Believe me when I say I had a plan. Sadly, I'm realizing plans and I just don't go together. I try to meet them and fail every now. Like how my plan was to get this done and up before fall, then before Christmas to have as a gift for you all. But hey, since we're only in the final day of 2019, why not end the year with a bang.

Another reason why this chapter took so long to put together was because I wanted this chapter to be perfect. Stages has now hit the big 50 milestone, and yes I am still trying to process how my little story grew so big. I wanted it to be special and good. So it was a lot of writing, crossing out, editing, reediting. I almost thought of waiting because I wasn't completely satisfied, sure that I was missing something. But in the end, I stepped back, looked it and thought: this is good. So I hope you think the same.

3 things before you read:

1. Thank you so much for the patience, the love, and support

2). I highly suggest you reread chapter 3 before you dive in and devour this chapter. And closely examine a certain Father's reaction.

3). In the reviews, along with your thoughts and feelings which I'm eager to read, please please please share with me what has been your favorite chapter of Stages so far. I know for me, even though each chapter is special to me, my favs that were a delight to write were: chapter 2 (covers most of drarry's childhood with that sweet ending that gets me each time), chapter 33 and 34 (the full coverage of the Yule ball that was so much to write), and chapter 46. I'm excited to know yours.

Happy reading.


Chapter 50: Awakening the Dragon

For as long as Draco could remember, the values and traditions of the Malfoy family have been drilled into him from the time he could walk by his father. Repeatedly, thoroughly. What was to be expected from him as the sole Malfoy heir, and what his duties would be once he took over as Lord of the Manor.

Rules that have been passed down from father to son. The stepping stones, Father would say, that built up and had maintained the Malfoy line for decades.

Malfoys do not regret.

Malfoys did not show or possess any sign of weakness.

Malfoys do what they must for the sake of family and legacy.

Family above all; legacy beyond anything else.

They did no regret.

They did not have a weakness.

Did what they must for the sake of family and legacy, in the name of Malfoy. No matter the cost.

Those rules echoed in his head, skipping across his mind like peddles, growing into stones that sank after the first skip, hardening into spiked rocks that threatened to split his head open. Those echoes skipped across his head just then as Harry shared what happened to him, producing a sound that was fuzzy as if half his hearing was askew. The buzzing sound was like frail, thin muffled flares of static running along the sides of his head.

Buzzing that grew stronger with each word that came out of Harry's mouth, each picture those words created. Harry surrounded by sliver-masked faces and dark robes. Strands of white-blonde hair falling from that silver mask. Harry's hallow eyes looking at Draco, then quickly away as if he couldn't stand the sight of him.

As the buzzing grew, so did the conflicted, intense feelings growing inside. Utter dismay, horror, shock, anger, and disbelief-each ravaging in a maddening, continuous loop like a hurricane. Each harsh and vivid as bolts of lightning stirring inside thick clouds. The buzzing only ceased afterwards when he made clear where he stood with Harry. Not just where he stood with him, but also where he wanted to be with him. How he wanted to be with him period.

And as if that wasn't jarring enough, Harry wanted the same thing with him.

Which was why Draco was so scared to wake up the next morning. More terrified than he had ever been in his life, fearing that he dreamt the whole thing and nothing had changed between them. Although a small part of him, a crack, held onto hope that it was a dream, because that meant everything else that happened, everything else that was shared, wasn't-couldn't be real.

Last night was…everything and nothing like Draco expected. It was a night of salt-coated wounds. It was a night of shocking revelation after shocking revelation. And in the end, a night of dreams.

So achingly, unbelievably sweet that he didn't want it to end. He savored every moment of it. Every kiss, every touch, and every delicious sound he pulled from Harry and that Harry pulled from him.

The way Harry looked at him.

The way he touched him.

The things he said to him.

"There's no one else I want but you."

"I love you."

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

Draco went to sleep with those words replaying over and over like a song. The next morning, he got up reluctantly, trying to hold onto the threads of unconsciousness that were breaking before him, as if they could send him back to the sweet blackness. After a few minutes of trying and failing to go back to sleep, he found himself pressed against Harry's back, Harry's head nestled on top of his arm like a pillow, the other arm wrapped around his waist. A typical morning.

Until he picked up on the fact that he was pressing against bare skin. His arm was touching the bare skin of Harry's stomach. The bare skin of his back feeling cold from the early morning chill. Their bodies were littered with purplish bruises. The air penetrated with the unmistakable scent of cum and sweat.

It's not a dream. The thought was a small seed of shock planted inside his head, shock growing and expanding into disbelief, then blooming into pure joy as it sank in.

Draco stared at the love marks plastered from the column of Harry's neck, down to his collarbone, close to his chest. A chest he fondly remembered toying with last night.

It's not a dream.

Last night he managed to muster up every ounce of courage he had to confess his feelings. To his shock, Harry confessed he shared the same feelings for him. Despite everything, all the fear and secrets they kept from each other, the horrible summer and the reasons for their estrangement which his mind was still reeling from, Harry still wanted to be with him.

Now here they were. Entangled around each other, bare skin pressed against bare skin, bites and marks plastered on them, lips numb and bruised from so much kissing.

Not a dream. Shock swelled inside up inside him and blew up into giddiness. Not a dream. What happened between them was real. More than that, they were together.

Actually together.

Giddiness flared into joy, exploding into happiness. Happiness that burnt brighter, spread wider than he ever felt it erupted inside him, going off like a magnificent display of fireworks.

Harry was his. Draco was his. Now they were together. Now they were boyfriends.

And more, whispered a small voice, unwinding a flare of intense warmth that sizzled his insides.

Before the thought had sparked fear. Anxiety. Now? Heat flooded into his stomach. Endless possibilities spun from the thought.

Nearly drunk from the idea, Draco pressed a lingering kiss against Harry's neck.

Harry stirred, but didn't wake up. Seeing no refusal, Draco pressed another kiss to his neck, then another. Over and over, higher and higher until Draco was sure he was absolutely smashed from the warmth flooding inside him. Higher his lips went, reaching over from neck to underneath Harry's jaw. Next from jaw, up to his check. From cheek, he reached over to his lips-

"No."

Draco's eyes snapped open, the sweet haze breaking apart into fear. No? No, as in stop kissing him now so he could get more sleep? Or no, as in stop what you're doing altogether and don't attempt to try it again.

"No!"

Fear hardened to a solid, thick block of ice. Did Harry regret last night? Did he realize he had a mistake?

"Please…." The last syllable of the word fearful, nearly cracked, brought Draco's attention back to Harry.

His eyes were still closed, so the words were sleepily mumbled. A closer examination showed whatever he was dreaming, it was anything but sweet.

Harry's formerly limp body was curved into a tight ball. His eyes shut so tightly, Draco saw the veins rising through the skin. Draco reached for his shoulder and nearly lost his hand in the process.

"NO. PLEASE!"

He tried to shake Harry awake, but he might as well have been invisible. No matter how hard he shook, how loud he called out his name, whatever nightmare Harry was trapped in refused to him go. He was left with no other choice but to watch until the end, until Harry woke up with a start, limbs failing. Draco was quick to collect him, pulling Harry against his chest, rubbing his arms in a soothing motion.

"It's alright. You're alright." Draco assured.

Harry took in a slow, shaky breath as he grasped onto Draco's arms.

"Bad dream?"

"Voldemort." he breathed, and Draco hated how his body flinched from the name.

Memories from last night punctuated Draco like nails hammered into his skull. The reason for their estrangement. Harry's depression. The disastrous third trial. Voldemort's return, and the guests that were brought to witness it.

Static began to hum inside Draco's head, starting faint at the ears and slowly growing louder as the sound crept closer. Blocking rationality, signaling impulse. Demand. Fury.

The same sounds that started last night when Harry told him what happened. Draco felt that static tangling around him like thick tentacles, slowly pulling him down. Into the pit where the buzzed noise grew louder and louder, rolling over his body like heavy waves flattening him down.

And just like last night, Draco forced himself out of the spell, to block out the sound, and to be in the present. To focus on the good. Like the way Harry's face softened as he happily accepted Draco's proposal of distraction. The soft feel of his skin Draco's hands couldn't stop touching, the softness of his lips.

Still, Draco couldn't ignore the strange sensation, faintly hearing the static ringing on.

He heard it when they walked into the Great Hall and Harry stiffened beside him as he was bombarded with thousands of stares.

He heard it when he noticed the stares-Severus, Weasley and Granger's, and Dumbledore in particular-watching them.

He heard it all throughout the rest of the morning, in the halls, in classrooms that nearly overpowered the herds of whispers about Diggory, about Harry, about him being either a liar or unstable which made the ringing blare louder.

