InsaneJournal

15.

“She does want to live again,” Draco said quietly as he stepped back out into the main hall. He dipped his head respectfully as he passed ‘Evadne’, trying to ignore how vulnerable the back of his neck felt as he did so. A frantic little voice in his head informed him that she could snap it with one blow.

“Undoubtedly.” Draco didn’t think Snape was taking that momentous news with quite the gravity it deserved. “Have you been eating well?”

“What?”

“The change takes its toll on your body,” Snape said quietly.

“Oh.”

“You need to ensure you get a good intake of protein - plus calcium and a good range of bone-strengthening minerals.”

Draco didn’t know how to reply to that. Even if Snape was just keeping up the pretence of being concerned for his welfare, this practical discussion of the change caught Draco off guard. He was incapable of thinking about it so rationally - god, he’d barely got past wanting to go and curl up in a corner whenever he did think about it.

Snape seemed to take his silence as acquiescence. He pressed a wad of parchment into Draco’s hand. “If you’re careful and don’t make any mistakes, the potion should only take twenty-seven hours to brew.” Draco looked down at the parchment. He didn’t have to ask which potion the instructions were for - there was only one that would be any use to him in his current situation. “I’ve experimented with the ingredients, and simplified it somewhat to remove the necessity of fermenting time. It won’t have the efficacy of Belby’s original formula, but it should…take the edge off.”

The parchment crumpled between Draco’s fingers. That’s it. Snape’s telling me to brew Wolfsbane potion. This is actually happening…I’m going to -

He forced his face into a rictus of a grin. “So, no last minute miracle cure, then?”

Snape didn’t say anything. Long blond hair swept across his face as he looked away.

Draco tried to make his voice light. “You’ve let me down. I thought you could do anything.”

“I’m flattered, Draco, but miracles are beyond my capacity.”

He wasn’t going to shout, and he wasn’t going to cry. Not that either would have any effect on Snape or the universe anyway.

“It may not be necessary,” Snape said. Draco barely held back a snort of derision. If Snape of all people was trying to comfort him, however coolly, then his situation was really bad.

Werewolf… Werewolf… Werewolf…

His vision blurred. Purely tiredness, he told himself - he wasn’t crying. The statues went from fearsome monsters to dim shapes at the edges of his sight - hardly anything to be concerned about.

Werewolf…

He bumped into Snape’s back as the older man abruptly stopped walking. What Draco saw when he looked up drove all thoughts of Wolfsbane and changes from his head. For a moment he thought they were looking into a mirror - until he saw that he wasn’t there. Only Lucius, looking at his doppelganger and his son as if they were the mirages, not him.

“Is it necessary to torment me like this?” His eyes stared straight at Draco, but he wasn’t speaking to him, or to Snape. His voice was sharp and cold, and his face was as calm and composed as Draco had ever seen it. Draco would have been relieved to see his father in such good health - if he hadn’t been talking to thin air. “I know the rewards and the risks of our course. This -” He waved his hand dismissively at Draco and Snape. “- is excessive.”

“Father.”

Snape caught hold of Draco’s shoulder as he pushed past him. “No.”

Draco could hear chains rattling down far passageways. He could smell salt-water and decay in the gale that suddenly tore at his clothes and whipped his hair free of its binding, and he could almost make himself believe he could hear a voice in it, attempting to whisper in his ears.

Lucius’ eyes narrowed. “Severus?”

Snape stood exposed as an impostor, surrounded by statues that were Lucius’ weapons to command, and didn’t even flinch. He gave Lucius a perfunctory nod, barely even respectful. “Finally. We need to talk, Lucius.”

Lucius looked him up and down. “So presumptuous, Severus,” he drawled, and for a moment, everything seemed normal. Draco let himself breathe. “I hardly need ask where you got my hair - I hope it was my hair - and not anything else.”

“You gave me the opportunity, Lucius,” Snape said calmly. Draco listened to the faint edge of scorn in his voice and relaxed even further. It was exactly like old times - or it would have been if the way Snape spoke to his father hadn’t reminded him uncomfortably of how Draco spoke to Potter. “It would have been rude not to take it.” It really reminded him of how he spoke to Potter. He peered at the two men, trying to read their body language. Nothing. It’s just my imagination…my sick imagination…

They stared at each other. Around them, the statues creaked, and Draco felt a new flicker of alarm.

“You don’t belong here. You shouldn’t have come.”

The statues moved.

Draco didn’t have time to think - if he had he would never have done something so stupid. But his body moved on its own. He barely had time to realise that he was in front of Snape, to slam his eyes shut as crumbling stone arms reached out for him -

Seconds past, and he was miraculously intact. He cautiously opened one eye, took in the clutching fingers halted less than an inch from his throat, and quickly shut it again.

“He belongs here,” Snape purred. If he was concerned by his close brush with death, his voice didn’t give him away. “They see him as a Malfoy.”

