Adtitulo

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/41238156.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Category: M/M
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Abraxas Malfoy/Tom Riddle, Draco
Malfoy/Voldemort
Characters: Draco Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa Black Malfoy, Tom Riddle |
Voldemort, Abraxas Malfoy, Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Rodolphus
Lestrange, Original House-Elf Character(s), Harry Potter, Severus Snape,
Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Pansy Parkinson, Vincent Crabbe,
Gregory Goyle, Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, Ginny Weasley, Fenrir
Greyback
Additional Tags: All Deaths are CANON, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence,
Hogwarts Sixth Year, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Hogwarts Eighth Year,
Extremely Dubious Consent, Torture, Aftermath of Torture, Sexual
Assault, Sexual assault recovery, Angst, Explicit Sexual Content,
Explicit Language, Healing, Canonical Character Death, Malfoy Manor
(Harry Potter), POV Draco Malfoy, POV Harry Potter, Making Love,
War Trauma, Angst with a Happy Ending, I promise we’ll get to a happy
ending, It’s just going to take some time, Fuck Joanne I’m redeeming the
slytherins MYSELF, They’ll be here in the second half of Act One
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2022-08-24 Completed: 2023-02-28 Words: 143,894
Chapters: 33/33
 Adtitulo
by jazminesays

Summary

Draco Malfoy comes back to Malfoy Manor the night Dumbledore died, and is punished for
his failure to murder the headmaster. However, he is also rewarded for his success in gaining
the Death Eaters entry into Hogwarts.

In the midst of his attempt at survival and mind games with the Dark Lord, Draco finds the
portrait of his Grandfather Abraxas and learns the real history between Lord Voldemort and
the Malfoy family.

Notes

Hello Darlings! I want to start by letting you all know that this will be a very long, very
heavy, very dark work. If you’ve read my other work, please do not judge this as something
similar. Adtitulo exists in its own playing field and will be full of it’s own brand of heaviness.
That being said, I’m extremely excited to build this story and take you all along with me
through an interpretation of the Malfoy family and their entanglement with Lord Voldemort.
Some things I want to note;

-This story is going to be split into two “Acts”, with the first Act focusing on two very toxic
relationships. The second act is where we’ll finally start to heal but it’s going to take some
time to get there.
-The Underage warning applies to Abraxas Malfoy and Tom Riddle
-The Dubious Consent tag applies to Draco and Voldemort
-The healing tag applies to Draco and Harry
-All MCD in this story are canon, nobody extra will die.
-I’ve tagged this as Canon Divergence because it will diverge later on but I feel there is
enough ambiguity regarding Draco Malfoys life in book 6 and 7 that I can stay very close to
canon for a good chunk of time.
-I love Draco very much, and I’m about to put him through HELL. Sorry y’all.

Well, I think that brings us all up to speed! Enjoy chapter 1 and, as always, thank you for
reading!
 Dumbledore’s Death

Chapter 1: Dumbledore’s Death

When Draco was younger, Summers at Malfoy Manor were filled with days of warmth and
comfort. The heat of the season was a welcome embrace after Winters in France or, after he
turned eleven, a school year in the biting chill of the Scottish countryside. He would spend
hours sitting in the solarium, basking in the rays of the sun stretched taut and thin like a cat.
His mother would tease him by reminding him that his name meant Dragon not Kitten, and
he would simply reply that he was warming his scales and hoarding sunshine.

Draco was a lover of heat, of the insistent touch that warm weather and crackling fire would
trace across his alabaster skin. He adored watching color rise to his cheeks and across his
arms as heat from outside washed over him and warmed his core. It was like being swaddled
by his mother, being hugged by his father, and being loved by his friends all at the same time.
Months in the dungeons at Hogwarts made his bones ache and plead for the solace of
summertime in the halls of his childhood home. He was cold, always cold, until he was back
on his ancestral grounds and soaking in the soft heat of Wiltshire once again.

Until the summer after his sixth year.

As Draco entered through the doors of the Manor, pulled along by his Godfather with the
ghosts of dried tears salty on his cheeks, he noticed it was the first time his home felt cold.
No, not just cold, it was freezing, despite the fire in the hearth and the small flames that lit the
torches and chandeliers that lined the hallways of his home.

Was it still his home? He knew he was in the manor, it only made sense. He recognized the
marble of the floor, the dark wood of the grand staircase, and the pillars that supported the
frescoed ceiling of the Entrance Hall but it still felt wrong.

He reached into his mind to work through the evening and make sense of what was
happening. He had side-alonged with Severus after fleeing the tower. After the Death Eaters
had entered. After Severus killed Dumbledore.

Dumbledore was dead, but not by him. He couldn’t do it. He didn’t do it. He disobeyed the
Dark Lord's orders. He failed.

The coldness of the Manor pierced through his skin and wrapped like ribbons around his
bones. He could feel his body trembling as the realization that he was moments away from
being presented to the Dark Lord in defeat. His body was being dragged along, feet
struggling to keep up with the smooth determined glide of his godfather next to him. Fresh
tears welled in his eyes and briefly warmed his cheeks as they slide down and dropped off his
painfully clenched jaw.

“Severus, Severus please you can’t take me to him.” He begged and pleaded with his
Godfather, unable to release his arm from the tight grip of his calloused hands. “Severus, I
failed . He’s going to kill me, please.” His voice was low, shaky, and dripping with fear and
grief. Was this cowardice? Was this weakness? He didn’t care.

“It doesn’t matter where I take you, Draco. He will find you and if he has to search, it will be
worse.” His godfather answered in a steady, strong voice that he could only hope to have.
Begging was futile, hiding was useless. Draco had no room to run away, no places to hide
and hope and wait for something to help him, to save him.

He stopped trying to escape Severus’ hold.

Together, they walked the frigid halls of the manor before stopping in front of the doors that
led to the study the Dark Lord had commandeered during his stay. The streaks of fresh tears
from moments ago had dried and left the skin on his face feeling tight. His fists were
clenched and his head was bowed as he listened to the quick, sharp knocks his Godfather
made on the door. His breathing became shallow and quick as they waited together, listening
for any sound from the other side.

“Enter.” The word floated to them, spoken somewhere between English and a hiss from the
lips of Lord Voldemort. Draco felt himself be pulled once again as Severus opened the door
and led them both inside. His eyes were focused on the hardwood floor beneath his feet,
relying only on his Godfather's guidance for where to go and when to stop. From the corner
of his vision, he could see the slithering body of Nagini moving and he couldn’t help the
shiver that ran down his hunched spine. “Welcome home, Draco.”

“Thank you, my Lord.”

“Look at me.” Draco complied, raising his gaze from ground and meeting the calculating, red
eyes of the Dark Lord.

“You were successful in getting my Death Eaters into Hogwarts, yes?”

Draco nodded his head before answering, “I was, my lord. Through the cabinet.”

“And, did you kill Dumbledore?” He could feel the words get stuck but pushed them through
the thicket of thorns that suddenly lined his throat.

“No, my lord, but he is dead.”

Across from him, the Dark Lord nodded, seeming to work through the information that had
been presented to him. The air of the study was still and calm, as Draco and Severus waited
for what came next.

It happened quickly.

In a matter of seconds, the Dark Lord drew his wand and cast the cruciatus course in Draco’s
direction. He felt his Godfathers grip loosen on his arm as he sank to the floor onto his knees,
feeling indescribable pain bursting underneath every inch of his skin. White spots danced in
his vision and small globs of saliva fell from his open mouth as his screams grew silent from
the strain on his vocal cords. He can’t be sure how long it lasted but, when it was over, he
collapsed on his side. His body trembled and his lungs felt as though they were seconds away
from deflating inside his body. His vision was blurry but he was able to still roll his eyes
slowly to once again make contact with the Dark Lords. A look of surprise flashed across his
barely human face as Draco met his gaze, and left before his brain could attempt to decipher
it.

“Despite your inability to kill Dumbledore, you did manage to succeed where many others
failed. You were able to get the Death Eaters into the school, and for that you will be
rewarded. Tell me, Draco, what is it you want?”

His eyes remained locked with the Dark Lords, not willing to lose this surprising connection
between the two of them that somehow appealed to the older Wizard. Only one request came
to mind.

“My father.” Lucius had been in Azkaban since the previous year, and Draco was desperate
to have both of his parents home with him. Even if home had been overrun by evil incarnate.

The Dark Lord continued to stare into his eyes, and Draco felt tugs on his occlumency
shields. Briefly, he considered letting them down but instead reveled in the fact that there was
one part of him The Dark Lord couldn’t over power. So few people held eye contact with The
Dark Lord due his reputation for painful legilimency and general fear of who he was, but
Draco refused to budge, refused to back down and submit completely no matter how deadly
defiance could be. He had no clue when this small seed of rebellion had been planted inside
him, but he was thankful it sprouted and seemed to be growing into something that would
hopefully be useful to him in the near future.

“Very well, Lucius Malfoy shall be liberated from Azkaban.” Surprisingly, the Dark Lord
was the first to break eye contact. Turning instead to look at Severus, while his long, grey
fingers rubbed his chin. “We will talk later, Severus. Escort Draco to his room, he needs rest.”

With a nod, his Godfather bent towards him and pulled Draco to his feet with a gentleness he
was more than thankful for. Together, they left the study and made their way to his room in a
separate wing of the manor. Severus opened the door and led him to his obnoxiously large
and invitingly soft bed that sat in the middle of the far wall. With gentle ease, Draco lowered
his aching body onto his emerald green sheets and sent a small smile to his Godfather as
“Thanks” for getting him to bed in one piece.

“Is there anything I can get for you, Draco?” Severus’ voice was soft and loving, so different
from the sharp tone he used while at Hogwarts. Draco wished that he could take this voice
from his godfather and somehow knit it into a warm and fuzzy blanket to fight the chill that
had settled across the entire estate.

“No Severus, thank you.” With a nod, his godfather left his bedroom. Dark robes billowing
behind him. Draco couldn’t summon the energy to remove more than his outer robes and
boots before settling into the familiar comfort of his mattress and feather pillows. Echoes of
the Dark Lords cruciatus sparked along his nerves and made it difficult to relax his tense and
sore muscles. Eventually, exhaustion won out against the remnants of torture and his body
and mind succumbed to the bliss of unconsciousness and dreamless sleep.
Draco awoke the next morning to fingers combing tenderly through his hair. Slowly, he
opened his eyes and looked onto the delicate and beautiful face of his mother. Her eyes
watered and lips trembled as she looked down at Draco and he felt the hand in his hair shake
slightly as it continued to move through his platinum locks.

“I’m so happy you’re home, Dragon” she whispered, so as not to disturb the serene silence of
his bedroom and potentially block out any noise that would remind them of what their home
had turned into. He wasn’t happy to be in the major, but he was overjoyed to be back with his
mother and, hopefully soon, his father. Together, the three of them could survive the war, he
was sure of it. All he wanted, all he needed , was his mother and father safe and close enough
to wrap in his arms. The last ten months at Hogwarts had left him on the precipice of a
mental breakdown and all he could focus on was doing everything he could to keep his
family alive and even though he didn’t complete the task fully, it was clear he did enough to
save his father from the dark prison cells he was currently held in.

“He’s going to get Father out of Azkaban, we’ll all be together soon.” His voice was croaky
and dry, throat painful from nearly a full 24 hours of crying and screaming. He winced once
the words were out and watched as his mother quickly conjured a cup and filled it with her
aguamenti charm before helping him sit up and drink. His mothers aguamenti was cool and
crisp, with a hint of citrus that tingled on his tongue as the liquid washed down his sore
throat.

Silence settled around them again, as Draco leaned back into his pillows. His mothers hand
moved back to his hair and resumed its gentle caress. A year of stress and overbearing
expectations on his shoulders kept his mind occupied and resulted in his hair, typically cut
close to the tips of his ears, sitting at his chin. The ribbon he used to tie it back was lost some
time the night before, probably on the floor of the study as his body spasmed with one of the
harshest crucios he’s ever felt.

Just like the augameti charm, the cruciatus curse differed depending on who cast it. Aunt
Bella’s was frantic, it swept over his body and crashed into him like hundreds of bludgers
from different angles. Her crucio felt like being beaten, and would leave his skin with the
sensations of deep, dark bruises that would never actually show. His fathers crucio, which he
only felt at the order of the Dark Lord for some sort of cruel punishment, felt like fire and
explosions. He would scream and beg, because that was what the Dark Lord wanted to hear,
but deep down Draco found comfort in this version of the curse. The heat, although blistering
and harsh, reminded him of summers spent out on the manor grounds. The burns that the sun
licked onto his skin were blissful reminders of an afternoon spent chasing butterflies and
rolling in the soft grass of the gardens.

The Dark Lord's crucio was the worst. It felt like strips of his skin were being cut from his
muscle, like his body was being flayed and skinned then doused in frigid water. He felt the
sensations of his bones breaking and dislocating, the soft tissue and ligaments of his body
bending and tearing under the weight of the Dark Lord's fury. It was unforgettable, and
always left tremors and ghosts of pain running through him even hours after the finite was
cast. He shivered at the memory of the curse from the night before, flexing his fingers and
toes to remind himself that his limbs hadn’t actually been pulled from his joints.

He fell asleep with his mothers fingers dancing along his scalp, and slipped back into
unconsciousness.

Only this time, he dreamed. He dreamed, and it was awful.

The next few days melted into one another for Draco. He would wake, sometimes to his
mothers loving embrace and other times to Severus preparing a potion to relieve some of the
leftover pain from his meetings with the Dark Lord.

They weren’t really meetings.

He would be summoned by a Death Eater, pulled from the warmth of his room to the icy
halls of the manor. His steps would falter, subtle limping in his gait reminiscent of his last
“meeting”. Sometimes, the Death Eater that led him would speak harsh words into his ears.
Their stinking breath would singe his nostrils as he listened to the fantasies of what they
would do to him if he failed the Dark Lord again. His face would remain expressionless,
passive and shuttered because he knew that the words were empty. They would not hurt him,
they would not curse him, they would not touch him.

The Dark Lord claimed him exclusively. For reasons he didn’t yet know.

Too soon, the march to the study would end and whoever led him would beat harsh knocks
on the door before walking away and leaving Draco waiting for an invitation that churned the
acid in his stomach. Sometimes, the answer would come right away. Other times, he’d wait
for what felt like hours but was likely no more than fifteen minutes. It was a test of his will, a
game that Draco knew he would lose no matter what hand he played. He remained at the
door, fighting every instinct to run and hide from what waited for him on the other side of the
dark, oak door.

His meeting today, however, was different. Uncle Rodolphus came to fetch him from his
room and uncharacteristically remained quiet as they followed the familiar path to the study
in the northern wing of the manor. Draco’s mind began to whirl as he tried to find the reason
for Rodolphus’ silence. Was this another test? Another cruel round of chess that he played
handicapped, blindfolded, and destined to lose? He couldn’t figure it out, and that realization
sent a fresh wash of chilliness through his veins.

They reached the horrifically familiar oak door, and Rodolphus knocked twice then walked
away. The air was stilted and silent, it cracked silently around him like ice that had been
gently tapped. Even the sound of his breathing was kept quiet as he waited, stiff with
anticipation. Minutes passed, but eventually the knock was answered as it always was.
“Enter.”

Draco turned the knob on the door and walked into the study, immediately making direct
contact with the eyes of the Dark Lord as he had done every meeting since the night of
Dumbledore’s death. It was the one upper hand Draco seemed to have, his ability to meet the
eyes of the Dark Lord and keep his occlumency shields strong against the battering ram of his
Lords legilimency. Their gazes remained locked, Draco refusing to back down and waiting
for either a dismissal or a curse.

“Crucio,” the Dark Lord cast, and Draco felt his muscles tighten as he waited for the pain to
overtake his body but, surprisingly, it didn’t come. His confusion only lasted a second as he
heard a thud to his left and tore his eyes away from the red pupils he had just warred with.
The Dark Lord had cast the curse with his wand pointed at another occupant in the room,
someone Draco hadn’t even noticed when he entered due to his determination to retain the
eye contact that granted him a kernel of power over his situation.

Curled on the floor, breathing harshly through the sensations of cruciatus, was his father. As
promised days before, Lucius Malfoy was liberated from Azkaban and returned home as
reward for his small success with the cabinets in the spring. Draco felt blooms of affection
and love for his father expand in his chest and briefly considered collapsing on the ground
and pulling the older man into his arms. It was an instinct that was difficult to fight but Draco
knew it was the reaction the Dark Lord expected, and he’d be damned if he made anything
easy for him ever again.

The curse ended, and Draco returned his eyes to the Dark Lords’. Reopening the connection
between them while refusing to let any emotions crack through the infamous Malfoy Mask
that sat on his face.

“I’ve brought your father home, as promised.”

“Thank you, My Lord.” His voice remained as steady as his eye contact, not letting any
actual gratitude leak onto the words. His fathers soft whimpers of pain filled the emptiness in
the air and Draco felt the force of the Dark Lord's legilimency pound at his mental shields
stronger than they had ever been before. Draco’s body began to tremble as he worked against
the invading force of his mind, refusing to let anyone past the barrier he had erected. He felt a
warm trickle of blood escape his nostrils and drip over his top lip, landing in small crimson
drops on the floor below. Tears pricked and fell from the corners of his eyes, meeting the
same fate on the hardwood as they detached from his skin. Still, he refused to yield.

“Crucio,” this time it was aimed at him. He collapsed to the ground, his hands slipping out
from under him as they met the slick, cooling spot of his blood and tears. The familiar feeling
of being skinned alive erupted over his senses and, combined with the pain of maintaining his
occlumency shields moments before, Draco gave in to the temptation to scream. The curse
ended sooner than he expected, but still left him trembling on the floor. His eyes were closed
now, taking what little comfort he could at the darkness behind his fluttering lids.

“Look at me, Draco” the command was spoken with the smallest hint of satisfaction. The
Dark Lord towered above him and his father and seemed to relish in this moment of power
over the Malfoy men. Something snapped inside Draco, protectiveness over his family and a
sudden disregard for his own well being. He would not lie on the floor of this study, the floor
of his home , in pain and grant the Dark Lord a modicum of success.

“No.” The word was laced with all of the venom and hatred he had pushed deep down inside.
He heard his fathers breath hitch, most likely in fear and disbelief over the sudden reality of
his son refusing the Dark Lord. His eyes remained closed, and his muscles tight from the pain
of torture. He waited for the next round of cruciatus but it never came. When he finally
opened his eyes again, they once again met The Dark Lord above him. “All we’ve ever done
is listen to you, and you still treat us like this?”

“Draco, stop.” They were the first words he heard from his father in over a year and, although
they were a plea for him to concede, they only served to strengthen his resolve against the
grotesque excuse for what was clearly no longer a man.

“No. I will not. He is in OUR house, he uses OUR money, he relies on OUR goodwill and yet
he still takes his anger out on us almost exclusively.” The words were spit from his mouth,
passing through clenched teeth with a sharpness he hadn’t felt in a long time. Although his
body remained on the floor, his eyes never wandered.

“My Lord ple-” his Father spoke again, turning his pleas to the source of so much pain that
haunted the Malfoy family.

“Silence, Lucius. Your son is talking. Please Draco, continue.” The Dark Lord's voice was
now laced with curiosity and, to a lesser extent, amusement.

“How can you claim to care about blood purity when almost daily you come close to killing
the heir to the oldest pureblood line in Wizarding History? Why should I address you as My
Lord when you so clearly have no regard for one of your most faithful servants?” The
motivations of the Dark Lord were twisted by grabs for power and years of dark magic
corrupting his very soul. Draco raised a challenge, feeling for the first time that he was
playing a move ahead in the twisted games of Lord Voldemort. He relaxed his body and
waited, knowing what was coming next.

“Crucio.” Again, pain flurried around him, slightly dulled by the numbness and adrenaline of
his defiance. The curse ended, and the pain slowly receded leaving him with nothing but his
muted anger and disdain.

“Ju-just k-k-kill m-m-me.” the words, although spoken stuttered and slow, contained the
same animosity as before.

“You wish to die, Draco?” Voldemort answered, his own voice colored with something
imperceivable.

“N-no,” He stopped, taking a deep and painful breath in an attempt to gain control over his
speech again, “I wish for freedom. From you.”

The study was silent again for a few moments before the Dark Lord gave his response, “You
are nothing like your father, Draco.”
“Good.” Although he loved his father, Draco had no desire to cower under the Dark Lord any
longer. He felt soft touches of pride at the distinction that he was a Malfoy, different from
what was expected.

“You are too much like Abraxas…leave, now.” Confusion at the mention of his Grandfather
replaced his brief burst of pride and set his mind running once again. He barely listened to his
father thanking the Dark Lord for granting them reprieve, and flinched as Lucius grabbed
onto his arms and lifted him from the hardwood. Together they left the study, closing the door
softly and not daring to speak until they left the northern wing of the house.

His lips felt dry and cracked, the taste of iron assaulting his tongue as he licked them in an
attempt to bring moisture back. His head pounded and his body ached, but his mind was
focused on the last words that the Dark Lord spoke.

“You are too much like Abraxas”

What did that mean? Draco never knew his Grandfather, Abraxas died in the late 60’s from
Dragon Pox and his father only ever spoke of him during brief lessons of their lineage during
his childhood. Abraxas was rumored to have been instrumental in the removal of the first
muggleborn Minister of Magic in 1968 but that was the extent of his familiarity. His father
sometimes mentioned holidays together or teachings his Grandfather passed on, but they
were superficial moments that painted a dull picture of a man that was clearly far more
relevant than it seemed.

“Why did he mention Grandfather?” he asked, coming out of his thoughts and leaning into
the comforting hold of his father. They were walking towards the master bedroom in the East
Wing, where his parents' suites were housed. They entered through the doors of the private
sitting room and his father gently lowered him onto the plush couch in front of the ornate
fireplace.

“I don’t know.” Was his fathers’ answer, as he pulled a blanket from somewhere and tucked it
around Dracos shivering body. He hadn’t even realized he was shaking, teeth chattering and
skin as cold as a glacier. His father knelt beside his head and lifted a soft hand to his
forehead, examining his face and taking note of what he saw. “Mipsy” he called, and a
second later the popping sound of apparition signaled the arrival of the aforementioned house
elf.

“Yes Master Malfoy, sir?” she squeaked

“Bring me a small basin with warm water and two towels.” Lucius commanded.

“Yes Master Malfoy sir!” two more loud pops sounded as Mipsy left to fetch the requested
items and returned to the suite. The elf handed the small towels to his father and set the basin
of water on the rug underneath his knees. Draco watched as he took one of the towels and
dunked it in the bowl, then rung out the excess and lifted the soft cloth to his painfully
crusted mouth.

“Mipsy, fetch Mistress Malfoy and tell her she’s requested in the Master Suites.” His father
commanded again, the harsh tone of his voice a stark contrast to the gentleness he used to
wash away the clotted and dried blood from Draco's face.

“Right away Master Malfoy sir.” Another pop, and she was gone. Draco felt his body sink
further into the couch and focused on the comforting sensations his father provided. The icy
chill that he felt all over his body moments before had finally begun to thaw, warming to the
room and providing relief that seeped down into his bones.

“I missed you, Draco.” His father said, in a voice so soft and small it was almost
unrecognizable. A childhood of cool distance between the two of them paled in the current
reality of a father and son fighting to keep each other alive during war. He missed him too, he
cried for days after his father was locked in Azkaban the previous year and wrestled with
grief and anger. Grief over losing the patriarch of his family, and anger over his fathers
choices to sacrifice them all for a flawed worldview.

He wanted to blame Potter. He yearned to find the familiar comfort of directing spikes of his
emotions towards the Wizarding World's Golden Boy, but it fell flat. It wasn’t Potters’ fault
that his father had spent months wasting away in the dank of Azkaban, and Draco no longer
had the energy to make excuses for Lucius Malfoy. He spent the previous summer as a
prisoner in his own home, subject to the “teachings” of Aunt Bella on occlumency and pain
before kneeling in his dining room and letting the Dark Lord sear the dark mark into his pale,
unblemished skin. He welcomed the task initially, grateful for the chance to restore some
semblance of honor to the Malfoy name and the ability to keep his mother relatively
protected from the evils that now walked their halls.

It didn’t take long for him to realize he had been given a mission that he was destined to fail.
What he thought was an olive branch was in fact a punishment for whatever mistakes his
father made at the Ministry. The Dark Lord waited for him to return, empty handed and
prepared to dig his family's graves.

The opening of the suite door tore him from his thoughts and he looked over to see his
mother gracefully enter the room.

“Oh, my son.” His mother exhaled, and crossed towards where he laid near the crackling
fireplace. His father remained on his knees but was no longer washing his face, the basin had
been moved and his hand was now held between both of his fathers’. His mother knelt to his
fathers’ right and began stroking his hair as she had done so many mornings before. His
father kissed her cheek, before leaning down to kiss Dracos as well and excusing himself to
the bedroom. When they were alone, he asked the only question he cared to answer at this
moment.

“Where is Grandfather Abraxas’ portrait?”

“All of the family portraits were moved to the library in the south tower, the Dark Lord
worried there would be eavesdropping on the meetings.” Draco nodded, and closed his eyes,
falling into a sleep that was aided by his mothers soothing presence.
It took two days before Draco had enough strength to climb the swirling staircase that led to
South Tower library. Miraculously he hadn’t been summoned to the north wing study, giving
his body the chance to heal from the Dark Lord's most recent assault. The steps were steep
and carried him, slowly, to the double-door entrance of the library that currently housed the
portraits of his ancestors. His focus was razor sharp, determined to meet the memory of his
Grandfather and make sense of who he was and whether or not their apparent kinship was a
benefit to Draco.

He pushed open the doors and let the smell of old books and stone fill his nose. The South
Tower Library held various texts and tomes on Wizarding history and Pureblood genealogy.
A fireplace carved from dark marble was fitted into the wall opposite the entrance doors and
from the mantle, the Malfoy family tapestry grew and branched off. Sprawling over the wall
and touching the ceiling. The walls to his left and right were cluttered with portraits of
members of the Malfoy lineage, a new addition to the previously empty walls. The center of
the room held rows of bookshelves that were packed tight with the history of his family line.
He walked along the wall of portraits, nodding briefly at ancestors whose names had been
buried in the deep corners of his mind. Eventually, he stopped in front of a portrait with a
small gold plaque on the bottom of the frame that read ‘Abraxas Septimus Malfoy’ . Looking
up he was met with silver eyes and a sharp, aristocratic face that mirrored his own. Despite
the portrait being of someone at least fifteen years his senior, Draco was stunned at the
resemblance they shared. Like him, Abraxas’ platinum blonde hair had grown to reach just
under the line of his jaw and settled in subtle waves. Clearing his throat and straightening his
spine despite the ache that persisted, Draco prepared to greet the portrait.

“Hello, Grandfather Abraxas.” The man in the portrait lifted a brow in a manner that was so
similar to his own, Draco had a brief thought that he was actually looking into a mirror.

“Hello Draco.” He responded, “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

“I’m here to talk about you and the Dark Lord.”

“What do you wish to know about us?”

“Everything.”
 Abraxas Malfoy

Chapter 2: Abraxas Malfoy

September, 1943

Abraxas Malfoy met Tom Riddle on an overcast day in the middle of September. The air was
crisp and bit at his cheeks as he walked from the apparition point in Hogsmeade to the front
gates of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. As the Youth Representative for the
Ministry of Magic, it was Abraxas’ duty to introduce himself to the upcoming year's Prefects,
Head Boy, and Head Girl. Some, he knew from his own years at Hogwarts in the brief time
their schooling overlapped.

He had completed his seventh year in the Spring of 1936 and began his tenure at the Ministry
in the fall of the following year. Despite the expectations of a Malfoy to rise within the ranks
of the Ministry, Abraxas luxuriated in the comfort of his position as the Youth
Representative. What better way to foster political connections than by meeting the next
member of the Wizengamot or Head of the DMLE while they were still wide eyed and eager?
Additionally, Abraxas remained relatively unbothered in his position and was given great
flexibility on his expectations.

He was a voice for the next generation of Witches and Wizards and he had great control over
what was said.

Finally reaching the gates of Hogwarts, Abraxas waited to be greeted by Headmaster Dippet.
He shivered as the wind blew over him, carrying with it the chill of the Black Lake. With a
quick swish of his wand, he conjured a length of dark ribbon and used it to tie back his chin
length white blonde hair, allowing a few loose tendrils to fall forward and frame his face. In
the distance, he could see the small figure of the Headmaster growing steadily larger as he
walked closer to Abraxas, and he squared his shoulders for an introduction.

“Good Afternoon Mr. Malfoy, welcome to Hogwarts.” The Headmaster's voice croaked in the
chilly weather as he opened the gates and granted Abraxas entry to the grounds.

“Good Afternoon Headmaster Dippet, thank you for having me.” He responded, bowing
slightly and crossing the threshold of the school's wards.

“Of course, of course. The new prefects and Head Boy and Girl are looking forward to your
meeting. They’re waiting in the small conference room on the side of the Great Hall.”

“How are the fifth year prefects settling into their new responsibilities?”

“Quite well, quite well. In fact, one of the Slytherin prefects has been quite vocal about an
introduction with you. I believe he has his sights set on a career in the ministry and would be
honored to sit down with you.”
Through great effort, Abraxas stopped his eyes from rolling at this revelation. He was no
stranger to the overzealous energies of fifth year students, desperate to impress him and drain
him of any knowledge about the inner workings of magical government. While he took great
pride in his liaison with Hogwarts, he was quick to tire of the empty platitudes that often
accompanied prefects with their sights set on a one on one meeting with him.

“What is this student's name?” He asked, climbing the stone steps that lead to the entrance
hall of the school. Abraxas knew he’d have better control over the upcoming meeting by
knowing who, exactly, was so eager for his audience.

“Tom Riddle.” Headmaster Dippet responded, and Abraxas filed the name away. Entering the
Great Hall with the older wizard they walked towards the door that sat to the left of the Head
Table and led to a small room where he would meet the new and returning leading students.
The four house tables were sparsely populated, as it was midday Friday and just after the
typical serving of lunch.

Entering the meeting room, Abraxas noted the small gathering of fifth, sixth, and seventh
year students. He recognized the older students from his previous years as the Youth
Representative and smiled in greeting at those who offered words of welcome to him. His
eyes caught, however, on the piercing gaze of Slytherin prefect he had yet to meet. The boy
was tall and handsome, with dark eyes and hair that sat neatly atop his head. It was gelled
slightly, but not slicked and compressed. Rather, the gel worked with his gentle curls and not
against them. Abraxas let out a small gasp as he felt a light tug on his occlumency shield and
realized the boy he was currently locked in eye contact with was performing legilimens . It
was such a subtle entry into his mind that, had Abraxas not been so heavily trained in mind
magic already, he never would’ve noticed.

Intriguing he thought, lifting a brow in challenge as the boy pulled his invading presence
back to himself. Abraxas had never met someone so young who had mastered legilimency so
well, and he was immediately entranced by this boy before him. If this student, clearly no
more than 15 years old, was already so powerful, well…Abraxas fought off a shudder of
excitement at what a future he had before him. In all his years as a liaison for the ministry he
had never met someone who caught his attention so quickly. He crossed the room slowly, and
stood in front of the boy with a green tie and silver Prefect badge pinned to his school robes.

“Tom Riddle, I presume?” he asked, gazing down and noting the slight twitch in the boys
mouth as he nodded his head ever so slightly.

“Yes, sir and you must be Abraxas Malfoy. I’ve been looking forward to the chance to make
your acquaintance.” He responded. His earlier assumption of the student the Headmaster had
forewarned him of was washed away by the cool, calculating demeanor that Tom embodied.
There was mystery in this young man, and a power that Abraxas could feel leaking out of his
pores. He was utterly enchanted.

“Right, Mr. Malfoy! Let’s get started then.” His focus was broken by the interjection of the
Headmaster who had settled in a wingback chair at the other end of the small room. Abraxas
nodded his approval and moved to the chair to Dippets left, watching as the students of the
room took their own seats facing the two of them.
As he made his introductions and explained his role as the Ministry of Magics Youth
Representative, he couldn’t help the frequent pull of his gaze to the direction of Tom Riddle.
The young man sat and listened with rapt interest, his eyes sharp and sparking and his mind
no doubt churned through ideas and plans. When Abraxas finished his speech, he asked if
there were any questions the students had for him. He was met with the usual queries about
frequency of his visits to the school, how long he had held his post, and expectations he had
for the next generation of ministry workers. He answered them with ease and directed them
all to owl him with any further concerns, watching as the students nodded and absorbed the
plethora of information he had provided.

“What house were you during school?” Again, his focus turned exclusively to Tom Riddle
who had asked this particular question with a soft, inquisitive tone that contrasted so deeply
with his blazing irises. It was then that Abraxas understood Tom Riddle kept canyons of
thoughts and emotion buried and bound tightly by a polite and unassuming front.

“I was a Slytherin, it runs in the family,” the older students and Headmaster Dippet chuckled
at his light joke. It was true, many generations of Malfoy men and women had been sorted
into the Slytherin House since the creation of Hogwarts centuries prior. Abraxas, of course,
was no exception.

The meeting ended and, before Abraxas could be inundated by any of the other students, he
made his way back over to the Slytherin Prefect. Tom stood and locked eyes with him again,
but this time there were no attempts to invade his mind.

“Headmaster Dippet tells me you’re interested in working in the Ministry and may benefit
from a meeting with just the two of us.”

“I’d be honored to have a private meeting with you, Mr. Malfoy.” Tom replied, something
unreadable but no less intoxicating laced his tone of voice.

“Please, call me Abraxas.”

October, 1943

The following month, Abraxas returned to Hogwarts to see Tom Riddle again. This time,
however, they were meeting alone. He was greeted again by Headmaster Dippet and led into
the same room on the side of the Great Hall. There sat two wingback chairs and a small table
with tea resting between them, and he sat down facing the door with his legs crossed and his
hands clasped together on his thighs.

The door opens and Tom Riddle walked in, taking the seat across and pouring a cup of tea.

“Thank you for meeting with me, Abraxas.” He says, raising his sharp, dark eyes from where
they rested initially on the tea service.
“I’m happy to make time for any student at Hogwarts, particularly ones who are as…
advanced as you.” He responds, pouring his own cup of tea and sweetening it with small
spoonfuls of sugar and dollops of cream.

“What makes you think I’m advanced?”

“Considering you’re the first person I’ve met who came close to overpowering my
occlumency shields at only 15 years old and with little effort, I can only assume you’re quite
proficient in your studies.” Abraxas does not have time for games and tests, he can sense
there is something strong lying beneath the surface of Toms’ pleasant demeanor and he is
determined to discover what’s there.

Tom is unfazed by his explanation and they sit together in silence for a few seconds, simply
regarding each other.

“Your shields were impressive.” Tom answers with the smallest hint of a smile on his lips.
Abraxas is drawn to them, then catches his gaze again.

“Tell me, Tom, what would you wish to accomplish as a member of the Ministry?”

“Small goals, at first. I’d like to adjust the power structures, and place more emphasis on
wizards from pureblood families.”

“Really? Why’s that?”

“As a Malfoy, I’m sure you can understand.”

Abraxas leaned back and raised his brow. The Malfoy family was frequently vocal about their
wishes for purity in Wizard Culture, a sentiment that was becoming less and less appreciated.
How interesting that Tom agreed. Abraxas quickly ran through the names of pureblood
families he knew and realized quickly that Riddle was nowhere to be found.

“You are not a pureblood wizard.” Abraxas says. It is a statement, not a question.

“And yet, as you already pointed out, I’m quite skilled.”

Another round of silence and eyes anchored at each other, lines of sunlight that split the
curtains on the window danced over the floor and cut diagonally across Tom's face. Abraxas
felt himself lean forward, sparks of anticipation stinging his skin.

“Tell me Tom, what is it you really want ?”

“Power”

November, 1943
The third month of the Hogwarts term brought an icy rain that slowly turned to a sparkling
snow. Once again, Abraxas waited at the front gates for another private meeting with Tom
Riddle. Their conversations left him excited and eager, brimming with intellectual discussion
and pureblood wizarding traditions. In between his visits to the school, Abraxas and Tom
exchanged letters and books on all iterations of magical study. Malfoy Manor housed several
libraries, one in each of the four towers and a fifth deep underground-only accessible through
the dungeons. The fifth library was a catacomb of books on dark magic and cursed relics,
locked away for safekeeping from prying eyes and ministry law enforcement. He had yet to
loan Tom a book from this particular collection but he kept possible recommendations for the
future in mind.

The hood of Abraxas’ cloak was pulled over his head, with an impervious charm cast over
his body to dispel as much of the beating rain as possible. He watched the similarly cloaked
figure of the Headmaster come into view and prepared himself to greet the croaking old man.
He stopped short however, when he realized the person approaching the gates was not
Headmaster Dippet, but the transfiguration professor Albus Dumbledore.

“Professor Dumbledore.” he bowed minutely in greeting. The gate opened and he stepped
through, receiving a small bow of his own.

“Hello Mr. Malfoy, welcome to Hogwarts.” They began the familiar walk to the entrance
doors, taking careful consideration to avoid puddles of collected rainwater. “You’re here to
see Mr. Riddle, I understand?”

“Yes, he’s quite interested in a career with the ministry. We’ve been meeting to discuss his
options.” Something about Dumbledore’s sudden presence and questioning unsettled him,
leaving Abraxas with his guard raised and answers surface-level.

“He’s quite a brilliant student. Has he mentioned what he wishes to do in this Ministry?”

“Nothing specific. Like other students I’ve met, he thinks about restructuring the dynamics or
bringing about change for the Wizarding Community.”

“Mr. Malfoy I am aware of your families…personal opinions on Wizards of certain lineage.”

“I would imagine you are, we don’t keep it a secret. The Wizarding World functions best
when it’s separate from muggles.”

They stop on the stone landing, outside the entrance doors. Dumbledore turns toward him,
with twinkling eyes and a soft expression.

It sets Abraxas even further on edge.

“Has Tom expressed any shared opinions with you?”

“I can’t say he has. Our meetings are kept primarily to discussion on Ministry procedure and
possible career paths. Why? Do you think I should ask him his views on mudbloods and
halfbreeds?” Abraxas allows himself to smirk slightly at the sudden look of shock on
Professor Dumbledore’s face. The air vibrates with an uncomfortable tension that he can’t
help but relish in.

“Mr. Malfoy, you know as well as I do that blood status does not make a wizard.”

“Of course not, Professor. However, it’s quite the indicator isn’t it?”

They lock gazes, in a manner similar to him and Tom but still so entirely different.
Dumbledore breaks first, opening the large doors and gesturing for Abraxas to step inside.
Once they’re out of the harsh weather he lowers the hood of his cloak and removes his dark
dragonhide gloves, tucking them gently into his trouser pocket.

“Did you have any more questions for me Professor? I don’t want to be late meeting Tom.”

“No Mr. Malfoy, I believe our conversation is over.”

“Look at that, Professor. Something we agree on.”

December, 1943

Abraxas had no time to visit Hogwarts in December. Between end of year meetings at the
Ministry and the full social calendar of a Pureblood during the Holidays, he was kept busy.
Overwhelmingly so. Still, he made time to read and respond to the letters he received from
Tom. He had learned about Tom's small group of friends or, more accurately, lackeys and
oafs. It seemed his only chances for stimulating conversation occurred during his meetings
and correspondence with Abraxas. They filled pages of parchment with discussion of magical
rituals, questions about dark magic and the limitations of what was deemed legal and
acceptable, and a shared vision for a future where Purebloods held any and all power in the
Wizarding World.

In such a short period of time, Abraxas had become utterly entranced by Tom Riddle. At only
15 years old his mind was sharp and ever expanded. Soaking up any and all of the knowledge
he was presented with. Even at his own age of 24, Abraxas felt himself struggling at times to
keep up with Tom’s insistent curiosity and search for information.

On the morning of the 6th, he received a letter from one of the Hogwarts owls he had come to
know quite well.

Abraxas ,

I must thank you for your information on the Gaunt family bloodline. I hope to one day visit
the libraries of Malfoy Manor that you’ve described so vividly and shared with me. The
genealogy book you sent has proven to be incredibly useful. I’ve found myself strongly
interested in magical bloodlines and shared abilities within a family. Do you have any books
on parseltongue or other rare languages? Additionally, I’d love to use the holiday break to
continue our study of death and the magical soul. Any books you may have would be greatly
appreciated. I hope in January you’re able to return to the school, I must admit I’ve missed
our meetings and in person discussions. There’s only so much that can be written in a letter.

Signed,

Thomas Riddle

On December 8th, after spending nearly an entire night rooting through the Dungeon Library,
he responded.

Tom,

I’ve attached to this letter several books I discovered in the Manor. I recommend reading
them only when you are sure no one else is around, as so few others understand and
appreciate the complexities of such dark magic. I’m pleased to hear the genealogy books
were useful, and I’m eager to learn more about what you’ve discovered. I intend to return to
Hogwarts in early January, and plan to request accommodations so that I may stay on school
grounds for a short period of time to check in with the other prefects, Head Boy, and Head
Girl and their goals for the new year. As I’m sure you can understand, my attention has been
quite occupied these previous months.

I will continue to scour the Manor libraries when I have time, and will send on any other
books you may be interested in. Perhaps once you’ve left Hogwarts, you can visit the Manor
in person and explore the libraries to your Heart's content. If I’m being honest, my
descriptions simply don’t do it justice. Do you have plans for the Holiday season? Besides
incessant research, of course. Surely there’s something you’re looking forward to?

Best,

Abraxas Malfoy

On December 11th,

Abraxas,

How fortunate it will be to have you at Hogwarts for a short time in the new year. The chance
to discuss my research in private quarters will be a welcome change to the small room we
commandeer inside the Great Hall. Again, I thank you for the books you provided and
promise I’ve heeded your warning. I can only agree with your sentiment, magic of this level
is best kept to a select few.

As for the holidays, my only plans are to stay at Hogwarts and focus on my studies. I always
enjoy the emptiness of the castle at the end of the month, it’s a welcome change this time of
year. The only thing I’m looking forward to is my birthday on the 31st, I will be 16 and
therefore one year closer to being of legal age in the magical world.

How does the Malfoy family spend the Holiday Season?

Signed,
Thomas Riddle

Abraxas is unable to reply for more than a week, swept up in the planning of the yearly Yule
Gala at the manor and his ever growing duties within the ministry. Finally, on December 22,
he has time to pen a response.

Tom,

I look forward to the chance to talk privately with you as well. I'm sure between your studies
at school and your personal research, we have much to discuss. I can only wish to enjoy a
quiet Holiday season like you but instead, my days are stretched with gala preparations and
mountains of paperwork to file with the Ministry before the end of the year. The Malfoy
family is rich in Yule traditions, and we host a yearly Yule Gala for the other Wizarding
Families that share our beliefs on blood purity in the community. It’s quite the affair, and in
the future I hope you can attend. I’m curious Tom, in all of your studies, have you ever
learned to Waltz?

I’ve attached to this letter a parcel containing a pair of fur lined gloves to fight the chill of
the Slytherin Dorms while you read. They’re charmed to fit close to the skin, allowing an
ease of maneuverability for writing and thumbing through endless pages of parchment.
There’s also a small assortment of fairy cakes prepared by our house elves, kept under a
stasis charm. Consider the contents both a Christmas and Birthday gift, and an apology that
I cannot be there to celebrate in person.

Have a Happy Christmas,

Abraxas

The response he received on December 31st was short, but the words brimmed with an
energy of change and closeness that was promised in the New Year.

Abraxas,

Thank you for the gloves and the cakes, they are much appreciated and greatly enjoyed.

I eagerly await your arrival to Hogwarts next month, there’s much I want to tell you, far too
much to write in a letter.

Respectfully yours,

Tom

P.S. I’ve yet to learn to waltz, perhaps you can offer me a lesson?

The New Year sat on the horizon in front of Abraxas, and he was more than ready to
welcome all it had to offer.
 The Dungeon’s
Chapter Notes

Hello! Warnings for this chapter: brief descriptions of vomit and blood.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 3: The Dungeon’s

Draco listened to the portrait of his Grandfather recounting the initial months of his meeting
with The Dark Lord. Except he wasn’t “The Dark Lord” then, he was a 15 year old kid
named Tom who clearly had a chip on his shoulder, and the way that Grandfather Abraxas
described their relationship was…strange.

“Your friendship…it sounds more like it was an obsession.” Draco said, unable to stop the
thought before it was completely out. But that’s what it was, wasn’t it? His Grandfather and
Tom seemed practically attached at the hip, trading secrets and knowledge about dark magic
and Wizarding history. On top of this weird dependency, Abraxas was nine years older , and
all he’d learned so far was only the very beginning of their time together. His shoulders felt
heavy, weighed by boulders of revulsion over what could possibly still be unsaid. However,
Draco is a Malfoy and any Malfoy is quite skilled at burying their emotions. He still needed
information, and he wasn’t ready for Abraxas to stop talking.

“In some ways it was. I had never met anyone like Tom, I was transfixed by his passion and
power early on.” Abraxas responded, shifting in the leather chair his portrait self perched on.
Draco had the sudden urge to stand and pace the library, he needed to work through what he
had learned so far.

“Those books that you sent him, were they ever returned?” Draco could start there, he could
dig through the Manor libraries and maybe use what he discovered to stay ahead of the Dark
Lord’s plans. If only to keep his mother and father out of danger.

“Most were, a few of them I let him keep because their content made him…eager.”

“I can only imagine the type of literature that makes the Dark Lord eager .” Draco sneered.

“What can I say, Tom was always an intellectual at heart.” Abraxas chuckled, and Draco
stopped in his movements to digest the Dark Lord being referred to-almost lovingly -as Tom.

“When did you start calling him Lord V-V-Voldemort?” He asked.

“I didn’t. Lord Voldemort was a pseudonym, a title that only those beneath him would use.
Tom and I remained as equals, always.”

“ Equals? The Dark Lord doesn’t have an equal Grandfather, especially not with a Malfoy.”
His curiosity was now replaced by anger and confusion in equal measure. How could the
Dark Lord treat Abraxas as an equal while testing the strength of his cruciatus so
continuously on him and his father? His head began to ache as he attempted to make sense of
the reasoning behind punishing Draco and Lucius while apparently respecting and admiring
Abraxas.

“I’m curious Draco, what has brought on this sudden interest in the history Tom and I share?
It seems to only serve to upset you.” Abraxas broke his musings, shifting once again in the
chair that had been built from acrylic paint and brush strokes.

“He said something a few days ago, the Dark Lord. He said I was…too much like you. I’m
trying to figure out what that means and whether or not it’s something I can use to keep the
family safe.”

This bit of information seemed to grab his Grandfather's attention, sending him into a posture
of contemplation with one finger stroking the side of his jaw. Draco moved to stand back in
front of the portrait, crossing his arms and waiting for whatever answer had inspired this level
of introspection.

“There’s a book in the dungeon library. It’s not the exact one I shared with Tom because he
kept our only copy, but I think you’ll find it relevant. Magick Most Evile by Godelot.”

“What was the book that the Dark Lord kept?”

A sad, distant smile spread across Abraxas’ painted face, “ Secrets of the Darkest Art by
Owle Bullock”

Draco was not a fan of the Malfoy dungeons on a normal day, and he was even less of a fan
of them in their current state. Along with the upper levels of the manor being a grim Hotel of
sorts for the Dark Lord and many of his Death Eaters, the Dungeons were being utilized to
hold prisoners of the war. Draco had taken to avoiding the entire western wing of the manor
as the air was frequently punctuated by the screams and begging of those imprisoned below.

Draco was not brave. He was not a fighter or someone willing to rush head first into danger
for the greater good. He was, however, a young man of great determination spurred on by
protection for his family. If there’s any positive trait that can be attributed to the Malfoys, it’s
their fierce loyalty and love for each other. With this in mind, Draco left the reassuring heat
of his room and ventured into the halls of the house.
He stepped softly down the stairs, avoiding the gaze of the current “guests” who had taken
over suites and rooms as if they were no longer owned by his lineage. Turning into the
corridor that opened into the west wing of the manor, Draco was quickly met by one his least
favorite inhabitants. His lowered gaze didn’t give him the chance to see his assailant before
he was pushed roughly into the stone wall. His chest and cheek scraped against the harsh
surface as a hand on the back of his neck pressed him into the jagged sediment, while another
clutched tightly on his hip.

“My, my, Draco, what are you doing wandering these halls? You should be more careful, you
never know who’s lurking,” the unmistakable voice of Fenrir Greyback spoke hotly in his ear.
Draco could hear the man behind him sniffing the air around them as he did his best to brace
his hands against the wall.

“Considering this is my house you intolerable mutt, I can go wherever I damn well please.”

Fenrir let out a low, sinister laugh and pressed him harder into the stone. “Language Draco,
do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“Don’t talk about my mother.”

“You’re right, she’s not exactly my type. As I’m sure you’ve heard, I tend to like them…
young.”

Draco felt his lip curl in disgust, and pushed against the wall in an attempt to free himself.
Unfortunately, all this did was push him into the disgustingly sweaty body of Greyback. He
didn’t know if the Dark Lord’s previous order to leave him unharmed was still in place, and
Draco wasn’t sure if he was ready to test those limits. Still, he needed to get into the library
and away from the half rabid werewolf currently pinning him down. “Let me go, I need to go
down to the dungeons.”

“What business do you have in the dungeons, boy?”

“I hardly think you’re high enough in rank to ask questions, Fenrir ,” his trademark sneer
punctuating the words, “but by all means, interrupt the Dark Lord to voice your concerns. I’m
sure he’ll be delighted to explain.” Sure, he was bluffing a bit but he’d come to learn that-
inside the Manor at least-most of the Death Eaters were all bark and no bite with only one or
two exceptions. He repressed a shiver at the image of Aunt Bella casting a crucio in his
direction that popped into his mind.

The werewolf responded with a low growl and shoved him harder into the wall before letting
go completely and stepping back. Draco moved away and inspected his palms, they were red
and scratched but no skin had been broken. He assumed the same could be said about his
face, although a bruise was sure to bloom within the hour.

“Did I play too rough, your Highness ,” Greyback snarled at him as he looked over his hands.
Draco turned his back and began to walk towards the entrance to the dungeon steps before
calling his response over his shoulder.
“Careful Fenrir, or I’ll recommend a muzzle.” His only response was a growl laced with
swears that he could hardly decipher as he descended the curving stone staircase. That
seemed to be all the confirmation he needed that the Dark Lord still, for the time being,
considered him hands off.

The descent into the dungeons was somehow excruciatingly slow and irritatingly quick. Too
soon he was walking past the hooded guard, one of the Death Eaters he didn’t quite
recognize. Likely a newer recruit, relegated to guard duty. Lucky for him, however, the
hooded figure merely nodded as he passed and entered the iron and stone celled hallway. He
kept his eyes forward, focusing his energies on avoiding eye contact with any of the current
inhabitants.

He could still hear though. His eyes watered and his fists clenched as the cries and pleas of
the prisoners assaulted his eardrums. He wanted to leave, to run to his room that was four
stories and a wing away and do his best to forget the horrors that were taking place in the
same halls he used to dance and play in. To his left someone sobbed and retched, singing his
nostrils with the putrid smell of stomach acid and bile. He nearly ran the remaining length of
the corridor and wrenched open the wood and iron door, closing it behind him and letting
himself heave dry and choking sobs. He pulled his wand from his pocket and cast the
strongest silencing spell he knew before crumbling to the ground in a mess of agony and
terror.

Outside of the dungeons Draco could ignore the screams of torture and death but now that he
was here, he had to face the truth of what was occurring just a few feet below his ancestral
ground. He screamed and yelled and pounded his fists into the ground, working through all of
the emotions he had fought against for the past year. His home had become a prison, a
meeting ground for monsters of every variety to act out their cruel power plays. The rooms
that had once been so vibrant and warm were now dull and frigid, their atmosphere infected
by dark magic and cruelty.

He thought of a life past the war but the image was hazy, blurred by the ever growing chances
that he wouldn’t make it through this alive. How long could he take torture at the hands of the
Dark Lord? At what point, between the stress and anxiety, would his mind simply break? Was
he to sit around and wait for his demise? Would the Dark Lord cast crucio one day and hold
the curse until his heart gave out and exploded behind his ribs?

Draco needed a reason to be kept around, which is why he was in the dungeon library. It was
why he searched for his Grandfather’s portrait in the south tower. If Draco could become
more like Abraxas, the one other person the Dark Lord viewed as his equal, maybe then…
he’d be safe? Potentially, he could use their similarities to his advantage to protect his mother
and his father from further torment. All they needed to do was stay out of the Dark Lords
way, let the Manor turn to rubble if it meant his family could make it through to the other
side. Whether the war was won by the Dark Lord or Potter, if it was over then they could
leave . He just had to get them there.

Taking slow, deep breaths Draco rose from the floor of the library. He needed to find the
book Grandfather Abraxas recommended, there had to be something of reference hidden in
the pages. His knuckles were bloodied from where he pounded them against the ground,
hands shaking from the overwhelming bout of emotions he had just sifted through. He used
his wand to cast healing spells and close the wounds, then scourgified his tears and blood
from where they landed near his feet.

The dungeon library was impressively large. The room was rounded and covered almost
entirely with curving book shelves that laid in concentric circles. The wall held mounted
display cases that encased artifacts that had been in the Malfoy family for generations. In the
center of the room was a low, stone table and Draco could make out runes carved into the
edge. The distinct bitterness of dark magic hung in the air, seeming to rise out of every nook
and cranny. Not wanting to spend more time than necessary here, Draco raised his wand in
front of him and held his empty hand out next to it.

“Accio Magick Most Evil ” he spoke into the room. He heard a series of thuds as several
books dropped from a shelf somewhere to his right. A few seconds later, the requested book
flew from the shadows and he caught it with ease. A cloud of dust lifted off of the cover and
Draco sneezed, refusing to think about what kind of grime he had just inhaled. With the book
in his hand, he turned back towards the door and prepared to make the journey past the cells
once again.

He canceled the silencing charm and stepped out of the library, hearing the same wails and
pleas as before. Like he had done on his walk to the library, he kept his eyes forward,
clutching the book he had retrieved to his chest. It wasn’t until he was halfway through the
corridor that he heard something that made him stop his determined stride.

“Ah yes, Draco Malfoy. Ten inches…Hawthorn wood…and a core of Unicorn Hair.” A soft
voice spoke from the cell next to him and Draco turned towards it, his eyes landing on the
emaciated form of Garrick Ollivander. His clothes hung off his body, showing the edges of
bruises crawling up his chest. Draco knelt outside the man’s cell, looking quickly down the
hall to make sure he wasn’t being watched. The cloaked Death Eater from before sat turned
away at the far end of the hall.

“Mr. Ollivander?” He asked, although he knew no one else would speak of his wand like the
man before him had just done.

“Indeed, Mr. Malfoy. How are you?” Merlin , Draco thought, of all the questions to ask?

“I’m…managing. Is there anything I could get for you?” Having a face and name to one of
the prisoners was unsettling, the least he could do was attempt to be a good host.

“If it’s not too much trouble, I would appreciate some water.” Ollivander replied, shifting
closer to the bars of the cell that separated them. Draco sat the book he was carrying down
and found a small piece of stone that must’ve fallen off the ceiling or cell walls at some point.
He transfigured it into a cup and filled it with his auguamenti spell. He handed the drink
through the bars and watched as Ollivander gulped it down.

“Would you like some more?” He asked, ready to refill the cup once again.

“No, thank you. I fear I’ll get sick if I drink too much, too fast.”
Draco nodded in understanding and picked the book up once again. Ollivander followed his
movements and let out a small hum.

“A wand with a core of unicorn hair will have great difficulty casting dark magic.” He said,
still looking at the book Draco was holding.

“I’m not planning on casting anything from here.” Draco looked down, running his fingers
lightly over the books front cover and dipping into the embossed lettering. “I’m thinking
about taking Defense next year, and I figured it’d be useful to get a better understanding of
what I’d be defending against.”

Ollivander was silent for a moment, his gaze calculating and intense. “Hawthorn wood is
notoriously difficult to master, wands of this wood tend to choose wizards who are greatly
conflicted.”

Draco raised his eyes from the book and met Ollivanders, taking a small amount of comfort
in his familiar face and consistent nature. He felt his wand in his pocket, considering the
words-both said and unsaid-of the wandmaker.

“I wouldn’t say I’m conflicted currently. However, I’m not sure that counts for much at this
time.” He responded, considering his words carefully. His views on purity in the Wizarding
World weren’t exactly strong enough anymore to justify the carnage and bloodshed of war.

“In magic, and life, intention counts for quite a lot, Mr. Malfoy.” Ollivander answered, taking
a moment to look over Draco once again. “You might consider another book as well, The
Tales of Beedle the Bard .”

“A book of fables?”

“Fables and stories often have a small kernel of truth in them…perhaps that truth will help
you in your studies.”

Draco nodded, taking the advice into consideration. He knew there was a copy of the book in
one of the other libraries, perhaps in time he’d retrieve it. For now, however, he was still
focused on his family's best chances for surviving the war.

“Thank you for speaking with me, Ollivander. Would you like some more water before I go?”
The old man nodded and Draco cast his auguamenti again, refilling the transfigured cup. He
stood and bowed his head slightly, Ollivander doing the same from his seat on the ground.
With a quick goodbye, Draco finished his journey out of the dungeons and re-emerged in the
west wing hallway.

He made it back to his room without interruption and immediately ran to the attached
bathroom, taking the hottest shower he could stand. He was desperate to remove as many
reminders of the dungeons that he could, although nothing short of obliviation would remove
the sounds and smells of the dark underground. His skin turned red as the hot water beat
down on him and he sunk into the comfort of the steam.
Finally feeling that he had washed as much of the experience away as was possible, he
stepped out from under the water. Wrapping a towel around his hips and another around his
head, Draco left the bathroom in search of fresh clothes.

Once dressed, he sat on the small loveseat in front of the fireplace in his room and began to
read the book that he had acquired. Waves of nausea overcame him as he skimmed through
the pages. There were charms, hexes, jinxes, and curses that made cruciatus seem like child’s
play. Perhaps he should consider himself lucky since the Dark Lord didn’t stray from the
torture curse when it came time for their “meetings”.

If this was the book that the Dark Lord returned to his Grandfather, what could possibly have
been in the book he kept ?

Draco was summoned by the Dark Lord once again the next morning, and led to his study
with the same jaunts and threats as before. As usual they were empty and amounted to little
more than white noise in his mind, especially after his run in with Greyback the previous
afternoon. He was left staring at the closed door, waiting for an invitation that he never
wanted.

“Enter.” the Dark Lord said from inside the room, and Draco turned the knob then walked
inside. As always, he was quick to make eye contact and raise his occlumency shields against
any invasions. The Dark Lord was sitting in his chair behind the heavy, oak desk that used to
belong to his father. Another shining example of the Dark Lords commandeering of the
Malfoy family’s possessions. Irritation simmered inside Draco’s body. “I was told you went
into the dungeons yesterday.”

“I did.” There was no use in lying, and no one had deemed the dungeons expressly forbidden
. For Merlin’s sake this was still his damn house .

“Fenrir said you were quite rude to him.” The Dark Lords grey and skeletal hand lifted from
his lap, his wand held loosely in his fingers as if it was only there as an afterthought.

“I was unaware you were so concerned with the sensitivities of a mongrel.” He responded.
The Dark Lord had said he was like Abraxas only after he stood his ground against him,
which is why he was now fighting against every inch of self preservation and talking back to
the only Wizard whose very name sent people running. Salazar, those crucio’s must have
done a number on his brain.

Shockingly, the corner of the Dark Lords thin mouth curled upwards. On anyone else, it
would have been considered a smile. “You’re quite bold, Draco. What were you doing in the
dungeons?”

“I was visiting the library.”

“The dungeon library is where your family stores their collection of books on dark magic, is
it not?”

“Among other things.” Had he made a miscalculation? Should he have snuck down to the
dungeons in the middle of the night when-hopefully-no one could have seen him? Merlin, he
was in over his head.

“Do you have an interest in dark magic, Draco?” The Dark Lord lowered his hand back to his
lap, continuing his gaze that raked over his body on assessment.

“I would think that’s obvious, given what side I’m on in this war.”

“So, you aren’t merely concerned with the supremacy of pureblood Wizards?”

“I’m complex.” Without thinking about it for too long, Draco raised his eyebrow in the exact
same manner the portrait of his grandfather had done during their conversations not too long
ago.

The Dark Lord tilted his head to the side, a look of astonishment and intrigue tightening over
his snakelike face.

“And why did you speak with Ollivander?” The hooded guard must have told him, and Draco
struggled momentarily to find an explanation for his brief detour during his exodus from the
dungeons.

“My wand has a core of unicorn hair, which has a history of difficulty in performing dark
magic. If anyone could tell me how best to work around that, it would be Ollivander. As luck
would have it, he’s currently a guest here.”

“You consider him a guest?”

“I consider myself a good host.”

Another leveling gaze ran over him, and Draco shoved his revulsion away. Hoping that the
Dark Lord was seeing whatever he needed to be placated. He waited, in silence, for the sharp
and intense pain of the cruciatus curse.

To his surprise, it never came.

“Come back tomorrow, at noon. We’ll have tea.” Of all the things Draco expected the Dark
Lord to request of him, a tea party was somewhere near the bottom. He bowed his head as a
show of respect and an attempt to hide the look of shock that undoubtedly settled across his
face.

“I look forward to it,” was his answer, “is there anything else?”

“No, that is all.”

Draco nodded his head and left the study, walking quickly towards the South Tower Library.
 His decision to embrace his resemblance to his Grandfather was clearly working, and he
needed more information as soon as possible.

He had an invitation for tea in 28 hours.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you for reading! I hope you’re enjoying the story so far. Comments and kudos are
always appreciated <3
 Abraxas Malfoy: The Diary
Chapter Notes

Hi everyone! Warnings for this chapter: underage sex

Chapter 4: Abraxas Malfoy: The Diary

January, 1944

When Abraxas saw Tom again, he was quick to notice changes in the young man. As they
settled into the small office that adjoined the private suite Abraxas had been granted for his
short stay at Hogwarts, there was an air of excitement that jumped off the Prefect and sizzled
the air. Abraxas looked over Tom who, by all intents and purposes, didn't appear any
different. There was the same slightly gelled curl to his hair, his eyes were still impossibly
sharp and calculating, and his face retained its mask of polite impassiveness. It wasn’t until
Tom lifted his hand and rubbed his chin in thought that Abraxas noticed it.

He was wearing a gold ring, with a dark stone and a small etching into the surface.

“Tom, where did you get that ring?” Abraxas asked, and Tom bored his eyes so deep into his
own that he felt a hitch in his breath.

“It’s a family heirloom.” He responded.

Abraxas paused, intrigued and confused. “I take it those genealogy books I sent were even
more informative than I assumed.”

Tom smiled, the atmosphere of the small office brimming with pent up emotion. Particles of
dust seemed to jump and shake as the two looked at each other, Abraxas leaned forward and
steepled his long, delicate fingers under his chin. He raised an eyebrow in question, and
waited to hear whatever it was that seemed to excite his companion so vividly.

Tom leaned forward as well, the only show of his emotions was the sudden whiteness of his
knuckles as they gripped the arms of the chair he sat in. “What can you tell me about the
Chamber of Secrets?”

Two days after their conversation in his office, Abraxas was still reeling from all of the
information they’d shared. Tom's bloodline, his ability to speak parseltongue, his plans for
the future, it all came together to paint a picture of someone with great determination and
drive in the name of power and purity.

Abraxas sat at his temporary desk once again, listening to the excited warbling of the seventh
year Ravenclaw Prefect who had spent the last twenty minutes detailing her hopes to join the
Department of Mysteries. As he always did, Abraxas smiled and encouraged the student to
continue towards her goals. He listened politely, only speaking when he was addressed
directly and fighting the grimace that seemed determined to surface on his face. It was a
banal conversation, serving only to remind him why he valued his meetings with Tom so
much these days.

A loud scream in the hall outside his office startled them both. The Ravenclaw fell silent and
turned to look towards the door, her face turning a sickly grey color.

“Stay here, I’ll return shortly.” Abraxas commanded, standing swiftly from his chair. She
nodded her head in acknowledgement, eyes wide and mouth closed which was quite the
change from just a few minutes before.

Moving to his door, Abraxas slowly entered the hallway and looked to his right where a
growing number of students and Hogwarts staff were staring in shock at something on the
floor. He walked over to the group, pushing his way to the front to see what had caused the
unfolding ruckus. He gazed in soft surprise as the body of a Gryffindor student laid stiff and
crumpled on the floor, with a silver dinner spoon held in front of her face as if she was using
it in place of a mirror. She looked to be one of the younger students, perhaps a third or fourth
year and was most likely on her way to the Gryffindor Tower from dinner at the Great Hall.

“What happened?” Someone asked

“Is she dead?!” Someone else shouted from the crowd, and suddenly the hall was
overwhelmed with frantic conversations and fearful cries. Abraxas raised his gaze from the
Gryffindor and looked around those that had gathered. Members of the staff were doing their
best to calm the students and heard them away from the body-or was it a corpse?

“SILENCE!” Came the loud, croaky voice of Headmaster Dippet as he pushed his way
through the mass of bodies. The cacophony of noise ended, and students were moved out of
the way as Matron Gerrywig levitated the Gryffindor and began a quick assessment of her
injuries. “Heads of House and Prefects please escort your students back to their dorms.”

Murmurs of confusion, and some of protest, arose from the crowd but it soon dispersed.
Abraxas turned and saw the Headmaster and the Matron exchanging frantic whispers. The
Gryffindor student remained levitated, her eyes open and unseeing.

“Sir Nicholas!” Abraxas called to him, when he spotted the ghostly form floating down the
opposite end of the hall. The apparition bobbed towards him and bowed his head in greeting.
“Please tell the other ghosts to send any wandering students to their dorms. Curfew begins
now.”

“Of course, Mr. Malfoy.” the ghost responded, and flew down the stairwell. Headmaster
Dippet gave him a look of thanks as he and Matron Gerrywig began moving the student
towards the hospital wing.

“I have a student with me currently, we were in the middle of a meeting when we heard the
screams. I’ll make sure they return safely to the dorms.” Abraxas said. Dippet nodded his
acknowledgment and he turned back towards his office. Entering the room once again, he
realized it was empty. The Ravenclaw must have left of her own accord, perhaps she
overheard the announcement for Prefects to return students to the dorm and decided to help.

Lost so deep in thought as he opened the door that adjoined his office and small suite, he
failed to notice that the room was already occupied.

“Did you see her, Abraxas?” he lifted his head in shock as Tom’s question broke through his
reverie. He was sitting on the small loveseat in front of the fireplace and staring into his eyes
with great intent. Abraxas moved further into the room, stopping on the edge of the rug that
laid in front of the hearth. Tom rose from his seat, never breaking eye contact. He stood tall,
and strong, coming eye to eye with Abraxas.

“I did.” His response was whispered. The look on Tom's face was hard and blazing, as if he
could light a hundred torches from his mere gaze. “Is she dead?”

“No, just petrified. I can’t kill any of them, not yet.”

“Who is ‘them’?”

A slow, dark smile spread across Tom's lips. Shining eyes crinkling at the corners and pupils
dilating in excitement.

“The mudbloods and halfbreeds,” Tom chuckled low in his throat. The sound was
intoxicating, and made his gorgeous eyes dance as they continued their firm, locked gaze.
“I’m going to purge the school of them. In fact, you can consider that third year a belated
Christmas present.”

A quiet gasp escaped Abraxas’ throat, and he felt his heart beat furiously inside his chest. The
room was dark except for the fire burning next to them, the shadows of the flames dancing
across Tom's face. His eyes never moved, nor did they lose the fierceness that had been there
from the second Abraxas saw them across the room. They were quiet, the chill of the stone
battled the heat that rose from the fireplace and wrapped in loose bands around their bodies
that stood mere centimeters apart. Abraxas broke their eye contact briefly, to look at Tom’s
dark, almost mauve lips. The smile slowly relaxed into something contemplative, and
Abraxas watched as the tip of a soft pink tongue ran between the seal.

He couldn’t stop himself even if he wanted to. Abraxas brought his hands quickly up to the
back of Tom's neck and pulled him in for a deep, bruising kiss. Tom immediately wrapped his
arms around Abraxas' waist and pulled tightly, pressing their bodies together with purpose.
Another gasp escaped his mouth as the hard length of Tom’s erection pressed into his own,
and he was rewarded with the enthusiastic exploration of a tongue inside his mouth. Pure
adrenaline coursed through them, it was as if lightning was striking his body a million times
over.
“I want to celebrate with you, Abraxas” he felt the words as Tom spoke them across his lips,
their breathing heavy, “This is the beginning of the world we’re going to build together.”

They ended up on the floor, wrapped in each other on top of the warm patterned rug. Tom
moved over his body with the same excitement and hunger he devoured piles and piles of
books with. His hands never stilled, moving up and down Abraxas’ ribs before plunging
deeper and gripping the hardness that had settled between his legs. They moaned together,
and removed their clothes in blurry movements until there was nothing but skin sliding
against skin.

Abraxas grabbed Toms’ wrist loosely, muttering a quick spill that filled his palm with oil and
guided the now slick fingers between his open legs. Tom gave a quick nod and opened him
up with an eagerness and brutality that made his skin hum and ache. Tom entered him swiftly,
waiting only a few seconds for him to adjust before thrusting with an unforgivable pace.
Abraxas held him tightly, pressing hard and sweaty kisses into the mouth above him. There
was a punishing ache at the bottom of his spine and the sensation of being split apart
registered underneath the overpowering pleasure of being taken so roughly, without any
restraint or concern.

This is who Tom Riddle was. He was strong, commanding, and overflowed with a power that
was so dark and all consuming it sent ripples of destruction beating rhythmically from his
core. They were panting together, their bodies sliding against each other as beads of sweat
rolled off their skin. Abraxas saw stars as Tom touched the spot inside of him that turned his
limbs to liquid. He released a hand from Tom's neck, intending to move it between them so
that he could touch himself but before he made it past his navel, Tom gripped his wrist hard
and slammed it into the floor next to his head.

“Fuck, Tom …” he moaned, and the sound of skin slapping skin grew even louder. With a
low groan, Abraxas felt Tom come inside of him, his hips stuttering as he trembled through
his orgasm. One more hard press on that spot inside his body and Abraxas followed in
ecstasy, a scream ripping through his lungs.

They laid together on the rug panting heavily, with Tom's face buried into his neck.

“Was that your first time?” Abraxas asked, staring up at the ceiling with half lidded eyes.

“Does it matter?” Tom responded, rolling off his body and laying with his back on the rug.

“No.” Abraxas responded, because it really didn't. Whatever had just happened between them
was indicative of something great, something that will only grow stronger as time continues
on.

“I’m changing my name to something that will one day strike terror into peoples hearts. I
want people to fear me so much that the thought of uttering my name will turn their blood to
ice with fear.” The man next to him murmured.

Abraxas turned his head to look into the eyes that had lit small fires inside his soul from the
moment they first met. “And what do you want me to call you?”
“You…you can call me Tom.”

February-May, 1944

The attacks continued. Muggleborn and halfblood students walked the halls in fear of the
unknown entity that was wreaking havoc on their kind. While only two more students were
petrified over the following months, the concern over safety grew stronger by the day. The
inhabitants of Hogwarts moved around the building with a justified fear over who would be
next and when would petrification not be enough. Ominous messages about the mysterious
Chamber of Secrets being opened were etched in the blood of slaughtered animals on the
corridor walls.

In between the chaos and the fear, was Abraxas and Tom. Their relationship maintained an air
of educational curiosity to those around, but behind closed doors they sunk deep into each
other frequently. Combining intellectual stimulation with their harrowing physical attraction,
they built each other up and imagined a future of control and purity of the Wizarding World.

Abraxas moved out of the suite as intended, a few days after meeting with the Prefects and
Head students in January. Headmaster Dippet, however, implored him to retain the office as
his own for his work as the Youth Representative. The fireplace in the small attached living
room was keyed to his office at the Ministry and allowed him to Floo into Hogwarts several
days a week. The atmosphere of unrest and fear meant students were reaching out to him with
greater frequency. Seeking information about the Ministry’s plans to protect the school,
knowledge about the much debated existence of the Chamber of Secrets, and even a select
few looking for OWL and NEWT review sessions.

He rubbed his temples and let out a long, deep sigh as the door to his office closed shut
behind the fifth year Hufflepuff prefect that had ventured in for reassurance that the ministry
was being considerate of magical creatures in the area despite their investigation into the
attacks on certain students. He was considering pouring a few fingers of the Ogdens Finest
that he kept in the bottom drawer of the desk when a series of knocks sounded on his door.

“Enter,” he called, straightening his spine to greet the next round of blubbering students that
claimed to desperately need his attention. He was, however, pleasantly surprised when the
door opened and the familiar form of Tom Riddle walked in and around his desk to lean
against the edge.

“Hello, Abraxas.” Tom greeted him with a smirk, sending a shiver of anticipation through his
body. “I’m returning some of the books you’ve loaned me.” As he said this, he reached into
his bag and pulled out several of the genealogy and dark magic books that Abraxas had sent
him earlier in the school year.

“How kind of you Tom, you’re truly a gentleman.” He responded, his own lips forming a
slight smirk at the tease. He shrunk the small stack of books and tucked them into an inner
pocket on his robes to be sorted and reshelved later once he was back at the manor.
“Do you trust me, Abraxas?” The sudden change in tone startled him slightly. His face
morphing into one of concern and slight confusion.

“Yes Tom, I do.” He answered without hesitation.

“Do you love me?” He asked, his head quirked to the side as if he had just asked a question
about his Ancient Runes OWL. Abraxas shifted slightly in his chair, furrowing his brows at
the strange question. Did he love Tom? He was certainly passionate about him, they came
together so beautifully in discussion and even sex. He had admired the young man ever since
their initial meeting in September, and had only grown increasingly entranced by him in the
following months. Was that love?

“Yes.” Abraxas said, the confession falling out of him before he could think to stop it. Should
he be embarrassed by this feeling? This fervent emotion for a man nine years younger than
him? He wasn’t. If anything, he was proud of it. Proud that he recognized, so early on, the
great power of Tom Riddle.

“I don’t love you.” Tom said, but it was not in mocking. It was the same inquisitive tone he
used when they discussed academic theories and pondered questions of philosophy. “I don’t
think I can love anyone, love is a weakness and I am not weak.”

Abraxas nodded, still looking up at Tom and listening to him speak. He wasn’t sure where
this was going but it didn’t feel like an outright rejection so he just…waited.

“But…” Tom started again, bringing his hand up to rub at his chin like he so often did when
deep in thought and consideration, “I respect you a great deal. In fact, you are the only other
person I respect.”

Abraxas absorbed his words, a sense of pride fluttering inside his body. He was unconcerned
about love from Tom, it paled in comparison to the grand gesture of his respect. He smiled
and reached out to grab Tom's other hand, that curled loosely around the edge of his desk. “I
don’t need you to love me Tom, I can love you enough for the both of us.” He stood from his
chair, leaning his forehead against his lovers. “All I need…is you.”

Their lips met in a slow, burning kiss. Tom's fingers reaching up to run through his hair and
his own hands clutching his hips tightly. They moved their lips and tongues together until
they were forced to separate, filling their lungs with oxygen.

“You’ll have me, Abraxas. Forever.”

June, 1944

In the afternoon on June 13, Abraxas was in his Hogwarts office once again. Reading letters
from concerned students whose fear was growing as more messages about the Chamber of
Secrets appeared on the walls. As usual, he feigned ignorance and assured all those he talked
to that the safety of the students was the utmost priority of both the Hogwarts staff and the
Ministry of Magic.

A summer storm was raging outside, lighting his office up momentarily as cracks of lightning
spread across the sky and thunder claps rolled over the hills. He jumped in surprise as the
door to his office was jerked open and then closed abruptly by Tom, who’s usually well kept
appearance was in a shocking disarray.

“Are you okay?” Abraxas asked, rising from his desk and coming over to inspect him closer.

“I’m fine, I just needed to see you.” Tom said, and Abraxas noticed his face had paled and his
eyes were red rimmed.

“Sit down, I’ll make you a cup of tea.” Tom nodded and took the chair by his desk while
Abraxas waved his wand to fill a teapot with hot water and then moved to steep the leaves.
He poured two cups, one for himself and one for Tom and then sat down himself.

“What happened?” Abraxas asked, another flash of lightning lit the office and a loud boom of
thunder clapped almost instantly.

“I performed a spell, a difficult one.” Tom responded, then took large sips of the tea that had
been prepared.

“Was it successful?”

“Very.” Although his eyes were bloodshot and his skin looked sallow, Tom was smiling and
looking at him with an expression of great pride before slowly morphing into one of familiar
hunger.

“Well then, I think we should celebrate.”

Tom fucked him hard and fast over the desk as the storm continued to rage outside. Marks
and bruises were bitten into his neck and shoulder as Tom worked through the excitement and
joy of whatever he had done. Their cups of tea crashed to the floor and broke into shards of
porcelain and puddles of murky water. Their moans and yells were muffled bruising kisses
and roaring thunder. When they were nothing more than a pile of rumpled clothes, sticky
limbs, shuddering breaths, Tom spoke again.

“There’s something I need to give to you, Abraxas.” He winced as Tom pulled out of him,
and watched as he reached into one of the pockets that lined his robe. Abraxas summoned his
wand and cast a cleaning charm over them, then reached down to pull his own trousers back
on.

“A diary?” Abraxas looked at the unassuming, leather bound pages of parchment. He took it
from the other man’s hands and immediately, he could feel the heavy buzz of dark magic
emanating from it.

“It’s not just a diary. It’s a tool. I can’t keep it here, and you’re the only person I trust with it.”
Tom said, looking at him with an almost violent intensity. Abraxas understood quickly the
gravity of what he had just been handed.

“What kind of tool?” He asked, growing ever curious about the dark artifact in his hands.

“A tool to remove impurity from the Wizarding World.”

“What do you want me to do with it?” He asked, ready to help Tom however he needed.

“Keep it safe, hide it in the Manor. We can use it one day. Together.”

Abraxas nodded in acknowledgement and watched as Tom leaned forward to kiss him again,
but before their lips could meet screams erupted in the Hallways once again.
 Tea at the Manor
Chapter Notes

Warnings for this chapter: torture, vomit.

Chapter 5: Tea at the Manor

“…of course, at the time I didn’t know what it was. It wasn’t until years later that I
discovered the true power the Diary held.” The portrait of his Grandfather recounted.

“And the screams?” Draco asked, his hands clutching tightly at the opposite arm as he
listened to the continuation of the first year the Dark Lord and his Grandfather were together.

“They came from the bathroom on the second floor, the body of Myrtle Warren had just been
discovered.”

Second floor…Myrtle Warren…body? Draco’s eyes widened in realization of who’s death his
Grandfather had just described. It was Moaning Myrtle . The ghost in the lavatory that,
depressingly, was his closest friend the previous year. He rubbed absentmindedly at the scars
on his chest from that horrific cutting spell that Potter had hit him with a few short months
ago. Myrtle had been the only reason he survived, screaming loudly and calling for help as
the Gryffindor Golden Boy left him to die.

Best not to relive that memory right now.

“You said it wasn’t until later that you discovered the power of the Diary? But the Dark Lord
had already told you it was a tool…was there more to it?” Draco asked, remembering the
Diary that his father had slipped into the cauldron of the Weaselette in second year. How
Lucius had managed to talk his way out of trouble for attempting to possess an 11 year old
girl was beyond him. Still, he made a mental note to visit his parents later for some additional
lessons on charisma and deflection. They were certainly skilled in that department.

“Indeed there was. Did you locate the book I recommended?” His Grandfather asked and
Draco furrowed his brow at the question before nodding.

“I did, and I’ve been going through it but it’s not exactly an easy read. I’m sure you can
understand.” It was true, after his initial skim he had begun reading the book slowly. Draco
would often need to put it down and walk as far away from the book as possible just to
maintain his sanity. The magic within those pages…it was ghastly.

“Do you know what Tom fears, above anything else?” Another strange, cryptic question.
Draco shook his head in response. If he was being honest he didn’t want to think too hard
about what the Dark Lord could possibly fear. Perhaps acromantulas or vampires? He was at
a loss. “It’s quite simple really…Tom has always feared his own death.”

“The Dark Lord…is scared…of death?” Draco repeated slowly, not quite believing what
Grandfather Abraxas was saying. Surely the Dark Lord was actually afraid of something
horrific like rogue faeries or muggle torture gadgets?

“Yes. His goals for power, though grand and impressive, always fell behind his desire to
conquer death once and for all.”

Draco looked at his Grandfather in confusion before realization dawned on him. He reached
for the shrunken book in his pocket and quickly re-enlarged it. He tore through the pages,
looking for the passages he had skimmed over on his own. The Diary, he knew, was able to
possess Ginevra Weasley and held a corporeal form of the Dark Lord. The book Grandfather
Abraxas had sent him to retrieve held many spells related to death but only a few that referred
to death as something to be conquered . Even then, none of them resulted in something that
fit the description of powers he knew the diary held.

Except for one spell.

It wasn’t even a spell really, the book was surprisingly vague on this particular topic but there
was just enough information that he could piece together an explanation. In the short
interlude of an ancient spell about strengthening one's magical core by depleting someone
else's by force, there was the briefest description of an old, evil magic that was believed to
have only been performed once by Herpo the Foul in Ancient Greece.

“The Diary…was a horcrux ?” Draco almost can’t believe it. He barely understands what a
horcrux is but he knows it’s something horrifically dark. It’s the type of dark magic that
brings the Wizards who cast it to the brink of insanity. He frantically absorbs what little
information there is in the book and begins to understand what the Dark Lord did when he
performed the spell on the diary. “He split his soul?”

“He did. Several times, actually. The Diary was merely the first.” His Grandfather is looking
at him closely now, and Draco feels as if he’s being evaluated on his reaction which fills him
with unease. How is he supposed to react to that? How is he supposed to be anything except
repulsed and sick? The Dark Lord fears death so much, with such intensity, that he willingly
tore his sole apart repeatedly.

“And you claim to have loved him?” Draco asks, completely bewildered.

“I did love him. I still do. My only sadness is that we won’t ever reunite in death.” Abraxas
says, a wistful look taking over his acrylic features.

The words sink into Draco and make him shudder in absolute fear . How can the Dark Lord
lose if he can never truly die? He has the sudden urge to run from the Manor and search
throughout the entirety of the country until he finds Potter and can tell him what he’s just
learned.
Except…maybe he already knows? The first horcrux-and Draco shivers just at the thought of
the word-was the diary and Potter already destroyed it.

That night…when he was supposed to have killed Dumbledore, the old man and the Chosen
One himself had been gone most of the day on some secret ‘excursion’. When Dumbledore
returned and Draco disarmed him he already looked so weak, so frail. As if he had just done
something that put him with one foot in the grave. Then there was his hand, over the course
of the year the rot and mangled look of it had only grown in severity. Draco was a competent
Wizard but, the more he thought about it, the more outrageous it seemed that he could have
disarmed the Great and Powerful Albus Dumbledore after a year of ringing his own body out
with stress and anxiety. Why did Dumbledore let him take his wand?

Because…because he was already dying. The thought slammed through him, and left him
swirling in a whirlwind of confusion. He’d work through whatever had happened on the
Astronomy Tower another day, for now he was focusing on the possibility of the Dark Lord
actually being defeated once and for all by Harry Potter.

It seemed…possible. Dumbledore, although infuriating and left much to be desired as a

Headmaster, was nothing short of brilliant. He had kept the Diary after what had happened in
the Chamber of Secrets, Draco knows this because his father was absolutely apoplectic when
he returned to the manor without the artifact and Dobby. Dumbledore had to have discovered
the truth of what the Diary was after he confiscated it.

For the first time, in quite a long time, Draco started to feel hope. The Golden Trio was
probably off somewhere, fighting evil and hunting down pieces of the Dark Lord’s soul so
that they could rid the world of him once and for all.

All Draco needed to do, was survive. He needed to keep his mother and father alive, there
was going to be an end to this eventually and he was determined to make it out on the other
side.

“How could you love someone who did this to their soul?” He asks his Grandfather, letting
the wealth of information he’d just received wash over him.

“I fell in love with him when his soul was whole. And even deeper when I realized he had
given me a piece of his soul to protect.”

Draco nods at this, still tense at the concept of the Dark Lord and his Grandfather being in
love, but he’s able to summon the smallest bit of sympathy for the situation. There’s still a
gap in the information he’s received, and he’s desperate to know how the Dark Lord went
from passionate embraces with Grandfather Abraxas to violent punishments of his father.
There would be time for that later, though. For now…he had to prepare for tea.
Unlike his previous meetings with the Dark Lord, Draco walked to the northern wing study
unescorted. He dressed in a crisp, well tailored pair of trousers, a dark waistcoat, and one of
his more luxurious robes. He left his hair down, to fall and frame his face and adorned his
fingers with the Malfoy family signet ring that he had been gifted a few years prior. He was
Draco Malfoy, but he looked startlingly similar to the portrait of his Grandfather that he had
been talking to since his arrival at the manor in June. Which is exactly what he had intended.

The walk to the Dark Lord’s study was quiet and tense, but he made it there unscathed and
knocked on the door. This time, the invitation to enter came almost instantly. Draco stepped
inside and closed the door softly, meeting those sickeningly familiar red eyes. On the Dark
Lords desk was a full tea service, complete with little sandwiches and biscuits.

“Please Draco, sit.” The Dark Lord waved his hand towards the chair that sat opposite his
desk and he obligingly took it.

“Would you like me to pour for you?” He asked, remembering how Grandfather Abraxas
talked about brewing tea for Tom. He almost let a shocked huff of laughter escape him as he
realized he had just referred to the Dark Lord by his given name.

The Dark Lord gave him a calculating look, before nodding his head. Draco leaned forward
and poured two cups of tea, one for himself and one for his companion. He stirred a few
spoonfuls of sugar into his own cup and looked questioningly at the Dark Lord, even though
he already knew how he took his tea. The Dark Lord declined sugar and cream, and Draco
delicately sat the teacup and accompanying saucer in front of the other man.

“Thank you, Draco.” The Dark Lord said, and he almost fell out of the chair. Draco didn’t
think he had ever heard the Dark Lord thank someone, especially so genuinely. It could only
mean one thing, his plan was working. Draco nodded his acknowledgement and took a sip of
his tea, letting the taste of star anise and black tea leaves comfort his tongue. The Dark Lord
lifted his own cup to his thin lips and sipped as well.

Well, Draco thought, that probably means it isn’t poisoned then .

“Why do you think I invited you for tea, Draco?” the Dark Lord asked, and of course this was
another one of his fucking games. Draco wanted to rip his hair out at the constant mental
strain he needed just to stay alive these days. He quickly shoved the hot flashes of annoyance
that he felt in his core back down, refusing to compromise his position with the Dark Lord
and what it might mean for his family.

