CHAPTER 26

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When Harry crashed onto the marble floor, just outside the huge, ornate fireplace, it was to see a pyjama-clad Narcissa Malfoy scream and stand from her chair.

"What are you doing here, Potter?" she demanded.

Harry groaned and sat up gingerly.

"I can never figure out how to do that properly," he muttered.

"Lucius!" she shouted, keeping her eyes on him.

Footsteps thudded outside the door and moments later, both Malfoy men ran into the room, their wands out. When they saw Harry, Draco lowered his weapon at once, but Lucius stepped forward, seeming ready to curse him.

"Why have you come?" Lucius asked suspiciously. "Shouldn't you be off protecting your Master?"

It felt like he was slowly waking up.

The trial and every setback that went with it had pushed his fury with Lucius Malfoy further down. Keeping Voldemort safe had been more important.

Yet— now.

Now, he wanted blood.

Harry stood, keeping his gaze locked onto the older man whose expression had become wary at Harry's aggressive posture. Maybe he could see his own demise flashing in Harry's eyes.

"Now I know why I came here," he muttered to himself.

Lucius sneered and Harry reached into his pocket. This must have scared the man, because he shot a quick Disarming Spell at Harry, but he easily blocked it. He shot his own back at Lucius.

It hit, ripping the man's wand out of his fist and bringing it safely into Harry's waiting palm.

Harry laughed.

"How dare you, Potter!" Narcissa seethed. "You come into our home and attack us?"

"Harry," Draco said placatingly, somewhere nearby, but Harry ignored them both.

He wasn't leaving without taking some of the older man with him.

"You want to talk about people coming into your home uninvited?" Harry whispered dangerously, addressing the unarmed man. "You came into my home. Stole from me."

"I did what you should have done right from the start," Lucius growled, not backing down as Harry came closer. "You fell prey to him, Potter. You were never strong enough for him."

Harry felt a smile curve his lips.

"You branded him," he said, ignoring Malfoy's words. "You... dared to put your filthy name on his skin."

"Oh, Merlin, you're as sick as he is," Lucius spat. "Exactly how far have you fallen?"

A slight worry nagged at him, wondering how much Lucius suspected or knew, but ultimately, it didn't matter. Who would believe him?

And Harry was close now. Lucius was being helpful and not receding.

"Why didn't you tell them that?" Harry asked quietly. "Why keep my secret? You couldn't tell them about Voldemort, but I didn't force you not to divulge my part in this."

Lucius shot a disparaging look at his son.

"It would seem that you have collected two devoted servants, Potter."

Harry glanced at Draco with confusion.

"You asked him not to?"

Draco frowned.

"Of course. You would have been thrown in jail."

While Harry contemplated that, Lucius sprung forward, making to grab Harry's wand, but Harry sidestepped him easily, hitting him with a burning hex. Lucius gasped, bringing his injured hand to his chest and glaring at Harry, who smiled.

"None of that," Harry chastised the man, shaking his head. "You had to know that I'd make you pay for what you did."

Lucius glowered.

"I cleaned up your mess," he hissed, dropping his arm with irritation.

Harry huffed out an unimpressed breath.

"Really. Your family is now Lord Voldemort's main target. He's at the Ministry, just having killed a man. He's about to be sent somewhere else, putting others at risk." Harry lowered his head. "He was safer with me."

Lucius scoffed, raising a disdainful eyebrow.

"You would have freed him."

Harry shrugged.

"Maybe. It really doesn't matter, you know. I'm not here for a debate." He felt a smile curve his lips. "I'm here to teach you not to touch my things."

"Harry," Draco said imploringly, but Harry didn't even look at him.

"You sound just like him," Lucius mocked. "The two of you, so possessive. I had originally thought that you were his servant, Potter, but now I see that you're more like his filthy catamite."

Harry felt his face heat, but he wouldn't back down. He wasn't about to be shamed for anything from this man.

"Alright, let's— " Draco attempted, but Harry refused to be soothed.

He shot a nonverbal Petrificus at Draco, and then when Narcissa got pissy and moved towards him, he hit her with one, too.

He'd had enough.

"Release them," Lucius roared, taking a foolish step towards him, "You—"

"Crucio!" Harry shouted, and watched as that blonde hair whipped forward as the man contorted, falling onto his knees and screaming.

Harry stared.

Oh, he had hatred enough for this. Bellatrix would have been proud.

But it wasn't enough. Not for all he'd done. Harry marched forward, needing to feel the man's flesh against his fingertips. Pulling his arm back, he shot it forward and began punching the bastard right in his fucking face. Harry's knuckles cracked, it hurt each time his fist landed, but he kept going.

