Final Additions

Author's Note: OK, I think these are the last two little cut-out scenelets for Bond. There is one more scenelet that looked like it might someday be postable... but I think it died :(

The first bit is basically the end of chapter 4 and beginning of chapter 5, done from Harry's POV instead. I did both POVs, but decided Draco's was more interesting and went better with the flow of the story at that point in time.

The second was the writing equivalent of doodling, prompted by a question from Dehlia. Here you go, Dehlia :)

Enjoy!

And also: Thanks so much to scars07, rdwind, YumenoAkuma, blaise311, Conny1908, SusannahMio, mayfaire, rachel , fourth-face-of-the-goddess, ura-hd, makalaseri, hunt4me, Eilonwy-Aire, Reighn, shadowcat15, Miss Bowtruckle, MyOriginalIntent, and banner for your reviews :) :)

1. Day 23, Wednesday, October 21, Harry POV of the fight in the Great Hall & Dumbledore's office

2. Day 172, Friday, March 19 to Day 174, Sunday, March 21, "The Gryffindor Polyjuice Squad"

Day 23, Wednesday

"Finite incantatum. Now, unless you wish to be expelled immediately, follow me quietly to my office," Dumbledore said, his gentle tone at odds with his stern words. Snape approached with their wands in hand, motioning them towards the door.

Harry swallowed hard and followed them meekly, eyes on the floor as they silently walked past hundreds of staring students and staff in the Great Hall. Feeling paradoxically more frozen than he had felt under the brief immobilizing spell. Registering numbness mixed with dread from Malfoy, silently walking beside him as they left the Great Hall.

Beside him. Inexplicably, the fury and wild hatred towards Malfoy that he'd felt mere moments ago was completely gone, replaced by a bewildering urge to stay as close to him as possible. Because, he realized, they were in this together, both in the deepest of shit, following Dumbledore and McGonagall and Snape to god only knew what punishment. And all the other students, even his closest friends, were back in the Great Hall, and only Malfoy could possibly have any idea of what Harry was going through right now, or any chance of giving him any comfort whatsoever.

Comfort... no, that wasn't the word he was looking for. Understanding or sympathy, maybe.

Damn, blood was still pouring down his face, and he knew there was no point in wiping at it, but he tried anyway. His nose felt broken. The dull ache was the only thing he could really feel, besides Malfoy's fear. He spared Malfoy a quick glance, taking in his ashen features and the trickle of blood down his face – a split lip, from the looks of it, from the solid punch Harry had given him. Harry rubbed his knuckles, noting a few small cuts – probably from Malfoy's teeth. He took a deep breath as they went into the hospital, bracing himself for Madam Pomfrey's reaction.

"Poppy!" McGonagall called out, and Pomfrey looked up from the scroll she was writing on and blanched at the sight before her.

"You're not – did they-" she turned to Snape, who nodded tersely. Pomfrey's eyes widened and her mouth worked for a moment. "How - how could you?" she said, white with anger as she rose and approached them. "Of all the – what is the matter with you two!"

She whipped out her wand, nodding at Malfoy to sit on the nearest bed, and pulled Harry closer, ignoring his gasp of pain at her touch.

"I'll leave their wands in your safe-box, Poppy," Snape told her as she began her examination. "And I'm leaving Mr. Malfoy in your care while I contact his parents."

Harry felt a pang of alarm from Malfoy. "N-no – Professor, please-" Malfoy began, starting to rise.

"Sit down, Draco," Snape snapped at him, in the angriest voice Harry had ever heard him use on Malfoy. "This is not a simple schoolboy fight. This is far too serious not to call your parents." He turned on his heel and stalked out of the hospital wing, his robes billowing behind him.

Harry was suddenly inexplicably reminded of how Ginny had once speculated as to whether or not Snape said to himself "I shall now execute my Billowing Exit" whenever he left a room in that particular fashion. Sternly squashed down completely inappropriate laughter at the memory.

"I'll contact Healer Esposito when I'm done with these two," Pomfrey said to McGonagall as she waved her wand at Harry's face. Harry felt his nose heal with a sharp crack, and cried out in shock and pain. Pomfrey glared at him and jerked her head at the bed, motioning him to take Malfoy's place as she waved Malfoy closer. Harry got the distinct feeling that the unusually painful healing had been deliberate.

He touched his nose gingerly, glancing at Malfoy, who was wincing as Pomfrey waved her wand over his lip, sealing the cut.

"Sit," she barked at him, motioning him over to Harry, and he did so hastily.

Shite, they were in trouble. Really, really big trouble. Harry wasn't quite sure why, but he'd rarely seen either McGonagall or Pomfrey so angry; though both were often annoyed, they seldom went past that. But now... even Dumbledore looked sombre.

"Erm, I'm-" he began, and faltered as the adults all looked at him. He swallowed hard. "We... it was just a fight-"

McGonagall and Pomfrey both began to speak and were waved into silence by Dumbledore.

"No, Harry, it was not," he said quietly. "If you were still simply classmates, this would merely be yet another example of your mutual hostility, and you would no doubt have earned yourselves several detentions and loss of points or privileges." He paused, his blue eyes deadly serious. "You are spouses. You broke bones and damaged school property. If you hadn't been stopped, you would have hexed one another. This is serious."

Harry nodded glumly, subsiding into silence. Beside him, Malfoy cleared his throat. "May we go change and pick up our things from the Great Hall?" he asked, and his voice, while nervous, sounded remarkably steady and calm, considering the fear Harry could feel bubbling under his cool exterior.

