***
See disclaimer in Chapter 1. I don't own 'em.
This story was commissioned by Avana65 and beta'd by FaeryQueen07: You ladies rock!
***
Harry had been long gone by the time the water had run cold and Draco had finally stepped out of the shower. The blond had dressed quickly, casting a Cleaning Charm over his Quidditch trousers and sliding into them, ignoring the way the thought of why he'd needed the charm in the first place made his belly heat.
Instead of racing back to the castle, he'd decided a good, long fly might help him make sense of what had happened. As someone who had kept intimate tabs on Harry Potter for years – though mostly out of spite and animosity, until recently – he had easily been able to see the fear that had been laced through the embarrassment and arousal in Harry's eyes after their romp in the locker room.
Draco had to admit that although what Harry had done to his Dark Mark had been sexy as hell, it was also a bit worrying. He hadn't seen another Marked Death Eater since the trials ended in August, but he distinctly remembered his father's Mark had been faded. The image of his once-proud father dressed in a prison jumpsuit, usually shiny hair lank and dirty, Mark put purposefully on display by the Wizengamot, was burned into his memory.
Suddenly anxious to look at his own Mark, Draco brought his broom in for a bumpy landing near the Whomping Willow. Carefully dodging its flailing branches, he darted toward the front entrance, brushing past a group of first years who had been poking at the tree with one of its own sticks.
Draco clattered down the stairs, skillfully hopping over the disappearing step that often tripped his housemates who weren't used to living in the dungeons yet. He skidded to a stop in front of the portrait that guarded the dorm, delivering the latest password without his customary smirk.
"Vis venia est reproba venia."
The man in the portrait regarded him coolly but slipped to the side all the same, allowing him passage. Draco didn't doubt that the passwords the prefects set were reported directly to the Headmistress, but when McGonagall had failed to punish them for their first subversive password in late September, they'd progressively been getting worse. The latest one, which translated to "forced forgiveness is false forgiveness," a direct jab at the name the Headmistress had given their dorm, had actually been Hermione's idea.
When the first face he saw as he stepped into the common room was Blaise's, he breathed a sigh of relief. He caught the other boy's eye, inclining his head toward his room slightly. Blaise nodded, his attention still seemingly on the Arithmancy book open on the table in front of him. Pansy was blathering on about the unfairness of Charlie Weasley preferring men – something Ginny had delighted in telling her after finding out the former Slytherin had designs on her brother – leaving her oblivious to Draco's entrance or the rather obvious distress in his expression.
"I'm serious, Blaise," she said, lower lip pouting. "First Draco, now Charlie Weasley? Can you believe it? What's next? Harry Potter proclaiming he likes to take it up the arse, too?"
Blaise smirked. He rather thought Harry Potter would prefer being on the other end of things. At least, he hoped he would, knowing that in Draco's rather limited sexual experience, he'd found he preferred to be the bottom. Not that Blaise had first-hand knowledge of Draco's preferences, but he'd shared a dorm with him for years, and the blond's Silencing Charms had always been horrible.
"Are you even listening to me?" Pansy's shrill tone made Blaise cringe internally, but he masked his annoyance with a small, placating smile.
"Of course I am, Pans," he said, making a show of rifling through his stack of books. "Damn. I forgot my copy of Elemental Equations."
Pansy reached into her bag to pull out her own book for him, but Blaise was already standing.
"No, it's alright. I have some notes in the margins of mine. I think Draco borrowed it. I'll be back."
He disappeared into the blond's room, giving the door only a cursory knock before opening it and striding in, closing it quickly behind himself. Even if Pansy had wanted to follow, he knew she couldn't; Draco's wards only allowed a few people to pass through, and she was not among them.
Draco was hidden behind an open armoire door, a trail of Quidditch clothes on the floor.
"Flying again? What is that, the fifth time this week?"
