All rights to the world of Harry Potter belong to J.K. Rowling and a number of very large corporations, none of which is me, and I do not intend to make any money whatsoever from this endeavour.

Particular thanks must be given to the lovely Phoenix Writing for taking time out of her insanely chaotic schedule to help make this a much better story in both style and content. Any mistakes which remain are, indubitably, my own.

Additional notes are available before the prologue.

Constructive criticism is always very much appreciated.

Please accept my *profound* apologies for the ridiculously long delay; I hope you enjoy.

Originally posted 13 June '10; updated 10 November '11 (scene added)

Refracted

"They're yours, Draco."

Draco stared in stunned disbelief, trying to process beyond the overwhelming waves of light and sound roaring around him.

It took him an embarrassingly long time to understand what Potter was offering, and longer still to calculate the implications of it. Once he had, the decision to refuse was... not easy, but... straightforward. Being Head Boy wouldn't be worth it if he was going to be simply a puppet.

The titles were still technically Potter's, and they always would be, giving him the authority to override Draco anytime he wanted. Draco imagined Potter countering his decisions in the Great Hall, prefect meetings with Potter present and Draco having to check with him before every vote, or being expected to follow Granger's lead regardless of whether or not her ideas took Slytherin sensibilities into account. Draco didn't think he could do it, and he said as much.

"Thank you, but...," he hesitated, choosing his words carefully, "if you're giving me the choice... I'd rather not." The look of surprise on Potter's face was almost funny, and it helped to ease the lump in his throat. "It wouldn't be the same if I were only there as..." a pity post "...a figurehead." It helped, a bit, that Draco was handing the badges back to Potter himself, not because the ritual demanded it, but because Draco chose to do so.

"No, that's not— Draco, I'm— I mean I know I'd have the right, but I won't. I haven't agreed with everything you've done so far as Head Boy this year," Harry said, seriously, "but I can't think of a single thing that I would have pulled rank over. Are you planning to suddenly come over all Inquisitorial Squad now?"

Numbly, Draco shook his head.

"Then I don't foresee a problem. I'll back you and your decisions if necessary, but I won't have anything to do with the position otherwise. And I'll make that clear to anyone who suggests otherwise, now or later."

Strange as it seemed, Draco believed him. It helped that he'd felt Harry's sincerity through the bond.

Not much later, Draco followed Potter as they left the classroom. Still fighting for the ability to think through waves of disbelief, he pulled the door closed tightly behind him, concentrating on the solid feel of the doorknob until the decreasing volume of Potter's footsteps caught his attention.

"Where are you going?"

Already several feet down the hall, Potter turned back, his brow wrinkled in confusion, "My dorm?"

"It's after curfew." Potter wasn't a Prefect, so it would be loss of points or detention if he were caught wandering the halls, and Draco knew the sixth-year Slytherin Prefects were on duty.

"Oh. Right." He flushed slightly. "I usually don't have to worry about that."

His response made Draco wonder exactly how often he used the cloak to wander after hours, but it wasn't the place to ask, no matter how deserted the hallway seemed.

"You can Floo from my rooms."

Potter nodded and fell quietly in step, for which Draco was grateful twice over: it was not an uncomfortable silence, and Draco appreciated the time to think.

About to smooth his palm down the front his robes, he caught himself mid-motion and jammed loosely-clenched fists in his pockets. Over the summer, he'd used the gesture to draw attention to his Head Boy badge, but it was a habit his mother had ensured was short-lived: Malfoys had no need to gloat in such an obvious manner. Now, he simply wanted to reassure himself that it was still there.

Consumed by his thoughts, he would have walked past his own door if Potter hadn't stopped in front of it.

Granger had cleared out of their common room, Draco noted, though he could still see a crack of light through the not-quite-closed bedroom door next to his own. The temptation to simply wave Potter to the Gryffindor door and hope he forgot that Draco still had his Invisibility cloak was great, but it was overshadowed by another emotion, one that Draco suspected was bond-induced guilt, or possibly a sense of fair play. "I'll get your cloak," he said, crossing to his room.

Potter chuckled, softly enough that Draco wouldn't have heard it had the other boy not followed him into the bedroom. Draco looked at him inquiringly.

"I'd expected you to 'forget' about it until I asked for it."

It was said without malice, and through the bond Draco felt nothing but rueful humour, so he grinned in reply. "I thought about it," he confessed with a small laugh.

"Truth outs, then — the real reason you're doing this is to get your hands on my cloak."

"Yes, that's it. No other benefits at all." He looked at Potter consideringly for a moment, then, mindful of Granger in the other room, Draco closed the door.

Draco felt the bond twist with regret in response, and he had to admit he, too, was disappointed at the loss. Those moments of shared levity were unexpected, precious, and rare. They were growing more frequent, however, and he had a tentative faith that trend would continue. Given that, and the fact that during the walk, he'd recovered a substantial portion of his equilibrium and remembered the topics they hadn't discussed in the classroom, he felt safe in directing the conversation to more serious matters. Besides, he needed an answer. "You know why I'm doing this. And you know that I was comfortable with the original parameters. Why would you risk that by introducing unnecessary Blood magic?"