“I imagine it’s because of my interest in the Dark Arts.” He responded, setting the teacup
back down on the desk.

“You are correct. I find myself rather intrigued by you lately.”

Draco raised an eyebrow and crossed his legs, not missing the way the Dark Lord's eyes
tracked his movement.

“Do you wish to cast dark magic, Draco?”

“Not presently. I’m more interested in the study of it. I’m concerned my wand will be unable
to cast dark magic currently. Not until I have a better understanding of the dark arts.”

“Are you going to return to the dungeons to speak with Ollivander?” The last thing Draco
wanted to do was go back to the dungeons but, he’d painted himself into a corner.

“I plan to,” he nodded, and reached for his cup of tea to sip from it once again. “It’s rather
convenient that he’s so close, isn’t it?”

An undecipherable emotion flickered across the Dark Lord’s face but Draco thought it almost
looked like… hunger .

“What will you do if he tells you your wand is unable to cast dark magic?”

“Perhaps I’ll invest in a new one…it’s not uncommon to grow into a different person than
one was at eleven years old.” Fuck did this mean he was going to have to try and find a new
wand too? He did his best to send quiet murmurs of apology to his hawthorn wand in his
pocket. He could truly never imagine parting with it willingly.

The Dark Lord stared at him, his grey fingers raising from his lap to rub across his chin. He
was clearly deep in thought, and was regarding Draco in a way that made him feel naked and
bare. He focused on keeping his breathing controlled and his emotions in check, not willing
to risk making one wrong move. He startled slightly, when the Dark Lord brandished his
wand and set it down across the table, in front of Draco. No well attuned Malfoy mask could
cover the shock on his face as he realized what was occurring.

“Cast a spell, Draco.” The Dark Lord said, his gaze molten and keyed directly into Draco. He
set his tea cup down and slowly, picked up the unmistakable yew wand. Touching it made
him feel slightly sick, but not entirely uncapable. In fact, he felt a reassuring warmth travel up
his wrist and through his arm where the wand had connected with him.

“Any requests?” He asked, staring in awe at the wand-actually it was a weapon -that he held
in his hand. The Dark Lord shook his head, not looking away from him. Draco reached over
the tea tray and grabbed an empty cup, holding it in front of him and flicking his wrist in a
swift, practiced movement as he cast aguamenti and then took a sip of the conjured water.

“Why the water spell?” the Dark Lords voice was curious, but there was surprise simmering
underneath. Draco had just successfully cast a spell with the wand of Lord Voldemort.

“Every wizards aguamenti tastes different, I was curious to see if mine would taste the same
with a different wand.” He responded.

“The result?”

A small smile lit his face as he set the cup back down, “It tastes the same.”

“Interesting…do you think you could cast something dark with this wand?”

Draco wasn’t prepared to lose just yet. “I do.”

“Summon one of your elves, Draco.” The Dark Lord said, and he felt his heart start to beat
hard in his chest.

“Libby!” He called, and a second later she arrived. Libby was one of the house elf’s he had
grown up with, and the only elf that held allegiance to him alone.

“Master Draco called Libby, sir?” She squeaked, her little towel wrapped body shaking in
fear of being in the same room as the Dark Lord.

“Cast the cruciatus curse.” It was an order, and Draco knew if he failed then all the progress
he had made would be lost and his family would be punished. He took a deep breath and
raised the yew wand at Libby.

“Crucio” he whispered, and the house elf crumpled immediately in sobs of pain. Briefly, he
wondered what his crucio felt like in comparison to the others he had experienced.

The pained screeches of the house elf filled the room. It sounded like rusty nails being drug
across the chalkboards in Severus’ potion classroom, like the chilling embodiment of pain .
The wand remained warm in his hand, almost gleeful at the feat of magic it was performing
and Draco felt his stomach twist in clench at the realization that the wand was happy to be
wielded by him.

The Dark Lord lifted his hand and Draco ended the spell. Libby was curled on the floor
sobbing and pleading for the spell to end even though it already had, belatedly he recognized
it was the same spot he had fallen to the day he was crucioed alongside his father. There was
still the faintest stain of his blood, soaked into the wooden floor. He lifted his gaze back to
the Dark Lords, breathing heavily but keeping face passive and unaffected. The Dark Lord's
red eyes looked positively gleeful and his thin, snake lips were curled in an approving smile.
Draco set the yew wand back down on the desk and returned to his seat, lifting his cup of tea
back to his lips and taking a sip.

It tasted like stomach acid.

“I am impressed, Draco.” The Dark Lord said as he retrieved his wand and placed it back into
the pockets of his thick, black robes. “How did it feel?”

Draco placed his cup back on the table and crossed his legs once again, slower than before.
He watched the red eyes of the Dark Lord drop to follow the movement as before, except this
time the look of hunger and arousal was unmistakable. He fought back the revulsion he felt
and remembered the eerily warm embrace of the Dark Lord’s wand in his hand.

“It felt right.”

Draco was dismissed a short time later, once Libby was able to pick herself back up off the
floor and apparate out of the room. He walked to his bedroom, hands clenched at his sides
and eyes staring straight forward. The second his door closed behind him, Draco ran to his
bathroom and vomited into his toilet. Hard, loud sobs were wretched from his body as he
expelled the contents of his stomach into the white porcelain bowl. His body was shaking, his
nose running and tears mixing with the trails of snot and sick around his chattering mouth.

He lied about his auguamenti charm.

It didn’t taste the same when conjured from the yew wand. It tasted bitter and salty, as if it
had been siphoned from his tears rather than his magic. The wand didn’t feel right in his
hand, but it did feel welcome. He hated the subtle heat that rolled off the handle and into his
skin, it was like something humid and dank instead of the warmth of a Wiltshire Summer that
he preferred.

“Libby.” He croaked, once his stomach was empty and his sobs had slowed to nothing more
than a continuous stream of tears. The house elf popped into the bathroom a few seconds
later, no doubt slowed by the lasting effect of his torture. A fresh sob bubbled in his throat
when he saw her and registered the fear in her big, glassy eyes.

“M-M-Master Dr-Draco c-c-c-called?” She stuttered out, and he was tempted to vomit once
again. Too bad there was nothing left to throw up.

“Libby, I’m so sorry.” He said, collapsing into the sidewall of his clawfoot bathtub and
wiping his mouth with a shaking sleeve. “I’m so sorry I had to do that to you.”

“Master Draco is sad he hurt Libby?” She squeaked, taking a small step towards his shaking
and crying body.

“I am very sad I hurt you. I never would have done that if I didn’t have to.” It was true. He
never shared his fathers desire to beat and punish the house elves. In his younger days he may
have slapped or hit them, but that was when he was nothing more than a spoiled child who
had been raised to believe that he was better than others.

The more he learned about the Dark Lord and Abraxas, the less he felt that particular
sentiment.

“Libby knows Master Draco would have been punished if he didn’t hurt her. Libby is happy
to serve her Master.”

“I have a pain potion in the drawer of my nightstand, can you summon it? I don’t think I can
perform magic right now.”

Libby nodded her head and snapped her fingers, the potion floated in through the open
bathroom door and settled in her tiny hand. She moved to give it to him, but Draco shook his
head.

“Take it, Libby. It will help you feel better.” He said. Her eyes grew wide and for a second,
she looked as if she was going to protest but he gave her the sternest look he could muster in
his current state. She relented, and downed the potion and Draco could tell instantly that it
had made a difference. “Did that help?”
“Yes, Master Draco. Libby can’t feel the curse anymore.” She responded, and vanished the
empty potions bottle. He smiled at her, and she smiled back.

“Libby…I don’t know if I’ll have to do that again but if I ever have to hurt you, I will make it
better somehow. I promise.” He told her, and she nodded her head.

“Libby understands. Master Draco is good.”

He can’t help but snort at that declaration. Draco is so far from good, but he is stubborn. For
the time being, that will have to be enough.

“Can Libby help Master Draco into the bath? It will help.”

“Yes Libby, thank you.”

She ran him a warm bath and filled it with his favorite bubble potions that once upon a time
his adolescent self used to adorn his face with crazy beards and gravity-defying hair. He
washed away the sweat and stink of vomit and self hate that covered him in a sheen, like a
second skin. Libby summoned his pajamas and favorite fluffy towels, then insisted on
tucking him into bed like she did when he was a child.

“Is there anything else Master Draco be needing from Libby?” She asked, once he was
sufficiently cocooned in his duck feather comforter.

“Please tell my parents I’d like to see them.” He requested. Libby bowed and popped out of
the room. Minutes later, the door to his room opened softly and his mother and father walked
in.

Fresh tears welled in his eyes when he saw them but, instead of being born from pain they
sprung from happiness. His mother and father curled into the bed around him, caring not for
how unbecoming it was for a 17 year old pureblood heir to so desperately need to be held by
his mum and dad. As his mother threaded her fingers through his hair and his father held
tightly onto his hand, he remembered exactly why he was working so hard to keep the Dark
Lord happy with their family. He would cast whatever dark magic he needed to from the
muggy and damp yew wand if it meant him and his parents survived.

In the morning, he would talk to Abraxas again. There was still much he needed to know. But
for now, he let sleep overtake him as he was cradled by the unconditional care and loyalty of
his parents.

When he dreamt, it was of a beautiful green dragon that used mirrors and rubies to collect
rays of the sun.
 Abraxas Malfoy: The End
Chapter Notes

Hi everyone! I felt it was best to read the next two chapters together, so I’m posting 6
and 7 today. Please, enjoy!

Warnings for this chapter: illness, death.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 6: Abraxas Malfoy: The End

1945

The death of Myrtle Warren was only the beginning.

Abraxas continued his tenure as the Ministry Youth Representative, doing his best to keep
peace among the students at Hogwarts and maintain a link between Tom and the Ministry.
Their relationship grew stronger as time wore on, with the unique combination of Tom's
unprecedented power and Abraxas’ unrelenting trust in him and his vision. No one knew how
close they had grown, no one suspected Tom was anything more than a perfect student and
promising young wizard, and no one was prepared for the new Wizarding World they would
build together in the ashes of the old.

When Tom graduated Hogwarts and was prevented from taking on his desired position as the
Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, Abraxas decided it was time for his position to be
passed on as well. He turned the Youth Representative post over to a bright eyed Hufflepuff
prefect that he had met a few years earlier, and implored her to reach out to him for any
concerns or difficulties she may have. He didn’t tell her that this wasn’t particularly because
he cared, but because he needed to stay abreast on matters at the school.

He took up a new position on Level 5 of the ministry, working with the International Magical
Trading Standards Body. It was a tedious position but allowed him the opportunity to
surreptitiously recommend Wizards and Witches who’s sales fell through, to visit the
charming young man who worked at Borgin and Burkes to recoup their losses.

1948
As pressure to continue the Malfoy line grew, Abraxas began his search for a proper
pureblood woman to marry and father an heir with. He relished his brief moments with Tom
but accepted that their time together was separate from his duties to his family.

He met Amelia during a Celebration of the Solstice at the Parkinson Family Estate. She was a
regal young woman, polite and quite beautiful. He learned she was from a family that grew
from a distant branch of the Bulstrode lineage, and had spent her youth living in France. She
attended Beauxbatons and spoke French with a lovely lilt of her tongue. He waltzed with her
that evening, and was reminded of his forgotten intention to teach Tom this very dance.

Amelia and Abraxas grew steadily closer, their relationship was amicable and easy. He would
forever prefer the passion that raged inside him when he wrapped himself in Tom’s punishing
embrace, but he recognized the ease with which him and Amelia settled in. She never asked
where he was going or why he’d sometimes greet her with a small limp in his gait. She
merely accepted his courting with grace and civility.

They were friends. Simply and effortlessly. He broached the topic of marriage with her and
his duty to produce a male heir for the Malfoy line, and she readily agreed to take on the
necessary role for him to do so. She was perfect for him, and Abraxas loved her for that. Not
in the same way he loved Tom, but a love just as strong nonetheless. She loved him too, and
he was often sure it was the same type of love he had for her. Their relationship was for
business, but their companionship allowed it to run smoothly.

He kept Tom far away from Amelia.

1950

Abraxas and Amelia married on a cool spring morning at the end of March. The wedding was
held in the spacious gardens of Malfoy Manor and the event was attended by the most
influential families of the Wizarding World and their guests. They toasted to a future together,
and recounted the words that lined the Malfoy Family crest before coming together in a soft,
warm kiss.

“Sanctimonia Vincet Semper!” The crowd of guests repeated, and Abraxas was pleased at the
success of the evening.

The next day, he received an owl that requested him to visit Borgin and Burkes for an offer
on an artifact he had supposedly dropped off a week ago.

Abraxas was unsurprised at the summons.

A short time later he strode into the dark shop and headed straight for the counter, greeting
the familiar young man that sat there.
“Hello Tom, I believe you have an offer for me?” He asked, and watched as aggression and
lust flickered in those unforgettable eyes.

“I do, Mr. Malfoy. Please, follow me to a private room to discuss it.”

They fucked, hard and fast in the small room nestled in the back of the building. Tom covered
his body with bruises and bites, and Abraxas felt the deep fire of being claimed .

Tom may not love him, but he firmly held Abraxas’ heart.

When they were done, they simply laid on the floor with nothing more than a cushioning
charm and a quick cleaning spell.

“So, you’re married now.” Tom said, his voice neutral as he made the statement.

“I am.” He responded.

“Do you still love me?” Tom asked, and it was the first time Abraxas had ever heard him
sound unsure. He didn’t seem upset or angry, but it was clear he was confused about where
he now stood.

“I do, Tom. Quite ardently.” Abraxas assured him, careful not to let too much concern slip
into his voice. Tom would not appreciate being seen as anything other than completely in
control.

“I still don’t love you.” Tom turned his head to catch his eye and Abraxas obliged.

“That’s okay.”

“But I never want to lose you.”

“You never will.”

1952

Abraxas felt a war of conflicting emotions when his son was born. His chest burst with pride
at the beautiful, drooling infant that a birthing witch handed to him in a bundle of dark green
blanket. That pride, however, was replaced by dread as the stern look of the Healer finally
registered with him. Something was wrong .

“I’m very sorry Mr. Malfoy, but your wife grew incredibly ill during the birth and
deteriorated far too quickly to be revived and saved.”

“What are you saying?” He asked, even though he had already realized what happened.

“Your wife Amelia has passed away, Abraxas, my sincerest apologies.”

“I want to see her.” He choked out, and realized he had begun to cry. The Healer nodded and
led him to the small room next to the nursery in the manor that was used by generations of
Malfoy women to complete the arduous task of childbirth. Abraxas looked over the pale,
breathless body of Amelia and wept.

In a few short years, she had become his best friend. She was a gentle reassurance in his
world that was often filled with too much heat, too much passion.

Now, she was gone.

He picked up her cold hand, and squeezed it tightly before letting it go and whispering his
goodbyes.

“Thank you Amelia, for all the love you gave me. Our son will know you for the brilliant life
you lived, and I promise to keep him safe. I will love you until the day I die. Goodbye
Darling.”

The white bed sheet was pulled over her head, and Abraxas left the room feeling a
permeating numbness. He entered the nursery and held his now slumbering son close to his
chest.

“Have you decided on a name, Mr. Malfoy?” The birthing Witch asked, a piece of parchment
and quill in hand to finish filling out the birth certificate. He looked into the tiny, sleeping
face of the infant in his arms and remembered the name that Amelia had whispered into her
expanded belly when she felt gentle kicks inside her womb.

“Lucius. The name of light.”

1957

Tom was changing.

His once calculating and organized mind had, over the years of using darker and darker
magic, slowly begun to turn into something fervid and chaotic. It was as if his very humanity
and essence of himself was slowly being ripped to shreds. Abraxas loved him through it all,
always remembering the young Prefect he had fallen so hard for at Hogwarts all those years
ago.

He raised Lucius to respect the rich traditions of pureblood wizards and instilled in him the
belief that the Wizarding World was strongest when it was pure.

They missed Amelia fervently. He mourned the loss of his wife and dearest friend, and his
son mourned the loss of a mother he would never know.

Abraxas kept the floo in his study that was located in the northern wing of the manor open at
all times, waiting for calls from Tom who seemed to be a world away.
They went weeks sometimes without contact, his heart aching in anticipation and fear of the
unknown. Was Tom safe? Was whatever he was doing working? He needed to know, because
Tom and Lucius were all he had left in the world.

1962

It was the first time Abraxas heard the name ‘Lord Voldemort’ spoken outside of Hogwarts.
Rumors of a dark and evil wizard that sought to purge the Wizarding World of muggleborns
rumbled through the seedier circles of purebloods. It was a name only ever whispered in dark
corners, already those who spoke it felt the weight of fear on their tongues.

Abraxas still called him Tom.

They met again in the Winter, just before Tom’s 35th birthday. Abraxas watched as the
startlingly different form of the handsome wizard he once knew stepped out of the Hearth in
the Entrance Hall of the Manor. He looked haggard and aged, his skin was blotchy and thin
and seemed to have turned the faintest shade of grey. Like he always did, Abraxas looked
into the dark, swirling eyes of Tom Riddle and saw only the man he had loved since 1943.
Unconditionally and dangerously.

“Abraxas.” Tom said, and lifted the soot and ash from his robes with a quick wave of his
hand. The presence of pure power in the room heated his cheeks and twisted his stomach in
excitement and trepidation.

“I’ve missed you, Tom.”

They embraced, and Abraxas felt himself unravel under the weight of Tom’s hands running
the length of his body and his tongue exploring the caverns of his mouth. All these years later
and their physical compatibility had never diminished, if anything it grew alongside them.

When they came together in his bed, it was the closest they had ever gotten to making love.
Tom still entered his body with the same punishing speed as always, but for the first time he
slowed his movements and they rocked together in a comforting embrace. He looked into
Tom’s eyes as they came together, then kissed him deeply through the waves of orgasmic
euphoria.

Tom pulled out of him and rolled onto his back next to Abraxas, like he always did. They
never cuddled, they never curled their limbs and whispered sweet nothings into the damp air,
but they always talked and that was enough.

“I’ve conquered death, Abraxas.” Tom said, looking up at the ceiling while his hands lazily
ran up and down his bare sternum.

“How?” Abraxas asked, tracing Tom’s profile with his gaze as he laid on his side in a pile of
sweaty sheets.
“Do you remember the Diary I gave to you?”

Tom told him what the diary was. He told him of the previously thought impossible feats of
magic he had performed throughout his travels. Abraxas listened in awe as he learned how
Tom had willingly split his soul to achieve immortality, and was honored when he realized
Tom had trusted him with the largest piece to keep safe.

He couldn’t deny the effects of this magic, though. The man he loved had been changed,
irreversibly by dark magic. In ways that he dared not even comprehend.

“I want you to make one too, Abraxas, I’ll show you how.” Tom turned to look directly at
him when he said this, and for a brief moment he considered it. That moment ended however,
when the image of Lucius bundled in his baby blanket flashed into his mind.

“I can’t, Tom.” He responded

“You’re a strong enough Wizard, Abraxas. Of course you can.”

“No, you don’t understand. I can’t-I won’t - do that to Lucius.”

Abraxas had seen anger and fury color Tom’s face many times before, but he had never seen
it directed so fiercely at him.

“Abraxas, we can achieve immortality together, don’t you understand?” Those dark swirling
eyes had suddenly turned manic, glowing with rage.

“Tom, what is immortality worth if the process destroys your humanity? Look at what you’ve
become, what this magic has done to you. I love you Tom, I always will but I can’t put my
son through this. I care for him far too much to make him watch me tear my soul apart.” He
reached his hand up to cradle Tom’s cheek, but he was immediately stopped by a tight,
unforgiving clenching on his wrist.

“What does that matter? How is a child worth more than an eternity of us, together, becoming
the strongest wizards who’ve ever lived?” Tom ground the words out through gritted teeth
and a tightened jaw. It was then that Abraxas realized the true cost of Tom’s admiration for
him ending only in respect. He felt his eyes begin to water as he understood the two worlds
he had kept separate, his love for Tom and his love for Lucius, could never meet.

“You’ll never understand love, Tom.” Abraxas started, feeling hot tears fall from the corners
of his eyes. “Not the love I have for you, not the love I have for my son. And for that I’m
sorry…I always thought I could love you enough for the both of us that it wouldn’t matter.”
As he had just learned, he was wrong.

“Love is a weakness. Your son is a weakness.” Tom stood from the bed and began to redress
his noticeably deteriorated body. Abraxas wept for him. He wept for the future they planned
together that could never truly be, because Abraxas would never leave Lucius behind.

“No Tom, Love is not a weakness, but clearly it is your enemy.” He responded, and they
looked into each others eyes once again. For the first time in decades, Abraxas felt Tom
beating on his occlumency shields. When he let him in, he pulled a single memory forward.

He smiled and reached out to grab Tom's other hand, that curled loosely around the edge of
his desk. “I don’t need you to love me Tom, I can love you enough for the both of us.” He
stood from his chair, leaning his forward against his lovers. “All I need…is you.”

As the memory ended, Abraxas raised his shields once again and let another round of tears
fall.

“You are not you anymore.” He said, as he watched Tom drop his gaze to button his robes.

“No,” Tom spoke, his tone low and dangerous, “I’m stronger.”

He left the manor through the floo he had only just stepped through an hour ago. It was their
shortest meeting together, but more had been said than ever before.

Abraxas dressed and walked down the corridors to Lucius’ room. He quietly pushed open the
door, and saw his son reading one of the many history books he loved to procure from the
libraries. While Lucius had the familiar, platinum hair of all Malfoy men, his face was
entirely reminiscent of Amelia. When he looked at his son, he felt the same happiness he had
when she was still alive.

“Hello, Father” Lucius greeted from his bed. He would be eleven in the new year, and his
Hogwarts letter would no doubt be delivered in the coming summer. Abraxas realized then,
that he would be all alone in the manor soon. He wasn’t sure if Tom would return to him after
his rejection tonight, but it was worth it to know that Lucius would never doubt the care he
had for him.

“Would you read to me, Lucius?” He asked. No energy left to be the stern head of the Malfoy
household. His son smiled and moved his little body over on the bed, inviting Abraxas in
with him. They settled in together, Lucius held close to his chest as he recounted the life and
work of the brilliant potions master Giulia Tofana of Italy.

“I love you, Lucius.” He whispered, after his son had fallen asleep and let the book fall from
his fingers.

“Love you too, father,” he murmured, curling deeper into his arms.

Lucius may have been the only person who loved him, but it was more than enough.

1969

He caught fleeting glimpses of Tom over the last years of his life, but it wasn’t until the
afternoon before his death that they came together once again.
Abraxas knew he was dying. The Dragon Pox sickness had spread over his body, leaving it
tinted green with disgusting, leaking sores. His eyes had sunken, and his body wracked with
mucusy, hacking coughs. It was a painful, slow death that drained his body of any fight it had
left.

There was a knock on the door and Lucius entered a moment later, standing tall and proud as
he was expected to. He would be the Patriarch of the Malfoy family shortly, and he had
already slipped into the role so effortlessly. Even as Abraxas laid in his bed waiting to die in a
putrid state of bloody scabs and running nose, he had no regrets about the choices he had
made as a Father.

“My apologies for disturbing you, Father. You have a visitor.” Lucius announced, staying
close to the door so as to minimize the chances of catching the illness.

“Who is it?” His words ended with a cough that left his chest sore and hot.

“He’s covered in a cloak, so I can’t be entirely sure but he’s insistent that he sees you. He
says his name is Tom.”

“Send him in.”

Lucius bowed and left his room, several minutes later the door opened again. The heavily
cloaked figure of Tom Riddle entered, and sat in a chair by his side. Tom lifted the cloak that
obscured his features, and Abraxas looked at the nearly unrecognizable face of the man he
still loved.

“You’ll be dead soon, Abraxas.” Tom said, eyes roaming over the craterous sores that littered
his once blemishless skin.

“Yes.” He responded simply, his chest and throat aching from the single word.

“You could have beaten death with me.”

“I could have.”

“Your love of Lucius made you weak, Abraxas.”

“I’m sure it seems that way to you.”

He took one final look into the eyes that he still dreamed about, before turning his gaze to the
ceiling.

“We were supposed to do this, all of it, together.” Tom’s voice sounded the slightest bit
strained, but it was too late for sadness. They had made their decisions, and he was almost
done.

“You’ll still do it, Tom. You’ll change the world, I know you will. Lucius will help, I’ve
raised him to share my visions.” Abraxas closed his eyes, they had suddenly become too
heavy to keep open.
 “I don’t want Lucius , Abraxas. I want you.”

“You will always have me, Tom. In one way or another, I am yours. Forever.”

He felt a soft, salty kiss press to his lips and then heard the sound of receding footsteps as
Tom left his room. As he slipped into unconsciousness and followed the hazy white light
before him, he was met by the soft smile of Amelia just as beautiful as he’d remembered her.
She took his hand and they walked forward, together.

Chapter End Notes

I actually teared up a bit while writing this one, which completely shocked me lol!
Thanks for reading <3
 Who is Draco Malfoy?
Chapter Notes

Warnings for this chapter: torture, sexual assault

Chapter 7: Who is Draco Malfoy?

Draco listened to Grandfather Abraxas’ portrait finish the story of his life, and he slowly
understood why things under the Dark Lord were the way they were. The Dark Lord
punished his father, so severely, because he blamed him for Abraxas’ death. It was clear his
Father was unaware of the relationship they shared, but he never stopped working to impress
the Dark Lord and earn his respect.

Draco knew now, that would never happen.

“You’ve shared…so much with me Grandfather, and I thank you for that. But I have to ask,
why? Surely you were meant to keep all of that a secret, even in death.” Draco said, from his
cross legged position on the floor where he gazed up at the painting.

“You told me that Tom saw me in you, and from our conversations I could recognize the
great stress that he has no doubt put on this family. I left him Lucius to protect, just as he’d
left me with the Diary. Clearly, my expectations were too high in that regard. I want you to
know everything you can, Draco. To keep our family safe.”

He stood up from the floor and walked forward towards the portrait, lifting his hand to run
his fingers over the gilded frame, then looked into the same grey eyes he saw in his own
reflection.

“I will, Grandfather. I promise.”

Draco was invited for tea again the following evening, but before he was ready to attend he
needed to make another visit to the dungeons. He shuddered at the memory of when he had
traveled down there previously, in search of the book that held part of the secret to
Voldemort's magic. He took deep breaths in the comfort of his room, and mentally prepared
for the short journey he needed to take into the western wing of the manor. He only had a few
hours before the Dark Lord expected him, and he needed to make them count.
With fresh resolve and a fluttering heart, Draco began the trek. Many of the Death Eaters had
been called out on some mission, leaving the hallways of his home blissfully empty for once.
He even thought he could feel some of the former warmth returning to the air, but he didn’t
dare let himself enjoy it. He needed to keep moving.

He needed to speak with Ollivander.

Draco had little desire to be an all powerful Dark Wizard, but he was still wary of the ease
with which he was able to cast with the yew wand. His own Hawthorn wand still remained
loyal to his magic, but in his mind he worried that over time their connection would be
tainted beyond repair. He didn’t want to lose the allegiance of his wand, but he also couldn’t
risk interruption with the Dark Lords. There’s no telling what that would lead to.

Stepping quietly and resolutely down the familiar stone steps, Draco emerged from the
stairwell and into the tall stone arch that opened up into the dungeon corridors. The same
hooded guard as before was there, and nodded at him as he passed by. Draco didn’t spend too
long thinking about the familiarity, remembering that he had already informed the Dark Lord
of his plans to return.

The cries of the prisoners erupted, as before and Draco clutched a piece of the crumbling
stone wall as they roared over his body like choppy, unforgiving waves. Knowing what to
expect in the dungeons didn’t make experiencing them any easier.

He began his walk down the corridor again, with a long and determined stride. He passed the
various cells until he reached the one that he remembered housed the Wand Maker,
Ollivander. He scourgifyed the ground in front of the cell before taking a seat, and erecting a
silencing charm around the both of them. Grateful for the sudden end to the wails of those
who inhabited the underground corridor.

“Hello again, Ollivander.” He said, and watched as the older man shuffled forward in the tiny
cell to sit across from him.

“It’s nice to see you again, Draco.” He croaked, and Draco winced at the pained sound of his
voice. He looked to the side of the cell and saw the cup he had transfigured on his previous
trip and nodded his head towards it. A grateful smile spread across Ollivanders lips and he
handed it to him through the sturdy, iron bars. Draco cast a quick cleaning spell on the cup
and then filled it with his aguamenti charm, that he had already tasted several times since
sipping the one he’d cast from the yew wand. It tasted normal again, and he was incredibly
relieved by that.

“Can I ask you a few questions about wandlore?” He asked, as he handed the cup back
through the bars. A curious expression flickered across the man's face, and for a moment he
looked concerned. Concerned and scared.

“You can, Draco, but I’m not sure if I can answer.” Ollivanders voice was small, and Draco
suddenly understood why he was being kept prisoner here. There must be something related
to wands that the Dark Lord needed information about, information that he clearly was not
getting. He filed that away for later, and did his best to reassure the wandmaker that he was
only looking for clarification, not secrets.
“It’s about wand allegiance. We all know the wand chooses the Wizard, but can a wand
choose more than one? What allows a Wizard to be able to cast from another's wand?”

Thankfully, the worrying look fell from Ollivanders face, and Draco breathed a small sigh of
relief at having been able to avoid whatever topic of conversation the man was being forced
to discuss with the Dark Lord.

“Typically a Wand only changes allegiance in battle, from a disarming spell, but some
speculate that a wand can work for a different wizard in cases of couples who’ve established
a relationship or if the core of the wand reacts well to the intention of the caster.”

The last thing Draco wanted to hear was that he was in an established relationship with the
Dark Lord, so he pressed on.

“In the case of a relationship, how does the wand determine the compatibility of an additional
master? Do both of the people have to be in love or will it work with other emotions?”

Ollivander looked thoughtful for a moment before responding, “Typically this is determined
by the Wizard who the wand holds original allegiance to. So perhaps two people aren’t in a
relationship in the traditional sense, but for some reason or another the wand's master trusts
the other witch or wizard unconditionally. This would allow the wand to be wielded by the
other person.”

Oh…well, that was something. Perhaps he was able to cast from the yew wand because the
Dark Lord trusted him with it.

Draco absorbed this new information, pleased with the possibility that he may finally have a
winning hand in the cruel games played by the Dark Lord. As much as he hated the feel of it,
Draco was able to cast from the yew wand. Which meant a great deal.

“Would the wand of the additional wizard…still be able to be used? Does casting from a
different wand diminish the original relationship?” He asked, still concerned about offending
his hawthorn wand.

Ollivander shook his head, “No, the only thing that would affect the relationship between a
wizard and their wand is the disarming spell or death.”

“Thank you for speaking with me, Ollivander. I really appreciate it.”

“I enjoy your company, Draco.”

It felt wrong to leave like that, to return to his warm, soft bed while Ollivander was held
down here, but there was only so much he could do. He couldn’t give the Dark Lord cause to
believe that he ventured into the dungeons for anything other than menial information.

“I wish I could help you.” He said, and Ollivander simply regarded him with a warm smile.

“We are all simply doing what we need to, to survive. I don’t fault you for that, Draco. I
remember every wand I’ve ever sold, and I also remember what that wand has to say about
the wizard that it has chosen.”
Draco nodded in understanding, and filled the transfigured cup with more water before
ending the silencing charm and rising from his seat on the cold dungeon floor. With a quick
bow, he walked away and climbed the stairs back to the main floor of the manor.

He checked his watch, and saw that he had just enough time to make it to the northern wing
study for tea and stop by his bedroom on the way for a new pair of robes. He wasn’t entirely
confident that his scourgify completely cleaned the floor before he sat down on it and it was
probably best to avoid meeting the Dark Lord with grime on his clothes.

After the brief detour to his room, he walked towards the northern wing. His watch told him
he was early, but he paid it no mind as he was used to waiting outside the closed study door.
As he grew closer to the room, he heard the chilling sound of muffled screams.

Screams he recognized.

Immediately, Draco began running the remaining length of the hall and threw open the heavy
oak doors. No knocking and waiting for an invitation from the Dark Lord. The moment he
entered he saw the convulsing form of his father on the floor, the Dark lord hovering above
him with the yew wand casting cruciatus.

“STOP!” He yelled, rushing over to his father.

Probably due to the surprise of being ordered around by a 17 year old, the Dark Lord ended
the curse. His searing red eyes staring straight into his and narrowing slightly.

“Draco,” the Dark Lord said, “you are early.”

“Dismiss him. Now.” He spat, fighting the urge to fall to his knees and cradle his father close,
but he would not be the one to break their intense and unwavering stare.

“How bold it is of you, to think that you can command me.” the Dark Lord responded.
Despite his words, from the corner of his vision, Draco watched the yew wand lower.

“I said, now. ” He repeated, his voice firm and unyielding. He could hear the heavy breathing
of his father from where he laid, rasping quiet apologies underneath pained sobs.

“Leave us, Lucius. Draco and I must talk.”

“N-no, please. M-my lord, please d-do not h-hurt him.” His fathers voice rattled and shook.

“Leave Father, please. I will be fine.” Draco said this while keeping his eyes locked with the
Dark Lord’s.

“But D-Draco-”

“GO!” He exclaimed, and he heard his father slowly lift himself from the ground and walk
out of the study.

They were alone, and the tension in the air was so thick that he could feel it coil around his
throat. The Dark Lord stood a few inches taller than him, but that did not stop him from
meeting him head on.

“I have killed people for doing less, Draco.” He growled, but Draco only stepped closer.

“You kill people for questioning you? How cowardly.” He responded. The red eyes of the
Dark Lord grew dark and ominous, boiling in his sockets with rage.

“I kill people to maintain and earn respect.”

“Well, you have yet to earn mine, Tom .” the name left his lips in a sneer before he could even
register that he had said it.

Draco was unsurprised by the slap that cut across his face from the back of the other man's
skeletal, grey hand.

He was, however, surprised by the kiss that followed it.

The last person that kissed him had been Theo. They had a habit of sneaking into each other’s
beds when one or both of them couldn’t sleep. Their companionship had been built over a
shared reality of their fathers as horrifically active Death Eaters. There wasn’t love in what
they did together, but there was comfort. The innate bliss of losing yourself in a familiar body
and the pleasure of a quick orgasm. Unlike Pansy or Blaise, Theo never commented on the
way his ribs became more and more pronounced throughout sixth year as he battled with his
task from the Dark Lord. Their time together, whether Theo was inside of him or Draco was
kneeled before him, was a safe space to be lost in sensation and want rather than the reality of
expectations that neither of them could ever truly live up to.

The Dark Lord kissed nothing like Theo. Draco’s face was held tightly in place by those long,
inhuman hands and the kiss was bruising and painful. It was overwhelming and
overpowering as he felt the snakelike tongue force its way inside his mouth and trace over his
own. It was too demanding, too forceful, and in a way too much like his cruciatus curse
which flayed Draco’s muscles from inside his body.

Once Draco’s mind caught up to what was happening, he pushed against the Dark Lord's
chest with all of his strength and ended the kiss, his eyes wide and angry as they stared into
the other man’s.

“I am not Abraxas, you disgusting motherfucker .” He loaded the words with as much venom
as he could muster and watched as the Dark Lord shut his eyes and leaned their foreheads
together.

“You are…the closest I have gotten to him in years.” The response was whispered and
broken, punctuated by a grief that Draco still couldn’t fully comprehend the Dark Lord
feeling. “Be Abraxas for me…and I will not harm your family, Draco.”

His eyes widened in shock at the request. Is this not what he wanted? For the Dark Lord to
view him as his Grandfather? To earn the same respect that had once been given to a Malfoy
in hopes of living to see the end of this war? Draco knew so much, too much really, about
who the Dark Lord was and how he had become the monster that stalked through the streets
of the Wizarding World conjuring fear and pain.

Draco was not built to fight in the war. He was not the Champion that Potter was, he was not
a reckless, brave soldier that would push against the forces of evil that seemed to press into
him from all directions. Determined to suffocate him in a cloud of darkness. He was not
someone good, someone redeemable.

So, who was Draco Malfoy?

For now…for now, he could be Abraxas.

“...Okay.”
 Establishing Routine
Chapter Notes

Hello! Please consider a standing dubcon warning for the remainder of Act 1 (which
well end with the Battle of Hogwarts).

I appreciate all of your comments and kudos so incredibly much, and I thank you for
taking this journey with me.

Enjoy the next chapter <3

Chapter 8: Establishing Routine

The next few weeks passed in a blur that Draco only felt partly conscious and aware of,
adjusting to his new role as Abraxas and working harder than usual to maintain his sanity. By
the end of the first week, however, he had established a bit of a routine.

He’d wake up in the morning, always in his bed, and he’d light the fire in his hearth before
going to the bathroom and spelling the water in his shower so hot that his skin turned bright
red and stung. The comfort that he once found in heat had now been replaced by the desire to
be suffocated by it instead. The bathroom air would grow so thick with steam that it licked
his skin and left him toweling off a mixture of stray droplets of water and salty trails of
sweat. Sometimes he’d call Libby for help getting dressed, depending on how sore he was
from the night before.

He was typically only sore enough to need Libby’s assistance if Tom had reason to
‘celebrate’.

After his shower and dressing, he’d meet his parents for breakfast in the intimate dining room
on the base floor of the south tower. The main dining hall that he had grown up eating in was
now considered a general meeting place for the Death Eaters that roamed the estate,
becoming another room in the manor that he avoided whenever possible. The south tower
dining room was small and cozy, and held wards that only allowed the entrance door to be
seen by members of the Malfoy family.

Breakfast was his favorite meal these days, as it was typically the longest span of time
between him and his standing appointment with Tom in the northern wing. He would settle
into light conversation with his parents, taking extra care to keep the topics far away from
anything that could lead to discussion of their current reality. His father would recount
historical events that he’d read about over the years, or famed Wizards and Witches that he’d
admired in his studies. His mother would reminisce about her favorite memories they shared
together, like their trips to Paris in the Autumn or the past renditions of their traditional Yule
Gala.

None of them spoke of the future, as it was far from guaranteed for them.

After breakfast he would move to one of the libraries in the upper floors of the mansion, he
had little desire to return to the fifth library in the dungeons. He would re-read his favorite
books, summon Libby for games of chess, and draft letters to his friends that he rarely ever
sent. He was hesitant to reach out to Pansy and Blaise, worried that any association with him
would raise the pressure for them to join the ranks of evil that currently inhabited his home.

Lunch was quiet, but it was usually around lunch time that he started to feel the heavy weight
of what he’d be expected to do in the evening. He reminded himself that he was a Malfoy, a
Slytherin, hell even a Gemini if he felt the traits of the zodiac applied to him enough to make
evenings with Tom any easier. As he sat on one of the library arm chairs and gazed out onto
the gardens from the tall, wide windows he would focus on his plans to make it through the
current trials of life.

At 5:30 each evening, he was expected for dinner. He would walk slowly through the
corridors and run his fingers lightly over the empty walls that previously hung portraits of his
ancestors and paintings of the estate through the years. The barren halls flickered in the torch
light and made him grieve for a family he felt he’d already lost. As he drew closer to the
north wing study, however, he would adorn the Malfoy mask with a practiced ease and wear
the role of Abraxas like long, winter robes.

He would knock when he arrived, but he never waited for an invitation. Simply pushing open
the door and looking directly into the searing red eyes of Tom Riddle.

“Hello Abraxas.” Tom would greet, and Draco would smile softly before responding,

“Hello Tom, I’ve missed you.”

A small dining table had been added to the office, and he and Tom would sit together as
dinner was served on finely painted bone china under sterling silver domes. Draco would
pour them both small glasses of wine, and he’d eat slowly and with the impeccable manners
he had been taught since childhood. Tom did not eat, but he would take small sips of the wine
and watch Draco closely. His eyes tracing slowly over Draco’s features as they softly chewed
the food or delicately drank the Cabernet.

Draco never had much of an appetite for dinner, but he ate anyway. Knowing that his role
would only be questioned if he pushed around his potatoes and peas, giving in to the
temptation to retreat deep inside of his mind.

Instead, they would talk. Sometimes the conversations seemed to mirror the ones his
grandfather described during his visits to the south tower library. Draco would listen as Tom
detailed his plans to rule the Wizarding World and make muggles fear the power of their
magic. Other times, the conversations would simply be memories of Hogwarts and the time
Tom and Abraxas shared together.
“I felt at home at Hogwarts,” Tom said once, sitting his emptied wine glass on the table and
turning his gaze back to Draco, “and after finishing school, I only felt at home with
Abraxas.”

After dinner, the table would be transfigured into a bed with dark sheets and aubergine
colored pillows. Tom would return to his desk and look over pieces of parchment or books,
sometimes speaking to Nagini in parseltongue and never failing to make Draco’s skin erupt in
goosebumps of unease. Draco would lay on the bed with a book that he never really read,
instead focusing on relaxing his breathing and body for what would come next. What always
came next.

Tom would finish whatever he was doing, and lower the flames of the torches and chandelier
until the room was immersed in a soft, orange glow. Draco would remove his outer robes and
Tom would come to the bed, keeping his own robes on. They would kiss, hungrily, and Tom
would run his long, grey fingers all over his body. One hand would, inevitably, stroke through
his hair while the other would trace a path down his buttoned shirt, from his neck to his navel
and push his trouser clad legs apart.

Draco would keep his eyes closed, imagining that the hands touching him were the familiar
fingertips of Theo-or Blaise that one Halloween when they fumbled their way through a
bottle of smuggled fire whiskey-and he would lose himself in the sensation of touch. Tom
could have his body, but he would never have his mind and that kept Draco calm.

Inevitably, he would get hard from a combination of his memory, the caresses and the
fondling, and Tom would palm his cock through his still buttoned trousers. Draco learned
early on that Tom loved to touch him, his hair and his body. It made him sink deeper into his
own memory of Abraxas and Draco would let him, willing to offer his skin, bones, and blood
in return for the promise of safety for his mother and his father.

Draco knew Tom was ready for more when his hands moved to grip his hips. Tom would lean
into his ear, sometimes flicking his tongue lightly in a way that made Draco involuntarily
shiver. He would then whisper, “Turn around for me and undress.” Draco would oblige,
flipping onto his stomach and removing his clothes. Letting Tom drink in the long, pale lines
of his body as he pushed his own face into the pillow.

It was easier to pretend like this. Easier to do what he needed to do.

Draco would feel Tom lifting his robes while he wandlessly and wordlessly conjured oil on
his fingers, before immediately pushing two inside of him.

The first time, Draco yelled and tried to move away, the pain of being stretched too wide and
too fast enough to make him forget what he was meant to be doing.

“Relax, Abraxas. I remember what you liked.” Tom said, and Draco felt hot tears leak from
the corners of his eyes as he attempted to control his breathing and accept what little
preparation he was being given.

Over their time together, and the frequency of their meetings, Draco had become accustomed
to the harshness of Tom and the little regard he actually kept for Draco’s comfort. He adapted
the best he could, returning his mind to a place far beyond this bed in the northern wing of his
home.

After a few moments of long fingers roughly working him open, Draco would feel them
leave his body and be replaced by the thick head of Tom's cock. It would breach the tight ring
of his muscle and Tom would enter him quickly, sheathing his full length in Draco’s body and
taking a moment to moan and catch his breath.

“Fuck, Tom …” Draco would moan, but underneath his words was a plea. To be gentle, to be
slow, to allow him just a few seconds to adjust and prepare for what lay ahead.

“ Abraxas, ” Tom would answer with his own moan, and Draco’s plea would go ignored. One
hand would grip his hair, curling and tightening around the platinum locks while the other
grabbed hold of his hip. Tom would hold onto him so hard that bruises would blossom on his
porcelain skin, bruises that Draco would heal once he was back in his room.

Tom fucked hard, his hips pistoning into Draco at a speed he could hardly comprehend. It
was harder for him to imagine someone else by this point, Theo never took him with so little
care for Draco’s comfort. When Draco and Theo were together, there were joint moans and
frantic whispers to stay quiet mixed with brief moments of laughter as they settled into each
other as friends who just needed release .

Tom was an unforgiving lover, selfish in his motivations and undaunted by the needs of the
body underneath him. His thrusts deep, hard, fast, and painful, very rarely touching the
bundle of nerves inside of him that would give Draco at least a bit of pleasure. Draco would
clutch tightly to the sheets and do his best to moan, feeding into the illusion that he was
Abraxas and Abraxas was happy .

When he felt Tom’s pace stutter, he knew they were almost finished. Moments later, Tom
would come with another moan of “Abraxas” leaving his snakelike mouth. Draco rarely
came, his erection typically wilting from the agonizing brutality that was sex with Tom
Riddle. Sometimes, if the angle happened to be right, he would slip lightly into euphoria and
feel a small release jut out of his cock but it was rare and Draco didn’t mind. He didn’t want
pleasure from Tom, he only wanted safety and an end to the suffering of his parents.

Tom would pull out of him, cast a cleaning spell and redress in his thick, black robes. Draco
would collapse on the bed, face down in the pillow, typically working through a small round
of tears that he didn’t dare let Tom see. A hand would run down his back, fingers tracing idly
along the bumps of his spine. Then it would disappear, and the bed would lift slightly as Tom
stepped down from it and walked away.

“Until tomorrow, Abraxas.” Tom would say, and Draco would roll off the bed and pull his
clothes and robes back on, happy to be dismissed.

“Goodnight, Tom.” Draco would respond, with a soft smile and bow directed at the other
man. His eyes would lock with red one last time for the evening, and Tom would bow as
well, his face projecting a look of satisfaction at another evening well spent. The torches
would be relit as Draco left the study, closing the door gently behind him before returning to
his own bedroom and immediately stepping into his shower.
He would turn the water on, still fully clothed, and sink down to the bottom of the tub. Draco
would pull his knees to his chest and let hot water from the shower head cascade over him,
his eyes closed and weeping as he processed the emotions of another day. Eventually, he
would remove his clothes and leave them in a sopping wet pile in the corner of the room.
He’d summon Libby, and she’d send them to the laundry room to be cleaned and pressed for
another encounter. The house elf would lay pajamas on his bed for him and, once the water
left his fingers wrinkled and tight, he would turn it off and step out. He would then look into
the mirror, and heal any bruises left over from his time with Tom.

As the days progressed, he found it harder and harder to look at his own reflection.

He would leave the bathroom and put on his pajamas, Libby typically following and tucking
him in. It was such a small gesture but it made his heart swell, slightly erasing the damage of
another evening as Abraxas.

They would wish each other goodnight and Draco would insist that the torches of his room
stayed lit, not ready to let the room be covered in darkness. He would fall asleep to the
dancing flames, and if he was lucky he would not dream.

Draco was rarely ever lucky.

The routine was interrupted the morning of July 28. Instead of waking up to his boiling hot
shower and breakfast with his parents, he was summoned to the northern wing study by a
grumbling Fenrir Greyback.

“The Dark Lord requests your presence, your Highness.” Greyback sneered from outside
Draco’s barely open door.

“Tell him I’ll be there in a little while.” Draco responded, wincing as he felt the now familiar
ache flare up his tail bone.

“Do you have a death wish, boy? The Dark Lord doesn’t wait for pretty little things like
yourself to finish their morning pampering. He wants to see you. Now.”

“You think I’m pretty?” Draco chuckled, unbothered by the angry growling of Fenrir. After
weeks with Tom, Draco knew who spiked real fear inside of him and it certainly wasn’t the
man in the hall with the constant smell of wet dog.

“I think you’re a spoiled fucking brat who should consider himself lucky that the Dark Lord
considers him off limits. Don’t. Push. It.” Greyback responded, slamming a hand into the
door frame and leaning down into Draco’s unflinching face.

“You seem tense, Fenrir. Perhaps we should send you to St. Mungos and have you
neutered?”
“FUCK YOU!” He shouted, slamming his hand into the door frame once again. “Fuck it, if
you want to play around and piss off the Dark Lord then go ahead. I’ll happily take over once
he’s cursed you within an inch of your life, you little piece of shite . We’ll see how well you
talk when I’m ripping your chest open.”

“You paint quite the picture, Fenrir, but perhaps instead of waxing poetic outside of my
bedroom you could be a good dog and tell the Dark Lord that I will see him once I’m ready.
Now will you go? Or shall I swat your nose with yesterday's issue of The Daily Profit ?”

Another growl of anger ripped from Greyback's chest before he stomped back down the
hallway, presumably to deliver the message. With a long sigh, Draco closed his door and
retreated to his bathroom to shower and prepare for whatever it was Tom needed him for
right then. He laughed humorously at the thought of telling himself just a few months ago
that he would be in a position to make the Dark Lord wait for him. How times change.

Once showered and dressed, quicker than usual but not by much, Draco made the familiar
walk to the study at his typical unhurried pace. The benefit of being Abraxas meant that Tom
was more than happy to indulge him in a little bit of defiance.

He entered the study and Tom sat at the desk, twirling the yew wand and talking to the curled
form of Nagini, who hissed back from her place on the floor. After he closed the door behind
him, Draco walked to the desk and, facing Tom, perched himself on it, crossing his legs and
leaning slightly on his extended arm.

“You sent for me?” He asked, raising a brow in question. Tom met his gaze and Draco
registered anger and frustration on his face.

“I requested you over an hour ago .” Tom sneered, slapping the wand on the desk and leaning
forward slightly.

“I was busy.” Draco responded.

“Too busy for me?” Tom asked, voice sharp and angry.

“Busy preparing for you.” Draco whispered, and leaned forward to kiss him. He could only
push Tom so far, but he knew Abraxas was not someone that would easily submit. By making
the first move, he dictated the rules of the game for a little while.

Tom welcomed the kiss, and Draco felt a hand lace through his hair as a tongue entered his
mouth and began familiar explorations. Draco broke the kiss when he needed to breathe and
leaned back into his original position. Ignoring the lurch of his stomach that threatened to
send acid up his throat.

“What happened, Tom?”

Tom told him of the Death Eaters' attempt to take Potter from his muggle relatives house as
he fled to a new location, and how it had failed. Outwardly, Draco sympathized with Tom and
consoled his anger but inside, he felt his stomach settle and his muscles loosen at the
recollection of another battle won by Potter. There was hope for them all, yet.
“I will be visiting the dungeons tonight, we won’t be having dinner.” Tom told him, and
Draco felt a deep concern for the Wandmaker he had befriended.

“If you’re going to visit Ollivander, I need you to keep him alive and relatively unharmed.
He’s a resource I can’t part with just yet.” Hopefully, the command was lukewarm enough
that Draco could hide the fact that he was trying to protect the older man.

“I won’t kill him, not yet. There’s still too much information I need.” Tom responded,
rubbing his chin in thought and gazing at the wall. Draco nodded and accepted that, at the
very least, Ollivander would still be alive a little longer.

Draco waited, unsure of what would happen next. Tom seemed much too distracted for sex
and Draco was more than pleased at the thought of more time to recover.

“Severus will be here soon, I’ve asked him to speak with you.” Tom finally said, looking
back at Draco.

“Will he meet me here?”

“Yes. You’ll wait outside the study while we discuss progress and then he’ll escort you back
to your rooms or wherever you’d like to talk.”

Draco nodded, folding his arms into his lap and looking out of the large window behind Tom
that gave a beautiful view of the peacock sanctuary and distant hills of the area. He missed
flying, thinking wistfully about his broom that sat unused in the broom shed. He was startled
from his reverie when Tom stood from his chair and kissed him, gentler than he ever had
before.

“I need to touch you, Abraxas.” Tom whispered and Draco nodded in understanding.

“Where do you want me?” He asked, keeping his eyes firmly shut.

“Against the desk, turn around.”

Draco listened, hopping off his perch and turning around as requested. He felt Tom's face
nuzzle into his hair, and his hands travel up his torso and down his arms. Draco was surprised
that the hands never dipped below his waist band or unbuttoned his crisp, white shirt. He
merely stood there, leaning back into Tom slightly, as hands stroked his upper body and
rubbed circles into his sides.

Somehow, this was worse than the sex.

Draco could let himself cry when Tom fucked him, the pain a reminder that he was simply
doing what had to be done. But this? This was something else entirely. His body felt
traitorous as it responded to the gentle handling, such a shocking difference from the weeks
of painful thrusts and bruising grasps. He always felt desperate for a shower after sex with
Tom, but this was the first time he ever truly felt dirty .
It was another emotion to stomp down, to push and lock away in the back of his head. He
reminded himself that while Tom took his body, his mind remained his alone. The details he
learned of the previous night was a reminder that Potter was out there, leading the battle and
winning the war. Draco just needed to be patient, he could unlock those feelings another day.

A knock sounded at the door and Tom stilled his hands, pressing a soft kiss to the back of
Draco’s head that sent a small wave of nausea through him. The hands pulled back and Draco
was left standing as he heard Tom return to his seat.

“Enter.” Tom called, and the door opened. Severus stepped inside and his eyes widened
slightly as he took in the no doubt surprising picture of the Dark Lord lounging in his chair
and Draco Malfoy standing next to him, with clasped hands and a neutral expression.
“Welcome, Severus.”

“My Lord.” His Godfather greeted, bowing in respect before turning to look at him. “Draco.”
He said, with a slightly smaller bow.

“Mr. Malfoy will wait outside for you, you’ve much to discuss.” Tom said, and Draco
recognized it as a dismissal. He was unsure how to act, as no one else was aware of their very
strange relationship. To everyone else, nothing had really changed except his ‘meetings’ with
Tom now took place in the evening rather than the afternoon.

Unsure of what to do, Draco turned slowly to look at Tom and raised a brow in question.
Hoping that his hesitancy to leave without their ‘typical’ goodbye was understood. Tom’s
mouth twitched slightly and he nodded, giving Draco the permission he sought. Draco
nodded back and walked out from behind the desk, taking in the narrowed eyes of Severus
who was clearly working in his head to understand the strange interaction between his
Godson and the Dark Lord.

One day, maybe Draco will explain it.

He left the study and leaned against the wall across from the doors, waiting for Severus to
emerge. He inspected his fingernails, making a mental note to cast a manicure charm in the
next few days and place an order for some new moisturizing skin potions.

He took pleasure in small comforts these days.

After some time had passed, Severus walked out of the study and met Draco with a look so
intense it would have made a blast-ended skrewt cower.

“We will be talking in your room. Now. ” Severus said and, unlike this morning, Draco felt no
desire to test the leniency of that request.

They walked the halls in silence, Severus’ robes billowing behind him. As they entered his
bedroom, Severus cast a silencing spell on the door and directed him to the sitting area by his
fireplace. Draco took the loveseat on the left and his Godfather took the one on the right,
straight across.
“What do you think you are doing, Draco?” Severus sneered, his voice clearly dipped in
anger. An anger that Draco wasn’t quite sure he understood.

“What do you mean?” He asked, needing clarification.

“Your meetings with the Dark Lord have continued yet you no longer require me to restock
your pain potions, you have frequently made visits to the dungeon to visit your families
library of the Dark Arts and speak with Ollivander, and the Dark Lord has told me that you
successfully cast the cruciatus curse from his wand. I ask you again, Draco, what do you think
you are doing ?” Severus’ voice was so harsh and cutting as he listed Draco’s various
‘crimes’ that he couldn’t stop himself from flinching. To his Godfather, it looked like Draco
was apprenticing to be the next Lord Voldemort. He couldn’t exactly tell him that he didn’t
take the pain potions because they healed him so well that sex with Tom hurt just as bad as
the first time.

“I know what this looks like Severus, but it’s not what you think. I just need you to trust me.
I’m only doing what needs to be done to keep my family safe .” He said, pleading with his
eyes for his Godfather to leave well enough alone.

They stared at each other, fighting a war with their eyes. Eventually, Severus relented and
dropped his gaze while letting out a long sigh and bringing his fingers up to rub his temples.

“Fine. I will let it go. For now.” Severus responded, leaning into the back of the couch.

“Thank you. Now, what is it we need to discuss?”

Severus reached into one of the inner pockets of his robe and placed a familiar cream colored
envelope on the small marble coffee table between them.

“I’ve brought your Hogwarts letter for your final year.”

“He’s letting me return to Hogwarts?” The idea of returning for his seventh year seemed
impossible to him, and he felt his spirits lift at the chance to get away for a little while.

“Yes…but with strict instructions to return here on the weekends unless otherwise stated.”

“What, am I supposed to fly from Scotland to Wiltshire?”

“I am in no mood for your attitude Draco, just listen.” His Godfather cut across the distance
between them with a steely glare and Draco realized it was probably for the best that he
didn’t provoke.

“My apologies Severus.”

“I am being appointed the new Headmaster at Hogwarts. You will floo from my office,
directly into the north wing study on Friday nights and you will return on Sunday
Afternoons.” Severus explained, and Draco considered this dynamic. It wasn’t ideal but it
was certainly a welcome change from nightly dinners with Tom. He could spend his
weekends at the manor, and he could hold Tom to his promise.
“Will I be able to see my parents?” He asked.

“I cannot say.”

“Fine, is there anything else?”

Severus regarded him once again, seemingly trying to pull the answers to a million unspoken
questions from Draco’s body language. The room dissolved mostly into silence, the exception
being the crackling of wood that sat lit in his fireplace.

Finally, Severus shook his head, “No, that is all.”

“Congratulations on your new position, Headmaster.” Draco said, and watched a small wince
break through his Godfather’s face.

“I have much to prepare for the upcoming school year, I will see you in September.” Severus
responded, sidestepping Draco’s compliment. They stood and walked back towards the door
of his bedroom, Severus removing the silencing spell with a quick murmur and wave of his
wand.

“Thank you, Severus.” Draco said, putting as much emotion into the words as he was able.
His Godfather cared for him, and he was more appreciative than ever of this fact.

“Stay safe, Draco.” Was his response, accompanied by a gentle squeeze of his shoulder and
one more calculating look. Then, the door opened and his Godfather was gone. Presumably
to visit Hogwarts and do whatever it was he was sent there to do.

Draco breathed deeply in his now empty room, before returning to the bed and crawling into
the sheets. The evening was his alone, no dinner to attend in the northern wing. Perhaps he
would spend it with his parents but until then, he would sleep. Desperate to forget about the
world, even for a short while.
 Discovery
Chapter Notes

Warnings: standing dubcon warning

Chapter 9: Discovery

The first person that found them was Aunt Bella.

Draco had been requested by Tom on the morning of August 3rd. By piecing together excited
conversations in the halls, he learned why he was visiting the northern wing early in the day,
once again. Tom had successfully killed the Minister, Rufus Scrimgeour, and he was now in
full control of the Ministry of Magic. There was also murmuring about the wedding of the
oldest Weasley being crashed, and several members of the ‘Light Side’ being interrogated
and scrutinized. He shuddered at the news, but felt reassurance and calm once he learned that
Potter and his fan club had not been captured. Or worse.

Draco dressed in Tom’s favorite robes, combed out his hair that was steadily growing closer
to touching his shoulder, and slipped his signet ring on his finger as a reminder of who he
was and why he was willingly entering the den of a vicious, poisonous snake. He walked
leisurely to the northern wing, and entered the sickeningly familiar study, greeting Tom as he
took a seat in one of the chairs that faced him.

“There’s rumors in the halls that you had a very successful evening, Tom.” Draco remarked,
leaning back in the chair and bringing his fingertips to trace lightly against his jaw.

“The Ministry is mine.” Tom responded, and Draco could feel the excited sparks of his magic
crinkling in the air around them. He watched as Tom’s red eyes traced over his body and
knew what he needed to say next, swallowing against the sudden lump that formed in his
throat.

“Well then, I think we should celebrate.”

He was beckoned over to the desk, where Tom grabbed a handful of his hair and drug him
down into a bruising kiss. Draco felt a hand wrap around the back of his thigh and followed
its insistent pull, bringing his legs up onto the seat of the chair and straddling Tom’s hips. His
mouth opened to grant access to the familiar, insistent tongue of the other man. Their tongues
fought against each other, and his own hands braced against Tom’s strong, wide robe clad
chest. Kissing Tom was easy, it was a mindless activity that he could shut his brain off for.
Relying purely on instinct and past experiences.
His mind had traveled so far away from the roaming hands and sharp tongue of Tom that he
didn’t hear the door to the study click open.

“Well, well, well, this is quite the surprise, ickle Draco.” Aunt Bella sneered, and Draco
jumped back from the kiss. His thigh was still held tightly though, and he had no choice but
to remain in Tom's lap.

“It’s only polite to knock, Bellatrix.” Tom drawled, and Draco closed his eyes shut tightly.

Bellatrix knew . She would no doubt tell everyone and Draco would be seen as nothing more
than the Dark Lords whore .

His parents would find out.

Oh Merlin, how that thought made sobs bubble in his throat. How could he look at his mother
and father in the eye with them knowing what he did, what he let be done to him? How could
Draco get them to understand that this was his role, a necessary part he needed to play to
ensure their survival until Potter and his Island of Broken Toys did whatever it took to end
the war once and for all.

He swallowed against the cries that prickled against his tongue. Aunt Bella feasted on fear,
on knowing that she had something to dangle in front of her prey. He would not give her this.
He would not back down in the face of her maniacal sadism. He would be like Abraxas.

“My lord, I am here to speak with you about my plans for our next attack.” Though he was
not looking at her, Draco could hear the grinding of her teeth and the clenched jaw that she
pushed her words out of. Clearly upset by the situation she had just witnessed.

“Surely, Aunt Bella, you can recognize when someone is busy. Perhaps Uncle Rodolphus is
around to listen to your screeching instead.” Draco knew how to be witty, condescending and
cruel. He would be all of those things so as to remind Tom that he was like Abraxas and
Abraxas would not back down.

Beneath him, Tom chuckled. Behind him, Bella raged.

“How dare you talk to me like that, Draco?! CRU-”

“ENOUGH” Tom bellowed, and his Aunt's spell was cut off. “Bellatrix, wait outside. We will
talk in a moment.”

With a sound that seemed halfway between a growl and a cry, Aunt Bella left the study.
Slamming the door behind her. Draco let out a long stream of breath, relaxing the muscles in
his shoulders that he had unknowingly clenched.

“She is going to tell everybody.” Draco sighed, looking out through the window and gazing
far beyond.

“Do you wish to be kept a secret?” Tom asked, curiously. Draco considered his words before
responding.
“I wish to be seen as your equal, as Abraxas . Not as some…concubine.”

“Then I will tell her not to talk.”

“And you think Aunt Bella will listen?”

“Bellatrix is merely lashing out because she believes she has lost my favor. I will remind her
that I value her service, and will continue to do so only if she behaves .”

Draco snorted at the concept of his Aunt Bella behaving and turned his gaze back to Tom.

“Thank you, Tom.” He whispered.

“For you, Abraxas, anything.” Draco ignored the sour taste of bile that rose inside of him,
and pressed a soft kiss to the other man’s thin lips. Self preservation meant doing what was
necessary for survival, so he brushed a finger against the Malfoy signet ring on his finger and
locked away the disgust he felt with himself for willingly kissing the Dark Lord.

Tom sent him away a moment later, and reminded him to return for dinner that evening so
that they could continue their celebration. The words sent the sensation of ice water being
dumped over his body, which he ignored in favor of a polite goodbye.

As he stepped out of the study and closed the door he was unsurprised by the ambush of Aunt
Bella. She shoved her wand beneath his chin, pointed at his throat, and forced his back
against the adjoining wall.

“You’ve got quite the mouth on you Drakey, I ought to sew it shut .” She hissed, and Draco
narrowed his eyes. Just as before, he would not give into her threats. Tom deemed him off
limits, and Aunt Bella would never willingly upset her Lord .

“Sewing, Aunt Bella? I don’t think I could picture you doing something so domestic.” His
uninterested tone hid the frantic pounding of his heart in his chest.

“You must think you’re quite special, yeah? Being a slag for the Dark Lord? I imagine he
wouldn’t keep you around if I were to ruin this pretty face of yours.”

“That’s where you're wrong, Aunt Bella. He’d still fuck me no matter what you did, it’s you
he’d toss aside. No use for such a disobedient follower.”

Aunt Bella bared her teeth and narrowed her eyes as his words registered with her. He could
see the exact moment that she realized he was right . Aunt Bella may be a wild card, but she
wouldn’t dare disobey the Dark Lord. She worshipped the ground beneath him, always
desperate to prove herself as the very best in his army. At that moment he was protected by
this, because Aunt Bella would be devastated if the Dark Lord dismissed her. Something that
would undoubtedly happen if she hurt Abraxas .

Aunt Bella lowered her wand, but kept her angry eyes trained on him.

“Go back to your room, nephew. The adults need to talk.” She said, stepping back just
enough so he could take his back off the wall.
“Always lovely to chat with you, dear Aunt.” Draco responded, and turned to walk away. He
heard the sound of the study door opening and closing, hoping that Tom really could keep the
state of their affair a secret.

As the time to depart for Hogwarts drew closer Draco felt himself getting antsy, desperate for
the upcoming chance of escape. Escape from Tom, from their dinners, from the after , from it
all. He was more than willing to delegate visits on the weekends if it meant groups of days
that were all his.

The problem was that Tom was getting antsy, too. Sex with Tom was always strenuous, the
pounding of his hips relentless and unforgiving. Lately, however, he’d gotten even more
frantic.

The week before he was due to leave on the Hogwarts Express, Draco found himself-as he
did every evening-on the transfigured bed in the northern wing study. Tom had been quiet
during dinner, not engaging in any of the conversation. Merely responding irritably to
Draco’s attempts to cajole him.

Once dinner was cleared and the table was gone, Draco laid down in the now familiar sheets.
To his surprise however, Tom joined him immediately. There was no reading and waiting
tonight, just a quick swish of wand to lower the lights followed by Tom on top of him and his
tongue exploring inside of him.

“I’m not ready for you to leave me, Abraxas.” Tom whispered into his mouth and Draco bit
back the response that it was too fucking bad because he was ready to go .

“You’ll still have me, Tom.” He reassured him, while mentally counting the days until he
would be boarding the train at Platform 9 ¾.

Tom gripped his hip hard and flipped him over, so rough that Draco gasped as the wind was
knocked out of his lungs.

“Take off your clothes, Abraxas. Don’t make me wait.”

Draco did as he was told, removing his clothes hurriedly and spreading his legs. Before he
could catch his breath, Tom gripped his hips and slammed into his body.

Draco yelled. He yelled and he sobbed, and buried his face into the aubergine pillow while
his hands gripped the sheets so hard that his knuckles turned a faint purple from loss of
circulation. Tom was relentless. Moving so hard and so fast that Draco’s body shifted and
slipped on top of the sheets. He felt his Malfoy signet ring cut into his finger, forced to slice
his skin from the heavy pressure of his clenched fists. The sharp sting of the silver band was
a reminder that he wanted this, needed this , because the alternative was far worse.
The alternative was torture. Torture and death for him, for his father, for his mother.

Draco would endure Tom. The superficial wounds on his skin would heal and the deeper
wounds on his psyche would be dealt with in the future. Pain was temporary in the face of
death, which was terrifying in its finality.

Tom came inside him and Draco waited for him to leave. The cleaning spell was cast, as it
always was, and Draco pressed his face harder into the pillow to silence the fresh wave of
tears that sprung when Tom finally released the grip on his hips and the ache settled in
deeper.

The room was silent and Draco gained control over his breathing. He felt the bed shift but,
instead of returning to his desk, Tom laid down beside him. Draco turned his head just
enough to watch Tom's profile as he looked up at the ceiling and ran long fingers lightly up
and down his chest.

“You will return for the weekends.” He said. It was a declaration, not a question.

“Yes. Every Friday evening.” Draco’s voice was hoarse, strained from screams that wove into
the fabric of the pillow he now rested on.

“We will have dinner together, and breakfast on Sundays.”

“Yes, Tom.”

“I don’t want you to leave this room while you are home.”

“I will make time for my parents, but the rest is for you.” Like Hell he was going to floo back
to the manor every week without seeing his mother and father. Tom stilled the hand on his
chest and narrowed his eyes slightly at Draco’s refusal to follow blindly but he did not relent.
Even Abraxas would have demanded time with his father in this situation.

After a few, tense minutes of silence, Tom responded, “Fine.”

It was a victory, small perhaps but in no way insignificant. They played their game together
and this hand, Draco won.
 Start of Term
Chapter Notes

Warnings: Standing dubcon warning

Chapter 10: Start of Term

Draco awoke the morning of September 1 with the sensation of weightlessness over his body.
It wasn’t until after he ran through any and all possible hexes, curses, or symptoms of
recovery that he realized what the feeling was.

Draco was happy .

Draco had not been happy in a rather long time. From the end of 5th year, when his father
was sent to Azkaban and he was delegated to the manor at the whims of the Dark Lord and
his Aunt, Draco had existed purely in a state of fearful and determined survival. As he
plowed his way through 6th year, overwrought with anxiety from his seemingly impossible
task, he accepted happiness as an emotion that was no longer meant for Draco Malfoy.

And yet, here it was.

In just a few hours he would be boarding the Hogwarts Express, putting hundreds of
kilometers between his body and the exhortations of Tom. It was a comforting thought, and it
allowed him a brief era of peace as he packed his trunk and summoned Libby.

“Libby is here, Master Draco! With your books and things for school.” He had delegated the
task of back to school shopping to Libby, as he was not yet permitted by Tom to leave the
grounds of the manor. A thought that he wasn’t too keen to explore at that moment.

“Wonderful, Libby. Pack everything into my trunk on the bed.”

Libby obediently placed the items in his trunk as Draco pulled out his school robes and began
to dress. His green and silver prefect badge was still pinned to the breast. He was unsure if
his title remained for seventh year but truthfully, he could not find it in himself to care.

“Libby is done with the packing, Master Draco!”

He inspected the trunk and was pleased to note that everything was tucked away, primly and
perfectly. Libby stood next to the bed, her ears lifted and eyes shining as she waited for his
next commands. Suddenly, he was struck with sadness at the thought of leaving her behind.
The cold halls of the manor were no longer a place of respite for anyone, save the legions of
Death Eaters that stalked the corridors. He kneeled on the floor in front of her, and delicately
grasped one of her hands.

“I shall miss you a great deal, Libby. Thank you for taking care of me this summer.” He told
her, making a point to look into her wide bulging eyes to ensure that she knew he meant
every word.

Libby began to tremble, and those glassy eyes overflowed with tear drops that ran down her
face and to the edge of her adorable, protruding nose.

“Libby will miss Master Draco too. But he will be okay at school, he will be safe.”

“I’m expected to return every weekend, I will be sure to check in on you when I do.” He
soothed, his thumb rubbing lightly across the back of her hand.

Without warning, he found himself with an arm full of house elf as Libby surged forward and
enveloped him in a shockingly crushing hug. He happily responded, squeezing her little body
and taking comfort at the first touch in weeks that didn’t lead to him convulsing in pain.
Libby hiccuped in his ear and let out little whimpers as her tears continued their stream. He
paid no mind to the growing wet patch on his shoulder, knowing that he could easily spell it
dry when they were done.

A thought entered his mind, a thought that would keep her protected from the current guests
of the manor, and he knew what he needed to ask her. Libby deserved happiness for all that
she’d done for him, and he remembered how close she and Dobby were throughout his
childhood. After weeks of being held under Tom’s thumb, Draco couldn’t bear the thought of
having someone beneath him. He tugged Libby loosely by the shoulders until she broke the
hug and stepped back just far enough that he could look her in the eye once again.

“I’m going to ask you something, Libby, but I want to make sure you know that this isn’t a
punishment and it doesn’t mean I’m upset with you. Quite the opposite, really. I want you to
have full control of your life, it is the very least you deserve. Do you understand?”

Libby sniffled slightly and nodded her head, wide eyes unmoving.

“Libby, would you like to be a free elf?”

Impossibly, her eyes grew even wider and several seconds passed before she answered his
question.

“Dobby was a friend of Libby’s when he served the Malfoy family, he was an elf that spoke
many times about freedom.” She murmured, eyes beginning to glaze over in memory. “Libby
never dreamed that freedom would be offered to her…”

“It is the one thing I can give you, I want you to be happy Libby.”

“But Libby needs to take care of Master Draco!”

“You still can. As a free elf you can do whatever you want, and you won’t be bound to the
manor anymore. So if it ever gets dangerous, you can leave. You can get somewhere safe,
which is what I want for you. I don’t want someone in this house to hurt you ever again.”

“If Libby is free…can she come to Hogwarts with Master Draco?”

He smiled at the question, “I do believe I could convince Severus to add you to the staff. I’m
sure Dobby would be happy to see you, as well.”

“Then Libby…Libby would be honored to receive clothes from Master Draco.” She said,
wiping tears from her cheeks and nose.

“I can assure you, Libby. The honor is all mine.” He responded, and squeezed her hand
briefly. He stood up and walked to his dresser, perusing the various items of linen, cotton, and
silk before settling on something. It was a soft, buttercream yellow cashmere scarf with small
braided tassels at each end. He turned back towards Libby and kneeled before her once again,
offering the scarf to the house elf with a soft smile. “Please accept this token of my
appreciation, Libby. I do believe it will bring out your eyes beautifully.”

Libby gazed at the offered piece of clothing, reaching her tiny, trembling hand to grab it. It
took her some time before she gave herself permission to touch the scarf. Her short, small
fingers rubbing across the soft fabric and dipping lightly into the folds. Finally, she accepted
the scarf and rubbed it lovingly against her cheek.

“Libby…is a free elf. Like her friend, Dobby.” She whispered in awe.

“May I help you with the scarf, Libby?” He asked.

“Yes Master-”

“I’m not your Master anymore, Libby. Just Draco is fine.”

She nodded her head as a fresh round of tears leaked from her eyes. “Yes…Draco.”

He gave her a watery smile and unfolded the scarf completely, then he began wrapping it
around her little body and shoulders until it formed a charming, little dress. The tassels hung
off the back of her shoulders, while the hem of the ‘dress’ fell just below her knees. Draco sat
back on his haunches and was pleased to note that he had been correct, the soft yellow color
of the scarf did in fact bring out Libby’s eyes. He transfigured an elf size mirror from the
small bowl he used to hold his jewelry and placed it in front of her.

“What do you think?” He asked, and Libby gazed deeply at her own reflection. Stunned
speechless by what had just occurred.

“Libby…Libby thinks Draco is very good. Very good, indeed.” He wanted to deny it, to
remind her that he was the furthest thing from good. To remind her of the short passage of
time between now and when he had crucioed her until the hard floor of the northern wing
study soaked up her tears. He remained quiet though, not willing to mess up this moment that
Libby had so undoubtedly earned and deserved.

Finally, he was ready to respond.

“Draco thinks Libby is even better.”

Before he could meet his parents in the Entrance Hall, Draco had to make a visit to the
northern wing study. It was a small obstacle that stood between him and some semblance of
freedom . By leaving properly, he ensured the continued protection of his mother and father.
This was his duty, his role, one that he had already accepted. Additionally, his morning with
Libby left him feeling a sense of calm and control that was almost foreign these days. He had
already written to Severus and told him that Libby would be inquiring for a position in the
kitchens, and that he would have a very rewarding year if employment to her was offered.
Libby had assured him that she would still happily come if he called for her, and he told her
that he only ever intended to call her as a friend.

“Hello, Tom.” He greeted, entering the study. Broken beams of sunlight stretched across the
floor and danced with the shadows of trees and their leaves as a soft wind rolled down from
the hillside. Tom was sitting in his usual chair behind the desk, Nagini coiled in a patch of
sun at his feet. Although the enormous snake seemed to be slumbering, Draco knew all too
well that a single hissing command would lead her to strike.

“You are leaving soon.” Tom responded, and Draco could hear a hint of insecurity in his tone.
How in Merlin’s name he had become a source of insecurity for the Dark Lord was almost
beyond him, but also reassuring in what it meant for his family.

“I’ll be back.” Draco rounded the desk, stepping carefully over the mound of Nagini and
bringing a hand up to hold the side of Tom's face.

“I still don’t love you, Abraxas.” He whispered, leaning into Draco’s touch.

“I know, Tom.”

“But I’m so happy to have you again.” Tom closed his eyes then, a vulnerability that was so
rare to see on his reptilian features. Draco leaned down to kiss him, moving his lips gently
and fluidly. Tom kissed him back, and then they pulled apart.

“Goodbye Tom, I will see you soon.” Draco said, and walked away after receiving a short
nod of dismissal.

Outside of the study, he leaned against the wall and shut his eyes so tight that white stars
bursted behind his lids. He was done being Abraxas, at least for a little while.
He hugged his parents fiercely in the Entrance Hall, well aware that there would be no public
displays of their affection once they were standing on the train platform at Kings Cross
Station.

“The Dark Lord is letting me return on the weekends, I will see you often.” He told them,
clutching his mothers hands and darting his eyes between her and his father.

“Draco…what happens in your meetings together? Please don’t return for our sake if it’s just
bringing you pain.” His father said, keeping his voice low so as not to arouse suspicion from
anyone that might be listening.

“It’s fine, Father. I’m only doing what is necessary to keep our family safe.” He assured him,
hoping that was enough to stop any further inquiries into his evenings with Tom.

“But Draco-”

“Father, please. Please just trust me. I am fine, we are fine. I’ll tell you both everything one
day but I can’t…not now.”

His parents both stared at him, searching his face for any indication of what he was hiding
but they withdrew empty handed. They simply both hugged him again, pressing his body in
between them with comforting security.

“We love you, Dragon.” His mother whispered, and brushed her fingers lightly through his
hair. He fought back the flinch that almost came from the touch, reminding him too much of
Tom's stroking and vice-like grip.

“I love you too.” He responded, filling the words with all of the feelings he could muster.

His mother apparated with him to Kings Cross, his father staying behind to avoid too much
speculation about his liberation from Azkaban. She squeezed his shoulder and kissed his
cheek lightly, sending him off to board the train with a reminder that she was only ever an
owl away.

He chose an empty compartment towards the back of the locomotive, lifting his trunk up
above and storing it on the metal racks. As he was doing this, the compartment door slid open
and he received yet another hug in one day. Which honestly? It had to be a record at this
point.

He stiffened slightly but then relaxed as he smelled the familiar perfume and hair potions of
Pansy Parkinson, and he circled his arms around her waist to hug back.

“I could kill you Draco, I haven’t heard from you in months .” She scolded, and he smiled at
the reminder of how deeply his best friend cared for him. Even after a year and a half of his
self flagellant isolation.

“I’m sorry Pans.” He responded, sitting down and bringing her with him. She perched at his
side and crossed her legs towards him, wrapping her hands around his and narrowing her
eyes.
“No apologies this time, Draco. You are going to tell me what is going on so I can help you.”
Her words were definitive, voice leaving no room for question and he felt his skin start to
chill.

He couldn’t tell Pansy. He couldn’t tell anyone . Gods, he should have known this would
happen, how he made it through sixth year without an intervention from her astounded him
but he attributed it to her understanding that he was still working through the emotions of a
father in Azkaban and a Dark Wizard playing house in his kitchen.

She wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

His Malfoy Mask started to slip into place and he turned his gaze to the opposite wall of the
compartment, ready to freeze her out all over again.

“Don’t you dare , Draco Malfoy. Look at me.” She demanded, and he did because fighting
Pansy Parkinson was rarely ever a successful endeavor. “ I don’t give a damn about your
Pride or your secrets Draco. I am not watching you wither away again. Tell me what the fuck
is going on, why you disappeared at the end of the last year and then ignored me all summer
.”

“Pans I can’t, I don’t even want to think about it. I'm just doing what I can to keep my parents
safe.” Everyone else could respect his secrets. Everyone except Pansy, because they promised
long ago to not have any secrets. Hell, he even told her the truth about how long he really
waited in that tree fourth year just to get Potter's attention. This though, this was too much,
too heavy , and a person outside of him and Tom knowing made it so much more undeniably
real. He even suspected that Aunt Bella had been obliviated after her interruption a few
weeks ago.

“What about you? Do you not deserve to be safe? Merlin’s sake Draco, I should have the hat
re-sort you since you’ve suddenly adopted the martyrdom of a Gryffindor.” Pansy was staring
at him so intently now, her big, beautiful coffee-colored eyes bearing down on his soul and
weakening his resolve.

She was right, he couldn’t do this alone. Not again. He needed her, but now he was terrified
that she would leave him once she knew. That she’d be too disgusted by his willingness to
bend over for the boogeyman that stalked the minds and fed the fears of every Witch and
Wizard around them.

“You’re going to hate me when I tell you. What I’ve….what I’ve let him do to me.” He said,
feeling his own tears far. Merlin, how much had he cried over the past year and a half? Surely
he would be dehydrated beyond replenishment sometime soon.

She leaned over and hugged him again, and he clutched her arms and buried his nose in the
forever calming scent of her coconut scented hair potions. “Given the circumstances, love, I
doubt whatever has happened is something you’ve agreed to.” She murmured, and the tears
started fresh again. He allowed himself a moment to fall apart, and then leaned out of the
embrace.
“I’ll tell you Pans, but not now. Blaise, Theo, Greg, and Vince will be here any minute and I
don’t want them to know. After dinner tonight, once I’ve led the firsties to the dorms, we’ll
meet in Candyland okay?” He told her. Candyland was the name they had given to an alcove
in one of the forgotten halls of the dungeons where their group of friends would trade candy
they had collected during the Halloween feasts when they were younger, and pass around
smuggled bottles of fire whiskey and elf wine as they got older. It had become an informal
area for them to sit and talk to each other, without the pressure of living up to expectations
and stereotypes. Draco knew the others would be far too tired from the long train ride and
subsequent carb heavy feast to even consider a visit to the alcove. Pansy understood this as
well.

“Do you want me to bring anything?” She asked, keeping his hand held tightly in hers.

“Anything but Cabernet.”

 Adjusting
Chapter Notes

Warnings: this is from Draco’s POV, and Draco very much needs to believe that he has
some control over his situation which, inevitably, leads to victim blaming regarding his
relationship with Tom. I want to make it very clear that Draco is in a situation that is not
healthy and not his fault. Victims are never to be blamed for the actions of those that
assaulted them. Please heed this warning and the tags if you’re concerned about
potential triggers.

You are strong and you are appreciated <3

Chapter 11: Adjusting

Draco told Pansy most of what was going on although he left out his impersonations of
Abraxas and what he had learned about the Tom’s true history. She knew that the Dark Lord
found in him a great source of physical and sexual release, and that he was expected to return
to his embrace every weekend. He cried as he told her that the Dark Lord promised not to
hurt his family as long as he surrendered his body, and he felt himself heave dry, mucousy
gags when he told her he had a agreed. She shook her head at this part, her own eyes clouded
with unshed tears, and he looked away at her denial.

“I’m letting it happen, Pans. I’m letting him do this to me.”

They sat together in Candyland, huddled in the far end of the alcove with silencing charms
and a shared bottle of fire whisky rapidly emptying between them. She tried to tell him that
he didn’t agree, he was coerced, and he wanted to believe her. But, he couldn’t. He had been
the one to start dressing like Abraxas, to mimic his movements, to play into the fantasy in
hopes of being given just a crumb of the same respect so he could use it for protection.

“It doesn’t matter that you agreed to it, Draco. Your options were undeniably limited. He’s
forcing this on you, and I’m so, so sorry.”

They held each other then. Draco, Pansy, and so many other Slytherins always found comfort
in physical contact with each other. Between the chill of the dungeons and their isolation
from the rest of the school due to being proclaimed the house of “evil”, the members of
Slytherin often spent evenings with entangled limbs in front of the common room fireplace.
Even before Hogwarts, when he and Pansy would meet for play dates that were no more than
a chance for their mothers to catch up on society gossip over tea, the two of them would link
arms indefinitely as they practiced their dancing for future balls or ran through the sun
speckled halls of each other’s homes. They have loved each other for what felt like a lifetime
already and, in the wake of his confession, he prayed that her love was unconditional.

“Please don’t hate me, Pans. I don’t think I can do this alone. Not again.”

She held him even tighter, her long, painted fingernails pressing into his arm and their legs
folded together in an indiscernible pile. She kissed his cheek and shushed his sobs, before
telling him he was an idiot if he thought there was anything in the world that could make her
hate him. He smiled into her hair and kissed her temple, forever thankful for the wonder that
was Pansy Helena Parkinson. As his tears dried up and his body relaxed into hers, she spoke
again in a tone that was so venomous and deadly he expected her to have conjured a snake.

“The Dark Lord should consider himself lucky if Saint Potter kills him before I get the
chance.”

Draco’s first night back, sleeping in the dorms, was one of blissful dreamless
unconsciousness. He awoke with the wonderful reminder that there remained several days
between him and his next evening with Tom. The dark green curtains and canopy of his bed
had never looked quite so luxurious in all his years as a student, and he was eternally grateful
for the change.

He stepped out of bed and grabbed his things for a morning shower, walking to the
communal boys bathroom and selecting his favorite stall. He couldn’t describe why it was his
favorite stall, but he had used the third shower from the left for years and considered it a
place of great respite. His soap and hair lotions mixed together to fill the air with the scent of
freshly harvested apples and hints of pine needle. As he toweled off and exited the stall
wrapped in his bathrobe, he paused to look at himself in the mirror. His long hair settled
around his face, already drying at the roots and beginning to form the soft waves that made
him look so much like his Grandfather.

Except here, at Hogwarts, he could just be Draco .

Without too much consideration, he cast a drying spell from his wand and then conjured a
length of maroon ribbon. He used the ribbon to tie his hair back tightly, letting only a select
few tendrils fall loosely around his face. With his hair this way, the length almost looked
hidden. Severing a small amount of him from Abraxas.

He returned to the dorms and began to dress in his uniform and robes. He looked up and
smiled at Theo, who smiled back as he knotted his tie. Blaise, who was buttoning the wrists
of his shirt, looked between them and twisted his face into an exaggerated expression of
longing, blowing loud kisses from his dark lips. Draco answered with a graceful lift of his
middle finger and all three of them dissolved into giggles.
When his sleeves were properly buttoned, Blaise walked over and slung an arm around
Dracos shoulders. Theo rolled his eyes but kept his smile in place as he began to pack his bag
and slip into his shoes.

“I’ve so much to tell you, Dear Draco, and I’d like an audience before lover boy declares you
off limits.” Blaise announced, and Theo turned towards him with an unimpressed look.

“Blaise, you and I both know that Draco doesn’t listen to anyone besides Pansy.”

“That is patently false, Theo. I listen quite well when the circumstances are…rewarding.”
Draco cut in, smiling wickedly at the slight blush that touched Theo’s cheeks. Everyone knew
they were nothing more than friends with benefits, but the teasing and the flirting was always
too fun to pass up. Passing lewd jokes and stupid pick up lines was the closest any of them
got to being normal, silly, hormone fueled teenagers. Rather than a group of students idly
waiting for a future that was ruled by either light or evil, depending on the outcome of the
war.

A war that would no doubt take some of them as casualties.

