Part 4

Afraid of what he would see, Draco looked up. Harry had his wand, but he hadn't aimed it at him. He seemed more focused on Draco's hand, obviously broken and cradled in his lap, and the blood on his lip.

Injured and lost in front of his old rival, humiliation stacked upon humiliation until Draco barely noticed anymore. He closed his eyes and turned his head away. Even drawing enough breath to speak hurt.

"Are you going to hit me, too?"

"I haven't decided yet," Harry said without any emotion.

"Oh."

When he was sure Draco wouldn't try anything, Harry took his eyes off him and looked around the park and surrounding homes. They were alone for the moment, but he didn't know how long that would last. Although they stood in the shadows away from the streetlamps, he felt dangerously exposed. He knelt beside Draco and put his hand on his shoulder, frowning when he felt the bones too prominently.

"Geez, Malfoy. Don't you ever eat?" He slowly edged closer, trying not to startle him as he looked over Draco's injuries.

"Don't like eating," Draco murmured. He glanced at Harry to make sure the Gryffindor wasn't glaring at him, but his intense look made Draco look away again. "Part of me never wants to stop."

"The werewolf?" Harry asked, expecting Draco's nod. "When you transform, how much of you is still--"

He cut himself off as Draco winced and covered his hand. Harry sighed. He hadn't thought Draco had noticed him sneaking closer to look at it. But now that he was only a few inches from him, he saw how tense and hyperaware Draco was, even when he wouldn't look at him.

"I won't hurt you," Harry promised. "I want to fix it. I know how much broken bones hurt."

"They'll just break it again," Draco muttered.

"Fred and George?"

Draco glanced sideways at him. "You'd believe me?"

"No, they admitted it," Harry said. "While Arthur and Tonks went after you, Remus demanded to know how you got by the two of them. They said you got them angry enough to hurt you and that you ran faster than they could follow."

Normally Draco would have scoffed. He forced them to hurt him? But these good little wizards all but worshipped Dumbledore. It was like killing a saint.

"What did you say that made them so angry?" Harry tilted his head and tried to see Draco's face beneath his disheveled hair.

"If I tell you," Draco whispered, "you'll hate me."

"I promise I won't hurt you," Harry said again.

"But you'll hate me."

Why was that so important to him? Harry wondered. He and Draco had gone through school hating each other. They'd joined sides in the war bent on destroying each other.

Then again, they weren't trying to kill each other anymore.

"We don't have to be enemies," Harry said. "Whatever happened in the past...we can change that."

"I can't change what I am," Draco said bitterly, as if he'd been insulted. He curled in as far as he could until pain shot through his side, making him tremble. "I'm a pureblood and a Malfoy. I won't change any of it for your stupid Order."

To their mutual surprise, Draco's little show of defiance made Harry snort in amusement. Wounded and facing punishment from whoever captured him, Draco still let his pride run away with his mouth. And that mouth curled in a faint pout that would've been even more amusing if it hadn't been speckled with blood.

"I mean we can change by not fighting all the time," Harry said with an exasperated sigh. "Now quit whining and tell me what you did."

Draco mumbled something that ended in something like 'bore'.

"What? Speak up."

"I said I...killed Dumbledore."

Harry blinked. "No you didn't. Snape did."

As Draco looked up at him with wide eyes, Harry seized the opportunity to lift his hand and flick away the breaks and cuts. The sudden relief stole Draco's breath almost as much as when the twins smashed it. Only as Harry began pressing his fingers gently along Draco's side did the blonde regain enough of his voice to reply.

"But--it's still my fault."

"Because you let them into Hogwarts?" Harry asked.

The surprise on Draco's face would've made Harry laugh if the blonde didn't look so sick.

"You knew?" Draco whispered.

"I figured it out," Harry said, slowly sliding his hands along Draco's ribs until he felt a soft spot and heard the other boy hiss. "Damn. It's pretty deep. Do you think you can walk or do you want to side-along?"

Side along apparate? Draco considered it, but the thought of the magic pressing against him until he vanished from existence, even for a second, made him shake his head.

"You'll let me walk back?" Draco asked, expecting Harry to argue and trying to convince him. "It'll heal as I go, and I never did like side-alongs. They don't feel right. I feel like I'm being crushed."

Harry's mouth quirked into something like a smile. "You, too? I hate that feeling, like I'm gonna pop."

