Reviewers: Thank you, thank you, thank you. Though you have really proved
to me that the only way to get the love to withhold the goods. Sigh. . .
isn't that how it always goes? (For the reviewer who asked, amenable means
'willing to acquiesce/agree to', and you should've looked it up at
www.dictionary.com!)
Disclaimer: I own nothing. JK Rowling is god.
Chapter 13: Betrayal and Devotion
"Guys like me look good at the gate. But you'll agree with the odds on the
slate,
and put your money on the bona fide heavyweight. "
- Aimee Mann, Guys Like Me
"WHAT?!," both of the boys yelled simultaneously. Draco scrambled away from Harr, towards the door and, whipping out his wand, positioned it halfway between the old man and the raven haired boy. His arm was trembling, but the expression on his face left no question to his willingness to use the weapon in his hand. It had killed Voldemort, maybe it would also kill the Boy Who Lived or the Headmaster of Hogwarts.
"Don't fucking move," he growled at them, feeling terrified and suddenly very alone - the piercing loneliness that came from total betrayal, from being tricked and fooled. Dumbledore seemed quite nonchalant, but Harry looked rather traumatized, reeling and deeply upset from the turn of events. Less than twenty four hours earlier Draco had been a coma and less than twelve hours earlier they had exchanged vows of love, and the speed at which everything was happening was staggering. Draco felt a deep, sympathetic pang in his heart, but it was far overshadowed by his fear and anger. "Someone better tell me what the hell is going here," he threatened, sounding quite desperate and deadly.
((Stupid, gullible, idiotic, thick, brainless, witless fool. Your stupidity is inexcusable. Anyone else would have seen this coming from miles away. You did this to yourself.))
"Don't point that at Harry," Dumbledore soothed. "He had nothing to do with this. I was the one that placed the spell on you about ten weeks ago. It wasn't and isn't very strong, as it couldn't be without drawing suspicion. Of course you have every right to hate me, but you will surely understand one day." He wanted to say more, but he knew that nothing he could say could make the situation any better, so he fell silent.
"I will surely understand nothing," Draco hissed, his wand now pointed directly at Dumbledore; Harry had finally made it to his feet and was also glaring at the Headmaster with no small amount of hate and horror. "Except that you have used me like everyone else. Just. Like. Voldemort. And Lucius. And Harry."
Harry moaned loudly between hands clasped over his face. "How did this happen? How did this happen?"
"Are you deaf, Potter?," Draco asked nastily. "It seems pretty obvious to me. I think it's just been explained rather succinctly," his nastiness coming from his fear and distrust - a fear and distrust of now even his own mind and self, the only things he had ever trusted. He turned his eyes back to Dumbledore and he demanded that the powerful wizard remove the spell.
Dumbledore didn't really want to comply, for he had hoped that the spell would be the catalyst for future collaboration between Harry and Draco; but he also recognized that knowledge of the spell would work more against such a collaboration than the actual spell had worked for it. He would have more luck taking his chances with Draco no longer under his spell. So, reluctantly, he nodded.
Draco glared at him, full of rage and distress. Without tearing his eyes (or wand) from the old man, he asked Harry for a final favor. "Whatever there is between us, however falsified, I trust you will make sure that no foul play on this bastard's part goes unpunished. He did this to both of us."
Harry nodded weakly, not really knowing how else to respond. He had always been so hesitant and careful with regards to his heart, desperately protecting himself from just this hurt; indeed, he had for the longest time thought himself incapable of love. And yet somehow, despite his best attempts and defences, his deepest fears had materialized. He had finally let himself love, after an entire lifetime of being alone, and almost immediately he had been abandoned and left with less than nothing. And Dumbledore was the reason why - all his pain was suddenly channelled into hatred, and it could be heard in his voice. "Sure. He fucks up and I will fry him. Or at least go down trying."
Draco nodded in confirmation. Maybe it wasn't love, but for the moment they were still united against the common enemy that had used them both. For the moment, they were still on each other's side and weeks of fostered loyalty could not be so easily shattered in a matter of minutes.
Draco lowered his own wand slightly. "Hit me, old man," Draco challenged, eyes flashing a magnificent blue. Surely whatever the Headmaster was likely to do to him couldn't be worse than the present situation. He was so sick of this shit that even death wasn't such a bad end scenario - as long as Harry avenged him.
Albus Dumbledore reluctantly raised his long, crooked wand to point at Draco's defiant form. "Finae cantenemo. Restoria consciensa origenalae."
Draco felt the strangest prickling sweep through his mind, stripping away a curtain of emotional vulnerability. He felt the return of a true rage, and welcomed it for the strength and energy it gave him. A breath of fresh normality. "STUPIFY!"
