A/N: I've recently been promoted at work which means more hours away from my computer, so these updates are going to be spaced out a bit from now on. I'll do my best to keep them regular, but if you don't hear from me for a few weeks at a time, don't worry!
I have the most dedicated reviewers ever. Seriously, you guys make the world a better place. Thank you so much for leaving your thoughts and ideas!
Chapter Sixteen: To Come to an Understanding
Malfoy Manor
December 2001
"I've been healed!"
The exultant man was a former Snatcher who, up until that very morning, had been unable to walk. He had been hit with a curse by Hermione Granger as he and his cronies attempted to capture her. They had succeeded in the end, but only after a vicious fight. They had all suffered minor injuries, but this man had been unfortunate enough to have his spine severed. Draco didn't know much about Granger's time at HQ, but the three men who had bagged the Brightest Witch of Her Age had made the unfortunate mistake of bragging about it within Draco's hearing.
"It's a gift from the Gods!" The man was now skipping, his creased face split by a grin.
The two other men involved in Granger's capture were no longer alive. One had bled out when a captive he was attempting to rape had removed his cock with her teeth. The other had been killed when he drunkenly fell out of a second-story window. The first death had been luck, the second had been a carefully planned assassination. There was only one Snatcher remaining upon whom Draco still needed to exact his revenge. It was the Snatcher who had delighted in telling the story of how cruelly he had beaten and raped the Chosen One's best friend.
It had been just the night before when Draco had slipped the poison into the man's drink. The pub had been filled to capacity. Draco had sat in the back corner and watched the sorry excuse for a wizard carouse with his friends, cry into his cups, and then float away in his enchanted chair. Now he was dancing a jig in the entryway of Legion Headquarters, come to demand his job back now that he was able to walk again.
It wasn't long before the man realized that he was not being healed, but was, in fact, being murdered. He lost feeling in his legs once again as he slumped to the floor. His breath shortened, and a sharp ache gripped his chest. The look of sheer panic and confusion on the man's face was pleasing.
It was that false hope that made the poison so incredibly gratifying when used against an enemy. That sweet, sweet sensation of being fully avenged was why Draco had chosen it. The man choked on his last gulp of air before going limp, his blank eyes staring at the ceiling in entreaty.
Draco turned on his heel and sauntered away from the gathering crowd, singing under his breath.
"How lovely would it be
If hand in hand, you and me,
Might savor our last, sweet breath,
As we Dance, as we Dance
As we Dance to our Death?"
After a swift round of questioning by Dawlish, Draco was released. It was obvious they had gotten all they needed from Granger, and that this whole ridiculous display of strength had been aimed at her alone. Draco had been warned that he would be watched closely and that he was expected to assist in the transformative rituals of Kingsley, Lovegood and George Weasley as well as Pansy.
If Draco had not already been aware of the changes to his plans, he would have been incensed. As it was, he merely nodded, comforted in the knowledge that he would get what he wanted no matter what.
It was nearly two in the morning when he and Weasley made their way back to the old dungeon quarters. The castle was almost deserted but for a few sentries walking the halls. The two men were met by a familiar group huddled in the hall outside Granger's rooms.
"She's warded herself inside," Neville explained. "I think she's upset about Harry."
"And Luna Lovegood left not long ago," Narcissa mentioned.
"We felt magic spinning around like mad and went to check on her," Pansy said indicating Neville and herself.
"Now she's put up incredibly powerful protection magic." Theo was studying the door as if it were a puzzle.
"Again." Pansy crossed her arms. "What if she's trapped under a mountain of books? What if she's been punctured by a flying fire iron?"
The Dragon lashed his tail and provided Draco a sudden vision of her lying bloody on the floor. The sensible side of Draco realized that such a scenario was unlikely, but he couldn't be sure unless he could get inside the damned room. Until that time, he needed Pansy to work a bit of magic.
"I need to see inside," Draco told her.
She knew exactly what he wanted.
"I left my wand in my room," she argued.
Draco merely stared at her expectantly. With a huff of indignation, she waved her hand in front of the wall as if wiping something away. The thick stones shimmered like a mirage and then disappeared.
"Bloody hell," Weasley squeaked.
"You should see what she can do with a wand," Neville said proudly.
"Let's go, then!" Weasley cried.
Blaise stopped his forward charge with a hand on his arm. "The wall is still there, as are the wards."
