CHAPTER 19

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Tomorrow was his birthday.

He hated his birthdays. The whole wizarding world insisted on celebrating them with him, which meant that he was required to spend it with hoards of people. Hermione and Ron swore that they would be there to support him, but it wasn't like he even got to see them much amidst all the furore.

Everyone wanted to toast him, to touch him and thank him. There was cake he had to pose with, interviews he had to give— worst of all, there was usually a surprise guest that was brought in, who always managed to twist Harry's stomach when he was faced with them. They were usually people he knew, people he'd hurt in the past with his inaction, that loved to discuss the war and their Hogwarts years.

Harry stopped walking along the white stone lane, giving himself a moment to close his eyes.

Fuck.

He really didn't want to do any of this. Being here, at Malfoy Manor was bad enough. Whenever he'd been required to come, the ridiculously flamboyant mansion always reminded him of when he'd been dragged here by Snatchers. He had trouble blocking out Hermione's piercing, agonised screams that had gone through him like blades at the time— and still did.

He had failed Hermione that day. She had had to suffer Bellatrix's tortures because Harry had arrogantly ignored Ron's warnings and said Voldemort's name.

They'd only gotten out of that because of the bravery of Dobby. And how had he repaid that debt?

By getting him killed.

Harry's heart was thundering against his ribs. Fuck. He missed Dobby so much. Harry had not deserved the elf's devotion. Dobby had risked everything coming to Harry's rescue, and Harry had failed him horrifically.

Dobby had received a knife to the chest for his loyalty to Harry Potter.

His head swam and Harry let the vertigo take him to his knees. He'd just rest for a second, just long enough to scrape his composure back together and get this thing done. It would take—

"Potter?"

Harry's head snapped up to see Draco fucking Malfoy walking through the huge wrought-iron gates towards him.

"What are you doing?"

Harry hastily wiped his face and then stood.

"Not bowing to the majesty of the great Malfoys, so don't get excited."

Malfoy stopped walking, his expression tiredly exasperated.

"We're still doing that, then?"

Harry crossed his arms.

"Guess so."

"Wonderful."

Harry looked behind the blonde to scrutinise his manor.

"You live here still? I thought you moved away with Greengrass?"

Draco grimaced.

"Astoria Malfoy, my son, and I live elsewhere, yes. I was just here to see my father." Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "And what are you doing here?"

Harry rolled his eyes.

"I'm just here to see your dad, okay. Is he home?"

Malfoy's face tightened weirdly.

"He's otherwise engaged, Potter. Most people call ahead to ensure the residents aren't busy when making a house visit."

Harry shifted his expression to seem politely shocked.

"Fascinating! I'll keep that helpful little tidbit in mind next time, thanks so much."

Harry spun to leave.

"Harry."

Harry didn't turn, but closed his eyes. He knew that tone.

"Leave it, Draco."

There was silence, and Harry prayed that he would be allowed to leave without rehashing their mortifying history. How Harry had fucked Malfoy once at a Ministry event, taken him roughly against a sodding wall just outside the hall where hundreds of people had been gathered. He'd rammed his fingers between those perfect teeth to silence him and Malfoy had ground down so hard that Harry had had cuts to haunt him for weeks afterwards.

It had been a mistake, one that stood painfully large and awkward between them. Malfoy had tried on several occasions to talk about it, but Harry had refused every time.

"I wasn't going to," Malfoy whispered, closer than he'd been moments before.

Harry turned to see Malfoy standing right in front of him, his expression carefully blank, but Harry could read the bastard. He was scared.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, immediately distracted. "Is it your father?"

Malfoy held his gaze, but didn't speak.

"What is it?" Harry asked again— but he suddenly knew.

Voldemort was inside.

He had broken free and returned to Malfoy Manor, just as Harry had recently suspected. He'd set up shop here again, amassing new Death Eaters and subjugating the Malfoys.

"Calm down, Potter," Malfoy said, placing his hand over Harry's where Harry was gripping the other man's arm.

Harry released him fast, but continued to stare, waiting impatiently for more information.

"Is he here?" Harry prompted him in a whisper after a minute of heavy silence, and watched Malfoy's eyes widen hugely, his whole body tensing.

Malfoy didn't question who Harry had meant.

He was here.

Voldemort—

"He was," Malfoy said, and Harry struggled to understand.

"Was? So— he's not anymore?"

Malfoy gave the subtlest shake of his head.

"Fuck!" Harry spat, his sense of loss and frustration threatening to scorch the grass around them.