To Harry's surprise, Draco's spell worked; but he really shouldn't have been so shocked. Draco was certainly more powerful than he had ever imagined, but he should have known. He was the son of his father, a very powerful and shrewd wizard, and he was the son of his mother, autistic to the point of insanity but also more powerful than the vast majority witches. Furthermore, the wand he had been bound to was strong enough to defeat Voldemort, despite being in the hands of someone who was not its original owner. Draco was a Giver, yes, but he had power in his own right.
Draco's face contorted in wrath and an overpowering desire for revenge, but the humanity in him forced him away. Destiny dictated, even to him, that Dumbdledore's path had not yet run its course. The cause needed people to do its dirty work and Dumbledore, like Draco, was one of those people.
He turned to Harry and slowly approached the shorter, messy haired Boy Who Lived. Harry stumbled backwards, unsure who this new, angry individual was, who was towering over him menacingly. He tried to raise his wand, but it would not be brought so readily against the body that had so recently personified his love. But Draco brought a soft hand to his cheek, and instead of bringing hurt, stroked the downy skin. "I know this wasn't your fault, Harry, and I know you hurt, too. I'm sorry."
Draco's own words came to Harry and he gave them back to him. "Don't be. . . it's not your fault." He felt frozen and painfully alone. Is this how Draco had felt after being deprived of the comfort of solitude, forced into the bitterness of loneliness? Numb and yet deeply injured?
Draco's mind too was a confused mess and all he could make out from its confused signals was the need to retreat, to regroup, to recuperate. A shattering blow had been administered and time and space was needed for healing. With a last caress down Harry's sensitive scar, and briefly pressing his lips to the shorter boy's brow, Draco turned and strode from the office.
*
Harry barely moved for several minutes longer, and it was only the fact that Dumbledore was beginning to stir that forced him into action at all. He had nothing to say to the old man, and he hardly felt up to a confrontation; so he forced himself to leave the familiarity of Hogwarts, only to find himself wandering the streets of London, in search of a beautiful blonde who had once shared those streets with him, if only for less than twenty four hours. A broom found in the ruins of Hogsmeade had taken him to the nearest Muggle town, and a little magic combined with public transport had brought him back to London, but nothing so simple could bring him back to Draco. Somehow, he could feel that Draco was not wondering the same streets as he was, but the feeling didn't help him know where to find his love.
After several lonely days and nights, Harry decided to go to the Parkinson Mansion. He was angry at himself for his emotionality, for this weakness that perverted his judgement, but he had not searched his whole life for love and acceptance only to give up when he had come so close. He was not a. . . man. . . that could fall in love quickly, but neither was he a man that could give up on love easily. He would not give up on Draco - if it was his turn to suffer and sacrifice in the name of love, then so be it. He could not even try to get over Draco until he knew for sure that there was no hope, for Harry was a sucker for seemingly lost causes and he believed that dreams themselves were hard to stumble upon.
He disguised himself, hiding his scar and dressing aristocratically, for the purpose of deceiving the Parkinsons, and it briefly appeared to work. The butler allowed him into the ominous castle and led him to Pansy's large, luxurious chambers.
"Parkinson," Harry stated as greeting, a foreign flare of jealousy making itself known within him, though it was hardly justified. She was still beautiful, despite looking years older than the last time he had seen her, and Harry wondered why Draco would ever want him, so plain and difficult, over this voluptuous angel. Sure the two angels belonged together?
"Potter," Pansy returned tiredly, seeming unsurprised by his presence. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm looking for Malfoy." He tried for an emotionless tone, but dedication could not help but seep through.
Pansy shook her head sadly. "He's not here. And you won't find him unless he wants to be found, but you've put him in grave danger by coming here."
Her words confirmed the distinct uneasiness that had plagued him since appearing on the doorstep of second richest family in the wizarding community. "Why is that?," Harry asked apprehensively.
"Our butler is not stupid; in fact, he is quite crafty and he's a death eater. Your disguise may have fooled others, but it certainly won't have fooled him and he is right now on his way to tell my parents," she stated matter-of-factly. Harry couldn't have know, but Pansy had some a talent for divination - the sort of talent that came from seeing patterns and details that others did not.
"Then I will pay the price for my folly," Harry retorted angrily. He figured dying in the name of love was a far more worthwhile cause than dying in the name of Dumbledore or whatever cause the Headmaster had been using him in the name of. He had been expecting death for years now: he had certainly thought he would die in his confrontation with Voldemort, and had even felt somewhat robbed when it had failed to come.
"That is where you are wrong. Draco will pay for this too." She sounded so sure and so wise that Harry couldn't help but realize that he had underestimated her for years. Somehow, she knew something of what had transpired between himself and the pride of Slytherin.
"Draco doesn't love me. My death will be a relief to him - one less reminder of an unpleasant past," Harry explained unhappily and bitterly.