"You're welcome to do any cleaning charms you can, but you're not leaving the hospital," Pomfrey said grimly.

"Your school things will be brought in by house elves," McGonagall added.

They glanced at each other and subsided into silence as the adults bustled about. Remained silent as Esposito, Lupin, and the Malfoys were contacted and a time and place was set for an emergency meeting about their "situation."

Situation, thought Harry. What a nice word to describe how completely and utterly buggered up his life had become.

ooooooo

"All right, we're ready to begin," Esposito said, once all were gathered in a small sitting room next to Dumbledore's office. Harry started to stand up and Esposito waved him back to his seat, fixing him with a kind but firm look. "Not you, gentlemen. You are in no shape to contribute to this discussion. We will decide what to do, and you will abide by our decisions. You may as well get comfortable," she gestured around at the small room as the rest of them started to move into Dumbledore's office.

Harry looked from one unyielding face to another and swallowed back his protest. Even Lupin looked grim and determined, though slightly less disappointed in Harry than he'd seemed upon first arrival. Harry sat back down.

Stood up as soon as the adults had left the small room, unable to remain sitting and trying to ignore the crawling sensation on the back of his neck at the knowledge that he was being watched by all the portraits on the walls.

This was bad. This was very, very bad, and he needed to do something about it. He needed to find some solution to this "situation", before he was forced to accept any solution from the adults. He needed to find some way of maintaining control over his life.

He bit back a bitter laugh. What control. He had no control whatsoever. Never mind not being able to attend the meeting going on right now, never mind having to submit to whatever the adults decided at that meeting. Since that miserable day in September he'd lost practically all control over everything in his life: who he spent his time with, where he lived, what he felt...

Small snippets of the conversation in Dumbledore's office kept popping up every so often as he paced. "I think that's going a little too far," McGonagall could be heard saying at one point, but the reply was too soft for Harry to hear.

He swallowed hard, torn between wanting to try to figure his way out of this mess and not wanting to even think about it. Wanting to pretend that all they were discussing in Dumbledore's office was what kind of detention to give them, and for how long. Maybe calling Filch in to see what unpleasant tasks he needed help with. Scrubbing toilets. Dealing with Mrs. Norris' cat litter.

He swallowed again, pacing restlessly and trying to ignore the whispering portraits keeping an eye on them, ready to report to the adults if he or Malfoy tried anything.

They weren't going to get detentions. What had happened had happened because they were both far too tense to be able to deal with each other rationally, and that tension was there because they weren't doing what the bond wanted them to do. The easiest way to make the tension go away was to give in to the bond, and the easiest way to do that was to...

God, what would that be like? To have a potion forced down his throat, feel his attraction to Malfoy get out of his control, make him touch Malfoy and pull him closer and let him-

Damn it, he was getting hard. He didn't want this, his whole being rebelled against it, he wanted to keep fighting it with all his strength... but part of him actually wanted to be forced into taking whatever would do the trick. Because he'd have to, then. He wouldn't have a choice any more, he wouldn't be able to fight it, he would have to surrender. And his surrender would be compelled, but it wouldn't be rape, because he'd want it...

Besides, what would happen after that was going to happen anyway. As sure as the sun came up in the morning, as sure as Hermione could be counted on to quote Hogwarts: A History at inappropriate times, he was going to have sex with Draco Malfoy eventually. The only thing he had any control over was when it happened and how, and he was shortly going to lose even that.

"There is no need to-" Harry heard Lupin's voice, but was unable to hear the rest of the sentence over the whispering of the portraits.

Malfoy probably wouldn't give a damn, Harry thought as he spared him a resentful glance. Malfoy was probably hoping for exactly that: a potion force-fed to Harry so that Harry would stop fighting him. Malfoy was probably even looking forward to it.

Except he wasn't, Harry realized. He was sitting on the couch, face paler than usual, deeply, deeply scared and trying very hard not to show it.

Harry closed his eyes, attempting to sort out Malfoy's feelings.

Fear. Dread. Nothing else.

"This is impossible. They are impossible," Snape said, and Harry didn't know whether to be relieved or deeply disturbed that even Snape apparently thought Harry wasn't the only problem here.

He glanced at Malfoy again. Stopped pacing and tried to sort himself out.

All right. Malfoy was in this with him; not only in the same deep shit as Harry, but also just as scared of whatever was going on behind the closed door. And Harry probably couldn't come up with any way to convince the adults to just let them be, but maybe if he and Malfoy worked together, they could come up with something. Malfoy was a rather unlikely ally, but he would probably be easier to work with than the band of adults in the other room.

Harry took a deep breath.

"Malfoy," he said, and cursed the unsteadiness of his voice. Malfoy looked up warily, and Harry cleared his throat. "We're in trouble, aren't we?"

"Brilliant powers of observation, Potter," Malfoy said tiredly, and Harry found the lack of fire in his sneer rather alarming. "What was your first hint?"

"What-" Harry stopped, cleared his throat again. "What do you think they'll decide?"

"No clue."

"I... I have a feeling I won't like it."

"I doubt I will either," Malfoy said. "I'm not sure they can decide anything, though. We are both adults."

"They may not be able to force us to do anything, but they can make things difficult for us if we don't obey. We could be expelled. Or disowned or something, in your case."

"My father wouldn't disown me."

"Really? What would he do instead?" Malfoy frowned and Harry decided to cut to the chase as quickly as possible. "Malfoy... what could he do to you, that makes you so afraid of him?"

"I'm not afraid of him," Malfoy said quickly.