Draco shook off that thought, and Blaise’s arm, before turning to his own bag and packing it
for the day. They would receive their time tables at Breakfast and he wanted to be prepared
for whichever class he had first. A quick glance at the Gryffindor table during the Welcome
Feast showed the glaring absence of Potter and his sidekicks, more or less confirming his
hope that they were gallivanting across the country, destroying Tom’s Horcruxes. He had no
idea how many there were or what they even looked like but hopefully six years under the
manipulations of Albus Dumbledore had given the Golden Trio that particular set of missing
information.

“We’ll have plenty of time to catch up over breakfast Blaise, you know I don’t grant anyone
my attention before my morning cup of tea and blueberry scone.” Draco said, and Blaise
responded with an exaggerated bow and flourish of his hand. “You’re such a dick, Zabini.”
He mumbled, but couldn’t fight the smile off his face. He noted the absence of Greg and
Vince, which meant they had probably already shuffled to the Great Hall. They were the only
early risers in the dorm, claiming they enjoyed watching the sunrise through the windows of
the common room that looked into the vivid green waters of the Great Lake.

The three boys met Pansy, Daphne, and Millicent in the common room, with Draco moving
immediately to link his arm with his best friend and greet the girls with a polite, “Good
Morning, ladies.” Together, the group journeyed out of the dungeons and into the Great Hall.
Greg and Vince had, indeed, already arrived and waved them over to an empty section of the
table on the opposite side.

They settled into simple conversation that was filled with recounts of the summer holidays
and questions about planned NEWTs. No one asked Draco what he had done all summer, and
he was grateful for their understanding of his silence regarding his activities at Malfoy
Manor. He glanced up at where Severus sat in the center of the head table, and caught his eye
for a brief moment. His Godfather continued his conversation with one of the Carrows
siblings that had been hired on to the staff and he fought off a shudder as he remembered the
exuberant way they discussed forms of torture in his home last summer.
Professor Slughorn came around and deposited their timetables, and Draco was pleased to see
that he would be in Double Advanced Potions first thing that morning. He loved the
concentration it took to prepare ingredients and expertly brew in a cauldron, it was a
welcome distraction that his mind graciously needed. To his left, Blaise began to detail his
summer in the Italian countryside that housed his mothers favorite vacation home. No one
mentioned how a summer in Italy typically followed a Winter or Spring death of whoever her
husband was at the time, choosing instead to indulge Blaise’s fascination with vineyard
cultivation and wine making.

“That’s what I want to do, I think,” Blaise said, swirling a glass of pumpkin juice as if it was
a Mid 20th Century Pinot Grigio, “I want to live at the vineyard full time and make wine. I
learned about these people, sommeliers they’re called, and they’re these muggles apparently
that can determine the exact type, year, and growing location of a wine by simply tasting it.
Isn’t that mad?”

“Do you think you can compete with the market of Elf Wine?” Millicent asked, her mind was
constantly running with numbers. She had quite the talent for arithmetic, and Draco had no
doubt that, given the chance, she’d be a brilliant Arithmancer.

Assuming she survived.

Just like this morning, he shook that thought away. There was no need to dwell on the future,
he needed instead to focus on the now . The now included his aforementioned blueberry
scone and small pile of scrambled eggs that he’d dusted with salt and a small bowl of chives.
It included Pansy on his right, staring transfixed down the table at Blaise as he explained the
arduous process of grape collection and fermentation. It included Vince and Greg across from
him, comparing their time tables and making plans for studying together in their morning
sunrise watching, both aware that they had to work quite a bit harder to prepare for their
NEWT levels.

Draco refused to count the people around him as future corpses, to think only of possible
casualties rather than the actual life that brimmed at the table. He was thankful, suddenly, for
Tom allowing him to return this year. Thankful that he had the chance to memorize subtleties
about his friends, like the way Daphne's eyes crinkled as she laughed at something her sister,
Astoria, whispered to her. Tom may be a source of great pain, great shame and self hatred for
him, but he was also the source of the steady reassurance that for now he was doing
everything he could to keep his world whole just a while longer. It was such a conflict of
emotions that it briefly made his hands tremble, but they steadied as Pansy touched a
soothing hand to his arm and leaned her head on his shoulder.

There would be time to worry, to grieve, and to hate. At this moment, however, there was
only time to enjoy.

His thoughts were broken by the morning rush of owls depositing mail across the great hall,
and Draco jumped in surprise as a letter fell unceremoniously on top of his half eaten
breakfast. He observed the letter and saw only the Hogwarts seal on the flap, opening it up to
reveal a short letter from Severus.

Draco,
Your presence is requested in the Headmasters Office at 2:00 PM today.

The password is Salpeter

Regards,

Headmaster Snape

He folded the letter and tucked it into his pocket, looking again at the head table. Severus
merely kept his eyes locked on the mug of coffee or tea in his hands, seemingly lost deep in
thought and contemplation.

“Do you want to walk down to Potions together?” Theo asked him, straightening his robes
and pushing away his empty plate in preparation to leave the Great Hall. Draco nodded and
stood, kissing Pansy goodbye on her temple. She waved her fingers at him in response and he
turned to leave the hall and head for the potions classroom.

“How’re your parents?” Theo asked, his tone calm but Draco knew inside he was probably
feeling his heart pound in his eardrums.

“They’re safe.” He responded, knowing what Theo was really asking and reminded him why
they had grown so close since the end of Fourth Year, when Potter had returned with Cedric
Diggorys body, screaming about Voldemort and his followers in a graveyard. Theo and Draco
had caught each other’s eye, knowing with no room for doubt that their fathers had been there
too. “How’s your father?”

“He’s well enough. I’ve been keeping some distance.” Theo answered, and Draco grabbed his
elbow to give what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze. Theo turned toward him and smiled,
although it didn’t quite reach his pale green eyes.

“Me too.” There was no prying between them, just a calm acceptance and mutual agreement
to give and take a little support.

As they walked the halls and stairs, they were met with withering glares and angry whispers
from students of the other houses. No doubt the arrival of the Carrows and Severus’ new
position, combined with the inexplicable absence of the Gryffindor Golden Trio, was putting
everyone on high alert around the Slytherins. Specifically the Slytherins like him and Theo,
with known ties to the Dark Lord.

He couldn’t blame them, really. He’d been a bully for years and rounded out the last school
term by attempting to murder the Headmaster. Whether or not that was widely known was of
little consequence. Evil was the enemy. Slytherin was the House of Evil and to some, Malfoy
was the definition.

The problem was, Draco knew true evil. His schoolyard pettiness towards the Gryffindors,
and specifically towards the Chosen One, was nothing in the grand scheme of what
undeniable darkness was. Draco had seen first hand the corruption of Dark Magic on the
witches and wizards who cast it, had felt the bone deep pain of the cruciatus curse-both as a
victim and as an inflictor. The students who mumbled insults in his direction and narrowed
eyes at his movements were acting out in fear. They needed a real, tangible enemy and who
better than the prat who’d stomped through these very halls as if he owned the stone that
lined the foundation?

Draco would let them carry on. He was far more concerned about the damage that true dark
intention could inflict on him, than he was about students like the Weaselette and
Longbottom sending him contemptuous looks. He could apologize about the cruel things he
had said at 11, 12, 13, and so on, but it would no doubt fall on deaf ears. He was a Malfoy. He
was a Slytherin. In the eyes of his peers, he was already damned.

A few minutes before 2:00, Draco was making his way up the stairs to the Headmaster’s
office for his requested meeting with Severus. He felt anxiety flare in his stomach at the
possibility that Tom had changed his mind and would demand his return to the manor at once.
Battling it down, he spoke the password to the gargoyle and rode the staircase to the office
door, which was opened by his Godfather the moment he stepped on the threshold.

Severus ushered him in and pointed to a chair, which Draco sat in without complaint. His
Godfather took his own seat and offered a cup of tea which Draco accepted, curious about the
reasons for this summoning.

“You will be pleased to know that Libby has settled into her post in the kitchens, although in
the future please refrain from springing freed and teary eyed house elf’s on me with little
warning.” Severus said, and Draco felt himself relax. Of course this meeting was about
Libby, not his nightmarish fear of being dragged back to the northern wing study.

“Thank you, Severus. I really do appreciate it.” He responded.

“Draco, why did you free her? She didn’t seem distraught about receiving clothes, rather she
spoke your praises for several minutes until I summoned a kitchen elf to escort her
elsewhere.”

How could he explain his motivations? A Malfoy willingly rewarding a house elf, much less
with freedom , was shocking to say the least. He had to explain why he did it without telling
Severus that he couldn’t bear the thought of forcing tasks on Libby after what he was forced
to do by Tom.

Not forced. You agreed. You wanted it.

The thoughts invaded his mind and he looked away quickly, blinking back tears of disgust at
the reminder that his arrangement with Tom was his own damn fault.

“She took care of me this summer, and I was worried that she would be hurt without me
around. By freeing her, she is no longer bound to the manor or at risk of danger from our
current…guests. She wanted freedom, and she deserved it. That might sound crazy but it’s
true.”

Severus stared at him, regarding him and his words for several, long moments. His Godfather
may be Tom’s most trusted Death Eater but he would always have some loyalty to Draco.
Besides, the chances of Tom being upset that he freed a house elf were pretty slim. If
anything, he’d assume it was done as a punishment and leave it be.

Finally, Severus nodded and sipped his own cup of tea, accepting Draco’s answer. He
released a breath that he hadn’t realized he’d kept locked in his lungs and relaxed a bit further
into the chair.

“I will send you an owl Friday mornings with the password to my office, so that you may use
the Floo to return to the Manor for dinner as we discussed.” Severus said, breaking the layer
of silence that had descended on them.

“Thank you.” He responded, unsure if he should address his Godfather as Headmaster,

Severus, or even Snape.

“That is all I wanted to discuss with you. I will send notes if there’s ever a change to your
weekend arrangements, you are dismissed.”

Draco stood, slowly, and looked over his Godfather. Seeing the light purple bruises under his
eyes and thoroughly chewed fingernails. This was a man that was clearly under stress, and he
felt a wave of sympathy and understanding. He then did something that was highly unusual
for an interaction between him and his Godfather but, Severus was a Slytherin and
Slytherin’s needed comfort.

Draco rounded the desk quickly and leant down, wrapping his arms around Severus’
shoulders and hugging him tightly. His Godfather stiffened beneath him but made no attempt
to push him off or hex him across the room, which he counted as a victory.

There were no words exchanged, because none were necessary. Eventually, Draco pulled
away and stood tall once again. Severus looked at him with a slight indication of surprise that
was muffled by his ever present scowl. He lifted a single, dark eyebrow as if to say Are you
quite finished? , but Draco knew the embrace had done them both some good.

“Thank you for the tea, Severus.”

“You are welcome.” His Godfather said, and waved a hand towards the door that told Draco
it was time to leave. He smiled softly and turned away, descending the steps and walking
slowly through the wide corridors of the school.

Small joys were all he had these days, but he was no less grateful for them.
Friday arrived far too quickly for his liking and he awoke that morning with grumbling
protestations about how fast the week had progressed. Still, he reminded himself that there
were several hours between him and his routine dinner with Tom. Hours that he planned to
spend thinking about literally anything else.

The walk to breakfast started uneventfully as he lost himself in Pansy’s passionate retelling of
a dream she had the night before where her teeth had fallen out and been replaced with sharp,
glittering diamonds. He wasn’t sure, exactly, if she was pro or con for that particular
scenario.

They were interrupted by a stern cough, and turned to see the harsh gaze of Alecto Carrow.

“Hello Mr. Malfoy, a moment of your time?” She said, and he felt Pansy tense beside him.
They had both been in Alecto Carrows muggle studies class the day before, and it was a
rather dreadful reminder that the views of muggles they had been raised with were more than
a bit…archaic. Draco wasn’t exactly a purveyor of muggle philosophy these days, but his
desperation to separate himself further from his Grandfather Abraxas had come to include a
reorienting of some of his previously held views.

“Of course, Professor Carrow.” He said, and she darted a glance at Pansy who remained
firmly at his side with her arm linked through his. He challenged Carrow with a look, daring
her to order him to send Pansy away. After a second of consideration, she relented.

“My brother and I intend to send some students your way for disciplinary action. We feel that
as both a Prefect and a Wizard from such a highly regarded family, you will be able to
effectively punish those who need it.”

“Is anyone else being trusted with this task?”

“Mr. Goyle and Mr. Crabbe have also been deemed worthy of this responsibility. During the
lunch hour, you can use the meeting room on the side of the great hall. We’d like a certain…
example to be made.” The twisted smile that spread on her face sent the blood draining from
his own.

“And how do you suggest we make that example?” He asked, hiding his growing concern.

“You can be creative. Although my brother and I think the cruciatus curse would be the most
effective.”

Beside him, Pansy gasped and he held her arm tighter in hopes of offering reassurance.
Which was difficult considering his own mind was reeling at the suggestion of crucioing
second years whose only crime was probably passing stupid notes in class.

“I will take that into consideration. Is there anything else, Professor?” His voice remained
neutral, although inside he felt his blood threaten to boil over and out of his ears.

“That is all, enjoy your breakfast.” Alecto said, and walked away from them as if she hadn’t
just suggested something abhorrent and cruel.
“You’re not actually going to cast cruciatus, are you?” Pansy whispered frantically, and he
pulled her along slowly. Continuing their walk to the Great Hall.

“Of course not, Pans. I don’t even think I can cast it. There’s no way I could mean it, no way
I could do that to someone else.” He responded calmly, working through a plan in his head.

“Are you worried about what the Carrows will do if you don’t?”

“No, because I’m going to make sure they think that I did .”

At lunch, Draco walked with Vince and Greg into the side room of the Great Hall and he told
them what they were going to do. The school already looked at him, at them, as stand-ins for
the enemies of the war and there was nothing they could do to change that. But that fear, that
reputation , could work to their advantage and keep their hands-relatively-clean.

The first student was sent in, a third year Gryffindor who had apparently been late to muggle
studies and other classes already three times that week. His surname name was Pritchard,
Draco didn’t care too much to learn his first, and he stared at the three Slytherins with
defiance and anger.

“Do your worst Malfoy , you and your bodyguards don’t scare me.” He said, hands clenched
into fists at his side. Draco, Greg, and Vince remained seated in their chairs as planned,
looking utterly bored and uninterested. Draco had his legs crossed and his head resting on his
hand, wand twirling in the other and his eyes lazily looking over their intended “victim”.

“I’m not going to do anything, Pritchard. I just need you to tell people I did. Don’t make it
too flashy, or it won’t be believable. Just regale the other members of your abhorrent House
with a tale of me putting you under the cruciatus curse for a few seconds to teach you a
lesson.” His tone was impassive, as it needed to be. Students like Pritchard were far more
likely to do as he said if he lived up to his persona as the Slytherin Ice Prince rather than what
he really was; remorseful and disgusted.

“I…what? You’re not going to hurt me?” Pritchard sounded as if the air had been kicked out
of his lungs. The bravado and rage he strode in on deflated at the realization that there was
nothing to throw that energy towards. “But…Professor Carrow said she gave you permission
to use…” He trailed off.

“Yes, that’s why you’ll tell people that I did hurt you. Or else Professor Carrow will find
someone else to dole out disciplinary action, someone who will use that permission.” Draco
stared directly at the Gryffindor, firm and unyielding.

Eventually, once the shock wore off, Pritchard nodded in understanding. He still looked
uneasy, but Draco was sure that he had gotten his point across.
“If people ask you what it felt like, just tell them it was like fire. The cruciatus curse feels
different, depending on the witch or wizard who casts it. I’ll be telling everyone else the same
thing, it’s important that the description of my cruciatus remains consistent.”

Pritchard stared at him some more, hands finally relaxed from their previously clenched
position. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

“Unfortunately, Pritchard, I am. But I’ll let you decide whether that experience is from me
being the caster, or the victim.” He drawled, retaining his nonchalant attitude regarding the
whole situation. Greg and Vince remained silent at his side, heeding the instructions he’d
given them earlier.

“Okay I’ll uh…I’ll tell people you crucioed me.”

“Splendid, consider your punishment fulfilled then. You’re free to go.” He dismissed him
with a flap of his hand, and after a brief hesitation Pritchard left the room. All three of them
let out a sigh of relief and then returned to their original positions to wait for the next
student.

He repeated his instructions to the remaining four students who came before them for
punishment, all of the interactions being more or less similar to the initial one with Pritchard.
By the time the final student had left, he felt exhausted and irritated. A quick glance to his
side told him his companions felt the same. They settled back into their chairs in silence,
working individually through their emotions. He hoped his small bit of defiance would work,
if only to save a few people from the pain of cruciatus.

It was Greg who finally broke the silence, sighing deeply in his chair and muttering, “I hate
the way things are.”

“Most people do Greg, very few people have fun in war.” He snapped. He was humming with
anxiety about his upcoming weekend departure and worry over whether or not the rumors of
his ‘punishments’ would successfully spread.

“Just…stop it, Draco.” Vince chastised him, and he turned his head as another spark of
irritation set loose inside his chest.

“Excuse me?” Draco sneered, fully prepared to regress into his 14 year old self that lived on
stinging barbs and angry retorts.

“Stop talking to me and Greg like we’re stupid. You only do that when you’re trying to push
us away and it’s not fair. We’re all here. Together. We need our friend, not the fucking
Slytherin ice prince.” Vince’s words cut through his growing rage and immediately deflated
him. He felt his cheeks heat in embarrassment from rising so quickly to the familiar, false
comfort of vexation.

“I…I’m sorry.” He said, looking at the ground and working to slow his breathing down once
again.
“Everyone has always assumed that we’re only useful as muscle. It’s only gotten worse with
the way things are now.” Greg spoke with a resignation in his voice that made Draco want to
assure them both that he knew they were more than his ‘bodyguards’ and that everyone else’s
assumptions were wrong .

He settled instead, on sharing a memory that he hoped would remind his two friends how
different they were from the expectations they’d been forced to live up to.

“Do you two remember that Spring when we were six? And our parents told us we were
going to the ballet?” Draco reminisced, and he saw Greg and Vince perk up at his sides.

“Gods, yeah. I think it’s the first time I remember wearing dress robes for something other
than a Malfoy Ball.” Greg chuckled.

“We were so upset because we just wanted to play Quidditch on the grounds but instead we
were being dragged to the theatre.” Vince added.

“Do you remember what we saw?” Draco asked, and the other two nodded.

“Swan Lake” they spoke in unison, and smiled.

“For the next month when we came over to the manor, we tried to do the ballet in the
ballroom. You were the swan Draco, and you were already taller than us. Do you remember?
Greg and I both had to do the lifts.” Vince’s face bloomed as he remembered their attempts at
recreating the skilled and graceful footwork of the dancers they had seen.

“Don’t tell Pansy, she’ll kill me, but you two will always be my favorite dance partners.”
Draco told them, reaching each of his hands out to hold theirs. They linked together then,
sharing the flashing images of children who had not yet been so corrupted by the future.

“Do you think…if there wasn’t a war…I could’ve been a ballet dancer? Even though I’m so
large?” Vince whispered, looking to the ground and scuffing his feet against the floor. “I
really do love dancing.”

Draco turned his head towards his friend, another person that had been so important and so
dear to him since before he could even remember. They may have become friends out of
circumstance, their families being related by the unsavoriness of politics and ignorance, but
he was no less proud to have grown up with them. Slytherins had to stick together, and it was
easy when people like Vince and Greg were in your corner.

“You’re strong Vince.” Draco started, putting as much confidence in the words as he could so
they both knew he was being truthful. “You and Greg. I hope when this bloody war is over
and Saint Potter no doubt saves the day like he has the last six years, you’ll save a dance for
me. And I’ll buy season tickets to whatever ballet troupe you join.”

They smiled at each other again, watery smiles that showed too much teeth and threatened to
turn into rivers of tears if they weren’t careful. Together, they stood and Draco wrapped them
both in a hug. They had done a bit of good that afternoon, and hopefully their bit of good
meant that there was room for more good to grow in them.
Greg and Vince can be good. Not you Draco, how can you be good after what you let Tom
use you for?

He pushed the thought away, and locked it to be dealt with later. As he had done already to so
many others. No, he couldn’t be good, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t do good things and
maybe…maybe that was enough.

Wars were often won by the smallest actions that culminate together to support the hero in
their victory. He could do small things…small things that would win the war in favor of the
Light.

When it was over, when he was done being Abraxas, only then could he unlock those
thoughts.
 The Need for Reassurance
Chapter Notes

Warnings: Consensual sex BUT Draco is still battling with his internal thoughts.

Chapter 12: The Need for Reassurance

Draco returned Sunday afternoon from his first weekend at the manor, desperate for the
feeling of control . Tom had fucked him, as always, after dinner but spent Sunday morning
doing nothing but running his hands all over Draco’s unclothed body. Face down, of course,
because Draco looked the most like Abraxas when his hair cascaded behind him and his face
was hidden in the silk weave of the aubergine pillows.

He could still feel the phantom touches of long, grey fingers tracing patterns on his back and
squeezing harshly at his hips and the curve of his arse. He hated being touched by Tom like
this, hated how falsely lovingly it seemed. It only served to remind Draco that his body was
no longer his own. At least, not when he stepped through the floo of the northern wing study.

Draco needed touch that he knew and welcomed, he needed reassurance that his body could
be appreciated as his own and not as an illusion of Abraxas, he needed something easy that
would wash away the incessant explorations of Tom that still remained long after an age
spent in a near boiling shower. Draco needed Theo .

He left Severus’ office and walked quickly down to the dungeons, ignoring the looks thrown
his way from the other students he passed. He was in no mood for childish anger directed at
him from students whose only understanding of pain and immorality came from regurgitated
stories and paltry experiences.

“Evanesco.” He spoke the password, watching the bricked entrance give way to the Slytherin
common room, and he felt a sense of calm wash over him as he took in the familiar green and
silver furniture. This was a place so far away from Tom, far away from aubergine pillows and
dark bed sheets.

He walked into the common room and quickly took notice of Theo’s absence. As it was a
Sunday, that either meant he was reading in the dorms or reading in the library. Draco hoped
it was the former, because he currently longed deeply for a reclamation of his body.

Pansy waved at him, a gesture he returned while nodding his head towards the boys
dormitory. She nodded hers and smiled, before turning back to her conversation with
Millicent about Merlin knows what. Once again he was thankful that he shared a great deal of
his situation with her, her understanding and support was one of the few things keeping him
together it seemed.

Draco climbed the stairs to his dorm and entered calmly through the door, worried his over
eagerness would be misconstrued as feelings .

Theo was sitting in his bed, leaning against the headboard with an open book in his left hand
and his right hand tapping out a beat to some unheard song on his knee. He looked up at
Draco as he walked over and smiled, and it was enough to melt away some of the self
loathing he felt in his gut.

“Welcome back, Draco.” He said. Draco had come up with the excuse that he was returning
on the weekends to assist his father, who’d grown ill during his months in Azkaban. It may
have been flimsy, but it wasn’t questioned.

“Are you busy?” Draco asked, already setting his bag on the floor. Theo knew what he was
really asking, and luckily his friend was a red blooded 17 year old that was typically more
than happy to get a little physical.

“I can make some time.” Theo smirked, and Draco responded by tossing his robes on his own
bed, removing his boots, and climbing on top of his friend. Theo closed his book and set it on
his nightstand, grabbing his wand and swishing it quickly to close the curtains around the bed
and set a silencing charm.

Draco leaned down and kissed him, relaxing into a mouth that was both familiar and welcome
. Theo kissed like he laughed, joyously and rhythmically. It was such a stark contrast to
Tom’s bruising force that it threatened to push tear drops from his eyes. He pushed that all
away though, he would not think about Tom right now. There was only Theo and Draco, and
at this moment his body was his own to share.

Draco leaned up from the kiss and began unbuttoning his shirt, watching as Theo followed
suit. Their trousers came next and it wasn’t long before they were void of any clothing. Just
meters of skin and roaming eyes.

“I want to ride you.” Draco said, determined to actually look at who was inside of him for the
first time in months . He ran a hand absentmindedly down Theo’s chest and they moaned
together as he shifted his hips and ground their erections into each other.

“Fine by me.” Theo responded, and reached for his wand again to cast a lubrication spell.

“Cast it on me.” Draco demanded, flushing a bit when the words came out harsh and clipped.
He wanted to prepare his body, to be sure that he was actually being opened properly for
once. Not that Theo hadn’t been careful with him in the past, he just wasn’t ready to trust his
comfort with someone else so soon after an evening with Tom.

Stop thinking about Tom. Focus on Theo.

And so he did.
Theo gave a quick nod and waved his wand over Draco’s fingers, which quickly became
covered in slick oil. He reached behind himself and breached his hole with one finger,
working it in and out slowly. A buildup that was so often not afforded to him. Theo cast a
second lubricant spell and used it to stroke his own cock, staring up at him with lust blown
eyes.

“You’re so fucking hot, Draco.” He said, and it was enough to make Draco moan in
happiness. He hasn’t heard his own name during sex in so, so long. He added a second finger
and felt his breath start to quicken as he was stretched that much wider. He wished then, that
he loved Theo. That their sex could be more than two randy teenagers getting off together in
search of animalistic comfort. He wondered what it’d be like to make love with someone, to
stare into their eyes and whisper words of praise and adoration while rocking together to
completion. But that wasn’t for him, at least not right now.

Maybe not ever. Who could love you after what you let Tom do?

The thought made him cry out, and he quickly added a third finger to deafen his mind with
the pain of being worked open. Theo laid beneath him and gave a brief look of concern, but
Draco waved his hand and mumbled something about working himself open too fast. Once
his fingers slid easily in and out of him, he removed them completely. He shifted his hips
forward and up, and braced his hands on Theo’s inordinately handsome chest. Slowly, he
sank down on Theo’s cock. Working it into his body bit by bit, biting his bottom lip and
fluttering his eyes shut.

Theo gave a loud groan and held Draco’s hips firmly but not too tight, rubbing little half
circles with his thumbs.

Finally, Draco was seated fully. He felt his body filled impossibly deep and remained still to
adjust and catch his breath. He forced his eyes open and gazed down at Theo, giving a small
open mouth grin as he let his body transform the pain into pleasure.

“You’re bloody huge, Theo.” He breathed out, laughing a little at the answering blush that
rose on his friends cheeks.

“Flattery gets you everywhere, Draco. As you can already tell.” Theo answered with a shy
grin.

Slowly, Draco began to move his hips. Shifting slightly until he found that spot inside of him
that would blast his mind into oblivion. When he felt Theo brush against it, he lifted his hips
and began plunging up and down.

They moved together, moaning and whispering obscenities into the surrounding, green
curtains. Draco lost himself in the motions and the pleasure of simple, wonderful sex. He
roamed his hands all over his own body, letting his fingertips reclaim the skin that had been
stolen from him that very morning.

“Say my name, Theo.” He moaned, lifting and grinding his hips faster and harder.
“Draco…Draco… fuck , Draco.” Theo chanted, it sounded like a plea and a prayer as it left
his kiss swollen lips.

Draco moved one of his own hands to stroke his cock, working the precome at the slit back
into his skin. Stars burst behind his eyes as his movements resulted in steady thrusts against
that deliciously sensitive bundle of nerves.

“I’m gonna come, Draco.” Theo gasped, and he answered by clenching around the other
man’s cock. Theo howled and Draco sped up the movement of his hand.

“Say my name when you do…please.” Draco whispered, and he wasn’t even sure Theo heard
him. Nevertheless, a few seconds later Theo came inside of him with a beautiful shout of
Draco’s name.

Draco leaned forward and bent down to kiss his friend, swallowing the other man’s moans
and his own name that continued to tumble from Theo’s lips. Draco came with a long, deep
moan and felt his seed splash on both of their heaving chests.

They continued to kiss lazily, enjoying the blissful bubble of each other post shag. He felt
Theo soften and moved his hips slightly so the other man could slip out of him. Draco then
buried his face in Theo’s neck and gave it an open mouthed kiss.

“I needed that Theo, thank you.” He murmured, still feeling loose and relaxed.

Theo wrapped Draco’s body in his arms and shifted slightly so they both rested on the
pillows. He grabbed his wand and used it to clean them both, also lifting the silencing charm.

“Happy to be of service.” Theo chuckled, and Draco gave his chest a light, affectionate slap.
They dissolved together into muffled laughter and when that had settled into easy smiles,
Theo reached one arm over to grab his book and continue reading. His other arm remained
securely wrapped around Draco, snuggling the blonde into his side.

Draco slipped into a meditative state listening to Theo's rhythmic breathing and felt his mind
slip closer and closer to the edge of sleep, before finally falling into a dream.

He was awoken sometime later by Theo giving him a gentle, but insistent shake. He blinked
his eyes open and turned to look at his friend with only a mild desire to hex him for
interrupting Draco’s much needed nap.

“I know you’re right pissed I woke you up, but it’s time for dinner and hungry Draco is
scarier than sleepy Draco.” Theo informed him, earning a sleepy glare and responding grunt.
Theo only chuckled, before using his left hand-that was still wrapped around Draco who laid
on his side-to give a firm, affectionate slap to his arse cheeks.

Draco yelped and shoved the hand away, pinching Theos side as he fell into giggles beside
him. Draco fought to maintain his glare but a smile broke out without his permission and he
gave Theo a shove.
“Help me find my pants, you git. I’m not leaving your bed with my arse out.” Draco said,
finally sitting up.

“Come on, Draco, how come Theo is the only one who gets a look at you?” Blaise’s voice
traveled to them, his shadow blurred but visible from behind the closed curtains.

“You’ve already had your look, Blaise, and as I recall it gave you quite the crisis.” Draco
answered. The morning after their Halloween hook up-which was nothing more than a
drunken make out session and a pair of clumsy blow jobs-Blaise couldn’t look him in the eye
for hours. Not until Draco assured him that their frantic quickie didn’t mean Blaise couldn’t
like boobs anymore.

“Touché.” Blaise answered, and accompanied the word with an unnecessarily exaggerated
sigh. A moment later he stuck a hand holding Draco’s underwear through the seam of the
surrounding curtains. Draco snatched them and put them on before rolling, decidedly
ungracefully, out of Theo’s bed.

He redressed in his clothes as he picked them off the ground and conjured a new ribbon to
pull his hair up. Theo emerged from the four poster a moment later, shrugging on his trousers
and a sweater he stole from Greg.

“Dammit Theo, I’ve been looking for that shirt all week!” Greg exclaimed, as his eyes lit in
recognition of the soft grey sweater that sat loosely on Theos lean frame.

“And now you’ve found it!” Theo responded, and Greg gave him a shove. They wrestled
haphazardly for a moment until Greg put Theo in a headlock and started ruffling his mousy
brain curls. “Fine, fine, I’ll ask next time! I can’t help it Greg, you know how much I love
your shirts. Salazar knows how you charm them to be so soft.”

Greg released Theo from the headlock but kept an arm slung around his shoulders. He really
did have a talent with tailoring clothes, on account of his Uncle running a Robes Shop in a
Wizarding district close to Bulgaria. He’d learned a very particular softening charm for fabric
at 13 and only improved on it over the years. What Greg lacked in “book smarts”, he often
made up for in practical applications.

“You’re lucky I like you, Theo. You can keep the sweater. For now.” Greg said, and Draco
rolled his eyes at their brutish ways but joined them in their laughter.

“Settling an argument in fisticuffs? I ought to drop you in front of the Gryffindor common
room.” Draco chided, and both boys held their hands to their hearts in mock offense.

The group left the dorm room together and descended the stairs, with Draco’s growling
stomach echoing around them. He hadn’t eaten since dinner the night before, and he rarely
ate much when he dined with Tom.

Their joking and banter died down noticeably as they exited the common room and climbed
the stairs to the main floor of the school. Already, the atmosphere was thick with anger and
tension from the other students. It seemed the tales of his cruciatus curse being used as
punishment was successfully weaving its way through the student body. The Hufflepuffs they
passed cowered in his presence, and Draco felt a thick slime in his throat at the knowledge
that he caused so much fear. Still, he knew it was for the best. With him in the way between
delinquency and true punishment at the sadistic hands of the Carrows, no one would actually
be hurt.

Without meaning to, he stroked his left forearm through the fabric of his shirt. Hating the
living reminder that Tom was forever tainting his blood.

Stop acting like you didn’t want it, Draco. You welcomed the task that might redeem your
family, just as you welcome the way Tom has claimed your body.

The thoughts had no distinct voice, but they were so forceful in their conviction to remind
him time and time again that he was the only one to blame for what happened in the northern
wing study.

He had his friends, though. They all knew he wasn’t actually torturing students, honestly if
anyone actually knew Draco the thought would be laughable. Was he a conceited prat that
once spent three straight nights perfecting a duplication and animation charm to make Potter
Stinks! buttons? Of course. Was he capable of staring down a bug eyed firstie Ravenclaw that
trembled before him and using his wand to cast the most painful of the Unforgivables? Not
bloody likely.

Draco was an aristocratic arsehole, not a demented executioner.

The group entered The Great Hall and conversation died down to sharp whispers and not
very well hidden glances. Over at the Gryffindor table, he felt a set of eyes streaming fire in
his direction-which surprised him because Potter was his resident stalker and he was
currently predisposed with however many pieces of Tom’s soul littered the continent. He
turned his eyes to meet his new observer, and found himself locked in a stare with the
Weaselette. Her eyes were narrowed and her cheeks were bright red with a fury that rivaled
her ginger hair. No doubt, in the absence of her boyfriend, she’d taken up the task of
monitoring the school's resident Death Eater.

He could hardly blame her. He did , after all, accidentally poison her brother.

Would a muffin basket be a sufficient apology?

“Merlin’s tits , I know the school hates us but it’s never been so bloody obvious.” Blaise
murmured, and Draco broke his staring contest with the girl Weasel to nod. They made it to
the Slytherin table, and sat down together. The students of the house packed close to each
other for some sense of protection from the animosity they were receiving from the rest of the
school.

They did their best to dissolve into normal conversation, but the feeling of sheer hatred filled
the air around them and made it harder and harder to pretend that this was a normal meal,
with a normal amount of disdain directed towards the House of Snakes.

The Weaselette kept a steely gaze on him the entire meal, and he almost wanted to
congratulate her for her ability to be far more intimidating than her messy haired boyfriend
ever was.

The exception to that possibly being the bathroom incident last Spring, but even then Potter
only looked disinterested and vaguely confused.

“I think the Girl Weasel is trying to hex you from sheer will alone.” Pansy murmured next to
him, and he hummed in agreement.

“She is the seventh born sibling. She’s probably quite powerful.” Millicent interjected, and
Draco wished in that moment that she wasn’t so damn numerical .

The Weaselette was probably waiting to strike, and he was far too pretty for a boil hex.

“Probably best if we travel in numbers then, like when all those people were getting petrified
in second year.” Vince observed, and they all nodded in agreement.

They would travel the halls in pairs at the very least, but ideally in groups of three. A quick
clinking of their cups solidified their agreement and Draco leaned his shoulder against
Pansy’s, she dropped her head on his and they continued their meal despite the ever present
gaze of Ginevra Weasley.

It wasn’t until a week later that Draco was actually confronted by the Weaselette. He was in
the “punishment room”-as it had been deemed-on the side of the Great Hall, irritatingly alone
because Vince and Greg needed to meet with Sinistra to discuss a paper they had written. He
lounged lazily in the chair as he always did, twirling his wand and gently swinging the leg he
had crossed.

The parchment with the list of students to be “disciplined” sat still folded on the side table,
he’d yet to look it over because he couldn’t find it himself to care all that much about what
petty nonsense the Carrows used to deem someone fit for torture.

This proved to be a mistake.

The door opened and he heard the footsteps of a student march toward him. He took a deep
breath and began his repetitious spiel.

“Hello and welcome to your disciplin-FUCK!” His words were cut off by a vicious Bat
Bogey Hex and he leaped out of chair, holding his nose as it throbbed and swatting away the
conjured bat that beat incessantly against his head. He looked across the room and saw
Weaselette standing defiantly, with her wand drawn and eyes narrowed. “What the fuck
Weaselette!” He yelled again, moreso out of exasperation than actual inquiry.

“If you think I’m just going to lie down and accept a crucio , Malfoy, then you’re as stupid as
you are snotty.” She snarled.
“I’m not going to crucio you, you ginger headed twat! I haven’t actually been crucioing
anyone !” He exclaimed, still flapping his hands at the bat. Merlin, Millicent was right. The
Girl Weasel really was a force to be reckoned with.

Finally, the bat flew and vanished as Ginevra lowered her wand and Draco had the chance to
catch his breath. She still looked ready for battle but her fierce glare was slowly taking on a
look of curiosity.

“What do you mean you haven’t been crucioing anyone?” She asked, eyes still narrowed but
not nearly as severe.

“I’ve been telling people to say I crucioed them, because it’s what the damned Carrows want.
If word got back that I wasn’t actually inflicting pain as punishment then Alecto and Amycus
would find someone who did . People already expect the worst of me, it’s not exactly a hard
lie to spread.”

She looked at him thoughtfully as he said this, and he thought he could see a tiny bit of
tension start to release from her body. “But everyone describes your crucio as burning, they
all say the same thing.”

He rolled his eyes at this, “Because I told them to Weaselette. I’ve been crucioed by a wide
enough variety of people to know that the curse feels different depending on whose casting it.
The Carrows know that too, so it wouldn’t do much good if there wasn’t a consensus among
the students on mine.”

“What if I don’t believe you?”

“Then don’t. I’m still not going to crucio you. You’re smart enough to know that it’s best to
keep that to yourself, so that it doesn’t reach the Carrows.”

“Did you just compliment me, Malfoy?”

“Your Bat Bogey Hex must’ve given me a concussion.” He sat back down in the chair,
folding his arms in his lap and leaning his head against the sturdy back.

“What about Crabbe and Goyle?” She inquired next.

“What about them? They don’t cast it either. Salazar, I don’t think any of us could cast it…
well, maybe Pansy. She’s a bit of a firecracker sometimes. Still, she’d need proper
motivation.” He mused.

The Weaselette stood silent, her defensive position completely dropped and her eyes no
longer narrowed. Rather they looked over him in great detail, he could practically see the
thoughts in her head turning.

“I still don’t like you, Malfoy.” She said, and he bowed his head as mockingly as he could.

“The feeling is quite mutual, Weaselette. The fact remains, however, that I’m not casting an
unforgivable on note passers and tardy students. So please, I’d like it if you refrained from
using that hex on me ever again.”
She smirked at that, and it was so self satisfied yet soft that it almost looked like a smile.

“You’re fun for target practice, Malfoy, and I can’t say you didn’t deserve it. You’ve done
plenty of other awful things.”

“Yes, yes, I know. I’m Draco Malfoy, the Hogwarts stand in for the Dark Lord and evil. My
reputation precedes me.” He drawled. At the mention of the Dark Lord, however, she looked
seriously at him again.

“Have…Have you really been crucioed that much?” She asked, and dammit why did he have
to let that slip. He shrugged his shoulders and looked out the window, focusing on a tiny
spider web that was being woven in the corner of the pane.

“That’s not exactly something to lie about.” He murmured.

“You really can’t cast it, can you?” She asked, her voice somewhere between awe and
disbelief.

“I only cast it once, and I got sick immediately after. I didn’t even want to cast it but if I
hadn’t…” he trailed off, remembering the painful screeching of Libby as he wielded the yew
wand to Tom’s delight.

“Merlin Malfoy…” she whispered, and he felt the Malfoy Mask slip into place. He didn’t
deserve her concern and he didn’t want her pity.

“Yes, well, I’d thank you not to tell anyone. I have an image to uphold after all.” He sniffled,
and turned his gaze to the floor.

There was a beat of silence before she responded, “So do I just tell people that it burned?”

He nodded, “Yes. If people ask, say my cruciatus feels like fire.”

“Okay.” She hesitated for a moment, and then walked back into The Great Hall. He saw three
more students but they were all repeat offenders, so he didn’t have to run through his
instructions again.

As he walked dazedly back to the common room that night after classes, his mind kept a
fervent echo of Libby’s tearful, pained screams. A sound he didn’t think he would ever
forget.

“Libby?” He whispered, not sure if anything would happen. He was in an empty dungeon
corridor and needed a moment of reassurance. A few seconds passed and then the sharp pop
of an elf apparition was heard.

“Hello, Draco! You called for Libby, yes?” She said, and he smiled at her familiar wide eyes
and the buttercream scarf he’d given her a few weeks prior. He crouched down in front of
her, settling his weight on folded legs.

“I hope I didn’t interrupt you, Libby. I just wanted to make sure you were doing alright.”
“Oh yes, Draco! Libby is working very hard in the kitchens and is happy to be with Dobby
again. I told him how good you are!”

“I’m not good Libby, but thank you.”

She shook her head at that and gave him the cutest glare he had ever received. “Libby will
not be hearing lies. Draco is good. Libby is proud to be his friend.”

“Not as proud as I am to be Libby’s friend.” He teased and she giggled across from him. “I’m
glad you’re happy here Libby. Happy and safe.”

“Draco should be happy and safe too.”

“I am when I’m here…I promise.” He squeezed her hand, and it was true. He felt as close to
happy and safe as he could get when he was at Hogwarts these days.

“Good. Libby has to return to the kitchens, but she’s happy to see Draco any time!” She gave
him a quick hug which he returned, and then disappeared with another pop.

He sat in the empty hall then, just for a moment, before pulling himself back up and returning
to the dorms.

Theo was there again, reading a book as always and lounging comfortably on his pillows.
Draco greeted him as he passed before grabbing his shower kit and pajamas, then heading for
his favorite stall.

Once he was washed and dressed in his silk, green sleep pants and shirt, he walked back to
the dorm and put his things away. He looked at his bed and the thought of sleeping alone
tonight sent his mind sparking with anxiety. So, he turned towards Theo and leaned against
the side banister of his bed. Theo looked up from his book and smiled at him, a smile that
Draco tiredly returned.

“Everything okay?” Theo asked, and what a loaded question that was.

“Yeah I just, I don’t want to go to bed just yet.” He said, which made sense considering it was
barely 8 o clock. Still, he was tired from the emotions of the day.

“Did you want to fool around?” Theo asked, and Draco thought for a moment if he did. After
a brief contemplation, however, he shook his head and looked down at his fingers. Twiddling
then idly.

“No uh, I was wondering if you’d just…hold me for a bit? I’d usually cuddle with Pans but
I’m pretty sure she’s having a spa night with Astoria and Daphne.” It’s true, the
Greengrass/Parkinson spa nights were well respected throughout the dorm. No one bothered
the girls as they painted each other’s nails and probably plotted world domination.

Theo chuckled in understanding and moved over on the bed to make room for Draco, “Of
course, climb in.”
Draco happily obliged and settled in under Theo’s arm, he felt a heavy blanket of security lay
on top of him as he pressed into his friend's side. The book Theo was reading caught his
attention, the cover was white with what looked like a thestral painted in thick black ink.
“What are you reading?”

“Ah it’s my small attempt at rebellion. I snuck into a muggle bookstore over the summer and
bought a bunch of their books. They’re all from this genre called ‘science fiction’ and it’s
bloody incredible. This is Jurassic Park and it’s about an island that gets overrun with
dinosaurs…”

Draco listened as Theo summarized the portion of the book he’d read so far, and he found
himself happily mesmerized by his friends’ soothing voice and the tale of muggles
attempting to domesticate these monstrous creatures.

He fell asleep to the story, and dreamed of a large red dragon that used the beating of its
wings to drop unreachable fruit from the tallest trees.
 Home for the Holidays
Chapter Notes

Hi all! Sorry this is coming to you a bit later than usual. There’s currently a heat wave in
California and my brain shuts off it seems when the temps go over 110 degrees lol. I
want to thank everyone that has commented so far and left kudos and bookmarks, it
means so much to me to know that this story is being embraced. I promise, we’re not too
much further away from Harry!

Warnings for this chapter: Standing dubcon warning.

Chapter 13: Home for the Holidays

As the days passed at Hogwarts, the atmosphere steadily grew more and more oppressive.
The Carrows and their ‘creative’ teaching methods set every student on edge, and the rumors
of Draco’s harsh cruciatus curse certainly didn’t help matters. The halls were filled with
cutting whispers and an ever present chill of pure, unadulterated fear. Draco would often find
himself shivering as he and his fellow Slytherins moved through the building from classes, to
meals, and so on.

Still, the newly intensified coldness of Hogwarts was far more preferable to him than where
he was expected to spend his Holiday break.

In just a few short days, Draco would floo home to Malfoy Manor and be effectively
sequestered in the northern wing. Tom had talked at length during his previous visit, about
how he had no intention of letting ‘Abraxas’ out of his sight during the brief Winter sojourn.
Draco fought back, demanding that he at least be given enough freedom to visit his parents. It
seemed that even now, after all this time, Tom could not fathom why Lucius remained
between him and full control over his ‘lover’.

Eventually, Tom relented, and allowed Draco to leave the northern wing during some of the
Dark Lord’s more ‘confidential’ meetings. Originally, it seemed, Tom had planned to render
him unconscious when these occurred. A thought that sent a sharp spike of unease down
Draco’s spine. It was so simple for Tom to view him as nothing more than decoration , and
Draco wondered if he had ever actually earned the respect that his Grandfather had. Did Tom
consider Draco an ‘equal’, as he hoped? Or was Draco nothing more than a ghost? An
apparition of a man who Tom had never loved, but still continued to unrelentingly obsess
over?
He pondered these thoughts more and more frequently as the end of the Fall term came closer
and closer. Much like 6th year, his mind was so preoccupied with pressures from looming
battles that he struggled in classes. The thought of NEWTs and exams seemed so
incomprehensibly banal in the face of war and his own future seemed bleak the more he
thought about it.

If Tom won, he’d be nothing more than a harlot. Locked away in some room to be used as he
pleased, forced to live forever as the walking corpse of Abraxas Malfoy. Draco paled at the
possibility of being kept away from his parents, relying only on Tom’s promise to not harm
them.

On the other hand, if Potter won, he would be exiled. As desperately as he wanted Tom
defeated, he couldn’t help but curl his lip at what the world would become for him
afterwards. No doubt the Malfoy family name would be besmirched, ruined beyond repair for
their part in the aiding and abetting of the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters. The mark on his
arm itched, an unsightly brand on his skin that would forever link him to the mistakes and
horrors of his past.

That was his future. No matter who won, Draco would end up in isolation and at the whims
of whichever Wizard finally put an end to all of these horrors. At least with Potter, him and
his family could get away.

Assuming they weren’t all thrown in Azkaban.

Fuck.

Draco was saved from a deeper internal spiral by Pansy slipping in between his drawn bed
curtains and making herself comfortable on his bed. It was the morning before his return to
the manor and his fists remained in a white knuckled clench over his bed sheets. As Pansy
settled in across from him, she grabbed his hand and flipped it over so his palm was facing
up. Draco turned his attention to the delicate way she traced the lines of his palm with the tips
of her perfectly painted fingers.

“Talk to me, love.” She commanded, softly. Her words nothing more than a floating whisper
in their tightly drawn, green curtained world.

“I’m so scared, Pans.” He responded, his cheeks turning cold as more and more blood flushed
from his face. Leaving the skin pale and gaunt.

“You’re allowed to be scared.” Another whisper, this one accompanied by a gentle squeeze of
his wrist.

“I hate the way he touches me.” He felt the rising of salty tears behind his eyes, and closed
them tightly in an attempt to stave them off. Just for a little while.

Pansy gave a gentle hum as her response, and he was thankful for that. There was no use in
them both trying to find comfort in a future without the Dark Lord that was not at all
guaranteed. Draco knew that if there was any way to keep him safe from Tom, Pansy would
do it. She would tumble out of the floo in the northern wing study and kill Tom where he
stood, she had already detailed to him the ways in which she wanted to. They had always
been so fiercely protective of each other that, if it weren’t destined for Potter to kill the Dark
Lord once and for all, Draco had no doubt that Pansy would have already done it.

“When do you think this will all be over?” He asked, and he felt another squeeze to his wrist.

“I think we’ll go mad trying to figure that out.”

“Sometimes I think I’m half mad already.”

“Of course you are, darling, but that has little to do with current circumstances. You’ve been
half mad since we were 4 and you tried to wrestle a peacock that had stolen my favorite doll.”

He snorted at the memory of himself running after Orpheus, the aforementioned peacock,
“That’s not being mad, Pans, that’s simply being a gentleman.”

“And they call Potter, The Savior” she swooned, batting her eyelashes at him in mock
adoration. After a few moments of quiet giggles her face hardened and her tone dropped,
“When are you going back?”

“Tomorrow afternoon. He wants me home for dinner.”

She nodded and pursed her lips, “And you won’t be back until term starts again?”

He shook his head, and tried not to count exactly how many days, hours, and minutes he’d be
locked in the study with Tom.

“I love you, Draco.” Pansy looked at him, and Draco felt the tears he tried to stifle finally
release. Looking back at his best friend, his eyes wide and his cheeks streaked, he pulled his
bottom lip between his teeth and chewed on it. A habit he thought he had broken years
before.

“I love you too, Pansy.” He responded, his voice shaky with emotion.

She brought up her pinky finger, and he immediately wrapped his own around it. Then they
let their foreheads fall forward until they were touching each other.

This was how they made promises, and the promise they were sealing didn’t need to be
spoken. It was a promise to love for each other, to heal for each other, and to survive for each
other. Pansy and him often joked about being twins that had separated at birth and, in
moments like this, that possibility felt all too real. He could even feel their magic swirling
together, happily co-mingling between the two best friends.

When they both nodded their heads in agreement-and approval-their pinkies unlinked.

“We’re going to make it through this damn war, Draco. I won’t accept anything less.” She
huffed, using the pad of her thumb to brush away one of his tear drops that had drifted to the
corner of his mouth.
“You know I can never disappoint you, Pans.” He responded, and a small smile drifted onto
his lips.

They laid back into the pillows then, his head cradled in her arms and rusting on her soft
bosom. The steady rise and fall of her chest bringing him closer and closer to true comfort
and calm. He wrapped his own arm around her waist, settling his hand just above her hip. His
fingers drew incomprehensible patterns into her skin, tracing words and pictures to a tale that
he hoped had a happy ending.

Sleep did not find them, but something else did.

Hope.

It didn’t take long for Tom to ambush him when he returned.

Draco walked through the floor and stepped into the northern wing study only to be
immediately pushed against the large oak desk. Before he could even spell the soot off his
robes, his mouth was invaded by the tongue of Tom Riddle.

His first instinct was to shove the other man away but he quickly fought against it.
Reminding himself that it was time to be Abraxas , and Abraxas would be more than happy
to see his lover. With this in mind, Draco let his body relax and brought his hands up to rub
gently up and down Tom’s back.

“Welcome home, Abraxas.” Tom whispered against his lips, and Draco did his best to form a
smile.

“I’ve missed you, Tom.”

With a needy sounding growl escaping Tom’s throat, Draco found himself turned around and
pushed to lean over the desk. He braced his hands in front of him and locked his elbows so as
not to be slammed face first into the heavy oak.

His clothes were spelled off his body, landing in a haphazard pile in the corner, and the
ribbon was yanked out of his hair. As it fell and brushed against his shoulder blades, he
shivered in anticipation of what was bound to happen next.

Tom barely prepared him, as usual, and Draco did his best to keep up the charade of moans
and happy sighs. The benefit of being forced to face away during sex meant he didn’t have to
concentrate on his expressions as he was roughly used and then-inevitably-discarded.

“You are mine , Abraxas.” Tom declared, before pushing into him with a single, fluid motion.
Despite knowing what was going to happen, Draco choked on his own saliva at the sudden
burst of pain. His eyes wrenched shut and he felt the smallest tip of his teeth turning to
powder as he ground them inside of his clenched jaw.
His hips were cut into by the sharp edge of the desk and he could feel bruises rushing to the
surface. Tom held his hair tightly in one fist, and clenched Draco’s shoulder with the other.
The harder the thrusts were, the more his head pulled back, until his spine arched like a bow.

“Tom…Tom, please .” He begged, not for pleasure but for mercy. The skin of his neck pulled
taut around his Adams’ apple, his hips turning bright shades of red and deep purple, and his
fingernails scratching tiny marks into the veneer as he scrambled for purchase.

Tom came inside of him with a deep, long groan but didn’t loosen the grip of his hair. Draco
was left standing against the desk, trembling and breathing heavily as he waited to be
released. The hand on his shoulder traced a line down his curved spine, pressing into the
knots of his bone.

“Your skin is so beautiful, Abraxas.” Tom murmured behind him, continuing the exploration
of his fingers. “So unmarked, so vibrant.”

Good thing Potter only scarred the front of me. He thought.

“ Tom ” Draco rasped, the unnatural angle of his head made his throat constrict and his vocal
cords rub like sandpaper.

Finally, Tom let him go and Draco fell forward towards the desk, gasping in deep, rattling
breaths of air. The other man pulled out and he whimpered at the pain, feeling his body shake
from the strain of being taken so roughly. He felt lips brush against the back of his head and
two fingers dip inside his sore, dripping hole.

He moaned lowly at the pain and dropped his head, hoping to pass it off as a sound of
pleasure and not agony. The fingers left him but before he could rejoice, he was yanked
upright again by his hair. Tom brought his hand around, and Draco saw the glisten of cum
covering his index and middle finger. Slowly, Tom brought them to his mouth and traced his
swollen and bitten bottom lip.

“Taste me, Abraxas.” He whispered into Draco’s ear, before shoving the digits so deep that he
gagged and coughed. Tom pressed a soft kiss to his temple but didn’t relent from where his
fingers pressed against the back of Draco’s throat. He felt his eyes water and saliva pool as he
did his best to relax his jaw. His tongue looped around the fingers and licked the bitter, salty
seed as requested.

Finally, Tom retreated and Draco bent forward to cough and sniffle until his face was red and
hot. He reached the back of a shaking hand up to his mouth to wipe away the dribbles of spit
and seed that still lingered, wrinkling his nose at the mess.

As Tom redressed in his robes and returned to his chair, Draco limped slowly over to the pile
of his own clothes. He pulled his underwear on first, then slowly began to button up his
cream colored shirt. As he bent down to grab his trousers however, he was stopped by Tom's
voice.

“Stay like that.” He said, and Draco turned to look at him.

“I want to go visit my parents, Tom, and I’m not walking around the manor in my pants with
Greyback uncollared and leashed.”

“There will be time for you to visit them tomorrow, for tonight you’re not leaving this room.”

Draco felt his heart hammer in anger against his chest at being trapped in the study with
Tom. He considered fighting back but shoved that thought away once he realized it would
only make the rest of the holiday break harder to bear. So he nodded, set his trousers back
down, and inclined his head towards their dining table. Tom seemed to agree and waved his
wand to transfigure it into the familiar bed with dark sheets and aubergine pillows.

He was starting to hate that color.

He reached into his robes pockets for his wand and shrunken trunk, before walking to the bed
and reclining on top of the comforter. He re-enlarged the trunk and pulled out a quill, a pot of
ink, and his Advanced Potions essay that was due at the start of January. Using his trunk as a
makeshift writing table, he began transcribing the benefits of various types of potion bottles
when compared to the potion that was brewed. As his mind became blissfully overcome with
theory and ingredient trivia, he let himself imagine he was back in his dorm.

Unfortunately, the persistent ache in his back and hips kept him grounded in his current
reality.

It wasn’t until Christmas Eve, two days later, that he was finally granted permission to leave
the study. He had been growing restless and anxious, pacing the room until finally
confronting Tom about his confinement.

“You promised me, Tom. You said I could see my parents while I was back here. It’s been
almost three days, let me out. ” Draco snarled, marching over to the oak desk and slamming
his palms on the surface. He flinched slightly as Nagini lifted her head and hissed at the
sound but kept his gaze locked on the man across from him.

“I said you were welcome to leave the study during confidential meetings, which I’ve yet to
have any of.” He responded, his tone smooth and unconcerned with Draco’s anger.

“How convenient , that your schedule is suddenly free the second your slag returns.” He
snarled, not caring about his use of language. Tom’s expression, however, darkened.

“Do not talk about Abraxas that way.”

“I’ll talk about Abraxas however the fuck I want because it’s me that’s getting fucked into the
hardwood not him .” His anger forced his head to lower just enough, so that he was eye level
with Tom. The other man’s sickeningly familiar red eyes began to slowly boil with anger.

“You use such colorful language, Draco. Abraxas would never-”

Draco saw red then, but it wasn’t the red of Tom’s eyes.

“I AM NOT ABRAXAS.” He bellowed, walking back from the oak desk as the windows
shook from the force of his magic. It had never been so uncontrolled before, not even as a
child, but months of repressing his emotions and thoughts regarding his relationship with the
Dark Lord had clearly worn down many of his defenses.

He reached his arm out to summon his wand and then moved quickly around the oak desk to
press the tip of it into Tom’s throat. The other man's face held competing looks of shock,
amusement, anger, and even lust as Draco pressed the hawthorn wood into Tom’s unnatural,
grey skin.

“I’ve done as you asked, Tom. I’ve been Abraxas for you for months . I’ve let you hurt me,
let you use me, let you mark my skin with bruises and cuts but that’s not what Abraxas would
do, is it? Abraxas challenged you, he did what he could to keep you from falling victim to
your own twisted magic. It’s why you wanted eternity with him, why you told him about your
horcruxes-” At this, Tom gasped, and Draco curled his lips into a smirk.

“Yes Tom, I know about the horcruxes. I know that you split your soul so much you’re not
even human anymore. It’s disgusting frankly but, the thing is, I don’t give a fuck. I don’t love
you, Tom. Not like Abraxas did. But I’m willing to work with you, I’m fine being a stand-in
for your long lost lover if it guarantees protection for my family. Which I’ve done . The
problem is, you’re not holding up your end of the deal and my patience is wearing thin .”

Draco finished his speech with panting breaths and narrowed eyes. Three and a half months
without being entirely under Tom’s finger had left him bursting at the seams during the past
three days of isolation. What was the purpose of all he had done, all he had let Tom take , if it
still kept him away from his family.

“I could kill you, Draco. Right now, for threatening me like this.” Tom said, though his voice
remained neutral and his eyes more questioning than angry.

“Do it, Tom. Kill Abraxas.” He challenged, dropping his wand and taking a step back.

“You are not Abraxas, Draco.” Tom repeated him, bringing his fingers up to rub his chin.

“I’m enough of him for you, Tom. If I wasn’t, you’d have fed me to Nagini the second my
wand touched your throat.”

Tom’s lip twitched and his eyes narrowed slightly. They stared at each other in silence for a
few moments, before Tom let out a sigh and looked away.

“My apologies for keeping you. You may leave the study and spend the Holiday with
Narcissia and Lucius .” Tom’s lip curled slightly when the man spoke his Fathers name, and
Draco fought the urge to roll his eyes.

“When would you like me to return?”

“I would appreciate your presence again for dinners starting the 26th, however the days will
be yours to do with as you please.”

“I’m glad you’re finally seeing reason, Tom. Thank you.” Draco felt tension release from his
shoulders as this small battle was won.

“You truly are too much like Abraxas.” Tom said, gaze returning to look at him. Draco’s
mouth twitched down at the comparison and he turned towards his trunk by the transfigured
bed.

“I know.”

The rest of the Holiday break passed with a much more welcome ease for Draco. In a reprise
of his summer routine, he had breakfast with his parents, lunch in the library, and dinner with
Tom. His mother and father kept him close whenever they could, foregoing all of the
“proper” etiquette and coldness he had been raised with. If there’s one thing that could be
said for Tom, he truly brought families closer. Even if it was in the face of death.

Two days before he was set to return to Hogwarts, Draco decided to eat lunch in the
dungeons with Ollivander. Although, ‘eat’ is a term he used loosely. Between the foreboding
grey stone and the thick weight of anguish, Draco didn’t expect to stomach anything more
than a cup of tea. Still, Ollivander had been good to him, and he wanted to do what he could
to provide even a bit of comfort. Additionally, according to talk that he overheard in the halls,
the manor dungeon only housed a small handful of prisoners presently. The others had
already been disposed of.

He tried not to think too hard about that.

With the help of Mipsy, he had a full basket of sandwiches, fruit, crudités, and a full tea
service that was spelled not to spill or overheat the food. Draco made his way to the western
wing and down the dungeon steps with the basket following him via a levitation charm he
cast.

A charm that almost broke once he saw one of the dungeons' new inhabitants.

Across from Ollivander, sitting on folded legs in dirt streaked overalls and regarding him
with a soft smile, was Luna Lovegood.

Draco settled the basket on the ground and walked over to her, sitting down on the cold stone
floor outside of her cell and wrapping a hand around the iron bars.

“Lovegood??” He exclaimed, his eyes running frantically over her body and assessing for
any injury. Over the summer, the dungeons housed nameless muggles that he fought to ignore
for the sake of his family's own safety. The exception, of course, being Ollivander and the
wisdom he gave regarding Draco’s wand. This was the first student he had seen, and it made
his skin prickle with so many emotions. None of which were positive.

“Hello Draco. You have a lovely home.” She responded, in that uniquely airy Loony
Lovegood voice. He finished his brief assessment of her, satisfied that she didn’t show any
outright signs of pain or bruising.

“You’ve seen more than just the dungeons?”

“I saw the grounds briefly, when they were bringing me in. Your peacocks are quite
beautiful.”

“Oh gods, how long have you been here?” He asked, running through his memory to try and
pinpoint how recently he had seen her in the Great Hall or the corridors of the school. It was
difficult to be sure but he was nearly positive he remembered watching her and the
Weaselette stroll the transfiguration courtyard with linked arms the week before Winter Hols,
when he and Vince slipped out to check the greenhouse for an obscure potions ingredient.

“I can’t be entirely sure, I fear wrackspurts have made me positively confunded.” She
scrunched her nose at the thought, then returned to her soft smile and calm gaze.

“Is there…is there anything I can do for you?” He asked, unsure of what else to say.

“I would enjoy some tea.”

“Would you like lunch too? I brought a basket down to eat with Ollivander but there’s plenty
to share.” He looked around the rest of the cells and noted that the only other prisoner was a
goblin.

“I would enjoy that very much, Draco. We’ve never been able to eat together in the Great
Hall.” Her smile grew and Draco’s heart melted at the sight. Luna Lovegood was the
definition of unthreatening kindness and she was folded over on the harsh stones of the
cellar.

He needed to get her out. Needed to get them all out but, as much as he wanted to liberate the
prisoners he knew his influence with Tom didn’t reach that far.

He could, however, have them moved.

“I’ll be right back, I need to talk to someone. Mipsy!”

The house elf appeared with a pop.

“Yes Master Draco?”

“Hello dear Mipsy, I need you to pour and serve the tea to our…guests here in the dungeon.
You can serve the food too but I’ll try and be back in time for a more proper meal.”

Mipsy nodded her head and began to unload the basket while Draco ran up the stone staircase
and walked briskly to the northern wing study. He knocked on the door and waited, hoping
Tom wasn’t completely preoccupied.

A moment later, the word “Enter.” drifted towards him and he pushed his way into the study.
He strode directly towards the desk and crossed his arms, standing defiantly against the other
man.

“What a surprise to see you so soon, Draco. Don’t you typically take lunch in the library?”
Tom greeted, and Draco’s lip almost curled at the question. He had never told Tom where he
spent his afternoons, so this was nothing more than the other man reminding him that the
Dark Lord was an omniscient presence in his own damn house.

“I’m moving the prisoners to the cellar.” He stated, his voice firm and unwavering.

“Why?”

“The dungeons are decrepit and filthy. You’re trying to get information, yeah? How much
information can you get once Ollivander succumbs to scurvy from no sunlight? There’s a
Hogwarts student down there too, a pureblood . She may not be fighting for your cause but
we’re not exactly in the position to limit the number of pure Wizards. In the cellar, there’s
small windows that let in sunlight and a small bathroom that will stop the Western Wing of
my house from smelling like a hippogriff stable.”

Draco hoped his argument was strong and prejudiced enough to hide his true desire to try and
help the people held prisoner beneath his floors. Tom kept his gaze steady as he processed
what Draco had said, eventually cocking his head slightly to the side.

“Would it not be easier for them to escape?” Tom pondered, and Draco let out a scoff.

“Tom your prisoners are a feeble old wizard who can barely stand, a Ravenclaw that gets
distracted by shiny things much like a niffler, and a Goblin who’s magic is rendered useless
by the manor wards. If the three of them can escape, then the problem isn’t my cellar, it’s
your incompetent crony.”

“Would it not make it harder for me to interrogate if they’re given certain comforts?”

“You have such little faith in your cruciatus curse that you think it’ll be rendered useless by
access to a toilet and shower stall? I speak from experience, Tom. Your magic speaks for
itself.”

Tom nodded in approval and hummed in thought while Draco remained standing. After a few
seconds of consideration, Tom waved his wand over one of the left hand drawers and pulled
out a set of heavy keys. He set them down across the desk, in the same place he had put the
yew wand all those months ago when he offered it to Draco.

“Return the keys when you come back for dinner.” Tom said, and leaned back in his chair.
Draco nodded as he picked up them up and slipped them into his pocket before leaving the
study and returning to the dungeons.
He stopped briefly to show the guard that he had the Dark Lords set of keys and approval to
relocate the prisoners to the cellar that sat at the other end of the hallway, the tops of the walls
just peeking over the hill enough to have small windows that let in a little sunlight.

As he entered the corridor he noted that the three prisoners were drinking tea but had yet to
start eating any of the food. He knelt down to where Mipsy stood, waiting to be given orders.

“Mipsy, take the basket to the cellar and set a small, low table. Pull some blankets and small
pillows from the linen chamber, as well as soap and hair potions. I also want you to prepare
another bowl of fruit and keep it charmed and filled for our guests to eat whenever they
desire.”

“Right away, Master Draco!” Mipsy exclaimed, and then disappeared with the lunch basket
in a loud pop. He then turned to look at Ollivander, Lovegood, and the Goblin who were
watching him with curiosity and slight confusion.

“I’ve been given permission to move you all to the cellar. It’s still not an ideal location but
it’s certainly better than being down here. You’ll have access to a bathroom, some bedding,
and a minimal amount of sunlight from the small windows that sit at the top of the western
wall.” Lovegood and Ollivander smiled at his brief explanation, while the Goblin maintained
his look of anger and inconvenience.

Given the circumstances, I’d say he’s earned that.

Draco unlocked the heavy iron barred doors and led the small group to the cellar. Just as he’d
requested, there was a low table with napkins and plates of the food he’d packed, pillows and
folded blankets surrounding the four edged corners, and another table under one of the
windows that held a bowl of brightly colored fruit.

“That door to the right is a small bathroom, I’ve asked Mipsy to stock it with some supplies.”
He pointed, and they all settled in around the table.

“Thank you, Draco.” Ollivander said, his face turned towards the small window and the rays
of sun it let in.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t do this sooner, and that I can’t do more now. I hope this is a slight
improvement, at least.” He responded.

“Your elf is quite kind, Draco.” Lovegood remarked, as she opened one of the sandwiches
and began adding pieces of cut fruit to the brie and fig jam.

“Thank you, she’s my mothers’.”

“Your aura looks troubled, is something upsetting you?” He lifted his gaze from the small
pile of cherry tomatoes he’d amassed and raised an eyebrow at Lovegood's question.

“Lovegood, I’d wager there are about a million things upsetting me at the moment.” He said,
with flashes of his life since his father had been arrested surfacing in his mind.

“Luna.”
“What?”

“You should call me Luna. Garrick and I are on a first name basis as well, all of the prisoners
are.” Her voice coming out in soft, soothing notes.

“But Lovegood, I’m not a prisoner.” He responded, taking a quick sip of his tea.

“Yes Draco, I do believe you are.” She laid a hand on his arm and he felt a brief tremor settle
through his body. She looked at him so deeply that he checked his occlumens shields, but
they remained intact. Next to him, Ollivander nodded slightly. Even the Goblin looked
minimally interested.

With a very undignified gulp of his tea, he set it back down on the table. His hands shook
slightly and his breathing quickened as he thought about what he had been doing in the
northern wing study since the middle of the summer.

“Luna it is, then.” He finally whispered.

 Chrysalis
Chapter Notes

Warnings for this chapter: alcohol usage

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 14: Chrysalis

Draco returned to Hogwarts for the Winter/Spring term and set his sights directly on the Girl
Weasley. He knew through observation, and confirmed with Luna during a shared meal in the
cellar, that Ginevra and Luna were very close friends. Which meant she would notice the
Ravenclaw’s absence very quickly and, given his family's reputation, have no qualms about
using Draco again for “target practice” in search for information.

For the sake of his nose, he needed to get to her first.

As he exited the flew in the Headmasters office, Draco nodded a greeting at his Godfather
and set off into the building. The halls were filled with students hugging and animated
discussions over how the Winter Hols break was spent, everyone desperate for a break from
the ever mounting pressure of the war. As students caught sight of him, the reactions varied.
Some paled and turned away, others glared and sneered. Throughout it all, Draco kept an
expression of uninterest despite the ache of knowing that-despite the little things he did to try
and help his peers-he would always be viewed as the enemy.

He caught a glimpse of fiery red hair as he passed the Great Hall and knew this was his
chance. He needed to get her angry. If she lashed out, he could take her to the side room in
the Hall under the pretense of discipline.

Alright Draco, time to do what you do best. Antagonize a Weasel.

“Enjoy your Holiday break,Weaselette? It must be so much easier to tell the matching pair
apart now that one of them is down an ear.” He called. Luna had told him about the twins’
unfortunate injury at the hands of the Death Eaters. Girl Weasley turned towards him and
Draco almost considered cutting his losses and running away once he saw the look of rage
her face twisted into.

“Watch your mouth, Malfoy.” She ground out, he chanced a quick glance to her hands and
saw them curled in tight fists. It was a start, but not enough. He needed to force her to draw
her wand on him.

Salazar, I’ve got to stop caring so much about other people.

He crossed his arms and leisurely strolled up to the Weaselette, smirk in place and eyes
dancing as he looked her over. “Why the threat, Weaselette? I’m merely making polite
conversation, although I’d imagine that’s quite the foreign concept for you considering the
low brow antics of your brood.”

Next to her was Longbottom, who’s eyes were as wide as the Hogwarts dinner plates.

“Go back to the dungeons, I’m not in the mood for your shite.” Her eyes were nearly glowing
and her wand hand looked to be twitching.

Almost there…just push a little more, Draco.

“That’s a pity, I was hoping to pass along a message to the eldest Weasel.” He curled his lips
into a smile as he leaned the tiniest bit closer, “Greyback sends his regards.”

A second later her wand was pointed between his eyes as the hall filled with the sound of a
shrieking Weaselette. For a second, Draco thought he had pushed past provocation and
straight to murder. Something told him this particular Gryffindor would have little issue
casting the killing curse in his direction. Luckily, before he joined the Hogwarts staff as a
ghost, they were interrupted.

“Expelliarmus!” Girl Weasley’s wand flew from her grasp and into Amycus Carrow’s.

“Thank you, Professor Carrow. Your timing is impeccable.” Draco said, bowing his head
slightly in a show of respect. Around the small group, several students had gathered to watch
the unfolding of events. Amycus returned Draco’s bow and handed the disarmed wand over
to him.

“I trust you will see to Miss Weasley’s punishment? We can’t have students behaving so
abhorrently.” Amycus’ eyes seemed to glitter at the thought of Draco casting his rumored
cruciatus curse on the fuming redhead.

“Of course, Professor. I’ll lead her to the room.”

“Actually, Mr. Malfoy, I think it’d be best if we held a more public display of discipline. We
already have an audience.”

Draco felt his eyes widen at Amycus’ directive.

“Surely Professor, I can conduct her discipline as usual.” He leaned forward and dropped his
voice to a whisper that only Carrow could hear, “I believe there is information she has, that
would benefit our Lord.”

Amycus quickly understood and nodded in approval. “Take her to the room, Mr. Malfoy.” He
paused, turning to regard the gathered crowd. “However, there’s no need for a silencing
charm. I’d like all of the students to hear the consequences of such deplorable actions.”

“Of course, Professor.” He smirked, then grabbed Weaslette by her arm to drag her into the
side room. As they approached the door he saw that the spectators had followed behind, and
he hoped the Gryffindor could put on a show.
He slammed the door behind him and locked it, before turning to Weaselette. She looked a
mixture of angry and terrified, still not quite sure where Draco fell on the spectrum of good
and evil.

He wasn’t too sure about it either.

“I need you to scream.” He whispered, walking over the redhead and returning her wand.

“What?” She asked, confused by the request.

“ Scream Weaselette, loudly and painfully. I need to talk to you but before I can, we need to
make it sound like we’re doing what we were sent here to do.” His words, though still
whispered, were coming out tight and filled with frustration.

“Malfoy-”

“ Now !” He snarled, and lifted his wand. At the site of it, she screamed as requested. The
tension in his shoulders relaxed as the air filled with the delightfully convincing sounds of a
Weasel in great pain.

A few seconds later, he held up a hand to silence her. Her scream broke off and he nodded in
approval before casting a privacy and silence charm around them.

“Malfoy, what the hell is going on?!” She yelled, and Draco thanked Merlin that she waited
until the charms were in place.

“I’m sorry about what I said, but I needed to talk to you as soon as possible and the easiest
way to do that was to goad you into a disciplinary sentencing.” He told her, leading them
both over to a pair of chairs.

“Did you just apologize ?! Malfoy what the fuck are they doing to you?”

He winced at the reminder that politeness from him was such a foreign concept and continued
on.

“Nothing I can’t handle, Weaselette.” They sat down in the chairs and he leaned forward to
make sure his voice remained quiet even with the charms he had placed. “The Ministry has
imprisoned Lovegood. She’s at Malfoy Manor.”

“What?!”

“Shh!!” He pressed a hand to her mouth and glared, “Remember when I said you were smart,
Weaselette? Don’t make me rescind that single compliment. If the Carrows or Severus find
out what I’m doing, I’m as good as dead. Keep. Quiet. Do you understand?”

She narrowed her eyes at him before nodding a moment later. He removed his hand and
pressed his fingers into his temples in a feeble attempt to calm the pounding inside his head.

“The Dark Lord and his Ministry have been using the Malfoy Manor dungeons to hold
prisoners. As of right now there’s only three, Ollivander, a Goblin, and Lovegood.” He
explained, and she regarded him with a look of suspicion.

“And what, Malfoy , were you doing in the dungeons that led you to discovering Luna?” Her
question was accusing and Draco rolled his eyes at the tone.

“Obviously I was practicing the Dark Arts and using Lovegood as a bloodletting victim in
my attempt to overthrow the Dark Lord and take his place.” He sneered, and Weaselette
looked far from amused. Finally, with a sigh, he began to tell her the truth, “I’ve been visiting
with Ollivander since the summer to ask him some questions about wandlore. Over the
Holiday, I went to take him lunch and that’s when I saw Lovegood had joined him.”

“Is she hurt?”

He shook his head, “No, she’s surprisingly well adjusted given the circumstances. Plus, I was
able to get all three of them moved to the cellar. It’s still not ideal, of course, but in the cellar
they have access to a bathroom, some linens, and more food.”

She gave him a look of bewilderment, “How in Merlin’s name did you manage that?”

He avoided her eye by turning his gaze to a spot on the wall above her shoulder, “The Dark
Lord and I have…an arrangement.”

“An arrangement ?! Malfoy what the fuck does that mean?”

“It means I was in a position to do something decent so I took it . It may not be the grandiose
actions of bravery that you Gryffindors traffic in but it’s something .” He huffed.

The anger had finally dulled in the Weaselettes eyes and she reached across to grab his hand.
Before he could stop himself, he flinched at the unfamiliar touch.

“Malfoy…is You-Know-Who hurting you?” She asked, and a bubble of humorless laughter
escaped his throat.

“He hurts a lot of people, Weaselette, I’m hardly special.”

“Do you…Malfoy we could help you.” She began, and he cut her off before she got too
excited about a plan that could never possibly work.

He shook his head and caught her eye again, “You can’t help me, but I’ll be okay. So will my
parents, and that’s all I care about right now. The things I…let the Dark Lord do to me have
provided me with a certain level of protection.”

“Draco, what does he do to you?” She squeezed his hand, and he balked at the realization that
he was being comforted by a Weasley who had just referred to him by his first name .

“It doesn’t matter. Look, all I need from you is to continue being the brave and good
Gryffindor you are and provide any encouragement for Potter that you can. Since him,
Granger, and your brother aren’t here I can only assume they’re off fighting in the name of
Good.” He raised a questioning eyebrow and she gave a brief, hesitant nod in confirmation.
His face softened as he continued to speak.
 “I told you about Lovegood because I know you two are very close friends and I….” He
took a deep breath and looked away from the Girl Weasley. “I didn’t want you to worry once
you realized she hadn’t returned from Winter Hols.”

“Will you be able to see her again? To make sure she’s okay?”

He nodded, “Yes. I have to return to the Manor on the weekends to meet with…” He sent her
a look and her eyes widened in understanding, “I can’t go to the cellar every weekend but I
should be able to check on her often enough. I doubt she’ll be tortured, she doesn’t have any
information but if she is…I’ll do my best to make sure the task is delegated to me.”

The Weaselette continued her wide eyed stare as he told her all of this, even keeping his hand
held in hers.

“If she doesn’t have any information, then why is she there?” she asked with a strained voice.

“I’m not completely sure but I think the snatchers picked her up as punishment for her
Fathers’ publications. I overheard some of the others talking about it.” He lifted a finger to
chew on his thumb nail as his eyes unfocused, deep in thought and completely uncaring about
how unbecoming it was of him to behave like this. “Maybe I can tell Tom to keep Luna off
limits-”

“What did you just say?” Weaselette whispered, and he felt a thick layer of ice settle over
him as he realized his slip up.

“Nothing, I was just musi-”

“You called him Tom. You know who he is…you know his name. Tom Riddle.” Her hand,
which had been a gentle weight on his was suddenly tighter than a vice, but he barely
noticed.

“How do you know his name?” He asked, shocked that there was another living soul who
knew the Dark Lord as Tom Riddle.

“First year, the Chamber of Secrets. The Diary that your father gave me, that possessed me,
was V-V-Vol- Tom’s .” They shared a look of awe, connected by something so unbelievably
unique and horrific. The shared use of their bodies for Tom’s pleasure. “Draco. Why do you
call him Tom?”

He swallowed around the heavy lump in the back of his throat. “Because, that’s what he likes
to be called…when he…” Suddenly he was crying, and choking around the words that he had
only ever shared with Pansy. He considered keeping his secret, but Ginevra Weasley was the
only other person he knew who had experienced Tom in the same way he did. As a vessel, a
pliant pile of bones and soul to bring him closer to complete power. Pansy gave him comfort,
but Ginevra could give him understanding . He cleared his throat and continued, “He likes to
be called Tom when he’s using me.”

“Using you how, Draco?” She whispered, and he just looked at her. Letting his face fall apart
and show every ounce of heartbreak, disgust, and sorrow he felt towards himself after months
of being Abraxas.

As realization dawned over her, Draco had to look away. Not entirely sure what the reaction
would be. Perhaps she’d jump out of the seat in revulsion at touching Tom Riddle’s kept boy.

“Oh my Gods , Draco…” Her voice was quiet and filled with an unbridled mix of horror and
anguish.

“I’m only telling you, Ginevra, because you understand Tom like I do and I’m so, so sorry
about the Diary. If I had known what it was, I mean I couldn’t have done much because I was
12 but, fuck I would have tried .” He was babbling now, his words losing meaning and his
voice losing recognition as he choked on his sobs. He had never felt so vulnerable with a
person outside of Pansy, much less a Weasley. This realization quickened his breath until he
was hyperventilating, fear constricting his heart at the prospect of someone else knowing and
therefore making it all the more real.

“Hey, hey Draco shhhh it’s okay.” Ginevra cooed, and she lifted his hand to her chest.
“Breathe with me, okay? In…out…in…out.”

He followed her directions and after a minute or two, his panic began to recede. His breathing
was still labored but not nearly as fast and heavy as before.

“Please don’t tell anyone.” He implored her,

“I won’t Draco, I promise. Are you…does anyone else know?”

“Pansy knows, but that’s it. She takes care of me when I come back from a weekend with
him.”

“Merlin, every weekend ? Draco, are you sure you don’t want us to try and help you? I don’t
know where Harry is but I can try and talk to my parents or Bill and Fleur.”

“It’s no use. By letting Tom take what he needs from me, I can guarantee my parents safety
and Luna’s. Plus the Carrows won’t let me run Disciplinary Meetings if I’ve suddenly
defected to the light. I told you already, it’s nothing I can’t handle.” He started, and then
found himself desperate to lighten some of the tension in the room, “Do tell your boyfriend to
hurry up though, the school year is positively boring without the adventures of the Golden
Trio.”

She snorted at this, and the sound was so refreshing in the wake of his tears and her screams.

“Harry’s not even my boyfriend anymore, he broke up with me at Dumbledore's funeral.” She
chuckled, the air starting to feel lighter around him.

“At a funeral ? Really? Merlin Ginevra, you can do quite a bit better than the Boy Who’s
Never Seen a Hairbrush.”

“Oh no Draco, he’s seen a hairbrush. He just refuses to understand their purpose.”

They dissolved into laughter together, a sight he’d never thought he’d see.
“It’s a shame you’re not in Slytherin, Ginevra. You and Pansy would be a force to be
reckoned with.”

“Maybe once this is all over, you can introduce me.” She offered.

“I’m not too sure about that. After all, the end of a war is supposed to be a time for peace. I
highly doubt there’d be much of that once Pansy sinks her claws into you.” He smirked.

They continued to talk but, as the sky began to grow darker, they recognized that it was time
to leave. Too much longer and the school would assume he’d rendered the girl drooling and
within an inch of death. A strange link grew between them, a beautiful companionship borne
from the desire to reclaim their bodies from the decaying grasp of Tom Riddle.

As he returned to the dungeons and explained to Pansy that everything was fine and he just
needed to stage some unrest to talk to the Weaselette, they settled down in the common room
and shared stories about Winter break.

Greg and Theo sat together on the loveseat, one of Theo’s impossibly long legs slung over his
friend's thighs as they discussed their mutual disgust for Christmas Fruitcake. Adjacent to
them, Blaise and Millicent huddled close, his arm slung around her shoulders as they talked
through a prospective business plan for his future winemaking endeavor. Finally, there was
Vince and the Greengrass sisters on the floor in front of the fire. Daphne led him and Astoria
through a series of stretches that she had been doing every morning and evening since she
could just barely walk.

He shifted to sit on the floor, in between Pansy’s legs, and crossed his own as he absorbed the
comfort of the common room. Pansy brushed his hair with her finger and then began twisting
the strands into a soft, French braid.

Outside of this space, they were nothing more than the children of Death Eaters and future
recruits for the Dark side of the war. Inside though, they were just kids. Teenagers with
hopes, dreams, and fears. They shared laughter, knowledge, and body heat in the face of a
school that wrote them off as unsalvageable Dark Wizards.

Draco Malfoy was not brave, Draco Malfoy was not good, but Draco Malfoy was changing.
And maybe that was enough.

The new term carried on and moved ahead at a blinding speed. January ended with thick,
heavy layers of snow over the expansive Hogwarts grounds. February rendered fear in many
of the students as more and more attacks from the Dark Lord were reported on. While March
rolled over Scotland and began to let patches of sunlight through the thick clouds of winter.

He became a messenger of sorts, for Ginevra-or Ginny as she insists on being called-and
Luna. On Thursdays or Fridays a note would find itself in his palm or his pocket and he
would drop it off in the cellar to a beaming Luna Lovegood.

Every few weeks, he was able to sneak them both into an empty classroom or alcove so they
could just talk. It was the middle of February when he told her about Candyland, and was
able to coordinate a proper meeting that included an introduction with Pansy. All three of
them settled into the tiny nook and passed a bottle of wine that Blaise had brought back with
him from his Winter break.

As he’d expected, Pansy and Ginny were too powerful for their own good.

“Honestly Pansy, you’re brilliant . I never would have even considered using a modified
drying charm and sticking spell for lipstick to keep it from smudging!” Ginny exclaimed,
after watching Pansy reapply a layer of her favorite dark purple lip color and seal it with a
spell she’d invented.

“I only use my powers for the sake of beauty and vengeance.” Pansy smirked. Draco leaned
his head back and smiled as he watched the two women talk about spell creation and proper
color pairings.

The conversation ebbed and flowed as the wine steadily disappeared. They moved on through
topics like simple strokes through the water of a pool, a surprising trio of Purebloods who
decided then and there to end the decades long feud between families.

As the wine heated their cheeks and relaxed their inhibitions, the conversation inevitably
turned to more risqué discussion.

“Did you and Pansy do anything unbecoming after the Yule Ball?” Ginny asked, waggling
her brows in a far too exaggerated manner.

“Oh we definitely did, Ginevra. Just not with each other.” Draco responded as Pansy
hiccuped and moved to rest her head on the other girl's shoulder.

“Really? What happened?” Ginny’s eyes lit up with intrigue at the prospect of divulged
secrets which was yet another reason why he should have never allowed her within 6 feet of
Pansy Parkinson.

“I made out with Blaise and a girl from Beauxbatons, I think her name was Delphine? She
was positively lovely.” Pansy declared, then dropped her head from Ginny’s shoulder to her
lap. “My word Ginny, your thighs are quite strong.” Her words came out slightly muffled by
said thighs that she was now face down on.

“Pans you are such a lightweight, didn’t your mother teach you how to handle your liquor?
How else are you supposed to navigate the minefield that is brunch with pureblood ladies?”
Draco admonished, tipping the wine bottle back into his own mouth.

“Don’t change the subject, Draco. What did you do after the Ball?” Ginny questioned, and a
smile drifted onto his grape stained lips at the memory.

“I boarded the Durmstrang ship. In the name of international cooperation of course.”

“Shove off you cow , you boarded the ship to make out with those handsome Bulgarian
Boys.” Pansy huffed, now laying on her side as Ginny petted her sleek hair.

“That was part of the cooperation!” He yelped, and then felt his cheeks run even redder as he
was overcome with more laughter. “The hand jobs though…that was just an extra bit of fun.”

“Is everyone in Slytherin so wild?” Ginny asked, settling into the wall and blowing a strand
of hair out her face.

“I wouldn’t say we’re wild , Ginevra. It’s just that we know the value of a good time.” Draco
answered.

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Ginny !”

“Right, right sorry Ginny . Anyway it’s your turn now. Did you and Longbottom christen
those garish maroon sheets in the Gryffindor dorm?”

“Absolutely not. Neville was so sweet, but far too afraid of my legion of big brothers to do
anything more than peck me goodnight.”

“What a Gentleman he is, a proper pure blooded young man. I’ll write to my mother at once.”
Pansy said, as her eyes began to droop from the alcohol in her bloodstream. Draco and Ginny
sniggered at her, continuing to pass the bottle of wine back and forth.

“So, are all of the Gryffindors so prudish?” He drawled, and watched in amusement as a
blush further reddened Ginny’s cheeks.