"How are you still alive?" Pansy complained. Her mother sniffed in agreement.
Draco ignored them. The room was in perfect order as far he could tell. There were no flying objects, no gales of magically induced wind. Everything looked completely normal, except for the pristine, white snow coating every surface. There were fat snowflakes drifting lazily from the ceiling and no trace of Hermione.
"Where is she?" he muttered.
"There," Narcissa said, pointing.
Draco moved to his mother's side and saw a single black boot near the bed, half covered in snow. She was indeed on the floor, but Draco told himself firmly that there was no evidence of blood. "She's going to freeze to death."
"We have to get inside!" Weasley cried.
Pansy wiggled her fingers and the door became visible again. Weasley reached for the knob and leaped back with a yowl. His hand was red and blistered.
"Idiot," Theo muttered under his breath.
"Can you break it, Pans?" Draco was running through various possibilities in his head. None of them were satisfactory.
Pansy gave him a look of utter disdain. "Of course. But it will take time. There's a very powerful rebounding jinx on that door. We can't just blast through it like last time."
She was right. Draco prepared himself to dismantle the wards one at a time, but as he approached the door, he realized he felt no resistance. Perplexed, he gingerly extended a hand as if to grab the knob, and felt nothing but a gentle tingle. He locked his fingers around the metal with no ill effects.
"Interesting," Pansy smirked at him and waved the wall back into solidity.
Draco refused to focus on the implications of his immunity to her wards, and instead opened the door and stepped through. He shivered as he simultaneously experienced the heat of her magic - apparently keyed to allow only Draco entry, judging from the sound of Weasley's curse as he tried to follow - and the frigid cold of the winterized room.
"I can't determine the source of the precipitation," Theo observed from the doorway. "Fascinating!"
Hermione was coated with a fine white layer of snow where she lay. Draco gently picked her up from the floor and took her to the bed. She was shivering. He used his wand to banish the snow on the quilt and then the rest of the room. It helped, but it was still snowing and bitterly cold.
A quick diagnostic spell confirmed that she was almost frozen.
"Her core temperature is too low," his mother advised. She had taken Theo's place at the doorway. "You'll have to warm her up with skin to skin contact."
"I cast a warming charm," Draco demurred. "Won't that be enough?"
Narcissa sniffed. "If you want to risk her life because you are too squeamish to do what is necessary. . ."
Draco groaned. What the hell had he gotten himself into?
"Well, we're obviously superfluous here," Pansy called over Narcissa's shoulder. "We'll see you in the morning."
"Excellent," Persia said brightly. "I do so long for a lie-down."
"Probably best for all of us," Narcissa added, turning from the door.
"You're not just leaving?" Draco protested. "Longbottom? You're her friend!"
"Judging from her wards, she doesn't need me." Neville shrugged apologetically. "Look, mate, only two people could ever pull her out of these fits, and that was Harry or Luna. For some reason, she wants you."
"She doesn't know what she wants!" Draco roared. "She's unconscious!"
"Her magic is a reflection of her inner needs and desires, especially when she is under the influence of wild magic," Narcissa called. "I'm sure you can handle it, my dear."
Draco gaped like a dead fish. In what world was he qualified to tend to an emotionally broken woman? And why was nobody on his side?
"I don't fancy waiting in this winter wonderland whilst you try to rouse her," Narcissa added. Persia had already disappeared from the hall.
"I don't want to see you naked," Pansy declared before leaving. He wanted to protest that he would not - under any circumstances! - be getting naked, but she was gone too quickly.
"My quarters are on the other side of the castle. So, I'll just stay close by. In case you need help," Neville muttered, following Pansy into her room. Draco heard a distant, "Thanks, mate," before Pansy's door shut.
"I'm for the infirmary," Weasley muttered, rubbing his blistered hand.
"We could stay," Theo offered stoutly, but was promptly elbowed in the gut by his lover.
Draco shot them both a look that made very clear his feelings on that lukewarm offer.
"Floo us if you need help," Blaise gave Draco a look of sympathy. Theo threw him a half-hearted smile and a shrug before snaking his arm around Blaise's waist and leading him back to their room.