“And I do not?”

“Draco - you can go.” Draco felt hands on his shoulders, easing him to one side, away from the statues. “I don’t think your father will let them kill me. He was just…making a point.”

Lucius stood still and silent as the wind tore around him. His eyes were cold and hard. Draco looked at him, then at Snape, still within reach of those reaching arms. The Polyjuice may have made them look superficially the same, but now he could easily tell the difference. He wondered at Snape’s confidence. Draco wouldn’t trust his father an inch in this strange mood.

If he didn’t order that attack, he certainly made no attempt to stop it.

“Very well, Severus - talk. You’re good at that.”

And there’s no place for me in that talk. As he walked away from the two men, Draco didn’t bother to look back. He didn’t expect any acknowledgement of his departure from either of them.

*

Fifteen minutes later, Draco blinked in bright sunlight, and carefully checked his body for accidental splinchage. Three hundred miles - but it felt like he’d Apparated between worlds rather than counties. He let himself drop into the sand, listened to the soft murmuring of the surf and the distant shouts of Muggles as they set up the funfair, and wondered if he should expect an apology or a fight from Potter. He found his mood lightening - which was ridiculous, because nothing had changed in the past few minutes.

Draco had the instructions for Wolfsbane Potion in his pocket, and Snape was probably being torn apart right at that very moment -

Potter doesn’t do apologetic very well - he’ll probably still be angry…

He got to his feet.

Blue lights flashed on the cliff top. For a moment his breath caught and his blood pounded - until his brain caught up with his eyes. It wasn’t a battle, just the lights of Muggle emergency vehicles - he’d seen them before, at the hospital.

He might not have Apparated back into a battle, but there was something wrong…

He looked up at the zigzag path. Where before it had disappeared into little grottos in the side of the cliff, now it was blocked by boulders and rubble -

His heart and lungs seemed to stop working, but he ran up the steps two at a time.

This didn’t necessarily have anything to do with Potter… But who fucking else? Who else is so -

A figure stepped out to block his path. Draco saw the wand in the other man’s hand and reacted on instinct. His draw-and-flick movement was so smooth and fast he impressed even himself; his disarming spell didn’t just rip the wand from his opponent’s hand - it sent him staggering as well.

Only he wasn’t an ‘opponent’, was he? Draco recognised him as one of Livia’s patients. Strawby or Starkey or something. The realisation didn’t stop his move into a proper fighting stance. Seaby - that’s it.

There was an answering flash of recognition in Seaby’s eyes as they flicked over Draco’s robes, then up to his face. “Malfoy, isn’t it? Bloody hell, you’re fast.”

“What the fuck is going on?”

Seaby gaped at him. “Where the hell have you been? Every witch and wizard in Folkestone must have felt it - so much magic poured into the one spot. Even the Muggles noticed the explosion. It’s a miracle Potter’s still alive under there - hey!”

Draco pushed him aside. Ahead of him, he could see figures moving about amongst the rubble - they were wearing Muggle clothes, but he could see wands in their hands. It was impossible to levitate boulders discretely, but they were attempting it. He heard one of them call out, and a stretcher was carried over. Draco broke into a run.

“Careful! Be gentle with him!” Draco recognised Livia’s dreadlocked head as she bent over the stretcher. The limp body they placed on it was covered in rock dust, but he was sure it had black hair -

“Potter!”

“No.” Draco’s headlong rush was stopped by an arm thrust firmly into his path. “Unless you’ve got hidden Healing skills, you can’t be any use there.” Draco angrily rubbed at his eyes with his sleeve - anyone’s eyes would be watering after running into a werewolf at full speed - and glared at Lupin. The worry he saw in his eyes diluted the anger somewhat. “We’ve got a whole crowd - including police and paramedics - to Obliviate and send on their way before we can take him up to the hotel. I’m sure you can help with that.”

Draco could hear Livia muttering to herself as she ran her wand over Potter’s body. He looked over at them - then jumped as Lupin’s hand landed on his shoulder.

“Listen to me. Harry’s strong - and more powerful than even I imagined. He was shouting at us through the rock up until a few minutes ago. He’ll be all right.”

Potter’s head moved. He probably wasn’t even conscious, but Draco was sure he could see a glint of green between the dust-caked eyelashes - looking straight at him.

Lupin was right. There was nothing Draco could do for him. His impulse to go over there and shake Potter conscious certainly wouldn’t be appreciated by Livia.

“Come on - make yourself useful.”

*

The first thing Harry saw when he opened his eyes was Livia’s wand pointed straight at his face. “Five o’clock in the morning,” she said, “I have to fight off mutant spiders. Six o’clock, you get a cliff dropped on you. Is this some evil plot to deny me sleep and send me crazy?”

Harry tried to sit up - the movement set off aches in so many different parts of his anatomy that he gave up. “Everything hurts,” he managed. But the soft bed was a definite improvement on half a ton of rock pressing down on him. The day was looking up.