“Not all of them. Dean and I always had a lot of fun together. He is rather skilled with his
tongue.” She said, her face positively mischievous. On her lap, Pansy snorted and turned,
flailing one of her hands around until it landed on Ginny’s cheek.

“Ginny you must tell me, I’m ever so curious…” Pansy started, bringing Ginny’s smiling
face closer to her own. “How well endowed is our Savior, Harry Potter?”

Draco, who was in the middle of drinking the dregs from the bottle of wine, promptly snorted
and choked on the fermented liquid. He coughed and sputtered all while trying to suppress
the quaking laughter in his chest.

“Pansy you are such a slag!” He exclaimed, and took note of how Ginny was laughing so
fiercely that her eyes watered and scrunched.

It was so nice to see tears that sprung from happiness for a change.

“Sadly, I’m not very familiar with it. When Harry and I were together he was always rather
preoccupied. Sometimes with the war, but most of the time with his obsession with our dear
Draco.” As she said this, Draco held a hand over his heart and fluttered his pale lashes, “He
let me give him a hand job once but he seemed rather distracted.”

“As I’ve already said Ginny, you can do so much better.” Draco said, and Pansy patted
Ginny’s cheek in agreement.
As the students of the castle trudged through March, they all prepared for Winter term exams
before they were due to return home for Easter Hols in April. Everyone could feel the
impending doom of battle lurking in the distance, with concerns over the Dark Lord and his
ever growing power.

Weekends at the manor were becoming much more welcome, as Tom was frequently out on
business and unable to take advantage of Draco’s presence. He spent the days visiting with
his parents and talking to Luna and Ollivander in the cellars. Even the goblin, Griphook he
later learned, would chime in on occasion with an anecdote or question.

Objectively speaking, things were going well.

Too well.

Which is why he wasn’t surprised to return home for Easter Holiday to a somber mood in the
manor.

Tom was out again, on some mission to retrieve an artifact that he claimed would give him
the power he needed once and for all to defeat Harry Potter.

Draco chose not to comment.

As he sat in the library a few days into Easter Hols, his reading was interrupted by the arrival
of Mipsy the house elf.

“Master Draco is being asked to come to the Entrance Hall!” She informed him, and bowed
her little head.

“Thank you Mipsy, I’ll head down now.” He muttered, using a folded piece of parchment to
mark his place in the book he was reading. Mipsy apparated away as Draco stood from the
chair, stretching his body and feeling the pleasure of his spine cracking and popping.

He left the library and sat off towards the entrance hall, where he was immediately greeted by
the apprehensive expression of his father.

“Come, Draco.” His father said, reaching out a hand and wrapping it around his shoulders.
Draco’s hair remained tightly pulled back, leaving his face open and guarded as he looked
around the hall to take notice of all who was there.

To his left, in the tight grip of the snatchers, was Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. Draco
felt his stomach plummet as he sighted them with wands pointed at their throats.

“If you can confirm this is him, Draco, think of how pleased the Dark Lord will be? We will
be rewarded, you will be free .” His father whispered, and Draco furrowed his brows as he
listened.

Once his father was done talking, Draco followed his gaze to see Aunt Bella standing with a
twisted grin and her wand pointed at a man on his knees with a swollen face, messy hair, and
one open eye staring straight at him.
 A green eye.

A green eye he would recognize anywhere after years of following it in the halls and sneering
at it when he craved the man’s attention.

“Go on then Draco, tell us. Is it him? Is it Harry Potter?” Aunt Bella cackled, and Draco
lowered himself to his knees.

Fucking Hell Potter…how am I going to get you out of here?

Chapter End Notes

Omg :O
 Buying Time
Chapter Notes

Warnings: descriptions of blood and torture.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 15: Buying Time

When Draco was eight years old, he broke a 16th Century Rouen Faience Vase that had been
gifted to the Malfoy Family by King Henry III of France in 1582. It was a stunning piece of
art, handcrafted and painted with delicate brush strokes and careful glazing to seal the cracks
of the lime salt based material. The intricate pattern that had been drawn on the pottery curled
and set in the highly revered lambrequin style of art that reflected hours upon hours of work
and years of experience at the hands of the artist.

The vase lived on one of the inset shelves that lined the walls of the Malfoy Manor Entrance
Hall, and had survived 500 years in impeccable condition. The house elves dusted it by hand,
as magic was far too sensitive for the centuries old finery. Charms had frequently been placed
around it, for protection and longevity, and generations of Malfoy descendants were taught to
regard the vase with great respect and care. It was an ever present reminder of the regality
and importance of the Malfoy Family lineage, proof that those who sprouted from the Family
Tapestry were chosen and revered by the King himself.

Until a crisp Fall Afternoon, when a burst of accidental magic from Draco shattered the vase
to pieces.

He had just returned from a play date with Vince and clung tightly to his mothers’ hand. They
walked up the long manor drive that was lined with bursting flower beds and finely trimmed
hedges together, and he listened to her recount of lunch with Vince’s mother, Irma.

As they climbed the entrance steps and opened the heavy front doors of the manor, Draco and
his mother were shocked to see the smiling face of Lucius Malfoy.

“Father! You’re home!” Draco exclaimed, and let go of his mothers hand to run into his
Fathers waiting hug. Lucius had been gone for six months on some sort of business trip that
his young mind could never comprehend. The house felt off kilter without the Patriarch of the
Family, and Draco and his mother spent the months trading stories and memories of the three
as a family.

Draco loved his parents very much. In fact, he loved them so much that the sight of his father
after a six month long absence caused his magic to leap and sing so violently that it reached
from end to end in the entrance hall and broke the wards that protected the various gifted
artefacts around them. Several of the busts, sculptures, and pottery shook with the force but
there was only one casualty.

The 16th Century Lambrequin Style Rouen Faience Vase that was just to the right of where
he and his father had reunited.

All three Malfoys jumped at the burst of power, and his mother let out a gasp as the vase
settled in shards on the parquet floor.

“Draco…” His father murmured, eyes wide and face astonished.

“I’m sorry father! I’m so sorry!” Draco yelled, chewing on his bottom lip and staring at the
broken pile. Bulbous tears drained over his cheeks and he felt the comforting hands of his
mother rubbing his back and brushing through his hair.

“Look at me, Draco.” His father commanded, and he wrenched his eyes from the vase and
turned them as requested. “Never apologize for being powerful.”

“I’m…powerful?” Draco sniffed, confused at his fathers calm reaction.

“Yes Draco, you are. The wards we have over the art in this hall are meant to be
impenetrable. You have rendered them obsolete from a single burst of accidental magic .”
His father told him, and Draco wiped his face with the back of his hand.

“I didn’t mean to, Father. I just missed you so much. I love you!” He exclaimed, and found
himself leaning into the soothing touches of his mother behind him.

His father smiled at him, and pulled out his wand. Draco watched with wide, watery eyes as
the older man swished his hand and repaired the broken vase with ease. His mother drew her
own wand and levitated the art piece back onto the shelf.

“My father told me when I was around your age, that love can make a Wizard incredibly
powerful. It can be a mighty conduit for magic, and I’m honored to bear witness to how
strong it has made you.” His father said, with a face lit up in pride.

“You will be a force to be reckoned with, Dragon.” His mother told him, crouching down
next him and his father and tapping his nose with one of her beautifully dainty fingers.

“I’m powerful…because I love you?” Draco was astonished at the idea that something so
simple as loving his mother and father would make his magic so intense.

“Yes Draco, and it’s a wonderful thing.”

Draco thought of that incident for years. The reminder of it forever sitting in the Entrance
Hall and catching his gaze whenever he walked by. He loved his parents so fiercely that his
magic could break wards, explode stone, and level foundation.

He loved his parents so fiercely that he gave his body over to a madman in exchange for
protection and safety.
Kneeling once again, on the floor of the Entrance Hall next to that cerulean and cream 16th
century vase, he knew he loved his parents enough to betray Tom Riddle and save Harry
Potter.

“Is it him , Draco?!” Aunt Bella screeched above him, and Draco bored his eyes into the
unswollen green iris of the only man who could defeat Lord Voldemort once and for all.

“I can’t…I can’t be sure.” He answered. Denying that this man was Harry Potter would get
him killed, identifying him would have him handed over to Tom. Draco needed to spark some
confusion, to hang the fate of this prisoner in purgatory for a little while.

Draco needed to buy some time .

“It’s alright, Dragon. Come with me.” His mother whispered, and lifted him from the floor.
He turned away from the engorged face of the Chosen One and let himself be led away.

Behind him, he heard the sound of spells being cast and bodies slamming into the ground as
his Aunt Bella shouted for information on some sort of sword that had been found with the
trio. He heard her order, “Take them to the cellar! I need to have a chat with this one. Girl to
girl.” and knew where he needed to go next.

Except he couldn’t go anywhere until his mother was further away from the western wing.

“Can we go to your rooms, Mother?” He asked, and she answered with a smile and a nod.

“Of course, Dragon.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek and together they walked the long,
empty manor halls.

They flinched as they heard the sounds of Granger screaming, but continued forward to their
destination.

As they entered the master suite, his mother led him to the couch by the fire and sat him
down. Her face was etched with fine lines from worry and stress, but she looked every bit as
beautiful as she ever had.

“Mother, do you remember when I broke the vase in the entrance hall?” He asked quietly, and
she lifted a hand to hold and caress his cheek.

“I do, Darling.”

“And do you remember what father said? That I was powerful, because I love you?”

His mother nodded.

“I would do, and have done, a lot for you and father, because I love you both so much. All I
want is for this to be over, all I want is for us to be together and to be safe. ”

“That’s all I want too.” She responded, and a single tear rolled down her cheek. Catching the
light of the sun and transforming itself into a shimmering diamond on her flawless, pale skin.
“Then you’ll understand that there is…something I need to do. Something that will get us
closer to that.” Draco watched her lip tremble from the force of grief and sadness. His parents
did not know what happened during his time in the northern wing study, but they both
understood that he was doing whatever he did for them .

“I don’t want to see you get hurt.” She whispered, as more tears began to fall.

“Then close your eyes, and stay up here.” He whispered, and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
Her face contorted pitifully as she began to sob, and he held her close for the few minutes he
could give her.

“Draco…my Dragon…please.” She cried, and he shushed her as gently as he could. His
mother knew him, though. She knew that there was nothing she could say that would stop
him, he was a man of great determination, great cunning, and great ambition.

He was a Slytherin, after all, and it was time to use his skills for good .

You are not good, Draco Malfoy, but you can do good things.

He kissed his mothers cheek one final time before standing up from the couch and heading to
the door. He needed to get to the cellar, and he needed to get there fast.

As he passed the ballroom, he was caught by Aunt Bella who was bent over the crying and
sobbing form of Hermione Granger.

“There you are, Drakey! Go to the cellar and fetch the goblin. I need his eye for something.”
She cackled.

“I hope you weren’t planning on murdering the mudblood just yet, dear Aunt. I’m quite
interested in a play date.” He smirked, and fought hard to look away from the painful
pleading of Granger.

“Come back with the Goblin, and I’ll trade you.” Her voice, tinged with madness, grated his
bones.

As he resumed his journey to the cellar, he stopped just outside the western wing corridor that
stood empty and quiet.

“Libby?” He whispered, and relief flooded his veins as the elf arrived with a pop.

“Hello Draco!” Libby said, and Draco shushed her as he crouched down to see her face to
face.

“Hello Libby, can you do me a favor?” His voice was quiet and urgent, aware of what little
time he had.

“Of course, Draco. What can Libby be doing for you?”

“Find Dobby at Hogwarts, tell him to come to the cellar in the manor. Harry Potter is here
and he needs help.”
Libby nodded her head vigorously before responding, “I will find Dobby, Draco!”

He thanked her as she apparated away, and he set a brisk pace for the cellar. He heard
pounding on the wall and burst through the door to see Ron Weasley crying and beating on
the stone.

“You’re not a ghost yet, Weasel. You won’t have much luck trying to push through something
solid.”

What? Draco said he’d help, he never said he’d play nice .

“Draco, we have new friends! Although I don’t think the tea table is large enough for
everyone.” Luna said and he crossed the cellar to envelop her in a hug.

“Oh dear Luna, I’m going to miss you.” He murmured into her soft, bright hair.

“Do not miss me, Draco. I’m perfectly certain we’ll see each other again soon.” She
responded, and he released her just enough to send her a smile.

“Malfoy?!” He turned to see the slowly returning face of Potter, and recognized that it was
probably best to cut to the chase.

“Aunt Bella sent me down here to get Griphook to identify something you three were
traveling with. I’ll try and keep her distracted while you get Ollivander and Luna out of
here.” He explained

“And how the fuck do you expect me to do that?” Potter asked, voice thick with anger.

“By shutting up and listening , you half wit!” Draco snarled, “I sent a friend to find Dobby,
hopefully he’ll be here soon.”

“Why should we trust you of all people?”

“Potter we do not have time for you to wrap your pea sized brain around this! Send
Ollivander and Luna somewhere safe, then find a way to get to the ballroom so you can take
Griphook and Granger and get the fuck out of here.” The clock was ticking and Draco felt
anxiety thrum along his nerve endings.

“Draco is quite sweet, Harry. Perhaps you could save him too?” Luna asked, and the
frustration he felt melted away as he turned to her and reached over to squeeze her hand.

“There is no saving me, Luna. So it’s your job to keep Potter and the Weasel in line.” He told
her, and smiled at the giggle he was given as a response.

Potter and Weasley were staring at him with open mouths, and he rolled his eyes once he
noticed them. Hopefully once he left the room, they would snap back into action.

“Griphook, will you come with me please?” He asked and as the Goblin walked over, Potter
whispered something frantically into his ear. If the Golden Boys words held any weight with
the creature, Draco couldn’t tell, as his face remained the same.
Draco led Griphook up the steps and into the ballroom, where Aunt Bella was taunting
Granger with her wand. He heard the distant sound of a pop and knew that Dobby had finally
arrived. A second pop came and Draco cursed internally as it caught the attention of his
Aunt.

“Did you hear that? From the cellar? Pettigrew, go and see what that was about. Now!” She
demanded, and Draco watched the other man scamper away. “Ah nephew, you’ve returned!
You may have to wait for the mudblood though, she’s taking a quick little nap.”

Draco looked down and saw that Granger had passed out on the floor, undoubtedly from
being forced to endure Bella’s cruciatus.

“Always taking all of the fun for yourself.” He muttered, and led Griphook over to identify
the sword.

As the Goblin confirmed the sword was a fake, Draco walked over to check on Granger. She
was still breathing, and he considered that a win.

Suddenly, the doors to the ballroom burst open and Potter and the Weasel came valiantly
soaring through.

“Expelliarmus!” The Weasel cast, disarming his Aunt and sending her wand flying through
the air.

“Stupefy!” Potter yelled, and Draco watched the spell hit his father who was already
wandless and defeated.

As Greyback entered the ballroom and shot his own series of spells, Draco watched Potter
and the Weasel take cover behind one of the couches in the sitting area of the large room. He
moved away from Granger and sent a wordless protection spell over the two, keeping
Greyback and his claws at bay. Hopefully, in the confusion, the shield wouldn’t be traced
back to him.

“ENOUGH!” Aunt Bella screeched, and Draco turned to see her holding a knife to Granger's
throat. “Surrender your wands to Draco, or I’ll paint the floor with her blood.”

Reluctantly, Potter and Weasley held their wands out and Draco went to grab them. The two
Gryffindors sent him looks of anger and he responded with a snarl before turning away.

As he made his way back towards his Aunt, he realized that none of the wands in his hand
were Potters. There was his, Pettigrew’s, and Aunt Bella’s. Which meant that Potter was
casting from a borrowed wand, which meant Potter didn’t have his .

Well, fuck.

Draco stared at the wands in his hand as he remembered what Ollivander had told him during
his second visit to the dungeons.

“Typically this is determined by the Wizard who the wand holds original allegiance to. So
perhaps two people aren’t in a relationship in the traditional sense, but for some reason or
another the wand's master trusts the other witch or wizard unconditionally. This would allow
the wand to be wielded by the other person.”

Potter did not have a wand. Potter needed a wand to defeat Tom. Potter needed a wand that
would work for him.

Which is why Draco did something that went against every ounce of self preservation that he
had in his body.

He concentrated on his magic, and followed the way it linked and hummed with the unicorn
hair core and hawthorn wood in his hand.

I trust Harry Potter unconditionally. I trust him to wield you and save us all. He thought, and
hoped desperately that it was enough.

Above them, the crystal chandelier fell from the ceiling and crashed into the ballroom floor.
In the ensuing chaos, Draco watched Potter run towards him and wrestle the wands from his
grasp. He saw the Weasel grab Granger and watched as the Golden trio plus Griphook and
Dobby disapparated from the manor. He watched Aunt Bella's knife fly through the air and
into the void with them, crossing his fingers that it didn’t hit Potter.

He fell against the wall, and took in big, gulping breaths.

They were gone. They had all escaped, and the war was not yet over.

As he listened to the enraged yelling of his Aunt and saw Tom glide into the ballroom
moments later, he realized that the war may very well be over, for him at least.

“He lied , my Lord. He knew it was Potter and let him get away!” Aunt Bella shrieked and
pointed at him.

Draco stared into Tom’s eyes and watched as he slowly crossed the length of the ballroom.
Red eyes gazed down at him as he sat among the wreckage of the once magnificent
chandelier.

“Stand up.” Tom snarled, and Draco obliged. Slowly lifting himself from the ground, he
stood as tall and as strong as he could. Tom took his arm into a tight, bruising grip and
apparated the both of them to the northern wing study.

Draco resigned to his fate. He had no wand, no defenses, and no choice but to sit and wait for
the consequences to befall him.

Tom bared his teeth in anger as he looked over Draco’s body, probably assessing for
particularly weak spots.

“I should kill you right now.” He sneered, pulling the yew wand out and pointing it in
Draco’s direction.

“You won’t, Tom.” He responded, calmly and evenly.

“Don’t call me that!” He roared, “ Abraxas would never have betrayed me.”

“I am not Abraxas, My Lord.” Draco sneered, standing defiantly against the other man.

“So you’ve said.”

The next thing Draco knew, he was in excruciating pain. He heard the words interficiam ut
turpis uttered as Tom cast the spell but lost the thought to the wave of nausea that rolled over
him.

All he could see was thick, red blood as it cascaded down his face. His face that Tom had just
cut apart. He felt the skin over his cheekbones, forehead, and lips be sliced deeply and
unforgiving. It was a white hot pain, the kind of pain that made the soul transcend from the
body as the nerve endings fought for relief.

The next spell that hit him was cruciatus. Draco crumbled to the floor, screaming and crying
as the curse tore his body apart. He hadn’t felt Tom’s crucio in so long, but it had never been
like this . The anger of his betrayal was channeled into the curse and all Draco could do was
weep and yell as the pain overwhelmed him. He laid on his stomach, his still bleeding face
pressing into the floor of the study and choking on sobs.

Finally, it ended, and tremors roared across his body. Feeling aftershocks of the curse that had
been flung at him so violently.

In the silence that followed, as his sobs came to an end and his body settled into a welcome
numbness, he spoke.

“Do you remember what Abraxas told you, when you tried to persuade him to make a
horcrux?” He said with a voice so strained and hoarse it creaked like rotted wood.

“He told me he couldn’t because of Lucius.” Tom answered from above him, and Draco felt
red eyes burning into his back.

“No Tom, he told you that love is your enemy. Love will win this war, not you.”

“ Avada Kedavra. ” Draco heard the killing curse leave Tom's lips through a snarl and
prepared for death.

Except, it did not come.

There was no stream of green light, no heavy force of dark magic. Draco remained still as his
mind swam with the realization that Tom truly could not kill him.

To cast an unforgivable, the Wizard has to mean it. Tom could not cast Avada Kedavra at
him, because he couldn’t possibly bring himself to kill Abraxas.

Draco turned his head slightly, and blinked his eye to focus on Tom above him. He looked
shocked and enraged at the yew wand, before closing his eyes and turning away from where
Draco was sprawled. Bloody and shaking, but still alive .
“Get out. Go back to Hogwarts. We are done here.” Tom ordered.

“I’m not leaving just so you can kill my parents.” He spat from the ground.

“I won’t kill them.”

“Why should I believe that?”

“Because…I can’t lose Abraxas again.” Tom answered, and Draco understood. The other
man still needed him to play his role after the war was won, and Draco would not fulfill his
fantasy if Narcissa and Lucius did not survive.

He gingerly pushed himself up from the floor. Blazing eyes followed him as he limped,
slowly to the floo. With one last look at Tom, he threw the powder down and called for the
Headmaster’s office.

As he tumbled out of the hearth and fell to his knees on the floor, he heard a sharp gasp fall
from Severus’ mouth.

“Draco…” His Godfather murmured, and he did his best to remain conscious.

“My face, Severus. Can you heal it?”

“Do you know what he used on you?”

Draco took a loud gulp as he rifled through his memory for the spell.

“I heard, ‘ interficiam ut turpis ’.” He answered, and watched as the skin on his Godfathers
face lost some of it's color.

“It’s a very dark cutting curse, meant to destroy the beauty of the victim. I can heal the cuts,
but they will leave behind thick scars.”

He nodded his understanding and let himself be gently lifted by Severus. He was seated in a
chair and let his head fall against the backrest, overcome with exhaustion from all that had
occurred.

His Godfather fluttered his wand around and Draco heard the familiar humming and tune of
the healing spell that Severus used on him the year before.

When Potter had cut him, leaving him marked for death in the flooding bathroom.

Sadness and panic sparked through his body as his mind played through the memory of the
duel in Myrtle's bathroom. Draco was too evil for the savior and too good for the Dark Lord.
There was nowhere for him, and it was frightening.

He felt a soft squeeze on his hand and opened his eyes to meet Severus’ and smiled softly in
thanks as the blood was vanished and cleaned. He could feel the tightness on his face as the
skin raised into thick, ropey scars.
“Can I see them?” He asked. Slowly, Severus transfigured a quill on his desk into a mirror
and handed it over to him.

Draco closed his eyes and took a deep breath before looking at his reflection. He choked as
he caught sight of the angry, red scars that tore across his face. Each line was straight, and
looked as if they had been caused from the slow drag of a knife rather than the claws of an
animal. They were deliberate tracks, marking his skin for an eternity plus a day. The largest
one stretched from his left temple, through his brow and over his eye, before ending just
above the right corner of his mouth. Smaller ones criss crossed over his cheeks and forehead,
with another diagonal scar cut across the bridge of his nose.

As upsetting as it was to add his beauty to the list of things that Tom had stolen from him, he
found himself comforted by a reflection that no longer resembled Abraxas Malfoy.

“Where is your wand?” Severus asked.

“Gone.” He answered.

It’s in better hands, He thought.

“Is there anything you need?”

“I can’t return to the manor, not for a little while. Will you be able to go there soon? To tell
my parents that I’m okay? I didn’t have the chance to see them before he sent me away.”
Draco said, overcome with a longing for his mother and father.

Severus nodded and Draco relaxed a bit, letting out a long stream of breath.

“Are you able to return to the dorms?”

“Yes. Everyone is gone for Easter, I won’t be bothered.”

“I will send a small jar of dittany with a house elf. The scars will remain but the salve will
soften their appearance and loosen the tightness in your skin.”

Draco nodded and stood, Severus following his lead. He walked slowly over to his
Godfather, and felt a set of long, strong arms wrap around his shoulders. He hugged back and
buried his damaged face in the robes of the Potions Master.

“Thank you, Severus. You have always been so good to me.” He said, knowing that his
Godfather cared about him a remarkable amount. They separated with soft goodbyes, and
Draco left the office to return to the dungeons.

The corridors of the castle were deserted which he was eternally grateful for, not yet ready to
display his new face to the world. He spoke the password to the stone, and stepped back as it
crumbled away to reveal the common room entrance. Slowly, he climbed the staircase to the
7th year dorms and pushed his way inside.

He was surprised to see that the dorm wasn’t empty, and panicked slightly at Theo reading
quietly on his bed. His friend lifted his gaze from his book with a soft smile that melted into a
look of horror and concern as he saw that mutilated face of Draco Malfoy.

Theo moved quickly from the bed towards him, and reached down to softly cradle Draco’s
head in his hands.

“Draco, oh my gods. What happened?” He said, voice full of care and comfort.

“I was punished.” He responded, and Theo’s face flushed as he comprehended the words.

“Come to bed with me.” Theo said softly, and Draco nodded and followed. They settled into
the familiar green sheets together, and Draco laid his throbbing head on his friend's warm
chest. He listened to the soothing rhythm of Theo’s heartbeat and hummed as fingertips
danced lightly along his spine.

“Are the scars permanent?” Theo asked.

“Yes. He used dark magic.” Draco answered.

“You could wear a glamour.”

Draco shrugged and brought a finger up to draw slow circles into Theo’s sternum.

“My wand is gone.” He finally said, “And I don’t think I want to cover them.”

“Really?” Theo breathed out, astonished that the ever vain Draco Malfoy was so unconcerned
with his newfound ugliness.

“He liked me because I was pretty, and I’m not pretty anymore.”

“You’re still pretty, Draco. Just now, it’s in a different way.”

They let the quiet air of the dorm rub against them, enjoying the peacefulness of the empty
room. Draco thought again of the broken vase and how, even after being repaired by his
mother, he could still see the ghosts of cracks in the pottery from where it had shattered into
bits and pieces. Perhaps they were just a trick of his memory, or perhaps they really were
there. Subtle lines beneath the surface of the translucent glaze.

Regardless, the vase never lost its wonder. The carefully painted art still looked every bit as
bright as before. Draco ran his fingers through all of the memories he had of the vase as if he
was dipping into the cook waters of a stream and settled on one final conclusion.

Love is a powerful magic that can lead to broken things, but broken things do not lose their
value or their meaning. Draco may have been broken that evening in the northern wing study,
but Tom did not drain him of his worth or of his beauty.

He merely shattered a vase, and Draco would put it back together stronger than it was before.
Chapter End Notes

Thank you for taking this journey with me so far <3

 The Battle of Hogwarts
Chapter Notes

Got a big one for y’all <3

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 16: The Battle of Hogwarts

Draco had never felt a cruciatus curse linger as long as this one. After the adrenaline had
worn off the night he returned to Hogwarts and crawled into Theo’s bed, he awoke to harsh
muscle cramps and bone deep aches that leeched his energy and weighed on him like a
boulder. Every touch to his skin with the slightest hint of pressure made pain blossom
through his body like droplets of ink spreading in a glass of water. It was an endless and
debilitating thing, leaving him primarily bed ridden as the days passed.

As Severus promised, a jar of dittany salve was delivered to the dorms the first night he was
back, and ever since it showed up Theo would carefully apply it to the puckered, irritated
skin on Draco’s face. He felt guilty for being so happy that Theo stayed at the school for
Easter, but washed it away with the numbing effect of pain potions and calming drought.

Pansy returned two days before classes resumed, and nearly drowned the dorm room with
seeping lake water from the windows that cracked and splintered from the force of her magic.
She knelt by the side of his bed and hovered her hands over his body, careful not to touch the
damaged and healing nerve endings. Theo knelt beside her and held her back to his chest as
she sobbed and yelled at the sight of her disfigured and incapacitated best friend.

He did his best to soothe her, to tell her that he would be okay. That he would heal, they
would survive, and the war would eventually end. But words did not leave him easily these
days. They stuck to the roof of his mouth like thick globs of honey and clogged his throat so
tightly that sometimes it felt as though he were breathing through thick, thorny vines. His
voice was nothing more than a hoarse whisper most of the time, and his eyes often unfocused
as remnants of the curse wreaked havoc inside of him.

“I won’t ever let him touch you again, Draco. I won’t even let him get anywhere near you. I
will stupefy Potter and deliver him over to the Death Eaters on a silver platter if it means you
will never have to suffer again.” Pansy said to him. Her cheeks were streaked with thick,
black trails of dried eye makeup and he caught sight of where her dark lipstick had smudged
onto her teeth. She continued to plot the demise of anyone and everyone she could think of
and, as she spoke, he turned his attention to her shining, glinting eyes.
He had always loved Pansy’s eyes. They reminded him of rich and decadent chocolate made
from the finest cocoa beans. She was so gorgeous, and he needed her to know. He didn’t care
about the war or Tom or whatever the fuck was happening outside of the dungeons at that
very moment. He only cared about his friends and his family, the people he would keep
taking crucios for if it kept them away from harm.

“You’re….s-so beautiful…Pans.” He pushed the words out in a whisper, interrupting her

tirade, and worked hard to keep his eyes focused on hers.

“Shove off, you prat.” She whimpered and the faintest smile touched his lips as he watched a
blush rise to her cheeks.

“Love you.” He responded and pursed his lips the tiniest bit to blow her a kiss.

“I love you too, you complete arsehole.” She cried, and buried her face in her hands. Theo
made calm shushing noises and rocked her body slowly, keeping her well protected in his
hold.

Draco fell asleep then, too exhausted to lift his heavy eyelids.

He slept for hours-or maybe days, he couldn’t quite tell-and awoke next to be greeted by the
concerned face of Blaise Zabini. It looked as if Blaise had drug a chair over to sit patiently at
the side of his bed, with his elbows on the comforter and his chin sat atop laced fingers.

“Blaise?” He rasped, and dark eyes immediately turned to his own.

“Morning, Princess.” Blaise smirked, and Draco used what little energy he had replenished to
roll his eyes. Blaise let out a soft chuckle, before turning his face to a grave expression.
“Draco I…when I came back last night…I walked in here and I thought you were dead .
Thank Merlin Theo was still here, I had half a mind to run across the dorm and shake you by
your shoulders.”

Blaise cleared his throat and looked away before continuing, “I’ve seen death a bit, you
know? I mean I’ve lost four step dads to “natural causes” but Draco…I’ve never seen death
touch someone I care so fucking much about. I know everyone sees me as someone who
doesn’t concern himself with serious things, that I just float through life with confidence and
ease. Maybe that’s true most of the time, but it wasn’t when I walked in here and saw you
lying on this bed so incredibly still that you looked like a bloody corpse.”

Blaise’s gaze found him again, and Draco took notice of how his eyes filled with unshed
tears. “You’re important to me, Draco. You’re important to all of us. Everyone outside of this
damn dungeon may see you as some antagonistic prat-which you are, don’t get me wrong-but
they’ve never had the chance to see you as anything more. You’re the person who helped
Vince and Greg pass their OWLs fifth year because you tutored them every night for weeks.
You’re the person that protects all of the wide eyed firsties who are treated as lost causes the
moment that damn hat sorts them into Slytherin. You’re the person who always climbs into
bed with me and rubs my back when I wake up from nightmares about losing my mum
because of all the rumors about her.”
Blaise screwed his eyes close then, and Draco watched in shock as tears fell out of the
corners. Blaise so rarely cried, even when he woke up from those nightmares with muscles
tensed tight with worry. He opened his eyes again and continued, “I don’t know what they’re
doing to you when you go home. I don’t know what happened to lead to this , but I know you
don’t deserve it. You’re just a kid, Draco. Merlin, we’re all just fucking kids and we’re
expected to fight in a war that started decades before we were even born. Forced to choose
between our families and the side of ‘good’ that’s being led by the very people that have
secluded us for years because Slytherin is the house that ‘breeds evil’.”

“I don’t want to fight, Draco. I never did, but I’ll take care of you. No matter what happens or
who wins, I’ll be here for you, Draco. Just like you’ve been here for me, for all of us over the
years. We may not be as close as you and Pansy or Vince or Greg but that doesn’t matter.
You’re a good friend, Draco. You may be a high society git that’s too witty for his own good
most days but you’re important to so many people here, for good reason.”

Blaise unfolded his hands then and, after a moment of thought, slid one under Draco’s hand
that sat palm down and limp on the comforter. He curled his fingers around it with careful
gentleness, but Draco still felt a hitch in his breath as a muted sensation of pain traveled up to
his wrist. Blaise winced at the sound, “Sorry, I’m sorry. I just, I needed to feel that you were
still here.”

“It’s okay.” Draco consoled him, still soaking up Blaise’s monologue. “You’re important to
me too, Blaise.” Speaking was getting easier, and his pain had dulled quite a bit. He was
getting better, slowly but surely.

“Whenever I think about the future, about life after Hogwarts, you’re always there. You,
Millicent, Pansy, Blaise, Theo, Vince, Greg, Daphne, and Astoria. The only time I thought
about a future that didn’t include you was last night, when I thought you were…gone. I didn’t
like it, Draco. It felt so incomplete.”

“Blaise…life would go on without me. I’m not that essential.” Draco told him, as he held his
breath so he could attempt to squeeze his friend's hand.

“I know, I know it would. It wouldn’t be the same, though. The future wouldn’t be the same
without any of you lot coming to my vineyard and drinking all of my wine.” They shared a
soft laugh before Blaise continued, “The point is, I had to face the reality of this war last
night. I thought I’d be able to float through the battles and stay out of the line of fire-which I
still intend to do honestly, I haven’t had some sort of call to action that’s got me foaming at
the mouth to see combat-but, I realized that I don’t need to choose a side to ‘fight’ for. I’m
choosing to fight for people, for my friends who I picture my future alongside. I love you
guys, and that’s enough for me.” Blaise finished, and let out a long stream of breath as his
shoulders slumped from exhaustion.

“Thank you, Blaise.” Draco said, and looked at his friend with a soft smile and open
expression. Blaise smiled back, and slowly extracted his hand from where it held his.

“I have to go tell Theo and Pansy you’re awake, I asked them to leave so I could say all of
that to you without an audience. Can’t have the whole house know that I possess feelings
outside of mild annoyance and general indifference.”
“Of course Blaise, Merlin forbid we see you as anything other than one dimensional.”

They shared another smile, and Draco watched him leave the dorm room before settling back
into the pillows and resting his eyes.

Which of course, meant he fell right back asleep.

He awoke next to the strange sight of Ginevra Weasley sitting in a chair, facing him, with her
long, athletic legs propped up on his bed near his elbow and crossed at the ankles. She was
reading, of all things, a copy of Witch Weekly that he recognized as Pansy’s from over a year
ago.

What? The cover promised an exclusive interview and photoshoot with the men of the
Appleby Arrows Quidditch team and Draco was very interested in their league stats.

“Evening, Ginevra.” He greeted, and was pleased to note that he was feeling closer to normal
than before. A much welcome change to the puddle of pain he’d awoken in previously.

She lowered the magazine and sent him a very, unimpressed glare. “You’re never going to
call me Ginny, are you?”

“Hmm, I suppose I could revert to Weaselette.” He mused, catching the way her mouth
twitched and eyes sparkled at his familiar humor.

“I’ll settle for Ginevra, you prat.” She removed her crossed legs from his bed spread-and
really, when he’s feeling better he will be discussing proper etiquette with her-then leaned
forward with her elbows on her knees. “Are you okay?”

He shrugged, half heartedly, “I’m okay enough. It’s been a while since Tom used cruciatus on
me, I lost my tolerance for it. He also happened to be…particularly upset at that moment.”

“And…your face?” She whispered. Draco let out a sigh and turned his eyes to the canopy of
his bed.

“It’s some sort of dark curse to destroy someone’s beauty, I guess. Perhaps that was the
punishment? Everyone knows how conceited we Malfoy's are, hard to be that way when it
looks like I met the wrong end of a meat cleaver.”

“Only you, Draco, would get hit with a spell to steal beauty and still look good .” She
snorted. He rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile that lifted the corner of his
mouth. “I’m serious. You’re annoyingly handsome.”

“It runs in the family.” He murmured, ignoring the uneasiness that licked at his skin as he
thought about his grandfather.

You are not Abraxas. Not anymore.

Ginevra took notice of his change in demeanor and turned her expression to one of concern.
She scooted the chair closer to him before asking, “Why did he punish you?”
“I helped Potter escape the manor.” He told her. She sucked in a breath at the mention of the
Golden Boy and her eyes lit up in desperate curiosity.

“Was he there with my brother and Hermione? Did he take Luna?”

“Worry not, Ginevra. Boy Wonder was magnificent. He managed to liberate all of the
prisoners and destroy a centuries old crystal chandelier.” Draco told her, then launched into
an explanation of what happened from the time he was summoned to identify Potter to when
he returned to the dormitory. Leaving out the part about Tom being unable to cast the killing
curse, of course.

“That was really brave of you, you know.” Ginevra said.

“Bravery is not a Malfoy trait, Ginevra. It was entirely self-serving, I couldn’t let Potter stay
in my house and do all sorts of Gryffindor things.” He huffed.

“I would expect nothing less of you.” She smirked in a way that resembled Pansy far too
much for his liking.

“I’m going to have to limit your exposure to Pansy, the world couldn’t possibly handle too
much of the both of you.”

They talked some more, about easy things like favorite dishes served in the hall and which
paintings in the corridors were most likely to snitch on students sneaking around. It was
simple conversation, and just what he needed at that moment.

It wasn’t until they started ranking the Hogwarts Quidditch captains over the years that he
thought to ask how in the hell she made it to his dorm in one piece.

“Oh! I noticed you weren’t in the great hall for meals, and I started to get worried. Classes
have started again and I couldn’t find you anywhere . It was hard to find Pansy too, she’s
been a bit of a frantic mess since coming back from Easter Hols which worried me even
more. I was finally able to corner her in a classroom and she told me you had been hurt really
badly while home for break. I told her to take me to you right then and there and, well, here I
am.” She explained.

“None of the other Slytherins stopped you or freaked out?” He asked, still confused.

“Oh they definitely tried to, but Pansy put a stop to it. She told everyone that I was her friend
and that she was taking me to see you. Theo went red, he tried to block the stairs to the
dorms. He kept saying you needed rest and not to be hounded by some Gryffindor. So before
we came up, Pansy explained that the three of us have been secret friends for the past few
months. No one believed me until I told them I knew about Candyland.”

That certainly made sense, Candyland was a closely guarded secret among their small circle
of friends. It was information he wouldn’t divulge to just anyone.

“Theo let me come up, but he insisted on staying in the dorm with me while I waited for you
to wake up. When he led me in here and pulled back the curtain and I saw…Godric, I started
sobbing. Theo actually had to sit me down on his bed and hold me, I was so affected. I think
that’s what convinced him because, after he made sure I was okay, he went back down to the
common room. Pansy came back to check on me and gave me one of her magazines to pass
the time. Since then I’ve just…waited for you to wake up.”

He was stunned. Ginevra had so many reasons to hate him and yet, she chose to care about
him. In fact, she cared so deeply that she braved the snake pit just to be for him. Had she not
been right there in front of him, he never would have believed it.

“You are so full of surprises, Ginevra. Thank you for coming to see me.” He said.

“You’re not allowed to die, Draco.” She told him, “Not when I’ve just started to like you.”

More and more days passed as Draco slowly regained his strength and recovered. He no
longer needed potions to stomach the pain of being awake, and could move around the dorm
a bit. When he was finally able to stand for more than a minute or two, he decided to take a
long, much needed shower. Still, he was scared to go alone and risk passing out on the
linoleum and tile.

He looked around the dorm and saw Greg writing lazily on a scroll of parchment in his lap.

“Greg?” He called, and the other boy turned his head at the sound.

“You okay, Draco?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine. I was just wondering if you’d come into the bathrooms with me while I
took a shower? I’m not planning on passing out and cracking my skull open but anything can
happen.” He chuckled.

“Yeah, of course. Do you need help getting your things?” Greg asked, already putting away
his paper and standing from the bed. Draco shook his head then slowly began gathering all of
his necessities for the shower.

Together, they walked to the bathrooms and Draco stepped into his favorite stall, closing the
curtain and undressing. The water felt decadent as it fell from the shower head, while his
vision went a bit dizzy at the pleasure of finally being able to properly wash away the events
of Easter hols. Cleaning and grooming charms could only do so much.

He lathered the soap into his flannel and covered his body with delicious smelling suds, then
watched the soapy water swirl into the drain. When he was done, he turned off the water and
asked Greg to hand him his towel which he used to dry his skin and cover his waist. As he
stepped out of the stall, he reached for his bathrobe but was stopped when he caught his
reflection in the foggy mirror.
Draco reached up to sweep a hand on the cool surface and uncover a small patch so he could
properly see himself.

The scars on his face had been softened by the dittany salve but were no less visible. They
stretched and curved all over his face, in the same patterns he saw when he looked them over
with the transfigured mirror in Severus’ office.

As the marks from Tom ended, the scars from Potter took their place. His front was home to
several slashes that spread across his chest and over part of his stomach. Like the ones on his
face, they had faded with the combined intervention of his Godfather and time but they were
still there. Still branded on his skin as a lifelong reminder of the night he almost died at the
hands of the Savior .

He lifted shaky hands and slowly dragged his fingertips across the myriad of damaged tissue
that had become a part of his story. As he looked in the mirror and saw the reflection of a
man who had been torn apart and left to put himself back together more than once, he
decided it was time for a change. A change to his body that he could control for once.

He looked away from the mirror and towards Greg, who’s eyes were locked on the scars he’d
been left with courtesy of Potter.

“Greg, would you cut my hair?” He asked. Just like clothing charms, Greg had a pretty strong
handle on barbering spells.

“Sure, how much do you want cut off?”

“All of it.”

Greg caught his eye then and, after a moment of evaluation, nodded his head and drew his
wand from his sleeve. Draco watched in the mirror as the length of his hair was slowly and
mechanically severed, until what was left just barely touched the middle of his ears. Greg
shortened the sides and used a drying charm to wring out the rest of the moisture. The hair on
top of his head was left a bit longer, and formed a gentle, curved frame around the top half of
his face.

“How’s that?” Greg asked as he vanished the locks of platinum blonde hair that fell on
Draco’s shoulders and around his feet on the floor. There was no more Abraxas in the mirror,
and there was no hiding the harsh lines of scars behind a curtain of soft, blonde hair.

Draco ran his fingers through the intricately shortened style and smiled, “It’s perfect. Thank
you.”

He shrugged on his bathrobe and they returned to the dorms together, where Draco pulled out
a fresh pair of pajamas. He stepped into the silk trousers but was stopped by a hand on his
shoulder before he could put in the matching shirt. He turned and was greeted by the anxious
face of Vince.

“I brought you my Quidditch jumper to sleep in, if you’d like. You’ve been shivering quite a
bit and I know how much you prefer the heat. Greg put warming charms on it and it’ll cover
a lot of you since I’m bigger.” Vince said. He lifted his other hand that held the green and
silver jumper with ‘CRABBE’ embroidered across the back shoulders.

Draco accepted the shirt and slipped it on, immediately feeling cradled by warmth and soft
fabric. The hem fell past his hips and the sleeves completely engulfed his hands. It felt like
being hugged in front of a crackling fire while sipping warm tea. To Draco, it was heavenly.

“This feels amazing, Vince. Thank you.” He said, a blissful smile lighting up his face. Vince
smiled back and shoved his hands into his pockets.

“You’re welcome. I’m glad you’re feeling better. I was really worried.”

“No need to worry, dear Vince. I’m rather resilient these days.” Draco smirked, and wrapped
his friend in a gentle hug. Vince returned it tenderly, mindful of any lingering pain.

Once they had separated with content smiles and tiny squeezes, Draco returned to his bed and
relaxed into his pillows.

He dreamt of dragons again, a group of them in brilliant gemstone colors with scales that
refracted the sun's ray in a rainbow on the plush grass of Earth below them. The dragons flew
in wide circles, teasing each other with swooping dives and barrel rolls.

It was beautiful.

Draco made his debut in the Great Hall the last week of April. He hadn’t attended any classes
since returning from Easter, choosing instead to recover in the safety of the Slytherin dorms.
Eventually though, he started to go a bit stir crazy and became aware that he needed to leave
his sanctuary. Even if it was just for a short while.

Pansy kept a tight hold on him where their arms linked at the elbows, leading him cautiously
through the halls and up the stairs. When they stepped into the Great Hall, conversation
ceased in a slow wave as students turned their attention to the surprising changes to his
appearance.

He stood tall against the onslaught of burning gazes and judgment from the hundreds of eyes
on him. One by one, whispers passed along the tables and followed him to where he sat with
his fellow Slytherins. Blaise stayed close to his side, as did Pansy and Theo. Across from
him, the Greengrass sisters started a low conversation with Vince and Greg.

Draco looked up to the head table and noted his Godfather’s absence, then began to load his
plate with small portions. The Great Hall smelled of roast beef and steamed piles of
vegetables, an aroma of home cooked comfort. Quick glances around the hall confirmed for
him that he was the topic of every conversation.
“Malfoy?” He was startled by the sound of his name being called from behind him. He turned
on the bench and hid his shock at seeing Pritchard, the Gryffindor who was his first ‘victim’
sent by the Carrows.

“Yes, Pritchard?” He asked, and felt his friends tense beside him. They were clearly ready to
strike.

“Are you uhm…are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” He answered in a clipped tone. Pritchard shoved his hands in his pockets and
rocked back and forth on his heels. Vince and Greg had told him they’d been running the
disciplinary meetings in his absence, so there was no need to worry about Alecto and
Amycus going wild on the students. “Pritchard, is there something you need?”

“No! I mean, yes. Maybe? I just wanted to know you were okay.” He leaned forward and
dropped his voice to a whisper. “I know the risk you’ve taken by what you do in the
‘Punishment Room’. You know so much about that curse, then you were gone for weeks and
now you're back with your face…” Pritchard waved a hand around his own face then, and
Draco responded with a gracefully lifted brow. The other boy put his hand back in his pocket
then continued, “I know it looks crazy for me to be over here. I can see the other Gryffindors
looking at me with bugged eyes and I’m going to tell them I came over here to fuck with you
but I really did want to make sure you were okay.”

Draco was speechless. So were the friends that sat at the table around him, hell Theo and
Blaise were still coming to terms with his friendship with Ginevra. Another Lion crossing
enemy lines may very well be enough to make their appendix burst.

“I’m okay Pritchard, thank you for coming over here. You can tell your fellow Gryffindor
brutes that I’m every bit a prat as ever, and will be ready to crucio anyone who so much as
sneezes in my direction.” He let his mouth curve into a smirk and caught the way Pritchard
had to fight a relieved smile. The Gryffindor left with a sneer but hidden underneath it, Draco
could see a release of worried tension in the other boy's shoulders.

He turned back around and felt Theo wrap an arm around his waist before bending over to
whisper in his ear, “Who knew you were so dedicated to inter-house unity, Draco?”

Draco turned his head towards Theo and caught his friend's teasing smile.

“I don’t know why you’re so shocked. Did you forget my passion for international
cooperation when Durmstrang visited in fourth year?” Draco smiled as Theo snorted and
Blaise choked on his pumpkin juice.

“It’s good to have you back, Darling.” Pansy chimed, and the table settled into comfortable
conversations with each other that Draco weaved his attention around.

He could only agree with Pansy, it was good to be back.

The battle began on the 1st of May.

An emergency assembly called them all to The Great Hall. The Carrows watched over
everyone as they filed slowly and methodically into the room. Draco listened to his
Godfathers’ threats, encouraging anyone who had knowledge of Potters’ whereabouts to
come forward or face severe punishment.

Punishment directly at the hand of the Carrows, not Draco. He felt the blood drain from his
face and looked desperately around the room for Ginevra, worried that she’d be the first
person targeted.

Then Potter stepped forward. Draco clutched Pansy’s hand in his own as they watched the
influx of Aurors and other members of the ‘Light’ side burst through the doors. His heart
nearly leapt out of his chest when the wands of the three Death Eaters pointed towards Potter
before he was shielded by Professor McGonnagall.

The duel between McGonnagall and Severus shook the school. As his Godfather fled and the
Carrows fell, Draco and Pansy shuffled closer to eachother.

And then Tom’s voice filled the room.

Draco began to tremble as that familiar, terrifying voice permeated the space around them.
The voice that, just a few weeks ago, tortured him nearly to madness. The voice that had used
his body and called him by another name for months as he sobbed into those fucking
aubergine pillows.

The voice that had tried to cast Avada Kedavra at his back.

When Tom asked for Potter, Pansy leapt at the opportunity.

“What are you waiting for? Someone grab him!” Pansy yelled, pointing at the Chosen One
who stood across the hall.

Unsurprisingly, Ginevra stepped forward protectively but caught Pansy and Dracos eyes with
a look of understanding. They were all scared, and Ginevra understood that fear. Pansy
wasn’t offering up Potter to get him killed, she was sending him to fight like he was already
expected to. To try and save the countless other students.

To try and save Draco from even more damage.

Professor McGonnagall ordered all of the Slytherins to the dungeons, which was further
proof of how little regard the school held for their house. If you were in the house of snakes,
you were already a prisoner of the war. Not a student to fight for, but an enemy to render
powerless.

As Draco left the Great Hall, flanked by Vince and Greg, a thought made him stop in his
tracks.
The Vanishing Cabinet was still in the Room of Hidden Things and, as far as he knew, it was
still functional as a way into the school. A way for the other Death Eaters to sneak in and
blind side them all in the battle.

He needed to destroy it.

Draco turned and climbed the stairs, opposite to the flow of his housemates that were rushing
down to the dungeons.

“Draco! Draco, where are you going?” Vince called after him.

“Go back to the dorms, Vince. I need to destroy the cabinet.” He answered.

“We’re coming with you!” Greg shouted, pushing his way up the stairs.

Draco turned, “No! No, it’s too dangerous. Go back to the dorms.”

“Draco, you don’t even have a wand . Let us help you.” Vince insisted.

“We’re your bodyguards, remember?” Greg smiled. After a moment of deliberation, Draco
nodded and resumed his journey to the seventh floor.

To his surprise, the door was already there and Draco gulped at what that could mean. Had
someone already used the cabinet?

“Stay close to me.” Draco commanded, and together the three of them entered the cavernous
room full of forgotten furniture and long lost items. He retraced his steps in the direction of
where he remembered the cabinet being held, only to turn a corner and come face to face
with Potter.

“Malfoy! What are you doing here?!” Clearly, he was still unsure what to expect from Draco.
Potter’s eyes widened in shock as he took in his heavily scarred appearance. “Merlin…your
face…”

“Don’t finish that sentence unless it includes the words ‘devastatingly handsome’.” Draco
held up a hand and used the other to run his fingers through his newly cropped hair. He
turned to look at Vince and cocked his head in the direction of the cabinet. Vince answered
with a nod and left the other three. “I remembered the vanishing cabinet that I used in sixth
year was still up here and I was worried it could still be used.”

“Malfoy…why did you help me at the Manor?” Potter asked, he took a step forward and
Greg immediately lifted his wand in a defensive stance.

“Stay away from him, Potter.” Greg hissed. Potter threw up his hands in surrender and was
about to speak again.

Then they heard a shout.

Vince came running back towards them, waving his wand in the direction of the cabinet.
“Someone in dark robes and a mask came out of it, they were talking about some explosion
they planned to set off. We have to go now .” Vince said, frantically.

“We can’t just leave and let other people use it!” Draco responded. A spell shot towards them
and toppled a stack of old, wooden chairs. Immediately, they began to run.

“Potter, are the Weasel and Granger in here too?” He asked, dodging another spell. Just then,
the other two members of the trio showed, carrying some sort of crown.

“What the hell are you doing here, Malfoy? Who’s shooting off those spells?” The Weasel
yelled.

“Not now Ron, we need to go.” Potter answered, and another flash of light lit up the room.

This time it was a familiar, dark green.

“I can stop them. There’s a spell that the Carrows taught me, it’ll destroy the cabinet too.
Keep running.” Vince told them.

“What? No!” Draco yelled but it was too late.

Vince cast the Fiendfyre spell and the room roared to life with angry, destructive flames. It
spread too quickly, too much to be contained and controlled. The Golden trio flew into the air
on unshrunken brooms while Draco stared into the gaping maw of the unforgiving fire.

“Climb! Now!” Greg shouted. The three Slytherins ran toward the nearest tower of old
furniture and scaled up the side. The wood creaked and bowed under their weight, Draco felt
his foot slip and looked down to see the fire climbing up after them.

To his left, a piece of wood snapped and to his horror, Draco watched Vince fall from the
tower and be consumed by the enchanted fire below.

“VINCE!” Draco cried, but it was too late.

Vince was dead, rendered to nothing but ash and memory.

His attention turned towards Potter and the Weasel who flew next to him and Greg, grabbing
onto their hands to hoist the two Slytherins onto their brooms. Draco wrapped his arms
tightly around Potter's waist and buried his face into the Gryffindors shoulder. He felt the
drop in temperature as they re-entered the 7th floor corridor and heard the door to the room
slam shut behind them.

The second Potter landed, Draco launched off the broom and ran back to the door. His fist
slammed into the wood and the empty air filled with the sounds of his sobs and shouts of
heartbreaking grief. He felt Greg’s strong arms wrap around him and pull him back from the
door.

“Let me go Greg! Greg, no we need to go back, we need to save Vince!” He cried, struggling
against the tight hold of his friend.
“Draco, Vince is dead.” Greg said, voice calm and steady. Draco cried louder, screaming and
thrashing in the circle of the other boy's arms.

“No he’s not, he can’t be! Greg, he’s supposed to dance! He just wanted to dance. We need to
get him. We need to watch him dance.” Draco babbled. Thick tear drops rolled down his
checks and painted tracks of his intense devastation alongside his scars from Tom. Finally,
his energy was depleted and all he could do was turn around and cling to Greg. Sobbing
desperately into his wide, reassuring shoulder.

“I’ve got him Potter, you three go.” He heard Greg say, followed by the retreating footsteps
of the Gryffindors.

“Vince…Vince I’m so sorry…Gods, oh my gods.” He moaned. Large hands rubbed

soothingly up and down his spine as he continued to mourn his friend who would never get
the chance to dance for them again.

Draco stood on the steps in front of the school with a sensation of numbness covering his
entire person like a thick jelly. He watched as the half Giant, Hagrid, carried the dead body of
Harry Potter in his meaty arms and wept. Tom stood in the center of the courtyard, giving his
victory speech with nauseating glee. He saw his parents standing amongst the Death Eaters,
looking exhausted but alive .

“Draco…come here.” His Father called, but he barely registered it. His mind was still
replaying the last moments of Vince’s life. “Draco. Come!”

“Draco…my Dragon.” It was his mothers’ voice that finally pulled him from his reverie. He
looked around at the other students that had gathered on the stone, his eyes feeling dead and
heavy. Slowly, he descended the stone steps and walked towards his mother and father. As he
passed Tom, Draco looked straight into the red eyes that would forever haunt him.

“ Welcome back, Abraxas .” Tom whispered, so low that Draco knew he was the only one
who heard. He turned away, unable to bear the reminder of his impending future as a dead
ringer for his Grandfather until his body was used and tossed aside.

The moment he was next to his parents, his mother wrapped him in a tight embrace that he
couldn’t stop himself from leaning into. She held him close as his father did his best to shield
the two with his taller frame.

He watched from his mothers arms as Longbottom limped forward and valiantly slayed that
damn snake, Nagini, and when Potter rolled out of Hagrid's arms he nearly cried from relief.
His mothers arms tightened further around him as he leaned forward, tempted to run back
towards the fight.
“You’ve done enough, Dragon. Just wait here, with us.” His mother whispered and Draco
could only agree.

This wasn’t his fight, not anymore.

It was time for Potter to win.

Draco stood over the corpse of Tom Riddle, searing the memory of the man's death deep into
his mind. He wanted to remember every detail, wanted to be able to recall the image on
nights when he woke up drenched in the sweat of fear and rage. His parents had left for the
Great Hall when the battle ended, nodding their heads when he told them he’d join shortly
and asked them to look for Pansy. He was left alone as he regarded the dead man under the
grey, overcast sky.

Soft footsteps approached him from behind, ending his moment of solitude.

“Malfoy, you never answered, why did you help us at the Manor?” Potter asked, and Draco
turned around to face him properly.

“Because Potter, I wanted you to win. I needed you to win.” He answered, voice heavy with a
deep tiredness.

“Living under Voldemort wasn’t what you thought it’d be was it?”

“Don’t call him that Potter.” Draco said, closing his eyes at the pseudonym of a False God.

“He’s dead, you coward. What, you expect me to believe you helped us at the Manor but
can’t even say his name?” Potter’s voice filled with anger, as it often did when it was sent in
Draco’s direction.

“His name is Tom.”

“I…what?” The anger in Potter’s voice transformed into something akin to astonishment,
Draco opened his eyes again and looked deeply into the shining, emerald green ones across
from where he stood.

“Voldemort is-was-a lie. His name was Tom, and I’m glad he’s dead. Thank you, Potter.”
Draco took one final look at the corpse and walked back toward the open entrance doors.
Leaving the open mouth and wide eyes of the Wizarding World’s Savior staring at his
retreating back.

END OF ACT I
Chapter End Notes

We did made it y’all! The end of Act I!! Act II will be from Harry’s POV. I can’t wait to
see that silly guy is up to.

I would really appreciate hearing your thoughts on Act I and Draco’s character arc, and
thank you so much to those who’ve left comments already. They absolutely make my
day :D
 The Aftermath of War
Chapter Notes

Welcome to Act II! Let’s learn a bit about our favorite Gryffindor Hero!

Also, thank you all so incredibly much for all of the love you gave Act I. It means the
world and more to me to know that this silly little story I bang out in my free time has
actually caught the interest of others.

I promised you healing, so let’s get started!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 17: The Aftermath of War

Harry Potter was sure of three things in life; Hermione Granger was the brightest witch of
their age, Ron Weasley was the best mate anyone could ask for, and Draco Malfoy was up to
something .

Ever since the Slytherin git rendered him speechless in the Hogwarts Courtyard by referring
to Voldemort as Tom , his thoughts had been consumed by theories of what in the hell
happened to him. First, Malfoy helped them escape the manor. Then, he showed up in the
Room of Requirement with plans to stop Death Eaters from entering the castle. Finally, and
this was the point where Harry thought his brain might explode, Luna shared stories with
them all about how Malfoy frequently brought tea to the cellar for her and Ollivander.

It was all exceedingly suspicious, and Harry was determined to get to the bottom of the
strange behavior. Not just because he couldn’t picture Malfoy having actual feelings and
emotions for anyone besides himself, but also because he was certain that there was someone
planning to take Voldemort’s place and avenge his death.

Someone named Abraxas.

All throughout the previous year while he and his friends sought out and destroyed the
Horcruxes, he had short flashes of visions through his connection to Voldemort. Visions of
the man, of all things, having sex with some faceless person with long, yellow hair in near
darkness. Harry felt the possessiveness, excitement, and even pride that rose through
Voldemort as he plowed into the body beneath him.

He never saw their face, never heard their voice, never caught a glimpse of anything besides
swaths of light, unmarked skin.
The only thing he did have, was that name.

Whoever they were, Harry knew they were dangerous. He combed through post war articles
and obituaries, looking for any mention of the faceless ‘Abraxas’ but he always came up
empty. He was sure, though, that Malfoy knew who they were. He had to, for Merlin’s sake
Voldemort was living at his house!

One afternoon at the burrow, just days after the final battle, he thought about sharing his
concerns with Ginny. He found her in the kitchen, eating strawberries out of a small bowl,
and asked her to come to the garden with him. She had been kind enough to give him some
space since the war ended, even as he beckoned her to the door she hesitated.

“I’m okay Gin, I just want to talk to you about something.” He said to her, with what he
hoped was a reassuring smile. She nodded and set down her bowl of fruit, then followed him
to a patch of sun warmed grass.

Harry sat down on criss crossed legs and watched as Ginny took the same position across
from him. He took a deep breath and prepared to tell her all about his concerns regarding
Voldemort's secret lover who he was positive would be coming after them all for revenge.

“Ginny, I-” He started, but was cut off immediately.

“Harry, I don't want to get back together.” Ginny rushed out in a single breath. She looked at
him with an apologetic expression and all he could do was stare in response.

“Oh….I uhm….really?” Harry had no idea what to say. For starters, the idea of rekindling
their relationship was nowhere near the front of his mind. In fact, her immediate rejection of
a question he hadn’t even thought about asking didn’t do anything but leave him confused.

He should be upset right? Maybe…sad? Merlin, he had no idea.

“Yes. Look, I’m sorry. Please don’t be too upset with me.” Ginny pleaded.

“I’m not, Gin! I promise. I guess I’m just a little surprised? Is there…is there someone else?”
He asked, for lack of anything better to say.

“Yes and no? There’s someone I’m interested in but that’s not the only reason I don’t want to
get back together. I guess I just see you as too much of a brother, you know? I love you,
Harry I do. It’s just not a…romantic love.” She winced, then started biting her lip as he let
her explanation settle in his mind.

“I think I can agree with that.” He responded with a crooked smile. Ginny smiled back and
tension that he had never even noticed disappeared entirely. “Since you’ve broken my heart
though I think it’s only fair that you tell me who’s stolen you out from under me. Come on,
what’s his name?” He teased and Ginny punched his shoulder with a giggle.

“No one’s stolen me from you, I seem to remember a very poorly planned breakup speech
from you last summer.”
It was his turn to wince now, as he thought about how he’d ended their relationship in
between mourning Dumbledore and starting the hunt for pieces of Voldemort's soul.

“Fine, fine. Come on, at least tell me what house he’s in. Help me narrow it down a bit.”
Harry said, surprised when Ginny looked away with a blush.

“You’re not going to like it…” She murmured, and Harry didn’t understand. Ginny was free
to go after any Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, or Hufflepuff she wanted-

Oh…….Oh Merlin.

“Ginny…no.” He whispered, as realization dawned on him like bright, blinding headlights.

She just nodded her head and let out a strained chuckle.

“Yup…Slytherin.” She confirmed. Harry fell on his back with a loud ‘oof’ sound and stared
unblinkingly at the sky.

“Circe’s tits Ginny…you do realize Ron is going to kill me now, right?”

Ginny laid on her side next to him, with her head propped up in her hand and poked his ribs
with way more force than necessary.

“Ron is not going to kill you because Ron is not going to know . Honestly, I don’t even think
anything will come from it. It’s just a silly crush.”

“Word of advice, Gin? Maybe skip the Valentine's song this time?” He laughed, then
promptly yelped and rolled away as Ginny hit him with her infamous Bat Bogey hex.

“Would you look at this, Dear brother? We seem to have stumbled upon a lovers quarrel!”
The voice of Fred-or maybe George he wasn’t sure, he was still fighting away the conjured
bat that was now stuck in his hair-interrupted their conversation.

Finally, the bat vanished and Harry turned to glare at the three Weasleys who were laughing
far too uproariously at him. Fred and George joined their sister on the ground, flanking her
with compliments on her ever powerful hex.

“Tell us sister, what did Harry do to incite your wrath?” Fred asked.

“Did he let his hands wander?” George continued, turning towards Harry with narrowed eyes.

“What?! No!! We’re not even together!” Harry cried, overcome with the thought that
defeating Voldemort was nothing when compared to fighting 6 Weasley brothers plus Molly
and her wooden spoon.

“Harry, are you telling us you broke our favorite sister's poor wittle heart?” Fred huffed,
bringing a hand to lay dramatically on his chest.

“First of all! I’m your only sister.” Ginny interjected, bringing the attention back around to
her. “ Secondly , I rejected him. So if anyone’s heart is broken, it’s Harry’s.”
“It’s true. I’m devastated. In fact, I’m so upset I am leaving this conversation right now and
going to see if your mum will bake me some treacle tart.” Harry stood then, and was met with
another series of snickers.

“You are her favorite son, Harry. I’m positive she’ll agree.” George winked, and Harry rolled
his eyes with a fond smile. He left the garden and re-entered the kitchen, where Molly
Weasley had just begun rolling out a ball of pastry dough on the flour covered countertop.

“Harry, dear! Would you tell Ron and Hermione that dinner will be ready in an hour? I’m
making your favorite dessert, treacle tart!” She exclaimed, and Harry couldn’t help the
beaming smile he gave in response.

There’s a reason the Burrow felt like home.

Harry was prepared to enter the room he shared with Ron and have to shield his eyes from
the far too familiar sight of his best friend's hands crawling up his other best friend's shirt. It
seemed, in the aftermath of the war, Ron and Hermione suddenly couldn’t go five minutes
without touching in some way, shape, or form. Which was fine except Harry felt a little bit
like a third wheel. He even joked once about joining them.

Half joked, maybe…he still wasn’t quite sure.

As luck would have it, when he entered the room Hermione and Ron were a full two feet
apart. He nodded hello and sat down on his bed only for Hermione to immediately thrust a
copy of the Daily Prophet at him.

“Look at this, Harry!” She exclaimed, and he turned his attention to the headline.

DEATH EATER TRIALS TO BEGIN NEXT MONTH, NOTABLE FOLLOWERS OF YOU-

KNOW-WHO EXPECTED TO BE CONVICTED AND KISSED

Below the headline was a picture of the three members of the Malfoy family, wearing
shackles and prisoner robes, being led through the ministry atrium. His eyes were stuck on
Draco Malfoy who, despite wearing tattered robes and held a face full of scars, walked the
hall with his head held high and an unbothered expression.

“This is ridiculous! They can’t send Malfoy and his mum to be kissed! Without them we
would’ve died in the manor, hell without Narcissa I would’ve died again in the forest.” He
exclaimed, and was happy to see Hermione nodding in agreement.

“The ministry is trying to make an example out of them. Lucius Malfoy has been untouchable
for years now, so they’re throwing everything at him and his family.” She said, taking the
newspaper back.
“Yeah I mean…Malfoy is a git and all but he doesn’t deserve to be kissed by dementors.
Especially not after what the Death Eaters did to his face!” Ron agreed.

Plus if Malfoy is kissed, I might never find out what he knows about Abraxas. Harry thought,
then remembered that he never got the chance to bring up his thoughts with Ginny. He
considered sharing them with Ron and Hermione but it was clear that both of them were
desperate for a break from battle and evil.

So he decided to keep his concerns to himself for a while.

“Is there anything we could do?” Harry asked, turning towards Hermione.

“We should definitely speak at Malfoy’s-er, Draco Malfoy’s-trial and tell the Wizengamot
about how he helped us at the manor. You can speak at Narcissa’s, Harry. Tell them that she
saved your life by lying to V-V-Voldemort.” Hermione instructed.

“Do you think I could talk to Malfoy before the trial? Get a better idea of what he’s being
charged with?” Harry asked.

“Hell, Harry, you could probably walk into the ministry and demand full access to all of the
criminals with no one stopping you. Not after saving the damn world.” Ron laughed. Harry
tucked his chin towards his chest, embarrassed by the reminder that he was the ‘Savior of the
Wizarding World’ or whatever Skeeter published the day after the battle.

Ron was right though. Harry held some power, maybe it was time to use it.

Two days later, Harry flooed from the Burrow to the Ministry Atrium with a glamour in place
to keep his identity hidden. He’d already written to Kingsley and been given permission, and
a time, to visit the DMLE holding cells and meet with Draco Malfoy.

He walked quickly through the hall, boarding one of the many elevators and planting his feet
as it flung its way in all directions. When the doors opened to the floor that housed the Auror
offices, Harry stepped off and waved away the glamour. The Secretary gave him a brief look
of surprise and awe that she quickly schooled into something professional before asking how
she could help.

He told her of his meeting with a Wizard currently in custody and she checked a stack of
paper on her desk before directing him down the long hallway behind her.

“He’s waiting in Room 6, Mr. Potter.” She told him, and he smiled in thanks.

Harry took on a brisk pace as he counted the doors, before stopping in front of the one
marked ‘6’. His shoulders hunched as he inhaled a long, deep breath before turning the
handle and stepping inside.
Sitting on the other side of the table that took up the center of the room, with wrists chained
to the surface and large robes hanging off his narrow body, was the Slytherin Ice Prince
himself; Draco Malfoy.

Harry was stunned at how… good he looked. Even sitting there in prison garb, with bags
under his eyes and thick scars across his face, Draco Malfoy looked like all that stood
between him and the cover of Witch Weekly was a few hours of sleep and a hot meal.

It was so contradictory that it was almost maddening.

“Hello Potter, how are things?” Malfoy greeted, and Harry shook himself out of his thoughts.
Thoughts that were a little too concerned by the way the blonde across from him looked. He
sat down in the opposite chair and folded his arms on top of the table.

“Things are fine? I guess? Look, I’m not here to make small talk. I want you to know that
I’m going to testify for you, in your trial. If you hadn’t helped us at the Manor, I’m positive
I’d be dead. So…thank you for that.” Harry said, waiting for the other man’s reaction.

Draco nodded slowly before answering, “That is…good of you, Potter. I appreciate it. Will
you be testifying for anyone else?”

“Your mum, definitely. She lied to Voldemort in the forest which was a tremendous help. I
haven’t decided about Lucius yet, he’s far from innocent but I don’t think I saw him fight…
ever.” Harry answered, still stunned that Malfoy was the only person he knew who didn’t
flinch when he used Voldemort’s name.

“Thank you for testifying for Mother, as for my Father…once again, I’d appreciate it but I
know his hands are quite dirty.” Malfoy looked away from him then, choosing instead to stare
at the wall with unfocused eyes. “I know it’s hard to believe but, following Tom wasn’t a
choice he made…it was a choice made for him.”

There it was again…Tom. If Malfoy knew Voldemort's real name, there was no telling what
other information he might have.

“Listen, there’s something I wanted to ask you about. Since you were living with Voldemort,
and you know his name, I’m sure you know more. I’m worried there’s someone that will try
to take his place, a second in command or something, that escaped the battle and is plotting to
pick up where Snakeface left off.” Harry explained. He watched as Draco furrowed his brows
and stared at him in confusion.

“ Potter, there’s no one left who was that devoted to his cause. Not enough to wage war again
or continue his plans.” Malfoy answered.

“No but there is . I overheard him-er-during one of our fights. He talked about someone
named Abraxas. Malfoy, do you know who that is?” Harry watched as what little color
Malfoy had drained completely from his face. Grey eyes widened and watered before turning
away.

“Abraxas is dead.” The other man whispered, but Harry knew it was a lie.
“Dammit Malfoy, I know you know something! Just tell me, don’t let this be like 6th year. I
can help you!”

“You can help me by keeping me out of Azkaban and never mentioning that name again. Is
that too much for you to handle, dear Savior?” Malfoy spoke, his words came out tight as if
his teeth still bit around them. Gone was the Malfoy that he’d greeted just a few minutes
before, who actually took the time to thank Harry for his testimony. Malfoy knew something,
that much was clear. Hopefully he’d talk after the trial, once the dust settled a bit.

Harry nodded before changing the subject, with an internal promise to follow up on his
suspicions later, “Hermione and Ron are going to testify for you, too. Strength in numbers,
you know?”

That seemed to calm Malfoy down again, he deflated with a soft sigh and leaned back in the
chair. “How are they? The Weasels and Granger? Please tell her that I’m sorry I couldn’t stop
my Aunt in the ballroom. I’m far too familiar with Bella’s cruciatus.”

Again, Harry was speechless. Who in the fuck was this and what did they do with Draco
Malfoy?

“What in the hell happened to you?” Harry asked, unable to stop himself. Grey eyes locked
onto his and he stared into the soul of a man who seemed to have aged 10 years in a day.

“War, Potter. War happened.” Malfoy answered, with a finality that told him that was all he
had to say.

Harry cleared his throat and turned his gaze to his hands before answering the original
question, “The Weasleys and Hermione are okay. Still dealing with everything but so is
everyone else. Hermione has already been writing to McGonnagall about all of us attending
an ‘Eighth Year’ to make up for all the time we lost.”

“I’d expect nothing less from Granger. Honestly, I’d love to go back and redo last year.
Merlin, I think I went to five classes total.”

“So you’d go back? If Headmistress McGonnagall lets us?” He asked, unsure why knowing
that felt so important to him.

Of course it’s important! You can find out what he knows about ‘Abraxas’.

Malfoy nodded, “Assuming I’m not sentenced to rot in Azkaban or play 7 minutes in Heaven
with the Dementors.”

Harry stiffened at the reminder of the sentence that Draco was facing and leaned forward, “I
won’t let that happen. You don’t deserve Azkaban. Fuck Malfoy, you don’t even deserve
being in a ministry holding cell! What are they even trying to charge you with?”

Malfoy took a deep breath before counting off with his fingers, “Knowingly aiding and
abetting the Dark Wizard Lord Voldemort, Willingly taking the Dark Mark, Repeated Use of
the Cruciatus Curse on Minors, and Use of the Dark Arts.”
“You crucioed students?!” He remembered Neville mentioning the punishment of the
Carrows but didn’t think Malfoy had carried it out.

“I didn’t, but I needed people to think I did. Honestly it’s a long story, you should ask
Ginevra about it. She was one of my ‘victims’ so to speak.”

“Okay…I will.”

Harry left not too long after with a promise to see Malfoy again at the upcoming trial. He cast
the glamour over his face once again and walked back down to the line of Floos, playing their
conversation over and over in his head.

There was definitely something going on with Draco Malfoy.

Harry returned to the Burrow and immediately sought out Hermione, Ron, and Ginny. He
found all three of them in the sitting room and immediately joined the group. He sat next to
Ginny and dropped his head onto the back of the couch.

“How was he?” Hermione asked.

“How was who?” Ginny said. Only Hermione and Ron knew he was going to the Ministry to
talk to Malfoy, he was concerned about sharing that information with too many people given
the whole Malfoy/Weasley feud.

“Malfoy. I went to talk to him at the Ministry.” Harry answered Ginny, before lifting his head
to look at Hermione, “He was…different. He wanted me to tell you he was sorry for not
being able to stop Bellatrix at the manor.”

“Oh! That is…unexpected.” Hermione said.

“He also thanked us for being willing to testify for him.” Harry continued, still reeling from
the politeness of his conversation with Malfoy.

“Merlin and Morgana, he must’ve gone through hell at the manor.” Ron said, just as shocked
as the rest. Harry turned to Ginny and expected to see a mirror image of Ron’s face but
instead, she was gnawing on her lip in fear.

“You won’t let them sentence him to be kissed, will you?” Ginny asked quietly.

“No Gin, I promise. We’re going to testify for him and tell everyone about what he did at the
manor. He told me to ask you about something though, he’s being charged with casting
cruciatus on students and said you could explain that.”

Ginny nodded and launched into an explanation about the Carrows telling Malfoy, Crabbe,
and Goyle to crucio students and how the three of them faked their way through the
Disciplinary Meetings. She also told them about how he purposefully got her angry enough
to draw her wand so that he could talk to her in private about Luna being captured.

Again, Harry was at a loss for words.

“Gin you’re sure he didn’t crucio anyone ?” Ron asked.

“I’m positive, Ron. He told me he couldn’t even cast the spell. Said he was forced to use it
once and got sick immediately after.”

“Do you think that’s why the Death Eaters fucked up his face like that?” Ron asked only to
be immediately swatted by Hermione. “Ow! Hell, Hermione that hurt.”

“What happened to his face was punishment for helping you three escape the manor.” Ginny
murmured, looking down at her clenched hands.

Hermione, Ron, and Harry turned to Ginny in shock. Harry felt ice run through his veins as
her words soaked into him.

Malfoy not only helped them all escape but he got caught, was punished, and still tried to
help by destroying the cabinet in the Room of Requirement.

Harry had no idea who Draco Malfoy was, not anymore. The self serving, bullying,
Pureblood supremacist prat that he knew had all but disappeared. So much of Malfoy was
different while so much of him was still the same. He still walked around as if he were
royalty, still held his trademark sneer on his face but, he was…gentler. He was like a cat
who’d been declawed, still swatting at everyone around him but completely unable to leave a
mark.

Something changed Malfoy, something happened that scarred him even deeper than the
superficial marks across his face.

Harry was going to find out what that was.

The trial came and went with a remarkable ease. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and several
other Hogwarts students showed up to speak in defense of Malfoy. They all confirmed what
Ginny had told the trio that afternoon in the Burrow, Malfoy never cast the cruciatus curse.
He only pretended to do so to keep the students safe, and far away from Alecto and Amycus
Carrow.

The testimonies of the students combined with Harry, Ron, and Hermione’s recount of their
escape from Malfoy Manor resulted in all of the charges against him being dropped. In the
courtroom, he saw Pansy Parkinson cry with relief as the shackles were removed from
Malfoy's wrists and he was led back to the DMLE offices to redress in his own robes.
The next day was Narcissa’s trial and, again, Harry testified in favor of a Malfoy. He
explained how his life was saved by the Malfoy Matriarch lying to Voldemort, allowing him
to defeat the Dark Wizard once and for all. There was no record or witnesses of her
performing unforgivable curses, in fact the only sign of her ‘service’ to Voldemort was the
Dark Mark on her left forearm.

The Wizengamot convened and agreed to a year long House Arrest, as well as a sizable
amount of fines to be paid in reparations for the war.

Well, sizable to normal people. Chump change for the Malfoy vaults.

Finally, there was Lucius.

Harry watched as the once proud man walked slowly to the Defendants stand as his charges
were read for all to hear. After hours of testimony, some in Lucius’ favor but most not, Harry
took the stand. He didn’t have much to offer but told the court that he didn’t see Lucius cause
any harm during the final battle. It was clear he was only there to find his son and protect his
family.

The sentencing for Lucius came down harder. Another round of fines were charged to the
Malfoy vault and the Patriarch of the family was sentenced to three years in Azkaban. As he
was led away in shackles, his gaze stayed firmly planted on the ground below.

Harry didn’t see Malfoy again until he boarded the Hogwarts Express on September 1.

As he was packing his trunk for their Eighth Year at school the night before, Harry realized
he still had possession of Malfoy’s Hawthorn wand. The wood sat in his hands, warm and
inviting. He remembered Ollivander’s assessment of it, how he confirmed that the wand had
switched allegiance to Harry. He still wasn’t sure how it happened, all he’d done was wrestle
the wand away from Malfoy in the ballroom.

Well, wrestle isn’t the right word. He practically grabbed it while Malfoy pretended to fight
back for the sake of appearances.

Regardless, it was perfect reasoning he could use to try and talk to Malfoy again, and
hopefully gain some information about ‘Abraxas’.

Harry apparated to Kings Cross station alongside Hermione and Ron the next morning, after
a hearty breakfast at the Burrow full of tight hugs and endless tears from Molly, who still
wasn’t quite ready to let them go after they’d only just returned from battle. Even Fred and
George gave them all an uncharacteristically emotional goodbye.

Ginny was due to come with Molly and Arthur in a few minutes, needing to stay at the
Burrow a bit longer to finish packing her trunk. Procrastination was an unfortunate habit of
hers.

The three Gryffindoes crossed the brick barrier to the platform together, their trunks shrunken
and held securely in their pockets as they weaved around the crowd of students and sobbing
parents. Harry hung back a few paces, letting Ron and Hermione lead the way with their
hands clasped tightly together. He scanned their surroundings quickly, eyes open for any
potential threats or concerns. A habit he still kept with him after a year in hiding and on the
run.

Up ahead, he saw a flash of unmistakable white blonde hair and felt a jolt run up his spine.

“You two go ahead and find a compartment, I’m going to see if I can catch up to Malfoy and
give him his wand back.” Harry said, walking a bit faster to catch up with his two friends.

“Of course, Harry. That’s very good of you.” Hermione praised. Next to her, Ron made his
own noise of approval. It rubbed his nerves a bit, the way Hermione and Ron were slowly
acting like his parents rather than his friends. All summer, they had given him ‘gentle talks’
about how he hadn’t yet processed the war and all that happened.

He tried to tell them that he couldn’t process the war yet because it wasn’t over . There was
still someone out there, someone that Voldemort held feelings of respect and even admiration
for. He couldn’t stop fighting yet.

Mostly because he wasn’t ready to.

He kept the name he had heard, and the visions he saw, to himself. ‘Abraxas’ was
information that he needed to keep confidential until he had a better idea of who they were
and what they were capable of. Information that he was positive he could get from Malfoy.

Harry nodded at the couple, then strode across the platform and climbed up into the train car.
He walked slowly from compartment to compartment until he finally found Malfoy sitting
alone, with his arms folded tight and legs rigidly crossed at the knee.

The Slytherin had his face turned toward the window until Harry cleared his throat softly and
slid the compartment door shut behind him. Slowly, dove colored eyes turned towards him in
questioning. Even though he’d seen the scars several times already, they still made Harry’s
chest ache. Especially since Ginny had told them all that they were given to him as a result of
his help at the manor.

Malfoy’s face had been sliced apart because of Harry, because of what he did for Harry. It
was…a little difficult to come to terms with.

“When did you start calling him Tom?” Harry blurted out, skipping over formalities and
moving to sit on the bench across from Malfoy.

“Last Summer.” He answered, keeping his eyes trained on Harry.

“And he didn’t kill you?”

“Clearly.”
“But, why not?” Seriously, why not ? Voldemort had murdered people in cold blood for even
daring to question his title as the ‘Dark Lord’ yet, here Malfoy was, calling him Tom with
little consequence.

Harry watched one of Malfoy’s pale eyebrows lift, “I didn’t realize you were so interested in
my death, Potter. Please, feel free to finish the job you started in 6th year.”

“I wasn’t trying to kill you, Malfoy.” Harry said through a clenched jaw, feeling cold sweat
prickle at the back of his neck at the reminder of the sectumsempra spell from 6th year.

“And yet, you still got closer than Tom ever did. You really are the better Wizard.” Malfoy
acquiesced.

An uncomfortable silence settled over them. Harry rubbed his palms on his jeans and lost
himself briefly in the memory of Malfoy bleeding from his chest into rising water from the
broken pipes.

Oh god…did Malfoy have scars from him too?

“As riveting as conversations with you are, please tell me you aren’t sitting in a compartment
with me just to talk about Him for the next three hours.” Malfoy pulled Harry away from his
darkening thoughts, something he was more than grateful for.

Right. He had a reason for seeking Malfoy out. Which was…

Merlin, you idiot. His wand!

“No uh, I actually wanted to give you this.” Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out the
Hawthorn wand. He also steadfastly ignored the way his inner voice resembled Malfoy’s
posh drawl for a second there.

“...Thank you.” Malfoy whispered, slowly relaxing his arms and reaching across the small
aisle to take the wand. Harry watched as he looked over the wood in astonishment, and felt
the tiniest smile curve his lips as Malfoy lit the tip of the wood with a wordless Lumos spell.
As bright and brilliant as ever, showing them both that the wand was happy to be home.

He jumped as the compartment door slid open and Theo Nott walked in. The tall-and really
he was exceedingly tall -Slytherin looked between the two occupants with a look of surprise
on his face.

“Bad time, Draco?” Nott asked

“Not at all Theo, Potter was simply returning my wand.” Malfoy answered, and slipped the
wand safely into his open robes.

“Pansy and Blaise should be here soon, I think I saw Greg too, is uh…” Nott turned his
attention from Malfoy to Harry, confusion still crinkling his expression. “Potter did you want
to sit with us?”
“No!” Harry stood up from the bench, suddenly feeling out of place. “I just, I came to talk to
Malfoy and we talked and so now…now I’m done so I’ll just…I’ll go?”

“You’re welcome to stay dear Savior but I must warn you, Theo and I tend to get rather
handsy.” Malfoy smirked, then turned his silver eyes towards Nott and winked. Theo let out a
soft chuckle and sat down next to Malfoy, letting a hand fall on the blondes’ slim thigh. Harry
felt his cheeks burn bright red at what had just been implied.

“Right okay no, I’ll go. I’ll uh, I’ll see you all at the Great Hall then I guess.” Harry
stammered out, turning to leave only for the door to open again and a bright flash of long red
hair to bound in.

“Oh! Hey, Harry.” Ginny greeted, looking slightly nervous of all things.

“Hi Gin, I didn’t mean to keep you guys waiting. Where is everyone else sitting?” He asked,
assuming that she had been sent to fetch him by Ron and Hermione.

“I’m not sure, I came to sit with Draco.” She responded, and Harry thought his eyes were
going to shoot out of his skull.

Ginny had just called Malfoy by his first name…fucking hell, were Ginny and Malfoy
friends ?!

“You…you came…to sit with….Malfoy.” He repeated, trying to make sense of the

information that had just been imparted on him.

“Don’t worry, dear Savior, I take excellent care of Ginevra.” Malfoy said. Harry turned back
around to look at the Slytherin only to see him sharing some sort of look with Ginny.

What the hell, are they telepathic?

Ginny walked fully into the compartment and sat down across from Malfoy, in the seat that
Harry had just vacated. “It’s true Harry, he’s a perfect gentleman. Never tries anything.”

Harry heard Nott let out a loud snort and then watched Malfoy kick his friend in the calf
before sending him a glare. Just like he and Ginny had just a moment before, Malfoy and
Nott shared a look that seemed to take the place of a full conversation before the blonde's
mouth slowly twitched into a suggestive smile.

Harry had been less confused when he took his potions OWL in fifth year.

Deciding he needed some time to absorb all that he’d just learned, Harry gave them all a
strained goodbye and left the compartment. Setting off to find Ron and Hermione, Harry
stopped in his tracks as he recalled the conversation he’d had with Ginny in the garden at the
beginning of the summer.

She had told him about having a crush on a Slytherin and now, here she was, calling Malfoy
by his first name and sharing looks with the prat.

Ron was definitely going to kill him.

Chapter End Notes

Quick explanation: For the sake of this story, the Death Eater that set off the explosion
during the battle in Canon was who came out of the Vanishing Cabinet in the last
chapter of Act I. Since they were killed in the fire, Fred was inadvertently saved by
Vince’s sacrifice. (Look I love the Weasley twins a LOT and this is my story
dangnabbit.)
 Back to the Beginning

Chapter 18: Back to the Beginning

When Harry entered the train compartment that held Ron and Hermione, he was greeted by a
familiar and unpleasant sight. Ron’s mouth seemed to be attached to Hermione's neck by pure
force of suction, and the witch's hands were buried deep in her boyfriend's orange hair.

Harry wasn’t sure what to say, so he let out a cough.

Maybe a grunt.

Okay, it was a squeak.

Quicker than lightning, the two separated and promptly turned matching shades of red in
embarrassment. Ron crossed his legs in a way that was far too casual to actually be casual,
while Hermione busied her hands by straightening her robes and attempting to smooth down
flyaways in her hair.

“Harry! Were you able to find Malfoy?” Hermione asked, her voice sounding a full octave
higher than normal. He flicked his eyes towards Ron who was concentrating deeply on a spot
on the floor.

“I…was.” He responded, sitting down on the bench opposite them. “Gave him back his wand
and then, you’ll never believe this, Ginny came in to sit with him.”

“Yeah, she’s been writing letters to the prat all summer. I almost went mental when I heard
her call him ‘ Draco ’.” Ron grunted

Wait a second, all summer?!

“Wait, so you knew they were friends?” Harry asked, bewildered. He thought back through
the summer. Flashes of Ginny writing quick letters and sending them off popped into his head
but, he had always assumed they were destined for Luna or even Charlie or Bill.

He never once thought that the letters were for Draco Malfoy.

“Honestly Harry, you can’t be that surprised.” Hermione huffed, “After Malfoy took care of
Luna at the Manor and passed letters between her and Ginny, it only makes sense that they’re
friends.”

“He’s still a dick.” Ron grumbled, and Harry nodded his head in agreement. Even though he
didn’t really agree that much.