"Bollocks," Harry shot back. "You are. You're not all that concerned about what Dumbledore or anybody else at school might do, but you're terrified of the fact that your father is in there with them."

"Does the bond now include Legilimency for you? No? Then don't presume to tell me how I'm feeling and why."

"I don't need Legilimency. I know how you feel, and it's the same way you felt that day in the hospital when you contradicted him in public. You nearly had a heart attack."

"We'd just been through a lot of stress-"

"Nothing to do with it," Harry stated. "You were afraid of him."

Malfoy bit his lip and Harry was suddenly unsure whether pushing him more would only serve to antagonize him, or whether backing off would only give him time to retreat and refuse to talk. He tried to reach out through the bond, trying to figure out what Malfoy was feeling. Quickly gave up, as there were too many conflicting emotions to make sense of them.

Finally Malfoy swallowed and spoke up. "Do you have a point, Potter?"

OK, good. At least he was willing to listen. "I don't want to just do whatever they say," Harry began.

"Neither do I. We don't exactly have a choice, though, do we?"

Harry took a deep breath. "We're not handling this terribly well."

"Once again, your powers of detecting the thoroughly obvious-"

"Shut up," Harry said impatiently. "We're under pressure from everybody and from ourselves, and even though you're taking a patience potion, it's not enough to cope with how you feel about me or my friends, and your school work on top of that."

"Thank you, Potter. I never would have reached those conclusions on my own-"

"And I can't handle how I feel about you, I hate the way you treat me and my friends and how fucked up your entire worldview is, and I'm sick of being on display for everyone at school to talk about, and..." Harry gathered himself and made himself finish, feeling like he was stepping off a cliff. "And, and I'm fucking terrified of letting you get close to me, or letting myself get close to you."

Malfoy's mouth dropped open. They stared at each other, and Harry made himself maintain eye contact despite the crawling sensation of having extended his trust to someone so untrustworthy, even on something as relatively small as admitting one of his fears.

Finally Malfoy cleared his throat. "All right," he said slowly. "I take it you do have a point, then? What is it?"

"We need to work things out, between the two of us."

"We've tried."

"No, we haven't. We've been existing next to each other and trying to muddle through and accepting advice every so often from other people. We haven't talked much at all."

"We did this morning."

"Did a pretty good job of it, too," Harry pointed out, and was a bit startled as a small smile quirked Malfoy's mouth.

"Yeah, we did," said Malfoy.

"So it is possible. For us to work things out, I mean."

"I suppose so," Malfoy said sceptically.

"So let's try. Do you want to drop out of classes?"

"No." There was a long pause. "I don't. But we're not getting any useful learning right now. I can barely concentrate long enough to write my name on a piece of parchment."

Harry smiled ruefully. "I know the feeling. I keep feeling like I have to fight to clear my head all the time, because if I don't-" he stopped. Damn, this was not where he wanted to take this conversation. He sent a firm reprimand in the direction of his pants. "Well, you can probably guess what I end up thinking about," he muttered.

"Probably," Malfoy said dryly.

Harry drew in a deep breath, moved closer to Malfoy. "How I feel - how we both feel - it's so bloody wrong."

"Why? It's just sexual attraction. Don't tell me you've never felt that before."

"Not this badly."

"Why is that so wrong?"

"Because I don't want to feel this. We don't love each other. We don't even like each other. I don't want to-"

Malfoy rolled his eyes, cutting him off. "Potter, we're seventeen. Love and like don't have to enter the equation when it comes to sex."

"I'm scared," Harry blurted, wincing but forcing himself to not withdraw. Better to talk about this with Malfoy than with his father.

"Of what?" Malfoy asked, and Harry took heart from the fact that he hadn't immediately mocked Harry for admitting his fear.

"Getting hurt."

"You're getting hurt right now," Malfoy pointed out. "I almost hexed you into next year a few hours ago. We weren't going to do anything like a Giggle Spell or turn each other green; we were both going to do serious damage. You're miserable, and so am I. How could having sex be worse than all of this?"

Harry shrugged. "Fear of the unknown, I suppose."

"Out of curiosity, what do you think they're going to decide in there?"

"To give me some potion or something to - to make me not fight this any more," Harry felt his face heating and turned away.

"Potter..." Harry started as he felt Malfoy put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Why would that be the end of the world?"

"Because, because then I wouldn't have any control over anything-"

"You don't have much control now-"

"I don't want to-" Harry started to move away, but Malfoy held on.

"They may not, you know," Malfoy said, almost gently, and Harry shivered, crossing his arms defensively. "Potter. You're panicking again," said Malfoy, and Harry felt, like a physical touch, Malfoy projecting calm at him.

Which was all right, he told himself. This was one of the only good things about the bond. He could certainly take advantage of Malfoy's clearer head over this part of their dilemma, if it helped him feel steadier and helped them work together.

They could talk this out, decide what to do, how to make sure the adults didn't push them into doing anything they didn't want to do. Maybe give them more time to work together, give them another chance – or rather, give him another chance – to do this on his own schedule. Malfoy had said before that he didn't want Harry under some potion. Maybe Harry could capitalise on that, help Malfoy stand against his father, if need be.

He absently covered Malfoy's hand with his own as he tried to steady himself, hardly aware of what he was doing, and then... oh, no, that had been a bad idea, because Malfoy... he was warm, Malfoy was always so warm, so damned alive and he... pulled at Harry somehow. His presence was no better than a potion, really, drawing him to Malfoy, making Harry want what he shouldn't want – what he didn't want, damn it, despite the fact that he was somehow drawing closer to Malfoy.

