InsaneJournal

14.

Harry heard Ron’s muffled yell while he was still in the corridor. The door flew open when he kicked it, and he plunged inside, wand at the ready.

Even a room full of miniature monsters and Livia and Ron both standing on her bed hadn’t woken Hermione from what was looking less and like natural sleep. Ron looked as if he was one step away from hysteria, but he wasn’t letting it stop him; every slash of his wand sent carapaces popping and black gunk splattering across the walls. The floor was almost covered by a blanket of spindly legs and shiny bodies. Harry saw the circle of carpet around the bed, and realised what it meant a split second before the squirming mass changed targets.

That wasn’t a shield spell - Hermione really is being protected…by something…

The creatures surged for the door - and Harry. He put everything he had into a Banishing Charm, just as he heard a gasped “Duro” from behind him.

Draco was so close to him that Harry could feel the magic he’d raised for his spell, the rush of power pouring into the room as the spells merged.

The combination of the two spells was spectacular - some of the creatures got caught by Harry’s first, and were already flying through the air when they turned to stone, impacting against the wall with such force that puffs of powdered plaster exploded through the cracks in the wallpaper. The others… They became a twisted sculpture in the middle of the floor - as if an artist had begun carving a wave and then got diverted by legs and bodies and teeth…

Harry stood and stared at it, his knees weak and his hands shaking. He wondered if he’d run a marathon and somehow forgotten.

“You can stop pissing yourself now, Weasley, they’re -” Draco’s voice trailed off; Harry spun around just in time to catch him as his casual slouch against the wall turned into an undignified slide. His robes were sticky to touch, and Harry found his hands smeared with red as he eased him down onto the floor.

Oh god - I should have fixed him up first - they were okay… Harry got rid of the thought almost as soon as it crossed his mind. I didn’t know they were okay, and they’re my friends.

Harry was forcibly reminded of Madame Pomfrey as Livia pushed him to one side and started to pull open the clasps of Draco’s robes in an extremely business-like fashion. Harry supposed undressing semi-conscious, feebly-protesting young men was an almost daily occurrence for her, but her single-mindedness was slightly scary. She slapped Draco’s hands away when he tried to stop her. “Don’t be ridiculous, kiddo - unless you’ve got fur or a tail under there, I’ve seen it all before. If you don’t cooperate, I’ll just cut the robes off you.”

Livia had bite-marks on her own hands - she and Ron obviously hadn’t realised the bed was safe straight away - but she still sucked in her breath with a sharp hiss when she peeled back the blood-soaked fabric. “You came here to fight like this? Harry, help me.”

So Harry found himself holding Draco still while Livia closed the wounds on his chest. He started to protest again as she tried to slide the robes down over his hips.

“Stop being silly. Harry’s not going to look, and neither is Ron.”

*

Draco could have laughed at that, if he’d had the energy. Oh, he was sure Weasley would rather gouge his own eyes out than look at Draco naked. Potter, on the other hand…Well, he had seen it all already, hadn’t he?

He probably wouldn’t want to look, anyway. Draco had seen the expression on his face after the almost-change - he was surprised Potter was even willing to touch him after that.

He didn’t even ask if I was all right. He just ran straight to his friends. To Draco’s surprise, that actually hurt, even though Potter’s reaction had been reasonable. I did nearly have fur and a tail. And he really was light-headed from blood loss, because that thought almost made him laugh.

“It’s over, Ron,” he heard Potter say.

Weasley gave a shaky laugh. “I know,” he said, but when Draco looked over at him, he was only just lowering his wand. He met Draco’s gaze and looked quickly away to study the wallpaper, the tips of his ears turning bright red.

“Turn him over,” Livia said. Potter went to do as she said, but Draco struggled free of his grip. The room spun around him from the exertion, but it was better than having Potter’s hands on him.

God forbid the fucking Chosen One should catch something nasty from the werewolf.

Face pressed to the carpet, Draco didn’t even have to look at him, which was even better.

Fingers squeezed his shoulder. He couldn’t even hope they were Livia’s - the shape and feel of Potter’s hands were unmistakable. Draco knew every contour, every callus and every line…

“Get off me.”

“Make me,” Potter said, but after another squeeze, the hand withdrew, and Draco was actually sorry.

“Though, if you are feeling the urge to give me a reviving massage, I’m sure something can be arranged.”

“Malfoy, you’re disgusting.” That was Weasley, not Potter, though Draco imagined Potter’s feelings were similar. Seeing someone you’d just been sharing a bed with trying to get his bones back into the correct places had to be a passion-killer.

“Ron, would you be a dear and go get Draco a fresh robe?”

“And be quick about it,” Draco murmured, “or I’ll make you shut your ears in the oven door.”

Livia poked him in the back. “Play nice, or you won’t get any Blood-Replenishing Potion.”

