Still Waters Run Deep

by MissMoondawn

The Ministry bullies Harry into chaperoning Draco through their last Hogwarts year, because after going through trials and Azkaban, Draco's magic has become unstable and dangerous. To make sure Harry can monitor Draco successfully, they give him a magical device to help him, as well as strict orders for them to always stay close together. He gets more than he bargained for, though.

Still Waters Run Deep

"Are you willing to take on this responsibility, Harry?"

Kingsley leaned forwards on his desk, his hands intertwined and face grooved. The expression he wore was one of utmost seriousness, and Harry felt a trickle of salty sweat slide down his spine.

Were they seriously asking this of him?

Harry had really hoped he could spend the rest of the summer break after the Ministry trials in peace, preparing for the repeat year of school ahead of him and laying the past to rest. Yet here he was, a week after those same trials, back in the same brightly lit office that made his eyes hurt, in the same chair he'd been in when he requested to testify for the Malfoys, being offered this.

"Of course, we wouldn't have turned to you if there had been a better way, but Harry, as you know, there aren't many people who would—"

"I know." Harry interrupted, finally finding his words. He cleared his throat twice more just for good measure and stared at the little device on the desk before him. It was a small, egg-shaped metal contraption with a large silver button embedded into the center. There was a length of chain attached to the narrow point, Harry assumed it was intended to be worn around one's neck. "So what am I supposed to do, again?" He felt really dumb asking, but the first time Kingsley ran it all past him, he'd been so fucking shocked he hadn't properly processed a single word.

"Malfoy's magic isn't stable, hasn't been a while now, ever since he was released and—we can't have him return to Hogwarts as he is, he's a liability." Kingsley explained, cringing at the words leaving his mouth. Harry knew Kingsley disagreed with the way the trials had been handled.

There had been absolutely no need to shove Malfoy into Azkaban for two months until the Ministry got their shit together enough to hold the trials. He wasn't resisting any proceedings they deigned to put him through, such drastic measures were completely unnecessary. Both Kingsley and Harry saw eye-to-eye on that.

"So this device, it, well, when the button is pressed it sends an electric shock through Malfoy and cancels his magic. That way, if—if his magic gets dangerously out of control or there's an outburst, it can be neutralized." The uncomfortable pinch on Kingsley's old face was still present, he looked as though the words left a bad taste in his mouth.

They certainly did in Harry's.

"But—Malfoy's not a guinea pig!" Harry protested when it deeply sunk in what was truly being asked of him. To—control someone's magic, as if they were just a lab experiment and nothing more.

"I'm aware Harry, it's just—He's a danger to himself too like this." Kingsley carefully nudged the device closer to Harry with one finger. "Could end up seriously hurting someone. And you—well, you're honestly the only person I trust with this."

Harry ran a hand through his unruly hair, his lunch shuffling in his stomach at the mere thought.

"Is there any other way?" He bit his lip and pleaded. He really didn't want such responsibilities during his last year of school. While he was able to forgive Malfoy for everything he'd done and said through some growing up and perspective shifting, he didn't feel as though things were okay enough for him to be obtaining such a level of control over him. Or any level of control over anyone, for that matter.

"They won't allow him to return to school unless someone is—chaperoning—him, as it were, and if he's not back in Hogwarts, then he'll be back in—"

"Azkaban." Harry finished, his skin growing icy cold with horror. Malfoy didn't deserve Azkaban. He really didn't. Of course, he'd done some really bad things, but honestly, he'd more than suffered his punishments, throwing him into prison was just pointlessly cruel and ruthless.

Sweet Merlin and Christ, Harry just couldn't ever catch a break, could he? Much as he didn't really want to do this at all, he couldn't let Malfoy be thrown back in Azkaban either. He couldn't if he ever wanted to sleep again that was.

"I—tell me more about it." The raven grimaced at the words, he grimaced at the relieved slump in Kingsley' shoulders, and outright cringed when Kingsley explained all the finer points.

Once Harry touched the wretched contraption it would bond to him so no one else could use it except him, which Harry was very glad to hear, because it meant Malfoy was protected to some minimal degree at the very least. What Harry was not glad to hear was that he'd have to share his dorm with Malfoy, because the cursed thing only worked within a certain range, which meant Harry would have to stick close with Malfoy at pretty much all times. The part that made him shift was the fact he'd probably have to have Malfoy moved into Grimmauld, so he'd stay within range.

If Harry was being perfectly honest, he wasn't really bothered by that, he'd reached a point where Malfoy felt like a clean slate for his present to fill rather than a vitriolic bastard from his past, so he didn't care much. He doubted Malfoy shared that sentiment however, and Harry didn't want to impose upon him like that, even though it was more and more looking like there was no other real choice to be made.

"Can't he—monitor himself?" Harry asked as he stared at the device. A magic cancelling device was still so far beyond Harry's brain and intellect that he didn't even try to fathom how such a thing would be constructed. "Malfoy's responsible, he'd keep to it." Harry finished his thought, looked back up at Kingsley. The poor man looked beyond exhausted, his voice a mere grave sigh when he spoke:

"The—Wizengamot doesn't trust that, even though I suggested it too. They're adamant I find someone, Harry please, you know as well as I do anyone else would take advantage."

Harry rested an elbow on his knee and dropped his head into his palm. This was really it, the only option he had. Accept this task and obtain an uncomfortable level of obligation towards the Ministry and an even more uncomfortable level of control over Malfoy, who would probably kill him in his sleep for this, even though it was just as stupidly forced onto Harry as it was onto Malfoy.

"Fine, fine, I'll—do it." Harry sighed deeply, his voice holding a jagged edge he didn't expect to find there. If he really stuck to his guns and refused this, someone vengeful would come along and grab onto the opportunity to push Malfoy under their thumb. Harry wouldn't be able to ever live with himself if he let such a thing happen to anyone, not just Malfoy.

"I—thank you so much, Harry." Kingsley sighed deeply, warily, his expression unclenching with deep relief.

"Now, if you'll just—" The Minister gestured for Harry to grasp the device.

Harry braced himself and reached out to touch it, though before he made contact, the door burst open, making both Harry and Kingsley jump out of their skins. There was a gruff Auror dragging a shackled, silent though struggling Malfoy along in the doorway.

Harry's stomach swooped with extreme nausea when the Auror wrestled Malfoy into the room. Lovely—the last person he wanted to see right now. Malfoy was still tall and lean, though Harry would wager a guess he was too lean, his hair had grown out longer and now swooped around his ears and his face looked even more prickly and haunted than the last time Harry had seen him. As soon as Malfoy's gray eyes landed on Harry, his entire posture went even more rigid and he stopped resisting the brutal grip on his arm in stead of averting his eyes.

"What is the meaning of this?" Kingsley broke the uncomfortable staring match between the four of them.

"He demanded to see who was picked to monitor him." The Auror explained. "Became exceedingly annoying and bratty, so I dragged him here. Apologies for the interruption, sir."

Kingsley rubbed a hand down his face:

"Unhand him and unshackle him, he's clearly cooperative."

The Auror appeared extremely displeased with the order, but he didn't protest it as he did as he was told.

Once the shackles clicked open, Malfoy sneered at the Auror and subtly rubbed at the skin of his wrists.

Harry swallowed a heavy lump and turned back towards the desk, futilely hoping this was all a bad dream. It was bad enough that he'd practically been bullied into accepting this, it was so much worse for Malfoy to be there to watch the deal go into effect.

Kingsley dismissed the Auror, who left the room silently.

"Mr. Malfoy, what did you want?" Kingsley asked, pointing him to sit in the other chair next to Harry's.

Malfoy chose to remain standing, but when he spoke, despite all his bravado, he sounded so very slow and tired too:

"I wanted to at the very least be present when my fate was sealed."

Harry wouldn't look at him, though he felt Malfoy's eyes burning a hole through the side of his face. He couldn't pinpoint why, but Malfoy witnessing Harry going along with this debacle made Harry feel so sick. Harry supposed it was because he didn't want the blonde to think Harry wanted this or would enjoy it. Because he wouldn't, Gods knew he wouldn't.

"I—see. Well, as you can see, was chosen for the task, we were about to put the device into effect." Kingsley explained patiently, a certain sadness to him. He seemed to understand the plight of the situation, which comforted Harry somewhat.

Upon him saying that, all eyes turned to Harry, who found it hard to move.

"I don't like this." Harry reiterated stubbornly. It felt important that everyone there knew he wasn't power hungry, he was better than that. With a subdued sigh, Harry knew there was no salvaging this situation anymore and he reached for the device, curling his fingers around it. The moment he did so, he felt a sharp jolt of burning pain flood his veins and continue to blaze for long seconds. Harry let out a soft shriek of ache as the feeling intensified, the magic from the device blending into his bloodstream while the bond fully formed.

"Is he okay?" Harry heard Malfoy's voice distantly, as if through fog, just as the pain slowly ebbed and crested, waning. He shivered as he returned to the present moment, feeling feverish and bright.

"'M fine." He muttered in Malfoy's general direction, then turned his head towards his hand which was still clasping the magic canceler. He sighed in contempt of the thing and lifted the chain around his head, settling it around his neck. "Is that all?" He asked Kingsley, unable to help the bitterness in his voice.

"Yes, that—would be all. will be staying the remaining of summer break with you Harry." Kingsley informed, rubbing at his neck somewhat awkwardly.

It looked as though both Kingsley and Malfoy were expecting a reaction from Harry, but Harry figured this would be the case back when it was explained to him that the magic canceler worked only in a certain range, so he wasn't that taken aback.

"Okay." He nodded placidly instead and stood from the chair, finally daring to face Malfoy, whose face was so carefully bland, while his eyes were so plainly lost that Harry wanted to hug him. Instead he just nodded at him and left the office without another word, Malfoy in toe.

Harry was honestly surprised how easy it was to adjust to Malfoy living with him. Malfoy was always quiet and contained to his room and never really went out to do much. He would occasionally venture out into the garden to read or watch the sunset. Harry made a deal with Kreacher for the elf to notify him when Malfoy was out in the gardens so that Harry wouldn't disturb him. If he was honest, he was concerned with how much Malfoy isolated himself all the time. Aside from the brief interaction in Robards's office, they haven't spoken a word to each other. Harry had tried but Malfoy would only look away or hum vaguely in an absent, noncommittal gesture, so Harry quickly gave it up.

In the three weeks that have passed, Harry only saw Malfoy maybe two or three times when he was having tea in the morning or going to the bathroom. And during those weeks' time, Harry never once had any need or reason to use the magic canceler that hung around his neck, which really made Harry doubt the necessity of it in the first place, but he digressed. Perhaps it was too early to tell.

All in all, Harry's life didn't change since Malfoy had come to live with him, which both worried and relieved Harry. On one hand, he didn't suppose your routine should stay the exact same when there is an entire human being living with you, on the other, Harry never really wanted much change. When Kreacher popped in with Harry's breakfast one morning, Harry stopped Kreacher before he left:

"How is he, Kreacher?" Harry felt stupid asking after Malfoy through his bloody elf, but it's not like he could talk to the man himself, and as far as Harry knew, Malfoy could have died up in his room and no one would know.

"Master Black?" Kreacher asked then shook his ancient head. "Kreacher was told not to tell Master Harry anything."

Harry bit his lip and ran a hand through his hair. Of course Malfoy did that. Of course. "If the bastard talked to me I wouldn't have to ask my elf."

Kreacher sighed and shrugged his tiny shoulders:

"If Master Harry wants, Kreacher will tell Master Black that."

Harry considered this, then figured it was the same either way, since the chances of Malfoy really listening to anything were slim to none, so he just waved Kreacher off:

"Do however you please, Kreacher. I doubt it would change much."

Kreacher only grumbled something unintelligible then popped off to go bring Malfoy breakfast too.

Harry didn't know why he was so bothered by Malfoy keeping his distance. He'd thought that would be exactly what he wanted, but it turned out to be the exact opposite. Harry supposed it was because this was Draco Malfoy, the one person who never felt the need to run or hide from Harry, who always stuck it to Harry, even when he was absolutely wrong and acting like a complete ferrety bastard. The challenge was always there and it was exhilarating.

And though, of course things would be different now, Harry was of the opinion that that spark should still be present, especially since, after all, Malfoy and him had gone through pretty similar situations on their respective ends, which made them more alike than either ever really wanted to admit. And it was for that reason that Harry couldn't deal well with the idea that now Malfoy was running away from him and refusing to even look at him.

Regardless, if Malfoy didn't want to communicate, Harry couldn't force him.

Then again, there was the issue of the magic canceler which felt much heavier and difficult around Harry's neck than just earlier. Perhaps Malfoy was staying away to stay out of range? Grimmauld place was huge, Harry was certain that there were at least a few rooms that would keep Malfoy well out of acting range of the device. And if that wasn't it, then he very well could be avoiding Harry to avoid conflict and getting his magic riled up so that there would be no reason to use the device.

Or maybe Harry was obsessing again and overthinking everything.

If he was being perfectly honest with himself, that last one was the most likely answer. It was perfectly logical that Malfoy plain and simple didn't want contact with Harry, which Harry would have to accept.

No sooner had Harry decided to let sleeping dragons lie, did the entire house begin to violently shake. At first Harry was too confused to process the trembles and tremors going through the floor and walls, the rattling tables and furniture, but then it struck him that something must've gone extremely wrong with the magic of the ancient home for it to be quivering like this.

And if something had gone wrong with the magic, that meant—

"Malfoy!" Without giving it a second thought, Harry leapt from his chair in the kitchen and ran for the stairs, stumbling on the way from the violent shaking that was only getting worse and calling out to Malfoy. Just as he made it halfway up the stairs he was nearly knocked head over arse backwards by Kreacher flying into his chest down the staircase. Harry huffed a breath and grasped onto the stair banister with one arm, the other curling around Kreacher instinctively.

"Kreacher! The bloody hell is going on?" Harry yelled over the rattling noises all around him. He heard crashing as vases and paintings began toppling off walls and counters, shattering on the floor.

Kreacher struggled out of Harry's grasp, eyes wide:

"Kreacher went to bring Master Black breakfast, but Master Black was still asleep and thrashing around. Then the shaking started, there was an explosion and Kreacher was sent flying down the hall and down the stairs!"

Shit!

Harry pushed Kreacher to get to safety, before dashing the remaining way up the stairs, the house jerking this way and that as if it was going to collapse upon itself. Malfoy's magic must have been bursting and pressing in on the walls, threatening to blow the entire thing apart. Christ, Robards wasn't kidding—

Harry stumbled through the hall towards the room whose door was cracked and splintered, laying in the middle of the hallway like a discarded toy. Harry could feel the pressure and fissure of the magic expanding and roiling through the air the closer he stepped to Malfoy's room. It pushed and clawed at his skin, trying to shove him backwards but Harry persisted in forcing his way forwards. He needed to wake Malfoy up before the entirety of Grimmauld place went to shit.

"Malfoy!" Harry yelled desperately but his voice got swallowed up by the shaking and rattling. The entire hallway and all the decorations were collapsing and cracking under the force.

Just as he was able to make some headway, a particularly violent gust of unstable magical energy burst forth from the hall and slammed into Harry so forcefully it knocked his feet out from under him and he collapsed backwards, colliding with the harsh, trembling floor. His head banged against the wood with an echoed thud and all the air from his lungs constricted out his throat.

Harry cried out at the sharp pain, grasping vehemently at the magic canceler around his neck. He might just have to, although it pained him to even think that since he really didn't want to use the bloody thing, he didn't know how powerful the shock it would deal Malfoy was or what kind of potential damage it would do to him—he never planned on employing it unless he absolutely had to.

Things were seeming pretty grim now, but Harry wasn't one to give up hope. He'd come so close to where he needed to be, so he'd be damned before he gave in.

Just so, with such new determination, he pushed up on his elbows and had himself sit up. Something wet and sticky oozed down the back of his head, but Harry hadn't the time to worry about it.

Standing up wouldn't do him any good, he was an easier target that way, so perhaps staying low was his best bet, at least until he made it past the thickest layer of danger. That plan in mind, Harry lowered himself to his stomach and began to crawl forwards, forcing his limbs to propel him onwards quickly. Grimmauld was starting to creak around him, which made his gut twist with fear. There were already blooming cracks on the walls, so Harry pushed himself to go faster.

His head was still swimming from his fall, his vision swirling and doubling from the constant shaking and stammering, but his plan of laying low was a success as he was able to weasel through the oppressive magic much easier than he ever would have standing up.

He was almost there, his hopes rising, when a loud, crystalline burst to his left startled the life out of him, the sound scaring him into flinching and jerking sideways, just as glass from the window that just shattered came raining down over him, cutting into his skin and tearing at his clothes. Harry curled up to protect his neck and head best he could, wincing at the sharp cuts grazing him and howling out as one wayward glass shard burrowed into the meat of his thigh.

Fuck—He might have to press the bloody button after all—

Harry was close enough to Malfoy's doorway now that he could hear him writhing, whimpering and screaming in his sleep.

Ah, shit—

No, he couldn't just shock him like this, while he was defenseless and quite obviously having a nightmare bad enough that it was tearing the entirety of Grimmauld apart. Harry had them too still, he knew far too well how damning they were, how wrecked they left him. He couldn't do that to Malfoy.

Harry forced himself to uncurl and straighten, tiny glass shards and dust falling out of his hair as he pushed forwards, able now to slowly stand, holding fast to the unsteady wall as he did so. The wall was weakened and cracked, Harry's weight crumbling off parts of it. Harry quickly pushed away and limped his way into Malfoy's room, his thigh bleeding down his leg. He almost tripped over the wavering floor, while the house continued to violently rumble and shake, steadily starting to give in and crumble.

Malfoy's room was a proper wrecked mess too. The wardrobe was upended and on its side, clothes strewn about, wearing scratches into the floor, the bed was unmade and messy, the sheets and blankets kicked off and crumpled, the shutters of his open window slamming together with such force they were splintering each other, and the walls and ceiling raining down drywall and dust, the wallpaper peeling everywhere in thick curls, revealing the worn brick underneath. Malfoy himself was thrashing around on the bed, whimpering and calling out, voice hoarse, his face pinched in pain while he was trapped in whichever nightmare he was having.

Harry hastily grabbed for the bed, fell to his knees beside it as his injured leg buckled, and promptly gripped Malfoy by the shoulders, shaking him violently:

"Malfoy! Wake up, fuck, please wake up!" The raven yelled desperately, only then realizing one lens of his glasses was broken. "Wake up!" Harry kept shaking Malfoy violently, while things still fluttered around them. Malfoy wasn't responding.

Fuck, what else could Harry do?

Malfoy was twisting out of Harry's grip, still pained and trapped inside the restless sleep.

Think, think, think—

The bedframe cracked, caved and the mattress tilted and tore, rolling Malfoy straight out of bed and into Harry's arms. He still didn't wake despite the jostling. This wasn't right, wasn't natural—

With little else to do, Harry just accepted Malfoy's weight upon him and hugged him closer, wrapping both arms around the other.

"It's just a dream, Malfoy, it's all over now, please wake up, you're safe—" Harry babbled, hoping to at least ease Malfoy down if he couldn't wake him entirely, so that his magic would settle.

It seemed to work, at least partly, as Malfoy stopped struggling, his shallow panting slowing.

"Good, that's good, now if you can wake up for me that'd be lovely—" Harry subconsciously rubbed Malfoy's back in an awkward attempt to soothe him.

The house stopped shaking just as Malfoy gasped and finally woke up, flailing away from Harry, staring wide eyed around himself, chest rising and falling with renewed rapid panic.

Harry held up his hands in a calming manner, about a thousand bricks falling from his shoulders now that he'd managed to wake the blonde up:

"Hey, hey, Malfoy, everything's fine, calm down—" He assured, allowing the sentence to trail off. Only then did he notice how much his own hands were shaking, his entire body wracked with a terrifying adrenaline rush that left him woozy.

Everything hurt too, all the bones and muscles Harry didn't know he had.

"Potter—" Malfoy's voice was hoarse and raspy when he finally spoke, mind finally settled enough to take in the state of things around him.

"Yeah?" Harry slowly breathed, making a mental note to deal with all the pain later, once this mess was resolved.

"What—happened?" Malfoy spoke, drawing his knees up to his chest as he craned his neck and looked around the wrecked room, eyes drifting off into the bright morning just past the ruined window.

Harry gathered some air into his lungs, willing his heartbeat to slow before he found he was able to answer the question:

"You were having a—nightmare, I think, and your magic, it went shit out of control, almost leveled the house to the ground. But I managed to—get here and wake you."

"You mean—I did this?" Malfoy blinked dumbly, as if he couldn't believe he held enough power to be capable of such destruction.

Harry nodded by way of response, finding it hysterically sad that this one conversation consisted of more words than were exchanged between them in the past month almost.

"Why didn't you—use that?" Malfoy asked, jerking his head towards the device that hung around Harry's neck, now pretty scratched up from all the abuse and havoc from earlier.

Harry looked down at it resting against the torn up cotton of his shirt and sighed, mulling over the best way to answer that question:

"I don't—I don't want to use it on you, unless I absolutely have to. And—you weren't well, I couldn't just—shock you with this thing."

Something very broken flittered across Malfoy's eyes for a brief second, something soft and helpless, but it was gone far too soon for Harry to ponder what it could have meant. Other than that though, Malfoy offered no reaction to Harry's answer.

In that thin silence, all the various pains and aches wormed they way back through to the forefront of Harry's brain and he couldn't help but moan lowly from the burning hurt.

"Are you okay?" Malfoy asked then, seemingly snapped from whatever sort of daze he'd fallen into.

Harry blinked and grabbed onto the nightstand next to the bed, possibly the only thing that didn't go balls up through the chaos, surprisingly enough, and used it as leverage to push himself to stand:

"Got pretty banged up on my way here." He offered by way of explanation for his wincing.

"Potter you're—you're bleeding—" Malfoy squawked when he saw the glass shard sticking out of Harry's thigh and the other various cuts all over him.

Hary waved it off:

"I'll be fine Malfoy, a few healing charms should do."

Malfoy did not look placated at all, instead he stood right after Harry and shook his head:

"No—no, no just—let me—" He stumbled over his words and flushed, seemingly surprising even himself by speaking.

Harry was stunned to the spot. Was Malfoy offering to—help him? What even—Harry snapped himself out of it. Honestly. He shouldn't be so shocked, it was just that the two of them hadn't had a decent conversation prior, so it came as just a little bit of a surprise to hear this. Especially from Malfoy, whom Harry had never really pegged as particularly caring of a person. Though it wasn't as if he knew Malfoy very well either.

"I—alright." He nodded his head shakily, noted how Malfoy's wide eyes and flush relaxed, as if he feared that Harry would mock him for offering or something else equally as ridiculous.

Malfoy had Harry sit on the banged up, shredded mattress, not paying the collapsed bedframe any mind and knelt down in front of Harry's outstretched leg. Neither said anything but Harry was pretty entranced as he watched Malfoy take out his wand and carefully sever the ruined pantleg around the shard of glass. Once the trouser was out of the way, Harry was quite surprised at how ugly and bad the wound looked as opposed to how it didn't hurt as badly.

"Before—everything, I wanted to become a Healer." Malfoy suddenly said, out of nowhere as he cast a numbing charm on the injured area. "And that's what I was studying for."

Harry didn't quite know what to do with that information, but he wasn't blind, he could accept an olive branch when he was being offered one. It was just a shame it came after such utter chaos.

"Ah, I wanted to be an Auror. Was going to enroll into the Academy after Hogwarts." Harry spoke slowly, tensing once Malfoy's fingers closed over the shard and slowly pulled it out, more blood gushing to the surface from the wound. The numbing charm did well in preventing any pain, but it was the brush of Malfoy's fingers against his thigh that had Harry going awry.

"There is no more Dark Lord. Didn't you get the memo?" Malfoy huffed quietly while he tossed the bloody piece of glass aside and cast a cleaning spell to be rid of the blood staining Harry's leg.

Despite himself, Harry chuckled, figured he was just slightly delirious from everything that happened:

"Guess not, must've gotten lost in all the fan mail."

Malfoy laughed, which caught Harry off guard so much he nearly toppled over, the sound so foreign to him. It was a surprisingly lilting laugh the blonde had, felt good to listen to.

"Saint Potter." Malfoy shook his head and aimed another spell at Harry's leg, the wound knitting together and smoothing over, only a faint ridged scar left behind to serve as memory.

Harry felt himself smile, though he didn't really know what to else to say. Malfoy swept a couple of other healing charms over Harry, closing up all the various cuts and bruises. He then repaired Harry's trousers and glasses. Once it was done, Malfoy sat back on his haunches, looking ornately pleased with himself, which had something in Harry's stomach flipping.

"Thanks." He nodded and stood, no longer feeling as though he'd been dragged through several thorn bushes, only slightly sore from exertion. Christ that situation was such a mess—

Speaking of messes—

They had a lot of cleaning up to do.

When Harry and Malfoy left the room to inspect all the damage that was done, Harry was once again shocked upon stepping into the ruined hallway. Cracked walls, peeling wallpaper, paintings fallen off, their frames splintered, Malfoy's bedroom door toppled in the middle of the hall, glass everywhere and harsh breeze blowing through the broken window. Before, Harry was a bit too busy trying to get out with his head to take heed to the utter destruction that had come down upon his house, but now that he was able to look at it without any rush, he felt faint.

It was only now that he realized why Molly and Arthur always warded his bed at the Burrow with extra wards. His own magic was known to get out of control at times, especially if he was having bad nightmares, but he'd never taken it seriously and always thought the Weasleys were overreacting.

Now that he'd seen what unchecked, unstable magic could do, he vowed to never underestimate his adoptive parents ever again.

"Christ." Malfoy muttered behind Harry, staring wide-eyed at the destruction he caused. "This is—" Words seemed to fail him. "I'm sorry about this Potter."

Harry frowned. What was Malfoy apologizing for? The whole point of the situation they were in now was that his magic was unstable, not exactly anything he had any control over.

"Err, it's fine. It wasn't really your fault."

Slowly, they picked their way down the hallway, carefully choosing where to step. Once they made it to the stairs, Harry briefly wondered what the state of affairs was downstairs and whether Kreacher was okay. He hoped it wasn't too bad, since the downstairs wasn't the main hit, but he braced himself for the worst regardless.

Just as they made it down and began assessing the damage, which was substantial, Harry noted, though he took a little solace in the fact that at the very least the walls hadn't cracked, there was a series of rapping knocks at the door.

"Bollocks." Harry cursed under his breath. Whoever had come would promptly have to leave, because nothing and no one in Grimmauld were capable of housing guests currently.

He made his way to the door, while Malfoy trailed through the living room with the upended couch and coffee tables, looking forlornly guilty.

When Harry opened the door, his heart jumped to his throat as two Arurors in crisp red robes came into his view. He hastily stepped out and closed the door behind him. One of them squared up and spoke:

"There was a report about disturbances and noise coming from this residence. We are here to investigate. Can we come in?"

Harry let this sink in for a moment, his eyes narrowed. Grimmauld was under twelve layers of protection wards as well as Muggle repellents, there is no way that any noise whatsoever would have pierced such heavy protection to be heard by anyone anywhere.

What Harry figured was the more likely case here, is that they came to pester Malfoy, even though he'd been released fair and square and was for all intents and purposes under Harry's custody now.

"Do you have a warrant?" Harry crossed his arms across his chest and straightened himself in front of them.

The other Auror spoke:

"Well, no, but it's just a quick check sir, it will be no trouble."

Harry was having none of it however:

"No. Unless you have a warrant, you aren't entering my home. My heavily warded home." He punctuated that last part very matter-of-factly. Harry hoped it would convey to them that he knew exactly why they'd actually come and that it wouldn't fly.

It seemed to work well enough, as one of the Aurors had the good grace to look chastised while the other just huffed, but ultimately, they left without further complaints.

Harry sighed deeply and went back inside, shut the door, then leaned back on it. He was lucky they didn't have a warrant really, because had they seen the state of his home and learned Malfoy caused it, Harry was sure he'd have one hell of a time busting the blonde arsehole out of Azkaban.

"Who was it?" Malfoy idly asked when he returned from checking the kitchen.

Harry briefly considered lying to him, but then what would be the point of that? If they were going to start actually acknowledging each other, then they might as well start off without lies.

"Some Aurors, they claimed there was a noise report and came to check it out."

Malfoy's brow knitted together:

"Don't you have wards?"

Harry bit his lip, for a moment pitying the other:

"I do, yes. Very heavy wards."

Malfoy looked even more confused by this, until he finally caught onto the meaning of Harry's sad smile. His expression flashed for a moment with something Harry couldn't quite understand, though it looked to be profound.

"Oh." He intoned, very quietly. "They weren't here for the noise, were they?"

Harry shook his head:

"They weren't, no. Didn't have a warrant though so I wasn't going to let them in."

Malfoy just nodded and headed towards the bathroom, probably just to get away from the conversation, which was fair enough.

"Kreacher! Hey, where are you?" Harry called, happy to move on from the encounter as well.

The old elf popped into existence atop an overturned chair.

"Master Harry called?" Kreacher gave the stink eye to the mess around him, his wrinkly face morphing into distaste so clear Harry could almost taste it.

"Yeah, are you okay?" Harry worried. Kreacher seemed fine, but it couldn't hurt to check.

"Kreacher is not harmed." Kreacher confirmed. "Master Black told Kreacher not to tell Master Harry how he could barely sleep or eat. Master Black told Kreacher not to tell Master Harry about the nightmares. Kreacher is now telling Master Harry this because Kreacher's house was almost destroyed because of Master Black's nightmares."

Harry felt a lump in his throat, but he nodded regardless. That nightmare Malfoy was having, it couldn't have been something natural, how he couldn't wake up a long while.

"Did he tell you why the nightmares were so bad?"

"It's Grimmauld itself, Master Harry. It amplifies the magic and experiences of the people that live in it, and that's why everything was so extreme, as well as why those nightmares were so bad. Grimmauld home feeds into its inhabitants, for better or for worse." Kreacher explained.

Harry chewed on his lip and nodded thoughtfully, mulling this over.

"How do I stop it then?" They bloody well couldn't live here if every time Malfoy suffered night terrors the entire house would start to fall apart.

Kreacher was silent for a moment, but then he shrugged:

"Kreacher does not know how to help Master Black sleep, but Master Harry should find a way if he cares because Grimmauld won't accept another battering and will rebel."

Harry cupped his hands over his nose, feeling a slow headache throb in his temples:

"I do care, okay, yeah, thank you Kreacher." He dismissed the elf, who popped off without another word.

Harry pressed a hand over his mouth while his poor mind worked hundreds of miles a minute to try and figure this out. Things around Grimmauld were ruined worse than Harry had expected, he was pretty sure they won't be able to repair a torn out fridge or broken down doors by themselves. Harry might have to call in someone to perform all the necessary repairs, now that he has seen the breadth of all the damage. Which meant he and Malfoy would have to move out for a time period.

And where the hell would they go?

Certainly not the Weasleys. Perhaps some motel or something of the sort? Goodness that would be awkward, not to mention incredibly unsafe for everyone else there. If Malfoy was to have another outburst like this one, which Harry was certain would happen at some point, Harry would have no choice but to shock him, much as the thought sickened him, he certainly couldn't let him tear an entire motel down and possibly kill or hurt innocent people.

Then again, if they stayed here, where exactly would they both sleep while the repairs took place? The upstairs was completely thrashed, there was no room that was left spared enough to be sleepable in.

Unless—

Harry came to the stairs and made his way back up, teetering on a dangerous line of stepping on broken glass and splinters while his eyes were upturned to the ceiling, searching. He prayed to Merlin it was still there and wasn't damaged. As soon as his gaze caught on the little nook, Harry sighed a breath of relief. Grimmauld's attic was secured with wards that blasted off magic attacks and the like as well as many different layers of security. It was made such because most of the top secret Order meetings and discussions took place there.

Harry reached up on his tip toes, his fingers brushing the clasp protruding from the nook in the drywall. He gripped it best he could and yanked lower, bringing a trap door down with a rain of dust and debris. Goodness that place up there hadn't been used in years now. A ladder slid out from resting against the trapdoor and clanked to the floor. Harry had to take a moment to wipe his glasses, before he could see again. Once he adjusted the ladder, the raven made his way up into the attic, pulling his wand to send a Lumos up there.

Everything was incredibly dusty and full of cobwebs, but after Harry swept some strong cleansing charms through the space, all the grime sizzled away. While he was on the hunt for Horcruxes, there was little opportunity to shower, so learning some potent deep cleaning charms was utmost necessary.

