A/N: There are a few directions that I can take this story in. Do you guys prefer more action? More intrigue? Some quidditch? Some cool stuff with magical creatures? There's a ton of setup for a potential love triangle, though I'm not the biggest fan of that. I have so many ideas sometimes and it's hard to pick. I'm sure you'll all be up for more smut, ya horny bastards. It's coming, I promise.

Chapter 13

.o.o.o.o.o.

The spells Hermione had taught him proved to be exactly what Harry needed. With only a flick of his wrist, all of the tedious transcription that was bogging him down was done instantaneously. After the notes were perfectly discernable, it was easy to put them in their proper order and begin to actually read them.

Rookwood was clearly obsessed with muggle Christianity, and Harry was suddenly very grateful that the Durselys had sent him to a religious primary school, or else he might not understand anything of what Rookwood was writing about. Apparently Rookwood's only mission in life had been to recreate an ancient set of rituals that were thought, by most Dark Arts historians and scholars, to be merely legend. Rookwood theorized that the man called Jesus Christ was the result of the use of this old and forbidden magic, which, when done correctly, could create a perfect clone with a perfectly duplicated and intact soul. Rookwood had called this process, 'Anima Infractum,' which Harry could guess might translate to 'unbroken soul.'

It was quite plain to see why this theory of Rookwood's would be both highly controversial, and of great interest to someone like Voldemort. Why the ministry might also be interested in such a thing, and why they would have allowed Rookwood to study it within their walls, however, was a mystery that Harry wasn't quite ready to think about. Rookwood himself didn't really make much mention of future implications for his work, and was more focused on simply proving his theory right.

And so Harry skipped over the exposition as much as possible and moved into the actual mechanics of the process. The magic was so complex and so dark, needing potions and bloodletting and conjuration circles and moon phases all at once, that Harry shuddered to think of the effort it took to undertake the process as many times as Rookwood's trial notes suggested he had.

As Malfoy had guessed, the three different folders indeed corresponded with the three different rituals that made up Anima Infractum. The two still in Harry's possession detailed the 'Marking' and the 'Conception.' Often referenced was the third and final ritual, the 'Nativity.' It was clear to Harry that what he'd seen in Malfoy's memories were the completion of the first two rituals, meaning they were currently in the phase between 'Conception' and 'Nativity.' It was too late to disrupt either the first or second rituals themselves, as they had already taken place. With the third, they had a chance, Harry supposed, though it was Malfoy who had that folder. There was little else that Harry could do other than to scour the trial notes for anything that might otherwise invalidate the entire process.

The trial notes were exhaustive. The process seemed remarkably similar to a normal pregnancy, as far as Harry could tell. The only real differences were that it was a magically created and magically sustained pregnancy, and at the end, there were a series of things that needed to happen in order to complete the 'birth.'

Rookwood had experimented on a wide variety of creatures, both magical and non-magical as well as male and female. There was an important entry written on the magical capabilities of the involved specimens:

If neither donor nor host is magical, then the magic needed to sustain the homunculus must come from an outside source. I've discovered that the most successful pairing for completing 'Conception' is two magical parties. The homunculus will naturally draw from the host first, though if the magic is insufficient, it can leach from any magical source nearby that is willing and able to give up its magic.

Was this the explanation for what was occurring when he touched Malfoy? Was Harry unknowingly feeding this thing?

If there is insufficient magic to sustain the homunculus both from the host and from nearby sources, then the host will perish and Anima Infractum will end.

There it was. A conclusive statement that everything would end with Malfoy's death. This, however, had stopped being an option in Harry's mind several weeks ago. He wasn't going to let Malfoy die, no matter the consequences. Maybe that was selfish, but Harry didn't care.

Harry continued to read, and as he ventured further and further, he was finding himself both frustrated and relieved that there wasn't much written on Rookwood's human trials in the first two phases. He was frustrated because he needed the information. He was relieved because he wasn't sure if he could actually stomach the content.

However, Rookwood did spend pages lamenting about the ministry laws and politicking that was preventing him from using humans in his experiments, and when he was finally granted the authorization that he'd been seeking for years, he was immensely disappointed to find that the Azkaban inmates that he was offered did not fit his parameters of a 'virgin soul and virgin body.' Evidently, he did eventually receive human specimens that he could use, but no mention was made of how he acquired them. It seems that by the time Rookwood had progressed to using humans, he'd become fairly proficient with the magic and so kept less paperwork… either that, or he was not eager to leave a paper trail of something done illegally. Harry also did not fail to notice that Rookwood spoke more and more often of an anonymous and enormously wealthy benefactor that had begun funding his research around the time of Voldemort's first rise to power.

