A/N: A thousand gentle bites for Rotschopf and Dystopic for the wonderful betaing.
28. Gone With The Sin
Harry wiped sweat out of his eyes with his robe sleeve and swore loudly. It was seven o'clock in the evening, and he was serving his detention with Argus Filch. Yet, he was sure that the ever-wonderful Professor Snape had had his influence on his current task: he was namely cleaning and dyeing old, rusty cauldrons back to their original, pitch-black state with a tattered, pink rag. His only delight in the darkening night was that Filch was currently out of the room, patrolling in the other parts of the dungeons with his mangy, yellow-eyed cat.
But, despite the fact that he was so carelessly left in relative freedom from any kind of strife, Harry was very, very miserable. Not because of the frustrating task at hand, but because of what had just happened between him and Draco Malfoy a few hours ago.
Harry could not believe that Draco had actually dumped him, and even without looking at him in the eye, hell, even without wanting to see him. Somehow, the whole situation felt so unreal that Harry had to convince himself every five minutes that he was no longer with the Slytherin. And still, the truth of the fact seemed to completely elude his mind.
"I can't believe this," he sighed, for the thousandth time.
"What isss wrong?" Rune hissed, popping all of its three heavy-eyed heads out of Harry's robe pocket.
"So you're awake, you lazy sods," Harry snarled and tossed the dirty rag on the floor. His hands were stained with the black, sticky dyeing stuff, and he tried not to wipe them on his robes. "Do you ever do anything else but sleep?"
"We isss jussst a baby," the three-headed animal pouted. "We need sssleep."
"Well go on and sleep, then. It's not like I'd be any good company to you anyways tonight." Harry sat down on the floor and covered his face with filthy hands, getting his scar slightly stained.
"We wantsss to see the Dragon boy," Rune's middle head nudged Harry's elbow. The snake slithered out of the pocket and stretched to its magnificent, twenty centimetres' length in front of Harry. Harry smiled; the animal was quite cute, actually.
"Sorry, but you can't see him. Draco left me," Harry sighed, and began to caress the snake with the back of his hand that was still relatively clean from the black goo. "He doesn't like me anymore."
"Offf course he doesss," the left head huffed, and looked as if it was trying to roll its eyes. "He isss in love with you, he isss."
"Sorry, Rune, but can't we just change the subject?" Harry got tears of confusion and anger in his eyes. "It's hard for me to believe, too, but it's really true. He doesn't want me anymore."
"He isss hurt," the right head said, and began to sniff the middle head from under the jaw. "We ssscents a Black Dragon... We was awake when Massster Harry visited the dungeonsss today. Massster's boyfriend isss hurt..."
"Blood," the middle head answered, and shoved out its long, bifurcated tongue. "Black sssweat... Black blood..."
Harry blinked. Surely, he was not hearing, or understanding, correctly. "W-what?" he whispered.
"We knowsss, Massster... A dragon hassss been there, it hasss. Massster's boyfriend isss badly in pain..."
"WHAT?" Harry bolted up, his eyes lightening up with green fire. "What are you saying, Rune? What are you saying?"
"We scentsss Masster Draco down in the dark." The left head actually looked sorry, if that was possible for a snake. "He hass been hurt... and he isss bleeding, we scentsss blood... Lots of blood. Massster Draco isss in pain..."
Harry bent forwards hastily and picked up the Runespoor. "This is not funny, you insolent snake!" he bellowed, squeezing the animal. "Draco is not really dying, is he?"
All the three heads hissed and sizzled in irritation. "He isss not dying... But he isss very badly hurt. Don't sssqueeeze uss, Massster..."
Harry loosened his grip on the three-headed snake and tossed the reptile on his shoulder. Rune immediately curled around his neck.
"I knew something was wrong!" Harry groaned, and rushed to the door. But, when he wrenched it open, he could hear Argus Filch's footsteps echoing closer and closer. "Fuck."
Harry glanced around the room quickly; he was only halfway through polishing the cauldrons. "Damn, damn, damn..." he cursed, clenching his fists. Harry could already hear Filch's voice; the old caretaker was talking to his cat fondly. The sufferable old man would never let him slide, not even if it was an emergency.
"Okay," Harry took a deep breath. "I'm sorry Dumbledore, but I have no choice." Harry slammed the door back shut. Then, slowly, the raven-haired Gryffindor raised his hand,closing his eyes. Soon, he was able to feel his magic flooding his body, the blood carrying it to his fingertips. The feeling of power was so intense that Rune hissed with fright and disappeared in Harry's pocket once again. "Scourgify..." Harry whispered. "Reparo... Infusco..."
A soft but powerful shock wave ran along the dusty room after each incantation. And, right in front of Harry's eyes, the row of cauldrons became spotlessly clean, the rust disappeared, and their colour turned to shining and black like Snape's greasy hair. Harry smirked, satisfied, and turned on his heel.
The door swung open. "Ah, good, you're already here," Harry smiled at Filch, and dusted his robes. "I'm done here, so if you'll excuse me..." The Gryffindor picked up the grimy polishing rag from the floor and tossed it in Filch's lap. "Bye!"
Quickly as a cat, Harry slipped out of the room, without giving Filch any opportunity to protest. He left the open-mouthed caretaker and the flabbergasted cat behind and rushed along the corridors towards the Slytherin portrait.
**
Draco was wide awake again. He lay curled into a ball in the darkest corner of the room, shivering with the persistent cold that the dungeon walls seemed to radiate. He wiped a tress of bloody hair out of his eyes, only to have it immediately falling back. Tiredly, Draco raised his hand to smooth the hair back again. He brushed his shaking fingers through the once-so-silver hair and frowned, as his digits would not go through it effortlessly.
