." That was the timer. "Stir in five, four, three…"

Draco reached out automatically and started to stir. He clutched the coffee and watched Potter through the steam. The other boy studied him right back, that stupid smile still in place, his bright eyes moving over Draco's face as if taking in every detail.

Draco was suddenly irritated. "Haven't you got anything better to do than bother me?" he snapped.

Potter didn't even have the decency to be insulted. Draco kept stirring the potion as the other boy's fingers slid into his hair, palms brushing against his cheekbones, breath too warm against his forehead. He was focused on his task, not distracted by Potter's sudden grooming urge at all, but he couldn't help arching his neck, appreciating the slow rub of Potter's fingertips against his scalp, the delighted shivers that slipped down his spine. "You're weird."

"You're beautiful." The word was mumbled against Draco's forehead, and Draco was almost certain he had heard it wrong. Though, Potter is a sentimental idiot.

Potter suddenly lurched back and started coughing, his eyes streaming.

"Oh yes," Draco said calmly. "You don't want to breathe too deeply over that cauldron. The fumes are corrosive." He allowed himself a slow, evil smile at Potter's horrified expression. "Or they would be if I hadn't cast a filtering charm. Fuck's sake, Potter - I'm hardly a wet-behind-the-ears first year puking over my first frog intestines. Breathe before you burst."

"Git."

"You make it so easy." Draco gave the potion a final stir, turned over the egg-timer and sat back comfortably in his chair. The contents of the two smaller cauldrons were simmering away nicely, his carefully-prepared tinctures were lined up neatly in flasks, ready to be added, and Potter… Potter had that look in his eyes again, the one that made Draco's chest tighten and his cock throb. It was almost enough to make him forget just why he was brewing the potion. Almost. As if I could forget that.

He won't think I'm beautiful tonight. Well, not unless he's got a fur fetish…

It was painful to watch the mischievous glint fade from Draco's eyes. "Was there something you wanted?" he said dully.

You, actually. But Harry could hardly say that, with Draco looking down at the potion as if he was making the poison for his own execution.

"I-"

The door slammed open behind him. "Through here, Dung," Livia said as she manoeuvred a crate into the room. "I'm not going to ask how you got hold of this, but I certainly owe you one."

Harry stared at the little man as he followed her into the room. Mundungus Fletcher caught sight of him, dropped the box he was levitating and froze like a rabbit staring at an approaching set of headlights - which was almost exactly the same expression he'd worn the last time Harry had seen him…trying to sell the things he'd stolen from Grimmauld Place…

And both the locket and the athame could have been at Grimmauld Place. Ron and Hermione had had help from Fred and George in turning the old house inside out. They hadn't found anything, but -

They were there. I know they were.

Harry looked at Fletcher, and felt a sudden flicker of excitement.

Fletcher flinched and held up his hands as if in pre-emptive defence. "Now, Harry, you're not the sort to go holding grudges, are ya?"

Behind him, Draco gave a snort of disbelief. Harry shot him a quick glare, and smiled at Fletcher. "Actually, I'm really glad to see you, Dung."

Mundungus looked at him suspiciously for a moment, then beamed. "So, that little 'misunderstanding' we had - it's all water under the bridge, forgotten and forgiven? Comrades in arms and all that?"

Harry's smile was starting to hurt. From the way both Draco and Livia were staring at him, the expression was probably turning into a grimace, anyway. "Who cares about a few old trinkets?" Which belonged to Sirius, you little git.

Keep smiling.

"Heh, that's the spirit. I always said you were a good lad, Harry - much too noble to be concerned with grubby material possess-" Harry caught hold of his collar.

"Except that a couple of those trinkets I do care about. A silver locket and a blunted dagger? Ring any bells, Dung?"

Fletcher's eyes flicked from side to side; the little man looked for all the world like a rat searching for the nearest bolt-hole. "Not one clang -"

"Who did you sell them to?" Fletcher's eyes widened in alarm, and Harry just managed to stop himself shaking him. "This is really important -"

Fletcher Disapparated. Harry overbalanced, and reached out blindly to stop himself falling. His fingers knocked against something shiny as he caught hold of the table, something that slid away from his hand -

He heard the crash of glass against the tiled floor at the same moment that he realised he was still holding a neatly severed piece of Fletcher's robes. He did take them - and he's too frightened to tell me who bought them -

Draco made a sound very close to a wail.

