Chapter 36: The Dementor's kiss
After the match, Harry's renewed visits to the hospital wing turned into a bizarre practice. Every time, Malfoy outraced him. Every time, Harry ended up hanging between Ewen's bed guarded by Draco and Ginny's bed guarded by Ron, not getting a chance to properly talk to either, but thoroughly up-to-date on the process of their recovery.
Ewen had long stopped seeing blue. After going through the entire spectrum, he settled on a healthy black, his bandage grew thinner, and by Wednesday he insisted that he could already roll his eyes. In the meantime, Ginny had a face, an entire well-formed leg, and her digestive tract didn't run out under her armpit any longer—that much Harry could gather from the conversations behind the curtain. Ginny was in grumpy spirits, but her vocal cords were still missing and her wand hand was still scattered across her upper body, so even Draco deemed it safe to stay around.
But today was different. Draco did not outrace him, and Harry got his hopes up. But when he entered the hospital wing, Ewen's bed was empty and done. Instead, Lee Jordan stood in the aisle and looked like he'd missed a train.
"Soooo, where is the seer of the millennium? Hufflepuffs sent me up here."
"If you mean Arling, he's been discharged this morning," replied Ron.
"Malfoy!" Lee noticed Harry and gravitated towards him, like the seer of the millennium was off the agenda. "The snake charmer of mass destruction. Reformed. Rebranded. Magical diversity in green. That was a great story!"
That had been a great story! Two days after the incident, Pansy's version had been broadcasted on Potterwatch all over Britain and Ireland, on day three Astoria's banner had appeared on the front page of the Daily Prophet, and ever since day four, Harry had been receiving an invitation for another interview every morning at breakfast. He hadn't replied to a single one. He had had a great excuse: after swaying the beater's bat the whole day he'd been barely able to hold a quill.
Lee stopped at a respectful distance and looked at him like he was preparing to befriend a hippogriff.
"We haven't heard your side of it yet. What sorcery brought about such a change? I promise you a fair talk, Malfoy. Honest and fair!"
Harry glanced over Lee's shoulder. Hermione blinked rapidly at the window. Ginny gave a menacing grunt. Ron's face froze in an expression of categorical ultimatum.
"The seer of the millennium is more exciting, I assure you," Harry said. The most annoying thing about the Slytherin skirmish was that it stole the spotlight from Ewen. "I'd try North Tower. Ask Professor Benveniste if you don't see him. Sometimes he's, erm, hard to see."
"Modesty suits you, Malfoy," Lee said, prancing past him on the way to the exit. "My offer stands though, should you change your mind. Honest and fair!"
When Lee's face disappeared behind the closing door, charged silence stayed behind.
"Hi. Hi, Ginny. How are you?" Harry said to the closed curtain.
"Harry," Hermione started an octave below her normal, "did you hear what Lee said? Honest and fair. It's your chance to break the news about your condition and not be trampled down immediately!"
"I suppose so." Harry had stopped arguing. He had used all his arguments over the past few days. When the Aurors and the Slytherins had let him go after the 'hearing' in McGonagall's office, Ron and Hermione recaptured him in the hidden passageway behind the tapestry on the way to the Charms classroom.
"Why didn't you tell them?"
"I tried!"
"You didn't try hard enough!"
"Not hard enough?! They shut me up!" Harry's throat still ached from trying to shout through a silencing charm. "In all honesty, Hermione, if Malfoy screamed at you that he's Harry Potter, you'd be the first one to call the psych ward at St Mungo's! Now add to that that it's Malfoy being chained and dragged to Azkaban, who would believe me?"
"We would have confirmed. Ewen would have confirmed. And Benveniste!"
"You weren't there! Ewen wasn't there! I need Malfoy on board for this, and he is the one who always wets himself!"
"And Benveniste?"
Okay. Benveniste. Harry didn't have a satisfactory answer to that. Although he never had the slightest hunch of what was on the woman's mind. Or on whose side she was anyway.
"Harry, they almost took you to Azkaban!"
"Well, they didn't! All's well that ends well."
And that, he owed entirely to the Slytherins. Which meant that for the following days he was on the Quidditch pitch from six to eight in the mornings and from eight to ten in the evenings, plus four to seven on Fridays, working his arse off to pay his debt of honour. Malfoy, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny fell completely off his radar.