Although he'd healed the damage in Draco's hand, Harry still took the arm that hadn't been injured at all and slung it over his shoulders, helping the blonde to his feet. Draco shuddered as he was forced to stand straight.

"Oh geez, sorry." Harry bent his legs enough to let Draco walk slightly stooped.

"Not your fault," Draco muttered. "You got a few inches over me."

"Yeah, shot up a bit over the last couple years." Harry turned him back out of the park and towards the houses, keeping his eyes on the shadows between the buildings.

"Never be as tall as the rest of them," Draco couldn't help but add. When he felt Harry tense, he realized how badly that sounded and tried to amend it. "Neither of us."

"I was malnourished most of my childhood," Harry snapped. "What's your excuse?"

The sudden confession didn't startle him. So that Draco had every advantage in their plan, Severus had told him everything he knew about Harry's upbringing. It only confirmed what Draco had suspected about Dumbledore, a ruthless wizard willing to exploit a child for his own ends. Little different than Voldemort, he thought, just better public opinion. Knowing all that in advance meant he'd had time to think up answers for Harry's questions.

"Weak blood," he said. "Even Severus couldn't do more than take the edge off."

"'Weak blood'?" Harry repeated. "What's that?"

"Nothing. Just means there aren't enough purebloods left."

A nicer way of saying inbred. Draco heard enough jokes and sneers behind his back to come to hate the word. Everyone assumed it made this latest generation of pureblood children stupid. No one ever thought that it would be a relief to be stupid, to think that he was normal. To forget how he needed a potion to keep his hands from shaking, a potion to soothe his irritable stomach, a potion that kept his headaches away, a potion that meant he didn't wheeze with every breath.

Or at least he needed potions before Fenrir's bite. In a sick way, the werewolf's bite strengthened him so that he could live without the long line of medicines. Now he only needed one potion to keep his werewolf blood calm.

"Doesn't sound like nothing. What is it?"

Harry's voice turned demanding. Draco felt his stare, even though he couldn't see it. If he didn't answer, he didn't think Harry would give up or forget. No, he'd probably take him straight to the veritaserum when they arrived, and Draco couldn't afford that.

"Severus..." Draco took as deep a breath as he could manage. "He mingled his blood with mine after I was born."

"But he's a half blood," Harry said, pausing in his step. "I thought you hated 'mudbloods'."

The way Harry spit the word made Draco quail inside. There was so much damage to undo between him and Potter before he could hope to control him at all.

"It's complicated," Draco mumbled. "He gave up his muggle blood. Renounced it."

"That doesn't change what he is," Harry argued. "He can't change what his parents were."

"In our eyes, it does. You cling to wizarding culture and give up half of your family as if they never existed."

The only sounds were their shoes scuffing the sidewalk, splashing through a puddle in the alley. Draco wondered if muggle streets were always this quiet. Overhead one of the streetlamps flickered unsteadily, and Draco stumbled as his foot caught on the broken sidewalk. He winced as Harry tightened his grip and kept him straight.

"How could he give up his family?" Harry whispered, speaking less to Draco and more to himself.

"It's not so hard when they give you up first." Draco forced himself to keep talking. He hated dwelling on something so uncomfortable to his master, but the chance to make Harry feel a tiny bit sympathetic to Severus was too good to pass. "Do you know anything about his father?"

Harry glanced sideways at him. "A little bit. He wasn't very nice."

"One way of putting it," Draco muttered. "The muggle bastard used to beat them both. Snapped his mother's wand and Severus couldn't defend himself or else they'd both be thrown in Azkaban."

The lack of a response gave Draco hope. If Harry didn't answer, that meant he didn't know what to say.

"He hated leaving his mother behind, but Hogwarts was like an escape. Well, not a very good one. The Gryffindors made sure of that." He coughed a few times, turning his head away. "They always make sure of it."

Harry didn't argue the point. Perhaps living with the Weasleys had shown him prejudice ran both ways. Maybe he just didn't care.

"So how'd he do it?" Harry asked.

"What?"

"You said Snape mingled his blood with yours. How?"

"Oh." Draco coughed again, leaning more and more on Harry. "He cut his hand, I cut mine, and we pressed the cuts together."

"That's it?" Harry asked. "You made it sound like a big deal."