Draco fingered the obstacle. It was a pearly grey feather, stuck into the unkempt mass of blood and dirt and silk. Or rather, it was more like a small, white-grey down than a real feather. Draco played with his locks in order to release it.
The down was so light that it might as well have been plain air. Draco smiled fondly at it, and smoothed the lines of his open palm with it. Running the softness over the life line, he wondered mutely how it could look so strong and long, indicating thus vitality, power and energy which he, for the lack of a cleverer explanation, was now simply missing.
His heart line, however, proved to have at least one thing right: it was a sign of aggressive love life and strong sexual desire. It also specified that he was very choosy about his partners. But, not all the lines of his hand were this encouraging.
His fate line was so imaginary that it was almost non-existent. Trelawney had once said it was a sign of a person who lacks stability. She had also explained that, because his fate line was tied with his heart line, it was a clear indicator that he had had a very restricted childhood. Everybody in the classroom had laughed at her then. They simply could not believe that Draco Malfoy, the rich arrogant brat who got almost everything in life he merely wished for, had ever suffered at home.
Little did they know.
Draco's mind whirled back in time, memories of his earlier years flowing through his mind. An image formed in front of his eyes, an image of his father smiling down at him. Squeezing the soft feather in his hand, Draco allowed himself to remember.
It had been a very beautiful summer day about three years ago. He had been thirteen years old. He had been sitting outside in the bright daylight, letting the treacherous beams of the sun dance across his alabaster skin, hoping he would not get burned. He had been sitting in the middle of a pretty meadow just outside the Malfoy Manor, inhaling the soft scents of blooming flowers and the brisk aroma of the approaching autumn. He had been relaxed, happy even.
Then, his father's shadow had landed on him unexpectedly, clouding the cobalt sky from his view.
Draco had looked up at his father's face, and seen a smile caressing the sides of the man's mouth. From previous experience, he knew it was not a good sign.
Draco remembered it all crystal clear. After all, a good memory was a common gift for diviners. And he remembered, indeed.
It was the day Lucius Malfoy had raised his face against the sun -for the last time in his life.
It was the day Draco Malfoy had cast his gaze to the ground -and started his Black Magic training in earnest.
Draco opened his palm and let the light grey feather flutter down on the floor beside him. He followed it with his eyes, glazing over. He had mastered his eagle owl form at the end of his fifth year, after almost three years of hard practising and hard handling. It was the greatest achievement he had reached so far. But still, he did not use his skill that often.
His mother, of course, had told him he was a beautiful being for an eagle-owl.
His father, of course, had told him he was a tailored fighter for the Dark Lord.
Draco shivered, remembering the last time he had used his Animagus form. In other words: he remembered last night.
He had followed the Black Dragon wyrmling closely, soaring like a shadow through the cold night sky. Millions of stars had been twinkling romantically down at him, and he had repressed the urge to gag; after all, he had been in a form of a handsome, dignified bird. The wind had come in sharp fits, howling in the forests below and lifting the frost-bitten leaves in the air for a waltz. The ominous, shadowy rocks of Cuillin Ridge had risen in the horizon, radiating dark power and promising an entertaining evening.
Draco now knew that he had flown his last free flight that night. Now, he was crippled, his wings were broken, and he could never be healed again.
Bitterly, Draco squashed the soft eagle owl feather against the rocky floor with one thumb. However, it did not break, but bounced back into the air and floated a little further away, out of the boy's reach.
**
"Zabs? Zabs! Anyone!" Harry banged the door to the Slytherin common room. "Open up!"
A very confused-looking Carlos Warrington came to push the portrait ajar. "Potter?"
Harry didn't care to explain himself, but rushed past Warrington into the room. He scanned the room and spotted Blaise Zabini in one corner with Theodore Nott and Mary-Ann Greengrass.
"Potter, what the fuck?" Warrington closed the door and scowled at the Gryffindor.
"Later." Harry waved dismissively and jogged towards the sixth years. "Blaise!"
She looked up from a magazine she was reading, and curiously looked at Harry. "Potter," she acknowledged.
With a jolt, Harry realised that her eyes were red from crying. In fact, the whole lot of the sixth and seventh year Slytherins looked like blunt shit. What was happening here? Harry had never before seen any of the Slytherins cry, or show any other vulnerable emotion either, for that matter. Were they really this much distraught about Draco's behaviour? Or were they possibly sorry because Draco and he weren't together anymore? Harry didn't want to waste time thinking about that right now.
"I need you, Blaise. This instant," he said urgently.
Theodore and Mary-Ann looked inquiringly from Harry to Blaise and back, but didn't say a thing.
"Uh, sure." Blaise stood up and tossed her magazine at Theodore. "What is it?"
Harry gently took her hand, tugging her towards the boys' dormitories. "Is he still keeping to his room?"
"Well, yeah." Blaise frowned, knowing that Harry was talking about Draco. "What is this? Did you finally come back to your senses and will ask him to take you back?"
"Yes, and no," Harry answered.
Blaise was confused. "Er, okay."
Harry turned around the last corner and sighed in relief when he found the aisle empty. "Look, Blaise..." He stopped, and put his hands on the girl's shoulders. "I came back to my senses, yes. But I didn't come here to ask him to take me back... because I don't believe he really meant to leave me in the first place."
Blaise nodded slowly. She was beginning to feel really mystified now. "Okay... Er... You wouldn't want to, ah, explain to me what you mean?"
"Here's the thing." Harry looked like he was burning in his trousers. "I think something's really wrong. Something really bad has happened. I... I'm afraid he's...well, badly hurt."