“I’ve dealt with the fractures and the lacerations and the more serious contusions,” Livia said, and gave him a grim smile. “But I am leaving you some bruises - just to remind you to take more care of yourself in future.”

“That’s a bit harsh.” The sound of Ron’s voice made Harry move despite the pain. He twisted his head to look at him - and saw who was sitting beside him. He groped on the bedside table for his glasses before remembering they were broken.

“I fixed them for you.” He felt the glasses pressed into his palm. Hermione gave Harry a warm smile as he put them on and she came into sharper focus. “Just like old times, isn’t it?”

Harry grinned back at her; Livia turned on Ron. “I get tetchy when I don’t get enough sleep,” she said. “And that’s partially your fault as well, Snoring Wonder.” She looked at Hermione and grinned. “If he tells you he was awake at your bedside all night, he’s lying.”

“I was!”

“You’re awake.” Harry was stating the obvious, but he didn’t know what else to say. The relief was overwhelming; he felt like he could get up and jump around the room, bruises be damned. The pain didn’t stop him reaching out to Hermione, and almost falling out of the bed as he swept her into a fierce hug.

She laughed as she returned his hug. “Just in time, apparently - other people needed the bed! I finally got a good night’s sleep. And the dreams were good!”

As he pulled back, he looked at her face. Hermione didn’t look like she’d had ‘a good night’s sleep’ - the rings under her eyes were like bruises, and her face was pale and drawn. “You look terrible.”

Her smile faltered. “You’re not the picture of health yourself,” she said.

“What happened?”

“I would have thought it was obvious. The athame had a rather nasty curse on it -”

Hermione shot a quick look at Livia. The other girl got the message. “You need rest,” she told Harry firmly as she gathered up her things. “I’ve put a tracking spell on you. Get out of that bed, even for a call of nature, and I’ll be right back up here. Understand?”

“But -”

“It won’t kill you to spend the morning in bed, Harry. Even if you don’t have Smart-Arse to keep you company.” Hermione’s smile froze. Ron frowned, but couldn’t have picked up on Livia’s full meaning, because there was no explosion. “Where is he, anyway? The quiet’s starting to get unnerving.”

“I don’t know,” Harry said. He thought his last sight before passing out completely had been a shocked face framed by bright hair, but he was starting to wonder if it had just been his imagination. What if Harry’s attacker - and it had been an attack, he was sure of it - had gone after Draco too? The thought made him sit up so suddenly it made every inch of his abused body hurt. Someone needs to find him.

“Do you think we’d trust him near you, after this?” Harry heard Hermione’s words, but it was a moment before understanding crashed down on him.

He had to fight to keep from shouting. “You think Draco did this?”

“Who else?” Ron sounded - and looked - irritated. “And don’t say he’s not capable of murder, Harry. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten what Malfoy is. He almost did for me and Katie last year. Just because he’s hanging around you like your new best friend -”

“Is that what this is about? You think you’re being replaced? Well, maybe that’s a good plan, because -”

“Stop it!” Hermione shouted. With both Harry and Ron staring at her, she took a deep breath and continued, her voice trembling, “Both of you. Stop it. Neither Ron nor I are jealous of Malfoy, Harry. We’re just worried about you.”

“Don’t. Or, if you have to, worry about Voldemort or his Death Eaters getting to me.” Harry sighed. The anger had faded, and he tried to think of some way to explain. He needed logic, not emotion, to convince them. Right - just the thing I’m not so good at…

“Draco’s not a killer, and even if he was, he’s had me alone often enough - why has he waited until now? And if he is still working for Voldemort, wouldn’t he take me to him, rather than trying to do the job himself? If he’s not working for Voldemort, why would he try to kill me? I’m the only person on his side. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Well, I rather like him,” Livia said. “And if you two are going to get Harry agitated, you can leave.”

“I caught him eavesdropping on Moody and Lupin,” Hermione said, with the air of someone producing a trump card. “They were discussing Order business and -”

The door opened. “And I like listening in on other people’s conversations,” Draco said calmly. “Knowledge is power, Granger.” He leaned against the wall and glared at everyone in the room. When he met Harry’s gaze, his eyes were cold and hard. “And, sometimes, the conversations are about me. Masterly summing-up, Potter. I’m impressed. Is your brain hurting after producing all that common sense?”

*

“I was lying when I said I liked you,” Livia said.

“Thank fuck for that,” Draco replied, but his eyes never left Potter. “Can’t I leave you alone for ten minutes without you doing something stupid?” The words were almost a plea; only Weasley and Granger’s presence kept Draco posed in the doorway, rather than marching over to Potter and shaking him.

Potter shrugged and winced. “Apparently not.”

“It might have escaped your notice,” Granger said sharply, “but Harry was attacked.”

“Who by? I’ll have to send them a thank-you card.”

