Note: Hi all, sorry for a late update. My mother died, and the FFN website was not working properly, and I didn't have the energy to struggle with its functionality. Now that it works again, here two chapters in a row.

WARNINGS for this chapter: suicidal intent.

Chapter 32: Centaur blood

Draco left the dormitory to the rumbling duet of Thomas and Weasley's snores. The slanted rays of the rising sun crawled the deserted hallways, and the smack of his trainers echoed unbearably with each step. If Ewen was still asleep, he would sit and wait. He would wait like a dog on a doormat.

"Malfoy?"

Shit!

"Potter."

Not again.

They walked in silence. Distant laughter grew louder as they approached the hospital wing. The door squeaked and sighed, and the laughter rang at full volume.

"Eight hundred eighty-nine! Eight hundred eighty-nine years! My god! And then two!"

"Yeah. I was pulling and pulling, and I thought, oh, that's a heavy one, and then there were two of them. I thought damn I'm screwed. But then, it was okay!"

Ewen, blindfolded with a thick bandage, half-sat in his bed, Benveniste at his side, in high spirits. The white cloud of blooming hagberry twigs hung over the bedside table and its sunny scent made its way boldly among the sticky smells of medicine. A pot of steaming tea, a plate of croissants and an open box of fancy chocolates completed the still life. Benveniste and Ewen were not just laughing. They were celebrating!

"Oh my god, you realise what you did? You realise it? You are the first. Number one. One point zero zero zero zero..." Benveniste patted his knee.

Ewen grinned widely.

"It's a publication! When you get out of here, we'll write it up and send it to a decent journal."

"The Depths of Divination?"

"I said decent."

"The Oracle?"

"It deserves to be in Magic, if you ask me, but they don't publish case studies." Benveniste took another bite of her croissant and crumbs poured down her robes. "I'd go for Majuc and Cognution," she said, chewing.

Ewen touched the edge of the bedside table and slid his fingers erratically over its surface. Benveniste lifted his teacup and pressed it into his hand.

"What we really need is some general publicity. Daily Prophet, if they had a trustworthy research columnist, or similar. If people get excited, there is a chance the Wizengamot will finally take on my Forensic Divination report."

"How about Potterwatch? I could drop a line to Lee Jordan," Potter said, instead of hello.

"Ah! Gentlemen!"

"Harry? Draco?" Ewen grabbed the box on the second attempt, and held it out to them. "Have a chocolate!"

Potter took one. It turned into a rose bud and burst into bloom between his fingers.

"I won't say no to Potterwatch!" Benveniste took Ewen's cup and put it back on the table. "Of course, no names will become public," she added for Draco.

"How are you?" Potter asked. "How are your eyes?"

"Fine. My eyes will be fine. Great stuff, that potion. Draco?" Ewen's hand grabbed the air. Draco caught it and squeezed it in his.

"Okay, boys, I leave this extraordinary wizard in your care. We'll talk later," Benveniste gave Potter a wink. "Enjoy!" she patted Ewen's knee again, and danced out of the hospital wing, singing two numbers: eight hundred eighty-nine and two.

Ewen's fingers were warm and sticky with sugar. Suddenly, they tensed and a crease appeared under the upper edge of his bandage.

"Does it hurt?" Potter said.

"Sometimes. A little."

"Sorry."

"Oh no, it was absolutely worth it!" Ewen said. "For us, at least. I'm sorry it didn't work out that well for you two, did it?"

"Thank you anyway."

The fact that Draco could smell the hagberry probably meant that he was still breathing. With his eyes bandaged, Ewen couldn't see his messy black hair and his ugly Potter face, and the guilty wish that this might also stay like this forever flashed through Draco's mind.

Potter glanced at their intertwined fingers, stood up, and pulled the curtain closed as he left.

"Why are you so silent?" Ewen said. "Are you sad?"

Draco kissed the smudge of chocolate on Ewen's palm.

