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Chapter Text

At first, he almost didn't feel it. 

It was barely there, a little pop of something pushing weakly against his shields. Something that he could easily bat away with his hand had he the thought to do so.

But, staring into those truly beautiful green eyes, seeing the intensity of his gaze, the way that now, kneeling this close to him, so they were mere a few centimetres away, so close that he could see the sunlight yellows and earthy browns that crisscrossed pleasantly over his gaze. He knew what it was.

It was pathetic really, how the Great Harry Potter thought he could get through his occlumency shields with something so pithy as a gnat of a legilimens. Draco had spent the last three years turning his mind into a fortress, learning to protect his thoughts from any invasion that was not welcome. He had to, living in the same home as the Dark Lord, and his deranged aunt and their entourage of fucked up Death Eaters.

They were there now, watching him. His aunt with that crazy look as she pushed Potters' face closer to him, stretching that stung up and bulbous visage all the closer, in hopes to straighten his face out enough for Draco to recognise who it was.

Of course, he knew it was Potter, he had spent the last six years watching the stupid saviour strut around the school, watched those eyes fill with emotions, watched those lips stretch into a smile, a smirk, a snarl, that nose bent a little to the side from last year, his smaller body and clothes that finally fit him, though they were drab and tacky still from wherever he had been these past few months. And his stupid, stupid, so fucking stupid  need to save everyone. 

He didn't need to think twice, as soon as he saw the Weasel and Granger, he knew Potter wouldn't be far behind. They wouldn't leave his side after all.

Idiots, the lot of them.

But they were going to save the world, they were the only hope anyone had left. 

This poor excuse for a boy before him, with his reddened eyes under the stinging hex, the way his darker skin had stretched to accommodate the bruises pulsing on his cheek, covering his eyes, his nose and most of his mouth, distorting his features. Granger was very clever. He had to give her that. She was top of the school after all, and wasn't that a sting to him.

But she forgot the one major thing that made Potter, Potter. That god damn scar. It was prominent even under all that flushed flesh.

He had heard about Horcruxes. It was hard not to overhear when the Dark Lord was being his usual intimidating self, lording over what was once his childhood home, boasting about his conquests in a graceful manner, lilting tales of his brilliance as they watched his pet snake tear away at yet another innocent person.

It made Draco sick to his stomach at the thought of it. He hadn't been able to eat, to sleep, to breathe without thinking about the way that God damn snake slithered around the house, keeping so close to her master's side, the way her fangs slicked out of her mouth, the way she hissed in that high pitched ophidian voice, the way she'd pounce, again and again and again on her victims.

Many of the victims were killed straight away. The Dark Lord always liked to cast the final spell to kill them. Which was so fucking stupid, Draco would think to himself when he stayed awake at night, listening to the Dark Lord kill yet another muggle or muggle-born. It would be so easy to kill Potter, to get on his good side and dispel him in his sleep. But he was so vain in his need to kill him himself that he didn't see the big picture.

But there were times when the Dark Lord didn't kill them. Wanting to watch them suffer, watch as they writhed in pain.

They were always so loud, those screams, those whimpers, those...sickening slurps and crunches of being eaten alive as they were spelled still, helpless to move except to feel those fangs tear into them and the venom within them course through their bodies.

He despised it. But after every death, once all the blood and guts and gore on the very dining table he had had breakfast, lunch and dinner on, was either devoured or spelled away. One by one, they would all leave, disapperating through the wards that once kept Malfoy Manor one of the safest places for him. The Dark Lord would call his closest to him, the simpering ratty man Wormtail by his feet, his auntie Bela draped over is arm, and his father at his other side. His mother would stand up gracefully, holding a hand to Draco's back, waiting and wishing for the Dark Lord to let them leave without any consequences.

This was when he would hear everything. The future plans, the past subjugations, and the stories.

That's where the Dark Lord fucked up.

The stories. 

Draco knew all about it, how he had sickeningly split himself up into so many pieces, horcruxes. And how...that scar, the one on Potters forehead, the one that had always been there, the bane of his existence. That was a fucking horcrux.

And the only way to kill the Dark Lord once and for all was to destroy these horcruxes.

Which meant.... Harry Potter would have to die. Or at least that part of him. The part that made him a horcrux.

There it was again, the little poke of something trying to niggle its way through his occlumency shields. Pathetic Potter. Still the saviour even when he was this close to death. Did he not know that Draco held his life in his hands right now? He could easily squeeze it until it bled, until he begged. But...that would mean this darkness, this hell, would spread all over. And... Draco didn't want that. He didn't...he...didn't want this. None of this. 

He didn't want his home, the place he grew up, the place he felt safest, the place filled with his mother's laughter and his father's proudness to be tainted. 

His home. 

This was his home!

And that evil, evil, evil man had taken it, and moulded it into this dark, bleak house, barren of the good times, of the laughter, of the hopes and dreams he had built here.

They were there now, his aunt looming over them as she pushed Potter down to the floor. His father's grip tight on the back of hiss neck, squeezing tightly as he muttered to him, on how they would be forgiven, how they would be in the Dark Lords favour if Draco could identify Potter. His mother stood far back, watching, waiting on bated breath. She had always coddled him, and he had loved her so dearly for it. Her hand immediately on his back as she calmed his father down from his outrage. His father was the Lord of Malfoy Manor no longer, but he still played as if he were, as if he had any sense of power here.

No one did, no one...but him...and Potter. 

His aunt took his hand, forcing him to kneel down in front of Potter, "don't be shy sweetie, come over," 

He remembered the last time she had said that to him, a toddler in his best suit, bringing him over to their albino peacocks, he had been scared of them then, frightened at those majestic white birds. She had taken his hand then too, grasping lightly as she ushered him closer, made him stand up straight and slowly guided him to place a hand on the creature.

It had bitten him. He still had a faint scar of it on his palm.

Her voice was a mess now, not the sweet and calming voice she had before when she would bring him sweets and trinkets when he was unwell, telling him stories about their family, their lineage. The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. He understood now, this was all a ploy, a play to get him into their side. Even from an early age they wanted him to know all about blood purity, all about how those who were pure, those who were strong, were the ones who would prevail.

And look where he was now. Knelt before the disfigured Potter, his home riddled with darkness, with hopelessness. They weren't strong here. They were nothing compared to the awe of Potter's brightness, his magical core -- the one that shone just as bright, if not brighter than when Draco had first all those years ago when he had first met him in Madam Malkin's.

Life was easier then.

"If this isn't who you think it is Draco, and we call him; he'll kill us all." The fear of death wasn't as daunting as he had first thought it would be. 

Draco was a coward, he knew this. He would always be a coward, hiding away in silence, letting the world burn around him. 

But...

But.

Look at Potter, still here, still strong, still fighting. Draco was always jealous, so jealous, of the incredible  goodness  in this stupid saviour. Why was he here now? Didn't he understand that Draco didn't want this anymore? That he wanted to take his family and run, leave the mess of Potter and the Dark Lord behind. 

Stop giving me hope. 

But he knew he couldn't he was stuck in the middle of this whole thing, stuck here, drowning as the Dark Lords miasmic magic pilfered through his home, his home. 

What he wouldn't do. What he wouldn't give. He wanted his life back. He wanted the ostentatious beauty of Malfoy Manor to return to the way it had been not a few years ago. Where the wood was polished and bright, the trinkets colourfully gleaming, the scent of magic and flowers and beauty. He wanted the gardens to be greener and filled with life as they once had been.

The Manor was a hell now. Dark, poisoned. Cursed. No. He couldn't do anything. Not alone.  

That niggle again. 

Curiosity got the better of him and he lowered his shields by a smidgen, enough to allow that pathetic excuse of a spell into his fortress.

"...me help you...why are you doing this?" 

Ever the saviour. Dumbledore's only hope. There is no other way. 

They were opposites in everything. Every. Single. Thing. He was darkness, where Potter was light, Potter was the embodiment of everything good in the world, full of hope and kindness and love, and Draco was everything bad, filled and fuelled by fear and hate, his family may love him, but that was an obligation, he was the Malfoy heir, he had duties to uphold and none of them were inherently what he wanted -- he had the scars to prove it. Even the way they looked. Potter's skin was a lovely coffee brown whereas his was alabaster white. His hair an unruly mess of black curls, whereas his own was platinum blonde. His eyes filled with fire, whereas Draco's were a dull, lifeless grey. 

He was stuck here.

"You don't have to be." 

Draco wanted to scoff. That was a joke. As if he hadn't thought of many ways to get away from here. He couldn't apparate with all the Death Eaters everywhere, and anyway, he would never leave his mother alone in such a dark and evil house. He couldn't sneak out either. He had tried once. Packed his bags with essentials, his wand, some food, a set of clothing and books, and he had headed out of his window in the middle of the night, hellbent to get away. He had tried to coax his mother with him, but she had reprimanded him, telling him that a life on his own, a life on the run, a life away, would be dangerous. They were not cowards, they were pure bloods, they would hold their heads up high and take any punishment that came to them because of who his father had chosen to follow.

Though he understood, he couldn't stay anymore. She didn't know to the extent of the punishments he endured to keep her safe. She was so beautiful and he was not going to taint that, not even for a moment. He had gotten so far, almost all the way through the acres of forest that surrounded the plot. He had skimmed the wards with his fingers before Greyback had yanked him away, before he had been dragged, kicking and screaming, to the Great Hall, the one where he had learned to waltz with his mother and his teacher, standing on his mother's feet as she moved him along the beautiful room. He had screamed in laughter as they had spun.

He screamed in pain then, pushed to the ground with Greyback's knee forcing him still, Auntie Bela with her wand pointed to his back, and Greyback with his fangs at his neck.

The Cruciatus curse no longer surprised him, neither did the fangs. He expected the curses at every corner he took, every time he slept, every time felt a moment of relief he had sought. Greyback had bitten him then, he still had the marks along his shoulder. He hadn't turned him, not that Draco knew. But those fangs always found purchase on his skin, always drawing blood, always bleeding and aching. But Greyback didn't turn him. Was this just punishment for his straying thoughts, or was it something more sinister?

Maybe the Dark Lord didn't want him dead. Was there a task he had wanted him to do? He wasn't sure what that meant for him.

The bites and slashes and cuts he could take. The curse was worse.

The pain was excruciating, levelling him to the ground every time, especially when he didn't know it was coming. Auntie Bela loved to curse him when his back was turned, when he least expected it. She liked to keep him on his toes, she had told him. But what was worse was the way his aunt would look at him, such abject glee as she'd curse him and curse him and curse him. Letting him have a mere moments reprieve before she cursed him again.

He couldn't leave.

And he wouldn't, not any more. Because if he were the punching bag for his auntie's entertainment, then his mother was safe. His father was safe.

Let them hurt him, let them curse him. His mother would be free of it. She would never have to feel this pain, this ache that sat in his very bones, clinging to his muscles and making it painful to breathe some times.

"Let me help you. Let me help you. Let me help you." 

Why?

Why him? Why after everything he had done, why would Potter want to save him? He was lowly, he was vain, he was bad, he was a coward. He didn't have anything anymore.

"Let me help you." 

If only to shut him up of his constant mantra, Draco replied in kind. 

"You can't save me." 

Aunt Bela was watching him, carefully and clearly, her eyes widen with lunacy. "We need to be absolutely sure,"

He darted his gaze away from her, never really being able to look into her eyes anymore. Every time he did, he'd remember the glee that flushed her face when she cast the unforgivable curses on him. He instead looked to Potter. To the bruises and pulp of skin that disfigured his once pretty face. He looked so tired, his skin paler than usual, taught and frail, as if he hadn't eaten in days, as if he barely slept, as if worry gnawed at his very being.

Just like Draco.

But his eyes, those eyes were the same. Draco would be able to recognise those eyes anywhere. He dreamed about them.

"What's wrong with his face?" he heard himself asking out loud. What  had  happened to him? Draco knew he hadn't stepped foot in school. But he was here now, right in front of him. How was he here? Why was he here? He should be out there, fighting the good fight, doing what he needed to do to get those horcruxes and finally finish the Dark Lord off for good.

He was...goodness, Salazar, he was still so bright, still shining beautifully. Draco's heart pattered madly, being so close to this once wondrous boy. He was looking at him, his legilimency pounding against the fortress of Draco's mind, repeating those words again, and again, and again.

Maybe he could.

...maybe there was a way?

Regardless of what happened here, Draco was sure he was going to die, by the hands of the Dark Lord, or his aunt, or Greyback, or any of the other Death Eaters. If not them, then anyone else. They'd take one look at him, one look at the mark on his arm, and they would kill him straight away.

Azkaban was too good for him. 

Death would be easy.

He was being a coward again. But looking into those eyes, those beautiful greens filled with so much hope, so much good.  It was blinding. His heart warmed; his body warmed. He hadn't known just how cold he had been until then.

"Let me help you." 

The repetitive phrase again. He should stop being so-wait. Draco realised then. Potter was trying, he really was trying to keep their past just that, the past. He wanted to save Draco, he wanted to get them out of here. He was screaming to Draco, hoping and wishing his spell was working, that he was getting through. He was just pounding against a door without knowing if someone was inside.

Such power, such strength. Wandless, wordless.

He would be able to defeat the Dark Lord, he'd be able to save the world.

Would he be able to save his mother?

He had to find out.

Auntie Bela left them, wanting to know something about a stinging hex and who had cast it. He already knew it was Granger, it had to be. Potter was still looking at him, straight into his eyes, and Draco felt the immense power within him, the bright shining beauty in those depths. It still made his heart beat all that much faster, they were so close now, gravitating towards one another.

They always gravitated to one another.

Potter was screaming at him now, the same four words, again and again and again. And Draco felt his demeanour crack, he didn't mean for it to. But for one moment, just one blissful moment, he believed maybe Potter would be able to do it. Maybe he'd be able to actually help him. He didn't know he had been crying, the tears welling in the corner of his dull eyes. He didn't let them fall, never show weakness, especially not now. Potter's eyes widened, darting back and forth, trying to read him, trying to figure it out. He always ran spontaneously. Head first with fists raised and hope held high.

He knew he had gotten through. So, Draco said it. 

"Save my mother." 

Potter's eyes widened.

A sharp hand on his shoulder made him jump, scaring him. Fuck, had she heard him? He had been so careful to keep his occlumency shields up, to only let the small pithy of Potter's legilimens come through. Had he been caught? Was he going to die? Her hand was like ice, frozen and hard against the heat he had seeped into him by being near Potter, by sitting before him and watching him. But she hadn't noticed, instead she paraded around the room, cackling like a banshee.

"I promise." 

Potter's voice was so quiet, so minute.

But. He promised, and Draco believed him.

His mother would be safe, Potter promised she would be safe. He had to believe that, he had to have hope.

And then it happened.

Draco was still whirling in the wind of what was happening, something about a sword and her vault, the snatchers who had brought the golden trio in dying one by one, his father holding him away from Auntie Bela's rage. And then suddenly Potter was ripped away from in front of him and he was left to watch as Granger writhed and screamed in pain, in the torture his aunt was forcing on her.

He could only watch, held back by his family, his father's hand against his chest, his mother's hand against his arms, as Auntie Bela pinned Granger down, grabbing her arm and marking her, cutting into her skin, the same way she had done with him. The same way she had held him to the ground, forcing him to submit to her, and listened with such glee as he was forced to get the dark mark on his arm. His screams had grown hoarse, his voice had threaded, he still couldn't speak properly because of her.

Because of her. He was broken, in more ways than one.

His entire being was screaming at him, this was his classmate, this was his rival for top spot in the class. He hated her, but he didn't hate her like this. He was sure in another life they would have been...friends.

Fantasy. Such pointless fantasy.

He couldn't do anything. He'd die. Auntie Bella wouldn't even think twice, she'd kill him, or his mother, or his father, without blinking an eye. He hated the way Granger looked at him, her gaze pleading, tears shedding as she screamed.

He was a coward. His own arm ached, he remembered the hours and hours and hours he spent on the same floor, he could still see the blood stains on the once polished marble and wood. His blood. Three years hadn't been kind.

The screams would forever stain his ears, the ghost of the same pain, the same ache. She would go hoarse too.

And he could do nothing.

Nothing lest he die.

And then what help would he be.

But he couldn't rest like this, he couldn't...he...what could he do? What could he do? He had to...he had to try, right? Should he? Would he be caught if he did? He let out a breath and let his thoughts search into the barely viable shield that held Granger's mind together. He barely pushed into it, but it crumbled to dust around him. The pain, the fear, the thoughts and feelings were familiar.

"You'll be okay. The pain will dull soon." 

He didn't know what he was doing. Or why he was doing this. What would it help. All she had done was pause, shock catching her throat as she gazed at him, blinking once, twice, tears falling. But it passed by a moment later, and she was screaming again as Auntie Bela continued her tirade, her torture.

Moments passed like hours. He watched Grangers fallen body, the large letters spelling 'MUDBLOOD' on her arm, stark and red and bruising and bleeding, just like his own arm had been. At least the blood hadn't stained the floor, he didn't think the house elves liked cleaning blood.

Auntie Bela was yelling at the goblin, the one he had met many times before when he went to Gringotts. She was furious, the same fury that she lashed at him when he defied her entry into his mind. He still had the scars of her knives on his skin, thick and heavy, words like faggot, and gay, and traitor littered his back, his arms, his chest. All hidden away from prying eyes, from his mother. He'd never let her see the torture his body had gone through.

Potter had promised to save his mother, and he was going to...he...he didn't know what he was going to do. So, he continued calming Granger. It was the least he could do.

The soft sounds of wings flittered in his ear, something he hadn't expected, but his ears had always been attuned to it. He glimpsed at a quick moment of gold against the black, a mere speck of shine. If he hadn't been so used to looking for it as a seeker, he'd might not have noticed it. A snitch? What was a snitch doing here? Was he going insane?

And then he heard it again. Weasels' thumping oaf like footsteps as he came barrelling up the steps and into the room, how had he gotten out? Where was Potter? The room was filled with a cacophony of noise, screams of spells being thrown, things breaking around him. His father lashed his wand at Weasel, throwing hexes left right and centre.

Potter came rushing in, a breath of fresh air against the dark, and Draco felt that warmth again. Felt it deep within his skin. Such warmth.

The spell hit and his father went flying. Draco pushed his mother behind him. He didn't want his father to die, he didn't want his mother harmed.

Potter promised him.

"Duel me. For yours and your mums' sake, don't just fucking stand there!" 

Potter's voice was calming and so warm. 

Duel him? He'd duel him alright. Potter was trying to get away. And if they didn't duel, if they didn't at least show they were trying, they would all die by the hands of his aunt. So, he raised his wand and blocked, casting shields on both himself and his mother as he stepped back. He had to step back. Auntie Bela was furious, she would hex them and throw spells at them, spells that would grow considerably darker and darker as her anger grew. He was sure of it, but where was she right now?

She yelled behind them, a loud "stop" that made everything still. Their wants grip loosened and they all turned to her, to Auntie Bela as she held Granger at knifepoint, the blade tip pressed tight against her throat. Her auntie was a madwoman. He had to get his family away from her! She looked practically manic. What was one more death to her? One more body on the ground thanks to her hand?

What are we going to do? 

They had lost.

He watched, defeated, as Auntie Bela forced the trio and their entourage consisting of Lovegood, the goblin and Ollivander's the wand maker, to drop their wands. They listened, the goodness in them tenfold. They still thought that if they did what she asked, she'd let Granger go, she'd let them go. Pathetic Potter. She was going to kill them all now. He jumped when she called for him, telling him to pick up their wands.

He didn't want to. Fuck, he just wanted to take his parents and run, please just let us get out of here alive. But he had to, if not to save himself and his mother for one last moment. Bending down, he reached for the wands, feeling the warmth spread into him from Harry's own. It tingled in his grasp. The wand chooses the wizard, indeed.

He darted his gaze up at Potter, giving him one last look, wanting to see into those bright green eyes one last time. He knew this would be the end for them all. He would never see Potter again. The stinging hex was breaking, and Potter was now looking more and more like himself, and Auntie Bela now knew as well, she was going to call on the Dark Lord and he would be here, the miasmic poison he was, and they were all going to die.

Forgiveness, his father had said. Identify Potter and all will be forgiven. He hadn't done shit; he hadn't confirmed what he honestly knew. And for that, his entire family were going to die.

Pathetic.

He was pathetic.

"Call him."

Draco looked up to Auntie Bela, wands tight in his grasp. The heat of Potter's wand pressing against his palm, almost burning him. His own wand held against it, shuddering and twitching slightly.

Strange.

"Call him." she bellowed again, looking directly at Draco.

He stilled, him? Call the Dark Lord? I won't do it. I can't do it.

"I'll get you out." 

Ha. Of course, you will, Potter. You'll save someone like me.

At his stillness, his father stepped forward, his hair a mess, his clothes no longer the pristine as it usually was, he was scruffy and tired and scared and worried, just as they all were. That's what the poison did to them, that's what the Dark Lord did to them.

Follow blindly, or fear death.

Draco didn't fear death. He no longer feared pain either.

His father held his arm out, pulling his sleeves up to show the sick tattoo on his pale skin, pressing his wand to the dark mark and began the call for his master.

The imminent silence was broken by a squeaking above them, their gazes all rushed up to the familiar house elf on the chandelier, slowly and carefully unscrewing the screws that kept it up.

Dobby?

It was like watching a train crashing, the chandelier fell almost in slow motion, Auntie Bella jumped back, letting go of Granger, who dived forward, being yanked away from the crashing glass and metal by Weasel. She was safe.

Draco was pushed away from his family in the onslaught, looking up to see them safe on the other side of the room. His father covering his mother with his cloak, keeping the glass and shrapnel that now littered the floor away. Potter's hand grasped his arm then, dragging him to the side. Draco knew Potter was only there for the wands he had taken, he tried to tighten his hold on them, to only give him  his  wands. He didn't want his own wand to be taken away as well, his only source of survival in this hell. What surprised him was how Harry didn't let go. He dragged him up and away from the corner he had fallen, and pushed him behind his smaller body.

Draco was shocked, was Potter using him as a hostage? Why would he push Draco behind him if that were the case. He couldn't even do this right!

Potter held his wand out in one hand, and gripped Draco's arm with his other, stopping Draco from moving. The warmth was seeping into him now, heating up the cold that invaded his body so effortlessly.

What are you doing? 

"Saving you." 

Me? No, he was supposed to save his mother. Not him! What was the point of saving him?

But Potter's grip only tightened. He looked up to see the shocked expressions on his parents faces, of the way Auntie Bella looked at them, her eyes wide and filled with rage as Dobby took his mother's wand. Draco barely paid any attention to Dobby, or to his family, too wrapped up in the fact that Potter was trying to save him. His mind was an open book, a mess of pages, of ink spots. But there was one prominent thing in his mind, he was going to save his friends.

Friends. Were they friends? Dobby had said he had come to save Potter and his friends. A free elf, willing to go against his previous masters.

Good for you Dobby.

But he wasn't Potter's friend. They were enemies, weren't they?

"Taking a hostage, are you? A little souvenir?" Auntie Bela's voice was so high pitched, it hurt his ears. "He's such a pathetic little thing really, such a waste--" she raised her wand, the spell Draco was so used to half way to her lips. Those lips that tilted in a smile, a cruel and familiar twitch of them as she spoke the words, her crooked wand pointed at them, at Potter. Draco’s breath held, caught tight in his throat, stopping him from breathing, from thinking. "Crucio,"

So he didn't think, not that he ever did whenever he was around Potter, he grabbed Potter's body and spun him around, shielding his stupidly small and strong body beneath him, between him and the wall. The pain shouldn't be so familiar to him. It hit his back, and like the hottest shock of lightning, it spread through him, all the way down his limbs, to his fingers and toes, his hair hurt for fuck sakes. His back arched and he tried to force his mind closed, forced the pain to dull, forced something else instead of what he was feeling. It hurt so much. He felt like he was going to be sick, his body taut, muscles tight, eyes wide and throat choking with his failing breath.

Better me than him.

He prayed this was the time it killed him.

The familiar feeling of something tugging at his navel made him pause, the cursed unforgivable had finally stopped, but he was still reeling. So much so that he didn't recognise the feel of something sharp entering his back, not until he was lying face down in wet sand.

He wasn't afraid of death.

Chapter Text

What....the...fuck?

If it hadn't happened right in front of his very eyes, if he hadn’t been a part of it, he wouldn't have believed it happened at all.

Had Malfoy actually...?

When he had first been thrown onto the ground by Bellatrix and looked up into those pain filled grey eyes, that sunken in face, that scarred skin, still so purely white, yet with so many lashes and bruises marring his face, his neck, the gaunt look on his once sharp and witty features, Harry had been thrown completely out of the loop.

They hated each other.

Damn it, they hated each other. Didn't they?

But in that moment, Harry didn't know what came over him, but whatever rivalry they had in school, whatever he may have done, it...

Fuck, he didn't know why he did it. Lapse of insanity maybe?

He shouldn't have done it. Malfoy was a bad person; he had fallen so far. He insulted them, he bullied them, he broke Harry's nose. He poisoned Ron, almost killed Katie Bell, and he had been tasked to kill Dumbledore. By all intent and purpose, Harry should have left him to rot. He should have gotten away from him as soon as he was able to.

And yet, that moment. The way Malfoy hesitantly came over to him.

Harry had been damn sure he would have ratted him out. Malfoy had always been so up himself, always such a fucking ponce. He would have definitely fucked him over and announced him to everyone in that room, smirking that stupid way and looking proud of himself. 

Harry had been ready to fight Voldemort.

Well, not really no. But he had been ready to at least try and distract Voldemort for long enough so his friends would get away unharmed.

But, when Malfoy slumped down in front of him and looked at him, Godric, he looked so fucking scared. So tired, and awful. His hair, no longer the pristine slick back it had been, or the styled long softness it had been for the past year, no. It was stringy and all over the place, like he had tried to care for it, but stopped half way. His lips were cracked, no longer soft like they used to be, his cheeks and nose were so wispy and thin that Harry could literally see his veins.

He looked up at him, those eyes dull and lifeless. He looked ready to die, and that just didn't sit right with Harry.

He should have left him.

Should he have left him?

No, it just...he wasn't sure just what the fuck was happening, and he blamed it purely on his saviour complex - the one Ron and Hermione always told him he had - and he just had to help anyone in need. Especially when they looked like that.

He had expected Malfoy to sneer at him, but he had been adamant to at least try. They were both the same, when he thought about it. Two sides of the same coin. Malfoy just had been dealt a bad hand. Right?

Even a dying plant could grow if it was given the right kind of nutrients, the right kind of love and care. 

Fucking Neville with his nature versus nurture talk, how could a literal conversation about how to deal with plants cause him to think differently about the man sitting before him? 

Change the soil, give it what it needs and it will grow into something beautiful. 

The right soil. If that was the case, then Malfoy was in the wrong soil.  Harry was damn sure Malfoy’s soil was poisoned. He was a purist, or at least he was brought up to believe in blood purity, and he always had a sneer on his face when he spoke to him and his friends. But, after the first couple of years, the arguments they had didn't seem as...harsh. Was his soil changing?

Fuck, what the hell was he thinking?

They still hated each other, sure. But it hadn't been like it was before. They had been children when they had first met, and Harry liked to think they had grown mature since those stupid fights and pranks and hexes and jinxes they threw at each other from first year. Everything was a lot more serious now, especially in the last few years. Ever since Cedric.

It all came to head. Every single year Harry had to fight to be seen, to be heard, to survive against the very onslaught that was Voldemort. Eleven year old Harry hell, thirteen year old Harry, believed Draco Malfoy was the villain, that he was the worst little snotty prat ever to exist on this planet.

But now, well, Malfoy had grown on him. It was an annoying kind of thrill to argue with him, to think up of better and better insults to throw at him. He’d watch the way the Slytherin would sit and eat in the Great Hall, laughing gaily with his friends, head thrown back, showing his pale neck. Or the way he’d study in the library, the tip of his quill against his bottom lip when he thought, the way he’d lean over a cauldron in Potions, the tips of his hair curling slightly with the steam, his face brightening with a smile when the potion took the correct effects. He’d look like he actually knew what the fuck Slughorn was harping on about.

They’d come a long way since then.

It didn't feel like Malfoy meant any of those barbs, well, not as badly as he did before. It was like it was something that they did. Something almost normal in all the shit that was happening. Like their arguments and fights and all that shit was routine. The same as the corridors and hallways they’d take to get to their next class quickly, or sitting in that one spot in the library because it was close to the books and the window so he could see the Quidditch Pitch, or sitting with his mates in the Great Hall. Just...something that happened in the day.

He was a git, but he was always there. Like a constant reminder that Harry was still just Harry, and not the Harry Potter everyone expected him to be. Malfoy didn't give a shit about that, and a small, tiny, barely there, miniscule part of Harry had been so fucking relieved at that. They could fight, pure hatred, or at least whatever the fuck it was they felt for one another, because Harry hated Voldemort with his every being. Malfoy wasn't a threat. Not really.

Life was shit for him, but at least he could count on Malfoy being a dick.

And then everything changed after the bathroom incident.

Fuck...

He had looked so scared then too, so tired and anxious and depressed. Harry had snuck in to the waterlogged bathroom, expecting to see Malfoy be his poncy self, expecting him to be leading an army or some shit, ready to take over the school. Or maybe he was doing the same thing they had done in second year, and make a Polyjuice potion or something and infiltrate the Order and kill them? 

He didn't expect him to look like the world was pressing heavy on his shoulders, eyes red rimmed from crying, hair a mess, clothing no longer the usual pristine way it usually was. He had been exceptionally quiet that year, keeping to himself, staying up late into the night in the Room of Requirements, not being a bother. He hadn't even made any snide remarks or anything.

It had thrown Harry for a loop all year. So, he had reacted thinking it had to be some kind of plot. It had to be something else. Because Malfoy could not be human. He didn't have feelings; he didn't get hurt. He didn't fucking cry over something he couldn't do. Fucking hell, Harry hadn't expected Draco Malfoy to be anything other than the brat he had rejected in their first year. And, yes. Malfoy had been up to something, he had poisoned, injured and almost killed people. He had brought fucking Death Eaters into the school. 

So yes, he had reacted back then, without the knowledge he had now, thinking Malfoy was up to something, without knowing just what. He still hadn't been sure just what curse he was going to throw, or whether he had been strong enough to do it. He had expected a cruciatus or worse, and he had reacted. 

Sectumsempra.

Always cut.

It was almost poetic in a weird way. Draco Malfoy had easily carved his way into Harry Potter. The way he’d always just be there, turning a corner in a corridor, sitting on trees, jabbing insults at him, jinxing and pranking him, scaring him or making him just so damn angry. Aggravating him and cutting into his every nerve. But was it safe to say he got what was coming to him?

Always cut. Had Snape not been there, Malfoy would have surely died in that bathroom that night. No amount of healing spells or enchantments would have saved him. Always cut. It would forever cut into him until there was nothing left.

It seemed just as bad as the Unforgivable. And Harry had used it on...on Malfoy.

Fuck. It had felt right at the time, defending himself against his school rival with a super cool new spell that seemed powerful. Standing in front of him, like they had done hundreds of times before, wands pointed at one another, stupid barbs and even stupider hexes flying in the air. They only ever duelled face to face, too proud to stoop to something as low as hexing when the others back were turned.

It had felt the same then, like it was one of their dumb fucking school duels. Harry just couldn't believe Malfoy was anything but the fucking prat he had always been. With his different hair style that actually looked pretty good on him. He had looked skinnier too, taller than Harry by a couple of good inches. Malfoy was up to something evil. And he just wanted to cut the boy down a few pegs, that was all.

He had expected the same hate now, the same prattish behaviour. He had expected Malfoy to be all high and mighty in his opulence, this was his home after all. He had expected fresh and happy faces, that fucking pride filled smug look he had in the first couple of years of school.

He hadn't expected...the way he looked at him, those grey eyes looked close to lifeless, there wasn't anything in them, nothing but pain, anguish and loss. He had given up. He was just going with the motions. Stuck.

Harry had to try. Fuck knew what got into him, but he had to try. One person, just save one person.

His legilimens was shitty at best, Hermione had tried to teach him, but he just wasn't getting strong enough -- and he honestly thought that by not being able to shield himself, he would at least know where Voldemort was, what he was doing, what the next plan was. They had been left hung out to dry, on a boat, up the creek, without a paddle. They knew what they had to do, just not how. 

He had surprisingly gotten through the Fort fucking Knox that was Malfoy's occlumency shields easier than expected, like Malfoy had let him in. He expected it to be that, he wasn’t going to blow his own horn that he had done it. But what he saw inside made everything spin on its head.

The pain...familiar.

The anguish...familiar.

The stress, the anxiety, the loneliness, the feeling of being worthless, of being hated, of being...

...familiar.

It was all so familiar to Harry. He understood all of those fucked up emotions, because he had felt them before, living with the Dursleys, being tortured by those bullies, by being hunted by Voldemort, by...by...everything. Malfoy was...he was ready to die. He trusted Harry would be able to get them out of this hell, this fucking bleak poisonous vacuum where Voldemort reigned. He just wanted to get out of there, he wanted his parents safe and he was more than ready to die for that cause.

Everything that happened from then until now had made Harry think now that he had the chance to. Malfoy obviously loved his parents, he hated Voldemort and what he had done to his home, his family. He had despised his aunt and Greyback.

So, Harry hadn't been able to stop himself. He had just reacted.

There was always this weird feeling he got around Malfoy, he hated the prat, but he would  never  be able to live with himself it he left him here. Malfoy was ready to die, Harry didn’t have to go into his mind to see that. He hadn't identified him to Bellatrix and the others and he knew what the consequences would be. That didn't sit right with him. So, Harry had forced himself in, swimming in the mess of pain that was Draco Malfoy's mind.

Save his mother.

He'd figure out how to do that. He had gotten through worse scrapes than this. He just had to get Malfoy out of there. Throwing hexes and spells had been easy. Taking hold of Malfoy's arm and dragging him behind him felt good. 

He was so cold. 

Dobby had thrown the chandelier as a distraction and they were going to get out of there. He was going to save Malfoy and come back and save his mother. He was going to get them out of there and somewhere safe. Voldemort had fucked the lives of way too many people.

But he definitely hadn't expected this.

His wand had been raised, the words for the strongest shield spell he knew ready on his lips as he stared down Bellatrix, and then he was suddenly pushed back, and Malfoy was there, looking at him with those grey eyes, wide and filled with pain. His mouth wide open, but no sound escaping.

There was a sick almost yellowish white arc of magic dragging over his entire body. Harry could see it; he could taste the spell in the air. He could almost feel the way the curse travelled over Malfoy’s body, taking over him, spreading over his back, around his body, his arms stretched out, legs stiff, fingers spread and shuddering with their pain. His face. Oh god. It was sick, it was awful, it made his stomach turn.

Fuck...fuck, fuck, fuck! 

He didn’t think, he took hold of Malfoy’s body, gripping tight around the taut waist, back bowed in his pain. Godric, he wasn’t even screaming, he wasn’t even making any more noise other than the sputtering gasps of breath he tried to take in. Harry knew, if they didn’t get out of there right now, this would be the last time he ever saw Malfoy alive.

He reached for Dobby, the elf snapped his fingers and suddenly they were all apparated away, away from the darkness, away from the bleakness, away from everything evil.

He landed hard on his back, on the wet sand, the sound of sea waves lapping to his right, a cold breeze whipping over him and messing up his hair and clothes even more so than usual. There was a heavy weight on his body, his arms tightened almost instinctively around it.

He opened his eyes, gasping and closing them again at the sudden brightness of the sun high in the grey blue skies. Blearily blinking, he got up slowly, taking in his surroundings. He saw Hermione a few feet away, getting up and making her way over to Ron and Mr. Ollivander's who had landed with Luna and Griphook. Dobby was standing by Harry, hands pressed to his eyes and tears escaping as he bawled.

Though confused as to why Dobby was crying, he left that to the relief of their narrow escape. He let out a breath he hadn’t known he had been holding, glad to see everyone was safe. Sucking in a breath he noticed the air tasted of salt, but there was distinct scent of apples as well. Apples and... something else.

Blood. 

Fuck. Malfoy. 

He sat up, gripping the weight on his chest, a body. It was Malfoy’s body. And he wasn’t moving. He tugged Malfoy until he was settled on his lap. His skin was paler than he had ever seen it before, cracked lips, eyes sunken and darkened, head lolling to one side. Oh god, oh shit. He wasn’t breathing

There was blood on Harry’s hands! Soaking his fingers all the way to his elbows, thick red on his shirt, on his skin that made his vision blurry with unshed tears. What the fuck, what the fuck. How had he been hurt? When had he...

Fuck. Fuck, Malfoy. He wasn't hurt. Malfoy was— fuck! 

Harry grabbed him, shock making his fingers stiff and unable to move deftly. He shoved off Malfoy’s black suit jacket, feeling the hot, sticky wetness come off the side and onto his already stained fingers. One side of his white shirt was a dark red, spreading and staining his entire torso. There was a fucking knife in Malfoy’s side!

“Hermione!” He cried out, calling her attention to him. She was at his side almost instantly, gasping loudly as she took in and assessed the situation.

Harry reached for the knife, but she slapped his hand away. “Don’t touch it, we don’t know how bad it is,”

“I moved him!” Harry cried, stilling completely to stop any further problems that might occur. He didn’t know what to do, he had read about this kind of thing in school books, and saw it on TV shows every time he caught Aunt Petunia watching those god awful hospital drama’s when he was cooking or cleaning. The doctors always said the same thing, keep the knife inside, don’t move the patient, we don’t know how deep it’s gone, we don’t know what organ or artery it may have hit. And here Harry was, moving Malfoy around like a fucking ragdoll.

Fuck. “’Mione! I didn’t know, I-I didn’t-he shouldn’t--” the heat of the blood seeped onto his lap, warming him, a sick feeling in his stomach intensifying. “Fuck there’s so much blood!”

Ron stood behind them, his face rushing through all sorts of emotions. He raised his wand, and a primal feeling lashed through Harry then, he huddled over Malfoy, trying to stop whatever prejudice Ron still held over him. Fuck, Ron had every right to hex him, Malfoy had poisoned him. Had it not been for Slughorn, he’d not have his best friend here.

But...but a fair fight is a fair fight. He had always been the weaker one whenever Dudley and his dumb friends fucked around with him, when he was up against Voldemort, hell, even when he was up against Malfoy. But he wasn’t about to let Ron hurt someone who wasn’t able to defend themselves. It didn’t sit right with him, and it wasn’t fair.

Ron seemed to understand what Harry was feeling and growled. “I was going to cast a stasis charm, mate. I’m not going to hurt him." 

Harry nodded. Stasis charm, yes. That was clever. Fuck, why hadn’t he thought of that? The charm sparkled like gold over Malfoy’s body, and he lifted a little over Harry’s lap, seeming a little lighter. But at least the blood had stopped gushing out of his side. He was lifted up from Harry then, a levitation spell making his body rise slowly, ever so slowly.

Through the corner of his eyes, he saw Bill Weasley holding a wand to the air, casting the spell to move Malfoy from the ground and back to the quaint looking house on the beach front, Luna and Hermione standing next to him. Fleur was standing at the doorway of the house, holding the door open as Malfoy was ushered inside.

But Harry couldn’t pay any mind to that, he looked down at his hands, fuck, fuck, fuck, Malfoy’s blood. Shit, this was worse than that fucking sectumsempra spell. His blood soaked lap was freezing as the wind swirled harshly around him, wet with sea waves, cracked with sand and Malfoy’s blood. Godric, the sand was stained red as well. A morbid pool of red, red, red that spilled out. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Malfoy had looked close to death before when they knelt before one another at the manor. But right now? Oh fuck, what if he...what if he-?

He had promised himself he would get Malfoy out to safety. He hated the specky git, but he didn’t want him to die!  He didn’t want anyone but that bastard Voldemort to die. His stupid, fucked up saviour bullshit feelings had done this. Fuck, if he had left him there maybe he would have survived...no, Malfoy would have probably been tortured. Fuck he had been tortured! That bitch had cast a cruciatus curse on them, and she hadn’t cared when Malfoy was hit.

She had just cackled gleefully and continued until Dobby had apparated them away.

With the way she had looked, so fucking insane and happy at using that spell against him, he was damn sure that hadn’t been the first time she had used that spell on Draco. 

It was fucked up. All of this was so fucked up. This was Malfoy! He deserved all the shit he got. But, why then; why had he taken his hand? Why had he protected him? Why had he brought him here? Malfoy could easily turn around and return to the manor, to Voldemort and his lackeys, and tell everyone where they were. Had he given up the location for this safe house? Had he endangered the Weasley’s yet again? He wasn’t sure, he didn’t know what he was going to do. He hoped, with the way Draco had been for the last few years, with the way he acted just a few moments before, how  scared  he had been. He had been terrified. 

They were just kids! 

God, just one person, just one person. He wanted to try to save Malfoy. He had already lost so many people already, and he knew this was just the beginning. Ron may have been listening intently to the radio with the names blaring morbidly into the air on how many people had died due to the Death Eaters, but he had been listening too.

It had been his blood that resurrected Voldemort, it was his responsibility to put him down for good. Dumbledore trusted him with this; he had told everyone that he was their only hope. He was the one who had to destroy the horcruxes, and then Voldemort himself.

Ron’s hand on his shoulder made him jump. “Mate, we’re going to have a talk about just what the fuck that was, what were you thinking bringing him along?”

He didn’t know. He still didn’t know. Why had he done that? Why had he brought him here? Why did it feel right to do it? Was he going insane? What the fuck was happening to him? He just didn't want to see Malfoy...he didn't want to see Malfoy be stuck there, not like how he had been stuck at the Dursley's all those years.

Harry let out a breath. Fuck. Bloody, mother fucking shit.

"Have you forgotten what he did to us? He fucking poisoned me, remember that? And Katie? And Hermione just now?" Ron was right, fuck, but he wasn't helping.

Harry growled, getting up and shutting Ron up. "I know!" He cried. He could only stare at his hands, the blood, god there was so much blood. It was all being washed away by the sea, but it was still there, still red, still staining his fingers, his wrists, his arms, his elbows. His sleeve was ruined with it. Fuck, fuck, fuck Malfoy was dying. He might already be dead. And even if he wasn't, even if somehow Malfoy had survived the cruciatus curse and being stabbed by his fucking aunt...what about the others?

Ron had every right to feel this way, Hermione...god, Hermione did too.

He got Malfoy out alright.

But he might have just killed him.

Chapter Text

Hermione couldn’t believe it. 

She saw it, but it still incredibly inconceivable. She had always been practical with her way of thinking, needing to see something in order to understand it – especially now with the task they had been given. But even Dumbledore had left them in the dark here. And yes, she also believed in giving people second chances, especially when they had shown they were willing to change – wrong soil  and all that, as Neville had told them countless of times in Herbology. 

But it was still so strange. It piqued her curiosity for sure. Now that the abysmal shock of the...torture she had endured. God, that...no, she couldn’t think about it right this minute. They had to move forward, and when they finally had a chance, when she finally had a chance to sit down, alone, and think about it, she was sure she would let it take over her.

But now, well, not that she should keep it all bottled up and that, but right this very moment, she had worse things to worry about. 

Not...worse, per say, but definitely a little more pressing than her healing wound. Ron had been very generous with the dittany he had squirrelled away in his pockets from wherever he got it from – Hermione didn’t want to think Ron had stolen it from someone, but he had nabbed a wand and some food from the local village a couple of miles away from where they had last camped. So he must have pilfered this as well. 

She instead was glad for it. Because now, with her arm wrapped with the strong scent of the dittany and a solid, yet sloppy, bandage wrapping, courtesy of one Ronald Weasley – who knew he could be so matronly? -- and a lovely wash of episkey from Luna – she was one of the best healers for her age – Hermione could almost write the pain off completely. 

Physically anyway. 

That was why, for the moment, she could put what had just happened behind her. Her thoughts instead were plagued with... surprisingly Draco Malfoy. 

He had...he had helped her. He may not have noticed it, but he had done more than just calm her down and support her when Bellatrix had – no, she wasn’t going there now, not as deep as she could. But when Bellatrix had first put her knife to her skin, it had felt horrid, toxic, like a sick twist of fire slicing right through her skin and into her very bones. There had been something else in the blades, a poison of some sort, on the knife. She wasn’t sure what, but she was sure Bellatrix had intended to poison her alongside marking her. Whether that was how she scarred her victims, or if it was a sick pleasure for her to see them writhe in pain after the infliction itself.

But when she had heard Malfoy’s voice, calm and patient and still, so still, the pain had...it hadn’t ceased, by no means, but it had... lessened. By a marginal amount. It still hurt, it still ached, the pain was still nausea inducing. She still screamed and bellowed into the air at the feel of those blades sinking into her skin, but...it hadn’t felt as bad. There hadn’t been any of the poisonous flames. Just the sick schlick of the knife making its way along her arm and agonising her.

His mind had been open to her and she had latched onto it, needing to get away from the ‘here and now’ and into another plane of existence. 