Potter’s mouth twitched into a smile. Weasley stared at him, his expression a mixture of horror and disbelief. “You actually like that?”

“‘That’ has a name,” Draco said. He wasn’t too insulted, really - at least Weasley took Draco’s careful indifference and snide remarks at face value. Unlike Potter, who was smirking at him as if he could see past every line. Potter smirking? Me only being able to fool Weasley? The Apocalypse is here… “Have you passed on my deductions to your fawning minions?”

Potter did wince at that. Weasley stood up, and Draco watched him. He was caught up in so many grand games - at least he could play one of his own, even if it was only with Weasley.

“Did you tell him -”

“About the Horcruxes? Give me some credit, Weasley. It wasn’t hard to work out.”

Potter looked over Draco’s shoulder. He heard Livia sigh.

“I know when I’m not wanted. If you want this lot out of here, Harry, just get out of the bed. I’ll be right back.”

“R.A.B. is - was - Regulus Black,” Potter said as soon as the door had closed behind her.

“Sirius’ brother?” In his excitement, Weasley forgot all about Draco - which was slightly insulting. “So the locket and the cup could be at Grimmauld Place? Brilliant!”

Draco didn’t say anything. Potter looked at him and grinned. “You’re brilliant.” Draco remembered the words, and what had followed them - rough kisses and cocks crushed together by entwined fingers - sex like single combat…whoever broke first lost…

These robes weren’t as thick and all-concealing as his own, sadly-ruined, set. Draco sat down on the closest chair and arranged some folds in his lap. All he did was fucking grin at me. Pathetic. And I’m supposed to be angry with him…

He looked at a patch of bare floorboards by his feet. Livia had apparently managed to Vanish a section of carpet as well as the spider ‘sculpture’ - a fact that made him slightly dubious about letting her treat his injuries in the future. That was a good train of thought - Livia and her knowing smirk plus the spiders equalled a sudden droop that would have been embarrassing in other circumstances, but now was a blessed relief.

“You are going to stay right there,” Granger was telling Potter. Draco listened to her snarl and decided that he would definitely obey her. “Livia said you needed to rest, and I agree with her. We’ll check it out.”

“It could be dangerous -”

“And it would be less dangerous if you were with us?”

“More dangerous, I’d say.”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Granger snapped. “I don’t need your help.”

“And you won’t get it.” Draco gave her a sweet smile. “Are you sure you’re up to gallivanting off looking for Horcruxes? You look like hell.”

That touched a nerve. She glared at him. Old Granger would have slapped him or blubbered then slapped him. The new, not-really-improved version just stared at him with venom in her eyes. “Well, I’m sorry my current appearance doesn’t live up to everyone’s exacting standards.”

“What standards? I just like my girls to look like they’ve actually got a pulse.”

Granger got to Weasley before Weasley got to Draco. Potter froze, one foot almost on the floor, as Draco looked at the point of Granger’s wand.

“I don’t know why Harry likes you,” she said, “but he does. Hurt him and I’ll curse your family unto the fourth generation. Understand?”

Draco smiled up at her, trying to keep his astonishment from showing on his face. That’s the kind of threat I’d expect from Pansy, not Granger - and even Pansy would only ever say something like that in jest… Granger was absolutely serious. She can’t understand what she’s saying. He kept smiling, and said quietly, “Do that and I’ll wipe yours out. That’s presuming either of us live long enough to have children, of course.”

“Hermione?” Weasley sounded confused - and as shocked as Draco felt. Granger blinked, and Draco watched the hardness leave her eyes, her expression change - as if she was changing into a different person in front of his eyes. It was only to be expected, he told himself - everyone was under stress, battle affected different people in different ways - but it still made him feel uneasy. He could smell seawater and decay - but that’s just from my robes. No need to get paranoid.

“We’re all on the same side,” Potter said. “Draco - stop baiting everyone. Ron, Hermione - you’re only making him happy by rising to it.”

“Spoil-sport.” The words came out gentler than Draco intended, but Potter did sound - and look - so tired. He wouldn’t be any fun to tease.

He was suddenly aware of both Granger and Weasley staring at him. Which was unnecessary - perhaps ‘gentle’ wasn’t what they expected from him, but it didn’t mean they had to stare as if he’d grown a second head.

“I’m sorry.” And Potter didn’t have to talk to him like that - if Draco’s tone had been ‘gentle’, then Potter’s was more like a caress. A teasing caress - but that didn’t make it any better - and it put unwelcome images in his head.

“I was glad you’re not dead,” Draco said. “But you’re making me change my mind.” Potter just grinned at that. Green was such a cold colour - it wasn’t natural that his eyes could look so warm. Smug bastard.

“We’ll go to Grimmauld Place.” It was obviously a day for ‘gentle’ - Weasley put his hands on Granger’s shoulders, but so lightly it seemed he was worried she would crumble under his touch. To Draco’s surprise, he got a smile rather than a slap. Whoever would have thought it - the idiot’s actually making progress. “Try not to kill Malfoy while we’re gone -” He paused. “What am I saying? Kill him, please.”