But Pansy shook her head. "I don't know what happened between you two, but I know Draco better than anyone else in this world, even you. And he loves you, more than he has ever loved anyone and you are the first he has loved in such a way. This I know, and this is why you will always hurt him more than any one else. You can't find him, but now you will force him to find you."
The moment she finished, Ursula Parkinson, a woman as cruel and brutal looking as she actually was, burst through the door, followed by a regal Lucius Malfoy and four additional death eaters. Pansy was no fighter, and she would not become one by fighting for Harry Potter; her only claim to fame was that she knew Draco Malfoy. She knew him well enough to interpret the last months' comments and behaviour and to form her own conclusions. She was not a woman of courage, but neither was she one of harsh judgement. She watched silently as the death eaters and her mother beat and dragged Potter from her room and was overcome with a sense of foreboding. One way or another, the end was near. She only hoped her childhood love would walk away from it intact.
*
Draco had been recuperating at the home of now blind Serverus Snape, who's company was made even more unpleasant by his injury. The potions professor (presumably retired) was not a particularly powerful wizard, nor had he always proven himself to be looking out for Draco's well being, but he could be trusted not to turn this protégé over to other side. Though it was Pansy that had relayed the news to Snape, word of Harry Potter's capture spread quickly through the wizarding community, Lucius Malfoy and others making sure the information became well known, and many interpreted this to mean that the civil war would soon come to an end, the death eaters' side having won. Draco, however, took the news rather differently. He still wasn't sure of his feelings for the Gryffindor, mixed up as they were with notions of anger and betrayal, but he knew he owed Harry something, if only for the artificial trip into the world of love and dedication. His feelings may not have been real, but he was truly grateful that Harry had shown him love, however hesitantly and twistedly. So it was not hard make to certain decisions.
Which is how he came to be walking into the Ministry of Magic, now the headquarters of Lucius Malfoy and his fellow death eaters - indeed, practically the only institution in wizarding British Isles that was still functioning. Hogwarts was a shadow of its former self and St. Mungo's and the Daily Prophet were firmly under the Ministry's control. The fighting had lessened, with the tacit but fragile acceptance of the Ministry's authority, and roving bands of death eaters made sure that the people - in what was left of the decimated wizarding communities - kept in line. Such was Lucius' confidence that he even disbanded his legions of undead, releasing them from their bondage and allowing them to return to their empty graves (he had never liked using the undead anyway). Soon, all resistance would be crushed and power would be consolidated.
Draco strode into the strongly shielded Ministry, proudly and confidently, as his father had taught him, amid the gaping faces of Lucius' cronies, supporters, and henchmen. Indeed, no one bothered him as he took the elevator up to the top floor (though they surely would have had he suddenly decided to leave) and made his way to the hall where his father sat like a king upon a throne and several death eaters stood guard. The blond leader of the death eaters was talking to a man dressed in military garb.
"Young Malfoy!," Minister Malfoy proclaimed upon seeing his son. He stood languidly and casually approached the figure that looked so much like him, though he warily kept his distance. "I have been looking for you for quite some time now. I never would've thought that you'd just appear on my doorstep."
"I have come to propose an exchange," Draco said stonily, his body tensely erect under his father gaze. He looked strait ahead, not even acknowledging the other's look.
"Oh yes? And what would that be?," Lucius asked predatorily with a cocked eyebrow and no trace of surprise.
"Myself for Potter," Draco responded simply and emotionlessly.
This time Lucius could not keep the surprise from his features, but he took the declaration in stride nonetheless. He casually began to circle his younger image. "Really. And what's to prevent me from simply taking you right now, deal or no deal?"
"If you do that, I will kill myself and this you will not be able to stop me. And then you will have nothing." His voice was so grave and his actions so monumental that Lucius took him at his word, despite having heard this threat from his son before. After a moment's consideration he consented. "Done."
Finally, Draco met his father's eyes, surprised by his own lack of fear. He had grown up in the last couple of months, and fear no longer came so readily. "First you must bring Potter here to prove that he is still alive."
Lucius Malfoy raised his eyebrow again, then nodded with a sly smile. "Goyle!"
On of the death eater guards stepped forward (looking very much like his brutish son), and the Minister instructed him to go to the dungeons and bring Potter to him. Then he turned his attention back to his son for the duration of the wait. "You've changed," he noted in an unreadable voice.
"Yes, well, things change," Draco responded, standing stone still as his father neared, and he didn't even flinch as his reached for him and traced a line from his chin down his chest and ending at his groin. Then he tightly gripped the sensitive organs there, rather displeased that this provoked no reaction from his son; but when a vicious twist elicited a sharp intake of breath, he said smoothly, "Some things never change."
Draco bit his lip and said nothing as his father's eyes greedily ravished him. After several minutes and a few more traded barbs, Goyle appeared dragging a beaten Harry Potter and Draco had use every ounce of will power not to react, not to rush to him. He would have to play his hand very carefully to pull this off. "Is he still alive?," he asked indifferently.