Draco peeked his head around the door, stepping out as soon as he'd pulled on a pair of comfortably worn denims. His hair, which had still been wet from his shower when he'd hopped back on his broom, sent rivulets of cold water down his naked torso and back as it began to thaw.
"Are you alright?" Blaise asked, all trace of his teasing tone vanishing as he saw the look on Draco's face. The blond had his arm out, tracing the slightly raised Dark Mark that marred his pale flesh. "It's not hurting, is it? I mean, it doesn't do that anymore. Right?"
Draco shook his head and dropped his arm, grabbing a jumper that was draped over the armoire door.
"We, er, well."The words were slightly muffled as he pulled the material over his head, and once his mouth was free he blurted, "I wanked Harry!"
"While flying? Impressive." Blaise snickered, kicking a pair of boxers under the bed with the toe of his boot before settling on the bed.
"Be serious. Please."
Blaise's smile faded a bit at Draco's slightly edgy tone. He was obviously worked up, and if it had anything to do with why he'd been staring at his Mark, it probably wasn't good. They'd talked about Draco's fears that the Mark might prove too much for Harry to deal with, but that seemed unlikely, since Harry obviously knew Draco had it and Draco never made much effort to conceal it.
"What happened?"
"He liked it. I think. I mean, he was into it at the moment. And he did this thing with my Mark," Draco trailed off. "But afterward he was weird. Really, really weird."
"He was probably just in awe of your breathtaking skill," Blaise teased.
"Shut it. You're the slut, not me." Draco's grin faded. "He wouldn't even meet my eye afterward, Blaise."
"So the Mark didn't turn him off? You had your usual reaction to him touching it, I assume?"
Draco shook his head, a troubled smile playing across his lips as he remembered just how not turned off Harry had been by his Dark Mark. He resisted the urge to ruck up his sleeve and look at the Mark, which tingled slightly at the memory of Harry's tongue gliding across it, mapping its contours.
"He, uh, licked it."
Blaise couldn't help but laugh at Draco's awed tone and almost bashful grin. He'd never known Draco to be flustered, but that was the only word he could find to describe the way the blond was acting. It made sense, though. Harry was the only person who had ever managed to get under Draco's skin, which clearly translated to the romantic plane as well. Draco wasn't one to wax poetic about his sexual encounters, and it was amusing to see him so affected.
"Kinky." Blaise laughed when Draco glared at him. "Alright. So he licks it, in the unkinkiest way possible –" he snickered, drawing another glare from the blond. "– and you work your magic on Harry junior –" Draco covered his face with his hands, sighing. "– hey, you came to me, mate. So anyway, you two trip the light fantastic and then what? He bolts?"
"Not exactly," Draco said, sinking onto the bed next to Blaise. "But pretty close."
Blaise took pity on him, figuring Draco had probably been out torturing himself about what went wrong for awhile, since he'd seen Harry amble back through the portrait about an hour earlier.
"I doubt it was anything you did, and I'm sure everything's fine. Apparently he has some 'commitment issues,'" Blaise said, drawing air quotes around the words.
Draco let out a startled laugh, staring at his now clearly uncomfortable friend. In typical Slytherin fashion, they rarely admitted to having feelings, let alone talk about them. For Blaise to willingly enter into that type of conversation belied just how much he cared about Draco, and Draco knew it. For some indescribable reason, it made him feel just a little bit better.
"Commitment issues? And you know this how?"
"Because Ginny told me. We were starting to worry that the two of you would never go past snogging. And you don't need to worry. She says he's crazy about you."
The tightness in Draco's chest eased a bit more at Blaise's words.
"Ginny, eh? When did she become Ginny?"
Blaise leered at him, waggling his eyebrows.
"I suppose at some point between her putting her tongue down my throat and me putting my hand up her skirt," Blaise said with a smirk. "You've been too busy with Mr. Wonderful to notice, but Ginny and I started seeing each two weeks ago."
Draco couldn't believe he hadn't known that. Sure, he'd been caught up with Harry, but he hadn't realized they'd been that isolated from things.
