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See disclaimer in Chapter 1. I own nothing but a dirty mind and a laptop.

Thanks to Avana65 and FaeryQueen07!

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January 1999

Draco woke up in a pool of sweat, damp sheets tangled around him. His chest rose and fell quickly as he sat up, rubbing his eyes to try to eradicate the last images of his nightmare. A glance at the clock showed it was just after 2 a.m., which meant he'd only gotten about an hour of sleep. He sighed, hauling his aching body out of bed. He knew from experience that there would be no getting back to sleep. Not with Vince's dying screams echoing in his ears.

A few weeks earlier, he'd have thrown on his dressing gown and gone to see if Harry was awake. It had become something of a routine between the two of them, ever since Harry had helped Draco conquer his fear of flying and coaxed him back onto a broom. They'd spent many nights flying in Hagrid's meadow, sharing Harry's seemingly bottomless collection of Chocolate Frogs and letting the frosty night air exhaust them and drive all vestiges of the nightmares that plagued both of them from their minds.

Of course, he couldn't do that tonight, for a variety of reasons. He walked to the window, uncaring of his nudity, and looked out over the snow-covered Manor grounds. He hadn't expected to be allowed to return home over the Yule break. His probation required him to stay on Hogwarts grounds at all times, and the Ministry official who oversaw it was a stickler for the rules. He knew the man considered his punishment to be insufficient, but the request for probation and time served had come from the Minister himself – at the behest of Harry Potter, no less – and couldn't be ignored. So while his fellow Death Eaters languished in Azkaban, Greg included, Draco walked relatively free, confined to a different sort of prison.

Draco snorted bitterly, caving to the cold and grabbing a soft cashmere throw from the foot of the bed to wrap around himself. He paced the luxurious room, both amused and irritated by the irony of his situation. He'd begged to be confined to the Manor, to serve the same sentence as his mother. After the Wizengamot had declared he would return to Hogwarts, he'd spent days pacing this same rug, desperately wishing he didn't have to go back to the place that most reminded him of the death and violence of the war.

Now, though, he was under orders of a different sort. His wish had been answered, albeit several months too late. The spring term had begun three days earlier, but Draco hadn't been on the train. No, he'd been taking tea in the sun room with a stone-faced Auror whose job it had been to make sure he and his mother stayed put while wards were laid around the Manor that would prevent him from leaving – the same sort of wards that imposed his mother's house arrest.

"Is Master Draco wanting light?"

He waved the small house-elf off, slightly annoyed at the intrusion. The only reason he'd been allowed a wand was so he could keep up with his class work, and now that the terms of his probation had been altered, there was no cause to let him keep it. His dour-faced parole officer had been downright giddy when he'd come to confiscate it; it had been the closest Draco had ever come to seeing the man smile.

He didn't know how his mother stood it; trapped in their own house, unable to cast even the simplest of charms. Without the house-elves, they wouldn't have been able to do so much as light the sconces or heat water; everything at the Manor ran on charms and spells. It was due to his father's magical arrogance, of course, and things could be retrofitted to work the Muggle way if necessary, but since the Ministry had locked down the Malfoy family vaults, even that couldn't be done easily.

"Thank you, but no."

The elf nodded, bowing low in front of him.

"Ibsy can be making hot tea, if Master wishes."

"I don't require anything. Truly, Ibsy. Good night."

Ibsy bowed again, watching Draco with large, sad eyes before disappearing. The elves had noticed a marked change in both Draco and Narcissa since the end of the war, but the overwhelming sadness that now surrounded Master Draco had them all worried. Even Mistress Narcissa, who still grieved for Master Lucius' presence every night, wasn't as haunted as her son.

Draco slumped in his desk chair, rifling haphazardly through the drawers until he found what he'd been searching for. When his fingers closed around the hard plastic he felt a pang run through him. He shouldn't have brought this back with him, but he'd been unable to help himself. He clenched his jaw, wondering if he'd ever be free of Harry and his influence. If he ever wanted to be free of Harry.

As the first strains of music drifted through the headphones, Draco leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes and remembering the first time he'd seen the device he now held in his hand.

He and Harry sat shoulder-width apart on the floor of the common room, studiously ignoring the couple snogging on the sofa above them. Draco wasn't attracted to either of its occupants in the slightest, but that didn't prevent his trousers from growing tighter as the sounds grew more enthusiastic.

He glanced over at Harry, wondering if the other boy was similarly affected. Harry showed no sign that he had noticed that Dean and Ginny had long ago stopped even the pretense of studying. Draco let a sigh of frustration slip through his lips. He'd used the insult "puritanical Potter" more than once over the years, and he was beginning to wonder if it had been more on the mark than he'd realized.