~...~

For the first time in his academic life, Draco skipped class. Not just one class, which could have been forgiven offense, but two. However one was History of Magic, so he wasn't too worried about Professor Binns marking him for it. Also, should and if he asked why he wasn't present, he could always say that Snape had pulled himself side to help with Potions. It couldn't be the first time.

Besides, the reasoning for his absence was too important. Harry's tale of what happened after the third trial, who was present, what was done refused to leave his head.

Madame Pince blinked five times in a row as he approached the front desk. He couldn't exactly blame her. In the past four years he had been at Hogwarts, he never needed to rely on her help, easily able to find whatever materials or books he needed for whatever assignment on his own. And whenever he couldn't, he usually went to Theo, a quick and easy reference that practically lived in the library.

This time, though, Draco needed assistance. "I need every single book regarding the second Wizarding War, particularly books and articles mentioning anything regarding the Dark Lord's followers."

Madame's eyebrows shot up.

Patience snapping apart like worn thread, Draco retorted, "Sometime in this century, if you please."

Her risen eyebrows slanted down. A perfect match for the frown currently twisting her mouth. "May I ask what sparked this sudden interest, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco grinded his teeth to keep in the mountain of stinging, heated words ready to collapse from his mouth.

Let's see…the boy I love finally loves me back the way I dreamt for years, but now he's hurting and it kills me seeing him like this, so this is the only thing I can think of to help him.

The man most of you nits are too terrified to speak of is back and after the boy I love, so I need to find a way to help him.

My father, the man whom I thought was untouchable and one of the greatest I knew, may or may not be one of the many causes hurting the boy I love. May or may not be in league with the same man who'd doubtlessly unleash hell on all of us. And I don't know if I want to cry or scream or rip someone's throat out. Starting with yours.

"Research," he got out with very little bite, even managing to slap a sweet smile onto his face.

It was either the look on his face or the severity of his tone that silenced anymore questions. Grumbling under her breath, she slipped away from her desk and went over to the forbidden section of the library, which had been enchanted with several stronger protection spells since their break-in first year. Minutes later, she returned with four books half the size of the monster books the giant oaf made them read two years ago that nearly chopped off Draco's hand.

Muttering a thanks, he carried the books over to a private table on the top floor that was blessedly clear of students and started his reading.

The first book was pretty much a recap of everything he heard from numerous history lessons, both at Hogwarts and private lessons with Father. The rise and fall of Morgana, Merlin's sister who was friend turned foe, growing into power and madness, becoming one of the first dark witches in history. Snippets of Grindlewald, the first ever pro-magic activist or terrorist, depending on the author's tone that aspired to bring wizards and witches out of hiding.

The second book was similar to the first one, only this time it focused more on dark magic as a whole. Featuring the three Unspeakable Curses Crouch Jr. taught them last year, but going into great detail on the history of each curse. The origins of its discovery, the ways it was tested on various animals and Muggles and even fellow wizards before it was perfected. The amount of time and skill it took for one to completely master each curse before they all became second nature to them. With each chapter dedicated to the Curse, gruesome pictures were embedded in the text of the victims chosen as test subjects. Pictures that made a hard, slow motion of nausea plow through Draco's stomach, threatening to send it into an uproar.

Some of pictures featured children, small children whose faces were so deeply carved, bodies so severely distorted, Draco could feel the great agony bleeding through the paper. He could almost make out their screams.

The third book proved to be the key to his questions as well as his nightmares. It continued on from Grindelwald's rise in power and how his influence nearly consumed all of Europe during the 1920s, nearly reaching America. How the death count of those against his cause was nearly as great as his staggering follower count. Then the book went on about the dark wizard who nearly triumphed over them all: He Who Must Not Be Named

Draco skimmed over the familiar parts that were common knowledge. How Voldemort slowly rose around the same time more and more Muggle-borns and Half-bloods were coming into the wizarding world. How quickly he gained followers, connections who shared his message, his vision. His hatred.

How many were former politicians and figures to the Ministry that believed in the separation of the two worlds. How a good portion of his supporters were from pureblood families, spanning into decades. Many who were dismay by the changing of their world, the disregard for tradition for the expansion of foreigners who brought their ideas, their issues into the old world. Many who believed in him, like their fathers or mothers before them, that willingly joined in his cause. Then for those unwillingly-

"It wasn't by chance!" proclaimed a convicted Death Eater during one of many trials in the later years. The quote was pulled from a reporter and used as the caption for the man's picture. In the black and white image, the man's pale face was crazed and fearful, body trembling as he leaned forward in his chair, hands slamming onto the desk. "Never by chance. The Dark Lord knew what we lacked in heart, we made up for in numbers. Some, like myself, were forced into servitude. Either by our families that were devoted to him or from the Imperious Curse. He's that powerful!"

It wasn't just him that raved he was had been under the Imperious Curse. A good percentage of those that were arrested and convicted said the same. That was it was if the Dark Lord's words were the strings pulling at their limbs, their mouths, their minds. For some, it was like they were under a deep, dark sleep that only broke when the Dark Lord fell.

Draco would've snorted if his mind wasn't whirling with a dozens of thoughts. Like the spider Crouch Jr. had tortured before the class, bending the insect to his will before finally killing it. Harry briefly under the Dark Lord's power and fighting tooth and nail against it. Then to his own parents.

Both his parents were tight-lipped about their past, other than the fact their marriage was an arrangement that proved to be a successful match. When it came to their families, hardly anything. Mother more-so, refusing to speak on her life as a Black before she became a Malfoy, as if years from her childhood to her wedding were an insignificant blur not worth mentioning. His father, simply reminding him of the greatness and heaviness of their name and legacy. Although there had been times, Father had mentioned he himself was far more lenient on Draco as a parent than his own father was on his.

That static from before came back, chiming softly in his ears like distant church bells, bringing back the aches tied to it. Draco tried to block the sound by rubbing his temples, but that only worsened as fact and memory and second guesses waged war inside his head.

His father made it no secret he thought Muggle-borns were no better than insects, but he treated Aunt Lily with respect. He showed her the same courtesy as he showed the wives and friends of their inner circle. He approved of her friendship with Mother. He treated Harry as well as he did Draco. The night the Potters were killed, he even said….He said….

"And threw it right back at him," Draco had looked from his mother to his father. Only his father wasn't looking at him. He was looking into the dancing flames of the fireplace, as if they held all the answers. "To be able to do such a thing is…incredible." The last word came out in a breathless murmur. He poured another drink but didn't take a sip. He focused on its contents, a strange look flickering in his eyes that was dazed and focused at once. A strange look that harbored an unsettling spark. "The boy is more powerful than we realized."

The memory was like a corner to a worn page sticking out of a book, slowly slipping free from its cage, unfurling before him. Expanding into a full picture, laying out details he didn't remember or thought about clearly.

At the time Draco didn't think much of that night. He was only a child, a child whose world was turned upside down in one night from the death of his aunt and uncle who were killed in cold blood. A child whose only concern was his best friend and making sure he was okay.

He saw himself as that frightened seven year old seated on his mother's lap, nursing a mug of lukewarm hot chocolate, anxiously awaiting for the Floo or the front door to burst open. His mother rubbing circles against his back in an attempt to sooth him, despite her own fear and shock. Father, sitting across from them, his eyes unreadable, face smooth as marble.

Smooth, unbothered, cold marble.

In a night of shock and fear, Father's calm composure never broke. Even when his soon-to-be ward was brought to the manor, eerily still, covered in blood. Even when Severus recounted the gruesome sights he stumbled up at Gordic's Hallow. It could have because Malfoys were always cool and level-headed no matter the situation, no matter how dire. As Father taught him.

Draco couldn't let go of those words though; what Father said that night about Harry's power. The awe in his tone as he spoke of it. Did Father consider Harry's survival of the Killing Curse a miracle? Or did he saw it as a threat?

No sooner did he think it, familiar defense rose up as a barrier, keeping the thought out. One built from years of defending his father against accusations, rumors, and loose lips sprouting nonsense against him. All of it nothing but lies. Rubbish from the insecure and envy who wished they could be his father. Yet, thick and wide as that defensive wall, it was no match of that blasted ringing was so painfully loud, vibrating through the veins and nerves of his head. Bringing along with it the memories he couldn't shut out: Halloween night, Father's commentary on Harry's survival, the private lessons that were only exclusive to Draco that focused on the dark arts, white-blonde hair spilling from a silver mask as detached gray eyes watched his best friend nearly die.

No. No, it couldn't be. It couldn't. Father couldn't have-he wouldn't have-

"Malfoy."

You. Have. Got. To. Be. Kidding. Anger burst inside Draco at the familiar, irritating voice.

He pulled away from the book and leaned into his chair, turning his narrow-eyed glare up at the insect who was glaring down at him as if he were the one interrupting her.