"What else have I missed? McGonagall marrying a goblin? Pansy finally passing a Potions exam without cheating?"
Blaise laughed, tossing a balled up T-shirt at the blond.
"Don't be ridiculous. You know Pansy can barely brew a pot of lip gloss, let alone pass a N.E.W.T.-level Potions exam."
***
Hermione looked up from behind a towering stack of books, groaning when she caught sight of the clock. Already almost midnight, and she hadn't even started on the Arithmancy equations that were due the next day.
"I shouldn't keep you any longer," Harry said apologetically, correctly following her train of thought. "Just getting me pointed in the right direction is a huge help."
Hermione clucked her tongue, pulling a different dusty tome off the pile and opening it to the index. Most of what they'd been able to find on Protean Charms dealt with the lighter applications of the spell, like the coins she had charmed for the D.A. in fifth year. So far she hadn't unearthed anything that could shed any light on the phenomenon Harry had described.
"Don't be ridiculous," she chastised.
Harry blew out a breath, setting aside his own book.
"This could take forever," he said, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. "And there's no guarantee there even is an answer. I – I just need to know."
Hermione nodded, still engrossed in her book. She reached out, laying a hand over Harry's and giving it a squeeze. She hadn't been surprised when he had come to her yesterday and told her he and Draco were becoming romantically involved. Hell, even Ron had seen that coming weeks ago. What had surprised her was Harry's description of the way Draco's Dark Mark had responded to him, as well as the strange attraction that Harry had said almost irresistibly lured him to touching and speaking to the tattoo.
"I don't think there's any chance Voldemort is still alive, Harry," she said softly, squeezing his hand once more before letting it go and turning the page. "You'd know if he was. I believe that. I really do."
Harry nodded, a familiar sick sense of dread creeping through him. The fear that Voldemort wasn't truly gone had plagued him frequently after the war ended, and it still resurfaced from time to time now, months later. Every time he had a flare of anger or a dark thought, his mind immediately flashed to the Horcrux that had been stored inside him, wondering if some part of Voldemort had remained. He'd always been able to convince himself it was ridiculous – until now.
"It was almost like a compulsion." Harry's eyes slid shut as he remembered the way Draco's Mark had come alive under his lips. He'd felt so drawn to it, so connected with it.
"You've said," Hermione noted wryly, amused at the dreamy look on Harry's face.
"Right." Harry cleared his throat, willing away the growing heaviness in his groin.
She marked her place with a spare quill, closing the heavy volume she'd been studying with a loud thump. Harry jumped slightly, startled at the way the noise echoed through the otherwise empty library.
"I'm for bed, I think," she said, stretching her aching back and standing. All N.E.W.T. students were given their own study carrels in the library, which meant she could leave the books there and not worry about Madam Pince reshelving them while she still needed them.
"I'll stay a bit longer," Harry said, propping his head against his hand as he chose yet another book.
"You will go to bed, right?" She squeezed his shoulder, frowning at how tense the muscle under her hand was.
"Always do," he said absently, jotting down notes from the latest chapter. He could feel the heat of her glare even without looking. "Eventually."
A sharp gasp from Harry cut off the reprimand that had been forming on Hermione's tongue. She dropped her bag, hurrying back to his side so she could read over his shoulder. It was one of the books she'd taken from the Restricted Section, which was no longer off limits to the entire student body. McGonagall believed making the subjects discussed in those books "forbidden" would lead to even greater curiosity, so she'd allowed access to all students fifth year and above. Initially the dark, dusty wing of the library had been crowded with students, but the allure had worn off rather quickly for most. Still, it was Hermione's go-to place for research when the subject was Harry.
"There's such a small chance this could have happened." Hermione frowned, sinking into the chair next to him and pulling the book closer so she could read the rest of the passage. "You don't honestly think –"
Harry turned to her, green eyes standing out starkly on his too-pale face.
