:: :: :: :: ::

“Hello, Draco.”

Draco Malfoy stiffened at the proximity of the voice – just as haughty and cold as he remembered. He turned around and pulled his sherpa coat more tightly around him, affecting his best smirk.

“Father. Always a pleasure.”

“It's been nearly a year since we saw each other last. You've been running from me, Draco.” Lucius shook his head, as if chastising a naughty child. He looked just as Draco remembered.

Draco pulled a cigarette from the pack in his pocket and lit it with a wave of his hand. He watched Lucius's face, but there was no reaction at the display of wandless magic. He took a long drag, then blew the smoke in his father's direction. “Took you long enough to catch on.”

“Still bent on suicide, I see.” Lucius waved the smoke away with one jeweled hand. “I've come to make you an offer. I suggest you listen very carefully.”

“Nice to see you too, Father,” Draco muttered. He fervently wished the cigarette was a joint. He was far too sober for this.

Lucius ignored the remark. “It has come to my attention that you're involved with Harry Potter, and that he's here in San Francisco.”

“You don't know what you're talking about.”

“And I know when you're lying, son. I have always known.”

“Why do you care who I fuck?” Draco raised the cigarette to his lips.

“When it's someone like Potter, I can't turn a blind eye to my son's perversion.”

Draco smirked at him. “Can't stand the thought of me bending over for the Boy-Who-Lived?”

Lucius's face clouded for an instant before he forced a cool smile. “Surely you understand how important Potter is. Everything depends on him remaining under the influence of the smothering spell at the Ministry of Magic. He's been here in San Francisco far too long.”

“He's leaving soon,” Draco replied. “It's not a problem. He'll be back at the Ministry come Monday, working under the watchful eyes of your stooges.”

Lucius's smirk was a study in control. “I'm here to make you an offer, Draco. You've done nothing but fight my attempts to rebuild our relationship–”

“That's because you insisted on calling me a perverted, cock-sucking, shit-packing shirt-lifter in front of my mother.”

“–but I'm willing to make one more effort,” Lucius continued, voice taut. “We can't risk Potter escaping the confines of our influence again. The world is not yet ready to learn of the Dark Lord's plans.”

“And why should I help you? You won't even tell me what those plans are.” Draco dropped the cigarette end to the pavement and put it out with his shoe.

Lucius took a step forward and stroked a black-gloved finger down Draco's cheek. “All in good time, boy. There is something I want you to do.”

Draco did not flinch. He met his father's cool gaze with his own. “I haven't changed my mind. I have no intention of–”

“All I ask now is for your assistance in capturing Potter,” Lucius interrupted. “We know where he is. We can take him easily, but we'll need your help to control him, to convince him to cooperate.”

Draco looked away and pursed his lips, thinking. Stalling, truth be told. “I can assure you he'll soon return to the UK ,” Draco said. “I'll take him there myself. And then...” He took a measured breath. “Then I'll reconsider your offer.”

Lucius raised an eyebrow. “My offer?”

“Don't make me repeat it, Father,” Draco replied, struggling to keep his voice even. “I doubt your narrow mind could bear to imagine the details.”

Lucius looked away. “While I appreciate your enthusiasm, that won't be necessary. The plan has changed. We no longer require your services.”

Draco clenched his jaw. That had been the only card he could play.

“No, Draco, what we want from you is your assistance in apprehending Potter. We will take him tonight. When we have him, I'll contact you in the usual way.”

Lucius leaned forward and kissed Draco's cheek. His father's lips were cold against his skin, and Draco suppressed the urge to shudder. Lucius's smile was cool. He regarded Draco for another moment, then turned and walked away.

Draco waited until his father was out of sight, and then leaned against the alley wall, terrified. He had a choice to make – one he'd hoped to put off for quite a while.

:: :: :: :: ::

Draco sat straight up in bed, heart pounding, the rush of adrenaline through his veins wrenching him awake. He pressed his palms against his forehead.

He was in London . It was over. His father hadn't captured Harry. Everything was going to be all right.

The mattress shifted beside him. Draco felt a warm hand brush his thigh, and he turned his head. Harry's dark hair was barely visible under the duvet, sticking out in several directions. Draco swung his legs over the side of the bed, hesitating leaving its warmth. The room was cold.

“Draco...?” he heard mumbled behind him. “Y'okay?”

“Yeah,” he whispered. He'd had this nightmare several times in the last week, and every time it was the same. Always the conversation with his father, repeated in detail. And every time, he couldn't change the outcome, nor shake the feeling that it wasn't over yet.

He got up and went into Harry's kitchen. The glass of water he drank didn't really help, but it was something to do, a reason to get out of bed and postpone going back to sleep. The streetlights from outside cast strange shadows through the blinds, and Draco shivered. This was only the second time he'd slept at Harry's flat – maybe that was the root of his unease.

He stopped to use the toilet before sliding under the duvet again. Harry turned onto his side, facing away from Draco, and began to snore softly. Draco stared at the ceiling and half-hoped he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep.

:: :: :: :: ::

:: :: :: :: ::

 

21 February, 2004: Saturday

The scent of coffee was thick in the air when he awoke. Draco shifted under the duvet, not wanting to be awake just yet. The warmth of the duvet was comforting and the light filtering through the window was soft. This was his favorite part of the morning: the early light, before he had to get up. Today was Saturday, and it was comforting to know he could sleep as long as he wanted.

“Coffee?”

Draco opened his eyes to see Harry – shirtless, scruffy-looking, and holding a steaming mug – leaning over him. Draco closed his eyes again. Harry couldn't possibly expect him to get up now .

“Hmmm... need an incentive to wake up?” Harry's cold hand wormed its way under the duvet and stroked his thigh.

Draco made a whimpering noise and wriggled away.

“You're in a right mood this morning,” Harry quipped. Draco heard the clink of the mug being set on the bedside table, and then Harry slid under the duvet. He'd taken off his pyjama bottoms as well, and his erection pressed against Draco's thigh. “It's all right. You can go back to sleep if you want. Don't mind me.” That cold hand found his hip, then slid around to grasp his flaccid penis. Draco considered protesting, but Harry's lips were tickling his neck, and his cool fingers were stroking his prick.

“G'morning.” Draco was becoming aroused despite his intentions to remain asleep. Damn Harry's fingers. “Your hand's cold.”

Harry ducked under the duvet. A second later, Draco's cock was engulfed by Harry's mouth.

“Oh, god.” Draco sucked in a breath and opened his eyes. Harry's mouth hadn't gone anywhere near Draco's dick since that night in San Francisco , which seemed like months ago. In fact, Draco had started to wonder if it would ever happen again. “That feels nice,” he whispered, pushing the duvet away so Harry could breathe.

“Good,” Harry said, coming off for a moment before swallowing his cock again. It was a sloppy blow job, but the fact that it was Harry doing it more than made up for it.

“Oh... that thing with your tongue... do that some more.” Harry began moving slowly then, taking his time, sucking Draco's cock at a leisurely pace. His tongue swirled around the head as his hand gripped the base, and Draco clasped his hands behind his head and sighed. “That's fantastic.”

Harry's movements remained slow and steady for a long time. Draco could have stayed there for hours, with his cock being gently sucked, his balls grazed by inexpert fingers, saliva dripping down his shaft. Harry's movements finally began to grow stilted – his jaw was probably starting to hurt. Draco smiled. They'd have to work on Harry's stamina.

“Do you want to make me come?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Harry grunted. He even sounded tired.

“Put your fingers…”

Harry shifted between his legs, and Draco felt a wet finger probing his entrance. It pushed into him, and Draco winced: he had to get Harry to trim his nails more closely. But for now, as long as he was careful...

“Hook your finger up and rub–” Harry found the spot, and Draco sucked in a breath. “Oh... like that... suck harder... god...” Harry's finger kept pressing against his prostate and he sucked harder, and Draco's eyes rolled back in his head.

His words became unintelligible as his orgasm shuddered through him. Harry stilled when Draco came, and then stiffened. Draco had assumed it was fine to come in his mouth, but perhaps they should have talked about that first. Too late now.

“God, Harry,” he said, ignoring the fact that Harry was awkwardly mouthing his dick, apparently trying to decide what to do with his mouthful. Draco kept his eyes closed until it seemed Harry had managed to swallow. “That was amazing.”

“Good,” Harry replied, settling beside him. Draco opened his eyes. Harry's lips were wet and swollen, and his face was flushed. His stiff cock brushed against Draco's thigh.

Draco smiled. “Shall I return the favor?”

Inexplicably, Harry blushed. “You don't have to do. It's all right.”

“Are you kidding?” Draco laughed and then realized Harry wasn't kidding. He cupped the back of Harry's head and pulled him down into a kiss. “I want to make you come,” he whispered against his lips. “Tell me what you want.”

Harry moaned into his mouth and pressed a knee between Draco's thighs, pushing them apart. He reached out to the bedside table for his wand.

Harry had been surprised to learn there were so many spells for anal sex: lubrication spells, anti-viral spells, stretching spells, cleansing spells. The night before, Draco had pressed the tip of his wand into Harry's arse and whispered a spell that had made Harry's eyes widen almost comically.

Harry repeated it now, with the tip of his wand barely touching Draco's hole. “No, you have to stick it in,” Draco whispered, spreading his legs a little wider. “Otherwise, it only–” Harry pressed the wand a good two inches in, and Draco sucked in a breath. “Careful!”

“Sorry,” Harry whispered. “How far?”

“That's fine. Actually, that's kind of kinky.”

Harry chuckled, then whispered, “ Elutus .” Draco couldn't help but close his eyes at the sensation of magic filling him. He'd come to regard this spell as foreplay – the condoms and lube of the Muggle world just weren't the same.

Harry pressed the wand in a little further, then slowly withdrew it. After a pause, he pushed it in again. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he said.

Draco grinned. “You like fucking me with your wand, do you?”

“Yeah,” Harry replied. His eyes were fixed between Draco's legs.

“Why?”

“I dunno. I like the idea of fucking you, I guess.”

“I like the idea of fucking you too,” Draco said, raising an eyebrow. Harry turned an endearing shade of pink and looked away.

“I know.”

“It doesn't have to hurt, you know.”

“You keep telling me that.” The wand was removed from his arse. Harry pointed it at his own cock. “ Madefio .” He looked back at Draco then, eyes wide and dark. “Is this okay?”

Draco let the subject drop, smiling instead. “How do you want me?”

Harry returned the smile, to Draco's relief. “How about on your hands and knees?”

“Or how about this?” Draco replied, rolling onto his stomach. “It's a lot tighter this way.”

He felt Harry straddle him, and the wet tip of his cock pressed between Draco's cheeks. Draco forced himself to relax. Harry pushed forward, breaching his body in a smooth movement. Harry was big enough that it hurt for a moment, but it felt good, too – stretched tight, filled, with pressure in interesting places.

“God, this is tight,” Harry panted. “You're so warm, so much warmer than–” He broke off then and started to move.

Draco was glad he didn't complete the sentence. He focused instead on the feeling of Harry moving in and out of his body, on the smooth glide of cock inside him, on the sound of Harry's breathing above him.

“Are you all right?” Harry asked.

“Mmmmm, yeah,” Draco sighed. “You feel great.” He wouldn't come again, and he hoped Harry didn't expect it.

Luckily, Harry seemed to be close enough to coming that it wasn't a concern. Draco concentrated on tightening his arse in time with Harry's rhythm. Harry finally gasped, then collapsed onto Draco's back, stilling.

Draco wanted to stay like this for a while: Harry's dick filling him, his weight pressing him into the mattress, the sunlight playing on the sheets. Harry wriggled a bit and pulled out, then pushed off the bed and stood. Draco sighed. His arse felt uncomfortably loose and wet now, and he was alone on top of that. If he'd learned anything this week, it was that Harry wasn't a post-coital cuddler.

He kept his eyes closed, hoping Harry would come back if he stayed still. He heard the bathroom door open, and then the water running. He wondered if he should take it personally that the first thing Harry seemed to want to do was wash away all traces of sex. Now he was cold, too: the duvet had been pushed to the floor. He sat up to look for it, scratching his stomach.

“Good, you're up,” Harry said from the doorway of the bathroom. “You can shower first, if you like.”

Draco felt his lips forming a pout. “I'm not getting up.”

“It's half nine.”

“So?”

“So we're supposed to be at Hermione's at ten.”

Draco closed his eyes and flopped back onto the mattress. Brunch. He'd forgotten. “Do we have to go?”

There was a pause. “She's expecting us.”

“She's expecting you . I wasn't invited.”

“Of course you're invited,” Harry replied.

“The fact that I was standing there when she invited you does not imply she invited me as well.”

“She said you two ,” Harry retorted. His voice had an edge to it. Draco opened his eyes to see Harry leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over his bare chest. “Why would she invite me and not you, in front of you, no less?”

“Because she hates me,” Draco mumbled. He was losing this argument, and he would resort to childishness if necessary.

Harry sighed. “She doesn't hate you. She just... hasn't had a chance to get to know you.”

“I should go home,” Draco said. “Manny's probably worried.”

“I think Manny can figure out where you are,” Harry replied. “He knew we were going out last night. You told him at lunch, and you said not to wait up.” A smile was teasing Harry's lips.

Draco glared at the ceiling. He wasn't going to win this one. Maybe he could turn the situation to his advantage, somehow. “What will you give me if I go?”

Harry made a snorting sound. “My undying gratitude.”

Draco rolled onto his side and smiled at Harry in a way he hoped was endearing. “I don't want to go have brunch with Granger and her Weasley offspring, but I'll do it... for a price.” He grinned suggestively.

Harry smirked. Draco was growing fond of the expression. “It's always about sex with you.”

Draco affected an innocent smile. “Did I say anything about sex?”

Harry rolled his eyes, but it was for show. He was trying not to smile. “I was planning to fuck you again tonight anyway. What more do you want?”

“Oh, I'm sure I can think of something.”

Harry sighed. “All right, fine. Just get into the shower, will you?”

:: :: :: :: ::

They stepped out of the fireplace at Granger's house at ten past ten . Draco dusted himself off, trying not to scowl. He'd just scourgified his clothes, as he was wearing them for the second day, and thanks to Granger's ignorance of chimney sweeping spells, he now needed to do it again.

Harry seemed unaffected by the thin layer of ash covering him. “Hermione?”

Draco looked around then, realizing the house appeared to be empty. He turned to Harry, hopeful. “Maybe she forgot. We can still go to that lovely little café on–”

A thumping sound from above caused them both to look up at the ceiling. A minute later, Granger – Weasley , as Harry kept reminding him, always followed by, just call her Hermione, okay? – descended the stairs, a worn robe wrapped around her and an expression approaching horror on her face.

“Hiya,” she said, biting her lip. “I overslept, sorry. I'll put coffee on.”

“Are you all right?” Harry asked.

“Yes, yes,” she replied, not looking at them as she crossed to the kitchen. “I was going to set the alarm, but I forgot, and–” She dropped the glass coffee carafe to the floor, where it shattered. “Shit!”

“It's all right, Hermione,” Harry said, stepping forward and touching her arm. “Are you sure you're okay?”

“Yes. I just... sorry. Where's my wand?”

“It's all right,” Harry repeated, and pulled his wand from his jacket. He pointed it at the pile of shattered glass on the floor. “ Reparo . Where are the children?”

Hermione retrieved the repaired carafe from the floor and took a deep breath. “Molly has them for the weekend.” She spooned ground coffee into the Muggle coffee machine's basket and filled the carafe with water. “She does that every now and then, to give me some time to myself.”

An awkward silence stretched between them as Hermione finished setting up the coffee machine and switched it on. She turned then, and seemed to notice Draco for the first time. “Good morning,” she said, expressionless.

Draco forced himself to smile. “So far. We don't want to be any trouble. We could just go–”

“Nonsense,” she snapped, and a determined expression settled on her face. “Breakfast will just be a bit late, that's all.” She gestured to the sofa. “Please, make yourselves comfortable. I'm just going to go get dressed.” With that, she disapparated.

“Looks like we caught her at a bad time,” Draco mused. “And you were worried about being late.”

Harry frowned. “She usually has everything ready before I get here. Something must be wrong.”

Draco sat on the sofa. “You heard her: no kids this weekend. She probably doesn't get to sleep in very often.”

Harry sat next to him, leaning into his shoulder. “I suppose. But I told you she was expecting you this morning.” He nudged Draco with his elbow.

“Or she hid the shock well.”

“She's even making coffee for you. I didn't even know she had a machine. Isn't it sweet?”

Draco scowled. “This doesn't change our agreement, you know.”

“We'll see. You still have to behave yourself.”

“That was not part of the deal.”

“Really?” Harry's smile was brilliant, and Draco felt a little twinge in his stomach. Harry stared at him, almost invitingly, and Draco leaned forward to kiss him.

“Ooops! Don't mind me.” Hermione had reappeared, wearing jeans and a worn FCUK t-shirt, bushy hair pulled back at the nape of her neck.

Harry pulled away from Draco. “Can we help?”

“No, no,” Hermione replied. “I'll just get everything started and we can have some coffee.” She pointed her wand in the direction of the refrigerator, and then several cupboards, muttering spells. Objects began flying around the kitchen above her head at dangerous speeds: eggs broke themselves into a pan and started frying; two bread slices sailed into the toaster while a line of slices formed in the air above, patiently waiting their turn; a can of baked beans opened itself and dumped its contents into a waiting pot; dishes and cutlery settled themselves neatly on the table. Hermione waved her wand at the coffee maker and the carafe obediently poured coffee into three mugs that had appeared beside it. She carried the mugs to the sofa, a jug of cream and the sugar bowl trailing behind her. She handed each of them a mug of coffee.

“There we are,” she announced, and settled into a chair.

“Wow,” Draco said. He'd never seen someone coordinate so many cooking spells in his life. “That was impressive.”

Hermione seemed not to know what to make of his compliment. “You should see me change nappies. Did you two have fun last night?”

Harry blushed and suddenly became very interested in adding cream and sugar to his coffee.

“Yes,” Draco replied, turning to face Hermione. “We had a fabulous dinner. Best curry I've had in ages.”

Hermione smiled. “Harry knows all the good Indian restaurants.” She glanced at Harry, but looked away when she realized he hadn't quite recovered from his embarrassment.

Draco fished around for a new topic of conversation, but his mind was oddly blank.

“Adjusted to the time change?” Hermione asked, raising her cup to her lips.

“Getting there,” Draco replied. He'd been surprised to see Hermione at Heathrow on Sunday evening. Of course, he'd been frightened out of his wits. He hadn't known if he'd be stunned on sight, even though Manny had sworn he wouldn't let that happen. Hermione had taken his appearance in stride though, and had even accompanied him to the hotel that night.

Harry cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “So, Hermione... what did you do last night?”

“Good morning,” they heard, and turned to see Manny descending the stairs.

Draco grinned into his coffee. “That answers that question.”

Manny shot him a bemused look as he crossed to stand beside a red-faced Hermione. “What question?”

“Coffee?” Hermione asked, standing and bumping Manny in the process.

“Sure, thanks,” Manny replied, and settled next to Draco on the sofa.

Manny was also wearing the same clothes he'd had on at the office yesterday, and looked quite rumpled. Draco resisted the urge to tease him, and only grinned. Manny grinned back, raising his eyebrows. It was an expression Draco knew meant What a night!

“That good, eh?” Draco asked.

Harry elbowed him, but Draco ignored it.

Hermione reappeared after a moment, looking a bit more composed. She handed Manny a mug and settled into her chair again.

“One of us should probably stop by the flat sometime today to water the plants,” Draco quipped.

Manny smiled. “Oh, I doubt they'll wilt after only a day.”

“I dunno. Some of them are rather temperamental.”

Manny laughed in response, but Draco was painfully aware that he and Manny were the only ones who seemed to find humor in the situation. Harry was staring awkwardly into his coffee again, and Hermione was studying her nails.

Draco sighed, as dramatically as he could manage. “All right, I'll say it, since no one else wants to.” Everyone looked at him, and he nodded his head toward Harry. “ He fucked me last night, and again this morning, actually.” He turned to Harry, who was gaping. “And Manny fucked her last night, and likely did other things to her that we won't discuss. They were probably going at it when we got here.” Hermione made a small noise and flushed even more. Draco turned to Manny, who was biting his lip in an effort not to laugh. “ We used to fuck each other regularly. And whatever the truth is, everyone thought Harry and Hermione were doing it back in school.” Draco cut off Harry's protest with a gesture. “The point is, we've all had sex with each other, and we all know it. It's a bit late to feel uncomfortable about it now.”

Harry shrugged, staring into his coffee again. Hermione giggled, casting a furtive glance at Manny.

Draco couldn't help himself. “So were you going at it when we got here?”

Harry's elbow dug deeper into his side, but he ignored it. Hermione ducked her head, grinning. It was all the answer he was going to get.

:: :: :: :: ::

“And I think we ought to include more employees in the smothering spell resistance training,” Hermione said, hands folded over her empty plate. “The spell affected everyone, so I don't see why the lower-level staff are being excluded.”

“We can only handle a certain number at a time, though,” Manny countered. “The plan is to train the top-level staff, and then let them train their own folks.”

Hermione shook her head. “But I'm not convinced that will happen. Half of them don't even believe it's true.”

Draco felt his jaw clench. They didn't believe him , of course. It was personal, and he knew it. It would always be that way, as long as he stayed here.

“That's a bit harsh,” Harry said. Draco looked up to see Harry's eyes dart away from Draco's face. “Bass believes it, and the staff are loyal to him.”

“But Fallin doesn't believe it,” Hermione replied, eyes narrowing. “And Bass won't stand up to the Minister for Magic.” Harry's eyebrows shot up at that, and Hermione sighed. “Don't get me wrong. I think Arnold Bass is a great man, a wonderful Director. But he lets Fallin meddle too much.”

“And Bass will let Fallin take the fall for this when we're proved right,” Harry said. “This is big, Hermione. It proves that Death Eaters have been manipulating the Ministry, right under Fallin's nose. Of course he's opposed to that news making the papers.”

Draco snorted, and everyone looked at him. “You think this will make the papers, even when we're proved right? I find it hard to believe the British Wizarding press has changed quite that much in five years.”

Harry sighed and pushed away from the table. “It hasn't.” He suddenly looked tired.

“Are you making any progress in resisting the smothering spell yourself?” Manny asked.

Harry shrugged. “Yes, but it helped that I'd been away from it for a while. I don't know how difficult it would be if I hadn't been aware of the difference.”

“It's not easy to block it,” Draco said, keeping his voice gentle. “It's not as difficult as resisting imperius , but it's similar.”

“But it's something I constantly have to be aware of,” Harry sighed. “Resisting it is exhausting, and it interferes with my ability to focus.”

“So does the smothering spell. And Manny and I have to work to resist it too.”

“It's not the same. You don't spend that much time at the Ministry.”

Draco swallowed down a pulse of irritation. He'd been genuinely surprised at Harry's moodiness over the past week. He hadn't seemed so moody in San Francisco . He'd been sweet, confident, strong, and even charmingly possessive. Draco liked that in a boyfriend. He was the needy, moody one in the relationship. There wasn't room for another.

He really, really needed a cigarette.

Hermione pushed away from the table and cast a few spells, and the dishes made their way into the kitchen, jostling for space in the Muggle dishwasher. Draco had developed an appreciation for those machines while living in the States, but he'd not seen one in a British wizard's household before.

Harry stared across the room for a long moment, then excused himself from the table, disappearing into the loo.

“How's he really doing?” Hermione asked when Harry was out of earshot.

Draco shrugged. He wasn't comfortable discussing Harry with anyone. Manny took the cue, fortunately, and distracted her by reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She turned to him, and he kissed her. Draco felt a stab of something he hadn't felt around Manny in a long time. Manny whispered a few words Draco couldn't quite hear, and Hermione giggled. Draco gritted his teeth and closed his eyes.

He wasn't jealous. Of course, he'd been completely, absolutely, madly in love with Manny Padilla once. He would probably always carry a torch for the man, to be honest. He tried not to remember how hurt he'd been when Manny had said it just wasn't going to work, and no, he didn't love Draco back. The memory of the moment Draco had said those three words flooded his mind now, against his will.

Hands pressed lightly on his shoulders from behind, and he felt Harry's lips brush his cheek. Draco opened his eyes to see everyone watching him. Manny tilted his head and gave him a quizzical smile. Draco forced himself to smile back, and reached for Harry's hand.

Harry was someone Draco knew he could love. And he thought – hoped, believed – Harry could even love him too, despite the past. He'd gambled everything on it, in fact.

Harry gave his hand a squeeze. “Thanks for breakfast, Hermione.”

Draco suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at the unspoken signal. Harry had many ‘husband' behaviors, and he'd started using them with Draco in the last week. It was charming in some ways, and annoying in others.

“It was nice and quiet, for a change,” Hermione said, grinning. “I almost dread the little shits coming home.”

“No more sex on the dining table, eh?” Draco quipped. Manny's eyes widened a fraction before he blushed and looked away.

“Yeah, well,” Harry mumbled, releasing Draco's hand.

Ooops . He hadn't meant to refer to that night a few weeks ago when he'd managed to talk Manny into giving it one more go. Still, it was nice to know he could unsettle Manny and make Harry jealous. He grinned.

Hermione stood, oblivious to the tension, and ruffled Manny's hair. “I was thinking of something a bit more comfortable, certainly.”

They made their way to the fireplace, where Hermione surprised Draco by kissing him on both cheeks. She ignored the expression on his face and moved on to Harry.

“Draco, you know how to perform a proper depilo , don't you?” she asked, squinting at Harry's face.

“Of course,” he replied.

“Good,” she said, and kissed Harry lightly on the lips. “Someone needs to take care of him.”

Harry managed to look offended in response, but said nothing.

“Will you be home tonight?” Manny asked.

Draco shrugged. “Harry's made a reservation for dinner, and I don't know what we'll do after that.”

Manny raised his eyebrows and grinned. Hermione nudged him with her elbow and rolled her eyes.

:: :: :: :: ::

Draco stared at his reflection in the mirror for a long time before making up his mind.

“Dissimulo.” His image shimmered, morphed, and darkened, and then he was staring at himself through completely different eyes. He grinned. Harry was going to love this.

“I'm ready,” he called as he walked out of the bathroom. He rounded the corner and laughed at the expression on Harry's face.

“Wow,” Harry said, obviously struggling not to gape.

“Hot?”

“Yeah.” Harry's lips quirked in a smile.

Draco had cast a glamour charm on himself every time they'd gone out in public, and he'd chosen a different look each night. Tonight he was a very hot black man, with short dreadlocks sprouting all over his head. He gave Harry a seductive smile and stepped forward. “Go ahead.”

Harry bit his lip and reached out to touch Draco's face, then kissed him. It was a nice kiss, the kind that never failed to turn Draco on. He'd often wondered how Harry learned to kiss like that.

“This is always so bizarre,” Harry whispered against his lips. “It feels like you, but it doesn't look like you.” Harry's hands went into Draco's hair, and he looked up. What Harry saw were rough braids, but what he felt was Draco's fine hair. He shook his head, and Draco laughed.

“Don't tell me you're not enjoying the variety.”

Harry shrugged and tugged him toward the door. “Let's go.”

They stepped out onto Sutherland Avenue and headed towards the tube station. Draco took the opportunity to smoke a cigarette as they walked, ignoring Harry's pointed stare. He knew Harry wanted him to quit. He'd like to quit, but his life was a bit too stressful at the moment. So far, Harry hadn't pushed the issue.

It was pleasant to stroll down Warwick Avenue on a chilly Saturday evening. The sun had set hours ago and the street was quiet. A few people were walking in the same direction they were, dressed warmly against the damp winter weather. Draco took a long drag on his cigarette, half-closing his eyes against the reassuring buzz of nicotine. How he'd managed to get himself addicted to these Muggle deathsticks was beyond him. Maybe his father was right about the suicidal tendencies.

They took the Bakerloo line to Oxford Circus and changed for Tottenham Court Road. Draco had spent a lot of time on Muggle transport while working undercover in New York , but he couldn't remember the last time he'd ridden the Underground. It was all familiar to him, but it was as if he'd dreamed about it – the long escalators, the crowds, the entertaining adverts along the platform. It made him distinctly uneasy.

It had begun to drizzle when they emerged again. Oxford Street was crowded despite the weather, and they had to wind their way through several particularly busy areas. Harry turned them off the street and down towards Soho Square .

“I haven't been here in ages,” Draco remarked, looking around. “There used to be some fantastic pubs along Greek Street .”

“Still are,” Harry replied, steering Draco towards the top of Greek Street . “And here's where we're eating.”

Draco glanced up at the entrance to a restaurant called ‘The Gay Hussar'. He raised an eyebrow at Harry. “Appropriate.”

“Hermione's assistant Peggy pulled a few strings to get a reservation on short notice.”

Draco snorted. “I think I need a personal assistant too.”

The restaurant was cozy and intimate, and every table was packed. They were seated near a narrow staircase in the back and handed menus.

Draco looked up at shelves filled with books to the ceiling. “How'd you find this restaurant?”

“Ron's brother, Charlie – he loved this place.” Harry smiled and looked around the small dining room. “Said it was the closest he could get to his Romanian host mum's cooking.”

“Drink?” the waiter asked. He was a large, well-dressed man with an accent to match the restaurant's eastern European theme.

“Want to choose a bottle of wine?” Harry asked, not looking up from his menu.

Draco smiled. Harry had chosen the wine on their first official ‘date' earlier that week, and the result – a bottle of Amarone paired with seafood – was a disaster. Draco had really taken the piss out of it – moaning in mock ecstasy with every sip – and Harry'd made him choose every night since. Draco pointed to a second-growth Bordeaux on the wine list, and the waiter nodded and walked away.

“Cherry soup?” Draco mused, scanning the menu.

“It's good,” Harry replied. “Bit like yohgurt.”

Five minutes later, they had placed their orders and were sipping wine. Draco had quietly cast a privacy spell around their table. It didn't prevent Muggles from hearing their voices; rather, it made their conversation sound incredibly dull.

“So how long do you think Manny's been banging Granger?” Draco asked over the rim of his wine glass. Harry made a choking sound and gaped at him. “Sorry, Hermione .”

Harry's mouth opened and closed again before a sound emerged. “It's none of our business, is it?”

“I'd say since Monday,” Draco continued. “He's been annoyingly cheerful all week.”

“Maybe he's just happy,” Harry countered. “Maybe he really likes her.”

It was on the tip of Draco's tongue to ask what that implied about Harry's moodiness all week, but he resisted. “I dunno. Getting laid regularly would make him happy too.”

Harry smiled at that, seemingly against his will, and changed the subject.

The waiter set a plate of fish dumplings between them, giving them an odd look as he did. Draco glanced around the room and caught the curious stares of more than a few people.

“I'm not sure the privacy spell is working,” he whispered, picking up his fork. “People are staring.”

Harry looked around for a moment. “Did you know you're the only black man in here?”

Draco scooped a fish dumpling onto his plate. “We're also the only obviously gay people in here, you know.”

Harry didn't reply, and Draco looked up to see he was staring at his fish dumpling, a strange look on his face. “We're not obvious. Are we?”

Draco gave him a long look and ate his dumpling.

“I've been thinking about the smothering spell,” Harry said at last. He traced the rim of his wine glass with a fingertip. “Maybe it would help if I understood more about how the spell worked.”

Draco pursed his lips. “Harry...”

“I know,” Harry said, still not looking up. “And I know you understand more about it than you've let me believe.”

Draco sighed. He didn't understand the spell in any helpful way, truth be told. He'd managed so far to reveal as little as possible about what he did know, and he intended to keep it that way. It was for Harry's own good, he kept telling himself. Well, mostly it was for Draco's good, which would amount to the same thing, in the end – at least, that had been his reasoning. “I only know what I've told you already,” he said, focusing on his wine glass. “You're doing fine, Harry. Better than I expected.”

“For someone with a large lapse in his memory?” Harry's tone was stilted. “You don't know what it's like.”

“How do you know I don't?” Draco retorted – and regretted it almost instantly. He hadn't meant to say that, or even to think it. He poked at his food with a fork, and hoped Harry would let it drop.

He did, to Draco's relief. “So how long did you live in New York ?”

“A few years,” Draco replied. “Long enough to get to know the place pretty well.”

“So you were there during 9/11?”

Draco looked up at Harry. “Yes. I lived in the East Village , so it was really close. It was horrible because we kept finding–” He stopped himself, staring at his plate. He'd almost said something that wasn't an appropriate topic for dinner conversation. “Well... It was the strangest thing, because I had a bit of déjà vu about it all.”

Harry nodded. “So did everyone here. It happened not long after the Death Eater Attack on Diagon Alley.”

Draco frowned. “What?”

“You didn't hear about it?” Harry asked, incredulous. He took a gulp of wine and shook his head. “Over fifty people died, and a third of the shops in the district were destroyed.”

“I didn't know,” Draco said, feeling an odd twist in his gut. “Were you there?”

Harry opened his mouth and closed it again. “No,” he said at last. “I was told later that I helped with the cleanup and even pulled some people from the rubble, but I don't remember it. I'd always thought I must have just blocked it out, but… do you think it's connected to everything else?”

“I don't know,” Draco replied. He didn't feel like he knew much of anything these days.

Harry stared at him for a long moment before changing the subject yet again, and Draco tried not to look relieved.

They stepped out onto the street a little more than an hour later, stomachs pleasantly full, and both of them significantly more relaxed. Draco resisted the urge to light a cigarette – he didn't want to upset the delicate balance they'd managed to reach while talking about Quidditch.

Instead, he focused on what to do next. “We could pop into one of the clubs down towards Leicester Square . Or we could head back to mine, considering we're just a few streets away.” Harry's attention was riveted on a pair of drag queens walking past, and Draco had to repeat the suggestion.

“I don't know if I feel like going out. What about Manny?”

Draco shrugged. “He's probably still hanging out at Hermione's house, taking advantage of the lack of children to do naughty things to her.” Harry didn't rise to the bait, to Draco's mild disappointment. “If he's there, we can just floo to your place. He wouldn't mind, anyway.”

Harry smiled. “And yours is closer, after all.”

Draco took Harry's hand, twining their fingers together, and for once Harry didn't pull away. They began to head down Greek Street towards Shaftesbury Avenue . The pavement all around them was packed with young people in various stages of intoxication. A pair of giggling girls walked by, bumping Draco as they did. He swallowed his annoyance.

“Harry? Is that you?” One of the clumsy pair had turned back and was staring at Harry. Her companion turned too, and a grin spread across her face.

“Harry Potter! My goodness!”

Harry dropped Draco's hand. “Susan, Hannah,” he said, paling a bit. “Haven't seen you in ages.”

Draco blinked at the women standing before him. One was round-faced with curly blonde hair sticking out from under a brightly-colored stocking cap. The other was brunette, wearing a skirt much too short for the cold weather. They were both beaming at Harry.

“You look great!” the blonde – Susan? – said, stepping closer. Draco'd never paid much attention to the girls at Hogwarts, particularly the ones who weren't in his house. All those Hufflepuff girls looked alike, anyway: chubby cheeks and vacant expressions.

“What are you doing tonight?” Hannah asked, glancing curiously at Draco.

They wouldn't recognize him – they only saw the glamour charm. He suppressed a grin. This could be fun.

Harry cast another nervous glance in Draco's direction. “Ummm... not much. Just... out. You know.”

The girls stared at Harry blankly, and Draco resisted the urge to make a sarcastic comment. Instead, he smiled and affected his best imitation of Manny's Texan accent: “I'm Derek Malone, since he's being too much of a twat to introduce me.” Both girls turned to him. He held out one hand, and each girl shook it in turn. There was a moment of delicious awkwardness, during which Draco just kept smiling.

“You... you're American?” Hannah asked.

Hah. “Yes,” Draco replied, ignoring Harry's elbow in his side. “Over here on vacation and met Harry a few nights back. He's showing me the scene – you know, clubs, bars, the spots where all the boys go.” He raised an eyebrow suggestively, and Susan's eyes widened. “We were just– ow!”

Harry's elbow had connected with his ribs hard enough to leave a bruise. “We just finished dinner,” he said, sounding as if his jaw was clenched. He didn't look at Draco.

“Oh, well... we were just going out,” Hannah said, still glancing back and forth between Harry and Draco. “You should come along."

“Yeah, it would be fantastic to chat a bit,” Susan added. “I haven't seen you in ages, and Cho said–” Susan's words were cut off by a jab from Hannah's elbow, and she blushed. “I mean...”

“Unless you have plans,” Hannah finished, shooting her a dirty look

Draco smirked. “Do we have plans, Harry?”

Harry's expression was cold. “I don't know. Do we?”

Draco winced. He'd only been teasing. So much for keeping the peace.

“Another time, maybe?” Susan said, breaking the tense moment. “Owl me sometime.” She smiled, tilting her head. Blonde curls fell around her shoulders, and right on cue, a breeze ruffled them.

“That'd... right. Sure,” Harry stammered. “Nice seeing you.” He looked as uncomfortable as Draco had ever seen him. Hannah and Susan turned and walked away, looking back once and whispering to each other.

“I don't think they recognized me,” Draco said. He hoped he hadn't overdone it. It was a bad idea to draw any attention to himself, but he'd just wanted a bit of fun.

Draco waited for Harry to say something, but he didn't. He simply began to walk.

“Oh, for–” Draco had to jog to catch up. “Harry! What the fuck is wrong with you?” Harry snorted and kept looking straight ahead. Draco was tempted to stop walking and let himself be left behind.

He trailed behind Harry as they walked in silence to the flat Draco shared with Manny on Dean Street . The area was lively this time of night, streets full of people on their way to and from pubs and restaurants, all smiling and having a great time. All except Harry and Draco.

At the door to the building, Harry stepped aside to let Draco open it, and then followed him up the stairs, still silent while Draco unlocked the flat's door. The flat was quiet and dark; there was no sign Manny was home. Draco flicked on the lights and headed to the kitchen for a drink. He had a feeling he was going to need it.

He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the kitchen window and started – he was still disguised, of course. He whispered the words to break the spell and watched his own face reappear, apprehensive.

He hated his face. It was too narrow and his skin was too pale, and he looked delicate, much more than he really was. People had told him he was attractive all his life, but he wasn't sure he believed it.

When Draco returned with a couple of beers, Harry was sitting on the couch, staring at his hands. “I'm sorry,” he said.

Harry always apologized first. Draco liked that about him. He handed Harry a bottle and waited for him to explain what he was apologizing for. In the last week, he'd learned it best to keep quiet in these situations. Harry would confess to all sorts of interesting things.

“I just...” Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I'm still getting used to this.” He set the untouched beer on the sofa table in front of him.

“Getting used to what?” Draco replied.

“I know, I'm an arse, I'm sorry.” Harry covered his face with his hands. “I thought I would be fine with people seeing me with men, but... I guess it's going to be a bit harder than I thought.”

So that was it. Harry had dropped his hand the moment the girls had seen them, and Draco hadn't thought anything of it at the time. He felt his jaw clench. “You... you are an arse. God, Harry!” He looked away, afraid to say anything more for fear of what might emerge from his mouth.

His stomach dropped as the realization hit him. He'd known this would happen. Harry wasn't even gay, after all. Hell, he'd been staring at Susan Bones, so maybe he thought she was cute and that was why he'd dropped Draco's hand and glared at him when Draco was talking about going out clubbing and boys and–

“Fuck!” Draco stalked towards his bedroom, then slammed the door behind him. This was not happening. He had not come all this way and risked so much for Harry, only to have him decide he wasn't interested in men after all. He sat on his bed, dazed.

It was too much to process. The nicotine craving that came over him was nearly as overwhelming as the emotion that was pooling in his gut. And to think he hadn't smoked for hours, just for Harry.

There was a gentle knock on the door. He ignored it and fell back on the bed, pulling a pillow over his head. If he let Harry walk through that door, Draco would certainly say something he shouldn't. It wouldn't do to be the vulnerable one here. Harry had too much power over him as it was, and Draco wasn't ready to trust him with that knowledge

Harry would give up eventually. Draco could wait.

He'd have to go out to smoke, though. Why had he let Manny talk him into letting this flat, where he couldn't even smoke inside?

Another knock. He considered telling Harry to fuck off.

The door opened, and a moment later the bed dipped. Draco felt Harry take his hand.

“Leave me alone,” Draco mumbled through the pillow.

His hand was raised, and then kissed. Nibbled, to be more precise. A tongue wormed its way between his fingers, and then one finger was sucked into a warm mouth. Draco struggled not to groan, focusing instead on his anger.

“I'm sorry,” Harry said, releasing Draco's finger. “Let me make it up to you?”

Draco felt his shirt being pushed up. Harry's breath played across the bare skin of his belly for a moment before he began planting soft kisses there. Draco stayed still and kept the pillow over his face. He resisted the urge to twine his fingers in Harry's hair.

Harry pressed his face against Draco's stomach and stilled, sighing. “I care about you. You know that, don't you?”

Draco smirked under the pillow. “You don't have to keep reminding me, you know. I'm not a girl.”

Harry's hand cradled Draco's groin and gave his cock a squeeze. “I know you're not a girl.” The hand started stroking.

Draco sighed and stretched his hands out over his head. Harry's fingers fumbled with the fastenings of his trousers, and then a hand slipped inside. Harry's fingers were always a little cold, but Draco liked the contrast.

His cock was hard after a few moments of gentle stroking. Harry pulled it out of Draco's trousers and planted a kiss on the tip before sucking the head into his mouth.

Two blow jobs in one day. Draco couldn't help but feel smug at this turn of events. Harry's tongued swirled as he sucked, and Draco sighed at the sensation. He petted Harry's head and pushed the pillow away from his face. “You should piss me off more often.”

Harry came up for air and laughed. “I'm good at that, at least.” He climbed up the bed and stretched out on top of Draco, smiling down at him. “Forgive me?”

Draco frowned. A shag wasn't going to erase his anger or his doubts. But Harry's cock was hard and pressed against his, and Harry's mouth was so close. He wasn't going to turn Harry down, at any rate.

Draco lunged up to kiss Harry and found himself pushed to the mattress again. Harry began fumbling with his jeans, pushing them down as best he could without breaking the kiss. Draco wriggled out of his own trousers, then rolled onto his side and flung a leg over Harry. Harry took the hint and rolled onto his back. Draco straddled his hips, reaching between them to press their cocks together.*

It didn't take long for both of them to come, dicks pressed together in Draco's hand, sliding against each other and kissing with mouths open wide enough to vent their frustration.

They didn't speak afterwards. Draco spelled their combined semen away with a whisper, then stretched out alongside Harry, closing his eyes. Harry made a small effort to cuddle, but Draco wasn't in the mood anyway. Harry's breathing soon became shallow, and Draco counted the breaths until he fell asleep.

 

:: :: :: :: ::

:: :: :: :: ::

“And why should I help you?” Draco asked, taking one last drag off of the cigarette. He blew the smoke up above his head, where it disappeared into the light haze that so often covered San Francisco . “You won't even tell me what those plans are.”

Lucius's eyes glinted as they followed the cigarette Draco dropped to the pavement and put out with his shoe. He took a step forward and stroked a black-gloved finger down Draco's cheek. “All in good time, boy. There is something I want you to do.”

Draco stared at him, feeling his stomach tighten. “I haven't changed my mind. I have no intention of–”

“All I ask now is for your assistance in capturing Potter. We know where he is. We can take him easily, but we'll need your help to control him, to convince him to cooperate.”

Draco looked away and pursed his lips, thinking. He'd been walking this line for far too long. He'd been able to avoid choosing sides for longer than he'd ever thought possible, but it looked as if the end were coming at last. He turned back to his father, but found himself unable to speak: his mouth wasn't cooperating with his brain.

Lucius paused a moment, then leaned forward and brushed a kiss against Draco's cheek. “I'll contact you in the usual way,” he whispered. Even his breath was cold. Draco suppressed the urge to shiver as Lucius turned and walked away.

Draco leaned against the alley wall and exhaled. I'll contact you in the usual way. He'd run the other direction, if he ever saw that–

A hand grasped his wrist and whirled him around in the darkness. He shouted and lunged towards it.

And sat straight up in bed, panting.

“Shit,” he whispered, rubbing at his face with one hand. “Fucking dream.”

A hand touched his wrist, and he couldn't help but start.

“You okay?” Harry asked. He was squinting at Draco in the dim light.

Draco forced himself to relax. “Yeah. Sorry to wake you.” He slid back under the duvet and took a deep breath.

“Nightmare?”

“Yeah,” Draco replied, turning to look at him. Harry's eyes were dark, and his hair was splayed all over his pillow. He looked so different without his glasses.

Harry took Draco's hand in his and squeezed it. “I hate nightmares.” For a moment, he looked as if he might say something more, but he didn't.

Draco looked away, focusing instead on their intertwined fingers. Harry only wore two pieces of jewelry: a ring that used to belong to Ron Weasley and a bracelet that used to belong to Draco. Both adorned his right hand. Draco traced the ring with his thumb and toyed with the idea of asking Harry if he'd ever taken it off.

He didn't have to ask about the bracelet, of course. He missed its weight on his own wrist, its reassuring smoothness against his skin. It had been a constant reminder that his mother, somewhere deep down, had cared for him. Now it was just a reminder that he cared for Harry – far too much. He was tempted to look at Harry again, to see if that feeling was mirrored in Harry's eyes. Draco closed his eyes instead.

Harry sighed. “Draco–”

A muffled sound came from the other side of the wall. They looked at each other, surprised. The sound was there again, a little louder this time, distinctly a voice. Two voices, rather; one of them said, “Oh god...”

“Oh god.” Harry's blush was even visible in the dim light.

Draco sat up, tilting his ear towards the wall. “They must've come in late. They probably don't know we're here.” There was a regular pattern of moaning, a squeak indicating a shift in the mattress, a gasp of breath, and then more moaning. Draco grinned at Harry.

Harry looked completely mortified. “I don't want to hear this!” he hissed, sliding down to pull the duvet over his head.

“Oh, come on,” Draco teased, tugging at the duvet. “Since when are you such a prude?”

“I'm not a prude. I just don't want to... it's private and...” Harry rolled his eyes and let go of the duvet, a gesture of defeat. “Oh, it's pointless explaining this to you.”

“You're a prude. Just admit it.”

“I am not.”

A whimpering sound could be heard through the wall now. Draco stretched out beside Harry, listening.

Harry closed his eyes and sighed. “I could have got on fine without knowing she makes that much noise in bed.”

Draco rolled onto his side and leaned forward to whisper in Harry's ear. “Or what she sounds like when she's being eaten out?”

“You don't know that's what they're doing!”

Draco couldn't help but grin against Harry's cheek. “She's the only one making noise. He's never this quiet unless his mouth is occupied.” He traced the shell of Harry's ear with the tip of his tongue.

Harry swallowed. “I... suppose you'd know about that.”

Hermione's moans seemed to reach a crescendo, and then it was quiet for a moment. Harry took a shaky breath, then turned onto his side and kissed Draco.

Harry was a fantastic kisser, though Draco had never told him so. Draco had never really spent a lot of time kissing people. Kissing had always been a rough, quick prelude to sex, but with Harry, it was something else entirely. Harry pulled back until their lips were barely touching, just enough that their breath mingled. His hand stroked down Draco's side, slowly moving lower, almost teasing. Draco remained as still as he could bear. He loved the tension, and Harry was becoming very good at playing his body like this.

The sound of the headboard thumping rhythmically against the wall shattered the moment. They stared at each other for a few seconds, and then began to laugh. It was beyond a cliché; it was ridiculous, and they both were bordering on hysterical after two minutes of it. They struggled to stay quiet, staring at the ceiling and listening to the thumps and Manny's grunts and Hermione's cries.

After five minutes, Draco began to feel a bit inadequate. He stole a glance at Harry, who had a thoughtful expression on his face.

“He never lasted that long with me,” Draco muttered.

Harry snorted. “Who could?”

“Good point.”

“Is that...?” Harry paused, biting his lip. “Do most men take that long?”

Draco wasn't sure if this was insecurity or genuine curiosity. “Not in my experience. But that's what women like, isn't it?”

Harry's face clouded.

The thumping sped up and became erratic, accompanied by intermittent sounds from Manny and Hermione, and finally the noise ceased altogether. Draco grinned at Harry, and then applauded. Harry stared at him for a long second before finally joining in with a whoop.

“Encore!” Draco shouted, laughing.

There was silence behind the wall, and then a very distinct, “Fuck off!”*

Draco grinned. Harry pulled the duvet over them both and settled down again, draping an arm across Draco's chest. Warm and comfortable, Draco closed his eyes, hoping he wouldn't dream.

:: :: :: :: ::

24 February, 2004: Tuesday

The owl was rather unusual, though no one noticed. Its feathers were a dark grey-brown, and in certain light it almost looked black. But its most unusual feature by far was a white mark on its breast: nearly a circle, as if someone had taken a paintbrush in hand and made a swirling swipe at the bird.

It fluttered to a rooftop, scanning the ledges of the building below for pigeon chicks left alone in their nests. One pigeon eyed the owl suspiciously, cocking his head and cooing, settling down further in his nest. His mate paced nervously beside him, keeping an eye on the owl as well.

The owl turned its gaze to the street below, which was bustling with people on their way to work. None of them looked up. The owl's eyes followed a few as they walked: an old man carrying a sack of fruit home from the green grocer; two school children chattering to each other and swinging their satchels about; a young woman carrying a briefcase and rushing to work. The owl turned its attention back to the pigeons.

The young woman on the street below checked her watch and frowned, then ducked in the door of a Pret a Manger. She ordered two caffe lattes and a pastry at the counter, smiling when the cashier flirted with her through a thick eastern European accent. She brushed her dark hair out of her face, collected her purchases, and winked at him, earning a smile that revealed a bit too much information about the man's dental history. A middle-aged man in a stylish coat opened the door for her when she reached it. She smiled her thanks, ducking her head just a little.

Back on the pavement, she veered onto a side street and narrowly avoided colliding with a man in a smart suit – who apologized and tried to engage her in conversation before she politely repeated that it was fine, no harm done. She had to get to work, she said, perfect red lips quirking into an amused smile. He watched her walk away with a sigh.

She rounded a corner and stopped before an antique shop. Its windows were full of dusty objects, and the sign on the door was turned to ‘closed'. It was always closed, though no one noticed. It was an altogether unremarkable shop on a quiet street.

The woman looked up and down the street, and then whispered a word to the peeling paint on the door. She paused for a moment more before stepping right through solid wood into a brightly-lit office building.

She walked past a receptionist, who barely gave her a glance, and headed toward a suite of offices in the back. She walked through another door into a large room containing several desks, computers, various pieces of equipment, and a variety of exotic houseplants. A man sat at one desk, tapping at a keyboard and staring intently at the screen of his computer.

She contemplated him for a moment, taking off her coat and settling the coffee and her briefcase on a desk. She picked up one of the cups of coffee and walked over to him.

“Good morning,” he said, not looking up from what he was doing.

She placed the cup next to the keyboard, then perched on the edge of his desk. “Latte, with a shot of hazelnut syrup.” She crossed her legs and her short skirt hitched up a bit. She let her voice lower a notch. “Just the way you like it, Mr. Padilla.”

Manny glanced up at her, and seemed a bit startled by the view. “Good morning,” he repeated. He picked up his coffee. “Thanks.”

She smiled and leaned forward so she could see the monitor. “What are you working on?”

“That lead you were supposed to investigate,” he replied, sipping his coffee.

She bit her lush red lower lip. “Oops. I was going to get to that this morning.”

Manny raised one eyebrow. “Sure you were. Well, if you're going to be late, bringing me coffee certainly smooths the blow.”

“Anything else I can do to atone?” she asked. She tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear and smiled, lips parted just a little.

“No,” Manny replied, turning back to his work.

“Are you sure?” She leaned forward a bit more.

Manny's eyes darted up, first to her exposed cleavage and then to her face. He realized what he'd done a moment too late, and winced.

The woman grinned. “I'm going to tell your girlfriend you looked down my blouse.”

“And I'm going to tell your boyfriend you were flirting with me,” he retorted. “Now will you please get your lovely ass off my desk and get to work?”

She grinned and hopped to her feet, straightening her skirt. A wolf whistle sounded behind her.

“Hey, baby!” A young man was leaning against the door frame. “Where's my coffee?”

She shot him an annoyed glance. “Get your own fucking coffee.”

“Oooh, testy,” he replied, smirking. “That time of the month?”

She rolled her eyes and flipped him off.

“All right folks, enough,” Manny interrupted. “Meeting today, remember? Ben, have you got that report finished?”

“Almost,” Ben replied, and disappeared from the doorway.

“And you're not going to the meeting like that,” Manny said, turning to the woman.

She leaned against her desk and smiled. “Why, am I distracting you?”

“Yes,” he replied, turning back to his keyboard.

“I think you like it.”

He ignored her, scrolling through a spreadsheet instead.

After a moment, she heaved a dramatic sigh. “Oh, all right. Finite incantatum.” Her image shimmered, and then Draco Malfoy stood in her place. “You know, people are terribly nice to pretty girls.”

Manny smirked. “Thinking of making the change permanent?”

“Very funny.” Draco settled behind his desk. “If you wouldn't mind sending me those files–”

“The ones I've been working on?” Manny asked, a note of false indignation in his voice.

“And I do appreciate it so,” Draco replied, not looking up from his own monitor, which was firing to life. He pushed his glasses up his nose and affected his best Brooklyn accent. “Make it snappy, wouldja?” The computer whined. “Shit, more updates for Wizard XM already?”

“Yes,” Manny snorted. “I told you we should've gone with Linux. They have a fantastic magical interface. But no –”

“I know, I know. I've sold my soul to Microsoft.”

Manny's wand tapped the screen of his monitor. “Epistula.”

Several files appeared on Draco's monitor. He opened one, only to have a pop-up window appear, telling him he had to restart his computer immediately so the new Wizard XM updates could be integrated. “Or risk certain system failure and destruction! ” the pop-up warned, complete with the image of a cranky-looking wizard scowling and shaking his head at Draco.

“Fine,” Draco grumbled, and passed a hand over the screen.

“Updating!” the screen displayed in a cheery font. “Why not step out for a cup of delicious Starbucks TM coffee while you wait? The nearest Starbucks to you is —”

Draco tapped the screen with his wand to turn the sound off, and then opened his briefcase. He had several leads to follow, so many that it was hard to know where to begin. Ordinarily, it would have been a challenge to relish. He liked sneaking about, assuming false identities and gaining the trust of unsuspecting people. But having a price on his head took a bit of the fun out of the job. Glamours were a way of getting around the Muggle world unrecognized, but they wouldn't do him much good when he started tracking down Death Eaters.

And the more he thought about it, the more realized that was what he'd likely have to do. He couldn't see another way out of this mess.

:: :: :: :: ::

At 11:00, they apparated to the Ministry office on Farringdon Road where Harry and Hermione worked. Hermione's assistant Peggy met them in the apparition room. She was a cute, slender brunette – and the model for Draco's morning glamour charm. Ben flashed her a big California smile, and she winked at him. Manny and Draco had a bet going on how much longer it would be before those two started shagging.

As they headed toward the meeting room, Draco felt a knot twist in his stomach. He hadn't seen Harry since Sunday afternoon. They'd disagreed on what to do that evening, and the simplest solution had been to go their separate ways. Monday had been busy and by evening Draco hadn't yet heard from Harry. So naturally, he didn't seek him out; he waited for Harry to call or owl with plans for dinner, or to apparate over while Draco was watching telly, or to show up just in time to slip into bed with him. He'd finally gone to bed after midnight without hearing from Harry at all.

Harry was already in the meeting room conferring quietly with Director Bass, and didn't look up when they entered. Hermione glanced up from the notes she was studying and smiled. She'd been mortified Sunday morning after being overheard in the throes of orgasm. Draco had taken great pleasure in teasing her throughout breakfast. “ This jam is sooooo good, ohhh, god… ” Harry'd had to kick him rather hard before he'd finally stopped.

Harry wasn't still cross about that , was he?

They took their seats around the small conference table. Peggy brought a pot of tea and some biscuits and then settled at the end of the table with a dictation quill and a scroll. She whispered to it and it began scribbling.

“I'll begin,” Harry said, standing to hand out copies of a report.

Manny would probably grumble later that Harry could have simply emailed everyone the file in advance to save time. Of course, the Ministry didn't have internet access yet, a fact that had surprised both Manny and Ben. When he'd moved to the US years ago, Draco had been surprised that American wizards used so much Muggle technology.

Harry had yet to make eye contact with him, or to greet him in any way. Draco sighed, pushing his glasses up on his nose. He'd only worn them today because Harry always seemed to like them. Desperation did not become him; that was for certain.

His copy of the report was dropped onto the table in front of him. There was a yellow magic-stick note on top, and on it was printed in Harry's tiny scrawl: Missed you yesterday . And just like that, the knot in Draco's belly dissolved. He looked up to see Harry settling back down at his seat.

“We've heard reports of Death Eater activity outside of Durham,” Harry said, “which wouldn't ordinarily be of interest to our investigation, but in this case, the activity occurred during an official visit by unidentified persons on classified Ministry business.”

“And you have no idea who those visitors were?” Manny asked.

“We have some leads,” Harry replied.

“Leads,” Draco repeated, digging out a quill and carefully writing, Me too – lunch? on the magic-stick note. “That's all we've got as well. In fact–” He dug his working file out of his briefcase and rifled through the pages. He pressed the magic-stick note to the top page and handed his list of leads to Harry. “These are the ones we're investigating at the moment. Suspicious travel is one of the flags we look for. Maybe there's some overlap.”

“Unfortunately, there's not much that's suspicious about a trip to Durham ,” Hermione quipped.

“North Carolina?” Ben whispered to Manny. Manny gave him a long look before shaking his head.

Harry studied Draco's list, making a few notes on it as he did. “We can give you classified information on these, up to Level 5. Beyond that–” He glanced at Bass, and they exchanged a meaningful look. Bass nodded, and Harry handed the papers back to Draco. “If you send me a copy of this, I'll see what I can do.”

Draco glanced at the sticky-note on the top page, where Harry had written Got a meeting. Dinner? Draco looked up and smiled. “That would be fantastic.”

:: :: :: :: ::

Manny and Hermione had hinted they didn't want any company over lunch, so Draco had talked Ben into going with him. Draco had glamoured himself to look fairly unremarkable, much to Ben's chagrin – he'd apparently been hoping to have lunch with a facsimile of Peggy.

“Have you ever even spoken to her?” Draco asked as they walked up Shaftesbury Avenue .

“There's never time,” Ben replied, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets. “She smiles at me, but she's always busy, and I never seem to get a chance to talk to her without everyone else around listening.” He sighed, looking for all the world like a forlorn teenager. “Think Hermione would give me her number?”

“Not all wizards have phones here,” Draco reminded him. “But it wouldn't hurt to ask. She works for Hermione, after all, so she might have a mobile.” Harry had said that Hermione's zeal for integrating Muggle technology into the Ministry's operations had only intensified since she'd met Manny and learned more about how the FBI operated.

They stopped before an Indian restaurant called Mela, a favorite of Harry's. “This is the place,” Draco said, studying the menu posted in the window.

“Sounds great,” Ben said, glancing inside. “Ummm… What did you say Harry was doing for lunch?”

“He had a meeting,” Draco replied. “Why?”

“Well, that sure looks like him in the restaurant… having lunch with a really pretty girl.”

Draco's eyes wouldn't focus for a moment. It was Harry, though, sitting at a small table near the back of the restaurant. The woman sitting across from him was Cho Chang – at least, she looked like Cho. It had been a few years since Draco had seen her.

“That's his ex-wife,” Draco heard himself say. “I guess that was his meeting.”

“Ex-wife?” Ben snorted. “Looks a little cozy to me. If I were you, I'd march right in there and say something.”

Draco swallowed and shook his head. “I'm not supposed to be seen, remember?”

“You're disguised.”

“But she was trained as an auror.” Draco couldn't drag his eyes away from the table. “I can't risk it.”

Cho reached across the table and took Harry's hand, and Draco looked away. He took a deep breath and started walking.

Ben jogged to catch up. “Hey, are you okay?”

Draco shrugged. “How about Thai?” They'd walked nearly ten minutes before Draco remembered to look for a restaurant.

:: :: :: :: ::

Harry had asked Draco to meet him at Paddington Station at 7:00 . Draco had returned to his Peggy-esque glamour from that morning, and Harry didn't immediately recognize him. Draco watched him from a distance for a moment, and then sauntered forward, stopping right in front of him. Harry gave him a quizzical look, which turned into a surprised yelp when Draco leaned forward and kissed him. Draco stepped back and winked.

Harry looked something between shocked and amused, but he rolled his eyes and offered Draco his arm. They walked to nearby Cristini, a cozy Italian bistro with sunny walls. They were seated near the window; the waiter even pulled out Draco's chair for him.

“This is quite strange, you know,” Harry remarked over his menu. “I didn't peg you for a drag queen.”

It was on the tip of Draco's tongue to make a remark about this being more Harry's type, but he didn't.

“Just trying to mix it up a bit. Besides, people are a lot nicer to a pretty girl than a poncy bloke, no matter how cute he is.” He felt Harry's eyes on him, but he didn't look up. “If it bothers you, I can change it.”

“Wouldn't the waiter be surprised?” It seemed to be a rhetorical question. “Want some wine?”

Draco scanned the list. “How about a Chianti?”

They ordered, and the waiter brought them bread and San Pellegrino. Draco wandlessly cast a conversation screen around their table.

“What can you tell me about the Unspeakables?” he asked.

Harry blinked at him. “Not much. I don't know much, to be honest. Why?”

Draco shrugged. “I was looking into that incident near Durham that you mentioned today. There was some strange owl activity reported in that area at the time. One of the owls was shot by a local Muggle and turned over to the authorities, along with the message it was carrying. The message self-destructed in the hands of the Muggle police, who had to have their memories appropriately modified. The owl was taken back to the Ministry's owlery, where it was identified as one that had been officially dead for several years.”

“So it was a shadow,” Harry said. “Interesting. There are a few departments who use shadow owls, and most of their workers fit in the category of Unspeakable.”

“Hence my interest.” The waiter arrived with their antipasti and poured the wine. He smiled sweetly at Draco as he walked away. Draco swirled his glass and watched the legs of wine slip down the sides. “You wanted to know how deep the Death Eater connections went. How far are you willing to go?”

Harry studied his own wine glass. “As far as it takes to get my memory back, at least. After that, I'm hoping the rest will fall into place.”

:: :: :: :: ::

Draco was both tense and relieved when Harry asked him to stay the night. There was little prelude; they headed straight for the bedroom. Draco dropped the glamour and Harry kissed him hard, tugging their clothes off and backing them towards the bed.

Harry was being much more aggressive than usual. It crossed Draco's mind that Harry'd been appreciating his appearance all evening and that was why he seemed so excited now. But he pushed the thought away and let Harry press him onto his belly. Harry plastered his back with kisses while his hands seemed to be mapping out the surface of Draco's body. Draco smiled: Harry was quite good with his hands. He felt the cheeks of his arse being pressed apart and a wand tip pressed slightly in – and then the tingly feeling of a spell flooding into him. He sighed and relaxed into the mattress.

What was it he'd been tense about? It could wait until he'd come a few times.

Harry bit his arse playfully, causing Draco to yelp. After a few more bites, Harry was holding Draco down to keep him still. Draco laughed, and then moaned as Harry's tongued wormed its way between his cheeks.

He was surprised every time Harry did this. It was something most of his lovers had been squeamish about, including Manny. Harry actually seemed to like it, though.

Before Draco knew it, he was pressing his arse up into Harry's face, begging for that tongue to probe even deeper. His cock was hard and aching, hanging between his thighs and leaving little trails of pre-come on Harry's duvet. Harry's tongue stroked in and out, lapped at the skin around his hole, and dipped down to tease his balls. Draco could only mumble incoherently, alternately wishing Harry would keep doing what he was doing, or would hurry up and get to the part where he fucked him.

When Harry pressed into him at last, it was a long, slow burn, just enough to take the edge off and bring him back from the brink of orgasm. Harry had overdone the lubrication spell a bit, so there wasn't as much friction as Draco usually liked, but that just meant Harry could pound into him.

Draco ended up on his hands and knees, braced against the headboard while Harry rammed into him. It was rougher than the way they usually did it, but Draco liked it. Sometimes hard and fast was easier to deal with than slow and sweet.

Harry was loud when he came, much more so than usual. He collapsed against Draco's back, sweaty and panting. He finally managed to pull out and flop onto his back next to Draco.

“Oh, god, that was…” He took a deep breath. “I'm sorry, give me a minute.”

Draco stroked his erection and considered. Harry would recover and then would suck him off, probably. But the sight of Harry flat on his back, knees apart, was giving Draco other ideas.

He crawled between Harry's thighs and leaned down to kiss him. “That was good, wasn't it?” Harry nodded and let Draco plunder his mouth. Draco's hand slid down between them, and then one finger circled Harry's hole. “You're so good with your mouth,” Draco whispered. “Mind if I return the favor?”

Harry mumbled a weak protest, but Draco had already slid down and pressed Harry's thighs into his chest. He'd been able to cast a wandless elutus for years, though he hadn't done it for Harry before. Harry gasped at the spell, then whimpered as Draco's tongue flicked across sensitive skin.

Draco hadn't rimmed Harry before; he simply hadn't had an opportunity in the last week. Harry gasped above him in a way that made Draco wonder if anyone had ever done this to him. He took his time, circling with the tip of his tongue, then pressing gently into the center.

When his tongue breached Harry's body, Harry made a strangled noise. “Why do I feel so… odd about liking this?”

“Because it's dirty,” Draco replied, then thrust his tongue back in.

“Oh god.” Harry pulled his knees up harder, as if trying to open himself even more as Draco's tongue stroked in and out.

Draco's cock was so hard it hurt. He wanted nothing more than to bury himself in Harry, to feel heat and pressure, and to watch Harry's face while he fucked him. He reached for his wand and crawled back up Harry's torso.

“Harry, I really want–”

“Okay,” Harry whispered, eyes dark and unblinking.

Draco paused. He wanted to ask Harry if he was sure, but he didn't want to give him a chance to change his mind. He pressed the tip of his wand into Harry and whispered the lubrication spell, then repeated it on himself. No such thing as too much lube the first time. He positioned the head of his cock and stared down at Harry's face.

Harry was a little pale, but he looked like he was trying to relax. Draco smiled and kissed him. “Ready?”

Harry nodded.

Draco pressed forward and met immediate resistance. He knew it had to hurt, but he pushed a little further in. Harry's eyes were squeezed shut. Draco paused, uncertain. “Are you–”

“Stopstopstop,” Harry spat. “Please… out!”

Draco withdrew with a sigh and settled down next to Harry, watching his face.

“Sorry, but… that really hurt,” Harry said. His face was pale and his eyes were still closed.

Draco didn't say anything. He figured ‘you weren't relaxed enough' wouldn't help. He just kissed Harry's shoulder and waited.

There was a long silence. “I'm sorry,” Harry said at last, rolling onto his side. “I really wanted to try.”

“I know,” Draco said. “We'll try another time.”

Harry smiled and looked down at Draco's wilting erection. “Want me to take care of that?”

“Not now,” Draco said. He climbed under the duvet and gestured for Harry to join him. “Maybe later.”

:: :: :: :: ::

The pounding sound woke them up. At first, Draco thought it was Manny and Hermione again, but then he remembered where he was. Harry sat up, looking a bit disoriented.

The clock read half eleven, and someone was pounding on the door.

“Stay here,” Harry said, pulling on a pair of pyjama bottoms and picking up his wand. He pulled the bedroom door closed behind him.

“I'm not exactly helpless, you know,” Draco muttered. He lay in the dark and listened. After a moment, he saw the light go on under the door, and then he heard voices. They were speaking quietly, whoever they were. It didn't sound like trouble.

He pulled on his boxers and crept over to the door, opening it a crack. Harry was sitting on his couch with someone, and they were talking. The person flung herself into Harry's arms, and that was when Draco recognized her: Cho.

She was upset about something and Harry was apparently trying to comfort her. Draco couldn't help the flame of jealousy that flickered in his throat. During the afternoon, he'd managed to convince himself that their lunch “meeting” was nothing of consequence, just a goodbye of sorts. Harry had said something about divorce papers, so maybe he'd just been delivering them to her.

But this – a beautiful woman knocking on his boyfriend's door late at night and collapsing into his arms? Draco snorted. He pushed the door open a bit further and strained to hear the conversation.

“–realized Aaron is a complete arse, that's all. She was one of his students, not that he cared.” She sat back and wiped her eyes.

Harry was staring at her, a strange look on his face. Draco only knew a little about why they'd split up, but he was fairly certain it had involved Cho cheating on Harry with this Aaron fellow.

Twat.

“I miss you, Harry. I've been such an idiot, and I know you probably hate me now, but–”

“Look, Cho–”

“But I made a mistake, Harry.” Her dark eyes welled up with tears and she took his hand in hers. “I don't expect you to take me back, or anything like that. I just wanted to…” She trailed off, lip quivering.

Harry exhaled and stared at their joined hands. He seemed at a loss for words.

Cho looked down at their hands and fingered Harry's ring. “For a moment, I thought this was your wedding ring. How long have you had this?”

“A few years,” Harry replied, looking up. “I just started wearing it again recently. It was Ron's.”

Cho's head jerked up at that. For a moment she looked as if she wanted to say something but couldn't. Finally, she cupped Harry's cheek with her free hand and leaned forward to kiss him.

Harry seemed frozen to the spot, like the proverbial deer in the headlights. Draco waited for him to jerk back, to say no, to push her away. But he didn't. He just sat there, waiting for her to kiss him.

Draco knew it was a terrible idea, but he couldn't stand it any longer. He pushed the door open and coughed. Harry jumped, as if he'd just remembered where he was. Cho looked up and gasped.

Well aware of how debauched he looked in just his boxers with his hair mussed, Draco stepped forward and sat on the arm of the couch behind Harry. He smiled coolly at Cho and leaned forward to put a hand on Harry's shoulder.

“Malfoy!” Cho spat, eyes as wide as saucers. “I don't… but you're…”

“In the States? A Death Eater? Dead?”

“Here!” she said. Her mouth opened and closed again, as if she couldn't find the words to express her shock.

Harry leaned back against Draco and sighed. “He's working for us, and we… that is… Draco and I…”

“It's what it looks like,” Draco added, helpfully.

Cho sank back against the sofa cushions, stunned. “This is… oh my god.” She looked up at Harry again. “How long?”

“A few weeks,” Harry replied. He looked away.

Cho's face was clouded for a moment, and then her eyes met Draco's. There was a spark of something there, something oddly familiar. Draco's eyes narrowed in response, and Cho's lips pressed into a thin line. She stood, dragging her glare away from Draco as if by sheer will. “I'm sorry to have disturbed you. I should leave.”

Harry stood and put a hand on her shoulder. “I'm sorry about Aaron. He was a pretentious wanker who fucked around. But it wasn't like we had much of a marriage, anyway.”

Cho turned a forced smile to Harry. “Why did we even bother?”

“Because we thought it was the right thing to do,” Harry said, brushing her cheek with one finger.

Cho seemed to be struggling to maintain her expression of sad acceptance. “Of course.”

“Good night,” Harry said.

Cho nodded and opened the door. She looked back and shot a scathing glare at Draco before closing it behind her.

Harry turned back to Draco and sighed. “Oh god. That was… interesting.”

Draco held out his hand. “Come back to bed?”

“Not just yet.” Harry sat on the sofa and pulled his knees into his chest.

Draco clasped his hands behind his back. “Harry, I'm sorry.” He had no idea what for, but it was what one said in these situations, wasn't it?

Harry shook his head. “I can't believe she–” He paused and pursed his lips. Draco stared at him, not certain what to do. “She came to cry on my shoulder because he cheated on her with some Uni girl, as if I would… After she…” Harry swallowed, and Draco realized he was trying very hard not to lose control of his emotions.

Draco exhaled and sat next to Harry. He had no idea what to say.

Harry stared at the floor for a long moment. “I'm sorry.”

“It's not your fault your ex-wife is a self-centered bitch. I could have her killed, if you like.”

Harry laughed, but still wouldn't look at Draco.

“Come to bed,” Draco said again, keeping his voice gentle. “Please?”

Harry looked up at him at last, eyes bright. “Go ahead. I'll be along. I just need a few minutes, all right?”

Draco felt his stomach knot up again.

:: :: :: :: ::

Lucius's eyes narrowed as he watched Draco drop the cigarette to the pavement and put it out with his shoe. Draco stiffened when his father reached out to touch his face. “All in good time, boy. There is something I want you to do.”

Draco was frozen to the spot. Why couldn't he move? “I haven't changed my mind. I have no intention of–”

“All I ask now is for your assistance in capturing Potter. We know where he is. We can take him easily, but we'll need your help to control him, to convince him to cooperate.”

Draco closed his eyes and tried to concentrate. He needed to find a way to get out of this, but his mind was swimming just enough to prevent him from thinking clearly. Funny, he didn't remember drinking tonight.

In fact, he couldn't remember anything from tonight.

Lucius leaned forward and brushed a kiss against Draco's cheek. “I'll contact you in the usual way,” he whispered. Draco swallowed – there was something about those words that terrified him. Lucius turned and walked away.

Draco leaned against the alley wall, his father's final words ringing in his ears. I'll contact you in the usual way.

A hand grasped his wrist and whirled him around in the darkness. Draco reached for his wand but couldn't wrap his fingers around it. He looked up, and his wrist was released. There was no one there.

:: :: :: :: ::

Draco started awake, only to find he was still alone.

 

:: :: :: :: ::

:: :: :: :: ::

27 February, 2004: Friday

“Are you okay?” Manny asked.

Draco looked up from his monitor and rubbed his eyes. “Yeah. Just tired.”

“Hope you don't mind that I got you a mocha instead of a latte.” Manny held out the paper Pret cup and grinned at Draco's expression of horror. “Kidding, geesh. I know better.”

“Thanks.” Draco pinched the bridge of his nose.

“No witty retort? Something is wrong.” Manny waved his hand and the chair from his desk obediently rolled across the floor. He sat and studied Draco for a moment. “Is Harry keeping you up nights or something?”

“No. Not like that. It's nothing.”

“I offered to pick you up a coffee because you've been falling asleep all morning. It's not like you.” Manny's expression was one of genuine concern, despite the lightness of his tone.

“I dunno. I'm having trouble sleeping.”

“Stress?”

“It's nothing. Forget it.”

“You should try a sleeping potion. My Tia Emilia has an amazing recipe that'll–”

Draco groaned. “You think I haven't tried sleeping potions?”

Manny's eyes narrowed. “Are you trying to quit smoking again?”

Draco shrugged; it was as good an excuse as any. “Two fucking days without one.”

“You really must be in love,” Manny said, rolling his chair back over to his own desk.

“Or a world-class idiot,” Draco mumbled.

After ten minutes of staring at a decoded report Hermione had epistulared to him that morning, Draco could feel himself slipping out of consciousness. He was so tired he could do nothing about it.

“Draco?” Manny was standing over him.

Draco blinked. He'd fallen asleep.

“Maybe you should take the day off,” Manny said. He looked worried.

“I can't,” Draco replied. “There's so much to do.”

“And you're not getting anything done. You need to get some sleep. Go home.”

Draco sighed. The last thing he needed was to go to sleep, where he might find himself back in the nightmare again. He had a strange feeling that it was connected to everything – to Harry's memory loss, to Death Eaters who had infiltrated the American and British governments, to the truth about Voldemort's fate. But he didn't know how, and he hated being reminded of that nightly.

He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against the desk. “God, I'm… I can't do this. I can't work in this office. I can't keep hiding.”

“What are you talking about?” Manny sat on the edge of Draco's desk.

“I know fuck all about office operations. This isn't what I'm good at, Manny. I'm a field operative. I blend in; I go undercover; I root people out. I'm not accomplishing anything here.” Draco sat up and ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back out of his face. The red lowlights were starting to grow out, which annoyed him to no end. It was a Muggle coloring job, so he couldn't do a thing with it.

“Draco, you're doing fine. You–”

“No, I'm not. I need to get out there.”

“You've got a price on your head. Your father is only one of the people who'd love to get their hands on you, and he's probably the only one who wouldn't kill you on sight.”

“I know it's dangerous. But I came here to help. In fact, I risked my life to come here and help.”

“No.” Manny shook his head, but his eyes were sympathetic. “You came here because Harry asked you to. You came here because this was where he was.”

Draco stared at his own hands. If Harry knew the truth – the whole truth – Draco doubted he'd understand. And that was the crux of his problem. He had to solve this mystery before Harry learned his secrets – because then it wouldn't matter anymore. It was his only chance.

“Go home,” Manny said. Draco frowned, and Manny sighed. “Want to go for a walk, then?”

:: :: :: :: ::

“Mama says it's been raining like crazy in San Antonio ,” Manny said, glancing at the grey sky. “I told her it's the same here.”

“When did you talk to your mother?”

“She emailed me.”

Draco shook his head. “It's amazing that your parents use email. I don't know any wizards over the age of forty who do.”

“Do you know how much a trans-Atlantic goose costs? Besides, she's had to use email for years. Even though the College of Magic is hidden from Mundanes, it's still part of the University.”

“Is that where you studied?”

“No,” Manny replied with a laugh. “I would have had my own mother for western magical theory, which would have been a disaster waiting to happen. I went to the University of Michigan . It has a great College of Magic , one of the top ones in the country.”

“Going to university isn't something many wizards here do,” Draco said. “But I wanted to train to be an Auror, so it wasn't necessary for me.”

“That's a bachelor's degree program in the US ,” Manny noted. “But still – you must have been pretty angry at your father to take that career path.”

Draco shrugged and said nothing.

“I rebelled against my parents by getting married young and not going to graduate school. That's how to piss off academics, in case you were curious.”

“Hermione is going to love your family,” Draco said, grinning.

Manny blushed and was quiet for a moment. “It's happened so fast. I don't… can you really fall in love with someone in two weeks?”

Draco sighed. “Yeah – I think you can.”

They walked in silence until Leicester Square opened before them, bustling with tourists even in this dreary month. They made their way to the center of the square and sat on a bench. Draco's glamour was designed to be as uninteresting as possible, and no one had spared him a glance. Manny received a few curious looks, but Draco might as well have been invisible.

“So how's it going with Harry?” Manny's tone was casual, but Draco knew the question was not.

“Fine.”

“Ben said y'all saw him with his ex-wife the other day.”

Draco sighed. “Yes, well… it was nothing.”

Manny opened his mouth to respond, but closed it again. He turned towards Draco. “I know you care about him – and he seems to be a very nice guy – but is there any possibility this is just a rebound fling for him?”

“Of course there's a possibility.” Draco watched a bit of rubbish flutter in the breeze on the ground before him.

“I just don't want to see you get hurt.”

“Like you hurt me, you mean?” Draco asked, raising his eyes to meet Manny's.

Manny's expression didn't change. “You know how much I regret that.” He was silent for a moment, and then looked away. “I was angry at her, at the world, at women in general. And you were there, and you were willing, and… I was curious. I never meant for it to get so complicated.” Manny clasped his hands together in his lap, almost as if he were doing so to keep himself from reaching out to Draco. “But I care about you. I always will.”

“I know. And I trust Harry. I can't explain why. I have no reason to, but being with him feels very… comfortable. Even though he's still sorting it all out, somehow I know it will work, if I don't screw it up.” Draco frowned. He hadn't meant to say that last bit aloud.

Manny smiled at him. “Then don't screw it up. But if he hurts you, I'll have to kill him.”

Draco smiled. “I wonder if he's had this same conversation with Hermione?”

“Probably. Do you think those two ever…?”

“No, I don't.” He grinned at Manny – and then a dark shape caught his attention just behind Manny's shoulder. Draco felt his stomach drop.

“What?” Manny said, whirling around to look in the direction Draco was staring.

Draco blinked, and the shadow was gone.

“Are you all right?” Manny asked.

Draco nodded. “I… thought I saw something for a moment.”

“Saw what? You look like you've seen a ghost.”

Draco tried not to flinch at the irony of the comment. “It was nothing. Let's head back, shall we?”

Manny glanced at his watch. “I've got a meeting with Hermione, actually.”

“A meeting?” Draco repeated. “I'll bet.”

Manny rolled his eyes. “Is that all you think about?”

“Of course.”

Draco looked back once as they walked away, but nothing was there. He shivered.

:: :: :: :: ::

The envelope was sitting on Draco's desk when he returned, along with an annoyed-looking owl. And a few pellets.

“Ugh,” Draco muttered, casting a dirty glance at the bird.

“It's been here for a while,” Ben said, peeking through the doorway. “It refused to give the package to anyone but you.” He disappeared from view again.

Draco glanced at the envelope: Derek Malone was written on it in Harry's handwriting. He reached for it, and the owl nipped his hand.

“What the–? Oh, right. Finite incantatum.” The owl blinked at him once as the glamour dissipated, then stepped away from the package. It scowled at Draco until he gave it a treat from the packet he kept in a drawer. It extended its wings as if stretching, then swept through the corridor and out of sight.

Draco banished the owl pellets to the rubbish bin with a wave of his hand and picked up the envelope. It was thick and lumpy, and looked a bit worse for wear. Draco wondered if Harry had distressed it on purpose to make it look unimportant. He opened it and emptied the contents onto his desk. There were several bundles of parchment, each clipped together with a differently colored Muggle paperclip; a few dark-colored feathers; a Muggle still photo of a smiling man holding what looked to be a dead owl in one hand and a shotgun in the other; and several stones.

Draco frowned. Stones?

He picked up a lone piece of parchment. Like the others, it was blank, and had a paper clip on it despite not being clipped to anything else. Draco pulled off the blue paperclip and a jumble of letters and numbers appeared on the page.

“Granger,” Draco muttered. One of the first things she'd done when the FBI office was set up was to meet with each person individually and explain how their own personal cryptokeys worked, how to encode and decode messages, etc. Draco's eyes had nearly glazed over, but he'd left with a new admiration for her.

He retrieved his wand from a pocket and tapped it against the parchment, whispering the key spell. The characters on the page moved and reformed into coherent sentences.

Draco,

I had to pull a few strings to get this information to you. It's highly confidential, so I have to insist you only reveal any of it to Manny on a need-to-know basis. The feathers and stones are from the site of a “magical incident” (that's how they refer to it in the reports) that occurred near Durham last week. They've been examined thoroughly in our own lab, but no one has been able to determine the source of the magical signature left on them.

Draco paused to cast a suspicious glance at the stones. They were ordinary bits of rock, as far as he could tell.

The feathers are from the owl that was killed. I don't know if those will be helpful or not, but I nicked them from the lab along with the stones. There are also a few classified reports from Unspeakables and Aurors who were sent to clean up the area after the “incident”. You'll notice parts of them are blacked out – that was the best Bass could give me without overtly breaking the law. 

Let me know if you need anything further. 

Harry

Draco decoded the other sets of parchment and set to reading the reports. Aurors had followed standard procedure after what appeared to be a terrorist-style Death Eater attack in a village outside of Durham . A house was destroyed, but there were only light injuries and relatively few Muggles had been affected. One of the Aurors had complained bitterly that she had been prevented from conducting a complete investigation. Draco scanned to the end of the report, and started at the name: N. Tonks . His cousin.

Time for a little family reunion, perhaps. He didn't know her very well, but his father had always said blood was the most important thing. He pulled a blank sheet of parchment and a quill from a tray on his desk.

Ms. Tonks, 

I am investigating the incident that occurred in Durham a week ago and have read your report. I would like to meet with you in person to discuss your concerns. Please reply with a date and time convenient to your schedule. 

Sincerely,

Derek Malone
US Federal Bureau of Investigation, London Division

He rolled the parchment and tied it, then headed to the front office. The receptionist, a young witch named Grizabella, looked up from her computer monitor when he walked through the door. She tapped the screen a few times before casting a guilty glance in his direction.

Draco resisted the urge to tease her. She'd only finished at Hogwarts the previous year and had never seen a computer until they'd hired her. She'd quickly discovered internet porn, though, and there'd been no turning back. She'd become so adept at navigating the web for information that Manny was considering sending her on a Muggle computer course. Draco thought she'd probably leave the FBI for a job designing pornographic web sites if that happened.

“Owl this,” he said, “to Nymphadora Tonks.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied, tucking a strand of mousy-colored hair behind her ear. Draco found it amusing to be called ‘sir' by someone only a few years his junior. She'd once said she remembered him from school, but he'd not recognized her, even though she'd been in Slytherin. Of course, he'd been a bit preoccupied those last years.

She summoned an owl, then shifted in her chair, staring at her hands. Draco knew he intimidated her, but he had no plans to change the situation. There was no reason to get to know her any better.

The owl's arrival broke the tension. Draco handed her the parchment and went back to his office.

Twenty minutes later, Grizabella appeared next to his desk. “It's a reply from Ms. Tonks, sir,” she said. She held out the envelope and jerked her hand away as soon as Draco took it.

The handwriting on the envelope didn't look familiar, but then, he hadn't ever known his cousin very well. Grizabella shifted her weight from one foot to the other beside his desk, hands clasped in front of her.

“Thank you,” Draco said, not looking up.

“Sir?”

Draco caught a sidelong glimpse of her wringing hands. “Yes?”

“Might I… well, it's Friday, and it's a bit quiet…”

“You want to take the afternoon off, I suppose.”

“Yes, sir.”

He looked up to see her blushing. “It's not up to me. You should ask Mr. Padilla when he gets back.”

Her face fell, and Draco had to struggle not to grin. Manny would never give her the afternoon off, and she knew it. “Yes, sir.” She returned to her desk in the front office.

Draco opened the envelope and pulled out a slip of parchment. Meet me at the Dog and Duck at half past noon. She hadn't even signed her name. Draco glanced at the wall clock; it was nearly noon already.

Tonks didn't even know who he was, but she seemed very interested in talking to him.

:: :: :: :: ::

Draco couldn't remember ever being in a Muggle pub in Britain before. He'd spent a good deal of time in gay clubs when he was younger, but that was the extent of his experience. He'd had to ask Grizabella to help him find the place, and she'd produced a set of directions for him in a matter of seconds from the internet. He'd been shocked to realize the pub was literally just around the corner from his flat.

The Dog and Duck reminded him of a clean, freak-free Leaky Cauldron, small and packed with Muggles in various forms of professional attire. He scanned the room for a familiar face, but didn't see anyone downstairs, so he climbed the narrow staircase to the upper floor. He rounded the corner past the toilets and the unstaffed upstairs bar, and saw a woman with long black hair and dark glasses sitting in the far corner reading a newspaper. She couldn't have looked any more like someone who was trying to be inconspicuous. Fortunately, they were completely alone in the room. Draco rolled his eyes and crossed to the table.

“Ms. Tonks, I presume?”

She started when she looked up at him. He'd cast a glamour charm, but he'd expected her to see right through it.

“Oh my god,” she said, pulling the dark glasses off. Her eyes were wide and violet, and though the shape of her face was familiar, it was effectively masked by her outward appearance. He envied her ability to disguise herself without having to resort to illusory charms. “Sit,” she said, pushing the newspaper aside with a sweeping gesture. It fell to the floor and scattered.

He removed his coat and draped it over one of the many mismatched chairs in the room. Tonks cast a screening spell around their table as he sat, despite the fact that no one else was there.

“Draco Malfoy,” she said, grinning. “I don't believe it. Well, I'd heard rumors that you were back, but–”

“Rumors, really?” Draco asked. They'd been careful, but he knew how quickly gossip spread in the Ministry.

“Here,” Tonks said, pushing one of the two pints of beer on the small table toward him. “I took the liberty of ordering you a drink. Well, I didn't know it would be you , of course.”

“Thanks,” Draco replied, trying not to wrinkle his nose. He liked beer, but he was a bit picky about it.

“You must tell Harry I said hello,” Tonks said, her lips quirking in a knowing smile. “I've not seen him in ages.”

“I will.” So everyone knew about that too, then?

“I'm so glad to see he's moving on. I never liked his wife very much.”

Draco smiled. Tonks was quite a lovely person. He must make an effort to get to know her better.

“Unfortunately, I don't have much time to sit and chat,” she continued. “I'm expected back for a meeting.” She paused and took a rather large gulp from her own glass before continuing. “I'm actually glad it's you I'm going to tell. There are very few people I trust in the Ministry these days.”

Draco tried not to let his surprise show. She trusted him? She hardly knew him.

“I was sent there after it happened. It came out of the blue; there weren't even any rumors that something was going to happen. It's been so quiet these last few years, you know.” She paused to drink another few gulps of ale, as if bolstering her courage. “A house was destroyed in a small village, and some Muggles were tortured – there was no permanent harm done, and we wiped their memories that day after questioning them. But they reported seeing an unusual number of owls in the area during the days prior to the attack. Strange, dark owls, not your common barn owls. One farmer even shot one – it'd killed one of his cats. My immediate thought was that they were shadows – and I later discovered that all records of official Ministry business there had been classified.”

“Did you see any of them?” Draco took a sip from his glass.

“Just the dead one. Its head had been blown off and it was a bit mangled – apparently the farmer's dog had got hold of it. But it looked like a shadow. You know how they spell their feathers so dark to make them resistant to illumination charms and such?”

“Your report noted that you'd wanted to investigate further,” Draco prompted.

“Yes,” she said, slumping down in her seat as if just talking about it was exhausting. “Death Eaters haven't attacked randomly for years. There must have been a target. And the owls – why so many, and why shadows in particular? It has to involve the Ministry somehow. I'm certain there were Unspeakables on the scene before it ever happened, though no one will admit it.”

“So perhaps Death Eaters knew they were there and wanted to disrupt whatever they were doing,” Draco said. “But who was meeting there, and why would Death Eaters know about it and not your division?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. Each of my attempts to investigate was thwarted. I was told to stop asking silly questions; that the incident was random terrorism and there was nothing more to do other than to capture the Death Eaters involved.”

