Summary: Draco performs the Patronus charm, with unexpected results

I stand stock-still in the centre of the room, wondering what will be worse: refuse - or feign incapability - to perform the spell and disgrace both my family and myself, or face the consequences of performing that particular spell, and die for the shame of it.

Under the stern gaze of Aunt Andromeda - Professor Tonks now - I know that I don't really have a choice. Death by embarrassment it is, then. I probably deserve it.

Bracing myself, I gather the memories around me. The wetness of the tears running on my cheeks. Potter's body, limp in the gamekeeper's arms. Potter's face, bruised and battered and dirty and lax. Potter's hair, the usual dark mess of unruly locks. Potter's eyelids, barely fluttering under that ugly scar. And the triumphant blaze of green as his eyes opened.

I'm as ready as I'll ever be. I square my shoulders, raise my chin - ignoring the stares of the whole classroom - and cast tersely, "Expecto Patronum!"

The subsequent silence is so deep, I can almost hear Potter's blood thundering under his skin as his cheeks get as red as winter apples.

Meanwhile, his stag Patronus – previously conjured - leaps and rubs against mine, as if they are the best of friends. That's not surprising, considered that my Patronus is the spitting image of Potter himself. Of a gloriously naked Potter, to be precise. The surprising thing is no one has hexed me yet.

Do I really look this good?

The question bubbles in my mind out of sheer surprise, as I stare at the shape made out of pale smoke by Malfoy's wand. If not for the pearly colour, it could be my reflection. How could he…? Why is he mocking me? Has he maybe overheard that I…?

Then Ron's elbow makes quick contact with my ribs, and my eyes return on their natural focus: Draco. He looks paler than usual, and sways on the place. His face is set in a strange mixture of horror and dismay, and I'm suddenly sure that, however he managed to produce my image instead of a Patronus, he did not do it on purpose.

Is it even possible to…?

Draco just evoked my image as a Patronus… as the most powerful spell that protects from Dementors and gives happiness… may this mean that he doesn't hate me after all? May this mean more? Do I dare to hope?

An unexpected smile makes my lips curl up against my will, and I blurt out, "Is this your Patronus, Malfoy? Really?"

I realize that my question may have sounded mocking only when Draco flees the room.

The burst of chatter and speculation and joking that follows his departure is so loud, Professor Andromeda is forced to dismiss the class.

As soon as I leave the classroom, I know I'm making a huge mistake. Had I stayed, I could have turned the situation to my advantage; I could have said something scathing; I could have mocked Potter.

The sad truth is, I don't have it in my heart to mock Potter anymore. What I have in my heart…

I still can't believe that I'm able to produce a full corporeal Patronus – to memories of The-Boy-Who-Goes-On-Living, no less, and how happy does it make me that he lived indeed. That said Patronus should be shaped like him… that's more that astonishing, it's unexplainable and impossible – or isn't it? Yet, it is Potter's bespectacled, smiling face and Potter's slim, toned body that appear when I cast Patronus. I accepted it months ago, when I first succeeded in that elusive spell. Old family lore may explain how that happened, or it may not. I do not dare to hope.

Even knowing - or suspecting – how this particular bit of magic works, even expecting Harry's image as a result of the Incanto Patronus, it still amazes me to see it.

I should have refused… but Aunt Bellatrix's orders were never to be unattended, and Professor Tonks resembles her deceased, deranged sister so much… and now it's too late to regret my choices.

Let's hope Blaise and Pansy will bring me food, because I'm not going to show my face out of the dungeons, ever again.

In the almost empty classroom, I'm still staring at my Patronus and at my Patronus-ised self, as they seem to dance together merrily, when Ron lets a heavy arm fall on my shoulders.

"Well, mate, this was interesting. What are you going to do now?"

The question takes me by surprise. "Why? Do I need to do something?"

Ron shrugs. "I don't even know how it was possible, but I'd say having you as Patronus means the Ferret has some strong feelings for you, Harry. I think you'd like to go after the git and, I don't know, tell him you're fine with this?"

"And you think…" I start answering, but Hermione cuts in. "I'll research how he can have a human image as Patronus, but for now Ron's right: if you care about Malfoy - and you made our heads fit to burst ranting about that just this morning over breakfast - go talk to him. I bet he feels humiliated… Go find him, Harry!"