“Hilarious.” Draco crossed his arms and gave Weasley his best glare. “I’m dying of laughter.”

Weasley actually had the nerve to smirk at him as they left. Can this day really get any worse?

Potter pulled his knees up to his chest and stared at him. And here come the Sixty Questions…

Draco got there first. “How the fuck do you nearly get killed going from the beach to the fucking hotel? No Death Eaters in sight, all these people here to protect you - but you still somehow manage to put your fucking life in danger? How do you do that?”

Potter blinked in the face of his rant. “I didn’t make the cliff fall on me,” he said mildly.

“Then someone’s trying to kill you!” Draco found himself on his feet - and angrier than he had any right to be. After all, it really wasn’t his business if Potter wanted to get himself killed. “How can you be so calm about that?”

That prompted a startled smile, and a shake of Potter’s head. “Welcome to my life,” he said - and was that a little trace of bitterness in his voice? “Why do you think I spent so much time in the hospital wing while I was at school?”

“Because you’re clumsy?” Two steps forward and he was at the side of the bed. “Because you liked the cards and flowers? Or because you were always chasing trouble?” Draco’s fingers curled into the bed-covers, and he leaned over to shout into Potter’s face - and he still didn’t know why he was so angry. “Harry fucking Potter - no Evil Plan left un-foiled! Stupid, self-righteous -”

“You know nothing about me, do you?” He’d managed to get Potter angry too - and made the mistake of getting too close to him. Quite a big mistake, Draco decided, suddenly flat on his back, Potter glaring down at him, fingers digging hard into his wrists. “Trouble chased me. Do you really think I chose all this?” Even covered in bruises, his glasses barely hanging on to the tip of his nose, he was breath-taking in his fury. Much as Draco hated to admit to being scared of Potter, it was less humiliating than the other reason his blood was suddenly pounding, his stomach screwing itself into a twisted, painful knot.

Potter’s grip tightened. As mild discomfort turned into outright pain, Draco was hard and hating him - really hating him for the first time in so long -

“Fine - now I want to kill the bastard. I wouldn’t walk away from this even if he let me. But do you think I went ‘chasing trouble’ when I was a baby? Or when Quirrell was trying to knock me off my broom in my very first Quidditch match?” Those enraged eyes were replaced by a mop of black hair as Potter hung his head. “I never wanted any of this!”

Potter’s fingers twisted as if he was acting out wringing the Dark Lord’s neck; Draco managed to stifle his cry of pain behind a bitten lip, but an embarrassing whimper forced its way out anyway. It stopped Potter dead.

He let go of Draco’s wrists and sat back on his heels. “Sorry.”

Draco gingerly moved his hands. Nothing appeared to be broken - but his skin was bright red and… Are those actually fingerprints?

“You sadistic bastard,” he said slowly, making a fist as he stared at the marks. They were going to bruise, he was sure of it.

*

Harry should have been expecting the punch, he decided as his vision spun and his ears rang. If he was honest, he deserved it. But, as his glasses bounced off the sheets and disappeared off the edge of the mattress, he caught Draco’s fist as it swung towards him a second time - he was repentant, not masochistic.

“So, have you finished emoting about your tragic past?”

Screw ‘repentant’.

His own punch snapped Draco’s head back and splattered blood over flawless skin. It got rid of the sneer - even Draco couldn’t sneer with a bust and bleeding lip - but satisfaction was quickly overtaken by guilt again…then anger at the guilt, because he wanted to fucking pound him into the mattress, and Draco was deliberately pushing his buttons now -

And I actually warned Ron and Hermione about rising to it…I thought I was immune…

Harry’s body was moving almost independently of his brain. He was dimly aware of Draco swearing at him, spitting blood over the white sheets, but he had a handful of Draco’s hair and he yanked him forward, tasting his blood - again - as he kissed him, and…wasn’t he supposed to be punching him?

…I thought I was in control…

He suddenly found himself shoved back, Draco’s fingers wound into the fabric of his pyjama top. But he still had hold of Draco’s hair; they fell back onto the mattress together in a sprawl of awkward limbs.

“Are you in rut again?” Draco spat. But his snarl turned into a gasp as Harry’s mouth found the arch of his throat, and Harry could feel his erection digging into his thigh. Which was a damn good thing, because he didn’t think it would be physically possible for him to back down or let Draco go now. The limit of his self-control was not drawing more blood as he bit at creamy skin, glorying in the marks he left and the moans he forced from Draco’s mouth. The long moments they spent tangled up in each other’s clothes as they tried to get them off were among the most agonising of his life.

