Thank you for the reviews on the last chapter!

This chapter is...odd. It is not really the way I wanted it to turn out. It is weird, and too conscious. But it does what it has to do.

Chapter Fifty-Eight: One Sacrifice Too Many

Draco leaned against the wall outside the classroom door and waited patiently. He could have gone into the room and been closer to Harry, but Harry was only telling a story that Draco already knew to another class of students from all Houses. Draco knew he would have felt less comforted by Harry's presence than annoyed with all the other people who were sharing it.

Besides, the fact that he'd stayed away from Harry all day would lend his request more weight when he made it.

The lesson shifted as he listened. Now Harry was teaching the other students simple dueling spells, allegedly because their Defense Against the Dark Arts curriculum was inadequate with two teachers in one year—and a third one having to take over next year, when Karkaroff would go back to Durmstrang. Draco knew the truth, of course, because Harry had confessed it to him when he asked. Connor had supposedly heard from Krum that for the Third Task, it would be useful if the champions knew plenty of dueling spells. To avoid letting on that he knew anything about it, Connor had asked Harry to tutor him in common with the others.

Draco couldn't quite forbear edging nearer the door and peering in at Harry, to see what he was teaching them now.

Harry's brother had just managed to deflect a simple cutting hex with a Shield Charm. He was laughing out loud, as if that simple accomplishment was worth startling a whole room full of other people. Harry stood across from him, smiling at him and shaking his head.

Draco smiled in turn and tilted his head so that more of the sunlight from Harry's emotions fell on his face. Simple things like this made Harry so happy. Draco thought, with one part of his mind, that Harry really should find some employment more fit for him—he couldn't strike with one tenth of his power, since the other students were so weak—but he'd been distant and preoccupied since a few days after the successful completion of the ritual to free the southern goblins. It was only right that he have some joy now.

Harry was dancing attendance on Loony Lovegood next, urging her to make a trial of the Shield Charm against his cutting hex. Loony only got halfway through the spell before she started talking dreamily to her scarf, and Harry had to pull up his hex. For a moment, his emotions shifted towards worry like snow blowing in Draco's face. Then they steadied, and he shook his head and moved towards Smith and Granger, who'd apparently patched up their little love affair when Draco wasn't looking.

Draco tensed his shoulders. I do want to just drag him out of there. But wait. Be patient. Once he hears what I want, I know he'll need a few hours to think about it. Best if I just let him have this time now, and he doesn't get irritated at me for pushing too soon.

Draco waited, immobile, and patient, really, even if he had to chew on his tongue to stay quiet more than once as Harry responded with deep calm to Smith's sniping comments. Draco was an expert at reading Harry in a way that none of the others in the classroom were, and he could see that the calm was as false as his own patience. Harry's shoulders kept tightening, and he smoothed out the cruel edges that tried to wrinkle his voice again and again.

I think he'll agree to this, Draco thought hopefully. Merlin knows that he needs this as much as I do.

Finally, the other students left the classroom for dinner, but not before asking Harry for more lessons the next day. Harry waved them off with talk about studying for exams in the library. Draco's eyes narrowed. He's been doing that for the past week, and he always looks paler afterward.

Not this time.

More than one person gave him an odd glance as they streamed past him, but Draco ignored them. The only other student whose opinion he cared about was waiting until everyone had left. He could see that, and that would just mean Draco would wait until everyone had left, too.

Harry peered around the door, finally, fully five minutes after his brother and the Weasel had gone to dinner, cracking immature Gryffindorish jokes. He stared around the corner, then jumped when he saw Draco. Draco straightened up and looked at him calmly.

"You could have come in, you know," said Harry, after a few moments of silence. "No one would have minded."

Draco sighed. "I have something to ask you," he said. "Something that needs to be said in private, but I don't know if I could have waited if I'd come into the classroom." He studied Harry's tight, pale face, and nodded, fully convinced that this would help Harry as much as him.

Harry grinned. "Is this about your birthday gift, Draco? Yes, I know it's your birthday tomorrow. I'm not going to tell you what I got you beforehand."

"It's about my birthday," said Draco, "but this time, I wanted to ask for a specific gift."

Harry arched his eyebrows. "You don't trust me to get you something you'll like?"

Draco had not actually counted on Harry having bought or made a gift already. Greed warred with stronger greed. Really, he wanted both presents, if he could be assured of a reasonable chance of getting them both…

But the stronger greed—which, Draco told himself, had its roots in concern for Harry as much as anything else—won. He shook his head. "It's not that. But I really want something that only you can make for me."