"I should really change your name from insect to cockroach," Draco retorted. "Merlin knows you keep popping up like one."

"What did you do to him?" she demanded

"To whom? Your beloved weasel," Draco asked, then shrugged with one shoulder, laying one arm behind his chair, turning sideways to face her properly. "Bad luck already touched his life, my dear, long before he met me."

"I mean Harry!" she snapped, red filling her cheeks. "What the hell did you do? Did you guilt-trip him?"

Shock and outrage flared inside him, like twin explosives. "Did I what?"

"Blackmail?"

"Pardon?"

"Or used a love potion or some-"

"Granger!" The frosty brisk in his voice silenced her rant. He looked her right in the eye and said, "I highly suggest you stop talking before I really go off and split you in two from your beaver teeth to the naval."

Granger slammed her fist on the table, rattling his inkwell and candle-lit lamp. Draco shot her an unimpressed look at the lackluster form of "intimidation". Not that Granger took note, leaning in close to him. "I'm trying to wrap my head around the how and why? Both of which include you."

"Oh really?"

"Really!" she snapped, tone an octave away from being a full-on shriek. "Like why after everything he's been through this summer, everything he's seen, throwing complete caution to the wind, Harry would suddenly decide the best course of action would be walking into the Great hall and kissing you and-"

"Oh I see," Draco concluded, lips curling into a warped smile. "What has you so bewildered is the fact Harry decided to do something for himself, without your consult or that of the old goat's. And the fact he chose to do with a bloke."

"Don't be ridiculous!" she nearly screamed. "That has nothing to do with it."

"Then maybe it's because you wish it was yourself walking hand-in-hand with him."

Bewilderment slammed into her face, blowing through her fury, much to his amusement. As well red flooding into her face, much to his annoyance.

"You…I…." It took a while for Granger to get her bearings together and retrieved her slacked jaw. "Don't be ridiculous! Harry is my friend! One whom I happen to care about."

"His wellbeing or his beneficial reputation?"

"Don't you dare put words into my mouth!"

"Then you don't dare heap your ridiculous ideas onto me!"

"Can't blame a girl when dealing with people like you."

Draco now turned fully to her, his left brow slowly raising up to his hairline. "And what, pray tell, do you mean when you say people like me?"

"Racists!" she spat. "Hateful, vile, bigot men who look down at anyone and everyone who don't live up to their ideals. Who look down at someone because of their status, their race-anything that means them less than human. A spoiled, entitled, wretched brat who has nothing but his daddy's name and reputation to back up his trash. A brat who's just as narrow-minded, ignorant as his Death Eater for a-"

In several twists and turns, Draco was up an instant, Granger was shoved against the shelf, with Draco's wand aimed at her throat.

"Mr. Malfoy! Ms. Granger!" Madame Pince rushed in. "What on earth are you-"

"Dear Madame," Draco said, turning over to her. She stopped dead in her tracks. "I am about to engage in my special kind of reading. One that does not require an audience. So, if you would please?"

"But-"

"Now!"

Dismay widened her eyes, loosened her jaw. Then, almost as if she was in a daze, Madame Pince returned back to her desk.

Granger tried to escape from her hold, but hissed as he dug his wand harder against her throat. She nearly jumped as he turned back to her. "Malfoy…your-your...your eyes-"

"I let you wag that useless tongue of yours long enough," Draco said in a low, silk-like voice Snape himself would approve of. "Now it is time for you to shut up and listen to me, insect."

Draco leaned in closer.

"If you were as much as a great friend to Harry as you claim to be, your tap priority would be telling your cowardly cubs in your goddamn house to keep Harry's name out of their mouths and their shitty opinions and theories to themselves."

"I-"

"If you were a true friend, then you'd be checking on our mutual friend after the Daily Prophet released their latest bundle of garbage instead of eagerly awaiting the next set of instructions from the old goat like an eager puppy desperate to please her master."

"I-"

Draco cut her again in that smooth, silk voice. "Am not done. Nor did I give you permission to speak."

Her eyes were hard, glittering knives.

"Yet instead of doing the following or anything remotely related to productive, you are here harassing me. Which I find very interesting. And also reminds why I despise you." Draco leaned in and Granger jumped away from him, her back slamming against the bookshelf with a shudder, as if the precious books could protect her. "And it has nothing to do with your blood status, insect. It has everything to do with the fact you are, as my favorite Professor and mentor said once, 'an insufferable know-it-all.' Who seems to think a self-proclaimed title makes you the greatest thing to ever live. The wisest whose intelligence cannot be matched by anyone. That way your way is the only way. Your word is law. Any opposing is deemed wrong and of lesser value. That you relish in any and every given opportunity to show off just how clever you are. Well, allow me to burst that insufferable bubble of yours."

He smirked at her.

"You may be one of the only cubs in your house who has more than two working brain-cells. I will give you that. You might even be smarter than the average. That, I will acknowledge. But none of that hides the fact you are a sad, pathetic little girl who is all bark and no bite."

On the last word, a snarl thundered in his voice as he bared his teeth at her, causing her to jump.

"Try as many times as you and your weasel want. Try every resource and trick you both can pull. I am not going anywhere. No matter the newspapers, these flocks of brainless sheep, the old goat have to say, or how many times you bark until you turn blue in the face. Harry and I are together. Of our own freewill. By choice. So let me end this conversation with this parting gift."

She opened her mouth, but all fell to silence with a single, raised finger.

"You ever try to come in between Harry and me again? You ever try to interfere with business that does not concern you? You ever EVER attempt to imply the shrewd, sickening notion I would ever force or trick Harry into doing anything, I won't simply destroy you, Granger. I will end you."

Granger looked like she wanted to defend herself, to snap back to him. But her lips were quivering too much, her face too flushed.

Without another word to her, Draco picked up the books and left the library, ignoring the librarian's squabbles about him needing to check them out.

~...~

Unfortunately for him, his time at the library did little to ease his mind. Not even reading Granger for filth satisfied him the way he thought it would. Both just made him more anxious, filled his head with more questions.

The next two classes he had afterwards, sadly ones he didn't share with Harry, it was hard for him concentrate. His mind wandered back to the text he read in the book. Most of the followers that willingly obeyed while a number of them claimed not to have a choice, which left him wondering about the others who did. What had they given up and gained in following? Those words from the text clashed with the memory of Halloween eight years ago with his father's unwavering composure. All of which collided and parried in his mind like dueling blades.

To make matters worse, he was wasting time in a late afternoon class of Divination, a class he didn't understand why it was even a class in the first place. Another class he didn't have with Harry, but one he had with Weasel-bee.

Draco's seat, or pillow he should say (a cheap lump of green), was over by the round window, giving him a view of the late-day sky that was slowly changing from light blue to inky navy. Surrounded by a few other Slytherins, including Theo who was sulking next to him, that were roped into this travesty of a class. Weasley and the rest of the Gryffindors were smacked in the center of the class.

Despite the distance and the fact Weasel-bee was right in front of the batty woman's vision, he turned his head towards Draco's direction and shot a foul glare.

There could be a great number of reasons for that glare. The usual being that he was a superior reminder of the boy's own inferior existence. Harry's bold kiss this morning, a public declaration he was with Draco and didn't give a damn what they thought or had to say. Or it could be what Harry shared with them on what happened in the graveyard and the Weasel, along with his bushy-haired owner, were sure Draco was attached to it.

The thought mashed with his unease, sitting like stone in the pit of his stomach.

Or most likely Granger ran to the weasel after their little chat in the library, crying about the big, bad snake that hurt her feelings and now he was trying to take matters into his own hands. The boy's glare said as much.

Pathetic, Draco scoffed. Tiring of the one-sided game, he replied back to Weasely's foul look with a seething glare accompanied with a flash of teeth, so icy that Longbottom and the Irish twat flinched along with the weasel.

He and the insect were always twin pains in his arse. That was nothing new. Besides he had more pressing matters to worry about.

"Look into the cup!" Urgency thundered in Trelawney's voice, startling most of the class into consciousness. "Everyone! Look into the great beyond. Wonder back to the sleepy brim to sketch the future's mirror."

"I'm convinced that she pulled that one out of her arse." Goyle muttered. Draco nodded in agreement.

"Everything she says is pretty much pulled from her arse." Theo groaned, as if wounded. "It pains me. Some of her babble would actually make good lines for books."

They would. If the rest of the dialogue didn't sound so obscured.

Draco looked into the old, chipped mug, caked with years' worth of dirt at the bottom.

"Alright," Theo said, possibly mistaking his silence for concentration. "Well I don't really remember most of my dreams. Not that I got much sleep in the first…"

Theo's words were muffled sound as Draco's mind wandered back. Not to his dreams, but to his memories.