"Be quiet, Harry. Don't make a scene."

When Harry looked back at Malfoy, his face was blank once more. Harry took a deep breath.

"Right. No scenes. You've just told me that Volde—"

"Are you mad?" Malfoy hissed, incredulity entering his tone. "You would draw his attention here—"

"The taboo is gone. He's got no magic, didn't you know?"

Malfoy looked back at his home discretely, his face impassive.

"He's not here, Potter. I suggest you look elsewhere."

Harry studied the blonde carefully, disappointment thrashing inside of him.

Gone.

If only I'd thought to come here sooner. I could have found him.

"Do you know where he went?" Harry asked quietly, defeated.

Useless.

Malfoy shook his head.

"He would hardly divulge that information to me."

So that was that. He'd failed yet again. So close, and yet so far.

Time to go.

Before he left, Harry scrutinised Malfoy's face once more, desperate to catch anything.

"I need to know, Draco," Harry said sincerely, stepping closer, and Malfoy's gaze flew to his in astonishment. "Is he really not here? I promise you can tell me. I'll protect you, you know I will."

Malfoy's eyes shifted between his intently, and Harry waited, hoping—

"He's gone," Malfoy said firmly, backing up a few paces and looking away. "Don't pretend to concern yourself with my safety. It's not convincing."

Harry watched in offended bewilderment as Malfoy turned and walked back through the gates, which closed shut solidly behind him.

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Voldemort's legs ached as he held himself still, kneeling calmly at Lucius's feet. His servant was eating, enjoying the puerile pleasure of taunting his Master with food he would not share.

It was all so banal. The weak, unimaginative performances Lucius insisted on putting him through were tedious. He complied, because he must, but it was boring more than anything.

"You're lower than my house elf," Lucius asserted moronically, his eyes on the newspaper he was reading, pretending to ignore Lord Voldemort.

As if anyone could.

He had been cursed silent, and therefore relieved of the necessity to respond. Instead, he peered out the window at the warm summer sun lighting upon the leaves outside.

Footsteps approached and he blinked to bring himself back to attention. Draco entered the room, his furtive eyes falling upon Voldemort kneeling at his father's feet, and then darting away.

He was uncomfortable with Lucius's conduct, and yet the boy had still not returned to continue their negotiations.

"What did Potter want?" Lucius inquired conversationally, and Voldemort's head snapped up in shock to stare at the boy.

Potter?

Here?

A hand at the back of his neck startled him and he looked up to see Lucius giving him a hard, disdainful glare.

"You're so predictable, Tom."

Voldemort seethed, clenching his fists. Lucius shook his head and then looked away, turning back to his son.

"Draco?" he prompted, raising an eyebrow.

Voldemort glanced over and saw the young man still trying to act unruffled in the face of his father's omnipotence.

"He was looking for..."

The boy trailed off and then gestured at Voldemort, his grey eyes averted.

Looking for me.

"So he suspects," Lucius surmised, and Voldemort continued to study the child, yearning for his treasured Legilimency. "What did you tell him?"

Draco lifted his head defiantly, giving away that he was sensitive to the topic.

"Nothing. I told him that the Dark Lord wasn't here."

"Is that all, Draco?" Lucius asked suspiciously. "I know that you have... sentimentality when it comes to Potter, but is imperative that you tell me the truth."

Sentimentality?

Voldemort stared at the cretin, suddenly wanting to strike him down. What did that mean? What was it in reference to?

The fiend's face had hardened.

"I am, father. I feel no loyalty to Potter, don't nag."

Lucius made a sound, but Voldemort's gaze was still piercing the boy, studying his face, disliking the faint blush that warmed his cheeks.

"Fine," Lucius said placatingly, like he believed the worm.

Voldemort longed for his voice so that he could ask further questions, employ certain curses to compel the traitor to tell the truth.

What reason had Draco to harbour sentimentality towards the boy?

"Your mother has asked for you to join her in the salon," Lucius informed his son mildly, a clear dismissal. "I suggest you not mention Potter's visit to her. It will only cause her unnecessary anxiety."

Draco nodded and then exited the dining room, leaving Lucius and Voldemort in tense silence.

"Something will have to be done about Potter if he becomes too nosy."

Voldemort lowered his head, looking up at Lucius from underneath his brow bones.

You would not dare defy me in this. I will slaughter your family and make you watch.

Lucius smiled with satisfaction, as if he could hear Voldemort's internal threats.

"If only Potter knew the power he had over you. I'm sure he could find a good use for it."

Voldemort gestured to his throat, glaring at the worthless dog. Lucius laughed.

