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Chapter Sixteen—Fused

Draco woke slowly. He blinked up at the ceiling above him for long moments before it occurred to him that he must be lying in St. Mungo's. The cool colors of the walls, along with the impersonal sheets folded around his body, argued for it.

He turned his head sharply, not aware what he was looking for until he saw Harry slumped in a chair next to him. His hand rested on the bed, as though he'd been clutching Draco's fingers but lost hold of them sometime during the night. His head dangled back against the chair, that and his open mouth shaking slightly with his snores.

And that was all it took for Draco to remember the finer details of their time in the box.

He let his own head drop back on the pillow with a whoop, though he wasn't sure if the noise was one of embarrassment or simple anger. He shut his eyes and thought about it, while next to him Harry dozed on. Draco almost would have welcomed the intrusion of a mediwitch with questions he didn't feel ready to answer, because that would have meant he wouldn't have to think about something life-changing, irrevocable.

That's what it was.

He and Harry were joined now, fused together like two pieces of glass melted in a fire. Harry had seen Draco in an extremity of fear and hadn't rejected him, which he would have been afraid of even Narcissa doing, had she ever seen him like that. Harry had looked into his face, and spoken calming words, and said he wouldn't ever leave Draco.

But such vows were easy to make within the confines of a box like that, with no one else to watch them or interfere, and with desperation ready to make Harry sacrifice himself recklessly so that Draco could survive. What was he going to do now? Probably pull against their inevitable fusion, Draco thought grimly. Insist that he couldn't keep his promises, that it was stupid to expect him to, and look at Draco with pity in his eyes.

It was only to be expected. And it wasn't as though Harry had got them into that situation in the first place; Marian and her knowledge of Draco's fears and weaknesses had, along with Draco's inability to conquer those fears and weaknesses. But surely he had the right to resent Harry's stupidity? The way he would—

"You know," Harry said casually next to him, "I'm pretty sure the accused are allowed to defend themselves in any reasonable court of law. Not condemned and sewn up in sacks before they've ever said a word."

Draco turned around, gaping. Harry had sat up, and his green eyes had no film of sleep on them. They were, quite simply, determined.

They were having their confrontation now, it seemed. And suddenly, Draco wasn't so sure he wanted to have it—not when Harry would be the one attacking from a position of strength.

"How were we rescued?" he asked, grasping after what he didn't know to stay the inevitable.

Harry's hand slid down and locked about his, fingers sliding around fingers, fingertips ending up on his wrist.

Draco closed his eyes and gave a convulsive shiver, wondering if, for the rest of their lives, the smallest touch from Harry would have the power to call up a desire for intimacy in his chest.

Harry had known what Draco's reactions would be the moment he woke. He had spent too long despising his own timidity and burying it so deeply that the rest of the world would merely think him apathetic, not afraid. He would regret sharing it with Harry, but to escape self-contempt, he'd blame Harry instead.

Harry didn't intend to let him get away with that. They were out of the box, which made setting up a few barriers easier. But Harry was a man who kept his promises.

Of course, they could begin the conversation in a harmless way if Draco wanted to. Harry wouldn't leave the meat of it alone for long, but Draco didn't need to know that yet.

"Hermione traced the clues," he said calmly. "She started tracking me down when I first got abducted doing Blood Reparations work, and when she realized how dangerous it would be, she put a locater charm on my wand. It doesn't respond just because my wand's been taken away, though; after all, I could have lost the wand in an accident, or put it down for the night. It starts calling her when someone causes me physical pain and removes the wand from my immediate vicinity."

"But—" Draco began, and stopped, his confusion written all over his face.

Harry nodded a little. "When that witch slapped me. Not hard physical pain, but the contact of human skin on mine in a hostile manner. That saves Hermione from getting called if I happen to fall accidentally, too."

Draco looked suitably impressed. Harry concealed a smile. He would be just as glad if Draco was a little awed of Hermione before they met again. Hermione had had plenty of questions for Harry about why he'd been entwined in Draco's arms when she pulled them out of the box, and she hadn't liked his answers.

"I had no idea you could modify a locater spell that way," Draco whispered.

Harry shrugged. "Neither did Hermione, at first. It took her a few months of experimentation. At first she tried planting the charm directly on me, but it hurts too much, and it's highly distracting to have it screaming into my ears in a situation where I might have to fight and escape. My wand makes a viable alternative."

"And why are we here?"

We, Harry noted. Not I. That might make it easier. If he knows that we can't be separated now in anything but one important way, he's less likely to put up stupid arguments.