Harry did manage to locate one other interesting excerpt that might have been of some use, and it was to do with something Rookwood was calling 'prior sentiment.'

Prior sentiment seems to be the antithesis of Anima Infractum, as is so often the case when it comes to the Dark Arts. I have witnessed this after attempting to use pairs of mated crups in my experiments. Crups, unlike most magical creatures of their size, take only a single mate in their lifetime. Something about this tendency made them entirely unsuitable for Anima Infractum. In every case, Marking and Conception would succeed, but the magic would inevitably break down at some point before Nativity, resulting in either the death of the host or a corrupted homunculus.

Similar disruptions have occurred in other species that were caged together and allowed to form strong bonds before the experiments commenced. This was found to be easily alleviated by keeping the donor/host pairs separated before the Marking.

Harry combed the pages for more information on this, but it seemed that Rookwood had only made sure that 'prior sentiment' was no longer a factor in his experimentation and moved on. This seemed like a big deal to Harry, though. Was Rookwood saying that something as simple as love could stop this whole thing in its tracks?

Harry's small spark of hope was dashed though when he remembered that in the case of himself and Malfoy, he was not the original 'donor.' The chances of Voldemort having had any secret feelings for Malfoy were undoubtedly less than zero. Apart from that, Harry knew that his budding affection for Malfoy hadn't been there half a year ago, and it seemed like this loophole only took effect if those sentiments were in place before the start of the first ritual. Furthermore, perhaps it wouldn't have worked at all if the feelings only ran in one direction.

What a stupid, wishful thought, Harry chided himself. Even if you could call your feelings for him something as strong as love, you wouldn't be able to demand that he feel the same.

Sobered, Harry bent back over the notes and kept reading until his eyes were drooping. He decided to lay his head down a moment, and idly wondered if Malfoy was having any luck on his end. He drifted into a pleasant dream that was filled with blonde hair and soft, pleasured sighs.

He was rudely awoken, some indeterminate time later, by insistent tugging upon the arm of his sweater.

Harry blinked open his eyes and the room came into focus. He'd fallen asleep upon his reading material. Parchment was now sticking to his face along with a half-eaten slice of toast from dinner. Kreacher was at his side, impatiently trying to rouse him.

"Master needs to wake. Wake, Master Harry."

"Kreacher, what is it?" Harry said with a yawn, shaking the elf off of him.

"Master Draco is in a bad state. Master must hurry." This had Harry jumping out of his chair instantly. He'd gone from groggy to fully awake in less than a second.

"Take me to him, Kreacher."

The old house elf grabbed the sleeve of Harry's sweater once again and apparated them both into the manor, bypassing every single ward and protection that would have otherwise kept Harry out. He forgot the power of house elves sometimes and how useful their magic could be. He'd not planned to use Kreacher like this when giving him to Narcissa, but he was now quite grateful for this secret method of entry.

They'd apparated into what appeared to be a two-storied library. Harry was surrounded by rich wood and the smell of old paper- bookcases filled end to end with ancient-looking tomes that stretched up to the ceiling. Before the massive window there was a beautiful solid oak desk covered in a mess of parchment. The chair was pushed out and a slim, blonde figure was lying upon the ground, looking to have collapsed there. Harry hurried to the other man's side and found him still breathing, though he was pale and sickly and his breaths were coming in short pants.

"Master Draco was cold and lifeless, but Kreacher has been forbidden from calling any Healers to the manor or even alerting Mistress Narcissa. Kreacher could only go to Master Harry for help."

"Is Narcissa home tonight?"

"Mistress is in her bedroom suite, preparing for sleep."

"Thank you, Kreacher, I'll take it from here," Harry said. Kreacher bowed obediently and apparated away.

Looking down at the unconscious man before him, Harry couldn't help but wonder if this had occurred because they had gone too long without seeing one another. Harry knew now from Rookwood's notes that if Malfoy didn't have the magic he needed to sustain himself, then he would die. Harry did not hesitate in touching him this time, taking Malfoy's hand in his own.

The pulling sensation was immediately noticeable, and this time Harry fully recognized it for what it was. Magic was leaving his body and being transferred to Malfoy. Harry could also feel that he had a lot to give, and so he let it flow out in abundance, creating a noticeable charge within the air. Malfoy's breathing began to even out into slower, deeper inhales and exhales and Harry knew he was on the right track. Harry turned him onto his back and gently laid the other man's head upon his lap. Malfoy's crisp, button-down shirt had rucked up slightly, displaying a plain of creamy skin criss-crossed with Sectumsempra scars.