Harry hardly dared to look. When he did, he saw Draco on his knees on the floor, hands plucking at his pale hair, his face frozen into a look of pure horror. Pieces of broken glass lay scattered on the tiles, amongst clear liquid that was already evaporating into the air.

"Please tell me there's powdered moonstone somewhere in those boxes?"

Livia blinked and tore her gaze away from Harry. "Not unless the dragon ate it before it died and got dissected."

Draco took a long, laboured breath and slowly lifted his head. "You bastard," he hissed, surging to his feet. "You complete…fucking…clumsy…gormless…stupid… Do you know how long it took to prepare that?" His hands were back in his hair. "This can't be happening!"

"You're actually happy about this, aren't you?" Draco whispered.

He couldn't see Potter - that Invisibility Cloak was a very useful thing - but he felt the other boy's hand squeeze his shoulder. "I'm just relieved to be away from the hotel," Potter said softly. "Don't worry about the potion. It's got a good babysitter."

Draco edged further back into the covered doorway, until his back met roughly nailed down boards. A couple of cloaked figures scurried past his refuge as the first fat raindrops began to fall. He wanted to protest - to remind Potter that this wasn't a pleasure trip, and that Draco had important things to do back at the hotel, even if Potter didn't - but he thought he understood. The air was lighter here, if no cleaner. He had so many things to worry about, but he felt as if the unseen vice around his chest had been loosened.

Back in his old life, a trip to Knocturn Alley had been an exciting thing, always looked forward to. Perhaps these were just echoes of those old half-forgotten feelings.

"You did tell Granger the potion was for Lupin as well?"

"Hermione wouldn't sabotage your potion." Potter actually had the nerve to sound amused.

"She threatened to curse my family."

That shut Potter up, but only for a moment. "She didn't mean -"

"She meant it." There was no point to this conversation; Potter wouldn't believe anything bad of his friends. Draco remembered Weasley's shocked face. "Ask the Ginger Whinger if you don't believe me. He got it. Ask him about blood feuds and…well, let's call them the 'Bad' Old Days, shall we?"

Draco adjusted the fine bandages around his face and pulled his hood further forward. A covered face was practically the rule in Knocturn Alley, but he still felt exposed as he stepped out into the rain, even with his invisible bodyguard behind him. Best do this as quickly as possible.

The rain bounced off the overhanging eaves and the bar-signs crisscrossing the narrow street, driving hard against dark leaded windows and creating gushing streams amongst the cobbles. Along with unpredictable swirls of raindrops, the wind carried with it a smell that reminded him of childhood - wet ashes and smoke - the smell of a rained-off bonfire party. Draco pulled his cloak closer around him, thankful for its waterproofing charms.

He'd always thought that the Dark Lord's victory would turn Knocturn Alley into the party capital of the Wizarding world, but if any of its denizens were celebrating, they were doing it very quietly.

He passed a cloaked shape slumped in the gutter and kept his eyes averted. Perhaps there had been celebrating. The quietness could be down to a huge collective hangover.

Yeah, right.

At least the shop he wanted appeared open. Warm light shone behind its grimy windows, and he picked up his pace, only to be stopped by an urgent whisper from Potter. "Look at this."

Look at what? I can't even see where you are.

Draco narrowed his eyes. If he squinted, he could just see a shape outlined by bouncing raindrops. At Potter's feet was a heap of rapidly disintegrating paper; he recognised the Daily Prophet's typesetting as he walked over, deliberately casual.

He looked down at the abandoned newspaper, and was immediately diverted by the picture on the top sheet. The Potter in the photo ranted and postured even as the ink ran, turning him into a smudged, distorted monster. The text beside the picture was an unreadable mess, but he could just about make out the headline.

ON THE RUN?

Confirmed Sighting of the Ministry's No 1 Most Wanted!

There were a few words still decipherable in the article. Draco snorted as he got the gist of it. "Canada?" he whispered, not bothering to hide his amusement. "Nice trick, Potter - managing to be in two places at once. Thousands of miles apart, too - how do you do it?"

"They're telling everyone that I've run away…that I'm a coward."

Draco might not be able to see Potter's face, but he heard the anger - and distress? - in his voice and sensed trouble.