It was by no means peaceful in Malfoy’s mind, and she was damn sure he didn’t even know she was there, that she had done this. But his tumultuous thoughts had shown her everything. Every single thing he had been through for the past three years. All the torturous pain, the spells, the hexes, the jinxes, the curses, at every corner of his own home. The grief of his past, the utter helplessness he was feeling by not being able to go to her, to help her out.  

Hermione had expected death to come for her. She had expected this since her first year at Hogwarts when she had become friends with Harry Potter. So, she wasn’t afraid, not really. But she could feel just how scared Malfoy was for her, and it made her worry. 

He didn’t deserve it. 

Damn it, he didn’t deserve any of her sympathy. Especially not after all of the name calling and the blatant duels he and Harry seem to do daily. But then again, it had been school boy bullying, all of it. It just happened that they had physical weapons on their persons at all times, and Latin phrases they learned in class to use against students. That wasn’t reason enough for Draco Malfoy to go around being such a ponce about it all. But. She couldn’t fault him for that...well, she could, and she had on many occasions, especially when she had punched him in his face. 

But this was different. He hadn’t really been a threat, not when they were fighting against Voldemort almost yearly. He was almost refreshing in a way, a way for them to keep their defences up. 

Until this year, when he had actively tried to do something about it. He had almost killed Katie with that opal necklace. He had poisoned Ron, though she had seen through Draco’s guilt that it hadn’t even been for Katie or Ron, or for Professor Slughorn. The bottle of mead and the necklace had both been for Dumbledore. She knew Malfoy had imperiused Madam Rosmerta to give the necklace to Katie, to give to Dumbledore. But Katie had opened it herself. And just how Professor Slughorn got a hold of the mead, she didn’t know. 

She had to agree, it was indeed a crude and desperate method of assassination. She had firstly blamed it on Malfoy’s cowardice, he was always so pompous, but when it came down to it, he always ran away from danger. 

But now. She didn’t know what had changed this year, but maybe finally having an evil wizard live in your house must have changed him. She couldn’t imagine it. Having someone so vile and awful living in the same place you lived. Knowing that, at every turn, you could be tortured or killed because he just felt like it. 

The absolute miasmatical fear and guilt that Draco had felt for his stupid task of killing Dumbledore had stilled her in her place. Why  would  Voldemort ask for a sixteen year old to kill one of the most powerful wizards in the wizarding world? 

She’d have to sit down and think about that. 

But again, that didn’t change what was happening now. 

Draco Malfoy was dying. 

He was dying because he had taken a cruciatus curse aimed for Harry. 

He was dying because he had tried to save them. 

Everything was so confusing now. She had reacted when she had seen the anguished look on Harry’s face outside. Like his soul had been ripped out. She had seen that face before, when Sirius... Draco had been covered, absolutely drenched in blood. Had it not been the sickly stark red, she’d have though he had taken a dip in the ocean. But no, he was pale, bloody and dying. 

Any of the healing spells she knew would not help him now, hell, she had even tried brakium emendo and it didn’t do much – at least it hadn’t vanished his bones like it had with Harry in second year. Ferula worked well enough to bandage what it could on Malfoy. But that, neither would the meagre amount of dittany Ron had stuffed in his pocket would do anything either. She wished she still had her bag, it had her books in there, and some other potion worthy items that would help in this situation.

Ron had been clever to think up the stasis charm, keeping him still in both physicality and time. The blood hadn’t completely stopped though, but it was sluggish, not as large a threat as it had been before. She had rushed to the house, knowing Bill and Fleur had noticed them tripping the wards. 

“I know what you’re thinking, but we need to save him,” she had called out to them. She had to be quick, to explain what was happening. The Weasley’s and the Malfoy’s had a feud that was almost historical. But she couldn’t let prejudice go as far as to kill a student. Because at the end of the day, that’s what Malfoy was. He was just a student. 

She wasn’t about to be all friendly with him just yet, not after all the stupid things he had said to her. But even she could see he was only following orders. He didn’t really believe in all that blood stuff. She had confirmed it when she had delved into his mind. 

“What happened to him?” Bill asked, manoeuvring Malfoy’s almost lifeless body into the beach house. 

Hermione sucked in a breath. She still couldn't believe it. She had seen how obsessed the two were about one another, always looking when the other one wasn’t, always talking about one another. It was... fuck, she didn’t know. “He took a cruciatus curse that was aimed at Harry, and then Bellatrix hit him with a poisoned knife,” 

“Fuck.” 

Aptly put. 

“Mon deu,” Fleur’s voice was just as pretty as she remembered. “We vil see to fixing ‘im, I know ze right spells to ‘elp ‘im,” 

Hermione wasn’t going to ask just how Fleur knew the right spells, but she just nodded. She had to get to the others anyway. Harry was still out there after all. She could see through the window, he was still knelt on the ground where he had fallen, looking at his hands and talking to Ron. 

She watched as Bill carefully placed Malfoy on one of the beds in the beach house. He was so pale, much paler than usual. It made her stomach turn. They had pretty much ushered them all out of the room as Fleur started checking on him. Hermione wasn’t sure just what she was doing, but it seemed to be helping him somewhat. 

She had been scared at first, leaving someone like Draco Malfoy alone with Bill Weasley, but she recognised the blood replenishing spell, and was thankful her speech about how they needed to work together now had had some kind of a positive effect on them. 

This war was bigger than their petty rivalry. 

Well, no. That wasn’t right. Yes, Draco Malfoy was part of the dark side, he was a Death Eater – she had seen the blatant mark on his arm, the sickly snake and skull tattoo. That was a damn given that he was part of the “bad side”. However, she had also gotten a front seat at just how he had gotten the mark in the first place. The way the giant werewolf had pinned him to the ground, his fangs embedded into Malfoy’s neck and shoulder, drawing blood that pooled so obscenely on the ground. It had been Voldemort who had done the dark mark himself, standing in front of him, watching with that evil grin, laughing as he pointed his wand at the fallen man. 

Malfoy had wished for death then. 

He had wished that the spell Voldemort cast on him had been the killing curse. 

To think, a student she went to the same school as, who she shared classes with, the one who she had thought would be happy following the evillest man, had wanted to die... 

Voldemort wasn’t the evillest man, she knew this. Not by a long shot. Hitler for one thing, hell even Stalin was inherently more evil. But Voldemort had a literal weapon of massive destruction in his hands and a fucked up purist mind and a trigger happy wrist. And that made her want to throw up. 

No. That wasn’t the cusp of her need to throw up. 

Fleur had taken off Malfoy’s shirt. 

In a sense to get a better understanding of where the knife had been embedded and how far, Fleur has used a spell to cut through Malfoy's shirt and banish the wet with blood garment somewhere away from them. Hermione had expected the sectumsempra scar – Harry had been an idiot to use a spell he had no idea the use of – but what she hadn’t expected was...everything else. 

The knife was embedded into his side, right into his abdomen, wedged under his lower ribs, from what she could see. But under the intense stains of blood was worse. 

Malfoy’s entire torso was littered with marks. Large red welts on his chest, bruises on his sides and his body, thick and a sick pustular yellow, as if they had been recently inflicted. But there were many that were blue and black, days, months, weeks, years old. Along his shoulders and sides of his oh-so-thin with malnutrition waist were large mottled holes and skin, bite marks from where Greyback had kept him still while Bellatrix or the other Death Eaters, and even when Voldemort himself, had tortured him. 

But what made her choke back sobs were the words carved into his skin, the same way they had been carved into her arm. The word ‘traitor’ sliced on his left cheek, across his eye and up to his forehead, which she had noticed must had always been under a concealment charm, because it looked old, yet fresh, as if....as if it was scored into again and again and again. His eyes were dull for a fucking reason! Now with him down, everything was showing. The word 'faggot' written in huge lettering was scored along his chest, ‘gay’, 'fairy', 'cunt' and other homophobic slurs were along his body and arms. There were so many others, all meshed together to create a garbled litany of scars, raised white from how old they had been.  

The pain will dull soon.  

“Oh god.” 

His dark mark, or what had been his dark mark, was chiselled away, the skin hard, red and cracked and awful, yet the mark was still visible, still stark and black against the awful red. Burn marks littered around it, the tell tale signs of blackened veins, lightning like scars from over spelling the area, round burnt blots of cigarette cherries, and even parts of the skin sliced straight off at the head end of the snake. The crosshatch of skin trying to stretch back along what must have been a deep and searing cut. 

He’d been trying to cut the mark away. 

She forced back the choking sob, holding a hand to her mouth. Bill pushed her out of the room, closing the door behind her. Hermione fell to the ground in a heap. 

This changed everything. 

If this is what Draco Malfoy had gone through while living with Voldemort, no wonder he had been so reserved and quiet all through last year. He was a clever man, he would have kept his thoughts to himself, tightly locked up behind his occlumency shields.  

But Voldemort was older, he was stronger. He had been able to get through those walls, because Draco Malfoy was just a boy. He was a student, just like she was. And even with those short pilfered thoughts, he had to go through all of this. 

Those scars...she’d never be able to get that out of her mind. And she was damn sure that his chest and torso weren’t the only placed they had scarred him.  

How could he do this to his followers? Sure, Malfoy hadn’t exactly been following him per say, but still. And to think, Malfoy had to go through that in his own home.

She was going to be sick. 

That was how Ron found her, slumped on the ground, her thoughts whirring. He knelt before her and held a hesitant hand to her shoulder. 

“He’s not...dead, is he?” he asked quietly, in that stupid way of his. 

She held a hand to her mouth, trying to quieten the sobs, shaking her head. He grabbed hold of her arm and hoisted her up from the ground, taking her away from the hallway and down to the kitchen area, where there was a fresh pot of tea made and three steaming cups under a stasis charm on the worn work top. He handed her one of the cups, cancelling the stasis, and helped her onto a dining chair. 

Her hands were shaking as she took a sip, letting the warmth calm her nerves. It wasn’t doing anything though. She still couldn’t get his scars from her mind. 

“It’s worse than that,” she murmured, placing the cup down onto the wooden table, telling him everything she had seen. She couldn’t help the tears clinging to her lashes fall, her throat hoarse and heavy as she told him about his scars, about her going into his mind, about his guilt, his hate, his dark mark. 

She knew it wasn’t her story to tell, she knew she should have let Malfoy tell them himself, if he ever did tell them. But she just couldn’t keep it in, it was hurting her inside on just how hurt he was. 

“But it’s Malfoy,” she cried out incredulously. She should hate him; she did hate him. “But seeing him like that... knowing how he got them, Ron, he tried but he...”  

“He wanted me to save his mother,” 

Harry’s voice was broken as he came into the dining area from outside, low and hoarse, as if he had been crying and screaming into the air. Honestly, she wouldn’t have been surprised if he had been.  

“He may have been a git, but he loved his family,” Ron stated, handing Harry the cup of tea and ushering him to the chair. He waved a hand over it, cancelling the stasis charm and motioned for him to sit. 

“Don’t say that! Don’t say it like...like he’s not here anymore,” Harry glowered behind his blood splattered glasses, gripping the mug in his hands. His hands looked scrubbed red, the start of thickened veins from being spelled on too much.  

As if he had noticed Hermione looking, he got up quickly and walked over to the large sink, turning the water on steaming hot and thrusting his hands under the stream. He got the scouring sponge and started cleaning his hands, scrubbing again and again at his skin until it was close to breaking. 

“Harry!” Hermione gasped, pulling him away from the sink.  

“What the fuck are we going to do?” He cried, throwing the sponge into the sink where it hit the hot water with a small splash. He tugged off his glasses and sunk them into the pinkened water, scrubbing against the glass to get the blood off it. “Why the fuck did he jump in front of me! Did he not think I’d put up a shield? What the fuck is wrong with that bastard?!” 

Hermione took his hands from the sink, holding the scalding and blistering skin and running a quick healing spell on the small welts. He sagged before her, not knowing what else to do. 

“I-He’s like this because...because of me!” he cried, and Hermione wrapped her arms around him. "I can't..."

She wasn’t sure what this meant for them, Harry had always been a little obsessed with Malfoy. But this was something a lot more than just...normal behaviour. Not that any of this was normal. What does one do in this kind of a situation? 

Harry was absolutely distraught; he was running of fumes and he was angry. And he was letting it all out on himself. Hermione hugged him tightly, hoping and wishing something would come up to help them. 

“What are we going to do?” 

Hermione let out a breath. She didn’t know. 

“It’s beautiful here,” Luna’s calm and peaceful voice came from behind them. She touched the sea shell wind chimes, letting out a soft tinny of sound against the crashing sea waves. 

“It was our aunts,” Bill said, slowly making his way down the stairs and into the kitchen. He looked tired, but hopeful. “We used to come here as kids, the Order’s now using it as a safe house – or what’s left of them anyway,” 

Fleur gazed up at him, letting out a small smile. Hermione let out a sigh, they had only just gotten married a couple of months ago and were here, happy, together. It was sweet seeing them like this.

A nice, calm reprieve from their hellish life. A slice of goodness that they needed. Something to fight for. 

Harry pulled away from Hermione, sucking in a deep and harrowing breath.

“How is he?”  

Hermione felt a fresh wave of tears escape her at Harry’s voice, he sounded so scared, so small and so worried. She wanted to hug him close again. But she didn’t. 

Bill sighed. “We did all we could, replenished his blood, fixed what was broken...but Harry. He’s been cursed a lot—there’s like three whole years’ worth of—I don’t know how he’s still—and those scars —fuck, it’s hard to look—” 

Fleur held a warm hand to his shoulder, supporting him and silencing him before he gave out. “Malfoy is recovering, 'e needs rest. But ‘arry, ‘e is not well,” 

Harry nodded, standing up straighter and taking a long, lingering look to the stairs. Hermione could see his mind was made up. He had a fire in his eyes, the same kind of fire that she saw when he had first gone through the flames in their first year, when he had conjured his Patronus for the first time, when he had gone to his trials, when he had fought against Umbridge, and now, when Malfoy was almost... 

“I need to see him,” he stated with finality. “And then I need to talk to the Goblin,” 

Chapter Text

Harry always thought he had some modicum of an idea of what he was doing. 

Okay, sure. Most of his ideas stemmed from his ability to jump head first into something and stubbornly figuring a way out of the situation once he was neck deep inside. He was surprisingly lucky with this – he was thankful for his friends. 

But this. He wasn’t sure if he could call himself lucky.  

Not after everything he could see right in front of his face.

Draco Malfoy had no right to look like that. 

Pale sunlight peering through the dark clouds, the rain breaking apart with its heat. It came through the slightly fogged up window and across the room, over the carpet and the bed where he lay. It was heart breaking. 

He had felt just how  skinny  Draco had gotten since he had last really seen him. The man had always been a little on the lithe side, he was a seeker, just like Harry, and they had to be compact to fly around and dive. But he knew Draco had muscle, like a swimmer, if he had to put it to anything. Graceful, radiant in a weird way. 

But right now, with the way he was lying in bed, heaped with blankets and pillows, a nest of warmth around him. He looked paler than possible, a fearful ghostly white. Almost transparent, if that were possible. Similar to the ghosts that roamed around the castle.  He was absolutely skin and bones right now, wrapped in all that gauze and tape.

The scent of medicine and familiar potion ingredients permeated his nose, embedded into the red stained white sheets, the bandages already a sick yellowing from the injuries he had.

Why hadn’t Harry noticed these? Some of them, the ones he could see, what with the blankets and duvet covering him all the way up to his chest, his arms out – one with an IV drip inserted into the crook of his bandaged arm – bundling him in a way that felt almost precious.

It was strange. Harry hadn’t had an inkling of any of the marks and bruises on his alabaster skin when he had first seen him, kneeling before him, helping him get out of the manor. He would have definitely said something had he noticed whatever was under the bandages and plasters across his face, for one.

Draco Malfoy. He had been hiding everything from him.

And, well. Rightly so, because if Harry had had any knowledge that this torture – for what else could it be, what with the bite marks, both old and new, littered across his shoulders and arms, most definitely down his body as well, as well as the old raised scars across his skin, were anything to go by. Harry would have pushed him and pushed him and pushed him until Draco had no choice but to tell him what was happening.

It was strange, seeing him like this. Harry thought, standing at the doorway leading into the bedroom. His eyes were fixated on his skin, unable to move away from him. He didn’t care for Dobby, who was standing next to him, hands over his eyes and his body shaking and shuddering under his quiet cries. Every once in a while, a sob would release from him that wrenched at Harry’s heart. An former house elf weeping for their former master.

Draco obviously meant a lot to Dobby. After all, no tears had been shed when he had snatched Narcissa's wand, or when he had almost tried to kill Bellatrix.

He wasn’t sure what this meant for them, if it meant anything at all.

Why had Draco done that? Why had he jumped in front of him? What did this all mean? None of this was making any sense. He couldn't pretend it was a ploy, some stupid task Voldemort had given Draco to try to get Harry to him. He had had the perfect chance to give him up, and he hadn't.

He looked dead. And it was all Harry's fault.

With every breath it took, he was going to make sure Draco saw this to the end. Regardless of whether the absolute prat decided to kill himself - he could tell with the bandages around his arms, and everywhere else that he had tried! - or not. Harry was going to make sure he survived Voldemort and everything else life was going to throw at them. And die at the final moments of his long, long, long life. Or Harry was going to kill him himself.

He had decided. He wasn't going to let anything else happen to Draco.

But that didn't explain...everything else. Just how had Draco gotten like this?

“Harry,” Hermione’s voice beckoned him. He let out a breath, startled from it all. This was so fucking strange. What was he supposed to do? 

“What...what are we...’Mione, what are we going to do about him?” he asked, glad for the umpteenth time that he had his friends with him to help him brainstorm ideas. He owed his entire life to Hermione and Ron, and they had stuck with him through his best and worst times. 

“There’s nothing we can do until he recovers,” Hermione pointed out, holding onto his arm and pulling him back. 

He noticed the bandages on her arm and winced. “You...you, okay?” 

Hermione looked down to where he was looking and let out a sigh. She still didn’t want to think about it right now. So, she just shrugged her shoulders and looked over his shoulder to Draco. 

“We have bigger things to worry about,”  

Harry nodded. They probably should talk about it. They should talk about everything that had happened ever since this whole fucked up ordeal happened. But honestly, Harry didn’t have the courage to do that just yet. Some Gryffindor he was. 

They’d deal with it when the time came, when they had a chance to rest and really think about it. Right now, they had to finish finding and destroying the rest of the horcruxes and Harry had to somehow defeat an evil wizard. 

So, Harry followed her out of the room, taking one last look at Draco laying there, breathing deeply in his induced sleep, and closed the door. For now. 

~~ 

It hurt. 

Fucking hell, did it hurt so much. 

Was this...it? Was he dead? It seemed pretty bland. Just pain, pain, pain and being stuck in this...this place of darkness where he couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe without feeling pain.  

He had always thought death would be calm as it swiftly took him away. Graceful and poignant as it would whisk him away from his body, his suffering, his anguish and leave him feeling either completely full of slowly depleting emotions as he disappeared from the world, or leave him feeling absolutely empty. Warm, yet empty. 

But this pain. 

Was he sent to...the bad place? 

That must be it. That had to be it. His father had followed the wrong person all those decades ago, and he was now forced to pay the price, both in life with his torture, and death with all this grief.

He felt like he was floating in it, body unable to move, facing up into the darkness, the ache or bruises and bones gnawing at one another lapping at his skin like waves. Burning through him in a never ending agony.

And then, just like that...he was awake.

The sound of waves ebbing and flowing like a tranquil and uneven metronome, the scent of salt and sea. The sunlight was dim in his eyes, beautiful to see, yet stinging in his torment. He wanted to close his eyes, to block the light. His arm moved, and he felt the slight twinge of sudden pain, a pinprick that lacerated through him.

It was odd, to think a needle in his arm would cause him to feel pain, after everything he had been through.

Wait...a needle?

Where was he? Was this poison? Was he being poisoned? What the fuck? Where was his wand? He had to find it. He had to—hooly, fuck. His head was aching. A gnawing, throbbing beat of drums against his ears and behind his eyes.

Breathe Draco, just breathe. 

It’s an IV. You’ve been to the hospital so many times before because of...he shuddered at the memory... this is for your own good. It didn’t have any volatile odours other than the distinct scent of saline, surprisingly dextrose and lactated Ringers’ solutions.

Blood replenishment. Crystalloids. He had lost a lot of blood and this was helping him. Had...spells not been enough? How bad had it been? There was a good half a litre left of the two litre bottle. He was almost finished with it. He wasn’t sure whether he could take it off yet, or not. But he let it work. If it were anything else, it would be too late for him anyway. If they  had  poisoned him, it was already so deep in his system that ripping the IV out now would do nothing but give him another scar.

He closed his eyes, forced himself to centre his mind, to clear it from the now, and focus on his mental tower. Just compartmentalise the pain, and get to it later. He had other things he needed to do. Like find out where the fuck he was.

The last thing he remembered was...was.

Harry.

Harry Potter. 

Fucking Harry Potter. 

The bastard, the blubbering idiot who didn’t understand a simple promise. A vow. Why had Potter gotten him out of there, yet left his mother? Draco was of no use to any of them. Not with just how...how... weak he was. His body, his mind, his...everything.

Weak. 

Pathetic. 

Traitor. “You’re a fucking traitor to your own family, Draky-boy. What if your father finds out what’s going on inside that faggot head of yours?” 

Auntie Bel—Bellatrix. Bellatrix Lestrange. The words she had pounded into him still stung. He still winced and hid away whenever she was near. Never outwardly, no. After that stupid moment where he had let his guard down for one single moment, one simple second of wondering just what the Saviour was doing out there, away from this hell. That had been all it took.

He ran his fingers over his cheek, knowing what lay under the bandages. He could still feel the sting of the knife, the scent of the poison. He was stuck with it, all of it...forever. He had perfected his glamour spells, always ready and always up at every moment in case he was caught unawares. If his mother ever found out what her sister had been doing to him, he wasn’t sure what would happen to her.

He’d murder Auntie Bella if he was brave enough to do so. 

The distinct sound of pots and pans clashing broke him out of his thoughts. Shit, he needed to figure out where he was. And where the fuck was his wand? Did Harry—Potter  still have it? The bastard! Now he was here, wherever here was, stuck and defenceless. 

Okay. It’s okay. Potter may hate you, but he wouldn’t leave you alone in a dangerous place. He was still  good  after all. With that hero complex of his. But...but if he was left with the Weasel and Granger? Or any of the others. He wasn’t sure.

Okay, one step at a time. Fear crept up into him, he was going to take this slowly. First of all, get the drip out of his arm. Sh-should he? He wasn’t sure. That didn’t stop him though. Poison or not, he moved slowly, his body sluggish and aching. Slipping out the needle from his skin, he bent his arm, stopping the blood flow. The wince of pain helped him a little. Okay, pull off the covers, the mountains and mountains of quilts and duvets. They were so heavy. Shit. One by one it was then.

Once he was free of the warm nest, he shuddered at the cold air. Fuck. Okay, so he was slow to regulating his body heat right now. And that was fine. Okay, he could deal with this. Tugging on one of the duvets, he wrapped it around his body and wrinkled his nose. It wasn’t as soft as he had expected, but it was warm and kind to his fragile skin. Well-worn.

Yes, it was well-worn. Old and smelling of something akin to...Salazar he didn’t know, but it was a nice scent, like family. Filled with spices and... he wasn’t sure. And his head wasn’t helping. It ached something fierce.

Focus.

One step at a time. He hoisted his lethargic body up, heaving and placing his hands on either side of him. The bed was plush and soft, sheets a little scratchier than he was used to. Almost like the schools. But he didn’t let that bother him. Anything was better than...home.

With great effort, he pushed himself off the bed and onto his feet. He wobbled, almost teetering to the side. But steadied himself, his hands out on either side of him, the duvet held tight in one hand as it started to slip off his shoulders. Tugging it, he righted it, and himself, and let out a breath.

His legs were still shaking, somewhat. But at least they held him upright. And that’s more than he could ask for right now. One step at a time, one foot in front of the other. Slow, breathe, wince at the pain in his back, his side, his shoulder, another step, stop. Wince at the ache in his head and his skin pulling at his body, his cheek. And another.

Finally at the door, he noticed the sound of pottery was a lot louder now, clinking of glass and a rushing of water. Dishes? Was someone washing dishes? He needed to find his captor, find them, and thank them for...everything. It had to be someone who didn’t know who he was. Right? No wizard or witch in their right mind would keep a death eater in their house. 

Not unless...

His mother! Was this his mother? Had Potter actually set her free? Had he gotten her out of that hell? It had to be! Who else would take him in and care for him like this? The IV...must be because she couldn’t use magic or something. It had to be! 

With the swell of want in his heart growing, he took the wooden steps down to the ground floor, holding onto the wall and the railing for dear life. His steps were still slow, but at least they were steadier now. And soon, he found himself on the ground floor. The sound was coming from his left, so he made his way there.

His mother! His mother was here!

“Mother!” He cried, his voice hoarse and barely noticeable. It came out as a croak, but he hoped she had heard him.

But instead of his mother, he found a redheaded man, tall and gigantic with three claw marks on his face, and a woman, someone he recognised from fourth year. They stopped what they were doing, washing dishes together, the larger man wiping at a few glasses and knives while the petite blonde was rinsing in the sink and placing them onto the drying rack.

His heart fell with a thump, this was not his mother. She wouldn’t be washing dishes anyway. The people who had kept him here, who had taken care of him. The older Weasley and Fleur Delacour. They turned to him, giving him a once over.

“You’re awake.”

This was a safe house, most likely. 

But was it safe for him?  

Chapter Text

There was something different about Malfoy. 

Not that Bill had any attestation of what he was really like, not outside of the haughty way he had acted during the World Cup, and even that was not a good indicator. Bill hadn’t exactly been focused on some random kid that shared his little brothers’ year. 

And honestly, with the way he was now, standing there, wrapped in a too big comforter, fingers clutching tightly at the edges, eyes sunken in, skin paler than possible, and body shaking right before them. He wasn’t anything like Bill had remembered, like he had expected.

Lucius Malfoy was a bastard who knew how to work his way to the top. He had that fucked up prestige preening arrogantly in every single bone in his body. Supercilious wanker, he was. But he knew how to get what he wanted. His superior fuckery could be taken down a few dozen notches though.

But Bill was a curse breaker, he had been out around the world, saw all sorts of weird and wonderful things, had so many of those weird and wonderful things hurt or harm him. So, he’d like to think he knew a defensive wound from a self inflicted wound.

And Draco Malfoy was littered with both.

"You’re awake,” he spoke out, putting the knife down on the table. It wasn’t the best intentions, holding a knife in front of a skittish wizard.

And Malfoy definitely looked very skittish right now. His gaze darted back and forth between the two of them and the short hallway leading to the beach front. His mind was a jumbled mess of pain, fear, and guilt and worry and shame.

Shame.

Good. He should feel shame.

Fleur held a hand to his arm, as if she had read his mind directly. Not that she may not have, she had been very affluent in legilimency with him. Some nights, she had to be. There were still times when Bill curled in on himself, closing himself off to the world around him and just wallowing in his fears, his disgust, and his hate for what he had become. 

She was the breath of fresh air to his horrid day. And he was damn grateful for her. He let out a breath and nodded to her. She was right, he shouldn’t think this way about a kid.

Because yes, the Malfoy’s were on the wrong side, they housed the asshole wizard Voldemort after all. But that didn’t mean Draco was inherently as evil.

Bill had learned the quick and hard way to not be prejudiced about people and things. Once he had been cursed into a werewolf – "no, not cursed, you’ve been given an opportunity, my love.”  - once he had been turned into a werewolf, he had been forced to learn his life from a completely unfamiliar perspective.

Not all werewolves were monsters, their baser instincts weren’t all evil. They were animals when they first couldn’t control themselves, but they learned. He learned. His mother hadn’t turned him away or spelled him in a cage. She had held him close and wept with him as he cried and writhed in pain during his first turning. He hadn’t been able to control himself, and had almost lunged at her, Godric, but he had seen the defiance in her eyes, her love for him, and that had calmed him, had stopped him short.

And once he had gotten used to the tumultuous feelings, of the grief of being a monster, he had understood.

Not everything bad is inherently bad.

Some people were given the prospect to be bad and liked it. Some people were forced into it and hated every moment.

Draco was a scared boy. A scared boy who had been tortured and forced into his role. From the many bruises and beatings showing all over his skin, some so old, and some still fresh, anyone could tell he hadn’t walked happily into his life.

Bill could understand that. He hadn’t willingly let the werewolf scratch and bite him. But he was stuck with this now. And he was going to use his new attribute to help better the world. Regardless of the prejudice he faced.

Draco’s occlumency barriers were so thick and impenetrable now, walls so high up and strong. Bill was impressed, this seventeen year old boy was so strong with his mental magic. He wasn’t going to force open, hell he wasn’t even going to prise open the small cracks he found in the shield Draco had created around his mind.

Obviously, the boy needed a moment.

Fleur took a step forward, waving her wand to the side where a mug of hot chocolate was sitting in stasis. She didn’t miss Draco flinching, his gaze trained on her wand.

And she knew then. He had been tortured by someone he knew, someone he trusted. 

The mug slowly moved over to the table, the stasis charm breaking over it as it settled with a quiet thunk on the wooden table. Draco’s wince this time was a little less involuntary, a little less noticeable. But she had noticed the way his grey eyes darted a little over to the side, only to shoot back at her wand.

“Sit, have some,” she said, motioning with her hand at the chair. 

Draco didn’t move, not at first. His gaze was as strong as his stance – which was to say it wasn’t strong at all. He wavered on his legs, knees looking like they would buckle at any moment. But Fleur could be insistent when she wanted to be.

She placed her wand slowly to the side, watching how carefully Draco was watching her wand. They had expected him to relax a little with all three of their hands wandless. But Draco was still looking at the wand as if it would grow legs, get up, and start hexing him.

What exactly had he gone through? 

“Malfoy,” He jumped at his name, before sucking in a deep and calculated breath and straightened out. His body still shook, but his back was straight, his head held a little higher and his eyes completely blank of emotions.

An act.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” he said calmly, though his voice was so hoarse and barely noticeable, that even Bill, who had a keen sense of hearing, had to lean in a little closer to hear him. “But if I can please have my wand, I will be on my way.” 

Pompous prat. There was no need to be so proud.

“Where will you go?” Fleur’s voice cut through, fresh yet harsh. “Back to your home? Where ‘Arry ‘ad gotten you out?”

“I didn’t ask for him to save me!”  He yelled. Quickly, his hands wrapped around his throat, his eyes wide in pain. Weak, hacking coughs erupted from his chest, making his shake and shiver even more.

Fleur swooped over to his falling body, running a hand over his back, and leading him to the table. Once he was settled, she reached for the mug and held it in front of him.

“Drink.” She said simply.

Draco stared at it, gazing at it, then at them, and back at it.

“It’s not poisoned,” Bill replied calmly.

Draco’s eyes rolled, but he sucked in his pride and reached for the mug of heat. His hands shaking, he gingerly lifted the mug from the table, faltering a little as it dropped back onto the table top with a thunk, too heavy for him to hold. But he closed his eyes, sucked in a breath, and willed himself to lift the mug. His hands shook, but he wrapped them around the warmth, and slowly, ever so slowly, he brought the mug closer to his face.

It looked creamy and brown, warm with a swirl of white cream on its surface. It smelled magnificent, a rich chocolate and cinnamon, strong and sensuous in a strange way. Or maybe that was just how he saw it. A warmth away from the bitter cold of the past few years.

Bill watched him, watched the way his pale fingers grasped at the mug like a lifeline, but at the same time he looked vehemently into the mug, as if he had expected it to jump out at him. Not being able to resist, Bill slowly slipped into the cracks of the wall around Draco’s mind, just peeking in. He noticed Draco flinch a little, most likely the boy had noticed, but why was he was allowing him entrance, allowing him to look inside his mind.

Maybe he hadn’t noticed Bill had slipped inside? Maybe he didn’t know about the cracks? He was a young boy, still not ready for the real world, though he had been forced to grow up so fast.

His mind was suddenly assailed with snippets of Draco, of what he had had to go through the past few years. The torment, the torture, the pain, the ache of the person he had trusted, the family he had thought would keep him safe going against him.

...not poison. They wouldn’t do that to you... 

Having to peer around every corner, listen for every type of sound, the heavy footfalls of Greyback, the thin cackling of his aunt.

...they are good people...they are good people...

Pressing his back up against the walls whenever he was alone in the room with anyone that wasn’t his mother. Watching everyone and everything. Seeing the way their eyes would light up in glee as Voldemort laughed, regaling about his life, about his plans. 

...but they hate you. 

Watching his teachers, watching people he knew, and people he didn’t, watching muggle born wizards and witches who couldn’t help where they came from, being crucio’d right in front of him, levitated and displayed like some kind of entertainment for the Dark Lord’s pleasure, tears streaming from their eyes, mouths open in their silenced spelled pain.

They've always hated you. 

Being forced to sit and watch as that fucking snake bit through them, fangs piercing, venom slick and green against the red, swallowing them whole or in pieces. Sick, twisted, making him want to throw up, to leave, to get away from it all. Being forced to sit there and watch the display, knowing that if he had even a moment of hesitation flit through his face, his eyes, his mind, he’d be right there on that table, suspended and in pain. The next to be eaten by the snake. While his parents were forced to watch on, not being able to do anything.

And you deserve their hate.

Forced to the ground, a knee on his back and growling in his ear. The stench of flesh and blood, rotten and rank, buried in his nose. The cold, cold, cold of hexes, spells, curses, and anything else his aunt could throw at him. The harsh rip of his skin as fangs, claws and blades sunk into his skin. 

Better him than his mother.

You need to leave. You need to get out of here. What are you still doing here? Leave! They’re going to hurt you! They’re going to kill you! 

“Draco!”

Draco jumped, the mug falling out of his hand and spilling all over the table. Draco stood up then, the chair screeching on the tiled floors, and he fled the room, out through the open doors and into the beach front.

Bill followed him, his feet sinking into the rain wet sand, body soaking against the light pattering sheets of rain. He narrowed his gaze through the haze of the sea, hoping to find the blonde boy. He couldn’t have gotten too far.

He found Draco knelt by the dark brush of reeds and tall grass, heaving dryly into the sand. Bill cautiously made his way over to him. His footsteps slow and loud enough over the rushing waves and the cawing of gulls.

“Draco.” He called out, quieter this time, but loud enough to be heard through the din. He slowly, ever so carefully, made his way over to the boy. The boy looked up then, quick and unintentional, his eyes wide and filled with fear. 

He scrambled up onto his feet but fell forward in his weakness. The sand plush against his hands, clinging to his skin as he sunk down. He felt large, hot hands against his back, rubbing slow and even circles.

He hadn’t known he had been crying, not until he tasted the salt against the bile at his lips. Bill murmured soothing words at him, but Draco didn’t hear him, couldn’t hear him.  

Everything was so loud, everything hurt so much. 

“We have no intention to hurt you,” Bill’s voice was surprisingly soothing, and Draco didn’t understand why he was lured to him. “Let’s get you inside,” 

Draco seemed to resign himself to it. Bill hoped he didn’t think he had no choice, but he was so weak and small, wrapped in reddening bandages, his injuries a stark black and blue and red, red, red against his pale skin, the comforter having fluttered off his body in the house. 

He was shivering and cold, colder than he had been before. Bill wrapped a hand around his shoulder, slow and intentional in his movements, making sure Draco saw everything he was doing as he did it, and helped him onto his feet. He was so light, lighter than Bill had expected him to be. Hell, Ron was heavy, fuck...even Ginny was heavier than this, and she was a slight little thing.

He could so easily snap Draco like a fucking twig.

Slow, steady, methodical and deliberate steps back into the house, Bill placed Draco back onto the seat at the table, wrapping the comforter around his body, hoping this time he would stay still and let them help him.

Fleur had spelled the spills and mess away and stood there with another cup of hot chocolate. “...Bill, his wounds are—”

He nodded, taking the mug and handing it to Draco.

“You are not in any danger, you are safe here.” he said, clear, concise, calculated. He waited for a sign that Draco was listening to him. When he saw the slight recognition in his eyes, saw the way he nodded, so minutely, he continued. “I’m going to look at your wounds, they’ve...opened up again."

Draco’s body was taught, bow string tight, but he nodded, reaching for the mug as Fleur sat in front of him. She was unarmed, as was Bill. He was safe here, wasn’t he?

“Drink,” Fleur said quietly, motioning to him. "You’ll feel better with the chocolate.”

Draco nodded, though Bill was sure he wasn’t really there at this moment. He quickly, and methodically, checked all of the wounds he could reach, peeling away at the tape of the bandages and plasters, checking and thanking that they hadn’t been aggravated as much as he had expected. The dittany and Fleur’s spells were holding on strong.

What worried him was the hideous bite marks healing along Draco’s skin, especially the one harsh and deep one against his shoulder and neck.

It was starting to turn a familiar bruising black against his pale skin.

Chapter Text

Okay, so maybe Hermione was right.

Maybe he was an idiot with the emotional range of a teaspoon.

But Ron knew that this whole bringing a dying ferret along for the ride thing was bloody insane from the get-go. And that was saying something.

For the past six and a half years he had been living off the seat of his pants, never really knowing what to do and where to go. Ever since he had shared the train compartment with Harry Potter, it had gotten worse and worse – not that he’d ever go back and change it. He had trusted his instincts to sit in the train compartment that had the lonely boy in the too large clothes and broken glasses, rather than sitting with his brothers – which, now that he thought about it, had been bloody brilliant idea, because he knew that, at eleven, his brothers would have made him so scared, he’d not even be able to step foot into Hogwarts from the start.

Bloody hell, he had actually believed them when they had told him he had to fight a fucking troll to get into one of the houses! What an idiot he had been then. 

Sitting with Harry and making friends with Hermione had been the best thing he had ever done. Of course, there had been moments where, yes, he was a bit of an idiot. But it got a lot easier to trust his instincts as he got older. 

So, though he was damn surprised when his instincts told him  not  to hex the ferret faced git when they had apparated with Dobby and the others to the beach house, and instead help him. He trusted himself enough to know what he was doing. Being able to see light in the darkness and all that other stuff Dumbledore had given him the deluminator for.

So yeah, he had used the same charms his brothers used to use on him when he got hurt a little harder than what their mum could say was ‘simply playing’. Yeah, he’d get a yelling from his mum, but at least she’d give him a kiss and heal him after he got an earful. He wasn’t about to do that to Malfoy.

Ew.

It was a good idea. And bonus points to him for the way Hermione looked at him after, surprised and actually impressed at his ideas. He liked that look on her face. 

He wasn’t actually going to jinx or hex Malfoy, the idiot had looked closer to death than any of them had been after all. Well, not unless Malfoy retaliated. Fair fight and all that. Ron wasn’t the type to kick someone when they were already down. And though Malfoy was an arse most of the time, at least he understood that a duel was supposed to be fair. 

He was still a prick though.  

Ron still didn’t understand what made Harry – and in some parts later, Hermione – trust their instincts enough to not only bring Malfoy with them (which still made no fucking sense), but to actually help him as well. Martyrdom? Chivalry? Seeing a poor soul and needing to help them? Or was it something else entirely?

He was going to pick the latter. Harry had been bloody obsessed with the git ever since first year. There was no denying that – especially with the whole ‘spying on his every fucking move during sixth year’ and yeah, he had been up to something, it still didn’t mean that Harry had to spent every waking minute watching the prat like he was some kind of lovesick crup puppy.

Fuck, no. He wasn’t going to think about Harry and Malfoy and ‘lovesick’. That made him feel sick-sick.

But he'd be lying that he hadn't noticed something. As the years grew though, he had noticed they no longer looked at each other like they were rivals – well, they did but not like actual  rivals. Not like they hated each other like they had in first year. Then again, they had all been a young and all that back then. But like, well...Ron was never going to say it out loud, but Malfoy was kind of... 

Urgh. 

He was an equal to them, alright? 

Outside of all the smarmy words, and the poncy snotty way he strutted about the place like he fucking owned it. Malfoy was smart – second in the whole year, after Hermione, but she was in a league of her own – and sure, from the outside, he had rapier wit, his pranks could be funny, when they weren’t aimed at them. His spell casting was good too, surprisingly challenging to overcome sometimes. 

Malfoy kept them on their toes. 

And though Ron still hated him. He was kind of thankful for it. Because it kept them sprightly and all that. Like Ron had actually researched on spells and that in order to use them on Malfoy the next time he started his stupid bout and Harry needed a second. Those spells he had researched had helped him a lot when he had been separated from Harry and Hermione.

He still hated him. The fucking prick. But yeah, Malfoy was nothing more than a school bully. Not when they had bigger things to worry about. You-Kno-Voldemort, fucking hell, he was going to say his name, because Voldemort didn't deserve anything more, he didn't deserve the prestige, the fear, that came from having a feared name. With someone like Voldemort on their tail. Malfoy was definitely not someone they actually needed to worry about. He was a bloody coward, always running away from danger. 

Well, he had been.

Ron couldn’t imagine having to live with Voldemort in his house. And with the whole story Hermione had told him about Malfoy and his injuries and all that shit, especially the fact that there were some really, really old ones there along with the new ones. Fuck, Ron had seen the word ‘traitor’ written on his face, scored into the skin it was, harsh and infected, like thousands and thousands of deep cuts had left those letters on his skin. It looked horrible. 

And to hear he had been forced onto the ground by his own family, and... fuck, fucking, fuck. 

It was Malfoy, for fucks sake. Ron hated him; he had a reason so hate him! The asshat poisoned him, Godric's sake. But to...to know that he had been actually physically tortured...

That just didn’t sit right with him. 

He was, in no way, about to sympathise with the git. He hated Malfoy now, and he would always hate Malfoy. But, if Harry had brought him here, it must have been for a damn good reason. He was kind of curious to see the bruises and stuff, it couldn’t be as bad as Hermione was making it out to be. No way. But at the same time...could it be? Hermione wasn’t one to mince words, and she had looked absolutely devastated when she had been pushed out of the bedroom. Maybe it was...that would explain why Harry had taken him. Hermione had gone into his mind when she was being...fuck...tortured. She had told him as much as she could with what she had seen inside his head -- he had expected it to be an empty poncy little cupboard with a boggart sized ego stuffed inside, but to know it was...a wall around a maze.

That was unexpected.

He wasn't really good at understanding all that mental magic stuff, but he knew the basics after they had tried to help Harry with his occlumency lessons. He had sat in the library with Hermione reading through textbooks, trying to understand just what all of this meant. He knew the basics, a mental shield was only as good as the foundation of your occlumens. He had read about how wizards and witches would hide their thoughts in compartments, rooms, cupboards, all that strange stuff, and then they would reinforce their walls with doors and locks or whatever. Making it hard for others to get in.

But Hermione had said Malfoy's mind was like a maze, an island of meshed walls, reinforced with steel, and barbs, thickets overgrowing and covering every part of it, surrounded by a wall so thick it was practically impenetrable. That was...eccentric. The amount of time and magic it would take to make that and keep it up. So much strength and will had to be had in order to do something so...much. 

Ron tried to imagine it. The Burrow, taken over by the likes of You-Kn—Voldemort and his lackeys. Every single room being covered with evil. Darkened with it, tainted, ruined. He’d never be able to get over it. Knowing that even if he thought something out of what Voldemort considered right and pure, he'd be hexed, or tortured.

And Malfoy had to live there, in his own home. He had to eat with them, sleep with dangerous people practically next door. And with the way he looked, all tortured and ridiculed and whatever the fuck else, he definitely wasn’t the poster boy Death Eater everyone expected him to be. Fuck, he took a Crucio without screaming!

Traitor.

He had the word traitor literally etched into his face, right where everyone could see it. Bright and blaring like a fucking neon sign. That had to mean that he was not really a follower of Voldemort. He may be a git, but even Ron had to admit, that was just fucked up. 

Save his mother, was what Harry had said. He and his entire family were at wand point all the time. No wonder he was so fucked up. He must have taken the brunt. Unless Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy were also cut up and that. Then again, that didn't seem right. Malfoy wasn’t the type of prat who’d let his family get hurt. Even Ron could see that. Through all of the pure-blood shit he spouted, Malfoy loved his family. It was fucked up to have to live in a place that was literally his home, only to have to give it up to Voldemort and his poisonous evil, and the Death Eaters and his crazy aunt.

Oh, he wanted to fucking kill that bitch.

He knew he’d get his chance.

Fucking Malfoy.

But as he followed Harry and Hermione back to the beach house – when they should have probably apparated into Hogwarts after finding out about Helga Hufflepuff and her cup being the horcrux – his instincts told him to blame Harry. He still thought it would be better for the three of them to protect one another with the same disillusionment spells and all that fancy shit they had done back in the remote forests than sit back at the safe house – where his brother and sister-in-law were – and try to figure out how to get to Hogwarts.