“I thought Healers were supposed to be nice to their patients?” Draco muttered, but his heart wasn’t in it; Potter had taken advantage of Weasley’s departure to squeeze his shoulder again. “Were you away torturing puppies when they gave that lecture?”

“Possibly, because I don‘t remember it.” Draco felt the warmth spread through his calf as she closed the last wound. A few unladylike swearwords and a clinking of bottles later, a tiny glass was almost shoved in his face. “Drink.”

“How have you not been struck off?” he asked, fumbling for the glass. Potter took it - and thank god Weasley was out of the room and Granger was still unconscious, because that was the final humiliation, letting Potter help him onto his back, hand firmly supporting his head as he held the glass to his lips.

“I sucked off the Chief Mediwizard.” The potion went down the wrong way. Potter thumped him on the back while he coughed and spluttered. Livia gave him a bright smile. “I win?” she said.

“You win,” Draco managed. He could feel the potion doing its work already. Fuck knows how, when I inhaled most of it.

The door slammed against the wall as Weasley came back in. He threw a set of robes in Draco’s direction. Quite a good aim he had too - without even looking at him, he managed to lob them straight into his face, and Draco was almost sure it was on purpose.

“Naughty house-elf,” he said. Weasley span around, his face furious - and got a good eyeful of Draco’s nakedness. “See anything you like?”

“You wish, Malfoy.” Weasley stomped back over to the bed. Draco expected him to go back to mooning over Sleeping Beauty, but he looked like he wanted to break something, and Draco knew how he felt. The potion was working - he could feel the strength seeping back through his limbs, his head was clearing, and he could finally think about what was happening to him - think or dissolve in terror.

If the moon wasn’t full, then he couldn’t have been changing. If the moon was full, then he couldn’t have stopped changing. He shook himself free of Potter, and pulled the threadbare robes over his head. What the hell am I?

*

Harry ignored Livia’s puzzled gaze and followed Draco as he rushed out into the hall. He was careful to close the door behind him. After a moment’s thought, he added a locking spell - whichever came next, shouted recriminations or accepted apologies, he didn’t want Ron and Livia to hear them.

“Confringo!”

Harry spun around just in time to see Draco’s spell hit the window, glass and wood alike exploding out into the night air in a thousand splinters. He leaned out, apparently oblivious to the shards of glass still embedded in the frame, staring at something Harry couldn’t see.

“Fucking gibbous,” Draco muttered as Harry reached him. Harry followed his gaze and found himself looking at the moon. It was bright but lop-sided, still a good sliver away from full.

There was no subtle way to ask, so - “It wasn’t some weird side-effect from the bugs, then? You were really changing?”

“It shouldn’t be possible.” Draco’s tone was cool, his expression merely thoughtful, but trickles of blood ran over the broken glass as his hands gripped it; Harry flinched in reflexive sympathy.

He firmly pulled Draco’s hands away from the glass, and was rewarded with a startled glance as Draco saw the blood. He didn’t know what he was doing, then? That’s a relief. He held out his hands and let Harry run his wand over the gashes, removing the splinters, closing the wounds - and trying to work out what to say.

“You always have to be different,” Harry said eventually, trying to keep his voice light. “You can’t be just a normal werewolf - no, you have to be special.”

Draco gave a startled, slightly shaky, laugh. “That’s one way of putting it.” He was trembling as their fingers wound together, but he didn’t snatch his hand away, or protest as Harry touched his hair, his face, his neck… He certainly felt human - maybe even better than human. Harry thought of his earlier revulsion and was totally ashamed of himself.

“You just can’t help yourself,” he added. He stroked the hair away from Draco’s neck, and risked a light brush of his lips against the soft skin.

“Anything for an edge, Potter.” Draco’s light tone was so obviously forced it was painful to listen to. Harry didn’t know what he could do. Draco wouldn’t talk to him about it - and even if he did, Harry knew his own limitations. What could he possibly say to make it better?

You’re still you. It changes nothing.

Harry wasn’t good with words, and Draco looked for lies in everything. Words were useless. So Harry kissed him, slow and tender, ignoring both the way his heart swelled and his cock twitched.

I want you. I want you to stop hurting.

*

It took Draco a moment to realise that Potter wasn’t offering him a quick dose of lust-fuelled forgetfulness, but trying, in his own rather unique fashion, to offer comfort. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. If Potter thought he could breathe life back into a corpse, that a kiss could drive the pollution from Draco’s body, then he was sadly mistaken.

Potter’s fingers stroked his hair and rubbed warm patterns into his scalp. His lips were soft and gentle, but a lack of aggression didn’t mean a lack of passion - he was as intent on Draco as he always was. With every shared breath Draco felt his blood move in his veins, his heart throb, and whatever he was becoming, right at that moment it didn’t matter - he felt real. Perhaps Potter was trying to re-infect him with humanity? The cold terror was being slowly smothered by a warm feeling he didn’t even have a name for…a feeling that was unfamiliar and rather alarming.