The attic wasn't too well lit, but Harry supposed he could easily amend that if they were to actually move in here while the rest of the house was repaired. Otherwise there was plenty of space thankfully, but Harry was a little bit discomfited to realize that there was only one busted old bed shoved into the corner. Sometimes Harry used to weather a night or two up here, which is why they set it up in the first place. The frame the mattress rested on was flimsy at best, and after years of disuse he was pretty sure it would buckle under his and Malfoy's combined weight.

Not that that mattered, actually, since they obviously wouldn't be sharing a bed.

That would just be—too far.

Harry shook his head to clear it of such thoughts. He was being ridiculous, nothing was set in stone yet.

With a final sweep of the room, Harry turned back and made his way down, to go look for Malfoy.

He found Malfoy hefting the kitchen table back into standing position and righting a few upturned chairs, only to collapse into one and drop his forehead to the table.

Harry didn't know how to feel at the sight, Malfoy looked more defeated than Harry had ever seen him, even in all the various visions of Malfoy's life Harry glimpsed through Voldemort.

"It's just some furniture Malfoy, I'm not going to turn you over to the Ministry for redecorating a bit." Harry huffed, going for a joke, since he wasn't sure how to approach this new thing between them.

Malfoy started a little at Harry's voice and lifted himself from the table. He stared at Harry for a moment then simply waved him off:

"Of course you won't Potter. Noble hero and all."

"I will, however, turn you over to the Ministry if you call me that ever again." Harry muttered, a coil of frustration in his chest as he joined Malfoy at the table. He loathed titles and praise and worship. He simply wasn't the type of person to enjoy such attention. If he hadn't gone to fight Voldemort, the Wizarding world would've been fucked. And that would've condemned him as well, wouldn't it? So of course something had to be done.

Can't be the friendly neighborhood Chosen one, if there was no neighborhood after all.

"So sensitive." Malfoy grumbled under his breath, but Harry couldn't find it in him to get huffy over it. There was too much else to worry about.

"Right, listen. This place is thrashed and I think we'll have to call in someone to repair everything around."

Malfoy's face shifted into something more cautiously attentive.

"Obviously we can't also be around here through the repairs, but we can't exactly rent a hotel room or something similar either." Harry continued, gesticulating with his hands while he explained everything. "So I think our only option is to set up in the attic until repairs are finished, since the attic is probably the only space that hasn't gone to shit." They didn't really have many options in the end, so it was best to get out their pretty much only safe choice into the conversation.

"Wait—why can't we rent rooms?" Malfoy interrupted, his brows furrowed. There was a veil of wary suspicion in his eyes, as if he expected some frankly ridiculous answer from Harry, something such as Harry thinking he might be too dangerous for the public. Frankly, Harry knew Malfoy himself wasn't dangerous, but his wacky magic was.

Harry considered what to answer for a moment. He was well-aware anything regarding the war was a touchy subject, especially for the two of them, but they needed to sort this out first and foremost.

"If you have nightmares often, which I'll go out on a limb here and say you do, and they get really bad, like this one, it could topple a hotel and potentially kill not only us but other innocent people too."

Malfoy visibly bristled and pointedly looked away, glaring very viciously at a blank spot of wall off to the side.

"Right." He briskly commented, though still not looking at Harry.

"The problem is, there's only one bed in the attic. I'm pants at Transfiguration and can not transfigure one, so unless you can manage it somehow, I think we might have to share it." Harry broke the troubling news as gently as he was able, consider how it made him crawl with awkward discomfort when he even thought about it.

Harry could see Malfoy's jaw tighten and his skin flush deeply at the words, which had Harry at slight relief, that he wasn't the only one uncomfortable with the idea.

"I'm no good at Transfiguration either." Malfoy grit, confirming the trickle of Harry's worst fears.

Well then. Well then.

Harry clambered for another option, something to make this better, but other than one of them sleeping on the bloody floor, he found no other solution.

And Harry wasn't letting either of them sleep on the floor.

"Well then I guess we'll have to share." He finally spoke, forcing casual calm into his tone even though that didn't even come close to how he actually felt.

"Potter—" Malfoy finally turned to stare at him, eyes wide and round, and his voice so full of incredulity Harry could almost taste it. "You can't be serious."

"I don't really like it either, Malfoy, but it's either that or shamble around this ruined house." Harry shot back. It appeared as though it skipped Malfoy's notice that they really had no other goddamn option.

"You could have me sleep on the floor." Malfoy mumbled under his breath.

It gave Harry pause. Had Malfoy been—expecting Harry to do that? To treat him like shit? Did—did he feel as though Harry controlled him in some way? In a technical manner of speaking, Harry did possess a measure of control, but really, it was utterly offensive that Malfoy would assume Harry would use it, especially after their earlier conversation in the bedroom.

Goodness, gracious, those thoughts made Harry shiver. He could understand how and why the blonde would go about coming to those conclusions, but Harry was pretty sure that he had amply demonstrated that he wouldn't do anything similar in the near month they've been living together.

To be fair, it was mostly spent catching brief glimpses of each other on occasion and each keeping to his own, but even still, Harry thought Malfoy would know better than to expect hatred or vengeance here.

The things Malfoy had done and said in the past were harmful and hurtful and absolutely disgusting, but even then, Harry was of the opinion he more than paid for his past bigotry and mistakes. And Harry certainly didn't want to dogpile more onto him.

It was thinking about it that way that had managed to allow Harry to forgive and let go. To uncoil the anger that harbored in his heart and move past the past, as it were.

"You're not a dog Malfoy, I won't treat you as one." Harry finally spoke at length, after spending what he was sure was upwards of 20 seconds just gaping at the other.

Malfoy pressed his lips into a thin line and clammed up. He looked so incredibly different from the way Harry remembered him always being in school, confident and cocky. Now he looked grown and mature, but also sort of humble. He certainly got off his high-horse, that was for sure.

And he looked ashamed.

Harry wasn't going to prod, he wasn't stupid enough to try, but he supposed it was a good thing in its own right, that he regretted who he used to be, because it spoke volumes of changing and growing.

"What? Why are you looking at me like that?" Harry decided to give an out of this topic by poking some fun, which he found always worked well to diffuse tense situations such as this one.

"I—nothing." Malfoy shook his head and then sighed: "Fine, fine, we have to share, so be it." He agreed, though sounded as if it pained him incredibly so to do it.

Harry slumped a little at ease. For a moment there he thought he'd have to go out and just buy a brand new bed if Malfoy was going to really stand against the idea, but he'd agreed in the end so things should be fine.

Should be. Didn't mean they would be.

And considering that they were who they were, they most definitely wouldn't be.

The rest of the day was spent cleaning up the debris, glass, dust and the like from the floors and stripping off the half peeled wallpaper from the walls the rest of the way, cleaning up as much as possible. They turned the surviving, undamaged furniture up and back to its proper places, and piled all the cracked, broken one into the large living room.

Neither knew how to mend broken doorways, windows, walls or reconnect fridges and faucets, so all that was ignored for the time being.

Harry figured that if they cleaned up as much as they could, the length of time someone else would spend fixing up everything else would be shortened, which was as best as he could hope for.

They didn't really talk at all during the work, but Harry felt as though this silence was better than the one between them previously. It wasn't thick or awkward, it was just—there, neutral. Which was fine. Better even. Still cold and odd though.

By the time they were done putting Grimmauld back to mostly rights, it was already deep into the night and Harry was bleary with exhaustion. It almost didn't feel real, that he'd have to sleep in the same bed as Malfoy if he wanted to get any rest at all. He wasn't even sure how it would work.

Sure, he'd slept pressed against others in a cramped tent, but those were Ron and Hermione. His best friends.

The proximity wasn't awkward between them.

Right, well, there was no point fretting. It was just something that had to be done, plain and simple. It didn't have to go beyond that.

It was temporary anyways.

"Right, hey." He drew Malfoy's attention to himself. The blonde made his way out of the kitchen, pushing his wand into his robes. Harry had returned it to him right after his trial concluded.

"I think we're done. Well, as done as we could be." Harry cast his eyes about the house. It certainly didn't look as though a bomb had struck it anymore, which was good enough for now.

"Yeah, alright." Malfoy muttered, though he didn't say anything else. He yawned instead.

Harry swallowed and put his own wand away, eyes drifting up the stairs. There was nothing for it, he supposed.

He headed for the stairs wordlessly, and felt Malfoy follow him.

They made their way through the hall and came to stop beneath the trapdoor. Harry reached up and tugged it down, the ladder clattering in front of him.

He set it up and climbed his way up, setting up excessive Lumos charms to stick to the ceiling, illuminating the entire attic.

"How did—this place survive?" Malfoy asked once he joined Harry up.

Harry shrugged:

"The attic had different wards, ones against magic attacks and force, because all the really important Order meetings took place here."

Malfoy hummed in vague acknowledgment, then came to stand beside Harry, eyes wandering towards the bed. The one bed, that they'd be sharing for the foreseeable future.

Something was cramped in Harry's chest.

He ignored it and shod his shoes and socks, kicked them aside and bravely made over to the bed. He sat down on it and cleared his throat awkwardly, fiddling with the bedding:

"Which side—do you sleep on?"

Malfoy blinked, expression folding as if he only now realized what was going on.

"Uhm, left?" He appeared confused.

Harry scooted back to the right side and laid down. He spared Malfoy a final glance, and almost chuckled. He looked just a little bit silly—standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, looking utterly lost. Instead, Harry turned away onto his side, and did his best to go to sleep. Malfoy could join him whenever he wanted to, or not. Up to him, Harry wouldn't be buggered about it.

He was tired enough to fall asleep pretty quickly, though not before he felt the bed tentatively dip as someone sat down.

Harry woke first.

Harry immediately regretted waking first.

As soon as he slowly peeled his eyes open, through the blur and the crust around them, he could make out someone's face slowly wavering into focus in front of him.

Incredibly pale, smooth skin, high, sharp cheekbones, platinum hair curling over a forehead and drooping over closed eyes, an elegant mouth, gently pressed together—

Wait fuck that was Malfoy!

The realization was cold enough to shock Harry's sleep addled brain straight into reality, his head catching up rather quickly to where he was, what had happened and who he was sharing a bed with.

Christ, it would have almost been okay to make such observations about anyone else in their sleep, but Malfoy? It felt strangely predatory of Harry, like he was taking advantage of Malfoy somehow by—well, looking at him. Which was ridiculous now that Harry thought about it.

He was clearly still sleep fiddled.

He didn't feel tired though. Which was a first in a very long time, that Harry woke up well rested. He staunchly refused to consider whether or not that had anything to do with the man next to him, instead attempted to shift out of bed.

Which was when he realized he couldn't move his left leg.

Harry summoned his glasses and stuck them on his nose so his vision would stop pulling at the edges, and glanced down, searching out the source of his immobility.

The source, as it turned out was Malfoy's right leg, his entire hip really, half twisted and draped over Harry's left leg, pinning him down into the mattress. The position appeared inherently painful to Harry, he couldn't fathom how Malfoy peacefully slept while contorted like that.

Then Harry realized that that really wasn't supposed to be his first concern in the situation. He was strangely okay with the position they were in though.

He'd have to pull quite harshly to get himself out of this predicament, which would probably wake up Malfoy, which would be such a shame, he looked so—gentle, the way he slept. Harry appreciated the sight.

He settled back down and levitated his glasses away, and resolved to remain still until Malfoy woke up, even if he didn't end up sleeping again.

He drifted off again pretty soon anyways, his mind full of pale skin and soft lips.

When Harry woke up the second time, the bed was cold and Malfoy was gone.

He slowly sat up and stretched up. His left leg was numb and he shook it out to ward off pins and needles. He swung off the side of the bed and stood, attempting to right his rumpled clothes a little, not even bothering with his hair. There was no point to it.

When Harry made his way downstairs, he overheard voices drifting from the kitchen. He recognized the grating, bullfrog lilt as Kreacher's and assumed the other person must have been Malfoy.

"Master Harry worries for Master Black." Kreacher was saying. "Master Harry used to ask after Master Black from Kreacher."

Harry felt his heart trip and a deep flush burn on his skin. He stood frozen on the last step, listening to them talk.

"Potter is stupid." Malfoy grumbled. "He worries about everyone."

Harry could hear the flap of Kreacher's ears from how violently the elf nodded:

"Master Harry will wear himself into an early grave. He used to constantly pester Kreacher about where Master Black was, if he were in the gardens so that Master Harry wouldn't disturb him."

Malfoy sighed, so very deeply and gravelly that it made Harry silently wince. Then he spoke:

"I don't—know how to deal with Potter anymore. I can't—handle it."

Harry slowly lowered himself to sit on the stair, anticipating that this might go on awhile. He felt a bit guilty, eavesdropping the way he was, but he wanted to know. He wanted to at least be nice to Malfoy, but he also had no clue how to approach it. Perhaps if he got to know more—

"What can't Master Black handle?" Kreacher obligingly asked, and Harry minded his thoughts in order to listen.

"He's not angry at me. Or well, doesn't seem to be." Was all Malfoy said. "He should be. Any of that would've been better than—this. I know how to deal with an angry Potter, but not with this."

There was a considerable silence.

"It is true that Master Harry is not angry anymore. But Master Harry used to be angry, at everything, everyone. Master Black too. Especially him. But one night two months ago, Master Harry sat down and wrote everything he was angry about. He wrote for hours and hours, until the sun went up. His hand was cramped. Then he burned all of it. He watched it all burn and told Kreacher he finally felt free."

Harry's heart caught in his throat. It was true—he'd insidiously realized one night that being angry and spiteful was only damaging him in the long run, only clouding his mind and feelings, keeping him shackled to all the past hurt and trauma. Everything he always dreamed of leaving past him. During the war, the battling and running for his life and all of his friends' lives—he dreamed of one day standing proud and being free.

And the way he felt when it was all over. Bitter and enraged. It was stifling and drowning him. Once he realized how badly he wanted to stop being so lost and hazed, he decided to employ a method he'd heard Molly tell him once, right after Fred's death, something she did to ease the grief.

Burn it.

Harry shook his head and swallowed a heavy lump, tuning back to hear Malfoy's response to what Kreacher told him.

"And?" Malfoy inquired, sounding soft but interested.

"And that's when he forgave." Kreacher simply replied.

Harry heard Malfoy's breath hitch.

"I don't—deserve that." He practically murmured.

Kreacher said nothing. He deflected the topic instead:

"Master Harry should be awake soon."

Harry heard Kreacher pop away. He leaned on the wall to regain himself. So that was why Malfoy had been avoiding him all this time. Why he assumed Harry would treat him as if he was worth less than dirt.

He felt that he truly was.

Harry felt too jumbled to attempt to process it. He hadn't thought that about Malfoy for a long time. Yes, there was a period where just thinking about him made Harry's stomach curdle with fury, but not anymore. Not for a while.

Was there any way Harry could help Malfoy? Did he even want to meddle into it that deep? If he did, could he do anything meaningful? Harry doubted it, Malfoy wouldn't really let him. And Harry wasn't an idiot, he obviously couldn't outright talk about it or prod. Malfoy was a precarious, iffy person at the best of times, which these were not. He supposed in the end, the best he could do was the same he'd already been doing, be nice and considerate. It required no real effort, and maybe it would wield some good results.

Harry didn't expect much of anything if he was being honest. He doubted they'd ever become friends, but he wanted things to at least be comfortable if nothing else.

He was willing to put in at least that much effort.

With a steepled breath, he stood and made his way into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes, pretending to have just woken up and come down. He knew better than to tell what he'd overheard.

"Morning." He muttered and went to make himself tea with what was left of the kitchen.

Malfoy stared at him, then inclined his head in a nod, though he didn't say anything.

As Harry bustled about he noticed that Malfoy was just blankly sitting at the bare table, sort of staring down at it.

"How do you take tea, Malfoy? If you didn't already have some." Harry threw over his shoulder as he grabbed two mugs and filled them with water.

He practically heard Malfoy stiffen up like an utter prat.

"Potter." Malfoy grit after a moment. "What are you doing?"

Harry sighed. He knew exactly what Malfoy was implying but he wasn't sure how to explain to the arse that he simply didn't plan on antagonizing anyone anymore ever again.

"I'm making tea Malfoy." Harry replied simply, grating his voice in so he'd sound more patient than he honestly felt.

"You know what I meant." Malfoy mumbled, voice jagged.

So he was still capable of picking a fight. Good.

"I do know Malfoy, but I don't know what you expect me to tell you." Harry abruptly turned around and leaned back on the counter, all but forgetting about tea. "I don't hate you anymore, I'm not pointlessly angry anymore, I'm not going to pick fights with you and I don't have any sort of ulterior motives. I really fail to see how you didn't notice any of that in the past month you've lived here."

Malfoy finally turned around in his chair and stared at Harry, though it felt as though he was attempting to stare through Harry's skull into his thoughts.

Before the idiot had time to draw any outrageous conclusions of his own, Harry barreled on:

"I know we might never be able to be friends, but I just—want things to be neutral at least. I'm trying, okay? There's nothing more to it."

Malfoy still said nothing, his jaw knotted. He didn't believe Harry, that much was obvious.

Harry outstretched his hand towards Malfoy before he could talk himself out of it.

"I'm sorry Draco." He nodded sincerely. He dropped the last name, and decided to finally offer something up. Something to give, so that the blonde would have something to hold Harry to. Perhaps silent actions weren't enough, the way Harry had assumed they'd been. His hand remained firmly out. Maybe then—Draco would be more inclined to let the tension melt away, if he had something as reassurance. "I know better now. About everything."

Draco swallowed thickly at least twice—not that Harry was counting—and then he lifted his own hand and gripped Harry's.

They shook firmly twice before dropping away.

Draco might've thought he was being subtle, but Harry noticed how he stared at his hand in utter astonishment for a few seconds afterwards. It was—oddly cute.

"So then, how do you take your tea?" Harry found himself smiling a quirky little smile.

The rest of the day was uneventful. They moved some clothes up into the attic and organized everything before Harry went out to find a magi-repairman. They didn't talk, but Draco didn't look like he wanted to bolt at any and all times any longer. Instead he just looked lost in thought, going through the motions of his actions mechanically. Harry didn't bother him or push further. He was so relieved to find the silence between them was now settled and eased.

When all of that was done, he left Draco on his own and ventured out to go find the closest Repairs service in the area. The excuse he'd worked up in his head for the state of things at home was that Grimmauld was so old the wards went wonky and ended up damaging the house. He was half sure any half decent magi-repairman would see straight through the lie, but Harry hoped he might be able to draw out some of the admiration people seemed to feel for him and use it.

It sickened him.

Regardless.

While he browsed through Diagon, he found himself feeling restless and twisty. He didn't exactly know why, the sensation seemed to rise up from nowhere, but as he stood in front of a shop front, preparing to go in and ignore it, there was a tug on his hand and he looked down to find Kreacher, glaring at everyone around them. Before Harry had a chance to blink in utter confusion, Kreacher looked up:

"Master Black is unwell."

Ah. So that was why he felt prickly.

Harry just gave a curt nod and had Kreacher apparate them back to Grimmauld. Standing outside the gates and staring up at the huge house, Harry noticed it bending from the outside.

He rushed inside and found that nothing had gotten as bad as last time, which meant there was still time to get everything under control.

"Draco!" He yelled when he failed to find Draco anywhere downstairs. Not in the kitchen, living room or bathroom. "Draco, where the bloody hell are you?!" His voice rose as he made it up the stairs and swung around the corner, into the attic hallway.

Nothing.

Draco wasn't in any of the still upended bedrooms either.

"Kreacher where the fuck is he?" Harry snapped when anxiety sharpened into blades within him and cut into his insides.

Kreacher popped next to Harry immediately.

"Kreacher thinks Master Black might have found himself in the Ancestral wing of Grimmauld. It could have opened for him because he is the last pureblooded child of the noble line of Black."

Harry's stomach curdled with sick panic.

"How the fuck do I get him out?" He almost tripped over his own words.

He'd heard all about the Ancestral wing from Kreacher when he'd first moved in. It was a hidden wing of Grimmauld that only revealed itself to a pureblooded descendant of the Black family. It was filled with ancient dark spells, artifacts, portraits, family history and the like.

It was no place for Draco Malfoy.

Who had a Dark Mark.

And unstable magic.

Even worse, a beaten down psyche.

"The Ancestral wing only opens to those who are Pureblood." Kreacher shook his head.

Grimmauld creaked in warning.

If Draco had found something in there—worse yet, if he touched something dark, who the fuck knows how the remains of the Mark lingering would react or what it would do to his magic.

And by the looks of it, one of the endless options had already happened.

Gods, Harry was so screwed.

"Kreacher, I don't care, I have to get him out of there!" Harry's yell was clipped, as he rushed along the walls, running his hands over them, trying to find some sort of nook or cranny, some notch or a trapdoor. Anything.

The device dangling around Harry's neck felt as if it weighed a thousand pounds.

If he couldn't find any alternative way to reach Draco before his magical energy became a danger, he'd have to press the damn button. And even that didn't mean shit because he'd still have no idea how to physically pull Draco out from whenever he was.

He could try—apparating to Draco.

That was—incredibly risky as he had no clue what this wing looked like, he had nothing to visualize except Draco himself. And that was a gamble in of itself, because imagining a person and apparating to them instead of the place they were in could end up with Harry apparating quite literally inside Draco, since visualizing him would constitute as a place, which would kill them both.

"Master Harry can not enter the Ancestral wing." Kreacher intoned behind Harry.

Harry stopped fussing about the walls and took a deep breath, his fingers clenching into fists.

"Kreacher, I have to get to him. Any way I can." He reaffirmed.

The Ministry cleared Harry on what was the effective of custody over Draco. Harry was responsible for the bastard, even though he didn't necessarily want to be. And even if the Ministry hadn't put such obligations upon his shoulders, Harry was pretty sure he'd still go manic if he lost another human into a part of his house he couldn't access where they were likely to starve or die from something dark lurking about.

Add onto that that the human being couldn't control the amount or the force of magical energy their body expels under stress or some sort of influence, and it was a perfect combination for utter destruction.

"Right. I'm going to attempt to apparate to him." Harry declared. "Straight through all the wards if I damn well have to."

Kreacher immediately shrieked:

"Master Harry must not! It could kill you both!"

Harry whirled around on Kreacher, eyes wide and bright:

"What else would you have me do Kreacher? You keep saying I can't access the wing, and I have to pull Draco out of there, I'm not leaving him to die in there."

Draco had almost died by Harry's hand once.

Never again.

Kreacher stared up at Harry, then dropped his head and acridly muttered:

"Master Harry is just a fool."

Harry didn't pay him any mind. Instead he centered himself and imagined Draco. He imagined his posture, his lithe frame climbing up to a pale, aristocratic features and soft as down platinum hair. He let the mental image linger deep in his mind for a moment, before he twisted on the spot, holding his breath as he apparated.

When Harry toppled to the ground, he was much too shocked for the barest of seconds to take notice of anything around him.

That's when an agonizing pain burst through the length of his entire right arm, as if his skin was burning off. He didn't dare look at the damage, lest he lose his focus.

He was in an incredibly dark, spacious wing, with shelves of books and various artifacts arranged in wide spirals and circles around.

Harry pushed himself to stand, his right arm searing further. He grit his teeth not to scream out in agony, and instead forced himself to call for Draco.

"Draco!" He yelled, voice nearly giving out on him. He weaved through all the loops and circles, between shelves and through all the sticky, oppressive feels of dark magic hanging about.

As he emerged to the middle, he found Draco sitting on the floor, gripping his head with one hand, knees drawn to his chest while he leaned back on his other arm. There were visible ripples around him from all the magic he was expelling.

He was shaking.

"Draco!" Harry called out once again, eyes slowly blurring from the pain eating away at his arm.

Draco jerked sharply at the sound of his name and slowly registered Harry approaching him.

"Potter—" Draco reached out for Harry, eyes wide and swimming.

Once Harry was close enough, he gripped Draco's arm tightly with his left hand and harshly pulled him to his feet, causing Draco to nearly stumble into him. When they were stable enough, Harry knotted his jaw and spun on the spot, thinking of his bright, clean, non dark living room.

He had to get them out. He had to have just enough in him to get them out.

Once they crashed to the floor in the living room, Harry felt like he could take a clear breath again.

That ability was quickly impeded as his right arm seized up and sent another trickle of sharp, brutal pain that had him screaming.

Draco scrambled off him and blinked for a second before he seemed to realize why Harry was screaming.

"Dear Circe, Merlin and Christ—" He swore under his breath. "Potter, your fucking arm—"

"I fucking know! I feel it!" Harry hissed between clenched teeth. He dared to finally turn his head down to take a look. His stomach turned to rot as he realized his arm was flayed, the skin eaten halfway off, exposing muscle and tendons beneath, oozing copious amounts of blood onto the floor.

"Kreacher!" Draco shrieked at the top of his lungs while Harry screwed his eyes tightly and panted raggedly, casting his mind away from the debilitating pain. At least attempting to.

Kreacher popped in and was immediately repulsed and horrified to see the state of Harry. Draco didn't give the elf any time for anything:

"I need three Blood Replenishers and two Pain Reliefs, a jar of murtlap and essence of dittany." He barked orders, his voice shaking slightly. "Do you have them?"

Harry's consciousness was going hazy, melting into a blurry puddle, as his body spasmed slowly. A deep pain burrowed through him insidiously. Draco's voice was the only thing that penetrated through the liquid in his head. He used to study to be a Healer. How sadly ironic that was.

"Potter, stay awake, stay awake—" Draco's voice was rushed and close by.

Harry registered the words with delay, mind drooping into oblivion.

"Please stay awake—" It was a panicked plea.

There was nothing Harry could do however, just so, he blacked out.

When Harry slowly came to once again, he felt as if he were floating. His right arm tingled with pins and needles, and he felt groggy and exhausted.

He realized after another second of reorienting himself that he was in a bed. Then as he registered the slant of the ceiling, he realized he was in the attic. And as he slowly turned his head about, he realized Draco was sitting by his bed, dozing thinly in a chair.

As he pondered this, slowly his mind cleared up enough for him to remember everything that had gone down. He had to apparate into the Ancestral wing of Grimmauld to pull Draco, whose magic was growing destructive, out. He must've splinched himself when he did it, and then something else happened to his arm on top of it. He remembered apparating them back, he remembered blood as he stared at his own flesh and meat, exposed beneath eaten away skin. His mouth tasted of ash and he let the memory slip away, lost in some far away corner of his mind.

He had no idea what the bloody hell happened after it all.

He just remembered he passed out from pain on the floor.

Harry endeavored to lift his injured arm, a sore ache throbbing through him as he pulled the motion, staring at his heavily bandaged arm up to his wrist, leaving his palm free. The bandaging was tight, but the finishing was sloppy. Panicked.

Harry slowly pushed himself to sit up and took a look at Draco, who looked like death warmed over.

Even more starkly pale and gaunt, with faint circles under his eyes.

Huh. Things must've been really bad if Draco Malfoy stressed over Harry.

His throat was parched from such a long sleep and he reached for the glass of water next to the bed, as well as his glasses that sat by it. Once those aches were relieved, Harry wondered where to go from here. His arm only remained faintly sore, whatever healing job Draco did on him was absolutely fantastic.

Harry's eyes wandered back to Draco of their own accord. When didn't they? He looked tired and—small, the way he was slumped over in the chair. Usually, Harry wasn't much for cold, hard reason and logic, he trusted his feelings and gut to guide him. But the tightness of his chest and the slow lump in his throat when he looked at Draco were not feelings he could trust. For all his Gryffindor, he didn't dare. To their credit though, most of the time they weren't there.

Or, well, they were, but Harry perhaps just hadn't noticed?

He didn't know. The second month of summer had nearly come to a close, he abruptly realized while he chased down a timeline for how this all started, it wouldn't be too long before they returned to Hogwarts.

And then what? Harry supposed he'd stop feeling this way once he was back in school. There would be other people there, his friends, and he wouldn't be focusing as much on Draco. Here in Grimmauld, it was only them and Kreacher, perhaps that's why Harry felt constricted near Draco.

Maybe he was just lonely.

Either way, it didn't entirely matter. It wasn't anything he couldn't deal with, so he'd leave it be for now. No point panicking over something he knew nothing about, now was there?

Harry blinked and shook himself bodily, letting the thoughts banish themselves.

"Kreacher." Harry called quietly, unwilling to disturb Draco.

Kreacher popped in, a hard glare in his eyes:

"Kreacher told Master Harry not to do it! Master Harry never listens!" The old elf went off immediately. "The Noble Ancestral wing is only accessible to Purebloods! There are wards and charms in place to eat anyone else who enters it alive!"

Suddenly what happened to his arm made a lot more sense to Harry. His heart juddered as he realized that had they stayed even a little longer, he'd have been dead, eaten alive by carnivorous wards that hungered for blood.

"Christ." Harry slumped a little, gripping his right arm to his chest. Merlin, he was lucky to even have the bloody thing still.

"Indeed! Master Harry could've lost his arm, had Master Black not intervened." Kreacher went on, crossing his old arms across his chest. "Master Black was so frantic he was fumbling with bandages and potions and everything else tooo."

Harry stared at Draco again. It was understandable to freak the fuck out when faced with someone's half eaten arm, Harry felt stupid for feeling surprised.

"He was constantly mumbling and pleading for Master Harry not to die like this while healing." Kreacher finished filling Harry on what had happened after he'd passed out on the floor.

Which begged a different question:

"How long was I out anyways?" Harry's brows furrowed. He expected perhaps a day or so, given the way things were.

Kreacher shook his head in utter disapproval:

"About a week."

Harry blanched.

A—A—week?!

Holy fucking shit, he'd been borderline comatose.

"Master Black refused to move away from the bedside, only to occasionally eat, upon Kreacher's insistence. He always stayed to change the bandages or fuss over some thing or other." Kreacher finally said after Harry stopped gaping.

It was so—oddly sweet, of Draco to do so. Harry found himself reevaluating everything he figured he knew about the blonde. It was sort of nice, to see it differently.

Just then, Draco stirred and woke up, jerking violently once his half bleary gaze fell upon a very much awake, sitting up Harry.

"Potter—" He grouched, straightening up and rubbing at his eyes to clear them.

"Yea?" Harry inquired.

"What the fuck happened?"

"Didn't Kreacher tell you already?" Harry was slightly confused. Kreacher was more than willing to depart with information upon Harry, how come he did not do the same with Draco?

Draco flushed for the barest of moments:

"He—did try, but I didn't exactly listen."

Harry caught himself before he smiled. Kreacher had mentioned Draco had gone loony.

"The part of the house you wandered into, that opened for you, it's the Ancestral wing of Grimmauld." Harry explained.

Draco nodded and grimaced:

"I figured as much after aunt Walburga screeched at me from her portrait."

Harry shared the sentiment:

"She's a nightmare. That wing only lets Purebloods in though." He continued talking. "What happened to you there?" Harry intoned before he continued the story. He wondered what set off Draco's magic like that.

Draco grit his teeth, then spoke through them:

"There was a crystal ball, or something that vaguely resembled it and it—spoke to me."

Harry nodded slowly:

"What did it say?"

Draco's eyebrow twitched slightly. There was a pinch in his brow.

"It sounded like my—mother. It called me closer."

Harry didn't prod further.

"Okay, yeah." He said instead, then swiftly continued: "So anyways, I was out in Diagon looking for a repair service shop, and I felt—restless, I guess. Wasn't a minute later that Kreacher came to get me."

Draco was nodding, the pinch from his face smoothing away.

Harry continued the story, feeling sort of bad when Draco went completely gray once Harry explained what happened with his arm.

"I was—bored so I went around the house after you left. And there was a door I didn't think I've seen before so I went in, didn't think anything of it." Draco shrugged and explained as to how he even came to be in the Ancestral wing.

Harry nodded, though something struck him as odd. Why would Grimmauld show that entire wing now? Sure, Draco was a Pureblood, but there had been other Purebloods here before him, as far as Harry knew, Grimmauld never revealed the sacred wing.

Something had to be up with the house, and if anyone knew, it was Kreacher. Harry resolved to ask the elf later.

"About your arm—" Draco started after a while, his leg bouncing on the floor, jerking his chin at it. "I had to—regrow most of the skin and, well, those patches are going to be different in color from the rest."

Harry stared down at his bandaged arm. That was—unexpected. Harry couldn't imagine it looking too different or bad though, it was all still skin after all, just a few parts would be differently colored. It's not as if he'd be disfigured.