"Oh, you want your voice back so you can complain?" the degenerate sneered. "I think not. Ruminate upon that, my Lord. Understand that if Potter is somehow enlightened to your being our guest of dishonour, I will invite him inside. And when his attention is on you, I shall strike him down. I will do what you were never strong enough to accomplish."

Voldemort shifted to bring his feet underneath him, poised to stand, but the reprobate knocked him back, sprawling him onto the polished floor.

He made again to stand, yet he was thwarted once more by the swine, who hit him with a cowardly Immobilising Curse.

"Stay down, you worthless beast," Lucius growled, pushing himself to his feet and looking down at where Voldemort was incapacitated. "Stay where you belong. At my feet."

The despicable insect landed a glob of saliva onto Voldemort's neck, and then walked away, leaving Voldemort apoplectic with rage.

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"All I'm saying," Hermione went on, as Harry tried to stay interested, "is that they need a bigger paddock. I'm not saying huge, mind. I understand they don't have a lot of space. But I've done the math and they require at least thirty feet across per hippogriff if they don't want the Ministry to take them away again."

Harry was nodding, his fingers tight against the fork lodged sickly in the chocolate cake, hoping she wouldn't notice that he hadn't yet taken a bite. This gasp of calm was almost at an end and he was dreading his imminent return to the festivities.

He knew that Hermione was prattling to keep his mind from fixating on the overwhelming demands he faced today. His fans desperate to share a moment in his life, to make an impression on him by any means.

"Anyway," she said, and Harry tensed, certain she was about to usher them back out into the crowd, "Ron wanted me to ask if you were interested in coming by this weekend? He's got—"

A knock on the door halted her question.

"Sorry," he muttered, and gestured to the door, unlocking and opening it.

Draco Malfoy stood there, his face carefully mild, but too tense to be natural.

"My apologies," he said, grabbing the door handle, ready to close it. "I'll come back."

"It's fine, Draco," Hermione insisted, standing and collecting her empty plate. "I'm leaving anyways."

Malfoy paused and inclined his head. Harry's heart rate was escalating, somehow certain that the other man's return meant information about Voldemort.

Hermione turned to Harry.

"I can distract them for about ten minutes, if you'd like?"

Harry nodded absently, his gaze rapt on Malfoy.

"And you'll think about this weekend?" she pestered, and Harry growled.

"Fine, Hermione. Yes," he snapped, not taking his eyes off the blonde, his body trembling.

He heard her reach the door and then release a quiet laugh.

"You two are ridiculous."

Harry turned to glare at her, shocked by her candidness, but she simply smirked at him and walked past Malfoy.

"Behave, now."

Once she had gone, Harry willed away the heat in his face. Merlin, she was infuriating.

"I had always wondered if you'd told them," Malfoy commented dryly, and Harry wanted to hit him. "Still no secrets within the Golden Trio, I see."

"Don't read into it," Harry muttered, resolving to have words with Hermione after the party. "Anyways, what brings you by? I'm sure it's not to celebrate my birthday."

Malfoy hesitated and Harry felt a swell of anticipation.

"Oh, you know," Malfoy hedged. "It's good for my redemption arc to seem to be on amicable terms with the Chosen One. Happy birthday, by the way."

Harry snorted, but would not be diverted.

"And that's all?"

The blonde's face fell.

I knew it.

"Come inside," he said, and when Malfoy obeyed, he closed the door magically and put up his strongest privacy wards. "Have you found him?"

Malfoy blew out a derisive breath and walked into the room, sitting himself regally in one of Harry's chairs.

"I need your help."

That's what I'm here for.

Harry nodded and sat down behind his desk.

"With what?"

Malfoy looked down at his hands. Harry tried his best to be patient. After a few, torturous moments, Malfoy met his gaze, resolve clear in their grey depths.

"I am here seeking the... leniency you once provided for my family. I want an assurance of amnesty before I tell you anything."

Voldemort.

He has to be talking about Voldemort.

"What have you done that would require that?"

Malfoy grimaced, but did not look away.

"Your word."

Harry growled impatiently.

"You know I'll protect you, Draco. Just tell me what you've done."

Malfoy nodded.

"My father. He's... You have to understand that I only just found out. He... threatened my son, Scorpius. He said—"

"Who, Draco? Voldemort?"

Malfoy winced, but then met his gaze.

"Yes."

Harry leaned back, astounded.

Voldemort.

He'd been right. Voldemort had been at Malfoy Manor this whole time. He'd—

"Is your father serving him again? Is that why Voldemort came back to you?"