Blaise's eyes widened. "H-hurt?" she winced. "Yes, as in physically injured." Harry swallowed, and hastily started
to explain what Rune had told him about the scent of a dragon and blood.
Blaise listened to him in shock. "Baby Black, did it say?" she looked almost ready to collapse. "Oh, fucking hell... Oh, gods, no..."
"What?" Harry shook her. "Tell me!"
A lonely tear of shock and realisation ran down her cheek. "It was The Call," she whispered. Her lower lip was trembling. "It was Vold..." She swallowed. "Harry, it was him."
Harry paled. "Voldemort?" he managed to croak.
Blaise nodded. "Yes."
"We need to get to him, now!" Harry ran a hand through his hair and licked his lips. "We need to get through that door."
Blaise was urgently wiping tears from her eyes as if to hide them. "Yes, but how do we do that?" she asked.
"Zabs, listen. There is a way. But... You must understand. What I'm about to do now..." Harry looked seriously at her. "You just didn't see any of this, right?"
Wondering vaguely what Harry was talking about, she nodded. "Whatever it is, I'll keep it quiet."
Brushing gentle fingers down Blaise's hot cheek, Harry turned to look at Draco's door.
What the bloody hell, he thought. I did it already once today... So I guess another time won't do any harm.
Concentrating on the heavy locking and silencing spells on the wooden surface, Harry leaned his hands against the door and began to mutter incantations.
**
Draco shifted uncomfortably, and started to bite his usually well-manicured nails. In front of his eyes, a happy memory was playing its bittersweet melody now. It was the smiling face of his cousin, Nymphadora Tonks. Draco managed a faint grin.
Although Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were never informed, Draco had seen her shortly the previous summer in Diagon Alley, when he had been shopping with Pansy and Theodore. Draco and Nymphadora had recognised each other, of course, but had not approached one another. It would not have been acceptable if the Malfoy heir had connected himself with an Auror, now would it? But Draco had observed his cousin with curiosity from afar, wondering how twisted it was that they were not allowed to be family because of the choices their parents had made.
Nymphadora had smiled at Draco just then and, taken off guard, Draco had smiled back at her. Heaven forbid! Draco had been horrified. Yet it was a happy memory, no matter how forcefully Draco wanted to believe otherwise.
And then, the guilt struck his heart with its merciless blade again, showing him the same pretty face, now twisted in horrible pain.
Nymphadora Tonks had already been a prisoner when Draco had arrived at Voldemort's camp. She had been magically bound against a high rock-wall, her clothes half burned and her wrists bleeding against the imaginary cuffs. Of course, the change of her outer appearance was striking, if compared to the previous summer. She looked now frail and broken,
instead of the smiling, vivid girl Draco had seen in Diagon Alley. But Draco had not been able to show his own, suffocating feelings, then. Not in front of Voldemort and his followers. So he had just watched, swallowing his newly found heart, as the only cousin he had ever known was being tortured by his own, mindless self. The raw memory repeated only the same and single maddening mantra: "Please, Draco! Don't do it! Please..."
Draco recoiled and opened his eyes that he had not even realised he closed. He frowned in the darkness of the Slytherin bedroom and furrowed his brows in suspicion.
Something wasn't right now.
Something was totally out of place now.
The nagging feeling in Draco's heart only increased when he came to think about the fateful evening from a different perspective.
Why would Voldemort have captured Nymphadora Tonks? And how had he succeeded to do so, without the other Aurors being alarmed? Surely, knowing Harry and his important position in the Order, Draco would have heard of such a serious twist beforehand. And, if anything could be deduced from Nymphadora's condition, Draco was sure that his cousin had been
hanging there in the chains for at least several hours before his own arrival, if not for days. Certainly, a missing Auror would not have gone unnoticed by the Ministry and Dumbledore.
Draco touched his Dark Mark, this time ghosting his pale fingers smoothly across the scull's face. The distressing feeling swelled in his chest, and he thought about the plain facts as logically as he could.
He had been accepted into the ranks of Death Eaters.
Accepted. In a ceremony. In ceremony that was made to test his loyalty...
Draco rose to his knees and crawled to Morgan the Mirror. He looked at his reflection again, but this time saw a lot more than just his wounds and blood-covered features: he saw a possibility.
Careful to not put more strain on his wounds, Draco reached for his wand. Then he brushed the wand's tip through the dried blood that covered his abdomen and whispered the spell. "Cognatus Malfoy!"
Blue light erupted from the wand's tip and transformed the red grime into a glowing, blue substance. Draco waited for a few seconds, and when the colour finally turned bright orange, he almost sighed in relief. However, he did not trust the results yet, and repeated the same spell with blood taken from different parts of his body.
After about ten minutes of spell-casting, Draco rested his head on his hands, and put his wand carefully down on the floor. He was
hyperventilating - he was so happy. The blood had always turned orange. The blood had not once turned silver. It meant that, whoever he had killed, was not his own blood: not the Black blood, not the Malfoy blood. Which, inevitably meant that The Somebody he had killed was not his cousin, Nymphadora.
He had not killed his family. He still had his cousin. And yet, he had killed his family. He had killed his cousin. The fact that it might have been somebody else in disguise did not change the fact that he was a murderer. It did not change the fact that he had killed somebody he had believed to be his cousin.
Draco clutched his hair and ripped it forcefully. He was a failure, in the whole meaning of the word. He did not know what to do, where to go. He had lost everything that mattered to him these days: himself and Harry.