“Has anyone been captured?”

“No.” Tonks snorted. “There wasn't much evidence to go on, and no one seems interested in digging around for more. The investigation has effectively stalled.” She drained her beer and set the empty glass back on the table with a thud, as if to punctuate.

“There were some stones collected from the site,” Draco said.

Tonks nodded. “Fragments from the house that was destroyed. Our lab did nothing with them, though. I doubt they even tried. I asked several times, but no one would let me take a look.”

Draco sipped his beer. It was probably best not to mention that those stones were sitting on his desk at this very moment.

“I've got to go,” Tonks said, slipping her dark glasses on once again. “If you want to meet again, let me know. But I have to be careful.”

“I'll be in touch,” Draco replied.

She stood, bumping the table as she did and nearly toppling Draco's glass. “Oops, sorry! And tell Harry to owl me, eh?” With that, she slinked out of the room and down the stairs, looking for all the world like a character from an old Muggle detective film. It was a good thing most wizards didn't watch such films, Draco thought. Her behavior was far more conspicuous than it ought to be for someone sneaking about.

Draco finished half of his beer before deciding to leave. He descended the narrow staircase to find that the main room of the pub was full of people now and getting a bit smoky. It was enough to make him stop and take a deep breath. He'd left his cigarettes at home – he was, after all, trying to quit – but the scent of smoke was far too appealing.

:: :: :: :: ::

The stones were scattered on his desk. Now that he knew how important they were, Draco felt a bit guilty about having left them in plain view.

He picked one up and turned it over in his hand. He could see where it had been recently fractured. Marks that he'd previously assumed were natural coloration were clearly scorch marks.

Draco pursed his lips. There were many spells with the power to shatter stone, but the best were, of course, dark in origin. And dark magic left a particular sort of residue. He couldn't imagine that the lab hadn't looked for it. He set the stone on his desk and pointed his wand at it. He concentrated for several seconds before whispering, “ Resero ”. The stone shimmered before his eyes and he concentrated, watching and feeling and listening.

He'd had a hard time in the bit of Auror training he'd done learning to sense magical residue. It was an advanced and complex skill, and he'd had little aptitude for it, unfortunately. However, he'd improved over the years – and had found he was particularly sensitive to dark magic. It was a useful skill, if not a surprising one.

He stared at the stone, focusing on the faint glow he could now see around it. It was especially difficult to see, almost as if… He stopped the thought and focused even harder. He only had a few more seconds before the spell would fade, and he wasn't sure if he could do it again.

He gritted his teeth and picked the stone up. He wrapped his fingers around it, closing his eyes. If he couldn't see it, maybe he could feel it. The edges of the stone were rough, and the residue was cold against his skin. The chill spread, making his fingers tingle uncomfortably.

And then it was warm – and familiar. Draco's eyes widened and the stone fell to the floor.

His father had been there when the house was destroyed, he was sure of it. Draco collapsed into his chair, drained. Whatever had happened in Durham , Lucius was involved. As were unidentified people in the Ministry, perhaps – people who had possibly even censured Tonks for trying to investigate.

And someone had recently tried to remove the residue – of that he was certain.

There was no way to know how his father had been involved, however. The presence of magical residue could mean anything; it was considered circumstantial evidence in courts because it only implied a spell had been cast in the vicinity of the object.

Draco had been running from his father for a year, even in his dreams, and his first break in the investigation led straight to the man. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He would go and investigate, but he wouldn't tell anyone he knew his father was involved – not yet.

:: :: :: :: ::

“No,” Harry said, leaning back in his chair. “Absolutely not.”

Draco swore under his breath and looked away. “Why does everyone seem to think they can tell me what to do?”

“Because some of us actually can,” Manny said. His voice was smooth and calm. “I know why you want to go, but we can't risk it.” Manny didn't know, of course; he probably thought this was related to Draco's morning outburst.

“I worked five years undercover,” Draco retorted, “in some fairly dangerous situations. I dealt with Muggle gangsters and Death Eaters on a daily basis.”

“And that was before they knew you weren't really a double agent,” Harry said. “Things are different now. We need you to stay safe. Someone else can go and investigate.”

“Who?” Draco asked, leveling a glare at Harry. “Who understands the situation like I do?”

“No one,” Harry replied. “But that doesn't change anything.”

Draco pushed away from the conference table and stood, running his hands through his hair in frustration. When he called this meeting, he'd expected everyone to praise him for his brilliant investigative work and speed him on his way. He'd never expected this.

“Draco–” Manny began.

“Oh, do shut the fuck up,” Draco said, whirling around. “I don't particularly enjoy being treated like a child.”

“Then perhaps you should stop acting like one,” Manny retorted. Draco glared at him.

Harry sighed. “Manny, could you give us a minute?”

“Absolutely,” Manny replied, standing. He turned to Draco as if to say something more, but didn't. Instead, he shook his head and left the room, pulling the door closed behind him.

Harry leaned against the table. “I know you know what you're doing. No one disputes that.”

“Oh, really?” Draco replied, turning to face him.

“Yes, really. It's not that we don't think you can handle it; it's just that you're… a secret weapon of sorts. They don't know for certain where you are, but if anyone were to find you there–”

“They wouldn't,” Draco said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Everyone seems to be dismissing the fact that I'm an undercover expert.”

Harry scrubbed his forehead with one hand, revealing his own frustration for the first time. “Then don't go because I am asking you not to. It's a terrible risk, and I don't think it's worth it right now.” He looked away. “I don't want to lose you over something like this.”

Draco clenched his jaw, considering. Was Harry being sincere, or was he playing on Draco's emotions? “That isn't fair,” he said at last.

Harry shrugged and looked up again. “None of this is fair, you know. It isn't fair that I'm missing an important piece of my past. It isn't fair that I've watched good friends die. It isn't fair that the destiny I was supposed to fulfill… ” He didn't finish the sentence, but sighed and dropped his arms, as if in defeat. “And it isn't fair that I only just found you again. I'm too selfish to let you go so quickly.”

Draco couldn't help but smile. “Again?”

Harry sighed. “Oh… you know what I mean, don't you?” He cast a hopeful smile at Draco.

Draco's resolve melted, against his will. He crossed the room to stand before Harry. “There's nothing wrong with being selfish, you know.”

Harry pulled Draco into his arms and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “That's what I'm counting on.”

Draco let himself be held for a long moment, surprised at how good it felt. Harry's arms were tight around him, comforting and familiar, warm and secure. How had he gone so long without this in his life?

“Please don't go to Durham ,” Harry whispered. “I'll send someone. You can even brief them.”

Draco nodded into Harry's shoulder.

“Thank you,” Harry whispered. Draco pressed his face into Harry's neck and tried to convince himself he'd made the right choice.

:: :: :: :: ::

“Putting on make-up or something?” Draco called over his shoulder as he examined his reflection in the mirror over Harry's bureau.

“Shut up,” Harry replied from the toilet, though he sounded more amused than annoyed.

Draco flicked his wand and made a few minor adjustments to his glamour, and then nodded, satisfied. He tucked his wand away. “What time did we say we'd be there?”

“We have 15 minutes,” Harry said, mouth sounding as if it were full of toothbrush.

Draco picked up a framed picture from the bureau of Harry and Ron Weasley that appeared to have been taken only a few years ago. They had their arms around each other's shoulders, grinning as if they were having a great time. Draco couldn't help but notice that Harry's eyes tended to linger on Ron's face much longer than Ron's did on Harry's. After a moment, Picture Ron turned and whispered something to Picture Harry, and they both laughed and looked out of the frame at Draco.

Draco rolled his eyes and set it down. “Why'd you cut your hair?”

“Sorry?” Harry seemed to have finished brushing his teeth.

“You have long hair in this picture,” Draco said, though he'd moved on to a small white owl figurine that was preening its feathers as it sat in Draco's palm.

“Oh, yeah,” Harry replied. “I dunno. Got tired of it, I guess.”

“You should grow it out again,” Draco said, setting the owl down and picking up a small enamel box. “It looks good on you.” He opened the box, but it was empty. He closed the lid and studied it, frowning. It looked familiar, as if he'd seen one like it somewhere before. He turned it over and nearly dropped it when he saw the WWW mark on the bottom. He placed it gingerly back on the bureau: old Weasley products were nothing to be handled lightly.

“Ready,” Harry said, stepping out of the bathroom at last.

Draco turned towards him and wrinkled his nose. “You've got to be shitting me.” It was his favorite American expression.

Harry blinked at him. “What's wrong?”

“Khakis, Harry? Honestly.” Draco took Harry by the hand and tugged him toward the wardrobe. “We're going to a club, not a golf tournament.”

“I think I look fine,” Harry replied, but he didn't resist.

Draco pulled a pair of black trousers from the wardrobe. “These will do.” He tossed them at Harry and started looking for a shirt. “You've no clothing that's remotely camp, have you?”

“I doubt it,” Harry said, sounding a bit exasperated. Draco turned to see him standing in his underwear, about to step into the new trousers. The outline of his penis was clearly visible through the underpants, leaning slightly to the left.

A second later, Draco was on his knees before Harry, mouth pressed against the fabric.

“Fuck!” Harry gasped, dropping the trousers, hands cupping Draco's head.

Draco could feel Harry's cock growing hard under his lips – that rush of power always turned him on. He looked up and grinned. “Couldn't help myself.” He tugged the pants down, and Harry's cock sprang free.

“I know the fee– ohhh.” Harry's eyes closed as Draco's mouth engulfed him.

Draco had learned quite a lot about what Harry liked in two short weeks. Harry liked pressure, but not too much. He didn't mind the occasional scrape of teeth like some men did, and even seemed to enjoy it early on. He always caught his breath when Draco pressed the tip of his tongue into the slit, and he liked that tongue running under his foreskin too.

They had somewhere to be, though, so Draco settled into a rhythm he knew would bring Harry off quickly. His tongue fluttered and swirled against soft skin, and Harry keened above him.

“You're so good at that,” Harry breathed. “Oh god.”

Draco steadied Harry's cock at the base with one hand and cupped his balls with the other, and Harry spread his legs a bit to give him more access. The underpants were in the way, but Draco didn't want to stop long enough to push them down further. His hand twisted, and he sucked hard.

“Unnhh,” Harry said, and clenched Draco's hair. Draco'd learned that was all the warning he would get. Harry's knees nearly gave as he came. His eyes were clenched shut, and the hand in Draco's hair tightened to the point of pain.

Draco had always liked the taste of semen. He didn't understand why so many men didn't. It was an odd mix of salty and bitter, but it was different every time. There was something so very intimate about letting someone ejaculate in his mouth – yet powerful, too.

Harry pulled his hips back: his dick was usually very sensitive after he came. Draco pouted, as he rather liked a little post-orgasm suckling.

Harry either didn't notice or was ignoring him. He flopped backwards onto the bed, arms stretched over his head. “What brought that on?”

Draco sat beside him and grinned. “I dunno. I just like the taste of you, I suppose.”

“Mmmm,” Harry said, looking up at him. He sat up and fumbled in the drawer of his bedside table, coming up with a tube of lubricant. “Your turn.”

Lubricant? Draco gave him a blank look. Had he taught Harry nothing in the last two weeks?

Harry grinned at him. “I know what you're thinking, you know. Come here.” He scooted back on the mattress until he was leaning against the headboard and patted the space between his thighs. Draco crawled towards him, and Harry indicated he should turn around. Draco sat between Harry's legs, leaning back against his chest. Harry's arms wrapped around him and he unfastened the front of Draco's trousers.

Draco's cock was already aching after watching Harry come, and he groaned at the first touch of Harry's fingers. Harry paused to squeeze a bit of lube into his palm, then wrapped his fingers around Draco's cock. Draco started a bit: the lube was cold, though it soon warmed up with the motion of Harry's hand.

Draco relaxed into Harry's arms, grinning. “This is fantastic,” he sighed. “Maybe we should stay in. You could do this for hours.”

Harry laughed. “You couldn't last that long.”

“Oh?” Draco retorted. He loved a good challenge.

So did Harry. “You won't last three minutes.” Harry hadn't lasted two, but that seemed beside the point.

“Wanna bet?” Draco grinned.

“Yes,” Harry said, continuing with slow strokes. “Actually, I do.”

“What are we wagering?”

“Hmmm.” Harry paused, fingers playing on Draco's skin. “I don't want to dance tonight. And I don't want you to buy me any fruity drinks.”

Draco snorted. “Nothing fruity for you, of course.”

“Well, other than the fact that I'm pulling you off at the moment.” There was a hint of humor in his tone.

“All right,” Draco said, “When I win, here's what I want: you're going to be gay tonight.”

Harry's hand paused. “Sorry?”

“Gay, Harry. Dress, behavior, everything. I want you to dance. I want you to have fun. I want you to relax, mostly.”

Harry's hand resumed its gentle movements. “That's not very fair. I didn't ask for much.”

“We're going to a club. If you won't dance we may as well stay home.” Draco let his hand trail up Harry's arm, fingers lingering over a taut bicep. “If you don't like the terms, you'll just have to win, won't you?”

Harry was silent for a moment, considering. “All right, fine.”

Draco held out one hand and his wand flew to it. He swirled the tip in the air, saying, “ Trifarium clepsydra .” A small hourglass was conjured out of thin air and hung above them, glowing. “Three minutes. Ready?”

“Are you?” Harry whispered, and his lips brushed against Draco's ear.

Draco shivered – he ought to accuse Harry of cheating. Instead, he waved his wand and the hourglass flipped over.

Harry's hand started stroking. Draco relaxed against him and smiled. This wasn't going to be so difficult.

“Do you know,” Harry whispered, “how many times I did this and thought about you?”

“Pulled a bloke off and thought of me? Just once, to my knowledge.”

Harry paused to add a bit more lube. “No, silly. Wanked, thinking about you.” His hand slid against Draco's skin, twisting a little, squeezing. “Thinking about you getting sucked off in the toilet of a club, your trousers around your knees.”

Draco smiled. He knew precisely what night Harry was talking about.

“I fantasized that it was me instead… sucking your cock.”

Draco felt a tingle in his belly. Harry almost never used words like ‘cock'. It was practically out of character.

“And I… wondered if you were thinking about me then.”

“I was,” Draco replied, willing his voice to sound relaxed. “I wanted you to come in – to see.”

“You came while I was watching.” Harry's breath was warm and moist against his ear. Harry's other hand cupped Draco's balls, and he sped up his strokes. “I want to watch you do this sometime. I want to see how you touch yourself.”

“A lot… like this, actually.” Draco swallowed. Harry was rather good with his hands.

Something wet trailed the shell of Draco's ear, circling the jade stud Harry had given him a few weeks ago. Harry's hand tightened. “I've even wanked in the last week, thinking about you. In the shower, on mornings when we're not together.”

“You like morning sex,” Draco said, trying not to let his voice hitch.

“I think about fucking you, and how good it feels.” Harry almost never said ‘fuck' in that context either. Those words coming from Harry's lips were turning Draco on far more that he would have imagined.

Millicent Bulstrode , Draco thought, conjuring up an unpleasant image from the past. In a miniskirt.

“And sometimes…” Draco felt Harry's breath quicken against his skin. “Sometimes I think about… you fucking me.”

And masturbating with… a toad.

“I think about you fucking me with your tongue first, and fingers… and then I try to imagine your cock inside me.”

Toad . Millicent. McGonagall.

“Hard and hot, and fucking me…”

Millicent AND McGonagall.

Harry's hand was moving so fast Draco couldn't focus on it. The friction was glorious, and the heat was amazing, almost like–

Toad, toad, toad.

“You fucking me so hard… and it feels so good…”

The toad image evoked a memory from years before: back in seventh year, Draco had once snuck under a table in the library late at night while studying with Neville. He'd been in the process of sucking Neville off when that damned toad of his had leapt out of a pocket and given Draco the fright of his life. Neville'd made it up to him, though. He'd made it up to him in a rather creative way, in fact… Draco winced. That image wasn't helping.

He squinted at the hourglass. It was getting close. He could make it.

“I want to feel you come inside me,” Harry said, voice rough. Harry was grinding up against him, still hard from a few moments ago. Draco could feel the dampness of Harry's forehead pressed against his cheek. And those words, from Harry…

Draco gritted his teeth. Harry's hand was unlike anything he'd felt before. He'd had rough, quick hand jobs plenty of times, but nothing so intense as this. He struggled to think about something else, anything else. Work, maybe. Several naughty scenarios filled his mind immediately, all featuring Harry pulling him off in semi-public areas at the Ministry. Heat pooled deep in his gut, and he groaned against his will.

“That's it,” Harry whispered, and then Draco's earlobe was being sucked. It was something he rather liked. “Come on, baby.”

Baby? The word was enough to bring Draco back from the edge. He forced his eyes to focus on the hourglass. It was nearly empty. ‘Baby', indeed.

But his body was aching to come, and Harry's tongue was hot and slick against his ear, which wasn't helping. The fingers that had been cradling his balls slipped beneath them to press against the skin just behind.

Draco saw stars. He bit his tongue.

“Shit,” Harry muttered.

And Draco came, hard.

It was a moment before he remembered to look up. The hourglass was empty, but he had no idea if he'd won or not.

Harry wrapped his arms around Draco and sighed into his hair. “How gay do I have to be?”

Draco grinned.

:: :: :: :: ::

Manny's and Draco's flat had finally been added to the Floo Network the previous day, which made traveling to places that warded against apparition significantly easier. They'd spent an afternoon casting the spells to enlarge it to UKFN standards, and had endured two different inspections. Manny had grown more exasperated by the day, complaining constantly about the slow pace of progress. It wasn't until Draco had joked that he could call and offer to suck someone's cock to speed things up that he'd relaxed a bit. After that, it had still been a week before they received the owl notice that they'd been added to the network and should put up the appropriate wards (detailed in the enclosed twenty-page pamphlet).

So it was with a bit of pride that Draco flooed to his own apartment, followed closely by Harry. They stepped out of the fireplace to whistles from the two people sitting on the black leather sofa.

“Harry, I know for a fact that is not your shirt,” Hermione said, stifling a laugh.

Harry would have had a witty retort under ordinary circumstances, but he seemed for too embarrassed. “I lost a bet.”

“I transfigured it from something dull in his wardrobe,” Draco added.

“Hmmm,” Hermione replied, and turned to grin at Manny. Draco had to admit she looked rather good in her low-cut trousers with a midriff-baring top. She had a lovely figure – which she usually kept well-hidden. Draco turned to Harry and saw that he was staring at Hermione, open-mouthed. Draco nudged him and mouthed the word ‘gay'. Harry frowned.

Draco sent him to the kitchen for a drink and settled next to Hermione on the sofa.

“Who are you supposed to be, anyway?” she asked, studying his glamour charmed appearance.

“Nobody,” he said, shrugging. “Ditched the rugrats again?”

“Yes,” she replied, leaning back against Manny. “My mum and dad are keeping them tonight. They seemed rather pleased that I was going out.”

“They did, didn't they?” Manny added, smiling at her.

Draco raised an eyebrow, but resisted the urge to comment. Harry reappeared with two bottles of beer and perched on the arm of the sofa behind Draco.

“So what sort of bet did you lose that required you to wear such a clingy bit of fuchsia?” Hermione asked, leaning across Draco to finger the fabric. Harry blushed and took a swig of his beer.

Draco caught Hermione's hand in his and grinned. “Do you really want to know?” Hermione's eyebrows rose a bit in response. “You should get your navel pierced,” Draco continued, now stroking her exposed belly with his free hand. “You've got the figure for it. Did you actually carry those babies yourself?”

“Oh, yes,” Hermione replied, laughing. “I was big as a whale, wasn't I, Harry?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, taking another large gulp of beer. “She was, actually.”

Draco raised an eyebrow at Harry's utter lack of tact, but decided not to comment on it. “So how does one nurse two at one time, anyway?”

“Draco!” Harry nudged him from behind.

Draco leaned back against him, tugging Hermione's arm out to the side and staring at her chest. “Well, she has such lovely tits. It was the first question that popped into my mind.” He winked at Hermione.

Hermione and Manny laughed, but Harry clamped a hand over Draco's mouth. “Enough, you. Have a little respect.”

“I don't mind,” Hermione said, grinning. She seemed to enjoy the attention.

Manny leaned in to kiss her neck, winking at Draco. “She just wants to be a fag hag, you know.”

Hermione gasped and pushed him away, but Manny pulled her against him and tickled her sides. She made a squeaking sound and wriggled in his lap, but didn't look like she was trying very hard to escape.

Harry's hand dropped away, and Draco grinned up at him. “Aren't they sweet?”

Harry took a sip of his beer. “Is this the same sofa from your flat in San Francisco ?”

“Yes,” Draco replied. “Lots of good memories attached to this one.” He poked Harry in the thigh until he finally cracked a smile.

“A few in particular,” Harry replied, winking.

The bar was a short walk from the flat, around the corner at Old Comptom Street . There was already a queue when they arrived.

“Truth in advertising?” Manny asked, squinting at the bar's name, which spelled out G-A-Y in colorful lights.

Draco slid his arms around Harry's waist and grinned. He felt Harry tense at the touch. “You'll survive, I promise,” Draco whispered against his cheek.

“And I expect to be well-rewarded,” Harry muttered in response.

One of Draco's hands slipped down to cup Harry's crotch. “If you insist.”

Harry batted his hand away. Draco looked up to see Hermione grinning at them. He winked at her.

Once inside the bar, they found a corner table to lean against, from which they could gaze down at the dance floor below. Manny ordered a round of drinks to get them started. Harry was trying to get into the spirit of things, Draco thought. He hadn't complained once about the clingy fuchsia shirt, and he hadn't refused any of Draco's displays of affection. Well, except for the one. He was even eyeing the dance floor now.

Draco pressed a drink into Harry's hand. “Drink up. It'll help.”

Half an hour and several rounds later, Hermione finally convinced Harry to dance with her. Draco thought it would make a nice warm-up, so he gave Harry a good shove when he began to protest.

Manny elbowed him as they watched the pair dancing below. “So tell me, what bet did he lose?”

Draco grinned at him “Let's just say I can last a bit longer than he expected.”

Manny snorted. “No comment.” His eyes were following Hermione as she danced, her shirt rising up with her movements and accentuating the curve of her waist.

Draco had to admit it was nice to see Manny so enthralled by someone. “Does she mind that you've… been with men as well?”

“Actually, it really turns her on. She likes…” Manny paused, as if his thoughts had caught up with his alcohol-induced words.

“Likes what?” Draco asked, jostling him a bit more. “Go on.”

Manny's blush was visible even in the dim light. “She likes me to talk about it when we're…” He made a vague gesture.

“She wants to know the details?” Draco grinned. “Sounds like a girl who'd like a strap-on.”

Manny gaped at him.

“Don't tell me you haven't thought about it. You liked to bottom as much as anyone.”

Manny took a big gulp of his drink. “Well, if we're going to get that personal, how does Harry like it?”

“I wouldn't know.”

Harry and Hermione returned from the dance floor grinning, and Harry surprised Draco by kissing him. “Want to dance with me before I come to my senses?”

Draco let himself be pulled down the stairs and onto the dance floor, through a sea of writhing bodies and into Harry's arms. The house music thumped away and he got lost in the sound, the light, the feeling of Harry's body pressed against his. Harry's hands settled at his waist, holding him close, and his lips brushed against Draco's. For a moment, Draco felt as if he were floating there.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned to see a cute boy grinning at him. “Are you who I think you are?” he asked.

Draco turned to look at Harry, who shrugged. His glamour tonight was a new one, based on someone he'd seen before. It could have been a celebrity he'd seen on telly; he couldn't remember. He grinned at the boy. “Maybe I am. Why?”

“I just knew you were gay,” the boy gushed, nearly bouncing with excitement. “I knew that whole thing with Britney Spears was for show.”

Harry made a choking sound, as if trying not to laugh. The boy's eyes narrowed at Harry, as if trying to decide if Harry was someone he should recognize as well. If only he knew.

“Dance with us,” Draco said, pulling the boy between them. He turned him to face Harry and pressed tightly against him from behind.

“Oh my god,” the boy said, reaching back to run his hands down Draco's side. “This is so hot!”

Draco glanced up at Harry, who looked a bit uncomfortable. “Just for fun,” Draco mouthed. Harry raised one eyebrow, and looked down at the boy sandwiched between them. He couldn't have been much older than eighteen, and he was the kind they'd have called a twink back in New York . Draco hooked his fingers in the waistband of Harry's trousers and tugged him forward as much as possible, so that he was grinding against the boy with every move. The boy leaned his head back against Draco's shoulder, and Harry's eyes followed the line of his neck with more than a little longing.

Draco smiled at Harry, and Harry returned it. This wasn't about the two of them, and they both knew it. It was about Harry overcoming his inhibitions, and about each of them learning to trust the other. Draco had little doubt they could take this boy home with them if they wanted. Maybe someday.

When the song ended, Draco rewarded the boy with a kiss and sent him on his way, then pulled Harry into his arms once more. It was with a renewed sort of intimacy that they danced now, the energy between them nearly erotic. Draco's lips brushed against Harry's twice before their mouths finally met.

Draco had nearly forgotten where they were when he heard a voice in his ear say, “Get a room!” He looked to the side to see Manny grinning at him.

“Bugger off,” he replied, capturing Harry's lips with his again. Harry moaned against him, as pliant with desire as Draco had ever seen him. Maybe getting a room was a good idea after all.

“Actually,” Hermione said, sliding close enough to whisper, “you might want to reconsider. Harry's ex is here.”

Harry started at that, looking up. His eyes fixed on someone across the room, and Draco could feel him tense.

Draco turned to look; a group of women were standing on the edge of the dance floor giggling. One wore a perverse sort of bridal veil decorated with plastic erect penises. Standing nearby, dressed for the party, was Cho Chang.

“Fuck,” Harry muttered.

“Fucking hen party,” someone near them said. “Do they have to rub it in our faces?”

“What's she doing here?” Harry asked, looking as if he were thinking of running away at any moment.

“Well, she's clearly here with someone who's getting married,” Hermione said, clutching Harry's arm as if she thought he might try to run away as well. “Perhaps a relative, from the look of it.”

“Just ignore them,” Draco said, trying to capture Harry's attention again.

But it was too late. Cho stared at Harry from across the dance floor, a look of surprise on her face. Harry tensed even further.

“Come on,” Draco sighed, tugging his hand. “Let's go have a drink.”

The four of them moved off the dance floor and up the stairs, back to their corner table. Manny disappeared to get more drinks.

“Who does she think she is, anyway?” Hermione snorted. “She's been a right bitch, and she acts as if she's the victim.”

“What?” Harry asked.

“Not helping,” Draco muttered, sipping his drink.

Hermione sighed. “Oh, Harry, it's just that… she's been telling people that the reason you two broke up was that you like men, and—”

“And that I was neglecting her?” Harry snorted. “That I couldn't get it up? Is she saying that as well?”

Hermione looked as if she didn't know what to say. She looked at Draco, and he shrugged in response. This wasn't going to end well.

“Fine,” Harry continued, leaning against the wall. “I don't care, anyway.”

Draco leaned against him, taking his hand. Harry squeezed it once and dropped it.

Manny returned with their drinks. Harry took one and knocked it back with alarming speed. His eyes were glued to the dance floor, where Cho was dancing with her friends, casting the occasional scornful glance in Harry's direction.

“This is ridiculous,” Draco said at last. “This is a gay bar. We can't let straight people control the dance floor.” He glanced at Manny and Hermione. “No offense.”

Manny shrugged. “So go dance.”

Draco tugged at Harry's hand, but Harry shook his head. Draco scowled in frustration and headed down to dance alone. He was soon found by the boy who'd ‘recognized' him earlier, who seemed delighted to have a chance to get Draco alone. Draco didn't listen to the kid's prattle about music and famous Muggles, though – he kept an eye on Cho and her group while they danced.

She apparently hadn't seen him and was paying him no attention. The boy draped around him began chattering on about liking his last album quite a lot. Draco just smiled and nodded, somewhere between amused and annoyed. The boy's hands crept down to cup Draco's arse, and he leaned forward to whisper in his ear: “I really want to suck your cock.”

Draco laughed and peeled the boy's hands away. “I don't think my boyfriend would like that very much.”

The boy smiled up at him through long eyelashes. “I'll do him too. I'll even do you both at the same time.”

Those were the days , Draco thought. He'd been about that slutty once. Or twice. He smiled and kissed the boy's forehead. “I'll have to ask him and let you know, okay?”

The boy pouted, but he took the hint and drifted away. Draco glanced around. Cho was nowhere to be seen. He looked up and could see Harry still safely ensconced between Manny and Hermione on the upper level of the club. Draco frowned and slid to the edge of the room. Perhaps she'd gone to the toilet.

“Hey, aren't you–”

“Yes,” Draco said, turning to smile at the man who was staring raptly at him. “But I'm trying to keep a low profile tonight, all right?”

“Would you sign my chest?” The man peeled off his shirt to reveal a truly stunning torso.

Draco blinked. “I would, but I… seem to have forgotten my name.”

The man held out a marker and grinned. “Oh, I think I can help you with that.”

Three autographs and one sloppy kiss attempt later, Draco managed to escape into the men's toilet, hoping to change his glamour. He slipped into a stall and leaned his forehead against the door.

“Well, well, if it isn't the elusive Draco Malfoy.”

He turned to stare at Cho Chang, who had somehow managed to apparate into precisely the stall he'd chosen. “Fuck,” he said.

“You haven't changed a bit,” she remarked, brandishing her wand. “No one can hear us, by the way.”

“How convenient,” Draco replied. His wand was tucked into a secure pocket of his trousers, and he couldn't reach it without any sudden movements.

Cho pointed her wand at his chest. “Clever disguise for someone who ought not attract attention to himself.”

Draco forced a cocky smile. “Maybe that's what I want.”

“Why does that not surprise me?”

“Because you're overly suspicious and not terribly clever?”

The tip of the wand pressed painfully into his sternum. “And you're an arrogant arse. Harry may not know what you're up to, but I do.”

Draco smirked, though his stomach twisted a bit. “How do you know what I'm up to?”

She returned the smirk. “Oh, please , Malfoy. I was there.”

There? Draco hadn't a clue what she was talking about, but he didn't want her to know it. “That was a long time ago.” At least, he hoped it was.

“Perhaps,” she said, staring at him intently, “but I haven't forgotten. Harry may have forgiven you, but I haven't.”

“Of course Harry's forgiven me,” Draco replied, trying his best to inject a smug tone into his voice. “He's so sweet that way. You didn't deserve him.”

She snorted, and the stare turned into a glare. “And Hermione? Has she forgiven you as well?”

“Why shouldn't she?” Draco asked. His free hand was only inches from his wand now. If he could keep her distracted for a moment longer…

“You really are heartless,” Cho spat. “She doesn't know, does she?”

The blank look spread across Draco's face too quickly for him to wipe it off.

“She doesn't know,” Cho said, brows furrowing. “And I'll wager Harry doesn't know either.” She stepped back against the toilet and extended her arm, leveling the tip of her wand over his heart. “I should kill you now and save everyone else the trouble.”

Her step backward was the opportunity Draco had been looking for. He managed to wrap his fingers around his own wand, and at the word ‘trouble' had it pressed against her chest as well. They stared at each other for a long moment.

“We seem to have reached an impasse,” Draco said.

“Draco? Are you in there?” It was Harry's voice.

“I'll tell him if you won't,” Cho spat, and then disapparated.

Draco exhaled, feeling his knees tremble beneath him. He opened the stall door and Harry slipped inside.

“Are you all right?” Harry asked. He took Draco's hand. “You're shaking.”

Draco closed his eyes and fell back against the flimsy stall barrier. He had no idea what Cho was talking about, but she seemed to be telling the truth. What had he done that Harry would not forgive him for? And why didn't he remember?

“You know I care about you, don't you?” he whispered.

“Of course I do,” Harry replied, pulling him into his arms. “What's wrong?”

Everything , Draco thought. Or it will be if you find out what I've done . Draco didn't answer, though; he just stared up at Harry instead.

Green eyes considered him for a long moment before Harry stroked Draco's cheek with one finger. “Let's go home.”

“Okay,” Draco replied. But it was a few more minutes before he let Harry open the stall door and lead him away.

:: :: :: :: ::

Lucius's eyes were cool and grey. “All I ask now is for your assistance in capturing Potter. We know where he is. We can take him easily, but we'll need your help to control him, to convince him to cooperate.”

This is a dream , Draco thought. Maybe if he could say that aloud, he could make it stop.

Lucius leaned forward and brushed a kiss against Draco's cheek. “I'll contact you in the usual way,” he whispered, then turned and walked away.

It's a dream , Draco repeated to himself. He opened his mouth to say it, but no sound came out. His father disappeared into the shadows.

Draco leaned against the alley wall and heaved a sigh of frustration. He opened his mouth again, but still couldn't speak.

A hand grasped his wrist and whirled him around in the darkness.

Draco started; he'd forgotten about this part. He stared into the shadows, but it was as if he were looking through a dark veil. The hand squeezed his wrist tighter, to the point of pain. Draco tried to pull away, but he could only sink to his knees. The hand released him, and a voice spoke somewhere near his ear: “He has the key.”

Draco sat up in bed, heart pounding. Harry stirred next to him, but didn't awaken. Draco wrapped his arms around his knees and shivered.

 

:: :: :: :: ::

:: :: :: :: ::

Sunday, 29 February, 2004

The owl preened its dark feathers, as it had been doing since the sun rose. It was sleepy, but it wasn't time to leave. Not yet.

It paused to glance at the street below, tilting its head to the side for a better view. A cat slinked into an alley, sticking close to the buildings. The owl blinked once and looked away. Its belly was full. It settled back against its perch under the eaves.

People occasionally strolled past: a woman with children; an elderly couple; a man carrying a sack. The man paused outside the building's door and looked both ways, then lit a cigarette. He leaned back against the brick, exhaling smoke in a steady stream. He clutched the sack tightly to his side, raised the hand holding the cigarette to brush brown hair out of his face, then returned the cigarette to his lips.

A few more long drags, and then the cigarette was dropped to the pavement. The man stepped on it firmly and looked around again. He started for the doorway to the building, reached into a pocket and produced a set of keys – and froze.

He was very still for several seconds, and then he looked up. The owl shifted on its perch, tilting its head. The man's eyes looked beady from so far away, but he was staring right at the owl. The owl stared back, unblinking.

The man looked away and pressed the key into the lock, and opened the door.

:: :: :: :: ::

A whooshing sound emanated from the fireplace. Draco looked up just in time to see Harry step out, holding a small child in his arms.

“Can we do it again?” the child asked, arms twined about Harry's neck.

“Later, Harley. This is Draco. Say hello.”

The child stared at Draco for a moment, then buried his face in Harry's neck. Draco forced a smile.

Another whooshing sound announced the arrival of Hermione with another child in tow. She stepped out of the fireplace and smiled in greeting, shifting her daughter on her hip. “Cally, I need you to– ow!” Hermione winced as the child tugged at her hair.

“Mummy, I'm hungry.”

“We'll eat soon.” Hermione set the girl on the floor and brushed the ash from her clothing. She looked up at Draco and smiled. “Good morning.”

Draco smiled in return, though his stomach was twisting in knots; he'd been dreading this brunch all weekend.

“Need help?” Hermione called into the flat's small kitchen.

Manny's head popped around the corner. “No, it's all under control.”

“Manny!” the twins chorused, running to cling to his legs.

He gasped at them, as if surprised to see them there. “Oh, I forgot you two were coming! I have to cook more broccoli.”

The children giggled. “We don't eat broccoli for breakfast,” Cally chided.

“Oh, that's right,” Manny replied, grinning down at them. “Spinach, then.”

“No!”

“Cauliflower?”

“Children,” Hermione groaned, prying Harley's arms off of Manny's thigh. “Let him cook, or we'll never get to eat.” She herded them to the sofa and rifled through the bag she'd brought along, producing a coloring book and some crayons.

“Mummy, we aren't really having cauliflower, are we?” Cally's eyes were large and blue. Harley giggled again and picked up a crayon.

“Even if we are, you'll eat it,” she warned, then turned to Draco. “Good morning.”

Draco grinned. “You already said that.”

“I did, didn't I?” She shrugged, and with an embarrassed grin, slipped into the kitchen.

“Good morning,” Harry said. He was standing so close that his breath brushed against Draco's ear. It tickled and Draco reached up to scratch it, fingers brushing the jade stud in his ear – the one Harry had given him a few weeks ago, just before they had shared their first kiss. Draco felt a twinge of pleasure at the memory and smiled. Harry's eyes followed Draco's fingers, and he smiled back. Just as Harry leaned in to kiss him, Draco remembered he'd not cleansed his mouth after sneaking a cigarette.

“Coffee?” Draco asked, ducking away.

“Um, sure,” Harry replied, a quizzical expression on his face.

Draco headed to the kitchen, cursing himself. He'd have to find a moment he could get away to wash his mouth out. Harry'd been so pleased that he was trying to quit – and he was trying, really. But the thought of this morning's breakfast, after the tension of the last few days, had nearly done him in. It had only been one cigarette. Each way of the walk to the grocer's.

He returned with two mugs. Harry was sitting next to Cally, acting as if he were impressed by the child's artistic skill.

“Yes, it's a lovely… er, tree. And so very purple, too.”

Cally beamed at him. “An' that's you,” she said, pointing at a squiggle of crayon. She pointed to another larger squiggle. “An' that's Mummy and Uncle Manny.”

“All run together?” Harry asked.

“They're kissing,” Cally replied with a giggle.

“Ah,” Harry said. He frowned at the paper and tilted his head, as if that would afford a better perspective.

“Coffee?” Draco offered. Harry smiled at him and took the cup.

“Uncle Harry…” Harley had appeared next to Harry and was tugging on his shirt. Draco smiled down at the child, and Harley returned a suspicious stare.

“What is it?” Harry asked.

“Who's he?” Harley was still staring at Draco. They'd already been introduced, but it was as if Harley had just noticed him.

“That's Draco,” Harry replied. “He's… my boyfriend.”

“Oh,” Harley replied, blinking. To Draco's surprise, Harley reached up and took Draco's hand.

Draco didn't know whether to be more pleased that Harry had acknowledged him or that Harley seemed to have accepted him so easily.

Cally began humming to herself and picked up another crayon. Harley tugged Draco's hand, pulling him away from the couch. Draco cast a questioning glance at Harry, who just smiled at him and looked back to Cally's drawing. Harley led Draco to the kitchen. Hermione and Manny were standing over the stove, conversing quietly.

“Mummy, I'm hungry!” he announced.

Hermione turned toward them and seemed genuinely surprised to see Draco standing there. He shot her a helpless look. “Not much longer,” she replied.

Harley made a whining sound and turned, pressing his face right into Draco's crotch. Draco jumped back in surprise.

Hermione laughed. “He's worse than a dog that way.”

Draco blushed, not sure how to respond.

“Draco is Uncle Harry's boyfriend,” Harley announced, now hanging from Draco's hand.

Hermione smiled. “Yes, he is. And who's Mummy's boyfriend?”

“Uncle Manny!” Harley chimed. Manny turned from stirring eggs to beam at him.

“Let's not bother them,” Draco said tugging Harley's hand. “Let's go and… er, color, shall we?” He winced; he was terrible with children.

Harley dropped his hand and dashed back to where his sister was coloring with Harry.

Hermione tilted her head and smiled at him. “You're doing fine,” she said.

Draco snorted. “Am I?”

He returned to the living room to find Harry with a child in his lap and another waving a paper in his face.

“Look, Uncle Harry, look!”

“Yes, Cally, that's very nice. Ouch! Watch your foot, Harley.”

Harry shot Draco a grin. He was clearly enjoying the attention. The thought of being covered with small children made Draco's skin crawl.

“It's you and Draco, see?” Cally grinned at Harry and Draco in turn.

Harry took the paper and examined it. As far as Draco could tell, it was a multi-colored squiggle.

“Oooh,” Harry replied, casting a conspiratorial glance at Draco. “We seem to be kissing in this picture.”

Cally and Harley both giggled. Harry smiled, and for a moment, time nearly stood still. Draco felt something in his belly melt.

“Uncle Draco,” Harley said, tugging his hand. Draco glanced down at him. Wasn't it confusing for these children to think they had so many uncles?

“Yes?”

One of Harley's hands was squeezing his crotch. “I haff to wee.” He craned his neck up to stare at Draco, expectantly.

“Erm… all right,” Draco replied. “The toilet's through that door over there.”

Harley blinked at him, not looking at where Draco was pointing.

“He wants you to help him,” Harry said.

Draco's jaw dropped. “What?”

Harry's lips twisted into a smile. “Come on, Harley.” He stood and took Harley's hand, and led him to the toilet.

Cally started singing to herself again, intent on covering her entire drawing with pink squiggles. Draco settled against the sofa's arm, feeling uncomfortable at having been left alone with her, even though other adults were mere meters away. He'd never spent time with small children, even when he was one himself.

A loud giggle from the direction of the toilet preceded the reappearance of Harley – naked from the waist down and sprinting around the room. Cally burst into laughter, which only seemed to increase Harley's speed. Hermione stepped around the corner and just missed colliding with her son. She shook her head in mock frustration, but she seemed to be trying not to laugh.

Draco wondered why no one else seemed bothered by the commotion.

Harry's head popped through the doorway of the toilet. “Harley, get back here!” Harley did one more lap, then dashed back into the toilet. Harry gave Draco a pained look. “Sorry – is it okay if I just spell away the mess?”

“Mess?” Draco repeated. He crossed to the bathroom and stood in the doorframe. There was a puddle by the toilet, suspiciously yellow in color.

Harry was kneeling in front of Harley, trying to get him to step into a pair of small underpants. “Come on. You can't appear in front of ladies with your willie flopping about, now can you?”

Harley snickered and let Harry put the underpants on him. Harry helped him finish dressing, then paused to press a kiss to his forehead. Draco bit his lip – Harley looked so very much like Ron. He hadn't realized it until now, seeing him close to Harry like this. Harley's red hair was longish, curling at the edges, like Ron's had done those last few years of school. As much as he'd hated him back then, Draco hadn't been able to help noticing his boyish good looks. As had a good many of the girls at Hogwarts -- and Harry, of course. Draco swallowed.

“That's a good boy,” Harry said. “Run along.” Harley zipped past Draco and disappeared. Harry sighed. “Sorry. They have a little step stool at home to make it easy to reach the toilet. I had to hold him up and… well, he still needs help aiming, obviously.”

Draco wrinkled his nose and summoned his wand from his coat. Harry stood back while Draco muttered a cleaning spell. After a moment's thought, he followed it with a disinfecting one as well. Harry leaned against the wall and smiled at him.

Draco spun his wand through his fingers. “You're fantastic with them.”

Harry shrugged. “I'm just used to them.”

“No, I mean… you really care about them, and they aren't even your children.”

Harry's smile became a bit sad. “But they are, really. They're the children of the two people who meant the most to me for so much of my life. And they may be the closest I'll ever get to having children.” He ducked his head and studied the spot Draco had cleaned on the floor.

“Perhaps,” Draco said, stepping forward. “They're very lucky to have you in their lives.” Harry said nothing, and Draco sighed. This was an uncomfortable turn in the conversation. “Unusual names,” he said at last.

Harry smiled. “Cally is named after Hermione's grandmother. And Harley… they wanted to name him after me, but I wouldn't let them.”

“Why not?”

Harry shrugged. “No child should be saddled with that.” He studied Draco for a moment, then reached out for him and pulled him close. Just as Harry went to kiss him, Draco tensed. Harry sighed. “I know you've been smoking, you know. I can smell it on your clothes.”

Draco winced. “You can?”

“Yes, and it's horrid. But I forgive you.” Harry's lips cut off Draco's protest.

:: :: :: :: ::

“Taco, taco, taco,” Cally repeated, mouth full of said food.

Draco kept his eyes on his own plate, appetite long gone. Had he ever been so horribly behaved at the table? He doubted it.

“Cally,” Hermione warned, just before taking a bite of her own taco.

Harry was helping himself to yet another, holding an egg-filled tortilla in one hand and spooning some chorizo onto it with the other.

“Where did you find fresh tortillas?” Draco asked. He pushed the salsa jar towards Harry before he had a chance to ask for it.

“It wasn't easy,” Manny said, watching Harley shred his tortilla and eat each bit separately. “I finally went to the Texas Embassy and got in good with one of the cooks, who gave me some tips.”

“Texas has an embassy in London?” Harry asked.

Manny laughed. “It's a restaurant. Texas isn't actually a country.”

Harry blushed. “I knew that.”

After Harry had consumed his fourth taco, the children became more interested in playing with their food than in eating it. Hermione took them to the toilet to wash up while Draco and Harry helped Manny straighten the kitchen.

Harry's washing spells were not up to Draco's standard, however, which resulted in some competitive maneuvering for dirty dishes. After two plates had been broken – and subsequently repaired, as Draco pointed out – Manny banished them from the kitchen.

They wound up on the couch, watching Hermione get the children settled in a corner with some toys. She rummaged through her bag and walked over to them, a look of apprehension on her face. “I've been putting this off as long as possible,” she sighed, and held out a newspaper.

Harry sighed. “And here I'd managed to stay out of the papers for months.”

“Yes, well…” Hermione chewed her lip and glanced at Draco.

Draco felt a small twinge of foreboding. He took the paper from Hermione and began flipping through it. On page four, the headline read, “HARRY POTTER IN GAY LONDON ROMP”. He winced.

“Shit,” Harrry said. “That's… oh god.”

Draco forced himself to look at the page. There was an old picture of Harry from a few years ago smiling and laughing for the camera. It fit the headline shockingly well.

Harry sank down into the cushions of the couch. “I can't read it,” he moaned. “I don't want to know.”

Hermione and Draco exchanged a glance. Draco sighed and began to read the article aloud.

“Harry Potter, former boy-hero and widely regarded as a key player in the disappearance of You-Know-Who three years ago, has been spotted out and about on the London club scene of late. But rather than returning to the Muggle pubs and discos he so scandalously frequented after the War, Mr. Potter has apparently decided blokes are more to his fancy.”

Harry pulled a pillow over his head. Draco cleared his throat and continued.

“This reporter has it from several sources that the former star auror, now an employee of the Ministry's Investigative Services division, has been hitting gay clubs every night with a shocking variety of young men on his arm.”

Draco paused to glance at Harry, whose face was still hidden. If that wasn't proof that his glamours had been working, he didn't know what was.

“Friends confirm that Mr. Potter has come out of the closet. ‘He's playing the field and enjoying it,' one source said. ‘He pulls some right fit blokes.' Another source suggested Mr. Potter has even been spotted cozying up with none other than Draco Malfoy, son of the convicted Death Eater Lucius Malfoy, who is currently at large.”

“Who are these ‘friends'?” Hermione spat.

“Does it matter?” Harry's muffled voice replied.

“My presence hardly appears to be a secret,” Draco said with a sigh. He thought of his recent conversation with Tonks. “Those ‘sources' could be any number of people.”

“Keep reading,” Hermione sighed.

“More recently, the 24-year-old was seen in a compromising embrace in public with a male Muggle pop star. While Mr. Potter is enjoying himself nightly, friends say his estranged wife, Ms. Cho Chang, is distraught. ‘She's shattered,' a close friend reports. ‘She still loves him, and of course she's hurt by all of this.' ‘Their marriage had been rough for a while,' another source says. ‘Now we know why.' Ms. Chang, who works for the Ministry of Magic in an undisclosed capacity, was unavailable for comment.”

Harry made a snorting sound and tossed the pillow aside.

Draco took a deep breath before continuing. “While Mr. Potter is shamelessly gallivanting about, flaunting his new lifestyle, his friends and former loved ones are left to suffer. This reporter is left wondering if he has no shame or sense of responsibility? He may no longer be the hero of our world, but he remains a role model for our children and should behave accordingly.” Draco winced. “Ouch.”

Harry's eyes were tightly closed. The room was silent for a long moment.

“What a crock of shit,” Manny said. Draco looked up to see him standing behind them. Manny ruffled Harry's hair affectionately.

Harry leaned forward, face in his hands. “I suppose it was bound to happen sooner or later, but… god.”

“It's horrible, Harry.” Hermione slid an arm around him and he leaned into her.

Draco pursed his lips, willing himself not to be jealous. He wanted to touch Harry too, but he was the cause of all this, wasn't he? Perhaps it was best if he gave him a little space. He looked down at the article again.

“I can't believe they make it sound as if you were the one who ran around on her,” Hermione snorted, leaning her forehead against Harry's. “And she's done nothing to correct the impression.”

Ms. Chang, who works for the Ministry of Magic in an undisclosed capacity, was unavailable for comment.

Draco frowned. “What does Cho do, anyway?”

Harry snorted. “I've no idea. I've barely spoken with her in the last six months, despite the fact that she apparently misses me so desperately.”

“I think she's an Unspeakable,” Hermione said.

Draco's head popped up. Harry didn't respond; he was still snuggling against Hermione for comfort. “An Unspeakable?”

“I think so,” Hermione replied, forehead wrinkling in thought. “Wait – that can't be right. She works in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Department, or…” A strange expression came over her face. “I just knew it, but now I can't put my finger on it.”

It was the lingering effects of the smothering spell, of course – which meant that any of her answers could be correct, or none. “Let me know if you remember,” Draco said.

A squeal from across the room caught their attention. Cally started to cry, and Harley was pouting in advance, a guilty look on his face.

Hermione sighed. “I suppose it's time to take these two back for a nap.”

“I'll help,” Manny said. He squeezed Harry's shoulder, and crossed the room to comfort Cally.

“Call me later, okay?” Hermione said, leaning forward to kiss Harry. He nodded.

They gathered the toys and flooed away one at a time, each holding a crying child. The house was left eerily quiet. Draco sighed and turned to face Harry, who was still slumped into the sofa.

“You okay?” Draco asked.

Harry made a face. “Not really.”

“Do you… want to watch a film or something? I imagine we've got the place to ourselves for a while.” He was rather proud of his impressive home theater set-up, and he'd had little opportunity to use it here.

Harry sighed. “Actually, I have some work to catch up on this afternoon. Maybe later?”

“Dinner?” Draco suggested. “There's a Moroccan restaurant around the corner I've been wanting to–”

“No, not… I don't feel like going out. Go ahead and eat something, and come over later, if you feel like it.”

Draco could not suppress the wave of irritation that overcame him. “You mean if I feel horny?”

Harry turned to look at him for the first time since the newspaper article had been read. “What?”

“I'm good for a fuck, but you want to cool the public appearances for a while, right?”

Harry sighed. “Draco–”

“No, I understand,” Draco continued, standing. “It's hard to deal with being outed like that. I should know. After all, I've only had to deal with it for half my fucking life.”

“That's not–”

“You've no idea what it's like. Taking abuse from random strangers is bad enough – getting called every name in the book – but to hear it from your family as well?”

“Draco, stop.” Harry's hands were over his face again.

“Oh, for– That article was hardly homophobic. They called you a slut and implied you fucked around on your wife, but that's not what you're upset about, is it? Now the whole world knows you're gay, and it's such a fucking tragedy!”

“Stop it!” Harry shouted, on his feet now. “Don't presume to know what I feel! You always think the worst of me, don't you? You didn't even ask if that was what bothered me; you just assumed.”

Draco froze. He wanted desperately to stand his ground, to argue back, to prove he was right and Harry was wrong. But what would it accomplish?

“I'm so tired of dealing with your insecurities,” Harry spat. “It's like you're waiting for me to leave, at any moment. Nothing I do seems to reassure you. It's making me crazy.”

Draco opened his mouth to reply, but he could think of nothing to say. He ran a hand through his hair and looked away. Was it that obvious he was insecure?

“And even now, you won't admit that I'm right,” Harry continued. “I don't know what I can do! Do you want to hear that I love you? Would that make you feel better?”

“Don't!” Draco said, feeling real anger now. “Don't patronize me, Harry.”

Harry gaped at him for a second before his frustration bubbled to the surface again. “I'm not patronizing you! Fuck!”

The urge to run away was strong. Draco wanted to get away from there, to close himself off, to lock Harry out. There was a long silence, and neither of them looked at the other.

“I'm sorry I shouted,” Harry said at last, his voice an odd mix of tension and defeat. “I just… need some time to absorb this, all right?” Draco opened his mouth to respond, and Harry held up a hand. “Please, let me finish. I know it's nothing compared to some of the shit you've been through, but I've been through quite a lot myself. This isn't the first time I've been smeared in the papers, you know.” Harry paused for a moment, and turned to look at Draco. “Of course you know – you were responsible for a few of them.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Must we drag our schoolboy fights into this as well?”

“It was meant to be a joke,” Harry replied, half a smile teasing his lips.

“Oh.”

“I'm going to go now, and I'm going to do what I usually do when something like this happens, which is to become a recluse and bury myself in work until I'm too tired to think about it anymore.” Harry wandlessly summoned his coat from where it hung in the corner. “If you want to come by later, I would like that. No expectations. Okay?”

Draco nodded, feeling his stomach churn. He didn't want Harry to leave. He wanted Harry to stay, so they could cuddle on the couch and watch a film to take Harry's mind off of things.

But that wouldn't comfort Harry. It wasn't enough. He wasn't enough. Draco felt emotion rise in his throat.

Harry paused, as if trying to decide if he should kiss Draco goodbye. Draco looked away.

“All right then,” Harry sighed. “I'll see you later.” He crossed to the fireplace and dipped his fingers into the dish of floo powder. He stepped into the fireplace and looked at Draco. “4C Warwick Court .”

In a burst of green flame, he was gone.

:: :: :: :: ::

Draco stared at the ceiling, bored out his wits. He'd smoked half a pack of cigarettes while drinking several coffees in the bistro downstairs, watched an entire film, done some light housework, and cast cleaning spells on dirty clothes until his eyes began to cross. He'd finally set the telly to BBC World and half-listened, letting the events of the last few days organize themselves in his mind. His thoughts kept drifting back to Cho Chang, no matter how hard he tried to force them aside.

Ms. Chang, who works for the Ministry of Magic in an undisclosed capacity, was unavailable for comment.

The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that Hermione's first response was correct. If Cho really was an Unspeakable – and considering that she appeared to know quite a bit about events Draco himself couldn't recall – it added a touch more credibility to Draco's theory that Unspeakables were somehow complicit in Death Eaters' involvement in the government.

He laughed aloud at the idea. It sounded ridiculous, and he knew it. No one would believe him. And that was precisely why he wasn't going to tell anyone until he had more evidence – not even Harry.

The BBC reporter began talking about the latest trouble Prince Harry had got himself into, which only reminded Draco of the trouble he was having with his own Harry. He scowled at the ceiling. Here it was, a perfectly lovely Sunday afternoon, which he ought to be spending with his boyfriend. Instead, he was lying on his own sofa, too irritated even for a proper wank.

Harry was working, or so he said. Draco frowned. What if Cho decided to pay Harry a visit at home this afternoon? His stomach curdled at the thought. He'd kept by Harry's side for most of the weekend, but Harry was alone now, vulnerable to her – well, lies wasn't quite the right word, now was it?

He pressed a palm against his forehead. This was ridiculous; Harry was angry at Cho at the moment. Even if she did muster the nerve to go to his flat, he wouldn't see her.

Probably not, at least.

Draco sat up and ran a hand through his hair. He had to do something. Sitting here all day was going to make him insane.

:: :: :: :: ::

His desk was cluttered; he'd left it in frustration on Friday after Harry and Manny had proven to be so surprisingly uncooperative. Draco scanned the reports Harry'd sent, looking for something in particular. A local wizard had been interviewed after the Durham incident, but his name had been blacked out from the report.

“Aha,” Draco whispered, sifting the correct sheet of parchment to the top.

[Missing name] claimed to have been witness to the blast that destroyed the farmhouse, though he later contradicted himself and said that he had no memory of the event. His behavior was consistent with that of someone who had been intimidated. A surreptitious sweep was done, and there was no evidence a memory charm had been performed on him in the previous 12 hours.

Draco chewed the end of his quill. The man was described as squat and in his mid-fifties, with a squashed nose. It sounded very much like someone Draco knew.

He hesitated a moment longer, then pulled up the latest map of UK Apparition points on the computer. He could make it to Durham and back before nightfall – if he left right away.

:: :: :: :: ::

After five apparition skips and a long walk, Draco found himself standing atop a hill just outside of town. The rubble from the destroyed house had been cleared away; no other detectable evidence remained of the attack that had taken place. No magical residue, no scorch marks, not even a bit of Muggle police tape.

Draco pulled his cloak more tightly about himself and considered. There were several houses nearby. He could cast a glamour charm on himself and interview the locals. Perhaps some would have information not contained in the reports he'd read.

That seemed unlikely, though; Tonks had done quite a thorough job before their memories were modified and she'd not learned much. Draco recast his concealment spell and pulled the cloak's hood over his head. There was another place where he could get information.

The sun was setting when he arrived back in town. The entrance to Durham 's wizarding district was a dingy pub on Gilesgate called The Harpy's Foot. Draco stood across the street from the entrance, watching the door. It was a quiet Sunday evening; the occasional group of Muggle students passed, but none noticed the doorway. He didn't see any wizards enter or leave, either.

Draco considered his options. He was concealed at the moment, but he still couldn't enter the pub without attracting some attention. He couldn't be sure a glamour would protect him, either. He'd been avoiding contact with other wizards as much as possible for nearly a year now, for good reason.

But he needed information, and he needed it now. He stepped off the curb and walked across the empty street towards the pub, whispering the words to drop the concealment spell as he did.

He was standing in front of the door when he heard it: a low whistle coming from the alley nearby. He turned his head slowly, heart in his throat.

A man stood in the shadows, face hidden. Draco stared at him for a long moment, and the man jerked his head toward the alley and disappeared from view. Draco took a steadying breath, and followed.

The man was leaning against the wall at the end of the alley. Draco's fingers traced the length of his wand as he walked forward, senses on high alert. It didn't appear to be a trap; there was a doorway at the end of the alley, but it looked to be the delivery entrance for the pub. The man's back was to it, allowing Draco to stay on his guard. Strange how easy it was to slip back into operative mode.

The man stepped forward and a beam of light from a window above illuminated his round face.

“Avery,” Draco said. Just as he'd thought.

Avery folded his short arms across his chest and stared hard at the spot where Draco's face would be if he could see it.

Nervous, Draco thought. Avery took a few steps forward, and Draco gripped his wand beneath the cloak. The man was going to get as close as he could in order to see him, a thought that made Draco more than a little uncomfortable. He pulled the hood back a bit, enough to reveal his face, and Avery started.

“Lucius said to expect someone soon, but I had no idea it would be you.”

Draco let the words wash over him without feeling anything. He had to play the part now. “Surprise,” he replied, injecting as much sarcasm into his tone as he could manage. “Must we do this in an alley?”

Avery took a step back, eyes darting about like a rat's. “No, no – into the pub.”

“The pub?” Draco snorted in response. “Are you certain it's secure?”

“Oh, yes,” Avery replied, opening the door. He cast a meaningful glance at Draco before slipping inside.

Draco didn't stop to think – he pulled his hood back down over his face and followed.

The pub was fairly empty. Avery secured a table in a dark and secluded corner, and waited by a chair as if uncertain whether to sit before Draco or not. Lucius always had that sort of effect on people. It had been a while since Draco had needed to cultivate it himself.

Draco let his eyes slide over the room once before sitting. It was the sort of place his father always disliked but regarded as a necessary aspect of doing business. Avery sat after Draco did, hands folded together on the table in front of him. He seemed to want to look anywhere but at Draco.

Draco cast a conversation screen around their table with a wave of his hand and settled back in his chair, waiting.

Avery swallowed. “It's been, what – three years since I've seen you? You look different.”

Draco didn't reply, maintaining a mask of disinterest.

“I didn't know you were back from America . Had a good run there, from what I heard.”

Draco clenched his jaw. “I didn't come here to make small talk.” Of course, he had no idea why Avery thought he was there, but if he was patient, Avery would tell him. Some people were stupid like that.

“Right. Of course.” Avery's hands clenched. “Would you like a drink?”

“No.”

“Right. Well. I'm afraid I've no good news to report.” Avery sighed, almost shrinking in his seat as he did. “Our allies here are getting restless. I've done what I can, but we're losing support.”

“My father will not be pleased to hear that,” Draco replied. Lucius was rarely pleased, so it wasn't a stretch.

“I know, but I'm telling you, that's the situation. We made a deal with the devil, Draco, and we knew it could be our downfall.”

Draco let his eyes narrow, watching Avery squirm. “Not doing your job will certainly bring about our downfall,” he said. “What should I tell Lucius?”

Avery looked frightened and exhausted at the same time – an expression that revealed much more than he likely knew. “I don't know. Tell him… he's losing support here, and something must change. We need… we need a demonstration of his conviction, perhaps.” Avery's eyes caught Draco's then, as if he'd just had a brilliant thought. “Yes, that's it. He only needs to remind the faithful that he's still in control.”

Draco maintained his stony mask, thinking quickly. He wasn't completely sure what Avery was talking about. “Recent events weren't enough?”

Avery groaned. “That wasn't my fault. I didn't know security had been compromised until it was too late.”

So apparently Lucius wasn't behind the explosion, but an intended victim of it. “Isn't it your job to know?”

“There was a time when I could have assured your father the loyalty of every Death Eater in the county, but that time has passed. Things are complicated now. People are beginning to ask questions.”

“Questions?”

“About the Dark Lord,” Avery replied, his voice lowering to a reverent whisper.

“And here I thought they might be questioning Blair's foreign policy.”

“They think Lucius Malfoy manipulated them! They haven't seen any of the rewards that were promised, and they are tired of waiting.” Avery paused, paling a bit. “And many are afraid of what the Dark Lord will do when he returns. They suspect your father betrayed him, and that they will suffer for it.”

“You are afraid too,” Draco remarked. “Perhaps my father's trust in you is misplaced.”

“No!” Avery whispered, eyes snapping up to meet Draco's. “You know that isn't true! But things are… difficult. I need to know what the plan is, what I can tell the ones whose faith is drifting. I'm working in the dark. You must understand how difficult this is.”

Draco stifled a snort. “Of course I do. But I am not at liberty to reveal anything.”

Avery nodded, but his expression was defeated.

“What went wrong last week?” Draco asked. It was a bit of a chancy question to ask – after all, Lucius was here when it happened.

“There was a leak.” Avery's expression became pained. “They're gaining followers, you know. Every time something like this happens, more people join them. There aren't many of the Core left.”

The Core – Lucius's name for his own inner circle, the elite amongst the ranks of Death Eaters. “Who do you trust?”

“Goyle, Nott, Snape… Not many, not anymore. The others disrupt our meetings, leak false information to the bumbling idiots at the Ministry, intimidate those who remain faithful–”

“Do you know who they are?”

“Can't you guess?” Avery snorted. Draco's eyes bored into Avery's, willing him to continue speaking. He didn't, though; he wrung his hands and dropped his gaze to the table top instead.

“So there was a leak,” Draco continued, hoping he wasn't pushing his luck. “What are you going to do about it?”

Avery's eyes darted up again. “It's been taken care of. The Unspeakables saw to that.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Did they?”

“I'm not always comfortable with this arrangement, but their efficiency is admirable.” Avery's face split into what could be best described as a sneer. “You can tell Lucius that.”

“I will,” Draco replied, mind already spinning. “Anything more to report?” He was ready to leave, before Avery's real contact appeared.

“That's all for now. I'm glad you're back, Draco. You ever get married?”

“No.” Draco gritted his teeth.

Avery grinned. “My boy Charlie's like that. Different bit of skirt every night. Enjoy it, son. You'll miss it when one ties you down.”

“So I hear,” Draco said. “I'll be in touch.” He pushed his chair back from the table as he stood, then left through the back door that led to the alley. He disapparated the second the door closed behind him.

:: :: :: :: ::

Draco stood in front of the fireplace in his flat for ten minutes, staring into the flames. What if Harry didn't want to see him? What if he'd thought about their fight and decided he'd really had enough?

Draco scowled. Harry was right: his own insecurities were to blame, and if he didn't rein them in, he'd lose Harry for certain. He reached for the dish of floo powder and took a deep breath.

He stepped out of Harry's fireplace into a nearly dark room. His eyes adjusted after a moment, and he realized Harry was curled up on the couch, watching telly. He didn't look up at Draco.

Draco crossed to the couch and sat. Harry had wrapped a blanket around himself; all Draco could see of him was his head. Draco tugged at a corner of the blanket and Harry released it, letting Draco pull part of it over himself. Draco hesitated a moment more, then slid an arm around him. To his relief, Harry leaned into him, letting his head fall onto Draco's shoulder.

They remained that way for a long time, watching a plotless subtitled French film, not speaking or even looking at each other. Harry was shirtless; his skin radiated heat from beneath the blanket. Draco closed his eyes, bizarrely content.

Harry shifted, and a hand wormed its way beneath Draco's shirt. It slid over his chest, fingers combing through the fine hair there. Draco looked down at the top of Harry's head, to the spot where his hair was already showing signs of thinning. It made Draco smile, for some reason. He kissed the spot, imagining himself talking a balding Harry out of a horrible combover at some point in the distant future. He'd keep his hair, of course. All the Malfoys had done.

“Thank you for coming,” Harry said. His voice was unusually small.

Draco said nothing and kissed the top of Harry's head again. Harry tilted his face up; the television was reflected in his glasses, obscuring his eyes. Draco took them off and set them on the coffee table, not breaking Harry's gaze.

Harry's expression was intensely sad, as if he'd not smiled all day. As if he'd been in this very spot since brunch, mulling over his problems. Draco kissed his forehead.

He should have come earlier, that afternoon, perhaps. Harry'd told him to stay away, thinking that was what he needed, but it wasn't. He'd needed Draco, and Draco had been too stubborn to see it.

Harry pressed his face into Draco's chest and sighed, and Draco wrapped both arms around him. The sense of protectiveness that washed over him was overwhelming. People seemed determined to hurt Harry every chance they got, and Draco had done nothing to prevent it.

Until tonight. He'd finally done something tonight. He was going to fix everything, and then nothing would get in their way again.

Harry shifted in his arms, looking up at him. “Come to bed?”

Draco smiled. “Of course.”

Harry switched off the television and led him through the darkness to the bedroom. Ambient light from the streetlights outside cast stripes across the duvet, stripes that painted Harry's skin when he stretched out across it. He'd been naked under the blanket, which surprised Draco.

“Were you waiting for me, then?” Draco asked, unfastening the buttons of his shirt with deliberate care. Harry watched the movements of his hands and nodded. “Naked on the sofa, waiting – I think I like that.” He let the shirt slide from his shoulders, and then reached for the fastening of his trousers while Harry watched him silently. “Touch yourself,” Draco whispered.

Harry's eyes widened, but his hand slid down his chest and across his belly to stroke his growing erection.

“Slowly,” Draco said, eyes fixed on the movement of Harry's long fingers. He pushed his trousers down and stepped out of them.

“No pants?” Harry quipped. “I think I like that.” He smiled, and it seemed genuine for the first time that night.

“No point in putting them on if they were just going to come off again.” He stood next to the bed and leaned against the mattress between Harry's knees. Even his cock was striped in the light. Harry's fingers continued their lazy strokes, and Draco watched for a few more seconds before climbing onto the bed and straddling his hips. He nudged Harry's hand with his own erection and Harry's fingers wrapped around that too, pressing hot, hard lengths together.

“That's nice,” Draco said, letting his hands smooth over Harry's chest.

Harry's smile was beckoning, and Draco couldn't resist leaning down for a teasing kiss, lips just brushing Harry's before darting away again. Harry's arms slid around him to pull him down, but Draco resisted, grinning.

“So impatient,” he whispered, and traced Harry's lower lip with the tip of his tongue.

“Sorry,” Harry replied. “It's just… I've been thinking about this all day.”

“Have you?” Draco sucked in that bottom lip and released it, then moved to Harry's ear, where there was a spot that particularly liked being licked.

“God, yes.”

“What were you thinking?” Draco's whisper was so soft he wondered if Harry'd heard it at all.

Harry shifted a bit and exhaled. “That I want to do something for you. I want to make you feel good.”

“You always do.”

“I… I want you to fuck me.”

Draco paused, settling his weight on Harry's torso and looking down at him. “Why?”

“What do you mean, why?”

“I mean, why? Why do you want me to fuck you?”

Harry looked confused. “Because… I want to do something for you. You always let me, and… I know you want to.”

“You ex-straight boys,” Draco sighed. “You think it's all about penetration. Worse, you think being penetrated is some sort of sacrifice you can offer up.” Harry opened his mouth to reply, but Draco cut him off. “It should be something you do because you want it. I pushed you before, and you weren't ready. Are you really ready now?”

Harry sighed and looked away.

“I'll take that as a ‘no',” Draco replied. “And it's okay. There are plenty of other things to do in bed, you know.”

Harry met his eyes again. “Like what?”

Draco grinned, then rolled off of Harry and sat up. He turned and stretched out in the opposite direction.

“Oh,” Harry said, grinning down at Draco. He was probably blushing, though it was too dark to tell. “I hadn't thought of this.”

Draco's reply was to lick a stripe down Harry's cock. Harry caught his breath in response, which made Draco smile. Harry was nothing if not responsive.

Draco felt a warm mouth close around his own cock. Harry was getting better at giving head, and what he lacked in technique he certainly made up for in enthusiasm. Draco propped himself on one elbow and wrapped his fingers around the base of Harry's cock, giving it a few strokes before swirling his tongue around the tip. Harry groaned around Draco's cock, which made Draco groan in response.

He forced himself to focus, though, and pulled the foreskin back and closed his lips around the head. Draco liked this part, the soft-hard feeling of a cock against his tongue. He liked the salty taste of Harry's skin and the musky-sweaty scent of his groin. He sucked Harry's prick in as far as he could, enough to feel hairs tickling the tip of his nose.

He felt Harry swallow him in return, followed by a small cough as Harry's gag reflex activated. Draco would have grinned had his mouth not been full. He grasped the base of Harry's cock again and began sucking softly, wriggling the flat of his tongue against the head.

Harry did the same, and Draco realized he was mirroring Draco's actions. It was easy enough to direct Harry to where Draco wanted him: if he wanted Harry to lick in a particular spot, he just licked that spot on Harry. A moment later, Harry would reciprocate.

The act of sucking Harry off became a bizarre sort of masturbation, and Draco became so focused on what he wanted Harry to do to him that he was caught off-guard when Harry suddenly came. He rarely had much warning, but this time it was just a brief tension in Harry's body and the feeling of his mouth going slack around Draco's dick – and then Draco's mouth was full and Harry was gasping.

Draco laughed and, nearly choking on come, coughed. Harry rose up on his elbows and gave Draco a quizzical look.

“Sorry,” Draco grinned, wiping his mouth. “I didn't see that coming. So to speak.”

Harry smiled in return and turned to face the same direction as Draco. “Should I continue?”

Draco rolled onto his back and stretched his arms over his head. “Please.”

He felt Harry's breath against the skin of his cock. “What do you want me to do?”

“What you were doing was fine,” Draco replied, closing his eyes. “I was rather enjoying it.”

“You were?” Harry asked, then licked up the underside of Draco's prick. “I never know. You're so quiet, and it… it takes a while, sometimes.”

Draco opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. “I do like it. And I hold back because I don't want it to stop.”

“Oh.” Harry tried a few of the tricks he'd just learned, each in succession, and Draco tried to remember to make enough noise to let Harry know which ones he liked best.

When Harry grasped the base of his cock and began stroking in opposition to the movement of his mouth, Draco groaned and buried his fingers in Harry's hair. Harry sucked harder and stroked faster, squeezing nearly to the point of pain, but Draco was close enough that he didn't care. He managed to grunt something along the lines of a warning. Harry's mouth disappeared and a hand took its place, and Draco came into Harry's fingers.

When his limbs had regained some feeling, he looked down to see Harry studying his hand.

Harry looked up. “Sorry I didn't… I don't like the way it feels.”

“It's all right,” Draco replied, sitting up. And it was, really. Draco would have preferred to come in Harry's mouth, but only if Harry wanted it too.

Harry's face was clouded. Draco took Harry's hand and whispered, “ Scourgify ”. The semen disappeared into thin air, off to the place dirty things went when you banished them. Back in third year, Draco had asked Professor Flitwick about that, but he'd never got a response that satisfied him. He pulled Harry's cleaned hand to his lips and kissed the palm. “Thank you.”

Harry half-smiled. “I'm sorry I'm not very good.”

Draco blinked at him. “What?”

“In bed,” Harry replied, pushing himself to sitting. He pulled his knees into his chest. “It's all right. I know I'm not.” He attempted a flippant grin. “I'd like to think I'm teachable, though.”

Draco snorted. “Harry, you're great in bed. Why do you think you're not?”

Harry stared at him for a moment and then shrugged. “Because it's true. It's not like I have a lot of experience giving blow jobs and... stuff.”

Draco poked him with a toe. “And stuff? Not two days ago you gave me the best hand job of my life!”

Harry shrugged, and looked as if he didn't quite believe it.

“You may not have a lot of experience, but that doesn't matter.”

“I dunno,” Harry replied. “I'm not good at relationships or sex or… any of this, really. I don't know why you put up with me.”

Draco was uncertain how best to respond to this unusual display of insecurity from Harry. “Because I happen to know that under that manly exterior lies a big nelly queen just dying to get out.” Harry looked shocked, which only egged Draco on. He got on his hands and knees and launched himself at Harry, hands going right for the ticklish spots. “I'm waiting for that day, you know. Come on, Harry! Let that flame burn bright.”

“Stop,” Harry laughed, trying to grab Draco's hands. “And I'm not gay.”

“Oh, riiight. Still trying to tell yourself you're bisexual?”

Harry managed to roll Draco over and pin him. “Yes. It's the truth.”

Draco's hands remained free enough to continue tickling. “Face it, Harry, you're queer. A fairy. A poof. A shirtli–”

Harry kissed him to shut him up, and Draco laughed around his tongue. When Harry pulled back, he was smiling. “Well, I imagine my ex-wife would agree with you. It's not like she benefited from my prowess in bed.”

“If you can't get it up for a beautiful woman, that's a sign,” Draco quipped – and immediately wanted to kick himself. It was a horrible, thoughtless thing to say.

To his surprise, Harry just sighed and settled his weight on Draco's chest. “You know, it wasn't that I wasn't attracted to her. It was just… so hard to make her come.”

Draco exhaled, simultaneously relieved and ashamed of himself. “Was it?”

“I could never last long enough for her,” Harry replied. “I tried, but… you know how I am. It finally got to the point that I dreaded sex. I would try to go down on her afterwards, but…” He looked up at Draco. “Sorry. Too much information?”

“It's all right,” Draco replied. He deserved to hear the sordid details of Harry's heterosexual experiences after the comment he'd made.

Harry sighed. “She'd be numb by then, and so she didn't come about half the time. And she'd be cross with me for days, and there was nothing I could do to make it up to her.”

“Couldn't you just go down on her in the first place?” A distant part of Draco's brain found the idea of him giving tips on how to make a woman come perfectly laughable.

“Yes, but she wanted to come with me inside her. It wasn't fun, and after a while, I dreaded it so much that I couldn't…” He sighed and looked away.

Draco stroked his hair, wondering why anyone would be so spiteful to someone as loveable as Harry. And then a few things clicked in his head.

“You're wonderful in bed, Harry. You know why?” Harry looked up at him, eyes wide and dark in the dim light. “Because you want so badly to make me feel good. You wanted to make her feel good too, and if she didn't see that, it's her loss.”

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Draco cupped his face in one hand.

“When I'm quiet, it doesn't mean I don't like it. It means it feels so good my mouth stops working altogether. If it takes a long time, that just means you're making me feel good for a long time.”

Harry smiled and kissed him, so tenderly it took Draco's breath away. Draco rolled Harry onto his back and deepened the kiss, wanting to wipe every trace of apprehension away. If he could make love to Harry enough, maybe it would erase the bad memories. Maybe it would wash away every trace of Cho.

He pulled away and looked down at Harry's face, neatly striped by the light coming through the blinds. His scar was in shadow, but his eyes reflected light, almost sparkling.

I love you , Draco thought – it came out of nowhere. He would say it aloud, if he were certain it was true. And if Harry hadn't said it to placate him earlier that day, in a moment of frustration.

The bottom dropped out of his stomach at the memory. That had hurt him more than he'd wanted to admit to himself at the time.

“What's wrong?” Harry whispered, expression concerned.

Draco blinked. Could Harry read him that easily? He stared at Harry's chin. “Remind me to do a depilo charm on you in the morning. You're scruffy.”

“Scruffy?” Harry replied. “I'm not scruffy.”

Draco gestured downwards. “I'm chafed! I won't be able to wank for days, thanks to you and your Muggle razor.”

“Guess I'll just have to suck you off then,” Harry replied with a wink.

“Promise?” Draco settled next to him and tugged at the duvet from where it had become lodged at the foot of the bed. He pulled it over them and sighed.

“I'm sorry about this morning,” Harry whispered. “I didn't mean to do anything to make you feel insecure.”

“I know,” Draco replied.

“I… I care about you. And I trust you, Draco. I trust you completely.”

Harry's eyes were earnest, and Draco felt guilt rise in his throat, tangible and sour.

“I hope you can trust me too,” Harry continued. “If not, I want you to know that I intend to earn it.”

Draco kissed his forehead and nodded. Harry smiled again, then closed his eyes. Draco watched him until he was sure he was asleep, then rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling.

Harry trusted him, and Draco had gone off to Durham , even though he'd promised not to do. And what had he accomplished? He wasn't sure.

Except that he was fucking up at every turn, and he couldn't seem to stop himself.

:: :: :: :: ::

:: :: :: :: ::

“All I ask now is for your assistance in capturing Potter.” Lucius's eyes were hard, but there was something else behind them too, something that sent a shiver down Draco's spine. “We know where he is. We can take him easily, but we'll need your help to control him, to convince him to cooperate.”

This is a dream, Draco thought. Nothing more.

Lucius's face twisted into a sinister smile, one that reminded Draco of the way his father had always looked at him when he'd done something naughty. The sight of it paralyzed him, despite his twenty-four years.

The smile disappeared from view as Lucius leaned forward and brushed a kiss against Draco's cheek. “I'll contact you in the usual way,” he whispered, then turned and walked away.

It's a dream, Draco repeated to himself. He leaned against the alley wall and tried to focus. Why was he so tense? He felt like he should know what was coming next, but he couldn't focus on it.

A hand grasped his wrist and whirled him around in the darkness. Draco shouted, and to his surprise, he could hear his own voice. He tried to pull away from his attacker, but he found himself roughly pressed against the wall again.

His eyes were closed, though he didn't remember closing them. He opened them, something that seemed to take great effort.

Ron Weasley was standing before him. At least, Draco thought it was Weasley: he looked larger than Draco remembered from school, muscles bulging in his neck, long red hair tied back at the nape of his neck, and a menacing expression on his face. He was pinning Draco against the wall with his hands on Draco's shoulders. Draco blinked, startled, and tried to push away from the wall again.

Weasley's large hand closed around Draco's throat, pressing him back against cold brick. He stared at Draco for a long moment, blue eyes hard. “This is your doing,” he said. “And you have to fix it.”

Draco managed to squeak out the word “How?” through his constricted throat.

“He already holds the key,” Weasley replied. He opened his mouth as if to say more, but froze. His face paled visibly, and he released Draco, backing away.

Draco gasped for breath and willed his knees not to give beneath him. “What key?”

And Weasley vanished into thin air.

“No!” Draco shouted, frustrated. “What the–” He stopped, voice stuck in his throat once again – Lucius was standing at the end of the alley, watching him.

He heard a strange cry, unintelligible, from a source he couldn't place. Lucius disappeared, the alley disappeared, and he was awake.

Next to him, Harry had sat up in bed. Draco blinked a few times to focus his eyes.

“Sorry,” Harry muttered. His hands covered his face. “I didn't mean to wake you.”

“Nightmare?” Draco asked. His voice was raspy and barely sounded like his own. Was he still dreaming?

“Yeah. It's nothing, though. I have them a lot.”

“Me too,” Draco replied. He'd never told Harry that before. He'd never told anyone, for that matter.

“It's always about Ron.” Harry brushed at his forehead as if wiping a cobweb away. “Why do I keep dreaming about him?”

Draco stared at the ceiling, pushing away a strange feeling of dread. It was probably a coincidence that he'd dreamed about Ron as well. Dreams were just the way one's subconscious dealt with things, after all. He'd spent time with Hermione's children that morning, and the sight of Harley and Harry together had struck him with a memory. That was it.

He turned to look at Harry. “You miss him.”

“He was my best friend.”

“What happened to him?”

Harry was silent for a moment, then turned toward Draco and sat cross-legged on the bed. He was still naked, which struck Draco as surprising. Harry usually wore pyjamas in bed, even after they'd had sex. Maybe it was a dream after all.

“The thing is, I don't remember what happened,” Harry began, twisting the cover of the duvet around his finger. “We were… doing something, something important. He worked for the Ministry's Magical Defense department, developing spells for undercover operatives.” Harry paused to look at Draco. “I'm surprised you two never crossed paths.”

Draco shrugged and turned onto his side to face Harry.

“He had this amazing sort of charisma – I know you never really knew him, but he was so funny and smart…”

“And not gay,” Draco remarked.

“Very married, in fact. He loved Hermione more than anything.” Harry paused and looked down at his twisting fingers again. “He used to sing her little songs, you know? There was a little rhyme he sang that would go with any tune. I can't remember the words, but…” He smiled, and it was the saddest smile Draco had ever seen on his face. “And he was so happy about being a father. He said his world changed after the children were born. He had been committed to the War before, but after that, it was all about making sure Harley and Cally didn't grow up living in fear of Voldemort.”

Draco nodded, listening. This story sounded familiar somehow, but he couldn't remember hearing it before.

“And then one day I woke up in hospital, and Ron was dead,” Harry said. He was silent for a long moment.

“How did he die?”

“Killing curse, they said. I was there, apparently, but I don't remember.”

Draco was quiet for a long moment. There was another question he wanted to ask, but he was afraid of the answer. He took a deep breath, and then exhaled slowly. “So… when did it happen?”

“Three years ago, plus a few weeks. He died on the ninth of February.” He looked up at Draco and gave him a strange smile. “I suppose you were busy infiltrating the Mafia and shagging your way through the male population of New York at the time, far away and ignorant of all that.”

Draco rolled onto his back again. He had no memory of that time either – he'd realized this about a year ago and had been unnerved by it. But this bit of information was unsettling, to say the least.

This is your doing, he heard Ron's voice say.

Cho's voice followed: Harry may have forgiven you, but I haven't.

Draco felt a cold sweat break on his forehead. Had he played a role in all of this? Had he betrayed them somehow? Or worse – had he done something that had resulted in Ron Weasley's death?

“Hey,” Harry whispered. Draco opened his eyes. Harry had stretched out next to him and was propped up on one elbow, watching him.

Draco tried to smile. “Sorry,” he whispered. “I'm probably making it worse by asking questions.”

“No. Actually, I've never really talked about it.”

“Not very healthy.”

“Neither was the drugs problem I developed not long after.” Harry raised an eyebrow.

“Did they ever find out who did it?” Draco asked. His voice wobbled a bit on the word did .

“No,” Harry said, rolling onto his back. “I assume it was Voldemort.”

“Really? Do you remember something about Voldemort, then?”

“No.” Harry replied. “But those weeks I can't remember had something to do with his disappearing, right? That's the only explanation.”

Is it? Draco thought. He stared at the ceiling for another moment, then closed his eyes.

“Good night,” Harry whispered, brushing a kiss against his cheek. The tenderness of it struck Draco like a bolt, and guilt washed through him all over again.

Had he played a role in all of this? He had to find out, and he had to set things straight before Harry learned the truth. But he wasn't sure where to begin.

:: :: :: :: ::

Monday, 1 March, 2004

“I can't get the documents, sir,” Grizabella said. She was standing by Draco's desk, arms crossed over her chest. “I tried, but apparently the official list of missing persons is not” – she made quote marks in the air with her fingers – “public information. Want me to go down there and nick it?” Her eyes glimmered a bit in anticipation.

Draco grinned. “Not yet. I'll try another way first. I know someone in the Ministry who might be able to help.” He rummaged about on his desk for a piece of parchment.

“Ms. Tonks?” Grizabella asked, twirling a lock of hair about one finger.

“Yes,” Draco replied. “Go fetch an owl, would you?”

Grizabella lingered a moment longer, only leaving when Draco paused to give her a pointed stare.

When she'd gone, he dipped his quill in the ink pot.

Tonks, 

I'm still working out what happened in Durham . I have some new information, but I need something to put it all together. Is it possible for you to get me a copy of the list of reported missing persons for the last month?

Thanks,
Derek

He had it rolled up and magically sealed before Grizabella returned with an owl on her arm. Draco tied the note to its foot and gave it its instructions.

:: :: :: :: ::

An hour later, Draco was at the Ministry's IS headquarters, surreptitiously reading through a file under the table while the rest of the people in the meeting argued.

“This isn't working,” Harry said at last, leaning back in his chair. Several of the people seated around the conference room's table nodded in agreement. “We can't train people quickly enough and many of them simply aren't taking it seriously. I want to switch tactics. I think we should focus on locating the source of the smothering spell instead.”

“That should keep someone busy for a while,” one skeptical witch noted. She raised her eyebrows at a man across the table, who smirked back at her.

“Which is why I'm more than willing to take on that task myself,” Harry replied.

His tone indicated far more patience than Draco had at the moment. He settled for shooting the woman a mild glare.

“I'll help,” Hermione said, shuffling through the papers in front of her. “I have a few thoughts on where to start looking, actually.”

“Ben has some expertise in magical surveillance, so he'd be good too,” Manny added. He looked at Ben, who nodded in response.

“Sounds like we have a team,” Harry said. “We'll meet this afternoon and get started. What else?” Everyone looked around the table, but no one spoke. Harry nodded. “We're finished, then. Could the core staff stay a bit longer?”

The room cleared quickly, leaving Harry, Draco, Manny, and Hermione alone.

“I've been thinking,” Harry began, clasping his hands before him on the table.

“Wonders never cease,” Hermione muttered.

He ignored her. “I think we should send Draco to Durham after all.”

Draco's head popped up from the paper he was glancing over. “What?”

“Why?” Manny asked, casting a sidelong glance at Draco. “I thought we decided it was too dangerous.”

“His instincts are good,” Harry said. “If he thinks we could learn something there, then he should go.” He turned back to Draco. “I'll go with you, if you like.”

“I thought you were going to start uncovering the smothering spell today,” Draco replied. He paused, wondering how best to handle this. He didn't want to lie about it, but he didn't want to confess his deception in front of other people, either. He looked back at Harry and shrugged. “I don't think it's necessary right now, actually.”

Harry frowned. “You were fairly insistent on Friday.”

“Yeah, well… I had another look at those reports you sent, and it seems the Aurors and Unspeakables were fairly comprehensive in their investigation. In fact, I think we might have more luck interviewing them.”

“Good luck with that one,” Hermione said. “They're notoriously secretive about these things, even in their own ranks. What makes you think they'd give away information to an American agency?”

“Only my unflagging faith in their integrity and commitment to truth and justice,” Draco quipped. “Anyone have any contacts inside?”

“I can try to pull a few strings,” Harry replied. “But they're old strings, so I'm not sure what will turn up.”

“I have a few favors I could call in, I suppose,” Hermione said. “If you really think it will help.”

Draco nodded in response.

“Well, I suppose that's all,” Harry said, gathering up his files and stacking them neatly in front of him. He turned to Hermione. “Shall we meet this afternoon?”

Draco waited until they'd coordinated their schedules, and indicated Manny should go on without him. When they both had left, Draco stood and crossed to Harry.

“I wa– ”

“I'm sorry about the way I reacted on Friday,” Harry interrupted. “I seem to be doing nothing but apologizing to you lately, but I mean it.”

Draco smiled and leaned back against the table. “I don't mind.”

“Yes, well… I did a lot of thinking yesterday. I know I'm the world's worst boyfriend, and I'm going to try to change that.”

“Harry–”

“I'm serious about this. I want this to work, Draco. I need this to work. And I know I'm insensitive and oblivious and I've been treating you as if you don't know what you're doing, which is ridiculous.”

“You were trying to protect me.”

“And you don't need protecting. You're a grown-up, and you're far better at all of this than I am. I can see why you'd think I don't trust you, and I don't blame you for being cross with me about that.”

Draco looked away. He should say something now, before he lost his nerve.

“But I do trust you. There are people here who don't, you know, and I try to protect you from that. I suppose that's done more harm than good.”

Draco shrugged in response, feeling his resolve melting away. Harry trusted him – so why should he destroy that over a small thing like going to Durham ? After all, there were much bigger issues on the horizon – Ron, the Death Eaters, the conspiracy, and Draco's own murky past. All of it would come out eventually, and Harry would probably hate him for it. He wanted to put that moment off for as long as possible.

Harry took his hand and squeezed it. Draco looked up to see Harry's eyes focused on his. Harry trusted him. Harry cared about him.

Draco felt something crumble inside him. He looked away. “I should go.”

“Dinner tonight?” Harry asked. Draco nodded, and Harry pulled him into a kiss. “Call me when you get home.”

:: :: :: :: ::

“There's a note from Ms. Tonks,” Grizabella told Draco as soon as he'd disapparated. “And your appointment with the Headmaster at Hogwarts is scheduled for 2:30 this afternoon.”

“Today?” He hadn't expected that to happen so soon.

“He had an opening,” she replied, handing him the note from Tonks. She returned to her desk, shoes squeaking on the concrete floor.

