What are you, twelve? What else, wanna hold hands under the bleachers?

Draco's immediate reaction was to deflect, making a joke out of it. He could hardly believe the words himself, but his heart wasn't beating as he read the question for the fourth time. What Harry had written felt like a cruel joke that Draco wanted no part in. Had Harry realized who he was? Were the golden trio trying to humiliate him for his audacity in thinking they could be friends? He knew it was paranoia chipping away at his sanity but he couldn't seem to quell the worries as he waited for a reply.

Would it be worse if Draco had just become too obvious with his feelings? He hadn't been able to stop himself from thinking about Harry ever since his birthday. The daydreams had become a constant, imagining what his life might look like with Harry in it. Seeing him in person almost felt surreal, a figment he had so often imagined standing before him, mussed hair and green eyes. He had barely been able to keep his hands from reaching out to ensure that the boy hadn't been yet another cruel fantasy; A trick played on him by his own mind. Had Harry been able to tell? Was it even possible that he felt the same?

D. I'm being serious.

So am I. Where did this come from?

He knew he was being defensive and slightly hostile but couldn't pinpoint why. Harry had never given him a reason to doubt his sincerity after all. And maybe that's why it felt like an affront on his ego to ask the question so boldly. A question that Draco himself had been dwelling on for weeks and yet had not and probably never would have mustered the courage to ask. He hadn't even considered acting on his feelings. With so little of his life in his own control, having a massive gay crush on Harry Potter just felt like a natural progression. Righteous justice for the disappointment Draco felt he was. When Harry's next words appeared, they looked as tense as Draco felt.

It's okay if you don't feel the same. Just tell me now so I don't embarrass myself any more than I already have.

Draco wanted to curse at himself. He was an idiot for reacting like that. Why the fuck did he have to make everything a joke? And yet he didn't know what else to do. All feelings of reservation, of distrust vanished at the thought of losing him, of letting him believe for even one second that Draco was anything but his.

I do feel the same. The words weren't enough, and he knew it. He wanted to take everything back. He wanted to start over. He wanted to react like someone who deserved Harry would react. He kept writing before Harry had the chance to reply. I like you so much, Harry. I'm sorry, I just wasn't expecting that and I got flustered. I'm an absolute idiot but I really, really like you.

There was an extended pause and Draco worried that he had pushed too far in the other direction. Either with his ill timed ego trips or with his honest confession, he had destroyed this tentative thing that had only started to grow.

Damn. That sounds pretty gay.

Draco almost cried with relief at the joke. Maybe he hadn't ruined everything after all. Yeah, just a little. Is that okay with you?

Yeah:) I've been feeling pretty gay myself lately. There's this idiot that I've got a massive crush on.

Draco's heart fluttered wildly out of control. How unfortunate.

Not really. I like him quite a bit most of the time.

How do you know you like me? Draco wasn't sure why he asked, but the impossibility of the conversation was overwhelming him. The likelihood that this was all a practical joke was dwindling but not completely eradicated from his mind.

Well, if you must know, you're terribly funny but also kind and you make me laugh more than anyone else. You're clever and talented. You're the first person I want to tell when I learn something new and there's nothing I wouldn't give to know the sound of your voice. I could go on but I fear for your massive ego growing any larger.

Ironically, at that moment, Draco's ego couldn't have felt any smaller. Imagining Harry wanting to know him made his skin crawl uncomfortably. Now faced with Harry's pure and honest adoration, he felt like a fraud. He felt like every instance of kindness or humor he had shown had been somehow calculated for this outcome. Draco had never been anything but a villain and even without malice or forethought, he had somehow tricked the golden boy to think of him as more. Even for allowing such a misunderstanding to occur, Draco was assuredly wicked.

And yet, he read the words until he had committed them to memory. He drowned in the feeling of being wanted and smiled as much as he hated himself for it. I don't know what to do now. He laughed as he wrote it, feeling his soul absolutely laid bare.

It's your turn, I suppose. What do you like about me?

So much. Everything. He thought to himself without hesitation. Everything about Harry was good. Everything that Harry was, Draco wasn't and it ate him alive as he began to write.