And his presence did the same thing to Malfoy. Even Malfoy's fear right now couldn't dampen his attraction to Harry, his longing to get closer, touch, feel.

And Harry felt the same way, which wasn't right, but it was so hard to hold back, to go against what his body wanted. And... and holding back hadn't gotten them anywhere so far. Other than here, in Dumbledore's office, while the adults decided their future and the portraits gossiped about them.

And right now Harry was too tired and scared and defeated to keep fighting this. He couldn't fight it all the time, he would go with it for just a moment - just a moment, then he would pull back and they would continue to talk and come to some sort of agreement, but for now, this was what he needed the most and he couldn't have stopped if Voldemort himself had stepped in front of him right now.

Yes...

Harry drew closer. He could feel Malfoy's heart racing, could feel just how desperately Malfoy wanted this, but he was hanging on by a thread and refusing to let himself move. Which was paradoxically comforting and frustrating, because as much as Harry wanted to do this on his own time, it was awfully difficult to take that first step. Their hands were clasped together and he could feel Malfoy's breath, and as Harry looked down and rested his forehead against him Malfoy gasped, startling Harry. He looked up slowly, almost dream-like, gazing into Malfoy's grey eyes, drawing his hand up Malfoy's arm, to his cheek, unable to breathe as Malfoy closed his eyes and leaned into his touch, overwhelming Harry with his inner turmoil, with the feel of him trembling at Harry's touch.

Malfoy was finally moving, very carefully drawing Harry closer, and Harry tried so hard not to shake, but it was almost impossible. It was too much. Malfoy's breathing was laboured, his eyes clouded and unlike Harry had ever seen them. No mocking or superiority, just knife-edged desire and intense anticipation.

"Oh god," Harry heard a low voice say, barely recognizing it as his own, as he hesitantly touched Malfoy's hair, the back of his neck – so soft, so warm, were boys supposed to feel like this? Was he supposed to want to touch him more, want to kiss him? What would happen if he tried to, and Malfoy laughed at him? He moved forward tentatively until their bodies were touching very slightly, noting without much surprise that Malfoy was as hard as he was and slightly confused as Malfoy stepped back a bit. Not because he was offended or because he didn't want to touch Harry, but because he was...

Harry suppressed a laugh. "Don't know quite what to do now, do you?"

Malfoy looked sheepish. "Er... no."

"And I thought I was the inexperienced one," Harry said, drawing his hand over Malfoy's cheek and watching Malfoy sigh and close his eyes and pull them close together, which was extremely – well, it wasn't unpleasant at all.

It was the exact opposite, actually. Malfoy's eyes were still closed, giving Harry the chance to watch him without awkwardness, let his fingers caress Malfoy's neck, yes, his hair really was that silky, and Malfoy dropped his head back, sighing softly.

"That's OK?" Harry asked quietly, and watched a shiver run through Malfoy, watched his pulse beating wildly in his throat. Malfoy brought a hand to Harry's face and he leaned into it, impulsively kissing Malfoy's palm, startling a bit as Malfoy pulled back – damn, that had been the wrong thing to do, apparently-

"No, don't stop, that was - um, don't stop-" Malfoy murmured, and they were so close he could feel the other boy's breath on his face.

They both wanted this, so damned much. With every fibre of their being, they both needed it. Malfoy moved forward, so very slightly, and Harry drew in his breath as their emotions spiralled out of control - and he bridged the last tiny distance between their mouths and hesitantly touched his lips to Malfoy's.

Soft. Soft, and warm, god oh god, he had no idea it would feel like this. Malfoy's lips were the most amazing thing he'd ever felt in his life. Dimly part of his brain popped up to tell him that wasn't possible, and even if it was, it was wrong, but that part of his brain was remarkably easy to ignore. He let out a soft sigh as Malfoy moved a bit, brushing against him. Harry tentatively parted his lips and felt the tip of Malfoy's tongue barely touching his lips, and he moved to touch Malfoy's tongue with his own.

God, that felt good – he made a sound in his throat, kissing Malfoy with a bit more confidence, pulling him closer, more determined, wanting so much more...

And then he was lost. Like his first time flying, every emotion so powerful and scary and wonderful and overwhelming.

Nothing but sensation, nothing but bliss. Lips and tongues moving together, Malfoy's long, lean muscles under Harry's hands, their hearts beating together, Malfoy's scent overwhelming him, Malfoy's fingers moving through his hair and sending shivers down Harry's back. Making him hard as a rock – and Malfoy was too, Harry could feel hard heat pressing against him, sending sparks through him, and if they could just keep doing this forever and never let go, Harry would try to track down whoever cast the curse and send them flowers – which probably made no sense logistically, he realized, but really, who cared.

God, it was like every wet dream he'd had in weeks was coming true, and was even better than what he'd imagined. He hadn't dreamt of the rightness of Malfoy's arms around him, the small sounds their lips made as they moved together, the heat from Malfoy's tongue, the tremors coursing through Malfoy feeling so erotic and intense for Harry as well. The gratification of knowing that he was the one making Malfoy lose himself like this, the one overwhelming Malfoy with excitement and pleasure.

God, yes...

God, this was...

Um. This was getting a little...

... a little too hot for Dumbledore's sitting room.

"Um." Harry broke their kiss, pulled away briefly. "We should, we should probably-" Malfoy's fingers tightened on the back of his neck and he came back to Malfoy's mouth, unable to stop a small moan, which turned into a groan as Malfoy pulled back.