Cursing under his breath at the cowardice of his friends, he slammed the door shut with his wand. Gingerly, Draco stripped off the outer layers of Granger's soaking wet clothes. Her skin was icy and covered in gooseflesh. He cast another warming charm before tucking her under the quilt. His own shirt was sprinkled with tiny snowflakes. With a heavy sigh, he set his wand next to hers on the bedside table. He pulled his shirt over his head, kicked off his shoes and trousers, and then stopped for a moment.
The line of her spine was a beautiful thing. It started from her long neck, traveled down between shoulder blades and past her too-thin waist before disappearing into her knickers. He was gripped with a sudden desire to follow that delectable path with his tongue. Closing his eyes for a moment, he turned his attention inward.
Keep yourself under control, you mangy reptile.
There was not even a stirring of response, and Draco assumed his Dragon had gotten the message. He silently chastised himself as well, realizing that it had been months since he had been in bed with a woman. This particular woman was half-naked, incredibly smart and frighteningly powerful - whose skin had been insanely soft - and who had indirectly declared that she not only trusted him, but needed him. Fully aware that this was a colossal mistake, but unable to withstand the sight of her quaking limbs, he slid into the bed.
Draco pulled her back against his chest, wrapping his legs in and around hers. He covered them both with the quilt and then started chafing at her cold arms. Bloody hell, her fingers and toes were like ice. The snowfall had lessened, but there were still frozen flakes drifting onto the quilt. He knew he had to get through to her, but he wasn't sure how.
"What now, Granger?" he whispered, smoothing a curl away from her ear. "What do you need me to do?"
There was no answer, so Draco merely settled into the soft pillow, the need to warm her more important than any other concern. He closed his eyes and buried his face in the nape of her neck, feeling the silky curls tickle his nose, and allowed her scent to fill his nostrils.
Their breathing quickly synchronized, he could feel the heat from his skin slowly seeping into hers. Their current position was familiar and the sound of their matched breaths triggered an idea. He slid his hand around to her belly and focused his mind on the rhythm of her even breaths.
The cold room floated away from his consciousness and he was standing in a snow-covered cemetery. At least it wasn't cold, he silently groused. Distantly, he was still aware of the frigid room, the soft feeling of snow tickling his face, and a slowly warming woman wrapped up in his arms.
She was standing in front of three graves. Instead of battle fatigues, she was wearing Muggle denims and a fluffy red sweater. Her hair was long and fell to her waist in a wild tangle.
The crisp sound of his shoes in the snow caught her attention. When she turned to see him, he hardly recognized her. There was something missing in her posture, in the tilt of her head. It was as if she were painted in grey, with none of the lovely, bright colors that made her so fascinating.
"Draco." She seemed unsurprised to see him.
"What the fuck are you doing, Granger?" he demanded.
"I'm not sure," she said vaguely.
Coming up behind her, he studied the headstones. Two of them were worn, but very clear.
"Lily and James Potter," he read under his breath. The names jarred him. He looked around for the first time and took in the sight of the most famous village in recent history. "Godric's Hollow?"
"Harry and I came here when we were on the run," she said. "Ron had left us, and we were desperate and starving. We needed the Sword of Gryffindor. Instead we found Nagini."
The third grave marker was fuzzy and blinked in and out of his vision as if it didn't truly belong. He thought he could make out the name engraved on the stone if he truly focused, but decided he might know it anyway.
"You need to come back to reality," Draco told her.
"I'd rather not." She scuffed at the snow with her foot. "Real life is rather depressing at the moment."
"And this place is better?" he demanded, indicating the cemetery with wide arms.
"I'm not sure what this is," she admitted, blinking at him. "When I've disappeared in the past, I've always gone to a dark void. It's warm and comforting. I've never created an entirely new world in which to hide. It's a rather ominous indication of my mental state."
Ominous, indeed.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, looking away.
"I'm not really here." Draco realized he had said it too quickly and cursed himself. "I'm just a part of this fantasy world."
She snorted. "Not likely. The Draco in my imagination is far less obnoxious."
He didn't have time to process the fact that he featured in her fantasies before she swung around to face him, pinning him with suspicious brown eyes.
"How did you get here?"
"The same way you did?" he offered lamely.
She frowned at him and he could practically see the wheels turning in her head. Bugger. It was only a matter of time before he was caught out.
"You liar!" she gasped. "You followed me here! And you were there when I saw my dragon form as well. Lying Slytherin bastard!"
Draco adopted a careless posture. "Don't lose your mind, Granger."