He groped for Potter’s crotch. It was a relief to hear and feel Potter’s sudden gasp, the almost instant hardening of his cock beneath Draco’s fingers. That was familiar, that he knew how to deal with.

Fuck it, Potter - you don’t have to be so sickeningly nice to me just to get what you want.

He dropped to his knees. Potter appeared to be fully, hugely erect inside the rough denim, and Draco almost changed his mind…but he had his pride. For a moment, he just tried to calm his frantic heartbeat, massaging Potter’s thighs through the denim, nuzzling the hardness in his crotch. Then, before he could lose his nerve completely, he tugged open the Muggle fastenings and dragged the trousers down.

This probably wasn’t going to be fun - but I’ll take his lust over his pity any day.

“You don’t have to -” Potter managed.

“Scared I might bite?”

He was treated to a sudden flash of anger in those green eyes, and Potter’s fingers wound into his hair. “That’s not funny!”

Yes it is. A sudden sadistic impulse made him scrape his teeth against Potter’s cock as he slowly slid it into his mouth. Potter’s hips jerked. Draco felt hot flesh fill his mouth, his throat, tasted Potter on his tongue…and tried desperately not to gag. This wasn’t as easy as it looked. Potter made a desperate, slightly strangled sound - which was ridiculous, Draco thought vaguely, he was the one choking to death - then he moved.

Warm. Human. Real. It wasn’t exactly how he’d planned it - he couldn’t breathe, or swallow, and even screwing his eyes shut couldn’t stop the tears forming - but Draco found himself relishing the demanding hands in his hair, the sharp pain in his scalp as his head was yanked back and forth, everything suddenly taken out of his control. The only things left in the world that mattered were Potter’s lust, Potter’s cock - and the rather brain-breaking realisation that he couldn’t call this a diversion, or a favour, or a personal challenge…this was a pleasure…

*

Some part of Harry knew that he was clutching at Draco’s hair much too tightly, thrusting too hard and too fast… He was probably hurting him - but even the sudden guilt at that thought wasn’t enough to make him stop. He couldn’t stop. Draco’s lips were a tight ring of sensation, his mouth so hot and wet... Harry’s knuckles were almost the same colour as the soft, silky hair he was gripping so tightly as he plunged back and forth, and whoever would have thought that Draco would do this, want this?

Draco had closed his eyes, long eyelashes glinting against flushed cheeks. He looked so innocent - but his fingernails bit into Harry’s arse, thrillingly close to drawing blood, and he seemed to be trying to wrap every inch of his tongue around Harry’s cock. Not innocent at all - filthy, and astonishing, and perfect… He felt Draco’s sudden whimper vibrate up through his cock, into his balls, and that was it - Harry would probably have to count how long he lasted in seconds rather than minutes - again - but every part of his body was seizing up in one massive spasm of pleasure -

Draco wrenched himself free, leaving strands of hair still wound around Harry’s fingers. Harry sank to his knees, little shocks of pleasure still jolting through his body, his cock still pulsing and twitching. Draco was on his hands and knees, but he didn’t gag or spit - he gulped, looking determined…then started coughing.

Harry didn’t know whether he should feel guilty or exhilarated. But, as heavy-limbed and sleepy as he felt, some sort of payback was definitely in order. An arm around Draco’s waist and a quick tug brought him tumbling back into Harry’s lap. His swearing was easily silenced by a kiss, and his struggling stopped abruptly when Harry slipped his hand beneath his robes.

As Draco thrust eagerly up into his hand, and he tasted the bitter taste of his own come in the other boy’s mouth, Harry decided to go with exhilarated. He could never get tired of seeing Draco like this, all swollen lips and hungry eyes - so natural and unconstrained - and it’s me, I make him look like that… Equally addictive was the way he unravelled helplessly under Harry’s hands, entire body trembling, back arching, long slim legs spread in surrender, bitten-off cries and splattering come followed by a loose-limbed collapse into Harry’s arms. God.

“What were we talking about?” Draco mumbled, and Harry grinned.

“I can’t remember,” he said, fingers leaving a wet trail down the inside of Draco’s thigh. Draco shivered, and Harry felt his grin get wider. Nothing could feel any better than this. “It couldn’t have been important.”

The only response he got was a slightly sceptical “Mmpf” sound and Draco’s head lolling back against his shoulder.

“It isn’t important,” Harry whispered, and buried his face in Draco’s hair. “Not to me.”

“Um, boys? You might want to get a room.” The calm voice thoroughly broke the moment. Draco frantically tugged his robes down over his knees and Harry tried not to drop dead of sheer embarrassment as Livia stood and watched from the door to her room. “Or hold that pose while I go for a camera.”