But since the Sunday after the match, Harry had run out of excuses. Ron and Hermione had stopped asking him if he had talked Malfoy around, and Harry wondered if this was a good sign.
"It's May Day, Harry," Hermione said in an ominous whisper. "Tomorrow is the celebration."
"Yes." Harry wished he had Knox by his side. It was getting more and more difficult to talk to Hermione without a lawyer.
"Did you tell McGonagall?"
"No."
"Why?"
"I need to talk to Malfoy first."
"Right. Why haven't you?"
Because Malfoy was a slimy bastard? Because it would set hell loose? Because he would have to explain it all, not only to Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, but to the whole school? And to the whole country? Because he was, well, no hero, when it came to these things?
"Harry," Ron emerged from behind the curtain around Ginny's bed. "We can't stay friends as long as you go on like this."
"Are you ashamed to be seen with Malfoy?" burst out of Harry's mouth. The thought had a bitter aftertaste.
"No," Ron said coolly. "I'm ashamed to be seen with you."
"Oh." That was... that was... radical.
"Malfoy wrapped you around his finger, and you let him."
"I'm human, you know." It was Ewen who had wrapped him around his finger. Why did he do it? Was it just to please Draco? "I have a few things to balance."
"Fine. Do it. Go on with your equilibristics. Take your time," Ron said calmly. "We'll talk again after you get your shit together and sort it out." And he disappeared behind the curtain again.
"Since when did you become such a righteous prat?" Harry shouted at the curtain, but the folds only swayed quietly.
Harry looked at Hermione for support. She was the reasonable one.
"I'm going to do it, you know I am! I just need some time for god's sake! I just need—"
"Harry, no. Harry," Hermione interrupted. "Ron's right. You've had plenty of time."
"What?" Harry couldn't believe it. "You too?"
"The longer you wait the worse it gets. Now the whole country thinks Malfoy steps up for Muggle-borns. It's a dirty, dangerous lie! He hasn't changed a bit and you're letting him get away with it. How are you going to explain that when you're out?"
"I— He—" It wasn't true. Draco had changed. A bit. It was not that simple. How could he break it down so anyone would even listen? "We—"
Hermione shook her head, as if brushing off an annoying fly.
"I don't care how, really. The celebration starts tomorrow at eleven." She looked at her watch. "You have fourteen hours to tell McGonagall. Hurry up, before you're caught out after curfew!"
Harry stormed out of the hospital wing. Rage carried him as far as the bottom of the Grand Staircase, but as he set foot on the first stair down to the dungeon, he realised it wasn't rage. By the time he reached the Slytherin quarters, he ran as if a Dementor were behind him, breathing down his neck. He galloped down to the dormitory. Where was the map?
Draco closed the Handbook of Optical Charms and dropped it on top of the ex-Fantabulous Demon Box. The vial of triple Q was now empty, the super-powered Shrinking Solution gleamed misty green next to it. The valerian plant had grown bigger and sturdier, and wasn't so picky about light conditions any longer. A small bottle of Invigoration Draught hid in its shadow.
Everything was ready for the final stage of the process. There was only one complication: When he started shrinking the ingredients, he had to be able to see the results. If everything went right, his mistletoe berries and his valerian sprigs would become a microscopic size, and he needed some way to see and handle them. Draco had shrunk the burner, the cauldron, and the utensils to a size just small enough to hold a bunch of single-celled algae, and had been experimenting with lenses, crystal balls, clock wheels and needles to manage his tiny laboratory. It was getting there. Maybe tomorrow.
Draco stretched. His arse was still sore after Ewen's visit in the afternoon, and he was running behind schedule for today. He'd be lucky if Mrs Norris wasn't already loose about the castle, hunting students who were out of bed. Draco stuck his wand into his pocket and headed out. The moment he stepped outside, a black figure emerged out of nowhere against the backdrop of Barnabas teaching Trolls ballet.
"Potter!"
"Malfoy!"
"What are you doing here?"
"Waiting for you."
"What for?"
"We need to talk. It's urgent."
"All right." Draco made a move away from the door, but Potter held his arm. How long did the Room of Hidden Things need to transform? What if his secret brewery was still there? Draco banished the vision of the room he'd left behind to the farthest compartment of his mind, and gave in to Potter's pressure.