Because you're bold and too gryffindor for your own good. I like you because of your messy handwriting and the sweet things you use it to say. I like you because you put up with me. I like you because of your dumb black hair that I can't stop thinking about. I like you so much that it's not fair that it took your blasted chicken screwing up to finally talk to you.

Draco was rambling. He knew that as he pulled the pen back. He looked at his words and thought how stupid they sounded written down. Most of the things he'd written were back handed compliments, anyway. How was he so bad at this? He wanted to tear the paper up and start over. He wanted to feel in control again. But Harry replied before he had the chance.

I wish you were here.

So you could snog me, Potter? More jokes, Draco thought bitterly and yet he couldn't help himself. He felt too wild, too inexperienced with these feelings. There was no calm calculation to what he was writing; Draco was in a talespin.

Yeah actually. That was kinda the point, dumbass:)

The laugh Draco let out felt insane. It was like Harry could see him, could see how close he was to losing his mind and was deciding to go easy on him. I wish I was there too.

Unsure of what else to say, he started to doodle a portrait of Harry, remembering how he had looked when they'd run into each other. It was a memory he thought about constantly so it was easy to recall. He took special care to capture the way Harry's hair curled around the nape of his neck and wished he could draw the way his tan had been slightly less prominent than usual. No doubt from the months spent inside. Draco hadn't been able to deny how lovely he was, his emerald green eyes haunting him since the encounter.

Hey, how'd you know I've been growing out my hair? The question appeared right under his drawing and Draco smiled, deciding to be honest once again.

I saw you the other day actually. At Diagon.

Really? Did I see you?

I think so. Draco knew they had reached the dangerous territory that he'd successfully steered them away from for months. He couldn't just admit it, could he?

Will you tell me now? Harry didn't need to elaborate. They both knew exactly what was left to tell.

Can we wait until Hogwarts? Draco knew it was asking for more than he deserved. Harry had kept his promise to not question his identity and with the honest nature of their current conversation Draco couldn't admit why it was so hard to just say it. All he had to do was tell Harry his name, it was easy enough and Harry would find out eventually anyway. But he'd seen the way Harry had flinched away from him in the bookstore and noticed the way he and his friends watched him with so much disdain. Draco was irredeemable in their eyes. As he looked at the stacks of books he'd been studying in preparation to destroy their lives, he thought maybe he agreed. The request wasn't fair or good and maybe that's why Draco had to make it.

Draco had considered his obsessive thoughts of Harry debilitating before their confessions. Now that the truth was out there and Harry had admitted he wanted to kiss, Draco found himself nearly crippled with thoughts of him. He pictured what his lips might feel like on his own as he woke up. He imagined what he might taste like as he ate breakfast. And he thought of Harry's hand instead of his own while he searched for release in the shower. Draco was a complete and utter fool.

It didn't help that Harry seemed to likewise be just as foolish. They hadn't breached such sensitive topics again since Harry's birthday but the flirting was no longer subtle. Harry seemed to be trying his hardest to make Draco blush at any given opportunity. It was obviously a plot against him but one that Draco had no power or motivation to stop or even contain.

I've always wanted to make out in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Is that strange? Harry wrote randomly on a Tuesday afternoon.

Moaning Myrtle's not really my type, but you do you I guess. Draco tried to tease.

No, with you obviously. And it was that easy. Draco already blushing furiously at the thought. I just like the idea of making out over the Chamber of Secrets.

So you want to make out with me over the corpse of your arch nemesis, with a voyeur ghost who may or may not be watching?

Yeah, pretty much. Though I'd make out with you anywhere to be honest.

It took Draco several minutes to scrape the mush of his brain back together to form a coherent response to that. I'd say you're deranged but that's pretty normal behavior for Harry Potter.

I can't wait to get back to school.

You're sick if you think I'm gonna snog you in front of a second year ghost.