My heart pounding loudly in my throat, I swallow the rising hope and run toward the dungeons: I'm pretty sure Draco will be trying to hide in his dorm. I only wish to catch him before he enters Slytherin grounds.

"Malfoy, wait…"

Potter's panting voice reaches me as I'm on the last flight of stairs before the Slytherin common room.

The castle itself apparently plays against me. The staircase spins; Potter jumps and grabs my arm.

"Listen, Draco…"

I ignore his liberal use of my first name – as in, my heart jumps and skips a beat, but my face does not show it – and interrupt him with the chilliest voice I can muster at the moment. "You'll find, Potter, that I'm disinclined to either wait or listen to your gibberish. Now, if you'll excuse me…"

I stare at his hand where it still lies on my arm – ignoring the warmth it spreads – and he removes it quickly. Still, he's nothing but persistent.

"Look, I know I could have sounded like I was making fun of you, but really, I was just surprised. I want to…"

I risk a glance at his earnest, reddened, stupidly adorable face, and for a moment I'm tempted to listen, to believe, to dream… but no. This being-in-love-with-Potter thing that I admitted to myself lately is already ridiculous enough, no need to feed it. It's not like it will lead to something different form heartbreak, after all.

"What you want, Potter, is none of my concern. Have a good day."

I toss my hair and turn just as the staircase stops. I murmur the password, and close the door on Potter's face.

This does not give me all the satisfaction I expected.

I tell myself that I understand Draco, really. That, were I in his shoes, I'd feel mortified and would not want to be confronted. Still, his refusal to even talk to me hurts. I was hoping…

Maybe I just need to give him time, to show him that things can change – already have changed – and that I don't think about him as a rival, an enemy or the bane of my existence anymore.

Maybe Hermione will find out what is going on with the human-shaped Patronus Draco was able to conjure, and that will give me some understanding about his feelings.

And meanwhile, it's not like Draco can stay secluded in the Slytherin dorm until the term ends.

A week later

"Draco, please, you can't go on like this."

Pansy is stomping her foot in an unladylike manner, frowning at me.

Sometimes I find her really annoying. Make that often. Yes, I haven't left my dorm in a whole week. So what?

"You'll find, Pans, that I can do exactly as I please." I try to stare her down, and fail.

Her face softens, and she sighs theatrically. "I know you fear the reactions of the other students, but really, it's all right. I managed this already. I've told in secret – so almost everybody knows by now - that you only feigned to cast Patronus, while you used some non-vocal illusion charm to mock Potter's lack of muscles and of…"

This makes my temper rise. "And if your eyes weren't crossed, you'd have noticed Potter's body is not lacking in any way…"

She cuts in rudely, "And Potter is perfect and you love him and you hate him because he'd never love you, yadda yadda. Spare me, Draco! I've already heard it all, more than once. What I'm trying to say is, your life's not ruined. You're not even seeing the git anymore, what with you staying here all the time! I covered up saying you're indisposed, but the teachers won't buy it if it lasts another day… Do you want to be dragged to the Infirmary? I promise, Draco, nobody in the schools thinks you feel more than a mild distaste for Potter… I'm the one who spreads rumours here, remember?"

I reluctantly agree. "And I could see his smile again, and his green, green eyes…"

"Exactly!" She never showed so much enthusiasm for my odes to Potter before. "Think you'll meet him in the Great Hall, in the corridors, in the classrooms. You could even talk to him, if you wish…"

I suddenly remember that Potter wanted to talk to me, after that fatal D.A.D.A. lesson, and I refused him. Maybe things can really change.

I agree with Pansy that I'll get out of this room and face the whole school – soon.

First, I need to restore my beauty to its usual standards – my eyes are red-rimmed and my hair lack the usual splendour – but after that, I'll show myself in public again.

I've nothing to be ashamed of, after all. Everybody knows that a real Patronus can only take the shape of an animal, and I'm sure no one remembers that old bit of magic anyway…

Hermione looks tired, and has dust in her hair, as she closes the book.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I've searched every parchment, every tome, and every scrap of written word in Hogwarts. I've read everything has ever been written about the Incanto Patronus. I found nothing. It's stated very firmly that a Patronus takes the shape of an animal, and an animal only. Man is an animal, biologically speaking, but every text excludes explicitly that a Patronus could ever take human shape, much less the shape of a specific, recognizable wizard…"

Ron snorts, cutting in. "So you're basically saying that Malfoy did the impossible? Maybe he just simulated a Patronus, like half the school seems to think…"

"No," Hermione states firmly. "I asked Professor Tonks, and she said that there's no spell that can forge a full blown Patronus. It's not that."