"Something magical, then," Harry summed up. "Not a nundu, Draco, or a way of casting multiple hexes at people who annoy you."

That would be useful. Draco squashed his longing. "No, not that."

Harry nodded at him. "All right. What do you want, then?"

Draco found that it wasn't as easy to ask for it, after all, confronted by those wide and utterly quizzical green eyes. But where courage might have failed him, love and desire stepped in. "I want you to create the same kind of magical bond that we shared in the ritual to free the goblins," he said, "just for one day. From midnight tonight to midnight tomorrow. That should do it."

Harry's face turned pale, and Draco saw a brief flash of green light, one of Harry's usual signs of wanting to back away. Draco nodded slowly. That clinched it, then. Harry hadn't ended that bond for a reason that had anything to do with Draco. It was his own fear he'd been thinking of, his own reluctance.

Draco held his gaze and waited. He knew exactly why Harry was frightened. The bond had connected them so nearly that they'd shared physical sensations along with emotions; Draco had even received a brief glimpse of what it must be like to hold as much magic as Harry had. It wasn't something that could be hidden or backed away from. Harry retained some secrets even now, looked away and sent people's gazes in the other direction. Draco thought he had good reason for some of it, but he didn't see why he should be shut out. He was the one who had made the promise never to hurt Harry's mother, and had since made it about Harry's father as well. He didn't go around betraying Harry's secrets to other people. He could feel Harry's trust in him during the ritual, rock-solid, so deep that it hadn't even required a description of him to cement the bond, the way it had with the others. He thought that this link was a perfectly fine birthday gift. It didn't press Harry too far, because it built on what Harry had already given him.

And it would give Draco back something, if only for a day, that he'd been longing for and missing since the ritual. Perhaps it was un-Malfoyish to admit how deeply that hour of connection had affected him. He didn't really care. It wasn't as though Harry was about to run to Lucius and spill this secret, either.

Harry closed his eyes and let out a low, shuddering breath. "I—why do you want this, Draco?" he asked.

Draco scowled at him. "Now you're just acting stupid, Harry. You know why I want this. I understand that you're afraid, and—" his throat burned to say it, but only from reluctance, not from speaking the truth "—if you really want me to, I'll choose something else. But I'm not going to let you lie and play dumb and say that you don't know something you know perfectly well." He tapped the side of his head with his finger. "Exams are coming up, you know. You ought to practice retaining facts, not ignoring them, or else they'll slip out of your head in the middle of the test."

Harry laughed, though the sound was hollow. He looked up slowly, blinking. "I—let me think about it, Draco, all right?" he asked.

That was the period of a few hours Draco had expected. He nodded, and fell into step beside Harry as they walked down to dinner. He didn't make an attempt to touch him. Since Halloween, he'd become adept, again, at knowing when to back off, and he knew Harry would see a touch right now as pushing his case.

Harry shoved his dinner around on his plate. Normally, he was quite all right with shepherd's pie, but now he didn't feel like eating.

He darted a glance at Draco, and then looked away. Draco was steadily eating, pretending that nothing was wrong. He'd made his request, and Harry knew he wouldn't take it back unless Harry asked him to take it back. And Harry didn't want to.

But if I let him that close to me, then he'll probably find out about my plan, he thought.

Good, said Regulus, startling him. They'd had another argument a week ago, and he hadn't been around Harry's head much since then. It's a stupid plan. I hope he has a go at you and makes you see reason.

You know I can't think of any other way to accomplish it, Harry thought, and stabbed viciously at a piece of pie. Millicent glared at him as the bits splattered her. Harry ducked his head and remained like that until she looked away. I've tried and tried. I don't like this way, either, but the northern goblins have to be free, and their web is unmanageable otherwise.

You don't have to do this so quickly, Regulus urged him, reiterating the terms of their argument a week before. The goblins will wait. Just because their cousins are free doesn't mean they'll demand you free them the next month. You can study some more and find out another way with time. It's your own sense of the fitness of things that's rushing you, Harry, not anyone else.

Harry couldn't say anything to that, but he didn't see that it mattered. So his own sense of the fitness of things had made him study the web linked to the linchpins and decide to remove it in this way. It had also made him tutor Connor in dueling spells, and try to reconcile with their father, and befriend Draco. His sense of the fitness of things was usually correct.

And he feared that he was giving Draco's request such serious consideration because he wanted that sense of connection back, too, and that was weak and silly, to give in just because he wanted to.

