Pansy stood outside the common room entrance, tapping a foot and rolling her eyes when she saw Draco step out.

"We're already running late."

"When has a patrol ever turned up more than a couple snogging?" Draco said. He kept his hands clenched into fists, hoping they were hidden under his sleeves. "It's hardly a priority."

"I have assignments."

"We are in school."

For the full length of the hall, Draco anticipated Pansy's sharp reply. But aside from the tension in her shoulders, she gave him no answer. Silence never paired well with her, and still, Draco didn't relieve her. He feared if he attempted to speak now, his voice would waiver and give him away.

After a minute, it became clear Pansy was choosing to leave him to silence. If it wasn't rejection, it stung the same. Draco constantly checked to his right, finding only an unchanged view of her profile. The lack of reaction set his already frayed nerves on edge, and he caught himself grinding his teeth.

By the time they reached the Transfiguration classroom, Draco's anticipation bubbled over, and he had to break the silence, "Nothing?"

"Am I meant to kick you when you're down?"

"What's that meant to mean?"

"You're clearly struggling this year. Does lashing out at all of us make it any better?"

Draco chewed his lip. The pit in his stomach deepened, constricting his every exhale. Since the winter hol, he had tried so hard to hide the truth of what was happening in the castle, but clearly, it was another failure. Pansy saw through him. Who all saw him crumbling?

"No," Draco said, allowing his nails to dig into his palms.

"I know recovery is difficult," Pansy said. "And that it hasn't been so long."

She stopped walking and faced him. Her height forced her to lift her head, but she didn't back away. She put a hand on his arm, and Draco saw the moment she felt the tremors. Pansy tried to mask it.

"Was it ever an eating disorder?"

What was one more lie? Draco asked himself. Pansy was his childhood friend, the only friend who ever went out of her way to discuss feelings. If he let on, could he stop her from chasing down the full truth?

He shook his head.

And the truth felt brilliant.

"Can I ask about Thomas?" she said, testing each word as it came out, as though waiting for Draco to stop and shut her down.

"No."

But even the simple answer gave her all she needed to know. Thomas was at the root of matters. The end of every road led to Thomas McGruder.

Pansy closed her eyes, but left her hand on his arm.

"What can I do?" she asked.

"Say nothing."

"Alright."

They stood still in the silent corridor. Pansy's hand on his arm worked much in the same way Potter's warming charm had earlier that day. Draco leaned to it, desperate for a relief from the lingering chill blanketing him. Pansy's frame was slight and her hands small, but in the moment, she offered his only grounding.

Her thumb idly rubbed Draco's arm. Or perhaps it wasn't idle. The motion was so similar to how she carded her fingers through his hair, soft motions, gentle, like he was thinly spun glass. So rarely did either of them speak the truth of their relationship. Pansy's friendship ran as deeply as any personal connection Draco ever formed. He trusted her as much as anyone.

"You'll be seventeen in a few months," Pansy whispered, as though the walls might be eavesdropping. "We could go."

"Pansy—"

"I'm serious." She met his gaze. "No one will expect us to leave during the school year. You'll be free of the trace. We can go anywhere."

The swelling in his chest had to be ignored. Pansy's intentions were noble, but Draco wasn't.

"I can't," he said.

Before Pansy could protest further, Draco softly moved her hand over his left forearm, and pressed down. She didn't need to see underneath his sleeve to know what the gesture implied.

"Oh, Draco. No."

Her hand didn't linger on his arm, but she reached up to take his face in both hands, drawing him down so their foreheads could rest together. He felt the tremors in her hands now, her poorly concealed reaction to more of the truth.

"For tonight, let me do something," she said. "Anything."

If he could just get his arms to stop bloody trembling, Draco might have been able to dissuade her.

"I should go see Professor Snape."

Pansy nodded, and with a determined exhale, took her place at his side, looping an arm through his. "So let's go find him. We'll double the points taken from anyone we find snogging tomorrow."

Draco reached across so his free hand rested over hers. They resumed walking down the hall, but not on their typical route. Although they both had the same destination in mind, Pansy led with the slightest pull on Draco's arm. He allowed it, only for Pansy.