But then again, Harry must have had a good reason to go back to the beach house, and Ron had to admit, there was something about Harry and his instincts that helped them out in the end. It had gotten then out of a lot of tough times, that gut of his. And yeah, to be honest, the beach house was a lot better than being chased by snatchers and ministry officials who thought it would be a good idea to fucking follow them mid-apparition – yeah, his arm was still sore after  that  debacle. Then again, escaping out of Gringotts on the back of a dragon was a lot more interesting than apparating everywhere. However, flying to Hogwarts on a fucking dragon would probably call attention to them, and they had to be flying under the radar.

So, here they were again, pushing the door open to the beach house, wondering why they hadn’t just apparated to Hogsmeade like he had thought they would have – weren't they under a time constraint?

OF course he knew why, okay? He was not as oblivious as everyone thought he was. He fucking knew it was because of Malfoy. He may still be a bit loopy from all that moving around, and the adrenaline was slowly wearing off. But that still didn’t mean he didn’t understand the crazy weird heart eyes Harry was making at the ferrety git. Then again, Malfoy had saved them, jumping in front of Harry and that. He was a coward, yeah. But that whole thing was weird.

Nope, he wasn’t going to say anything. Nope. Not him.

They spotted Luna sitting in front of the muggle telly thing, looking at the blank screen with wonder. Yeah, okay, so even he knew the telly thing had to be turned on by the ekelcitry thing. But Luna was...something else. She was sitting with Dobby, who had taken to placing cards down on the table alongside a small pile he had created. Solitaire or something.

“Oh, Harry, Ron, Hermione,” Luna suddenly said, turning her head slowly to them. “We weren't expecting you to come back,” 

“Yeah, neither were we, uh—” Ron started, not really sure how to explain his best friends weird need to be close to Malfoy. It was more of a 'you had to be there with them for the past six and a half years in order to understand the weird relationship Harry had with Malfoy' thing. Thankfully he was interrupted by a loud should and an even louder commotion coming from the kitchen. Ron nodded to Luna before following Harry and Hermione to the back of the house.

He almost ran headfirst into Hermione’s back at the kitchen doorway, Luna thumping into him from behind, before she pushed his head down to the ground, almost smashing his nose against the tile. Something twanged behind them, looking back, he saw a knife was stuck to the wood of the door, reverberating from the throw. He heard the fizzing sounds of magic crackling in the air, before something whizzed passed them for the second time.

“Bloody hell, you almost took my nose clean—what the fuck?”

There was raw magic everywhere, the thick, heady scent of it permeating the air, sparks of lightning crackling from where it gathered in the middle of the kitchen, surrounding a familiar figure, an orb of bright, blinding light. Pure, raw magic.

What the fuck was happening?

Bill was yelling something, but Ron couldn’t hear it over the shattering of glass, and the sound of lightning skimming over furniture and cracking it clean through. But he was sure he heard him yell ‘hide!’; so that was what he did. He ducked for Hermione and Luna, pushing them behind the island to their left, narrowly missing the lightning as it arched across the room, slapping harshly against the tiles and cracking the ceramic.

“Oh my god!” Hermione cried, holding head in her hands as sparks flew over them both, looking up to see Luna had taken to hiding under the stool by the breakfast table on the island they were hiding behind.

Bill was yelling, Harry was yelling. Then there was a heavy droning sound as sparks flittered here and there, feather like as they zinged through the air, breaking up into smaller orbs, like fireworks going off. Ron covered his arm over her as a stray piece of plate showered over them. "Stay down!"

Once it quietened down somewhat, they both peered up over the island. Fleur was huddled under the table, while Bill was standing before the golden thing, which was no longer throwing off arcs of lightning and magic. Bill was holding both his hands out to the orb, one of his hands actually phasing into the gold lightning ball, as if he was holding onto it.

Turning to see where his best friend was, he saw Harry doing the same thing as Bill, holding his hands out and taking closer steps to the golden thing. There was a thick, almost goldish bubble around Harry, surrounding him. Debris was bouncing off the bubble, keeping Harry safe. What kind of spell was that? And what the fuck was the golden orb? Was this an ambush? Were they being ambushed? Fuck, fucking fuck! How do you fight something you don’t even know what is? He turned to Hermione, but she was staring at the scene before them, a hand on her mouth.

He followed her eyes and was almost blinded by the pure light coming from the orb. Harry had gotten closer, close enough to touch the orb. He looked determined, listening to Bill say something about ‘touch him, it’s the only way’.

Fuck, that was...it couldn’t be.

"Malfoy?"

His thought was answered when, once Harry’s hands phased through the golden orb, the light burst like a balloon, shattering onto the ground with such grace, like petals whisked away by a harsh breeze, until all that was left was a shirtless Malfoy, slumping forward onto Harry, his eyes wide and hazy, his mouth open in a silent scream.

What the fuck?

Chapter Text

“—out of the way! Find someplace to hide!” Bill yelled over the thunder and lightning storm starting from the middle of the kitchen.

The ground shook below Harry’s feet, but he didn’t feel like he was about to tip over. Pots, pans, cutlery, knives, spoons, forks, chairs, tables, anything that could move was lifting off and up, circling menacingly outwards from the storming golden orb. Almost at once it zinged outwards, slicing through the air and into the walls, cutlery slicking with twanging pings into the wood of the table, pots clashing and utensils zooming and embedding into the tile walls.

A kitchen knife was heading straight for him.

Harry didn’t have the time to think, didn't really have time to react. His hand reaching for his wand, he zipped it up, but it was too late. Fuck, this wasn’t how he was supposed to die! He held his other arm up to his face, a spell on his lips, his eyes unable to steer away from the sharp shine that was zooming towards him in such a swift pace. His heart beat rapidly, his breath catching, and he braced himself for the inevitable pain.

…that didn’t come.

An arc of lightning cracked through the air, the dull hum of it as it clanged harshly against the knife blade and angling it forcefully to the right, but not far enough from Harry’s face. It shattered right by his ear, making him flinch and cover his head as his ears hummed a high pitched tinny, the wand in his hand slamming on the other side of his head. But he didn’t feel the shrapnel of the metal hit him.

Opening his eyes, he noticed his skin was…glowing? A pure gold, similar to the shade of the orb in front of him. It surrounded him like a second skin, like little fireflies sitting on him, little tiny golden snitches of light that covered him. He felt safe like this, invincible. What was going on?

“I knew it!” Bill said triumphantly, and Harry glared at him.

He yelled over the harsh cracks and snaps of the lightning. “What the fuck is happening?”

Bill ushered him closer, a hand pressing against the orb, as if he were holding onto it. Harry wasn’t sure what this all meant, what kind of spell or magic or creature was this? Something that produced lightning and gold shields or barriers around people or whatever. And why only on him? Bill wasn’t surrounded by anything, but Harry was. Neither was Fleur, who he saw was huddled safely under the table. A quick gaze to his right showed him Ron’s trainers hiding behind the kitchen island, and he was sure he spotted Luna’s blonde hair under the stool next to them. Yet, none of them were covered in this strange gold bubble.

Should he be worried? The barrier, cover, second glowing skin, whatever this was, didn’t feel ominous, and Harry could vouch that he could tell when something was evil. This…this was far from it. It felt pure, innocent. It felt warm, like a nice, long, hard hug around his entire body. Like he was being encased in a fluffy and comfy blanket. It felt safe.

What did this all mean?

Okay, potentially strange and wondrous feeling aside. Harry really needed to focus.

“You’ve got to come closer,” Bill yelled to Harry, motioning him with his free hand. “I can’t get him to stop!”

He didn’t look like he was in pain, and well, Harry didn’t feel like he should be worried – which should have been worrying all on its own. Something strange like this happening wasn't always a good thing, and Harry's luck wasn't exactly good. He held his hands to his sides, his grip tightening on his wand – just in case – as he took slow and deliberate steps closer. He trusted Bill, so if Bill was saying that he had to go to the golden orb thing, then he was going to the golden orb thing.

With each step, he got closer, and as he got closer, the golden orb seemed to…become clearer? Well, no not really become clearer. But Harry didn’t feel like the light was blinding him anymore. He hadn’t even noticed that the lightning has stopped, that the room had stilled. That there wasn’t any immediate danger around him anymore, because he saw a familiar silhouette in the golden orb. One he had been watching ever since their first year.

Draco.

The orb was Draco.

He was standing there, in the middle of the kitchen, strangely hovering a few feet from the ground, his arms stretched down, his legs parted, his head falling back. Harry couldn’t see his face clearly, but he saw the wide, grey eyes clouded with the gold, saw the wide mouth open with a silent scream. He had seen Draco like this before, when he had taken the Cruciatus curse for him only hours ago. He could only imagine the pain the man was going through.

No. Not again. Please.

“Draco,” he murmured, not really knowing he had said it. It barely made a sound over the sudden quiet, but Draco heard it. He turned his head slightly to the side, those grey eyes pleading, a single sliver of silver twinkling in the brightness, like starlight as it fell down his cheek.

He was crying.

Not thinking, Harry’s grip faltered and his wand slipped from his fingers, dropping onto the tile with a quiet clatter. He barely paid it any attention, quickening his steps and moving closer, holding both of his hands out, not knowing what he intended to do. All he knew was that he had to get to Draco. Just get to Draco. He had to stop him crying. Draco was in pain. He felt like he was compelled to get to Draco, to hold him to his body, where he knew the man would be safe, closer and closer still, telling him that everything would be okay. He was the only one who could help him. Draco was only ever going to be safe with him. No one else can touch him. I won’t let anyone touch him!

Bill was saying something to him, something about touching Draco. I won’t let anyone touch him! So, he did just that. His hands phased through the gold. He suddenly felt his fingers grow hot, then his palms, and his wrist until his entire arm was burning, like he was putting his hands over a fire, but it didn’t stop him. Because that was Draco in there. And he must be in so much pain. He reached forward until he felt a firm body. Draco! His hands grasped at the body, holding on tight. As soon as his skin touched skin, the gold fell away, shattering around them like glass, blowing away in an unseen wind, until there was nothing left.

Draco was looking at him, the tears in his beautiful eyes shining, brimming until they spilled over and he fell forward. Harry gathered him in his arms, wrapping them carefully around his bandaged and broken body. Draco slumped onto him, his breathing harsh, his knees giving way until they both dropped to the ground. Harry grasped at Draco’s slight body, unsure what had happened, but knowing that Draco needed this right now. His sobs were wracked, his chest heaving with rasping coughs and sputtered whines. Harry held onto him, pulling him closer and slowly started to rock him back and forth.

He was going to be okay. Everything was going to be okay now.

Draco shuddered, gasping breaths as he buried himself into Harry, as if trying to hide away from the world. Harry suddenly had the thought that if he could, he’d do just that, He’d make it so that Draco always felt safe here, wrapped in his arms, hidden away from the scary world around them. He’d hide the man away somewhere if he could, somewhere warm and comfortable, where they could rest and Draco could get better.

Because throughout that whole endeavour, Draco looked a lot worse now than when he left him. Harry himself was a little worse for wear, covered in grime and rock dust and whatever slime was on the dragon they had liberated. He had tamed that dragon, and it was time to tame this dragon. Yes. That was what he was going to do.

“Harry, he’s okay now,” Bill’s voice broke through the din in his mind. “You can let go,”

For some reason, Harry hated that thought. His grip tightened on the man in his arms, his body leaning forward as if to cover Draco from any form of danger, regardless of who it was. Draco wasn’t safe here; he wasn’t safe with so many people around. Harry could keep him safe, he could take his poor, injured dragon away somewhere, and they would be safe.

“Harry,” An almost threateningly animalistic growl escaped from Bill’s throat, and that pulled Harry back from wherever his mind had gone.

What…oh, what the bloody hell was going on? What was he thinking? Why was he getting all weird and sentimental over Draco of all people? And when had Malfoy turned to Draco? And when the hell had Draco turned into ‘his dragon’?

“I was afraid of this,” Bill said with a second low growl, this one didn’t sound as scary as the first. He almost sounded resigned.  “Harry, I need you to calm down, can you do that?”

Calm down? He was calm. He had Draco safe in his arms, and everyone was a few feet away from him. There was no danger here. Draco was safe. And he was calm. If everyone stayed where they were. He was calm. He was calm. He was calm.

“Yeah mate,” Ron piped up, appearing from behind the island, helping Hermione up and brushing at the ceramic pieces that had fallen into her bushy hair. “You kind of went a little…” he made a strange gesture with his hands that didn’t really explain anything.

“Harry, you got very—” Hermione tried, figuring out the right words to say here was crucial after all. She herself wasn’t sure what was going on either. And that was worrying Harry. She always knew what was happening, or at least had an inkling of it. But she looked just as lost as he felt. “—protective all of a sudden,”

“Your eyes are all glowing and stuff,” Ron added. 

Harry was confused. His eyes were glowing? He peered over at the shattered glass cabinet on the side, and saw his reflecting, cracked and broken, but it was there, and indeed his eyes were glowing. Thankfully the rest of him no longer was. He imagined the gold barrier thing had disappeared when Draco's had.

“Harry,” Bill took a couple steps forward, and for some reason, Harry let him. He didn’t feel like Bill was a threat, though he should have, with how big and bulky the larger man was. But he felt safe. He felt like family, in a weird way. Because weren't they all technically family to him? “You have to understand just what you’re doing here,”

“What am I doing here?” Harry asked, but his grip didn’t waver over Draco, who was still whimpering in pain. “What the fuck happened? Why is Draco…what happened?”

“Do you know what your animagus is, ‘arry?” Fleur asked as she straightened out her shirt, pushing the chair back under the table where she had been hiding.

Harry shook his head, exasperated. If people would stop talking in fucking riddles when they were around him, he'd really appreciate that. “We didn’t exactly have time—and what has that got to do with what’s happening here?”

“It ‘as everything to do with what’s ‘appening here,” Fleur looked entirely too calm for what she was saying, and that irked Harry again. He hated not knowing what was going on, Dumbledore had done that all the time too, and look where that got them? Lost and still unsure how to defeat Voldemort.

And now this. Whatever this was.

“You’re feeling awfully protective over Draco, almost like you share a special bond with the boy,” she continued, motioning to how he was still holding the man close to him, eyeing everyone with his glowing eyes, though he knew in his heart that none of them were a threat. But they had been before to Draco, hell he had been a threat to Draco. It just didn’t sit right with him. Alright, he just wanted to take Draco away from all of this! He was in pain!

“Oh! I get it!” Hermione cried, making her way slowly over to the middle, but Bill held his hand out to her, stopping her in her tracks.

“I’d not get too close, Hermione.” He stated, stepping in between her and Harry. “He still isn’t back yet.”

Back yet? Where had he gone? He was sitting right in front of them. What were they talking about? This was all getting so confusing, and Draco was getting cold. Harry quickly shoved off his jacket and wrapped it protectively around the man, rubbing his hands up and down Draco’s arms to stop him from shivering.

“What the hell is going on?” Ron asked, clearly as confused as Harry felt at that moment.

“Harry’s animagus,” Hermione stated, doing that thing where she was talking as if everyone already knew the answer, they just hadn’t gotten there yet. “It must be some kind of protector, and if he thinks Bill is safe,” – she pointed out that Bill was the only one Harry was letting come close, any time the others stepped a foot closer to him, he’d let out a growl and threaten them with his glowing eyes, -- “and that form has taken to protecting Draco, then he must be something similar to him.”

What?

“What?” Harry asked, what the hell were they talking about. Animagi and protecting and stuff? What had that got to do with anything?

“Don’t you get it?” Hermione asked, exasperatedly. “Bill’s a werewolf! That must mean Harry’s animagus must be one too,”

“A…werewolf?” Ron asked, clearly just as confused as Harry was. And they were doing that thing again where they were talking about him, with him in the same room and not explaining anything to him.

Hermione rolled her eyes at him, crossing her arms over her chest. “No, Ronald, just a wolf,”

"So then, what's that got to do with Draco?" Ron asked.

"The bond they share," Fleur stated, standing firmly behind Bill, hoping the fact that Hermione had called him a werewolf so easily wasn't paining him. "He must see Draco as his mate,"

Wait, wait, wait. What?

"I always thought there was something about those two," she continued, and that did not help Harry out at all. He hadn't really seen her since fourth year, when they had to do the Triwizard Tournament. Harry had been a little busy with the whole...not dying thing. But had he been acting strange around Draco then too? He didn't feel like he had, what with those blasted 'Potter Stinks' badges. Wait...did that mean he had always acted like this?

What the fuck?

Harry growled again, sort of knowing what was happening, yet at the same time not knowing anything. What did his apparent animagus form – which he didn’t know what was, by the way, as he had never actually even tried to do the spell that turned them into one -- have to do with what was happening to him now? And what did that mean for Draco? If they were right, and he was a wolf animagus -- which he still thought was debatable --, and feeling all protective over Draco because Draco was his...that. What did that mean? What did any of this mean? And why was all of this happening now? Why was he feeling this way now? After everything that they had all been through, why now of all times?

“Draco’s wounds seem to be bleeding again,” Luna’s voice cut through the wounds.

Harry's thoughts were immediately assailed by this new information, he didn't move Draco but pressed his hands against the wound he knew was at his sides. He saw that the blonde's eyes were half lidded and a hazy grey, almost clouded over in pain. He felt the warmth of Draco's blood seeping in through his fingers and pressed his whole hand against the bandage, hoping the pressure would stop the blood flow.

He didn't think he could take Draco bleeding out again, this would be the third time now. The first being in the bathrooms at sixth year, and then before when he had dragged Draco with him. None of this was sitting right with Harry, and he hated this sick feeling of dread at the pit of his stomach that was telling him he needed to get Draco out of here, to somewhere they could be safe, and Draco could get better. He needed to get him better. Fuck.

Bill took a step closer to them, clearly worried that Draco was once again bleeding out all over Harry. And Harry was lost in his thoughts, while scrambling to keep his hands pressed firmly on the opening wound.

“Let’s get Draco somewhere warm and safe,” – he gave Harry a pointed look, and Harry nodded. Safe was good. – "and let me try to explain this properly,”

He took another heavy step towards Harry, and crouched down. He didn’t reach a hand out, neither did he look like he was going to touch them, and for that Harry was happy. He didn’t want anyone touching Draco. No one was allowed to hurt what was his.

Wait…what?

Bill had a lot of explaining to do.

Chapter Text

Harry didn’t let any of the others point their wands at Draco.

Getting up off the battered kitchen floor, he lifted Draco’s body in his arms, careful of the bandages wrapped around his torso and back, and scooped his legs up by the knee. Fuck, Draco was so light, it was unhealthy.

Harry suddenly had a thought back to second year, when he had started living with the Weasley’s after they had liberated him from the Dursley’s in that fantastic car – he would need to figure out just where the Ford Anglia had gotten to in the Forbidden Forest – and how Mrs. Weasley had gotten one look at him and had insisted he eat, piling food in his plate, always giving him the biggest pieces of whatever they were having. The other Weasley's had followed through as the years got on.

He had bulked up slowly, but surely, living with them. And all those meals he had at school. Well, he had slowly gotten his metabolism back after the first year of consistent, and healthy foods. Sure, he’d eat the occasional sweet here and there. No one would take treacle tart from him. But he had known what it was like to be malnourished, and Malfoy was currently on the severe spectrum.

He needed to eat. And he needed to get better.

Harry tightened his hold on Draco’s limp body, cradling his head close to his chest, feeling his laboured breathing against his skin. He was thankful the others had let him do it, not really knowing what this animagus maybe-wolf thing meant. And how could Draco be...that to him?

And what the hell was that lightning that had been coming out of him?

Draco’s eyes were still half lidded, those strangely beautiful greys still clouded over slightly, but thankfully he didn’t look like he was in too much pain anymore. He was still wincing though, his throat clenching, little whines escaping his cracked lips, letting out short, weak words. Words that sounded like Harry’s name.

Harry wasn’t sure why that pleased him so much. Hearing Draco, even at his most vulnerable, at his most pain filled, he was still thinking about Harry, calling out for him. It was nice, it made him feel warm and fuzzy, made him feel like he could conquer the entire world just so he could hear Draco call his name one more time, just one whisper of it against his ear, pressed to his throat, against his lips—No! Stop. What was happening?

He had to focus. Whatever those thoughts were, he needed to keep them at bay. Maybe when he had a moment away from all of this, he would unpack all of it, but right now Draco was hurt, he needed to get better. And in order to do that, Fleur would have to do her healing magic on him.

The very feeling of someone hold a wand to Draco made his stomach convulse strangely.

Bill stood right next to her, giving Harry a calm look. He held a hand to Fleur’s shoulder, murmuring something to her. But Harry heard. “Remember, say the spell out loud and move slow,”

He was telling her to be deliberate. He was telling all of them to be intentional in their moves. Why? Was it so this strange warm feeling in Harry’s chest – the one that was telling him to hold Draco close to him and get him away from here, to lock him away until he was safe and sound – would be placated.

His grip tightened around the body as Draco mewled like a kitten in his pain. Harry pondered, was it because the last time he had seen Draco this vulnerable was when he himself had attacked him? He couldn’t really say that that must be the only reason he was like this. Guilt didn’t make you want to cage a person away, to wrap them in the softest and warmest comfort and press kisses and kisses and kisses all over until they were better. Until he smiled.

Everything was so confusing.

Fleur’s wand moved with such grace, and he knew she was doing it slowly on purpose. He remembered the way she moved when she fought with him in the Triwizard Tournament. She had been lightning fast and brilliant with her spells. But this, it almost looked like a dance, a swish of the wand in the air, followed by a resounding flick as she called out the healing spell, loud and clear.

Harry watched the spell escape the end of her wand and shudder on impact as it washed over Draco’s body. The bandages wrapped around Draco’s side loosened against Harry’s hand pressing pressure to the injury, before unravelling a little more and wrapping back just as tightly. New bandages, tightened enough to stop the reopened wound. Draco felt lighter in his arms, and there was a new warmth encasing him. His skin didn’t seem to be as sallow anymore, and his whining had stopped somewhat.

“He needs a blood replenishing potion,” she stated, putting her wand away. “Harry, do you trust me to get it for him?”

Why were they asking him? Why were they doing all of this? And why was he just so damn grateful that they were? 

“Y-yeah, I uh...” Harry paused, his fingers were tingling, and his head was throbbing a little under the pressure of it all.

It felt like there were two separate people in his head – no...not, not really. They weren’t separate  per se. It felt more like...like he was thinking one way, and he knew that that way was the right way. Because it felt right. But at the same time, he was worried about these thoughts, because though the felt right, they were...new. But not new. Like it was ingrained in his very being, ancient and primal, yet at the same time he had never felt this way before.

It was strange. Scary. These feelings that felt so right. Everything he was thinking was clicking into place, everything was making sense. But Harry felt like he hadn’t made that first leap towards it yet. It was like he knew the answer, it was on the tip of his tongue, but he just couldn’t get to it. How could he get to the end if he couldn’t even get over the first hurdle?

Luna had grabbed the blanket on the ground, dusted it off, and with slow and deliberate steps, she made her way over to Harry, handing it to him. He watched her, not knowing why he was so worried about her. This was Luna, for fucks sake. Sure she was a little kooky, but she was one of the nicest people he had ever met.

Everyone was acting like they were scared of him. And he didn't like it.

She wrapped the blanket around Draco’s cold body, tucking it around his legs and chest, over Harry‘s jacket wrapped around his body. Harry noticed she had left the shoulders bare of the blanket, so he could see his jacket underneath. That...made him feel a little better. 

But why?

Fleur had returned with the potion, and she held it out to Harry. He looked at his arms, seeing as they were busy holding Draco, and then back at her. What was she waiting for? She held the bottle up and he raised an eyebrow.

“Y-yeah?” he tried, eyeing the whiskey red liquid in the small square bottle. It had the loopy script from the local apothecary on it.

She nodded and unstoppered the vial, the heady scent of whatever it was, he couldn’t put a finger on it, but it smelled similar to Madam Pomphrey’s hospital wing. She lifted the vial to Draco’s lips poured the liquid in short bouts, waiting for him to recognise and start drinking. He whimpered but took to the potion easily. The colour of his skin returned slowly but surely as the potion got to work.

Thank god.

Everyone stood silent, watching this happen, waiting on bated breath...for what? Harry didn’t know. But he was thinking that they were expecting him to transform there and then into his maybe-wolf form – though he had never done it before, and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to without the proper spells and rituals and that - and destroy the place, or something.

Harry wanted to understand why his mind was telling him to do all of this? These strange primal instincts he was feeling. He was glad at least Bill understood what was happening. That made it less scary. He followed Fleur as she led them back upstairs and to the room Draco had been resting in before. Harry was careful to place Draco onto the bed, noticing the blankets and comforters were strewn all over the bed in a mishmash of colour and softness.

No, that wouldn’t do.

The new and not-so-dangerous, if Harry were being honest, part inside of him seemed to settle when he saw Bill holding the others back as he got to work. Grabbing the softest and warmest blankets and items first, he wrapped them around Draco’s body, seeing the man had closed his eyes against the onslaught. Maybe he had succumbed to sleep? That was good. Harry reached for the thickest blanket then, careful in lifting Draco’s head and placing a corner around his pale head. He fell into the temptation of brushing Draco’s pale platinum blonde hair from his pretty face, but he didn’t fall all the way through to pressing his lips to Draco’s skin.

That would be strange.

Getting the rest of the comforters, he held them in a pile and quickly and methodically placed them in strategic places around Draco, making sure the man was encased, almost cocooned, in softness, and only softness. Once he was done, he turned around to the others and his smile fell.

“Ah...yeah...” Harry paused, raising his eyebrows. “What...what did I just...do?”

“Oh my god,” Hermione cried, "It’s like you’re nesting!”

Ron raised his eyebrows. “Nesting? Like birds and that?”

“It's not nesting,” Bill retorted, abruptly interrupting them before Hermione went off on just what nesting was, and when it happened in wolves. He was sure she had read up on it, for some reason or another. But textbooks weren’t the same as...being there and doing it. “He’s just taking care of his mate,”

Harry held a hand to his head, feeling a headache coming on. “Stop...stop saying that, Draco’s not my mate, he’s not even a mate,”

“Tell that to your wolf,” Bill murmured.

Harry growled, a low timbre that definitely didn’t sound human. And that was...weird. He wasn’t a wolf, or anything like that. He'd never been a wolf. He was human. He was just Harry. Why was it that now that they all thought that he might be a wolf animagus that he was starting to feel like it too? Was he...really a wolf?

“Can anyone tell me just what the fuck is happening please?” he asked, quiet as to not wake the slumbering dragon resting calmly on the bed. Oh god, now he was back to the dragon thing!

Bill motioned for them to leave the room, and Harry...well, Harry didn’t like that thought. But he pushed the feeling of needing to be close to Draco back in his mind. Far back. Because this was not something he needed to deal with right now. They already had to worry about the rest of the horcruxes, which he was damn sure were in Hogwarts. And with the Death Eaters already in the school. They were slowly running out of time. He should be out there, he should be going into Hogwarts and fighting.

Headfirst, like he always did. Not thinking about what was going to happen. Just going straight into danger and hope he came back out alive at the end of it.

Yeah, maybe Hermione was right. They needed a plan.

Once the others were seated on the table, Harry hung back and took a seat on the steps leading up to the bedrooms. He felt better here, like he could easily get up and run to Draco if he needed to, but at the same time, he knew Draco would be safe if he kept watch. No one would be able to get passed him without his knowing.

Wait.

“What is happening?”

Bill placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder, making Harry look up to him. “I get how you’re feeling, and I will be more than happy to explain all about wolf ecology and behaviours, but we have something much larger to worry about.”

He turned to the others, calling out like a teacher would to their students. “Who here knows about the curse of King Casimir?” 

It wasn’t surprising that Hermione’s hand shot up in the air. She looked around to the others sheepishly and lowered it. “Similar to King Tutenkhamun, King Casimir IV was believed to have a curse put on his burial site. When archaeologists opened his tomb, they all died of fatal diseases.”

“Bloody hell, was he a wizard or something?” Ron asked. 

Hermione shook her head. “Nobody knows, actually. People think it was fungus that killed the archaeologists. When Casimir had died, his body had decomposed too quickly, and the embalmers had sealed his coffin with resin. They had unintentionally created a bomb. The curse itself was actually a deadly fungus that attacked and rot everything around it,”

“Well, you’re half right,” Bill stated, watching as Hermione’s cheeks turned a faint shade of pink. “But he was in fact a wizard. My team and I had investigated a tomb a couple of months back, and we found a seal on one of the Egyptian wizards tombs, similar to the ones found on Casimir’s coffin."

He motioned his wand around, creating a smoke image of the seal and the story he was telling them.

“The seal had a spell cast to it, a tricky one that is almost impossible to get through,” he continued, holding his wand out to spelling the incantation in the air before them. “Maledictio disperdet et disperdet sicut fulgur,”

"The curse will spread and destroy like lightning," Hermione’s gasped, her hand pressed to her mouth. “This can’t be real,”

“But we got through it,” Bill replied calmly. “It took us months to unravel the spell, we had to go all the way down to the minutia of it, but we did it.”

“Okay, that’s great and all.” Harry replied, standing up with a growl, holding his hands to fists on either side of him. “But what does that have to do with Draco?”

Bill let out a breath, lowering his gaze. “Harry, the incantation, the seal itself...its engraved all over Draco’s back."

Harry's eyes widened. They hadn't seen his back yet. They had just thought it was as bad as his front, that he had bruises and marks and that. Not something so...fucking, fuck.

"I'm sorry to say, but," Bill tightened his grip on Harry's shoulder, hoping to give him support. "He's cursed.”

Chapter Text

Harry felt like he was underwater, thrashing and suffocating, trying to reach the surface that was just a little beyond his reach. It felt like fourth year again, like he was under the Black Lake surrounded by grindylows and siren like mermaids, creatures cold and clammy, clamping on his legs and dragging him down, down, down into the darkness.

“What the hell do you mean ‘cursed’?” 

Bill sighed heavily. “The spell on his back, its runic – based on ancient runes and spells – the casters would have used blood magic, dark magic.” 

“I’ve never seen this spell done on a person before,” he said calmly, yet with authority. “I wasn’t able to get too much of a close look on Draco, but from what I did see-- Look, Harry, I’m not going to sugar coat it, because I think you deserve to know the truth,” 

Thank God, someone was listening to him.

“When we first found the seal on the coffin, it was intricate,” he continued, with the same pace and tone as before, "But, it was on the surface level, just on the coffin. It was dangerous, and not much could really stop it from doing what it was intended to do. And we tried. I almost lost two of my team to it.”

Harry nodded, feeling sympathy towards the two team members. But he wished Bill would get to the point a little quicker. He didn’t need a history lesson, he just wanted to know how to help Draco.

“The spells we cast had to be precise, almost surgical to get them released.” Bill continued. “And once we did, the coffin collapsed in on itself.”

Fuck. “What?”

“Even after you had released the spells, it collapsed?” Hermione asked, “Could that be because of the integrity of the coffins?”

“We had thought so,” Bill replied. “It’s an old coffin, and the spell was the only thing holding it together really. So, yes. Once the seal was released and the curse was lifted, the entire tomb collapsed in on itself, almost destroying the coffin within it,”

“What does that mean for Draco?” Harry asked, all of this was getting confusing, and he was going out of his mind with worry.

“Harry, the curse on the tomb, the stone tomb, was only on the stone itself, it was on  surface level,”  Bill knelt down in front of him then, holding a hand out to his knee. “The one I saw on Draco...it was a lot more intricate,”

What did that mean? Intricate? Surface level? Harry’s face must have said it for him.

“It’s almost like it’s a part of him now,” he continued. “I can get the seal off, but I don’t know what that will do for Draco, the curse cast on him is a lot deeper, ”

“I...I don’t understand,” Harry felt tears brimming his eyes. “Is he...is he going to die?”  

Bill let out another long breath. “I don’t know how deep it goes, or what else is with the seal, but Harry you’ve got to understand, he was going to die regardless of what happened to him. The curse cast on him would have made sure of it.”

Bill’s hand on his shoulder wasn’t as comforting anymore. In fact, nothing seemed comforting at all. The drowning feeling was taking over, and he just couldn’t reach the surface. His throat felt scratchy and uncomfortable, his fingers were still tingling, and they looked red to him, sitting there innocently in his lap, so red, red, red, and slick with it. Wet and stained and horrid. Draco had bled onto him again, and it made him feel sick.

Draco was going to die regardless of what he did.

Draco was going to die.

Draco was going to die. 

Draco was going to die.  

His mate as going to die. 

And he couldn’t do anything. 

“--rry! HARRY!”

Ron was shaking him, and he hadn’t even noticed. He broke out of his slump and looked up into Ron’s eyes, seeing the fear within them. He hated it when his friends, his family, were scared for him.

“S-sorry, I—”

“Don’t apologise mate,” Ron slumped down next to him, placing a hand on his other shoulder. “Just, don’t go all glowy-eyed on us again,”

Oh. He must have done that weird eye glowing thing again. But that didn’t make sense either. Did it? He wasn’t a wolf Animagus – well not yet anyway – and even if he were, wolves’ eyes don’t glow. So then, what exactly did that make him? He would know if he had been cursed or hexed or whatever. And he was damn sure he hadn’t been.

Then again, they hadn’t exactly been able to count for all the spells and curses that had been thrown their way while they were on the run. So...maybe? No, that made less sense. It was only now that he felt like this, it was only after he had seen Draco in so much pain, literally almost dying right in front of him, that these feelings – powers, abilities, not feelings...no...  not really? He was definitely feeling something, but that wasn’t...thinking about how smooth Draco’s skin would feel under his hands, how he’s taste on his lips...it shouldn’t be something he was focusing on right now, he blamed it on the maybe-wolf within him-- had started to happen.

Was it because of Draco?

Oh god, his little dragon.  

He really wished he had someone to tell him clearly what the hell was happening, to him and to Draco, and with Voldemort and all the other crap he had to go through. But he didn't, and he couldn’t expect everyone to answer all these questions for him. They too were just as in the dark as he was. And with Dumbledore gone, they had no hope in getting any of the answers for the Voldemort problem. He’d just have to figure all of this out with everyone. Just like they had been doing from the beginning. 

“So, what are we going to do?” Ron asked, looking up at the others, before stopping to look at Harry, as if expecting him to answer. Harry really wished he had an answer to tell them, that he had a plan that would work out. They had trusted him so far, and he had gotten them here. But he really wished there was a spell or something that would tell him what to do now. 

“Malfoy might be able to help us,” Hermione said quietly, her mind working a mile a minute. “He...cast legilimens on me when I was...” she unconsciously rubbed at the bandage on her arm. “He...he let me into his mind to... distract me, and somehow stopped the poison from—” she sucked in a breath, holding back the memories, now was not the right time “—but he was in the middle of it all. He knows things about the horcruxes, I think he might know where the others are,”

“Malfoy can’t really help us right now,” Ron said, running a soothing hand down her arm, pulling her a little closer to him. “Not until he gets better,” 

“If he gets better,” Harry retorted solemnly, the idea that Draco was going to die was making him feel all sorts of awful. More so than just knowing someone he knew was going to die, horribly. It felt like a part of him was being torn apart.

“Harry, focus.” Bill was using that tone again. A tone that made Harry sit up a bit straighter and pay attention to him. “I can fix him. But... with what will be left of Draco – especially after all of the torture he’s been through–I will need your help,”

“Okay,” He replied almost immediately. His ears perked up at the sound of a door opening upstairs, followed by slow and heavy footsteps dropping one by one along the hall and to the stairs.

Draco appeared at the top of the stairs, looking a lot better than he had been before, what with the blood replenishing potion having done its work. There was more colour on his pale porcelain skin, and there was a bright flush on his cheeks. He held a solid hand to the bar railings and leaned heavily against the wall. Harry was up like a shot, taking two stairs at a time, his arms out to catch Draco before he faltered and fell into his arms, narrowly missing the bar. Harry braced himself on the step below and slowly helped Draco down until they were both on solid, flat ground. 

“What are you doing out of bed?” he asked, a quiet whisper against his hair, wrapping the covers around him tighter. “You should be resting,”

“I...I know what the Dark Lord has done to me,” Draco’s voice was low, scratchy and almost non-existent, but they heard him all the same. “I know I don’t have much time left, but let me help you,”

Harry’s grip on him tightened, he didn’t know his eyes were glowing, but he could see the way Draco was looking at him. Such softness, such uncertainty. “You’re not going to die, I won’t let you,”

“I’m a ticking time bomb Potter,” Draco growled back, just as harshly. Though it was as weak as a kittens meow when he did it. “I could go off at any moment. They carved a fucking curse into me. All the Dark Lord has to do is see me and finish the spell.”

“He won’t survive long enough to see you,” Harry replied, so finitely that it quietened everyone around them. 

“He was going to send me out to kill you, Harry.” Draco cried, and it was the first time he had actually said his name. Harry felt his heart lighten, but it was quickly squeezed tight in his chest. “At the right time, he planned to send me to you as a peace offering, and then I’d...I’d...I don’t know, burst? Blow up? But he wanted me to take you with me. You just...you just got there first.”

He wheezed, rasping coughs escaping his lips.

“The Dark Lord told me I was a lost cause.” his fingers clenched at Harry’s shirt. “I’ve come to terms with my death. But you promised me my mothers’ safety, focus on that.”

“You incorrigible prat,” Harry moaned, dragging him closer and wrapping his arms around the taller boy. Draco fell into him easily, almost too easily, provided their history and whatever confused feelings they were sharing right now. “We’re going to help you, and then you can help me save your mother too.”

Draco buried himself into Harry’s warmth, God he was so cold! His voice was so quiet, his body so weak and skinny. “When will you understand that you can’t save everyone?”

Harry’s grip tightened around him, his thoughts a chaotic mess between right and wrong. It felt so right to hold Draco close, it made him happy, it made him smile; but at the same time, it felt wrong. Wrong to feel like this when he knew that Draco was literally running out of time. Everything before this moment, all the mocking, the fights, the bullying, the bullshit he had gone through with this man for the past seven years, it was pushed back. Right the way back. Because, though he was still confused from all of these feelings, this instinct deep inside his soul that was screaming out at him, it felt right to hold him like this. He couldn't help himself from feeling them. 

Because now, Draco Malfoy was his mate. His wolfs’ other half, what the fuck ever. It didn’t matter. Draco Malfoy was his. And, fuck it, if he had to fight death himself to keep this man, he would. 

“Fuck you,” he growled, the timber low and definitely no longer human. “Fuck you if you think for even a moment I won’t save you,”

Draco whimpered again, meekly against Harry’s throat. It felt good to know he was here, awake and moving, not bleeding, safe in his arms.

Luna clapped her hands together, calling attention to herself. “Well, I for one am hungry, and I know we will all feel better with a full stomach,” 

The tension broke. 

Draco pulled away from him, but he didn’t get too far away. Still not solid on his feet yet. He steadied himself and turned to the others in the room. Straightening his back, he gave them all a slow once over.

“Thank you,” he said gracefully, his voice still so thin and low. His thanks shocked the others in the room, making them pay more attention. “I know it’s not something you expected from me, but these past few years living with him--” he faltered, dropping to the ground, body shuddering in memory of the past few years. “--I have come to understand that what was expected of me as a Malfoy was wrong. Blood purity isn’t a be all, end all--I didn’t think for myself. Following my father blindly got me here, and I...” 

He sucked in a breath, losing himself to his weakness. Coughs erupting from his chest. Harry rubbed his back, small circles against his warming skin.

“I know this isn’t nearly enough. But I am sorry for...for everything I have done.” He continued frailly, holding a hand to his chest as he wheezed. Harry held his hand out, but Draco stopped him “I need to get this out. Please.”

He looked up at Hermione and Ron, sucking in a breath and continuing. “Granger, I shouldn’t have called you all those horrid things, they were mean and untrue. You are truly a wonderful, smart and brave witch. Better than any pureblood. But I was such a prat to you, so jealous that you were better than me at everything. I just...”

He let out a few coughs, not used to talking so much.

Hermione shook her head, feeling tears escaping her eyes. She had been in his mind, she had seen his body, the torture he had been through, his change of heart made so much sense. “A-apology accepted,”

Draco gave her a small smile. Turning to Ron. “And Weasel-ly. I still do not like you,” Ron harrumphed, rolling his eyes. “But I am sorry, for everything I did to you, and your family.” -- he gazed quickly at Bill and Fleur, and then back at Ron. “There is so much hate between us, and I want to try and fix that before—”

Ron sucked in a breath. “Stop it, you can barely talk,” he crossed his arms over his chest and looked the other way. “I still hate you too, but...apology accepted,” adding quickly, “You’re still a prat though.”

Draco nodded, he turned to the other two in the room. “Luna, I don’t know how to apologise, keeping you prisoner—”

She cut him off immediately. “Apology accepted,”

“Thank you.” He let his head fall forward, letting out quick breaths. “For saving me from the Dark Lord and my...family. Harry I can’t even begin—"

“You can apologise by surviving,” Harry said forthright. “We are going to get you better, and then we’re going to defeat Voldemort together,”

The absolute fire in Harry’s eyes showed nothing but determination. He believed this was going to happen, he believed Draco was going to get better. And he was going to do everything in his power to do so.

Harry Potter was going to save Draco Malfoy. 

He was going to save his mate. 

Chapter Text

Draco always believed Harry Potter was an idiot.

A handsome one, but an idiot nonetheless. Total prat he was. First, Harry kidnapped him when he was supposed to save his mother, and now this. Trying to save him. Why was he trying to save him? Did he not see just what a waste of time this was? There was a literal mad man out there, hell bent on killing him as soon as he was able to, and yet all Harry Potter could think about right now was saving the likes of a teenage Death Eater. Utter bastard, he was.

Draco knew he was going to die, whether it be by the curse etched on his back, or the fact that he was still, and always would be, a Death Eater. Regardless of how he got the god damn mark on his wrist, being pinned down and forced to do something he did not want to do. Not consenting to it, not that Draco believed the Dark Lord actually cared about consent or anything like that.

And he had tried to take it off, cutting it out, burning it, spelling it, everything except cutting his arm off. Unfortunately, Draco was too much of a coward to do that. And he was sure that there would probably be some fucked up counter spell to something like that, and the mark would appear on his other arm, or something equally unpleasant.

And yet, in a small way. A very small, mind you, barely there in fact, hardly noticeable if he thought about it, part of him was actually... happy. Ecstatic even, that Harry Potter – Harry fucking Potter – was finally paying attention to him. After seven whole years of trying to get his attention – albeit negatively, because the rejection of friendship from Harry Potter in his first year still stung something awful – teasing him, taunting him just to see his pretty angry face.

Tugging on the pigtails of the person he had a crush on, his mother would say. He had always found the idea of hurting the one he loved barbaric, but...after seeing Harry Potter, he kind of understood it. How could someone so utterly prattish be so...urgh.

Harry Potter was finally paying attention to him. And it felt good.

Really good.

His heart was so full, already so overwhelmed by all the things Harry was saying to him. His body was so warm and welcoming, touching him in what looked to be more than a friendly way. Then again, Draco and friendship wasn’t exactly normal. He didn’t have friends – well, not really. His father had always told him to be friendly to the people who would help him forward himself in his life. Influential people make the best acquaintances, you don’t have time for friends Draco.

So, Draco wasn’t sure. Did friends act like this? Were they friends?

His body was so warm though, the way Harry was unconsciously running his hands through his hair – oh dear, he hadn’t really been paying much attention to his vanity (one couldn’t with a mad man parading around his house, that sort of thing definitely didn’t take precedence, he was too busy trying to hide from his aunts cackling and claws), he just wished he wasn’t too dirty, or smelly.

Dear Salazar, he was covered in his own blood, sweat and tears. How Harry was even willing to touch him, Draco didn’t know, but he welcomed it. It didn’t matter what negativity he was thinking, as Harry had taken his sudden intake of breath as a worry, and pulled him closer to his chest. Those fingers were now tugging through the hair at the back of his neck so pleasantly, it was soothing. If Draco could purr, he would be.

He wasn’t surprised how safe he felt here, in the middle of the stairs, waiting for the eldest Weasley to do whatever it was that he had sought out to do. He, Fleur and the others were hunched over the fireplace, fire calling someone or another. Draco wasn't sure, he wasn't particularly paying much attention, too lost in Harry Potter's warmth. He always had an inkling that being around the Saviour of the Wizarding World would gleam as the safest place, and the most dangerous.

But the former feeling far outweighed the latter, especially with the way Harry’s hands were rubbing soothingly down his back, and his sides, keeping him there with him. Just close and warm, his deep breathing, a comfort. His scent was surprisingly pleasant and it made Draco swoon, almost.

And wasn’t that a strange thought.

He was sure friends didn’t feel this way about one another. Support was one thing, but the way Harry was touching him, it felt more. But that couldn't be true. He wouldn’t lie to himself. He did have a crush on the boy, ever since...well, ever since first year. Or before that even. Ever since he had first heard the story of Harry Potter. But Harry Potter would never, never feel anything but hate for him. Hate and guilt.

But that didn’t change the fact that Harry Potter was an idiot.