The elder Malfoy approach the crumbled figure and gave it a sharp kick, the moan it elicited confirming life. It had only been a couple of days since his capture, but Harry had had a horrific time of it. His wand had been snapped and he had been tortured creatively for several hours and then he was administered Veritaserum. However, the death eaters hadn't any idea of his relationship with Draco (indeed, they thought him interested in Pansy), and had failed to ask him the right questions. The truth was that they were not very interested in what Potter had to say, they were that close to concluding that war. They asked if he knew where the young Malfoy was, and he had honestly answered no; then they asked him several questions about Dumbledore, the answers to which he was sure they already knew; finally they asked if and how he had killed the Dark Lord. He confessed that he had and was, to his surprise, able to get away with saying 'Avada Kadavra' in response to the how. Satisfied, the death eaters left him in the windowless, lightless room in the bowels of the Ministery, returning periodically to beat and torture him again.
Now he lay at Lucius' feet, barely aware of his surroundings, but somehow his hazy mind registered the clear voice of his love, bringing hope to the deepest recesses of his heart. He came for me. He came for me.
Draco took his first glance at Harry, his heart swelling painfully. It was not hard to guess what Harry had been doing at the Parkinson castle, and though it had been very foolish of him, Draco was honored by the depth of feelings such actions betrayed. Indeed, he could not deny, even to himself, that whatever cause had allowed them to come together, his own feelings for Harry were genuine: he loved him, wholly and completely.
"Let me heal him. Then give me some form of guarantee that he will be set free, and then I will be yours." Draco's voice was like ice, but the reaction was to his words was immediate and ferocious. Lucius was in his face, one hand seizing his hair painfully and the other crushing his balls. "You are mine. You have always been mine."
Draco did not cry out, indeed he barely flinched, but a steel grip suddenly appeared on Lucius' jugular. His eyes flashed dangerously. "No. We are making a deal, and the only way for you to get what you want is to let him go." He spoke so softly that no other could hear, but the deadliness in his voice was obvious.
Lucius was secretly both impressed and proud, though neither emotion would hinder his intentions in any way. He released his hold on his son's body and casually backed away. "Finally grown a real set of testicles, little Draco. I had always feared that crushing them all those years ago - remember that? - would prevent you from ever being a man, despite any reparations. . . but it is pleasant surprise to be proved wrong. You will have your guarantee. NARCISSA!"
After an expectant pause, a tall, pale beauty seemingly floated into the hall from a side room. In truth, it was she that Draco resembled more than his father, though the fact that his parents were first cousins meant that looking like both was somewhat inevitable. Draco faltered for a moment at seeing her, it taking him a moment to adjust to the repercussions created by her presence. This would either make things much harder or else have undesirable consequences: he had certainly never intended to kill his relatively innocent, if quite insane mother. She was a victim too, and he felt for her.
She glided in, with a quick and entirely artificial smile to Draco, and bowed before her husband, her long blond hair tumbling from her shoulders. Without a word of acknowledgement, Lucius reached out and roughly removed an elegant silver collar from her slender neck. Then he threw the choker on the ground at his son's feet, and said with distain, "That will allow you to see where Potter is on that globe near my throne. As you can imagine, your mother is quite in need of such observation, but if you'd rather look after your boyfriend, then fine. Go heal and collar him, then watch him walk away."
Lucius smirked and watched Draco slink cautiously towards the raven haired heap. He kneeled next to the form, still except for the gentle heaving caused by every breath. He tenderly placed a hand on the bruised face and another on the beaten torso, then he mouthed the familiar words that would ease the injury. Harry curled towards him, and Draco smile affectionately, moving his hands to other spots on his lover's body and repeating the spell. "Anas rae helio, noches garath talla."
Harry felt his mind clear significantly with the dissipation of the pain and he smiled up at Draco from where he lay on the ground. Then the smile faltered as the pieces of what was happening fell together and he asked in a hushed, worried voice. "What are you doing? I love you, don't do this."
"I know what I'm doing," Draco whispered, gentle latching the collar around Harry's neck. "If you love me as you say you do, if you love me as I love you, and I do love you, then trust me. Swear to me that you will leave. Please, I'm begging you to trust me. I know what I'm doing."
Harry wanted to object, but heard the sincerity in his voice and saw the appeal on his beautiful, angelic features. How much help could he be anyway? He had been healed, but he was still weak and shaky, and he felt like he had been hit by a speeding sixteen wheeler. Any fight would have been desperate, and he wanted to believe in Draco. He hadn't the strength to resist or to fight, so he agreed. "I swear," he rasped.
With Draco's help, Harry struggled to his feet; then, with a reassuring look from Draco, he accepted Goyle's grip and allowed himself be led from the hall. The last sound he heard from the hall was Lucius' threat, "The day you kill yourself, runt, is the day I hunt him down. And believe me, it won't be a pleasant death."