"And why should he do that anyway?" I ask. "He ignored me since the school started…"

"Maybe he wanted to catch you attention," Ron offers, dubious. "Not that he needs to do much for that."

I smile at the good-humoured stab, and shake my head. "No, he didn't look like he did it on purpose. Haven't you seen his face, the way he carried himself just before casting the spell? He knew what would appear, and he feared the class' reaction. After the incident, he stayed hidden in his dorm…"

Hermione casts me a puzzled look. I hasten to explain, not wanting to be taken for a stalker. "I checked on the Marauders' Map. I'm sure that he would have avoided casting that spell in front of an audience, if he could have."

Ron nods. "I trust you on this, as you're the expert in Malfoy-logy here. So he knew his Patronus would look like you, even though it's impossible, and cast it anyway? How?"

"That's what I'm trying to find out since the last week," clips Hermione, frustrated.

I try to soothe her. "Besides the how, I'm more worried about the why. Let's use reason."

Hermione snorts but waves her hand in a wide gesture, inviting me to go on.

"What does it mean that Draco's Patronus is now in my shape? A Patronus is a powerful protection. Does he somehow feel I protect him? Maybe because I took his wand..."

At my words, Ron almost jumps up, yelling. "Harry, you're a genius. Ginny! Stop kissing Dean for a moment and come here, please!"

Ginny does, though not without complaining, and comes over, looking questioningly at her brother.

Ron smiles at her, and asks, "What was that bonding spell Fleur wanted and mum was against? Do you remember?"

"Yes, they quarrelled a lot about that. Bill was seriously thinking to elope at some point. I think it was called the bonding on your wand's core, why?"

"Never mind, sis. Thank you. You may get back to kissing Dean, now." As Ginny does, shrugging off her brother's dismissal, Ron turns triumphantly toward his own girlfriend. "See, 'Mione? You searched in the wrong books. You had to check the bonding ceremonies."

Hermione is dumbstruck. Ron looks extremely pleased with himself. I still don't know what they are talking about.

"Care to explain? What does Fleur's wedding have to do with Draco's Patronus?"

"It's what you said, Harry, about the Patronus being a protection, his Patronus being in your shape, you using his own wand." He looks extremely smug. "It's an old tradition, from Merlin's times. French people remember, because they are a bunch of fatalists in love's matters. I'm not sure about the details, but the bonding consists in letting your intended use your wand. If the wands recognize true love, the bond is sealed by fate or whatever; if not, horrible consequences take place. There was something about the shape of your lover becoming your protection; I think it may refer to the Incanto Patronus. Fleur found it romantic, but Mum said love is your own choice, not your wand's. That's all I remember..."

Hermione struggles to contain her fascination, and offers to research the matter, now that she's pointed in the right direction.

I'm asking myself if Draco knows. After all, his father had French ancestors…

Ron pokes me in the ribs, and I nod reassuringly as Hermione addresses me sternly. "Until I can find out something more, Harry, please do not do anything rush. Even if Malfoy should come out of his reclusion right now... we need to learn about the consequences of this... there must be a reason if it's almost forgotten, and if Molly was against it..."

I interrupt her ramblings. "Come on, 'Mione, if Voldemort wasn't able to kill me, I doubt Draco will."

"But you weren't in love with Voldemort, were you?" Hermione deadpans.

Reassured by Pansy's words that the whole Patronus incident is forgotten – or turned into a joke at Potter's expense - I grace the Hall with my presence at lunch.

I have a hard time trying not to look in the Gryffindor's table's direction. When I give in and turn, I meet Harry's eyes. He smiles awkwardly, blushing. However, he soon leaves with his friends, not even attempting to talk to me. How disappointing.

Still, seeing him in all is vividness – dark hair, eyes so very green, red sweater, redder cheeks – is a relief, after all the time I spent staring at the discoloured version of him my Patronus provides.

This is why I discreetly follow him outside, and spend the following hour engrossed in contemplating Potter as he flies; I've never found such pleasure in the Gryffindor's Quidditch training sessions before.