He managed to force some of the pie down his throat, and wondered what he was going to say to Draco.

In particular details, at least. In general outlines, he already knew.

Draco sat on his bed, swinging his foot and waiting for Harry to come out of the loo, and wondered why everything in his life had to be so bloody complicated.

Well, not everything. But, right now, both his relationship with his father and his relationship with Harry were complicated, and those were bloody enough.

Lucius was still not pleased that Draco had gone to Walpurgis Night. Malfoys didn't do that. They didn't dance around like idiots, and they didn't expose themselves to wild magic that could make them behave like idiots, either. They stayed safely inside their homes and ignored the wild Dark, Draco supposed. His father had not actually said what they did, only relayed several stern injunctions concerning what they would not do.

Draco had written him a rude letter back, and ignored his father the day of the ritual to free the goblins. Silence had settled between them since then. He knew one of them would have to break it eventually, but he was determined not to be the one. He was going to be fifteen tomorrow. That was old enough to have a say in his own actions. His father certainly demanded he be responsible when dealing with consequences, and had since he was seven years old. Draco didn't see why choosing to court a certain set of consequences was an exception to that rule.

And Harry…

Draco leaned back on his pillow, and folded his arms behind his head, and thought.

He might have pushed Harry too far, asking for this bond to be restored. Everything was so delicate, so on a middle path between too far—when Harry would back away from him—and not far enough—when Harry might be willing to give him more, but wouldn't unless Draco asked for it.

And all the way through, there was the undercurrent of fear that he was pushing for things Harry really wouldn't give him, but which his bloody sacrificial instincts demanded he hand over anyway. And of course Harry, the idiot, didn't have any ability to just say no where someone else would have when he felt unduly pressured.

And Draco did sometimes resent that he had to do so much work, and that he could feel Harry's emotions, but Harry still lied by omission or just refused to tell him certain things that were on his mind.

So complicated, Draco thought, even as the loo's door swung open and Harry walked out. But I love him.

And by the look on Harry's face and the wind pouring around his body, he'd nerved himself up to an answer, one way or the other. Draco sat up and tried to look as neutral as possible.

"Yes," Harry whispered. "All right."

Draco smiled. It would be dishonest not to, since Harry knew this would make him happy. And being honest with Harry was always better, except when he did push too far and put him in a situation that would be uncomfortable…

Bloody complicated thing, Draco thought, and nodded. "All right. Do you want to do it at midnight?"

"No," said Harry. "From now—" it was nearly eleven'o'clock "—until midnight tomorrow is fine."

He put out a hand, and gathered his magic around himself. Draco watched him in silent awe. He wondered if Harry even had a clue how beautiful he was when he did this. Since he'd confined his magic to his body, it no longer burned around him in an aura of roses, but it poured out of him more smoothly, and the bond that stretched a moment later from Harry's chest to Draco's, gold and green, curved like a leaping dolphin. Draco could not imagine anyone turning away from it in disgust, the way that Harry's mother had implied most people would.

Draco felt the bond settle into place, and the impatient longing that had gnawed at him, bad as a craving for a nap in History of Magic, washed abruptly away. He took a few deep breaths. The feeling was deeper than he'd thought it would be. Of course, with no ritual to take attention away from it or mask it this time, he could feel the full glory of it.

From the expression on Harry's face, so could he, and he was caught somewhere between wonder and terror. He did want this, Draco realized with a blink, and that was another reason he hadn't wanted to grant the request.

Bloody prat, Draco thought with affection. He never does think he can have anything he wants.

Harry swung his head sharply and met his eyes. Draco blinked. Well, yes. He heard my thoughts, didn't he? Draco didn't think it'd been all of them, but Harry nodded his head a moment later, and that confirmed that at least focused, directed thoughts could make it across to him.

I like this, Draco thought gleefully. Too bad exams aren't tomorrow, or we could cheat, and no one could catch us.

Harry rolled his eyes, and, to Draco's delight, responded comfortably in mental speech, without even trying to speak aloud. Perhaps it came from practice with Regulus Black and his phoenix, but it was still a good sign. It'd be pretty obvious. The bond is visible, remember?

Can you hide it? Draco wasn't at all ashamed of the visible link being there, but he would rather be the only one who knew the degree of his connection with Harry tomorrow. He could feel Harry's mind opening gently, and the effort of speaking with each other this way was becoming less and less all the time. His emotions were stronger and clearer, and when Draco raised a hand and touched the bond, Harry started and shivered as though a hand had run across his hair.