When they stepped inside, it was a different place, and Draco could only wonder what Potter was thinking of. Instead of a cosy corner that Draco had made for himself among shelves and heaps of junk, a vast empty dance floor, polished like a mirror opened before them. Along the walls, landscapes and interiors in gilded picture frames stood like open doors in the dim light, oddly spacious, as if something, or someone was missing. The heavy mantelpiece above an unlit fireplace loomed on the opposite side of the hall, carrying echoes of Malfoy Manor. The floor reflected the night sky full of stars. A full moon rose just above the mantelpiece and filled the room with flat pale light.
"So? What did you want to talk about? Astronomy?"
Potter gaped at the sky, no less surprised than Draco. He walked slowly to the middle of the room, stepping cautiously, as if the floor was made of thin glass and could break under his feet any moment.
"It's weird. Don't you think?" Potter said.
Yes, something was off. The view of the space around him gave Draco the feeling of his brain being pulled into a long thick strand and twisted into a pretzel.
"The moon, look!" Potter pointed at the floor at the foot of the fireplace. "It has no reflection! The reflection is missing!"
"What the—!" Draco walked left and right a few steps, but no second copy of the moon floated into view.
Nevertheless, something positively shone under his feet. Rays of white light, not the second hand gleam of the natural satellite, but strong, untempered brightness spilled from somewhere behind his heels. Draco turned around. A huge star crept slowly under the floor level from behind the reflection of the front door.
"Wait a second. That can't be—" The world was turning upside down in Draco's head. He needed to hold on to something. The closest stationary object happened to be the floor. Draco got on his knees and supported himself against the smooth hard surface. "This can't be the Sun?"
Nothing like the white splotch floating in the soup of blue air. This Sun, compact and concentrated, pulled steadily further and further down the unperturbed blackness. The only thing missing in the picture was the Earth. The Earth, with its crust, and water, and the blue soup of nitrogen and oxygen, and all the other stuff that clouded the human eye, and made the naive admirer believe in crazy things, like sunrise and sunset. They were sandwiched between two skies, two homeless souls in emptiness.
"Look! Look there!" Potter was on all fours, hitting the floor with his index. "The Crux!"
Draco crept closer and followed the direction of Potter's finger with his eyes. The four corners of the Southern Cross stuck out of the crowd of lesser stars. That meant... Draco looked around. It was May and a full moon, so the Sun would be in Taurus, and the Moon in Scorpius. That meant... He followed the line between the Crux and the Moon. The two bright dots must have been beta and alpha Centauri. Circinus had to be there right next, and Norma somewhere behind the mantelpiece.
Draco sat on the floor and had a feeling, strange given the circumstances, that he knew where he was.
"So, Potter. What the hell were you going to talk about? Space travel?"
Potter sat in front of him, and looked like he was counting from one hundred back to one.
"Potter?"
Potter's eyes focused, like he had finally reached the single digits.
"Us. I wanted to talk about us. How we are going to manage this. Because we are telling McGonagall about us before eleven tomorrow morning, and the rest of the world after eleven, as far as I am concerned. You can't go about giving out autographs and letting people shake your hand tomorrow. If you're not joining me, I'm going to McGonagall alone."
"Right." Draco could have guessed. "And what does it have to do with all this?" He pointed at the sky above and below them.
Potter shrugged.
"I'd been waiting at the door for a whole hour. I had to keep my brain busy with something." Potter pulled the locket out of his pocket and put it on the floor between them. "I've been thinking about what Norma and Circinus said about the second step."
"Exchanging souls?"
"Yes." Potter crossed his legs and straightened his back. "If the souls have to leave the bodies, but never manage to get back to their original body they can just go lost, right? So the bodies will stay without a soul, right? The end effect is like you were kissed by a Dementor."
"Yes?"
"Cassius's parents. They were not kissed by a Dementor."
"You needed an hour to come up with this?" Not counting the weeks that had passed since the session. Draco had known it the moment he had heard it from Norma Loubert.
"But that means, that means they had actually managed to set off the process. They had actually managed to pull together the power needed to set it off. So, whatever it is about the vicious circle, there is a way to break it."
"I suppose so."
"How?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Draco had given it quite a bit of thought in the past couple of weeks. "It's baby Cassius. He was wearing the locket when it happened."