"Right, okay." He nodded. "Thanks for, patching me up, as it were." Harry huffed at his own bad joke and shook his head at himself.

To his surprise, Draco actually chuckled. It tapered off after a moment, but it was bright and melodic and Harry was by now definitely certain he couldn't trust the tightening in his chest.

At all.

Draco, Harry realized in the coming days, was a chronic worrywart.

And that, was absolutely delightful to watch.

The few days after Harry came to and started moving about again, he could always feel eyes lingering on him. At first Harry dismissed it, since he wasn't sure what it was that Draco actually wanted and the chances of being answered if he asked were extremely low, but it wasn't until he started carrying chairs and levitating a table up into the attic that Harry realized why Draco was constantly staring and hovering.

He was worried. About Harry.

Which always made a grin tug at Harry's lips.

Once he realized that, the constant scathing glares Draco directed at Harry carrying anything, were so much easier to deal with.

"Potter." Draco snipped one day, while Harry was in the process of lifting another chair. He wanted to clear up as much space as possible, for when he actually got a repairman there, so they could work easier. "Why are you going around with chairs and tables?" There was a sneer on his face, but Harry knew better.

Harry swallowed a grin. Ah.

"Well, to make space for when I finally get a repairman here, so they could work." He answered as nonchalantly as he could.

Draco's sneer twisted further and he all but legitimately stomped up to Harry and yanked the chair out of Harry's grip, then without a single word, stomped his way up the stairs to the attic.

Harry couldn't help himself from laughing.

Draco insisted that Harry don't go get anyone until his bandages were removed, because lots of magical activity around a magic induced injury could sometimes cause hives. So for a few days longer, they just sat around the house, pretty much each doing his own thing.

They shared the bed, which was growing a lot more comfortable as time passed, and Harry almost grew comfortable to waking up with any given part of his body pinned under Draco who must've just rolled over in his sleep like that. Or he was a cuddly sleeper.

The day Draco finally removed Harry's bandages, Harry was a bit surprised to see his arm. It looked as though there were merely splotches of pale, milky skin covering his own, it did not look like a scar, or new skin at all. It was smoothed over, looked pretty much normal. It reminded Harry a little bit of a thing called Vitiligo that some Muggles had.

"Okay then." Harry nodded after inspecting it for a moment. Draco honestly seemed more surprised to see it than Harry himself, if the way he kept continuously staring was any indication of anything.

"Right. This is done then, yea? I'll go back to Diagon to find a repair service. Please don't put yourself in mortal peril while I'm out." Harry continued speaking, his voice promptly snapping Draco out of whatever staring daze he fell into.

He sneered a little at Harry's words:

"I will not, Potter."

Harry just shrugged and left the house.

When he came back with two magi-repairmen, Draco was nowhere to be found. Harry showed them around and pointed out all the damage, noting with slight concern that they were growing paler and paler while they inspected everything.

" , what happened here? This kind of damage is extensive and most certainly not induced by some wards collapsing." The man said, while he ran his hand down the crack on one of the walls.

Harry bit his lip and swallowed:

"Well, I assumed it was the wards, I don't know what else it might've been, I wasn't living here at the time." He lied and prayed to heavens it was convincing enough.

The pair of repairmen nodded at his explanation, but didn't look particularly swayed. Well, whatever, Harry couldn't worry about that.

"Approximately, how long will the repairs take?" Harry mused, and the woman answered:

"We'd say about a month or so."

Harry nodded distractedly. That should just about wrap up by the time they had to go back to school. But that meant—Harry would practically be spending a month living in the bloody attic with Draco.

He felt himself pale at the notion.

A month ago he wouldn't have cared, but now that there were all this odd emotions and feelings constricting inside him, ones he didn't quite understand nor did he want to attempt to, he didn't trust that everything would go over fine.

" ? Are you alright?" The woman waved her hand in front of his face and Harry snapped out of it and nodded shakily. "I was asking whether there was anywhere you could stay while we do our work around here?"

Harry cleared his throat before he spoke:

"Oh yeah. I've set up a room in the attic. I'll allow the wards to let you back through when you need it."

The woman nodded at him and went to join her partner in finishing up the assessment of everything and then start work.

Harry took a breath and went upstairs, assuming Draco was already up in the attic. He turned out to be right when he climbed up into it and found Draco sitting at the table that was brought up.

"Hey." Harry nodded awkwardly and Draco just hummed vaguely in response.

Well then.

Harry sat on the bed, and thought about where to go from here. He was a bit miffed that they still weren't at least on talking terms. Things seemed to be at least partly okay now, at least for Harry, he was comfortable around Draco. At this point, it felt as if things were just stuck in place, and Harry wanted to move on from it. He felt as though things would revert back to being stiff and awkward the way they were at the start if nothing was done, and that was just walking backwards, which he was not down for.

Still, Draco seemed bloody fine the way things were, which was understandable to a degree. It was just that there was so much Harry genuinely didn't understand, starting with his goddamn house and ending right with Draco that he just felt irked.

Well, one thing at a time, he supposed.

He called for Kreacher.

When the elf popped into the attic, Draco's eyes trailed over towards them.

"Draco isn't the first Pureblood here, why did Grimmauld open the Ancestral wing now?" Harry asked, eyes narrowing as he awaited the answer.

Kreacher looked back at Draco before he turned to face Harry again:

"Ever since Master Black's outburst, Grimmauld has sensed a pure source of magic, a Black descendant. Grimmauld wants to preserve the Black line and it let him into the Ancestral wing so he would find the Black signet."

Harry felt as if the floor disappeared under him.

"And?" He inquired, voice shaky. There was only one thing that could mean and it threatened to screw everything up.

Kreacher's ears flopped as he moved his head around while he spoke:

"And bond to Master Harry in order to eventually produce heirs."

Harry heard Draco choke on something in the background. Harry felt suspended in cold shock himself.

"Draco—did you touch anything?" Harry forced the words past his knotted jaw.

Draco was looking excessively pale.

"I—the ball, the crystal ball. I touched that." He admitted slowly.

Harry's blood ran ice cold.

He had no clue what the Black signet looked like, but if that ball was somehow it or connected to it, then they were both fucked.

"Kreacher—what does the Black signet look like? What is it?" Harry turned to his elf, a headache starting to twist at his temples.

"It is a ring, suspended within a crystallized glass orb. It is infused with lure magic so that Grimmauld could make sure that it has its way." Even Kreacher looked a little sick saying it.

The world spun.

That's where the restless feeling Harry experienced in Diagon came from. He was getting fucking bonded to Draco. And that also must've been why Draco's magic went to shit.

Holy shit.

Harry took a few deep breaths, he needed enough oxygen to process this.

"We're bonded." He finally managed to sputter at length.

"Fuck." He heard Draco grit.

Indeed.

"What does this—mean, Kreacher?" Harry felt strung up tight as a bow.

Kreacher stared between them for some time, before he explained:

"The bond Grimmauld enforced is designed for procreation purposes so the line would be preserved. Masters will probably experience—"

"Oh fuck—" Draco's forehead dropped to the table with an audible thud.

Harry's stomach twisted itself into a knot at the implication.

"—desire for each other after some time passes from the bonding." Kreacher finished.

Shit.

Harry dropped his face into his hands and desperately attempted to cling to any rationale and not just succumb to blind panic. He heard Draco's chair scrape against the floor as he stood and began to pace, his shoes clicking against the floor.

Kreacher's voice was the most compassionate Harry had ever heard it be when he continued speaking:

"The desire can not be alleviated unless the Masters engage in—coupling."

Harry almost threw up at the words.

Kreacher wasn't done yet though:

"If nothing is done after about eight months, the bond will corrupt and rot and make both Masters sick and cold. Eventually it will kill them." Kreacher shuffled his feet. "The bond was made such as punishment. If there was no heir, there would be no you either."

Harry felt his head throb and pulse.

"We're both—men. Wizards can't have kids. Can't we break the bond on account of that?" He pleaded there was a loophole such as that that they could exploit.

Kreacher thought about this for a moment.

"The bond can not be—broken the way it is now, it would kill both Masters most grievously. It can, however, be altered, to its milder shape, to not demand an heir since the Masters can not produce one."

Harry was so focused on what Kreacher's words that he didn't notice that the attic was rumbling. When Kreacher swayed on his feet and toppled over suddenly, Harry's head jerked up to find that Draco was pacing, the air around him shimmering and wavering.

"Draco. Calm down, Christ, not now—" Harry pleaded, standing up from the bed and rushing to Draco.

The moment Draco registered him approaching, his face twisted and he stumbled backwards. A wave of unrestrained magic swallowed the room, sent Harry flying backwards into the opposite wall.

Harry felt his back and head crack against the wood and heaved as all the air knocked out of his lungs. He crumpled to the ground, slowly attempting to push himself up onto his forearms. His legs felt wobbly and he couldn't pull himself up to stand.

The room swam and jerked, while Draco remained plastered against the wall up the front of Harry, breathing heavily while his magic rolled through the space. His head felt fuzzy and unclear.

He had to do—something—There—

There were—other people in Grimmauld now. The—repairmen. Harry couldn't—let them get hurt or—discover what's really going on—He had to—

Harry burrowed a hand between himself and the floor, jerking the little device into his palm.

"Sorry." He muttered, and decidedly pressed the silver, gleaming button with his thumb.

There was a wail of choked up pain, then a thump when Draco collapsed too.

The attic stopped shaking.

Slowly, in the silence, Kreacher pulled himself up and stared at Harry first then at Draco. Kreacher headed for Harry first but Harry waved his hand with the device still in it:

"No. Go see to him first. I'm fine."

Kreacher nodded and bustled away to Draco, who was twitching a little from the shock he'd received.

Harry pushed himself up to sit on his knees, his shoulders and spine screaming at him to stop straining them. A slow whimper tore out from his throat. His head was still swimming, and he tentatively touched the back of it, his fingers coming away red with some blood.

Why was it that every time Draco's magic went out of control, Harry ended up bodily harmed or somehow otherwise injured?

Harry cast a cleaning charm over his head, wincing a little at the sting, then a sloppy healing spell. He wasn't competent at them at all, not like Hermione or Draco, but he figured it should serve him until he saw exactly what kind of damage he just did to Draco.

Christ.

He slowly shook his legs out and stood up, walking over to where Kreacher was checking Draco over.

"Float him into bed." Harry instructed, thinking over what exactly to do now. All he knew was that Draco just went through an electric jolt, and he had no clue how to deal with that.

Kreacher levitated Draco over onto the bed, and Harry stared down at him while he thought. He figured it would hurt, right?

"Kreacher, get some Pain relief from my emergency stock and—Well, I don't know what else, do you know?" He looked down at his elf.

Kreacher was in utter disbelief at Harry's statement:

"Does Kreacher look like a medical elf?"

Harry grimaced and sighed. Why did these things always happen to him?

"Right, sorry. Just get me some Pain relief potions—and a muscle relaxant then. Thanks." Harry added then, he figured that a muscle relaxant could be useful after an electric shock.

Draco wasn't entirely unconscious, from what Harry could see, but his gaze was sort of blurry as it rolled about the room.

"How the fuck did it come to this?" Harry muttered quietly, just as Kreacher popped in next to him, holding the three vials.

Harry took them and sipped one, groaning with relief when his shoulders and spine gave way and stopped tearing with each tiny movement.

He leaned over Draco then, slid a hand under his head and tilted it backwards, slipping the other Pain relief down his throat, then the relaxant.

Draco swallowed dutifully, then Harry left him alone, since he had no clue what else he could do but let him rest, going over to collapse into the chair Draco had been previously occupying.

They were bonded.

Accidentally fucking bonded.

"Kreacher, come here." Harry beckoned the poor old elf over to the table, and when Kreacher hopped into the chair, Harry got right down to the point:

"You said—earlier, you said that there is a way to alter the bond so that it at least doesn't demand kids. How do we do that?"

"There is a ritual that allows the bond to be altered." Kreacher explained. "However it involves a complete sealing of the bond."

Harry's heart dropped somewhere deep.

"What do you mean? Isn't it done already?"

Kreacher shook his head, voice grating on annoyed for all the explaining and running around he'd been doing the past while:

"The bond is complete, but in order to be altered it must also be sealed. It will not let itself be changed to a milder form if there is no proof the Masters are committed."

They aren't. Harry acridly thought, but bit his tongue. Instead he rolled his eyes as subtly as he could manage, and inquired on how exactly would they seal the bond.

Kreacher shrugged:

"Most of the time, a kiss is acceptable."

Sweet Merlin and Christ.

"And what after that?"

Kreacher explained the rest of the ritual, which was honestly a lot different than what Harry had expected. With most of this archaic crap, he'd half been expecting to be sacrificing goats to pentagrams or slicing his palm open. Harry was extremely relieved no goat had to meet an unwarranted end though. What they actually had to do was draw a rune circle and kneel within it, then join hands in a wedding knot, kiss and mutter some incantations in Latin.

Done. No longer needed to have babies.

And, wait—did that mean—

"When we alter it, it can't kill us anymore, can it?" Harry prodded, suddenly feeling seven pounds lighter and at least several IQ points smarter.

Kreacher nodded slowly:

"No. Breaking it will only make the Masters very sick for a while. However, the bond mustn't be broken for at least six months."

Harry's good mood evaporated like sizzling water.

"Why?" If his voice was a whine, no one except Kreacher could bear witness to it.

"That's how long it takes for the bond to accept the alteration of the ritual." Kreacher simply said.

Right. Well. Better than dying a second time, Harry supposed.

"We'll kill each other." Draco's voice suddenly announced from the direction of the bed.

Harry jerked his head over to see Draco sitting up and flattening his hair. He arched an eyebrow at the comment:

"We struck a truce, didn't we? I thought things were at least gray now."

Draco snorted, probably one of the first few actual emotions Harry had seen him express through any of their few interactions.

"They are, Potter. That is not why we'll kill each other." He elaborated.

Harry was still confused.

"I cry when I'm horny. And if this bond thing is to be believed, we're always going to be horny." Draco deadpanned in the flattest tone any human being has ever used since human beings conceived to exist. "I'll have to kill you because you know too much, then myself because I'm not living with that shame."

Harry, for his part, was in so much shock it was comical. Then, once he abruptly realized the full breadth of what Draco just said he started helplessly laughing. He laughed until there were tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. By the time he was done, his stomach hurt and both Kreacher and Draco were staring at him as if he were utterly insane.

He probably was. A little.

"It wasn't that funny Potter." Draco rolled his eyes, a slight intone of offense to it.

Harry found an additional chuckle in himself somewhere:

"No, no, it's not that. It was just so—unexpected. Before the, well, truce, we didn't talk at all, just sort of avoided each other and existed. Then after, we still aren't ever talking much, we're just avoiding each other less." Harry put into the words the jumbled mess he'd been attempting to sort through his head for the past two months or so. "And then you just say—that, it caught me off guard."

Draco offered a mere elegant shrug by response, face sort of blank but warily amused:

"Well, I'll be crying a whole bunch in the foreseeable future apparently. Thought to get it out of the way now why. So your her—hm, Gryffindorness, doesn't come prodding."

Harry nodded, his own amusement showing through, though a small part somewhere in him bloomed at the fact Draco bothered to correct himself:

"Thanks for the heads up."

Kreacher's eyes spoke of something Harry didn't quite understand when he popped away to check on the progress of the repairmen.

It took the rest of that week for the bond to go into effect.

How did Harry know that exactly?

He woke up abruptly one Sunday morning, hard and shivery, only to realize Draco was sitting on the floor, his back leaning against the bed, and quietly hiccuping and sobbing.

For a few seconds, Harry made to reach out and see what was so wrong, before the pressure of his own cock jolted him to cold reality and with a swooping sense of horror he realized what had actually happened.

It had begun.

Holy bloody hell, it had actually begun—

"Fuck." He managed to utter and Draco went still and taut once he heard Harry. He didn't even breathe for a second, before he spoke:

"Indeed."

Harry swallowed saliva rapidly, feeling overwhelmed by all his thoughts while persistently nagged at by his body, and as he looked on at the back of Draco's head and his slim neck and cut shoulders—

Christ. No.

The bloody bond was going in on it.

Right. Well. Harry supposed he should think of a way to get rid of the problem, at least momentarily.

As if reading his mind though, Draco turned around to face him, his eyes puffy from crying but glazed from lust.

"Don't bother trying to make it go away. Trust me I've tried everything short of turning myself into a eunuch." He bitterly glared down at his own crotch for a second before slumping forwards.

"Isn't there anything to be done?" Harry pleaded, shifting his legs to accommodate an erection he didn't want and was not in the mood for. He opted not to consider the meaning of Draco's statements too closely either.

"Not that I know of." Draco grit.

Harry couldn't believe what he was about to do, but—

"Kreacher."

Draco stared in full, comprehending horror as the despair of Harry's summons filtered through.

Kreacher popped in and, to his credit, did not even twitch when he found Harry pressed on the bed with his knees up to his chest and a hand stuffed between them and Draco kneeling on the floor, palm of one hand grinding into his groin.

"Kreacher understands the bond has come into effect?" The elf inquired as politely as that sentence could have ever gone over.

Harry swallowed any remaining shreds of his dignity and vowed to mourn them later:

"Yes. What are our options?"

One of Kreacher's ears twitched for the briefest of moments.

"Coupling is the only way to lose the desire and lust. Otherwise, the Masters can only wish to distract themselves or engage in self-pleasu—"

"Thank you Kreacher!" Harry yelled as loud as he could in his complete and sheer panic. He couldn't ever let his bloody elf say those words to him or he might just have to set himself on fire.

He was starting to feel as though he was burning now though, so perhaps it wouldn't be as effective.

"The repairmen will be arriving withing 20 minutes to resume working." Kreacher informed duly as an aside, then popped off.

Harry dared a glance at Draco and stifled a groan. He looked—well, he looked the same, but looking at him now made Harry feel as though he was having an orgasm without ever actually experiencing it as opposed to just the typical shortness of breath from before.

"You just—asked your fucking house elf—" Draco mumbled on a repeat, still utterly horrified.

"He's the only one that has any clue how any of this works!" Harry yelped defensively, struggling not to thrust his hips into his underwear, as his erection refused to wane no matter how much Harry pressed on it or drove himself to distraction with thoughts of Snape in a dress.

The urge to reach out and card his fingers through Draco's hair was grave. To pull him forth by it into a kiss and—

Fuck.

"Of all the bonds out there, we get saddled with the lust one. Why the bloody hell did you touch that blasted signet anyways?" Harry miserably whined, not really expecting an answer.

"My mother is dead Potter." Draco's voice was sudden and cold as steel.

Harry winced violently, his jaw going slack while a freeze came over him. He'd heard the news. After Lucius Malfoy's lifelong Azkaban sentence for his crimes in both Wizarding Wars, Narcissa Malfoy had been under house arrest when her heart just gave out from loneliness and heartbreak.

"And I'd just heard her voice again." Draco's expression didn't waver from perfect porcelain and then, in that one moment he was the old, cold Malfoy again. Everything that being one meant, he embodied it.

In the possibly most inappropriate of bodily reactions, Harry's cock throbbed.

"I'm sorry for your loss, she deserved better." Harry slowly nodded, a sudden apprehension he hadn't felt in a long time when looking at Draco pulling his shoulders taut regardless of what the lust bond was forcing his body into experiencing.

But then, Draco deflated just as quickly, expression dropping to the same tired, bored one he always seemed to don.

"I don't blame you. I get it. I'd have done the same if I were you." Harry nodded, trying to shift away and further into the wall, to keep himself more in control and coherent. The shifting had him gritting his teeth painfully.

Draco dropped his forehead to the edge of the bed, a soft, pained whimper so quiet Harry wouldn't have heard it if he didn't feel overly sensitive and hyperfocused on everything grazing out his throat.

Harry thumped his head back against the wall, starting to shiver. This wasn't rational. This was actual bullshit.

Nothing he felt physiologically made any fucking sense at all. At least the bond only went so far as to force lust, and not as far as to force or twist emotion. At least Harry's feelings were his own if absolutely nothing else was. Though maybe even that would somehow turn against him, the way things were going—

"The ritual." Harry spoke abruptly, grappling at anything for distraction, futilely pressing his cock down all the while. "Kreacher told me, how to alter the bond so it doesn't require children and consequently doesn't kill us to punish us for not having them."

Draco slowly lifted his head to look at Harry. His lips were set in a thin lie, skin flushed faintly and his eyes were so wide and glazed that the pupil nearly swallowed the iris.

Harry shifted uncomfortably and forced himself to keep talking:

"We'll need to draw up a rune circle, kneel inside it and mutter some Latin incantations." Harry braved a way to break this next part gently. "But—we'll also need to, err, kiss."

Draco facepalmed:

"Why?"

Harry shrugged with one shoulder:

"Kreacher said it's something about the bond being unwilling to alter itself unless we prove some sort of commitment first."

The blonde nodded though his face twisted into a grimace that couldn't have looked more fake, if only because it couldn't reach his eyes:

"Right. We can break it after that though, yeah?"

Harry bit his lip and sadly shook his head, a unique type of chill coming through him:

"No. It takes six months for the bond to adjust the change. We can only break it safely then."

No sooner had he spoken, had Draco dramatically thrown his head back and screamed. Actually, honest to God screamed in pure frustration.

Harry was glad that the attic had silencing wards, else the repairmen would have probably come barging in with wands ready for a fight after a scream like that.

Harry himself had one second of a fight or flight response that had his fingers twitching for his wand, before it mellowed away once he was able to ground himself that it was just Draco being dramatic as all holy fuck.

"Mature." Harry's voice was dry, but he couldn't deny he was a little amused.

"Shut up." Draco snipped halfheartedly, bringing the palm of his hands to rub at his eyes.

Harry stared. Never before in his whole entire life did he ever see anyone cry when they were horny.

"I didn't take you entirely seriously when you said you cried when you were horny, you know." Harry expressed as much.

Draco dropped his hands, tears gathered at the corners of his eyes even as he rolled them:

"Yes, well, glad to amuse you."

Harry brutally tamped down on a chuckle, instead opting to ask why it even happened.

Draco shrugged and wiped away a stray tear:

"I have no fucking clue. Since I was old enough to understand what arousal is, I always cried for some incredulous reason that I still can not fathom."

Harry nodded thoughtfully, wondering what it was that he could respond to that. Perhaps something weird and embarrassing of his own, what the hell. He took a second to think of something to share, when it came to him in a bright shroud of humiliation:

"You think that's weird? I'm such a lightweight I once got entirely drunk on grape juice, then proceeded to skin dip in the Great Lake, upon which the Great Squid attempted to eat me."

Draco blinked, then he began laughing. And laughing.

And Harry shivered as he listened, though he wasn't sure if it was entirely because of the bond.

"Oh my God—Potter you idiot—Are you actually such a lightweight?" Draco finally managed to push out between heaving laughter.

Harry snorted sadly at himself, though he kept grinning:

"Yep. Grape juice. It wasn't wine or something else alcoholic. Bloody grape juice."

Draco shook his head, for a moment not looking utterly expressionless and dead inside like usual. There was a brief silence before he spoke:

"I am not entirely surprised. You're too Gryffindorey to be anything but a lightweight."

Harry did not take offense, but he figured it would be fun to pretend so:

"Hey! If that's so, am I to assume all Slytherins sob when they get it on?"

Draco cackled, baring his teeth:

"We do indeed. Should have heard the first time Pansy and Blaise shagged. She was sobbing as if her mother died and he was wailing right alongside her. If the rest of us weren't clued into the fact that we all do it and why, we'd have been concerned for their well-being."

Harry nearly choked on his own tongue at that story, then something occurred to him:

"So that's the fate that would have awaited me had I let the Hat sort me into Slytherin." He marveled. Harry was sort of really glad he begged the Hat not to do it now.

"Wait—what?" Draco gaped, as if he couldn't quite believe his own ears.

Harry realized that right, he had no clue, and scrunched up his nose with a slow grin:

"Right, yeah, when I was getting sorted the Hat told me I'd go far in Slytherin, but I argued with it. I begged it not to sort me Slytherin."

If offended was a person, it would be Draco right then:

"Why?"

Harry tilted his head:

"Because of you."

"Oh." Draco's face was a picture as he considered. "Yeah, I can totally see that." He finally nodded, understanding dawning upon him.

It was—easy, it came upon Harry, to talk. Easier than he'd ever anticipated considering how much they just avoided each other or silently existed in the other's space. He'd thought it would all be stilted and awkward and forced, but—it wasn't.

Harry wasn't sure how he felt about that. On one hand, he felt a bit uneasy at the prospect, on the other hand, he was happy about it.

Kreacher popped in with two plates of food then, sparing Harry the internal war, and plopped them on the table.

"Anything else Kreacher can get you?" He asked automatically.

Harry was about to say no, when Draco spoke up:

"Are there any texts about the actual specifics of the bond ritual? Which runes and incantations we need to use and learn. That would be useful."

Kreacher nodded:

"Kreacher believes there is a book somewhere. Kreacher will see if he can get it for the Masters." He disappeared.

Right. Well.

Now what?

Harry wasn't very inclined to engage in lots of any type of movement. Fully clothed though he was, he knew his unwanted erection would not be concealed, but even more than that, he already felt suffused in so much choked up desire that he might as well have been drowning. Movement would just—worsen everything.

He managed to spare a coil of irritation through his body's inherent, unflagging arousal, at the unfairness of this. Too early in the morning to be experiencing such intense, fake desire.

Bloody ancestral archair bonds.

Fucking hell.

Daring a glance Draco's way, his thinking seemed to run much along the same lines as Harry's, he didn't appear too inclined to move either.

The food smelled delicious, and Harry scoffed internally. He couldn't stay chained in this position forever, without twitching a muscle. Besides, he would be horny every day for the coming months, he bloody well would have to learn to deal and continue functioning.

Absolute misery, Harry was certain it would be.

Grinding his jaw, he scooted across the bed and swung his leg off the side to stand. Unfortunately his hand ended up brushing against Draco as he stood, which shocked Harry so much all the while his cock throbbed.

Draco choked out a strained gasp and scuttled away.

"Bloody hell—" The blonde cursed as he pushed himself to stand too, looking every bit as pinched as Harry felt.

Harry did not let his eyes wander low over Draco, much as his traitorous body was leering at him to do so. Basic respect was still a thing that Harry didn't want to let the lust bond interfere with. He also didn't bother hiding anything on himself, because there was no point.

They both knew what was going on.

Harry headed to the table, operating under a grinding pressure in his crotch that pulled at his walking, forcing him to wobble rather than walk like a normal person. He didn't think about it too closely as he sat down and focused on the meal.

Draco joined him at the table not soon afterwards.

Kreacher had very clearly said that the desire to touch Draco and be touched by him wouldn't fade, so all the options they really had was distraction or—well, yes.

Which meant they'd have to talk now, whether Draco wanted or not.

"I'm going to be blunt." Harry spoke resolutely. Draco stopped shifting and eating, not quite managing to meet Harry's eyes. "The only possible distraction we have here, is talking. So we're going to have to do it. A lot of it. Whether you like it or not."

Draco slowly nodded. Then he sighed and rubbed at his eyes.

"I understand that Potter, but I, at least, have no clue what we could possibly talk about."

Harry bit his lip. Well, uncomfortable conversation was still conversation. Something else to think about other than his imminent state of burning death.

"I overheard you talking with Kreacher some time ago." Harry admitted. "It was the morning of the, err, truce I guess." He glanced up at Draco when he explained.

He looked a little pale around his dilated eyes.

"How much did you hear then?"

Harry swallowed and picked at his food, feeling sort of ridiculous that he felt chastised about this.

"Everything."

He saw Draco nod and swallow, then lean back against the chair and cross his arms across his chest.

"Is that why you shook my hand?" The blond asked slowly.

"Partly, not really." Harry shrugged. "I just felt stupid with the way things were I guess."

Draco rolled his eyes, which was fair, Harry deserved that one for his vague, inadequate phrasing:

"Potter, you don't have to put on this whole show of—whatever it is, if you don't mean it. Trust me, you won't hurt my feelings."

"I do mean it. That's mostly why I felt stupid." Harry admitted, finally looking up himself, determined to demonstrate he wasn't lying. "I figured I was pushing something you were trying to avoid."

Draco's eyes swam, wavering with an emotion that wasn't desire for a flick of a second. Then he looked away:

"Of course." He nodded absently. "I just thought it would be easier to avoid you, on both ends." Draco explained.

"Have you somehow forgotten what an insufferable Gryffindor I am?" Harry arched an eyebrow, eyes twinkling.

Draco snorted:

"I don't know how I managed." There was a pause before Draco spoke again. He sounded strangely resigned: "Of course you'd want to go around fixing things and saving people who don't—" He abruptly cut himself off before he finished the sentence, face growing stony.

Harry knew what he would've said though. He'd already heard it before.

"Deserve it?" He inquired softly.

Draco didn't reply. His stiff silence was answer enough though.

"You do." Harry assured.

"You'd say that about anyone." Draco snipped.

"Your father can rot for all I think of him." Harry shot back viciously.

He absolutely would not say that just anyone deserved to be forgiven, and Draco would do well not to be misguided.

The blonde didn't flinch at the statement the way Harry had been half braced for. He even seemed as though he felt similarly.

"I agree." He spoke in a dead voice after a moment.

"There? See, I don't give just anyone second chances." Harry was smart enough to change the topic.

Draco rolled his eyes again, but he didn't look as strained. The corner of his mouth twitched into a semblance of a smile:

"I guess you don't."

"Only the deserved ones." Harry whispered it, it felt too fragile to speak too loudly or casually.

Draco's eyes flashed brightly but then—

Kreacher popped in with a heavy, thick leather tome in his wrinkly hands. The bloody thing was nearly wider than he himself was, and certainly just as bloody tall.

Harry stared at the accursed thing in utter despair.

"Merlin and Morgana." Draco echoed Harry's thoughts while Kreacher dropped the likely twenty pound heavy tome onto the table, a loud thunk echoing around, then clearing off their plates and popping off.

"Well then. Are you up for doing some light reading?" Harry muttered pitifully.

The rest of that day was spent with researching for the ritual and talking over that, which had done wonders to keep Harry's mind from other pressing matters. His muscles and crotch were starting to cramp and ache, but he breathed deeply and focused on the words in the book and all the Latin incantations that he couldn't pronounce.

"Potter, you cretin if you mess up this one you could quite literally render us both entirely infertile. It is not that hard to pronounce!" Draco was at wit's end attempting to teach Harry to say it properly, but no matter how hard Harry tried, his tongue bent wrongly each time he tried to speak them.

"Fine, you can do all the chanting then!" Harry threw his arms up, slumping over the table. "I'll do the runes." He muttered.

Draco's voice softened when he spoke:

"We both have to participate. Here—" He kept tutoring Harry at it, softer and more patient than Harry deserved at that point. They spent the rest of the day practicing that.

It made Harry float.

The week crawled by, tense and sluggish.

Mornings were definitely the worst, Harry concluded though.

Trying to settle into bed with a raging boner was difficult, but worse yet was when Harry would wake up only to find himself pressed down into the bed by some part of Draco. Sometimes it would be Draco's arm tossed around Harry, or his leg or his head. There was always something.

The tosser was a cuddly sleeper, which didn't help matters of the bond at all.

Harry would quickly roll away before his body did something utterly stupid like press into Draco then. When Draco woke up he'd be in a similar state of distress and quickly scoot away, breathing heavy.

Walking around constantly aroused was like running a fever so high it should kill Harry, but for some cruel reason didn't. All the talking and studying the runes with Draco was the only useful distraction there was, and even that didn't always cover up the pains Harry was experiencing.

He guessed Draco was much the same, though he stoically kept quiet and never uttered a word about it.

The most that Harry ever gleamed from him would be when midway through studying all the finer points of the ritual he'd start wiping at his eyes aggressively. Harry would look up at him, amused, and Draco would glare at him through his puffy eyes and snarl at Harry to 'shut up'. Then Harry would reply that he wasn't saying anything, at which point Draco would flick his wand and smack Harry in the face. Then Harry would laugh and Draco would hide a reluctant, disgruntled smile.

It was—Harry didn't really know what it was exactly, but it always felt so exhilarating.

By the end, they'd burned the ritual proceedings so deep into their heads they could recite it in their sleep.

Harry even heard Draco mutter about it whenever Draco fell asleep before Harry did.

Everything was set, except—kissing.

That requirement sat like a lump in Harry's throat, even more so than those blasted Latin incantations that Draco had ruthlessly bullied him into learning did. The issue itself wasn't kissing, Harry knew. The issue was more that Harry was afraid he would like it.