The Snitch is still in the air, when Granger – where did she arrive from? – casts a Sonorus and calls Potter's name. She's grinning and dishevelled, and holds an old, tattered book. Upon seeing her, Harry lands, interrupting his training and going away with her.

He doesn't even notice my presence. By the way, wasn't Granger in a relationship with the Weasel?

Indeed, the Weasel follows.

In the relative privacy of our common room, Hermione opens the book she's found, with such pride you'd think she wrote it herself.

Ron peers over her shoulders, and confirms it is the bonding ritual he talked about earlier.

I swallow my impatience. "You're the best, Hermione. What did you find?"

"It's like Ron said, an old bonding ritual. It's translated from the Lang D'Oil. It was popular back in Merlin's time, and it seems that Morgaine herself wrote it down. Here, it goes like this..."

She clears her throat, and starts reading aloud.

"The wand chooses the wizard

and the wizard's affection:

it will work for true mate's hands

like it's their own possession

Shared magic, life and love

will be your heart's completion

No more despair will touch you:

lover's flesh shapes as protection

Your wand in lover's hand:

will you dare find perfection?

For if your love's untrue,

this bond is your destruction."

"Sounds like bad poetry," I say when she's finished. "How does this explain…"

"It's quite clear, really," she answers. "If put in the hands of your true mate, your wand will work for him as well. This bit here, about the flash shaped as protection… I think it means that your Patronus will take your beloved's appearance."

"Wait, Hermione," Ron interrupts. "Harry used Malfoy's wand, then gave it back. Now Malfoy has a Harry-shaped Patronus. We did already know that Harry loves the Ferret. Is there something proving he's loved back? That thing about lover's flesh refers to the one you love or to the one who loves you?"

"It may be both, I suppose. The wording is purposefully ambiguous. But a bonding strong like this, I don't see how it can be unrequited," Hermione ponders.

My face splits in a huge grin. "Only one way to find out."

Ignoring Ron's worried remarks about the destruction bit of the bonding ritual, I head toward the Great Hall, hoping that Draco will be there for dinner.

I'm sitting at the Slytherin table chattering with Blaise about how lousy the Gryffindor team is when Potter's not there, when the impossible happens.

Harry enters the hall and comes straight to me. He looks determined, and oh-so-beautiful.

His eyes burn into mine, and he states, "I want you to have my wand."

Just like this, no preambles or explanations. A plain request, offering the piece of wood in question.

Now, this is unexpected.

As I stare somewhat glazed, Harry waves his wand in front of my face.

"I'm not asking you to do anything in exchange. It would be just for a day. Please, take it."

He looks so stern and set, like he won't accept no for an answer.

Does he know what he's offering? Salazar, let it be that he knows...

He mistakes my utter astonishment for reluctance.

"I'll call in the life debt you owe me to make you take it, if I have to. Draco, please..."

There's something in the way he says my name, something in his eyes. So I take it, absolutely not grazing his fingers in the process, and I caress the holly wood with my thumb.

He smiles. "Good. Use it. I'll have it back tomorrow. Meet me here at six?"

If there's any chance that he knows what he's doing, I'd rather do this in private.

"On the lakeshore, by the apple tree?" I offer instead.

He nods and leaves, a spring in his step.

"Harry, wait!" I call him back.

He turns, questioningly. If he's surprised by my use of his first name, only his blush can tell.

"You can not go a whole school day without a wand. Here, take mine."

I offer him my hawthorn wand, echoing his earlier gesture and remembering the other time he took it from my hand. He accepts it. He never smiled at me as brightly as he does now.

Later, in my bed, I cast Lumos using Harry's wand, and the world goes ablaze.

Yes, there is hope.

The day after

This school day has been an excruciating pleasure, using Draco's wand again, seeing him – class after class - using mine. It seems to work well for him, as his own does for me.

I wish it signifies that we are meant to be together, like the rhyme about the bonding seems to hint at.

Ron is still unsure about the consequences, should something go wrong – after all Arthur-and-Guinevere's bonding didn't go well in the end - but by now my hope flies so high, I'm pretty sure everything will turn out right. Draco's wand feels so right.

Yet, I can't wait to give it back to him, to take mine again. To cast the spell that started this all, and see how the ending will be – or the beginning, I suppose. Our beginning.

As agreed, I find him on the lakeshore. He's looking in the distance, to the setting sun. Merlin, he's so beautiful I feel like I might choke on my own heart.

