Breakfast in Hogwarts's Great Hall the day after Ron Weasley was poisoned and Harry Potter was somehow not expelled for almost killing Draco Malfoy, was a bit tense.

The hall fell quiet when Harry first stepped inside, but he was growing accustomed to that kind of attention and simply sat at the Gryffindor table, almost as usual, but without Ron and Hermione for companions. Many of the eyes in the room were still watching as he took a seat by Ginny Weasley instead. As he did so, he looked too happy. His normalcy was unnerving, sitting beside Dean Thomas's brand new ex-girlfriend, nothing in his manner betraying any remorse for yesterday's attack.

As for Draco, he still hadn't made an appearance. Pansy Parkinson had returned from the hospital wing the night before to report to the entire Slytherin common room that Draco was recovering well and should be released in the morning. But there was still no word about how the Homicidal One would be punished, and all of Slytherin house would be glaring at him across the dining tables, smarting from the injustice of it all, until they were certain something would be done.

Harry would find out soon. Professor McGongall had ordered him to report to her office right after potions class, during his first free period of the day. Though he dreaded it, Harry found the impending meeting wasn't able to ruin his ridiculously good mood. Ginny was sitting next to him, close enough that her knee touched his leg under the table.

"Right," she said, rather suddenly, standing up without giving Harry a chance to let go of the hand he'd been surreptitiously holding. "I'm off to the hospital wing to have a chat with Ron before class."

"Shall I come along?" he asked, sputtering slightly.

She shook her head. "No, consider it a family meeting. And at a time like this, Harry, it's best if we emphasize to everyone that you and I are not actually related, no matter what Mum says."

He nodded, bowing his head. But then Ginny's hands were braced to both his cheeks, turning his face up and stamping a full, wet kiss on his mouth in sight of everyone.

"There," Ginny said as she dropped her hands away. "Now there's no turning back. I have to rush off to the hospital and explain it all to Ron before the rumors beat me to it. Cheers, Harry!"

She hopped over the back of the bench and bolted out of the room, leaving Harry sitting alone in a wave of new, scandalized chatter. Across the table, Neville was gawking at him. With a pained look, Seamus was eyeing Dean. And Dean was pushing aside his plate and standing to leave.

Harry cast his eyes around, looking for someone safe. His heart gave a great leap of relief when he saw Hermione stepping through the doors, but it sank again when he saw that she had come hand-in-hand with Malfoy. The pair of them stopped after clearing the threshold, each of them looking in opposite directions, toward the house tables where they usually sat. They looked back at each other. Hermione shrugged up at Draco and he bent to whisper in her ear. He might have kissed her - it was impossible to tell with his face buried in her hair.

Maybe fewer people would have noticed them if a loud swear hadn't rung out from Cormac McLaggen's direction. Professor McGonagall looked up from her porridge to glare out at the unidentified profaner. Harry still squirmed at the sight of them himself, and he was quite pleased when they separated and went to sit in their typical spots.

At the Slytherin table, the healing wound on Draco's face was being examined by his housemates, many of them throwing angry glares at Harry and perplexed ones at Hermione.

"Harry!" she greeted him, falling into Ginny's vacant seat. She couldn't help noticing Neville's stunned expression, and wished him a good morning as well.

For a moment Neville said nothing before shaking his head and managing. "Harry and Ginny. Hermione and Malfoy? Why is it never me?"

Seamus patted him hard on the back. "You're better off, buck."

"Harry," Hermione began again, "I started studying with Snape this morning and - "

"Yeah, where is he?" Harry interrupted, gesturing at the teachers' dais. "Breakfast is almost over and his place setting hasn't been used."

She rolled her eyes. "He's fine, Harry. I've seen him already this morning. And he's asked me to come back to his study right after class to pick it up where I left off. I'm making good progress. I feel - hopeful, for the first time in weeks. So don't dash it with your paranoia."

No matter what she said, Harry's uneasiness would not abate, and he stayed until the very end of breakfast to see if Snape would arrive. That was partly why, at any rate. Staying also gave him an excuse not to walk to potions with Hermione and Malfoy. They'd be stared at quite enough without having Harry, Malfoy's alleged attempted murderer, tagging along awkwardly but amicably by their side.

