"

So this starts around the end of September of an AU seventh year. I was also assuming that Lucius Malfoy wouldn't be in prison very long, what with his various connections with influential people, so he's here too.

Includes all the extra scenes from the DVD extras originally not included or deleted 

1  September 29 to October 1

Day 1, Tuesday

...the hell was that?

Harry swam back into awareness, finally focussing on something. The ceiling. The very familiar ceiling of... the hospital wing.

Damn, not again, was his first thought.

How did it happen this time? was his second.

Quidditch? No, he wasn't wearing Quidditch gear, and didn't hurt anywhere other than his head. Not the scar itself but the general area around his... actually, all over his head. Pounding pain behind his eyes, in the back, near his neck...

He heard a faint moan, realized he hadn't made it, looked for its source.

Malfoy. Groaning and looking like he'd just come to, in the bed to the right of him. Promptly surrounded by a press of adults - Madam Pomfrey, Dumbledore, Lucius Malfoy - what?

"Harry!" Pomfrey glanced over at Harry as a familiar voice spoke from the left side of his bed. Harry turned quickly.

"Professor Lupin?"

Lupin smiled. "How do you feel?"

"Like I need a chocolate," Harry said, disoriented, and Lupin smiled. "What happened?"

Lupin reached into his pocket, taking out a square of chocolate and placing it on the bed next to Harry as Madam Pomfrey bustled over to him.

"How are you feeling, Potter?"

"Fine, I think - my head hurts a bit," Harry began, and she nodded briskly.

"That's to be expected, you were knocked out cold. Here, sit up," she motioned, and put a small bottle of potion on the table next to his bed. "Eat up that chocolate and drink what's in the bottle. What do you remember?"

Harry sat up slowly, still confused. There seemed to be a great many people around - not just Dumbledore, Pomfrey, Lucius Malfoy and Lupin, but McGonagall and Snape as well - and he couldn't focus on any one voice. What was going on?

"Not much - I, I was leaving a classroom, I think..."

"What curse?" Malfoy's voice rose from other bed and he sat up. Harry frowned as a rustle of unease went through the adults around him, none of them seeming to want to answer. "What curse?" Malfoy demanded again.

"Boys," Dumbledore said slowly, "I'm afraid you've been... well, bonded."

Silence.

"What?" Malfoy said weakly.

"A bonding spell was on a door you both went through, set to go off in the presence of high emotion. When you walked through it, you were arguing about something, and..."

"No. God, no," Malfoy looked at the adults, his eyes growing wider as each face mirrored the sombre look on Dumbledore's. "That - that's not possible." He stared at his father, who pressed his lips together and nodded. Silence. "That's... that's fucking - that's insane! No!"

"Draco-" his father began, and Harry felt a flicker of fear as Malfoy interrupted him and scrambled off the bed.

"No! You can't be serious!"

"Mr. Malfoy, I'm sorry, but we're absolutely sure," Dumbledore said.

"Fuck! NO!"

"Wait, what are you talking about?" Harry broke in. "What bonding spell?"

Malfoy gaped at Harry. "A bonding spell, you fucking wanker."

Harry glanced from Malfoy to the adults, utterly lost and also more than a little bewildered that no one was saying a word about Malfoy's foul language. He would have expected his father at least to reprimand him, but Lucius Malfoy was looking shaken, almost ill, nothing like the cold collected authority figure he had always been.

"But what - what does that mean?"

"You don't even know - oh, wonderful," Malfoy slammed his fist into his night table and turned away in disgust.

"Potter, bonding is wizard marriage-" Pomfrey began, and Malfoy interrupted her.

"It's a fucking marriage curse, Potter," Malfoy spat. "The curse was on the door, we got caught in it, we're married. What part of that is too difficult for your little Gryffindor brain to grasp?"

"But how can - marriage isn't a curse, how can-"

"Potter. Let me explain," Professor McGonagall said firmly. "In the wizarding world, a marriage is not a marriage until a bonding spell has been cast, binding the two spouses together. Normally this is done voluntarily, much the same way that Muggles make vows-" Lucius made an indignant sound in his throat but didn't interrupt her, "-but unlike Muggle vows, a bonding spell imposes certain behaviour on the spouses. And unlike Muggle vows, a bonding spell can be cast as a curse, without the consent of the two parties. It is of course absolutely illegal to cast such a curse, but it is still binding on the parties."

Harry frowned at her, utterly baffled. A curse that forced people to bemarriedagainst their will? It sounded like a bad joke. He quickly glanced around the hospital wing, hoping to spot the Weasley twins cackling at the success of their latest hallucination gag.

No such luck. "But that's ridiculous. Love potions, I understand, but how you be forced to be married?"

"The spell compels you to act as spouses. For the first months of the marriage, you need to live together, be near one another almost constantly, do everything a married couple does, or suffer consequences."

"Everything - no, wait-"

"No, that does not always mean consummating the relationship sexually," Pomfrey cut in matter-of-factly. "People can be bonded without being married - it happens with twins sometimes, or very close friends who've decided to enjoy the benefits of a bond without the sexual aspect. But the majority of bonds are also sexual in nature, unless there is a good reason for them not to be."

"Such as hating each other?"

"That's not normally a problem," she said bluntly. Harry gaped at her.

"Mordred, close your mouth, Potter, you look even stupider than usual," Malfoy snapped.

Harry ignored him. "But why would anybody consent to that?"

"There are benefits, of course. Heightened magical powers, that sort of thing. As well as everything else that applies to non-bonded marriage, like companionship, friendship, emotional balance."

"But how can any of that happen if you don't even want this in the first place?"

"The bonding spell helps bring about those benefits by imposing behaviour likely to foster them. Most marriages start from at least the willingness to enter into the marriage, but it's not impossible to make a marriage work out of a forced bonding."

"How?"

"Because you have no choice about the matter, so you make it work," Snape said curtly. "Muggles think it imperative to start with flowers and romance and sickly sweetness to create commitment. Wizards know better."

"How would you know?" Harry snapped before he could stop himself or say it in a semi-respectful tone. But Snape didn't seem to notice.

"Though it is absolutely no business of yours, I was married, Potter. For seven years, happily, to a woman I hardly knew when we bonded."

Malfoy glared at him. "That's completely different!"

"Many wizard marriages start out with nothing else, Draco," Lucius Malfoy said quietly and Malfoy glared at him too. "You know your mother and I barely knew one another before our bonding. You knew something like this would happen some day, you had agreed to marry whomever we chose for you-"

"I agreed because it was supposed to be an alliance that would benefit the family, and, and I knew you wouldn't force me to marry somebody I despised and-"

Lucius grimaced and shook his head. "I know. But you don't have a choice. Calm yourself down-"

"Don't fucking well tell me to calm myself down!" Malfoy shouted, and Lucius frowned at him, standing up.

"He's upset, Lucius, he needs time to-" Snape started to say but Lucius cut him off, facing his son sternly.

"Draco! You are upset, I can understand that, but that is no excuse for-" Lucius tried to put a quelling hand on Malfoy's shoulder but gasped and pulled back as Malfoy flinched and cried out in pain. "I'm - I'm sorry, I forgot-" he put his hand out, not touching Malfoy, who stared at him in dismay. "Sit down. Please."

Malfoy dropped into a chair, jaw set and hands still clenched.

"I'm sorry," Lucius said softly, and his words and manner chilled Harry thoroughly. He'd never seen Lucius Malfoy treat his son with anything other than cold reserve, and yet here he was, the very picture of a concerned father, looking like he wanted to comfort his son but was unable to figure out how. Oh god. "Draco, I'm sorry," Lucius repeated.

Malfoy put his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, his head in his hands. Harry looked from one adult to another, his dread growing at their resigned, mournful expressions.

"Wait - don't wizards ever get unbonded?" Harry asked desperately. "Divorced?"

"Both parties must agree to dissolve the bond-" Snape began.

"I think we can safely say we'd both agree-"

"-and only the caster can break the spell. It isn't normally a problem because the casters are the pair in question, but in the case of an involuntary bond..."

"You mean whoever did this to us has to break it? We can't break it ourselves?"

"It's fascinating just how long it takes to get such simple concepts through your thick head, Potter," Malfoy spat, not raising his head from his hands.

"You can rest assured that we will do everything possible to find the person or persons responsible," Snape said, "but the odds of doing so are remarkably slim, unless someone were to step forward and confess. This is a highly illegal spell, Mr. Potter. Nobody will admit to having cast it. And whoever did so will almost certainly cover their tracks."

"But... but I'm not even gay!"

Malfoy rolled his eyes as his father made another tsk of distaste. "Honestly, Muggles," Malfoy sneered.

"We understand that in the Muggle world there is some confusion about sexual relationships between people of the same sex," Pomfrey began, "but in the wizarding world-"

"I've never heard of a single married gay couple in the wizarding world!"

"You have not been part of our world for long," McGonagall said, "and you have been at school where most of the people around you are not married. It's rare but not unheard of. It's true that many people feel that it isn't terribly responsible of wizards to marry somebody of the same sex, as our birthrates are not as high as they should be, but we don't have the kind of blind prejudice that the Muggle world has."

"'I'm not even gay'" mimicked Malfoy nastily. "Honestly, how completely Gryffindorto focus on the least relevant problem."

"So what's the most relevant problem? The fact that if I have to live with you, I may very well kill you?" Harry shot back.

"That is not a laughing matter, Potter," McGonagall said firmly. "Part of why involuntary bonding spells are so very illegal is that they can result in the spouses murdering one another. It is an extremely stressful situation to be subjected to. You will both need to be closely monitored to make sure that the... animosity between you does not get out of hand and result in serious injury to either of you."

"That doesn't seem like such a bad solution right now," Harry muttered, and Malfoy rolled his eyes.

"Just how stupid are you, Potter? Because you're really reaching new heights here-"

"Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall cut in. "Kindly shut up." She turned to Harry. "While the bond is new, you are highly attuned to one another's emotions and well-being. If one spouse dies or is seriously injured, the shock is usually enough to kill the other. Especially if the other spouse is the cause of that death or serious injury."

Harry sat back limply.

There was a long silence, finally broken by McGonagall.

"Boys, I think this will take some time for you to accept. I believe it would be best if Madam Pomfrey explains some of what you can expect to go through, while we discuss how best to get you through it in one piece."

"You mean you're going to discuss without us-" "You'regoing to decide-" both boys spoke over each other in their indignation, and Lucius Malfoy broke in.

"Draco, you're hardly in a position to make any decisions right now. You don't even fully understand what a bonding spell entails," he pointed out.

"That doesn't mean you get to decide everything for me!" Malfoy said hotly, and his father's eyebrows climbed up in surprise. So did Harry's. As far as he'd ever seen, Malfoy's father did decide everything for his son, right down to which classes he took and which people he socialized with. Malfoy had to be in severe distress to even think of rebelling against that.

"Gentlemen, nobody will be making any decisions for you," McGonagall said reasonably. "We will simply discuss possibilities until you can join us with better information about your situation and take part in the discussion." Lucius Malfoy stared at her in surprise as well, and a distant part of Harry's brain reflected that it was actually rather gratifying to see him so off-balance. If Harry hadn't been utterly off-balance himself, he would have found Lucius Malfoy's expression downright hilarious.

"It's all right, Harry," Lupin said gently. "Go, listen to Poppy."

ooooooo

Harry climbed into his hospital bed a few hours later, still in a state of numb semi-shock.

Following an extremely disturbing information session with Pomfrey, they'd returned to the adults and worked out the practical aspects of how to live in constant close proximity. Harry was glad Dumbledore had thought to call Remus Lupin in, as the closest thing to a parental figure Harry had at the moment. He'd relied heavily on Lupin' steadiness and good humour through the process of working through their school schedules and living arrangements, the highly distressful discussion about Quidditch, and the growing realization that this was really, really not a joke.

Hermione and Ron, when he'd finally seen them a few hours later, had not been as comforting, through no fault of their own. Their relieved expressions upon seeing him safe and well had changed into horror as they learned of the curse; Ron more so than Hermione, because he'd been raised knowing what a bonding spell was. He'd known enough, for example, to knock Hermione's hand aside when she reached out to give Harry a hug; the curse was supposed to make anybody's touch but a spouse's quite painful for the first few months. But otherwise, they hadn't known what to say to Harry, and their worried and hostile glances at Malfoy, who sullenly ignored them, made Harry all too aware that this was one of his worst nightmares come to life. He hated Malfoy as much as Ron and Hermione did. But unlike them, he couldn't just walk out of the room and avoid him.

Malfoy hadn't asked to have any of his friends visit him in the Infirmary.

Luckily, Harry hadn't had to face stares at the Great Hall, as their dinners were brought to the hospital and they ate as far apart as they could. In fact, so far Harry really didn't see why they couldn't go back to their dorms, as they didn't seem to need to be that physically close. Pomfrey had assured them, however, that actually being in different rooms would be very painful.

And so now here they were. Getting ready for bed, in the hospital. So far they had at least agreed on one thing: they both wanted to carry on as before as much as possible. No taking a few days off to come to terms with this or get to know each other better or any of the other suggestions the adults had made. The Heads of the houses would be explaining the situation to their students tonight after dinner, to answer questions and deal with any misinformation, and they would be going back to classes tomorrow and moving into their own rooms after school.

Harry glanced at Malfoy, who was already in the next bed and staring up at the ceiling expressionlessly. By tacit agreement, they hadn't said much to one other, except for small snipes as they listened to Madam Pomfrey.

Harry lay down in his own bed, staring at the ceiling himself, thinking of Pomfrey's information. Roughly five or six months of forced contact. Having to be in the same room, within roughly six to twelve feet of each other, to the point that being too far apart would cause them extreme discomfort and eventual collapse if they ignored the urge to come back to each other. Needing to touch every few minutes. Slowly growing sexually aware of one another, then needing sexual contact, within a few weeks of the spell being cast. Being attuned to one another's moods, so that physical or emotional pain or discomfort for one would result in pain and discomfort for the other.

Brilliant. Just brilliant. One of Malfoy's chief pleasures in life seemed to consist of making Harry feel pain and discomfort. Harry would've been quite pleased at the thought of that backfiring on Malfoy if he hadn't been self-aware enough to know that causing Malfoy to feel bad also held a great deal of appeal for him.

And he didn't even want to think about the whole "contact" thing.

So. Tomorrow was Wednesday. Double Potions, first thing in the morning, the same mixed-house class as always. Then, instead of Muggle Studies, he'd attend Transfiguration with the Slytherins and Ravenclaws, then lunch, then back to his own Gryffindor Charms class, with Malfoy now tagging along. Then off to Malfoy's Arithmancy class. Thankfully, Hermione was taking that class too, so she could keep him company and help him catch up. Then for last period he'd be sitting in Malfoy's Ancient Runes class but working on Astronomy, as they'd been unable to compromise on those two and had decided to see if they could just attend their current classes every other day. They were fairly easy classes anyway.

God, how had the world changed so dramatically in one short moment.

Harry sighed. He wanted to be back in his dorm room listening to Ron and Neville and Dean and Seamus' bedtime routines. He wondered what his roommates were doing right now. Were they discussing him? Upset that, just like that, Harry was out of their dorm room and off the Quidditch team? Talking about what it would be like to have to have bloody Draco Malfoy around every time they wanted to see Harry? Wondering what he was doing? Missing him?

He certainly missed them. Missed his home. Missed everything.

Harry turned over, his back to Malfoy, and tried to make himself go to sleep.

ooooooo

Day 2, Wednesday

Draco opened his eyes, momentarily disoriented. Where - oh.

Oh, god. He closed his eyes tightly, willing himself back to sleep, desperately hoping he could somehow make whatever he'd been dreaming about real, and this morning's reality a nightmare only.

He opened his eyes again. No. No such luck.

He looked over at the next bed. Potter was still asleep, his face peaceful and relaxed, and Draco was seized with an almost overwhelming urge to hit him. Hard. For daring to look so untroubled when here they were, in the hospital, facing the first day of the rest of their lives bloody well shackled together.

Draco turned his back to Potter, hoping he could convince himself that he was just in the hospital due to a Quidditch injury. Pushed that thought away, because that made him think about Quidditch and that was too painful to deal with first thing in the morning. Unfortunately, just about everything else that came to mind was also too painful to deal with first thing in the morning.

And it was odd, he thought, how his mind couldn't seem to decide between frantically skittering away from the memory of Pomfrey's information session last night, and rehashing it in excruciating detail. Especially the part about eventually needing to touch one another - and Draco's mouth twisted in disgust, as he felt absolutely no desire to touch Potter right now in any way other than violently. But apparently they'd feel compelled to touch, casually at first, then for comfort, and then, eventually, in a sexual manner. Draco grimaced at that thought too. Not a good image, that one. Not that touching another boy that way was all that disgusting a concept, but Harry Potter of all people. God, how revolting. Only marginally better than touching a Mudblood.

Draco sighed and closed his eyes again. It could have been worse, he tried to tell himself. He could have walked past that bloody door arguing with Hermione Granger.

Actually, no. There wasn't any way of making this any better. Granger would've been awful and a horrible embarrassment to the pure-blooded Malfoy family, but in the end she was just a Mudblood. As long as Draco didn't have children with her (and he would have made sure he didn't) she would've been tolerable. She wasn't the enemy of their family's Lord.

Draco couldn't imagine how their family would survive this blow. The Dark Lord surely wouldn't feel he could trust Lucius' loyalty to remain unshakeable. Maybe, in a few years, when the spell had worn down a little and the bond was less raw, it would be possible for Draco to survive with few ill effects once Voldemort vanquished Potter. But... the confrontation was supposed to happen soon. And Voldemort would surely not totally trust a man who knew that his only son might die if Potter was killed or injured.

So much for Father's position as Voldemort's right-hand man.

God, this was so utterly horrible.

"All right then, gentlemen, time to wake up," Madam Pomfrey bustled into the room and Potter woke up. Draco watched his face go through the same disorientation, followed by sinking realization of where he was and what that meant. Potter glanced over at him and they shared a blank look of distaste. Draco looked away.

"Now, I'll just have a look at you both-" Pomfrey took out her wand and waved it over Draco and he flinched a little, alarmed. "Just a quick once-over, Mr. Malfoy... you seem fine..." she turned to Potter and repeated the movement, "As do you... how did you sleep?"

"Er, fine," mumbled Potter. She looked at Draco and he nodded.

"Separately?"

"Yes!" they both snapped in identical tones of embarrassment and irritation.

Pomfrey fixed them both with a level gaze, "I have to ask. I'm monitoring the state of your bond. In the next few months I will be asking plenty of questions that you will find intrusive and possibly embarrassing, and you had better get used to it." She clapped her hands and a couple of house elves appeared with breakfast trays, two others with small piles of clothing and books. "Here are your books and clothing, showers are in there," she pointed, "and you've got forty-five minutes until class. Any questions?"

Draco and Potter stared at her.

"Right then. Hurry up, gentlemen," she bustled off.

ooooooo

Snape didn't glance at them as they entered his Potions class and had a battle of wills as to where they would sit. They had been mostly speaking only in monosyllables until this point, save for an occasional, "Hurry up," or "Get out of my way."

"Comeon," Draco hissed impatiently, not liking the fact that their classmates were trying to look like they weren't staring at them.

"No," Potter muttered back. "I want to sit here."

Draco didn't bother to consider it. There was no way he was going to sit next to the Mudblood and the Weasel. "Don't be ridiculous."

"You go sit wherever you want," Potter hissed, setting his books down with a thump next to Granger. "I'm sitting here." Draco narrowed his eyes, not wanting to give in, then looked at his regular desk, mentally measuring the distance.

Maybe twelve, fifteen feet or so. Fine, then. He stalked over to it and sat down next to Goyle, ignoring Goyle's startled expression and returning his fellow Slytherins' hesitant greetings with a curt nod.

Halfway through the class, he was almost ready to admit this had been a bad idea. What had started as faint unease had turned into annoyance, then an itching feeling like he needed to go sit next to Potter. The feeling was growing stronger and he was becoming unable to concentrate on the lesson. Snape was saying something about how you had to dry some plant... what was it... to prevent some potion from doing... something...

Brilliant, Draco thought. Very precise. He made himself focus on Snape despite the growing irritation. It felt like he was being surrounded by buzzing bees. He shook his head, trying to get rid of the feeling. No, that didn't work. He rubbed his eyes, letting out a small breath of annoyance.

"Malfoy? You all right?" Goyle said quietly.

"Yeah," he muttered, forcing himself into stillness.

Get up. Get up, walk to the back of the class, tell Granger to move, and sit. You'll feel better.

He ignored the little voice, blew out his breath again and focussed on Snape.

"The hollyhock must be used within three days of harvesting, who can tell me why?" Snape glanced over at Draco, his eyes narrowing briefly. He flicked his gaze over to the back of the room, then back to Draco. Draco tensed, hoping Snape wouldn't pick on him because he really had no idea - "Potter?" Snape said. Draco gave a small start. There was a short silence, followed by an audible small thump. Draco forced himself not to turn around.

"Um - I'm sorry, Professor, what was the question?" Potter's voice sounded rather unsteady.

Snape did that smirking-without-moving-a-facial-muscle thing he was so good at, as the Slytherins in the room chuckled. "I asked, Mr. Potter, why the hollyhock must be used within three days of harvesting."

Silence. "I don't know, sir."

"Then why don't we see if you can deduce it. This is a question even Longbottom should be able to answer. Tell me, what is the purpose of hollyhock in this potion? And no, Miss Granger, do not whisper the answer to him."

Another silence. "I don't know."

Snape's non-smirk grew and Draco felt himself inexplicably blushing as the snickers from his fellow Slytherins got louder. "What is the purpose of the potion, then, Mr. Potter?"

"I don't know," Potter replied sullenly.

"What is the name of the potion?"

"I. Don't. Know," Potter said clearly, anger simmering through his tone. Draco felt his own pulse speeding up, anger growing in him as well at Snape's questioning. Damn it, Snape knew exactly what was wrong, why couldn't he pick on somebody else-

No, Snape was right. Potter wasn't paying attention and Snape knew exactly why that was and he was doing the right thing. Making Potter look like a fool in front of the class so that Potter wouldn't repeat the same mistake twice - he'd sit where Draco wanted to sit next time. This was good. He should be feeling grateful to Snape.

Except that, thanks to the damnable bond, Draco was feeling Potter's anger instead of gratitude.

"What is the name of this class?" Snape asked.

"Potions!" Potter snapped.

"Finally, a question you can answer. Very good, one point to Gryffindor for that answer. Ten points from Gryffindor for your complete inability to answer anything else." There was a rustle of dismay from the Gryffindors, and a wave of snickers from the Slytherins. "I would suggest you find a way to concentrate, Potter. I will be calling on you again."

Draco closed his eyes tightly, trying to push away Potter's anger and resentment and his own rapidly growing need to change seats and put them both out of their misery.

No. No. No no no no.

Snape was talking again, about who knew what, and there was another voice closer to him that he couldn't even identify and the bees were buzzing louder and

"Ow, FUCK!" he burst out, white hot pain blazing from his arm, pulling away from the source of the pain and opening his eyes to Goyle gaping at him and the rest of the class staring in surprise. He moved back, rubbing his arm and trying to steady himself.

"Is there a problem?" Snape's voice cut through the buzzing.

"I didn't mean to - I'm sorry, Professor, I forgot-" Goyle said stupidly, "I, he didn't look very good and he didn't answer when I asked him if he was all right and I just tapped his arm, sir-"

Snape made an annoyed sound. "Goyle, move to that empty desk. Potter, take Goyle's place. The reason that hollyhock must be used within three days of harvesting-" and Draco lost the rest of the sentence as Goyle picked up his things and moved to the next desk over with an apologetic look at Draco. Potter thumped his books onto the desk, sitting down without looking at him.

How utterly disgusting. Potter was sitting next to him and almost immediately the world felt relatively normal again - no buzzing, no itch, no small voice telling him anything. Feeling infinitely better, picking up the thread of Snape's lecture easily and filling in the parts he'd missed almost without effort. Of course, any fool could figure out that if hollyhock was being used for its curative properties, those faded after three days.

He dipped his quill and wrote down Snape's words, glancing over his notes so far and stopping in surprise. His penmanship was awful, almost illegible. There were words missing, mix-ups... he was going to have to borrow somebody's notes to get anything resembling decent information from the last half-hour or so of this class. He glanced over to Potter's paper and chuckled at the absolute mess evident there.

"Shut up," Potter muttered under his breath. Draco smirked and bent his head back to his own notes, immensely cheered up despite the animosity rolling off Potter like a cloud.

ooooooo

They entered the Great Hall together, having successfully passed the rest of the morning without speaking to one another but now stopping short as they realized they had no idea where to sit. It hadn't been a problem during Transfigurations, which was right after Potions, because since Potter had switched into Draco's class, he'd had to sit wherever Draco wanted. And where Draco wanted to sit was with his friends, who snickered at Potter and welcomed Draco back amongst them as though nothing had happened and studiously avoided any mention of the curse. Draco had amused himself for part of the class by imagining what the various parents of his friends must have said to them yesterday. It seemed, for the time being at least, that the overall tactic was one of cautious watchfulness. The Malfoy family had suffered a severe setback, but it was not unthinkable that they would recover and most of their peers had learned through bitter experience not to try to exploit their moments of weakness; the Malfoys always exacted revenge.

That didn't help in this current situation, though. The Great Hall was filling with students and here they were, between the Slytherin and Gryffindor tables.

Potter started towards the Gryffindor table and Draco grabbed his sleeve. "Where are you going?"

"My table. I had to sit with your friends the entire morning. It's your turn."

"I'm not sitting at your table."

"Why not?"

"Don't be stupid."

"Malfoy," Potter yanked his arm away, "We have to compromise, remember? Give and take? Does this sound at all familiar?"

"I compromised by dropping History of Magic and switching into your bloody Charms class and picking up Herbology."

"I dropped Muggle Studies and-"

"I'mnotsitting at the Gryffindor table!"

"Well, where do you suggest we eat? Because I'm not sitting at the Slytherin table!"

"No Slytherin would want you there anyway!"

"Then come up with another alternative!" They glared at one another, not caring that quite a few people were watching their argument. Finally Draco moved to the nearest table, reached past two startled Ravenclaws, grabbed two sandwiches and an apple, and motioned to Potter to do the same. Potter did so, following Draco out of the Great Hall and into the nearest courtyard, and plunking himself down on a bench as far away from Draco as he could.

ooooooo

This... Draco really didn't need this. At the end of an entire day spent with Potter, trying as much as possible to ignore him and not think about how completely screwed up this situation was, after an entire day spent trying, as much as possible, to remain in denial about it all, this was... really too much.

Charms class had been bad enough, as he'd had to sit entirely too close to the Mudblood and Weaselby and been surrounded by bloody Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs and not a single Slytherin face in sight, but after that they'd had only classes that he'd already been taking before this damn curse.

But now at the end of the day he needed to unwind and maybe go study in the library or spend time with his house mates, playing the interminable Slytherin political games that he was so good at, and enjoyed so much. He needed the comfort of his common room and his dorm room. Having been an only child, he'd always hated having to share a room with three other boys at school, but right now he would've given anything to see Goyle and Crabbe's stupid faces and hear Zabini's affected drawl.

Instead, he'd had to walk past his housemates with Potter in tow, go into his room, and pack away his things so that the house elves could take them to their new quarters. Then he'd had to follow Potter into Gryffindor tower so Potter could do the same.

And now, here they were. In rooms normally reserved for married professors. One small bedroom, looking rather crowded with two student beds in it. A sitting room, large enough for a few sofas and chairs and two desks. A washroom with a bath - no common washroom to share with other students. A small storage area.

If it had been his own, he would've been quite pleased. Unfortunately, he had a roommate.

He had the most incredible desire to either kill Potter or burst into tears. And he couldn't do either one. He took refuge in automatic motion, putting his things away. Didn't bother to do anything with the knickknacks he'd taken from his dormitory - that would be admitting that this was his home now, and he certainly didn't want to do that. Best to simply put away his clothing and books, as Potter was doing, while ignoring Potter as he had the whole day, then pick up the Herbology notes he'd received from Professor Sprout and start catching up. He sat down to study and sensed Potter looking at him.

"What?" he asked.

"That's it? You're just settling in to work?"

"I've missed the first month of Herbology," he said curtly. "I don't want to damage my grades. You should get started on Arithmancy; it's not an easy subject."

"It'll be dinner time in an hour."

Draco shrugged and flipped the page.

"Where will we be sitting for dinner?"

"Not at the Great Hall."

"We'll miss announcements."

"I don't care."

"I do."

"Good for you."

"Malfoy, I want to go to the Great Hall and be around other people. As much as I appreciate your silence I don't intend to stay locked up in here with you forever."

"Not your idea of a proper honeymoon, Potter? I'm so sorry, I'll be sure to ask my father to book us a cruise through the Mediterranean." He flipped another page. "After I've caught up on this stupid class."

"Malfoy. I'm going to the Great Hall for dinner. I'm going to sit with my friends."

"I'll tell the elves which bed to deposit you on when they bring you in after you pass out."

He could almost hear Potter counting to ten. "Why don't we sit at the Gryffindor table today, and the Slytherin tomorrow?"

"Because my house mates will throw up if they have to sit near you while they're eating."

"Then we can sit at the Gryffindor table again. Gryffindor constitutions are not as delicate."

"Piss off."

"I'd love to. Unfortunately there's this little problem of the curse." Draco ignored him. "Malfoy," Potter's voice was taking on an exasperated edge. Draco continued to ignore him. "Look at me when I'm talking to you." Draco yawned and flipped another page. This was new. Potter had done this to him a few times over the years - pretending indifference, refusing to be baited, driving Draco to distraction. Draco hadn't tried it before, but he could see why Potter did it. It was quite gratifying. He'd have to remember that.

"Malfoy!" Potter sounded really angry now, and Draco smiled to himself as he carefully kept his eyes on his Herbology notes. Potter slammed his fist on the desk in front of Draco, causing Draco to jump slightly and look up at him.

"Do you have a problem, Potter?" he drawled, taking in Potter's red face with glee.

"Stop being an ass and talk to me!"

"I will not sit at the Gryffindor table for dinner, you will not be allowed to sit at the Slytherin table, I would suggest we ask the house elves to bring us dinner here. I think we're done with this particular domestic dilemma."

Potter stared at Draco for a moment, then stalked off and threw himself down onto his bed.

ooooooo

"There's somebody at the door," their portrait, Sir Xander the German Vampire Hunter, announced a few hours later.

"Who?"

"Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley."

"Tell them to come in-" "Tell them to bugger off-" they spoke simultaneously.

"This is my room too," Potter said very quietly, and Draco thought for a minute, weighing his options. He was most tempted to simply refuse, and see what happened. But Potter, damn him, was right - they couldn't just be alone all the time. And while Draco's next impulse was to tell Potter that if he wanted to be with his friends, he had to do it outside their rooms, unfortunately that would mean that Draco would have to leave too. And he had no intention of being seen in public with Potter's little friends.

And if he wanted to bring any of his friends here, he'd need Potter's permission to do so.

"All right, your friends can come in - but only if mine can too."

Potter looked at him strangely. "Of course," he said, as if it was obvious. Draco nodded curtly.

"Harry, where were you at dinner?" Granger said as she and Weasley burst in. Draco didn't bother to greet them, just buried himself into his notes.

"Here," Potter muttered.

"Oh, Harry-"

Draco impatiently picked up his wand and set a silence spell around his desk, blocking out the sound of Potter's despicable little cronies and plunging himself back into Herbology.

ooooooo

Day 3, Thursday

God, no, Harry thought the next day as he woke up.

This didn't seem to get any better, did it?

He glanced over to the other bed, where Malfoy was still sleeping. Looking rather more pleasant than when he was awake, without his normal smirk and sneer. Except that for the last two days, Malfoy hadn't been wearing either expression much. "Sullen" seemed to be his expression of choice instead.