What are you wearing right now? Harry's words were written in his particular brand of morning handwriting and Draco wondered if he had even meant to write them. He'd seen it before with him. Harry would write to him in the dead of night things that made no sense. The ramblings of a tired man with no self control. Harry would probably wake up later and be mortified. Draco smirked and decided to take back just a little bit of his power.

Boxers. Want to take them off me?

Draco hadn't expected a reply for hours but he had barely put down the pen when it came.

Yes.

Draco was a fool and a failure. He had hoped to embarrass Harry, fluster him a bit, but now that the reply was written, Draco was the one struggling to stay calm. Where the hell did Gryffindor's get off having this much confidence at 5 am on a Saturday?

Sounds like a you problem, Potter. He hoped his writing didn't betray how nervous Harry made him. Bloody Potter and his perfect face.

I just want to kiss you really badly right now.

Horny bastard.

The horniest. What color are your boxers?

Draco's face flushed at the easy admission. None of his tactics were working. If flustering didn't work, perhaps humiliation. Black. I suppose you've got some red ones with quidditch broom print all over?

Snitches actually. Drat. Another failure. Is your hair dirty blonde or more like white?

It's on the lighter side. What are you on about, Potter?

Just want to know what you look like. What color are your eyes?

Gray. Draco felt his will to fight melting.

Tell me more? All I know is that you're blonde and devilishly handsome. Hardly seems fair.

Life isn't fair, Potter. But even as he wrote it, he was thinking of how to phrase his next words. My mother would tell you I'm too skinny I suppose. I wear a lot of black because I like how simple it is and I haven't gotten a haircut since school ended. By the looks of you, I could guess you haven't either.

Tell me about your hands?

Draco paused, slightly perplexed by the question. He looked down at his palm and wasn't sure what to say. They were just hands? They just looked like hands. As much as he wanted to oblige the request, he wasn't sure what Harry was looking for. So instead of writing a very strange and bland description, Draco was impulsive with the remaining space on the page. He pressed his palm down and started carefully tracing around his slender fingers. Once he was finished, he drew an arrow and wrote a small annotation: my hand, just in case Harry was as stupid as Draco used to assume.

You're beautiful.

You don't know that.

Yeah, I do:) Now tell me about your mouth.

Draco was finding that his life was essentially cut into two parts now. When Draco wasn't thinking about Harry he was thinking about the old dusty cabinet sitting in Hogwarts. The whiplash was immense and did not decrease with was either messaging a boy who seemingly reciprocated his feelings or imagining Voldemort torturing his family for his failure. Picturing Dumbledore's cold lifeless body was just as often an occurrence as picturing Harry's gentle hand on his own. Draco felt insane.

Each night, Draco wondered whether it would be the black haired boy or the imminent threat of death that would keep him awake at his desk, working until he could no longer keep his eyes open. There was no way to tell and no way to predict. Draco had lost total control and with the school year only weeks out, the fervor and panic only seemed to worsen. Soon thoughts of Harry were no longer peaceful, only adding to his mania. What would Harry do when he found out that it was him? What would Voldemort do when he couldn't finish his mission? Was his mother going to be killed too? Would Harry ever kiss him? Why did these things seem to hold the same amount of weight?

He'd stopped taking sleeping potions, and opted instead to sleep only when his body forced him to. There wasn't enough time in the day. There were still six books he hadn't opened and so many things he still needed to tell Harry. Contingency plans he needed to make and intimate questions he needed to ask.

However lost he felt, It was no surprise to him when Narcissa knocked on his door that evening. It was with the same energy as last time: panic and determination. Voldemort was coming back tonight. Draco was going to become a death eater. These were not negotiable, just more things that were out of Draco's control.

He got ready with almost calculated numbness. He didn't think about the last time Voldemort had visited and he didn't think about Harry. He kept his mind blank because nothing he could think of would change anything that was about to happen. Thinking of Harry wouldn't make him accept him for who he was when the truth came out. Thinking about Voldemort wouldn't protect him from the Cruciatus. Draco dressed as he would for a funeral, and truly it did feel like one. A funeral for his own autonomy because he was no longer in charge of himself, and he hadn't been for months.