I—yes. Harry peered at him. You're sure?

Draco sent a wordless answer of happiness this time, and watched Harry blink as he realized he'd just felt it, rather than read it. He shivered again, and murmured a glamour incantation aloud, as though trying to step out of the unusual intimacy the bond had given them. The bond shimmered and dimmed to a thin green and gold thread which could easily be mistaken for a sheen of drifting sunlight.

"There," said Harry, also aloud.

Pleasant dreams, Draco whispered, and discovered another side effect of the bond in that moment. He could shade his voice so that Harry could tell he was absolutely sincere, and the statement arrived in his mind without any sign of a lie. Draco smiled at Harry. He was delighted, and saw no reason to hide it. For once, Harry would have to stop driving himself into a frenzy about his secrets, whatever they were. Draco thought it would be good for him. He was sure that Harry's pallor and agitation this last week had something to do with a secret.

Harry swallowed. Thank you, he said, also sincere, and Happy birthday, and made his way to his own bed.

Draco touched the bond again. It gave a low hum, and he felt a shiver of sweetness in his own chest. He rolled under the covers, and knew when Harry settled into place in his bed, the physical sensations arriving a moment after his did, like an echo.

This is only for one day, he told himself sternly. Don't get used to it.

But even that was not enough to keep him from slipping into the deepest and most content sleep he'd had for two weeks.

Harry woke early the next morning, and lay there listening to the bond hum.

He didn't want to move, and not only because Draco's mind was curled in a purring, dreaming ball in his head, or because he could feel the extra warmth and comfort of blankets beyond those around his own limbs.

Merlin, the bond felt so good.

Harry shivered. He hadn't paid that much attention to Regulus when he'd spoken yesterday, occupied more with his own feelings about what would happen when the bond was reinstated, but now Regulus was quiet, and Fawkes had his head tucked beneath his wing, and Harry had memories and fragments of dreams scattered in his head, dreams in which Draco had participated. There was no one to argue with, and no one to make him deny what he really thought by bringing it up first and forcing him on the defensive.

He had wanted this back. He had wanted the bond to be with Draco, and not anyone else. For all that their presence and magic in his head had been fascinating, he hadn't missed Hawthorn or Tybalt or even Snape the way he'd missed Draco.

He could pretend this request was a sacrifice, but it wasn't, not really. He had done this mostly because he wanted to.

And that frightened him. If he chose one thing he wanted, not because someone forced him to it but in preference to other things, what might that not lead to?

Harry had the dim feeling that he'd had an answer to this before, that he'd seen in the Maze that it would lead to nothing bad, but it was hard to remember when the bond was actually there, and the prospect of spending a whole day with Draco opened up before him like the vision of sunrise from a mountaintop. The answers weren't simple, no matter how much he wanted just to say that this was right or it was wrong. He shook, despite the warmth, and closed his eyes tightly.

The ball of emotions in his mind expanded, and then Draco was awake. He took a moment to feel around for the bond, and Harry jolted as that chord in his chest was touched. He lifted up his head and looked through the curtains of his bed, to find Draco grinning at him from his own.

Good morning, said Draco's voice cheerfully in his head. You had sweet dreams, didn't you?

Harry nodded unwillingly.

So now we'll have a good breakfast. Draco paused for a moment, then added, And I promise at some point that I'll stop acting so much like a child, but let me enjoy it for the moment. I feel like a first-year. All I want to do is giggle and run around. He winked at Harry and climbed out of bed.

Harry let out a careful breath. The thought that Draco had been acting like a child was one that he'd barely been conscious of himself, certainly not one he'd sent to Draco on purpose along the bond. This was leaving their minds more and more open to each other. By nightfall, Harry wondered if he'd have any secrets at all.

I don't see why you need to have any secrets from me, unless you really want to, Draco said. Do you want to? I meant what I said, Harry. You can end the bond, if it makes you too uncomfortable.

It made him uncomfortable, Harry thought, but also more comfortable than he'd been since the ritual, or at least since he awoke from his magical exhaustion and found himself missing Draco.

Good.

Draco padded in to use the shower, as Harry deduced from the ghostly feel of warm water on his skin a moment later. He decided to remain in bed for right now, even though he was very thoroughly awake. He needed some time to consider the situation, to prepare himself to get through the day, and to try and decide what the hell he wanted—for Draco to find out what he was hiding, or not. It was impossible that he should want two contradictory things at the same time, and yet it was happening.