"It is. The magic in our blood makes it flow through us, and since mine was weaker, I drew in his strength."

"...weak blood means what I think it does, doesn't it?" Harry asked. "Cousins marrying cousins over generations."

Draco didn't answer for a moment. When he walked through Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade, or strolled through the gardens and forest paths kept safe from muggles, the stones and trees hummed with their own energy. Something vital of the earth, something only they were privileged to feel, filled the air and gave the wind a voice. Colors shimmered. The world played back.

The more he saw of the muggle world, the more he hated it. Dingy, grey, washed out, this world was a shadow of the one he'd left behind. He didn't see fairies playing with fireflies. There were no mermaids swimming through London's rivers. The lights flickered like insects buzzing overheard, and the world stagnated like a dying body.

"Yes," he whispered. "In trying to save ourselves, we destroyed ourselves. As more and more muggleborns invade our world and ignore the old ways, we tried to protect our traditions. Instead we're fading faster."

Harry didn't answer, and Draco wondered if that was out of pity or apathy.

"Fenrir did me a favor," he said. "I had a potion for everything. Couldn't breathe, couldn't write without shaking, got sick every time I ate. It's evil to call muggleborns mudbloods, but inbreds, oh, that's fine to call to our faces."

"Shouldn't say either," Harry murmured.

"Evil dark wizards," Draco said as if he hadn't heard. "We don't care about anyone or anything anymore, right? Too lost to hate and anger and fear and whatever else they want to say about us? Because there's nothing to be angry about, nothing to be afraid of."

The more he spoke, the more his emotion choked him until he started coughing again, doubling over until Harry helped him to the ground to rest. Sitting on the curb under a broken lamp, Draco coughed what he was sure was blood, hugging himself to hold his body together. When he finally got himself back under control, he sniffled and leaned against the lamp, eyes closed.

"Oh God..." he rasped. "Our world's dying. Why doesn't anyone else notice?"

Beside him, Harry watched helplessly. He hated the feeling, used to believing he couldn't change anything for so long that he'd risked his life, even as a child, to fight what he'd believed was a good fight. The only fight. Kill Voldemort, stop the dark wizards, restore the Ministry and save the world.

But although killing Voldemort was still important, and stopping Death Eaters and werewolves and the dark lord's other creatures hadn't changed, he'd seen too much of the Ministry to think it was the cure to the world's ills. In a way, it was as rigid in its beliefs as Voldemort. A hierarchy with human wizards at the top, corrupt officials in love with their own power, and justice that saw children and the innocent imprisoned for life. And dark wizards so in love with the world that they mourned its passing with more tears than anyone else.

"It isn't dead," Harry whispered. "We can still save it."

Draco looked up at him, his face lit by moonlight. "How could we possibly save it?"

Harry stared at him. He'd always been pale, but now his skin looked marble white, except for the dark circles hollowing his eyes. Any more exhausted, and Harry thought he might fade away like a ghost. But for his eyes, burning like white hot ash.

"Together," Harry said, as if the answer surprised him. "We'll save it together."

He held out his hand. Draco looked at it for a moment, studying the calluses and scars on Harry's skin. Knowing what he'd see, he raised his own hand to contrast. Soft, smooth, untouched by work any harder than cutting petals. It seemed like such a poor offering in return.

Nevertheless, he grasped Harry's hand and let him pull him back to his feet. As he stumbled, again Harry slung his arm over his shoulder and began the walk home again.

"Thought you were supposed to heal as you walked," Harry grunted. "I think you're getting heavier."

"Healing or not," Draco replied, "I'm damn tired. Didn't get much sleep last night taking care of mother and Sev'. Come to think of it, I didn't get dinner yesterday either."

"I'll get you something to eat when we get back," Harry said. "Something hot."

"Promises," Draco murmured.

"No, really. I'm starving, too. Remus didn't stop to eat."

"What did he have you doing? Or is it secret?"

Harry snorted. "Hardly. More like busy work. Just charming things to explode or let out poison. They didn't need my help."

The night hid Draco's tired smile. So he'd been right, and Harry would be twice as stubborn. Having dark wizards in the house must have thrown Remus off his center badly. He couldn't imagine that the werewolf mismanaged the Order like this all the time. They'd have died by now if he had.