She occasionally rested her head on his arm as they walked. It put them slightly off balance, and they drifted side to side; without the expectation of completing rounds, there was no rush. Voldemort already searched his mind once today. By tomorrow, the memory of skipping rounds to receive mild help from Snape would be long buried.

At least, Draco hoped it would be.

"If you change your mind," Pansy said as they came up to Snape's quarters, "One word and I'll go with you."

"I won't forget," Draco lied.

He promised himself he would bury her words as deep as his mind allowed. Voldemort could never know that Pansy had made him an offer. The Parkinsons played their neutrality well enough, but Draco refused to be the reason Pansy or her family suffered. He would make himself forget. He couldn't protect himself, but perhaps he could protect Pansy from the worst.

She assured him she would meet him at the dungeon entrance, however long it took for him to finish with Snape. If they returned together, Draco hoped Voldemort would stay out of his mind. Potter wasn't a prefect. There would be little chance of running into him during rounds.

When Pansy had slipped around the corner, Draco reached for the doorknob before deciding against it. His fist hovered before he knocked on the door to the storeroom, which he knew connected to the office Snape refused to abandon when taking the Defense post. His own hesitation to knock bothered him. Snape couldn't be trusted. Anything said or done in his presence would be reported back to the dark lord.

But the dark lord needed Draco reasonably healthy to carry out his tasks.

He stood at the door for the long minute it took Snape to answer, and then held up his hands, making no effort to hide the shaking.

"I can't cast like this," he said in lieu of a greeting.

Snape stepped aside to let Draco enter.


Voldemort and Draco parted ways before suppertime. Draco had spent what little strength he had on the cabinet, and Voldemort believed the repairs were nearing an end. He had gone to catch Snape, to send word along to the other Death Eaters. It was time they all began preparations.

His expectations for Draco were clear: go to the Great Hall, fill his plate, and eat everything he'd portioned. For months, Draco faced the same struggle, and while tonight might have been easier without the dark lord at his side, Draco knew better than to go straight to supper. Both eyes sported heavy circles, which Draco suspected were as much bruises as a show of exhaustion. He'd spilled a full cauldron of polyjuice that morning, a simple slip up when he stepped out of bed.

But it earned him the cruciatus, again, right after a jinx knocked him into the wall, face first.

They had skipped breakfast and lunch to invest time into the cabinet. His reserves had long ago run dry.

The potion Snape had given him only calmed the aftereffects of the cruciatus. A sip each morning ended the constant tremors, but not the harsh spasms that caught hold of him every few hours. His body tensed through the pain of his nerves firing, and he knew the moment someone caught him, he would be found out.

He had just made it down five flights of stairs when tension built in his shoulders. He rushed as far from the Great Hall as he could manage before the spasm rocked him. Falling against a wall, Draco froze with his palms and a shoulder pressed flat to it, nearly biting through a lip not to make any sound. He clenched his eyes and teeth, clutched at the textured stones under his fingertips, and waited. The pain controlled his body; he was just witness to it.

Voices drew his attention. They broke through pain's grip, the laughter an immediate threat. Should anyone see him, they'd drag him to hospital, and an eating disorder couldn't account for his symptoms. If Hogwarts discovered a student was repeatedly subjected to an unforgivable, they couldn't ignore it.

At the first sign of returning control, Draco stumbled behind the first door available. He heavily relied on the wall for support, and tripped over his own useless feet in his haste.

Draco leaned against the inside of the door, breaths coming too quickly, while waiting to hear the voices pass. A tightening in his throat threatened to force out a sob. Moisture welled. Draco trembled, but this time, he couldn't attribute it to the cruciatus.

"Who are you?"

Turning, Draco reached for his wand, only to find Moaning Myrtle hovering in front of him. Draco exhaled out the panic, and gave up on his wand.

"Draco," he said.

"No one comes in here," Myrtle whined. "No one ever visits me."

Draco's breaths were still heavy, and he left his lips parted since breathing through his mouth came easier than through his nose. He let his upper body rest against the door, blocking it should anyone try coming inside.

It was an absurd paranoia. Everyone knew to avoid this bathroom.

"Do you want visitors?" Draco asked, voice low. He could hear people in the corridor, and despite everything, he didn't want his reputation taking the hit of being found in the girls' loo.

