A/N: Firstly, I want to thank all my reviewers. The feedback is being scarce nowadays, and thus all the more treasured.
A short message to all my readers: Review!
Thank you for your attention.
Brynn

Chapter 26: Fashion

Saturday dawned sunny, and neither Draco nor Harry had seen the Dark Lord in days. They had been frequently visited by the two resident Healers – Carl and Anabelle – and he had noticed Harry hissing at the shadows in the library, so he supposed they were being monitored. He still had no idea what did his friend do or say to anger Voldemort, but it also had a positive side – they didn't have to meet Snape. It was another blissful eight days before Draco would have to face the man.

He had a suspicion that Harry didn't tell him the whole truth about Snape, but no amount of annoying helped to get any information out of the boy. He eventually gave that up and focused on his studies of human anatomy. He already knew more than he cared for – a human body was full of red squishy things that kept it alive. And tended to ooze whenever their confines of skin and muscle were opened. Draco hated pain passionately, but he had to admit that the invention of Cruciatus was in a way blessing. He could imagine what Death Eater meetings would look like, were the Dark Lord reduced to physical means of torture.

All in all, Draco started to realise that being a Natural Healer was not simply having a rare, strange power. It also meant all those things he used to avoid – like responsibility that forced itself through the urge to Heal, and appreciation of what he was doing induced by the Healer-Bestowed bond. He felt it like an unnatural jolt of content whenever he walked past any of the men and women he had Healed. But nothing could hold a candle to the way he felt about Harry. Harry was his first Bestowed, and it showed: Draco couldn't stand the green-eyed menace hurting itself in any way. He felt compelled to mend the smallest of papercuts, a scrape, a stiff neck, cramped muscles… anything that might ail Harry in any way. And the worst of it was, that he enjoyed it.

"What the Hell did you do to me…" he mumbled, laying back in the hard backed chair he appropriated and closing his eyes. The tips of his fingers sllid down the yellowed paper of the book on the table in front of him and landed bonelessly in his lap. He listened to the soft hum of the piles of tomes everywhere around him… it sounded dangerous, the same way dark, deep enormous caves were dangerous. Before the fear of the unknown could set in, Harry put a hand on his shoulder.

"It was not me, Draco. And I'm sorry if it's turned out bad for you-"

"Not exactly 'bad'," he protested. "I am just… not who I always thought I was." Harry laughed softly, and Draco absolutely loved the sound. Whatever it was that made Harry suddenly cherish life, he was grateful for it.

"There's two of us."

Draco cracked one eye open, but felt too weary to bother and lift an eyebrow, too. Harry was carding his fingers through a strand of Draco's hair that escaped the tie, and smiling.

"You're someone different. I'm someone different. And… now we're saddled with each other. Nagini says the documents are signed. They just wait for our signatures, and Tom insists on a Blood Ritual, but I don't think so."

Draco sighed.

"I don't mind living with you. No, really, when you're… alright, you're not too exuberant to suffer." He attempted to crack a smirk, but the sarcasm was wasted, for neither of them felt like joking, especially not about Harry's unfortunate tendency to hurt himself. That was, hopefully, a thing of the past… "I'm already attached to you as it is," he said, not as bitterly as he would wish it to come out because, to tell the truth, he really, really cared about Harry. "-though I don't think there's a way to convince the Dark Lord against using Blood Magic."

This time Harry smirked.

"Don't worry, brother. I have some heavy-load arguments."

D-D

It was past time for dinner, but neither Harry nor Draco were hungry, so they decided to spend their evening within their bedroom. The world outside was dark, and the windowpane glistened in the flames of candles, and it took Draco quie a long time to admit to himself that he was too nervous to concentrate on his reading. He gave up, shut the text carefully out of his new-found respect for Joaquim, and went to join Harry by the table. The boy was staring into the obscurity of night, or perhaps at the reflection himself in the glass.

"Funny, isn't it…" Harry asked without turning his head, hearing Draco sink on the chair beside him. Draco had no idea, so he refrained from responding. If Harry wanted him to make out the sense of that statement, he would expand.

"I never really had a family of my own… but the closest I came to having one was with the Weasleys."

Draco shrugged.

"I don't see how that is funny."

"Bill used to be kind of like my brother."

"And now he's going to be your foster-father. Does that bother you?" Draco inquired, touching Harry's shoulders in hope of easing the tension in them. In that he failed.

"I don't want a family!"

Shocked, Draco almost retracted his hand, but then he changed his mind. He gripped Harry's shoulder and forced the boy to sideways lean on him.

"I always wanted a family," Harry continued quietly. "I saw my parents in the mirror of Erised – a family was my deepest desire. I loved the Weasleys. But now… everything's different. Their association with me will cause them to become a main target… and with the controversy around me lately… they'll be a target of both sides."