"Grow up, Potter. It's only propaganda. You'll get your chance to prove them wrong." Just not today. Please, not today. "And, while you're getting all worked up over a stupid newspaper article, I'm running out of time to remake that tincture of moonstone." Potter didn't say anything; Draco really wished he could see his face. "Remember? The reason we're here?"

Oh, fuck this.

"Someone called you a coward. Big deal. Get over it." Draco spun around and started marching towards the shop. So his devoted fans might doubt him - so what? No one who actually knows him could believe such rubbish - and we're the ones who count. Idiot.

He shoved the shop door open with more violence than necessary.

Inside Ealdwine Gosse's shop, the air was warm and dry and the musky scent of dried herbs almost masked the other, more unpleasant smells that were a feature of any apothecary's. The proprietor looked up as the bell jangled, and gave his new customer a wide smile full of sharp, filed-to-a-point teeth.

"Be with you in a minute." Gosse turned his back on Draco. "Just let me - yes." When he turned back he was dropping a bloody fingernail into a little paper bag. "Just completing an order. Now, what can I get you? And would it be sir or madam?"

Draco ignored him, fixated on the other person in the shop. The man by the counter hadn't even flinched as Gosse had pulled off his fingernail, and now stood there, silent and still, making no attempt to staunch the blood dripping to the floor. Draco looked at his ragged robes, the chunks cut from his long, matted hair, his blank, empty eyes, and felt suddenly cold.

"Nice, huh?" Gosse said, completely misinterpreting Draco's silence. "As you can see, this is the place for human-sourced potions ingredients. I can do you a really good deal on hair, sweat, nails, skin etc. Eyes and internal organs come more expensive, but hey, straight from a living source, right?"

Draco tore his gaze away from the silent man, and held down the vomit that threatened to surge up into his throat. The door opened behind him, the bell tinkling inharmoniously as a gust of wind carried rain into the shop. God, I hope that's Potter. "I just need half an ounce of powdered moonstone," he managed.

Gosse shrugged and waved his wand. The door slammed shut. "Your loss," he said mildly. "You won't get fresher anywhere else." He went behind the counter, to the rows of cupboards with their tiny little shelves. Draco took a moment to look at the man whose internal organs he'd just been offered - at a suitably expensive price, of course. 'It' was alive, clearly no Inferius, so that meant…

Despite his revulsion, Draco found himself fascinated. He'd never met a Kissed person before. How did it work, he wondered - the soul was so important; how could a body continue to function and grow without a person inside it? Like a flesh machine… He shuddered.

Gosse scraped the powdered moonstone off the scales, into another of the little paper bags. "Fourteen sickles." He shrugged as if expecting a protest. "Times are hard."

Draco didn't even flinch. He just wanted to get out of there. Besides, wasn't anything paid for in silver rather than in gold cheap tat anyway? I'm risking my life for something worth less than a galleon - things are bad.

He shoved the coins across the counter and snatched the bag from Gosse's hand. Gosse smiled at him and twitched his wand.

Draco saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He flung himself away, reaching for his wand… and the Kissed man caught him in a crushing embrace, its big hands closing around Draco's wrists.

"Better than an Inferius, eh?" Gosse chuckled. "I do apologise for this, but I have the sneaking suspicion I recognise your voice. If I let a proscribed wizard go, I would never forgive myself." He leaned forward, still smiling. Draco watched Gosse's wand move, and felt his hood slide back and the bandages start to unravel. "There are some very tasty bounties. Ah, bingo! You know, I was worried you were hiding something nasty under there, but I had nothing to be concerned about, did I, little Malfoy?"

"My father is one of the Dark Lord's most loyal servants," Draco said, as haughtily as he could manage. Gosse might be feeding the Kissed man, but he obviously wasn't brushing its teeth for it; its breath stank. He wrinkled his nose and glared at Gosse. "You've made a mistake."

"I don't think so. Your daddy must have done something very naughty to get both his wife and child on the Proscription Lists."