His father never was an overly affectionate person. Much like Snape. It wasn't until Uncle James came into his life that Draco realized grown men could show so much affection. So easily. So openly. Father, though, was a constant, remote presence all throughout his life. Distant to Mother's closeness. Closed-up to her openness. A sharp eye watching his every move, already making note of dozens of errors. A slick tongue aimed with either honey-dripped compliments or venom-laced insults. Armed with careful his smiles that said more with its faint curls than one could say in words.

How attentive and stern he was with him and Harry during their lessons. How Draco stayed behind for an extra lessons that covered the dark history of their world, including the Dark Arts. How often he was holed up in his office that was sealed against them whenever they tried to sneak in, sure he was harboring sweets or toys. And the smile that slashed across his face when he emerged hours later.

"What were you doing in there, Father?" Draco would asked.

"It's a secret," he smiled.

"A good secret?" Harry would asked as they trailed behind him.

That smile grew, and he patted both their heads. Draco savored the rare show of affection.

"A very good secret," he'd eventually answer, smile growing just a bit bigger. Just a bit brighter. "With tremendous results."

Then his mind moved over to Dumbledore. The old goat was against Harry staying with them from the start, going as far as to recommend that horrible magic-hating Muggle family of his. At the time, Draco thought it was because Dumbledore didn't trust Mother. But now he wondered if Father was the reason for his caution. If the old goat knew something that the rest of them didn't?

No. Draco sharply shook his head. No. He wouldn't easily jump conclusions. Not yet.

His father who was one of the most powerful men Draco knew. Who easily dealt people with his cool stare and polished, sharp words. Who played people and their secrets like a skilled card player. Armed with so many secrets, so many connections, and so much influence. The kind of man that easily brought the Minister down to his knees whenever he had the slightest inkling to cross them. The kind of man Draco always aspired to be when he grew up.

The kind of man Draco couldn't picture bowing down to anyone. Then again, he thought the same thing about Severus, and he was proven wrong.

"Look into the fragment pieces of slumber," Trelawney cried. "Look deep within and connect them to unlock the future."

"Nonsense." Theo muttered.

Draco would have said the same in regards to the thoughts spinning in his head. A part of him wanted to. Another part of him refused to let it go.

The lessons Draco had to attend that Harry couldn't.

The night the Potters were killed and Father's reaction.

The trips down to Knockturn Alley Father made, particularly around second year when the Ministry was conducting random raids across England in search of dark artifacts.

The night he was missing from the third trial, where a hooded figure with his features stood hours later along with the rest of them who cheered and laughed as Harry was being tortured.

It was a coincidence. All of it nothing, but a series of coincidences that proved nothing. But Severus told them there were no such thing.

Which means-

"Potter attacked McLaggen!"

White noise from the classroom halted as a third year Gryffindor burst into the room, sweat dampening his flustered face.

"What?!" Weasley shot up from his chair, voicing the question screaming inside Draco's head.

"He attacked McLaggen!"

Before another question was launched, before Trelawney had a chance to call the class to order, Draco was up in an instant and out of the classroom.

The tension from this morning, the sudden ruckus from Divination class was nothing compared to the chaos that flooded the corridors. With thousands of students armed to the teeth with their shouts, their fear and apprehension bouncing off the walls, their stares that burnt onto Draco's skin as he passed by them. The cold glare of his eyes, the stone exterior of his face cleared his path like the Red Sea, warning any and all not to try him.

'Course Goyle and Crabbe also helped, shoving away any and all fools that tried to come towards him.

Through the tangled web of fear and gossip, Draco gathered pieces here and there to get the full picture. Pansy and Harry leaving a class when McLaggen came upon them. The things he did. The things he said. About Pansy, about Harry, about Diggory.

Red bleeding across his vision, Draco stormed over to the Slytherin dungeons, over to where Pansy was seated on the couch, surrounded by their friends. Her face was white as a sheet, remnants of dry tears streaked down her cheeks, her body trembling.

She looked up at him. "Draco-"

"What!" he demanded, his voice harsh as whip lashing. "Happened!"

She told him everything. McLaggen with his stupid black clothes and cross, waving it around, speaking in gibberish as if he were trying to banish a demon from Harry. How Pansy tried to deflect him but got pulled into the mess. McLaggen sharing how some of the parents complained of Harry's return to Hogwarts, convinced he was a raging lunatic. His bold claim of anyone getting close to Harry almost always ending up dead. And everything else that happened after that.

Once she was done, she was shaking so badly, the chair shook along with her. Daphne sat beside her and pulled her into a hug. Theo watched her with an expression of conflicted concern, looking as if he wished to offer comfort but unsure of the response he'd receive.

Draco took in everything she said with a slow, deep breath. With an even slower nod. Then charged straight to the door, blood boiling.

Crabbe latched onto his arm before he took another step, reeling him back. Goyle grabbed onto his other arm as he tried to escape.

"Let me go."

"Not a chance." Blaise retorted.

"You dare-"

"I very much do, you hot-headed prick." Blaise evenly answered back. "Harry's already a mess enough as it is. The last thing he needs is Hurricane Malfoy blowing through and causing further damage."

Little piece of shite! Draco seethed. "I'm more than capable of-"

"Looking like you'd perfectly be suited for a two-decade stint in Azkaban for manslaughter in the first degree." Blaise cut in. "And seeing how I'm the only one capable of holding a conversation without looking like I'm ready to hack off limbs, that makes me the perfect candidate to seek out Potter myself."

Over his damn dead body. "Like hell you-"

Turning away, as if Draco was a pestering fly, Blaise inquired, "Any objections?"

None of them replied, looking away from Draco's fury-spitting eyes.

"Thought so." Blaise barely glanced at his direction before he turned and headed for the door.

Where the hell did Zabini get the nerve to call the shots and act like Draco was a stubborn child? Whenever he gained it, Draco had half a mind to cut it out, along with the bastard's tongue, his eyes, and then his head? As if Zabini had a right to comfort Harry when he was Draco's?

Bastard! Him. McLaggen. Weasley. Granger. The whole fucking lot of them.

Harry was his. His to comfort. His to care for. Point, blank, period. Any fool who thought otherwise would be sliced from throat to their naval.

"Draco, calm down!" He had no idea how loud the static grew until his entire head felt like massive earthquake, how tightly his teeth were clenched, how hotly his blood was roaring until Daphne stepped in front of him. Then immediately stepped back as he focused his glare onto her, looking as terrified as Granger did.

Bastards!

With a snarl, Draco broke himself free and stormed to his room, slamming his door so hard it rattled. He felt the relentless dark energy raging inside him like adrenaline set on triple high. Desperately needing an outlet. Desperately wanting a target to unleash his energy upon.

A goddam way to make the buzzing stop!

Draco slammed his hands against the sides of his head and took a slow, deep breath to calm his nerves, which felt like a horde of killer moths buzzing inside him, clawing and eating each other to get to him.

A small part that may have been what was left of his rationality reminded him that he needed to keep his head steady for his sake as much as Harry's. Reminded him of Father's constant cues of Malfoys maintaining control at all cost. Yet it was those very same reasons why his head was frying inside him.

Harry was hurting and there was nothing he could do. He couldn't protect him. He failed him. Again.

Draco snarled and pulled at his hair, nearly yanking his roots from his scalp as anger spiked inside him.

He had no idea how long he stayed there, perched on top of their dresser chest, mind overworked and undone by everything he knew, he leaned, he couldn't believe and couldn't unsee. All connecting to two common elements that were the cause of his boy's pain.

What felt like days later, the door creaked and Draco's body was tense as bow's string being drawn back by an arrow.

At the look of Harry's face, his anger quickly switched to concern. Suddenly nothing mattered. Not Blaise. Not McLaggen. None of it. All that mattered was the beautiful boy in front of him who was hurting and it was his duty to stop it.

Which was why before Harry could get a word out, Draco was upon him and held him tightly. Why he listened to everything Harry had to say. Why he made it his mission to take Harry's mind off things.

I'll make it right, he declared through every slow touch that smoothed and unwind another layer of tension.

I'll make it right, he promised through every kiss that was sweet but urgent.

I'll make it right, he vowed as they moved together, played with each other as pleasure built between them until it exploded.

Harry's mouth was slacked in a soft smile, eyes tender, expression pure sated bliss. Looking so beautiful, so peaceful, Draco kissed him over and over again, his heart so full of love and devotion for Harry he knew there was nothing he wouldn't do for him.

He would make it right.


Last night, it seemed like Harry was fine. The night started out intense, went on to be more intense, but ended wonderfully. Maybe it was because of that, Draco didn't notice how much his worries troubled him until now.

At first Harry was still, pressed against him, head rested on top of his arm. Then he moved. Starting with his head that gave a slight shake. His legs slowly curled. Right hand clutched, then unclutched, and clutched again.