"Yeah, we should," Malfoy whispered, his eyes still closed. "We should - um," Harry smiled as Malfoy pulled him in for another kiss, breathlessly adding "we need to st-" before Harry covered his mouth again, allowing himself one last deep kiss before reluctantly pushing himself away.

"No, no, we have to-" He gasped put one hand on Malfoy's chest, pushing him back gently. God, how completely frustrating – more so because he could feel Malfoy's frustration as well as his own, and they were both so tightly wound it was rather agonizing. He put his forehead against Malfoy's shoulder, barely restraining himself from saying to hell with it and going right back to snogging him. "God, I'd no idea stopping would be this um, hard," he muttered, and Malfoy chuckled.

"Um, yeah. That part's never fun."

"Oh good," Esposito's cheerful voice broke through the haze and Harry nearly had a heart attack. She chuckled at their startled reaction. "I thought you were never going to come up for air."

ooooooo

ooooooo

Day 172, Friday, March 19 to Day 174, Sunday, March 21

Ron

This is beyond weird, Ron thinks as he stares at the unappetizing globby sludge-in-a-goblet that is Polyjuice potion.

"I can't believe I'm doing this again," he mutters, and Malfoy looks at him curiously.

"Again?"

"Long story," he mutters. "Ready?"

Malfoy nods, absently fidgeting with the frayed collar of Ron's uniform, hanging a little loose around his neck.

"Right, then, let's do it," says Ron, and pulls out a hair, handing it to Malfoy as Malfoy does the same. They silently add the white and pale orange hairs to each glass and watch them dissolve.

"Bottoms up," says Ron, bracing himself. Closes his eyes, takes in a mouthful, and swallows it down.

Augh. Merlin. That. Is. Revolting.

He starts to gag and claps a hand over his mouth to prevent himself from spitting the foul stuff right back up.

"Oh, come, Weasley, stop the hysterics-" Parkinson begins impatiently, stopping as Malfoy covers his own mouth, eyes watering slightly from the foulness of the potion.

"It's really, really disgusting, Pansy," Harry says sympathetically. "They can't help it."

"How would you know?" she asks him suspiciously.

"Long story," Harry says, wincing as Malfoy shudders from the taste of the potion.

Ron chases the taste away with a generous mouthful of butterbeer, and feels the change begin. Disgusting, disturbing, and uncomfortable as hell. His face is... bubbling, there's no better word for it, and he can feel his limbs doing a weirdly simultaneous stretch and contract. He's shrinking, very slightly, and Malfoy's impeccable, finely tailored uniform starts to feel a little more comfortable. He puts his head down, holding on to the back of a chair, closing his eyes to keep the confusing stimuli down to a minimum. Last time he did this – was it really five years ago? He ended up retching over a toilet, but this time it's not so bad. There's some merit in taking a potion brewed by a Potions master rather than a twelve-year-old girl, no matter how brilliant the girl.

Finally.

He opens his eyes.

Draco Malfoy's eyesight is not quite as keen as his own, Ron realizes immediately. He can't see the details of the medicine cabinet across the hospital.

He stares at his hands, his pale, smooth, unfreckled hands, long fingers - manicured, no doubt, the vain prat. Straightens up and stares, wide-eyed, at... himself. Locks eyes with a person he dislikes, who is wearing his face and looking at him in dismay. It's disorienting – like he's here, and simultaneously there. And there's an expression on his face that he's never seen in the mirror.

"Blimey," he says, and winces as Draco Malfoy's voice comes out of his throat. His own face stares back at him in utter disgust.

"Weasley-" Malfoy starts in slight alarm at his own voice, then steels himself and carries on. "If you can manage somehow to alter your diction while you're using my voice, that'll probably help a great deal."

"Malfoy, if you can manage somehow to keep from sounding like a poncey git while you're using my voice, that would probably help a great deal too," Ron snaps, and is surprised to hear a giggle.

"Erm. Sorry," Hermione chokes out. He would snap at her too, but he can see that Harry and Ginny and Parkinson are also biting their lips to keep from snickering and he doesn't particularly feel like providing more amusement for everybody. He trades an annoyed glance with... himself, again, and all of a sudden he gets why Harry went back to Malfoy.

Yes, he'd listened to Hermione's reasoning before they got back together, and after they did, he was able to rationalize Harry's actions to himself by reminding himself of everything Hermione said. And he'd worked out, all by himself, that Malfoy must not be the complete git Ron had always thought he was when he saw that Malfoy was worried about Harry's health, and when he figured out what was wrong with Harry, and when he showed he was willing to risk being disowned again to help Harry.

But this brings it home more directly. Ron knows how he feels right now, wearing the body of somebody he deeply dislikes and watching his own face and body being taken over by that same person. Ron would be willing to do this for very, very few people. Harry is one of those very few, because Harry has been Ron's best friend for almost seven years.

Malfoy is looking every bit as appalled and uncomfortable with this polyjuice business as Ron is, but he's doing it anyway. Without almost seven years of friendship with Harry to make it OK for him.

He gazes at Malfoy and knows that it's highly unlikely that Malfoy's feelings for Ron have changed. But Ron's have. The dislike is there, yes, but Ron doesn't think he'll ever be able to hate Malfoy again. Six years of insults and hatred and bad blood between them don't stand a chance balanced against what Malfoy is doing right now.

He's gone from grudging acceptance to forgiveness, Ron thinks. He'll have to talk to Hermione about it.

"All right," says Parkinson. "Draco, we'll be back at bedtime."

"Yeah, all right," Ron's voice says, with no assistance from Ron. Bloody hell, that's disorienting.