Draco was brooding over his sins and mistakes so intensely that he was totally unaware of the fact that someone started to murmur incantations behind his door. So, he was fairly surprised when the door suddenly burst open, and both Harry and Blaise entered. He gasped with fright and scurried backwards like a crab into the shadows of his corner, wanting to melt into the stone. He felt his face go white with terror under the reddish coat of gore.
"Harry..." he managed to say weakly, before tears welled in his eyes and ran down his cheeks. He wiped them angrily away. "Blaise."
**
The Slytherin girl ran directly to Draco, knelt down beside him and wrapped protective arms around the boy's shoulders. Harry stood at the doorway, eyes large and dark green, looking at his boyfriend, who was all covered in deep gashes and cuts and blood. Draco met his eyes, and raised his left inner arm for Harry to see.
"Dandy, eh?" Draco grinned bitterly, and then lowered his gaze, as well as his arm, ashamed. Blaise was sobbing by his side, trailing gentle fingers across his bare torso, helplessness and sorrow shining from his eyes every time she discovered a new injury.
"What did they do to you? This is horrible! Oh, Merlin, Draco..." she wailed.
Draco felt nauseous. He did not deserve this kind of loving attention. True, he had gotten a glimpse of that beautiful, purifying light with Harry, had allowed the Gryffindorish goodness warm his heart for a short while... But it was all gone now, all disappeared into the night. He was now a killer, and a Death Eater. A Failure. Harry would never love him anymore, not now. But Draco would be damned if he acted like a snivelling puddle of despair in front of his ex-boyfriend.
"Draco, look at me!" Blaise was still fussing over the Slytherin leader. "Tell me what can I do to help you?"
Draco braced himself and adapted his coldest demeanour. "Stop it, woman, I'm fine."
Blaise visibly flinched at the frosty air that was radiating from the Malfoy heir. Draco lifted her chin up with his fingers and looked steadily in her pale green eyes. "Blaise, I really am fine."
"The fuck you are!" It was Harry, slamming the door back shut and walking swiftly to the two Slytherins. His cheeks were tinted red with anger, his movements quick and menacing. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Look at you! You should be in the hospital wing!"
Draco was surprised when the Gryffindor dropped on his knees in front of him, and firmly gripped his left arm. "And this!" Harry wrenched his arm so that the Dark Mark was showing again. "What the fuck happened to you last night? And don't you dare give me that face, Draco Lucius Malfoy, or I'll slap you!"
Draco felt odd and warm little tingles run up his forearm to his heart from the places where Harry's fingers were touching his sore skin. Did this mean that Harry actually still cared for him? Draco swallowed a thick lump that had formed in his throat suddenly, and tried to speak; his voice left him.
Harry's eyes softened, but were still dangerously dark. "You look terrible, Malfoy," he sighed, and crawled closer. "Come here."
Soon, Draco found himself in Harry's welcoming embrace and could not hold back his guilt and agony anymore. All the pain left his system with ragged, desperate sobs.
Harry smiled, gently massaging Draco's neck. "Let it out," he whispered. "Let it all out."
Draco growled. Then, he crawled a little more upwards in Harry's arms and bit the Gryffindor in the shoulder.
Harry yelped with pain. "Draco! You bit me!"
"Just a warning," the blonde mumbled, and Harry could feel him smirk against his chest. "If this little display of emotion of escapes the room, I will have to hex both you and Blaise to ugly toads. Then you can marry each other and have a herd of ugly toad kids."
Blaise managed to snort amidst her tears, and Harry grinned widely. "Don't worry, baby. This never happened."
"Speaking of toads, did you ever know Umbridge had a thing for Snape?" Draco quipped.
"What? Eww!" Harry and Blaise echoed each other, their concern for Draco momentarily forgotten when this disturbing mental image flooded their minds.
Draco burst out crying again, this time really miserably. "Harry..." he wailed, but did not know how to express what he wanted to be said.
"It's okay, baby," Harry said; his voice was thick with emotion.
Draco tightened his grip on Harry, and felt warmth slowly creeping back into his body when he felt the Harry's fingers caressing the small of his back. He even felt Blaise's soft hands sliding through his gory hair, eliciting more of those offending tears from his eyes. With a shock he realised that he really had friends, true friends, and that he truly was loved. How could he have not seen that before? How could he ever have even thought about following his father to the Dark side? But, it was all too late now. He was now drowned too deep in the dark.
Harry's love had not been able to save him, after all.
"Why are you still here?" Draco asked angrily. He pushed away from the two people he loved scarily much, stood up and straightened his pose. He could not quite ignore the two pairs of worried eyes that raked over his injured body. "I'm a Death Eater now. You should not be here, either of you. Potter, I should kill you," he snarled.
"Yeah," Harry stared straight in Draco's eyes, looking smug. "But I'm not worried."
"And why not?" Draco's voice was raw.
"Don't you remember?" Harry grinned up at the blonde. "You would never kill anyone who gives as good head as I do."
Draco was absolutely dumbstruck. Did Harry just crack a joke? And bad one at that, but a joke none the less. How could Harry not be serious about this matter? Draco felt a headache coming. He distantly heard the Gryffindor boy talking to him.
"I'm worried more about you than me," Harry said. He looked pained, glancing worriedly at Draco. "Love. In case you haven't noticed, I must bring to your attention that you are very badly hurt. We should get you to Madame Pomfrey."
Draco flashed a half-amused, beautiful and slightly shy smile. "Did you just... call me love?"
"Yeah," Harry frowned. "Why?"
"You're honestly still in love with me?" he asked in disbelief.
"Hell yeah. Very much."
Draco sat back down, in front of Harry. He did not quite care how pathetic he sounded now. The relief was overpowering. "R--Really?"
"Yes," Harry rested his fingers on Draco's thigh, tracing idle and tickling patterns on it. "And I know that you're still in love with me, too."
