A few hours later a second owl arrived. It flew through the open kitchen window and landed on the counter, causing Aunt Petunia to scream and bat it away. Harry took the message from its beak and hurried it outside as his aunt muttered about the 'filthy bird'. He unrolled the parchment.
Harry,
Firstly, happy birthday. I wish you all the best.
I will be arriving at your aunt and uncle's home tomorrow evening (the first of August) at five o'clock. I will be taking you and Mr. Malfoy to assist me with an errand, and then you will both be going to spend the remainder of your summer with the Weasley family. Please ensure that your belongings are packed and ready when I arrive.
Give my best to Draco and your family,
Albus Dumbledore
Harry pocketed the letter, avoiding Draco's piercing gaze. He would show it to him later.
The Dursleys sank to all-time low and didn't mention Harry's birthday once. Ignoring them, the boys went to explore some shops in a nearby neighbourhood. In the afternoon stormclouds began to gather, threatening rain. They bought an enormous amount of candy and resolved to spend the rest of their day playing Risk in Harry's room.
Upon returning, however, their plans were shattered. Piers and Dudley were in the living room watching the telly; Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were nowhere to be seen.
Dudley sneered at the two boys as they came in. "Have fun on your little date?" Piers smirked along.
"Sod off Dudley," Harry muttered.
"Why do you always wear long sleeves, blondie?" Piers asked. "Your boyfriend not like your tattoo?"
Draco rounded angrily on Piers. Harry, who knew what he could be like when provoked, reached out to pull him back.
"Oh, don't like him fighting, do you?" Piers taunted. "Why don't you let him make his own decisions."
Draco tore his arm out of Harry's grasp. He reached into the pocket where Harry knew he kept his wand. He seemed to think better of pulling it out, and instead wrenched up his left sleeve.
"This what you're talking about?" He spat angrily at the muggle boy. "This 'tattoo'? Do you want to know what happens if I touch this tattoo?"
A horrified look crossed Dudley's face; he had realized that this was no ordinary tattoo. He grabbed at Piers' arm to pull him away.
Harry saw Draco's right arm twitch towards his left one. He moved around him to see his outstretched arm, the mark on it no longer red and dormant but an angry black. A flicker of pain crossed Draco's face as the colour intensified.
Piers stared in fascination at the Mark, his taunting becoming curiosity. "How did you do that?"
Draco smirked. "The Dark Lord just summoned his Death Eaters. They're assembling right now, probably trying to figure out where Harry is so that they can kill him." Dudley's pull on Piers' arm became frantic. "I have this Mark because I'm one of them. All I have to do is touch it and they'll see and come straight here, and kill everyone in their path. Including you."
Piers paled a little; it was obvious from Draco's tone that he was neither joking nor lying. Dudley finally managed to pull him away, casting a petrified glance at Harry and Draco. The two muggle boys sank back into the couch.
Draco's face fell as he turned away and pulled down his sleeve. Harry could see him rubbing at his forearm and realized that the mark must be hurting him. Silently they walked up the stairs.
"Don't worry about Piers," Harry said. "He's just a bully. By tomorrow all he'll remember is that you scared him. I doubt he'll even remember seeing the mark." Draco nodded tensely.
Harry remembered the note in his pocket. "Besides, you won't have to see him after tomorrow. Dumbledore is coming to get us. He said he'll be here at five o'clock, and we both need to be packed to leave."
At the top of the stairs Draco paused and sighed. "Harry," he began, "I know we were going to play games. But, could we wait until later? I would like to be alone for a while."
Harry nodded reassuringly. "I understand. Let me know if you want to talk."
"Thanks," Draco said. He stepped into the guest bedroom and shut the door.
Harry kept his door open a crack. He looked around his room; it was a mess. Slowly he began picking up his things and tossing them into his school trunk. After a few minutes he heard voices from downstairs, followed by shuffling feet. The door slammed as Dudley and Piers left the house.
Harry flopped on his bed. His trunk was a mess, but all of his school things were in it. He thumbed idly through Hogwarts: A History, toying again with the idea of actually reading it just to surprise Hermione. He heard Draco walk down the hall into the bathroom.
He tossed the book into his trunk, deciding that he might as well keep asking Hermione about Hogwarts. It landed with a thud. He sat up and stretched his back.
A strange sound came from the bathroom; a sort of muffled yell. Harry pulled his door open and looked towards the room.
A second yelp split the air, followed by the unmistakeable sound of sobs. Harry dashed towards the bathroom and wrenched open the door.
What he saw made him freeze. Draco was standing over the sink, a crazed look on his face. In his right hand he held a knife. Blood was pouring from deep gouges in his left arm, mixing with tears and flowing down the drain.