Shouldn’t they be doing something to thwart evil? He wasn’t sure what was on the agenda for the Light side, but shouldn’t they at least be trying to figure out a way to defeat the Dark Lord? He imagined they would be seated, all huddled together, like a war council, planning and negotiating and whatnot.

Salazar, they were just standing there, talking to one another about something, about him. About the curse on his back and how they could get rid of it. Pathetic little Gryffindors, always going headfirst into fire and somehow getting out of it unscathed. But even that couldn't last forever. After all, what would happen if you put a snake in the middle of a lions den?

Well, it seemed he was going to be the one to start this whole show. “How much do you know about horcruxes?”

Harry stopped his ministrations on Draco’s back, the slow wave of his fingers dragging back and forth so pleasantly, which made Draco wrinkle his nose. That was exactly what he hadn't wanted to happen.

“What?”

“I know you know about them,” he stated, reaching up and tapping the side of Harry’s head. Goodness, his hair was a lot softer than it looked. “You forget, I’ve also been in your head,”

“How much do you know about the horcruxes?” Ron retaliated, overturning a few chairs and settling down on one of them.

“Enough to know that the Dark Lord split his soul into seven of them,” He replied, holding his hand out and counting them out one by one. “A diary – which you destroyed in second year,” Draco said to Harry, “his fathers’ ring, which I believe Dumbledore must have destroyed; a locket, which I don’t know where is, Helga Hufflepuffs’ Cup; Rowena Ravenclaws Diadem, and his precious snake,”

He spit the last word out, sneering at the memory of what that snake had done. Eating all of those people, right in front of him.

“How do you know all this?”

“The Dark Lord lived in my home,” Draco reminded them, forcing the memories back, lest he get lost in them. “When the others would retire, he would regale all of his tales to us. My aunt and that rat Wormtail always loved listening to him, and he adored telling them. I think it helped them sleep at night – it only gave me nightmares,”

Harry’s grip on his waist tightened. And Draco was grateful.

“Once, when he had a little too much wine, and had killed many muggles, he had kept my parents and I back, and told us all about his masterful plan,” Draco continued, hands gripping tightly on his lap. “It was a power play; I knew that much. He wanted everyone to see just how powerful he was. But the horcruxes, what an utter...depravity. To separate your soul so willingly into so many pieces, it makes me sick thinking about it,”

“We’ve destroyed four of them,” Harry said calmly, pushing down Draco’s fingers, and holding his fist in his hands. Draco’s face flushed, but he was too weak to move away. “There should only be three left, the diadem and the snake, and—w-wait, you’ve only told us six of them,”

“Ah, yes. The last one.” He couldn’t look at Harry, he remembered the Dark Lord cackling gaily about his ingenious on putting his last remaining horcrux inside Harry Potter. A child, no less. He would fear his own death, and in his weakness, the Dark Lord would live on.

Draco knew it was a mistake turned fruitful. A fully grown wizard, unable to kill an infant.

But he didn’t know Harry. And Draco was sure that Harry would walk into the valley of death with that determined look on his face. He would walk with courage, and meet the Dark Lord face to face and await his death. Because his death would mean the Dark Lord’s death.

Draco did not like that thought one bit. The thought of Harry Potter’s death.

“It’s me,” Harry said quietly, rubbing his fingers over his scar. “The last horcrux, it’s me.”

Draco didn’t need to answer, and he wasn’t surprised that Harry knew this. But it still made him feel sick to his stomach. Harry Potter, the boy who lived, only to die young by the hands of the one that made him the way he is now.

Not if Draco had any say about that. He was going to die anyway, but if in doing so he could help Harry, then maybe that would redeem him somehow? He wasn’t sure what came after death, he didn’t really believe in heaven and hell, but if he were to die, he was sure he was going to the bad place.

Nothing would stop that. He was going to...to burst, blow up, whatever it was that was going to happen to him, it was going to happen, and Draco was sure it’d happen soon. He wouldn’t even be able to come back as a ghost, what would be left of him? But...at least he could try. Right now, here, with Harry and his group of friends and family, the Light Side. He could at least help them, and maybe...maybe that would stop the guilt eating away at him when he finally did succumb to his horrid death.

Harry took hold of his arm and dragged him up and off the steps. Draco yelped, but let Harry manhandle him onto his feet.

"What are you doing?" he cried, coughing a little as his voice raised over what he could handle.

Harry didn't answer, not right away. He waited for Bill and Fleur to return back to the stairwell. Fleur settled onto the chair, Bill standing behind her.

"They," Harry stated, holding his hands out to the five other people that appeared behind them. All red headed and all so familiar. And all of them giving Draco a look that made him want to hide away behind Harry. "Are going to help you,"

The Weasleys.

Chapter Text

The Weasleys.  

Whoever thought bringing a Malfoy in front of the entire horde of Weasleys – minus a few, because Draco was sure there was more of them, like the Dragon Tamer they had met in fourth year, and the prefect from his first few years – was by far the most dumbest, most suicidal thing anyone would ever think.  

They were muttering to one another, arguing amongst themselves. Hands gesturing and hushed angry voices. He heard his name said a few times, but he already knew they were talking about him. About what he was doing here, in their safe house, with their brother, with their friends, with their Harry Potter.  

He was quick to step away from Harry, he didn’t need them to hate him for any more reasons than they already did. If they saw him with their Harry Potter, they would surely hex him to oblivion. He steadied himself against the banister, feeling a little more strength in his legs to hold himself up. No use, he reprimanded himself. His knees slowly losing their strength and his body shivering at feeling so cold all of a sudden.  

He was shocked to feel Harry’s hand reach out for his own, his warm palm wrapping around his fingers and tugging Draco closer to him. Oh bollocks, there was no getting away from it now. Everyone, even the Weasley's mother, had seen what he had done. They were all staring at their joined hands with such interest, as if a fucking runespoor had just appeared before them and started doing a hula dance, while bouncing its heads up and down.

Did Harry want to kill him?  

“Well, that won’t do.” Mother Weasley said simply, she made her way through her throng of children and over to Draco. They parted away and gave her space.

Draco yanked his hand as quickly as he could from Harry’s own. His skin tingled unpleasantly, but he pushed that feeling far back. The others stood and watched as Mother Weasley made her way over to him in all her matriarch glory, holding a wand in her hand and reaching out for him.

Fuck Voldemort, his aunt and Greyback. They were nothing compared to the sheer terror he was feeling right at this moment. Because he was damn sure Molly Weasley was going to kill him.

He closed his eyes, bracing himself for the hex about to come his way. But his body jolted when he felt a hand press against his cheek, it was warm, and motherly and totally threw him for a loop. Opening his eyes, he saw Molly Weasley looking at him like he was a kicked crup puppy.

He felt like a kicked crup puppy.  

“When was the last time you’ve eaten, dear?” she asked him, taking him by his shoulder and giving him a once over. She dragged him over to the table, and he followed pathetically.

Confused, he answered her honestly. “I think I had...an apple, a few nights ago,”  

What was happening? Shouldn’t she be throwing curses his way? Shouldn’t she be getting the kitchen knife embedded in the wall by her side and stabbing him with it? It didn’t stop his aunt, and she was family. He had actually, seriously, been an awful person to her and her family. And yet she was, what, asking for his well being?

What kind of trickery was this?

“You  think  you...?” She tutted at him, as only a mother would do. “A few nights ago, honestly young man.”  

His own mother would sometimes give him that look, one that was pure disappointment in his actions, yet still filled with motherly love. It made his heart ache in memory of his mother, and for disappointing yet another person in his life.

Because that was what he was, a disappointment. Second in everything, from his education to his social standing. He couldn’t beat a muggle-born in his year, and he was only as good as his last name with his school friends. He couldn't even follow his fathers simple rules for his life. Get a good education, work under him, marry into a well known pure blood family and produce an heir for the Malfoy fortune. Instead, he betrayed his entire family, was forced to follow when his entire being told him that it was wrong, and he fell in love with a boy. Oh, and not just any boy. Harry bloody Potter of all people. He couldn’t even follow his aunts rules to follow the Dark Lord and be happy to have the Dark Mark, and he damn well couldn’t even save his mother.

Pathetic. Utterly useless. Worthless waste he was. Merlin only knew where his mother was now. He had left so abruptly from the manor, taken away by the Light. He hadn't even seen her. Was she okay? Had they hurt her in anyway? Did she know he was still alive? Did she think he was...dead? After the Cruciatus curse Auntie Bella had thrown his way, had she found out? Had she figured out that he had been tortured and cursed for the past three years? He hoped she hadn't, she was still so innocent to him, so perfect and wonderful.

He didn't want her to be tainted by the knowledge that he was being hurt. Merlin, he wanted to see her so badly, to fall in her arms and have her tell him everything was going to be alright.  

Molly was moving around the small kitchen, waving her wand and casting charms at everything around her, like she was used to it. She instructed her children to set the table, and for the elder Weasley's to go back to the Burrow and bring food with them, while she made a few things here herself.  

In moments, there was a heaping helping of the warmest comfort food sitting before him, his plate was overflowing with chicken and rice in a thick broth that smelled amazing, and an entire table full of red heads surrounding him. He looked to his left and saw Harry, and to his right Mr Weasley. And he was glad for the buffer that Harry made for him.

Every single person on this table had a reason to hate him. And he deserved flack from every single one of them. Granger, the Weasel and his older brother had accepted his apology. But the others? Why weren’t they all acting on it? Why weren’t they yelling at him? Why weren’t they wondering why he was here? Why weren’t they kicking him out? He was vulnerable here, he couldn't fight them all off. He didn't even have his wand, and he wasn't sure his wandless magic was up to its usual par right now. Not with how weak he was feeling.

None of this was making any sense to him, and he was only getting a headache the more he thought about it.  

“Eat,” Molly said, sitting right in front of him and watching him intently, she spooned some rice for her youngest, Ginevra took the plate and placed it in front of her. That was when he noticed, the others, they had their food, but none of them were eating. They were sitting there, indirectly watching him, waiting for something. What, he wasn't sure. “I'm not about to let you starve,"

He didn’t have the heart, or the will, to show her that he really couldn’t stomach anything. He was finding it difficult to eat, he had been having this problem for the past few days. He just wasn’t able to. The consistent Cruciatus curse, and the random hexing he hadn't had the chance to brace himself for had left him weak. He found it difficult to do anything else but stand up, and even that was hard for long periods of time.

But, he saw just how much this meant to her, and reached, with slow hands, for the fork.   Straightening his back as much as he could, he lifted the fork up from the table and manoeuvred it to the plate. Merlin, it felt so heavy, his grip was shaking with the force of strength he didn’t have to spare. But she was watching him, her eyes like a hawk, looking for any signs of weakness in him.  

Poison. It must be poisoned. After all, why else would she invite her entire family around and watch him eat so intently. Why else would she make the food she put in front of him. Bring the food back from home? They must have put something in it back at the Burrow. If not poison, then another potion that would incapacitate him.  

Maybe veritaserum so they could get everything out of him. Or maybe they didn’t need the truth he had so willingly giving. What else did they need to know? He had told them all about the horcruxes, and he didn't know the Dark Lord’s plan. So maybe they were going the poison route. His own family had tried the same, putting small bouts of it into his food. Had he not been so eloquent in Potions, he’d not be able to sniff out the ones they loved to use. The worst ones.

He had ingested enough to have grown an affinity to them. Maybe it wasn’t a poison, maybe it was bloodroot, or belladonna, or moonseed, hell even something as simple as doxycide, which had so many quick acting antidotes, would kill him now. He cursed his weakness.  

He lifted the fork anyway. If they had poisoned it, then this was just another way he was going to die. Let it be in the hands of the Light side, than the toxin of the Dark Lord. He looked up, one last time before his definite demise, looking into those colourful eyes and equally shocking red hair that circled around him, all of them doing their own thing, talking quietly to one another about something he couldn't hear, but their gazes darting to him every once in a while.

Well, he was still a Malfoy. And Malfoy’s had dignity above all else.

They wanted to kill him, he wasn’t going to give them the decency of a good show. He had screamed and cried enough back at the manor. He could take anything the Weasley’s were to give him. And the food did look delicious. Nowhere near the usual delicacies he was used to, but there was definitely a charm in the comfort food, the broth looked enticing, and the meat inviting. The scent made his mouth water.

His grip tightened on his fork, and he lifted it up from the table. It hovered a moment before his weakness kicked in and he dropped his hand down. Why was this so hard? No, no. He was a Malfoy. Always show decorum, Draco. Always show that you have manners. They have given you food, you are to eat it, thank them, and move on.

The fork made it to the plate this time, thank Merlin. But the mother Weasley was still watching him, those eyes lowering to his hand and back to his face. He wasn’t going to cry, Merlin damn it. He sucked in a breath and speared the prongs into the meat. But it was so difficult, his hands were shaking, his vision was blurring and everything was coming at him at once.  

“Here,” An unfamiliar pale hand covered his own, and he helped Draco eat. Looking up, he saw Arthur Weasley helping spear the fork into the chicken and lift it, and some of the broth in the well of the fork, up to his mouth.  

He opened his mouth and accepted the food, his throat clogging up as he watched the man manoeuvre the fork to the food once again. The food tasted so good, his heart was overwhelmed with it. He let the earthy taste of it fill his mouth, chewing slowly and swallowing against his sore throat.  

Medicine. Not poison. There was medicinal roots in the food, ground into it to make him feel better, to help him eat. What an idiot he was to even think they would do something as horrid as poison?

But why? Why was Mr. Weasley helping him? He had the most hatred for the Malfoy’s. His father had taunted and bullied the man more times than Draco could count. He had revelled in the stories his father used to tell him about Arthur Weasley, and yet here he was, feeding the son of his enemy.  

The tears, he couldn’t keep them at bay anymore. He opened his mouth for another bite, and nodded to Mrs. Wealsey, telling her without speaking, on how good it was.  The tension left the room with a whoosh, and chatter started up as the family of Weasley’s continued eating. They weren’t shunning him, or watching him, they were waiting for him to eat. They wanted to know he was okay.  

Why?  

“Because you are just a boy,” Molly replied to his quiet voice. “A boy who’s been through more hell than I could imagine. This war has already taken so much from us all, Draco. Don’t let it take you too,”

“Eat up,” Arthur said, holding another forkful of chicken. Draco took another bite, letting the taste wash over him again. It was so much more delicious than the last bite. The broth was thick and warm, and the chicken was seasoned perfectly. So much better than what any house elf could create for him.

Arthur’s hand rubbing against his back, and Harry’s hand pressing up against his own, their fingertips touching. It warmed him up. He didn’t care that his stomach was convulsing at the amount of rich food, he was going to eat the whole damn thing.

And then he was going to help them defeat V-Voldemort.

Chapter Text

“Mrs. Weasley?”  

The sound was soft and meek. Molly turned to see the broken blonde boy standing at the doorway leading to the kitchen she was currently cleaning up. She gave him a look, slowly taking in a breath and letting it out. Her first instinct had been to hurt him, and she wasn’t sure how long it would be before that first feeling went away completely. But it had taken a  lot  out of her to not hex the boy when she had first seen him standing on the stairwell next to Harry.

She had heard the stories, had been forced to wait impatiently at home, or at Pomphrey’s as her daughter, as her sons had been bullied by this man and his friends, and by the evil wizard he followed and called master. She despised his family, but more than them, she despised Voldemort.

His father may have taken the mantle to following the evil man. But she knew Narcissa – though no longer well enough, it seemed – and it came to show just how easily families turned against one another. How friendships could break.  

But, upon looking at Draco, the way he was standing – barely, keeping upright on his own two feet – the sick stretch of bandages all over his body, his arms, his face. The blood staining the pristine white of them. It came to her then, that he was just a boy. A boy following his family. A boy forced into tradition, a boy who was told he would receive the world, only to be scorned by it.

A school bully for sure. Had she not taken a moment to properly look at him, to listen to her eldest son and her daughter in law, had she not let them tell her the story of what had happened, of what  would  happen, she probably would have hexed him something fierce. But Molly Weasley had more decorum than those pompous pure bloods. And she could see it in the way Draco Malfoy stood, the way he looked, the way he was acting right at that moment, standing in front of her, his body leaning heavy on the door, fingers gripping tight at the wood.

This boy was lost.  

So, she shooed Ginny, Fleur and the twins who she had asked to help her clean up, to leave the kitchen, giving them a look to say; “I’ll be alright, go on,”. The twins passed Draco first, giving him a look filled with anger, but with a call from her, they continued their way out. Ginny had given him a look of pity, but hadn’t said anything, following her brothers. Fleur had placed a hand on his shoulder and nodded to him, before she too left.

Molly waited until they were out of earshot and helped the boy onto a dining chair. Draco took hold of her arm and let her help him. Which was a far cry from what she had expected of him. From what she had heard from her children, Malfoy was pretentious and proper.  “Asking for help was not something Malfoy did, mum,”

What a life of torture could do to someone. He looked like he had fallen from his self-made pedestal, a pretentious angel pushed down by reality, with his wings burning on the way to reality.

Right now, however, it was somewhat easier to see Draco Malfoy as nothing but a boy. A boy who had been forced into his life. The same way they had been forced into their own. He had been brought up on the wrong side of the war. But he was here now, and that meant something.  

It had pained her to see him sitting there, among her family, among those she cared for with her entire being, a snake in the middle of a lions’ den. She knew she had to help a broken boy when she had offered him a seat at the table, and food to ear. She had seen the way he looked at her food, the way his body lit up when he ate.

But that shouldn’t dictate what was happening right now. The war was no longer just about the Dark and Light sides. It was about an evil man who wanted to kill one of her boys – Harry had been an honourary Weasley ever since she had first seen him sitting at her table, looking so tiny and so lost, all those years ago.   The war had taken so much, so many lives, it had turned good people bad, and bad people good.   

If she were a weaker woman, she would have raised her wand at the young blonde man standing before her, remember all the pain and hate his family had caused her and her family, and...well, she didn’t know what she was going to do, but she was going to make him suffer.  

Thankfully, she was not a weaker woman. She could see passed all of that. See past the traditions, passed the Malfoy name and instead see the young boy, one who has been physically tortured by his own family, in the place he should have felt the safest in.   

“Let me see your injuries dear, the bandages may need a change...” she carefully tugged off the blanket he had draped over himself, a security blanket for sure, a small place for himself where he could hide away.  

He sat there, stock still and staring out into nowhere. He must have disassociated himself from whatever was happening, and for that Molly was happy, because when she waved her wand and saw the extent of the bruises and injuries all over his too pale and too skinny  body, it made her want to cry. The slurs on his body, literally carved in, congealed and scarred tissue over reddened and blotchy injuries, the large teeth marks, the slashes and gouges pock marking his body. There was barely any smooth skin left. He was covered with congealing dittany, the root getting to work in healing him as best it could.  

His back, oh dear. It was so much worse than she had imagined it to be. But there it was. The strange runic markings, three large over spelled circles with strange symbols along his shoulders, one on each shoulder and the third in the very middle, just under the plane of his shoulder blades, and one smaller one at the base of his spine. There was an entire line of runic marks going down his spine, swirls and curls of shapes that she found beautiful to look at, but terrible to see. Such a masterpiece creating such absolute destruction.  

It made her want to curse the person who did this to a boy. He was only seventeen years old. Sure, he was a Death Eater, but even she could see he had been forced into it. She spied the arm where his dark mark was and saw just how mangled his skin was there, physical and magical torture on the flesh itself. He still had the mark under the bruised and scarred over skin, but she knew he had been the one to try and take it off by any means necessary.

She knew what self inflicted wounds looked like – she remembered walking in on Charlie when he had been younger, his wand pointing to his wrist, there had been so much blood. But she had taken him in her arms and told him that whatever it was, whatever he thought about himself, she still loved him, she would never stop loving him. It didn't matter to her who he loved, or didn't love, he wasn't a broken and defeated boy. He was her son.

“I-I know it’s not...and you have every right to hate me,” Draco’s voice was still as meek and still as broken, maybe that too was over spelled, or maybe he had lost his voice due to the torture, she wasn’t sure, but she knew which one she preferred. “But I want to apologise to you. And give you the right to curse me.”

Her wand work paused. Him apologising was unexpected for sure, it must be taking a lot out of him to do this. The Malfoy’s were entitled in their own way. A little to stuck up and  noble. She should have hexed him, but no. She was bigger than that. But him actually asking her to curse him?

She looked at him, noticing how he wasn’t looking at her, biting on his cracked and dry lips. He took in a brave breath and continued. “I know my father has...looked down on your family, and I was brought up to believe that your lack of wealth and your status as blood traitors was inferior. And I hate to say it now, but I believed him, I believed everything my father told me.” his breathing quickened, but he didn’t let that stop him.  

Molly took it in stride and continued herself, moving her wand in familiar gestures behind him as she checked his wounds, seeing the homophobic slurs and knowing that must have been something that had pained him mentally and physically. So, what if he were gay? So, what if he loved a boy rather than a girl? Those people were definitely a piece of work. How could his parents let this happen to him? Tradition was one thing, but forcing such pain on someone who did not wish to follow...it made her sick.  

“And because of that, I have been...hostile to your family. I have insulted and fought your youngest son, and even poisoned him. And the twins, your daughter.” His fingers clenched into weak fists on his lap. “I am not a good person.”  

She didn’t interrupt him, knowing he had to work through this. And if she were honest with herself, she thought she damn well deserved an apology from the likes of the Malfoy's. Ron and Hermione had told him how he had apologised to  them,  at least Draco was trying to bridge the gap.  

“I’ve used my status, and my blood purity," -- he spit the words out -- "to be a complete and utter fucking prick to you and your family – oh, I apologise for my language.” he added quickly, darting a quick gaze at her, before looking away again, still too proud to do so. No, no, not proud. He was ashamed, ashamed at his words, his actions and himself. “But I know that...you can’t help where you were born.” 

She nodded, turning to his front and cleaning up the worst of his wounds with a swish of her wand – she noticed the way he flinched at that and paused. Hmmm. She cancelled the spell, and put her wand down on the table right in front of him, where he could see it. And got a bowl, filling it up with hot water and a clean cloth from one of the drawers. Dipping the cloth in the water, she reached for him and he sucked in a breath at the warm wet softness as she cleaned the blood and medicine from his arms, and shoulder.  

He jolted up, falling back on the chair as his head swam from the sudden movement. “You don’t have to—”  

She shook her head, giving him that look that he believed only mothers could do. The one that told him to be quiet and let her work. “I believe you were apologising,”  

Draco gave her a look of wonderment, she could have just as easily ignored his fear of wands and continued using her own to clean him up.  Why  she was cleaning him up, he didn’t know. But, it was a surprisingly nice feeling, the soft, warm swish of pressure against his arm as she methodically cleaned him of the blood and sweat, the way she was kneeling down as she did so, paying him so much attention.  

He felt tears in his eyes. He missed his mother so dearly. He wanted so badly to see her. Just one time, just so he could tell her that he was okay, so that he could see if she was okay. Oh god, he had left her in that hell, with a mad man, with...with his aunt and that monster.  

He sucked in a brave breath and continued. He needed to get this out, he needed to apologise. They needed to fix this, because he needed to recover, recuperate, he needed their help, and he...he no longer wanted to be the fallen boy, the one who had no choice. He wanted to finally decide for himself, and he had decided to follow the side of the light, to follow Harry Potter.

Because he was damn sure Voldemort was going to kill him and his mother if he didn't.

“I...my father was tasked by the Dark Lord to procure the prophecy, and he failed. Because of his failure, the Dark Lord had tasked me to kill Professor Dumbledore,” Molly nodded, moving to his other arm and methodically cleaning it too. She had heard this story form the others’; she had been there at the funeral. It still stung how someone so strong, and brave could die so...effortlessly.  

“I wasn’t able to. I... couldn’t do it.” he murmured, pressed a hand to the mangled skin that held the mark. She hadn’t moved down to it yet, and he didn’t want someone so pure to touch something so dark. “I know now that he wanted to punish me, he wanted me to die. But—but Professor Dumbledore had offered me a reprieve, a chance to...to join the Light side.” he looked up at her then, right into her brilliantly bright eyes and weakly continued. “And I want—I want to...I have no right to ask this of you, so instead I ask of you, please...”   

Was he? He wanted to change himself and help them, he wanted to turn to the Light side. Good for you Draco Malfoy.

His grey gaze was filled with fire, with such determination. She was so proud of him. “Punish me for my wrongdoings, I deserve it.”  

“What?”  

He grabbed onto her arm tightly, forcing her to stay with him, to listen to him. “I don’t know why Harry saved me...especially after everything —I’ve done so many bad things, I can’t...” his voice cracked, and tears clung to his long eyelashes. “ Please,  I don’t want to hurt anymore people,”  

This boy.  

He really was willing to die, wasn’t he.  

She wrapped her arms around him, lifting him up off the chair and into her embrace. He was trembling in her arms, collapsing into her warmth, silent sobs wracking his body as he cried into her. She patted him lightly on his back, running her fingers through his hair as she let him cry it all out.  

“Molly, are you—oh,” Harry paused at the kitchen door, looking up at the scene before him, unsure of what to do.

And then he saw Draco’s back.

“ Oh. ”  

Molly’s eyes widened, she knew there was a mess of injuries on Draco’s back, the runic curse for one thing, but there was the giant carved word of ‘faggot’ written on his side, just curving around the runes, and ‘betrayer’ on his other, alongside bite marks, and over spelled bruises and black veins. His back had been tortured worse than his front. She reached for her wand, calling it to her hand, and waved it a few times, Draco’s body was bandaged up and a shirt was wrapped around him now, followed by his blanket.  

He stayed huddled in her arms, gasping breaths.  

Harry’s voice was so quiet over the tension, as he called out Draco’s name. Molly felt Draco shudder under his layers and slowly he released himself from Molly’s hold. He turned around and looked at Harry, forcing his shoulders back and his head up high.   But he was still trembling.

“Harry,” he choked out.  

Harry looked practically murderous, and Molly felt the very air around them crackle with electricity, with pure magic. A vase sitting on the windowsill cracked, followed by the glass cabinets shattering, and the lights above them flickered on and off. Soon enough, everything that wasn’t rooted to the ground lifted, hovering a few feet up in the air menacingly. Tables, chairs, the plates Molly had just washed.   

Harry’s hands turned to fists at his sides, feeling the overwhelming urge to cry out in his rage. Molly Held onto Draco and helping him stay upright as the very ground beneath them shook with the very force of Harry’s anger, his rage. The others rushed into the kitchen, clearly worried why everything was hovering a couple of feet in the air.  

They stood in a mess behind Harry, watching as the saviour growled threateningly, more animal than man. His eyes were glowing a bright green, his skin darkening with it. The furniture jerked threateningly around them, as they ducked away from the heaving chairs and tables.  

His fiery gaze turned intensely onto Draco. “We're getting that curse off you, now.”    

Chapter Text

Everything happened so fast after that.  

One moment Draco was standing in front of Harry, choking back the tears that had shed, intent to not let the fact that Harry had seen everything deter him, and the next moment, he was laying on the bed in the room he had woken up in, surrounded by three new young wizards, who were all dressed in their weekend clothes, and looking at him with curiosity.

They were being cordial, polite. And though Draco was glad for it, he could feel the tension in the air, feel the way they side glanced at his arm, the one that still held the Dark Mark, stark even underneath the scarring and burns.

They all had their wands out too, some pointing to him and others just holding them in their hands, as they chatted amongst themselves about what they were going to do. It made him flinch, every time he saw a wand tip being pointed in his direction, either intentional or not. People needed to stop gesturing with their wands.

God damn it Draco, you need to get over this silly affliction and grow the hell up.  People were going to point their wands at him all the time now, he was going to have to get used to it. The mark on his arm made it so that he would never be able to go anywhere without someone shunning him, without someone hexing him. He was a Death Eater. He was seen as a follower of Voldemort. Even if the stark reminder of his traitorous ways against the Dark side was carved into his cheek and over his eye, people would see the Dark Mark first and assume the worst.

He had had three whole years to come to terms with the fact that he had been forced to getting the Dark Mark. And, if it meant no harm would befall on his mother, he would do it again. He’d do absolutely anything to keep her safe. And yet, he was here, while she was stuck back there, in the place drenched with evil, the place they had once called home.

He wanted her here. He’d do anything to have her here.

Then again, if none of them were successful in their endeavours, then the mark on his back would surely kill him anyway. Just one look at the Dark—Voldemort, one phrase uttered by the man, and he was going to be dead before any of them even had the chance to do or say anything.

And yet, here he was, in the middle of the side of the Light. A ticking time bomb just waiting to be manipulated, waiting to blow up and take everyone with him.

Draco thought he was pretty clever, he was second in his year after all, but sometimes the art of knowing something, being proficient enough in it, and having the wherewithal to actually piece together and understand the nuances and meanings behind what people were saying, wasn’t exactly helping him at this moment.

They couldn’t seriously think that the spells that they were thinking of using on him were actually going to work, did they? Had they ever even taken a curse off a person before? Curse breaking...he had thought it was an interesting profession, he had wanted to try it, when he had been younger, to go off and have an adventure. To find a challenge and overcome it with his wit and his intelligence.

But these curse breakers around him, they all looked so young, so...inexperienced.

Had it not been for Harry’s hand holding onto his own, rubbing small circles on the back of his hand with his thumb, Draco was sure he would have tried to get away. He may not trust any of these people around him – especially now with how they all had their wands pointing at a part of him, while he was sitting there, undressed and unarmed – but he trusted Harry.

Somewhat. He trusted Harry somewhat. He wasn’t so sure of anything at this exact moment.

Harry wasn’t clever enough to create such an elaborate scheme to try and kill him here, would he? He had ample enough time to kill him before, hell Draco would have welcomed him with open arms on that account, but this. This would be a whole complex thing. So no, he probably shouldn’t be worried.

He was going insane.

They were talking again, and there was a wave of a wand, and suddenly Draco was feeling sleepy. Fearfully, he turned to Harry, he was saying something to him, something that sounded like ‘everything is going to be fine’, but he couldn’t hear it over his rushed heartbeat, there was a thin tinny sound in his ears. His grip tightened on Harry’s hand, staring into those glowing green eyes, as he fell into unconsciousness.

“I’m right here, my dragon, I’m right here.”

“Just like Cairo,” Bill called out to them, holding his wand out as he stood at the foot of the bed. The other three situated around the bed, nod to him and hold their wands out as well. Bill waved his wand and slowly, Draco was levitated from the bed, and slowly turned around and laid back down onto the bed. He looked like a conductor, orchestrating with his wand as he unravelled the bandages around Draco’s back and exposed the runic curse.

“You weren’t kidding,” Harry watched as one of the curse breakers, Amicus Dawn -- he remembered the young man introduce himself, shaking Harry’s hand with such strength that Harry had felt the twinge of his grip even now, -- waved his wand almost intricately over Draco’s body, a light golden sheen escaping from its tip and misting over Draco.

Another young blonde woman, Emilia Farrow, was on his other side, doing the same. The third and last woman, he didn’t particularly catch her name, she had just given him one look, turned a bright pink and then proceeded to not look at him, followed Bill and lifted her wand up, waiting for further instructions. He watched on, fascinated with how they all moved in synchronicity, like an elaborate dance with their wands, waving this way and that. Bill was fantastic, he looked so strong and authoritative standing there, instructing the others as they followed his lead.

After a moment of just watching them, watching as they murmured chants and spells and started what Harry knew was going to be a long and arduous task, Bill looked at him. “Harry, I’m going to need you to leave,”

Harry’s grip tightened on Draco’s hand, he had let go when they had raised him, but as soon as Draco was back on the bed, resting calmly on his front, eyes closed and breathing slow, he had taken his other hand and held it in his own. He knew he probably should, he was only getting in their way. But he really didn’t want to leave Draco. Fred and George took his arms and dragged him up and out of the room.

He growled, protesting a little, but eventually he let them take him away. He was of no use here after all. He sat down on the kitchen table next to Ron, Hermione and Luna, glaring at the wind marked wood, grinding his teeth as he waited.

“He’s going to be okay,” Hermione placed her hand on his arm, hoping to give him solace with her words.

Ron agreed, “Yeah, he’s made of tougher stuff, and that.”  

Molly placed mugs filled with sweet smelling honeyed tea in front of them, and gave Harry a smile or solidarity. He nodded to her in thanks, taking the mug and holding it in his hands. He let the heat seep into his palms, needing to feel something against how  cold  he felt.

He knew they couldn’t just sit there and wait, so when Hermione called for a meeting and the Weasley’s, sans Bill, et al sat in the living room, talking about what they knew, and what they had expected to happen. Harry had listened intently, telling them what Draco had told them. That there were three more horcruxes they’d need to destroy, and that one of the horcruxes was...him.

The uproar that had commenced was expected, and soon they were all working together to create a plan, and to find out how  not  to kill Harry in order to save the world. Self-martyrdom was not going to be in the cards for this war.  

They settled into a routine as the hours grew into a whole day.

Bill and his team hadn’t stopped working on Draco, the chants had turned into a background hum now. Harry would pass by the door, finding any excuse to go up the stairs and try to catch a moment of Draco. Fleur and Molly would go into the bedroom every once in a while, with food and other comforts for the curse breakers. The twins had sought to lift everyone’s spirits by telling them all about their joke shop, and what they had planned for the future.

A future that Harry was intent to spend very much alive with his found family, and friends, if he could help it – though he was sure that it wouldn’t be possible, no matter how much the others researched what they could with what they had, Harry knew, in his heart of hearts, that there were going to be casualties in this war, and he was damn sure that he was going to be one of them. But he was going to do his damndest to make sure everyone else was survived.

The wind chimes blew against the sea breeze, the soft and serene sound of waves lapping against the shore, and the low hum of everyone moving around the house. He let it take over him as he washed the dishes after dinner that night, needing to do something other than strategise and wait.

He had tried to see what they were doing to Draco, but all he had seen was the four curse breakers sweating and moving their wands in a somewhat sync. Draco’s body was red and drenched with sweat, but he was still unconscious.   Ginny had been the one to push him out of the hallway and down to the living room, where they had set up a game of exploding snap to try and while away the research filled hours. He had thanked her for that, his heart had been so overwhelmed with pain when he had seen Draco.

He had felt it when there had been a distinct change in the air around them, almost like a rippling crack, a heavy pounding sound, like someone was knocking heavily on a door.

Arthur gazed out to the sandy fields behind the cottage, his eyes narrow as he looked back to Molly. They nodded to one another and made their way out of the house. Harry followed closely behind, Ron and Hermione taking step next to him.

The wards. There was someone pounding at the wards.  

They all had their wands out as they made their way to the edge of the wards. Harry tried to think of the strongest stunning spell he could muster, the charm on the tip of his tongue, before he paused. The figure standing there at the border of a bubble, a delicate arm wrapped around her middle, clutching her sides, her blonde and black hair in a messy bun on her head, and her robes in disarray. She held her hand leaning against the ward, looking at them with fear.

“Please.”  

Narcissa Malfoy.

Chapter Text

Narcissa Malfoy.

Harry didn’t really know much about her, nothing more than what the others probably knew about her. He had only ever seen her once or twice, usually at the start of the school year, when they had to take the train.

She'd be standing on the train platform, next to her husband, looking radiant in the morning sunlight as she hugged Draco tight to her chest and pressed a kiss to his hair, speaking to him quietly – most likely saying the same things Molly would tell him, about how he should focus on his studies, eat right and look after himself while he was at school – while Lucius Malfoy stood next to her, his familiar black, snake head cane in his hand, and his usual stoic, straight laced, features.

He had been alarmed when he saw her at Malfoy Manor a few days back. She had looked a little less radiant then, she had looked tired, scared, yet still regal. Standing close to her son, trying to move herself in front of him as Bellatrix forced Draco forward, forced him to give them away. Bellatrix had dragged him to her side, after all, wrapping her arm around his shoulder and manhandling him to the ground, Draco’s father telling him just how much better it would be for them all if he told the truth, if he ratted them out.

Harry knew she loved her son, dearly. She had been afraid then, so afraid and surprisingly alone standing in her own home. She had looked like no one was on her side anymore.

Right now, she did not look afraid, she was still radiant in her own way, eyes full of vengeance, holding onto her stomach as if she was in pain. Her hair a messy bun at the nape of her neck, her clothing dirty and caked with mud and dried blood.

She looked like she had been through hell.

She looked like she had also been hunting horcruxes with them.

Narcissa pressed a hand to the wards, the magic rippling around her fingers in a wry gold and red colour. Not a threat, apparently.

Surprising.

“Where is he?” She called out. Her voice muffled a little by the wards. Her eyes were narrow, filled with fire. The same kind of fire Harry recognised in Draco’s eyes whenever they fought. He saw where Draco got his pretty features from.

Arthur took a step forward, silently telling the others to stay back, his wand held out to her. “How did you find us? Who else is here?”

“Where is my Draco?” Narcissa asked, looking straight at Molly, ignoring his question.

Molly held her wand higher, her grip tightening. She repeated her husbands’ words with more anger. “How did you find us?”

“Don’t test me Molly,” Narcissa replied, pressing her hand more against the ward until it crackled against her skin. “You will return my son to me,”

Molly narrowed her gaze at the woman, not sure just what to make of her anymore. She had thought she had known Narcissa, they had been friends before, all those years ago back at school. But this. Seeing just how she had treated her son, the way he was laying in their bed, bruised and broken and scarred.

“I will return your son to you once he is in good health,” She stated confidently, turning her nose up at the woman slightly. How could she do this? How could a mother do this to her only son?

“Good health?” Narcissa replied, her regal façade falling. She looked at each of them in turn, as if she would find her answer in their faces. She raised her wand hand up, holding her hand flat, her wand held in her thumb. “Let me through Molly, I am the only one here, and I evoke my right to parley,”

Molly’s wand wavered. Parley. That was unusual. But she had her right, and Molly was curious to know just what had gone through Narcissa’s mind for her to think doing something so awful as to let her son be tortured was okay to do.

Arthur took a step back, holding his arms out and motioning for Harry and the others to follow his lead, and Molly took a step forward, holding her wand out and up to the wards.

“I’m surprised at you Narcissa, how could you let him be treated like that?” She waved her wand slightly, and lowered the ward to allow Narcissa in, raising it stronger once she passed the barrier. She pointed her wand back at Narcissa, watching as she stepped through carefully, the wards making her shiver as if she were cold. “He is your son!”

“Treated like what?” She asked, straightening out her hair as best as she could with one hand, holding her wand flat in her other hand. She glared at the woman. “I have done my best to make sure he was as far away from the wrath of the Dark Lord as possible. And it shows, he has not been harmed.”

Molly’s eyes widened. “Not been harmed?”

She grabbed Narcissa’s arm and dragged the flustered woman to the house, the others following dutifully. She pushed open the front door, ignoring her children as they got up to follow her. She dragged the protesting Narcissa up the stairs and to the bedroom where her eldest and his team were working on Draco. She opened the door and shoved Narcissa into the room.

“You call this ‘not been harmed’?”

Narcissa glowered at the woman, but her attention was taken by the four people surrounding the bed, wands raised and voices chanting as silvery blue light wisped out of their wand tips and onto the figure lying face down on the bed. Her throat clenched as she gasped at the person they were working on.

“Draco!” She cried, making her way to her son. She was held back by Arthur, stopping her from touching her son. Oh, her son! He looked awful! So pale and skinny, she could see his bones, his hair was a messy nest on his head, his face turned to one side, eyes blackened with lack of sleep, and the words ‘traitor’ along his cheek and up through his eye. Oh! His back was covered with bruises and injuries and what looked like a tattoo that took over most of his back. At a second glance, she saw that it wasn’t a tattoo, but something sliced and seared into his skin. “What have you done to him?”

“Us?” Molly replied, pulling her back out of the room, letting the curse breakers continue their work. “We didn’t do this. You did. Your family did.”

“He’s been hiding this from you, he’s been trying to protect you.” Arthur accused, holding onto her and pushing her back down the stairs when she tried to return to her son. There were tears in her eyes and her body was practically vibrating with her anguish. “Your lack of noticing your son in such pain made him like this.”

“You should be ashamed of yourself.” Molly indicted, pointing her wand at Narcissa, prodding her chest as she ushered her down the stairs and to the kitchen where everyone else was. The others had followed dutifully, silently letting Molly do what she needed to do.

Narcissa sucked in a shuddering breath and let out a heart wracking sob. She fell to the ground and wept, body shuddering as she wailed. No longer the radiant, prim and proper pureblood they all knew her as. She was a mother, a grieving mother, worried for her sons’ safety.

“Molly! I swear to you, I did not know,” She did not look radiant right now. “I would have never allowed this to happen! My boy! My poor dragon! I didn’t know…I didn’t know!”

Molly let out a breath and sat down next to her, holding an arm out to the woman and bringing her in for a hug. Narcissa turned into her, continuing to weep on her shoulder, “My boy! My poor, precious boy!”

Molly ran a soothing hand down her back, patting her softly and letting her cry out her pain. She knew just how happy Narcissa had been when she had found out she was pregnant with Draco, to think she would be able to not notice something as serious as this, it didn’t make sense.

Either Draco was very good at hiding things, or there was something more sinister happening in that house. And Molly was sure Lucius Malfoy was behind it somehow. That man had fallen far into the dark.

After a short moment, Narcissa leaned away, sniffing slightly and wiping her tears with the sleeve of her robes. “Why didn’t he tell me?”

“He didn’t want you to know,” Harry replied, stepping forward and knelt in front of her. “I think he knew he wasn’t going to survive back at the manor. He wanted me to save you,”

“My precious dragon,” she murmured, looking up to the bedroom where her son was. “What are they doing to him? What happened to him?”

“Let’s get you some water and a better place to sit than the floor,” Molly replied, grabbing onto Narcissa’s shoulders and helping her up. “There is a lot you need to know, and the floor is not the best place for this,”

Narcissa nodded, getting up and following as Molly took them to the kitchen table, which had been cleaned of all mess and debris, and pulled out a chair for her. She sat on the chair, her back straight, and took the offered cup of water, sipping it sparingly. She placed her wand on the table, showing that she was not a threat to them. She only wanted her son.

Molly and Arthur sat opposite her, Harry leaning back against the kitchen wall, next to the nick of the knife once lodged in the wall cracking the tile, Ron and Hermione were leaning against the doorframe, and the others were standing in the other room, listening in.

“There’s no easy way to say this, Narcissa,” Arthur started clearly, “but your son has been tortured for the past three years,”

Molly held a hand to Narcissa’s shivering ones. “We think it must be your sister and the werewolf Greyback's doing, he’s been crying out their names in his sleep since he’s been here, telling them to stop,”

“Bella had hit him with a curse,” Narcissa muttered to herself. “When Harry and his friends had taken him away from the manor, she had hit him with a curse, a curse she had wanted to cast at Harry.” She side glanced at him, “I didn’t want to think it was the Cruciatus curse, I didn’t think Bella would, Draco is her nephew…”

“She did, and she’s done it before,” Harry replied, knowing exactly what had been happening to Draco, having delved into his mind and seeing snippets of his life at home. “Many times. And she’s done worse things, like stab him with a poisoned knife, scoring sick words on his skin, forcing spells on him—”

“Harry.” Molly stopped him. Harry growled but stopped, noticing the slight rumble of his magic coming to the surface. Once he had settled somewhat, she returned to Narcissa. “Draco is the only one who can tell you what he truly went through, we can only speculate what we know.”

Harry stood there, even though he did not want to hear about this, not about what his mate had gone through. He didn’t want to confirm the things he knew were true. But Narcissa had to know the truth, she had to understand what her son had been through, what he was still going through, to save her.

While Molly talked, Harry felt the something was amiss, a strange warmth erupted in his chest, spreading out and taking over his body. His skin was glowing that strange golden again, faint this time, almost like he was standing directly in the sunlight, rather than the supernova bright it had been before. The heat submerged him. He fell back against the wall, sliding to the ground. A loud screeching sound echoed in his ears, his heart beating madly in his chest.

Something was wrong.

He slid down to the ground, feeling hands and arms holding onto him, voices yelling his name, but he couldn’t do anything. Sliding to the ground, all he could muster was a weak whine.

Something was really wrong.

“Draco…"

Chapter Text

Harry James Potter thought he should really take a moment to sit down, away from everyone and everything, and really re-evaluate the past few days. 

Because, regardless of everything he knew, and everything that had been told to him in the past three days since he had saved one Draco Lucius Malfoy from Malfoy manor. And after liberating a cup that was a horcrux, from the Lestrange vaults, escaping said vaults and bank on the back of a dragon – which he knew meant he’d probably be banned from entering Gringotts ever again, he’d probably have to either move his fortune to another bank, or try doing online banking...if that was even a thing in the wizarding world...but he guessed he was digressing as that wasn't important right now – and then destroying the horcrux, only to come straight back to Shell Cottage, the safe house he had left Draco at – which didn’t make any sense, he should be back at Hogwarts, finding the other horcruxes and defeating Voldemort, and anyway Draco was...well, not safe, but safer than he had been back at the manor –, finding out about the whole maybe-a-wolf thing, the whole Draco-is-his-mate thing, which he was surprisingly starting to be okay with...not okay, but...well, he guessed he had a lot on his plate, and for some reason knowing that Draco was his mate was something that made sense, well a lot more sense than anything else.