And he was absolutely sure that had absolutely nothing to do with the bond.

Which was more terrifying than facing Voldemort had been. More terrifying than McGonagall's disapproving gaze.

"Earth to Potter?" Draco was waving a hand in front of Harry's face and Harry startled from his reverie. They were sitting on the floor, drawing the rune circle necessary when it hit Harry abruptly what the linchpin of the ritual actually was in full force.

"Yes, sorry." He nodded at Draco, taking a moment to surreptitiously run his eyes over the blonde. The bond forced him into such a constant state of arousal that he'd eventually just simply give in to it and go for Draco. But it didn't force attraction, and it didn't force any emotions.

Those were all Harry's own.

And they couldn't be.

Harry tore his eyes away from Draco and mechanically etched the runes into the floor, not letting any thoughts interrupt the steady movements of his wand against the wooden floor.

It was the day to perform the ritual.

Harry felt like he was going to sick up.

Kreacher had come in to tell them that the repairmen managed to fix the fridge and faucets, and were moving further on now. Harry just nodded and instructed Kreacher to let them work undisturbed.

"Right, so, let's get on with it then." Harry mused once Kreacher popped away, made his way over to the rune circle and knelt inside it, bracing himself.

Draco nodded and did the same, their knees nearly touching as they stayed within the runes.

"Right, so now we join hands in a—wedding knot—" Draco grimaced a little as he said it. "Then—kiss, and—then chant?" He grimaced a lot as he finished the sentence.

Harry nodded, trying to phase himself out, his whole body strained and aching. When this was all over, if he never got horny again it would be too soon, he bitterly fumed.

Draco held out his hand and Harry swallowed and took it, twisting his grip so their hands were joined properly. His glasses fogged as he rapidly blinked.

This was it.

He looked up at Draco to find Draco already staring at him, with such an intense, forlorn expression that Harry couldn't deal to dwell on currently.

Slowly, they both leaned closer, Harry's heart thundering in his chest.

He was about to kiss Draco Malfoy.

He was about to—

They were kissing.

Harry's world dissolved into a blinding white of a supernova blast and his eyes fell closed of their own accord, he couldn't help but press harder, his lips molding into Draco's. Harry felt a hand grapple the collar of his shirt, gripping and bunching it into a fist, his own hand laying over Draco's on his shirt.

Draco's lips parted with a soft mewl, but Harry jerked away before it went any deeper. He couldn't—let it take roots, whatever it was.

It was just the consequence of the bond after all.

Just that.

When he opened his eyes again and faced Draco, he found the other looking just as lost as Harry felt. His lips were gleaming and pinkish from the kiss, his face flushed and his free hand still fisted in Harry's shirt, Harry's free hand still clasped around Draco's fist.

They panted in each other's spaces for a moment, before Harry let his hand drop away. Draco seemed to only then realize he was gripping Harry and let go, slowly retracting his hand to his lap.

Harry began uttering the incantations, doing his best to be loud enough to shatter the brittle silence, Draco joining in after a moment.

As they spoke, the runes started to glow and shimmer around them. The light cascading upwards, pulsing as it tilted and swathed over them, burning into their joined hands for a moment before sizzling out and settling once more.

Slowly, the runes felt spent and dead. That was—quick.

They waited in silence a while longer, before dropping their hands.

"Is that it?" Draco cautiously asked, inspecting the drawings warily.

Harry figured it must be.

"I think it is. It'll take about six months before the change is integrated. We can't break the bond before then." The thought of walking around with a constant erection for half a year made Harry want to weep.

"We'll be in Hogwarts then." Draco pointed out, chewing on his bottom lip. The one Harry kissed. Harry shook his head to clear it.

"Yeah?" He didn't know the point of the statement. There was something—tentative in Draco's voice.

Did Draco think something would change when they returned to school?

Draco didn't say anything more to elaborate, and instead clambered out of the rune circle, attempting to wobble in a dignified manner over to the bed, then laid down and turned away from Harry, curling up.

Harry knew it was a ruse. Of course he wasn't going to sleep. They both knew that. Well. Better than awkward talking, even though that was all they really had now. Harry let Draco get away it.

Instead of prodding that, he pulled on a grossly oversized robe he found in one of the closets back when they were transporting clothing and such up here to hide his poor, swollen cock and opened up the attic to go downstairs and see if the repairmen needed something while working on his house.

And so most of the month filtered past.

Harry was horrified to find how much he enjoyed Draco's wit. They talked for hours, the whole day, while they ate or played some Wizarding chess Harry managed to dig up, and pretended they weren't both in physical pain all the bloody time.

They were long past awkward silences and stunted conversation. Even if topics to talk about were to run out, they'd just pick up chess or retreat to their own corners, and the air didn't feel stale. Harry enjoyed it all far more than he should have.

There was a warmth about Draco now that there had never been there before, in the way he talked when he was comfortable and moved and the patience he exerted when he attempted to teach Harry anything really. Such as chess strategies. Or Latin. Or Merlin forbid Potions.

Harry still chuckled quietly when he caught Draco crying over his horniness sometimes, even though Harry often felt like joining in.

Though it wasn't as bad as it used to be.

Most of the time, the physicality of it Harry was able to feel in the back of his mind, where all of it sort of faded and buzzed about, no longer so forceful or at the forefront of his being. Amidst everything else he was finding himself busy with, he could almost say he was accustomed. Almost.

The excess heat and sweat Harry could do without.

They'd both taken to regularly changing shirts and showering as often as able. In the effort to keep Draco hidden from the repairmen, for some weird reason Harry couldn't fathom but Draco insisted, Draco would go in the night after they left.

Harry would often go down from the attic, under the guise of checking on repairs, but really he'd hide in a bathroom or a corner to try to get off. Try something, anything to find some relief from all this bullshit. Of course, it never helped, like Draco had told him back the first morning, nothing short of turning himself into a eunuch or having sex with Draco would help.

Neither were options Harry wanted to entertain to any capacity.

He slowly gave up that endeavor. Harry just resigned himself to suffering until they could break the bond.

Speaking of, how would they break the bond when they were finally able to? He realized then, as he lay in bed staring up at the ceiling while Draco read a book Harry brought up the last time he went down at the table, that it hadn't occurred to either of them to explore how the bond would actually be broken.

Harry sighed and called on Kreacher again, starting to feel really guilty for burdening his poor house elf with all this which was categorically not really within his job description.

"Have the Masters not consummated the bond yet?" Was the first thing Kreacher said upon arrival, which made both Harry and Draco brilliantly red.

"Kreacher!" Harry sputtered. How could—He would have to bleach his ear drums of the sound of such a sentence coming from a house elf's mouth.

"Kreacher is surprised the Masters lasted this long." Kreacher shrugged, not looking penitent at all. "The bond is particularly strong between the two."

Harry opened his mouth, but that gave him pause. He furrowed his brows. His tone was slow when he asked:

"What do you mean, particularly strong between us?"

Kreacher gave him a withering look that conveyed in about zero words what he thought of Harry's intelligence, which Harry supposed was pretty fair sometimes.

"The Masters have chemistry, they are compatible, the bond is especially strong between them."

Harry might as well have died at the point. Draco had been suspiciously quiet all the while, so Harry turned to look at him woodenly, only to find Draco staring owlishly into the book in his lap and fiddling with his fingers.

He seemed—uncomfortable. With what Kreacher said.

"Don't say that Kreacher." Harry dismissed the words. "Right. I wanted to ask—when enough time passes, how do we actually break the bond?"

Kreacher stared at Harry's splotched arm for a moment, then explained:

"The only way to break the bond is to destroy the crystallized orb that protects the signet."

Harry's mouth dried.

"Master Black will have to return to the Ancestral wing to do so and then come back." Kreacher nodded at his own words.

"Right." Draco finally sounded. "Easier than I thought."

Harry wanted to protest, but then—what reason did he have to protest? Draco didn't owe him anything exactly, and it made no sense for Harry to suddenly be so concerned.

But he was. Concerned.

He didn't want Draco going back there. The orb already used Draco's dead mother to lure him in to touch it and initiate the bond once, who knows what else it might use on him to prevent him from destroying it? And if Draco's magic was to react to it and run away with him, the only way Harry could help him was to tear right through and Apparate there again, which would initiate the man eating wards again and get them started on consuming Harry again.

It was an experience Harry really did not want to repeat. The pale splashes of skin among his own on his right arm still itched sometimes.

Even more than that though, he just didn't want Draco in harm's way like that. He knew how helpless it felt to have your own magic rushing and splintering around you out of your control, how desperate a fight it was to regain some semblance of reign, and how stupid it felt afterwards.

"Thank you Kreacher. Since we'll be returning to school in a little over a week, could you also get the supply shopping done for us?" Harry shook his head, cleared his throat and spoke once he realized that the silence had grown expectant.

Kreacher sniffed disdainfully and nodded, then popped off.

Harry wished he could attribute all these emotions to the bond, if for no other reason than to justify himself, but every morning when he woke up with Draco holding onto some part of him and Harry petting his hair unconsciously, he knew he'd have to face what he felt head on eventually. Because it was all his own.

He promised himself each day he'd do it that day, then leave it for tomorrow.

All the stories Draco told him, about his childhood and the war and school, it made him so wonderful and interesting and funny and—

The way they talked now, open and easy as opposed to how stalled it used to be, how Draco let Harry pull him out a bit farther each time since Harry dropped all his guard and offered his hand, stopped being formal and cold by finally calling him by his given name, how Draco had no problem putting Harry in his place when Harry was cocking something up, as opposed to how he practically bristled and ran from Harry any moment he could and—

And—

Harry breathed deeply, staring unseeingly at the spot Kreacher stood a moment before, helplessly, finally, feeling the unraveling of his own heart.

And—

And Harry loved him.

He loved Draco.

Things were much worse for Harry after he realized the breadth of his feelings.

Now, aside from being forced to want Draco's body, Harry also wanted Draco's heart. Which was a much more dangerous gamble.

It wasn't a gamble at all, actually, because Harry wouldn't play.

He did his best to make quick work of letting the feelings settle so that he could focus on other things.

The repairs were coming along nicely, they were up to repairing all the cracked walls now, and promised they'd be done just about three days before Harry and Draco had to depart for Hogwarts.

Kreacher had gotten all their school supplies.

They'd contend with the bond for most of the school year, then finally break it.

After they finish the school year, Harry would be rid of the device.

And then—they'd each go their own separate ways.

Harry would probably never see Draco again afterwards. Draco had mentioned that he wanted to get out of Britain after school because he knew there would likely be no chances for him there, to build a life.

As much as it felt as though corrosive acid ate away his heart at the thought of never seeing Draco again, Harry wasn't stupid or naive. He knew Draco was probably very right that it would likely be impossible for him to make it in England.

And Harry did love him, he wanted to have him find a way to be happy.

Harry had never truly loved a person romantically. He thought he'd loved Ginny, but—looking back at it, it was more so a starved comfort he fed from her, than any actual love. It felt like obligation to tell her he loved her, because well, that's what he was supposed to do wasn't it?

But no, it wasn't, it never had been.

Of course, he never would've guessed the first person he'd end up actually loving would be Draco Malfoy. Harry questioned whether this was love too, since it didn't really feel deserved for him.

Too sudden, too quick.

Then again, if Harry looked at it closer, that wasn't true either. Since Draco had come to live with him, Harry was always aware of his presence, interested and trailing after him in the subtlest of ways. And even through all the awkward, stunted silences, Harry always felt like there was so much more to see in Draco and he gagged for a taste.

Then the bond activated and sort of forced them into opening up and interacting more, to make bearing it all easier, and Harry got more than his fair taste. He was addicted.

And all those months coming up were finally sealed to a love that Harry hadn't expected to really ever feel.

Definitely love.

Harry blinked a few times, staring at his hands curled in his lap anew as he came back to reality. He realized Draco was saying something to him, he tuned in to listen.

"—going back to school?" Harry only caught the end of Draco's sentence.

"Huh? Sorry, I trailed off." He flushed a bit and expected Draco to roll his eyes, but—Draco didn't. Instead he smiled, the smallest of grins, and repeated himself:

"I asked whether you're excited to go back to school."

Harry thought about this for a moment. He supposed he was, it would be nice to see Hogwarts back in full swing again and reunite with all his friends. Ron and Hermione were off in Australia trying to find her parents and undo the Obliviation spell Hermione cast on them, and Harry hadn't heard from them in a while. He missed them.

"I suppose so. Not looking forward to McGonagall's homework though." He snorted, visibly shuddering at the thought of all the essays she handed out regularly.

Draco nodded, cringing similarly.

"Are you excited?" Harry threw the question back, not thinking much of it.

"Not really." Draco half shrugged, staring down at his nails. "Don't think many people will be too happy about it."

Harry bit his tongue and swallowed his words of comfort. They'd mean nothing to Draco. Honesty always worked best with the blonde anyways, so Harry didn't intend to start lying now:

"You're probably right. Lucky for you, you'll be stuck by my side all the time, so I doubt anyone will be ballsy enough to pick a fight."

Draco scoffed halfheartedly, still not looking up at Harry. He shifted his seat, and wiped at his eyes, then spoke:

"My savior." His tone was cynical, but not vitriolic.

Harry thought about it carefully before speaking:

"Well, I don't have to be, if you don't want that. What do you want me to do instead?"

Draco glanced up sharply, eyes narrowed. Harry felt as if he was being intensely studied.

"I—" Draco trailed off as he continued to search Harry's face for whatever.

He hadn't expected it, it seemed.

Harry was a little pleased he'd managed to surprise the other, but ultimately, he meant it. He did want to protect Draco as much as he could, but he didn't want to push something more onto Draco that he didn't want just for the sake of his own savior complex.

"Don't go around protecting me." Draco finally spoke. "If someone picks a fight, let them. They have a right to be angry."

Harry bit the inside of his cheek, trying to reconcile with himself to be okay with that. After a second he let himself slowly nod:

"Okay. But if your magic starts bounding past your control—" Harry began, because he knew he couldn't live with himself if he left Draco stressed or emotional enough to cause an outburst that he then just let happen, and he wanted permission to be allowed to protect Draco at least then. Even by the means of the canceler.

"Shock me." Draco acquiesced, curtly nodding.

The closer the date came to returning to Hogwarts, the more restlessly Draco slept.

Harry knew, because he was the one who would wake up abruptly from getting a pointy elbow shoved into his ribs, or a knee into his side as Draco tossed about. He didn't seem to be having nightmares, or at least they weren't as bad, but he wasn't exactly sleeping well.

Harry had actually planned on getting him some Dreamless sleep to ease the nightmares after the first time, but then Draco had actually began sleeping soundly through the night when they started sharing the bed that Harry had forgotten about it completely since it seemed entirely unnecessary.

If Harry was bold enough, he might have wondered whether his presence had anything to do with helping Draco sleep.

Harry was not bold enough.

Regardless, after he woke up from pained, bruised ribs the third night in a row, he considered waking Draco up and getting him some Dreamless sleep so that they could both go back to a normal sleep.

He sat up and was just about to go about it, when he stilled. A soft, pained whimper froze Harry in place. He blinked at Draco in the darkness, struggling to make out his shape, but coherent enough to realize he was probably having a nightmare again.

Harry had no idea what to do.

There was no immediate danger this time or anything of the sort that forced Harry into acting before he could think through all the various consequences. Now, all he had to do was think.

He wanted to pull Draco closer, into his arms and comfort him, but if Draco woke up, he would probably be pissed as all holy fuck. Sure, he was a cuddly sleeper, but the key word there was that he was asleep. Awake Draco had never acted or looked particularly soft or snuggly.

Draco was tossing about more insistently now though, whichever nightmare he was having likely intensifying, while Harry tried to quickly figure out what the hell he could do that wouldn't backfire.

He knew how nightmares went—starting ordinary enough, then getting worse and worse until he'd wake up screaming in blind terror.

And the progression was such and sudden that there was little time to intercept it.

Oh fuck it, Harry scoffed inwardly. He was a Gryffindor for Merlin's sake, if Draco was mad he'd keep at it for a few days then he'd have to get over it eventually.

Harry placed both his arms on Draco's shoulders and shook him until Draco jerked awake in a flail of limbs. He ended up practically flinging himself into Harry's arms, one of his arms bending around Harry's neck.

It was a bit awkward and stiff, they were they were twisted, but Harry suffered it until Draco caught his breath enough to pull away.

Draco caught his breath, but he did not let go. Instead, he dropped his forehead to Harry's shoulder and breathed slowly.

Harry shivered at the air ghosting across his skin through his shirt, but still didn't move.

"That bad, huh?" He spoke after another silent minute, starting to feel a bit awkward with the way he was holding Draco and tense from his torso twisting in ways he was sure torsos weren't meant to.

Draco nodded against his shoulder, and Harry slowly realized how deeply Draco craved any sort of comfort, the way he was covetously clinging to Harry. It broke Harry's heart to come to understand that, so he calculated a way to lay them back down without disentangling from the blonde.

After coming to a sufficient result, Harry shuffled until he could lay down comfortably, his arm still around Draco, and Draco's still around him.

The proximity made Harry's breath go shallow and his body pulse, but he lay still and relaxed, focusing on what he was currently dealing with.

"Can I just—" Draco rasped, burrowing closer, until his head was tucked under Harry's chin and he was practically pressed chest-to-chest with him, arms tight around Harry's middle. "Please, I just—"

Harry felt so kicked that there were tears pricking at his eyes at the vulnerable, young desperation in Draco's plea. He couldn't take it. He pushed both his arms and wrapped them around Draco, rubbing his back with one and trailing the other to pet his hair, the way he'd always do without realizing in a half delirious state of between sleep and wakefulness in the mornings. Harry held him tighter.

"Of course. It's okay." Harry murmured to the blonde that suddenly, for the first time, felt incredibly fragile in his embrace. Draco pressed closer, he mewled softly. "Sleep now, Draco. I've got you." Harry promised, in the darkness of the attic, the bed they shared together.

Harry knew then, without any shadows or doubts—the way his heart flowed with affection and honey thick warmth, that he loved.

And Harry also knew, that he'd die before he broke that promise.

They slept the rest of the night soundly away.

The next morning was a little awkward. Draco refused to speak to Harry or even look at him, and Harry knew why so he didn't push him to.

But it was awkward. Especially since, they had to return to Hogwarts the day after tomorrow.

Harry supposed something good that would come off today was, from what the repairmen told Harry at least, they were just about finishing up all the repairs and would be cleared to leave today after he paid them.

They'd be out of the attic by tonight.

So they'd each have their own rooms and beds to sleep in again, and things wouldn't have to be awkward.

Harry just hoped Draco would get over it pretty quickly and start talking to Harry again though. Because—they were friends now, weren't they? Harry thought so at least. He was happy with that notion, regardless of his feelings. Being friends was probably the best he would get, so he'd have to deal.

Kreacher popped in with breakfast and looked between them for a moment.

"Have the Masters coupled?" He asked without any trace of decorum.

Harry, who was just sitting up in bed while Draco was studiously avoiding him at the table, felt his eyes bulge out of their sockets with surprise. No matter how many times Kreacher said such crass things, it would never fail to traumatize Harry deeply.

"No, we have not." Harry replied once he found his lost voice.

Kreacher furrowed his brows:

"The bond is not as restless today. That is why Kreacher asked."

He then shrugged and popped off.

Harry was left contemplating this. He was still hard and in pain, skin prickling with need, but looking at Draco didn't feel like he was drowning this morning, the way it usually did. So, there was some truth to Kreacher's statement that the bond wasn't as restless, but, Harry didn't understand why. His brows furrowed as he struggled to understand it. From what he knew, the only way to settle it is to have sex, but—

They haven't done anything sexual.

"It's physical contact." Draco suddenly spoke, snapping Harry out of his thoughts. "It settles the bond a little, it probably registers that as a prerequisite of sex."

Oh. Hm, well, that made a modicum of sense. Harry nodded at Draco in a show of understanding. Last night was the first time they really touched each other to any degree, they were careful to avoid it in the past since a mere touch did things to the bond.

Last night there was none of it, Harry realized. He supposed that the moment was too private and emotional in order for him to register if his body reacted in any type of way, but regardless of that, it seemed that touching helped.

Well, regardless, anything that helped ease the lust was good in Harry's books.

The rest of the day was quite dull. Draco didn't appear to be ready to get over it, so Harry decided that he'd just spend most of his time downstairs, in a false show of looking over repairs.

He was trailing around the repairmen, when suddenly, the woman approached him, her expression wary:

" ." She began slowly, and Harry tuned in to listen, since she seemed serious. "During our repairs we have siphoned ample swathes of magical signature out of all the damaged walls and floors and such. We don't know whom it belongs to, but we are going to turn it in to the Ministry after we're done here, because it would seem your home was actually attacked in your absence."

Harry went cold. If they did that—Harry didn't dare think what would come of it. If the Ministry got word of what happened, it was entirely possible they would deem Harry an irresponsible handler, since he failed to use the device in the face of great destruction and let it happen, and could quite possible arrest Draco and haul him off back to Azkaban. And Harry—couldn't let that happen. Under any circumstances. No.

Kingsley had been clear. If Draco wasn't back in Hogwarts, then he'd be back in Azkaban.

However, Harry couldn't tell these repairmen not to report to the Ministry either, because that would be incredibly suspicious and odd. After all, anyone who just found out their home was possibly attacked, would want to report it.

Which meant that Harry would have to let these people leave and file a report, but he and Draco would have to be gone outta here before the Ministry sent someone in. Without a doubt they'd arrest Draco and release Harry of his duties on account of Harry being irresponsible and allowing Draco to be destructive when he had the means to prevent it, take the device off him and either haul Draco back into Azkaban or find another handler for him.

Both of those options were bullshit, and Harry couldn't let either happen to Draco.

They'd have to get out of here, but where would they go? The train for Hogwarts wasn't scheduled for another full day and they couldn't wait that long. Hogwarts was tightly warded and wouldn't release the wards until the day the students were supposed to come in, because of all the paparazzi and press that always hounded around, trying to get in. Harry supposed he could owl McGonagall to see about getting there early, he hoped perhaps if Draco was under Hogwarts jurisdiction, the Ministry would have no grounds to arrest him.

Their condition of Draco being back in Hogwarts would technically be met.

But, who knew how long it would take for McGonagall to reply, or for the reply to get to him, by then it might be too late. He could try firecalling the Headmistress, but he didn't know if she was at her home or in the school, and he had no clue where to call.

He couldn't just tear through Hogwarts' wards either, partly because he doubted he had enough power to do so and partly because that would cause a huge scandal.

Harry briefly considered the Weasleys, but he couldn't do that to them or to Draco.

The options were dwindling quickly and he was starting to panic.

" ?" The woman's brow knitted as she called out to him. He realized then he'd gone still and pale and hadn't responded.

"Oh, sorry, sorry, you just surprised me by saying that. Of course, you should report to the Ministry, thank you for bringing it to my attention." He babbled, playing the part of the concerned homeowner. She nodded and went back to work, and Harry fell right back to panicking.

Where the hell would they go?

The Muggle world perhaps?

No, that would only make it worse. The Ministry would view it as endangerment, taking an individual with unstable magical abilities near Muggles.

Bloody hell, they were so close to just returning to school and moving on, when something just had to go wrong.

Harry couldn't hide Draco alone anywhere, because when a Ministry official came and he played dumb as to Draco's whereabouts, everything would go to merry hell.

If they were to go anywhere, they'd have to do so together. They'd also need a pretty good alibi on why they left the residence before the date that they actually needed to in order to get away with it and not get into even more trouble.

Harry groaned quietly and rubbed at his eyes, pacing a way through his home, trying his best to keep out of the way of the repairmen.

They had absolutely nowhere else to go, which made Harry sick since they'd have to get out if and when that report went through.

Then Harry stopped abruptly, as a sudden, slow idea came to him.

What if the report didn't ever go through?

That—would seem as the best option, actually. If Harry managed to get his hands onto the samples that the repairmen extracted, he could snip their plan of even handing it over in the bud.

However, if he stole them and they went to file a report then realized they didn't have them anymore, they'd come back asking questions and snooping.

Which meant Harry would probably have to either—Obliviate them or perform some other alterations on their memories.

He felt sick. His stomach twisted in disgust at the thought of messing with another's mind so violently. It was the most personal violation that he could think of outside Legilimency, and he knew how horrifying it was, from Hermione's experience casting it.

Harry ran a hand through his hair and tugged on it harshly, desperately trying to think of an alternative. He didn't really have that much time—a few hours at best before the repairs were done and the repairmen left.

In the research he'd done with Ron and Hermione on memory spells and such before they'd left for Australia to find her parents, they'd found plenty of spells that could alter memories without harming the individual overall or outright Obliviating them. Some were irreversible, others reversible, but there was a vast selection.

Harry thought back to that time, his mind roiling in disgust at what he was seriously considering. He couldn't outright Obliviate them, that would be too suspicious and risky, but if he was going to mess with their memories, he had to use an irreversible spell that wouldn't leave any traces.

Since he would only be altering a very specific part of their minds, he needed a precise spell that would target only the intended part of memory. With that in mind, Harry was able to think only of one that would suffice.

He promised Draco, he loved him.

Harry swallowed his conscience and went to look for the repairmen.

"Hey guys." He forced casual into his tone. "I was wondering, before you go report it, could I take a look at those samples you got, I wonder if maybe I'll recognize the magic." He rolled his jaw in an effort to keep it from clenching, schooling himself into relaxation he didn't feel.

"Oh, sure ." The man replied, and went over to a sealed box, waved his wand to open it and took out seven reinforced glass vials with stormy magic swirling inside them. He handed them to Harry and turned back to continue repairing a wall.

Harry gripped them tightly in his hands for a moment, vision blurring before he shook his head, slipped them into a robe pocket, and then looked at the man and woman working to fix his bloody house, their backs to him.

Before he could regret this more than he already was, he pulled his wand and stunned them.

They fell to the floor, unconscious.

He promised Draco.

Harry knelt by the man first and hovered his wand above his forehead.

"Immutatio." Harry whispered, throat burning, and pressed the tip of his wand into the center of the man's forehead.

A sizzling turquoise light pulsed into the guy's skin before fading entirely, with a faint hissing sound. That was the cue.

"You're just here to repair the damage, the damage was caused by ancient wards collapsing. You are finishing your work today, you will get paid and you will leave. You will never look back or return here." Harry muttered on a twisted loop while the spell connected the empty space of all their knowledge of a magical signature or reporting it with the fabricated memories Harry implanted. When the process was done, a blinking, faintly bluish orb pulled out from the man's forehead and stuck to the tip of Harry's wand.

He looked at it closely and then incendioed it, erasing all traces of its existence. It was all the memories and plans of reporting and samples of magical signatures rolled up and squashed into one ball and extracted from the man's head, only to be replaced with the implant memories.

One was done, now just to finish off the woman.

Harry rubbed a hand down his face, his chest feeling hollow.

He promised Draco.

Harry turned to the woman, extending his wand above her head as well, when he heard footsteps entering the room.

"What are you doing Potter?" Draco asked, his brows furrowed and expression mildly horrified at the sight of Harry kneeling next to two stunned repairmen. "You were gone a while so I came out, figuring I could hide from them, but—what are you doing?"

Harry swallowed and let himself wallow in despair for a moment. Then he explained in a gravelly voice:

"They got your magical signature out of the house while repairing, they wanted to hand it over to the Ministry to investigate." Harry stared at the innocent's woman blank, passed out face. "If the Ministry found out that you wrecked this place and I let it happen, didn't use the device, they'd come arrest you and toss you back into—Azkaban." He forced himself to finish speaking, glancing up at Draco.

Draco who had gone gray at the mention of Azkaban, and completely stiff.

"So I had to steal the samples and now I just have to—to alter their memories so they don't realize anything." Harry finished, pressing his lips tightly so the bitter bile rising up his throat doesn't get out.

"Potter—" Draco's voice cracked on the word when he said it, his face crumbling when Harry looked up at him.

"It's fine." Harry nodded, lying through his teeth. "It won't hurt them or harm any of their other memories. It's the safest spell I could think of to get the job done." He didn't know what else to say, it was the only thing he could think of to justify it.

"Isn't it—illegal?" Draco asked in a small voice.

Harry clenched his jaw and gripped his wand tighter.

"It is." He confirmed through his teeth, a headache throbbing at his temples. "But I don't know how else to protect you from Azkaban." He muttered quietly.

He heard Draco intake a sharp breath, but he paid it no mind as he performed the spell on the woman:

"Immutatio."

Once it was done, Harry rennervated the repairmen and left them to finish the work, then fled back to the attic, where he found Draco staring blankly at the trapdoor from which Harry emerged from his spot on the bed, seemingly lost in thought.

Harry didn't have anything to say as he went and sat down at the table, slumping over and dropping his head to the cool wood surface, folding his arms around himself.

He promised Draco—but that didn't make him feel any better about implanting fake memories into people's heads.

Draco would be safe though.

That was—what mattered.

Barely a full month had passed since Harry realized that he was in love, but he was already willing to go so far to make sure Draco was fine.

It felt so ridiculous, to be so besotted so soon.

Though it wasn't really soon, was it? It had been months in the making, longer perhaps.

This was just the end result.

So lost in thought though he was, Harry almost jumped out of his own skin when he felt a light grip on his shoulder, coaxing him to straighten up. Harry did, casting Draco a quizzical look, but Draco said nothing as he pulled Harry to stand and led him to the bed, his hands a constant touch upon the raven's shoulder and back.

Harry went along, though he was incredibly confused.

Draco pushed Harry to sit down on the bed, then sat down next to him. Pressed on his shoulders to get Harry to lay back, which he did, now opening his mouth to ask what was going on.

"Sh." Draco shushed him and laid down behind Harry, turning Harry onto his side. Then Draco wrapped both his arms around Harry's middle and pulled him in closer, so Harry's back was nestled against the blonde's chest. "Shut up. Thank you Potter."

If Harry hadn't been so drained, he'd have wept. As it were, he merely melted in Draco's arms.

They didn't speak of the incident afterwards. Harry disposed of the samples since it was the only evidence of his crime, and that had been that. They packed their trunks and prepared for Hogwarts.

Harry was certain they were both glad Hogwarts still required them to wear robes, something extremely useful in covering up. The bond eased away even more the more they touched. Harry was grateful for it, because the way things were going he felt too strung up to manage himself, now at least he could think coherently without the taint of desire and lust the bond enforced.

Now they were at King's cross, waiting for the Hogwarts express. Harry felt a giddy sense of anticipation, as he scanned the crowd. He knew Ron and Hermione planned to return by today, so they could all sit together on the train.

People had been giving him and Draco dirty looks as they stood together, but Harry ignored everyone even though he really wanted to hex them into oblivion. He felt Draco shifting his weight behind him, hovering close by, eyes downcast.

Harry's heart twisted each time he caught sight of it. So beaten down and guilt stricken—he was too beautiful to be hiding his face like that. Harry wasn't sure if there was something he could do, but he stuck close, and made sure to glare just as poisonously at anyone who turned their head after them.

It occurred to Harry that maybe Draco thought Harry was ashamed to be seen in public with him. Because of Draco's past.

The notion terrified Harry deeply, and as he observed Draco resolutely not looking at him, he figured that it must be part of it. Draco's hands were stuffed into his robe pockets, and he stood tight and stiff, occupying as little space as possible.

Harry bit his lip and considered for a moment, but after some particularly ballsy wizard rammed his shoulder into Draco while passing by, Harry had enough.

He plastered himself to Draco's side and looped his arm through Draco's, stuffing his hand in his own pockets, mirroring the blonde's posture.

"Potter?" Draco blinked at their linked arms, then directed his confusion at Harry.

"They can all fuck off if they think glaring at you is going to make me step away." Harry snarled, his voice grated with irritation.

Now Harry might've been imagining it, but he could swear he caught Draco hiding a grin.

"Woah, what did we miss?" There was a voice in front of them as Ron weaved his way through the crowd to come to stand in front of Harry and Draco, his blue eyes glued to their linked arms, swimming with suspicion.

Harry's heart jumped with joy when he saw his best friends after a long while, Hermione joining Ron too, the same question in her eyes.

Draco startled and quickly pulled his arm away, stepping aside.

Harry shrugged at them and pulled them into a hug.

"I'll explain later." He muttered to them. "How have you guys been?" He grinned as he looked at them. They looked the same and yet not, more grown and mature, but still Harry's best friends.

"Great. We found Mione's parents, and she managed to reverse the charm, brilliant little witch she is" Ron chuckled, his eyes shining with adoration as he gazed upon her.