He's lying. Oh, it wasn't such a stretch to imagine the Dark Lord wanting Lucius dead, but surely as far as he was concerned Draco was loyal and spying for him, and Narcissa… Mother's under the protection of both Bellatrix and Snape…

Gosse set down his wand and chose a knife from the set on the counter. "The Lists are up in Diagon Alley. I'll let you look for yourself when I hand you over - how does that sound? I wouldn't want anyone to think I'd hand an innocent kid over to the Dementors. Now, hold still for me -"

Dementors…

I'm not going to panic…I'm not going to panic…

But he was being held fast, unable to move, and that sensation of helplessness dragged up dark memories…slimy stone beneath him, foul breath in his face…

Gosse caught hold of his hair. Draco found his head forced down, and felt the blade touch the back of his neck. "This is pretty stuff. I might even be able to pass it off as unicorn hair to my, um, less discerning customers." His voice seemed to be coming from a great distance away. Electric pain shot through Draco's body -

He heard the crack as Gosse's nose broke, felt his head suddenly free to move as the other man jerked back, but he couldn't enjoy the show as his captor was knocked around by an invisible attacker. He was still trapped and helpless, and hot pain pooled in his joints and gums -

"Are you a prize-fighter or a wizard, Potter?" he snarled, and it was a real snarl, a barely human sound. A flash of red light answered his question. Gosse slumped to the floor.

Draco felt the first shift of his bones.

I can stop this… I know I can stop this…

He tasted coppery blood in his mouth, felt the looseness of his teeth as he opened his mouth to scream…

Oh, fuck…Again..?

Harry found himself frozen to the spot. His wand was aimed at the big man, and he'd planned to Stun him next to release Draco, but he couldn't get the word out.

Draco was writhing against his captor's grip. Harry saw the bones moving in his splayed fingers, clearly visible beneath his fine skin. Tears formed in his eyes as he swore in an oddly rough, grating voice and spat blood and something that looked horribly like a tooth onto the floor at Harry's feet.

"Run away…"

"No!" Harry forced himself into movement. Some part of him did want to run away, but it was the part of himself he never paid much attention to. He wasn't an ape faced with a predator, he was a human being watching someone he cared for suffer. He dragged off the cloak and lunged forward to catch hold of Draco's face. "You've beaten this before." He felt the skin move beneath his fingers, the bones changing shape beneath it, and it took all his willpower not to snatch his hands back. "Fight it!"

"…can't…"

Draco threw his head back and screamed; the man holding him didn't even flinch. Why isn't he letting Draco go? Is he brave or just completely stupid? Harry looked up into brown eyes blank of emotion or intelligence, and realised - a second before Draco tore himself free.

Literally tore himself free.

Harry found himself falling, Draco on top of him. He wanted to shut his eyes, to block out the arms still stretched towards them, the hands that were now so much splintered bone sticking out of split flesh, and the eyes that didn't even register the damage. But Draco was still shuddering and whimpering, his twitching body a mass of moving, changing bones and muscle, and whatever Harry felt for him, he knew how much danger he was in.

That could be me next.

The remnants of Harry's sense of self-preservation told him to push Draco off him, to get some distance, to get his wand… Instead, he wrapped his arms around Draco, holding him so tightly his arms hurt, and whispered, "Do you want to kill me?" He could feel the throb of the other boy's heart through his chest, racing in time with his own, and he knew Draco wasn't going to hurt him…not this time, at least. "Fight it."

"Bas-tard…" Draco's body tensed up in a way that reminded Harry of how he felt in his arms when he was about to come. He firmly shoved that image away; that was a connection he didn't want his mind to make.

He felt Draco's bones snap back into their correct places, and his first flicker of revulsion didn't stand a chance against the accompanying flood of relief. Draco went limp, his breathing ragged and hot against Harry's ear. Harry loosened his embrace and stroked his hands over the lines of Draco's back, now reassuringly familiar and normal. His heart clenched tight with emotion. "I knew you could do it."

Draco didn't say anything. He slowly levered himself up onto his knees, and roughly scrubbed the blood from his mouth with his sleeve.

He wouldn't meet Harry's eyes.

"Six-four to me," Harry said calmly. "It'd be six-five, but I don't think you're allowed points when the person you're saving me from is yourself. That's cheating."

Draco blinked. For a long, horrible moment he stared at Harry in total shock - then his mouth twitched. "Next time I'll rip your throat out," he said, his voice shaking but his mouth stretching into a grin. "That'll mess up your points." He shook his head. "I can't believe you're actually keeping score. That's pathetic."