He held the curse and continued to sink his fist into that bloody face, feeding all of his hatred into his attack. All of his despair at what Lucius had taken from them with his interference. It went on and on and Harry let it, indifferent to his own pain or to how bloody the other man's face was becoming.

Then a hand grabbed his arm.

"Okay— enough!" Draco snapped. "Stop, Harry."

Dazedly, Harry lifted the curse. Lucius began to gasp in ragged breaths, every movement eliciting a broken moan.

Harry pulled his gaze away to glance up and see Draco's unhappy expression. The blonde turned away and released his mother from the immobilising spell.

Harry stood.

He looked back down at Lucius, bloody and almost unconscious on the floor.

He wasn't sure how he felt watching him. It didn't make him feel good, nor ease the rage he'd harboured since mouthing that corded scar tissue in the shape of the bastard's name on Voldemort's arm.

He squatted down next to Narcissa, who had knelt to fuss over Lucius. She stopped immediately and stared at him.

She didn't seem angry anymore. She was looking at him just like how she used to look at Voldemort.

Fearfully.

As if she was scared to have his attention on her.

He felt powerful. He was being heeded because of something he'd done, not because of his name.

He glanced down at Lucius, his proud body crumpled on the floor. His skin was trembling from the curse— even his eyelids were twitching.

He too, looked scared.

Suddenly, Harry remembered Voldemort's words from months ago.

You must show them strength. They only respect strength, Harry.

He stared at Lucius, his mind far away.

"You're going to heal anything I do to you," Harry mused, tilting his head as he considered his options. "Maybe that's for the best. I don't want to kill you. I'm going to leave that for Voldemort. I know he'd be disappointed if I took that from him."

"You've done enough, Harry," Draco said firmly, at his side. "Time to leave."

Harry nodded vaguely.

He could go. Unless he killed the man, he wasn't going to feel better. But images of Voldemort's blank expression kept fuelling his need for blood.

"This is his fault," Harry whispered. "He ruined everything."

Draco nodded.

"Okay. But this isn't you. You're acting like the Dark Lord, Harry. You're scaring me."

Harry blinked.

He met Draco's eyes and saw the fear that Harry had put there.

"Let's go now. Alright?"

Draco put a tentative hand on Harry's wand arm and carefully lowered it until it was pointing at the floor.

"Come on."

He guided Harry away from his parents and towards the door. Harry let him, still holding his wand numbly.

"You shouldn't have done that," Draco muttered, sounding anxious. "He's going to get back at you now."

Harry stopped and turned to face him. Draco's hand on his arm fell away.

"Get back at me? He was the one who took Voldemort out of my house!"

Draco was shaking his head.

"That wasn't meant as a punishment, Harry. That wasn't about you. He wanted to do the right thing."

Harry laughed incredulously.

"You can't be serious." He stared at the other man. "Are you serious? You actually believe that?"

"He didn't think—"

"No, he didn't," Harry interrupted. "That much is obvious. But I can't do this with you right now, Draco."

Harry strode again towards the door and banged it open.

When he got outside, he picked up his pace, just wanting to get the hell home. The gravel crunched under his shoes as he strode down the path. His mind was filled with images of Lucius writhing under his curse; how his body had folded together, the agony in the keening cries he had released.

When Harry got to the gate, he pushed on it, but it wouldn't open.

Bugger.

He turned back towards the house and saw that Draco was still following him.

Harry waited, feeling like his body was vibrating with energy.

The blonde reached him at last and Harry gestured at the gate.

"You've locked me in."

Draco huffed out a breath.

"Hardly. Getting out is easy, it's getting in that's hard. Just tap the gate with your wand."

Harry did so and the wrought iron swung open.

"Wasn't that hard, you know," Harry muttered. "To get in. You leave your Floo wide open."

Draco studied him for a moment, as if debating whether to speak.

"You're keyed into the wards. Father..." he paused, his mouth tightening. "He hates it, but I insisted."

"I am? Why?"

The other man looked away, rubbing his arms like he was cold.

"Just in case you needed to escape from... someone."

Harry wanted to point out that Malfoy Manor was just about the last place he'd go to escape... and then realised that that's exactly where he'd come when he'd needed to.

Fucking weird.

"Thanks," he muttered awkwardly, not knowing what else to say, and then made to leave.

"Hey," Draco called, and Harry paused reluctantly. "Are you okay?"

Harry scoffed.

"You should be asking your father that."

Draco made a sound of agreement.

