A/N: There really shouldn't be many more chapters to this story…I can always try and come up with some fluff that really has no purpose (Harry showing up in Draco's room in the last chapter was unplanned fluff) but I still don't think there'll be much more to this.

So to sum up, most of what follows from here on out will be plot-intensive.

I apologize immensely for the insane delay; life's been crazy, and I lost inspiration, but my muse has returned! The story should get rolling again, and wrap itself up soon.

Warning: there will be some focus on het this chapter.

Being a part of the Order didn't change my life much. My godfather, on occasion, would take me aside after Potions lessons to tell me some little tidbit about an Order meeting, but thus far they'd asked nothing of me, and I'd heard no more from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement—Dumbledore had managed to keep them away from me, thankfully.

Put quite simply, life was normal for a while aside from the occasional owl from my uncle Rodolphus asking me to come to some little "meeting" or other. Severus encouraged me to attend these, as it would give me a foot in the door with the Dark Lord. So, of course, I was careful not to lose the portkeys he sent me: an ancient, rusty key, a dried flower, a sweet of some sort, that sort of thing.

The meetings were rather simple affairs. They were always in remote locations like forests or fields way out of anyone's way, and the people that attended were all either escaped Death Eaters or those who were suspected to be Death Eaters. I wasn't the only young person there, however. More often than not, Crabbe and Goyle would be there too, along with several other sixth and seventh year Slytherins—usually sons and daughters of Death Eaters, all of who were being groomed to join in the festivities, so to speak.

In general, life wasn't too strenuous for me. The Death Eater meetings were worth my mother's peace of mind, so I went and smiled and nodded when people spoke, being careful to take mental notes on what happened—that way Severus and I could collaborate on the stories he would pass on to the Order.

Life went on as usual; I saw Harry sometimes during the night. Seldom did we risk him being out the whole time, though, so his stays in my quarters were always limited to a few hours—better safe than sorry, he would say to me.

Time passed fairly quickly, and before long Harry and I were exchanging banter about our Quidditch teams, taking bets on who would win in the upcoming Slytherin vs. Gryffindor match. Usually it was the first match of the season, but at the time it was scheduled, I was on my peak and thus unable to play. Gryffindor vs. Slytherin was switched with Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff. Harry often teased me about whether or not I'd "conveniently" peak just in time to stave off another "crushing victory by Gryffindor." I never took that kindly, of course, but I never said anything, either.

On occasion Harry and I would make clandestine journeys out to the pitch in the evening and practice against one another, always keeping up a running discourse of raillery, just for the appearance of it. Nonetheless, people started speculating on whether I was becoming soft, so during the day I would insult Harry as best I could manage without laughing while at night I would apologize to him and make a fuss over any wounds (bruises, cuts, anything) my act had caused him. I had a reputation to maintain, after all; at least Harry understood that. He always forgave me.

After a particularly mean remark on my part about Harry's parents the night before the big Quidditch match, Harry let himself into my rooms. I sat up in my bed and peered at him through the darkness. He stared back at me, looking like a ghost. "I catch the snitch, you quit with the snide remarks. Damn your pride, Draco. Just stop it once and for all and be nice."

He frowned, running a hand through my hair. What could I ask for in return? I knew what I'd said was below the belt, and that I should have to pay for it somehow, but…Harry was giving me a chance not to have to repent. I narrowed my eyes at him. "And if I catch the snitch," I began, my voice sounding colder than I'd intended, "you tell your friends."

"Tell them what?"

I rolled my eyes. "Don't play dumb with me, Harry. Admit to your friends that you're with me. My friends know—yours don't." I specifically didn't mention the fact that Hermione had helped me out and that she, of course, knew.

We looked at one another for a while, and then Harry stood up straighter. "Alright. Deal?"

"Deal." I got out of bed and walked over, holding out my hand. He reached out and we shook on it. Then I smiled at him and kissed him briefly. "Get some rest, Potter. You'll need it."

He arched an eyebrow at me. "Not as much as you will." And with that he walked past me, back out of my rooms and up towards Gryffindor Tower. I smiled and climbed back into my bed.

The next morning I got up, showered, and put on my Quidditch robes. I went down to breakfast and ate lightly so that I wouldn't be suffering from stomach cramps when I was chasing after the snitch. Once I'd finished, my friends wished me luck, and I looked across the Great Hall at Harry, who just smiled slowly. I could see him wondering what an injury to my pride it would be to have to give up the harsh words I still said to him during the day.

I ignored the smile and went to the changing rooms, where the team got what was probably supposed to be a rousing speech. Needless to say, it wasn't much of a speech. Nonetheless, we all left the changing rooms determined to beat Gryffindor.

Madam Hooch bid us mount our brooms, and we all did so, rising up into the air above the ground. Harry and I faced one another. I smirked at him. "Ready to lose that bet, Potter?" I asked.

He stared back at me. "You wish," he replied, just as the match began. The two of us spent a moment examining the pitch for signs of the snitch. I saw it before Harry, and the chase began, me following the snitch, Harry following me. He was right on my tail as I maneuvered about the pitch, eyes trained on the speck of gold that danced just ahead of me, seeming to mock me.

Harry took the lead soon enough, and for a while I followed him, letting him do the work of keeping an eye on the snitch. He realized what I was doing, though, and took a detour, leading me away from our target. I wasn't paying the attention I ought to be, and narrowly missed a bludger knocked in my direction. Harry got away, and I was disoriented.