The heat rushed up Harry’s neck and into his cheeks as he pulled his jeans up and wished he could just disappear. Her amusement seemed to make the whole thing worse.

“Sorry to disturb you, by the way - all the grunting and groaning made me think my professional services would be required - and the locked door just made me suspicious.” She twirled her wand in her fingers. “Ever heard of Alohomora, boys?”

Draco scrambled to his feet, smoothing out the creases in his robes. “A couple of minutes earlier and you would have been wishing for a fucking camera,” he said. His hauteur would have been more impressive if he hadn’t just been laid across Harry’s lap with his robes up around his waist but Harry had to give him points for trying. “Tell anyone about this and I’ll -”

Livia grinned. “You’ll what?”

“I’ll spread rumours,” Draco said, completely straight-faced, “about the unspeakable things you do to your patients when they’re unconscious. I’m sure I can come up with some suitably shocking abuses of trust and power.”

Livia laughed. “I’m sure you could! I’m terrified!” She looked at him, then at Harry; Harry met her gaze and was surprised to see a kindly glint in her eyes. “And slightly envious, believe me. I haven’t done anything worth photographing in months.” Draco opened his mouth - she cut him off as if she knew what he was about to say. “I’ve already told you - Ravenclaw.” Draco grinned and raised his hands as if to ward off an attack - then he did something completely unexpected - he stepped up to Harry and draped his arms around his neck.

“Actually - go ahead. Tell everyone. My reputation couldn’t really get much worse around here.” His eyes glinted as he met Harry’s startled stare. “Potter’s, on the other hand… Do tell. The fallout out would be hilari-”

Even with an audience, he was so perfect to kiss. The kiss was part dare, part making a point, but Draco reacted as he always did, all heat and hunger, surrender and challenge. Perfect. It took all Harry’s self-control to pull back. “Do you really think I’d be ashamed?”

“Enjoy yourselves, children.” Harry heard Livia’s laugh, and the soft click of the door shutting, but he was too focused on Draco to even care. His eyes were unreadable, but his lips parted helplessly…so tempting…

Harry didn’t really want Livia to tell. The thought of people gossiping about ‘the Chosen One’ finally getting laid made him cringe, and there would be gossip, and the gender of his lover (and that description certainly didn’t suit Draco, but Harry couldn’t think of anything better) would only make the news more tasty. Not that it’s anyone’s business but mine, and I don’t care -

Or he hadn’t cared. The fact that Draco was a boy, and that he should probably be freaking out about that, hadn’t even crossed Harry’s mind - until he’d got that indisputably male body under him, and discovered that every inch of Draco, bloke’s tackle very definitely included, was a total fucking delight and exactly what Harry wanted. Should I be ashamed of that? That I want to return the favour - and it wouldn’t even be a favour, because I already know how good he tastes… His cock gave a hopeful twitch.

“I don’t want to go back to that room,” Draco said suddenly.

“Fair enough.”

He pulled free of Harry’s arms and started off down the corridor. “I’m going for a walk.”

Harry fell into step beside him. Draco shot him a sharp look, and he was careful to make his shrug as casual as he could. “What? I’m not cleaning up that mess by myself.” And I’m actually worried about him wandering around a Muggle town at night by himself…god. I should be worrying about what might happen to any Muggles he runs into. “And some fresh air would be nice.”

Draco gave a curt nod. “Please yourself.” Then he glanced over at Harry and treated him to a quick, rather evil, grin. “But if you turn out to be boring company I reserve the right to ditch you.”

*

“You really don’t know anything about your family?”

“I know who my parents were,” Potter said, sounding rather defensive. “And my mum’s side -”

“Not them - the Potters. What about your grandparents, your great-grandparents, your ancestors? The Potters were a fairly good old family, right? There must be plenty of information out there about them -” Potter sat on the grass by the side of the path and stared up at the lightening sky. Draco studied him and wondered if he’d ever be able to work him out. “You don’t care, do you?” he said slowly. “You’ve never bothered to even ask anyone?”

The realisation shook Draco to the core. How could Potter not care about his ancestry? His history? “You don’t care about who you are and where you came from?”

“I came from Lily Evans and James Potter,” Potter said quietly, “and all the family trees in the world won’t help me remember them any clearer. And I’m me,” he added, more firmly.

I’m me too. But Draco was also the son of Lucius and Narcissa, grandson of Abraxas, a descendent of Aristide, Fabian, Phrixus, Caelestis, Deimos, Evadne, Aeneas, and so many more. His ancestors had fought Dark Creatures, goblins, demons, Muggles and other Wizarding families with equal vigour, had raised hell and forged treaties, created spells to tear the world apart while also pouring their energies into making the Wizarding world strong and safe, and had been feared and respected in equal measure. And that’s part of me - how could it not be?

“Everything your ancestors did, everything they were, that’s all gone into making you ‘you’, you arrogant bastard. You didn’t spring fully formed from a demon’s brow - you must have more family connections than a couple of dead parents and grandparents you don’t even know the names of.”