He helped his mother once again ready the dining room. He didn't think about the birthday dinner they had shared or how quickly the familiarity of his home could be stripped bare. As the ominous knock resounded hours later, he didn't think about the faces he saw, ones that he'd known since childhood, ones that hadn't moved when he'd screamed in agony on the floor. He greeted them stiffly and stepped back, as if someone else were controlling him.

Feeling only returned to him as Voldemort stepped through the door, a cold lifeless air following him. Draco stilled and the numbness was replaced with the cold and desperate need to run. Draco was nothing compared to this man, simply a fly on the window, waiting to be swatted. All of his worries from the last weeks suddenly fell flat once again. Draco's childishness had never been so quickly revealed.

There was no politeness this time around. Voldemort walked past the others without so much as a glance and took his seat at the head of the table. The rest of the group followed without hesitation. Draco swallowed the fear curdling in his throat and waited to see where they would seat him. Once it became clear that the spot next to Voldemort was left deliberately open, he went to take his place across from his aunt. She flashed him a wicked smile and he wondered if it was meant to reassure him.

"Do not sit, Draco." Voldemort's cruel voice hissed as Draco approached the table. He stopped where he stood, not daring to take another step without permission. "I'd like to hear your plans before we continue on to other things." Voldemort let the tension in the air crease, "how do you hope to breach Hogwarts this year?" Draco wanted to sigh with relief. He meant the cabinet and not Dumbledore. He was cautiously optimistic when it came to the cabinet. Dumbledore was a problem he had yet to solve.

Draco straightened his shoulders and began to speak. He had spent so much time working on the issue, reading about possible solutions that it was difficult to pair it down to a reasonable summary but he tried his best. Daring to look around the room, he was pleased to find expressions of respect as he spoke. It had not truthfully been 100% his own creativity but Bellatrix had insisted she not be mentioned. Perhaps it would be shameful to admit that she would help him. Once he felt like he had summarized the majority of it, he stopped and waited for Voldemort to say something. The man sat thoughtfully, Nagini curling her way around his legs.

"Very well. I look forward to seeing you surpass your father." The words were a sign of acceptance it seemed and Draco noticed Narcissa relax her shoulders just slightly. Draco nodded and took his seat. Voldemort's attention was now on the others as they spoke more of events Draco had no knowledge of.

The meeting passed quickly and Draco tried his best to keep up. They made no effort to explain or include him in any way, but he felt at least that he was safe from being subjected to torture once again. That was enough he supposed.

"Very well. I expect that you will keep me updated." Voldemort finished, letting Greyback take his seat once again. He stood and finally looked down at Draco at his side. "I think it is time we welcome a new generation into our ranks." He reached his bony hand out, offering it to Draco who couldn't help but remember what Harry had said when Draco had traced his own. You're beautiful. He wasn't sure why he thought about it now, as he accepted the offer, shivering at the cold, corpse-like grip that helped him stand. The rest of the death eaters stood as well, crowding towards them. Six death eaters in particular took their place in a circle around him, rolling back their sleeves to show their marks and placing their hands on the back of the member to their left. Draco looked from face to face with a hint of confusion as each man put their other hand on his shoulders. Voldemort revealed his own mark on his left arm and with a surprising amount of gentleness, rolled back the sleeve of Draco's suit. His pale arm looked almost white, the clean skin reminding him of blank parchment. He thought of Harry.

"Do you swear your life and loyalty to the death eater cause?" Voldemort whispered and no one breathed. Draco looked from his bare arm up to Voldemort's cold green eyes and thought of how different they were from Harry's vibrant emerald. He hesitated only a moment though before replying.

"Yes."

"And do you swear to uphold and practice your duties as a pureblooded death eater until the day you die or until muggles disappear from this world?"

"Yes."

"By my power, I grant you membership. Draco Lucius Malfoy, you are one of us." Voldemort pressed the tip of his wand into Draco's forearm as if inserting a needle. He pressed hard, his marked hand holding Draco still. Nothing happened at first and Draco thought that maybe it was over. Maybe he was too unworthy, even for this.