Asleep was better.

Harry gazed at him, thinking. He'd spent the last two days dealing with the reality of day-to-day life, and had deliberately not let himself think of what it all meant. It still seemed inconceivable that they were expected to actually live together at all, let alone as a couple. Whenever his thoughts went down that path, he'd distracted himself by remembering Pomfrey saying that not all bonds were like marriages. Maybe theirs would be one of the lucky few that consisted of simply living together, distasteful as the idea seemed. Lifelong roommates. Not even that, actually - according to Pomfrey, this need to be physically close wouldn't last forever. Some day, all this might be but a far off, unhappy memory of the one year at Hogwarts that had been ruined by having to spend the bulk of his time with Malfoy, who now lived on the other side of the world.

Right.

Harry thought over yesterday's events as he went to the washroom and changed - the horrible disorientation in Potions, Snape needling him, moving to sit next to Malfoy and all of a sudden feeling better. The embarrassment of it all - and the small feeling of vindication when he'd looked over and seen that Malfoy's notes for the class were not as bad as his, but were rubbish nonetheless. At least he hadn't been the only one affected.

He missed Hermione. And Ron. And the thought that they were getting up and doing their morning routine without him, that all of his friends were together in Gryffindor Tower while he was stuck out here with this git, was almost unbearable.

Hermione and Ron had come over last night and stayed for quite a while, but eventually they had to go back to their dorm. And he couldn't go with them. All he could do was get ready for bed and lie down, with Malfoy five feet away from him, staring at the ceiling and wondering how he could possibly survive more than a couple of days of this.

One thing he was going to do. He was going to somehow get Malfoy to agree to go to the Great Hall for meals. He was going to make sure they were around other people. Maybe today's class schedule would help - Malfoy would be attending Harry's classes most of the afternoon; maybe he'd get lonely for his Slytherin cronies. Harry could only hope.

Malfoy turned over, sighing deeply in his sleep, and Harry hated the thought of having to wake him. Wishing that he could leave Malfoy to sleep, and just go to breakfast and attend his classes. Unfortunately, if Malfoy didn't get up, they'd both be late.

"Malfoy."

Malfoy didn't stir.

"Malfoy," Harry repeated, a little louder. Malfoy didn't even twitch. Harry approached Malfoy's bed, prodded his shoulder. "Malfoy. Wake up." Malfoy woke with a start and stared up at Harry. Then he clenched his eyes shut.

"Oh, god, you again," he muttered, voice still groggy.

"Yeah, me again. Get up."

"No."

"No?"

"No. Go away."

Harry stepped back, nonplussed. What was he supposed to do now? He didn't relish the thought of starting the day with a fight and dragging a sullen, difficult Malfoy to breakfast and then to classes.

All right, then, he wouldn't. He lay down on his bed and took out a book.

Twenty-five minutes later, Malfoy spoke up blearily. "What time is it?"

"8:20."

"What?" Malfoy sat up. "We've got class in ten minutes!"

"I know."

"Why in hell didn't you wake me up?"

"I tried. You didn't want me to."

"And you just let me go back to sleep?" Malfoy was scrambling out of bed, grabbing his clothing and school robes.

"I'm not your alarm clock," Harry said mildly, getting up, fully dressed and ready to go. He'd miss breakfast, that much was obvious, but it was worth it to see Malfoy panicking at the thought of showing up late for McGonagall's class.

"Very-" Malfoy's voice was muffled as he ripped his t-shirt off, "funny, Potter. Hilarious, as a matter of fact," he quickly scrambled into clean trousers, "You should really consider going into business with the Weasley twins-" he put on a clean shirt and started doing up the buttons, realized he'd missed one and started over with a frustrated growl, "as you're obviously no earthly use as anything else." He tossed his books into his schoolbag, checking them and realizing one was missing.

"If you're looking for your Defence Against the Dark Arts text..." Harry said helpfully, and Malfoy looked up in relief, "... then I'm afraid I can't help you."

It was interesting, thought Harry, how this whole 'feeling the other's feelings' thing worked. He was feeling some of Malfoy's anger and discomfort right now, it was true, but it was far outweighed by his own vindictive pleasure. After the embarrassment of yesterday's Potions class, he was now getting some back at the thought of Malfoy arriving late and flustered to the class taught by Harry's own Head of house. Not that McGonagall ever played favourites the way Snape did, but it was still a nice image to hold on to.

Then Malfoy picked up a textbook and threw it at him, and Harry barely had time to duck before it sailed past his head and hit the wall with a sound smack. Harry stared at Malfoy in surprise. Malfoy just didn't get physical when he was angry - he was the king of snide put-downs and sarcastic mockery, but any kind of physical intimidation was left to his sidekicks Crabbe and Goyle, as if Malfoy just couldn't be bothered to lower himself down to such menial activities. But here he was, furious and picking up another book to hurl at Harry.

"Malfoy, get a grip! We don't have time for this!"

Malfoy hurled the book anyway but turned and put on his robes, looking for his tie.

"I do know where your tie is," Harry said pleasantly. Malfoy didn't bother acknowledging him. "I'll even bring it to you." He waited a beat. "Ifwe sit with my friends during Defence Against the Dark Arts."

Malfoy looked like he wanted to hurl another book at him, but he nodded tightly and Harry smiled and picked up the Slytherin tie, which had fallen under Malfoy's desk.

"Come on," Malfoy muttered, and they took off for Transfigurations at a run, Malfoy hurriedly running his hand through his hair and struggling with his tie.

I must remember I'm living with a Slytherin, thought Harry. Don't bother appealing to fair play and decency; manipulation and self-interest are the only things they understand.

2 October 1 to October 4

Day 3, Thursday, continued

I must remember I'm living with a Slytherin, and an unusually unpleasant, vindictive one at that, thought Harry at lunch time.

The day had not gone well so far. They'd rushed into Transfigurations eight minutes late, and although all McGonagall had done was pause in mid-sentence and pointedly wait for them to sit before continuing, Malfoy had been in a foul temper ever since. In sharp contrast with his sullen terseness the last two days, he'd kept up a steady litany of verbal abuse during the practical part of the lesson.

It hadn't helped that they were in Malfoy's class, so every snide remark Malfoy sent his way was followed by a chorus of laughter from his Slytherin cronies. Harry had almost literally bitten his tongue to keep from saying anything, knowing whatever he said would only be mercilessly mocked by Malfoy and his friends.

"Brilliant, Potter. Work any second year would be proud of. Too bad you're in seventh."

"Did that one glimmer of understanding get too lonely inside your brain with no other thoughts to keep it company? Is that why it decided to abandon you?" Pansy Parkinson had particularly appreciated that one.

"Merlin, Potter, we're supposed to be turning a quill into a flower, not a bloody weed."

"You are just feigning abject stupidity, right? To fool the rest of us into a false sense of superiority?" That last had at least resulted in McGonagall taking five points from Slytherin for Malfoy's rudeness, but that hadn't helped Harry's ego any.

Then had come Defence Against the Dark Arts. Harry had been able to sit with his friends during the first part of the lesson, but the second half involved a fair bit of movement as they practiced spells against banshees. Goyle, Crabbe and Pansy Parkinson had ended up working near them, joining Malfoy in mocking Harry and Hermione as they attempted to subdue Harry's banshee, and Hermione's repeated exhortations to Harry to not listen to 'the slimy git' somehow didn't help at all.

"Honestly, Potter, I may as well be married to a Squib," Malfoy had muttered, and his Slytherin friends had laughed.

"We're not married," Harry snapped, and Malfoy had blinked at him.

"What?"

"We may be bonded. We're not married," Harry said tightly.

"It's the same thing."

"No it's not. Don't call it that," Hermione said coldly.

Malfoy exchanged a baffled look with his cronies. "Why not?"

"Marriage is supposed to be something more than a stupid curse that ties you to a loathsome toad you'd rather kill in his sleep. It's supposed to be about love and commitment - it's supposed to be agood thing."

Malfoy smirked at them. "Ooh. That's so sweet. Marriage is all about poetry and candy hearts, is it?" Parkinson giggled. "How very Muggle. All right then, have it your way: honestly, Potter, darling, I may as well be married to a Squib."

Harry had blushed furiously, sending the Slytherins into peals of laughter and giving Malfoy perfect fodder for more merciless mockery for the rest of the class.

"Don't think too hard, dear. It's not your strong suit."

"Light of my life, this complete inability of yours to understand the simplest instructions - does it come naturally, or have you worked hard to perfect it?"

Well, at least they would be among Harry's friends for most of the afternoon, he tried to comfort himself. Although as he'd learned during Defence Against the Dark Arts, that didn't mean much if there was a lot of movement during class. They had both been accidentally touched by other students during the practical parts of Transfiguration and Defence Against the Dark Arts, and had ended up standing very close to each other to avoid the pain of unwanted contact.

"Hurry up," Malfoy snapped at Harry as they entered the Great Hall. He quickly approached the closest table and grabbed some sandwiches, just like yesterday.

"Malfoy, come on. I don't want to eat in the courtyard again."

"We're not, we're going to the hospital, remember? We're supposed to check in with Pomfrey every day."

"Right." Harry grabbed some food dispiritedly, following Malfoy out. The hospital. Where Pomfrey would wave her wand over them and "monitor" their "progress" and probably ask a bunch of questions he didn't want asked. And remind him that this mess involved far more than just having to get used to a new class schedule and a new place to live. Which was really not something he wanted to be reminded of at all.

ooooooo

"All right, then," Madam Pomfrey began, "I'm going to be asking you a lot of questions every day, and I want you to answer them honestly. We'll do this as privately as possible, so you don't have to worry about the other one using anything you say against you. I've also been talking to a Healer from St. Mungo's who deals with bonding spells gone awry. Not that this is all that common, but it does happen from time to time that a couple who has accepted a bond for political reasons," she carefully didn't look at Malfoy as she said that, "finds that they are truly incompatible. She'll be coming in to help every few days." Pomfrey smoothed down her robe, sounding a little less than fully authoritative for once. "I'm rather at a loss, you see. Not only was this bond involuntary, it's also not common between two people of the same sex and of course there's the matter of you both being barely of age. Not to mention the rather strong animosity between you."

"How nice to be unique," Malfoy muttered.

"Yes, well, the papers are having a wonderful time of it," Pomfrey said.

"Papers?" Malfoy and Harry spoke simultaneously.

"I take it you weren't at breakfast?" They shook their heads. "You're the talk of the town on The Daily Prophet."

"Oh, god." Malfoy covered his eyes.

"Welcome to the front page," Harry said bitterly. "Isn't it what you've always wanted?"

Pomfrey cleared her throat and spoke before Malfoy could come back with a cutting retort. "Today, while I'm talking to one of you, I'll have the other one talk to Madam Pantere," she indicated a smartly dressed older witch in Ministry insignia. "She's here to try to find who cast the curse on you-" Pomfrey held out her hand as their expressions brightened, "-not that anybody expects to find any answers there. You've both been told that this is almost certainly permanent. Madam Pantere will do her best to find whoever cast this, but the odds are high that she will not succeed." They nodded glumly. "All right, then, we'll get started. Malfoy, go with Madam Pantere, she'll examine you and ask you some questions, Potter, come with me."

She led Harry behind a small partition, close to where Madam Pantere and Malfoy would be, but apparently soundproofed, as their voices went suddenly silent. "How are you, Potter?"

"Fine."

"How is the bond? Do you feel a need to be close to Mr. Malfoy, or touch him?"

"Close, yeah. Not, um, not touching."

"Do you feel attuned to his emotional state?"

"Do you mean, can I feel what he's feeling?" She nodded. "Yeah, sort of."

"Care to tell me what that means for you?"

"No."

"Do so anyway."

"I... I can tell, sort of, what he's feeling. If it's strong feelings, I can sort of... it's like I feel them too, but they're not... not mine..." he trailed off, not knowing how to make it any clearer.

"That sounds about right. Do you feel any attraction to him?"

Harry grimaced in distaste. "No."

"No, I didn't imagine you would. Normally it takes at least a week or two. Then again, you are both teenage boys, so it could be faster." She wrote something down. "Have you had any sexual experiences with other boys?"

"No."

"What about girls?"

"Er... not really, no."

Pomfrey looked up at him in surprise. "Nothing?"

"Er, I kissed a girl, a couple of years ago..." he muttered, blushing, "But, um, other than that, er, no."

"Oh dear." Pomfrey looked a little thrown off. "Does Malfoy know?"

"What?"

"That you have almost no sexual experience at all?"

"How should I know?"

"You will need to talk to him about this, you realize that."

"I don't particularly want to."

"Would you rather talk to him now, before it's an issue, or later, in the middle of... well, situations where it would be awkward to bring this up as a topic of conversation?"

"I'd really rather not talk about it at all, frankly. With anyone. Especially him."

"I can imagine," Pomfrey said sympathetically. "Unfortunately, that's really not an option."

"Why not?" Harry muttered rebelliously.

"Potter, be serious. It's going to be noticeable that you've not done anything before, and it's going to cause a great deal of awkwardness."

Harry rubbed his forehead, really wishing he had a Time Turner to go back to a time before any of this had happened.

"You're going to have to talk to him." Harry frowned and Pomfrey leaned closer. "I won't force you to. This is your marriage, you have to-"

"I wish people would stop calling it that!" Harry burst out, exasperated. Pomfrey gave him the same puzzled look that Malfoy had. "It's not a marriage, it's a mistake!"

"It's both, Potter," she said slowly, not understanding him.

Harry pressed his lips together and dropped it. His objection to the word itself seemed to be one of those things that only Muggle-borns could understand.

"Will you talk to him? I won't force you to, but it's a very good idea-"

Harry sighed. "Yeah, I guess so." This was going to be rather awkward, he thought tiredly. This whole thing was hellishly awkward, and the thought of bringing this up with Malfoy of all people... he had no idea where to even begin.

"You don't have time right now, but tonight after school I want you to come back here. It might make it easier if the discussion takes place here, where it's more... impersonal."

"But you said it would take a while before anything-"

"We don't know for sure. These things don't follow a strict schedule, you know."

"Fine."

"Do cheer up, Potter. We'll get you both through this. The healer at St. Mungo's has a lot of suggestions about how to deal with problems you may have adjusting. As a matter of fact," she took out a scroll and started to unroll it, "she sent me a list. We won't have time to read through the whole thing right now, of course, but we can get started. Right?"

Harry looked at the long, long roll, and morosely bit into his sandwich. Oh, good. What fun.

ooooooo

Malfoy came out of Pomfrey's partition with a grim look on his face and they set off for Arithmancy, each lost in his thoughts.

"Did she talk to you about using the fireplace in our room?" Malfoy said suddenly.

"To talk to parents and such?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah. It's one of the suggestions from the St. Mungo's healer."

"What a waste of time," Malfoy shook his head. "How's talking to everybody every day supposed to help? And when am I supposed to be studying while all this chatting is going on?"

"I don't know. Muggles believe in that kind of thing very strongly."

"You mean, just talking out problems?" Harry nodded, and Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Typical."

"You know they don't want to use cheering charms or anything, what with-"

"I know, I know, they don't know whether the bloody curse will interact with any other spells and they don't want to take chances and all of that. I still say give me a cheering charm over pointless talk any day."

"Don't you want to talk to your parents?"

"Not every day, no."

"Your father looked worried about you the other day."

Malfoy frowned slightly. "Yeah."

"Why didn't your mother come?" Harry asked curiously.

"When?"

"The day that - your father was there, but your mother wasn't."

"None of your business."

Harry shrugged, and they walked the rest of the way to Arithmancy in silence. At the door, he asked, "Did Madam Pomfrey tell you we're supposed to go back to the hospital after class today?"

"Yeah. Didn't say what for, though."

"Oh."

"Do you know?" Malfoy said as they entered the class.

"Er, yeah."

"What is it?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing? Then why are we going?" They found their seats, with Hermione next to Harry on one side, and Blaise Zabini and Millicent Bulstrode next to Malfoy on the other.

"No reason." Harry took out his book and notes as the Arithmancy professor walked in and greeted the class.

"All right, I've got your papers marked from - oh," said the professor, skimming the stack of papers he was holding and frowning. "These are the fifth year papers. Wait here, please," he said hurriedly, and left.

"So what are we supposed to go back for?" Malfoy asked, filling his ink pot.

"Nothing."

"Come on," Malfoy said, annoyed. "It's obviously not nothing. Is it a secret?"

"No, not really-"

"Then why not tell me?"

"I just don't-"

"Is there something you know that I don't?"

"Lower your voice," Harry warned, as the students near them started to look like they were trying not to be noticed eavesdropping.

"Oh, this is something you want to hide, is it?" Malfoy smirked at Zabini and Bulstrode, who made no attempt to dissemble as they grinned and settled in to watch.

"Drop it," Harry said.

"Goodness, Potter, I'm all aquiver with anticipation now," Malfoy put his hand on his chest dramatically and Bulstrode sniggered.

"Shut up," Harry said through gritted teeth.

"Does this have to do with the questions she was asking today?" Harry clamped his mouth shut and Malfoy pounced. "It does!"

"No it doesn't."

"Tell that to your face, dear," Malfoy chuckled. "You're blushing. And I can feel just how embarrassed you are. You're positively squirming. It's very entertaining."

"Wonderful."

"Malfoy, do grow up," Hermione said impatiently.

Malfoy didn't bother to acknowledge her. "So, what was it Pomfrey talked about today? There was the state of the bond, could I feel your emotions - I'd have to say yes, right now - how was I doing in terms of the attraction part of this-" Harry tried to remain impassive but from the gleeful tone to Malfoy's voice, failed utterly. "Mhmm, I'd have to say that's it." Malfoy put his head to the side. "So, is it that you're already feeling something?" Small pause. "No, that's not it..."

Harry pressed his lips together, stifling the urge to whack Malfoy on the head or cast a skin-rotting curse at him.

"My goodness, Potter, you do get angry rather easily, don't you?" Malfoy was maliciously delighted. "You should do something about that, you know. It's not good for your nerves."

"Don't listen to him, Harry," Hermione said, reaching out to pat his arm comfortingly and drawing back just in time as Harry flinched in alarm.

"Is it about the questions she was asking, about previous sexual history?" Malfoy asked, pitching his voice low enough for only Harry to hear, and Harry tried to blank his features but it was too late. "That's it, isn't it? Snogged a lot of boys, have you, despite your 'I'm not gay' protests to the contrary?" Malfoy grinned at him maliciously. Harry opened his notes and pretended to study an Arithmancy chart.

Malfoy observed him for a moment. "No, that's not it," he decided. "So..." he peered at Harry closely, then said slowly, "Or is it the other way around?" Harry's pulse sped up. Malfoy's mouth dropped opened in shock. "Potter. You're not a virgin, surely?" he said, scandalised.

"Shh!" Harry hissed, but it was too late - everybody sitting near them had heard, some students were turning around to look at them, and Malfoy had a look on his face that was very close to horror. Harry covered his eyes, utterly mortified.

"You're... Mordred." Malfoy put his head down on the table. "I'm going to find whoever set this curse," he moaned, "I'm going to find him and kill him, and then I'm going to resuscitate him so I can kill him again."

Harry crossed his arms and set his jaw, not trusting himself to say anything. If you hex him, you'll feel it, he reminded himself. A little discomfort or pain is fine. What you want to do to him would probably kill you through the damnable bond.

"How can you-" Malfoy raised his head, "You're nearly eighteen years old, for god's sake! What in hell have you been waiting for? An engraved invitation?"

"Apparently, I've been waiting for you," Harry snapped at him. Bulstrode and Zabini choked back a laugh as Malfoy whipped around to glare at them, then turned back to Harry.

"Oh, that's hilarious. Really, that's very funny. Pity your brilliant wit hasn't done you much good with girls. So that's what we're supposed to talk about today after school? Your absolutely pitiful lack of any experience?" Harry pushed his chair back and stalked out of the classroom, Malfoy growling in annoyance but following him, unable to stay in the room without him, as the rest of the class burst into commentary.

"This is fucking unbelievable!" Malfoy said once they were in the hallway. "What is wrong with you, Potter?"

"Nothing!" he said furiously. "I just haven't had time to-"

"Oh, for god's sake - that's not - how can you not have had sex before?"

"I take it you have."

"Of course!"

"With other boys?"

"Well, no, but-"

"Then you've no right to look down on my inexperience-"

Hermione came bursting into the hallway, rounding on Malfoy heatedly. "You're a foul piece of scum-"

"Funny, somehow I've managed to have a social life anyway - Granger, this is none of your business. Bugger off!"

"You've just made it everybody's business by blurting that out in the middle of the class. What's wrong with you? Do you have no sense of decency at all?"

"Shut up," Malfoy dismissed her, turning back to Harry. "This has got to be the most - get back here!" he shouted, as Harry turned on his heel and set off. "Where are you going?"

"Away from you!"

"You can't, you bloody idiot, and we have Arithmancy anyway!"

"I don't care! I'm not going back in there!"

"You stupid git-" Malfoy grabbed at Harry's shoulder, spinning him around, then cried out in pain as Hermione pulled him back.

"NO! Hermione, don't!" Harry exclaimed, as a searing shock went through both of them.

Malfoy rubbed his arm, gasping a little from the pain, and glared at Hermione, then turned back to Harry. "Get back in there. I'm not missing class over this. If you must be a pathetic little virgin, at least don't be a pathetic little virgin who brings down my marks in Arithmancy."

Harry clenched his jaw.

"Is there a problem?" their Arithmancy professor inquired, appearing with an armful of scrolls.

"No sir," they all said automatically.

"Then kindly re-enter the classroom," he indicated.

"I - I'm not feeling well-" Harry began, and Hermione interrupted him.

"We'll be there in a minute, sir."

"Hermione-"

The professor shrugged and went back into the classroom, and Malfoy followed him in.

"Harry. He's right," Hermione said, her mouth twisting in disgust at her own words. "You'll have to go back in eventually anyway."

ooooooo

Well, that was a lot of fun, Harry thought to himself wearily as they finally came back to their quarters after the hospital at the end of the day. Arithmancy had been sheer torture, facing the smirks and whispered comments of the Slytherins. He felt utterly exposed and humiliated, although the fact that they had Astronomy and Herbology with only Harry's house for the rest of the day had helped somewhat. Malfoy, while continuing his steady barrage of put-downs and insults pitched low enough for only Harry to hear, at least didn't have an appreciative Slytherin audience to cheer him on and join him in making fun of Harry.

The hospital had been a different kind of embarrassing torture, but he was glad Pomfrey had been there to keep things clinical and keep Malfoy from getting too out of hand. She'd gotten them to share what experience they each had, given them both some do's and don'ts and a book to read, and reminded them of what they could expect to start feeling in the next few weeks, and how to deal with it all. She'd also sternly pointed out to Malfoy that he was likely to suffer the consequences himself if he made Harry so uncomfortable about the subject that he was unable to relax and allow matters to progress easily. Malfoy had rolled his eyes and made a couple more cutting remarks but then subsided into sullen silence again.

"Password?" Sir Xander asked blearily, just waking up from a nap and scratching his back with his wooden stake.

"Hades," Malfoy muttered, pushing past Harry to get inside. Harry pushed him back impatiently and tossed his schoolbag onto one of their chairs, shouldering out of his robe and throwing it onto the chair next to it.

"Don't you ever put your things away properly, Potter?" Malfoy said irritably.

"I'm surprised you do. Don't you have house elves and lackeys for all menial work?"

"Not twenty-four hours a day, you idiot," Malfoy put his things away neatly and approached the fire. "I'm going first, might as well get this over with," he settled down in front of the fireplace.

"Fine, I'll do my homework."

"Really? No whining about 'it's almost dinner time, can't we pleease go eat with my ickle friends?'"

"After Arithmancy today I've absolutely no desire to be in the Great Hall, thanks," Harry shot back curtly, going through his schoolbag. Malfoy smirked and then turned to the fireplace, where his mother's face was appearing.

Harry settled into one of the comfortable chairs in their sitting room and pulled out his Arithmancy text. He wasn't terribly pleased that he'd had to pick up seventh year Arithmancy. Although technically it concentrated on completely different areas than third-through-sixth year Arithmancy, and technically anybody could take it without the lower year courses, he still felt utterly lost. He'd need to rely heavily on Hermione if he wanted to pass this class at all.

He buried himself into the complex equations from the text and from Hermione's notes, looking up every so often to see if Malfoy was done talking to his parents. They seemed to be having a fairly pleasant conversation, although Lucius Malfoy's face, whenever Harry saw it, was back to the slightly annoyed expression he usually wore around his son. And Malfoy, now that the initial shock of the curse was over, was back to his customary subdued respectfulness when he spoke to his father.

His mother was a different story, though. From her expression, she seemed to be quite worried about her son, to the point that he was getting irritated at her.

"Your classes are going well, then?" she was saying.

"Yeah. Herbology's not a problem; the only reason I wasn't taking it this year is that it's so dead simple I could teach it to myself. The only problem's Runes, that's not easy when I've got to miss half the classes."

"I know. Perhaps we can get you a Runes tutor?"

"That might be good, yeah."

"How... how are you feeling, Draco?" Malfoy's mother said, sounding very unsure of herself.

"Fine," Malfoy muttered, sounding equally uncomfortable. Harry cleared his throat and cast a silence spell over himself, giving Malfoy some privacy in the hopes that he would do the same. Not that he could trust that Malfoy wouldn't listen in on any conversations he had with Lupin, but maybe Malfoy would decide that whatever a werewolf had to say to Harry wasn't worth listening to. He buried himself back into Arithmancy.

A rough poke at his shoulder startled him out of a complex equation. Malfoy was standing over his chair, saying something. Harry ended the silencing spell.

"Sorry, what?"

"I said, I'm done," he headed off to the washroom. "Feel free to call your werewolf pseudo-parent," he tossed over his shoulder. "Unless he's busy out mauling people - isn't it close to the full moon?"

Harry ignored him and went to the fireplace.

"Professor," he said in relief as Lupin appeared in the fireplace. God, he hadn't even realized how much he needed to talk to somebody until Lupin was there.

"Harry. How are you?"

ooooooo

Day 4, Friday

Draco woke up, head buzzing with something, feeling like there was something... damn. He couldn't place it, but there was something missing... damn it. What was it? He lay awake, staring at the dark ceiling above him, trying to identify the feeling. Why wasn't he sleeping? He looked over at the clock - 2:07. He shouldn't be awake, but he was, and he was so very uncomfortable...

He sat up and looked over at Potter, turning restlessly in the next bed, a frown on his sleeping face, and felt a growing need to move closer to him.

Oh, blast, he let himself fall back to his pillow. Here we go. There wasn't anything sexual in what he was feeling, but the five-foot gap between their beds suddenly looked far too wide.

Wonderful. What was he supposed to do about it? Move the bed over, so Potter could see tomorrow that he'd been the one to crack during the night?

He chewed on his lip, observing Potter's restless movements, then decided to take action. He got up and went to the washroom, gritting his teeth at the feeling of unease that grew stronger the farther he moved away from Potter and hoping that same unease would wake Potter up. When he came back, Potter was sitting up in bed, squinting around the room and rubbing a hand through his messy hair.

"Malfoy?"

"Yeah."

"Where were you?"

"Washroom."

"Oh." Potter lay back down.

They lay in silence for a few minutes.

"Malfoy?" Potter finally said.

"Yeah?"

"Can you sleep?"

'Yeah, of course,' was on the tip of his tongue, but then he balked. Potter wouldn't have asked if he were feeling fine himself. If Draco said he felt all right, Potter might decide not to show any weakness and not admit that he too was awake and in severe discomfort, and both of them would remain in this highly irritating state until one of them cracked. He thought for a moment. "Can you?" he asked, trying to keep his voice casual.

There was a long pause. "No, I can't."

"Why not?"

Another long silence. "Too uncomfortable. You?"

Draco hesitated, then sighed and gave in. "Yeah, me too." He sat up. "Pomfrey said this would happen eventually."

"Yeah. I just didn't expect it this soon." Potter slipped out of his bed. "I'm going to push them together, all right?" he started without waiting for Draco to respond.

"Er-"

"Better?" Potter said as he climbed back into his own bed.

"God, yeah," Draco blurted out before he could censor himself, astonished at the sheer relief that flooded him once the two beds were together and Potter lay a mere foot away from him. He bit his lip as Potter laughed, but it wasn't a mocking laugh.

"That felt like ants crawling on me there for a minute," Potter shuddered.

"Feels like bees buzzing around my head, actually," Draco said. "Whoever came up with this curse was a sadist."

"Yeah. Oh, that's better." Potter closed his eyes contentedly. Draco silently agreed and punched his pillow down, making himself more comfortable and soon slipping back to sleep.

ooooooo

"Malfoy!" Draco opened his eyes. Potter was sitting on his own bed, leaning over Draco's bed and firmly shaking him awake. Draco blinked, momentarily disoriented at how close Potter was, then remembered the night before and looked away, a slight blush creeping up his neck.

"We've overslept again, we have to get up now," Potter said, scrambling out of bed. Right, Potions, first thing. Draco glanced at the clock - 8:00. He sat up, hurriedly grabbing his clothing, glad he'd showered the night before.

"Have you seen my tie?" he asked as they both quickly changed and scrambled about trying to find their books. Potter tossed it at him and he grabbed it, pushing past Potter into the washroom to brush his teeth and comb his hair. He felt his face - the mirror showed no shadow, no surprise there, but he should put on shaving potion; it was getting scratchy. No, no time.

"Malfoy? Can I borrow ink? I'm out," Potter came into the washroom, hurriedly running a comb through his hair.

"Yeah - if we sit with my friends for Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"How about Potions and Herbology?"

Draco thought for a moment. "Done. Ready?"

"Yeah-" Potter put the comb away and impatiently pushed past Draco on his way out of the washroom. Draco finished putting on his tie and followed him out, and they hurried to Potions.

"We need to set an alarm spell," Draco muttered, his stomach growling. "I hate missing breakfast." Potter nodded and they slipped into class barely ahead of Snape, heading towards Draco's desk. Millicent Bulstrode smirked at Potter as she greeted Draco cheerfully, and Draco grinned as he remembered the scene in Arithmancy yesterday, and Potter's utter humiliation. He took out his books, feeling somewhat more upbeat as Snape began the lesson.

"Did we finish that anti-flu potion?" Potter elbowed him and whispered, staring at his notes as Snape wrote on the board.

Draco leaned over to look at Potter's notes. "Really, Potter, that's awful," he commented. "How can you learn anything writing chicken scratches like that? Yeah, we finished the anti-flu. We're starting the anti-pneumonia one today." He smirked and raised his voice slightly. "It's funny though, you'd think, being a virgin and all, that you'd have more time on your hands to take decent notes."

A ripple of laughter spread through the students near them and Snape turned around as Potter elbowed Draco angrily and muttered "Shut up!"

"Mr. Potter, would you care to share what is so funny with the class?"

"No, sir," Potter mumbled.

"Five points from Gryffindor, Potter," Snape turned back to the board.

Draco grinned and bent his head to his notes.

ooooooo

"This is where you live now, Draco? Oh my. This is nice," Pansy Parkinson said, as she, Blaise Zabini, Granger and Weasley accompanied him and Potter into their quarters at the end of the day.

"Bit bare, though, isn't it?" Blaise asked. Draco shrugged.

"Too bad about the company, too," Pansy said lightly, and Potter and his friends ignored her as they settled into their seats.

Draco smiled, unexpectedly glad to have fellow Slytherins around. They'd all gone to the library to study, but had been chased out eventually by Pince for making too much noise. Draco had gathered his books, glumly reflecting that he'd never thought he'd miss his common room, where he could study by himself or with friends, or take a break and relax and talk if he wanted. As both he and Potter were cut off from their common rooms, he'd resigned himself to going back to their quarters with only Potter for company again until Granger had suggested they move their study session there.