Sweat beaded along his hairline and forehead, producing rapidly. His body went from loose to tense.

"No!" Harry murmured. "Nooo…Stop!"

Was said so loudly, he was amazed Harry didn't wake up from the outburst. Not that Draco planned to do so, already turning Harry over to him, one hand stroking his hair, the other his stroking his back.

"Don't hurt him!" he rasped.

Draco leaned in and brushed his lips against Harry's hairline, gliding it over to his ear. "You're alright."

Harry gave a small whimper, tension loosening just a bit.

Draco leaned closer. He toyed with the loose curls. His hand at the back moved over to the front, unbuttoning the first few buttons of his night shirt, fingers brushing against bare skin.

"I'll make it right." he promised. All the warmth he felt from their bath rushed to his head, heating every inch of him, before settling down. The warmth slid, dripping from his fingertips, seeping through skin.

Harry's body curled up, then slack and didn't stir again.

Draco pulled his hand, then his body away from Harry. Once he was sure Harry was completely asleep, he got up from bed and quickly changed. The static from his stress was no longer a thrashing, frantic mess of nerves. But a steady, clear thrum that moved like a heartbeat matching with his own.

Malfoys were always calm. Always level-headed. Always rational. Through and through, no matter how dire the situation. They also, when push came to shove, knew when it was time to peel off the white gloves and get their hands dirty.

Draco looked over at Harry, who was sleeping in bed. Their bed. He was tempted to climb over and have another taste of him, but there were a few stops he had to move.

~...~

The Hospital Wing was dark with only a few candles lit overhead. Madame Pomfrey must have gone to bed after treating her lone patient lying in the middle of the bed, propped by dozens of pillows.

McLaggen was quite a sight. His complexion so chalky pale, he could pass as a corpse. His dirty blondish brown hair a mess of uneven knots as if someone took a razor to his head, blindfolded. His entire neck was covered in over eight layers of thick bandages although red was spotted here and there in dots and streaks.

Quite a sight. Also quite an improvement.

A groan puffed from McLaggen's mouth as he moved his bed, squirming like a cat caught in a trap. Then, as if he could sense Draco's dark thoughts, his eyes snapped open and widened at the sight of him standing by the window.

"Oh honey, you look dreadful." Draco retorted.

McLaggen gawked at him, as if he were a ghost came to hunt him. He scrambled forward, mouth open, like he were planning to bolt for the door and wake Madame Pomfrey.

A stinging hex to the shoulder forced him back in.

Draco pushed himself off the wall and strode over to the boy, his pleasant smile honed to a razor tee.

"Then again, I'd say it's quite an improvement from the usual look." Speaking of look, Draco's eyes darted down to the bandages. "Love the choker by the way."

A sneer curled McLaggen's mouth as he rushed forward like he wanted to bite him, then was pushed back, narrowly avoiding getting Draco's wand rammed against his throat.

"You have exactly ten words and only ten words to explain to me why I shouldn't break what's left of your neck. So I suggest you choose those ten words very, very wisely."

"You goddamn filth-" McLaggen's snarl was ruined by a yelp as Draco's hand clamped down on his shoulder.

"That's three," Draco said, pasting on a pleasant smile despite the static buzzing in his head. "Seven left."

"Your fucking psychotic crackpot boyfriend-" He was cut off again by a harder grip that was close to his collar bone.

"Two. More. Words."

"Death eater!"

The words were a double punch to the gut, knocking the wind from him.

"Like Father, like son."

Draco's hand fell limply to his side.

There was something in Draco's face, in his eyes that gave him away. Made McLaggen get back that stupid swagger, despite his injuries.

"You didn't know." His pained grimace slacked in incredulity, then brightened to crazed glee. Barking out a laugh, he responded, "You seriously didn't know?"

Draco's hand twitched, but he kept it to his side.

"I know things, Malfoy. Just like my mom knows things. Thanks to my grandfather who was there to see certain things," A mad glint sparked in his eyes. "Including witnessing every accused Death Eater that came in and pleaded their innocence before the Jury. Like your snake of a father."

McLaggen studied his face, eagerly watching to see how far his words hit. Something, a crack, a slip-up must have happened because he smirked at Draco.

"Maybe I shouldn't blame Potter too much. I wouldn't be surprised if all these years Daddy Dearest has been messing with his head. Twisting and fattening him up like a chicken be plucked by his Master-"

Draco clamped his jaw, cutting off anymore sprouting nonsense, and squeezed. Squeezed so hard, tears sprouted from McLaggen's eyes. Squeezed so hard any sound, muffled cries and curses, were cramped in between his jaw with his broken teeth caving in.

"Here is what you are going to do,' Draco said in that calm, velvety voice he used for Granger. He leaned down. "You are going to keep Harry's name out of your mouth and encourage your fellow Gryffindors to do the same if you know what's good for you. You are going to make clear, should any question be asked, the only fault of this whole mishap was yours for believing in the garbage that is the Daily Prophet. You are going to insist, that if dark magic was used, it was a curse triggered by your great recklessness and stupidity."

So many tears, so many muffled cries escaped from the boy that Draco's clenching hand was drenched.

"You are going to keep quiet about my visit. And our little chat," McLaggen resorted to clawing at Draco's hand to loosen his grip, which only made him to tighten it. "Keep quiet and remember this fear. Remember this pain. And know that I can and will make it ten times worse. And like Harry, McLaggen," He moved closer and flashed a cold smile, squeezing his jaw so tightly for emphasis, feeling teeth bending in. "I don't need my wand to do it."

This time when McLaggen looked into his eyes, coincidence was gone and replaced with fear. Much like Daphne, like Pansy, like Madame Pince, like Granger. But more vivid.

Draco released his jaw, feeling the pain throbbing off the bruised skin like heat. McLaggen took in a staggering breath. A breath that was shot right back down as Draco's fist collided with his throat. The blow delivered with such a hard force, delivered at such a precise angle, McLaggen bashed his head against the side railing and slumped, knocked out.

"Sweet dreams." Draco murmured.

~...~

Under no circumstances were Slytherins permitted to lounge around their Head of House's private quarters after-hours without given permission or under severe circumstances. Luckily for Draco, being the Head of House's own godson and prodigy had a few benefits. Problem was Snape definitely would question his need for a Floo, especially with it being so late. Add that to what Snape may know, what part he might have played or will play, that would raise suspicion.

Which was where craftiness came in.

"Why Professor Snape needs drink so late?" asked a house-elf as she put together the tea in the kitchen.

Across from her, Draco watched. "Well I'd imagine," he drawled lazily. "Working with Dunderheads is bound to make anyone irritable."

Squeaking fearfully, the house elf ducked her head in shame and frantically mashed the powder together. "Winky does not mean to offend, sir. Winky only-"

"Needs to focus on making the tea."

Ears slumped, she mashed the ingredients together until it was a glimmering dust of purple and was about to add it to the boiling water.

"The root." he calmly reminded her.

"Oh. Forgive Winky, sir. She forgot." She grabbed the thin-branched substance, cutting them into tiny pieces before crushing them to dust. Once done, she tossed everything into the water. As the tea boiled, Draco noticed her eyes were drooping when she took a quick inhale.

Perfect. "Off you go," he cheerfully said.

The house elf poured the tea into a large kettle, set it and a mug on a tray, and went off to make her delivery. On her way out, Draco heard a quiet but unmistakable yawn before the door swung closed.

He could barely contain his smile.

Ten minutes later, Draco walked back to the Slytherin dorms, straight to Snape's private dorms.

"Half –blood prince." He grinned at the door.

It opened with ease. Draco stepped inside and listened. Muffled snores filled the air, causing Draco's grin to grow.

Lavender was already an excellent substance for tea, both for the effects and easy taste that created an easy sleep. Add that with a few crushed petals of the Passion Flower, an even more powerful potent for sleeping, it was bound to make sleep come almost instantly. Coupled with pieces of the Valerian Root, it created a mixture that could rival the Sleeping Draught.

Perhaps not long or strong enough to last throughout the night like the Sleeping Draught, but long enough for Draco to get what he needed done.

He gathered a fistful of green Floo powder and tossed it into the fireplace, saying, "Malfoy Manor."

Powered dust flared into flames that rose and covered Draco, swallowing him whole.


Stepping into the familiar setting of the main sitting room, uneasiness thrummed inside Draco. It could have been the fact he had barely been there all summer. It could have been the darkness of the late night, with only a few candles keeping the room from being completely engulfed in darkness. Yet he couldn't ignore the uneasiness crawling up his neck like spiders.

"Father?" Draco peeked inside. Gaining no response, he took a small step in, then another, glancing around the room. "Father?"