"Oh, I see. You don't want me to hear Harry's voice. Do you want to touch me though?"

Draco slid his hand under Ewen's blanket.

"Oh, you do. Carry on."


The day passed in a stupor. Draco might have attended Transfiguration and Charms. It could just as well have been Defence and Herbology. He couldn't tell the difference. The last class was Divination though, there was no doubt about that, because Ewen's absence made a black gap in the picture.

Draco headed for the exit, overtaking chattering classmates, to get to the hospital wing and fill that gap as soon as possible, but instead of a 'have a nice evening', Benveniste stopped him with a prohibitive "Will you please wait in my office?" and whoever was filing after him crashed into his back.

The only window of Benveniste's office faced north, and although the hills were gleaming in the evening sun, it was dark and cold inside.

The portrait of Professor Snape had returned from the dungeons and hung on the wall opposite the window. Snape was sleeping. His disconnected body sat leaning against the wall in the background, his head rolled to the side but stayed hanging in the air. Draco lit a candle, Snape stirred and opened one eye.

"Sorry, Professor. I didn't mean to wake you."

Snape opened the other eye and rolled his head upright. Greasy locks were scattered across his face, but without hands all he could do was try and blow them out of his line of sight.

"Draco?" His eyes focused. "How is our experiment with the eyes?"

"The potion seems to work! Ewen says he sees blue all the time."

"Ultramarine or cerulean?"

"He didn't say."

Snape grunted sullenly.

"Seeing the results," Snape tried to stretch his disconnected neck, "I wonder if he can tell the difference."

While Draco was thinking how to reply without being rude, Snape continued in a neutral tone:

"It should drift towards the green part of the spectrum in the next few days. If our patient doesn't see turquoise by Thursday, I'd recommend another dose."

"I'll tell Madam Pomfrey. Thank you, sir."

The flame of the candle swayed slowly. Snape fixed him with his gaze and Draco searched for something else to look at. The tips of Potter's trainers, as ugly as they were, proved useful.

"Was it worth the trouble?" Snape asked.

Draco could not bring up the courage to say 'no'. As long as the words were not spoken, it felt like they weren't quite true yet. Luckily, Benveniste marched in and relieved him from the need to answer.

"You will serve your detention with Madam Pince every Thursday at five p.m. in the next three weeks," she said, striding past Snape's portrait.

"Right." They hadn't forgotten about the incident in the library.

She dropped a pile of essays on her desk, turned around, and her gaze darted back and forth between Snape and Draco.

"It's not transfiguration," she said, sinking in her armchair.

"Huh?"

"Your body didn't transform. You literally parted with your own body and received Mr Potter's in return. It is not transfiguration. It's fundamental magic."

Snape scoffed hoarsely. "Just so you know, Draco. 'Fundamental' is the politically correct for 'dark'."

"I disagree," Benveniste said in her lecturing voice. "Fundamental magic is magic that manipulates the connection between your body and your soul. The killing curse is fundamental, Horcruxes are fundamental. But not all dark charms are. The Cruciatus, for instance, it only affects the body."

Draco shivered. Only someone who had never been on the receiving end could be so wrong about it.

"I'm sorry. What I meant to say is, it doesn't affect the connection between your body and your soul."

"Name one example of fundamental magic that is not dark," Snape said.

"Mr Malfoy's locket, apparently," she said to Snape but looked at Draco. "The long and short of it: It's not transfiguration, it won't wear off by itself."

As if Draco had not guessed it. Did she have to rub it in?

"Do you remember what you promised me, Mr Malfoy?" Benveniste gestured for him to sit down, but Draco preferred to stay close to the door. "You don't have to tell everyone at once. You might want to start with your friends. But then Professor McGonagall should know as soon as possible."

The candle threw bizarre shadows over Benveniste's face.

"But I've interrupted your tête-à-tête with Professor Snape," she said, standing up. "Feel free to continue your conversation." And she left them alone in her office.