"That's bollocks, Harry. Weasleys are as Light as the North Star. They-"

"And what about Bill? He's a member of the Dark Order."

To this, Draco had no answer. Honestly, he lacked a lot of answers, and somehow he sensed that Harry didn't expect him to have them, but the sheer inability to explain, to help, felt like a personal failure. He had no idea how the people would react to the Weasleys. He didn't understand what it was that really bothered Harry, he couldn't comprehend the sudden change of heart and why the ever-lone orphan didn't want family anymore.

"I don't mind being your brother…" he offered, because it was all he had. Harry gave him a small, sad smile that Draco spied in their reflection.

"I don't mind being your brother either. I can take care of myself, and of you, should you need it…" Draco had a suspicion that he would need it, on occasion. Harry sighed.

"And that's the trouble. All those years, when I needed someone, there was no one. No one gave a whit about what I had to go through. I did learn to take care of myself. Now I don't need anyone. Bill's an alright-guy, but I don't fucking want him to play daddy to me."

"But the-"

Draco's reply was interrupted by the sound of the door opening. Harry didn't move. Draco looked up and saw the Dark Lord's image in the glass pane.

"My Lord…" he said respectfully, but didn't stand because Harry was holding him down and refused to let go.

"While William is a privileged supporter," the Dark Lord said, meeting Harry's eyes through the reflection, "he has – and will have – no authority over either of you. In fact, as long as you reside in the Fourtower Black Fort, you have authority over him. He merely carried the responsibility. His fate is in your hands - as he wished it." This time Harry did move. He let go of Draco, straightened, and waited for the Dark Lord to approach and rest a hand on his shoulder.

"Nagini tells me that you have not abandoned you foolish proposition. I will not be made a fool of."

Draco – respectful and, frankly, terrified – backed away from the pair of wizards. He, in contrast to Harry, didn't have the suicidal kind of courage that would let him stand up to the Dark Lord's orders. He oftentimes wished that Harry lacked it, too, but… Again and again, he had been sure that the boy would die, yet Harry persistently kept proving him wrong, surviving everything. In Draco's mind a bridge began to form, connecting the vision of the mythical Boy Who Lived to his soon-to-be brother that survived everything.

"I never meant to humiliate you, Tom," Harry responded calmly, but the tension in his shoulders that Draco wasn't able to dispell was gone with the Dark Lord's touch.

"I do not care about your intentions. I want your obedience, Harry Potter, and if the only way to achieve that is to threaten people dear to you, then that is what I will do."

Harry nodded, resigned.

"Be in the Audience Hall in thirty minutes. Wear dress robes."

Draco opened his mouth to point out that they didn't have dress robes, but the words stuck in his throat as the Dark Lord crossed the room and strode out, leaving the door open. A girl reminiscent of Fleur timidly stuck her head inside.

"Come in," Harry said kindly, standing up and getting to Draco's side. The girl blushed and, trembling, stepped over the threshold. She was carrying a shrunken parcel in her arms. Seeing how obviously scared she was, Draco beckoned her closer to them.

"Hello, Gabrielle," Harry said, surprising both Draco and the little girl. She beamed at him, and her eyes shone with the all-too-familiar awe.

"Y-you remember me?" she stammered.

"Of course," Harry said with a smile and stretched out his hand. The girl blushed and handed him the parcel. "Thank you."

"I…" she blushed harder and Harry let the package down on Draco's bed and took the hand she still kept out-stretched.

"You're going be our Aunt, Gabrielle. You don't have to be shy."

She giggled, and Draco found himself staring at the exchange, mesmerised. He had a suspicion that his expression strongly resembled the girl's at that moment.

"I just… wanted to say merci, Harry. And…" she paused for a moment, and Draco finally realised (after processing Harry's statement) that this was Fleur's little sister, the one that he saved during the Second Task of the Triwizard Tournament.

"And?" Harry inquired.

Gabrielle timidly hung her head and, staring at her shoes, muttered something that Draco didn't quite catch. Then she abruptly turned around and ran out.

"What did she say?" he asked. Harry was gaping at the half-open door in amazement.

"She… she said that…" He turned his head and stared into Draco's eyes, before completing the statement.

"That she hopes I'll win."

D-N

Harry tugged at the high collar of his dress robe. It was the most beautiful piece of clothing he had ever worn, despite it being more than a little different from what he would willingly choose to put on. He could see Lucius Malfoy donning something like this, or perhaps even Draco, but himself… he was supposed to wear green, or black and red, but…

It was not that he looked or felt bad, just… unusual.