"Mother will have healed him by now, I'm sure." He hesitated, and then added, "I won't say he didn't deserve that, but that still wasn't wise."

Harry said nothing, but kept walking.

Unwise.

He snorted.

The only unwise thing was letting him keep his sodding life.

He realised that he was still holding Lucius's hilarious snake wand. He held it out, indicating that Draco could take it.

He heard Draco jogging to catch up.

"Thanks," the man said, and took the wand. "So, did you really just come here to beat up my dad?"

Harry rolled his eyes.

"I really just said the first place that came to mind. Don't read into it."

He heard Draco stop.

"Harry, wait."

Sighing, Harry slowed to a halt.

He really didn't want to do this right now. He'd just used an Unforgivable on someone who wasn't a Death Eater— well, not anymore. He'd bloodied the man's face.

He'd lost control.

Violent. Dangerous. You should be locked up with Voldemort.

"Do you expect me to pretend," Draco asked slowly, "that I don't know what's going on?"

Harry's eyes widened, but Draco couldn't see. Harry's back was still to him.

"And what's going on, genius?" he asked, meaning to sound scathing, but it came out worried— because a part of him was worried. A part of him knew that Draco wasn't an idiot. That he'd—

"You're one of his, now."

Harry bit his cheek.

Yes... but also, not exactly.

"Father said..." Draco's voice was awkward and quiet. "He'd called you the Dark Lord's catamite."

Harry jolted and began walking again.

Jesus fucking— of all the things to bloody say.

"Merlin, Harry, I just want to understand! Would you hold up one damn minute?"

He heard footsteps coming closer at a fast pace. A hand grabbed his shoulder and abruptly spun him til he was facing the other man.

"What's going on?" Draco asked levelly.

"Nothing."

Draco glared.

"Don't do that."

"You don't do that."

"Gods!" Draco cried with exasperation. "You're such a fucking ponce sometimes!"

Harry choked on a laugh.

"I've got news for you, Draco— I am a fucking ponce!"

"No shit, Harry! I found that out when you buggered me up the arse!"

They stared at each other in stunned silence for a moment and then both burst out laughing.

It was so weird— the laughter felt good. It felt vital, but then it shifted and Harry was sobbing too, doubling up and making choking, gasping sounds. He felt Draco come closer and touch him, a gentle hand on his shoulder, but he couldn't stop. He kept sobbing and laughing until he had no energy left.

When he wiped his face, mortified and exhausted, Draco was sitting on the gravel next to him. Harry's eyes widened as he took in the man's surprising nonchalance about getting dirty. That was very unlike him.

"You're sitting on the ground," Harry rasped, his throat feeling raw.

"Well, I hardly had a choice. Besides, I look like less of a mess than you. You've managed to get gravel in your hair."

Harry laughed again, but it morphed quickly into another sob, so he silenced it. He bit his lips.

"Merlin, Harry," Draco said on an exhale. "What the actual fuck?"

Harry blew out a shaky breath in amusement, agreeing wholeheartedly with that sentiment.

He took off his glasses and performed a quick cleaning charm on them. Then he wiped his eyes, trying to clear them, too.

"Tell me what he meant," Draco said quietly, after they'd been silent for a time. "I'm not going to run to the Prophet, you know that. So tell me."

Harry shook his head.

"I can't."

Draco threw a handful of rocks at his chest. Harry opened his mouth in shock.

"What the fuck, ferret?"

Draco laughed.

"Then answer the bloody question, Scar Head."

Harry huffed out a laugh.

"What the fuck do you want me to say?"

"How about the fucking truth?"

Harry screwed up his face into a grimace.

"Yeah? Alright, then. Get ready. I may just be a little bit in love with Lord Voldemort."

Harry watched Draco's face fall into a look of stunned horror. Harry burst out into painful laughter, his ribs aching, his stomach muscles sore and tight.

Jesus fucking Merlin, he was so screwed.

"And the bastard doesn't even remember me now!" Harry cried, feeling the tears cloud his vision once more as he laughed. "Doesn't even know his own damn name!"

Harry fell onto his back, knocking his head hard against the ground, which helped to sober him. He laid there, dirty, humiliated, and potentially in great danger from Draco knowing this revelation.

"Well, that's not good," Draco breathed, and that shocked a giggle out of Harry at the absurdity of that understatement.

"Nope," he agreed.

Draco flopped back onto the gravel beside him. They were silent for a while and Harry tried not to worry about what Draco was thinking.

The other man abruptly snorted and Harry looked over at him.

