Chapter 6

.o.o.o.o.o.

Draco spent the next several days in a feverish haze. He'd become so ill that he barely had the strength to leave his bed and pretend that nothing was happening. He hadn't been back to Hogwarts since that disastrous night, and he was sure that questions would soon arise from both the Hogwarts staff and his probation auror.

The date of Rookwood's Kiss came and went, sealing Draco's fate. If Rookwood was correct in his predictions then this curse would eventually consume him. How long that would take and how long he would have to suffer was the frightening unknown.

A part of him wished to tell everything to the authorities and hope they could cure him before it was too late, but he had a deep distrust of the current government, and he was one wrong move from becoming un-personed. A former Death Eater had no human rights. No one would bat an eye if he were to be dragged down into the Department of Mysteries, never to be seen again, where he might spend the rest of his life poked and prodded and experimented on. Anyone who thought that the Ministry was incapable of this simply hadn't lived a life bumping shoulders with the government's most powerful and corrupt.

He had only two choices now. He could accept his fate, or he could take matters into his own hands. There was still a chance that if he destroyed the Horcrux Potter was keeping, he could end this.

His father had kept an enchanted cabinet full of illegal spirits, and so on the night that Draco decided on for the confrontation, he downed a generous helping of some courage-enhancing gin. He then joined his mother for a mostly silent dinner. She seemed to notice his brooding. Her eyes stared at him, but he ignored her and drank his PepperUp potion, which had become one of the only things he consumed as of late, and to which he was becoming hopelessly addicted.

"Is everything alright, dear?" she asked cautiously.

"Mother, I need to borrow your wand tonight."

.o.o.o.o.o.

A cold rain lashed at the window of the small hut. The sky was dark already, even though the hour wasn't all that late. The days were getting shorter, but Harry found that he didn't mind. Like this, he didn't have to feel guilty about his drinking habit, which seemed to begin earlier and earlier in the evening the more time that passed.

Dinner might still be going on in the great hall, but Harry was already a bottle deep and he didn't care to see the concern in the eyes of the rest of the staff.

Harry had suspected for some time now that he was slowly going insane. This thing with Malfoy was what had proved it. His mind and his body were betraying him. His magic was like a barely contained storm, rattling at his insides, and though he had his suspicions at the cause of his ailment, he could not speak them aloud.

Voldemort was gone. That time was over. People were safe and happy once more. Harry would do anything to keep it that way, even if he had to destroy himself in the process.

With shaking fingers, he reached for the small, black stone sitting on the table aside his parchment. He held it in his palm for a moment, resisting the urge to use its innate power. He wanted to talk to someone... anyone that would understand. Sirius, Dumbledore, maybe even Snape... but they remained stubbornly out of reach in the realms of the dead.

He'd spoken to them all before. Over the summer, after he'd gone back into the forest to retrieve the stone he'd promised himself never to lay eyes on again. The lure was just too strong. Thereafter, every night he found himself entertaining a group, talking and laughing and drinking the hours away, reminiscing about old times, asking his parents what it had been like in the days before he'd been born, or discussing new product ideas with Fred, or delving into the struggles of lesson planning with Lupin.

But then he'd wake in the morning with a nasty headache and an empty hut. The bottles from the night before were all his own and he'd find himself terribly lonely once again, feeling as though there was a gaping hole in his chest where his heart ought to be, and every day the emptiness grew.

Harry had ceased to live in the real world with the conclusion of the war. He had retreated deep into himself, a shell of what he once had been. Becoming an auror and joining the daily grind had been so appealing when the war was on and when he longed for a normal life more than anything else. He should have known things could never be so simple.

The progression of a normal life disgusted him now. He saw everyone changing, everyone moving on as though none of it had ever happened, and he couldn't understand how it was possible. How did life just... continue?

The mind healer he'd visited briefly at Ginny's insistence had urged him to move past his grief, perhaps not revel in the guilt he felt for simply surviving, but Harry wasn't sure what he was feeling was grief. He was just… numb all the time.