“You know, you shouldn’t be so rough.” A stab of pain shot through Harry’s thigh as Draco dug his fingers into one of his bruises. “With you all beat up like this -” The gloating pleasure in his voice really shouldn’t have made Harry shiver like that. “- I could really make you suffer.”

One swift lunge that made all Harry’s abused muscles ache, and he had exactly what he wanted - that long elegant body flattened against the scruffy bed sheets, every inch of that fantastic skin either pressed up against his or waiting for exploration. “Whatever happened to ‘I’m glad you’re not dead’?”

Draco smirked up at him. “You’d be no fun dead,” he purred, and Harry laughed. A hell of a lot of things had changed since the last time he’d heard that from him. “Suffering, on the other hand -”

Harry shook his head in mock disgust. “Sadist.” He eyed the long line of Draco’s neck.

Draco licked the cut on his lip. “Look who’s talki-” The sarcastic comment was cut off with a gasp, and his whole body arched up against Harry’s. Yes, that spot just below his ear-lobe was just as sensitive as Harry remembered.

His whole body was ridiculously - wonderfully - sensitive. The softest brush of lips against his neck made him tremble, a tongue tracing the dip in his collarbone made his cock jerk and his nipples turn into hard little nubs just begging to be licked and sucked - and, yep, doing that made him whimper and writhe, his cock suddenly making a slick trail against Harry’s ribs. It was too much. That hot hunger was swelling up inside him again, the blood pounding in his head so hard it almost hurt. When Draco tore his hands free and frantically pushed at his shoulders he went down willingly. More than willingly.

He clutched at Draco’s hipbones, pressing him back into the sheets, left not-so-gentle bite-marks on the soft vulnerable skin of his belly, pressed his nose into translucent curls that weren’t as soft as they looked, and set about indulging his craving for the feel, taste and scent of him with what he knew damn well was more enthusiasm than skill.

Still, Draco wasn’t doing any complaining. His fingers twisted into the sheets, his thighs trembled under Harry’s touch, his cock throbbed against Harry’s tongue -

“Fuck, fuck, fuck -” That definitely wasn’t a complaint. God… Harry was swept up in his taste, intoxicated by his smell - every shudder, every gasped curse made the want stronger, his mouth more demanding.

“Pot-” And, okay, maybe his taste wasn’t quite that perfect - but at least Harry managed not to gag this time. He was too busy exulting as Draco shook and almost sobbed beneath him. “Fuck-”

*

Draco sucked air into his lungs and frantically fought the tiredness trickling down his limbs. Potter released his bruising grip and sat back on his heels, that stupid grin plastered back on his face. He reached out to brush back the strands of hair stuck to Draco’s forehead; Draco feebly batted his hand away and did it himself.

The grin faltered, but the expression in Potter’s eyes remained the same. It said ‘my turn’.

Fuck that. So, for some bizarre reason Draco seemed to find Potter attractive - it had become rather impossible to deny that - and he was certainly good at getting Draco off. But he owed me one. More than one, actually, what with the bruised wrists and bust lip, not to mention the cliff-thing and the almost-getting-himself-killed-thing.

Draco smiled up at Potter, stretched sensuously - and slipped his hand into the folds of his discarded robes. That wand has to be in here somewhere. Ah.

“Was that…all right?” Potter actually sounded uncertain.

“Stick with the caveman routine - it suits you better.” Sharp words, but Draco found himself smiling as he said them. Ridiculous.

“Well -” That grin flashed again. “- when you put it like that -” Draco was promptly pinned back down by Potter’s sweaty body - and it was just more proof that the universe had a sick sense of humour, the way he responded to that. He was tired and sated - but arousal jolted through his body, and his cock twitched with renewed interest -

“Bastard!” Draco moved; Potter was caught unawares - he had to be, to be flipped over on his back so easily. He was strong - there was no way for Draco to pin him down…but that wasn’t the idea… He pulled his wand free of the robes.

“Incarcerous!”

“What the -?” Potter’s confused expression as he struggled against the ropes was almost cute - almost.

“I was really fucking worried about you, you smug git!” Ok, so Draco really hadn’t meant to say that. Spewing out your emotions was obviously infectious. And dangerous - because Potter would always take those little moments of honesty the wrong way -

Yes - Potter was staring at him as if that totally reasonable concern for his life - and it was reasonable, because the git couldn’t be allowed to die until he’d killed the Dark Lord and given Draco his life back - had been some grand declaration of… Draco shuddered. He couldn’t even think the word. He clambered off the bed and grabbed his robes.

“You’re not going to just leave me like this?” The sudden panic in Potter’s voice was like sweet music to Draco’s ears.

“Why not? I’m finished. And no doubt Livia will be pleased - it’s one way to keep you in bed and resting.” Draco looked at him. He had been a little too forceful with that spell - the way the ropes dug into Potter’s skin didn’t look very comfortable. The way he was struggling against them, on the other hand, was quite interesting… “You know, this situation has its possibilities…” He knelt on the bed, ran his hands over Potter’s bound thighs, and bent his head to apply a slow swipe of his tongue to Potter’s cock. The other boy’s desperate moan vibrated through his body, and it seemed Potter didn’t even need to hold Draco down to be a threat to his self-control. Fucking wonderful.