"Just that? What in god's name could a baby have done that two adults couldn't?"
"Oh, you shouldn't underestimate babies. I mean, look at you. You did Voldemort in when hundreds of adults couldn't. You were how old?"
"That was different. That has nothing to do with this."
"I don't know. Doesn't it?" Draco tried to catch Potter's eye. "How did you actually survive so spectacularly? Always wanted to ask you."
"It wasn't me. It was my mother. She gave her life in exchange for mine, and then, well, love magic."
"Love magic." Draco let out a hoarse groan. "Knowing how much we love each other, love magic is not on the menu, I'm afraid."
Potter fixed him with his gaze and frowned, as if he had returned to counting upwards and had just reached the twenties. The indistinct gleam in his eyes pulled together into two sharp sparkles, white like the sun under their feet. He lowered his gaze and raised it again, as if he was checking Draco out from top to foot. Draco brushed the thought off in disbelief, but it pushed itself back with the insistence proportional to Potter's perversity.
"Potter, don't look at me like this. We cannot have a baby."
Potter glared at him as if he was going to settle the issue by a trial by combat.
"No no no, don't even think about it. Even if in our lifetime they invent some method for two men to procreate with each other, no. I won't go all the way just to effectively get kissed by a Dementor and leave my child an orphan. My child won't be an orphan."
"We might still figure out how to prevent that."
"Are you suggesting—?" Draco couldn't believe it. "You're completely out of your mind, are you! No! If I ever have a child, it will be because I want to have that child. Not a means for a purpose."
The white sparkles in Potter's eyes faded. The rays of the sun rising on the other side of the sky pulled ugly black shadows over his nose and forehead.
"All right then," Potter said. "That's it, I suppose."
"Yes, that's it."
"We close the investigation."
"Yes."
The locket sat like an ugly insect on the transparent floor. It was humiliating to admit defeat before something so plain and tiny.
"Fine. That brings us right back to the issue I wanted to discuss in the first place. Tomorrow before breakfast, we'll go to McGonagall and tell her. If she tells us to make a public statement, we'll make a public statement. If she tells us to stay away and pretend to be sick, we'll pretend to be sick."
"I wouldn't start with McGonagall. I would start with Knox. At least he has a faint idea of the legal consequences. What with the estate and the shares and everything."
"What with the estate? The estate is yours."
"I wouldn't be so sure. My ancestors traded, and schemed, and cheated, just so that their gold pass on to the next bearer of their precious genes. And since that is you now, I wonder—"
"I don't need your gold."
"I know. But my gold might be of a different opinion."
"Look, Malfoy, that's a technicality. We'll find some solution with Knox's help or otherwise, in due time. But we can't postpone it until—"
"And what about Ewen?"
"What about him?"
"Is he also a technicality?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Potter puffed out. "Ewen risked his health for us, and we're not worth the tip of his little finger, if we don't have the balls to set our life straight."
"We." Draco chuckled.
"What's so funny?"
"I'm just fascinated by the matter-of-factness with which you say 'we'."
"What's wrong about it?"
"Nothing wrong, no. It just presupposes the existence of at least two persons. And I can absolutely see you in it. But I wonder where I am in the equation."
"What d'you mean?"
"So, tomorrow we'll tell everyone. Of course, they will be confused at first, but they'll get used to your new face. By the next anniversary, they will call you Harry Potter, the boy who lived, the hero of Hogwarts. You'll have your name, your fame, your friends, and in addition, my body and my lover!"
"Our lover!"
"I'm just wondering: What am I now? What is left of me?"
"I can't answer that question for you." Potter said. "I can only tell you what I'm not. I don't know what you know, I don't remember what you remember, and I don't—"
"And you didn't do what I did. By that logic, I'm a triple attempted murder and an Unforgivable Curse on an unsuspecting witch, that's what I am. I used to be at least handsome on top of that, but now—"
"You are good-looking!" Potter said, affronted.
"I can't go back to the Muggles as Malcolm Drake, because you've taken him, too. And the worst thing is I can't even kill myself"—Draco wanted to kick the locket, which still lay next to his foot, and stamp the damn thing out of existence—"because apparently it would kill you, too, and I don't want an actual murder hanging on me when I check out."
Potter gulped. "Thanks."