The real Snape had been as harsh with him as he was with Potter as far as potion-making was concerned, he just had never let it slip in public. But he could be soft, and kind, and caring, when he saw the son of Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black in him. The Snape in the picture had not shown any signs of being human so far. He kept staring at him without compassion, without kindness.

"What should I do?" Draco chanced against all odds.

"I think Professor Benveniste stated very clearly what you should do."

"Yes but, I mean, what should I do after? When everyone knows. How should I— How should I live?"

Snape ran his eye down to Potter's trainers and back to his scar. The headless body at the back of the composition sighed.

"I'm no one to give out life advice, Draco."

"I don't know who else to ask."

"I would try someone who has a good head on their shoulders."

"Right." What had he expected?

Draco turned to go. He blew at the candle, the flame guttered aside, but held on desperately to the wick, and pulled itself back upright, when the blow died down. Snape's face flashed in the golden light, and their eyes met again.

"If you don't want to end up like me, don't lose your love to Potter."


Draco rushed to the hospital wing, cutting corners and jumping over stairs. Maybe he hadn't lost it to Potter yet? He paused to catch his breath just before opening the door. The curtain was drawn around Ewen's bed. Was he asleep? Draco cast a Muffliato on his shoes and came closer. But he heard Potter's voice and his fingers barely brushed the fabric.

"Fifty years! I can't believe it!"

Draco stood still before the curtain like a hollow suit of armour in a hallway. He was too late.

"Half a century in someone else's body..."

"They seemed quite happy with it in the end." There was a playful note in Ewen's voice.

"They were a couple! We are— I don't know what we are."

"A tri— erm, a triad? a triple? A tri—"

"A triwizard tournament!"

Ewen laughed. "I thought you were getting along too well for that!"

There was a groan behind the curtain. Potter's groan. The bed gave two quacks.

"I don't complain. Nothing wrong with this body, could be worse."

"You've put it to good use so far," Ewen drawled teasingly.

Draco could hear soft sighs of the duvet and more squeaking of the bed. Breathing and an occasional gasp.

"I'm just— I'm just so tired of all these shirts, and all these shoes that have to gleam all the time, and all these cuffs that must be kissing."

"But that's only because you're still pretending to be him. When you stop pretending, then you can wear whatever you want. You can start wearing a pink tutu if you like!"

"A pink tutu?! You have some perverse fantasies."

There was muffled giggling, and the bed screeched vigorously. Draco wondered why he was still standing there. He should have left the moment he didn't have the courage to pull the curtain.

"Oh my god! I can't imagine what it'll be like. How— I mean, when we tell everyone."

"It'll be all right. Look, you are Harry Potter, you just look a little different these days, and they'll have to get used to it. And they will. I got used to it, and I'm fine!"

"You're just an ultimate unstoppable sweetheart, you are! Not everyone's like that."

They fell silent again. Draco could hear every hitch of their breath, and the whisper:

"Am I hurting you? Oh sorry!"

"Oh no, go on, go on, go on. Come here."

Why was he still here?

"Let's not get too wild. Draco will be here any moment."

Ewen only groaned in reply.

"I don't know," Potter spoke again, when their breath steadied. "I don't know how we should go about it. This can't go on like this forever."

"What?"

"This... ménage à trois."

"Why not?"

"I mean, I'm fine with it, but Draco... He's putting up a brave face, but he really hates it. He's jealous like you wouldn't believe!"

"Right." Ewen sighed. "He's so insecure, and it's just so unnecessary." Ewen sighed again but louder. "I've tried to praise him more, but these days it's almost impossible. Every time I want to express my delight over his dick, he shouts at me that I'm obsessed with your dick."

"Maybe you should focus less on the physical, you know, more on other qualities?"

"Yeah. Not that we get to talk about much else when we just shag behind a bookshelf." Ewen sniffed after a long silence. "I'd trust Draco with my life."

"Really?" By the sound of it, Potter had never heard bigger nonsense.

"No, really, hear me out, hear me out. He's sold everyone, right? Literally everyone."