And then the pain started. It rippled out from the tip of the wood, coursing through his veins and Draco gritted his teeth not to shout out. His skin burned and seared as if molten lead had been poured into him and he watched in horror as the dark mark started to eat away at his flesh. The snake writhed on his arm and Voldemort pressed harder. Draco let out a short gasp but quickly staunched the display of weakness. He couldn't keep his body from shaking but he could stay quiet. The skull finally appeared and the snake seemed to settle, content now that it had its home returned to it. The mark stilled and the pain seemed to cool. The skin around it was red and felt like it had been fileted open but he kept his mouth shut, clenching his fist at his side as Voldemort removed the wand and examined his work.

"Peculiar." He remarked to himself. Draco wasn't sure what he meant but the rest of the death eaters were now grinning, clapping him on the shoulder in congratulations. Draco smiled stiffly back and hoped that the attention wouldn't last. His arm felt like a dead weight, and when Voldemort finally released it, it swung down. Draco wanted to scream again at the pain of moving his sleeve over it. It wasn't bleeding but it felt raw and violated, even the pressure of air moving across it was excruciating.

"Narcissa, I'd like to use the manor as our headquarters from now on." Draco snapped his head up as Voldemort spoke. Narcissa's face was a placid mask of calm as she nodded.

"Of course, my Lord. We are honored to have you in our home for as long as it is of use." More cheers from the other death eaters. Draco didn't move, clutching his arm to his chest. The death eaters surged around him but all he could see was the last remaining safe place he had, melting away before him.

Draco didn't sleep again that night. His arm was on fire and regardless of how many pain relief potions he took, it refused to heal. He felt drunk on the drug but somehow, with everything else numb, his arm continued to demand his attention. The redness had spread and now his entire wrist was bruised and splotchy. He knew he didn't look well by the way Narcissa had checked on him several times that night. She didn't stay for very long or offer much more than the potions and Draco knew it must be because of the new presence of a dozen dark wizards now residing in their home. She was under just as much scrutiny and pressure as he was.

As the sun started to peek over the horizon, filling his room with light, Draco stared at the tattoo. The dark magic seemed to be trying to escape from within him, his tender skin the only thing containing it. He had kept the lights off during the night to keep him from dwelling on anything but the pain but now with his room basked in the warm August sun, there was no avoiding it. The snake stared back at him as if in acknowledgement of Draco's traitorous heart.

He hadn't bothered to charm a new paper to send to Harry. He didn't really want to speak to him right now. It felt like anything he wrote would spoil and corrupt the page, betraying his new identity as a death eater. Harry didn't know how to do it himself so the morning passed quietly, uninterrupted.

Around noon, his arm had finally started to settle into a steady pulse of pain. Not overwhelming but just enough to make Draco aware of it at all times. It panged with every beat of his heart and Draco was especially careful not to brush his arm against anything as he moved around the manor. He ate lunch with Greyback and Bellatrix and without the watching gaze of the Dark Lord, Greyback spoke highly about the plan. He was quick to compliment Draco and expressed excitement at the possibility of being one of the first to go through.

"I've always hated that place." He growled with an evil grin. "Would love to see Dumbledore's corpse rot in his own castle." Greyback was a werewolf of course, he hadn't been allowed to attend. The anger at being excluded was understandable. What Draco couldn't understand was Bellatrix's giddiness at the idea. She had attended Hogwarts for six years before joining the death eaters, had it really spited her so badly? Draco didn't love Dumbledore as much as the Gryffindor's seemed to, but he'd thought of Hogwarts as his home. It had been his reprieve away from his father after all. Thinking of bringing it down brought him no small amount of apprehension. He preferred to focus on the cabinet itself and not what its repair would bring about.

Greyback excused himself after a while and Draco took the chance to ask Bella a question. "How long does it hurt for?" He raised his left arm, wincing as the fabric brushed the mark.

"What?" She seemed incredulous before glancing around them, ensuring they were alone. "You don't mean that your mark hurts, do you boy?"

Draco nodded, confused. "Terribly. Does it fade?"