“ Regardless ,” Hermione began, with a stern look on her face that gave off less fire than
normal considering the rapidly purpling bruise that Harry could see on her neck. He fought
against the instinct to stare directly at it, choosing instead to focus on one of her dark curls
that was defying gravity on top of her head. “It’s none of our business. A lot changed last
year while we were gone from Hogwarts. Besides, it’s time we all started to break down these
ridiculous boundaries between houses.”

“What? You expect me to be best friends with someone like Zabini or…or Nott?” Ron said,
exasperated. Only adding Nott’s name after furrowing his brow in concentration to try and
remember a third Slytherin name.

Harry did agree with that. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but all it took was his brief interaction
with Nott the few moments before to confirm for him that he was not fond of that particular
Slytherin. Not to mention, he remembered Nott Sr. was a Death Eater that had been all too
excited by the prospect of torturing and murdering muggles and Harry.

Yeah, he was definitely not fond of Theo Nott.

“You don’t have to be best friends, Ron . Just be polite. Don’t antagonize them. And you,
Harry,” Hermione turned her blazing brown eyes from Ron to him and Harry’s eyes grew
wide with unease. “Don’t start petty fights with Malfoy. The two of you have an awful habit
of exploding when you’re so much as a hand length apart. The younger students are going to
look to you, to us all , as examples. It’s our responsibility to start mending the cracks from
the war.”

Harry threw up his hands in surrender, “I won’t bother any of the Slytherins. I’ll go to class,
go to the Great Hall, and return to the Gryffindor common room. I won’t be anywhere near
the eighth year Slytherins. I promise.”

Two minutes into Headmistress McGonagall's Welcome speech, and Harry had already
broken the promise he made on the train.

The new round of first years had been sorted and seated, their eyebrows reaching to their
hairlines as they gazed in awe around the magnificent Great Hall of Hogwarts. Harry nodded
his greeting at those that had rushed to the Gryffindor table after their sorting and eagerly sat
at the end of the bench. Seemingly excited to have been sorted into the same house as Harry
Potter . A thought that made him want to grimace and hide his face behind one of the floral
centerpieces.

Except, the flowers for the centerpieces had been picked from the edge of the Forbidden
Forest. The brightly colored petals had lined the path that he took only a few months prior to
willingly sacrifice himself to Voldemort. Even the faint smell of spring that floated from the
soft disc in the center of the plants made him think of death. Of decay and duty to end one
life in the hope of saving countless others’.
The flowers reminded him of what he was, a weapon. A boy who’d been raised from barely a
year old to fight, to murder, and to win against evil. Harry Potter, to everyone else, was a
Savior. Harry Potter, to himself, was a blade that had been dulled by blood and broken at the
hilt.

What was a weapon for, in times of peace? What good was he now? Now that Voldemort had
been defeated, and there was no one left to fight.

Except there is. There’s Abraxas.

Exactly. There was someone out there, someone with long yellow hair who was biding their
time before striking back against the school. Against him and his friends. Harry was going to
figure out who they were, he was going to wear Malfoy down until the git talked to him and
told him what he knew.

“Blimey Harry, are you trying to set the flowers on fire?” Ron whispered into his ear, and he
blinked away the thoughts that had just converged around his head like the rogue Bludger
from that Quidditch game in second year. He had been staring, transfixed, at the centerpiece
and had missed the rest of the sorting.

He sent a smile to Ron and rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment, doing his best to
lighten the mood a bit, before turning back towards the Head Table and watching as
McGonagall made her way to the podium to give the Welcome Speech.

“Good Evening students, and welcome to a new year-and a new era-at Hogwarts School of
Witchcraft and Wizardry. We have all entered into the Great Hall that, just months ago, held
those that had been injured, affected, and even lost their lives to an unforgiving war. Many of
you here fought valiantly against the forces of evil, and many more have been affected by the
tumultuous grief that follows times of distress. As your Headmistress, I express my sincerest
thanks and my deepest sympathies to everyone in this room. I hope the upcoming school year
is one of healing for you all, as it is time to no longer think of ourselves as individual houses
divided, but as a single school, united. In honor of this new vision of Unity, all returning 8th
Year students will be sharing a single dorm and are encouraged to reach across the aisle to
make new friends in different House Colors.”

The speech continued as the Headmistress talked more about the need for understanding
among the students, rather than animosity and rivalry. Harry couldn’t help the way his eye
traveled to the Slytherin table, and caught on to the side of Malfoy's face. He lingered on the
edge of a scar that started just above his cheekbone and ran just below the defined edge of his
jaw. The scars on the Slytherin’s face were a pale and shiny almost purple color that
contrasted with the red undertone on the surrounding patches of unmarked, light colored skin.
This was the first time Harry had had a chance to actually look at the scars and examine their
effect on Malfoy’s appearance.

Not much of an effect, really. Considering he still looks like a model.

“Harry! Stop staring, it’s rude!” Ginny whispered harshly in his ear, and he felt his cheeks
heat up at being caught in his musings. “The last thing Draco needs is you staring at his scars
and highlighting them for the whole school.”
“Sorry, Gin.” He murmured, still shocked by the reality of Ginny defending Malfoy.

McGonagall ended her speech with reminders of various school rules, as well as an
announcement that all 8th Year students were welcome to visit Hogsmeade at their leisure
due to being of age. So long as they returned to the grounds by curfew.

Dinner appeared on the serving platters before them, and Harry was more than happy to have
something else to turn his attention towards.

The Eighth Year dorms were nice. An attempt had been made to decorate the common room
with colors from all four houses. A design choice that, although emphasized the unity of the
school in theory, made the space look a bit like a storage room for leftover memorabilia in
practice. The windows across from the entrance looked out over the lake, the surface of
which danced with the reflections of stars high above.

There was a single, large sitting area in front of a tall and wide fireplace. Clearly placed with
the intention of encouraging conversation among all the Eighth Years, giving them a
‘watering hole’ of sorts to lounge around. Swirling iron staircases on either side of the room
led to the boys and girls dorms, respectively. Immediately upon arriving, Seamus had tested
the staircase that led to the girls’ side and whooped once they all realized no giant slide or
alarms sounded. Meaning everyone was free to…comingle it seemed.

Harry glanced over at Ron who watched Seamus’ “experiment” with rapid interest and then
looked incredibly excited with the results. Holding onto Hermione’s hand and practically
vibrating with anticipation.

Thank Merlin they all knew good silencing charms.

Harry turned to climb the stairs towards the boys dorm, curious about the layout, as the other
students milled about the room and took advantage of the plush sitting area. He was only on
the third step, however, when tensions started to rise.

“How lucky are we? We get to share a dorm with the Slytherin Slut himself.” The irritating
voice of Zacharias Smith spoke, causing Harry to turn around and send a glare to the
Hufflepuff that never seemed to know when his commentary was not needed. Harry followed
the other boys gaze to see who he was even referring to and felt his heart stutter as his eyes
settled on Malfoy. Well, Malfoy and Nott , actually. The two Slytherins had sat down on one
of the loveseats by the fireplace, practically sharing a single cushion. Malfoys right leg rested
on top of Nott’s left, and it looked as if Nott had just been leaning in to whisper in the
blonde's ear before they were interrupted. Harry could see Nott’s left arm draped over the
back of the couch and how his fingers started to curve protectively around his friend.

Malfoy was looking back at Smith, his face blank save for a pale brow raised high in
challenge.
“Indeed you do, Smith. Were you interested in an autograph?” Malfoy responded, his voice
cool and uninterested. Smith faltered for a moment, clearly he’d expected some loud denial
or slur to fall from the Slytherin's lips. Instead, Malfoy adopted an air of nonchalance. As if
the title of ‘Slytherin’s Slut’ was no different than his identification as ‘Slytheirn’s Seeker’.
Whether or not Malfoy was actually doing anything worthy of that reputation wasn’t
something Harry had knowledge of, but there was clear power in his refusal to back down or
raise the stakes.

“I’m looking for reviews, actually.” Smith started again, as the other Eighth Years looked on
either in interest or with a grimace at the growing tension. “A mouth like yours must be good
for something other than pledging allegiance to the Death Eaters.”

Harry felt his muscles coil and tighten. In the loveseat, Nott was clutching the armrest so
tightly that the fabric looked like it was about to rip. Still, Malfoy remained unbothered.

“I can assure you, Smith, y ou’ll never know. I’m a touch more selective with my partners.
Criteria of which I’m sure you’ll…” and at this, Malfoy looked pointedly at Smith’s crotch
before raining his eyes again and continuing with a smirk, “…fall short of.”

Smith turned red as the surrounding students let out small giggles at Malfoy’s implication.
Even Harry bit back a chuckle, if there’s one thing Malfoy was good at it was cutting
someone down verbally.

“You can’t be that good, considering they still cut your face up like that. Tell us Malfoy, did
that happen before or after you went on your knees for You-Know-Who?” Smith’s words
finally had an impact on Malfoy, it seemed. Harry felt anger boiling in his gut as he watched
the dramatic change occur on Malfoy’s face. The sound seemed to have been sucked out of
the room as the Slytherin’s jaw visibly clenched and his eyes started to swim.

Before Smith’s shite eating grin could settle in place though, two flashes of light hit him.
Smith toppled to the ground as the leg-locker curse struck, and then his hands clawed at his
mouth that had now been sealed shut by the second spell. Over by the fireplace, Pansy
Parkinson stood with her wand raised and her dark eyes blazing.

“Careful what you say, Smith. My diffindo is very precise, and I have no reservations about
cutting the tongue out of a mouth that spouts such filth . In fact, I think it’d be seen as a
valiant effort for peace.” Her words shot across the room with so much coldness that Harry
actually shivered. Parkinson lowered her wand before continuing, now addressing the room,
“Slytherin’s will only be your enemy if you make them that way. The war is over, don’t
cheapen what Potter did by being a dick.” With that, she swished her wand to release Smith
and walked calmly up the stairs to the girls' dorms.

“Did you all see that? She should be expelled!” Smith roared, climbing to his feet.

M“Why? She diffused a potentially violent situation. If anything, she should be rewarded.”
Hermione said, arms crossed and her face set in the same way it had when she kept students
in line as a prefect.
Nods and murmurs of agreement traveled through the room, and Smith realized he was
fighting a losing battle. With a muttered swear, he pushed past Harry and climbed the stairs to
the boys dorms. Harry stepped down from the staircase, ready to go over and check on
Malfoy but the Slytherin had vanished from his space next to Nott. Harry looked around and
saw a head of blonde hair disappear down into the entrance to the girls' dorms and knew
Malfoy was going to see Parkinson.

Which is when Harry realized that ,if Malfoy wouldn’t talk to him about what was going on,
a conversation with Pansy Parkinson would be the next best thing.

It took almost a week before Harry was able to corner Parkinson long enough to have a
conversation, with just the two of them. In another mind boggling twist that had sprouted
from his year on the run, it seemed that Parkinson, Malfoy, and Ginny had formed some kind
of trifecta of friendship. Joined occasionally by Luna, who floated from table to table in the
Great Hall.

Harry watched in astonishment as the three of them huddled together at the Slytherin table in
the Great Hall, laughing and talking animatedly. Zabini, Nott, and Goyle would join in
sometimes and Harry even saw the Greengrass sisters press soft kisses to Ginny's cheeks in
greeting one morning.

“So Ginny isn’t just friends with Malfoy? She’s friends with all of the Slytherins?” Harry
asked Ron and Hermione one morning as the trio walked from the Great Hall towards the
Potions Classroom together.

“Seems so, mate. All of the Sytherins kind of come as a package deal, I think.” Ron
answered.

“I still can’t believe it.”

“Oh, Harry.” Hermione started, looking at him with wide, sympathetic eyes. “Just because
Ginny is hanging out with new people doesn’t mean the two of you don’t have a chance of
ever getting back together.”

“What?!” Harry yelped as the shock of her words caused him to trip over a crack in the floor,
no doubt left over from the battle in May. Ron caught his arm before he fell face first into the
stone and wrapped a supportive arm around his shoulders.

“‘Mione is right, mate. Just give Gin some time!” Ron squeezed him.

Was that why Harry was so… affected by Ginny’s sudden friendship with the Slytherins?
Really, it was one Slytherin in particular. He had kept the secret of Ginny’s ‘Slytherin Crush’
to himself ever since she told him but the thought of it being Malfoy of all people was going
to make him go grey. Harry didn’t even know why it bothered him so much. Malfoy had
clearly gone through some fundamental changes the previous year, enough to make him
palatable to most people. Still, something about Malfoy and Ginny together fluttered uneasily
around him. Like a housefly that kept zipping past his ear but never came close enough to
squish .

The three of them rounded the final corner and entered into the Potions classroom, and Harry
paused his train of thought long enough to look around for an open table. Hermione led them
to a bench that sat to the right of the classroom, closest to the ingredients shelf and storeroom
entrance. Around them, other students trickled in and took their seats. A few rows in front of
them and on the left side of the middle aisle, Harry saw Malfoy and Parkinson perch
themselves on the seat without once breaking their conversation.

The office door opened and Professor Slughorn strolled in, clapping his hands to grab the
attention of the Advanced Potions Students.

“Hello, students! Hello and welcome to your NEWT Level Potions course…” Harry listened
as Slughorn detailed the rigorous expectations of the upcoming year and emphasized the
importance of careful precision when handling such delicate ingredients and brewing such
advanced potions. Harry thought about how useful the Half Blood Prince’s textbook had
been, and then dug his heels in the ground to stop the memories of Snape from surfacing in
his mind.

Severus Snape was a…difficult subject for him.

The chalkboard at the front of the classroom flipped to show everyone the steps to brewing
the Cure for Boils potion, which Slughorn said was a good way for everyone to reorient
themselves with the brewing process after such a long summer. Harry let out a quiet sigh and
began writing down the steps on the board before something inevitably resulted in them
being erased.

He wasn’t as bad at potions as he thought he’d be, but he still wasn’t great . Harry had a hard
time relaxing enough to follow all of the different rules for precision that was necessary when
preparing ingredients for a successful potion. Did it really matter if he sliced valerian root
instead of mincing it? Well, yes it did but it shouldn’t . The damn plant was still going into
the cauldron, no matter how he held his knife.

The time passed quietly, the room filling with the light tings of stirring rods touching pewter
and gurgle of boiling liquid. It was a nice, gentle noise that kept his mind focused on the task
at hand.

Then the large clash of a stirring rod falling to the floor caught everyone’s attention. Harry
felt his hand shoot towards his wand, ready to defend the classroom for whatever or whoever
the threat was.

“Oh, Draco…” the voice of Parkinson, filled with a mixture of sadness and understanding,
turned his attention to the table she shared with Malfoy. Malfoy, who had fallen to his knees
on the stone floor and whose body was shaking with tremors. Parkinson knelt down next to
him, brushing her fingers through his platinum blonde hair and whispering something in his
ear.
“Mr. Malfoy, are you alright?” Professor Slughorn walked towards them but was stopped by
Parkinson’s raised hand.

“It’s a cruciatus tremor, he gets them from time to time. It’ll pass.” Her voice was
authoritative, but soothing. Harry heard Hermione gasp and lift a hand to her mouth, even
Ron looked a little green at what was unfolding towards the front of the classroom.

“Shall I call for Madam Pomfrey?” Slughorn asked, wringing his hands together for lack of
anything else to do with them.

On the ground, Malfoy shook his head before speaking slowly and with a slight stutter, “J-j-
just brew. I’ll b-b-be f-fine.”

Slughorn nodded his head and waved at the class, telling them all to resume working. Slowly,
the tings and gurgles returned as students resumed their work. Harry turned towards
Hermione, who was shaking slightly as she handled her remaining ingredients.

“Mione!” Harry whispered, “What’s a cruciatus tremor? Did someone cast the spell at him?”
He had been crucioed before but never had residual tremors and he was worried that someone
in the classroom had targeted Malfoy.

Hermioned turned towards him, leaning slightly forward and around Ron who sat in the
middle. “It’s a lasting symptom of the cruciatus curse. Tremors typically only show up in
victims that have been crucioed repeatedly and severely in a short frame of time. It’s like an
echo of the curse, not as painful but still debilitating.” Hermione’s voice was a grave whisper
that clenched tightly around something in his chest.

He looked back towards Malfoy, who was still trembling underneath Parkinson's gentle
caresses. If what Hermione had said was true, and of course it was because she was
Hermione , the unforgivable had to have been cast at Malfoy more times than he could count.
Harry did his best to focus on the ingredients he was meant to be preparing but his thoughts
kept racing with the question of whose crucio Malfoy was feeling in that moment. Was it
Bellatrix’s? Rodolphus’?

Was it Voldemort’s?

After what felt like an hour, but obviously couldn’t have been, Malfoy stood again and
moved back to his cauldron and potion. Parkinson whispered something in his ear that was
answered with a nod and a tired smile. Slughorn walked back over to the two, moving slowly
as if he was afraid he might set off another tremor.

Harry strained his hearing to listen to the conversation, worried that something was still
wrong.

“Are you able to finish your potion, Mr. Malfoy?” Slughorn asked, looking over the cauldron.

Malfoy’s voice was controlled enough that he didn’t stutter, but the words still came out slow
and with great effort. “Would it be alright, Sir, if I came back down after dinner and re-did
the assignment? I’m concerned my focus will be too affected right now, and I don’t want to
cause an explosion in the newly renovated castle.”

“Yes, yes of course. Would you like someone to escort you to the Infirmary?”

Malfoy shook his head, “No, I’ll return to my dorm. Thank you, Professor.”

Harry watched as Parkinson vanished the half finished potion and helped pack his bag.
Malfoy leaned heavily on the table and pressed a short kiss to her temple before walking
slowly out of the classroom.

Which meant Parkinson would be leaving the classroom alone, and Harry would finally be
able to talk to her.

The rest of the class passed without incident and, after Harry set his only slightly off color
potion on Professor Slughorn's desk, he walked quickly back into the hall. Hermione and Ron
looked at him questioningly, but let him go off without interruption. Probably because Ron
was still trying to bottle his potion that held lumps of ingredients that didn’t properly break
down in his mixture.

Up ahead, he saw the sleek bob of Pansy Parkinson turn a corner towards the Slytherin dorms
and he sped up to catch her before she slipped away. The chances of him being able to catch
her like this again were minimal .

“Parkinson!” He called, once they had entered an empty corridor. She turned around and,
upon seeing Harry hurrying up to meet her, rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “I need to
talk to you.” He finished, once he’d caught up and was standing directly in front of her.

“Potter, if you're coming to me for an apology you’re not going to get it.”

“No, I’m not…wait why not ? You tried to turn me over to Voldemort!” Maybe his concerns
over Malfoy could wait a minute.

“It was a numbers game, Golden Boy. Everyone knew you had to fight him anyway. It made
sense to trade one person to save countless others.” She answered, as if it was an obvious
conclusion. Which, to be honest, he couldn’t really fault her for.

“Okay fine whatever look that’s not what I want to talk to you about. It’s about Malfoy.” At
the mention of her best friend's name, Parkinson’s expression hardened and her eyes
narrowed.

“Leave him alone, Potter.” Parkinson pushed the words through clenched teeth.

“I didn’t do anything! Look, I’m worried that something happened or that there’s something
he’s hiding from everyone. I’d ask him myself but he doesn’t talk to anyone outside of the
Slytherin’s or Ginny and Luna. Which I still don’t completely understand.”

“You don’t need to know what happened. Let it go.” Her voice was steel, doing its best to bar
him from retrieving any information. Except, she had already confirmed that something was
going on.
“So wait….something did happen? He can tell me, is he in trouble?” Harry told her, desperate
to get an audience with Malfoy long enough to find out something, anything , about Abraxas.

“Do you know what the problem is with Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, even Hufflepuffs?”
Parkinson asked, changing the subject so rapidly that he blinked in confusion for a second.

“What, we're not all pureblood bigots?” Harry responded, annoyed that she derailed the
conversation so quickly. Parkinson’s eyes narrowed further and she took a step closer to him
before responding.

“You think you’re the only ones who are allowed to be affected by the war. This whole
school, staff included, has convinced themselves that the Slytherins are mindless monsters
that are just sad because the Dark Lord lost.” Just like that first day in the Eighth Year dorms,
her voice was so frigid that he could’ve swore frost was going to form on the surrounding
stone of the dungeons. “Did you know that Greg and Astoria visit Vince’s grave once a
month and learned how to work some muggle music machine so that they could play
Tchaikovsky because Swan Lake was his favorite ballet? Do you know that Theo lost his
father who, despite being a Death Eater, was the only family he had left in the world? No one
made it out of the war unscathed but we’re all just trying to move on. What happened to
Draco is over, and yes it’s thanks to you. But just because you’re the bloody Savior doesn’t
mean he owes you an explanation or his secrets. Back. Off.”

She finished her speech and, before he could say anything else, walked away. Leaving Harry
alone in the dungeon corridor, still searching for a ghost.
 Good and Evil
Chapter Notes

Hi everyone! Sorry there’s been so much time between this update and the last, I went
out of town for work and fell sick so I was unable to write for a bit. Please, enjoy!

Warnings: mentions of rape and blood.

Chapter 19: Good and Evil

Malfoy disappeared almost every Friday night.

Harry noticed this odd behavior quickly, given how intently he had been watching over the
Slytherin. It seemed most Fridays, save for one or two, Malfoy would disappear promptly
after his last class of the day. Which just so happened to be NEWT Level charms, a class that
he and Harry shared. The class would conclude and Malfoy would glide into the halls, only to
disappear from the grounds and not return until late in the evening.

Harry knew it was late in the evening because they shared a dorm room and he listened
intently for Malfoy's return.

Their circular tower room also housed Seamus Finnigan and Blaise Zabini, but those two
seemed to be able to sleep through a parade of elephants. So it was only Harry that heard the
soft creak of the door open and the whispered pull of bed sheets being drawn back to accept
their slumberer.

Malfoy never returned at a set time, but rather he strolled in whenever he seemed to have
concluded whatever business it was that he had to cater to. Sometimes the groan of the door
would be heard at 2:30am, other times Harry would doze off only to be awakened by soft
footsteps in the sunrise hours of Saturday morning.

It was starting to drive Harry mad.

He watched the Marauders map after Friday charms, but could only ever see the Malfoy dot
stroll to the Headmistresses office and then cease to exist. Most likely, this meant he was
using the Floo but why and where was he going? More than that, what had he told
Headmistress McGonagall that granted him permission to use her floo?

The first person he tried to ask about this strange behavior was Ginny, considering her and
Malfoy’s bizarre friendship.
“Hey, Gin!” Harry called to her one Friday afternoon. He caught up to her in the corridors
near Gryffindor tower, as all of the students meandered their way down to the libraries for
studying or to the courtyards for chatting. She was walking alone, her head slightly bent as
she read the cover of a magazine that sat in her hands. At hearing her name, she turned back
and caught Harry’s eye with a soft smile and slowed her pace so he could catch up.

“Hey Harry, need a break from Ron and Hermione’s enthusiasm ?” She asked with a snicker.
He sent her a humored smile accompanied with a slight shoulder shrug.

“That, and I wanted to talk to you about something.” His tone was light but a twitch in his
face must have given him away, because Ginny’s face immediately sobered as she regarded
him closely.

“Is everything okay?” She asked, worry lacing the words.

“Yeah I just, I’ve noticed some odd behavior from Malfoy and I wanted to ask you about it.”
At the mention of Malfoy’s name, Ginny rolled her eyes.

“Harry, why are you always so wrapped up in Draco? I know he’s hot but you really do
border on obsessive.”

“Malfoy being hot has nothing to do with this!” He answered exasperatedly. Ginny, however,
turned towards him with a smirk and her eyes dancing with amusement.

“So, you think he’s hot?”

Harry felt his face heat up, realizing that he probably should have denied that as soon as it
was brought up.

“I mean, everyone does. Right? It’s just another reason he’s so frustrating. He’s evil, he’s a
Slytherin, and he’s obscenely good looking.” Harry rambled, not sure why he was still talking
about the attractiveness of Draco Malfoy.

Ginny’s smirk only grew, before she leaned her head slightly to the side and looked Harry
over with an unnerving, assessing gaze. Her fingers played with the edge of the magazine she
was holding which, upon further inspection, was a copy of Witch Weekly . In an effort to
change the subject, Harry looked pointedly at the publication and then raised a questioning
gaze to Ginny. Witch Weekly wasn’t her typical choice of light reading material.

Ginny blushed slightly and turned to look forward as they continued their slow walk together
through the halls, “I’m borrowing it from a friend, there’s an article I was curious about.”

“What articles are in there besides dating advice and rankings of the Wizarding World’s most
eligible bachelors?”

“You sound interested.” Ginny clearly had been hanging around the Slytherin’s too long,
because the look on her face was far too similar to the same catty expression he’d seen on the
likes of Daphne Greengrass or Pansy Parkinson.

Which reminded him why he wanted to talk to her in the first place.
“Anyway! I wanted to ask you about Malfoy, I noticed he disappears most Friday’s and I was
wondering if you knew where he was going.” Harry said, doing his best to steer the
conversation back on topic.

Ginny gave him an unreadable look before answering, “I do.”

Harry stopped walking then, determination running up and down his body like a livewire. “
You do? Where is he going? What’s going on with him?”

“It’s not my place to say. He’s fine though, Harry. You can let it go.” Ginny said, stopping too
and pulling him by the elbow so that they weren’t blocking the middle of the corridor.
“Although, I guess asking you to let something regarding Draco go is pretty useless.”

“I’m just…concerned. I’m worried there’s something he knows about Voldemort that could
be dangerous for all of us.”

“Harry, the things Draco knows about V-V-Voldemort are only dangerous for him.” Ginny’s
voice sounded so sad and sympathetic, as if the thought of what Malfoy knew was enough to
make her weep for him.

“No but, Gin there’s something else . Something happened to Malfoy last year-”

“Harry, something happened to all of us last year. Including you. We fought a war. We’re
walking in the same building that held the corpses of our friends only a few months ago.
Hyper Fixating on Draco isn’t going to make all of that go away. You need to focus on Harry
for once, there’s so many things you need to deal with before worrying about Draco.” She
admonished him.

He was struck silent by her words, swallowing thick paste that seemed to have conjured in
his throat in response.

I can deal with the war when it’s over. Once I figure out what Abraxas is up to.

Ginny’s face was taken over by a look of deep sympathy and pain that seemed to be on his
behalf, and Harry had to look away from the rawness of her emotions. Unable to reconcile
why someone would be so worried about him. Harry was doing what he was supposed to do,
what he was raised to do.

Harry was a weapon. That’s all he’d ever be, and a weapon needed something to strike
against.

“Why don’t you talk to Draco?” Ginny asked.

“He won’t talk to me.” Harry answered immediately, batting away the recommendation like a
cobweb.

“Have you tried?”

Well…no. Harry had only talked to Draco on the train. They had a handful of interactions in
the Eighth Year common room, but the blonde was always sandwiched between at least two
other Slytherin’s who kept a wary guard over him. Especially after Zacharias Smith’s
unwelcome comments that first night.

“I don’t think he’ll talk to me, Gin.” Harry responded.

“I think you should at least try.” With that, Ginny linked their arms together and led him the
rest of the way to the Great Hall.

That night, Harry laid awake in his bed and listened for the return of Draco Malfoy to the
Eighth Year dorms. His eyes stayed fixed on the soft, white canopy above. The bed linens of
the Eighth Year dorms were a delicate cream color, accented by pillows and a duvet in the
occupants corresponding House colors. Another attempt at breaking down the barriers-
artificial as they may be-between the houses of the adult students.

Harry found his mind drifting as he waited, unable to maintain the laser type focus he had
honed so well during his months in the Forest of Dean. His eyes traced the barely noticeable
stitching in the fabric above him, creating images and fantasies in his mind. Towards the right
edge of the canopy, a shadow of one of the long stretching limbs from the trees outside the
adjacent window reached across to scratch delicately on the closed curtains. The thoughts in
his head slowly rolled over into memories, touring him through nights he huddled with
Hermione in an effort to keep warm against the suffocating chill of a winter in the woods.

The conversations they held, during the time Ron had left in a whirlwind of fury and fear,
strayed from simple topics to the calculated moves they would need to make to collect and
destroy whatever horcrux they were after.

Every sound, when you’re on the run, has the potential to be an enemy. His ears would twitch
and hone in on the soft cracks of damp bark or the low whistle of wind as it padded the air.
Though it was enough to douse him in exhaustion that made his bones heavy and stiff, there
was comfort in the tension. He knew who he was then, He was the boy who had been
prophesied to murder a madman.

The Forest of Dean and the Battle of Hogwarts were unforgiving, the terrain took without
warning or conscience.

So why did Harry miss it?

Why did he stare into the shadows of foliage that wrote letters on his bed curtains and think
somewhat endearingly on the previous years of his life? He wanted peace, he was happy with
peace. The calm, relaxed energy that floated through the castle halls should have nestled him
into an appreciative comfort.

Instead, it made him feel as if he was dangling from a sharp edge in darkness. Unable to
judge the distance below him and unwilling to uncurl his fingers.
So far, his life could be split nearly in the middle. His first 11 years, bracketed by the death of
his parents and Hagrid knocking down the door to tell him he was a Wizard. With the
following 7 years brought to a head the moment he disarmed Voldemort and rendered him
lifeless in the very Courtyard that Harry had walked laps around this morning. In both halves,
he knew what he was-or rather-he knew what he was expected to be. With the Dursleys, he
was expected to be small, quiet, out of the way, and useful. With Dumbledore, he was
expected to fight year after year against the impending return of the Dark Lord, and then walk
bravely into the Forbidden Forest to lay down his life when the time came.

So what did he do now?

What was his life to be after this second split, after he’d completed his one purpose? His one
goal that had hung unpleasantly but reassuringly around his shoulders for close to a decade.

Harry was lost.

He was lost, he was unsure, and he was scared . For what felt like the first time.

Fear didn’t touch him at the Dursleys, rather there was a cool acceptance of his abuse and
neglect. Fear didn’t touch him at Hogwarts, replaced instead by the adrenaline and
overwhelming grief of war from the eyes of the intended hero. Even his moments in the
graveyard, after touching the Triwizard Cup were laced only with confusion, anger, and
determination .

Yet, fear touched him now. Just as the elongated and exaggerated shadowed tree branches
tapped soundlessly against the bed canopy and curtains.

The future was so unknown to him. There was no ever present battle, no threat lurking around
the corner that he could charge full steam ahead against. There was just Harry. The Boy Who
Won.

The Boy Who Was Uncertain and Unprepared.

These thoughts and anxieties threatened to swell against his lungs, cracking his ribs and
strangling his breath. Until he reminded himself why he was soundless staying awake in his
bed, awaiting the return of Malfoy.

There was an enemy to focus on. There was ‘Abraxas’.

Harry sifted through his memory of the previous year and the visions he’d had of Voldemort
taking this faceless person to bed. At first, Harry had assumed it was the vile and grotesque
act of rape. Another way for Voldemort to attempt to assert power and gain the upper hand
over someone. Harry remembered watching small drops of blood flecking the light colored
skin that Voldemort gazed so intently at as he moved in and out of the body. He thought he
heard cries but they quickly turned to moans, and Harry felt the same pride, appreciation, and
respect for ‘Abraxas’ that Voldemort had.

There was no thirst for power in these moments, there was only a vague attempt at…making
love.
He pulled a phrase from one of the earliest memories of the relationship, and recalled it with
ease. “Relax, Abraxas. I remember what you like.”

Another layer to the mystery. How long had Voldemort known this person? Why had no one
else been aware of this elusive, golden haired Death Eater?

How long had Abraxas had to learn, and to prepare?

There was a brief time when Harry assumed Abraxas had died. He recalled another memory
of a vision from not too long before the battle. It was hazy, and played in his mind like a film
strip that had been singed and burned. Voldemort had cast the killing spell at someone, but
his feelings of anger were so intense that Harry blacked out from the immense pressure and
pain on his scar. All he remembered was that familiar, long light colored hair.

Then it was gone.

Still, Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that ‘Abraxas’ was still there, still looking on from the
shadows and biding their time for revenge. Waiting to strike fast and hard, like a viper.

This feeling had only been confirmed when he asked Malfoy what he knew, that day in the
Ministry Interview Room. The color leaked out of his cheeks and his eyes took on the sharp
color of steel, as if Harry could see the forcefulness with which Malfoy was locking his
thoughts and memories away.

Malfoy knew something, and Harry needed to know it too.

Just then, Harry heard the slow pull of the door. He listened to Malfoy take slow, careful
steps around the dorm room upon his return. There was the light creak of another door-most
likely the wardrobe-being opened and closed. He listened to the soft rustle of Malfoy
changing his clothes, and felt a soft flutter in his stomach as he heard a soft sigh billow out
into the still air of the dorm.

Harry sat up in his bed, intending to confront the Slytherin before he climbed into his own
four poster but then the door opened again .

Malfoy had left the dorm.

Harry reached for his wand and cast a quick tempus charm, which showed that it was a
quarter past two in the morning. Why had Malfoy returned to the dorm just to change clothes
and leave again ?

Keeping his movements as quiet as possible, Harry pushed his way out of the bed curtains
and knelt in front of his trunk. He was careful to keep any noise to a minimum as he rooted
around for a familiar piece of parchment.

A few seconds later, the Marauders Map was in his hand. He quickly activated it and
immediately searched for the dot labeled ‘D. Malfoy’ , finding it quickly due to the late hour
and vacant corridors of the castle. Harry followed the slow moving dot, gripping tightly at the
edges of the map in anticipation. Slowly, the dot moved up the stairs until it stopped in the
middle of the 7th floor corridor.

Oh. Oh.

Harry made a decision then. Malfoy was not going to be in that corridor, in the middle of the
night, alone . He could still hear the thuds of Malfoy’s fists beating on the door of the Room
of Requirement, as the corridor filled with sobs, screams, and begging for his friend; Vincent
Crabbe. When they had escaped the Fiendfyre, Harry had been shocked at the sheer intensity
of Malfoy’s grief for a boy that, for all intents and purposes, never seemed to be more than a
block of muscle at the Slytherin’s side.

Quickly zipping up a hoodie and shoving his feet into his pair of battered trainers, Harry left
the dorm room and followed the invisible trail to the 7th Floor corridor. As he turned the
corner, he saw Malfoy sitting against the wall, facing the section of stone that would
normally open up to the Room of Requirement. The wall was smooth and uninterrupted now,
no indication of the room-if it even still existed-that laid behind it.

Malfoy had his knees pulled to his chest, with his chin resting atop them and his arms wound
around the calves. He was wearing a dark pair of flannel pajama pants and a Slytherin
Quidditch jumper that draped over the blonde's slender frame. Harry could just make out the
letters ‘C’ and ‘R’ on the back of the shirt and knew instantly who the jumper had once
belonged to.

He took careful, slow steps forward. Not wanting to sneak up and startle Malfoy but also
careful to not interrupt or intrude. Slowly, the other boy's face turned away from the wall and
towards Harry. He felt his breath hitch as silver eyes regarded him, slowing his steps to a stop
just an arm length away.

Malfoy broke the silence first.

“You have a strange talent for finding me, Potter. Surely you have better uses for your time.”
His words came out softer than Harry expected. Malfoy wasn’t looking for a fight, he just
sounded…tired.

“I couldn’t sleep. I saw you couldn’t either and figured you’d be up here after what happened
to…” Harry responded, glancing at the wall across from them to finish the sentence. Malfoy’s
eyes dropped slightly and he nodded once, quickly. Then, he uncurled an arm and pushed
against the stone floor, scooting his body over slightly before returning his stare to its original
direction.

It was…an invitation. One that Harry didn’t expect but, nevertheless, took. He lowered
himself onto the cold floor and crossed his legs in front of him. His hands ended up in the
pockets of his jacket, and his head rested against the wall behind them.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Malfoy. He watched and he waited, not sure what the
next move should be.

Like before, it was Malfoy who began speaking again.

“I have nightmares…sometimes they’re about things that happened at the Manor but other
nights it’s just Vince. I see him falling into the fire…over and over again.”

What things happened in the manor? What happened to Malfoy that ended with him helping
Harry, Ron, and Hermione, and having his face ripped to shreds? Clearly, there had been
dissent inside him long before that April afternoon. Harry had heard about his refusal to
crucio students, and his clever plan to fake the punishment and protect those in the school. He
still couldn't understand how Malfoy, of all people, tried to resist Voldemort. Not after years
of bullying and spreading pureblood rhetoric. If he really, truly wanted Harry to win, why
didn’t he help them? Why did he almost kill Katie Bell and Ron? Why did he let the Death
Eaters into the school?

Why did he try to kill Dumbledore instead of asking him for help ?

He had come to this corridor for answers about ‘Abraxas’ but first, he needed answers about
Malfoy .

“Why didn’t you switch sides, Malfoy? You said you wanted us to win, and you stopped the
Carrows from torturing students but you were still a Death Eater . We could’ve used your
help!” Harry said, remembering the moment on the Astronomy Tower when Malfoy lifted his
arm to reveal the grotesque etching of the Dark Mark in his skin.

He realized how close the two of them were sitting when he felt the tensing of Malfoys
shoulder, just briefly. Harry felt him shift slightly, their upper arms barely touching but still
enough to spread heat all along his limb.

Heat and…and want.

Harry wanted to understand Malfoy, he wanted to stare into those ever shuttered eyes and
pull all of the secrets out. Not to stop ‘Abraxas’, but to know who Draco Malfoy was.

They were staring at each other, and Harry watched the neutral expression in Malfoy’s face
change into something akin to annoyance.

“It’s all so easy for you isn’t it Potter?” He started, silver eyes slightly narrowed but no less
scathing as they met his own. “So simple to view the world as black and white, good and
evil. Why didn’t I switch sides and stride valiantly into the field alongside your gaggle of
Weasels and halfbreeds? Is there even a brain inside that thick skull of yours?”

There was the Malfoy that he had known since that first meeting in Diagon Alley at 11 years
old. The biting remarks, the insults. It was familiar but, Harry knew now, it was just another
layer of protection. A mound of thorns that separated Malfoy from any sense of vulnerability,
and he was going to fight his way through the thicket.

“Stop it. Stop deflecting and flinging insults and answer the fucking question.” Harry said,
meeting Malfoy head on.

“I am answering it. How could I have switched sides? Who would have helped me? Believed
me? Tom was living in my house. Where could I have gone? Who would have taken in me
and my parents?”

“We could’ve figured it out! The Weasleys have-”

Malfoy cut him off with a mocking scoff, “You honestly think the Weasleys would have
opened their home to the Malfoy family? Would have broken bread at the same table as the
boy who’s responsible for Fenrir Greyback leaving scars on Bill’s face? You’re naive.
Ginevra can’t even bring up our friendship with the Weasel without him spouting off about
what an insufferable git I am.”

Their gazes remained locked, and Harry felt something break deep inside of him.

“I could have helped you.” He said quietly, watching as the annoyance on Malfoy’s face
melted to something softer.

“No, you couldn’t have. You did what you needed to do. You won the war, you killed Tom,
you ran around the country fighting pockets of evil and saved us all. It’s over.”

They were silent again, gazing at each other in the emptiness of the corridor. Despite the
exchange of words, there was no tension. Just…them.

“What did you do?” Harry asked, letting his eyes trace the scars that ruptured smooth skin.

“What do you mean?”

“What did you do at the manor? What happened?” He stopped tracing and lifted his eyes to
meet silver, once again. They were more open now, not completely unguarded but there was a
significant lessening of defense visible to him.

“I did what I needed to, to keep myself and my parents alive.” Malfoy said, his voice hard.

“How could calling Voldemort by his real name have kept you alive?” Harry asked, still
unsure how Malfoy could have possibly been granted protection for reminding Voldemort
that he was mortal.

Malfoy looked away before answering, and took a deep breath. His head turned back to look
at the nonexistent entrance to the Room of Requirement. When he spoke, his voice was quiet
and ringed with pain. “…I was exploiting a memory and I gave Tom what he thought he
needed.”

“And that worked?”

“Too well, sometimes.” As he said this, a solitary tear drop fell from the corner of Malfoy’s
eye. Harry watched it slide over the scars on his cheeks and, before he could stop himself, he
lifted his hand to the other boy's cheek and swiped the tear away with his thumb.

Malfoy turned his face, startled at the touch, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned ever
so slightly into Harry’s palm.
“Your hand is…warm.” Malfoy whispered, letting his eyes drift close. Harry felt his heart
beating so hard in his chest that he worried he was about to pass out. The light skin that
rested on his own bronzed hand was cool, soft, and addicting . He had the sudden urge to
trace his fingers under the sharp jaw, down the long neck, and even down the clothed chest of
the boy next to him.

The chest that was wearing the Silver and Green jumper of his friend that he had just watched
burn alive just a few kilometers from where they sat.

The sudden reminder of where they were, of who they were, fell over him like a sheet of icy
rain. The hand that held Malfoy’s cheek twitched and Harry drew it back, returning it to the
pocket of his jacket. He looked away, fixating on a stream of moonlight that lit a section of
the floor in front of them. He heard Malfoy move next to him but didn’t dare look over, too
nervous about what he’d be met with.

What did he want to be met with?

Harry didn’t know. He had no clue what he was feeling right then. There were traces of
embarrassment, of confusion, and even of…excitement. The last of which he couldn’t even
begin to understand. All combined with a flurry of unidentifiable emotions, that he only
recognized as things to be pushed away and dealt with later.

“I think I’m going to head back to the dorm.” Harry said, slowly rising to his feet. He looked
down at Malfoy, who gazed up at him with his head set against the back wall.

“Goodnight, Potter.” He said.

“Goodnight.” Harry responded, the slightest bit breathless as he turned and walked away.

He returned to the dorm, toed off his shoes, and climbed into bed. He closed his eyes and
slowed his breathing, but didn’t fall asleep until he heard the door open again. Sleep came to
him only when he was sure that Malfoy was safe and warm, tucked into his own cream sheets
that held dancing shadows.

In the moment before exhaustion pulled him under, Harry wondered what images Malfoy saw
in those shadows.
 Rumors
Chapter Notes

Seriously y’all, thank you so much for your comments and your kudos and all of the
love you’ve given to this story! I’m not always able to respond to every comment but
please know that they are wholeheartedly appreciated. Ily <3

Chapter 20: Rumors

The morning after Harry and Malfoy’s conversation in the 7th floor corridor, he felt a slight
shift in the air. There was a distinct sensation that something had been shared between them,
but it seemed that Harry was the only one who acknowledged it. Malfoy maintained his
distance as always, while still moving through the halls as unbothered and unconcerned as
ever.

But Harry noticed small things about him. Things that he never had before last night. Like the
way Malfoy poured and prepared tea for Luna, on the occasions she sat with him at the
Slytherin table. Harry had never taken into account how intimate it seemed, for Malfoy to
know the precise way Luna preferred her tea and the way he carefully selected biscuits to pair
with the drink.

Harry also noticed the way Malfoy and Ginny whispered in each other's ears when they
talked, sometimes dissolving into fits of silent laughter and wide smiles. He watched from
across the library, where Malfoy, Parkinson, Ginny, and Zabini sat at a table and poured over
dusty books from the high shelves. Malfoy leaned over to Ginny’s ear and bent down,
slightly, to whisper something to her. Harry watched Ginny’s eyes widen and her face turn
red in a blushing response to whatever had been said to her.

Malfoy simply smirked and then winked . It was practically obscene.

By late October, rumors began to spread about a shocking relationship between an unknown
Gryffindor and a Slytherin. The catalyst to which had been the discovery of a forgotten
Slytherin tie in the Gryffindor common room. The tie had been flung, it seemed, behind one
of the common room couches and forgotten in either the high emotions of a fit of passion or a
hasty redressing.

The houses had been heralded as rivals for so long that the thought of someone from either
the dungeons or the tower crossing over was shocking, even in the wake of the war.
Speculation about who the Slytherin tie belonged to and who had invited a snake into the
Lion’s Den ran rampant through the halls. Was it betrayal for a Gryffindor to be with a
Slytherin?

“It shouldn’t matter, not anymore, what house two people are in. As long as they care about
each other.” Hermione said from her cross legged perch on the couch in the common room.
Like every other conversation in the castle the previous few days, theirs too had evolved into
speculation on who the mystery pair were.

Ron, who was sitting next to her and attempting to catch pieces of popcorn that Seamus
tossed in the air towards him, let out a sound of disbelief and annoyance. “You really think a
Gryffindor and a Slytherin can even be together? It’s ridiculous, ‘Mione.”

“Well obviously some are together.” Hermione huffed.

“Not like it’s going to last, give it a week. Hell, it’s probably already over.” Ron responded,
followed by a swear when a salty popped kernel bounced off his open eyeball and into
Hermione’s bushy hair.

Harry, who was sitting on an ottoman and facing them, reached into Hermiones’ curls and
plucked the stray piece of popcorn free. Hermione looked at it, rolled her eyes, and then
smiled in thanks at him. He flung it into the air and incendioed it with a quick wave of his
wand.

“Regardless, it’s a bit weird to sneak a Slytherin into Gryffindor tower. The houses are kept
separate for a reason.” Harry added.

“It’s definitely bold but, this year is supposed to be for unity among the houses. Need I
remind you two that you’re in no place to judge someone else for sneaking into a rival houses
common room.” Hermione admonished, and Harry let out a snort at the reminder of their
polyjuice escapade in second year.

“That was different ‘Mione! We were seeking out information for the good of the school.”
Ron defended, lowering his voice so that only the three of them could hear. Seamus, with his
popcorn bag now empty, had clapped the redhead on the shoulder and moved to another area
of the common room.

“Yes and, whichever Slytherin and Gryffindor are together are also doing good for the
school.” Hermione looked pointedly at them, making it clear that the secret relationship-as
scandalous as it was-shouldn’t be poked and prodded. Rather it should be left alone and even
encouraged.

“I still want to know who it is, so I can ask them what they could possibly see in one of those
pureblood prats.” Ron grumbled.

Harry was about to respond but, was cut off by the chilling drawl of a voice he knew all too
well.

“Come off it, Weasel. Not every Slytherin is a pureblood, just the good ones.” Malfoy had
slipped into the conversation so effortlessly that, for a moment, Harry assumed he’d always
been there. Except, no, the adjacent couch had definitely been empty before the blonde cut
in.

“The good ones? Really, Malfoy?” Harry turned towards him, taking in the relaxed posture of
the Slytherin Prince on the plush, light brown couch.

“No Potter, you’re right. The words ‘good’ and ‘Slytherin’ do tend to be mutually exclusive.”
Malfoy smirked and, just when Harry was about to call him a git, he stopped at the
realization that the other boy was… teasing them.

“Fuck off, Malfoy.” Ron said, eyes narrowed in his direction.

“Such language, Weasel. I’ll have to suggest Ginevra gift you a book on vocabulary for
Christmas. Perhaps then you can keep up with Granger’s intellect.” Malfoy responded
simply, catching Hermione’s eye and winking at her.

Hermione, to Harry’s absolute shock, blushed and smiled at Malfoy. Ron, who had also seen
the interaction, turned red as well. Except it wasn’t the color of shyness but the color of
anger.

“No! No, Malfoy. You’ve already sunk your claws into my sister, you’re not doing it to my
girlfriend too!” Ron spit out.

“I can’t help it that I’m charming.” Malfoy widened his eyes in mock innocence as he looked
back at Ron.

“It’s you, isn’t it!” Harry said, suddenly. He turned towards the Slytherin with wide, accusing
eyes as he pieced the information together.

Ginny sitting with Malfoy on the train.

Ginny telling him she had a crush on a Slytherin at the beginning of the Summer.

Ginny defending Malfoy in conversations with him and Ron.

The Slytherin and Gryffindor who were dating was Draco Malfoy and Ginny Weasley.

Harry felt the sensation of an earthquake that existed only inside his body as the realization
swept over him.

Malfoy’s smile turned teasing again as he watched Harry work his way to the conclusion
before leaning forward slightly and responding, “Maybe it is.” With that, he stood and
sauntered up to the dorms. Leaving three slightly stunned Gryffindors in his wake.

“Bloody hell, who do you think the Gryffindor is?!” Ron whispered sharply, looking between
Harry and Hermione.

Harry did not answer for two reasons. One, because he had promised Ginny he’d keep her
secret all those months ago and two, because he didn’t think Ron could handle that news just
yet.
“I’ve reached my limit for this conversation, either change the subject or you’re both going to
help me study Ancient Runes.” Hermione said.

Harry and Ron shared a quick look and agreed that it was best to drop the subject of potential
inter house pairings and instead talk about something else.

As Halloween drew closer, the castle steadily became decorated with carved, flickering
pumpkins and strings of leaves in the oranges, red, and browns of Autumn. The Great Hall
seemed to take on a permanent scent of warm baked apples garnished with sticks of
cinnamon and sprinkles of clove. Harry welcomed the comforting atmosphere of sweater
weather in Scotland, doing his best to relax the tension that seemed to permanently tighten
his shoulders.

He left lunch in the Great Hall and climbed the stairs to the Eighth Year common room,
munching on a warm pumpkin pastie absentmindedly. It was a Hogsmeade Weekend and he
was looking forward to the empty dorm room that awaited him. Harry found himself
uncomfortable in the crowds of Hogsmeade where students, residents, and visitors tended to
follow him around with stars in their eyes and questions on their lips for the ‘Boy Who Lived
Twice’.

The Eighth Year common room was sparsely populated, and Harry hoped the same could be
said for his room. Making his way up the steps and taking the last bite of his pastry, Harry
pulled open the door and walked in. His eyes drew immediately to Malfoys bed, as it was the
only one occupied.

Occupied, with more than one person.

Nott and Malfoy laid on the bed, the curtains open and the sheets bunched at their waists.
Malfoy’s head sat next to Notts' on the pillow and his fingers traced soft patterns into the
other boy's cotton covered chest. Notts left arm wrapped around Malfoy’s shoulders while his
right hand held his wand and twirled it slowly. The two seemed to be in deep conversation,
only glancing at Harry briefly as he entered.

“Sorry, I uhh…I thought the dorm would be empty.” Harry said, feeling as though he’d
intruded on something private.

“It practically is.” Malfoy responded, looking at Harry with a bored expression.

“Do you want me to leave?” He asked, then immediately wanted to take it back because this
was his dorm too, dammit.

Malfoy’s expression turned with the raising of a pale brow as he answered, “That’s a loaded
question, Potter. When have I ever indicated wanting you around?”
Harry flushed and rolled his eyes, then continued his path to his bed. His bed which, of
course, was right next to Malfoy and Nott . They continued their conversation, although it
was murmured so Harry couldn’t hear what was said. Instead, he did his best to read his well
loved copy of Quidditch Through the Ages while also watching the two Slytherins from the
corner of his eye.

The presence of Malfoy and Nott in the room together made his skin feel as though it was
being pricked by tiny needles. The two always seemed to be touching each other , in some
way. In fact, Harry had noticed that all of the Slytherins were like that. They sat in piles in the
Common Room, and walked the halls with linked arms or curled fingers.

Harry didn’t understand it. He had always been very protective of his personal space, and
very aware of those who were close to impeding on it. The sensation of touch had rarely ever
been pleasant for him. In his early years, the only time the Dursleys touched him was to
inflict pain or discomfort. Slaps, grabs, harsh pokes, and punches hardened his resolve to
protect his body and the air that surrounded it. Then, his first year at Hogwarts, he
remembered the way Professor Quirrel’s face and body melted under his fingertips.

Touch was not pleasant, not for him.

In the other bed, he heard the bodies of Malfoy and Nott shifting slightly followed by quiet
laughter. His eyes strayed from the paragraph he was attempting to read and brought the two
Slytherins into his line of vision. Harry kept the book open in his hands in an attempt to hide
the fact that he was watching the figures in the adjacent bed.

Malfoy was smiling at something Nott had said, and brought a hand up to pull slightly on one
of the other boys brown curls. Nott wrapped his own hand around the pale wrist, after setting
his wand down in his lap. Harry watched as the hand on Malfoy’s wrist moved, after a few
seconds, to tangle their fingers together.

It all looked so easy between them. Harry felt the harsh heat of anger begin to smolder inside
of him at their blatant display. Just because Malfoy and Ginny were keeping their relationship
secret, it didn’t mean the blonde could curl up with Theo Nott in a ‘practically’ empty dorm
room. Did this count as cheating? They were so close, that they were practically on top of
each other.

Harry thought about turning away. He could simply switch positions to lie on his side, so that
his back was towards Malfoy and his own gaze towards the door. He could…but he didn’t.
He maintained his illusion of reading while simultaneously tracking the movements of the
neighboring bed. It was like being lookout in their camp in the Forest of Dean last year.
There was a threat near the wards, and Harry was going to watch it. Closely.

Next to him, Malfoy and Nott maintained their easy conversation. In his peripheral vision,
Harry could see Nott’s hand release the one it held and move to the back of his head in a lazy,
relaxed sprawl. Malfoy, teasingly and slowly, ran his fingers down Notts chest and dipped the
tips of them into his waistband.

Harry felt his breath stop. His abdomen muscles were clenched and his grip on the book
turned white knuckled as he followed the delicate lines of where pale fingers connected to
hardened knuckles and disappeared inside linen. He heard Malfoy practically purr something
to Nott, a phrase that was no doubt as filthy and maddening as the position of his hand.

Had they forgotten Harry was here? What were they going to do? What was Harry going to
see before they re-acknowledged his presence?

Harry heard Nott let out a small groan and strained his ears to hear the words he whispered,
“Salazar Draco, you’re such a tease.”

His heart thundered behind his rib cage and he felt sweat start to form over his brow. Harry
was angry, frustrated, and jealous . The third emotion, he was struggling to make sense of. He
could only assume it was jealousy on behalf of Ginny, or maybe jealousy that Ginny had
rejected him in May in favor of the-as Smith had dubbed him- Slytherin Slut.

Then, Harry was furious. Furious at how boldly Malfoy paraded around, flirting and fucking
with no concern for the feelings of others. How dare he disregard and disrespect Ginny like
this? Malfoy probably wasn’t even into men! He just wanted to fuck with Harry, as usual.

Next to him, the two continued their muffled conversation and Malfoy's fingers retained their
half buried position on Nott’s lower abdomen. They didn’t move, there was no indication that
they were going to do anything more and yet, Harry felt like he was watching something
wholly inappropriate and private .

He was going to tell Ginny, he had to tell Ginny. She deserved to know that her boyfriend
was sneaking around with the likes of Theo Nott behind her back.

“Potter, you seem distracted.” He heard Malfoy say, and Harry flushed at the address.

“What makes you think that?” He grunted, still focusing on the pages of the open book in
front of him.

“You’ve been staring at the same page for over five minutes. Surely the Savior isn’t
illiterate.”

Harry flushed further, and felt the corners of his mouth pull down into an angry frown. “Mind
your own business, Malfoy.”

“Are Theo and I disturbing you?” Malfoy asked, completely ignoring Harry’s very
reasonable suggestion. His tone, which should have been concerned and apologetic, was only
full of light mocking.

“Not at all.” Harry answered, though it was through clenched teeth and a tight jaw. He could
practically feel the smirk that no doubt took over Malfoy’s face in response.

“Maybe we should close the curtains, Draco.” Nott intervened, and Harry’s anger flared at
hearing his voice.

He was hit with the sudden urge to be somewhere, anywhere , but in this dorm with these two
snakes . Slamming his book shut, possibly with too much force but he didn’t care, Harry
stood from the bed and re-laced his trainers. He knelt in front of his trunk and quickly traded
his book for the Marauders Map, careful to avoid the humorous gaze of a certain blonde
Slytherin.

In a rush of movement, he turned and walked out of the dorm, closing the door behind him
and stomping down the stairs to the common room. Before completely leaving the stairwell,
he activated the map and looked for the ‘G. Weasley’ dot. Harry wasn’t sure if Ginny had
gone to Hogsmeade but, if she was in the castle, he was going to find her.

After a few frantic moments of scanning his eyes over the parchment, he found her dot in an
alcove in the dungeons and immediately set off in her direction. His legs moved with quick
determination, his focus solely on reaching Ginny and breaking the news of Malfoy's
infidelity as quickly as possible.

The corridors were sparsely filled with students, for the most part just the younger ones
milling around in the absence of those who’d left for Hogsmeade. Tiny, wide eyes watched
him with awe and he bowed his head to try and avoid the gazes of students who seemed to
grow Star Struck when he was around.

As he descended further into the dungeons, the halls and stairs emptied until it was just him
and his goal to reach Ginny. He ducked into a corner and checked the map again, confirming
his direction. The dungeon corridors were made of oppressive, arched stone that set his
defenses on high alert. He listened closely for any signs of distress or danger as he turned the
corner and spotted the tapestry that covered the small alcove the map had shown Ginny in.

His heart plummeted as he heard the sound of a sob, sure that it meant Ginny already
suspected her ‘boyfriend’ of his crimes. Harry moved faster, reaching the tapestry in record
time and throwing it open to be there for Ginny in what was, clearly, her hour of need.

“Gin you’ll never belie-holy fuck.” Harry’s confession was cut off as he took in the sight of
Ginny, her shirt unbuttoned and pushed aside and her legs spread wide. In between her
freckled, milky thighs and underneath her bunched skirt was a head full of sleek, dark hair.

“HARRY!” Ginny yelled, looking at him with wide eyes and flushed cheeks. She quickly
pulled her shirt closed in an attempt to cover her naked chest, and he saw her hands shaking
as she did so.

“Darling please don’t say the saviors name when we’re having sex, it’s a bit of a turn off.
Oh..he’s right there. Hello.” Pansy fucking Parkinson lifted her head from between Ginny’s
spread legs and brought the tip of a polished nail to wipe a trail of something wet from the
corner of her swollen mouth.

Harry was at a loss for words as he took in the scene before him. The scene of Ginny with her
legs open wide and Parkinson in between them, face first.

“P…P…Parkinson?” He stuttered out, at a loss for any other words to say.

“Potter.” She responded, sitting pristinely on her haunches as if she hadn’t just had her face
pressed beneath Ginny’s skirt.
“Oh my gods, Harry please leave .” Ginny groaned, and he turned to look at her. She was
absolutely debauched. Her hair was messy and frizzed, her lips showed clear signs of
swelling from being bitten and sucked, and her neck was littered with small, purpling
bruises.

Finally, he understood what this meant.

“Parkinson is the Slytherin?!” Harry exclaimed, his eyes darting back and forth between the
two girls in the alcove.

“Don’t look so surprised, Golden Boy. I happen to know what she likes.” Parkinson said, her
eyes twinkling and tongue coming out to lick her lips slowly. An action and words that Harry
still couldn’t fully process.

Harry turned away from Parkinson and focused his attention on the Gryffindor sitting
opposite her, “Ginny, I thought you were dating Draco!”

He heard Parkinson let out a snort that he wholeheartedly ignored and listened to Ginny’s
response. Her face turned to confusion and it seemed, she too, had something to be shocked
about.

“What? Harry, Draco is gay. Don’t tell me that’s a surprise to you.” Ginny said.

“It is!” He defended, then thought back to all he had seen Malfoy doing in the common room
and their shared dorm room over the weeks. His brow furrowed as he continued, “Wait, so
are him and Nott…”

“They’re fuck buddies, Potter. Or they were, I haven’t seen them do more than make out a bit
lately.” Parkinson answered, and now she was drumming her fingers on her thighs and
looking at him with an expression of inconvenience.

“Oh…so wait-” Harry started, a million more questions swirling around in his head.

Questions, it seemed, that were going to remain unanswered for the time being.

Ginny cut him off with a groan and a glare that made him take a step back, “Harry, if you are
not gone in five seconds I swear on Dumbledore's grave I will cast an unforgivable that you
will not survive a third time.”

“Right! Sorry. Have uhm…fun?” Harry responded, stumbling back and nearly falling through
the tapestry behind him.

“We will Potter, don’t you worry.” Parkinson smirked, and all Harry could do was nod with
wide eyes and blushing cheeks.

The last thing he heard, as the Tapestry settled back in place and he walked out of the
dungeons was Ginny saying, “And don’t you dare tell Ron!”
Harry returned to the Eighth Year dorms distracted and dazed, still trying to make sense of
what he had seen several floors below. He looked to Malfoy's bed again, slightly embarrassed
at the presumptions he’d made, but was pleased to note that Nott had left the room.

Malfoy was lounging in his bed, using a silver hand mirror to inspect his face as he rubbed a
minty smelling cream into the raised skin. It filled the dorm with a sharp, pleasant scent that
contrasted heavily with the sweet smells of the surrounding halls.

“That smells nice.” Harry said, sitting on his bed. He faced Malfoy in his own bed across
from him and caught the brief flicker of silver eyes as they darted towards him then back to
the mirror.

“It’s a dittany salve. I added a peppermint extract to it, to make it more soothing.” Malfoy
responded, his voice steady and empty of emotion.

Harry cleared his throat and twiddled his thumbs, letting the silence linger a few moments
before he asked another question, “Will it help the scars fade away?”

He heard a brief shuddering breath and realized he had probably just asked something that
was wholly inappropriate. His cheeks burned brighter, coupling with the embarrassment of
his earlier discovery and Harry considered briefly, the benefits of leaping out the dorm room
window.

Before he could plan out the logistics though, Malfoy answered, “Nothing will fade these
scars. They were cast with dark magic.”

“Ginny said they were a punishment for helping us in the Manor…I’m sorry that happened to
you.”

“Don’t be. I made my own choices, and I accepted the consequences.”

Malfoy set the mirror down on his nightstand and gazed at Harry, leaning back against his
pillows with his hands clasped over his stomach. Harry didn’t think he’d ever understand
how Malfoy could possibly be so relaxed after everything that they had been through. He
almost seemed unaffected by the war, except for the nights Harry watched him sitting in the
7th floor corridor or the sudden onslaught of cruciatus tremors that racked up and down his
body at times.

“Do they hurt?” He asked, and Malfoy shrugged his shoulders.

“Not much. The skin gets tight and inflamed sometimes, but the salve helps. The
sectumsempra scars you gave me hurt longer.”

Harry felt his throat tighten at the reminder of the spell he had flung at Malfoy almost a year
and a half ago. He hadn’t realized it left scars on him.

Was he no better than whoever had cut apart Malfoy’s face?

“Don’t have a crisis, Potter. I haven’t the energy to assuage your guilt.” Malfoy said, and
Harry did his best to change the subject. Not ready to breach the topic of sectumsempra.

“Did you know? About Ginny and Parkinson?” He asked, confident that the secret
relationship wasn’t kept secret from Malfoy.

“Is that where you ran off to? I didn’t think Pansy was serious about asking you for a
threesome.”

Harry choked and looked away. How could Malfoy talk so casually about sex?

“No! I didn’t do that ! I just, accidentally… discovered them.” He said, once he had caught
his breath again. He heard Malfoy chuckle and sent a glare through watery eyes.

“Yes Potter, I knew. I hope you aren’t still pining for Ginevra, her and Pansy seem to have
fallen head over heels for each other. It’s cute, really. When it isn’t positively nauseating.”

“I thought you and Ginny were dating.” He admitted, unable to stop the smile that grew on
his lips at the sound of Malfoys laughter filling the room. It was an enchanting sound, almost
like bells or happy birds.

“Can you imagine what the Weasel would do to me if I was? I can’t say I’ve ever been
frightened of him but I’m sure I would be in that moment.” Malfoy said, the words crested
with breathless giggles.

“Maybe Ron would like you more if you called him by his name. ” Harry said, his own
laughter bubbling out.

“I think Weasel is an endearing nickname, don’t you?” Malfoy asked, fluttering his lashes in
a way that made Harry’s heart skip a beat.

He really was gorgeous . Harry could admit that, now. His belief that Ginny liked Malfoy and
that the two of them were together made him ignore the attraction he felt towards Slytherin.
Now though, he could accept it. Could accept that Malfoy was worth looking at more than
once.

No wonder Nott was all over him.

“Why didn’t you go to Hogsmeade?” Harry asked, adjusting his body to lay back on his
sheets.

“There’s too many people there on a Hogsmeade weekend, and Theo wanted to talk alone for
a bit. Seemed the perfect chance to have the dorm to ourselves.”

“I hope I didn’t disrupt your plans.”

“You didn’t, by the time you strolled in we had already moved on.”

Harry thought of Malfoy's hand slowly reaching into Notts’ pants, they definitely had moved
on it seemed.
The dorm settled into a comfortable silence around them, and Harry found himself drifting in
and out of sleep in the unexpected serenity.
 Grimmauld Place
Chapter Notes

Warnings for this chapter: mentions of past abuse/assault.

Chapter 21: Grimmauld Place

Time began to move rapidly as October hardened into November, sending chilled air
throughout the castle that made the stone feel like ice. The end of Autumn’s warmer weather
reminded Harry that his time at Hogwarts was temporary, that soon he would be done with
school and off on his own.

That soon, he would have to return to Grimmauld Place.

He hadn’t been in the townhome for months, only stopping by for brief flashes during the
summer months because he still struggled to walk the halls that held memories of Sirius,
Remus, Tonks, and the other members of the Order who didn’t survive the trials of war.
Every step he took in the halls of the Black Ancestral Home sent him deep into his memories,
and his guilt.

Not to mention the decorative style of Walburga Black left quite a lot to be desired.

It was with this all in mind that Harry, after being assured Ron and Hermione wouldn’t let
him go alone, sought approval from Headmistress McGonagall to use her floo and return to
Grimmauld one weekend in November. His expectations for the trip were low, all he really
hoped to accomplish was a bit of cleaning and planning so the home would-hopefully-be
habitable by the Summer.

“You know you’re welcome at the Burrow, Harry. You don’t have to go back to Grimmauld if
you don’t want to.” Ron said to him, a few days before they were due to leave. Together, he
and Harry stood by the Great Lake, skipping small stones across the mirrored surface of the
water. It was such a simple, mindless activity that he couldn’t help but feel his body slowly
relax.

“I know Ron, but I can’t bunk with you forever.” He responded, knocking his shoulder lightly
against his friend. “Besides…Sirius left it to me. It’s only right that I try to fix it up, even just
a little.”

A sigh flew from his lips as he closed his eyes to take in the sounds of the surrounding space;
chirping birds in the distance, leaves that shook from a near silent wind and, in front of him,
the small thunk, thunk, thunk, splash that rose from where the stones tapped along the water.
Harry blinked his eyes back open, squinting slightly as the sudden brightness hit him. The
steadily rippling water reflected the sun as it slowly moved across the sky, towards the
horizon where it was due to set in a few hours. It was a welcome few moments of peace and
tranquillity that he was happy to share with his best mate. Even if they were talking about the
house that had become another source of anxiety for him.

“Are you going to keep Kreacher?” Ron asked, and Harry grimaced at the mention of the
angry, old house elf.

“I think so, freeing him might kill him given the way he acts. I dunno…maybe I can stick
him in some unused corner of the house.”

“Hopefully ‘Mione understands that.” Ron responded. Harry nodded in agreement,

remembering several conversations they had had regarding House Elf freedom. Truthfully, if
Hermione could come up with a way to free Kreacher that didn’t result in the elf bashing his
head through the brick, Harry was more than happy to listen to it.

“Speaking of ‘Mione, do you two have plans for next year?” Harry asked.

Ron looked down with a slight blush that made Harry chuckle softly, his friend was so
smitten.

“We’re thinking about getting a flat near London, since we both plan to be working at the
Ministry by Fall.”

The next stone Harry skipped faltered, only making one jump over the water before sinking
down into the murky depths below. Thoughts of his intended-or was it expected? -career as
an Auror waiting for him next Fall distracted his throw. He murmured, “I can’t believe we’ll
be leaving Hogwarts in June and won't be coming back again in September. It’s mental.”

Beside him, Ron nodded in agreement and then turned around to look back up at the castle
where they had spent so much time over the past eight years. Harry turned as well, gazing
over the turrets and following the bridge in an effort to memorize every centimeter of the
grand, stone building.

“Bloody hell, it’s not even December yet and I’m already sad about leaving this place.” Ron’s
voice filled with a nostalgic awe as he stared at the castle. “What do you think, Harry?”

Harry moved his eyes over the castle, the corner of his mouth twitching the slightest bit
upwards as he answered, “I think Hogwarts…will always be my home.”

The morning they planned to leave, Harry woke up groggy and stiff. His sleep had been
interrupted by a dream that bordered on the edge of being a nightmare. It was him, in the
Forest of Dean, keeping watch for the camp and somehow failing to stop cloaked figures
from breaching the wards.

The dream played repeatedly in his head throughout the night, making him feel as though it
wasn’t something conjured from his exhausted brain but instead a glimpse into Purgatory. It
wasn’t the type of vision that would yank him up from sleep, kicking and screaming. No, it
was something more…insidious. It was a constant thought, a reminder of how easy it would
be for him to fail.

A reminder that there would always be something or someone that he was unable to protect.

Pushing himself out of bed, Harry stood and reached his arms up towards the ceiling to
stretch his muscles and crack his joints. A yawn overtook his face that stretched his mouth so
wide, it tore tension from his jaw. As he lowered his arms and put on his glasses, his vision
focused and sharpened.

The first thing Harry’s newly restored sight registered was Malfoy, turned to the side in his
bed with his gaze locked on Harry’s lower abdomen. He blushed under the scrutiny and
glanced down, seeing a section of his own bronzed skin that was visible where his sleep shirt
had lifted and crumpled. He coughed, awkwardly, and caught Malfoy’s eyes as they snapped
up to meet his own.

“Good Morning, dear Savior.” Malfoy drawled, his voice coming out husky from sleep and
something…else.

“Don’t call me that.” Harry responded automatically, turning towards his trunk and ignoring
the jittery feeling that came from silver eyes on him so intently. His hands rummaged around
for a pair of jeans and sweatshirt that he could throw on after his morning shower.

“My apologies, Scarhead.” Malfoy responded. Harry caught his eye over the lid of his trunk,
doing his best to communicate his annoyance through his pupils alone. Malfoy smirked
lazily, clearly enjoying his morning antagonism as if it was more caffeinated than the tea and
blueberry scone the Slytherin ate every morning for breakfast.

A fact that Harry only knew because Malfoy required research and, as Moody told him many
times, constant vigilance .

Closing the lid to his trunk, Harry piled his clothes in his hands and made for the dorm
bathroom. As it was Saturday morning, the other Eighth Years were still in bed, most
sleeping off the after effects of a Friday night enjoying the taverns in Hogsmeade. The benefit
to his early rising was privacy in the white tiled room, a luxury that rarely came to those
living in such close quarters.

He walked into an open stall, a little ways away from the entrance door, and closed the
wooden door behind him. The water turned on and heated quickly, running over his tightened
muscles and slowly easing the lingering soreness from a night of tossing and turning in bed.
He lathered his flannel with soap then began scrubbing over his body, sending dried sweat
and memories of his almost-nightmare swirling down the drain at his feet.
As his flannel wrapped hand brushed over his lower stomach, he was reminded of the way
Malfoy had looked at his body only moments before. The image slowly changed, and the
memory altered into a fantasy that he felt powerless to stop.

He thought of silver eyes dragging up his stomach and chest, then making direct contact with
his own. In his mind, he saw Malfoy slipping out of the bed and leisurely lowering himself to
his knees on the floor, his venomous mouth settling just a hairs length away from Harry’s
clothed and hardening member.

A gasp leapt from Harry’s throat when his fingertips made contact with his erection,
unhurriedly spreading soapy suds around the length.

Was he really going to do this? Masturbate to a fantasy of Malfoy in the showers while the
person in question was just a few doors away?

Harry had known for a while that he liked boys just as much-and on occasion more -than girls
but it wasn’t exactly something he ‘advertised’. He’d been a bit busy the last few years, too
busy to have some sort of grand Coming Out.

He’d taken himself in his hand before with thoughts of nameless, generically generated men
when he was desperate for release but this was different. This was touching himself to
thoughts of Malfoy , a real person that he slept across from almost every night.

A person whose hand he had watched disappear halfway into Theo Notts pants.

Harry closed his eyes and suddenly, the hand on his length wasn’t his anymore but Malfoy’s
long, teasing fingers.

He pretended Malfoy was stroking him, biting his lip to hold back the moans that sat on the
tip of his tongue. His right hand squeezed and kept a steady rhythm while his left trailed up
his chest, brushing over one of his pebbled nipples.

Harry thought of how skilled Malfoy probably was, considering the level of experience he’d
had. What would the Slytherin do to him, given the chance? What could he show him? It was
intoxicating to think of following Malfoy’s instructions, of dirty words whispered into his ear
in that posh accent.

“Faster.” Malfoy commanded him in his head, “I want to watch you come, Potter.”

His throat vibrated with repressed sound as his hand sped up, eagerly following the orders of
his fantasized Slytherin. At the tip, drops of precum began to release in small beads. He used
his thumb to spread it around, sighing at the new ease with which his hand slid back and
forth.

“Are you close? Answer me.” Another command. Harry nodded his head, even though he
was alone in the small shower cubicle. He wanted to listen, to be told what to do, to feel good
so good.
His rhythm began to falter slightly, the closer he came to climaxing. He imagined Malfoy
kissing and biting the tender skin of his neck, claiming Harry all for himself. They would kiss
so passionately, fueling the movements of their lips with unspoken needs. His left hand came
up to brace against the sidewall as his legs began to tremble with the electricity of pleasure.

“Come for me.” Malfoy whispered, the words floating around in his head and then running
down his spine.

Harry was forced to release the grip his teeth had on his bottom lip as he emptied into his fist
with a groan, slumping his head forward and resting it on the cool tile of the stall. His
breathing was labored and heavy as he stood there, slowly coming back to himself.

Thank Merlin he was spending the weekend at Grimmauld Place, the idea of facing the real
Malfoy was too much to handle right then.

Returning to Grimmauld Place was easier with Ron and Hermione with him, both promising
to give him all of the help he might need as he parsed through the remaining possessions of
the Black family. They decided to work from the top down, so as to avoid the portrait of
Great Aunt Walburga for a bit.

Climbing the stairs to the top floor, the trio discussed possible renovations that the house
could benefit from. Or really, Hermione mentioned renovations and Harry nodded along with
his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans. It was easier to be here with his friends,
but that didn’t erase his feelings completely.

His chest ached with how much he missed Sirius. He mourned the loss of a future with his
Godfather and thought sadly about how they could’ve tackled this project together . He,
Harry, and Remus could’ve compared fabric swatches and paint colors in the many forgotten
rooms of the house. They could’ve done all of the frustrating but rewarding tasks of
rebuilding a home, while Harry listened to the two reminiscing about his parents.

Grief was a heavy, exhausting thing. It dragged behind him as he climbed the stairs, forever a
reminder of the effort it took to move forward in the aftermath of so much destruction and
loss. Phantom rings of irritated skin burned his ankles from the weight of memory. Memory
that he could never let go of, because it was the only place he would ever see so many of the
people he loved again.

Pain from injury he could ignore, but pain from sorrow? It became a part of his body. His
heart pumped blood and anguish through his veins in equal measure. All Harry could hope to
do was work around it, rather than against it.

There was no heavy cleaning that afternoon and evening, just the three of them taking
meticulous notes on areas of Grimmauld that would need careful attention and repair. Rotting
wood in the third floor bedrooms, residue of artefacts drenched in dark magic in the library,
and moth-eaten curtains on the windows were just some of the issues that would need to be
addressed before the home was habitable.

For dinner, the three of them ventured out to the restaurants a few blocks away from the
neighborhood Number 12 resided in. Curry won, in a 2-1 vote, and Ron agreed so long as the
spice level was kept to a minimum . Harry and Hermione shared a quick glance with each
other and fought against the smiles that threatened to blossom on their faces.

His mood improved as the fresh air of the outdoors surrounded him, enjoying the distance
that each step put between him and Grimmauld Place. The wind carried with it the delicious
scent of marinade and spices, which grew stronger the closer they came to the small, family
run Indian restaurant that stood at the end of the street.

Good food was something he would appreciate for the rest of his life. After being starved at
the Dursleys, followed by the rations they were forced to eat on in the Forest, Harry found
great comfort in a hot cooked meal. He pictured the pantry at Grimmauld, making plans to
fill every shelf with preserves and ingredients to ensure he never went hungry again.

With their food neatly wrapped in to-go containers, the trio turned around to return to the
townhome. Harry carried the warm, brown paper bag as Hermione and Ron walked ahead of
him with their hands clasped and shoulders bumping. He took satisfying inhales of the food
he held, enjoying the heat that transferred from the packaged food to his arms and torso.

When they returned, the bag was deposited and emptied on the dining table while Ron sought
out plates and silverware. Harry piled his dish with rice, butter chicken, saag paneer, and
warm naan bread. Hermione followed suit, taking the time to also help Ron choose between
the containers in front of him.

“I know it seems like a lot Harry, but in time this place will be a perfect home for you.”
Hermione said around small spoonfuls of her dinner.

“I hope so. I want to make it good, you know? For Sirius.” He responded, still thinking of the
time they could’ve spent together in these walls.

Hermione reached across the table to hold his hand, stroking her thumb lightly across his
knuckles. His body tensed at the touch, a subconscious reaction that he wasn’t sure would
ever go away, but after a moment he was able to relax enough to enjoy the small comfort.
Ron, after guzzling down his second glass of water, sent Harry a reassuring smile that
crinkled his reddened eyes and bulged his flushed cheeks.

Harry couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight, Hermione joining in a moment later as she
looked over her boyfriend who was losing his battle against the curry spices.

“Sod off, the both of you.” Ron rasped, attempting to look angry but unable to fight off his
own grin.

Dinner continued with a relaxed ease. Harry cleared the table while Ron took the trash out to
the bin. Hermione dried the clean dishes as Harry handed them to her, after thoroughly
washing them in the warm, soapy sink water. Finally, everything was put away and the three
of them prepared for bed. Intending to sleep in the same rooms they had occupied during
their time with the Order.

Well, mostly. Ron and Hermione were definitely bunking together, leaving Harry alone in his
room. The exhaustion of the day crept over him once he was laying down in the bed, pushing
him quickly into a dreamless sleep.

It was heavenly.

Harry awoke the next morning to the mouthwatering smell of pancakes. Ron had opened the
bedroom door to stick his head through and invite Harry to breakfast in the drawing room.

“Why aren’t we eating at the table?” Harry asked, wiping sleep from his eyes.

“Cause it’s fun to eat on the floor sometimes.” Was Ron’s simple answer. All Harry could do
was nod his head and follow his friend toward the promise of food.

Hermione was there already, sitting on the rug in her pajamas with her hair wrapped
delicately in a blue and yellow silk scarf. She smiled at the both of them when they entered,
nodding her head towards the boxes of breakfast food that must’ve been picked up from the
diner up the road.

“Morning ‘Mione, this smells amazing. Thank you so much.” Harry greeted, plopping down
across from her. Ron took a seat to her left and planted an obnoxiously loud kiss on her
cheek. Hermione let out a shocked giggle and pushed him away, only for Ron to wrap his
arms around her waist to stay close to her side.

“You’re welcome Harry, I thought we could all use a nice breakfast together.” She responded,
giving up on the fight to disentangle herself from Ron’s lanky limbs.

“Whose idea was it to eat on the floor?” Harry asked.

“Mine! Just seemed like a good way to start the morning.” Ron answered, happily filling his
plate with bacon and fluffy scrambled eggs.

The food, much like the night before, was delicious. The idea of moving into Grimmauld
Place came easier as Harry thought about all of the wonderful restaurants that were just a
short walk away from his front steps. He speared fluffy cuts of pancakes that dripped with
warm syrup and butter onto his fork, lifting the food to his mouth and groaning happily at the
taste. Hermione, continuing her morning of good ideas, produced a bottle of champagne,
chilled orange juice and glass flutes.

“According to my Aunt, it’s not brunch without mimosas!” She grinned, preparing bubbly
drinks for the three of them. Harry had never had a mimosa before but, once the bubbles hit
his tongue and the alcohol soaked into his blood, he decided he agreed with Hermione’s Aunt
very much.

“Blimey, that’s good.” Ron said, eagerly chugging the cocktail and holding the glass out for a
refill.

“Do you think we can convince McGonagall to serve this at breakfast?” Harry asked,
watching Hermione refill his glass as well. He watched the process closely, so that he could
pour the next one without needing to disturb her.

She shook her head and answered with a laugh, “I’m positive that’s one request that will be
denied.”

Ron pouted comically at the rejection, the tips of his ears reddening from the alcohol running
through his system. Hermione kissed his pout chastely, then raised her glass in the center of
their sort of circle.

“What’re we toasting too?” Harry asked, his words slurring slightly. As it turned out,
mimosas were rather strong .

“The future.” Hermione said, smiling brightly as her mind no doubt ran through all of the
plans she had to take the Wizarding World by storm once her NEWTs were handed back.

“To the future!” Harry and Ron repeated. All three glasses clinked together then lifted to their
eager mouths.

Their stomachs, now filled with hearty food and fizzy alcohol, forced the trio to lie back on
the floor surrounded by summoned pillows and blankets. Harry waved his hand lazily to
vanish the empty containers of their brunch, then turned his gaze to the textured ceiling of the
room.

His eyes drifted closed, sleep overcoming him like a rogue wave in an otherwise calm ocean.

When Harry awoke again, the sun was positioned much higher outside the window on the far
wall of the room. Hermione and Ron were still asleep, both snoring in the other's arms. His
stomach still felt happily full with their earlier meal, making it easy to lie back with his
thoughts until his friends were fully rested.

From the loops of the textured ceiling, his eyes roamed over to the large tapestry that
depicted the far reaching branches of the Black Family history. He stifled a laugh at a
memory of Ron saying, “The battle took out so many Death Eaters that purebloods can’t
inbreed anymore”.

It was a funny comment that was absolutely worth the scold and glare from Hermione.
With a small smile on his lips, Harry began to read some of the names on the tree. His heart
clenched as he looked at the charred circle where Sirius would’ve been, making a mental note
to research ways to restore his Godfather to the Tapestry now that Grimmauld Place was his.

He planned to do the same with Andromeda, whose own burn caught his gaze a moment
later. Harry had no desire to look too closely at Bellatrix Black, so he instead looked to her
sister, Narcissa.

He followed the small extension of the ‘Malfoy’ branch, and Harry felt his cheeks heat when
he read the name ‘Draco Malfoy’. The previous morning he’d spent in the dorm showers was
something he’d probably remember for a while...or forever.

In an effort to quiet down the combination of embarrassment and diluted lust that simmered
inside of him, Harry quickly raised his eyes to a different name on the branch. His lip curled
slightly in distaste as he read ‘Lucius Malfoy’, then followed the short line that extended
above it.

That’s when Harry saw it. Saw him .

Abraxas.

His eyes widened and his heart beat fast as he registered the name ‘Abraxas Malfoy’ on the
family tree.

Of course ‘Abraxas’ is a Malfoy! How had he not seen it before? He closed his eyes and
quickly recalled one of the visions he’d had. The light in the room had been low, lit only by
the flickering orange fire in the hearth. He understood quickly that the hair he had assumed
was yellow was actually the platinum blonde color that was synonymous with a Malfoy. It
had merely been reflecting the warm colors of the fire.

His fingers buzzed at his sides and any alcohol in his system burned away to be replaced with
vindication and determination. He had been right, Malfoy knew something . Or, more
accurately, someone.

As he began to plan his confrontation with the Slytherin, he looked again at the Tapestry for
any other clues it might hold. He registered some other names that may be important but his
focus seemed to lock on the one name he’d been rolling over his head for months .

‘Abraxas Malfoy’ he read again, looking just underneath at the dates of his life, ‘1918-1969’.

Wait.

Harry stood up from the floor and moved closer to the Tapestry, assuming he had read the
dates wrong. Except no, they definitely said ‘1918-1969’. Confusion clouded over him,
making his brow furrow and eyes narrow.

The Tapestry was charmed with some sort of deep, family magic that kept record of the births
and deaths of those whose name was emblazoned on the fabric. Meaning if it said Abraxas
Malfoy died in 1969, then he most likely did. Even Voldemort, with all of his power, couldn’t
override something as sacred as this to fake a death.

So who the hell had Harry seen?

Frustration churned inside him now, he was back at square one. Maybe what he’d seen had
been a memory? Or some weird illusion that was part of one of Voldemort’s plans to fuck
with him?

He had no idea.

Behind him, Ron and Hermione began to stir and Harry decided to pack this information
away until he was back at Hogwarts.

Until he could talk to Malfoy again, because there was definitely something Harry was
missing.

They returned to the Castle a few hours before dinner, and Harry was pleased with the plans
they had made for Grimmauld Place over the following months. With the promise of more
mimosas, the trio decided it would be best to return to Grimmauld one weekend a month and
focus on a specific area to fix. The prioritized areas being the Master Bedroom, at least one
bathroom on each floor, the Foyer, and the parlor.

Harry listened and contributed to the plans while thoughts of ‘Abraxas’ weighed heavily
behind him. As soon as they left the Headmistresses Office, Harry set them in the direction of
the Eighth Year dorms. Ron and Hermione followed without complaint, still sated from a
productive weekend and their large meal that morning.

He did his best to keep his walk unhurried, not wanting to get the two of them caught up in
his confrontation with Malfoy. Plus, surrounding the Slytherin with the three of them was a
sure fire way to get him to clam up entirely.

He just needed to know who he had seen through Voldemort's eyes and where the fuck they
had gone.

The trio entered the common room, and Harry immediately scanned over the space. His heart
jumped in anticipation the second he saw Malfoy, who was seated on the floor between
Parkinson’s legs as she ran her fingers through his hair.

“I’m going to go up to my room, I think I need another nap. You alright, mate?” Ron spoke
next to him and Harry gave him a nod with a smile.

“I probably won’t be too far behind you.” Harry forced a chuckle and patted his stomach
lightly.
Hermione rolled her eyes and kissed Ron’s cheek, returning to her dorm so she could finish
her weekend homework before dinner. He waved to her as she departed, then walked over to
sit on the couch that was next to Parkinson and Malfoy. He was facing the fire and did his
best to relax into the cushions, working on an excuse to get Malfoy up to the dorms so he
could get some information.

He focused his attention on the low flames of the fire, while also watching the Slytherins
from the corner of his eye. Malfoy was flipping through a magazine, lifting it up every few
minutes to show something to Parkinson who sat on the couch above him.

“Salazar Pans, look at this.” Malfoy said, pointing a finger at something on the page in front
of him.

“ Seven Ways You Can Surprise Your Man In Bed ” Pansy read the title of the article, making
it difficult for Harry to keep a neutral expression.

“No you bint, this one.” Malfoy huffed. Above him, Pansy leaned down further but this time
she read the title silently. Which told Harry she had probably read the previous one out loud
to fuck with Malfoy.

The two chatted idly, and Harry leaned against the arm of the sofa with his head in his hand.
He closed his eyes to focus on listening to the sounds of the room, willing his body not to fall
asleep again.

“Your current style suits you Darling, but I do miss braiding your hair.” He heard Parkinson
say, “Have you considered growing it out again?”