In the silence that settled after he'd finished, he realized his words had become more of a reprimand than a request for information. Fortunately, Potter didn't take offence, but the look he received was enough to remind him that while Harry was more tolerant than Lucius had been, he also held far more power over Draco. Learning to control his tongue would be necessary, and it would have to be done quickly.

In light of that, Draco was surprised when Potter began to explain the reasoning behind his actions, and even more so by the relief that explanation inspired. He claimed his intention had been to protect Draco.

Draco knew that he had to be wary of at least a certain amount of spin, but that Harry mentioned it at all meant he'd at least considered it, if only secondarily. There were many ways he could have demanded the ritual be adapted to guarantee greater power from the bond; that he chose one that was less certain but safer and of potential benefit for his bonded strengthened Draco's conviction that choosing Harry had been the right decision.

Harry hadn't done it recklessly or accidentally either, paying at least some attention to magical theory, and the reasoning behind his decision seemed sound. Harry even offered to bring Draco the text in question so he could check examine it himself, though Draco didn't know what he would discover that Severus hadn't.

And that was the most surprising discovery of all: Severus knew.

Draco nodded his thanks, but he wasn't sure he could reply verbally on that topic. "I'll get your cloak," he said instead and headed to the wardrobe, where he could hide his face long enough to compose himself.

He understood why Potter couldn't have discussed his theory with him earlier, he really did. Potter couldn't be seen with Draco, not without a legitimate excuse, and even then not too often. Their relationship had evolved from the hostile adversaries they'd been in years previous, but they weren't mates either. That wouldn't be politically prudent of either of them, even if they'd wanted to attempt it. Not without a guarantee as inalienable as the bond, at least, and in light of the circumstances surrounding their bond, it was even more dangerous: Voldemort was not expecting a Malfoy-Potter alliance, but he had to have instructed his spies to be watching for odd behaviour from either of them.

But Snape was his Head of House. Surely he could have found some time to warn him of what Harry intended to do.

Severus had seemed so concerned — stiflingly so — at lunch, pressuring him to pledge earlier. Since Draco had made his decision clear, the discussion had done little more than draw attention to the pain Draco was feeling. Eventually, Draco had snapped, demanding that Snape stay out of Draco's life.

He felt marginally bad about that: Snape had Silenced their conversation so it hadn't been public, but it was the Head of Slytherin House he'd been disrespecting — and in the Great Hall.

Based on Potter's recounting, however, he and Snape must have spoken immediately after the incident, and it had been Potter who had convinced him that more unknown, borderline Dark magic was a good idea. Following that train of thought would only make it more difficult to speak calmly to Potter, so Draco pushed aside his bitterness and turned from the wardrobe with the cloak in hand.

He found Potter examining Snape's spellscar balm.

In their initial planning stages, his godfather had assured him that it would be possible to hide the spellscar temporarily, an assertion Draco had been hesitant to accept. Closely related to curse scars, spellscars were designed to resist concealment. Severus claimed to know of a potion, brewed with the memory magic that formed the basis of Secret Keeper spell, which would keep the mark hidden to anyone who did not know for certain that it was there, and what exactly 'it' was. Any doubt at all, and even the most dedicated examination would fail to reveal anything. It would be useless on Potter's lightning bolt scar, for example, as everyone knew about it, but no one spying on Draco could be certain he'd already pledged. In all likelihood, they wouldn't have been told enough to have even concrete suspicions, and looking for simply a 'mark' or 'scar' wouldn't be enough to counter the potion.

Now Draco had realized that it must have been developed by Severus himself in his capacity as spy, certainly as a disloyal Death Eater. Draco would have heard of it otherwise: it would be too valuable to Voldemort's followers.

Draco offered Potter some of the balm as a means of making amends for the thoughts he'd had, even if the other boy wasn't aware of the necessity of it.

"Thanks, but he gave me some earlier."

Draco swallowed the returning bitterness of insult added to injury; Severus had sent a house elf to deliver the potion to Draco's room.

Potter was absorbed with examining the container from all angles, as though there were secrets to be gleaned if he could only find them, and he didn't notice Draco's reaction. "You have to wonder why he bothered to make it, given the danger. Especially since he can't even use it himself."

Draco made a noncommittal noise in response.

"It's odd to imagine Professor Snape as your father." Potter looked up, grinning. "Will you call him Dad, do you think?"

Draco shrugged awkwardly and reversed the question. "What will you call Remus?"

"I don't know." Potter put the balm down with careful precision. "He's definitely the 'dad' type, but that's how we've always referred to— to James Potter. But I can't see calling Remus something as formal as 'Father.'" He watched Draco carefully for a reaction, and through the bond Draco felt humour again, coloured this time with tension and a hint of rebellion.

Putting aside the remnants of his earlier reactions, he assured Harry that he wasn't so fragile that he couldn't handle a passing reference to his past when it was obviously done teasingly and replied lightly, "I can assure you he's definitely more of a 'Dad' than a 'Father.' Severus is more the 'Father' type, and I don't think I want another of those." He shrugged again "Maybe I'll come up with something else entirely."

"Like 'Pop,'" Harry snickered, and Draco nearly choked.

"I thought we were doing this to avoid scenarios that would get me killed."