"So sure about it, eh?" Draco teased, fighting his emotion.
"Yeah," Harry grinned. "Cocksure."
"But I just left you!" Draco protested weakly, sounding horribly vulnerable.
"And I just took you back," Harry gave a cheesy grin and ruffled Draco's hair. "Now, let's talk about other things that are less clear. For example, what is this blood all over you? If it was all yours, I'm sure you wouldn't be breathing."
All colour drained from Draco's face and his eyes grew steel cold. He jerked away from Harry again, and shuffled back into his shady corner. "I killed someone," he said, his voice flat.
"Yeah, obviously," Harry rolled his eyes. "So tell us what happened."
Draco could not help it: he felt his mouth drop open. He outright gaped at Harry. "How can... What the... What the fuck?"
"Yeah, tell me," Harry encouraged. "What the fuck."
"Are you completely insane, Harry?" Draco yelled. He was sure he was losing it now, and rapidly. "I just told you I bloody killed someone and you're sitting there, casually fondling my thigh, and just nonchalantly asking who it was! Are you sure it's not you who should go to see Pomfrey?"
"Draco." Harry took his trembling hands in his own. "Calm down. Calm down... Listen. I know about those meetings. I have seen plenty of visions of them. I know, at least partly, what you've been through. And yes, before you ask, no matter what you did or who you killed, I still love you."
"Even if it was your family?"
"But it wasn't my family."
"No, it wasn't. But you're still insane," Draco shook his head.
"No, I'm not." Harry's eyes gleamed. "Because I know you didn't do anything voluntarily."
"How do you know that?" Draco sneered.
"Because otherwise you wouldn't be crying here in my arms."
Draco's eyes flashed, and Blaise, who had been listening in quiet, suppressed a snort.
"For your information, Potter, I was not under Imperius."
"For your information, Malfoy, I don't care."
"Damn, you two are just adorable together," Blaise saw fit to inform them.
Draco, feeling very out of place and time, closed his eyes. He started to rock back and forth in his utter disorder. "I'm dreaming. This isn't happening. This is one sick and twisted fantasy that has no real-life connections. I am a Death Eater and Harry Potter hates me. Blaise is not sitting next to me right now and she definitely is not telling me that I look adorable with Potter. I am covered with blood and I look horrible. I have the Dark Mark in my forearm. Harry Potter hates me. Blaise is disappointed with me. This is not real... This is not real..."
Harry gathered Draco in his arms once again, and Draco buried his confused head in Harry's chest. Blaise looked at Harry worriedly as the Gryffindor caressed the Slytherin.
"This is horrible, Potter. Look at him, he's half dead!" she whispered frantically, gesturing at Draco's wounded back.
"Yeah." Harry sighed, smoothing Draco's hair. "I'll get somebody to take a look at him soon. Just... Let's give him a moment to gather himself, okay?"
"Yeah," Blaise said. Then she happened to look at her own reflection from the Mirror and gasped with horror. Running to get a handkerchief and a bottle of moisturizing cream from Draco's nightstand, she started to rub her face.
"Blaise?" Harry asked amused. "What are you doing?"
"My khol... and my mascara..." she growled.
Harry laughed out loud. "Slytherins. Are you all so bloody vain?"
Blaise ignored him completely. "Listen, Potter. Voldemort still thinks that Draco's on his side. So, we must stick to our plan."
Harry raised his brows at the sudden change of the subject. "Okay."
"Hmm, perhaps it's even better now, in a sardonic sort of way, that Draco's a Death Eater," Blaise pondered. "Voldemort will suspect us even less!"
"You're right, Blaise. That's a really good point. We must talk to Hermione tomorr... oh shit! I forgot! I was supposed to meet her and tell her about the plan tonight!"
"What? And you didn't!" Blaise shrieked.
"Well, obviously I've had something very much more important on my mind," Harry snapped, gesturing at Draco who was nuzzling against him. "Besides, Ron's there. I'm sure he'll explain the plan to her."
Blaise seemed to calm down at this. "Ron, hmm? Yes... He's a clever guy, no matter what Sir Draque here says..."
Draco snorted and Harry looked amazed at Blaise's appraising words. Blaise rolled her eyes. "Anyway, he seems to be very devoted to you, Harry," she said. "He's very loyal, and I think he's also very capable of helping us with this mission."
"I know," Harry smiled, trying not to outright grin. Blaise was interested in his best mate!
"Now, the only thing that worries me is that how he'll manage to talk to Granger after what they've been through, lately. I've heard that Granger left him for his sister... or something like that. And it's not really hard to notice that it hurts Ron like hell."
"Ron can handle it," Harry assured, thinking about his friends' fight earlier that day. "He has to, and he will. And... You've been a great help to him. I understand you two have been talking."
Blaise's eyes drifted away, into a land where Harry wasn't able to follow. Harry smirked at this; he was getting more and more certain that Blaise was hopelessly smitten with Ron.
"Um... I think it's time to give Draco some medical help now," Harry broke the silence, squeezing Draco against him.
"The hospital wing?" Blaise looked a little uncomfortable.
"Are you sure...?"
"No! Not Pomfrey!" Draco mumbled. "Not that cow!"
Harry laughed. "We'll see. But one thing is sure. I will take him to the prefects' bathroom and see what I can do for him myself," he said, merely to Blaise.
"Do for him... or do with him," Blaise smiled, re-arranging her thoughts again to the present date and time.
"And with him," Harry grinned back.
Draco sat up straighter and glared at them both. "Excuse me, but I'm still in the room, and I'm not used to hearing suggestive hints about what is going to happen to me and my pretty arse in a blunt way like this!"