“Pans I can confidently say I will never wear my hair long again.” Malfoy responded in a
bored voice. Then, a second later, he continued. Except this time the words were spoken
quietly in a tone that implied a deep sadness, “Not after last year.”

Harry’s eyes flew open.

He lifted his head from his hand and stared at Malfoy's profile, his mind whirling impossibly
fast with flashes of memories from the past six months.

The way Malfoy had become upset and paled so significantly in the Ministry Interview Room
when Harry had asked him what he knew.

How visibly distraught Malfoy became when Smith made that comment about him dropping
to his knees for Voldemort.

The evening they had talked and sat together in the 7th floor corridor, when Malfoy told
Harry he had protected his family by “exploiting a memory” to “give Tom what he thought
he needed” .

His stomach began to churn, unable to move or look away as horrific realization crashed into
his mind. He could sense other people in the common room looking at him, but all he could
focus on was the platinum blonde hair of Draco Malfoy.
“Merlin…it was you.” He said, his voice equal parts astonished and disgusted.

“What are you talking about, Potter?” Draco responded, looking up from his magazine as
calm and unbothered as ever.

Nausea tightened his throat, so that all Harry could do was whisper, “ Abraxas .”

The moment the name was uttered, Malfoy’s body stilled and his eyes widened. Harry saw
the blood drain from his already pale face and registered a look of sheer terror on the
Slytherin’s typically guarded expression. The Common Room was quiet around them, tension
hanging so thick in the air that he could practically cut it with a knife.

It was too much.

Harry stood quickly, the room spinning slightly as he mumbled, “Excuse me,” then turned to
walk quickly towards the bathrooms. Hoping that he could make it to the toilets before
getting sick all over the Common Room rugs.

He pushed open the bathroom door and rushed over to the sinks, grabbing the counter and
leaning forward over the basin. His body was shaking as his palms slipped over the granite
surface, a layer of sweat erupting onto his skin. Behind him, he heard footsteps and a softly
spoken spell to lock and silence the door.

“How do you know about that Potter?” Malfoy asked. The words were tight, Harry could tell
they had been spoken through a painfully clenched jaw.

“I saw it, Malfoy. I saw what he did to you.” He answered, gaze locked on the sink beneath
him. He heard three more footsteps behind him. Malfoy had moved closer, but Harry wasn’t
worried.

Malfoy wasn’t a threat. He was a victim.

“How?!” Malfoy demanded. The word ripping out of him like a scab being yanked off an
unhealed wound.

“It was a connection Voldemort and I shared through my scar. I could see through his eyes
sometimes or through his snake, Nagini. It was-I was-”

“Merlin…you were one of his Horcruxes.” Harry turned around at that, shocked that Malf-
no, this was Draco . He needed to make that distinction-knew about the pieces of Voldemorts
soul that had existed in the world. He was panting, trails of perspiration carving lines down
his face and neck as he regarded the person before him.

Draco looked as if he’d been cut open. His eyes were flooded with unshed tears, his hands
clenched so tightly in fists that the nails were probably cutting tiny crescents into his palms,
and his body trembled in a way that almost looked reminiscent of his cruciatus tremors. The
information that had just been shared, was clearly causing him pain.

“Draco what the fuck happened to you?” Harry asked, desperate to understand the awful
things he had seen.
“Potter, please don’t tell anyone.” Malfoy responded, but Harry barely heard it. His mind
moving through thoughts so rapidly that his ears started to ring.

“Oh Gods Draco, he made you pretend to be your grandfather? While he fucked you!” The
visions he’d seen, they weren’t of some faceless person or fantasy. They were of Draco being
raped by Voldemort.

“Stop talking Potter, ple-”

“Draco I watched him! I heard you crying! I saw you bleeding!” Harry yelled, cutting Draco
off and bringing his hands up to press into his eyes until white spots burst behind his closed
lids. The moans he thought he had heard, they had actually been sobs. He remembered seeing
small drops of blood, assuming it was normal when actually it was a sign of Draco being torn
open viciously, without remorse. He had felt the thrill, the excitement and pride that oozed
from Voldemort in the visions.

Harry couldn’t stand still. He had to move but he couldn’t leave the bathroom, not yet. He
started pacing the floor, half formed thoughts falling from his lips as the world continued to
shake around him. His veins turned icy when he passed the shower stall he had used the
morning before, remembering the pleasure he took from the fantasy of Draco while the real
Draco was dealing with the reality of being so deeply violated. He felt sick, so sick and so
guilty .

“You were raped Draco, oh my Gods…oh my Gods I watched it, I felt it…” He repeated. His
body flinched violently when hands grabbed his shoulders, bringing his constant movement
to a sudden halt.

“HARRY PLEASE” Draco shouted, and Harry locked his eyes with the silver irises in front
of him. Draco’s face was full of red splotches, the scars looking inflamed and angry as if they
were trying to hold back rushing rivers of emotion. He continued speaking, his voice soft and
pitiful as he begged, “….please, Harry. Please stop.” His eyes implored Harry to be silent, to
stop vocalizing the nightmare Draco had lived while Voldemort walked the halls of the
Manor.

“Draco…” Harry murmured. Infusing the name with apology, question, and devastation.

“I only agreed to it because he promised if I did, he would leave my parents alone.” Draco
explained. Harry was powerless to stop the dry sob that left him, ricocheting on the tiled
walls of the wide, open bathroom space. The understanding that Draco had been forced to
give up his body, to endure something so ruthless in hopes of protecting his parents, was
almost too much to bear.

“Do your parents know what happened? Does anyone?” Harry asked. To think of Draco
enduring what happened all alone…week after week.

“Pansy and Ginny know most of it, not the part about me pretending to be….you know. They
took care of me last year, when I would come back to Hogwarts at the end of the weekends.”
Draco answered, slowly releasing the harsh grip he had on Harry’s shoulders. They stood
across from each other, maintaining constant eye contact as their words were exchanged.
“That day…at the manor, when you didn’t tell them you recognized me…he found out what
you did.” Harry said, thinking now about the vision he had seen after they had escaped with
Dobby and the other prisoners.

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

Draco closed his eyes and took a deep breath, preparing himself to respond, “He was…angry.
So fucking angry. He cast the spell that cut my face. Severus said it was dark magic. A spell
that was intended to destroy someone's beauty.” He opened his eyes before continuing, “Then
he used the cruciatus curse. It was the first time he crucioed me in months. It felt like it lasted
hours. I just laid there, with my face pressed into the floor and blood pouring out of my nose,
my mouth, Merlin, even my eyes. And I told him…I told him he was going to lose.”

“…and then, he cast the killing curse. Except…” Harry continued for him, thinking back to
the brief glimpse he had into Voldemort’s head before blacking out from the force of his
anger.

“Nothing happened. He couldn’t mean it. He would never be able to kill Abraxas, and that’s
who I had become.” Draco finished, crossing his arms and wiping stray tears away with the
edge of his shirt sleeve.

“Draco…oh my Gods.” There was nothing else Harry could think to say, overcome and
exhausted with the frantic emotions that had rushed through him in such a short amount of
time.

“It’s over. I’m dealing with it, well trying to deal with it at least. I would appreciate it, Harry,
if you didn’t share this information.” Draco responded, with sniffing and shuddering breaths.

“No! No, of course not. I won’t tell anyone I promise.” Harry assured him. Draco nodded his
head and turned to leave, but Harry wasn’t ready for this to be done with. He couldn’t let
Draco push away from him, not after what he’d just learned. “ Wait! Don’t go.”

Draco stopped and turned back, looking for the first time like the weary teenager he was.

“Can we just…will you talk to me? Please? I feel like…you’re the only one who understands
the war and Voldemort the same way I do.” Harry said. Feeling as though he was baring his
soul right there, in the white tiled room.

“I don’t want to keep talking about what happened, I’m not ready.” Draco responded, stray
tears still leaking from his eyes.

“I’m not asking you to.” Harry assured him. Then, wanting to offer some semblance of
comfort to this Slytherin, his hand came up and slowly wound around one of Draco’s. “I
just…I need someone who understands what I went through, not someone who pities me or
treats me like the Golden Boy Savior. You’re the only person I know that can even say and
hear his name without flinching.”
Draco looked down at their clasped hands, momentarily astonished at the connection. Harry
watched for any sign of discomfort or anger, but there was none. When he was ready to speak
again, Draco gave his hand the lightest squeeze and schooled his expression into one of
familiar haughtiness. “Well, Voldemort was a stupid name. Tom was far too dramatic for his
own good.”

A shocked laugh left Harry, his body starting to relax in small increments. The tension around
them began to dissolve, replaced by a shared sense of understanding and pain.

“Like that.” Harry said.

“Like that?” Draco whispered, voice wavering with nerves, still unsure of their new dynamic.

“Yeah…that’s perfect.”
 Revelations
Chapter Notes

Hi all! I think this is the longest chapter yet lol, please enjoy!

Warnings: brief discussion of past abuse/assault.

Chapter 22: Revelations

In the wake of their conversation in the bathroom, and Draco’s confession of his time under
Voldemort’s control, Harry was forced to accept a new reality.

There was no Abraxas. There was no one left to fight. The war really was over.

So where did that leave him?

It was a question he struggled with, off and on, but hadn’t been able to answer yet. Or maybe
he wasn’t ready to answer it? Harry wasn’t sure.

He liked the way things had shifted with Draco, though. Their revelations in the bathroom
had brought them closer, as they shared the trauma of Voldemort together. Harry told Draco
about the Horcrux that had lived inside his head for years, while Draco told him about the
nights he was forced to spend with Tom . Like him, Draco had found a kinship with Ginny
and her experience being possessed by the diary , which helped Harry finally understand their
surprising friendship.

There were things Ginny didn’t understand though, things that Draco did. They both had
been pawns in the war, forced to sacrifice themselves for the safety or protection of others.
For Harry, it was walking into the Forbidden Forest to die. For Draco, it was walking into the
Northern Wing study and becoming ‘Abraxas’.

They began taking walks together. Simple strolls around the castle that turned into slow
strides along the edge of the Black Lake. On occasion, they visited the Quidditch Pitch,
flying in low circles around the stands. It didn’t take long for them to become undeniably
close with each other, communicating with small looks and half words that each somehow
understood. It…surprised their classmates but, given Draco’s already established friendship
with Ginny, everyone seemed to just accept it and move on.

Mostly everyone. Ron still fumed about it at times, but Harry was sure he’d come around
eventually.
One unseasonably warm day in December, a week before classes broke for Winter Hols,
Harry found himself walking next to Draco down the road that led towards Hogsmeade. They
had decided, together, to visit the small Village during their shared free period. Hoping that,
since school was still in session, the shops and streets would be pleasantly empty.

Harry walked with his hands shoved into his jacket pockets, while Draco’s swung down at his
sides. He found himself, at times, stealing glances of those hands and fighting down the
subsequent blush.

Thoughts of the morning he’d fantasized about Draco in the bathroom hung over him,
sending competing fires of lust and shame in his core. The things he’d learned about Draco,
the things he’d seen , made him feel guilty for even considering thoughts of the Slytherins
body for his own, selfish pleasure. It was difficult though, especially as they spent more time
together and shared their vulnerabilities with each other.

He hadn’t touched himself to thoughts of Draco again, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t
want to.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Draco said, pulling Harry from where he’d retreated into his
mind.

“What?” Harry looked over at him, confused that Draco even knew the word penny .

“It’s some Muggle phrase Theo taught me.” Draco answered with a shrug. Rays from the
Winter Sun fell delicately on his cropped, blonde hair. Their pace was slow and languid, in no
hurry to reach their destination by a specific time.

“How does Nott know a Muggle phrase?” Harry asked, no less confused than he was a
moment ago. The more time he spent with Draco, the more he learned about the other
Slytherins. Like how Zabini worked in his mothers vineyard over the summer or how
Millicent Bulstrode had a unique understanding of arithmetic and numbers. It was strange
seeing the Slytherins as people after all these years, instead of bite sized enemies.

“He’s been reading Muggle books since last summer, he said it was his small act of
rebellion.” Draco answered, then followed with, “What’s a penny?”

“It’s a form of Muggle currency. American Muggle Currency actually. It’s similar to a knut.”
Harry kicked a small pebble with the tip of his shoe as he spoke. The sun high above warmed
their skin but there was still a chill in the air from the winds that rolled down from the
mountains. A light dusting of frost hung on the bare trees and blades of grass that lined the
small path they moved along together.

“Hmmm…I take it back then. I can’t imagine your thoughts are worth that much money.”
Draco answered. Instinct told Harry to bristle at the words but then he remembered, the two
of them were friends and this was just how the Slytherin talked. Truthfully, the things he’d
heard Draco say to Parkinson were a lot harsher.

“I was thinking about you, actually.” Harry said, then immediately considered the possibility
of obliviating them both. Draco looked over at him with a raised brow and small smile, then
bent down to pluck a frosted flower that had miraculously survived the beginning of Winter.

“What about me?” Draco asked, using his thumb and pointer finger to slowly twirl the stem
he held. The petals of the flower were a soft cream color, the tips fading into a pastel yellow.

“Just how alike we’ve always been and how I never noticed it.” Harry shrugged.

“I resent the implication that I share any similarities with a Gryffindor.” Draco huffed. Harry
felt the corner of his mouth twitch into a smile. Conversations with Draco were so
surprisingly easy . They teased each other, laughed together, and shared glimpses of the
burdens they’d been forced to carry over the years.

“If it makes you feel any better, the Sorting Hat tried to put me in Slytherin first.”

Draco let out a shocked, breathless laugh at that. “Merlin, of course you argued with the
Sorting Hat. Have you thought about being a lawyer? You’re certainly insufferable enough.”

“If I’m so insufferable, why are you hanging out with me?” Harry bumped their shoulders
together. They were about halfway to the village now, he could see the tops of the buildings
just over the gentle slope of the hill.

“My reasoning is purely self serving. Being friends with the Chosen One does wonders for
my reputation.” Draco answered. His exaggerated tone confirmed for Harry that what he was
saying wasn’t meant to be taken seriously. Still, his stomach did a pleasant roll when Draco
confirmed their friendship. Who would’ve thought that, after everything they’d done to each
other, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy would be cordial .

“I should add that to my name. ‘Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, Draco Malfoys Friend’.”
He held his hands out in front of him as he mimed the way the name might appear on a
marquee. Amused chuckles filtered the chilly air around them.

“Well, a new name needs a new look. Come here.” Draco stopped them on the trail and
beckoned Harry to stand in front of him. Slightly nervous about what this could lead to,
Harry hesitated before moving towards the Slytherin as requested. Draco lifted the hand that
still held the small flower he had plucked a few moments earlier, then used his wand to cast a
quick stasis charm over it. Then, to Harry’s surprise, Draco tucked the flower above his ear
and into his unruly dark curls. “Luna has rubbed off on me, it seems.”

It was such a tender movement, Harry wasn’t sure how to react. He could feel his cheeks
heating in a blush, and was forced to lower his gaze to the ground sheepishly. “How does it
look?” He asked.

One of those sinfully delicate pale fingers came up under his chin and lifted his head until
Harry was making eye contact with silver once again. He could see a tiny, self satisfied smile
on Draco’s lips. The moment felt extended, as if time around them had stopped.
“Devastatingly handsome.” Draco answered with a wink, then dropped his hand to continue
their walk.
Harry was stuck for a second, unsettled by the brief interaction. His knees felt like they might
collapse beneath him, and his palms turned hot and sweaty. No one had ever been so careful
with him, at least not in that way. People sometimes treated him like he was fragile,
especially now that the war was over. This though …this had been different. Draco was
careful with him as if he was something exquisite, rather than something potentially
dangerous.

He started walking again, taking long strides to catch up with the Slytherin and fall into step
at his side. They could see the edge of Hogsmeade now, the entrance to the village moving
ever closer as their steps continued.

“Are you going home for the Holidays?” Harry asked, thinking of how he’d be back at
Grimmauld Place in a few days. He’d been planning to split his time between the townhome
and the Burrow, taking advantage of the break to work on some of the easier renovations he
could take care of.

“I am. It’ll be nice to spend Christmas with my mother…and without Tom.” Draco answered.
Harry could only imagine what Christmas had been like for him last year, at the mercy of
Voldemort.

“What was it like…having to live with Him?” Harry asked, hoping the question didn’t
overstep a boundary. Draco was surprisingly open to answering Harry’s questions,
considering he’d technically been present for a lot of what happened. Still, he worried about
taking things too far too fast sometimes.

Draco was quiet for a moment before he answered, “At the beginning, it was terrifying. Like
walking on eggshells around the house, because I never knew when I was going to be
‘summoned’ or punished . Then, when he started using me, it became repetitive. Tom had a
routine for us…every night we had dinner together and I’d wait for him to finish planning or
working on whatever grand scheme he had for the war at the given moment. When he was
done, he always wanted Abraxas. And I gave it to him.”

“Draco you didn’t give anything, Voldemort took it.” Harry assured him. This was something
that they had discussed before. Draco had been so convinced for so long that he let things
happen like they did, that he was responsible for all of the pain he’d been through. Harry
knew better though, and did his best to remind them both that they were the Chess Pieces
during the war. Not the Players.

“I know I mean…I still haven’t really accepted that but, I’m trying. I just…I always told
myself that I was fine with it. That it was what I needed to do to protect my family.” Draco
said, running a hand through his hair.

“Have you thought about coming to the Burrow at all?”

They crossed the threshold into Hogsmeade together. Draco tilted his head towards
Honeydukes with a questioning look, and Harry nodded in agreement. Continuing their slow
pace, they moved towards the direction of the sweets shoppe.

“Ginevra asked me to visit, I told her I’d think about it.”

“You should!” Harry said, then blushed when he realized he spoke a little too loud and a little
too fast. “I mean, I’m sure Ginny would appreciate it. She cares a lot about you.”

“I care about her, too. In spite of everything, she’s been a great friend to me over the months.
I’m just… concerned because only one Weasley liking me still leaves me rather
outnumbered.” Draco grimaced slightly at the thought of facing the Burrow with no support,
and Harry found himself understanding the apprehension.

“Well, I’m an honorary Weasley and I like you. So that’s two!” Harry said, smiling at the
chuckle that escaped the blonde. “Hermione too, you’ve grown on her.”

“Salazar, that’s too many Gryffindors. I’m supposed to be feared by your lot.” Draco moaned.
They had reached Honeydukes, and Harry ducked into the shop through the door that Draco
held open for him. The chill of the outdoors was cut off by the warmth of the shop's interior.
He inhaled the sweet scent of sugar and baked goods, salivating at the treats that were on
display.

Together, they perused the candy colored shelves that lined the walls. Draco carried a small
basket, tossing in anything that caught his interest. Harry did the same, enjoying the chance
to indulge his sweet tooth without Hermione reminding him about cavities . He caught sight
of some treacle fudge, and separated himself from Draco to grab a box.

“Hypothetically,” Draco spoke behind him and it surprised him so much that he almost
dropped the box of fudge he held. Turning around, he frowned at the amused glimmer in the
Slytherins eyes that came from catching Harry so hilariously off guard. Draco continued, “if I
were to brave the Weasel Den for a few hours, what day would be best? I need to make sure
all of my supporters are there, to keep me well protected.”

Harry tossed the fudge into Draco’s basket and led them over to a display of Sugar Quills,
“You could come by for Christmas Eve dinner. Everyone will be there; Me, Ginny, and
Hermione.”

Draco nodded his head then bit his lip, his teeth pulling on one of the scars that crossed
through them. “What about…Bill?”

“Yeah Bill will be there, and Fleur. I don’t think he’ll mind though. He usually spends most
of the night catching up with Charlie.” Harry sent him a reassuring smile and was confused
when Draco released his lip to smirk.

“Charlie? He’s the Dragon Tamer, right?” Draco practically purred as he reached over to grab
a box of variety flavored Sugar Quills.

“Yes?” Harry answered.

Draco leaned over to him then, his lips hovering next to Harry’s ear. His heart was pounding
at the sudden proximity and he held his breath as he waited for whatever was coming next.
Blood rushed south as he was reminded of his fantasy, of Draco’s posh accent whispering
into his ear as he tugged Harry’s cock. He was so distracted by memory that he almost missed
what Draco really whispered, “Don’t you know what Draco means, Harry? Dragon. ”
Fucking Hell, he’s going to kill me. Harry thought, then immediately conjured images of Aunt
Petunia and Uncle Vernon to deflate his half hard erection. Draco stepped back and grabbed
another box of Sugar Quills, looking entirely too unaware of what he had just done to Harry.
He swallowed, attempting to re-moisten his throat that had gone dry the moment Draco
began to speak.

They continued through the store, then paid for their haul at the till. Draco immediately
reached into the bag for a Cauldron Cake, offering one to Harry who accepted it. They moved
over to one of the benches that lined the mostly deserted street and sat down. Draco crossed
his legs and started to break off pieces of the chocolate pastry to nibble on while Harry
stretched his mouth wide to take a bite of his own.

“Can I ask you something?” Harry said, through a mouthful of frosting. Draco looked at him
curiously before nodding. “Doesn’t sex bother you? After well…everything you went
through?” The thought pressed on him every time he caught Draco flirting with Theo or
overheard Blaise and Parkinson teasing their friend. Unlike the Gryffindors, the Slytherins
seemed to have very little boundaries between them. Just now, in Honeydukes, Draco’s
comment about Charlie was another reminder at how active he was.

Draco paled a bit but didn’t look offended or upset by the question. He pulled out his wand
and cast a quick privacy charm around them before answering, “I started having sex before
Tom, and I still messed around with Theo during our time ‘together’. What I had to do with
Tom…it didn’t really seem like sex. It didn’t feel good for me, and I was so removed from
my body because I had to become ‘Abraxas’. Sex has always been something I did to feel
good and relax, I wasn’t going to let Tom take that away from me.”

Harry blushed a bit at the candidness, something he found himself doing a lot when he spent
time with Draco. He found himself nodding in understanding though as he took another bite
of his Cauldron Cake. “No one in Gryffindor talks about sex like your lot. Well, Seamus does
sometimes but it seems like it’s more wishful thinking than anything.”

Draco shrugged, “The Dungeons get cold. The Slytherins spend a lot of time together, talking
and getting warm. Especially considering how shunned the house is. There’s not really any
secrets between us because, most of the time, we’re all each other has.”

Harry considered that, thinking back to all he’d heard about Slytherin over the years. Draco
certainly had a point, the snakes were often treated as Pariahs in the school. Even the first
years. He can remember Fred and George hissing and booing at 11 year olds who were sorted
into Slytherin, their eyes watery with confusion and nerves. Harry frowned, how had he not
realized what that might do to someone? He had spent 11 years isolated at the Dursleys,
knowing that the Slytherins were treated similarly stung his throat with stomach acid.

“My turn for a question, Scarhead.” Draco said, leaning back on the bench and finishing the
last bite of his cake.

“That’s fair.” Harry agreed, wiping chocolate crumbs from his mouth with the back of his
hand.
“How many Horcruxes did you have to find?” Draco asked. Harry shuddered at the memory
of Voldemort's soul in his head.

“He had made seven in total. I destroyed the Diary in second year and Dumbledore destroyed
another one before our sixth year. We knew Nagini was one since I could see through her
eyes sometimes, and then there was me . So we had three more to hunt down.” Harry
explained, working to keep his voice steady.

“Merlin…I just…I can’t believe someone would do that to their soul.” Draco frowned, his
hands folded primly in his lap. “He tried to get my Grandfather to make one.”

“Really?!” Harry had finally learned who Abraxas was, and what he apparently meant to
Voldemort. Still, there were little bits of information that Draco would drop from time to time
that sent him nearly into shock. The feelings that Voldemort had for Draco’s Grandfather
were so difficult to articulate.

Draco nodded, “He refused, though. He saw what it did to Tom, how magic that dark rotted
him. He told Tom that he couldn’t let my father watch that happen to him.”

At the mention of Lucius, Harry looked down. He was often conflicted when it came to the
Malfoy patriarch, moreso as he learned all that the three Malfoys had been through. “I’m
sorry you won’t be able to spend Christmas with your father.” He said, looking back up at
Draco.

“It’s okay…we’ve been writing to each other, and Mother will be able to visit him once her
house arrest is over. I appreciate you testifying for them, for all of us.” Draco’s voice wilted a
bit as he spoke. His gaze stayed on a tree in the distance, not ready to look Harry in the eye
and talk about his father.

“It was the least I could do. Without your help in the manor, and your mums help in the
forest, we wouldn’t have been able to win. Your mum lied to Voldemort, she really does love
you.”

Draco turned towards him with a small smile and shimmering eyes. Harry could do nothing
but gaze back and wait for him to speak. He was transfixed in that moment, unable to move
until Draco deemed it time.

“I told Tom that love would win the war. Not Him.”

On December 24th, Harry apparated to the Burrow with a suitcase full of clothes and
presents. He crossed the wards and knocked on the door, to be immediately greeted by the
smell of a deliciously roasting Christmas feast and the warm hug of Molly Weasley.
“Oh Harry dear! I’m so happy you could make it, come in and make yourself comfortable.”
She pulled him through the door and directed him to the sitting room that was already full of
other members of the family.

“Happy Christmas, Harry!” Hermione stood up to hug him, and he quickly hugged her back.

“Happy Christmas, ‘Mione.” He responded with a smile. She pulled him to the couch and
settled him in between her and Ginny. Ron came in a moment later to greet him as well, then
collapsed on the couch with an arm slung over Hermione’s shoulders.

He turned towards Ginny to give her a holiday greeting as well, and to ask her a question that
he’d had ever since visiting Hogsmeade the week before. “Is Draco coming?” He whispered,
not wanting to draw too much attention.

Ginny leaned closer and dropped her voice low as well, “I think so. He said he’d ‘Make an
appearance’ so long as his mum didn’t mind.”

Harry couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at his mouth at the possibility of Draco showing up
to spend Christmas Eve with them. Ginny caught his eye and smiled too, although hers
seemed a touch more sinister than his own.

“You and Draco have been spending a lot of time together.” She commented. Harry looked
down at the floor to hide his face, which didn’t really work like he intended.

“I like talking to him. I don’t have to worry about what I say, he already thinks I’m an ‘idiot
Gryffindor brute’. Can’t get much worse than that, right?” He responded, meeting her gaze
again.

“You don’t have to defend yourself to me, Harry. Trust me, I’ve come to understand the
appeal of Slytherins.” They both laughed at that. Draco had been right when he said Ginny
and Parkinson were head over heels for each other. It’s amazing they’d been able to keep
things a secret for so long, considering the way they look at each other when they think no
one else is watching.

“Are you going to see her at all over break?” He asked, lowering his voice even further. Not
wanting to ‘out’ Ginny before she was ready.

“No, she’s spending the Holiday with some family in Spain. We had our own little Christmas
before break though, it was really nice.” She told him about their private Christmas
celebration in the alcove they frequented together. Ginny’s face lit up in the sweetest smile,
and he couldn’t help but admire Parkinson for having such on effect on her.

They continued to chat quietly, stopping only to greet others that arrived or answer questions
that floated their way. He liked talking to Ginny, since she was the only other person who
appreciated Draco the same way he did. Even though their relationship hadn’t worked out,
she would always be one of his closest friends.

There was another knock on the door, and this time Ron leapt up to answer it. Harry and
Ginny were deep in conversation about her Spring Quidditch training schedule, leading up to
tryouts for the professional leagues in mid-July. They were forced to stop, however, when a
shout came from the front entrance.

“What in the bloody fuck are you doing here?!” Ron yelled, effectively silencing every other
conversation in the house. Ginny immediately stood from the couch, and Harry followed suit.
Knowing exactly who elicited that response from her brother.

“Draco!” Ginny exclaimed, and ran to the porch to crash him into a hug. Standing at the door,
mouth open and eyes wide in fury, was Ron.

“Happy Christmas, Ginevra. Thank you for inviting me.” Draco answered, wrapping her
tightly in his arms and pressing a kiss to her temple.

Harry heard footsteps behind him and turned to see Mrs. Weasley approaching, “Ronald!
What on earth prompted you to use such language !” She scolded, stopping only when she
caught sight of who her daughter was wound around.

“Malfoy!” Ron sputtered, pointing at Draco and looking between his sister and his mother.
There was no follow up, as it seemed he couldn’t find any other words to say at that moment.

Mrs. Weasley pulled her face into a strained smile, stepping up to the door and welcoming
Draco in. “Ginny told me she had invited you, Mr. Malfoy. Please, come in.” Harry winced at
her tone, he had never heard her speak words so coldly before.

On the porch, Ginny unraveled herself from Draco’s arms and yanked him inside. Ron closed
the door, grumbling about ‘Sneaky Slytherins’ and stomped back to the sitting room. Draco
turned to Mrs. Weasley and bowed his head, holding his hand towards her with his palm up.
After a moment of hesitation, Mrs. Weasley slid her hand on top of his.

“You have a lovely home, Mrs. Weasley. Thank you for having me.” He kissed the top of her
hand, then sent a dazzling smile from beneath his pale lashes. Harry heard Mrs. Weasley let
out a small gasp at his side, and took note of the slight blush that colored her round cheeks.
“Please, call me Draco. My mother sends her best, as well.”

“You’re such a gentleman.” Mrs. Weasley giggled, the familiar warmness returning to her
voice. Harry let out a breath, and he saw Ginny do the same. It seemed the first hurdle of the
night had been, successfully, cleared.

“I was raised to be two things, Mrs. Weasley. Arrogant and Charming. I can assure you, only
one of those traits stuck.” Draco winked at her, and Mrs. Weasley practically dissolved in
front of them. He let go of her hand to reach into his cloak and pull out a small, wrapped
present. “For you, Mrs. Weasley. A small token of my appreciation for letting me join you all
for dinner.”

“Oh my! What a sweet thing to do. Ginny, be a dear and take his cloak. Everyone is in the
sitting room, dinner will be ready soon!” Mrs. Weasley gushed. Draco bowed once again, in
thanks, and Harry watched her practically float back towards the kitchen.

It seemed they could add another name to the list of Draco Malfoy supporters.
Beside him, Draco pulled off his cloak and followed Ginny to the small line of hooks that
hung near the door. He fitted the fabric so that it hung expertly, then reached into his cloak
pocket once again to retrieve several more boxes.

“Now! Where can I put these?” Draco asked, his arms full of presents. Harry moved closer,
his own arms out to catch any of the boxes that might topple over.

“Let me help you, Draco.” He said, taking hold of some of the gifts. Draco sent him a smile
in thanks and together they followed Ginny into the sitting room to tuck the gifts under the
tree. The conversations in the room were quiet, everyone looking over curiously at Draco and
Ginny who were stacking the present boxes up in the corner.

When they were done, Draco stood and faced the room with his hands clasped in front of
him. Harry heard a few gasps as people caught sight of the Slytherin’s heavily scarred face.
For most of those in the room, this was their first time seeing the damage of the war on Draco
in person.

“Happy Christmas, everyone.” Draco greeted the room with a polite smile. Ginny stood next
to him, her hand resting gently on his upper arm. Harry stood closer to the fireplace, rubbing
the back of his head and waiting for the tension to ease.

“Happy Christmas, Draco.” Hermione stood and walked over to pull him into a hug. Harry
heard Ron let out a groan, watching as he crossed his arms tightly over his chest. It seemed
that Hermione’s acceptance of the Slytherin settled the room, as the other occupants
responded to Draco’s greeting then returned to their own conversations.

Ginny tugged Draco over to the couch and sat him down next to her, beckoning Harry to
follow. He obliged and squished himself into the cushions between Draco and Hermione,
keeping the Slytherin well protected. Harry let out a quiet sigh as his arm brushed against the
cushiony fabric of Draco’s deep blue sweater. He looked briefly over at Bill, who didn’t seem
at all upset by the addition to their Holiday festivities. Potentially that was another hurdle
conquered but, only time would tell.

Fred and George sat by the tree, talking in low whispers while shooting occasional looks over
towards the sister and Draco. They didn’t seem any more mischievous than usual, which
Harry hoped was a good sign as well.

“It’s nice to meet you, Draco. I’m Charlie.” Harry turned to look at the adjacent couch, where
the second eldest Weasley held out his hand in introduction.

Draco happily shook it, responding in kind, “You as well, Charlie. I hear you have quite the
exciting career.”

Charlie let out a laugh and nodded his head, eyes twinkling as he quite obviously dragged
them up and down Draco’s body. “What can I say? I’ve always been interested in dragons.”

Maybe this was a bad idea. Draco didn’t need to come over for dinner and be regarded like a
piece of meat , not after all he’d been through. Harry clenched his fists, ready to jump in at a
moments notice to diffuse the conversation.
“Oi you git, no flirting until after dinner. You promised .” Ginny beat him to it, pushing
Draco’s shoulder with a heatless glare. Draco laughed and wrapped his arm around her waist.

“My sincerest apologies, Ginevra. I can assure you, you will always be my favorite Weasley.”
Draco consoled her, then turned towards Harry. “And you, dear Scarhead, will always be my
least favorite one.” He smirked, and Harry couldn’t help but laugh.

“That implies that you like Ron more than me.” Harry teased, relaxing his hands and settling
deeper into the cushions.

“I do. The Weasel is positively delightful, and quite fun to enrage.” Draco responded, his
smirk still in place and his eyes twinkling with delight.

The room settled into warm, easy conversation. Draco talking smoothly between Charlie,
Ginny, and Harry. Even Ron relaxed his death stare towards the Slytherin after a while,
turning instead to talk to Hermione about their plans to find a flat over the summer.

Mrs. Weasley called them all to the table when dinner was ready, floating trays of
mouthwatering food around her and sending them settle on the table. Harry took his seat,
Draco sitting down to his right. Ginny plopped down on Draco’s other side while Charlie
moved to take the seat across from them. The dishes were passed and their plates were piled
high with delicious smelling food.

“Draco dear, how is school going for you?” Mrs. Weasley asked, sending the question down
the table from where she sat near the head.

Draco set his silverware down and wiped his mouth with a napkin before answering, “It’s
going well, thank you. I know Hermione had a hand in inviting us all back for an Eighth
Year, and I’m incredibly grateful for that.”

Hermione smiled at Draco’s praise, blushing slightly at the kind words. Ron rolled his eyes
but stayed silent, choosing instead to focus on his mountain of mashed potatoes and thick
cuts of roasted turkey.

Mrs. Weasley smiled at his response, then turned her attention to Percy who sat next to his
father. Harry continued to eat, listening to the bubbles of conversation that echoed around
him. As the food disappeared and bellies expanded, the topics became more relaxed.

The table was cleared and replaced with several options for desert, a piece of treacle tart
floating right towards Harry. He happily dug in, as did everyone else around the table. When
the plates were finally picked clean, Mrs. Weasley banished them to the sink and ushered
everyone back into the sitting room.

Back at the couches, Harry took his same seat and relaxed back into the cushions. He felt the
fabric dip beside him and expected to see Draco, but was instead met with Ginny. Harry
glanced around and found Draco being led over to a spot next to Charlie, a frown tugging at
his lips.
Charlie sat down and Draco followed suit, crossing his long legs towards the other man. He
heard Ginny let out a long sigh as she stretched her limbs and relaxed into the cushions, but
couldn’t tear his eyes away from the adjacent couch.

He listened as Draco and Charlie discussed dragons and Romania. The conversation stayed
on the side of intellectual curiosity but there were still moments when a look was shared or a
smile was sent that ignited a flare of jealousy within Harry. He did his best to ignore the
emotion, but that was often a feat easier said than done.

“You’re exceedingly fascinating, Charlie.” Draco said, his chin in his hand and elbow resting
atop his knee.

“That’s kind of you to say, seeing as how I only talk about dragons.” Charlie chuckled. His
body was relaxed on the couch, his legs slightly spread and an arm resting on the back.

“Consider it a symptom of my own, personal brand of narcissism.” Draco responded, letting

his hand move to gently rest on Charlie’s thigh. Harry watched the interaction with grinding
teeth. He had no reason to be so upset by it and yet, he was. He thought about the flower that
Draco had tucked into his hair as they walked to Hogsmeade together, of how intimate the
moment felt. Harry wanted more moments like that, and he wanted them exclusively .

Next to him, Ginny let out a groan and laid her head on his shoulder. Her hands rested on top
of her stomach as she grumbled about being so full that she was bound to burst. Harry
distracted himself with consoling her, deciding it was best for him to focus his attention on
Ginny instead of the close proximity of Draco and Charlie.

“Draco! Did you bring all of these gifts?” Mrs. Weasley said in awe as she joined them all in
the sitting room once the dishes had been washed and put away. Under the tree, there was a
small pile of presents wrapped in the same Emerald Green paper

“I did. I couldn’t possibly show up empty handed.” Draco smiled. Then, dropping his wand
from where it rested inside his sleeve and giving it a gentle wave, the presents floated around
the room to settle on the laps of their recipients. “It may be best if you open them while I’m
still here, I have to explain a few.” He finished, blushing slightly as the occupants of the room
looked over at him.

Harry caught his gift and looked down at it, then regarded the rest of the room, waiting to see
who would unwrap theirs first. To his surprise, it was Ron. They all watched as Ron tore
angrily at the paper, still upset that Draco had been invited to the Burrow at all. His face
changed, however, when the present was revealed to be a Golden Snitch in a clear display
box with a small plaque on the bottom. Ron read it aloud in a voice full of astonishment, “
Chudley Cannons Winning Snitch - League Cup, 1892… bloody hell, Malfoy is this real?”
Ron’s eyes were wide and his eyebrows had lifted to the edge of his hairline as he turned to
look at Draco.

“It is, Weasel. The seeker for that game was a cousin of mine, Julietta Brown. I found her
portrait in the Manor and she directed me to where some of her souvenirs from her time in
the league were held. I’m confident you can give that artifact the appreciation that it
deserves.” Malfoy said with a smile towards Ron that, for once, had no trace of mockery in
its edges.

Ginny preened next to him, “I told you he wasn’t that bad.” She sent a smug gaze towards her
brother but it went unnoticed as all Ron could do was turn the glass case over and over in his
hands.

“You’re still a prat, Malfoy but…thank you.” Ron said, cheeks reddening at having to be
polite to the Slytherin.

“Happy Christmas, Weasel.” Draco said, then settled back into the couch. Curiosity filled the
room now, as everyone else looked intriguingly down at their own presents. The sounds of
paper being scrunched and pulled filled the room as the gifts were slowly unwrapped.

He heard Mrs. Weasley gush about a charmed, crystal ornament that she had been gifted.
Apparently, it would expand to include names of her children-in-law and grandkids as
members of the family married off and continued to grow. To his surprise, Harry had been
included on the ornament as well, and Mrs. Weasley bounded across the room to wrap Draco
in a tight, crushing hug.

Hermione unwrapped a stack of books on Wizarding Schools and Governments around the
world, along with a note from Draco on sharpening her “Foreign Policy” so that she was
ready to take over the Ministry by 30. Immediately, she dove into the texts and started
pointing out interesting facts about schools that existed in all corners of the World.

“What’s this?” Bill asked, holding a small jar of salve up to his face. Harry saw Draco clench
his jaw and take a deep breath as he prepared to explain the gift.

“It’s a salve that I’ve put together. The base is dittany but I've reworked the formula over the
months to improve on the healing properties. I use it on my own scars, to help soothe the skin
and soften the tissue a bit. My face was…” At this, Draco paused to swallow and inhale
shakily before continuing, “It was very dark magic that was used to cut me, so my scars are
permanent. They feel a lot better though, with the salve, and I’m confident that using it will
heal your scars completely. I’m sorry…for the role I played in hurting you. I hope in time,
you can forgive me.”

The room was quiet again, every eye trained directly on Draco as he finished his explanation.
Bill and Fleur looked over the jar, then back towards Draco with thankful smiles. Harry could
see Mrs. Weasley dabbing at her cheeks with a tissue and next to him, Ginny reached across
the armrest to squeeze one of Draco’s hands.

“My word, what a funny looking book!” Mr. Weasley broke the tension with his words, and
everyone turned to peer at what he’d been gifted. Harry let out a shocked laugh as he saw a
large, hardcover tome with the words “Guinness Book of World Records 1998” written on the
cover in a shiny texture.

“It’s fascinating, Mr. Weasley. The book is full of amazing feats that muggles have
accomplished in the previous year, I thought you might enjoy it.” Draco said, nodding his
head towards the book. Immediately, Mr. Weasley began flipping through the pages and
yelped excitedly at the pictures. He turned the book over to show everyone a photograph that
made him particularly giddy, it was of a woman laying on a pile of Rubber Ducks and a
caption that deemed her as having the “Largest Collection of Rubber Ducks in the World”.

“She has over 5,000 Rubber Ducks! My word, my word!” He exclaimed, continuing to flip
through the pages.

Harry leaned across Ginny to speak to Draco, “How did you find that?”

“I spent the weekend with Theo, to help him work on the Nott Estate. He took me to the
Muggle Bookshop he snuck off to last summer, it was incredibly interesting. Apparently,
instead of quills, certain muggles use these things called ‘gel pens’ which come in a myriad
of colors!” Draco answered, and Harry couldn’t help but smile at the wonder that leaked into
his tone.

Finally, it was his turn to open the gift in his lap. Ginny was happily trying on her top of the
line Quidditch Gloves as he worked his way through the wrapping paper on the small,
rectangular package. As he tore off a corner, Harry recognized the gilded edge of a small
picture frame and furrowed his brow curiously. As he removed the rest of the packaging, his
breath caught in his throat.

In his hands, was a picture of his mother at maybe 15 years old and an older couple that
looked to be her parents. His grandparents. Before he knew it, tears welled up in his eyes and
he lifted his head to look over at Draco who was watching him while chewing on his lip in
nervousness.

“Draco…” He said, unsure of what else he could even say . The picture was still, clearly a
muggle photograph, and showed his mother, grandmother, and grandfather positively
beaming with pride outside Kings Cross Station.

“I found it, in Severus’ things. I knew immediately that it was your mother, you both have the
same eyes. On the back, Severus wrote that it’s a picture of Lily Evans with Mr. and Mrs.
Evans. He dated it September 1, 1975.” Draco told him. Harry nodded and continued to stare
at the picture, his fingers tracing the lines of the building and the profiles of his family.

“Thank you.” He finally murmured, overcome with emotion and appreciation. He looked
back up at Draco and wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater, willing himself not to
start sobbing in the middle of their Christmas Eve together. “Merlin, have you always been
this thoughtful? Why were you such a git for all these years?” He let out a watery laugh,
thinking about how different the Draco Malfoy he met at 11 years old was from the Draco
Malfoy he knew now.

“I beg your pardon, Scarhead. I am, and always have been, a delight . To those who I deem
worthy, at least.” Draco smirked, then turned back towards Charlie to continue their
conversation. Harry could see that he had been gifted a small box of first aid supplies, full of
high strength burn balm and pain potions. Undoubtedly, Ginny had told Draco about the
many injuries that Charlie obtained while working on the reserve in Romania. It was a kind
gift, but Harry was happy to note that it was nowhere near as personal as his own gift from
Draco.
Just like the flower-which Harry had placed in a small vase on his nightstand the night they
both returned from Hogsmeade-it was a sign of something more between them. Something
undeniable.

Something beautiful.

At the end of the night, once Mrs. Weasley had packed several charmed containers with
leftover food and untouched desserts that she insisted Draco take home to Narcissa, Harry
pulled him aside in a small corner behind the tree. In his hand, he held a small present for
Draco that he was still unsure about but determined to stand by.

“I cannot wait to tell my Father that I spent an evening with the Weasleys, it may make him
thankful for his Holiday in incarceration.” Draco said jokingly, leaning against the wall as
Harry stood across from him.

“I’m glad you came. Thank you again, for my present. I really appreciate it.” He responded,
then held his own gift up for Draco to take. “This is for you, Happy Christmas.”

Draco looked at the parcel with surprise, but happily plucked it from Harry's open hand. He
sent a questioning look that Harry responded to with a nod, then unwrapped the gift with
swift movements. Harry put his hands in his pockets and waited, hoping that he hadn’t been
too wrong when he picked this out for the Slytherin.

“Oh, Harry…” Draco gasped, looking down at the signet ring in the small velvet box. Harry
had found it at Grimmauld, preserved and kept shining in a small jewelry box near the
drawing room. It was the Black Family ring, made of a white gold band and stamped with the
Black Family crest.

“I know I’m technically head of House Black because of Sirius, but I know how important
family and lineage is to you. It only seemed right that an heirloom like this be given to the
real heir to the Black family. I figured your mum would appreciate it as well. I know you’re
struggling a bit after all the time you were forced to be…you know. So I thought this might
be a reminder that you’re not only a Malfoy, but a Black as well. You’re…well, you’re
Draco.” Harry babbled, a hand coming up to run through his hair and then getting caught in
his curls. Embarrassingly, he had to yank his fingers free and then he quickly shoved them
back into his pockets.

The next thing he knew, Draco’s arms were wrapped tightly around his shoulders and his face
was buried in his neck. Harry tensed briefly at the sudden embrace, but willed himself to
relax and then wrap his own arms around Draco’s narrow waist. Once he’d settled himself, he
flourished in the hug. Harry closed his eyes and squeezed the blonde tightly, luxuriating in
the soft fabric of his sweater coupled with the reassuring hardness of his chest. He breathed
Draco in, smelling peppermint and crisp, green apples as his nose pressed against platinum
blonde hair. When Draco pulled away a few moments later, Harry felt a sudden coldness all
over his body and briefly considered tugging the blond back into his arms.

“Thank you, Harry.” Draco sniffled. His cheeks were red and his silver eyes were shining.
Harry smiled and shrugged his shoulders, still recovering from the effects of their embrace.

Then, like he often did with Ginny or Parkinson or the other Slytherins, Draco leaned over
and pressed a kiss to Harry’s cheek. It was quick, it was subtle, but fucking hell it was perfect
. Dracos lips were so soft where they pressed against him, and heat bloomed across his skin
at the instant connection. His mind whirred to a stop, completely void of any thoughts that
weren’t Draco and more . There wasn’t lust boiling in his abdomen-okay there was , but it
was overshadowed by something else. Something grander.

Something that Harry was far too scared to give a name too, just yet.

Draco gave him another smile and then nodded his head back towards the sitting room. Harry
followed him out from the behind the tree and watched as Draco hugged Ginny and Mrs.
Weasley goodbye. Hermione hugged him as well and, shockingly, Ron clapped his shoulder
for a brief moment of companionship. The rest of the Weasleys waved Draco off, thanking
him for his gifts and sending kind words to his mother for the Holiday.

“I’m going to walk Draco out, you want to come with?” Ginny said to him, and Harry
nodded. He followed them both to the front door and watched Draco twirl his clock around
his shoulders.

They stepped into the front garden together, walking towards the edge of the wards
underneath the dark, star filled sky. Flurries of soft snow fell around them, dusting Ginnys
orange hair with shiny, white flakes. She crossed her arms against the chill and Harry cast a
quick warming charm over her.

“Godric's tits, it’s freezing. Thank you, Harry.” She shivered, relaxing a bit as the charm
began to take effect. “I’m happy you made it tonight, Draco. Thank you for coming, and for
playing nice .”

Draco smirked at her and grabbed her hand, swinging it lazily between them, “I wouldn’t be
surprised if your mother sends me your dowry, Ginevra. It was a very successful evening.”

Harry laughed before cutting in, “Careful what you say, Draco. Parkinson is bloody
terrifying.”

“Oh please, I’ve been dealing with Pansy since we were in diapers. Her effect has worn off
over the years.” Draco scoffed. They were almost at the edge of the property now, soon Harry
and Ginny would return to the evening with only themselves. His heart ached a bit, sad to
know that he wouldn’t see Draco again until January.

Once they reached the apparition point, Draco hugged them both quickly once again and
thanked them for keeping him safe from Ron’s unpredictable temperament. With a quick turn
of his heel, Draco apparated away. Leaving only a dent in the snowy ground of where he once
stood.
Ginny grabbed his hand and squeezed, Harry sending a weak squeeze back.

“Never in a million years did I think I’d care about Draco bloody Malfoy this much.” She
said, looking off into the distance in the vague direction of Wiltshire.

Harry let out a deep sigh and turned them around, ready to leave the chilly night behind them.

“Me neither.”
 Depression
Chapter Notes

Warnings: discussion of depression and death

Chapter 23: Depression

The end of the Holiday season and the arrival of the new year left Harry feeling hollow. As
the sun stayed hidden behind heavy, opaque clouds and the winter chill turned from
endearing to oppressive, he found his body unable to feel emotion or his mind to rationalize
behavior. It was as if the turning of the clock from 1998 to 1999 sealed away all of his
motivations in the previous year. Sending him forward to end the millennia as a shell of a
person, similar to the casing of an already fired bullet.

Returning to Hogwarts didn’t make things worse, but it also didn’t make them better. He
couldn’t describe the way he felt because he simply didn’t . His body and brain had turned
numb, suddenly unable to process anything outside of basic function. The will to eat, to
interact, to even shower left him. It dangled on a string in the distance but made no attempt to
entice him, leaving him unable and unwilling to chase after it.

He distantly wondered if his body would fuse to the bed sheets, as he’d not been able to peel
himself out from them for several days. Even trips to the bathroom to relieve himself were
taken with his comforter hanging limply around his shoulders and dragging across the stone
floor. He’d somehow call forth the energy to blast the fabric with a cleaning charm upon his
return to bed, hilariously unwilling to carry the germs of the tiled bathroom into his four
poster.

Today he had managed to drag himself to classes, only to return immediately and barricade
himself in the cocoon he had fashioned. Ron and Hermione tried to talk to him, and Harry
tried to respond. He tried, so desperately, to care about the future. To care about mundane
things like brushing his teeth, applying for the Auror program, studying for NEWTs, etc., etc.
His words felt empty though, and were monosyllabic at best. When he had retreated to the
darker corners of his mind, he used grunts and vague sounds instead. Unwilling, or maybe
unable, to use what little energy he had to form words and communicate.

Eventually, they gave him space. Assuming that Harry needed time to heal, and that he’d
perk back up in a week or so. The problem was; Harry didn’t need time, because time was all
he had now. The future stared down at him, vast and endless. With his discovery of ‘Abraxas’
and his subsequent acceptance that there was no one left to fight, Harry was left empty.
There was no purpose for him now, nothing he was needed or even wanted for. Ron had his
family, Hermione had Ron. Ginny had Parkinson, the Wizarding World had hope. So what
did Harry have? There were expectations for him, but they served only to remind him of how
dull life was left to be.

He wished, morosely, that he had died in the war. He wasn’t suicidal per se but…there was an
appeal to the thought of perishing in the final battle. How poetic it would’ve been for him to
defeat Voldemort and then join him in death, indefinitely this time. He would’ve gone out in
a blaze of glory, a martyr in the name of Good and a Saint in remembrance of the Light.
Anniversaries of the battle would keep him immortal in thought and name only, leaving his
body to decay and his soul to transcend.

That wasn’t what happened, though.

He killed Voldemort. He won the war. He accepted the glory and the praise, then turned
around to bury the dead and mourn the loss of too many irreplaceable people. Now what?
What comes next, for the soldier?

He always thought he’d be happy once the war was over. That everything would reset, and
that life would continue blissfully. He imagined a future with Ginny, two or three kids,
working for the Auror Department and spending his time doing whatever it was that well
adjusted adults were meant to do. He couldn’t see that now, though. He couldn’t see anything
except the mundanity of it all. His bones vibrated with the desire to fight again, but his brain
was spongy and damp with the understanding that the fight was over.

“Moping doesn’t suit you, Potter. Get up.” The curtains of his bed were pulled open roughly,
and Harry cursed his forgetfulness that kept him from warding them shut. He turned his head
and looked blankly at the form of Draco Malfoy, standing over him with his hands on his
hips.

“Go away, Draco.” He murmured.

“Harry, when in Merlin’s name have I ever listened to you?” Draco let out an exaggerated
sigh, looking down on him with a strange fondness.

“You could start now. First time for everything.” Harry said, turning his eyes back to the
ceiling. His arms and legs felt heavy, as if he was slowly turning into a lump of stone.
Unfeeling, unresponsive, unburdened .

“I think I’ve put in enough effort to change. If I concede on this, I may be burned from my
family tapestry.” Draco responded. Then, because Harry had made an awful decision when
deciding to befriend Draco, his blankets were torn from his body. He yelped as the
comforting heat of cotton sheets were replaced with the chilly air of their tower room. He
wore only dark briefs and a shirt, foregoing trousers because the thought of more fabric on
his skin made it crawl for some reason.

“Fucking Hell, Malfoy!” He yelled, sitting up in the bed and sending a look of anger towards
the Slytherin. In the back of his mind, he acknowledged that this was the first emotion he had
felt in nearly two weeks. He couldn’t elaborate on that though, because Draco was smirking
at him with his arms crossed lazily over his chest.

“I do love it when you yell my name, Golden Boy.” He said, cocking his head to the side.
Where Harry had been cold, he was suddenly very, very warm. He looked down at his knees,
attempting to obscure the blush he felt rising. Draco continued, “We’ve a charms essay due
first thing Monday, and I need your help with our Defense practical. You’re coming to the
Courtyard with me to study.”

“You’re asking me for help? Really?”

“If you were listening Harry, you’d know that I didn’t ask you. I informed you. Asking
implies I care at all about whatever reason you’ll blubber about to decline my invitation so
you can stay up here and wither in your depression nest.” Draco scoffed, rolling his eyes.
Harry closed his eyes and breathed deeply, willing his anger to stay at a simmer rather than
heat to a full boil. He didn’t want to go to the Courtyard, he didn’t want to write pointless
words on spells or argue with Draco about proper wand movement for defense casting and
dueling. He wanted to be left alone, to retreat back into his mind and just…exist.

“Draco. Just leave me alone. Please.” He ground out, the words practically turning to powder
as they pushed through his painfully clenched jaw and teeth.

Another obnoxiously loud sigh filled the room, followed by Draco sitting on the edge of his
bed to face him. “For reasons I haven’t the time to elaborate on, you have become someone
very important to me. You’re my friend Harry, and I’ve always prided myself on being good
to my friends.” Draco stopped to move a tad closer and rest a hand on Harry’s knee. When he
continued talking, his voice had changed to something full of concern, “It’s not good for you
to lock yourself in the tower like this. I can only imagine what is running through that brutish
Gryffindor brain of yours, and I’m not going to demand you spill your secrets to me but, I
can't let you sink. All you have to do is come to the Courtyard with me, just for a little while.
It’ll be good for you to get some fresh air.”

Harry stared at Draco’s hand that sat so innocently on his bare skin. It was beautiful, the
contrast between them. He was muscle and jagged scars, while Draco was lean with precise
cuts. Where Harry was dark, Draco was light. And yet, both so tormented by the same
demons.

Still looking at the hand that felt electric with its touch, Harry nodded almost imperceptibly.
Draco squeezed his knee, an acknowledgment of the agreement, then let go of him. The
sudden loss of contact almost brought him to tears. It was surprising how he had gone from
years of hating being touched, to craving any of it that he could get from the Slytherin.

“Dress warm, meet me in the Common Room in 15 minutes.” Draco instructed, then rose
from the bed to grab his coat and leave the dorm. Harry looked at the door that had closed
behind him, before slowly stepping out of his bed and moving to his trunk.

Another emotion registered as he buttoned his jeans and searched for a sweater. It was dim,
like looking at a lighthouse through dense fog, but it was undoubtedly there.
Gratitude.

The Courtyard was cold. A short layer of snow blanketed the grounds and Harry could see
puffs of his breath floating out with every exhale. In the sky, the sun felt far away and dull,
covered in patches by wispy clouds. The stone bench he and Draco sat on could’ve been
confused with a block of ice and his teeth chattered in the frigid air.

Yet it was bafflingly pleasant.

He hadn’t realized how stuffy the air around his bed had become, how suffocating it felt to be
isolated and ignored. From the moment he felt his nose burn in the low Wintry temperatures,
Harry began to feel better. The brief walk to the Courtyard was surprisingly welcome, his
energy returning bit by bit with each step he took.

By the time the two of them settled on the bench and Draco cast a gentle warming charm to
keep them from succumbing to hypothermia, Harry almost felt euphoric. It wasn’t a complete
fix for his mood and behavior, he knew that without a doubt but, it was such a change from
the numbness of before that it propelled him forward.

“This is nice.” Harry said. The words were pale comparisons of his actual thoughts and
appreciation but they were enough to reassure Draco that he had been right without actually
telling the git that he was. Draco Malfoy was a lot of things, but humble was not one of
them.

“It is. We need something hot to drink though, what do you think?” Draco asked, his gaze
questioning.

“Do you want to go to the kitchens for a bit? Hot Chocolate does sound nice.”

“I have a friend that might be able to help, I don’t want to go back inside just yet.” Draco
said, then called out, “Libby?”

A few moments later a house elf, wearing what looked like a yellow dress, appeared in front
of them with a soft pop. The elf-Libby, Harry assumed-smiled widely at Draco.

“Hello Draco! How are you?” She asked, and Harry noted that she didn’t address the
Slytherin as Master like he’d expected.

“Hello Libby, I’m quite well. I hope I haven’t disturbed you, do you have a moment?” Draco
responded, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his thighs.

“Libby always has a moment for her friend, Draco!” She said proudly. Then, seemingly just
realizing he was there, looked towards Harry, “Hello Harry Potter, I am Libby.” She extended
her tiny hand towards him in greeting, and Harry could do nothing but shake it and gaze at
her.
“It’s nice to meet you Libby. Please, call me Harry.” He told her, doing his best to lift his lips
into a smile. Libby smiled back and nodded her head, appearing as though she was outwardly
approving of him. Once satisfied, she turned back towards Draco.

“Is there anything you be needing, Draco?”

“Harry and I were hoping we could trouble you for some Hot Chocolate to sip on while we
enjoy the fresh air. If you’re not too busy, I’d love for you to join us as well. We haven’t had
the chance to catch up since the new term started.” Draco talked to Libby so shockingly, like
they were old friends who met weekly for a game of chess. From what Harry was hearing,
they very likely were . His curiosity was absolutely piqued.

“Libby can drink Hot Chocolate with Draco and Harry, wait here!” Libby told them, then
popped out of the Courtyard to retrieve the steaming mugs. When she returned a short time
later, it was with a levitating tray of delicious smelling Hot Chocolate and a small stool for
her to perch herself on across from them. As she settled the tray in front of them, Draco cast a
wider, stronger warming charm that protected them like a clear dome.

“Thank you, Darling. Now tell me, how was your Holiday?” Draco handed Harry a mug as
he spoke, before taking one for himself. Libby picked up her own and told Draco about how
the House Elves celebrated Yule in the lower levels of the castle, in between decorating and
preparing the Holiday Feast.

Libby thanked Draco for the gift he had sent her, then asked about Narcissa and his
Christmas. Harry listened to the two, enraptured by the conversation and their dynamic.

“I spent Christmas Eve with Ginevra and Harry at the Weasley’s home, it was a lovely
evening…” Draco told her, moving his hands as he talked and somehow not spilling a drop of
his Hot Chocolate. Harry smiled as he caught sight of the Black signet ring he had gifted him,
still feeling a faint sensation of the kiss that had been pressed to his cheek.

“How is you feeling, Draco? Is the curse still hurting you?” Libby asked as the conversation
shifted, her eyes turning sharp with concern. Harry furrowed his brow, worried about what
curse she was referring to. Thankfully, Draco answered openly.

“I’ve been doing better. I’ve had a few tremors here and there but, nothing as bad as potion
class back in September. Thank you again for helping me back to my room.” Draco smiled at
her appreciatively, raising his mug in kind and taking a drink. Harry realized then that she
was referring to the Cruciatus Tremors that attacked the Slytherin occasionally. His heart
ached as he remembered the way Draco had crumpled to the ground, doomed to repeat the
cruelty of torture.

“Libby is always happy to help her friend. Draco is very good and very kind.” She beamed at
him.

“You think far too highly of me, Libby.” Draco said, with a small, sad smile. Harry took a sip
of his drink, the velvety sweetness exploding on his tongue and warming his core.
“Libby is right. You’re a good person, Draco.” Harry felt the words as if they were a spell,
casting a gospel of Draco Malfoy into the universe. They were heavy with intention, and he
wanted the fact to be indisputable. As always, though, Draco was ready to argue.

“I’m not. Good people don’t do the things I’ve done.” Draco turned his eyes to the ground,
with his hands clasped tightly around his mug. Harry ached for him, wanting to brush away
all of the insecurities that whispered lies into the blonde's ear.

“Good people make mistakes, they learn and do better.” Harry reassured him. Draco looked
at him with an empty smile, shrugging his shoulders. That was all he had to give Harry, all he
could give him at that moment in time.

“Harry is right. If Draco won’t listen to Libby, he should listen to Harry Potter.” Libby said
with a decisive nod. He had to bite his lip to prevent a laugh from escaping, the words a
hilarious echo of their earlier conversation in the dorm room.

Draco scoffed and rolled his eyes, the twinkle in his irises betraying his feigned annoyance,
“You, of all people, should know how undeniably stubborn I am.”

Libby nodded her head then turned to look at Harry, speaking in a loud, exaggerated whisper,
“It is true. Draco is very stubborn. As a small child, he would order Libby to play ‘Harry
Potter’s Adventures’ for hours.”

“LIBBY!” Draco exclaimed, his face turning vibrant red and his eyes wide with contempt.
Harry, on the other hand, held his breath to stop himself from laughing uproariously and
endlessly.

“What uhm-” Harry snorted, “What was that game like?”

“It was very fun. Draco would use ash from the fireplace to draw the Harry Potter scar on
Libby’s forehead and we would fight evil together.” Libby explained, delicately drinking her
Hot Chocolate.

“Is that right, Draco?” Harry asked, looking away from Libby to see the Slytherins reaction.
It did not disappoint.

Draco had his head in his hands, his mug floating forgotten by the side of his head. Harry
could see his ears, and registered the shade of vermillion they had turned. It was a nice
change, Draco being the one to blush between the two of them. How funny that sex and
innuendo rolled off his tongue like a perfectly knotted cherry stem (which he had seen Draco
do once in the Great Hall), while the acknowledgment that he had once been a silly,
imaginative kid left him burning with embarrassment.

“If you recall, Libby,” Draco began, lifting his head out of his hands and giving them both a
full view of his mortification. “I didn’t listen to you then, either. As Libby or as ‘Harry
Potter’.” He turned to look at Harry, eyes shimmering with both amusement and unease, “I
believe I am simply predisposed to being recalcitrant when it comes to you, Harry.” Draco
finished with a smile, his skin still scarlet with his emotions.
“You and your big words.” Harry teased, meeting Draco’s grin with his own. “ Recalcitrant ,”
he repeated, mimicking Draco’s posh accent, “Such a roundabout way to admit you’re a right
prat.”

“Don’t be jealous Harry, some of us were gifted with a robust vocabulary while others were
gifted with,” He paused, bringing a finger up to tap his chin. Then, once he’d settled on a
response, turned to Harry with a grin that reminded him of the sharks he had seen on book
covers in his primary school classroom, “imbecilic strength.”

“Are you saying I’m dumb?!” Harry exclaimed.

“Not at all, I’m saying you’re endearingly reckless.” Draco responded, and okay…Harry
could agree with that. He had made some rather… rushed decisions over the years.

They gazed at each other, then. The redness was slowly receding from Draco’s face, returning
his skin to its fragile shade. He was caught in Draco’s eyes, they were such a striking shade
of metallic silver. He watched, transfixed, as the small pupil in the center slowly began to
expand. Dissolving the surrounding, pewter iris into a mysterious and intriguing darkness.
Harry considered the possibility of staying like this, forever. Of trying to map out the
unguarded eyes of Draco Malfoy.

“Harry, I-” Draco started, but was cut off by the side doors opening and a heavy stream of
students making their way to Hagrid's Hut for Care of Magical Creatures. The moment was
broken, and Harry brought a hand up to the back of his neck to rub it, sheepishly. At some
point, during their strangely charged stare, Libby had left with her stool and the tray she had
floated between the three of them.

“Libby’s gone.” He observed, baffled that he couldn’t even remember hearing the sound of
her apparating away.

“Yes, she…” Draco started, then stopped to clear his throat. “She works in the kitchens. I
imagine she was needed to begin preparing dinner.”

Harry nodded and looked down at his scuffed trainers, unsure where to put his gaze. It had
been a startlingly long time since the air between them turned so tense and awkward, Harry
wasn’t sure what to do.

“Oi, Malfoy!” Harry looked up to see who had called Draco, and recognized a Gryffindor by
the name of Miles Pritchard. He bristled, worried that the confrontation was going to turn
heated given Draco’s less than stellar history, but then he noticed the grin that Pritchard wore
and how it looked only friendly.

That was when he remembered that Pritchard had been one of the students to testify over the
summer, and submit Pensieve memories of Draco refusing to crucio the poor kid as requested
by the Carrows. Harry relaxed then, no longer feeling as though he had to be ready to protect
the Slytherin next to him.

“Salazar, there are far too many Gryffindors comfortable with approaching me.” Draco
drawled, and Harry stifled a chuckle. “To what do I owe the pleasure, dear Pritchard?”
Miles stood in front of them and shoved his hands in his robe pockets, his shoulders hunching
slightly as they were pulled forward by his movements. “I have a favor to ask.”

“Are you sure you want to owe me a favor, Pritchard? I may ask you to do something
positively heinous.” Draco responded, his familiar nonchalance and teasing returning.

Miles rolled his eyes and sent Harry a look that said, “Can you believe this git?” To which
Harry responded with a shrug and a smile. “Malfoy, I have a Pygmy Puff scarier than you. So
no, I’m not all that concerned.”

Harry snorted and Draco glared at him, causing him to lift his hands up in surrender. Silver
eyes rolled as the Slytherin let out an exasperated sigh, then returned to meet Miles’ gaze.
“Out with it, then.” He said, waving his hand flippantly.

“Could you tutor me a bit, in potions? Everyone says you’re one of the best brewers and I’m
struggling this year.” Pritchard asked, his face pleading as he watched Draco.

Draco rolled his neck in thought, before responding, “I do suppose I could find some time.
Severus would roll over in his grave if I knowingly let you destroy the Potions Classroom. I
can give you an hour on Sundays, just before lunch. Meet me in the library at eleven.”

Miles’ face broke out into a thankful smile, “You’re wicked, Draco. Thank you!” He then
turned to bound towards his classmates, leaving the two Eighth Years to process the brief
interaction.

“Is ‘wicked’ a good thing?” Draco asked, looking at him with a face full of confused
apprehension. Harry smiled and nodded, chuckling at the strange term of endearment Miles
had used.

“You keep surprising me.” Harry said, awed at the afternoon they had just spent together. “Is
Libby your elf?”

“She was.” Draco said, standing up and canceling the warming charm around them. The
onslaught of icy winter air hit him like a slap, “Let’s go back to the dorms, and I’ll tell you all
about her. My arse is numb from this damn bench.”

Harry nodded and stood, registering the numbness in his own backside and thighs. He
followed Draco back inside, up the stairs and onto one of the plush couches. He thought of
the future again, as they traveled through the halls and warmed their chilled skin by the fire.

Perhaps, with Draco in it, the future wouldn’t seem so bleak.

After their Courtyard visit, Draco was determined to keep Harry from slipping back into the
dark place he’d been in for weeks at the start of the month. They had practically become
attached at the hip, and Harry could only rejoice in their proximity. Draco wasn’t suffocating
or overbearing; he was just…there. It was nice. With Ron and Hermione he had begun to feel
a bit like a third wheel, and Ginny seemed to spend all of her free time wandering the
dungeons and sneaking around with Parkinson.

So, Harry had Draco, and it was good.

Well, mostly good.

Harry’s replacement for Draco as his ‘Most Hated Slytherin’ quickly became the gangly
limbed Theo Nott.

Harry and Draco could be doing anything from sitting in the Common Room or walking to
the library, having a perfectly splendid conversation. Then, Nott would show up. Harry would
watch on as Nott sidled up to Draco, slithering his way between them.

Then, there was the touching. Nott seemingly always had to have his hands or his legs
making direct contact with one of Draco’s limbs. In the halls, Nott would wrap his arms
around the blondes shoulders. At meals, he would hold Draco by the waist and whisper
Godric knows what in his ear. One time, in the common room, Nott had even pulled Draco
into his lap .

Harry, on the other hand, would have to settle for feather light touches at random times.
Draco might squeeze his hand or rest a palm on his leg, but it was nowhere near the level of
what he’d witnessed occur between the two Slytherin’s.

It made him irrationally jealous. The sudden desire to be touched by Draco clouded his
emotions, making him desperate for a brush of their fingers or a knocking of their knees.
Harry wanted to tell him this, to give Draco permission to rest on his shoulder or tangle their
legs together. The problem was, Harry didn’t know how. He was completely unable to voice
his concerns, not knowing the best way to bring the topic up.

So, he stayed quiet. He pressed his lips together tightly, settling for the crumbs of Draco that
he received.

Currently, they were sitting together on one of the comfier couches in the Eighth Year
common room. Draco was relaxed next to him, reading his Ancient Runes textbook and
scribbling notes on a parchment he had used to line one of the pages. Harry was reviewing
his Transfiguration notes, filling in some of the gaps from the time he’d missed at the start of
term.

“Hey Draco!” Harry clenched his fists to prevent a groan as the unmistakable voice of Theo
Nott floated towards them. He watched as Draco looked up from the book in his lap and
smiled at his…. friend? Maybe? Harry wasn’t entirely sure.

“Hello Theo.” Draco responded, a dazzling smile lighting his face. Harry watched as Nott
took the open seat to the blonde's left, his eyes narrowing when the git draped an arm around
Draco’s shoulders.

“Hi, Potter.” Nott greeted, perfectly polite.

“Nott.” Harry responded, doing his best to pretend like he wasn’t considering hexing the
Slytherins arm off his body. He returned his attention to his notes, trying to ignore the heat of
his envy.

Harry tuned out their conversation, as best he could. He was acutely aware, though, of every
movement they made. From the corner of his eye, he could see the way Notts fingers ran
gently up and down Draco’s arm.

“I miss you.” Harry heard Nott say in a low voice. The words were dripping with lust. He
could tell pretty instantly what Nott was missing. “Do you want to come up to my dorm for a
bit?”

Harry nearly snapped his quill, he was holding it so tightly. Thoughts of what, exactly, the
two would be doing in said dorm made his vision cloud with red. Draco had been perfectly
fine sitting on the couch with Harry, their companionship easy and warm. So why did Nott
have to come in and ruin it?

“Maybe later tonight? I need to finish these notes and we both know how distracted we get.”
Draco responded, his voice tinted a shade of sultry.

“You do have a point.” Nott chuckled. They talked some more, but the conversation had,
thankfully , lost its heat.

Finally, Nott rose from the couch and said his goodbyes. Stopping, briefly, to wink at Draco
before walking away. Harry followed his retreating back with shoulders tensed tightly. Next
to him, Draco returned to his notes as if there had been no interruption at all.

Unable to stop himself, Harry blurted, “Are you and Theo together?” His cheeks burned
immediately at the desperate bid for information.

Draco jumped, startled by the sudden and intense question, “No.” He answered simply,
looking at Harry with a calculating gaze.

“But you’re always touching each other and flirting.” Harry responded, leaning in a bit closer
so as to keep the conversation private.

Draco’s mouth twitched until it settled into a crooked smile. He leaned over, as well,
gloriously entering his personal bubble, “Are you jealous, Harry?”

“No!” Harry denied, immediately. It was a bold faced lie, he was absolutely jealous, but he’d
be damned if he admitted that to Draco. “No, I just…I was curious”

Draco settled back minutely before responding, still holding Harry’s gaze, “No, Theo and I
are not together. We fool around sometimes, but it’s nothing serious. He's a comfort though.”
He stopped to chew on his lip, seemingly pulling his next words together in his head before
speaking them aloud. Harry moved closer as Draco’s voice dropped to a whisper, “Tom never
wanted us to hold each other after…which honestly, I didn’t want but I still missed that kind
of soothing touch. Especially in the wake of sex with Tom which was…far from pleasant.”
Harry listened and nodded, slightly embarrassed about his outburst. He realized, then, that
this was the chance he’d been waiting for. He cleared his throat and wiped his suddenly
sweaty palms on the tops of his jean clad thighs, “You could…next time you need to cuddle
or whatever you could come to me.”

“What?” Draco asked, and Harry immediately steamrolled forward.

“I mean, you don’t have to, of course! It just sounds nice, I guess? Especially after all we’ve
been through. And so maybe instead of Theo you could switch it up sometimes and cuddle
with me?” He was panting a bit as he finished speaking, the words had all come out in a
single breath.

Draco’s smile had returned, as brilliant as ever. He didn’t speak, merely nodding his head and
then returning to his notes. Harry did the same, practically buzzing with adrenaline.

The first time Draco came to him was that same night. Harry had returned to the dorm,
freshly showered and eager for bed. He tossed his body soap and toothbrush into his trunk,
then rounded the corner of his bed.

His heart leapt into his throat as he saw that his sheets were already occupied. Draco laid
back on Harry’s maroon pillows wearing a black sleep sweater and silk green pajama
trousers. He swallowed the saliva that had suddenly pooled in the back of his throat at the
sight of the Slytherin Ice Prince spread lazily on his Gryffindor pillows.

“Draco?” He croaked, cursing internally at the sound he’d made.

“I’m all yours tonight, Boy Wonder.” Draco responded, pulling the sheets back so that Harry
could slip in next to him. Incredibly nervous but simultaneously vibrating with excitement,
Harry climbed into the bed. He reclined on the pillows, mirroring Draco and unsure what to
do next.

“Where do I put my hands?” Harry asked, feeling very out of his element. He was stiff,
tightening his muscles out of anxiety and unease.

“Wherever feels comfortable, here let me try something.” Draco moved them, lifting Harry’s
arm and turning it to wrap around the Slytherins body. He felt Draco turn on his side and rest
his arm across Harry’s waist. “How does that feel?”

Harry considered the position but it didn’t feel right. It was the same way that he had seen
Draco and Nott hold each other, and he wasn’t fond of that comparison. “I don’t like to sleep
on my back.” Harry winced, worried that Draco would consider their brief embrace a resolute
failure and return to his own sheets.
Draco hummed before saying, “I think I know what will work best for you.” Harry furrowed
his brow before being pushed onto his side, facing away from the Slytherin.

Draco clutched Harry tightly, his arm becoming a firm anchor on the Gryffindors waist. His
back tingled as Draco pressed his chest to it, feeling his body slowly and steadily relax.

It was such a comforting sensation. Harry felt held, protected , for the first time in…he
couldn’t even remember. He pushed his body back slightly, shivering pleasantly at the
reassuring press of Draco’s front.

“Better?” Draco whispered to him, pressing a soft kiss to the base of Harry’s neck. Better? It
was perfect . Touch like this had never been something granted to him, and Harry wondered
whether it was the position or Draco making him feel so good.

“It’s wonderful.” Harry answered. The hand on his waist lifted slightly to draw nonsensical
shapes on Harry’s abdomen. His face quirked into a smile at the motions, it was an endearing
habit of Draco’s that he’d observed over the months.

“Goodnight, Harry.” Draco whispered, his lips brushing lightly against Harry’s ear lobe. His
eyes rolled back in his head, lost in the tranquility of their position.

“Goodnight, Draco.” He whispered back. Sleep found him soon after, and drifted him to
wondrous dreams.
 Sectumsempra
Chapter Notes

Warnings: mentions of blood, injury.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 24: Sectumsempra

Waking up in Draco’s arms was blissful . Harry had stayed on his side throughout the night,
with Draco pressed soothingly along his spine. The Slytherins arm had moved, resting on his
hip while one of his legs had wormed its way between Harry’s. Behind him, he heard soft,
slow breathing and felt puffs of cool air tickle the hair at the base of his head.

As his mind continued to wake and register his surroundings, he blinked open his eyes and
brought a hand to his mouth to cover a yawn. His jaw cracked and his limbs popped as he
stretched them in front of him, pushing his back into the front of Draco.

Suddenly, he felt something hard and stiff poking into his lower back and immediately stilled
his movements. His brain sprung to life and his cheeks flushed with the realization that
Draco’s morning wood was currently pressing against him. Then, Harry realized that he had
an identical bulge at the front of his own pants.

He wasn’t sure what to do, or how to react. Should he try to slip out of the bed without
waking Draco? Would it be better to wake him and ignore the situation? Harry was at a loss,
and the ease with which he’d woken vanished to instead be replaced by mild panic.

Without thinking about it, he shuffled his hips forward and away from Draco’s. Goosebumps
filled his skin as he heard a soft moan escape from the boy behind him. Harry felt the hand on
his hip squeeze it gently, before glacially moving up to his chest.

“Relax, Harry. It’s okay.” Draco said to him, pulling his body gently backwards to where it
had been moments before. Again, he felt the unmistakable press of the Slytherin’s erection
and tensed his muscles.

“Do you uhm…I don’t know what to do.” Harry said, his breath coming out slightly faster
than normal.

“Do you want to do something?” Draco asked, but his body remained still. Harry squeezed
his eyes shut and shrugged his shoulders.
“Maybe?” He winced at the way his voice cracked, feeling like an absolute idiot for how
nervous he was.

“Harry, turn around.” Draco commanded gently, pulling his arm back from where it held onto
him. Harry rolled his body until he was facing Draco, as requested. “I didn’t mean to make
you uncomfortable.” He continued, his voice apologetic.

“You didn’t! I just…I didn’t know how to react . I’ve never felt another…against me.” Harry
said, trying to make sense of his reaction.

“Lucky me to be your first.” Draco winked at him with a groggy smile. Harry let out a
nervous chuckle, finally feeling his muscles release the tension they held. “Would it be better
if I moved back to my bed before falling asleep?”

Harry immediately shook his head, “No, no it’s fine. I liked falling asleep and then waking up
with you. It was…it was really nice. I’m just not used to letting someone touch me quite so
much.” He smiled as reassuringly as he could, not wanting to lose this new level of
connection they’d unlocked.

Draco smiled back, but was interrupted by a strong yawn. Harry watched fondly as the
Slytherin lifted a hand to rub traces of sleep from his eyes. “Salazar, what time is it?”

Harry reached under his pillow to retrieve his wand and cast the tempus charm, showing it to
be 6:20 in the morning. It was Wednesday, which meant he had Defense Against the Dark
Arts in a few hours. Followed by Potions class after lunch. He knew Draco’s schedule was
similar, only differing by the addition of Ancient Runes after Potions.

“Do you want to go down to breakfast together?” Harry asked, ending the charm and turning
back to face Draco.

Draco yawned again as he nodded his head, “Which table?” He responded, and Harry paused
to consider their options.

“We’ll sit wherever Ginny is.” He answered. They used The Ginny Rule often, as she divided
her time pretty equally among the Slytherin and Gryffindor tables at meals. The first time
Harry had joined Draco at the Slytherin table, it was a bit of a shock for the rest of the student
body. Their friendship was no secret though, and the general impression of Draco had
improved by leaps and bounds once people learned how much he had done to help Harry and
the ‘Light’ win the war.

Draco nodded and stretched, groaning at the way his bones settled. Harry watched on, letting
his eyes roam over the body next to him. He made sure to turn his gaze away before Draco
could catch him, thinking about all of the answers he could have given when the blonde had
asked, “Do you want to do something?”

“I need a shower, meet me in the common room at a quarter till?” Draco sat up, preparing to
begin his morning routine.
“Sounds good, yeah.” Harry agreed, pushing the blanket off his body. He watched Draco step
out from the curtains, caring little about whether or not their dorm mates saw.

Taking a few more moments to fully wake, Harry waved his wand to open the bed curtains
and prepare for the day. He heard Seamus still snoring in his bed, and nodded at Zabini who
was buttoning the white shirt of his uniform.

“Potter, do you have a minute?” Zabini called, taking a few steps closer to him as he
continued pushing the buttons into their corresponding holes.

Harry tensed slightly but nodded, pulling his uniform out from his trunk and sitting the
clothes on his bed.

“I’ve noticed you and Draco have become close, and that he spent the night with you. I don’t
need to know what you did, but I want to make sure you know that Draco is very important to
me.” Zabini started, looking at Harry with a hard and unwavering gaze. “I know some people,
people like that arsehole Smith, think that Draco is just a shallow ‘Slytherin Slut’ or whatever
but that’s not true. He may be cold and mean to most people but to the ones he cares about?
He would move Heaven and Earth. Draco is an all or nothing type of person. So if you’re just
looking for a quick hookup to fuck with then toss aside, look elsewhere. I won’t watch him
be hurt.” Zabini finished. His tone was even, almost casual, but his eyes were practically
roaring with ferocity as he spoke.

“I’m not! I would never!” Harry immediately denied any suggestion that he was just using
Draco to get his rocks off. “I promise, Zabini. Draco and I…we’re friends. Really good
friends. I know that’s fucking mental after everything but, it’s true. We just,” He shrugged his
shoulders before continuing, “We understand a lot about each other. Stuff that no one else
could even begin to relate to. We haven’t even done anything like…like that . That’s not what
our friendship is about.”

Zabini continued to stare at him as he buttoned the cuffs of his sleeves. Harry felt like he was
being examined, tested even, for the level of his honesty. Eventually, Zabini nodded. “Good
then, I’d prefer to not have to hex the Chosen One. Rest assured though, if the time comes I
won’t hesitate .”

Harry swallowed and nodded. He had no intention of ever being on the receiving end of one
of Blaise Zabini’s hexes.

“Thanks for the chat then, I’ll see you in class.” Zabini clapped him on the shoulder, then
returned to his area of the room to finish dressing.

Harry, still slightly off kilter from the interaction, turned towards his clothes and proceeded to
get dressed. He cast a quick charm to clean his teeth, then packed his bag for the day.

Leaving the dorm and descending the stairs, Harry thought about how well rested he felt. It
had been a while since he slept straight through the night, usually he’d wake once or twice
from nightmares or something setting off his fight instinct.
Stepping into the Common Room, Harry cast another tempus and noted that he had about ten
minutes before Draco was meant to meet him. He looked around to see who else was in the
room, sending quick “Good Morning’s” to Dean, Neville, and the Patil twins as they made
their way towards the door.

He sat down on the couch, feeling the reassuring warmth of the fire that flickered in the
hearth. His eyes slid closed and his head tilted back, inconsequential and unconnected
thoughts buzzing around his head.

“Morning, mate.” Harry opened his eyes and smiled at the sound of Ron’s voice. He was
joined in the cozy seating area by the other Gryffindor, the cushions deepening as they settled
under another body.

“Morning, how’d you sleep?” Harry responded, turning his head lazily to look at his friend.

“Like a bloody rock.” Ron laughed, “You?”

“I slept good…really good. Draco spent the night with me.” Probably best to tell Ron about
his change in sleeping arrangement before he heard the story warped from someone else.
Harry watched his friend scowl briefly, but pulled his expression back to neutral. Despite the
instinct to dislike and distrust Draco, Ron was seemingly working to accept the Slytherins'
newly cemented presence in his life.

“He better have kept his hands to himself.” Ron grumbled. Harry rolled his eyes at the
comment but stayed silent, not wanting to antagonize his friend at such an early hour. It
bothered him though, that so many people still believed that Draco was superficial and vain
at best. Even after the success of Christmas Eve, and the blondes' efforts to pull Harry from
his destructive behavior, there still remained this hurdle.

If Harry could see how good Draco was, why couldn’t his friends?

The Slytherin in question descended the stairs and strode over to them, immediately raising
Harry’s mood. He stood from the couch and said a quick goodbye to Ron, who waved a hand
and half heartedly glared at Draco. Not wanting to begin the day with a fight, Harry gently
grabbed Draco’s arm to lead them both out into the hall.

“I’m positively desperate for some caffeine.” Draco groaned. Harry chuckled, the Slytherin
was not a fan of early mornings. From what he’d observed, Draco was quite the night owl.
Enjoying the serenity of empty halls and glimmering stars that hung above the castle.

“The morning can’t truly begin without your tea and scone.” Harry bumped their shoulders
together. They stepped onto the staircase, then immediately grabbed onto the banister as the
architecture began to move.

“You know me far too well, Saint Potter.” Draco responded, letting out a soft oomph noise as
the staircase clicked into its new position and stilled. They resumed their journey, weaving
around the other students who roamed the early morning paths.
“How many nicknames do you have for me?!” Harry exclaimed because really , he’d been
called so many things by the Slytherin. The least of which being his actual name .

“I couldn’t possibly begin to count them all.” Draco let out a loud and long sigh, “Do you
have a favorite?” He asked, looking over at Harry with an amused expression.

“No Draco, I can’t say that I do.” He answered, trying to frown but completely unable to stop
the smile that grew.

“I suppose I’ll just have to keep trying, then.” Draco smirked. They had reached the open
doors to the Great Hall, and Harry scanned the room for Ginny. He found her quickly, sitting
next to Parkinson at the Slytherin table.

“Looks like we’re with the snakes.” Harry said, nodding his head towards the flash of
maroon that sat in a sea of dark green. Draco nodded and together, they walked over. They
took the empty space across from Ginny, who smiled in greeting.

Harry poured a goblet of pumpkin juice and scooped fluffy, scrambled eggs onto his plate. He
reached for the toast as well, lathering the bread with soft butter. Next to him, Draco prepared
his morning tea as he always did. Sweetening the beverage with sugar and cream until the
color turned from dark black to a creamy mocha. As the Slytherin took the first sip, his eyes
slipped shut and a hum of contentment escaped his throat.

Draco did everything so elegantly . Harry would often find himself hypnotized by the way
the blonde turned the simplest of tasks into moments of regality and etiquette. When he took
notes, it was with script so refined that the parchment looked as if it belonged in a museum
somewhere. When he knotted his tie in the mornings, his hands moved artistically as they
looped the fabric with practices eased. In a word, it was mesmerizing .

Harry considered the way he, himself, did things. It was a contrast. He often felt as though he
was fumbling his way through tasks, still unable to resolutely orient himself in the magical
world. His handwriting was barely legible on a good day, and his uniform was often wrinkled
or crooked. There were hundreds of things for Draco to ridicule him over and yet…he never
did. Harry never felt embarrassed in the blonde's presence, only amusedly appreciated.

“I take it, I've been replaced?” Nott said, plopping down on the bench next to Draco. For a
moment, Harry didn’t know what he meant but it didn’t take him very long to understand.
Draco had spent the night with Harry , cancelling whatever plans he had made with Nott.
Somewhere in his stomach, a smug sense of pride was planted.

“Don’t be so dramatic Theo, or else you will be.” Draco answered, taking a small bite of his
scone. The smugness turned to worry, was Nott going to cause a scene? Did he think he had
some sort of claim over Draco? Harry felt his wand where it rested in his pocket, ready to
leap into action the moment Nott started a fight.

Except…well, he just laughed . The sound made Harry turn and look at the two, Draco was
wearing his signature smirk and Nott’s face was relaxed into an easy smile. They were just
teasing each other, as they always did. There didn’t seem to be any anger or resentment
filling the space between them.
“What did you do to poor Theo, Draco?” Parkinson asked, absentmindedly brushing a strand
of Ginny’s hair behind her ear so that it didn’t fall forward into her breakfast.