Harry laughed, and it was unlike anything Draco had ever felt. The emotions coursing through the bond notwithstanding.

At breakfast Monday morning, Professor McGonagall collected the names of the Gryffindor students who were staying at the school for the holidays.

As she neared where he was sitting, Harry realized he didn't know whether he was supposed to sign it or not. He'd told the Weasleys and Hermione that he would be staying at school and wouldn't be able to join them at the Burrow for Bill and Fleur's wedding, but that was before... Well, Before.

When asked, Harry signed. Given the reason for the change, it seemed safer. Either way, Dumbledore would know his travel plans before he did, so it would make little difference.

It was strange not to be planning to spend Christmas with his friends, especially Ron. They'd spent Christmas separately last year, of course, but they'd expected to be together until Harry ended up in the hospital wing. This year, though, Ron and Hermione would be spending the holidays with Ron's family, while Harry... would be spending Christmas with his own family. Maybe not a family he'd been born to, or one he'd been raised with, or even one he was comfortable with, but people he would belong with, properly, regardless of how they'd gotten to that point. They wouldn't have traditions or shared holiday experiences, but they would be able to create them.

He was still revelling in those realizations when he was distracted by the oddest feeling. It was sharp and cold, similar to the feeling of approaching Dementors, but focussed rather than all encompassing. More than anything else, it felt wrong, and Harry knew it originated with the bond.

It felt as though it were tugging at him, and when he looked in the direction it seemed to be urging him, he wasn't surprised to see Draco.

He was standing to leave as Professor Snape neared his place at the table. Unlike the previous day, there was nothing to note in their exchange — except, perhaps, the brevity of it. Draco spoke to his Head of House, but only to excuse himself before heading towards the door. As far as Harry could tell, there was nothing that should have caused the bond to be reacting the way it was.

Harry tried to extract himself from his housemates discreetly but quickly enough to catch Draco in the hall, but in the time it took Harry to reach the stairs, the other boy was nowhere to be found.

Harry looked around in confusion: he should have been able to hear Draco's footsteps on the stone floor still, even if he couldn't see him.

It was probably a good thing, however, that he hadn't found Draco since Hermione exited the Great Hall close on his heels. She stopped abruptly, surprised to see him just standing there.

"Harry!" She peered around the entrance hall, looking much as he must have only moments ago. "Whe—why are you just standing here?" He didn't have a ready response, but she didn't wait for one. "We'll be late for class," she said, tugging him towards the staircase.

Given that McGonagall was still in the Great Hall and that they had Transfiguration first period, Harry didn't think that was likely, but he was grateful for the excuse to avoid answering and followed her up to the classroom.

As he'd expected, they arrived before anyone else, including the professor, and Harry quickly realized that all he'd done was give Hermione at least a few moments alone with him. Unsurprisingly, she took advantage of the opportunity to speak with him privately.

"Are you alright? You seemed... distracted at breakfast," she said hesitantly.

"Fine." Her steady gaze didn't waver, and he felt compelled to explain his distraction. "I was just thinking about Christmas."

"Are you sure you don't want to come with us to the Burrow? Or I could stay here, if you'd rather not... be alone." She spoke softly and carefully, and Harry hurt all the more for that. It was difficult enough to deal with her pity when he legitimately deserved it; it was far worse when he already felt like a fraud.

He tried to think something he could say that would convince her not to offer again. It would be just his luck that she'd try to surprise him by staying or returning early, and he wouldn't even be here himself.

He hadn't managed more than "I'll be fine, I promise" before Professor McGonagall entered the classroom. Her eyes narrowed, and, Harry was half afraid she'd mention her meeting with Snape despite Hermione's presence. Before she had the chance, however, Michael Corner entered the classroom and headed directly for her, asking questions about the supplementary reading. That turned into a discussion that Hermione couldn't resist and — much to Harry's relief — kept them occupied until it was time for class to begin. When Ron slid into his seat with a few minutes to spare, he, too, asked if there was something bothering Harry but let it go when Harry assured him there wasn't.

It was then that he noticed that the bond had settled to something he would have described as a nagging but manageable itch, if he'd felt it on or under his skin rather than the area an inch or so beyond it.

Between that and the events of the day before, not to mention his certainty that McGonagall would want to speak with him about her meeting with Snape, there wasn't much chance Harry would be able to focus in class. His classmates probably assumed his lack of attention was the reason McGonagall asked him to remain behind, but Harry knew better.

He was grateful for the warning Professor Snape had given him — it was more than he usually got. He'd have been ready to crawl out of his skin, wondering what that look from her meant, otherwise.

He did wonder about the expression that was on his own face, when Hermione and Ron filed out with sympathetic glances and, in Ron's case, an encouraging pat on the shoulder.

Professor McGonagall stared at him assessingly for several moments. "One of the other teachers on staff came to me with some disturbing information about your family situation, Mr. Potter. Is it true?"

Not knowing specifically what Snape had told her, he couldn't really answer that, and he didn't want to tell her something she didn't already know, so he shrugged. He wouldn't be able to get away with such an impolite response usually, but if she wanted more, she'd have to ask more specific questions.