Draco sat at his desk and opened the note. Tonks had sealed it with a charm that responded to his touch, a typical Auror practice. Draco'd got in trouble during Auror training for asking if one could read such messages by simply incapacitating the recipient and then pressing the sealed message into the person's hand. The entire group got a lecture about ethics after that, and none of Draco's colleagues were very amused.

Draco,

Can you meet me for lunch? We can trade information. Pret on Shaftesbury Avenue near you, 12:30.

Tonks

Draco looked at his watch and sighed. His cousin was a bit impulsive.

:: :: :: :: ::

She had short spiky blonde hair, and he didn't recognize her at first. He bought a sandwich and a cup of yoghurt, then noticed her winking at him from the corner. He settled into the seat opposite her, feeling the conversation screening spell slide over his skin as he passed through its boundary.

“Have a good weekend?” she asked.

“I suppose.” He'd had a horrible weekend, but he didn't feel like sharing the details with her. He barely knew her, after all.

“Saw the Prophet on Sunday. Ouch.” She took a bite of her sandwich and waited for him to elaborate. He didn't. “How's Harry doing?”

Draco shrugged. “Fine. He's fairly used to that sort of thing, you know.”

“Yes, but what a horrible way to be outed. And everyone knows Cho ran around on him for months before they split. I don't know who she thinks she's fooling.”

Draco took a sip of his juice, willing his voice to sound casual. “What does she do, anyway?”

Tonks's eyebrows rose, as if she were surprised by the question. “She's an Unspeakable. I don't know what sort of work she does, exactly, but it's not office work.”

Draco took a bite of his sandwich to keep himself from displaying his reaction too overtly, and nodded to indicate she should go on.

“I don't know what division she's in now – they move them around a lot. She was an Auror for years, then a translator, and she moved into the Black Hole about six months ago.”

“Black Hole?”

Tonks had just taken another bite of her sandwich, so there was a bit of a pause before she could answer. “That's what we call the level the Unspeakables work on. People go in there, and they don't really come out again. I mean, they come out, of course, but they tend to stay there and don't move on to other divisions.”

“Was she in Durham ?”

Tonks nodded. “She was on the team that kicked us out. They were right obnoxious about it, too.” She took another bite of her sandwich and pushed an envelope across the table. “What did you want that for?” she asked, chewing.

“I got a tip that a Death Eater disappeared not long after the Durham incident. I have no idea who it was, and thought it might be useful information.”

Tonks swallowed and looked thoughtful for a moment. “You have a source there? Someone we haven't spoken with?”

Draco smiled. “You spoke with him. And so did I.”

“Sneaky twat. Are we helping each other here, or what?”

“Of course.” Draco smiled and slipped the envelope into his coat.

She rolled her eyes. “Anything else I can risk my neck to get for you?”

“There must be files somewhere on known Death Eaters. How can I get them?”

Tonks laughed, then realized he was serious. “Bloody hell, Malfoy! Do you know what you're asking for?”

“Of course I do. And I'll owe you one.”

“A fucking big one.” She ran a hand through her short hair and bit her lip. “I'll see what I can do, but no promises, all right? And if I can get them, you have to tell me a bit more than that we share a source.”

“Agreed.” Draco opened his yoghurt and grinned at her.

:: :: :: :: ::

Draco had left word with Grizabella that he was heading to Hogwarts that afternoon, and it was nearly 2:00 before he said goodbye to Tonks. He strolled back to his flat to get his cloak – one couldn't appear in proper wizarding society dressed like a Muggle, after all – and was thinking of stopping off for a cup of coffee when he heard someone whisper, “Malfoy!”

He froze, then looked in the direction of the voice. A cloaked figure was standing in the narrow alley between two buildings, not a street from where he lived. Draco's eyes narrowed. He looked both ways, and then stepped into the alley.

“I knew it was you,” the man said, taking a step toward him.

Draco's wand was pressed into the man's throat a split second later, followed immediately by a binding spell. The man's hands scrabbled against the wall as he gasped for breath, pinned in place. He wasn't anyone Draco recognized. Not that it would have lent the man any sympathy.

“So you can see through a glamour charm,” Draco hissed. “How convenient. What the fuck do you want?”

“I didn't… please…”

The man's eyes were bulging a bit, and Draco scowled. He must be out of practice – he didn't usually overdo these things. He released the man from the spell, but kept his wand firmly in place.

The man sucked in a breath before speaking. “I apologize… I only wanted… Avery said–”

Draco let his glare go cold, well aware how much it made him look like Lucius. “Did Avery send you?”

“No, he said–” the man gasped for another breath “–you were speaking for your father, and that you were…” He paused, and his face paled a bit.

Draco's eyes narrowed further. “What?”

“Reasonable,” the man whimpered.

Draco smirked, playing along without missing a beat. “I suppose I am reasonable. Anyone else would have killed you on sight for exposing an undercover agent like that.”

“I am foolish, and I apologize.” The man was trembling now.

Draco hated threatening someone whose immediate response was to grovel. “What do you want? I'm rather busy at the moment.”

“I speak for those who remain faithful to the cause, but are afraid. There are rumors that the Ministry of Magic is close to learning what we did. If the Dark Lord returns–”

“He won't return,” Draco said, pitching his voice low. “And your faith will be rewarded.” That sounded like something his father would have said, at least. The man blinked at him, then nodded. Draco wondered how far he could push the situation. “Do you wish to tell me something more?”

“Will you take our concerns to your father?”

“Of course. I can assure you that he shares them.” That statement might come back to bite him in the arse, but he couldn't worry about that at the moment.

The man swallowed. “Perhaps you could meet with some of us. Your presence alone would restore the faith of many.”

Draco stared at the pale face before him. He was falling deeper into this web at every turn, yet he sensed this was the right path to take. It would lead him to the truth, if he could maintain the necessary balance. That was something he'd always been good at, of course.

“I'll consider it,” he replied. “But only under the condition that all of my questions are answered. There can be no secrets.”

The man closed his eyes and nodded. “Thank you. I'll contact you soon.”

Draco stepped away, and the man slipped around the corner and out of sight. Draco stared at the spot on the wall where the man had been for a long moment. Avery had spread the word, which likely meant that Lucius knew they'd spoken. The fact that his father was content to let him continue this charade worried Draco at the same time that it relieved him.

Who was in control here? Draco couldn't be sure. He only knew he had to keep his wits about him.

When he reached the door of his flat, he looked up. The dark owl – his father's shadow owl, difficult for Muggles to see unless they knew what they were looking for – was still there, perched on a lamppost and watching the street below. It didn't matter that the owl couldn't see through the glamour charm. It was waiting there because Lucius knew where he was.

And it was only a matter of time before Draco would have to face him.

:: :: :: :: ::

Draco took another drag off the cigarette and stared up at the crest emblazoned on the gates leading up to Hogwarts castle. He hadn't thought it would be so strange to come back here. It was, after all, a place he'd spent six years of his life – six very formative years, at that.

That was many years ago, and so much had happened to him since.

The walk up the drive was long, and he was halfway there before he realized he was still holding the cigarette. He banished it with a flick of his wrist – the anti-littering charms on the Hogwarts grounds were not something to be trifled with, nor was the anti-smoking hex inside the castle. Several unfortunate Hufflepuffs had learned that the hard way in Draco's sixth year. Their welts hadn't disappeared for a month.

The main doors swung open as he climbed the steps. A group of laughing children rushed past; a few cast curious glances at him, but none stopped to stare. His glamour was unremarkable, so he didn't expect them to do. He was tempted to turn and watch them, to see if they were dashing towards the groundskeeper's hut, or off to the Quidditch pitch. His mind was momentarily flooded by memories, enough to make him pause on the top step and collect himself.

There was a time when he would have given anything to be back here, but that time was long gone. For the first time in his life, Draco Malfoy felt old.

He stepped through the doorway and was almost immediately accosted by a teacher he didn't recognize.

“Can I help you?” she asked, in that tone that really meant Just who do you think you are to walk into a school like this?

“I have an appointment with the headmaster,” Draco replied, stepping back. She was taller than him, and rather menacing.

She gave him a skeptical look. “The headmaster doesn't take appointments at this time of day. I'll have to go and check–”

“That won't be necessary, Professor Finkley,” a voice said. Draco turned to see Severus Snape standing in the shadows. He stepped forward, leaning on his cane. “Aren't you supposed to be supervising the first years' study group in the library?”

Professor Finkley frowned at him, cast Draco another suspicious glance, then turned on her heel and walked away.

Draco smiled, but Snape did not return it. “Clever disguise,” he remarked, then turned and began to walk down the corridor. Draco paused for a moment, and then followed him.

Snape's limp was barely noticeable. He'd been badly injured during the War under circumstances that were shrouded in mystery. Draco hadn't seen the man in years; he'd only heard rumors about him.

They wound their way through the school, past portraits that were mostly familiar to Draco, up a flight of stairs that started to shift position until Snape hissed a word Draco couldn't understand. The stairway snapped back into place with a groan that seemed to indicate displeasure. They walked down another corridor and stopped before a gargoyle, to which Snape said, “ Incanesco .” The gargoyle sprang aside and a door opened behind it, revealing a staircase that moved on its own, much like a Muggle escalator. Draco followed him up the spiraling staircase into the headmaster's office.

The room looked different than Draco remembered. The one time he'd been there before, the office was full of trinkets and devices. Now it was uncluttered and orderly, with only functional objects and furniture about. Most of the former headmasters in the paintings on the walls were napping, though a few awakened and squinted at Draco. Dumbledore was asleep in his portrait on the wall opposite the door, his beard ruffling with every breath.

Snape sat behind a large desk and contemplated Draco. “Could you please drop that infuriating glamour charm?”

Draco raised an eyebrow at his tone, but did so anyway. He settled back into his chair, trying his best to seem relaxed. But he wasn't – far from it. Snape's eyes narrowed, and Draco had the distinct impression the man did not approve of his appearance underneath the glamour. It made him smile, for some reason.

“Well? What was so urgent?”

Draco hadn't seen Snape in years, and he'd expected some initial pleasantries, at the very least. “Well… I haven't spoken with you recently, so I thought–”

“Get to the point,” Snape remarked.

Draco clenched his jaw. “All right. What do you know about the division in the ranks of the Death Eaters?”

Snape's lips twisted. “I'm not certain to what you're referring.”

Draco gave him a long look. “I didn't come here to play word games, Headmaster. I know my father is involved in a conspiracy of some sort, and that it involves employees of the Ministry as well. I also know that not all of those in the ranks of the Death Eaters support his actions. And I know he considers you an ally.”

Snape raised an eyebrow. “Does he?”

“Yes,” Draco replied, even though he was guessing based on information that might prove to be unreliable. “I need to find out what happened three years ago, when Voldemort disappeared. And I believe you have information about it.”

“Why do you think I know what happened then? Even if I did support your father, what information could I possibly have that you would find useful?”

“What do you mean?”

“Unlike you, I wasn't there, Mr. Malfoy.”

Draco felt his breath catch in his throat. “I was there? How is that possible? I was living in New York at the time.”

Snape was silent for a moment, staring at Draco in a way that made him increasingly nervous. After several long seconds, Snape sighed. “Why do you wish to know?”

Draco snorted, incredulous. “Do I really need to answer that? I don't remember any of it. Isn't that reason enough?”

“No.”

Draco pursed his lips. “I'm working for the American government. My task is to uncover the degree to which Death Eaters control the Ministry.” He tried to close his mind, without making it look like that was what he was doing.

“To what purpose?” Snape asked, voice surprisingly calm. “There has always been a degree of tolerance and complicity between both of those parties. I'm shocked this isn't something you know already.”

Draco looked away. “I have no memory of the incident, yet it lingers in my subconscious mind. My father has been chasing me for a year, but I don't know why. His owl waits outside my flat. I believe he is even eavesdropping on my dreams.”

“You should forget this hopeless crusade and return to America . Trust me, Draco – this is more than you want to know.”

“That's not an option. I have made promises. I have… commitments.”

“You would be best advised to leave Mr. Potter alone as well.”

Draco looked up at that, surprised. “How do you–”

Snape scowled. “Who else would you become involved with but the one person you shouldn't? It will do neither of you any good to uncover what happened that day. I know that isn't what you want to hear.”

“No, it isn't,” Draco replied, resisting the urge to slump down in his chair. “I'm being approached by supporters of my father who are asking for my help. Harry and I are both tormented by dreams we don't understand. Unspeakables are threatening me, and there is a smothering spell on the Ministry of Magic that–”

“I cannot help you, Draco. My position does not allow it. But understand that even if it did, I would still be reluctant. We made a choice, all of us, and it was for the best. There is no going back now.”

“I don't even know what choice I made!” Draco spat, finally losing his composure. “How can I know it was for the best?”

“Stop thinking with your groin, boy, and consider the consequences of your actions.”

“This is ridiculous,” Draco replied, glaring. “And I'm not thinking with my groin.”

Snape smirked. “Of course not. I suppose you think you're in love, or some such rubbish.”

Draco held his chin up, defiant. “I simply need to know what happened. I need to understand what role I played in this, and what role Harry played. It may be the case that nothing will change, but I can't bear living in the dark like this. It's going to make me crazy.”

Snape considered him for a moment. “I do not have the answers you seek, Draco. But I think you know who does.”

Draco swallowed.

“Your father was trained as a Legilimens, so the possibility of him eavesdropping on your dreams is nontrivial. I'd be careful, if I were you.”

Draco nodded. This wasn't the answer he'd wanted, but it was clear he had only one choice. He'd have to go to Lucius.

:: :: :: :: ::

Draco apparated to one of the local points in Soho , a phone box with a sign on it that read “out of service”. It was a few streets from his flat, so he walked home slowly, thinking. People rushed around him on the pavement as they headed home from work, not seeming to notice a mousy-haired man dressed in a black robe. Draco paused on the stoop of his flat and looked up. The owl was sitting in its usual spot, preening its feathers. The sun would soon set, and it would leave to hunt for the night.

Draco watched it for several seconds, until it stopped preening and looked down at him. It stared at him, unblinking. Draco stared back a few moments more, then whispered, “ Finite incantatum .” He felt the mild tingle of the glamour charm dissolving on his skin, leaving him bare to the owl's gaze.

It blinked then, and shifted its head to the side as if uncertain what it had just seen. Draco held its gaze, and then nodded to it. A moment later, it returned his nod in a near-human manner, launched itself from the roof, and flew away.

Draco sighed and opened the door to his flat. There was no turning back now.

:: :: :: :: ::

Draco flooed to Harry's flat at half seven, dressed nicely per Harry's request. They headed out not long after, bundled up in coats against the chill, walking towards Notting Hill Gate. Harry had written the restaurant's address on a slip of paper, but they passed it twice before they found the entrance.

Assagi was a small Italian bistro tucked up a flight of stairs on a quiet residential street. Draco took one look at the half dozen tables, all marked ‘reserved', and leaned into Harry. “This looks expensive.”

Harry smiled and touched the small of Draco's back with his fingertips. “You're worth it.”

Draco almost laughed, then realized Harry wasn't joking.

Their coats were taken and they were seated at a small table by the window, where they could look down on the dark street below. Draco watched someone walk a dog along the pavement until a menu was placed before him. He was avoiding looking at Harry, but he couldn't help it. Harry would certainly see the guilt written on his face if he looked hard enough.

“Are you trying to look like anyone in particular tonight?” Harry asked.

Draco shrugged, staring down at the Secondi Piatti section of his menu. He was running out of glamour ideas, to tell the truth. “No. Why?”

“You look like… an old friend of my father's,” Harry said, opening his own menu.

Draco frowned at him. “Who?”

Harry's lips twisted into a smile. “Want to pick the wine?” He pushed a thick leather binder across the table.

Draco shot him an annoyed glance before opening it to see a truly remarkable list of French and Italian wines, all priced at twice the market rate. “What are you having?”

“Mmmm… veal, I think.”

Draco narrowed it down to three Tuscan wines and then picked the middle-priced one. The sommelier nodded his approval as he plucked the table wine glasses up and carried them away.

Five minutes later, their food had been ordered and their wine was served, and they still hadn't really spoken about anything of substance. Draco looked up to see Harry staring at his wine glass, frowning. Draco winced: why was he doing this? Harry was trying very hard, after all.

“This is lovely,” he said. Harry looked up, almost startled. “Looks like it was a challenge to get a reservation.”

Harry smiled. “I'm starting to wonder how Peggy accomplishes these things. There may be Unforgivables involved.”

“Possibly. Special occasion?”

“Yes.” Harry blushed and twisted the stem of his wine glass between his fingers. “It's been two weeks since you… since we…” He shrugged.

“Oh,” Draco replied. He wasn't sure how to respond. It was sweet and touching, and frustrating beyond belief. Harry had been so lovely to him during the last 24 hours, after two weeks of being moody and insensitive. Why was he morphing into the perfect boyfriend now?

Harry reached across the table and took his hand. Draco stared at their clasped fingers for a moment.

A coughing sound signaled the return of their waiter. He placed a platter of antipasti between them and raised an eyebrow in a clear gesture of not here, boys . Harry squeezed Draco's hand before releasing it.

They'd agreed not to talk about work over dinner, and to seal the deal, they hadn't cast a screening spell. Draco was still paranoid, though; whenever he looked up, people at other tables were staring at them. They quickly looked back to their food, but they were staring nonetheless.

It was probably the gay thing that was attracting their attention, Draco reminded himself – nothing more. There wouldn't be any wizards here. No spies for his father. He had to relax.

“So, two weeks?” Draco said once the waiter was out of earshot. “It seems like longer.”

“I know,” Harry replied, fishing a mussel out of its shell. “I feel like I've known you for longer than a month.”

“You've known me for 13 years.”

Harry grinned. “Not really.”

Draco contemplated the olive on the end of his fork. “So this is an anniversary dinner, then? I hadn't pegged you for the romantic sort.”

“Ron used to give me no end of shit about that. Said I treated girls as if they were mates, and that's why they kept leaving after the shagging got old.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “This from a friend ? Really, Harry. You must sort out your priorities.”

Harry blinked at him for a moment, then peered at the platter again. “Today's his… would have been his birthday, actually. I'm glad Hermione isn't alone this year.”

“His birthday?” Draco frowned.

“Yes. It's hard to believe he didn't live to be twenty-one.” Harry's voice was small.

If they'd been alone, Draco would have taken Harry into his arms, but at the moment, he wasn't even sure he should take his hand. He settled for nudging Harry's knee under the table.

In the dream, Ron had said this was his doing, and that he'd have to fix it. Draco wasn't sure he could trust that dream, but he could do something, at least. He could find out what happened.

He only hoped it didn't cost him Harry.

Two hours and two hundred quid later they strolled back to Harry's flat, down dark side streets with shadows that reminded Draco far too much of his dreams. Harry insisted on holding his hand the entire way, which was nice at first. But when Draco's hand began to sweat, he casually tugged it loose, only to have it captured by Harry again moments later. He swallowed down his annoyance. He should be grateful Harry wasn't pretending he wasn't gay any more, he reminded himself. But his tension wouldn't be so easily relieved.

They were barely in the door when Harry pressed Draco hard up against it, kissing him with a fire he hadn't possessed in a week. Draco was caught by surprise, but allowed Harry to back him to the sofa, letting himself be kissed and touched, letting Harry's hands pull his clothing away.

He was naked within minutes. Harry's unbuttoned shirt hung loosely, all that remained of his clothing, and it brushed against Draco's sides as Harry moved, tickling him in spots he normally wasn't sensitive. Draco squirmed against the sensation as Harry pressed him down into the sofa. Harry's weight on him like that was usually pleasant, but tonight it made Draco feel claustrophobic.

They hadn't made a sound since they'd come in except for the occasional groan or apology for an unintentional bump. Draco had been afraid they would come back and talk. Considering Harry's new ‘perfect boyfriend' routine, it wouldn't have surprised him.

“I've been thinking about this all afternoon,” Harry whispered against his lips. “I want to make love to you all night.”

Draco opened his eyes. He'd never been so tense about sex in his life. He pushed up against Harry's chest, and nearly toppled him onto the floor. Harry blinked at him, surprised.

He hadn't meant to push quite that hard. Draco licked his lips. “Fuck me.”

“What?”

Draco sat up and tugged the collar of Harry's shirt, forcing him to kneel on the couch. “I want you to fuck me,” he repeated, brushing his lips over Harry's. “Long, and hard, and rough. Right here on this sofa.”

Harry swallowed, but Draco saw a flicker of lust in his eyes. Screw the romantic bullshit. This was what they both wanted, really.

Harry held out his hand and his wand flew to him. He contemplated Draco for a few seconds, long enough that Draco wondered if he'd made Harry angry with his request. “Turn around,” he said.

Draco smiled and turned, bracing himself against the arm of the sofa. This was more like it. No talking. Just fucking. He could deal with fucking.

Harry's hands caressed his backside before his thumbs slid down to pry the cheeks apart. They remained like that for a long moment. Draco felt strangely exposed, imagining Harry staring at his arsehole. Why hadn't they dimmed the lights first?

He realized he was feeling vulnerable. His cock hardened almost instantly at the thought, to his surprise. He felt something hard – the tip of Harry's wand – press into him, and he waited for the spell.

It didn't come. He was leaning over the arm of the sofa, with a wand up his arse, while Harry just looked . He bit his lip, wondering why the hell he found the situation so hot. Harry's fingers traced over the small of his back, lingering in odd places.

“What are you doing?”

“Playing,” Harry replied. The wand pressed into him a little further, and Draco caught his breath. “Your dragon likes me.”

“Because I like you.” Draco couldn't feel the movement of the tattoo, and he forgot it was there sometimes. He wanted Harry to get on with it, but he was enjoying this tension far more than he would have anticipated.

Something warm and wet was on his skin then – Harry's tongue.

Draco resisted the urge to turn around and look. “Are you <i> licking </i> him?”

“He likes it,” Harry murmured in response. His tongue ventured ever lower, finally dipping far below the territory the tattoo usually occupied.

Draco held his breath. Harry's tongue tickled around the wand, making Draco shudder. “This is nice, but–”

He felt a whisper against his skin, followed by the sensation of the lubrication spell spreading inside him. Then the wand was gone and Harry's hands grasped his hips.

“You wanted me to fuck you,” Harry whispered.

Thumbs pried his cheeks apart again, and Harry's cock pressed into him. The burn of it caught Draco by surprise. He clenched the sofa arm, trying to concentrate on relaxing.

“I'm hurting you,” Harry remarked. He didn't stop his slow press forward.

“No,” Draco replied, though he knew it was ridiculous to lie. He was tense, so his sphincter was tense. He'd wanted it rough, though. He deserved it. “It's good.”

Harry paused when he was balls-deep, hands sliding over Draco's skin. His touch was soothing.

Draco gritted his teeth. He didn't want soothing. He pressed back against Harry, willing him to start moving. Harry's hands moved back to Draco's hips, gripping them hard, then he started fucking Draco in earnest.

Draco kept his eyes closed, hearing himself say things like “harder” and “faster”. The rough fabric of the sofa rubbed against the skin of his prick over and over as he was jolted by the force of impact, on the verge of rubbing his dick raw. He gripped the edge of the sofa tight, trying to find some leverage to push back. He was going to pay for this in the morning.

He heard a strange sound, and it was a moment before he registered what it was. His eyes flew open, but too late – a startled gasp emerged from the fireplace. He turned to see Cho Chang standing there, hand over her mouth and eyes wide with shock.

Harry had disengaged and jumped to his feet before Draco even realized who the intruder was. He plucked his trousers from the floor and held them over his groin, glaring at Cho. “What the fuck are you doing here?!”

Cho was pale, almost shaky. “I didn't think you'd be home!”

Harry was shaking from sheer rage. “You didn't think I'd – then why are you here?”

Cho crossed her arms over her chest, regaining a bit of her composure. “I came for the quilt.”

“The quilt?” Harry's voice raised pitch. “We've already discussed this!”

“No, we didn't! You refused to listen to me. There was no discussion.”

“You don't even like that quilt! You just want it because you know I like it.”

“It was a wedding gift!” Cho shouted. “It's no more yours than mine.”

“Molly wouldn't want you to have it, anyway. She hates you!”

Draco slid to a sitting position, pulling his knees to his chest. He really didn't want to hear this.

“First of all, she doesn't hate me, and second, that's irrelevant,” Cho retorted, voice shrill now. “You thought that quilt was ugly and never even put it out unless she was coming over!”

“Oh, for–” Harry's fists were tightly clenched. “So you were just going to come here and steal it, then? What else of mine have you taken?”

“I used to live here, you know. Everything in this flat is ours , in case you've forgotten.”

“Not anymore,” Harry growled. Draco looked up at the tone of his voice – he couldn't help himself. Cho shrank back a step, though she still looked furious. “I'll give you the damn quilt, but that's all. And I'm changing the wards so you can't just floo in to steal from me whenever it strikes your fancy.” Harry stalked away, disappearing through a door.

Draco smirked at Cho and stretched his legs out before him. She glared at him.

“I'd offer you a drink,” Draco said, “but I'm sure you must be on your way.”

Cho snorted, and looked away.

“Or maybe you'd like to stay and watch?” Draco continued. He stroked his flagging erection.

Cho turned to him then, an unidentifiable expression on her face. It was somewhere between rage and disgust, and she was struggling to swallow it back down.

“Oh, I'll bet you would,” Draco whispered. “Maybe you liked what you saw before.”

“Fuck you,” she hissed, eyes as cold as his father's. “You're so pathetic, Malfoy. This is all you're good for, isn't it?”

Draco clenched his jaw. “You won't get him back, you know.”

Cho smirked. “Do you think that's what I want?”

Harry reappeared then and thrust the quilt towards her. He'd put his trousers back on. Cho took it and started for the fireplace again.

Harry held out an arm to block her. “Oh, no – you think I'd give you a chance to cast a backdoor charm on the ward? Use the door, like the unwelcome guest you are.”

Cho's expression didn't change. She turned and walked around him, heading to the door.

A minute later she was gone. Harry stood staring at the door for another minute, silent.

Draco pressed his forehead into his knees. He hated Cho Chang for more reasons than he could count. But mostly he hated her for what she did to Harry. Harry would be angry and morose for the rest of the night now, and there would be no sex.

He sighed. What had he been so tense about earlier? Harry was being wonderful and sweet, and Draco had practically pushed him away.

Harry turned around and faced the fireplace, an odd look on his face. He picked up his wand and pointed it at the grate, whispering the spells to take down the floo wards. Then he recast them, setting them so that only he and Draco could pass through.

Draco was touched by that gesture, emboldened, even. Harry collapsed onto the sofa, still staring into the fireplace. Draco stretched out on his side, head in Harry's lap. Harry petted his hair as if he were a cat.

“Hope Hermione doesn't try to floo over,” Draco remarked.

“I'll change it in the morning.” Harry's hand rested against Draco's cheek, one finger stroking his cheekbone. Draco felt something cool against his skin and realized it was the bracelet. Draco's bracelet.

The memory of it popping off his wrist weeks before flooded his mind: he'd spoken with his father in that alley and learned of Lucius's plan to capture Harry. Lucius had asked for Draco's assistance, and it never occurred to Draco to cooperate. He'd been leaning against the rough brick of the alley afterwards with his hands over face, thinking about Harry and how much he'd wanted to protect him – and the bracelet had fallen to the pavement.

He'd stared at it there on the ground for a long time, baffled. He knew what it meant, the significance of it coming off at that moment. But he didn't believe it. How could it be possible that he was in love with Harry Potter, whom he'd hated for most of his life, whom he hadn't seen in years? Who'd just popped into his very complicated life, unbidden, unwanted?

Whom he'd never even fucked, for Merlin's sake.

Draco hadn't known how he felt about Harry until that moment. And everything had fallen into place in a matter of hours, followed by a glorious night that had changed Draco enough to make him reconsider everything he'd thought he believed in.

He'd always been out for himself, available to the highest bidder. FBI, CIA, Death Eaters, Aurors – it didn't matter, as long as he was in control. As long as his own interests were served first.

But something about Harry had changed that, and he didn't know how or why. And even then, his own paranoia and insecurity had nearly derailed the whole thing.

As it would do still, if he wasn't careful. Draco caught Harry's hand and turned his head so that he could kiss the palm. Harry's fingers continued to caress his cheek.

“Besides, I don't want any more interruptions,” Harry whispered, looking down at Draco's face. “And I'm sorry, but I don't want it rough tonight either. Can we just go to bed and take it from there?”

Draco smiled.

It was sweet and slow and quiet; soothing and careful and soft – everything Draco hadn't realized he'd wanted in sex. They took their time with each other's bodies, not rushing, not racing. When Draco finally came, he was sitting astride Harry, hips rising and falling in an easy rhythm while Harry's slick hand enclosed his cock. A moment later, Harry flipped them over and pressed into him a dozen more times before collapsing against him with a groan.

Draco slid his arms around Harry's back, the dampness of their skin making contact slick and hot. Harry was utterly spent, forehead pressed into Draco's shoulder.

It felt perfect. There had never been a better moment to say the words Draco was thinking. They swelled in his mind, almost forcing their way through his lips. He squeezed his eyes shut and sighed instead.

To say it, and then to lose Harry anyway – that would be the worst thing of all.

:: :: :: :: ::

 

:: :: :: :: ::

“Hello, Draco.”

Draco stiffened at the sound of his father's voice before he could stop himself. He turned around to see Lucius standing in the doorway of the study, looking as elegant as always.

Draco attempted a smirk. “Father. Always a pleasure.”

Lucius smiled, and the expression was chillingly familiar. Lucius crossed to the side table and waved his hand over a flask of brandy, which obediently poured two glasses. He handed one to Draco and then gestured toward a pair of ancient-looking chairs by the stone fireplace. Draco settled into one and swirled his brandy, doing his best to look unaffected.

“It's been far too long since we saw each other last,” Lucius said, his eyes narrowing even though his expression remained cool. “Though I must say I appreciate the work you've been doing on my behalf.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn't say it's on your behalf.”

Lucius chuckled. “But it is for the best that everyone thinks so, is it not? We can help each other, son. The things we want are not so different.”

Want to bet? Draco thought, though he kept his face impassive. He clamped down on a strong sense of déjà vu and pulled a cigarette from the pack in his pocket. He lit it with a wave of his hand and took a long drag, then blew the smoke in his father's direction. “Took you long enough to catch on.”

“Still bent on suicide, I see.” Lucius waved the smoke away with one jeweled hand. “I want to make you an offer. I suggest you listen very carefully.”

Draco stared at hs father's face through the grey haze. “I'm listening.”

:: :: :: :: ::

Thursday, 4 March, 2004

Draco was dreaming about something pleasant, for a change. Harry was laughing about something Draco had done looked so happy, and Draco was grinning from ear to ear. Harry fell into his arms and they collapsed backwards, but the ground was soft and falling didn't hurt. Harry was smiling down at him, framed by clear blue sky. Draco closed his eyes, waiting for Harry to kiss him.

He heard a strange tapping sound.

Draco opened his eyes to see a ceiling come into focus above him. The tapping sound remained, insistent and sharp. It was coming from his right, from… the window.

Draco sat straight up. There was an owl hovering outside the window, pecking at the glass. The only owl who'd come to Draco's window like that belonged to Lucius.

“What the–?” Harry stirred beside him.

Draco felt a stab of panic. This was not the time for Harry to find out – not yet. His stomach dropped as he sprang from the bed, mind whirling. He could open the window and glare at it, send it away. He could tell Harry it had made a mistake.

Oh, that was ridiculous. Owls didn't make those sorts of mistakes.

“Hedwig?” Harry said.

Draco squinted, hand on the clasp to open the pane. Without the vision charm, he couldn't see through the window. He turned to peer at Harry. Harry was nearsighted; he couldn't possibly see that far either.

Draco turned the catch and cracked the window open. A snow-white owl glared at him from its precarious perch on the window sill, as if to say, What took you so long? Draco breathed a sigh of relief: not Lucius's owl, then. He pushed the window open.

The owl swooped past him and landed on the bed, and Harry sat up and scratched the top of its head. “Morning, Hedwig. What's this?” He peered at the note attached to the owl's leg, and his face tightened. “Take it to the office, girl.” He petted her head and she nipped his fingers, then flew back out the window. Draco pushed it closed, then exhaled before turning back to Harry.

“Work-related,” Harry sighed, flopping onto his back. “I dunno why she brought it here.”

“Yeah,” Draco said. He glanced at the clock next to the bed. “The alarm was about to go off anyway.”

Harry smiled and propped himself up on an elbow. “So we have a few extra minutes. Wanna take a shower with me?”

Draco's shower was nearly too small for two people, but they managed. The fact that their bodies kept sliding together only added to the fun. Harry was particularly mischievous with his soapy hands, washing parts of Draco that he was fairly certain didn't need quite that much cleaning.

Draco turned to face the spray, rinsing his hair, and Harry pressed his soap-slicked cock against his arse. His hands slid over Draco's chest, fingers pausing over taut nipples before heading further south. By the time one of Harry's hands wrapped around Draco's cock, Draco was panting. He pressed his hips back against Harry, grinding his arse into Harry's groin, and Harry's hand squeezed and stroked.

“Do you know how hot you are like this?” Harry whispered.

Draco came right then and there, into Harry's soapy hand.

Ten minutes later, they were dry and mostly dressed. Harry stared at his own face in the mirror. “Draco?”

“Yeah?” Draco was staring in a small mirror by the wardrobe, contemplating the styling charm he'd just cast on his hair.

“Would you… You offered to do a depilo the other day.”

Draco grinned and peeked around the corner into the bathroom to see Harry frowning at his reflection. “I thought you'd never ask.” Harry turned towards him, and Draco studied his face for a moment. The spell wasn't difficult; it simply required a bit of concentration. Harry's jaw was more square than Draco's, and his nose was broader. His lips were fuller – Draco had to pause to kiss them at that thought – and the stubble was denser on his face than it was on Draco's. All of these things were important. Draco concentrated, brows furrowed together. Harry blinked, looking nervous.

“Relax,” Draco said, picking up his wand. “But don't move, or you'll bollocks it up.” Harry closed his eyes, looking tenser than before. “Depilo.” The stubble on Harry's face disintegrated before Draco's eyes.

“Thanks,” Harry said, reaching up to touch his face. “I still can't manage that one by myself.”

It was on the tip of Draco's tongue to offer to teach Harry the spell, but he realized he rather liked the idea of doing it for him. Harry slipped through the door past him, shoulder brushing against Draco's back as he did, and Draco leaned into the mirror and pointed his wand as his own reflection. He pursed his lips, concentrating, then said, “Dispicio”. The world came into focus all around him.

“Nor that one,” Harry sighed. He was standing in the doorway, buttoning his shirt.

Draco turned to smile at him. “That's one I can't do for you.”

“I suppose. Want to have lunch with me today?”

Draco let his hand trail over Harry's stomach as he passed him in the doorway. “I have a meeting, actually.”

“Me too, now that I think about it,” Harry replied. “Dinner, then?”

Draco found his shoes and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling them on. “Sure. Where?”

“My place. I'll cook.”

“Should I be frightened?”

Harry crossed to the bed and knelt in front of Draco. “I'm not a horrible cook, you know. Besides, I… have a surprise for you.”

Draco grinned. “A surprise? Really?”

Harry moved forward until he was between Draco's thighs. “Yes.” He leaned forward to kiss Draco's throat.

“What is it?”

Harry's response was muffled against Draco's skin. “It's a surprise, silly. Can't tell you.”

Draco let his hands drift down between Harry's thighs. “How about a hint?”

“You'll like it. That's my hint.” Harry caught his hands, grinning.

Draco stood and pulled Harry up against him. “That's not a very good hint, you know.” He kissed Harry, relishing the feeling of smooth skin against his face. That charm was several days overdue.

Harry pressed his forehead against Draco's. “I won't tell you. You'll just have to wait and see.”

Draco's hands drifted downwards to cup Harry's arse. He squeezed, pulling their groins together.

“Don't start something you can't finish,” Harry teased.

“Who says I won't finish?”

Harry kissed him firmly before pushing him away, grinning. The grin faded into a strange smile.

Draco blinked at him. “What?”

Harry opened his mouth, and then closed it again. He swallowed, audibly, but said nothing.

Draco sighed and fastened a missed button on Harry's shirt. “Guess I'll have to wait, won't I?”

Harry shrugged and smiled. “Come over around seven?”

Draco nodded. “Seven.” He cast his eyes away when Harry stooped to put on his shoes. A nice view of Harry's arse was the last thing he needed before heading to work.

:: :: :: :: ::

“Sir?” Draco looked up to see Grizabella hovering over his desk. “I'm finished with the list of missing persons.” She blinked at him, as if this were all the information she needed to report.

Draco made a vague gesture with his free hand. “And…?”

“No one within a reasonable radius of Durham disappeared in the last two weeks.” She shrugged.

Draco sighed. That had been an utter waste of time. He only hoped Tonks hadn't taken too much of a risk in getting that list to him. “Thanks. Oh, and I have a meeting at 1:00, so hold any messages for me.”

Grizabella nodded, twisting her hands together. “Where is your meeting?”

“Not here,” Draco replied, turning back to his computer monitor. She was good at her job, but she was rather nosy at times.

Of course, Draco had something to hide – else it wouldn't have seemed an intrusive question.

Grizabella's shoes clopped against the concrete floor as she walked away.

:: :: :: :: ::

The building appeared to be a run-down Muggle warehouse. Faded paint indicated it had once been the property of Johnson Bros., Ltd., but there was no sign that anyone had been inside in decades. Draco pulled his wool robe more tightly around him, shivering against the damp air. His glamour charm gave him the appearance of an ordinary businessman in a suit and overcoat, but underneath, he looked like a member of a distinguished wizarding family. Appearances were quite important, of course – particularly with this crowd.

He pulled a slip of parchment from his pocket, on which was written a single word in his father's sharp handwriting. He looked around, then stared at the rusting tin of the warehouse's large bay door and said, “Resero.”

The surface shimmered and a doorway appeared before him. Draco looked up and down the street once more before pushing it open. The interior of the building was dark, so he cast a lumos before stepping forward. The door closed behind him with a loud metallic clang. It had barely subsided before the rustle of a robe caught Draco's ear.

“Who's there?” he asked.

“Mr. Malfoy – sir.” Out of the shadows stepped the man Draco had encountered in the alley days before. Draco dropped his glamour charm and nodded his head at the man in greeting. The man gave a slight bow, and turned and indicated Draco should follow him.

They walked down a dark corridor, then took a lift down several levels. The doors opened into yet another corridor, at the end of which was a closed door. The man opened it to reveal a dimly lit chamber and two dozen men in robes standing about, conversing quietly. Each group grew silent as Draco passed them on his way to the front of the room. The rush of power was exhilarating, and Draco had to take a calming breath. He'd forgotten what this was like, to be feared and respected, on the basis of his name alone.

By the time he reached the front of the room, everyone had seated themselves on chairs that seemed to have been conjured since he'd entered. Everyone stared at Draco, waiting.

Waiting for him to fix their problems, perhaps. He suppressed a shudder. He was in over his head, but there was nothing he could do about it now.

“Well,” Draco said, turning to face them. “I understand you have questions.”

A few of the men whispered to each other; otherwise there was no response.

Draco crossed his arms over his chest. “Have I wasted my time in coming here?”

“No, of course not!” the man who'd met him said, turning to look at the others. He made a gesture that clearly meant get on with it!

One of the men in the back snorted. “I'm more interested in hearing what he has to say.”

“Aye,” another said. “What of Lucius Malfoy and his promises? We've sacrificed enough, put our own necks on the line. We want to see the rewards we were promised.”

“You'll get nothing,” another voice said. “All he sends us is his shirtlifting son–”

“Enough,” Draco said. “Or I'll leave this instant and tell my father of your disturbing lack of faith.” The room quieted, but their stares were still suspicious, if not outright hostile. Draco gritted his teeth. What had he expected? He glared at the man who'd made the last comment, someone whose face he didn't recognize at all. “If you have any further personal opinions about me, you'd best keep them to yourself.” The man smirked, but didn't respond. The room was silent for a long moment.

“We… we're all being harassed by Aurors,” a man near the front said at last. “My children have been questioned at school, and my wife was approached at her place of work.”

“Yes,” another man said. “They're asking too many questions. We agreed to support this because we were afraid of the Dark Lord, afraid of what might happen if he continued to gain power.”

“There are rumors,” an older man interjected, “that the Ministry is no longer under our influence, that they are close to discovering what we have done.”

Draco held up a hand. “They are aware of the smothering spell, it's true. They are actively searching for its source.”

“No thanks to you!” someone hissed. “We all know you're working with them.”

A dozen pairs of eyes stared at Draco. He forced a smile. “The best undercover operatives are those who work with the enemy, gentlemen. I can assure you they will not uncover the source.”

“The source has been out of contact for years,” a tall dark-skinned man said. His accent was unfamiliar to Draco. “He has not been to our meetings, and he does not respond to owls. He may have abandoned our cause.”

“That's ridiculous,” Draco replied, carefully controlling his response. “He must be cautious. He cannot make a single suspicious move.”

“That is true,” a man who appeared to be near Draco's age said. “We mustn't jump to conclusions so easily.”

“And what of Mr. Malfoy's relationship with Harry Potter?” asked the same man who'd made the shirtlifting remark earlier. “What conclusions could one draw from that?” A few people near the man shot him withering glances, but no one said anything.

“Leave Mr. Potter to me,” Draco replied with a grim smile. “I can assure you he is of no concern. He will not interfere.” There was a bit of murmuring at that.

“And if the Dark Lord returns?” one man asked. “What will become of us? He will know we assisted in this conspiracy, and none of us will escape his wrath.”

“Yes,” another said. “Will Malfoy protect us, as he promised?”

“He can't!” a voice from the back replied. “They've delivered nothing that was promised, so why should we believe them when they promise us more?” There was more murmuring from the others, and several heads nodded in agreement. “When the others come to my door and demand my allegiance, why should I resist? I'll join them to protect my family. I'll claim Malfoy forced me into this.”

There was an anxious excitement in the air, one Draco was all too familiar with. All the more reason to squash it down now.

“If you believe the Dark Lord would spare you, knowing what you've done, you're far more foolish than I thought.” He stared at any individual whose eye he could catch, and the room grew quiet. He let the tension build for a moment. “Gentlemen, your faith is necessary to our cause. If any of you turns aside, it makes our task more difficult. But together, we will ensure the Dark Lord remains…” Draco paused. He didn't know how to complete that sentence. “–does not return.”

The room was silent. Several of the men nodded and waited for Draco to continue. Others looked even more anxious.

Draco swallowed down his own anxiety – he'd said it, and no one had challenged him. He'd been right. They had somehow conspired against Voldemort, and now they were all terrified.

“The smothering spell is of the utmost importance,” the dark-skinned man said. “Those of us who work in the Ministry have heard the growing rumors about its existence, and every day we fear what will happen if it is lifted.”

“Mass chaos,” the young man said. “We'll be fighting a war on two fronts!”

“And if the Dark Lord returns, it's the end of us all!”

“I'll swear that Lucius Malfoy forced me into it!” someone said. A few voices chorused “Yes!” to this.

“Enough!” Draco shouted. He waited to regain their attention before continuing. “I will tell my father that your support is unwavering , that he can count on each of you.” He let his eyes sweep around the room, hoping to give them the impression that he was committing their names and faces to memory, to report them back to his father. “Unless anyone would rather I tell him otherwise?” His question was met with silence. “Good. If there is anything further you wish to discuss with me, you know how to contact me. I have wasted my time here, apparently.” He glared at them and strode from the room, sweeping his cloak behind him in as dramatic a gesture as he could manage. He exit was met with silence, though he was certain the conversation would resume as soon as he'd gone. All of them watched him leave the room, their eyes following his form. All but one, Draco noticed – a man in an elegant cloak stood near the door in the back, apparently lost in thought.

Draco walked to the door and paused before it, waiting for someone to open it for him, as was befitting someone of his stature. Two men scrambled forward, nearly tripping over themselves in their haste, but the man by the door hadn't moved. Just as it was opened, he finally looked up at Draco, fixing him with dark eyes. There was something familiar there, something Draco couldn't place. Defiance , perhaps. Mistrust. None of them trusted him, really, and he couldn't blame them.

Draco resisted the urge to hex the man for his insolence, instead shooting a mild glare at him before walking through the door and slamming it closed behind him.

No one followed him, to his relief. Draco took the lift back to the ground level, crossed to the door, and pushed it open.

It was raining. He hated getting wet. He could apparate, though, back to the apparition room they'd established in the office. It was standard field procedure not to apparate within 100 meters of a meeting point, though, in case anyone was looking out for incidences of magic.

Draco had a feeling it no longer mattered.

:: :: :: :: ::

Manny glanced up from his desk when Draco entered the office. “Great, you're back. How did the interviews go?”

Draco shrugged. “As expected.”

“Did you learn anything new?”

Draco sat and turned on his monitor. “Not really.” He hated having to lie to Manny like this, but he couldn't see another way to go. He simply couldn't tell anyone the truth – that he'd been in contact with his father, that he'd been meeting with recalcitrant Death Eaters all week, and that each time, he'd heard the same story: They were afraid. They'd vaguely conspired against Voldemort. They feared that the Ministry investigation – which Draco happened to be leading – would have disastrous consequences, upsetting the delicate balance they'd been maintaining for years.

He was starting to wonder if they were right.

Manny was still staring at him. Draco leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Hermione was correct. Aurors are highly secretive.” That, at least, was true. He hadn't heard from Tonks since they'd last spoken on Monday. He'd owled her twice, to no avail.

“Speaking of secretive,” Manny said, turning his chair to face Draco, “Harry thinks they've made a breakthrough in the search for the source of the smothering spell. They think it's a person.”

Draco looked up from his monitor. “Really?” He felt something twist in his belly.

“Yes. Turns out the strength of the spell waxes and wanes according to the time of day and even moves around from building to building. It's stronger in the daytime and fades almost completely at night.”

Draco frowned, trying to decide how much information to reveal. “But that doesn't necessarily mean the source is one person. Couldn't it just be a function of how many people are present in the building? Perhaps it's amplified by the people it affects.”

Manny nodded. “That could still be the case, even if it's maintained by an individual. Good thinking!” He turned to his computer and began typing. “I'll email that idea to Hermione.”

Draco blinked. “Email? When did they get internet access over there?”

Manny grinned. “This morning. Apparently Hermione worked something out with a Muggle internet service, and they've been installing the wiring all week. It drove the staff crazy, since they couldn't use magic when the Muggle technicians were around. And they had to dress like Muggles for two whole days.”

Draco couldn't help but grin. “That must have been entertaining. Do any of them actually know how to use a computer?” He'd been so immersed in his own work he hadn't heard anything about this.

Manny laughed. “I'm sure Hermione is already working on that.”

On a whim, Draco opened his inbox. Sure enough, he had emails from both Hermione and Harry. “Wow,” he muttered, opening the one from Hermione.

From: Hermione Granger Weasley <hgw@merlin.gov.uk>
To: Draco Malfoy <d.malfoy@beowulf.fbi.gov>
Date: 4 March, 2004 11:22
Subject: New email address

Draco,

Believe it or not, we now have internet access in our building! I'll spare you the details of the ordeal we suffered to get it finished, but you probably understand how excited we all are about the prospect of having new means of inter-office communication! I'll still check the yahoo address, but this one is now the best way to reach me.

Best,
Hermione

–
Hermione Granger Weasley
Assistant Director of Communications
Investigative Services Division
Ministry of Magic , United Kingdom

Owl post attn: Hermione Granger Weasley
Email: hgw@merlin.gov.uk
Phone: 020 7276 1234
Fax: 020 7276 1279

Draco snorted. He doubted anyone else was as enthusiastic about this as Hermione. He opened the message from Harry.

From: Harry Potter <hpotter@merlin.gov.uk>
To: Draco Malfoy <d.malfoy@beowulf.fbi.gov>
Date: 4 March, 2004 11:41
Subject: Email

We have email over here now, and Hermione is promising to start working on encryption. So, maybe, we won't have to owl files to each other anymore. She's quite excited, as you can probably guess. Anyway, here is my new email address.

Also, are you still coming at 7:00 ?

Harry

–
Harry Potter

Draco smiled and clicked “reply”.

From: Draco Malfoy <d.malfoy@beowulf.fbi.gov>
To: Harry Potter <hpotter@merlin.gov.uk>
Date: 4 March, 2004 15:01
Subject: RE: Email

Harry,

I'm glad to see the Ministry's agreed to move into the 21 st century at last.

> Also, are you still coming at 7:00 ?

I thought you wanted to have dinner first? ;-)

Draco

PS – We need to have a little talk about commas.

–
Draco Malfoy
Deputy Special Agent
Division of Magical and Occult Investigation
Federal Bureau of Investigation
Mail: PO Box 1423 - A, New York , NY , 10016 , USA
Phone: (212) 314-9935
Fax: (212) 314-9871

He pressed send, then noticed there was another email in his inbox from Hermione. He scanned it: she'd got Manny's email and wanted to know if Draco could come to a meeting there in fifteen minutes. Draco frowned at the screen.

“We could use your help on this, you know.” Draco looked up at Manny, surprised. “She copied me on the email,” he explained. “I know you have lots of other stuff on your plate, but this is much closer to your area of expertise than mine.”

Draco shrugged. “I suppose that's true.” If things went as planned, he'd need a lot more information about the smothering spell anyway. His mind was already turning with questions he wanted to ask.

But what if they found out who the source was? What would he do? At the moment, he wasn't certain. The talk of chaos and war at the meeting hours earlier had shaken him, and he was no longer certain that eliminating the smothering spell was a good idea – at least not until they knew more about why it was there.

“Harry and Hermione have been working to develop detection spells lately,” Manny continued. “That's how they learned the source was a person.”

Draco frowned. “They think the source is a person, but they've no idea who it could be?”

“There are too many possibilities. They can't just go around casting spells on people in the Ministry of Magic, you know. They have to find ways to be discreet about it.”

Draco glanced at his schedule, but it was empty. He'd left it open, having no idea how long his early afternoon meeting would be. “I guess I'm going.”

“Thanks,” Manny said, turning back to his computer. “We can port over in a few minutes, if you want.”

Draco nodded. His inbox beeped.

From: Harry Potter <hpotter@merlin.gov.uk>
To: Draco Malfoy <d.malfoy@beowulf.fbi.gov>
Date: 4 March, 2004 15:03
Subject: RE: Email

Ha ha. Cute. I'll take that as a ‘yes'.

And what's wrong with my use of commas, anyway?

Harry

–
Harry Potter

Draco rolled his eyes and grinned. He glanced across the room at Manny, who was engrossed in reading something on his monitor. “I'm ready to go whenever you are.”

:: :: :: :: ::

The apparition room in the Farringdon branch of the Ministry of Magic office complex was unusually brightly lit. Draco always forgot to close his eyes when he apparated there.

“Shit,” he muttered, squinting.

Manny appeared next to him a second later, wearing a pair of Muggle sunglasses. He grinned at Draco.

“Clever,” Draco said, rolling his eyes.

Manny removed the sunglasses. “Hearing you bitch about it is half the fun of coming here.”

“And what's the other half?” Draco asked as they stepped through the door into the main corridor.

“Hi,” Manny said, looking over Draco's shoulder and grinning from ear to ear.

“Hello,” Hermione replied, stepping forward to kiss him. She was grinning too. “We're meeting in a different place, so I thought I'd come meet you. Harry's running a bit late.”

“That's a surprise,” Draco said with a snort. Harry's habitual lateness was endearing to an extent, but Draco reserved the right to take the piss out of him for it.

The conference room was on a different level than the apparition room, up two floors and across the building. Hermione smiled at Draco as they walked along. “Thanks for coming on such short notice. We could really use your help.”

Draco shrugged. “No problem. It sounds like you've made a lot of progress.”

“We have. But I should probably tell you about it in a more secure place.”

They continued in silence, Hermione and Manny brushing each other's shoulders as they walked. Draco trailed behind them, watching. Manny was completely smitten, and so was Hermione, from what Draco could tell. He had pressed Manny for details on more than one occasion, but Manny was increasingly tight-lipped about their relationship. Draco figured that was a good sign, as Manny had always been the sort to kiss and tell.

A twinge in Draco's temple interrupted his thoughts – the smothering spell. He could feel it snake around him, like tendrils of smoke filtering into his mind. It took concentration to keep it at bay. He had no idea if Hermione and Manny felt it as strongly as he did. He couldn't imagine the effect of living with it every day for years, as so many in this building had done.

The conference room they met in was the same one where Draco had seen Harry for the first time after returning to England a few weeks before. He hadn't been in it since then and it gave him a strange thrill to see the room. He sank into the same chair he'd been in that day and ran his hand over the table. Harry had sat right here and kissed him, even after Draco'd confessed to being a horribly lovesick idiot.

This was why he'd come back – because of Harry. Not because of smothering spells or his father's scheming or anything else. Because he loved Harry.

The door opened and Harry came in. He paused when he saw Draco, looking remarkably like he'd done three weeks ago when he walked through that door and saw Draco for the first time.

Draco smiled.

“What are you doing here?” Harry asked, frowning. Draco's smile faded.

“I invited him,” Hermione said, opening a folder in front of her. “I want to know what he thinks.”

“Is that all right?” Draco asked.

“Yes, of course,” Harry said, taking a seat across from Draco. “Sorry – I was just surprised to see you.” He smiled, but it seemed a bit forced.

“Harry, why don't you begin?” Hermione said. She was still shuffling through pieces of parchment.

Harry nodded and looked across the table at Manny. “We've been suspicious for a week now that the smothering spell was being implemented by an individual,” Harry said. “Today I received an anonymous tip to that effect.”

“So you're fairly certain?” Manny asked.

Hermione pulled a sheet of parchment from the stack and slid it over to Manny. “I crunched the numbers just an hour ago. The detection array we set up in the building registers fairly regular patterns of strength and weakness, consistent with the hours kept by the staff. The differences are statistically significant.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “You didn't have to go to all that trouble.”

“Yes, I did.” She gave Harry a look that Draco imagined she had been perfecting for years. “We're going to need this sort of evidence if we're going to get permission to cast a surveillance net.”

“A net?” Draco repeated, glancing at each of them in turn. “You're joking.”

Hermione turned her look to Draco. “We need to track movements of individuals in the building if we have any hope of catching the culprit.”

Draco folded his hands on the table. “You invited me here so I could give you my opinion, so I won't waste your time. This is a terrible idea, for several reasons. First, surveillance nets are very difficult spells to cast. You'd need at least six people working in tandem to cast one on a building this size. Second, it's so difficult to do that you won't be able to cast it without people finding out, and they aren't going to like it. They'll change their behavior patterns out of sheer self-consciousness. That will cloak the movements of the source and fuck your stats right up. You'll have no chance to use your original numbers as a baseline – not for a week or so at least.” Hermione was still frowning, but she was listening. Draco paused, trying to gage the others' responses to his words. “And third… well, perhaps I should ask this question first: If you uncovered the source, what would you do?”

“What would we do?” Harry repeated, eys narrowing at Draco. “Arrest them, probably. Shut down the smothering spell as quickly as possible.”

“Are you certain that's a good idea?” The others stared at him, but Draco held Harry's gaze. “After all, as long as it's in place, they won't have to act. But if you take it down, perhaps they'll panic, do something rash.”

“But eliminating the smothering spell has been the goal all along,” Harry replied. “It's the first step in the investigation.”

“If you know who is generating the spell, you could simply watch him for a while,” Draco said. “It would be an opportunity to learn more about the entire operation.”

“He has a point,” Hermione interjected.

Harry looked away and pursed his lips. “Yes, he does. I just… How do we know we won't learn a great deal by lifting the spell? Perhaps people will remember things, or we'll see new clues we've been missing.”

“Yes, that could be true,” Draco said, keeping his tone even. He had more than one reason to convince them not to take down the smothering spell, and he knew he needed to tread lightly here. “But as long as the spell is in place, it could provide cover to investigate who in this building is working with the Death Eaters. If the source is caught, we'll have lost that opportunity.”

“Perhaps we could just wait a week,” Manny suggested, “and continue our investigation as if nothing had been learned. If nothing turns up, we can arrest the source.”

Hermione looked thoughtful. “I agree. If they don't know we've found them, they won't have their guard up.”

All three of them turned to look at Harry, who remained silent for a moment. He pressed his fingers into his forehead and sighed. “I seem to be in the minority. But for the record, I think this is a bad idea.”

Hermione nodded. “Noted. It's settled, then.”

“Of course, all of this is still hypothetical,” Harry said, casting a glance at Draco. “And we've no way of finding out who the source is.”

“Any ideas how to go about finding him?” Draco asked.

“Or her,” Hermione said. “We shouldn't make assumptions just yet.”

Draco studied his fingernails and shrugged.

“Even though Draco objects, there's still the net,” Harry said.

Manny shook his head. “Too easy to sense. I agree that everyone will know we're up to something. We should do this as quietly as possible.”

They all stared at the table for a long moment.

Draco rubbed at his temple. “If you can narrow the pool of suspects down to a handful, it might be possible to cast tracking spells.”

“They'd notice that, don't you think?” Harry snorted.

“Not necessarily,” Draco replied. “There are ways of casting such spells surreptitiously. I used to do it quite a lot when working undercover – though never with something as complex as what you'd need here.”

“That was Ron's speciality, actually,” Hermione said, twisting a lock of hair around one finger. “In fact, I still have his old notes. I coded them all myself and packed them away after he died.” She looked at Harry. “He might have found something useful. Maybe I should look through them?”

Harry's forehead furrowed. “Are you sure? I could do it, if you want.”

Hermione smiled. “No, I can do it. I want to, actually.”

Draco glanced at Manny. Manny's expression was a mix of sympathy and concern. He wasn't trying to catch Hermione's eye, and he didn't seem the least bit uncomfortable at the emotion in Hermione's voice at the mention of her late husband. Draco wondered how Manny managed not to be jealous of Ron – especially since Draco could barely manage it himself, and Ron and Harry were never even involved.

“In the meantime, let's split up the list of suspects,” Harry said, pulling a piece of parchment from Hermione's stack. “We can narrow it down to a handful while we're trying to find a solution.” He read the list of names aloud.

Draco claimed a few that he knew were allies of his father's, thinking he could kill two birds with one stone. If anyone thought his choices strange, they didn't say.

:: :: :: :: ::

Tonks hadn't responded to any of his owls this week, so Draco didn't expect her to respond to this one. Of course, he hoped she'd find this information a bit more intriguing.

Tonks, 

I've made contact. I have much to tell you, including some new inside information. I still need those files if you've been able to get them. Please respond with a time we can meet. 

Draco

He folded the note and prepared to cast the sealing charm, then looked up to see Grizabella standing beside his desk. She had an odd expression on her face – even more odd than usual.

“There's a man all dressed in brown asking for you,” she said.

“Really? Where?”

She nodded towards the entrance. “Outside. Seems a bit agitated. I found him out there pounding on the door. Says he has something for you.”

Draco followed her to the front, wondering who the hell would know to find him here. He held his wand at his side as Grizabella pushed open the front door.

A man in a UPS uniform stood on the pavement, clutching a clipboard and a small package. He looked rather confused.

Draco grinned at Grizabella and sheathed his wand in his sleeve. “It's all right,” he told her, then turned to the man. “You have a delivery for me?”

The man handed him the clipboard and pointed at where Draco should sign. “I've been standing out here for ten minutes. Didn't think anyone was in this building.” He craned his neck to peer into the open doorway, but Grizabella closed it until only her foot was keeping it open.

“We're renovating,” Draco told him. “It'll take a while to clean up the mess, though.” He smiled and handed the clipboard back.

“Here you are,” the man said, handing him a thick envelope. “Good luck cleaning this place up.”

Draco waited until the man's back was turned before opening the door enough to slip back inside. “It's a Muggle delivery service,” he told Grizabella.

“Ah,” she said, but her strange expression hadn't changed.

“Oh, there's a note on my desk that needs to be owled to Ms. Tonks at the Ministry. Will you take care of that right away?”

“Yes sir.” She disappeared around the corner.

Draco turned the envelope over. The return address was that of the FBI office he'd worked for in New York. He opened it while walking back to his office, not looking up when he passed Grizabella in the corridor. The envelope contained a thick stack of papers, and on top of the stack was a hand-written note.

Draco,

Here are your employment records from November 2000 through May 2001, as requested. I had to be a little sneaky about getting them – technically, you need special permission to access these. That's two you owe me now. When are you going to be back in town?

Jeff

Draco spread the papers out on his desk, scanning over them. He had been deep undercover for much of this time period, so the records were sketchy. In November, he'd been assigned to infiltrate a group of Canadian wizards who were running drugs across the border at Niagara . The assignment had lasted until the beginning of January, and the record mostly consisted of his own reports highlighting how much he hated Buffalo 's weather. That assignment had been semi-successful, though. He hadn't had to buy weed for months after, and he still kept in touch with a few of those blokes. One never knew when such connections might be useful.

In mid-January, he'd gone undercover again, this time staying in the city. His assignment had been to investigate the murder of an FBI informant by a particularly malicious group of Death Eaters who operated on the lower east side. He'd infiltrated the group easily using his own identity – the Malfoy name carried a surprising amount of weight on the east coast of the US .

Draco read through the papers twice, but found no records between January 20 and February 25. He'd sent a brief note in to the FBI reporting his early success in infiltrating the group, and then nothing until another report more then a month later indicating that he'd learned the informant had been feeding the FBI false information in the first place. As had he, of course, but that was beside the point.

Draco leaned back in his chair and rubbed at his temples. He remembered the day he'd filed that second report. He'd just come from a particularly interesting meeting with the Death Eater crew and realized he hadn't reported in weeks. The fact that he'd made such a huge slip had frightened him at the time – he'd worked hard to maintain a delicate balance as a freelance operative. Forgetting to report to one of his employers was uncharacteristically irresponsible of him. It had been another two years before he'd realized he couldn't remember anything from that time period.

He had hoped the FBI's records would reveal something else, but they seemed to be restricted to his own reports, along with the occasional summary written by a supervisor. There was a record indicating he'd been out of the country when he'd lived just across the border from Buffalo , but no record suggested he'd left the US during the missing weeks.

Perhaps Snape was wrong. If Draco had left the US , surely the FBI would have a record of it. He'd checked his passport three times in the last few days, but there was nothing there to indicate he'd been back in the UK three years ago.

It was just another dead end. Draco gathered the papers back together and shoved them in a desk drawer. It was beyond frustrating. He had no idea what was real and what was not.

Perhaps he should ask his father after all. With the exception of their first meeting, their communications had only consisted of a few words sent by owl. Draco didn't want to spend any more time in the man's presence than was necessary.

At least Lucius wasn't tormenting his dreams any more.

:: :: :: :: ::

At a quarter to seven , Draco couldn't wait any longer. He flooed to Harry's flat.

The scent of something roasting filled the air, making Draco's stomach rumble. In the kitchen, a few pots were bubbling away on the hob. Harry was nowhere in sight.

“Harry?” Draco called, dusting himself off. He put the bottle of dessert wine he'd brought into the refrigerator.

“In here!” he heard from the bedroom.

Draco peeked through the doorway to see Harry standing before the mirror over the dresser, staring at his own reflection. He ran a hand through his unruly hair, smoothing it down, then picked his glasses up from the dresser and put them on.

“You're early,” he said, straightening out the black jumper he'd apparently just pulled over his head. He wore nothing else but his underpants.

“Is that a problem?” Draco asked, leaning against the doorframe.

Harry turned and smiled at him. “Of course not. I'd just planned to be dressed before you got here.”

Draco walked towards him, grinning. “Why bother? It's all going to come off again straight away.” His hands slid around Harry's hips to squeeze his arse.

Harry laughed. “Dinner's almost ready.”

“Oh, come on,” Draco whispered, lips trailing over Harry's neck. “If we do it now, we'll be ready for another go after dessert.”

“I'm in the middle of cooking,” Harry protested, though he let his head fall back enough to give Draco more access.

“This won't take long,” Draco said, dropping to his knees.

Harry put his hands on his hips and grinned down at him. “Oh, all right.”

Draco tugged his underpants down enough to free his cock. It stiffened before Draco's eyes and then even more in his mouth. A moment later, Harry's hands were in Draco's hair and he was gasping for breath.

“God, that's… you have to teach me how to do that thing you do with your tongue.”

Draco did it again, and Harry leaned back against the dresser for support, groaning.

“Wait,” Harry said, pushing him back. “Timer's going off… shit.”

“Cast a spell or something.”

“Can't. Sorry. I'll be right back, okay? Don't move.” He kissed the top of Draco's head and kicked his underpants off before disappearing through the door.

Draco sat on his heels for a moment before following. Harry was removing a baking dish from the oven when Draco turned the corner. He was naked from the waist down and his erection jutted out from his body almost comically. He set the dish on the hob.

“Don't hurt yourself,” Draco said. “That's quite a valuable part of your anatomy you're letting get close to open flame.”

Harry grinned. “You think I haven't cooked in the nude before?”

Draco eyed Harry's erection. “Is it always so exciting for you?”

Harry rolled his eyes in response. Draco stepped behind him as he pulled foil back from the dish to reveal a whole chicken. “That smells fantastic,” Draco whispered, catching Harry's earlobe between his lips.

“Is this really such a good moment to distract me?” Harry asked.

Draco reached down and found Harry's erection. “Maybe I'd better keep this safe for you.” He stroked slowly and felt Harry shudder against him.

“Draco, please.” Harry managed to toss the foil aside, and then planted a hand on the countertop on each side of the hob. “Just give me a minute, okay? I need to taste what's in these pots and then I'm all yours, I promise.”

“But I need to taste you,” Draco replied, dropping to his knees. He pried Harry's arse cheeks apart with his fingers.

“Oh god,” Harry said. His hands hadn't left the countertop.

Draco flicked his tongue lightly across Harry's exposed hole and Harry whimpered. Draco pulled his cheeks further apart and continued a slow tease with his tongue. The fact that Harry liked this so much motivated him to go as slowly as he could bear, even though his own cock was aching in his trousers. He pressed the tip of his tongue into the center of the hole and was surprised at how easily it gave way.

He smiled and pushed his tongue in, and Harry groaned. Draco fucked him with his tongue slowly and steadily, trying not to think about how much he wanted to do this with another part of his body. Maybe later. Harry wasn't putting up any resistance at the moment, and that was a good sign.

Harry's hand had drifted down to stroke himself while Draco rimmed him. The display was nearly shocking – Draco hadn't seen Harry touch himself like that before. Unfortunately, he still couldn't see it well from this position.

“Harry,” he panted, “I want –”

“Me too,” Harry said turning around and pulling Draco up. “I want to touch you.” His eyes were dark and wild, and the sight of it made Draco melt. He let Harry fumble with the fastening of his trousers and push them down, even let Harry bat his hands away from that gorgeous cock Draco wanted to taste again. Harry looked around the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of cooking oil.

“Wait, you're not going to–” Draco's protest was cut off by Harry's mouth over his. He felt Harry's slick hand around his cock, felt him press it against his own and stroke both together. “Mmmmphff,” Draco said, twining his arms around Harry's neck.

Harry backed them up against the refrigerator and pumped his hand, pressing their cocks together. The oil was slick and getting warmer by the second, and the sensation of Harry's foreskin sliding against his own felt better than Draco could remember it doing before. He was nearly limp from the pleasure of it, from the feeling of Harry's tongue swirling around his, from the heat and desire pouring off his body in waves Draco could nearly feel. He was drowning, he thought.

His orgasm hit him hard, so hard his knees buckled. He was dimly aware of Harry biting his shoulder, hand clenched tightly around their cocks, motion frozen.

Draco slid down the refrigerator and felt Harry follow him. He opened his eyes and gestured toward the living area. “Why are we in the kitchen when there's a perfectly comfortable sofa over there?”

Harry's damp forehead was pressed into his neck. “Why not?”

Draco let his head fall back against the refrigerator. “I don't think I've had sex in a kitchen before.”

“You're kidding,” Harry said. He kissed Draco's cheek and pushed himself to his feet. “Hungry?”

“Mmmm, yeah.” Draco sighed, smiling up at him. The fluorescent light above Harry's head framed his hair, almost looking like a halo. Saint Potter. Draco grinned.

:: :: :: :: ::

The chicken was good, if not fantastic. Harry had paired it with a light American pinot noir, which surprised Draco. Either Harry had learned enough to know it was a good match or he was so ignorant of wine that he wasn't even aware of the common misconception that all chicken should be served with white wine.

“This is nice,” Draco said, taking a bite of chicken.

“Thanks,” Harry replied, smiling. “This is a standby, actually. Easy to make when distracted.”

Draco grinned. “I'm just glad you're not cross with me about the meeting today.”

Harry seemed to looked startled for a moment before he shrugged and cut a piece of asparagus in half. “Let's not talk about work tonight.”

“All right.” Draco thought for a moment, searching for a topic. “Did you ever get your floo wards reset?”

“Been too busy. Besides, I sort of like the fact that you're the only person who can pop over unannounced.”

“I never pop over unannounced.”

“But you could,” Harry said, sipping his wine.

“I prefer that you know I'm coming, so a lavish feast such as this can be prepared.” Harry rolled his eyes, and Draco laughed. “No, it's very good, really!”

“I used to hate cooking,” Harry said, pausing to take a bite of chicken. “My aunt and uncle made me do all of the cooking once I was old enough to reach the hob.”

Draco placed his knife and fork at four o'clock and picked up his wine glass. He knew a little about Harry's upbringing, but it was a topic Harry didn't discuss much. “Did they?”

“Yes. Of course, my aunt was a terrible cook and a worse teacher, and they all had completely pedestrian tastes in cuisine. I can make eighteen different kinds of casserole, but that's hardly cooking.”

Draco swirled the remains of the pinot in his glass. “So who taught you to cook?”

Harry pursed his lips. “Cho, actually. Her mother is a gourmet, or something, so she was very good at it too. She started dreading my cooking nights, and she finally took it upon herself to teach me some of the basics.”

Draco wasn't sure he liked discussing something good about Harry's ex-wife. “I took a cooking class in New York once.”

“Really?” Harry pushed his plate away.

“I had a few friends who were into that sort of thing. I'd grown up with wine and fine food, and I was tired of having to go to restaurants all the time to get it. I decided to learn how Muggles managed.”

Harry laughed, then looked thoughtful for a moment. “You're so different than you were in school.”

Draco drained his wine glass. “So are you. I brought some dessert wine. Want to try it?”

“Sure.”

Draco retrieved the bottle from the fridge and searched the cabinets for appropriate glasses. When he could find none, he dug out his wand and transfigured the ones on the table into slim flutes with flared rims.

“You're trying to tell me something,” Harry quipped.

“Took you long enough to catch on.” Draco opened the bottle with a quick spell and poured wine into each glass. “This is called ice wine,” he told Harry. “It's a speciality in upstate New York .”

Harry swirled his glass, watching the liquid cling to the sides. “Did you bring this with you from America ?”

“I bought it in the wine shop down the street from my flat, actually.”

“Sweet,” Harry said. “I like it.”

Draco smiled at him. “I thought you would.”

Harry stood and moved to the sofa, gesturing for Draco to follow. They sat and leaned against each other, watching the fire. Harry sipped his wine for a few quiet moments, and then set his glass down. “I have something for you.”

Draco grinned. “My surprise?”

“Hold out your hand,” Harry said. Draco did, and Harry dropped something into it.

It was an ordinary-looking key. Draco stared at it for a moment, and then looked up at Harry.

“To the flat,” Harry explained. “I thought you should have one.”

“Okay,” Draco said, staring down at it. “Thanks.” He'd been expecting something a little more interesting than that.

“And I was thinking,” Harry began, words a little rushed, as if he were nervous, “that you could move in. If you wanted.” He bit his lip and picked up his glass again, taking a large gulp of wine.

Draco felt his stomach drop. “I… move in?” He stared at Harry.

“Yeah,” Harry said, fingers twisting around the stem of the wine glass. “Move in.”

“You're serious,” Draco said. He had no idea how to respond to this.

“Yes, of course,” Harry replied, finally looking up. “We're always at each other's places anyway, and–”

“I have a lease,” Draco interrupted. “I can't just leave Manny there.”

Harry blinked at him. “I'm sure he'd be fine. We could just buy it out.”

“We?” Draco repeated. His stomach was churning. “Harry… don't you think it's a bit soon to be thinking of living together?”

“No,” Harry replied, eyes earnest.

Draco stared at him for a moment. “It's only been two weeks.”

Harry's face was carefully blank. “Almost a month, really. I… I thought this was what you wanted.”

“What I wanted? Oh, god.” Draco put his wine glass down and leaned forward, head in his hands. This was terrifying in a way he couldn't have predicted. He was in love with Harry, but the idea of living with someone he barely knew–

“Well, what do you want, then?” Harry asked. His voice had an edge of frustration to it. “When you came here you said you wanted to get married someday and I thought–”

“I never said that!” Draco blurted, tone harsher than he'd intended. Hurt flashed in Harry's eyes for a moment, and Draco felt full-fledged panic begin to settle in his gut. “I mean, someday is a long way off. We barely know each other. Why rush things?”

“We barely know each other?” Harry repeated. “How can you say that? We've spent most of the last month together. You know me better than anyone, even Hermione.”

Draco cringed. Harry only thought he knew Draco, and that made the whole situation worse. “Can we please just take it slow for a while? My lease is up in a little more than two months. I'm supposed to go back to New York , but–”

“You're still thinking of going back?” Harry was on his feet now, staring down at Draco. “Have I been misinterpreting all of this?”

“No!” Draco said. “That's not it at all.”

Harry was staring at the fireplace. “I'm a world class idiot, aren't I?”

“Harry… don't, please.”

“Oh god,” Harry breathed. “I thought you felt the same way I did.”

“I do, I just…” Draco pulled his knees into his chest. “This is new to me, you know. I've never been in a serious relationship, and you… you've been married. Maybe it's easy for you to just rearrange your life around this, but I can't.”

“Why not?” Harry said, pacing now.

“Because… I don't know. Because I'm terrified. Because I have no idea what to expect. Because I need more time.”

“Because you still don't trust me,” Harry said.

“That's not true!”

“I've tried to be who you want me to be, Draco. What more do you want me to do?”

“I want you to be yourself. I don't want you to pretend to be something you're not.” He looked away from Harry then, flinching at his own hypocrisy. The truth was that Draco didn't think Harry would want him if he knew everything. If he knew Draco had been meeting with Death Eaters all week, or that he'd been lying to everyone all along, for years now. He wasn't going to let himself get too entangled in this relationship before all of that was sorted out. He had to protect himself. No one else would.

“I love you,” Harry said, voice so soft Draco almost missed the words. He looked up. “And that's who I am right now. Someone who loves you.”

Draco felt emotion swelling in his throat and pushed it back down. He had no doubt that Harry was being earnest, that he really, truly loved the person he thought Draco was.

But Draco wasn't sure that person was real.

“I'm sorry,” Draco whispered, voice hoarse. “Please just… I want this Harry, I really do, but–”

“But you don't love me,” Harry said.

“No, that's not… I do. I really think I do. I just–”

“You think you love me?” Harry said, turning to stare at him. “Don't fuck with me, Draco, not now. I've handed you my heart on a silver fucking platter, and you've rejected it. Don't patronize me on top of everything else.”

“I'm not patronizing you!”

“Has this all been about sex for you?” Harry asked, eyes hard. “Is that it? Were you just going to stick around long enough to get me to bottom for you and then head back to New York , another notch on your bedpost?”

“Don't be ridiculous!”

“I think you should go,” Harry said, folding his arms over his chest and turning away.

“What?” Draco's voice rose to an embarrassing pitch.

“Go,” Harry said. He didn't sound angry, just tired. Sad. Hurt. “This is only going to lead to a fight, and I really don't want to fight with you right now.”

Weren't they already fighting? Draco remained where he was, dumbfounded. Harry couldn't be serious.

“Please,” Harry said, voice wavering. “I've made enough of a fool of myself tonight as it is. Don't make it worse than you already have.”

Draco stood and took a step forward. “Harry, please–”

“Just go!” Harry said, nearly shouting. He wiped at his face with the heels of his hands. “Please.”

Draco swallowed and nodded, backing towards the fireplace. There must be something he could say right now that would fix everything. There was always something. Why couldn't he think of anything?

“Maybe… I'll call you tomorrow,” Harry said, still not looking at him.

Draco's fingers were numb as they fumbled with the dish of floo powder. He didn't want to go. He wanted to stay right there, to march across the room and take Harry in his arms, knock some sense into him. He ought to do that.

But Harry's eyes met his at that moment, and they were hard, even cold. Draco felt his stomach drop. It was too late. He closed his eyes and stepped into the fireplace.

A moment later, he was standing in his own flat, shivering in the darkness. His hand hurt, and he realized he was still clenching his fist around the key Harry'd given him.

“Oh god,” he said aloud, then covered his mouth with the other hand. He'd just been offered exactly what he wanted, but he'd been too afraid to take it – and now it might be too late. A sob escaped the tightness in his throat as he sank to the floor.

The key hit the floor with a sharp sound and skittered across it, lost in the darkness.

:: :: :: :: ::

:: :: :: :: ::

Friday, 5 March, 2004

From: Draco Malfoy <d.malfoy@beowulf.fbi.gov>
To: Harry Potter <hpotter@merlin.gov.uk>
Date: 5 March, 2004 08:01
Subject: (no subject)

Harry,

I just rang your office in case you got in early. Please call me as soon as you get in. I'm so very sorry about last night.

Draco

–
Draco Malfoy
Deputy Special Agent
Division of Magical and Occult Investigation
Federal Bureau of Investigation

Mail: PO Box 1423 - A, New York , NY , 10016 , USA
Phone: (212) 314-9935
Fax: (212) 314-9871

 

:: :: :: :: ::

 

From: Draco Malfoy <d.malfoy@beowulf.fbi.gov>
To: Harry Potter <hpotter@merlin.gov.uk>
Date: 5 March, 2004 08:57
Subject: Hello?

Harry,

I've called your office three times and you're either not there or you aren't answering. I know I was a complete prick last night, and I'm sorry. Please let me make it up to you?

Draco

–
Draco Malfoy
Deputy Special Agent
Division of Magical and Occult Investigation
Federal Bureau of Investigation

Mail: PO Box 1423 - A, New York , NY , 10016 , USA
Phone: (212) 314-9935
Fax: (212) 314-9871

:: :: :: :: ::

 

From: Draco Malfoy <d.malfoy@beowulf.fbi.gov>
To: Harry Potter <hpotter@merlin.gov.uk>
Date: 5 March, 2004 09:38
Subject: Call me?

Harry,

I know you're pissed at me, and you've every right to be. Please grant me the opportunity to grovel for your forgiveness in person. Can you meet me for lunch?

Draco

–
Draco Malfoy
Deputy Special Agent
Division of Magical and Occult Investigation
Federal Bureau of Investigation

Mail: PO Box 1423 - A, New York , NY , 10016 , USA
Phone: (212) 314-9935
Fax: (212) 314-9871

:: :: :: :: ::

Draco pressed his forehead into his desk. He'd called Harry's office so many times that morning he was starting to feel like a stalker. He hadn't been able to sleep the night before and his head was pounding. His eyes had been so irritated that morning that he couldn't even manage the vision charm; he'd had to wear glasses today.

He hadn't made any progress on his work, of course. Manny had been in and out all morning, and when he was there Draco tried to look busy. He refreshed his inbox every few minutes, hoping Harry would reply. He had even dashed to the toilet and back as quickly as he could, afraid of missing Harry's call. And he replayed the scene from the night before in his mind, over and over again.

“Hungry?” Manny asked, startling Draco from his thoughts.

“No, not really.” Draco refreshed his inbox once more. Nothing new appeared.

“You look like shit today.”

“Thanks ever so.”

“No, I mean it. Are you all right?”

Draco only shrugged in response.

Manny stood. “I'm going to get something to eat. Come on.”

Draco groaned. “I really don't–”

“Oh, stop being so noble. Something's wrong and you need a break. I'll even buy you lunch.” Manny crossed his arms over his chest and gave Draco a mock-stern look.

Draco sighed and glanced at the computer screen again. Harry hadn't called or emailed yet, and as much as Draco wanted to sit there and wait to hear from him, it was rather pathetic.

They made their way down the street to a small Indian place Manny was fond of. Draco kept waiting for Manny to ask him what was wrong, but he didn't. He just walked quietly at Draco's side, chatted inanely with him after they ordered, and said very little while he scarfed down his lamb curry. Draco mostly pushed his shrimp vindaloo around on the plate, staring at the patterns on the tablecloth.

The silence became increasingly uncomfortable, and Draco finally couldn't bear it. “So… how are things going with Hermione?”

Manny paused mid-chew and looked up. “Pretty good.” There was a pause while he swallowed. “I mean, it's been a little quick for my comfort, but god – she's so amazing. And her kids are sweet, and we fit so well together.” He grinned, and it was a moment before Draco realized it was meant to be a pun. He gave Manny a weak smile, and Manny shrugged and continued: “Anyway, she's a wonderful woman. Beautiful, smart, funny – I'm starting to think this could be for real.”

“How do you know?”

“I don't know. But we're already so comfortable together. She makes me laugh. She makes me weak in the knees. When I think about where I'll be in a few months or a year, I think about her being there too, with Cally and Harley.”

Draco managed to smile. “Your mum is going to love her.”

“I just told my parents about her a few days ago, actually.” Manny paused to take another bite of his curry. “They were starting to ask questions. I think they knew something was up.”

“What did they say?”

“They were a little concerned that she has kids. Mama gave me the whole speech about how children can be the ones most easily hurt in these situations. I told her it was serious, though, and that I wouldn't have started this if I didn't think it was going somewhere.”

Draco paused for a moment before continuing. “If Hermione asked you to move in, what would you say?”

“What?” Manny nearly choked on his water. “Wait, do you know something I don't?”

“No,” Draco replied, laughing for what felt like the first time that day. “I'm just wondering… if you know now that this relationship is good and you want it to be a long term thing, how do you know when to take the next step?”

“Well not now. It's only been three weeks, for chrissakes. We've spent a lot of time together, and we both know we want a serious relationship, but we aren't thinking about living arrangements yet.” He stared at Draco for a long moment. “Oh, I see. Something happened between you and Harry, didn't it?”

Draco slumped down in his seat. “He asked me to move in.”

“Whoa. And what did you say?”

“I said ‘no'. He wasn't terribly pleased.”

“Did you say no because you don't want that, or…?”

“You know I want this, more than anything.” Draco sighed and focused on his barely-eaten food. “But it's too fast, isn't it? It's only been three weeks – even though it feels more like three years sometimes.”

They were silent for a moment. Manny twisted his water glass in his hands, making patterns in the condensation on the table. Draco watched, wondering if that was the end of the conversation.

“When I asked Victoria to marry me,” Manny began, “I had no idea what I was doing. I was in love with her, and the sex was great, and we were so excited to run off to DC and change the world.” He paused, smiling at Draco. “So we got married after only a few months of dating. At first it was good, but it didn't take long for us to figure out it had been a mistake. We didn't know each other very well, and neither of us was really grown up enough for that relationship. So it failed miserably.”

Draco nodded, listening. He had only heard bits and pieces of this story before.

“But the worst thing was that we both just gave up, you know? Neither of us wanted it enough to work for it. It was easier to walk away than to try to fix it.”

“Do you regret it?”

Manny shook his head. “Not really. It was hard, but I learned a lot. I really did love her. And there's nothing like the intimacy that comes with marriage. You don't think it will change, but it's different once you're married.” Manny's eyes darted up to Draco's again. “I'm sorry – this is a bit of a sore point for you, isn't it?”

“Things are changing,” Draco said with a shrug. “But I never thought it was something I'd have. For my entire life, I thought marriage was for straight people – normal people. The best I thought I'd ever do was to have a few good friends I could fuck around with.”

Manny pushed his plate away. “I can't imagine. From the time I was small, I always knew I'd get married and have a family one day. I have no idea how differently I'd look at life if that weren't an option.”

“Yes, well.” Draco pursed his lips. “The problem is that Harry wants to run headlong into this relationship, despite the fact that this strategy hasn't worked for him before. He's still coming to terms with the whole gay thing at the same time that he's getting settled in with me. I have no idea what he's thinking, or how he'll behave in public. And of course, this is all new to me, and I'm… terrified, really.” Draco flinched: He'd just told Manny far more than he'd intended, more than he had even been able to tell Harry. What was wrong with him?

“I've seen the way he looks at you, you know. He cares about you. He'll wait until you're ready.”

Draco looked away. “After last night, I'm not so sure.”

:: :: :: :: ::

Draco's inbox was empty when he got back to the office, and Harry still wasn't answering his phone. He stared at the screen for a long moment, then got up and headed to the apparition room.

Once at the Investigative Services complex, he headed straight for Harry's office. The door was open, but no one was inside. The computer monitor was on, and several papers were strewn across the desk next to a quill still standing in the inkpot – so Harry couldn't have been gone long.

Draco stepped inside to wait.

Ten minutes later, he was still waiting, and growing more and more frustrated by the minute. The twinge in his forehead from the smothering spell wasn't helping matters. Draco pressed his fingertips into his temples, hoping to ward it off. He was far too distracted to block the smothering spell today.

He looked up again to see that Harry's computer had finally gone into standby. He couldn't help but wonder… Draco glanced back toward the door and then crossed the room, circling behind Harry's desk. He jiggled the mouse and the screen flared to life. Harry's inbox was open on the desktop. The emails from Draco were marked “read”.

Draco's heart sank. Harry was avoiding him – it was the only explanation.

“Draco?”

He jumped a foot back and looked up. Hermione was standing in the doorway, staring at him.

“What are you doing here?”

Draco hoped he didn't appear as panicked as he felt. This didn't look good, to say the least. “I was looking for Harry.”

“He's in a meeting, I think.” Hermione stepped through the door, still watching Draco, a strange expression on her face. “He didn't say you were coming over.”

“Yeah, well.” Draco walked around the desk and stopped before Hermione. “I guess I'll just wait until he gets back.”

Hermione pursed her lips. “He's in a horrible mood today. Did you two have a fight or something?”

“Sort of. I was coming to apologize, actually.”

To Draco's relief, Hermione smiled. “It might take more than that. What did you do, anyway?”

Draco shrugged. He didn't feel comfortable talking to Hermione about this. Manny would probably fill her in later, anyway. “Do you know when his meeting is over?”

“It'll be a while. It was called at the last minute, and it's closed door. My security clearance wasn't high enough to get in.” The tone of her voice indicated she was a little bitter about that fact.

Draco nodded. “Will you tell him I was looking for him? He won't reply to my emails.”

Hermione looked thoughtful for a moment. “Draco… I never thought I'd say this, but Harry needs you. Please don't give up on him. I know he's not the easiest person to have a relationship with.”

“Neither am I.”

“But he cares about you. And I know you care about him too. Just don't give up on each other, okay?”

Draco smiled. “I don't intend to.”

He walked past her and out the door, hearing her close it as he walked away. He was nearly back to the apparition room when someone called his name.

He turned to see Arnold Bass smiling at him. “Sir,” Draco said in greeting.

“I've been meaning to speak with you,” Bass said. “I don't suppose you have a moment now?”

“Yes, of course.” Bass had barely looked at Draco before. He hadn't even been sure the man knew his name.

Bass led him down the corridor to a small conference room and closed the door behind them. They sat across from each other, and Bass stared at Draco in a way that unnerved him. The twinge in his temple was threatening to turn into a full-blown headache, and it set him on edge. He tried not to squirm in his chair.

“How is your investigation going?” Bass asked at last.

“Slowly, but it's moving forward,” Draco replied. He wasn't sure how much detail Bass was interested in, nor how much he could safely give him.

“I understand you've made progress on the smothering spell?”

Draco nodded. “I'm sure Harry and Hermione could tell you more about it, though. I was only brought on board yesterday.”

“Do you think their theory is correct?”

“That the spell is generated by an individual? Yes, I do.”

Bass looked thoughtful. “Why?”

Draco blinked at him. “Why? Well… It makes sense, I suppose. They have data that supports–”

“But you know something more. Something you haven't told them.”

Draco gave him a quizzical look. “That's… Why would you think that?”

“In fact,” Bass continued, “I believe you know a great deal more than you are telling any of us.”

Draco's expression was one he'd perfected while working in New York . “With all due respect, sir, that's ridiculous. I'm one of the lead investigators on this project. Why would I keep information from anyone?”

“Why indeed? I trust you have your reasons, though.” He seemed to be studying Draco.

Draco's smile became tight. “I really must be going, sir. If there's nothing else you wish to ask me–”

“There are many questions I wish to ask you. Unfortunately, I doubt you would answer any of them.” Bass pushed his chair back and extended his hand. Draco took it, confused about what had just happened. “Thank you for your time. I won't keep you.”

Draco felt Bass's eyes on him as he left the room. He wasn't sure if he should be intrigued or alarmed, but he had the distinct impression Bass knew more than he was letting on as well.

Someone was in the apparition room and Draco had to wait until the light above the door indicated it was empty. His head throbbed so much he wasn't sure he'd be able to concentrate enough to apparate safely.

He managed, though, and was back at his own desk in a matter of minutes. He switched on his monitor and checked his inbox, just in case. There was nothing from Harry.

Draco stared at the screen for a moment, and then began to write.

From: Draco Malfoy <d.malfoy@beowulf.fbi.gov>
To: Harry Potter <hpotter@merlin.gov.uk>
Date: 5 March, 2004 15:52
Subject: Dinner?

Harry,

I spoke to Hermione earlier and she told me you were still upset. I know I've been an utter prick, but I want to make it up to you. I'll buy you dinner tonight – anywhere you want to go. Just name the time and place and I'll be there.