Bellatrix's eyes flashed as hair fell into her face. She lowered her voice, hissing the next words. "It's dark magic boy. It only hurts if you're rejecting it." Draco paled. "Are you having reservations about your task, Draco?" She sounded hysterical as she spoke. Draco wanted to vomit.

"N-no." Her arm shot out and grabbed him, pressing her nails deep into his skin. He let out a sharp gasp, trying to pull away. She looked ready to rip his throat out.

"It didn't take you even a day to become a traitor, did it?"

"N-no, I don't know why-"

She squeezed, and Draco knew that if his sleeve wasn't protecting him, her nails would have penetrated skin. He couldn't catch his breath. "Any reservations you have, lose them. And if it hurts, no it doesn't." Draco was about to cry, he could feel it coming. "Get yourself together." She spat the final words and dropped his arm, getting up from the table and walking away. Draco sat quietly in her absence, gripping the mark. The equilibrium he had found before coming down was gone, his arm flaring again like it had the night before. He cursed as a single tear escaped and he quickly fled the public space.

He was in his room again, breathing heavily. What could the mark possibly want from him? He was doing everything that Voldemort had asked. He was betraying everything that he'd ever known and everyone that knew him. He was giving up anything he'd ever wanted for himself. What more loyalty could he possibly pledge?

His eyes snagged on the paper on his desk. Harry. The mark wanted him to turn in Harry. Surely Voldemort would find their connection useful. At the very least, Draco could be a far greater asset than Voldemort had ever anticipated. The thought made him feel sick. Of all the things that he'd sacrificed and been willing to do, giving Harry to Voldemort was the one that felt wrong. He couldn't. He wouldn't. His arm flared painfully and Draco swore, ripping his sleeve up. The tattoo looked infected, worse than the bruising the night before. How long could he last? He already doubted his mental sanity. How long would the constant pain continue before he lost it and betrayed Harry simply for a small amount of relief?

Draco was sobbing now. He'd thought that maybe he could have both. He deluded himself that maybe Harry's companionship could be the one nice thing left in his life. Now it felt stupid. He looked at his arm, seeing every bad thing he'd ever done and said. He saw the cruelty he'd shown from his younger years and the vile and bigoted filth that he'd regurgitated without hesitation from his father. He thought of the way he lied and prioritized his own selfish pride. The mark felt like a brand of his own soul's tainted color. Draco had always been a villain, now his skin just reflected that.

Thinking of Harry made him want to crumple to the floor. His green eyes, his beautiful black hair. He remembered how easily it was for Harry to always stand up for his friends and he wondered if in another life, maybe Draco could have been one of those people that Harry protected with his Gryffindor brashness. But this was this life, and Draco had been the one Harry needed to protect them from. And now Draco would destroy their school and their headmaster, bringing down their lives as they knew it. And there was only one thing that Draco could do. If he couldn't be someone that Harry protected, maybe he could protect Harry. Just this once. Just this one thing to make up for all his bullshit. Then they were even.

Draco tore across the room grabbing his metal wastebasket and shoving every scrap of paper into it. Months of letters that he'd hoarded, treasured, were quickly crumpled and smashed down. He ripped his drawers open violently and rummaged, making sure that there was not a single piece left. He muttered a simple 'Incindio' before he could think enough to stop himself. The papers burst into flame, the cream parchment curling into itself and turning black. He didn't look away, watching the ink splutter and any remaining magic fizzle away. It was like looking in a mirror.

Once the fire died, Draco looked around the room until he saw it. An elegant little swan sitting next to a dried flower: His birthday present. Draco moved slower, picking up the swan as if it might leap away. He took a moment to admire it one last time before he placed it among the ashes of their conversations. He inhaled, committing the smell of the flower to memory before adding it to the pile as well. There would be nothing left.

Another spell cast and it was done. He slumped against the wall, breathing in the fresh smell of smoke. Absolutely nothing remained of Harry. No valuable connection and no evidence there ever had been one. Harry was safe and they were even. They were back to where they had been before the Summer had started. Draco was a death eater and he would never be anything more. The pain in his arm started to fade.