Unsurprisingly, she did, and they were basic enough that Harry assumed whatever Snape had told her couldn't have included much in the way of particulars. His specific circumstances would be irrelevant to future cases, which was the excuse she was using to justify the questioning, so he brushed off as much as he could.

It was when she asked, with more exasperation that Harry felt was warranted, why he hadn't told anyone that Harry lost the tenuous grasp he had on his temper. "I made it clear that I didn't want to go back; Professor Dumbledore made it clear it was necessary. Without physical evidence of abuse, there was nothing I could have said that would have made a difference." Phrased that way, she could infer that he believed that physical evidence would have been enough to change the Headmaster's mind. He didn't.

Professor McGonagall looked like she wanted to contradict even that much but couldn't bring herself to lie.

"So what would have been the point of telling anyone? If I kept my mouth shut and did what I was told, I got to spend part of my summer at the Burrow. Usually. Away from the Dursleys at least."

Surprisingly, she didn't admonish him for his tone. "I should have suspected, of course," she murmured sympathetically. When she continued, it was as though she were speaking only to herself. "I knew from the beginning that they were the wrong sort, but Albus was so insistent that they were your only suitable relations, no matter how much—" She seemed to remember he was there and cut herself off.

She nodded once, and continued in her usual no-nonsense manner. "I am sorry, Mr. Potter, that you were left with those people and that our protections were insufficient."

She let him go not long after that, and Harry was grateful she was his Head of House. Anyone but the practical, private McGonagall would have tried for much more detail, and he knew he wouldn't have gotten off nearly as lightly. In exchange, of course, he wasn't able to ask what she'd meant when she'd said 'only suitable relations.' That suggested that he had unsuitable ones, and somehow Harry didn't think she'd meant Sirius. She'd probably even let it slip deliberately, just so he would ask.

Either way, Harry's curiosity would have to remain unabated, at least for a while.

He could ask Professor Dumbledore, of course, but knowing the Headmaster's reticence to share details and that he was responsible for Harry being forced to stay with the Dursleys, it would be difficult. Harry wasn't ready for that sort of confrontation, not after he'd already been subjected to another discussion about the Dursleys in less than a week.

Needless to say, he was not in the best of moods when he made his way to Dumbledore's office for his weekly strategy session.

"Harry, my boy, come in."

They usually used the seating area on the far side of the headmaster's office for their strategy sessions, but Professor Dumbledore called to him from behind the desk and waved him into a chair opposite. It seemed less comfortable than usual, and as the conversation progressed, Harry began to suspect that it was neither his imagination nor coincidence.

"Rather than continue from where we left off last week, I thought this time would be better used to discuss any questions or concerns you may have about the upcoming stages of the rituals." Dumbledore stared gravely over his glasses at Harry. "Changes of the sort you introduced yesterday in deciding to balance the use of Blood magic within the ritual, while laudable and likely to be beneficial in this case, are not to be undertaken lightly nor without consultation and the proper precautions."

Harry was going to correct him, but Dumbledore held up his hand. "No matter how much research you've done, Harry, castings of this magnitude and Blood magic generally are undertaken with great risk. In this case, especially, given that others will be affected. You have a responsibility to Draco as well as yourself to speak with an adult, no matter how infrequently you unwilling or unable to do so in the past." His tone was sharper than usual, but it was tempered by something that looked like it might be hurt. "That is what teachers are for... and, I dare say, parents."

Harry hung his head, but it was more to hide his own resentment than out of any real sense of remorse. If Dumbledore was hurt that he hadn't been consulted, Harry didn't particularly care: having just been reminded about why he'd been sentenced to the Dursley's and led to believe there might have been an alternative, he was not going to confide in someone as inflexible and arbitrary as the Headmaster.

He noticed there had been no mention of Professor Snape in the reprimand. Of course, Dumbledore probably had assumed that Snape, being a spy, was better able to hide his emotions but was equally surprised. Regardless, however preposterous it would have been even a year ago, surely Dumbledore had noticed how much better Harry and Professor Snape worked together now.

Even if he had considered discussing his theory with Remus or Dumbledore, he wouldn't have.

He needed someone he was certain had experience with Dark magic, not someone who would scoff simply because it was Dark. Even Snape had been concerned enough about his reputation to hesitate; he could just imagine the reactions of the others. He might have risked it to speak with Remus, if he'd been able to access to a secure means of communication, but he hadn't had such a thing.

Besides which, if Severus Snape and Draco Malfoy (even if the latter had only been consulted after the fact), two wizards who were familiar with Darker magics, if they were of the opinion that Harry's theory had been right and was likely to help, Harry was confident that he had made the right decision.

Harry continued to sulk silently, paying only superficial attention as Dumbledore began his review. He would have felt guilty about that, but he himself had very little to do in the next stage of Fidelitās Dominō. It would be emotional for Draco and difficult for both he and Snape, but Harry was needed only to act as witness, really.

Between the second and third castings, the vectigal's family was expected to pledge their support for the vectigal and his chosen. With Andromeda Tonks having been officially disowned, Draco didn't have an abundance of willing relatives available — he had, in fact, only the bare minimum — so the pledges would have to be carefully scheduled to balance within the allotted time. Tonks, as the representative of the Blacks acting as his Steadfast, would pledge first, before the adoption, since they'd decided that a father's pledge would be more valuable than a godfather's.