"Master Draco," He turned around to find Dobby standing behind him, wringing his hands. "No good time to visit. Master Lucius busy in office. Master Lucius in foul mood." The tiny creature lowered his head and hunched his body lower. "Foul, foul mood."

Oh really? Draco regarded the creature with narrow eyes. Dobby had been a constant in his life, part of the Manor for as long as he could remember. Perhaps even longer.

"Dobby," Draco said. "How long have you been serving under the Malfoy family?"

Bewilderment colored the creature's face, blinking his bulging eyes several times in a row. He looked tempted to ask Draco to repeat the question, but thought the better of it. Instead he said. "Many, many years, Master Draco. Dobby always a good house elf. Always good. Always loyal."

"Since I was born?"

"Longer than that, Master Draco."

"Since my father was born?"

There was hesitation in the next nod.

"Meaning you were there for many events that took place under this roof," Draco said. "Births. Deaths. Engagements. Initiations."

Sweat dotted along the creature's forehead as he delivered the next small, hesitant nod.

Draco tasted the questions he wanted to ask stirring in his mouth, rattling his teeth. But he savored that taste and saved it for later.

"Tell me the truth, Dobby. Do you know where my father was last spring? During Harry's last trial for the Triwzard Tournament?"

"M-m-master Lucius was away on business. Important business."

"What kind of business?"

"Important business," Dobby squeaked, wringing his hands so tightly like he could squeeze the blood from them. "That-that is all Dobby can say."

Can or will? Draco would help him with that one.

"Where was my father that night? What was he doing?"

"D-D-Dobby can't say, Master Draco." His eyes now were shut so painfully tight, and Draco thought he saw tears leaking from them. "D-D-Dobby can't. D-D-Dobby mustn't."

"Where was he?" Draco demanded.

"Don't make Dobby say, Master Draco," the house elf all but sobbed. "Dobby can't say. Dobby mustn't say." He rocked himself back and forth, fat tears and snot running down his face. "Master Lucius in foul mood. Master Lucius will kill Dobby for it."

"Then I'll spare you the agony and make you answer another question I have." Draco said. "Has my father always been in league with the Dark Lord or was it now that he decided to come out of retirement?"

Dobby's body went so still, he was a statue. Pointy pinkish ears shooting upwards, his head flashed up so quickly, Draco was surprised he didn't crack his neck. His eyes widened in shock and fear, saying nothing but everything with his silence.

That was all Draco needed. He turned over to the door and headed upstairs.

"MASTER DRACO, NO!" Dobby yanked on his shirt's hem. "Master Lucius in a foul mood. Master Lucius does not want to be disturbed."

A soft but distinct throat-clearing brought their attention flying up to the staircase, where Father stood, dark clothes nearly blending with the shadows, cane in hand. Emotions quivered inside Draco's chest, just as the static started again, strumming along the sides of his head.

"I believe I gave strict instructions that I wanted complete silence of the rest of the night. Seems certain people have trouble following simple instructions."

Whimpering, Dobby released Draco's shirt and held himself tightly.

"I'll deal with you later, elf." Dobby sobbed from the icy glare Father gave him, whimpers mixing with his low words as he shook his head frantically.

"Dobby tried to warn, Master Draco, Master Lucius," Dobby pleaded. 'Dobby tried. Master Draco wouldn't listen. Dobby warned him-"

"Silence!" Father demanded, causing the elf to jump. "You are dismissed for now. I wish to speak with my son."

He disappeared with a pop.

Taking slow steps down the stairs, each creak of the steps a thick curve of agitation cracked inside Draco, Father moved over to the living room. Seconds later, Draco followed him in. Father sat on his seat, in front of the coffee table that had a fresh kettle of tea and mugs waiting for him.

"Where's Mother?" Draco prided himself on keeping an even, neutral tone.

"Out."

He didn't know whether it was a good thing or bad.

"Since I've answered your question," Father said. "It's only fair that you answered one of mine. Would you care to explain to me why you are here so late?"

Draco stared at him.

"Did you suddenly get hit with a case of homesickness?"

A sickness had been attacking and manifesting Draco all day, but he knew home had little to do with it. He answered the question with a curt shake of his head.

"Nodding and shaking heads are for horses and imbeciles with a low vocabulary range," Father said. "How many times have I told you boys this?"

Too many times.

A ghost smile crept onto Father's mouth. "Did you and Harry manage to get into trouble already?"

Agitation came down in the form of an ice-cold caress that went through Draco's neck down to his stomach at the sight of that smile.

"I must admit I am impressed," Father went on, settling more into his chair, crossing one leg over the other. "I'd even call it a whole new record."

That cold caress lengthen to a set of claws raking through Draco's back.

"Did my ward rope you into it?" he asked, seemingly oblivious to Draco's discomfort. "How is he by the way? He seemed quite…skittish when I saw last him at the platform."

Draco felt the static expanding and splitting, replicating into lines that grew longer, grew louder like electric, wired worms until it was a chorus of chaos pounding inside his head.

He resisted the urge to rub his temples to tame the sound, doing his best to ignore the ache and focus on his father.

"I just had a few questions about some things." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the family ring, the gem gleaming by the firelight. "Starting with this."

Father's left brow rose slightly.

"Why did you give me this so early?" Draco asked, holding it out.

Father stared at Draco, then the ring, then back at him. "Because you are a Malfoy heir, and as tradition deems, it goes from father to son. Like my father did with me, he with his, and so on."

"But that's just it," Draco argued. "Seventeen is the age when the heir gets the ring. That's what you always told me. I'm only fifteen. Why did you get it so early?"

Father's left rose slightly. "I thought I'd never see the day where my son is questioning the reasoning for a gift. Especially one, if memory serves me well, he'd had been pining after since he was a boy."

Draco only looked back at him.

Father's right hand drummed against his cane once as he gathered his answer. His face gave away nothing when he finally said, "Because you've matured. Because you're my son. Because the timing seemed appropriate."

All reasonable answers. All fine answers. But the distorted knots twisting in Draco's stomach didn't loosen.

Heart pounding, he looked down at the ring. It was a thing of a beauty. Decades old and the silver still shone bright flawlessly as if it were just forged by a jeweler. The twinned snakes works of art from the coloring to the details including their onyx-colored eyes. The tastefully-done, Gothic-styled M that was the crowning jewel. He remembered the boy who has been drooled over the ring, begged Father to let him try it on and dreamt of the day he'd finally have it. A piece of their history. Their legacy.

Draco tried to find that child again, and only thing that was found was the ice that ran through his veins as he looked at the ring. "Remind me of the family mottos again."

Father's arched brow rose higher. "A summer away from home suddenly made you forget yourself?"

A violent, vivid-red shudder ravaged through him, causing him to bristle and hairs to rise. Draco forced himself to keep it together. "Humor me."

Father's eyes narrowed. After a moment of staring of him, those cool eyes so intense, Draco felt utterly exposed, as if Father could see everything. What he had done, what he learned, and what emotions were ravaging through him. "Malfoys do not regret."

"Do not regret." Draco parroted.

"Malfoys do not possess or show weakness."

"Do not have a weakness."

"Family above all else." Father said.

The static in his head rushed down to his body, sending electric sparks along his spine.

"Legacy beyond everything else." Father finished.

Legacy, as in their family's name. Title. Position. Power.

"We do not regret," Draco echoed. "We don't allow weakness. Family above all else. Legacy beyond everything else."

Father gave a slow nod.

"Legacy beyond everything else," Draco repeated, then a heartbeat later-"Even at the cost of family?"

Both brows rose.

"Even if it means betraying one of your own?" His anger was like a train, slowly creeping from the platform, racing through tracks in a maddening speed. "Even if it means going against everything you've ever taught me-"

"Draco." Ice coated that voice, warning edged in the bass. "It is quite late and I am quite tired. And this conversation isn't helping the insane throbbing in my head-"

"Your head or your arm?"

His father was barely fazed by anything. Not by threats. Not by accusations. Right then, his composure was as impenetrable as ever. His expression remained unchanged, unreadable, saved for the slight tightening of his already thin-lipped mouth.

Those loud, electric worms crawling inside Draco's skull were now fists, hundreds of them slamming against the walls, indenting more cracks that quickly spread. "Tell me why."

Father merely stared back at him. Arched brow propped into an, "Tell you what?" expression.

"Tell me why after everything you could-" Draco nearly choked on the words. "After everything he did, you could-" Draco shook his head, trying to calm the nausea storming through his body. "How could you just sit there and act like nothing happened. Everything happened! What he did it to Uncle James and Aunt Lily. What he did to Harry. What he tried to do to him. How could you possibly-"

"Look around this house, Draconis," Father's clawed words dig deeper into his skin.

"I am not-"

"Look. Around. This house, Draconis."