Malfoy shook his head.

"No. I believe my father..." His gaze became contrite. "He came into your home and removed the Dark Lord. My understanding is that it was against the Dark Lord's will."

Against his will.

He never wanted to leave.

Harry's chest grew warm, feeling lighter than he had in weeks.

Voldemort hadn't broken his promise, after all.

And then he realised what Lucius had done. He'd come into his home. Gotten involved when Harry had specifically warned him not to.

Oh, that was not a wise decision, Lucius.

"Why was he at your house anyway?" Malfoy asked, and Harry forced himself to concentrate on this conversation. "Why was he not at the Ministry?"

"Same reason your father wanted him, I assume," Harry replied— and then he was suddenly struck by what Lucius Malfoy had likely been doing to Voldemort. "Was your dad hurting him?"

Malfoy looked uncomfortable and Harry found himself suddenly standing.

"Take me to him."

"Just wait— Wait, Harry. Merlin, I forgot how bloody eager you are to jump into danger."

Harry pushed the man's restraining hand off of his chest. Draco had stood to get in the way of him leaving, but Harry had to move, he had to do something.

Voldemort was being tortured by fucking Lucius Malfoy— Merlin, the man had money and time and plenty of reasons to want to see Voldemort suffer. Possibilities inundated his mind and Harry recoiled from them, refusing to believe—

"What has your father done," Harry asked again, his voice sounding unnatural to his own ears. Curt and emotionless.

"Just petty things," Malfoy replied, his narrowed gaze studying Harry's face. "Distasteful, really."

"Such as."

"He... Well, he branded him."

Harry's body pulsed with a violent rage.

Motherfucking cunt of a bastard— I'll fucking annihilate him.

"A Dark Mark?" he asked tonelessly, his rage burning deeply inside, like liquid metal at the centre of the Earth.

Malfoy shook his head, still eyeing Harry warily.

"No. A brand. Like farmers use for cattle, or so I am told."

Harry felt his skin began to tremble.

"It's meant as a symbol of ownership," Malfoy went on, and Harry wanted to stab him. "And that's what it is. Father... he burned our name into his arm."

Harry made a choking sound, everything in him propelling forward, ready to fight.

"Take me to him," Harry repeated, thrumming with adrenaline, with writhing fury.

Malfoy held up a hand.

"Harry, stop— just stop for a second! I promise I will let you have your vengeance, but we need a plan." Draco's reasonable tone was maddening. "I don't even know what we should do. You're the one who's good at figuring this stuff out."

"Yes, I am" Harry confirmed. "You need to take me to him now."

Malfoy made a frustrated sound and began pacing.

"We can't just go get him. Father is at risk of being sent to Azkaban himself for keeping this secret."

Harry didn't have two fucks to give for Lucius's plight.

I'll make him wish for Azkaban.

"I forced him to. I can prove it. But that doesn't matter because I don't intend to take Voldemort to the Ministry anyways."

"Oh, for Merlin's— Father was right," Malfoy said, rubbing his hand over his open mouth and turning away.

"I'll take him off your hands, Draco," Harry reassured him, sounding too eager, but he couldn't help it. "Your family will be safe."

"And what about you?" Draco shot back, facing him once more.

Harry startled, focusing on the man in front of him, really seeing him for the first time.

Draco was concerned for him. He still cared for Harry, despite Harry's callousness. That realisation was... regrettable. He felt bad that he couldn't return Draco's feelings. Strangely enough, his life would be easier if he could. He knew Draco was only married to Astoria because his father required an heir and an ex-Death Eater divorcé would be more palatable of a lover for the population than who his damned body had actually chosen.

Harry leaned forward and laid his hand over Draco's where it rested on his desk.

"I'll be fine. I'm the Boy Who Lived, remember?"

Draco smirked wryly, and looked down at their hands.

"You don't have to do this alone, you arrogant imbecile. I can help you."

Harry smiled, genuinely pleased by the offer. He squeezed Draco's hand and then let it go.

"I appreciate that. But, believe me, he's nothing I can't handle."

Draco frowned.

"My father said you were struggling to control him. He... took him from you because he believed that the Dark Lord was manipulating you."

Harry pushed down his fury at Lucius's fatal interference.

Instead, he got caught on that word manipulating. He shifted uncomfortably, remembering kneeling for the Dark Lord. Kissing his feet. Calling him Master.

Yup. Manipulating is an accurate way to describe it.