Hearing my footsteps he turns, and we lock gazes.

With a hint of a smile, he offers my wand back. I take it and give him his own, my lips curling up on their own accord.

I know exactly what I have to do now.

"Expecto Patronum!" My voice rings pure and clear, even to my own ears.

I can't do anything but stare, as the white mist coming from my wand tip whirls and coalesces, finally taking his new, ultimate shape: Draco's gorgeous body, glittering and gleaming.

Harry is ignoring me.

The spell he just cast reveals that he knows what he's doing, and – more than this – that we are bound on the core of our wands. He's mine and I'm his, we're joined in the most powerful bonding ritual in the whole history of magic, and he's ignoring me.

Well, he's staring at his Patronus - my image - with utter fascination. No complains about his good taste, then. I look beautiful, even made out of pearly smoke.

Still, I'd like to have Harry's attention for myself, now.

So I do the only possible thing, and conjure my own Patronus.

It springs from the tip of my wand and joins Harry's.

Just like him, I can't do anything but stare, as his Patronus in my shape and my Patronus in his shape caress, embrace and finally kiss each other.

I feel such an unutterable mixture of tenderness and yearning, only the brush of Potter's fingers on the back of my hand awakens me.

"Harry?"

He hums throatily in acknowledgement of my calling his name.

"Like what you see?" My own voice is strangled.

"I love it, Draco," he whispers throatily. "And you."

With this, Harry turns toward me. I get lost in his bottomless gaze. My hands rise to cup his face. He sways and slides his arms around my waist.

I lower my head to his waiting mouth, sealing it with my lips.

Magic roars in my blood, and in his – I can hear his heart racing against my ribcage.

The bonding rhyme was right, then. This – this is perfection.

Draco's liquid, fathomless eyes close a second before our lips make contact.

I keep mine wide open, and look at his chiselled face, bathed in gold-red light as the sun sets.

As twilight thickens, the light changes to a diffused, silvery glow.

It comes from our Patronus-selves, drifting above our heads; they are now making love to each other.

What a sight, I think lazily. But there is time for that. For now, kissing Draco is enough.

The night falls, and we haven't stopped yet.

Somehow, I'm certain we never really will.

A few months later

As I'm lying in bed, half sprawled over Draco's relaxed body, painting circles on his chest with lazy fingertips, the question finally strucks me.

"Draco? Do you remember about your Patronus incident?"

"What about that? In the end, it turned out to be a good thing, despite my embarrassment."

I reassure him with a kiss. "Yes, but… you were aware of the existence of the bonding on the core of your wand ritual, weren't you? Then you knew that your Patronus having my shape after I used your wand meant that I loved you, didn't you? Why did you ignore me, back then? Why didn't you talk to me, ask me out, whatever…?"

Draco bursts into laughter, dislodging me. "What? You thought…? You're priceless, Potter!"

I muster an offended face, and pointedly place my chin on his sternum again. "Care to explain?"

He snorts. "You're telling me that you thought my Patronus in your shape only meant that you loved me – a thing I daresay you were already aware of – and yet you came to me offering me your wand like you were sure you weren't risking heartbreak?"

"I've risked heartbreak every time I've looked at you." I quip, staring into his eyes. He has the grace to blush.

"I'd never break your heart," he whispers over my lips. "But Harry, you didn't know it then. You didn't even read the bonding ritual in the right way… My Patronus looked like you because I was in love with you and my wand recognized it, not the other way around. Handing me your wand without knowing this was the silliest, bravest thing…"

"Gryffindor, remember?"

He snorts in begrudging acknowledgement, and I simply have to kiss him, long and deep.

It's a while before we resume talking, but Draco is nothing but persistent.

"Still, if I hadn't already been head over heels for you…"

"Of course you were," I interrupt him with another kiss.

"But…"

It's my turn to laugh. "So you think it was only because of your feelings? A selfish little prince, you are…" He squirms in my arms, without denying it. "But the thing is, I think you got it wrong. Hermione explained it to me. It has to be mutual. Unrequited love won't affect your Patronus, won't shelter you from sadness."

There's silence as Draco ponders this. Then a blur of movement, and his body is pressing over mine from forehead to hips, his legs interlaced with mine.

So close, his eyes are blurred grey circles. "I will."

Opening up to him, I repeat his same promise, and we melt to the core.