Anger quavering inside him, Draco glanced around. The fine suede material of their furniture. The shimmering silver detail of the fireplace mantel. The bronze, the crystal, the shining silver worth more than most would hope to see in a lifetime.

"Do you have any idea what went into obtaining this wealth? Securing this power?"

"I am not interested in hearing anymore about our family's history. I'm interested in you explaining how the hell you could even-" Draco shook his head violently as nausea nearly punctured through his stomach. "Do you have any idea what I read in the books that spoke of the second Wizarding War? What I saw-" Shudders shook his body, rocked his core as those images of pained victims, often deformed and mangled, at the hands of silver-masked figures surfaced in his head. "It's sick!"

"Oh?" The coolness in Father's question stopped him short. "And what did those history books tell you exactly? Did they tell you during the time of His reign, most of the public were given an alternative ? Join or die. Tell me, my son, did they tell you that?"

"I-"

"Did they speak of how those compelled, those forced to His side had no way other of leaving than dying? Did the history books ever mention that by the time the Dark Lord, when he found out such a notion of slight disloyalty, was through with the poor fool, taking apart them apart piece by piece in every way a person can be broken, death by Aurors or even by their own hand would have been a far kinder mercy?"

Like Black brother's. He tried to run but was caught. From what Draco remembered, "killed" was too simple of a description to the cruelty that was done to him.

"Did the books explain to you, my son," Father's eyes were two sharp, icy-coated knives. "What is the defining foundation of our family?"

"I don't want to hear anymore about the damn family-"

"Sacrifice."

A word spoken so nastily, it was if were venom. A word coated in multiple, thick layers of ice, it chilled Draco's insides. A simple word spoken so loudly, spat so viciously, Draco took a wide step back as if it were a punch to the gut.

Sacrifice?

"That is what it means to be a Malfoy, my son. That is what it means to be a Head of this household. Payment demanded from current descendant to prestigious legacy. The prominent jewel to an endless chain of tradition and duty."

"Even if it's sickening? Even if it's cruel?"

Father stared at him for a good, long moment, the ice in his eyes further chilling him to the point of numbness. Finally he asked, "You're still in one piece, are you not?"

The question stopped Draco altogether.

"Your mother still is one piece, is she not?"

Was that why she came to France with Draco in the first place? Why there was sudden tension between her and Father? Because she was trying to escape from what she suspected or escape from her own guilt?

"Harry, last I checked-"

Hearing his boy's name from Father's mouth caused anger to rush into him like a broken dam. "Don't you dare!" he snarled.

"Harry-"

Draco cut Father off, roaring, "Was severely traumatized that he spent the summer a zombie who could barely get out of bed!"

Father's lips arranged themselves in a tight, thin line.

"Never mind the fact that the person who caused his pain was a madman-"

"Watch. Your. Tongue."

If he were younger, Draco would have flinched and cowered before that tone. If he were less heated, he would have stepped down and apologized for the misstep. But at the moment, he didn't give a damn.

"Never mind the fact you might as well have spat on the memory of the man I thought was your friend. Let's focus on the fact you were ready to throw your family to the wolves to save your own skin."

Rancor thundered so ferociously, so vividly in Father's eyes, it was an astonishment fire didn't shoot from them. "You cannot even begin to imagine, you insolent, naive child," He rose from his chair. "What I had to do. What I had given up in order to protect this family." He slowly walked over to Draco, towering him by a few good inches. "To protect you."

Laughter warped inside Draco. Incredulous, twisted laughter he could barely contain, grinding his organs, burning his eyes as the static thundered inside his head. "To protect me?" He laughed so hard, he could barely breathe. "To protect us?"

He bit his lip so hard, blood filled his mouth to compose himself, even though the wild laughter refused to die down without a fight. When he finally managed to stand up right, body shaking from the barely-suppressed laughter, Draco looked his father straight in the air and said, "He could kill Mother, you know."

Those fire-lit eyes narrowed down at him. Draco merely smiled and continued.

"I read enough in the text, Father, to know that if there was one thing the Dark Lord hated more than Muggleborns, it was magical creatures. Vampires, werewolves. Veelas. What on earth do you think he'll make of wizards and witches with Veela blood?"

A tremor, small and faint, rocked Father's body, like a light breeze brushing through a house of cards, causing a small tremble.

Draco decided to answer the question for him. "He could simply kill her because Veela blood is part of her heritage."

Another tremor casted a longer tremble.

A crazed smile plastered onto his face at the thought. "He could very well order my back to whipped to bloody ribbons just to see if my wings can regrow."

Father's hold on his cane tightened.

"He could have you kill Harry." Red spilled into his vision. "Or order you to bring Harry to him and have you watch your ward being tortured just like before. And you'd let that happen again-only this time would see the job getting done, wouldn't you?"

Father stared at him. Draco stared back.

"Wouldn't you?!"he screamed so loudly, his throat ached.

Father considered him for a second or two, that raging fire freezing into ice one more, before he took a step back away. Not in retreat, but in reposition, moving his gaze over to the fireplace. He stared into the fire in the same intense, detached way he did Halloween nights all those years ago when they learned what happened to the Potters. As if the dancing flames held the sacred answer to his questions. Once he had his full, he slowly turned back to Draco.

Those gray eyes were like sharp, cool glass, showing everything they needed to and nothing Draco wanted.

"I would and will do whatever it takes for the sake of the Malfoy name."

The static that had been terrorizing Draco all day was no longer a screeching chorus, but one blaring boom that shook him down to his core.

"Just like that?" Draco asked. "With no hesitation?"

Clarity shone in those eyes, clear and cold like glass. "Malfoys do not regret."

The static in his head that howled so loudly, shrieked so painfully that cracks rippled all throughout Draco's skull suddenly dimmed. Dimming, like a fist gathering loose strands together before tying it down, casting a silence that swept over his mind. Over his body.

A calm, chilling silence that iced everything out. Questions, doubt. Only leaving one thought that was alike an electric wire.

Clarity.

His father was there at the graveyard.

He watched Harry being tortured.

He would have watched Harry be killed.

And all he would say in the end, all he would only see as a thing that couldn't be helped.

Outside his mindset, Draco made out muffled sounds like he was underwater. More words sprouted from Father's mouth. More excuses. A hand gripped onto his shoulder. First a light touch, then grew into a grasping as more words were sprouting from that mouth, almost as if Father was trying to make Draco see things from his point of view.

Draco took one long look at his father. At the face that was so similar to his, a future image of what could be in the next twenty years. At all he could be, if he dared. His hand then flew, and raked across his father's face in a sweep of sharp talons.

Screaming in agony, Father stumbled back, hands flying to his face where blood oozed from five, thick carved lines that went from left temple to right bottom cheek.

Breath heavy, heart pounding, Draco watched with a small, pleased smile.

He remembered a moment like this. He recognized this feeling. The same icy calm he felt back at the hospital wing. At the France retreat during his match with the buffoon. All of which had one common factor.

Threats against his mate.

One hand at his scarred face, Father stumbled forward. Draco was already ready, dealing him a blow that sent him flying back, knocking him against, then over the chair. A small taste of assault Draco rained down on him.

Each plea or scream that came from Father fell to deaf ears. Every spell or jinx was deflected with ease, often sent back to him, fueled with anger. Each retreat, each shield whether it was the chair or table or shielding charm, Draco charged, destroyed, and was further enraged.

"For Merlin's sake!" Father cried. "Control yourself!"

His father rose his wand hand, the tip glowing silvery-white. Draco was there in an instant, tossing the wand aside and grabbing his wrist.

'Please," Father begged. Not a single trace of the aloof Lord could be found in his terrified, beaten demeanor. "Please."

Any other time, any other day, Draco would have been dismayed to see those emotions so open and raw, cracking through that hard exterior. But now he only saw it as a rightful payment for what he did.

Draco twisted the hand all the way around, as if it were a spinning top.

His father crumbled to the ground, cries of pure anguish bellowing from his mouth as he cradled his broken wrist.

"Stop!"

Draco had been ready to tear out his throat to silence his pathetic crying, until a shout went off like a canon. Scowl tightening, he looked over his shoulder.

A fair-haired attractive woman ran into the room with two men closely behind her. One raggedy with gray streaked through his brown hair. The other black-haired and scruffy. Draco studied them more closely.

Black and Lupin lowered their hands in stunned unison, jaws slacked, eyes wide. Whether it was because of Father's state or Draco himself, it was hard to tell. Mother placed both hands over her mouth, shaking. She was without a wand, but was plenty armed with her tear-filled eyes and broken expression.

"Keep calm, Mr. Malfoy." Lupin said. "And do not do anything rash."

"Or in the eyes of witness." Black muttered.