"I knew it!" She suddenly looked more like herself. "How is that possible?"
"Let's focus on the matter at hand," Draco reprimanded. They didn't have time to dig into the metaphysical implications of unprecedented psychic connections, no matter how much it made her eyes sparkle. "Why are you here?"
Hermione's face closed up and she turned away.
"Is it because of Kingsley?" he asked. "Because I may have found a way around that fucking prick."
"That's nice of you." There was no inflection in her voice when she spoke.
He wasn't sure what to do. By the gods, he hated feeling helpless.
"Hermione," he prodded softly, coming closer. "Please talk to me."
She was silent for a long moment.
"Luna's a monster," she whispered. Snow began to fall. Somewhere far away in an underground room, Draco could feel his body get colder.
He wondered if he should deny it. He decided to be honest. "Yes."
"You saw it." She swallowed. "I didn't."
He didn't want to tell her that it was easy for one monster to identify another.
"You love her," he offered instead. "Love can often cloud our minds."
"And I thought she loved me. Now I'm not sure if she's even capable of that. I don't know which is worse: being lied to or being loved by a psychopath."
Being loved by a psychopath was far worse, in Draco's experience, but he wasn't sure she actually wanted his opinion, so he kept his mouth shut.
A snowflake landed on her cheek and melted instantly. Draco wiped the water away with his thumb, then let his hand smooth the skin of her cheek. She sighed with closed eyes and gripped his wrist. He assumed she would push him away until she pressed her nose into his palm instead. Her face crumpled.
"Harry's dying." Her lashes were wet though no tears fell.
Draco realized there was a very real danger of Hermione falling apart, fully and permanently. The world around them wavered sickeningly as she reeled from emotion. He gave in to his instincts and wrapped his arms around her as if he could keep the pieces of her from floating away. Cold fingers dug into his back, and she sniffled against his collar.
"How long?" he asked.
"A week. Maybe two." Hermione's voice was muffled. "It feels as if the ground under me is turning to quicksand. I knew it was coming, but now that it's here, I'm not sure what to do."
"You can start by coming back," Draco offered. "Hiding here isn't solving any of your problems."
"I don't want to," she argued.
"Well that's just too fucking bad," Draco returned. "You don't get to hide out here while the rest of us fight. And this isn't really want you want, anyway."
"You're right," she groaned, stepping back from him.
His arms felt cold. If someone had told him a month ago that he would be standing in a psychic world, holding Hermione Granger while she grieved, and that it would feel like the most natural thing in the world, he would have laughed himself sick.
There was the slightest bit of reticence left in her slumped posture. He could tell she was afraid to wake up, but of course, she would do it anyway. Because she was Hermione Granger and the world needed her.
She heaved a heavy sigh. "Time to wake up."
The room blinked back into focus. There was a fine layer of snow on every surface and pearls of water droplets in their hair. Against his chest, Hermione still felt chilled. Draco instinctively tightened his arm around her as the Dragon purred, and was reassured when she squeaked. He released her and she sat up and scooted away a bit, holding the quilt to her neck in the cold.
"Merlin!" she breathed as she surveyed the room. The snow was gone in a blink and the air warmed noticeably. She turned with an accusing glare. "How did you get through my wards?"
"Walked right through," he answered smugly. "Apparently, I was the only one you wanted to see."
He grinned slyly at her and waited for the embarrassment. Instead, she appeared to be weighing him with her eyes. After a moment, she hummed noncommittally and pulled away. What did that mean?
"And don't do this again," he grumbled. "If you want to get my attention, you can bloody well floo me or send a Patronus next time."
Hermione shook her head in amusement. "Point taken."
Draco was utterly confused by her easy acceptance of his jibes.
With a sigh, she collapsed back on the bed. "I'm so tired."
That explained it, he thought to himself. She was just exhausted, and honestly, Draco was a bit knackered as well. He propped his head up with one hand and studied her, wondering when she would realize they were both half-naked in her bed. If that didn't get a reaction, nothing would.
"You don't seem bothered by the fact that you were able to follow me into my mind."
If it wasn't still cold in the room, Draco would have gotten up at that point. He really didn't want to have this conversation. He had heard of similar magical connections of course, but they were mostly between Veela mates or people who had been soul-bonded. Since neither of those situations applied, he was reluctant to find an answer to their quandary. He doubted very much that either of them would like it.