“Gave him blue balls.” Draco shrugged. The words left him so nonchalantly, that Harry
couldn’t stop the snort of laughter that left him. The three Slytherin’s (plus Ginny)
immediately turned their focus on him, and Harry focused instead on his half eaten plate of
breakfast as his face began to burn.

“Harry…did you and Draco…?” Ginny asked, leaning forward with a positively devilish
smile. Harry snapped his head up and looked at all three of them, feeling as though he was
being held under a spotlight for their entertainment.

“We just slept together!” He assured her, but quickly realized he had been misinterpreted
when he saw Ginny’s eyebrows shoot to her hairline, watched Parkinson cock her head to the
side, and heard Nott let out soft huffs of laughter.

He turned towards Draco with pleading eyes, and was met with an expression that could only
be described as indulgent .

“Unfortunately for Harry, our time in bed together was spent fully clothed and completely
innocent. As you all well know, I’m saving myself for Astoria.” Draco said, smiling at the
younger Greengrass sister who looked over towards them at the mention of her name. She
batted her lashes in an exaggerated manner, then blew him a kiss.

“Wait…really?” Harry asked, suddenly confused. Was Draco… betrothed or something? He

searched through his brain for any knowledge he had regarding Purebloods and remembered
the importance of procuring an heir for the line. Maybe Draco was just doing whatever he
wanted at Hogwarts because, in the end, he was arranged to marry a preselected Pureblooded
girl that could give him a baby and continue the Malfoy lineage. The thought made Harry
sad, and his chest ached for something he didn’t quite understand.

Instead of receiving an answer, Nott spoke again, “Do you all want to go into Hogsmeade this
Friday? Get a drink at the bar?” Around them, almost everyone nodded.

“I can’t on Friday.” Draco said, punctuating the sentence succinctly. Leaving no indication
that he was going to explain himself any further. Despite all of their time spent together,
Harry still had no idea where the Slytherin flooed to on Friday evenings.

“We could do Saturday instead?” Nott offered, his voice softer as he spoke to Draco.

“No, no. Go out on Friday, and drink so much that you all have hangovers Saturday morning
so I can laugh at you.” Draco said.

Surprisingly, Harry was the next person addressed.

“What about you, Potter? You’re welcome to hang out with us even when Draco’s not
around.” Nott spoke to him, his tone friendly and gently teasing.

Harry still didn’t like him all that much.

“I’ll think about it, yeah?” He said, not willing to commit to an evening with the Slytherins
alone just yet. Nott smiled and nodded, then returned to his breakfast.

The rest of the meal passed easily, conversation drifting between all of them. As the time for
classes moved closer and the food began to vanish, Harry was left to consider the students
that surrounded him, and how much he had misjudged them over the years.

By the time Friday arrived, Harry still hadn’t decided whether or not he was going to join the
others in Hogsmeade. As he walked to Charms and took his seat, he considered his options.
On the one hand, Ginny would be there and it’d be good to get to know the other Slytherins
better. On the other hand…well, Harry just wasn’t sure if he was ready . Not just to spend an
evening with the snakes unprotected, but to be in Hogsmeade on a crowded night where
anyone and everyone might try and accost him.

Praise for his valiant defeat of Voldemort only served to make his stomach turn sour and his
grief to roar to life.

Draco sat down next to him, as they’d started doing in most of the classes they shared. Harry
sent him a smile in greeting, then began to unpack his parchment, quill, and ink. Draco did
the same, opening his textbook to the chapter they were expecting to go over today and
setting it between the two of them for easy reference.

“Are you going out tonight?” Draco asked, settling into his chair as they waited for Professor
Flitwick to arrive and begin the lesson.

“I don’t know…maybe? I still haven’t decided.” Harry shrugged, running his fingers along
the soft edges of his feather quill.

“Do you want to?”

Harry considered his answer. Did he want to go out? No, not really. He didn’t want to leave
the safety of the castle in favor of the openness of an evening in Hogsmeade. He did want to
interact with the other Slytherin’s though, and he was happy to have been invited as Harry
rather than as Harry with Draco .

“I don’t want to go out but I do want to hang out. Does that make sense?” Harry answered,
looking at Draco with an anxious expression. He relaxed when the blonde nodded, knowing
that it meant he understood whatever it was Harry had tried to convey.

“They’ll understand. You can probably spend some time with everyone in the Common
Room before they run off to become drunken louts.” Draco smirked.
Harry nodded his head as a thought struck him, a thought that he voiced before he could
judge it rationally. “Could I…come with you? Wherever you go on Fridays?”

Draco’s face paled at the question, his eyes turning hard and grey almost immediately.
Harry’s heart began to beat rapidly in panic, and he mentally kicked himself for asking in the
first place.

An apology was on the tip of his tongue when Draco finally responded, “No, at least…not
right now. It’s not…it’s not something I can bring someone along to.”

As usual, Harry’s curiosity was completely piqued. He nodded his head in understanding, and
Draco visibly relaxed with the ease of Harry’s acceptance. Their conversation ended as
Professor Flitwick strolled in, immediately drawing his wand to close the door and fill the
chalkboard with notes.

Class was uneventful, but the time passed quickly. Before he knew it, they were all being
dismissed as Flitwick wished everyone a Good Weekend. Harry packed his bag as
haphazardly as ever, then stood with Draco to leave the classroom.

“I’ll see you tonight?” Harry questioned. They stepped into the hallway and turned to the left,
walking together in the direction of the Headmistresses office. The question held more
weight than it sounded. He wanted to know if, when Draco came back, he’d slip into Harry’s
bed as he’d done the last two nights. Time with Draco had become an addiction of his.

“You will.” Draco nodded. They continued walking together, only separating when the
corridor split. Harry turned right, making his way towards the Eighth Year dorms, as Draco
turned left and continued on to the Headmistresses office.

Once he was back in the Common Room, Harry loosened his tie and sat down heavily on one
of the couches. He considered his options for the evening, while tracing the pattern on one of
the throw pillows at his side. He wondered what Ron and Hermione would be doing, then
stopped wondering once he thought about it too much. Maybe he’d go visit Hagrid? Or see if
Neville needed help in the Greenhouses? It was clear to him then, he had no desire to get
pissed in Hogsmeade.

“Evening, Potter.” Harry turned at the greeting and gave a strained smile towards Nott in
response. The Slytherin joined him on the couch with no hesitancy, lifting his ridiculously
long legs onto one of the ottomans so he could properly recline. “Are you coming out with us
tonight?”

“I don’t think so.” Harry grimaced, “It’s not that I don’t want to, it's just…I tend to get
accosted when I visit Hogsmeade on busy days.” He finished, hoping his reasoning would be
understood.

“Everyone wants a piece of you, don’t they?” Nott teased, leaning down and slightly closer to
Harry, “Even Draco.” He smirked.

Immediately, Harry blushed and focused his sight on a crack in the wall across from them. He
shrugged his shoulders and mumbled, “We haven’t done anything.”
Nott, to his utter surprise, clapped a hand on Harry’s thigh and laughed. “Relax Potter, just
teasing a bit.”

Harry tensed his muscle where Nott laid his hand, only releasing the strain when the
Slytherin let go. “Why aren’t you upset with me?” He asked, turning to look at the other boy.

Nott raised an eyebrow in confusion, “Why would I be upset with you?”

“Cause Draco…he’s not…spending time with you anymore.” Harry winced, unable to
completely articulate his thoughts. He emphasized ‘time’ to hopefully make Nott understand
what he was implying.

“Potter, Draco is one of my best friends. Regardless of how physical we are. All I ever want
is for him to be happy and, at the moment, you seem to be doing just that.” Nott smiled.

Harry considered the words, and began to reconsider his opinions of Theo Nott. Maybe the
seemingly seven foot tall Slytherin wasn’t all that bad. He also thought about what it meant
for him, that he made Draco happy. It felt like a gift, to be trusted with something so special
as Draco’s happiness.

“I guess I still don’t really know where I stand with the Slytherins, after everything , you
know?” Harry shrugged, watching Nott absorb the words.

“I know what my dad was.” Nott said, after a beat of silence. His easy smile had fallen,
replaced instead by a hard frown and sad eyes. “I also know my dad was wrong. He and I…
we had a very complicated relationship. Most of the Slytherin’s would say the same about
their parents. The problem is, we don’t really have anyone else. It’s…isolating to be a
Slytherin. Even more so during a war. So, as much as you may not know where you stand
with us, the Slytherin’s don’t know where they stand with anyone .”

Harry listened intently. Nott was…well, he was right . He saw it in the halls, the way the
Slytherin students were glared at and insulted. He recalled several times he had overheard
people calling Parkinson rude names for her willingness to hand him over to Voldemort, not
taking into account why she viewed that as the best option. Even Draco, after all he’d done
and been through , was still jeered at by the other students.

“I never really thought about it like that.” Harry admitted, twiddling his thumbs together
where his hands rested in his lap.

“No one does.” Nott responded, his smile returning but it was watered down with a sadness
that Harry was only just starting to understand. “Rest assured though, Potter. If Draco and
Pansy like you, then so do I. So there’s one less snake you have to worry about.” He winked.

Harry laughed softly, feeling an ease around Nott that was completely new but not at all
unwelcome. He noted, however, that a wink from Nott had nowhere near the same effect on
his body as a wink from Draco. “Draco said you’ve been reading Muggle books?” Harry
asked, settling in for a calmer conversation.
“I have! Have you ever heard of ‘Science Fiction’? It’s bloody fascinating. I don’t understand
half of what the words mean but I love it. I picked up a new book called The War of the
Worlds over Winter Hols and I’ve probably read it a dozen times already.” Nott turned from a
relaxed, easy going Slytherin to someone bursting with energy and excitement as he
explained to Harry all of the SciFi books he’d been reading since early last year. It was the
same type of excitement he observed in Ron when the redhead discussed the Chudley
Cannons quidditch team and history.

Harry nodded along to brief summaries of Journey to the Center of the Earth , Hyperion , and
other books he had never read but now felt fully knowledgeable of. Nott left him briefly, to
change out of his uniform as the time to meet the others in Hogsmeade drew closer, but didn’t
return empty handed. Harry stared in surprise as the Slytherin proudly presented him a
thumbed through copy of Jurassic Park .

“Give it a read, I think you’ll like it!” Nott said. Harry thanked him and took the book,
waving goodbye as the Slytherin left to meet the others in the entrance hall.

He looked back at the book, and considered the time he had spent talking to Nott.

As he began reading, he decided that Theo Nott was actually pretty cool.

The book kept Harry’s mind occupied for the night. He read page after page, losing himself
in the story as he visualized great, big dinosaurs stomping around a lush, green island. He
took a quick break to grab dinner, shower, and change into a pair of warm flannel pajama
pants that he paired with an oversized hoodie he’d had for years.

The sun had set when he settled back into the Common Room couch, with a warm mug of tea
and the book Nott had loaned him. He continued to read as the hours passed, nodding and
waving at those who returned from their Friday night festivities to climb the staircase and
crawl into bed. When the Slytherins poured in, red cheeked and buzzing from Hogsmeade,
Harry smiled as warmly as he could. Hoping to cut through the insecurities that he had
learned about from his afternoon conversation with Nott.

As Nott and Zabini passed the couches to make their drunken ascent to their dorm rooms,
they shouted slurred “Good Nights” in his direction. Harry glanced at the clock on the
fireplace mantle, seeing that it was just past midnight. The Common Room had grown silent
with him being the sole occupant, save for the soothing crackle of the log that burned in the
fireplace.
He thought about going to bed but he just wasn’t ready . Climbing into his sheets alone
already had no appeal, even though it had been something he’d been doing for as long as he
could remember. Harry curled deeper into the couch, deciding that he would wait to greet
Draco the moment he returned.

About an hour had passed when he heard the door to the Common Room open. He turned his
head and watched Draco walk in. Harry noticed immediately that Draco’s body language was
far different from what he’d seen throughout their recent time together. His arms were
crossed tightly over his chest and his eyes downcast, staring at the floor uncharacteristically.

“Draco?” Harry called, standing up from the couch and walking towards the Slytherin. Draco
startled at the sound of his name, finally lifting his eyes and becoming aware of Harry’s
presence in the Common Room.

“I didn’t think you’d still be awake.” Draco responded, his words clipped and icy. Harry
blanched at the harsh tone.

“Merlin, are you okay?” Harry asked, taking a step closer to his friend. He felt his heart
squeeze painfully however, when Draco took a corresponding step back.

“What do you care, Potter ?” Draco sneered, every bit the prat he’d been in their younger
years. Harry was shocked by the sudden change in demeanor. It was too easy then, to slip
back into the way they’d treated each other for so long.

“What the fuck is your problem, Malfoy ?” Harry said, practically growling the surname that
he hadn’t used in months. He watched Draco’s face darken and his eyes narrow, clearly ready
for a fight.

“Turns out, my problem is often you .” The words hit Harry with such ferocity and anger , it
felt like being stung with a curse. At his sides, his hands clenched tightly into fists. What had
he done to incur the wrath of Draco Malfoy?

Perhaps Draco just didn’t know how to be anything except this .

“I don’t know what the fuck you do when you leave on Friday’s, but maybe you should have
stayed there you pompous arsehole.” Harry’s anger was leaping, defensive against Draco’s in
a way that was all too familiar.

“I can’t be around you right now.” Draco said, grounding the words out through gritted teeth.

“Fuck off then, cause the feeling is quite mutual.” Harry spat. Draco sent him one final glare,
then turned around and strode out of the Common Room, leaving Harry alone and fuming .

The day and night had been so easy, so calm and then Draco stormed in and just ruined
everything. He was livid, confusion and exasperation thickening inside his body like a dark,
heavy sludge. Harry looked at the clock, it was almost 1:30 in the morning. He couldn’t go to
bed, he was far too hyped up.
He needed to expel some of this energy, to work through it before he punched his fists into
the wall until they turned bloody and bruised. Harry summoned his trainers and coat,
throwing them onto his body with fiery movements. Once he was properly bundled up, he
left the Common Room and made his way towards the front entrance.

Harry walked quickly, his gait hurried because of his heightened mood. In record time, he
found himself in the wide, open Entrance Hall and pulled the heavy doors open so that he
could slip out of them.

Not caring for the harsh chill of Winter in the air, Harry made his way towards the Quidditch
Pitch. He opened the broom shed and grabbed the first Clean Sweep he saw, not wanting to
damage his Firebolt in the frigid temperatures. The Clean Sweep had the additional benefit of
being harder to handle and maneuver, a distraction that he could definitely use at this
particular moment.

Harry waved his wand over his body to cast a warming charm, then mounted the broom and
kicked off. Almost immediately, he began to feel better. Flying was always so gratifying for
him. He welcomed the concentration it took, and the strain on his muscles it required to stay
upright and steady on the broom as it pulled and zipped through the air.

The moon hung high above him, in the shape of a crescent. Around it, constellations twinkled
in the expansive, dark sky. Harry was reminded of a walk he had taken with Draco one night,
about a month ago. The Slytherin had pointed out the Draconis constellation in the sky and
then, in a gentler voice, had shown him the Sirius star.

“I wonder where my name came from.” Harry had mused, his neck craned painfully to see all
of the stars that dotted the night sky above them.

“I know it’s Germanic.” Draco had responded, “Your name, it means ‘House Protector’.”

“Really?” Harry had turned to him, awed at the information the blonde had just handed him
without a thought. “How do you even know that?”

Draco shrugged, his cheeks turning the lightest shade of pink, “I like to study language.
Names are typically an easy place to start with.”

“Is that right?” Harry murmured, smiling still at the newest piece of himself he had learned.
Perhaps his parents had known what he would be, a protector for those he cared about.

A protector…not just a weapon.

Draco nodded, his eyes returning to the thousands of twinkling dots above them, “Names are
important, as are titles. When you know someone’s name, you hold a piece of them. When you
use their title, they hold a piece of you . In Latin, the difference is called ‘Adtitulo’.”

Harry pulled his broom to a stop. His anger draining out of his body as the memory played
several times over in his head. Draco had been through an inconceivable amount of pain
throughout the war, being left as one of the only survivors that were physically marked
several times over by dark magic that had been flung at him.
Was it really so surprising that he had a bad night? Hell, Harry had spent almost two weeks
warded inside his bed sheets and Draco pulled him out of it with tenderness and care . While
Harry had…regressed into his 14 year old bullshite at the first reminder that Draco was just
as damaged as him.

Harry meant protector , which is what he should’ve been to his friend .

He needed to find Draco.

Turning his body, Harry lowered the broom down until he was close enough to the ground to
hop off. He sent the Clean Sweep back to the shed and locked it once again, then followed
the path back towards the castle. He wasn’t sure where Draco had gone, but he’d check every
nook and cranny of the castle if he had to.

Or, probably a better option, he’d return to the dorm and check the Marauders Map.

As he entered through the doors and began to climb the stairs, it turned out that he would find
Draco without using either of those methods. Through the wall, Moaning Myrtle zoomed
over to him with her arms crossed and her face scowling angrily.

“There you are! Come with me.” She commanded, floating herself a few inches higher so that
she could look down at him.

“I can’t Myrtle, I need to find someone.” He brushed her off, stepping to the side to try and
go around her. She moved in front of him again, however, and Harry groaned in frustration.
“Myrtle, I don't have time for this! I’m trying to get to Draco.”

“He’s in my bathroom, and he’s hurt . That’s why I’ve been looking for you.” Myrtle huffed.

“What? Why me?? Why not wake the Headmistress?!” Harry asked frantically, climbing the
steps quickly and changing course for Myrtle’s bathroom. He felt his heart hammer rapidly
inside of his chest, anxious and panicked over her words.

“He’s been asking for you, of all people. I couldn’t possibly understand why, not after what
you did to him .” Myrtle sneered, “Trying to kill that poor, beautiful boy.”

Harry ignored her, while also fighting against the flashes of Sixth Year that seemed to lick at
his heels like a trail of flames. He didn’t have time to argue with her, he needed to get to
Draco.

It felt like ages before he pushed his way into the 2nd floor bathroom, blood pumping
ferociously through his veins from the urgency with which he’d moved. Fear overtook him as
he saw Draco crumpled and shivering on the cold floor, blood running in a steady stream out
of his nose and onto the tile.

Misty, silver eyes turned to him as Draco croaked out a single word, “H-Harry…”

Harry ran to him. The rubber soles of his shoes squeaked loudly as they beat across the floor,
and the moment he was in front of Draco he dropped down to his knees. Ignoring the harsh
flare of pain that ricocheted up his body at the action.
“Draco, Draco what happened? Did someone do this to you?” He held his hands a small
length away from Draco’s trembling body, worried that if he touched him then the pain would
somehow be worse.

It took a moment for Draco to answer, his teeth chattering loudly in the quiet spaciousness of
the bathroom. Finally, he was able to push the words out, “Cr…Cruciatus…tr-tremor.”

Harry understood then. He had seen echoes of the curse overtake Draco before, but it had
never been quite this bad. They varied in their intensity, sometimes all that would happen is
his hands would tremble and he’d drop whatever it was he had been holding. Other times,
Draco would be forced down to his knees as waves of pain beat against him.

This time, however, Draco had been incapacitated. It seemed this particular ‘episode’ had
caused the Slytherin to collapse onto the floor and smash his face into the ground, breaking
his nose and covering the floor with his blood once again. It made Harry want to cry,
knowing that there was nothing he could do to stop the pain. The only option was to sit and
wait it out.

Merlin, how long had Draco been alone here? While Harry was flying around the Quidditch
Pitch selfishly, letting anger cloud his ability to be a good friend .

“Can I heal your nose?” Harry asked. Hoping he could make one thing about the situation
better. Draco nodded slowly, his bed still trembling. Harry retrieved his wand and cast the
healing spell, wincing at the soft crunch the blonde's nose made as it moved back into place.
He then spelled away as much of the blood as he could, unable to completely remove the
stain from Draco’s white button up shirt.

With the blood gone, Harry could instead see heavy tears that fell steadily from Draco’s eyes.
It hurt just to look at him, to know that his nerves were sending off sensations of horrific pain
because they had been so irreparably damaged.

“What can I do, Draco? Tell me, please. ” Harry begged. He shrugged his coat off and gently
laid it on top of the blonde’s shaking body. One of Draco’s hands moved slowly to grip the
edge and pull it closer, letting Harry know that the clothing was appreciated.

“S-S-Stay.” Draco whispered, and Harry nodded his head. He could do that, could stay with
Draco for as long as he needed. After everything he’d done for him, it was the absolute least
Harry could do.

He laid down next to Draco, casting a cushioning charm underneath both of them to
hopefully prevent their joints from aching painfully the next morning. Harry turned on his
side to face the trembling body next to him, wishing he could siphon all of the hurt out of it.

The bathroom was quiet, a rare occurrence considering Myrtle’s tendency for chaos and
crying. She had left them though, it seemed. Something Harry was grateful for. He gazed
continuously into Draco’s silver eyes, searching for any sign that the pain was letting up.

Eventually, the tremors slowed and then finally stopped completely. Draco released a soft
sigh and squeezed his eyes shut tightly, seemingly pushing out the last remnants of pain from
the curse.

“Why did you come here ?” Harry asked, keeping his voice soft. He didn’t want to push
Draco away, not anymore than he already had.

Across from him, silver eyes blinked back open. “ Sectumsempra .” Draco said tiredly. He
pulled Harry’s coat tighter around his body, clearly not ready to test the strength of his legs.

“What do you want from me?” He wished he could go back in time and stop himself from
casting that spell. Draco had needed help when Harry had found him then, and instead he had
been shredded by unknown magic.

“An apology.” Draco answered, the words raspy and dry.

“What would an apology even mean? After everything?” Harry responded. He wanted so
severely to atone for what he’d done, but was it too late? Was Harry just another person who
had taken a pound of flesh from Draco in the misguided name of war? Slowly, the Slytherin
pulled a shaky arm from beneath the coat that still rested on his body. Harry watched intently
as Draco reached across to grab his hand, his grip weakened but no less significant.

“It’s the intention.” Draco started, his voice slowly coming back to its usual strength. “Just
like Imperio, Cruciatus, or Avada Kedavra…it would mean as much as you want it to.”

Harry nodded his head. He felt the hand that held his rub its thumb unhurriedly across his
knuckles. Suddenly, he needed to be closer to Draco. He needed to pour himself into the
Slytherin and do whatever he could to prove that he was truly sorry for the pain that he had
caused.

Not letting himself think about it too deeply, Harry inched his body closer and touched their
foreheads together with careful, gentle movements. Their hands stayed clasped together as he
closed his eyes and felt the tentative way their magic rolled together. Summoned by their
close proximity.

“I’m sorry, Draco. I’m so incredibly and deeply sorry for casting that spell at you.” Harry
started, letting go of Draco’s hand to instead cup his cheek and swipe away some of the tears
that had fallen. “I’m sorry I left you here. I’m sorry I saw you crying and didn’t stop to offer
what you needed, which was help .” Harry pulled his head back slightly, to look directly into
Draco’s forever, unforgettable eye, “I hope one day, you can forgive me.”

When he finished speaking, Draco lifted his hand to cover the back of Harry’s that still held
the delicate, pale cheek. The blonde closed his eyes and pressed Harry’s hand further into his
skin with a slight pressure, “I already have.”
Myrtle kicked them out of her bathroom not too long after the apology, claiming that she
didn’t want the pipes to burst again if they decided to have another duel. Happy to trade the
cold, hard floor for the soft bed sheets, Harry and Draco were more than willing to oblige.

After helping Draco off the floor and ending the cushioning charm, they walked together
back to the Eighth Year dorms in companionable silence. They both nodded towards the
showers, quickly grabbing a change of clothes and selecting two stalls to fill with hot, steamy
water. Exhaustion hung heavily on Harry’s limbs and pressed inside his head, eager to push
him into unconsciousness.

Once dressed in new pajamas, Harry returned to his dorm room and tossed his other pair into
the hamper. When he stepped quietly over to his bed, he was happy to see Draco already
curled into the comforter. Harry slid in beside him and spelled the curtains closed, relaxing
onto the soft, cushiony mattress.

“I’m sorry about earlier, when I came back to the dorm.” Draco said, looking utterly
exhausted with sunken eyes rimmed in an irritated red.

“I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have gotten so angry, you’re allowed to have bad days. Merlin
knows I do.” Harry responded, laughing quietly to diffuse the tension a bit. Draco smiled
tiredly at him.

“On Fridays…every other Friday…I go back to the Manor. Mother and I…we meet
separately with a Mind Healer to try and process everything that happened during the war. I
usually stay with her for dinner, and then we spend the evening together.” Draco explained,
pulling on a loose thread that stuck out of the pillow under their heads. “Tonight…the Mind
Healer wanted me to discuss my scars. We talked about my face…the Dark Mark…and then,
Sectumsempra . The session left me feeling very raw, as if I’d been cut open all over again. I
did my best to work through my emotions before coming back but, I just couldn’t. It felt like
I’d had closure on the mark and my face when Tom died but, I hadn’t ever gotten that from
you .”

“Draco-” Harry started, but was stopped by a gentle press on his chest from the Slytherins’
hand.

“When I came back to the Common Room and saw you, it was like a dam had broken. I was
upset, which made me defensive, which made me push you away because unfortunately
that’s what I do. I’m a difficult person, Harry. Trust me, I know.” Draco finished, lifting his
hand from Harry’s chest and rolling onto his back.

“I think you’ve more than earned the right to be difficult, Draco.” Harry said, pulling the
blankets tighter around them to make sure the blonde stayed warm throughout the night.
“Besides, you know how much I love a challenge.” He smiled, his heart bursting when Draco
turned his head to smile back.

“Don’t tell Charlie, but you make a much better Dragon Tamer.” Draco winked, the ease of
their relationship returning as though it had never really left. Harry’s smile grew and he
watched as Draco turned to his side so that his back was to Harry, then reached back to grab
 an arm and wrap it around his narrow waist. “You’re big spoon tonight, I’ll take no
arguments.”

Harry was more than happy to accept, letting his chest press into Draco’s back and his nose
be tickled by delicious smelling, platinum hair. “Goodnight, Draco.” He said, closing his eyes
and welcoming sleep.

Before he was pulled under completely, he heard Draco’s sleep fueled voice respond, “Sweet
dreams, Harry.”

And they were.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you so much for reading everyone, I hope you’re enjoying Act II so far :)
 A First Time for Everything
Chapter Notes

Hi all! I’ve updated the chapter count based on my projections for this story. The last
chapter will be an Epilogue, but we’ve still got a good chunk left to read.

Warnings: brief mention of past abuse

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 25: A First Time for Everything

The next time Draco left Hogwarts for the Manor, Harry walked with him all the way to the
Headmistresses office. Then, at midnight, Harry waited at the Gargoyle for the blonde to
return. At 12:15, as they’d planned, Draco stepped off the moving staircase and gave Harry a
tired but appreciative greeting. Together, they returned to the dorms and settled in for bed.

It was decided the next morning that this routine would become a permanent fixture in their
schedule.

As it always did, February turned the days cold and grey. Covering the grounds in a thick
blanket of fluffy snow that hid patches of slippery ice underneath. Fires in the Hogwarts
Hearths burned endlessly, working to keep the castle sufficiently warm for all of the students
inside. In the Eighth Year Common Room, the Slytherins had somehow started touching each
other even more . Most nights, after classes had ended, the green tied Eighth Years would
somehow fit all of their bodies on a single couch and drape an impossibly large and
ridiculously soft blanket over the top of their pile.

Well, all of the Slytherin’s except one.

Rather than join his housemates in their mountain of limbs, Draco would stretch out on the
rug directly in front of the fire with his arms reaching far above his head and orange flames
sending flickers of shadows across his skin. Harry likened the pose to the same positions he
had often seen Mrs. Figs' cats adopt on the cold winter Holidays he’d spend at her house,
while the Dursleys vacationed somewhere warm and memorable.

Harry had jokingly asked Draco if he was going to start purring, to which the blonde had
replied, “Only if you’re lucky.”

February drew to a close as March opened around them all, bringing with it brief moments of
sunshine and steadily warmer weather. Ron and Hermione had returned to Grimmauld Place
with him twice in February, planning to spend their free weekend in March scouting out
possible areas in London they might want to lease a flat in.

The first weekend in March was pleasantly sunny, inspiring Harry to ask Draco to join him
for a One on One Seekers game. The Quidditch Pitch, however, was booked for the House
teams to practice in, as the Slytherin reminded him. So they settled on meeting the following
Tuesday, during their shared free period.

“You had better be ready to lose, Boy Wonder.” Draco teased as they worked out the logistics
of their upcoming match. The two were sitting by the lake, enjoying the few rays of sunshine
that drifted down to warm the small bank.

Harry laughed, “Big words, considering I’ve never lost a game to you.”

“As you said a few months ago, dear Savior, there’s a first time for everything.” Draco
smirked, leaning back slightly to rest on his hands.

Sunday morning, they decided to have breakfast with Libby in the kitchens. The House Elf
eagerly greeted them and led them over to a small table in the corner. Draco presented her
with a new scarf, this one a dark blue with an intricate pattern that had been sewn with a
delicate gold thread.

“For always taking care of me.” Draco said, smiling as Libby thanked him profusely for the
unexpected gift. She served them tea, pastries, pancakes, sausages, eggs, and toast. Once all
of the food had been brought to them, the small table practically groaned under the excessive
weight.

Libby pulled up a chair as well and joined them, selecting an almond croissant that she
nibbled on as the three of them talked.

“Has Draco made plans for next year?” Libby asked, pouring herself another cup of tea. Of
all the things he and Draco had talked about, the future still remained an undefinable topic.

“I can’t say that I have, dear Libby.” Draco sighed, pouring warm syrup over his small pile of
fluffy and sweet smelling pancakes. “What about you, Harry? What’s next for the World's
Messiest Haired Hero?”

Harry rolled his eyes but still chuckled at the ridiculous nickname, adding it in his head to the
ever growing list the Slytherin seemed Hell Bent on consistently updating. “I suppose I’ll
start Auror training. Ron is starting in the Fall as well.”

“You really want to be an Auror?” Draco asked, not mockingly but inquisitively.

Harry shrugged his shoulders and bit into a sausage link, “Makes sense, doesn’t it? After all I
did in the war?”

Draco considered him, taking a sip of his tea before answering, “Sure it makes sense but, is it
what you want to do?”
“It’s what I’m supposed to do, fight Dark Wizards and protect the Wizarding World. I’m
good at it.” He responded, suddenly feeling like he needed to be on the defensive.

“Harry did not answer Draco’s question.” Libby chimed in, stirring her tea with a tiny spoon.
Draco hummed and nodded in agreement, pouring another cup for himself.

Draco seemed to always be asking questions like this. Questions that made Harry stop and
think, that made him consider his own wants. He had spent so long repressing his emotions
and his desires that the concept of embracing them was foreign to him. Foreign and
unsettling.

“I guess…I don’t know what I want. Part of me feels that, when there’s no one to fight, I’m
useless. While another part of me is just… tired of fighting.” Harry said, working his way
through feelings he’d ignored for almost eight years.

“You’re more than just Harry Potter , and all the expectations that come with that name.”
Draco folded his arms on the table in front of him and leaned forward on them slightly,
foregoing his usual table etiquette as they were relatively alone in the kitchens.

“Am I, though?” Harry pondered. Who was Harry if he wasn’t Harry Potter ? He
remembered telling Ron, when they were 11 and sitting on the Hogwarts Express together,
that he was “Just Harry” . That didn’t feel right though, not anymore.

He wasn’t “just Harry”. He was someone who’d been kidnapped and tortured, someone who
had watched people he loved die in the harshness of war. If he wasn’t “just Harry” anymore,
but also wasn’t Harry Potter , then who was he? And what did it mean to be them?

“Of course you are.” Draco said, smiling softly at him. Harry smiled back, his face flushing
slightly at the soft gesture.

“Dobby was a friend of Libby’s,” Libby started, looking sad at the thought of the lost House
Elf. Harry felt a tugging on his own heart strings, remembering the grave he had dug for his
fallen friend. She continued, “And Dobby always said that Harry Potter was a very good, and
very strong wizard.”

Harry smiled sadly at her, not sure if the words soothed him or made him feel as though he
fell short of what he should be. Libby wasn’t done talking however, “Draco told Libby many
times that Harry Potter was an infuriating Gryffindor git.” Harry snorted at the words,
amused at the way Draco had confided in his house elves over the years.

“I stand by that.” Draco interjected, resting his chin in the palm of his hand and smiling at the
two of them.

“Miss Narcissa says it’s rude to interrupt Draco.” Libby scolded the blonde. Harry’s smile
grew at the admonishment, quieting a laugh as Draco gave her a sheepish apology. Libby
took a deep breath before finishing, “Libby has met Harry Potter herself now, and she can
confidently say that he is all of those things. But Harry Potter is also much, much more. He is
very protective, he is fun to talk with, and he is Libby’s friend. Harry Potter will do great
things, because that is what Harry is good at. Not fighting, but living .”
A lifetime with Draco Malfoy had made Libby insightful in ways that Harry could attribute
to no one else in his life. The way she talked was so brilliantly reassuring, that he couldn’t
stop himself from leaning over and pulling her into a tight hug.

“Thank you, Libby.” Harry said to her, “For being you.”

Sunday afternoon, Harry joined Draco and Miles in the library for the younger Gryffindors
weekly Potions lesson. He halfheartedly paid attention to Draco’s explanation of preparation
methods for various ingredients, and the benefits of them being crushed, diced, or minced.

“It’s bloody mental that there are flowers with fangs .” Miles murmured, after Draco had
explained the various uses of Fanged Geranium in potions.

“Do muggle plants not have teeth?” Draco asked, reaching for a different book to prepare his
next ingredient lecture.

“Maybe in horror movies.” Miles chuckled, and Draco turned towards him with a curious
expression.

“What’s a movie?” He asked, turning back to the book and flipping it open to a page that
Harry couldn’t quite see from where he sat. Miles turned to catch his eye and shook his head
at Draco’s continued ignorance of muggle culture.

“You know how wizard photographs move? Well, a movie is kind of like that. Except it’s
much longer, like an hour and a half, and it tells a story.” Harry explained. Draco looked up
again, his brow furrowed which resulted in a tiny square forming towards the bottom of his
forehead.

“Muggles don’t have magic, though? How do they make their photographs move , and for so
long?”

“Electricity and Fiber Optics!” Miles exclaimed, hunching his shoulders when Mrs. Pince
shushed them with a stern glare. Harry smiled and nodded, as Draco darted his eyes between
the two of them with a small scowl.

“You’re just making up words now.” Draco scoffed, turning back towards his book.

“I am not! Look, I don’t know exactly how a film camera works but I know it involves those
two things at the very least .” Miles argued, completely abandoning his tutoring session.

Draco’s opinions on muggles and muggleborns had changed almost completely over the
previous months and year. It was a topic he and Harry discussed every once in a while. The
Slytherin had told him his hatred of muggles dissipated as his desire to distance himself from
his Grandfather grew. Harry didn’t expect Draco to become a champion for Muggle culture
but the blonde had evolved from Pureblood Supremacy to general indifference on the topic of
half blood wizards and non-magical humans.

“Well, when Slughorn incorporates ‘ eclecktricity ’ into potions, you can tell me all about it.
Until then, we’re going to talk about normal things like Doxy Eggs and Murtlap Tentacle.”
Draco huffed, bringing them resolutely back on topic.

Miles leaned over and whispered to Harry, “Right, normal .”

Monday started uneventfully. Harry spent the afternoon with Hagrid, helping the Half Giant
feed the thestrals and catching up together. Hagrid told him how he and Madame Maxine had
spent Christmas together, and were making plans to visit each other again for Easter Hols. He
then demonstrated for Harry the various words and phrases in French he had picked up from
being in her presence. The words came out nearly indecipherable, but full of genuine love
and care.

As he said his goodbyes to Hagrid and returned to the castle, Harry headed towards the
Ancient Runes classroom that Draco would be dismissed from at any moment. He still
couldn’t believe it at times, how much he seemed to crave Draco’s presence around him.

How different life could be in such a short amount of time.

Harry leaned against the wall, composed and casual as he waited for dismissal. He thought
about Grimmauld Place, and its steadily improving interior. Progress on the home
improvement had been successful so far, something Harry was grateful for.

The classroom door opened with a slight creak and he watched as students filed out. Some
Eighth Years but mostly Seventh years, the class being combined to better teach the NEWT
level course. Once he saw the unmistakable flash of bright, blonde hair, Harry pushed himself
off the opposite wall and made his way over.

“Salazar Potter, have you put a tracking spell on me?” Draco greeted, pulling Harry’s arm
slightly so that they stood away from the stream of students.

“Call it a Slytherin Sixth Sense.” Harry smiled at him.

Suddenly, a hard body crashed into Draco’s shoulder, nearly causing him to lose balance and
fall over. He caught himself before he hit the ground, Harry bracing him with his own arms
and turning to see who the hell had acted so brusquely. His eyes narrowed as he caught sight
of Zacharias Smith and Ernie Macmillan, both wearing identical sneers as they glared at the
Slytherin.

“Stay out of the way, Death Eater .” Ernie scowled, immediately Harry was reaching for his
wand.

“Don’t.” Draco said to him, placing a gentle hand on Harry’s right arm.

“What the fuck is your problem?!” Harry roared, keeping his wand pocketed but refusing to
let the behavior slide. It baffled him, even still, that people could look at Draco and could
know all that he had done to help Harry win the war and still treat him like this . It was plain
as day on his face alone, that Draco Malfoy did not submit ‘eagerly’ to Voldemort and his
cronies. He resisted, he fought, he won .

Smith let out a scoff, taking a few steps toward them, “Are you his guard dog, then?”
Harry could feel his veins pressing against the tight skin of his forehead and neck as anger
thrashed around inside his body. Before he could respond however, Draco stepped slightly in
front, putting his body between Harry and the two Hufflepuffs.

“I’m not a dog person, Smith. I spent far too much time around Fenrir Greyback for that.”
Draco drawled. His body language was relaxed, but Harry could see the tightness in his
shoulders as he stared at the instigators.

“What? Did you bend over for him too?” Smith spat. Harry considered, then, leaping over
Draco to tear the git apart . But again, he was held back with a soft, steady hand.

Draco, seemingly uncaring about the rude insinuations, simply put his hands in his pockets
and cocked his head to the side before answering, “Of course not, Smith. Voldemort kept him
crated.”

All sound seemed to have been sucked out of the hallway the moment Voldemorts name
rolled off of Draco’s tongue with uninterrupted ease. It was terrifying to hear the name
spoken with so much nonchalant indifference, considering everyone else-except for Harry-
could barely make it through the first syllable without stuttering or giving up completely.
Smith and Macmillan flinched at the name, and a few of the onlookers gasped. The simple
act showed the students who surrounded them that the Slytherin was not scared of
confrontation but rather, considered it beneath someone of his strength .

The casual, composed use of Voldemort's name proved something else as well. Despite the
muted, red scar of the Dark Mark on his forearm, everyone knew now that Draco Malfoy was
no Death Eater, as there was not a single Death Eater who would have been able to speak the
true name of their Lord. Whether it be out of respect, or out of fear . Across from them,
Smith and Macmillan were staring with their mouths open and their eyes wide in terror.
Completely unprepared for the unwavering resolve of the Slytherin they sought to torment.

Calmly, Draco took a step forward, smiling as Smith and Macmillan each took an immediate,
fumbled step back. Leaning forward slightly and speaking with an amused, condescending
tone, Draco said, “I think it’d be best if you stayed out of my way, instead.”

Draco looked back at Harry, and raised an eyebrow in question. For the life of him, he had no
idea what it was the Slytherin was asking but Harry was positive that he’d give him anything
he wanted. Harry kept his face neutral, and gave a brief but undeniable nod. Only vaguely
concerned about what he’d just agreed to.

To his surprise, however, Draco simply grabbed his upper arm softly and turned them away
from the gobsmacked students he’d just faced. Harry let himself be led away, trusting the
Slytherin implicitly and following closely at his side.

Draco leaned over and whispered, “I know somewhere we can go, assuming you also need
some time away from people after all of that.” Harry merely nodded and continued to
descend the stairs and traverse the corridors at his friend's guidance.

Finally, after stepping into the dungeons and walking through a small labyrinth of hallways,
Harry found himself standing in front of a familiar tapestry, hoping that he wasn’t about to
view the sequel to his discovery a few months earlier.

Draco pulled back the tapestry, and extended an arm to guide Harry inside the decent sized
alcove.

“Welcome Harry, to Candyland .”

On Tuesday morning, Harry woke up with a fluttery excitement for the Seeker Match he had
scheduled for that afternoon with Draco. Still not a morning person, Draco moaned and
grumbled from where he was still clinging to sleep next to Harry. The Slytherin was on his
back, with an arm tossed over his eyes and one of his legs sticking out of the blanket.

“Wake up, Draco. We’ve got Transfiguration, and then I’m going to beat your arse at
Quidditch.” Harry said to him, lightly jostling the blonde's shoulder to make sure he was
heard.

“How many years in Azkaban would I get for cutting your hands off?” Draco grumbled,
lifting his arm and glaring daggers in Harry’s direction.

Outside the curtains, Zabini yelled, “Give his bum a slap, Potter! Always worked for Theo.”

Oh…well that’s certainly…something to think about.

Harry looked down at Draco with an amused and questioning expression. The Slytherin
merely narrowed his eyes, daring Harry to take Zabini’s advice and see what happens.

For the sake of his hands, Harry lifted them in surrender.

Draco gave him a pleased nod, and then rolled out of the bed to take his morning shower and
dress for the day. Harry followed suit, brushing his teeth and pulling a fresh Uniform from his
wardrobe. When Draco returned and was ready to go, they walked the familiar path down to
the Great Hall.

Per The Ginny Rule , they found themselves sitting at the Gryffindor table that morning.
Draco kept his scowling to a minimum, but perked up once his first insult of the day had
landed on Ron.

“Weasel, only you could make the abysmal eating habits of pigs look polite by comparison.”
Draco huffed after Ron had tried to engage in conversation with Harry and let a half chewed
sausage drop out of his open mouth.

Ron glared in response, but he did grumble an apology for the less than appetizing display.

“Mum’ll be thrilled that you’re teaching Ron manners, Draco.” Ginny giggled. As usual,
when she dined at the Gryffindor table, Harry caught her sneaking glances across the Hall at
the Slytherin’s, checking on Parkinson at different intervals.

He had asked them why they kept things secret for so long, and Parkinson had told him it
was, “sexier that way”. Which Harry did not, personally, understand.

He couldn’t imagine being with someone, loving them as much as Ginny and Pansy loved
each other, and being unable to show the world. If he were Ginny, he’d want to shout it from
the rooftops and lift his…his person up to make it clear to everyone that he was Harry Potter
and he was in love .

He looked over at Draco as he finished that thought, and felt his hands start to shake. It
was…confusing. His body was reacting in a way suddenly, that he’d never felt before. Harry
took in Draco’s features, listened to the slowly brightening sound of his voice as his morning
tea woke him up, and felt…so much. So much that he couldn’t identify a single emotion
because it felt like there were hundreds climbing over each other inside his body.

“It’s rude to stare, Potter.” Abruptly, instead of tracing Draco’s aristocratic profile, he was
faced directly with the Slytherin’s bright, silver eyes. Harry looked away quickly and felt his
face blush, completely overwhelmed by whatever the hell it was that crashed and boomed
inside of him currently. Draco was still looking at him, his brow raised and a small smile
tilting his lips.

“How do you drink tea that sweet?” Harry asked, for lack of anything else to say.

“I’m a bitter person, Harry. I need sweets to counteract that.” Draco smirked, turning back to
his conversation with Ginny and Dean Thomas.

After breakfast, they made their way to Transfiguration and took their usual seats together
towards the middle of the large classroom. No matter his efforts to focus on Professor
McGonagall, Harry’s mind kept wandering to his strange reaction this morning at breakfast.
He was hyper aware then, of Draco’s movements and his closeness all of a sudden. What
shocked him though, was that Harry didn’t want to push the Slytherin away. He instead was
consumed with desire to pull him even closer.

Harry thanked Merlin that class was only a lecture today, because his focus was completely
shattered.

Draco leaned over slowly, and Harry sucked in a deep, long breath in anticipation of what he
was going to do. In his ear, Draco whispered, “What do you say we meet on the Pitch just
before noon? Loser buys lunch at The Three Broomsticks.”

Harry could only nod, his capacity for speech seeming suddenly impossible. Draco squeezed
his thigh under the table and returned to his notes, writing as diligently as ever.

Harry felt as though his skin was burning . The spot that Draco had just made contact with
sent a heat that spread outward and curled into him like the intricate roots of a tree. He tried
to breathe slowly, to fight against the confusing inconvenience of whatever was happening. It
was like there was a fence inside of him that was bowing under the pressure of something ,
the wood moments away from splintering and breaking apart to send a tidal wave that was
poised to drown him.

Transfiguration ended, sending him next to History of Magic while Draco left for Advanced
Arithmancy. Concentration came easier now that he was on his own, but not by much. As
was typical in this class, Professor Binns droned on and on while most of the students slept or
worked on homework for their other subjects. Harry spent the time trying to think of ways to
make Grimmauld Place ready for him come summer.

He thought of which bedroom he would move into, and then he thought of the bed he’d like
to have. His first thought was to ask Draco what he’d prefer, and that was when Harry
remembered that Draco would not be at Grimmauld with him.

Once school was finished, Harry would be forced to go back to sleeping alone. A difficult pill
to swallow once he considered how comfortable it had become to settle into bed with Draco’s
arms wrapped reassuringly around him.

Before he could spiral too far into this new anxiety, Professor Binns concluded his lecture
and sent them off to their next destination. Harry had just enough time to return to his dorm,
change into his Quidditch sweater and jeans, and grab his Firebolt from where it was kept
shrunken in his trunk.

The distraction of Quidditch was exactly what he needed. He could disentangle the haphazard
collection of thoughts and feelings that plagued him all morning some other time. For now,
he was on his way to the Quidditch Pitch and was ready to carve the sky as he searched for
the tiny, fluttering snitch.

Stepping out of the Entrance Hall, Harry made note of the heavy clouds that hung in the
distance. There was a noticeable wind pushing them towards the school, meaning that a storm
was most likely on the horizon. He continued on to the Pitch, not willing to let a little rain
keep him from playing the game he’d been looking forward to for almost four days.

Walking on to the Pitch, Harry was greeted by the sight of Draco warming up with quick laps
around the stands on his Nimbus. He was dressed in his own Slytherin Quidditch sweater,
with fingerless, dragon hide gloves and black pants that seemed to have been molded directly
onto the blonde's strong thighs and muscled calves. On his feet were an expensive pair of
boots that used a slight heel to prevent either foot from slipping out of the metal rest.

Harry watched Draco lower himself to the ground and walk over, silver eyes glinting in
challenge and excitement as they assessed his own body. Looking for potential weak spots
the Slytherin could use to his advantage. The closer Draco came, the harder it was for Harry
to hear anything besides the rushing of his blood as his heart pounded in his chest.

How could one person hold so much beauty and grace ? How could Draco Malfoy have been
ravished by a dark spell with the intention to make him ugly, and still come out of it as
someone who was-in a word- breathtaking ? It was incomprehensible to Harry, as was so
much of what he’d been feeling since breakfast in the Great Hall.
“Do you want to warm up while I dig the practice chest out of the supply shed?” Draco asked
him, his broom leaning slightly against his shoulder.

“Yeah, sure.” Harry agreed. He did his best to smile but may have only succeeded in a
crooked grimace. Draco merely quirked an eyebrow before setting off to retrieve the
Hogwarts practice snitch, leaving Harry alone with his inner turmoil.

He mounted his Firebolt and kicked off, focusing on his connection with the broom while the
crisp air whipped around him. He could still see the storm clouds, in fact they were without a
doubt moving closer, but he had little concern for anything in that moment that wasn’t
flying.

Flying or Draco .

Even as he zoomed through the goal posts, dipped into barrel rolls, and feinted from different
heights, Harry’s mind seemed unable to think of much else besides Draco Malfoy. The
rustling of the tree leaves reminded him of the blondes gentle laugh, the thick wood of his
broom handle that rubbed into his palms made him think of the hard chest that pressed
against his back as he drifted to sleep each night, and the wind that ruffled the thick curls on
top of his head was so eerily similar to the way elegant, pale fingers had once ran across his
scalp soothingly when Harry had woken from a nightmare.

Draco seemed to be a part of everything, a building block of the very Universe that Harry
merely inhabited.

Below him, Draco had returned with the snitch and held it high above his head. Harry took
that as his cue to return to the ground, hovering on his broom about a meter up from the
grass. Draco mounted his broom and rested at the same height, facing Harry with the snitch
held tightly in his grasp.

“Scared, Potter?” Draco smirked, extending his hand between them with his palm facing the
sky.

Harry smiled back and answered, “ You wish .”

Draco opened his hand and the snitch flew quickly into the air, the two of them following it
immediately. Despite their quick start and the speed of their brooms, the snitch evaded them
quickly. Leaving the two Seekers to fly around the pitch with intense gazes and searching
eyes.

Harry saw a flash of light from the storm clouds, then a few moments later heard the loud
boom of thunder. In minutes, the two of them would be battling against heavy rain and a dark
sky as they continued to search for the tiny dot of gold. Neither of them cared, though. The
desire to win beating out any hesitancy to fly into harsh weather.

Harry searched the stands and goal posts, but his eye kept being drawn to Draco and the way
he flew so effortlessly around the Pitch. His movements were so precise and calculated, while
Harry seemed to exist on pure instinct and ‘Gryffindor Recklessness’. He wondered what it
was like to watch them both fly from the stands, to see their two competing flight styles
dance around each other.

Harry was distracted, and it was because of this distraction that he caught sight of the snitch
just a second too late. It hovered next to the far left goal hoop, and he pressed his chest to his
broom to speed towards it just after Draco had done the same. He pushed his broom and
flattened his body, speeding through the air right alongside the Slytherin as they both chased
the same prize. Both of them held an open hand out in front of them, their elbows locked
against the resistance of the air.

Three quarters of the way to where the snitch hovered, lightning lit the grey sky above them
and the clouds released the buckets of rain that they held in their folds. In no time they were
drenched, and Harry took his eye off the snitch to briefly check on Draco next to him.

Just as the clouds had opened up to pour thick, dense drops of crushing rain onto the Earth
below, so too did the barrier inside of him finally break. Filling his lungs, heart, mind, and
soul with a realization that was both Earth shattering and so incredibly simple.

He was in love with Draco Malfoy.

As Harry became aware of this fact, he faltered slightly on his broom which resulted in him
missing the snitch by barely a centimeter. It was instead caught in the swift hand of the
Slytherin that hovered to his right. Draco let out a cheer of astonishment, while Harry seemed
capable of only staring at him with a slack jaw and a tingling stomach.

Panting and out of breath, Draco flew quickly to the ground to dismount with Harry
following behind. Although his feet were touching solid ground, waves of vertigo made the
world spin as he took in all there was to see and know about the blonde in front of him.

There was something so all consuming about Draco. Like the Fiendfyre that they had barely
escaped together. He was warmth, he was light, he was uncontainable, he was deadly . Harry
didn’t know how this hadn’t happened sooner, but then again…maybe it did. Maybe he’s
always loved Draco Malfoy, even just a little bit, since that moment he met him in Madam
Malkins when they were both 11 years old and he had only just seen the world that existed so
vividly outside of his cupboard.

Draco has never been an easy person, but he’s always been Harry’s . They’ve been connected
for almost a decade, bound by an impossibly knotted future that was written for them by men
who saw the two only as bargaining chips and not as what they were; children. Draco went
through hell at the Manor but he had been raised to endure it, raised to fight in the image of
Abraxas Malfoy. A man who, even in spite of his obsession with Tom Riddle, understood the
dangers of his dark, evil magic. Harry went through hell with the Dursleys, but he’d been
broken on purpose. Forced to become a shell that Albus Dumbledore could mold into the
perfect Sacrificial Lamb, in the name of the ‘Greater Good’.

To everyone else, they were Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter. A Gryffindor and A Slytherin. A
child of good and a child of evil. But to each other? There were no titles, no false names or
images. He was Harry, a boy that had been conditioned to welcome death and embrace battle
but never taught how to heal once it was all over. Once the bayonets were laid and the bloody
white flag raised in surrender.

Across from him was Draco, a boy that loved his family and friends so fiercely and without
restraint that he had no qualms about giving up his body, his very essence, for their
protection. Neither of them knew how to pull their emotions back, how to be anything except
everything all at once. It’s why they fought together so well, it’s why the sea of students
parted for them in the Great Hall just so they could stare each other down through meals over
their 8 years of school together, it’s why Draco was the only Seeker he truly felt matched
with; the only other person who would risk crushed bones and torn limbs for the second of
glory that came from catching the snitch when it hovered in the most dangerous of positions.

It’s why Harry loved him, why Harry was in love with him, and it was why he told Draco the
very moment that he realized that fact.

“I’m in love with you!” Harry blurted out, yelling the words so that they didn’t drown in the
rain that fell in thick sheets around them. It was reckless but so was he . Why should he hold
onto this emotion? This all encompassing feeling that stretched his body in the same way his
magic had puffed up his Aunt the Summer before fifth year. The rain was not cleansing, it
was demanding , and so was Harry. He didn’t care if Draco didn’t feel the same way, he
would deal with that on his own. All he knew was that he couldn't deny himself from feeling
the very emotion that had saved him from the killing curse twice but that he had never
encountered in this way.

Draco was staring at him, his mouth dropped slightly open and the snitch still fluttering in his
hand that was raised just under the level of his eye. Those eyes, those Merlin Damned
sterling silver eyes that held the soul of a broken but healing man, stared at him wide and
watery. Were they watering because of the rain, or because of whatever was happening in
Draco’s head? Were the droplets that clung to the scars on his cheeks born from the clouds
above them or the tear ducts inside of him? Harry didn’t know. So he waited…until waiting
made his fingers twitch and his stomach churn in the silence.

“You don’t have to love me too!” Harry started, “Or even like me, really. Merlin knows
you’ve already been through a lot, Draco. And I don’t want you to think I’m like Tom or that
I feel this way because of post-war trauma or circumstance or something.”

He took a deep breath, ready to give life to every bit of himself that seemed to vibrate with
the intensity of his emotions, “Draco, I’m in love with you because you drive me fucking
mad . Except it’s not a madness that would send me to Saint Mungos, it’s the type of madness
that comes from knowing that I can’t walk into the forest to die again because it would mean
leaving you , which is maddening because I was raised to die. You’re the only person who
has ever treated me like Harry, not Harry Potter or the ‘Savior’. You’re the infuriating prat
that broke my nose on the train, you’re the crying boy that I almost killed in the second floor
bathroom. We may have been good to each other but fuck, Draco, we’ve always been there
for each other.

“You told me an apology, like a spell, would mean what I intended it to. Well, so does this.
Everything I do or say from now on Draco, will have an undercurrent of power from the love
I have for you. Every spell, every word, every action …I’ll do it with the consideration of
 what you and I can be together . Not just the expectation of what I’m supposed to do alone .”
Harry finished the speech panting, barely able to catch his breath. Oxygen flowed away from
him and he struggled to follow as lightning lit the sky again, bolder and brighter than it had
been before.

“Fuck Draco please just say some-” There was a loud crack of thunder the moment Draco
slammed their lips together. Harry didn’t have time to be stunned or worried, as he was
instead rendered down to instinct and want. They didn’t kiss like they were dying or like they
were desperate for reassurance. They kissed like they were finally home .

Draco’s lips were soft as they moved against his own, passing through each other like fingers
dragging through warm sand under a stunning, blue sky. The snitch had been released again,
so that those delicate hands that Harry had seemingly spent hours memorizing could instead
hold his face and pull their mouths somehow closer. Harry’s own hands wound their way
around Draco’s lower back, gripping the soaked fabric of his Slytherin sweater tightly.

Their tongues met and moved together passionately, with no time spent being tentative or
careful. It was as though they understood each other on a level that was so deep, so
fundamental that they melted into a single person in the throes of pleasure. Harry had never
kissed like this before, and he couldn’t imagine kissing like this ever again with anyone else.

Anyone else except Draco .

When the pressure to breathe overwhelmed their desire to stay connected, they separated
their lips to take on gulps of air and gaze into each other’s eyes. The rain had lessened
slightly, the wind blowing the storm to some other corner of land.

Draco’s tongue ran across his swollen lips as he said, “Remind me to apologize to Ginevra. I
told her she could do so much better than you. Turns out…you really are the best.” He
finished with a smile that seemed to be strong enough to pull the sun out from where it hid
behind the opaque storm clouds.

“Oh so…does this mean…do you…do you like me?” Harry asked, worried suddenly that he
had completely misjudged the situation.

Draco merely leaned forward and kissed him again, chastely this time, before speaking his
response directly to Harry’s lips.

“More than that, Harry. I’m in love with you, too.”

Chapter End Notes

Aaaah! We made it!!! Thoughts? \:)

 Together

Chapter 26: Together

After his confession on the Quidditch Pitch and their subsequent, passionate embrace, Harry
and Draco were reminded of the torrential downpour that muddied the world around them.
The snitch was fluttering somewhere in the sky, and their brooms had been left to fall
haphazardly onto the damp ground. Their clothes clung to them thick and heavy, having
soaked up pounds of rainwater as it drenched their bodies.

“Come with me.” Draco said, grabbing Harry’s hand and pulling him in the direction of the
locker rooms. It became clear to him in that moment, that Harry would follow Draco Malfoy
anywhere .

They stumbled into the Slytherin locker rooms, shivering and dripping small puddles onto the
floor. Waving his wand, Draco lit the torches and filled the room with light. Harry watched
him intently, in awe that the Slytherin before him had said that he was in love with Harry, too
. It was euphoric to know that his feelings weren’t only returned, but they were matched .

“Will you come with me to the showers?” Draco asked him, his voice low and sultry but not
demanding. He was offering Harry the chance to say no, without judgment and without
pressure. Harry, though, felt like he had been waiting for this his entire life.

“Lead the way.” He responded, enraptured by the way Draco’s pupils expanded and darkened
his eyes. They kissed again, slowly mapping out each other's mouths and committing the
directions to memory.

Draco, still facing him, held Harry’s hand as he walked backwards towards the tiled
bathroom. No one else was in the Locker Rooms then. It was only Harry and Draco who, it
seemed, existed purely to be loved by the other.

Crossing the threshold into the shower stalls, Draco pushed Harry gently against the wall
underneath the shower head. Moans tumbled out of his lips as Draco bit and sucked bruises
into his neck, finishing each wound with an open mouthed kiss that made his skin hum in
pure pleasure.

“I’ve been wanting to touch you like this, for so long .” Draco whispered in his ear as his
hands roamed continuously over his body. “If it’s too much, just tell me to stop.”

“ Don’t stop .” The words left Harry’s lips on the wind of a breath, fueled by desire for more,
everything, and anything . He couldn’t think of anything outside of this one, perfect moment
where Draco was kissing him, touching him, loving him.

The hem of his shirt was lifted slightly, and Draco sent him a look of questioning. Asking
permission to peel Harry back layer by layer and expose his body and his soul so that it could
be properly cared for, for once. He nodded his head, reaching to lift Draco’s shirt as well.

His wrist was held gently, just before he could unveil the tempting field of the Slytherins
naked chest. Harry looked into lust blown eyes and waited, seeking permission but in no way
forcing it.

“Don’t freak out, okay?” Draco said to him, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth. Harry nodded
eagerly, promising whatever he could that would bring their skin together. His Gryffindor
sweater was pulled from his body and, a second later, the Slytherin sweater followed.

Harry sucked in a breath as he took in the sight of all the scars that spread across Draco’s
chest. Scars from him . Instantly, he reached a hand up to trace them.

“How could I possibly make this up to you?” Harry murmured, drinking in every inch of
beautiful pale skin that had been revealed to him so far.

“You already have.” Draco answered, taking the hand that walked the path of sectumsempra
and bringing it to his lips. He kissed the tips of Harry’s fingers gently, lovingly , before
trailing his way down towards the palm. “I want to make you feel good Harry, can I?” Draco
whispered.

Harry gasped as Draco’s nearly black eyes locked into his own at the same time the blonde
sucked two of Harry’s fingers into his mouth. He felt Draco’s tongue roll around the digits,
instantly aware of how talented it must be.

“Merlin fuck Draco, you can do anything you want to me.” Harry moaned, his head falling
back onto the tiled wall as his senses became deliciously overwhelmed with everything that
was Draco . He heard a low, soft chuckle escape the Slytherin’s positively sinful mouth.

“We’ll be here all night, then.” Draco answered, and Harry shivered at all of the possibilities
that simple sentence held. Just as he was about to respond with a resounding approval of that
plan, the ability of speech left him due to Draco sinking his teeth into one of Harry’s dark,
pebbled nipples.

Draco bit and sucked the nipple, then kissed his way over to the opposite one to adorn it with
the same treatment. Groans and noises of ecstasy fell from Harry’s lips, becoming louder as
he felt the blonde blow streams of cold air onto the spit slick buds.

“Fucking hell Draco, oh my Gods.” Harry babbled. So much of this was new to him. His
body remained relatively unexplored by anyone except his own hands, even then it had never
been appreciated and teased in a way like this. He felt Draco kiss a line down his chest and
stomach, opening eyes that he never remembered closing and lifting his head to look down at
the beautiful boy before him.

Draco had lowered himself to his knees, his hands moving quickly to unbutton Harry’s jeans
and undo the zipper. He pushed the open jeans down to the middle of Harry’s thighs, wasting
no time grabbing his pants so that they followed. The moment his swollen cock touched the
cool air, free of the restraining pressure that came from being trapped behind taut denim,
Harry moaned and bucked his hips to chase any friction his body could find.
“Salazar, Harry…” Draco moaned, staring at his erection with hungry eyes that somehow
made him even harder .

“Draco… please .” Harry begged, unsure of what he was begging for, only knowing that he
needed it immediately. He watched Draco lick a stripe up the inside of his hand, groaning
loudly when the wet palm and fingers wrapped around his impossibly hard member. As
Draco’s hand moved rhythmically to pump his cock, the blonde opened his mouth and sucked
the head in so that it rested heavily on his tongue.

Harry was forced to close his eyes again, his chest heaving and legs shaking as Draco gave
him his first-and already best -blow job. The Slytherin expertly sucked and licked his length,
pulling sounds out of him that Harry didn’t even know were possible. He keened as he felt a
tongue press into the slit, his hands scrambling for something on the wall behind him to hold
on to.

Draco lifted his mouth briefly, not slowing the steady pump of his hand, to say, “Grab my
hair.” He then swallowed Harry down once again, taking the head so deep that it brushed
against the back of his throat. Harry’s hands flew to tangle his fingers into soft, platinum
locks as he sunk deeper into the throes of unforgettable pleasure.

He opened his eyes, suddenly desperate to take in the sight of Draco bobbing back and forth
on his cock. Harry wanted to commit this moment to memory, so that he would always
remember how it looked and felt to be taken by Draco Malfoy. He stared into the blonde's
eyes, waves of lust, love, happiness, and even apprehension rolled around inside of him. He
could feel a coiling of heat in his stomach, building quickly to a crescendo that had the
potential to shatter the very ground beneath them.

“Draco…Draco fuck I’m…I’m gonna…” Harry could barely push the words of warning out,
his heart thrummed incessantly inside of his chest the closer he soared to the peak. Draco
answered by moving even faster, and doing something with his tongue that made Harry’s
vision briefly turn white.

He came with a loud shout of the Slytherins name leaving his lips before his jaw turned slack
in the aftermath of ecstasy. Through the haze he felt Draco swallow every drop of Harry that
had emptied onto his tongue. Just when it became too much to have the wet heat of Draco’s
mouth around him, the blonde pulled off with a soft pop and stood up on shaky legs.

Harry looked at Draco through a half lidded gaze, feeling flurries of excitement in his
stomach as he registered the swollen lips, glassy pupils, and heavy panting of the other boy.
His eyes drifted closed and then he was being kissed, tasting a mix of Draco and himself as
their tongues greeted each other once again. He groaned at the sensation, rubbing his hands
softly up and down the Slytherins back. Draco moved closer, the unmistakable hardness of
his own erection pressing against Harry’s unclothed thigh.

“What do you want me to do?” Harry asked, eager to do what he could to make Draco feel
the same mind blowing release.

“Take a shower with me.” Draco answered, reaching down to push Harry’s jeans further
down his legs. Harry nodded and kicked the constricting clothes off, staring in unashamed
fascination as the blonde removed the rest of his clothing as well.

In seconds, they were both naked, and Harry stared wantonly at Draco’s flushed and purpling
erection. The Slytherin tapped his hand against the shower head, turning it on and covering
their bodies in hot, steaming water. He leant forward to kiss Harry again, something that the
Gryffindor was happy to do forever .

“Can I touch you?” Harry asked, his voice shaking from all of the excitement that had fed his
climax.

“Of course.” Draco answered, taking a small step back so that his body was presented. Harry
tentatively reached out his hand and wrapped it around the Slytherin’s length, moaning at the
feel of it in his grasp.

“I’ve never done this before.” Harry said, suddenly nervous about his inexperience. What if
he wasn’t enough for Draco? Was no good at doing… this ?

“Touch me like you touch yourself.” Draco instructed, turning his body around so that his
back pressed against Harry’s front. This new angle made his hand slide easier, comparing the
movements to what he liked to do when he took care of himself in empty shower stalls.

He flushed with pride as Draco moaned and rolled his head back, resting it on Harry’s
shoulder. His pale hand snaked up into dark curls and pushed Harry’s lips against his swan
like neck.

“Mark me, Harry. Show everyone that I’m yours. ” Draco instructed, groaning as the hand on
his cock sped up and tightened its grip.

Harry listened. He bit into Draco’s neck and sucked deep purple bruises anywhere that he
could reach. He wanted to pull the blonde's blood to the surface so that anyone who looked at
him knew instantly that he had been claimed. The hand in his hair pulled the curls tightly, as
Harry listened to his name drip like sweet syrup from Draco’s glorious mouth.

“You’re so good, Harry…feels so good.” Draco mumbled, his eyelashes fluttering as they
both rocked together slowly. The praise, the friction, and the intoxicating sounds combined to
make Harry’s cock slowly grow hard again. As his erection grew, it pressed between Draco’s
cheeks and they moaned together at the sensation.

In his hand, Draco’s cock twitched before spilling out over the tiled floor. Harry’s name was
repeated as wave after wave of orgasm flowed over the Slytherin’s body. Harry held onto the
slumping form in front of him, panting into the thick steam that clouded the shower area of
the locker room.

“That was bloody amazing.” Harry said, his body feeling relaxed in a way it never had
before. In his arms, Draco chuckled.

“That, dear Savior, was only the beginning .”

Somehow, they did actually make time to shower properly. Draco spelled their clothes dry
and summoned fluffy towels to wrap around each other's bodies. Redressing was slow, as it
seemed impossible for them to spend any length of time with their lips unconnected or
keeping their hands to themselves.

When they were properly clothed and confirmed that the storm had passed, they walked back
onto the pitch to claim their brooms and summon the practice snitch that had been released in
favor of their frantic embracing.

As they began the walk back to the castle, their brooms shrunken and stowed in their pockets,
the nagging feeling of something left unsaid tickled the back of Harry’s mind. Their plans to
visit Hogsmeade for lunch had fallen through as the weather remained temperamental, almost
leaving the afternoon incomplete . He cleared his throat and looked over at Draco, who
seemed to be lost somewhere deep in thought.

“Draco, should we-”

“We should probably-”

They spoke at the same time, cutting each other off with nervous laughter. Harry nodded his
head towards Draco, giving him the chance to talk first.

“I was just going to say that we should probably talk a bit about what just happened and
what…what we both want.” Draco said, chewing on his lip in a rare sign of vulnerability and
nervousness. Harry nodded his head, shoving his hands into his pockets to stop himself from
reaching over and running them, once again, all over the Slytherin’s body. “What do you
want, Harry?”

“You.” He answered instantly, then blushed at the amused yet loving look that was sent his
way. He continued, “I just want you, us . I want to be together…if that’s alright with you.”

“Do you want to keep it a secret? Like Pans and Ginevra?” Draco asked, and Harry
immediately shook his head.

“Merlin no, I’ve no idea how they do it.” He stopped walking and reached out to take Draco’s
hand, tugging slightly so that the Slytherin was pulled in front of him. “I don’t want to hide
you, from anyone .”

“People are going to talk. They’re going to say awful things about which side I took in the
war.”

“Draco, you fought for the people you love in the war. Same as me. I don’t give a fuck what
anyone else has to say, it’s nothing more than background noise.” Harry reassured him, lifting
his free hand to push back a lock of platinum hair that had fallen just over Draco’s eyebrow.

“How could you possibly want me? After everything I let Tom do to me?” Draco whispered,
his eyes suddenly watering as memories of the previous year no doubt played in a loop inside
his head. Harry leaned over to kiss him, attempting to channel every ounce of what he felt
into the soft, rhythmic movements of their lips.

“After everything we’ve been through together, how could I not?”

Their hands stayed together as they walked the rest of the way to the Entrance Hall. Just as
Harry was about to open the door, he stopped one last time and looked over at Draco.

“Do you want this too?” Harry asked, anxiety bubbling in his stomach as he waited for an
answer. Thankfully, it came immediately.

“More than anything.” Draco said, smiling brightly and bringing the hand he held up to press
a soft kiss to the knuckles. “Despite my better judgment, I have fallen in love with you, Harry
Potter.”

Harry's face ached with the strength of his own smile that grew from the words Draco spoke
to him. He nodded his head, took a deep breath, and opened the doors so that they could enter
Hogwarts. Together.

Before returning to the Eighth Year dorms, they made their way to the kitchens to procure a
small basket of food to replace the lunch that they had missed in favor of Quidditch and…
well… other activities . Libby was more than happy to weigh their arms down with
sandwiches, chips, glass bottles of water and juice, fruit, and small desserts. They thanked
her happily, promising to return soon for another meal together.

The halls remained empty, as most students were in their afternoon classes. Harry hoped the
same could be said for their dorm, not ready to field questions about the development of their
relationship while his stomach was painfully empty.

As they spoke the password and entered the Common Room, Harry was happy to note that it
was bare. Up the stairs and in their dorm room, it seemed Seamus had returned for an
afternoon nap as his curtains were closed and soft snores filled the air.

Harry led them over to his bed, as it had become their preferred “shared” space throughout
the time they had spent together. They sat across from each other with crossed legs. Draco
opened the basket of food in front of them, filling the closed curtained space with the smell of
fresh bread and sweet desserts.

“Would you consider this our first date?” Draco asked, pulling a grape from the small bowl of
fruit that had been prepared for them and plopping it into his mouth. Harry was transfixed,
momentarily, as the memory of that mouth wrapped around him played vividly in his head.
He pulled himself back to the present though, determined to focus on more than his damned
teenage hormones.
“I’d like to take you on a proper first date, actually.” Harry answered, his mind racing with all
of the places he could take Draco to in Hogsmeade, Diagon Alley, and even Muggle London.
He took a long, heavy drink from one of the bottles of water, realizing only then how
dehydrated he felt.

“Wonder Boy, are you going to court me?” Draco smirked, looking positively giddy at the
concept of being wooed for his hand.

“Should I?” Harry asked. He tried to think about what courting could possibly entail but
found his mind drawing up blanks on the subject. As he parsed through his limited
knowledge of pureblood rhetoric, however, he was reminded of Draco’s comment a few
weeks back in the Great Hall.

“As you all well know, I’m saving myself for Astoria.”

What did that mean ? Was it possible that there was an explicit time limit on their
relationship, despite the fact that it had literally just begun?

“Salazar Potter, what awful things are you overthinking in that unkempt hair of yours?”
Draco drawled, looking at him with an expression that was halfway between concern and
contempt.

“Are you going to have to leave me for Astoria at some point?” Harry blurted, unsure how
else to phrase the question or even ask it. He just wanted some clarification, if he only had
Draco for a few months he would make them the best damn months he could.

Across from him, Draco’s expression was one of utter shock and bewilderment. Whatever he
thought Harry was going to say, it certainly hadn’t been that.

“Harry…I know we haven’t had the ‘sexuality’ conversation yet but, I think I’ve made it
quite clear that I’m as bent as the Weasleys lopsided Burrow.” Draco said, speaking slowly
and carefully to make sure that each word was heard.

“No I know that, it’s just…you said that you were ‘saving yourself for her’ and I know how
important it is for purebloods to secure the line and father an ‘heir’. Are you like… arranged
to marry her or something?” Harry voiced his thoughts and concerns, then grabbed a
strawberry from the basket to anxiously pluck the leaves off the top. He glanced up to look at
Draco, seeing only a small smile and eyes that seemed to twinkle with contained amusement.

“You should know by now to only take a third of what I say seriously , Harry.” Draco
chuckled, “No, Astoria and I are not betrothed. When we were little and our mothers got
together for “gossip sessions” disguised as play dates, Daphne would convince me and
Astoria to let her plan our ‘wedding’. Their mother is one of the most sought after Wedding
and Event Planners in the Wizarding Community so, you could say it runs in her blood. ” His
smile grew distant as he remembered one of the seemingly many ‘weddings’ he had had with
the younger Greengrass sister.

Harry couldn’t help but smile at the thought, wishing that he could’ve witnessed Draco as a
tiny, pointy faced toddler that played silly games like ‘Pretend Wedding’ and ‘Harry Potter
Adventure’s’. He felt better then, happy with the confirmation that they weren’t delegated to
a short span and time together.

As frightened as the thought made him, Harry knew that he wanted Draco-only Draco-for
forever .

“What about an heir?” Harry asked, reaching into the basket for a sandwich and a crisp. Both
tasted salty and delicious, working together to quiet the insistent rumbling of his stomach.

“It is definitely expected of me to produce an heir, but there’s plenty of options to consider.”
Draco answered, then settled his face into his familiar smirk, “My oral skills must be very
strong to have you already talking about kids .”

Harry’s face rushed with heat at the mention of what Draco had done to him only an hour and
some change earlier. He couldn’t help but picture what else they could do to each other,
excitement rumbling through him at the mere thought of being welcomed inside of Draco’s
immaculate body.

“That really was…Godric Draco, it was wonderful.” Harry said, clearing his throat and
reaching into the basket for another chip to distract himself.

Across from him, Draco pushed his body up to rest on his knees. The Slytherin leaned over
the basket of food, and spoke in the same low, sultry voice he had earlier.

“You tasted so fucking good, Harry.” Draco purred, “I could get addicted to you, far too
easily.”

“I want to taste you, too.” Harry breathed, all thoughts of their food forgotten in favor of his
blood that rushed southward. He rose to his knees as well, meeting the blonde halfway across
the duvet. “Can I do that to you? Will you teach me how?”

Draco brought a finger to Harry’s chest, trailing it slowly down the center. It left the sensation
of fire in its wake, goosebumps erupting all over his skin in response to all of the sensations
he was being subject to.

“All in due time, my love.” Draco responded, pressing a decadent kiss to Harry’s lips that
parted them slowly to bring their tongues together.

At that moment, Harry knew that he had finally settled on a favorite nickname for him from
the mind of Draco Malfoy.

They did finish lunch, if only to give their bodies enough energy to tumble around the sheets
of the bed. This time, however, they didn’t rush into skin on skin contact and frantic orgasms.
Instead, they explored each other. Harry laid back on the bed as Draco climbed on top to pull
him apart, string by string.
At some point, their shirts were removed, and the sweet press of their chests together curled
Harry’s toes in passion and desire. Draco kissed him so lovingly, and Harry did his best to
give that feeling right back. He saw the bruises he had left on the blondes ever enticing neck
as they showered together earlier, and his body flooded with some sort of animalistic pride .

Draco was his , and he was Dracos’ .

Sadly, their time alone couldn’t last forever. Just as Harry was moaning into Draco’s mouth
while the blonde rocked their clothed erections together in search of delicious friction, the
door to the dorm opened and announced the arrival of Zabini and Bulstrode.

“Milli, I am well aware that it takes at least three years to generate profit in any business.
That’s why I want you to come to the Vineyard for Easter so we can make a business plan
now instead of waiting for the Fall.” Zabini said, clearly exasperated by yet another business
conversation with Bulstrode. The two of them had been completely wrapped up in their plans
for going into the Wine industry together, which meant the two held frequent debates on the
best way to start .

“I told you, Blaise, I’m happy to come for Easter so long as you are willing to accept that we
need to open the Vineyard to Event Planners in the interim. It’s the best way to breakeven
while we wait for the next growing season, harvest, and fermentation period.” Milli huffed.

Draco looked down at him and rolled his eyes. This was a frequent ‘discussion’ among the
two. Bulstrode wanted to turn Zabinis Vineyard into a Wedding destination, and Zabini
always turned her down for one, simple reason.

“I don’t want all of those people in my house!!”

Harry whispered, “Any chance we could cast a silencing charm so we can continue?”

Draco looked down to him with a smile and a wink, seemingly ready to agree until there was
a knock on the wooden bedpost just outside their curtained nest.

“Draco, I know you’re in there with Potter, come out and tell Blaise that I’m right because
numbers do not lie .” Bullstrode beckoned, and Draco dropped his head to Harry’s chest with
a frustrated groan.

“He’s not saying you’re wrong , Milli. Blaise is simply informing you that he values his
ability to walk around his kitchen naked far more than he values potential earnings from
overcharging rich debutantes.” Draco drawled, still straddling Harry’s hips but no longer
seeking out their joint pleasure.

“Exactly!” Zabini yelled, clearly happy that Draco had seemingly defended him.

“He’s not agreeing with you Blaise, he’s just pointing out that you’re thinking with your dick.
Like always. ” Bulstrode responded.

“I’m not thinking with my dick, I’m thinking on behalf of it.” Zabini retorted.
“I’ve been up close and personal with that dick, Blaise. It’s not worth bankrupting your
business for.” Draco answered, climbing off of Harry and pulling the bed curtains back to
step out into the dorm.

Harry was suddenly aware of their lack of clothes, and instinctively pulled the bed sheet up to
cover his bare chest. Draco, however, held no such concern as he faced his two, bickering
friends with his arms crossed and his weight resting on one hip.

“You’re being surprisingly cruel, Draco. You’re usually a lot nicer after sex.” Zabini
responded, clearly upset about the lack of praise for his…yeah.

“Well Blaise, we didn’t get to the after because the two of you came barreling in here and
interrupted.” Draco answered, staring down both Zabini and Bulstrode. Harry felt his face
blush at the conversation, and stayed quiet in the safety of his bed as he looked on between
the three of them.

“You and Harry were having sex in here?!” Seamus exclaimed, reminding them all that he
had been bundled up in his own bed the entire time. Harry fell back onto the pillows and
covered his face with his hands, wishing desperately for their earlier solitude.

“We were trying .” Draco answered, most likely with one of his very withering glares . Harry
continued to press the heels of his hands into his eyes, finding a strange comfort in the white
spots that burst into his vision.

After all of this, there was definitely zero chance of them keeping things a secret. As he
listened to Seamus huff about “everyone getting laid except him”, Harry briefly
acknowledged that Ginny and Parkinson may have had the better idea.

News of their relationship spread fast, but it wasn’t unwelcome. After all the time Harry and
Draco had been spending together, the student body wasn’t exactly surprised .

They were, however, incredibly curious about Ginny’s reaction of all things.

It seemed that most of Hogwarts still expected Harry and Ginny to rekindle their brief sixth
year romance and, when it became clear that wasn’t happening, assumed that she would be a
woman scorned for his rejection. Even Ron’s first reaction was to be, well, Ron about it.

“Harry, mate, how could you do this to Ginny?” Ron asked him that night at dinner. Draco
had decided to sit with Luna, claiming that he needed a brief reprieve from both the
Gryffindors and the Slytherin’s. He had extended the offer to Harry, who refused only to try
and talk to Ron and Hermione about the sudden change in dynamic.

About two minutes into the conversation, he wished he had joined Draco over at Ravenclaw.
“Do what to Ginny?” Harry asked, confused as to why Ron was talking about his sister. The
Gryffindor in question had yet to enter the Great Hall, and when he confirmed the lack of a
certain Slytherin at the other table, he concluded rather quickly what was holding her up.

“Leave her for Malfoy!” Ron exclaimed, as if Harry was daft for missing something so
obvious. Harry looked up from his plate of roast and mashed potatoes in confusion.

“Ron, what the bloody hell are you talking about?” Harry asked, turning slightly to look at
Hermione for a hint of clarification. She merely smiled crookedly and brushed one of her
many, many curls behind her ear before turning back to the book she had brought down to
dinner with her.

“Don’t play stupid , Harry. Seamus has already told everyone that you two were….were
doing things in the dorm room this afternoon.” Ron’s face had turned bright red, seemingly
from a mixture of anger and embarrassment at what Seamus had apparently claimed to have
witnessed.

“Right, cause we were . But Ron, what does that have to do with Ginny?” Harry was growing
steadily frustrated now. He knew his relationship with Draco would be difficult for Ron to
accept but this current confrontation bordered on manic.

“Because you and Ginny are supposed to be together!” Ron yelled, looking only slightly
apologetic when Hermione shushed him and sent a stern look.

“Ron…Ginny and I were together for barely two months almost two years ago . That’s not
exactly a foundation for something long term. Besides, Ginny told me over the summer that
she didn’t want to get back together.”

At that reminder, Ron scoffed, “Sure she said that but she didn’t mean it! She wants to be
with you Harry, I know she does.”

“Uh huh, and has she told you that?” Harry scooped up a bite of his supper. Across the table,
Ron actually looked sheepish at the question.

“Well, no she hasn’t but-”

Harry decided to end the conversation there, “Then it’s safe to assume that you don’t actually
know what Ginny wants.” Then, because Harry maybe spent too much time around the
Slytherin’s, turned his attention away from the fuming red head completely in favor of
talking to Hermione, “Please, ‘Mione, tell me this isn’t a problem for you too.”

Hermione looked up from her book and smiled warmly at him before answering, “Of course
not, Harry. I can tell that Draco makes you happy. Have you told Ginny yet, though?”

“Told me what?” Ginny asked, seemingly appearing out of thin air. She sat down next to him
on the bench and reached over for a plate of roasted vegetables.

“Gin! Seamus caught Harry and Draco in bed .” Ron told her. Ginny looked up at his frantic
tone.
“Yeah? They’ve been sharing a bed for weeks now.” Ginny answered, adding a warm dinner
roll to her plate and a roasted chicken breast. Harry handed her the pitcher of ice water and
bowl of lemon slices, knowing that she would look for that next. She mouthed a quick “thank
you” as she turned back to her brother. “Did something happen?”

“Seamus caught us in bed together, because we are together.” Harry explained, looking
anywhere except for Ron’s still red and still angry face.

“Oh, so he saw you two fucking, consider us even then.” Ginny said, and Harry snorted.
Across the table, Ron let out a noise that seemed to be a combination of a groan and a
squeak.

“What the bloody hell does that mean?!” Ron’s voice had risen several octaves. Harry
worried briefly that he was going to strain his blood vessels before the evening ended.
Hermione, her gaze having returned to her book, lifted a hand onto the table and took hold of
Ron’s. An attempt, it seemed, to diffuse him before he potentially exploded.

“Ron, why is this upsetting you so much? After everything Draco risked to help us survive
and win the war? He’s not the same egotistical prat that he was at 14 .” Ginny said, wasting
no time in calling her brother out in his very unwelcome reaction.

“I’m upset because Harry has no right to leave you for some Slytherin Slut .” Ron hissed, and
Harry’s body flared to life in pure anger. He slammed his silverware on the table, so
forcefully that several people sitting around them jumped in surprise.

“ Don’t talk about Draco like that.” Harry said, completely fed up with Ron’s behavior. The
surrounding section of the table turned silent, conversations paused in favor of listening to
what was unfolding between the ‘Golden Trio’. “I did not ‘leave Ginny’ for him, Ginny and I
are not together . Whatever problem you have with Draco, you need to get over it , because I
love him a lot more than you think you hate him.”

Ron stared back at him in shock, then looked over at Ginny in search of support for his anger.
Ginny glared back with narrowed eyes, and shook her head definitively. Telling him through
movement alone that she wanted no part in his ignorant behavior. Next to Ron, Hermione
had taken her hand back and crossed her arms with a scowl on her face.

Knowing he was outnumbered, Ron mumbled something angrily before standing up and
leaving the Great Hall. Harry couldn’t find it in him to be all that upset.

He heard Hermione let out a sigh, “I better go talk to him. I’m sorry, Harry. For what it’s
worth, I’m very happy for you two.” She gave him a small smile and then followed Ron out
of the room, seeking to calm him down.

“I’m happy for you too.” Ginny said to him, leaning over to wrap him in a quick side hug. He
smiled at her in thanks, then turned his attention across the hall to Draco at the Ravenclaw
table.

His eyes met silver immediately, then dropped to Draco’s mouth just in time to make out the
words, “You okay?” spoken silently. Harry nodded and sent back a reassuring smile, then
looked down at his dinner plate. His appetite had left him, but he didn’t want to ignite any
worry. So, he forced himself to eat. Slowly but steadily.

Conversation around him resumed, something he was thankful for.

When dinner drew to a close, Draco came to him. They said their goodbyes to Ginny, then
walked out of the Great Hall with their hands clasped comfortingly.

Together.
 A Weekend Away, pt. 1
Chapter Notes

Warning: brief mention of past trauma

Chapter 27: A Weekend Away, pt. 1

It took a few days but Ron eventually came around. He apologized to Harry one morning,
admitting that he was wrong for the way he acted and that he was happy so long as his best
friend was happy. He also assured Harry that, if Draco ever hurt him, he would gladly lead
the charge against the Slytherin. Harry thanked him, albeit awkwardly, and they both agreed
to move past the argument.

When Harry shared the news of the apology with Draco, he merely responded, “It’s a good
thing Hermione has enough sense for the both of them.” It was a statement that Harry
couldn’t help but agree with.

Besides the rocky start with Ron, life with Draco was good. Really good , actually. Their
months of friendship made the transition to a relationship simple, and it felt as if both of them
were suddenly free . Harry wasn’t sure, exactly, how long Draco had kept his feelings hidden
but he certainly seemed to be making up for lost time.

If Harry thought Draco was handsy before, it was nothing compared to the way the Slytherin
touched him now. Whenever they were together, it seemed Draco insisted on at least two
points of contact. In the Common Room, the Slytherin practically draped his body over
Harry’s without a second thought. As they walked the halls between classes and meals, their
fingers would be interlocked and their shoulders bumping lovingly. It was different for Harry,
but in a good way.

And nighttime well…that was even better. Draco had more or less abandoned his bed
completely, choosing instead to crawl into Harry’s without a second thought. They soothed
one another when nightmares forced them awake in a mass of anxiety and trepidation, and
they found an easy comfort in each other's arms.