"I know what you think. That I should be happy I'm not rotting away in Azkaban, and that I should shut my whiny maw! But," Draco wished Potter, or someone, would just give him something, some hope, something to hold on to, so he didn't shit his pants again, facing the crowd, "Is it too much to ask for—" A spasm shot from Draco's throat all the way to his cheekbones, and his tongue turned to lead.
"What?"
Draco tried to breathe.
"What do you want to ask for?"
With an enormous effort to get the words out and keep the tears in, Draco pressed out:
"Clarity." It wasn't right. Draco knew it the moment the word left his lips. It wasn't clarity he really wanted, it was Ewen, but there he would be definitely asking too much.
"What about?"
"Potter, don't be an idiot!" That came out easier than Draco had expected. The rest spurted like waste water through a breach in the plumbing. "We've been fucking the same guy for months now. This can't go on like this forever."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm not made of stone. I need to know why I'm being kept around and when I'll be disposed of, before I— before I—" Draco couldn't say it, but he could already feel it happening. The walls separating his inner space into thousands of small compartments crumbled, and crushed, and an excruciating longing hung like a cloud of dust in the emptiness left behind.
Potter had no idea, but he pulled a ridiculously understanding grimace.
"I wouldn't be too worried if I were you. Ewen loves you."
"Shut up!"
"He does!"
"Oh, yes, he loves the taste of my cock, but since that's also yours now— Please, don't get me wrong, Potter, he deserves the best of the best."
"He loves your blowjobs. I'm not so good at blowjobs."
"Wha—" Draco had not expected such candour. Blowjobs. So that was all he was good for. Well, that was something. When had Potter even stopped stuttering on the word 'blowjob'?
The sound of soft footsteps came from the side of the door, and Harry and Draco turned around with a start. A black silhouette stood in the rays of the sun sinking deeper and deeper into the southern sky.
"I am sorry to interrupt you," Ewen's voice rang cheerfully, "but since you were arguing about who I love, I thought I could offer you some first hand information."
"How did you get in here?" Potter blurted out.
"Don't ask stupid questions," Draco said.
"I've been thinking a tad too much about you two recently. Couldn't help overhearing a bit." Ewen joined the circle, propped on his arms against the floor, his legs stretched out in the direction of the Aquarius. "I love you both."
"What do you mean 'both'?" Draco asked.
Ewen shrugged. "You know, sometimes you meet a bloke, and he's hot, and you start fucking like centaurs in a frenzy, and then it turns out that he's also nice, and clever, and you can have conversations. And sometimes, it's the other way around. You have a... a friend, who's been through hell with you. And you just, just trust him. And because you trust him, you relax, and— And then the hormones kick in. I got it both ways this time. That's how I got to love you, Harry. There's no way to love one of you and not to love the other. At least, I can't." Ewen shrugged again. "Why don't you just stop fighting and start sharing?"
"So we just go on as we did?" Draco ventured.
"Not as we did, no. We take it to the next level, I would say. The three of us. Make it official, for our own peace of mind. Make a schedule, if you don't trust it."
"Like Potter goes on the odd days, and I on the even?"
"For instance."
Potter squinted. He was actually considering it!
"Oh my god!" Draco groaned and buried his face in his raised knees.
"Come on, Malfoy, this is not how I'd imagined it either. I thought when I grew up, I'd go out with a girl, and marry, and have children and a mother-in-law who can cook. Now look where I am." Potter stood up and stretched his back and legs. "But this is the way it is, and I'm not complaining. Anyway, I'm in."
"Now you're in for two mothers-in-law who cannot cook, I'm afraid," Ewen said.
"I've already figured I'd have to do the cooking."
"Cooking? You can't even mix a decent potion!"
"I can make a fairly decent shepherd's pie."
Draco snorted. Who knew what counted as decent to Potter.
"All right," Potter said. "You cook on the odd days, and I on the even, how about that?"
"Hey! What are we even talking about? We're not moving in together! No way!"
"Oh no, there's no hurry!" Ewen said. "We'll take it one step at a time, see how it goes."
"Oh my fucking god!" Draco would rather dig himself into the ground. Not to see, not to hear this disgrace. But there was no ground under him. Only another sky.
"Hey, Draco." Potter dared. "We'll figure it out."