Harry shrugged and reached out for the packet of powdered moonstone. Draco snatched it out of his hand. "And it's four-four, anyway. Two of yours don't count."

So, keeping score is pathetic, is it?

Harry couldn't help himself - he laughed.

The bell jangled.

He looked up to see the door half-open, and a hooded figure looking into the shop. The new customer took in the scene inside, stared at Harry for a moment, then fled.

Harry snatched up his wand. He got to the door just before it swung shut, but when he looked out into the street he saw nothing but the pounding rain and the shapes whipped from it by the wind. No fleeing figure - but no Death Eaters hurrying to capture him either.

Give it time.

"We need to go. Now."

A ball of bunched-up fabric hit Harry on the back of the head, catching on his shoulder as it unfurled. He caught it before it could slip to the floor, and glared at Draco. That was no way to treat his father's Invisibility Cloak.

"Move."

"I am." Harry looked at the Kissed man. When Harry caught hold of his arm and tugged, he followed him obediently.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Livia might be able to fix him up."

"Him? It's an it! And Gosse's property."

"He's a human being." Soul or not, that was a human body bleeding in front of him. He couldn't just not care.

"Your definition of human is too wide," Draco said, and his voice held something that made Harry snap his head around to look at him - something sharp and cold and…sad? "Do you count Inferi as human? Or vampires?"

Or werewolves? That was the real question, wasn't it?

As if he really needs to ask me that.

Harry knew monsters. If his definition of human was too wide, then so was his definition of 'monster', because the worst monsters he had ever faced were undeniably human. Even Voldemort was only human, whatever he might like to believe. What made a monster was in the head, not the body.

He was suddenly frustrated. Draco looked at him with cold, shielded eyes, and perhaps the past few days had all been some mad, lust-fuelled hallucination, if Draco didn't get it yet.

They needed to get moving. They really didn't have time for this. But as Harry stepped forward, he couldn't help noticing the way Draco moved to meet him, the desperate clutch of his fingers in Harry's hair making a lie of the coldness in his eyes, the fierceness of his kiss telling Harry everything else he needed to know.

He'd never been wanted - needed - so completely. And what made those 'wasted' seconds so worth it wasn't the hot desire flaring in his stomach, or the fire flickering along his nerves, but the sharp spike of emotion in his chest.

Harry pulled back, remembering how to breathe, trying to make some sense of his scattered thoughts. "I- I-" His throat closed around the words -

The shop window exploded. The air was suddenly filled with the heady scent of herbs as shards of glass ripped through the window display and thudded into the board behind it. The wind and rain gusting through the broken window carried with them a Sonorus-enhanced voice.

"ATTENTION CRIMINALS! YOU HAVE ONE MINUTE TO PUT DOWN YOUR WANDS AND COME OUT QUIETLY."

"Oh, for fuck's sake…" Draco retrieved his wand from the floor and glared at Harry. "Happy now?"

He is. He fucking is.

Potter shrugged and grinned. "How is this my fault?"

Draco hurt all over. He still felt nauseous and shaky, and even the knowledge - certain, now - that he could stop himself, that he had at least some control over the poison in his body, didn't change what had so nearly happened.

I wanted to rip the world apart.

And he'd just been all over Potter like a rash, so needy and pathetic that just thinking about it made him cringe.

So, forgive me if I don't share your enthusiasm for a fight, Potter.

There was a lot of valuable stock in the shop; Gosse would certainly have Anti-Apparition wards set up. But surely fighting their way out wasn't the only option…

"They might not have had time to disconnect the Floo network." Draco caught hold of Potter's arm. Something small and sparkling sailed through the broken window and smashed on the floor; the air was suddenly full of a sickly sweet smell. "Come on."

His vision blurred, and it felt as if he was trying to breath through cotton wool. His throat hurt, his lungs hurt - and Potter wasn't cooperating. Draco watched in horror as his eyes went wide and unfocused and his hands went up to clutch at his head. He looked for all the world like a Seer receiving a particularly unpleasant vision - which was ridiculous. Even Weasley was more likely to be a Seer than Potter.

So much for my bodyguard, then.

He gave Potter's arm a yank; Potter staggered after him. The Kissed man stared blankly after them but made no attempt to follow - which was fine by Draco. Unlike Potter, he had a much narrower definition of human.