But then Harry shifted, revealing a strange black cord that seemed to be tucked into his ears. Curious, Draco leaned over, tugging on it. What could only be described as a small speaker fell out, and Draco could hear faint strains of music emanating from it.

Harry grinned, pulling a flat, square object out of his sweatshirt pocket and displaying it for Draco.

"It's a CD player. Hermione figured out how to make them work here."

Draco scooted closer, closing the gap between them. He took the ear bud, resting it against his own ear. He'd listened to a few of the albums in Harry's rather impressive collection, apparently all purchased over the summer when he'd taken to hanging out in Muggle record shops to escape the dreariness of Grimmauld Place.

Draco wasn't familiar with the song, but the suggestive lyrics made his lips quirk. Perhaps Harry wasn't so puritanical after all, if he could listen to songs like this without blushing.

"Is this about Animagus sex?" Draco asked, smirking at the way his question made Harry choke.

"No! It's a Muggle."

"A Muggle who likes bestiality, then?"

"Of course not!" Harry protested, pushing a button on the CD player to stop the track. Draco grinned unrepentantly, pulling the ear bud out of his ear and handing it back to Harry. "It's just a song."

"A rather explicit song about sex," Draco prodded, drawing a laugh from the sofa.

"Were you listening to Nine Inch Nails again, Harry?" Ginny asked, her hair falling into Draco's face as she sprawled over the arm, looking at them upside down.

"He listens to NIN when he's feeling sexually frustrated," she confided to Draco in a mock-whisper that Harry could clearly hear.

"Ginny!"

Ginny grinned, which looked even more sinister upside down, and then started to squeal with giggles when Dean grabbed her by the ankles and pulled her fully back onto the cushions.

"They clearly do not listen to Nine Inch Nails," Draco said, wrinkling his nose when Ginny's giggles turned into a quiet moan.

"No, they do not." Harry laughed, shoving his books back into his bag. "My room?"

Tears pricked the back of Draco's eyelids at the memory. He ran his thumb over the CD player, wishing it was Harry's skin instead. He hated himself for feeling this way. Hated himself. Even knowing that everything he felt for Harry was likely manufactured by the bond between them, he couldn't help but want to be close to the other boy. That was the reason for his exile at the Manor. The Unspeakables and Healers hadn't been able to find any conclusive proof that Harry wasn't somehow controlling him, and until they could get to the bottom of what was happening, Harry and Draco weren't allowed to communicate at all.

He'd overheard a Healer at St. Mungo's, where he'd been taken for a battery of tests after Harry's confession, saying that the Ministry worried Harry had the potential to become a new Dark Lord. Draco doubted that was true, especially since Kingsley Shacklebolt was firmly on Harry's side. And the idea that Harry could ever be anything dark or evil was, frankly, laughable.

Draco let himself drift on the edge of sleep, listening to the rest of the CD. Harry had lent it to him a few days before everything had blown up, and Draco had tucked it into his bags as he'd packed up his room, knowing he should return it but unable to give back the only memento of Harry he had. The music was dark and angry, but it soothed him nonetheless.

He hadn't expected to sleep but fell into a restless slumber anyway, already out before the CD player went quiet after the last song. The next time he woke, he found himself hard and horny, ripped from a dream about Harry by the first rays of light cutting through the darkness outside his window. He growled wordlessly, grabbing his blanket and sprawling back on the bed. When his aching erection made it impossible for him to fall back to sleep, he wrapped his hand around it, pumping it teasingly as he wracked his mind for images from the fading dream.

The shower. He and Harry had been in the shower. Draco rolled out of bed, hoping indulging himself in part of the dream would bring the rest back. His suite of rooms had a well-appointed bathroom with an enormous soaking tub, but he bypassed that, cock still in hand as he stepped into the tiled shower and turned the water on. The spray was cold at first but quickly warmed, and he let the water sluice over him as he leisurely stroked himself, flashes of his dream coming back, just as he'd hoped.

Harry's lips on his neck, his teeth sharp against his skin. Harry's hands roving over his body, somehow managing to feel even warmer than the steamy water that was coursing over both of them. The insistent press of Harry's cock, slipping between his arse cheeks and sliding against his soapy skin, rubbing teasingly against his entrance.

Draco moaned, his legs going weak as he fisted himself. Instinctively he reached a hand out to brace himself against the shower wall, breathing in the sandalwood-scented steam as he gasped for breath, his hand gliding along his soap-slicked cock with increasing speed. He arched his neck, imagining the droplets of water that pounded against his flesh were actually Harry's fingers caressing him as he soared higher toward his climax.