"We?" Draco shook his head. "How long will there be a 'we'? I'm not the seer here, but I know what will happen. When you're through with your gay exploration phase, you'll want the real thing. And then the odd days won't be enough for you. You'll want it all, and you'll take it all. And I'll be disposed of like a spare piece of furniture. Why? Because you always win!"
"Hey hey hey, you're talking there as if I'm some sort of trophy!" Ewen said. "I can tell you exactly why that won't happen." His eyes met Draco's. His stern frown melted and his eyebrows arched smoothly. "Because I love you."
Love. What could Draco say to that? That Ewen was mistaken? Misguided? That it didn't matter because there were powers stronger than love? Stronger than that kind of love? A voice in Draco's head kept adding reasons why that couldn't be true. Only, it was someone else's voice.
"You're worried what your parents will say to this."
"Don't! Please." Why did Ewen always have to hit the mark before you even had a chance to think the thought to the end, let alone to put up your defences?
Draco knew exactly what his parents would say. Nothing. Mother would put on a worried frown that mirrored the wrinkle of her upper lip, like he'd caught some shameful muggle disease. Father would change the topic, and a few days later you'd find your significant other—plural in this case—obliviated. Or worse, you'd find yourself wondering what that person was doing in your life in the first place and suspect them of drugging you with love potion.
It didn't help that Father was in Azkaban. In Draco's mind, he had never left. He was always there, like a portrait in his mental drawing room, making a comment on every step he made, or rewarding it with vindictive silence.
Draco stared at the floor between his legs and the upside down image of the gilded frames along the walls. A decent drawing room had more than one painting in it, many more than one. He would definitely move Hyperion from the entrance hall to replace one of the abandoned pictures. He'd search the attic, too, no matter the house-elves. He wouldn't be surprised if a secret picture of Flavia or Aurelia was still collecting dust somewhere in a dark corner. Draco wished they had made portraits in the eleventh century. He would put Norma and Circinus right next to Herman. But while the real interior decoration had obvious limitations, as far as Draco's mental drawing room was concerned, he was free to arrange it in any way he wished. In that space, Monsieur and Madame Loubert's portrait was already right there in the middle. They were crying, and smiling, and stretching out their arms towards him, and telling him to trust his love. And their voices were louder than Father's silence.
"If this is what you want."
Ewen broke into a smile.
"Draco," he whispered, and Draco felt his cheeks heat, like in a steam bath scented with peppermint and eucalyptus.
Draco looked up. Potter was surveying the scene, his hands in his pockets, with a satisfied grin on his face. Draco got to his feet, to gain back at least some of the height difference.
"Hey," Potter proffered his hand. "It will be all right."
It was crazy to shake hands over such business, and certainly way too premature, because the negotiations had only just begun. But Potter was offering peace and this was what Ewen wanted, and Draco would be damned if he didn't play his part with some dignity. Their hands clasped tight.
As if that wasn't enough, Potter pulled him close and clapped his back heartily with his spare hand.
"And if he annoys us, you know what we'll do? We'll grab our brooms and go play Quidditch together."
"I annoy you? What are you talking about?" Ewen stood up and staggered towards them with his open arms. "I'll love you so much, you won't be able to mount your broomsticks."
If until that moment there might have been a slight chance for Draco to escape Potter's embrace, now with Ewen wrapped around them that possibility was gone. Their foreheads met in the middle and their breath mixed in the jumble of three noses and three mouths. Ewen's arm snaked around Draco's waist and pulled him deeper in. Or was it Potter's arm? Draco's fingers interlaced with those of another hand. He closed his eyes, and a lip brushed his. The last wall cracked, trembled, and came down with a dry rumble in Draco's head.
His eyes were still closed, but he felt the air grow darker. A chill tickled Draco's spine. He rubbed against the warmth of Potter's arm (or was it Ewen's?), but the chill spread along the length of his back, sank into his ribcage, and pulled through his chest at the front.
Potter broke away abruptly and looked around frantically. He flipped out his wand, and Draco did the same without thinking. Potter's eyes were filled with terror, and now Draco felt it too. The little hope he'd mustered from Ewen's declaration of love seeped away with the cold pull at his chest, and he heard his mother's cry echo in the dark maze of Azkaban.
But there was no Dementor, only Ewen with a smile on his lips and the locket on his chest.