In class, Hermione didn't bring Draco to sit with them at their bench in potions. In truth, the pair of them were expert in ignoring each other, which was rather nice for Harry, especially with Ron absent. Class was more difficult for him than usual, since he hadn't dared bring the Half-blood Prince's book along so soon after the - incident.

At the meeting with McGonagall, she was as incensed as someone so proper and formal could be. She expressed her personal disappointment, which was more unpleasant than it might sound, and then she informed Harry that his quidditch season was over for the year. Moreover, he was no longer the team captain, which was a terrible blow.

Ginny met him outside of McGonagall's office, on her way to fifth year potions.

"What? No more quidditch? Stripped of the captain's robes? And all for defending yourself against a school bully with a history of violence against you? That is right out of order, Harry. I can hardly believe it! I'll have Mum write a letter of protest." She shouted out all the feelings he was too humble to express, defending him against the justice meted out to him, even though he rather knew he deserved much of it.

Harry looked both ways down the corridor before hugging Ginny tightly, too grateful to keep from touching her. "No, no protest letters," he said. "Just leave it. At least without the snitch to worry about, I'll have a better view of you during matches. It's a good trade."

He almost meant it.

"Bollocks," she said, nuzzling her cheek against his. "Ack, Harry. Get Dad to teach you how to shave properly, would you? You've got to take better care of yourself."

He laughed quietly into her ear. "Right. Will do, Gin."

"Alright, alright," she said, pushing away from him. "Off to class, you, before there's any more trouble. And don't forget to go see Ron at noon. He's taking our news as well as he can. And in his weakened state, you'd be safe enough even if he wasn't. Oh, and be sure to bring Hermione with you. Ron is absolutely frantic to speak to her."

"Is he?"

"Yes, some rubbish about how brilliant Pansy Parkinson is. Who knows what he's on about? Just bring Hermione or you might end up talking about us the whole time, and that might get - odd."

She kissed him quickly and trotted off to the potions lab, leaving Harry standing, as if enchanted, watching her leave.

Hermione stepped out of her ancient runes classroom, her nose still in her textbook, puzzling over the blank spaces where modern prepositions ought to be. She didn't see Draco waiting for her in the window across the corridor.

"Granger," he called.

She jumped, blushed, and then remembered their new arrangement.

He hopped out of the window, sauntering toward her, smirking and looking her over. He clamped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his side in spite of her stiffness. "How was runes?"

She lifted her chin, the contours of her body moulding into his, heat rising between them even as she tried to remain prim. "Fascinating."

"And lonely?" he probed, his lips too near her ear, setting her quivering beneath his arm. "Tell me it was lonely. And you couldn't wait to see me and throw your arms around me no matter who was watching. And it will be all you can do to keep yourself from spending Defense Against the Dark Arts class sitting in my lap."

She scoffed. "Yes, right in front of Snape."

"The professor helping you craft a charm to marry us? Yes, why not?"

She pressed her hand over his mouth to shush him. "Honestly, Draco. Can't you just be content with not having to act like we hate each other in public anymore?"

He pulled her hand off his mouth and bobbed forward to peck a kiss on her forehead before taking her hand and leading her toward Snape's class. "No need to be self-conscious, Granger. No one cares about us today. We're already old news, now that Potter has come out as dating Ginny Weasley."

Hermione stopped. "He what?"

Draco tugged her along. "Yeah, right before we came down to breakfast, apparently. Missy Weasley kissed Potter at the Gryffindor table, bold as you please."

She blinked. "Well, that explains Neville. Can't say I didn't see it coming myself. But still..."

"Right. So what I'm saying," Draco continued, still smirking, "is that if we want to make a scandal out of ourselves on the same day Potter's love-life goes public, we're going to have to up our game."

He turned to face her, bending toward her mouth this time.

She folded her arms and took her wide, battle stance, tossing her head. "Malfoy, don't you dare snog me in the middle of this crowded corridor as part of some pissing match between you and Harry Potter."

He laughed and took her hand again. "Sorry, no of course I shouldn't. It's just - the timing is so Potter of him. Isn't it? Come on, let's go to class. I promise you can sit in your own chair."