"Doesn't it seem strange to you?" she pressed.
"If you're looking for some kind of mystical explanation, I don't have it." Maybe he should brave the cold and leave after all.
"But you followed me into my meditation. Twice!"
Draco sighed and sat up. "Don't overthink it, Granger."
"Don't overthink it? Have you met me?"
She sat up completely and turned to face him, ready to do battle. As the quilt fell away, she looked down at herself.
"I'm naked," she said absently.
"You most certainly are not naked," he countered, feeling as if he had to defend himself.
"Merlin's pants, I'm naked!" She shrieked and tried to dive under the covers, but only succeeded in flopping on the mattress with a single corner of the bedding.
"Give me the blanket, you prat!" she shrieked.
He laughed and pulled the blanket further out of her reach, delighting in her discomfort. As he watched, he saw something he hadn't noticed the when he had removed her clothing. Scars. Many of them. The Dragon rumbled unhappily and started pacing around in the back of Draco's mind. For once, Draco agreed with the beast.
A particularly violent grab landed her elbow near his groin, and suddenly it wasn't funny anymore.
"Stop wiggling around! For fuck's sake, a swimming costume shows more skin than those ragged cotton underthings!"
She stopped fighting for cover and lay still, her arms wrapped around her stomach.
"I have them too," he told her, pointing out a particularly ragged scar that ran across his chest.
"Harry did that to you, didn't he?" she asked in a whisper.
"He did. He may not have realized it at the time, but I had it coming."
Hermione moved her arms a bit to reveal a dark red line which traveled from under her right breast, across her ribs and to her left hip.
"This big one is from Dolohov," she told him. "Department of Mysteries in fifth year."
Draco added the name to his ever-growing kill list.
As close to her as he was, he could see faint lines that looked like wild vines curling around her belly and hips and down her arms and legs. He knew if he turned her over, he would see they originated from her spine, and probably covered most of her body. They were the mark of the cruciatus, applied unrelentingly and without mercy. He extended a single finger and passed it along the curve a particularly long scar.
"Bellatrix?" he asked, knowing the answer.
"Rodolphos kept me like a pet," she explained calmly. "Bellatrix took issue with his affections and punished me for them."
A burning pit of hatred uncoiled in his stomach. He had heard whispers of Rodolphos and his unseemly captivation with a Mudblood prisoner, but nobody was willing to elaborate and risk the wrath of Bellatrix. She had wanted her husband's disgusting behavior buried away and never spoken of again. The truth made him sick to his stomach. He regretted all those times he had interacted with the filthy excuse for a wizard and never realized to whom he was speaking. He regretted all those missed opportunities to make him pay.
"That man is marked for death," he growled.
"Yes, he is," she agreed with a hard edge to her voice. Having seen the marks of her past torment, Draco pulled the blanket up to her waist to keep her warm, slightly ashamed of himself. He had no business grilling her about her past or forcing her to reveal the painful parts of herself.
A lyrical sigh left her mouth. "Oh, I wish I had a cigarette."
"You smoke?" The idea was preposterous.
He continued to trace the scars on her skin, watching bumps rise in the wake of his touch. Touching her was strange. It felt forbidden, yet completely natural. He thought he could lay next to her and spend all his time discovering her skin. Among other things.
"The nicotine helps calm my nerves, but now the ritual involved is just as comforting." She curved her hand as if holding a cigarette carton and pantomimed the movements. "Tap, tap, tap. Cigarette. Light. Inhale. Release. Repeat. I suppose as far as oral fixations go, it has its benefits."
"Disgusting habit."
There was a particularly beautiful whorl of silver scar tissue near her hip. He hated it. He wondered what it would taste like. He splayed his hand over the jut of her hipbone under the blanket, making her shudder.
"You could always give me something else to do with my mouth," she said quietly.
A wave of fire washed over him and he was crawling up her body before he had time to really process her words. She clutched the sides of his face and pulled him into a scorching kiss. Had it really been only hours since he had tasted her lips? The flavor of her mouth was intoxicating; the texture of her tongue was making his head spin.
He was balanced over her with both hands, one knee between her legs, but he needed to be closer. He lowered himself down gently, waiting for a sign that she was uncomfortable or overwhelmed. She merely twined her hands into his hair and grinned under his lips. He settled onto his hip next to her, their chests pressed together and his cock grinding against the outside of her thigh.