That was one of the major points buried in the minutiae of the scheduling and other details that Harry had tried very hard and had even somewhat managed to avoid thinking about: as Draco's father, Snape would have to swear fealty to Harry.

As strange and uncomfortable as the entire idea was generally, it was unbelievably so when it was Snape and happening now. His professor had finally begun to see Harry as something other than James Potter's son (most of the time, anyway), and their relationship was finally... respectful or something close enough to it for Harry to appreciate, even if he didn't quite understand it.

It wasn't all unicorns and puffskeins, but it was manageable.

No one could prompt Harry to obstinacy like Snape, that hadn't changed. Sometimes he couldn't even explain why he felt the need to argue, just that it was Snape seemed to be enough. Regardless, while it certainly couldn't be said that Snape was patient with his fits and sulks, he did let Harry apologize for them afterwards. And between Occlumency and conversations like the one they'd had about the Dursleys, he knew more about Harry than anybody.

That made their already indefinable relationship awkward enough. Spending the rest of the year as a student who technically outranked his teacher would be so much worse. He knew there must be cases — princes or other aristocracy, for example — where it happened, and people managed, but Harry thought it would make him very uncomfortable.

He couldn't imagine how much more difficult it would be for Snape as the teacher who by rights would be expected to defer to a student.

Worse still, Harry was James Potter's son. Status and the memory of the torment Snape had suffered as a student were so important to him still; that he'd have to pledge himself to a Maurader's child would make the indignity that much worse.

Not to mention that it was Snape, and while he may have improved one on one, he was still a bastard in the classroom, especially to the Gryffindors. If he was forced to yield to Harry Potter of all people...

Harry had to hope it wouldn't destroy the improved relations with Slytherin. It would be just his luck to save Draco and lose the rest of the house.

He would have to talk to Snape — and to Tonks for that matter — to make sure they would be okay.

"Harry?" It was the concern in the Headmaster's voice was what caught his attention, more than the sound of his name. "If you are at all hesitant or have questions, I urge you to speak up."

"Can I speak with Tonks before? Would that affect the pledging?" It occurred to him that contact between the dominus and the vectigal's family, particularly discussing this topic might have a negative influence.

Dumbledore looked surprised then pleased by the request and smiled benevolently. "Of course, Harry. We don't want to draw undue attention, so she won't be able to visit the castle earlier than Thursday, but I will ask her to arrive in time for you to speak with her after your last class.

That would leave no time at all if she wasn't willing, which might have been the point, but given the scarcity of options, if she wasn't, more time wouldn't be much help. Hopefully it would be time enough to make sure that things wouldn't be too weird.

To Harry's relief, they moved on to a discussion about the requirements of the adoption, which were far more straightforward.

The most complicated part of it had been the scheduling, given the number of factors they had to consider, though everyone had agreed that the adoption should be treated as though it were part of the Fidelitās Dominō ritual and anchored on a moon phase.

The full moon was determined to be ideal since the demands of the adoption ceremony on the participants were almost entirely emotional, which would circumvent the complications wrought by Remus being unable to cast in 'werewolf' form.

They'd chosen Saturday, despite it being — for reasons Harry hadn't bothered to follow — the weaker anchoring position. The stronger was not until Sunday, but by performing the adoption on Draco's birthday, as soon as both of them could choose to do so, they hoped to minimize as much as possible the impact of the weeks of the ritual in which Harry and Draco had already spent unequal in status.

By the same token, acknowledging the Fidelitās Dominō as primary motivation for the adoption and placing it in a ritually significant position would — hopefully — counter any weakening of the adoption bond which might result from any suggestion of coercion.

Since this was entirely review, and Harry'd had no interest in the details the first time, it was unsurprising that his attention wandered, and he was hardpressed to hide a start as he realized something that should have been obvious. Birthdays meant birthday presents.

What in the name of Merlin does Harry Potter get Draco Malfoy as a birthday gift?

The most obvious possibility, something Quidditch-related, could be misconstrued as Harry thinking Draco needed help, which was not an impression he wanted to foster. Unfortunately, Harry was having trouble coming up with alternate ideas.

Just for a second, he tried to imagine going to Ron or Hermione for help and nearly choked trying to stifle a cough.

None of the birthday gifts he himself had received suggested possibilities. Neither the book he'd received from Ron (Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches) nor the Sneakoscope from Hermione would be at all suitable.

Remus had given Harry Sirus's watch for for his seventeenth birthday, but any sort of time piece was also out of the question. Remus had explained that it was a traditional gift for a wizard's coming of Age, which was definitely not the sort of tone he wanted in this situation.

That last did give him the idea to see what he could find out about traditional father/son gifts.

Knowing how steeped in tradition the wizarding world was, it would be strange if there weren't. Even Muggles had traditional gifts, be they as small as the Satsuma in the toe of a Christmas stocking (which Dudley had unfailingly thrown at Harry's head on Christmas morning).

Christmas gifts would be necessary, too, for Draco and for Snape, and Harry was equally short on ideas for those gifts as well. He had a gift for Remus, of course, but a gift for a godfather and one for a father were very different things.