"Your place is large enough to fit all of us, Harry," she'd said, and Pansy and Blaise had raised their eyebrows at the thought of Granger having been in Draco's private quarters, even as Potter had muttered something about it not being that big. Draco, sure that Pansy and Blaise would have no wish to be around Granger and Weasley, had been about to say something to the effect that he didn't want visitors when Pansy spoke up.

"They've been already? And here I thought you weren't accepting any visitors," she'd smirked. "Or is it Gryffindor-only territory?"

"No, of course not-" Draco started to say, and Pansy nodded, cutting off whatever Blaise was about to say.

"Right then. Let's go," she'd said brightly.

"Oh, goodness, this isn't funny, it's Friday night and here we are, studying," Pansy muttered now as she settled herself into the loveseat, "Bloody NEWTs. I'm a nervous wreck about them already. Draco, did you copy down my notes from yesterday's Runes?"

"Yeah, right here-" he handed her the notes, settling in and noting that, barely four days in, there was already an established seating pattern that everybody fell into: Draco and Potter in the middle, often with their backs to each other or at least turned as far away from each other as possible, Potter's friends on Potter's side, Draco's friends on the other side. The only problem was that right now they'd ended up with Draco and Pansy sharing the loveseat, a little too close for comfort, and Potter in an armchair next to him, a little too far away for comfort.

Damn, if only those feelings were reversed. He and Pansy had dated briefly several times and he liked her well enough - not as anything serious, as they'd both expected to end up married off politically to other people, but she wasn't bad company and was pleasant enough in bed. If only he could see her closeness right now as a possible sign of the evening taking a romantic turn, instead of feeling slightly nervous she might make him feel his skin was on fire if she moved the wrong way.

"Did the translations make any sense?" Pansy asked him.

"Not much, no."

"Damnably difficult, not attending every other day. Why didn't he just drop Astronomy?" she glanced disparagingly over at Potter.

Draco shrugged. "Didn't work out. It's not a problem, my mother's probably going to get me a tutor."

"Still. You shouldn't have to-"

"It's not a problem," Draco repeated firmly. Pansy flipped her hair back and turned to her own notes.

"Well. Here, let me go through the third translation, see if I remember how it goes myself."

Draco leaned closer to see her notes, jerking back as she lifted her face unexpectedly and almost touched him.

"Oh, sorry. Look, the third verse is..." and he was soon lost in the intricacies of the Runic writing, looking up only when he saw Granger approaching their bedroom door.

"Where's the book?" she asked, and Draco felt a small jump of alarm.

"Hermione, don't, I'll get it-" Potter was saying hurriedly but Granger was already opening the door. "I said I'd get it," Potter mumbled, blushing a little as Hermione's eyebrows went up, seeing their two beds pushed together.

"My goodness, we are moving fast, aren't we?" Pansy purred as she peered into their bedroom. "All the virgin jokes wearing thin already, Potter? Or do they no longer apply?" Potter glared at her, opening his mouth for a quick retort. Draco quickly reached out and grabbed his arm.

"Don't," he suggested, turning back to Pansy as Potter's face took on a bemused expression, he closed his mouth, and went into the bedroom to look for the book Granger wanted.

Pansy smirked. "Well? Bond progressing faster than expected, Draco?"

"No," he muttered. "It's just easier to not be too far apart. Nothing's happened yet." He cleared his throat. "And it's none of your business anyway," he said lightly. "Where were we?"

"Ever since you became an old married man you're no fun at all," Pansy pouted, and Blaise laughed.

"Very funny. I think we're supposed to be working on the third translation?"

"Yes, fine, all right. Look, I think the problem is that you weren't there for Tuesday's class either, that's when he explained the indicative phraseology that we had to look at for the Thursday runes."

"The what?"

"Indicative phraseology," she repeated patiently, and he lost himself in the intricacies of the week's lessons as she led him and Blaise through them.

Blaise was really quite hopeless at it, thought Draco uncharitably half an hour later as Blaise asked yet another question that showed he had no grasp of even the simplest concepts. He let his mind wander, a bit bored, as Pansy corrected yet another interpretation error on Blaise's paper, then reminded himself that he wasn't all that sure of the concepts himself. The look on Pansy's face at some of his questions had shown him quite conclusively that he wasn't functioning at his usual level today. He really should be using his time to go over the more difficult phrases while Pansy worked with Blaise, rather than staring at the wall blankly and imagining the dots on the wallpaper as bees. Buzzing bees. Buzzing softly, making it difficult to concentrate.

"Harry?" Weasley's voice startled him and he looked up to see Weasley moving his hand in front of Potter's face. "Anybody home?"

"Sorry," Potter muttered, blinking and shaking his head. "What were you saying?"

"I was talking about the Arithmancy assignment," Granger said patiently. "Due next Tuesday. Do you need my notes?"

"Um, yeah, yeah - what day is it due again?"

"Tuesday," Granger said slowly. Potter nodded, then turned to look at Draco.

Draco blew out his breath. Here we go again, he thought as they gazed at each other in irritation. He was hearing bees, Potter was out to lunch, there were about six feet between his loveseat and Potter's armchair, and obviously the three were connected. And short of asking everyone to change places, there was no subtle way of reducing the discomfort.

It wasn't that bad anyway, he told himself, prepared to just deal with it, and failed to stifle a yelp of pain as Pansy brushed against his shoulder unexpectedly.

"Oh, bother, I'm sorry," she said breezily, glancing at Granger quickly. "This isn't going to work, Draco, I'm too used to jabbing you whenever I feel like it, here, Blaise, slide over, Potter, come take my place, actually, why doesn't everybody just move over one seat and Blaise you pull that armchair over to this side? Right, then-" and Draco and Potter watched, bemused, as the seating change was accomplished with a minimum of fuss and Granger gave Pansy a grateful look and the two groups resumed their conversations as if no interruption had taken place.

"Right, then, Blaise," Pansy said, "Come on, don't be a complete idiot, the Gothic wizards didn't have a word for train, they didn't have trains, honestly, a little general history wouldn't be out of place once in a while at this school."

ooooooo

Day 6, Sunday

"It's going all right, I suppose. I'm getting used to him," Harry said quietly to Lupin via the fireplace Sunday night. Not that he needed to be quiet; Malfoy had, as per usual, cast a silence charm over himself - but it still felt a little odd to talk about somebody when they were right in the room. Especially when they were seated close enough to touch.

"You sound lonely," Lupin observed gently.

"Yeah, well... I miss my house. Weekends are always fun at Gryffindor Tower, I mean we just sleep in late and then sit around not doing much, but it's still, it's nice."

"What did you do instead?"

"Woke up late, but then there wasn't much to do other than study. I met with some friends at the library, but it's... it's not the same. They all live together and I don't any more. Seamus and Dean were laughing about a joke they'd played on a third year, and I had no idea what they were talking about, and Ron and Neville were-" Harry stopped himself. He was whining. He should probably stop. "Sorry."

"Harry, it's all right."

Harry nodded, face downcast, then looked up as Malfoy tapped him on the shoulder.

"Where's the assignment for Herbology?" he asked, and Harry pointed to his desk. Malfoy got it, tsking in annoyance at the amount of loose paper that littered Harry's study area.

"How's the bond?" Lupin asked. Harry shrugged. "That good?"

"It's not that bad," Harry admitted. "He's not awful all the time." He looked over at Malfoy, but Malfoy was studying Harry's assignment with a slight frown and appeared to have set the silence charm around himself again. Harry sighed.

"What is it?"

"It's just... you know we go to Madam Pomfrey every day, right?"

"Yes..."

"She's had that witch from the Ministry examine us a few times - and, and she said it looked like the spell wasn't even done right."

"What?"

"I didn't really understand most of it - I wish Hermione'd been there, she would have been able to follow it. All I could understand was that she thought it showed 'lack of experience with this class of spells'. She explained why, but I really couldn't make heads or tails of what she was talking about."

"Did Malfoy know what she was talking about?"

"Oh, apparently. He got very angry and said something like, 'So we've been cursed by an amateur.'"

"Did you ask him to explain it to you?"

"Malfoy? Not a chance," Harry said automatically, then looked over at Malfoy, still oblivious right next to him.

"Any chance of catching the caster?"

"Not really. She thinks it may have been a student. Or maybe a teacher doing the spell slightly off so that it looked like a student did it. Or somebody outside of Hogwarts. Who knows."

"What does it mean?"

"She really doesn't know, except that she doesn't think our bond will 'progress in the regular fashion', whatever that means. We might feel some things more than we would otherwise, or less, or who knows, but then she said anything unusual may just be because it was involuntary and we're both so young and..." Harry's words ran out.

"I'm sorry," Lupin said after a long pause.

"Yeah, well, me too."

"What does Madam Pomfrey say about the progression so far?"

"Oh, she thinks everything's splendid," Harry said bitterly.

"You don't agree?"

"'Splendid' means we have to be close almost all the time, and, and, we... we need to touch - I hadn't really noticed that one, but he noticed that we were pushing each other out of the way and hitting each other more than before. That's nice, isn't it? A bond that's based on shoving and hitting each other?"

"Not the best basis for a marriage, no," Lupin winced as soon as he'd spoken. "I'm sorry. I know you don't like to call it that."

"I'm getting used to it. Hermione's the only person who doesn't call it that, really. Even Ron - he said something like 'now that you're married' the other day. It's just so strange. Everybody just accepts it as a marriage. And it's not."

"Lily said something like that once," Lupin said slowly.

"Like what?"

"I think it was because Sirius was complaining that his parents wanted him married off to a woman he'd never met, and Lily said something like That's not a real marriage, and she couldn't understand why the rest of us couldn't see the difference."

"Hm."

"Is there really that big a difference for Muggles?"

"What?"

"Do Muggles really believe that there needs to be romantic love in a marriage to make it a real marriage?"

"No, not really, I don't think..." Harry realized that he had no idea. "Actually, I don't know. I pretty much stopped living in the Muggle world six years ago. I don't know a lot about Muggle marriages. But I don't know much about wizard ones either."

"I suppose not."

Harry stared at his knees, lost in his thoughts.

"Harry?"

"Yeah? Sorry."

"You sound very down."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Would it help to have friends come visit your new quarters?"

"It did, the other day, but it's not the same. They're just visitors. They go back to their dorms eventually, and I'm still stuck here."

Another silence descended, and Harry looked up as Malfoy touched his shoulder.

"Potter? It's getting late."

"Yeah," Harry said dispiritedly. "I'll be there in a few minutes." Malfoy nodded, putting his things away and going to get ready for bed.

"Does this talking help, at all?" Lupin asked gently.

"I think so. I don't know." Harry sighed. "I better go to bed."

Lupin looked like he was as much at a loss as Harry. "Harry..."

"Thanks. For, for listening. You know. I'll, I'll talk to you tomorrow. Good night."

Harry got ready for bed mechanically, lay down and stared at the ceiling, unable to get past his feelings of sadness and loss, his confusion.

Everything was moving so quickly. Less than a week ago, he'd been secure in the knowledge that, unless Voldemort screwed up his life unexpectedly, he belonged in the seventh-year boys' dorm in Gryffindor Tower and in Muggle Studies and on the Quidditch team. And now, here he was. No dorm, different classes, no Quidditch, lying right next to a boy he'd hated for the better part of six years. He glanced over at Malfoy already asleep, his face relaxed and peaceful.

It had all changed too fast, and it was continuing to change too fast. They were next to each other all the time. They were touching each other all the time - pushing, shoving, elbowing each other out of the way... and tapping arms to get each other's attention, leaning over each other's shoulders to look at notes in class, brushing past each other as they moved around their quarters. He'd even realized the other day during Potions that his leg was lightly touching Malfoy's under their desk, and he had no idea how long they'd been sitting like that. He'd only noticed because Malfoy had turned to make a sneering remark about Harry's Potions essay to Pansy, and Harry's leg suddenly felt a little cooler. He hadn't noticed the contact; only the lack of it when it was withdrawn.

A little more noticeable had been this morning, when he woke up with Malfoy's hand on his shoulder and Malfoy still deeply asleep beside him. They were still in separate beds, but getting closer and he was starting to worry that one of them would wake up having dropped in between the beds. Pomfrey had noted that they'd soon have to get used to sleeping in the same bed.

And they would. Get used to it, that is. He was getting used to all of it. They still got on each other's nerves, but they were able to go for longer periods of time being civil to one another, and sometimes it wasn't a strain, it was just daily life. It was hard to keep up constant animosity every single time your... roommate asked if you'd seen his tie. It was all getting to be routine.

Somehow, he didn't think that what was supposed to come later on in this "progression" would be this easy to get used to. Especially as he was now actively dreading it.

3 October 9 to October 14

Day 11, Friday

Draco woke up and groaned. Shit. That had been rather vivid. He turned over in bed, automatically checking that Potter was still asleep.

Thank god, yes. He'd been afraid he'd been talking in his sleep, and considering what was going on in his dream, that would've been awkward to say the least.

That was the second time these last two nights he'd woken up this dissatisfied; he'd given up counting the times he'd woken up to sticky sheets instead. Thank god for Marcus Flint's cleaning spells, or he'd have to explain to Potter why he needed to have his bedclothes washed every day. He tried to ignore the discomfort and go back to sleep for precisely ten seconds before getting out of bed and heading towards the washroom.

"Malfoy?" Potter's sleepy voice stopped him. "You all right?"

"Um, y-yeah," he stammered, cursing Potter's timing.

Potter sat up slowly. "No, you're not. What's wrong?"

"Er, nothing, I… I have to go," Draco mumbled, shutting the door and leaning his back against it before taking care of business as quickly and quietly as possible, relief flooding him as he finished. He stayed leaning against the door, floating down from the high, then cleaned himself up and waited for a few more minutes, hoping to find Potter asleep when he went back to bed.

He took a deep breath and quietly opened the washroom door, realizing as soon as he did so that Potter was still sitting up in bed, arms clasped about his drawn-up knees.

"Are you all right?" he repeated as Draco came back to bed. Draco nodded.

"Er... should we talk about this?" Potter said quietly.

"What's there to talk about?"

"I… I know what's happening," Potter said in a rush, "Pomfrey said-"

"Yeah, well, so now you know." Draco was grateful that the room was too dark for Potter to see the blush heating his face, and grateful also that his voice sounded perfectly matter-of-fact. "What's there to talk about?"

"I just thought - I mean, is there - um, is there anything, um... oh never mind." Potter lay back down and turned over, giving up.

Draco lay watching him, noting the tight, uncomfortable line of Potter's shoulders, feeling his restlessness and confusion.

He blew out his breath. "Potter."

"Yeah."

"Are you having dreams too?"

Potter sighed. "Yeah."

"Since when?"

"A few days. I don't know, it's hard to tell."

"What about?"

"What do you think? Pretty much what Pomfrey said." She had informed them with clinical detachment that they could expect the normal night-time teenage male fantasies to start becoming more and more specific and focussed on one another, instead of random images, sensations, or people.

There was a long, strained silence.

"I was really hoping this wouldn't happen," Potter said softly.

"You were hoping for a platonic bond too?"

"Yeah."

"You knew it wasn't likely. Almost impossible. We're not brothers, or lifelong best friends."

"I was still hoping, though." Potter turned over to lie on his back, staring up at the ceiling miserably. "And apparently, so were you. Right?"

Draco sighed heavily. "Yeah."

"We'll have to tell Pomfrey."

"You don't say."

Potter closed his eyes. "I don't think..." His brow furrowed and he seemed to be searching for the right words. "I don't think I can do this," he finally said, very softly.

"I don't think we really have a choice," Draco pointed out.

"This is like... it's almost like rape, it's being compelled to have sex when you really don't want to-"

"Merlin, Potter, why do you think involuntary bonding spells are so very illegal?" Draco snapped. Deliver us from the interminably thick, he thought, but stopped himself before saying it out loud. Pomfrey had pointed out, quite rightly, that if he upset Potter too much, Potter might not be able to relax enough to let nature take its course. And while that hadn't bothered Draco in the least at first, he'd come to the grudging realization that it mattered, quite a bit. The more uneasy Potter felt, the longer it would take to get past his resistance. And any kind of pressure was not really an option. His nerves were jangling from Potter's discomfort right now; make Potter any more defensive, and Draco would feel it through their bond.

Wonderful. Here he was, getting seriously aroused more and more often, and the only person who could help him deal with his arousal was a pathetic loser too scared at the thought of losing his virginity and too scared of his own feelings to be able to do anything about either.

And even more infuriating, said pathetic loser was apparently also getting seriously turned on, more and more often, which was probably affecting Draco's own level of arousal, and his was probably affecting Potter's, and they were feeding off each other because of their constant proximity and their stupid, stupid bond, and there was nothing Draco could do to help this situation along. Other than try to conjure or at least fake superhuman patience in order to not frighten this bloody child he was bonded to.

"I really don't want to, to do... this," Potter stammered. "I mean - I want to, but I don't."

"You will, eventually. It's not actually rape, Potter. By the time you do it, you definitely want to. Otherwise the person you're bonded to won't even want to try anything, because they can feel your objection to it through the bond."

"You can feel it?"

"Of course I can, you-" Draco nearly bit through his tongue to stop the insults from pouring out. "I can tell. You're scared of both of us right now. Me, because you're afraid I'll come on to you, and yourself, because part of you wants me to come on to you."

"How did you know that?" Potter said after a startled moment.

"It's hardly Advanced Arithmancy, Potter." Draco rubbed his forehead, realizing that in the course of their conversation, he'd gotten turned on, again. He sat up. "So, this is marvellous. We're both feeling this, but your little moral scruples and emotional issues are going to conspire to keep us both on edge for who knows how long. That's marvellous. That's... that's just marvellous." Draco firmly shut his mouth and got out of bed before he could say anything else to upset Potter.

"Where are you going?" Potter said, surprised.

"I'm going to have a long cold shower, you git," Draco said, exasperated. "Go back to sleep."

ooooooo

Day 13, Sunday

"Harry... you can't be afraid of this forever," Lupin said gently that Sunday.

"It's not even that I'm afraid of it, it's, it's, I don't trust him, I don't like him-"

"But-"

"I know. But it's also - we've been fighting even more, ever since-" Harry bit his lip.

Too fast. Everything was out of control.

He desperately wanted to get rid of the dreams, the feelings, the need, the fact that instead of feeling normal, their touches was starting to mean something. Malfoy's hand on Harry's shoulder to get his attention stayed a little too long. Harry's push to get Malfoy out of his way had a bit more force to it, because part of him wanted to pull Malfoy closer instead. They were griping at each other more and more - Harry's clothing draped over their furniture and Malfoy's inability to ever remember where he put his tie were now major issues, and even that had a sexual aspect to it because Harry got distracted by how very alive Malfoy looked when he was really, really angry. Malfoy's snide remarks and drawling mockery were irritating and showed he was in control. His furious tirade at Harry for leaving his robe over an armchair and thereby hiding the essay Malfoy had spent three hours writing... there was no control or detachment there. There was nothing but spectacular anger over something relatively small, something that would never have driven him to such heights of fury had they not had this tension between them.

And Harry could feel Malfoy's desire and anger and frustration too. He no longer even knew which feelings were his and which were Malfoy's, he just knew there were a lot of them and they were intense and they were all wearing him out.

"You need to be around your other friends," Lupin said.

"But it's, it's embarrassing. In class, or at the library, we start fighting and other people hear it, and, and I hate that they're looking at us. And thinking about what's going on and why we're fighting. Some Slytherins actually have bets going on how long it'll take before..." He swallowed hard. "And Hermione says the Prophet and the Quibbler are still talking about us all the time..."

"Yes, I've seen that." Lupin shook his head in disgust. "Remarkably stupid stuff."

"I'm almost glad we don't eat in the Great Hall these days. People staring at us gets pretty tiresome after a while."

"I can imagine," Lupin said. "Are you having friends over to your place?"

"Not as much. I... we..."

How to explain this? How to explain the discomfort when they caught themselves looking at each other too long and realized people around them had probably noticed? It made Harry blush and stammer; it made Malfoy withdraw coldly or cut into Harry even more in class. It made Malfoy sullenly tell his friends he needed to study alone in their quarters, and made Harry turn his friends away too, not wanting to deal with their knowing glances at each other during his and Malfoy's fights, or their irritation at the way Malfoy treated all of them.

It was horrible. Feeling so isolated and angry and... and scared, so often. And aroused, mustn't forget that, aroused all the time. All the bloody time. Distracted by Malfoy's hair, his eyes, the clean line of his jaw... he found himself fantasizing in class so often he was getting used to it, and yet turning his fantasies into reality was just too awful to consider. He'd be in Arithmancy and he'd eventually realize he'd been thinking of touching Malfoy and his hand was actually resting against Malfoy's, and he'd think of lacing their fingers together and getting closer and then - then Malfoy would look at him with a raised eyebrow and he'd feel repelled and angry and scared.

"Harry?"

"I can't. I can't talk about this," Harry said, a lump forming in his throat. He glanced over to where Malfoy was studying, but Malfoy wasn't studying, Malfoy was watching him, and his eyes were dark and hungry and even as they gazed at each other Harry was feeling the need to move closer to him, to touch him and run away and pull him close and scream at him and-

"I can't. I'm sorry. I'll talk to you tomorrow," Harry stammered, and bolted from the sitting room without waiting for Lupin's response.

ooooooo

Day 14, Monday

This was some kind of bizarre psychological torture, thought Draco disconsolately. Potions had never been this dull in almost seven years. It was like Snape was conspiring with whoever set the curse to speak in such a monotonous tone and say such utterly uninteresting things that there was absolutely nothing for Draco's brain to do other than engage in yet another pointless fantasy about Potter. About touching, and holding, and undressing, and moving together, and...

He flushed darkly, unable to concentrate as Potter continued writing next to him, seemingly completely focussed on the lesson and completely oblivious to the turn Draco's thoughts were taking. Draco was rapidly becoming obsessed with the distance between his mouth and Potter's, and Potter was just taking notes. Not even affected through their bond. Draco's anger surged, which unfortunately caused other parts of him to surge too, before he tried to back-pedal and be grateful that Potter wasn't looking at him right now. Otherwise they just might do that oblivious drowning-in-each-other's-gaze thing again and they'd done it too many times and the amused looks on their friends' faces were getting a little old.

So. Potter was not distracted, which was good, because then Draco stood a chance of getting rid of his own distraction. For example, he could take notes, even though they made no sense because the most he could manage to do was write down every sixth or seventh word Snape said. "It recognize and Scandinavian will from turn moreso" were the last words on his page.

Or he could draw a little closer to Potter, just a bit, that would be enough for contact, they'd been doing that more and more lately, it would lessen the gnawing discomfort slightly, maybe...

Potter put his quill down and rubbed his eyes, and Draco glanced at his page.

Potter wasn't taking notes. He'd written out the Danish Futhark Runic alphabet three times and the Greek alphabet once, drawn a picture of a quill, a desk, a chair, Hermione Granger, and twelve little three-dimensional boxes, and set a simple spell to make them all dance across the page.

He elbowed Potter gently. "Pay attention," he murmured. Potter nodded slowly, swallowing hard and picking up his quill and meeting Draco's gaze. Draco felt his heart skip a beat, oh, god, Potter's face was flushed and his lips were slightly parted and Draco's gaze was drawn to them, and Potter was warm and close and his chest was heaving slightly, and the ache was getting worse, god, he couldn't just sit here and do nothing, not when he needed so much to move closer - and he looked down and saw he wasn't the only one showing physical evidence of what was going on inside him, he slid his leg a little closer to Potter, and their legs were pressed against each other, knee to hip, they'd been doing this more and more, lately, but now, now it wasn't comforting, it was maddeningly tantalizing, infuriatingly inadequate, he shifted slightly in his chair, trying to adjust himself discreetly but only succeeded in turning himself on even more, oh god, Potter was moving a little too and he slipped a hand below their desks, touched Potter's leg gently and stilled him. "Don't, that doesn't help," he whispered, and Potter slipped a hand between them too and laced their trembling fingers together and Draco bit his lip to stop a gasp from escaping him.

"We're in class, we can't..." he whispered, frustration growing by the second, this was intolerable, if only he could comfort himself by telling himself that he'd get some relief after class, but he couldn't, Potter was keeping them both at this unbearable level of need-

He clenched his eyes shut and tried to think of something else. No use. He opened his eyes again and Blaise was frowning at him, glancing between him and Potter and raising his eyebrows. Draco shook his head and closed his eyes again, but not before he caught Weasley's blue eyes narrowing, and Weasley reading the situation between them accurately.

"Harry?" Weasley leaned in. "You all right?"

Potter shook his head, letting go of Draco's hand under the desks and covering his face.

"Mr. Potter?" Snape drawled and Draco's stomach flipped over in dismay. "Would you care to tell us which of the properties of ginseng is crucial in this particular potion?"

"No, he wouldn't," Draco said before he could stop himself, distantly appalled at the husky, unsteady tone of his own voice. "Please ask somebody else."

There was a shocked silence, as students turned to look at them and Snape looked taken aback.

"Professor, please ask somebody else," Pansy repeated. Snape cleared his throat and smoothly picked on another student.

"Thanks, Pansy," Draco said quietly.

"You need to get out of class," Weasley was whispering.

"And do what, exactly?" Draco snapped, "Play chess?"

Weasley ignored him. "Look, you can't - Harry, come on. This is stupid. You can't go on like this, you're driving each other mental," he said, his tone worried. Draco felt a surge of gratitude mixed with indignation that Weasley should be the one to plead his case to Potter. Weasley was still talking urgently, but Draco could sense Potter's walls going up and knew Weasley was wasting his time.

"All right, I'm leaving," he decided abruptly, adjusted his robes and started to raise his hand.

"No, don't! Malf-" Potter grabbed at his arm and Draco shook him off.

"Professor?"

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy?"

"May I be excused?" he said as evenly as he could, and Snape's gaze flickered between him and Potter before he gave a curt nod. Draco stood up and walked out of the class, past a roomful of curious eyes, with a furious Potter in tow.

"What the hell was that - do you have no sense of self-control at all?"

"A damn sight more than you have - your own best friend is telling you to get out and get on with it, and you're too stubborn to-"

"Leave Ron out of this!"

"You're going to drive us both insane!" he shouted at Potter, losing all patience.

"You're the one who's driving us both insane! You insist on us being alone almost all the time and when we are around other people you're fucking impossible - how am I supposed to want to-"

"The curse does not say You Will Socialize With Other People, or You Will Coo Like Fucking Lovebirds, Potter! It does say, very specifically, what we're supposed to do, and if you weren't a half-blood Muggle-raised TWIT we would have done it by now!"

"FUCK YOU!" Potter yelled at him.

"Believe me, I'd love to! Unfortunately I'm married to 'I'm Saving Myself Forever For God Only Knows What' and I swearif you tell me this isn't a marriage I will kill you, this is exactly what marriage is all about, NOT fucking the person you're supposed to fuck, and not being able to fuck anybody else either!"

"I don't TRUST you and I don't LIKE you, can you get that through your thick head!"

"Why can't you get it through your thick head that trust and liking have nothing to do with a bond?"

"You-"

"All right!" Malfoy shouted. "Fine! Have it your way. Lunch is in an hour, we'll go to the Great Hall. And until then, if you'll excuse me I'm going to take yet another freezing cold shower and try to stay as far away from you as humanly possible."

ooooooo

By the time they arrived at the Great Hall for lunch, the anger between them was so thick they could hardly see. Potter headed straight for the Gryffindor table and on impulse, Draco dropped into a seat at the Slytherin table. Potter stopped, looking back at Draco in surprise. "What are you doing?"

"I said we would eat at the Great Hall. I didn't say where."

"I'm not sitting at your table."

"Fine. Have a nice lunch," Draco spat out, grabbing a plate and getting himself lunch. Soup, salad, pumpkin juice, all regular fare, back at his old table with his old house mates and it all would have felt wonderfully homey if only his head hadn't been pounding and his eyesight getting a little blurry.

He started to eat mechanically, not joining into the conversation around him, willing the physical and emotional discomfort away and trying desperately to focus on something, anything, else. Like, for example, the interesting way in which the conversation was ebbing and flowing at the Slytherin table, as his tablemates traded curious looks about his presence and dropped odd, awkward silences here and there.

Interesting, yes. Except that it was difficult to focus on that when the world seemed to be narrowing down to nothing but disorienting physical and emotional sensations and commands. Aching desire, buzzing, nausea, frazzled nerves, headache, itch, pit-of-the-stomach dread, weariness. Touch, lie down, get up, move, scream, give in, cry, sleep...

He gripped the edge of the table and focussed on the table top as the world started spinning and the voices around him got louder and softer and silent and screaming and

"Draco? Draco? Are you all-" and then the table swam out of sight and the world went black.

ooooooo

Snape looked up in time to see Draco Malfoy suddenly slump forward and Pansy Parkinson catch him on her shoulder, the rest of his tablemates getting up and exclaiming with alarm - and at the Gryffindor table, Potter stood up unsteadily, turning towards the Slytherin table and choking out "No-" before he too fell and was caught by Weasley. In an instant Snape and McGonagall were rushing towards their tables, wading into the small crowds of Slytherin and Gryffindor students. Snape caught Draco, taking in his ashen features, trembling form, half-closed eyes. Draco moaned softly, trying to move away from Snape's touch, his breath coming in shaking gasps.

"Severus!" McGonagall called out, "bring him here." But Snape was already doing so, muttering a lightening spell and picking Draco up in his arms like a child, and hurrying to the Gryffindor table where McGonagall had placed Potter. He gently put Draco down next to him, touching their shoulders together, and let out his breath with relief as both boys seem to sense each other's presence and relax, their breath less gasping, their shaking less pronounced.

McGonagall was watching them worriedly, and Weasley was saying something to her. "Yes, do," she said. "We need Madam Pomfrey." Weasley took off at a run. Snape smoothed Draco's hair back from his forehead, noting that his skin was damp and his pulse racing.

"Poppy warned us that this might happen," McGonagall said. "I should have insisted they sit at the same table, they weren't supposed to be out of contact, but they were both so fed up with each other-"

"Let me through!" Madam Pomfrey's brusque voice could be heard. "Come on, now!" She bustled into view, taking in the two unconscious boys on the table.

"What happened?" she demanded, touching their foreheads and beginning an examination of both of them.

"They were eating-" McGonagall began.

"Where?"

"Potter was at the Gryffindor table and Malfoy was with the Slytherins-" McGonagall faltered as Pomfrey's head snapped up and pinned her with an incredulous glare.

"They were at separate tables!" she hissed, and McGonagall and Snape quailed. Potter gave a small groan and moved and she murmured something under her breath that seemed to comfort him, before fixing McGonagall and Snape with her glare again. "Who allowed that to happen?"

"Poppy, they were driving each other mad, they-"

"Well of course they were driving each other mad, anybody would, forced to spend all day every day with somebody they hated, but that's not the point! They were not supposed to be out of close contact for more than five minutes at a time! What part of that was not clear?"

"They seemed to be all right-" Snape began.

"Do they look all right to you? Call yourselves responsible adults - you should have handcuffed them together before letting them do something this stupid! Do you realize that their progress may be set back by weeks? You are supposed to keep them safe from their own idiocy, and instead you letthis happen!"

The students stood gaping as Pomfrey lashed out at two professors in public, and the two professors took it silently.

"Now, step back, all of you - out of my way! Minerva, Severus, pick them up, help me get them to the hospital. Honestly, I can't - that's all right, Mr. Malfoy," she said soothingly as Draco's eyes fluttered open and he made a small fearful sound. "We're just going to the hospital, you'll be all right - going to have nightmares for a week, that one, mark my words - no, that's all right, it's just us, Mr. Potter," she shushed him too. "You'll be all right in a few minutes..." and the small procession left the dining hall, Pomfrey continuing her tirade well into the hallway.

ooooooo

Day 15, Tuesday

Draco opened his eyes and groaned. The bloody hospital. And his head was killing him. In fact, most of him hurt abominably.