Harry lunged forward to grab the knife; he caught it by the blade and sliced his own hand open. Cursing, he pulled it away from Draco and dropped it onto the counter.
"What the hell are you doing?" he shouted.
Draco stared at the floor, his tears falling into the sink. He gasped as Harry grabbed his arm.
"I have to get it off." He sounded panicked. "I hate it! It's been burning all day. I have to get rid of it!"
Harry looked at the gouges Draco had made around the mark adorning his arm. They were deep, and bleeding badly.
"Sit down," Harry said gently. "And tell me if you get dizzy at all."
Draco nodded. His eyes slid towards the knife and Harry nudged it out of his reach.
"You'd die before you could cut that much of your arm off," he muttered.
Draco stayed silent but allowed Harry to guide him to the floor.
Harry pulled some bandages out of the cupboard. "I don't think I'll be able to stop the bleeding," he said. "You're going to have to go to a doctor."
Draco's eyes lit up with fear. "I can't go to St. Mungo's! They won't help me, not with the Dark Mark on my arm! And what if they turn me in? What if the Death Eaters find me? What if He finds me?"
"Calm down," Harry said, "We won't take you to St. Mungo's. I don't have any way to get you there anyways." He sighed. "But you can't go to a muggle doctor either, you don't have any ID." He looked at the cuts again. He was applying pressure to them, but the blood kept seeping out through the bandages. He glanced at Draco's face and was frightened by how pale it had already become. He didn't know how to heal wounds with magic, but even if he did he knew that he couldn't risk revealing Draco's location to anyone from the Ministry. Slowly, an idea formed in his mind.
"I know something that might work to stop you bleeding," he said, sounding much calmer than he felt at the prospect. "But it'll hurt. Probably a lot."
Draco turned his tear-stained face towards Harry. "Just don't take me to St. Mungo's."
"Keep pressing on these. I'll be back in a second."
Harry hurried downstairs, searching for Aunt Petunia's sewing box. What he was considering was dangerous and stupid, but there weren't many options, and if he didn't act fast Draco was going to bleed out on the bathroom floor. Spotting the box, he threw it open and pulled out a needle and thread. He raced back up the stairs.
Draco was leaning against the wall. The crazed look was gone from his eyes, replaced by a vacant stare. Harry fumbled in the cabinet for disinfectant.
"Stay very still," he muttered as he took Draco's arm. "This is going to sting."
Hands shaking, Harry dumped the disinfectant over the cuts, pouring a liberal amount over the needle as well. He paused, unsure.
"What happens if I touch it?"
It took a moment for Draco to respond. Finally, he shook his head. "Nothing." Harry was concerned by how slurred his speech was. "You have to really mean it."
Draco's body went rigid as Harry pushed the needle through his skin, but he didn't cry out. Harry sewed shut the gouges on his arm, pulling the torn edges as close together as possible. He silently thanked Aunt Petunia for forcing him to learn how to mend clothes as a child.
After what seemed like hours, the cuts were all shut. Harry poured disinfectant over everything and wrapped Draco's arm tightly in a long bandage. He watched for a minute, but no blood seeped through. He sat back and took a deep breath; if this didn't work he would have to find a way to get him to St. Mungo's despite the danger.
Harry looked around the bathroom. There was blood everywhere. He felt a twinge and looked down at his hand, remembering the cut from the knife. He turned on the tap and ran his hand under the warm water. It didn't look serious. He wrapped a bandage around it.
He turned back to Draco. He was still sitting on the floor, slumped over and barely conscious. His shirt was soaked with blood. Harry helped him gently to his feet and helped him to pull it off, then rinsed the blood off of his arms and face.
"I'm going to take you to my room," Harry said gently. "It'll be best if you stay there tonight." Aunt Petunia would be far less angry about blood on his sheets than on her good guest bed.
Leaning on Harry, Draco limped across the hall and into the small bedroom. Harry held his injured arm gently as he collapsed into the bed and pulled up the covers. With relief, Harry noticed that some of the colour was starting to come back into his face. He rushed back to the bathroom; he had to clean it before the Dursleys got home.
The empty bathroom was a frightening sight. There was blood spattered across the mirror, sink and floor. The now empty bottle of disinfectant was lying in a corner next to several bloodstained bandages. Draco's knife sat menacingly on the counter.
Sighing, Harry found a rag. He tossed the disinfectant bottle and bandages in the bin; there was no point trying to pretend that nothing had happened. A few minutes later he had mopped up the blood from the floor and sink and was wiping the mirror.
Harry surveyed the bathroom. The blood was gone, and it was passably clean. He pulled open the cabinet and rummaged through it, searching for anything that might help Draco. He pulled out a package of iron tablets before running to the kitchen, where he poured a large glass of orange juice. He would have preferred a blood replenishing potion, but this would have to do.