Harry returned his attention to the present to find the desk piled in paperwork and the headmaster staring at him intently. "Everything alright, Harry?"

He nodded.

"Then we'll get straight to the paperwork." The older man leaned back in his chair. "It is possible to perform the adoption spell without the Ministry's involvement — and, indeed, is how adult reversion adoptions are usually performed. However, that often results in a lower level of commitment, particularly in cases when one or more participants are Muggleborn or -raised. The status of fosterling, for example, or apprentice would not be sufficient to satisfy the requirements of Fidelitās Dominō."

"Before the Ministry will recognize an adoption officially, adherence to certain protocols must be observed. Usually that includes a lengthy investigation by an adjunct office, though the Minister for Magic or Senior member of the Wizengamut may approve an application if expediency is necessary. In every case, however, the paperwork must be completed: it is the hallmark of a civilized society." His smile was a bit forced as he invited Harry to share the humour.

Harry was too worried to laugh. "What about Voldemort supporters who've infiltrated the Ministry?" He knew they hadn't all been cleared out.

"I'll simply forget to file it for a week or two." This time, the twinkle was much more natural.

The first form Harry was given was an official Request for Adoption. It had three parts — multiple choice, short and long answers — designed to make sure he'd considered the ramifications. "You'll need to bring it, completed, on Saturday."

The next stack of parchment was not nearly as thick, but it was similar enough to those he'd seen yesterday — the Gringott's seal was rather unmistakeable — that Harry knew he was being presented with another financial statement.

This time, it was Remus's. It was necessary documentation for filing the adoption, apparently.

"One of the Ministry's requirements is that petitioners confirm their financial stability before adoption. You must testify to its veracity, since you are, for all intents and purposes, his employer." Harry didn't really think of it that way, but it was technically true, especially since the work Remus did for Dumbledore wasn't exactly documented.

He picked up the top most parchment, which was a letter detailing the reasons for Remus's desire to adopt. He was careful not to mention Harry by name in his answers, just in case it fell into the wrong hands, but it would be obvious to anyone who actually knew either of them.

Harry rolled his eyes at the section explaining that lodging was included in his salary; that his employer had given permission to house his dependents, including a child; and that his employer was aware of Remus's werewolf status and any abnormalities of the child in question.

He skipped reading the rest, including the financial statement, and signed where indicated.

The forms did remind Harry that he had access to the Black heirlooms and that there might be something amongst them that Draco would like for his birthday. He'd have to talk to Remus about the idea — both to find out if there would be problems with a dominus giving a vectigal a gift from the latter's own family line and because with his greater familiarity with the estate, he might be able to suggest something appropriate.

That would give him time to think of another gift for Christmas.

Once they'd finished the paperwork, there wasn't enough time to make resuming their usual studies worthwhile, so Professor Dumbledore sent him off early. In addition to adding legitimacy to their need for a Saturday session, Harry would Floo from Dumbledore's office, and it gave Harry enough time to catch Professor Snape in the dungeons before lunch. He wove his way through the exiting students - second years, he thought, but not Gryffindor, so he couldn't be certain. He made sure he spoke before Snape could demand to know what he wanted. "You asked to see me, sir?"

"Hardly a question, Potter. Why else would you have bothered to detour via my office on your way to the Great Hall? Hurry up and close the door behind you." There was no surprise in his tone or expression, just a typical scowl and an abrupt wave.

Once the door was closed, he raised an expectant eyebrow at Harry. "I wanted to see you?" he asked dryly.

Harry nearly giggled and had a small coughing fit instead. "I think there's a problem with the bond."

Snape's expression lost any hint of humour.

Harry began explaining before the man began yelling. "All of a sudden this morning, I got this incredible sense of... well, wrong. It was — not me just this one spot — was cold and... not sharp exactly, but... brittle, maybe, and I knew it was about the bond — Draco. When I looked up, he was exactly where I knew he would be."

"What did the Headmaster say?"

"I, um, forgot to mention it, actually. It had settled, mostly, by the time first period began, I only remembered as I was heading down to the Great Hall." It was almost true.

"Did Draco have a similar reaction?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know."

"Did you ask?" The question was restrained, but somehow that only made it more dangerous.

"I tried but... he left and disappeared before I could catch him."

"What were you doing when the change occurred?"

Again, the tone was less accusatory than Harry would have expected, and he tried to keep the defensiveness out of his tone as well. "Just eating breakfast."

"And Draco?" By now Harry was certain his professor had figured out, or at least suspected, what the cause was, and was making Harry do the same.

"Talking to you." Harry clarified that before Snape thought he was being accused of anything. "It was just before he left."

Professor Snape nodded, then stared at him assessingly. "Why did you decide to host the holidays at headquarters?"

"There wasn't any other choice." It seemed like a change of topic, but Harry was familiar enough with this Slytherin's conversational traps to know that there must be a connection. "There's other properties but... some of them are blood-locked, others — no one's had a chance to check them for traps." Regardless of whether the properties he'd inherited were previously owned by Blacks or Potters, they'd been empty for far too many years to assume they were habitable, even if he could get past the warding.

"Where would you spend the holidays, given the choice?"

"Here." The 'of course' was silent, but he was sure Snape heard it anyway.