Draco

–
Draco Malfoy
Deputy Special Agent
Division of Magical and Occult Investigation
Federal Bureau of Investigation

Mail: PO Box 1423 - A, New York , NY , 10016 , USA
Phone: (212) 314-9935
Fax: (212) 314-9871

Draco hit send and leaned back in his chair. If Harry didn't respond to this, he wasn't sure what he would do. He should probably give him some time, a few days to get over it. Draco still wasn't convinced he'd done anything wrong; even Manny had thought Harry was pushing things a bit. But Draco wasn't above groveling.

On top of everything else, he had got very little work done that day. He was still unnerved after his encounter with Bass. The director was suspicious of Draco, that was for certain. Unfortunately, he was right to be.

Draco pressed his fingertips against his temples. His headache was beginning to lift, thankfully. He didn't know how Harry could bear to work under the smothering spell every day. That was probably why Harry had been so anxious and grumpy of late. Draco could have been a bit more understanding, under the circumstances. Instead, he had insisted they keep the spell up for as long as possible.

There was little he could do but wait for Harry to reply, so he might as well get some work done. He sighed and glanced at his desk. Where to begin? A parchment envelope in his inbox caught his attention. It was addressed to him; the handwriting appeared to be Tonks's. He picked it up and it unsealed itself.

Draco,

Sorry I haven't been very communicative this week. Things have been difficult here and I've had to be rather cautious. I've got access to the files you wanted, but it's best if you come here to see them, as I don't want to risk taking them out of the building.

Use the Rollings Street entrance (access word: “Aberforth”) and come to the records office on the third level. I'll meet you there at 6:00 . Everyone should be gone by then.

Tonks

Draco whistled. Those files should contain surveillance information on many known Death Eaters. He only needed to copy them – a duplicus spell should do it – and he could spend the weekend reading through them, looking for clues. He hoped a pattern of some sort could be found.

Tonks was really sticking her neck out for him. He would have to do something very nice for her in return.

An hour later, he had packed a bundle of parchment for the duplicating spell into his bag and had compiled a list of suspects whose files he wanted copies of. There were 30 names in all, alphabetized and color-coded by priority. Some were people whose allegiances he knew, such as Avery and Snape, and others were people he suspected would never side with his father. Draco tucked the list into his pocket and scanned his desk.

His email inbox beeped.

Draco nearly jumped in his chair. He glanced at the screen – sure enough, the sender of the email was marked as ‘Harry Potter'. He gave his stomach a moment to settle before opening it.

From: Harry Potter <hpotter@merlin.gov.uk>
To: Draco Malfoy <d.malfoy@beowulf.fbi.gov>
Date: 5 March, 2004 17:03
Subject: RE: Dinner?

Meet me at Mela at 7:00 .

–

Harry Potter

Draco was both relieved and concerned. Relieved because Harry had finally written him back; concerned because the email revealed nothing about Harry's state of mind. Still, it was better than nothing.

A 7:00 dinner was cutting it close, but he was fairly certain Tonks wanted him in and out of the Ministry complex as quickly as possible. He could drop the files off at his flat afterwards and walk to the restaurant.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten Indian food twice in one day. Harry wanted to see him, though, and that was a good sign.

:: :: :: :: ::

Draco decided to apparate home and change clothes before heading to the Ministry. He picked out a shirt that Harry had always liked – it was dark grey and clingy, made of an expensive silk-like magical cloth. The first time he'd worn it, Harry had asked him to keep it on while they had sex, saying he like the way it felt against his skin. Draco grinned at the memory.

He cast a glamour charm on himself before heading out the front door with his bag of parchment. Public transport was the safest way to travel to the Ministry's main complex, since the apparition wards around it were very sensitive. It was best if no one knew he'd been there.

The Underground was crowded with Muggles heading home from work, and it was easy enough for Draco to blend in. He thought about Harry while he waited for the train, as he sat squashed in a crowded car, and while people rushed off and on around him. He thought about the pain he'd seen in Harry's eyes last night. He thought about the sincere tone with which he'd asked Draco to move in. He thought about the way Harry's hand had shaken when he gave Draco the key.

The key that was probably under the sofa in his flat at this very moment. Draco frowned. He should have found it before he left. It would probably mean a lot to Harry if he carried it with him. He'd have to pick it up on the way back.

He changed trains at Embankment, already rehearsing what he'd say to Harry tonight. It was time to confide everything, all of his secrets, even the ones he'd sworn never to tell Manny. He would come clean, and he would tell Harry how much he loved him, and then he would let Harry decide what to do. Harry could take him as is, or he could break it off.

Draco wasn't sure what he would do in the second case, but he didn't want to dwell on it. Harry would understand. Harry would forgive him. He simply had to.

There was no room to sit on the next train, so he stood near the door, holding a rail and pretending to read the adverts. Perhaps he shouldn't tell Harry he loved him. Maybe it would seem insincere after everything else. On the other hand, it was how Draco honestly felt – and he wasn't going to keep anything from Harry anymore.

It was drizzling when he surfaced to the street again. He made his way to the entrance Tonks had described, trying to be cautious while not appearing suspicious. He had once come through this entrance with his father late at night when he was a small boy. It had been very exciting to be out on an errand with Lucius, and he'd tried his best to be quiet and good. There was a nice lady there who had watched him while Lucius disappeared to talk to someone important. She had given him sweets and smiled at him, telling him how pretty he was. He could still remember the scent of her perfume.

A vacant shopfront marked the entrance. He stood before the doorway and pressed his hand against the glass, and then looked up and down the street before saying, “Aberforth.” The glass shimmered, and he stepped right through it. He felt his glamour charm melt away as he did; the Ministry's wards were set to dissolve them as a security measure.

He found himself in a vacant entry hall. There was a desk at which he assumed an administrative assistant sat during the day, but it was empty now. He walked down the dimly lit corridor to a stairwell and descended to the third level, assuming it would attract less attention than using the lifts. He followed the signs to the records office, winding his way deeper and deeper into the Ministry complex.

He finally turned a corner and saw Tonks pacing back and forth by a water cooler. Her hair was short and brown, with light streaks in it. It made her look a bit mad.

“Hi,” he said, smiling at her.

“You're late,” she replied, folding her arms over her chest. She looked rather agitated. Draco felt a wave of anxiety pass through him for the first time since he'd come in.

“Sorry. Traffic.”

“Let's go.” She nodded her head towards a door at the end of the corridor: the records office.

“Thanks,” Draco said, elbowing her as they walked. “I really owe you one.”

Tonks looked away, saying nothing.

“Are you all right?”

She stopped and touched his arm. “Are you sure about this, Draco? It's not too late to turn around and leave.” There was something strange in her eyes, something he couldn't place.

He shrugged. “This information should be very useful. I'm really close to learning what happened as it is.” She nodded, her expression fading, and he frowned at her. “Is something wrong?”

She started walking again. “No. It's just been a crazy week, and all this sneaking about has got me in a bit of hot water.”

“Really? I'm sorry.”

Tonks stared firmly at the floor. “But I've just made a little deal that will let me keep my job.” She paused outside the records office door. “Here we are. Don't dawdle in there, now.”

Draco smiled at her. “Thanks, Tonks. I mean it.”

“Draco,” she began, and then paused. She looked up at him. “I'm sorry I couldn't do more to help you.”

He gave her a quizzical look. The expression on her face was unreadable.

He turned the doorknob and opened the door. The room was dark, so he retrieved his wand and said, “Lumos.”

The door closed behind him, the lights came on, and no fewer than four wands were pointed directly at him. His wand flew from his hand before he could react – someone across the room had cast a quick disarming charm.

A split second passed before he was able to process what was happening. Five people were standing before him, each pointing a wand at his chest. They were dressed in robes decorated with an insignia he didn't recognize, and all of them were glaring at him.

In the center of the group was Cho Chang. She stepped forward, twirling Draco's wand easily in her free hand. “Draco Malfoy, you are hereby placed under arrest. If you resist, you will be restrained.”

Draco could only stare at her for a long moment. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out on the first try. “On what charges?” he managed at last.

Cho's smile was cold. “Charges enough to ensure you'll remain in Azkaban for the rest of your life. Treason against the government. Conspiring with known Death Eaters. Murder.”

Treason and conspiracy were probably fair charges, but murder? He allowed himself to glare at her. “This is ridiculous! Who have I allegedly murdered?”

Cho stared at him for a long moment before replying. “Ronald Weasley.”

Draco felt his breath leave him in one great rush. There were a hundred things he wanted to say, but his tongue simply wouldn't work. A voice in the back of his head told him to remain quiet, and so he did.

He didn't protest when a binding spell was cast on him. He didn't struggle when he was roughly turned and walked down the hallway. Tonks was nowhere in sight, and he pushed thoughts of her out of his mind, not wanting to think about how she had betrayed his trust – or about what a fool he had been.

Ten minutes later, he was sitting in a holding cell in the lowest levels of the Ministry. Alone.

:: :: :: :: ::

Saturday, 6 March, 2004

Draco had no idea what time it was.

He assumed it was Saturday now, but it could be three in the morning or noon for all he knew, as his cell had no windows. He'd spent the first hour there in a daze, and then reality had settled in – he had been arrested and it was very likely that he was going to spend time in Azkaban for a crime he had no memory of committing, if he had committed it at all.

He had quickly pushed that thought aside since it was far too difficult to comprehend, and had focused instead on something much closer to his heart: Harry.

He imagined Harry sitting alone at a table in the restaurant at quarter past seven , getting irritated that Draco was late. After half an hour of waiting, he had probably given up and ordered something to take away. Draco imagined him sitting alone in his flat at eight, eating Indian takeaway and fuming that Draco had stood him up.

The thought that he may have lost his chance to patch things up with Harry made Draco's stomach churn. Surely Harry knew by now that Draco was punctual to a fault. Maybe Harry was worried.

Or maybe he had heard about the arrest by now. The thought of that nearly sent Draco into a panic. He stood and paced the width of his cell, arms wrapped around himself. There was nothing he could do. No one had come in since he'd been left here. He'd been given no opportunity to communicate with anyone.

And he wouldn't get one for a while, most likely. British Wizarding law was fairly archaic, and he had very few rights – particularly with the charges leveled against him. Murder was a Class One offense, after all. Draco felt the panic rise in his throat again.

He stilled at the sound of footsteps approaching the door. A moment later it slid open, revealing Tonks.

He forced himself to look at her. She stared back for several seconds and then looked away. When she finally stepped inside, she was flanked by two Unspeakables.

“Good morning,” she said.

Draco snorted and sat on the room's single hard bench. “Is it?”

“Will you wait outside?” Tonks asked her guards. After a round of whispering, the two men exited, closing the door behind them.

“Draco–”

“Come to gloat?” Draco asked, looking up at her. Her hair was pink and curly today, falling in ringlets around her face. It made her look like a doll. A sad, tired, defeated doll.

“I just need to know. Did you do it? Did you do the things they say you did?”

“What have I supposedly done? I've only been told of vague charges.”

“They said you've been meeting with known Death Eaters. That you're actually working with them, not investigating them like you've been telling everyone.”

“Has no one here heard of undercover work?”

“And they have a recording of you saying horrible things about Harry.”

“A recording?” Draco repeated, baffled. “What does it say?”

“You seemed to be implying that you were just stringing Harry along, using him for information,” she replied. Her voice was hoarse, as if she'd spent most of the night talking. “I didn't believe what they were saying about you until I heard that.”

Draco started to argue, and then paused. It was possible that someone had recorded his remarks at one of the many meetings he'd attended. And if Tonks had heard the recording, perhaps Harry had as well. “Those remarks were taken out of contex,” he said. “It isn't what it seems. I'm being set up, for fuck's sake!”

“Did you…” Tonks swallowed and looked away. “Did you really murder Ron?”

Draco stared at the floor. “I don't know. I don't remember. And I don't understand why they're charging me with this now. Ron was killed over three years ago.”

“You don't remember?” Tonks frowned, apparently skeptical. “They claim to have evidence that you did it.”

“Evidence they've yet to show me. No one believes me, of course.”

“Can you blame us?” She looked away and sighed. “Look, I'm sorry it had to happen like this.”

“Had to happen?” Draco snapped. “I thought you were on <i>my</i> side, not theirs. You didn't have to walk me into a fucking trap. You could've given me a hint, you know.”

“I did give you a hint! You weren't listening!”

Draco didn't respond. He had been far too distracted last night, and he'd already spent hours berating himself for being so stupid. He knew better than to put himself in that situation, but he had made a mistake.

“I trusted you,” he whispered, though it seemed a ridiculous remark even to his own ears.

“And I trusted you,” Tonks retorted. “So did Harry, and Merlin knows who else. You've been sneaking around behind our backs this entire time, and you have the nerve to talk about trust?” She turned towards the door.

Draco pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. It was true, and he knew it. He'd been walking a very thin line for so long that it seemed normal. He hadn't even hesitated to hide things from Harry as well.

“You're right,” he said. “But I had my reasons. I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“You ask so much loyalty of others, Draco, but you don't give it in return.” Tonks was still facing the door, but she stood still, as if she couldn't bring herself to leave just yet.

“I'm sorry.” He knew he sounded frustrated and desperate, but he didn't care.

“So am I.” Tonks turned around. “Look, I was backed into a corner. The Unspeakables came after me on Tuesday, and they had all of this evidence against you. They also knew I'd been helping you, and they told me if I didn't cooperate, I'd be brought up on the same charges, as an accomplice.”

“And the evidence they had made you suspicious of my intentions,” Draco finished. “I understand. I probably would have done the same thing.”

Tonks rubbed her face with her hands. “Look, if there's anything I can do…”

“Does Harry know?”

She shrugged. “I don't know. The arrest is supposed to be a secret. They don't want people panicking about a Death Eater infiltrating the Ministry.”

“Bit late for that.” Of course, this meant they could just keep him locked up here as long as they liked, and there was nothing he could do about it. He ran his hands through his hair and looked up. “Would you tell him what's happened and ask him to come? I think I owe him an explanation in person.” The idea of facing Harry made him want to vomit, but it was the right thing to do.

“I'll let him know. But I can't guarantee I can get him in here to see you.”

:: :: :: :: ::

An hour later, he finally had to urinate so badly that he relented and used the exposed toilet in the cell. He'd avoided it for as long as possible, as if not pissing there would somehow mean he wasn't stuck in that room for the foreseeable future.

But he was. He sat on the floor, leaning his head against the wall. Why had he come here? He could have just gone to meet Harry last night. Maybe they would have patched things up and topped it all off with a nice shag. He could have awakened next to Harry this morning. Harry liked sex in the morning. And it was Saturday, so they could have lounged in bed, had a shower, made breakfast…

What if Harry never wanted to see him again?

Draco closed his eyes.* There was nothing he could do about it. Nothing he could say. Nothing he could negotiate with. Less than 36 hours ago, he'd been handed everything he'd ever wanted, and he had refused it. And now here he sat, for Merlin knew how long.

Hours passed, and he fell asleep at some point. His dreams were dark and twisted, full of images of Harry and Ron together, laughing and smiling, and then turning to Draco with looks of suspicion and hatred. He dreamed about Cho too, but she was kind to him, holding out her hand and laughing at something he'd said. But he couldn't hear his own voice. He tried to scream, and nothing came out.

He was wrenched awake bu a strange sound, and it was a moment before he remembered where he was and what had happened. He looked up to see Cho Chang standing in the doorway of his cell, unrecognizeable from her dream self. She stared down at him, flanked by the same two Unspeakables who'd accompanied Tonks earlier. Draco wondered if they had been standing guard outside the door all this time.

“You look like shit,” she remarked. She stepped forward and the guards followed. The door closed behind them.

“Thanks,” Draco replied. “So do you.”

Her face was oddly expressionless. “I've been waiting a long time for this.”

“Good for you. Satisfied?”

“I will be when you're safely locked away.” Cho walked forward until she was towering over him. “Even your father won't be able to get you out of it this time.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “If you're quite finished with the melodrama, I'd like to know what my rights are.”

“You were arrested under new security regulations designed to combat magical terrorism. You are a threat to the safety and stability of our society, so we can hold you for as long as we like.”

“Can I speak to an attorney?”

“You won't be needing one.”

“Will I have a trial?”

“Maybe a hearing before a judiciary committee.” Cho's eyes glimmered. “But they'll just follow our recommendations, of course. No one wants someone like you running loose. There's no telling what harm you might do.”

“Good to know I'm innocent until proven guilty.”

“You shouldn't have come back. I'm stunned that you were stupid enough to do so.”

Draco pressed his lips together in frustration. A witty retort would do him little good now. “May I hear the evidence against me, or am I to simply accept that I'm being framed for crimes I didn't commit?”

Cho's eyes narrowed and she shook her head, as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing. “I should have arrested you years ago.”

“If you thought I killed Weasley then, why didn't you?”

“Ask your father,” she retorted. “It wasn't for lack of evidence, certainly.”

“My father?” Draco heard his voice crack with frustration, but he didn't care. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what his father had to do with all of this. “I haven't seen any of the evidence you supposedly have against me.”

“Where would you like me to begin? Eyewitness accounts of you meeting with known Death Eaters, perhaps? Or recordings of your conversations, copies of owl posts you have sent and received from your father – who is currently wanted on a range of charges related to conspiratorial activities, by the way.” Her eyes lit up and Draco felt a chill run down his spine. “Of course, that's just what you've been up to recently. We can always go back three years, to the spell that killed Ron Weasley – cast by your wand.”

“By my wand?” Draco gaped at her. “That's ridiculous! My wand was in New York with me when Ron Weasley was killed.”

“Oh, drop the innocent act, Malfoy. I was there, remember? You may be able to lie to Harry, who can't remember a thing, but you can't lie to me.”

“I was in New York !” Draco cried. “I never left. My passport shows nothing. It wasn't me!”

Cho only stared at him in response. Draco felt blood drain from his face as the reality of the situation began to sink in. It didn't matter if what she was saying was true or not. If the government believed that the killing curse was cast from his own wand, the only possibility they would accept was that he'd done it. His wand had a heavy protection spell placed on it, after all, as did the wands of all Aurors.

Had he done it? Was it really possible? He had no memory of those weeks, so he couldn't even defend himself. But Snape had told him he'd been there, and Snape had never lied to him before.

Cho's stare was piercing, and he realized a moment too late that she was inside his head, probing.

“Stop!” he shouted, scrambling against the cold floor. He was usually quite good at defending himself against such things, but he'd been caught off-guard.

When he looked up again, Cho had taken several steps back. Her face was blank, and she wasn't looking at him.

“Find what you were looking for?” Draco growled.

She didn't answer. She simply turned and walked away. The Unspeakables followed, closing the door once again.

Draco lunged for the door, screaming obscenities. He pounded it until his fists ached, shouted until his voice was hoarse. No one came to tell him to be quiet. He heard nothing outside the door. For all he knew the cell had a silencing charm placed around it.

“Oh god,” he whispered, stepping back. What if no one knew he was here? They could be holding him illegally, and there was nothing he could do about it. After all, there were Unspeakables cooperating with his father – what if Cho was working for the other side? What if all of this had been an elaborate operation to kidnap him, to prevent him from exposing their treason? No one would know he was here. No one would be able to do anything to help him.

Tonks knew, he reminded himself. Tonks would get a message to Harry. He had to trust her. But what if Harry didn't want to help him once he found out what Draco had done?

He sank to the floor in the center of the cell. Even if they were holding him legally, the situation was no better. It certainly appeared that he had been responsible for Ron's death. There was no way around the evidence, if it was all real. No one else could have cast the killing curse with his wand. He'd been trained to resist imperius as well, so it was highly unlikely he had been forced to do it. And he'd been here, apparently.

Images from his dreams flooded his mind: dark alleys and Ron standing over him and glaring and This was your doing and a hand around his throat – Draco stifled a sob. It all fit together: his dreams, the evidence, his and Harry's memory lapses, Snape's story.

He was a murderer. Worse, he had murdered someone Harry loved dearly. Harry couldn't forgive him for that – for Hermione's sake, if not his own.

Draco pulled his knees into his chest and shivered. He was defeated. There was no way out of this. And the worst part was that he'd done it to himself.

:: :: :: :: ::

One of the Unspeakables came in to bring him food. The man had looked vaguely familiar before, and now Draco realized why – he had been at the meeting of Death Eaters Draco had attended two days earlier. Perhaps he was the one who had produced the recording. Draco looked away when the man's eyes met his.

Lunch was a bowl of an unidentifiable soup. Draco didn't eat it. He wasn't hungry.

Several hours passed, during which he alternated between thinking of nothing and thinking of everything that had gone wrong in the last few days. He hated having no idea what to expect. He might be here for a week, or for a year, or just a few more hours. No one would tell him.

It must have been late afternoon when his cell door opened again. Draco didn't bother looking up until he heard Manny's voice: “Draco.”

He was on his feet and across the room in a second, throwing his arms around Manny. “Oh, I'm so glad to see you, you've no idea what–”

But Manny only stiffened and pushed him away. Draco stepped back even further, embarrassed – he had just been so glad to see a friend at last that he hadn't even stopped to think.

“Well?” Manny asked, folding his arms over his chest. “Did you do it?”

Draco resisted the urge to wrap his arms around himself; he let them hang limply by his sides instead. “Do what? I've been charged with so many things.”

“Lie to everyone? Conspire with the enemy? Murder Hermione's husband? Take your pick.”

Draco stood his ground, even though he wanted to melt into the floor. Manny's face told him that he already believed it all. Perhaps he'd seen the evidence the Unspeakables had been collecting. “They're making it look worse than it is.”

“How can you make murder look worse than it is?” Manny gaped at him, shaking his head. “And the other things too – you've been meeting with Death Eaters?”

“I was trying to get inside! I was learning a lot about what they did to Vol–”

“Then why didn't you tell anyone what you were doing? If it was really part of the investigation, why go behind our backs like this?”

Draco shrugged and looked away. He had no explanation that would satisfy Manny.

“We've been friends for years, Draco. I've put my neck on the line for you half a dozen times. You should know by now that you can trust me. The fact that you didn't tells me you were engaged in something else altogether.”

“That's not true.” Draco's voice was so small he wondered if Manny could even hear it.

“And you've been talking to your father, after everything that happened in New York , after what he tried to do to Harry?”

Draco took a deep breath. He had to come clean now, or it would only get worse. He looked up at Manny and gestured to the room's bench. “Sit down.” He settled on the floor and waited. Manny hesitated for a moment, but finally crossed the room and sat.

Draco took a calming breath. “Five years ago, I started working for the FBI in New York . And six months later I was approached by Death Eaters who recognized my name, who'd heard of my father. They offered me a lot of money to do some work on the side for them. I had blown through my trust fund a year earlier, which was why I'd had to do Auror training in the first place. And by the time I got to New York , I was broke. I wasn't used to living hand to mouth, and I had no particular loyalty to the FBI.”

“So you really were a double agent. Colby was right about you.”

Draco nodded, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the floor. “I could have left the FBI altogether, but playing both sides was far more lucrative than I'd expected.” Draco had told everyone he'd invested his money wisely, that the steady supply of cash was the result of dot com dividends paying off – but it wasn't true. “My father started hearing about me, about how successful I was, and he finally decided I must be worth something. He wanted me to come home and work for him, but there was no way in hell I'd do that. So he started looking for ways to blackmail me, to force me to come back.”

“And that's where Colby came in,” Manny said. His voice had a strange tone to it. Draco looked up, but Manny's eyes were hard. “So our entire friendship was based on a lie, then?”

“No, that's–”

“You lied to me, and you used me, didn't you? You even told me you loved me once, and I've always felt guilty for leading you on.” He shook his head and looked away.

“I did love you. I still do. That was real.”

“I left my home and jeopardized my job to run away to San Francisco to help you, and it was all based on a lie?”

Not really, Draco wanted to say. He really was after me. But he didn't. He pressed his forehead into his knees instead and whispered, “Yes.”

“And then I followed you here on some imagined crusade, while you've been working both sides all along.” Manny made a sound almost like a laugh. “I am such a fucking idiot.”

Draco sighed and tried to keep the desperation out of his voice. “After my father went after Harry, it was different. I wanted to find out what had happened. I wanted to help Harry.”

“Then why didn't you tell Harry that? If you really loved him–”

“I do really love him!” Draco said, raising his voice for the first time.

“You must have a warped idea of what love is, then. Love is what Hermione's husband had for her and their children. And you destroyed it.”

“I don't remember it!” Draco spat. “I don't give a fuck if no one believes me, but I don't remember killing anyone! For all I know, this is all a lie and I'm being framed.”

“And why should we believe you? You've done nothing but lie to me from the day you met me. You manipulated me, and I fell for it.” He stood and glared down at Draco. “You're very good at what you do, I'll give you that.”

“Wait,” Draco said, scrambling to his feet as Manny crossed to the door. “I'm sorry! I don't expect you to forgive me–”

“Good.”

“–but I wanted you to know the truth.”

“Now that you've got no other options?” Manny turned to face him. “When would you have told me if this hadn't happened?”

Draco swallowed. He couldn't think of a way to answer that question that wouldn't make the situation worse.

“Exactly,” Manny said. “You wouldn't have because it wasn't to your advantage until now. You could have chosen a side long ago, but you didn't. You went whichever way paid you better, and never gave a shit about the people you hurt in the process. It's always about you , isn't it? Well, fuck you!”

Draco took a step backwards. Manny didn't say things like that unless he meant them.

Manny turned back to the door. When his hand touched the knob, Draco felt panic settle over him. He stepped forward and grabbed Manny's arm.

“Please don't–”

Manny shook him off and whipped out his wand, pointing it at Draco. “Don't touch me.”

There was nothing he could do, nothing he could say. Manny would never forgive him. Draco could hardly blame him.

Manny lowered his wand, still glaring. “Goodbye, Draco.”

“Wait – what about Harry?”

“What about him?”

“Is he… does he…?” Draco couldn't even manage a sentence.

“He has no idea what to think. When Tonks told us, he didn't believe it until she played a recording–”

“I see,” Draco said, cutting him off with a wave of his hand. There was nothing Draco could do now. “Will you tell him I'm sorry?”

Manny started to speak, but then paused. He nodded.

“Thank you,” Draco said. “For everything.”

Manny opened the door and walked out.

The sound of the door slamming shut echoed throughout the small room, almost like a Muggle gunshot. Draco stood still for nearly a minute, trembling.

It was over. His life was over. He'd done everything wrong, for all the wrong reasons. And he had just lost everything that was valuable to him.

This was what he deserved.

He collapsed to the floor, too drained even to cry.

:: :: :: :: ::

No one else came to visit him. Draco had clung to the hope that Harry might hear his apology through Manny and decide to come – to yell at Draco, if nothing else. That would have been better than silence, absence, nothing.

More food was brought at some point, but Draco didn't even look up. He wasn't hungry. If this was to be his new existence, he didn't want it.

He was sleeping when the cell door opened, long past midnight . He squinted up at the cloaked figure silhouetted in the doorway. The figure extended a wand, and then said, “Lumos.”

Draco couldn't see the face, but he knew the voice. “Father?”

Lucius tilted the wand light towards his own face. His expression was nearly serene.

Draco sighed. So this was his choice. He could stay in this cell, with no future to speak of, or he could go with Lucius. He knew what the price would be. Leaving this cell would mean he had indebted himself to his father.

Lucius quirked an eyebrow, as if to say, “Well?”

Draco hesitated a moment longer, then climbed to his feet and followed his father through the door.

 

:: :: :: :: ::

:: :: :: :: ::

Monday, 8 March, 2004

Draco dreamed about Ron Weasley.

Weasley was glaring at him, pressing him against a damp brick wall with his large hand so tight against Draco's throat that it was difficult to breathe.

“This was your doing,” Weasley said, voice sounding as if it came not from his body but from somewhere else entirely. “You must fix it.”

Draco tried to speak but it was no use. He could only stare helplessly at Weasley. But I don't know how.

“We each had a key,” Weasley continued. “Harry holds one. Find the others.”

Draco was desperate to breathe, his lungs aching, but it was no use. He began to see stars, and then Weasley released him. Draco crumpled to the wet ground, and looked up to see Weasley staring down at him.

“I killed you, didn't I?”

Weasley didn't answer. He simply faded away.

Draco opened his eyes to see an ornate ceiling above him. He blinked several times, disoriented. It was only after he'd sat up that he remembered where he was.

He'd had the same dream the night before. Once again, the details faded away like wisps of smoke before he could grasp them. It was about Ron, that much he remembered. He wasn't sure if it meant something or not. He wasn't even certain he could trust his own mind anymore.

He crossed to the room's single window to see that the sky was lightening: the sun was beginning to rise. This was the second morning he'd awakened in this strange house, but he had yet to leave this room. The door had been locked all day yesterday. A house-elf had appeared to bring him food, but he'd refused to eat, demanding to see his father. The elf had shrugged and vanished.

His stubbornness had only resulted in a rumbling stomach, unfortunately. Add to that withdrawal from nicotine and he was nearly going mad.

Draco crossed to the door and examined its locking mechanism. Without his wand, there was only so much he could do. He'd tried a few spells yesterday, but he hadn't been able to cast anything useful. Alohomora was nearly impossible to cast without a wand, oddly. It was simple enough when one had a magical focus, but without it – buggered. He concentrated now, realizing that a simple lifting spell might do the trick. It was an old-fashioned Muggle lock, the kind that simply had a lever in a groove holding the door in place, rather than a deadbolt.

He closed his eyes and pictured the mechanism in his mind, focusing on the lever. He only needed to lift it – why hadn't he thought of it before? He opened his eyes and raised his hand. “Wingardium leviosa.” The lever moved up enough that turning the knob dislodged the lock with a click. The door was open.

Draco allowed himself a smug smile before straightening his clothes and stepping through it into a lavishly decorated corridor. A suit of armor stood at one end and the walls were lined with landscape paintings. He frowned at them, only realizing when he was halfway down the corridor why they seemed so odd: they didn't move.

He descended a staircase to find himself in yet another corridor, so he continued down until the staircase became ornate and wide, opening into a large parlor. He looked around, feeling that it should somehow look familiar to him – but he couldn't remember ever seeing this place in his life. Why would he have been in such a large Muggle house before? And for that matter, why would his father be living here?

His nose and grumbling stomach led him to a dining room, where the remains of someone's breakfast lay on a large wooden table. He sniffed at an untouched piece of toast and continued on to the kitchen.

“Sir is awake!” a voice chirped behind him. Draco spun around, startled. A house-elf stood before him, beaming. Draco didn't know if it was the same one he'd seen yesterday or not. For all he knew, there was only only house-elf here. They all looked alike to him.

“I am indeed,” he replied. The creature seemed happy to see him, so perhaps he wasn't about to be imprisoned again.

“Sir would like some breakfast? Some tea?”

Draco nodded, still cautious. “Could you manage some coffee?”

Fifteen minutes later he was pleasantly full, and he decided to stroll about with his coffee and explore the place more. He headed back to the parlor he'd been in before and crossed it to find a doorway that led out to a terrace. He walked to the edge and looked down to see he was standing on the edge of a high cliff overlooking the ocean below. He had no idea where he was. Scotland , perhaps. Or Oregon , for all he knew.

He turned back to look at the building behind him and saw that it was an old castle, its crumbling spires unsettlingly familiar. Scotland , then.

“You must be Draco.”

He turned to see a young woman standing next to him, dressed smartly and holding a teacup. She smiled and slinked past him to sit on a lounge chair. She placed the teacup on a small table and turned a radiant smile to him. The woman was younger than he was, and extremely attractive. Her long blonde hair was rumpled and fell around her shoulders, almost overwhelming her petite form.

“You have your father's eyes.”

Draco crossed his arms over his chest and gave her a cold stare. “Where is my father?”

“Still in bed, as you should be. It's chilly this morning, after all.” It was impossible to miss the innuendo in her tone.

Lucius had kept such playthings ever since Draco could remember. His mother had turned a blind eye to it, but Draco had hated every one of them. Simpering, beautiful, and usually Muggles, they would fall over themselves for the privilege of spending a week or two in Lucius's bed, awed by this new exposure to magic and power. They would typically fawn over Draco as well, petting his hair and kissing his cheeks, saying what a darling child he was. He'd always gone back to his room to scrub his face clean, not wanting to think about where their mouths had been. Muggles were dirty, his mother had told him. As a child, Draco had wondered how his father could bear to touch them.

His childhood bedroom had been near his father's, and he'd been awakened on many occasions by strange sounds from within. His only consolation was that Lucius tired of the girls quickly, and after a few weeks he would cast a memory charm on them and send them back where he'd found them, leaving them oblivious to the fact that they'd spent the previous few weeks with their ankles about their ears. A month or so later, another would show up, and the whole cycle would start again.

“I'm Heather,” the woman said after a long silence. She smiled and patted the chair next to hers. “I won't bite, you know.”

Draco contemplated Heather for a moment. She dressed like a Muggle, so she probably knew little more about this place and what went on here than what Lucius had told her. Though it was possible he had told her something Draco would find useful.

He crossed to the chair and stretched out on it, sipping his coffee and not looking at her. “How long have you been here?”

“A week. Your father's castle is lovely.”

Draco stifled a frown. He had no idea if this place belonged to his father or not, but if so it had been a fairly recent acquisition. “So it is.”

Heather shifted in her chair so that she was leaning closer. “He said you were here and I've been dying to meet you.” Draco looked up to see her lick her lips. “He didn't tell me you were so handsome.”

Draco stifled the urge to roll his eyes. “I suppose he didn't tell you I'm gay either?”

Heather blinked at him for a moment, as if she didn't know if he were serious. Draco raised an eyebrow, and a look of disappointment fell over her face.

“That he didn't,” she said, fingering her teacup. “In fact, he implied quite the opposite.”

“Did he? Wishful thinking, then.”

Heather smiled again. “Perhaps you'd like to give it a go anyway? If your eyes were closed, I bet you couldn't tell my arse from a boy's.”

Draco choked on his coffee and looked away. It wasn't like he'd never thought of that before. He kept meaning to ask Harry about it, actually.

He felt his stomach sink. He had no idea where he stood with Harry, after all. He'd spent the entire day yesterday lying in bed and staring at the ceiling, alternately depressed, angry, and despondent. He'd even broken down in tears once at the thought that he'd never see Harry again. Or worse, that when he did see Harry there would only be contempt in his eyes.

“I have a boyfriend,” he said at last. At least, he hoped he did.

Heather sighed. “They always do.”

“Don't suppose you've got a cigarette?” She shook her head, and he sighed. “Has my father been busy this week?” He hoped he sounded casual.

“Oh, yes. But you know more about that than I do, I'm sure. He keeps odd hours, doesn't he?”

“Even with you?” Draco gave her a pointed look.

Heather smiled. “I don't mind. I can sleep when he's not around.”

“Careful you don't get bedsores.”

Heather laughed. “You don't think much of me, do you?”

“There have been a hundred girls just like you, and there will be a hundred more. In another week when he's had you in every position he can think of, he'll get bored. He'll send you on your way and find a suitable replacement.” Heather's eyes hardened, and Draco smirked. “So there's really no point in us getting to know each other, is there?”

Heather looked away and said nothing. Draco drained his coffee cup before letting it drop to the stone and shatter. The house-elves would find the pieces and repair it -- it would give them something to do.

He returned to his room and crawled back into bed, thinking about Harry.

:: :: :: :: ::

A house-elf appeared in Draco's room around 8:00 that evening. Draco had been practicing casting levitation spells on heavy objects, something he'd never given much thought to before. He had only ever learned the sort of wandless magic that had seemed most convenient when one's hands were occupied, like sex spells. He regretted it now, of course. He grabbed the chair he'd been levitating, hoping the elf would think he'd just been lifting it, for exercise, perhaps.

The elf gave him a long look. “Sir is requested for dinner with the Master.”

It was on the tip of Draco's tongue to refuse. He ought to, but he'd just go hungry again. That wouldn't do him any good. Besides, he had questions. Perhaps Lucius would deign to answer them.

He set the chair down and nodded. The elf stared at him for a moment, as if it had been expecting him to refuse. It opened the door and walked out, without even indicating Draco should follow.

Draco trailed behind it, already knowing the way and not wanting to have to scramble to keep up with a house-elf. It soon disappeared from view, apparently satisfied to let him find his own way. Draco hadn't looked very closely at it and wondered if it was the same one that had made breakfast for him that morning. Probably not – this one was rather grumpy.

He walked into the dining room to see his father sitting alone at the table, a glass of sherry before him. He turned when Draco entered, nodding at him in greeting.

“Good evening, Father.” What was it about Lucius that made him feel twelve years old again?

Lucius smiled. “I'm pleased you've decided to join me tonight. I trust you have found your accommodations suitable?”

Draco sat and a glass of sherry appeared on the table before him. “Was it necessary to lock me in?”

“You managed to unlock the door, didn't you?”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Was it meant to be a test, then?”

Lucius shrugged and sipped his sherry. “It did take you a bit longer than I expected. Your reputation led me to believe you were quite capable of handling yourself in any situation, wand or no.”

“I was rather comfortable. Have you considered that I didn't want to escape?” Draco sipped his own sherry, feeling himself slip back into the role he had always played with his father. Half-truths, sarcasm, veiled threats, bravado – all part of the dinner conversation.

Lucius snapped his fingers and a small plate with an amuse-bouche appeared before each of them. “I am pleased to have you here, son. I've been quite impressed with the work you've been doing on my behalf.”

Draco wondered if Lucius actually believed they were on the same side, or if he realized it was just an arrangement of convenience. Not that it mattered at this point

“I had hoped you would be able to continue for a bit longer, of course. This arrest was most unfortunate.”

Draco grimaced. He done little more than think about that since he'd arrived. It had become a cycle of replaying the events in his mind and beating himself up more for the mistakes he'd made that day, which would lead to thinking about Harry, which would only paralyze him all over again. He took a gulp of sherry to cover swallowing down the sudden emotion that rose in his throat.

“I can assure you that every step will be taken to punish those responsible,” Lucius continued. “In the meantime, I have a task for you, one I hope you won't find wholly unpleasant.”

Draco scowled, imagining the worst. “I won't be treated like a common whore.”

Lucius gave him an amused look. “Don't be ridiculous. You are my son.”

“I was your son five years ago as well.”

“You have proved yourself far more valuable than I ever imagined possible. Besides, I have found someone else for that position.”

“I think I met her earlier.”

Lucius didn't take the bait. “Heather fancies you. You could have her if you like. I'm growing tired of her.”

“You know I'm not interested.”

“You could at least try, Draco. You could have any girl you wanted, as many as you wanted.”

“You've had enough of them for the both of us. Besides, why should I bother when I can have any boy I want?” Lucius's lips pressed into a thin line and Draco smirked. “And I've had many, I can assure you. I fuck boys and they fuck me, sometimes both at once if I can find two I fancy enough. And I give great head too, something I imagine your Muggle Uni girls can't manage.”

Lucius's grimace turned into a glare. “I've been patient, Draco. It's time you outgrew these hedonistic pursuits and took your proper place in society.”

Draco resisted the urge to argue. It would do no good. His father didn't believe homosexuality even existed. He'd thought Draco was just rebelling against him for years, and then he'd thought Draco was merely sick. It seemed he had progressed to thinking Draco was immature, which was a marginal improvement.

“What is it that you want me to do for you?” Draco asked. The small plate disappeared, despite the fact that he hadn't touched his food, and a bowl of soup took its place.

Lucius was silent for a moment but seemed relieved for the change in subject. “I want you to continue what you have been doing. Meet with my supporters; assure them that all will be well. Intimidate them if you must.”

Draco's stomach fluttered. He wasn't going to be held prisoner here after all. He might even be able to contact Harry. “What about my arrest and escape? Am I considered a fugitive?”

“Yes. As am I. But you have quite a reputation for working under the notice of authorities, so I trust you know how to take the necessary precautions.” He continued eating his soup with a casualness that stunned Draco.

Lucius trusted him. Draco had no idea why. There was no reason for him to trust Draco. He frowned – it couldn't be so simple. But he knew better than to press the issue. He would find out what his father really wanted soon enough.

“And how am I to reassure your supporters if I don't know what's really going on?” he asked. The main course appeared before them, though Draco had barely touched his soup.

“You will learn everything soon,” Lucius replied. “As will I.”

Draco stared at him in surprise, but his father said nothing more. They finished the meal in silence. Draco even stayed to drink a glass of brandy, hoping his father would say more, but he didn't. Draco's eyelids were getting heavy, and he found he had to force himself to stay alert.

Lucius watched him over his own brandy, and a smile flitted over his lips. “You look tired.”

“M'not.” Draco pushed the brandy glass away and yawned. The world was spinning a bit, though he hadn't drunk much.

“Goodnight, then.” Lucius drained his glass and stood.

Draco strolled back to his room, lost in thought. His father knew more than he had told Draco – that much was certain – but there was also something his father didn't know, and he seemed to believe Draco was the key to finding it out.

The word key drifted through his mind for a moment, oddly. Why was he thinking about keys? He tripped on a step and managed to grab the railing before he fell. He was tired and a bit groggy from the alcohol at dinner – that was all. He'd think about it some more in the morning. And maybe have a shower and a wank, thinking about Harry.

The thought of Harry stirred something inside him, a feeling of simultaneous excitement and dread. He didn't know what Harry thought of him now, but he would likely have an opportunity to get a message to him soon. He could tell Harry everything. Maybe they could continue working together to learn what had happened, with Draco on the inside of Lucius's organization and Harry working for the Ministry.

Draco snorted at himself for that naïve thought. He must be drunk after all. He opened the door to his room and cast a spell to light the candles. A few of them flickered, but most just smoked a little. He scowled at himself. That was a spell he was usually proficient at, even when drunk.

And then he realized he wasn't alone. A figure was draped across his bed, and he had to squint to make out who it was. The figure stretched and then stood, still in shadow.

“I've been waiting for you.”

“Heather?” Draco squinted. He must be dreaming this.

Heather stepped forward, smiling. Draco's mind whirled. Why was she here, in his room? He looked around to make certain he was indeed in his own room and not someone else's.

She pulled the sash on the flimsy silk robe she was wearing and let it slip off her shoulders, pooling at her ankles. She was completely naked.

Some small part of Draco's brain found the situation humorous, but he managed not to laugh. “I'b shorry I…” He paused. His tongue wasn't working properly.

Heather seemed to glide forward and then her arms were around him. His hands found her back of their own accord, sliding down to the curve of her waist. He was surprised at how soft her skin was. His fingers tightened on her hips, trying to find purchase to push her away, but his body wasn't cooperating with his mind. It was as if his muscles were reacting seconds after he wanted them to.

He tried to speak again, and she kissed him. Her lips were so soft that it stunned him into immobility for a moment. A hand was around his cock stroking him, a small hand, smaller than Harry's hand but moving and… when had his trousers come off?

“Wha ba?” he mumbled. He tried to step away but the world was turning and he stumbled forward, into soft warm arms and… One of his hands was on a breast. He managed to pull it away. The world spun and he was on his back on the bed, not sure how he had got there. He was dimly aware of a mouth on his cock – which seemed unaffected by the alcohol, oddly.

It all clicked just as everything began to grow dim – he'd been drugged somehow, at dinner, probably. This had been a set-up. His father must be responsible for this.

This. Oh, god, this – he didn't want this. He knew where this was going and it was something he'd never done, had sworn he'd never ever do, as a matter of principle.

He pushed with his hands but could only clasp at her hair. He tried to form a word, but his mouth wouldn't cooperate. He felt her straddle him and his cock was engulfed by warm wetness, and then it was completely dark.

:: :: :: :: ::

Tuesday, 9 March, 2004

The dream about Ron faded into the morning light, once again. As soon as Draco became aware that he was awake, he wondered when the lorry had run him over. He felt like utter shit. His first thought was to try to dampen the hangover with a spell, and then he remembered he didn't have his wand.

He opened his eyes. The events of the evening prior washed over him in a second, and he sat straight up in bed. Sudden movement proved to be a mistake – he barely made it to the en-suite toilet in time. He pressed his forehead against the bowl, eyes squeezed shut and willing it all to have been a dream.

He stumbled back to the bedroom to see he was alone. Maybe it had been a dream after all. He sat on the bed and pressed a hand to his forehead.

He was naked, and he didn't sleep in the nude as a matter of course. Not lately, at least. He glanced down at the sheets. They were the magical sort that banished stains and straightened themselves, so no hints there. His head pounded. He scratched his balls absently and came up with a long, blonde, sticky hair.

He was filled with a sense of anger he could barely contain. How could he have been so stupid? He knew better than to trust anyone, let alone his father. Lucius must have been behind the entire thing. He had probably smirked all the way back to his own suite, thinking about what was waiting for Draco.

He had never felt violated before, not like this. He'd never even been in a situation where he was uncomfortable or in danger of being… raped. Was that what had happened? He wasn't sure.

He stood under the spray of the shower for half an hour, water turned up as hot as he could bear, scrubbing at his genitals with soap several times. The Muggle hot water heater finally began to empty and the stream grew lukewarm, but he stood there still, shivering against the tile.

There probably hadn't even been a condom. A slapper like her probably carried all sorts of horrible diseases. Or worse, she had probably got pregnant. That would serve Lucius right, Draco thought – a half-blood grandchild. The thought made his stomach reel a bit more.

If only he had his wand. He felt helpless without it.

The water finally grew so cold his teeth began to chatter, so he turned it off. He stared at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were bloodshot and his face was starting to get scruffy. He rubbed absently at the blond stubble on his chin.

He looked pathetic. He felt like shit. And a woman had fucked him last night. He hadn't even been able to fight her off, despite having a good stone on her.

He started to crawl back into bed, but that just reminded him of what had happened there. He pressed his palms against his temple again in an attempt to stifle the pounding. He would have given his left nut for a cigarette.

And then he got dressed as quickly as he could and stormed out of his room.

He found Lucius in one of the chairs on the terrace, Heather squirming and giggling in his lap. Draco stalked across the terrace toward them. They looked up as he approached, Lucius smirking and Heather smiling quizzically. Draco didn't hesitate: he slapped her so hard he knocked her off Lucius's lap.

Heather squealed and pressed a hand to her cheek, scrambling on the stone. Draco started after her again, and she climbed to her feet and ran behind Lucius's chair, eyes wide with terror.

“Who the fuck is he?” she cried, tears welling up in her eyes. She looked completely bewildered. “What's going on?” Her gaze darted from Lucius to Draco and back to Lucius again.

Lucius laughed, a deep rumble that sent a chill down Draco's spine.

Draco glared at his father as realization dawned. “You bastard,” he hissed, shaking his head. Heather had been obliviated. Draco bit back his frustration. It would do no good to take it out on someone who couldn't remember harming him.

“Leave us, darling,” Lucius said to Heather, who was still cowering behind him and whimpering. A large bruise was blossoming on her cheek. She glanced at Draco once more before dashing away.

“Did you enjoy doing that?” Draco spat, looming over Lucius as best he could. “Maybe you even watched, you twisted fuck.”

“Most sons would thank their fathers for such a favor,” Lucius replied, not intimidated in the least. “A beautiful woman waiting in your bed is one of the great pleasures in life, Draco.”

Draco pressed his hands against his head again, barely able to remain standing. Lucius thought it was all a joke. It was probably best not to let him know how much harm he had really done. Draco hardly needed to expose any more weaknesses to the man.

He felt a wave of nausea and dashed for the edge of the terrace, vomiting spectacularly over the side.

“Oh dear,” Lucius said with a sigh. “Paksy overdid it, didn't she?”

“That fucking elf has always hated me,” Draco moaned. That particular house-elf had been the bane of his childhood existence. His father had never intervened, saying Draco needed to learn to demand respect from servants. Apparently he hadn't succeeded. He'd give it a good kick next time it had the misfortune of crossing his path.

“I told her I wanted you relaxed, not comatose. I'll have one of the others beat her for it, of course. Come here.” Draco climbed to his feet and stumbled towards him. “Sit,” Lucius ordered, pulling out his wand. Draco sat on the edge of the chaise and Lucius cast a spell he had never heard before. Just like that, the pain was gone.

Draco's head spun from the sudden change. “I need to learn that spell.”

Lucius patted his head as if he were a small child with a bruised knee. “Better?”

“Yes.” Draco felt oddly like a child for a moment. He had a sudden flash of scraping his arm when he was small, from falling out of a tree. His father had run to his side to heal it, and had then let Draco sit in his lap for the rest of the day, petting his hair and fussing over him. Draco remembered loving the attention and milking it for all it was worth.

He glanced up at his father now, feeling a bizarre mix of emotions. How could he still feel something for this man who had done nothing but make his life miserable for the last seven years?

Lucius smiled at him. Feeling awkward, Draco stood and ran a hand through his hair. “I'll be in my room.”

“Sulking, I suppose?” Lucius smirked, and the spell was broken. Draco glared at him and walked away.

:: :: :: :: ::

The bed had remade itself when he returned, and he stretched out on top of it with a blanket he'd found in the wardrobe. He still felt angry and violated, but there was nothing he could about it, no reason to dwell on it.

Did this mean he had cheated on Harry? He pressed his face into the pillow.

It was a relief to have the hangover gone, at least. His mind was filled with a memory of stumbling around Haight Fair in San Francisco with Harry, looking for hangover potion. He'd been scared Manny would see him there that day and give him hell for going there after he'd been expressly forbidden to do so. When Manny was cross, he was a force to be reckoned with.

Draco winced. Manny hated him now too, which was probably what he deserved. He'd never meant to deceive Manny, though. He cared about him, loved him, even. Draco had gone from wanting a different boy every night to falling head over heels with Manny in the space of a week, it had seemed. One day he'd been commitment-phobic, and the next he wanted nothing more than to have a serious boyfriend, to his own astonishment.

Not that it mattered anymore. Manny had been sweet and wonderful, and Draco had really believed it was going to work. He'd been so heartbroken when it didn't that he buried himself in work, concentrating on making money instead. Two years later when Colby had found Draco and threatened to expose him, he'd run to Manny for help. He hadn't intended to deceive him, he'd just…

Draco rolled onto his back and forced it from his mind. No use dwelling on it now. He could only go forward. He had to find a way to get a message to Harry, and then hope Harry was willing to listen.

:: :: :: :: ::

The house-elf that came to summon him for dinner was a different one than the night before, as far as he could tell. Draco suspected Paksy was the grumpy elf that had come for him last night. He hoped the damned creature was suffering tonight. It would do well to avoid him.

“Sir is requested for dinner,” the elf said.

“I'll be along soon,” Draco replied, annoyed at being ordered about with no notice. Why couldn't his father just send a message with the appropriate time to appear on it, preferably several hours in advance? He was treating Draco like a child.

The elf wrung its hands and contorted its face into something that looked like anxiety. “There is a guest waiting, and Master told Rolly to bring Sir right away.”

“Fuck off. I'll come when I damn well please.”

The elf squeaked and disappeared.

Draco fumed for ten minutes before changing clothes for dinner. After escaping his Ministry cell with only the clothes on his back, he'd finally managed to get the house-elves to bring him some suitable items to wear. He'd sent back several shirts until they brought him exactly what he asked for. He assumed they'd just conjured it all and transfigured it to his specifications, as he doubted house elves had a clue what Versace was.

He finally made his way downstairs, letting his bad mood fester along the way. It would be easier to deal with his father. He'd make one of the elves taste his food tonight too, in case Lucius had any more tricks up his sleeve. Perhaps the guest was one of his father's cronies. At least it wouldn't be Heather – Lucius's toys were generally confined to quarters and didn't eat with the family.

Draco pushed open the doors of the dining room, smirk fully in place, only to have it wiped from his face immediately.

Standing by the table, arms crossed over her chest and scowling, was Cho Chang.

Draco stared at her in disbelief. She appeared to be in the middle of a discussion with Lucius, something that surpised him even more. He'd been suspicious she was working with Death Eaters, but with his father? That was something he hadn't expected.

She cast a sharp glance at him as he entered and then turned back to Lucius. “And I end up looking the fool, of course.”

“Draco was not to be touched,” Lucius retorted, sitting casually in his chair and fingering the stem of his glass of sherry. “That was the agreement.”

“The agreement also entailed his remaining in exile.”

“What agreement?” Draco asked, stunned.

“Stay out of this,” Lucius said, at the same moment that Cho hissed, “Shut up!”

Draco clenched his jaw.

“The moment he set foot on British soil, that agreement was null and void,” Cho continued, turning back to Lucius. She looked surprisingly strong with her feet planted on the Turkish rug and her dark hair flowing past her shoulders – almost like one of those warrior-girls in Chinese movies, Draco thought. She glanced at him, as if she had heard that thought.

“If the agreement is null and void, I owe you nothing,” Lucius retorted. “You and your colleagues at the Ministry have lost control of the situation. I have no choice but to proceed on my own.”

“This is ridiculous! You only stay out of Azkaban because of this agreement. You need our cooperation far more than we need yours.”

“I beg to differ,” Lucius replied. Draco couldn't help but envy his calm demeanor. “Without my cooperation, you will have a war on your hands. I am the only one who can keep the rebel movement from becoming a true threat.”

“Like you did so very well in Durham ?”

“The situation was under control until your pathetic little unit arrived. If the Ministry believes it can handle this threat on its own, by all means–” He made a sweeping gesture with one hand. “–go right ahead. We'll remove the smothering spell from the Ministry complex and let you take your chances with an angry and betrayed work force, a suspicious populace–”

“This bickering is pointless,” Cho said, cutting him off with a sharp tone. “I'm not here to dissolve our earlier agreement, but to resolve the current terms. I'm disappointed that you decided to undercut our authority by removing Draco from our custody, but–”

“And I am shocked, Ms. Chang, that you consider your personal vendetta against my son more important than the stability of our society.”

Cho's jaw tightened, but she didn't look at Draco. “It was not a vendetta, Mr. Malfoy. He committed a murder. He was never brought to justice.”

Draco's breath caught in his throat at the words.

Lucius shrugged. “Weasley's death was in the line of duty, as you well know. People die in a time of war. Should you be brought up on charges for the people you've killed?”

Cho made a sound like a laugh. “I will not discuss morality with you!”

“As you wish,” Lucius replied with a smug smile.

“As I was saying,” Cho continued, her voice assuming a steely edge, “We are disappointed by your blatant disregard for the law, but we are willing to overlook it. The smothering spell will remain in place. You will continue to provide us with information on the whereabouts of the rebel Death Eaters, and we will continue to arrest them.”

“Anything else?” The tone of his voice indicated he wasn't in the least intimidated by her demands.

“Yes. Don't interfere again.”

Lucius's face clouded for a moment, but before he could respond, a house-elf appeared out of thin air and whispered something in his ear. Lucius stood and offered a stiff smile. “If you'll excuse me for a moment.” With that, he left the room, leaving Draco alone with a fuming Cho.

It was silent for several long seconds before Cho turned to look at Draco.

“What did I do to you?” Draco asked before she could say anything. “This isn't just about Weasley. It's more than that.”

“The irony is that you don't even remember. I didn't realize that until a few days ago.”

“It's ridiculous to hate someone for something they don't remember doing.”

“Oh, but I have so many reasons to hate you,” Cho replied, looking almost wistful. “And I take a bit of pleasure in the fact that you will never understand why.”

Draco shook his head. “I almost feel sorry for you now.”

Cho crossed to him and pulled a wand from the inside of her robe. Draco took a step backwards, startled. He had no way of defending himself.

She turned the wand around and extended the handle towards him. It was his wand, he realized. Bewildered, he reached out and took it from her.

“This is the only favor I will ever do for you, Malfoy, and rest assured I'm not doing it for you entirely.” Cho cast a glance towards the door Lucius had left through. “I know your father is holding you here against your will. I want you to use this to escape and go back to New York . And for Harry's sake, stay there.”

Draco stared at his wand for a moment. “Why is it in Harry's best interest that I leave?”

“It simply is,” she replied, stepping back. “I know you care about him. I had my doubts before, but…” She looked away. “He's better off without you, especially now.”

“How would you know what's best for him?” Draco tightened his fingers around the handle of his wand.

“Oh, stop playing the fool.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Surely you realize what is happening here. Your father doesn't want you ; he wants Harry. He has set a trap and you are the bait.”

Draco's eyes narrowed. He had no particular reason to believe her. Of course, Lucius had been after Harry for quite a while. He had almost caught him in San Francisco , and might have done had Draco not intervened. Harry apparently had information that Lucius wanted.

Draco swallowed. He needed time to think about this. “How is Harry?”

“He's been hiding from the press for the last few days, after the story of your arrest and dramatic escape hit the papers, along with all the sordid details of your affair with Harry, then your betrayal of him. It's the biggest story of the year, naturally, so I wouldn't show my face in public if I were you.” She smirked, and Draco wondered if she had been responsible for that particular leak.

The thought that he'd caused Harry so much pain made his stomach churn, though. “Where is he? Is he safe?”

Cho sniffed. “I've no idea. Hermione knows where he is, but she won't tell me.”

“I'm not surprised. She's not particularly fond of you.”

“That's rich, coming from the man who murdered her husband.”

Draco felt himself pale at the words. He hadn't thought about Hermione, about what she must think of him now.

Cho's smile was smug. She wrapped her cloak about her body and turned to leave. “Tell your father I'll contact him later this week. I can't wait any longer.” With that, she swept out of the room, leaving a cloud of cheap perfume in her wake.

Draco sat at the table, waiting for Lucius to return. A glass of sherry appeared and he sniffed at it, and then cast a quick detection spell on it to see if he was being drugged again. The glass sparkled – it was clear. He sighed, immensely relieved to have his wand back. It was going to make all the difference. And despite Cho's dire warning, he had no intention of leaving. He tucked his wand into the sleeve of his shirt just as the door opened again.

Lucius strode to the table and sat. “Ms. Chang declined to stay for dinner?”

Draco snorted in response.

“Why does she dislike you so?” Lucius's tone suggested he knew the answer to the question.

“I spurned her advances back in school,” Draco lied. “She's never forgiven me.”

“I thought perhaps it was an old Quidditch rivalry.”

Draco frowned. His father was being unusually cordial this evening. “You aren't planning to drug me again, are you?”

Lucius laughed. “Don't be ridiculous, Draco.”

Draco stared at the glass in his hand, tilting it to examine the brick-red color of the liquid, the way it clung to the sides. He tilted it up again and saw his own reflection in the glass, distorted and strange. “Why am I here?”

Lucius raised an eyebrow. “Where else would you be?”

Draco looked up. “And for that matter, why did you come for me? How did you know where I was? Why was I being protected in the first place?”

Bowls of soup appeared before them, but Draco didn't break his father's gaze.

Lucius picked up his soup spoon. “Your cousin Nymphadora was kind enough to send an owl to your colleagues at the FBI office to let them know where you were. Your assistant contacted me to relay the information. I assumed you would appreciate my assistance.”

“Grizabella contacted you?”

Lucius smiled. “Her uncle is Adolfus York, you know.”

Draco hadn't known. York was an old school chum of his father's, and was probably a Death Eater. Manny had done the background check on Grizabella and said she'd come up clean. Perhaps she had been spying on them all along for Lucius.

Not that it mattered now. Draco stared into his soup. “Am I a prisoner here? If I wanted to leave, could I?”

“Why would you want to leave? You are safe here.”

“If I'm untouchable, aren't I safe out there?”

Lucius's sigh revealed a hint of frustration. “Your face and ridiculously detailed accounts of your recent activities fill the papers. You are, unfortunately, the subject of prurient gossip everywhere. Moreover, you are regarded as an escaped and dangerous criminal. I would think you would prefer discretion at the moment, lest some young Auror with delusions of grandeur decides to take matters into his own hands.”

Draco pursed his lips. His father had a point, unwilling as Draco was to concede it. “I need to know what you want from me. If you really expect me to work with you, I must know everything that has happened, everything that you know.”

Lucius didn't look up. He sipped his soup as if he hadn't heard.

Draco stared at him for thirty seconds, willing him to look up. He didn't. “Did you hear me? I need to know who the rebels are, and what they are rebelling against! Why did you have an agreement with the Ministry? Who is responsible for the smothering spell? What happened to Voldemort? How was Harry involved?”

Lucius stilled, his jaw tensing, but he said nothing.

Draco picked up his soup bowl and flung it across the room. It shattered against the wall, splattering tepid liquid everywhere. “Tell me!” he shouted, rising to his feet. “Or I will leave and take my chances with the press and the Aurors.”

“You won't get far without a wand,” Lucius retorted.

Draco let the wand drop from his sleeve into his hand and pointed it at his father. “Not a problem.”

Lucius's eyes widened. He placed his spoon next to the bowl and sat back in his chair, regarding Draco anew. “If you truly wish to leave, I won't stop you. But we want the same thing, son. We want to know what happened three years ago in the dungeon below this very room. We both want to know what happened to Voldemort. And we both know Harry Potter is the key to finding out the truth.”

“Here?” Draco kept his wand focused on Lucius as he looked at the floor beneath him. “It happened here?”

Lucius sighed, and then pushed away from the table. Draco's hand tightened on his wand, but Lucius ignored it. He stood and walked to the door Cho had disappeared through.

Draco kept his wand at the ready and followed Lucius into the parlor, down another flight of stairs into a room he'd yet to visit, and across the room to what looked like a blank wall. Lucius whispered a word and the wall melted away, revealing another staircase heading down into darkness.

Lucius waved his hand and torches lit the passageway, revealing a corridor that appeared disused and crumbling – the stuff of Muggle horror films. The door sealed itself behind them after they passed through it, and Draco began to question his own sanity at following his father down into the darkness.

They descended perhaps 100 meters before a large room opened up before them. It was indeed a dungeon, almost in the medieval sense, with soot-blackened ceilings and niches in the walls that may once have held chains. The center of the floor was covered with a series of large scorch marks.

Draco wanted it to look familiar, even tried to convince himself that he'd seen it before, but there was nothing – no feeling of déjà vu, no sense of familiarity at all.

“You have indeed been here before,” Lucius said, his voice low and gravelly, as if the very darkness of the chamber had affected it. “Three years ago.”

Draco swallowed. “I don't remember.”

“And that is most unfortunate.”

Draco turned to look at him, still gripping his wand tightly. “I assume you had something to do with Harry's memory loss, and mine.”

Lucius shook his head. “Would that I had. I can answer your questions here. The Ministry has not been able to enter this chamber.”

Draco tried not to let his surprise show – the castle was under surveillance? He ought to have suspected as much. Now that he had his wand, he'd have to check his room.

“Four years ago, the war was taking a toll on us all,” Lucius began. “Both sides were evenly matched, and it began to seem little progress was being made. Worse, the Dark Lord…” He paused, almost as if speaking the words was difficult. “The Dark Lord began to grow weak, for reasons none of us could explain. No trace of a curse could be found, and nothing could be done.

“This weakness was not limited to his physical being, however – it became clear that it was affecting his mind as well. He remained as magically powerful as before, but he was unbalanced. He took risks. He made bizarre demands of his followers.”

Hadn't he always? Draco thought. He shifted his weight and was surprised how that small sound echoed through the chamber. Lucius looked up as if startled, and fixed Draco with his gaze.

“You knew all of this once. Do you remember any of it at all?”

Draco shook his head.

“The Dark Lord became obsessed with finding a solution to his physical deterioration. This task was assigned to me and a small number of others – Snape, Avery, Driftwood – men the Dark Lord regarded as experts in Dark magic, if not men he trusted.

“We could find nothing, and the more we searched for a cure, the more it became clear to us that none existed. The Dark Lord began to behave more erratically. The attacks he planned and carried out were indiscriminate terrorism and little more. He killed thousands, even his own supporters, without a thought as to the consequences. The situation spiraled into madness. He was beginning to endanger the cause.”

“And that is why you began to plot against him,” Draco whispered. The pieces of information he had learned were falling into place, forming a twisted landscape.

Lucius looked away. “In a manner of speaking, yes. At first we thought we could do it ourselves, contain him somehow. For the sake of our cause, we had to act. We would have a new leader, one who could benefit from the Dark Lord's remaining power and continue in his place, changing the tide of the war and ensuring a victory.”

“You?” Draco knew his tone was flippant, but he didn't care.

Lucius nodded. “I was the natural choice. The others agreed, and we began to devise a plan.”

“But you couldn't do it alone. You had to turn to the Ministry.”

“That was Severus's idea. There were people within the Ministry who were sympathetic with our ideals, if not our methods. I approached one of my contacts, and within a week, we were collaborating to bring Voldemort down.”

Draco exhaled. He had never thought it possible that his father would betray the Dark Lord, despite the mounting evidence suggesting it. It was nearly too much to comprehend. “How did you keep it secret?”

“We couldn't. Voldemort soon became aware that there was a plot against him, and we all had to back away, deny our involvement. But the damage had been done. None of us could be involved. We agreed to provide our allies at the Ministry with intelligence, and they agreed they would devise a plan to capture and contain Voldemort.”

“Is that where Harry came in?”

“Against my wishes, of course – but the Ministry and Severus were convinced he was the only one who could complete the task. I feared we had lost control of the situation, that the Dark Lord would be destroyed and our fight along with him. So I insisted that a representative from our side be part of Potter's team. He refused everyone we suggested, and then he made a strange request of his own.” Lucius turned back to look at Draco.

Draco swallowed. “He requested me?”

“You, whom we considered all but a traitor, living in self-imposed exile. But it was our only chance to maintain control. I spent a month searching for you, and I learned that you had done rather well for yourself in New York . Your services came highly recommended from some prominent people, in fact.”

Draco allowed himself a smug smile.

“You were reluctant, but you named your price: a sizeable sum of money, and a promise never to contact you again.”

Draco frowned. He didn't remember a sudden increase in his bank account. Apparently his father hadn't met the terms of their agreement.

“I had no idea if you could be trusted, but I clung to the fact that you hated Potter and Weasley. I assumed your allegiance would remain with your blood.” Lucius paused, as if tot let the jibe sink in. “I had little contact with you during that time, but you eventually contacted me to tell me it was time, and that a plan was in place to capture and incapacitate the Dark Lord. Everything was set in motion.”

“How did you manage to keep this a secret from Voldemort? I thought it was impossible to lie to him.”

“By that point, he lived in a constant state of paranoia, but fortunately he had lost some of his ability as a Legilimens. He suspected nothing until it was too late.”

There was a long silence, during which Draco could hear his own heart beating. “So what happened?”

Lucius stared at Draco. “I don't know. Four people went into that room. Only two emerged afterwards – and neither of them had any memory of what had happened during the previous weeks.”

Draco swallowed. “And Voldemort?”

“There was no trace of him. We have no idea if he escaped, or if he was destroyed.”

“And Weasley was dead,” Draco said, hearing his voice wavder a bit. “By my wand.”

“I assumed Potter and Weasley had betrayed you and you attempted to stop them.”

Draco shuddered. Was that what had happened? Had he killed Weasley in self-defense, or in anger at being betrayed?

“There were those in the Ministry who wanted you charged with Weasley's murder. I took you back to New York before they could imprison you. No one knew what had happened, and efforts to recover Potter's memory failed. We reached an agreement that none of us would reveal what we knew publicly, that we would endeavor to keep it a secret.” Lucius bowed his head, as if overcome by the memory. “I told the remaining faithful that the Dark Lord had retreated to a secret location to rebuild his strength, and would return to finish what he had started – leaving me in command, of course. He only required our patience and faith to the cause. The war was effectively over.”

“And the smothering spell at the Ministry was part of that?”

“Some became curious about what had happened, including Potter. They needed to be protected from themselves. If anyone learned what we had done, there would have been chaos.” He turned back to Draco. “All was well until a year ago. Some of our fold began to suspect there had been a conspiracy, that a group of us had cooperated with the Ministry and were responsible for the Dark Lord's sudden disappearance. A few began to suggest that I – and others – had abandoned the cause. Rumors surfaced that Voldemort was about to return, and that he would punish those who had betrayed him.”

“And that is why you came searching for me. You wanted to find out what had happened.”

Lucius's face was impassive. “You want to know as well, Draco. I can sense it, hovering at the edge of your thoughts. You need to know what happened.” Draco swallowed, trying to break his father's gaze. “And you also know that Potter is the key to the truth. We both want the same thing. We can help each other.”

Draco stared back at him, uncertain. He and Harry desperately wanted to know what had happened three years ago, but what if it revealed secrets that should remain in shadow? The idea of cooperating with Lucius to solve this mystery was unnerving, to say the least.

And what if Voldemort was out there somewhere, gaining strength, waiting to strike? Surely he would seek to destroy Harry. If they didn't learn the truth, how would they be able to defend themselves?

Draco took a deep breath. “I won't endanger Harry. You must stay out of this.”

“I made that mistake three years ago,” Lucius replied, eyes hard. “I won't be fooled again.”

Draco let his eyes narrow, but did not reply. Perhaps Cho had been right about his father's intentions. Draco needed to keep control of the situation, and that meant keeping Harry as far away from Lucius as possible.

“I want you to come to a meeting with me tonight,” Lucius said at last. “I have a task for you.”

Draco nodded. It was an opportunity. He needed to get a message to Harry, somehow.

“I will be watching you, Draco.” Lucius's eyes narrowed. “I expect you to cooperate completely.”

Draco allowed himself a tight-lipped smirk. “As you said, we want the same thing.”

Lucius gestured toward the stairwell, and Draco walked ahead of him into the darkness.

 

:: :: :: :: ::

:: :: :: :: ::

They apparated to the meeting point, Lucius's arm tight around Draco's chest. Draco had no idea where he was going. Even after his feet touched ground again, he still didn't know precisely where he was.

He stepped out of his father's embrace, wrinkling his nose at the dank air. They appeared to be in an underground chamber. The only sources of light were torches along the walls, which seemed carved from the rock itself. The light twisted into alcoves and disappeared into tunnels, giving the room the appearance of a cave.

“Since you are in possession of your wand, you could make yourself useful,” Lucius said. Draco turned to see him pulling off his black gloves and tucking them into a pocket of his traveling cloak. “Sweep the room for surveillance.”

Draco brandished his wand. “You don't trust your allies very much.”

“Nor should you.”

Draco frowned at him, but began casting surveillance spells. Five minutes later, he was convinced the area was clean. Lucius then instructed him to conjure chairs for the meeting, an arduous task that left Draco sweating and drained.

It was nearly ten o'clock when Lucius pulled Draco into a tunnel and led him to a small chamber. He pressed a silver flask into his hands. Draco sniffed at the contents and wrinkled his nose in revulsion.

“Absolutely not!” He shoved the flask back towards Lucius.

“Glamours and concealing spells will do you little good here,” Lucius replied. His lips curled into a mild smirk, as if Draco's resistance was more amusing than irritating. “Unless you wish to remain hidden in this room for the duration of the meeting–”

“All right, fine,” he said, rolling his eyes. It was a good point, as much as he hated conceding it. Polyjuice was virtually undetectable. He would be able to move freely about the room and participate, even seek out a way to contact Harry. He sniffed the flask again and considered asking Lucius whose form he would be assuming. Of course, it hardly mattered at this point. With one more caustic glance at his father, Draco steeled himself and swallowed the thick liquid.

It was, oddly, worse than he remembered. After several moments of near-agony, he realized his clothes had become loose in some places and tight in others. He opened his eyes to see Lucius smiling down at him.

Draco shook his head. “Oh, bugger me, no!” He crossed his arms over his chest, but there were breasts in the way. He didn't need a mirror to know who he had become. He glared at Lucius. “Do you make a habit of taking your Muggle whores to these meetings?”

“Of course not, and that is precisely why she was a perfect choice. No one here will know who Heather is, which will make it easier for you to investigate the newcomers in the crowd. I will point them out to you, and you will learn as much as you can about them. We must be wary of spies and hostile elements, after all.”

“I can't believe this.” Out of habit he reached up to comb fingers through his hair and they were promptly tangled in long blonde locks. Draco scowled at the smug expression on Lucius's face. “You're enjoying this, I'm sure.”

Lucius stepped back and pointed his wand at Draco. Draco tensed, but exhaled when he felt his clothing shifting to accommodate Heather's shape. The waist of his trousers hung low on her hips, and his shirt became clingy, revealing a slip of midriff. Heather had a nice body, he realized, running his hands up his torso. He cupped his – her – breasts in his hands, finding the weight of them strange. He quirked an eyebrow at his father.

Lucius's smug grin changed to one of mild discomfort. Draco grinned and stepped closer to him, looking up at him through what he was certain were long dark eyelashes. “Satisfied?”

“We should go,” Lucius said, looking away.

“Whatever you say, darling.” Draco wrapped his arms around Lucius's neck and planted a chaste kiss on his lips.

Lucius paled, something Draco had only seen a handful of times in his life. “Will you please behave yourself?” He pushed Draco away.

“Yes, Daddy,” he replied in as simpering a tone as he could manage. Lucius flinched, and Draco snorted, simultaneously gleeful and disgusted. “Oh, don't tell me she–”

“Drop it.”

“Malfoy,” a familiar voice said from the tunnel entrance. They looked over to see Avery standing there, a leer on his cragged face. “Sorry to interrupt, but they're ready for you.”

Lucius only nodded. Draco smiled and took his father's arm, leaning into him. Lucius's jaw tensed.

The large room was packed, much to Draco's surprise. Everyone must have apparated there within a few minutes of each other. Many of the faces were familiar from other meetings he had attended, but there were several strangers in the crowd.

There was a murmuring in the room when people began to realize Lucius had entered. Many looked at Draco with surprise, and he became acutely aware that there were no other women in the room.

Lucius pulled him close, under pretense of kissing his cheek. “In the back right corner there is a man with a blue-trimmed cloak,” he whispered. “Find out what you can about him.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” Draco asked.

“I should think that would be obvious,” Lucius retorted.

Draco suppressed a scowl as he stepped away and headed towards the back of the room. Heads turned as he passed, and he had difficulty ignoring them. When he worked undercover, he generally tried to be as inconspicuous as possible. This attention was disconcerting, to say the least.

His target was sitting in the crowd, listening to Avery introduce Lucius. Draco slipped into an alcove in the back from which he could see the man. He had less than an hour before the polyjuice wore off, and he had no idea how long the meeting would last. How was he supposed to get the man alone under these circumstances?

He glanced around the room, searching for a friendly face. He'd hoped he would see someone here who could relay a message to Harry for him, but it was looking less and less likely.

“God, you're a fish out of water,” a voice spoke in his ear.

Draco jumped – Heather's senses weren't nearly as sharp as his own. He turned to see who had spoken to him and barely contained his shock.

Standing next to him in the alcove was Colby Hannick.

Draco swallowed hard and remembered to pitch his voice higher a split second before opening his mouth. “Hell, you gave me a fright!”

“That's not all I've given you,” Colby grinned.

Draco had no idea how to respond to that. He finally settled on a blank stare.

Colby sighed. “Pity you don't remember it. So Malfoy has put you to work? I wondered when he'd get tired of you.”

An indignant snort seemed the most appropriate response.

“Don't worry, sweetheart. He must see something special in you. The other girls haven't even been allowed out of bed.”

“Piss off,” Draco hissed, tossing his hair over his shoulder.

Colby sidled even closer, lips brushing Draco's ear. “Really, Heather – is that any way to treat me, after everything we've been through together?”

Draco frowned. He was nearly in over his head, but at least he knew Colby well enough to try to play along. “What are you doing here?”

“Same as you. Look for anyone suspicious, seduce the strangers into revealing themselves.”

“I'm sure you're good at it,” Draco quipped.

“Unfortunately.” He said nothing more, to Draco's surprise – Colby had always been rather chatty.

“We must hold to our values in these difficult times,” Lucius was saying across the room, voice magically amplified. “We must protect our families and our traditions from those who have no respect for magic, who threaten our way of life–”

Colby yawned just as Draco turned to look at him. Even though barely a month had passed, he looked different: older, tired, lost.

“Why do you do it?” Draco asked.

Colby shot him a strange look. “Like I have a choice? Fuck, you really are a blonde, aren't you? We had this discussion not a week ago.”

Draco decided to play the obliviation card. “We did?” He put a touch of desperation into his voice.

Colby's face softened. “Jesus, why don't you get out of there while you still can? You have no idea what he's doing to you, how he uses you. It's pathetic.”

Draco just stared at him. It hadn't occurred to him to feel sorry for Heather.

“Have you met Draco yet?” Colby asked, scanning the room again.

“Who?”

Colby made a sound of disgust. “That probably means ‘Yes, intimately'. Malfoy's son, Draco. I've heard he's there in the castle, laying low after the scandals in the papers. Cute, gay, complete smart-ass?”

“Doesn't ring a bell,” Draco replied, making a mental note of the description. “Why?”

“I want you to give him a message from me.” Colby leaned in close and whispered in Draco's ear. “Tell him I want to talk to him.”

“If I do see him, what should I tell him you want to talk about?”

“That's none of your concern. If I told you, Lucius would get it out of you, and that would only get me into deeper shit.” He clenched his jaw.

He was frightened, Draco realized. This might work to Draco's advantage. “Well, how is he supposed to get in touch with you if he does want to talk to you?”

“You can get a message to me,” Colby replied. “Just be careful about it.”

“Why should I take such a risk for you?”

Colby smiled at him. “Because you're secretly crazy about me. You must get tired of being under that old man every night.”

Draco's eyes narrowed. “I thought you were gay.”

Colby sighed, then leaned in and kissed Draco just under the ear. To his horror, he felt a weird tingle in his belly. “I go that way for you, baby. Too bad you don't remember our lovely night together.”

Draco closed his eyes as Colby's lips traced a path down his neck. His own neck wasn't nearly this sensitive. He was uncomfortable as hell, but it wasn't his body, he kept reminding himself. Heather would probably like the attention. “Why don't you remind me?” he whispered, then winced when he realized what he'd just asked for.

One of Colby's hands slid down his back and over his arse, fingers wriggling up between his thighs. Startled at the sensations that touch sparked, Draco turned away to dislodge him.

“Not here! I meant tell me.”

Colby laughed into his ear. “You sat on my face for half an hour. I looked like a glazed doughnut afterwards.”

Draco had to struggle not to make a face. Surely women didn't find comments like that romantic?

“We need your continued support,” Lucius was saying across the room. “The rumors that the Dark Lord is dead are false, I assure you. I am in contact with him, and he requests that we remain patient while he gains strength. He will soon be ready to return to us, and we must be prepared for his glorious ressurection. The rebels who claim to be working for him only want to bring chaos and destruction to our society. They do not share our values or–”

Colby stepped away, to Draco's relief. “Here,” he said, pushing something into Draco's hand. “Give this to Draco for me. He'll understand what it means.”

Draco felt a surge of excitement – a packet of Marlboros. He suppressed both his smile and his sudden desire to kiss Colby. He hadn't had a cigarette in days, and he'd been on the verge of pulling his hair out. He'd even tried to conjure some, but they hadn't been any relief. He managed to turn a puzzled face to Colby. “Cigarettes for favors? What are we, in a prison film?”

Colby didn't laugh. “Sometimes it feels like it. Look, just give those to him and tell him I want to talk to him, please? I promise I'll make it up to you. I'll owe you one.”

Draco nodded and slipped the cigarettes into a pocket. He checked his watch – less than 15 minutes left before the polyjuice wore off. He had to make an effort to investigate his target and get back to the small room before he changed back. But the situation was promising: Colby's desperation, as well as his friendship with Heather, could prove rather useful.

The room rang with applause, wrenching him out of his thoughts.

“The meeting's breaking up,” Colby said, running a hand through his hair. “I gotta go.”

Draco nodded as he disappeared. He looked for his own target, only to see the man walking in another direction.

“Fuck,” he hissed. He scrambled to follow without making it too obvious that he was following. He ignored the stares and outright leers of the men he passed, pausing once to glare at someone who grabbed his arse.

The man in the cloak had disappeared into a corridor. Draco dashed in after him, but he seemed to have missed his chance: the corridor was empty and dark. He swore under his breath, already making up what he would tell his father. Just someone who works at the Ministry – a nobody, really. Someone I remember seeing in the corridors once or twice.

A hand covered his mouth and he was pushed up against the wall in the dim light. He was startled, but had the sense not to respond: Heather probably wouldn't have a clue what to do in such a situation. He blinked his eyes, trying to force them to adjust to the darkness.

It was the man he'd been following. Draco nearly breathed a sigh of relief. The face was oddly familiar, though Draco couldn't place it.

The man stared at him as if trying to see through him. “You came in with Malfoy,” he whispered. It sounded like an accusation.

Draco nodded under his hand, eyes wide.

“I have a message for his son, Draco. Do you know how to find him?”

Draco allowed himself to look surprised. He only had ten minutes before the polyjuice wore off, so he needed to do this as quickly as possible. He nodded, tentatively.

The man removed his hand from Draco's mouth. “Can you take me to him?”

“No,” Draco replied. “I don't know precisely where he is, but I will see him. Who is the message from?”

The man hesitated, then looked around the corridor before whispering, “Harry Potter.”

Draco felt a swooping sensation in his belly. Harry was trying to contact him? Of course, it could be a trap. Lucius had set him on this man, after all. “What's the message?”

The man frowned. “I would rather give it to him myself.”

“I can assure you he will get it.”

The man hesitated, staring at Draco. Draco took the opportunity to stare back and study him, while trying to look frightened. There was definitely a glamour charm here, but it was unlike any Draco had seen before. When he tried to look through it, it was as if there was nothing underneath.

The man released him and stepped away, a strange expression on his face. “Never mind. I'll find another way.”

Draco's heart pounded in his ears. “No, wait! I'll get it to him, I promise.” He stepped forward, lowering his voice to a whisper. “He… he has mentioned Harry Potter before. It's important, I'm sure.”

“You work for Lucius. Why should I trust you?”

Draco had no idea if desperation would help or not. “I don't know. But I'm the best chance you have to get that message to him.”

The man hesitated another moment, watching Draco. Draco swallowed, hoping the polyjuice wasn't starting to wear off already. He didn't have much more time.

At last, the man nodded. He reached into his pocket, and pressed something into Draco's hand, something warm and hard and smooth.

Draco's stomach felt as if it had dropped a foot – it was his mother's bracelet. The one he'd given to Harry a little more than a month ago, when he was afraid for Harry's life. It could only mean that Harry felt the same. That Harry still cared about him. That Harry–

He looked up at the retreating figure of the man, breath caught in his throat. The man's gait was familiar. Draco swallowed once, steeling himself. He had better be right about this.

“Harry?” he asked, in his own voice.

The man froze in his tracks. Draco clutched the bracelet in his fist, heart in his throat. The man turned around, staring at him. He walked back towards Draco, strides getting longer as he grew closer. Draco backed up against the wall, hand on his wand, just in case.

The man didn't stop until he was looming over Draco. He paused a moment more, and then kissed him.

Draco was stunned into immobility. He'd been braced for an attack, but he hadn't expected anything like this. Then the kiss deepened, tongue pressing into his mouth, lips moving across his, and he knew . He knew at that moment, with his knees buckling beneath him and a wave of relief flooding his body.

“Harry,” he managed between kisses.

He looked up and saw him then, saw through the glamour at last – it was indeed Harry's face, staring at him with a mixture of relief and fear, but undeniably happy to see him.

“I hoped it was you,” Harry whispered against his lips, and Draco melted, allowing himself to be pulled tightly against Harry. He felt an odd sensation deep in his abdomen, and his eyes flew open when he realized it was arousal – in someone else's body.

“Wait!” he hissed, pushing Harry away. “Stop – this isn't me you're kissing, it's my father's fucking girlfriend.”

Harry grinned and dove back in. “I don't care. I've missed you.”

Draco's next protest was cut off by a particularly steamy kiss, but he managed to pull away again. “Well, I care. Do you make a habit of kissing strange women?” Harry's mouth opened to protest, but his earlier words finally registered in Draco's mind. “You missed me?”

“Of course I missed you. Are you daft?”

“But–” Draco paused, unsure where to begin. “What about Ron?”

Harry stiffened, but didn't pull away. “Did you do it?”

“I don't remember. I don't remember any of it. But there's evidence–”

“We'll deal with that later. We need to decide where to go from here.”

Draco pushed his feelings aside as best he could. “I don't have much time. Lucius must see me before the polyjuice wears off.”

“We can use Hermione's cryptosystem to communicate with each other, exchange information.”

Draco nodded. “Right, but not by owl post. I don't have reliable access.” He paused, thinking. Colby could turn out to be useful after all. Draco wasn't sure he could trust him, but maybe that didn't matter in the short run. “I have another plan, though. I'll send you a message as soon as possible, explaining everything I've learned.”

“All right.”

They stared at each other for a moment, neither of them certain what to say.

“I'm sorry about all of this,” Draco whispered. “I never meant to deceive you.”

“I know.”

“The things you heard, that I said about you–”

“I know,” Harry repeated, more forcefully. He bit his lip, looking anxious. “Draco… I was there.”

Draco blinked at him. “You were where?”

“At that meeting, under the warehouse in London . I'm sorry that I didn't tell you before, but I had a few leads and I wanted to check them out myself. And I've been doing other things too, things no one knows about, not even Hermione. I thought maybe you knew, because once you looked at me while I was disguised, but I–”

“Wait, hang on,” Draco said. “All this time, you've been doing your own investigating, going to Death Eater meetings in disguise among other things, and you've kept it a secret from the rest of us?”

“Yes.”

“God, I love you,” Draco said, launching himself at Harry and kissing him, forgetting his earlier admonition.

“Do you really?”

“You have no idea how much,” Draco replied, pressing his forehead into Harry's neck. Harry sighed and wrapped his arms around Draco, pulling him tight. But the height difference only reminded Draco he wasn't in his own body – and as much as he wanted to be with Harry at the moment, it was putting them both in danger. He kissed Harry again and stepped away. “I have to go. I'll be in touch soon.”

With that, he turned and dashed down the corridor, away from Harry, his heart lighter than it had been in years. He slipped the bracelet into his pocket, intending to put it on in private, after he was back in his own body.

He made it back to the small chamber just as the polyjuice began to wear off. The transformation was less painful this time, though he only remembered to remove the charm from his clothes after a seam in his shirt split. He collapsed to the floor, panting, mind racing.

“You're cutting it a bit close,” Lucius said. Draco looked up to see him standing in the center of the room. “What did you learn?”

Draco cleared his mind as best he could. “He was disguised, but he's someone I've seen at a meeting before. I didn't get any useful information, though – he seemed cautious. I don't know if he'll be back.”

Lucius regarded him for a moment, and then nodded. “Very well. We should leave.”

Draco stood and dusted himself off, then let Lucius apparate him back to the castle.

:: :: :: :: ::

The first thing Draco did when he walked through the door was to sweep his room for security devices. Sure enough, there was one in a corner near the ceiling. Draco considered deactivating or shielding it – but whoever had placed it there knew he was here by now, didn't they? Maybe it would be better if they didn't know he was aware of being watched.

He strolled as casually as he could to that side of the room, stopping under the device, just out of its range. It was an older type, so it didn't transmit information; it only stored it until someone retrieved it. He had learned to cast retrieval spells for these sorts of devices while working for the FBI – fortunately, the magic they employed was quite simple, since they were used in sensitive areas where complicated spells could easily be detected.

There was one particular scene he didn't want anyone else to see. It took twenty minutes of careful work, but he managed to locate and remove the images that had been recorded the night before when Heather had visited his room. The distilled images spun into a glowing ball in the air above his head until he found an empty glass bottle to direct them into.

Once inside, the ball spread to fill the space, causing the scene to play across its surface over and over in a continuous loop. Draco forced himself to watch it for a moment, not allowing even a flinch at the sight of Heather straddling him on his own bed.

He ought to destroy it, of course. Then it would be gone, and he wouldn't have to think about it. It was bad enough that he'd had to inhabit the very body that had done this to him. It might prove to be useful, though, so he put the bottle inside the wardrobe, out of sight.

He stretched out on the bed and pulled his mother's bracelet from his pocket. He stared at it for a moment, tracing its curves with the tips of his fingers, letting the events of the evening wash over him. It had been one of the most bizarre days of his entire life.

Harry was at the forefront of his thoughts, of course. He was relieved that Harry didn't hate him, but also worried that he seemed to be in denial about the possibility that Draco had murdered Ron. For the first time, he wondered if finding out what had really happened during those weeks was a good idea. If he was indeed responsible for Ron's death, could he live with that knowledge? Could Harry?

It was too much to consider. He pulled the pack of Marlboros from his pocket and lit one, inhaling deeply. Nicotine, how I've missed you.

He slipped the bracelet over his hand, sighing at the sense of contentment that filled him as it molded itself to his wrist. He'd forgotten how it felt to wear it.

It had been passed from person to person for centuries, the protective spells mingling and building on each other. He could feel the remnants of his mother's concern and love for him, blending now with Harry's. He'd grown used to that constant presence, always reminding him that he was loved. The month without it had been far more difficult than he could have imagined.

But now, its weight on his wrist reminded him of Harry, of the fact that Harry must have been desperately worried for him when it came off. He wondered when it had happened. Had Harry been trying to find him for days? Why hadn't he come to the Ministry when Draco was being held there? Manny had implied Harry was upset with him – had Harry deceived Manny to keep him from getting suspicious of Harry's activity?

He smiled a little at the thought that Harry had been sneaking around too, working on his own. He wondered what Harry had discovered, whether he'd ever suspected Draco was really working for the other side. If Draco had just taken his offer to move in that night, how would things have been different?

He pushed the thought away. He wouldn't be wearing the bracelet now if Harry didn't love him completely. Draco took several long drags on the cigarette at that thought lest he get overly emotional.

:: :: :: :: ::

Wednesday, 10 March, 2004

The house-elf who poured Draco a cup of coffee seemed more exuberant than usual. He'd never had much patience for the creatures, but this one – a pointy-nosed female named Ebby – was growing on him.

“Master Draco wants any eggs?” she squeaked.

“Just toast, please.”

The elf nearly bounced with excitement. “Ebby knows Master Draco likes toast. Ebby has already made it.” A plate appeared before him, piled with enough toast for six people.

Draco couldn't help but grin. “Thank you. That will do.”

“Ebby is glad Master Draco is coming back,” she said, pointy nose twitching.

Draco buttered a piece of toast. “Well, we're not exactly at the Manor, are we?”