"What are you doing?! Stop it!"
Ewen kept smiling with a playful sparkle in his eye. "May I kiss you?"
That didn't sound right. Draco stepped back.
"Expecto Patronum!" Potter shouted, pointing at the locket. A cone of silvery light spilled out of the tip of his wand, but ran dry like a blown out candle.
"Expecto Pa—" Potter clasped his hand over his mouth, gagging.
Draco felt sick, as if he was about to vomit his soul out. Potter's eyes clouded, and he dropped his wand. Potter, no! Harry faltered and his lips parted.
Draco needed a happy memory! Now! But there was only darkness inside and around him, except... Except for a handful of faint stars under his feet.
"Expecto patronum!" Circinus and Norma's voices sounded in Draco's mental drawing room. Just so you know, boy—
"Expecto Patronum!"
You may call yourself Malfoy—
"Expecto Patronum!"
You may call yourself whatever you want—
"Expecto Patronum!"
But Herman is our son, and his children are our grandchildren, and you are our family.
"Expecto Patronum!" Light gushed out of Draco's wand, and as he held on, a silvery stag came out in a single leap and charged at Ewen with the locket.
"Expecto Patronum!" Potter had come around. Two stags attacked the locket with their antlers and trampled it with their hooves.
The cold subsided, but the pull in Draco's chest intensified. He felt so sick, he was about to explode. The skies spinned around him, and the stags raged around Ewen, pushing him away. And then, flop. Ewen flopped onto the floor and everything was still.
The stags threw an indifferent look at Ewen's motionless body. As their shine dissolved in the air, like smoke, Ewen's outlines faded into darkness. The sun, the moon, and the stars were gone. Ewen lay on a stone floor, under a stone ceiling.
"Ewen!" Potter fell on his knees beside him. "Ewen!" He shook his shoulders.
"What happened?" Draco felt at his chest and listened for the rustle of breath. "Shit!"
"Pomfrey!" commanded Potter.
The limp weight kept sliding to Potter's side as they pulled it on their shoulders through the dark corridors of the sleeping castle.
"C'mon, Potter! Keep up!" Please don't die, Ewen. Just don't die! "We're almost—"
They kicked the door of the Hospital Wing open. The yellow circle of Madam Pompfrey's startled face stuck out of the night in the light of a candle.
"You?! Again?! What have you done to Mr Arling again?!"
They plunged Ewen on the closest empty bed.
"Let's see!" Madam Pomfrey circled the candle above Ewen's face and chest. "What's this?"
"Don't touch it!" Harry and Draco grabbed her arm as she reached out towards the locket.
Madam Pomfrey raised an eyebrow. "No need to shout, gentlemen! You'll wake up other patients!"
With an unperturbed mien, Madam Pomfrey ran noiselessly out of the room. Ginny's displeased grunt sounded somewhere in the dark.
A row of candles lit up above Ewen's bed, as Madam Pomfrey reappeared, wrapped in a chequered dressing gown and wearing a pair of dragonhide gloves.
"First things first." She lifted Ewen's head, pulled the necklace from under his nape, and the locket clanked on a metal kidney tray.
Ewen's nostril quivered and his chest rose, pulling air. Madam Pomfrey waved her wand, murmuring an incantation, and yawned.
"Shock from an overdose of positive force. Looks like a love ritual gone awry." She gave them a disapproving look. "I wonder why it always happens when I'm just about to go to bed."
Always? That sounded comforting.
"Now, off you go, you two! Or you'll miss breakfast with Mr Arling tomorrow."
Relieved, but adrift, Draco stood staring at Madam Pomfrey's multiple shadows on the closed curtain around Ewen's bed. They moved in perfect synchrony, like a squad of well-drilled soldiers.
Potter gave a long sigh, which started with a gulp, but faded out into soft peaceful breathing.
"That was a—" Draco blinked. Next to him stood... Potter. Draco rubbed his eyes, but it was still Potter! Not his own usurped face wearing Potter's stupid expression, but the actual despicable hairy monkey with glasses askew on his nose, staring back at him wide-eyed.
"Malfoy!"
"Potter!" Draco pulled his sleeve up and gasped. A large scar crossed his left wrist.
"We have swapped back!" They fell into each other's arms, shaking with laughter. "We have swapped back!"