Draco found himself quickly getting used to the doubled sensations at the breakfast table. Harry's taste buds were different from his, finding less blandness in the porridge and more taste in the sausages, but just enough to add a piquancy to the meal. Draco enjoyed it more than he had any breakfast in a long time.

He sneaked a glance at Harry, and caught him looking at him. Harry ducked his head. A blush spread over his cheeks. Draco blinked in amusement. He got both the faint sting from the echoed heat, and the sensation of sand in his teeth that always showed up whenever Harry was irritated with himself.

"Problems?" he asked mildly.

"I'm having a hard time adjusting, I guess." Harry stirred his spoon through his porridge. "I don't know how you live with the empathy all the time. I suppose I can't blame you for focusing your emotions on just me. Imagine feeling these sensations from everyone all at once." He looked revolted, and Draco could touch the underlying tenor of his thoughts. I wouldn't be able to stand it.

"I had no choice but to get used to the empathy," said Draco, with a shrug. "With this, though…" Because he couldn't help himself, and he'd always been more inclined to indulge his whims than suppress them like a good little boy, he touched the cord that extended from the center of his chest again.

Harry gave another one of those shivers, but this time, Draco knew it was a motion of pleasure. His thoughts murmured and twitched and collided. Harry seemed to have a constant running argument in his head, the thought of which wearied Draco far more than feeling someone else's emotions. It was fascinating as an outsider, though, and he watched Harry arguing that of course it was natural he should spend so much time thinking of the bond when it occupied so much of his attention, and then arguing that he should think about other things in case other people needed his help, and then arguing that he was helping Draco, and did it matter that he was also helping himself in the process?—

When do you get any rest? Draco asked, amazed and amused, and letting both the emotions flow into Harry. It wasn't as though he could hold them back. Unlike Harry, he saw no reason to try, either.

Harry jumped, but responded in the same way, evidently not willing to reveal the existence of the bond to their yearmates by answering a question Draco hadn't asked. At night, when most other people do.

I meant during the day. That argument in your head would wear me out. Draco chewed thoughtfully on an unidentifiable bit from his porridge while he awaited an explanation. Actually, he could feel out the edges of that explanation, but he wanted to hear the words Harry would put it in.

Harry stared at his plate in silence for a moment, then shrugged. I don't know. I suppose I'm always keeping an eye on myself.

Why?

Harry turned his head sharply, and the answer, half-formed, slid straight into Draco's head. Harry was afraid of what he might do if he wasn't constantly weighing the consequences to every small action. His magic was too great, and he didn't know enough about acting like a normal wizard to avoid constant mistakes. He was afraid…

He was afraid of being selfish.

Draco blinked. Oh. Well, now that I know that, that makes the argument in your head easier to settle.

Does it? Harry was all but snapping at him now, drawing his head up and his shoulders back in offended pride. Draco found that adorable, and Harry picked up on that, and reacted strongly, and Draco reassured him, all without much more than glimmers of half-conscious thought flashing between them.

Of course. Your selfishness isn't something to be afraid of, Harry. You're a good person. You wouldn't suddenly start hurting everyone else because you decided to take one thing you wanted. Draco reached out and caught his hand, turning it over so that he could see the pulse in Harry's wrist. It was jumping erratically. He could feel it, somewhere in the roof of his mouth, if he really concentrated. Draco wondered what he would be feeling by the time that night came, if they would even be two distinct and separate people anymore. And with me right here, I could tell you if you made a mistake or did hurt someone else and didn't notice.

But why should you have to bear that burden? I lean on you for too much already.

Draco made an exasperated noise, though he wasn't sure if it was aloud or only in his head. I'll tell you when it's too much, Harry. And the bargain goes both ways, you know. I intend for you to tell me when I'm making mistakes, like turning my empathy too much on you. I intend for you to give me things I want. You seem to think you'll swallow me alive. Not when I'm sticking in your throat and rather protesting all the way down, I think, and not when I'm trying to embrace you in the same way.

Harry tried to pull his hand free. Draco asked why, and caught a jumble of frayed words. Stupid…this sounds silly…doesn't make sense…

And it did, Draco answered him, and if the words were stupid, oh well, it wasn't as though they had to say them all the time.

Harry swallowed, and lifted his eyes slowly to lock with Draco's.

Draco delighted in the surrender he saw there, in the acceptance of this bond for at least one day, and his own delight flooded back to him from Harry, accomplished and embraced and made manifold.