"You suffered some minor bruising and abrasions from the box," he said. "Plus, you weren't quite in your right mind when Hermione lifted us out. The Healers wanted to make sure you hadn't taken any permanent mental damage."

"What, you didn't take the opportunity to brag to them how you'd saved my sanity?"

Harry gazed calmly at him, until Draco turned his head and looked in the opposite direction. "I didn't know I had, then," he said. "And I was certainly concerned enough about you that St. Mungo's sounded like a good idea."

Harry had to give Draco some credit; when the issue couldn't be avoided any longer, he tried to face it like a man. A pity that he had a decade's worth of denial working against him. "What are we going to do?" he whispered, and then his voice trailed off on the last words, as if softness would spare him the memories. His hand tightened convulsively in Harry's.

"Be friends," Harry said instantly. "Closer friends than before. I've seen the most protected parts of you, now." He met Draco's eyes unflinchingly, even when Draco reared up to challenge him like some enraged werewolf. "And I'll never reveal your secrets to anyone else," Harry concluded firmly.

"What if I don't think that's good enough?" Draco demanded. "What if I want to know your most protected secrets?"

"You can have them," said Harry, with a wisp of a smile. Draco stared at him as if he'd grown a tail.

"But—" he said, and then closed his eyes and lay back down. His cheeks had turned incredibly red, and he seemed to be straining to catch his breath.

"I know," Harry said, and he did know. The knowledge came to him the same way that knowledge of Draco's soul had, when they lay in the box. Of course, he'd had some advantages in the learning that Draco couldn't have realized, such as the mental connection with Voldemort during the war that let him observe Draco torturing people. But the means mattered less than the ends, and the ends were what Harry had in mind now. "You thought I was going to mock you and turn away from you. But I said I wouldn't leave you. I meant it. Anything that you need of me and can have, within reason, I will give you."

"Within reason?" Draco murmured.

Harry had to smile. Trust Draco to go immediately to the part of the bargain that might deny him something he desired.

"I'm partially yours," said Harry. "But parts of me belong to other people, too—to my children, to Ginny, to my friends. I can't give myself to you so completely that I abandon them. For example, I'll tell you anything about me that you want to know, but I wouldn't sit idly by while you used that knowledge to their detriment. And I won't sleep with you."

He knew Draco wouldn't like that, just as Ginny hadn't been happy about his staying in St. Mungo's with Draco instead of coming home at once. Harry didn't care. He had made his choice, and for once, it was one he'd taken on his own initiative. Hermione hadn't bullied him into it. Ginny hadn't talked him into it. Draco hadn't laughed him into it.

His own decisions, Harry was extremely stubborn about maintaining and pursuing. And he knew, none better, the experience of fighting the world all alone for something he believed was right.

Imaginings that Draco hadn't even realized he entertained crashed to a halt at Harry's words. He leaned forwards and stared along their joined hands at this infuriating, far-too-handsome man, who had the nerve to sit there smiling at Draco as if he hadn't just said something unthinkable.

"You seemed willing to sleep with me while we were in that box," he spat.

"That was in the box," said Harry. "Some things do change outside it. Not the promises that I made you, but 'not leaving you' does not equate to 'sleeping with you,' and if you thought it did, then I'm sorry for your inadequate education." He raised an eyebrow when Draco snarled and lunged towards him.

Their joined hands stopped Draco, and not physically. Hurting Harry would hurt him, too, now. Damn the bastard for fitting himself into Draco's life and making it impossible to think of existing without him, anyway.

The knowledge frightened Draco more than anything had in ten years. But he had come through one bout of terror, and he was still alive and unbroken—perhaps even ready to build, unsteadily, on a new foundation. And since separation between their fused selves was impossible now, he would just have to live with what couldn't be changed.

"You kissed me," he said.

"Yes."

"You said that you liked me."

"Yes." Harry grinned at him, a cunning expression that would have made Draco evaluate him more carefully as a serious opponent if he'd ever seen it in school. "I like Ron, too, and you don't see me volunteering to sleep with him."

Draco shook his head. "You can't ignore what's there, Harry. The sexual element to your dreams and the visions in the mirrors."

Harry's face was very calm and his voice was very flat. "I don't plan on ignoring them. We're going to work on the curse, remember? So that it will end, and the visions and the dreams with it. And then we can have a friendship that I hope will be deeper and more valuable to you than any hint of sexual tension."

Draco felt an odd rush of confidence as he realized he did see something Harry didn't; he did have one piece of important knowledge in reserve, to give him an edge. He would be willing to accept a friendship as deep as this one looked like it would be, but he would be willing to die for a sexual relationship, a love affair, with the depth of that friendship behind it.