He finally decided that he was going to survive wearing this garment and emerged from the bathroom to find Draco standing in front of the mirror and scrutinising himself. He looked stately. Immaculate. The perfect prince.

Harry stepped up next to him and couldn't help himself but compare. Both their robes were the colour of quicksilver, both featured fancy embroidery, but Draco's was done in gold and tinged the grey of his eyes while at the same time complementing his hair (which he left falling free for the occasion). It was an effect Harry could never hope to replicate. Regardless of his lack of natural good looks, his embroidery was… the shame of it… pink.

It was the softest pink of rose petals, a colour that was ideal for Ginny, or Hermione, or perhaps even Lucius Malfoy… but a scrawny, bony, ugly Harry looked positively… facetious. Glancing at Draco he entertained the slightly hysterical conceit of glamouring his hair an analogical ultra-light pink, but Tom would probably be livid, and Harry had made him mad one time too many in the recent past. The question of the Glamourie, however, remained.

"This is going to be bad," he moaned desperately and tugged at the high collar again. It was better than Ron's robe at the Yule Ball in their fourth year, but only slightly. At least he was not forced to wear lace.

"Why?" Draco asked, looking every bit the aristocratic gentleman. Fetching. Harry was a little hideous blotch of spilt dyes next to him.

"Well… last time I was supposed to dress up, I at least looked like a boy."

And then… Draco started to laugh.

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Draco – still laughing – hugged him, picked him up, and spun him around… like a little girl. His mood sank even lower and he tried to reproach. Draco set him down and squeezed him, almost cutting off his air supply.

"You…" he chuckled. "You… are worried about clothes!"

"'s not funny," Harry reproached. Draco smiled.

"Of course not. But can you picture yourself worrying about clothes a month ago? A week ago, even?"

Harry stopped to think, only to realise that Draco was right, and he was behaving ridiculously. He shook his head, cast a simple charm to colour his hair the customary black, and set out.

"Wait," Draco caught his forearm and forced him to stay where he was. He mumbled a couple of charms and Harry felt the robe adjust on him. He risked a glance back at the mirror, only to find that now he, in addition to the pink, looked tiny and frail, as the clothes were shrunk to his size and stopped hanging off him.

"Don't worry," Draco said with a smirk. "You're kind of like a marble d-" he wisely cut himself off. Harry's despair slammed back with new force.

"We've got five minutes left. Unless you want to run and ruin your hairstyle we should go…" he said tonelessly, forcing himself to retain his equilibruim in the face of what he would call Tom's vengeance, had he not known that Tom had nothing to do with the selection of the robes. When Tom wanted to convey displeasure he tortured, not humiliated.

"Harry…" Draco urged, catching up to him in the middle of an otherwise vacant corridor. "You don't look laughable. Not at all."

Harry didn't believe him.

"Really. You're what my m- what Narcissa would have called androgynous-"

"Yeah. That makes me feel so much better."

It meant he looked like a little kid. Draco just grinned and shook his head.

N-S

The Hall was not nearly full, but the multitude of Death Eaters present suggested that an important meeting was about to occur. Severus estimated the number of attendants to be close to fifty, which would mean the Inner Circle, the Second Circle, and – most likely – the permanent inhabitants of the Fort. He had yet to see either Draco, or Potter, and found himself skimming the room for any sign of platinum hair.

He, naturally, spotted several, since Lucius let his hood down to comfortably chat with Bellatrix and Rodolphus, and Delacour didn't even bother with hers. He, however, noticed the conspicuous lack of Delacour's younger sister, which indicated that the evening was to include bloodshed.

"Severrrus," sounded a cold voice mere steps from him, and he turned to realise that Lucius had abandoned the Lestrange's and made his way to him, with a person that very obviously was not Narcissa hanging off his arm. "It has been a long time!"

Severus in the privacy of his mind decided that not nearly long enough, but woe betide him were he to say it aloud.

"Evening, Lucius," he replied with brilliantly acted civility.

"Do you, by any chance, know what has our Lorrrd planned forrr tonight?"

"Alas, I do not have any idea." He looked closely at the escort, but they were wearing their hood and their mask, which made them unrecognisable. Lucius tightened his hold on them, as though he was showing them off, but there was something cold and calculating in the grip, as well as in the gaze Malfoy surveyed the room with.

"It seems that Drrraco is absent, today-"

A stroke of a gong resounded, sending vibrations through the glass of the windows and Severus's bones, and he hastened to take his place in the front row, while getting as far away from Lucius (who didn't look the least bit disappointed at having to leave his trail behind in the back) as possible. Wormtail shuffled away from the stairs he had been sitting on to a shadowed corner. The Dark Lord was about to enter…

Severus knelt.