You did that to him, Harry's inner voice reminded him scathingly. He studied closer and then noticed something else. The same midsection that had been flat and lightly muscled only two weeks ago was now slightly convex, a delicate little curve that would be mostly inconspicuous except to anyone who was looking closely. Harry's breath caught.

You did that to him, the voice said again, this time dark and unrepentant and… pleased? There was an absolutely insane and depraved part of Harry that thought Malfoy looked good like this. Entranced, Harry brushed the tips of his fingers across the exposed area below Malfoy's navel. In response, an array of runes suddenly shimmered upon Malfoy's pale skin, blinking back out of existence when Harry, startled, removed his fingers. With his heartbeat quickening, Harry's hovering hand moved again towards Malfoy, this time resting fully upon the small swell. The runes reappeared, bleeding across the skin like metallic ink on parchment and forming a complex, circular design that seemed to extend from the bottom of Malfoy's ribcage to the top of his pubic bone.

Malfoy let out a strangled gasp and arched into the contact. A hand suddenly grabbed Harry's own, pressing his palm tighter against the soft curve. The flow of magic between them increased, leaving Harry lightheaded. He let the magic run out, giving all that he had, until he was nearly wrung dry. By the end, Malfoy had fallen into a deep slumber. Harry brought him to the leather sofa in the room and laid him upon it. Tempting as it was to join him there- to continue to cradle and to caress, Harry quashed this urge. Seeing Malfoy in such a poor condition had Harry feeling guilty. He had not been working hard enough or with enough urgency and this incident had been a disturbing reminder.

He walked back to the desk, where Rookwood's folder labeled 'III' was lying, deceptively innocent aside other, innocuous documents. Within, Harry knew he'd find detailed information on the final phase of this dark contract he and Malfoy were a part of.

Flipping it open, he settled into the chair to begin reading.

.o.o.o.o.o.

Draco opened his eyes to the dull, gray light of dawn. He was lying upon the sofa in the library with no memory of how he got there. His answer was sitting at the desk, with a lantern still burning to illuminate the papers that were being studied.

For a fleeting moment, the haze of sleep had Draco assuming that he'd gone back in time, that it was Lucius sitting at that desk, keeping a stern eye on Draco while the pre-Hogwarts tutor taught him basic spellwork. Straight-backed, confident and so very at ease with his environment, able to command obedience from Draco with a mere glare…

But his father was dead now. Instead it was Harry Potter who had made himself at home in the manor library, in Draco's father's chair.

"We've got to stay in better contact, Malfoy," Potter said into the quiet room once he realized that Draco was awake, "What if it was someone else who found you like this?"

Blinking away hazy memories, Draco slowly hefted himself into a sitting position. His mind was a frazzled mess of everything it had absorbed over the last week. Circles- endless circles commingling with runes, long lists of potions ingredients, moon charts. Rookwood's notes were filled with dark and terrible things that boded ill for Draco's future. When he closed his eyes he could still see the photographs that had been clipped to the individual trials- young girls in the midst of silent screaming, dirty, tear-stained faces shoved against the bars of their cages while their mouths formed pleas for freedom. And then, inevitably, there would be another picture only a few pages later- the same girl that was now a corpse, having failed to withstand the horrors that she had been put through. There would be a short, dispassionate note as to what had caused the death- Insufficient magical energy, some read. Improper linkage, said others. Spontaneous hemorrhaging. Potion failure. Suicide was written next to one brave girl that had managed to take her own life in her cell by biting through her tongue. Not a single one had survived. Not a single success.

Draco didn't dare to hope that he was any different than them. He was merely next in line. Rookwood's final trial.

"What does it matter anymore?" Draco whispered, "Why should I even care? You've seen what's in that folder, haven't you?"

"You won't end up like the others-"

"Don't try to lie to me, Potter. I've scoured it front to back. There's no hope for me, and if that's the case, then why should I have to endure even another second of this? You shouldn't have come. You should have let me die. I've already put everything in order."

"I won't let you die." Potter said with a quiet surety that caused Draco a twinge of frustration.

"Then you're an idiot."

"I promised your father that I'd look out for you."

Draco, poised to continue his argument, was suddenly left baffled. All of his momentum rushed out of him in a breath.

"What?" he said, completely thrown off-balance. What sort of nonsense was Potter spouting?

"It's true. Just before he was executed, he asked to see me," Potter explained in a dull, matter-of-fact voice, "The ministry figured he wanted to bargain for his life, maybe give up the locations of some of the Death Eaters that were still hidden at the time and they urged me to go. I wasn't keen on the idea of allowing any Death Eaters to live at large so I complied. To my surprise, he never asked for his life to be spared. All he asked was that I save you and your mother."