“Draco -” Potter’s tone had a hint of warning in it.

“Fine.” Draco stood up, shaking leaves and dry grass from his robes. “You are just you, and you were conjured out of thin air, by some evil person intent on making my life miserable.”

Potter scrambled to his feet. He hadn‘t bothered to put on a shirt, and the sheen of sweat over his wiry torso was strangely fascinating…downright touchable… His trousers had slipped down, revealing a strip of skin shockingly pale against all the gold; Draco stared at pointed hip-bones, let his eyes follow the sparse line of hair down from Potter’s belly-button to where it disappeared beneath the denim, and tried to remember how to breathe. “Which would you rather be?” Potter asked with a grin. “Bored or miserable?”

“Good question. Neith-” Potter didn’t try to argue with him; he just cut Draco’s words off with a kiss that stopped him talking, breathing and thinking. “That’s cheating,” he managed as Potter finally let him speak.

“I’m learning,” Potter whispered. His breath tickled Draco’s lips, his fingers were warm and hard against his scalp, and it was just so easy to kiss him back - so easy and natural and right. Only it wasn’t right, or sensible - Draco could feel the St Christopher pressing against him, safe in the inside pocket of his robes but a constant reminder that he was going to have to go to Snape that morning - in less than half an hour, if the position of the sun was anything to go by. He had to lose Potter, but there he was, revelling in his fierce, clumsy, oh-so-earnest kisses, not even wanting to get away…in fact, the grass verge was staring to look very tempting…

Potter must have had the same idea, because a leg hooked around Draco’s and a quick push later, they were both sprawled on the grass. Being pinned to the ground by Potter was hardly a new experience, but Draco’s reaction to it was. Only the other boy’s transparent eagerness kept it from being totally humiliating as he dug his fingers into sinewy muscles and ground his body up against Potter’s - and his robes were such a nuisance…

Potter jerked back, rolled off him and sat back on the grass, knees clutched against his chest. Draco was about to protest when he heard laughter and voices from further up the path, and the sound of uncoordinated footsteps on the gravel. He followed Potter’s lead and sat up, smoothing his robes down over his knees and trying to breathe normally. He picked grass out of his hair and let his face settle into a well-practiced expression of boredom.

He caught the stench of alcohol before the two Muggles came around the corner. The smell came from the metal containers they were both drinking from, but they looked like they’d been partaking of it all night. Draco slid his fingers into his sleeve, and touched the smooth wood of his wand.

“Oh, look - the gypos are in town!”

“Keep walking, mate,” Potter said calmly. “We don’t want any trouble.”

The Muggle who’d spoken looked at Potter, blinking as if he was having difficulty focusing. His girlfriend stared at Draco, fingering the large gold hoops that hung from her ears. He refused to look at her bare legs and cleavage, or the over-muscled torso of her companion. What was it with Muggles and showing off their body parts? Even Granger did it, and in her case, at least, it probably wasn’t meant to be alluring or slutty - so what was it? Some kind of animalistic show of strength or sexuality, like monkeys with brightly-coloured rumps?

“Oi, Lestat! Keep your eyes off my bird!”

Draco didn’t understand the reference, but he knew an insult when he heard it, especially when the girl started giggling and even Potter stifled a laugh.

“But he’s so pretty,” she said as she was dragged away. Draco watched their unsteady progress along the path with narrowed eyes, and pulled his wand from his sleeve.

“No!” He got the hex out just before Potter got to him and shoved him back against the grass. “What have you done?” Potter demanded.

“Genital warts. Not very dramatic, I know, but you do insist on leaping on me. I hardly have time to get my spells out.” Potter glared down at him; Draco shrugged. “Go after them and reverse it, if you care so much.”

“I can’t believe you did that.”

“They were laughing at me,” Draco said, aware of how sulky he sounded but not really caring. “You were laughing at me.”

“They’re drunk - and I…I’m sorry.” Potter didn’t look apologetic; he looked like he was going to start laughing again. “It’s just…” He forced away his grin and tried to look serious. “Lestat’s just a character from a film. You -” that laughter welled up again “- you wouldn’t get it.”

“I’m sure I wouldn’t,” Draco said coldly. He pushed Potter off him and stood up. A quick glance down the path showed that the Muggles weren’t coming back, but - “I’m going back to the hotel.”

“Are you really that scared of them?” Potter asked, his laughter suddenly gone.

“What? I’m not scared of Muggles!”

“You looked at them like they were savage animals that could attack at any minute.”

That’s because they are. This conversation was not going to go well. “Would you rather I thought of them as quaint and amusing like your chum Weasley? They’re not cute, and they’re not funny - they’re dangerous.”

“Not to a wizard,” Potter said, and that one comment, that placid acceptance of all the drivel they’d been fed at school, made something snap inside Draco.