He was still reeling from the whole 'splitting your soul into pieces' thing.

Regardless of all of that. Harry still felt like he didn’t know anything. 

Then again, he thought to himself, as he sat there, basking in the warmth of the golden glow that he knew was coming from Draco's... starry magic thing – was it a sinister plot to hurt him? Or dare he think this was a protection spell? Draco hadn’t exactly been well enough to really explain what the hell this was, if he even knew he was doing it in the first place. (Harry was sure Draco was just as in the dark about that particular thing as Harry was). No one ever actually explained anything to him. 

No one ever fucking explained anything to him! He was seventeen, for fucks sakes, just shy of 'adulthood' and yet everyone still treated him like a god damn child! He was the one who had to defeat Voldemort, he was the one that had been tasked to find the horcruxes. And yet he was the last one to know fucking everything.

So yes, he really needed to do the whole 'sit down and re-evaluate your life' thing, and soon. When he had the time to.

Which was why he was here, slumped on the tile floor of the safe house kitchen, his family – for that’s what they were – surrounding him. He felt just as lost as he had been his first year at Hogwarts, a little eleven year old learning about a whole new world, a whole new way of thinking, of how he was able to do magical and mystifying things. Scared and excited, and confused beyond all belief. 

He felt a cool glass of something against his lips, saw the pale and slightly pudgy fingers, with the familiar wedding ring of Molly’s, and sought it safe to sip the drink. Not that he didn’t think it wouldn't be safe. Narcissa Malfoy may be the only snake awake at the moment to cause any problems, but he didn’t think for a second – especially after everything he had witnessed her doing since she had come to them – that she would actually try to harm him. 

Then again, Draco had said he was going to come to them as a peace offering, only to blow up at the opportune moment. Like an unwilling and enforced suicide bomber. 

He didn’t think asking a lady of Narcissa Malfoy’s standing to strip so they could see if she was covered in the same sick runes as her son was, was a very appropriate thing. 

Then again, safety first, right? 

No. If that were the case, she wouldn’t have wept on the ground for her son, a son who she didn’t know had had so much happen to him. 

Lucius Malfoy was next on Harry’s hit list, after Voldemort. 

Cool, blessed relief filled his senses as he drank, relief from...whatever he had been feeling. 

He was still a little loopy. Why? He...actually, he didn’t know. One moment he was just standing there, listening to Molly and Arthur explain what they thought had happened to Draco for the past three years, and then...he just got... angry. So, fucking angry. 

And then this. This....whatever this was, because he was still glowing, a brilliant sunlight shine against his dark skin, and still feeling warm and... and. ..safe. Shit. It felt really good, like he was being hugged, like he felt like he could do absolutely anything right now, like he could face Voldemort, the man horcrux filled or not, and win. 

It was so strange, like he was drugged, high as a kite, but not...not? Not...what? 

What was he talking about? 

It didn’t matter, because he felt so good. 

He looked down at his hands and smiled at the shine on them, sparkling gold like he had dipped his hands in make up foundation – he remembered how his hands had been shimmering like this when he had kissed Cho Chang, holding onto her cheek as she cried. She had been wearing makeup, and it had transferred onto his fingers. -- he wondered what it would be like to kiss Draco. He imagined it'd feel a lot better than kissing Cho, far better.

For one, their kiss wouldn't have that awkward, strange feeling as it did with Cho. He imagined it would be the same as this shimmer, this soft, light feeling. Shimmer, shimmer, shimmer. 

What was he talking about? 

“What the fuck Harry! Your eyes are doing that glowing thing again,” 

Ron’s voice broke through his strange daydreams, and he was thrust back into reality. Slightly disoriented, he looked up and sucked in a breath. He felt the ache on his arse and legs from where he had dropped down harshly against the floor. His head felt dizzy, but not in a bad way, he felt a little loopy, a little tipsy, but he felt good. Like he was on Felix Felixis good!

Hermione’s hand rested on his shoulder and shook him a little. 

“Are you okay?”  

He nodded, because, well, he was. He felt okay. Better than okay. Pushing back and scaling up the wall. The others took a step back, giving him room. He saw Narcissa standing behind Molly, pouring another glass of whatever that drink had been, and handing him the glass again to sip. 

“Drink this,” she stated, “It’s a pepper-up,” 

Harry nodded, taking the cup again and taking a sip. Surprised that no one had tried to stop her. Then again, maybe they too had the same thoughts he had. That she wasn’t really all that bad a person. 

Bill’s voice cut through the house, a loud yell that they couldn’t tell was of elation or distress. Harry was up like a shot, handing Hermione the glass and bolting up the stairs until he reached the bedroom. He pushed open the door and all but vaulted inside. 

“Is he okay?” 

Bill and the other curse breakers looked exhausted, sweat dripping after spending the whole day, nonstop, working on Draco, none of them had taken any breaks, not even to eat, or drink water. They had been focused, determined. 

Bill looked back at him, and his smile made Harry’s heart swoop for Draco. Smiling meant good news, right? 

“It was tough, everything is so deeply ingrained in there, the curse, it had been there since he was a baby." Bill replied, stepping back from the bed, his knees buckling a little. "There's still a lot more work left. But. The first seal has been broken,” Fleur held him up, wiping her hand over his sweaty forehead, and pressing a kiss to his cheek at his good work. 

Wait...what? Since he was a baby?

The other three straightened out their charge, fixing the bed, others replenishing themselves with water and food to build up their strength.

Draco lay on the bed, facing up now, his skin still a sallow pale white, but at least he looked a little more...not better , but he didn’t look as awful as he had before. He just looked like he was sleeping, peacefully. The covers were up to his chest, his arm out, an IV being placed into the bend of his elbow, replenishers, he could only guess. 

Narcissa was at his side in an instant, holding onto his hand and murmuring soothing words as she got a good look at him. Harry wanted her to have her moment, he really did, but he also wanted to know what this meant. What did Bill mean about the curse being there since he was a baby? Had this all been planned from the start? How could it have been? What had the Malfoy's been trying to accomplish? What was happening?

Narcissa obviously didn't know, he bet it was Lucius's doing. It was the only thing that made sense. But then again, Narcissa hadn't reacted to the news. Maybe she hadn't heard? Or maybe she was letting it ruminate?

“Draco is still in trouble,” Amicus replied, placing his wand back in his holster and taking a sip of the water in the bottle on the table – someone had left a lot of little things for the four, he noticed, the table was full of refreshments for the team. 

“Yes,” Bill replied, taking over the explanation before it got out of hand. He hadn’t been all that perturbed that Draco’s mother was here. He honestly stopped asking questions like that whenever Harry Potter was around. It made it easier. “He’s still got the curse on him, but with the first seal broken, Voldemort won’t be able to use him as a bomb so easily.” 

Narcissa stilled as she listened to them. “A bomb. My...my child...was supposed to be a bomb?” she sucked in a few breaths and stood slowly, elegantly; her hands clenched into fists on either side of her. The others could only watch as her anger imbibed her, muttering to herself. “Cursed since he was a baby...how dare he...all those times he had taken Draco...said he was bonding with his son...and he had...had..."

Narcissa looked absolutely livid.

"He told me he had a plan to get Draco out, that fucking arsehole," she cursed her husband. "That he didn’t want Draco to be a part of it anymore. He wanted Draco safe. To think...to think he was only saying that to...to do something so heinous, so vile, he was going to send my child out to kill you! All because he wanted a fucking leg up? ” 

The air turned freezing cold around them, magic crackling from around Narcissa and radiating out through the room. Hearing Narcissa swear was frightening. Harry found he could not move, none of them could, to help her, to calm her down, to stop her. 

“I will kill him.” she ground her teeth, sparks coming from her very mouth. “No, that’d be too easy. He hurt my son, my boy—”  

“Maman...”  

The weak, and broken sound coming from the bed exhausted her anger, she spun around and reached for her son. Draco’s eyes were barely open, just a sliver of silver, drowning in tears. 

“Oh, mon doux petit dragon,” She reached for her son, murmuring sweetly to him as she held him close to her chest, running her fingers through his hair. “mon ange, mon tresor, you’re safe, moncouer, if only I had known. Curse me for not listening to you. I won’t let him touch you again, never again, I won't let anything harm you,” 

Draco sobbed as he gripped onto her, his body shaking as he cried into her chest, fingers tightening on the front of her robes, as he buried himself in her warm embrace. 

She was here! 

She was safe. 

Finally... 

Chapter Text

Having Narcissa Malfoy in the safe house was strange.  

For one thing, Harry felt like he should be walking on eggshells around her, but she had nipped that feeling right in the bud when she had officially introduced herself to them all. Well, it had felt like a proper introduction, though she had only left her son to rest for the moment while she greeted the others, asking for sanctuary.  

Sanctuary, to the Malfoy matriarch.  

Though the Weasley clan, et al., had been weary – for a good reason, he might add. This was Narcissa Malfoy, for goodness sakes. And though there didn’t seem to be anything worrying about her at that moment, she had found them out of the blue, found their clearly warded and hidden safe house by, what? She hadn’t told them how she had been able to do that.  

And her statement of ‘Draco is my son, and I will go wherever he is safest’, hadn’t really explained anything.  

Molly had said something about motherly love, magic and pure-bloodedness, and to be honest, Harry had sort of, kind of let it go. After all, once you’ve been able to destroy a fully grown man with your hands. Harry found it pointless to ask certain questions.  

Motherly love just worked differently in the wizarding world.  

They had all allowed her sanctuary with them. She had been primed, promised and magically sealed, just as everyone else had been. into the Order. With a caveat that she wouldn't be able to betray them without her magic leaving her. Which was something Harry had found barbaric, but she had readily held her hand out, telling them that there was nothing more important to her than her son.

Not even her husband.

Regardless, she was here now, and she had told Harry to not act so worried around her. But Harry found it difficult to do that. She was so prim and proper, straitlaced even though she had spent almost all her time while she was here, around her son, sitting next to him while he recovered from the first bout of curse breaking, speaking in rapid French (which really, hearing Draco speaking French should not make him feel so...fuzzy and... stomach clenchy.)  

Harry found he had been...glowing every now and then. Not something that was obvious, well as obvious as a sudden shine on his skin could be, but...well, he had woken up after the last little bout of ‘feeling oh-so-good' and faced the mirror to fix his hair (not that he was trying to get all dolled up to meet Draco and Mrs Mal- – please call me Narcissa, or Cissa, Harry, it’s only right that you do since we’re finally here now (wherever here was) -  Narcissa or anything) and saw that his skin was a little more golden than usual, a little brighter, like he had come out of a bath, fresh and clean and practically warm with it.  

It also helped that he felt so good during it.  

Where this particular thing was coming from, he didn’t have a clue. He had an idea, that idea being the fact that the only person he has seen glow like this – and much more than this – was Draco. And he was already confused about the whole mate's thing, and the whole... everything else ...thing.  

Godric, feeling good made him feel a little loopy.  

And he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing. He was so tempted to embrace the feeling, to dive in and see just how good it would feel. But, though his Gryffindor-ness was absolute, he was still kind of, sort of, worried he wouldn’t want to come back out.  

He didn't have the time.  Especially not now, not when he still had an evil wizard hellbent on taking over all of Wizengamot.  

Maybe after, if he survived.  

The fact that he was a horcrux was still a little...yeah. Scary. He’d really like to have a word with Dumbledore about all of this. Well, not that he could not. What with him being...yeah.  

But he really wanted to know if Dumbledore knew about him being a horcrux, had he known from the beginning? Or was he just as surprised? Harry didn’t think someone as powerful and all-knowing as Dumbledore would not have known. But then why was he kept out of the loop?  

He was always kept out of the loop. He was getting sick of it.  

He was digressing.

Narcissa appeared in the kitchen again, where they all were, her hand on the stair banister and her back straight. Still regal, she always looked so regal, even the way she was dressed now. Her hair was down, over her shoulders and back, freshly showered most likely, and framing her face almost too prettily (he really saw just how much of Narcissa Draco looked like, pale skin, angular features, kind of pointy but in an endearing way almost, her hair looked soft like Draco’s too).  

Her clothes didn’t seem to fit her right. Not that she didn’t look lovely in them, but just, well, with the short amount of times Harry had seen her, he hadn’t ever seen her in anything other than dress robes or something noble.   Seeing her dressed in what was definitely one of Molly’s outfits, since they were the only ones that would fit, a lovely, pale grey dress with almost silvery vines printed on them, she looked...almost muggle.  

It was...well, okay it wasn’t funny in the laughing sense, but funny in the whole ‘who knew she could look just as prim and proper as she usually did in such normal muggle clothes?’  

Harry wondered what Draco would look like in muggle clothing. And that sprung up the idea of taking him out somewhere in Muggle London, where he had to dress up in jeans or something, rather than those obnoxious trousers.  

He was digressing again, he did that a lot nowadays.  

Narcissa looked relaxed.  

Well, considering the situation, she looked a lot less uptight than usual.  

“My son has informed me you are aware of the horcruxes?” she asked, stepping down from the last step and into the kitchen.  

Harry nodded, running a hand through his hair, rubbing at his scar. “Yeah, he did.”  

She nodded, noticing his hand. “So, you are aware that neither of you can live while the other survives? That one of you must die?”  

He nodded, shuddering at the thought. But it made sense. He had seen it in Trelawney’s prophecy and in Dumbledore's memories. And he had come to terms with the fact that he was going to have to kill Voldemort in order to survive. With Harry’s blood now coursing through the arsehole's veins, Voldemort was also protected. So, Harry could kill him with mother's love in his touch, like he had done with Quirrell all those years ago.  

How easy would that have been.  

“And I am told you are aware that there are seven horcruxes,” Narcissa continued, Arthur motioned for her to sit on one of the dining chairs, which she nodded to him as thanks and took. “Of which you have destroyed four?”  

“Five actually,” Ron piped up, they had liberated Helga Hufflepuff's cup from Bellatrix Lestrange's vault only yesterday. “Well, we haven’t destroyed the cup yet,”  

Narcissa seemed taken aback by that. “Well, you have been busy.” she took the offered cup of tea from Molly and sipped it daintily. “The ones that are left are Rowena Ravenclaws diadem, Nagini – the Dark Lords snake – and... you, Harry Potter.”  

Harry rubbed his scar again and nodded.  

Narcissa bristled a little, looking at the scar and then at the boy. She hummed and placed the teacup on the table top. “Allow me to state plainly, I find it absolutely abhorrent that your headmaster had given children such an impossible mission. You, Harry Potter, are just a boy, and, regardless of prophecies and their ilk, you should have adult wizards helping you.” she wrinkled her nose and quickly added. “Not that the Order are not helping, but I do believe you should have had someone with you during your hunt.”  

Well, she had a point.  

“I think we did just fine on our own,” Ron muttered, a scowl on his lips.  

“Of course,” Narcissa replied, having heard him. Ron’s cheeks reddened. “How will you be destroying the cup? And the other horcruxes, do you have a plan for them?”  

To be honest, no. Now that they no longer had the sword because of Griphook taking it before he ran away with it at Gringotts, they didn’t have anything strong enough to destroy horcruxes.  

“Tom Riddle’s diary!” Hermione declared.  

Harry looked at her confused, but then his eyes widened in understanding. “The basilisk!”    

“We have to get back to Hogwarts,”  

Harry nodded, ready to apparate with her and Ron to Hogsmeade. But a sudden feeling in him made him pause.

He looked up at the stairs. They all did, seeing Draco standing there, dressed in a soft looking, worn down grey jumper, -which had holes in the sleeves and the hem for gods sakes! - and jeans, - where did he get jeans from? And why did they fit to perfectly on his sodding arse! Harry's heart was going to burst. He looked so...soft and adorable and cute and Harry was finding it really hard not fidget and stare.

Draco's face holding a little more colour, though he was still skinny. He hadn’t glamoured any of his bruises or injuries, Harry could see them peeking out from under his sleeves and around the collar of his jumper. What made his blood boil was the word ‘traitor’, a stark red against his white skin. His eye dulled under it.  

He was going to kill Bellatrix for doing that.

“You’re not leaving without me,” Draco said, his voice holding a little more weight now that he'd had a chance to rest up more. All those potions were helping.

Draco. He looked ready for battle.  

Harry reached his hand out to him, an instinct in him wanting the man nearer, wanting his mate by his side. Though he would rather Draco stay and recover, he could feel it in him that Draco would be safer with him.  

And wasn’t that a stupid notion. He would be safer in a safe house, not in the middle of what would most definitely be a battle. But something was telling him to take Draco’s hand and keep him close.  

So, he did. He grabbed onto Draco’s slim and cool hand, wrapping his fingers tight around Draco’s dainty ones, and pulled him close.  

 “Alright,”  

The uproar that came after made him pause.  

Ron and Hermione and the rest of the Weasley’s protesting, still not fully trusting the Slytherins even with the oath, and Molly’s disapproval that Draco was still recovering.  

The sound of Narcissa’s teacup being placed rather loudly against the table caused them to pause. She stood up, placing both hands on Draco’s shoulders and gave him a look. Occlumency? Harry wasn’t sure, but she stared at him so intently as if they were having a private conversation between mother and son.  

He nodded to her, and that was that.  

“Be safe with him,” she murmured, holding him close and pressing a kiss to his hair. “I will be there with you as soon as I can,”  

She turned to Harry, giving him a steely stare. “One hair out of place, Potter, and not even your Order will be able to find you,”  

Harry gulped in his fear and nodded, what was it with mothers and being so terrifying?  

He pulled Draco to his side, taking hold of Hermione’s hand, and then, with the familiar tug of apparition, they were gone.  

Chapter Text

They apparated into the cobbled streets of Hogsmeade, snow was piled up against the quiet rows and rows of building, a steady harsh wind blew through their clothes and hair, a slow sleet falling and freezing the four immediately. A foggy haze made it almost impossible to see anything other than the dimly lit lights outside of the closed shops. There was rubble and wreckage all over the streets, blanketed by a thick layer of snow.

There was a harsh cry of what sounded like a mix between a cat screeching and a banshee screaming continuously in the air, and that caused them to pause for a moment. That sounded like the caterwauling charm.

Fuck! That was a fucking alarm!

Harry pulled Draco to his side, feeling the way he was shivering in his jumper and jeans. It was too cold to be out here. Wanting to cast a warming charm, but thinking against it, he wasn't sure what else was happening around Hogsmeade, he motioned for Ron and Hermione to follow him, noticing a few lights turning on in one of the shops a few feet away, followed by a few men yelling his name in the air.

The sound of the alarm increased, and they bolted down the streets in the opposite direction until they finally came upon an outdoor seating area with slanted wooden awnings to keep away the snow.

Harry tugged on Draco, dragging him along with him, knowing that Ron and Hermione were close behind him. They slid behind a cashiers table, almost skimming and dropping the utensils in their place on the tabletop. The four huddled behind the table, obscuring them from the snatchers view. Harry pressed a hand back onto Draco’s chest, seeing how out of breath he already was. This wasn’t a good idea to bring him, he knew this logically, but the inkling in him to bring that man along screamed at him that Draco was safer with him here.

They stilled at the harrowing sound of footsteps on wood, followed by creaking against wood as the snatchers moved around the room, looking for them. Harry held his breath, pressing back against the table. The sound of the snatchers moving, the harsh whip of the tablecloths being pulled up occasionally, and the creak, creak, creak of their footsteps. There were at least two of them.

And they were getting closer.

Shit, shit, shit. What was he going to do? There were four of them, and only two of the snatchers, it would seem easy, two per snatcher, but those men played dirty, and Harry really didn’t know if Draco was up to his usual defence. Harry knew how skilled he was, top of his class, second in the year to Hermione. But right now, he was drained, Harry could feel it. Draco’s hand tightened in his own, he was shaking, scared; but he looked ready to face anything. If they could take care of the snatchers here, then they wouldn’t alert any of the others. That seemed like the best course of action.

He looked to Draco, who looked back at him, he gripped his wand in his hand tightly and nodded to him. Draco nodded back, knowing what they would have to do. Harry looked to Ron and Hermione to his other side and nodded to them, they too nodded back at him. They were as ready as they would ever be. They just needed to be quick, stealthy, and as quiet as possible. The element of surprise was best here. He held three fingers up, and mentally counted down from three, folding his fingers down as he did so, signalling for them to get ready.

But, before he got to one, the alarm sounded again, this time in the distance. Harry stilled, tightening his grip on Draco’s hand, and they waited on bated breath as the snatchers stopped their search and rushed out of the area. Once the sounds of their footsteps, and the yells of ‘Potter’ were far enough, Harry let out the breath he had been holding.

That was way too close. Whoever had set that alarm off was a lifesaver.

They stayed silent, just in case there was a straggler somewhere. Once he was sure they were safe, as safe as they could be for now, Harry peered over the counter and saw that the coast was clear. He took hold of Draco’s hand again and motioned for the others to follow as they made their way out of the area and down a long alleyway.

They almost ran headfirst into another large group of snatchers. Hermione pushed them behind a set of dumpster bins, Ron’s front and Harry’s back slammed into the brick wall. Draco shoved into Harry’s chest with a grunt, Hermione on Ron’s back. Harry wrapped his arms instinctively around Draco’s middle, keeping him from harm.

“Fuck.” Ron whispered, peering out at the group patrolling the area. He had barely been able to get away from a group smaller than this, his arm was still banged up and mottled with scars from his splinching. He wasn’t in the mood to try that again.

They needed to get through here to get to the castle, they didn’t have too much time to wait.

Draco sucked in a breath but stepped away from the group. He knew what he had to do.

“Give me your jacket,” he commanded, holding his hand out. Confused, Harry pulled off his jacket and wrapped it around the shivering man. Draco looked at him, his silver eyes wide, and thanked him, slipping his arms through the warm sleeves and tugging the coat more over his body. It was shorter than he would have liked, but it was bigger on the shoulders. It would do perfectly. Throwing a hood over his head to hide his hair and face he took a second to hold the sleeves to his nose, taking in Harry’s scent.

“What-?” Harry reached out to him, but Draco shook his head. Feeling bold, he reached down a little and pressed a kiss to the corner of Harry’s lips. He felt sparks of heat and magic course through him. To think, he could have had this...

Maybe in his next life.

“Get out of here,” he said to Hermione. Noticing Harry’s dazed look, he gave him a small smile and then he raised his wand and apparated away.

“Wha-what?” Harry shook out of his daze. Ready to run after him, wherever the fuck he had gone, he pushed off the wall he had slumped back on. But Hermione grabbed his hand and dragged him the other way. "Hermione!

“I know,” she growled before Harry could protest, “But we have to go,”

Ron nodded, helping Hermione drag their best friend away. “He’ll find us, you know he will. But he's right, we've got to go!”

Harry’s skin was glowing again, and he growled. No, no, NO! This wasn’t what he had brought Draco here for!

Draco!

No! Draco!

Fuck, that had been close.

Draco apparated as silently as he could into a side alley, listening to the sound of footsteps crunching against snow a few feet away. He was exhausted, his magic was already depleted from being injured and the curse, and triple apparating in succession was not helping. But he needed to apparate as close to the snatchers as he could, making sure they noticed him.

The hood over his head hid his face, so they didn’t notice it was a Malfoy. The caterwauling charm had screeched around the area, alerting the snatchers to his location. He saw them notice him, and he pushed himself off the wall and down the alley, making sure they had been following him. He turned a corner, casting a Geminio charm, and immediately apparated to the roof above them. Looking down, he noticed the five snatchers rushing down the alleyway, following a ghost replica of his body before it too disappeared into the wall.

Curfew. The charm was for a curfew. He had heard the Death Eaters talking about this, but he also knew the counter curse for this. Great. Waving his wand up, he cast the counter curse and the charm silenced. Blessed relief. Sucking in a deep breath, he apparated back down to the alleyway, giving himself a moment to take a break before he apparated back to Harry’s side. He felt a warmth, a familiar feeling deep in his chest and he knew that would tell him exactly where Harry was. He just needed to focus on it.

Closing his eyes, he calmed himself down and focused.

The air turned cold around him, almost to freezing. It was a familiar feeling, and it made him pause. Everything was quiet, so deathly quiet. His heart pounded in his chest, his head aching, and the air was carrying the sound of his aunt’s cackles, the familiar growling of Greyback, the pain, pain, pain of the curses, the knives, the fangs.

Fuck, where was he?

No. No, she couldn’t be here. She couldn’t do this to him! Auntie Bellatrix was not here. The sound of her cackles came louder and louder, until she was screaming in his ears. He clenched his eyes closed, crouching into himself.

He felt a thin, sharp and frozen hand against his shoulder. Looking up, his eyes widened, the face leaning into his own held three large holes where the eyes and mouth should have been. But instead, they were empty circles leading into darkness and death, shrouded under tattered black robes. The hand on his shoulder tightened, keeping him where he was, he couldn’t move even if he wanted to.

Dementors.

The screams got louder and louder, and he could distinctly hear his mother screaming for him, in pain, in ache, screaming for him to go, leave, get out of here! Of Harry screaming his name, his throat catching, wand raised up and pointing directly at him, saying the words that were forever etched into Malfoy's mind. Sectumsempra. Screaming, screaming, screaming. Crucio. So much blood. There was so much blood. He tried to reach for his wand, but the dementors slowly glided closer and closer to him, shoving their faces near his, sucking in his soul and all his happiness. No...oh god...Pain, white, hot, pain, pain, pain. Avada Ked-

“-to Patronum!”

Draco noticed a small silver goat galloping from the alleyway and to his feet. The Dementors screeched hideously, before flying away from the patronus, gliding menacingly down the alleyway and out of sight.

Draco looked down the alleyway, following the patronus as it trotted back to its caster. He noticed the robes, the long beard and the familiar twinkle in those eyes.

Dumbledore?

“We need to go back!” Harry cried as Hermione dragged him down yet another street, running from the sounds of the caterwauling charm, shoving his protesting body with her.

“He’s gonna be fine,” Ron tried to calm him down. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but that ferret is made of tougher stuff,”

Harry wanted to believe him; he really did. But he just couldn’t. His skin was glowing a little faintly, and he wasn’t sure what that meant. Did that mean everything was okay? Or was Draco in danger? He just knew he had to get to Draco. What if he was in trouble?

They stumbled at the end of an alleyway. Shit, shit, shit. He hadn’t ever ventured into this part of Hogsmeade, they only ever stayed near the main shops during their school visits. None of them ever needed to go this far out. But it seemed he was going to have to figure out a way to get them through to safety.

The snow made it harder to figure out just where the hell he was going. All the signs were covered with it, and the streets, and anything that would discern one shop from another. Everything looked the same. Fuck, were they lost? They reached an opening of the alleyway. But it was blocked off by a large wrought fence, magically sealed to keep away any intruders.

Harry cursed, reaching for his wand to bombarda the lock away if he had to. Regardless of how much noise it would make. They had to get out of here, he had to find his mate, and they had to find a way into Hogwarts. The quicker he got to the rest of the horcruxes, the quicker this would be over, and then Draco and the others would finally be safe!

Hermione pulled him away from his raging thoughts and dragged him into a building. A tall, and familiar looking man was standing at the doorway to the back of the building, ushering them in. They rushed down the steps of the old concrete and brick building until they reached a foyer to what looked like a pub. The windows and doors were shuttered and blocked out, there was dust and dirt on the far tables, as if no one had come in here for a few months.

It seemed like no one had ventured into Hogsmeade for a very long while.

“Did you get a look at him?” Ron asked, pulling Hermione back. “For a second, I thought it was—

“Dumbledore.” Hermione murmured, nodding as she looked up at the tall man with the long beard pulling curtains closed and motioning for them to keep away from the walls.

“Draco!” Harry cried, rushing over to the man sitting slumped on one of the tables, nursing a butterbeer. He looked out of breath, but at least he was safe. He grabbed Draco’s shoulders and shook him solidly. “What the fuck do you think you were doing, leaving me like that!”

“But the snatchers--” Draco tried. Harry didn’t let him continue, pulling him into a hug, and pressing kisses all over his face.

“Never do that again, you hear me?”

Draco nodded, a large grin spreading over his lips. He had been worried when he had kissed Harry in the alleyway, that Harry would be more closed off, but he hadn’t expected Harry to reciprocate like this

Breathlessly, he promised. “Okay.”

Harry knelt before him, leaning his head tiredly on Draco’s lap. Godric, that had scared the fucking life out of him. He felt Draco’s hand running through his hair, and he let out a calm breath. This felt good, this felt right.

Someone cleared their throat, breaking Harry out of his relaxing stupor. He got up suddenly, taking one more look at Draco, to make sure he was still okay, and got back to reality. Looking around, he seemed to recognise this room, it was like the room he saw in his mirror all the time. Did that mean Dumbledore was here? Kneeling and pulling his jean leg up, he reached for the broken mirror he kept hidden in his sock.

“What the hell Harry,” Draco murmured, watching him. “That’s a stupid place to put a mirror,”

“Yeah, yeah, Luna said the same thing,” Harry rolled his eyes and held the mirror in front of him, seeing a glimpse of a room, this room.

“Harry,” Hermione’s voice piped up. “I can see you in this,”

Harry looked up to Hermione, noticing the mirror on the wall, with a cracked piece missing. The same piece Harry held in his hand. Looking back at the mirror, he saw the back of Hermione’s head, looking up he saw that she was looking at him. The back of her head to the mirror.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Harry murmured to himself, making his way over to Hermione and holding the mirror piece up. “Then it wasn’t Dumbledore I saw?”

The door to the left opened and in came a familiar looking man, he looked almost identical to Dumbledore, except his beard was trimmed shorter, and his hair was slightly more ruffled. Harry instinctively knew it wasn’t the school headmaster. This must have been his brother. Harry must have seen Dumbledore’s brother in the mirror.

“What were you thinking? Coming here!” The man said, “Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?”

“You’re Aberforth,” Harry concluded, remembering the name. “Dumbledore’s brother. It’s you who I’ve been seeing here.”

“Of course the Malfoy boy is with you," he stated, narrowing his gaze at Draco. "Sought to change sides so late in the game? You're going to lose either way, Malfoy,"

Harry stood in front of Draco, hiding him from the man’s view. He knew Aberforth had definitely seen what had happened in Malfoy Manor, and everything else that had happened after. Aberforth must understand what was happening with Draco and him, at least enough not to question why Draco was here with them. If it hadn't been for that, he was sure Aberforth wouldn't have helped him.

“You’re the one who sent Dobby.” he said instead, changing the topic, before anything escalated.

“Ah yes, where is Dobby?” He asked, turning away from the two and peering out of the window.

“Safe,” Harry replied, not wanting to think about what would have happened to either one of them if Draco hadn’t been there. But instead, Draco had been hurt, badly. He had escaped though, but at what cost? It had been a double-edged sword of sorrow on both ends.

He nodded, “Good.”

“Who gave that to you?” Harry asked, pointing back to the mirror, still standing firmly next to Draco in case any one of them changed their minds. “The mirror,”

“Mundungus Fletcher, about a year ago,”

Harry glowered. “He had no right selling that to you, it belonged to—”

“Sirius, yes. Albus told me.” Aberforth cut him off, taking slow steps closer and closer to them. Harry narrowed his eyes as he did so. “He also told me you’d be hacked off if you ever found out I had it. But ask yourself, where would you be if I didn’t?”

Harry was starting to really hate riddles.

Aberforth spun around in a tight half circle, his robes swishing dramatically as he did so. His gaze stopped at Draco, and Harry side stepped until he was standing directly in his line of sight, hiding his mate from Aberforth’s view. Aberforth hummed, locking eyes with Harry. Harry had a strange feeling he was being read, but he didn’t feel any magic wash over him, neither did he feel like Aberforth was casting legilimency. He was just watching him, the same calculating way Dumbledore would sometimes.

“How about some food, hmm?” Without waiting for an answer, he turned to the room near the back and disappeared.

“He’s a little strange,” Draco said quietly, watching the door, his grip on his wand tight. He was still trying to get over the fact that the man who had saved him from the Dementors was not Dumbledore, but his brother. Regardless of their uncanny likeness, it was strange to see the man who he had seen first-hand fall from the Astronomy Tower standing a few feet away from him.

It freaked him out.

A moment later, Aberforth reappeared, holding a tray of butterbeers and some cakes. Ron was on it like a shot, followed by Hermione, who took a few slices of cake, put them in a tissue and handed them to Draco, before taking one for herself. Draco nodded to her and took the offering, while Harry placed another glass of butterbeer on the table he was sitting at. He took a bite of the cake, tasting the cherries and vanilla and smiling internally. It reminded him of afternoon tea with his mother.

“Have you heard from the others?” Hermione asked Aberforth.

“The Order?” He handed them a few more savoury items from the kitchen, wanting them to eat something. The blonde one looked like he hadn’t eaten in a long while. He took the remaining glass of butterbeer and sipped it. “The Order is finished, and You-Know-Who's won, anyone who says otherwise is just kidding themselves.”

Harry heard Draco’s slight whimper and stood to attention.

“We need to get into Hogwarts,” he stated determinedly, placing the half drunken butterbeer onto the table next to Draco’s one. “Tonight.”

Aberforth rolled his eyes, focusing on the cakes and tray.

Harry tried again, standing up straighter. “Dumbledore gave us a job to do,”

“Oh, did he now?” Aberforth turned to him, raising a quizzical eyebrow up. “Is it a nice job? Easy to do?”

Harry narrowed his gaze, knowing exactly what was going on. It didn’t take a person of skill to see that Aberforth Dumbledore had given up. He was going to sit idly in the side lines and watch as the world burned.

“We’ve been hunting horcruxes,” he stated honestly, not letting the man have a word against him. He needed to do this, they needed to do this. “And we think the last ones are in the castle, but we need your help to get in,”

Aberforth spoke calmly, but his eyes were burning with rage. “That isn’t a job my brothers given you, it’s a suicide mission,” he gave a look to Draco, and back to Harry, “Do yourself a favour boy, go home. Take your mate and friends and live a little longer.”

Harry’s eyes widened at the fact that Aberforth knew that Draco was his mate. It showed just how powerful Aberforth could be, if he only just tried. Maybe they could finish this war off easily. Dumbledore had  been a power match to Voldemort, but Aberforth was ready to leave the fighting to a couple of teenagers.

“Dumbledore trusted me to see this through,” he answered, hoping that would give the man some hope. Anything to have him help. Harry needed all the help he could get.

“And what makes you think you can trust him?” Aberforth replied harshly, venom in his voice. There was a history there, and at that moment Harry really didn’t care. He didn’t want to be embroiled in the Dumbledore history. He just wanted to rid the world of this evil, because he knew he was the only one who could do it. “What makes you think you can believe anything my brother told you? In all of the time you knew him, did he ever mention my name?”

Harry paused. He was right. He didn’t know anything about Dumbledore. But then again, he didn't need to.

Aberforth motioned to the portrait on the wall behind him, of a pretty young woman with long brunette hair and a solemn look on her face. “Did he ever mention hers?”

Harry sighed. “Why should he-?”

“Keep secrets?” Aberforth cut him off. “You tell me.”

Harry paused. He needed the help, he needed as many people as he could get. He had lost so many people already, and he didn’t want to lose any more. But he was no longer in the mood to jump hurdles to get it.

“I trusted him.” he stated clearly. Because, regardless of the secrecy, of the riddles, of being the last person to know important things. At the end of the day, he still trusted Albus Dumbledore. He still trusted the man had his back; he had grown because of Dumbledore. He had gotten this far because of his wit and strength, with the help of his friends.

And because Dumbledore trusted him to be able to see through it.

“That’s a boys’ answer.” Aberforth stated, walking closer and closer as he spoke. “A boy who goes chasing horcruxes on the word of a man who wouldn’t even tell him where to start.”

He had a point. But Harry didn’t care.

“You’re lying. Not just to me, that doesn’t matter. You’re lying to yourself as well, that’s what a fool does.” Aberforth’s anger only grew the closer he got to Harry. Draco stood up then, sidestepping until he stood in front of Harry, glaring at the man. Aberforth took a step back, sniffing slightly. “You don’t strike me as a fool, Harry Potter. So, I’ll ask you again. There must be a reason,”

Internally rolling his eyes, recognising the fact that even this Dumbledore was trying to hold one over him, he instead darted his gaze to Draco, seeing his steely reserve, his hand poised on his wand, ready to fight if anything were to happen to them. He looked to Ron and Hermione standing on the other side of the room, unable to speak, just watching on as they waited on bated breath for the man to either help them or not. He could tell Hermione was calculating a better way to get back into Hogwarts if he didn’t help them.

They were ready.

Aberforth was not. And Harry wasn’t sure he’d ever be. Not now. Not like this. He felt like they had lost already, he had said so. But that wasn’t going to stop Harry. He had a job to do, and he was going to do it.

He promised himself a date with Draco after this all, anyway. He couldn’t break that promise to himself.

“I’m not interested in what happened between you and your brother.” he replied, just as steely as Draco’s resolve was. The man was acting more childish than either of them. “I don’t care that you’ve given up.”

He looked to the others again, knowing that this wasn’t someone who was going to help them.

“I trusted the man I knew,” he continued, walking away, reaching for Draco and his friends. They would need to figure out a way to get into the castle without alerting the snatchers and anyone else around the area. He was sure the castle would be warded well beyond any magic they could probably get through on their own. If only there was a way to sneak in. “And we need to get into the castle tonight. If you can’t help us, then we’ll just have to find another way in.”

Aberforth stilled, as if he were contemplating his decision. He looked up to the woman on the portrait and murmured.

“You know what to do.”

Chapter Text

The fact that a painting of Dumbledore’s sister, who he found was one Ariana Dumbledore, was able to open into a tunnel that went directly, or indirectly in this case, to the Room of Requirements, should have made Draco pause.

He knew Hogwarts held a lot of secrets hidden well within its walls, in the very brick and mortar itself. He had heard many stories from his parents, and other Death Eaters, in passing, at all the hijinks they had gotten up to when they were students with those not so well hidden tunnels and secret passageways. He had also heard how all the tunnels and secret passageways had been destroyed or sealed off during the start of the school year.

Except for the one he was currently walking down, this one looked new, it looked almost wizard made.

It was why he had spent all his sixth year trying to fix an almost impossible magical task. Though the Vanishing Cabinet had been one of the worst things he could have every done – one of, mind, there were still a lot many other things he had done that he wished he hadn’t. But his lack of confidence and will to be reckless and Gryffindor-ish was not something he could do back then. And anyway, it would do no good to wallow in the past, especially right now. He would have time to do all of that later. If he survived – he was slight proud of himself to be able to fix the impossible.

The fact that a teenager of his calibre was able to fix a magical cabinet while on a strict deadline. A magical cabinet that not even the more powerful of witches and wizards, and indeed the Dark Lord himself, was able to do so – though it may have been because Voldemort had other more pressing matters to deal with than fixing a bit of furniture. And to be honest, isn’t that why he had followers in the first place? People to do the dirty work for him.

Sure, the task he had been given was one he was sure was given to him for him to fail at – the same way as how Voldemort had given him the task to kill Headmaster Dumbledore. How a sixteen year old student could go about murdering one of the most powerful wizards of all time, and still live to tell the tale, he wasn’t sure. Then again, the threat of his mothers’ life, and his own, had been a strong catalyst for him to conclude the murders to the best of his knowledge.

It did explain why anything he had done, had failed terribly. He may be a good caster, and a somewhat viably strong wizard, the fact that his heart and body had not been in it to kill someone so powerful – call him a coward, so be it, because he had been back then – he was glad Dumbledore hadn’t actually died because of him.

Well…not directly because of him.

…well. Technically.

One should not speak ill of the dead.

But, pulling away from all of that, the fact that he, a proverbial child of a pureblood family, being able to fix something that was sought as unfixable even by those who actually were professionals in the field. To be able to do the one thing that no one else had been able to do before him. To fix the Vanishing Cabinet to let Death Eaters into the one sanctum they had never been able to venture into outside of their school years.

He was proud of himself.

And it made him sick to his stomach.

They followed Neville, who, in retrospect had acted more adult than Draco had expected him to. He had peered from behind Ariana in the portrait when she had arrived back from wherever she had gone, and as the portrait swung open, he had appeared on the other side. He had given Draco a long look, contemplating something or another, and then to Harry, and then, shrugging his shoulders, he had motioned for them to follow him into the tunnels.

He told them all about what was happening in the school, how Snape was headmaster, though he barely did anything to help the students, and how the Carrows, sibling Death Eaters, were punishing students for barely anything and everything. The fact that the school’s curriculum had turned so dark, so quickly, just the idea of first years being used as fodder for older students to use the unforgivable curses on, was such horror. It made Draco's stomach turn. Because he knew, if he was still in the bowels of the Dark, as he had been before Harry had saved him, he wasn't sure he'd be able to say no to the Carrow's not the same way Neville had.

He had been told many times that even if he stepped a toe out of line, if he did not follow the Malfoy way, which was basically the Voldemort way, that his mother would be tortured, and killed, and he would be forced to watch, and then be tortured and killed himself.

He really didn't want to be eaten by a snake. The thought made him cry out in horror. Harry's hand on his own, tugging him close and keeping him there, was a small reprieve from his racing thoughts.

But, it had put the final nail on the coffin for Draco. He was so glad he and his mother were out of the Dark and in the Light. Draco was not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he had followed dutifully behind Harry, knowing the man would protect him if the time came and hexes started flying.

They made their way out of the tunnel and through another portrait hole and into the hallway leading to the Room of Requirements. Seeing the large doors appear in the brick and slate made his stomach turn. He clutched Harry’s wrist, feeling Harry’s hand move until they held hands properly, fingers tangled together, silently giving each other the support they sorely needed.

Neville pushed the door open, and the many students loitering in the room all turned to see him. He moved to the side, and Harry stepped forward, hands still tightly clasped with Draco’s own, as they stepped down to the ground. The silence was quickly overtaken by applause, loud and rambunctious yells, whistles, and cries of Harry’s name.

Draco was tugged along as Harry hugged everyone close to him. He had wanted to take a step back, to press up against the wall and figure out how to make himself invisible from the horde of students – some of who were Slytherin, he had noticed, thankfully, nodding to Blaise leaning back against the wall -- but Harry didn’t let him. His grip only tightened as he stood in front of the students.

“What the hell is he doing here?” one of the students in the back asked, pointing a wand at Draco.

Harry pulled Draco behind him, “He’s with me, and if any of you have a problem with that, you can speak directly to me.”

Draco had expected an uproar, he had been ready to pull up the strongest shield charm he could muster in his still weakened state. He had been through a slurry of dark hexes and spells, he was very intimate with the Cruciatus curse, so this, though frightening in its own way, was nothing compared to what he had gotten at home. Well, nothing that his body wouldn’t be able to take. He just hoped the death would be quick.

He had not expected the Seamus to come to him first, pushing past other students that had crowded around the five, his wand to his side. Harry was ready to pull Draco away from anything, but Draco stood still, stepping forward and holding his head high. He deserved whatever it was his fellow students had in store for him.

Seamus held a hand up and hovered it over Draco’s eye, over the word ‘traitor’ carved into his cheek, eye and forehead. Thankfully, the rest of Draco’s injuries were hidden under Harry’s jacket, but that one, it was stark and obvious, right there for everyone to see. Everyone would look at it and know he was just that, a traitor. A traitor to his family, a traitor to the Dark. And hopefully, the Light would see that.

Seamus sucked in a deep breath, looked to Harry, and then to Ron and Hermione, silently confirming with them, before he turned back to Draco.

“Okay,”

And that seemed enough for them all. They all took a step back and gave Harry the floor.

“So, what’s going on Harry?”

Harry looked out to the students who were all watching him so eagerly, happy and ready and waiting to enact the plan he had to defeat the Dark. He squeezed Draco’s hand for support, and stood straighter, looking ever the handsome saviour Draco knew he could be. He was glowing with a gold shine, like he was a ray of sunlight itself.

“Okay,” he said, sucking in a nervous breath and clearing his throat. “There’s something we need to find, it’s hidden here in the castle, and it may help us in defeating Voldemort.”

Neville stood by Harry, bouncing on his toes, ready to go out and find whatever it was that Harry needed. “What is it?”

“Rowena Ravenclaw’s diadum,” Draco stated, stepping forward until he was standing right next to Harry and the others. He was surprised to see the others were actually listening to him, the same as they were with Harry. It was unexpected, but it warmed his heart to know that they understood him, they knew that he wasn’t the same Draco Malfoy.

The war had changed everyone.

“It’s small, a tiara, probably blue sapphires, and silver to follow Ravenclaw's colours,” he continued, “It'll be hidden away somewhere in the castle,”

“You don’t mean Rowena Ravenclaws lost diadum, do you?” Cho asked, stepping forward and making herself known. “But that’s been lost for centuries, there’s no one alive who’s seen it,”

Shit. Well that didn't help them. They needed to do this quickly and efficiently. But with this many students looking, it hopefully wouldn't take them too long to figure it all out. And then all that would be left was the snake...and Harry.