Draco patted Potter’s leg and stood back up. “Think of this as payback for throwing me off a cliff.”

He had his robe back on and was heading for the door when Potter spoke again. “You know,” he said, his voice choked with lust and desperation, “I will get you back for this.” There it was again - not a threat, but a promise.

Draco threw him a mocking smile. “Try it,” he said - and left the room with his blood pounding, his cock hard and his legs humiliatingly weak. Merlin help me - am I actually looking forward to it?

*

The hard-on wasn’t that difficult to get rid of. Just thinking about his father and Snape and “you gave me the opportunity, Lucius,” was as effective as a cold shower. The words could have been innocent…no, they were innocent - Draco’s situation with Potter had simply left him with a rather blurred line between comradeship and more ‘intimate’ relations. He shuddered. I am not going to think about that.

The whole visit ‘home’ had been a nightmare. The creaking of the statues as they moved, opening his eyes to see clutching stone fingers barely an inch from his throat - those were things Draco knew would haunt him in his dreams. And he’d come back to find Potter being dug out of the cliff-side. No wonder he was irritable and on edge.

He had the sense it wasn’t just him, however. There was something in the air. The hotel over-looked the beach - that the smell of the sea hung thick in every room wasn’t that weird, but it made him uncomfortable. And that smell had brought with it what he could only describe, lamely, as a feeling…like the tension felt in the air when watching the preparations for a duel that everyone knows is a grudge-match. Such duels had never gone the distance at school - the ability to get to a duel before it turned truly nasty was a Slytherin prefect’s most important skill - but he’d seen it happen at the castle. The Dark Lord very rarely stopped a fight, even when the Killing Curse and more sadistic spells started flying. Hate and aggression hung in the air like static electricity before a thunderstorm.

Draco thought about Granger’s threats, and felt at the bruises on his wrists. No, it wasn’t just him - the others could obviously feel it, even if they hadn’t recognised it for what it was. But where was it coming from?

A sound behind him broke his train of thought - another sound that was now firmly nightmare fodder - something scuttling along the skirting boards… Draco held his breath; even his heart seemed to have stopped beating as he slowly turned around, pulling out his wand.

A small, furry shape darted across the floorboards. The last syllables of Avada Kedavra became a startled bark of laughter; the mouse lived to see another day.

I am on edge… And his father and Snape and Granger and Potter had almost driven Akunin from his mind. Which was dangerous - the old librarian wouldn’t give up so easily.

There were more reminders of Akunin in Potter’s room. No one had been to clean it - broken chitin and bits of spindly legs were glued to one wall by solidified black gunk, and the bed sheets were dark with dried blood. Draco’s blood.

He hurried to the wardrobe. Since Cassiopeia hadn’t been gaping at them last night, he supposed Potter had forgotten all about his promise to put her portrait up where she could talk to people.

The air in the room was foul and barely breathable. He pulled out an armful of screwed-up clothes from a drawer - and the portrait dropped onto the floor.

“You two are mean!” Draco remembered why the best place for this portrait was at the back of a drawer. Cassiopeia scowled up at him as he picked it up, and for a moment he actually felt sorry for her.

Just paint and canvas. “And you’re a really good liar.”

It took a few more years than she’d had to perfect the full Malfoy poker face, and this really was a finely-painted portrait - he couldn’t really miss the flicker of alarm that crossed her face before she recovered and pouted at him. “What are you talking about, Draco? You really are so silly sometimes.”

“Snape doesn’t have the cup, Cass. You lied. Not just to Potter, but to me, your supposedly beloved little brother.” He added a layer of threat to his voice. “That hurts. It really does.”

“I’m not allowed to tell!”

“Malfoys stick together, Cass. We don’t stab each other in the back.”

“I didn’t -”

“If I don’t get hold of that cup, our whole family will suffer.”

“But Tom made me promise!”

“Mother and father too.”

Her lip trembled. “He was my only friend! I promised.”

“Your mother and father, your little brother - we’re all going to die because you want to keep a promise?”

She burst into tears - and now Draco was too angry to feel sorry. It’s just dabs of paint on a canvas, anyway… “You’re a Malfoy - what’s a fucking promise when your family’s in danger?” What’s a fucking promise anyway? Worthless words - unless they’re backed up with an Unbreakable Vow.

“I had to hide it. That horrible man was going to take it away from me!”

“Where?”

“It’s safe! I took it through the maze, to the caves - our ancestors are looking after it!”

There was really no satisfaction in making a little girl cry - even if she was a representation of Cassiopeia, who while alive had regarded getting tears out of her baby brother as a rather fine game.