“Really?” he said, loading that one word with all the contempt he could muster. “Tell that to the witches and wizards who were killed and maimed in the Burning Times. Tell that to the Muggle-borns who never get to answer their Hogwarts letter, to the witches and wizards who disappear every year in the Muggle world. Take a wizard’s wand and he’s helpless - do you really think they’re incapable of figuring that out? They did before. We’re superior to them, but we’re the ones who have to hide.” Potter didn’t say anything - he was just staring at Draco, eyes wide. Draco could almost smell the bridges he was burning, but he just took a deep breath and kept going, unable to stop.

“Do you have any idea how insulting it is, for those of us who had ancestors die in the Burning Times, to be taught about Wendelin the fucking Weird and her tickling fetish while their very real suffering is just wiped from the history books? You know what real, non-sanitized history tells us? Muggles use us, or they kill us.” All those words, just cast upon the air, because Potter sure as hell wouldn’t be taking them in. “Or we kill them,” he added nastily.

Fuck him - I don’t care if he understands or not.

*

Draco wrapped his arms around himself and looked away, suddenly looking very fragile. Harry suddenly wondered what he’d thought when the Muggle girl had been giggling about his ‘prettiness’ - had he taken that slightly-sideways compliment as a threat?

Muggles use us, or they kill us.

The whole speech had hit Harry hard. He would have been revolted by an ‘all Muggles are animals’ defence, which was what he’d feared he’d get - but at least he had a good solid retort ready for that…

“Muggles aren’t like that anymore,” he said eventually. Then he thought of the Dursleys. Harry suspected Vernon would have enjoyed a good public burning of the ‘wrong sort’. “Well, most of them aren’t.”

You can’t blame people for something their ancestors did, he wanted to say. But then he remembered some more of Draco’s words. ‘Everything your ancestors did, everything they were, that’s all gone into making you ‘you’…’

Harry felt sick. How do you fight an attitude like that? He wrapped his arms around the other boy’s shoulders, not really shocked by the tension in him. “It’s all in the past,” he said. And, god, that’s pathetic - but what else is there to say?

Draco snorted. “Not if the Dark Lord has his way. Giants attacking Muggle army bases? He wants them all to know about us.” His voice dropped. “He wants a war with them.”

Harry tried to sound confident, though the thought chilled him. “He has to go through us first.”

“Oh, yes - I forgot. You’re going to save the world.” The cynicism was back in Draco’s voice; Harry was actually glad. “I hope that ‘us’ means the Order, and not you and me. I’m sure you can imagine my views on standing between the Dark Lord and the Muggles.”

“I can.” The words came out harder than Harry intended. “But first, before we do anything of the kind, we’re going to find those two drunks and you’re going to take that hex off them.”

“Oh, I am?”

Harry tightened his arms around Draco. One step and they were both in the bushes by the side of the path. Another step and they would be over the edge of the cliff. Oh, it wasn’t such a steep drop, but the fall would probably result in a few broken bones.

Draco twisted in his grip. “What are you doing?”

“You know when you virtually pushed me off the roof - were you completely sure I could Apparate to safety?”

Some earth gave way beneath Draco’s foot; he swore as he tried to keep his balance. “Of course I was. Fuck’s sake, Potter - this is -”

“I’m glad you trust me. I never thanked you properly for that, did I?” Harry gave him a bright smile and gave in to his sadistic side. “Side-along okay with you?” He stepped them both off the cliff.

*

Draco’s feet met thin air, and then he was falling, Potter’s arms still wrapped tightly around him.

“You complete fucking -” He barely had time to panic. His body felt like it was being stretched, torn between gravity and the tug of Potter’s Disapparition, and he just had to go with it, trust Potter -

The Apparition felt like a punch impacting on his entire body at once. Draco had never in his entire life experienced such a rough Side-along Apparition - and had never Disapparated so completely sure he was going to die. But there was suddenly sand beneath his feet, and Potter was laughing like an idiot, his controlling grasp turned into a rough hug.

Relief and adrenalin were a potent combination. Draco’s heart raced and he was suddenly aware of every inch of his miraculously still intact body. He was torn between raging at Potter for his recklessness and wanting to snog that stupid laughing face senseless. The latter option was more attractive. But I can’t pass up such a perfect excuse to get rid of him.

The thought was cold, and it thoroughly killed Draco’s buzz. The anger he showed as he tore himself free of Potter’s embrace was real - but it wasn’t really directed at Potter, despite the verbal abuse Draco threw his way.

Why is everything so fucking complicated? Why can’t I just have some fun?

His feet slipped in the sand as he marched away.

Because I’m not supposed to be having fun. This thing with Potter is not supposed to be fun.

“Draco! Wait!”

Draco ran up the steps from the beach. The zigzag path had walls of greenery and tiny man-made grottos - Potter wouldn’t be able to see the Portkey take him.