Draco's heart clenched at that, how were they going to get the horcrux out of Harry?

The doors to the room rumbled as they opened and closed, and Ginny walked into the room, looking forlorn. She sucked in a breath when she saw Harry, and then Draco.

“Harry,” she called out, making her way towards them, looking at the two, and to their clasped hands. “Snape knows, he knows you were almost busted in Hogsmeade, he knows Malfoy is here.”

Shit, well there goes the element of surprise.

Chapter Text

They marched into the Great Hall like they were prisoners.

In straight lines of four, all uniformed and synchronised as they marched along what once was a happy courtyard and straight into the hall entrance. Their black robes stark, and their coloured ties separated by houses as they trooped down the steps like a fucked up parade of military.

There was no laughter, no chatting, no smiles, nothing but pain, ache and fright.

It made Harry feel sick.

He followed, hidden amidst the students, standing with Ron to his left and Draco to his right. They had given Harry and Draco spare robes – to Draco’s distaste. But he really didn’t want Draco to be far away from him, even if it were on the other side of the room. Not right now. Not when there were so many dangers roaming around the castle.

The red pleating on the inside of the robes was a familiar and warm colour that made Harry think of home. It was surprising to see how the red suited Draco’s pale skin. He looked so resilient, so strong. It made Harry’s heart flutter. The group of Gryffindors around them stood in solidarity as they flanked him. He noticed some of the other students giving Draco a strange look, before letting it go.

There was a plan afoot.

Harry just had to distract Snape and the Carrows for long enough, so that the Order could apparate outside of Hogwarts, and make their way to the school. He needed the school back, he needed the students to have hope, he needed them to fight alongside him while he hunted for the rest of horcruxes without Death Eaters and Dementors roaming the halls.

He knew Remus, Sirius, Kingsley, the Weasley’s and the rest of the Order would be able to manage a few Dementors, and a few of the lesser Death Eaters. The stronger ones would be here, flanking Snape after all.

It felt strange seeing this place, this place he once called his home, be so…utilitarian. It felt like they were marching to their deaths.

They probably were.

The tables of the Great Hall had been pushed to the sides, leaving the hall completely empty. The students all stood in their lines, as if they already knew exactly where they had to go, where they had to stand. Harry thought, they probably had to do this daily.

Standing in line with the others, concealed by the vast number of students, though not as many as usual, he looked up to the higher platform where the teachers usually stood. The long table had also been taken away and two Death Eaters stood on either side of the long platform, the Carrow siblings, he surmised, watching the students and the teachers intently. Their wands poised and ready, and in the very centre stood Severus Snape, his hands clasped behind him, back straight and face completely blank of any emotion.

It made Harry’s blood boil.

How dare he.

How dare he do this to the place Harry called home? How dare he just fucking stand there and let his students be tortured?

“Many of you are surely wondering why I have summoned you at this hour,” Snape began in his slow drawl, standing with his hands in his front pockets, trying to look intimidating. “It’s come to my attention that earlier this evening, Harry Potter was sighted in Hogsmeade,”

The students murmured madly to one another, hope reigning on their faces. This was good, this was what he wanted. He wanted the students to be able to find the strength to fight back. And if Harry had to be the placeholder for that strength, then by God he would be.

“Now,” Snape quietened the hum of murmurs. “Should anyone, student or staff—” he darted his gaze at the sparse staff standing dotted around the ends of the room. “—attempt to aid Mr. Potter, they will be punished in the manner consistent with the severity of their transgressions.”

How dare he. Harry’s hands clasped to fists on his sides. He felt Draco’s hand cover his first, hoping to calm him down. Draco was right, there was no use in getting angry now. They needed to know more, they needed to wait for the Order, and getting all hot headed like he usually did was not the best idea right now.

“Furthermore,” Snape continued, “any person found to have knowledge of these events, who fails to come forward, will be treated as equally guilty.”

He looked to the hall, seeing all of the students looking down, averting their gazes from him, and any other students. Hiding themselves from the legilimency he was most likely casting to each and every one of them. Eye contact, you needed eye contact for that. But no one looked up.

Terror and fright were palpable in the hall, soaking in the air and making it hard to breathe. Snape stepped down from the platform and walked down the aisle between the Hufflepuffs and Slytherins, darting his gaze this way and that. His gaze was penetrating, and it made Harry worry.

What if he suddenly casted?

“Now then, if anyone here has any knowledge of Mr. Potters movements this evening, I invite them to step forward.” He stopped in the junction between the four houses, roving his gaze over the group of Gryffindors. “Now.”

No one spoke, no one moved, no one said a single thing.

Harry couldn’t do this. He couldn’t take the fact that these people were going to be punished for housing him in secret. He also could not take the fact that Severus fucking Snape was standing in the place of what should have been peace and unity.

Hogwarts was his home, it was the one place where he could be who he wanted to be, who he was destined to be. He had learned about his family here, he had made lifelong friends here, he had met Draco here.

He let out a breath, knowing what he had to do. He moved to step out along the lines, dropping Draco’s hand as he did so. But Draco hissed his name, grabbing his wrist and stopping him. Harry shook his head at him, but Draco narrowed his gaze, knowing what they had to so. He snaked his hand down and held onto Harry’s hand, interlocking their fingers.

Harry sucked in a breath, feeling his heart warm at the unspoken truth between them.

Wherever Harry went, Draco went too.

Together, they stepped out into the aisle, Harry keeping Draco as close to his side as possible as the students gave him space to walk out.

They all turned to see him, quiet chatter spreading like fire around the hall, a few gasps and a faint whoop coming from the corners of the Great Hall. The two Carrow’s on the platform studiously came down the steps and stood a few feet away, with their wands raised up.

“It seems.” Harry stated, pulling Draco’s arm behind him, “despite your exhaustive defensive strategies, you still have a bit of a security problem, headmaster,”

Snape looked at him, and then to Draco, and his eyes widened. Hesitant, he looked hesitant. And that made Harry pause. His grip tightened on Draco’s hand, and he narrowed his gaze steely at the man standing before him.

“And I’m afraid it’s quite extensive,”

The doors behind them opened with a triumphant creak, and Harry heard the familiar footsteps, felt the familiar magic permeate the room, saw the absolute elation in the students before him, his friends, his classmates, the students all having hope.

This was what he wanted.

He stood in the centre of the room, feeling strength come from the others around him.

“It’s too late, Severus,” Draco’s voice was death defying behind him. He strode in front of Harry, but did not let his hand go. His gaze was like steel, like fire and mortar, diamond hard in his resolve. “I have seen first hand what he can do. I have been tortured, beaten, broken and scarred by Voldemort. You do not scare me. You are nothing.”

The other students saw him then, saw the bruised and battered man, saw the words scarred on his face, saw just how defiant he was being, standing next to Harry Potter and fighting alongside him. A Slytherin fighting alongside a Gryffindor. The Prince of Slytherin standing side by side, hand in hand, with the Boy Who Lived.

Hope. So much hope, from all four houses, all of the students watching them as one.

Harry was proud of his mate, being able to stand up against his godfather and two of the strongest Death Eaters here.

“You will no longer be able to do what you want with these students,” he continued, “you will no longer hurt my friends,”

“You stupid boy,” Snape reprimanded him with the harshest of whispers, “do you know what will happen if the Dark Lord gets one look at you?”

Draco didn’t care, he stood defiantly in front of the man. “He has already cursed me, let him do his worst.”

Proud. So very proud, Harry couldn’t stop staring at Draco.

None of them expected the hex to his chest, not until he fell back onto Harry, the two dropping to the ground, gasping for breath as the hex shuddered over his body, making him convulse and cry out in pain.

Snape turned to see the caster. One of the Carrows nodded to him, as if he had expected them to hurt those who defied his law. He raised his wand and was about to cast another curse, but he paused when the students rallied around the fallen Draco and Harry, creating a barrier of bodies around the two.

Solidarity and hope.

“Draco!” Pansy gasped, crouching before the two, wrapping her arms around Draco and pulling him to sit up.

“I’m okay,” Draco murmured to her with a gasp, and sat up, taking Harry’s help to stand up. He faltered a little on his feet, but with his friends help, he stood straight on his feet.

Harry stood before him, not wanting anyone to hurt him again. He was going to kill the Carrows for doing something so vile. Who hit a wizard who didn’t have their wand ready? Arseholes.

Snape stood there still, his eyes wide, as he watched the scene unfold. Not caring to help his own godson, not even caring that Draco had been hurt because of him.

“How dare you stand where he stood.” He cried out, making his way through the small crowd before him. He couldn’t do this anymore. He wouldn’t let this man, this vile, vile man stand there. Snape deserved to suffer for everything he had done. “Tell them what happened that night, how you looked him in the eye, a man who trusted you, and you killed him.”

Snape reached for his wand, flustered. The students rushed to the corners of the room, to safety from what would most likely be an epic fight of spells and wit. The first years were pushed back and covered by the older students.

Harry was ready, noting Hermione, Ron, Seamus, Pansy, and Blaise standing behind him, around Draco. He reached for his wand, but Professor McGonagall stood before him, sweeping her hand out and pushing him and the others back. She held her wand to Snape.

Snape hesitated, lowering his wand for a mere moment, before raising it again.

McGonagall hit him with a curse, which he shielded, and another, and another, the fourth rebounded from his shield and he pushed it towards the two Carrow siblings behind him, hearing them fall to the ground, out cold.

He wasn’t casting back.

Snape shuffled back, apparating like a bat onto the steps and before the arching windows, strafing from the spells being cast at him by Professor McGonagall, the stained glass windows burst behind him at another shielded spell, raining glass on the stone.

He dropped to the ground, and McGonagall stood over him, wand pointed to him. “Your task is finally over, Severus, stay down.”

Chapter Text

With the school liberated of all Death Eaters and Dementors, and Professor Snape bound and propped up against a wall in the corner of the room, ready to be interrogated once he was conscious. Harry found he was finally able to take a moment to breathe.

Not that he had the time. But no one could fault him five fucking minutes of just closing his eyes, burying his face in the curve of Draco’s neck, and just breathing in his warm scent. There was so much happening, all too quickly, and he just needed a minute.

It was then, while the school was rejoicing of finally being free, and the lanterns all lit up with a blindingly warm fire, thanks to Professor McGonagall, and Draco’s long, thin fingers were running soothingly through Harry’s curling hair, that Harry heard it.

A harsh, sickening whisper, familiar and frightening that would have brought him to his knees had he not already been there. The sound made his stomach turn.

“Harry?” Draco’s voice was swallowed by the sound of Voldemort’s sinuous voice, snake like, malevolent as he called out Harry’s name in a long stride.

He swallowed thickly and looked directly to Draco’s face, saw the terror striking his beautiful silver eyes, the words ‘traitor’ so red and stark against his pale, pale, pale skin. The voice fell into indistinct murmurs, voices all speaking together, slow and low, like a rumble of thunder before a storm.

And then…the screams came.

One, loud, high pitched scream echoed through the Great Hall. Harry stood up suddenly, making his way over to the corner of the hall where a first year was sitting, her hands over her ears as if she was trying to block out the sounds. Harry wanted to reach out to her, to touch her and tell her everything was going to be alright, but another scream sounded from the other end of the hall. Students were being tortured mentally, screaming so loud as if they were in so much pain, screaming as if the very thing they feared was standing before them and they had no way to get away, no way out.

Fuck!

And then…silence.

A calm before the storm.

Voldemort’s voice was almost soothing.

“I know that many of you will want to fight,” his voice echoed into each and every one of their thoughts, a strong legilimency on those who could do nothing to fight it off. None of them would learn occlumency until their later years, all of these students were too young, too innocent.

“Some of you may even think to fight is wise, but this is folly,” his voice continued, and Harry could do nothing to stop it. Nothing except make his way back to Draco, dropping to his knees in front of the man as he held his hands to his ears, shaking his head and sobbing quietly.

“Draco…I know you can hear me…

He knows you are alive....

He knows you’re with Harry Potter."

Harry heard the parseltongue, heard it clear as day over Voldemort’s voice. Someone was speaking directly to Draco, whispering to him in that low hissing sound. What the fuck.

“No…no…no…” Draco’s whimpers and murmurs broke Harry’s heart. He pulled Draco into his chest, pressing his ears to his chest, and holding his hand to Draco's other ear, hoping and wishing and praying that there was some way to stop the sounds coming into his mind. But there was no way. The sounds were being projected directly into his mind, breaking in through his shields. He had been so tired, so exhausted, so weak. It was easy for the voice to sneak its way through.

Harry wasn't sure just how, Draco's shields had been impenetrable. Voldemort shouldn't be able to get through them. No wizard would.

Unless it wasn't human.

"You don’t want your family to suffer, do you? They look so tasty.

I will find your mother, she's here, isn't she. She wouldn't leave her little hatchling. I will find her, and I will eat her.

Do you wish for death, Draco? If you come to me, I will make it swift.

You know what you have to do Draco…

Follow your true master."

“Give me Harry Potter,” Voldemort’s voice boiled Harry’s blood, and he growled low, eyes narrowing. “Do this and none shall be harmed.”

Draco’s whimpers increased, body rocking back and forth in his fright. Harry wrapped his arms around the taller man, hugging him close, running his hands over Draco’s body, his arms, his neck, his chest, his back. He noticed his hands came back wet, red, red, red.

Fuck. His curse!

But Voldemort wasn’t around, he wasn’t anywhere here! What the fuck!

“Give me Harry Potter,” Voldemort’s voice continued pounding serenely, frighteningly into everyone’s minds. “And I shall leave Hogwarts untouched,”

Hermione was beside him, reaching out to Draco, having noticed Draco’s whimpers, focusing on him. Ron noticed and swooped to his left, his gaze wide and filled with fear. Fear for Draco. They couldn't speak, they couldn't do anything but be forced to listen to Voldemort, and fear for their friend, one who was shivering with fright.

Harry didn’t know what to do, everyone else was so focused on the voice, looking up to the spelled skies of the Great Hall, they didn’t notice him, they didn’t notice Draco. They didn’t notice the cursed runes on Draco’s back starting to bleed. He was crying, short, painfilled sobs, unable to speak as he fell into a trance. His eyes were blank, focusing on the snake murmuring to him, chanting to him.

“Give me Harry Potter, and you will be rewarded.”

Harry cast all the healing spells he knew, Ron helping charge his spells with his own magic, his wand swishing in the air, hoping to at least stop the bleeding. Hermione magically wrapped bandages around his chest. Once they were secured against his skin, Harry hugged Draco’s shocked body to his own, he pressed their foreheads together, staring into the tear filled eyes.

“I’m here baby, look at me, focus on me,” he said loud enough so Draco could hear him over the harsh parseltongue. He pressed kisses all over Draco’s face, trying desperately to break him out of his trance. Shit, shit, shit. They hadn’t expected this. “I won’t let anything happen to you, I promised you baby, I won’t let him hurt you. Come back to me.”

Draco shuddered, his back arching as he fell into Harry, hands scrabbling at his chest, wrapping around his neck and pulling him close as Draco all but buried himself into the man. Harry held him close, knowing just how close he had been to losing Draco then. Had they not broken the seal on his back, he was sure they would have all met their demise.

“You have one hour.” Voldemort’s voice seemed absolute, but Harry did not care. The man was going to die, and he was going to die by Harry's own hands. 

And then silence.

Harry focused on Draco, seeing him shudder and look up at him, “Harry,”

“I’m here, baby,” Harry murmured, letting out a breath he hadn’t known he had been holding. He hated this, he hated knowing that at any moment Voldemort could do something so heinous, so sickening, he could torture Harry’s friends, his classmates. He could torture Draco without a moments’ thought.

“What are you waiting for?” a voice sounded from the Slytherin’s. Harry looked up to see Pansy Parkinson pointing at him, her eyes wild and her body trembling. “Someone, grab him!”

Harry didn’t pay her any mind. He had been surprised, so very surprised, but at the same time, he hadn’t been. A crowd of Harry’s friends surrounded him and Draco, protecting him from anyone who even had the thought to step forward. No one did, no one ever would.

“Pansy…don’t do this.” Draco’s heartbroken voice made Harry pause. He stood up, with Harry’s help, on wobbly legs. Slowly making his way over to his best friend. “I know you’re scared, but this isn’t right.”

Pansy shuddered, looking at Draco, really looking at him.

“Draco.” Her voice broke, her body collapsing, she reached for him then, pleading him. “They’re my parents!”

That made Harry pause. She was right. All the Slytherins, if they fought on Harry’s side, on the side of the Light, they’d be fighting their parents, their family. He couldn’t allow them to do that.

“Professor,” Harry said suddenly, drawing Professor McGonagall’s attention. “Can we take them to the dungeons, please?”

Professor McGonagall seemed to understand the conclusion he had come to, having come to it herself, and internally reprimanded herself for following such ridiculous notions to think a bunch of teenagers would willingly follow a madman of their own volitions. Especially one who would torture his own followers without remorse.

“Students! Out of bed!” Filch’s voice echoed in through the corridors. He held his cat in his arms, bounding his way down the aisle of students as they parted for him. “Students in the corridors!”

Professor McGonagall shook her head at the man. “They are supposed to be out of bed, you blithering idiot.”

Filch paused then, seeing her standing there, her wand out and her eyes narrow. “Oh, sorry ma’am.”

“Actually, your arrival is most opportune.” She stated, “if you would, please, I would like you to take the Slytherin house from the hall,”

Filch gave the students a gleaming look, wondering just what he would be able to do to them. He had enjoyed the rules and regulations Umbridge had brought about, the punishments had fit the rule breaking students. But the Death Eaters had been a little too much for him. Especially since he was the one to clean up the blood and brick and mortar every time. “And where exactly where will I be leading them to, ma’am?”

Professor McGonagall gazed at the small sea of green to her right, seeing the fear growing in her students. They were just kids, kids caught on the wrong side of the war, all because of their parents.

“Please lead them, and the first and second years to the dungeons,” she demanded, giving them a warm look. “Keep them safe.”

The Slytherin’s nodded to her, thanking her for her command. None of them wanted to fight. Those who did were no longer in the school, already in the front lines with Voldemort. They just wanted to finish their school year, none of them wanted to be part of a war against the very people who cared for them, who loved them, who gave them life. They eagerly followed Filch as he led them out of the hall and into the safety of the dungeons.

Professor McGonagall meandered through the students, reaching Harry and the others. “Is Mr. Malfoy alright?”

Harry shook his head. “He’s been cursed, Professor, he needs to be with the other Slytherins-”

“No!” Draco cried, grabbing onto Harry’s arm. “I’m not leaving you!”

Harry pressed their foreheads together, forcing Draco to look into his eyes, to listen to his fears. “If he sees you—”

Draco shook his head, growling defiantly, his eyes a brightly glowing silver. “I am not leaving you.”

Harry sucked in a breath, feeling that vow all the way into his very bones, submersing himself in the soothing warmth that took over his entire body, his skin glowing that sunshine bright. He tried to speak. But found he couldn’t. He didn’t want to. Draco was right. If they were apart, he’d only worry, and that wouldn’t help him when he had to focus.

They only had an hour after all.

“Fine. You stay by my side,” Harry replied just as strongly, grabbing hold of Draco’s arm and tugging him up. The glowing transferred to Draco, making him shudder at the warmth. “I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t.”

McGonagall cleared her throat. “I presume you have a reason for returning Mr. Potter, what is it you need?”

Harry turned to her, “Time, professor. As much as you can get me,”

She nodded, slowly ushering the rest of the students to the safer parts of the castle, making sure all of the first and second years had been sent to safety. She would deal with stragglers. “Do what you have to do. I’ll secure the castle.”

Harry nodded, turning to his friends as they made their way out of the hall.

“Potter.” She stopped them, Harry turned to her. She looked like she wanted to say something more, her eyes giving away all of her emotions. Her elation at him being alive, her determination to do what was right by him, her solidarity to him and his side. But instead, she simply said; “it’s good to see you,”

Harry let a small smile play on his lips, telling her silently that he understood what she meant, “You too, professor,”

Chapter Text

The school was in utter disarray.

There were students all over the grand staircase leading up to the rest of the main halls. All running down the stairs and out to safety. He spotted many of the Slytherin and Hufflepuff seven year students ushering the first, second and third year students to the dungeon area, the safest part of the school right now.

Harry grimaced as he bumped into yet another student rushing down the stairs, as he made his way up. He tightened his grip on Draco’s hand, knowing he was close behind as he, Draco, Ron and Hermione made their way up the stairs and to the first floor corridors.

Just knowing that someone had direct access into Draco’s mind, someone who was strong enough to cause the runes and curses on his back to pulsate and bleed. Harry had wanted him to stay with the others in the dungeons, they would watch over him, they would keep him safe.

But that also meant that if anything were to happen to Draco, Harry wouldn’t know anything until after all of the chaos had died down. If Draco was hurt again, or if Voldemort found him, or if that monster who spoke parseltongue did anything, Harry wouldn’t know until the final moment.

No one else would know what to do if the parselmouth spoke to Draco again. He’d be a sitting duck.

Draco was safer with him.

And that determined look he had on his face, the fire in his silver eyes when he said he wasn’t going to leave, it made something hot inside Harry burn for him, it made him feel all sorts of sticky and sweet feelings. Feeling that made Harry want to hug the man close to him, to kiss him solidly on that perfect mouth, to touch him everywhere and just forget the whole world around them.

They’d have time to do all of that later.

If they survived.

Hermione and Ron were talking to one another behind them, saying something that Harry couldn’t hear over the crowd of moving students. The students were all rushing around them, giving them enough berth to go up the stairs, as they ran down.

“Harry,” Hermione called out, making them stop and look back. “Look, we’ve been thinking…well, Ron was thinking…it’s brilliant actually,”

“We know we need to get a basilisk fang to destroy the horcruxes,” Ron stated, his face flushed with embarrassment. “But we don’t really know where the rest of them are,”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Of course, that’s why we’re looking for them,”

“What are you suggesting?” Harry interrupted, before a fight ensued, wanting them to get to the point a little quicker. They were really pressed for time right now.

“So first, I thought we should ask one of the ghosts,” Ron stated, huddling them closer together as students ran around them. “Cho said so herself, there is no one alive who’s seen the diadem, so that means there’s got to be a ghost that has,”

“That’s brilliant!” Harry commended.

“Yeah, but then I thought, well what if they hadn’t?” he continued. “And it occurred to me, Snape. He’s been a spy for us, right? He knows all about what Voldemort is up to – maybe even more than Malfoy,”

“Can’t believe I’m saying this, but the Weasel’s right. Auntie Bella always took me to the courtyard when there was a Death Eater meeting,” Draco reminisced, his eyes blanking out in his torture filled memories. His hand raising unconsciously to his eye.

Harry reached for him, slotting their hands together in hopes to bring him out of his memories. He shook himself out of his trance and squeezed Harry’s hand.

“Okay, that makes sense.” Harry replied, formulating a plan in his head. “Give me the cup, me and Draco will go to the Chamber and get a basilisk fang, I’m the only one who can open the door,”

Hermione reached for her extendable bag, pulling out the golden cup and handing it over to Harry. He nodded, taking it from her. Draco took the cup from his hand and waved his wand at it. The cup shrunk, and he placed it in his pocket.

He sucked in a breath. This was it. He was sure they would be able to do this, Voldemort was going down. But he couldn’t help but think that this could also be the last time he ever saw his two best friends. So, he took a moment to look at them, really look at them, locking them into his memory. He knew he was being morbid, but this was war. And casualties were bound to happen.

“Hermione, you and Ron go interrogate Snape,” he commanded them, knowing that Snape was in the side room behind the Great Hall, with Professor Flitwick and Slughorn. Professor McGonagall had gone to the school entrance with the rest of the Order, something about protecting the school. “We need to figure out where the next Horcrux could be.”

“The Grey Lady!” Luna’s high pitched, yet soft spoken voice carried over the hum of students. They looked up to see her making her way down the stairs, “You can talk to the Grey Lady in Ravenclaw Tower,”

“What?”

“The Grey Lady is the ghost of Ravenclaw Tower,” she repeated, talking to them as if it was common knowledge for them to know. Maybe to her it was. “If its Ravenclaw’s diadem, then a Ravenclaw ghost would know where it is.”

“Alright,” Harry nodded to her, turning to Draco. “Once we’ve got the fang, and destroyed the cup, we’ll go to the tower and speak with the Grey Lady,”

Draco nodded. They needed to be quick, the hour was slowly ticking down.

The five gave each other one last look of support before separating to their jobs. Harry tugged Draco up the stairs to the second floor, and along the emptying corridors. He was muttering something under his breath as he did so, his skin glowing a faint golden under the light. Draco grinned, Harry was so powerful. He had no hesitation that they would win this fight.

“Harry?” He asked, wanting to try and ease Harry’s mind.

Harry didn’t answer, at least not right away. He pushed the doors open to the girl’s lavatory and tugged Draco inside. Draco hesitated slightly, wondering why they were here. Why were they in a girl’s bathroom? He'd question why he was okay with Harry dragging him around everywhere, it would have annoyed him, usually, but right now they had to be quick, so he couldn't do anything but let the man move.

He found it really didn’t matter. Harry obviously knew what he was doing. Harry stood in front of the circular sinks, sucking in a breath and eyeing one of the taps. Draco watched with rapt attention as he started to speak something, hissing at the sinks. The ground below them rumbled, and the sinks seemed to open up before them, creating an arched passageway leading into a dark and dank tunnel.

Draco stilled. The snake like voice coming from Harry's lips made him feel strange. Not a bad strange, not like it did when he heard Voldemort speak to his snake like that. Voldemort made it sound horrific, the seething hisses, the extension of the 's's falling into his normal speech.

But Harry. Harry sounded...sensual, almost sexy, when he spoke parseltongue. It made Draco feel uncomfortable, and not in the bad way. He felt hot all over, his fingers tingling where Harry touched him.

"You ready?" Harry looked back at him. Draco nodded, taking his outstretched hand and together they jumped into the dark tunnel.

Chapter Text

They landed with a thump and a squeamish squelch on the cobble and cracked stone floor leading to the Chamber of Secrets.

The large circular room was dark, and cold, and stank of rotten and spoilt animals and dust and debris. Draco held a hand to his nose, trying to block out the smell as it took over his nose, his eyes tinged with tears. Harry cast a lumos and a small ball of light erupted from the tip of his wand, brightening up the room a bit. He gagged when he saw the sludge of what must have been dead, and half eaten, animals all over the ground and on his shoes.

“Let’s go,” Harry murmured, reaching back for him.

Draco took his hand and followed closely behind him, careful not to step on the squishier parts of the floor. They made their way quickly through the room and carefully into a long corridor, the light on the tip of Harry’s wand like a beacon against the dark.

This was horrible. It reminded Draco of the manor back home, of bodies strewn about the corridors, some still barely alive, gasping for breath, others half eaten by Voldemort's large snake. The smell had been just as abysmal there as well. He had always had to watch his back at home, from the other Death Eaters, to the half dead muggles, to his own family.

Draco shuddered, feeling like someone, or something, was watching him right now, a shadowy whisper of smoke and smog billowing from the corners of his eyes. The darkness shivered and moved like waves around him, clawing against his hands and his feet, grabbing onto his arms and legs and tugging him down.

"You're not getting away from me, Draco. You are a traitor..."

The hissing voice made him pause. And then it happened. The pain. His back was stinging, prickling, aching, his eye twitched, itching with pain. He bristled, shifting at the creepy sensation on his back, the goose bumps erupting on his pale skin, needle like barbs spiked on his eye, spurring and tinning spicules of pins and points that made him shudder and cry out.

"Give up...traitor..."

“Harry!” He cried as he dropped to the ground.

Cackling, he heard familiar cackling, thick, heavy and right next to his ear. Her breath hot and moist against his skin. Sick and wrong. He felt the blade of a knife slick against his skin, slicing his cheek open at each word she marked onto him. This one had hurt more than the ones on his body, not only because it was on his face, where the skin was the thinnest, but because she had done this thousands of times before, scoring again, and again, and again, as if she were a child making her words as bold and dark on a piece of parchment. The ink spilling all over the quill and paper as she did so.

He wished he could be numb to it. But his nerve endings flared to life, his stomach convulsing, his head feeling dizzy, his throat creaking and rasping as he tried to scream. She would always cast a muffliato and a notice-me-not in whatever room she deigned to torture him in. No one would enter, and even if they did hear his screams, no one dared.

He felt the heavy press of her bony knee right on his chest, hard, heavy, cracking into his lower ribs until they were fit to burst. Break, break, break. Crack, pop, dislocating his arms when he tried to thrash at her, shattering his ribs when he tried to buck her off. Why couldn't he just die? He had done horrible, horrible things in his life, this was his repentance. Merlin, but it hurt.

“Ickle Drakey has been having such disgusting thoughts,”  His aunts voice crowed, cackling like a banshee, her breath hot and horrid. “What would your father think when he found out you were thinking of Potter? 'I wonder where he is now', you make me sick.”

No. No, no, no, no, no! He gasped, wheezing rapidly. There wasn't enough air, she was pressing too hard against his chest, he felt like his ribs were cracking. No! She wasn't here. She couldn't be here. Harry wouldn't take him to her. This wasn't real!

“Do you want him to fuck you, Drakey?”  Her voice was so thick, miasmic hacks, growling madly. “Do you want to bend over and let his disgusting cock thrust into you? You cissy, you are disgusting you faggot. Gay boy. You'd submit on your knees for anyone, wouldn't you? You'd let him use you like the filth you are. You make me sick.”

He felt the ghost of the knife against his skin, the sick poison spreading onto his cheek, and up into his eye, dulling it. He had gone blind when she had first done it. If it hadn’t been for the prisoners, if it hadn’t been for Ollivanders casting that strange charm, he’d have completely lost his eye.

“You’re a traitor, you’re a traitor, you’re a traitor!”  She cackled again, the knife digging into his skin, tilling and ploughing into his cheek until it broke through the bone, the knife embedded and curving, breaking into him, the poison white hot, marring, intoxicating, harsh and jarring. The grind, grind, grind of the bony knee on his ribs, fracturing, rupturing, breaking as the knife continued cleaving.

He couldn’t see from the blood.

He couldn’t see from the poison.

He couldn’t see.

Blinded. Blinded. Blinded.

“Now everyone will know you’re a traitor,”

“-aco! DRACO!”

Someone was shaking him, and he was engulfed in warmth, such blessed, freeing, heavenly warmth.

“Shit, your eye is bleeding,”

He grimaced at the memory, but the fresh and invigorating feelings of familiarity, of fortifying magic strengthened him. Something warm and pleasant smelling pressed against his aching eye. An arm wrapped around him and held him close to a body.

Harry’s body.

“Baby, oh fuck,” Harry was shaking, his voice low. “Are you okay? What the hell happened?”

Draco shrugged. He wasn’t sure. But all he knew now…whatever that voice had been, whatever had caused him to remember that horrible, horrible night. It exacerbated his injury, it caused the curse the wandmaker had cast on him to finally break, and for whatever poison that had entered his eye to spread.

And now…

He couldn’t see from his injured eye.

“H…Harry,” He sucked in a breath, trying not to hyperventilate. His body was shaking, and he knew he didn’t have time for this. They needed to destroy the cup, they had to defeat the Dark Lord. But…but he was scared! “Harry…I…can’t see…my eye…”

He felt the cloth against his eye again, knowing it was Harry’s sleeve, felt the fabric, the weaving of the hoodie. But he knew that if Harry were to step away, if Harry were to pull it from his eye, he’d not be able to see it. He’d not be able to see, probably ever again.

He felt Harry move, lifting him up from the ground and onto his feet. “Okay, okay…we need to…we need to do something…shit, shit, fuck, shit! You’re okay, baby. You’re going to be okay. Do you know any spells?”

Draco reigned in his emotions, thought his entire body wanted to scream to the heavens, wanted to weep and bury himself in Harry’s arms until there was nothing left of them except their warmth. But he knew he couldn’t. He had to stop feeling, he had to.

The hour is ticking away…

“Harry,” he stood on shaking legs and wrapped a hand around Harry’s arm, feeling the strong bicep. “We can do this later. We need to go.”

Harry shook his head. “No, Draco! You can’t just—” he sucked in a breath, knowing that it was useless to fight. He waved his wand and a bandage pressed carefully onto Draco’s eye, soft and warm and brimming with Harry's magic. “I don’t have any dittany, but as soon as we’re out of here—”

Draco nodded, pressing a delicate hand to his eye. It was bare, small and just over the socket of his eye, stuck on by magic. He could still feel all the letters scarred on his skin, showing how much of a traitor he was to the Dark Lord. “I will personally go to Madam Pomfrey myself,”

Harry narrowed his gaze determinedly. “We will talk about this later, properly.”

Draco nodded and followed Harry, placing a hand on his shoulder. Harry would be his other eye now. Draco knew he was unhappy with this decision. But there was nothing they could do now. It was strange, like his entire vision had halved completely. He could barely keep up. But he had to. He had to adapt and survive, because if he didn’t…

“Careful,” Harry called out, helping Draco over the shed skin and remains of the once prestigious basilisk.

“Is that how big it was?” Draco asked, stumbling into Harry’s back.

Harry nodded, feeling the blonde man shiver behind him. He knew there was an entire skeleton in the Chamber, which was a lot worse than just the skin. Draco was already so scared about coming down here, and then the blindness – which Harry really wanted to take a moment to sit him down and let him feel his emotions for, he was sure holding something like this in was not conducive to him mentally, but Draco was right, they had bigger things to worry about right now, but they would get to it – and now this.

They stopped in front of a large circular door; snakes curved around it in a starburst like pattern. He squeezed Draco’s hand, mentally preparing him for what was to come.

He hissed at the door, taking a step back and watching the door open. A single snake coiled and twined around the door reaching all the way back in a large circle, passing the starburst of snakes, which pulled back from the centre, one by one, letting out an ominous clank as the snake meandered under them. It was such an intricate lock, beautiful and interesting. But it had housed all sorts of negative memories for Harry. The door opened leading to the long room he remembered from his second year. The platform leading to the end of the room, where giant stone face of Salazar Slytherin stood proudly.

The stone snake statues lining the long platform had scared twelve year old Harry, but right now, they looked depressing, rotting away just like the rest of this room. They should spruce this place up a bit. He was getting ahead of himself. Straight ahead of him, half submerged in the calf high water, was the skeleton of the behemoth snake. The basilisk that once stood proudly, with its large eyes, and massive scaly body. Five years did a great deal of hell to the remnants of whatever had been in here.

He made his way over to the snake, but was stopped by Draco, who hadn’t moved from his spot at the entrance. Draco peered into the room, his eyes wide and full of fright, holding onto the wood and metal of the door. Harry wanted to hold his hand out to him, wanted to usher him in. He still didn’t think that Draco was safe when he wasn’t touching him somehow. He had lost the sight to one of his eyes because Harry hadn’t been paying attention.

Not that he could explain how that happened right now.

They needed to focus; get rid of the horcrux, find the diadem and destroy that too. And then kill the snake and then there would only be one more horcrux left. Him. And once he destroyed the horcrux in himself. It would just be Voldemort.

He made his way over to the basilisk skeleton. Precariously climbing its unhinged jaw. Getting a handkerchief from his pocket – he had been prepared for this, he had learned his lesson to be careful of teeth from stabbing the snake up into its mouth – and reaching down for the fang on the snakes’ set of teeth, keeping clear from the other fangs lined almost perfectly around it. And he wrapped the cloth around the tooth and yanked it out.

“You were twelve!” Draco’s cry came from the other end of the room.

Harry stepped down from the basilisk skeleton, holding the fang in his hand.

“Yeah,” he rubbed at his upper arm, there was still a strange blemish there, his skin a little darker in the area the fang had sunk into him. He looked back up to the snake, reminiscing about the last time he was here. “It was scary seeing Riddle again, possessing Ginny and ordering the snake to kill me. Hell, the snake bit me, but I killed it with Godric Gryffindors sword.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Draco stalked into the room, eyeing the snake statues wearily and rushing over to Harry’s side. “You were bitten by that thing?”

“Well, yeah. Riddle had been using him to kill me, so I had to kill it,” He tried to reply, it was self defence against a giant snake that wouldn’t hesitate to eat him. If it hadn’t been for Fawkes poking its eyes and for the sword appearing in the hat, he wasn’t sure he was going to survive that night. “Don’t worry though, Fawkes’s tears brought me back,”

“No, you…” Draco took a moment to breathe, trying to explain himself as clearly as possible to the dumb Gryffindor he had fallen in love with. “You were bitten by something stronger than a horcrux,”

“Y-yeah?”

“We have established that you are a horcrux,” he tried again, hoping Harry would marry the two ideas together. “And you were bitten by something stronger than a horcrux.” At Harry’s confused face, he rolled his eyes. “Thank Salazar you’re pretty. Harry, we’re using the fang, which is stronger than a horcrux, to destroy the cup, which is a horcrux.”

Draco held onto his shoulders, shaking him a little. “You are a horcrux, but you were already bitten by the fang of the basilisk, which is stronger than a horcrux! Doesn’t that mean the horcrux was destroyed inside you too?”

Maybe? He wasn’t sure.

It…made sense? But he hadn’t really died or been destroyed right? He had been close to death. That was what Dumbledore had said. Fawkes’s tears saved him, right? Or…had he gotten so close to death that the horcrux inside him was destroyed, or was it because the horcrux had been destroyed inside him that he had almost died?

Then again, how destroyed must a horcrux be for the soul inside it to completely dissipate? The diary was still a book with a hole in it, the ring was…well, he wasn’t sure what the ring was like, the locket was busted open, but it was still a locket. And with the cup they were going to destroy. It wasn’t like they were going to destroy each and every molecule.

But, these were inanimate objects. Did the same rules apply for a human or sentient being?

“It’s kind of like my curse,” Draco explained. “Bill told me about King Casimir. The curse itself is deep in me. But with the first rune lifted, I’m just a vessel for it, a chamber.”  

Harry hated being reminded of Draco’s curse.

“It may be a part of me, but Bill can cure it.” Draco continued. “He just needed more time, that we just don’t have right now. But Harry, don’t you see? It’s the same with you. You were a horcrux, like a temporary, quasi-horcrux at best, just like I am a body for this curse. Remember first year, how Voldemort was a part of Quirrel?”

“Y-yeah, he was on the back of his head,”

Draco nodded. “Yes! Voldemort was barely anything back then, just the soul he had left after he split himself into pieces. He had to create a sort of bond with Quirrel in order to survive. He made Quirrel into a temporary horcrux.”

Harry scratched the back of his head in confusion. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know, maybe nothing.” Draco replied, placing the cup down on the ground in between them. “But the night of your parents’ death, Voldemort was already like the wisp we saw in the Forbidden Forest in our first year. Maybe not completely there yet, but with his soul fractured, he hadn't been at full strength, I don't think. So, when he tried to kill you, it rebounded back onto him and turned him into that wisp. And, in order to save himself, his soul had to latch on to the closest living thing. You.”

Yes, his mother’s love and sacrifice for him had saved his life. And he had been left with this stupid scar on his forehead because of it. But to think it was because of…that?

“So maybe you weren’t supposed to be a horcrux,” Draco stated, sitting down cross legged on the ground. “I mean, there’s a ritual to make a horcrux. The manor library barely had any information about this, but what I do know is that you must make a sacrifice and cast a spell and everything. Your mother may have been the sacrifice, but…there hadn’t been a ritual, or a spell cast.”

Harry clenched his eyes shut, his thoughts swirling. He dropped down in front of Draco, trying to understand what was happening.

“When the basilisk bit you, it must have destroyed the soul that was inside you,”

It made sense. God, his mate was so clever!

“Harry, this all may be speculation,” Draco continued, not wanting Harry to jump to any conclusions in case he was wrong. They really needed to think about this properly. If he were right, it would change the course of the entire war. Harry nodded. They needed to speak with Hermione about this, they needed to brainstorm what to do next. If Draco was right, then he wouldn’t have to sacrifice himself to kill the horcrux inside him.

Right?

“Okay,” Harry nodded. “Let’s destroy this thing first, and then we can get out of here and tell the others.”

Draco nodded. “Okay,”

Harry unwrapped the tip of the basilisk fang and held it out to Draco. The blonde looked at him pointedly, pointing to his covered eye and instead held either side of the cup in between them.

Harry rolled his eyes but nodded. “Ready? It’s going to get a little—”

“Just do it Potter,” Draco snarled, wanting to leave as soon as possible. They were running out of time.

Harry nodded, raising the fang up in the air, and slamming it back down onto the cup. Draco held on to the cup, it juddered and jerked in his hands, the metal almost burning against his skin. The fang pierced in the middle, black sludge and sickness bubbling out. The magic felt dark, swirling around them, screaming in absolute agony as it was forced out of the cup and up into the air, screaming as it was destroyed.

The distillation of magic made the pools of water around them rise up, swaying to and from as it tried to still itself in the mass of magic. Draco felt like he was on a sinking ship in the middle of a storm, soaked to the skin, and being pushed around by the swell of water. But he didn’t let go, neither did Harry.

It felt like ages, but it was only moments before the soul completely dissipated, and the magic died down.

Harry reached for Draco then, shoving the cup to one side and pulling the man close to him. His feather light touch set Draco on fire. Hunger, carnal, hot and urgent raced through him. Harry lifted his head and caught his open mouth in a kiss so impossibly slow, Draco thought he would unravel in his arms. His lips were so soft and persuasive, and Harry made sure Draco had his full attention before his hands began to wander.

His thick and solid hands drifted down the length of his neck, hot fingertips flitting across his collarbone and trailing down. His hands gripped Draco’s ribcage, fingers slipping along the skin down to his waist, hips and thighs. A trail of goose bumps erupted in his wake, burning almost painfully wherever he touched.

They broke apart, slowly, softly, wanting more, but knowing that they didn’t have the time. Not now.

Later. They would do this later.

For now, they had a job to do.

Chapter Text

From the very bowels of the castle, to the very top of its towers, Harry found himself standing in a small courtyard leading up to the spiral staircase that made the Ravenclaw Towers, forcing himself from apparating straight to Lucius Malfoy, wards be damned, and crucioing him a hundred times over.

They had quickly made their way out of the Chambers and dashed along the, now thankfully empty, corridors until they were at the entrance doors leading to the main corridors.

The Great Hall was empty, the tables still pushed to the corners, the long benches stacked up alongside them. Harry ushered Draco with him to the back rooms, his wand in his hand just in case.

They quickly made their way to the backroom, the same room where Harry had been told he was the fourth Triwizard Tournament Champion. God, he hated that room. He still remembered how Dumbledore looked at him, how he hadn’t been able to get Harry out of what was one of the most dangerous and terrifying years of his life.

And to think, Dumbledore knew all about this…

He shook his head, there was no use of thinking ill about a dead man. He had done so much good in his life; Harry was just feeling a little overwhelmed right now. He needed to speak to Hermione about the whole ‘maybe-Horcrux’ thing Draco had hypothesised. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe the man, he just needed to speak to someone who had been there with him from the beginning, someone who knew thing about Voldemort as well as about him.

Draco knew Voldemort, but Draco was still learning about him, more so in a better light.

And Harry wanted to speculate just how Draco was getting injured because of a hissing voice in his head. Who was casting? How were they casting? It was Parselmouth! Who else but him and Voldemort could speak it?

They opened the door to the smaller room at the back and saw Snape sitting in the middle of the room, magically tied to a wooden chair. Hermione was pouring through a book and talking to him, while Ron held a wand to his chest. Snape looked nonchalant, as if this was something they did normally, as if he were teaching a class to Hermione.

“Neville and the teachers have gone to all the exits around the school,” Hermione stated as they walked in, her head still buried in the book she was reading. “They’re casting a protection spell over the castle. Did you know the gargoyles are actually—”

“Hermione.” Harry interrupted.

“Not important, I know.” She cleared her throat, finally looking up to them. Her gaze went straight to Draco. “What happened to you?”

“You know, the usual,” Draco muttered, hand unconsciously raising to his eyepatch. “A mind reading snake wants to kill me, while my boyfriend stabbed a cup with a tooth,”

Harry almost got whiplash with how quick he looked to Draco.

Boyfriend.

Draco’s eyes widened, as if he had just realised what he had said. But the smile on Harry's face was like pure sunshine. He rolled his eyes, pursing his lips, his cheeks burning a bright red with embarrassment.

“What the hell do you think you're looking at, Potter?”

Harry shook his head, still smiling brightly. “Just looking at my boyfriend, Malfoy,”

Draco pouted cutely. “Fuck off,”

“Harry you’ll never believe what we found,” Hermione started, breaking them from their moment. He knew she was going into her lecturing mode. Usually, he would love listening to her, but right now. Well, they didn’t have time for her long explanations.

“No offense, ‘Mione, but can you get to the point?” he asked instead, pleadingly.

He had already guessed that it had taken them time to rennervate and tie up Snape. But unless he had anything important to tell them, they really didn’t have all that much time left. The clock was ticking, and they still had three – or technically two – horcruxes left. And he really needed to speak about their plan.