“Ebby misses Malfoy Manor,” the elf said, eyes glistening. “But Ebby is glad Master Draco is back at the castle.”

Draco paused mid-chew. “Sorry?”

“Last time Master Draco is coming here, Ebby is helping him.” She stopped and clamped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide.

“You helped me? How?”

Ebby hung her head. “Master Draco was asking Ebby never to speak of it. Ebby is being a bad house-elf!” Tears welled in her bulging eyes.

Draco dropped his toast and clasped the elf's arm – possibly the first time he'd ever touched one of the creatures willingly. “Ebby, you know of what happened three years ago, when I was here before?”

Ebby nodded, hesitantly. A few tears spilled down her pudgy cheeks.

“Forget what I said then, all right? I want you to tell me what you remember.”

Ebby choked down a sob. “But Master Draco was saying–”

“Ebby! Please.”

Ebby stared at her hands for a moment, torn between the two different orders she'd been given. “Ebby is helping Master Draco, yes? Ebby is not disobeying?”

“You're helping, I promise.”

Ebby blew her nose on the filthy tea towel she wore and heaved a sigh. “Ebby is bringing Master Draco things. Ebby is not telling Master Lucius about them.”

Draco gaped at her. “What sorts of things did you bring me?”

“Ebby is bringing bundimum, nettles, jobberknoll feathers...”

“Interesting,” Draco said, his mind racing. “Was I making a potion?”

Ebby nodded. “Yes, but Master Draco is telling Ebby it is a secret!”

“Do you know what kind of potion?”

She shook her head. “Master Draco is only asking Ebby to bring things. Ebby is not asking questions.”

“And you've told no one this?”

Ebby stepped back as if stung. “No! Ebby is a good house-elf!” Her lip began to quiver.

“Of course you are,” Draco said, sitting back in his chair. He took a sip of coffee, and an idea struck him. “One more thing – do you know where Master Lucius keeps his store of polyjuice potion?”

She nodded. “Ebby is knowing where. Ebby is helping to make it.”

“Could you bring me some?”

“Oh, yes!” the elf cried, apparently thrilled to be of use.

“This is a secret, though. Do not tell Master Lucius.”

Ebby nodded, lips clamped together. Draco picked up his toast again and rewarded her with a warm smile.

:: :: :: :: ::

Heather was sitting in a large chair in the castle's library when he found her. She was reading a dusty book, legs tucked underneath her, hair loosely tied back from her face. She froze when she saw him, eyes wide.

“Hi,” Draco said. “Remember me?”

“Come to apologize?” She was gripping the book very tightly, he noticed.

“Do you know who I am?”

“You're Lucius's son, who attacked me for no–”

“That's not why I'm here.” Being in the same room with her was turning out to be harder than he'd expected. He stepped closer, fixing her with his gaze and shifting his arm so that his wand was accessible. “What did you do last night?”

It was easy to penetrate Muggles' thoughts when they were caught off-guard. An image sprang into her mind even as her eyes narrowed – a bath, a glass of wine, her hands slipping beneath the water. Draco let his wand drop into his hand and thought Obliviate before the rest of the memory played out.

She blinked at him. “Sorry?”

“I asked what you did last night.” Draco tilted his head at her as if concerned.

Her mouth opened and closed. “I… I don't… why do you care?”

“You don't remember, do you?” Draco crossed to the chair and leaned against the arm.

She didn't flinch away. “I… That's odd. What was I doing?”

“Do you remember what you did the night before that?”

Heather looked up at him with a stunned expression. She could only shake her head.

“And what about the night before that?” he pressed.

Her expression changed to one of mild panic. “I don't… shit, why can't I remember?”

“You understand that my father is a wizard, don't you?” Draco asked. She nodded, forehead furrowed. “He's been erasing your memory.”

She gaped at him. “That's ludicrous! Why would he do such a thing?”

“Because he's making you do things he doesn't want you to remember. Things you may not even be doing willingly.”

She shook her head, still staring at him with wide brown eyes. “This is… What sorts of things?”

Draco had been holding the bottle containing the scene from the surveillance device behind his back. He handed it to her, expression grim. The images played across the surface silently, showing her pushing him down to the bed, trapping arms that were trying to push her away, undressing him, sitting astride him – then leaving him naked and unconscious.

“We…?” she began, nearly sputtering. “When was this?”

“Night before last.”

She shook her head, shooting him an accusatory glare. “This is a trick. You've forged this somehow.”

“That's impossible,” Draco retorted, though it wasn't. “You haven't a clue about magic, have you?”

She stared at the bottle again. “What was wrong with you that night?”

“I was drugged. And resistant.”

He could identify the moment when she understood – the expression on her face went from skepticism to horror.

“You're saying I forced you?” When he nodded, she shook her head. “But that's impossible.”

“He had me drugged first. And then he erased your memory afterwards.”

She closed her eyes and shook her head. “This is ridiculous! Why would he do such a thing to me, to you?”

“Let's just say he doesn't approve of my lifestyle.”

Heather's defiance crumbled visibly. She sank into the chair and pressed a hand against her forehead. “Please go away. Leave me alone.”

“I can help you,” Draco said, injecting as much calm into his voice as he could. “He's using you, and you can't even remember it afterwards.”

“He loves me. He wouldn't–”

“You're a Muggle,” Draco said, barely restraining himself from snapping at her. “You're little more than a toy to him; worse, a tool to use and dispose of. He doesn't love you and he never will.”

“How do you know that? You don't know anything! You don't know what he says to me when no one else is around.”

“I imagine it's exactly what you want to hear.”

Heather's face fell even more. She was silent for a long moment. “You're not the first person to tell me that.”

Draco studied her face, watching the way she wore her emotions. “Did Colby Hannick warn you as well?”

She looked up at him, eyes wide. “You know Colby?”

Draco nodded. “You don't remember where you were last night, do you?” She shook her head, and he recounted the tale of the meeting the night before as if it had been her there instead of him, including Colby's message to him. “You insisted on telling me all of this as soon as you got back, so I assumed it was important.”

Heather looked shell-shocked. “Oh my god. How long has this been happening?”

“How long have you been here?”

“Three weeks. I was in a pub in Edinburgh with some friends, and I met Colby. He was there with some horrid old man who was very possessive. We struck up a conversation when his boyfriend went to the loo, and he said he had a friend he wanted to introduce me to. And…” She paused, looking confused. “Well, he introduced me to Lucius at some point, and the next thing I knew I was skiving off work and staying here.”

Draco nodded. “And he's warned you about Lucius recently?”

Heather made a flippant gesture. “He said I tried to escape and Lucius brought me back. I didn't believe him, but… There are so many things I don't remember.” She paled and let the book slip out of her lap. It hit the floor with a resounding thud. “What am I going to do?”

“I'm trapped here as well. We could help each other. You said you knew how to get a message to Colby?”

“I did?” she asked. At his nod, she sighed. “Well, yes. I usually call him on his mobile.”

Draco nearly choked. “You have a mobile phone here?” The thought hadn't occurred to him.

“Of course,” she replied, giving him an odd look.

He struggled to contain his elation. “Could I… borrow it for a bit?”

:: :: :: :: ::

Thursday, 11 March, 2004

Heather was scowling when she opened the door to the room. “I don't want to do this, you know. The whole thing makes me very uncomfortable.”

“Will you please shut up?” Draco hissed pushed her inside and closed the door behind them. “Trust me. I've got this under control.”

“What if he finds out?”

“He won't. Now, what are we wearing?” She pointed at a low-cut sundress laid out on a chair, and he wrinkled his nose. “I hate yellow.”

“And I'm a size eight, don't forget. I hope you have reasonably good taste.”

Draco gave her a long look. “I could dress you better than you dress yourself.”

“Very funny. Pander to the stereotype a bit more, won't you?”

“What stereotype?” He'd have to obliviate her again if she didn't calm down. “Oh, and I need…” He plucked a long blonde hair from her shirt and removed the bottle of polyjuice potion from his pocket. Ebby had been trembling when she'd brought it to his room that morning, fearful of being caught by Lucius. Draco had patted her on the head and asked her to make him something special for lunch. That always seemed to cheer her up.

Heather squinted at him. “This is madness, you know. It took me ages to convince him to go.”

“And I do thank you for that. Have you heard from Colby?”

“Yes. He said he would ‘be in touch', whatever that's supposed to mean.”

Draco frowned. “Did he say what he wants to talk to me about?” Not that he expected Colby to have told her anything, but one never knew.

She shook her head, staring at the vial of potion in his hand. “Are you certain this is a good idea? Because I could–”

“I know what I'm doing,” Draco said, poking the hair into the potion. “Erm… you might find this part a bit disturbing.” He gave her a pointed look, but she only crossed her arms over her chest and stared back, defiant.

Two minutes later, he was levitating her to the bed from where she had fainted on the floor. He shed his own clothes, slipped into her dress, and cast a sleeping charm on her before leaving the room.

He paused at the top of the stairs and peeked over the railing. Lucius was waiting below, an expression of mild annoyance on his face. Draco wrapped his arms around himself and took a deep breath – he could do this. He was good at undercover work. He had blended in with Muggle gangsters and American Death Eaters on more occasions than he could count. He had studied Heather's expressions and practiced her northern English accent for the last 24 hours. He could fool his own father, certainly.

One hand trailed down his arm and caught on his mother's bracelet. His eyes flew open, realizing he'd forgotten about it. If Lucius saw it, it would all be over. He transfigured it into a watch, heart pounding. Oh, that's a good sign, he thought, taking one deep breath more. He managed a smile as he descended the stairs.

“I was about to come fetch you,” Lucius said, frowning.

“Sorry!” Draco replied, trying not to stare. He had never before seen his father dressed as a Muggle: his hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail, and his clothing was well-tailored, smart, and completely black. He looked like a celebrity, Draco thought.

“You were the one who insisted I buy you a dress. I dislike spending time in that Muggle village, as you well know.”

“I know,” Draco replied, trying his best to look demure. Lucius's eyes drifted over the curves of Heather's body, and Draco resisted the urge to squirm.

“The car is waiting,” Lucius said, gesturing towards the door.

“The car?”

“You keep reminding me how much you hate magical forms of travel.”

They walked outside and down the front steps, where a large black car waited for them. The Muggle driver rushed to open the door for Draco, beaming at him. Must have been hired, Draco thought. He'd had no idea Lucius could get around the Muggle world this well.

Lucius directed the driver to the High Street of the nearby village of Maybole , then settled back and smiled at Draco. Draco smiled back.

“You look lovely,” Lucius said, moving closer.

“Thank you,” Draco replied. He forced his anxiety down.

“Good enough to eat,” Lucius continued, just before leaning down and kissing him.

Draco stiffened against him, horrified.

“Still cross with me?” Lucius whispered against his lips. “I did promise to make it up to you.”

Relax, Draco told himself. “Y-yes. I am, and–”

He started at the feeling of a hand on his bare thigh. Lucius took advantage of his surprise to kiss him again, this time with an extraordinary amount of tongue. Draco whimpered in horror – really, he had never wanted to know that his father was such a good kisser – and Lucius took the sound as a sign of encouragement. The hand was creeping up inside the dress, its destination completely clear.

The driver cleared his throat, giving Draco the opportunity to pull away. “Pardon, sir – which shop?”

Draco felt nearly undone, while Lucius was the epitome of cool. “I don't know. Darling?”

Draco blinked. “Erm… It's a boutique called Emily's.”

“Yes, Miss,” the driver said.

Draco didn't dare look at his father, for fear the man would maul him again.

Lucius laughed and took his hand. “I won't embarrass you again, darling. No need to worry.”

Draco smiled, even though he wasn't quite sure what Lucius was talking about. Did Heather take issue with this sort of display on a regular basis?

Lucius's fingers grazed the bracelet-cum-watch, and Draco felt his heart skip a beat. He glanced at Lucius – he was looking out the window, though, and didn't appear concerned at all.

The shop even looked exclusive from the outside. Lucius told the driver to wait there, insisting even though the man protested that there was no place to park. Draco allowed himself a small smirk – perhaps Lucius didn't know quite so much about the Muggle world after all.

Draco turned to face him as soon as they were inside, smiling up at him. “Make yourself comfortable. This may take some time.”

The look Lucius gave him was one of carefully controlled lust, and Draco felt himself blush in response. He ducked his head and smiled at him as he walked away. He might end up permanently scarred from this experience, but at least he knew Lucius wasn't suspicious. Not yet, anyway.

He examined the dresses along the wall, occasionally handing something interesting to the salesgirl who seemed determined to kiss his arse as much as possible. She seemed to understand they would be spending a lot of money. He'd picked a dozen dresses before he felt a tug on his hair.

He waved at the salesgirl and she led him to a dressing room where all of his choices were waiting. She fawned over his figure and several of the dresses he'd picked, and then told him to give a shout if he needed anything more.

Once the door was closed, he cast a silencing spell around the small room. “Well?”

There was a blur of movement and then Harry was standing before him. “Hi.”

Draco frowned at him. “Hi? Is that all you have to say?”

Harry sighed. “I had trouble finding the shop. It was a bad connection yesterday, and you kept breaking up. I only had a vague idea of what I was looking for.” He paused a moment more, then leaned forward to kiss Draco.

Draco returned the kiss with some enthusiasm until he felt a hand on his arse – his body was confused enough as it was. He pushed Harry away. “I don't have much time. I have to pick one of these and get back to the castle in thirty minutes.” He pulled the sundress over his head and reached for the first dress on the rack. “Oh, here.” He pulled out the folded piece of parchment he'd spelled to the inside of the dress. It was double encrypted and contained all of the information he'd learned so far. He held it out, only to see Harry staring at him. “What?”

Harry closed his eyes once, then shook his head as if to clear it. “I'm sorry – this is just a little distracting.”

Draco looked down at Heather's naked body. He'd thrown the dress on with nothing underneath, having forgotten to ask her where she kept her knickers. He looked up at Harry to see his gaze focused on his chest.

“What is it with men and tits?” he grumbled, pulling the first dress off its hanger.

“Sorry?”

Draco scowled at him as he struggled into a red dress. “You're not helping.”

“Oh, right,” Harry said. He pulled an envelope from his pocket. “Here's mine. The most important thing is that I've made a lot of progress with Ron's research log.”

“You have?” Draco examined his reflection and wrinkled his nose at the dress. He started to take it off again, a more difficult task than he'd anticipated. “You said on the phone that Hermione was working on that.”

“I convinced her to let me have a go. I was there, after all, so I thought something might ring a bell. Which it didn't. Do you want some help with that, or…?”

“No,” Draco replied, a bit more sharply than he'd intended. He managed to get the red dress off, then fumbled through the others on the rack, already tired of trying things on. He pulled out one that seemed to be made up of artfully placed leather strips. “Does she know that you… that you're here?”

Harry nodded. “I had to tell her. She wasn't pleased about everything we've been doing, but she agreed to help.”

“We?” Draco raised an eyebrow.

Harry's expression turned sheepish. “I told them – Hermione and Manny both – that we'd been working together all this time and keeping it a secret from them.”

Draco frowned – he wasn't sure that continuing to lie was a good thing. “What does she think about… you know?”

“She hasn't passed judgment yet. None of us have.”

“Manny has,” Draco mumbled. The strappy dress was proving a challenge to sort out.

“Well, yes, but he… She's talked some sense into him.” Harry's eyes were sympathetic. “Did you really work as a double agent in New York ?”

“Yes,” Draco said, turning to look at him. “I did for years, until it came back to haunt me. I'm sorry I didn't tell you that before, but I… well, it doesn't matter now.” Harry's face clouded, and Draco looked away. He started to wriggle into the dress, grateful that it allowed him a reason to avoid Harry's gaze for a moment. “I went to San Francisco because I wanted out. And Lucius wanted me to work for him, something I–” He paused, trying to figure out where to arrange the straps on his body.

“So that part was the truth? You really were running away from Lucius?”

Draco looked up at him and nodded. “I didn't realize what he wanted at the time.” And he told Harry about the conversation in the dungeon, about how he and Harry apparently were present when Voldemort disappeared.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, nodding. “I suspected as much. When I've been undercover, I've heard your name associated with mine and Ron's several times, as if we were working together.”

“Lucius said you requested me, and that he went all the way to New York to fetch me for you.”

Harry smiled for the first time since he'd appeared. “Can you blame me?”

Draco managed to tug the last strap into place. He grinned at himself in the mirror. “Oh, I think this is the one.”

“You look like a dominatrix,” Harry quipped.

“Does it come with a whip, I wonder?”

“You do realize your father is going to fuck her in that dress?”

“He'll fuck me in it if I'm not careful. Think these are real?” He cupped Heather's breasts.

Harry blinked at him. “No. What did you–”

“How do you know?”

“It's obvious. Did Lucius do something to you?”

Draco wrinkled his nose. “I really don't want to talk about it.”

Harry leaned against the wall. “Is it odd that I'm jealous when it isn't even your body?”

Is it odd that I'm completely freaked out when it isn't even my body? Draco thought. But he smiled at Harry and embraced him. “No, it's quite sweet.” He kissed Harry, feeling bolder than he had before. Harry sighed and kissed him back, arms winding around him. Draco felt guilty for spending their precious time this way, when they should be talking strategy, but he couldn't help himself.

“This is hot, you know,” Harry whispered. “I don't suppose you'd like to… try it this way sometime?”

Draco felt an odd twinge in his abdomen at the very idea. He grinned and pushed Harry away. “Why don't we save the kinky stuff for when we need to spice up our sex life in ten years?”

Harry's smile was one of the most genuine Draco had ever seen.

Draco checked his watch and gritted his teeth. “I've got to go. Anything else?”

Harry nodded. “The last thing Ron wrote in his research log were the words triple perfidio. Does that mean anything to you?”

Draco shook his head. “Nothing. But one of the house-elves told me I made a potion of some sort when I was there three years ago. She helped me get ingredients behind Lucius's back. Maybe there's a connection?”

“It could be a potion. Hermione's done a lot of research, though, and we've not been able to turn up anything.”

“If it is a potion, there's one person who would probably know.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “He still hasn't forgiven me, you know.”

“Then I'll ask him. I think Lucius would be willing to let me meet with him.”

Harry snorted. “I'll bet.”

“Now, now,” Draco said, pulling the strappy dress off again. “None of that.”

“Yes, dear,” Harry replied, grinning.

After one more lingering kiss, he left Harry in the dressing room and handed the strappy dress to the sales girl. Her eyes widened at his choice, and then she cast a quick glance towards Lucius and winked at Draco.

Lucius was sitting on a chaise lounge, studying his fingernails. He smiled when he caught sight of Draco. “I trust you found something suitable?”

Draco leaned over him and planted a quick kiss on his lips. “Oh, yes. It's quite expensive.”

“Then I shall enjoy tearing it off of you later,” Lucius replied, capturing his lips again before he could move away.

Draco felt a sharp tug on his hair from behind. He stumbled back, pretending he'd nearly lost his balance, and giggled. Lucius stood and went to pay for the dress.

“That's disgusting,” he heard Harry whisper in his ear.

Draco turned and pretended to be looking at another dress. “You have no idea,” he whispered back.

“Just… be careful.”

Draco nodded. His hand was squeezed once and released. He resisted the urge to stare at the spot where Harry might be.

In their broken conversation on the phone the night before, Harry had offered him protection, saying he could stay at the flat in London . After some serious thought, Draco had refused – as uncomfortable as his current situation was, he was in a position to do quite a lot of investigating. He had more freedom under his father's eye than he did with the authorities searching for him, certainly. And considering that the incident with Voldemort had happened at the castle, it would be foolish to leave now.

Lucius kissed Draco on the cheek and handed him a package. “Ready?”

Draco followed him to the car.

Fifteen minutes later, Draco was back in his own body, standing over the real Heather as she slept in her bedroom. He considered waking her, but finally left the dress on the bed next to her and headed back to his own room, clutching Harry's coded message.

Once the door was closed behind him, he sank to the floor and leaned back against it, closing his eyes. He could still feel Lucius's hands and lips on him, no matter how much he tried to push the feelings away. The car ride back had been harrowing, and the sense of violation he felt competed even with his memory of the night with Heather. He took a deep breath and tried to clear his mind, but the feeling of fingers penetrating him was still there.

He exhaled, pressing a hand to his forehead, and then opened Harry's envelope.

:: :: :: :: ::

:: :: :: :: ::

Harry had double-encrypted the letter, first with his own private code and then with Draco's public code. To decrypt it, Draco had to reverse the process. He cast the spells one after the other, and the letters rearranged themselves on the page before his eyes. He settled back against the door and began reading.

Draco,

Y ou have no idea how happy I was to find you at last. There are so many things I need to tell you, and I suppose it's good that I'm writing them down. It's easier than talking, sometimes.

Draco smiled – he knew exactly what Harry meant. They'd been crossing wires enough lately as it was. For some reason, just being around Harry could make Draco a bit irrational.

Harry explained that he'd been following several leads ever since it had become clear to him who was sustaining the smothering spell at the Ministry. He'd brought up the idea of shutting it down at a meeting more than a week before, but the others had objected.

Including you, I know, and I do understand your reasons – but for me, it was very important to learn more.

Harry had learned it was Arnold Bass himself who was responsible for the smothering spell. Draco nearly gasped – he should have known, he thought, after the way Bass had been behaving. Always quiet, always hovering in the background, not drawing attention to himself. And then there'd been that very odd meeting Draco'd had with him the morning before he was arrested. Harry had confronted Bass two weeks earlier, and Bass had told him it was for the good of everyone that the truth of what happened not be learned until it was time.

I asked how he knew when the time was right, and he said the strangest thing. He said, “You'll tell me.” And I think I stared back at him for the longest time, and he just stood there and smiled. Then I asked him why he cast the spell in the first place, and he said – and I'll never forget the look on his face when he said it – “Because the Minister for Magic asked me to, Harry.” So apparently Fallin is responsible for the smothering spell? Frankly, I've never thought him quite that bright.

Draco filed that bit of information away to stew over, along with everything else that had been revealed to him in the last few days. The pieces were all starting to fit together in a sort of blurry image. He just couldn't yet get a view of the entire picture.

He scanned Harry's confessions about his other activities – Death Eaters he'd been in contact with, meetings he'd attended, several of which Draco had been present at as well.

You're probably wondering why I didn't say anything to you about those meetings. I was embarrassed, to be honest, that if I did tell you you'd wonder why I was there. It seems strange now, of course, but at the time, you seemed so in control of everything, and I thought that my presence there would just complicate things for you. I was afraid you'd think I was spying on you.

Harry went on to explain how he'd felt increasingly guilty until the night they'd had their big fight, and he'd decided that he needed to make a bold gesture. When Draco had rejected his offer to move in, he'd been certain Draco knew he'd been less than honest.

Draco closed his eyes and sighed. He wondered how things would have been different had he accepted Harry's offer that night. How ironic that he'd said no for the same reason Harry had made the offer in the first place.

A knock on the door interrupted his reading. He stashed the parchment under his pillow and opened the door to see Heather standing on the other side, looking furious. She stalked past him into the room.

“What the fuck is this?” she hissed, shaking the strappy dress he'd bought for her in the village.

Draco couldn't help but smirk. “That's a rhetorical question, isn't it?”

She held the dress up to her body and glared at him. “I was hoping for something I could at least wear in public, you know. But this is…” She made a vague gesture with one hand, as if groping in the air for words.

“Look,” Draco said, trying his best to sound soothing, “He loved it. He can't wait to see you in it.”

“That's the problem! You have no idea what he's like in bed.”

Unfortunately, Draco had more of an idea than he ought to.

“If I can't walk tomorrow, it'll be your fault!” She jabbed an acrylic-tipped nail into his chest. “And trust me, I know how to hold a grudge.”

“Oh, come on – I thought you'd…” Draco paused as an idea stuck him. He retrieved his wand from where he'd left it on the bed and accio'd the curtain ties from the far window. With a flick of his wand, he transfigured them into two pairs of Muggle handcuffs. Her eyes widened comically when he handed them to her.

“Do I really have to explain?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

She gaped at him in response.

He turned her by the shoulders and steered her towards the door. “Be strong. Dominating. You know… make him your bitch.” A strangled sound, something between a sob and a laugh, emerged from her still-gaping mouth, and Draco pushed her through the open door. “And have fun. He'll love it.”

He shut the door, leaving her standing in the corridor with a horrified expression on her face. Had he really just given her advice about how to please his own father in bed? Draco shook his head and settled on the bed with Harry's letter again.

So I overreacted, to be honest. I asked you to leave, and then I regretted it almost instantly. The following night, I had resolved to tell you everything, for better or worse.

Draco had to scan backwards to remember where he was in the timeline. Ah yes, the night they were to meet at Mela. Harry explained that he'd waited an hour that night, and when Draco hadn't shown up he'd feared the worst. He had contacted several people he knew in the Ministry, who knew nothing. He'd finally contacted Cho. After a tense conversation, she'd confirmed that Draco had been arrested. From Harry's description, it sounded as if they'd had a stunning row. In the end, Harry had decided it was best if he didn't interfere for the time being.

Everyone else was livid, thinking you had betrayed us all – I've never seen Manny so angry – but I couldn't tell them then, not in front of Aurors, that I knew what you'd been doing. I had a conversation with Tonks in private, and she told me that the two of you had been working together. She felt terrible about everything, and wanted to help. I had no pull left with the Ministry anymore, at least not with anyone who could make a difference, so I suggested Tonks tell your assistant. I had remembered that she was in Slytherin and – forgive the stereotype – I thought she might have the best connections to someone who could help get you out. And to be honest, I knew it would probably be Lucius. I'm sorry about that, for what it's worth.

Draco couldn't help but smile. He knew how much Harry loathed his father. He wondered if Harry knew he'd been exchanging owls with Lucius for nearly a week before he was arrested. He'd forgotten to put that little detail in his own letter.

After Draco escaped, Harry had confessed everything to Hermione and Manny. They were both angry with him for a few days, during which time the story hit the papers and he'd gone into hiding to escape the media attention. He had then focused his attention on finding Draco and working on a plan for contacting him. Hermione came around at last and filled Harry in on what she'd learned about Ron's research.

She doesn't know what to think about what happened to Ron, but she agrees with me that it's difficult to imagine that you cast the spell that killed him. Manny says it's just what we want to believe, but to be perfectly honest, we're both waiting to find out what really happened.

Draco closed his eyes for a moment as anxiety washed over him yet again. He'd lost Manny forever, it seemed, and that knowledge was more painful than he could have anticipated. What would happen if he lost Harry as well? There was nothing he could do about it now, of course. Best to let it lie until he had to face it.

After a good deal of wheedling, Hermione had finally agreed to give Harry access to Ron's work. It had not proved terribly illuminating, but there was a single page at the very end of the log that had written on it only the words triple perfidio.

Draco repeated the words a few times. It didn't sound like a potion. And what did “triple” refer to? There had apparently been three of them involved, but could it be that simple? Maybe it didn't mean anything at all.

Draco re-encrypted the pages and settled back on his bed, staring at the ceiling.

:: :: :: :: ::

An hour after dinner, Draco was summoned to the main parlor by a scowling house-elf. He paused before the mirror to give his hair an artful ruffle before leaving the room. The house-elf muttered something under its breath and disappeared, having completed its task to fetch him.

He walked downstairs and paused outside the parlor's double doors to listen for a moment.

“–and I don't like it, Malfoy,” a man's voice said. “I don't understand how you've managed to get this far.”

“The situation is not nearly as dire as you seem to think,” Lucius replied. Draco could hear the forced smile in his voice. “Cognac?”

Draco stepped around the corner, a sly smile plastered on his face. “Good evening,” he said.

The man who'd been speaking turned to look at him. He was older than Lucius, though he looked as if he took great pride in maintaining as youthful an appearance as possible. His robes were fashionable in that way that screamed mid-life crisis, and he had spelled his hair into a fairly obvious comb-over. Draco watched the man's eyes slide over his body and up again, only to dart away when Draco's met them. Draco allowed himself a small smirk. He shifted his glance to the figure standing behind the man, the reason Draco had been summoned here tonight.

Colby Hannick almost blended into the woodwork. He was dressed simply but provocatively in clingy black Muggle clothing; he was clearly meant to be seen and not heard. His posture indicated he understood his position. He kept his eyes down, and didn't acknowledge Draco at all.

“Rodolfus, may I present my son, Draco,” Lucius said, watching the man's face. “Draco, this is Rodolfus Abernathy, an old acquaintance of mine.”

Draco walked four steps into the room, feeling the weight of Abernathy's gaze. “Pleasure,” he said, careful not to look at Colby at all.

“Indeed,” Abernathy replied. He took a generous sip of cognac, keeping his eyes on Draco. Draco kept smiling, despite an overwhelming urge to go wash himself off.

“Rodolfus and I have much to discuss,” Lucius continued. “Draco, would you see that his companion is made comfortable?”

Draco let his eyes shift to Colby then. Colby seemed to shrink before him, and still didn't look up. The mousy persona he displayed here was such a far cry from his obnoxious prattling several nights before that it took Draco by surprise. He hadn't known Colby was this good.

“Yes, father,” he said, letting his gaze turn hungry. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Abernathy stiffen. “Come with me, boy.” Colby nodded and crossed to him, looking more than a little reluctant to leave Abernathy's side. Draco smirked at Abernathy, who returned a mild glare.

Lucius nodded at Draco as he steered Colby out of the room. Lucius had arranged this meeting with the intention of getting information about Abernathy out of Colby, and he'd given that task to Draco. It had turned out to be fortuitous for Draco as well.

They were barely out of earshot before Colby heaved a huge sigh. Draco glanced over to see a grim expression settle on his face. Colby straightened up, seeming to grow a few inches, but he kept his eyes straight ahead. “Malfoy, at last.”

Draco didn't reply. He led Colby up a flight of stairs and down a corridor to the room where he and Abernathy would be spending the night. It was a large suite, larger than the room Draco stayed in. The focal point of the room was an enormous bed, lavishly decorated with a frilly duvet and pillows.

“Get comfortable,” Draco quipped as the door closed behind them. “But then, I suppose there are worse places to be on your back.”

“Fucking right,” Colby said, stepping past him and surveying the room. “What the hell is this place, anyway, a hotel?”

Draco shrugged. Heather had once suggested that the castle was a Muggle bed and breakfast before Lucius acquired it. Draco had never asked his father about it.

Colby turned to look at him as if expecting him to speak, and Draco stepped forward and kissed him. He could feel Colby stiffen in surprise.

“Surveillance,” Draco whispered, nuzzling his cheek.

“I wondered why you hadn't decked me yet,” Colby replied, voice more breathy than it had been a moment before. “Not that I'm complaining.” He leaned forward and clamped his open mouth over Draco's with enthusiasm.

Draco pushed, walking him backwards towards the bathroom. He'd forgotten what an atrocious kisser Colby was: what he lacked in technique he tried to make up for with sheer quantity of tongue.

Draco had cased the room earlier that evening and determined that the bathroom was the safest place to talk freely. He'd even cast a silencing spell around it in advance. Once they were inside, Draco spun Colby around and pressed him against the closed door. He stepped back and cast a quick binding spell, fixing his arms to the door at his sides.

Colby's face split into a grin. “That a wand in your pocket or are you happy to see me?”

Draco responded by punching him in the stomach. Colby collapsed forward, hanging from the door by his arms and gasping for breath.

“That's for almost getting Harry killed,” Draco spat, rubbing his fist. “Go near him again and I'll remove a more favored bit of your anatomy.”

“Fucking hell…” Colby groaned, still nearly on the floor. “Give me a break, all right? I didn't know.”

“Didn't know Lucius intended to harm him? You may be a Muggle, but you aren't that stupid, Hannick.”

“I'm sorry, okay?” Colby coughed, struggling to look up at Draco from his awkward position. “Do you think I had a choice?”

“You always have a choice.” Draco stepped back to make it clear he wasn't going to help Colby to his feet.

Colby shifted and managed to get his knees under him. “Look, I fucked up, and no one has paid the price more than I have. I'd give anything to go back and change it all, everything from the first moment Lucius offered me a job. I had no idea I'd wind up…” He trailed off and winced, hunching over.

“A sex slave? Funny, it seems to be something you're quite good at.”

“I can't afford to be bad at it. I came here to ask for your help, all right? I know we've had our difficulties, but–”

“You want my help? What in hell makes you think I would do anything for you, after everything you've done?”

Colby managed to straighten up again. “I was hoping we could help each other. I realize I don't have much to offer, but believe me, I'll do anything. I can't…” He shook his head and looked away. “I can't live like this.”

“Some might say you got what you deserved.”

Colby laughed, the sound humorless and pathetic. “No one deserves this.”

Draco pursed his lips. Colby seemed desperate, and that made him a bit more trustworthy than he'd ever been before. He could probably get useful information from Colby, at the very least.

“Tell me everything you've seen and heard in the last few weeks,” Draco said. “And perhaps then I'll consider helping you.”

“Everything? That'll take a while.”

“What, have you got someplace to be?” Draco sat on the toilet lid and smirked. “And don't bother lying – I'll know.”

Colby spent the next twenty minutes detailing what had happened to him since Lucius had taken him from San Francisco and forced him into service. Colby's task was to seduce the men Lucius assigned him to. Sometimes he was given to people as a reward for something they'd done. At other times, his job was to ensure the person wound up in a compromising position, so that Lucius could exploit them.

Draco listened, forcing himself to watch Colby's face, read his body language. It could very well have been him in that position. More than five years ago, Lucius had found him in London . He'd run away after his eighteenth birthday, and with no future in the Wizarding World to speak of, he'd promptly blown through all of his money partying. He'd stepped out of a dance club one night, high on a mix of coke and ecstasy, and was sucking off a hot bloke in an alley when someone apparated behind him and knocked him unconscious. He'd awakened at the Manor, with Lucius ranting at him: If you're determined to behave like a common whore, you can do it in the service of the Dark Lord!

Lucius's threat had cut through the haze of drugs, sex, and self-destruction he'd been living in for months. Draco knew he was serious, and he also knew that Lucius had no regard for him. As soon as an opportunity to escape presented itself, he had headed straight for the Ministry of Magic and appealed for amnesty. They hadn't known what to make of him, and after a few days of keeping him under observation, Severus Snape himself had shown up. He'd vouched for Draco personally, to Draco's surprise, and convinced the Ministry to allow him into the Auror training program.

Even more of a surprise, they had consented, despite the fact that Draco wasn't technically qualified – he'd always suspected his NEWT results had been bought by Lucius, as he couldn't possibly have done that well. He went into the program reluctantly, knowing no one thought he deserved to be there. Year one proved to be long, uncomfortable, and lonely. Worse, he was unable to win a placement for specialization in Britain , so he'd had little choice but to go abroad after it was done, effectively exiling himself from the world he'd grown up in. But it was a better fate than the one his father had intended for him: the one Colby was now trapped in.

Colby told him whom he'd been involved with, and what Lucius had wanted from each of the targets. He avoided personal details of what it had taken to get some of that information. Draco didn't ask him to elaborate.

“Why haven't you tried to escape?” Draco asked when Colby finally fell silent.

“I did,” Colby replied, voice small. He paused for a moment and his eyes glazed over. “Do you have any idea what it's like to have sex used as a weapon against you?”

“Yes,” Draco replied before he could stop himself. He frowned, but there was no taking it back. He looked down to see Colby's brown eyes staring up at him. “Unfortunately.”

“At least Heather doesn't remember. My punishment is that I do.” Colby stared into space for a moment. He seemed to be on the verge of breaking down. He closed his eyes, and then opened them again. “I know you have no reason to, but will you help me?”

Draco wasn't much of a Legilimens, but it was easier with Muggles than with wizards. There was nothing but desperation and fear in Colby's thoughts. Draco's eyes narrowed. “You must do something for me first, to prove that I can trust you. If you do, I promise I will help you.”

“And Heather?”

Draco was surprised – the Colby he remembered was only out for himself. “Are you sure she wants rescuing?”

Colby nodded. “I can't leave her here. It's all my fault she's in this mess.”

Draco nodded and released the binding spell with a wave of his hand. Colby collapsed to the floor, heaving a sigh of relief.

“Now, listen carefully,” Draco said, standing over him. “There is something I want you to do.”

:: :: :: :: ::

Cold, rough brick pressed into Draco's back, but it was nothing compared to the hand clamped around his throat. Weasley's angry face loomed over his, the only thing in his field of vision.

“This was your doing,” he growled, punctuating the word your with an extra squeeze of Draco's throat. “You must fix it.”

Draco opened his mouth and managed to squeak out a sound of protest.

“We each had a key,” Weasley said. “Harry holds one. Find the others.”

Draco nodded. He was starting to see stars.

“Do you understand me?” Weasley asked, his face a strange mix of anger and concern. “You must find them.”

He released Draco suddenly, stepping back. Draco stared at him, watching his freckled face grow pale. He rubbed at his throat. “Keys,” he managed, though he sounded as if he had laryngitis.

“And blood,” Weasley whispered, beginning to fade away. Draco could see a shadowy figure through him, standing across the alley. “There's blood,” he repeated, and then he was gone.

Across the alley stood Lucius, staring at him. Draco rubbed at his sore throat again.

:: :: :: :: ::

Friday, 12 March, 2004

It was mid-afternoon when Draco stepped out of the fireplace and into the headmaster's office. Snape wasn't there, so Draco settled himself into a chair across from his desk.

Lucius had almost seemed pleased when Draco had requested an opportunity to meet with Snape that morning. Draco had insisted on going to the Headmaster rather than inviting him to the castle, so Lucius had convinced the man to open the floo temporarily.

“Mister Malfoy,” a familiar voice said.

Draco turned to see a portrait of Albus Dumbledore beaming at him. “Professor… sir,” he managed, surprised.

“It's good to see you again. I trust Harry is well? He hasn't visited me in years.”

Draco gaped. How could a portrait know anything about his love life? “As well as can be expected, under the circumstances, I suppose.”

“And you?”

Draco shrugged in response. He'd grown up with portraits of his ancestors chastising him from beyond the grave, but it still felt odd to be conversing with an image of Dumbledore.

Fortunately, Snape entered the room at that moment, saving Draco from further small talk. He sat behind the large desk, a familiar scowl on his face.

“Well? What was so urgent that it required I cancel a staff meeting to see you – an escaped fugitive, no less?”

Draco swallowed. “I… Sorry.” He had planned to start this conversation by telling Snape how much he had appreciated him intervening with the Ministry years ago. Snape raised an eyebrow at him, and Draco decided to plow ahead with the real reason for the visit. “I'll get to the point, then. Have you ever heard of a potion called perfidio?”

“No. Are you certain there is such a potion?”

“No, but I know that I was making a potion just before… three years ago, and the word perfidio has come up in our research.”

Snape sighed and leaned forward over the desk. “You are just as stubborn a man as you were a child. You ought to have taken my advice about this matter.”

“It's too late now,” Draco replied. “And why are so many people interested in keeping what happened a secret?”

“Everyone except you, Mr. Potter, and your father, you'll note. Shouldn't that tell you something?”

Draco sighed and sank into his chair. “I'm asking you as a personal favor, Headmaster. I know you owe me nothing, but… We will find out what happened. We're getting very close. If you have any information that would help, we'd be grateful.”

“We?”

“Harry and I. Lucius won't learn more than I tell him.”

Snape sneered. “Surely you've learned not to underestimate your father. I suspect he knows much more than you think.”

Draco shrugged, but he couldn't ignore the twist of anxiety in his belly.

Snape waved his hand and the tea set on the desk began to steam. The pot poured two cups, then nudged one of them towards Draco. Snape picked up the other and sighed. “You know of the plot to contain the Dark Lord?”

“Yes. Lucius told me it was your idea to collaborate with the Ministry.”

Snape nodded. “After Dumbledore's death, it seemed the only way. I knew they would bring Potter in, and despite my personal differences with him, I did believe him the only one capable of getting the job done.”

Draco resisted the urge to smile, and sipped his tea instead.

“I know nothing of what happened between the time Potter was brought in and the Dark Lord disappeared. But afterwards, Lucius requested my help. He had sent you away amid rumbles about your responsibility for Ron Weasley's death, and he told me that neither you nor Potter had any memory of what had happened. I went to St. Mungo's to interrogate Potter myself, but…” Snape paused to sip his tea. “It was as if the memory had been locked away. There was nothing I could do to uncover it, and I suspected that you and he had cast some sort of memory charm on each other.”

“But memory charms remove memories. If we had wanted to forget, we wouldn't have left ourselves so many clues to help us remember again. That must have meant we intended to remember. We didn't want it to remain a secret forever.”

“Perhaps. Lucius was livid, of course, because the plan had entailed containing the Dark Lord, to use him as a source of power. But there was no trace of him. No one knew if he had been destroyed. And those of us who had been involved in the conspiracy were left with the unsettling knowledge that if those faithful to the Dark Lord learned we'd been involved…” He trailed off and cast a glare at one of the portraits on the wall, which had started mumbling under its breath.

“But that's happening now, isn't it? They're more and more suspicious, and Lucius is losing his supporters.” Draco leaned forward, placing his teacup on the desk. “If we don't find out what happened, there will be a war.”

“And if you do find out what happened, will the outcome be different?”

Draco leaned back in his chair again. He had no answer for that.

Snape stood, shaking out his robes. “I will look through my personal library. If I learn anything about this perfidio, I will let you know.”

“Thank you,” Draco replied, standing. “And sir… thank you for–”

“I'm very busy,” Snape interrupted. “My apologies.” He gestured toward the fireplace.

Draco sighed and nodded.

:: :: :: :: ::

“Not again,” Draco groaned. “Can't I go as someone else?”

Lucius held the vial of polyjuice potion out again, an expression of impatience on his face. “The man you contacted before may be here again. It will be easier if your appearance is familiar, won't it?”

Draco scowled, though it was mostly for show. He'd sent Harry a text message on Heather's phone as soon as he'd learned about the meeting, but he didn't know if Harry would be there. He'd hoped he could at least remain male, since transforming into Heather brought a bit of baggage with it now.

He took the vial and raised it in a mock toast before downing it.

Ten minutes later, he was standing in the back of the dark pub, scanning the crowd. He didn't know if Harry was here, or even if he would disguise himself in the same way as before. He saw many familiar faces in the crowd, some of whom stared back at him as if they had never seen such a beautiful woman before. He leaned against the wall and pulled his hood down over his face, grateful to have a robe to hide in this time.

Lucius had made a short speech appealing for continued support and was now moving between groups of people, speaking quietly. Draco scanned the group he was currently addressing, and realized with a start that Harry was one of them. At least, it looked like the same man Harry had disguised himself as before.

Lucius's eyes caught his and Draco managed a sly smile. Lucius indicated Harry with a slight nod before moving to the next table. Draco felt an odd twist in his belly. The look Lucius had just given him seemed a bit too smug, almost as if… Draco shook the thought away and crossed the room. He bumped the man he hoped was Harry as he passed, purred an apology, and walked towards the toilets. He pushed open the door to the ladies' toilet and stepped inside.

And gaped. It had to be one of the nicest toilets he'd ever been in. The room had been magically enlarged to add a spacious seating area with several comfortable sofas and small tables, each with a tea service. Vanity tables lined the walls, complete with mirrors and a vast array of cosmetics, and a fire crackled in a large stone fireplace. To the right was a long corridor with a series of ornate doors leading to what he assumed were the toilets themselves.

A knock on the door interrupted the visual tour. He opened it to see the man-who-might-be-Harry peering at him. “This is the ladies' room!” he said, just in case.

“Then what are you doing in here?” the man replied in Harry's voice.

Draco grinned and stepped back. Harry glanced around to ensure no one was watching before stepping inside.

Draco tugged him towards the corridor. “We should probably duck into one of these.”

“Holy fuck,” Harry muttered, staring around the room. “Is this typical for a women's toilet?”

Draco frowned at him. “What are you asking me for?” He pushed open the door of the third stall, and they both stared into it. It was much larger than it should have been, with a stylish toilet on the far end, flanked by a large marble sink. Near the door was an inviting sofa.

“This isn't fair, you know,” Harry said as they stepped inside. “I've been in the men's toilet and it's completely disgusting.” He whispered a few words and his disguise fell away.

Draco cast a locking charm and a silencing spell on the door, then checked the room for surveillance. “Clear,” he said, then turned and found himself in Harry's arms with his capacity for speech temporarily blocked. A moment later, he was on the sofa and on Harry's lap, being held down by hands that felt much larger on his body than they did ordinarily. A strange sensation filled his chest, and he pushed away from Harry as hard as he could, nearly falling off his lap in the process.

“What?” Harry asked, concerned. “What's wrong?”

Draco stared back at him. He didn't know why he'd done that; he'd just felt panicked for some reason. “Sorry,” he said, sliding closer again. “You just… caught me by surprise.”

“I can't help myself,” Harry grinned, one hand sliding to cup Draco's arse. “You have no idea how much I've been thinking about this.”

“About what?” Draco asked, eyes narrowing.

Harry seemed to realize his mistake. “You. I miss you. I'm so horny I'm going insane, you know.”

“And this is what does it for you, then?” Draco retorted. He folded his arms across his chest, but Heather's large breasts got in the way. He looked down at them and scowled.

“No,” Harry replied in a soothing tone. “It's you I want, you know. Regardless of the way you're packaged.”

Draco gave him a scathing look and slid off his lap to sit next to him on the sofa. “Maybe we should get on to business?”

“Right. Did you talk to Snape?”

“Yes, and he doesn't know anything about perfidio. He wasn't even sure it was a potion.” He told Harry about the other things Snape had said about the aftermath of the incident and his efforts to recover Harry's memory.

“I remember that,” Harry said, frowning. “I wasn't very nice to him about it.”

“When were you ever?”

“I'm afraid I've learned nothing new myself. Except…” Harry cast a sidelong glance at Draco and blushed. “This is going to sound very strange, but I've been having these dreams.”

“Dreams?” Draco repeated, surprised.

“Yes, I know, but hear me out. I know dreams are unreliable, but I've been having a recurring dream about Ron for a long time now, maybe a year. I remember a little more of it every time, or it gets further along every time, at least. I'm walking around Hogwarts, but it's empty. I'm desperately looking for something, and then I turn a corner and Ron is there.” Harry paused to run a hand through his hair, avoiding Draco's gaze. “He tells me he's sorry for something, and then we start to talk. It gets fuzzy after that, because we talk about nonsensical things, like keys and pirates and–”

“Keys?” Draco asked. His heart pounded in his chest.

“Yes. It seems very important to him, but I don't know what he's talking about.”

“There are three keys,” Draco said, the words spilling out of him, nearly from his subconscious. “We each had one. He said it was my doing.”

Harry stared at him. “What?”

“I have dreams like that too, but I always thought it was just a guilty conscience. I've been having recurring dreams for about a year, though they've changed a lot lately, and Ron is there.” And Lucius, of course. He wondered if that was important.

Harry had paled considerably. “Oh, god, it must mean something that we're having the same dream!”

“Not exactly the same,” Draco said, and told Harry as much of his dream as he could remember.

Harry sank into the couch, still looking stunned. “Well, there must be a connection between the three keys and the triple perfidio. We just have to find it.”

“He said you had one of the keys, I'm sure,” Draco said, settling against him. Heather's long hair got caught behind his back uncomfortably, and he tugged it out of the way. “But that could mean anything. It could be a metaphor, you know, or even some special password we don't remember.”

Harry shook his head. “I think it's something physical. Why else would he say I've got one if it isn't something…” He stared down at the ring on his right hand.

“It's possible,” Draco said, catching on at the same moment. “It would explain why you have it, certainly.”

“Maybe. But what about the other keys? He didn't say anything about those.”

“Except that we have to find them.”

“This is pointless unless we learn more about this spell, or potion, or about whatever is was we did.” Harry twisted the ring on his finger, then looked up at Draco. “How much time have you got?”

Draco glanced at the watch he'd transfigured from his mother's bracelet. Having a watch had been so convenient he hadn't bothered to change it back yet. “Not long. I should probably get going.” He stood and held out a hand to help Harry to his feet.

Harry smiled and took it, but when Draco tugged, Harry jerked Draco back onto his lap in a clean movement. Draco suppressed the urge to scowl – he wasn't used to being in a small body that could be pushed around so easily.

“Do you have a couple of minutes, at least?” Harry whispered, pulling him down for a kiss. “I can't be the only one who's getting tired of wanking in the shower.”

Draco tried to smile, but the situation made him feel acutely uneasy. Harry shifted him on his lap and he felt his thigh brush against Harry's developing erection.

And all he could think of at that moment was being in Lucius's lap in the car two days before, with his hand being pressed against his father's stiff cock through his trousers.

Draco's smile faltered and he pushed away. “I'm sorry. I've been gone too long as it is. He'll be suspicious.”

Harry looked disappointed, but he smiled. “I guess it's extra motivation to get this done.”

“Yeah.” Draco felt queasy, and he hoped it didn't show.

Harry stood and kissed him, then muttered a series of spells. A moment later, the impenetrable glamour charm was back in place.

“You've got to show me how to do that,” Draco said.

“Next time,” Harry replied. He cast a finite at the door and opened it, and then disappeared into the corridor.

Draco waited several minutes before following. The pub was still full of people, so it was easy to disappear into the crowd unnoticed. He milled about a few more minutes, and then checked his watch. His time was nearly up. He started for the men's room, where he was sure he could have a bit of privacy to change back.

His arm was caught in a tight grip and pulled in another direction, though. Lucius dragged him into the pub's kitchen, locking the doors with a wave of his hand.

“Well?” he asked, an annoyed expression on his face.

Draco blinked at him in response. He had no idea what Lucius was asking for.

“You're quite a sight, you know,” Lucius hissed. “And you were gone for longer than you should have been. You must be more careful.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Draco retorted, trying to twist out of Lucius's grip.

But Lucius grasped him hard enough to leave bruises. “I'm not stupid, Draco. I know who that man was, and I've allowed you to meet with him. But casting silencing spells and returning looking as if you've had a tryst in a darkened corner is pushing my patience too far.”

Draco clenched his jaw and stared back defiantly. “You told me to do whatever I needed to do, didn't you? Heather's rather attractive, after all. It's been quite useful.”

“And it doesn't bother you that Harry Potter finds her so attractive?”

Draco felt the blood drain from his face. There was nothing he could say to that, no possibility for denial now.

Lucius shook his head. “I've known who he was all along. My spies are quite good, you know. I expected you to be working towards recovering your memory with him, and instead you're–” Lucius stopped and grew very pale. He was staring down at Draco's hand.

Shit. Draco held his breath, not wanting this next part to happen as he knew it would.

“You…” Lucius seized his wrist and glared at the bracelet-watch, as if it were the object of his anger. He seemed unable to meet Draco's eyes and he said nothing more. But the look on his face told Draco precisely what was going through his mind.

“Yes,” Draco hissed, pulling his hand from his father's slackened grasp. “It was me in the car that day, not her. How does it feel to know you've molested your own son?”

Lucius looked appropriately horrified. He opened his mouth but said nothing.

“And I'll bet you enjoyed it,” Draco said, stepping toward him. “I even made you come, didn't I? You whispered exactly what you wanted in my ear and put my hand right where you needed it.” Lucius was still frozen, still staring at Draco's wrist. It was surprisingly easy to say these words, despite the fact that he'd been unable to think about what had happened. “It's hard to imagine you couldn't tell it wasn't her. Or maybe you just didn't care.”

Lucius's eyes snapped up to his then, face contorted with rage. “You perverted, disgusting–”

But Lucius didn't get a chance to finish the phrase. A loud sound and a bright light tore through the wall from the pub, blowing debris past them. Draco was knocked against the far wall along with it. Blinding pain overwhelmed him and he shouted, but he couldn't hear his own voice. He couldn't see, couldn't breathe.

The world faded away.

:: :: :: :: ::

Draco had the dream about Ron again. It was exactly the same as it had been before, with Ron holding Draco by the throat against a dank brick wall – except that this time, when Ron faded away Draco was alone in the dark alley, and Lucius was nowhere in sight.

:: :: :: :: ::

Draco became aware that he was comfortable and warm, tucked under a fluffy duvet in a soft bed. He tried to open his eyes and found it difficult, as if his body wouldn't quite cooperate with his mind. He tried to move, and that was when he remembered something unusual had happened.

There was the explosion in the pub, and the argument with his father – though perhaps not in that order. Draco felt his stomach sink as the topic of that argument filled his mind.

He managed to open his eyes after what seemed like minutes of trying. He was in Harry's bedroom, in Harry's bed. For a moment, he wondered if he'd died. He could hear soft voices coming from the room outside the door, but he couldn't make out what they were saying – his ears were ringing a bit.

He tried to sit up and felt the distinct tingling of recently cast healing spells at various points in his body. With more than a bit of trepidation, he lifted the duvet and looked under it. He appeared to have all his limbs still and – he stuck a hand down his underpants – everything else seemed intact.

He had to piss like the devil, and he seemed overdue for a shower, but he was alive and in one piece, at least.

And he was in Harry's bed, which could only mean –

“Harry?” he called. His voice was raspy, and he coughed.

The door flew open and a blurry figure appeared in the frame. “He's awake! Harry, come quickly!” Hermione stepped aside as another blurry figure burst through the door.

Draco blinked his eyes in an attempt to clear his vision. Harry came into focus just as he was sitting next to Draco on the bed.

“How do you feel?” he asked, wide-eyed. He fidgeted a bit, as if he wanted to touch Draco but couldn't decide if he should.

“I don't know,” Draco replied. His mind was spinning. “What happened? How did I get here?”

“There was an explosion at the meeting the other night,” Harry said, moving a little closer. “I had just left and was about to apparate away when I heard it, so I went back in and… I found you.”

Draco stared at him for the several seconds it took the words to register. “The other night? How long have I been here?”

“Almost two days,” Hermione replied from the doorway. “It's Sunday now.”

“Two days?” Draco repeated. He felt dizzy.

“You had some serious injuries, but we managed to patch you up pretty well. Between the two of us, we know quite a few healing spells and…” Harry frowned at him, concerned. “You look a little green. You should probably lie down.”

For once, Draco agreed. He slid back down under the duvet, and the stars in his field of vision grew dimmer. “What about…?” He closed his eyes. Did he want to know what had happened to Lucius? The thought that his father's last words to him may have been those made Draco feel queasy.

Harry brushed hair away from Draco's forehead. “The blast occurred in the center of the pub, so you were lucky to be in the kitchen. Two people died and a dozen more were seriously injured, but Lucius is fine. He spent a day in St. Mungo's according to the Prophet. No one knew you were there, of course, so your name hasn't come up. Well, one article did refer to Lucius as ‘the father of the escaped murder suspect Draco Malfoy'.”

“Bet he loved that,” Draco said. “Who did it?”

“There's speculation that the explosion was set by a group of Death Eaters who were out to kill Lucius. No one knows, but…” Harry looked at Hermione. “The public is eating it up, as you might imagine. Dissent in the ranks of the Death Eaters and so on.”

“The Quibbler is reporting that your father is actually a secret agent of the Ministry,” Hermione said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “They're claiming he's a hero.”

Draco squinted at her. “Did I sustain a head injury, by any chance?”

Hermione smiled. “You had a concussion. Your leg was fractured, and you had some internal bleeding.”

Draco groaned. “And it didn't occur to you to take me to hospital?”

Harry winced. “We weren't sure it was a good idea, considering your legal status. But we've both had medical training.” As if to prove his point, he brandished his wand and cast a few unfamiliar spells. Draco felt odd tingles pass through his body. “The bones have healed. And we fed you a potion that repaired the internal damage. If you want to see a healer, though–”

“I think I'll survive, thanks.”

“But if you still feel any pain, or if anything seems wrong–” Hermione began.

“I'll let you know,” Draco interrupted. “Right now, I'd really like a shower.” He shot Harry a hopeful look.

Harry smiled.

:: :: :: :: ::

Draco had never been so happy to have a shower in his life. He stood under the hot spray for a long time, washing himself gingerly but thoroughly. After drying off and managing to cast a serviceable vision charm, he stared at his reflection. His face was unusually pale, which only accentuated the bags under his eyes. His towel-dried hair hung around his face in stringy clumps, badly in need of a cut. His eyes were glassy, though that could be an effect of the vision charm. He was too tired to do anything about the stubble on his face.

He frowned – what the hell did Harry see in him? No wonder he'd been so excited to see Draco in Heather's body.

“I don't think I've ever seen you like this,” Harry said when Draco finally emerged. At Draco's quizzical look, he continued, “You almost look… scruffy.”

“Scruffy?” Draco scoffed, though he didn't disagree. “These are your clothes you're insulting, you know.” He had appropriated a particularly comfortable t-shirt of Harry's and a worn pair of jeans that kept sliding down his hips, revealing his underpants in an annoyingly retro fashion. He was too tired to do anything about it, so he just kept tugging them back up.

“I didn't say I didn't like it,” Harry replied, pulling Draco into his arms. “God, you're thin.”

“I haven't eaten in two days, have I? Did you order that pizza?”

They devoured an entire pizza in less than ten minutes, and Draco was still hungry. Harry dug a tub of ice cream out of the freezer and they sat in front of the fire, eating it right out of the carton.

“This is strange, isn't it?” Harry asked. Draco looked up to see Harry staring at him. “I mean, it feels so normal to sit here with you, after everything that's happened.” He paused and looked down, frowning.

Draco took the ice cream tub from him, uncertain what Harry was getting at. “What is it?”

Harry looked up again, eyes bright. “I'm glad you're awake.”

“Me too.” Inexplicably, he blushed, and focused his attention on the ice cream container again.

A silence stretched between them. Finally, Harry took the ice cream from Draco and set it aside, and took Draco's hands in his. Draco was startled by how warm they were.

“I don't want to fuck this up again,” Harry said, voice soft. “I had a lot of time to think while you were unconscious.”

Draco flinched as an uncomfortable emotion swept through him. He had to force himself to meet Harry's gaze.

“I love you, and I don't care about Ron. I mean, I do, but… if it was really you who killed him, it doesn't change the way I feel.”

“How can it not? He was your best friend.”

“It was three years ago.”

“What if we find out I betrayed the two of you? What if I murdered him and tried to kill you as well? What if I was working for Voldemort all along?” Harry paled a bit, and Draco swallowed. It was his worst fear, and he'd said it. The idea seemed to hover in the air between them.

“Why worry about it now?” Harry said after a moment. “There's no point getting worked up when we don't know anything about it.”

Draco sighed. Hadn't he been telling himself that all week? “I love you, Harry, but I need to be prepared for the possibility that you will hate me when we find out what happened.” Harry's hands were shaking, so he squeezed them and tried to smile. “I'm tired of being afraid of it. I want to get this done. And I think we must have intended to remember it. Otherwise, wouldn't we have just wiped our memories and have done with it?”

Harry exhaled. “Maybe we didn't all consent to having these memories covered up in the first place.”

“I don't think that's possible. You can take memories away permanently, but concealing them without the person's consent… It contradicts a good deal of magical theory.”

“What if it was dark magic?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

Draco swallowed. He hadn't thought of that, though he doubted Harry would believe it. He shifted so that he could lean back against the sofa cushions and put his bare feet in Harry's lap. “I still think it's unlikely.”

Harry played with Draco's toes for a moment, lost in thought. “What if Ron's death caused the spell to go wrong? Maybe we won't be able to break it without him.”

“Every spell can be broken. Well, almost every spell anyway. And we don't actually know it was a spell – it could be an antidote to a potion that we're looking for.”

“Hermione sent word to Snape that you were safe,” Harry said, now stroking the sole of Draco's foot. “She told him we could get messages to you, if he learned anything about perfidio.” He frowned in the direction of Draco's toes. “You aren't ticklish, are you?”

Draco grinned. “Only if I want to be.”

They sat together on the sofa for an hour, the conversation turning to the explosion in the pub two nights before. Harry seemed to think it was an assassination attempt against Lucius.

“I've been in meetings where such things were being discussed,” he said. “Those in the rebel faction think he betrayed Voldemort.”

“Which he did,” Draco said, unable to prevent a hint of pride from entering his tone.

Harry raised an eyebrow at him. “But they think he is responsible for Voldemort's disappearance. Do you think… it is possible he helped us three years ago?”

Draco snorted. “Before a few days ago, I would've said no. But now, I'm not so sure. It's even crossed my mind in the last few days that he was part of the memory spell as well.”

Harry looked thoughtful. “But if that were the case, wouldn't he have been involved in our dreams somehow?”

Draco nearly choked on the brandy he was sipping. “He has been in my dreams, actually.”

Harry's eyes narrowed. “In what way?”

“Watching. He just watches me talk to Ron.” His mind whirled for a moment. “He's been in my dreams all along.”

“It might mean nothing,” Harry said, rubbing a hand over his jaw absently. “It might all mean nothing.”

“But we both dreamed about Ron and keys, right? Maybe we should focus on what our dreams have in common.”

They sat in silence for a full minute, listening to the fire crackle. Draco drained his brandy glass and yawned.

“Want to go to bed?” Harry asked, setting his own glass aside.

“Is that a proposition?”

Harry crawled over to him and kissed him. Draco realized it was the first real kiss they'd shared – in their own bodies – since they'd sat here more than a week ago. So much had happened since, so much it made Draco's head spin. Or perhaps that just because of the way Harry's tongue was sliding against his own.

“We're both scruffy,” Draco whispered against Harry's lips. “Remind me to give us a good depilo in the morning.”

“I think I like it,” Harry whispered back. “It feels interesting.”

“Wait till you get stubbleburn on your dick sometime.”

Harry laughed, then stood and pulled Draco to his feet. “Are you sure about this? I mean, do you feel up to…?” He trailed off, tilting his head and nodding to indicate the bedroom.

“Up to what?” Draco asked, trying his best to look innocent. “I'm a bit knackered, yeah.”

Harry smirked and tugged him toward the bedroom door.

But once they were standing together in the darkness, Harry seemed hesitant, as if he wasn't sure Draco was well enough to have sex. Draco was determined, however. He kissed Harry fiercely, tugging at his clothes and pushing him down onto the mattress. Harry groaned beneath him, pulling Draco's shirt up and over his head and then running his hands up Draco's back. It wasn't until Harry's fingers wriggled into his underpants that Draco realized something was wrong.

Harry stroked, but nothing happened. Draco kept kissing him, kept thinking about how much he wanted this, shivered as the hot length of Harry's cock pressed into his thigh – but he didn't get hard.

Draco felt an odd sense of panic he'd never felt before. He wanted this – he'd been thinking about it all day, and now that they were finally here, his dick wouldn't cooperate? The panic settled quickly into frustration, and then embarrassment. It wasn't going to work. He wasn't going to get hard at all.

Harry withdrew his hand after a few awkward minutes. Draco closed his eyes, wishing he could tug the duvet over his head. Harry didn't say anything; he simply settled against Draco's side and wrapped an arm across his chest.

“I'm sorry,” Draco whispered. “I have no idea why…”

“Don't worry,” Harry replied, nuzzling his neck. “I understand.”

“That's never happened to me before.”

“It has to me.”

“Yes, but–”

Harry's head popped up to look at Draco's face. “You were pretty badly hurt, you know. Maybe your body just needs time to recover.”

Draco frowned. He'd had serious injuries before, and it had never stopped him from wanking. Perhaps it was a sign that he was getting old.

Harry exhaled against his skin, holding him more tightly. Draco could feel Harry's still-hard cock against his hip, and winced.

“But I really wanted… You could still fuck me, you know.”

“I don't want to.”

“But I want to.”

Harry sighed and kissed Draco so tenderly that Draco thought he might melt on the spot. “It's not the same. I won't enjoy it if I know you're not.”

Harry's head settled on his shoulder again and Draco stared at the ceiling, frustrated. Sex was supposed to be easy, wasn't it? It was about getting off, mutual pleasure. He would still enjoy it, even if he didn't come. At least, he thought he would – he had no experience to base that assertion upon.

What if this wasn't temporary, a one-time thing? What if…?

“Good night,” Harry whispered.

Draco lay awake for another hour before his mind quieted enough to sleep.

:: :: :: :: ::

A blaring alarm wrenched Draco awake. He shook sleep away as quickly as he could, having no idea what he was hearing.

Before he could think to ask what was going on, Harry was on top of him, covering his body. “Hold onto me tight!” he said, a wild look in his eyes.

Draco grabbed his wand from the nightstand and wrapped his arms around Harry, then hooked a leg around him for good measure. A moment later, they were being pulled along by a portkey. Draco felt one of Harry's fists digging into his back, holding on tightly. Side-along portkeying was more dangerous than side-along apparition, but Draco knew they wouldn't be doing this if it weren't necessary.

They landed with a thump on a wooden floor, surrounded by darkness. Harry leapt to his feet and said, “Lumos.”

Draco blinked, unable to focus his eyes in the light afforded by Harry's wand.

“Harry, are you all right?” he heard, along with the sound of feet thumping down stairs. All of the lamps in the room were promptly lit, and Hermione came into view, tying her dressing gown around her more tightly.

“We're fine,” Harry said, extending a hand down to Draco.

Clutching the sheet they'd accidentally portkeyed along with them, Draco allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. He was wearing nothing but his underpants, but at the moment, he was thankful for that much.

Harry was wearing his customary green and blue plaid pyjama bottoms. He'd somehow had the presence of mind to grab his glasses along with his wand and was now putting them on. In his left hand he held a small figurine of an owl.

“What happened?” Hermione asked, gesturing them to the sofa. Harry didn't seem interested in sitting. Feeling dizzy, Draco collapsed on it; his formerly broken leg was a little too tingly for his liking.

“The intruder wards went off. I didn't get a look at who it was, though.”

“You were right about the emergency portkey,” Hermione said, brow furrowed. “Are you certain it's untraceable?”

Harry nodded. “But I don't want to put you and the children in any danger. We'll leave as soon as it's light.”

“We can take care of ourselves,” Hermione said, though she cast a nervous glance to the ceiling. As if on cue, small thumps could be heard from above. A moment later, two faces were peering at them through the stairway banister. “Come on, then,” Hermione told them, sighing. She turned back to Harry and Draco. “There'll be no getting them back to bed now anyway.”

Harley and Cally, dressed in matching flannel pyjamas, hurried down the stairs and settled on the sofa next to their mother, wide-eyed.

Green flames erupted in the fireplace and a very disheveled-looking Manny stumbled out, wand at the ready.

“It's all right,” Hermione said, rubbing at her temples with her fingers.

“The wards,” Manny said, glancing around the living room. He caught sight of Draco and his features hardened. Draco pulled the sheet around him more tightly.

“Someone broke into Harry's flat, so he and Draco portkeyed in though the emergency ward,” Hermione explained. She turned to Harry. “He insisted on linking the wards on my house and his flat. This is the first time anything's happened, of course.”

“Good idea,” Harry said.

Hermione's expression was one of mild annoyance. “How did I ever get along without men to protect me?” She shook her head and stood. “I'll make tea, then.”

Manny watched her leave, an expression of bewilderment on his face, and then turned his gaze back to Draco. “I heard you were almost blown up,” he said.

“Sorry I wasn't?”

Manny looked abashed. “No, of course not. I just… I'm glad you're well.” He folded his arms across his chest and looked towards the kitchen.

“Thanks to Harry,” Draco said.

Harry patted Manny on the shoulder. “I'm going to help Hermione. Play nice, boys.” He motioned for the children to follow him and the three of them disappeared around the corner.

“I'm sorry,” Draco blurted, wanting to eliminate the awkwardness as soon as possible. “I don't blame you for hating me. I never intended to deceive you, though.”

“I know,” Manny said. He fidgeted for a moment before settling on the opposite end of the sofa from Draco. “And I don't hate you. I just… I wish you would have confided in me sooner. I can't help feeling like you used me.”

“I'm sorry,” Draco repeated. He didn't think he'd used Manny, but he doubted anything he could say would convince Manny of that.

“I'm sorry too.” They sat in silence until Harry and Hermione returned.

Hermione gave everyone a cup of tea, then settled in a chair. Cally climbed into her lap, blinking sleepily at Draco. Harley snuggled into Manny's lap, and Harry sat next to Draco, staring into his tea cup.

“Any word from Snape?” he asked.

Hermione shook her head. “His last owl said he'd found no potion called perfidio, and he'd even had Madame Pomfrey check the entire Restricted Section of the school library.”

“Perfidio?” Manny asked, nearly gaping in surprise.

Harry looked at Manny and back to Hermione. “You didn't tell him?”

Hermione blushed. “Well... we haven't been on speaking terms for a few days, actually.” Manny made a coughing sound and gave her a hard look. “We found a note at the end of Ron's research log that said triple perfidio,” she said, not meeting Manny's gaze. “And Draco learned that he'd made a potion during the time he–”

“You cast a perfidio?” Manny spat, turning to stare at Draco. “Are you insane?” The tone in his voice appeared to have frightened Harley, who promptly slid out of his lap and went to stand next to his mother.

Draco wasn't sure how to respond for a moment. “You know what it is?”

“Of course!” Manny replied.

“Because I don't,” Draco told him. “I clearly did once, but now I don't remember.”

The room was silent for a moment. Manny's expression was incredulous as he looked at Hermione and Harry in turn. “Don't tell me none of you have heard of it before.”

Hermione looked affronted. “Should we have?” Draco had to admit that Hermione would be the most likely to know after Snape – and neither of them had heard of such a spell.

“It's old Black Magic,” Manny said, a hint of exasperation in his voice. “Originates from Colonial-era Caribbean Voodoo. Don't you people study New World magical history?”

“No,” Hermione said, a bit indignant. “We're quite busy covering several thousand years of European magical history, after all!”

“As if that's the only magic that really counts in the world?” Manny retorted. “As if the Aztecs didn't have centuries of their own magic as well?”

Hermione looked mildly hurt by this. Harry cut off the impending argument. “Manny, we'd appreciate it if you could explain.”

Manny frowned and leaned back against the sofa cushions. “It's an old spell, made famous by pirates and thieves centuries ago. It's legendary – kids tell ghost stories around campfires about it, actually.” He looked around to see if this seemed familiar to any of them, and shook his head when their faces remained blank. “I can't believe you don't know this. Anyway, according to legend, it was used in situations where the people involved didn't trust each other but were forced to work together – you know, when pirates wanted to steal some sort of treasure and hide it safely away. The spell would bind them together so they couldn't lie to each other during the act, or betray each other afterwards. They wouldn't be able to tell anyone else about what they had done, ever.”

“Do you know how it was cast?” Harry asked.

“Not really,” Manny replied. “They don't teach us how to do it, you know.”

“But you said the spell only prevents the people involved from telling anyone else what they did,” Hermione said. “And Harry and Draco don't remember anything about what happened.”

“Yes,” Manny said, looking hesitant. “I don't remember the details, but there were famous incidents – just legends, possibly – where one of the pirates was killed before the crime was completed. And then, Black Magic being what it is, the spell became a curse.”

“A curse?” Draco and Harry exclaimed at the same time.

Manny glanced at them before turning back to Hermione. “In one case, the survivors went insane. And then there's the story of Gardel the Grey. He wasn't a wizard, nor were any of his men, but he wanted to steal a galley full of Inca gold from the Spanish. So he and his men consulted a Voodoo priestess, who cast a perfidio on them. But Gardel was killed during the attack on the ship. Even though his men were ultimately successful, they couldn't escape the curse. They supposedly slaughtered each other before they could divide their treasure.” He paused. “I don't know of any incidents where they simply forgot what had happened, but as I said, I'm not an expert.”

Hermione looked skeptical. “It sounds as if these are legends and nothing more. Are you sure this spell is real?”

“It's illegal in the US . My mother studies historical Black Magic, and I know she's done work on spells of that sort. She has to get special permission from the Department of Magic to publish some of her research.”

“Illegal?” Draco repeated.

“Highly,” Manny said, turning to look at him. “Not that it would have stopped you.”

“It was for a good cause,” Draco muttered. At least, he thought it was.

“We think there were keys, or objects of some sort involved,” Harry said. “Do you know what that might mean?”

Manny frowned. “Well, I don't know much about how the spell was cast, but it was a common feature of Black Magic in that era to use sentimental or valuable possessions in spells, as a way of binding the magic. They didn't have wands then, so they had to focus their magic in other ways.”

“He said we each had a key,” Draco told Harry excitedly. “The ring must have been his, and I'm willing to bet–” he indicated his mother's bracelet, which had been returned to its original form “–that this was mine.”

“What are you talking about?” Hermione asked.

Harry and Draco exchanged a glance. “We've been dreaming about Ron,” Harry said, voice gentle. “And in both of our dreams, he's been… giving us clues about what happened.”

Hermione turned very pale and said nothing.

“But I've no idea what mine would have been,” Harry said. “I don't wear jewelry. I never have.”

“Do you know if there's a way to break the spell?” Draco asked Manny.

Manny shook his head. “I've never heard of anyone breaking it. Or successfully casting it in recent times, for that matter.” He raised an eyebrow at Draco.

“We should tell Professor Snape about this,” Hermione said. She was still pale, and was clutching Cally tightly to her chest. “He may know where to look now.”

“I'll call my mother,” Manny said, glancing at his watch. “It's still last night there. She might know what to do. At the very least, she would find all of this interesting.”

“In the meantime, I want you two to stay here,” Hermione said to Harry and Draco. “You can have the guest room.”

“We can't–” Harry began.

“We'll strengthen the wards,” Hermione said, setting her jaw. “We should stick together until we learn more about this spell and how to break it.”

“If we can break it,” Draco said.

No one said anything after that.

:: :: :: :: ::

:: :: :: :: ::

“Do you have any idea why Manny and Hermione are fighting?” Draco asked as they lay in the darkness.

“It was about you, actually.” Harry turned onto his side and yawned. “Hermione thought Manny was being unreasonable and overly judgmental, and he finally had enough of her nagging him about it, and… well, they had a spectacular row on Friday afternoon.”

Draco stared up at where the ceiling would be if he could see it. “Did they split up?”

“They're in too deep for that. He's here tonight, isn't he?”

Draco pulled the quilt up under his chin. The thought of Hermione defending him to Manny made him feel uneasy. Why did everyone have so much faith in him? He'd done nothing to earn it, after all. Deep down, he thought Manny's response to his deceit was entirely understandable.

“I can't believe Manny knew about that spell all along,” Harry whispered, almost to himself. “And I wonder how you knew about it?”

“I don't know. It's just another thing I don't remember.”

Harry was quiet for several seconds. “Why didn't you tell me about that when you first came here?”

“I didn't realize our lapses in memory were connected,” Draco replied, even though he knew it sounded lame. “I knew there were things I couldn't remember, but… I didn't know it had anything to do with what happened here.”

He felt Harry nod into his hair.

“I'm sorry if I…” Draco paused, not certain what he was trying to say.

“You've done nothing worse than what I've done. There are many things I haven't told you about, you know. You don't owe me an explanation for things you did in America . It had nothing to do with me.”

“But I think I owe Manny one.”

Harry sighed. “Why do you care so much about what he thinks?”

“He's my friend.”

“Yes, but…” Harry paused. “Hermione asked him if he was still in love with you, if that was why he was so angry.”

Draco's eyes flew open at that. “What did he say?”

“He said he wasn't, that she was just jealous. And she said something about not being able to help it, because she couldn't compete with you, not being properly equipped.”

Draco turned to look at Harry. “Were you listening at the keyhole or something?”

“They were in my office. Wasn't much I could do about it.”

Draco bit his lip. “I understand how she feels, though.”

“You–” Harry stared back at him, eyes narrowing. “Is this about that woman you polyjuiced into?”

Draco considered saying no for a moment, but he was too tired to lie, even if it would prevent an argument. “It just… it bothers me that I can't give you what a woman could, and I never will. With me, there's no marriage, no family, no grandchildren, no normal life.” Draco held Harry's gaze, even though he knew Harry wanted to look away.

“That's not completely true,” Harry said at last. “Besides, who's to say what's normal? Things are changing.”

Draco wasn't certain about that, but now wasn't the time to discuss politics. “All I can give you is me. And I'm…” He broke off and looked at the ceiling again.

“What I want,” Harry said, and kissed his shoulder.

Draco closed his eyes. Why was he doing this to himself? Why was he opening up so much when tomorrow it might all come crashing down?

Draco turned onto his side, away from Harry. Harry yawned again and spooned behind him, sliding an arm around his chest. Draco closed his eyes as the sound of Harry's breathing became even and shallow.

:: :: :: :: ::

Monday, March 15, 2004

Daylight was streaming through the windows when Draco woke up. Harry was still curled around him, the heat of his body comforting in the chill of morning. Draco stretched and stuck one foot out from under the blankets to test just how chilly the room was.

His movement caused Harry to stir. The arm draped around Draco shifted and then pulled him closer, close enough for Draco to feel an erection against his arse. He thought for a moment about pressing back against it, but his embarrassment from the night before was still fresh in his mind. He focused instead on the sound of Harry's breathing and the feeling of it against his skin. Just as Draco was starting to drift back to sleep, Harry rolled onto his back and yawned audibly, pulling the quilt off of them both. Draco started to grumble about the loss of warmth, but stopped when he caught sight of the small tent Harry's dick was making in the sheet.

“Morning,” Harry managed, blinking at him. He followed Draco's gaze down his body and grinned. “Should I tell you what you were doing to me in that dream I just had?”

Draco smiled. “Depends on whether or not you want it to come true.”

Harry's grin broadened at that. On a whim, Draco ducked under the sheet and pushed Harry's thighs apart, settling on his belly between them. He had just wrapped his lips around the head of Harry's prick when there was a knock at the door.

“Morning!” Hermione called.

Harry groaned – whether it was from pleasure or frustration, Draco couldn't tell. “Erm,” he replied. Draco grinned around his mouthful and sucked Harry's cock in as far as he could manage.

“Are you awake?” Hermione asked through the door.

“More or less,” Harry replied. His voice was completely normal, which Draco took as a sign he wasn't working hard enough. He shifted onto his elbows under the sheet and let his tongue swirl against Harry's shaft as he moved, massaging the foreskin.

“Manny's mum arrived about an hour ago, and I'm fixing breakfast. Would you like eggs?”

“I… sure,” Harry replied, voice a bit strained now. His thighs fell apart even more, giving Draco better access. Draco let his teeth graze the underside of the head in that way he knew Harry liked.

“Scrambled, fried, what?”

“Ohhh… I don't care, really.” Harry was breathing harder now.

Draco wet one finger and trailed it down beneath Harry's balls, smiling at the intake of breath he could hear above him. He teased Harry's arsehole for a moment before pressing that finger into him as slowly as he could bear. Harry's hips arched off the bed.

“All right,” Hermione said. “Coffee or tea?”

“Erm… sorry?” One of Harry's hands grasped the back of Draco's head through the sheet, pushing him down further. Draco was surprised, but did his best to swallow Harry's cock. He hooked his finger up and stroked, and Harry shuddered beneath him. He'd never fingered him like this without asking permission first, but Harry didn't seem to care at the moment.

“Coffee or tea?” Hermione repeated, a bit louder.

“I… I don't… both?” Harry managed, panting.

“Both,” Hermione repeated, sounding a little perplexed. “Would you like toast? Manny's thinking of fixing pancakes as well, if you like that sort of thing.”

“Uh,” Harry replied.

Draco sucked hard, his fist pumping in opposition to the movements of his mouth, his other finger twisting inside Harry's arse.

“And bacon and sausage, of course.”

“Yes, I–” Harry said, and rubbed at Draco's head in what he could only assume was a warning. A moment later, Harry came without a sound, arse clenching around Draco's finger.

When Draco emerged from beneath the sheet, Harry's hands were over his face. “Sounds great, Hermione. Thanks.”

“Draco?” Hermione asked through the door.

Draco grinned at Harry, whose blush was spreading down his throat. Harry peeked through his fingers and grinned back.

“I don't suppose I could have an omelet?” Draco asked, giving Harry a wink. “With cheese would be lovely.”

:: :: :: :: ::

After a few cleansing spells and some creative transfiguration of sheets into reasonable clothing, they were presentable enough to emerge from the room.

Harry's arms encircled Draco's waist the moment his hand touched the doorknob. “Can't I just–?”

“They're waiting for us.”

Harry kissed his neck in a way that would normally have melted Draco on the spot, but he was – truthfully – relieved to have an excuse to tell Harry no. He hadn't got even a bit hard while sucking Harry off, and he wasn't yet ready to think about what that meant.

The small living room looked busier than Draco had ever seen it. The twins, still in their pyjamas, were on the floor surrounded by magical Legos, which they were directing to assemble and disassemble repeatedly into various animal shapes. Manny was sitting on the sofa watching them with an expression that bordered on paternal. He looked up at Harry and Draco and nodded in greeting.

Hermione's voice could be heard from the kitchen around the corner. “Oh, don't trouble yourself, please–”

“It's no trouble, honey,” a woman's voice replied. “You clearly do far too much on your own as it is.”

Hermione appeared from around the corner, followed by a woman in a colorful set of robes. Her dark hair was streaked with grey and pulled into a loose bun at the back of her head. The woman gestured towards the kitchen, and a teapot and half a dozen cups floated into view.

Her dark eyes fell upon Draco and she smiled. “Oh yes,” she said, her voice rich and familiar. “Draco – I remember.”

Draco felt oddly naked under her gaze. “You… you do?”

The teapot and cups settled onto the sofa table behind her. Manny looked up from the Legos to listen.

“We met when I spoke at NYU several years ago,” she said, stepping closer. “You came to the party Manny had for me at his apartment.”

“Oh,” Draco replied as the memory was sparked. “Right.” He glanced at Manny.

“We didn't really know each other then,” Manny said, a hint of recognition on his face as well. “I'd just moved to New York and didn't know anybody, so I invited everyone in the office.”

Manny's mother beamed at Draco, and he blushed – he couldn't even remember her name.

After an awkward moment, Harry stepped forward. “I'm Harry. Harry Potter.” Draco winced – where were his manners?

“Guadalupe Gomez-Padilla,” she replied, extending her hand. The gold and copper bracelets on her wrists jangled, reminding Draco for a moment of Professor Trelawney, whom he hadn't seen since his days at Hogwarts. “And your name is familiar to me as well, of course.”

Harry nodded, looking uncomfortable.

Guadalupe turned back to Draco and contemplated him for a moment. “And you, young man – you have done something very interesting, I understand.”

“And highly illegal,” Manny muttered.

“Mi'jo, I think Hermione could use your help in the kitchen,” she replied without looking at him. Manny rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed, but he left the room without a word. Guadalupe ignored his departure, her dark eyes sparkling as she smiled at Draco. “I've been studying historical magic my entire life, and I've never had an opportunity to view the effects of such a spell cast outside of a laboratory setting. You'll have to forgive my enthusiasm.”

“Well, I suppose we're your guinea pigs, then,” Draco said.

Guadalupe laughed. “Oh, you're much more than that! I expect to get a few publications out of this, of course, but this is an opportunity I never thought I'd have.” She gestured toward the dining room table. “Now come and sit. You must tell me everything.”

And so they did. Over eggs, toast, sausage, tea, and coffee, Draco and Harry told Guadalupe everything they'd learned about the situation under which the perfidio spell had been cast. Manny and Hermione listened intently, so much so that Draco wondered how much of this Harry had told them. Even the children were quiet.

“And you both awoke with no recollection of what had happened in the previous three weeks?” Guadalupe asked, adding sugar to her coffee.

“None,” Harry replied. “We remember nothing of the circumstances surrounding the disappearance of Voldemort and our involvement in it.”

“Terrible wizard, that one,” Guadalupe said, shaking her head. “The American government was hoping your people would sort that out before his followers got a foothold in our country.”

“They were having a little trouble with the Mafia,” Draco quipped, glancing at Manny.

Manny nodded and swallowed a bite of toast. “Draco's something of an expert on that.” There was no malice in his tone, but Draco felt a twinge in his stomach anyway.

“If you don't mind,” Harry said, nudging Draco under the table with his knee, “what we'd really like to know is how to break the spell.”

Guadalupe nodded and placed her cup on the table before her. “Of course. The first thing you should know is that it's never been done in such a situation.”

Draco thought Harry must have felt the same sinking sensation that he did.

“I have a theory, however,” Guadalupe continued, gesturing with one bangled wrist, “one I've been working on for many years. I never expected to have an opportunity to test it, of course.” She looked up and her eyes met Draco's. “My first concern is that you may have altered the potion used in the spell. There are some ingredients involved that I can't imagine you could have procured with a few weeks' notice.”

Draco nodded, wishing he had asked Ebby more questions about the potion he'd made.

“You see, there are no recorded cases of memory loss associated with the cursification of perfidio. Madness, yes – homicidal tendencies, extreme depression…”

Harry swallowed audibly. “Depression?”

Guadalupe paused to give him an appraising look before continuing. “The fact that the people involved were all highly trained and powerful wizards may be a factor. But my suspicion is that you altered the spell in some significant way. And that is very interesting indeed.” She picked up her coffee again, nearly looking excited by the prospect.

Harry made a small sound of frustration. “But you can help us break it? Preferably as soon as possible?”

“Perhaps. My counter spell has worked repeatedly under laboratory conditions – of course, we've only removed a controlled perfidio and not a cursified one, so there's no guarantee it would work in this context.”

“Cursified?” Harry asked.

Guadalupe's eyebrows rose. “You don't use that term for a spell that's broken down and become a curse?”

“We don't have a word for that,” Hermione said, with a meaningful glance at Harry.

“But we can at least try to break it,” Draco interjected. “Can't we?”

Guadalupe took a measured breath before replying. “There is another factor that concerns me. The potion is the medium through which the magic enters the body, of course. But in those days, New World witches and wizards didn't use wands to focus their magic. In order to bind the people involved, a metal object of great value to each person was dropped into the potion, along with a thimble full of blood from each.” She glanced at Hermione before continuing. “We can break the spell by inverting the potion in the usual way, but we'll need the objects and the blood to complete the process.”

“Blood?” Harry asked, face becoming pale. He looked at Hermione, who was staring into her teacup. “That's impossible, unfortunately. Ron is…”

“I'm afraid we can't proceed without it,” Guadalupe sighed. “Blood magic is very powerful. Modern magical science has yet to find a way around it.”

They were all silent as a sense of hopelessness settled over them.

“There must be another way,” Harry said at last. “This isn't just about us regaining our memories. We're on the verge of war. We need to find out what happened to Voldemort, once and for all.”

“I understand,” Guadalupe sighed, “but–”

Hermione sucked in a breath across the room and everyone turned to look at her. She was staring at her children, a strange expression on her face.

“What is it?” Manny asked, turning to examine them.

“Harley,” Hermione whispered. Her face was very pale.

“Harley?” Harry asked, rising in his chair.

Draco stared at the child, trying to see what was wrong.

“We could…” Hermione closed her eyes and seemed to be steadying herself. “He looks so much like Ron. Molly even says their baby photos are identical. What if we used… his blood?” She looked away, as if ashamed of herself for even suggesting it.

Everyone turned to stare at Harley, who was engrossed in stuffing a Cheerio up his nose.

Guadalupe nodded, her forehead wrinkling. “That is a brilliant idea, Hermione. Blood magic binds to DNA, you know, but only to certain genes. A complete match may not be necessary, if we're lucky.”

“Yes,” Hermione said, nodding. “That's just what I was thinking.” Harry gave her a look of surprise and her cheeks flushed. “I do know something about the science of blood magic, you know,” she said, holding her head a bit higher. “I haven't had a chance to study it formally, but the London Library of Magic has subscriptions to many of the top international journals of magical science and–”

“Do you spend your lunch breaks there, or something?” Harry asked.

“Sometimes,” Hermione replied, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She looked back at Harley, who was now eating his bogey-glazed Cheerio.

“Then you also know that the child must give the blood willingly,” Guadalupe said, her voice gentle. “Otherwise the magic won't bind correctly.”

Hermione nodded, looking concerned again. “He's old enough to understand some of it. I'll ask him.” Manny reached across the table to take Hermione's hand. She squeezed it in response.

Draco looked at Harry, who was still staring at Harley with a tense expression on his face. “This is crazy,” Draco said. “We don't even know if it will work.”

“It's our only chance, though,” Harry replied. “If Harley agrees, I think we should try it.”

They all looked at Harley, who was smiling at the mention of his name. “Can I have more juice?” he asked.

:: :: :: :: ::

Draco stepped out of the floo into Harry's flat, wand at the ready.

“It's all right,” Harry said from a few feet away, brushing ashes off of his sleeve. “They're not here any more.”

“They certainly left a calling card.” The flat had been torn apart: furniture overturned, dishes broken, papers strewn everywhere.

They began to cast cleaning charms in silence, moving from room to room. Draco searched for magical residue as he worked, but it seemed that much of this had been done by hand. The damage was indiscriminate, as if it had been done in haste.

“Any idea who it was?” Draco asked when they'd nearly put everything back in order.

Harry shook his head. “I wonder if they were after one of us, or something else.”

“What do you think they would be after?” Draco sat on the sofa, a bit dizzy.

“The key, maybe?” Harry shrugged. “We really don't know who else knew about the spell. Maybe someone doesn't want us to break it.”

Cho Chang immediately came to Draco's mind, but he didn't say it aloud. He had a feeling Harry would object. “Have you thought any more about what your key could be?”

Harry sat next to him, looking tired. “I have no idea. Manny's mum said it would have been a metal object of great sentimental value, and I have nothing like that.”

Draco studied him for a moment. “Could it be your glasses? I mean, they aren't completely metal, but… it could explain why you refuse to learn the vision correction spell.”

Harry snorted. “If it is, we're in trouble. This pair is only a year old. I donate the old ones.”

“Ah. No elaborate belt buckles or anything? No lucky coins?”

Harry shook his head. “No.”

“You wouldn't happen to have Godric Gryffindor's famous sword stashed in a cupboard?”

Harry finally smiled at this. “Oh, sure. Let me go and fetch it.”

They both yawned at the same time, then grinned at each other.

“God, I'm tired,” Draco said, rubbing at his eyes. “Where are we staying tonight?”