Harry's heart warmed, but he scrunched his nose up in obligatory disgust.

"They were so relieved. They said they always felt as though something was blurry and missing." Hermione explained, her shoulders drooping with relief at having her parents back. Harry was so happy for her.

"Of course. Will they be returning to England?" He mused, for a moment forgetting Draco aside him.

"Ah, yeah, they said the heat killed them and how they didn't understand why they ever moved." Ron sniggered and Hermione elbowed him in the ribs.

"Shut it, you. Australia was the first thing that came to my mind at the time." She defended herself with a fond smile.

Harry was happy for them. Truly.

A blur of movement then caught the corner of his eye and he spun around, only to find someone shoving into Draco as they past again. He stumbled and Harry shot out to catch him before he lost his footing. As Harry righted him, he found Draco glaring after the person.

"You okay?" He muttered and Draco sighed and waved Harry's hands off him:

"I'm fine. It's hardly undeserved. Just—annoying."

Harry frowned and went to protest, when he heard Ron pipe up behind them:

"I'll ask again, what the hell did we miss?" His voice was distrustful.

Harry turned to face them, and considered what to tell them. He wasn't planning on spreading the news at all, he knew if a lot of people knew he effectively had a leash on Draco, there would certainly be attempts to steal the device from him, and although the thing was bonded only to him, Harry wasn't willing to risk Draco's safety on the possibility there wasn't more than one way to press the button.

But, these were Ron and Hermione. He could tell them anything. They wouldn't take advantage.

"The Ministry assigned me to watch over him through the school year. They said his magic has been a bit unstable so they gave me a magic canceler to keep on me and use if something happens." He explained in quiet, quick terms. "It only works within a range though, so we have to stay close."

Ron's eyes were growing wide with horror, he was gawking, while Hermione's grew narrow with curiosity.

"Can I see it?" She asked suddenly, all her academic interests pooling out her words.

Harry slowly pulled the chain out from the inside of his robes, and dangled the egg shaped thing in front of her. She went to grab it, but Harry jerked his hand away.

"It's bonded only to me, I'm not sure if anyone else can touch it." He explained sheepishly.

Hermione was undeterred, she nodded decisively:

"Right, of course. It's a lot smaller than magic cancelers I've read about. Very innovative." She mumbled, while Ron slowly started to pick his jaw up off the floor and turn to face Draco, who looked distinctly like a rabbit ready to flee upon the attention.

Harry loved Ron, but he didn't exactly trust him not to say something stupid or provocative, so he wanted to interfere, but before he could, Ron proved Harry right.

"Finally got a leash on you, did they Malfoy?" The ginger crossed his arms across his chest.

Hermione and Harry jerked at it, and Harry hastily tucked the device away behind his robe once more.

Draco looked faintly surprised, but his features hardened and he returned Ron's scathing glare tenfold. He didn't say anything though.

Harry was sort of really glad that Draco didn't bite, because Ron had a bit of a temper and if they got into a fight, it wouldn't matter who started it, Draco would be at fault for it in the end.

The air grew tense, and Harry wasn't sure where this was going. He didn't expect Ron to be vengeful, even though he technically had a right to. And he also didn't really expect Draco to fight back, because he was assured he deserved it.

Draco had also made Harry promise not to go around protecting him. To let anyone pick a fight if they wanted to.

So Harry grit his teeth, and balled his fists, and he kept his tongue. He wouldn't demean Draco's request just because he felt protective. He promised.

"What? Cat got your tongue, Malfoy? Can't believe now you're suddenly playing the bigger person." Ron rolled his eyes and sneered, then turned away.

It was obvious Ron hadn't had a change of heart during all his travels, the way Harry had. That he was angry and raring for a fight, for a reason to stick a fist in Draco's face. Hermione, on the other hand, seemed to have experienced a similar thing as Harry, as she sent a withering gaze her boyfriend's way. Her voice was hard:

"Ron, that is enough. You know better than this, stop acting childish, we aren't eleven anymore." She reprimanded him, then nodded sympathetically at Draco over Ron's shoulder.

Draco was surprised, that much was obvious, but he returned the nod.

Harry relaxed his fists and sighed deeply.

"Let's just get on the train." He muttered dejectedly.

Draco took up a compartment right next to Harry's, so he'd be within range, but away from Ron and Hermione.

Harry bit his lip at the action but he didn't protest it. He simply warded the doors to the blonde's compartment a bit extra than strictly necessary, and went in to the one next with Ron and Hermione.

Once they were all settled, Ron spoke up again for the, inevitable Harry knew, talk:

"Harry, mate, what the bloody hell?"

Harry sighed and cast a silencing bubble around them. He shrugged then:

"Nothing. Kingsley called me in a week after the trials concluded, told me Draco's magic was unstable and he had to have someone to monitor him or they'd toss him back into Azkaban. Of course I agreed."

Ron was shaking his head, when Hermione continued talking:

"Yeah, we got that. But you two seem—" She trailed off while she looked for the right word. "Close. Comfortable. What's up with that?"

Harry rubbed his neck. He didn't really think it would be noticeable, but then again, Hermione noticed everything.

"Well, because the device works within a range, he's lived the summer break with me in Grimmauld." Harry explained.

Ron's horror freshened anew, while Hermione didn't look particularly surprised:

"I figured that might be the case."

Ron stared between the two of them:

"Wait. You both are okay with this? Harry, you didn't think this was pertinent information to write us about?"

Harry felt a bit guilty at Ron's words, but he ultimately shrugged:

"No owl would survive flying from Europe to Australia, Ron, and besides, I didn't exactly know where you guys were. And it's really not a big deal. Draco's changed, he's a much better person now, so it's not as if there were issues."

Ron didn't look too convinced, but he gave it some thought at least.

"If you're okay with it, Harry, I guess I can find it in me to give him a chance too. We've all seen how miserable it'd been for him anyways, I have enough heart to spare." Hermione nodded, giving Harry a comforting smile.

Harry honestly didn't deserve Hermione. The way she was willing to give anything thought if it made him happy, ready to offer a chance and forgive. Such an incredibly selfless person. He grinned at her, full of gratitude.

Ron was still thinking everything over, and the two left him be.

If Ron was willing to think it through, Harry knew it'd be worth the wait.

"He didn't respond when I picked a fight earlier." He finally announced after twenty minutes of comfortable silence. "If Malfoy's learned to bite his tongue, that counts for some change at least." Ron finally nodded curtly, and fell silent. That was it. "I'm still pissed with everything he's done though." The ginger unnecessarily clarified.

Harry nodded.

It was probably the closest Ron would ever get to acceptance, and Harry would take it. Draco had done a lot more harm to the Weasleys than nearly anyone else after all, Ron was perfectly entitled to hold a grudge for the rest of his life if he pleased.

Not that that would be healthy, but he could.

Harry was more than happy that he'd gotten his best friends more or less on the same page as him though. There were times when he worried that he'd have to choose.

He wouldn't of handled that well, so he was happy that they tried their best to at least understand, if nothing else.

Slowly, they lapsed into silence, the three of them, and as that silence settled, Harry had nothing to distract him from the pressure in his crotch and the aches of his skin. He kept shifting in his seat, trying to find a semi-comfortable position that wouldn't rustle his cock too much, but it seemed as though one simply didn't exist.

"Are you okay mate?" Ron asked after about ten minutes of Harry scuttling around, from his place dozing on Hermione's shoulder.

Harry was sure he blushed a bright crimson at the question, choking up in shame at the thought of his ever finding out what he's going through.

"Oh, yeah I'm fine, fine. I guess I'm just a little nervous to be heading back." He lied and Ron seemed to accept that answer as good enough and left it alone. Hermione said nothing, probably because she was already napping, which Harry was grateful for, because she'd always been better than Ron at drawing out the truth.

Once Ron ended up dozing off too, Harry decided that he'd take his suffering somewhere else, and quietly snuck out of the compartment, making his way into Draco's.

When he let himself in, he barely avoided a Stinger to the face and flinched. Lucky was he that Draco missed.

"Err—" Harry mumbled in confusion once his heart stopped jumping.

"Sorry, Potter. There were some others trying to get in before you. Through those wards you put up." Draco arched an eyebrow, making it clear how disdainful he was that Harry warded him.

Harry huffed in indignation and looked away, through the window to the landscape rolling past:

"The fact someone was trying to get in means it was necessary." He protested. "Besides, I said nothing when Ron was picking a fight earlier. That counts, doesn't it?" Harry mumbled as he sat down opposite Draco, who was still looking at him archly.

"You'll never stop it, will you?" The blonde grumbled. "Being someone's hero."

Harry scoffed and shook his head:

"Only for people I like." He shrugged, only a moment later realizing the depth of what he'd just grumbled, felt the blood draining from his face.

Oh no—

The stricken look on Draco's face was all Harry needed to see to know Draco was also very aware of Harry's cock-up.

"You like me, Potter?" Draco asked at length, voice suspiciously wobbly.

"Well—I've met worse." Harry swallowed a lump, attempting not to sound as frantic as he felt at the prospect of baring his feelings. It was all still so new and fragile to him, he wasn't ready to let the world bash at it yet. "And—you're nice, when you aren't being prickly." Harry chuckled uneasily.

Draco blinked, then smiled a dazzling grin, before his nose scrunched up in such an adorable way Harry's heart juddered, then he replied:

"You're not your bad yourself Potter."

The rest of the ride was filled with banter and silence respectively, and Harry found he was much happier to remain here with Draco than he was back there with Ron and Hermione, which made him feel guilty for a moment, but then Draco laughed merrily at something Harry said, and the guilt vaporized into mist.

Harry worried for his heart.

Arriving at Hogwarts again had felt so—strange. Relieving, but strange. It was still home, Harry reckoned it always would be, but now it felt more vigilant, wary. Perhaps Harry was just paranoid.

There were minor changes here and there, such as the four houses disbanded into one for the Eighth years, since there really wasn't enough of them to split into four groups anymore. They added an extra table in the Great Hall for the Eighth years specifically, so they'd have some privacy and their own space during meals, away from the younger years, who still kept to Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin.

The magic of the castle itself didn't feel too different, it was still as warm and welcoming as ever, but Harry could taste it. The bitter undertone, something forever tainted by the war that took place. In some ways, Harry supposed it was a good thing, that it wasn't forgotten, that things didn't just go back to being peachy. He was glad he could still taste it.

The welcoming feast was no grand ordeal. Friends met up and hugged, and talked and ate, until McGonagall stood from the teacher's table to hold a speech. She looked so horribly frail and aged, but still the same stern professor Harry had always known. The woman was a goddamn miracle.

"Welcome, students, to Hogwarts. Those returning, and those new here." She started speaking, voice carrying through the hall without any charms necessary. Everyone always listened with rapt attention when Minerva McGonagall talked. She held a short, concise speech about all the changes and rooming arrangements which were hung up on the doors of the Great Hall so that everyone could take a look on their way out.

It was the pretty standard spiel that was always given at the start of the school year, Harry tuned most of it out. He was too uncomfortable within his robes, too heated. The hum of other students around did not take any of the edge off the cursed bond. He still felt needy and was tempted to rut into the chair, the pressure clawing at him, but even if he was to abandon all social decency, he'd find no relief regardless, so it didn't matter either way. Harry whined quietly under his breath and cursed the day some Black bastards created such a cruel, ruthless bond.

A few seats down, Harry could see Draco attempting to discreetly rub at his eyes and figured that things must be just about the same for him. Harry had thought this whole day would be sufficiently distracting so he wouldn't have to focus on his throbbing nethers for a while, but apparently he'd been wrong.

Well, it's not as if he hadn't grown somewhat adept at adjusting despite the aches and finding somewhat of an equilibrium that he could push through the day dancing about. Harry just hoped he'd manage to accomplish that soon, lest he might just go completely nuts.

"Harry, you're look peaked. Are you okay?" Hermione leaned closer from Harry's left side, her face arranged into worry.

Harry would have rather swallowed Bubotuber puss than ever admit to her what was really wrong, so he just nodded absently:

"Ah, eh—yeah, yeah I'm fine."

Hermione didn't appear to quite believe it, but she let the subject go, thankfully.

The feast passed by in a whir once Harry tuned himself out. He just wanted to get to their dorm and collapse into bed. They had no classes scheduled for the first three days, to give them enough time to readjust and Harry intended to sleep most of that time off. He was too frazzled to think about anything else.

Draco wasn't back in Azkaban, by any means necessary, and that was all Harry could stand to comfort himself with as of now.

Everything else could bloody well disappear.

By the time Harry had managed to quell Ron's outrage at the fact Harry was rooming with Draco, make sure the Ministry had properly informed McGonagall of the magic canceler, found Draco and then navigated his way through to their dorm, the sun was already setting, and Harry was beyond exhausted.

He barely spared the dorm's decor a second glance. There were two beds with two nightstands between them, two desks and chairs, one couch and an adjoined bathroom. Pretty standard Hogwarts dorm, though they could've shoved Harry into a pigsty den and he wouldn't have cared.

It felt wrong—how mentally drained he was as opposed to how physically aroused he felt. With deep sigh, Harry just flung himself into the first bed he stumbled across, decidedly firm on passing out where he lay and not giving a shit what anyone else did.

He untangled his glasses from his squished to the bed cheek and tossed them onto the nightstand, only able to see out of the corner of his eyes. Draco shrugged his robe off and deposited himself into the next bed, the darkness of the dorm shifting around him.

Harry closed his eyes and decided to go to sleep.

Only to find—he couldn't fall asleep.

Something felt—off.

The bed was too cold and wrinkled and no matter how much Harry tossed about, he couldn't get comfortable. Something was missing.

The bloody bed was too large—Honestly who needed beds this large—

Harry stopped.

Oh bollocks—

It hadn't occurred to Harry for a second that after a month of sharing the bed with someone he'd find himself unable to sleep alone. He hadn't thought for a moment that he'd grow so intrinsically used to it that no matter how exhausted and drained he was he would quite simply be unable to sleep without another body there.

Ah, shit—

Harry tossed onto his back and miserably stared up at the ceiling. Fuckity fuck fuck. The one thing he'd been looking forwards to was finally getting some rest once he was able to and now—not even that. With a pitiful huff, Harry wiped at his bleary eyes and resigned himself to studying the ceiling in the dark until morning came.

He didn't want to go impose upon Draco or wake him up for something as ridiculous as being unable to sleep without him. Like a Krup. Harry felt like a Krup.

A helpless, besotted Krup trailing after his owner.

The raven tamped down on a suffering sigh, and shook his head at himself. Love was such an iffy thing to experience.

Harry turned his head to the side and watched the outline of Draco's back in his own bed in the darkness. He was laying perfectly still, as if frozen.

The posture was so unlike someone who was asleep, so tense, that it occurred to Harry that Draco might not have been sleeping either. Could it be—?

Not one to jump to conclusions, Harry decided to test his hypothesis. If that was a bit dramatic, well, Harry simply didn't want to make a fool of himself. He started shifting in bed again, making sure to cause a rustle while watching Draco's form closely.

His shoulders stiffened.

Bingo.

Harry tamped down on a grin as he slowly sat up, took off his robe, leaving himself in only the shirt and trousers, and then stood off his bed. He padded over to Draco's bed and gingerly sat down on the edge of it.

Draco still lay perfectly still, but Harry was not to be fooled anymore.

He lay down behind Draco and touched a hand to the blonde's shoulder to show he was there, before getting ready to pull back and go to sleep.

But then Draco turned around and scooted closer until both his arms were locked around Harry's chest and his face was pressed close under Harry's chin.

"Took you long enough, Potter." He grumbled in the silence, clinging to Harry tighter yet.

Harry was stunned, though it didn't stop the disbelieving chuckle from slipping past his lips:

"What was stopping you from coming to me?" He grouched into the head of platinum blonde hair that was practically shoved into his face.

Harry found his arms settling around Draco naturally, terrifyingly instinctively already.

"Wasn't sure you'd want me to." Draco breathed so quietly Harry wouldn't have heard him if not for their proximity.

"Turns out I've also grown quite used to sharing the bed. Couldn't sleep without you either, you wanker." Harry admitted by way of reassurance. He was petting Draco's hair before he even realized he was doing so. It was a wonder how Draco, who was normally a few inches taller than Harry, was so content to curl up so small and be held while he slept. How he fit into Harry's frame damn perfectly. "Sleep now, Draco, it's okay." The words were slightly slurred though still fond as Harry began drifting off.

Now that all was right with his world once more, he could sleep.

The three days before classes officially started were remarkably similar to the days in Grimmauld's attic. They talked and played games or read books and nothing really changed. Harry was surprised yet not that things just slid right back into the same old domesticity from before they returned to Hogwarts.

The only thing missing was Kreacher, but the school had elves of its own that popped in here and there to fill in all the duties.

The only thing that changed, was that Ron and Hermione would stop by fairly often to get Harry to hang out with them. Sometimes Harry went, but he felt guilty leaving Draco alone for too long, especially since Draco had once told him how he'd often get paranoid and antsy if he was alone in silent rooms for too long, since those were times something would jump out at him in the Manor while Voldemort lived there. Draco didn't talk to Harry for two days after revealing that, but Harry understood.

It was just that he now felt bad leaving Draco alone for so long at a time, especially since he'd most likely be out of range to stop any immediate outbursts.

Harry also felt bad saying no to his friends, but most of the time his whipped heart won out and he'd stay behind with Draco.

He was about 99% certain that at least Hermione if not Ron had clued in on something by now, but Harry was less worried about that than he was worried about Draco himself also noticing.

Which was exactly what happened after about the sixth time Harry turned their invitations down in two days.

Because Fate hated Harry.

"Why are you using me as an excuse not to spend time with them?" Draco asked over the book he'd always pretend to read whenever Ron and Hermione came by. Harry cringed at the door he'd just closed on his best friends' crestfallen faces. He'd always tell them the same thing when he rejected them. 'Can't go out of range, sorry guys, maybe another time.'

What was there for Harry to say now though? All he could do was lie, or bend the truth at the very least. Anything remotely earnest he could answer with would reveal too much. Skewing the truth was the only option left at this point. He slowly turned around to face Draco and leaned his weight on the door, hoping he looked more relaxed than he felt. Then he affected a shrug and spoke:

"I'm not. The Ministry put me in charge of you, so."

Draco's face flashed as if Harry had slapped him.

Harry knew that would happen—his heart shriveled in his chest. He couldn't ever let Draco find out the truth, but—this was such a cruel way of going about it. Such a cruel thing to insinuate.

"Right." The blonde curtly nodded, his face steeling as he returned his focus to the book in his hands.

Harry wanted to bite his own tongue off, but he just sighed and shook his head. Better to have Draco cross with him for a few days than for the rest of his life, which was what would happen if he knew.

He couldn't ever find out that Harry loved him.

As far as Harry was concerned, Draco would never love him back anyways, so there was no point pushing for something that won't happen.

When classes finally started, Harry had been so relieved he could have hollered.

Not because of any particular love of academia (Hermione was the only one barmy enough), but because Draco had reverted back to his old ways of pretending Harry didn't exist, which had gotten exceedingly awkward and thick, because now, they were not in a huge manor with two stories and plenty of rooms they could avoid each other in, they were in a tiny Hogwarts dorm.

The worst part was that Harry knew he was at fault, and that he had done it deliberately. It was just that at the time he didn't know how else to respond because he couldn't let on his true feelings and there didn't appear to be any other choice for him.

Draco was exceedingly intelligent, he'd have figured it all out in a snap if Harry had let on a more personal answer.

Draco remained cross for the entirety of the first month, no longer even accepting to share the bed with Harry, which Harry understood and kept to his own space.

Harry hadn't slept in about a month now.

By the looks Harry got of Draco in the morning, he didn't seem to be sleeping either, but he still always warded his bed at night so Harry couldn't come near it.

Harry's heart felt like it was eating itself still alive in his chest cavity, once it slowly showed how deeply he must have hurt Draco for Draco to do a full 180 like this. The insinuation that Harry was only staying close to Draco because of the Ministry and not because he actually wanted to was a deep cut, Harry had known even as he had spoken the words, but he never would have imagined just how deep it'd actually go.

The guilt burned like a bitch.

He couldn't even bloody apologize either—It would mean explaining he'd lied and then Draco would undoubtedly ask for the truth.

That Harry loved him, but couldn't ever let him know.

So hellbent was Harry on hiding his own feelings, in his conviction that Draco would never love him back that he completely missed or ignored all the stares Draco sent his way through class and meals. They didn't really sit together those times, just kept close.

Harry missed all of it, but Hermione and Ron didn't. They saw it all apparently, something they kindly pointed out to Harry on yet another sleep deprived morning over breakfast. As soon as Harry sat down, rubbing at his hurting eyes and blindly grabbing for toast, Hermione leaned in, her voice low and conspiratorial:

"What's up with all the staring at you Malfoy's been doing?"

Harry furrowed his eyes as he processed this quite slowly:

"Draco hasn't been staring at me."

Ron snorted and shook his head as he shoved some more pudding into his mouth:

"Mate, all he's been doing is stare at you. In class, in meals—look, he's doing it even now!" Ron jerked his head to the left and Harry looked out of the corner of his eyes, only to find it was true—Draco was eating a few seats down, but he kept covertly glancing Harry's way.

Well.

Harry had no idea this was going on.

"I didn't know." Was all he could tell his friends.

"Harry—you've been rooming with him for a month. How could you have not known?" Hermione's voice was laced with disbelief.

"I didn't notice." Harry lied through his teeth, feeling considerably more awake now. He was so focused on himself and making sure he didn't accidentally expose himself somehow that he hadn't actually been paying attention to Draco and what he might or might not have been doing. "He's been mad at me this past month anyways, we haven't actually spoken a word."

Ron's ginger eyebrows disappeared into his hairline:

"What? How is that possible? Malfoy's been hovering around you like a lost puppy all this time—We thought something was up."

"Yeah. Honestly, Harry, for the Chosen One, you're remarkably bad at noticing you are being stalked. In class Malfoy stares at you, in meals, when we walk around he stays a few paces behind you. Come on, surely you noticed something?" Hermione's tone was pleading, eyes painfully hopeful, but all Harry could do was put his toast down uneaten and sheepishly gape at her.

"No, I had no clue—"

Ron dropped his head to the table and Hermione facepalmed.

Harry grimaced at himself. Had he really not noticed any of this?

More importantly—Even if he hadn't noticed, that mattered less than the matter of why Draco did all that.

Harry had been under the impression all this time that Draco was hurt and angry with Harry and avoiding him because of that.

"Why is he mad at you anyways?" Ron suddenly piped up again, seemingly only now remembering what Harry had said.

Harry shrugged a shoulder:

"He asked me why I kept using him as an excuse not to hang out with you guys—" Harry cringed when both Ron and Hermione glared at him over that. "—And I told him I wasn't, but that Ministry put me in charge of him so I had to stay close."

His best friends stared at him in silence for a few seconds, then Ron groaned and Hermione turned her eyes heavenwards for strength. This time Harry didn't think they were overreacting, because he himself was fully aware that he fucked up.

"He likes you, you idiot and you went and said that?" Ron whisper-yelled, his brow knitting. Hermione was nodding furiously next to him.

"And you like him too and then you—messed up like this, Harry." She added.

Harry felt bludgeoned to the head.

"First of all—" He tried, but words failed him for a good, full five seconds. "Draco doesn't like me." He corrected, though didn't bother correcting Hermione's conclusion that Harry liked Draco, he'd figured that they had read him like a book a while ago.

"Of course he does Harry." Ron waved off Harry's claim as if it were nothing. "I admit at the beginning I felt so sick even looking at him, but it turns out you were right Harry, he is different. More helpful and kind now, much as I hate to say it. And he likes likes you Harry."

"He really likes you Harry." Hermione was nodding along.

Harry stared at them. They were barmy. Absolutely mad.

"I really don't believe that at all." Harry shook his head stubbornly. "Why do you even say that?" He asked after a moment though, something tentative niggling in his heart. Harry brutally squashed it before it had the chance to rear its ugly head in any way.

"All the staring, following around, come on, Harry it's the textbook crush." Ron threw his hands up in clear outrage at Harry's obliviousness. "It's so obvious."

"Yeah, and he doodles in class, did you know?" Hermione's lips quirked up in a mischievous smile. "Always your name."

Harry felt like he swallowed ice.

"How—do you even know all that?"

She grinned with all her teeth:

"I happened to sit behind him one class and I saw him doodle 'Potter ' in the corner of his parchment of notes. Then he seemingly got pissed with himself for doing it and scribbled over it furiously. I caught him another time when he tore off the corner of his notes and crumpled it up."

Harry was sure his jaw was dragging against the floor.

"It's so childish and obvious, Harry, for God's sake!" Ron shook his head at his best friend, utterly chagrined.

"And you also like him, we know." Hermione continued. "So why in the name of hell did you ever let him think you're only around out of obligation?"

Harry took a moment to absorb all of this. It was far too much at once and he didn't really know how to deal with it quite yet. If it was true that Draco felt similarly about Harry, then what Harry said was even worse than it first seemed. The raven sighed very deeply, ran a hand through his unruly hair and finally decided to come clean to his friends. They deserved it after everything.

"It's because—I don't just like Draco. Guys, I'm—in love with him." The words felt foreign rolling off Harry's tongue, but he couldn't stop them once they started, as if a wave of them roiled in his throat and demanded to spill out. "And at the time I really thought he'd never actually feel the same, I just didn't want him to ever find out, so I—got him to think that."

Ron leaned over and smacked Harry on the head. Which was fair enough, Harry deserved that one if everything they said turned out to be true.

"Merlin, Harry you're an idiot." The ginger grumbled.

"I still can't quite believe that he might like me back." Harry whispered in complete awe into his cup of pumpkin juice, ignoring Ron's comment. Now that it was settling in, he felt so numbed by a grip of sugary happiness so tight he might have been drowning and wouldn't have noticed.

Hermione's face melted into something sweet and compassionate and she reached over and patted Harry's hand:

"We're absolutely sure he does. And since you—love him, you should ask him out. See if it goes anywhere."

"Really? You guys won't be mad?"

Ron looked downright offended:

"Mate! Of course not! We've talked about this a lot, and we know when you love someone you just do. It doesn't matter if it's Malfoy. It's a little unconventional, but you've practically been living with him for a while, so obviously you must know something we don't."

It was such a relief to hear Ron had thought about everything the past month of school and came to different conclusions since it was his disapproval Harry feared most. He hadn't even realized how tense he'd been about Hermione and Ron's positions on the matter until just now when they'd told him in no uncertain terms that they supported him and wouldn't stand in his way.

Goodness if it was all really true—

Harry had no idea what to do. He made no plans for the scenario in which Draco returned his feelings simply because he'd never actually thought it was even a remote possibility.

Now he had to account for it as well. And that was—exhilarating but so, so terrifying too.

His friends wouldn't lie to him, so if they were so certain Draco felt the same, there must be truth to it, which meant Harry wouldn't have to die alone and lonely, like he'd planned to do before he was told that Draco liked him too.

It was ridiculous that someone else needed to tell him that, but he was known to be a little slow on the uptake, so Harry didn't feel too bad for not realizing sooner.

Regardless, what mattered was that Draco felt the same and that Harry would—would ask him out. Yes, that's what Harry would do.

Just—not now or soon. Later. When they break the bond, that would be the best moment to do it. So Draco doesn't think the bond somehow compelled Harry to do it. So he doesn't doubt Harry's heart.

Yes. That would be best, Harry concluded. He'd wait until they were able to break the bond so that Draco could be a hundred percent certain that everything was clear between them. That Harry meant every single word he'd say.

"There's that look." Hermione's voice was honeyed when she poke. "That face of 'I'm about to do something stupid, just watch me.'"

Harry threw his head and laughed, for the first time in a month now, he just felt so unreservedly happy. Things weren't falling apart like it seemed just before he got down to breakfast that morning.

"Oh my god, look at Malfoy." Ron snickered and nudged Harry under the table with his leg. "He looks so gone."

Harry turned his still beaming smile and directed it at Draco, who was sort of just staring their way, his expression shifting and rippling.

"Huh, Harry. You possibly might not be the only one in love here." Hermione whispered, biting her lip in apprehensive thought.

Harry jerked back to stare at her, his smile widening so much it was starting to hurt his cheeks:

"Really?"

Both her and Ron nodded and grinned teasingly at him.

Breakfast ended, the rest of the day whizzed by, and Harry floated through it still grinning like a huge fool.

That night was the first night that Harry was able to get more than a measly hour or two of sleep.

And Harry dreamed.

He dreamed of their one kiss, over the rune circle. Dreamed of the pliant, loving caress of Draco's lips against his, the way his whole being flooded with such intense emotion that burned away all that was ugly and jagged within him. How he trembled for more, how Draco gripped his shirt tightly, the soft mewling sigh that echoed before they parted.

Harry dreamed that there would be many others such as that one, that there would be a chance to claim Draco and kiss him again and pull him closer and show him that Harry did love him.

Harry dreamed the whole night away, and awoke burning with want.

The pressing arousal borne of the bond only choked Harry farther by his dream, his head fogging and glazing with the ghosting shivers in his skin that ached to go to Draco—to touch and be touched. Harry's throat hurt, felt too parched and dry, as if he'd been screaming or speaking in his sleep.

Or moaning most likely, considering the contents of his dream.

Harry's cheeks flushed with utter embarrassment as the first breaks of dawn filtered through the dorm windows. He just hoped he hadn't woken up Draco with any sounds he may have made, and that Draco didn't hear any of them.

Slowly focusing on his laboured breathing and struggling to push a thought through the heat haze in his head, Harry managed the urges and his body and the bloody bond.

That's when he heard a series of choked sobs off to his side. He slowly sat up and looked at Draco's bed. Draco was on his knees on his bed, bent over, hands clutching the sheets. He was crying, quite obviously.

Harry swallowed any words that might have come to him—he wasn't sure if he had a right to anymore, since Draco was still stoically ignoring him, despite apparently liking him, if Ron and Hermione were to be believed.

As Harry focused on the situation, he heard that Draco was viciously swearing and muttering something under his breath, his forehead pressed to the bed.

Harry tuned in to try to make out the words.

"Fucking—bond—the bastard moaning—having fucking wet dreams—trying to fucking kill me—"

Harry pressed a hand over his mouth, partly to hide his shocked, embarrassed gasp and partly to hide his amused snort. Looking past the mortification of Draco hearing Harry in the throes of a wet dream, Harry found some comical solace in how it seemed to affect Draco just as bad as it did Harry.

The bond really was a bitch.

"I do apologize, but I don't actually have much control over my dreams." Harry finally deigned to speak, carefully attempting to lighten the situation, hoping Draco might get past his hurt and anger and start talking with Harry again.

Harry knew he didn't really have any right to expect that, since he hadn't even apologized, but he planned to say all his dues when the time came for it.

Draco stiffened then slowly straightened and wiped at his face. His expression was still icy when he looked at Harry.

"Fuck off Potter." He snipped coldly, then clambered off the bed and disappeared into the bathroom.

Harry felt himself deflate, felt his heart sink.

He deserved it, he knew, but the distance and silence hurt so much regardless.

Seeing how easily Draco brushed all his attempts at reconciliation off, Harry found it really hard to believe his friends when they told him that Draco was interested. Then again, Draco was a bloody brilliant actor, so perhaps this all was an act too?

The way things seemed to Draco now were that Harry didn't give a shit and was only there out of obligation after all, so it was reasonable to assume he might have been creating distance for his own sake.

Harry ran an aggravated hand through his hair and bit back a groan of pure frustration. He didn't think words could ever fuck up this badly.

Lost on anything else to do, Harry got up too and started getting ready for the day ahead.

During Harry's free period that day, he decided to go around the Quidditch pitch and think about everything that happened to him in the past while. He and Draco took most of the same classes because of the range requirement, except that Draco took up Arithmancy and Harry didn't, which left Harry with a free period.

He figured it would be fine to be apart for once class, since it's been awhile since Draco's last outburst so Harry wasn't too worried that something would go wrong.

On Harry's third lap around the pitch, deep in thought though he was, he didn't hear someone desperately yelling out his name and running out into the pitch. It was only when Ron grabbed him and shook him that Harry snapped out of his looped daze and finally realized that there was something urgent going on, by the look of dishevel on Ron.

"Mate! Malfoy's gotten into a fight! I think his magic is going to shit—one window already exploded and nearly cut us all to ribbons—you have to come, right now!" Ron yelled between gasps, already pulling Harry into a run behind him.

Harry picked up his pace, heart starting to hammer with rapid panic.