She was moving restlessly under him, pulling at his shoulders and clutching the back of his neck. He knew what she needed. Draco broke their kiss, both of them heaving for breath. She protested with a whine, but he wanted to watch her face as he trailed his hand down between her brassiere, over her belly and finally between her legs. The thin fabric that kept their bodies apart was wet and warm.
She looked surprised, but not upset by the contact. When he pressed lightly against her sensitive center, her eyes fluttered shut. He took her mouth again briefly before kissing his way down her chin and to her neck, all the while caressing her in gentle circles. She let out a whimper that had him thrusting gently against her leg, desperate to relieve some of his building desire. The scent of her skin was flooding his senses and the Dragon was practically dancing in ecstasy.
Bloody hell he was tempted. It would be so easy to remove all the barriers between them and simply take her. The idea was staggering. Instead, he moved his mouth back to hers and reveled in the sounds of pleasure she was making, and the feel of her skin against his. The room was no longer cold, and a tiny sheen of sweat glistened on both their bodies.
Despite the desperate yowling of the Dragon, Draco was determined to keep his hands on the outside of her clothing. When she ultimately became his - and he finally admitted to himself that he fully intended to claim her - it would be an intentional seduction, not a convenient fumbling charged with heavy emotions.
It would have to wait. The last thing Draco wanted to do was take advantage of her when she was unstable, but he would be damned if he would walk away from Hermione when she was moaning and writhing under his touch.
"We are not having sex tonight," he told her firmly between kisses.
"Do whatever you want," she gasped. "Just as long you keep touching me."
He was going to spontaneously combust. The rabid heat coiling in his body was going to crack him open and light the world on fire. He continued to rub the wet fabric between her legs, cursing his self-control as she squirmed under his hands and fully opened her legs for him.
He watched in fascination as a deep blush crept over her cheeks and neck and chest, the color highlighting the way her nipples had hardened to impossible peaks under the thin cups of her brassiere. Unable to resist, he plucked at a one of the sweet buds with his tongue. The action swept her over the edge. She cried out and shuddered against him, fingers digging into his arms.
The sight of her in such wild abandon, with head thrown back, mouth open in pleasure and body singing for him sent a sudden rush of pleasure through him. It was unlike anything he had ever felt. It made him bury his head in her neck and spill himself into the bed next to her with erratic thrusts.
Merlin's saggy balls, he hadn't come in his pants since he was twelve years old. His body felt heavy and lethargic. Through the haze of pleasure still buzzing through him, he felt her magically clean them both, then pull the blanket up to cover them.
"You okay?" he mumbled into the pillow near her neck.
Her fingers brushed the hair from his brow and he cracked one eye to look at her. She was smiling.
"Go to sleep," she said as she snuggled under his arm.
The last thought before he drifted off to sleep was a silent reminder to himself that he would need to sneak out before dawn. Draco really didn't want to deal with Pansy's self-satisfied smirk if she caught wind of the change in their relationship, much less the accusations Granger would have to fend off should her people find out.
Or maybe not, the Dragon argued. Stake your claim for all to see.
Draco must have been truly exhausted, for the Dragon's suggestions were beginning to sound reasonable.
Ginny was asleep in the chair in the corner when Malfoy slipped inside the room. After his collapse two days previous, Ginny had stayed by Harry's side with a bright smile and had cheerily bullied him into eating and drinking and allowing her to change his bed sheets. She took after her mother in that regard, but Harry knew that seeing him in such a state was hurting her deeply. He had watched his infirmity chip away at her spirit over time. Only her iron will and reckless bravery kept them both afloat when it would have been so much easier just to give in.
Harry had known almost immediately that he would not survive the curse. Every day he lived beyond the initial prognosis was a gift from the gods. He considered himself lucky to be able to see this final battle, and die amongst his friends. Now that they were going into the fight with greater odds of success - thanks to Draco Malfoy, of all people - he felt like he could face the end with a light heart. If he could be sure that his family would be safe, he could die with few regrets.
But getting to the battlefield was suddenly a problem, and it was with this in mind that he summoned Malfoy to his bedside at an incredibly late hour. With his wife snoring lightly a few feet away, Harry motioned to Draco to sit. The only light was from a single candle, and it cast his former enemy's face in harsh relief.
"Tie me to my broomstick," Harry demanded in a harsh whisper so as not to wake his wife.