"Right."

"Except me."

Right. For a second, Draco felt a tinge less hollow. At least, his phenomenal efforts in Occlumency were recognised.

"I was sitting and trembling the whole summer. Waiting for Aurors to come and grab me but—"

Draco fought the urge to scream. If Ewen knew how close he had come to failing. He had almost lost it. And now? Ewen was babbling it all away to Potter, an Auror, as if it was nothing. What did he think he was doing? Aurors would come for him after all if he went on like this, or...

"—and I am still free."

Or... Draco stared at the closed curtain. It was simple, actually. Ewen had Potter by the balls. And he was not planning to let go of them.

"Are you sure you want me in it though? You and Dr—"

"Yesss."

The "s" slashed like a blade across Draco's chest. The bed creaked again, silence turned slowly into muffled purrs and quiet giggles.

"It can't go on like this, though," Potter's voice was revoltingly guttural. "If you're really serious about the three of us, we have to do something about—"

"The jealous Draco Malfoy."

"Yeah."

Ewen sighed. "What shall we do with the jealous Draco?"

"Yes. What shall we do with the jealous Draco?"

"Early in the morning."

Ewen burst into peals of laughter, even the curtain began to flutter. Potter joined in with a guilty titter, but he couldn't hold it either. And then they broke into a chant:

"What shall we do with the jealous Draco?
What shall we do with the jealous Draco?
What shall we do with the jealous Draco?
Early in the morning!"

In a flash, Draco knew what to do with the jealous Draco, and there was no need to wait until morning. The chant died as he reached the staircase, the content buzz of the dinner came from the Great Hall like a warm goodbye, the empty Entrance Hall echoed past him, the grey air smelled of imminent rain and his trainers swished through the grass.

No, he would not be anyone's charity project, Ewen's least of all.

The tiny rectangle of the Hogsmeade gate swam into view and Draco realised that he had no plan. If he wanted to leave, it would be better to use the secret passage Potter had shown him, but for that he would have to go back to the castle. He was not going back. He could only keep on going forward, and the wards around Hogwarts grounds would soon present a tangible obstacle. The solution loomed in the distance to his right, and Draco corrected his course.

A mosquito whined past. The chill of the evening tickled Draco between the ribs. But soon trees surrounded him on all sides, and he felt strangely safe. There had to be a way to get out through the forest. Memories of Soho thundered in his ears, and years and years of being no one ahead of him. Not even Malcolm Drake, because Potter took that too. The thought brought Draco to a halt. He absolutely, truly didn't exist any more, not even among the Muggles. He had nowhere to go.

The undergrowth was getting thicker and the path thinner. There were no puddles of unicorn blood on his way, but an unsettling smell of childhood nightmares hung in the air. Was it because it was still light, or because he'd grown since his last visit? Everything was smaller, and flatter, but not a bit less blood-curdling. He could run into a hungry acromantula any moment, or an angry hippogriff that would take pleasure in tearing him apart.

Draco stopped when the realisation hit him. He didn't need a hippogriff. He pulled his wand and turned it around. Its tip pointed at his chest.

What was it other than a shortcut? To skip through the years of anonymity and proceed straight to non-existence. Yeah yeah, his soul wouldn't cease to exist. But he was not his soul. He was his soul and his body, and that structure had ceased to exist months ago.

'Wrap, push away, wall up, aim.' Draco recited the formula and immediately saw the complication. He had to bundle everything he knew, and loved, and hated about himself and put it behind a wall. But how could he put a wall between himself and himself? There was no way to make a clean job of it. This was going to be messy. And painful.

Draco threw one last glance at the sky. The tree tops stuck out of the grey emptiness like quills of a giant porcupine. A raindrop hit his eyebrow. He'd better get over with it before he got wet. One last time he thought of Ewen and wished him many happy years, the most powerful seer in Britain with the winner who took it all. Potter. Wait a second. No!