She let go of his hand but linked her arm through his. "You are too kind."

But just when she'd thought she'd convinced him not to make a show of them, Draco dragged her into a niche behind a statue.

"Malfoy! Will you stop - "

"No, Hermione, it's not that," he said.

She looked at his face. It was suddenly pallid and slicked with sweat. "What's the matter? Is it your wounds? Do you need Madam Pomfrey?"

"No - "

"Snape?"

"No," he said, his breathing laboured, eyes closed. "I need to leave. It's - my arm." He opened his eyes, terrified. "It's him."

She gasped. "Don't go. He'll hurt you. And you're still too weak - "

"I have to go. It's already torture." He clutched his arm. "I can't stand it. Get me outside."

She tried to support him, walking out of the niche and toward the main doors, but he was heavy and tall, falling on her. "Harry!" she called out as she saw him passing on his way to the classroom. "Draco is being called - home. Right now. Please, Harry. Help me get him outside the school gates."

Harry's face was icing over, hard and cold. He looked Draco over from his head to his feet, returning to the centre - to his arm. He shook his head. "Sorry," Harry said. "I can't help with this one."

Draco was groaning into Hermione's ear, getting sick and frantic, beginning to claw at the cloth of his sleeve. "Draco, no," she whispered into his ear. "Don't uncover it here."

She swept her eyes up and down the corridor, desperate. And then she saw them. "Goyle!" she called. "Crabbe and Goyle - please!"

They bundled Draco off, one of the few things they knew exactly how to do. Hermione stood in the currents of her classmates, watching the three tall heads make their way outside, into the grasp of the monster waiting to take Draco away.

Before the Aurors keeping watch at the gates could stop them, Crabbe and Goyle tossed Draco outside the school grounds, into the pull of Dark Lord.

He was gone.

An instant later, he was stumbling, sliding on the frosty, yellowed lawn outside the manor. The pain in his arm had almost ebbed completely away by the time he was letting himself inside the main doors.

A small, sweet voice exclaimed wordlessly at the sight of him.

He answered. "Mother?"

"Draco!" She appeared from behind the piano, where she had been sitting on the bench. She looked very little like herself, wearing the same dress he'd seen her in during the holidays, her hair a dense thicket, like Aunt Bella's, only white as Bella's was black. Her eyes were wild and shadowy, as if she hardly slept anymore. When her arms closed around him, Draco was struck by their thinness, their frailness, as if she was a tiny white bird caught inside this great, grand house.

She held him, ranting manically. "You've come back, my darling. Come back to serve him and serve him so perfectly. Serve him in your father's place. A high place. A trusted place. Serve him well, Draco - "

"Cissie!" Aunt Bella was shouting from the top of the stairs. "Cissie, who have you let inside now? What are you telling them?"

Draco turned his face up to her. "It's me, Aunt Bella."

"Draco," she drawled. "Has he called you?"

"Yes. I came as soon as I could."

"Of course you did, darling. Of course you did," she said, landing at the bottom of the staircase. "Your mother isn't well, Draco. She sent the mead to the school, you know. It had nothing to do with me. You'll tell him that if he asks, won't you? Yes, she's a terrible handful for me. But I do what I can to take good care of her."

"So I see," he sneered. "Take a rest, Aunt Bella. If Mother needs minding, I'll do it myself until the Dark Lord sends someone for me."

She patted his cheek, lightly and matronly at first, then spreading her finger and dragging them greedily upward, into his hair. "Ah, Draco. You are your father's lovely, lovely son," she crooned. "Thank you." She skipped back up the stairs, cackling merrily to herself over her momentary freedom.

"Sit down, Mother." He led Narcissa to the nearest chair, her piano bench.

"Did you want to hear a song, Draco?" she asked.

It was the first thing she'd said to him that wasn't spoken in a deranged wail. Connected to the piano, she sounded almost like herself again. "Yes, Mother, if you please. That would be wonderful."

She flexed her hands over the keys. "For you, darling, a simple Mozart: Rondo alla Turca." She began to play. "You remember this one, don't you? Jaunty little piece. It was your favourite. I remember you, marching all around - your pirouettes."