Draco sighed. He’d had enough of those caves to last a lifetime. Snape might be convinced that the castle still regarded Draco as a Malfoy, despite his ‘illness’, but that place was the nearest a pile of stones could get to certifiably psychotic. He did not want to go back.

He heard another scuttling sound behind him. Bloody mice.

*

I’m going to kill him. This time I’m really going to kill him.

Rolling onto his front had been a definite mistake, Harry decided as he tried to free his hands while trying to avoid moving the rest of his body. There was one particular fold in the sheet beneath him that was in a really bad place, and thinking about what he was going to do to Draco when he got hold of him wasn’t helping much.

He bit into the pillow to stifle a moan, and continued to work at his hands. His skin was slick with sweat - getting his hands free would be painful, but it was possible. He was not going to lay there helplessly waiting for Livia - or an even more humiliating possibility, some innocent well-wisher - to come and free him. He was not going to give in and hump the mattress. He was going to find Draco and…well, maybe he wouldn’t kill him straight away.

What kind of twisted bastard would do something like that? Tying Harry up - well, Harry could see the possibilities there as well as Draco could. But just leaving him there without even getting him off? That was seriously cruel.

He froze and listened carefully. Please don’t let that be -

He could hear footsteps in the corridor.

He had a choice - which would be more humiliating, the unsuspecting person being presented with his bottom or his - god, maybe if I roll around a bit I can wrap myself in the covers…

He heard the latch click. A draft of slightly cooler air wafted across his naked body as the door opened. What a way to die - choked by his own embarrassment…

“Um…Harry?”

Lupin sounded as if he didn’t know whether to be appalled or amused. Harry buried his burning face in the pillow.

“Don’t ask. Please don’t ask.”

“I suppose you do want to be untied?” Apparently, he’d decided to go for amusement.

Wonderful. “Yes.”

Then they heard it.

It was only a small sound, muffled by distance, but it set every alarm in Harry’s head ringing. Anger and humiliation were swept away by a sudden surge of fear and concern.

A girl was screaming.

*

Cassiopeia’s wails were seriously annoying. Draco didn’t know if it was the spiders that were scaring her, or the wall of flame he’d conjured up to keep them at bay.

Not that the flames were doing much good - the creatures clambered over each other like maggots trying to escape a bait-box, burning up as they tried to get to him. They smelled even worse cooked than they did splattered. He thought he was going to suffocate from the fumes - and he felt like screaming as loud as the portrait.

“The athame was a fake, you bastard!” The shout was stupid, pointless - how would Akunin hear him? - and he should be saving his breath for his spells, but he couldn’t help himself. The whole thing was just so unfair. Draco hoped darkly that Granger was getting a visit too, now she was conscious and could fully appreciate it. “You’d already been cheated - by Black! And his curse burnt the book!”

He couldn’t keep this up - he was going to set fire to the entire room, and then where would he be? Stuck in a burning building with the little monsters still after him? No thanks.

“All you can get from us is a burnt book and a fake athame!” Draco thought at first he was imagining it, but yes, the creatures had called a halt. They watched him with glowing eyes through the fire. “What do you want?” he asked, more quietly.

There was sudden movement among the seething mass. It looked almost as if they were…attacking each other?

Then they were gone, popping out of existence as easily as they had the night before, leaving behind their dead brethren and a word spelled out on the ruined carpet in broken chitin and gelatinous black gunk.

RESTITUTION.

“Shit.” Draco let go of the spell, sank to his knees, then threw up.

*

Harry cautiously opened the door. The smoke that billowed out smelled of burnt flesh and decay and made his eyes water. The screams had turned to terrified sobs. He wasn’t sure what he’d see as he stepped into the room -

Draco’s wand flicked around to point at him. Harry took in the burnt creatures, the word written on the floor in their entrails, the vomit on Draco’s robes - and was at his side in seconds. For once there were no complaints from Draco as Harry wrapped his arms around him - he just buried his face in Harry’s shoulder and hung on so tightly it made all Harry’s bruises ache. He felt the cold gunk on the floor even through his hurriedly pulled on pyjama bottoms.

But he’s all right. He’s all right. “Who can’t be left alone for ten minutes without doing something stupid?”

The body in his arms tensed up. Draco pulled free and made some effort to regain his dignity; Harry didn’t know if he should be glad or sorry. “That’s still you, Potter.” His fingers dug into Harry’s bare arms. He was still shaking. “That’ll always be you.”

Lupin stood in the doorway and surveyed the mess with an unreadable expression on his face. “I’ve let this go on long enough,” he said quietly. “I may not be your teacher anymore, Harry, and I have tried not to be over-protective.” Harry listened to his voice harden and felt suddenly lost. Even at Hogwarts, Lupin had been as much a friend as a teacher. Now he listened to the voice of a man who was responsible for so many lives, not just his - and knew what his next words would be. “But I need some explanations. Now.”

*