He'd dumped the mind healer at the same time he'd dumped Ginny. Her mothering, and her attempts to help had become suffocating. It hurt to see the relief in her eyes when he'd ended it, though. He hadn't even considered that he'd actually become a burden to her.

Taking the job at Hogwarts had offered him an escape, a chance to live in a fantasy world of his own creation. Hogwarts was a place that seemed to exist out of time. He could walk the halls of the castle and pretend he was still in his first year, with no responsibilities and limitless freedom. He'd give anything to go back to that time, because now he had no higher purpose. He was a soldier, trained all his life for one thing, and now he was lost. There were no enemies left to fight aside from his own demons.

How could he have known that this emptiness... this purposelessness... would be more terrible than any dark lord?

His contact with his friends had become strained. He'd tried, over the first several months, to attend the ministry functions- the memorials, the reorganization efforts, the charity balls... some of which he was meant to be the guest of honor. It was all so shallow and insincere, a way for some rich wizard or politician to funnel money to himself or use the tragedy to further his political goals. And Harry, himself, could do little more than smile stiffly and drink until he'd been made an embarrassment. His friends attempted to wrangle him into parties at the burrow, or at the Leaky, but eventually he found himself declining those as well, if only to save himself from the discomfort that came with ending his relationship with Ginny.

There were only owls now, and Harry's responses were short and lacking of any real emotion.

He hadn't expected Malfoy, of all people, to be the exception. He'd spoken during the trial only out of a desire to pay his debt, ensuring that there was no more need for Harry Potter to associate with any member of the Malfoy family. But then, seeing them hunched and defeated and at the mercy of the Wizengamot, he'd been struck by an odd sort of sympathy- one that he'd not felt since the war.

Maybe he did have some kind of savior complex...

A bouquet of flowers seemed the least he could do to acknowledge Narcissa's efforts, and then it only took a quick word with the auror in charge of Draco's case to suggest he might best be kept out of trouble if his community service could be served at Hogwarts, and then, well, nudging Andromeda to bury the hatchet with her sister had been an easy ask, and of course Kreacher could only be happy serving an old, pure-blood family…

He found it easy to speak to Draco Malfoy. There were no risks, seeing as they'd never got on well with one another in the first place. Insulting him, toying with him... it was cathartic. It was familiar. It was how it used to be. As things had progressed, Harry found himself wanting to spend more and more time in the insufferable blonde's company. For some reason, these were the only instances where he still felt alive.

But the darkness chipping away at his soul had found a way even into that budding relationship. It had been more than two weeks since he'd attended the masquerade on All Hallow's Eve. His memory of the night ended with that kiss on the dance floor. It only resumed the following morning in the cold pumpkin patch, with Malfoy nowhere to be found. What had transpired between them? Had they fought? Had they shagged? It was eating Harry alive not to know.

Malfoy hadn't attempted to contact Harry since then, and neither had he shown up at Hogwarts for his community service. Harry's casual inquiry to Filch revealed that Malfoy was claiming to be sick, but this made Harry feel as though he was being purposely avoided, and it left him even more apprehensive as to what might have happened that night.

A knock sounded at his door, stiff and formal, but also strangely hesitant. Harry wondered who was bothering to come down from the castle to see him in such weather. He opened the door to find the very object of his musings clutching a drenched cloak around himself. His head was down and his shoulders were tense at first, but eventually he looked up at Harry through lashes that were misted with droplets of water. His eyes were stormy.

"Let me in, Potter," he commanded in that usual, arrogant tone. But somehow it lacked strength. Harry was dumbfounded for a moment- surprised, but not in an unpleasant way. Had Malfoy walked all the way from Hogsmeade? In the rain? Harry supposed the wards would have let him in without any issue since his community service technically allowed him to be on the grounds.

Harry stepped aside, letting the other man across the threshold. Malfoy appeared strangely defensive, circling the room for a moment as if making sure they were alone. He ripped the curtains shut over the window, blocking the view of the rainy castle in the distance. He was dripping water all over the floor and shivering lightly. Harry stifled a silly urge to cast a warming charm.