And if Harry did not see the possibility for one to develop, when he'd sworn himself to Draco as strongly as he had, he was a fool.

But opposition would just strengthen his present stubbornness. Draco would have bet half his fortune that Ginny Potter would do exactly that: wail at Harry about his actions with Draco and force him to defend himself. That would cause him to shake his head and keep plunging ahead, determined to prove that he could have his marriage and his deep and permanent friendship with Draco and suffer no ill effects from either.

Meanwhile, Draco could wait. He wouldn't need to encourage Harry; he wouldn't need to speak up against Ginny or treat her like a rival. She wouldn't be. Harry would be his, because by this point he couldn't hold anything of himself back from Draco, and as time passed, that would only become more and more true.

And it hadn't escaped Draco's notice, either, that Harry hadn't spoken of holding anything back for himself, of the parts of Harry Potter that belonged to Harry Potter alone. Well. Draco would show him what could. He would offer privacy if Harry needed it, a listening ear when Harry's bruised psyche required it, a willingness to shoulder the deepest and darkest secrets that Harry cared to shovel on him—because Harry would give him those things in return.

By purely legitimate tactics, Gryffindor ones even, he would win Harry to him. They could both offer each other the same thing, what they most needed. And that wasn't true of Harry's relationship with the little Weasley.

Gryffindor tactics just happened to coincide with Slytherin ones in this case. Harry had trapped himself in a situation where Draco had every reason to treat him well, because he had shown that he could treat Draco well. He would end up happy one day, and he would be the one to take the steps that got him there.

Smiling, Draco leaned back against the pillows and said, "What will your wife say about what happened? Are you going to be completely honest with her?"

Harry eyed Draco suspiciously. Some decision had been made in that devious Slytherin brain, and he didn't trust it, not for one instant.

Except that he did.

He trusted Draco now, and it would take signed and sealed proof of treachery to destroy that bond between them. Harry could let the sudden change of subject go, because he was sure that, whatever Draco plotted, it would not hurt Harry or the people closest to him.

Slightly unnerved, Harry cleared his throat, and nodded. "I've already talked to her once. She wanted me to come home. I told her I couldn't do that while your condition remained uncertain; you were deeply traumatized when they pulled us out of that box, you know, and refused to let me go." He told himself that Draco's cheeks flushing with embarrassment was not cute, but something to grin in victory over. "Then she reminded me of the promise I'd made to her to go to therapy, and—"

"What?"

Harry stared at Draco in wonder. The snarl had been one of utter outrage, and Draco's hand had closed painfully on his. His other hand had risen as if he were going to cradle Harry's face and examine it for signs of wounds.

He's being protective. Even though he's the one who was so much in trouble in that box, even though he's the one who should be leaning on my strength instead of inviting me to lean on his.

Harry swallowed. He had the first dim glimpses, then, of the fact that he might get himself in deep, deep trouble if he wasn't careful. Such intense tenderness was seductive.

But he had already known that he might get himself in trouble by caring for Draco Malfoy. He had chosen to do it anyway. And he still would. If he walked a tightrope between options of pain, so what? It was his choice.

"She wants me to go to therapy for, well, the dreams." Harry shrugged. "She's been much more aware of them all along than I thought she was. I told you that."

Draco gave a tight nod. "And did you explain to her that this was a curse, and that curses are not normally subject to therapy?" He said that word as if it were an obscene one involving dragons defecating.

"I tried. But she doesn't know why I react so physically to the dreams, and so she wants to know if I'm bisexual, have an unacknowledged longing for you and not other men, or what. Once she knows, then she feels she can calm down."

"And you're going to fulfill her insanity?"

"Yes."

"In the name of—" Draco shut his eyes as if they'd already been arguing for hours about the same subject and he was weary. He probably was, Harry thought, but not of the argument. He'd been through an intense and draining experience in that box, after all. "Harry," he breathed at last. "If you're not perfectly straight, that's fine, and it's something you should be allowed to come to terms with on your own."

And something you'd be happy to help me with?

But it wasn't fair for Harry to say that aloud, not when he had already made the decision to keep any sexual element out of his relationship with Draco. "Maybe," he said. "She still wants to know. She swears that once she does, she'll be happier and able to forget about most of her worries concerning our—compatibility, let's call it. It's a small sacrifice which I'm willing to make for her."

Draco's free hand moved forwards and landed on his cheek. Harry closed his eyes in spite of himself, and turned his head to nuzzle into the palm. The fingers closed on his jaw, in a gentle parody of the way they'd clutched him in the darkness.