"I'm not into that kinky shit, Potter." Malfoy was seated with his legs arrogantly crossed, drumming his fingers on the worn arm of an ancient chair.
Harry ignored him. "Or a Sticking Charm! That's the way to do it."
"You can't even sit upright," the man argued in a bored voice, now fingering the myriad potions on the table at his elbow. "Not even a Permanent Sticking Charm could keep you on a broom."
"Maybe your Sticking Charm wouldn't work." Blimey, that sounded petulant.
Draco sighed deeply and raised an eyebrow. "So you want to fly into battle with a broom magically attached to your arse? What the hell would that achieve?"
"I can't just stay behind," Harry pleaded. "Killing that monster was supposed to end this, but it didn't. I failed. These people are here because of me. If I had done my job, if I had stayed vigilant, none of this would have happened."
Draco closed his eyes as if in pain. "That line of reasoning is useless, not to mention illogical. We could go all the way back to his birth to place blame, and your part would be the least of it."
"I am the Chosen One. It's my duty to fight with my people."
"Very poetic Potter." Harry saw the tiny roll the other man's eyes. "You know you'll get killed immediately?"
Harry merely looked at him, wondering why someone so intelligent would say something so incredibly asinine.
"You're such a fucking Gryffindor." Malfoy chuckled. "But you'll never get away with it. There's no way in Hades your wife or Granger would ever allow it."
"That's why I need your help."
"If you think I'm getting between you and those two women, you've lost your sodding mind. I'd like to actually make it to the battle."
"I can handle Ginny—" Harry paused when Malfoy raised a skeptical brow. "—but you'll have to convince 'Mione."
Draco huffed out a laugh. "Why do you suppose I'm capable of that? That woman has to be the most stubborn bitch I've ever met."
The words sounded like praise, and Harry noticed the way Draco's face softened. Interesting.
"She's been killing herself over this dragon thing, and- " Potter lowered his voice when Ginny stirred. "And it's not just about leveling the playing field. It will help, but we both know humans masquerading as dragons are hardly match for Bellatrix. There's something going on between you and Hermione."
"I don't know what you're talking about." Draco went still.
"I see you two together," Harry mentioned slyly. "There are feelings between you two."
"Feelings?" Malfoy looked as if he'd swallowed something slimy. "I feel like I want to shag her into my mattress. End of feelings."
If Harry's face could function fully it would be awash in disgust. As it was, he closed his eyes painfully and muttered, "Gross."
Draco was continuing. "Let's agree for a moment that these fictitious sentiments are real, just so I can make sure I have this right. You want me to use Granger's—let's call it affection— to manipulate her into allowing something that will very likely break her heart?"
Harry didn't even hesitate. "Yes."
"This is all so deliciously Slytherin. I think I might be proud of you, Scarhead."
"So you'll do it?" Hope flared to life in his chest.
"Absolutely not."
"What difference does it make? I'm dying anyway." He knew he sounded pathetic, but desperation had a stranglehold on his pride. "I have a fortnight. Probably less. I want to die fighting, not shitting my bed while listening to my daughter cry."
The last part was choked out quietly. Draco paled. They were silent for a moment while Harry collected himself.
"As it happens," Draco began reluctantly. "I may know of something that will help you."
"You know there's no cure for this." Harry's shoulders felt heavy. He sucked in a deep breath. Was the simple action harder than it had been a moment before?
"It's not a cure," Draco admitted. "In fact, it's the opposite."
Harry listened raptly while the blonde man described one of the vilest poisons known to Wizarding kind. It was a long shot, but at this point, Harry was willing to try anything.
"What made you think of that particular poison?" he wondered.
"The Dancing Death is a favorite of the Malfoys," Draco answered, picking at some faded stitches. "Or was, back when poison was quite the thing."
Harry looked at him silently, not believing his words for a moment.
"It may have made a comeback in the last decade." Malfoy shrugged.
"And you have this poison?" It was almost too much to hope.
"I can get it."
Harry was at a loss. "Thank you, Draco."
"Spare me your thanks," the man spat as he leaned forward menacingly. "And just know that neither Granger nor your wife will ever forgive us."
"I'll be dead," Harry joked. "What do I care?"
"Isn't that just like old times? You get to die a hero, and I get to be the bad guy." Draco shrugged indignantly. "Tosser."