"Let me take your cloak," Harry said after an internal compromise. He reached out a hand, but Malfoy violently shied away from his grasp. Harry realized it had been stupid of him. The weird, magical anomaly between them was strongest when they were touching. He supposed that tonight would finally be the time to address it.

"Are you drunk, Potter?" Malfoy began nastily, wrinkling his nose and glancing at the table. Harry sighed.

"I'd offer you some, but I'm afraid I'm fresh out," Harry said, rubbing his hand over his face in a tired manner, "Look, if this is about the masquerade, you'll have to let me know what I did to offend you, because things seemed to be going well on the dance floor and I'm afraid I blacked out after that."

"I can't say I'm surprised," Malfoy responded with a bitter sneer that definitely raised some alarms in Harry's mind. Was it worse than he thought?

"Err… Sorry? I hope I didn't hurt you."

"Oh, Merlin!" Malfoy snarled, looking annoyed, "Just hand it over, Potter. There's no use hiding it from me anymore."

"Hand what over?" Harry asked, confused.

"If you refuse, I'll have no choice but to report you to the appropriate authorities," Malfoy continued in a low, dark voice.

"What are you talking about?" Harry said, blinking stupidly. Malfoy made a furious noise and whipped a wand from his cloak, leveling it at Harry.

"Don't even try to deny it. I was there in the room of requirement. I'm talking about the Horcrux, Potter! The Dark Lord's Horcrux!" the drenched man hissed. Harry sucked in a breath. The room felt cold all of a sudden, despite the fire burning and crackling in the hearth.

"Who told you about that?" Harry whispered after a beat of silence had passed. Malfoy was still trembling. The hand that wasn't pointing a wand at Harry was gripping his cloak so tight that it was white. His eyes were hard and determined.

"I have my ways of knowing things, Potter," he hissed. Harry narrowed his eyes.

"I don't think Ron or Hermione would have told you. Was it Snape? Or Bellatrix? You weren't really worth much in Voldemort's eyes so I don't think he'd have told you directly."

"Fuck you, Potter. You don't know the half of the things he entrusted me with," the blonde man responded. The strange desperation in his voice was eerily reminiscent of when Harry had found him in that Hogwarts bathroom in sixth year.

"If that was the case, Malfoy, then you'd already know that I destroyed all of the Horcruxes."

"There was… more than one?" Malfoy appeared a bit shocked and sickened at this. Harry couldn't help but grimace in dark satisfaction.

"All during seventh year that's what I was doing. Hunting down those rotten, festering pieces of soul one by one until there was nothing left. He's not coming back. I made sure of that. You and everyone else can rest easy."

Malfoy looked as though he wanted to believe this, and his wand wavered for a moment, but in the end he did not lower it.

"Either you are a liar, or you are incompetent, Potter. I know you have his Horcrux. I can feel it in your magic. You've kept one for yourself, haven't you? I cannot begin to understand why. I can only guess you liked the power it gave you. What would the ministry think if they knew?"

Harry was reeling from these words. These accusations. Malfoy didn't know what he was saying, and yet a small part of it was true, wasn't it? How Malfoy could simply sense it might have seemed strange initially, but it was impossible to deny that a strange bond had developed between them, intimately linking their magic. Was his terrible secret about to be outed by Malfoy, of all people?

"Even if I was hiding such a thing, why on earth would I hand it over to you, Malfoy?"

"If you won't destroy it, then I will," the wet, shivering man proclaimed. Harry was struck by the sincerity with which the words were spoken. The amount of rainfall on the roof built to a crescendo. A log fell in the fire, creating a puff of red cinders. The drip, drip of the water off of Malfoy's wet garments onto the floor was suddenly audible.

A strange calmness fell over Harry and he felt all the agitation leave him. His shoulders drooped as the suggestion took root. Yes. Malfoy was the answer. Malfoy could do it. It had to come from an enemy. A friend would not be capable. And he was so very tired. Tired of this pointless existence.