"Draco? Are you awake?" a soft voice said, close to his ear, and he turned to see Pansy next to his bed.

"I'm at the hospital again?"

"Yeah. How much do you remember?"

"Not much. We were at the dining hall and I felt dizzy-"

"You were positively grey. Then you fainted, and so did Potter, and Madam Pomfrey brought you both here."

Bloody hell. Sure enough, there was Potter, still unconscious next to him. He groaned again, rubbing his eyes and trying to think past the searing pain.

"Draco? Are you all right?"

"No," he managed to gasp. "Get Pomfrey-" she sped away.

"You're up now, are you Mr. Malfoy? Well you'll notice you're feeling a little less than 100 per cent. You did yourselves a lot of damage with that little stunt."

"I just wanted to get away from-"

"Yes, no doubt. But that splitting headache and other pains you're feeling right now are your payment for that little moment of separate peace."

"Didn't feel like peace - oh," he gasped, trying to muffle his gasps of pain.

"Here," Pomfrey grabbed Potter's shoulder and manoeuvred him around, much to Draco's confusion. "I'm trying to get him so that you have as much surface area touching each other as possible."

"What?"

"It'll make the pain lessen. Here, pretend he's a teddy bear, that ought to do it."

Blushing a little at Pansy being there to witness this, but willing to do anything that might lessen the pain, Draco took Potter into his arms, tucking Potter's head into his own shoulder and arranging himself against Potter's unconscious form. He sighed as the pain lessened perceptibly.

"Better?"

"Yeah," he mumbled, closing his eyes. God, yes, much better, but still horrible. He couldn't imagine ever wanting to let go of Potter again, not if it meant feeling the way he'd been feeling for the last few minutes.

A wave of resentment and weariness flooded through him. He wasn't supposed to have to deal with this. He was supposed to be thinking of NEWTs and the ascension of the Dark Lord, not worrying about whether his head would split open in agony if he didn't cuddle up to his family's - and, incidentally, the Dark Lord's - mortal enemy like a bloody teddy bear.

ooooooo

"Draco."

Oh, wonderful. Draco kept his eyes closed, in too much pain to really feel as mortified as he probably should. "Father."

There was a small scraping sound as Lucius Malfoy took a chair next to Draco's bed.

Then a long, long silence.

"Severus explained what happened." Lucius' tone was very mild. Draco nodded. "You look terrible."

Draco nodded again.

"Are you able to speak?" Lucius' mild tone held a hint of reproof, and Draco opened his eyes and tried to meet his steady gaze. He sighed, looking away.

"I would like to hear it from you," Lucius said, his tone still the epitome of reason and concerned fatherhood. "Because it appears that you brought this upon yourselves."

"We did."

"I see."

Another long silence.

"Has he regained consciousness yet?"

No need to ask who 'he' was, as 'he' was currently peacefully slumbering, his head resting on Draco's shoulder and his body pressed up along the length of Draco's.

"Not yet. Madam Pomfrey says he's all right, it just hit him a bit harder than me."

"I see."

These long silences were getting uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry, Father," Draco said, closing his eyes again.

"I would imagine so," Lucius said. "May I ask why you decided to disregard medical advice and all common sense and allow yourself to be separated from your very newly bonded spouse?"

"I don't know."

"That seems unlikely."

Draco sighed. "I couldn't stand him any more. He's... he's impossible-" and with vague horror, he realized his throat was closing up and he was in real danger of starting to cry. He held his breath and sent his mind off to other places - Arithmancy tables seemed as good a place as any - to avoid ending up crying in front of his father, of all people.

Lucius waited patiently for Draco to regain his composure. "Your professors indicated that you have been rather hostile to one another lately. It's unfortunate that your mother and I had to hear it from them instead of you. I was under the impression that the sharing of accurate and relevant information was part of the reason that you were supposed to speak with us every night?"

Draco swallowed hard. "I didn't - I didn't want to... it didn't seem that important, we've been fighting the whole time, I didn't want to bother you with-" he cut himself off as Potter stirred.

Potter opened his eyes, blinking sleepily at his surroundings and raising his head off of Draco's shoulder. He drew in a startled breath at the sight of Draco's father staring at him dispassionately two feet away. He started to sit up and Draco tightened his hold on him.

"Don't. Your head'll feel like it's falling to pieces. Besides, we're supposed to stay in contact as much as possible." Potter's body felt stiff with resistance and discomfort, and Draco unthinkingly rubbed Potter's shoulder gently, trying to calm him a little. Potter, never taking his eyes off Lucius, gradually relaxed and settled back against Draco's shoulder with a sigh.

"How touching," Lucius said with mild disdain. "If you had conducted yourselves as responsible adults, this charming little public display of affection would not have been necessary, would it?"

"We can't know that, Mr. Malfoy," said Pomfrey, who had noticed Potter waking up and had approached their bed. "We informed you that Madam Pantere believes the spell was not cast competently. They might have ended up in the hospital eventually anyway, from side effects caused by the inadequacy of the spell."

"They might have. They did not. They ended up here because they behaved as children instead of grown men."

"They are not grown men, sir," Pomfrey stated firmly. "They may be legally of age, but they are still teenage boys forced to face a situation that would be difficult for anybody, adult or not." Pomfrey fixed Lucius with a level gaze. "In any case, it might be a good idea to save the recriminations for later, when they are more fully recovered. Now if you'll excuse us, I need to examine my patients." She waited a beat. "In private."

Lucius Malfoy narrowed his eyes at her, but stood and calmly left the hospital, not deigning to look at Draco or Potter as he left.

"Now then, Potter," Pomfrey said briskly, "We'll see how you're doing and then see about getting you some dinner."

"Dinner? How long was I out?"

"Almost thirty hours." Potter blanched. "Yes, that was quite a stunt you two pulled," she said dryly. "Don't worry about it, what's done is done. Now, sit up, please. Malfoy, you too, this won't take but a minute."

ooooooo

Draco sighed against Potter's shoulder, wishing he could just go back to sleep and forget any of this had ever happened. Unfortunately, Graciele Esposito, the Bonding Spell Disorders specialist from St. Mungo's, wanted to have a meeting with the entire merry band of parent-figures, professors and medical personnel who were part of their special 'case.' And so here they were. Still in their hospital bed, finally allowed to sit up but still forced to remain in very close contact or risk severe discomfort, with enough people arranged around them to hold a bloody séance.

"All right, let's begin," said Esposito. "Obviously, we're all very worried about what happened yesterday, and would like to make sure it doesn't happen again. You boys were lucky; you may have fainted, but you appear to be all right except for some minor discomfort. The damage could have been much, much worse. Either or both of you could have suffered a heart attack, or gone into a permanent coma." She fixed them with a serious look. "And in any case, your progress has been thrown off, which means that it will probably take you even longer than we thought to get back to a state where you can be apart safely and comfortably for longer than a few minutes. This is very serious, boys. It's no joke, messing around with a bonding spell."

Draco bit his lip, not needing a bond to feel Potter's resentment and fear, as Potter's body grew tense against his and Draco was feeling the same way anyway. Potter tightened his arm around Draco's shoulder slightly.

"However. I trust you've both been frightened enough by what happened that you will behave more responsibly in the future?"

Draco and Potter quickly nodded.

"All right then. Madam Pomfrey and I have spent the day discussing the situation while you were unconscious, and we've decided to make a few changes to deal with your particular situation. The most important change concerns your living arrangements." She cleared her throat. "After speaking to your friends from both houses, we believe part of the problem is that while we've tried to give you guidance and support from adults, we've isolated you from your peers at a time when you need them most.

"I... I think we may have been too hasty in treating you as adults. That, combined with the fact that your houses are generally considered rivals... well. At the time, we felt there was no viable alternative to removing you from your houses. We now feel that was a mistake. You were told when you came to Hogwarts that your houses were to be your families while you were here, and we removed those families without really replacing them with anything equivalent."

"But Malfoy can't come with me into the Tower, and I can't go with him into the Dungeons, there's nothing else to be done-" Potter began, and McGonagall spoke up.

"There is, Potter. We simply did not think it would be feasible when this first happened. In light of yesterday's events, Professor Snape and I have spoken to your house mates and explained the situation to them, and decreed that you both be allowed access to both houses. You are encouraged sit at each other's tables in the Great Hall, use each other's common rooms and even go back to sleeping in your dormitories if you wish. And if you choose to do that we will teach you a spell to put on the curtains to effectively make a separate room for yourselves once they're drawn, so that nobody will be able to walk in on you or overhear anything."

Draco was almost amused enough to smirk through his weariness at Potter's embarrassment at that last remark. Gryffindors. So prudish.

"We're also going to take the chance on other spells," Esposito told them. "Cheering charms, calming spells, things like that. We felt it wasn't prudent to do that, especially since we'd discovered your particular bonding was not done with the greatest of skill, but I think you've conclusively proven that doing nothing is disastrous. We'll simply have to take our chances and monitor you to make sure any spells we use don't react negatively with your bond."

"Any questions?" asked Pomfrey.

Draco shook his head tiredly, not wanting to prolong this discussion any further.

"I have a question," Lucius Malfoy said, and Draco was hard-pressed not to groan in dismay - not only because a question would mean he couldn't go to sleep yet, but because he recognized his father's 'I am going to get my way despite the fact that nobody here will like it' tone. And knowing the people gathered around them... he couldn't imagine his father would be able to bully them quickly and efficiently and let him get some rest anytime soon.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy?"

"It is my understanding that this current... breakdown in their bond was due in large part to Mr. Potter's reluctance in accepting certain aspects of the bonding spell?"

Draco could feel Potter's heart beat faster as Potter took a startled breath.

"I wouldn't say that's entirely accurate-" Healer Esposito began and Lucius interrupted her smoothly.

"I assume that you will be dealing with that reluctance by magical means as well?"

"What?" Potter sat up, outraged, and Draco ground his teeth in frustration as the room erupted into argument.

How completely typical, and what a complete waste of time. His father was, as usual, convinced that he could intimidate anybody into doing whatever he wanted, but judging from Potter's reaction, Potter would sooner agree to a Cruciatus curse than any 'reluctance-dispelling' magical spell, charm or potion. A brief glance around the room showed that nobody except possibly Snape felt that Lucius' suggestion had any merit.

And knowing Potter's deeply ingrained stubbornness, and knowing too that Potter would be fully backed by Dumbledore and McGonagall, to say nothing of a distinguished Healer from St. Mungo's and Madam Pomfrey, Draco knew without a doubt that his father would lose.

He rubbed his eyes tiredly, quickly losing the train of the discussion. He didn't need to listen anyway. Potter would say that he would not consent to any more spells that interfered with his personal life. His father would point out that it wasn't just Potter's personal life that was being affected, but Draco's as well, and that since any reluctance on Potter's part was solely a product of inadequate Muggle upbringing it certainly shouldn't be taken seriously. McGonagall would claim that there was no reason why they couldn't be patient, Pomfrey would point out that Lucius was not a healer and had no idea what he was talking about, Snape would say that Lucius had a point and Potter was insufferably stubborn, the Healer would no doubt say something profound, Dumbledore would mostly just observe, and Draco had no idea what the bloody werewolf would say but it didn't matter anyway because nobody but dotty old Dumbledore and Potter himself would put any weight on what Lupin said anyway.

Draco leaned back against the pillows, utterly uninterested in the ebb and flow of the arguments around him, and thought instead about the Slytherin common room.

Slytherin house... he'd just about reconciled himself to never returning, and had told himself it didn't matter. It was just a dormitory, after all. Rather better furnished than most, as Slytherin tended to attract slightly more wealthy and refined students than, say, Hufflepuff, but still merely a school dormitory. Not worth getting attached to, especially not for the Malfoy heir. He'd even told himself that, despite the lamentable circumstances and the horror of sharing his living space with Potter, it was actually rather pleasant to have a suite of his own. Rather more appropriate for his station in life than being jammed into a dormitory with seventy other students.

Except that a small part of his mind kept reminding him that he would have an entire lifetime of his own quarters. This was the last year he would have the opportunity to live with a group of people his own age; studying together, forging alliances that would influence his adult life, even having fun together once in a while, doing the stupid things teenagers were supposed to do before they settled down to familial duty.

That small part of his mind had mourned the sudden loss of all of that as much as other parts of him had mourned the loss of Quidditch, the loss of his freedom, the loss of any suitable match that would benefit the Malfoys, the loss of prestige to their family because of the dismal match he was stuck with, the probable loss of his father's influence among the Dark Lord's supporters...

And now he could have back at least a tiny part of what he had lost.

Or could he?

He could go back to Slytherin, yes. But he'd be doing so with his ever-present sidekick. What would that mean? Would anybody trust him - as much as any Slytherin could be trusted, that is? Would anybody lower their guard enough to speak frankly to him of things Potter shouldn't hear? Would anybody believe that when Potter said he had a silence spell cast, he really meant it? For that matter, did Draco trust that himself?

How would he fit in again? How would his house mates feel, having been forced to accept Potter's presence among them? Especially since they would be accepting it solely to help Draco, whose bond was killing him because he was... what? Lonely? The Malfoy heir, unable to handle a slight inconvenience like an unpleasant marriage because he was lonely?

Oh, shit. That wouldn't be good. His house mates would have less respect for him, and would probably feel that he was indebted to them for allowing him back amongst them.

Although that might depend on how Snape had 'decreed' that Potter was to be welcomed into Slytherin house. Snape was a shrewd player, and had always been supportive of the Malfoys. Draco should probably ask him how he'd put the situation across to the house. Hopefully he'd made Potter sound like the lonely scared child he was and indicated that since the Gryffindor needed his house, it would be unfair to not allow Draco access to his own house, whether Draco needed it or not. He should probably ask Snape-

"...Draco?"

Draco suddenly realized everyone was silent and looking at him, and he stifled his alarm at the realization that the last voice he remembered hearing was his father's and he had absolutely no idea what he'd been talking about.

"I'm sorry, Father, could you repeat that?" he said, trying to keep his voice casual.

"I asked what you thought," said Lucius with the air of impatient condescension that always stung Draco.

"About-"

"About using magical means to facilitate the sexual part of your bond," Pomfrey said bluntly.

"No," Draco said without thinking, and almost bit his tongue in horror as he realized he'd just done. Flatly disagreed with his father, in front of other people. Panic threatened to flood him as he met Lucius' incredulous gaze and desperately tried to maintain a casual air while frantically trying to figure out how to salvage the situation. Shit shit shit shit shit how could he have just said that what the hell was he thinking shit shit shit-

Relax. Breathe. It's all right.

He almost heard the words; felt the panic shimmer and break like a bubble, realized there was no emergency here. He glanced down at Potter's hand, calmly resting on his arm. So he'd disagreed; as long as he didn't show blatant disrespect towards Lucius, there was a chance that Lucius could be made to accept what he had said with a modicum of grace.

"I mean, obviously it's a good idea-" the hand on his arm tightened painfully, "but I don't think we need to resort to that yet, especially if we're not sure how other spells will affect the bond." The hand relaxed. He smiled, "And, no offence, but being the victim of one botched personal spell doesn't make me terribly eager to try out another even more personal spell, in case that one's botched too. I don't even want to imagine how that one could go wrong," he shuddered exaggeratedly and there was a small rustle of amusement among the adults.

And thank Merlin and Mordred, the dangerous light in his father's eyes was gone and there was instead a small smile curving his lips. And the feel off Potter was... cautious acceptance. Interesting.

He looked down at Potter's hand, still on his arm, looked up again. Potter was watching him curiously, his head tilted to one side like he was trying to figure something out.

"In any case, you won't have to worry about anything like that for a few days at least," Healer Esposito said. "As I said, your bond was damaged. You're too weak to feel anything sexual, probably for another week. By then, who knows, maybe you will have worked things out. Miracles have been known to happen."

There was a small pause.

"Right, then," Pomfrey said, glancing over both of them. "We've still got a few other things to discuss, but I'd like to finish this up as soon as possible. I've got two patients here who need to sleep."

ooooooo

Finally. All done. Draco's eyes were closing even as his father left the room. He lay down, blessed relief flowing through him. Sleep, thank god.

He mumbled "Potter, did you do something to me during that meeting? When my father asked me what I thought about spells for you?"

"Yeah, did you feel something?" Potter said, yawning and lying down too.

"Yeah, you'll have to tell me what you did," Draco yawned too, turning onto his side, drawing close to Potter and throwing an arm over Potter's chest.

"Yeah, OK, tomorrow." Potter drew Draco's arm closer and settled himself against Draco. "Did you mean it when you said you didn't want to use them?"

"Bloody hell, yes," Draco muttered. "Fucking stupid idea."

Potter chuckled. "You'll have to explain what you mean by that."

"Tomorrow," they both said, and Draco smiled tiredly.

"Good night, Potter."

"Yeah, good night."

ooooooo

Day 16, Wednesday

Harry stifled a yawn as he tried to make himself concentrate on his Potions readings. Good god, how could anybody enjoy this or do it as a living.

He glanced over at Malfoy, still sleeping, wondering if he should ask for help when Malfoy woke up. Decided not to. Malfoy might be one of the best students in Potions, but he was a lousy teacher - no patience, no gift for explaining the concepts, no desire to help other students. Occasionally Harry had seen him help out fellow Slytherins, but his help always seemed to be bought by large favours.

Besides, it wasn't as though he needed any more social contact with Malfoy than was absolutely necessary.

Harry rubbed his eyes, wondering if maybe he should just go back to sleep, but feeling a little out of sorts. That seemed to be all they'd been doing today. Other than breakfast and lunch, and brief visits from Pomfrey, a few teachers and friends, most of their day had been spent unconscious. Pomfrey had explained that they were recovering and should just allow themselves to rest for the next couple of days, but Harry was getting bored.

However. Reading Potions certainly wasn't helping his boredom. He put his book away and lay down, automatically fitting himself along Malfoy's sleeping form. He stared blankly at their night-table, counting the drawers and nicks and scratches on it, then stared at the shelves, trying to figure out what Pomfrey kept in them.

"Potter?" Malfoy's sleepy voice was followed by Malfoy turning over and squinting at the ceiling. "What time is it?"

"Almost five."

"Oh." Malfoy rubbed his eyes, yawning. "Mm, you never told me what you did last night," he said fuzzily.

"When?"

"When my father asked me a question."

"Oh, that." Harry tried to think. "I don't know, really - I think I just tried to project calm at you."

"Project calm?"

"You were – tense." Harry barely stopped himself before he could say 'scared'. "I tried to imagine defusing that. Did it work?"

"Yeah."

"What did it feel like?" Malfoy shrugged. "How did you know I did something?"

"I don't know." Malfoy thought for a minute. "It... it felt odd. Like there was somebody suggesting how I should feel, inside my mind. A bit like feeling what you feel through the bond. But... different." There was a slight pause. "What made you think of doing it?"

"I don't know. I think I just remembered what Pomfrey told us that first day, about some of the advantages of bonding, and that was one of them - being able to help the other person feel steadier."

Malfoy frowned. "I didn't need you to do that."

Harry thought quickly. Yes, he bloody well had - his panic had been flooding through to Harry from their bond - but Malfoy apparently didn't want to admit to it. "We were both tired. And I wanted to get back to sleep and I thought if you had extra help to help you think of what to say, you might be able to end the discussion faster."

Malfoy nodded. "Yeah, well, it worked."

"Imagine that," said Harry dryly. "Finally, a benefit to this stupid thing. And it only took sixteen days to find it." Malfoy snickered.

"Why didn't you agree with your father about the... you know, the spells?" Harry asked, taking advantage of this unexpectedly civil conversation they were having.

"I knew you'd never agree to it. You're too stubborn, and Dumbledore and McGonagall were going to back you up anyway. Waste of time, talking about it."

Harry nodded. That made sense. It was a little surprising that Malfoy had seen that, but he supposed even Malfoy could sometimes see the blatantly obvious and recognize a lost cause when he saw one.

"Do you suppose they'll let us go tomorrow?" he asked idly.

"Probably not. Pomfrey said it'll take a few days before we don't need to sleep all the time."

"Mm." Harry closed his eyes.

"Damn," said Malfoy suddenly.

"What?"

"We had a paper due for Transfiguration today."

"I think McGonagall might be persuaded to allow us a bit of extra time."

"I don't like getting so far behind in school work."

"Why do you care?" Harry asked curiously.

"What?"

"About your marks, about school work. It's not like you have to get top grades in order to be hired by the Ministry or anything."

"God, Potter, you are clueless," Malfoy snickered. "It's not about getting a job, it's about earning respect in order to have influence over other people. Just because you're the heir of a respected family, that doesn't mean you can just sit back and let your name do everything for you."

"It doesn't?"

"No, you twit. If you're a blithering idiot, no mere name is enough to earn anybody's respect. My father doesn't just get people to do what he wants because he's from an old family; he's also very intelligent and people know it."

"He's also an arrogant manipulating-" Harry bit back the rest of his opinion and Malfoy chuckled.

"You say that as though it's a bad thing."

"It is."

"Potter, should I remind you that that's your father-in-law you're talking about?"

"Oh god, no," Harry groaned, and Malfoy laughed. Harry smiled, then felt a sudden shock of realization.

Malfoy had laughed at something Harry had said. Not maliciously, not derisively, but with genuine humour. What's more, he'd teased him, and not in a malicious way either. Like one would tease a friend. And they'd been having a perfectly civil conversation - and not for the first time, either. Just an exchange of opinions and ideas, with no ulterior motive of hurting one another.

Harry swallowed hard. Things had changed, again; they'd changed without Harry really noticing, and he was only now coming to that realization at this particular moment in time, as they lay in each other's arms, where they'd been for the last couple of days. The fact that they'd ended up here because they loathed each other so much they'd deliberately done something amazingly dangerous just to get away from each other didn't seem to matter as much as the fact that they weren't actively hating each other right now. Whether it was the forced continual contact or the exhaustion or something else, they were currently existing in a place beyond their hatred and resentment and it was... a little frightening.

"What does he think about all of this?" Harry asked, grasping for something to say to keep him from thinking about this too much.

"Father? He's delighted. He always hoped I'd marry far below my station, to somebody completely inappropriate in just about every conceivable way. This exceeds his wildest dreams."

Harry noted the waspish tone and tried not to think about what it meant that part of him was rather relieved to hear it. "Does he blame you?"

"For walking through a door? Merlin, Potter, my father has high expectations of me but I don't think even he could think that this is my fault."

"Still, I'm sure this is making things... awkward for your family."

"I'm sure it is," Malfoy said curtly.

"Doesn't he tell you?"

"With you in the room every time we talk? Oddly, no."

"I use a silence spell."

"Yes, and Slytherins are well known for trusting the honesty of their rivals. It's part of how we get ahead in life."

Harry decided to drop the subject. They were getting into a dicey area, and while part of him was a little relieved to be back on familiar semi-hostile territory, he didn't want to go overboard with it. He briefly debated asking Malfoy what he thought about going back to their houses once they were released, then realized he not only didn't care, but he really didn't feel up to talking about anything any more right now.

"Can you turn the light away from me if you're going to study?" he asked, turning over and getting comfortable and dropping right back down to sleep.

4 October 15 to October 21

Day 17, Thursday

Draco turned over his portkeys, idly examining them as Potter and his friends caught up. Dumbledore had given them both special portkeys keyed to their shared bedroom as well as their respective dorm rooms. That way they could easily move from one to the other without needing to walk all over the castle every time they left something behind at one of the three places they were going to be staying.

Draco glanced around the Gryffindor common room with curiosity. He'd been here before, the day that Potter had moved out, but hadn't stayed long enough to get a feel for the place. Now, though, he noticed the squashy chairs, the inevitable gold and red colour scheme, the excessive use of portraits as wall coverings. It wasn't bad. Even though it tended more towards comfort than elegance, it wasn't that bad. He could get used to it. Apparently, he would have to.

He pulled out his books. Not feeling terribly energetic, he opted to read Potions, which could always be counted on to keep him focussed. Thinking of studying Transfiguration right now made his head hurt. Abysmally difficult subject, taught by an abysmally humourless teacher. He'd be out like a light in minutes, and he didn't fancy falling asleep surrounded by Gryffindors.

Once more he was grateful to Snape for having played the return to their dorms in exactly the right way for his housemates. In his current state, he would not have wanted to be near Slytherins, with their unerring instinct for detecting weakness. Instead he'd been able to agree to returning to Gryffindor first with no damage to his image.

"Well don't spend all your time over there, Draco," Pansy had told him. "We'd like to see you too, whether Potter misses his little friends or not. Frankly we're all rather peeved that it's all about Poor Little Potty's emotional needs. So bloody typical of this place."

"I'll come by eventually," Draco had said. "I'll probably spend all of my time there studying, I'm so bloody far behind."

"Really? You're not going to do a little reconnaissance work for us over there - uncover dastardly Gryffindor plots for world domination and all that?"

"Please. They're Gryffindors. Their idea of a dastardly plot is 'let's work really hard and endanger our lives for no good reason'."

He glanced briefly at Potter, chatting animatedly with some third-years. About what, Draco had no idea, since he'd performed a silence spell as soon as basic courtesy could allow. It did feel a little odd to be sitting in the midst of a rather large welcoming party and not hear a thing, but it certainly beat making small talk with Potter's friends.

He buried himself into Potions. They were so bloody far behind that it was disheartening to think of even starting to catch up. Instead, he flipped over to the section on energy potions, even though they didn't need to know it right now. He and Potter were going to be taking some of the potions to help keep them awake in class tomorrow, even though they would only be attending about half the day. He may as well understand what it was he was going to be ingesting.

This lethargy was incredibly annoying. Who would've believed that resisting the damned curse would be so damaging? They'd been told, of course, and had read the material they'd been given about the spell, but it was rather different reading that "the patient might experience severe loss of energy for several days" and living it. He looked up and ended the silence spell as Potter touched his knee.

"What?"

"Seamus got liquorice melts, do you want one?" He held one out. Draco smiled - liquorice melts, only his favourite Honeydukes product.

"Thanks," he said to Finnigan, as the melt dissolved and suffused his mouth with a taste of liquorice which would stay for about an hour. He turned back to his Potions reading, setting the silence spell again. Potter tapped his knee again.

"Yes?"

"There's also fizzbees and-"

"Potter, please leave me alone. Some of us care more about our marks than we do about socializing and eating sweets."

Potter shrugged. "Fair enough, I just didn't want you to feel left out."

"That's very noble of you, but I'm a Slytherin in the Gryffindor common room. Left out is exactly where I'd most like to be, thanks."

"Point taken." Potter grinned and turned away, leaving Draco to study without further interference.

It really was rather remarkable, Draco thought as he tried to figure his way through a particularly tricky question, how easy it was to get used to some things. Like, for example, existing in a bubble of serene silence in the midst of a party. Other than the occasional touch of Potter's arm or leg against his and the occasional intrusion of his own thoughts, there really wasn't anything else to distract him from the subject he was studying.

And when the subject was as intricate and demanding as Potions, it was easy to drop into it and think of nothing but the interaction of various properties and the patterns they made. For example, valerian, used for its sedative properties, somehow became a disinhibitor when combined with tadpoles. Tadpoles also turned crystal mermaid tears into stimulants and powdered dragon scales into mood brighteners, and if you could figure out how they did what they did to those three substances, you could start figuring out how to use them for brand new potions. The real challenge of Potions was in understanding the properties and patterns of substances well enough to make your own potions, not just following what - he looked up as Potter tapped his shoulder.

"Yes?"

"I need to get to bed," Potter said, yawning. "Are you just about done?"

"I wanted to finish this last section-"

"Malfoy, you've been reading for almost two hours."

Draco glanced around the common room, a little surprised. The room bore all the signs that a great celebration had occurred - plates and cups scattered over almost every available flat surface, wrappers from Honeydukes products underfoot, remnants of Exploding Snap games. The few people left were mostly older, and mostly somewhat subdued, speaking in low tones.

"Right." He stood up, marked his place in the book and stretched, then started to follow Potter.

"Good night, Harry," Finnigan said, "...and Malfoy," he added after a small hesitation.

Draco turned back, a little startled. "Good night," he said automatically, his forehead furrowing slightly as he turned to follow Potter up the stairs to the seventh-year boys' dorm.

"You're confused," Potter observed as they climbed the stairs.

"What? No I'm not."

"Startled, then."

"No. Maybe. Never mind. Don't do the mind-reading thing, it's annoying."

"Sorry." Potter let the way to the washrooms and they started getting ready for bed. Draco wrinkled his nose at the communal sinks and the counter space fouled by somebody else's shaving potion. This was one thing he had definitely appreciated about his own quarters; not having to share washroom space with anybody but Potter. While not the tidiest person elsewhere, he had at least kept their washroom pristine.

"Is everybody else still at the party?" Draco asked as they reached the empty dorm.

"It's only eleven on a Thursday night, Malfoy. Don't tell me Slytherin seventh years are already in bed by now."

"Eleven?" Draco realized he was utterly disoriented as to time. Must be the product of spending so much of the last few days sleeping.

"Besides, I think... um, I think they wanted to give us some privacy," Potter added as they got into bed.

Draco chuckled, "Not much need of that, thank god. Not for while, hopefully."

Potter shrugged uncomfortably. "Pomfrey and Esposito said they didn't know when-"

"Don't worry about it, Potter," Draco said dismissively.

"Easy for you to say."

"What?"

"Well it's not a problem for you, is it?"

"Not a problem to want to shag a bloody virgin whom I find personally distasteful and who's too scared to try anything anyway?" Draco said cuttingly. "No, in fact it's very pleasant. I highly recommend it to anyone who's looking for an ulcer."

"Oh, forget it," Potter said, turning his back to Draco.

"How could it not be a problem?"

"Never mind. Sorry I said anything."

Draco briefly considered asking Potter what he'd meant, then decided he really didn't care enough to know. "Fine. Good night."

"Good night."

ooooooo

Day 19, Saturday

"God, it's good to be home," Harry commented in the middle of Ron's account of the latest Chudley Cannons debacle, and Ron smiled.

"I still can't believe you're back," he said. They'd both woken up somewhat early for a Saturday, Ron had gone down to the Great Hall to get them a bit of breakfast, and now here they were, sipping cocoa, keeping their voices low so as not to disturb the four other boys still soundly asleep in the room.

"Yeah, neither can I," Harry said, smiling.

There had been a few moments of awkwardness, of course. Like yesterday morning, when a red-faced Ron had woken him up for class while obviously trying very, very hard to pretend he didn't see Malfoy still sleeping in Harry's arms. But mostly, he was home and it felt wonderful.

This is what I've missed the most, thought Harry. Nothing huge, just being with friends, being able to chat about nothing and everything.

"Was it horrible, living with him? Was he a right awful git?" Ron paused. "And are you sure he's asleep?"

"Yeah, pretty sure," Harry chuckled, glancing back at his bed, where only a splash of white-gold was visible over the blankets. "I can... sort of feel him when he's awake. Not really, but... it's weird, I can't really explain it. It's like if I stop and think for a minute, I can tell roughly how he's feeling. And right now he's feeling asleep."

"Good. Yeah, Bill said he could feel Fleur like that after their bonding. Mind you, he knew her before they did the spell. I don't know how much was the spell and how much was just them."

"Bit of both, probably. Although I knew Malfoy, I suppose, before the spell... of course that's not such a good thing," Harry said a little bitterly.

"No, too right."

There was an awkward silence.

"I'm glad you're back, though. Even if you do have to bring him along."

"Yeah, me too."

"It's going to be tough when you go stay in his dorm."