Like the flesh memory of a Snitch, Harry felt those hands again, and the tongue curling sensually in his mouth, and heard Draco's whispered request to let the sounds he'd been keeping silent out—

And Harry faced the memory, and raised a calm eyebrow at it, and put it away. He'd chosen. He'd chosen to remain faithful to his wife, and if that had painful consequences, well, so what? He was so experienced at living with pain that he barely noticed it anymore. And a pure friendship with Draco should be enough to make up for whatever he thought he'd be losing by ignoring the kiss.

"I just wonder," Draco whispered, "what she's sacrificed for you."

Startled, Harry opened his eyes. "Plenty," he said. "Some parts of her career, since she has to stay at home with the children when the Blood Reparations Department is busy. Some of her independence and privacy, just like with all married couples. And she knows she can't win all our battles." Harry grinned, memories of the past popping up in his mind like mushrooms. "In fact, she loses most of them."

Draco gave a mutter that sounded remarkably like, "I'm happy to hear that," but which was so low that Harry could ignore it.

"And if she objects to our friendship?" he asked.

"I'll tell her to shove it," Harry replied cheerfully.

Draco's hand fell away from his face, but the one holding Harry's tightened on his wrist. The expression in his eyes was of such delighted surprise that Harry laughed.

God, done right, this will become something even better than what I can share with Ron—because Ron never looks at me like I'm the most important person in the world.

Again Harry felt a queasy presentiment of danger. Again, he shoved it away. Things would only become dangerous if he was less than vigilant about keeping his self-control. And he could keep his self-control. If he was ever tempted, he only had to remind himself how much Ginny and the children would be hurt by his straying. That was enough to keep his dick firmly in his pants.

And Draco would be content with what Harry could offer him. Harry was sure of it. After all, why would he want someone in his bed who wasn't even sure he was bisexual? Draco had better taste than that.

Someone coughed discreetly at the door. Harry turned his head, even as Draco's cheeks suddenly caught fire. Hermione stood there, staring at them with narrowed eyes.

Harry stared back, not the least embarrassed. He hadn't hidden anything from her, and he wouldn't hide anything from Ginny, and he wouldn't hide anything from Draco. Living openly might be hard as hell, but Harry liked to think he'd grown up enough in the last decade to manage it.

"Ginny's been asking for you, Harry," said Hermione, with a gentle bite to her voice. "And the Healers have said Malfoy's can go home tomorrow." She glanced directly at Draco for a moment, but looked away, as if he'd been burned or scarred in a fire. "He'll have protection, of course, since we still don't know how or why Salazar's Snakes took you, and they all fled before I arrived at their hideout."

"Draco's in the room, Hermione," said Harry, tightening his grip on Draco's hand for a moment. "You can speak directly to him when it's something involving him."

"Harry," Hermione said. "Go home."

Harry snorted, but he didn't see the point in putting off the confrontation with Ginny, and he didn't think Draco desperately needed him right now. From the way he was surveying Hermione with narrowed eyes, half-grateful and half-sarcastic, Harry thought he could draw on his own reserves of strength to deal with her.

"I'll see you soon," he said, with a nod to Draco, and gently parted their hands, ignoring the way his own skin immediately felt cold. He paced out of the room, Hermione catching up with him in moments.

She put a hand on his arm in the corridor. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?" she asked.

Harry considered her coolly. Yes, the last ten years had hardened her, to the point that she sometimes seemed almost unconnected with the young witch he'd known. But then he would see her with Ron or her children, and he remembered.

Besides, he reminded himself, it was not as though she had any reason to trust Draco. She hadn't been in the box.

He smiled at her, which seemed to confuse her, and patted her hand. "Yes," he said. "And it will be very hard, but I'm sure it's worth it."

He left her staring after him, and went to talk to his wife, feeling as if he were riding to war. Perhaps he shouldn't feel that way, but it was reality.

Draco licked his lips, and easily ignored the two Blood Reparations wizards who filed awkwardly into the room and seemed unsure whether to stare at him or talk loudly between themselves. They settled for the latter, but Draco could drown their voices in silence just by remembering Harry's words.

Draco's in the room, Hermione.

He defended me to his friends. He'll defend me to his wife. I can give him absolute faith, and he'll only do trustworthy things with it.

Draco did wish he'd managed to persuade Harry against going to this therapy Ginny wanted, but Harry did not do well with pushing. He would have to wait for that, wait until Harry became more and more his, completely instead of only in part.

But some things are worth waiting for.