"That is most certainly not what I had been expecting," he said, turning his head to look at Harry with an eyebrow raised. "The Dark Lord, Potter? You turn me down, but go for a man with no nose?"

Harry barked out a shocked laugh, then brought his hands up, burying his face into them.

Oh, Merlin, his life was a joke. Yeah, sure, Draco was attractive enough. He knew that logically, but his body just didn't care. No one had ever captivated him like Lord Voldemort.

"What he lacks in... nose," Harry ventured, peeking out from his hands, "he more than makes up for with his—"

"Argh! Don't tell me that!" Draco shrieked, covering his ears, a horrified expression on his face. "Gods, Harry! Have you actually— Fuck, have you seen the Dark Lord's— his—"

He brought his hands down to gesture rapidly to his groin.

Harry was grinning and his devious nod sent Draco rolling over and hiding in his crossed arms.

"No, Harry, no," Draco moaned in despair. "Why would you tell me that? Oh fuck no, please god, no."

Harry let his hands drop, grinning like a loon at the sky.

After a while, Draco stopped being so dramatic. Harry looked over and saw that the man's face had become somber. Harry felt his good mood disappearing.

"You know you can't go with him now," Draco told him, his gaze level. "Right?"

Harry rolled over a bit more so that he could see the blonde's face properly.

"Why? Who else can handle him?"

"Can you handle him?" Draco asked doubtfully.

Harry nodded, but his mouth said, "No."

They both snorted.

"What am I supposed to do?" he said out loud, but he wasn't really asking.

"Save yourself," Draco replied to his obviously rhetorical question, the prat. "Stay away from him. Tell the Ministry that you're not going to do it. Run away, leave the country."

Harry fell back again and looked up at the stars.

"I can't," he whispered. "This is my job. My... my purpose."

Draco made a derisive sound.

"That's rubbish. Your purpose is to live, Harry. That's everyone's purpose."

"Not mine," Harry breathed, feeling his eyes well up again. "I was only supposed to die."

Draco threw some more gravel at him and it hit his legs and stomach. This time, though, he didn't laugh. Draco released a long breath.

"No one's purpose is to die, you idiot. My god, they really twisted your mind, didn't they?"

Harry closed his eyes, letting the tears meander down into his hair.

"Look," Draco said, sounding angry, "tell the Ministry to sod off. Go to France. Marry a nice bloke with lots of hair and a Snape-sized nose to get over the Dark Lord. Live your life!"

Harry was shaking his head.

"I can't."

He hated when people acted indignant on his behalf. Pretending that he had a choice, because the fact was that whenever disaster struck, everyone always came running to him.

"Well," Draco said after a while, "if you insist on staying and doing this stupid job, then at least commit to keeping your distance."

Right. Like that was ever going to be likely.

"I was at the Obliviation," Draco admitted quietly. "I saw how pathetic he looked and I saw how that affected you, Harry. You eat this shit up. Any vulnerable person needing saving, and you're tripping over yourself to give them everything."

Draco was quiet, then he huffed out a mocking laugh.

"You saved my arse and Greg's from Fiendfyre after we'd been attacking you. You should've listened to Weasley and left us, but you risked your life to save us instead." His voice grew soft. "To save me."

Harry let the words wash over him. He was so tired. He could just let himself fall asleep right here.

"It's insane that they expect you to single-handedly babysit the Dark Lord," Draco went on while Harry dozed, "and then somehow devote the time you should be sleeping to searching for his Horcrux!"

Draco made a frustrated growling sound.

"I mean, what shape do they expect you'll be in? You'll go crazy, and I'm not being facetious. Sleep deprivation is a form of torture. And you need to be lucid and coherent to deal with the Dark Lord."

Harry felt his mind shut down, everything smoothing out until he felt his body begin to drift...

Something abruptly nudged him hard in the chest.

Harry's eyes flew open to see Draco looking down at him with exasperation.

"You can't sleep here, Scar Head. My father really will kill you if he finds you unprotected right now."

The other man pulled him pitilessly to his feet and then Side-Along Apparated him home.

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When Harry awoke in the morning, he knew immediately that sleeping at Grimmauld had been a mistake.

Voldemort.

He was all alone. Harry had said that he would protect him, and then he'd run off to chat with Draco and fall asleep safe in his bed.

Vanishing the contents of his bladder and the bacteria on his teeth, he hastened to Azkaban.

When he got to the top of the stairs, it was to find Voldemort no longer restrained. The man was standing by the wall, his back in the corner, his body tensed and pressed against the stones.

Harry stopped.