He'd thought something like this might eventually happen, things had been entirely too peaceful for far too long. A full month without someone picking a fight? That was too good to be true, it had to go wrong.

Still, Harry wished that once it had finally come to blows, it hadn't happened when he was so far away from Draco, so far away from perhaps calming him down differently without the use of the canceler, so that the secret wouldn't be out that he even had a canceler on Draco.

Ron had already dragged Harry through several halls before taking a sharp left and nearly tripping into one heavily oppressed magically charged hall, where there were a few people around and two dueling.

Draco and Goldstein.

Harry yanked away from Ron's grip and forced his way through Draco's shifting, out of control magical force to make straight for the blonde whose back was to him. Just as Harry made it close enough, Draco threw his wand arm above his head to cast, but Harry shot out and grabbed it, wrapped his own fingers around it tightly to stop him.

Draco gasped and jerked around, his face flushed, his eyes wide, feverish and outraged, a trickle of blood sliding down the side of his face from a shallow gash on his forehead, panting heavily.

His expression immediately shifted when he realized it was Harry who had caught him. From a snarl to a burning, terrified visage.

Harry watched him closely, trying to read him at least a little, to read the situation a little. So much magic was buzzing around him, out of hand, Goldstein's mocking, pug like voice snarling insults from a ways in front, Draco's eyes themselves going so deep and wavering.

He was—afraid—not of Goldstein, but of Harry. Or—Harry quickly ran it through his head, more likely he was afraid that Harry would press the button.

His eyes were burning with a desperate, pent rage and Harry pressed his lips into a thin line as he slowly released his grip on Draco's wand arm. He gave him a curt nod, but hissed his mind through his teeth:

"Just this once."

And Harry stepped back, dragging everyone present out of the hallway for their own safety, whether they liked it or not or wanted to watch or not. He dragged them away regardless then warded the hallway so they didn't come running back.

Whatever had started this fight, it must've been so intense and provocative. The look in Draco's eyes told Harry everything he needed to know about the situation. He wouldn't live it down if Harry humiliated him with pressing the button and revealing to everyone just how much control Harry really had. More than that, he was desperate to finish the fight, fair and square.

It was a matter of whatever little dignity and pride he still held to himself after everything.

And Harry couldn't take that from him, even if he felt as if his stomach acid was clawing its way up his throat by letting Draco's state run so unstable and his magic go so unchecked. Even as he wanted so badly to step in and pull him away, to protect him, to calm him down.

Harry held himself against the edge of his wards, keeping himself inside the battlefield and making sure everyone else was kept out. He counted his breaths and kept his eyes shut tightly, wincing at every hex thrown about, every curse and insult exchanged. He gripped his wand tightly, but he didn't interfere.

He wouldn't step on Draco. He promised to not go around protecting him, but—he did have a caveat to use the canceler if things got dire.

Even still, Harry didn't reach for the device around his neck. This was dire and horrifying more so than anything else, but it was something intensely personal and it needed to be seen through to its bitter end apparently, or at least Draco felt so.

Harry grit his teeth and forced himself to remain pressed to the corner and mind the wards he threw up. He refused to glance at the duel, refused to peak at how things were going, refused to entertain the notion that Draco was losing.

It would be over soon, he consoled himself. Draco surely didn't start it, Harry was certain, and soon this duel would be over, then Harry could take Draco back to their dorms and see about healing him and tearing him a new one. Quite possibly simultaneously, if he could somehow manage that rather ambitious feat.

He couldn't take Draco to the Hospital wing, if he did Pomfrey would find out about the bond which would have to go into records, and Harry knew that if something like that was on his or Draco's medical records it would serve to discredit a lot of the legitimacy of Draco's freedom.

And though the Ministry knew the truth, if, for example, an employer saw a lust bond between them on their records when they were looking for jobs, it would make Harry seem like a compromised witness and it might force the Ministry to nullify his testimony and arrest Draco again, to avoid a public scandal against them and protect their own reputation.

It was all hypothetical, but Harry couldn't bring himself to risk anything when it came to Draco. He'd fallen in love and he loved too much to.

After a few more minutes of utter crossfire, there came a silence filled with pained grunts and panting breaths.

Harry immediately turned to the duel, only to find Goldstein one knee down, leaning heavily on the wall and Draco pointing a wand at him, scowling darkly, though he too, was swaying on his feet.

The raven sneered himself, and briskly made it over to Draco, grabbed his shoulder and jerked him backwards. Before he dragged Draco away, Harry glared at Goldstein whose lip was curled up at them both.

"Hope you learned your fucking lesson." Harry grumbled under his breath, because honestly, how dumb does one have to be to go picking a duel with Draco Malfoy? Harry himself was one of the few individuals that held their own against Draco in duels, back when things were simpler, more black and white.

Harry absolutely gave no regard to anything else as his iron grip on Draco tightened and he wordlessly dragged the blonde through the halls back up to their dorm, dropping the wards on the hall.

"Potter! Slow down—!" Draco tried to jerk away but Harry grit his teeth and pulled harder, biting his tongue until they were safe in their dorm.

Once they were in, Harry locked the door behind them, because he knew that McGonagall would come any moment now and Harry wanted some time to sort this out best he could with Draco before she came.

"What the fuck Draco?" Was the only thing Harry could raggedly pant once he let go of Draco. "What the fuck?!"

Draco drew himself up:

"I will not let anyone call my dead mother a whore Potter, and I don't give a single shit what you have to say about it."

Harry went cold when he heard that, but then rounded on Draco as a fresh wave of anger washed over him:

"What I have to say about it? I fucking let you finish that fight! I think I demonstrated pretty well what I have to say!"

Draco's shoulders drooped, but he said nothing.

Harry continued:

"We had an agreement, Draco. I won't go around protecting you, but! If shit got out of control you'd let me use the damn canceler." As he spoke Harry tore the thing from around his neck and tossed it on the bed Draco was standing next to. "But just then you all but begged me to let you keep going, and you'd have never forgiven me had I actually went and used it." Harry was panting by the time he was done, heart bleeding frustration. Draco hadn't said a word but his expression had spoken so many volumes. His had eyes pleaded with Harry to let him.

And Harry did, but it felt so hollow.

"I—know." Draco finally spoke at length, looking properly chastised. "You're—right, I'm sorry."

Harry deflated, he couldn't keep to his waning anger:

"I'm not mad you defended your mother, hell I'd defend your mother if someone came up to me insulting her, I'm mad that you let it get so far out of your control that you ended up shattering a window and now you can barely stand." As he spoke Harry came closer and put his hands on Draco's shoulders to push him to sit down on Harry's bed. "And I'm mad that you wanted me to let you keep going, despite what we agreed upon."

The raven sighed as he came to kneel in front of Draco:

"Tell me the spells." He muttered under his breath as he drew his wand and summoned first a damp washcloth, then started gently dabbing at the blood on Draco's face. His bottom lip was busted and the cut on his forehead still faintly bled.

Draco's throat worked for a moment before he spoke:

"Just Sana should do."

Harry nodded, continued wiping the blood away. He deigned to speak through it:

"I won't live with myself if you end up returned to Azkaban. I'm trying my best to prevent that from ever happening, it's why I butchered those people's memories Draco, but you can't go around busting arses, you have to work with me here. You know how precarious your situation is, don't give the Ministry reasons to think you're more dangerous than they already deem you." Harry concluded then dropped the washcloth off to the side once he'd wiped all the blood away. He let his fingers trail over the slash on the blonde's forehead, his touch just ghosting around the skin there, then he slowly moved his hand to inspect the nick on Draco's bottom lip. Harry didn't even realize how intimate his touch was, so clinically focused on making sure it wasn't particularly deep or damaging.

Draco whimpered softly, which snapped Harry out of what he was doing.

"Sorry—did I hurt you?" He let his hand drop and go for his wand.

Draco swallowed heavily a few times, then rasped:

"Er, sure."

If Harry was more focused, he'd have been suspicious of how un-Draco-like that response was. As it were, Harry cast the healing spell to close up the two cuts on his face, then swept the healing spell over the entirety of Draco, just in case.

"I don't get you Potter." Draco suddenly spoke, his tongue prodding out to lick at where his lip was snicked.

Harry barely avoided his brain short circuiting by swiftly standing up and sitting down next to Draco, then determinedly staring at a wall:

"I'll be happy to enlighten you."

"You first tell me you're only doing this because the Ministry told you to, but then you go and do this for me and I actually just don't fucking understand." Draco sounded exceedingly despairing.

Harry dropped his head between his shoulder blades and sighed deeply. There was the conversation he didn't really want to have. Well, there seemed no getting out of it now:

"I'm sorry it came off like that, it's not exactly what I meant." He started, figuring he at least had a chance to apologize now, if nothing else. "I don't particularly care much for the Ministry's wishes, but we're at Hogwarts now, there's hundreds of people here and I have to take it a lot more seriously, if you hurt someone, they might arrest you and declare me an irresponsible chaperone. Or they might give this to someone else." Harry picked up the magic canceler from where he'd tossed it onto the bed earlier. "Do you really think anyone else would be fair with it?"

Draco paled and shook his head.

"Exactly. McGonagall is going to come up here, demanding answers for that duel, you better pray we can manage to calm her wrath and get off with detention." Harry mumbled, casting the unlocking charm at the dorm door to make it less suspicious when the Headmistress came knocking, and she would.

"We?" Draco's brows furrowed.

"You're insane if you think I'm letting you off anywhere on your own in that state. Who knows how much magic you unknowingly expelled just now?"

"Potter." Draco's voice was broken when he said it, his entire posture curling towards Harry. The mood shifted in an instant, and Harry choked on whatever he would've said next.

"Yea?" He managed to murmur.

Draco's eyes shone, he leaned closer, his minty breath faintly ghosting over Harry's face:

"You've done so much for me. And I don't—I just—Why? Why go so far?"

Harry felt a rock congeal in his throat, pressing on it so tightly he could barely breathe let alone speak. He tried to get something out regardless:

"I—I want to—" Before Harry could finish his sentence, however, their door burst open and a furious McGonagall stepped into their dorm.

Draco and Harry both jumped apart, whirling around to face their inevitable doom.

" . A word, if you please." McGonagall seethed, glaring daggers over the rims of her spectacles.

Harry was plastered to the door while McGonagall and Draco had a word trying to hear what kind of death sentence she would enact upon them.

Harry was instead most pleasantly surprised by what he heard. His professor sighed gravelly:

"There were several testimonies, most prominently by Miss Granger and that had provoked you, and I am inclined to believe them."

"Thank you, Headmistress." Draco was likely nodding along dutifully.

"I commend you for not seriously injuring him despite the utmost vile things you were provoked with." She spoke, tone soft though it then sharpened. "I am, however, very upset at the damage done to the school. Breaking windows is most unbecoming of you, Draco."

Harry could just picture the slow, confused drawl of Draco's expression. He swallowed a chuckle.

"I apologize Professor." Draco sounded so sheepish it was undoubtedly fake. "What can I do?"

"You will be in detention for as long as it takes for you to repair the window you shattered. As notified me about your situation at the start of term, he will be joining you, to make sure everything goes smoothly."

"Of course." Draco replied, sounding properly chastised.

Harry chuckled quietly and peeled himself away from the door. As if. Well, at least McGonagall had Harry join Draco of her own, or he'd have gone and broken something himself just to get himself in detention with Draco.

A few moments later, Draco was entering the dorm, looking about ten times more relieved than he did when he went out.

"I can't believe what she was upset about." Draco shook his head with a soft snort.

Harry half shrugged:

"After the war, I can imagine how McGonagall might be the teensiest bit upset at students going around breaking windows and damaging property."

Draco didn't seem even remotely surprised that Harry had known or that he'd likely listened in.

"Right, well. I got off with detention."

Harry tilted his head:

"You mean 'we' got off with detention."

Draco rolled his eyes, though his lips quirked upwards:

"Unfortunately. Now I must spend even more time with you than I'm forced to already."

It was Harry's turn to snort and fall back onto his bed with a chuckle:

"Say that to your sleep schedule."

To Harry's utmost surprise, Draco came to stand at the foot of Harry's bed, an evil gleam in his eyes before he outright collapsed overtop Harry, his full weight slamming the poor raven into the mattress.

"I was cross with you." He simply shrugged while Harry moaned and huffed in pain and breathlessness. "Now I'm not so I can finally sleep again."

"You—are—a prick—" Harry choked out once he was able to breathe again. Draco wasn't an entirely unwelcome weight, but he really didn't need to just drop like dead onto Harry the way he did.

What was extremely unwelcome though, was the press of Draco's constant boner into Harry's hip.

Which then in turn gave Harry the unwelcome realization that his own constant boner was probably poking Draco somewhere too.

"For some reason you seem intent on sticking by me though, so I'm not sure what that says about you." Harry could have been imagining it but he could swear that Draco sounded just a little breathless.

He was propped up by his forearms, staring down at Harry with a cocky grin and an arched eyebrow.

Harry's heart was doing funny things.

"It says I have an incorrigible hero complex that will one day condemn me to a fate worse than death somehow." He snickered instead of kissing Draco like he wanted to.

Draco threw his head back and laughed, but he still didn't roll off Harry.

Harry was starting to grow very comfortable, especially if Draco would keep laughing like that forever.

"That you do Potter, and that it will." The blonde acquiesced once his gaze fell back to Harry.

Harry was wondering whether it was legal for a person to be so beautiful for a moment longer than appropriate. Then he chuckled:

"I've been calling you by your given name for months now, and you still can't return the favor?"

"You haven't deserved it yet." Draco's smile was criminal.

If Harry didn't know better, he'd think Draco was flirting.

However, Harry apparently really didn't know better, but he trusted Ron and Hermione's judgment. They were convinced Draco felt the same. So, this could very well have been some sort of flirting. In that case, he wanted to see how far he could push it and what kind of reception he'd get out of the blonde.

Harry brought his arms up and loosely wrapped them around Draco's neck, his own grin turning feral.

"Oh yeah? What can I do to deserve it then?"

Draco seemed entirely stunned, all his bravado melting from his face once he seemed to recognize how Harry had him. Harry made sure to school his face into something entirely innocent, not let any of his previous mischief flash through.

"You can—do my DADA homework—" Draco finally found his voice, strangled though it was. His cheeks were flushed. "For a—start."

Harry's smile only grew. Perhaps there was more truth to what his friends claimed than either of them had initially assumed.

"Oh? Okay. What else?" Harry asked as he bent one leg at the knee, aligning Draco's body with the length of his own as he pulled his foot up.

The reception had been wonderful so far. Harry didn't plan to push it too far just yet though, but he did want to see and test for himself Draco's feelings. Just so he could be sure.

Draco's arms were shaking slightly.

"Then you can—" Draco choked up when Harry licked his lips beneath him. His eyes zeroed in on the action, and he seemingly forgot what he was saying.

"I can what?" Harry hadn't forgotten though.

"You can—stop doing whatever it is you're doing." Draco dropped his head away and grumbled.

Harry laughed and scrunched his nose up:

"I'm laying perfectly still, so I'm not doing anything to you. Besides, you're the one who collapsed over me like an utter wanker."

Now, that wasn't entirely true, but shhh.

"I sincerely hate you." Draco informed him in a small, pitiful voice before rolling over to lay next to Harry.

Harry relished being able to breathe again fully, as well as the fact that he now knew without any shadow of a doubt that Draco liked him back. He'd needed to see it with his own two eyes in order to commit to the idea, and now he'd tested it and seen it and—

Holy shit, it was all true. Draco liked him back.

Harry couldn't wait for the time to come for him to finally ask Draco out.

Now that Draco was no longer cross, the quality of Harry's life improved greatly.

For one, Harry could sleep properly again.

He was a little bit worried about this codependent sleeping they seem to have developed, but he wasn't too worried. If there was really a future for them together, Harry supposed that co-sleeping won't be a big issue. He was hopeful.

For another thing, Draco turned a lot warmer than he ever was before. Unabashed and unashamed to be who he is and make sure Harry knew at all times just how honored he should feel that he got to witness it.

The scariest thing was, Harry did actually feel honored.

Seeing Draco stony and cold and cut off from everyone else was sometimes such a stark shock to the Draco Harry knew him to be that Harry had to look twice. The Draco he knew whined and bitched about absolutely everything, expected Harry to fix it and if Harry didn't he whined some more. While they were serving out their two week long detention, Draco would constantly feign that he was feeling antsy and wasn't sure if his magic could handle the tedium of repairing a window, then unload all the work on Harry. Harry knew, but he didn't complain once as he essentially repaired the entire window himself.

Harry was horrified with himself at how utterly adorable he found it all.

Draco was like a very small child, or a puppy.

Harry had quickly realized after the third month of school steadily trickled them by, that he quite simply wouldn't be able to live without his blonde krup, he wouldn't know how.

Said blonde krup was just as lost though, so Harry took solace in the fact that they were both, in fact, hopeless idiots.

The air between them had grown so affectionate and warm that Harry was pretty sure they'd both figured out how they felt about each other already and could quite honestly skip the dating part and just get straight to moving in together.

A man could dream.

Harry felt as if he was drifting through days full of dopey smiles and lovesick aches.

Even Ron and Hermione's incessant teasing did little to dampen his moods.

He truly felt as if his life was back on the proper track again and he could chase his own chances at happiness.

"You are so whipped, it scares me." Ron had told him over lunch that day, as Harry had walked into the Great Hall grinning again. They'd just had Charms, and Draco had managed to miss the pot of paint whose color he was supposed to change and instead hit his own hand. Now he'd have to walk around with bright pink fingernails until he figured out how to take it off.

Harry knew the counter-spell.

Harry would not tell Draco.

"I am." He just nodded at his ginger friend and sat down to eat. Draco still sat away from Harry during meals, presumably because of Ron and Hermione but otherwise they started pretty much being joined at the hip at all times, which Harry was resolutely okay with.

"Malfoy is too." Hermione snickered as she spread jam on her toast slice. "Oh so whipped."

Harry just nodded absently. Now that he was actually looking out for it, he saw all the same things Ron and Hermione used to tell him about, and he always felt giddy when it hit him all over again that interest was mutual.

Fucking crushes—reducing him to an eleven year old.

Ah well, it could be worse.

More time passed and Harry's happiness only continued to swell further, so intense and encompassing that most of the time Harry could entirely forget he was trapped in a constant state of arousal and that his muscles were constantly and painfully cramping as a result of a months long erection.

It would all be over in another month or so, Harry consoled himself. He remembered how endless and agonizing it felt the first day that he woke up and realized the bond went into effect, as if it would never end, but now that there was only a month from it all being finally over, Harry wanted to laugh at his past self and all his dramatics.

It was also a month before Harry was to ask Draco out.

Happy as the thought made him, he was almost certain Draco would say yes, there was a spool of anxiety unraveling within him each day. He wanted to do it right, he wanted it to be special. Perhaps he was being a hopeless romantic, but Harry had never really dated anyone.

There had been Ginny, but whatever it was they might've had sizzled out upon Harry's realization that he was so fantastically gay. It had taken a while for her to get over it and forgive him, and Ron too, but eventually they managed to put their awkward fumbling attempt at a relationship to rest.

Since then, Harry hadn't really ever wanted to date anyone. There was plenty of interest, but he was always doubtful that it was genuine and couldn't summon any want within himself to give it a shot.

Draco was the first person Harry wanted. To date, to be with, to love and be loved by.

And—it meant a lot to him, to make it count and be special.

So, sappy fool that he was, he began planning a sweet way to ask Draco out about a month before it would actually be time to do it.

It was most likely his nerves talking, but he couldn't help himself.

Ron bleated in mock disgust at him when he found out and Hermione just cooed and offered her help. Harry, who was aware he had about no romantic intelligence at all, accepted her offer, because he knew he'd need all the help he could get.

What he hadn't really accounted for, was that Hermione didn't possess much romantic intelligence either. Oh, she'd read plenty about it alright, but when it came to practice she was just as confused as Harry, though she'd never admit it.

"Harry, it says in my books that—" She began for the umpteenth time, but Harry cut in:

"I will not go to his front door wearing a bloody bright orange fedora, no matter what some book out there says is the proper courtship ritual!"

Hermione sighed deeply, but dropped it.

They were in the library currently, trying to agree on a sufficient method of asking out, when a bang against the front library doors made them both jump.

The doors swung open and Draco came stumbling backwards, collapsing onto his arse while two guys Harry didn't know names off came trailing in, pointing their wands at him.

Oh for fuck's sake!

Harry had really thought that after Draco absolutely dusted Goldstein's arse everyone else raring for a fight would have learned their lesson. As far as Harry knew, they had. No one really picked any fights aside from the occasional insult hurled while they passed them by in the halls.

Then again, Harry had been with Draco considerably more, always walking to class together and sitting together and such, so perhaps people didn't dare because of him.

If that was the case, then it made sense that now, when Harry wasn't with Draco, someone would seize the opportunity so to speak.

Harry was automatically halfway out of his seat to go help Draco before all his thoughts even came in order, when he saw Draco pushing himself up and standing.

"Honestly, you lot, this is a library, have you absolutely no class or decorum?" Draco sneered and dusted himself off, entirely casually.

Harry knew the tense line of his shoulders, but he didn't interrupt yet. He figured Madam Pince would be here any minute now to tear them all a new one for disrupting the peace and quiet of the library. Hermione was gripping her wand next to him, but she seemed to also be disinclined to get involved, since things would be about ten times worse if Madam Pince caught them all dueling.

"You didn't seem to care about the library in seventh year Malfoy, when you Crucio-ed my little sister into paralysis." One of the guys snarled right back, his face white with fury. "She screamed and begged you to stop. Right here, in the library. You didn't."

Harry's stomach swooped out his body. He couldn't see Draco's face, but Harry could pretty accurately imagine it. Christ.

Hermione seemed just as sick next to Harry, her fingers going slack on her wand so much that she nearly dropped it.

"Harry—" She leaned over to whisper, her face gray. "Should we—do something?"

Harry bit his lip and rubbed a hand down his face, skewing his glasses and desperately trying to think of a way to stop this without making it too obvious what he was doing.

If Harry just watched this, he'd never forgive himself, all his promises to Draco be damned. He muttered the plan to Hermione, who swallowed and stood from her chair, a determined set on her face and her wand pointed up.

Harry grabbed at his magic canceler, hovering his thumb over the silver thumb, waiting, his heart beating behind his chest.

He watched as Hermione made her way over to the three, knocking into Draco as she rounded up next to the two guys.

"What's up?" She faked disgust in her voice as she looked upon Draco.

The two guys snickered and muttered something to her, and Hermione nodded, then slowly pointed her wand at Draco.

Harry held his breath.

The moment she "cast" a fake hex and twirled her wand, he pressed the button, not letting himself think twice or miss the mark.

Draco seized up and cried out sharply, before collapsing to the floor.

The two gaped at Hermione in awe, then laughed at Draco, and immediately started badgering Hermione about how she did it, and she engaged them with honeyed lies and bullshit as she led them away.

Soon as they were gone, Harry sprang to his feet and ran to Draco, who was sort of dazed on the floor. Harry knelt down by him and pulled Draco's head into his lap, checking him over for any potential injuries.

"I'm sorry—I had to—I know I promised but I just—" Harry was rambling incoherently as he slowly stood and lifted Draco up into his arms, fully intending to carry him back to their dorm and see about the damage of the canceler.

Draco wasn't cognizant enough to respond.

The moment Harry was back in their room, he laid Draco down on his bed and paced next to it, trying to figure out what to do. His fluke with Hermione worked, he managed to get Draco out but how was he supposed to deal with it now? If he could get a hold of a house elf and request Potions, it would have to go through Madam Pomfrey, which was something Harry didn't want.

He supposed letting Draco rest it off would be fine, but it didn't sit right with Harry. He'd never gone through essentially getting electrocuted and he didn't particularly fancy the idea either, so he figured that it couldn't be anywhere near pleasant.

And the things that guy said, they made Harry shudder. He hadn't been at school during that seventh year, he hadn't seen anything Draco might've had to do when he couldn't exactly choose otherwise, but he did know some of it through second hand accounts and it was cruel and dark and sickening. Hearing it so blatantly thrown about really made Harry's stomach tumble, he simply could never imagine Draco as Harry knew him to torture a poor little girl into losing her ability to move.

It made Harry falter in his blind love of Draco. In his conviction to pursue it.

Only for a second though.

Then, Hermione had leaned over and asked whether they should do something. Harry had blinked and realized that if he'd been willing to give Tom a chance at regret and redemption at least once before they ended things, then Draco Malfoy sure as hell deserved one.

So he instructed her to mumble a fake Latin word passed off as a hex and he'd time it so to press the canceler and get Draco down and out of the situation, even though his magic was fine and there was technically no need to press the button.

Harry figured that what mattered was that they resolve the conflict before it escalated into another duel, and he could feel guilty later.

Well, later was now.

Draco stirred in bed next to Harry and Harry stopped and stared at him, unseeing for a second.

"Fuck, thanks for that." The blonde groaned, somehow managing to convey sarcasm despite the fact that his face was pinching in pain. "Goddamn, that hurts like a bitch."

"Right—What can I do?" Harry swallowed and cleared his head, mildly suspicious that Draco was letting this go that easily. It wasn't him like to let anything go easily. It was practically in his blood to complain.

Perhaps he'd brace himself to tear Harry a new one when he wasn't in pain.

Speaking of—

"I feel cramped as fuck." Draco grumbled, wincing at any and all movement.

Harry figured that might be the case, but he still didn't want to call for a Muscle relaxant, because he didn't really want Pomfrey to find out. He'd talked to Draco about it once, and Draco had been just as utterly horrified at the thought of the school nurse finding out he had a constant hard on, then attempting to medically treat it and write up reports on it as Harry himself.

So what options did that leave him with? Harry supposed massages and heat usually helped with cramped muscles, but if they were going to do that, Draco would have to take off his shirt and that was just—

Too much for Harry's abused heart.

Despite having spent so many months living together in various settings, they'd never really seen each other in any state of undress, they'd always just stayed fully clothed, even when sleeping. The most Harry had seen of Draco were his ankles.

But Draco was in pain.

After waging a bit of a mental war with himself, Harry decided to bite the bullet and bear it for Draco's sake.

"Strip." Harry grit through his teeth, ran a hand through his hair and loosened his tie, in an attempt to make this just a tiny bit less awkward than it was bound to be.

Draco, who had winced and struggled his way up into a sitting position by now, gaped blankly at Harry, who was trying his hardest not to flush down his neck. After a second of awkward silence, Harry snipped out a clarification, steadily growing mortified:

"So I can help you, you numpty."

Draco still didn't move. His eyes were dark and wide and after some more seconds, Harry's patience finally wore thin and he approached the bed, raising one knee on it as he reached over to grasp at the collar of Draco's shirt.

"Look, since we can't get a muscle relaxant for you, I'll have to get the cramps out the Muggle way, but the Muggle way dictates you be shirtless, sorry." Harry explained mechanically as he slowly popped one button at a time open, not letting his eyes linger too long on the pale skin slowly growing visible.

"Right, okay then." Draco mumbled, then fell entirely silent when Harry slipped the last button free of its hole.

Bracing himself deeply, Harry held his breath and pushed the shirt off Draco's shoulders, his hands shaking just a little bit.

There was—there was so much skin.

Harry allowed himself one look, but he froze cold within his own skin.

Draco's chest was lined with silver scars cutting across from his shoulders to his hips and Harry felt sick and shriveled up inside as he realized them there. And it was all because of—him.

He did this.

He did—

"Potter?" Draco's voice snapped Harry out of his horrified spiral and he slowly looked up at the blonde. He wasn't sure what his face was doing, but it must've shown his utter shame and guilt so very plainly, because Draco's next words were:

"I will break your nose a second time if you attempt to apologize."

Harry couldn't help the waves of nausea that overcame him.

"But—"

"No. If you'd asked me then I'd have asked you to finish me off, so if anything I'm more pissed with that than the scars."

Harry was even more horrified by hearing that. He felt the blood drain from his face and his skin grow prickly and icy.

"I—like them." Draco continued, softer this time, seemingly fiercely determined to make Harry feel better somehow. "That fight—it made me feel something, back when—" He shook his head. "Bottom line is, it's fine, stop looking like a guilty kicked puppy and help me with these fucking cramps."

Harry could only slowly nod as he blinked himself from his guilt stricken stupor.

"Okay. Okay." The raven mumbled, though he knew that he wouldn't forgive himself any time in the near future. At least Draco didn't hate him over it.

Harry climbed onto the bed behind Draco and settled onto his knees, figuring he'd work his way from Draco's neck and shoulders down, to work out the knots and cramps the seizure left.

Right.

He lifted his hands but left them hovering above Draco's shoulders for a second. He felt reverent in touching him, something liquid and hot pooling in his stomach.

Harry scolded himself and laid his palms on Draco's skin, feeling how tight and bent the muscles beneath it were. Draco gasped softly but other than that, there was no reaction from him when Harry pressed his thumbs into muscle and began circling, attempting to undo the knots of cramped tension. He moved along the line of Draco's shoulders, until his knuckles were pressing into the blonde's neck.

Harry felt—strangely detached from the whole experience, the soft, smooth skin beneath his fingertips a fleeting sensation while he massaged Draco. His sole focus was on what he was doing, unable to tear his eyes away.

Draco's quiet groan of relief made Harry stutter for a second, his fingers freezing barely.

"Don't fucking stop it now, it's obviously helping—" Draco acridly muttered over his shoulder, voice a sigh.

Harry nodded though said nothing, and continued his ministrations, sliding his hands lower over Draco's shoulder blades and back, pressing out the cramps and knots methodically, his fingers digging into Draco's lower back and ribs as he went round.

Once Harry had worked out all the pained clumps out of Draco's back, he skated his palms from the blonde's lower back up to his shoulders, and figured he might work on his arms next.

Draco had stayed entirely silent, but his breathing shifted slowly to a shallow panting, that Harry wouldn't have exactly noticed if he hadn't been paying attention. The blonde was leaning ever so slightly into Harry's hands and the raven held his breath as he moved over Draco's biceps, pressing into the cramps there.

As Harry worked down Draco's arms, Draco suddenly flinched, and Harry stopped. It took him a moment to realize what had happened. He glanced over Draco's shoulder to confirm his suspicions and yep, sure enough, one of his hands was resting over Draco's Mark.

Harry swallowed and let himself think about it. That stood against everything that Harry believed in—but Draco was forced to get it. And—how could Harry hate Draco over things he hadn't had any choice in? How could he hate Draco at all?

He couldn't. Never again.

"It's okay, it's fine." Harry muttered in Draco's ear, his chin hovering over the blonde's shoulder, he pressed his hand flat against the faded Mark, his fingers firm against it. "I don't care about it, I know you're better than that."

Draco crumpled against Harry's chest with a low whine, his head falling back onto Harry's shoulder.

"I fucking hate you so much Potter." He grit and Harry slowly turned his head to inspect Draco's profile. "You make my life so much harder than it already is." The blonde snipped, but Harry saw crystalline tears gathered at the corners of his eyes.

"I know." Harry offered a half smile, choosing not to comment on his observations. "It's what I've been sent here to do."

Draco huffed and grinned meekly, though he didn't move away. Harry made quick work of massaging Draco's arms and let his touch drop away, but he didn't push Draco off. His weight felt wonderfully warm even though Harry felt a bit pinched at the added press.

"For the record, I know exactly what you and Granger did." Draco spoke up after a moment, voice oddly flat.

Harry swallowed and found his arm automatically curling around Draco in a poor attempt at distraction.

"Sorry I used it, but I just—I know you're probably pissed but I just—couldn't stand by and watch—"

Draco cut him off:

"It's okay, this time I'm not mad."

Harry sighed in relief. He was glad Draco wasn't upset this time. He leaned back against the headboard of the bed, taking Draco with him, and felt himself smile:

"Yay."

Draco chuckled.

Harry slowly relaxed. Only a bit longer, and things would finally start getting better.

Time continued to slip by Harry like grains of sand in an hourglass, the days blurring slowly and meticulously until Harry felt as if he was just drifting through one long, never-ending day.

He found himself growing giddy yet sort of sick too as the sixth month neared its end. There was a sense of foreboding looming over his head as he anticipated the moment they'd return to Grimmauld and break the signet to snap the lust bond.

Harry wondered how it'd feel once it was finally broken and he would stop feeling constantly edge aroused, if the pains in his abdominal muscles would cease once he was no longer constantly hard. He imagined it would be a relief, when it was all finally done.