"That's exactly what I think," he whispered, words falling from lips that had gone numb with revulsion and shock.
***
Draco was afraid he was going spare. He hadn't been able to have a word in private with Harry since the locker room incident, which had been four days ago.
He'd waited until Harry had been missing for two days before appealing to Hermione, Ginny and even Ron for information, though his pleas had fallen on deaf ears. In his desperation, he'd even consulted Madam Pomfrey, knowing that as his apprentice mentor, she'd likely know exactly where he was. She'd done nothing more than offer him a sad smile and send him back to class, which only increased his concern.
On Wednesday, an announcement was made in the Great Hall at breakfast that Harry was safe and well but that unforeseen circumstances had required him to take a short break from classes. Even Blaise hadn't been able to coax any information out of Ginny, aside from the admission that Harry was not ill and was still on Hogwarts grounds, even though he was no longer sleeping in the dorm.
Rumors abounded, but they were all so laughable that Draco didn't pay them any mind. The most virulent rumor was that Harry had been caught out having an affair with one of the professors –gossipers believed Professor Sinistra, the youngest on the staff by at least a good two decades, was the most likely candidate – and had been threatened with suspension by McGonagall if the relationship didn't end. Another particularly popular one claimed Kingsley Shacklebolt was stepping down from his post and Harry had been tapped to be the next Minister for Magic.
But it wasn't until Thursday afternoon, when Draco was trolling the infirmary, hoping to find Harry in one of his apprentice lessons with Madam Pomfrey, that he began to wish he'd paid more attention to the gossipers. Draco had found the popular rumors that the dark-haired wizard had contracted some sort of incurable disease ridiculous until he entered the infirmary and saw Ismene Bachir, a Healer at St. Mungo's and one of the world's foremost experts on Dark spells, bent over a stack of parchment that was clearly marked with Harry's name.
Draco felt like all of the breath had been forced out of his lungs, a crushing weight of panic settling on his chest. Unable to stop himself and uncaring of the fact that he'd likely be punished for it, Draco burst into the infirmary, startling the Healer and bringing Madam Pomfrey running from her office.
"Are the rumors true, then? Is Harry –" Draco's voice broke, and he took a deep breath. "Is Harry sick?"
The Healer frowned at him, but Madam Pomfrey's stern expression softened. She stepped forward, wrapping an arm around his taut shoulders and guiding him toward the storeroom. Harry was inside, glasses low on his nose as he studied the fine print on a phial of bright green potion he'd just taken out of a box.
"Mr. Potter is hearty and hale, as you can see, Mr. Malfoy," she said, her lips pursing as she looked at Harry. "And I think this has gone on quite long enough."
Harry nodded, carefully returning the phial to its box and placing it on the table. Madam Pomfrey stood there a second longer, disappointment clear on her face. Harry was more dear to her than any student had ever been before, but his decision to avoid Draco instead of be honest with him had caused a few rows between them over the last few days, especially since Harry had been sleeping in the small quarters at the back of the infirmary reserved for visiting Healers.
"Take him back to your rooms, Harry," she said softly, laying hand on both boys' shoulders and urging them forward. "I'll answer any questions Ismene has about your medical history. She'll likely want to examine Mr. Malfoy soon."
Draco's confusion and concern grew another notch at her words, but he followed Harry wordlessly, sensing that whatever discussion they needed to have, it was best to follow Madam Pomfrey's suggestion and do it in private.
They barely made inside before Harry whirled around, slamming Draco against the door and kissing him so hard their teeth gnashed. Draco weathered the brutal assault in motionless shock for a few seconds before responding enthusiastically, his hands coming up to twist in Harry's robes, pulling him even closer.
Harry molded himself to Draco, running his palms over the other boy's face as he gentled the kiss. Draco could pinpoint the exact moment Harry's rational brain re-engaged, since the dark-haired boy went rigid and abruptly dropped his hands, fisting them at his sides so he wouldn't give in to the temptation to grab Draco again.