XXXXX
Dum dum, dum dum, dum dum, dum dum. The end approaches: how quick is up to you. Review! Review! Review!
Disclaimer: I own nothing. JK Rowling is god.
Chapter 13: Betrayal and Devotion
"Guys like me look good at the gate. But you'll agree with the odds on the
slate,
and put your money on the bona fide heavyweight. "
- Aimee Mann, Guys Like Me
"WHAT?!," both of the boys yelled simultaneously. Draco scrambled away from Harr, towards the door and, whipping out his wand, positioned it halfway between the old man and the raven haired boy. His arm was trembling, but the expression on his face left no question to his willingness to use the weapon in his hand. It had killed Voldemort, maybe it would also kill the Boy Who Lived or the Headmaster of Hogwarts.
"Don't fucking move," he growled at them, feeling terrified and suddenly very alone - the piercing loneliness that came from total betrayal, from being tricked and fooled. Dumbledore seemed quite nonchalant, but Harry looked rather traumatized, reeling and deeply upset from the turn of events. Less than twenty four hours earlier Draco had been a coma and less than twelve hours earlier they had exchanged vows of love, and the speed at which everything was happening was staggering. Draco felt a deep, sympathetic pang in his heart, but it was far overshadowed by his fear and anger. "Someone better tell me what the hell is going here," he threatened, sounding quite desperate and deadly.
((Stupid, gullible, idiotic, thick, brainless, witless fool. Your stupidity is inexcusable. Anyone else would have seen this coming from miles away. You did this to yourself.))
"Don't point that at Harry," Dumbledore soothed. "He had nothing to do with this. I was the one that placed the spell on you about ten weeks ago. It wasn't and isn't very strong, as it couldn't be without drawing suspicion. Of course you have every right to hate me, but you will surely understand one day." He wanted to say more, but he knew that nothing he could say could make the situation any better, so he fell silent.
"I will surely understand nothing," Draco hissed, his wand now pointed directly at Dumbledore; Harry had finally made it to his feet and was also glaring at the Headmaster with no small amount of hate and horror. "Except that you have used me like everyone else. Just. Like. Voldemort. And Lucius. And Harry."
Harry moaned loudly between hands clasped over his face. "How did this happen? How did this happen?"
"Are you deaf, Potter?," Draco asked nastily. "It seems pretty obvious to me. I think it's just been explained rather succinctly," his nastiness coming from his fear and distrust - a fear and distrust of now even his own mind and self, the only things he had ever trusted. He turned his eyes back to Dumbledore and he demanded that the powerful wizard remove the spell.
Dumbledore didn't really want to comply, for he had hoped that the spell would be the catalyst for future collaboration between Harry and Draco; but he also recognized that knowledge of the spell would work more against such a collaboration than the actual spell had worked for it. He would have more luck taking his chances with Draco no longer under his spell. So, reluctantly, he nodded.
Draco glared at him, full of rage and distress. Without tearing his eyes (or wand) from the old man, he asked Harry for a final favor. "Whatever there is between us, however falsified, I trust you will make sure that no foul play on this bastard's part goes unpunished. He did this to both of us."
Harry nodded weakly, not really knowing how else to respond. He had always been so hesitant and careful with regards to his heart, desperately protecting himself from just this hurt; indeed, he had for the longest time thought himself incapable of love. And yet somehow, despite his best attempts and defences, his deepest fears had materialized. He had finally let himself love, after an entire lifetime of being alone, and almost immediately he had been abandoned and left with less than nothing. And Dumbledore was the reason why - all his pain was suddenly channelled into hatred, and it could be heard in his voice. "Sure. He fucks up and I will fry him. Or at least go down trying."
Draco nodded in confirmation. Maybe it wasn't love, but for the moment they were still united against the common enemy that had used them both. For the moment, they were still on each other's side and weeks of fostered loyalty could not be so easily shattered in a matter of minutes.
Draco lowered his own wand slightly. "Hit me, old man," Draco challenged, eyes flashing a magnificent blue. Surely whatever the Headmaster was likely to do to him couldn't be worse than the present situation. He was so sick of this shit that even death wasn't such a bad end scenario - as long as Harry avenged him.
Albus Dumbledore reluctantly raised his long, crooked wand to point at Draco's defiant form. "Finae cantenemo. Restoria consciensa origenalae."
Draco felt the strangest prickling sweep through his mind, stripping away a curtain of emotional vulnerability. He felt the return of a true rage, and welcomed it for the strength and energy it gave him. A breath of fresh normality. "STUPIFY!"