Ron shakes his head to dispel the discomfort. "Harry, are you still sure you don't want-" he begins, and Harry cuts him off.

"I'll be fine overnight," Harry says firmly.

"You're being an idiot," Malfoy comments. "You know Weasley and I are both willing to go till tomorrow."

"Too risky."

"Blaise already knows what we're doing, and I don't talk to Crabbe or Goyle or anybody else in Slytherin any more. I'm sure even Weasley could pull this off till morning."

"We'll see," Harry says, starting to get annoyed, and Ron shakes his head at Malfoy.

"Fine," Malfoy mutters, giving up, and Ron makes a mental note: his own face doesn't appear to do "pout" very well.

"Right, Weasley, let's go," Parkinson says, and Ron spares one last glance at Harry, Hermione and Ginny before donning Harry's cloak and following Parkinson out of the hospital wing.

Neville

Oh, god, Neville thinks dazedly once his skin has stopped bubbling. They've done it. He is Draco Malfoy. And Draco Malfoy is him.

Neville gulps and his eyes widen and he stares at Malfoy, not sure whether his queasiness is due to the foul potion or a sudden and severe attack of nerves.

Oh god – how is he supposed to pull this off? Malfoy has always seemed the epitome of arrogance and self-confidence to Neville, since first year. How can Neville mimic that? Malfoy is never nervous, he never feels small or insignificant. Even now, wearing Neville's own homely face and body, and he doesn't look stupid or awkward or shy. Somehow he's pulling this off.

Actually, he's not. He's too relaxed, too self-assured, doesn't look like Neville at all. For one thing, Neville had no idea his own face could ever look at anybody with as much disdain as he sees there now, as he tries to imitate Malfoy's body language and Malfoy rolls his eyes in impatience at his feeble efforts, just like Grandmother often does.

Oh Merlin. With that disapproving glare set in Neville's face, with Neville's eyes that look so much like his grandmother's, and his jaw that he now realizes looks like his grandmother's when she's angry with him... right now, Draco Malfoy currently very much resembles Augusta Longbottom. All he needs is a huge handbag and a hat with a large bird perched on top.

Neville tries to block the hysterical giggle rising in his throat, but he can't. Everybody looks at him in alarm, which quickly turns to hilarity because obviously it must be funny to them to see Draco Malfoy lose it like this, and he's trying so hard to stop laughing but he can't-

"Longbottom! Stop that!" Malfoy snaps, and that only makes Neville laugh harder. If Grandmother ever got a severe cold and her voice dropped an octave, that's exactly what she'd sound like.

"Snap out of it!" Malfoy says, and glares around at the rest of them. "It's not funny. If he can't control himself, he can't go out there, and this won't work!"

The rest of them try to stifle themselves and Harry gives Malfoy a slightly worried look. Neville's stomach drops as he realizes something. The only way Malfoy can stay with Harry is if it looks like he's not here. For that to work, Neville must go out there and pretend to be Malfoy. If he can't, and if anybody gets wind of the fact that Draco's near Harry...

Neville's hiccuping, trying to get rid of the giggles, getting a little frantic, when Malfoy grabs his shoulders and gives him a shake. He braces for an attack, and is completely blindsided by what happens instead.

"Longbottom," Malfoy barks at him. "Pull yourself together. You can do this. You were there for Harry in the Department of Mysteries, you can do this for him now." Malfoy's voice is hard and uncompromising, but there's not a hint of contempt or condescension in it, and that shocks Neville into silence. "You are not going to let him down now; you never have." Neville takes a deep breath, firmly pushing down his hysterics as Malfoy goes on. "He told you once that you were worth ten of me. Now fucking well prove it!"

Neville gulps and nods, and Malfoy lets go of his shoulder. He nods at Parkinson, who's looking a bit blindsided as well. "He'll be fine," Malfoy tells her briskly. "Just make sure he doesn't cringe or slouch. I'll see you in a couple of hours."

Parkinson nods and gestures for Neville to put on the cloak and leave the hospital wing.

"Oh and Longbottom," Malfoy adds as they get ready to go, "don't forget that most of the Slytherins would love to hex you into next year. If you act like you're scared, or ashamed of yourself, or weak in any way, they will."

Neville nods and Malfoy gives him a grim smile.

"You can do this. Now go, or you'll be late for class."

Dean

So that's what white skin looks like from the point of view of the wearer, Dean thinks dazedly as he looks at his own hands and Malfoy and Parkinson exchange a bit of last-minute information. It's startling as hell. Like every time he catches a glimpse of himself, he's surprised. He feels like he's been... highlighted.

That's a Muggle thing, Dean realizes. Something that Draco Malfoy probably knows nothing about.

He swallows hard. The Gryffindor Polyjuice Squad seemed like such a bright idea yesterday, when Ron and Hermione first proposed it. And both Ron and Neville appear to have pulled it off without a hitch. But suddenly the whole idea seems insane, because no matter how much knowledge all four of them have crammed into themselves about Malfoy's life and habits and vital information, they're crazy to believe they can pull this off without exposure for more than a day.

It's true that they don't have to worry about being overly social with the Slytherins, because Malfoy doesn't talk to them any more, but there are still a million little things that could trip them up. Like Draco Malfoy making a comment about a highlighter, a writing tool that doesn't exist in the quill-and-parchment wizarding world. Or Draco Malfoy being unable to answer a question in Potions. Or Draco Malfoy knowing more about Herbology than any Malfoy ever would.