"It's very lonely, haunting one place."

"The other ghosts move around the castle."

"This is my bath," she insisted. Had she been older than fourteen, the force in her words might have come across better.

"So why are you complaining about me coming in here?"

"Because no one does!" she snapped, flying forwards to get in his face. "Have you come to mock me?"

"Would've started if so."

All sounds from the corridor faded, and Draco tried to let himself relax. The spasms had calmed enough Draco wasn't worried about pain, but he could hear in his voice that some of the tremors remained. He swallowed. Stumbling over his words wasn't acceptable.

"Why are you here then?"

"Hiding a medical condition," Draco said.

"You aren't dying, are you?"

The question should have been simple to answer. Draco wasn't dying. He simply suspected death in his near future. He caught his breath, tongue briefly catching against his dry lips, and held Myrtle's gaze.

"I don't intend to haunt a toilet."

"Good," she said, a bit petulant, and then flew nearer to him. "Although, I do quite like your hair."

She reached out like she might touch him, and absurdly, Draco considered moving. Her spectral hand passed through him, and to his amazement, the chill left in her wake felt nice, like a brisk morning breeze.

Draco slid a step to the side, and went over to the row of sinks. The bruising under his eyes had only gotten darker. He brought out his wand to apply a glamor, and tweaked it until he was content with the coverage. With the sun fully set outside, even the risk of direct sunlight through a window wouldn't reveal him.

"It looks painful," Myrtle said, hovering over his shoulder.

He looked at her reflection. "It isn't."

"I think you're a liar."

"Think what you like."

For the third time that day, Draco checked to make sure his nose hadn't been broken. He carefully traced his fingers down the sides, searching for any deviation. He refused to show his face if there was even a slight show of swelling.

"People never hide in here," Myrtle said. "Unless they're doing something naughty."

"Does examining my reflection count?"

"You are hiding, though. I heard them in the hall."

"I admitted to hiding."

Which would reveal him during the scan of his memories. Voldemort would know Draco had hidden, and worse, that he'd demeaned himself enough to hide out with Moaning Myrtle of all people. Even Pansy's kindness during rounds drew too much attention.

If someone showed Draco kindness, Voldemort questioned his loyalty. If Crabbe picked at him, then Draco clearly wasn't maintaining authority over his peers. If Potter cornered him, then Draco once again failed to produce the true prophecy, although there was no indication that Potter had been lying. If Draco kept to himself, then he was a coward.

After five months of living with Voldemort, Draco still hadn't found out how he was meant to act. Everything he tried turned out wrong.

He gripped the curve of the sink and lowered his head. If nothing he did was satisfactory, how much longer would he be left alive? Voldemort already confirmed that Draco wouldn't be returning for his seventh year of schooling. Why? He hadn't proved himself as a Death Eater. His only use was doing McGruder's assignments and brewing the polyjuice. And even there, he'd failed just that morning.

"Are you crying?"

"No," Draco snapped, but he heard it. He immediately blamed the aftereffects of the cruciatus. It wasn't tears.

"I cry all the time," Myrtle said. "But not really. I don't have tears."

"I'm not crying."

"Yes you are."

She glided around, through the sink so she could see Draco's face straight on. "No one would know if you did. They'll all think it's me."

The tightness in his throat kept him from answering. He closed his eyes to block Myrtle from his sight, and the welling spilled. Draco wiped the tears before they could mark his cheeks. He wouldn't cry. Not now. Not after having made it through so much.

"You could die here," she offered. "We could pretend to cry together."

Was this all actually the punishment the other Death Eaters claimed? Voldemort could have chosen almost any Slytherin in their year to take on this assignment, but he had chosen Draco. Was it because Lucius failed to get the prophecy? Was it a methodical destruction of the Malfoy family?

He had taken Draco's ring. He had told Lucius that Draco was no longer his. What was the point of stripping everything from Draco if not to kill him at the end of their efforts? How many times this year had Voldemort snapped at Draco for not respecting his blood, his lineage, or his position? Voldemort believed Draco wasn't worthy of anything.

Then where did that leave him once the cabinet was repaired?