Harry knew he was supposed to be paying attention to History of Magic, but even he grew rather weary of all the recitations of goblin rebellions—other things had happened in wizarding history, too, and if Binns would address them, perhaps Harry wouldn't have had to in his evening lesions—and besides, this morning there was all the distraction of Draco's mind before him, rich and shining.

He caught a hint of birthday, fifteenth birthday! And that slid him, naturally, into a memory of Draco's sixth birthday, the one he always treasured as the day that meant the most for itself. He'd gone riding on a broom early in the morning, the first time he'd been trusted off the ground without a guardian—even if his father did hover below him and watch him soaring and looping, ready to fly to the rescue if he got in trouble. It was still an important sign of independence. The memory of the taste of the wind was in his mouth even nine years later. It became more real, for Harry, than the taste of sleepiness in his own mouth, or the murmur of drowsy students around him.

Then his mother had brought him into the house and given him a cake she'd baked with her own hands, instead of having the house elves do it. That was how Harry learned that Narcissa Malfoy, undoubtedly skilled in Dark magic and in politics, was not at all skilled in cookery. The cake was lopsided and half-burnt and fell sloppily all over the table, but Draco didn't care. He ate it all, and kissed his mother on the cheek with a mouth made pale by the excessive amount of sugar Narcissa had ended up putting in the cake, reasoning that more sweetness was always better.

Then Draco's father had taken charge of him again, and led him to an inner room in the Manor. There was the skeleton of the dragon that one of their distant ancestors had killed long ago, winning glory and a hefty portion of gold from grateful wizards. Lucius pointed out all the teeth and all the spines to his son, and told him stories of Malfoys in the past who had briefly claimed each part of the skeleton, ventured into the outer world with it, and made their fortune. Draco listened attentively to all the stories, eyes wide. Harry did, too. He supposed it was possible that these weren't the exact tales Lucius had told—Draco had replayed this memory so many times down the years that he'd altered little details of it to suit what he wanted it to be—but they were certainly more fascinating than yet another goblin rebellion.

Narcissa led Draco outside at sunset, and cast a spell that let him see, for just a moment, a beam of green light shooting up from the sun. It rose and shone at sunset, for two seconds only, and then vanished. Most people would miss it all the time, but the spell showed Draco exactly where to look, and made the beam glimmer in his eyes like fire. Draco squealed, and Narcissa hugged him and whispered that the beam must have been shining when he was born, because he'd been born at the exact moment of sunset. She kissed him on the forehead, and put him on the ground to run back inside.

He sat by the fire with his parents that night, and carefully opened his gifts: books, and a new Slytherin shirt that did not at all look like baby clothes, and a pair of silver serpents that would crawl around if he spoke one word and defend him if he spoke another, and a Kneazle kitten who proceeded to be the most spoiled cat in the world for the next year and a half, until he wandered away outside the wards and didn't come back.

Harry lingered in that last scene for a while, watching the fire and the calm expressions on the faces of Draco's parents. An emotion he managed to acknowledge was envy rose up in him. It felt wonderful just to be there. He didn't know what it would be like, to have a memory like this to fall back on every time one doubted a parent's love.

He opened his eyes, and blinked, and shook his head, and found Draco looking at him with an expression somewhere between sadness and awe.

"So that's why you love your brother so much," he whispered aloud, and touched the cord of the bond again.

Harry gasped aloud this time, since it felt like the purring Kneazle from Draco's memory had just wound around his lungs and smothered them in sweet warmth. When he'd recovered, he said, "What did you see?"

"Enough," said Draco, and the memories rushed through Harry's mind, all of Connor, all filled with the bright shades of the affection he'd conceived for his brother in the years they spent in Godric's Hollow.

Harry bowed his head, acknowledging the statement, and then the class ended and they stood to make their way to lunch.

Arithmancy was more torturous than Draco had thought it would be. He'd anticipated vanishing almost completely into Harry's memories, the way he had that morning, and known there would be trouble with Professor Vector over it. She was far more attentive than Binns, for one thing, and would want to know why in the world they weren't doing their calculations.

Instead, the bond began alternating his viewpoint. Sometimes he saw things through his eyes, sometimes from Harry's. It was a startling thing to find out just how fuzzy near-sightedness and glasses could make him. It was even odder to find out that Harry's hands, although larger than his were, felt lighter. Draco supposed that was one reason he was able to catch the Snitch so easily.