Not to mention Dean Thomas not being able to follow a discussion about football, Dean thinks, as he stares at his own face and voice talking with Parkinson. What if Justin Finch-Fletchley or Anthony Goldstein come by to visit Harry, and Malfoy can't figure out how to carry on a conversation with them? What if he somehow lets slip his complete ignorance of and contempt for the Muggle world, when he's supposedly Muggle-born?

And what about Dean's girlfriend? What if Tracey comes to visit Harry and the person she thinks is Dean? Off the top of his head Dean can think of about half a dozen inside jokes, endearments and shared experiences between himself and Tracey that Malfoy might not know about, might not understand.

Dean had wanted to tell her about the Polyjuice Squad, because it really didn't seem right to participate in something like this and not tell her, but he was outvoted by the others. Dean doesn't blame them; Tracey's a Slytherin, Dean hasn't been dating her that long, this is deadly serious and there's no urgent need for her to know... but it still feels wrong to keep it from her. She's nothing like what Dean always thought Slytherins were like. She seems aloof and cynical from the outside, but in private she's warm and caring and things have been getting serious between them and it's just not right, that Dean should go around impersonating one of her own housemates without even letting her know. It's even less right that he allow one of her housemates to impersonate him without telling her.

What if she decides to come visit Dean in the hospital today? The thought of Tracey cheerfully dropping a kiss on Malfoy's cheek and snuggling up to him, innocently thinking he's Dean, makes Dean a little queasy. And he knows how betrayed he would feel if Tracey did something like this to him.

Well, Tracey's a Slytherin. Hopefully, if she ever finds out about this, he can appeal to her logical, pragmatic side. Hopefully she won't see his deception as betrayal but as an unpleasant, but necessary thing.

Dean gulps as Parkinson gives him a curt nod and he picks up Malfoy's schoolbag, startling himself again with the sight of his blindingly white skin. Parkinson smirks at him and Dean wonders if she just caught him flinching at his own hands.

It's only for three hours, Dean tells himself as they walk out of the hospital wing. He can do this. He may be wearing a Slytherin's face and body, but right now what he really needs is some solid Gryffindor courage.

Seamus

Oh, not cool, thinks Seamus as he watches Malfoy take his own shape. Not cool at all.

This is crazy. It's not going to work, even though Malfoy looks exactly the same as what Seamus sees every morning in the mirror, as well as perfectly blasé about Seamus' appearance. Of course; he's been doing this for two days, he's used to seeing other people wear his face. Besides, he's not the one who has to go out there and pretend to be somebody else; for the most part, he'll only be around people who are in on the scam.

Malfoy's started to talk to Harry, dismissing Seamus entirely, and Parkinson tugs on Seamus' sleeve.

"Let's go, Finnigan," she says impatiently, and Seamus follows her automatically for a few steps before balking.

It's all old hat to them, he knows; Ron's been Malfoy more often than he's been himself in the last two days, Neville's been Malfoy four times and Dean three, Parkinson has been shepherding them all through all their classes and meals – even Blaise Zabini has helped, making sure Ron didn't give himself away in the Slytherin boys' dorm last night. But right now Seamus is realizing that insisting on taking a turn was not a good idea, at all.

"I shouldn't have done this," he blurts, stopping in his tracks, and Parkinson raises her eyebrows.

"Excuse me?"

"I – I can't do this, it's not going to work," he says.

"Bloody hell, Finnigan," snaps Parkinson, and Malfoy looks over at them. "We don't have time for a pep talk."

"Problem?" Malfoy asks, and Seamus frowns.

"He doesn't sound anything like me. And I can't sound like him."

"Which is why you're only doing this during the Astronomy lecture and dinner," Parkinson says impatiently. "You won't have to talk during either one."

"But what about him?" Seamus nods to Malfoy.

"What about me, you stupid tosser?" Malfoy asks impatiently, so close to Seamus' own accent that Seamus blinks, startled. Harry, Hermione and Parkinson start laughing.

"You-"

"Yeah, I know what you sound like, Finnigan," Malfoy says, still in Seamus' accent, totally deadpan. "Probably as well as your own Mam does. Now go on with you."

"He's good at imitations, Finnigan," says Parkinson, pushing Seamus out the door after making sure that the corridor is empty. "Does McGonagall so well you can almost see her glasses quivering on him."

"I didn't know that," Seamus admits. He did know that Malfoy enjoys imitating Harry in order to make fun of him, but he hasn't done that much this year, for obvious reasons. Besides, who knew he could do it for real?

"No, of course not," Parkinson says scornfully as they head down the corridor, and Seamus frowns at her.

"Well why should I?"

"He lived with Potter how many months? And how long did he spend in your dorm?"

"He wasn't exactly friendly."

"Neither were you."

"What?" Parkinson turns the corner and they head out into a busy corridor. "What are you talking about?" Seamus asks. "I was friendly."

Parkinson snorts cynically, then smiles and leans closer to him and he's momentarily disoriented. "Draco, come on, we don't want to be late," she says, raising her voice slightly, and he's totally thrown off during the second it takes him to remember just what it is they're doing. He tries to blank out his face so that the gaggle of first years walking past don't notice he's not actually Draco Malfoy. Not that any of them are looking.

"Stand up straight," Parkinson hisses through her teeth, and Seamus does his best.

"I was friendly," he mutters back at her once the little ones have gone past.

"When you weren't racing off to the loo whenever Draco and Potter got within arms' reach of each other."

"What are you talking about?" Seamus frowns at her.

"A wee bit homophobic, are we, Finnigan?"

"I'm not hom-" Seamus suddenly remembers himself and lowers his voice as a group of fourth year Ravenclaw girls walk past them, loudly arguing over an Arithmancy exercise. "I'm not homophobic," he says firmly once they're past.