In a few minutes they reached the house, and Harry waved off Remus and Arthur with a glare for good measure. Draco heard the Weasley clan all thundering towards him, and he flinched, turning his face towards Harry and closing his eyes.

"Don't touch him," Harry snapped, pausing when they wouldn't let him go forward. "You've already done enough damage."

"He ran," Arthur said flatly. "He should be prepared to take the consequences."

"Then Fred and George should be prepared to take their own consequences," Harry said, and he took a step back when Arthur reached a hand out for Draco. "Everyone here should. You all share the blame, even if it's just for goading them on."

Hermione pushed her way forward, nudging Ginny out of the way. "Is he all right? Harry, he looks like he's going to fall over."

"He will if I let go," Harry said. "He's too sick to fight back. He would've been easy pickings for Death Eaters, and then what? Without him, you think Snape or Narcissa would do anything we asked? And that's if they can." He glanced at Hermione again. "You're probably the only one who could figure out what antidote to keep giving them."

"I..." Aware that everyone watching her, Hermione shook her head sadly. "I don't have access to Hogwart's library. I just have what I could save. I don't have any books on poisons or potions. I can't learn what I don't have."

She stamped her foot as she said that, snapping in frustration. Draco heard the futility in her voice. They couldn't give her the tools she needed, and they wouldn't let her fight any other way, so her talents rotted on the vine.

"Then I'll teach her," Draco whispered.

His weak voice cut through the room. A brief silence followed, and then Lupin's not unexpected voice.

"Out of the question."

"Like hell."

Hermione looked up at Remus, wearing indignation like a second skin. "You want to win this war? Then you'll get off my back and let me learn enough to win it."

"Hermione Granger--"

"I went into that greenhouse," she cut him off, "and I didn't recognize half those plants. You want more potions, but you're working the only one who can make them into the grave. I'm almost convinced you'd rather see one dark wizard dead than let him help kill Voldemort."

Before he could respond, she turned and marched up the stairs, her footsteps echoing through the entire house. Not waiting for the argument to start again, Harry began to follow her but stopped as Draco dragged his feet.

"Not there," Draco said. "No extra bed. Might as well sleep in the greenhouse."

"You don't even have a bed?" Harry huffed, taking him through the parlor.

"Not so bad. The rug's good enough for a wolf."

To Draco's surprise, the greenhouse had been swept and cleaned in his absence. Probably by Hermione, he thought, when she came in to examine the herbs. Harry set him down in the corner and excused himself to the kitchen. In the meantime, Draco glanced around at the damage. The table leg had been repaired, but the end remained a centimeter above the floor. It would wobble, and fortunately it had plants to wobble on it. She had put the spilled plants into new pots, hopefully saving a sixth of their ingredients.

"Here," Harry said as he returned, holding out a steaming bowl and dropping an afghan on Draco's lap. "Beef stew, piping hot like I promised."

The warmth spread throughout Draco's hands as he touched it, and he slowly worked his way through the thick broth, drinking from the edge when his hand refused to grasp the spoon. When he set it on the floor and lay back on the glass wall, he sighed in deep satisfaction. For once the wolf inside him agreed and didn't demand more.

"Thank you," he sighed.

"You're welcome," Harry said with a small smile. "You really gonna sleep here?"

"Isn't that bad," Draco said. "It's quiet. And dark. And you could lock me in, right? So no one can get in?"

Harry nodded. "I think I'd rather sleep on the sofa, but I'll set an alarm in case the door opens. You sure you'll be all right?"

"I think so," Draco said. "Dunno if I'll get up early, though."

"That's all right. I'll wake you for breakfast."

Gathering their dishes, Harry stood and walked out of the greenhouse, giving Draco one more look before closing the door. The lock audibly clicked, and then Draco heard Harry call out a particularly strong alarm jinx. If Harry was as powerful as Snape said, he didn't think anyone else in the Order would be able to take the spell off.

Draco let out a sigh. Disaster narrowly avoided, but his mistake had a happier outcome than he could have begged for. Harry was slowly coming to trust him, and Hermione had further destroyed Lupin's credibility. With any luck, none of the Weasleys would be allowed near him again.

Curling up in his corner, Draco wrapped the afghan around himself and watched the moon through the glass. Clouds drifted lazily by, blown along with the slight breeze. He wondered if his father could see the moon from his Azkaban cell.

TBC...