"Yeah, I know. It's bad enough sitting with his friends in class and mealtimes. I agreed that it was only fair, if we spend the night here we should spend the day with them, but they're such wankers. You all treat him just fine-"

"Which is more than he deserves-"

"And they really don't return the favour."

"No, I wouldn't think so. And he probably encourages them, doesn't he?"

"No, he doesn't," Harry said, realizing it for the first time. Malfoy still made fun of him in class, but not nearly as much as before, and he never egged on the Slytherin mockery of Harry any more. Harry frowned as he mentally ran over the previous day's classes. "In fact... I think it bothers him."

"Malfoy? Bothered that the Slytherins are acting like idiots around you?"

"Yeah."

"D'you think maybe he's ill?"

Harry laughed. "No, it's nothing to do with me, I don't think, it's that he feels what I feel through the bond."

"Yeah, that's what Hermione said when McGonagall said you were going to be coming back here; she went into this long speech about how we had to be polite to Malfoy, or at least not be rude to him, because you'd probably get the backlash from it."

"She was right."

"Yeah, I knew that, from people I've known before who were just married, but honestly, Harry, I really hadn't thought of that with Malfoy." He sipped his cocoa, thinking. "I wonder why he doesn't tell the Slytherins to leave you alone, if it bothers him."

"He'd never do that. Tell them that a good way to get to him is to bother me? They're Slytherins, they'll grab any chance to build themselves up by tearing somebody else down. I get the feeling he's working hard enough to not get torn down as it is; he doesn't need to give them a road map to how to get on his nerves."

"You have a hell of an insight into the Slytherin mindset."

"I've had a crash course recently," Harry said shortly.

"Erm. Sorry."

"Funny, the more I get to know them, the more I'm grateful I'm not one of them."

"Hear hear," Ron said fervently. He swirled his cocoa around for a minute, then hesitantly asked, "So how's it going with him, really?"

Harry sighed heavily.

"That good?"

"No, it's, it's all right, he's not nearly as big a git when you get to know him. Yeah, I know," he laughed at Ron's disbelieving expression. "It's just, it's..." He shrugged helplessly. "You know," he finally mumbled, concentrating very hard on the homey black and white pattern on the edge of the mug of cocoa.

"Yeah." Ron seemed to suddenly find his own mug fascinating as well. He swallowed a couple of times, started to speak and stopped, then took a deep breath and plunged in. "Harry... what happened when you fainted... was that because you wouldn't... you know. Um, go along with, with the spell?"

Harry scowled at his mug, his face darkening to mirror Ron's rather rosy tint. He cleared his throat. No, this was not a conversation he wanted to have with Ron, this was too personal, this was too embarrassing, this was-

This was Ron. They'd been friends for six years, been through hell and back, talked about everything under the sun including their mutual discovery of the female gender and their own feelings about them - how could he not be able to talk to Ron about anything?

"Erm. Partly." He cleared his throat again. "Yeah, that was a lot of it. We just got on each other's nerves, because... well, because."

There was a long pause, then Ron ventured, "Why wouldn't you?"

Harry gaped at him. "He's Malfoy, Ron. Would you want to sleep with him?"

Ron's face answered for him. "But, but isn't the bond supposed to, you know, make the other person seem attractive?"

"Yeah, it is. It does."

"Yeah? Weird. I couldn't even imagine that."

"I wish I couldn't," Harry said fervently.

"Must be so weird. Did you ever fancy any blokes before?"

"No! Of course not!" Harry sputtered, a little shocked at how casually Ron said that.

"So is it because of the Muggle thing about two boys or two girls together?"

Harry stared at him. "Is it really not that important in the wizarding world?"

"Depends who you talk to, I suppose. Some people do make fun, but a lot are Muggle-borns or half-bloods." Harry smiled briefly, reflecting that while most Slytherins only seemed to be able to say those words as insults, on the lips of a Weasley they were nothing but descriptive, with as much moral judgment as 'blond' or 'tall'. "A lot of purebloods really couldn't care less," Ron continued. "Fred wrote a paper about it once, for Muggle Studies."

"About what?"

"The difference. I don't really remember much of it, but I think there was something in there about how in the wizarding world, so many of us were persecuted for being wizards that we were sympathetic to other people who were persecuted. Oh, and... um, I think there was something in there about a lot of old wizarding practices involving sex, and some of that was with people of the same sex." Ron smiled. "I don't know how good his research was, though - I think he only picked the topic so he'd be able to put naughty words into a paper and say they were quotes."

Harry laughed. Ron grinned, then turned serious again. "It's not that big a deal, Harry."

"It is to me."

"Is that why-"

"I think it's more that he's Malfoy than that he's a boy, though."

"Yeah? He's not that bad-looking, for a bloke, you know." Harry choked on his cocoa and Ron, laughing, reached out to clap him on the back, stopping just in time. "He's not."

"Believe me, I know that now," Harry wheezed, half laughing.

"I thought the attraction thing wasn't working right now."

"It's not an on-off switch, I mean I don't want to, you know, do anything - agh." Harry shook his head and gave up trying to explain. "I know what he looks like. That's not the problem."

"So it's just him personally?"

"Yeah."

Ron nodded sympathetically. "You're going to have to, eventually, though."

"I know." Harry watched the patterns of cocoa moving in his mug. "I think... I think part of it is that... I don't, um... I don't want to get attached to him."

"Harry, you're bonded."

"I know, but... we're getting along better, and sometimes I think I can live with him, I think it's going to be OK, but then I remember - I mean, we both know where he's going. What his family's all about. I don't want to get attached."

"Ever talk about it with him?"

"God, no."

"Yeah, I guess that wouldn't be an easy conversation to start. The thing is though, Harry, where he's going and what's going to happen when - I mean, if You-Know-Who... that's all in the future. It might not even happen at all. What's going on with you two is happening right now. What's the use of worrying so much about the future that you let this stupid curse kill you right now?"

Great, thought Harry. Comforting though Ron was trying to be, Harry heard the unspoken assumption. That Harry was supposed to fight Voldemort for everybody, and defeat him again. And of course, he couldn't fight if he was dead.

Damn it, everybody, even Ron, kept putting this pressure on him. It showed up even in the strangest places, like in a conversation about whether he would or wouldn't consummate this damned bond with Malfoy.

"Could you sleep with him, if you had to?"

"Yeah, I think so," Ron answered after a moment's reflection.

"Really. Him? This is Malfoy we're talking about. Calls Hermione a Mudblood, wanted her dead by Basilisk when he was barely twelve years old. Makes fun of your family and you, all the time. Wrote an entire song about you just to make you look like a fool. And we won't even mention his family or his political views."

Ron's face was a little disgusted.

"My point exactly," Harry said.

"Yeah, but I'm not married to him." Harry looked away. "Look, maybe you need to talk to somebody-"

"No," Harry said, suddenly fed up with the whole thing. "I'm talking to Lupin, I'm talking to Pomfrey, I'm even talking to you - next thing Hermione's going to want to-"

"Harry, come on. Come on. I'm trying to be a friend."

"Then be a friend and drop it," Harry shot back.

"Fine," Ron bristled. There was a long, uncomfortable silence, and then Ron closed his eyes for a moment, obviously reaching for patience. He cleared his throat again. "Erm."

Harry looked up.

"So, how about those Chudley Cannons?"

Harry's answering grin broke the tension and they suddenly found themselves laughing together loudly, forgetting their roommates.

"Shut up, you wankers!" Dean's irate groan was followed by a pillow hurled towards them with more strength than accuracy.

"Potter, would you like me to hex you?" Malfoy asked sleepily. "Because I will if you wake me up again."

"Hex Ron too while you're at it," mumbled Neville, turning over and putting a pillow over his head.

"Sorry," they apologized to the room at large as a soft snore came floating from Seamus' bed.

ooooooo

Day 21, Monday

Oh, oh no, please, thought Harry, abruptly realizing that he'd been staring at Malfoy for a while, admiring his swift, efficient movements as he went about perfecting his witchfire potion, utterly oblivious to the process and thinking instead that by the azure light of the witchflame, Malfoy's hair was an absolutely stunning shade of ice-blue.

No, he thought desperately, not again, not yet, I'm not ready yet - and his heart skipped a beat as Malfoy's eyes met his. Malfoy blinked, startled, and spilled the teaspoon of etchwater he was holding. He swore and quickly cleaned it up before it could eat through the counter, his hands just a touch unsteady. Then he paused, heaved a deep sigh of resignation, looked back up at Harry and leaned in closer.

"Potter," he touched Harry's hand. "Don't panic. It's not worth getting upset over this."

Harry swallowed hard, deeply upset that Malfoy could so accurately read his emotional state. "That's easy for you to say."

"No, it's not," Malfoy said evenly. "This isn't fun for me either. But you're panicking before anything's happened."

"I-I don't want to talk about this here-" Harry stammered, miserable already.

"No, of course not," Malfoy said, his voice steady and sympathetic. "We'll have lunch in the courtyard. We'll talk about it then. Potter, relax. It's not the end of the world."

Harry's instinctive retort died on his lips as he felt himself oddly calmed by Malfoy's voice and by the hand still resting on top of Harry's, thumb now rubbing the top of Harry's hand very lightly.

"What are you doing?" he asked curiously, panic subsiding.

"Same thing you did at the hospital the other day, with my father." Harry's eyebrows went up. "I asked Pomfrey and read up on it. I don't need you skittish around me all the time, or afraid I'm going to ravish you in your sleep. I've got enough to deal with on my own."

Harry nodded. Of course, that made sense. He supposed he should feel a little resentful that Malfoy was manipulating his emotions for his own purposes, but then again... no, Malfoy was right. If projecting steadiness helped Harry, it was a good thing, regardless of whether Malfoy was doing it for selfish or altruistic purposes. He nodded and went back to his work.

ooooooo

They had seated themselves in the courtyard and Harry had almost finished his first sandwich before he finally blurted out, "All right, now what?"

"I don't want to go through what happened last time," Malfoy began.

"No, of course not."

"I talked to Madam Pomfrey about it, and she suggested some things we could try to make things go more smoothly this time."

"I'm not going to-"

"I'm not talking about spells or aphrodisiacs for you, or anything like that."

"I doubt we'll need that last," Harry said ruefully.

"No, not if last time is anything to judge by." Malfoy finished his first sandwich and bit into his apple. "Although I don't think it'll be much like before," he mused.

"Why not?"

"Things have changed."

"How?"

Malfoy studied his apple for a minute. He frowned, seeming to come to a realization, and a not entirely welcome one at that.

"Malfoy?"

Malfoy gave a small start, as if he'd almost forgotten Harry was there, then, to Harry's puzzlement, coloured slightly and dipped his head down, avoiding Harry's gaze.

"Malf-"

"We don't feel the same way about each other," he blurted out quickly, then bit into his apple.

"What?"

"You don't throw out disgust at me every five minutes or so. And I know how I feel."

"Really?" Harry said. "All right, how do you feel?" he challenged.

"I don't hate you. I don't even dislike you all that much." Malfoy tossed his half-eaten apple into the air and flicked his wand at it, making it disappear. He cleared his throat and kept his gaze firmly on his wand, rolling it between his fingers. "Potter, we're never going to like each other. But that doesn't mean we can't make this work. Just don't be afraid of me. Nothing is going to happen that you don't want to happen; it can't."

Harry frowned at him sceptically and Malfoy put a hand on his arm, a serious expression on his face. "Pomfrey said it'd be a good idea to set some ground rules before anything gets too intense. Like for example, maybe you should lead here. You let me know what you want and when you want it. I won't suggest anything."

"This... doesn't sound anything like you," Harry said after a long stunned moment. "Have you been taken over by somebody else?"

"No, just a patience potion."

"A what?"

"You don't want any kind of potion or spell or anything like that, for your own bizarre Muggle-raised reasons. I've no objection to them, myself, especially if it's a choice between that and ending up in the hospital again."

"What if they interfere with the bond spell?"

"I'll take the risk. I'm serious, I'm not going through what we just went through, not again."

Harry mulled that over, holding Malfoy's gaze, trying to see deception or impatience or anything other than an honest desire to get through this as easily as possible.

"All right," he finally said slowly. "I'll... I'll lead, for whatever that's worth. Just don't expect much."

"I don't."

"I still don't feel right about this."

"You're not the only one."

"I suppose not."

"One other thing: where do you want to sleep?"

"Not Slytherin," Harry began, and Malfoy grinned.

"No, I didn't think so. I wouldn't put it past my house mates to spare no effort to get past any locking or privacy spells on my bed. If only to figure out who collects on the pool money." Harry chuckled despite himself. "Zabini's especially eager to win; I think we cost him about ten Galleons already, he'd bet we'd be shagging the day we fainted in the Great Hall. He's placed a new bet but won't tell me for what day."

"Why not?"

"He thinks I've placed a bet myself."

Harry laughed out loud, unexpectedly. "And have you?"

"Well I wouldn't tell you, would I? That would blow my 'patience' ploy to hell."

Harry laughed again, noticing that his tension had subsided dramatically and marvelling that a mere potion could make Malfoy act like a decent human being. Maybe he should suggest that Malfoy continue to take the potion for as long as they were together.

"All right, not Slytherin, then," Malfoy said. "Do you want Gryffindor, or our quarters?"

"I... I don't know."

"It's up to you, I don't particularly care."

"All right..." Harry thought for a moment. "I don't know - I'm, I'm glad to be back in the dorm... but then, I don't want, I mean, if we're, you know, looking at each - um, I mean, it's, I-"

"Potter, you're babbling." Harry reddened and Malfoy snickered. "Look, you don't have to make any decisions right now. I just wanted to... I don't know, make sure you didn't get your knickers in a twist before anything's happened."

"All right," said Harry shakily. He bit into his second sandwich, and they ate in semi-companionable silence for a little while.

"So." Malfoy checked his watch. "Ten minutes till Charms class. Are you up for it?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah."

ooooooo

Day 23, Wednesday

I may never stop taking this patience potion, thought Draco dazedly as he valiantly tried to ignore the sight and sounds of Potter dreaming about something... interesting.

Previously deleted scene

You know what you want. You know what you need, Ron says, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. His rook nods vigorously, and winks at Harry's queen.

I don't want it.

You do. Look at him.

He does look incredible, and Harry's been wanting to touch him for so long, and he's been so hard for so long he's slowly going insane. And the pointy-faced git just sits there, looking like he could just wait for Harry forever. Harry can't help feeling a little angry at him. Maybe it's not fair, but the thing is, Ron's not acting normal. There is no way that Ron should be smiling at Malfoy and clapping him on the back and nudging him over to where Harry's sitting. And there's no way Ron should grin at Harry as if to say, See? I told you this would make you happy. Somewhere pigs are doing aerial cartwheels through hell, and dodging snowballs.

Harry probably shouldn't be kissing Malfoy – kissing is supposedly more for girls, isn't it? Do boys like to kiss? Damn it, this would be a lot easier if he'd had some kind of experience with this kind of thing, and not just Cho crying on him, pissed of at him for having thought she was Malfoy for a moment. Then again, she wanted Harry to be Cedric, so this kind of makes them even.

It would be really nice if Malfoy was looking more like his usual sneering self, and Harry could just push him away, but Malfoy's looking serious and telling him he's taking a patience potion. Malfoy, admitting he needs help in order to deal with Harry. Making Harry feel about three feet tall, because Malfoy's impatient with him in part because he's Malfoy, and impatience is how he reacts to Harry, but also in part because Harry is acting like a scared child and he knows it.

Somebody said Esposito means "little husband" in Latin. Which Harry's pretty sure isn't true, for all that his Latin is mostly confined to magical terms. Still, funny that she should be dealing with two little husbands, though Fred says the correct term for spouses of the same sex is "spouse," not husband or wife, no idea why. Funny that the wizarding world would have terms like that.

We're not like the Muggle world, Malfoy sneers. And then comes closer to catch Harry's mouth in a kiss, and Harry's surprised but leans into it, since Malfoy's not going to turn into Cho or cry at him. It's ridiculous, being a little husband, having people think you're married, when you're not even done school and all there is to your "marriage" is this burning need to – and Malfoy's so warm. Harry's wondered at that since they started sharing a bed, how Malfoy's body temperature is always much higher than his own. And right now his skin is burning Harry's, it's like he's in the Prefect's bathroom in the large bathtub – without Myrtle – with the water as hot as he can make it, and he wants more. Hermione looks up from her Latin dictionary and raises her eyebrows, a little shocked, and he turns away, needing to feel all of Malfoy's skin against his, their clothing disappearing in a flash, admiring the way Malfoy's hands are so incredibly sensitive and strong, and hungrily taking in the sight of Malfoy's bare body, so pale, looks so cold but the feeling is just – and he's got long, lean muscles that flex over his chest, Seeker's build, it's just...

Harry's tried so hard to not look at him very much, especially since they share a bed and he regularly sees Malfoy wearing very little. He doesn't know when he went from extreme interest in girls' cleavage, once even growing pink when Hermione noticed him staring at the way her blouse gaped open interestingly, and he'd meant to tell her to button it up-

I never believed that, you know, she smirks at him. Exactly when were you going to tell me?

Somehow sometime in the last few weeks he's lost all interest in cleavage. Now he's got an obsession with Malfoy's lips, his hair, the way he moves, all grace and strength, and fantasizing about what Hannah Abbott's small breasts feel like has ended, and he kind of misses it. It's been replaced by wondering what it would feel like to pull Malfoy close in passion, not just the innocent embrace they regularly fall asleep to. Really feel him against his body, all heat and hard angles, and he can't hold back a moan, this is way too fast but he's so close, Malfoy's arms are pulling him closer, and he's whispering in Harry's ear, things Harry can't really make out because the heat from Malfoy's body – and his own – is kind of overwhelming, what the hell is he DOING, they've become used to touching each other all the time but this is different. He's pushing against Malfoy, rubbing himself against him and Malfoy's either going to kill him or burn him up. Malfoy's grinding against him too, gasping, hard as a rock, then his hand is – oh god– and what little Harry can hear has something to do with Not even a Death Eater, I wasn't going to, I love you, and besides, the war's over, and Harry draws back, dizzy, and frowns at Malfoy.

You twit, whispers Malfoy urgently, it's been over for years, and I need you, I need you so fucking badly, it's been years, please, and Malfoy's pleading with him, saying things Harry didn't know he could say, so hungry for him it's making Harry lose all ability to breathe or reason, and he can't quite believe what he's doing, he's lying back on the bed and drawing Malfoy on top of him Don't forget what the Healer talked about, Pomfrey tells Malfoy sternly, you're going to need to prepare a little more than that.

God, yes, he's desperate for Malfoy to finally take him, to feel him inside, to seal the bond that's been between them for so long, it's been so many years and Malfoy's on top of him, hands setting him on fire, he's harder than he's ever been and he's begging Malfoy to touch him, so ready to be his, so ready to – be shaken, roughly. And have a blinding light shoved into his eyes.

"Wha?" Harry's eyes snapped open and he stared at Malfoy, not on top of him in the dark but beside him, wearing a t-shirt – wait, what?

"Potter, wake up," Malfoy said roughly. "You're having a wet dream and it's playing hell with my nerves."

A what? Harry tried to catch his breath, trying to figure out why they'd stopped. He – they weren't in their room, they were in the Gryffindor dorm – wait, was thatwhere they were going to- "Oh. Um... oh," he blinked, slowly detaching reality from a dream that still felt so vivid, sothere, Malfoy whispering all sorts of things into his ear, and he was still so hard, he was so close, still burning –he shifted a bit.

"Stop that!" Malfoy said sharply.

"You must be joking," he said weakly, turning onto his stomach and closing his eyes, and if it was possible to feel gratitude from a body part, right now one particular appendage was singing his praises for bringing sweet pressure back. "I can't just slam on the brakes," he whispered, "You've no idea how close-"

"I've a very good idea," Malfoy said tensely, and continued in a voice that was so different from the voice in his dream that Harry started to get dizzy and he clapped a hand over Malfoy's mouth without thinking.

"Shut up," Harry whispered, "I don't care what you do, take care of yourself for all I care, I can't -oh," he bit his lip, his other hand disappearing under the covers, firmly shutting up the part of his mind that popped up to inform him that wanking off in front of Malfoy wasn't something he was terribly comfortable with. Anything, anything, he was comfortable with anything that took the burning away, that brought him closer to sweet release, and it seemed Malfoy was doing the same, gasping and rustling the covers, and Harry could feel his excitement – oh, oh thank god...

OH thank GOD...

Oh...

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Oh god. What the hell had that been all about? I love you, the war's over?

Oh god. God and hell and shit and Merlin and Mordred and there weren't swear words enough for how mortified he felt. If Malfoy had picked up any of what he was dreaming...

He was sticky, and shaking, and out of breath and still so bloody hot, and if it was possible to disappear into thin air now would be exactly the right time to do it. He'd once blown up his aunt. And freed a snake. Why did his involuntary magic have to pick right now to deny him the satisfaction of an extreme, hysterical display of power, to take his mind off the extreme embarrassment flooding through him?

Well, he told himself as he tried to steady his breathing, there was at least one positive side to this situation: the day could only get better from here.

end scene

Thank god the curtains are drawn, he thought. And thank god we're in Gryffindor and nobody's going to try to unspell them.

And I need more potion. Or something.

He turned his back to Potter, who, truth be told, wasn't acting in any way that somebody who wasn't bonded to him would be able to read as aroused. Unfortunately it was just Draco's luck that he happened to be able to interpret the flushed face, irregular breathing, right hand drifting along the covers grasping at nothing, and other slight... movements here and there as signs of Potter having an incredibly intense sexual dream.

Potter gasped softly and Draco felt his body answering despite the Arithmancy tables he was dutifully repeating in his head. If they'd been in their own quarters, Draco would've been off to the washroom and dealing with this tension long ago. Unfortunately they were in the dorm, and it was close to wake-up time and Seamus Finnigan had a bad habit of waking up abysmally early and Draco didn't particularly want to face anyone right now in the state he was in.

Potter sighed and turned onto his side, coming into contact with Draco's shoulder and pulling himself closer to Draco. Draco reflected that while this might happen to both of them often enough while they were both asleep, it felt quite different to have Potter draw close and put his arms around him while Draco was awake and Potter was... well, Potter was doing this.

No potion could help with this, thought Draco in a daze. He wanted, he needed, to turn around and draw close to Potter and move with him and let Potter's dream take them where it would. And the hell of it was, if he'd still been asleep, that's probably what would have happened. They would have both woken up somewhat sticky but with little or no memory of how they'd arrived there and possibly one more barrier down between them.

Actually... why couldn't he just do that? And pretend he'd been asleep?

Because Potter would sense his guilt.

Guilt? Over what? Releasing sexual tension built up by a bond he didn't want and a spouse with bizarre Muggle hang-ups having a dirty dream right next to him in bed? How could taking care of that possibly make him feel guilty?

Because, knowing Potter, Potter would see that as taking advantage of him. Using Potter's body for sexual pleasure without his consent.

Bloody hell.

No, thought Draco as Potter's breath hitched and he groaned softly. There's got to be a limit. I said I wouldn't pressure him, not that I would just let him do whatever the hell he wanted no matter what it did to me.

He's seventeen, Draco's patience-potion-enhanced noble side said in a final attempt at forbearance. This won't last long. Just wait it out, don't make him feel self-conscious-

The hell with that - no, actually, fuck that - the rest of him told his noble side, I'm seventeen too. And I'm not putting up with this. He turned over and shook Potter awake.

"Wha?" Potter's eyes snapped open and he stared at Draco, utterly disoriented, still half asleep and all aroused.

"Potter, wake up," Draco said roughly. "You're having a wet dream and it's playing hell with my nerves."

Potter's eyes widened as he became aware of his surroundings. "Oh. Um... oh," he sighed, clearly still feeling the effects of his dream. He moved restlessly in the bed.

"Stop that!" Draco said sharply.

"You must be joking," Potter said weakly, turning onto his stomach and closing his eyes. "I can't just slam on the brakes," he whispered, "You've no idea how close-"

"I've a very good idea, I've been awake this whole time and if you don't want me to grab you you'll stop what you're-mph" Potter clapped a hand over his mouth.

"Shut up," Potter whispered fiercely, "I don't care what you do, take care of yourself for all I care, I can't - oh," he bit his lip, his other hand disappearing under the covers.

That was enough for Draco and he followed suit, and there were a few moments of muffled moans and rustling sheets before they were both gasping and then stillness settled over their bed.

Thank god, Draco thought vaguely, his chest still heaving, eyes closed and lethargy creeping over him.

Hopefully Potter wouldn't get weirded out by this.

Oh, who cared if he did.

Really, who cared.

Silence, broken only by their gradually slowing breaths.

Finally Potter cleared his throat, murmured the clean-up spell and sat up. Draco waited a beat, then did the same, sitting up and glancing at Potter curiously. Potter's face was flushed, no surprise, and he was steadfastly not meeting Draco's eyes, no surprise there either, and he was highly embarrassed. Draco ground his teeth in frustration - this was nothing, this was just two people getting off in the same bed, not even touching each other for god's sake - but obviously it had crossed some unfathomable Muggle moral line, as Draco had suspected it might.

He suddenly wondered how in hell people like Potter managed to exist in dormitories at all. This surely couldn't be the first time he'd ever had a sexual dream near another boy, and he sincerely doubted his roommates were all eunuchs either. Did they do Obliviate spells on themselves? Or was it the fact that Draco was in the same bed that was weirding him out? Or was it the fact that he'd probably been dreaming about Draco in the first place?

Draco blew out his breath in frustration and kicked off the covers violently.

"What?" Potter said, his voice rough.

"Nothing," Draco muttered, about to open the curtains. Potter shot up and grabbed his arm.

"You're angry at me."

"Bloody right - does everything have to get you this tense? Can't you just for once - oh, never mind!" Draco shoved him back.

"What? Can't I just for once what?" Potter said more loudly.

"You just - what just happened was nothing, and you're - I knew this would happen if I - fuck!" Draco realized he was completely incoherent in his frustration.

"It wasn't nothing," Potter snapped. "I, I was dreaming about, about - and then-" he collapsed back onto the bed, putting his face in his hands. "Never mind! You wouldn't understand!"

"Understand what? That you get upset by the stupidest - I can't even count the number of times I've heard one of my roommates have a wet dream or a good wank, it happens all the time, and yet you're acting like-"

"What?" Potter frowned, genuinely puzzled. They stared at each other for a moment. "You think I'm upset because we both just got off at the same time?"

Draco sat down, nonplussed. "Aren't you?"

"God no," Potter said. "I'm a virgin, not a monk, Malfoy."

"Then what's the matter?"

Potter looked away. "I was dreaming about you."

"Oh the horror," Draco said snidely. "Did you pay any attention at all to what Pomfrey told us the very first day?"

"No, it was, it was different."

"Different how?"

Potter shook his head, setting his jaw and Draco could feel just how completely unready Potter was to share what he'd been dreaming about. He opened his mouth for a scathing piece of ridicule - and closed it.

This might be a very, very good time to practice that patience thing, he realized.

All right, then. Never let it be said that a Malfoy feared to head into the unknown.

Although, come to think of it, Malfoys weren't terribly fearless, when you came down to it. Astute and cunning and calculating, yes, but they usually preferred to leave fearlessness to lesser, more expendable people - like, say, Gryffindors.

Unfortunately, here the Gryffindor in question was not actually expendable because Draco's own life and well-being pretty much depended on him for the time being, and the astute, cunning, and calculating thing to do happened to be practicing patience, which, also unfortunately, was unknown territory to Draco.

He shook his head, trying to clear it of confusion, ambivalence, anger, and post-orgasm fog, and attempted to compose himself. Well, compose himself as much as was possible after the morning wake-up he'd just had and surrounded by Gryffindors just outside the curtains. "All right, all right. Sorry I asked," he said, and had the distinct pleasure of seeing Potter completely stunned. He smiled, a little tiredly, and began again. "So you're not upset about what happened after I woke you up."

"No."

"You mean I could've - I didn't have to get out of bed, all those times? You wouldn't have been upset?"

"All those times? How many times?"

"Five, six, who knows."

Harry chuckled. "No, actually, come to think of it, I probably would've been upset... um... before."

"But you don't mind now?"

"No."

All right.

Where else to take this patience thing? Potter seemed relaxed, and they appeared to have weathered the possible storms of both the morning's activities and whatever it was that Potter had been dreaming about that had rattled him. And Potter didn't mind if Draco stayed in bed with him when they were both aroused. That was a step in the right direction.

And that was probably enough for today - or at least, for now. Draco mentally congratulated himself and tried not to think too hard about the fact that it was only six in the morning and he was already feeling rather exhausted.

This stupid, fucking curse.

"I'm going to take a shower." He stood up. "All right to take the privacy spell off?"

"Yeah, go ahead."

ooooooo

The morning had started relatively well, Draco reminded himself as he tried to figure out what was going wrong with his potion. He should have picked somebody else to work with, he realized, because working with Goyle was worse than trying to do this by himself. Normally it wasn't a problem; Potions was ridiculously simple, and all Draco asked of Goyle was that he follow instructions, do the menial labour, and stay out of the way. Except that on a day like today, when Draco was so distracted by Potter's presence that he was having trouble remembering his own name, Goyle's inability to think for himself was getting them into serious trouble.

He was fairly sure part of the problem was that he hadn't been specific enough when he told Goyle to crush the dragon eggshell, and Goyle had ground it into powder instead of merely crunching it. Draco had been too distracted trying to figure out how much blood he needed to use to notice what Goyle was doing until it was too late.

He gazed dejectedly at the thick blue mess congealing in his cauldron, a marked contrast to Potter and Granger's cauldron, which, of course, held a delicately bubbling liquid that glowed with the exact shade of aquamarine that Snape had described.

"You'll need to start over," Granger commented, looking into his cauldron.

"Piss off, Granger," he snapped.

"Malfoy, she just wants to help," said Potter.

"I don't need her help."

"I think you do," Potter peered down into his cauldron. Draco pushed him away impatiently.

"Malfoy."

The quiet tone startled Draco and he met Potter's eyes, then looked away. Bloody hell. He couldn't concentrate, he was supposed to be thinking of how to salvage this stupid potion and instead he couldn't even remember what it was supposed to be used for, and all he really wanted to do was go back to this morning except this time, actually touch Potter, pull him closer, run his hands over him-

"Fuck!" he blurted as Potter touched his arm, and he automatically covered Potter's hand with his, a mild shock running through him as he sensed Potter's trembling. He looked up at Potter, who was frowning slightly, his bright green eyes a little unfocussed, lips parted, and couldn't seem to make himself look away.

"Ahem." They both started as Granger politely cleared her throat. "I take it you're both distracted for a reason, then?"

Draco turned away from her angrily, shrugging off Potter's hand at the same time. Bad enough he had to go through this with Potter; the fact that Potter came attached to the Mudblood added insult to injury. It took considerable restraint for Draco to be civil to her in the best of times, and this was not the best of times.

"Harry?" he heard her say, and Potter made a small acknowledging sound. "Do you think it might be a good idea to stay out of class until you've... dealt with this?"

"Finish school next year, you mean?" Draco snapped. "No thanks."

"Many newly bonded couples stop working or at least cut down on their responsibilities until-"

"Yes, thank you for extensively researching what you would know without needing to ask if you'd been brought up in a wizarding family, Granger. Did you read that in 'The Muggle-born's Guide to Wizarding Customs' or 'How To Hide Your Mudbloodedness'?"

"Malfoy!" Potter snapped.

"If she doesn't want to hear that kind of thing she doesn't need to stick her nose into my personal life!"

"She's trying to help, you-"

"I don't need her help!"

"Yeah, because you're doing so well on your own," Potter sneered at his congealing potion.

"Go to hell," Draco hissed.

"Already there, thanks."

"Shut up."