"And you signed Professor McGonagall's list?"

Harry nodded impatiently, eager to get to the explanation.

"I suspect doing so had a great deal to do with unsettling the bond." Harry was going to ask why, but Snape's expression suggested he should be able to answer that himself.

Thinking about it, the answer was obvious. "Because I don't want to leave for Christmas, the bond thinks Draco's doing something wrong."

"The bond does not think, but I believe that is what is causing your discomfort, yes."

"Will that cause problems? Regardless of how much I want to stay, I do know that Grimmauld Place is the only option we have."

"You said it has since settled?"

"It's not entirely gone, but nearly. It's a manageable itch."

Professor Snape nodded. "Without a compelling reason to stay, that is indeed the best option, no matter how much we all might wish it otherwise. It's a shame your situations aren't reversed."

Harry might have taken offence to that, but it wasn't said maliciously, and, to a certain extent, he even agreed.

Harry's level of discomfort remained constant during lunch. He'd hoped to signal Draco and speak with him, but there was no sign of him in the Great Hall. Harry even left the Great Hall early in hope of finding him, without luck. He loitered outside the Potions classroom as long as he dared, but eventually, he had to find his seat and pull out his materials. Snape might be less abrasive in how he treated Harry these days, but 'less' was still relative. Draco arrived even later, sliding into his seat just as Professor Snape began lecturing.

"Today, you will be continuing your work on the Animāre Potion. By this point, you should have met with partner to discuss the elements and ingredients you will be using for the base. If you have not yet done so, you may speak with your partner quietlyonce the others have begun brewing." Several students made sounds of surprise — Snape was not normally so forgiving — but Harry was not one of them. He waited for the sting in the tail. "At the expense of ten percent of your final grade."

Several gasps were audible.

"Not that I expect success, even from those of you who have made a token effort: despite this being N.E.W.T. level Potions, I have come to accept that Hogwarts students are lazy. Failure will — it can be hoped — impress upon you the magnitude and severity of the task before you."

As they obtained their ingredients and set up their workstations, tasks that generated enough noise to cover minimal discussion, though it wasn't nearly loud enough for Harry to risk speaking with Draco about the bond. Most of the students took advantage of the opportunity to consult quickly with their partners, but Harry'd actually read Draco's notes and done the preliminary work for his potion – a good thing, too, since Draco seemed intent upon ignoring him.

They were still being watched by spies and by the students generally, and giving Harry a cold shoulder would only help deflect suspicion, but it wasn't a strategy they'd discussed. Harry wondered why Draco was so distant; unless... Had Harry done something to offend him? He thought things had gone well the day before — they'd worked their way through a couple of conversational tangles without drawing much blood — but maybe Draco felt differently. Harry worried about that as he gathered the brewing ingredients he would need, but once he was settled at his work station next to Draco, Harry had more pressing concerns.

The longer he was next to Draco, the more difficulty he had keeping an acceptable distance between them. The bond's solution to resolving the tension from breakfast — or maybe to relieving Harry's worry — seemed to be to decrease their proximity. Feeling as though he were being drawn closer to Draco by a magnet, Harry tried desperately not to fidget and to keep his mind focussed as he prepared ingredients and began assembling his potion.

Harry hoped the bond wouldn't interpret his refusal to move as a rejection of Draco or the bond. he wasn't happy about it, of course, that was due to the necessity of it and the reasons for it, not because the vectigal was Draco, who was having a difficult enough time under the circumstances and shouldn't be blamed for the fact that Harry hated being forced to spend the holidays at Grimmauld Place. His contemplations were interrupted by a low hiss.

"Potter!" Draco whispered sharply, obviously not for the first time. "Pass me the fluxweed, would you?"

"Oh. Yeah, sorry." Harry thought he was prepared, but as soon as their hands touched, the bond spasmed violently. He jerked in reaction, knocking over the small bowl of holly berries and scattering them across the table.

Seemingly unaffected, Draco glared at him and knelt to pick up the ones that rolled onto the floor. Harry watched him closely as he leaned into the aisle that separated them from the next workstation. The other boy was too far away. He needed to keep Draco close. He was too far away.

The shock of the thought was just enough to keep Harry from acting on it, and before Harry lost control of himself entirely, Draco moved back to the floor near Harry's feet. Once he did, the sense of urgency eased, for which Harry was grateful. Unfortunately, Draco's neck was nearly at the height of their work station, not far from where a number of the berries had spilled, and Harry's vision blurred. The trail of bright red berries merged into a solid line, looking far too much like a ribbon. TheRibbon. The one that should be around Draco's neck.

Thinking that — feelingthat — generated a coil of icy fear that was nearly swallowed by self-loathing. He stood, staring at the berries in horror until Draco swept them into their bowl and put it down on the table with a shade more force than necessary and another wordless glare at Harry.

Shaken, Harry returned to chopping mistletoe leaves. That was nothim. He was not going to let himself be that person. Snape — who was both the most likely to watch for and notice signs that Harry was in danger of abusing his position of power and the most likely to confront Harry if he were — was confident that Harry could resist the temptation. He held that thought for several long, deep breaths.

Harry was notgoing to become the creature from the Nightmare.