To Harry's surprise, Draco's spell worked; but he really shouldn't have been so shocked. Draco was certainly more powerful than he had ever imagined, but he should have known. He was the son of his father, a very powerful and shrewd wizard, and he was the son of his mother, autistic to the point of insanity but also more powerful than the vast majority witches. Furthermore, the wand he had been bound to was strong enough to defeat Voldemort, despite being in the hands of someone who was not its original owner. Draco was a Giver, yes, but he had power in his own right.
Draco's face contorted in wrath and an overpowering desire for revenge, but the humanity in him forced him away. Destiny dictated, even to him, that Dumbdledore's path had not yet run its course. The cause needed people to do its dirty work and Dumbledore, like Draco, was one of those people.
He turned to Harry and slowly approached the shorter, messy haired Boy Who Lived. Harry stumbled backwards, unsure who this new, angry individual was, who was towering over him menacingly. He tried to raise his wand, but it would not be brought so readily against the body that had so recently personified his love. But Draco brought a soft hand to his cheek, and instead of bringing hurt, stroked the downy skin. "I know this wasn't your fault, Harry, and I know you hurt, too. I'm sorry."
Draco's own words came to Harry and he gave them back to him. "Don't be. . . it's not your fault." He felt frozen and painfully alone. Is this how Draco had felt after being deprived of the comfort of solitude, forced into the bitterness of loneliness? Numb and yet deeply injured?
Draco's mind too was a confused mess and all he could make out from its confused signals was the need to retreat, to regroup, to recuperate. A shattering blow had been administered and time and space was needed for healing. With a last caress down Harry's sensitive scar, and briefly pressing his lips to the shorter boy's brow, Draco turned and strode from the office.
*
Harry barely moved for several minutes longer, and it was only the fact that Dumbledore was beginning to stir that forced him into action at all. He had nothing to say to the old man, and he hardly felt up to a confrontation; so he forced himself to leave the familiarity of Hogwarts, only to find himself wandering the streets of London, in search of a beautiful blonde who had once shared those streets with him, if only for less than twenty four hours. A broom found in the ruins of Hogsmeade had taken him to the nearest Muggle town, and a little magic combined with public transport had brought him back to London, but nothing so simple could bring him back to Draco. Somehow, he could feel that Draco was not wondering the same streets as he was, but the feeling didn't help him know where to find his love.
After several lonely days and nights, Harry decided to go to the Parkinson Mansion. He was angry at himself for his emotionality, for this weakness that perverted his judgement, but he had not searched his whole life for love and acceptance only to give up when he had come so close. He was not a. . . man. . . that could fall in love quickly, but neither was he a man that could give up on love easily. He would not give up on Draco - if it was his turn to suffer and sacrifice in the name of love, then so be it. He could not even try to get over Draco until he knew for sure that there was no hope, for Harry was a sucker for seemingly lost causes and he believed that dreams themselves were hard to stumble upon.
He disguised himself, hiding his scar and dressing aristocratically, for the purpose of deceiving the Parkinsons, and it briefly appeared to work. The butler allowed him into the ominous castle and led him to Pansy's large, luxurious chambers.
"Parkinson," Harry stated as greeting, a foreign flare of jealousy making itself known within him, though it was hardly justified. She was still beautiful, despite looking years older than the last time he had seen her, and Harry wondered why Draco would ever want him, so plain and difficult, over this voluptuous angel. Sure the two angels belonged together?
"Potter," Pansy returned tiredly, seeming unsurprised by his presence. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm looking for Malfoy." He tried for an emotionless tone, but dedication could not help but seep through.
Pansy shook her head sadly. "He's not here. And you won't find him unless he wants to be found, but you've put him in grave danger by coming here."
Her words confirmed the distinct uneasiness that had plagued him since appearing on the doorstep of second richest family in the wizarding community. "Why is that?," Harry asked apprehensively.
"Our butler is not stupid; in fact, he is quite crafty and he's a death eater. Your disguise may have fooled others, but it certainly won't have fooled him and he is right now on his way to tell my parents," she stated matter-of-factly. Harry couldn't have know, but Pansy had some a talent for divination - the sort of talent that came from seeing patterns and details that others did not.
"Then I will pay the price for my folly," Harry retorted angrily. He figured dying in the name of love was a far more worthwhile cause than dying in the name of Dumbledore or whatever cause the Headmaster had been using him in the name of. He had been expecting death for years now: he had certainly thought he would die in his confrontation with Voldemort, and had even felt somewhat robbed when it had failed to come.
"That is where you are wrong. Draco will pay for this too." She sounded so sure and so wise that Harry couldn't help but realize that he had underestimated her for years. Somehow, she knew something of what had transpired between himself and the pride of Slytherin.
"Draco doesn't love me. My death will be a relief to him - one less reminder of an unpleasant past," Harry explained unhappily and bitterly.
But Pansy shook her head. "I don't know what happened between you two, but I know Draco better than anyone else in this world, even you. And he loves you, more than he has ever loved anyone and you are the first he has loved in such a way. This I know, and this is why you will always hurt him more than any one else. You can't find him, but now you will force him to find you."