It felt ominous almost—to think of the end. For all the suffering this bond brought upon him, Harry couldn't help but feel grateful to it in a way. If it hadn't been for it, he'd have never gotten to know Draco or talk to him, they wouldn't have ever become friends and—

Harry wouldn't have fallen in love.

And Harry was so happy to be in love.

The feelings brought him a sense of peace and comfort—a happiness he could look forward to, when he finally deigned to express them.

He figured he could still do it now, tell Draco he loved him, but—it didn't sit right with Harry to do so under a bond. He didn't want it to feel forced or fake to Draco, so he decided that if he'd been patient enough to wait all these months, he could hold out a while longer and be certain it was all perfect when the time came.

Sometimes, Harry felt insane. He'd look at Draco and his being would flood with affection, so unbridled that it was terrifying. Sometimes it didn't feel earned, but then Harry would remember the days Draco kept to his own room and didn't dare face Harry out of shame and guilt, and he'd scoff at himself.

Of course it'd been earned.

All the things Harry knew about the blonde, the good, the bad and the downright horrific, it was earned.

And all the things Harry opened up to Draco about too, it was earned as well.

After all the hurt that they inflicted upon each other, it felt surreal they should love each other now, somehow, despite all odds.

Ron, when he was in a right mood to tease Harry, would say they were made for each other. He'd then proceed to explain how Fate had destined them together in a weird, roundabout way that was now finally straightening, that all the bad shit had been trials and testing, and Harry would always shake his head and laugh at his friend's ridicule.

But, at night, while he slept in Draco's bed with the blonde pressed to him, Harry often wondered whether there was any truth to Ron's words.

That they were meant to be.

Harry prayed they were.

When Harry woke up the morning after the sixth month finally ticked away, he could hardly believe it. He felt submerged in water, everything around him so thick and blurry through the hazy blue.

Looking at Draco as they went about their morning routines, Harry felt his heart warp and shift, the slow realization that in some time he could finally let himself show how he felt and not worry about the bond or anything really sinking into his very bones while they prepared to go down to McGonagall's office.

"It's finally happening." Draco muttered, voice lilting with as much disbelief as Harry felt.

"Yeah. Can't believe it." Harry replied, sounding a bit dazed.

"Me either. Never thought I'd say this, but I can't wait to get rid of this boner." Draco chuckled and grimaced, and Harry huffed out a laugh himself.

"Right? Ah. Let's go do that then."

And so they went up to the Headmistress's office.

"If I understand you correctly, you would like a week long leave of absence from school to attend to this bond you've informed me about at the start of term." McGonagall gave the two boys sitting across from her desk a look over the rim of her spectacles, steepling her fingers.

Harry squirmed in his seat under her gaze but jutted his chin up and cleared his throat:

"Yes. We will have to return to Grimmauld place and destroy the Black family signet to break the bond and we aren't sure what will happen afterwards so we'd like a few days to recuperate."

McGonagall nodded and remained quiet for a while.

Harry glanced at Draco to find him staring back, the same question in his eyes.

She surely wouldn't refuse them? When Harry had informed McGonagall about the magic canceler he had, much to his own mortification, admitted to the bond as well, because he'd known they'd have to leave Hogwarts grounds for a while when time came to break the bond and he was aware that McGonagall would have to be informed if they had any hopes of getting approved.

"I see." The Headmistress spoke at length. "Very well, I can understand this is a matter of great importance."

Harry felt as if a balloon of apprehension deflated in him. He nearly slumped in his chair.

"I will sign the papers necessary. You may leave tomorrow."

Harry nodded, smiling:

"Yes, thank you Headmistress, we really appreciate it."

McGonagall inclined her head, the smallest of smiles gracing her lips:

"Yes." She seemed to want to say something more, though she kept her silence.

Harry and Draco stood and made to leave, when McGonagall spoke again anyways:

"I'm happy—that you two found each other."

Harry saw Draco swallow and flush heavily, he himself feeling pretty similarly wrecked as they left together.

The day was pretty uneventful, in the face of what was to come tomorrow anyways. Harry felt abuzz with a sort of relief he hadn't often felt, nearly jumping in his seat. He saw Draco bouncing his leg most of the day too, neither really paying attention to class and the like.

"You look disgustingly happy, what's up?" Ron pestered Harry over dinner when seemingly neither he nor Hermione could hold their peace anymore.

Harry just sighed happily, and shook his head:

"I'm just in a good mood." Then he realized he'd have to give them some viable excuse as to why he'd be gone for a few days, since he hadn't actually ever told them about the bond. Hm. "Though Draco and I will have to leave Hogwarts tomorrow for a few days." Harry piped up, feigning a frown.

"Why?" Hermione leaned forwards, brow furrowed. She'd attempted to talk to Draco multiple times over the course of the year, but he always fidgeted and attempted to hide behind Harry, so Hermione gave up eventually, though she was determined to give non-verbal cues that she did not hate Draco and had found it in her to forgive him. Ron had been more pushy, he wanted to cultivate peace for Harry's sake though he attempted it rather violently by yelling Draco's name in the middle of the Quidditch stands and running up to him to start a Quidditch debate, which only resulted in Draco walking quickly—not running Potter, Malfoys never run from Weasleys—away and into their dorm, then hiding in Harry's shoulder while loudly whining how he'd been viciously attacked and he barely got away with his life. Harry had just sympathetically patted his back and agreed that Draco had been in such grave danger while hiding a smile.

"For, er, a Ministry check-up." Harry scrambled for the first excuse he could think of, figuring the Ministry is always a valid enough scapegoat.

"They're still on his arse?" Ron piped in while devouring toast rather inelegantly. "Watching him now he acts more like an overgrown toddler than a dangerous Death Eater." After Ron's first initial angry outburst, he'd mellowed out as he listened to Harry and watched Draco himself.

"That's about the best description of Draco I've ever heard." Harry chuckled.

"I do so hope it's a favourable one then." A third voice piped in, and Harry turned just in time to see Draco sit down next to him and stare intently at Ron and Hermione while fiddling with his thumbs.

Ron and Hermione seemed surprised for a few seconds, that Draco had come to them, seeing as he'd always used to run away whenever they tried to talk to him before, but then Hermione smiled:

"Well, if you consider being called an overgrown toddler favourable, then, yes, I suppose it is."

Draco blinked a few times and glanced sideways at Harry, who was hard pressed to notice since his chest was swelled with so much pride and elation he could've kissed Draco right then and there in the middle of the Great Hall in front of everyone without giving a single rat's arse.

"Let me guess, it was Weasley who came up with such a brilliant description." Draco said at length, cracking a ghost of a smile though he still looked as though he was staring Death in the face. Harry would know.

"Of course it was me, Malfoy. It's well known I hate your guts." Ron flashed a grin and flicked an olive at Draco's face. Ron's aim was impeccable, and the olive popped Draco right on his pointy nose.

Draco blinked and stared at the thing on the table after it hit him.

"That was—unexpected." He grumbled, and Harry finally had to laugh.

He'd known for a while that his friends had over six months to get over the grievances Draco caused them, and that they had managed it, but it was still so funny to him how absolutely shell-shocked Draco himself was.

"Us Gryffindors are like that, aren't we?" Harry snorted, and Draco huffed as he turned to him, rolling his eyes:

"You lot are a menace."

Harry nodded and put a hand on Draco's knee, smiling his approval.

Harry walked on clouds the rest of that day, watching Draco and Hermione converse about magical theory and Draco finally take Ron up on that Quidditch debate from awhile back. And things were easier than Harry could have ever imagined.

All the pieces were falling into place, after such a long time.

The morning they were scheduled to leave was oddly quiet. Harry and Draco took only some of their necessities, then went up to McGonagall's office to Floo back to Grimmauld.

"Is this undertaking safe?" McGonagall asked as they entered and exchanged greetings. She appeared pensive for some reason.

Harry and Draco glanced at each other, before Draco replied with a soft shrug:

"We don't know what's going to happen exactly, but we hope everything will be fine."

Harry nodded along to Draco's words.

The Headmistress gave them a long look over her glasses, then pursed her lips:

"If something should go wrong, contact me immediately."

Harry's stomach twisted, the offer felt ominous somehow, though he smiled a wobbly smile and nodded, disregarding his unease as a nervous side effect of what lay ahead:

"Of course."

With that, he took a deep breath and stepped into the fireplace, threw the Floo powder down and called:

"Grimmauld place!"

As they thumped back into Grimmauld's living room, now perfectly repaired, Harry felt a slight pang of guilt as his eyes fell upon the spot where he messed with two innocent minds. He sighed and willed the feelings away.

For Draco, it was worth it.

"Right." Draco's quiet voice piped up and snapped Harry out of his thoughts. "How are we going to do this?"

Harry turned to him and offered a reassuring smile, tension thrumming in his veins regardless.

"Where was the door to the Ancestral wing when you first saw it?" He asked, eyes darting around the house.

Draco contemplated this for a moment, then wandered over to a blank wall where presumably the entrance to the wing presented itself to him.

"Here." The blonde gestured with his head.

Harry nodded and considered how to get Draco into the wing again. Perhaps if Draco called to it, as a Pureblood, it might respond to him.

"Try—touching it and I guess—asking for it?" Harry grimaced at his words, nose scrunching up.

Draco stared at him for a moment, eyes flickering fondly then he huffed out a startled laugh. He pressed his palm to the wall and cleared his throat:

"Oh, great Grimmauld place, would you do me the absolute honor of allowing me to enter the most esteemed Ancestral wing?"

Harry had to bite into his fist to keep from doubling over with howling laughter. He couldn't believe that Draco managed to keep a straight face through saying all that. There was no way that that would ever work—

There was a rumble, then a door popped open from the wall under Draco's fingertips.

Harry stood corrected. Apparently old ancient magical houses loved flattery.

Draco took a step back and stared at the door. Harry approached him.

"Ready? You gotta go in and destroy it." The raven inquired.

The blonde stared ahead and swallowed heavily:

"What if it—what if it tries to use my mom or someone else again to—sway me?"

Harry was silent for a moment, then, just like a stone dropping upon the calm surface of a lake and disturbing it, a decision was made within his heart.

He came to face Draco and smiled once more, then pushed onto his toes to brush the gentlest of kisses over Draco's lips. Harry murmured his reassurances against the blonde's soft, pliant lips, his skin erupting in goosebumps:

"It'll be alright Draco. You can do it, I'll be waiting for you right here. I promise."

When Harry pulled away, he found Draco staring at him with wide, feverish eyes and swallowing heavily. He shakily nodded, then stepped around Harry and steeled his features as he marched straight into the Ancestral wing, not looking back.

Harry stared into the dark doorway after Draco had disappeared inside it, heart in his throat, praying everything would be okay.

Ten minutes came and went, and Harry was losing his mind.

Was Draco okay in there? Did the signet try to manipulate him somehow? Did he get lost? Christ—Harry was almost ready to just run in there, man eating wards be damned, to find Draco and drag him out.

He was bouncing on his feet, antsy and worried, pleading with the powers that be for Draco to be safe.

And that's when a carnal pain burst behind his ribcage.

Harry gasped out for breath, caught off guard and shocked, his scream caught in his throat as the agony thumped through him, seizing his heart and juddering it.

It held his very bones like a vice, unyielding in its burning.

Harry could barely take a breath to try to think through this—air was a luxury he felt too poor to afford as he choked on the deep, vicious hurt that tore and clawed at his chest. He felt as though a clamp was prying his ribcage open, pulling him apart and delving deeper, into his heart, his lungs, his diaphragm, biting and ripping everything in sight. The blithe agony made his knees crumple, he fell to the floor.

Every breath was a scream, he faintly realized, as the distinct strain in his throat increased. It didn't stop and Harry's vision was blurring, he wasn't even able to summon the emotion to be scared or curious as to what was happening to him, all he could resonate were his own screams.

Was this what breaking the bond felt like?

Was—Was Draco in pain like this as well?

Oh God, was Draco in pain?

Harry felt cold suddenly and wanted to force himself to stand but the agony still churning him disabused him of the ability, he could barely move without arousing more pain. The feeling that something distinct was being forcefully ripped out of him was maddening.

It was debilitating—Harry's consciousness felt as if it was slowly slipping his grasp.

He had to—He couldn't pass out—He promised Draco he'd wait—

He—He—

He was falling backwards, distantly expecting to crash with the hard floor but—it never came.

Harry was falling.

Everything was light.

Everything was alive.

Harry's eyes stung from the brightness of the space around him. He looked down at himself, then all around himself and saw—absolutely nothing but white.

The light was living—it breathed around him, swelled like waves past his skin, an inexorable force that existed in infinite stretches around the raven.

Harry tried to remember what had happened to him.

He was—He was waiting for Draco to break the signet and then—then he was in so much pain he couldn't think and then—

He was here.

Speaking of, where was here?

More importantly, how would he get out?

"You can not." A gentle, echo of a whisper ruminated through the blinding expanse of light, catching on Harry's ears.

Harry shifted around, realized that though there was no ground, he was somehow standing on—something.

"Who's there? Where am I?" The questions spilled from his lips, though his voice sounded foggy, as if he were speaking through water.

"If I let you leave, you will die." The voice spoke, sidestepping both of Harry's questions.

"What?" Harry felt himself pale, his breath hitching. He'd die? How was that—Why? What the bloody hell happened to him?

"You are within me. Within my magic." The voice spoke again. "It is only here that I have a voice. That I am alive. Outside you can not know me." It sounded vaguely feminine, though he couldn't discern anything from it.

Harry's skin was crawling and prickling with the steadily mounting horror. He had no idea what happened to him, where he was but apparently if he left he'd die, if this voice was to be trusted that was.

"Who are you?" Harry repeated his question, willing his own voice to sound more forceful than he felt.

There was a silence that felt like hours, even though there was seemingly no discernible way to tell time here.

Harry thought of Draco—was Draco trapped somewhere as well? Was he okay? Gods, Draco would lose his shit once he realized that Harry was gone. Could Harry contact him somehow? What the hell would he do?

So many questions swirled through his mind on an unending, cascading loop while Harry waited for some sort of answer. Who even was speaking to him? He didn't know whether or not he could trust them yet, what they wanted from him.

They sounded genuine enough though, so Harry hesitantly assumed they told him the truth, and he really would actually die if he left this place, apparently the voice owner's magic, though Harry really had no clue how was it even remotely possible to exist within someone's magic.

Though, that question worked under the assumption the voice belonged to a person. Which might not be true for all Harry knew. Once upon a time, back when he had no clue magic was real, he might've not believed that things could speak or think but then, magic had stretched the boundaries of what was possible and not so far past anything Harry considered viable that at this point it was fair to assume absolutely everything.

Following that train of thought, Harry wondered what else this voice could belong to, if not a person. He'd heard of books coming to life because of all the deep magic entrenched into them, speaking and feeling, but—there were no books around when Harry had fallen. So then what else could it be? He doubted that it would turn out to be some rather inane object such as a chair or carpet, such things were not remotely magical enough to swallow a person and be conscious. It had to be something big, and Harry presumed something old enough to warrant such power.

Well, that left him with nearly more questions than it did answers. He knew for a fact that there wasn't really anything in Grimmauld big or old or powerful enough to fit the description. He'd made sure to clean out all the old artifacts and magical objects he could find when he first moved in, mostly because it had all been tainted with dark magic and Harry couldn't live somewhere comfortably if it was filled with odd, creepy items. So, none of those were an option.

Harry was horrified when he realized what that meant.

Process of elimination left only one thing that could have possibly been big, old and magical enough to quite literally swallow Harry into its magic—

"I am Grimmauld." The voice finally spoke.

Draco was fairly certain he was going to die.

He was sure of this for two reasons:

1. He heard Harry's bloodcurdling, agonized screams after he shattered the Black signet.

2. Harry was now gone.

By the time he'd managed to frantically stumble his way out of the wing, Harry had gone. Draco searched the entire house, top to bottom, their attic and all, but Harry was absolutely nowhere to be found.

He was halfway to losing his mind entirely, when Kreacher popped in looking grayer than usual and horribly scared, and notified him that though he did not know where Harry was, he knew that Harry was alive, because his ownership of Grimmauld still held.

That was comforting, though not by much, because Harry's screams still rang in his ears and stung his eyes with pooling tears.

Draco had no clue what happened or caused Harry so much pain, because after he broke the signet, all he felt was a cold trickle of relief, an unspooling of months long tension, as the lust bond was finally broken. He had no clue where Harry was now and whether or not he was hurt and it was safe to say he was losing his shit.

A rising wave of terror crashed over him and for a few seconds all he could do was stand frozen in the middle of the living room and cry.

Then the idea that Harry was alive now but could very well be possibly dying as a result of whatever had injured him so badly to cause him to scream so filtered past the panic and fear and Draco flung himself towards the fireplace to call McGonagall, because he absolutely fucking refused to lose Harry.

Once McGonagall came through on the Firecall, Draco swallowed the bile rising up his throat and forced his voice out:

"Something went wrong. Harry's gone. Please bring Granger and Weasley, Professor."

Her face went gray and she just curtly nodded before disappearing.

Draco was left kneeling by the fireplace while waiting for them, his mind reeling a loop of the past year or so, from how it started to now. When he saw that Harry would be handling him and the magic canceler, Draco was overjoyed, because he knew Harry was too righteous to misuse it. When he realized Harry had forgiven him everything and wanted to move on, he'd spent an hour in the bathroom crying from relief. When he was healing Harry's half eaten arm, he'd nearly gone mad thinking Harry would die trying to save him. When Harry held him after a nightmare and promised to be there, he felt so safe it was sickening. When he found Harry implanting false memories into those repairmen's heads to protect Draco from Azkaban, he wanted to kiss him so badly it hurt. When they returned to Hogwarts and Draco realized that Harry loved him the same way Draco had been loving him since they'd been 16 years old, Draco's entire world shifted for the better.

Draco was going to tell Harry today, that he loved him, without a bond or anything else in the way, but now it looked like the moment was ripped from him, and Draco was left on his knees in Harry's house, miserably worried about Harry's life.

He couldn't lose him. Not now, after everything.

It was pitiful how deeply Draco needed Harry, he couldn't even fucking sleep without the bastard. He remembered that first night in Hogwarts when he just lay stiff in bed and waged a war with himself on whether it would be utterly pathetic to crawl into Harry's bed and press as close as he was able to without waking Harry up or not. But then Harry spared him the struggle by coming to his bed and letting Draco cuddle him.

By then Draco still wasn't sure how Harry felt but after he wrapped his arms around his neck and pulled his knee up and teased, almost ruined Draco's heart, he was certain Harry felt the same.

And he wanted to wait until the bond was out of the way before he had that talk with Harry, because if Draco had misinterpreted everything, at least all their accounts would be cleared and they'd just have to suffer a few more months of awkwardness before school finished and they would be parting ways for good.

All that seemed so trivial now, with Harry lost who knows where, hurt and possibly dead or getting there.

Draco wiped at his eyes, his chest hollow. He just—couldn't lose Harry. Goddamn him, but he couldn't.

Just then, McGonagall, followed by Granger and Weasley came barreling through the Floo, looking as terrified as Draco felt.

Draco managed to quickly brief Harry's best friends on the bond and what was really going on without having another breakdown while McGonagall cast detection and inspection spells in every room, searching every nook and cranny for any indication as to where Harry was.

"He is still—inside Grimmauld." McGonagall announced once she came back to the living room after checking everything over.

"But—how? I've searched all the rooms and—" Draco protested, because surely if Harry was still inside the house, Draco would have discovered him in some room or another.

"Just because he physically isn't here does not necessarily mean he isn't still here in some other way. His magical signature is still traceable within the house so he's still here—somehow." McGonagall interrupted, pushing her spectacles farther up her nose, a crease in her brow.

"Since he isn't physically here, Professor, does that mean we should be looking for his magic rather than himself?" Granger piped up, pale and frazzled.

"In a manner of speaking, yes." McGonagall crossed her arms over her chest and pursed her lips as she thought. "Though it's not that simple either. We can not trace his magical signature within here to any particular physical location, since he doesn't seem to be physically present anymore."

Draco swallowed heavily and considered all this, tamping down on the onslaught of emotion threatening to overwhelm him. If Harry wasn't physically here, but he was alive, did that mean he could have ended up in some sort of different—dimension? Plane of existence? Did such things even bloody exist?

"What does that mean Professor?" Weasley seemed just as confused as Draco, his brow furrowed.

"It means that he could be within the plane of existence inside which magic itself exists and from which we all draw power from." McGonagall's voice was somber and incredibly calm considering what sort of bombshell she just dropped on them.

"That exists?" Granger gaped, all her nerdy love of learning on clear display for everyone to see.

McGonagall nodded:

"Yes, it is one of the very last subjects that you get to study at Hogwarts nearing the end of the year. I suppose you three shall get the lesson earlier than your peers." There was a sad twitch to their Professor's lips.

Right. Fuck.

Draco would've gladly nerded out with Granger over the theory of such a thing, but currently they had more pressing matters to attend to. Once they—got Harry back, then he could pester the Headmistress on all the details of this plane of existence.

"So is there a way to tap into it and search for him?" Draco asked, shaking his head mildly at himself to clear it.

"As far as I'm aware, there is—an old ritual that was used by individuals that wanted to take more power than they were due." Her voice sharpened. "It never ends well. Though I suppose we'd be using it for a rather different purpose."

"Right, yea. So does that mean one of us will have to—go into the uh, magic realm thing?" Weasley rubbed his neck awkwardly while he asked, clearly doing his best to catch on.

McGonagall's face melted into something fond for a split second, then she cleared her throat:

"Yes, that is what will likely need to happen. Now who will g—"

"I'll do it!" Draco burst out in a flail before he could think better of it.

Three pair of knowing eyes turned to him and he felt himself flush under the scrutiny.

"Yes, well—yes, I'll go." He cleared his throat and attempted to sound dignified.

"Right, of course." The Headmistress chuckled softly.

"Subtle." Granger coughed into her fist and Draco resolutely refused to spare her even a glare.

It had been some time since Harry last spoke to the voice. Ever since it revealed to him that it was in fact his fucking house, Harry had been so shocked he hadn't uttered a single word.

His own house swallowed him up within its magic.

How was that even bloody possible?

And apparently he'd die if it let him leave.

He startled when he remembered that particular detail:

"Hey uhh—Grimmauld, why, exactly will I, uh, die if I leave?"

He waited for his house to speak to him, slowly growing adjusted to the brightness of his surroundings. He'd tried walking in some direction while he thought about everything that befell him, but ultimately found there was really nothing to find here except light and the magical pulse of his house's magical energy.

"The bond that you and my descendant were engaged by." Grimmauld spoke and snapped Harry out of his musings. "On his end it was a mere amatory bond, however on your end it was a wedded connection, because you fell in love so after the bond was conceived."

Harry blinked a few times, letting this sink in. If he understood correctly—did his house have to speak so cryptically—because he fell in love with Draco after they bonded, the bond was different in him, it was an actual marriage bond, while on Draco's end it was still just the same lust bond.

Harry's heart sank. Did that mean—that Draco didn't actually love him? Because the way Harry saw it, if falling in love after the bonding meant the bond evolved into a marriage bond, and that only happened on Harry's end, that meant that Draco didn't really return his feelings the way Ron and Hermione and later on he himself had been convinced he did.

"Oh he loves you, rest assured." Grimmauld chuckled quietly, as if it could sense Harry's heartbreak. "He has loved you long before the bonding, far beyond that period of time. He has loved you for many years coming up now."

The relief that bloomed within Harry felt so sugary he could float off on it. It was ridiculous how that was what he was concerned with considering his current situation.

Well.

Regardless.

"Alright, I—Right." He shook his head at himself and bit his lip over a grin. "So the bond was different in me. Still doesn't explain why I'd die." He shivered a bit still at the prospect.

Once was enough, thank you very much.

"Know you nothing about ancient betrothal bonds?" The voice sounded the way Harry would imagine rolling your eyes would sound if that gesture was to produce noise.

"Not—exactly." He grit back, sticking his tongue out petulantly in whichever way Grimmauld was looking upon him.

Grimmauld chuckled and explained:

"In the olden days or arranging marriages, such bonds were created to kill one or both parties involved if broken to keep from any shame befalling the family's names."

Harry went cold and stiff as the implication sunk into his very bones.

"And we—we broke it." His voice felt hollow, as if it were not his own.

"You did not know what would happen." Grimmauld sounded caring in a way, which was a strange thought to think of his own house, Harry distantly mused. "My magic is sustaining you now, it is why I swallowed you into me, you would have died and I'd have been left bereft of an owner had I not saved you."

Harry nodded vacantly, feeling as though his heart had been carved out of his chest.

"Kreacher!" Draco called for the elf after McGonagall explained how that ritual functioned. It was hysterically sad how the last time Draco was performing magical rituals he was doing so with the man he loved and now he'd be doing it to try to save his life.

Kreacher popped in, wide eyed and fidgety. "Has Master Black realized where Master Harry is?"

Draco stopped short in barking off materials for the ritual:

"Uh—yes?"

The elf shook its ancient head:

"Where?"

Draco felt a gnawing sense of dread open up within him:

"In the, err, realm of magic?" It still felt so strange to say that and treat it as a real thing that he hadn't known existed up until about twenty minutes ago.

Kreacher wrought his tiny hands together and shook his head more insistently this time:

"That is only partially true. Kreacher feels him. Kreacher wasn't sure before, but is now."

Draco's mouth went dry:

"So where is he then?" Fuck.

"Master Harry is indeed in the realm of magic, but, not just anywhere. He has been swallowed by the magic of Grimmauld place. He is within Grimmauld's magic."

Was that better or worse? Draco wasn't sure, but if the sick, icy feeling in the pit of his stomach was to be trusted, it would only make everything worse than it already was. The blonde wanted to burst into tears and wanted Harry to be there to hug him, like he always would when something happened, he'd just hold Draco and not ask questions.

A whitehot pang of yearning bitterly struck Draco and he shook himself, smothering it away.

"What does that mean?" He asked, his voice shaking just slightly.

Kreacher looked up, Draco thought he saw something akin to pity in the elf's beady eyes and he swallowed heavily, absolutely certain that whatever was to come next would not be pretty.

"As much as Grimmauld is feeding into Harry, it is assimilating his magic into itself, because it can not forever keep him there on its magic alone, it would run out eventually, so it needs to merge with him."

The world shifted on its axis.

"How—long do we—have?"

"A day, at most." Kreacher nodded.

Draco bit his tongue on a scream of frustration and nodded at the elf. He almost willed Kreacher away, but then remembered he still needed to get him to find and collect the supplies for the ritual.

Everything felt so much more urgent now, as if the seconds themselves were sliding down his back. He barked out what they needed and rushed back to the others, to let them know of this new development.

"Is there a way to let me out without me dying?" Harry asked after a while had passed, though he wasn't sure how long it had been. He wasn't sure if the time here and outside ran the same way. He wasn't sure what was happening out there, to Draco and his friends, he hoped they were okay at least.

Grimmauld was silent for a long time. Harry decided to start walking again. He was feeling more comfortable here now, almost as if he belonged here somehow. It was strange, but certainly not the strangest thing so far.

"The only way is to bond again immediately upon your return, a full marriage bond this time, but that isn't possible for you."

"Because we broke the signet while breaking the lust bond and the signet is the only way to establish any other type of a bond as well?" Harry guessed, wincing at the full irony of the situation.

Grimmauld hummed its approval.

Fuck.

"Any other way?" Harry felt sheepish asking. It didn't appear as though it were possible, which then in turn forced Harry to look upon the now likely seeming possibility of staying here forever, trapped.

Never to see Draco or anyone else again.

"I'm afraid not." Grimmauld voiced and Harry's throat constricted.

No, no, no, no—

"Does that mean—" Harry could barely get his voice out, his lungs shriveling with utter dread. "—that I have to stay here—forever?"

The answer felt like the difference between life and death. The precarious balance of reassurance Harry had cultivated would tip either side and everything would unravel.

The moments that stretched in Grimmauld's silence felt heavier than lead and longer than time itself.

Harry's heart was in his throat, body poised. Please say no, please say no—

"Yes." Grimmauld spoke, somber.

Setting up the ritual had been quick, in large part thanks to McGonagall's expertise on the matter. The woman was apprehensive, even as she aligned everything and prepared for the proceedings.

Draco could understand, normally he'd have chickened out of this sort of thing, but something fierce burned behind his ribcage this time, this was Harry in question here. He'd done so much to repeatedly save and protect Draco, and now it was Draco's turn to save him.

And he would.

So when their Professor instructed them to stand in a circle once preparations were finished with, Draco clenched his jaw and didn't let himself be afraid.

"Get him out in one piece." Weasley curtly nodded as they all joined hands.

"Of course Weasley. I sort of need him whole anyways." Draco wobbled a smile, and earned himself a few uneasy chuckles.

"That you do." Granger squeezed his hand on his left, her eyes comforting.

McGonagall stood in front of them and was smiling faintly, before she pointed her wand at the circle at their feet and twirled a complex twist and twirl, then began chanting the incantations:

"Aperire Ostium Ad Ultra."

As the woman repeated and continued her wand motions, a dark slit cut diagonally across the circle of ash they'd spread. The slit slowly widened at the sides, eating away as it opened up, stopping by the edges of the ash lines, contained.

Draco stared down into the abyss black, swallowed a lump in his throat as well as his nerves.

He thought of Harry, his smile and shining eyes and then shut his own and let go of Granger and Weasley and hopped into the void.

The fall was imperceptible almost. Draco had expected something long and painful even, but when he next opened his eyes, he was stood within a realm enveloped by light and such an intense pulsing and pounding of a living entity through the space.

Was he—there?

Draco squinted against the endless, blaring white and turned about, trying to make out anything anywhere, surely this wasn't just empty space.

Then again, it was a different realm that only consisted of magic so who was to say any sort of rules had to apply?

Draco was entirely certain that the ritual had worked though, he was where he needed to be to find Harry.

He picked a direction and started walking, a little bit discomfited at how he was standing on solid ground even though he couldn't see it.

There was no real sound here either, his own heartbeat and breathing notwithstanding. Mostly just the feelings of Grimmauld's magic around him, pressing into his clothes.

Draco couldn't help marveling at the fact he was standing within another dimension,for a moment overwhelmed by the fact he was there and the reason for even being there in the first place.

That was until—faint noise caught his ears. He stopped, and listened. A broken sob, then a bitten off curse—though it sounded foggy and indistinct Draco would recognize the voice anywhere.

Fuck, that was Harry.

Not wasting another second, he rushed forwards, meandering pretty much blindly as he did his best to zero in on the exact direction Harry's voice was coming from.

As he stalked closer to the source, he began to make out a blurry shape up ahead, moving and pacing a few metres of space.

Draco was pretty sure he'd stopped breathing as his legs ran quicker than his brain towards Harry. His voice felt stuck in his own throat for but a second when he was near enough to make out Harry's distressed form:

"Potter!"

Harry froze and spun about, eyes growing wide as saucers when he recognized Draco, his entire face lighting up in blessed relief, when—his expression crumpled, eyes flooding with tears.

Draco ran quicker, grasping and pulling Harry to himself the moment he was close enough to do so. His heart was hammering in his throat as he held on tighter, terrified out of his wits that somehow Harry would disappear again if Draco let go of him.

Harry pushed himself closer, clutched Draco's clothes and silently cried—which was so shocking that Draco could've keeled over.

Harry never cried. Out of the two of them, he was always the strong one. The one who understood and comforted. The patient, peaceful one. He didn't cry when he told Draco about his godfather Sirius, he didn't cry when he showed Draco an album filled with photos of his parents, he didn't cry when he told Draco what happened the night he went into the forest to face Voldemort.

And now Harry was crying.

And if Harry was crying, Draco probably ought to weep as well, in fact, the entire Wizarding nation ought to, because something truly, deeply devastating must've happened to him to shatter him to the point of desperately clinging to Draco for dear life while sobbing.

Draco's stomach sank with that realization.

"Draco, Draco—" Harry kept mumbling into Draco's shoulder, his voice cracking.

"Potter, it's okay, it's—" Draco was not daft, he knew nothing was okay but he couldn't help himself wanting to soothe Harry. "—it's going to be okay, we'll fix it whatever it is. Don't cry, please don't—"

"We can't. There's no—no way—" Harry slowly lifted his head from Draco's shoulder, his expression crestfallen, eyes red and wet and anguished. "Looks like I've finally run my luck dry." His voice was pained yet empty.

Draco felt himself start to tremble, he still wasn't letting go of Harry. What was going on here?

"What are you talking about?" He almost didn't want to ask, he feared the answer that badly.