“Hermione wants us to stay there. She's probably working on strengthening the wards even as we speak.” Harry frowned. “Of course, we'd probably be fine here. Why would whoever did this expect us to come back, after all?”

Draco stifled a sarcastic retort. He would feel much better when they had flooed back to Hermione's house. “I wonder how Manny's mum and Snape are getting along?”

“Probably famously,” Harry replied, propping his feet on the sofa table. “From what Hermione said about his return owl, it seemed he knew who she was.”

“That would be an interesting meeting to sit in on,” Draco said, stifling another yawn. Harry raised an eyebrow in response, and Draco changed the subject once again. “Manny and Hermione seem to have made up, haven't they?”

“Yeah,” Harry replied, frowning. “Does he… Do you think he's really serious about her?”

“He thinks he's in love with her. At least, he did two weeks ago.”

Harry looked thoughtful. “That was a bit quick, wasn't it? I mean, he hardly knew her.”

Draco decided to refrain from pointing out that he and Harry had basically done the same thing.

They gathered up enough clothing to last the two of them a few days, then took turns showering while the other kept watch.

Draco found it hard to believe it had been only 24 hours since he'd awakened in this very flat after two days of unconsciousness. It felt like several days had passed since he'd stood under this same spray, helping himself to Harry's shampoo.

He had a brief coughing fit while drying himself off, one that made his recently healed ribs tingle. Harry peeked around the door at him.

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” Draco grimaced, rubbing at his chest. “I think it's just withdrawal – I can't remember the last time I had a cigarette.” The thought of smoking made his head buzz in anticipation.

“Good.” Harry smiled and leaned against the door frame.

“Not really,” Draco grumbled. “I'd smoke one right now if I could.”

“Too bad you can't, then.”

“How long have you lived here?” Draco asked a few minutes later as he pulled one of Harry's jumpers over his head.

“Three and a half years,” Harry replied, glancing around the room fondly. “I finally managed to sell my godfather's place in 2000, and I bought this.”

“You could have got something bigger,” Draco remarked. He'd never been to the Black house on Grimmauld Place , but he imagined Harry had sold it for much more than this flat could have cost him.

“I didn't need anything bigger,” Harry said. “And it was mine, the first real thing I owned, that I chose for myself.”

Draco made a face. “Well… couldn't you afford a decorator, at least?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Ready to go?”

Draco nodded. Harry picked up the bag they'd put their supply of clothing in, and they headed back to the living room to floo out.

“You first,” Harry said. “I need to seal the wards after us.” He looked around the room, reluctant to go.

Draco smiled at him. “You'll be back soon.”

“I know,” Harry replied with a sigh. He twirled his wand absently in his fingers. “You know, when I bought it, I didn't think I'd be living here alone.”

“And you didn't. Cho lived here as well.”

“Yes, but those aren't the best memories. And I still ended up alone in the end.”

Draco took a deep breath. “Well… if things don't go all pear-shaped after this... does your offer still stand?”

“My offer?” Harry blinked at him, and then flushed. “Oh, to move in. Yes, of course.”

Draco opened his mouth, but could think of nothing more to say. They stared at each other.

At last, Harry smiled and brushed Draco's cheek with the back of his hand. “I don't want to push you. We have time, you know.”

Draco smiled back, though he privately felt that time was the one thing they didn't have. He dipped his fingers into the dish of floo powder and stepped into the green flames.

:: :: :: :: ::

Hermione and Guadalupe were sitting on the sofa when Draco stepped out of the fireplace. They glanced up at him, and then turned back to each other.

“Your children are beautiful,” Guadalupe said.

“Thank you,” Hermione replied as she wiped at Cally's face with a spit-coated finger. The child squirmed away, grimacing.

“Would you like to have more some day?”

“Mom!” Manny hissed from his seat at the dining room table. He was scanning a copy of the Prophet .

Hermione cast him a sideways glance, her smile a bit smug. “Oh, I don't know. We'll see. How many children do you have?”

“Four,” Guadalupe replied. “But Manny is my baby.”

Manny grimaced and buried his face in the paper again.

“Why do you talk funny?” Cally asked, peering up into Guadalupe's lined face.

“Because I'm from Texas , sweetheart,” she replied.

Draco grinned and crossed to the table where Manny sat. Even though things were still tense between them, Draco felt more comfortable with him than with women talking about children.

“There's a story in here about that explosion at the Death Eater gathering,” Manny said as soon as Draco sat. “Someone's claimed responsibility for it.”

“Who?”

“A group calling themselves ‘The Dark Lord's Chosen'.” He snorted. “What is it with these people and weird names, anyway?”

“What else does it say?” Draco asked.

“They claim they were trying to ‘assassinate the traitor Lucius Malfoy'. Your father has certainly rubbed a lot of people the wrong way.”

“He does that. Does it say anything about him?”

Manny shook his head. “Just that he hasn't been seen since he was released from the hospital on Saturday.” Manny looked up from the paper. “Where's Harry?”

Draco whirled towards the fireplace. “He was right behind me.”

They looked at each other.

“Shit,” Draco spat, sprinting back to the fireplace. He grabbed a handful of floo powder and shouted Harry's address. Almost immediately, he was spat out on Hermione's hearth again.

“What happened?” Hermione asked, eyes wide.

“His floo wards are up,” Draco said. “But I don't understand. He should be the only one who can close them. Where'd he go?”

They all stared at each other for a moment, uncertain. Draco climbed to his feet and began pacing the floor, mind racing.

“Maybe someone intercepted him on the way here,” Hermione said, her forehead wrinkled with worry.

“Is that possible?” Manny asked.

Draco nodded. “But it's very difficult to do. They would have had to time it precisely.” He felt a tightness in his chest – what if something had happened? What if–

There was a whoosh of green flame and Harry stepped out of the fireplace behind him. He smiled at Hermione. “I didn't think you'd be back from meeting with Snape yet. How'd it go?”

“Where the fuck were you?” Draco cried. At the same moment, Hermione and Manny said much the same thing, with the result that the room erupted in shouting.

Harry backed up against the fireplace, stunned. “What? I just made a little detour on my way here!”

“You should have told me!” Draco spat. “We had no idea what had happened to you.”

“I'm sorry!” Harry replied, holding up a brown paper bag. “I remembered there was something I needed to pick up at the last minute, that's all.”

Draco gritted his teeth and looked away, angry and relieved all at once.

“Well…thank god you're safe,” Hermione said, shooting Harry a stern look.

Harry looked somewhere between flustered and annoyed, but he didn't respond. He twisted the ring on his hand instead, as he often did when he was agitated.

Draco took that hand in his and squeezed it. His heart was still pounding, and he was nearly overwhelmed by an urge to hug Harry.

Harry squeezed back. “Sorry,” he whispered.

“It's all right,” Draco replied with a sigh. He'd give Harry shit about it later. For now, there were more important things to discuss. He forced himself to turn back to Hermione and Guadalupe. “So… how did the meeting with Snape go?”

“Fantastic,” Hermione said, glancing at Guadalupe. “He's going to start working on the inversion potion right away. It may be ready as early as tonight.”

“Tonight?” Draco asked. He felt his stomach drop. So soon? Harry squeezed his hand and released it.

“And he had some very good ideas about substitutions you likely made in the potion,” Guadalupe continued. “I need to do some lab work to check, but it's possible we've found an explanation for your memory loss.”

“He was very interested in your work, wasn't he?” Hermione said to her. “He'd even read that paper about the impact of European magic on New World magical traditions.”

Guadalupe waved her hand in dismissal, but smiled all the same. “Severus is a very intelligent and knowledgeable man.”

“Are you really going to invite him to speak at your conference?” Hermione asked, a tone of awe in her voice.

Draco didn't have to look at Harry to know he was rolling his eyes.

“Yes, but that isn't important now.” Guadalupe turned to Harry. “My understanding is that you're fairly certain who was involved in the spell and that you have identified two of the three binding objects.”

“Yes,” Harry replied. He held up his hand. “Ron's ring and Draco's bracelet. I just don't know what my key was.”

“You don't have and jewelry of sentimental value, then?”

“No,” Harry replied. “I even searched my flat today, but I couldn't find anything. I just don't know what I would have used for a key.”

Guadalupe tilted her head at him. “Why are you calling it a key?”

Harry paused, looking surprised. “Well, we've both been dreaming about it, and in our dreams, he… Ron talks about keys.”

Guadalupe frowned. “I've never heard anyone use that term for a binding object before. It isn't standard in the historical literature, at least.” She paused, and then raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure the dream isn't referring to a literal key?”

Harry and Draco stared at each other.

Harry whistled. “Damn. Is it really that simple?”

“He said ‘Harry already holds the key',” Draco told him. “It never occurred to me he really meant a key .”

Harry dug in his trouser pocket and pulled out a key chain with three keys on it, shaking his head. He held one key up and it glinted in the lamplight. “I had just bought the flat. It was probably the most important metal object I had at the time. That has to be it.”

Draco exhaled, relieved, and turned back to Guadalupe. “I suppose we're ready, then. I just hope we have it all right.”

“There's one more thing,” Guadalupe said, still frowning. “Headmaster Snape and I agree that if at all possible, we should attempt to cast the counter spell in the location where the original spell was cast. Black Magic binds to place as well as people and objects, after all. Do you have any idea where the spell might have been cast?”

Harry looked at Draco, face blank, and Draco swallowed. “Actually… I do.”

:: :: :: :: ::

Six excruciating hours passed before they heard from Snape that the potion would indeed be ready that night. The news was greeted with mixed emotions from everyone but Guadalupe.

Hermione had burst into tears three times at the thought of having to see her son's blood spilt for the potion. She and Manny had talked to Harley about it earlier in the day, and Harley had agreed without hesitating.

“I don't think he understands,” Hermione said again, voice quivering. “How can he?”

“Sweetie, he's talked about nothing since,” Manny said, stroking her hair.

“But he keeps asking how much it will hurt. What if–”

“If he doesn't want to do it, we can't make him. It has to be his choice.”

“But–”

Harry pulled Draco aside and whispered, “Are you sure this is going to work? I have a bad feeling–”

“Don't worry,” Draco said. “It will.”

“I can't believe we're just going to waltz into your father's house and expect him to stand aside while we do this.”

“We don't even know that he's there,” Draco retorted. “Besides, we won't waltz. We'll do a proper salsa, at the very least.”

Harry gave a humorless snort, shaking his head and rubbing at his chin with one hand.

“You two need a depilo,” Hermione said. They turned to see her shaking her head, a look of patient exasperation on her face. “You look positively scruffy.”

“I like it,” Harry said, grinning at her. “I might even grow it out.”

“Nice Chia beard you've got going there,” Manny remarked, smirking at Harry.

Fortunately, this jibe sailed right over Harry's head. Draco laughed so hard he could barely breathe. He'd needed to laugh too – he wasn't sure when it would happen again.

:: :: :: :: ::

“Hello?”

“Heather, it's Draco. Can you talk now?”

“Draco! Oh god, you're– Lucius was furious that he couldn't find you! If he knew I was talking–”

“Then he mustn't find out. Where is he now?”

“He's here.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “He's been meeting with strange people all day.”

“I need you to do something for me, all right? It's very, very important.”

“I'll try. But–”

“I need you to get him out of the house tonight, and keep him out for as long as possible.”

There was a pause on the other end. “I don't know if I can.”

“Heather, this is a matter of life and death. I know it will be difficult, but…” Draco paused, and then switched tactics. “He's in danger. I think something's going to happen there tonight. If he's in that house, he may be killed.”

She gasped. “Does he know about this?”

“No, and it's extremely important that he doesn't find out. I'm going to take care of it, and he can't be involved. He can't even know about it, all right?”

“Okay. I'll think of something. Be careful.” She sounded frightened.

“I will. Thank you.”

Stupid Muggle bint, he thought as he turned Hermione's mobile off. You'd better come through.

:: :: :: :: ::

Severus Snape's cloaked and pallid figure looked completely out of place in Hermione's suburban living room. He sneered at the furnishings and frowned at the décor, refusing to sit and declining Hermione's offer for a cup of tea. Draco would have laughed were it not for Harry scowling at the man from across the room.

“I must get back to the school,” he said at last, an expression of annoyance on his face. He'd come to deliver the potion inversion, and he seemed disinclined to stay longer than necessary.

“You're not going to help us break the spell?” Hermione asked, still holding a cup of tea out to him. She seemed to view him in a new light, given Guadalupe's praise of him.

“I will leave you in Dr. Gomez's capable hands,” he replied, pulling his cloak about him. “I can assure you she is more of an expert than I.” He nodded at Guadalupe, who smiled warmly at him.

Draco couldn't remember anyone ever looking as if they actually liked Snape. Harry muttered something under his breath, but Snape didn't seem to notice.

“Good luck,” Snape said as he turned to the fireplace. “You'll need it.”

A moment later he was gone, his cauldron of bubbling grey potion left on the table.

“Well,” Guadalupe said, clapping her hands together. “I suppose we're ready.”

Hermione looked at Harry, who seemed lost in thought. “Manny and Guada are going to transport the potion. I'm dropping Cally off with a sitter, then Harley and I will meet you there.”

Harry nodded and turned to Draco. “Ready?”

“Almost,” Draco said, staring at his hands. “I need to make a phone call first.”

:: :: :: :: ::

The road leading up to the castle was dark and quiet. Draco shivered, his cloak not enough to keep him warm in the chilly spring weather. Harry walked beside him, looking around anxiously.

“I don't like this,” Harry whispered. They had come first to get into the chamber under the castle, where Draco was certain the original spell had been cast.

“Heather promised to keep him occupied,” Draco said. “And I've got a backup plan. You've got Hermione's mobile, right?”

“For the third time, yes. And I still don't think that's much of a back-up.”

Draco didn't reply; he privately agreed, and he hoped they wouldn't need it.

The castle loomed above them, dark and foreboding. It didn't look like anyone was inside at all, but that did nothing to prevent Draco from feeling nervous. They stopped before the large front door.

“Want me to do it?” Harry asked. Draco nodded, and then watched as Harry cast a series of spells to detect wards and security charms.

“Nothing,” Harry said, frowning. “That can't be right.”

Draco agreed. “It's a big place, though. Maybe–”

“Hang on,” Harry said, tilting his head. “Foscumenta.” Glimmering threads of green light appeared, crisscrossing the door.

“Ah,” Draco said. “Looks like the same curse we used to keep on the front door at the manor. Clever.”

“Can you take it down?”

Draco smirked. “Of course.” It required a series of complicated spells, but it wasn't a problem – he'd been able to do it half-drunk back when he was a teenager, on nights he'd snuck out to go to gay clubs.

Once the door curse was gone, he turned the handle and pushed it open. The foyer was dark and quiet. There wasn't even any light above in the corridor at the top of the stairs. It appeared that no one was there. Draco took a deep breath and stepped inside.

Their footsteps were muffled against the Persian rug as they crossed the entryway, through a parlor, and into the room Lucius had taken Draco to the week before. They stopped before a blank wall.

Harry turned to Draco and frowned. “Now what?”

“Ebby,” Draco said.

“Ebby?” Harry repeated.

“Ebby is happy to see Master Draco again!” a small voice said from the vicinity of their knees.

Harry made a sound of surprise and stepped back, already pointing his wand towards the creature.

“We need to get into the room under here,” Draco told her. “Can you open the door for us?”

“Oh yes,” Ebby squeaked, a bit more loudly than Draco would have liked. She waved one long-fingered hand at the wall, and a doorway appeared.

“Keep watch, Ebby. If my father comes, I want you to find a way to warn us.”

Ebby nodded and disappeared with a pop.

Harry stared at the spot where the elf had disappeared, looking confused.

“Come on,” Draco said. “We've not much time.”

They descended the stairs into the darkness with only wand light to guide them. The further they descended the more eerie and dank their surroundings became. When the underground chamber opened up before them, Draco heard a gasp beside him.

“I've dreamed about this place,” Harry whispered. His words echoed off the shadowed walls.

Draco felt an odd chill pass through him. “Help me light these torches.”

In the flickering light the room looked smaller than Draco remembered. He turned on the spot, and then nodded at Harry. “It's time.”

Harry pulled a small disc from his pocket and placed it on the floor, then waved his wand over it. After an entire minute had passed, Draco and Harry looked at each other. Had it gone wrong already?

And then Hermione apparated next to them, a white-faced Harley in her arms. “Sorry! I was arguing with this one and didn't see the apparition beacon come on.” She set Harley down, and he promptly wrapped himself around one of her legs, face buried in her thigh. “He's not apparated before,” she explained. “Where are Manny and Guada?”

“Not here yet,” Harry said, glancing around the room.

“This place is creepy,” Hermione remarked, nose wrinkling. “Where are we, anyway?”

“Scotland ,” Draco told her.

With a wet squishing sound, a cauldron appeared next to the beacon. They all jumped back, startled. Seconds later, Manny and his mother appeared, along with a very reluctant-looking Severus Snape.

Draco grinned at him. “You decided to come after all?”

“We needed his help porting the potion here safely,” Manny replied.

“And it is an event of interest, I suppose,” Snape replied, doing his best to seem annoyed.

“Well then,” Guadalupe said, directing them away from the cauldron. “Let's not waste any time.” She reached into her pocket and produced a small bag, the contents of which she sprinkled in a circle around the cauldron.

“Salt,” Manny said, apparently in response to a question from Hermione. “Keeps evil spirits away.” The tone of his voice suggested he thought it was rubbish.

“Oh yes,” Hermione said, sounding as if she were studying a particularly fascinating bug. “Salt was considered a very magical quantity in the era this spell comes from.”

Harry shifted his feet next to Draco, and Draco realized with a start he hadn't had a chance to say what he'd been planning to. He had wanted to tell Harry he loved him one more time, that he always would, no matter what happened tonight. Harry turned to look at him, and they stared at each other.

“We're ready,” Guadalupe said. She was standing outside the salt circle, the flickering light ghosting over her face. Snape stood across the circle from her, eyes narrowed at Draco and Harry.

“All right then,” Harry said, stepping forward.

“The three of you will step inside the circle. Once inside, no part of your body can leave it until the spell is complete.” She looked at Harley, who had finally released Hermione's leg. “Do you understand?”

He nodded at her, staring across the circle with a blank expression on his face.

“When you enter the circle, hold the focus object in your left hand. Step in at the same time.”

They positioned themselves around the circle, shifting a bit when Harley insisted on standing in one particular spot. Harry gave him Ron's ring, wrapping his small fingers around it.

“Hold it tight,” Harry said, stroking the child's hair. Harley nodded and looked up at the ceiling. Harry dug his key chain from his pocket and pulled the key to his flat off, then clenched it in his fist.

“Now,” Guadalupe said, and the three of them stepped into the salt circle.

The potion was bubbling away. It smelled oddly like seawater and almost looked iridescent in the torchlight.

Draco glanced toward Snape to see him studying the scene with interest. Their eyes met, and a mask of indifference settled over his features once more.

“First, blood,” Guadalupe said. She waved her wand and three small vials appeared in the air before them.

“How do we…?” Harry asked.

“With that,” Snape said, and a small silver knife emerged from the cauldron itself. A grey sheen of potion slid off its surface and it sparkled in the dim light.

“Who first?” Draco asked.

Guadalupe shrugged. “It doesn't matter. But we must add the blood at precisely the same time.”

“I'll go first,” Harry said, reaching for the knife.

“The forearm would be best,” Snape said with trademark disinterest.

“Really?” Harry muttered. “I'd never have guessed.” Holding the knife in his right hand, he made a quick cut across the inside of his forearm. He whispered a spell and the blood flowing from the wound formed globules in the air above his skin. He captured the blood in the closest vial and then passed the knife to Draco.

Draco repeated the process, aware of Harley's eyes on him as he cut himself. He clenched his jaw to keep from grimacing at the pain, not wanting to frighten the child any more than necessary. When his blood filled the vial, he handed the knife to Harley.

Harley held it in his hand and stared at it for a moment. Draco held his breath – if Harley refused, it was over. But then Harley nodded, as if making a decision. He pressed the blade against the pale skin of his forearm, slicing into his own skin.

Hermione sobbed, though the sound was muffled against Manny's shirt. Everyone else was silent.

Tears welled in Harley's eyes as he stared at the blood streaming from the wound he'd made, but none fell. Harry cast the spell to collect the blood, and Harley watched it dribble into the vial, almost looking fascinated.

He hadn't said a word, and he'd done it without making a mistake. They all had been worried about entrusting such a small child with this responsibility, but so far he was doing well.

His face went blank for a moment, and then he looked over at Hermione, who was still sniffling into Manny's shirt. “It's okay, Mummy.”

“Very good, Harley,” Harry told him. “Press your hand against the wound.” Harley nodded and looked up at the ceiling again, seeming dazed.

Guadalupe walked around the circle once, examining the vials of blood. “We're ready to continue. Severus?”

Snape stepped forward and waved his hand, and the vials emptied themselves into the potion. Purple smoke began to spiral up within seconds. Snape studied it and then nodded, satisfied.

“Are your objects ready?” Guadalupe asked.

“Oh, no,” Harry said. Draco turned to see him staring at his key. The blood seemed to drain from his face.

“What?” Draco asked.

“This isn't right,” Harry replied, shaking his head. “Oh god. This is a copy. It's got the locksmith's logo on it. I had this one made a year ago.” He looked up at Draco, eyes wide. “This can't have been the one I used.”

Draco groaned, realization dawning. “The other key, the one you gave me–”

“Yes! That must be the one.” Harry looked at Draco expectantly.

Draco swallowed. “I don't have it with me. It's at the flat.” He looked away, the sinking feeling in his stomach making a turn towards nausea.

Everyone was silent for several seconds, uncertain what to do.

“Master!” a voice squeaked. Four wands pointed out the house-elf who had just appeared, and she cowered behind her hands.

“Ebby!” Draco felt his heart sink.

“Master Lucius is coming!” she cried, peeking at them through her fingers. “He has beaten the deceiving Muggle and is coming here with other men! Ebby is warning Master Draco, as she promised.”

“Shit,” Draco hissed.

Ebby disapparated with a pop, and they heard footsteps on the stairs.

This was one of those moments, Draco would later reflect, when time seemed to slow down. He saw with absolute clarity what needed to be done, and he did not panic.

“Harry, give me the mobile,” he said.

Harry rummaged in his pockets and tossed it to him. It was a miracle that there was a signal at all. It was faint, but there was a bar, and Draco held is breath as he pulled up the last number called and pressed send . He barely waited for it to be answered before shouting, “Now! Now!” into the receiver.

“Roger that,” he heard just before he ended the call.

“We have only minutes before the potion deteriorates,” Snape said. His voice was startlingly calm.

“Where's the other key?” Hermione asked, sounding almost breathless. “I can apparate into the flat to get it.”

“Somewhere on the floor,” Draco told her. He saw Harry's sharp gaze and felt a pang of remorse, but he pushed it aside. “I was standing by the fireplace when I dropped it.”

Hermione nodded, then looked at Harry, her forehead furrowed. “Promise me you won't let anything happen to Harley.”

“Go!” Harry said, waving her away. “We'll be fine.”

Hermione looked at Harley and then disapparated. Harley whimpered, staring at the spot where she'd been a moment before. Harry gathered Harley close to him, his wand at the ready.

The footsteps in the stairway were very close now, and they all looked towards the door. Draco saw Manny and Guadalupe exchange a look and raise their wands. He trained his own wand on the door just as a shadowy figure came into view.

Lucius's robes swirled around him as he stopped just inside the room, raising dust from the floor. His sharp features were cast in shadow by the torchlight, making his expression of anger even more severe. Several men flanked him; Draco recognized Avery and Snead right away, and the other faces were familiar as well. None of them looked very pleased.

“What do you think you're doing?” Lucius snarled, wand already pointed at Draco. The men at his side trained their wands on the others in the room.

“Having a little barbeque,” Draco quipped. “Didn't you get the invitation?”

Lucius's expression darkened even further. “I should have known I couldn't trust you. I should have guessed you'd betray me the moment you had the chance.”

Draco's hand tightening on his wand. “Yes, you should have. Why would I have any loyalty to you?”

“And you!” Lucius turned his attention to Snape. “You've pretended to be loyal to me this entire time, but you helped him three years ago, didn't you?”

Snape's lips twisted into a smirk. “As usual, Lucius, you are unable to see beyond your own petty ambition.” His wand was pointed at Snead.

“I won't be made a fool of again,” Lucius said, turning his gaze back to Draco. “If this secret is to be revealed, it will be on my terms.”

“You want to know as badly as we do,” Draco retorted. “What difference does it make if it's on your terms or ours? The outcome is–”

“Because it's my life that is at risk!” Lucius hissed. “My reputation, my standing, my very existence depends on this information remaining secret.” He turned his glare to Harry, who pushed Harley behind him. Lucius's eyes bore into Draco's. “What if you failed to contain him? What if it were possible for the Dark Lord to return?”

“What if he's dead?” Harry asked.

Lucius paled, which only made him look angrier. “Whatever his fate, I was part of it. And I will be blamed – not by the Ministry, but by those faithful to him. If this proceeds, it seals my fate.”

“You aren't making sense, Malfoy!” Snape spat, his tone dripping with annoyance. “What's done is done. If they remember it or not, it changes nothing.”

“You're wrong,” Lucius growled. “Everything will change. It is impossible to keep such secrets.”

“You are wrong,” Snape replied. “There is always fidelius.”

Draco turned to stare at Snape. Was he really offering–

“I've been personally responsible for the peace and stability of our society these last three years!” Lucius spat, his hand shaking as he pointed his wand at Snape. “You will not take that away from me!”

“He's barking,” Harry muttered, shaking his head.

“I have been working for more than a year to obtain this information,” Lucius continued, his voice now low and gravelly. “Once you've finished your little counter-spell, I will wipe the memories from your minds for good. I will be the only one who knows the truth.”

Harry made a sound like a laugh. “And you think we'll cooperate? You're insane.”

“I'll kill you, then,” Lucius replied.

“I'd like to see you try.” Harry's wand was now pointing back at Lucius, his face twisted into an expression of hatred that Draco hadn't seen in years. “In fact, I insist .”

It was hard to tell who threw the first curse, but streaks of light began to fly around the room, zinging overhead and ricocheting off the walls. Guadalupe went down quickly and Manny scrambled toward her, roaring. Snape managed to block everything Avery sent towards him, but soon he was fending off curses from Snead as well.

“Nothing's coming through!” Harry shouted, struggling to keep a curious Harley behind him. “And we can't get any curses out either. The salt circle really works!”

Draco growled in frustration. “They're outnumbered, and we can only stand here and watch!”

Manny slumped over his mother's crumpled form across the room, and Snape was left alone against five adversaries.

“I'm going to step out,” Harry said, a fierce expression on his face. “Stay here with Harley.”

Draco grabbed his arm. “You can't! The spell–”

“It isn't going to be broken anyway,” Harry said, looking at Snape with something akin to concern on his face. “He won't last long against them.”

“They wouldn't want us to give up,” Draco said, gesturing towards Manny and his mother in a heap on the floor. “It will have been for nothing!”

“It's already over!” Harry retorted, twisting out of his grip.

There was a shout across the room, and they turned to see five men in robes standing there, wands trained on Lucius and his lackeys. One of them was someone Draco recognized immediately.

“Stand down, Malfoy,” Rodolfus Abernathy said.

Lucius looked baffled for a moment, but regained his composure quickly. “Abernathy, you're just in time. These–”

“I said, stand down,” Abernathy repeated, stepping forward and pressing his wand into Lucius's throat.

“How dare you–” Lucius began.

“You arrogant fool,” Abernathy growled, his expression cold. “Did you really think you could blackmail us?”

“You used that Muggle boy against us,” the man beside him said, “and you thought we'd never find out we weren't alone?”

“You… Colby?” Lucius asked, stunned.

“He told us what you were doing,” a tall thin man said. “He told us about each other. And he warned us that you were going to betray us here tonight.”

Lucius started to respond, but seemed to change his mind. He stared at Abernathy, eyes hard.

Abernathy sneered at him. “At first I was shocked that you'd turned on me, especially since your own son is…” He didn't finish the sentence, as if he couldn't say the word. “I was afraid and ashamed. But now , Malfoy – now I am simply angry.”

He looked angry, Draco thought. He looked like he might be angry enough to kill Lucius on the spot.

“We have no reason to trust you any more,” another of Abernathy's men said, keeping his wand firmly fixed on Snead. “We want to know the truth, and you won't interfere.”

At that moment, Hermione apparated next to the beacon, clutching her chest and breathing hard.

“Hermione!” Harry shouted. Draco had to grab his arm again to prevent him from leaving the circle.

Hermione cried out – she'd just noticed the new arrivals. She clenched something tightly in her fist. “What's going on?”

“It's all right,” Harry assured her. “Did you get it?”

She nodded and opened her hand to reveal the key.

Harry pointed his wand at it, and Draco held his breath. The key sailed through the salt barrier and into Harry's hand.

“You've only seconds,” Snape wheezed. He'd been hit with several nasty curses before Abernathy arrived.

“What do we do?” Draco asked.

Harry stared into the cauldron, eyes wide. “I don't know. I think we're supposed to drop these in and drink it.”

Draco felt the blood drain from his face for what must have been the tenth time that day. “But this won't come off!” he said, pointing to the silver bracelet.

Harry stared at it. “It wouldn't have come off before either, so what would we have done?”

“We have to put our hands in,” a small voice said.

They both turned to look at Harley, who was standing over the cauldron and staring into the potion. It bubbled and shimmered, lavender smoke still rising from its surface.

“What?” Harry asked, staring at him.

“We have to hold the things and put our hands in,” Harley said, as if it were obvious. “It isn't hot.”

Draco and Harry exchanged a look.

“How do you know?” Draco asked, already afraid of the answer.

Harley smiled at them. “Daddy told me.”

They stared at him. Draco felt an odd chill. Harry looked faint.

“He's right,” Draco said. “I… don't know how I know it, but…”

Harry nodded, still staring at Harley. He clutched the key tightly in his left fist, but his hand was still shaking. He seemed unable to speak.

The three of them held their hands over the cauldron. Draco took a deep breath, simultaneously nervous and excited. This could be a terrible mistake or a great idea – and there was no way to know which.

Draco turned to look at Harry. “I want you to know–”

“I know,” he replied. “Me too.”

They looked back at Harley, who had an expression of intense concentration on his face.

“Ready?” Draco asked. His hand began to shake. “Three… two… one.”

They plunged their hands into the potion. It wasn't hot at all; in fact, it was pleasantly warm and rolled over his skin like oil. For a moment Draco wondered if anything was going to happen. Skin absorption of potions, he knew, took a bit longer than–

It was as if someone had turned on a very bright light. The glare was blinding, overwhelming, deafening – so much so that Draco heard himself shout in agony. He heard Harry and Harley cry out too, sounding as if they were very far away.

And then it was dark.

 

:: :: :: :: ::

 

:: :: :: :: ::

Thursday, 18 January, 2001

Draco took another long drag from the joint Li had handed him.

The club's music pounded in his chest as he blew the acrid smoke in a stream above their heads. It was the sort of music he hated as a rule, but when he was out trolling Muggle gay clubs with a friend – and this friend always had particularly good drugs of both the Muggle and Wizard variety – he found he rather liked it.

“Shit,” he rasped.

“Fucking A,” Li replied, taking the joint from his fingers. “This shit is totally sweet, dude. Marcus gets it from some Voodoo guy down in the Village, and it kicks ass.”

“Kicks ass,” Draco repeated with a grin, trying to flatten the word out in his mouth. He laughed and slung an arm around Li. “Ass. That's so fucking cute.”

Li's response was an exasperated sigh. He began moving his hips in time to the bass beat and let his head fall back against the flimsy wall of toilet stall.

“All right,” Draco said, pushing off the wall and standing. “I'm ready.”

Li sniggered and took one last hit off the joint. “Ready for what?”

“To get fucking laid. What else?”

They staggered back out to the dance floor, weaving through the crowd of scantily-clad men. Draco grabbed Li's hand and pulled him close.

“That one,” he half-shouted, nodding at a young man to their left.

Li raised an eyebrow in response. “You've been on such a twink kick lately. That one barely looks legal.”

“All the better,” Draco replied, grinning. “And you can have his little friend.”

“I hate these Mundane clubs,” Li said, wrinkling his nose. “Can we just go take a look at B-Boy, please?”

“I've had everyone there. Besides, it's seventies night. All the old queens come out.”

“My mother would be horrified if she knew I was fucking Mundanes,” Li said, wrapping his arms around Draco's neck and pouting. Li's mother was an old Chinese witch whose prejudice against Muggles made Draco's father look benevolent.

Draco laughed. “Does your mother even know you're gay?”

Li ignored the question. “You know I don't like having sex without magic, either.”

“Then go back to B-Boy and pick yourself up a grateful geezer,” Draco retorted, pushing him away. “I want this cute little twink, and I want him now.” He left Li behind and circled the boy who'd caught his eye, dancing closer and closer until the boy looked up and saw him.

“Hullo,” Draco said, stepping between the boy and the man he'd just been dancing with. The man shot Draco a glare and then turned away.

“Hi,” the boy replied with a grin. He had sandy hair and bright blue eyes, and he was hot .

Draco pulled him close, smiling. “Wanna fuck?”

The boy laughed, and his grin widened. “That's the third offer I've had tonight.”

“How lucky for you that you didn't take the first two,” Draco said, and kissed him.

:: :: :: :: ::

They stumbled up the stairs to Draco's Avenue B walk-up, giggling. The boy was 16, it turned out, and he'd snuck out for the night. He had no place to go, he'd whimpered, so if Draco wanted to fuck him, he'd have to give him a place to sleep too.

The boy was taller than Draco, and stronger too. He pushed Draco up against the door of the apartment and ground against him, already hard. Draco whispered an unlocking spell and the fly on the boy's jeans came undone, his hard dick popping forward to hit Draco in the stomach.

“Oops,” Draco muttered.

“That's why I'm here,” the boy said with a grin.

Draco wrapped his fingers around his bare cock and repeated the spell, this time managing to open the door.

The apartment was dark, so Draco had to lead the way to his small bedroom, hand still tugging on the boy's prick. They tumbled onto Draco's bed, mouths mashing together and hands roaming and squeezing. Within minutes, Draco had the boy flipped onto his stomach and a condom rolled onto his own dick.

Just as he began to press forward, the boy stiffened beneath him.

Draco groaned. “Don't tell me you're a virgin.”

“Well…” The boy's voice was strained.

Draco grimaced, thinking. A little magic would ease the way. He would just have to perform a memory charm later.

“Diffundo,” he whispered, pressing one finger against the boy's straining hole.

“What the hell was that?” the boy cried. Draco eased forward into his relaxed body, and the boy whimpered beneath him. “God, it… ohhhh…”

Draco pounded into him after that. It didn't matter at this point, since the boy's memory would be wiped in the morning. He'd have trouble walking tomorrow, but he'd probably just chalk up the memory lapse to alcohol.

The boy pulled himself off and came a full minute before Draco did, though the clenching of his anus around Draco's cock was most pleasant. Draco eased off him afterwards and spelled away the condom. The boy rolled onto his back, smiling.

“That was amazing! It hurt at first, but then it was… wow!” Even in the dim light, Draco could see the stars in his eyes.

Oh, hell, he thought. Why did I agree to let him stay?

“Look, I have to get up early tomorrow,” he said, pulling the duvet up over himself. “So get to sleep.”

“All right.” The boy turned onto his side, still staring at Draco. “God, your accent is so sexy! Are you from England ?”

“Yes,” Draco replied, closing his eyes. How the fuck had he managed to bring home another talker?

“What's your name?”

“Go to sleep,” Draco said, and turned to face the other way.

:: :: :: :: ::

Friday, 19 January, 2001

The alarm was set for 6:00, but the sound that awakened Draco at 5:45 was a shout. He sat up and poked a few buttons on his alarm clock. He must have been dreaming.

He turned to look beside him – the boy wasn't there. Draco frowned, and then jumped out of bed. He had some voracious plants in the main room, and if the stupid Muggle had touched any of them–

He froze in the doorway, mouth open in shock. On the sofa, dressed in full traveling robes and looking extremely displeased, sat his father. Draco hadn't seen the man in two years, not since he'd fled to become an Auror.

“Good morning,” Lucius said, pointedly ignoring the naked Muggle who was gaping at him from across the room.

“How did you get in here?” Draco asked. His heart was pounding, but managed to maintain his composure. His wand was back in the bedroom, of course. Why hadn't he picked it up before coming out?

“Oddly enough, the door was unlocked,” Lucius replied. “And no wards? One would think you wanted to be found.”

The boy was staring back and forth between Draco and Lucius, clearly confused about what was happening.

“Leave,” Draco told the boy. “Now.”

The boy looked as if he might argue for a moment, but he dashed back into the bedroom instead, reappearing with his clothes bundled in his arms a moment later. He disappeared through the front door, still naked.

Lucius had ignored him, keeping his eyes fixed on Draco instead. “I see you haven't changed. Muggles, Draco? Honestly.”

“Like father, like son, they say.” Did Lucius think he'd never known about his Muggle whores?

Lucius looked away. “Would you put on some clothing, at least?”

Draco snorted. “I'm your son. It's not as if you haven't seen me naked before.”

Lucius looked back, a smirk spreading across his face. “I am here to make you a very lucrative offer, and I don't discuss business under these circumstances.”

Surprised, Draco folded his arms over his chest and thought for a moment. Was Lucius serious? If he'd come to abduct Draco – or worse – surely he'd have done it by now. Draco nodded, keeping his expression neutral. “Very well. Don't touch anything.”

A few minutes later he was dressed in jeans and a black jumper, one he'd appropriated from Li's wardrobe months ago. Lucius wrinkled his nose at the blatant display of Muggle attire, but refrained from commenting on it.

This was Draco's second indication that the offer was a serious one. His stomach twisted at the idea that Lucius was really here to make him an offer, to treat him as an equal. The last time his father had offered him a job, it hadn't been a pleasant proposition, to say the least.

Draco suppressed a scowl and crossed to the apartment's small kitchen. “Coffee?” he asked. He'd grown addicted to the rush of caffeine it provided, so much stronger than tea. Lucius declined, but watched as Draco spelled the Muggle coffee machine into operation. Draco settled in a chair next to the sofa, trying to appear casual and relaxed.

“Well?” He tried his best to sound bored, even annoyed.

“I've been looking for you for nearly a month,” Lucius said. “And I've heard good things about you, I must admit. You've begun to make a name for yourself here.”

Draco raised an eyebrow in response. He thought he'd kept his more illicit activities quiet. If the FBI ever found out what he was doing–

“Don't worry,” Lucius said with a sneer. “Your secret is quite safe with me.”

Draco grimaced. He'd forgotten that his father was a fairly good Legilimens. He must be more careful.

A coffee cup nudged his hand, and he plucked it from the air. He'd made it a bit strong this morning, unfortunately, but there was nothing for it now.

“What do you want? I'm busy. I have an important meeting this morning that I–”

“I want you to return home with me to assist with a very important task,” Lucius said. “I won't be directly involved, and I'm afraid I can't give you many details at the moment. But I can assure you that the reward will be great.”

“Oh, really? It would have to be fairly astounding. I'm doing quite well for myself, you know.”

“One hundred thousand galleons.”

Draco struggled not to react. That was indeed an astounding sum. Whatever this task was, it was clearly important to Lucius.

Draco took another sip of his coffee and then met his father's gaze. “I want one hundred and fifty. And afterwards, you promise never to contact me again.”

Lucius's eyes narrowed. “You don't even know what this task is.”

“For one hundred fifty thousand galleons, I won't care.”

Lucius considered him a moment longer, and then nodded. “Very well. Agreed.” He stood, pressing his cane into the floor. “We should leave immediately.”

Draco scowled, but he wasn't surprised. He'd have to make a few phone calls, but for that much money, it wasn't a problem. “I'll need a few minutes to pack,” he said, heading to his bedroom.

Ten minutes later he emerged, rucksack slung over his shoulder. He cast a few cleaning spells in the direction of the kitchen. Lucius looked up from yesterday's copy of the Wizarding Times.

Draco fumbled for his mobile and rang Li. He apologized profusely for waking him up, and then explained that he'd be gone for a few days. Li offered to water the plants, just as Draco had hoped he would. He then called his office and left a message explaining that he had a family emergency back home and would be on leave until further notice. He hoped his new supervisor wouldn't be too hard-nosed about it. The man was hot, though – Draco wondered if a blow job might smooth things over. Even straight boys had a hard time saying no to head, he'd found.

“I'm ready,” he said to Lucius as he powered the mobile off and stuck it in a pocket.

A pecking at the window signaled the arrival of the morning mail. “Just a sec,” Draco said, crossing to open the pane. A grey pigeon flew in, a thick envelope dangling from one foot.

Draco took the package and offered the pigeon a treat from a jar on the kitchen table. He didn't recognize the return address, but it had Priority! printed all over it in blinking red letters. He didn't know how long he'd be away, so he shoved it into his rucksack.

“We have a portkey waiting for us at Kennedy,” Lucius told him. “We can apparate there if you like.”

Draco nodded, and then felt a wave of uneasiness. Where had this sudden near-respect his father was granting him come from?

“Why me?” he asked, stepping back. “I've been a non-entity in your life for more than a year. Why the confidence in me now?”

Lucius's gaze was stony. “It isn't I who desires your involvement in this operation, Draco. If it were solely up to me, our paths would likely never cross again.”

Draco frowned. “Then who requested me?”

Lucius hesitated a moment, and then said, “Harry Potter.”

:: :: :: :: ::

Draco closed the door of his childhood bedroom and stared around him. He hadn't been here in years, but everything was just as he remembered, from the pillows on his bed to the collection of Quidditch action figures displayed in a cabinet. The house-elves must have maintained it all – he wondered if Lucius had ordered them to do. He crossed to sit on his bed, feeling an odd twist in his gut as he did so.

He had only come for the money, of course. When this job was over, he would be able to go back to New York with enough money to buy himself an apartment, even a decent-sized one, and leave all of this behind for good.

Or so he'd thought before his father had filled him in on the details. He fell back onto the green embroidered coverlet, staring up at the ceiling.

“Master Draco is requiring anything?” a small voice asked.

Draco started, but didn't sit up. “A hot water bottle,” he said. “And a sleeping potion, if you can find one.” It was nearly midnight and he was wide awake, thanks to the time change. He was going to meet with Potter in the morning, and he'd prefer to be well-rested.

“Of course,” the elf replied, and disappeared with a pop.

Draco closed his eyes and sighed. He wished he'd asked the elf to bring him some cigarettes, but he doubted it would have a clue what he was talking about. He'd left an unopened pack sitting on the kitchen table back in New York . Li had probably nicked them already, the twat.

“Shit,” Draco mumbled, rubbing at his face with one hand. Here he was, back in a place he'd sworn never to return to, about to become part of an insane conspiracy to capture the Dark Lord. He snorted to himself. No wonder Lucius had agreed to his price without an argument – the man probably doubted he'd come out of it alive.

There was another popping sound: a small bottle had appeared on the bedside table. Draco sat up and drank it, smiling at the familiar taste. It was an old family recipe, one he'd never quite mastered himself.

He stripped out of his clothes and barely managed to slide under the sheets before his eyes grew too heavy to keep them open. The hot water bottle was already there, pleasant against his bare feet. He yawned, and his thoughts soon drifted into dreams.

:: :: :: :: ::

Saturday, 20 January, 2001

Breakfast at the Malfoy table had always been sumptuous when Draco's mother was alive. She'd fussed over him, ordering the house-elves to prepare ridiculous amounts of his favorite foods whenever he was home. Lucius, however, took a more spartan approach: toast, butter, and tea.

Draco stared into his teacup and sighed. He hadn't expected to feel the absence of his mother so strongly, but it was everywhere he turned. He couldn't stay here much longer – he couldn't bear it.

“What time is Potter arriving?” he asked Lucius as soon as he entered the room.

“Nine,” Lucius replied, sitting at the opposite end of the long table.

Draco pursed his lips, considering his words carefully. “While I appreciate your hospitality, I won't be staying. I'll take a hotel room in London .”

Lucius looked up from buttering his toast. “That's hardly necessary.”

“I'm sure the hours will be long, and this way I won't have to travel so far every day.”

“Don't be ridiculous, Draco. It would take no longer to apparate or floo from here than it would from a hotel.”

Draco changed tactics. “I don't wish to trouble you.”

“It's no trouble. This house is large and empty. If it's privacy you require–”

“It is,” Draco interrupted. “I'd also like to be able to walk to a café or a restaurant, to come and go as I please.” And bring boys back to my bed whenever I wish, he thought. “I'm used to living in a city. It will be easier this way.”

Lucius's eyes narrowed. “This isn't about what is easy, Draco. You understand what is at stake.”

Draco suspected Lucius wanted to keep him at the Manor so he could more easily control him, not out of any sense of duty or affection. “I do. I'll communicate with you frequently, as we discussed.”

“Master,” an elf said from the vicinity of Lucius's elbow. It stood on its toes and whispered something when he bent down.

Lucius nodded and went back to buttering his toast. “Mr. Potter is here.”

Harry Potter was waiting in a drawing room, staring out a window that looked over the snowy garden. He turned to them when they entered.

He looked different than the way Draco remembered him. His hair was long and shaggy, nearly to his shoulders, and he wore an expensive-looking dark robe. He seemed broader than Draco remembered too – bigger. His eyes narrowed as they fell on Draco, and when he straightened he looked even taller. It was extraordinarily odd to see him standing in Draco's childhood home, as if much of their past had simply not happened.

“Malfoy,” he said, with a slight nod. There was a hard set to his jaw, a dark edge to his tone, and a sense of barely-contained energy about him, as if he were ready to strike at any moment.

“Potter,” Draco replied.

Potter's eyes slid over Draco almost absently before he turned to Lucius. “I assume you've briefed him?”

“Yes,” Lucius replied, gesturing to a settee.

Potter made no move to sit. “Does he understand the details of our arrangement?”

“Of course,” Lucius said, a strange smile flitting across his face.

“Will he be staying here?”

“I'm standing here, you know,” Draco said, scowling. He waited until Potter's eyes were focused on him again. “I'll find a hotel in the city. Something close to wherever we'll be working.”

Potter nodded in response, folding his arms low across his body, his hands disappearing into the sleeves of his robe. “The location of our office is unplottable, but if you stay near Paddington you'll be close enough.” Potter stared at him for a moment more, and Draco had to struggle not to fidget.

“Should I owl you when I'm settled?”

“Not in that part of the city.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out what seemed to be a small enamel box. He released it and it floated through the air towards Draco.

Draco caught it turned it over in his hand. “What's this?”

“It's a message box. I have its brother.” Potter pulled an identical box from the same pocket. “It will send a message to me, and to me alone. Use it to contact me when you're ready.”

Draco nodded and slipped the box into his pocket. “I'll leave for London right away.”

Potter's gaze was cool. “Good. We'd like to get started as soon as possible.”

:: :: :: :: ::

It only took Draco a few minutes to repack his bag. He slung it over his shoulder and walked down to his father's library, pausing outside to knock on the door.

It opened with a creak, revealing Lucius sitting at an antique desk and studying an equally antique book. He looked up at Draco, but he didn't smile.

“I'm leaving,” Draco told him. “I suppose you'd like me to owl you when I've learned more about Potter's plans?” Of course, he hadn't figured out how he was going to acquire an owl on such short notice. He hadn't owned one since he was a child.

“I'll contact you,” Lucius replied. He settled back in his chair and steepled his fingers before him. “Remember that you are my eyes and ears in this. I do not trust Potter, and I do not trust the Ministry.”

Draco suppressed a smirk. “Then why did you agree to this arrangement in the first place?”

“I had little choice,” Lucius replied. He paused, looking almost nervous. “This will probably come as a surprise to you, Draco, but the Dark Lord has become a liability to our cause in the last year. Many of us suspect he does not, or perhaps has never intended to empower the pureblood community or protect its interests. We think he intends to destroy us in the end.”

Draco stared at his father, shocked. He knew the words were treasonous, and he was deeply impressed his father dared to speak them, even in his own home. “You're serious? Are you certain?”

Lucius's eyes did not meet Draco's. “Yes, and I cannot explain why. But I have committed myself to this path, and I suspect that the Dark Lord knows it. I may have already been marked. It is only a matter of time, unless you and Potter are successful.”

Draco swallowed. “I wish you'd told me this sooner.”

“You seemed not to be interested in asking questions. At least, not once a price had been set.”

“Touché,” Draco replied, not bothering to hide the contempt that filled him. He didn't want to be responsible for his father's life. He barely wanted to be responsible for his own.

He turned and left the room, feeling his father's gaze on him as he did.

:: :: :: :: ::

The Paddington Hilton was a large, if charmless, business hotel. The lobby was just above the train station, an easy walk to the station's pubs, restaurants, and shops. There was even a Sainsbury's, which Draco popped into to buy a sandwich before checking in.

His room was nearly as large as his apartment in New York , and definitely cleaner. The window looked out over Praed Street , a busy thoroughfare full of pedestrians and double-decker buses. The sky was grey and gloomy in that way that always reminded him of London , no matter where he was.

Draco sat on the bed, sinking into the fluffy white duvet, and pulled the enamel box Potter had given him from his bag. He scribbled a note on a piece of hotel stationary:

I'm staying at the Hilton at Paddington Station.

He nearly signed his name, and then realized it would be a silly thing to do. He folded the paper and put it in the box, then closed the lid. He stared at it, wondering if it would make a noise, or glow, or somehow indicate that it was working. After ten seconds he opened the lid to see the box was now empty. He had no idea if it would alert him when a message had been sent back. He flipped it over and saw a familiar mark etched into the underside: WWW. Another Weasley product.

He closed the box and set it aside, then ate his sandwich. He hadn't been surprised by Potter's cool reception of him back at the Manor, though he remained baffled as to why Potter had apparently requested him in the first place. Of course, that could have been for Lucius's benefit. Maybe things would change when Potter had a chance to fill him in on the plan.

He shivered at the thought – what plan could Potter possibly have to trap and incapacitate the most powerful dark wizard the world had ever seen? The very idea was ludicrous, even suicidal. He'd always thought Potter had a death wish. Of course, he'd never expected to play a supporting role.

He paused mid-chew to look at the box again. Was it his imagination, or had it just… shimmered? He reached for it and opened the lid. There was a folded piece of parchment inside. He pulled it out and read it.

Meet me in the lobby in one hour.

Draco swallowed a flash of irritation down with the last of his sandwich. He didn't appreciate being ordered about. He wasn't working for Potter, after all.

Well, it wasn't as if he had anything better to do.

An hour later, freshly showered and dressed in casual Muggle attire, he headed down to the lobby. He studied his reflection in the lift's mirror, running his fingers through his short spiky hair. He looked tired, to his chagrin. He'd slept fine, but his body was still five hours behind.

He traced the smooth lines of his mother's silver bracelet with his fingers and felt a stab of guilt. He'd never seen her again after the night she'd given it to him, and had only heard about her death several months afterwards. He'd meant to visit her grave before coming here this morning, but he'd forgotten in his haste to get to London .

“Lobby level,” a recorded voice said in a pleasant tone. The lift doors opened and Draco stepped out into the lobby bar. The hotel was quiet since it was the weekend, but there were a few people seated at small tables, sipping tea and coffee and chatting. Draco looked to the left and saw a lone figure standing near the revolving doors.

Potter was dressed in worn jeans and a faded Ramones t-shirt, a leather jacket slung over his shoulder. With his shaggy hair and stylishly ragged appearance, he could have passed for a member of a Muggle rock band.

Draco crossed towards him, noting that several of the women who worked behind the registration desk were eyeing Potter with great interest. He stopped before him and – uncertain exactly what sort of greeting was appropriate – settled for a tight smile.

Potter didn't return it. “Let's go,” he said, pulling on his jacket and walking through the door. Draco grimaced and followed, wrapping a scarf around his neck.

They wound their way down through backstreets until Draco wasn't sure he'd be able to find his way back to the hotel. They finally stopped before what looked to be a closed green grocer's.

“The password is bowtruckle,” Potter told him, looking at the boarded up door of the shop. And then he stepped through it, leaving Draco alone on the street.

Draco looked up and down the street before stepping forward himself – and smashed right into the door. “Fuck,” he hissed, rubbing at his nose in annoyance. “All right – bowtruckle.” He stepped forward again, and this time the door allowed him through.

He was standing in a large well-lit room. A long table on one side of the room was covered with sheets of parchment, some of them displaying designs that had been charmed to move. A bookcase standing behind the table was full of worn volumes, with stacks of old newspapers on top. On the other side of the room were a few desks, a sofa, and a fireplace. One door lead to what must be the loo, judging from the humorous cartoon that had been posted on it.

Potter was hanging his jacket on a coat stand near the fireplace. He gestured to one of the uncluttered desks. “You can have that one if you like. Ron will be here in a moment and we'll explain the situation.”

“Weasley?” Draco barely suppressed a groan. It was as if one of his old school nightmares were coming true.

Potter smirked, but said nothing more. He sat at a desk and rifled through a stack of parchment.

Draco stared at him. He hadn't expected someone of Potter's ilk to have much in the way of manners, but this was beyond the pale. He was starting to think Potter didn't want him here at all, which made no sense.

Potter didn't look up as Draco removed his coat and scarf and sent them to hang themselves on the coat rack. He stood there for another full minute, but Potter didn't even acknowledge his silence. Draco finally walked across the room to look at the pieces of parchment spread over the table. Some were maps of places he didn't recognize, and others seemed to be flow charts, perhaps plans of action. He picked one up to study it more closely.

“Don't touch that,” Potter said, seeming to materialize at Draco's side. He jerked the parchment out of Draco's grasp. Draco clenched his jaw and turned to glare at Potter, but a sound caught their attention, and they both turned to look as Weasley stepped out of the fireplace.

“Malfoy,” he said, shrugging off his cloak and hanging it on the coat hook. “You've finally made it.” Weasley was larger than Draco remembered, easily over six feet. His hair was even longer than Potter's and was pulled into a tail at the nape of his neck. He didn't look like the sort of person Draco wanted to pick a fight with – not anymore.

And to Draco's great surprise, Weasley walked across the room and held out a large hand.

Draco took it, uncertain if Weasley was having him on or if he was being genuine. He risked a glance at Potter, who scowled and folded his arms over his chest. Genuine, then.

“You must be tired,” Weasley said, expression serious. “I imagine that time change is a bit rough. What is it Muggles call it… jet flab?”

“Jet lag,” Potter corrected, studying his nails.

Draco tried to keep himself from smiling. “I'm fine, thank you.”

“Good,” Weasley said, nodding. “Well, Harry, what have you told him?”

“Nothing,” Potter replied, placing the parchment he'd confiscated from Draco back on the table. Weasley looked surprised.

“I've only just arrived,” Draco said, and immediately wondered why he was defending Potter's rudeness. An awkward silence stretched about between them.

“Well, then,” Weasley said at last, turning to Potter. “Let's get started.”

Potter gestured to the sofa. Draco sat on one end and Weasley sat on the other. With a casual flick of his wand, Potter transfigured a nearby metal stool into a squishy-looking armchair and sank into it.

“So here it is,” Potter said, meeting Draco's gaze for what seemed the first time since he'd arrived in London . “We're going to lure Voldemort into a trap. And once we've captured him, we'll knock him unconscious, either with a spell or an injectible potion – we haven't decided which just yet – and then we'll turn him over to the Ministry, who have plans for him that haven't been divulged to us.” His tone was oddly flat, as if he were reciting these words from memory.

Draco turned to look at Weasley, who was watching Potter with more than a bit of amusement on his face. “Have I missed something?” Draco asked.

Weasley shrugged. “That's what we're supposed to do. The problem is, we've haven't a clue how all of this is going to work.”

Draco laughed, and then realized Weasley wasn't joking. He looked back at Potter. “So you have no plan, basically. Is that it?”

“Oh, right, of course,” Potter replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “We were waiting for you to arrive, because we just aren't clever enough to think of anything on our own.”

Draco snorted, no longer concerned with keeping his annoyance in check. “Look, you're the one who asked me to come. Do you want my help or not?”

“I didn't want to ask for you,” Potter retorted. “But I didn't have a choice. Lucius refused to cooperate with the Ministry unless one of his spineless slugs was on our team, and there was no way in hell I was going to work with one of them.”

“Ah,” Draco said, now understanding. “So my name came up, and you thought you could stand to be in my presence for more than a few hours?”

“It was Ron's idea,” Potter said, looking away.

“Harry'd said good things about you back when you were in first year Auror training,” Weasley said. “Well, you did,” he chastised when Potter's expression turned murderous. “We knew you weren't a Death Eater, at least, and we figured your father would agree to it.”

“And so he did.” Draco settled back against the sofa cushions, feeling a headache flare behind his eyes.

“And it took him a good month to find you,” Weasley continued. “That was reassuring, I have to say. He made it sound like you didn't want to be found – not by him, anyway.”

“I didn't. And after this, I plan to disappear a bit more deeply.” He caught a strange look from Potter, but he ignored it.

The three of them were silent for several seconds. At last, Potter sighed.

“So here's the thing, Malfoy. You don't want to be here, and frankly, we don't want or need your help. So you can have a little holiday, hang around your hotel room, and do whatever it is you do for fun, and we'll get on with it on our own. We know Lucius is paying you a lot, so we'll tell him you're doing a great job and all.”

Draco gaped at him for a moment, and then turned to look at Weasley, who was studying his hands. His expression was guarded, as if he'd known this was coming and didn't want to be part of it. Draco turned back to Potter. “Are you serious?”

Potter nodded, still watching Draco's face.

Draco paused, uncertain what to think. He'd spent much of the morning and a good chunk of the previous evening worrying about this task, so the idea that he might not have to do it after all made him feel a bit of relief. He could certainly use a holiday – sleeping in, spending a few hours a day in the hotel's fitness center, and hitting the clubs in Soho every night.

On the other hand, he'd come here to do a job. He'd been loathe to admit it, but he had been flattered to think that Potter had thought of him, that he'd gone to so much trouble just because he'd wanted Draco's assistance for this task. He'd had a few brief daydreams of being mentioned in the Prophet in those same tones of reverence usually reserved for the Wizarding World's Golden Boy, his name associated with something worthy for a change. .

But Potter didn't want his help at all. He'd only asked for Draco to throw Lucius off his trail, and nothing more. Draco felt an odd sinking feeling in his stomach, and was surprised when he realized it was disappointment.

And a touch of righteous anger.

He looked back up at Potter, decision made. “I came here to do a job, not just to fuck around and take my father's money. If you don't want my help, I'll go back to New York and do something useful with my time – and you can deal with my father. But if I stay here, I'm in. You won't be rid of me that easily.” He folded his arms across his chest and waited.

Potter's return stare was one of appraisal. He studied Draco for a long time, so long that Draco cleared his mind, just in case. Finally, Potter looked at Weasley.

Weasley grinned and shrugged.

Potter sighed and dug into the pocket of his jeans. He produced a handful of gold galleons, which he tossed at Weasley. Weasley caught them in one hand and laughed.

“Yeah, yeah, fuck you,” Potter said, sinking into his chair. “I was wrong.”

Draco glanced back and forth between them for a moment before realizing what had just happened. It had been a test – they'd wanted to know if he would leave if given the chance – and he'd passed. He felt a flash of irritation that they'd thought so little of him at all, but he swallowed it down.

“What was that, some sort of lame ‘Good cop, bad cop' routine?” he asked, leaning back and letting a cocky smile play across his lips.

Potter's grimace faded into something that was nearly a smile – it was the first time Draco had seen a remotely friendly expression on his face. “We wanted to be sure you weren't coerced into coming here. Welcome aboard, Malfoy.” He held out his hand.

Draco took it and felt an odd tingle as he did.

“You may regret that choice, you know,” Potter said.

“I already do,” he replied, half-meaning it.

Potter and Weasley spent the next hour bringing Draco up to date on what they'd discussed so far, ideas they'd considered and discarded, spells they'd tested and ultimately rejected. By the end, Draco's mind was spinning – he couldn't think of any possibility they hadn't already thought about. It seemed like they'd spent a lot of time planning, and had made very little progress.

“I hate to disappoint,” he said as they stared down at the plans scattered across the table, “but I have nothing to add at this point.”

“Well, it's not as if we were expecting a flash of brilliance,” Potter quipped. His smile was good-natured. “Sleep on it and let us know what you think on Monday.”

“Ah, it's getting late,” Weasley said, glancing at his watch. “I promised Hermione I'd take her out to dinner tonight.”

“Finally found a sitter?” Potter asked.

“Mum's coming over. The twins are just four months old,” he said to Draco, noting his confused expression. “We haven't had a night out since they were born.”

Draco gaped at him. “You have children?”

“Yeah,” Weasley said, brushing a stray lock of hair out of his eyes. “We didn't mean for it to happen quite so soon, but…” He shrugged.

Draco couldn't imagine having children at the age of 21. Of course, he couldn't imagine having children at all.

“You coming over for breakfast tomorrow?” Weasley asked Potter.

Potter nodded. “Of course.” His eyes lingered on Weasley's form as he retrieved his cloak and disappeared into the swirling green flames of the fireplace.

“Well,” Draco said when the room was quiet again. “Do you… I mean.” He paused, not wanting to sound as desperate for company as he actually was. He wasn't sure why he was even thinking about this. “Have you got any plans tonight?”

Potter turned to look at him. “No, I guess not.”

Draco shrugged. “It's Saturday night, and the thought of spending it in my hotel room alone is a bit depressing. I don't suppose you're hungry?”

One corner of Potter's mouth twisted upwards. “It's just now four o'clock.”

“For tea, of course,” Draco said, not missing a beat. “Oh hell, I'm on New York time. I really just want a drink.”

Potter seemed to consider the idea for a moment, hands stuffed in his pockets. Finally he shrugged. “I could use a drink, actually. There's a little pub around the corner.”

“I'll get my coat then,” Draco said. He snapped his fingers and it sprang into his hand. Potter raised an eyebow, and Draco grinned.

:: :: :: :: ::

It was somewhere in the middle of his fifth pint that Draco realized he was drunk. It was the only possible explanation.

He'd been stumbling over his words with increasing frequency, saying ridiculous things, and staring at Potter far too much. And in the last hour or so, it had occurred to him that – from a certain point of view, at least – Potter was what one might consider… hot.

He wasn't hot in the way Draco conventionally thought of hotness. He was unassumingly hot, casually hot, endearingly, adorably, clumsily, unbelievably hot.

Draco winced and pushed his pint glass to the side. He'd had enough for tonight.

“And you should have seen the expression on Fallin's face,” Potter was saying.

Draco had missed half the story, so he just nodded. Potter continued on, oblivious to the fact that he was a horrid storyteller.

Potter's shaggy hair – which Draco had dismissed at first glance as annoyingly retro – fell about his face, making Potter frequently pause to brush it out of his eyes or shake it back, revealing a stretch of pale neck as he did. His eyes were much greener than Draco remembered, and he'd exchanged his dorky schoolboy glasses for a pair that were small and stylish.

Even the rock star gear had grown on Draco over the last few hours. Potter was broad through the shoulders, and the t-shirt was just a bit too small for him, so when he reached up to brush that dark hair back from his face, the sleeve tightened enticingly around a bicep and the fabric stretched across his chest. The time he'd got up to go to the toilet, Draco's eyes had been glued to his arse as he walked away – those old jeans were worn in all the right places.

I'm drunk and desperate, Draco thought. When the alcohol wears off, I'm going to feel very silly about all of this.

“Have I got something in my teeth?” Potter asked.

Draco blinked. He'd been staring again. “No, sorry. You just… look different than I remembered.”

Potter squinted at him. “You look different too. I guess we all grew up.” He shrugged and drained his glass.

“Yeah,” Draco sighed. He eyed his own glass, half full of lager. Drinking was a double-edged sword at this point, but he'd paid for it, after all. He took another sip.

A young woman in a short skirt walked by, and Potter's eyes followed her arse across the pub. Draco felt a twinge of disappointment, then chastised himself. It wasn't as if he'd really entertained the thought – he knew Potter was straight, after all.

“Want another?” Potter asked, gesturing to his own empty glass.

Draco squinted at him. “Don't you have somewhere to be in the morning?”

“Yeah,” Potter replied with a shrug. “But I have breakfast there every Sunday morning. It's no big deal if I can't make it every now and then.”

“Do you want to go somewhere else?” Draco asked, scanning the small pub. “Maybe someplace with some music?”

Potter grimaced. “Oh, no – I should have known you'd be a dancer.”

Draco snorted, hoping he didn't look as stupid as he felt. “And you're not, I take it?”

Potter shook his head. “I'm a horrible dancer. I look a complete idiot.”

“It's a great way to pick up girls – or so I hear.” He wasn't sure if Potter knew he was gay. He wasn't going to hide it, but he was reluctant to come right out with it as well. They had to work together, after all.

“Not in my experience. They usually run the other way when I hit the dance floor.” The hint seemed to have flown right by him.

Draco glanced at an old clock that hung behind the bar. “Well, it's a bit early for the clubs anyway. How about dinner?”

He looked at Potter again, only to see him staring after a bloke who had just walked by. The man's jeans were worn and tight – not unlike Potter's own. Draco blinked a few times to force his eyes to focus. Had he just imagined that?

Potter turned back to Draco. “Sorry?”

“Dinner,” Draco repeated. “You must be hungry by now.”

Potter brushed his hair back from his face, revealing his famous scar for the briefest moment, and slid off his stool and onto the floor. He looked wobbly. “Food is probably a good idea at this point, yeah.”

Draco drained his pint of Stella, then nodded towards the door. Potter opened it for him and they stepped out into the cold, dark street. They hadn't made it twelve feet before Draco tripped over an irregular bit of pavement and stumbled right into Potter.

“Hey, careful now,” Potter said with a laugh. For a brief moment, Draco felt Potter's warm body pressed against him, and then Potter's arms were around him, pulling him upright.

Draco closed his eyes. He didn't want to see Potter's face hovering over him in the dim light, so close. Draco was just drunk enough that he might try to kiss him, and that would be a disaster.

Potter was still laughing. “You really are a lightweight, aren't you?”

Draco stepped back and straightened his coat, trying to scowl, bu not quite succeeding. “Fuck off,” he said, and shrugged away when Potter slung a friendly arm around his shoulders. “I'm starving.”

“How does Indian sound?” Potter asked, still grinning.

“Great,” Draco replied. They headed down a well-lit street, and Draco kept his eyes firmly on the pavement in front of them.

 

:: :: :: :: ::

:: :: :: :: ::

Sunday, 21 January, 2001

The sun was high in the sky when Draco woke up. He sat up very carefully, expecting to feel a rush of pain to his forehead, even a bit of nausea.

He felt nothing. In fact, he felt rather well. The hangover would hit him soon, he thought. Sometimes it took a while.

Half an hour later he stepped out of the shower, and he still felt fine, which was strange considering how very drunk he'd been the night before. He frowned at his reflection in the bathroom mirror and decided he should go back to bed just in case. He turned the corner and nearly cried out in surprise – a house-elf was standing next to his bed, beaming at him.

“Good morning, Master Draco,” it said, unfazed by the fact that he was completely naked. “I is here to deliver a message from Master Malfoy.”

“How did you find me?” Draco asked, shielding his groin with a hand. Not that he cared what the grubby little creature thought, but it was at crotch height.

“Ebby is good at finding things,” the elf replied, nodding its head. “Ebby is finding Master Draco to deliver a message.”

“Message, yes,” Draco said, scanning for something to cover himself. He spotted a pair of boxers on the floor, accio'd them wandlessly, and pulled them on. “What's the message?”

The elf straightened up to its full height and produced a roll of parchment seemingly out of thin air. Draco unrolled it to see his father's elegant handwriting.

Draco, 

I trust you have found suitable accommodations. I have sent this house-elf to tend to you. If you wish to send me a message, she will deliver it.

Draco paused to glance at the elf. It was smiling stupidly at him. He had neither desire nor use for a house-elf in these circumstances – and he was fairly certain its real task was to spy on him for Lucius.

I will be spending the next two weeks at the country estate in Scotland . I would appreciate your presence for dinner at 7:00 on Friday evening. 

Regards,
Lucius

“We have a country estate in Scotland ?” Draco murmured.

“Oh, yes,” the elf squeaked. “It is a grand castle!”

Draco re-rolled the scroll and gave it a harsh look. “I've no use for a house-elf here. There are Muggle servants.”

The elf's eyes bulged. “Master Draco does not wish Ebby to serve him? Filthy Muggles are better servants than a loyal house-elf?” Tears brimmed.

Draco rolled his eyes. They could be such melodramatic creatures. “Look around you. There's no space for you here. This is a hotel room.”

“Ebby doesn't need space, sir,” the elf sobbed. “Ebby can sleep behind the toilet, in a rubbish bin–”

“Shut up, will you?” Draco spat. Having a house-elf underfoot would certainly put a damper on his sex life. Perhaps that was just what Lucius had in mind. “I won't have…” he began, but paused as an idea struck him. “I have much more important things for you to do, Ebby. I want you to go to the country estate and wait for me. Do not let my father know you are there. When I need you, I will call for you.”

The elf brightened at this. “Oh, yes, Master, yes! Ebby will go and will be very quiet. Ebby will wait for Master Draco to call.”

“Very good,” Draco said, turning away. “You may leave.” He rolled up the scroll and heard the elf disapparate.

:: :: :: :: ::

He spent much of the morning lazing about his room. He unpacked his bag and sorted through the clothes he'd brought, almost immediately deciding he'd have to go shopping as soon as possible. He opened the envelope that had come with the pigeon post the morning he'd left New York , which turned out to contain a copy of an academic paper about a spell he'd never heard of, along with a handwritten note.

Mr. Malfoy, 

I hope this letter finds you well. I was thinking yesterday of our conversation about the differences between European and American dark magic, which I enjoyed tremendously. I have enclosed a draft of a paper I'm submitting to the North American Journal of Historical Indigenous Magic. As I told you when we met last month, it's a politically charged topic, so I have my doubts as to whether it will be accepted. If you have any comments, I'd love to hear from you. 

Best Regards,
Guadalupe Gomez-Padilla, PhD

Professor, Department of Meso-American Historical Magic
The University of Texas - San Antonio

Draco read the abstract, then flipped through the paper. He vaguely remembered meeting Dr. Padilla at a party at his new supervisor's apartment. He'd been quite drunk that night, and she'd done most of the talking. He'd always been good at charming important people, but he must have impressed her quite a lot for her to have sent him this.

The telephone rang. He stared at it before answering, wondering who could possibly be calling him.

“Hello?”

“Good morning, Mister Malfoy. This is Jeshira at the front desk. There's a gentleman in the lobby asking for you, sir – a Mister Potter.”

“Oh,” Draco replied. “Yes.”

There was a pause and a rustling sound, and then Draco heard Potter's voice. “Hi. Uh… We seem to have exchanged coats last night.”

“Did we?” Draco asked. He glanced across the room – sure enough, Potter's leather jacket was hung over the back of a chair. How had that happened? “I suppose you'll be wanting it back then?”

“Well, yes – it's sentimental. I'm in the lobby at the moment. Obviously. Could you bring it down?”

“I'm not dressed yet. Could you give me a few minutes?”

“Well… I could come up. I'm in a bit of a rush.”

“Sure,” Draco replied. “Room 928.”

He hung up the phone and crossed to pick up the jacket. It was distressed and old, with stains in odd places. Draco wondered how he hadn't noticed he'd picked it up instead of his own wool coat. “I must have been blottoed,” he mumbled. Yet more proof.

He put the jacket on and stared at his reflection in the mirror. It was a little big on him, but not unwearable. The lining felt good against his bare skin. He turned sideways, admiring his reflection. He looked good in this jacket. He ought to–

The knock on the door startled him, and he pulled the jacket off as he crossed to open it. Potter was standing in the corridor, staring at him.

“What?” Draco asked, holding out the jacket.

Potter took it and handed Draco his wool coat. He looked uncomfortable. “Sorry. I thought you'd be dressed before I came up.”

“I am dressed,” Draco replied, glancing down at his boxers. “Everything is covered that's legally required to be.”

Potter looked away, his cheeks turning pink. “I sent you a message this morning, but I never heard back from you, so I figured I'd just drop by. Sorry for the trouble.”

“No trouble.” He kept forgetting about the message box.

Potter looked a little pale. He folded his jacket over his arm and ran a hand through his hair.

Draco felt a little twinge in his stomach. Damn hangover. “Are you feeling it this morning too?”

Potter looked back up at him. “What?”

“I think I had a bit too much to drink last night,” Draco said, leaning against the doorframe. “I hope I wasn't horribly obnoxious.”

Potter shrugged. “You weren't. And I'm fine. It was only a few beers.”

Draco frowned. Was he that much of a lightweight after all? He looked back at the leather jacket in Potter's arms. “Well, sorry about the jacket, anyway. Sentimental, is it? It looks old.”

“It was my…” Potter began, and then hesitated. “It belonged to someone I knew.”

“Ah.” Draco ran through a list of possibilities in his head.

Potter stepped back from the door. “I should be going. See you tomorrow?”

“Sure. Are you going to swing by and pick me up again?”

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Potter said, digging into a pocket and pulling out something that looked like a Muggle business card. Across the top were printed the words Find-it Quick! He handed it to Draco. “It's been charmed to give you directions. Just give it a tap and say ‘help' and it will tell you which way to go.”

“I thought the office was unplottable.”

“It is. This will take you to the pub down the street. I trust you can find your way from there?” With that, he turned and walked down the hall, putting his leather jacket on as he did.

Draco watched him walk away. The man looked entirely too good in jeans. Too bad he was straight.

:: :: :: :: ::

They settled into a pattern over the week that followed.

Draco showed up right at 10:00 every morning, as he'd been told that was the starting time – but he usually found Potter and Weasley already there and working. The Find-it Quick card proved useful, if annoying, with its admonitions of Your OTHER left! and No, no, turn around!. He was looking forward to ripping it into tiny pieces once he'd learned the way.

On Monday, he'd come in with a plan. It was nothing terribly sophisticated, something he'd just thought of while shopping for new clothes on Sunday afternoon, but Potter and Weasley seemed more than happy to spend several hours talking it through. They ultimately decided it was unworkable, but Draco was pleased they'd taken his suggestion seriously.

In fact, Draco had been made to feel welcome in nearly every way. He'd expected a certain level of tension to exist between them, but it simply wasn't there. Weasley and Potter had accepted his presence as if they were all old friends. Which they weren't, of course – but Draco didn't see any point in dwelling on that.

They kept short hours, working 10:00 - 12:00 in the mornings, taking a long lunch, and then finishing up around 5:00 in the afternoon. Mornings were spent brainstorming and talking through ideas, and afternoons were spent working on individual research.

Weasley and Potter usually went for a long run at lunchtime. They had invited Draco the first day, but he'd had the impression it was just out of courtesy. He wasn't much of an athlete these days anyway; he spent his lunch breaks shopping or sipping coffee in a café around the corner. They had agreed it was best if his presence was kept quiet, so he cast glamour charms on himself before venturing out – something he found entertaining, to say the least.

By Wednesday, Draco began to wonder how seriously Potter and Weasley were taking this whole enterprise. They seemed to get very little done, despite the fact that they were always in the office and working before he arrived every morning. They were just reading up on something they'd thought of that morning, they'd say, but neither of them ever had any ideas that were better than Draco's own. It almost seemed like they weren't terribly worried about how all of this was going to work out.

Draco met Potter for dinner every night that week. Weasley had drinks with them on Wednesday before heading home, but otherwise it was just the two of them. Each night, Draco drank a little more than was wise, and each night he found himself staring into Potter's eyes like a lovesick schoolgirl.

Fortunately, Potter was too dim to notice. They talked about many things, though they both avoided anything related to their last few years at school. Neither of them talked about their personal lives either, which was fine with Draco.

He began to entertain himself by flirting with Potter in subtle ways. It happened mostly when they were alone – mildly suggestive comments, a brush of arms, a touch that wasn't strictly necessary. By the end of the week, Draco grew bold enough to brush his thigh against Potter's under the table while they worked with Weasley.

He wasn't sure if Potter knew what was going on, but he seemed to enjoy the attention. In his own way, Potter even returned it, which gave Draco plenty of material for masturbation fantasies. Most surprising of all, Potter seemed to enjoy Draco's company. And on Thursday night, after four pints of Stella, Draco had enough liquid courage to ask him about it.

“Why have you been so nice to me this week? Not that I'm complaining, but–”

Potter shrugged. “Why shouldn't I be? I didn't ask you to come all the way here so I could abuse you.”

“Maybe I like to be abused,” Draco replied with a wink. Potter snorted and took a sip of beer. “I'm serious, though. Why did you ask me to come?”

“You were the only one we thought we could trust.” Potter stared into his glass. It was difficult to tell in the dim light of the pub, but he might have been blushing.

“Because I did year one of Auror training with you?”

Potter nodded. “Lucius wanted one of his own. With you, we knew what we were dealing with, at least.”

Draco frowned, uncertain if he should take offense at that remark or not. “But that doesn't explain why you've been hanging out with me this week. Surely you have friends you're neglecting nightly to have dinner with me.”

“Not really. Ever since school, I've really only had Ron and Hermione. And they've always had each other. And now they have the twins, so...”

“I suppose it's all they ever talk about.”

Potter nodded, then gave a strange laugh. “I sound rather pathetic, don't I? It's not as bad as that, but yeah. There's only so many descriptions of how bad this morning's nappies smelled that I can take without wanting to strangle Ron.”

It was about then that Draco finally admitted to himself that he had a crush on Potter.

:: :: :: :: ::

Friday, 26 January, 2001

“Bowtruckle,” Draco said to the door of the abandoned green grocer's, and then stepped through. The shop was empty – Potter and Weasley must not have come back from their daily run yet.

Draco settled behind his desk and pulled a book from his shoulder bag. He'd headed to the London Library of Magic after a quick lunch, having learned that morning that Weasley had a membership, courtesy of his wife. The card even looked well-used, to Draco's surprise.

He had just started taking notes from a chapter about Chinese entrapment spells when Potter and Weasley walked through the boarded-up door, panting. Draco frowned at their appearance – they usually were back and changed before he returned from lunch, so he hadn't seen them looking so thoroughly sweaty before.

“I'm starving,” Weasley said, crossing to his desk. “What did you bring us to eat, Malfoy?”

“You could eat me,” Draco quipped, and grinned when Weasley flipped him off.

“No respect at all,” Weasley said, his voice tinged with mock exasperation. He laughed and pulled his shirt over his head – and Draco couldn't help but stare in surprise. Weasley was built very well, broad through the shoulders with a sprinkling of red hair on his muscled chest.

And then Weasley stripped out of the rest of his running gear, right there in the middle of the office. Draco felt the smirk fade from his face. He tried not to look, but he couldn't help it, especially when Weasley turned to face him. The man was hung.

Draco heard a snapping sound beneath his fingers, and realized he'd pressed his quill against the parchment so hard that he'd crushed the tip. He found his wand and cast a non-verbal reparo , feeling himself blush. He glanced at Potter, hoping he hadn't been caught.

Potter had taken his shirt off as well, but he'd paused in mid-dress to look at Weasley. Draco blinked – was he seeing things, or was Potter staring at Weasley's arse? Potter caught Draco's eye and turned away, cheeks a bit pinker than they'd been a moment before.

Well, Draco thought. How interesting. He let his eyes wander over Potter's form. He was smaller than Weasley, but still more muscular than Draco would have guessed. Potter shed his trackie bottoms, and Draco couldn't help a snort at the sight of his bare arse.

Weasley and Potter turned to look at him.

“Does this look like a changing room? I hope you boys know some showering spells.” He turned back to his book, and was hit in the back of the head a moment later by a balled-up pair of sweaty underwear.

He made a rude gesture over his shoulder without turning around and heard Weasley and Potter laugh. Draco grinned.

:: :: :: :: ::

Lucius had sent the address of the ‘country estate' along with Ebby in response to Draco's query. At 6:45, he apparated to a spot just outside the village of Maybole , which the concierge had pulled up on an internet map for him, and found himself standing at the end of a long drive that curled up a hill to a castle. The air was damp and chilly and the sky was dark, so he apparated closer, as close as he could get before the wards bounced him back. He walked up the stone steps and hesitated before a large ornate door, uncertain if he should knock.

He opened the door and stepped into a large entryway, almost like the lobby of a hotel. It was so different from his childhood home that he spent a moment staring about in shock. There were tapestries and paintings on the walls, but they were clearly of the Muggle variety. The furniture seemed to be of several different styles – a decorator had not been consulted. It was remarkably gauche.

“Good evening,” he heard, and turned to see his father standing in a doorway. Lucius was dressed in elegant robes, his long hair tied back at the nape of his neck.

Draco straightened his posture without thinking about it. “Father,” he said, nodding his head.

“We're waiting for you in the parlor.”

Lucius turned and walked through another door. Draco followed, already wondering who the ‘we' might include.

Seated on mismatched ornate chairs around the fireplace were two faces he recognized instantly – Snape and Avery. They nodded at him as he entered, but didn't stand.

“Gentlemen,” Draco said, stopping before them and giving a slight bow.

Snape nodded his head in response, but Avery just stared at Draco, his dark eyes narrowed.

“Brandy?” Lucius asked, waving his wand at a decanter by the fireplace. Draco found a glass in his hand before he had a chance to respond. Lucius waved his wand again and the parlor door closed. He gestured to a chair that had just appeared next to Snape. “Make yourself comfortable, Draco. We have much to discuss.”

:: :: :: :: ::

It was nearly 11:00 when Draco apparated directly into his hotel room. He shed his robes and changed into more casual attire, then dashed out the door. After days of prodding, Potter had finally agreed to go out to a club with him, and they'd planned on meeting around 11:00 that night. Draco hadn't expected the dinner with his father to go so late.

He hadn't expected there to be other guests, either. Snape and Avery were just two of a group of Death Eaters who were conspiring with Lucius to bring the Dark Lord down – a concept that made Draco's head hurt just to think about. He had listened carefully as they explained how they had come to this point, how the Dark Lord's behavior had grown increasingly erratic over the last two years, how he'd grown physically weaker in the last six months. Voldemort had always led by intimidation and fear, but his wrath was unpredictable and irrational now. Draco gathered from the conversation that his father had been the victim of one of these incidents.

They had pressed him for details on Potter's plans, and with both Snape and Lucius there, Draco couldn't lie. He'd told them there wasn't a plan yet, but that the three of them were working on it every day. That satisfied none of them, and Draco had left shaken and considerably more worried about what he'd got himself into. Weasley and Potter barely seemed to be taking all of this seriously, and he'd got caught up in their carefree attitude in the last week. He'd almost forgotten what they were up against, and he couldn't afford to do that again.

It was exactly 11:00 when he closed his door to rush down to the lobby, his coat in hand. He cast a spell on his hair in the lift after a frightening glance in the mirror, and stepped out, expecting to see Potter there waiting for him.

The lobby was full of people sitting around the piano bar, sipping drinks and talking – but Potter was nowhere to be seen. Draco felt a bit relieved; he preferred it when others were later than him, of course. He settled into an empty chair to wait.

Ten minutes later, he ordered a drink from a server who'd come by. Twenty minutes later, his glass was empty – and he'd apparently been stood up. He waited a few more minutes, until his watch read 11:30 , and then he walked out the back door and down to the Tube Station.

Screw Potter, he thought as he stood by the platform waiting for the Bakerloo train. He probably hadn't wanted to go in the first place and had only agreed so Draco would stop talking about it. He stewed all the way to Picadilly Circus Station, then scowled at the swarms of drunken Muggles who jostled him in the corridor as he headed for the Picadilly line. He had no idea why he'd expected Potter to show up anyway. Draco had promised to take him to one of the dance clubs in Leicester Square , expecting that Potter would pull some Muggle girl and drag her off to a toilet for a quick shag. It wasn't as if he was going to take him to a gay club, after all.

He finally emerged onto Charing Cross Road and headed up towards Soho . The club scene there had changed surprisingly little from his teen years, and he soon found a spot that looked promising. He got past the doorman with a charming smile and worked his way towards the bar.

Within fifteen minutes, he found what he'd been looking for: a young man with pale skin and dark hair, dancing with a group of friends. Draco slung back his drink and headed towards him.

It was ridiculously easy to pick up men, he'd always thought. He didn't consider himself particularly good-looking, but he'd learned confidence was often as important as appearance.

Half an hour and several drinks later, they were in a cab, heading back to the Hilton.

:: :: :: :: ::

Saturday, 27 January, 2001

Draco was having an oddly erotic dream about owls when he awoke. He blinked up at the ceiling for a moment before he realized someone was knocking on the door. He groaned – he must have forgotten to put up the ‘Do Not Disturb' sign. He sat up and squinted at the clock beside the bed. He frowned. It was a bit early for housekeeping to be coming around.

The knocking sounded again. Draco pushed the duvet off himself and stood, surveying the room. The boy he'd brought back was still sound asleep; only his hair was visible at the moment. He'd been exactly what Draco needed, it turned out – young, hot, horny, and practically insatiable. Draco had come three times before he'd convinced the boy to let him go to sleep.

The knocking turned into pounding, and Draco crossed to the door. “What?” he shouted at it. “It's fucking early.”

“Malfoy?” he heard. It was Potter.

Draco was surprised to feel his anger from the night before returning full force. He unlatched and opened the door to see Potter was standing there, looking a bit disheveled.

“What the fuck do you want?” Draco spat.

A couple walked by the open door and gave Draco an odd look.

Potter glanced at them and back at Draco. “Can I come in?”

“No,” Draco told him. He hesitated a moment before adding, “I'm not alone.”

“Which would explain why you have no clothes on,” Potter retorted, looking away again.

Draco felt a flush creep over his skin. He was completely naked – in his anger, he hadn't even noticed. He stepped back through the door and reached into the bathroom to grab a towel. By the time he had it wrapped around his waist, Potter had come into the room and closed the door behind him.

“Look,” Potter began, “About last night–”

“I don't really give a fuck about last night. It was no big deal. I went out on my own.”

“I'm sorry, okay? I got tied up with… with something else and–”

“Excuse me.” Draco turned to see the dark-haired boy from the club standing behind him. “Can I get to the toilet please?”

Draco stepped back and the boy passed between them. He was naked as well – and quite fit, Draco couldn't help but notice as he passed. It had been dark during most of their activity the night before. The door closed and Draco looked back at Potter.

He was staring at the closed door, an expression of shock on his face. Draco watched him for a moment, then sighed and scratched the back of his head. So Potter really hadn't known before. This was a hell of a way for him to find out.

“Like I said, not alone.” Draco made a vague gesture at the bathroom door.

Potter opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He stared at the door for several more seconds and then turned back to Draco. He looked completely flustered. “Erm…”

They heard the sound of a toilet flushing, and the bathroom door opened again. The boy looked back and forth between them, eyes lingering on Potter's face. “I'll just be going then,” he said and ducked back between them, disappearing around the corner.

Potter shook his head as if to clear it. “I'm sorry – I have fucking horrible timing. I'll… I'll come back later.”

“Sure, whatever,” Draco replied. He tried to sound casual, but he doubted Potter missed the stiffness in his tone.

Potter made no move to leave, however. He seemed rooted to the spot. “I just wanted to tell you I was sorry. I didn't think… I mean…”

Draco groaned. “Let's just get it out on the table, shall we?” He turned to gesture toward the boy from the club, who was stepping into his shoes. “I picked him up last night, brought him here, and fucked him until the wee hours of the morning. That's what I do, okay? I'm sorry you're finding this so shocking.”

The boy tried to sneak past Draco toward the door, but Draco pulled him back and kissed him. “Thanks,” he said.

“Anytime,” the boy replied with a smug grin. It faded when he saw the expression on Potter's face. “It was just a fuck, all right?” he said, shrinking away. “He's all yours now.” Potter gaped at him in response. The boy stepped around him and opened the door.

They both jumped when it slammed shut.

“I just… I didn't know you were gay,” Potter said. He looked confused.

“You always were slow. This doesn't bode well for the task we're trying to accomplish.”

“Why didn't you tell me before?”

“Why didn't you ask, if it was so important? Am I supposed to wear a name tag, or something? Hello, I'm a queer!” Potter looked extremely disturbed, and Draco felt his heart sink a bit. He sighed. “Look, if it bothers you that much, I won't mention it. And if you don't barge into my hotel room at odd hours, you won't see anything distasteful.”

“It's not like that,” Potter said, pressing a hand against his forehead. “I just… I thought… Oh hell, it doesn't matter.”

“No, I think it does. If you have a problem with me being gay, then say so.”

“I don't have a problem with it,” Potter said, almost sounding tired. “That's not it at all. Never mind.” He made a helpless gesture and turned towards the door. “Sorry to have disturbed you. And I'm sorry about last night.” He opened the door and stepped through it, then turned back. He seemed to steel himself. “I don't suppose you'll let me make it up to you?”

Draco blinked at him. “What do you mean?”

“Dinner? And if you still want to drag me out dancing… well, I owe you one.”

Draco wasn't sure what to say to that, so he just nodded in response.

“Send me a note to let me know what time.” Potter disappeared down the corridor, leaving Draco feeling oddly empty.

:: :: :: :: ::

Potter picked at the samosa on his plate, and Draco sighed. Dinner had been an uncomfortable affair so far. The events of the morning seemed to have changed something between them, and Draco was surprised how much he was disappointed about that.

“Snape and Avery were at dinner last night,” Draco said. Potter looked up, his expression unreadable. “I was surprised to see Avery, to be honest. I've never known Father to consider him a confidant.”

“Avery's nephew was killed by Voldemort a few months ago,” Potter said, fingering the stem of his glass.