He squeezed his eyes shut, his desperation to regain the sensations of the dream rising as his strokes became rougher. More images tumbled through his mind, mixing memory and dream. Harry's lips, swollen and red after they'd snogged. The rasp of Harry's stubble against his cheek, slightly sharp and deliciously foreign, since he'd never been with anyone who hadn't used spells rather than razors to shave. Harry's eyes, pools of black edged in vibrant green, as he came. Draco hissed out a breath, the images stuttering as he recalled what had happened directly after he'd seen that expression on Harry's face.

Draco tugged at his cock mercilessly, willing the images from his latest dream to the forefront of his mind. He was so close, nearly there. His muscles tensed in anticipation of his orgasm, the heat that had been growing in his belly and radiating out toward his limbs, almost ready to explode. Harry's stricken face faded from his mind, replaced by the sensation of smooth skin pressed against his back. Draco raised the arm that was braced against the wall, letting his forehead rest against the cool, wet tile, just as it had been in the dream. He angled his feet, sliding his legs further apart as though giving access to an unseen partner.

He let out a choked breath as he passed the point of no return, his orgasm cresting at the same moment he imagined Harry's fingers sliding into his arse, the burn as the muscle stretched to accommodate the blunt digits sending him slamming over the edge, painting the wall with his release as he sobbed out Harry's name, pumping violently into his fist.

Draco let his hand fall away from his spent cock, leaning heavily against the wall. His surroundings slowly came back to him as the thrum of his pulse in his ears began to fade. The steady tattoo of the water drumming around him, the slight itch of skin that had been exposed to hot water for too long. He took a deep, calming breath, pushing off from the wall and turning the water off.

One of the house-elves had been in while he'd been otherwise engaged, as was apparent from the stack of spell-warmed towels sitting on the bench outside the shower. He snagged one, roughly toweling himself dry and then wrapping it around his waist. The stone floor was cold under his bare feet as he padded over to the vanity, running a hand over his own stubbled jaw. Harry had been the first wizard he'd ever known to shave the Muggle way, but he wasn't the last. Not now that Draco couldn't even use magic for the most basic of tasks.

Draco sighed, reaching for the razor the house-elves had acquired for him. Life without magic was bad enough, but life without Harry was turning out to be even worse. As much as Draco wanted to hate the other boy for the bond he'd inadvertently forced on him, part of him was soothed by it. He'd been thrust into the service of a madman by his father, but at least the bond had been forged with someone he loved. Of course, he had no way of knowing if that love was influenced by the Mark or not.

Draco gritted his teeth, lathering his face with the shaving cream that had appeared in his vanity at the same time as the razors. His mind was so jumbled lately that he wasn't sure of much, but he was certain of one thing. He couldn't continue this way.

***

"I don't see why you're asking me," Harry said, scrubbing his face tiredly. "I'm not even allowed to send him owls."

Kingsley pushed a form across McGonagall's desk, pointing to the box for Harry's signature.

"You're the only one who can grant him permission," he said patiently. They'd been through this, but Harry seemed resolute in his determination to pretend like the slave bond between himself and Draco didn't exist.

"I don't even know why he wants to go. You're the one who put him on house arrest. Surely you can grant him permission to visit Azkaban?" Bitterness seeped into Harry's tone, and the Headmistress cleared her throat, gently reminding him that he wasn't just speaking to Kingsley, he was speaking to the Minister for Magic. He blew out a breath, gathering his thoughts. "I'm sorry. I just don't understand what keeping us separated accomplishes."

Of course, Harry had no inkling of whether or not Draco would even want to see him. The last conversation he'd had with the blond had been his rather unfortunate blurting of the situation in the infirmary. Healer Bachir had whisked Draco away shortly after that, shuttling him to St. Mungo's for tests. The Unspeakables had stepped in after that, gaining the Minister's approval to rescind Draco's probation and keep him sequestered at the Manor. The official line was that they were doing it because the implications of Harry's bond to Draco were unclear, but Harry could see the distrust in their eyes as they'd put him through yet another round of tests and diagnostic spells. They were afraid of him. It hurt him more than he was willing to admit to see the same unease in Kingsley's eyes as he looked at him now.

"To be honest, I don't know either, Harry. But my top advisors are telling me it's necessary, and I'm trusting their judgment." Kingsley sighed. "He wants to see his father. He seems to think Lucius Malfoy can shed some light on some of the unanswered questions everyone has about the slave bond that links you two through his Mark."

Harry reached for a quill, signing his name on the line.

"Was that so hard? All you had to do was tell me why."

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Shorter chapter, I know, but that's the way the plot bunnies break. *grins* More tomorrow!