"Don't worry baby, I won't be doing anything to you, you're too weak to have sex of any kind." Harry kissed Draco's nose, and the Slytherin growled in annoyance.
Blaise giggled. "Oh, you two get going already! I'm going to make sure Ron and Granger are fine... Where were you supposed to meet, again?"
"The Room of Requirement. On the seventh floor, opposite the tapestry showing Barnabas the Balmy trying to teach trolls to dance ballet. The room doesn't appear unless you walk three times past the blank wall, concentrating hard on what is needed... uh... I guess you must think about Ron very hard, then," Harry said, with a twinkle in his eye.
Blaise beamed, and dashed off. Harry chuckled.
Draco looked confused, and raised a brow at Harry.
"Uh... nothing important." Harry shook his head. Perhaps it wouldn't be wise to tell Draco about Blaise and Ron yet, seeing as the blonde still detested the Weasleys with vigour. "Come on now, we need to get you fixed up."
"I'm fine." Draco frowned and stood up with rash movements, as if to prove he was alright. However, as soon as he got to his feet, he swayed and cringed with pain. The world danced in his eyes, and he felt dizzy. "Uh... Potter..."
Harry immediately sprung up and steadied the Slytherin. "Yes, you're very fine indeed," he scowled.
"You... you're not seriously taking me to Madame Pomfrey, are you?" Draco managed to look disgusted just before his feet betrayed him and he collapsed into Harry's arms.
"You're a wreck, Malfoy... And Pomfrey is very good with healing charms. We need to get those wounds cleaned; it's a miracle if they haven't got infected already."
"I don't want to see Pomfrey," Draco whined. "And I don't want my housemates to see me like this... We can't let anyone see me like this... the Dark Mark..."
"Shit, you're right," Harry groaned. "We can't let anyone see it."
"Thought so..."
"Then it is only lucky that I brought my Invisibility Cloak," Harry said, and took the cloak out of his school bag. "I took it with me to detention. I sort of had this weird feeling I'd needed it tonight."
**
"Where are we going, Harry?" Draco asked, when finding them circling through the dungeon corridors rather than climbing up the staircases. "I thought the hospital wing was upstairs."
"We're not going to the hospital wing, love. I've come to the conclusion that we really can't let Pomfrey see your, ah, new tattoo."
"Then where are we going?" Draco looked suspicious.
"We're going to see Snape," Harry informed, and dragged Draco determinately along.
"SNAPE!" Draco gasped, eyes widening in horror. "Never! Harry, look at me. We can't possibly go see him. He... Harry, Snape... he is one of them!"
Harry only smiled at the blonde's discomfort. So, Snape was still in good books among Voldemort's supporters, which was, of course, a good sign. "Draco, my love, he is a spy."
Draco blinked once. Then he blinked twice. "Okay, I must be worse off than what I expected. Now, I'm hearing my own stuff. I thought you said Snape was a spy. Hah! What a joke."
"Draco." Harry kissed Draco's gaping mouth quickly. "Professor Snape is a spy. For the Order."
"But... he... He was there last night! With the others, torturing me!" Draco fiercely reminded Harry.
"Of course he was." Harry frowned. "He's attending every meeting to be able to give Dumbledore some new information. But hell, I wouldn't have thought he'd actually torture you!"
"Well, actually, now that you mention it..." Draco weakly massaged his temples. "I guess Snape was one of the few that stayed in the background, only watching. Then, I didn't much pay attention to what he was doing, but now..."
"Come on, let's get going, Snape's office is just behind the corner," Harry gestured, and pushed Draco forwards, dropping the Invisibility Cloak from their shoulders. "Actually, I bet he's been expecting you already. Well, not in the sense of you being on our side, but anyways... I'm sure he's been waiting for you to come and gloat about finally being a Death Eater."
"What's there to gloat?" Draco muttered, bitterness making his silvery eyes reflect smoke grey. "All my life I've tried to follow my sadistic father, when all I needed was you to realise what was best for me."
"You're being sweet." Harry grinned.
"Am not!" Draco protested, and crossed his bruised arms. He was still without a shirt, and was slightly shivering in the cool underground aisle.
"It could have been different, you know," Harry said, and turned to knock on Snape's door. "We could've been friends from the beginning on. You could've found your place in the world earlier. So many years wasted... Well, but you always were the insufferable prick you are."
"Thank you." Draco smiled sarcastically, his bleeding lips twisting in an almost comical manner. "I love you too."
"I know." Harry gently pulled Draco closer and kissed his forehead.
The door swung open, and Severus Snape's gloomy, crook-nosed form hovered in front of them. "Potter, what...? Malfoy?"
Snape scowled dangerously, obviously thinking that Draco was now the worst possible company for the Boy Who Lived. But, of course, Snape had to remember to play his Death Eater role.
"May I enquire as to the reason why you two are here at this ungodly hour?"
"Sir, it is not yet eight in the evening," Harry pointed out.
"Silence!" Snape spat, being a little bit disappointed that the effect of his perfectly formed inquiry was now ruined. "Come in, you two! We don't want anyone to see you like this!"
The boys slithered in the shadowy and fuggy room, and Snape closed the door behind them.
"Now, I want you to tell me instantly what is going on here?" The Potions master cocked his head, examining the two boys with a weird mixture of interest, fear and concern.
Draco leaned his back against Harry and turned his left forearm in the course of bright torchlight. "This," he said, managing to sound both annoyed and tired. "As you probably already know, I was initiated last night."
"Um, yes, I am aware of that," Snape said, hesitantly. He was not yet sure what the hell Potter was doing in the room as well, and why the hell Draco saw fit to expose his new tattoo to the hero boy. Snape tried his best not to look confused.