Tomorrow you might. Should that time come, I'll leave the offer standing.

Could he actually believe it?


The Sixth Year class opened the doors leading outside and found a thick rain falling. Their apparition professor, Wilkie Twycross, sighed, and directed them all into the Great Hall. He called for the elves to quickly remove the tables, and then he began setting out the apparition hoops.

Draco took off his robe and left his book bag with it. The less he had on him while apparating, the simpler, and although he was unable to take the test for his license until June, he was determined to have fully mastered the subject before the end of the twelve-week course.

The others took off their robes as well, and whereas most of the other students wore jumpers under their robes—despite being February, the castle was still frigid—Draco wore all black, a tunic with long sleeves, fitted at the wrists, to ensure the Mark remained hidden. He also kept that arm wrapped with a layer of bandages, on the off-chance he apparated and left his sleeve behind. And the tunic's high collar hid the scar on his neck where Voldemort drew blood to paint Draco with.

As they had done with the first two lessons, they took up spots five feet from one another. Twycross set the wooden hoops in front of them, ordering no one to begin until they were all laid out.

To his left, Pansy rolled up her sleeves, already focusing hard on the empty space in her hoop. She had managed to apparate during the last session, although she left behind her shoes and half of her right hand.

To his right, Voldemort waited, adjusting Thomas's robes in a display of his confidence. He didn't need to remove layers. He learned to apparate before any student's parents were born. But for the last two sessions, he had refrained. The Durmstrang does things differently excuse could only be used so many times before people asked questions.

In front of them, the four heads of house chatted idly together while they surveyed the room. With more and more students being splinched each session, they were at constant call.

"Remember the three D's," Twycross called out, dropping the last hoop in front of Weasley. "Destination, Determination, Deliberation. Make no attempt to apparate unless you are in full control of your thoughts."

Draco closed his eyes rather than envisioning the hoop. His deliberations this year were certainly getting in his way. He had to block out all thoughts of the cabinet waiting on him. He had to push the polyjuice to the far reaches of his mind. The stack of assignments waiting on him couldn't be allowed to cross his consciousness. All that mattered in the moment was the wooden hoop just out of his reach.

He tuned out the rest of the room. When he managed to make the voices around him nothing more than a faint buzz, he opened his eyes to stare at the hoop. It was in a different position today. Last week it had been over the Ravenclaw's usual section of the Great Hall, but today, he was standing where the Hufflepuff third years typically sat. The pattern of the stone underneath was different, and he traced every line over and over, until when he closed his eyes again, he could only see the pattern.

He wanted to be there. Draco wanted nothing more in that moment than to be standing inside that hoop, all in one piece. His magic would bring him there. Just like the times he had apparated with Mother or Father, he braced for the pulling sensation at his core. The magic would build and then carry him into that hoop. He determined it would happen. He—

—landed flat on his back, head knocking into a hoop and sending sparks through his vision. A heavy weight left him pinned while he tried to check for blood.

"I'm so sorry."

Above him, Potter also reached for Draco's head. "How hard did you…?"

Draco blinked until his vision focused on Potter, who knelt over him, weight solidly on Draco's hips. Draco kept blinking until he could make sense of what had just happened. The ringing in his head refused to be ignored.

Or at least, refused until a much more significant thought broke to the surface.

"Am I your destination or deliberation?" Draco asked.

Potter's cheeks flushed deeply, and an aura around him pulsed red to green to orange and back. The hand on Draco's head stilled, and for a moment, they stared. The moment dragged on, as though they both needed time to process the fact that Potter had just apparated on top of Draco.

"Mr. Potter."

Realty swung in, and Draco looked around for Snape, only to realize everyone in the room was staring at them. Not only had Potter apparated to Draco, he had yet to move.

Draco felt his own face redden. Potter hadn't moved, and aside from the ceiling echoing the rain from outside, the hush over the room enveloped them.

"I'm sorry," Potter said. He pressed his lips together, cast his gaze to either side, and got to his feet.

He held out a hand for Draco, who couldn't decide whether accepting the help up would make the moment more or less humiliating. The awareness of people watching them was all-encompassing. All their classmates, several of their professors, Lord Voldemort.