The moment she finished, Ursula Parkinson, a woman as cruel and brutal looking as she actually was, burst through the door, followed by a regal Lucius Malfoy and four additional death eaters. Pansy was no fighter, and she would not become one by fighting for Harry Potter; her only claim to fame was that she knew Draco Malfoy. She knew him well enough to interpret the last months' comments and behaviour and to form her own conclusions. She was not a woman of courage, but neither was she one of harsh judgement. She watched silently as the death eaters and her mother beat and dragged Potter from her room and was overcome with a sense of foreboding. One way or another, the end was near. She only hoped her childhood love would walk away from it intact.
*
Draco had been recuperating at the home of now blind Serverus Snape, who's company was made even more unpleasant by his injury. The potions professor (presumably retired) was not a particularly powerful wizard, nor had he always proven himself to be looking out for Draco's well being, but he could be trusted not to turn this protégé over to other side. Though it was Pansy that had relayed the news to Snape, word of Harry Potter's capture spread quickly through the wizarding community, Lucius Malfoy and others making sure the information became well known, and many interpreted this to mean that the civil war would soon come to an end, the death eaters' side having won. Draco, however, took the news rather differently. He still wasn't sure of his feelings for the Gryffindor, mixed up as they were with notions of anger and betrayal, but he knew he owed Harry something, if only for the artificial trip into the world of love and dedication. His feelings may not have been real, but he was truly grateful that Harry had shown him love, however hesitantly and twistedly. So it was not hard make to certain decisions.
Which is how he came to be walking into the Ministry of Magic, now the headquarters of Lucius Malfoy and his fellow death eaters - indeed, practically the only institution in wizarding British Isles that was still functioning. Hogwarts was a shadow of its former self and St. Mungo's and the Daily Prophet were firmly under the Ministry's control. The fighting had lessened, with the tacit but fragile acceptance of the Ministry's authority, and roving bands of death eaters made sure that the people - in what was left of the decimated wizarding communities - kept in line. Such was Lucius' confidence that he even disbanded his legions of undead, releasing them from their bondage and allowing them to return to their empty graves (he had never liked using the undead anyway). Soon, all resistance would be crushed and power would be consolidated.
Draco strode into the strongly shielded Ministry, proudly and confidently, as his father had taught him, amid the gaping faces of Lucius' cronies, supporters, and henchmen. Indeed, no one bothered him as he took the elevator up to the top floor (though they surely would have had he suddenly decided to leave) and made his way to the hall where his father sat like a king upon a throne and several death eaters stood guard. The blond leader of the death eaters was talking to a man dressed in military garb.
"Young Malfoy!," Minister Malfoy proclaimed upon seeing his son. He stood languidly and casually approached the figure that looked so much like him, though he warily kept his distance. "I have been looking for you for quite some time now. I never would've thought that you'd just appear on my doorstep."
"I have come to propose an exchange," Draco said stonily, his body tensely erect under his father gaze. He looked strait ahead, not even acknowledging the other's look.
"Oh yes? And what would that be?," Lucius asked predatorily with a cocked eyebrow and no trace of surprise.
"Myself for Potter," Draco responded simply and emotionlessly.
This time Lucius could not keep the surprise from his features, but he took the declaration in stride nonetheless. He casually began to circle his younger image. "Really. And what's to prevent me from simply taking you right now, deal or no deal?"
"If you do that, I will kill myself and this you will not be able to stop me. And then you will have nothing." His voice was so grave and his actions so monumental that Lucius took him at his word, despite having heard this threat from his son before. After a moment's consideration he consented. "Done."
Finally, Draco met his father's eyes, surprised by his own lack of fear. He had grown up in the last couple of months, and fear no longer came so readily. "First you must bring Potter here to prove that he is still alive."
Lucius Malfoy raised his eyebrow again, then nodded with a sly smile. "Goyle!"
On of the death eater guards stepped forward (looking very much like his brutish son), and the Minister instructed him to go to the dungeons and bring Potter to him. Then he turned his attention back to his son for the duration of the wait. "You've changed," he noted in an unreadable voice.
"Yes, well, things change," Draco responded, standing stone still as his father neared, and he didn't even flinch as his reached for him and traced a line from his chin down his chest and ending at his groin. Then he tightly gripped the sensitive organs there, rather displeased that this provoked no reaction from his son; but when a vicious twist elicited a sharp intake of breath, he said smoothly, "Some things never change."
Draco bit his lip and said nothing as his father's eyes greedily ravished him. After several minutes and a few more traded barbs, Goyle appeared dragging a beaten Harry Potter and Draco had use every ounce of will power not to react, not to rush to him. He would have to play his hand very carefully to pull this off. "Is he still alive?," he asked indifferently.