"Sir, I want you to heal Draco's injuries," Harry exclaimed, looking determinate and arrogant. "And I need you to give him some kind of pain relieving potion for the Dark Mark, too. I'm sure you understand that we cannot exactly go and see Madame Pomfrey."
Snape looked back and forth from Potter to Draco, his sharp, black eyes trying to find an explanation for this unusual event. Potter, knowing what Snape must have been thinking, rolled his eyes, and started to guide Draco towards one of Snape's black leather chaise lounges. "Draco's on our side, Sir," he drawled. Draco chuckled at Harry's tone of voice, but was too exhausted to make a comment himself.
"Watch your mouth, Potter!" Snape gasped. How could that insufferable Gryffindor brat speak that way in front of another Death Eater? Sure as hell Draco had not resisted much the previous night, when the Mark had been burned into his skin. "Mr Malfoy, why did you not come to see me earlier? I am not sure if it is wise to let Mr Potter..."
"Sevvy, calm down." Draco giggled. He was feeling very light-headed suddenly, probably because of the blood loss and the exhausting walking. "You must have noticed we're together," he continued, smirking.
"Well, yes, ah, the nature of your reckless relationship has not gone entirely unnoticed by me," the Potions master sourly said.
"Yes, a reckless relationship, indeed," Draco sniggered.
"Means we're fucking like bunnies," Harry offered.
This was all too much for the Potions master, and all too soon.
"Merlin help us all." He brought a hand to his eyes, and collapsed into his favourite armchair, looking totally defeated. "If anyone would care to explain this to me now, it would be most appreciated."
"Okay." Harry shrugged, and moved to sit on the armrest of the couch which Draco was lying on. "Here's the thing. Draco was initiated last night, without his consent and now he's hurt. I want you to heal him. And then, we might discuss your role as the spy among those mindless zombies and see what Draco will think about that."
"Potter, you must be out of your god damn mind," Snape hissed. "How do you know he isn't in for it for real?"
"Because I love Potter," Draco muttered, eyes closed. "There, what a shocker," he added, and started sniggering again. "Can anyone give me a blanket? It's fucking cold in here!"
Harry grinned at Snape's noncommittal expression, shrugged his own Gryffindor cloak down his shoulders, and tugged Draco under it. "There you go, love. Now, you take a little nap, and I will try to persuade 'Sevvy' to concoct some good potions for you, okay?"
"'Kay," Draco smiled, and snuggled against the sofa's backrest.
Snape listened to their interaction with a dawning comprehension - or, rather, incomprehension. Draco Malfoy was really in love with Harry Potter. A double shocker, it was. For who could ever love Potter of all people? It just didn't fit into Snape's narrow field of emotional understanding. And secondly, Draco Malfoy, in love? Hah! Draco Malfoy could not love. His father had made sure of that, a long time ago. So, what the hell was happening here?
"Sir?" Harry addressed the Potions master. "I know it's hard to believe, but Draco is not a Death Eater."
"Ah," was all Snape said, in addition to a scornful frown.
Harry immediately felt frustrated and riled up. "Would it be overly arduous for you to produce a small amount of pain relieving potion for Draco's injuries, Professor Snape, Sir? It would be most appreciated." Harry made sure Snape caught the mockery.
"Potter, you are a fool," Snape whispered, angrily. "Look at that boy! He is Lucius Malfoy's son, for Majere's sake! He's a Death Eater! He killed Nymphadora Tonks last night!"
"No, I didn't!" Draco shot back. Obviously he had not been sleeping yet. "It wasn't Tonks at all. It was an impostor! Um, at least I think it was. I would like you to check out the blood I have all over me, and make sure it is not Nymphadora's. I'm horribly distraught by the sole idea that I've killed someone, let alone my own cousin!"
"Where did you get the idea that it was not your cousin?" Snape was genuinely surprised.
"I just got suspicious and tested all this blood," he explained, scratching the rubicund grime out of his skin. "I searched for possible traces of kindred in it with the Cognatus charm. I didn't find any. So... I'm pretty sure it wasn't Tonks I killed. It was someone else. And now I must know who it was."
Snape looked actually serious for once. "It was Karkaroff. Igor Karkaroff," he said, twisting his mouth as if it would have really pained him to say that much.
"Karkaroff?" Harry breathed. "The traitor?"
"Yes, the traitor," Snape affirmed. "He was caught by the Lestranges two nights ago."
"Okay." Harry frowned. "Why wasn't I informed?"
"Contrary to your arrogant beliefs, there are a lot of things the Order wants to keep from you," Snape sneered.
"Dumbledore knows about my relationship with Draco! At least, you could've told me what he had gone through last night! No, I had to wait like an eternity before I found out what was wrong with him!" Harry was fuming. "Concealing his condition from me was beneath you both!" he hissed.
"Language, Potter. You will not speak to me this way, you insolent brat! For your information, neither the Headmaster nor I were aware of Draco's willingness to be a spy. I assure you that by keeping Draco's Call a secret, we were only trying to ensure that you, Potter, would keep out of harm's way. I personally knew all about Draco's initiation already weeks beforehand, seeing as I was the one who brewed the Polyjuice potion with Tonks' hair in it."
"And you didn't tell me! Well, you didn't tell him!" Harry growled. "At least you could have told him!"
"Mr. Potter, I must ask you to calm yourself. Mr. Malfoy was very alert of what was coming."
"He told me it was supposed to happen next Saturday," Harry defended his boyfriend. "The plans changed, didn't they?"