Harry took a few deep breaths, then brought both his hands up to cradle Draco's face. He was staring right into Draco's eyes—though the blonde felt as bared as if he'd been staring into his very soul—and began speaking:

"I'm sure you know by now but—I love you." Harry paused there, eyes blazing with such intense, carnal honestly and truth that Draco nearly fainted from how deeply it overwhelmed him.

Words weren't forthcoming to his quickly melting brain so he just meekly nodded, completely losing all sense of anything else.

Harry's hands remained warm and gentle on Draco's cheeks, even when his voice trembled:

"The bond—the—the lust bond, Draco. It was different for me."

Draco felt his brow furrow, arms tightening around Harry marginally so:

"How—How so?"

Harry swallowed then answered:

"Because I—fell in love with you after we bonded, the bond itself changed in me. It evolved into a—wedding bond. A full marriage one."

Draco felt the moment his skin went icy, entire body going rigidly numb. He knew what those wedding bonds were like, he himself would have had to take one had there been no war and he had gone on to marry the girl his father picked for him.

Slowly he nodded his comprehension, and Harry kept talking, slowly, as if he was processing the words still even as he spoke them:

"And—we didn't know so—then when we came here to break the lust bond, we destroyed the Black signet ring and—"

"—And because you were tethered to a full bond and not just the lust bond, shattering the signet to break our bond should have killed you, because that's how the wedding bonds were created." Draco finished, growing steadily more horrified with each word. He'd nearly killed Harry—

His heart felt rended into bloodied bits.

Harry nodded, his thumbs rubbing slow circles into Draco's cheekbones, soft skitters of warmth trailing through the blonde at the gesture, despite his terror.

"Yes but—in order to save me—Grimmauld swallowed me into its magic and is now—"

"Keeping you alive." Draco realized, a stone dropping in his stomach.

Harry nodded once again.

"And we can't bond to each other again without the signet, since I'm a descendant and have to bond through the heirloom, that means if you—leave here, you'll—" Draco's lunch rushed up his throat at the mere, chilling thought.

"Die." Harry's voice was somber, resigned.

Draco wanted to scream until his throat was shredded and bloody.

This wasn't fucking fair—

"Isn't there any other way?" He pleaded desperately, heartrate kicking up anew, as the full scope of the situation dawned upon him rapidly. Harry had to stay here. Forever. Draco would never see him again. Oh Gods, he'd never touch him again or hear him laugh—

"I asked Grimmauld but—it said no. The only way to let me leave is if we can bond, but in order to bond we need the heirloom, which we don't have and the reason we don't have it is precisely how we ended up here. It's a paradox, a cruel irony made by those evil fucking ancestors—" Harry rambled, his pent trembling obvious. He let his hands drop from Draco's face—Draco immediately missed the warm touch.

"Wait you—talked to your house?" Draco blurted after a moment when he realized what Harry had said.

"Within its own magic, it's sentient, but outside it's not." Harry explained shortly.

Draco figured that was reasonable, this was a dimension for magic after all. Pretty much anything seemed to fly.

"Right." He nodded, but then fell short. He didn't know what to say anymore, he didn't know what to do.

He came here deathly determined to save Harry and get him out but—if he took Harry out, he'd kill him. And Harry dead is—not a concept Draco could ever stomach.

"What are we going to do?" He asked helplessly instead, because for all his cunning he didn't know how to evade death.

Harry's eyes were resigned when he next looked at Draco, through all the pain underlying them. He grabbed hold of Draco's hands and nodded once to himself before speaking:

"You're going to tell Ron and Hermione I love them, and that I'll miss them, and you're going to leave."

Draco felt slapped when the words struck him. He wasn't being serious was he? The idiot surely couldn't have been serious in what he just said?

"I absolutely refuse to just—leave you here!" Draco's voice was little more than an outraged shriek.

"Well if you take me out I'll die. Is that what you want?" Harry sounded horrendously calm.

Why was he so calm?

Draco stared at Harry, at a loss of any ideas. He entwined his fingers with Harry's and held on, the hopelessness of the situation sinking low in his stomach.

"I love you too." Draco said instead of answering Harry's question because it was a stupid question.

A brilliant, beautiful smile broke out on Harry's face, so happy and carefree in a second that Draco's heart hurt.

"I know you do." Harry nodded, chuckling. "I was planning on asking you out after we broke the bond."

The blonde's chest felt constricted:

"Really?"

Harry stepped closer, their chests pressing together as he confirmed:

"Yeah. You're a horrendous overthinker, I wanted to make sure you didn't get any ideas that the bond compelled me to do it somehow."

Draco scoffed. He absolutely did not overthink anything—

Well, there was that one time—

Oh do shut up—

"How—chivalrous." He allowed a smile, then leaned down to bump Harry's nose with his own.

"I know right?" Harry's face fell. "Guess that didn't work out."

Draco wanted to cry. Ugly cry. He wanted to cry more now than he did when Harry told him he believed Draco was more than the Mark on his arm. And he wanted to cry a lot then.

"Harry—" His voice broke, he desperately prayed for a sliver of hope, something to grasp onto, some way to fix this, anything—

"Deserved it now, have I?" Harry joked weakly, lips quirking up sadly.

Draco couldn't fathom how someone could be so kind and precious and—Draco kissed him. Fervently and assuredly, his lips pressed tightly to Harry's.

Harry pressed back, arms wrapping around Draco's neck tightly as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss. His lips parted beneath Draco's, their tongues colliding as they explored each other.

Draco felt starved for Harry—could never get enough of him, even as he tugged at Harry's ratty clothing, his body heated and dazed.

Like a flower opening under the first rays of sunlight.

Harry whimpered into their kiss, his fingers tangled in Draco's hair, combing across his scalp, peeling his mouth away only to aid Draco in removing his shirt, himself shoving at Draco's robes, his face enraptured and so hot Draco's cock jumped in his pants.

Harry was shirtless—Draco could touch him now, his skin smooth beneath Draco's fingertips and it was so overwhelming yet not enough. Never enough.

As they fumbled and kissed, the ended up falling down to the invisible floor, Harry atop Draco, now laving searing kisses along the blonde's jaw and lower, to his neck.

Draco arched into him, sharp shocks of pleasure pushing him to jerk his hips up into Harry's, delighted at the answering erection he felt there.

Harry gasped over Draco's skin, and pressed down, his fingers reverent as he continued undressing Draco.

As Harry lifted himself above Draco, gazing down at him with all the love Draco would likely ever feel, Draco felt his chest bursting.

"Take me Harry." Draco breathed, begged, he wanted Harry, so much, so long—"I want to have you at least once." His voice broke with unshed tears as his mind processed the fact there really was no way to pull Harry free from here—not even magic could save it this time. This was all he'd get. All they'd get.

Their first, and last, time.

The slide of their bodies was achingly painful in its utter novelty and simultaneous brutal finality. Draco doesn't remember every crying so much—then again, he also doesn't remember ever being that horny either. Not even the lust bond elicited as much hot need inside him to be touched.

"Harry, Harry—" He heard himself mutter, as if it was a prayer on his lips, and Harry shuddered above him each time, his face wet but lit up by a smile while he pressed kisses into whichever part of Draco's body he could reach.

It was gentle and slow and so loving, Draco had never known it could feel like that and he blinked out a few more tears with the yearning to feel it every day for the rest of his life, even though he couldn't.

Their first and last time.

Here. Now.

Harry's touches were craven and burning, a deep admiration shied away in each one, as he prepared Draco and took care of him and held him in ways only Harry would be unreservedly good enough to do. He kissed along the scars he left on Draco so many years ago, kissed along the Mark on Draco's arm, muttering his forgiveness into the skin, he left blooming marks along Draco's neck—something to remember me by, he said, as if Draco could ever forget this love—and when he'd finally entered Draco on a long, inexorable slide, it felt as though time and heavens aligned.

The burn was comforting to how hollow yet full to bursting Draco felt, turning his head blindly to kiss at Harry's neck and wrap all four limbs around him, the heavy presence of Harry's cock within him unyielding and steady.

And when Draco pleaded with him to move, Harry did. He made love to Draco for so long, it felt like hours though Draco couldn't grasp time here, each slide murmuring his confessions into Draco's neck.

'I love you.'

'I wanted to be with you.'

'You're the first person I've ever loved.'

'Just want you to be happy, want to protect you from the entire world.'

In turn, Draco gasped out his own confessions into Harry's wild black hair, one of his hands tangled into the soppy curls and caressing through it while Harry fucked him with utmost passion and care.

'Been in love with you for years.'

'I'm so sorry for ever hurting you.'

'Don't know how to live without you anymore.'

'You've ruined me.'

Grimmauld's magic was silent around them, the vast blinding space filled with quiet moans and choked whimpers, reverent oaths and groaned curses.

The bitter tang that this was the last time he'd have Harry sat lodged in Draco's throat like a knife in his windpipe, his nails scrabbling at Harry's back tighter, praying this to last as long as possible, in spite of the ache in his bollocks as he held on savagely.

It couldn't be over—Draco couldn't deal with the reality he was losing Harry even while Harry was on top of him, inside him, around him, everywhere—

He was losing him. He couldn't bring Harry back to their own world, he could never have him there again.

He wished to scream out as a bitter wave of resentment gripped him, it wasn't fair, it wasn't fucking fair—

Harry deserved better. Harry deserved the world. Draco wanted to give it to him—give everything to him, and now he couldn't and it wasn't fair—

"Hey, it's okay, I'm here now." Harry's quiet murmur cut through as he leaned down and pressed his forehead to Draco's. "I'm here."

Draco only then belatedly realized that he must've been snarling and yelling in rage without consciously deciding to.

"I don't want to leave you—" Draco panted up into Harry's face, staring into the greenest, most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen. "I can't—"

Harry smiled wide, despite the fact his lower lip wobbled, gaze glossy:

"Sure you can, Draco. Please, for me."

Draco was falling apart, inside out:

"You can't ask that of me Harry—I'm too selfish for that, you know that—"

Harry chuckled and lightly kissed the tip of Draco's nose, resumed canting his hips and slowly making love to Draco, his hands carefully swooping Draco's messy hair out of his face.

"I'll be there always, you know I'm too Gryffindor to just leave you in peace." Harry huffed a low laugh. "You'll be fine without me."

"No I fucking won't." Draco stuttered fiercely, straining his neck up to kiss Harry. "I can't even fall asleep without you."

"Hey, none of that now." Harry muttered against his lips, thrust sharper, wrenched a shallow cry out of Draco. "You'll sort your sleeping out quickly I bet, what without me hogging half the bed."

Draco sobbed into Harry's mouth and just clutched him tighter. How was he supposed to put into words how not okay he was? How Harry had taken care of him in so many ways all these months that Draco couldn't fathom never having it again?

He felt mindless with the ache, the pleasure of Harry there atop him, and he just capitulated.

"Love you, love you so much Draco—" Harry gasped into Draco's ear as his thrusts shuddered and he came within Draco just as Draco's control slipped him and his orgasm left him so breathless and wrecked, a melted goop in Harry's embrace.

Slow, heavy panting filled the silence, while they lay together, silent. The world was spinning in front of Draco as he struggled to catch his breath, his mind blessedly blank for the time being.

After a while Harry shifted, slipped out of Draco and rolled over to lay next to him.

That was it. Over.

Their first and last time.

They breathed together for some time, but then reality crept into Draco's bones and his blissed out high plummeted and shattered against his ribs.

"Why?" He wheezed, drained.

"I don't know." Harry spoke softly. "It isn't fair."

"Gods, it's not."

"I'm sorry it turned out like this."

Draco rolled over and tossed an arm around Harry's middle:

"What are you apologizing for? All you ever did was be kinder to me than I ever deserved from you."

Harry laid one of his palms to rest on Draco's arm holding him:

"Haven't you heard? I'm the Golden Boy." Though Harry chuckled, it sounded empty.

"Are we really giving up like this?" Draco couldn't help but grit. It felt so wrong—to lie down and just—accept this.

"Merlin I've really rubbed off on you." Harry mumbled, but then sighed so deeply his chest caved beneath Draco's arm. "We destroyed the only thing that could have saved me at this point, we didn't know at the time what would happen but that hardly matters now Draco."

Another long, pained breath shuddered out of Draco.

"Can't I—stay here?" The blonde choked out, the thought striking him a second after he'd spoken. Could he? Would he want to? The Mark on his life would make his life out there stupidly hard, he knew people weren't inclined to forgive, and he wouldn't even have Harry there with him. What was there worth it to go back to? His mom was dead, dad was in prison, he was an outcast, there would be no love lost between him and the rest of the world.

"No." Harry's voice was sharp. "I could never ask you to give up your life for me."

Draco rolled his eyes and clung to Harry tighter:

"Yes, and you didn't ask. I offered."

Harry was silent for a simile of a moment, but when he replied he sounded just as assured:

"No, Draco. I'm not worth it."

Draco had to take a second to process the words, then he burst into brash, barking mad laughter.

Once he realized Harry was staring at him somberly however, Draco sobered up:

"Oh—you were being serious."

Harry slowly nodded.

Draco stared at him, utter disbelief lacing his entire soul. He couldn't possibly believe what he just said, right? Actually, no, Harry was exactly the type of person to believe it. Very slowly, because apparently Harry was a very small child who did not understand how much Draco loved him, Draco enunciated his next words:

"Of course you're worth it."

The raven sighed and rolled his eyes, then sat up, bringing Draco up with him:

"We did so much—to keep you out of Azkaban and have you enjoy freedom. And you'd just stay here? Just like that?"

Draco chewed on his lip. Harry didn't get it, did he?

"Not being in Azkaban does not make me free, Harry."

Harry blinked at him in confusion.

Draco bared his left arm:

"The public will always scorn me, the press. Getting a job, a house, you really think it would be easy? Just because you swooped in and saved me from a dingy cell? You really think just because you forgave me, everyone else will too?"

Harry dropped his head between his shoulder blades. He was silent for a while, tapping his foot the way he did when he was deep in thought. When he finally spoke, he sounded sure of whatever conclusions he must've come to.

"No, and I get what you're saying. The point is to try. And you'll never have the chance to if you get stuck here with me." Harry straightened back up and looked at Draco, eyes clear. "Then when you ask 'what if', what do you think will happen?"

Draco didn't want to admit it—but Harry had a point. Something like that could breed festering resentment, that would lead to nothing but suffering because by then it would be too late to change his mind.

"Right." The blonde clipped, pressing his lips in a thin line, glancing off into the undulating light. He couldn't fathom standing before Weasley and Granger and McGonagall without Harry by his side, he didn't want to come to terms with the fact he'd have to leave Harry here, just to keep him alive.

Alive, but forever out of reach.

"You'll have to go. It's okay." Harry's voice was earnest but all Draco could do was shake his head:

"It's not okay."

He felt arms wrap around him from the back when Harry scooted closer and leaned his torso into Draco, his head nestled into the crook of Draco's neck:

"It is. I'll still be here, within the house itself. All you have to do is saunter through the dusty halls and nag me about something, and I'll hear you."

Draco leaned back, pressed into Harry:

"How?"

Harry paused momentarily, then shrugged:

"Grimmauld will assimilate me into the magic itself. It can not keep me alive on its own for much longer, I'd drain it beyond repair. Then, when I'm part of the magic, I'll essentially become the house itself and then see and feel everything within it."

Draco nodded, he understood as much from when Kreacher told him so. Heh, even if there was a way to get Harry out, by the time they'd discover it and study it, it would be too late anyways. Draco was certain at least several hours he'd already spent here, and Kreacher had allotted him a day, so there wasn't really all that much time left.

"Maybe, if I can figure it out, I can come up with some way to communicate back." Harry sounded thoughtful, and the idea appealed to Draco.

It wouldn't be much, but—it would be something for Draco to still have of Harry.

"Yeah, like what? You'd slam the doors when you're upset?" The blonde cackled sadly. "Like a child."

Harry tightened his hold on him as he laughed quietly himself:

"Perhaps. More importantly though, how am I going to tell you I love you."

Draco's heart melted with a pang as he relaxed and drooped his weight further into Harry. He was so sweet and bright, even when faced with something like this, he looked at all the ways to make it easier. The swell of affection that flooded Draco was a dangerous one, so he opted to consider Harry's inquiry instead of paying it any mind.

"Hmmm, oh, I know!" Draco straightened up when it suddenly hit him after brainstorming for a minute. "You should light all the hearths!"

"Oh? How come, dare I ask?" Draco felt Harry's smile pressed into the back of his shoulder.

He twisted around in Harry's arms to face him, bringing one hand to cradle Harry's head and the other to smooth his hair away. His voice felt thin when he finally answered:

"Because loving you is all-consuming, bright, scorching and terrifying all at once. Like fire. So, light the hearths when you want to tell me you love me. I'll know that feeling anywhere."

Harry's features shone with so much pure adoration then that Draco's heart clenched and he leaned in to kiss him slowly, softly. Harry's eyes fluttered shut and he responded to the kiss equally as tenderly, a soft sigh escaping his lips.

When they pulled back, Harry's eyes shuddered and he pursed his lips before speaking:

"You should go. I don't think there's much time left for me."

Something cracked inside Draco at the words. He stared, unseeing, for a few seconds.

"Harry—" He so desperately didn't want to go.

"It's okay Draco." Harry smiled with watery eyes. "If you decide to live in Grimmauld, I'll still sort of be there."

Draco didn't want Harry to sort of be there. He just—Goddammit.

"Okay." He mumbled instead of brooking any more complaints. It really was as hopeless as it seemed. Grimmauld would merge with Harry by the time they discovered some other way to get him out, and then the only thing they could do would be quite literally rip Harry and Grimmauld apart and kill them both. And if Draco pulled Harry out now, he'd also die.

Death. Always death.

Always had to be fucking death with these archaic bonds and ancient magics. They had to be dramatic as all holy fuck, couldn't settle for grievous bodily harm for example. At least that can be healed. No, they had to go for lives.

Fuckers.

They dressed. Draco went through the motions mechanically, woodenly, feeling oddly blank.

When they faced each other again, the realization that this was the last time he'd see Harry hitting him anew.

"I'm not saying goodbye." He snipped out. "If you were expecting some teary parting."

Harry's eyebrow twitched then he laughed, before pulling Draco into a bodily hug.

"I wasn't. I, of course am aware that you're a Malfoy, you never cry. Unless you're horny."

"Shut up." Draco hissed with no real heat in it, his face buried in Harry's wild hair. He held on tight. "What should we tell the public about your sudden disappearance?" The blonde mumbled when he realized that back in his world, this will be a huge scandal.

Harry half shrugged in Draco's arms, not bothered by it:

"Tell anyone who asks I was too traumatized by the war and decided to escape England and all the haunting memories to live abroad. Somewhere in America maybe."

Draco snickered at that.

"You really think anyone will buy that?"

Harry pulled back a little to grin up at Draco:

"Maybe not from you granted, but when Hermione and Ron start repeating it like broken records, two decorated war heroes, then yeah, people will believe it."

Draco had to concede that point. That was fair.

"Right, that's for our cover-up story."

And then there was nothing more to say. No more excuse to put off what had to happen.

As if he could feel it too, Harry squeezed Draco tightly once more before pulling away and stepping back. He kept an easy smile on his face as he looked at Draco.

"Time to go." He mumbled, clasping his hands behind his back.

Draco felt the acute loss of Harry pressed against him and clenched his fists in order not to start sobbing.

He took a breath and nodded. He forced his voice out:

"Like I said, no goodbye. Maybe—see you later?" It was a lie, but it was all he had.

Harry chuckled and inclined his head in acquiesce:

"Sure. I'll see you later, Draco. I love you."

Draco refused to acknowledge this was the last time he'd ever get to hear it. Or say it:

"I love you too Harry."

He then turned away, also refusing to acknowledge the prick of tears. He stared down into the white floor just as a black slit came across a circlelike space, then opened.

Grimmauld was letting him leave.

Draco closed his eyes and didn't dare look back at Harry as he hopped into the portal.

When he found himself standing back in Grimmauld's living room, his stomach swooped. He had to blink a few times to adjust to color and sight again, having been surrounded by white for a while.

As everything came into focus, Draco found that Weasley was pacing a three meter strip of floor, Granger was sitting in an armchair bouncing her leg and pulling at her hair and McGonagall just stood awkwardly in the corner, twirling her hand between her fingers.

It took a second for them to notice him, but when they did they crowded him immediately.

"Thank Merlin, you've been gone for hours Malfoy!" Granger hissed as she practically jumped from her armchair and went to him.

"What's happened to you? The sun's setting already, why were you gone so long?" Weasley nattered, his brow furrowed.

Draco found his voice at a loss of what to say.

"Where's Harry?" McGonagall asked, her tone apprehensive as she slowly emerged from her corner.

Granger and Weasley stopped their incessant questioning then, also seemingly realizing that Harry was, in fact, not with Draco.

Draco swallowed his heart and started slowly talking:

"He can't leave. If he leaves Grimmauld's magic, he'll die."

The three of them went white.

"What?" Weasley breathed just as Granger mumbled:

"Why?" Her voice trembled.

Draco flexed his hands and clenched them into fists again, for something else to focus on instead of thinking about the fact he'd essentially lost the love of his life:

"The bond, the lust bond, it was different for him." Draco proceeded to explain everything to them then, how Harry's emotions manifested the lust bond into a complete wedding bond which functioned differently, if broken would kill one or both bonded parties. How for Draco it had remained only the lust bond because he'd loved Harry long before they ever bonded, while Harry fell in love with him after the fact.

And finally, explained how he couldn't leave Grimmauld because Grimmauld was keeping him alive. And—it doesn't matter Granger, if we find another way, because by then Harry will have already merged completely with Grimmauld and then ripping him out would kill both him and the house itself—once all the words ran out, Draco just sank bonelessly to the floor, exhausted.

Weasley and Granger joined him, sitting either side of him, and even McGonagall knelt down with her students.

They mourned their loss silently.

~4 or so years later~

Today they were releasing Draco from Azkaban.

He wasn't sure how to feel about it. When he'd been apprehended and arrested after graduating Hogwarts four years ago, on suspicion he'd had a part to play in the disappearance of Harry Potter, he was furious and so were Hermione and Ron.

They'd all fought their best to have Draco released, but he was already a former Death Eater, under Harry's surveillance, one of the only people who'd seen him last and always been with him prior to his disappearance, and that was apparently more than enough proof for the Ministry to convict him. Originally he'd been sentenced to 8 years, but thanks to Ron and Hermione his sentence was cut in half, so he only had to serve 4 years.

And back to Azkaban he went.

The first year he'd floated through, barely even felt any of it. He was still hurting from losing Harry and there were times he was almost glad for his cell. It was as cold and hostile on the outside as he felt on the inside.

Ron and Hermione visited him often and they all grew closer, stopped addressing each other by their last names and talked. They were still fighting with the Ministry to have him released as soon as possible while living in Grimmauld and taking care of it. They talked to him about how the house now felt like Harry used to feel, he had become it over the time, grew in control.

Over the second and third years Draco sobered up and felt the bleakness of prison set into his very bones, but he felt jaded against it all. It was in the fourth year that the misery had finally hit him. Even he didn't feel sorry for himself, even though he was the one underfed in a dingy cell. He felt pitiful about the fact that the one thing Harry had done everything he could to prevent had happened.

Draco ended up in Azkaban anyways.

And today, he was getting released. He'd be a free man once again.

He supposed that was something to be happy about.

As he went through the motions of finally getting a proper shower, getting a set of normal clothes to change out of the prisoner robes into and having his release form and paperwork signed by his warden, Draco felt hazy.

He was free again, and he had no idea what to do with it. Now that he was an ex-convict on top of being a former Death Eater, he had no clue how to get his life together again. He still had a part of his family fortune but he didn't even know what to do with that.

He figured he should give himself some time to get it all sorted, and see what to do next. Harry had said to try at the very least, Draco owed him that much.

Once he was brought into the small front hall of Azkaban, that came before all the cells and prisons, he saw a very pregnant Hermione and Ron with an arm wrapped around her waist waiting for him. Ah, so that's why they'd been absent for a while. Draco felt a simmer of happiness for them, an easy warmth overtaking him, which was a nice thing to feel after so long of being numb and cold.

Hermione and Ron grinned his way and the moment his cuffs were off and he was officially free from all proceedings, they both ran in to hug him. Draco heard himself chuckle softly and accepted the embrace.

"You look like death warmed over." Ron informed him with a crooked grin.

Draco tilted his head and curled his lip derisively:

"Even then I'm ten times more handsome than you."

Hermione rolled her eyes and slapped them both upside the head gently:

"Honestly, the two of you. How are you Draco?" She looped her arm through his as they made their way out and tilted her head up to look at him. Draco had never really realized how short she was until then. Maybe the pregnant belly gave her a more squat appearance.

"I'm alright. Azkaban isn't nearly as bad since they abolished Dementors as guards." He shrugged and curled the arm she was holding at the elbow.

"Still, you are going to have to gain some weight back mate." Ron piped up.

They exited the building and Draco stopped his stride for a moment, to enjoy the fresh air and sun for a bit. It had been so long.

Ron and Hermione waited for him.

After a few minutes he breathed in deeply and turned a wry grin on Ron:

"Oh you just want to make me fat, Ronald."

Ron gaped for a second then burst into laughter, Hermione joining in softly.

Things would be okay for him, Draco felt hopeful, even if he was still a bit lost for direction.

They took him to Grimmauld. From the outside, it looked exactly the same. Still the same towering, dilapidated old mansion.

Draco wasn't sure what to expect from the inside though. From how Hermione always explained it, it sort of felt as if Harry was always hugging them, his same energy radiating through the house and its magic, now that he was merged into it.

As they crossed the threshold, Draco stood frozen in shock. It was as if he'd walked straight into Harry's arms, Hermione wasn't kidding. It was warm and friendly, it felt like home.

He blinked a few times, released a breath he wasn't aware he'd been holding. Ron and Hermione were in front of him in the hall, mirror grins on their faces.

"We told you." Ron remarked when Draco got back to himself, a shiver running down his spine.

"Yeah. It does feel like him." The blonde agreed.

Draco was surprised to find that they hadn't done all that much redecorating even though they'd lived there going on four years now. He'd thought surely they'd change things up a bit.

When he asked them as much, Hermione just shrugged and told him that it didn't feel right removing things and adding new ones now that Harry existed within the walls, floors and all the furniture. That they felt it might be throwing out a part of him, so they kept everything as it were.

Draco nodded, he could understand that.

As he walked through the house, getting reacquainted with everything, the house suddenly rumbled and shook for a few seconds.

Draco froze, but Ron and Hermione just chuckled and smiled wider.

"What was that?" He asked slowly, one hand gripping a wall when he'd startled from the sudden quaking.

Ron's smile widened, his freckled face stretching when he spoke in a soft voice:

"It's Harry. He's figured out some small ways to communicate with us, and we've been keeping note of them all for the past four years. We've pretty much figured out all the cues by now."

Draco felt a swoop of a light, easy happiness swell like a balloon within him. So Harry had kept his word of finding a way to respond, it made Draco swoon still.

"So what does shaking the house mean then?" He asked, an amused tilt to his lips.

Hermione laughed and rubbed a palm over her belly:

"He rustles the house when he's happy or pleased with something. For example, having you back here."

Draco nodded slowly, biting down on another smile. Harry was happy to see him.

"Yeah. What else does he do?" It was so interesting to hear all the ways Harry had found to keep contact.

"He slams all the doors and windows when he's upset and angry. He broke a few when he heard you were going to Azkaban." Ron's nose scrunched up regretfully and he rubbed his neck.

Draco hummed in response, that was typical Harry. Being righteous and mad over injustice and getting all protective.

"It's mostly that really, he can't relay to us much more than some of what he's feeling, though he does knock paintings off walls when he gets bored to get our attention. It's cute, like a toddler." Hermione's voice was fond.

The door to the bathroom slammed shut.

Draco took a moment to process it, then he found himself laughing:

"Apparently, Harry disagrees."

Ron and Hermione nodded along, sighing dramatically with smiles.

"It's mostly quiet around here otherwise." Ron shrugged and had them all sit down on couches and armchairs.

"Well, when your spawn graces this world, I reckon it won't be any longer." Draco teased, inclined his head towards Hermione's belly.

"Our spawn won't live here. We'll move out." Hermione patted her stomach.

"Oh? Really?" Draco was surprised. They'd lived here all this time, it was odd that they'd want to move now.

"Well, give you and Harry some privacy, besides this place is too big and haunted to raise a kid in." Ron shuddered.

They were going to leave Grimmauld to Draco. Which was sweet of them to do. If they had not let him stay there, he was pretty sure he'd end up homeless.

"Right, I see. Good luck you two, I'm happy for you." Draco tipped his head sincerely. They returned his smile.

"Oh! There's another thing!" Hermione piped up, popping forwards in her armchair as she remembered. "There is one more thing Harry's figured how to tell us." Her face melted a deep, fond longing as she remembered her best friend. "He's found a way to tell us he loves us. Granted, it's a bit odd, but we're still grateful."

Draco's heart juddered and clenched as she spoke. He remembered the moment, surrounded by pulsing waves of magic, naked in a different dimension as they spoke and held each other.

"Oh yea." Ron's voice tore Draco from his yearning recollections. "When he wants to tell us he loves us, he—"

"He lights up all the hearths." Draco finished, voice softer than he could imagine his voice being.

"Yeah, yes. How did you—know?" Hermione's brow furrowed.

Draco's smile widened at the edges:

"I told him to do it that way."

They nodded, seemingly pleased.

It was a few months later that Ron and Hermione moved out, just before she gave birth to baby Rosie. Draco had managed to settle in by then and had even found a program that helped ex-convicts find work that had hooked him up with work for an Apothecary, to brew Potions and stock their supplies.

He'd gotten himself back on track. He spoke to Harry every day, about his day and how he was. Harry always responded in kind. He slammed doors when Draco had told him a coworker attempted to flirt with him, which made Draco inordinately happy to see, that Harry still loved him enough to get jealous. He rumbled and shook the entire house when Draco had come home happy because he'd gotten a promotion, to the point that he knocked Draco over in his quaking.

The hearths were nearly constantly lit and blazing.

And Draco missed him. He missed him so desperately at times he couldn't breathe from it, but things would be okay regardless. He still had the feel of Harry around him to comfort and cling to when he'd feel the acute tang of loneliness too deeply.

Draco was now coming home, smelling like Mandrake roots and asphodel powder, eager to have a shower and relax. He'd pop by Ron and Hermione's tomorrow, they'd invited him over for dinner, to see them and Rose. Unfortunately, the little girl looked more like her ghastly father than her lovely mother, but Draco supposed she was kind and cute in excess to make up for it. He'd been surprised when they had asked him to be her godfather. They said they always wanted to saddle Harry with the duty, but now Harry was gone and Draco was pretty much part of the family, so it felt right for it to be him.

Draco had accepted, of course, even though he faked disgust at being a Weasley's offspring's godfather. He loved Rosie.

Walking into the house never ceased to make Draco shudder—his mind whirling back to all the times Harry held him close and tight.

So familiar and homey it was, sometimes Draco felt as if he was dreaming it all.

He took off his work clothes and tossed them aside then marched his way into his room, staring up around the room:

"Hey Harry. I'm home."

The house rumbled gently.

"Knock over any paintings from boredom?" Draco snickered. When he had particularly long, work heavy shifts, he'd come home to more than a few paintings sprawled on the floor where Harry kept knocking them about to entertain himself.

The door to his room slammed shut. The blonde cackled fondly and rolled his eyes at Harry's antics.

"You're a menace." Draco chided him with no real inflection as he continued to undress and amble into the bathroom to wash the ashwinder stains out of his skin.

It was sort of routine, by this point, Draco figured. To talk idly to Harry when he comes home and goes through all the motions of the rest of his day. By the time he goes to bed, he'd have pretty much nattered off all the details of his entire day, both the interesting, exciting experiences and the every day, boring ones.

Settling into bed now, Draco was wrapping up a story about a cauldron exploding because he wasn't paying much attention and covering him from head to toe with a bitter, halfway brewed shrinking solution. It sizzled off of his skin and clothes pretty quickly, but unfortunately left him reeking like a bloody swamp for the rest of his shift.

Every night it was like this. In the space when Draco fell quiet because he ran out of things and stories to talk about to drive himself to distraction, the loneliness gnawed at him most savagely. He felt the emptiness on the other half of the bed as a deep hollow in the pit of his bones.

And he wondered if Harry might feel so lonely and sad sometimes too. Draco didn't want him to, so he reminded him every night:

"I love you Harry."

And every night, the hearths burned brightly.

Fin.