“I didn't know.” It was surprising news, since Avery's family had been close to the Dark Lord for half a century. “Anyway, Father said–”

The waiter arrived with their main courses. Potter had cast some sort of spell that made their conversation difficult to understand by others, but they still had to be careful. A dish of rice and several small bowls of curry were placed before them, nearly overwhelming the small table. The waiter began to describe each dish in more detail than was required, taking so long that Draco began to grow agitated. Potter seemed patient, though – even relaxed. It only irritated Draco further.

“Father said that the Dark Lord has been behaving more and more erratically,” Draco continued when the waiter finally left. “His remaining allies are beginning to isolate him from those they find suspicious. Father hasn't seen him in a month – Lestrange won't let him anywhere near.”

“Really?” Potter asked. He seemed mildly surprised, but he continued spooning aloo matar onto his plate.

“And Snape has been doing some research, trying to figure out why Voldemort is deteriorating. He says he can't find any possible cause.”

Potter nodded, as if he were absorbing this information but not thinking very hard about it.

Draco sighed when he realized Potter wasn't going to say anything. “So what do you think?”

Potter had just taken a bite of naan, so there was another long pause. “Do they think it's going to be harder for us to get to him now?”

“Well, if they're having a hard time, yes. But I meant the deterioration. Doesn't it seem like something we should look into?”

Potter shrugged. “If Snape hasn't made much progress, I doubt we'll be able to learn anything.”

“Are you kidding? Snape is stuck at Hogwarts much of the time, teaching courses. We can spend a good deal more time on this than he can.”

“We need to focus on our own task, on finding a way to trap him,” Potter replied between bites.

“And understanding why he's deteriorating could help us. Besides, trapping him is only part of it. We've not thought at all about how we're going to incapacitate him.” He shivered at the thought – the man was still the most powerful and dangerous wizard in the world. They had a good chance of getting killed, which Draco preferred not to think about at all.

“We'll worry about that later,” Potter said, his tone dismissive.

“Much later, at the rate we're going,” Draco grumbled. He looked up, but Potter was still focused on his food. Draco began to push his own food around on the plate, trying not to let his frustration show.

They could talk about work on Monday, he told himself. He wanted to have fun tonight, and arguing with Potter when things were already tense between them wasn't going to help matters.

“This is lovely,” Draco said at last. He took a bite of a creamy chicken curry, which turned out to be quite good, and scanned the colorful tapestries that hung on the restaurant's walls. “How'd you find this place?”

“I just walked by one day,” Potter replied. “They do a good lunch business.”

“And it's convenient to where we're going next.”

Potter's smile seemed forced. “I promised to go, but I didn't promise to dance.”

“You can't go to a dance club and not dance,” Draco retorted. “I'll just have to find someone to dance with you, won't I? Someone you won't be able to resist.” A look of panic flitted across Potter's face and Draco laughed. “Come on, trust me. I could even get you laid tonight, if you want.”

Potter snorted and rolled his eyes.

Draco's smile was wry. “And you need it, I think.”

:: :: :: :: ::

The club was just starting to get busy, from the looks of things. The dance floor was full of smartly-dressed people who moved together in same-sex clumps. Most held drinks and conversed with each other over the music, occasionally turning to cast meaningful looks at opposite-sex clumps of people. Nondescript house music blared, colorful lights flashed – and Harry Potter looked miserable.

“Drink,” Draco said, handing him one of the shooters he'd purchased at the bar. “It'll help.”

“I'll get in the spirit,” Potter replied. He downed the drink and inspected the empty glass. “I'll need a few more of these, though.”

They spent the next half hour watching the scene and drinking more shots than Draco suspected was wise. He watched Potter's gaze flit around the club, trying to see if anyone caught his eye, but it looked as if Potter was more interested in watching than participating.

Draco elbowed him when a curvy blonde walked by. “What about her? She's cute.”

“How would you know?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “I'm gay, not blind. She's hot. You should go talk to her, get her to dance with you.”

Potter watched her walk over towards the bar and shook his head. “I dunno. She's a bit out of my league.”

“Are you mad?” Draco retorted.

He stared at Potter for a moment, wondering if he had any idea how he looked. He was wearing his standard uniform of well-fitting jeans and a vintage rock t-shirt, his hair hanging down to his shoulders in artful disarray. His leather jacket was draped over one arm and he leaned casually against the wall, looking sexy and aloof. Draco had seen a dozen women and even a few men cast him looks of interest tonight, but Potter didn't seem to have noticed.

“Right. Excuse me for a moment.” He handed Potter his half-empty glass and walked towards the bar.

“What are you–?” Potter began to ask, but Draco ignored him.

He stopped just behind the curvy blonde and touched her shoulder. She turned to look at him, and he smiled. “Sorry, but I just had to come right over here and ask you where did you get that shirt?”

She blinked at him for a moment, as if she couldn't remember what she was wearing. It wa s lovely – a red sleeveless spandex shirt with a dragon embroidered over the chest. Her enormous breasts made the sides of the dragon look a bit warped, Draco thought, but it was nice all the same.

“Oh, I've had it for years,” she replied, grinning.

“I love it,” Draco said, “and it looks so lovely on you. I was just telling my boyfriend how much I wanted a shirt with a dragon like that, and you go strolling by, looking good enough to eat.”

She laughed and flipped her long hair back over her shoulder. “Oh, you're sweet, aren't you? Where's your boyfriend?”

Draco turned and pointed at Potter, smirking at the expression of surprise on his face. “That's Harry over there. He's a bit shy, though.”

“Oh, he's adorable,” she said, waving at Potter. Potter blushed and returned a weak wave.

“He's a doll, but he hates to dance. He's embarrassed, you know, to look gay in public.”

“Oh, he shouldn't be,” she cooed. “Not here.”

“Well, he is. We're going to leave soon, I think.”

“Oh, no!” she said, and then scrunched up her face – apparently thinking. “Do you think he'd dance with me?”

“Would you?” Draco asked, winking at Potter. “He just might do, if you ask nicely.”

She grinned and started to make her way through the crowd toward Potter, who seemed frozen to the spot at the sight of her. Draco watched as she whispered into his ear and then tugged him towards the dance floor.

It turned out that Potter really was a terrible dancer. He was stiff and self-conscious, and became even more so when the girl placed his hands on her hips and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She was talking to him as she gyrated against him, and after half a song he relaxed visibly, which helped – he improved quite a bit.

She whispered something to him and he laughed, then pulled her a little closer. Draco leaned against the bar and sighed. What a waste, he thought.

“Hi,” he heard, and turned to see a man standing next to him. The man's smile gave him an uncanny resemblance to Ewan McGregor.

Draco smiled back. “Hi.”

They stared at each other a moment more, and then the man nodded toward the dance floor and raised an eyebrow. Draco grinned in response.

The man turned out to be a great dancer. They barely spoke, just stared at each other as they moved, arms and legs brushing more and more frequently until their bodies were pressed tightly together. In a haze of alcohol, music, and hormones, Draco hadn't realized how much time had passed until the man leaned in to whisper into his ear.

“This is about the time I would usually ask you if you wanted to go back to my flat, but I don't think your boyfriend would like that very much.”

It took Draco a moment to process the words. The man was looking across the club to where Potter was standing, alone and glaring daggers at Draco.

“Shit,” Draco said, and stepped back from the man. “He's not my boyfriend, though. It's just–”

“Whatever he is, I don't want to be in the middle of it,” the man said. He pressed a card into Draco's hand and smiled. “If it doesn't work out, ring me up.” With that, he turned and disappeared into the crowd.

Draco took a deep breath and turned towards Potter. He had no idea why he was so irritated – after all, wasn't this why they'd come? Potter didn't look at him as he approached. He'd acquired another drink at some point; he slung the rest of it back when Draco stopped before him.

“What?” Draco asked.

“I can't believe you told her I was your boyfriend!” Potter said, his words slurring a bit.

“Well–” Draco began.

“And then you go and wrap yourself around Obi-Wan Kenobi there, leaving me in a bit of a spot. She tried to convince me to leave with her and her friends.”

“You should have done,” Draco replied with a snort. “You could've played the whole ‘I hate men, so maybe I should give women a try' angle.”

Potter looked horrified. “Is this the sort of person you are, really? Do you go around lying to people to get them to sleep with you?”

“I don't have to lie,” Draco retorted, almost laughing. “I can get laid whenever I want.”

“And you think I can't? Is that what this was about? You feel sorry for me, is that it?”

“I don't feel anything for you!” Draco said, shaking his head in disbelief. “Fuck, I just wanted to have a good time. Forgive me for thinking you might as well.”

“This is your idea of a good time? I think I feel sorry for you.”

“How can you be so fucking pretentious? What I do is my own fucking business, so fuck off!”

Potter rolled his eyes. “Could you swear a bit more? I don't think enough people are staring at us.”

Draco glanced around to see that most of the people standing near them were indeed watching them curiously. He snarled another expletive and stalked towards the door. He stepped out into crowded Leicester Square , shivering in the January weather.

Potter was right behind him, shouting, “Hang on!”

Draco kept walking. He was angry, angrier than he could remember being in a long time. He would find a dark alley and apparate straight back to his hotel room, where he would smoke a fag and have a drink from the mini-bar and forget all about Potter.

He felt a hand grasp his arm, and he whirled around, glaring. “Just forget it, all right? Go home and do whatever it is you do on Saturday nights. I won't drag you out again.”

“Will you just stop, please?” Potter said, his expression one of exasperation. “Can we talk for a minute?”

Draco scowled at him and gestured at the crowd around them. “Here?”

“Come on,” Potter said, walking towards one of the side streets leading out of the square.

They stopped when the sound of the square had receded and stepped off the street into a dark alcove. Draco leaned back against the brick façade and glared at Potter. “Well? Going to tell me what a fucked-up life I lead? Still trying to pretend you aren't homophobic?”

Potter grimaced. “Will you shut up about that? I don't have a problem with it. It isn't that at all!”

“Then what is it?” Draco asked, unable to keep the sarcasm from his tone.

Potter's jaw clenched and he shook his head. He opened his mouth to speak, but made no sound. He just stared at Draco.

And all at once, Draco understood: Potter was attracted to him, and he didn't know what to do about it. Draco wondered why he hadn't seen it before, but it all made sense – the flirting, the way he looked at Weasley, his reaction to seeing Draco with men, his utter lack of a proper sex life – Potter was in the closet, and he was fighting it.

Draco felt something flare in his chest, something he hadn't dared to let himself hope for. He stared back at Potter, knowing his own face was half-lit by the streetlight, softening his expression to something he hoped was inviting. Potter's face had softened as well, and he had leaned closer. Draco wet his lips and kept his eyes locked on Potter's.

“Go on,” he whispered. “It's all right.”

Potter caught his breath and stepped back, shaking his head. “I'm sorry,” he replied, pressing a hand to his forehead. “I'm being a complete prick, and I apologize. It isn't you–”

“If you say ‘it's me' I will strangle you,” Draco said. He sighed and wrapped his arms around himself. “Look, I–”

“Don't,” Potter interrupted, stepping out of the alcove. “We've both had a lot to drink, and… and things are a bit weird, but it will be fine in the morning. So I'll just…” He waved his hand and sighed. “Good night.”

He disapparated, leaving Draco alone.

:: :: :: :: ::

Sunday, 28 January, 2001

Draco stared at his reflection in the mirror, straightening the clasp of his robe and smoothing down his hair. His mother wouldn't have liked it so short – she'd have kissed his cheeks and told him he should wear it long like his father.

Draco turned away from the mirror and disapparated.

He was standing in a spot he hadn't visited many times before, despite it being on the grounds of his family's estate. He searched the stones until he found the one he was looking for, a relatively new one engraved with his mother's name.

He stared at it for a moment, feeling chilled. He'd known she was dead for a while now, but something about standing here made it more real than it had been before.

He knelt by the stone, trying to think of something to say or do. He didn't know what one was supposed to do when visiting a grave. He'd only been to this family cemetery a few times in his life, usually when his mother had made him come. His grandparents and great-grandparents were buried here, along with many generations of Malfoys whom no living person could remember. They had scowled down at him from their portraits when he walked down certain corridors as a child, frightening him.

He picked at the dry grass beneath his fingers, wishing he'd paid more attention to those visits. He wished a lot of things, of course. His throat tightened, and he swallowed against it. What good would crying do him now?

His mother had always brought flowers when she came here. He transfigured a clump of grass into a bouquet of wildflowers and set them against the stone. He frowned at them. He didn't even know what sort of flowers she would have preferred.

“Good afternoon,” he heard behind him.

He wiped at his eyes and stood, turning to acknowledge his father. “How did you know I was here?”

“I didn't,” Lucius said, stepping forward. He looked down at the stone. “I come every Sunday afternoon.”

“Oh,” Draco replied. They stood together in silence for several minutes, both staring down at Narcissa's name carved into granite. Below the name was carved her birth and death dates. “I didn't know when she died,” Draco whispered at last. “I heard about it a few months after.”

“I tried to find you,” Lucius replied. “It took me two months to learn where you'd gone. You disappeared without a trace.”

Draco folded his hands into the sleeves of his robe. “It didn't occur to me that I'd need to be found for that reason.”

Lucius took a deep breath, then hesitated a moment before saying, “She asked for you that last week.”

Draco's throat tightened again. He closed his eyes. “I heard it was a lingering illness.”

“No,” Lucius said, his voice barely audible. “It was a curse.”

Draco turned to look at him then, shocked. “A curse?”

Lucius clenched his jaw and stared off into the distance. “A terrible curse, one that no one could reverse. Severus worked for weeks, but there was nothing he could do for her. We brought in a specialist from St. Mungo's, but he was baffled as well.”

“Who did it?” Draco asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Lucius didn't answer. He continued to stare off into the distance.

Draco felt his stomach churn – there was only one wizard who could and would cast such a horrible curse. “But why?” he asked. Even as he said the words, he knew the answer.

“To punish me,” Lucius said, looking back down at the headstone.

:: :: :: :: ::

Tuesday, 30 January, 2001

Potter hadn't shown up to the office on Monday morning. Draco had spent the day reading through a stack of materials he'd borrowed from the London Library of Magic and making detailed notes. Weasley had kept himself busy as well, alternately writing on rolls of parchment and casting spells on objects scattered across his desk, and had barely acknowledged Draco's presence. When noon had approached and Weasley got dressed for his daily run, Draco asked about Potter. Weasley had said he didn't feel well and wouldn't be in that day.

Potter didn't come in on Tuesday either.

Draco waited for an explanation, but Weasley didn't offer one. After an hour of silence, Draco leaned back against his desk and stared at Weasley, willing the man to look up.

“I don't know where he is,” Weasley said after ten minutes.

Draco sighed. “If he's out sick, wouldn't he be at home?”

Weasley plastered a smile on his face and looked up. “Probably. I haven't heard from him. He could be in hospital for all I know.”

“And you call yourself his best friend?”

Weasley gave him an odd look, but he didn't reply. Draco shook his head and began ruffling through the stack of notes he'd made the day before.

Two hours later, to Draco's surprise, Weasley invited him out to lunch.

The conversation over their sandwiches was polite, if insubstantial. In half an hour, Draco learned more about infant care than he'd ever wanted to know. He could see why Potter was so desperate for companionship. By the time their coffee arrived, Draco couldn't bear it any more.

“I know you know where Potter is,” he said, staring into his coffee. “And I'm not asking you to tell me. I just want to know why I'm being kept out of the loop.”

Weasley gave him a quizzical look. “Out of the loop? Aren't you being a bit paranoid?”

“With good reason. I was with him Saturday night and he was fine. It seems odd that he'd have fallen very ill that quickly.”

“Saturday night, eh?” Weasley asked. This was clearly new information for him. “What did you do?”

“Dinner and a club, but that's not important. I–”

“You two have been spending quite a lot of time together,” Weasley said. His eyes crinkled a bit, and Draco couldn't tell if it was due to humor or suspicion.

Draco's eyes narrowed. “And if we have?”

“None of my business.” He took a sip of his latte.

“He's your friend.”

“Yes. And if you hurt him, I'll kill you.”

Draco nearly laughed. “It isn't – are you implying–”

“I'm not blind,” Weasley said, his eyes blazing into Draco's. “And I know Harry better than anyone. I see the way you two look at each other.”

Draco gaped at him for a moment. How had Weasley seen this, when he hadn't seen it himself until Saturday? “I don't… Nothing has happened.”

“And as I said, it's none of my business,” Weasley said, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “I don't want to know. Really.”

Draco stared into his coffee. He'd thought about Potter a lot in the last few days, which had left him feeling confused and frustrated, for the most part. He didn't want to get involved with anyone right now, let alone someone who wasn't even sure if he was gay.

He didn't do boyfriends, anyway. And he had the impression Potter was the relationship sort.

“Well, I've got to fly,” Weasley said, standing. “I'm taking the rest of the day off. Going to surprise the wife.”

“Tell her hello for me,” Draco said, and immediately felt awkward. It wasn't as if he'd ever really known her, after all.

Weasley pressed his lips together. “I can't. She doesn't know you're here. In fact–” he scratched the back of his neck, wincing “–she doesn't know what we're doing.”

Draco was momentarily stunned. He'd always thought Potter and Weasley couldn't make a move without Granger. “Why not?”

“She'd be worried sick. This is going to be horribly dangerous.” Weasley sighed and studied his hands. “Besides, she'd want to come along, and it's too big a risk. Children need a mother.”

“They need a father as well,” Draco said, but Weasley only shrugged. “So what does she think you do every day?”

Weasley smiled. “The same thing I did before – spell development and research for the Ministry. And I still work for them, of course. This is just a special assignment.” He handed Draco some Muggle bills and pulled on his coat. “I'll see you in the morning, then.”

It wasn't until he'd disappeared from view that Draco realized Weasley had never answered his original question.

He frowned into his empty cup. The more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed that there was something going on that Potter and Weasley weren't telling him. And he would bet his new house-elf that Potter's two-day absence was related to it.

 

:: :: :: :: ::

:: :: :: :: ::

Wednesday, 31 January, 2001

“Fillywig,” Draco said to the door. He stepped through it, began to shed his coat, and then froze to the spot: After two days of absence Potter was sitting at his desk and flipping through a stack of parchments, forehead furrowed in concentration. He glanced up at Draco and nodded in greeting as if nothing were amiss.

“Feeling better?” Draco asked as he crossed to stand before Potter's desk. Potter looked pale and tired, as if he hadn't eaten or slept well in days. Except for a freshly-healed cut on his cheek, Draco could almost believe he had really been sick.

Potter shrugged. “More or less.” He didn't meet Draco's gaze, and he looked like he was uncomfortable with Draco's proximity.

“Right,” Draco said. He looked over at Weasley, who had his feet propped up on his desk, reading the Daily Prophet. “Weasley was so concerned about your health that he took most of yesterday off.”

“Actually, I wanted to shag my wife,” Weasley said from behind the newspaper. “The doctor finally gave us permission.”

“You had to get permission?” Draco asked, incredulous.

“Yes. I never thought I'd say this, but I'm sick to death of blow jobs.”

“Ron!” Potter looked horrified.

Draco smirked. “Too much information, Potter?”

Potter scowled at him. “Did you two get any work done while I was gone?”

“Define work.”

They spent the morning discussing ideas they'd started working on the week before, but it was clear that Potter's and Weasley's hearts weren't in it. They both looked tired, even defeated. Draco found himself watching the way they looked at each other, the subtle means by which they communicated. They were both thinking about something else entirely, which frustrated Draco to no end. He'd been made to feel welcome here at first, but it was now clear that it had all been a façade. It wasn't real. They didn't trust him with whatever it was they were really doing.

Potter and Weasley went for their daily run, which would have struck Draco as odd if he'd believed Potter had actually been ill for two days. He made sure he wasn't there when they returned, spending nearly two hours in a nearby Pret café and reading a book on ancient potions he'd got from the library.

His mind kept wandering back to the events of Saturday night. After reading the same page three times without understanding what it said, he gave up and closed the book. He had spent much of Sunday lazing about his hotel room and thinking about Potter, wondering if Potter was thinking of him as well. He'd even sent a note through the enamel box Potter had given him, but never received an answer.

He just needed to get Potter alone. He was desperately curious to see if there was still a spark of connection between them. He'd been sure of it on Saturday.

He cringed at his own thoughts – this wasn't like him. He didn't worry about connections generally, nor did he care if someone liked him or not. Usually, Draco just wanted to get laid, with no strings and preferably no exchange of names. He had friends, and he didn't fuck them. Friends weren't for fucking; they were for bragging about the fucking later. He had started to think of Potter as a friend, but he'd also thought about fucking Potter. It was more than a little unsettling.

And of course, he couldn't be sure if anything that had happened between them was real at this point, or part of Potter's and Weasley's act.

:: :: :: :: ::

Potter and Weasley were arguing in frantic whispers when he returned. They looked away from each other when they saw him, and they didn't speak again for the rest of the afternoon. Draco tried to pretend he hadn't noticed, but he couldn't help feeling a bit paranoid.

Around 4:00 , Weasley gathered up his coat and briefcase. “See you in the morning, boys,” he said, and didn't wait for them to reply before disappearing into the fireplace. Draco watched Potter stare at the flames, and then made up his mind. Time to get some answers.

“Trouble in paradise?” he asked. Potter snorted and looked back to the parchment in front of him. Draco crossed to his desk and perched on the edge, eyes sliding over the cut on Potter's face. “What sort of nasty bug did you have, anyway?”

Potter looked up at him then. “I wasn't sick. I had something to take care of, that's all.”

Draco didn't let his expression change, despite his surprise at a response approaching honesty. “Did you take care of it, then?”

Potter sighed and looked away. “It doesn't matter right now.”

“It mattered to Weasley.”

“Just… drop it, Malfoy.”

“Look, I know there's something you're not telling me,” Draco said, keeping his voice as calm as he could manage. “And that's fine. I understand why you don't trust me, but–”

Potter looked back up at him. “It has nothing to do with trust. It has nothing to do with you .”

“Don't patronize me. I know when I'm being lied to.”

Potter pushed away from his desk and rubbed at his face with one hand. “No one is lying to you.”

“I suppose that's technically true. Not telling me what's really going on isn't precisely the same thing as lying outright.”

Potter stood and crossed to get his coat, and didn't respond.

“Are you leaving?” Draco asked.

“I suppose.”

Draco felt a twinge of panic wind its way into his resentment. If Potter left now, while things were tense between them, he might not have another chance to talk to him alone. “Did you… want to get a drink, or something?”

Potter sighed. “Look, Malfoy–”

“Fucking hell,” Draco groaned. He stood and ran a hand through his hair. “If this is about Saturday, don't bother. It's clear that you're uncomfortable around me now.”

Potter snorted. “It must be tiring to worry constantly about maintaining your position at the center of the universe. Do you really think this has something to do with our little discussion?”

“What was I supposed to think? One minute you're about to kiss me in a dark alley, and the next you're disapparating, leaving me–”

“I was not about to kiss you!” Potter spat, his eyes wide. “God, you're delusional!”

“And you're a horrible liar.” He stalked towards Potter, watching him shrink back against the wall. “You're attracted to me, and you don't want to be. You're trying to pretend you don't feel it.”

“I don't feel anything for you. Now back off!”

“What's this about, then?” Draco placed his hands on the wall on either side of Potter's head. Potter shrank back against the wall, as if trying to stay as far away from Draco as possible. There was something in his eyes, though, and Draco couldn't help smirking. “You're afraid, aren't you?”

Potter's lips pressed together in a thin line. “I'm not afraid of you.”

“Of course you aren't. You're afraid of this.”

Draco leaned forward until only a few inches separated their faces. He saw something flicker across Potter's face, and it made his stomach lurch. He wet his lips and smiled, lowering his voice to a hoarse whisper. “You'd love it if I just kissed you and got it over with, wouldn't you?”

“Why would I want that?” Potter asked, his voice cracking a bit.

Draco leaned closer, so close he could feel Potter's breath on his lips. “Because you don't have the bollocks to do it yourself, even though you want to. So much for Gryffindor courage.”

Potter closed his eyes – he was trembling. Draco bit his lip. He ought to do this now, take what he wanted. Potter wouldn't know what hit him. He'd probably even let Draco suck him off right here against the wall. He studied Potter's face again, staring at the way his eyelashes fluttered against his pale skin. He had tiny freckles on his nose. His glasses were dirty.

The lurching feeling came back again, and this time Draco understood what it meant: Potter was trouble, the sort of trouble Draco could not afford. He didn't need complications like this in his life, especially not from someone he wasn't sure he could trust.

Draco pushed away from the wall and turned to face the door, jaw clenched.

A hand grasped his arm and he was whirled around, so quickly it nearly threw him off-balance. Potter stared at him for a split second, wild-eyed, and then kissed him.

It wasn't much of a kiss, really – it was far too wet and frantic, utterly lacking finesse – but it made Draco's stomach drop about a foot anyway.

“There,” Potter said, pulling away and trying to smirk. “I told you I wasn't afraid.”

Draco tried to shake off his surprise. How had this situation had been twisted around so quickly? “Well… if that's the best you can do, no wonder you can't get laid.”

Potter shook his head and slung his leather jacket over his shoulder. “Good night, Malfoy.”

“It's not 4:30 yet,” Draco said, hoping he didn't sound desperate. “Are you sure you don't want a drink?”

“Maybe I have a date tonight.”

“With your right hand?”

“The left, actually,” Potter deadpanned. “Got to change it up a bit, you know.”

“Or maybe you could use a hand.”

Potter didn't miss a beat. “Maybe I could. Are you offering?”

“No. I'm just…” He stopped, flustered. He was making a mess of this.

Potter's eyes narrowed. “Just what?”

Draco took a deep breath and released it, struggling not to fidget. “I can't decide if you're serious. You know where I stand, but I have no idea about you. One minute I think you're interested in me and the next…” He was babbling like an idiot now. What was wrong with him?

“I'm not gay,” Potter said.

“Could've fooled me.”

“And I don't know where you stand. You're promiscuous as a rule, and I'm not. Do you think I want to be another tick mark on your bed post?”

“If you're not gay, what does it matter?”

“Just because I'm not gay doesn't mean I'm not interested. You're… appealing, in your own way.”

Draco shook his head in exasperation. “Thanks. I think.” They stared at each other for a moment.

“Shit,” Potter said at last. He took a deep breath. “I'm probably going to regret this, but… still want to get a drink?”

Draco accio'd his coat and beat Potter to the door.

:: :: :: :: ::

One drink turned into four, and drinks turned into dinner. They found a small Italian restaurant neither of them had been to before, and they chatted over pasta and Chianti. After avoiding sharing personal details as much as possible, Draco told Potter about his life in New York – about clubbing and his friends and his flat in Alphabet City and the way Times Square looked at night packed with people. Potter listened politely, even looking interested.

It was close to 10:00 when they stopped on the stairs in front of the Paddington Hilton. Draco bit his lip and thought about the cigarette he'd probably smoke in a few minutes, trying to work up his nerve. He'd never had to work this hard to get into someone's trousers in his life – and he still wasn't sure this was such a good idea.

“Well, good ni–” Potter began.

“Do you want to come up?” Draco blurted. Potter stared at him blankly, and Draco shrugged in a way he hoped was casual. “I mean… if you want.”

“Oh god,” Potter groaned. “I should never have kissed you.”

Draco stuffed his hands in his pockets and frowned. “It's not a big deal, Potter. You can say ‘no'. I won't be offended.”

“It's not that I don't want to.”

“You don't have to explain – I'm not a girl. You either want to fuck me or you don't.”

“It's not that… I mean…” Potter took a deep breath and looked away. “We have to work together. And maybe you can just sleep with people and pretend like nothing happened, but I can't.”

“Who says we have to pretend nothing happened?”

Potter's eyes widened. “I'm not gay, for one thing. I don't want you to think this is something it isn't.”

Draco laughed so loud that the doorman turned a suspicious eye towards them. “God, Potter, you really are naïve. I'm offering you one thing – sex. Really fantastic sex, with no strings. If you want it, great. If not, stop wasting my time.”

Potter looked utterly torn. “I… I should go home.”

“Then go,” Draco said, turning towards the revolving doors. “Go jerk off by yourself.” He pushed through the door and didn't look back.

He walked across the lobby to the lift, rode it to the ninth floor, and keyed his door open. He stripped out of his clothes and crawled under the duvet in the darkness. He'd intended to wank, but he didn't want to now.

It was for the best that Potter had said no. Draco never let anyone get under his skin like this, but Potter had done it without him even realizing it was happening.

“I am so, so fucked,” he whispered into the darkness.

There was a sound like a knock at the door. Draco opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. Had he imagined it? After a moment, he heard it again.

He got up and crossed to the door. He looked through the peephole – sure enough, Potter was standing there in the corridor, looking more disturbed than he had done downstairs. “What?” Draco grumbled.

“It's me, Harry. Can I come in?”

Draco sighed and unlatched the door. He opened it enough to peer through and frowned at Potter. “What do you want?”

Potter rolled his eyes. “To come in? Please?”

Draco stepped back and held the door open. Potter stepped past him into the dark room. He didn't seem to notice that Draco was naked, so Draco made no move to cover himself up. Let the bastard be uncomfortable.

Potter stopped in the middle of the room and looked around at the mess. Draco had woken up late that morning and strewn clothes everywhere in his haste to get dressed. The maids had just cleaned around it. Potter's eyes settled on the rumpled duvet.

Draco closed the door and leaned back against it, waiting. “Well? Did you want to explain your rejection a bit more, then?”

Potter turned to look at him, but didn't reply. In the dim light through the window, the expression on his face looked fierce and determined – a combination Draco wished he didn't find so hot.

Draco sighed, glad for the darkness. “If your intention was to get me to make a fool of myself, you've won. So please fuck off and leave me alone.”

Potter stalked toward him then, his face twisted with something resembling anger. Draco swore under his breath – his wand was across the room, of course. He stepped forward, but he was pushed back against the door so hard his head snapped against it.

And before he'd even registered the pain, Potter was kissing him.

It was a few seconds before Draco found himself capable of responding. This wasn't the rough, hasty kiss of that afternoon – it was one of the best kisses Draco had ever experienced. He melted against the door, his hands snaking up under Potter's leather jacket to tangle in his shirt. One of Potter's hands was in his hair, grasping the back of his head and pulling him closer; the other clenched his shoulder so tightly it hurt.

Draco moaned into Potter's mouth, nearly overcome with the sensation of Potter's tongue sliding against his, of the feeling of a leather and denim-clad body pressed against him, of being so utterly naked and vulnerable. It was the most erotic thing he had experienced in a long time.

Potter shifted against him, an unmistakable erection in his jeans. Draco had grown half-hard from the kiss, but the knowledge that Potter was so aroused too sent him the rest of the way. This was why Potter had come back: for Draco.

Draco pushed off the door and backed Potter to the bed, working to unfasten the fly on his jeans as they moved. Potter stumbled backwards against the mattress, breaking their kiss. Draco tugged Potter's jeans down, but they wouldn't come off over the boots he wore. It didn't matter, though – Draco pushed him to sitting and knelt between his thighs, staring at his cock.

It was bigger than he'd expected: somehow he'd always imagined Potter's heroics were compensation for other things lacking. Of course, compared to Weasley, they were all of them small. He chanced a look upwards, and saw that Potter was watching him, eyes wide.

“You don't have to–” he began.

“Are you kidding?” Draco replied. He leaned forward and licked the head of Potter's cock. When he blew across the wet stripe he'd made, he heard Potter suck in a breath. He couldn't help but grin as he trailed the tip of his tongue down the underside, planting a wet kiss at the base.

Draco loved sucking cock, and he knew he was good at it. Potter was whimpering by the time he finally wrapped his lips around the head. He slid down as far as he could, steadying Potter's dick with his hand, wriggling his tongue and sucking, and Potter shuddered as he moved back up.

He took his time, wanting to make this as good as he possibly could. Potter's shackled ankles were going to be a problem soon, though. He fished his wand off the bedside table and managed to concentrate enough to cast spells to remove Potter's boots and jeans.

Potter didn't seem to notice. He leaned back on his elbows, his thighs splaying and his head falling back. “Oh, god, you're good at that.”

Draco pushed his thighs apart further and came off long enough to say, “It's about to get better.” He guided his wand under Potter's balls with one finger and brushed it against his arsehole. Potter tensed beneath him, and Draco made a shushing noise. “Trust me,” he said, then pressed the tip of his wand just inside.

He hadn't had a chance to use these spells for a while, as he'd been on a Muggle kick lately. The look on Potter's face just afterwards was priceless. Draco swallowed his cock again and didn't wait to see what it became when he replaced the wand with one finger. The lubrication spell eased the way, and he quickly found what he was looking for. He timed the strokes of his finger with the movement of his mouth, listening to the sounds Potter was now making beneath him. He pressed another finger into Potter's arse.

He felt the tension in Potter's body a second before the hand in his hair tightened. Draco moaned before he could help himself – this moment, just when he was about to make someone come, was always erotic. He was never sure if it was because he liked the way it felt when someone came in his mouth, or if he liked the way a cock got impossibly harder just before orgasm, or if it was just the feeling of having such power over someone else, but it never failed to send a jolt of pleasure to his groin.

Potter gasped as he came, almost as if he couldn't manage any words at all. Draco kept fucking him with fingers as he swallowed and sucked him clean.

“Oh, fuck,” Potter mumbled, one hand over his eyes. “That was… god.”

“Scoot back a bit,” Draco said, and Potter complied, Draco's fingers still in his arse. Draco knelt on the mattress between his splayed legs and whispered, “I want to fuck you.” He twisted his fingers and watched Potter's face.

“I… okay.” Potter looked a bit pale.

Draco removed his fingers and positioned his cock. The lubrication spell was renewed with a single word, and he pushed forward. Potter gasped.

“Push back,” Draco told him. “It helps.” Potter nodded, but he didn't look any more comfortable. Draco paused halfway in and stroked Potter's thigh. “Getting better?”

“Sort of,” Potter said through his teeth. “Maybe not. I thought this was supposed to feel good.”

“Most people expect it to hurt.”

“I assumed people wouldn't do it if it hurt.”

“You'd be surprised,” Draco said with a grin. “It will feel good, though. Try to relax.”

After a moment, he felt Potter relax a bit, so he pushed forward again. Potter was gloriously tight and hot, and it was all Draco could do not to fuck him outright. He wanted this to be good, though – he might not get another chance, and he certainly wouldn't if Potter didn't like it.

“Okay?” he asked, now panting himself.

Potter nodded a few seconds later and Draco started to move as slowly as he could bear. He kept his eyes fixed on Potter's face, trying to find a rhythm that would feel good for him. He experimented with the angle until he saw Potter's expression change to one of surprise.

“Told you,” he whispered. He worked harder then, pulling Potter's hips up off the bed for leverage.

“Oh god,” Potter gasped, his eyes flying open.

“You like that?” Draco was sweating now, but he didn't care. Potter's responding groan was punctuated by the sound of their bodies slapping together. “I'm… I'm getting too close,” Draco whispered, closing his eyes. “I'm sorry.”

“No, it's fine.”

Draco leaned forward, pushing Potter's thighs into his chest. He braced himself on his hands and pounded into him.

The world narrowed down to the sensation that was building in his groin. He heard Potter panting beneath him, occasionally making a small sound that could have been either of pain or of pleasure. He wondered if he was hurting Potter, and then his orgasm hit him so hard he didn't care about anything else.

He collapsed on top of Potter afterwards, his ears still ringing. It was a moment before he realized one of Potter's hands was on his back, sliding against his sweaty skin. Potter still had his shirt on, which felt odd against his bare chest.

Draco pushed himself up, feeling awkward. It had all happened so quickly, and he had no idea what to expect next. He stretched out beside Potter and risked a glance at his face.

Potter was staring back at him, eyes dark.

“Well,” Draco said.

“Well.” Potter's expression was guarded, even a bit uncomfortable.

“Are you all right?”

Potter looked at the ceiling. “I can't stay. You know, work tomorrow.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “We work at the same place, you know.”

“I don't want to impose. You made it clear that this was just sex, after all.”

Draco pressed his lips together, already regretting those words. “Yes, but it could be more sex. It's not even midnight yet.”

Potter made a sarcastic sound. “I don't think my arse could take it.”

“There are spells for that,” Draco quipped, forcing himself to grin.

Potter sat up and glanced around for his clothes. “I do need to go.”

Draco watched him dress in the darkness, feeling more and more awkward. He was usually the one who was leaving as quickly as possible. Was that how Potter felt about what had happened? Draco frowned.

“I guess I'll see you in the morning?” Potter was pulling his jacket on.

“Yes, tomorrow,” Draco replied, pulling the duvet around him.

Potter nodded and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Right. Tomorrow.” He turned to leave.

“Potter?” Draco asked. Potter turned around, and Draco took a deep breath before continuing. “Why did you change your mind?”

Potter hesitated a moment, and Draco wasn't sure he'd understood the question. He shrugged and gave an awkward smile. “I was afraid you wouldn't ask again.”

Draco smiled. “I don't give up so easily.”

Potter ran a hand through his hair. “And I was horny as hell besides.” He winked at Draco and disapparated.

:: :: :: :: ::

Thursday, 1 February, 2001

The next day passed as though the previous night hadn't happened.

Potter and Weasley did most of the talking during their morning meeting, and pretended not to notice that Draco was unusually quiet. Potter didn't avoid looking at or speaking to Draco, and he didn't seem to feel awkward about any of it.

Draco, on the other hand, wanted to scream. He couldn't look at Potter without thinking about how his face had looked when Draco was inside him, or hear his voice without remembering his moans of pleasure when Draco was sucking his cock. Draco's thoughts kept drifting into fantasies, which shifted into worrying about whether he'd ever get a chance to fuck Potter again.

He finally excused himself to the toilet and stared at his reflection in the mirror over the sink, trying to regain control. He nver behaved like this. Sure, there was the occasional fantasizing after a particularly good night of sex with a hot bloke, but he never felt awkward or uncertain afterwards. He was always the confident one, the one in control, unemotional, and aloof when others were clingy.

A horrible thought struck him as he washed his hands: Was he actually falling for Potter? He winced and looked away from his reflection.

Potter and Weasley stopped whispering and moved away from each other when he opened the bathroom door. Draco gritted his teeth and crossed to his desk. His entire presence here was a joke. Maybe that was why Potter had come back last night – to fuck him into submission. That was all he was good for, wasn't it?

An hour later, a slip of parchment appeared on top of the stack of notes he'd been re-reading. Written on it in a messy scrawl were the words, You said last night that there were spells?

Draco stared at it for a few seconds before looking up to see Potter scribbling intently on a large roll of parchment. He didn't look at Draco.

Draco smiled before he could stop himself. He wrote down two spells along with a short and discreet explanation of what each did, then tapped the note with his wand. It disappeared.

A few minutes later, Potter headed to the toilet. When he came back, he looked significantly more relaxed.

Draco watched him for a while, chewing absently on the end of his quill. If he were honest with himself, he had to admit he'd always found Potter fascinating when they were in school. He'd found him annoying and obnoxious as well, but if he hadn't always been surrounded by his sycophants, who knew? Maybe they could have been – well, not friends, perhaps, but maybe not enemies either.

He glanced to Potter's right and saw Weasley staring back at him. Draco looked down at the book on his desk again.

Weasley watched Draco off and on for the rest of the afternoon. It made Draco so self-conscious that he was unable to concentrate. Did Weasley know what had happened? Had Potter told him? Maybe it was obvious.

“I'm leaving,” Draco said around 4:00, standing and packing a few books into his bag. “See you tomorrow.” He felt Potter's eyes on him as he left, but he didn't turn back.

The walk back to the hotel seemed longer than usual. It was a rare stunning day, cool and crisp, the sky mostly clear. Draco wound his red scarf around his neck again in defiance of the sun. The weather had no right to be so lovely when he felt like shit.

He fell onto his bed and spent a good ten minutes staring at the ceiling, as he'd done after Potter had left the night before. He closed his eyes and let his mind drift back to the moment Potter had kissed him. He still had a tender spot where his head hit the door.

He couldn't help feeling bitter. Despite what Potter had said about not being able to just have sex with no strings, he'd been fine this morning. Draco had been the one pining away like a schoolgirl.

“Stop,” he told himself, sitting up. This was ridiculous. He was acting like an idiot.

Besides, if he didn't do something soon, Potter and Weasley would shut him out of this enterprise altogether. He might not have minded two weeks ago, but it was personal now. It wasn't just a job for his father any more.

He stood and crossed to the desk, sifting through a stack of parchments and books borrowed from the London Library of Magic. He picked up the article from the American professor and considered reading it. There had been something in the abstract about an ancient potion, and he'd been reading books on old magic.

Something shimmered to his right, drawing his eye – the enamel box Potter had given him. He'd forgotten about it. He opened the lid to see a slip of parchment inside.

You left before I had a chance to ask if you wanted to do something tonight.

Draco stared at it, feeling a flicker of something he couldn't name. He should tear the parchment into tiny pieces and send it back. He should throw it into the rubbish bin and ignore it. He should definitely not respond. If he spent another night with Potter, he doubted he could stop himself from falling for him.

He paced the room for ten minutes before he finally picked up a pen.

:: :: :: :: ::

Potter's flat was small and sparsely furnished, but it was in an expensive neighborhood. Draco felt awkward as he stood in the small kitchen, watching Potter gather plates and cutlery.

Potter's suggestion that he come over had caught Draco by surprise. It felt more intimate than any of their meetings so far. Potter had said he was tired of going out and wanted to spend an evening at home. Draco had assumed this meant he just wanted to get to the sex faster. He wasn't going to argue with that.

After a series of confusing notes back and forth, Potter had finally re-charmed the Find-it-Quick card to give Draco directions to his flat. The card hadn't been pleased when Draco had stopped at the wine shop along the way to pick up a bottle of viognier for their dinner, but it helped him all the same.

Potter had picked up Indian take-away for them. He didn't have a dining table for some reason, so they sat on the sofa and balanced plates in their laps.

“How long have you lived here?” Draco asked, searching for a safe conversation topic.

“A few months. I finally managed to sell some property I'd inherited, and I bought this place.” He looked around with a satisfied smile. “It needs some work, but it's fantastic to have something of my own, finally.”

Draco had never owned anything. “You should hire a decorator. No offense, but your taste in furnishings is… well, nonexistent.”

Potter snorted. “I've been a little busy the last few months.”

The conversation remained light and teasing while they ate, but by the time they set their plates aside and drained their wine glasses, an awkward silence settled between them.

“So,” Potter began with forced casualness, “what do you want to do?”

Draco smiled and stretched out his legs, putting his bare feet in Potter's lap. “I dunno. Watch telly? Play cards?”

Potter stroked the sole of his foot. “I don't have any cards. And the telly's in the bedroom.”

“Is it? Then I suppose we'll have to–”

Potter lifted Draco's foot and planted a kiss on the arch. Draco watched as he kissed his way up to the toes, then took one in his mouth.

A very undignified moan escaped Draco's lips, and he melted into the sofa. Potter sucked each of his toes in turn, swirling his tongue around them and nipping them with his teeth. Draco had never known something so simple could feel so good. He was half-hard by the time Potter finished.

“No telly, then?” he asked, his voice a notch higher than he'd intended.

Potter's smile was almost wicked. He proceeded to undress Draco more slowly than Draco would have thought possible, kissing and licking him in places no one had bothered to before. Draco didn't know what to do to reciprocate, so he let Potter do what he wanted and tried to relax.

By the time Potter focused his attention on Draco's cock, he was achingly hard. Potter was kneeling on the floor, one of Draco's thighs draped over his shoulder. He'd kissed a trail down the inside of that thigh and stopped when he reached Draco's groin. He stared, and Draco wondered if he'd ever seen a naked male body from that angle before.

“If you don't want to–” Draco began.

“No, I do,” Potter replied, looking up. “It's just that…” He blushed and looked back between Draco's legs again. “I've never done this, so I'm not sure where to begin.”

“Do what you like done to you.” Potter wrapped his fingers around the base of his cock, and Draco sighed at the touch. “Hell, do anything. You know what it's like. It's all good.”

Potter's tongue slid up the underside and Draco sucked in a breath. “I know, but I don't want to…” he paused and laughed, and Draco looked up at him. “I almost said ‘suck at this'. But that would be the point, so…”

Draco grinned at him. “Yeah, it would.”

Potter appeared to steel himself, and then took Draco's cock into his mouth. It wasn't the first time Draco'd had his dick sucked by a novice, and Potter didn't do a bad job. He seemed to have trouble finding a comfortable position, and he hardly used his tongue at all. Draco made encouraging noises when Potter did something well, hoping he'd take the hint.

After a few minutes, Potter sat back and wiped his mouth. “Sorry, my… my jaw hurts.”

Draco smiled, not exactly sure what to say. “It's fine.”

Potter brushed his hair out of his face and winced. “It isn't, but thanks anyway. I'll try again in a bit.”

They moved to the bedroom and spent the next two hours exploring each other's bodies. Sex was usually a rough and quick experience for Draco – the goal was to come as quickly and efficiently as possible, and then to move on. There was a level of intimacy between them tonight, though, and it was both exhilarating and unsettling.

The first time he came, it was from Potter's hand stroking him, something he turned out to be very good at. The second time he almost came in Potter's mouth – he'd grunted a warning and Potter had jerked away so quickly he nearly fell off the bed.

Draco rarely bottomed, but when Potter asked if he could fuck him, Draco didn't hesitate. He performed a few preparatory spells on himself, then rolled onto his stomach. Potter struggled a bit to push into him, but finally managed.

“Fuck,” he hissed, panting. “I'm not hurting you, am I?”

“No,” Draco lied. He had to grit his teeth when Potter first started moving, but he finally managed to shift his hips to an angle that felt good. Unfortunately, Potter's movements shifted him right back.

“Let's try something else,” he said at last. He straddled Potter and eased himself down on his cock again, then stroked himself while he moved. His thighs were shaking by the time Potter came, but he wasn't far behind.

It was after midnight when Draco stretched out beside Potter and closed his eyes, exhausted. “I'm staying,” he said, tugging a blanket over himself. “So don't even think about kicking me out.”

“I wasn't going to,” Potter replied, yawning. He surprised Draco by spooning against him and draping an arm around him.

Potter's breathing became shallow, but Draco lay awake, wondering what was happening between them. Sometime during the evening, he'd realized that the last time he'd spent a night with someone like this was back in school – with Neville.

He hadn't thought about Neville in years. It had just been sex at first, but it had been after a night very much like this one that Draco had first realized he had grown to care about Neville. It had terrified him, and he'd pushed him away for weeks afterward. It was only because Neville was so patient and determined that they hadn't broken it off entirely.

Draco shivered in the darkness and wriggled closer to Potter. This felt good, too good, really. He had no idea what would happen in the morning, and it scared him. He didn't like the fact that he was so vulnerable, that Potter made him feel something he hadn't felt in years – something he'd tried very hard not to feel, if he was honest with himself.

Draco sighed and tried not to think about it any more.

:: :: :: :: ::

Friday, 2 February, 2001

“Draco.”

Draco opened his eyes to see Potter sitting on the edge of the bed and staring down at him. He had apparently showered and dressed, and Draco had slept through it.

“G'morning,” he said, pushing himself to sitting.

“I have to go. I have a meeting at the Ministry this morning.” He hesitated a moment before continuing. “I got an owl last night, just before you arrived. Something's going to happen in the next week.”

“What?” Draco's eyes wouldn't focus. He blinked at Potter.

“Your father passes on intelligence every so often. It's part of the arrangement we have. He thinks there will be a Death Eater attack in London in the next week.”

Draco stared at him, and wondered if he should feel odd that his father hadn't told him any of this. “Are you sure?”

“The last time he warned us, there was an attack in northern England . We didn't take it seriously, because it seemed so unlikely, and… we were wrong. People died.”

Draco pursed his lips. He wanted to know more, to ask Potter to tell him everything – but he didn't want to press his luck. He'd need a subtler approach. “Can I do anything to help?”

“I wasn't supposed to tell you that much. Security clearances and all, you know. But if you can get any more information…” He gave Draco a meaningful look.

Draco nodded. “I'll see what I can do.”

“I've recast the wards to let you apparate out,” Potter said, standing. “Stay as long as you want.” He hesitated a moment more, then leaned down and kissed Draco.

Stunned by that gesture, Draco could only watch as Potter left the room. He heard the sound of the fireplace flaring a few moments later, and then it was quiet. He pulled his knees into his chest and sighed. He didn't want to think about what that kiss had meant, or how he should feel about Potter this morning, or about what had happened between them last night.

He lay down and tried to go back to sleep, but he couldn't. It felt odd to be alone in someone else's flat. He couldn't imagine leaving for work and letting someone stay in his own apartment. His mind was racing with thoughts of Potter and his father, and the possibility of a Death Eater attack. What would it mean if he could do something to stop it? Would Potter and Weasley trust him then, tell him what was really going on?

He got up and dressed, made an attempt to make the bed, and ventured into the main room. They hadn't bothered to clean up after themselves the night before, so he cast some spells to clear up the mess from dinner. With a final glance around the flat, he apparated back to the Hilton.

:: :: :: :: ::

“Ebby.”

The grubby creature appeared kneeling at his feet. “Master Draco is calling for Ebby! Ebby is worrying Master is angry–”

“Stop groveling. Where is my father?”

The elf stood and blinked up at him. “Master Lucius is at the country estate.”

Draco nodded. “I want you to take him a message and wait for me there.”

:: :: :: :: ::

“I assumed they would tell you all the details,” Lucius said, sipping tea from an expensive antique cup.

“I don't have the proper security clearances, of course, but they tell me enough.” It wasn't true, but Draco hoped Lucius wouldn't press the point. “Enough to know you aren't telling them everything either.”

Lucius's smile was cool. “You can appreciate the position I am in, Draco. If I were to tell everything I know, the Dark Lord would suspect the information came from me. That would ruin our chances of ending this.”

“So you give the Ministry just enough information to give them a sporting chance?”

“I suppose you could say that, yes.”

Draco traced the rim of his teacup with one finger and didn't meet his father's gaze. “I'm not sure Potter and Weasley are telling me everything, either. Considering who I am, I can't blame them for not trusting me.”

Lucius smirked. “I would have thought you could handle that yourself, considering your many talents .”

Draco didn't take the bait. “I came here to ask you to tell me more, something that would help me gain their trust.”

Lucius stared at him for a moment, then set his teacup on the table and snapped his fingers. A house-elf appeared, bowing so low its forehead nearly touched the floor. “Bring me the book that is open on my desk. Be careful not to upset it.”

The elf's eyes widened, but it nodded and disapparated.

They sat in silence for several moments. When the house-elf reappeared, it had an ancient-looking book suspended in the air before it. It levitated the book to the table with great care, appearing to be sweating from the effort. When the book touched down on the table, the elf heaved a sigh of relief and disappeared.

Draco stood to get a better look.

“Don't touch it,” Lucius said, brandishing his wand. “It's cursed.” He waved his wand and the pages turned, emitting a low rumbling. The yellowed pages were covered with an ornate writing Draco couldn't read. Lucius paused to study one page, then gestured with his wand. “Severus and I have been working to translate this spell for nearly a month.”

Draco stared at the page. “What language is that?”

“We do not know the name,” Lucius said, still looking down at the page. “It's more than two thousand years old.”

Draco squinted at his father. “What does the spell do?”

Lucius tore his eyes away from the page, something that appeared to take effort. “It does what we need to be done.” He paused for a moment, so long Draco wondered if he would continue at all. “I am telling you this because I suspect Potter will try to kill the Dark Lord if he has the chance. That must not happen.”

“I didn't think he could be killed.”

“Neither did I, but if Severus is correct, it is a possibility.” Lucius lowered his voice to a whisper, and Draco had to lean forward to understand him. “This spell comes from a dark cult, one that cannibalized the magic of others to gain power for themselves. It will allow us to keep thr Dark Lord alive and use him as a source of great power. Our cause has lost much during his decline, but this will help us regain control. His close supporters are blinded to the madness that is consuming him.”

“And they don't know of this plan,” Draco said, staring at him. He hardly believed what he was hearing. “Are you certain this is possible?”

“We will see. But this is why we need you, Draco. If Potter's plan is to kill the Dark Lord, you must intervene – or we will lose everything we have worked for when he is destroyed.”

:: :: :: :: ::

Weasley was alone in the office when Draco arrived a little past 11:00.

“I was wondering if you'd show up,” he said as Draco pulled his coat off. He frowned at the expression on Draco's face. “Are you all right?”

Draco sat behind his desk and sighed. “I think my father has gone mad.”

“You've only just noticed?”

Draco pressed a hand to his forehead. “Do you know what their plan is, once we've trapped Voldemort?”

“Hypothetically trapped him,” Weasley corrected, giving him a strange look. “Not really. We've just been told to incapacitate him. Why?”

Draco bit his lip and looked away. “I'll explain when Potter returns.”

Weasley stared at him a moment more, then nodded and went back to reading the newspaper.

Draco sat at his desk, still reeling from what he'd learned. He'd thought they had little chance of capturing the Dark Lord at all. Killing someone who was immortal was hardly an option, unless Potter knew something the rest of them didn't. But what was this nonsense about using him as a power source? Draco pressed a hand to his forehead and closed his eyes.

Had he been brought here under a false pretense? Was Lucius crazy, or was he lying to Draco, using him for some reason Draco couldn't yet see? Why would no one be honest with him?

“Good morning,” he heard a voice say. He whirled in his seat to face the door, surprised. No one except the three of them had been in this room in the last two weeks, but a woman who had to be Cho Chang was standing just inside the door. She shrugged out of her smart wool coat and beamed at them.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Weasley said. “Where have you been?”

“Everywhere,” she replied, tossing her long dark hair over her shoulder. She turned to Draco and smiled. “Draco Malfoy. I heard you were here. Nice to see you again.”

Draco shot a look at Weasley, who sensed his confusion at that remark. “Cho works in the intelligence services, so she knows everything that's going on.”

“Hardly,” she said, draping her coat over Potter's chair and leaning against his desk. “Where's Harry?”

“At the Ministry in a meeting,” Weasley told her. His smile seemed forced. “Does he know you're back?”

“He ought to. I sent him an owl a week ago, but he hasn't written back once. He's going to have to take me out for a very nice dinner to make up for it.”

“Oh, come on,” Weasley said, winking at Draco. “You know how he is.”

Draco smiled. He did indeed know how Potter was.

“Anyway, I dropped in to remind him that we've a reservation for tonight. I've no doubt he's forgotten that it's the anniversary of our first date.”

Draco's smile faded. He saw Weasley glance at him and look back at Chang.

“Is it?”

“Can you believe I've put up with him for an entire year?” she said with a dramatic sigh. “I cut things short to get back here in time, not that he'll appreciate it.”

Weasley's eyes narrowed. “As much as you complain about him, I'm surprised you haven't moved on.”

Chang laughed, flipping her hair again. “Love is funny that way, isn't it?”

Draco felt as if he'd been punched in the gut.

And at that moment, Potter walked through the door. Everyone turned to look at him. From the expression on his face, he was quite surprised to see Chang standing there.

“Harry!” she cried, and flung her arms around him. Potter looked shocked, but plastered on an awkward smile when she pulled back to face him.

“You're back,” he said, pointedly not looking at Draco.

“For a whole week,” she said, straightening the collar of his shirt. “And you've forgotten what day it is, haven't you?” The expression on his face made it clear that he had. She made a sound of mock exasperation and kissed him. “It's a good thing I made all the arrangements, then. I'll drop by to pick you up at 7:00 .” She stepped back and grinned at Draco and Weasley. “I've got to run – meetings all afternoon.” With that, she disapparated.

The room was silent for several seconds. Potter had flushed red and was staring at the floor in front of him. Weasley looked uncomfortable.

Draco's heart had landed somewhere below his stomach. He took a deep breath, and then leveled a glare at Potter.

“You… have a girlfriend?”

Potter's face went from red to white. “Well… sort of.”

“Sort of?” Draco repeated, shaking his head. He didn't know how to describe what he was feeling. It was all jumbled up in his chest, a mixture of rage and jealousy and disappointment, and it hurt. “You sort of have a girlfriend?”

“Draco–” Potter began.

“When the fuck were you going to mention this?” Draco asked. He was dimly aware that his voice was raised, but he didn't care.

“I think I'll just go out for a coffee,” Weasley blurted, reaching for his coat. He didn't look at either of them as he disappeared through the door.

“Please don't,” Potter said, leaning back against his desk.

“Don't what?” Draco retorted. “Don't get upset about this? Don't be angry that you deliberately misled me?”

“I never misled you,” Potter snapped. “You never asked if I was dating anyone.”

Draco gaped at him. “I figured the fact that you fucked me precluded the question!”

“It's not that serious. It's just been a thing.”

“It sounds pretty serious to me. She seems to think so, at least.”

Potter looked confused for a split second, and then scowled. “What do you care anyway? I thought this was just about sex.”

It was a moment before Draco could reply. That comment hurt much more than he would have expected it to. “You know that's not true,” he said. He couldn't bring himself to say any more.

Potter just stared at him, a strange look on his face. Neither of them said anything for several seconds. It was all Draco could do not to hurl himself at Potter, to hit him or shout at him, to throttle him for this.

He'd said himself that it meant nothing. He'd said it not two nights ago, and he'd meant it at the time. But it wasn't true – it had meant something, something he hadn't admitted to himself until now.

“I have to go back,” Potter said at last, his voice rough. “I just popped in to pick up some files. Can we talk later? Tonight?”

“You have a date,” Draco replied, his voice flat. “It's your anniversary.” He couldn't look at Potter, not now. He was actually relieved that Potter had to go; he didn't think he could bear to be in the same room with him much longer.

“Right,” Potter said. “I'll… I have to go.” He picked up a package from his desk and walked through the door.

Draco sank into his chair, feeling numb.

:: :: :: :: ::

Weasley returned fifteen minutes later, holding a paper cup in each hand. He glanced around the room and appeared relieved to find Draco alone. He stopped before Draco's desk and held out one of the cups. “Latte?”

Draco took it, looking up at him. “Sure. Thanks.”

Weasley waved his wand and the chair from his desk scooted across the room. He sat across from Draco. “So he didn't tell you about her?”

Draco snorted in response.

Weasley took a sip from his cup and nodded. “I'm not surprised. They've been dating for about a year, but he doesn't seem to think it's serious.”

“How can you date someone that long and not think it's serious?” Draco didn't even try to keep the bitterness out of his tone.

“She travels a lot, for one thing. They only see each other a week out of every month.” Draco scowled and Weasley shrugged. “I'm not trying to make excuses for him, but the thing is… he really doesn't like her all that much.”

“Then why does he go out with her at all?”

Weasley gave him an odd look. “Well, she's hot, for one thing. I hear she's a tiger in bed, too. What bloke could say no to that?” Draco gave him a long look, and Weasley's lips quirked into a smile. “Anyway, he's never really dated much, and when she pursued him, he went along with it. Hermione thinks it was easier for him than being alone.”

“If you're trying to make me feel better–”

“I'm not. Harry's my best friend, and I care about him. I want him be happy.”

Draco frowned. “What are you saying?”

Weasley leaned back in his chair. “Look, Hermione and I have been trying to talk to him about this for months, but he won't listen. He's not happy with Cho, but he won't break it off.”

“Why not?”

“Dunno. Maybe he's just afraid of how she would react. He's had enough conflict in his life.” Weasley's expression changed, and he looked guilty and troubled. “I hate the way she treats him. We had them over for dinner once, and it drove us mad to watch her treat him like a child.”

“Hermione doesn't like her either?” Draco was starting to enjoy this conversation.

Weasley bit his lip and hesitated, twisting a ring he wore on his right hand. He looked up at Draco. “I'm going to say something to you, Malfoy, and if you ever repeat it, I will deny it completely.”

“Okay.”

“I want you to break them up. Submarine it, bust it up – whatever it takes.” He met Draco's eyes, the expression on his face solemn. “If you care about him at all, take him away from her.”

Draco couldn't speak for a moment. He stared at Weasley, slack-jawed. “I… but you said the other day–”

“I know. But I would rather see him heartbroken by you than wind up married to her. And that's where this is going – she's told Hermione as much, and I know him. He'll go along with it because he thinks it's what he's supposed to do. He'd be miserable for the rest of his life, and he doesn't deserve that.”

“He says he's not gay,” Draco replied. It was the only thing he could think of to say.

Weasley's lips twisted, and he sipped his coffee. “Well, he's not straight either. I know that for a fact.”

Draco found he could only nod his head. He hadn't expected Weasley to be sympathetic, let alone encouraging.

“Right,” Weasley said, standing and sending his chair back across the room. “Back to work, then.”

Draco stared at the papers on his desk for a long time after that, unable to think about anything other than Potter.

:: :: :: :: ::

Draco ate in the train station that night – ridiculously expensive fast-food sushi – and then picked up a few bottles of beer at Sainsburys before heading back to his room. He watched a film on television and drank himself into a buzz, and tried very hard not to think about what Potter and Chang were doing at that moment.

He was awakened by the shift of the mattress as someone sat on his bed. He sat up and fumbled for his wand, cursing. After a moment, his eyes adjusted to the dim light of the still-playing television, and he could see who his intruder was.

“Fucking hell, Potter!”

Potter grinned at him. “If you don't want strange wizards popping in, you should put up wards.”

Draco scowled and set his wand aside. Potter was right, of course. “What time is it?”

“After midnight.” Potter slid closer, eyeing Draco almost hungrily.

Draco felt a shiver of pleasure at that look. It cut through his annoyance rather easily. “How was your date?”

“I really don't want to talk about it right now.”

Potter kissed him, and Draco stiffened and pulled away. “You had sex with her, didn't you?”

Potter's face fell, and he sat back. “Well… she sort of attacked me.”

“What, in the restaurant?”

“No.” Potter ran a hand through his hair, something Draco had come to realize was a nervous gesture. “At my flat.”

Draco could only gape at him. “You took her back to your flat?”

Potter looked frustrated and embarrassed at the same time. “Yes, but all I could think about was you. I could even smell you on the sheets, and I…” He broke off and looked away.

Despite his jealousy, Draco felt a stab of glee at the thought of Chang getting fucked on sheets stained with his own spunk. Take him away from her – Weasley's words drifted through his mind again as Draco studied Potter's face. He didn't look happy. The fact that he'd come to Draco afterwards, apparently still horny, said a lot.

“Take a shower,” Draco told him, his voice firm and cool. “And use soap. I don't want to smell her on you, anywhere.”

Potter stared at him a moment more, and then stood. The light from the television flickered over him as he began to strip off his clothes. He kept his eyes focused on Draco's the entire time, expressionless. When he was finally naked, he let Draco's eyes rake over him for a few seconds before he turned and walked into the bathroom.

The moment he was out of sight, Draco sighed and flopped onto his back. He was not going to lose his head. He was going to enjoy himself, and that was all. Potter wanted him, and that was enough for now.

Potter took him seriously about washing well; he was in the shower a good ten minutes. He was still damp when he stretched out next to Draco, and he smelled of the hotel's French-milled soap. He stared at Draco in the dim light, looking almost anxious.

Draco waited a moment more before kissing him, hard. He was going to do this his way tonight: it would be hard and fast and rough. If Potter liked women who were aggressive in bed, then Draco would show him one better.

He pushed Potter's arms over his head and held them there with one hand while he reached for his wand. He broke the kiss long enough to cast a spell – red tendrils of light emerged from his wand and bound Potter's wrists to the headboard. Potter's eyes widened, but he didn't say anything.

Draco didn't waste time on foreplay. He cast a few preparatory spells and pressed into Potter, ignoring the grimace on his face. He leaned forward, close enough to kiss him, but didn't.

“Did you fuck her?” he whispered against Potter's lips just as he started to pull out again.

“Yes,” Potter hissed, his eyes locked on Draco's.

The slow slide out was exquisite. Draco held his breath and pushed back in. Potter closed his eyes. His face looked more relaxed than it had a moment ago, but he still seemed uncomfortable.

“Did she suck you?” Draco let his lips brush against Potter's as he spoke. He felt Potter gasp.

“Yes.”

“Did you eat her?”

“Yes.” Potter tried to kiss him, but Draco pulled away just enough that he couldn't reach.

He changed the angle of his thrusting, and Potter's mouth fell open. “But she can't make you feel like this, can she?”

Potter's response was a strangled groan. Draco reached between them to pull at Potter's cock as he moved, watching his face. He looked so vulnerable writhing under Draco with his hands bound above his head, and the mix of pain and pleasure on his face was unbearably erotic. Draco wanted to kiss him, but he didn't. He just moved, concentrating on making it as good for Potter as he possibly could.

It was on the tip of Draco's tongue to demand that Potter not go near Chang again. Potter would probably even agree now, when he was on the verge of orgasm. Draco closed his eyes. Maybe he would say it later, but not tonight. Tonight he simply wanted to remind Potter what he could give him.

Within minutes, Potter came hard, biting his lip and moaning. Draco finally kissed him then, muffling his cries and pounding into him even harder than before. Potter relaxed beneath him and panted.

Draco had been focusing so much on Potter, he hadn't realized he was close to coming himself. He clenched his jaw when he felt it begin, trying not to cry out. He braced his hands on the bed on either side of Potter, groaning through his clenched teeth.

“God,” Potter said when Draco finally stopped moving. He wriggled, and Draco pulled away and stretched out next to him. Potter blinked at him for a moment. “Are you going to…?”

“You can stay, Potter. I won't kick you out.”

“Untie me, actually?”

Draco grinned. “I think I might just keep you like this. I like it.”

To Draco's surprise, Potter grinned back. “Could you bind my hands elsewhere, at least? I'm getting a cramp.”

Draco fumbled for his wand and waved it in the direction of Potter's hands without looking. A moment later, Potter was rubbing at his wrists and staring at the ceiling.

“I didn't know it could feel like that.”

Draco yawned. “Like what?”

“That good. That was intense.”

Draco smiled. “Go to sleep, Potter.”

“You could at least call me ‘Harry', considering you just tied me up and fucked me.”

“Go to sleep, Harry.”

:: :: :: :: ::

Saturday, 3 February, 2001

“Is that really the time?” Potter mumbled, leaning over Draco to stare at the clock.

“Yes,” Draco said, curling an arm around him. Potter was warm and Draco didn't want him to get up yet.

Potter rested his cheek on Draco's chest. “I have to go.”

“But it's Saturday…”

Potter sighed and kissed Draco before climbing over him and out of bed. He disappeared into the bathroom.

Draco yawned and squinted at the clock. It was nearly 10:00 . He fumbled for the remote and turned the television on. The picture was blurry and he had to accio his glasses from across the room. He searched through the channels and stopped on the BBC World Service.

“–and that's what they're now saying, Richard.” The picture on the screen was split to show a correspondent in a busy London Street and an anchorman in the studio.

“So the earlier witnesses who claim to have heard multiple explosions are now all recanting their stories? Isn't that a bit odd?”

The correspondent nodded. “It certainly seems to be, but a dozen people are now denying having heard these explosions in central London. The authorities haven't been able to locate the source, so it looks as if all is well.”

The anchor shook his head and smiled at the camera. “There you have it. This morning's widespread reports of several car bombs seem to have been–”

Draco turned to see Potter standing next to him, staring at the television. He looked horrified.

Draco gasped, understanding flooding him. “Diagon Alley!”

They dressed as quickly as they could. They argued for a moment over whether or not they should apparate into a situation they knew nothing about, but ultimately decided to do it back to back, wands at the ready. Draco pulled a knit cap over his head, hoping that between that and his glasses, he would be difficult to recognize.

Neither of them were prepared for what they would find.

Large parts of Diagon Alley had been reduced to smoking rubble. People in various stages of injury were stumbling around, calling for loved ones or just looking numb. It appeared that there had been a series of explosions, planted haphazardly along the winding streets. Aurors were already swarming the scene, casting spells to stabilize rubble and move injured people to safety. A dusty haze hung in the air, giving the scene a dreamlike quality.

“Harry!” someone called. A man came towards them, waving his arms. “We could use your help down that way.” He pointed, and Potter nodded and started off that direction.

Draco scrambled after him. “So this was it,” he panted as they jogged down the cobbled street. “This was what my father said was going to happen.”

Potter didn't respond, and Draco felt a twist in his gut. Could he have prevented this? He could have tried harder to get Lucius to tell him what was going to happen.

They rounded a corner into an area where no help had yet arrived, and Potter froze in his tracks. He grew pale to the point of looking green. Draco followed his gaze to a half-destroyed shopfront, and it was a moment before he recognized where he was.

“Fred!” Potter called, scrambling towards the rubble. “George!”

“Harry, wait!” Draco called, running after him. “You don't know if it's stable, or–”

Potter disappeared from view into the rubble. Draco stood in the street, not sure if he should follow. He heard strange sounds coming from within the smoldering heap, as if large objects were being moved with great force. A moment later, Potter apparated in front of him, holding a limp form in his arms. It was one of the Weasley twins – which one Draco couldn't tell.

“Take him to–”

A groaning sound from the shop next door cut Potter off. They stared at each other and listened. They could hear people crying out all around them – cries of pain, cries for help, wordless moans.

Draco took a deep breath, trying not to feel overwhelmed. “Is he alive?”

Potter's face was blank. “I don't know. I have to go back inside.”

Draco helped Potter ease the body to the ground, then watched as he disappeared. Draco stared down at the pale face, smudged with dirt, eyes staring up at him blankly.

They worked for twenty minutes on their own, pulling bodies and survivors from the rubble. They sent up sparks to call for help, but there weren't enough people on the scene yet, and no one came to help them.

“Fucking Fallin,” Harry hissed as he eased the other Weasley twin, who was groaning and clutching his leg, to the ground. “He sends Aurors out to obliviate every Muggle who heard the attack, but not to help us here?”

Draco couldn't answer. He'd been digging through the rubble to reach a child whose arm he'd spotted, but the arm turned out to be all there was.

The work went on for hours, so long that Draco lost any sense of time. Others eventually came – healers, Aurors, survivors who weren't injured. The sun set and they worked by wand and torchlight. Draco had no idea what time it was when someone took his hand and pulled him away, down the street and into a café that hadn't been damaged. He was given a cup of tea and a pastry, and he sat against the wall and ate neither.

No one looked at him or spoke to him for a long time. His face was streaked with dirt and blood, so he doubted anyone would recognize him anyway. After what might have been hours, someone settled beside him and touched his shoulder.

“Draco?”

It was Chang. Her face was as dirty as his, her eyes bloodshot and her dusty hair tied back. She looked concerned. “I thought that was you. Are you all right?”

Draco just stared back at her. How could he answer that question? How could she even ask it under these circumstances?

“Harry was looking for you before.” She stood, her expression grim. “He had to tell Molly Weasley that her husband and son are dead.”

Draco felt an odd chill. “Ron?”

“He was working in another part of the district last I heard. I don't know if he knows yet.”

Draco remembered the lifeless eyes of one of the Weasley twins staring up at him then, and he forced himself to his feet. “Where's Harry now?”

They found him sitting alone in the ruins of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. He didn't look up when they came in.

“I'm leaving in the morning,” he said, his voice hollow. “I have to finish it.”

Cho stared at him, and Draco wasn't sure if she knew what he was talking about or not. “I want to help you,” she said.

“You can't,” Potter told her, finally looking up. “No one can, not any more.”

“They want us at the Ministry for a briefing in half an hour,” she said. Her voice was tentative.

“I'm not going. Not when I'm needed here.”

She stared at him a moment more, then nodded and gave Draco's arm a squeeze as she left.

Draco watched Potter for a moment before settling on the ground next to him. They sat in silence for a long time.

“I can't tell you where I'm going,” Potter said at last.

“It's all right,” Draco replied. “You don't have to.”

Potter leaned against him and sighed, sounding immensely tired.

:: :: :: :: ::

Draco pointed his wand at the large wooden doors of the castle, and they opened with a groan. He stalked across the foyer and into the dining room where he'd had breakfast with his father only days ago. He didn't know why he'd expected to find his father there at this hour, but Lucius was there.

Draco knew he looked horrible, and he didn't care. He stopped before Lucius and glared down at him.

Lucius's eyes narrowed, but he didn't look surprised to see Draco. “I wondered when you would come.”

“Did you know?” Draco spat. His fingers tightened around his wand.

Lucius didn't flinch. “I didn't know it would be so extensive. I was under the impression that a few shops belonging to Muggle-borns would be targeted, but I–”

“And you didn't think that other people would be harmed? Five people I knew from school – Purebloods , no less – are dead! And that doesn't begin to account for the children and–”

Lucius stood then and towered over Draco, glaring. “I am not to blame for this! Don't you dare insinuate–”

“You could have stopped it!” Draco shouted. “You could have told me something, and I could have–”

“I didn't know,” Lucius said through gritted teeth.

“It could have been me!”

“It was your mother,” Lucius shouted. “Why do you think I've been working against the Dark Lord this last year? Why do you think I've been doing all of this?” Lucius's eyes blazed, and it was all Draco could do not to shrink back. “Wizards have been dying for months – good people who have always supported our cause. The Dark Lord has killed and maimed them alongside Muggles and Mudbloods.” He leaned forward and his voice lowered to a hoarse whisper. “I have sacrificed more than you can possibly know to fight him, while you've been doing Merlin knows what in America , not even bothering to attend your dying mother.”

Draco clenched his jaw, anger swirling through him with such strength he could barely contain it. “Don't you dare suggest I didn't care about her. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't regret letting you drive me away.”

“You were the one who left. I tried to help you change your ways, to be a responsible adult and take your place in society, but you refused to cooperate.”

“At least my mother loved me for who I am,” Draco retorted.

“And she died wondering why you didn't love her enough to return to her side at the end of her life, to be the man she raised you to be.”

“Shut up!” Draco growled, pressing his wand into Lucius's throat. He was shaking and in danger of losing control of his emotions, but he couldn't stop himself. “Or I'll kill you – I swear it.”

Lucius's smile was cruel, and he didn't look frightened.

Draco stalked away before his father could see the pain in his eyes.

:: :: :: :: ::

Monday, 5 February, 2001

Draco was alone in the office all day. Weasley was with his grieving family, and Potter was still gone. Draco had spent all of Sunday working in Diagon Alley, but by the end of the day he was starting to get suspicious looks from the Aurors who were running the cleanup operation. No one knew he was in the country, and he didn't need to attract attention to himself. Besides, the effort was more organized by midday , and he was no longer needed.

Weasley had a subscription to the Daily Prophet, and it had been delivered by a scruffy-looking owl that morning. On the front page was a story about Potter's heroics on the scene and his mysterious absence afterwards. There was speculation that he had gone off to find those responsible on his own. And for all Draco knew, that was true. Potter hadn't corresponded with him at all, and Draco didn't know if he should even expect it.

He turned the page of the newspaper and scanned the stories there. The details were still trickling out of the Ministry's information office. A third of the buildings in Diagon Alley had been destroyed, and 47 people were killed. More than 200 were injured on top of that, and St. Mungo's was filled to capacity. The funerals were just starting, and the political cleanup was yet to come.

Draco shifted in his chair and groaned – he hurt in places he didn't know he had muscles. He felt lost and useless, and he was uncertain what he should do about that. He didn't want to think about the devastation he had seen, but it was there all the same, waiting for him to close his eyes.

He spent the afternoon searching through Potter's and Weasley's desks, looking for any information about their plan. He found nothing.

When Chang showed up at the end of the day to invite him to dinner, he was relieved to have someone to talk to at last.

:: :: :: :: ::

“I've been here before,” Draco remarked, looking around at the Indian restaurant's colorful interior. “With Harry.”

Chang smiled. “He likes this place. He's funny that way – he finds a few restaurants he likes and sticks with them. He's not exactly the adventurous type.”

Draco kept his eyes on his menu and smiled. “I suppose.”

“So have you heard from him?”

“No. I'm surprised you haven't, considering.”

Chang sighed. “Just because I'm his girlfriend doesn't mean he tells me anything.”

“Surprising considering who you work for, I meant. Why would you think I would know where he is?”

She took a sip of water and shrugged. “You're working together on this project. And he seems to like you quite a lot. I thought he might trust you with that information.”

“If he did, he wouldn't want me to share it with anyone else.”

Chang's smile looked forced, which made Draco smile a bit wider.

“So you two have been together for a year? Sounds serious.”

“It is, I think. You know Harry, though – he can be so oblivious. He didn't even know it was our anniversary the other day.” She grinned and winked. “He made it up to me, though.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Did he?”

She paused, as if lost in a daydream for a moment. “What do you think of him?”

Draco shrugged. “I like him, I suppose.”

“He talks about you as if you two were becoming good friends.”

“That's good to know. I hope we are.”

She grinned. “So do I. It would be fantastic if we could all be friends. I despise hanging around with Ron and Hermione all the time. They don't like me.”

“Don't they?” Draco tried to look shocked.

“They think I'm not good enough for him, I imagine. They've no idea how much he cares about me, though.” She smiled again. “So tell me – are you dating anyone right now?”

Draco forced a smile. “No. Not really.”

Chang's lips twisted a bit, as if she found something funny. “I have a friend I would love set you up with. You two would have so much in common!”

“Would we?” Draco wondered if she had any idea he was gay.

The waiter brought their first course, interrupting the conversation. Chang waited until he was out of earshot. “He works at the Ministry, and he's adorable as well. Just your type, I'd imagine.”

Draco smirked. “And how would you know my type?”

Chang grinned and didn't reply.

:: :: :: :: ::

He was awakened in the middle of the night by Potter kissing him. At first, he thought he must be dreaming, but when Potter's mouth closed over his prick, the rush of sensation made him gasp.

Potter crawled back over him and wrapped his fingers around both of their erections, pressing spit-slick skin together. Potter came first, then took his time pulling Draco off. Draco curled into him afterwards and went back to sleep.

:: :: :: :: ::

Tuesday, 6 February, 2001

He woke up alone.

There was a note for him in the enamel box: Sorry to wake you. I just needed to touch you.

Draco put the note in his pocket and wrote Potter back: You can touch me whenever you want.

Weasley was back at the office that morning, looking tired and numb.

“I'm sorry about…” Draco began, standing awkwardly in front of Weasley's desk.

Weasley nodded and gave him a weak smile. “The funeral was yesterday.”

“I would've come.” He hadn't even thought to ask anyone about it. Of course, he didn't really have anyone to ask.

“It's all right,” Weasley told him. “No one is supposed to know you're here, after all.”

Draco took a deep breath. “Do you know where Harry is?”

Weasley shook his head.

“Do you know what he's doing?”

“Yes. But I can't tell you.”

“I know,” Draco replied, looking away. “I just… want to do something to help him. I feel useless.”

Weasley sighed. “We all do, Malfoy.”

An owl from Weasley's mother arrived shortly before lunch and he left, saying he probably wouldn't be back that day. Draco checked the small box for a note from Potter every half hour. It remained empty.

Chang showed up in time to invite him to lunch, and he didn't hesitate to accept the offer. They went shopping afterwards, something that was mildly entertaining. Chang seemed excited by the prospect of being friends with Draco, and he pretended to be enthusiastic in return. It was better than being alone.

They avoided talking about the disaster in Diagon Alley, but Draco wasn't really surprised. Walking around Muggle London, it was easy to pretend it hadn't happened at all. It was only when he was alone that the images filled his mind. Chattering with Chang about whether Potter would look better in a green or a red shirt was easier.

“Have you heard from him?” she asked, holding both shirts up and squinting at them.

“No. I'm trying not to worry.”

“I suppose he can't send an owl from wherever he is,” she said, putting the green shirt away. “But then, he never was good about owling me.”

Draco smiled, fingering the note in his pocket.

“I have to get back to work,” she said as they left the shop. “Do you have any plans tonight? We should go out.”

Draco kept his expression neutral. With everything that was going on, the last thing he wanted to do was hit the clubs. “What did you have in mind?”

“We could meet for drinks. I don't know about you, but I'll need one by then.”

Draco sighed. “Me too.”

:: :: :: :: ::

Potter sent him two notes that afternoon. The first simply said, How are you?, to which Draco replied honestly. The second said, I'll try to visit you tonight.

Draco struggled to focus on something other than Potter or the Diagon Alley attacks, but it was difficult. He rifled through his bag, looking for a book that had an interesting chapter about memory spells in it, and found instead the paper written by the American professor, the one she'd posted to him just before he left New York . He remembered stuffing it in his bag a few days before.

He went to the Pret down the street and read it over a latte. He was only halfway through the paper when he realized he had found the answer he needed – what they all needed. The paper described an old spell that would bind together people who wanted to commit and act of treason or robbery, something they needed to be able to trust each other to complete and keep secret afterwards. The paper even gave enough information for Draco to piece together how the spell was done. It required a potion that looked fairly straightforward to brew, though some of the ingredients might be hard to find.

Draco's heart pounded in his chest as he thought about it. Potter and Weasley had a plan for capturing Voldemort – he was sure of it. The binding spell would provide a reason for them to trust him enough to let him help them. They needed him, more than they knew.

He spent the rest of the afternoon studying the spell and writing out the procedure for brewing the potion. He compiled a list of materials he'd need and gave it to the house-elf Ebby when he returned to the hotel. The elf seemed grateful to have a task at last, and thanked him half a dozen times before he threatened to kick it if it didn't get straight to work.

:: :: :: :: ::

Potter didn't come that night. Draco had thought of little else during his evening out with Chang, and had even cut it short, claiming to be tired.

He lay in the darkness and stared at the ceiling, waiting and worrying. His fingers traced the lines of his mother's bracelet, something that ordinarily soothed him – but not this time. He felt helpless, and he hated waiting.

And then it was morning, and he was still alone.

 

:: :: :: :: ::

:: :: :: :: ::

Wednesday, 7 February, 2001

Draco yawned – he hadn't slept well, and it was early to be out and about. He hadn't managed to get to the office this early in the morning in the entire time he'd been in London . It was chilly, which made him glad for the warm cup of coffee he'd picked up on his walk to the office. He shifted his bag on his shoulder and wrapped his hands around the cup.

“Elphaba,” he said, and stepped through the weather-beaten door of the antique shop.

“–going to get rid of Malfoy?” was the first thing he heard. Weasley and Potter were already there. They turned to look at him with expressions of surprise on their faces, and there was a second of stunned silence.

Draco stared back, clenching his jaw. He had expected this to happen at some point, and though he ought to have been relieved to see Potter again, now he was just annoyed. “Well? How are you going to get rid of me, then?”

Weasley winced and looked away, but Potter held his gaze. “Draco–”

“Don't patronize me.” Draco put his bag and coffee down and folded his arms over his chest. “I'm not stupid, you know. You've had a plan all along, and you don't trust me enough to tell me what it is.”

Potter sighed and leaned against his desk. “It's not about trust. It's about not dragging you into something that isn't your concern.”

Draco gaped at him. “Stopping Voldemort isn't my concern?”

“No,” Weasley said, looking at him now. “It isn't. Your father is paying you to make sure we do things his way, which we don't plan to do.”

“Ron,” Potter warned, but Weasley just gave him a sharp look. Potter turned back to Draco. “This isn't your fight. It's mine. And I intend to do it alone.”

Weasley groaned. “You aren't doing this alone.”

Potter turned to look at him, and Draco saw for the first time how exhausted he appeared. He had circles under his eyes, as if he hadn't slept well in days. He had a painful-looking scrape down his arm, and he kept one hand pressed against his abdomen as if he were in pain. Potter shook his head. “You have children who need you. I know what it's like to be an orphan, and that's not what you want for them.”

“What I want is for my kids to grow up in a world that isn't terrorized by an insane Dark Lord,” Weasley replied. “If you fail because I wasn't there to back you up, that's what we'll be left with.”

“You're not going,” Potter said.

“I promised you I would do this, and I meant it.” Weasley's face was pale; he looked tired as well. “You won't be rid of me so easily.”

“Nor of me,” Draco said. They both turned to look at him, and Draco took a deep breath. “He murdered my mother. I want him to pay for that.”

“He's murdered a lot of people,” Weasley said, a hard edge to his voice. “Your personal grudge isn't good enough.”

“Ron, don't,” Potter said, his voice gravelly. “It isn't that I don't trust you two. It's just that… I don't expect to survive this, and there's no reason to take either of you with me.”

Weasley looked pained, but Draco rolled his eyes. “Fuck the martyr complex, Potter. You need help, and we're willing to give it to you. Three are stronger than one. Besides, how can you expect to trap the Dark Lord all alone?”

Weasley and Potter exchanged a look. “We have a plan,” Weasley said. “And we don't need your help.”

“Actually, we do need something,” Potter said. “We need you to tell Lucius it's time.”

Draco glared at him. “You could send a fucking owl.”

“Why bother, when we have you?” Weasley retorted.

“Fuck you,” Draco spat. “I've played your little game from the moment I got here. I've been patient. I've even been nice. Yet, I'm treated like the red-headed stepchild –something you must understand, Weasley. The point that neither of you seem to grasp is that I have no particular loyalty to my father.”

“You have no loyalty to anyone,” Weasley replied. “That is the problem.”

Draco looked at Potter. “That isn't true, and you know it.”

Potter stared back at him for a moment, and something flashed in his eyes before resolution set back in. He looked away and sighed, pressing the hand that had been clutching his stomach to his forehead. “This is pointless. We've had a plan in place for years, and the final obstacle was removed last night. It's time. That's all you need to know, Draco.”

Draco looked at both of them in turn, but their faces were stony. They meant to exclude him, as if he were just another obstacle in their way. He took a deep breath, then rummaged through his bag and pulled out the tattered article. Its corners were folded and he'd scribbled notes all in the margins, but he held it before him as if it were a sacred text. “You don't trust me, and I can't say I blame you. But there's a spell for that.”

Weasley rolled his eyes. “What, imperius?”

“Perfidio,” Draco said, gesturing with the article. “It's an old spell, something I found in my research. If we do it, it will bind us together. We won't be able to lie to each other or betray each other, and afterwards…” He paused to look at each of them in turn. “Afterwards, we'll never be able to tell anyone what we did.”

Potter blinked at him for a moment, and then took the paper. He flipped through it, skimming the pages.

“You can't be seriously considering this,” Weasley said to Potter. “A spell to bind us together?”

Potter didn't respond for a long time, and then looked up at Draco. “You would do this?”

“I would,” Draco said.

“This says that the spell must be cast only a few hours before the deed is done,” Potter said. “You would have to agree before you know what the plan is.”

Draco took a shaky breath. “And then I wouldn't be able to refuse to participate. I would be pledging myself to this task without knowing what it was.”

Potter blinked at him, temporarily speechless.

“You would just have to trust us?” Weasley asked. “Why would you do that?”

Draco's eyes were fixed on Potter's. “I have my reasons.” They stared at each other for a long moment.

“All right,” Potter said at last.

“What?” Weasley spat, whirling to face him. “Are you insane? Harry–”

“You said you wanted to help me,” Potter told him. “Then this is what we'll do. Are you in or out?”

Weasley clenched his jaw and looked back and forth between them. At last he sighed and rubbed at his eyes. “Fine. I'm in. But I have a bad feeling about this.”

:: :: :: :: ::

Draco went over the details of the spell with Weasley and Potter until they left for lunch with Weasley's family. Draco wasn't invited, but he didn't mind.

Of course, he wished he had something to do other than meet Cho Chang for lunch. They'd made plans the night before, and Draco didn't want to go to the trouble of canceling now. She was entertaining, in her own way.

“Harry owled me this morning,” she said, grinning at him from across the table at the bistro they'd chosen. “I'm so relieved he's back.”

Draco frowned behind his teacup. When had that happened? He hadn't seen Harry send an owl that morning, nor had Harry contacted him before coming in. He swallowed down his jealousy and forced a smile. “Me too.”

She pushed lettuce around on her plate, a dreamy expression on her face. “So I've been wondering… what does he say about me?”

“Sorry?” Draco asked, stalling. The first thing that popped into his mind was She's terrible at giving head.

“He must talk about me every now and then. What does he say?”

Draco shrugged. “We don't talk about that sort of thing.”

“Well… do you know what he wants to talk to me about tonight?”

“Tonight? I'm not sure what you mean.”

Cho blushed, looking very girlish. “In the owl he sent this morning, he asked me to come to his flat at 8:00. He said he had something important to talk to me about.” She grinned again.

“Ah,” was all Draco could say. Jealousy speared through him, and it was all he could do not to frown.

“Do you think he… I mean, it's been a year, and with everything that's happened this week…” She paused and leaned forward, continuing in a whisper, “I think he might ask me to marry him.” She bit her lip and waited for Draco's response.

He kept his expression as neutral as possible. “He hasn't said anything to me.” His stomach was twisted into a knot.

That couldn't be it – not after everything that had happened between them. Not with Potter fervently pursuing a death wish. Besides, he didn't even consider his relationship with Chang serious. She was jumping to conclusions, of course. It was wishful thinking. Probably.

“We'll have to have a long engagement, of course. It's not proper to do it quickly. People will think I'm pregnant!” She giggled.

Draco's mouth twisted. She was deluded – that must be it. He toyed with the idea of telling her that he'd been fucking her boyfriend more than she had lately. He'd love to see the expression on her face. He had no idea what Potter was going to talk to her about tonight, but he doubted it would entail registering for china.

“I hope you'll come to the wedding!” she said, gesturing with her fork. She had abandoned her salad completely. “I shouldn't get ahead of myself, I know, but I can't help it. Oh, Draco, I hope you'll find someone like Harry some day!”

Draco choked on his tea, but she was staring off into space, smiling – probably mentally testing variations of Cho Potter and Cho Chang Potter. Draco fought the urge to hurl his knife at her.

Cho gasped as if she had forgotten something important. “Oh! I talked to Nigel – the one I was telling you about – and he's single at the moment. I didn't mention your name, of course, but I told him I had a friend I wanted to introduce him to.” She beamed at him. “What are you doing Friday night? We should all go out, the four of us – and you can meet Nigel!”

Draco gritted his teeth. “Actually, I'm not interested in dating anyone at the moment.”