Draco took the calloused hand, and Harry pulled him to his feet. The silence dragged on while they stood facing each other, and lasted until Draco reached up to check once again if he was bleeding. His hand came away clean.

Then the whispers started, quickly building into gossip and theories and questions.

Harry wrung his hands, wand twisting in his grip, and with a determined set of the jaw, grabbed Draco by the arm and began leading him out of the Great Hall. Stunned, and partially too embarrassed to fight it, Draco allowed Harry to lead him away, if only to get away from the attention. Although, he knew it would be worse in their absence.

Harry glanced both ways in the entrance hall, and made the decision to head to the still open doors. The rain outside hadn't let up, and it didn't dissuade him for a moment.

"Potter, wait."

Harry didn't wait and he didn't let go of Draco. He pulled them out into the rain, and almost instantly, they were both soaked through. Draco lifted his free hand to shield his eyes.

"What are you doing?" Draco asked.

Harry released him, but didn't turn to face him immediately. He stared out into the haze, impossible to see through. His hands gripped at his hair and pulled.

Draco walked around to face Harry.

"Are you going to explain?"

"What's not clear?" Harry asked.

"Are you going to look at me, or did you drag me out here as some sort of retribution?"

"Is your head alright?"

"Aching, thanks. What possessed you to apparate without the proper destination?"

When Harry looked at Draco, the raindrops on his glasses almost fully blocked his eyes from view. Harry took them off, hooking them into the collar of his ill-fitting shirt. They must have been standing close enough that Harry didn't need them to see Draco.

"Who says it's the wrong destination?"

"You dolt."

Harry lifted his shoulders. "I can't think this year."

"I can tell you what they're certainly all thinking about."

"I don't care," Harry said. Then as his shoulders relaxed, he went on, a bit more loudly. "I don't care."

"Did you also hit your head?" There was no other explanation for this outburst. Draco might not have been thinking straight, and he might have sustained a brain injury, but he remembered that much.

"I haven't exactly been subtle."

"And the next step is opening up to the entire school?"

"I don't know, alright? I don't know. I haven't, I haven't fully formed the thoughts myself. It's just, fuck, Malfoy. You're all I think about."

The rain lightened, and Draco found himself scanning the sky for the breaks in the clouds where the faintest traces of sunlight found their way through. His hair clung to his forehead and dripped into his eyes, but looking upwards was better than facing Harry in that moment.

"You can't do this," Draco said.

"I'm not exactly choosing it."

"You're imposing more than you realize."

"So answer my question," Harry said. He raised his palms in near desperation, meeting Draco's every move back with one step forwards. "Tell me you loathe me more than ever. Tell me this entire year has been a ploy."

"I loathe you more than ever."

Harry stepped forwards. Draco hadn't moved back.

"This entire year has been a ploy."

Harry stopped just short of any physical contact, but the intensity in his eyes left Draco reeling. Draco refused to back down, not to this, and planted his feet, even when Harry stood a breath away.

"Your eyes narrow when you lie."

"Why are we out here?" Draco asked.

"Because I made my thoughts known to the entire class. Because you've never given me an answer."

He couldn't. Meeting Harry's gaze, it seemed they both knew that. It spun around Draco's thoughts every moment he could allow himself the luxury of idealizing an escape. Harry had evaded Voldemort so many times. Certainly, if there were any safety in their world—

"Did you give him the prophecy?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Draco answered to both.

"And?"

"He doesn't believe you."

"I might've only given you the first half."

Draco shoved him back, roughly, hard enough that Harry landed on the ground, splashing and squelching when he landed.

"Why give me any of it then?" Draco demanded down at him.

"Does the rest matter?" Harry asked. "Believe me, he doesn't need to know."

"Should I tell him that then? Oh, I choose not to complete this task because Harry Potter assured me the ending isn't important?"

"So don't write him. Put it behind you."

"He doesn't take oaths lightly."

"You do want to come with me. Why won't you just say it?"

Because the moment the confession left his lips, the truth would eat through him. Draco would be consumed in Harry's hope. He would drown with no chance to resurface.

He said no.

He told himself he meant it.

He hadn't actually said anything.