It was just a shame that his definition somehow excluded himself.

Harry was vaguely aware that he couldn't breathe. He could smell something sweet, so sweet that by rights it should be leaving sugar caked to his nostrils, and his limbs were heavy and clumsy. But all that was a distant impression, an annoyance on the edge of his consciousness.

He was angry - furious - but filled with something almost like anticipation. He could feel power crackling through the stone slabs beneath his feet. As he touched the wall beside him it moved beneath his fingers, like an animal flinching from a cruel master. And he would be its master. All that power would be his.

The current master was on his knees, clutching the splintered remnants of his wand in bloodied fingers. The castle was offering him its power, and it seemed as if he didn't even know how to use it - or that he didn't want to.

"Pathetic."

The voice came from Harry's mouth, but it wasn't his. He knew what was happening, what he was seeing and experiencing, but he couldn't fight it. He wasn't dreaming, so he couldn't be woken up. He wanted to scream, but this wasn't his body, wasn't his mind…

"I knew you'd come for her. To walk open-eyed into such an obvious trap - was it hubris or foolishness, Lucius?"

The man on the floor shook his head. He looked up, strands of hair sticking to a face almost scorched and blistered beyond recognition, and Harry watched him try to force his mouth into a sneer, clear liquid trickling down across his chin as the blackened skin cracked and split. "You…truly…have no understanding…my lord…"

Harry felt the decision made, felt the sheer physical rush of the power leaving his body. Unlike Cruciatus, there was no emotion needed to cast the Killing Curse, just the cold resolve to snuff out a life. And he had to break the connection - he didn't want to feel this, or watch it. He had to -

His knees slammed into something hard, followed by his face, and he really couldn't breathe. Someone was pulling at his arm, and for a second he was looking up into Draco's face. His vision flickered back and forth, between the unfocused grey eyes of his friend and the limp body of that friend's father. He felt Voldemort's rage as the slabs beneath Lucius opened up, and a short vicious stab of satisfaction that was all his own as the body dropped out of sight.

Things not going your way, bastard?

"Fuck's sake, Potter! Move! You're heavy and I'm not exactly doing so well myself here!"

Potter just coughed and wheezed, his face pressed against the floor. The moment Draco gave up trying to drag him, his own legs seemed to give out on him. His head banged against the apothecary's cabinets - and that smell was everywhere.

Sneaky bastards - what the hell was in that flask?

Draco tried to move his legs. The little cardboard signs on the drawers seemed to bounce in front of his eyes, Gosse's spiky writing squirming as if he'd stuck live spiders to the card. He narrowed his eyes, forcing the card closest to him to come into focus.

Powdered Hellebore.

The pounding pain in his head made it hard to think, but something clicked deep within his brain.

It would be unpleasant, but he couldn't just sit there and wait to be picked up. Potter's head lolled against his knee, hair prickly against Draco's loosely-hanging hand. Even if I somehow manage to talk myself out of this, I won't be able to help him.

Draco forced his clumsy fingers to move, hooking them awkwardly into the half-moon shaped slot above the label. One quick tug and the whole drawer fell out of the cabinet. Grey powder exploded up into the air as it hit the floor. He crawled along the aisle, feeling his way along the rows of drawers.

All his skill in Potions-making and he was reduced to something as simple and hazardous as this. Snape would be distinctly unimpressed.

He heard booted feet crunching over broken glass as he splashed salamander blood onto the mess on the floor.

If the potion that was making both him and Potter so useless had been inhaled, then the means to purge their bodies of it would have to be inhaled too…but it really wasn't going to be pleasant…

A awkward swipe of his wand set the sticky mess on fire. In Draco's head, he could almost hear his teacher's acidic comments. Clumsy. Risky. Idiotic. What are you - a trained wizard or a child let loose in his father's workshop?

The fumes burnt his eyes and stung his throat, his lungs hurt and his blood felt like it was on fire, but he could taste the sweetness of the 'enemy' potion in his mouth as he breathed out. On the floor beside him, Potter was choking and apparently trying to hack his lungs up, pink smoke forced out of his mouth with each cough. Draco could feel his head clearing, control trickling back through his limbs with each painful breath he took.