I’m letting him use my body so that I can use him. That’s all this is…

*

“Draco!”

What a fucking overreaction…I guess he didn’t trust me quite as much as he claimed.

Harry set off after Draco. His every hasty footstep threw up sand, erasing the other boy’s prints. He didn’t understand what had happened - for a moment, as the world snapped back into place around them, Draco had been a vision of wild, bright eyes and teeth bared in a fierce grin. Then the shutters had come down in his eyes, the grin had turned into a snarl, and he’d started to spit out insults. Harry was still stinging from the onslaught, and furious - but he was also confused.

What the hell just happened?

Draco was nowhere to be seen as Harry trudged up the cliff path. He hadn’t Disapparated - Harry would have heard him - so he had to be hiding. Git - this really isn’t the time to be playing games. What had he got to be so angry about, anyway? He was the one who had demanded not to be bored.

Rock closed around Harry as he stepped into one of the grottos. The dawn light was just starting to creep into the little cave, but dark as it was, it was just as stiflingly hot as outside. “Draco?” He got no response. All he could hear was the crunch of his own footsteps on the gravel, and the gentle murmuring of the sea.

The touch started as a tingling at the back of his brain, a sudden jolt of emotion that didn’t belong to him - could never belong to him, because he would never feel such total rage, such a terrible desire to hurt, to punish, to destroy…

It was only a flash, one moment of connection he tried to frantically push away, but it told him so much. Voldemort was enraged (and slightly scared?), and he wanted to tear open Lucius Malfoy’s skull and make him eat the contents. But he had to find him first…

Harry screwed his fists against his eyes, fought the hate slipping into his veins like poison, tried to block out the lovingly-detailed plans that flickered through his head - how to make Malfoy suffer, how to make him scream, and puke, and grovel, and pay -

The connection broke. Harry remembered how to breathe, and the hot air suddenly seemed clean and pure as he sucked it into his lungs. Cleaner than he felt, anyway. Unfortunately, there was no way to scrub out the inside of his brain after Voldemort had touched it - the dirty feeling would linger long after the images had faded.

He hadn’t even been asleep. That’s bad. That’s really bad…

Harry put a trembling hand out to the rock wall, trying to steady himself. But the rock itself seemed to be shaking…

The walls of the grotto tore themselves apart in a storm of sharp splinters. Harry tore his wand from his pocket as the splinters plucked viciously at his flesh - and the ceiling collapsed on top of him.

*

“The Agars and the Fulkes are helping the Order? Interesting. They always seemed so steadfast in their loyalty.”

Draco met sharp grey eyes and gave Snape his most innocent smile. Snape’s use of Polyjuice no longer creeped him out. It was quite nice, really - if he didn’t think too hard, Draco could make himself believe he was actually talking to his father. Though how Snape was getting hold of Lucius’ hair - or other bits of him - for the potion still bugged him. Surely his father would never allow that…or had he really become so careless?

“Of course, the Shards and the Vavassurs aren’t quite so trustworthy.” The twitch of Snape’s lips could almost have been a smile. Almost. “A slip of the tongue, perhaps, Draco?”

Draco shrugged. “I wanted to see how good your other sources are.”

“So you’re not attempting to protect these families?”

“Muggle-lovers?” He didn’t even need to protest that. He knows me better than that.

This time the Portkey had brought him to a narrow gallery overlooking the Lower Hall. And this time there had been no flailing around in the darkness - Draco’s very presence had been enough to set the great torches ablaze. He looked down over the gathered ranks of statues, each and every one of them staring up at him, and was grateful for the light and open space at least.

“You’re not interested in names, anyway,” he said quietly. “That’s not why you threw me to Potter.” Now was the time to test his theory. Draco didn’t know what would be more satisfying - to be right about Snape, or to know something Snape didn’t? “You want to know about Horcruxes - and how close Potter is to finding them.” Snape didn’t say anything. His heart beating faster, Draco gripped the carved stone parapet until he could feel every imperfection through his fingertips. “I presume it is ‘them’ - I know about two already.”

“Two?” The one word was neither confirmation nor denial. Draco slowly turned to look at his teacher. The handsome mask he wore showed no emotion.

“An athame once belonging to Rowena Ravenclaw, and a cup of Helga Hufflepuff’s - I think the badger crest kind of gives it away.”

“Potter has these?” And there it was, confirmation. Though congratulations on my brilliance would have been nice.

“Oh no. Apparently my cousin Regulus got to the athame first, back in the days when he was still breathing. And the cup…well, you have it, don’t you, sir?”

“I do not.” The flat denial took Draco’s breath away. Snape had never lied to him - oh, he slid around answers he preferred not to give, but flat-out lies had always seemed to be beneath him. It never even occurred to Draco to doubt him. I might need to have a cosy little chat with Cassiopeia’s portrait.