Those red eyes locked onto his for seconds that flayed him, and then they darted away. Harry's stomach clenched, having never seen that expression of nervousness on the man's face before.

"Sir," someone said to his left, and Harry looked over to see Bethany Gallagher standing guard alone. "Have you been briefed about him?"

Harry shook his head vaguely.

"Would you follow me downstairs so we can talk, sir?"

Harry glanced to Voldemort and saw the man's eyes flash away again, as if he'd been trying to study Harry unnoticed. Harry's hand moved unconsciously to his lower belly where the rune had begun to feel hot. Voldemort's eyes followed the movement and then widened briefly before blanking again.

So he's discovered that already. I wonder what he thinks of it?

Harry gestured to Bethany and climbed down the stairs with her. When they got to the bottom, she turned to him, handing him a piece of parchment with the Ministry's crest on the top.

"The Minister has written a document on how he is to be handled, sir. He has asked everyone who sees him to adhere to these rules."

Harry peered down at the list of commands, his anger rising with every line he read.

The Prisoner shall not be addressed by name. If his name is spoken, Obliviate him immediately.

The Prisoner shall be fed once a day, but only if he complies and sits on request. If he moves while the door is open, take back the tray and try again the following day.

No magic shall be used around The Prisoner.

No information shall be exchanged with The Prisoner.

The Prisoner must not be injured fatally and any serious injuries must be healed promptly.

If The Prisoner attempts to attack anyone, he is to be Crucioed for no longer than two minutes and then Obliviated.

At no point shall The Prisoner leave the cell.

If The Prisoner somehow gets free, he is to be immediately subdued by any means necessary and then Obliviated.

After each Memory Charm, the date and time must be entered into the Log. No more than five Memory Charms a day. If more are necessary, contact Head Auror Potter or the Minister's Office.

Harry looked up.

"How many Memory Spells have you used today?" he asked.

Bethany looked uncomfortable.

"Six, sir. But as it's the first day, the Minister already cleared it."

"Why? What is he doing?"

"It's not him. He hardly moves at all, sir. It's quite... creepy, actually. He doesn't speak or pace. He just stands there, as if he thinks he's invisible."

Harry's knuckles hurt with how tightly he was squeezing his hands together. He's scared, he's just trying to understand.

"So why all the Obliviates, then?"

"Well," she began, eyeing him anxiously, "now, I know you are against this, sir, but people are still pretty upset and—"

"They're still breaking in to hurt him?" he demanded incredulously. Bethany nodded warily. "I thought the Minister put a stop to that?"

"He tried, but... well, like I said. People are pretty upset."

"And you're letting this happen?" Harry asked, his voice deadly calm.

The Auror hesitated.

"People deserve some vengeance, s—"

Harry took out his wand and Bethany stopped speaking. He wanted to murder her. He wanted to see her writhing under his wand.

He took a moment to think about the mighty Lord Voldemort offering and submitting to Harry's mark on his skin. He thought about how wanted he'd felt in that moment. How committed to him he'd felt after a lifetime of having to share. He thought about how it felt to finally have a person all to himself.

"Expecto Patronum!" he incanted, and watched as a huge, familiar shape burst from his wand unexpectedly.

But it wasn't his cantering stag.

It was a Basilisk, the same one he'd seen in the Chamber of Secrets.

But why—?

You know why.

You're in love. He's your strength now, not your dad.

"Sir, what is that thing?" Bethany asked, sounding scared. "I thought your Patronus was a stag!"

Harry released an astonished laugh.

"Yeah, me too," he muttered, watching the great snake curl and slither before him.

It was beautiful. Powerful and agile.

"Find Kingsley," he commanded the King of Serpents. "Tell him to send another Auror that intends to follow the rules we agreed upon. I am sending Bethany home."

When the Basilisk departed, Harry turned to the stunned woman.

"I'm sorry, sir," she said. "The instructions weren't clear on—"

"I have been clear. Whatever the Minister told you, I, your boss, have been very clear. No one is to harm him."

"I thought—"

"Go home, Gallagher. Be grateful that I'm not firing you."

Harry stared her down until she nodded meekly and then left.

He blew out a long breath, leaning against the desk the Aurors usually sat around.

Voldemort wasn't safe here. She wasn't the only one allowing The Prisoner to be abused, he was sure. Harry could relieve of duty everyone who had contact with the man, but the fact remained that Voldemort had earned their vengeance. And no amount of ordering could deter a mourning family from taking their chance to vent some of their rightful anger upon him.

He had to speak with Kingsley and decide where they were sending the Dark Lord so that Harry could keep everyone safe.