"He actually told you he was going to get marked next Saturday?" Snape looked flabbergasted.
"Well, yeah," Harry shrugged.
"He trusts you greatly, I see," Snape looked uncomfortable.
"I should hope so," Harry scowled. "Now tell me, what the hell happened there last night! I can't get much out of Draco. It's not like he's unwilling to enlighten me, but he's kind of tired."
Snape's eyes travelled to the blonde young man lying on his leather couch, and he felt a bang of guilt in his chest. If one chose to believe in Potter's words, Draco had not planned to become a Death Eater after all. And if so, Severus could have prevented it all from happening, had he warned the boy beforehand.
"It is true what he said," the Potions' Master started. "Draco was originally meant to join the Death Eater ranks next Saturday, but the plans were altered since Karkaroff was so suddenly found. Therefore, the Dark Lord sent somebody to fetch Mr Malfoy beforehand, more specifically this freshly hatched Hungarian Horntail wyrmling. And, as you already must know, Draco's Animagus form is an eagle owl, and he followed the dragon by flying..."
"Wait, what?" Harry interrupted. "Draco's an Animagus?"
"And he hasn't told you that?" Snape was delighted to be able to look superior.
"Uh, no." Harry frowned at the sleeping boy.
"Well, it is a secret because he is unregistered. Which, of course, means that all the Slytherin sixth and seventh years know. Lucius Malfoy trained him personally during the past three summers, and I did the rest of it during his third, fourth and fifth year here at Hogwarts. I am fairly surprised that this fact about your precious boyfriend has escaped your ears." Snape looked smug.
Harry, indeed, looked very disturbed. There was a weird feeling in his chest. A feeling he could not quite place. "Anyways, I'll talk to him about that later," Harry muttered. "Go on with the story."
"Well, the whole thing was mainly about Karkaroff. He was forced to drink the Polyjuice potion, originally meant for Wormtail, because Voldemort wanted to test Draco's loyalty on a more, ah, emotional basis," he explained. "Which, if I may remind you, worked. He did kill his own cousin, in a way."
"You know Draco extremely well." Harry looked grave. "He's not one to withdraw from challenges. Besides, if he wouldn't have done it, he'd been killed himself."
"True," Snape admitted. "But how is it, Potter? If it would've been you in Draco's place, what would you have done? Killed Tonks, as well?"
"No, I would've killed Voldemort!" Harry spread his arms in frustration. Their conversation wasn't going anywhere. "And exactly there's the difference! It is my job to kill the raging wild bastard, not his." Harry pointed at Draco, who was still happily lounging on Snape's couch. "Draco's done a huge sacrifice for the sake of our cause! I'm sure he's willing to become a spy as well!"
"Potter, you must realise Malfoy offered you to Voldemort last night!" Snape hissed. "He said he'd bring you to visit Malfoy Manor next Saturday!"
"Yes, that's true." Harry smiled dangerously. It was good that the subject was brought up so effortlessly, and by Snape himself. "And why, exactly, do you expect him to have said that?"
Snape looked unsure, and played with his goatee.
"Do you honestly think that I would be going to Malfoy Manor just because I'm in love with him and he's a good fuck? Not bloody likely, Sir!" Harry huffed. "I am well aware that Voldemort will be there that evening, if you catch my meaning."
For once in his life, Snape looked thunderstruck. "You... You're going to fight him? Now?"
"That's pretty much the intention." Harry shrugged. "Now, would you please give Draco some medication? Even though he doesn't complain about it, I know he's in pain." Harry looked pleading.
Snape swallowed and straightened his back. He sauntered to Draco and cast a few rapid healing spells on the sleeping boy as the first aid. He had been ignoring Draco's injuries already for too long, which was completely unforgivable. He was suddenly completely out of his usual sneering mood.
"Potter?" he asked, when casting a cleaning spell on a wound in Draco's shoulder.
"Yes?"
"Have you told the Headmaster about this... this... plan of yours?"
Harry bit his lip. "No, we haven't told anyone. And I'd appreciate it if you could keep this only to yourself as well."
"You know very well I cannot do that," Snape said. "It would be foolish to let you carry out this mission without the protection of the Order."
"And why is that?" Harry gave a hollow laugh. "I thought you didn't give a fuck if I died or not, so if this plan goes all wrong, you are most welcome to dance on my grave."
"Language, Potter. And I must tell you that contrary to your childish beliefs, I would be most sorry if you died before getting rid of the Dark Lord. And besides, you flatter me with unnecessary cruelty. I would not dance on your grave. I have not yet even danced on your father's grave, even if I have had the chance to do so for almost sixteen years now."
Harry visibly paled. "M-my f-father's grave?"
"Yes." Snape crossed his arms. "I respect his memory, although I did not like him. He was a good man, in a Potterish sort of way. And I never said any of this." Snape turned on his heels and marched at the door.
"Wait!" Harry called.
"What now, Potter?" Snape sounded disdainful. "I thought you wanted me to help Mr Malfoy as quickly as possible."
"I do, but what you said about my father's grave..."
"It can wait," Snape snapped, and exited the room.
Harry lowered his gaze, and felt a strange burning feeling behind his eyelids.
"Oh, and Potter," Snape peered back in the room.
"Yes?" Harry whispered.
"Draco did not kill Karkaroff. It was Voldemort himself who ripped the man's heart out. Personal revenge, you must understand. Draco only tortured that idiotic turncoat."
Their eyes met in a mutual understanding, and Harry managed a slight, sorrowful smile. "Thank you, Sir."
Snape waved him off. "Now keep him warm when I'm gone. Er, not that way," he hastily added, before slamming the door shut and storming towards his potions storage room.
...TBC...