Harry shifted around in his head, distressed, from his mind, and intrigued, and worried that someone would notice something was odd with them. Draco concealed a smile as he bowed his head over his problems, which abruptly became Harry's (with the wrong answer to one of them, he noticed, no doubt caused by his distraction). His empathy was usually a clear illustration of Harry's emotions after spending seven months with it, but this was like having both music and words, to know for certain what he was feeling and why, and not just have to guess from the sensations that blew against his skin or flashed in front of his face.

Calm down, he whispered, into Harry's head, taking the opportunity to view a few more memories. They were of the Shrieking Shack, and the confrontation with Sirius Black last year. Draco was just as glad that Harry didn't know he was reliving them. Draco was determined to know just what it was like to have been there, so that Harry's brother couldn't have that part of Harry all to himself any longer. He repressed horror with amusement at how badly Harry was taking this. No one else has noticed, not even Pansy when she walked right through the bond. I don't think it really exists for anyone but us.

But our behavior…

Hush. It's all right.

Draco watched some more of those memories, alternating them with glimpses of his own problems when Professor Vector walked past and peered sternly at him, and of Harry's when the bond insisted on putting those in front of him. He was happier and more content than he had been in a long time, though he ached with Harry's remembered pain. He knew Harry was hiding something else, some secret that so far he'd been adept at moving out of the way, but he also knew that Harry was almost wholly consumed with him. It was a nice thing to know that.

Which memories are you looking at—Draco!

Draco raised an eyebrow. You told me about it already.

Yes, but—

There is nothing that can make me turn away from you in disgust, Harry. Draco thought it was time for another honest, outright statement like that. Nothing at all. You don't have to worry about hiding from me.

He felt Harry wavering. It wasn't that he didn't believe Draco, more that he didn't think he could afford the self-indulgence of such a belief, or the self-indulgence it might lead him into.

I love you, Draco said, softly.

Slowly, tentatively, while they went on working Arithmancy problems and Draco watched memories, Harry was working himself towards a trust so absolute that it surpassed anything he'd arrived at so far. Draco couldn't remember a more pleasant afternoon.

Harry knew the exact moment when Draco found his plan to free the northern goblins. They were eating dinner—well, they were supposedly eating dinner, while Harry got distracted by thoughts he hadn't known Draco had and Draco talked at, more than with, Regulus—when the reminder darted innocently through Harry's head.

Draco gasped, and his hand clenched down on Harry's wrist to the point of pain. Harry jumped. Pansy turned around and frowned at both of them. "What's wrong with you?" she demanded. "You've been acting off all day, Draco."

"Nothing," said Draco. "I just remembered that I forgot to write that Charms essay." He rose to his feet, and for a moment Harry hoped he would let this go, but then his hand tugged insistently on Harry's wrist, and Harry reluctantly stood up with him. "Harry's going to help me with it."

Pansy snorted and poured herself more pumpkin juice. "Whatever you say, Draco. Harry's going to help you half-write it, you mean."

"No, really," said Draco, his teeth shining in what would have seemed like a smile to anyone who didn't know him well as he drew Harry out of the Great Hall. "I just want to talk with Harry."

That word came out as a snap, and Harry ducked his head. He couldn't look up at Draco as they went towards the dungeons together. Of course, with the bond and thus Draco in his head, it didn't matter. He could feel rage and disappointment all the way down, and only part of it was rage and disappointment at himself for not being able to keep that plan hidden. He'd done his best by not thinking of it deliberately, and Draco had seemed so fascinated by everything else in his head that Harry had thought this day might pass and they'd be done with it.

And now he was feeling those stupid contradictory emotions again, anger that Draco had found it out—and relief that he had.

Draco didn't bother going back to the common room, maybe because they both knew it would be filled with other students. Instead, he drew Harry into a small side tunnel in the dungeons, and held his wrist with one hand and his chin with the other. Harry concentrated on ignoring the doubled physical sensations, and held Draco's eyes, and waited.

"Tell me about why you think you need to do this," said Draco.

Well, that's a better beginning than I could have hoped for.

Don't worry, Harry. Harry winced as Draco stepped fully into his head through the bond. I can do it this way if you want. In fact, I think it will. It makes it impossible for you to lie to me.

Instead of responding in words, Harry shared the image what he'd learned about the northern goblins' web from the southern goblins and Helcas, both of whom were happy to answer his question. The web couldn't be torn without destroying the linchpins, the ancient family homes, mostly of Light pureblood families, that held it together. Nor could it be transferred to something else as easily as Harry had shifted the southern web to an imitation of Gringotts. Instead, something would have to take the linchpins' place, moving into the embrace of the web itself, holding the net down like stakes and allowing the goblins to slip free in the moment of replacement.