Potter growled in annoyance and Draco pointedly turned his back on him, motioning to Goyle to scrape the mess out of the cauldron while he tried to write out, coherently, what he thought had gone wrong and why. And tried with all his strength to ignore the blush heating his face and his churning anger and the fact that his entire body kept urging him to move closer to Potter.

He took a few calming breaths, shaking his head and trying to get into class mode. Read over what he had and was pleasantly surprised to see that, while not up to his normal standard, it was at least moderately coherent. He let the ink dry and rolled up the parchment.

Now, to start over. He looked over the ingredients again and groaned inwardly. So many of them were things that he really couldn't trust Goyle to get, because Goyle wouldn't know the difference between, say, epauleted bat talons and crested bat talons - he could barely tell the difference between bats and snakes. Unfortunately Draco himself wasn't too sure he could tell the difference either, at this point.

Motioning Goyle to follow him into the storage room, he resolutely ignored everything but the list of ingredients before him.

ooooooo

Draco reached the Slytherin table at the Great Hall and sank into his seat, bleakly wondering what else could go wrong with his day. After Potions and Transfigurations, all he really wanted to do was go back to bed and forget this whole miserable day.

On the plus side, in Transfigurations there were no belligerent Gryffindors staring daggers at him, the big bad Slytherin who caused their sainted little Harry distress. On the minus side, Transfigurations was filled with Slytherins. It seemed half of them didn't bother to think for half a second that if they pissed off Potter, Draco would get the backwash from it. The other half thought about it, and thought it was a splendid idea. Nott, Mordred rot him, had even managed to 'accidentally' bump into both of them during the class, with the resultant scorched-flesh effect that Draco could've sworn got worse every time. Not to mention the fact that the jolts of pain made them both shy away from everybody else and get closer than ever, which, considering what else they were both dealing with right now, was not a good thing at all.

And after lunch, he could look forward to Charms with the Gryffindors. Lovely.

"A little preoccupied today in Potions this morning, were we, Draco?" Millicent Bulstrode said casually as she seated herself across from him and Potter at the Great Hall.

Oh, wonderful.

They'd managed to be somewhat discreet about their growing attraction to one another this time, although there had been a few speculative looks on their Gryffindor roommates' faces after they had started drawing the curtains. But the lack of fighting and the patience potion and the fact that they were somewhat more comfortable with each other had all worked together so that although they'd been struggling with this for two days, they hadn't done anything obvious to start the rumour mill going - yet.

All good things must come to an end, though, thought Draco, noting his tablemates' whispers and glances, and steeled himself. Potter, thank god, had put a silence spell around himself as usual at the Slytherin table and was reading his Astronomy text while he ate, which was good because it meant that Draco wouldn't have to feel and deal with Potter's emotions too at some of the talk surrounding them.

"I heard about it in Astronomy. How did your second attempt at the potion go?" Millicent asked innocently, smirking as Draco flushed.

"Fine," he muttered into his pumpkin juice.

"Had a spot of trouble with the first one, I hear?"

"Yeah."

"A little... distracted, were you?"

Draco put down his fork and knife and stared at her levelly until her smirk faded and a slightly discomfited expression fell over her. He felt a small glow of reassurance that either he - or his family - still had the power to make other Slytherins balk at pissing them off too much.

All right, she seemed sufficiently nervous now. He held her gaze a few moments longer, considered a number of retorts, discarded all of them, and opted for subtle and risk-free: he went back to his meal and ignored her entirely.

"Draco." Pansy Parkinson dropped onto the bench next to him and leaned in, speaking in a low voice. "Much as it pains me to agree with anything Hermione Granger says, she just may be on to something here. Have you considered dropping out, just for a little while?"

"No," he said curtly.

"Draco-"

"I said no. I don't want to have to catch up later. Or worse, come back for another year in this pit of a school."

"But-"

"Your opinion is not required here, Parkinson," he said coldly, and she rolled her eyes and stood up.

"You're going to land yourselves in the hospital again, I swear," she said scornfully. "Honestly. Men. You're utterly impossible, the lot of you." She flounced off and Potter frowned after her.

"What's with her?" he asked, ending his silence spell.

"Thinks we should drop out," Draco said shortly.

"Never thought I'd see Pansy Parkinson agree with Hermione about anything."

"Now you've seen it. Go back to your bubble."

"What the hell is the matter with you?" Potter said irately. "Off the patience potion?"

"Piss off."

"Are you?"

"What?"

"Off the potion."

"No. But putting up with both you and your pathetic little friends," and my own pathetic house mates, he added to himself, "is a bit much for any potion to handle. It's not a miracle cure for other people's idiocy."

"Perhaps you should ask Snape to make you a potion to cure your tendency to act like a complete prick."

"Piss off, I said."

"Right, then." Potter stood up, and Draco grabbed his arm to pull him back down.

"I'm not done eating," he said through gritted teeth, and felt Potter's temper abruptly crack.

"You are now." Potter swept his arm over Draco's plate and sent Draco's lunch clattering onto the floor, the dish smashing amid cries of alarm from their Slytherin table mates. He started to move away and Draco jerked his arm back, unbalancing him slightly. "Let go of me!"

"What the hell was that? Sit down!"

"I said let GO!" Potter yanked his arm back and started out the door and Draco, furious, stood up to follow him.

"Get your miserable arse back to the table NOW!" He grabbed at Potter again but succeeded only in ripping his schoolbag off his shoulder. He hurled it to the floor, books and quills tumbling out, an ink bottle smashing to bits and spilling its contents out onto the floor.

"YOU don't order me around, you piece of shit!"

"SHUT UP!" he moved to grab Potter again and Potter swung around and shoved him back, hard, causing him to stumble back a few steps, barely catching himself against the wall.

"GO TO HELL!" Potter shouted at him, his hatred and resentment flaring up wildly, feeding the fury inside Draco, and there was a sudden hush as the air in the Great Hall became charged and somehow darker.

"What the hell are you doing?" Draco asked, his skin prickling from the charged atmosphere, a cold finger of fear running down his spine - damn it, he'd heard that Potter's temper tantrums had caused magical mayhem when he was a child, but how could this be happening now, in seventh year?

"I'm trying to get the fuck away from you!" Potter shot back, and Draco could feel Potter's own fear over what was starting to happen to his powers, which wasn't reassuring at all.

"Believe me, I would like nothing better-" Draco sensed a wind picking up in the Great Hall and gulped as Potter paled. "Get yourself under control, damn you! You're not a fucking child any more!"

"SHUT UP!" Potter shoved Draco back again and Draco, whose fear of Potter's temper was now warring with his own rapidly rising anger, shoved him back a lot harder than he meant to, smacking Potter's head against the wall behind him.

Potter's fury flared completely out of control and he punched Draco in the face, and Draco reeled back, tasting blood in his mouth. Potter aimed another punch at him and Draco blocked him as the wind picked up and a window shattered above them, and screams broke out from the students scrambling to get out of the way of the plummeting shards. Draco dimly heard somebody running to get a teacher.

"POTTER! STOP IT!"

Potter made another grab at him and Draco shoved him back again, then punched him solidly in the gut, kneeing him as he went down so that his knee smacked Potter's nose. Deep satisfaction bloomed in Draco along with the blood that started to pour from Potter's nose even as Draco felt the blow himself.

Draco had no idea he'd decided to pull out his wand until it was in his hand, at the same moment as Potter pulled out his own wand - and a sudden shouted "PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!" froze them both in place.

"EXPELLIARMUS!" another voice thundered through the Great Hall and both wands flew out of their hands.

The silence over the Hall was deafening.

Draco felt a pit open up in his stomach, unable even to close his eyes and not see Potter's face, so very pale, blood running down into his shirt, feeling blood trickle from the side of his own mouth and drip onto his collar.

Now they'd really done it. This was - this was terrible. They might very well be expelled. They had attacked one another physically and magically, destroyed school property and put several other students in danger. What would happen to them?

The morning had started out relatively well, Draco thought bleakly. How did it turn into almost hexing each other before noon?

Harry swallowed hard and followed them meekly, eyes on the floor as they silently walked past hundreds of staring students and staff in the Great Hall. Feeling paradoxically more frozen than he had felt under the brief immobilizing spell. Registering numbness mixed with dread from Malfoy, silently walking beside him as they left the Great Hall.

Beside him. Inexplicably, the fury and wild hatred towards Malfoy that he'd felt mere moments ago was completely gone, replaced by a bewildering urge to stay as close to him as possible. Because, he realized, they were in this together, both in the deepest of shit, following Dumbledore and McGonagall and Snape to god only knew what punishment. And all the other students, even his closest friends, were back in the Great Hall, and only Malfoy could possibly have any idea of what Harry was going through right now, or any chance of giving him any comfort whatsoever.

Comfort... no, that wasn't the word he was looking for. Understanding or sympathy, maybe.

Damn, blood was still pouring down his face, and he knew there was no point in wiping at it, but he tried anyway. His nose felt broken. The dull ache was the only thing he could really feel, besides Malfoy's fear. He spared Malfoy a quick glance, taking in his ashen features and the trickle of blood down his face – a split lip, from the looks of it, from the solid punch Harry had given him. Harry rubbed his knuckles, noting a few small cuts –probably from Malfoy's teeth. He took a deep breath as they went into the hospital, bracing himself for Madam Pomfrey's reaction.

"Poppy!" McGonagall called out, and Pomfrey looked up from the scroll she was writing on and blanched at the sight before her.

"You're not – did they-" she turned to Snape, who nodded tersely. Pomfrey's eyes widened and her mouth worked for a moment. "How - how could you?" she said, white with anger as she rose and approached them. "Of all the –what is the matter with you two!"

She whipped out her wand, nodding at Malfoy to sit on the nearest bed, and pulled Harry closer, ignoring his gasp of pain at her touch.

"I'll leave their wands in your safe-box, Poppy," Snape told her as she began her examination. "And I'm leaving Mr. Malfoy in your care while I contact his parents."

Harry felt a pang of alarm from Malfoy. "N-no –Professor, please-" Malfoy began, starting to rise.

"Sit down, Draco," Snape snapped at him, in the angriest voice Harry had ever heard him use on Malfoy. "This is not a simple schoolboy fight. This is far too serious not to call your parents." He turned on his heel and stalked out of the hospital wing, his robes billowing behind him.

Harry was suddenly inexplicably reminded of how Ginny had once speculated as to whether or not Snape said to himself "I shall now execute my Billowing Exit" whenever he left a room in that particular fashion. Sternly squashed down completely inappropriate laughter at the memory.

"I'll contact Healer Esposito when I'm done with these two," Pomfrey said to McGonagall as she waved her wand at Harry's face. Harry felt his nose heal with a sharp crack, and cried out in shock and pain. Pomfrey glared at him and jerked her head at the bed, motioning him to take Malfoy's place as she waved Malfoy closer. Harry got the distinct feeling that the unusually painful healing had been deliberate.

He touched his nose gingerly, glancing at Malfoy, who was wincing as Pomfrey waved her wand over his lip, sealing the cut.

"Sit," she barked at him, motioning him over to Harry, and he did so hastily.

Shite, they were in trouble. Really, really big trouble. Harry wasn't quite sure why, but he'd rarely seen either McGonagall or Pomfrey so angry; though both were often annoyed, they seldom went past that. But now... even Dumbledore looked sombre.

"Erm, I'm-" he began, and faltered as the adults all looked at him. He swallowed hard. "We... it was just a fight-"

McGonagall and Pomfrey both began to speak and were waved into silence by Dumbledore.

"No, Harry, it was not," he said quietly. "If you were still simply classmates, this would merely be yet another example of your mutual hostility, and you would no doubt have earned yourselves several detentions and loss of points or privileges." He paused, his blue eyes deadly serious. "You are spouses. You broke bones and damaged school property. If you hadn't been stopped, you would have hexed one another. This is serious."

Harry nodded glumly, subsiding into silence. Beside him, Malfoy cleared his throat. "May we go change and pick up our things from the Great Hall?" he asked, and his voice, while nervous, sounded remarkably steady and calm, considering the fear Harry could feel bubbling under his cool exterior.

"You're welcome to do any cleaning charms you can, but you're not leaving the hospital," Pomfrey said grimly.

"Your school things will be brought in by house elves," McGonagall added.

They glanced at each other and subsided into silence as the adults bustled about. Remained silent as Esposito, Lupin, and the Malfoys were contacted and a time and place was set for an emergency meeting about their "situation."

Situation, thought Harry. What a nice word to describe how completely and utterly buggered up his life had become.

ooooooo

"All right, we're ready to begin," Esposito said, once all were gathered in a small sitting room next to Dumbledore's office. Harry started to stand up and Esposito waved him back to his seat, fixing him with a kind but firm look. "Not you, gentlemen. You are in no shape to contribute to this discussion. We will decide what to do, and you will abide by our decisions. You may as well get comfortable," she gestured around at the small room as the rest of them started to move into Dumbledore's office.

Harry looked from one unyielding face to another and swallowed back his protest. Even Lupin looked grim and determined, though slightly less disappointed in Harry than he'd seemed upon first arrival. Harry sat back down.

Stood up as soon as the adults had left the small room, unable to remain sitting and trying to ignore the crawling sensation on the back of his neck at the knowledge that he was being watched by all the portraits on the walls.

This was bad. This was very, very bad, and he needed to do something about it. He needed to find some solution to this "situation", before he was forced to accept any solution from the adults. He needed to find some way of maintaining control over his life.

He bit back a bitter laugh. What control. He had no control whatsoever. Never mind not being able to attend the meeting going on right now, never mind having to submit to whatever the adults decided at that meeting. Since that miserable day in September he'd lost practically all control over everything in his life: who he spent his time with, where he lived, what he felt...

Small snippets of the conversation in Dumbledore's office kept popping up every so often as he paced. "I think that's going a little too far," McGonagall could be heard saying at one point, but the reply was too soft for Harry to hear.

He swallowed hard, torn between wanting to try to figure his way out of this mess and not wanting to even think about it. Wanting to pretend that all they were discussing in Dumbledore's office was what kind of detention to give them, and for how long. Maybe calling Filch in to see what unpleasant tasks he needed help with. Scrubbing toilets. Dealing with Mrs. Norris' cat litter.

He swallowed again, pacing restlessly and trying to ignore the whispering portraits keeping an eye on them, ready to report to the adults if he or Malfoy tried anything.

They weren't going to get detentions. What had happened had happened because they were both far too tense to be able to deal with each other rationally, and that tension was there because they weren't doing what the bond wanted them to do. The easiest way to make the tension go away was to give in to the bond, and the easiest way to do that was to...

God, what would that be like? To have a potion forced down his throat, feel his attraction to Malfoy get out of his control, make him touch Malfoy and pull him closer and let him-

Damn it, he was getting hard. He didn't want this, his whole being rebelled against it, he wanted to keep fighting it with all his strength... but part of him actually wanted to be forced into taking whatever would do the trick. Because he'd have to, then. He wouldn't have a choice any more, he wouldn't be able to fight it, he would have to surrender. And his surrender would be compelled, but it wouldn't be rape, because he'd want it...

Besides, what would happen after that was going to happen anyway. As sure as the sun came up in the morning, as sure as Hermione could be counted on to quote Hogwarts: A History at inappropriate times, he was going to have sex with Draco Malfoy eventually. The only thing he had any control over was when it happened and how, and he was shortly going to lose even that.

"There is no need to-" Harry heard Lupin's voice, but was unable to hear the rest of the sentence over the whispering of the portraits.

Malfoy probably wouldn't give a damn, Harry thought as he spared him a resentful glance. Malfoy was probably hoping for exactly that: a potion force-fed to Harry so that Harry would stop fighting him. Malfoy was probably even looking forward to it.

Except he wasn't, Harry realized. He was sitting on the couch, face paler than usual, deeply, deeply scared and trying very hard not to show it.

Harry closed his eyes, attempting to sort out Malfoy's feelings.

Fear. Dread. Nothing else.

"This is impossible. They are impossible," Snape said, and Harry didn't know whether to be relieved or deeply disturbed that even Snape apparently thought Harry wasn't the only problem here.

He glanced at Malfoy again. Stopped pacing and tried to sort himself out.

All right. Malfoy was in this with him; not only in the same deep shit as Harry, but also just as scared of whatever was going on behind the closed door. And Harry probably couldn't come up with any way to convince the adults to just let them be, but maybe if he and Malfoy worked together, they could come up with something. Malfoy was a rather unlikely ally, but he would probably be easier to work with than the band of adults in the other room.

Harry took a deep breath.

"Malfoy," he said, and cursed the unsteadiness of his voice. Malfoy looked up warily, and Harry cleared his throat. "We're in trouble, aren't we?"

"Brilliant powers of observation, Potter," Malfoy said tiredly, and Harry found the lack of fire in his sneer rather alarming. "What was your first hint?"

"What-" Harry stopped, cleared his throat again. "What do you think they'll decide?"

"No clue."

"I... I have a feeling I won't like it."

"I doubt I will either," Malfoy said. "I'm not sure they can decide anything, though. We are both adults."

"They may not be able to force us to do anything, but they can make things difficult for us if we don't obey. We could be expelled. Or disowned or something, in your case."

"My father wouldn't disown me."

"Really? What would he do instead?" Malfoy frowned and Harry decided to cut to the chase as quickly as possible. "Malfoy... what could he do to you, that makes you so afraid of him?"

"I'm not afraid of him," Malfoy said quickly.

"Bollocks," Harry shot back. "You are. You're not all that concerned about what Dumbledore or anybody else at school might do, but you're terrified of the fact that your father is in there with them."

"Does the bond now include Legilimency for you? No? Then don't presume to tell me how I'm feeling and why."

"I don't need Legilimency. I know how you feel, and it's the same way you felt that day in the hospital when you contradicted him in public. You nearly had a heart attack."

"We'd just been through a lot of stress-"

"Nothing to do with it," Harry stated. "You were afraid of him."

Malfoy bit his lip and Harry was suddenly unsure whether pushing him more would only serve to antagonize him, or whether backing off would only give him time to retreat and refuse to talk. He tried to reach out through the bond, trying to figure out what Malfoy was feeling. Quickly gave up, as there were too many conflicting emotions to make sense of them.

Finally Malfoy swallowed and spoke up. "Do you have a point, Potter?"

OK, good. At least he was willing to listen. "I don't want to just do whatever they say," Harry began.

"Neither do I. We don't exactly have a choice, though, do we?"

Harry took a deep breath. "We're not handling this terribly well."

"Once again, your powers of detecting the thoroughly obvious-"

"Shut up," Harry said impatiently. "We're under pressure from everybody and from ourselves, and even though you're taking a patience potion, it's not enough to cope with how you feel about me or my friends, and your school work on top of that."

"Thank you, Potter. I never would have reached those conclusions on my own-"

"And I can't handle how I feel about you, I hate the way you treat me and my friends and how fucked up your entire worldview is, and I'm sick of being on display for everyone at school to talk about, and..." Harry gathered himself and made himself finish, feeling like he was stepping off a cliff. "And, and I'm fucking terrified of letting you get close to me, or letting myself get close to you."

Malfoy's mouth dropped open. They stared at each other, and Harry made himself maintain eye contact despite the crawling sensation of having extended his trust to someone so untrustworthy, even on something as relatively small as admitting one of his fears.

Finally Malfoy cleared his throat. "All right," he said slowly. "I take it you do have a point, then? What is it?"

"We need to work things out, between the two of us."

"We've tried."

"No, we haven't. We've been existing next to each other and trying to muddle through and accepting advice every so often from other people. We haven't talked much at all."

"We did this morning."

"Did a pretty good job of it, too," Harry pointed out, and was a bit startled as a small smile quirked Malfoy's mouth.

"Yeah, we did," said Malfoy.

"So it is possible. For us to work things out, I mean."

"I suppose so," Malfoy said sceptically.

"So let's try. Do you want to drop out of classes?"

"No." There was a long pause. "I don't. But we're not getting any useful learning right now. I can barely concentrate long enough to write my name on a piece of parchment."

Harry smiled ruefully. "I know the feeling. I keep feeling like I have to fight to clear my head all the time, because if I don't-" he stopped. Damn, this was not where he wanted to take this conversation. He sent a firm reprimand in the direction of his pants. "Well, you can probably guess what I end up thinking about," he muttered.

"Probably," Malfoy said dryly.

Harry drew in a deep breath, moved closer to Malfoy. "How I feel - how we both feel - it's so bloody wrong."

"Why? It's just sexual attraction. Don't tell me you've never felt that before."

"Not this badly."

"Why is that so wrong?"

"Because I don't want to feel this. We don't love each other. We don't even like each other. I don't want to-"

Malfoy rolled his eyes, cutting him off. "Potter, we're seventeen. Love and like don't have to enter the equation when it comes to sex."

"I'm scared," Harry blurted, wincing but forcing himself to not withdraw. Better to talk about this with Malfoy than with his father.

"Of what?" Malfoy asked, and Harry took heart from the fact that he hadn't immediately mocked Harry for admitting his fear.

"Getting hurt."

"You're getting hurt right now," Malfoy pointed out. "I almost hexed you into next year a few hours ago. We weren't going to do anything like a Giggle Spell or turn each other green; we were both going to do serious damage. You're miserable, and so am I. How could having sex be worse than all of this?"

Harry shrugged. "Fear of the unknown, I suppose."

"Out of curiosity, what do you think they're going to decide in there?"

"To give me some potion or something to - to make me not fight this any more," Harry felt his face heating and turned away.

"Potter..." Harry started as he felt Malfoy put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Why would that be the end of the world?"

"Because, because then I wouldn't have any control over anything-"

"You don't have much control now-"

"I don't want to-" Harry started to move away, but Malfoy held on.

"They may not, you know," Malfoy said, almost gently, and Harry shivered, crossing his arms defensively. "Potter. You're panicking again," said Malfoy, and Harry felt, like a physical touch, Malfoy projecting calm at him.

Which was all right, he told himself. This was one of the only good things about the bond. He could certainly take advantage of Malfoy's clearer head over this part of their dilemma, if it helped him feel steadier and helped them work together.

They could talk this out, decide what to do, how to make sure the adults didn't push them into doing anything they didn't want to do. Maybe give them more time to work together, give them another chance– or rather, give him another chance – to do this on his own schedule. Malfoy had said before that he didn't want Harry under some potion. Maybe Harry could capitalise on that, help Malfoy stand against his father, if need be.

He absently covered Malfoy's hand with his own as he tried to steady himself, hardly aware of what he was doing, and then... oh, no, that had been a bad idea, because Malfoy... he was warm, Malfoy was always so warm, so damned alive and he... pulled at Harry somehow. His presence was no better than a potion, really, drawing him to Malfoy, making Harry want what he shouldn't want – what he didn't want, damn it, despite the fact that he was somehow drawing closer to Malfoy.

And his presence did the same thing to Malfoy. Even Malfoy's fear right now couldn't dampen his attraction to Harry, his longing to get closer, touch, feel.

And Harry felt the same way, which wasn't right, but it was so hard to hold back, to go against what his body wanted. And... and holding back hadn't gotten them anywhere so far. Other than here, in Dumbledore's office, while the adults decided their future and the portraits gossiped about them.

And right now Harry was too tired and scared and defeated to keep fighting this. He couldn't fight it all the time, he would go with it for just a moment - just a moment, then he would pull back and they would continue to talk and come to some sort of agreement, but for now, this was what he needed the most and he couldn't have stopped if Voldemort himself had stepped in front of him right now.

Yes...

Harry drew closer. He could feel Malfoy's heart racing, could feel just how desperately Malfoy wanted this, but he was hanging on by a thread and refusing to let himself move. Which was paradoxically comforting and frustrating, because as much as Harry wanted to do this on his own time, it was awfully difficult to take that first step. Their hands were clasped together and he could feel Malfoy's breath, and as Harry looked down and rested his forehead against him Malfoy gasped, startling Harry. He looked up slowly, almost dream-like, gazing into Malfoy's grey eyes, drawing his hand up Malfoy's arm, to his cheek, unable to breathe as Malfoy closed his eyes and leaned into his touch, overwhelming Harry with his inner turmoil, with the feel of him trembling at Harry's touch.

Malfoy was finally moving, very carefully drawing Harry closer, and Harry tried so hard not to shake, but it was almost impossible. It was too much. Malfoy's breathing was laboured, his eyes clouded and unlike Harry had ever seen them. No mocking or superiority, just knife-edged desire and intense anticipation.

"Oh god," Harry heard a low voice say, barely recognizing it as his own, as he hesitantly touched Malfoy's hair, the back of his neck – so soft, so warm, were boys supposed to feel like this? Was he supposed to want to touch him more, want to kiss him? What would happen if he tried to, and Malfoy laughed at him? He moved forward tentatively until their bodies were touching very slightly, noting without much surprise that Malfoy was as hard as he was and slightly confused as Malfoy stepped back a bit. Not because he was offended or because he didn't want to touch Harry, but because he was...

Harry suppressed a laugh. "Don't know quite what to do now, do you?"

Malfoy looked sheepish. "Er... no."

"And I thought I was the inexperienced one," Harry said, drawing his hand over Malfoy's cheek and watching Malfoy sigh and close his eyes and pull them close together, which was extremely –well, it wasn't unpleasant at all.

It was the exact opposite, actually. Malfoy's eyes were still closed, giving Harry the chance to watch him without awkwardness, let his fingers caress Malfoy's neck, yes, his hair really was that silky, and Malfoy dropped his head back, sighing softly.

"That's OK?" Harry asked quietly, and watched a shiver run through Malfoy, watched his pulse beating wildly in his throat. Malfoy brought a hand to Harry's face and he leaned into it, impulsively kissing Malfoy's palm, startling a bit as Malfoy pulled back – damn, that had been the wrong thing to do, apparently-

"No, don't stop, that was - um, don't stop-" Malfoy murmured, and they were so close he could feel the other boy's breath on his face.

They both wanted this, so damned much. With every fibre of their being, they both needed it. Malfoy moved forward, so very slightly, and Harry drew in his breath as their emotions spiralled out of control - and he bridged the last tiny distance between their mouths and hesitantly touched his lips to Malfoy's.

Soft. Soft, and warm, god oh god, he had no idea it would feel like this. Malfoy's lips were the most amazing thing he'd ever felt in his life. Dimly part of his brain popped up to tell him that wasn't possible, and even if it was, it was wrong, but that part of his brain was remarkably easy to ignore. He let out a soft sigh as Malfoy moved a bit, brushing against him. Harry tentatively parted his lips and felt the tip of Malfoy's tongue barely touching his lips, and he moved to touch Malfoy's tongue with his own.

God, that felt good – he made a sound in his throat, kissing Malfoy with a bit more confidence, pulling him closer, more determined, wanting so much more...

And then he was lost. Like his first time flying, every emotion so powerful and scary and wonderful and overwhelming.

Nothing but sensation, nothing but bliss. Lips and tongues moving together, Malfoy's long, lean muscles under Harry's hands, their hearts beating together, Malfoy's scent overwhelming him, Malfoy's fingers moving through his hair and sending shivers down Harry's back. Making him hard as a rock –and Malfoy was too, Harry could feel hard heat pressing against him, sending sparks through him, and if they could just keep doing this forever and never let go, Harry would try to track down whoever cast the curse and send them flowers – which probably made no sense logistically, he realized, but really, who cared.

God, it was like every wet dream he'd had in weeks was coming true, and was even better than what he'd imagined. He hadn't dreamt of the rightness of Malfoy's arms around him, the small sounds their lips made as they moved together, the heat from Malfoy's tongue, the tremors coursing through Malfoy feeling so erotic and intense for Harry as well. The gratification of knowing that he was the one making Malfoy lose himself like this, the one overwhelming Malfoy with excitement and pleasure.

God, yes...

God, this was...

Um. This was getting a little...

... a little too hot for Dumbledore's sitting room.

"Um." Harry broke their kiss, pulled away briefly. "We should, we should probably-" Malfoy's fingers tightened on the back of his neck and he came back to Malfoy's mouth, unable to stop a small moan, which turned into a groan as Malfoy pulled back.

"Yeah, we should," Malfoy whispered, his eyes still closed. "We should - um," Harry smiled as Malfoy pulled him in for another kiss, breathlessly adding "we need to st-" before Harry covered his mouth again, allowing himself one last deep kiss before reluctantly pushing himself away.

"No, no, we have to-" He gasped put one hand on Malfoy's chest, pushing him back gently. God, how completely frustrating– more so because he could feel Malfoy's frustration as well as his own, and they were both so tightly wound it was rather agonizing. He put his forehead against Malfoy's shoulder, barely restraining himself from saying to hell with it and going right back to snogging him. "God, I'd no idea stopping would be this um, hard," he muttered, and Malfoy chuckled.

"Um, yeah. That part's never fun."

"Oh good," Esposito's cheerful voice broke through the haze and Harry nearly had a heart attack. She chuckled at their startled reaction. "I thought you were never going to come up for air."

5 October 21 to October 22

Day 23, Wednesday, continued

"This is impossible. They are impossible," Snape could be heard saying, several hours later.

The merry band was together again, discussing their 'case', but this time Draco and Potter were not invited to the party. Legally of age or not, the rest of them had decided they were too bond-addled to be trusted to make any decisions for themselves. Instead they'd had their wands confiscated, been patched up, and given calming potions. And now, here they were, cooling their heels in a small sitting room outside Dumbledore's office while the discussion went on inside, Draco on a sofa and Potter pacing the room restlessly, both trying to ignore the portraits moving from frame to frame whispering about them.

"Malfoy," Potter said hesitantly, breaking the silence in the room. Draco looked up. "We're in trouble, aren't we?"

"Brilliant powers of observation, Potter," Draco replied tiredly. "What was your first hint?" He flicked his eyes at the blood still staining Potter's white shirt, knowing his own was blood-spattered too. Pomfrey had been too disgusted with them to give them time to change or clean up after healing their injuries.

"What-" Potter stopped, cleared his throat. "What do you think they'll decide?"

"No clue."

"I... I have a feeling I won't like it."

"I doubt I will either," Draco said. "I'm not sure they can decide anything, though. We are both adults."

"They may not be able to force us to do anything, but they can make things difficult for us if we don't obey. We could be expelled. Or disowned or something, in your case."

"My father wouldn't disown me."

"Really? What would he do instead?"

Draco frowned.

"Malfoy... what could he do to you, that makes you so afraid of him?" Potter asked hesitantly.

"I'm not afraid of him."

"Bollocks," Potter replied bluntly. "You are. You're not all that concerned about what Dumbledore or anybody else at school might do, but you're terrified of the fact that your father is in there with them."

"Does the bond now include Legilimency for you? No? Then don't presume to tell me how I'm feeling and why."

"I don't need Legilimency. I know how you feel, and it's the same way you felt that day in the hospital when you contradicted him in public. You nearly had a heart attack."

"We'd just been through a lot of stress-"

"Nothing to do with it. You were afraid of him." Potter's gaze was direct and uncompromising.

Draco bit his lip. Yes, he'd realized years ago that his feelings for his father, his respect and admiration and love, were also tinged with an unhealthy amount of fear. He'd noticed that none of his friends seemed to feel that same bone-deep terror of their fathers that Draco felt for his. Maybe their fathers didn't regularly threaten them with expulsion from the family, or remind them that not living up to their family's expectations would result in a life of misery, or viciously hex them as part of a 'disciplined upbringing'.

Yes, he bloody well was afraid of his father, and had good reason to be. But there was no way he would admit anything like that to Potter, of all people.

On the other hand, it was stupid to pretend there was no basis to what Potter was saying. Because he was right; Lucius' presence in that office was terrifying him right now. He didn't have any idea what his father would do to him, because he'd long ago given up imagining for himself what Lucius could come up with. His worst fears sometimes paled next to the real thing.

He swallowed. "Do you have a point, Potter?"

"I don't want to just do whatever they say."

"Neither do I. We don't exactly have a choice, though, do we?"