Then, there was the sex. Which, even though Harry didn’t have much to compare it to, was
absolutely wondrous . They had yet to go “all the way”, Draco insisting that he wanted Harry
to have his first time somewhere with a little more privacy and a lot more room . The stuff
they did do though, was bloody brilliant.
It was one afternoon, about a week and a half after they made things “official” that Harry
asked Draco to join him at Grimmauld Place for the weekend. They were sitting out in the
Courtyard, Draco practicing the ‘Aqua Eructo’ charm and attempting to cast it non verbally.
Harry was watching him, offering the little bit of guidance that he could when the Slytherin
seemed particularly stumped.

Draco had no problem casting the spell verbally, the trouble seemed to lie with his non verbal
incantation. Rather than a heavy stream of water erupting from the tip of his wand, when the
spell was cast silently there was little more than a trickle.

“It’s almost like you’re halfway between casting Aqua Eructo and Aguamenti, like your
magic is confusing the two without explicitly saying the words.” Harry observed, drying the
droplets of water that had splashed back onto their uniforms. “Did you ever use Aguamenti as
a defense spell?” Harry asked. It was a phenomenon he had seen before with Hermione. A
year on the run had resulted in them repurposing everyday spells into other uses. On
occasion, this confused her magic when it was trying to cast one charm but seeking the
subtlety of another.

“In a way…” Draco answered, chewing on his lip in concentration and frustration. He waved
his wand again, following the precise movements that Flitwick had demonstrated for them,
and still, there was little more than a small stream. Draco let out an aggravated growl, using
one hand to run it distractedly through his hair.

“Tell me about it.” Harry soothed, coming up behind Draco and looping his arms around the
blonde's waist. He pressed a kiss to his temple and rocked them gently side to side in hopes
of calming the Slytherin down with the relaxing motion.

Draco sighed heavily and leaned back into Harry, “Tom gave me his Yew wand once…and
told me to cast with it. I used the Auguamenti charm and then…he made me crucio Libby.”
His voice had turned from annoyed to regretful and so incredibly sad .

Harry held him tighter, doing what he could to hold Draco together in the face of so much
trauma. “It’s okay, Draco. It’s over. There’s no more Tom, just you and me. ” He murmured,
pressing a kiss to his temple once again.

He felt Draco nod and heard him draw in a shaky breath, “I know I just…” he trailed off.
Even though there had been no more words, Harry found himself understanding completely.

“I think the problem is, you’re holding back. Casting cruciatus takes a lot of energy from
your magic, and the charm is reminding you of that night. So you’re not letting yourself, all
of yourself , cast the spell.” Harry said, drawing the theory together from what he’d seen with
him and Hermione since returning to school. He gave Draco’s temple one final kiss, and then
stepped away so that the Slytherin could cast freely.

After a few more tries, Draco was able to successfully cast the charm nonverbally. Harry
cheered for him and clapped his hands as Draco blushed brightly, fighting his own smile.
Then, because Harry functioned primarily on pure instinct, he rushed forward and wrapped
his arms back around Draco’s waist to lift and twirl him off the ground.
“HARRY!” Draco shouted around a mouthful of giggles. The blonde instinctually wrapped
his arms around Harry’s neck for stability as he was relentlessly jostled. “Put me down you
absolute brute .” Draco ordered in between his gasps of laughter.

Harry acquiesced, loosening his grip so that Draco could slide onto the steady ground. As the
blonde's body lowered, Harry’s hands slipped slightly up to cup his Slytherins positively
glorious arse. It shocked him, even still, that he could touch Draco like this. That he could
love him like this, with no hesitation or repercussions.

“Spend the weekend with me, at Grimmauld.” Harry said, no time to think about the request
before it left his lips. He was due to return to the Townhome over the coming weekend, and
couldn’t imagine being there alone .

“That desperate for free labor, Potter?” Draco teased, there was no bite to the words as they
were spoken with a warm smile. He had told the blonde all about his plans and progress
refurbishing the home. There wasn’t much left to do, besides replace some of the older
furniture and hit a few more areas with a cleaning charm.

“Do you really trust me to pick out new furniture all by myself?” Harry answered. He
pictured the two of them shopping together, bickering over things like tea towels and bed
sheets. It made his chest warm, the thought of building a new home with Draco.

“You’re right, you’re utterly hopeless.” Draco responded, rolling his eyes. He yelped when
Harry raised one of the hands on his bum to slap it, a temptation he’d had ever since Zabini
gave him the advice a few weeks prior.

“So you’ll come with me for the weekend then?” Harry asked, smiling giddily at the thought
of a whole weekend alone with the boy in his arms.

“Of course.” Draco said, and then punctuated his answer with a kiss that rivaled the effects of
the jelly legs jinx on Harry.

They left Friday, directly after Charms. It was easy enough to get to Grimmauld, as they
apparated together from out front of the Hogwarts gates. Two jumps later, and they were
standing in front of the familiar gothic townhouse. Still holding Draco’s hand, he pulled the
blonde alongside him and up the front steps to enter the Foyer.

“I must compliment you, Harry. This place looks quite a bit better than it did when I visited
as a child.” Draco mused, taking in the changes that he could already see. Harry had removed
nearly everything that had been placed by Walburga during her time in the home. No more
Elf heads hanging along the stairwell or cursed objects lining the halls.

“Ron and Hermione have been a big help, the only thing I still haven’t figured out is how to
get rid of Walburga.” Harry said, removing his and Draco’s jackets to hang them in the hall
closet.

“Where is she?” Draco whispered, then followed as Harry led them to the curtain covered
portrait of Walburga Black. He heard Draco hum when he stepped in front of it and then, to
Harry’s horror , opened the curtains with a flourish.

“Draco! What-?!” Harry started, but was immediately cut off by an irritatingly familiar
screech.

“ FILTH IN THE MOST ANCIEN- oh! Draco dear, is that you?” Walburga’s tirade abruptly
ended as she took notice of who it was that had woken her from her painted slumber.

“Hello, dear Aunt. You’re looking well.” Draco greeted, bowing respectfully. “It’s been far
too long.”

Harry stared in shock between the two. He wasn’t sure he had ever heard Walburga speak in a
normal volume.

“How is your mother? She was always one of my favorites, her marriage into the Malfoy line
was a brilliant alliance for us.” The painting enquired, smiling at her great nephew.

“She’s lovely as always and of course, sends her regards.”

Harry watched as the two chatted amicably for several minutes. He was too scared to move,
in case it set her off again. Instead, he listened, and waited for whatever was going to come
next.

“I’ve come here to put the house back together, and I dare say you would look much better
over the hearth. I remember how you used to love sitting in the dark, green chair by the fire.
What do you think?” Draco asked, the picture of a perfect pureblood heir.

“You’ve inherited your mothers artistry, dear nephew. Move me as you see fit.” Walburga
answered. Harry watched in astonishment as Draco retrieved his wand and lifted the portrait
off the wall. He was not met with any resistance, anger, or a seemingly permanent sticking
charm.

Draco carried the portrait into the sitting room, then turned to speak to Harry in a low
whisper, “Did you want to keep her?”

Harry shook his head quickly, still a little dumbstruck on what was occurring. Draco sent him
a wink and a smile, then picked the portrait up with his hand so that his wand was free to
cast. He lit the fireplace and stoked the wood until the flames were tall and hot.

Then, without a second thought, Draco tossed the painting into the inferno. Harry heard
Walburga scream in anger, but it ended with a quick and efficient silencing charm that the
Slytherin cast over her. When it was finally done, all that remained of Sirius’ mother was a
small pile of embers and ash.

“Draco… how ?” Harry stuttered the question out. He, Ron, and Hermione had spent hours
trying anything and everything to remove the portrait with no success.
“I’m a Black, Harry. A lot of the portraits in the manor have similar charms on them, they can
only be moved by a direct member of the family.” Draco explained.

“But Sirius tried for months to remove her from the wall and it was impossible!” Harry
responded, remembering the days that Sirius spent roaming the halls and attempting to keep
quiet around the portrait. Draco looked at him with a sad smile.

“Sirius was burned from the tapestry, the magic wouldn’t have recognized him as family
anymore.” He explained in a soft voice. Harry thought of the tapestry that spread across the
drawing room, picturing the blackened mark that obscured Sirius from his birthright.

“That…that makes sense, then.” Harry said, trying not to let his emotions be overrun by
unfortunately familiar greif. “Thank you for getting rid of her, you’re bloody brilliant.” He
finished, smiling at Draco who couldn’t help but preen under the praise.

“I love it when you see reason.” Draco murmured, bringing Harry in for a quick kiss. “Now!
If I remember correctly, there’s a wine cellar under the kitchen.”

“There is?” There was still so much of Grimmauld Place that Harry had yet to unlock. Draco
nodded and grabbed his hand and together, they explored.

Friday night at Grimmauld was easy and relaxed. Neither Harry or Draco had the energy to
tackle the bigger projects and, the next day had already been delegated for furniture
shopping. Draco insisted that they both needed a full night of rest to prepare for all of the
stores they had to visit, making Harry more than a little apprehensive for what the day would
bring.

He had never been one for shopping , much less shopping in the seemingly whirlwind style
of Draco Malfoy. Would he even be able to keep up?

“I’ll go easy on you, I promise.” Draco whispered in his ear as they tucked their bodies into
the small bed together, referencing their shopping plans. The promise of being able to move
into the Master Bedroom with a King Sized mattress was enough of a motivator to endure
whatever it was that Draco had in mind for the following day.

“That’s oddly sensual. Didn’t you say we needed to sleep?” Harry responded, pressing his
back into Draco’s chest and enjoying the heat of his body. That was yet another thing that had
surprised him, Draco was always so warm . He soaked up heat and radiated it back out like
Harry’s own personal piece of sunshine.

“Don’t you remember, Harry? Only take a third of what I say seriously .” Draco answered,
slipping his hand into Harry’s pants and palming his steadily hardening cock. Harry moaned
and pushed back, needing to feel more of Draco- all of Draco .
The hand on him started to move, agonizingly slowly . If there’s one thing his Slytherin loved
it was a slow build up. He heard Draco murmur the spell that filled his palm with slick oil
and the new sensation made Harry moan embarrassingly loudly.

“Be as loud as you want, we’re all alone.” Draco said to him, leaning slightly over to kiss and
bite his neck. Harry could do nothing but let the pleasure of the moment over take him, filling
the room with the sounds of his appreciation.

Harry dug his fingers into the sheets, desperate to grab onto something as his hips rocked and
Draco whispered beautifully filthy words into his ear. He pleaded for the hand to move faster,
the current pace leaving him stuck midway up the height of ecstasy. When Draco finally
listened, Harry felt as though he was seconds away from exploding into nothing more than
confetti and crooked glasses.

He came with a groan, covering Draco’s hand and whispering his name. Behind him, Draco
murmured the cleaning charm and kissed his head softly. Harry felt as though he had been
reduced to a pile of loose limbs and aftershocks.

“Goodnight, my love.” He heard Draco say, wrapping his arm back around Harry so they
could settle into sleep together.

“Should we set a budget for today?” Harry asked as he pulled on his jeans in preparation for
the day. He was starting to get jittery and anxious from thoughts of spending Merlin-knows-
how-much on things for Grimmauld. Despite the vastness of the ‘Potter Fortune’, he
remained apprehensive and stressed over the concept of money. A byproduct of growing up
under Vernon Dursley, who considered Harry as little more than a drain on the family’s
resources.

“I don’t think I’ve ever used a budget in my life .” Draco responded, buttoning his shirt.
“Good things cost good money, it’s just a fact.”

“How much money do the Malfoy’s have ?” Harry asked, exasperated. He remembered being
held in the Manor and, although he was a tad distracted by the hunt, he still registered the
enormity of the estate.

“A ridiculously obscene amount.” Draco answered, then turned away from the mirror to look
at him. Harry could recognize the tell tale signs of nervousness, they were subtle but-without
a doubt- there . “Are we going to Muggle places as well?”

“I was thinking about it. Is that…is that okay?” Harry answered. Holding his reaction until he
knew more about Draco’s intentions. A few years ago, he would have assumed the question
was asked in disgust but so much had changed since then.
Draco nodded and turned his gaze down, “Yeah it’s fine. I’m only asking because…” He
looked back up at Harry, taking a deep breath before continuing, “Do you want me to
glamour the scars on my face?”

“No Draco, no of course not .” Harry answered, moving across the room to be closer to him.
“You can if you want to but don't cover them for me.”

“You won’t be… embarrassed of me? They don’t bother me in the Wizarding World because
everyone has already seen them and know, vaguely , what they’re from. Muggles though…
they might stare and talk .” Draco said, crossing his arms over his chest and chewing on his
lip. Harry stepped in front of him, encircling his Slytherin in his arms.

“I could never be embarrassed of you. And are you forgetting? I’m the one you still call
Scarhead. They’ll talk about me too.” Harry smiled as Draco chuckled at the reminder of that
particular nickname. Slowly, the blonde uncrossed his arms and brought them up to lovingly
hold Harry’s face.

“What a pair we make.” Draco said softly, bringing Harry in for a simple kiss.

They finished dressing, and decided to start the morning with a trip to a small cafe Harry
knew about a few blocks away. The weather was calm, nothing more than a slight breeze that
ruffled their hair and gave them the perfect excuse to stay close together in an effort to fight
the chill. Above them, clouds moved leisurely in the sky. Draco held his hand in a tight,
reassuring grip that was the only remaining sign of his anxiety from being out in the Muggle
world on full display.

“I think we should go to Diagon first. That way, if we don’t find anything we like, we can
trade for pounds at Gringotts and go to Harrod’s or something.” Harry said, holding the door
open for Draco so that they could enter the cafe together. The inside smelled deliciously of
roasted coffee and fresh baked pastries.

“Pritchard mentioned Harrod’s once, he called it ‘needlessly expensive’. So, I can only agree
with your plan.” Draco mused, looking around the cafe with curious, wide eyes. They walked
up to the counter and waited for a barista to roam over and take their order. As a woman with
cat eye glasses and short, curly hair rounded the corner, Draco let out an excited noise and
pointed to her apron pocket, “Harry, she has gel pens! Do you remember? I told you about
them!”

The barista looked briefly taken aback by the outburst but quickly adopted her Customer
Service persona. She glanced between the two of them, then pulled out one of said pens and a
small flip pad to take their orders.

“What can I brew for you two?” She asked, her voice the forced sort of cheeriness that could
only be attributed to minimum wage pay in a maximum stress position.

Her choice of words shocked Draco though, who leaned over to Harry to whisper, “I thought
this was a Muggle establishment. Do they also brew potions?”
Harry smiled at the barista before whispering back to Draco, “She’s referring to brewing
coffee .”

Realization dawned on Draco’s face as he nodded, looking up at the menu that had been
written on a tall and wide chalkboard. As the blonde looked over the drink options, Harry
pointed to the scones in the bakery case and requested two.

Draco settled on a mocha, and Harry ordered a simple, black coffee. They sat down at a table
near the window as they waited for their drinks to be prepared, munching on their scones and
watching the people outside that walked by.

The barista delivered their coffees and they sent her quick “thank you’s” as they sipped on
the warm mugs. Harry watched Draco’s eyes dart all around the small restaurant, taking
notice of all the Muggle things he hadn’t interacted with before. He didn’t have a look of
disgust, but it wasn’t of fascination either. Rather, Draco seemed to be mildly impressed
while also decidedly uncaring of the ways Muggles had shaped their world.

Except, of course, for gel pens.

“I didn’t even know a bed could cost this much.” Harry murmured as he and Draco perused
the furniture on sale at a store the latter had led him into in Diagon. The bed in question was
a King Sized mattress and frame that included several charms that promised to do anything
from preventing snoring to healing stiffened joints from a day at work.

It was big, it was impressive, and it was several thousand galleons.

“Especially one that’s only available with one option for the wood.” Draco responded with a
decidedly unimpressed tone.

“Does it really matter what wood the frame is made from?” Harry asked as they moved over
to yet another display for him and Draco-really, mostly for Draco-to review the magic it
offered.

Draco hummed before answering, “It does, to an extent. Different wood possesses different
magical properties, it’s easiest to see in wands.” Harry watched him flip through a small book
with different design configurations for this particular bed set, “There is also, of course, the
aesthetic value. I wouldn’t dare put a bed made from White Birch in the same room with
mauve linens or something equally as ghastly.”

“No ‘mauve linens’? I take it that means you won't let me design the master bedroom in
Gryffindor colors.” Harry chuckled, coming to stand next to the blonde. He peered over
Draco’s shoulder and reviewed the different colored sheets that were offered for the bed they
stood near. The options were overwhelmingly endless. Different colors, different textures,
different patterns, different accents. Harry thought he was going to be overcome with vertigo
at all of the decisions he needed to make just to buy a damn bed .

“What about these? Purple is a nice color.” Harry pointed at a set of pillows and sheets that
were pictured in a darker tone. He thought they looked suitable enough.

At least he did, until he felt Draco start to tremble slightly against him. Immediately, Harry
grew concerned. Was this a cruciatus tremor? Could he move them to some unused corner of
the store for the pain to pass?

As he considered his options and was preparing to cradle Draco in his arms, his Slytherin
spoke. Using a voice that was tinted with memories of something awful, “Not aubergine.
Anything but aubergine.”

Harry wrapped his arms around Draco, doing his best to be both a comfort and a protector.
He searched the memories of his visions and remembered, albeit vaguely, the color or the
pillows on the bed where Voldemort took ‘Abraxas’ .

They were purple or, well, aubergine .

“It’s okay, I’m here.” Harry murmured into Draco’s hair. His arms did their best to ground
him in this current moment, to pull the blonde out of the shadows of nights he’d been forced
to spend in the manor’s study.

Draco took several deep, shaky breaths before nodding. Harry felt him relax little by little,
keeping his arms a firm tether around the shaking boy in his arms. The area of the shop they
were in was empty, something he was grateful for as he felt Draco slowly return to himself.

“Thank you, Harry. For being here with me.” Draco said, turning his head back to meet
Harry’s eyes. The silver in his own was as bright as ever, shining in appreciation.
Appreciation and love .

Harry looked deep into Draco, and realized that he could no longer picture a future without
those silver eyes gazing back at him. Whether in anger, annoyance, excitement, or even
ecstasy. There was only one word he could say in that moment, heavy with the promises of a
lifetime he never truly believed he would be granted.

“Always.”
 A Weekend Away, pt. 2
Chapter Notes

I can’t thank you all enough for your comments and your kudos! My appreciation for
each and every one of you is bursting, please know that. Please, enjoy this next chapter
<3

Chapter 28: A Weekend Away, pt. 2

When Harry thought about his parents, it was typically only in fleeting images that had been
stitched together from memories, photographs, and words given to him by other people. On
dark days, he thought of the screams and the pleading he’d hear whenever a Dementor drifted
too close to him. On better days, he thought of the smiles he saw Lily and James wearing
those days in First Year when he spent hours staring into the Mirror of Erised.

On the brightest days, though they were few and far between, Harry thought about all of the
moments that could have been between them. Sometimes he pictured lazy afternoons in the
sitting room of Godrics Hollow, his mother reading books in a rocking chair and his father
casting simple charms that rearranged pictures on the walls or shuffled magazines on the
coffee table. Maybe his mother would enchant dusters to float around the home, maybe his
father would pull weeds in the front garden on warm Summer afternoons.

He didn’t know what his parents were like, not really. Any first hand memory of them was
blurry at best, mere microseconds of the long minutes and hours they existed together in
1981. Harry did his best to fill the gaps, though. He took what he knew, what he had learned,
and what he hoped for to create images of them as a family, and if his chest and stomach
ached sometimes for what he knew he could never have well, that was just life for Harry
Potter.

Something changed, however, during his weekend away with Draco. As they debated and
agreed upon easy things like pillow shams and sectionals for Grimmaulds various ‘sitting
rooms’, the moments Harry imagined for his mum and his dad slowly replaced themselves
with him and Draco.

It started in the kitchen. Draco rifled through the cabinets after they had returned from
Diagon, looking for a tin of tea and two mugs. Harry leaned against the counter, and thought
of a thousand Sunday mornings that could start just like this moment . As the leaves steeped,
mixing the air with the subtly sweet scent of cinnamon and earth, Harry summoned the small
jar of sugar that he knew Draco would mix into his mug by the spoonful.
A new feeling expanded inside of Harry’s chest, light and airy. Contentment .

It happened again an hour later, when the bed they purchased that morning was being
delivered and put together by a small team of house elves wearing smocks with the store logo
stitched on the chest pocket. Draco navigated the small team up the stairs and into the master
suite, which had been emptied and cleaned on an earlier visit. Harry watched the house elves
and his Slytherin work with their magic to turn the empty space into something warm and
inviting.

Harry had chosen a set of soft sheets that were the same color of the mocha he had watched
Draco drink that very morning at the cafe. The sweetened brown was paired with cream
colored pillows and a duvet that felt as though it had been weaved from a summer cloud. For
the frame, Draco had recommended Apple Wood.

“It’s a lyrical wood, listen closely and you’ll hear music that spans across centuries. What
better way to drift to sleep?”

Harry had agreed almost instantly, hoping that the wood would sing to him in the same voice
that Draco used when the blonde whispered into his ear.

With the bed put together and the look of triumph on Draco’s face, Harry let his mind roll
into wishes of nightly routines that ended with them both slipping under the covers and
listening for soft hums of ancient wood.

His life had been overrun for years by expectations for him to assume the role of the ‘Chosen
One’, and gracefully lead legions of Light Wizards into battle. Harry had spent so long
focused on the fight, that he never was able to plan for the ‘after’. Months ago, the future
seemed to be a void of uncertainty that he struggled to allow himself to accept and prepare
for.

Now though…now the future was exciting. For the simple fact that, when he looked at the
eagerness that sparkled in Draco’s eyes, Harry knew he wouldn’t be falling into the void
alone.

At six in the evening, Harry took Draco on their first ‘official’ date.

They stepped onto the sidewalk and walked towards the small collection of restaurants that
dotted the edge of the neighborhood. As they strolled through the haze of twilight that turned
the sky shades of pink and orange, Harry slipped his arm around Draco’s waist to anchor
them both in the beauty of the moment.

The path curved and bent, leading the two down a small lamp lined street towards the
inviting aroma of roasted garlic and fresh bread. Harry led Draco into the dimly lit restaurant,
requesting a table for two on the brick laid balcony. They dined on pasta garnished with herbs
and freshly grated cheese, while clinking glasses of white wine under an ivy covered trellis.

“I present to you, our first date.” Harry said, lifting his glass towards Draco, who followed
suit.

“To many more.” Draco answered, softly tapping the rims of their glasses together. The
implication of more dates, and more firsts warmed Harry in a way that he couldn’t attribute
solely to the alcohol he was drinking. This was life with his Slytherin.

Life that demanded a future.

“What do you want to do next?” Harry asked, setting his glass down to twirl a noodle around
the prongs of his fork.

“After all of these carbs, I think it’d be best if we returned to Grimmauld.” Draco answered,
snickering into his fourth or fifth slice of warm bread dipped in olive oil.

“No, I mean…after Hogwarts.” Harry elaborated. It was a thought that had been plaguing
him for a while. The pull of Auror training seemed less and less enticing the closer he came
to the registration deadline. He watched Draco’s face turn contemplative, as the blonde idly
rimmed his wine glass with the tip of his middle finger.

“I suppose I’ll return to the manor and keep my mother company.” Draco started, lowering
his eyes to the table as he slipped further into thought, “It’s an expectation for a Malfoy to
work in the Ministry, but I daresay that’s a goal I don’t personally share.”

“Everyone wants me to be an Auror.” Harry said, the words rushing out quicker than he could
catch them. Draco raised his eyes from where they’d fallen on the table cloth and met his
own, the silver regarding him curiously as it so often did.

“Do you want to be an Auror?” Draco asked. A question that had already been picked apart
previously but still had yet to truly be answered. Did Harry want to be an Auror? Or maybe…
did he want to want to be an Auror? All he could give Draco was a shrug of his shoulders.

“I know that I want you to still be here…after Hogwarts.” This was an answer that he could
give. He could have a thousand and one nights with Draco and it still wouldn’t be enough,
not after how important they’d become to each other. Harry crossed his fingers under the
table, hoping that Draco shared the sentiment.

Across from him, Draco smiled, “I will be.”

Only three words, but they were baked with every reassurance he needed that their time
together was not merely temporary. Not for either of them.

When they returned to Grimmauld Place that night, Harry felt his body thrumming with the
words they had shared over dinner. This relationship was not fleeting, it was solid and it was
earned. He took Draco’s jacket as they stepped into the foyer, letting his gaze trace the lines
that drew together to make the man that he loved .
“So, what did you think of our first date?” Harry asked. It was meant to be teasing, but he
couldn’t help the small roll of anxiety that sprang in his stomach.

“I think you’re a fine suitor, I’m feeling properly courted.” Draco answered, looping his arms
around Harry’s neck. Harry, in turn, wrapped his own arms around his Slytherin’s waist and
pulled their bodies close. The heat that rose from each of their cores twirled together, filling
his mind with wants and needs.

“There’s another first we could cross off tonight.” Harry murmured. He could feel his cheeks
heating at his own suggestion, but refused to let his nerves overtake the desire of the moment.
Being close to Draco was a beautiful thing, and this was a closeness he had been yearning for
longer than he had even realized.

Draco leaned in to kiss him, so sweetly that Harry’s brain sputtered to blankness as his body
tuned all of his focus to the movement of their lips as they sang together in silent harmony.

“Are you sure you’re ready?” Draco asked when they had parted, the words barely more than
a whisper and yet, they felt louder than the shouts of spells in a duel.

Harry nodded his head, and walked them over to the bottom of the staircase. “Let’s break in
our new bed.” He answered, smiling at the flutter of happiness he felt in his stomach at the
declaration of the newly bought bed being something for both of them.

Draco smiled too, then loosened his arms that he still held around Harry's neck. Two flat
palms slowly ran down his chest, skating briefly over Harry's steadily hardening nipples. He
closed his eyes and leaned forward into Draco’s soft touch.

Together, they climbed the grand staircase and walked down the hall to the Master Bedroom.
The candles in the room lit at a dim, swimming the interior with warm shadows and soft,
flickering color. Draco pulled him to the edge of the Apple Wood frame, lifting a free hand to
slowly lift the edge of his shirt.

“Undress me,” Draco whispered, leaning forward to nibble gently at Harry’s earlobe. The
simple action filled his body with anticipation and a craving for something utterly carnal.

Harry’s hands shook slightly as he lifted them to the buttons of Draco’s shirt. One by one he
undid them, unpackaging the gift of his body and tightening the air with the suspense of what
was to come. As their clothes dropped to the floor, one piece at a time, Harry’s heart beat like
a steady drum inside of his chest. The chasm they were about to cross together leaving him
with mixed feelings of disorientation and determination.

Once naked, they moved to the bed, Draco laying on his back with Harry hovering just above
him. The drag and pull of their skin as it rubbed together drew gasps and soft moans into the
atmosphere. Harry bent down to kiss Draco, so passionately that he could feel his magic
stirring as though it had been called forth by his emotions.

“I love you.” Draco pressed the words against his lips. Harry closed his eyes to let his other
senses become clouded with the intensity of the moment. Their hips slowly rocked together,
sending shocks of pleasure outward from their steadily growing erections.
“I love you, too.” Harry replied, dissolving the declaration into a moan when a pale hand
wrapped around his length that settled between their bodies. Draco tugged on him gently,
using his other hand to stroke Harry’s lightly stubbled cheek.

“This will be a first for me, too.” Draco said to him, running a thumb along Harry’s bottom
lip and tracking the movement with his eyes.

“First time with a Gryffindor?” Harry teased, elated by the small smile his words pulled from
the blonde underneath him.

“My first time making love .” Draco corrected, lifting his head so that he could kiss Harry
back.

The words descended on him and filled his brain with a sense of joy Harry couldn’t quite put
a name to. All he knew was that, no matter what they had done before this moment, both
Harry and Draco were coming together to share something undeniably sacred. Around them,
he heard the faintest sound of music drifting alongside the shadows, and realized it was the
Apple Wood giving them a song to wrap this memory in.

“Tell me what to do.” Harry spoke as he was losing himself to his surroundings, to their
movements, to his lover . Draco cupped his right hand and murmured the spell that pooled oil
into his palm and around his fingers.

“Open me.” Draco said, bringing Harry’s hands down to the fluttering entrance between his
stretched thighs. Gently, Harry pushed one finger in and drank the moan that spilled out of
the blondes mouth.

Working the digit in and out slowly, Harry looked up and waited for confirmation that he
could add another finger. Once it was granted, he slipped it in alongside the first. Alongside
the soft music, were the sounds of Draco’s pleasure as they fell from his kiss bitten lips.
Finally, Harry added a third finger, and felt his body straining against his desperate desire to
tumble over the edge.

“Draco…” Harry moaned, looking down at his Slytherin.

“Harry.” Draco answered, his eyes lilting somewhere between fully open and tightly shut.
“I’m ready.”

Harry nodded and removed his fingers slowly. He wordlessly cast another spell for oil and
wrapped his hand around his cock that felt hard enough to slice through diamonds. He
suppressed a moan, fighting against his own pleasure so as not to end the night too quickly.
With a quick shifting of his hips, Harry lined himself up and entered Draco with a gentle
rocking of his body.

The feeling was something pure and undulated. He felt the tightness and the heat of Draco as
he was granted access into a place that was, in a word, heavenly. Moans and half spoken
words dripped from Harry’s mouth as he settled inside of the blonde completely, covered
entirely by the rapture of the moment. He kept his body still, letting them both adjust to this
new connection.
After a handful of seconds, Draco lifted a hand to brush aside one of Harry’s forever unruly
curls. His limb trembled slightly, but his silver eyes were blown with lust and adoration.
Harry listened to the rhythm of their breathing that seemingly blended into a single sound.

“You can move.” Draco said, keeping a hand lifted to cradle the side of Harry’s face.

The permission he was given gave life to a new sense of feeling as Harry slowly began to
move his body and rock his hips. Gradually, his speed increased as he submerged himself into
everything they had become to each other. He settled the weight of his body onto one arm so
that his other hand could wrap its fingers with Draco’s. Their lips met and broke apart in a
cycle of their movements together. He was Harry and this was Draco, but the distinction was
lost as they orbited euphoria together.

Harry shifted his hips slightly and beneath him, Draco let out a sound that was almost a sob.
“Fuck, Harry there , right there. Don’t stop.” His Slytherin moaned, and who was Harry to
deny him?

They made love in the sea of sheets, distantly becoming one singular person as they melted
into each other like the candles that lined the bedroom walls. Harry wished for this to last
forever, for the ability to pluck this singular event from the timeline of his life and play it
over and over again until he had memorized every detail of their union. Instead, he was met
with the familiar coiling of heat and release in his abdomen, signaling him to the peak of their
experience.

“I’m so close, Draco.” Harry gasped, continuing the motion of his hips.

“I want you to come inside me, Harry.” Draco moaned, snaking a hand between them to
touch himself in time with Harry’s movements. The sight of it and the words that were
spoken were enough to tip Harry over, falling completely into pure bliss and feeling.

He emptied himself inside of Draco, his hips losing their rhythm as they instead chased the
end of his orgasm. Below him, Draco bit his lips around a moan and splattered them both
with his very essence. Their mouths met again, drawn to each other like magnets as they
kissed through the haze of their orgasms.

When the strain on his muscles became too much to bear, Harry pulled himself out slowly
before falling onto his back next to Draco. Their breaths were heavy from exertion, but
Harry’s mind felt clear and sated.

They turned their heads towards each other at the same time, catching each other's eyes as
their pupils slowly shrank.

Draco spoke first, after dragging his tongue between the seam of his lips.

“I love you, Harry Potter.”

Harry let his face lift with the force of his smile, marinating in the words before responding
with his own. Really, there was only one thing he could say to that.
“I love you, Draco Malfoy.”
 Confrontations
Chapter Notes

Hi everyone!! Sorry this update took some time, I’ve been super busy with Grad School
and work. As always, thank you so much for reading and supporting this story <3

Chapter 29: Confrontations

Returning to the beds in the Eighth Year dorms was less than ideal after a weekend
slumbering on his far too expensive but perfectly soft king sized mattress. Their short time at
Grimmauld felt like a preview of what life could be like together, and Harry wanted fervently
to make it so. Still, there remained a few months of their Hogwarts Education which meant
he had better reaccustom himself to the shared space and four poster bed he’d been sleeping
on since September 1st.

At least there was Draco.

They had returned to Hogwarts on Sunday evening, giggling into each other's ears as they
stepped out of the floo and into the Headmistresses office. Professor McGonagall had eyed
them curiously, but was kind enough not to explicitly point out their less than proper
‘behavior’.

“Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy.” She greeted them, her expression close to neutral as the two
wizards stumbled out of the hearth. “I presume your weekend went well?”

Draco straightened in his arms and cleared his throat, preparing to answer the question with
both dignity and grace. Harry, however, made this very difficult by keeping a firm grip on his
Slytherin’s waist and giving into the strange urge he had to bite onto a lock of Draco’s hair.

Love was a weird thing.

“Yes Head- Harry stop -Headmistress. Very productive.” Draco answered, swatting Harry
away from where he was nibbling strands of platinum hair and fighting back bubbles of ill
timed laughter. It was so nice to feel this unburdened, to enjoy life in a way he never had.

Which, of course, meant something was bound to end his reverie.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you, Mr. Potter. Do you have a minute?” The Headmistress
said, effectively ending Harry’s light and airy mood. Begrudgingly, he unwound his arms
from Dracos’ waist and sat down in one of the chairs opposite her desk. Draco took the chair
next to him, his hands folded primly in his lap.
McGonagall looked briefly at Draco, but didn’t comment on his company.

“Is everything okay, Headmistress?” Harry asked, suddenly tense.

“Yes, everything is fine. I merely wished to discuss the upcoming Anniversary of the Great
War.” At the reminder of the battle, Harry felt the blood in his veins turn to something cold
and hard. “Hogwarts will be hosting a Memorial Event on the day of the Battle of Hogwarts.
I would like you to give a speech, Mr. Potter.”

Hermione had told him this would likely happen. According to her, he was a ‘Symbol of
Triumph’ over all things dark and evil. Apparently, being a symbol meant he had to
strengthen his public speaking skills.

Harry nodded and drummed his fingers on the armrest of his chair, anxiety setting in as this
new task was presented. “Of course, Headmistress.” He agreed, not wanting to say much
more than necessary.

His restless fingers stilled as Draco slipped into his hand, giving a light squeeze of support in
the wake of his frantic emotions and thoughts. Harry looked over at his Slytherin and felt a
small ball of warmth at the soft smile he was met with. He could do this, because he wouldn’t
be doing it alone.

Behind her desk, Headmistress McGonagall cleared her throat to regain their attention, and
Harry saw the edge of her mouth twitch in a way that suggested she was holding down a
smile of her own. Harry supposed it was still rather strange for people to see the relationship
that had developed between him and Draco, especially after years of back and forth
antagonism.

If she had any comments, though, the Headmistress kept them to herself and dismissed them
both with an appreciative nod.

Harry didn’t let himself dwell on the speech until later that night, when he and Draco were
attempting to fold their bodies together so that they both fit on the dorm bed that seemed
impossibly small after an evening and a half on the Apple Wood frame. Once they had finally
settled their limbs together-and on top of each other-Harry fell into the vortex of his
insecurity and nerves.

He needed to give a speech. He needed to honor the dead. He needed to heal the masses.

But how could he do that when he had barely healed himself?

“You’re going to give yourself an aneurysm, dear Savior.” Draco murmured to him from his
position behind Harry. “I can practically feel the buzzing of your thoughts.”

“Sorry.” Harry answered, shifting restlessly in his Slytherins’ arms.

“Don’t apologize, talk to me.” Draco pressed a kiss to the back of his head and began to rub
soothing arches on Harrys’ hip with his thumb. The gentle motion was easy to focus on, to
ground him where they were instead of where his thoughts were trying to take him.
“It’s the Anniversary speech.” He felt the subtle vibration of Draco’s answering hum between
his shoulder blades. “Where do I even begin?”

“That’s up to you.” Draco said, and Harry knew he was right. So many people had looked to
him throughout the war for guidance, it only made sense that they would look to him now the
same.

The problem was, Harry had no idea how to guide anyone.

“I wish Dumbledore was here.” Harry murmured, thinking of the Wizard who had led him
through so many of his recent years and battles. Behind him, Draco stilled, and Harry flushed
as memories of sixth year-and the Astronomy tower-played in his head. “I’m sorry, I
shouldn’t ha-”

Draco shushed him gently, resuming the careful movement of his thumb as it rubbed Harry’s
hipbone.

There were no more words after that, it didn’t seem that any were needed. There was time to
prepare for the memorial. For now, Harry simply needed to accept it.

Unsurprisingly, life at Hogwarts continued to move forward while they had run away to
Grimmauld for the Weekend. What was surprising, however, was the reveal of Ginny and
Pansy’s relationship that had apparently occurred while he and Draco were comparing
ottomans.

When the two of them returned Sunday evening, it had been too late for the chance to catch
up with Ron and Hermione or really, any of the other Eighth Years.

Monday, however, seemed to have been set aside for Harry to be briefed on the ‘shocking’
state of things at the school.

“I still can’t bloody believe it.” Harry heard Ron mutter as he entered the Common Room.
His friend was sprawled on the couch with his eyes fixed on the ceiling. Next to him, as she
always was, sat Hermione with her attention focused on an essay she was editing.

“Can’t bloody believe what?” Harry asked, bouncing his way over to the sitting area and
leaning against the arm of one of the other chairs. Ron jumped slightly in surprise, and
lowered his eyes from the vaulted stone to meet his own.

“Ginny is together with Pansy Parkinson .” Ron answered, practically gagging on the
Slytherin’s name. Harry couldn’t stop the satisfied smirk that leaped onto his face, and he
fought it away almost as quickly as it appeared.

Still, it wasn’t quick enough.

Harry watched Ron’s eyes widen and his face turn red, “You knew , didn’t you?” Ron
accused, sitting up straight on the couch and pointing a finger in his direction.

There was no use in denying it, and if the two girls were finally ‘out’ then it hardly mattered
for him to play ignorant. Harry flicked his gaze towards Hermione to assess her reaction, but
she hardly looked bothered by any of the information.

“I did.” Harry answered, preparing himself for the onslaught of emotions he was sure to get
from Ron. To his surprise, however, the response was a mild one. Ron simply dropped his
head back onto the couch and let out a very long, very aggravated groan that seemed to be of
acceptance.

Perhaps the shock had been spent solely on Harry and Draco’s relationship, leaving no energy
left in Ron to argue with his little sister about her choice in partners.

“What broke the Weasel?” Draco said, descending the stairs to the Common Room as he
finished looping his tie. All Ron answered with was a glare and crossed arms, leaving Harry
to explain the newest development in their relatively small social circle.

He grabbed Draco’s hand and pulled him to the door, deciding that it was best to keep him
and Ron separated for a little while longer. As they made their way to the Great Hall, Harry
told Draco about the sudden reveal of yet another Gryffindor and Slytherin relationship.

“Inter House Unity at its finest, wouldn’t you say?” Draco said, lifting the hand that held his
and pressing a soft kiss to Harry’s knuckles.

And, well, who was Harry to disagree?

The Hogwarts Library had been a beacon of guidance and knowledge to the students of the
school for hundreds of years. Dusty tomes and the smell of old books swirled around the air,
conditioning inquiring minds to the offers and benefits of being well read. It was a place of
learning, of intrigue, of mental fortitude.

It also happened to be the place where Harry was currently staring at a blank piece of
parchment, at a loss for words that could be strung together to create a worthwhile speech for
the Anniversary Event. It felt, simultaneously, that there were a million things for him to say
and nothing at all that he could. How was he supposed to ease the grief and trauma of war,
when all he knew was how to fight?

He thought of mourning. Of grief and exhaustion at the heels of battled glory. Was there a
way to transcribe those feelings into something Universal…something healing ?

Abruptly, he stood up from the table and gathered his things. Shoving his parchment and quill
into his bag with little concern for care. Harry was not someone who could sit, he needed to
move and to experience .

Leaving the library, Harry climbed the stairs to the 7th floor and faced the empty wall that
once opened up to the Room of Requirement. His nostrils flared with the phantom scent of
smoke and burning wood, suffocating in its opacity. The halls still rang with the echoes of
Draco’s sobs and pleas to save Cra- Vincent , even though his friend was already gone.

He left the hall, and made his way down the stairs and into the Great Hall that stood empty
and open. The memory of Voldemort’s eerie, booming voice calling for his sacrifice rang
around him like a heavy, clanging church tower bell. Harry remembered Par-no, no her name
is Pansy -calling out to hand him over. An action that, in hindsight, really did make sense.

From the Great Hall, Harry carried himself out to the Courtyard, and was startled to see
Draco already standing at the exact spot he was moving towards. The spot where, almost a
year ago, the corpse of Voldemort rested.

“I thought you had an essay to finish.” Harry said, stepping up to stand next Draco. The sun
above peaked out from the clouds, with its rays falling to illuminate the patch of stone the
two of them gazed at.

“I thought you had a speech to write.” Draco answered. All Harry could do was shrug, clearly
they had both been sidetracked by a wandering memory.

Cool wind touched their cheeks, speaking indecipherable words across the Scottish Valley
that Hogwarts was nestled in. Harry turned his mind back to where it had been 12 months
ago, preparing for the end of the years long war he’d been born into.

“I don’t know what I could possibly say, that would honor the sacrifices of the war.” Harry
broke the silence, closing his eyes as the weight of the words left him. In the distance, birds
chirped and sang in between the shadows of the trees.

Their hands met in the subsequent silence, fingers lacing together with a familiar ease that
can only come from two people who move in harmony with each other. It was a simple
action, a subtle reminder that Harry had Draco and-conversely-Draco had Harry.

In the confrontation of so much loss, it was a reminder that deserved to be cherished.

 The First Spring

Chapter 30: The First Spring

Something was bothering Draco.

Harry noticed it first when they had left Transfiguration together one afternoon, and were
making their way back to the Eighth Year dorms. Their walk through the halls and up the
stairs felt stiff, when usually they moved together with comfort and ease. The very air that
surrounded them had turned into something tense, damp and humid from hidden feelings.

All of this radiated from Draco, and Harry wasn’t sure what to do. Their relationship was still
uncharted territory for him. Instincts told him there was a threat, and that it needed to be
eliminated. Except, Harry didn’t know what the threat was . There was no physical danger
around them, not unless he counted the antics of Peeves. Instead, the issue was something
internal, and Harry was at a loss for how to fight it.

“Draco…is everything okay?” Harry asked. At his side, Draco startled slightly, clearly lost to
a whirlwind of thoughts surrounding whatever it was that plagued his mind. Around them,
the halls were filled with bustling students moving from class to class, something Harry
probably should have accounted for a few seconds earlier.

Draco took hold of his hand, squeezing it slightly as he pulled them towards the dorms. It
took only a minute or two for them to make it to the Common Room, which sat empty. They
settled themselves by the fire, and Harry waited for Draco to answer.

Despite their rushed ascent to the Eighth Year dorms, it seemed his Slytherin wasn’t yet ready
to talk.

They sat together, in the same tense silence that had followed them up the stairs and through
the Tapestry-covered entrance. Draco seemed to lose himself gazing into the burning fire of
the Hearth. Harry simply watched him. Until staring at his boyfriend started to feel strange
and unsettling, at which point Harry turned his focus to different points around the room. A
crack in the wall held his attention briefly. Followed by a spider web that had been spun in
the corner of the window.

For a while, the only sound was the splintering of logs and crackling of the fire in the hearth.
If he strained his hearing, Harry could register the muffled sounds of passing students in the
halls. Next to him, Draco’s breaths came out soft and even. In his head, Harry’s mind raced
with noise to fill the emptiness of the room. How long would this last? Was he even handling
this like he should?

Harry knew love, but he still didn’t know how to be in love.

“Easter Hols are almost here.” Draco murmured, finally breaking the hard shell of silence
around them.

Immediately, Harry understood.

The memory of Easter Hols from a year prior raced to the front of his mind. His capture in
the Forest, imprisonment at the Manor, Draco’s help to get them out.

Draco’s punishment for his actions.

How hadn’t he seen this sooner? Of course Draco would be overrun with emotions
surrounding this time of year. Especially if…

“Are you going to the Manor for Hols?” Harry asked. Maybe he should have asked sooner?
How long had this been weighing on Draco’s mind? His own thoughts had been consumed
lately, with attempts to write a speech for the Memorial. It seemed that every second or third
sentence he wrote, his brain decided to second guess.

It wasn’t exactly productive.

“Yes, I don’t want Mother there alone.” Draco answered, his gaze still focused on the Hearth.
It was always striking to see Draco like this, stoic and unsure of himself. Harry was so used
to quick wit and traded barbs. A thought struck him, though. A question that he was surprised
he hadn’t yet asked.

“Draco,” Harry started, darting his eyes around the Common Room to be absolutely sure that
the two of them were alone. “Does Narcissa know? About what happened to you?”

He felt Draco’s body turn stiff and rigid next to him, and watched the color fall from his
already pale face. Giving Harry his answer, before Draco could even speak. It wasn’t
surprising, not really, that Draco had kept this from his parents. Still, it added weight to the
already crushing burden that he carried.

“No I uhm…I haven’t told her or my Father.” He spoke the words softly, pulling his eyes
away from the fire and towards the floor. Harry shifted his body closer. Pressing against
Draco in an attempt to console him without suffocating him.

“Do you want to?”

“I don’t know.”

They settled back into silence. There was the distinct feeling that the conversation was not
over, but that nothing more would be said just yet. So, as he did earlier, Harry waited.

When Draco spoke again, it was unsure and quiet. A tone that seemed almost Alien coming
from him. “I think I do or, at least, I think I should . She knows that something happened
between me and Tom. Merlin knows how her mind has filled the gaps.”

“You don’t have to tell her, though.” Harry consoled him. Draco sniffed and nodded, his
hands clenching and unclenching where they sat in his lap.
“No, I know. I just…I think she should know. It’s hard enough to return to the Manor already,
keeping Tom a secret doesn’t help.” Draco said with a long, deep sigh. The door opened,
admitting a group of Eighth Years and officially ending their brief era of solitude. Harry did
his best to give his Slytherin a look of encouragement and understanding. Draco responded
with a soft smile of his own and relaxed his body, laying his head down on Harry’s shoulder
and locking their fingers together.

They made a silent agreement to finish the conversation later, turning instead to focus on the
lighter topics that drifted around the Common Room.

“Uhm, Hermione, could you help me with something?” Of all the people Harry thought
would be asking Hermione Granger for help, Gregory Goyle was relatively far down the list.

The Eighth Year Gryffindors had commandeered the couches in front of the fire in the
Common Room, along with a few Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. Though luckily, Harry noted,
Zacharias Smith was not among them.

Harry sat on the floor, with his legs stretched out under the coffee table and his half finished
Transfiguration Essay unspooled before him. Hermione knelt next to him, looking through
the pile of library books that had been dumped on the table top and was being shared among
the group. Her motions stopped, though, as she registered the address and who it was from.

Briefly, Harry tensed. Worried that Goyle was preparing to say or do something…well,
Slytherin . He remembered then, however, that Goyle had always been-surprisingly-gentle.
Despite the boys wide stature, the same physique he had shared with Vincent Crabbe, Harry
couldn’t remember Goyle ever acting outright ‘antagonistic’.

No , he thought with an internal chuckle, that had always been Draco.

And well, that had been when Draco was still ‘Malfoy’ and they were all just Gryffindors and
Slytherins. Now though…now they had been soldiers who fought together in battle.

It was with this understanding, that Harry relaxed his muscles and waited interestedly for
Goyle to continue.

“I could try. What is it?” Hermione asked, her voice speaking with a calculated effort. It was
clear that she was still unsure of what Goyles intentions were. Taking a brief scan of the
Common Room, however, Harry noticed that there was no other Slytherin around. Meaning
Goyle was, for all intents and purposes, in enemy territory.

Hermione didn’t need to be worried, if anyone did, it was Gregory.

Goyle cleared his throat and shoved a hand into the pocket of his robe. As he rooted around
for something , Harry watched the Slytherin’s arm gradually disappear deeper into the space,
until the fabric bunch up by his shoulder. He turned a brief look at Hermione, who also
seemed impressed by the expansion charm Goyle had used on his clothes.

Goyle let out a quiet grunt of satisfaction before pulling his hand back and kneeling on the
other side of the low table. Harry made a note mentally, to ask Draco later about Goyles skill
with his charmed robes.

The Slytherin set his fist on the table and opened his hand to reveal, of all things, a small
cassette tape with the black reel material sticking out and loosely tangled. Harry looked over
at Hermione, who peered curiously at the object with raised eyebrows.

“Astoria and I visit Vince’s grave and we play this, it’s Swan Lake , using one of those
Muggle music things. But when we rewound it a few days ago all of… that stuff came out.”
Goyle started, gesturing vaguely at the loose strip. “I was hoping since you’re muggleborn
and smart you could show me how to fix it. It’s…it’s important to us that we play this for
him.” Goyle finished, the last few words coming out as though they had been dipped in his
grief and mourning for his fallen friend.

“Oh…yes, of course. It’s easy, really.” Hermione answered, a small smile accompanying the
words. She delicately picked up the cassette tape and used her wand to transfigure a quill into
a small cylinder of wood. Harry had seen Dudley do this a few times, using one of those
yellow pencils from school. Except with Dudley, he’d often hold the cassette too tightly or
rewind the film too fast, causing the tape to splinter open and crack.

Hermione, however, worked slowly and methodically. She made sure to turn her hands so
that Goyle could follow the movements, in case he had to recreate them at some point in the
future. In just a few minutes, the cassette looked good as new. Hermione handed it back to
Goyle with a proud smile, which Goyle returned with his own smile of sincere and humble
thanks.

“Thank you.” Goyle said, his voice just a bit above a whisper. He made to stand up but was
stopped by Hermione reaching a hand out.

“Wait! Go- Greg , can you tell me about the expansion charm on your robes? I’ve only ever
been able to apply it to a bag successfully.”

Goyle settled back onto the floor with an excited smile and a nod, “If there’s one thing I
know about, it’s clothes.”

And so, Harry half listened and half completed his essay as Hermione Granger and Gregory
Goyle talked enthusiastically about tailoring spells. The tension had completely drained from
them almost immediately. Even Ron seemed partly interested in what Goyle was saying,
realization dawning on his face when the Slytherin told them about his Uncle’s robe shop in
Bulgaria.

About a half hour later, Draco entered the Common Room and joined Harry by the coffee
table. Harry greeted him with a smile and a quick kiss, looping an arm around his boyfriend's
waist. That word, all these weeks later, still made him positively giddy .
“How was brewing?” Harry asked. Draco had started brewing his own pain potions, working
alongside Madam Pomfrey in the Hospital Wing. He was working with the MediWitch to
create something that could, potentially, treat cruciatus tremors.

“Uneventful. I decided to add crushed Devils Claw to my more ‘experimental’ cauldron, but I
won’t know if it had any effect for a few days.” Draco answered.

They still hadn’t finished their conversation about Easter Hols, but Harry was worried about
pushing things too far. It was an undeniable weight, however, and it trailed them around just
on the edges of their mind. He could only assume Draco felt it too.

Regardless, the crowded Common Room wasn’t exactly the best place to talk about
something so private.

Low chatter had added a new layer of noise to the Common Room, as more students returned
and abandoned their work in favor of talking to their friends. The afternoon melted easily into
the evening, welcomed by the Eighth Year students. As the time for Dinner drew closer, the
room emptied once again.

Harry was rolling up his essay and packing his books when Draco stopped him with a light
touch to his arm. He turned a questioning look towards his boyfriend, trying to ignore the
sudden growling of his stomach.

Draco’s eyes darted quickly around the area, and seemed to find approval of what he saw.
Harry took a quick look around too, and saw that only a few students remained. All of whom
were occupying far corners of the area, rather than invading theirs.

“Would you be interested in spending Easter Hols with me? At…at the Manor?” Draco
asked, the words rushing out on a single breath. Harry couldn’t help but smile, as they finally
addressed this particular topic.

“I’d love to.”

 Malfoy Manor
Chapter Notes

Warning: mentions of past abuse

Chapter 31: Malfoy Manor

Returning to Malfoy Manor was….an experience. Harry could only compare his current visit
to his previous one in the short, blurred flashes he’d seen of the surrounding grounds and
Entrance Hall. He shivered a bit, as he remembered the sounds of Hermione’s screams and
Bellatrix’s cackles from the ballroom. Sympathy wracked through his body. If Harry felt like
this after only having been in the Manor for a few hours last year, Draco must be on the verge
of Hell .

“How do you stand coming back here?” Harry whispered, as he followed Draco through the
winding halls towards his room to drop off their trunks. He had only been in the Manor for
fifteen minutes, and it already felt overwhelming .

Draco looked at him in puzzlement, not slowing his walk as he traversed the familiar space,
“It’s my home.”

“I know but, Merlin I can still feel everything that happened to me and Ron and Hermione a
year ago.” Harry grimaced, letting his eyes trail over the paintings that lined the walls.

“That’s because it’s your only memory here. You don’t have anything good to compare it to.”
Draco answered.

Harry nodded, though he was still unsure, and continued the journey to the bedroom. Which,
quite honestly, took a lot longer than it should have.

“Bloody hell Draco, how big is this house?” Harry gasped, as they turned yet another corner.

“It’s not a house , it’s a Manor . The very word implies that the estate is sprawling.”

“How do you not get lost?” Harry had to ask because, if he was being honest, he would be
getting lost the second Draco decided to visit some other corner or this… castle . He could
only hope that the staircases didn’t move.

“I’m taking all of this as a compliment, even if that’s not how you’ve intended it.” Draco
smirked, finally stopping in front of a door that looked…like every other bloody door in the
house.
“This it, then?” The words came out slightly breathless because well…Harry was out of
breath from the trek. Draco chuckled, then raised his hands in surrender when Harry met him
with a glare.

“Yes, this is my room. Or, well, technically it’s the ‘Heir Suite’ but that’s a tad too formal I
think.” Draco opened the door and directed their trunks inside, then beckoned Harry in as
well.

The ‘Heir Suite’ as Draco called it was huge , just like the rest of the damn house-er Manor .
There was a Fireplace with a sitting area, a bed that looked as though it could comfortably fit
everyone in their dorm room with space to spare, another door that led Godric knows where,
tall windows that overlooked the grounds, a desk, and even a reading nook.

Draco walked over to the windows and opened the curtains with a quick flick of his wand.
Suddenly, the room was illuminated on all corners by the Springtime Sunlight. Harry moved
to stand next to him, still awed by the amount of space the bedroom had, and took a look at
the surrounding grounds.

The windows looked out over the back of the estate, and Harry darted his eyes all around the
area. He could see the Rose Gardens, a marble stone terrace, and fluffy white peacocks.

There was just… so much .

“We’ll meet Mother for lunch on the West Balcony in an hour.” Draco said, and Harry’s mind
reeled at the concept of different balconies for different directions .

If Aunt Petunia could see me now…

Harry nodded in acknowledgement, still trying to wrap his mind around the complexities of
the Manor.

As he turned away from the window, he watched Draco settle their trunks into the corner and
then light the fire in the hearth. The room filled with a comforting heat that wrapped around
them tenderly.

“The bathroom is over there.” Draco told him, pointing to the door that Harry had noticed
when he first entered. “If you need anything, you can call for Mipsy. Libby pops in every
once in a while too, but usually just to visit.”

Harry nodded and turned towards the bed, suddenly eager to lie down after their trek from the
Entrance Hall to the ‘Heir Suite’. He toed off his trainers and rolled onto the bed, relaxing
into the soft pillows and mattress. Draco joined him a moment later, curling his body around
Harry like his true home was the space between Harry’s arms.

“Don’t fall asleep.” Draco warned. The words lost their bite however, when the blonde
punctuated the sentence with a yawn.

“I’ll set an alarm.” Harry smiled, pulling his wand from his pocket and casting a quick charm
that would wake them up in 45 minutes.
Despite their efforts, sleep crawled over them fairly quickly. Before they succumbed
completely though, Draco had one more thing to say.

“Thank you for coming back here with me.” Draco said, pressing a soft kiss into a spot just
above Harry’s collarbone. Harry answered by threading his fingers through the soft, platinum
locks on Draco’s head. He was rewarded with a sigh of pure pleasure that spread a warmth
throughout his body.

“I’d go anywhere with you.” Harry whispered, unsure if Draco had even heard him.

The pull of sleep swept his body into unconsciousness almost as soon as the words had left
him.

“Do you think she’ll like me?” Harry was nervous. From the time their alarm stirred them
awake, to his frantic rearranging of his shirt and hair, he felt overrun with anxiety over his
first time meeting Narcissa Malfoy properly . Their previous interactions had been so fraught
with turmoil from the war that he couldn’t count them towards any overall ‘impression’.

“You’re the Savior of the Wizarding World, how could she not like you?” Draco answered.
Harry considered the probability of sarcasm underlying those words but lost his train of
thought when he noticed a smudge on his glasses.

In that moment, a smudge was enough to send him over the edge.

Frantically, Harry tore his glasses off his face and wiped them furiously on the fabric of his
shirt. Desperately trying to swirl away whatever grime has obscured the lenses. A few steps
away, Draco looked at him in some sort of fond exasperation before casting a cleaning charm
and turning the lenses completely spotless.

“Thank you.” Harry murmured, putting his glasses back on his face. A quick tempus charm
told them it was time to brave the corridors once again and head to the ‘West Balcony’.

Draco took his hand with a reassuring smile, then led Harry out of the room and to lunch with
Narcissa. When they stepped out onto the balcony, which overlooked a glittering pond with
swans-of all things-floating on the surface, Harry prepared for his first ‘formal’ introduction
to the Malfoy Matriarch.

“Mrs. Malfoy,” Harry bowed, as Draco had instructed him to do when they discussed their
visit to the Manor. Narcissa Malfoy stood commandingly next to the table that had been
dressed for their arrival. Her hands were clasped in front of her as she curtsied in response,
keeping her eyes up as they looked over Harry’s form. “Thank you for allowing me into your
home for the Holiday.”
“You are welcome here, Mr. Potter, after all you’ve done for our family.” She answered, a
hint of a smile gracing her lips as she spoke the words in a voice that reminded Harry of
woven silk.

Harry’s first instinct was to pull away from the praise in her words but he knew that would
only make him seem impolite. So, he nodded in thanks while his hands anxiously pulled his
fingers where they laced together behind his back.

The formality dissipated, however, when Draco strode over and wrapped his arms around
Narcissa’s small shoulders. It seemed that, in the wake of all the tragedies of war, Pureblood
etiquette mattered little in the privacy of the Manor.

“I’ve missed you, Mother.” Draco said as he pressed a kiss to her cheek. Narcissa’s smile lit
her delicate features in full brilliance at her sons’ embrace. Harry watched her bring a hand
up to cradle Draco’s face and rub a thumb over one of the lines of scars that stretched across
his features. In her eyes, he saw pain flash before being consumed by such genuine love that
he felt his own heart stutter.

He remembered the glimpse of his own mother that he had been granted when he held the
Resurrection Stone in the Forbidden Forest. Harry couldn’t stop the ache on his chest
knowing he would never be able to embrace Lily or James in the same way. Pulling him from
his sadness, however, was a gentle embrace from Narcissa.

Harry startled slightly as she held him so carefully, so motherly , that hot tears pricked the
back of his eyes. After a moment of shock, Harry returned the hug.

And if he held Narcissa just a bit too tight well, she was kind enough not to comment.

They sat down together at the table, which was rounded and sized to fit the three of them
with the perfect amount of room. The dishes that were laid out filled with sandwiches and
hors d'oeuvres that made his mouth water.

They talked about easy things, the pace of the conversation matching the soft ripples in the
pond beneath them. There would be time later for the conversations that needed to be had but
for now, they only needed to exist together.

Harry sipped on the light colored wine that had been paired with their meal, his taste buds
happily bursting with the flavors of citrus and dried grapes. Next to him, Draco took small
bites of apples with warm brie as he detailed for his mother the complexities of his most
recent Ancient Runes assignment.

A sudden gust of wind caught their attention and Harry watched as an Owl landed next to
Narcissa and extended a leg that bore a letter for her. Wiping her fingers gently with one of
the cloth napkins, she untied the post and offered the bird a small bite of pastry. Harry looked
over curiously. The envelope was closed with the familiar ministry seal. He caught Draco’s
eye as Narcissa considered the parchment, and was met only with a small sigh.

“A letter from Father?” Draco asked, careful to keep his voice controlled of too much
emotion.
Narcissa nodded and set the letter aside, turning her attention back to her son with a soft
smile, “I will read it later.” At her side, the Owl hooted and launched back into the sky.
Flying, presumably, back toward London.

Lunch resumed, no less enthusiastic than it had been before the arrival of the letter. Harry
noticed, however, the constant grip Draco and Narcissa kept on each other's hands as they
discussed plans to return the portraits of Malfoy Family members to the halls over the
Summer months.

As the plates emptied and the last crumbs of food were vanished, Harry finished his glass of
wine with a final gulp. The sound prompted a quick look from Draco, communicating a
mixture of admonishment and humor at Harry's less than ideal table habits. Unsure of what
else to do, Harry winked back and smiled at the answering chuckle his boyfriend gave.

“Have you offered Mr. Potter a tour of the estate, Draco?” Narcissa asked, dabbing at
minuscule crumbs on the corners of her mouth with the edge of her napkin.

“Please, Mrs. Malfoy, you can call me Harry.” He told her, feeling his cheeks blush slightly at
the formality of her address.

“Only if you call me Narcissa.” She said with a smile.

“Can I call you Narcissa?” Draco interjected, swirling the bit of wine that was left in his glass
and hiding a smirk behind the rim. His mother turned her warm look away from Harry, and
froze it into something polite but spine shivering in her son’s direction.

“You can, Dragon. Just don’t be upset at what happens.”

It was with this interaction that Harry understood where Draco had gotten the strengths of his
personality from, and it certainly was not Lucius. For a moment, he was worried that the two
of them would send wordless hexes across the table, but then Narcissa’s hard look cracked to
once again reveal her true feelings of pride and joy. Draco lifted his glass in her direction, and
she answered with a soft clink of her own against his rim.

“I’ll put a pin in that, then.” Draco said, his eyes shining from the sun overhead and-from
what Harry could see- happiness .

He was starting to understand the appeal of the Manor, even in the wake of his memories
from a year ago.

After lunch, Draco led him on a tour of the Manor and the surrounding grounds. They moved
from the Western Balcony down towards the pond they had overlooked during the meal.
Nestled in between the hedges, plants, and so on were light stone paths that allowed them to
walk easily around the property.
From the pond, they turned towards the gardens. Harry breathed in the cool scent of roses and
fresh greenery. A soft breeze hummed along the manicured bushes, swirling loose petals
around their legs.

“These roses have been cultivated for centuries by my family.” Draco told him, plucking a
half bloomed bud from a bush at their side. He handed the rose to Harry, after using a quick
spell to remove the thorns from the stem. “Will you accept this token of my love, dear
Savior?” Draco smirked, holding the rose up between them.

“And they say romance is dead.” Harry chuckled, taking the rose and observing the soft
contours of the petals. Without giving it much thought, he took the flower and tucked it above
Draco’s ear, in between tufts of his platinum hair. It was a mirror of what Draco had done to
him months ago as they walked to Hogsmeade together, and it lit flames of endearment inside
his chest.

After the gardens, Draco led him back inside the Manor. They traversed the different wings,
with Harry nodding along as Draco pointed out the various artifacts that had been gifted to
the Malfoy’s over millennia. Old Books wafted their scent towards him in the libraries, while
the sweet scent of baking pastries floated up the stairs from the kitchens.

In the Western Wing, Draco grew quiet. Harry recognized this area, as it led to the cellar that
he and Ron had been thrown into the year before. Not far from this hall, was the entrance to
the ballroom. Harry noted the chandelier had been repaired and rehung. This part of the tour
ended much quicker than the others, something he would never fault Draco for.

When they crossed into the Northern Wing, Draco showed him the doors that opened to the
study where Voldemort had taken residence during those hellish months of war. Harry drew
Draco close to his chest, whispering sweet promises of protection as they faced the reflection
of darker days.

“I haven’t stepped inside since Tom punished me.” Draco whispered, clinging to Harry for
reassurance and grounding. He pulled away slightly, turning to face Harry with eyes rimmed
with redness. “Will you come inside with me? It’s something…something I’ve needed to
conquer for a while.”

“Of course.” Harry answered, with no hesitation in his voice. Draco nodded and took a deep
breath, straightening to his full height and turning back towards the doors. His hand shook
slightly as he reached for the handle, but made no move to slow it down. Apprehension
dissolved into determination.

The handle turned, the door opened, and they stepped over the threshold.

Harry noticed the bed first.

To the left of the room stood a bed with dark sheets and purple pillows, with the comforter
sitting askew and wrinkled. A hitch in Draco’s breath prompted him to look back, lifting his
hand in offering for his boyfriend to grab it if needed. Without pause, Draco’s fingers latched
onto his own, and they stood in the room with their hands firmly connected.
As Draco walked forward, Harry followed a mere half step behind. They moved toward the
bed first. He watched Draco lift a trembling hand to touch the bedding, and then drop his
wand down from where it rested in his sleeve. A quick wave and the bed turned into a table,
innocuous to anyone who didn’t know the history of the furniture.

Harry recognized the bed. He saw it in hazy visions, with Draco buried face down in the
fabric as Voldemort made use of his body. The memory twisted his stomach, and filled him
with the urge to pull Draco away from this relic of rape .

“Tom transfigured the bed from this table. I’d wait for him here, every night after dinner.”
Draco told him. His voice was just above a whisper, and his gaze stayed locked on the table
they now stood in front of. Harry squeezed his hand, unsure if there was anything he could
say that would make this experience easier.

Just when he thought about responding, Draco pulled him away. They took small steps
towards the middle of the room, stopping in a spot just slightly off center. At first, Harry
assumed they were going to look at the desk. This thought left him, however, when he saw
Draco’s eyes turned down to the floor.

Harry followed his gaze, and widened his eyes slightly in shock. On the floor, just a hint
away from their feet, were crimson stains and marks that looked to have been created from
fingernails scratching and digging away at the veneer on the hardwood. He lifted his eyes
back to Draco, unable to stop himself from following the paths of his scars.

“This is my blood.” Draco told him. He spoke around a swollen tongue, it seemed. Most
likely from having to bite it against the assault of memories. They observed the discoloration
in the wood for a few more moments, and then Harry was pulled once again.

This time, they stopped in front of the fireplace. Harry looked at the floor and searched the
bricks for any sign of the torment Draco had no doubt felt in this spot. There was nothing,
though.

“This used to be connected to the Floo Network. I would travel from Hogwarts to here each
Friday, as requested.” These words came out easier. Harry nodded, slightly over stimulated
by the emotions that filled the room. Something about being in the exact place where he’d
had visions of Voldemort taking advantage of Draco drained him quite a bit.

Draco took one more look around the room and nodded, decisively. Whatever he had come in
here to accomplish, it seemed to have been achieved. Harry was gently tugged back towards
the doors and into the hall. The stuffy heat of the Study gave way to the ever present chill that
hovered in the halls.

With the door closed behind them once again, Harry allowed himself to sigh quietly in relief.
Draco closed his eyes and took several, deep breaths, before opening them once again. Harry
gazed into the familiar silver irises, thinking suddenly of a snowflake.

“Thank you, Harry, for going in there with me.” Draco said to him, letting his eyes fall
halfway closed once again as he leaned forward to press their foreheads together. Harry
gently pulled his hand from Draco’s, then wrapped his arms around the blonde's beautiful,
narrow shoulders. “There’s one more place that I want to show you.”

“Lead the way.” Harry teased.

They walked through the halls again, some of them registering to Harry as familiar now that
he had seen most of the house. Draco opened a door that led to a spiral, stone staircase that
swirled upwards. In silence, they climbed the steps. Harry let his fingers brush briefly against
the cool, curving stone.

At the top of the staircase, was a single set of thick, wooden double doors. Draco pushed
them open and inclined his head for Harry to follow. He understood quickly that the space
was another library.

Hermione would have a field day here…

On the wall across from them, was a tapestry covered in sprawling branches that seemed to
reach up towards the heavens. It was a Family Tree, just like the one that was housed at
Grimmauld. Except the Black Tapestry was nowhere near as consuming.

“This way.” Draco said, pulling his attention away from the massive history of Malfoy men
and women. They walked through a few bookshelves before coming to a stop in front of a
gilded framed painting.

Surprise took Harry as he looked up at the painting of a man who looked frighteningly
similar to Draco. The portrait stared back at him, lifting a brown in the same way he had
watched Draco do thousands of times before. He understood exactly who he was gazing at,
even before the next words were spoken.

“Harry, I’d like to introduce you to my Grandfather, Abraxas Malfoy.”

 Meeting Abraxas
Chapter Notes

I hope everyone had a lovely Holiday season! I apologize for disappearing for a month
or so, work and life kept me incredibly busy.

Anyway, please enjoy this chapter and thank you thank you thank you to everyone
whose read, commented, and left kudos on this work. My appreciation is limitless for
y’all!

A heads up, the chapters from here on out are going to be shorter as we wrap up this
story!

Chapter 32: Meeting Abraxas

At first, Harry was speechless. Standing-for lack of better words-before him, was Abraxas
Malfoy.

He wasn’t entirely sure how to feel.

On the one hand, there was anger. Anger at who this man was during his life, and the
encouragement and support he had given to Voldemort. Harry knew, from fragmented
discussions with Draco, the ‘values’ that Abraxas Malfoy held.

But there was also something softer. Not acceptance or sympathy, but a cool sort of respect.
In the end, Abraxas had turned away from Voldemort in favor of his love for his son. He also
told Draco all that he knew, in order to give him a fighting chance against the evil that
polluted the Manor’s halls.

So, he tried to remain neutral.

“Hello, Abraxas.” Harry greeted, bowing his head the slightest bit. In the portrait, Abraxas
bowed as well and relaxed into his arm chair.

“So you are the Wizard who ended Tom’s life.” Abraxas mused, studying Harry with an
intense gaze. “ Twice .”

Harry had never been intimidated by Lucius Malfoy, but his father-even in painting form-was
a calculating presence. Could a painting hit him with an Unforgivable? Would Abraxas try to
toss a curse through the golden edges of his frame? Briefly, he glanced at Draco, who
remained at his side with his head high and proud.
“And you’re the Wizard who loved him.” Was all Harry could give as an answer. He didn’t
think he’d ever understand the monumental emotions that Abraxas had for Voldemort.

In the painting, Abraxas’ lip twitched and he tipped his head. The silence hung heavily
around them, drifting all around the library and pressing his shoulders down towards the
floor. At his sides, Harry’s fingers twitched and his hands clenched into fists. Being faced
with the person who had encouraged Voldemort, supported his campaign of evil and pain,
was suddenly overwhelming.

Abraxas did not deny his love, he did not seem remorseful or upset. He simply…accepted it.

“Do you know what he did to Draco?” Harry asked, his jaw clenched painfully around the
surge of emotions that beat in his chest. Next to him, Draco’s breath hitched and a pale hand
came up to rest gently on his upper arm.

Abraxas tilted his head curiously, his expression unreadable but still so unbelievably intense .
His eyes flickered briefly between Harry and Draco, settling his gaze ultimately back on the
Gryffindor.

“I can guess.” Was his only answer.

Conversing with Abraxas Malfoy was…enlightening. As tense as the air felt between the
three of them, the conversation carried on with little issue. In the end, Abraxas even thanked
Harry for protecting the Malfoy Family at the end of the war.

“I mourned the death of Tom a long time ago, Mr. Potter.” Abraxas had said, “After
everything, I now care only for the safety of my family. Something you, undoubtedly, have
provided.”

Harry followed behind Draco as they descended the steps of the tower. His mind buzzed with
half formed thoughts while his hands shook lightly at his sides. The staircase curved and
opened up to the corridor that would lead them back to the main area of the Manor.

He jumped slightly when a set of thin fingers tangled with his own, and tugged him gently to
a stop. Draco pulled him to the edge of the hall and set his eyes to look directly into Harry’s
own.

“Thank you.” Draco’s voice was soft and full of so much intention that, briefly, Harry
thought he had whispered a spell rather than words of gratitude.

“For what?” Harry asked, bringing his free hand up to cradle the side of Draco’s face. His
thumb rubbed along his Slytherins pale cheek, tracing one of the scars with a gentle touch.

“For so many things, but mostly for being here with me. I know the Manor hasn’t been the
most… welcoming place for you.”

Harry leaned in to press a chaste kiss to Dracos lips, “If I’m being honest, Draco. I would go
anywhere with you.”
Long arms wrapped around Harry’s waist. The temperature in the hall seemed to raise
comfortingly as the heat of their bodies pressed together and co mingled into one sensation.

“Would you really?” Draco asked, his lips twitching into a small smirk. An expression that
was both intriguing and foreboding.

“Within reason.” Harry answered, unable to stop himself from letting out small twinkles of
laughter.

The smirk on Draco’s face lifted into a smile. Keeping an arm around Harry’s waist, Draco
pushed them forward again to continue walking through the cavernous corridors.

“Where to, next?” Harry asked. He was happy to let Draco lead, especially considering the
fact that he would undoubtedly get lost somewhere if he were walking alone.

“I’d like to talk to my Mother…about, well, what happened.” Draco answered in a soft
voice.

“Do you want to talk to her alone?”

Draco shook his head and took in a long, deep breath of air, “I would appreciate it if you
were there, too. Will you come with me?”

There was no hesitation in Harry’s response as he readily agreed to support Draco however
he needed it.

Their movements slowed slightly, as if Draco was trying to extend the distance between him
and Narcissa’s suites. Eventually, though, they arrived in front of the doors and Harry
watched his Slytherin knock with a shaking fist.

“My darling Dragon.” Narcissa breathed with a smile as she opened the door and welcomed
them in. Draco pressed a kiss to her cheek, his eyes glimmering with a layer of tears that had
yet to be released.

“Do you have a moment, Mother?” Draco asked, a slight hiccup in his voice alluding to the
intensity of what needed to be said.

“For you, my Dragon, I have a lifetime.” She answered, bringing a hand up to cradle and
caress her son's left cheek. Her eyes turned slightly to acknowledge Harry, and she bowed her
head in respect as she greeted him.

Harry smiled back at her and responded with his own bow, that was nowhere near as graceful
as Narcissa Malfoy’s. She led them to a seating area by a stunning fireplace, and summoned a
try of tea with quick waves of her wand.

The following conversation was…heavy. That was the only word Harry could think to
describe it as he clutched Draco’s hand while the blonde recounted his months in the
Northern Wing study. Before long, Narcissa had abandoned her arm chair and settled on the
other side of her son to draw him into her arms.
There was crying, and red cheeked anger as a mother listened to the horrific abuse of her only
son. Abuse that took place right under her nose, in her very own home. When Draco was
finally done, his body slumped slightly towards Harry in what was clearly emotional and
physical exhaustion.

Above Draco’s head, he caught Narcissa’s eye as rogue tears swam from the corners. She
looked back at him, directly and without insecurity.

“I will never be able to properly thank you for ridding the world of him ,” she told him, her
voice strained from repressed sobs.

Harry blushed and ducked his head, shrugging his shoulders as he responded, “Well,
someone had to.”

“Not just someone,” Narcissa started, reaching over Draco’s lap to grasp his free hand, “ You
.”

The three of them sat together in a comfortable silence, listening only to the crackling of the
wood in the hearth. Draco fell asleep with his head on Harry’s shoulder and Narcissa’s
fingers running through his hair.

“Your son is incredibly brave, Mrs. Malfoy.” Harry whispered, careful not to disturb the
Slytherin in his arms.

“I wish he didn’t have to be.” She answered softly, tilting her head slightly as she gazed at
Draco. “I wish none of you had to be brave. No child should see the things you all have.”

He nodded his head slightly but repressed the urge to shrug once more. Silence surrounded
them again, and Harry’s eyes grew heavy as thoughts of a quick nap filtered through his
mind. Through his steadily blurring vision, he watched Narcissa summon a blanket and wrap
it around the two men curled up on her couch.

“Have a rest. Merlin knows you two have earned it.” She said, her voice warm and
comforting just like the fire in front of them or the soft blanket surrounding them. Narcissa
leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Draco’s temple, then surprised Harry by doing the same
to his own. He was too sleepy to blush but was unable to stop the small smile that grew on
his lips.

“Thank you,” Harry said through a yawn that he halfheartedly attempted to fight off.

“Sleep well,” Narcissa told them, then returned to her armchair and lifted a book that had
been left open on the side table.

Harry drifted off to sleep with one final thought, an image of the future with him and Draco
forever sharing blankets in endless places.
 Past, Present, and Future
Chapter Notes

Well lovelies, we’re finally at the end. I can hardly believe it but it’s true! After going
back and forth with myself, I decided to combine the last few chapters into one-as I felt
the flow of the story was just so much better this way. Thank you to everyone for
reading, commenting, leaving kudos and supporting me as I put my heart and soul into
this piece.

Cheers <3

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 33: Past, Present, and Future

Harry woke up on the first day of May with the elbow of the man he loved jammed
unceremoniously into his rib cage. With a wince and a gentle turn, he dislodged the
appendage and settled the still sleeping Draco back into a more comfortable position for the
both of them. The small dorm bed really did seem even smaller these days, making him think
wistfully once again of the Applewood Frame back at Grimmauld Place.

Or maybe he was thinking about how easy and wonderful that initial weekend had been. The
domesticity of it, the realization that he could build a family in honor of his parents, rather
than just in memoriam.

Regardless, it soon became clear that he was thinking about anything and everything except
what today was.

One year ago, he defeated Voldemort.

One year ago, he died.

In just a few short hours, he was expected to rise up the few steps to the temporary stage that
had been erected in the Courtyard and give a speech in front of hundreds of grieving witches,
wizards, magical creatures, and so on. His stomach churned unpleasantly at the thought.
Nerves overtook him quickly, launching him from the small dorm bed and straight towards
the toilets.

He stepped into the tiled room, breathing deeply in an attempt to garner some bit of control
over his body's unfortunate physical response. Amazing how he stayed fit and ready all
throughout his time in the Forest of Dean, just for one public speaking engagement to render
him sick and practically useless.
With a groan, he sank to the floor and leant his head against the cool porcelain of the
bathroom sink. The chill was a welcome sensation on his overheated skin, allowing him a
second to come back to the present and to himself.

His solitude didn’t last long. A few minutes later, the bathroom door was pushed open to
grant access to a new visitor. Harry just hoped they didn’t expect him to move right then, as
his body felt more or less rooted to the ground.

Opening his eyes, he turned to see who had entered the bathrooms behind him and was
greeted by the welcome sight of ginger hair and gangly limbs.

“Hey, Ron.” Harry croaked, smiling around the words. With little fanfare or discussion, Ron
sank down to the ground next to him with a long sigh.

“It’s been a year then, hasn’t it?” Ron remarked.

Harry nodded in response, wrapping his arms around his legs and letting his chin sit atop his
knees.

“I’m not gonna tell you that you’ll be great today, because I know how much you hate
speeches.” Ron started, bumping his shoulder lightly against Harry’s as he spoke in a light,
teasing tone. “But I am going to tell you that you were great a year ago. What you did…what
you sacrificed, for all of us, Harry it’s bloody mental.”

“Ron, I-” Harry was interrupted though, it seemed Ron was not done just yet.

“Just let me-blimey, ‘Mione is so much better at this.” Ron’s hands came up to rub his face,
clearly showing the strain it was putting on him to be-in a word- sentimental . Harry watched
and waited, staying silent until his friend was ready to continue. When he was ready, he
began again, “When I was younger, I never would have thought for a second that I would
want another brother. Not after growing up so close to Fred and George and their… antics .”

“But then, I met a scruffy haired boy at Kings Cross Station who changed my life
irrevocably-forever…do you like that word? Irrevocably …I had to look up the definition
when I first heard it. It means…well, basically it means that something has changed and can
never change back and I just thought that was perfect for us, y’know? ‘Cause I would never
change meeting you, Harry. Not because you’re the “Savior of the Wizarding World” but
because you’re the best mate anyone could ask for. And to me, the best brother I never even
knew I wanted.”

And bugger it all, Harry was crying now. Completely overwhelmed by the realization that
the people that were important to him considered Harry to be important too .

Ron, for his part, looked red faced and constipated. No doubt the speech had drained his
small reserve of emotional intensity and range. Still, he remained purposeful in his words.
There was no question that Ron was being anything other than sincere.

There was no denying that Ronald Weasley, in his own infuriating and sometimes misguided
way, loved Harry Potter.
And Harry? Well, Harry loved him right back.

“Go to Hell, you bloody tosser.” Was all Harry could say before smiling wide and leaping on
top of his very best friend to encircle him in the tightest hug he could manage.

With a squawk, Ron fell back against the floor tiles and sprawled his long limbs in all
directions. They dissolved into laughter, finding comfort in the absurdity of the moment and
their positions.

The comfort couldn’t last forever, though. The tiled floor was still cold and hard, and it soon
pressed painfully against their tangled bodies. Harry stood first, offering a hand to help Ron
climb to his feet as well.

They left the bathroom together, walking down the hall towards their respective dorm rooms.
Ron left him with a clap on the shoulder and a reminder to run his speech by Hermione
before debuting it on stage.

Harry crawled back into the bed he shared with Draco, pausing his thoughts to appreciate the
way his Slytherin was sleeping with his mouth open and arms thrown wantonly on the
pillow.

Suddenly, the day didn’t seem quite as daunting as it once did.

Harry gave his speech, as intended. It was a little stilted and awkward, and he tripped over a
word here and there but none of that seemed to matter much. As Hermione had told him, and
Draco had reiterated, he was more symbolic than anything else.

People came up to him afterwards to thank him, to grieve with him, to remind themselves
that the war was well and truly over. That Voldemort was gone once and for all.

They also came up to him with questions, questions that he still wasn’t sure how to answer.
The overarching theme being one simple query; What was next?

Well…he didn’t know.

All he did know, though, was that the future didn’t scare him the same way it did months ago.
Increasingly, it became something to embrace rather than to endure . Part of that was because
of the reassuring presence of Draco, and part of it was because he finally felt ready .

Ready for the world, and ready to find out who Harry Potter was-not simply who he had been
trained to be.

The evening of the Memorial was comfortably chilly. The stone of the courtyard held the heat
from the rays of sunshine that baked it throughout the day, and mingled with the soft wind
that rolled down from the mountains.
Harry looked up at the sky, watching the sun set slowly and turn the blues of a Spring day
into the oranges and pinks of a Spring evening. He realized, absentmindedly, that he was
standing in the exact spot where Voldemort's corpse had fallen the year before.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He heard, asked softly behind him, with only a hint of the teasing
he had grown endearingly accustomed to.

“I thought they weren’t worth that much?” He responded, not even fighting the smile that
was rapidly taking over his face.

“I dare say you’re worth investing in.” Draco answered, moving to stand next to him with a
smirk that almost looked like a genuine smile.

Without thought, Harry reached over and grabbed Draco’s hand. Their fingers twined
together and settled between them, finding equilibrium in Harry’s chilled skin and Draco’s
ever present warmth.

“Everyone keeps asking me, ‘what’s next?’ And I still don’t know. Do you?”

Draco waited a few seconds before answering. The silence was heavy with thought and
consideration, but not unpleasantly so.

“It’s more like…I know what I don’t want to do. Rather than knowing what I do . Does that
make sense?” Draco said, chewing his lip in a subtle show of his unsurety. Suddenly, he
turned to face Harry and asked, “If you could go anywhere, where would it be?”

Startled by the question, Harry merely shrugged his shoulders as he considered the answer. “I
don’t know…” he started, mulling the concept of travel around in his head. “I’ve never really
had the chance to think much about the world outside of Britain and Scotland.”

“The world is quite big, or so I’m told at least.” Draco responded, and they both chuckled at
the words.

Silence settled around them again, easy going and pleasantly calm. Eventually, Draco let his
head fall to rest gently on Harry’s shoulder. Prompting him to speak again, “I’d love to see a
bit of it sometime, with you.”

He didn’t expect anything to be said to that admission, and so was surprised by Draco’s next
words. Spoken so determinedly, with little room for hesitation or insecurity, “Let’s do that
then.”

“What?”

“After our NEWTs. Let’s travel the world together.” Draco spoke so Matter-of-factly, as if the
concept of dropping everything to gallivant across the world was something simple,
something attainable.

“We can’t do that…” Harry protested, shaking his head slightly but still careful not to jostle
Draco from where he still rested.
 “Why not?”

“Because! That’s just…that’s not what we’re supposed to do.” Even as he said it, he realized
how flimsy the reasoning was. He couldn’t help but laugh a little, slightly overwhelmed by
the concept of visiting the corners of the world with Draco Malfoy of all people.
Overwhelmed and, well, excited .

“Harry…when on Earth have you ever done what you were supposed to do.” Draco said,
lightly bumping their sides together.

“When I walked into the forbidden forest to die.” Harry responded, wincing a bit at the
memory. Draco, however, took that in stride.

“Yes well, I think you’ve met your quota for responsibility then. Let’s see a bit of the world
together. I dare say we’ve both earned some time off.” He raised his head off Harry’s
shoulder, looking him straight on with a shine of excitement brightening his eyes of gunmetal
and steel.

“You’re serious? You want to…travel the world with me?” Harry was astonished now.
Partially unable to believe the trajectory of this conversation.

“Harry, the world around us has never seemed quite so bright and beautiful as it does when
I’m with you. I’d love nothing more than to experience even more of it. Together. Let’s go
see the world that you fought so hard to save.” Draco spoke the words to him with such
conviction, such appreciation , that Harry felt a hundred emotions at once. The strongest of
which was easy to pinpoint.

“Is it okay? To love someone as much as I love you?” He asked, awed by the person Draco
Malfoy had become.

“Love is not a weakness, Harry. That is something I know you understand.”

And to that, there was nothing to say. There was only Draco and Harry. Holding hands in the
courtyard, enveloped in each other in a million ways.

Past, present, and-thankfully- future .

Chapter End Notes

I’m sad to see this story end but also, so happy for the journey it took!

And the good news is that, I’ve already started a new story! The first two chapters are
already posted and can be found under the title; The Champion of Slytherin.
I would also love to hear your thoughts now that Adtitulo is all said and done <3

Finally, I made a lil playlist for this story if you’re interested;

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4TL7wv6P34jqRgvMIjkPtS?
si=Yt_IqBhKSsCbnEUdZFYp9A

Once again, thank you all so much for loving this story as much as I do.
Please drop by the Archive and comment to let the creator know if you enjoyed their work!