Determined, he moved to tip the mistletoe into the cauldron, but Draco caught his hand. "That needs to be crushed, not chopped," he said curtly.

Harry was forced to clamp down on the bond again, hard, but the realization of what he almost did gave him the strength to do so. He might not be as adept at potions as Draco, but even he knew that adding chopped mistletoe to a potion containing an infusion of dragon's blood would cause an explosion of sparks.

"What's wrong with everyone today?" Draco asked in exasperation, "Turpin's spending more energy flirting with Boot than brewing, Granger's been so busy sneaking glances over here that she still hasn't added the Blue Lily, and you're trying to get us killed. "

Before Harry could think of an answer he could share, he had one hand on his wand, casting a shield, and the other on Draco, pulling them both down. Some instinct or the bond, perhaps, but whichever it was was screaming, and the message was DANGER!

Wherever it came from, the warning was well-timed, because before Draco could even ask him what he was doing, a cauldron exploded on the other side of the room. To make matters worse, the ensuing spatter triggered an explosion in the cauldron next to it, setting off a chain of explosions around the room.

Draco cast a Bubble-Head Charm on each of them when it became evident that Harry's shield was protecting them from flying ingredients and Potions, but it was being penetrated by unidentifiable fumes.

When the air cleared and they stood to survey the damage, the biggest surprise was that it hadn't been any of the Gryffindor/Slytherin pairs that had triggered the blast: the point of origin had been Mandy Brocklehurst and Susan Bones' cauldron. It wasn't the most spectacular Potions disaster Harry had ever witnessed — Neville would doubtless hold thatrecord for years — but it was close.

Unsurprisingly, Snape snapped.

Half the class hadn't had time to neutralize their potions, let alone clear their work spaces and pull out parchment and ink before Snape began to lecture, rapid fire. They scrambled, trying to get caught up, knowing that, while they wouldn't be brewing the potion he was describing until after the break, the lecture would not be repeated, and any imperfectly brewed potions would be graded even more harshly than usual.

Draco knelt as though he were cleaning spill on the floor, a necessary task for those who hadn't shielded as Harry had, and used the cover provided by the desk to set out on the floor a roll of parchment and an automated quill that Harry assumed was set to record truthfully.

After the afternoon's rather disastrous N.E.W.T. Potions class that should but doubtless wouldn't be enough to impress upon the students the importance of being able to work together — there was a reason for the pairings after all — Severus asked Draco and Harry to remain.

Before Severus could phrase the question diplomatically, Harry blurted, "Did you feel something... odd with the bond this morning?"

"What? You felt something?" Draco wasn't panicking, but it was close.

Harry reached out as though he were going to rest a calming hand on Draco's shoulder, but he aborted the gesture. Severus was reasonably certain that Potter was positioned sufficiently behind Draco that the movement had gone unnoticed. Hopefully.

"I thought something had happened." Harry placed his arms defensively, Snape noted, and spoke quickly—guiltily? "I felt something go off, sort of. Change. Which is why I asked. But everything seems fine now, just something's a bit different."

"It happened during breakfast?"

Harry nodded. "Just before you left the Great Hall."

"I thought it was just me. I hoped it was reacting to the idea of what would happen if I did go home." That defeated look was out of place on his godson, who was usually so confident and optimistic, and it had appeared all too often these last few weeks.

This time, however, Severus's sympathy was limited, since the agonizing could have been avoided if he'd hadn't been so determined to avoid Harry and Severus himself. He kept his opinion to himself, for the moment at least, knowing that it was in the best interest of both boys that they have this conversation without interference.

"Because you always stay, the bond is reacting to the possibility that I might be leaving, isn't it?"

"That's what we thought, too."

"Did Dumbledore think there'd be any lasting damage or effects?'" Draco asked.

Harry dropped his gaze, flustered, defensive. "I didn't mention it."

Draco looked at Harry curiously. Since it was not the time to address Harry's complicated relationship with the Headmaster, Severus interjected, reminding them of the need to be in the Great Hall for dinner.

He knew the corridor was dark and long, though the grey shadows that served as light gave no impression of distance.

There was sound — laughter? — coming from so far away that he couldn't be certain he wasn't imagining it. He persevered, stealthily, as near to silently as he could, hoping to find that elusive prize.

There were doors, he noticed once his eyes adjusted, on either side of the corridor. Most of them were closed, locked, silent. He didn't waste time trying to get in, knowing that he was no better off alone in an empty room than he was now.

There was another burst of laughter, closer now, and he ran, mindless of the dangers that might be lurking.

He stumbled in horror when he recognized the nasal tittering and braying chortles of the Dursleys.

There was an open door further down, light spilling into the hall, and he knew that was where he would find them. He approached carefully, hoping not to be noticed.

It didn't matter.

They weren't paying him the slightest bit of attention. They were all sitting around the kitchen table, Dudley entertaining them with a tale accompanying his words with elaborate pantomiming. He couldn't tell for certain, but Harry thought the story involved his Smeltings stick from the gestures.

He watched the scene for several moments; there was something wrong with it, he knew, but he couldn't identify what.

He slid against the wall to the floor and sat there for a few moments, the shards of laughter shredding his soul.