A steady stream of water ran over the edge of the roof near to them, and the splatters as it landed in a puddle splashed onto their legs. Draco focused on the sound of the water, on the distant roll of thunder, on the clouded light still catching Harry's eyes.

"I can't talk about this," Draco said.

"Hogwarts is safe," Harry said, smoothly getting back to his feet. "You'll be of age before the year is out, right? You don't have to go home."

"Nowhere is safe!"

Draco clutched at his left forearm, like the simple admission would cause Voldemort to summon him. His fingers wrapped around the hidden mark, and Harry's reached out to cover his. It brought them closer. Harry had led Draco out with that arm, and now held him firmly with the same.

"Nowhere is safe," Harry agreed. "Does that mean giving in?"

"What do you want from me?"

"Nothing from you."

"Don't pretend this is altruistic."

"It isn't," Harry said. "And it is."

He squeezed Draco's hand. "Don't make me say it now."

"You're pushing just the same."

Harry exhaled. With it, they both seemed to realize they were drenched and standing in February's open air. Harry let go of Draco's arm, then cast a warming charm. It did little against the cold clinging to them or the drizzle still falling.

"So, I apparated on top of you," he said, mouth stretching into a ridiculous grimace.

"I didn't think you could get any more idiotic."

"You're welcome to hit me, so they think you got your revenge."

"I don't fancy a detention."

"No professors have run after us."

"Do you actually think there won't be an audience when we go back in?"

Harry glanced back, although the entrance wasn't at an angle they could see through. But there were no faces peering their way. No one had followed them.

"At least I didn't splinch myself," Harry said.

"You would find a way to brag about a failure."

The faint sunlight breaking through shifted, and they were back under a full shadow. Draco brushed his dripping bangs back, and ran a hand over his head a few times until the remaining product held it slicked back.

He felt Harry staring and made a point of not acknowledging it.

"I am sorry about your head."

"The pain's wearing off."

Although, he suspected he'd have a lump the following day, if not by dinner.

"There are only four months left until summer," Harry said.

It had likely been an attempt at redirecting the conversation into Draco accepting Harry's offer of help, but Draco easily shook it away. He knew the cabinet was nearing completion. How long did he really have left? A month?

He would still be underage. He would still have the trace. Harry would have it even longer.

"You clearly need the time to practice before taking your apparition license."

"I at least managed it today," Harry said with a grin. "Let's go back in. We'll have to face it eventually."

"You caused this mess."

"It's been six years, Malfoy. You should realize I'm the cause of half the messes here."

Apparition lessons wouldn't have ended. The hour had just begun when Harry dragged Draco into this new ordeal, which meant reentering the full Hall where everyone was still practicing. Maybe he could summon his robe and book bag without having to face everyone.

"Maybe I should hit you."

"We could go down to the pitch. You could take a broom and swing it at my face." For some reason, Harry pantomimed the action.

"You don't think I could land a punch?"

"I think the broom would leave a bigger bruise. And the walk to the pitch and back would take up the rest of the hour."

If Voldemort wasn't waiting on him, Draco might have accepted the offer to stall. They had already been out here for too long, and the longer they waited, the more questions would arise.

"It's freezing."

And Potter wore a shirt with short sleeves.

They headed back inside, but slowly, taking time to needlessly avoid puddles, to pause under a stone archway, or to start saying something only to stop before cutting off. Harry clearly wanted to face his friends as much as Draco wanted to face his own.

Inside, two groups stood in the entrance hall. Weasley and Granger stood together, a sight Draco hadn't seen much this term, and across the hall, Pansy, Thomas, and Blaise waited. Draco swore to himself to buy Pansy the most expensive gift he could find when he realized she held his things.

He and Harry went their separate ways without a word, and Draco set his jaw, unwilling to make more of a scene than he already had. He took his robe from Pansy, although there was no reason to put it on over his sopping clothes.

"Hey Malfoy?" Harry called out.

Draco looked in time to see Weasley trying to usher Harry away, but Harry leaning back against the pull.

"Definitely destination."

Draco stared long after Harry, Weasley, and Granger left, and it was only Pansy's sigh that broke his trance. She shook her head at Draco.

"You're truly hopeless," she said softly.