“You'd love him,” she replied, ignoring his response. “You need a relationship, I think. It would be good for you. Someone to talk to and spend time with. Well, someone other than me, of course!” She nodded and smiled at him, as if the matter were settled.

Draco gave her a cool smile and didn't reply.

The chatter continued that way through lunch. Draco was relieved when they had finally finished their food. He was planning to pay his father a visit that afternoon, and after an hour with Chang, he was actually looking forward to it.

Chang looped her arm through his as they stepped out onto the street. “I'm not sure what I ought to wear tonight. What do you think? If Harry were proposing to you, what would you want to look like?”

“Not like a woman,” Draco replied.

She laughed. “Fancy knickers at least, don't you think? He's going to get quite a reward tonight. I'll have to tell you all about it tomorrow. I hope I don't cry! Harry doesn't like it when I cry.”

“I'm going this way,” Draco said, pulling away from her.

“Right, see you!” she called and started down the street.

Draco watched her for a moment, even finding her cheerful gait annoying. She was delusional, but he doubted Potter would enlighten her. He was probably just feeling guilty about all the sex with Draco. Maybe he was even planning a romantic evening to distract her from any suspicions she might have. After all, Potter wasn't serious about either of them. Draco scowled.

And then he was struck with an idea. He nearly laughed – it was just too clever.

“Cho!” he called, jogging after her. She turned. “I almost forgot – when I left to meet you, Harry told me to tell you to make it seven. I didn't know what it meant before, but I suppose it's about tonight?”

“Oh, thanks!” she said. “Maybe he didn't want to wait.” She grinned and made a squeaking sound. “If you learn any more, owl me, okay? I hate surprises, so I'd rather know what he's planning.”

Draco smiled, almost leered. “I'll do that.”

:: :: :: :: ::

“I'm surprised you were able to get past Professor Balikka,” Snape said, sitting behind his desk. “She has an uncanny ability to detect intruders on school grounds.”

“I suppose I was lucky,” Draco replied. It was probably best not to mention the FBI-issue concealment spell he'd cast on himself. “I hope you're well?”

“I'm quite busy, Draco. You said it was an emergency?”

Draco pulled the list of ingredients he still needed for the perfidio potion from his bag and handed it to Snape. “I need to acquire some things that aren't available in Britain – at least not on such short notice.”

Snape raised an eyebrow. “I can't imagine what one would need alligator bile for.”

Draco kept his expression guarded. “I'd hoped you could suggest substitutions.”

“I'm not certain what magical properties some of these would contain.” Snape frowned. “I suppose it's best if I don't ask what you're doing.”

“I suppose so.”

Snape's dark eyes darted over the parchment. He looked much the same as he had done three years ago when Draco left Hogwarts, though the years had aged him more than Draco would have imagined.

After several minutes of silence, Snape reached for a quill and began to write notes on the page.

:: :: :: :: ::

Ebby appeared when Draco called for her, bowing so low her forehead made an impression in the snow.

“Take this to the castle,” he said, handing her the paper-wrapped package of ingredients he'd picked up in Hogsmeade. “It's almost time for me to begin the potion, so I'll need a secure place to do it within the castle proper.” The elf bowed again and disappeared.

Ten minutes later, Draco was in the drawing room of the castle, waiting for his father to appear. He had been dreading this moment since he'd stalked out late Saturday night – but he'd known it was coming. It was inevitable. He poured himself a scotch and settled into his father's favorite comfortable chair.

Lucius swept into the room a minute later, looking irritated at having been summoned. His eyes narrowed when he saw Draco.

Draco gave him a cool smile. “It's time,” he said, raising the scotch glass to his nose and inhaling its earthy scent.

Lucius's expression changed from suspicion to resignation. “When?”

“Friday. You will tell the Dark Lord that you are holding Harry Potter captive here in this castle. You will honor him with the pleasure of killing Potter himself.”

Lucius raised an eyebrow. “And how did I manage to capture him?”

“You didn't,” Draco said, swirling his scotch. “I did, on your orders. I seduced him, incapacitated him, roughed him up a bit, and then brought him to you. I've always hated him, after all.”

“What else do you require?”

“A place to set the trap. The house-elf told me there is a hidden chamber beneath the castle. It may suit our needs well.” He downed the scotch in one movement.

Lucius nodded and turned to leave the room. “Follow me.”

:: :: :: :: ::

At 6:30, Draco apparated into Potter's flat. To his relief, Potter hadn't recast the wards to lock him out. A bag of groceries sat on the counter in the small kitchen, and the sound of the shower running could be heard.

Draco sighed and settled on the sofa to wait. Ten minutes later, Potter emerged from the bedroom, naked. He started when he saw Draco.

“Got a date, or something?” Draco asked, trying to sound flippant.

Potter scowled and disappeared. He returned a moment later with a towel wrapped around his waist. “What are you doing here?”

“I haven't had a chance to talk to you since you returned,” Draco told him.

“Yes, well…” Potter folded his arms over his bare chest. “I'm a bit busy at the moment.”

“I can see that. When's she coming over?”

“Eight,” Potter said. He didn't seem surprised that Draco knew.

Draco gritted his teeth. “I won't pretend I'm not jealous.”

Potter hesitated for a moment, and then crossed to the sofa and stood before Draco. “You shouldn't be.”

“Oh, really? You've invited your girlfriend over for a cozy, romantic dinner at your flat, which will most certainly end with an evening of sex, and I shouldn't be jealous about it?”

“I'm breaking up with her,” Potter said. He leaned against the arm of the sofa, his bare thigh tantalizingly close.

It was a full second before he could process the words. “You're inviting her over to break up with her?” Potter nodded, and Draco felt a twinge of excitement. “Then why the big production? Why not just meet her somewhere and get it over with?”

“I dunno,” Potter replied, picking at a loose string on the sofa between his thighs. “I thought it would be better to do it in private. She gets… emotional.”

“But you're cooking for her.”

“Well–”

“And you showered.”

“I just went for a run. I was smelly.”

Draco pursed his lips, his mind whirling. He considered telling Potter that Chang thought the conversation tonight would be quite different – but Potter seemed so concerned with easing the blow that he might change his mind if he knew. The situation was nothing like he'd anticipated. He'd been prepared to come here and fight for Potter tonight, but it might not be necessary. Of course, a little insurance couldn't hurt.

He looked back up at Potter, unable to keep himself from smiling. Potter's hair was still damp and hanging around his face, and the towel around his waist was slipping. He glanced down at Draco and smiled. He looked so vulnerable and sweet that Draco's wavering resolve was strengthened. Chang didn't deserve him. Draco wanted him, and he would take care of him better than she ever could. Starting now.

Draco slipped a hand under the towel and grinned. Potter's eyes widened, but he didn't move. Draco slid off the couch and knelt in front of him, tugging at the towel. Potter's prick was already half-hard, and Draco imagined it was just from the sight of Draco on his knees.

“You've got time for this, haven't you?” he asked.

Potter swallowed and nodded.

Draco leaned forward, and Potter's erection grew before his eyes. He tried to go slowly, but the feeling of that hard length under his tongue was difficult to resist. He buried his face in Potter's groin, inhaling the muted scent of him mixed with soap, swirling his tongue against hot skin and moaning from the sheer pleasure of it. Potter was panting above him, his fingers grasping at Draco's head where his hair was too short to clench. Draco made a mental note to grow it out.

Potter made a strangled sound, and Draco pulled away. He swiped his forearm across his mouth and grinned. “Not that fast, Potter. Turn around.”

Potter's eyes were glazed, but he smiled. He stood, draped the towel over the arm of the sofa and turned. Draco pushed him forward so that he was bending over the arm of the sofa. He planted a few playful nips on Potter's arsecheeks, then slid his thumbs between and spread them.

“What are you–” Potter began.

Draco blew against his arsehole and grinned. “I'm going to eat you out.”

“What?!” Potter tensed beneath his hands, and Draco laughed.

“You heard me,” he said, and trailed the tip of his tongue down the crevice, stopping just above his goal. He flicked it there, around and below, not quite touching the hole.

Potter wriggled beneath his mouth. “I'm not sure this is a good idea,” he said, his voice strained. “I mean–” Draco circled his tongue around the hole, and Potter's complaint became a groan.

“Trust me,” Draco said. He let his tongue spiral in until it was pressing lightly against Potter's arsehole. Potter made a whimpering sound.

Draco took his time, intending to drive Potter mad with light flicks and gentle presses in, then kisses and full-on sucking. It was clear that no one had done this to Potter before, and Draco loved the idea of being the first.

Potter relaxed beneath his mouth, and Draco pressed the tip of his tongue into him with little resistance. He heard Potter moan something incoherent as Draco pushed his tongue in as far as he could and wriggled it. He pulled back just a little and pushed in again, fucking him slowly. He sealed his lips against the skin beneath his mouth and sucked as he moved, and felt Potter shudder in response.

“Oh god,” Potter groaned, his voice muffled. “Fuck, that's… fuck.”

“Yeah,” Draco whispered, then went back to work. He felt Potter relax completely, even open up to his mouth and probing tongue. He had often thought about eating Potter out like this, but the reality of it was even better than he'd imagined. Potter was more sensitive than Draco had expected, whimpering at every stroke of Draco's tongue, pushing himself open for more. Draco pressed his tongue inside farther than he would have thought he could, and moaned into Potter's arse. He wriggled the tip of his tongue, wondering if Potter could feel it.

“Fuck me,” Potter said, his voice little more than a whisper.

Draco didn't wait to be asked again. His own cock was straining in his trousers, and he stood and pressed it against Potter's arse, closing his eyes. “God, yes,” he said, unfastening his fly as quickly as he could. He fumbled for his wand to cast the requisite spells, then pushed himself into Potter.

Penetration was easier than usual, but after that particular rimjob, Draco wasn't surprised. He dug his fingers into Potter's hips and stilled for a moment, completely sheathed in him. That first night, it had started with Potter clothed and Draco naked, and now it was the other way around. Draco stared down at Potter's back, amazed at how all of this had happened so quickly. Even when he'd realized his attraction for Potter, somehow he hadn't thought he'd wind up fucking him over his own sofa like this. And if he had his way, it wouldn't stop here.

He leaned forward, sliding one hand along Potter's spine to the base of his skull, then clenched a fistful of dark hair and tugged his head up. “I want you to remember this,” he whispered into his ear, “what this feels like. When you break it off with her, you'll still feel me inside you, fucking you, owning you.”

“Yes,” Potter gasped.

He released Potter's head and moved, slowly pulling out, then pushing back in, hissing at the heat and pressure. He didn't want it to stop, but he was running out of time. It was far too close to 7:00 – Chang would arrive soon, and he really wanted to finish this.

As if on cue, there was a rush of green flame to his right, followed by a startled yelp. Chang was standing just outside the fireplace, a look of horror on her face.

They all stood still for several seconds, no one speaking.

“You're early,” Potter squeaked at last. It was precisely the wrong thing to say, and it was all Draco could do not to laugh. Chang's mouth opened as if to protest, but then her eyes darted to Draco's in disbelief and shock. He didn't resist the urge to smirk at her. Her eyes narrowed then, and he saw that she understood.

“You– you're– how long has this been going on?” Her voice was shaky.

“About twenty minutes,” Draco told her, a lazy sneer on his face. “Too bad you couldn't wait two more.” He was still buried in Potter's arse, and he pulled out a bit and pushed in again, unable to resist fucking him right in front of Chang.

“Draco!” Potter hissed, wriggling.

“I was really close,” Draco muttered, but he pulled out and backed away.

Potter stood and grabbed the towel, holding it in front of his groin – something Draco thought was an odd gesture considering that both people in the room had seen him naked and aroused before.

“That's not what I meant,” Chang said, her voice strained. Her eyes were bright, and she seemed to be struggling not to cry. She stepped toward Potter, her face twisted with pain. “I can't believe after everything we've been through, you would cheat on me – with him.” She shot a glare at Draco.

“It's not cheating,” Potter said, looking a bit like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “It's not as if we were exclusive.”

Chang gaped at him, and the tears began to spill over. “Of course we were! We've even talked about it!”

“You talked about it,” Potter said, with a hint of pain in his voice. “You talked about lots of things, but you never asked me what I wanted.”

“And that is what you want?” she retorted, gesturing at Draco. “Because if it is, I can't compete. I won't even try!”

Potter couldn't see the smirk on Draco's face, but Chang could. She turned to him, her cheeks flushed with anger.

“And you – I should have known you would stab me in the back the first chance you had. You pretended to be my friend. You sat across from me at lunch and listened to me talk about Harry. You knew how I felt about him, and all the while…” Her lip began to quiver then and she stopped. “Oh, god. I can't believe this is happening!”

“Cho,” Potter began, stepping towards her.

“Don't you dare touch me,” she said, backing away from him. “How could you, Harry? The other night, when you made love to me, were you thinking about him?”

Potter stared at her, as if unable to respond.

She hiccupped and wiped at her face with one hand. “And you're gay? I thought you loved me! How could you throw away everything we have together so easily?”

Draco rolled his eyes at her melodramatic words, but Potter seemd to take every one seriously.

“I'm sorry,” he replied, his face crumbling. “I didn't know you felt that way. I would never have–”

“You must think very little of me, then.” She drew herself up as if trying to gather her remaining dignity, and wrapped her coat tightly about herself. “You'll realize what you've lost one day, but it will be too late.”

“Cho, please,” Potter said, stepping towards her again.

“Goodbye, Harry,” she said, her voice high and full of emotion. “I hope you're happy.” She didn't sound like she meant it, though. She shot one more glare at Draco. “You deserve each other.”

Potter took another step toward her, and she disapparated. They both stared at the spot where she had stood, neither of them speaking for several seconds.

“Oh, god,” Potter said. “That was not how I wanted this to go.”

Draco felt a twinge of guilt mixed with his relief. He fastened up his trousers and sighed. “How did you want it to go?”

“I was hoping we could agree to be friends, at least.”

Draco snorted. “The moment she found out about me that would have ended, and you know it. It was just a matter of time.”

Potter turned and stared at him, a strange expression on his face. “Oh, no – please no. You wouldn't have done.”

Draco blinked. “Wouldn't have done what?”

“She was an hour early. That wasn't an accident, was it?”

Draco winced. “I didn't mean for her to walk in on us like that. I thought she'd just catch us being cozy and put two and two together.” It was almost true. He would rather she'd been a few minutes later.

Potter shook his head, incredulous. “I don't believe this. Fuck!”

“Harry–”

“No,” Potter interrupted, stalking towards Draco. “I don't want to hear it. I was happy to see you tonight. And god, you made me feel…” He swallowed and looked away. “But that wasn't about me. You were just using me to get to her, weren't you?”

“Don't be ridiculous!” Draco retorted. “Besides, who's using whom here? First you tell me you don't believe in casual sex, but you have quite a lot of sex with me without much fuss – and then it turns out you've had a girlfriend for more than a year! You fuck around on her, and it's my fault?”

“Come on, that's not fair!”

Draco felt a flash of anger. “You want it both ways, without having to make a commitment, but you can't do that, Harry. You can't have both of us.”

“And you thought you would force me to choose, is that it?”

“She thought you were going to propose to her tonight. Did you know that?” Draco watched Potter's face grow pale, and he shook his head. “She wouldn't have let you break it off. You would have given in the moment she started to sniffle, and then where would you be? Where would we be?”

“You are so fucking arrogant!” Potter spat. “And you clearly don't know me very well. I was going to break up with her, and I was going to tell her about you. I was terrified of it. I spent the last week trying to come to terms with the very idea of having a relationship with a man, and I finally realized–” He stopped and took a deep breath. “But it doesn't matter now. If you would do something like that, you clearly aren't someone I could be with. I've made a mistake.”

Draco didn't doubt his sincerity for a moment, and he felt his stomach plummet as his anger shrank away. “I'm sorry,” he said, panic spiraling through him. “You're right – it was stupid and thoughtless, and I'm sorry. I care about you, Harry. I was starting to get a little desperate, and I–”

“I can't do this,” Potter said. His eyes were bright, and the expression on his face was solemn. “No matter how much I want it, I just can't. This is who you are, and I don't expect you to change. It's best if we just stop now, before it's too late.” He looked away and gestured towards the door. “Good night, Draco.”

“Harry, wait,” Draco said, stepping toward him.

“Go,” Potter whispered. “Please just go away.”

Draco stood rooted to the spot. He didn't want to leave. If he did, it would be over. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “I won't.”

“Go!” Potter said, his voice tight. “Fuck off! Leave! I don't want you here!”

“You don't mean that.”

Before Draco knew what had happened, there was a wand pressing into his throat. Potter was glaring at him with a fury Draco hadn't seen in years. “Go now,” Potter hissed, “before I do something I'll regret.”

Draco nodded and backed away. He gathered up his coat and his wand and moved to the door. Potter's wand was trained on him until he closed it behind him. He walked down the stairs and stepped out onto the street, feeling numb.

That hadn't gone as he'd expected.

He apparated back to his hotel room and lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling for a long time.

:: :: :: :: ::

Friday, 9 February, 2001

“Master Draco is needing anything?” Ebby's bulging eyes reflected the flames beneath the cauldron.

“No,” he told her, watching the bubbling mixture. A few more seconds and it should turn a particular shade of blue, and then he would add the Jabberknoll feathers – which he hoped would suffice. Yellow-billed Toucan feathers were difficult to get in this part of the world.

The potion lightened before his eyes and he waited, dangling the small package of feathers over the top. It settled into a shade the color of the sky, and he upended the bag. The feathers floated down and settled on the surface of the liquid. A moment later, they began to sink. He watched them disappear into the potion one by one, and watched. The potion shimmered, then turned green.

“Thank you,” he whispered, sitting back on his heels. So far, every substitution Snape had suggested seemed to have worked. He hoped that meant he hadn't altered the potion in any horrible way.

It was too late to worry about that now, though. Potter and Weasley would be arriving soon, and then everything would be put into motion.

Draco closed his eyes and tried not to think about Potter's icy glare the day before, when they'd gone over final details in the office. He'd tried apologizing, but Potter wasn't interested in hearing it. Weasley had even pulled Draco aside to ask him what had happened.

“Cho caught us… in the middle of something,” Draco had told him. “And I set her up for it. He's not very happy with me.”

Weasley's lips had twitched, as if he were trying not to smile. “Give him time. He'll come around.”

But Draco doubted it. He'd sent three messages to Potter through the box since yesterday afternoon, with no response. If he were honest with himself, he understood Potter's point of view, and that only made it worse.

The potion started to bubble, which was his cue to set the stirring spell. Now it was just a matter of waiting. He'd reminded Potter and Weasley to bring a valuable metal object with them to focus the spell. He'd made all the arrangements at the castle. He'd set up a portkey to bring Potter and Weasley straight to the room he was in now. Lucius had sent word to Lestrange about Potter's capture, and she'd reported that the Dark Lord would arrive shortly after sunset.

It was all coming together, and Draco worried that it had been too easy. And of course, he still didn't know what the plan was.

:: :: :: :: ::

Draco stood on the stone terrace and stared out at the sea below. The sky was grey and damp, and the waves were high. They crashed against the rocks below with a rhythmic fury that was mesmerizing. He had never spent much time by the sea as a child – his mother was always concerned he would burn.

Ebby appeared beside him with a pop, startling him. “Master Draco,” she said, her high voice cutting through the sound of the wind around them. “There is wizards here. Harry Potter and–”

“Thank you,” he replied, and turned back to the castle.

It was time, then.

He found Potter and Weasley in the entrance hall with his father. Weasley and Lucius were glaring at each other, and Potter's expression was stony. Draco couldn't help but pause at the sight. Who would have thought the four of them would collaborate to bring down Voldemort?

“I'll thank you not to speak of my father again,” Weasley said. The tone of his voice was tighter than Draco had ever heard before. Weasley hadn't said anything in front of him, but Draco knew he blamed Lucius for the Diagon Alley disaster, for not doing more to prevent it. Draco agreed with him on that point, but he hadn't worked up the courage to tell him so.

“Regardless, my condolences,” Lucius said, giving Weasley a cool look. He studied his pocket watch, a gesture Draco knew meant he was uncomfortable. Weasley only scowled in response.

“We haven't much time,” Draco said as a way of announcing his presence. Potter and Weasley turned toward him, both looking relieved. “If you'll follow me, we'll start the preparations.”

Lucius cast him a meaningful glance, but Draco ignored it. He knew his father wanted to know precisely what would happen when Voldemort arrived tonight. So did Draco, actually.

They left Lucius standing in the entryway and walked down a set of stairs into the dusty basement room that contained the entrance to the hidden chamber below the castle. Draco whispered the spell his father had showed him only days before, pointing his wand at a stretch of blank wall. The doorway materialized before them and creaked open, revealing a narrow stairway descending into darkness.

Draco heard Potter chuckle behind him as they stepped through. “I feel as if I'm in a Muggle horror film.”

“Careful what you wish for,” Draco muttered. They descended quickly, lit wands held out before them. After a moment, they could see the flicker of torchlight from the chamber below.

“I might've known this place would have a dungeon,” Weasley said as they walked into the chamber. The potion Draco had made earlier was bubbling away in a cauldron at the center, emitting a faint light. “Does your father lock up Muggle-borns in here, or something?” Weasley asked.

Draco snorted. “He's only had this place since my mother died. He says the family home reminds him of her too much.” Weasley and Potter both turned to stare at him, as if they found this difficult to believe. Draco shrugged. “It suits our purposes, doesn't it?”

“So this is part of the perfidio spell?” Potter asked, nodding towards the cauldron.

“Yes, and we should get started as soon as possible.” Draco pulled a list of written instructions from his pocket.

“Actually, there's something we need to do first,” Potter said, moving to stand in front of him. “Hit me.”

Draco could only look back at him blankly. “Sorry?”

“I need to look like I've been roughed up a bit, don't I?”

Even though Draco was still cross with Potter, he had no desire to hit him. “Can't you use a spell?”

“He thinks it will leave residual magic,” Weasley said, looking annoyed. “I've already said no.”

“Come on, Malfoy,” Potter said, almost sneering. “I've been a prick to you the last two days. I know you'd like to take a shot at me.”

Draco clenched his jaw. “I'm not playing your little baiting game. If you want me to do this, I'll do it, but don't fool yourself into thinking it's personal.”

“But it is personal,” Potter said, stepping closer. “Between you and me, it always has been.”

“You'll have to do better than that,” Draco replied.

“What, afraid you'll break a nail?”

Draco rolled his eyes, and then punched him squarely across the jaw. Potter staggered back, wincing, and Draco went after him again, hitting him three or four times more. He stepped back and shook out his aching hand. “There. Happy?”

Several large bruises were blossoming on Potter's face, and blood was trickling down his chin where Draco had split his lip. “Yeah, that'll do,” he grunted, pushing himself to his feet. “You hit harder than I expected.”

An image of Potter writhing under him while Draco slammed into his arse flickered through Draco's mind, and he smirked. “So I've been told.” He turned back to the cauldron and studied it, then smoothed out the parchment he'd crumpled in his fist. “It's getting late. We need to do this.”

“Right,” Weasley said, casting a worried glance at Potter, who was still rubbing his jaw. “What do we do?”

“It requires blood from each of us,” Draco said. He conjured glass vials and left them hanging in the air over the cauldron, then retrieved a small blade from his bag of supplies. He cut himself first, then passed the knife to Potter. He kept his focus on his own blood trickling into the vial, not watching the others cut themselves. When his vial contained enough blood, he pressed his fingers against the cut and waited.

“Here,” Potter said, and traced one finger along Draco's wound. When he pulled his hand away, only a faint pink line remained.

“Thanks,” Draco said, looking up at him.

Potter nodded and looked away.

They added the contents of their vials to the potion at the same time, and watched as it turned a deep shade of purple. Draco glanced at his written instructions. There had been no indication of what color the potion should be at this point, so he could only hope this was proceeding correctly.

“Now, do have your metal objects?” he asked.

Weasley held up his right hand to show a ring with a jade stone set into it. “This was my grandfather's,” he said.

Draco nodded and pulled up his sleeve to show the silver bracelet on his wrist. “This was my mother's.”

They turned to Potter, who was frowning. “I don't have any jewelry, actually. So I brought this.” He held up a weathered key.

“That's not good enough,” Draco told him, his stomach sinking. “It can't be an ordinary object – it has to have great personal value.”

“It does. It's… it was the key to Grimmauld Place , where my godfather lived. When I bought my flat, I transfigured it to fit the lock.”

“I didn't know that,” Weasley said, staring at him. “Was that his key, then?”

“Yes,” Potter said, looking sheepish. “At least, I think it was. And the flat is the most important thing I own, so I thought–”

“It's probably good enough,” Draco told him with a small smile.

“So do we just drop them in?” Weasley asked.

“There has to be skin contact with the objects for us to cast the spell,” Draco said. “We have to hold them and put them in, like this.” He demonstrated.

“But the potion's bubbling,” Potter said, casting a wary glance into the cauldron.

“It's not hot,” Weasley replied, holding his hand just over the surface. “It's fine.”

They all looked at each other for a moment.

“Right,” Draco said, holding out his hand. “We put our hands in and say perfidio three times. Ready?” None of them bothered to hide their nervousness as they stepped forward to crowd around the cauldron.

Weasley looked up at Draco. “Are you sure about this? Because if this doesn't work or fucks things up, I'm holding you personally responsible.”

Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “On three. One, two, three.” They sank their hands into the potion, pressing the metal objects tightly together as they did. Weasley had been right – it wasn't hot; in fact it was a pleasant temperature, and made Draco's hand feel tingly. He felt two sets of fingers wrap around his wrist under the surface, pressing against his bracelet. It was oddly comforting.

He looked up and nodded at them.

“Perfidio. Perfidio. Perfidio.”

The tingle in Draco's hand intensified and began to travel up his arm. It wasn't unpleasant, but it was disconcerting. It spread through his chest and up into his head, making his hair stand on end. It moved down his torso and legs, tickling the soles of his feet. All at once the feeling disappeared, and they gasped as their hands were pushed up and out of the potion as if by great force.

“Whoa,” Weasley said, his eyes wide. The potion turned bright red, and began to swirl as if going down a drain. Within seconds, the cauldron was empty.

“That was utterly bizarre,” Potter said. “I've never felt anything like it.”

Draco smirked. That's because you haven't taken the right drugs.

Potter and Weasley simultaneously looked up and stared at him.

“What?” Draco asked.

“I didn't see his lips move,” Weasley said, blue eyes wide.

Draco gaped. “Wait – you heard that?”

“Yes,” Potter replied. “Is that supposed to happen?”

“I don't know,” Draco replied.

What do you mean, y ou don't know? There was no question the thought had come from Weasley.

Draco snorted. “The paper just said it binds us together for the task – it said nothing about telepathy.”

“I'm sure we'll find it useful,” Potter said. “But we should all be careful what we think about, in the meantime.” He nodded his head very slightly towards Weasley and gave Draco a meaningful look.

Draco placed his bag in the cauldron and banished them both to his hotel room in London , trying to keep his mind blank. “Well, the plan then. Why don't we start with that?”

Potter took a deep breath, looking at Weasley and then back to Draco. “All right. It's very simple. I'm going to kill Voldemort.”

“Kill him?” Draco stared at him, shocked.

“Yes, kill him,” Weasley repeated, an exasperated tone to his voice. “This has been the plan for years. We were hoping to leave you out of it, but here you are, so that's that.”

Draco shook his head, not quite believing what he was hearing. “But we're supposed to–”

“I know what we're supposed to do,” Potter said. “But this is what I'm supposed to do. For almost twenty years, this has been what I am supposed to do, and a little promise made to your father is hardly going to stop me from doing it.”

“But he can't be killed,” Draco said, panic rising in him now. “He's immortal. He'll kill us all, and–”

“He's not immortal,” Potter said, his voice very low. “Not any more.”

Draco's mind was filled with images of Potter stalking through dark alleys, digging in graveyards, hiding from dark creatures, destroying a glowing object in a shower of sparks, and none of it made sense. And as quickly as they'd appeared, the images were gone, as if Potter had realized what he was thinking and clamped down on them.

Draco shook his head to clear it. “This is insane! We're all going to die, you know.”

“I expect to,” Potter replied. He looked entirely serious, and for some reason, Draco knew he meant it.

“Not if I can help it,” Weasley said, pulling something from the inside of his coat. It was Potter's invisibility cloak, the one he'd had back in school. “Harry will pretend to be your captive, but I'll be hiding under this,” he told Draco. “If anything happens, I can back him up.”

Draco pressed a hand to his forehead. “So the plan is simply for you to wait while I bring him here, with Weasley hiding, and then you're going to just kill him? Kill the Dark Lord, just like that?”

Potter nodded. “Just like that.”

“This isn't going to work,” Draco said, laughing at the sheer idiocy of it all. “This can't be all there is to your plan.”

“He'll want to torture me a bit, I'm sure,” Potter said, his expression reserved. “The last few times I've faced him, others took the brunt of it, but I'm ready. I'll have my wand, and I'll wait for an opportunity to strike.”

“And that's all? You wait, we wait, and when you decide the time is right, you do it?” Draco held back a frustrated laugh. “Fuck, no wonder you've been doing nothing for the last few weeks. You already had this suicidal plan of insanity. No need to consider anything more complicated.”

Potter looked annoyed. “Are you finished?”

“No, I'm not. Do you have any idea what the Death Eaters will do to us if this succeeds? This wasn't their plan, after all. They don't want the Dark Lord killed, they–”

“They're naïve,” Potter spat. “They're blind, and they're stupid if they think they could really keep him captive, or whatever they wanted to do with him. This ends with his death or mine, and it ends today.”

“And you don't care if it ends with ours as well?” Draco retorted. He felt a wave of pain that didn't come from himself.

“That's not fair,” Harry said, staring at him so intensely that Draco nearly felt the weight of his gaze. “You know that isn't true.”

“It's not fair – you're right about that.” Draco took a deep breath, but his panic did not abate. This was the plan, and he'd already committed to it. He had no choice. “Are you sure it's even possible to kill him?”

“Yes,” Potter said. “Don't ask me how I know. I can't tell you.” Draco tried to reach out with his thoughts, but he found nothing this time. Potter's mind seemed to be carefully blank.

Draco sighed. “It's just as well. I'd only think you were more delusional.” His stomach was twisting with dread, but there was no turning back now. The spell wouldn't let him walk away. The irony was great, though – he'd trusted Potter with his life, and Potter was going to lead him right to his death.

“You won't die,” Potter said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Look at me, Draco. You aren't going to die. Voldemort won't see this coming. He doesn't know he's mortal. And he doesn't know you're on my side.”

Draco gritted his teeth against the emotion rising in his throat. This was real. Potter was serious; he was ready to die if necessary and there was nothing Draco could do about it. He wondered if Weasley had tried to talk him out of this insanity and failed.

Weasley snorted and folded his arms over his chest.

“And Ron won't die, either, unless he does something stupid,” Potter continued, giving Weasley a teasing glance.

Weasley sighed. “Which I'm quite likely to do, you know. So that leaves you, Draco.” He stepped forward and put his hand on Draco's other shoulder, his expression suddenly solemn. “And if we don't survive this, I want…” he paused and swallowed. “Tell Hermione about this. Tell her what we did, and why. Tell her I…” He stopped and pressed his lips together, looking away. “Tell her I love her and the children more than anything, and that I did this for them. Okay?”

“I will,” Draco whispered. It was all he could think of to say.

“Now go,” Potter said, his voice firm. “We'll be ready when you return.” They stepped away.

Draco stared at Potter, his emotions reeling. Things had gone so terribly wrong between them, and he hadn't expected they wouldn't have a chance to patch it up. It was too late now. They were out of time.

Potter smiled at him, and with a rush of relief, Draco knew he understood. Draco stepped forward and kissed him, carefully avoiding the spot where his lip was split. They stood like that for a moment until Weasley's discomfort filled their minds. Draco smiled at Potter, then turned and walked away.

:: :: :: :: ::

Lucius offered him scotch, but Draco refused. He needed to focus on the task before him, and to keep his mind closed enough that neither Lucius nor the Dark Lord would know what was about to happen.

“Are you certain I can't be of assistance?” Lucius asked. Draco had never seen him so tense.

He nodded, and then started as he felt a spike of emotion that wasn't his own. He couldn't hear any of Potter's or Weasley's thoughts from this distance, but every now and then he felt something.

“You must relax,” his father hissed. “The Dark Lord will know.”

“Don't worry,” Draco said, staring at the tapestry across the room in an effort to clear his mind. “He won't.”

It was ten agonizing minutes more before a hooded figure apparated into the room. Draco had to struggle not to reach for his wand.

“The Dark Lord will be here soon,” Bellatrix Lestrange said, pushing the hood away from her face. “He is looking forward to eliminating Potter at last.” She smirked at Draco. “Lucius, you must be proud of your son's accomplishment.”

Draco smirked back. “Lovely to see you as well, Auntie Bella.”

She moved forward until she was standing before his chair, looming over him with a sneer on her face. “You are so much like your mother – foolishly loyal to people for the wrong reasons. Pity.”

Draco only stared at her in response. He'd forgotten what family politics were like.

“Now Bellatrix,” Lucius said, standing. “It isn't polite to speak ill of the dead.” Under that calm exterior, Draco imagined he was seething. “Let us not be bickering when the Dark Lord comes. This is a day to celebrate. Potter will finally be dead, the prophecy will be finished, and nothing will stand in the Dark Lord's way.”

“Potter has been but a nuisance to him,” she spat, her dark eyes narrowing. “Just another of Dumbledore's lackeys, too foolish to give up the fight when the old man died.” She leaned forward, staring at Draco intensely. “Where is he? I want to see Potter for myself.”

Lucius smiled as if chastising a naughty child. “Now, Bella, he is for the Dark Lord to dispose of. He isn't to be touched by anyone else.”

“Perhaps I don't trust you,” she replied, still keeping her eyes locked on Draco's. “There have been far too many rumors about you, Lucius. There are many who suspect you of treason.”

Lucius laughed, and the sound was bitter and hollow in his throat. “I am aware of the rumors, which is precisely why I enlisted Draco's help to capture Potter. It is my gift to our Lord, a gesture of my loyalty.”

Bellatrix snorted as if she didn't believe a word of it, and scowled. “Why is your mind closed, boy? What are you hiding?”

Draco leered. “If you want so badly to examine my memories of fucking Potter into submission, I'm happy to oblige.”

“Perverted little queer,” she spat, stepping away from him. “Your mother would be so ashamed.”

“Of my stooping to work with a half-crazed lunatic like you? Yes.”

Bellatrix hissed and lunged for him.

Lucius's wand was at her throat in an instant. “Do not threaten my son,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. Draco felt an odd twinge of affection for his father. He doubted it would last.

Bellatrix froze, cocking her head as if listening. “The Dark Lord is coming,” she whispered, and an expression of mad glee spread across her face.

Draco focused his thoughts and let everything go – his fears, his doubts, his anger – and made his mind as blank as possible.

They waited, the silence and tension deafening. At last, there was a hissing sound, and a figure appeared in the center of the foyer. It wore a dark cloak and seemed to be shrouded in mist.

Draco willed his heart not to pound, willed his feet to remain where they were. It wasn't the first time he had been in the presence of the Dark Lord, but it always felt like this – like he was walking a very thin line between a tortured life and a painful death.

The figure turned and red eyes glinted from beneath the hood. Draco couldn't see a mouth moving, but a hissing voice emerged from where the Dark Lord's face was shrouded. “Take me to him.”

Draco didn't look at his father or at Bellatrix. He nodded and gestured down a corridor, then began to walk. He could hear whispered voices arguing behind him, and then a solitary set of footsteps. He exhaled, relieved. If Bellatrix had come along, it would have made the situation much more difficult.

“This way,” he said, waving his wand at the door to the underground chamber. It swung open with a groan, and Draco heard a rumbling laugh behind him.

“How appropriate. Lucius is nothing if not predictable.”

Draco didn't allow himself to think anything in response. They descended the stairs, and with each step, Draco felt his resolve strengthening. He could do this. They could be successful. It was possible. He didn't know if it was the spell bolstering him or if he believed it was true, but it didn't matter at the moment.

They stepped into the chamber to find it mostly dark – several of the torches had gone out, and those that remained flickered, casting ghostly shadows on the stone walls. Potter was slumped against the opposite wall, looking very much the defeated prisoner, and Weasley was nowhere in sight.

Potter's eyes narrowed at the sight of Voldemort, but otherwise he didn't react. He remained sitting on the floor, watching the Dark Lord draw closer. Draco walked a step behind, watching.

“At last,” Voldemort said, his voice an unearthly sound. “Who would have thought the great Harry Potter would be brought to his knees for something so very base?” Draco imagined he was grinning maniacally.

Potter stared up at him, not even flinching. “Who says I'm on my knees?” He pushed himself to his feet, and it seemed to take effort. In the dim light, the injuries to his face seemed more dramatic, and the blood on his lip glistened black. He kept his gaze firmly on Voldemort's face, and he didn't look frightened.

Draco had expected to be trembling by now, but he wasn't – he felt confident, even giddy. They were going to be successful; they only needed to focus on this task. He let a mask fall over his face as the Dark Lord turned to him.

“Stand by my side, Draco. Watch and learn.”

Draco stepped forward and the Dark Lord raised his wand. Draco watched, but Potter didn't respond, didn't go for his wand. He just stared back.

“I have waited far too long for this day, and I think I shall enjoy it a bit longer. Crucio!”

Draco cringed as he felt the wave of pain rip through Potter. He didn't feel the pain itself, but felt Potter's response to it, which was strangely worse. Though he had seen this spell cast many times before, he'd never experienced it this way. Potter fell to the floor and writhed in pain, making strangled noises. Draco's fists were clenched tightly at his sides.

The Dark Lord dropped his wand and Potter collapsed against the stone floor, panting. He glared up at Voldemort defiantly.

“How pathetic you are,” Voldemort said, his voice almost oily in Draco's ears. “I have been patient, Potter. I have waited years and have killed many people, just to arrive at this moment. Tonight I will finally finish it.” He paused, as if waiting to see if Potter would respond. He didn't, and Voldemort made a sound like a laugh. “I only wish Dumbledore could have lived long enough to see this moment of defeat. How I would have loved for him to watch you die.”

Potter still said nothing, did nothing. Draco wondered what he was waiting for. Why not end this now? He had his wand, and he could catch the Dark Lord by surprise.

“Draco,” Voldemort said, startling him out of his thoughts. “He should suffer more before he dies. Torture him.”

Draco was glad for the dim light; it hid the paleness of his face. He had no idea what to do. If he refused, the Dark Lord would become suspicious, but he couldn't imagine casting that particular spell on someone he cared for.

But he had little choice. “Yes,” he said at last, his mind spinning. “He should.” He raised his wand and opened his mouth, but nothing happened. He couldn't remember the word to cast the spell. He blinked and stepped forward, pointing his wand at Potter more firmly. His mind remained blank.

Potter stared back at him, and Draco heard in his mind a very clear, Do it! But he couldn't.

It's the spell, he thought. It won't let me hurt you. He saw from the subtle widening of Potter's eyes that he'd heard.

Draco lowered his wand and stepped back. “On second thought, why waste our time? I've waited years to see him die.”

“Very well,” the Dark Lord said, his voice disintegrating into a hiss. “Kill him.”

“What?” Draco spat before he could stop himself. “But you are the one – that is your honor, my Lord. I wouldn't dare–”

“I am giving that honor to you,” the Dark Lord replied, turning toward Draco. “You are the one who managed to bring him to me when so many others have failed, have you not? So kill him. Immediately.”

Draco raised his wand again, a fierce expression on his face. It wasn't even possible, even if he were willing, and the Dark Lord would discover that at any moment.

He swallowed and stared at Potter, willing him to give Draco a clue as to what he should do. Potter just stared back at him, the expression on his face unreadable.

“I've dreamed about doing this for years, you know,” Draco told him, forcing himself to sneer.

“Funny,” Potter retorted. “You said the same thing just before you sucked my cock.”

Draco stepped closer, scowling, his mind racing. How were they going to get out of this? Sniping would only buy them a bit of time, and then–

He saw a dark shape move beside Potter's head on the wall – a cockroach. Draco swore he'd remember to thank every god he could think of when this was over.

“Goodbye, Potter.” He narrowed his eyes and thought, Do it now. Use this as a cover. He felt Potter's understanding just as he aimed his wand at the insect and said, “Avada kedavra!”

Potter ducked the opposite way and the spell hit the wall beside him, blasting a hole in the stone. Draco dove for the floor.

Several spells were shouted and flashes of light flew over his head. The room suddenly seemed to be full of smoke and rubble, and Draco found himself disoriented by a strong sense of panic. It was another second before he realized it wasn't his own.

He scrambled to his feet and saw that Voldemort was holding Potter's wand in his hand. Draco felt a wave of fear unlike anything he'd felt before. He had no idea where it had come from, but it didn't matter.

Voldemort whirled toward Draco, his red eyes nearly glowing with rage. “Immobilus!” he spat, and Draco was paralyzed. “I don't believe for a moment that you are so incompetent to have forgotten to divest Potter of his wand.” He stalked toward Draco, who could do nothing but watch in horror. “I suspected your father had turned against me, and I was right. But this insignificant rebellion ends tonight. I will not be brought down by a traitor.”

Draco felt Potter's and Weasley's thoughts racing, but they were so quick he couldn't follow. He could only stare into the pale sunken face beneath the hood.

“Rest assured I will deal with your father shortly,” Voldemort continued. “And I will leave you to Bellatrix, I think. She's quite fond of you, after all.”

The Dark Lord turned back to Potter and raised his wand. Potter seemed frozen to the spot, though Draco could only see him peripherally. Move! he thought frantically, At least make yourself a difficult target! But Potter didn't move; he simply waited.

“This was far easier than I expected it to be,” Voldemort said. “I have never considered you an equal, despite what the prophecy said.”

Harry, what are you doing? The thought was Weasley's, and Draco saw Potter flinch at it. Why wasn't he moving?

Got a death wish, Potter? Want to take us with you? There was no response, as if Potter were trying to keep his mind blank.

Of course – Draco realized it a moment too late – the Dark Lord was a highly skilled Legilimens, and Potter was not much of an Occlumens. He was fighting to keep Voldemort from learning any more than he already had done. Weasley was their only hope now.

Voldemort's rumbling laugh filled the chamber. “What is your hidden friend waiting for?” He waved a hand and the invisibility cloak was pulled away from Weasley. Weasley's expression was fierce beneath it, and his wand was trained on Voldemort in an instant. “This is what the Ministry sends against me – three wizards, little more than schoolboys? How pathetic.” He looked back at Potter, apparently unconcerned about Weasley's threatening wand. “But you will still be first.” He aimed his wand at Potter's heart.

There was a wave of panic that seemed to come from Weasley, a sense that things hadn't gone according to plan, that Harry wasn't doing what he was supposed to do, that they should have brought Draco in sooner, and so many other thoughts that Draco had trouble following them. There was an answering sense of forced calm from Potter, but it didn't abate the rising determination in Weasley.

No! Draco thought, not sure if Weasley would hear. He's baiting you!

“No!” Weasley's voice echoed throughout the chamber. “Ava –”

But Weasley's wand was out of his hand and sailing across the room before he could get the words out. Voldemort laughed, brandishing their captured wands in one hand and turning his own towards Weasley. “So foolishly predictable. Avada kedavra!” The spell caught Weasley square in the chest and knocked him back against the wall.

There was a flash of surprise, and then Draco felt as if something had been ripped from his body. The pain of it was blinding, but then it was gone as quickly as it had come. His instinct was to pull back into himself, away from those ragged edges that had been left in his mind, away from Potter's mirrored sense of shock.

“No!” Potter was shouting, on his feet again. “Ron!”

But Voldemort advanced on him, cackling. “I have been waiting for this moment for years, Potter. You will fall, and then the Malfoys, and then no one will be left to oppose me. No one would dare.”

Potter flattened himself against the wall and held out his hand, but Voldemort held fast to his captive wand.

Draco could feel his own wand in his fingers, hard and smooth, but there was nothing he could do. It would all be over in a matter of seconds, just as he'd known it would, and he was powerless to stop it.

I'm so sorry, he heard. Draco felt a wave of emotion move through him at the words, spoken so clearly in his mind.

I know, he thought, and closed his eyes.

His eyes – he felt a tingle move through him at the realization. He could move, though he didn't know how or when it had happened. He didn't hesitate another second – he raised his wand and spoke the words of the killing curse.

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion after that. Draco saw the Dark Lord's body jolted by the impact of the spell, saw him crash to the ground, saw Potter scramble for his wand and stalk toward the Dark Lord, brandishing it before him, his eyes wild and his chest heaving.

Draco sank to his knees, drained. How had that happened? One moment, he'd been completely immobilized, and the next he wasn't. Was it the perfidio spell, or had he done that himself?

Potter stared down at Voldemort for what seemed like minutes before turning to look at Draco, dumbfounded. “You did it. You killed him.”

Draco could only stare at him in response. “I…” he began, and then felt the blood drain from his face. He couldn't think straight. One thought floated to the surface of his mind: “My father's going to kill me.”

Potter stared at him a second more, as if he couldn't believe what he'd just heard. He shook his head, then turned to where Weasley lay crumpled on the floor and stumbled toward him. Draco could feel shock and grief rising within Potter all over again, and it was more than he could bear. Potter's pain ripped through him, wrenching sobs from him, making him understand just what this loss meant, what Potter had lost. He couldn't bring himself to cross the room. He couldn't bear to be any closer.

He turned instead to the Dark Lord's body, twisted and lifeless upon the floor, panic filling his mind. “We have to hide it,” he whispered, wiping at his face with his hands. He pushed himself to his feet and staggered towards where Voldemort's corpse lay, feeling his head swimming. “Yes, hide it. Then they'll never know.”

“What are you talking about?” Potter asked, his voice strained. “He's dead. It's over.”

“They'll kill us,” Draco said. “This wasn't supposed to happen. Bellatrix Lestrange is with my father at this very moment, and she'll bring the others.”

“You said the spell would keep us from telling what we did,” Harry said, rising to his feet. “You said–”

“I didn't know this would happen!” Draco cried. “You've no idea what they'll do. If the world finds out the Dark Lord is dead, they'll lose everything, and they'll come after us. We won't be able to tell, but it won't matter. They'll torture us, kill us–”

“I don't care,” Potter spat. “This is all I wanted to do. This is what I was born to do. Dumbledore died because of me. Ron died because of me. If someone kills me for this, good. I've earned it!”

“No,” Draco said. “You – ow, fuck!” He pressed a hand to his forehead, and saw Potter do the same.

“What's happening?” Potter said, grimacing.

“I don't know. It could be the spell. I don't know how all of this–” he gestured at Weasley's body “–affects it.” The pain began to fade after a moment, but it was still present, humming underneath his thoughts. He gestured at the Dark Lord's corpse with his wand. “We haven't got much time. We'll bury him under the floor.”

“Don't you think they'd look there?” Potter grunted, though he didn't seem to be objecting.

“Not if they don't know he's dead,” Draco replied. “They think he can't be killed, right? We'll tell them that he figured out it was a trap, killed Weasley, knocked us around a bit, and then vanished.”

“That's the stupidest idea I've ever heard!” Potter said, gesturing at the body. “They'll never believe us! Besides, we can't hide the truth.”

“The spell is supposed to prevent us from telling the truth, remember? We just need to agree on the cover story.” Potter looked exasperated, and Draco's frustration grew. “For fuck's sake, help me! We haven't much time.”

“All right, fine,” Potter said, his voice shaky. “Oh god, I can't believe this…” He made a helpless gesture.

Draco talked him through a spell to create a space for the body under the floor and move it there, then mask all traces of it – it was one he'd picked up working with mobsters in New York , but he hadn't thought he would ever use it himself. They worked together to cast the spell, and then it was done. Only a scorch mark remained in the center of the floor.

Potter snapped Voldemort's wand into three pieces and incinerated them with a spell. As they watched the smoke curl up toward the ceiling, the pain swept through them again, this time more severe than before. They fell to their knees, both clenching their skulls.

“They're coming,” Draco mumbled, feeling himself start to fade from consciousness. He could hear footsteps on the stairs, echoing, getting closer. He saw Potter crawling toward Weasley's body, saw him take Weasley's hand in his, and then the darkness consumed him.

:: :: :: :: ::

Tuesday, 16 March, 2004

“He's waking up!”

Draco squinted at the blurry faces floating above him and blinked his eyes a few times.

“Go get the Aurors, quickly!” It was Hermione's voice.

“Am I being arrested again?” he asked, his tongue stumbling over the words.

“It's all right, Draco, don't worry.” That was Manny, and the hand that stroked his arm seemed to belong to Manny as well.

“Right,” Draco said, and coughed. His mouth was horribly dry. He tried to sit up, and realized he was in a bed. “Where am I?”

“At St. Mungo's,” Hermione said. “You were the last to awaken, and we were worried.”

“How long was I–?”

“More than 12 hours,” Manny said, smiling at him. “You're up just in time for lunch.”

“Just overnight?” Draco asked, surprised. It felt like he'd been out for weeks.

And everything washed over him then – the memories, everything that had happened. Especially–

“Where's Harry?” His eyes were starting to focus, and he stared wildly around the room, looking for him.

“He's fine,” Hermione said, her voice hushed and calm. “He woke up a few hours ago.”

Draco stilled at the concerned look on her face. “What is it? What's wrong?”

Hermione glanced at the door and leaned forward. “They don't want you to see or talk to anyone else who was involved with the incident. There's going to be a commission and you have to testify–”

“I can't see Harry until… You're joking!” After everything he'd remembered, he needed to see Harry, to touch him, to talk to him, to know if it had been real. What if it wasn't?

“I'm not joking. And I'm sorry, but–”

The door opened and Hermione sprang away from the bed. Manny stepped back as well, though not with as much haste. A stern-looking witch entered the room and stopped by his bed, looking down her long nose at him.

“Good to see you're awake, Mr. Malfoy. I assume you'll be feeling well enough to testify before the commission tomorrow?”

Draco frowned. “I'm not agreeing to anything until I've been told what's going on.”

The witch looked tired at this. “Mr. Malfoy, please remember that you recently escaped custody after being arrested for murder. You are hardly in a position to make demands.”

A murder I didn't commit, Draco thought. Relief spread through him, tangibly warm, and he smiled.

The witch gave him an odd look. She straightened her shoulders and pulled a piece of parchment from the pocket of her robe and unfolded it. “An investigative commission has been charged by the Minister for Magic himself to investigate the incident that occurred on the ninth of February 2001 at the secondary residence of Lucius Malfoy, and to ascertain the relevance of any new information recently recovered to said incident.” She looked up. “In other words, we want you to tell us what you now remember, in a hearing, under veritaserum.”

“And I don't have a choice, I suppose?”

“No, Mr. Malfoy. I'm afraid you don't.”

Draco scowled at the door after she'd left. “How much detail are they expecting, anyway?” he asked. There were certain parts of his newly-recovered memory that he'd like to keep private. Others, he'd be happy to shout to the rooftops.

The Auror who'd stationed himself by the door coughed, and Hermione bit her lip.

“You aren't supposed to talk about it at all until the commission tomorrow.”

“And why a special commission? Why aren't we going before the Wizengamot?”

“Politics,” Hermione replied, one eyebrow raised. “Fallin is the only one who could deny the Wizengamot the right to hear your testimony. Perhaps he thinks you know something that would incriminate him.”

“Visiting hours are over,” the Auror said, looking stern.

Hermione looked thoroughly annoyed. She took Draco's hand and squeezed it. “We'll see you tomorrow, all right? Harry said to tell you–” The Auror coughed again, and Hermione grimaced. “Well… goodbye for now.”

Manny winked at him and followed her out the door, leaving Draco alone with the grim-faced Auror.

:: :: :: :: ::

It was good to have a chance to catch up on his sleep, he told himself later that day. He hadn't been sleeping well for weeks, ever since he'd arrived in London , and he was more tired than he'd realized.

But when he slept, he dreamed – he relived things that had happened in the past with varying degrees of detail, sometimes with endings that differed from reality. Each dream jolted him awake, leaving him confused and worried. What if he didn't get it right? Would they know? And even though they'd cast the counterspell to perfidio, would they be able to talk about what they'd done? After everything he'd been through – even though he now knew he hadn't committed the murder he'd been charged with – what if there was still something he'd done that he could be sent to prison for?

A thought flooded his mind, one that frightened him more than any other: I killed Voldemort.

He didn't want to have been the one who did that. He squeezed his eyes shut at the very thought. After everything that had happened, he wanted nothing more than to run away with Harry and start a new life, something far away from the past and present. If Harry still wanted him, of course.

Draco sighed and rubbed his forehead with one hand, chastising himself for his insecurity. Of course Harry wanted him – they'd found each other twice, hadn't they? And Hermione and Harry had been right about him – he wasn't the one who had killed Ron. Even though the pain of Weasley's consciousness being ripped away from his own was still fresh in his mind, Draco felt a stab of fear that the memory wasn't real. What if his and Harry's memories didn't match? Would they believe him?

He managed to fall asleep again, but a particularly nice dream about Harry and a sofa left him awake and hard. He excused himself to the room's small toilet for a wank, but after a few minutes, the Auror, a pudgy man called Dermond, knocked on the door to ask why he was taking so long. It killed the mood completely.

Dermond played solitaire snap in his chair by the door for the rest of the evening, and Draco pulled the hospital sheets over his head, wishing tomorrow would come more quickly.

:: :: :: :: ::

Wednesday, 17 March, 2004

The Auror who relieved Dermond was a petite woman some ten years older than Draco. She smiled tightly at him as soon as Dermond left the room and held out a vial of clear liquid.

“Veritaserum,” she told him. “You're to take it before we leave.”

“When are we leaving?” Draco asked, yawning.

“As soon as you take it,” she replied with a wink.

They apparated from St. Mungo's directly to the room where the commission was to be held. It was small and windowless, and could have been anywhere in the country for all Draco knew. Draco and his Auror were the first to arrive, and for a few minutes, Draco wondered if his testimony would be solitary.

Others began to arrive, though – a few people who seemed to be Commissioners by dress; Cho Chang, who saw Draco and paled immediately; Severus Snape; his father, who was accompanied by two stern-looking Aurors; Director Bass of the Investigative Services office; and finally Harry, who was accompanied by Hermione and yet another Auror.

Harry's eyes met Draco's the instant he appeared across the room, but the Auror accompanying him caught his arm and steered him in the other direction. Hermione gave him a smile.

The sharp-faced woman who'd visited him in St. Mungo's the day before entered the room, dressed in formal robes. She sat between the other Ministry wizards on the dais.

“Hazel, if you please,” she said, turning to look at a witch in the corner of the room. The young woman produced a roll of parchment and a dictation quill and set the quill to work recording the proceedings. The Commissioner nodded her head in approval and turned back to face the rest of the room's occupants, who were seated in a semi-circle. “Will the Aurors for each witness come forward?”

The Aurors stood and congregated around the Commissioner and her colleagues, giving Draco a chance to look across the room at Harry. Harry looked back at him, and they just stared at each other for several seconds. When Draco smiled, Harry returned it, and Draco felt better than he had in days.

The Commissioner cleared her throat, and the Aurors dispersed, leaving the room through a door at the back. They were alone with the Commission. “Now that we have verified the administration of veritaserum to all witnesses, we are ready to begin,” the Commissioner said. “My name is Gwenog Horton, and I have been appointed to chair this Commission by the Minister for Magic.” She gestured to the men seated on either side of her. “My colleagues Mr. Pritchard and Mr. Warbeck will be assisting me in this endeavor. You are hereby advised that any testimony you provide today may be used against you should you be indicted for a crime.”

Draco suppressed the urge to scowl. It was typical for the Ministry of Magic to advise them of this after forcing them to take veritaserum.

“I will be questioning you in order to obtain a chronological account of what happened at the residence of Mr. Lucius Malfoy on the ninth of February, 2001 . The details of events discussed here will remain classified information and are not to be revealed to anyone outside these proceedings without the explicit permission of this Commission.” She gave them all a stern look.

The questioning began with Lucius, who was asked to recount the events that led him to plot against Lord Voldemort. Lucius described the Dark Lord's inexplicable decline, his own charge to search for the cause, and his ultimate realization that Voldemort was a detriment to the fight Lucius had been faithful to his entire life.

“When I left Azkaban, I should have found a way to leave my Lord's service,” he said. “But I was afraid. The Dark Lord was angry that I was unable to discover the reason for his deterioration, and his punishment was to inflict a similar fate on my wife. Severus and another trusted friend had worked with me, but I was the one who was blamed for our failure.” He paused for a moment. “She wasted away, and nothing would convince the Dark Lord to remove the curse or even to ease her suffering.”

Across the room, Draco wrapped his arms around himself, trying to keep his regrets at bay.

Lucius went on to explain how he had gathered together a group of men he trusted, others who had suffered at the Dark Lord's hand despite their loyalty. At that point, the Commissioner turned to Snape.

Draco had rarely seen the Headmaster looking more annoyed than he did at the moment. Draco imagined he would rather be anywhere than here, forced to testify in the presence of these people, and on a school day, no less.

“Lucius was not the only one who was punished for that failure,” Snape said, his voice clipped. “But that is beside the point. After Narcissa died, he was determined to have his revenge. He began to conspire, to gather others to him, and he was certain to fail. I was the one who advised him to approach the Ministry of Magic for assistance.”

“And why did you make that suggestion?” the Commissioner asked.

Snape's eyes narrowed. “There was little chance for success had he acted alone. I know how difficult it can be to deceive someone as powerful as…” Snape seemed to stop himself, and paused before continuing. “Cooperation with the authorities was a more promising route than the one he had planned.”

The questioning moved back and forth between them, revealing Lucius's discomfort with overthrowing the Dark Lord outright – he wanted to assume leadership of the remaining Death Eaters, something he could only do if they thought the Dark Lord had vanished and left Lucius in control – and revealing that it had been Snape's idea that the Ministry bring Harry into the picture.

“Potter was the only Auror who could work with Lucius in such a way,” Snape said. “And I knew he would kill the Dark Lord in the end, which was best for all concerned.”

Lucius's face hardened, but he did not respond.

“You knew this?” the Commissioner asked.

“Yes,” Snape said. “Unfortunately, I am rather familiar with Mr. Potter's disregard for direction from others when he has his own plan for proceeding. And it was common knowledge that he regarded killing Lord Voldemort as his destiny.” The last was spoken with a more than a bit of sarcasm, and Draco was surprised to see Harry smile in response.

The questioning moved on to Harry, whose explanation of how he had become involved overlapped with Snape's and Lucius's stories. “They were suspicious from the start, but I assumed Snape knew that I would never agree to anything less than destroying Voldemort. They insisted that one of their own work with my team, and I resisted as long as I could.” He cast a quick glance at Draco. “And then Ron suggested Draco. We knew he'd gone off to work in America , and we figured he'd be hard to convince, that he wouldn't want to work with us. We thought it would buy us some time, at the very least.”

“I was reluctant to bring Draco in,” Lucius said. There was a stiffness to his voice that hadn't been there the first time he'd spoken. “I had some difficulty finding him, as he was working undercover. But Severus had pointed out that I ought to be able to trust my own son.” He paused to glare at Draco. “I assumed that I knew where his loyalties lay.”

The Commissioner turned to Draco then, and he told his own story of working with Harry and Ron, of becoming aware that they weren't including him in their plan, and began to talk rather openly about his developing relationship with Harry before the Commissioner cut him off. The veritaserum was a tingling buzz at the back of Draco's head, pushing against his inhibitions. He'd once been trained to resist that tendency to tell more than he had been asked while under its influence, but he was long out of practice. He blushed and glanced at Harry, but Harry was being questioned again.

Commissioner Horton wove their testimonies together with remarkable skill, turning to each to pick up where the other left off. Draco became very self-conscious when they reached the point in the story when Cho had appeared. To his relief, Horton avoided questioning them further about such prurient details.

She was, however, interested in Harry's disappearances in the weeks prior to the incident. “Mr. Potter, were these illicit activities of yours in any way related to the physical and mental decline of Lord Voldemort?”

Harry did not seem surprised by the question. He avoided her gaze and appeared to be concentrating very hard to resist the impulse to answer.

“Mr. Potter,” she said again, watching him with a thoughtful expression on her face. “You have been asked a question.”

“I have the right to refuse to answer,” he replied.

Draco glanced at the others in the room – all seemed surprised by this turn of events. All but Hermione, who was studying her fingernails intently, and Snape, who was staring at Harry with an expression of suspicion.

“If you are able to resist the veritaserum, yes, you do,” Horton replied. “And I have the right to charge you with contempt for it.”

“I understand,” Harry said. It sounded as if he were gritting his teeth.

The Commissioner glanced at the men on either side of her, and they shrugged. This was clearly a question she wanted answered, and it was one Draco found himself intensely curious about as well. Had Harry been the cause of the Dark Lord's decline all along?

“I made a promise,” he said when she asked him a third time to explain. “And I won't break it.” Harry turned his gaze to Horton's face, and they stared at each other.

“Very well,” she said at last, and sniffed before turning back to Draco. “Then let us discuss the attack on Diagon Alley.”

:: :: :: :: ::

Four hours later, they had finally reached the moment Draco knew everyone in the room had been waiting for. The tension was palpable, and he didn't dare look at his father.

“And Draco was immobilized,” Harry said. He looked exhausted, as if he'd been struggling against the veritaserum the entire time. “Voldemort knew it had been a trap, and he performed Legilimancy on me in an effort to learn more. He realized we weren't alone, and that Ron was there in the room.” Harry paused, suddenly pale, and Hermione reached over to take his hand.

Draco was glad she had been allowed to attend, and that she could sit with Harry now. “He baited Ron,” Draco said, picking up the story when it was clear Harry couldn't continue. “Harry was defenseless at that point, and I was immobilized, and Ron… I'm sure he thought it was the only option. The Dark Lord cast the killing curse so quickly, and with such ease.” He didn't look at Hermione – he couldn't bear to do.

The room was silent, and Draco paused to glance at his father. Lucius was pale, with a strained expression on his face. Cho Chang's face was in her hands, and Draco couldn't see her expression at all.

“What happened next?” Horton prompted.

“I thought it was over,” Harry said. “I thought we were all dead, but Draco broke through the immobilus somehow, and…” He turned to look at Draco with an expression of amazement on his face, as if he'd just remembered all of this.

“I don't know how it happened,” Draco said. “I suspect it was an effect of the perfidio spell, but I was free, and the Dark Lord was…” he swallowed. “So I killed him.” There were a series of gasps in the room, and Draco kept his eyes on the Commissioner's face. “And it was over. We hid the body under the floor, and then I passed out. I don't remember anything more.”

“Mr. Potter?” Horton asked, turning to him. Harry nodded in response, concurring with Draco's testimony. Horton turned to Lucius. “Mr. Malfoy, what happened next?”

Lucius seemed unable to speak for a moment, but he finally cleared his throat and sat higher in his chair. “I was upstairs with Bellatrix Lestrange. Severus and a few others arrived, and we waited. We all began to grow anxious, and it became impossible to distract Bellatrix any longer. I took them down to the chamber.” He paused and took a deep breath. “There were three bodies on the floor, and no sign of the Dark Lord. We soon realized that only Weasley was dead, but we could not discern what had happened to Draco or to Potter. We assumed the Dark Lord had escaped.”

“Lestrange fled the scene,” Snape said, looking more interested in the proceedings than he had done all day. “I sent word to the Ministry that something had gone wrong, and Aurors were dispatched to the location.” He turned to look at Cho, who was staring stony-faced at the floor before her.

“Ms. Chang?” Horton asked. “I understand you were one of the first Aurors on the scene.”

She nodded and pursed her lips. “I hadn't known about the plan to trap Voldemort prior to that night. I knew Harry was working on something classified, but many of us were. It was a difficult time for me personally because…” She frowned, apparently trying to restrain herself from speaking too freely. “I led the team that collected the forensic evidence at the site. Harry had been beaten, and there were marks on Draco's hands that indicated he had likely done it. I tested the wands, and Draco's was the only one that had cast the killing curse.” She paused and looked up at the Commissioner. “I had reason to believe at that point that Draco had lured Harry into a trap, intending to hand him over to Voldemort. My questioning of Lucius Malfoy and later, Bellatrix Lestrange, only reinforced this theory. The evidence pointed to Draco Malfoy as the murderer of Ron Weasley.”

“You didn't consider the fact that Lord Voldemort had been present in the room?” Horton asked.

“But why would Harry have been left alive?” she asked, a tinge of desperation in her voice. “It was Harry he wanted to kill. Harry was the reason he was there that night in the first place. The most reasonable explanation at the time was that Draco had been working for Voldemort all along, and that he hadn't known Ron was there. And when Ron interfered, Draco–” She paused and took a deep breath before continuing. “I theorized at the time that Draco had engaged Harry in order to let the Dark Lord escape. You can read my report – it's still classified.”

“I also did not know what had happened,” Lucius interjected. “There was no reason not to believe the Dark Lord had escaped. Draco had been elusive all along, and when Ms. Chang suggested he might have betrayed us all, I found the idea quite convincing. And I will admit that I felt a bit of admiration for my son as well.” He frowned, as if he would rather not have said that.

“Why wasn't Draco arrested for the crime?”

Lucius glanced at Cho before continuing. “He was to be arrested, but when he finally awoke a few days later, he remembered nothing that had happened. I was told that Mr. Potter remembered nothing either, and I realized I had an opportunity. There had been no sign of the Dark Lord, and so I suspected Potter's team had succeeded in trapping him somehow. I decided to proceed with the original plan.”

Director Bass cleared his throat, and everyone turned to look at him. “Mr. Malfoy approached my office with an intriguing proposal. He assured me that the Dark Lord was incapacitated, and that he alone could keep him that way. He knew enough of the details of Harry Potter's mysterious ordeal that I was convinced he was telling the truth. He wanted us to keep the Dark Lord's disappearance a secret and assured that in return, there would be no further trouble from Death Eaters. No more attacks such as the horrible one in Diagon Alley. The War would effectively be over.”

“An arrangement was made,” Lucius continued. “I took Draco back to New York to where I had found him, and obliviated the details of the days since he'd awakened from his mind, so he would have no memory of having been away at all.”

“Under Fallin's orders, the smothering spell was established,” Bass said. “I saw to it personally.”

“And I was moved into another division,” Cho added, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I was told of the new arrangement, and was assured it was critical to provide stability and security for our society. And I…” She paused, and swallowed. “I was assigned to keep an eye on Harry, to make certain he didn't remember what had happened.”

Draco glanced at Harry, who had dropped Hermione's hand. “You were assigned to me?” he asked.

Cho looked to be struggling not to cry. “I had no choice. And afterwards, you didn't remember Draco. You were so sweet and caring, and I–” She looked up at him, her eyes bright. “It was easy to forget that you had left me for him, for a while. And I just had to make sure you stayed under the influence of the smothering spell.”

“You convinced me to work at the IS and leave the field,” Harry said, staring at her.

“I thought I was doing the right thing, at the time. I thought Draco had seduced you and lured you into a trap for Voldemort. I've thought it for three years now! Forgive me if it's a bit difficult to realize it was all a lie.”

“A lie you helped create,” Harry retorted. “Did you ever love me? Were you even pregnant, or was that a lie as well?”

Cho gaped at him. “How dare you! After what you did to me, after what I've been through, how dare you suggest–”

“Hang on,” Harry said, his voice strained. “You lied to me. You manipulated me. God, you even got me to marry you!”

“You wanted it, Harry,” she replied, her lip trembling. “You were the one who insisted we could make it work, even after the miscarriage. I left you three times, and every time you begged me to come back. Have you any idea what it was like for me, knowing that you had pushed me aside for him, but not being able to be angry at you about it because you couldn't remember? To have it be my job to make certain you never did?”

“Oh, do shut up,” Draco groaned, unable to stand it any longer. Cho turned to look at him, and Draco scowled at her. “Your messy little divorce doesn't need to be on the record, you know. Yell at each other in private like normal folk and spare the rest of us.”

Cho looked away and said nothing more. Draco couldn't bring himself to look at Harry – he knew Harry wasn't in love with Cho, but the intensity of his emotion towards her made Draco uneasy.

Commissioner Horton cleared her throat. “I believe we are finished here. May the record note the alleged location of the remains of Voldemort. As head of this commission, I will issue an order to have them excavated. Meanwhile, I see no reason why Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy should not be released from custody.” She turned to Lucius and her eyes narrowed. “You, on the other hand, will still answer to charges of abuse of Muggles, Mr. Malfoy. You will remain in custody until a hearing can be arranged.”

Lucius scowled in response. Draco exchanged a glance with Hermione, who shrugged.

“The Commission will prepare a report based on this testimony, and the Minister for Magic will decide which details will be revealed to the public and how. Until then, you have been sworn to secrecy.” She stood, towering above them on the dais. “This hearing is adjourned.”

The Commissioners stood and filed out of the room. Another door opened, and Aurors entered to escort Lucius out. He straightened his robes as they approached, and did not look at Draco.

Snape gave Draco a curt nod before leaving, and Director Bass patted him on the shoulder as he passed. Cho lingered for a moment, as if she were hoping to speak with Harry, but he didn't acknowledge her at all. She sighed and left, closing the door of the hearing room behind her.

Harry was standing by the chair he'd occupied all day, staring at Draco as if he weren't sure what to do or say. Hermione gave him a small push. “Just go and kiss him,” she said.

Harry grinned, and a moment later, Draco found himself being quite thoroughly kissed.

:: :: :: :: ::

Saturday, 20 March, 2004

Draco stretched under the duvet, not yet wanting to be awake. The smell of coffee permeated the air, but he was warm and comfortable.

“Coffee?” he heard, and opened his eyes. Harry was standing by the bed, holding a steaming cup and smiling at him.

“No,” Draco groaned and pulled the duvet over his head. A cold hand wormed its way underneath and pressed against his stomach, and he yelped. He heard the distinct clink of the mug being placed on the bedside table, and then felt the bed dip as Harry slid under the duvet and pressed up against him*.

“I'll just tell them we can't come,” he said, trailing his lips down Draco's throat. “They'll understand.”

Draco sighed. Brunch at Hermione's house with Manny and his mum, and the children – he'd forgotten already. “No, we have to go. I'm getting up.” Harry's cold hand slid down a bit further, and Draco smiled. “I meant getting out of bed, actually.”

“We've got time,” Harry whispered, stroking his cock slowly.

“Aren't you sore after last night?” Draco asked. “And the night before that?”

“Not anymore,” Harry replied, leaning over to kiss him. “That spell works wonders. Besides, we have three years to make up for.”

Draco smiled at him. “I suppose we do.”

“And I was also thinking,” Harry began, then paused to kiss him, “that three years is quite a long time to have been dating.”

“Mmmm, yes,” Draco replied.

“So if you still want to move in–”

“I already have, in case you haven't noticed,” Draco said against his lips. “I haven't left your bedroom for two days. I just haven't brought my stuff over yet.”

Harry smiled at him and propped himself up on one elbow. “Really?”

“Yes, really. There's no getting rid of me now. But we're going to have to discuss this horrid décor, you know.” He closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of Harry's fingers on his prick.

“It was all Cho's decorating anyway. I'm a bit tired of looking at it.”

“Are you still angry at her?”

“Yes, but…” Harry's hand stopped moving, and he stretched out beside Draco. “It's complicated. I feel a bit sorry for her. It was a horrible situation all around. And the thing is, it was partly my fault. I was so empty after Ron died, and I wanted to be in a relationship in a way I'd never done before. I pursued her, no matter how much she resisted. I've always thought it was a reaction to Ron's death, but…” He turned onto his side to face Draco. “I think now it was that I missed you. I just didn't know it.”

Draco curled around him, pressing his forehead into Harry's shoulder. They were silent for nearly a minute. “Things were quite weird for me when I returned to New York . I was desperately lonely, and I stopped going out with my friends. I lost all interest in clubbing and picking up boys. I had no idea what was wrong with me.” Harry's arms around him tightened, and Draco sighed. “And that was about the time Manny and I started to get to know each other. We got serious so quickly, and it was bizarre at the time. I didn't understand it. I thought I had fallen in love with him, but… now I think I was looking for you.”

Harry kissed the top of his head. “Does he know that?”

“How could he? I don't know if I should tell him.”

“Does he need to know? He's happy with Hermione, and he knows you're happy too. Why open an old wound?”

“Yes, well… that brings up another issue.” He paused, and traced a circle with one finger against Harry's stomach. “What are you going to tell Hermione about Ron?”

“I've already told her everything I could remember. But I haven't told her…” He trailed off, and Draco felt him swallow.

“That was my task. I suppose he wanted it that way.”

:: :: :: :: ::

They stepped out of the fireplace and into a lively room: Hermione was rushing about with a pot of tea, Manny was wrestling with the twins on the floor, and Guada and Molly Weasley were laughing raucously.

“Well, look who finally crawled out of bed,” Manny said, somehow managing to stand with Cally's arms wrapped around his leg.

“Good morning,” Hermione called, beaming at them. “I'll put a new pot of coffee on for you, Draco.”

“Thanks,” he said, and grinned at the scene before him. It was so unlike anything he'd experienced in his life, and yet, it was wonderful. This was a family, he thought, and one he oddly felt a part of.

Harry nudged him and nodded toward the kitchen.

“Now?” Draco asked.

“Why not? She'll appreciate it, Draco. And it's what he wanted.”

Draco nodded and crossed the small living room, having to stop once at Harley's insistence that Draco look at a picture he'd drawn. It was dark and squiggly, and it made Draco feel uneasy just to look at it.

Harley dashed away, leaving the drawing in Draco's hand, so he took it to the kitchen with him. Hermione was just pouring water into the Muggle coffee machine, and she turned to smile at him.

“He's been drawing those nonstop,” she said, glancing toward the paper in his hand.

“Does he remember anything?”

Hermione sighed and leaned against the countertop. “We aren't sure yet. He's said a few odd things here and there, but we won't know for a while. It may be that he remembers much of what Ron saw, but he can't make sense of it yet.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“I don't know,” she replied, looking uneasy. “I suppose we'll have to wait and see. The healers said they can teach him to use a pensieve in a few years, if it becomes too much.”

Draco took a deep breath, trying to work up his courage.

“How are you holding up?” she asked.

“I'll be fine. There's so much to process, and it's all a bit jumbled up in my head at the moment. The memories are very fresh, and I get a bit confused about what happened a week ago and what happened three years ago.”

“I can imagine. I think it's amazing though, that you and Harry...” She paused, as if choosing her words carefully. “That you met twice, and both times, you fell for each other.”

Draco smiled. “I suppose.” He didn't believe in fate, but he had to admit it was quite a coincidence.

“What a wonderful love story,” she said, and grinned. “You should write about it.”

“I'm a crap writer,” he replied. She laughed, and Draco reached out to take her hand. “Hermione, I…” He paused, and her expression fell, as if she knew what was coming.

“Draco–” she began. He could feel her trembling.

“I have a message for you,” he said, struggling to keep his voice steady. “From Ron.”

She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Draco, please–”

“I promised,” Draco said, unable to keep the emotion from his voice. “I promised him I would do this.”

She opened her eyes again, and a tear streaked down one cheek. She took a shaky breath and nodded.

Draco pulled her into a hug and whispered Ron's words into her ear, feeling her shake against him as he did. He said it again, and again, until his throat was so tight he couldn't get the words out any more. She sobbed against his shoulder and he held her, remembering the feeling of Ron's consciousness being ripped away from him, remembering the agony he'd felt from Harry, and the emptiness afterward. Had his father felt any of this when his mother died?

Hermione clung to him and whispered, “Thank you. Thank you for that.”

They emerged from the kitchen ten minutes later, both red-eyed, but smiling. Manny took her hand when she sat beside him, and brushed her hair out of her face.

Draco sat next to Harry on the sofa, leaning into him. Harry put an arm around him and tugged him closer.

“All these young people in love,” Molly sighed, giving Guada a knowing glance.

“That reminds me,” Manny said. “We found Colby and Heather a few days ago.”

“Really?” Harry asked. “Where?”

“At Heathrow, trying to leave the country,” Manny replied. “We brought them to the office for questioning and offered to put them up long enough for them to testify against Lucius Malfoy.”

“I wondered where the Muggle abuse charges had come from,” Draco said. “What will happen to them after that?”

“We're going to arrange a work visa for Heather so she can go to the States with Colby. They only agreed to testify on that condition – and that their memories would not be modified afterwards.”

“I can't blame them,” Draco said, shifting closer to Harry.

“But is that really wise?” Hermione asked. “What if they tell people what they know?”

Guada snorted. “Who would believe them?”

Draco grinned. “I know a witch who writes for one of the big American tabloids. Maybe I should give them her number.”

Harry clamped a hand over Draco's mouth. “No more bright ideas from you.”

“Well, I'm starving,” Hermione said, standing. She flashed them all a sheepish grin, then waved her wand at the empty table. In a swirl of color, it was filled to overflowing with more food than Draco had seen since his days at Hogwarts. “Breakfast is ready,” she said, twirling her wand in her fingers.

“What the–?” Harry said, gaping at Hermione.

She smiled at Guada, who winked back.

“Thanksgiving charm,” Manny said, standing and stretching. “Mom's an expert.”

Everyone stood and began to file over to the table, but Draco caught Harry's hand and held him back.

“What is it?” Harry asked.

“Thank you,” Draco said, squeezing his hand. “For everything. I haven't been so happy in years, and it's because of you.”

Harry smiled. “This is the calm before the storm, you know. Just wait until that Commission Report is released and the world learns you were the one to kill Voldemort.”

“Shush,” Draco hissed, glancing over at the table where everyone was shoveling food onto their plates. “I don't want anyone to know. I don't care who gets the credit, as long as it isn't me.”

“I don't want it either,” Harry replied, grinning. “But don't worry. We'll think of something.”

“I just don't want things to change. Not yet, anyway. I need some time to get used to the idea.”

“I know,” Harry said, pulling him close. “So do I. But for now, this is all I need to get used to – having you in my life every day.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Could you be a bit more sappy, please?”

“Oh, yes,” Harry replied, and said in a voice that was much louder than necessary considering the distance between them, “I love you, Draco Malfoy.”

There was a whoop and a few declarations of “aww” from across the room, and then Draco's witty retort was cut off by a kiss.

But he didn't mind. He'd get Harry back for it later – in ten years or so.

:: :: :: :: ::

:: :: :: :: ::

21 December, 2005

Draco stared at his reflection and wondered for the fourteenth time why the hell he had agreed to this. It was something he'd wanted, of course, but not like this – not so very public.

“Big day,” Hermione said, her voice annoyingly cheerful. Draco shifted his gaze in the mirror and saw her head peeking through the door. “Are you ready?”

“No,” Draco replied, reaching for the necktie that was draped over the chair beside him. He tossed it around his neck and began to tie it, staring at his own hands in the mirror. They were shaking. He frowned at them.

“Let me,” Hermione said, closing the door behind her and crossing to him. He scowled, but dropped his hands. If he'd learned anything in the last year, it was that Hermione was stubborn. “Gryffindor,” she sighed, smiling at the tie.

“That was Harry's idea,” Draco replied, watching her hands make short work of the knot. “He's wearing mine.”

Hermione tugged the knot into place and straightened it. “I'm so happy for you, Draco. I know what this means to you.”

Draco made a face and turned back to the mirror. “The only reason we're doing this is so that you'll agree to marry Manny in time to make that bump of yours legitimate.”

Hermione trailed a hand across her swollen belly and gave him a mock stern look. She watched him loosen the tie a bit, and became almost misty-eyed. “You know, when Harry first told me he was going to propose to you, I was so excited. I promised him I would do everything I could to make it a reality.”

And she had. Hermione had taken a leave of absence from her job to start a massive campaign to legalize gay marriage under British wizarding law. She'd worked for months, but unfortunately for them all the Wizarding world was even more arcane than the Muggle world when it came to gay rights. She'd raised awareness at least, which as a start, as Harry kept pointing out. Draco was bitter and pessimistic about the whole thing – but then, that was typical for him.

“Which would explain why we're pretending to be Muggles today?”

“We have to start somewhere,” Hermione said, reaching up to comb her fingers through his hair. “At least the Muggle world is ready to accept two people loving each other. Besides, you two are the most well-known wizards of our generation, and this is going to advance the cause tremendously.”

“Just what I've always wanted,” Draco grumbled. He despised being the poster boy for gay wizard rights. Harry had tried to convince him early on that it would take public attention away from the whole killing Voldemort thing, which he also didn't like being famous for. And it had, for the most part. He still wasn't sure which he disliked more. “So when are you and Manny doing the deed, then?”

Hermione frowned. She'd publicly sworn to boycott marriage until Harry and Draco could be legally married, but things hadn't quite gone as planned. “I don't know. We're talking about it.”

“Just do us all a favor and get it over with, would you? Manny's mum has started owling me . She seems to think I can talk some sense into you two.”

“Guada has very old-fashioned ideas about these things. There's nothing wrong with having a child out of wedlock.”

“She's not old-fashioned,” Draco retorted. “She's pragmatic.”

“She's Catholic, actually. I think that's the bigger issue.” There was a knock at the door, and Hermione turned towards it. “Who is it?”

“It's us,” Manny said, opening the door and poking his head through. “Everybody decent?”

Cally and Harley dashed around Manny and into the room, stopping before Draco with grins on their faces. They each held out a small package.

“For me?” Draco asked, taking them. The children nodded and ran back to stand beside Manny, looking pleased with themselves. Draco examined the packages, which appeared to have been wrapped by the twins themselves. He smiled. “Can I open them later?” The twins nodded again, giggling.

“Oh, and your father's here,” Manny said, giving Draco an appraising look. “I thought you'd like to know.”

“You're joking.” Draco set the twins' gifts on the dressing table and leaned back against it. “I mean, I sent him an invitation, but I fully expected it to be ignored.”

“Oh, but that's lovely!” Hermione said. “Maybe that means he's come around. He's quite an influential figure, so it would be fantastic if he would publicly support–”

“I don't,” a steely voice spoke from the open doorway. They looked up to see Lucius standing there, peeling his black leather gloves from his fingers. “Marriage is between a witch and a wizard. This is nothing but a media event.”

“Oh, so that's why you're here,” Draco remarked. “Thought you'd make a bit more money if you showed up at this scandalous photo op?”

Lucius snorted. “My publicist thinks it's a good idea for me to look like a caring parent. If it sells more books, all the better.”

All the better for Draco and Harry as well, since they received half the profits from Lucius's book. Though parts of the Special Commission's report had been made public, Harry and Draco had refused to talk to the press about the demise of Voldemort. The public were desperate for information, which had only fueled bizarre tabloid stories about what had occurred. After serving his six month sentence in Azkaban for Muggle abuse, Lucius had found himself in a precarious position and in an act of desperation had proposed to step up and present himself as the hero. His ghost-written book was a highly inaccurate account of Voldemort's demise, depicting Lucius as the mastermind of it all – a man who had heeded his beloved wife's dying wish to redeem himself, be reunited with his estranged gay son, and rid the world of the Dark Lord.

Naturally, it had become an instant bestseller.

“Indeed,” Draco replied. “Speaking of publicity, I have something I've been meaning to owl you.” He rummaged through his bag and pulled out a tabloid newspaper with a photo of a stern-looking Heather splashed across the cover. He held it out to Lucius, smirking.

“I've seen it,” Lucius said, waving a dismissive hand. “My publicist has already responded on my behalf.”

“Let me see that,” Hermione said, reaching for the paper. She held it up and her eyes widened. “I was an evil wizard's sex slave,” she read. “Too bad no one will believe it.”

“She's probably cross because she wasn't in the book,” Draco said, studying his nails. He hadn't thought about Heather for months, and then his writer friend in the US had sent him a copy of the tabloid. Seeing that photo of her brought back too many memories – things he still hadn't let himself think about.

“Most likely,” Lucius replied. He straightened his cloak. “I've only stopped by to let you know the photographer should include me in one of the photos. I trust that won't be a problem?” He didn't wait for an answer before he turned and swept out of the room.

“What a bastard,” Manny grumbled, closing the door. “You ought to sneak off before he has a chance to use you for his own benefit.”

“Oh, no,” Hermione said, looking up from the tabloid article. “That photo could be very important to turn the tide of public opinion. Lucius is a public figure, someone whose support could make a difference!”

“Only he doesn't support it, really,” Draco reminded her. “He'll just pretend to because it's good for his image.”

Hermione looked stricken. Apparently the idea of someone doing the right thing for the wrong reason threw her entire world view into chaos.

The door opened once again, and to Draco's relief it was Harry who peeked through. “Am I imagining things, or did I just see Lucius down the corridor?”

“Harry!” Hermione squeaked, leaping in front of Draco. “Get out of here! It's bad luck!”

“Will you stop? Draco snapped, pushing her aside. “I'm not the fucking bride!”

“Well, no, but–”

“Let them have a moment together,” Manny grinned, taking her hand and tugging her towards the door. “We need time for you to pee and the kids to get settled, anyway.” He winked at Draco and led a red-faced Hermione and her children from the room.

Harry smiled at her as she passed, and she kissed him and whispered something Draco couldn't hear. He nodded in response and closed the door behind her.

Harry turned back to Draco and grinned. “You look beautiful, darling, just as lovely as the day we met.”

“Shut up,” Draco replied. He turned to face the mirror again. “I'm already sorry we did this.” There was a pause, and Draco winced – he hadn't meant for it to come out quite like that.

“Are you?” Harry asked, crossing to stand behind him. He stopped behind Draco and wrapped his arms around him, hooking his chin over Draco's shoulder. Their eyes met in the mirror. “It's not too late to call it off.”

“But it is.” Draco leaned back against him and sighed. “I wanted it to be quiet and small, just us and some friends. There are reporters and photographers out there from half the Wizarding press organizations in Europe .”

Harry squeezed him and his breath brushed Draco's ear, sending a little chill down his spine. “I'm sorry. It got out of control, didn't it?”

“Was it like this when you married Cho?”

Harry nodded. “Without the controversy and the hate mail, though.” He kissed Draco's cheek and smiled at their reflections. “But it's all right. We've managed to ignore it so far.”

“I wish I could believe it didn't get harder from here on out. Do you mind if I ask – what did Hermione say to you just now?”

Harry's smile faded a little. “She said Ron would've been happy for us. She means well, but… I wonder if that would have been true.”

Draco bit his lip. There were some things he still hadn't told Harry about – what had happened between him and his father when he'd been polyjuiced as Heather, for one thing. He wasn't sure he'd ever tell anyone about that.

But this he could tell Harry, and now was probably the best time to do it. He turned in Harry's arms and hugged him. “Ron did approve of us as a couple, you know.”

Harry sighed. “Just because he didn't freak out at the idea of us having sex doesn't mean he would have approved of this.”

“He didn't want you to marry someone you didn't love. He told me that.” Draco kept his eyes closed when he felt Harry tense in his arms. “He knew you didn't love Cho, and he… He told me he'd like to see you and me together instead.”

Harry pressed his forehead against Draco's shoulder. “Did he?”

“He encouraged me to break the two of you up, actually,” Draco mumbled, half-hoping Harry wouldn't hear.

Harry pulled Draco against him even more tightly. “That sounds like him. He never did like Cho.”

Draco smiled into Harry's shirt. “He wasn't the only one.”

“Now, now,” Harry said. “She sent a lovely gift.”

“And that makes up for everything, doesn't it?” Draco retorted, stepping back. He straightened Harry's shirt and stroked the Slytherin tie wth one finger. They'd spent a lot of time trying to decide what to wear today, mostly because Draco had insisted it not resemble traditional wedding clothing at all. They'd finally settled on white shirts under simple black robes, and Harry had brought up the idea of wearing their old school ties. He'd meant it as a joke, but the idea had stuck. “You look good in green. Did you know?”

Harry smiled, and Draco's stomach flipped. They were really going to do this. They were going to go out there in front of all those people and get married – something Draco never thought he'd be able to do. He had a flash of memory, back to the Valentine's Day morning he'd awakened in San Francisco heartbroken over Harry, and had watched gay couples getting married on television. The looks of joy on their faces had captured him in a way he'd never imagined possible, and it had sparked something inside him. It was that very morning he'd decided to go with Manny back to England , to find Harry and to give it another go.

And here he was.

“Oh, god,” he said. He could feel his emotions rising, and he swallowed them down hard. He'd be damned if he would cry like a girl at his own wedding.

“I love you,” Harry said, cupping his cheek. “So, so much.”

“This is what I wanted,” Draco replied, well aware that he was making little sense, but plowing ahead anyway. “I'm going to get exactly what I wanted.”

“Are you?” Harry asked. He brushed his thumb against Draco's cheek, and it was a moment before Draco realized he'd just wiped away a tear.

Well, hell.

“Yes,” Draco said, forcing himself to smile. “So let's stop wasting time, shall we? We've got a ceremony, a party, and several hundred pictures to take before we can get to the honeymoon sex.”

Harry looked thoughtful. “Think we should have more one go before the ceremony? You know, for luck?” His hand began to drift lower, but Draco caught it just before it reached his trousers.

“Not until we're married! Think I'm easy or something?”

“No comment,” Harry replied with a smirk. He nodded toward the door. “Ready to become Draco Potter?”

Draco gaped. “What the–? For fuck's sake, I'm not the girl! Why does everyone keep–”

“I'm joking,” Harry replied, grinning now. “But it made you stop crying, didn't it? You don't want to look all teary in front of that lot.” He started toward the door.

“I suppose not,” Draco retorted, wiping at his eyes. He couldn't help but smile, though – Harry knew how to get under his skin like no one else. That meant something.

Harry opened the door and looked back at him, then held out his hand. “Ready?”

Draco nodded, then crossed to him and took his hand.

Harry smiled and leaned over to whisper in his ear, “Happily ever after, yeah?”

Draco grinned. “Something like that.”

 

~ fin ~