"You promise?" Harry asked quietly. Again, Malfoy seemed taken aback, as though he'd been expecting more arguments. He hadn't thought Harry would capitulate so quickly. "If I tell you where the last one is, do you swear to destroy it?"

Malfoy swallowed, and then nodded.

"Did you know that Horcruxes could take the form of another human being?" Harry began. Malfoy's expression did not change, but his wand hand nervously adjusted its grip. "Did you ever think it was weird that an average kid like me had such strong magic?" Harry took a step forward and watched the other man tense. "What about the parseltongue? Or how I always seemed to know what he was up to or what he was feeling?"

"Stay back, Potter."

"You say you want to destroy the Horcrux, so do it. You're looking at it. If you go to the Ministry with this, then I'll probably be locked up or killed. So just do it now. I suppose it would be better this way." Harry stepped forward until Malfoy's borrowed wand was nearly touching his chest. He held out his arms, leaving himself fully vulnerable. "I died in the forest and I'm not sure I've been fully alive since. Go on then, Malfoy. It's a fantasy fulfilled for you, isn't it?"

Malfoy was breathing hard. His wand hand was trembling again, but the look on his face was still determined. Harry felt so strangely at ease. He felt as though a massive weight had suddenly lifted from his shoulders.

But time passed and nothing happened.

"You'd be the one to finally put an end to everything," Harry goaded, "You'd be a hero. Isn't that what you always wanted?"

The determination fled from the other man's pale eyes and was replaced with hesitation. Seeing his hopes for a quick end fade, Harry leaned forward and grabbed Malfoy's wrist before he could lower the wand.

Another mistake made without thinking. The bond between them ignited, spreading warmth through Harry's veins, making his limbs tingle and his heart flutter. Draco's borrowed wand clattered to the floor and in the next blink, they were embracing. It was a messy, desperate and clumsy endeavor. Malfoy clutched him as though he were drowning and his harsh breathing became the only noise that Harry could hear. Harry felt a peculiar sensation- a strange tugging felt from deep within. Something was being pulled from him- extracted, leached. His magic?

"I need…" Malfoy gasped, "I need…"

"Take it," Harry growled, not at all sure of what was happening, but feeling an overwhelming desire to comply. Some base instinct in him wanted to give, to bestow and it felt good to surrender to it.

He wasn't sure how long they stood like that. It could have been seconds or hours, but time was oddly distorted. When the spell broke and Harry finally came back to himself, it was fully dark and the flames in the fireplace were only glowing embers. Malfoy was a limp, unconscious weight in his arms and a lazy satisfaction effused from them both, as though they had just emerged from a vigorous romp beneath the sheets.

"Malfoy?" Harry whispered. He jostled the other man, but he only received a content noise as a response. Harry, guiltily, realized he quite enjoyed the sensation of having someone in his arms.

This odd magic between them… there was definitely something dark about it. Harry didn't know what it was or where it had come from, but he found he didn't want to know. He didn't want this thing he had with Malfoy to end. It had been a long time since he'd embraced another human like this. A half year had already passed since his last awkward fumble with Ginny and Harry was starved for touch.

The affection and attention that others offered him was so often tainted with hero-worship. This… with Malfoy was something entirely new. There was somehow a deep understanding between them, lonely and despairing, like two people left behind in a rapidly changing world, clinging to one another because there was no one else. As well, there was a strong undercurrent of raw, sexualized desire so far removed from the innocent, romantic flings of Harry's past that it left his head spinning. Who knew that the building hunger to possess another man could be so dangerous and so thrilling. And whether these new feelings were borne from magic or not, Harry did not care. He wanted them all the same.

He carried his prize to the unmade bed on legs that shook with fatigue and the remnants of intoxication. Holding Malfoy to his chest and breathing deeply, it wasn't long before he joined the other man in blissed-out slumber.

.o.o.o.o.o.