Yet, it was theirs. It didn't hurt anyone, and if it kept Voldemort's murderous attention focused on him instead of the wider wizarding world, well— that was better for everyone, wasn't it?

Whatever they were doing wasn't affecting anyone else.

I can have this one thing, can't I? If I give everything else away, do everything right and be who they need me to be, I can earn this one thing for myself.

When Harry finally returned his awareness to Draco, the man looked upset. Conflicted.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked quickly. "There's something else, what is it?"

"I can't do this," Draco whispered, turning away, sounding desperate. Lost. "You don't even deny that he's manipulating you."

"He's not," Harry lied. "You need to trust me."

"I do trust you, Harry. That's why I'm here. But this is vital."

"What is?"

"He said that he'd kill my son."

Harry's mouth fell open. The bloody bastard.

Draco met his gaze openly and Harry saw the danger, the naked vulnerability, of a father willing to do anything to protect his son.

"He said..." Draco whispered, his voice pleading with Harry to understand, "that if I freed him, then my family would be safe."

Draco sounded scared in a way Harry hadn't heard since he'd found him crying in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom when they were sixteen.

"You're not exactly freedom for him," Draco went on, "but my father said that the Dark Lord did not want to leave your home. So I think it could work as a compromise."

Harry nodded once, scared to disturb the ducks lining up.

He never wanted to leave...

"I'm sorry, Harry," Draco said, his tone agonised. "I don't know what else to do. He belongs in Azkaban, but I can't risk him breaking the Vow he made with my father."

"Which Vow?" Harry asked, sidetracked.

"Not to hurt any of us. My family."

Harry's eyes widened in shock.

They got the Dark Lord to agree to that? After what Lucius had done?

What had they threatened him with? What leverage could anyone have over Lord Voldemort?

"But he's the Dark Lord," Draco continued, and Harry snapped back to their conversation. "He can do anything. He's immortal and— and— Harry, he will kill my son."

Harry nodded, because he really did understand. And he wasn't insulted that Draco would endanger him to protect his family. That's what Harry was for. He was the buffer between the population and peril.

"I hate that this will put you at risk—" Draco began, and Harry let out a short burst of wry laughter.

Draco looked over at him with bewilderment.

Oh crap, that probably wasn't supposed to be funny.

"It's fine," Harry said, and he meant it. "I want your son to be safe as well. And we'll be grand."

Draco was searching for something in Harry's gaze, seeming almost suspicious. Harry hated the feeling of being measured, of knowing that he wasn't good enough, wasn't trustworthy—

"Why didn't you bring him to Azkaban?" Draco asked, and Harry froze.

Because he's mine.

His life and his death and I am the only one who can pass judgements on him. They gave him to me when I was eleven. They can't take him back now.

"I can control him better," Harry said instead.

Draco was shaking his head.

"I don't even think you believe that," Draco said, his eyes narrowing further. "Tell me the real reason. No bullshit."

Harry paused, trying to think of something he could say that wasn't the truth, because that was indefensible.

"You've heard the prophecy," Harry said. "It's got to be me."

"Who kills him, sure. If you believe that, which I'm not sure that I do. But we're not talking about killing him right now." Draco frowned. "You can't do that yet, right?"

Harry nodded. Draco inclined his head.

"Right. So he has to be kept secure. Why not Azkaban?"

Because then I won't be able to see him anymore. Because they'll hurt him. Because he doesn't belong to them, he belongs to me.

"I just need you to trust me," Harry whispered, knowing that all of his excuses were invalid.

He just needed the man. But that wasn't good enough.

"You know I trust you," Draco said, reaching out a hand to touch Harry's shoulder and he clenched his teeth to keep from shrugging it off. "That's why I'm here. I trust you more than Kingsley or anyone else at the Ministry to know how to handle him. But you can't do this alone, Harry."

That time, he couldn't hold in the incredulous laugh.

All I've ever been is alone.

In all things.

From the moment Voldemort had killed his parents, Harry had been alone. Everyone else had paired off or moved on without him, but there was nowhere for Harry to go. No one to offer him shelter.

I've never struggled finding someone to protect, but there's never been anyone who would do that for me.

You don't deserve it.

"I'm so sorry, Harry," Draco breathed, and there were tears in his eyes when Harry looked up at him— but really, Harry didn't see what the big problem was.

He was disposable. That's what he was here for.

"I get it," Harry said, giving Draco a small smile. "I'm not upset. Honestly."

Draco's expression was set into weary resignation, but after a few moments, he nodded.

Willingly sacrificing Harry, just like everyone else.