He heard a shout from the front of the shop. The hatch on the counter slammed open. A hooded figure appeared at the end of the aisle…and a croaked "Stupefy!" from next to him lit up the smoke with red light and sent their would-be captor crashing to the floor.

Potter sat back on his heels and looked at Draco through streaming eyes, his mouth twisting into a grin almost as crooked as his glasses. "Seven-five," he rasped, and Draco felt a sudden mad urge to hug him.

Oh, well - I should have known there'd be side effects.

"Not yet." Their enemies' advantage was lost, but so was their own now. It would be clear to their attackers that they were no longer incapacitated, so they wouldn't give them another easy shot.

He found himself smiling. That would only be bad if he and Potter actually wanted to fight. Let the enemy hide, unable to get line-of-sight for their spells without opening themselves to retaliation. We'll just slip away. "Tally up when we get away."

Potter's grin faltered. For a moment he looked at Draco with an expression that could almost be pity - then he blinked. "Where is he?" he said - and Draco knew that tone well.

"They killed it," he lied smoothly. "It was probably the kindest thing." Potter glared at him - and since when had it been so hard to lie to Potter? "Though it did have a better life than I do right now. At least Gosse fed it properly."

"How did you get to be such a heartless bastard?"

"It's genetic."

It wasn't such a good comeback, but it made Potter flinch. Draco saw a flash of that pity again before he looked away, his eyes narrowing. Behind the dangling amulets and whole snake skins that hung from its frame like a ragged curtain, the door to the shop's back room hung invitingly open. "We'll lose our cover when we get to the door," he said.

Draco watched the pink smoke puffing from Potter's mouth as he spoke. For all his goofy grin, talk of 'scores', and bleeding heart for anything even vaguely human-looking, Potter had just managed to mirror Draco's line of thought so perfectly that it was almost alarming. I just keep on underestimating him, don't I?

"I'll block, you retaliate."

"Yes, boss."

Why was that so funny? Draco was the Legilimens - of course he should handle defence. And Potter…Potter's raw power defined offensive - in more ways than one -

Potter's hand caught hold of the back of his neck, dragging him forward into a hard, fierce kiss. "I-" Potter swallowed hard, and his cheeks coloured. "I like having you to watch my back," he continued awkwardly, and then finished with a rush, "but you're still a complete bastard."

His lips tingling, Draco breathed out one last curl of smoke and met Potter's gaze through it. Potter could make a simple statement of fact sound like a dark confession, and the expression in his eyes was suddenly vulnerable.

What he calls 'watching his back', I call saving both our necks.

"Now, I explained about that. My mother is definitely married to my father -" Potter's gaze flicked away at that. And yes, I know you don't like my father, but I am still his son. Draco reached out for Potter's hand and let him pull him up into a half-crouch, their fingers locking together. Potter beamed at him like a kid who'd been given the most perfect birthday present, and the sudden pounding of Draco's heart couldn't be blamed entirely on fear. "Don't do anything stupid," he snapped.

Then they were running - and just in time, because his words were drowned out by the screech of disintegrating wood, cabinets and contents alike torn apart by a Reductor Curse.

So much for our fucking cover.

"Cheating fuckers!"

Gosse will kill them when he comes around.

But Potter was laughing as he banished the cloud of splinters back towards their pursuers, and either his amusement was infectious, or Draco was getting hysterical, because he found himself joining in. Instinct and practice moved his wand hand, the right blocking spells spoken in his mind without conscious effort, and he was still laughing as they plunged through the curtain of skins into the back room, still clutching each other's hands like idiots.

Draco Transfigured the skins into a heavy metal plate that filled the doorway, and glared at the pattern of scales it had retained while he caught his breath. Still, as long as it held long enough, did it matter if it still looked a little snaky? McGonagall wasn't there to deduct points for aesthetics.

"Incendio." A roaring fire sprung up in the fireplace in response to Potter's spell. The metal plate bulged inward and cracked - and Draco let himself wonder just what the hell they were going to do if the Floo Network had been disconnected.

It was too late to worry. Potter tossed more Floo powder than was strictly necessary into the fire; it hissed and spat but it did turn green, which was encouraging.

"6c Calchas Square," Draco said as the metal plate shattered and Potter dragged him into the flames.

Mother might not have been phased by Granger, but I wonder what she'll make of this visitor…