"Oh of course not," Parkinson says dryly.

"I'm not!"

"Whatever you say," Parkinson says, reaching the Astronomy classroom and grasping the door handle. Seamus pulls on her sleeve and she turns around, her eyebrows raised.

"I'm not homophobic," he tells her heatedly. "I didn't mind that they were together. I just didn't see why they had to do... some things in public."

"What things? Hold hands? Snog? How horribly brazen of them."

"Look, I just don't like to see that kind of thing; it doesn't mean I think any less of Harry for doing any of it."

"You're a half-blood, right? Muggle father, witch mother?"

"Yeah, why?"

"It shows," Parkinson said dryly.

"Excuse me?"

"Muggles do love focussing on what's important, don't they. Like the colour of a person's skin, or the sex of the person they sleep with. Who cares about what they're like as a person, or how strong their magical ability is." She shook her head contemptuously. "And you wonder why we don't want your kind around."

"You're saying I didn't like watching Harry and Malfoy snogging because my dad's a Muggle?"

"Everybody knows how prejudiced Muggles are about-"

Seamus interrupts her, outraged. "Where do you get off telling me what Muggles are like!" he almost shouts, and Parkinson starts in alarm. They both automatically glance around and Seamus breathes a sigh of relief. They're alone in the corridor.

"My dad doesn't have a problem with it," he says, lowering his voice. "His brother's gay. It's my Mam who's disgusted by it. She won't even let my dad invite his own brother into our house. And she's a pureblood," Seamus says forcefully. "So don't go making assumptions about her either." Parkinson gapes at him, momentarily off-balance. "And stop making assumptions about me too while you're at it!"

"And stop talking like the ignorant Irish buffoon that you are," Parkinson snaps back, her embarrassment turning to hostility. "Do try to remember that you're supposed to be Draco Malfoy, and try to act like it. And keep your opinions about Muggles to yourself while you're at it!"

Seamus narrows his eyes at her. The hell with this sanctimonious prejudiced Slytherin bitch. The hell with her precious Slytherin friend, for that matter. Seamus sure as hell doesn't need to waste his time pretending to be the bigoted little bastard just to keep him safe from his lunatic of a father.

"Maybe I don't want to act like him," he says belligerently.

"What?"

"Maybe I don't need to be walking around looking like a great bloody poofter who's too scared of his Dad to stand up for himself!" he sneers at her, and, infuriatingly, she smirks back at him.

"Poofter? Finnigan, are you using a derogatory term for a boy who likes other boys?"

"That's the general meaning of the word, yeah," Seamus says nastily.

"Hm... I wonder, if Potter's boyfriend's a poofter, what does that make Potter?"

Seamus glares at her. "Shut up. Harry's not like that, he's just under the bond spell. Malfoy's the one who's still with him even without a bond."

"If you really believe a bond is all that's got Harry with Draco, you're even thicker than I thought you were."

"You know what? I don't have to put up with this."

"So you're going to do what? Stomp back to the hospital wing and tell Draco to bugger off?" she says scornfully.

"Yeah! I don't know if you've noticed or not, but I don't have to do this – I'm doing Malfoy a favour!"

Parkinson sneers at him. "Oh, go ahead. Go back to the hospital wing, stop trying to hide the fact that Draco's in there with Potter. See if you can get him into even bigger trouble than he's already in, why don't you. I'm sure it'll make your day. You've probably been itching to do this for years."

"Fine," he turns on his heel and starts back to the hospital.

"And I'm sure Potter will understand," she calls out.

Seamus stops.

Fuck.

Harry.

"Right," he mutters, kicking himself for forgetting that one rather important fact. Right, Harry. He closes his eyes and reaches for patience. He's going to need it, if he's going to spend the next three hours with Pansy Parkinson, a girl who can't even see that her prejudice towards Muggles is just as bad as any supposed prejudice Seamus harbours towards gays.

Oh, this is going to be a bloody long afternoon.

Draco

He's worn Weasley's patched robes, made himself awkwardly drop a bottle of pain relief potion in front of Colin Creevey when Creevey visited the hospital during one of Draco's turns as Longbottom, tried not to blink in confusion every time he caught a glimpse of his own chocolate-brown hands out of the corner of his eye, had to force his mouth into witless Irish banter when Hannah Abbott showed up to visit Harry during a Finnigan period – even worked the word "blimey" into the conversation – and spent the dawn hours wondering if Weasley was going to blow the whole thing last night when Harry finally admitted he needed Draco to stay with him overnight.

Blaise thinks Crabbe and Goyle suspect something. Not that either is likely to figure out what, exactly, "something" means.

This can't go on much longer. He can't keep doing this. Every time Harry's asleep, Draco gets tired of the whole thing, tired of seeing nothing but the hospital wing, tired of the taste of Polyjuice, tired of spending time with only Harry and occasionally Granger or Pansy. Every time, he tells himself he's being an idiot and determines that the next time Harry awakens he's going to regretfully tell him he has to leave.

And then Harry wakes up, usually feeling ill or nauseated. And he can see that Harry feels better when Draco touches him, whatever guise he's currently wearing. And he decides to give it one more day.

One more day, and please, please, let there be some sort of cure for this. It's foolish to hope for something so impossible, but Harry's come through so many impossible predicaments before. There's got to be some way for him to get out of this, and Draco's willing to risk quite a bit – within reason – to give Harry the chance to be rescued yet again. There's got to be something that will save him.

There's got to be.