Potter took a deep breath. "We're not handling this terribly well."

"Once again, your powers of detecting the thoroughly obvious-"

"Shut up. We're under pressure from everybody and from ourselves, and even though you're taking a patience potion, it's not enough to cope with how you feel about me or my friends, and your school work on top of that."

"Thank you, Potter. I never would have reached those conclusions on my own-"

"And I can't handle how I feel about you, I hate the way you treat me and my friends and how fucked up your entire worldview is, and I'm sick of being on display for everyone at school to talk about, and..." Potter swallowed hard and plunged on, "And, and I'm fucking terrified of letting you get close to me, or letting myself get close to you."

Draco's mouth dropped open. There was a long silence as he digested the fact that Potter had just said what he had said.

Finally he cleared his throat. "All right," he said slowly. "I take it you do have a point, then? What is it?"

"We need to work things out, between the two of us."

"We've tried."

"No, we haven't. We've been existing next to each other and trying to muddle through and accepting advice every so often from other people. We haven't talked much at all."

"We did this morning."

"Did a pretty good job of it, too."

Draco smiled, not aware he was doing so until Potter gave him a small smile in return. "Yeah, we did."

"So it is possible. For us to work things out, I mean."

"I suppose so."

"So let's try. Do you want to drop out of classes?"

"No." He paused. All right, if Potter was going to lay his cards on the table, he supposed he should do the same. It went against every Slytherin instinct he had, but... the alternative might not be terribly attractive, depending on what came out of Dumbledore's office. "I don't. But we're not getting any useful learning right now. I can barely concentrate long enough to write my name on a piece of parchment."

Potter smiled ruefully. "I know the feeling. I keep feeling like I have to fight to clear my head all the time, because if I don't-" he broke off and blushed. "Well, you can probably guess what I end up thinking about."

"Probably," Draco said dryly.

Potter drew in a deep breath. He moved closer to Draco. "How I feel - how we both feel - it's so bloody wrong."

"Why? It's just sexual attraction. Don't tell me you've never felt that before."

"Not this badly."

Draco swallowed hard. "Why is that so wrong?"

"Because I don't want to feel this. We don't love each other. We don't even like each other. I don't want to-"

God not this again. "Potter, we're seventeen. Love and like don't have to enter the equation when it comes to sex."

"I'm scared."

"Of what?" Draco asked, knowing there was something just plain wrong about hearing that and not using it against Potter immediately, but Father was in the other room and god only knew what was being discussed in there. He and Potter had to work together, and they had to do it now.

"Getting hurt."

"You're getting hurt right now," he gestured at Potter's bloodstained shirt. "I almost hexed you into next year a few hours ago. We weren't going to do anything like a Giggle Spell or turn each other green; we were both going to do serious damage. You're miserable, and so am I. How could having sex be worse than all of this?"

Potter shrugged. "Fear of the unknown, I suppose."

Draco nodded. "Out of curiosity, what do you think they're going to decide in there?"

"To give me some potion or something to - to make me not fight this any more," Potter blushed, turning away.

"Potter..." Draco stood and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Why would that be the end of the world?"

"Because, because then I wouldn't have any control over anything-"

"You don't have much control now-"

"I don't want to-" Potter tried to wrench himself away but Draco held on, keeping his touch as gentle as he could while still maintaining contact.

"They may not, you know." Potter crossed his arms tightly and Draco realized he was shivering. "Potter. You're panicking again." He projected calm and was rewarded by the feeling of Potter's fear slowly subsiding.

Then Potter put a hand over Draco's, and their eyes met, and all of a sudden it wasn't just about nerves or fear or anger. Their emotions were still raw and volatile despite the calming potions, their hands touching, and the ever-present attraction came rushing back to the forefront. And Draco wanted nothing more than to draw closer - and then Potter was actually doing so, and there was so little space between them but Potter was nervous and Draco didn't want to spook him by breaking his promise to not push him and then Potter had shifted just a little closer, close enough for Draco to feel his breath as they both looked down at their clasped hands and then there was no space between them, their bodies were touching and their foreheads coming to rest against each other and Draco gasped before he could stop himself.

Oh, Merlin... it was ridiculous, they were in the Headmaster's sitting room, and they were supposed to be talking about what to do, and instead he was stunningly aroused and he could tell Potter was too, and then Potter's other hand was coming up and touching Draco's shoulder and then traveling up to his neck, his cheek, and he was closing his eyes and leaning into the touch, and his knees were feeling weak and it was incredible.

He drew his arms down Potter's back, bringing them closer together, and Potter was trembling, and Draco was trying to regain control over his breathing, but that seemed just about impossible. His chest felt tight and small tremors were moving through his whole body, and he felt Potter's breath hitch like it had this morning when he was dreaming and he looked up and met Potter's eyes again.

"Oh god," Potter said very quietly, one hand still cupping Draco's cheek and the other now nestling into his hair. Their gaze was getting uncomfortable, but Draco had no idea where to take them next. Had Potter been a girl, there would have been no question, a kiss would have been the logical next step, but with another boy... and one he didn't actually like... and one who he wasn't sure wanted that kind of thing... what should they do?

They probably looked like a right pair of idiots, Draco thought, both turned on but having no clue what to do with their feelings. Potter stepped closer and now they were pressed together, and it was a little too intense, he could feel Potter's erection and knew the other boy could feel his and it was just... he moved back a bit and Potter chuckled quietly.

"Don't know quite what to do now, do you?"

"Er... no."

"And I thought I was the inexperienced one," Potter drew his hand over Draco's cheek and Draco sighed, Oh, that felt really, really good, and he moved his hands along the long, smooth muscles of Potter's back, coming to rest on his hips, and felt, somehow, Potter's heart rate speeding up.

He moved closer again, reflecting in the small part of his brain that could still form coherent thought that the bond spell wasn't all bad after all. A spell that could turn standing close to another person and running your hands over their fully clothed body while they did the same to you into something this intensely pleasurable had some merit to it after all. No wonder people used the spell even if they were already in love.

One of Potter's hands was still cupping his cheek and the other was now gently caressing the back of his neck, and he closed his eyes and dropped his head back and sighed.

"That's OK?" Potter asked quietly, and Draco shivered a little as Potter's breath tickled the side of his neck. He nodded, trying to steady his breathing and failing utterly, his pulse racing just like Potter's.

He lifted his hand to Potter's face, to his cheek, and Potter leaned into his touch and pressed his mouth into Draco's palm and a jolt of pleasure seared through him. He pulled away automatically and then Potter started to pull away too, but Draco murmured, "No, don't stop, that was - um, don't stop-", and then he was leaning closer and he could feel Potter's breath on his cheek, and suddenly he didn't care whether this was the done thing or not, he wanted to - but... oh, hell...

Their lips were so close. Surely if Potter didn't want to, he would move away? He moved forward tentatively, and Potter's breath drew in sharply but he didn't back away. And then suddenly Potter had covered the last of the distance between them, and their lips were touching. And it didn't matter worth a damn what was the done thing, because Potter's lips were so soft and this wasn't so different from anybody else Draco had kissed after all, it was sensual and arousing and exciting except just a tad more so because he'd been on edge and wanting this so intensely for what seemed like forever, and he heard a small sound of delight coming from one of them, and it didn't matter which one-

"Oh," that was definitely Potter who'd spoken, a soft sound uttered into the space between them. Draco tilted his head to the side a little, and Potter parted his lips and they tentatively touched tongues and oh, this really wasn't that different from kissing a girl - except that the girls Draco had kissed had never pulled him close with a strength that matched his own, and the sound Potter made in his throat was much lower and the awareness Draco felt for him was different - although whether that was due to Potter's gender or the bond spell was impossible to tell and really not that relevant anyway.

The fact that he was starting to feel light-headed was relevant, though. Light-headed and anxious to not have this interrupted by a stream of people pouring out of Dumbledore's office. It made him both want to speed this up so that they could... whatever... before that happened, and slow them down so they wouldn't be interrupted at an even more inopportune moment.

But god, the heat and the excitement of their lips caressing and their tongues touching, less tentative now, more confident, more demanding... no, he couldn't end this...

"Um," Potter broke away for a moment, "we should, we should probably-" and he kissed Draco again, a soft moan escaping him, and Draco didn't know or care what he'd been about to say. Except, Potter had probably thought-

"Yeah, we should," Draco drew away long enough to whisper. "We should - um," he kissed Potter again, "we need to st-" and Potter stopped his words with another kiss - and this wasn't going so well, it was like telling a starving man to stop eating after two mouthfuls, it just wasn't going to happen.

"No, no, we have to-" Potter drew away, gasping, and put one hand flat on Draco's chest, pushing him back just a little, and Draco would have felt rejected and angry but it was hard to feel that way when Potter's other arm was wrapped around his waist and his chest was heaving and he was still making small movements against Draco, now settling his forehead onto Draco's shoulder and muttering, "God, I'd no idea stopping would be this um, hard," and then Draco was chuckling and Potter was joining in.

"Um, yeah. That part's never fun."

"Oh, good," they both jumped at the voice that came from the doorway across the room, and Healer Esposito chuckled. "I thought you were never going to come up for air."

They started to move apart, then Potter tightened his grip on Draco and they stood still as the Healer closed the door behind her and approached them.

"I thought you might like to know what's going on – or rather, what was going on in there," she said, seating herself comfortably in one of the armchairs. "The general consensus was, of course, that this was not working and you two needed intervention, but there the consensus appeared to end. One camp felt that the best course of action was some fairly potent potions for you, Mr. Potter," Potter breathed in sharply and Draco automatically rubbed his back to soothe him, "and the other seemed to feel that something in the order of a complete personality change was in order for you, Mr. Malfoy. There were varying degrees of support for suspending you both from school indefinitely and sending you directly to me at St. Mungo's. Your father, you may be interested to know, Mr. Malfoy, declared himself ready to back this up with 'incentives' for you if you did not agree with that particular course of action."

Draco suppressed a shudder, wondering if his father had actually stated out loud what he meant by that, and deliberately avoided Potter's curious glance.

"Well." The Healer smiled brightly. "That's about it, in a nutshell, not that it matters anyway but I thought you'd like to know."

"Why - er, why doesn't it matter?" Potter's voice was husky and a little shaken, and the Healer smiled at him reassuringly.

"Because when I sensed what was going on in here, I pretty much put my foot down and declared a moratorium on any outside suggestions."

"You sensed-" "Moratorium - how?" they spoke together, and Esposito motioned them to sit.

"I sensed because I'm a Bonding Spells Specialist and I'm trained to detect signs of improvement in my patients from a reasonable distance away. Not that I think I needed that particular training - probably half the school felt what was going on in here."

"What?"

"Oh for heaven's sake relax, Mr. Potter, I'm exaggerating. I sensed it, as did Madam Pomfrey and Professor Dumbledore. And, for some reason, Professor Snape." Draco noted with amusement that Potter blanched a little at that. "Any spell activating that strongly was bound to send off a few sparks, but rest assured you do not need to worry about the entire school being aware of your romantic activities. In any case. The moratorium: I make it a practice to never interfere with a couple's attempts to salvage their bond, if those attempts are genuine."

"What - what attempts?"

"Obviously I don't know exactly what led up to this-" she waved an amused hand at them and Draco felt himself blushing slightly, "But I assume it was preceded by some kind of discussion between the two of you, basically agreeing that you want to try to make this work - together?" Draco and Potter nodded, bemused. "There you go. That's no guarantee of anything, but it is a move in the right direction and I much prefer to allow such attempts some room to succeed rather than take over completely. Your father," she nodded at Draco, "was none too pleased about this and threatened to demand St. Mungo's suspend my Healer's licence. But the fact is, I'm the Healer of record here and he will abide by my recommendation whether he wants to or not. And my recommendation is that you should be allowed time to yourselves, to continue what you started here, as long as you are genuinely committed to taking that time and using it wisely."

"What does that mean?" Draco asked cautiously.

"Get to know one another, gentlemen. Stop all classes until at least next Monday and bloody well get to know one another as spouses, or even as human beings, instead of schoolyard rivals. We all suggested this at the beginning, but of course we didn't know anything back then, did we? And of course you two knew it all." She snorted in amusement.

"But-"

"Tut, Mr. Potter. Stay in your rooms or go somewhere off school grounds altogether. Ask one another about your lives and childhoods, learn each others' favourite foods, favourite Quidditch teams - talk about Quidditch and how you feel about not playing any more, if that'll help. And get comfortable with each other sexually. Do nothing but that for a few days."

"We'll kill each other," Draco said flatly.

"You won't. You've proven you can co-exist despite your history of enmity, despite your different personalities, despite the stress of the situation you're in. You've proven you can get along, as long as you've got support and you aren't too stressed - you did it for six days after you were released from the hospital."

"We hit each other. We almost hexed each other," Potter pointed out.

"It was only the sexual tension from the bond, combined with the pressure of school, that caused this latest crisis."

"How can you be sure?"

She shrugged. "I can't be 100 percent sure. I can just give my considered opinion, based on watching bonded couples of every conceivable personality combination work out their problems for twenty-five years. Although I did hear some fairly disturbing evidence that neither one of you is particularly good at controlling your tempers. And apparently this kind of thing with your magic getting out of hand has happened a few times before, hasn't it, Mr. Potter?"

"Yes."

"But not for years. I believe that today the fact that your tempers were feeding into each other is what caused it to be so... spectacular."

"So how is leaving us to fight it out alone going to-"

"Oh, no no no, you're not going to fight out anything. And you won't really be alone; I will be monitoring you frequently, and I'm giving you each a portkey to St. Mungo's, which you will carry at all times and activate the moment you feel even slightly unsafe in each other's company."

"But I thought the whole point of going back to the dorms was so we wouldn't be isolated-"

"And I stand by that. You'll go back there after you come back from this getting-to-know-you exercise. Nobody will make you live in isolation for the rest of the year. This is only four days together, free of school and social pressures, and you've shown you can do it."

Draco and Potter stared at her.

"Any questions?" She smiled at their blank faces. "Right, then. Let's get you back to your quarters."

"But what about-"

"Don't worry about anybody else in that office, Mr. Malfoy. Just follow me. Healer's orders."

ooooooo

"Erm, about the beds..." Potter said nervously that night as they entered their bedroom.

"Yeah, about the beds." Draco crossed his arms and they stood, facing the beds that were just as they'd left them, right next to each other. Potter swallowed hard and Draco pushed down his impatience.

The Healer had finally left them around dinner time, leaving behind their clothing, school materials, a list of suggestions on how to pass the time, and reassurances. They'd spent the evening organizing their quarters again, eating dinner, studying a bit, and had even managed to push past their embarrassment enough to look at the list of suggestions and cover two items they'd chosen as non-controversial, easy beginnings.

"I don't think I'm up to 'discuss your future together' or 'describe your worst fear,' thanks," Potter had said dryly, and Draco had to laugh, because somehow he knew they were both thinking, 'especially as they're both the same thing'. "How about 'tell each other what your favourite class is and why' and 'describe a happy day in your past'?"

"Fair enough," he'd said, and they'd both done their best to take the assignment seriously. With Potter facing the spectre of forced mood-altering potions and Draco facing god only knew what from his father, the idea of opening up about favourite classes and happy days seemed ridiculously easy.

They'd gotten past the awkwardness of what had happened earlier in the day - all of it. The morning's activities, the fight, the almost-hexing, and the conference of concerned adults. But they hadn't yet really faced what being here together meant.

"Are you nervous?" Draco now asked bluntly.

Potter shrugged self-consciously. "Yeah, a bit."

"I won't-"

"I'm not afraid of what you'll do. I'm - um, I, I-" he stopped and steadied himself. "Look, I'm having dreams a lot. And I don't want to wake up to find that during the night-"

"That you've come a little too close for comfort?"

Potter nodded.

"What if you have? Why is that so awful?"

"I'm not ready."

"And you never will be, if you don't loosen up a little," muttered Draco. He took a deep breath. "Look, it's your call. Push them apart or leave them as they are or turn them into one bed, I don't care. I'm going to get ready for bed." He turned and went into the washroom, reminding himself that they had to, had to, had to work together. And that insulting or hurting or embarrassing Potter was simply not on the menu of acceptable behaviour any more.

And that if he ever found out who in hell cursed them, he would use at least two of the three Unforgivables and do his very best to invent a fourth.

He emerged, patience potion downed and teeth brushed, and didn't make a single comment as Potter went past him into the washroom and he saw that the two beds had been transformed into one. Just stripped down to underthings and got in, realizing as his head hit the pillow that he was truly and utterly exhausted.

He closed his eyes and barely heard Potter come back into the room, managing only to murmur "G'night" before he slipped off to sleep.

ooooooo

Day 24, Thursday

Harry yawned and slowly stretched, looked over at the clock lazily, then sat up so fast his head spun.

"Shit! Transfigurations!" he gulped, whipping around at an unexpected sound - laughter.

"Potter." Malfoy was sitting back against the headboard, still wearing the same t-shirt and pants he'd gone to bed in, a book on his lap, laughing at him. "We're 'voluntarily suspended', remember?" Harry gaped at him and Malfoy waved at the night table on Harry's side of the bed. "The house elves brought you breakfast. Relax and enjoy it."

Harry dropped back onto the bed, relief washing over him. God, the only thing worse than arriving late for McGonagall's class was arriving late for Snape's. He lay there until the dizzy feeling subsided, then sat up to inspect his breakfast tray, which seemed brimming with all his favourite breakfast foods.

"Dobby," he said fondly, and Malfoy looked up from his book.

"Dobby?"

"House elf. He likes me."

"We had a house elf named - oh. Right."

"Yeah."

"That explains why my toast was soggy and my pumpkin juice was warm."

Harry choked on his juice and tried to cover it, but Malfoy didn't look angry - in fact, he looked amused.

"Potter, I was joking. No house elf would knowingly put bad food on a tray, no matter who was eating it. My toast was fine." He went back to his book.

"What are you reading?"

"Potions."

"Aren't we supposed to be off school?"

"Out of classes, not out of school. Besides, this isn't our textbook."

"You read Potions extra-curricularly?"

"How quickly you forget. Remember a long discussion of Favourite School Subject and Why, Potter? Last night?"

"I know, I just didn't know you liked it that much."

"I do. Besides, it's certainly a more pleasant way to start the day than reading the Prophet."

Harry groaned and closed his eyes. "Oh, god. What d'you suppose they'll say about yesterday?"

"I have absolutely no desire to find out, though I'm sure Pansy will cut out every article and try to show them to me when we come back. I'll have to figure out how to charm her memory so she thinks she's shown them to me already."

Harry sighed. "When you figure out how, teach me. Dean Thomas does the same thing to me."

"Merlin, why would anybody want to read tripe like that about themselves?" Malfoy shook his head and turned a page.

Harry considered a number of responses to that, and finally decided that instead of beginning the day with a fight about how Malfoy had always assumed that Harry liked reading tripe like that about himself, he would simply not respond. He would go to the washroom instead.

Getting away whenever Malfoy pissed him off might be a very good strategy, he told himself as he washed shaving potion off his face a few minutes later. They had four days to work together to build something that wouldn't fall apart at the first sign of pressure. A fight would be an inauspicious beginning, to say the least. Malfoy seemed to be trying to not be overly obnoxious; the least Harry could do was to not get riled up about Malfoy being completely unaware of how obnoxious he'd been in the past.

Harry finished and returned to the bedroom, feeling much less pissed off, but hungry. He grabbed the breakfast tray, sat down cross-legged at the foot of the bed, and attacked his breakfast with enthusiasm, glancing over at Malfoy.

Malfoy looked relaxed and far more at ease than Harry normally saw him. His light grey t-shirt was dusted with a few crumbs, book propped up against his knees, attention focussed on the book, one finger absently worrying a lock of his hair. He didn't look like the enemy. He looked like a normal teenage boy, far removed from anything more sinister than school pranks.

Was this what Harry was so afraid of?

Then Malfoy looked up and Harry felt his toast stick to the back of his throat. "What?" Malfoy asked.

"Nothing. I was just wondering - I hope nobody's worried about us," Harry said quickly.

Malfoy shrugged. "I'm sure Snape and McGonagall explained everything to our housemates. They'll know we didn't kill each other or get expelled."

"A little too close, though."

"To which?"

"Either. Both."

"Yeah," Malfoy marked his place, flipped his book shut and put it away carefully before turning back to Harry.

Silence.

"So." Malfoy paused. "What now?"

"Um... I, I don't know, do you - um, should we look at the list-"

"Sod the list for a minute," Malfoy said. Harry swallowed nervously, wishing they could just grab the list and pick a random topic because he wasn't sure he wanted to do whatever Malfoy had in mind. "I want to apologize," Malfoy said bluntly.

It took Harry a moment to process that. "What?"

"I want to apologize, for yesterday. I was pissed off and I took it out on you. And the Mud- er, and Granger."

"Oh."

Silence.

"This is where you either say 'Apology accepted' or 'Up yours', Potter."

"Oh. Right - apology accepted."

Malfoy grinned. "That wasn't quite as painful as I expected it to be," he commented.

"Heh, yeah," Harry said uncomfortably.

Malfoy frowned. "Potter?" Harry gulped. "Oh, god," Malfoy muttered, then sat up, coming into Harry's personal space. Harry shifted backwards automatically, and Malfoy rolled his eyes but sat back against the headboard, spreading his hands. "Look, I'm not touching you, I'm not in your space. Can you relax?"

Harry nodded, feeling foolish as only Malfoy could make him feel. He took a sip of his cocoa, getting rid of the dryness of the toast. He set his cup back on the tray, noting that his hands were shaking slightly and wanting to roll his eyes at himself. Malfoy was right, this was stupid.

In fact, this was beyond stupid. He put his breakfast tray back on the night table, took a deep breath and met Malfoy's eyes, noting the barely contained annoyance that shifted suddenly into surprise as he moved closer.

"What-"

"We're supposed to get 'comfortable' with each other," Harry said, "whatever that means. And, and you said you wanted me to lead here. So... I'm leading."

Malfoy looked rather thoroughly thrown off, and Harry started to smile despite his own discomfort at the situation. "Don't tell me you're nervous now," he chuckled.

"Me? No. Well. Yes. A bit." Malfoy started to look a little irate as Harry's chuckle widened into a laugh. "Stop that."

"You should see yourself," Harry grinned. Malfoy looked down at himself, noticing that he'd gone from a relaxed pose, leaning against the headboard with knees updrawn and arms loosely clasped around them, to almost hugging his knees against his chest and radiating defensiveness. He rolled his eyes, unfolding himself and mirroring Harry's cross-legged posture, visibly forcing himself to relax.

"Better?" he asked sarcastically.

"Why are you nervous? You're the one with all the experience and no 'Muggle hang-ups'."

"Yeah, well..." Malfoy was looking away now, a blush heating his face. Harry opened his mouth to make another snide remark and then closed it.

This was very new territory to both of them, he reminded himself. And if he needled Malfoy too much, Malfoy would very probably snap and turn sarcastic and sneering again, and that wouldn't help either of them.

He bit his lip, not knowing where to go from here, then decided to just go with his gut. Shifted forward so that their knees were touching, and reached out for Malfoy's hand. Malfoy drew in his breath sharply, but took Harry's hand in his.

"What are you nervous about?" Harry asked quietly.

"I... I don't know." Malfoy took a deep breath. "Scaring you off. Screwing this up." He swallowed. "Fighting with you again."

"I don't want to fight either."

"We always seem to end up there, though."

"Not right now," Harry pointed out.

"No."

Harry laced their fingers together and rubbed the top of Malfoy's hand with his thumb, reflecting that though they'd done this a couple of times, this was the first time they were actually able to do it without fear of interruption. He looked up to find that Malfoy's eyes had closed and Malfoy was breathing very deeply.

"Malfoy?"

"I didn't... I didn't think the bond spell would make such a difference. I thought Pomfrey was exaggerating."

"About what?"

He opened his eyes. "She said there was more sensitivity under the spell. That, that senses and emotions were heightened, that kind of thing. I... I guess it's true."

"Is it?"

"Yeah, don't you - oh. No, you wouldn't know."

"Er, no."

"It's heightened. Trust me." Malfoy took another deep breath. "It's a little too... intense. Sometimes."

"It's not just me, then? That thinks so?"

"No."

Harry gently let go of Malfoy's hand and touched Malfoy's knee, then ran his fingers lightly over his lower thigh and back to his knee. He leaned a bit closer, peering at his leg, and chuckled.

"What?"

"I can feel it, but I can't see it. Your leg hair - it's almost transparent."

Malfoy smiled a little, amused. "We've been sleeping in the same room for weeks, you never noticed that?"

"I suppose I wasn't looking."

"You'd never make it as a spy, Potter."

"I hope I never have to," Harry responded lightly, but the temperature in the room seemed to dip down a few degrees regardless and they both looked away from each other, slightly uncomfortable. Dangerous territory, this.

Then Malfoy cleared his throat and shook his head, apparently determined to not let them go down that particular conversational path. He ran his fingers across Harry's knee, mirroring Harry's actions. "You're so much darker than I am," he observed. "Nobody would ever call you part-Veela."

"You've been called part-Veela?"

"Drives my father insane, that. Nobody says it seriously, and our pedigree's documented back about twenty generations, but it's still a good way to get a rise out of him."

"Why? Fleur Delacour was; it didn't seem to bother her."

"Fleur Delacour is not a Malfoy. We pride ourselves on being purebloods. Pure blood doesn't include non-human blood."

"Would it be better or worse than having Muggle blood?"

"For Father, who knows. He's never been accused of being part-Muggle. But I overheard one of his friends tell a story once about how when he was at school another boy started a rumour about him being part-Veela. Father cursed him with runaway hirsutism and severe goat-like body odour." Harry burst out laughing. "Almost got away with it too, but a teacher found out and he got detentions for two weeks."

"I find it impossible to imagine your father in detention," Harry chuckled.

Malfoy suddenly scowled and withdrew, hugging his knees to his chest again. "I don't," he said curtly. Harry blinked, confused, then mentally replayed his own words and clapped a hand over his mouth.

"Oh - oh, shit, I didn't mean it like that, I'm sorry. Shit!"

Malfoy looked away, lips pressed together tightly.

"Malfoy, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking." He sat back, running a hand through his hair. "Fuck, what a way to kill the mood," he said ruefully.

Malfoy's gave a startled laugh, then sobered again. He shrugged. "Yeah, well. Apology accepted," he said grudgingly.

There was an uncomfortable pause.

"Um, what do you want to do now?" Harry asked.

Malfoy shrugged.

Harry ran his hand through his hair and started to get off the bed.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to find the bloody list," Harry muttered.

"Sod the list. I don't feel like talking."

"There's not just talking on the list."

"We just tried that. As you pointed out, the mood is effectively dead."

"Maybe we should talk about that then."

"Maybe absolutely not," Malfoy shot back immediately. "Would you like us to have a cozy little chat about my father's time in Azkaban? Maybe discuss the finer points of what exactly you had to do with it, who was in the right, what does it all mean - do you want to get to where we're about to kill each other again?"

"No. But we can't ignore it forever."

"We bloody well can."

"Not if it makes you this angry-"

"Don't analyse my feelings, Potter! You can't tell everything going on inside me just because of the damned bond!"

"Really?" Harry shot back defiantly. "You're angry just thinking about it. You're ashamed that your father was imprisoned like a common criminal. You're scared to talk about it and face it. You're angry at me for bringing it up, and at yourself - probably because I didn't bring it up, you just heard it from something I said that had nothing to do with Azkaban. And I'll bet that's not the first time an innocent remark's gone a little too close to home for you. You're confused and you wish you could just run away from it."

Malfoy was gaping at him. Harry sort of wanted to gape at himself; he'd had no idea he could read Malfoy's feelings that well, but there they were, and he knew he'd nailed most of them.

"Am I close?"

Malfoy scowled at him.

"And now you're annoyed because I'm dead-on. You're disturbed that you're that easy to read by anybody, even me. Or maybe especially me." Malfoy looked away. Harry sighed, his brief anger dying down. "Malfoy... you're not that easy to read," he said tiredly. "It's just the spell. You could probably do the same thing to me if you tried for half a minute."

Malfoy looked at him speculatively. "All right, then." He closed his eyes, then started to speak slowly. "You're wondering if we'll ever be able to live together without setting each other off all the time. You can't decide whether you're more upset at me or at yourself. You're angry because... because you feel like apologizing for putting my father in prison. You're afraid we won't be able to work anything out and you'll be forced to - Merlin, Potter, you're bloody well obsessed with this 'lack of control over sex' issue." He opened his eyes and smirked at Harry. "Sex isn't even about control a lot of the time, you git. Most of the time it's the exact opposite."

"What?"

"It's not about thinking and deciding and following the right steps or anything. It's about letting go and feeling good."

"Feeling good? That's all there is to it? What about feeling something for the other person? Or caring how they feel?"

"There's no reason you can't do both. You - you're over-thinking this," Malfoy put a hand on Harry's knee and Harry almost flinched, but Malfoy leaned closer anyway, his smirk fading and a serious expression coming into his face. "It's not about thinking, it's about feeling."

Harry swallowed. "I, I know, but-"

"But you don't like the lack of control. You're not in control right now." He tilted his head to the side. "And... that scares you."

"You're not in control of your own feelings either - you're still angry over what I said about your father-"

"I don't want to talk about him," Malfoy said in a steely voice. "I'd very much like to forget all about him right now, if you don't mind. He's not here. We are."

Harry swallowed, his mouth going dry.

"You're still confused but you're also turned on. And you don't know what to do about it." Malfoy slowly ran his fingertips halfway up Harry's thigh, then back down. "Potter, at least this is something we can do something about. The rest - our families and our history and all of that - we'll never get anywhere on any of that."

Harry felt unwelcome emotions flooding back - desire, the need to be closer, to not have to talk - he stopped Malfoy's hand as it started moving up his leg again.

"Are you sure you want me to stop?" Malfoy asked quietly, and Harry realized that no, he didn't. He shook his head and Malfoy smiled and resumed his light touch moving up Harry's leg and Harry briefly congratulated himself for still being dressed in very loose clothing that hid his body's reaction to what Malfoy was doing. He slid his own hand up Malfoy's arm, to his neck, into his hair, then looked at Malfoy, whose hand had grown still upon Harry's knee and who was looking at him with guarded anticipation.

Harry swallowed, started to lean forward a bit, and Malfoy followed suit until they were just close enough, then he closed his eyes and touched their lips together. He could feel the lingering anger and frustration in Malfoy, mixed with desire and surprise, then Malfoy parted his lips and they were kissing deeply but slightly awkwardly, still sitting cross-legged. Then Malfoy came up to his knees and Harry uncrossed one leg and they were closer, this was better, this was much, much better, and Malfoy's hands came up to caress Harry's face and hair and bring him closer and then Malfoy was pulling Harry back so that they came to rest half-sitting against the headboard, free to explore each other comfortably.

And Harry's body was responding more and more eagerly to the lips and hands touching him. Frustration and anger were melting away, everything was melting away but the heady sensations, the possibilities. He shivered as Malfoy's lips left his and started to move towards his cheek, his ear, sparking little jolts of pleasure that made him gasp and unconsciously tighten his hold on Malfoy.

"Is that all right?" Malfoy murmured in between small movements of his lips on Harry's ear, and Harry nodded wordlessly. Then Malfoy was working his way down Harry's neck and pressing soft bites into the juncture of his shoulder and neck, and Harry was biting his lip to not cry out, but he could hear small whimpers escaping.

"I can't believe you've never done this before," Malfoy whispered, amused at his reactions, coming back to his mouth. "Didn't you ever wonder what you were missing?" he asked, then prevented Harry from answering by covering Harry's mouth with his own.