“Potter thinks you do.”

“Potter can think whatever he chooses to - his ‘thoughts’ are not facts.” Snape looked at Draco for a moment. “I knew you would figure out what I needed from you.”

“You could have just told me.”

“And if you were put under Veritaserum?”

“I was. I passed.”

“Obviously. Very well - the Dark Lord made six Horcruxes. Two have been destroyed - I wish to recover the other four. What are you smirking at, boy?”

“It’s good to finally know where your loyalties are.”

“Really?” This time Snape did smile. “Then let me give you something to ponder, since you ‘know’ so much. What do you think the Dark Lord would do to someone who knew his secret - even a loyal retainer whose only wish was to warn him of the danger? If said loyal retainer had any sense of self-preservation, he would attend to the problem himself, gathering up the items for safe-keeping.”

“Safe-keeping and leverage,” Draco added quietly. Snape raised an eyebrow and gave him a small - rather approving, he thought - nod. Draco could see the possibilities there, all right - used correctly, such a stash could be an extremely powerful bargaining tool, a way for Snape to rise even higher…or for Draco to protect his family… And I wouldn’t even need all of them, just the last surviving one…

“Don’t plot, Draco. Obey.”

Draco didn’t say anything. Fuck, was it so obvious what I was thinking? I need to work on that. “Is my father content to ‘obey’?” he said eventually. Because the last time I saw him was just before he killed a gang of Death Eaters and fucking bowed to Granger…

Snape didn’t reply immediately, which suggested - to Draco at least - that, no, Lucius Malfoy was not being obedient. “I haven’t seen Lucius in over two days. The castle has become a death trap, apparently determined to drive us out. I believe the two to be linked, and so does the Dark Lord. Come with me.” Snape didn’t even give him a chance to reply, he just swept through the archway and disappeared down the stairs beyond. Draco hurried to catch up.

As they stepped into the Lower Hall, he heard the creak of the statues moving, their expressionless faces turning to watch them. He could feel their eyes on him as he followed Snape towards the altar - and he reminded themselves that they were just lumps of carved stone, even less ‘alive’ than portraits.

But that feeling of being watched - scrutinised, even - didn’t go away, and Draco had a sudden fear that the statues could see past the blond hair and masks of respectability, to the Dark Creature and the impostor walking in their midst. Every slow movement increased his tension.

If Snape was concerned, he wasn’t showing it. He nodded respectfully to the statues as he passed them, just as Lucius would have, showing due deference to ‘his’ ancestors.

The statue of Lady Evadne stood apart from the others, by a hole torn in the stone wall - a hole just large enough to climb through. I don’t remember that being there before… Draco glanced at the old statue nervously as he stepped forward, towards the eerie glow that spilled out through the opening, propelled by the curiosity that had first led him to explore these catacombs. And curiosity killed the cat. But Evadne made no move to even look at him, much less ‘talk’ to him - and for that he was very grateful.

Beyond the hole was another cave, much smaller. There were no torches in there, but light flickered off the rough walls and across the pool of water that took up most of the floor. The light was actually coming from the water, he realised. It was strangely beautiful…

Then Draco saw what was floating in the water - long blond hair trailed across the surface like weeds in a pond… Snape caught hold of his arm just as he was about to plunge forward.

“That is not Lucius,” he snapped. Draco blinked and stared at the body. Snape was right - it was too small. In life it had been someone who could be called petite, not his tall, majestic father. The panic drained out of him.

“Then who?”

Snape glanced back to the opening in the wall. The statue of Evadne had moved to face them. “Someone, I think, who would be very glad to meet both the Dark Lord and Potter. Lucius opened this room.”

Draco crouched down beside the pool. A briny smell filled his nostrils, complete with a sickly sweet undercurrent that made him really glad he hadn’t dived in. The person in the pool was beyond saving, anyway. Long beyond saving. The body wasn’t decayed, exactly - perhaps the flesh had rotted, but her waxy skin was intact and stretched tight across sharp, prominent bones. And it was a woman - he was sure of it. He looked back at the statue to find ‘her’ staring right back at him. The cave was so cold he could see his breath as mist in the air. He had so many questions, but only one forced its way out of his mouth. “What interest could she have in Potter?” The statue wasn’t listening - couldn’t be listening - but it came out as a whisper anyway.

“Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned,” Snape intoned, sounding amused. “Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.” He moved to stand next to Draco. “Alas, I have no access to the lady’s thoughts. All I know are the legends, and I suspect they do not do her justice. You didn’t ask if she could live again,” he said thoughtfully, “or how much I know of your father’s plans. Your thoughts went straight to Potter.”

“Pure coincidence, I assure you,” Draco said with dignity. It meant nothing. Potter’s nothing. He felt his stomach twist, and a sting of pain inside his ribs. Nothing at all.