Draco answered back with a snarl that had them stumbling back, and then turned his attention to her.

"I'm sorry." Mother croaked.

Sorry? What for, he wondered? That he found out what she had been trying to hide? That she knew Father's dark secrets all this time? That she was part of it?

Fury bubbled inside him, surged through him. It driven him as he opened his mouth and let out a shriek. A shriek so loud, so fierce, it rivaled the applause of thunder. A shriek so powerful, he could literally see the energy surging from him like bolts of lightning. A shriek packed with ear-shatteringly, blood-curling fury that glass broke apart, the ground shook and nearly split, and the three were sent flying. Lupin crashed against the wall, head bashing with a loud thump. Mother skidded across the floor, shards of broken glass and wood sticking onto her dress, cutting through her skin before she stopped before the fireplace. Black crashed against the chair, the furniture breaking into pieces from the impact, and tumbled along with the man when they crashed onto the ground.

"I'm sorry!" she cried out. She slowly lifted her upper body up, her perfectly-neat hair disheveled, blood leaking from her slit cheek like tone tears.

Her words were met with another shriek that was twice as loud, twice as fatal, clawing through the walls. Knocking the fire mantel, the coffee table clear of their pointless decorations that joined the discarded in shattered pieces. Splitting the coffee table right through middle like a sword. So loud in its raging fury, so painful, ears had to be covered to keep their skulls from completely breaking apart as they were shot further away from him.

Mother was sorry. Father wasn't sorry. Wasn't that just funny? Well, Draco would make them all sorry.

Starting with his father.

The man who was decorated with broken glass and dried blood attempted to crawl over to his discarded wand lying feet away from him, pulling himself along with his good one arm. Smiling at the humbling image, Draco stalked over to him and stomped down on his ankle, crushing the bone to pieces, resulting in a painful scream.

"Draco, don't!" Mother screamed.

"Kid, don't do it!" One of them, Black maybe, said. Not that it mattered. Draco still had business to attend to.

He turned his father onto his back with the toe of his boot.

Father hissed in pain and looked up at him in pure terror. "Please. Draco, please."

Such a far cry from the prestigious, poised Lord who that looked down at him minutes ago. Such a shame. Such a delight.

"Malfoys don't regret," Draco cooed, a poisonous smile on his face. "Remember?"

He brought Father up to his knees with a harsh yank of his ruined shirt and raised his clawed hand, bringing it down.

"Draco!"

He paused, blinking slowly. He took a step back and exhaled deeply. Treacle and cinnamon rolled into a delicious aroma that made him purr with pleasure.

That scent.

He glanced over his shoulder.

A boy came into the room. A beautiful boy with raven black hair and emerald green eyes. With the most delicious scent to ever ensnare Draco's senses and twist them into a calming lull, allowing a single thought to run through his mind.

Mine.

His boy.

His mate.

His beautiful, delicious mate.

Draco knocked his father to the ground with a hard kick to the chest, oblivious to the man's pained groans and the blood that trailed along with him. All his attention was directed towards the beautiful boy standing behind him. Those green eyes were wide in dismay. He could hear the slow, powerful jolts of his heartbeat.

But not fear. A closer look confirmed it. There was alarm filled in those eyes, yes. Anxiety pulsed in his heart, yes. No fear though.

"Draco." His mate said again. The quietness of his tone at odds with the frantic beats of his heart.

No, it would never be fear. Draco would make sure of that.

He took a step forward. His mate took a step back, nerves stiffening his limbs.

I won't hurt you, Draco tried to say through his smile. He would never hurt him.

Same, of course, couldn't be said for those who'd try to hurt him.

Draco held out a hand. Then hissed as a dark hex nearly cut through his wrist.

"Sirius, no!" his mate cried.

"Harry, run!" The black-haired mongrel cried, attempting to sit up. The pain shooting up his spine, though, forced him back down, sending him face-first with a groan.

Draco was ready to use his foot to send the man six feet under and be done with him, all of them in fact. His mate was faster though. He stood in front of the mongrel, arms stretched out, shielding him from view.

"Don't." The word wasn't shouted or cried out. It was spoken softly, quietly with steeled iron packed that changed it into a demand.

Draco held up his claw, feeling the weight of talons extending from his fingers. His mate- his Harry-eyed the claw caked with torn flesh and blood. He watched as something akin to but not quite fear dashed across his eyes. Taking a shaky breath, Harry's gaze roamed up Draco's hand, to his arm, and into his eyes where he held his gaze.

"Just focus on me." Despite the caution in those eyes, the increasing intensity of his heartbeat, those green eyes never wavered from him.

Without breaking their hold, Harry slowly moved away from the man and over to the doorway. Never wavering or cowering away, even as Draco gradually closed the distance between them.

When the distance was short enough, so close one step would have them pressed together, Harry broke his gaze and ran.

A manic smile spread across Draco's face as he took off behind him.

Harry blew through the hallways, through doors, into rooms, around and over house-elves that were alarmed by the run and disappeared with startled cries as Draco blew through. Through what felt like countless rooms and halls in the house, before they both broke through the back door, into the backyard. Straight to the gardens.

Every now and then, Harry looked over his shoulder. As if to make sure Draco was there, right behind him. His step quickened, legs pumping harder. Which in turn made Draco run faster, his smile more wild.

A memory pricked along his head. Two boys racing through the flowers and low branches, one leading, the other following, laughter chiming like bells between them.

Draco caught hold of the back of Harry's shirt and yanked him back, his hands moving from shirt to elbows, holding him tight as he spun them around and laid him down on the rose-petal ground.

Breathing hard, his mate lay limp on the ground like a doll. He didn't fight as Draco pinned his wrists by his head. Draco pressed himself against his body. He only stared up at Draco.

He said his name again, sounding like both a plea and a blessing. The sound so sweet, the image so beautiful. Draco lost all semblance of rational thought. He descended into a place of primal lust and instinct.

Adrenaline pulsing through his eyes, he leaned down to lick up Harry's throat, feeling the beat of his mate's pulse against the flat of his tongue. This was his life blood, to be protected at all cost. The low, breathless gasps from his mate only spurred him on. Pulling his hands away from those fragile wrists, Draco sat back and shredded Harry's clothes with his hands, revealing warm skin underneath.

So, so beautiful.

Draco pinned Harry's wrists by his head, catching his mouth in a hard, passionate kiss. So hard that their lips began to swell from the impact. Draco kissed and licked into that mouth, drinking in every gasp, sucking in every exhale. Harry was his, utterly and completely. His breath, his life, his warmth, his love… Mine mine mine mine mine, his mind chanted obsessively.

Draco tore himself away from Harry's delicious lips, the boy arching under him as he took his first full breath of air in minutes. Draco cooed and purred, laving Harry's throat and shoulders with kisses, licks, and bites, marking the perfect skin with his love. Harry's fingers tangled in his hair, scratching softly at his scalp and Draco practically melted. He reared back and tore off his own clothes so they were bare to each other, skin to skin, cocks freed and locked against each other.

His mate arched off the ground, back curved with a gasp. His grip on the ground as tight as his closed eyes; his body trembling from the intense sensation.

Desperation poured through Draco's lips as he swallowed every breathless, delicious sound that escaped from Harry's mouth. Desperation drove his hand as it rubbed and played and teased his mate's cock until it was hard. Desperation flared through his body as he thrust their bodies, their cocks together in a frantic rhythm that had him choking from the pleasure.

The sweet, smothering pleasure. That swelled. That burnt. Growing, mounting, climaxing-

His mate arched from the ground as he came with a loud cry, the scream bouncing from tree to tree, echoing around them. Draco charged through the pleasure, still stroking him even as Harry laid in a boneless stack, still thrusting into him.

His other hand glided down to Harry's flushed face, to his neck, holding it tight.

A strangled cry tangled in his throat, Harry looked up at him. It was that look of sated pleasure, awe, and bewilderment that was Draco's undoing.

He howled as pure ecstasy swept through his body, crushing him into thousands of pieces.

He collapsed onto Harry's chest. Purrs leaked from his mouth. He was so comfortable, so warm that he decided he wasn't moving again. So comfortable, that this would be his new bed, his new house. So comfortable he didn't notice Harry's wand moving until he heard the muttered spell and felt magic slipping through his hair, into his skin.

Bewildered, he tried to move but the spell was working at a rapid pace, like thick rolls of honey plowing over him. He only had enough energy to stare into bright green that watched him carefully as those fingers continued to stroke his hair before blackness replaced his vision.


I WISH YOU ALL A VERY HAPPY AND SAFE NEW YEAR. MAY 2020 BE THE YEAR OF GOOD VIBES, GOOD GLOW-UPS ALL AROUND. Also be sure to share what have been your favorite chapter/chapters of Stages so far?