Hermione made a face at him but nodded.

“The Grey Lady is Helena Ravenclaw,” She stated. “Rowena Ravenclaw’s daughter,”

“She had stolen the diadem from her mother,” Ron added, and Harry knew Hermione wanted to go deeper into the story, but they also knew they were pressed for time, “she should know where it is,”

Harry nodded. “Okay, we'll go to Ravenclaw Tower, but before that, Hermione," -- she looked up from her book, -- "How destroyed must something be for a horcrux no longer work?"

Hermione's grin widened. "That's what I've been looking at," she stated, raising her book to show them the front of the book. There was no title, and obscured and ancient looking. Definitely from the Restricted Section. "There's not much to go on, but I've been looking ever since we found out you're a Horcrux. Harry, you were bitten by a basilisk fang in second year,"

"That's what Draco was thinking as well," Harry added, seeing Hermione's surprised look. "If the basilisk bit me, then wouldn't the horcrux have been destroyed too?"

"There's not much stated on something like this, but we can speculate." She replied sadly, her grip tightening on the edges of her book. She hated not being able to get all the information. It could only cause problems. "No one has ever used a living thing as a horcrux, not before Voldemort," 

"Nagini is too sentient," Draco surmised. "I don't think she's just a normal snake,"

The gasps in the room were audible over the heady din of the battle being prepared outside.

Draco let out a breath. "I think she may be an animagus," he had speculated this ever since he had first heard the faint whispers in his mind. There was something about that snake. Not that he'd ever seen her turn into a human, but he had also read about how perplexing it was to the mind when you spent too long in your animagus form. Some people forgot they were humans.

He was sure Nagini had no idea who she was anymore. 

"That's sick!" Ron bellowed, "keeping a human in their animagus form!"

"Okay, but that doesn't answer the question," Harry let out a breath. "Do you think you can-"

"There are restricted books in Dumbledores office," Hermione said quickly, packing up her book and standing up. "I can look for more information there,"

"I'd ask Slughorn too," Draco added. 

Harry nodded, "Okay, great. We will go to get the horcrux, and you and Ron go to Dumbledore's office."

Turning around and starting to make his way back out the room, he was stopped by a familiar drawl. “Mr. Potter,”

He really didn’t have time for this. Harry turned to the man tied to the chair and sucked in a fortifying breath. “What?”

Snape was leaning back, arms tied behind him, hair slick over his forehead. He looked the same as he always did, and it irked Harry to no end. How could someone who worked for them double cross them so easily? Harry knew he was a double agent, working for both sides. But he had clearly picked his side now.

Snape’s stoic stare at the two made Harry sneer. “You do know the protection barrier the professors are creating won’t keep the Dark Lord out forever,”

Harry narrowed his gaze. “Yeah, but it’ll delay him, and that’s all we need.”

He gave the professor one last look, and turned back, taking Draco’s hand and walking out of the room.

“You’re stupid if you think you’ll survive this,” Harry paused again, turning back, ready to yell at him, but he saw Snape was looking at Draco. “He will kill you, and Potter along with you,”

Draco snarled, looking ready to deck him. But Harry pulled him back, telling him there was no point.

“I would rather die with him,” Draco spat out, “than rot with the likes of you,”

And with that, Draco dragged Harry out of the backrooms, the Saviour following along behind him, grinning in awe.

The spiral staircase leading up to the courtyard was a lot prettier than he had anticipated, even with the dust and debris that had taken over with the lack of house elves over the last year. The archways were bright, the thin pillars and the silvery light coming from the magical protection barrier around the castle making everything glow in a beautiful light.

At the corner of the courtyard was a ghostly figure, floating a few feet from the ground. She was pale from her skin to her very long Arthurian dress. Harry motioned for Draco to stay close behind him and together they stepped closer to the woman.

“Helena?” Harry called out. “Helena Ravenclaw,”

Helena turned slowly to see them, her lips in a frown. “Are you a friend of Luna’s?”

“Y-yes,” Harry replied. “And she thought you’d be able to help us,”

Helena paused, floating a little bit closer to the two, her eyes calculating, until they widened with resolution.

“You seek my mothers’ diadem,” the two nodded to her, needing her to quicken her pace. Even with the barriers, time really was ticking away before whatever Voldemort had planned. “Luna is kind, unlike so many of the others. But she was wrong. I cannot help you,”

She gracefully swooshed down upon the two, going through them and leaving them both shuddering at the cold feeling.

“Wait! Miss Helena!” Draco called out, rushing over to her as she flew out of the courtyard. He leaned out against the arching pillars, reaching out to stop her. “Look, I know what the Bloody Baron did to you was awful. He betrayed your trust. I understand how that feels.”

Helena glowered, turning a brighter luminescent white with her anger. “What do you know of betrayal, boy?”

“I know, because I have been betrayed by those I trusted, those I loved.” Draco placed a faint hand on his cheek, carefully tracing the scarring word. “My aunt tortured me. She was my aunt and she poisoned me. My father knew of this, but he did nothing to stop her.”

Harry sucked in a breath. “Draco.”

Draco shook Harry’s hold from him, they’d deal with this later. Much later. They didn’t have the time or the luxury to take a moment and cry. “We want to destroy it, Miss Helena, please.”

Helena contemplated them for a few moments, floating in the middle of the space between the two school buildings, too far away from them to reach her. She then sucked in a breath and made her way back to the two. And Draco knew he had gotten through to her.

“We’ll talk about this later,” Harry murmured to him, squeezing his hand.

Draco nodded. They’d talk about this and a lot more things later, provided he survived that long. Snape’s words still echoed in his ear.

He will kill you, and Potter along with you.

Chapter Text

Fire.

It was everywhere.

Draco scrabbled onto the mountains and mountains of furniture and various lost things that took over the cavernous warehouse that made the Room of Hidden Things. The very precarious handholds and footholds being lost as soon as he moved on ahead.

He had to get higher.

He had to get to the top.

And then he’ll figure out how the fuck to get out of this mess.

The floor, or what once was a floor, was a river of fire, scorching and lapping up in tumultuous waves, crashing and burning, everything they touched.

Fuck!

He couldn’t believe he had gotten into this mess.

Split up, they said. It’ll be easier to find the diadem in the mass of these skyscrapers. Point Me didn’t help on finding the item, it just skewed the spell, and no accio’s worked either. They were stuck doing it the hard way. How he was supposed to find something so small and delicate among the broken table legs and chair spires, rolled carpets and broken mirrors, he wasn’t sure. He paused when he reached a familiar corner, the Vanishing Cabinet standing in all its brilliant glory.

It was all this stupid things’ fault.

Narrowing his eyes, he quickly cast a quiet confringo on the cabinet, watching with abject glee as it burst open, the insides caked with the blast and the doors swinging open crookedly, and shutting with a loud thud and click. He felt a shudder of satisfaction flow through him seeing the broken cabinet. He could probably cast a few more spells to make sure it’d never be fixed, but he didn’t have a chance to do that.

But he hadn’t expected two familiar bodies pulling him out from the corner he was in. Looking up, he saw Crabbe and Goyle, his friends, looking at him, eyes wide as they took in the sallow, sunken, and marked person he was now.

“Draco, are you okay?”

“Did the Dark Lord do that to you?”

Shit. How was he supposed to get out of this now? Draco shook his head, he took their arms and dragged them further down the corridor he had come from, knowing the exit was that way.

“Crabbe, Goyle, you need to get out of here, now.” But the two shrugged his hand away and looked back at him. “Get to the Dungeons and stay safe from all of this,”

“But Draco! We saw Potter come in here!” Goyle replied, reaching for his wand. “You heard the Dark Lord, we gotta hand him over.”

Draco sucked in a breath. He really didn’t want to fight his friends. Not like this. How they hadn’t seen him with Harry, he didn’t know. But Harry had been behind him as he and Hermione scrutinised where the diadem could be in this mess of a room. “I know…I…I came in here with him,”

“You can’t be serious,”

“No, Goyle, if…if the Dark Lord did that to him,” Crabbe started, reaching out to Draco’s blind eye, just letting his hand hover. “You…mate…let us help, what do you need us to do?”

Draco’s heart squeezed. His friends were still his friends after all. He had known them both since they were little kids, playing together at the Manor. He felt horrible that he had thought, had expected, them to rat him out to Voldemort, that they wouldn’t listen to him and incarcerate him, take Harry to the evil man and that would be it. To think they were taking his side after all of this.

“Okay. We’re looking for a diadem,” Draco stated, holding his hands up in a small circle. “It’s like a tiara, about this big, maybe, and it has sapphires and the like on it.”

Crabbe and Goyle nodded and got to work, their larger and more stronger bodies finding it easy to shove furniture here and there, careful yet quick. Salazar, he did love his friends, no matter how thick they were.

Leaving them to their devices, he thought it best to get to the others and tell them what was happening. He made his way through the meandering maze like path back to where he knew he had left the others. Casting a ‘Point Me’, he followed his wand as it directed him to Harry – not that the warm feeling in his chest getting warmer and warmer the closer he got, wasn’t help enough.

Crabbe and Goyle were close behind, being a lot quicker than Draco had expected them to be. He found Harry rifling through a few things here and there, Hermione on her hands and knees behind him, looking underneath a table, he spotted something shiny, but as Hermione fished it out, he saw it was a pretty necklace, not a diadem.

“What are you doing here?” Harry’s sudden cry called him back to the man.

Harry was holding his wand out, ready to cast if need be. He held his arms up in a placating manner. “They want to help,”

Harry gave them both a once over, but nodded, lowering his wand. “Alright, Crabbe, Goyle, you go that way, take those two paths,” he pointed to his left where the path forked into two, and then he pointed to his right, where the path forked into three separate paths, “we’ve checked here, Ron’s that way, so we’re going to take this path.”

“I’ll take that path,” Draco stated, pointing to the path just a little way away.

“You…sure?” Harry asked, Draco sneered at him. Just because he was blind in one eye and his magic was still a little exhausted didn’t mean he couldn’t do something as simple as hunt for a tiara. “Okay. Cast red sparks if you’re in danger, green if you found it.”

Draco nodded, determination brightening his eyes as he followed his friends to the left before they split up. He trusted Harry’s judgement. He knew they would find the diadem much quicker if they all split like this.

Shoving things back and forth, using charms for the larger things, he almost wanted to give up. How long had they been here? Had the barriers stood the test of Voldemort’s wrath on them? Was there even a Hogwarts left to go back to through those large double doors? This room really did bad things to him, he noted. Especially when he was alone. Maybe he shouldn’t have veered away from the others. But his thoughts were interrupted by the sonorous sound of Harry yelling ‘aha! Found it!’ in the distance. Finally, he knew they could leave.

He hadn’t expected Ron Weasley running like a bat out of hell on the other side of the hall, yelling about how “Goyles’ gone and bloody set the place on fire!”.

Draco’s eyes widened as he saw the giant ball of fire waltzing its way along the path he had walked on, eating up the furniture and other lost items that took over the towering path around him. It was getting closer, and closer, and he was stuck there, frozen as he watched the magical fire lift up into the air, the face like a lion roaring into the sky, before pouncing down mere feet away from him.

The sudden closeness made him vault, he raised his wand and cast an aguamenti, but it paled as the fire lion shoved itself onto the spell, steam billowing out from its mouth as it forced itself passed.

Fiendfyre.

All it did was burn, eating everything in its path with no remorse.

“Fucking hell Goyle!” He cried as he scrambled onto the towering mountains, shoving his hands into spaces to grip onto, the very handholds breaking and falling onto the ground as he did so. He barely got a few feet off the ground before the aguamenti shield he had created had collapsed, and the floor was flooded with fire, like a river, it pooled and pooled and grew and grew, eating up everything it came across.

"I thought it would make things go faster!" Goyle's voice bellowed from another mountain to his right.

A few feet away he saw Goyle climbing to the top of the tower, reaching for a broomstick that was sticking out from the mess of the mountain. On the other side he saw Crabbe, scrabbling against a chair wedged into the wall of furniture and things, the chair teetered ominously against his weight, before coming away completely.

No! No! Draco's wand was too far, jammed in his back pocket like fucking lint. He couldn’t reach for it quick enough. Without thinking, Draco held his hand out and wordlessly cast a levitating spell, forcing as much of his magic into it. Goyle fell back against it, arms flailing as he screamed into the air. He landed hard on a hovering table, his body shuddering and arching up against the onslaught, before Draco lifted the table up a little higher and higher.

His magic was wavering, he could feel it, he was going to lose it, he was going to lose Crabbe. He was going to lose one of his best friends because he wasn’t strong enough, because he was so weak and pathetic.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! He tried, tears clinging to his lashes as he focused. But…it wasn’t enough, he had been through too much, his magic still wasn’t strong enough. The table wavered under Vincent, before it shuddered and fell into the fire.

“No!” He screamed as Vincent fell with it, his arms flailing, the screams stuck in Draco’s mind, the sight of his fear filled face seared into his eyes. He watched, as if in slow motion, Vincent fall, knowing he had failed, yet again.

A familiar, large body shot out next to him, zooming over the fire, both hands held out, the broomstick tucked between his legs as his body leaned forward. He was so quick, as he reached for Vincent’s falling body, grabbing it and holding him close.

Gregory.

But the sudden weight, and the fact that Gregory was not a good flier, came to play, and he almost plummeted along with Vincent into the burning fire. Draco’s heart plummeted with them.

Had it not been for Ron Weasley – to think, a Weasley helping the likes of a Slytherin – charging in and grabbing them both, Draco would have surely fallen in his shock. Ron hoisted Vincent on the back of his broom, and shoved Gregory properly on his and motioning them both to the open doors where Hermione was waiting for them, screaming their names.

Fuck, shit, that had been close.

He watched with a brilliant smile as his two best friends pulled up into the air and dove for the door.

Thank fuck they were safe.

“Draco!”

He looked up to his name and noticed the fire was circling around him, licking and melting the bottom of his shoes. He scrabbled up against the jutting and falling things, he needed to get higher. He needed to get out of here.

He felt Harry before he felt Harry’s arm around his waist, dragging him up and onto his broom. He grasped at Harry’s back, feeling the familiar warmth, taking in his scent as they barrelled through the doors, their wands clattering as they both tumbled off them, landing with the heavy oof onto the ground. Hermione shut the door firmly behind them, the heat of the fiendfyre trying its best to get through the door. But the door quickly vanished, as did the room itself.

Fuck fire, fuck everything about it.

Harry’s arms wrapped around him, pulling him into his embrace, he pressed kisses all over Draco’s face, muttering about just how stupid he was, how brave he was, how much of an utter prat he was and if he ever thought about doing something as reckless as that, then they were going to have words.

“You utter, fucking prat!” He cried, pressing a kiss to Draco’s dry lips, wetting them and warming him a lot better than the fiendfyre every could. “I can’t believe I love someone as fucking stupid as you!”

Love.

Draco let out a breath, letting Harry kiss him again and again and again. He no longer cared what happened, as long as he got to have Harry like this for the rest of his life.

“Did we do it?”

Draco paid little attention but was glad to hear that the fiendfyre had been helpful in destroying the diadem, but they had lost the basilisk fang with it.

Oh well, they only had one more horcrux left to destroy. They’d figure out how to kill the snake.

He just needed this moment right now, he kissed Harry back, taking in his lovely scent and the feel of his hands all over his cheeks, his neck, his shoulders, his back. They broke apart and Harry hugged him close.

“--what Draco said is true, and Harry is no longer a Horcrux,” Hermione’s voice was surprisingly calming as she leaned on her hands and knees, gasping for breath as she spoke. But the words caused him pause. “Then how does that explain how Harry could read Voldemort’s mind all this time?”

Harry’s arms tightened around him. “I don’t know, we…we need to speak to Snape.”

Chapter Text

“The mind is not a book, Mr. Potter.” Snape’s droll was getting on Harry’s nerve. He just stood there, lecturing away as if this was nothing more than one of his potions classes. Like this was him doing private Occlumency lessons and fucking with Harry's mind. He despised this man with no abandon. “It is not something that can be opened and will and examined at leisure,”

Snape stood behind the chair he had been tied on, hands behind him, looking regal and as poncy as usual. Having told them that he wouldn’t tell them anything until they let him go, they had reluctantly done so, knowing that he was probably only staying put to show them that he was to be trusted.

Harry had no qualms to believe this man would have been able to get out of the binds they had put him in. He was sneaky like that.

“Thoughts are not etched in your skull to be perused by an invader,” He walked the line behind the chair, as if he were standing in his normal place at the front of his classrooms, teaching them and looking at each and every one of them before him. “It is a complex and layered thing. Or at least, most minds are.” His gaze narrowed at Harry, pausing for a moment before continuing. “It is true, however, that those who have mastered Legilimency are able to, under certain conditions, to delve into the minds of their victims and to interpret their findings correctly.”

“It’s all well and well with the lecture, godfather,” Draco interrupted, getting up from leaning on the edge of the table in the corner of the back room of the Great Hall. “But that does not answer our question,”

Snape let out a breath, leaning heavily onto the back of the chair before him. “There is a key difference between my abilities of occlumency and Voldemort’s aptitude for the skill.”

At the confused silence, he continued.

“If you are correct,” Snape said. “And Mr. Potter is no longer a horcrux, then we must be under the illusion that Voldemort’s Legilimency abilities are far more skilled than we had originally imagined. I have only heard of one other who had the aptitude to be able to read the minds of everyone around her without her casting the proper spells.”

Hermione leaned forward. "You don't mean the Goldstein sisters, do you?"

“Wait, wait, wait,” Harry ran a hand over his face, knocking his glasses up against his fingers and back onto his nose. “You’re telling me that Voldemort can read everyone’s mind?”

“Nah, he’s not that free,” Ron quipped, trying to diffuse the tension. “He’s only after you, innit,”

Hermione rolled her eyes, reaching for his hand. “You're not helping,”

Harry was about to say something, but he paused, glancing down to his two best friends joined hands, and up to their faces, seeing the blushes and the soft smiles. “When did this happen?”

“Not important.” Snape retorted with a groan, “We have bigger things to worry about.”

Draco nodded. “If we continue under the illusion that Harry is not a horcrux—then that means we only have the snake left. But I warn you, Nagini is not that easy to—Harry!”

Draco turned to see Harry drop to the ground. His body shuddering, his breath coming out in heavy and hard puffs. Harry leaned back against the wall, his eyes glazed over, dull and pale, rather than its usual pretty green Draco was used to seeing. He hissed a little, under his breath, and Draco really wished he could help, that he could do anything. He knelt in front of Harry, his friends already at his sides, and held onto his hands, running his thumbs in soothing circles on the back.

“Avada Kadavra!”

His breathing was so ragged, almost gasping.

“I see you,” Harry’s voice was raspy as he spoke, snake like and so familiar. Draco knew exactly who was speaking. He saw it in the way Harry was looking at him, with those dark, dark, eyes. Such hatred, such utter remorse. It wasn’t Harry right now, it was Voldemort.

“I need to keep you safe, Nagini.”

“Fuck you!” Draco yelled, leaning directly into Harry’s face. He grabbed hold of Harry's body and shook him, hoping it would force the evil wizard out of his boyfriend. “You will never touch Harry. Do you hear me? You vile, loathsome snake!”

“Drakey-poo! You faggot traitor!”

Draco stilled. The laugh that came out of Harry’s throat rattled through him. He had heard it so many times, in the cavernous hallways, in the bellowing grand rooms. Bellatrix. Her throaty cackle, evil and bright and loud and pounding, pounding, pounding in his ear.

“Your mother is here…I will find her, and I will eat her.”

The hissing, the slithering. No! No, no, no, no! This isn’t happening, this cannot be happening. You can’t have her! You can’t touch him! Leave us alone! Leave me alone!

“Draco! Draco! Come back to me!”

Arms encircled him, a familiar scent of treacle and grass and home filled his senses. Harry. Harry! Was he okay? Was he back? Was Voldemort still... He clutched onto Harry, burying his face into Harry’s chest, fingers clenching against his hoodie. Come back, please...don't leave me. he can't have you, Harry,

“Baby, you’re really hot right now,” Harry’s voice was husky, but not in the same rasping way it was when Voldemort spoke through him. How had Voldemort spoken through him? “You’re kind of burning me, a little,”

Huh? Opening his eyes – when had he closed them? – his saw his skin was shining a brilliant gold, pale and bright and so warm even for him. But this time, it wasn’t hurting him, not like it had before in the safe house kitchen. It had felt hot, and burning lightning pricking and scorching his skin. But now, now it was pleasant. It felt good. But, he was burning Harry.

He pulled away, but Harry grabbed onto him again, holding him close. “No. D-don’t leave. Just-god, you scared me,”

Ron didn’t reach out to him, not touching him, but just enough to hover and show his worry and support. Only touching him when the gold light dimmed, as if it was absorbed into his skin. “Yeah, what happened mate?”

“What?”

“Draco, you suddenly yelled Harry’s name and then dropped to the ground,” Hermione said, placing a hand on his back, “you were holding onto your head and screaming to leave you alone,”

Draco shook his head. “N-no, Harry…” he looked up into those green eyes, “you, you fell, you…it was you!”

“Baby. What did you see?” Harry grabbed his shoulders tightly, looking straight into his eyes. “It was Voldemort, wasn’t it? What did you see?”

Voldemort…he was…he was seeing what Voldemort was…what? “Uh…he…I heard…the killing curse, and—and the snake, he’s…keeping her safe? And my aunt calling me a traitor and my mother—it’s going to eat her Harry! I need to find her! – and-and Harry! You were Voldemort and you told me he sees me!”

Harry hugged his shivering body tight to his chest, wrapping his arms around Draco, almost suffocating him in the best way. Draco was still scared, fright filling his bright eyes. “He won’t get near you,”

Draco nodded, letting himself be coddled by his boyfriend. He felt so cold, but Harry was making him feel so much warmer. How had this happened? How had Voldemort penetrated his mind? He had spent years on keeping it locked up tight. So how? Was it because he was low on magical energy?

“This…is going to be problematic,” Snape’s voice was low, but loud enough for them all to hear. “But I think I have a way to help,”

Chapter Text

“You have fought valiantly, but in vain,”  

They felt the walls shake as they stoppered the vial holding a single silvery tear from Snape. A memory. They had intended to rush straight up to Dumbledore’s Office as soon as they could. It was the only safe place with a working penseive.  

“I do not wish this, every drop of magical blood spilled is a terrible waste.”  

The slick sound of Voldemort's voice permeated their thoughts, similar to the way he had done before, outing him to everyone, and hurting Draco in the process. Harry was ready this time, standing in front of Draco, making sure he was okay as he tried to listen to the sickly reverb of the evil mans' voice. The very stones shuddered at the sound, small pieces of dust and debris clattering to the ground around them.  

“I therefore command my forces to retreat...”  

The two suddenly stilled.  

“He can’t be serious,” Draco whispered, looking out of the iron wrought windows and to the blackened skies.  

“In their absence, dispose of your dead with dignity.”  

The familiar slick-pop sound of apparation echoed around the hallways, as each and every Death Eater that had broken into Hogwarts, disappeared.  

“This is a trick,” Draco murmured, tightening his grip on Harry, feeling like the man too would apparate away.  

“Harry Potter, I know speak directly to you. On this night you have allowed your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself.”  

With the school no longer filled with the ensuing battle, it was deathly silent. He couldn’t hear much over the sound of his own heart beating madly in his chest, his breath coming out in quick gasps.  

“There is no greater dishonour. Join me in the Forbidden Forest and confront your fate.”  

This wasn’t good. This was not good. Harry wouldn’t fall for something like this would he? Then again, he was sodding goodness and a Gryffindor as well. Draco tugged his arm until Harry looked at him and gave him a look that clearly told him not to be a daft idiot.  

“If you do not do this...I shall kill every last man, woman and child who tries to conceal you from me.”  

“Draco-”  

“No, Harry.” Draco said resolutely. He understood exactly what Harry was thinking at that moment. Because he knew if the role was reversed, he’d be thinking the same thing. “We are going to go to the pensieve, like godfather Sev asked of us, and we’re going to figure this out without you going on a stupid death march.”  

He took Harry’s hand, and they made their way swiftly through the absolute destruction of the school. The hallways were empty, everyone having reconvened to recuperate in the Great Hall.   There were so little people left when they had first walked out of it, the little vial of Snape’s tears in hand, ready to figure out just what it was the man had wanted to show them, instead of telling them.

Walking through what was left of the once opulence the Great Hall, he saw the Patel twins sitting huddled with Professor Trelawny, injured beyond belief, but at least they were okay, Blaise Zabini speaking quietly to them.   Lavender sat with her friends a few feet away, a massive gash on her skin, most likely bite marks from a large animal, almost identical to the marks marring Pansy Parkinson’s arm as she ran her hands over Lavender’s arm, calming and comforting her. Colin Creevey was near them, hugging the very life out of his brother, sobbing and puttering and running his fingers through his hair, Theodore Nott weeping alongside them.  

So much pain. So many injuries. There were bodies littered all over the ground, covered by sheets and blankets, but none that Harry could recognise immediately. It still didn’t stop hurting though.  

People were dying because of him.  

“Harry,” Remus’s voice was a beacon in the dark swallowing lump of stone that sat in his chest. He looked over to see Remus ushering him over, spying Tonks and Sirius huddled on a bench close together behind them.  

As he got closer, Sirius stood up, drowning Harry in a tight hug. “You okay?”  

“Yeah,” Harry’s voice was muffled, but it was clear enough for the three to hear. “You?”  

“We’re all okay,” Tonk said, pressing a hand to her stomach, grimacing. She staggered to a stand, with the help of Remus, and stood before him. “Nothing we haven’t done before, eh?”  

Harry let out a small smile, awkward and small, but at least they were all here now.  

“Harry,” Draco tugged on his arm, and they made their way to the other side of the hall.  

They spotted the familiar group of redheads and one lone platinum blonde head in a gaggle at the far end of the hall and headed straight for them. Ron ushered the two over, and Molly enveloped them both into a bone crushing hug while Narcissa did the same for her son, before taking Harry in a hug as well. Harry did a mental count on the Weasley’s and saw that each and every one of them were alive, not well but alive. Injuries notwithstanding, they were here, looking worse for wear, but here.  

“Harry,” Professor McGonnagal’s voice sounded so low and lost as she appeared behind them.  

He knew what he had to do. He couldn’t have anyone else getting hurt because of him. He left Hermione and Ron with the Weasley’s, seeing how they were busy being hugged and checked over by each of them.

He swiftly turned around and took determined steps out of the Great Hall and into the hallway. He felt the warmth of Draco before he heard the man’s familiar footsteps. Draco’s hand clasping his own as they walked together to Dumbledore’s Office.  

There was no use in arguing with the man now. They were going to do this together after all.  

Harry closed the door behind them.  

Dumbledore’s Office was such a dark and desolate place without the enigmatic man occupying the space. He always seemed to brighten it up so exponentially, and now...it was just empty.  

Harry beelined for the cupboard with the penseive in it and waited for it to open. The pensive glided out, as if it was waiting for Harry.  

Harry reached into it, pulling out the plate of water, letting it hover so both he and Draco could look into its shiny surface.  

“You okay?” Draco asked, watching as he stood still for a moment, silent.  

“Yeah, it’s just...” he looked around the room, the dark, dark, darkly lit room.  

Draco nodded, looking around as well. “Yeah. I can’t believe it either. I... I came here before, when I stupidly came back for my last year, it was so different .. .I didn’t notice how much of an impact Dumbledore had. I came in here, so many times, saw my godfather standing right there – he never sat on Dumbledore’s chair – and...it felt wrong.” He sucked in a breath, his thoughts divulging to his stupid task last year. “ Everything feel’s wrong here.”  

Harry reached over the penseive, taking his hand. “We’re going to fix that, right?”  

Draco nodded. Harry uncorked the vial and slipped the tear into the penseive, watching it turn an inky black. He sucked in a heady breath, not knowing just what this would show, dreading it so much.  

What did Snape have to tell them?  

“Scared, Potter?”  

He looked up, seeing the beautiful man he called his own looking at him, seeing the stark red of the scars on his face, the white of the bandage over his eye, and he knew, with Draco at his side, he wasn’t scared of anything.  

“You wish,”  

And together, they plunged their heads into the penseive.  

Chapter Text

“When the time comes…the boy must die?”

Snape stood in the corner of Dumbledore’s office, his heart rate high, and his focus shaking. He looked up to Albus Dumbledore, the man he had sought to be one of the most powerful wizards in the world.

And he hated him.

“Yes, yes.” Dumbledore replied, turning away, as if the thought was too much to bear. “He must die.”

He did not care for the boy, not enough to warrant this much of a shock to his system. But to think, the one last thing Snape had of his precious Lily was…was…what, a fucking martyr? Like some sort of sacrificial lamb.

“—and Voldemort himself must do it. That is essential.”

The feeling of being yanked out of the memory made Draco suck in a deep breath, as if he had surfaced from the bowels of the sea itself. His heart was racing, his thoughts chasing, and his body was shivering as he focused on coming back to the real world. It felt like he had been having a very vivid dream.

His thoughts were racing. How…how could Dumbledore do something like this?

How could…he knew! Dumbledore knew all along! He had asked for Severus to kill him on Draco's behalf, not because he knew Draco wouldn't be able to do it, but...because he was already going to die! His hand, the poison! He wanted his own death to be…to be…what? Some kind of epiphany moment for Harry? To get the Saviour to get up off his arse and go out and actually…

...to…

“The fucking arsehole!” He cried, gripping the edge of the penseive bowl tight. “He kept you alive so you could die at the right time,” his growl was almost animalistic, he could see his skin glowing a familiar gold with his anger. “Like a pig for slaughter!”

He reigned in his anger when he saw Harry stumble back from the pedestal, tripping down the step and walking as far away from the penseive as possible. He stopped only because he hit the wall, before sliding down it.

Draco was quick to his side.

“Harry—"

“I…he…” Harry sucked in a shaky breath, a gasping, wet breath, his eyes glazed over, not even paying attention to what was around him. He tucked his knees to his chest and just tried to regulate his quickening breath. Spots were swimming in front of his eyes, he couldn't breathe. Fuck, fuck, fuck! “Why?”

Draco’s heart clenched in pain, he wrapped his arms around Harry, pulling the man close to his chest. The golden warmth of his skin soothing Harry, instead of causing heated pain.

“Harry.” He didn’t know what else he could say. He didn’t know what else he could do.

Harry really was a horcrux, it was official. And…and…they weren’t sure if the basilisk fang had actually killed that part inside him. He was still able to speak to snakes, and he could still delve into Voldemort’s mind. But...was that because of...of Harry himself? Or because he was still the horcrux? Draco wasn't sure, he wished there was some kind of horcrux detector, some kind of spell or potion that could give him all the answers.

If he still were a horcrux, then…then…

Harry would have to…to die…because of Voldemort.

Draco felt sick to his stomach. He tightened his grip around the smaller man. No, he wasn’t going to allow that. Never. He had just gotten Harry, and every single part of him was telling him to keep the man close, to never let him go. There had to be another way. Think Draco, think! What could he do? What could any of them do? There had to be something, anything!

The prophecy was a fucking joke. He needed...he...he needed to get together with Granger and anyone else who had half a brain to understand everything that was happening. They had to brainstorm. They had to really think about what they could do.

Either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives.

The prophecy said that Harry had to do it. That Harry would have to do the final blow to kill Voldemort. But that didn’t mean Draco wouldn’t be there with him. There was no way Harry was going into this alone.

“Harry.” Draco tried, pulling back and looking at the broken and banged up man he loved with his entire being. Harry looked up at him, his gorgeous green eyes practically swimming with unshed tears. “You are not doing this alone, you hear me? I am not going anywhere.”

“You—you saw.” Harry cried. “If I’m a fucking horcrux, then I have to die, Draco. I have to…you know what I have to do,”

Draco tucked his head under his chin again, shushing Harry calmly, running a hand through his messy hair. “That man was…there are many words I want to say, but I will not speak ill of the dead. But Harry, surely if Dumbledore knew all of this, there would have been a back up plan,”

“But he didn’t have one, did he?”

Draco narrowed his eyes. Harry had every right to be angry at the world right now, so he would let that little outburst go.

“He just…he…he told me…he didn’t tell me anything, Draco.” His shoulders shaking as he tried to hold back his sobs. “He just…he wanted me…I was thinking about it when we were in there…he did it all, didn’t he?”

“Orchestrated your entire life like some puppet,” Draco incensed. “He had told you everything you wanted to hear, gave you everything to keep you interested long enough to pursue his schemes. The most powerful wizard my left arse cheek. That man could have just as easily taken down the likes of Voldemort, if he had planned this properly. That prophecy is a lie.”

He tightened his grip on Harry, letting the man come back to him. He had to think this through, he had to take a moment, away from everything, and just...let what he had seen sink in. Draco wasn't going to let him die, he wasn't going to let him go. If Harry died...well...then...so did he.

The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…

…the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal…

…but he will have the powers the Dark Lord knows not…

…either must die at the hand of the other…

…neither can live while the other survives…

Think, Draco!

Okay. Let’s go through it slowly. Only Harry can kill Voldemort. That’s a stupid thing, but it makes some kind of sense. But that doesn’t mean that Harry has to kill him, right? If he weren’t such a bloody Gryffindor, all gung ho and noble, he’d not have to face such a formidable foe. Voldemort must have marked Harry as his equal when he had tried to kill him in fourth year. What an idiotic idea that had been. He was afraid of a fourteen year old thwarting him.

“The…the prophecy.” Draco cursed under his breath as he went through the prophecy he had seen in godfather Severus’s memories. It was so open ended. Why did they always have to be so obscure. “Harry, it could have been anyone! But…but Voldemort had chosen you. Why?”

Harry shrugged his shoulders.

“Because he was threatened by you.” He continued. “You, so filled with love and sunshine and fucking rainbows. A powerful evil wizard is threatened by my krup of a boyfriend.”

Harry shoved him derisively, rolling his eyes. “Shut up…”

Draco grinned, pressing a kiss to the scar on his forehead. “Okay, okay. Now, hear me out. If we go under the assumption that you are still a silly horcrux, then…well, then I’m sorry, Mr. Potter, but you are going to have to stay that way.”

“Draco-”

Draco gave him a look, which hushed him. “I will not have you marching into the Forbidden Forest with your head full of stupid thoughts about how noble and self-sacrificing you are being. I plan to live a long, and happy life with you, Potter, and your death is going to ruin that.”

Harry’s cheeks reddened. “L-long and happy life...huh?”

“Hush.” Draco wrinkled his nose cutely. “If you are not a horcrux, which is definitely more plausible, then we should know after we’ve dealt with Nagini, right?”

Harry nodded. “Right.”

“So,” Draco stood then, holding his hand out to Harry. “Let’s first kill the snake, and then we will defeat Voldemort, together.”

"Together."

Chapter Text

Getting rid of the threat that was Nagini had been a lot easier than anticipated.

Getting her far enough away from Voldemort to do the job was where the problems lay.

For one thing, Voldemort already knew their plans for going after the last living horcrux, sans Harry himself, and destroying them all throughout the year – or as Harry liked to call it, his gap year from hell – so Voldemort sought to keep his pet snake in his line of sight at all times. This proved to be difficult for even someone as wise as Hermione to sort through – though Hermione hadn’t really been one for Care of Magical Creatures, but he and Ron, and even Draco weren’t ones to talk – not with their track records.

So they had to go a completely different route.

Though Harry still stood by Ron’s idea to Hansel and Gretel the snake by placing mice and other dead animals in a nice, neat line, and have the snake follow it and into their clutches. Hermione had slapped him on the back of his head and told him that just because he saw it in a cartoon, didn’t mean that was how it actually worked.

So, they had instead sought to hold bait out to the main man himself. And what better bait that the literal boy who lived?

Harry had used the same means of calling Voldemort to him as the man had used to call the others to his attention. Leglimency wasn’t something Harry was good at, but bolstered by his boyfriend – fuck, he loved saying that – he had called out to the man, called him to an even ground, far away from either side.

To be honest, Harry should really listen to Draco and not go right into battle without a thought, because the roof was not the best place to do this. But he knew he only had a small window of opportunity to get the man away from his pet snake, and that was why he had carted Draco off with Hermione with the means to have them “figure a way out of their horcrux situation”.

Though Harry was damn sure there wasn’t anything any of them could do, not especially so late in the game, short of his imminent death. So yes, he had to “find a way to keep the man away from the snake for long enough”, or so that was what he had told Draco after all.

“I’ll go after Voldemort; the snake is the only thing that’s left.” He had told Draco, pressing their foreheads together, needing to be close to his beloved before his definite end. “Once the horcrux is gone, it’s just me and him.”

He knew what he was going into. He knew he wasn’t going to get out of this alive. Once they had killed the snake, it was just him and Voldemort. That was when he was going to strike. Strike by…not striking. He was going to let the man kill him, let him destroy the very horcrux inside him, and then…well, there would be just him. Just an old man with a stick. A man who would be in the centre of the entirety of Hogwarts, who would have to go through Harry’s family, his friends, his teachers, his schoolmates, his allies, his side.

The man would die. And then…

…then the world would finally be rid of the tyrant.

Harry was damn sure if he had told Draco the truth of his plan, the blonde wouldn’t leave his side. 'Die together' he had said. That wasn’t going to happen. Harry needed Draco to live. He wanted the man to have a happy, and healthy, life. He wanted the man to move on and find someone better than him, someone who would take care of him, who would love him, just as much as Harry loved him. It would take time, the memories would hurt him yes, but soon Harry would soon become a passing thought, and then…a distant memory of a man who had saved the world.

Selfishly, he wanted to stay in his beloveds’ warm embrace, wanted to look into those solid grey eyes, even with the scars and marks, he was so beautiful. But he knew the man would be safer away. So, he had taken one last kiss, taken one long look at his beloved and set him off to do his side of the deal.

He could still feel the press of his lips against his own. He hoped he remembered the warmth there when he took his final breath.

He hated that he had to lie to Draco to get here. But there had been no other way. They needed to get to the snake, and the only way to do that was to lure Voldemort away from her. He could deal with being the bait for this one.

That was why he was here now, standing on the edge of the parapet of the castle, holding onto the tile with his very life as he stared down to the snakelike man looking up at him. He spied the Elder Wand held loftily in those skeletal hands, his grip was loose, but in no way did Harry think that Voldemort was going to drop it.

“So, it’s come to this,” he called out, holding his own wand up at the man, ready to cast at any given moment.

How he wished he had equal footing right now. His balance was way off. One foot shoved into the literal mortar of the room and the other precariously balanced on the point of a jutting window. He felt like he was standing on a crows’ nest of a ship, looking out into the dangers of the seas.

In his defence, when he had sought to jump out of the window and vault up onto the roof of it had seemed like a good idea. It had gotten him away from the hex being thrown his way, so it had done its job.

But, well…

The cool breeze felt like a harsh wind this high up in the air. His grip tightened on the tile, and he prayed the ceramic didn’t crumble under his weight.

If he was going to die, it wouldn’t be because he fell. He wanted Voldemort to work for it. He scanned the area to see a flat space a few feet behind him, what was left of the stone wall that had made the tower he was standing on. If he could just reach there, then at least he’d have more balance to fight back.

Spying the man, Harry grimaced. Voldemort looked a lot worse than the last time Harry had seen him. His features were definitely not the same as the last time Harry had seen him. They still held the snake like features, but those sick eyes were trained on him. Harry was glad to see that he looked exhausted. It was proof that the year he had spent running, hunting and destroyed horcruxes’ actually had some kind of payoff. The physical impact of each soul being sucked out and shattered showed on the man.

Only two more to go and that would be it for the man.

Of course the last two had to be the hardest of the bunch.

Save the best for last, after all.

“You stupid boy, I will take such pleasure from killing you,” Voldemort hissed breathlessly, holding his wand aloft. He had chased Harry to the rafters, ducking and dodging against spells and curses that had been thrown at him. As much as Harry had.

But the man was still old, and that was definitely working against him now. His gestures were no longer as extravagant, and his spell work was a little sloppier than it had been when they had first fought. There was nothing grandiose about the man anymore – if anyone could even call him a man.

Voldemort casted, and surprisingly missed Harry by a margin. Taking his chance, Harry vaulted from the roof edge and down onto the flat space on the wall. The stone was thick and still standing, even though the rest of the wall had crumbled to the ground.

Throwing a hex back at the man, he grimaced as it missed, bouncing against the shield charm Voldemort had wordlessly called up. The curse he rebutted with veered off Harry’s shield and hit his shoulder, the hex biting into his skin. It slammed against the wall behind them, cracking the stone clean through.

Dust fogged the air, and Harry instinctively replied with a curse of his own. He saw it hit the mark and dispel down Voldemort’s leg, causing the man to stumble back.

Harry stumbled to the ground, coughing against the dust. Get up, get up, get up!

Pushing his hands against the stone, he noticed his skin was turning a familiar gold, faint and barely there against the white stone dusting his skin, but he noticed it.

And he knew Draco had found out.

Well fuck.

He needed time to think.

But what? What could be possibly do that would irritate the man to not notice their plan? A spell, sectumsempra, though one of the worst memories he had, it had worked, hadn’t it? His gaze rushed to the wand in his hand, and his thoughts churned. Wait. The elder wand, the one Voldemort held in his slimy hands…there had to be something with the wand. It clicked then.

Voldemort was a fucking sociopath after all.

“You were right!” He called out, hacking away the sandy debris in his mouth. “When you told Professor Snape the wand was failing you.”

Voldemort shook off the remnants of the hex on his leg and stood tall, his eyes wide. “What do you mean boy?”

Harry grinned through the grimace of pain against his shoulder. “It will always fail you,”

“I killed Snape,” Voldemort bellowed, holding the wand in the air, as if it were indeed the prize he had won. “The wand is mine.”

“Yeah? But what if the wand never was Snape’s to begin with?” Harry replied, standing tall, having the high ground. “What if its allegiance was always to someone else?”

Voldemort’s gaze narrowed. “What do you mean boy?”

“Come on Tom, think about it,” He grinned, waiting for the time where he knew Voldemort had figured it out. He had sent Draco to kill Dumbledore after all. It only made sense that if Snape hadn’t been the owner, that meant someone else had disarmed the headmaster. The only one left was Draco.

And Harry would rather die than let anything happen to his beloved.

“Let’s finish this the way we started,” he pushed forward, grabbing onto Voldemort and grinning maniacally. This was where they were both going to go down, he would die from this fall, the horcrux would finally be done for. The others would kill the snake and all that was left was him.

“Together.”

And with that, he pulled them both off the edge.

~~

“That fucking arsehole!” Draco cried, picking up a book and throwing it to the wall. It slammed against the stone heavily before falling to the ground, pages fluttering uselessly.

“Draco!” Hermione’s yell was quietened by the fury running through the blonde.

He stood up, his magic pulsating around him, flaring this way and that. “How dare he? How dare he fucking do this to me? After everything we’ve been through? After everything we said!”

Ron held Hermione away from the arc of magic ricocheting in the air around them. “What the fuck are you on about?”

“Harry is out there!” He cried out, holding his hands aloft in his rage, his skin burning a brilliant gold, radiating absolute heat in the air in Dumbledore's office. Why he had listened to his beloved, he would never know. But he knew the Golden Trio were in on this together. “And he’s got you two to…what, distract me from him killing himself?”

“No! That’s not it!” Hermione cried out vehemently, placing the book she had in her hand down. They didn't have time for this. They had to find a weapon, a spell, something, that could destroy the horcrux inside the snake. They hadn't ever destroyed one inside a living being. She knew killing it would be the best way to go, but they had to find it, trap it, and then kill it. But, if they did that...then they would have to...Harry would have to die as well. And Hermione was not about to let that happen. “There is something here! There is! We can find it! He gave us this job because he trusts us to find a solution!”

“I’m blind, you stupid woman!” Draco growled. “The only thing he did was lock us away, for safety, while he goes gallivanting out there by himself with his stupid saviour complex,”

Ron stood then, grasping his wand in his hand. “I’m going to fucking kill him.”

“What about reincarnation,” Luna’s voice was like a soft breeze against the turmoil in the small circular area in Dumbledore’s office. The others turned to see her, peering into a book much larger than she was. Her eyes peering up over the tomb.

“What about reincarnation?” Hermione asked, her mind turning with the idea of it.

Draco’s eyes widened. “Yes, yes! You beautiful Ravenclaw, that’s perfect!”

Ron sat back down, stowing his wand away. “Someone want to clue me in?”

“Reincarnation,” Draco repeated. “You know, metempsychosis, the whole idea of one’s soul going into another when they die?”

“Transmigration! That’s it!” Hermione stood up, her hands reaching for the nearest book. “But Draco, tampering with the source of life, it’s extremely dangerous,”

“I don’t fucking care!” He cried. “He’d do it for us in a heartbeat, and you know this. Please, Hermione please, I can’t lose him.” He let out a shaky breath, holding a hand to the corner of his scarred eye. “I’d do it myself, but I can't...I can't even read the damn books…I need your help,”

Ron scratched the back of his head. “I’m still lost, I thought we were looking for a way to kill the snake?”