I had to pause and take stock of my surroundings. There was Harry, zipping around…the snitch was dreadfully close to him. I clenched my jaw and dove down after him, knuckles white as I gripped the handle of my broom. I didn't want to lose the bet we had going, and would have done almost anything to win. As I went after the snitch, thinking surely I could get to it before Harry, he rose up a bit on his broom, stretching his arm out. His fingers could almost close around it, but not quite; he edged forward on his broom, pulling one leg up and setting his foot down on the polished wood. He crouched near the very tip of his broomstick and stretched his arm out just a little bit further…and had to pull up sharp to avoid a bludger. The sudden stop destroyed his balance and Harry fell off his broom, closing his hand into a fist as he plunged through the air. I yelped and started to go into a dive to try and catch him before he fell to the ground but then I realized that really would indicate I'd gone soft. I couldn't help him, or else our cover would be blown.

So I watched in horror as he hit the grass with a sickening crunch. I brought my broom back down towards the ground, landing as people encircled Harry's still frame on the ground. He was holding the snitch.

I waited until night fell to go visit Harry in the hospital wing. He was asleep and I didn't even know what all was wrong with him, but I stood by his bedside and watched him in his slumber. His chest rose and fell evenly, but the sound of his breathing was raspy and labored. I touched his hand gently with one of my own, bent and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, and left him with no sign I'd been there except for a single red rose on his bedside table.

The next morning when the Slytherins chatted about Harry and how he always dramatized every catch of the snitch, I told them to shut up. I'd lost the bet—I had to be true to my promise and play nice.

As it turned out, Harry had received a concussion and cracked two of his ribs, one of which had nearly punctured his lung. He'd also dislocated his shoulder and fractured his collarbone; the bone would knit easily enough, he told me one night, but it would leave an ugly spar where it had been broken. I told him I didn't care; he would always be gorgeous in my eyes.

Unfortunately for me, two days after Slytherin's loss to Gryffindor, I hit my peak. Harry was still in the hospital wing and the pain of my erection was nearly unbearable—I'd not had one this bad since Harry had slipped me that aphrodisiac. With no Harry to ease my pain, the only solution I could think of would be to seek gratification from the nearest, most convenient person present.

I opened the door of my rooms and grabbed the first person that came by, pulling them inside. As luck would have it, it was Pansy. She looked at me curiously; "Fucking peak," I growled. She smirked, her hand drifting down to my groin. She gave it a squeeze and I moaned. She giggled softly.

Pansy had always wanted me, I knew. Her gaze was appreciative as she kicked my door closed, a wicked smile on her face as she backed me into my bedroom, her hand still on my groin, knowing she had me fully in her control. I was helpless, blinded by my search for the gratification I needed to end my misery, so I complied with everything, letting her drag me to the bedroom, not complaining when she popped the buttons off of the nice shirt I was wearing to get a glimpse of the flesh beneath.

Her fingers raked up and down my chest and before I knew what was happening she'd undressed me and shoved me down onto my bed. She stepped away and removed her own clothes, crawling up onto the bed. "I'm going to have fun with this," she whispered in my ear, her hands roaming up my thighs. She reached over to my nightstand and grabbed a condom from the box Harry had given me, slipping it over my cock. I arched my back, pushing my hips into her hands; she giggled darkly. For Pansy, this was some kind of a dream come true.

She closed her lips around my latex-sheathed cock, enjoying its length. She was careful not to let me come, though—when my moans began to escalate she shook her head. "Tsk tsk," she said, drawing away, and I whimpered at the loss of her hot, moist mouth.

Only when she was sure I wasn't going to lose it did she move again, inching up my legs and straddling my thighs. I could see that she wanted me to touch her, but I didn't know what would please her; I rested my hands on her hips and tentatively fondled one of her breasts as she positioned herself over my cock. My arms went slack, however, when she lowered herself on top of me. The look on her face was one of pure ecstasy as she sank down my length until there was no more of me to take. She let her head fall backwards a bit, her lips parted slightly; she pushed herself back up slowly, one hand splayed across my chest, the other gripping my thigh. Up and down, up and down she moved. When I thought I would lose control and burst inside of her, she would stop. Clearly she wanted us to climax together, though I knew there was no way in hell that would happen. I needed this too much.

Finally she gave up on holding off my orgasm, and my toes curled as I spilled my seed. She wasn't done with me, though, and continued to ride my cock until she'd brought upon herself those sweet waves of ecstasy. Finally she collapsed atop my chest, and I moved just enough to slip out of her. I didn't want this, though—I didn't want to share the post-coital bliss that she was clearly experiencing.

She solved my problem, however, by falling asleep. I gently rolled her off of me and went into the shower, cleaning myself up. I'd gotten what I needed from her, and that was enough for me.

That night when I went to visit Harry, I found that he was no longer in the hospital. Afraid to go to Gryffindor Tower, I returned to my rooms. What I found there haunted me.

Malfoy,

Heard about what you did with the girl. You promised to be faithful, and weren't. I can't live with a liar. Consider us over.

Potter

The coldness of the last names, the brevity of the sentences, and the fact that the necklace I'd given him sat atop the note on my bed with my Slytherin tie was more than I could bear. I realized Harry hadn't written the first part himself (his injuries wouldn't allow for that) but the signature was his.

It was done. No more Harry. And, as all wizards know, a veela without a mate will pine to death. He'd just given me a death sentence in only a few words.