Harry could think of only one thing that would be strong enough and large enough to take the linchpins' place: torn bits of magic, set free forever from the wizard that had held them, and freely given up without grudging or resentment, which would add to the power of the sacrifice. He was the only wizard with Lord-level power who might make a willing sacrifice of his magic like that.

It could kill you, said Draco. It would certainly deprive you of magic, and the ability to help other magical creatures get free. You know that, don't you?

He knows that, said Regulus. I told him that. But he isn't listening to me. He thinks he has to do it right now, and he won't wait to find some better solution.

Why not?

The answer flooded up and out of Harry before he could stop it, called from him by the deep stare of Draco's eyes.

He could not rest. He could not relax. He distrusted everything he was doing, unless he was sure that he was doing it to help someone else. The success he'd had lately with the webs meant that he wanted to keep up the same pace, freeing the other species as rapidly as he'd managed in the last few months. He had to do that, or he would start feeling contemptible, as if he were wasting his life.

Draco let out a sharp breath. "No wonder it was hard for you to agree to this bond," he whispered aloud. "You knew that you were doing it for yourself as well as for me, and you knew that you'd spend a full day not thinking about being vates."

Harry nodded. Perhaps Draco would drop his anger now—

"I will not," said Draco. "What you're thinking of doing is stupid, Harry, and it's all right to be a little selfish. The goblins encouraged this, didn't they?"

"I proposed it to them," Harry murmured.

"And they probably thought you would stop yourself if you were making an irreparable sacrifice," said Draco. "They don't know anything about how much it would cost you, do they? Because you keep hiding how much it would cost you. Merlin, Harry, that has to stop. I said it would, once, last year, when I made you start sleeping more. And this is going to stop, too."

Harry twisted, trying to withdraw, not wanting to, but absolutely sure that he had to. How could he ask this much from Draco? And how could he stay this close, let someone know him this well, delay doing something to help someone else when it was in his power—

Draco surged forward along the bond, and showed him how.

Sight dropped away entirely, this time. There was only the bond between them, pulsing with mingled gold and green, and that deep trust that had permitted the link to form in the first place, both times.

If we make a mistake, Harry, it's not forever. We're stronger than to be shattered by one accusation of selfishness or one argument. Guilt passes over us and goes away just as much as happiness like this does. We're part of the future, not only the present, and not only the past.

Harry felt dizzying waves of gold and green crash around him, and for a moment, it was as if he were back in the Maze, and seeing the truths written there in letters too bright for him to deny.

Thinking of Draco and himself was—thinking of Draco and himself. It didn't mean that he was taking time and attention away from other people who deserved it more. He didn't have to keep a constant guard on his thoughts to avoid slipping into evil. There was good to be found outside self-denial.

Why does selflessness equal goodness?

I—I don't know.

Draco promptly pounced on the illogic and swatted it away, just as he had other pieces in the past. It was all right to be a little selfish, he repeated firmly, and poured light and warmth and happiness down the bond until Harry was shaking in pleasure, gasping and sure that he was only going to want more of this.

He opened his eyes, slowly, when the tide receded a bit, and found Draco standing in front of him, arms around his waist and smile smug.

"Convinced, now?" Draco asked.

Harry nodded. Already he was finding it hard to remember why he'd wanted so much to sacrifice his magic, perhaps his life, to freeing the northern goblins. He could find some other, better way. He could wait. And the goblins could live with their disappointment if he had to send them a letter telling them so, and so could he.

That's why you should always bring problems like that to me, Draco said, more smug than ever. I can point out the obvious.

Harry moved forward and quietly embraced him. The bond was not so bad after all.

He still could not live like this, with his mind sliding so completely into Draco's, and he would end the bond at midnight, as they'd planned. But he would not be so terrified again, and he could feel possibilities expanding ahead of him, as if he were a dragon new-hatched from the egg and drying its wings in preparation for flight. He would find cold wind currents and falls aplenty, he knew that, but that didn't diminish the value of the warm skies, and the happiness and hope of the first leap into the air.

"Thank you," he whispered. "Happy birthday. I love you."

Draco held him tighter, and said not a word, though his smugness had expanded to batter at the inside of Harry's skull.

I rather like Draco self-satisfied, Harry thought, as they walked back to the dungeons together.