"Fuck," Harry muttered, squeezing his eyes shut. He took another step back, shoving his fisted hands into the pockets of the denims he wore underneath the opened Healer's robes he wore when working in the infirmary.
"Have you been here the entire time?" Draco asked, his breathing slightly irregular as he fought to control both his anger and his arousal.
"Yes." Harry's eyes blinked open, and Draco's stomach dropped at the sight of the anguish in the green depths. Harry sighed."No, that's not exactly true. I spent Monday morning at the Ministry, but the Unspeakables brought me back that afternoon. I've been here ever since."
"The Unspeakables?" Draco's throat went dry, and he swallowed convulsively to try to wet it. "Are you – are you alright?"
"Yeah," Harry said, ducking his head and breaking eye contact. "Yeah, I'm fine. I've been helping out more here in the infirmary, and I've been keeping up with all our coursework, too. Ginny and Hermione have been bringing it to me."
"Why have you been hiding out here, then?" Though the rest of the words went unsaid, Harry could clearly see the hurt and accusation on Draco's face when he looked up. Why do your friends know what's going on and I don't? Why didn't you say anything to me?
"It's complicated."
"'It's complicated,'" Draco mocked, his anger finally outpacing his worry. "Good thing I'm pretty fucking smart, then. I'm sure I can keep up."
"Draco –"
"You disappeared! I had no idea where you were, if you were hurt or sick. If you ran off because of what we did. The only way I knew you were even alive was because your friends still talked about you in present tense!"
"I'm sorry!" Harry exploded, his magic flaring and causing the torches on the wall to flicker. He growled, forcing himself to calm down. "I'm sorry. I didn't know what to do at first, and then the Ministry got involved and I got quarantined and I wasn't allowed to tell you. Not until now."
"You weren't allowed to tell me what?" Draco seethed, his own magic responding to the crackle of Harry's power surge.
"That I control your Dark Mark. That it has always been me, not Voldemort."
Draco took a stunned breath, his anger evaporating instantly.
"You – what?"
"Your Mark. It responds to me because I'm its focus, not Voldemort. He might have given it to you, but I'm the one it's tied to."
Draco clawed at the door, wrenching it open with such force that it banged against the stone wall. His Mark was tied to Harry? That explained why he'd felt such pleasure when Harry touched it, but what else did it mean? How was it even possible? Voldemort had been the one to brand his arm with the vile thing. He'd known what the true implications of it had been, even though he'd entered into it unwillingly. It was a slave bond, a –
"Sweet fucking Salazar," he breathed, backing through the archway and out of Harry's rooms. "You own me."
"I don't!" Harry protested, looking every bit as stricken as Draco. "I swear, I don't."
"That's what the Mark is. I thought I was free, since he was dead. But I'm not. I'm tied to you. You control me."
"No."
"All of this, was any of it real?" Draco whispered, feeling as though the bottom had fallen out of his world. "My attraction to you? Our friendship? Any of it?"
Harry would have given anything to be able to tell Draco what he wanted to hear, but he couldn't. Their research hadn't turned up the implications of the bond he shared with Draco through the Dark Mark. He hadn't been its originator – as near as the Unspeakables could tell, Harry had probably been asleep when Draco's Mark had been given. As best they could guess, Harry's connection to Voldemort had flared when the Dark Lord had been giving Draco his Mark, which required a forceful Legilimency attack that literally flooded the recipient's mind with images of his or her new master, compelling obedience and servitude to a focal point projected into the recipient's brain. If Harry had been present in Voldemort's mind at the time, it was possible the focal point Draco's Dark Mark had attached to was him, not the Dark Lord. Which meant that although Draco's Mark had acted like the other Death Eaters' Marks in terms of summoning and tracking him, it had never been able force a bond.
That power fell to the Mark's focal point. Harry.
***
More tomorrow!