“We are,” Hermione stated, holding her wand up and pointing it to the empty book before her, thinking about a book that held the answers she needed.

Dumbledore had been holding out on her. She had found the blank book she held in her hand, in his personal library. It had been calling out to her when she had entered here with the others. But when she had held it in her hands, it had been blank, empty pages upon empty pages. Until she had wished to find a certain book. It had heated in her hands and upon opening it again, she had seen that it had been the book she had wanted.

“And we're going to save Harry while we do it. Here.” She stated, holding the book out for the others to see. “But its dark magic, and it seems to require a lot of core magic to use it,”

“That’s why I’m doing it.” Draco gave her an imploring look. “Tell me everything, and do it fast, I don’t think we have much time left.”

Chapter Text

Snakes are slippery.

Draco should have thought this through a little better, but right now it was a little too late to consider using any form of spell that would allow him better purchase on this giant magnanimous behemoth of a snake that he was currently straddling the head of.

His wand was Salazar only knew where. He had heard it clatter on the ground a while ago, and it was probably stuck under the dust and debris.

“Keep it still!”

Hermione wasn’t helping either.

“I’m trying!” He cried, grabbing a tighter hold of the snakes’ head in the hopes to keep it upright long enough for his spell to take effect. Constant eye contact was important, and Hermione was the best at it right now. What with him being blind and Ron being…Ron.

But the snakes’ body had been thrashing all over the place, slamming into walls, slashing over and under them. Nagini’s tail had caught Draco’s leg by surprise, sweeping him off his feet and onto the back of the snakes coiled body itself. He had clamoured onto it for support when he felt the world around him tilt on its axis. The snake had raised her body, feeling his intrusion. He would have let go, had he not felt his legs dangle below him as the snake arched its body over a precarious fall.

Ron had bolstered him with some sort of enchantment, he could taste the magic in the air as his grip solidified to the snakes’ body, his hands suction cupping onto the scales of its skin. That must have been a prank hex.

This was the weirdest thing he had ever done, scaling up a giant snake. But he knew that he had to get to the head, figure out a way to lift it up and have it look directly into Hermione’s eyes for long enough as she chanted the spell.

Transmigration only worked with direct eye contact, no breaks, nothing. Just a whole load of magic, and a continuous and hard to say chant. He and Ron had already bolstered Hermione’s magic with both of their own, she was glowing a faint golden white with it.

Dumbledore’s library had been a treasure trove – and they were not going to talk about the fact that the headmaster literally had this in his office, and he had yet to even think to consider it a thing.

Seven years. They had had seven whole years to perfect the spell, to do it properly. And yet…

No, he wasn’t going to get into that.

The books had been clear and concise, not convoluted as Draco had expected them to be. Clearly saying it was a bad idea to do it, but it was possible. You could cast the soul into any inanimate object, and theoretically the animal would still be safe. If it was done correctly.

 It seemed easy in theory; it was damn near impossible in practice. They weren’t wrong when they said it was very dangerous. The sigils and runes used were very complicated, and the spell itself had so many twists and turns that it was so easy to get wrong.

And, they had said the participant had to be pliant, willing if possible. But…well, two out of three wasn’t too bad. They were attempting it on a slithering, unwilling, snake after all.

“I got you mate,” Ron’s voice came from somewhere behind him, and he suddenly felt the snakes’ shuddering still somewhat. It's thrashing and crashing lessening. Whatever he was doing was working.

Draco wrapped his arms around the snakes’ mouth, grabbing his wrist to lock his arms tight, the heat emanating from the snake enveloped around him. He grimaced and heaved his body backwards. The snake screeched again, and Draco’s felt like his head was splitting in two. He stared directly where he expected Hermione to be.

The snake seemed to level out, and Hermione started chanting, her voice low and sweet and melodious. It was like a sirens’ song, lulling the snake into calmness. He felt it calm his soul. It was nice.

Draco felt the snake heat up underneath him, and he held himself as far back from it as possible, not sure what to expect. He heard Ron ask what was happening, and Hermione growling at him as she finished her chanting.

A few moments of serenity passed before it happened. The snake screeched like a strange bird, its mouth opening wide and its head billowing back and slamming forward. Draco vaulted over it, landing on his back with a squelching thud. Looking up, he didn’t have a chance to notice and rejoice that he was able to see through his non-injured eye and looked straight into the dark eyes of the snake.

Or…what used to be a snake.

Human.

The Asian woman stumbled forward, hissing weakly and trying to lunge at them one last time before her eyes closed on her and she fell forward into Draco, her head resting on his heaving chest.

“What the fuck?” Ron’s voice came from a few feet back, he was on his hands and knees on the ground, brushing thick scales off his hands.

Hermione’s voice came from before him. “Nagini is an animagus?”

Draco lay still, unsure of what to do. Should he move her? She was wrapped around his body, barely clothed, her long hair splayed in a messy curtain behind her. He gently tugged the woman off of him and sat up.

“I…can see…”

But that wasn’t important, because they now had a human horcrux.

“Wha—you can see?” Hermione placed a hand on his shoulder, a wide grin on her face.

He nodded. But shook the thought from his head. There was no point of them rejoicing about that now. His head was still reeling from the sudden brightness, whatever it was that happened, they could deal with that later.

“Do you think it worked?”

Hermione shrugged her shoulders.

“One way to find out,” Ron said, raising his want and casting a binding spell on the snake woman. When she was safely bound to the ground, he cast a rennervate.

Nagini woke with a high hissing sound that definitely wasn’t human. She gazed at them, lifting her head from the ground and peering at them one by one. Just like a snake would. She narrowed her gaze at them, letting out one long angry hiss.

Her head cocked up. She twisted onto her back and looked down. Moving her feet out, she tried to get up, tried by failed to wiggle her way into a sitting position. Her hands tied to her back, she serpentine her body back to her front and hissed again, mouth pursed and eyes angry.

Her hissing stuttered and her eyes widened.

“Gone…”

Chapter Text

Gone.

Where the fuck had he gone?

Harry coughed heavily at the dust coating his tongue, feeling every part of his body ache in places he hadn’t known could ache. Heaving dryly onto the ground, he scrabbled his hands under him, forcing himself up.

Where is he?

His glasses askew, he pushed himself up off the ground and onto his hands and knees, feeling his limbs buckle at the weight. His gaze darted around him, the courtyard they had fallen in was empty. Nothing other than the brick, stone and archways that made the courtyard, the lip of the large fountain Harry and his friends would sit at broken clean through, water spurting into the cracks, pooling on the ground, mixing with the red and black of what was once the proud standing bodies of lost Death Eaters. Wands strewn, having flown from their hands and their eyes wide open in their deaths.

Harry saw nothing.

No Tom, no nothing.

Fuck!

His gaze spied the tail of the black smoky miasma that was Tom Riddle’s apparition slip and slide all the way into the Forbidden Forest, heard the screams of frustration echo in the air. Creatures darting into the skies at the suddenness.

Got you.

Harry got up onto shaky legs, taking in a deep breath and letting it out in one slow exhale. He knew what he had to do. He had prepared for this ever since he had found out he was a horcrux. If there was another way to do this, surely Dumbledore would have figured it out already. But if a man as clever as Dumbledore hadn’t been able to crack the case of Harry’s inevitable death, then…well, he wasn’t sure who could.

Then again, Dumbledore had hidden a lot of important things from him.

He probably wasn’t the best source of comfort right now.

Though, if they had found out earlier, and had the resources to do so, Harry was sure that Hermione – and Draco, definitely Draco – would have found some way for him to not have to do this. If they hadn’t been running for a year, if they hadn’t found out so late. If…if he had listened to his hunches that he was indeed definitely the final cog in the wheel that was Tom Riddles life.

Well, he wouldn’t be standing here, in the middle of a broken and tarnished courtyard, for one. The stone had turned black with how much dark magic had been spilled onto it. The blood was barely visible.

Taking in a deep breath, he noticed his skin turning that brilliant faint gold again, he felt that euphoric high, that warmth, scented the faint apple and cedar scent in his nose. He felt a little better knowing that he wasn’t going in this alone. Not really.

Knowing his family was safe, knowing Draco was safe, made him feel a little better, made him be able to take on the short walk along the pitch and into the Forbidden Forest. With Draco doing his best to protect him, to take care of him, while Ron and Hermione got rid of the snake somehow, it gave him hope.

Hope that, once he was finally gone, they’d follow Tom and get him. That the man would die. That the world would be safe again.

The leaves and moss crackled and squished under his foot, soft and pliantly giving him way, taking in his footsteps before clouding over them, covering his tracks almost as immediately as he had made them.

It was silent.

There was not an animal in sight. Nor a breeze. Just the thick and winding trees, still and tall, as if greeting him with their slick and wide leaves, urging him in closer and closer to his ultimate demise. The darkness of the forest didn’t seem as bad. It was peaceful, it was serene.

If it weren’t for what was coming next, he would have liked to stay here for a moment. Stay here and just let the world around him move on. He desperately wished there were another way, but those wishes were pointless now.

He was here.

He wished he had taken one last look at Draco.

Taken one more kiss.

The forest was beautiful, even in the middle of the draped night, everything seemed less sinister. His thoughts rushing to the first time he had ever come in here, all those years ago. Just a child holding onto a lantern, Draco by his side, Fang at his feet, as they traipsed in search for unicorns.

How he wished things were different.

He was ready.

Reaching into his pocket, he grasped at the familiar snitch sitting inside, the metal cool against his skin. He pulled it up, holding it up to see it against the faint moonlight. It glimmered and glowed, brilliant gold against the black.

Blowing out a breath, he saw the words etched onto the metal ‘I open at the close’. Such brilliance, such stupidity. He pressed his mouth to the etching, letting out a breath and trying to centre his tumultuous thoughts.

The snitch made a short squeak. Startled, he held it up and saw it open almost like a flower, moving similarly to the many clockwork machines that littered Dumbledore’s desk. Inside, he spotted a black stone, spied the familiar triangular markings that made the Deathly Hallows.

That fucking bastard.

This was the Resurrection Stone.

Hidden in plain sight, under a magical mechanism that only Harry would be able to open. He watched, fascinated as it slowly rose from its bed, the magic around it swirling in a tight circle as it twisted upwards.

Harry reached out for it, seeing his reprieve.

But what exactly would he be able to do with this?

Hold his hand out, the stone, no bigger than a pebble, floated almost majestically into the palm of his hand. With a wry smile, he closed his fingers over it, holding it safely in his hands. Was this Dumbledore's plan? Was this his grand plan to survive?

What an utter idiot.

Leaving it to chance. This was leaving everything to chance. There was no way be would have even known that this was a thing. He didn’t know how the stone worked. He didn’t know anything.

Headfirst into trouble and figure it out when he was there.

That was him. That was the way he worked. That was why he was placed in Gryffindor. Brave, loyal and trustworthy. Reliable, honest, true. Good.

Closing his eyes, he let out a long breath. It didn’t matter that he had the stone. He had listened to the stories. Even if the stone did bring him back to life, he wouldn’t be the same Harry as he had been going down. A bare husk of clay and mortar, of dust and flesh.

If it didn’t work, then Voldemort wouldn’t die. He would still reign free.

Harry didn’t dare for it.

He wouldn’t do that to Draco.

“I’m ready to die.” He said to it, ready to drop the stone to the ground.

Opening his eyes, ready to take the few steps deeper into the forest, deeper into his end. He stopped, seeing something he hadn’t seen since his first year. Almost immediately he was taken back to that time, when he stood in the old and dusty classroom, pulling the sheet from the tall mirror, staring into his reflection.

“Mum. Dad.”

They looked just as beautiful as when he had last seen them in that mirror, standing together before him, holding their hands out to him. He rushed over to them, arms raised and ready to hug them. But he ran straight through them.

Not fair.

This was not fair.

No! Just one thing! Give me just one thing!

“You’ve been so brave, sweetheart.”

His mother voice was so soothing, it warmed him to his very soul. How he wished he could see them properly, could touch them, could be enveloped in those arms that were held out for him.

Not fair.

He knew the Resurrection Stone was a lie.

“Why are you here?”

His mother smiled, God, she looked so beautiful.

“We never left,”

Harry felt the tears in his eyes, felt the heavy tightness in his chest. He sucked in a shaky breath, letting out a quiet sob. This was not fair, this was not fair, this was not fair!

“Does it hurt?” He asked through his broken sobs. “Dying?”

His father reached for him then, hands slipping through his shoulder. Oh, how Harry wished he could feel it, how he wished he could feel anything.

“It’s quicker than falling asleep,”

He did look like his father, strikingly so, but his eyes…he had his mothers’ eyes. At least he had something of them both. At least he had that.

“You’re nearly there, son,” his father continued, he pressed a hand to Harry’s shoulder again, his mouth pursing as it passed through one more time. As if he were aggravated that he couldn’t do anything other than stand there as an apparition, as something Harry could have cooked up in his head.

Harry’s gaze didn’t leave theirs, darting back and forth between the two of them, drinking every single thing he could in. He would save this memory…

…Oh. Right…

He just hoped he got to see them when he crossed over. When he finally died. Maybe, maybe this was the stone showing him what was coming, what he was going towards. Maybe it was showing him home.

“I…I never wanted you to die for me,” he murmured, voice thick with his emotions, tight and heavy as he tried to hold back his cries long enough to tell them. There was so much he wanted to tell them.

Everything. He wanted to tell them everything.

“We are so proud of you,” his mother murmured.

Oh, how good that felt to hear.

He sucked in a wet breath, feeling so small and so scared. “You’ll stay with me, right?”

They nodded in unison. “Until the end.”

Until the end. Until his end. Then he’d be able to see them, for real. Finally, finally. Finally. He’d be able to see his parents, to hear them, to speak with them, to touch them, to hug them. There was so much he missed, so much he never got. A fathers’ praise, a mothers’ warmth.

Their life had been cut down so short. All because of a bastard man and his fucking prophecy.

But with his death, Tom Riddle would finally die. The world would heal and go on living. And Harry would finally be happy.

Draco…

“Son?”

Looking up, he wiped the tears from his eyes, and nodded. “He won’t be able to see you, right?”

His father shook his head, reaching a hand and pointing it to Harry’s chest, to his heart. “No, we’re here.”

Harry nodded, sucking in a brave breath. He was ready, he was so ready. The Resurrection Stone fell from his grasp, slipping silently onto the ground, unknowing to anything or anyone.

“Stay close to me.” He murmured, taking the final step deeper into the forest.

“Always.”

Tom Riddle stood alone in the middle of a large clearing.

He could feel and hear his followers around him, waiting in the shadow of the trees, on the lookout for anyone, or anything, while he recuperated.

He hadn’t expected Potter to be so reckless, going straight after him. The fall from the building had almost caught him off guard. He had faltered for a mere moment, almost hitting the ground, before apparating away from the insane fool boy.

He knew Potter would come for him.

One of his followers peered to his side, his footsteps loud against the silence. “Master, there is no sign of him,”

Tom held his wand up, silencing the man. He wouldn’t kill him, though he was urged to do so. Their numbers were low, too low. And once he had killed the boy, he would finally be able to take the entire wixen world and force it to his knees. But to do that, he had to keep his followers alive.

And that meant letting this fool live, for now.

His lovely Bellatrix made her way to him, her hand pressed against his arm, giving him comfort as she let him recuperate. Telling him that she was there for him. Tom closed his eyes, taking in the scent of the silence around him.

“I thought he would come.” He muttered, turning away.

It seemed like Potter was a coward.

He had expected a battle, one that was magnanimous, chronicle, something monumental and extraordinary. He wanted the world to know just how grandiloquent he had been, standing tall as he killed the very last thing that would do him any form of harm.

The world would shudder at his name, tell his stories, his legend, as he lived.

But no, it seemed Potter was not worth the fight, having hidden in his schools’ coattails no doubt.

It wasn’t a legendary win, but it was a win, nonetheless.

Bellatrix’s arm grasped calmly around his own, her fingers jittery along his robe as she followed him back into the depths of the forest. He had planning to do. The best way to lay siege on the school that would cause him and historical debut pause.

The soft sounds of footsteps caused him to stop, to turn back.

It wasn’t until he turned fully that he saw the stupid boy, standing heroically before him, glasses cracked, scar bright red, skin glowing almost gold against the stark black of the forest.

He almost didn’t believe the boy was here.

“Harry?” The giant oaf’s voice rang out, proving what he saw was true. The boy really was here. “No! What are you doing here?”

Bellatrix silenced the oaf, holding her wand out to him.

He held his hand out to them, silencing them once again. He stood before the boy, similarly to the way they had stood before. Before the boy had thrown him off the tower. This stupid boy.

“Harry Potter.” He called out, his words needed to be extravagant, the world would recite them, murmur them when they told his story. Told the story of how this stupid boy fell and Voldemort rose to power. “The boy who lived, come to die.”

Harry watched him, watched as he gleefully held his wand out, the Elder Wand, and called out the same spell that had caused all these problems in the first place.

…I’m not leaving you…

I’m sorry…

He closed his eyes, resigning to his fate.

This is how it must be.

 “Avada kadavra!”

…Stay by my side…

…Harry…

The world around him brightened as he was enveloped in warmth, falling into gold.

Chapter Text

Harry…

White…

Harry squinted at the brightness illuminating around him.  The sudden shock of the afternoon sun hidden above the canopy of the dark forest, the sound of the wind whistling in the trees, the feel of his feet crunching pleasantly under his feet, to a brilliant green light and the…this. Everything around him was the same shade of blinding white.

Holding his hands to his face, he noticed he wasn't wearing his glasses. But he could see perfectly. He groaned, getting up from the ground. When had he fallen? Had the killing curse worked? Was he…was he finally dead? His parents were right. It was as easy as falling asleep. It felt like every part of his body was reeling after a good ache. Like his entire body had been stretching, muscles taut, and now they had finally loosened out. The burn simmering to a fresh warmth. Free of stress and strain.

All of the aches and pains he had collected over the past few years, all those niggling interferences, all those doubts, all those headaches that had been pounding since he started this god damn battle. Everything was gone. Everything felt…

…good.

Huh.

Where was he?

His eyes finally adjusted to the light, and he finally got a good look to his surroundings. There was no one here, not that he could see. Just endless white. He was under an alcove, or definitely in some kind of building. He was on a platform, the brick and tile slowly coming to him as his eyes caught on with his brain. He spied the train tracks to his right, and seats to his left, the curved glass and metal above him.

It looked like King Cross Station. Except with all of the colour leeched out. It was a lot cleaner than what he remembered.

“Harry Potter.”

Harry spun around and his eyes widened in shock.

He looked up at the tall and lanky man standing before him. The man was recognisable, but not in a way that Harry could pinpoint. As if he was an old friend, but at the same time the man was a stranger. He was dressed in a neatly pressed black suit, holding a cane, his long and thin fingers curled around the bird skull on its top. He was at least a good six feet seven. Taller than any man Harry had ever come across – minus Hagrid, but that man was an actual half giant.

His eyes were what caused Harry’s heart to stop.

They were a strange mix of colours, pinpricks of white and black, and blue and red and yellows and greens, and...everything. It was something Harry would never be able to explain, even though he was looking directly at the man. But he recognised the feeling. Dread, despair. It felt like all those times when Harry had been forced into the cupboard, every time he had been bullied by his cousin. It felt like the time he had stood before Voldemort in his first year, a little child who had only just gotten to understand that magic thrummed in his veins, looking into those dead eyes, hearing that horrible rasp of Riddle’s voice as he talked about love and death. Of how he was going to thwart a boy of eleven without a care in the world.

It was fear.

His sight was pure fear.

The man blinked, breaking Harry from his intense trance. He spoke, his thin lips moving slow and steady, his voice heavy and strong. “You really like to fuck with me, don’t you?”

Harry hadn’t expected that.

The man raised his cane a few centimetres from the ground and tapped it down harshly against the tile. A pool of pearlescent green erupted from the base of the can and grew under his robed feet. Harry felt a non-existent wind around him pick up. Like a wave, the train station was suddenly clouded with a vast green. The ground at his feet was lush grass, moist mud and beautiful wildflowers that rose all the way up to graze his fingertips. The scent was overpowering, thick perfumes of the flowery meadow, beautiful and wonderful. The skies were dark, but still in their beauty. A coalescent galaxy of stars above him, seeming so close, colours and lights that Harry was sure he would be able to touch if he just reached out for them.

But what caught his interest was the moon, the large, beautiful silvery white so high in the sky, so close to him, overpowering the darkness and bathing everything in a beautiful pale glow.

The horizon showed only the tall grass and even taller flowers, swaying with the light breeze. Harry felt his hammering heart rest, his breathing deepened and relaxed as he took in the absolutely delicious scent of cedar and flowers, of apples and wild pears that dotted the trees at the very far right of him. Where had they come from? They grew around him until he they huddled behind him, crisscrossing and growing tall, yet hollow and dark. There was an endless sea of wild flowers and open space in front of him.

“This is more like it.”

The man twisted his fingers gracefully, and a chequered blanket spread along the ground under them. Harry stumbled on it, unexpecting the fact that he was no longer wearing shoes. The blanket felt soft under his feet, warm and inviting. He watched as the man settled onto it, also shoeless, stretching his long socked legs out and leaning back on his hands, looking up to the moon.

“Excuse me,” Harry tried, confused at what was happening. “Who are you?”

The man rolled his frightening eyes and pat the space by him. “Sit, Harry.”

Not knowing what else to do, Harry sat, cross legged, on the blanket. He stared at the man, watching as he was gazing intently at the moon. There was something in Harry’s gut that was calling him to the beautiful silvery ball in the sky. Something feral. Curiosity won out, and Harry followed the mans gaze and looked at the moon. It was a surprisingly beautiful sight to see. There was something within Harry that made him want to just bask in the glow, to let the moon breathe life into him the only way it could. He wanted to shed his skin and let it overtake him, let its magic, its purity, wash over him until he was finally at peace with himself.

Was this what dying felt like? This utterly wonderful peace. No stress, no fuss, nothing but just him and the moon, the silvery light, the dark skies, the twinkling stars.

He wanted to howl at it.

The scent of cedar and apples tickled his nose, and he basked in the familiarity of it all.

A few minutes of silence passed, and Harry was starting to get agitated. His fingers were twitching, his toes curling at their inactivity. His skin felt like it was shrinking on him, prickling with want to do something. Or maybe he was growing too quickly for his body to keep up. Just what the hell was happening?

“Can you—”

“Have you ever wondered why you were brought into this world, Harry?”

Harry paused. This was fucking confusing. “Can’t say that I have, sir.”

“Sir…I never did like that,” the man mumbled under his breath. “Look up there, Harry. And tell me, what do you see?”

“…the moon.” He replied, looking up at it again, afraid to think anymore, lest that strange feeling overtake him again. The man gave him a pointed look, and he gazed back at it. “I don’t know what I see.”

“What do you feel?”

Harry paused, “Confused? What is going on?”

The man didn’t answer, for a long while. And Harry let out a long breath. Fine. If that was how this man wanted to do it, then Harry would play along. He gazed up at the vast expanse of the moon, saw the shades, the bruises and the beauty of the valleys and mountains that only a select few had every had the privilege to see first-hand.

“I feel…confused. No…I feel…” he let out a breath, closing his eyes and just letting the breeze, the scents, the sounds, everything around him overtake him. The forest at his back was scary, powerful as it grew until it curved over his body. Bringing with it the sweet scent of cedar, apple, pine, strawberries, flowers, grass, soil, everything. The absolute expanse before him, of a world left unexplored, of a life left untainted, warmed the chill seeping into him. He let his lungs fill with it. This empty and untouched future. This wondrous and curious thing before him. His ears noted the way the wind curled in the air around him, the way the flowers swayed with it, switching to and fro to match its movements. He could almost feel the cool of the moonlight wash over his skin, beckoning him forward.

“…at peace.” He whispered. He finally felt at peace.

“Good.” The man replied. He leaned back until he was laying on the blanket, motioning for Harry to follow. Harry did, and they stared at the moon.

After another short bout of silence, Harry asked, “Am I dead?”

“You weren’t brought to this world just for this, Harry.” The man finally said, raising his long and slim hand to the bright skies, the stars twinkling and blinking as he moved his hand back and forth in a strange arch. “There is much more you need to know, much more you need to do.”

Angry, Harry sat up. “Can you stop being so cryptic?”

The mans frightening eyes penetrated into his own and he let out a gasp. They were swirling shades of the stars, bursting like supernovas, coalescing and breaking, like waves and waves of harsh waters, of the stillest lakes, of everything that made the world, and everything that destroyed it.

Beautiful and frightening.

“I had spent all of my time trying to make everything perfect.” He growled, calm and steady, but deeply fraught with absolute terror. Harry felt as if the entire world could crumble at his feet at the mans’ voice, that galaxies would burst with his sheer power. “And yet, the mistakes of a desperate and confused man has ruined everything.”

“What do you mea—"

“I will right the wrongs that were made by the vile man who thought he could go against me. Me. He dare ruin my plan.” Determination practically grew from him, evolving and spiralling and twisting, writhing like a snake around his body and out into the vast meadows around him. He raised his hand up and flicked his fingers to the side. Harry felt a pinch at his forehead and darted a hand up to it. Smooth skin. “You are free now, Harry Potter.”

He was…what? The horcrux was gone. He was a free man.

“But…what about—” Harry started, wanting to know what this meant. With the horcrux in him gone, the connection he shared with Tom Riddle was gone as well. All that was left was the snake, right? Which he was damn sure his friends and Draco had destroyed by now. So, all that was left was… “Voldemort has the Elder Wand,”

“True.” The man’s power swelled until it calmed, until he was just another body laying there, peaceful and serene, staring up at the moon as if it held all of the answers to all of life’s questions. It probably did. But Harry just wouldn’t be able to decipher any farther than the absolute peace he felt when he saw it.

Looking back up at the moon, Harry let out a breath. He knew he’d have to go back. He didn’t really have a choice in the matter here. Well, he probably did, but there was no way he was going to leave it like this. He had to get out there and finish this war. He had to at least try. He had to keep his promise to Draco after all.

“I have nothing,” he continued, standing there in the middle of the beautiful field. “Nothing at all to destroy him,”

“He is just a man, Harry,” the man raised his arms in a stretch, showcasing his giant frame against the ground. He felt bigger than the earth under him. He gazed up at the moon again with a grin. “A man about to be slaughtered by your dragons’ fire,”

Draco.

As if in remembrance, he felt that familiar warmth. His skin was glowing a wondrous gold against his brown. Washing over him, peace, calm, protection. Everything. Draco was here with him. Wherever here was?

The man raised his arm again, swaying it this way and that. “I would behest you to leave. Do not let your mate run astray in the dark for too long. I spent a lot of time on that one.”

A lot of time…what…what did he mean by that? He was talking as if he had created life itself. This couldn't be...god, could it? That wasn't possible. “Who…who are you? What are you?”

The man smiled serenely. “Now isn’t that a good question.”

“Is…is this…real?” Harry asked.

“It’s as real as you expect it to be,” He quipped, hand trailing at the skies. They rippled under his fingers, a shine of white breaking through each ripple as if the man were dipping his fingers into the fabric of space and time itself. The train station? Or somewhere else?

“Will you at least tell me who you are?”

“You hold my cloak, Harry Potter,” the man said calmly, the swaying of his fingers breaking and rippling to allow more and more white through into the dark and peace. “And my stone, what is left?”

Harry’s eyes widened at the realisation.

“The Elder Wand.”

And almost as immediately as he appeared into this strange and weird world, he was back there, face first on the cold and hard dirt. White and stained with dark magic, cracked and broken under him.

He needed the wand.

Chapter Text

You’re free, Harry Potter.

Harry groaned.

His body ached everywhere, hell even his hair hurt. He felt the frosty cold of the killing curse dispelling from his body and seeping into the frozen ground below him, leaving pinpricks and aftershocks on his skin as it bled out of his body.

There was nothing left in Harry to kill.

But Harry was awake.

It was quiet, and there was a sickening scent of fire and death around him. Of blood and dirt, that stung his nostrils until he could taste it.

He didn’t dare move. Keeping his eyes closed and his body as still as possible. He didn’t know what was around him. Or even if he were safe enough here. He had expected cackling laughter, he had expected elation from the dark side of finally killing him.

But it was silent, still, eerily so.

Had they moved on?

His body felt exhausted, as if every cell in him was stretched out thin. But there was something stirring inside him, something deep, something warm, something that felt ominous, but also inviting.

Let it happen.

Harry let out a breath and let the feeling overtake him. He felt the same wondrous peace he had felt in that…place. Wherever it had been. His purgatory? Or had it all been a dream? That peace, that brilliant moonlight, that sweet smelling meadow.

And Death. That had been Death himself.

Why the hell had he been there?

He felt at peace. The war that had been raging in his head, the one he hadn’t known he had been constantly battling, the one he had forced back ever since he had found out about horcruxes – hell all the way back to when he had been in the graveyard watching his own blood resurrect Voldemort.

It all went away, like water pouring out from between his fingers.

He felt stronger with this peace…powerful.

His body shifted, laying on his side, stretching and curling and morphing into a familiar, yet unfamiliar shape. It was almost as easy as if he were breathing. He wasn’t sure what was happening, or if he were safe to even feel these things. But he let it happen.

He felt closer to the earth here, heard the wind whistling in the trees, the scent of petrichor in the air, fire, there was a fire somewhere. The scent of death was almost overpowering. He sneezed, barking against the strong scent.

Power. Such power in him with this new form.

And it showed. With each breath he took, the cold and broken ground under him, once stained white with dark magic, flourished outwards in a giant pool of green grass, lush and beautiful, similar to the meadow his purgatory dream had shown.

He felt a pang of ache in his chest for the large moon.

His ear perked up at the sound of screams breaking through the air. It echoed deftly through the forest trees. It was followed by a murmur of spells being cast, magic zinging and coating the earth with it. It didn’t sound very close, but he didn’t want to leave anything to chance.

He let out a breath and let his magic scan the area around him. His heartbeat wildly in his chest, but he didn’t move. He didn’t know where Voldemort was.

The clearing was empty.

Good, that meant the Death Eaters had moved on. If Voldemort thought he was dead, Harry wanted to keep it that way for as long as he was able.

Why that monster left the clearing without checking Harry, or disposing of his body, he didn’t know. The man was all about pomp and drama, Harry would have been sure the snake like man would have lorded his lifeless body to the Light side. Harry half expected to have to wake up in the middle of

But…nothing.

Harry wasn’t going to question it.

Getting up, Harry felt uneasy on his feet, padding and stumbling until he was able to stand up right. He let out a wince at the aches in his body. Stretching his body out with a groan, kinks and cramps burning pleasantly.

Looking around, he saw the clearing was indeed empty. Other than the pools of blood, lumps of what looked like ash and burned foliage and the absolutely rancid smell of burning meat and flesh that permeated the air.

Urgh. So that’s where that smell was coming from.

There was a ring of ashen black around him, hidden under the magically formed lush grass, but easy to see, easy for Harry to feel the magic coming from it. There were thick claw marks on the trunks of trees, some even pushed aside, as if to make room for something large. Harry knew where that came from.

The crackling sound of fire, the scent of trees and burning foliage. The scorched earth under him.

Draco.

That was Draco, crowding around him, filling his nose. That was his Draco.

His mate had been here.

Dread filled him. His mate had been here. In front of Voldemort, with that god damn seal on his body that was a literal fucking time bomb. He must have stood defiantly against the evil man, stood for everything good against such abhorrent evil. He must have been devastated to see Harry’s fallen body. Holding his wand out, with that glow of fire in his eyes as he tried to protect him – even in his death.

Voldemort must have been so angry to see him act. He must have been…

Oh fuck.

He rushed out of the clearing, almost flying through the forest. Reaching the end of the line of trees, he looked up to the castle and saw just how broken down it really was. The school was never meant to be a stronghold for a war. It was a school. It was supposed to teach and house students. It was supposed to be a safe place for kids and teenagers to learn.

But this. The ground was littered with what was once the brick and stone that had made the clock tower. There were students huddled at the entrance, teachers, the Order and stronger seventh years standing before them, some holding their wands out and casting shield charms over them all. The others pointing their wands up into the air.

There was a body, shrouded in black in the middle of the courtyard, his bald white head gleaming with blood and bruised purple. He held his wand up in the air, a spark of green shooting out of it as he tried to cast against the skies.

Voldemort.

The Elder Wand.

Harry felt his body change again, against his will, growing stronger, he gasped desperately at the feel of power erupting through him again, it was trickling inside him, filling him to the brim. He growled, sounding more animal than man, casting the strongest disillusionment charm he could. Surprised his magic worked in this form. He knew it wouldn’t conceal him enough, but it would at least hide him long enough to get closer to the school. Closer to Voldemort.

His heart filled with a familiar warmth, his body aching with a need to get closer, to seek, to find, to protect. Draco was here, Draco was here. Harry could scent him, that cedar and apple scent. He darted his gaze along the students, hoping to catch a shock of platinum. But other than seeing Luna, crowded around behind Fred and George, he didn’t see him.

Harry feared the worst.

Where was Draco?

A loud screech sounded in the skies, and he let out a shocked gasp as a giant beast emerged through the dark clouds, its body thick and shining in bright scales, its wings huge and imposing as it twisted this way and that, dodging and diving against spells and curses. It screeched again, barrelling against a bright green light that ricocheting into him. The curse hit it on its wing, and it froze up, tumbling to the ground.

The sound of its cries made Harry’s heart stop as he watched the beast fall to the ground.

Harry saw red.

He bolted.

Chapter Text

Draco.

Draco.

Draco!

His body vaulted high into the air, landing lightly on four padded paws, claws extended and digging into the earth, throwing blood soaked mud and stone up in the air. His sharp teeth were bared, a thick and wet growl escaping his throat.

His eyes flashed at the heap of scaled white on the ground, one wing bent in an unnatural angle, tail lashing whip quick to the dark wizards and animals around it. Roaring in a high pitched screech into the air. It's teeth stained red with blood and ash and so sharp and shiny.

Beautiful, and deadly.

The snake man was before him, Voldemort. His wand held out in his hand.

The Elder Wand.

No.

No?

Look at it, pet.

Harry did. The wand wasn’t white, it was a dark oak, it wasn’t as long as the Elder Wand either, it didn’t have the same beaded pattern that Harry had seen in Dumbledore’s grasp all those months ago. That wasn’t the Elder Wand. Voldemort didn't have the Elder Wand!

Where is it?

What had happened?

Get it, get it, get it!

Thick sparks of red and yellow fizzled like lightening in the air, arcing almost like a dance from one side of the courtyard, some being batted away by a glowing shield and dispelling over stone, some spreading onto iridescent silvery white scales themselves. Each spell and curse that hit made the dazzling beast roar with such anguish.

It made Harry hurt.

He growled, his paws pounded the ground as he ran, faster and faster and faster, leaping over the stone wall and landing in the middle of the courtyard. His body was big, bigger and more intimidating, standing before the dragon, gaze glowering at everything intimidating around him.

The screams and yells of ‘Hellhound!’ bellowed from both sides, but Harry didn’t care. Hellhound or not, nothing was going to get to his mate, nothing was going to get to his family. He lowered himself to the ground, staring at the man who had cast a killing curse at him, who had held a wand to his mate, the man who dared hurt what was his.

The sparks of magic dispelled over him, a pathetic attempt at a killing curse. That wasn’t the Elder Wand - not that that would work anyway. Harry felt stronger here, safe against anything. Nothing could kill him. Not now. Not like this. And this man had no strength, nothing but a shard of soul, a slither of magic. He was nothing. He was standing only because Harry allowed him to stand.

The sparks came from the small amount of black cloaked Death Eaters, all sickly faced, malice eyed and snarled mouthed. But all of those spells, all of those curses, they flew over him, over his mate, over the others on the Light side, as if there was a magical barrier created before him, stopping anything from getting through.

He would no longer be able to hurt what was Harry’s.

Draco was his mate.

Hogwarts was his home.

The people in Hogwarts were his.

How dare this pathetic excuse of a wix think he can attack you?

Right! Pathetic. Voldemort was pathetic.

He attacked your home.

The battered Hogwarts made an ache swell in the pit of Harry’s stomach. Breath heavy and body ready to lunge, he growled again, watching the pathetic excuse of a man say something about a vile beast, Deaths’ pet project, about how he was going to rule the wizarding world. It wasn’t important.

He hurt your mate.

Draco, his beautiful mate, the majestic dragon, was whining behind him, fallen to the ground, blood pooling around him. Thin streams of healing magic, light magic, sprung from the Light side to his back, keeping him up and alive, keeping him there. Protecting him. Voldemort cast the killing curse on his mate, his wonderful mate who had only just shifted into such an awe inspiring form. Voldemort had caused such a majestic creature to feel pain, to fall. Voldemort hurt his mate. He hurt him, he hurt him!

Kill him.

Harry lunged.

He didn’t think, he just felt his claws digging into warm flesh. Felt the sweetness of warm, warm, warm on his thick snout, the give of flesh between his teeth, the scent of burning skin on his nose, the sound of bones cracking under his weight. Pleasant. Pleasant. Wonderful. The taste was rancid, but the feel of his teeth sinking into warm flesh, the raggedness of the body writhing against the hold of his strong jaw, against his sharp teeth, weakening until it stilled completely.

Oh, the sound of it, the heady screams of pain, of how this was impossible, “how could such an evil creature could get into Hogwarts,”. It was like the sweetest music.

This was it. This was it. This was it!

This was what he wanted. This was what he needed. This man, this monsters' death. He had hurt Harry’s mate, his pack, his home. There was no redemption, no jail, no solitude, nothing but this feeling of the once warm blood cooling on his fur.

That's enough, you've done your duty. Return to your mate.

Once he was sated and the body no longer moving. Harry felt the shift wash over him as he returned back to his more human form. He felt stunted like this, his senses dulled, he didn’t feel as strong anymore.

His eyes widened at the man on the ground. Laying there, mangled flesh and bone and blood, Voldemort was finally dead. Mauled by Harry.

Your services will be rewarded, my pet.

He recognised it now. The voice. Now that he was in a more logical mind. That sweet and silky sound of the man he had met in his purgatory, the one who had urged him to kill the man, the bastard who had tried to destroy his family.

It was Death.

But…why?

The taste of blood on his tongue, on his teeth, made his stomach turn. He dropped Voldemort’s body onto the stained ground and looked up at the other Death Eaters. He bet he looked intimidating now. Blood soaked teeth, growling thickly, eyes flashing as he stood his ground. He had killed their master.

They were next.

Just one more thing, my pet. And I will explain everything.

Death’s voice sounded different now that he was no longer the animal. It was softer, duller.

He felt the Death Eaters try to apparate away, a thin kink of magic sparking around him as they tried and tried, but they didn’t move, they just stood still, petrified on the spot. Unable to do anything but watch. He wouldn’t let them go. The wards were stronger now that he was here. They had attacked Hogwarts. They had followed the wrong man. He wasn’t done with them yet.

Harry agreed.

“Harry?”

Ron’s voice was almost sweet against the burning feeling of redemption. He looked back at the man, knowing the Death Eaters weren’t going anywhere. The man he called his best friend looked scared. He tried to spread his lips to a smile, but he knew that would be too scary, what with all the blood still slick on his face. Had he really bit Voldemort to death?

“You…you doing okay there?” Ron took another tentative step closer, around the giant dragon who was breathing heavily, a thick stasis of healing magic around him. The others followed him, cautiously making their way to the middle of the courtyard, as if they were expecting him to turn back into the beast and kill them.

He wiped his mouth and chin with his sleeve, letting out a small smile. Nervous that they were now scared of him. What if they were all scared of him now? Molly pushed through the others, beelining towards Harry and wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight to her chest.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?" She murmured sweetly to him.

"I'm fine." Harry’s body shook as everything that had just happened washed over him. He felt like his skin was shrinking in him, like he was ready to burst out. “What happened?”

“We…we got the snake, turned out she was an animagus,” Ron said quickly, trying to explain everything he could, as quickly as he could as the others crowded around him. The Aurors and the Order taking to carting the Death Eaters somewhere safer. “Draco went fucking crazy and ran to the forest! He apparated back here with Dumbledores wand, and…then turned into this massive fucking dragon and ate like three death eaters!”

“Harry, he…he said he felt you die,” Hermione said, placing a tentative hand on the dragon as she stepped over the thick and slashed tail. “And now you’re a hell hound? You…you mauled Voldemort! What the hell happened?”

“I…I’m okay. I think…I don’t really…know.” That didn't matter right now. Harry had to make sure his mate was okay.

He turned to the dragon, moving up, up, up to his head, and held that large snout in both of his hands. There was a thin jagged slash on one of his eyes, the one that had been poisoned. But he was still so, so, beautiful. Goodness, his mate was beautiful like this. He gazed into those quicksilver eyes and saw pain.

“Draco?”

The dragon whined and those eyes closed, tears breaching and falling as he shifted, scales melting into flesh. Those eyes opened, filled with confusion, disbelief and then joy, such pure joy.

“Harry,” he breathed, reaching up to the man, his body tired and limbs heavy. Harry pulled him the rest of the way and held him close, pressing kisses to his face, his hair, everywhere he could reach. Draco murmured his name, again and again, clutching against his clothes, his hair, his body.

“Don’t ever do that again!” he cried.

Harry grinned, holding him closer. Glad his mate was safe.

“Mr. Potter,”

Looking up to Professor McGonagall kneeling a little and holding a hand out to him. “How are you feeling?"

Harry knew he was going to get fed up of people asking him if he was okay. But he nodded to her, not really knowing what he was feeling. Just that the dread and stress and worry just...wasn't there anymore. He felt strong. He felt like he could take on a hundred Voldemort's and win. And he didn't understand why.

"The Aurors have taken the remaining Death Eaters to the Ministry for questioning." She continued, giving him a look that told him that she didn't believe him for a second, but letting him have a moment. "The students are being taken to the Great Hall to be tended to,”

“What’s going to happen to…” Harry looked back to the withered body of Voldemort.

McGonagall held a hand to his shoulder. “His body will be destroyed. We cannot risk his soul returning.”

Harry nodded, not wanting to question her. He was glad that this was finally over. Professor McGonagall helped him up and ushered him and Draco with the others in the Great Hall. It was completely different to the way he had seen it before, the tension in the air had completely eased now that there wasn’t the looming threat of a battle anymore. Students and teachers alike were rejoicing, cheering, healing and resting.

Finally, the battle was over.

Harry was sure the war was still going on, and until they had eradicated all of Voldemort’s followers who had not come to Hogwarts to fight – he was sure there were other extremists out there ready to take Voldemort’s mantle – he wouldn’t rest. Not if he could help it. He would protect this school, his home, with all of himself.

But he could take a moment to rest now.

“Harry!” He was suddenly wrapped in familiar arms. Sirius! And Remus! They were here! They were safe!

Sirius hugged him hard to his chest, almost lifting him up from the ground. “I’m so glad you’re safe,”

“Are you okay, cub?” Remus asked, hugging him from behind, sandwiching him between them.

Harry nodded, feeling tears sting his eyes. He couldn’t imagine how close he had been to losing him, to any of them. He had died to save them, but what if he hadn’t come back? He didn’t want to think about the what ifs, they were here now, alive and safe. All of them.

"Yeah, I'm...tired, but...yeah."

"I can imagine," Sirius grinned, looking tired but happy. Harry noticed the blood and scrapes on his face. He saw the broken bones, the singed skin and hair, the injuries, the bruises, the wreck of the Great Hall. He saw them all. But they were here. They were all alive. They had made it.

Draco tugged at his sleeve, calling his attention. He held his hand out to Harry, a familiar wand in his grasp.

“How did you get that?”

“I took your lead, followed him into the forest and disarmed him.” Draco shrugged, handing Harry the wand, wrapping his fingers around the wood. It felt warm in his hand, mixing pleasantly with his magic, as if it belonged there.

“You disarmed Voldemort?”

Draco nodded, shaking a little on his feet. He was pushed to a bench, along with Harry, by the others. They sat together, wrapped in blankets, healing spells washing over them by those they trusted, those they called friends and family.

This was it. This was what he wanted.

Everyone was safe.

He would mourn those he lost. He would stand tall and valiant for the others, telling them that the battle was over. That they had won. That the wizarding world was finally safe from the evil man who wanted to destroy it.

But now…he just wanted this. His mate in his arms and his family.

He felt the immense strength of the wand in his hand, accepting him as its true master. He felt the magic tingle in his fingers, growing and flowing up his arm and to his core.

It felt good.

It felt confusing.

He was still so utterly confused about what had happened. How he had come back to life, how he had changed into an animal without going through any of the spells and incantations to turn into one. He was damn sure there was a ritual to turning into an animagus, and yet…

And…a hell hound? He thought those were a myth!

He still felt that feral power in him, sitting deep in his core, preening and licking his chops as he waited for the next time he’d be needed. What was that?

I think it’s time I explained a few things to you Harry.