The elder Malfoy approach the crumbled figure and gave it a sharp kick, the moan it elicited confirming life. It had only been a couple of days since his capture, but Harry had had a horrific time of it. His wand had been snapped and he had been tortured creatively for several hours and then he was administered Veritaserum. However, the death eaters hadn't any idea of his relationship with Draco (indeed, they thought him interested in Pansy), and had failed to ask him the right questions. The truth was that they were not very interested in what Potter had to say, they were that close to concluding that war. They asked if he knew where the young Malfoy was, and he had honestly answered no; then they asked him several questions about Dumbledore, the answers to which he was sure they already knew; finally they asked if and how he had killed the Dark Lord. He confessed that he had and was, to his surprise, able to get away with saying 'Avada Kadavra' in response to the how. Satisfied, the death eaters left him in the windowless, lightless room in the bowels of the Ministery, returning periodically to beat and torture him again.
Now he lay at Lucius' feet, barely aware of his surroundings, but somehow his hazy mind registered the clear voice of his love, bringing hope to the deepest recesses of his heart. He came for me. He came for me.
Draco took his first glance at Harry, his heart swelling painfully. It was not hard to guess what Harry had been doing at the Parkinson castle, and though it had been very foolish of him, Draco was honored by the depth of feelings such actions betrayed. Indeed, he could not deny, even to himself, that whatever cause had allowed them to come together, his own feelings for Harry were genuine: he loved him, wholly and completely.
"Let me heal him. Then give me some form of guarantee that he will be set free, and then I will be yours." Draco's voice was like ice, but the reaction was to his words was immediate and ferocious. Lucius was in his face, one hand seizing his hair painfully and the other crushing his balls. "You are mine. You have always been mine."
Draco did not cry out, indeed he barely flinched, but a steel grip suddenly appeared on Lucius' jugular. His eyes flashed dangerously. "No. We are making a deal, and the only way for you to get what you want is to let him go." He spoke so softly that no other could hear, but the deadliness in his voice was obvious.
Lucius was secretly both impressed and proud, though neither emotion would hinder his intentions in any way. He released his hold on his son's body and casually backed away. "Finally grown a real set of testicles, little Draco. I had always feared that crushing them all those years ago - remember that? - would prevent you from ever being a man, despite any reparations. . . but it is pleasant surprise to be proved wrong. You will have your guarantee. NARCISSA!"
After an expectant pause, a tall, pale beauty seemingly floated into the hall from a side room. In truth, it was she that Draco resembled more than his father, though the fact that his parents were first cousins meant that looking like both was somewhat inevitable. Draco faltered for a moment at seeing her, it taking him a moment to adjust to the repercussions created by her presence. This would either make things much harder or else have undesirable consequences: he had certainly never intended to kill his relatively innocent, if quite insane mother. She was a victim too, and he felt for her.
She glided in, with a quick and entirely artificial smile to Draco, and bowed before her husband, her long blond hair tumbling from her shoulders. Without a word of acknowledgement, Lucius reached out and roughly removed an elegant silver collar from her slender neck. Then he threw the choker on the ground at his son's feet, and said with distain, "That will allow you to see where Potter is on that globe near my throne. As you can imagine, your mother is quite in need of such observation, but if you'd rather look after your boyfriend, then fine. Go heal and collar him, then watch him walk away."
Lucius smirked and watched Draco slink cautiously towards the raven haired heap. He kneeled next to the form, still except for the gentle heaving caused by every breath. He tenderly placed a hand on the bruised face and another on the beaten torso, then he mouthed the familiar words that would ease the injury. Harry curled towards him, and Draco smile affectionately, moving his hands to other spots on his lover's body and repeating the spell. "Anas rae helio, noches garath talla."
Harry felt his mind clear significantly with the dissipation of the pain and he smiled up at Draco from where he lay on the ground. Then the smile faltered as the pieces of what was happening fell together and he asked in a hushed, worried voice. "What are you doing? I love you, don't do this."
"I know what I'm doing," Draco whispered, gentle latching the collar around Harry's neck. "If you love me as you say you do, if you love me as I love you, and I do love you, then trust me. Swear to me that you will leave. Please, I'm begging you to trust me. I know what I'm doing."
Harry wanted to object, but heard the sincerity in his voice and saw the appeal on his beautiful, angelic features. How much help could he be anyway? He had been healed, but he was still weak and shaky, and he felt like he had been hit by a speeding sixteen wheeler. Any fight would have been desperate, and he wanted to believe in Draco. He hadn't the strength to resist or to fight, so he agreed. "I swear," he rasped.
With Draco's help, Harry struggled to his feet; then, with a reassuring look from Draco, he accepted Goyle's grip and allowed himself be led from the hall. The last sound he heard from the hall was Lucius' threat, "The day you kill yourself, runt, is the day I hunt him down. And believe me, it won't be a pleasant death."
XXXXX
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