"That's…" Draco began with his objection before the words could really sink in, "He…" Draco tried again, but suddenly his eyes were watering and his throat was tight. How dare Potter use his father against him like that? This couldn't be true, could it? He knew his father loved him and his mother dearly, but to grovel at Potter's feet for their sake…

"If that's the reason you've been hanging around, then allow me to release you from your obligation," Draco finally said, his voice on the verge of cracking.

"That's the reason I did you a few favors in the beginning, I'll admit," Potter retorted, "You might have noticed, but I was in a dark place after the war. I didn't think there was any point in living anymore, but for some reason, being around you started making things just interesting enough for me to want to see tomorrow. I'd like to be that for you, Malfoy, if you'd let me."

This was all strangely flattering, and it caused Draco's heart to ache with a foreign emotion.

"It's not that I want to die, Potter, I just don't see any other option. There doesn't appear to be any way to separate me from this cursed… thing without killing myself."

"There's a way," Potter assured him, sounding very certain, "Pretty sloppy of you to have missed it, actually. We just have to complete the third ritual. We have to succeed where Rookwood failed."

A feeling of dread settled in Draco's gut. Potter had lost the plot, well and truly.

"That's madness, Potter. We're talking about the return of the Dark Lord. Saving my life can't be worth that."

"Why not?" Maybe it was the way that Potter said it, all stubborn and indignant, or maybe there was a sudden draft in the room, but Draco shivered.

"Why not?" Draco nearly squeaked in his flummoxed incredulity. "I don't feel I should have to explain such a thing to you of all people, Potter! You are the world's moral, precious, righteous savior. What has gotten into your head?" In truth he thought he might know what had gotten into Potter's head, but it wasn't something that he was ready to confront, and it was so insane- it had tainted a man so perfect into something so selfish and irresponsible- that Draco could scarcely believe it.

Potter did not immediately give an answer to this. His green eyes simply stared at Malfoy with their usual, unsettling intensity.

"You've nothing to lose, Malfoy," the savior said, looking back down at the desk. He gestured at the notes spread out before him, "We will perform this 'Nativity' exactly as Rookwood specifies. If we fail then we'll at least have bought you more time. If we succeed, then we'll have saved your life and the only thing left to do will be to destroy…" Potter hesitated, suddenly a bit uncomfortable, "whatever dark thing we've created."

Draco swallowed, feeling dirty and cowardly by even thinking of accepting, because Potter was right. He had nothing to lose. It was everyone else that did.

"You're insane, Potter."

"Maybe. But it's working in your favor, isn't it? Give me a chance, won't you? Trust me."

Draco shivered again, wrapping his arms around himself. Easy for Potter to say, wasn't it? He wasn't the one that would be enduring the brunt of the hardship. He wasn't the one that would be housing the little spawn of darkness in his body. But unbeknownst to Potter, Draco had already tried several times to end his own life, with each attempt being thwarted by his natural instinct to survive and his sickening aversion to seeing his own blood.

"How are you planning on meeting with me once you're back at Hogwarts?" Had Potter thought through any of the logistics? There was a huge amount of preparation work to be done for this even to become slightly feasible. "We need somewhere large enough to draw these conjuration circles- somewhere to brew these potions."

"I'll figure it out, don't worry," Potter said. He was already gathering up the various sheets of parchment before him and placing them back into the folder. "I'm taking this back to keep studying it for now. Malfoy, I'm going to try and see you often enough so that what happened last night doesn't happen again, but if you need magic from me, I want you to let me know immediately. No matter where I am, no matter what I'm doing, I'll come. If you had a wand, I'd tell you to use a patronus, but since you don't and because a patronus is kind of obvious, I'm going to suggest something else."

He rose from the chair and came to stand before Draco. Slowly, he reached up and touched a finger to his scar. Draco nearly jumped off of the couch when he felt his Dark Mark burn in response. It was an old and terrifying sensation that Draco had nearly forgotten about.

"What the hell, Potter?" Draco growled, clutching his forearm with his heart suddenly racing.

"Use it to call me in an emergency," Potter told him, "It works the same as it did for him." Kreacher popped into the room at Potter's summons. "I'll be leaving since I don't fancy being caught by your mother. You should get some more rest."

In a blink, Potter was gone, taking all of his bossy authority with him, and leaving Draco feeling as though he'd just been walked all over inside his own house. Still, there was something different now. Somehow, the bleakness and the dread had lightened and there was just the smallest sliver of… something. Hope, maybe?

Draco reclined back onto the couch and shut his eyes.

.o.o.o.o.o.