Draco wanted to laugh and scream at the same time. The moment his curse would hit his chest, would Potter drop dead on the spot, with Ewen's dick in his mouth, clutching the blanket? He could kill Potter right here, two birds with one stone. Why wouldn't he?

Why wouldn't he? Draco leaned against a tree and slid down slowly until he sat on the cold moss. The eternal fucking bond!

The rhythmic thud of hooves reminded him of the existence of hippogriffs. The hooves stopped somewhere very close behind him. Draco didn't dare turn around.

"Don't," said a clear male voice.

Hippogriffs could not speak.

"The stars that we don't see shine under our feet."

This had to be a centaur. Twigs cracked, a shadow crawled out of the thicket of trees, and a second later Firenze stood at Draco's side.

"You are holding your wand the wrong way around, Draco Malfoy."

"Oh, right." Draco turned his wand around hastily and felt his cheeks burn. The centaur looked down at him sternly, as if Draco was late for an appointment. His lips curled into a small smile, and only now Draco realised. "How do you know I'm Draco Malfoy?"

Firenze's eyes smiled along with his lips. "Your tears are running in my blood."

"What kind of explanation is th—? Wait, what?" Now Draco remembered. "I did screw up that potion, didn't I?"

He got back to his feet and examined Firenze's flank. Two heavy raindrops were making their way down his side, but that was the only visible disturbance on the perfect cover of his pale golden hair.

"Looks good. No scarring?"

Firenze nodded silently.

"I'm sorry about the tears. I was in no state."

"No harm done. The tears are the salve."

The forest began to thrum with seeping rain. Occasional drops exploded on Firenze's shoulders.

"What are you doing in our forest in this weather, Draco Malfoy?"

"Erm. Nothing." What was the point of telling the truth if Firenze already knew it?

"Don't run."

"I can't go back."

"What do you fear?"

"Fear?" Draco sniggered. "I'm beyond fear."

Firenze's hooves whumped on the wet moss and his torso towered above Draco.

"What?" Draco said. "I will rot away alone and bitter, that's clear. The question is only how long and whether they'll watch and gloat, or whether I'll spare myself and make a somewhat dignified exit."

"You can't expect not to be punished for what you did."

"As long as I have the freedom to choose between different forms of punishment, I'll enjoy that freedom."

Firenze turned his eyes to the sky, and peered, as if he could see through the veil of grey clouds and the scattered rays of the setting sun.

"Tomorrow you will tell them your name," he said and looked down at Draco.

"Is it an order?"

"No. It's a prophecy."

"Great. As if I cannot figure out myself what I will do tomorrow. Do you have anything more interesting for me? Will I get my body back, for instance?"

"That I don't know." Firenze shook his head. "But there are better seers than me. Trust your love, Draco Malfoy. The vanishing boy is a great seer."

Coming from a centaur that meant something.

"His name is Ewen Arling, by the way, and he is not vanishing."

Firenze smiled. "Ewen Arling is one of our kind."

"What?"

"Centaur blood runs in his veins."

For a moment Draco had thought that Firenze was finally talking business, but this was plain ridiculous.

"Blood, seriously!" He had seen Ewen's eyes bleed yesterday. His blood was just as red as his own. "You just want to take credit for his talent, don't you? You know what? I don't care what beast had shagged his great-grandmother, you have no share in his success. If there is one person who has a share in it, it's Benveniste. And, no offence, I'm very happy it's her teaching divination this year."

The path was somewhere behind the burly sycamore whose leaves had been shielding them from rain. Draco curved around the massive palomino body.

"It was a pleasure seeing you in good health. Sir." Draco stumbled over the heavy roots.

"Cast your eyes down, Draco Malfoy!" Firenze said behind his back. "But don't let the Earth obscure your view."

Draco tottered out of the forest and barged into a wall of pouring water. The Hogwarts castle stood like a grey ghost in the murk of white rain.

Note: Here is another prize question: What do you think Firenze is trying to tell Draco?