He smiled. "Yes, I remember too." He spoke out loud, to the house. "Hairbrush." His mother's silver hairbrush appeared on the top of the piano. Draco began to separate her matted hair into sections, brushing each tenderly as she played, restoring her hair to its silky, lustrous shine.

She was coming to the end of the piece. "It's a good song, but too easy. A little boy's song, isn't it, Draco. It doesn't suit us anymore. How about something more like," the song changed, it's tone and tempo a frantic sadness. "Something like the Allegretto from the Tempest? Beethoven!"

She played and played as Draco smoothed her hair with the brush. Down the corridor, the door to the drawing room was still closed. The Dark Lord had summoned him to the house, but not yet into the room. With his eyes, Draco watched for Wormtail. With his fingers, he brushed his mother's hair. And with his soul, he listened to her play.

She finished her Beethoven, clapped her hands, and said, "What's next, Draco? Not Liszt. No Liszt. That's Bella's favourite, and it's madness."

He smiled, cheered to see she could still sense madness outside herself. "How about Rachmaninoff?" he said, laying the brush down, smoothing her hair one last time with the palms of his hands. She was still tired and wild, but now she also looked cherished and loved.

At Rachmaninoff's name, she frowned, as he knew she would. "I don't know that one."

"No, he's a Muggle composer, and not long dead," Draco said. "But listen to him." He sat beside her and began to play. "This is one of his famous preludes."

"It's all chords," she said after a moment, letting her head rest against his shoulder. "And slow. Brutal."

"Yes, but listen," Draco insisted. "Wait."

He began to pick up speed and complexity, travelling over the keyboard. She lifted her head. "Where did you learn this?" she called over the long, loud tones.

"In London, during the holidays. Someone left the sheet music at the house where I stayed."

"It's," she began, "it's astounding, in its way."

"Yes," he said. "It is."

But then the music cut off quickly, its tension unresolved, when Wormtail crept close enough to pinch Draco's sleeve between his fingers. "Come, Master Malfoy. The Dark Lord is waiting."

He stood up, his mother's arms clasped around his waist. "Draco, come back. When he's finished with you, come back to me."

"I shall try, Mother," he said, with the odd formality that passed for reverent affection between them.

He was stepping away from the piano, out of Narcissa's hold, as the elves opened the front doors to a small group of newcomers. They were his father's old associates - Death Eaters assembling here for a meeting, nodding to him as they passed from the grand entrance hall into the dining room.

Coming from the opposite side of the hall, out of the drawing room, was Professor Snape. With a glance, he took Draco in before he strode through the hall to join the rest of them in the dining room. He pressed a parchment into Draco's hand as he passed.

The Death Eater meeting would wait until after the Dark Lord had dealt with the youngest of his ranks. Draco followed Wormtail to the drawing room.

"Draco," the Dark Lord sang out as he came in. "You've come. After the ghastly incident with Potter yesterday we simply had to see you for ourselves, to see how you were getting on." He tutted. "Beastly Potter has marred your face, that supernally beautiful face."

Draco fingered his wound but said nothing as the Dark Lord rose from his chair, wand in hand.

"And the other wound, it is on your chest?"

He nodded, disgusted but not surprised as his jumper and shirt vanished away, and he was left standing in the cold of the drawing room, half naked.

The Dark Lord hissed at the sight of the wound on his chest, still jagged and red. "Dark, dark magic," he said. "How close you must have been to death. But now you are well?"

Draco nodded. "I am in Professor Snape's excellent care."

"As am I," the Dark Lord said, lifting his bandaged arm. "You will remember my affliction, no doubt."

Draco nodded again. "Yes, my Lord."

"If I recall correctly," he said, taking Draco by his bare wrist, "when I work the ruined remnants of Hermione Granger's love charm with my wand," he paused to watch Draco cringe at the sound of him speaking her name, "you are unharmed, but I myself suffer some distress. This we know."

He raised his wand, letting the tip hover over the Mark on Draco's arm. "What we do not know, is whether Miss Granger suffers when I work on her charm. No, we do not know. But shall we find out, Draco? Shall we experiment?"

Draco willed his muscles to pull his arm away from the Dark Lord, but they didn't respond, as if, through his touch, the Dark Lord had taken command of the limb.

"Shall I menace the girl's love charm with my ponderous magic? Yes, it will affect me for ill as well, but to see whether it harms Miss Granger - well, the answer to such a pressing question would certainly be worth a little discomfort on my part. Don't you think so?"

Draco tried to speak but couldn't form any words.

"Shall we try Draco? Shall we learn something from one another?" The end of the Dark Lord's wand began to glow a faint green, growing brighter as it came nearer Draco's flesh.

He still couldn't speak a word, but sound was coming from his throat anyway, weak and ragged, as if strangled.

"Or," the Dark Lord said. "You could simply tell me, Draco. She must have told you by now. What happened to her, the day before Christmas, when my wand worked her charm, here in this house? Did she suffer?"

Draco's tongue was loosed. "Yes."

"A-ha!" the Dark Lord shouted. "Yes, most illuminating, Draco. Very good. You have spared her from my experiment. How chivalrous."

He threw Draco's arm back at him. "Now. Here is what you must do. Return to your witch and tell her she must remove all traces of this charm, from you and from myself."

"She is trying, my Lord. But the magic is difficult, arcane - "

"She will remove it no later than the night before your task with the vanishing cabinets is completed, or I will remove it myself. You may think it will destroy me to do so but I tell you, boy, death has no claim on me. I may be weakened in the act, but only for a short time. Unlike the last time I was beset by such a charm, with Potter's mother, I will be prepared this time - prepared with my followers to return stronger than ever. But Miss Granger, she will die."

"Then I'll stop repairing the cabinet - "

"You will continue or your parents will die."

Draco clenched both his hands into fists. This one thing never changed.

The Dark Lord leaned close to Draco's face, his cold, fetid breath washing over Draco's mouth and nose. "You see, Draco. In me, you are faced with a being so powerful not even death can defeat me. And if there is no death for me, there is no fear, there is no loss, there is no object that can be raised to bargain against me. In me, you are helpless."

He spun around, sitting in his armchair, brandishing his wand. "Tell your witch to vanquish the charm, or die."

Wormtail slammed the door behind him and Draco came tripping back into the corridor, running toward the staircase, dressed in nothing but his trousers and shoes. Narcissa sprang from the piano bench, screeching his name and chasing him up the stairs, to the house's master suite. She was still calling after him as he flung open the lid of the jewelry box on her vanity, raking his fingers through sparkling chains and precious stones.

"Draco, darling, what do you need from there?" she said. "Let me help you. I'll give you anything. I want so badly to - "

"This, mother," he said, taking Snape's parchment from the pocket of his trousers and slamming it on the tabletop. "Sign this."

She was too frantic to read, scanning the paper from top to bottom without comprehension as he rifled through her jewelry. He stopped when he found what he was looking for: a simple platinum ring with a dark, clear emerald sunk into the band. He slid it onto his ring finger, to the first knuckle.

When he turned around, Snape was standing in the doorway.

"Professor, tell her to sign it," Draco said.

Snape conjured a quill and charmed the door shut behind himself - not that the house needed any help from him. "Madam, your son wishes to have your consent for him to engage in magic deemed too onerous for someone under-aged. He cannot continue without your written permission."

She blinked, suddenly more lucid than she'd been all day. "What kind of magic?"

"The only kind that will save me from the Dark Lord," Draco answered. "It's a corporeal love charm. And more than that, it's a matrimonial charm."

"Matrimony," she echoed. "But - but we have an agreement. We've had it for years. The Greengrass's little girl - "

Draco summoned one of his father's shirts from the cupboard to cover himself. "Mother, I won't live to honor that agreement. Perhaps none of us will. Not me, not you, and not," he paused, "not Father."

Narcissa's head turned slowly, with great pain toward Snape. Her eyes glistened with tears. "Severus?"

He stepped forward, pressing the quill into her hand. "Your son is overwrought, but he is not wrong."

"Who is the girl in the matrimonial charm? Who is her family?"

Draco groaned. "It doesn't matter."

"It does!"

"You said you'd give me anything."

"Yes, but of course not - "

"Madam Malfoy," Snape shouted over both of them. "Narcissa, I advise you to sign it - and live."