"Yeah, I did," Harry admitted as they came up for air. "I... I did." He moaned as Malfoy went back to his neck, then squirmed a bit, "That's, that's too much-" Malfoy backed off and they paused while Harry caught his breath and tried to ignore the fact that his pulse was racing faster than he thought it had ever gone before, and every nerve was tingling and he felt so, so alive...

He glanced at Malfoy to find him chewing on his lip, eyes half-closed, one hand grasping at the blankets. "Are you - are you all right?" he whispered, and Malfoy shook his head slightly.

"No, I'm - it's a bit too much for me too, I, I need - um, no, I-" Malfoy said breathlessly, and came back to Harry's mouth for a moment, then broke off again. Harry hesitantly moved his mouth to Malfoy's ear, trying to mimic what Malfoy had done, licking the hollow behind his ear and drawing back quickly as Malfoy cried out in surprise. Malfoy turned to him quickly, one hand winding into his hair, urgently whispering, "No, no don't stop, go back-"

And it was a pretty powerful sensation, such small actions getting such intense reactions. He tried to remember what Malfoy had done to him, how he'd kissed and licked his skin and where and how long - and then he wasn't trying to remember anything, he was just reacting to Malfoy's sounds and movements and what he could feel through their bond. Almost feeling what Malfoy was feeling, the spikes of sensation that drove small cries from his mouth, the burning need for more that finally had Malfoy biting his lip and squirming in frustration.

He pressed their upper bodies together, Malfoy's chest heaving against his, so incredibly warm through both of their t-shirts, the warmth in Harry's groin responding to the idea that if they lay down he'd feel Malfoy's erection against his own, and he needed to touch, he needed-

Although... on second thought, that was just a little farther than he was prepared to go. Even though last night they'd been that close, they'd had more clothing and more restraint then, being in Dumbledore's sitting room. This was just them, in thin sleepwear, in their own room, nothing to set any limits for them, and that was a little too far...

"Potter..." Malfoy finally murmured, "I think we're going to have to stop-" and he groaned as Harry left his neck and came back to his lips, "No, really," he was stopped by Harry's mouth on his, and he finally wrenched away long enough to say, a bit exasperated, "Potter, I'm going to come if you don't stop that now."

Harry stopped. He withdrew slightly, gazing into Malfoy's eyes, dark with desire. He swallowed, thought for half a second, then slowly came closer. "So go ahead, I won't stop you," he said and resumed his exploration of Malfoy's neck and ear and mouth, running one hand down Malfoy's back, coming to rest on his hip, smiling at Malfoy's bitten-back curse and his heightened level of excitement. Dimly he could sense that Malfoy was somewhat thrown by all of this, but then Malfoy's rational mind seemed to flicker off completely and his entire consciousness was taken over by awareness of his own body and Harry's actions. Malfoy had thrown his head back and closed his eyes, was gripping Harry so hard it was a little painful, but seemed frustrated as he squirmed under Harry's attentions and Harry tried to figure out what it was he needed.

Oh. He took Malfoy's hand and pressed it to the front of Malfoy's pants in suggestion, and Malfoy quickly bore down on himself, once, twice, and then his back was arching off the bed and he cried out as he came, and Harry, to his surprise, followed a few seconds later without having touched himself at all.

They lay together breathlessly, and Harry felt an extreme lassitude taking over him. He rolled onto his back and Malfoy made a small noise in his throat, prompting Harry to throw an arm back over him, which made Malfoy chuckle. He roused himself long enough to murmur the sheet-cleaning spell, then lapsed into half-awake contentment once more.

6 October 22

Day 24, Thursday, continued

"We should probably get up," Malfoy said in a drowsy voice a long time later.

Harry mulled that over.

"Yeah, probably."

They listened to the rain for a little while, then Harry said, "I didn't know it was raining."

"Yeah, started a little while ago."

"Oh."

There was a long silence.

"Is it normal to be this tired afterwards?" Harry finally asked.

"Yeah, sometimes..." Malfoy yawned.

"Feel like I could sleep for a week."

"That's probably the spell," Malfoy said a long time later.

"Mm." Harry pondered that. "What for, though? That doesn't make sense..." he yawned. "The other stuff, pain from other people touching you, or needing to touch, that all makes sense to set up intimacy, but being this tired after you come... how would that help?"

"Who knows?" Malfoy asked, his voice sleepy and unconcerned. "Besides, we were cursed by an idiot, remember?"

"Right."

Harry lay there, listening to the rain and Malfoy's breathing, noting distantly that he'd never felt such an utter lack of hostility off of Malfoy during the whole time they'd been bonded.

"Right. Well. I'm not lying around all day," Harry finally said, realizing that unless he got them moving, they'd probably be there until the next morning.

"What are you going to do instead?" Malfoy asked disinterestedly.

"I'm going flying."

And Harry had the distinct pleasure of seeing Malfoy's eyes snap open in surprise, and then Malfoy's face lit up with a genuine smile.

ooooooo

"I missed this," Malfoy said as they sped towards the lake, his words almost lost in the wind.

"Me too," Harry said, a stupid useless sentimental lump in his throat. Until they'd lifted off, he hadn't really let himself think about just how much.

"Over there-" Malfoy pointed, "There's a good lookout point on that hill - here, follow me," he swerved off, and Harry followed, the sheer joy of being in the air again, of being free, filling him with energy.

They reached the lookout point far faster than either of them expected, and hovered over it for a moment.

"Land, or keep flying?" Harry asked.

Malfoy grinned. "Keep flying!" and Harry was hard-pressed to keep up as he took off.

He was good, Harry thoughts as they raced each other. He flew effortlessly, as though he were part of the wind itself - and through their bond, Harry realized that was how Malfoy felt. As though once he was on a broom, he was free of everything but the rush of the air around him.

Freedom, that's what flying was. They'd have to come out more often.

"Potter!" Malfoy yelled above the rush of the air.

"What?"

"I'm going to do some drills, don't fall behind," Malfoy said, starting a dive as he spoke. Harry grinned and followed, and they automatically settled into the Standard Quidditch Warm-Up Set: dives, rolls, tumbles, swerves, feints, all made more challenging by the fact that they had to stay close together. It was wonderful, working out again, and with a partner with whom he didn't have to hold back. Malfoy was meeting him at every acrobatic move, and they were slowly getting more and more competitive, but still relatively good-natured - more of a 'Look what I can do' than a spiteful 'Look how much better I am than you.'

"Malfoy!" Harry shouted at the end of a roll.

"What?"

"Seeker's Game? Best three out of five?"

Malfoy didn't bother to answer, but instead immediately headed back towards the school and the Quidditch storage area. Harry followed, hovering in the air as Malfoy darted into the hut, got the Quidditch box, and released the Snitch, kicking off and going up immediately.

They waited ten seconds, giving the Snitch a head start, then flew off to catch it.

Exhilarating, that's what it was, thought Harry. Skill against skill, no Bludgers, Quaffles, Beaters, Chasers or Keepers. Nothing but two Seekers pitting their speed and manoeuvrability against each other and the golden Snitch. And there it was, dancing barely ahead of Malfoy, and Harry dove for it as Malfoy reached out, and Harry nearly knocked him off his broom on his way to the Snitch, Malfoy's indignant exclamation lost in the wind as he shoved Harry right back and Harry hurtled down, losing altitude and trying frantically to stay on his broom.

"Bloody hell!" Harry sped up, trying to catch up to Malfoy, who put on a burst of speed, fast enough to overtake the Snitch, and nearly knocked himself off his own broom as he reached out to catch it before it fell behind him.

Malfoy's triumphant yell echoed through the air as his fingers closed around it. Harry pushed down his disappointment and curtly motioned to Malfoy to let it go again.

And they were off again, and the sky was incredibly vividly blue and the wind was fresh and clean and nothing existed in the world but two Seekers and a Snitch.

ooooooo

"God I wish I could still play," blurted Harry as they finally landed at the lookout point and climbed off, both of them exhausted, damp and breathless.

"Me too," Malfoy said quietly, looking out over the water.

"It's such an amazing feeling, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

Harry sat down and looked over at Malfoy, noting that his mood, which had soared after he won their game, seemed to have settled considerably on the flight back to the lake.

"What's wrong?"

Malfoy shook his head and sat down beside Harry.

"What is it?"

"Nothing. Just wish I could play again."

"Yeah."

There was a silence, finally broken by Malfoy. "I wish... I wish a lot of things were back to how they used to be."

Harry nodded, looking over the lake, the high of flying slowly fading away.

"We should have brought food," he realized.

"Next time," Malfoy said. "So, head back?"

"No thanks, I'll fall off. I'm exhausted," Harry lay back on his elbows, still gazing out at the lake.

"So what do we do?"

"What about the list?"

Malfoy started to object, then shrugged and nodded resignedly. "Yeah, all right. Do you remember any of them off the top of your head?"

"Er... one was Quidditch-"

"No thanks," Malfoy said curtly, and Harry sensed the subject was a little too raw for him right now.

"Er... I think we were supposed to talk about what we thought of marriage before the spell."

"Yeah, all right."

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Did you ever think about marriage when you were growing up?"

"No, you go first," Malfoy said, leaning back on his elbows too.

Harry picked a small clover and nibbled on it, thinking. "I don't know. Not much, I don't think, to be honest. I didn't know if I'd even survive to adulthood. I still don't."

"You never thought about it?"

"I must have at some point, I suppose. I suppose I wanted what my parents had. Well, what I've been told they had. You know, what you made fun of, romantic Muggle notions. Somebody to love and trust. Somebody to have kids with. Be friends with."

"But you never saw any of that. You didn't know your parents."

"My aunt and uncle seemed to have a good marriage. They hated me, but they seemed happy with each other, god only knows why."

"They hated you? Why?"

"My aunt and uncle... never mind. That's a whole other topic. But they seemed to get on pretty well with each other. I suppose I wanted that too."

Malfoy nodded.

"What did you think about?"

Malfoy chewed on his lip for a moment, thinking. "Not much. I suppose... I wondered what her family would be like. What my family would achieve by allying ourselves with hers. What our children would be like. What they would get from their mother that they would bring to the Malfoy line."

"Smashingly romantic."

He shrugged. "It's just a political alliance; anything else is a fringe benefit."

"Do your parents not get along?"

Malfoy seemed puzzled by the question. "No, they get along well. They're a lot alike. It's a good marriage, I think..." he trailed off.

There was a long pause, as Harry watched Malfoy brood. "What?" he finally asked.

Malfoy started a little, as if he'd forgotten that Harry was there. "You know... what you wanted, you can still have. You'll be able to find somebody to love and all that rubbish, assuming you can find a girl daft enough to like you back." Harry noted that the requisite insult lacked the usual force, as though Malfoy were just going through the motions of hostility. "You've lost the right to call her your wife, but everything else, you can still have." He sat up and tossed a small stone into the lake. "I can't. I can't marry anybody else; I'm off the market. There won't be any alliances in my generation," he said bitterly.

"Is it really that important?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Obviously not to people like you or your parents, or the sodding Weasleys. But to old families in the wizarding world, yes, it's bloody important." He threw another stone into the lake, flinging it with far more force than the first.

Harry kept his mouth shut, not particularly wanting to get into an argument about their different views on marriage. "I'm sorry," he said simply.

Malfoy shrugged and tossed another stone.

"Doesn't it make any difference that this isn't a voluntary bond? I mean, wouldn't some family still want to, I don't know, make some other sort of 'alliance' with yours, even if it can't be called a marriage?"

"A bond is a bond, and you can only have one. No good family would let their daughter be attached to a man who can't even give her his name."

"That's not fair."

"No, it's not bloody well fair, but that's the way it is. It happened to the Verbindungs, very old German family, about twenty years ago; the heir was an idiot who ended up making a bond with a no-name Irish witch while he was out on a bender. He was eighteen. He sobered up and realized what he'd done, but she didn't want to dissolve the bond, so there he is, still effectively single. They don't live together, they've got nothing together, but as long as she's alive and refusing to dissolve it, he can't marry anybody else. You wouldn't believe how much standing the family's lost since then."

"That's too bad."

"Mind you, my father's somewhat brighter than Herr Verbindung, and at least what happened to me wasn't because of an embarrassing drinking incident. We'll probably be a little better off. Still. It's not good."

"I suppose not."

Malfoy stared at the lake, tossing stones in one after another, and Harry waited patiently while he worked out his frustration. Wondering, not for the first time, if he would ever fully understand the wizarding world. Even after seven years, he still kept smacking up against unexpected differences, blank spaces in his knowledge of wizarding ways and customs. All sorts of things that he would've known, had his parents been alive to raise him in this world.

A long time later, Malfoy finally seemed to have calmed himself down. "At least the heir part's still all right," he said resignedly, tossing one last stone into the lake. "Although I'm sure you'll be impossible while you're expecting," he muttered.

"Expecting what?"

"Children."

"What?"

"Well somebody has to have them, Potter," Malfoy said impatiently.

"What?" Harry repeated blankly.

"How else do you think heirs come about?"

"Doesn't that kind of thing usually require a woman?"

"Do you see a woman here? How else do you think male couples have children?"

Harry gaped at Malfoy.

"What?" Malfoy asked.

"Are you serious?" Harry sat up.

"Well how do Muggles do it?"

"They adopt, or get a woman to carry the - you're not serious?" Harry said, his emotions finally coming out of shock and making way for stunned disbelief.

"Don't Muggles have any male pregnancies?"

"No!"

"Rather sexist of them, isn't it?"

"Malfoy, you are joking, aren't you?"

"I can't believe you hadn't thought about this before. It would've been the first thing I would've thought of if I'd been the lower-status spouse, personally. After all, that's who carries the children if it's two men in the marriage-"

"What?"

"Goodness, Potter, you're turning the most alarming shade of green-" and then Harry finally had the presence of mind to reach out and try to sense Malfoy's feelings behind his voice and manner.

"You BASTARD!" he shouted in disbelief as Malfoy finally started to crack. "You absolute fucking WANKER!"

Malfoy dissolved in laughter, unable to do more than bat away at Harry's wild swings at his head.

"I can't BELIEVE-"

"Can't believe - you fell for-" Malfoy managed to gasp between peals of laughter, "Honestly, Potter - your face, oh, what I wouldn't give for Creevey's camera-" Malfoy collapsed into helpless laughter again and Harry's glare started to turn into a sheepish smile, then into an outright laugh.

"Yeah, all right. All right, yeah, you got me," he said, putting his hands up. "Fine, yes, let's all mock the Muggle-raised twit here and I swear if you tell your Slytherin friends about this I'll make tentacles sprout from your nose."

Malfoy nodded, still red-faced and unable to speak.

Harry sat back, waiting for him to settle, reflecting on how rare it was to see Malfoy utterly let go of his composure. He wondered whether Malfoy had been born with shields in place, or whether his parents - most likely, his father - had had to work hard to put them there.

"Oh, god," Malfoy wiped his eyes. "I can't believe you actually fell for that," he shook his head, still chuckling.

"Well how was I supposed to know?"

"Honestly, Potter, men having babies?"

"If you'd told me seven years ago that people could actually fly on broomsticks or make themselves invisible or turn themselves into animals, I would've thought you were mental. What's male pregnancy compared to that?"

"But all of that's useful, you could see people wanting to do it. Male pregnancy? Who'd want that?"

"Who'd want to raise Blast-Ended Skrewts either, I'd like to know, and yet we both know how."

"Fair enough."

"So how does parenthood work, then? I assume you're still going to have an heir, right?"

Malfoy shrugged carelessly. "I'll probably have a child with some woman and name them my heir, but they'll be a bastard. A little bit of tarnish on them. And not from a terribly good family either."

"Why not?"

"No proper family would allow their daughter to have a child with a man who's not bonded to her."

"Would that matter?"

"What?"

"Would it make you love your child less, if they didn't have the right pedigree?"

"I don't know about loving them less, but I'd definitely value them less. And so would everybody else."

"You're joking."

"Don't ask questions if you don't want to hear the answer, Potter," Malfoy said evenly, and Harry decided it was probably a good idea to drop the topic.

They gazed out at the lake for a few more minutes, then Harry looked at his watch. "We should probably go back."

Malfoy started to nod, then looked at the school in the distance. Harry followed his gaze. Two large groups of students were coming out of the school, one heading towards Hagrid's place, one towards the Quidditch pitch.

"I don't particularly want to run into anybody right now, do you?" Malfoy asked.

"No." Harry lay back on his elbows, turning his face towards the sun and closing his eyes. "It's not bad out here," he commented. "Wish I'd brought something cooler to wear, though."

"Why?"

"Got overheated from the exercise, but the wind's too cool to just wear a t-shirt. Actually," he sat up and removed his jumper, "to hell with the wind." He wadded up his jumper and put it under his head, lying back down, and closing his eyes again. "Yeah, it's not that cold."

There was a long silence, then Harry felt a prickle of unease. He opened his eyes to find Malfoy staring very determinedly out at the lake, his face somewhat flushed.

"What?"

Malfoy tsk'd in annoyance, not bothering to look at Harry.

"What?" Harry sat up.

"Oh for god's sake, Potter, you are clueless," Malfoy said impatiently.

"Oh." Harry was suddenly aware of Malfoy's emotions, and he cleared his throat in embarrassment, wondering if putting his jumper back on would be sensible or silly.

"Don't bother," Malfoy snapped, turning away. "You're not that irresistible." He started to get up and Harry put out a hand to stop him before he realized he was doing it. "What?"

"We're supposed to be getting to know each other, right?" he said evenly. "We're supposed to be working on me not being frightened of your feelings," he hesitated. "Or my own."

Malfoy was just staring at him, and Harry took a deep breath and drew slightly closer, reminding himself that nothing bad had happened this morning. And that it had been rather pleasant, as a matter of fact. Rather overwhelming too, just like what had happened in Dumbledore's sitting room last night, but overall, pleasant.

He reached out to Malfoy's feelings, encountered arousal and - "Why are you nervous?"

"Not nervous," Malfoy said quickly. "Just... I, I don't know what you're going to do next." He shut his eyes as soon as he said it, embarrassment flooding through him. "I mean, no, that's not - I keep expecting you to panic or something."

"Have I panicked yet?"

"No, but-"

"Then don't expect me to," Harry said, a little amused at Malfoy's apprehension. Funny how Malfoy was irritable but in control as long as Harry was avoiding him, but let Harry make any advances and Malfoy became distinctly uneasy. Harry smiled and leaned closer, running a hand down Malfoy's arm and ending up brushing their fingers together. Malfoy caught his breath, meeting Harry's eyes.

"Er, Potter... this place isn't exactly private-"

But Harry had already decided that he didn't give a damn. He leaned in and kissed Malfoy, who made a startled noise that sounded suspiciously like a squeak before responding and reaching up to cup Harry's cheek with one hand and pulling him closer with the other.

Oh, this was nothing to be afraid of at all, thought Harry as their kiss deepened and he started to fall into that state where there was nothing but their lips and hands caressing each other. In fact, doing this with Malfoy was a damn sight nicer than doing just about anything else with him. As long as they were doing this they didn't have to worry about anything else - families, personalities, school, anything. It all just disappeared in the rush of excitement and physical pleasure.

Oh yes, Harry thought as he pushed Malfoy onto his back, nuzzling his neck and smiling at the way Malfoy's hands tightened on his shoulders. Far from being the worst part of the bond, this was becoming by far the best. Malfoy had been right after all. Like and love didn't have to have anything to do with sex.

Harry sighed as Malfoy's hands became more urgent, drawing him closer, fingers tangling in his hair, firmly moving his face aside so that Malfoy could press a line of kisses down his neck and towards his ear and oh, how in hell had he lived without this kind of thing for so long...

"Potter," Malfoy murmured a few minutes later, as Harry hesitantly started to untuck Malfoy's jumper from his trousers, "Potter, wait," he whispered, grabbing at Harry's hands.

"What?" Harry asked impatiently.

"What are you doing?"

Harry blinked at him. "What?"

"What is this?"

"I believe it's called snogging," Harry said, rather annoyed. Malfoy rolled his eyes, and Harry reflected that the irritation on his face would've been rather off-putting if it hadn't been balanced out by his quick breathing, flushed features and reddened lips.

"I mean, why are we doing this here, now, where anybody can see us if they bother to look up? Why not back in our room?"

"I don't think anybody's going to look up here," he said, going back to Malfoy's neck. "And even if they do," he added between kisses, "they're too far away to be able to tell who we are-"

"Really?" Malfoy jolted a little as Harry's mouth reached a particularly sensitive spot, but he continued, albeit slightly breathlessly. "Even without magnifying spells, two male students groping - oh - er, groping at each other in the middle of the day when everybody else is in class - you don't think anybody would be able to figure out who we are?"

"Why does that matter?" Harry buried his face into Malfoy's hair, enjoying the feeling of Malfoy's hands sliding over his back, his shoulders.

"Why are we here, Potter? Why not in our rooms?"

Harry heaved a sigh and pushed himself up on his elbows, staring down at Malfoy. "Why?"

"Because I'd be far more comfortable there. I don't particularly want Colin Creevey's bloody camera clicking away at us."

Harry blew out his breath, frustrated. "Colin Creevey is nowhere around. But if you're that nervous, why don't we move over there," he nodded at a slight rise in the ground, "Out of sight of the castle."

"Why don't we move over there," Malfoy nodded towards the castle, "Where I won't have a bloody great root stabbing me in the back every time you - oh, er," he trailed off distractedly as Harry started to nibble on his ear. "No, hang on, stop," he pulled away determinedly, clearing his throat. "Potter, this is uncomfortable."

"Right, then," Harry grabbed his shoulders and rolled onto his back, bringing Malfoy with him and grinning at his startled squawk. "Better?" He stared up at Malfoy, suddenly disoriented and a little taken aback - with Malfoy looming over him, and him helpless on his back and half-pinned down by Malfoy's upper body, this wasn't quite the same. Malfoy drew back, a curious expression on his face.

"What is it?"

Harry shook his head, trying to banish his unease. "Nothing," he drew Malfoy back down to him, and Malfoy responded willingly enough for a few heated kisses but then drew away, bracing himself on his elbows.

"Potter. Stop. You're not enjoying this. You're getting bloody tense, as a matter of fact. And you still haven't answered why we have to do this here instead of-" Malfoy broke off, his head tilted to the side curiously. "Wait, why is it that every time I mention our room, you seize up?"

Harry stared up at him, debating trying to keep distracting him. Finally gave in, motioned Malfoy to move aside, and sat up.

"I don't know."

Malfoy sat up too, wiping his mouth and running a hand through his hair, pulling out a leaf that had become entangled there. Harry wrapped his arms around his knees, putting his head down and wishing there were fewer feelings to sort out, because the by-now familiar combination of arousal, impatience, frustration, fear, and embarrassment was getting rather tiresome.

"Potter?"

"I don't know, all right?" Harry snapped, his eyes closed.

Malfoy made an annoyed sound and Harry felt him sit back, then there was a long silence before he felt Malfoy's hand on his arm, his touch tentative. Harry felt the familiar soothing sensation, clearing away the worst of his negative emotions and replacing them with a slightly clearer, calmer perspective.

"If we're in our room, there's nothing to stop us from going too far," Harry finally said.

"What?"

"I, I don't, I mean, this is good, but-" Harry's words stumbled to a stop, and he shook his head helplessly, not knowing how on earth to express something that wasn't clear in his own mind, even now that he was calmer.

"You don't want to go any farther than we did this morning?" Malfoy said slowly.

"No."

"Then why not just bloody well say so?"

Harry's shoulders hunched miserably. "I don't know, all right? I can't... I don't..."

Malfoy covered his eyes with his hand, taking a few deeps breaths, and Harry could clearly sense that Malfoy was exercising all the restraint he had to not shout at him in frustration.

Finally Malfoy looked up and fixed Harry with a level gaze. "Potter. Far be it from me to pressure you in any way," he began in an eminently reasonable tone of voice, "but I'd like to suggest that if you can manage sort yourself out to some minimal degree, things just might go a little more smoothly between us." He stood up and Harry tried to figure out just who Malfoy's carefully polite tone reminded him of. "Just a suggestion, mind you. Now, if it's all right with you, perhaps we can use our time wisely right now by moving away from each other and practicing those non-verbal spells for our Charms test next week. Because I certainly don't want to cause you any distress by forcing you to deal with issues that most people have worked out by the time they are twelve or thirteen."

Harry shivered a little as he finally identified who Malfoy sounded like: Lucius Malfoy, at his most freezingly polite and contemptuous. He wondered if Malfoy was consciously choosing to imitate his father or if it just came naturally. Decided he didn't want to know, because he didn't know which idea bothered him more.

He sighed as he watched Malfoy walk away and start gathering a set of materials for his Charms practice, uncomfortably aware that of the two of them, Malfoy was being far more reasonable and adult about this situation than he was. And it was probably way past time for Harry to 'figure himself out' and let Malfoy - and himself - in on just what was going on in his head. Because what he was doing right now was not fair to either one of them.

He sighed again. Self-examination. Not something he was terribly fond of. Maybe he could just think about it later.

In the meantime, he could, as Malfoy had suggested, use this time wisely to practice for their Charms test. Conveniently enough, it consisted of three sets of thirteen charms to be performed on various outdoor objects: plants, rocks, soil, insects, and, if they could manage it, a few small animals.

All right. He started scanning for objects for his first set. Four rocks, four plants, four insects, one blank spot waiting for some unlucky small bird or rodent to happen by.

Unbidden, Harry's mind wandered back to Dumbledore's office the previous night, and he firmly tried to bring it back to the task at hand before realizing that the preparation of practice sets didn't really require his full concentration. Maybe he could see what thoughts percolated on their own.

He'd been so scared last night, he thought as he carefully organized the four rocks at a safe distance from each other. So stubbornly resistant to the idea of getting close to Malfoy, so resentful of the fact that he'd have to eventually, whether he chose to do so or was forced to by some potion or spell. And then somehow, suddenly, his fear and resistance and resentment had been pushed aside by the moment, by the excitement of being near Malfoy and doing what he'd been longing to do for so long. In fact, at a certain point in time he remembered vaguely wondering what it was he'd been avoiding for so long. And maybe now was a good time to wonder about it again.

So, what was he afraid of? Why he didn't want to go farther? What exactly was the problem?

Well, he thought as he finished his first practice set and started on the second, at the beginning of their bond he'd been extremely nervous about Malfoy pushing him into doing something he didn't want to do. Malfoy was a bully. They hated each other. Malfoy had a casual attitude towards sex and a bitter but resigned acceptance of their bond as a marriage. For the first little while he'd been terrified of Malfoy just taking what the bond promised, with or without Harry's real consent, just because he could.

But that hadn't happened, at all. At no point since their bonding had Malfoy done anything to Harry that Harry hadn't wanted. Take the three times they'd been physically involved: yesterday, this morning, and a few minutes ago. All initiated by Harry. Because contrary to everything he ever thought he knew about Malfoy, Malfoy had made a promise and kept it and had not pressured him, even once. Whether it was the product of the patience potion, the bond's ability to make Malfoy feel whatever Harry was feeling, or just a side of Malfoy that Harry had simply never seen before, Harry had been perfectly safe from any pressure the whole time.

In fact, he realized as the finished the second set, he wasn't really afraid of that any more.

He started the third set.

Performance anxiety had definitely been a problem since the beginning too, he realized. He'd felt nervous as hell doing anything with Malfoy, with his open contempt for Harry's inexperience and his long and glorious history of making fun of everything Harry did. He'd been sure that Malfoy would be perfectly blasé about anything they did, and laugh at Harry the whole time, making him feel stupid and childish.

And again, he'd been wrong. Malfoy, for all his previous experience, had turned out to be hesitant, almost shy, whenever they did anything remotely intimate. And last night and this morning, Harry had been able to sense through their bond how Malfoy was bloody well almost out of his mind with excitement and overstimulated libido. Whether that came from Harry's skill or the bond's magic didn't matter; Malfoy was not blasé and was not complaining, even in his mind, about Harry's inexperience. In fact, Malfoy seemed a little shocked at how completely his own reactions had overwhelmed him.

And then, what Malfoy had done to him, how he'd kissed him and touched him in ways that nearly drove Harry crazy, how much Harry had wanted more, closer, harder... it hadn't been casual for either of them. It had been incredibly good, and he should probably remember that.

Oh dear. Harry cleared his throat and tried to also clear away the rather badly-timed arousal that that particular recollection had provoked.

Mind on the job, he told himself firmly. He had all the objects for the third set, but he needed to organize them.

So, if the fear of pressure and the performance anxiety weren't really issues any more; what else was there?

There was of course the small problem of the fact that this wasn't how he'd wanted to lose his virginity. After all, a person's first time was supposed to be pleasant, with somebody who cared about them.

Although... come to think of it, that might not have been a problem if he'd been with anybody but Malfoy. It wasn't as though Harry had always hoped to lose his virginity to the love of his life. His fantasies ran the same wide gamut as most teenage boys'. In some fantasies, he was in love with the girl, and she with him. In others, they had just met - what Seamus' Wicked Witch magazines called the "beautiful stranger at Flourish and Blotts" fantasies. In others, she was a friend or acquaintance - say, Parvati Patil, or Susan Bones - who somehow, through some unexplored miracle, would up being more.

It was time to face reality. He wasn't going to get any of the romantic fantasies, no matter what. He wasn't going to get the Flourish and Blotts fantasies either. As for the friend becoming a lover... well, replace the word 'friend' with 'nemesis', and that's what was going to happen, so he might as well accept it and make the best of it and not try to pretend that he'd had his heart set on something different all along.

Harry stared blankly at his three sets of practice objects.

As for the slight problem of Malfoy being a boy... he'd read the little book Pomfrey had given them in the first few days after their bond, blanching in disgust at the more graphic material. Certain that he'd never actually want to do any of what was described there. Now... he was starting to see the attraction. But what if he got carried away and consented, then got hurt?

And the other way around, if Malfoy by some miracle consented to let Harry - what if he hurt Malfoy? Setting aside how awful he'd feel, how was he supposed to trust that Malfoy wouldn't viciously hex him in retaliation?

He took a deep breath, making himself check his three sets and think about the charms he was supposed to perform. Not that he could concentrate on actually doing them right now.

They would just have to work things out. The book had had several suggestions on what to do to make things easier and Harry supposed he should probably take a look at them again, and this time, actually read them with a mind towards using them and not just dismissing them in disgust.

Which left his last objection, he thought as he looked over at Malfoy. What he'd said to Ron, that he was afraid to get attached. Which was more valid now than ever. The fact that they'd gone from outright hatred to grudging acceptance to... Harry didn't even have a word for what he felt for Malfoy right now, but it was so far from hatred it made him very nervous. Wouldn't it be a thousand times worse after they'd actually had sex?

There was no help for that. The only thing he could do about that particular worry was to firmly, completely, and utterly, ignore it. Exist in a bubble where they both pretended Voldemort and Lucius Malfoy and all that they represented simply did not exist. Because as Ron had said, there was no point in worrying about it right now.

The only thing he needed to concentrate on was not letting his own insecurities and fears derail any "progress" in their bloody bond. Esposito was right; this was serious, and he had no right to act like an immature child and cause himself and Malfoy more grief than they needed.

Harry cleared his throat, and Malfoy glanced up from his third set, which he was busily charming.

"Charms going all right?" Harry asked.

"I'm finishing up the third set," Malfoy said distractedly, repeating a charm that had not quite worked and nodding in satisfaction as the small stone he was pointing at turned from a bilious neon yellow to a soft glowing green. He looked up. "Did you sort yourself out?"

Harry took a deep breath. "A bit, yeah."

"And?"

Harry cleared his throat. "I don't want to go back to our room. I'm all right with what we've done so far, but if we're there I'll want us to go farther and I don't think I'm ready for that. And... I've thought about why that is. And I'll try to deal with it. And..." he cleared his throat again, bracing himself for the worst part. "And I'm sorry."

Malfoy's eyebrows went up slightly, but he merely nodded. "Right, then. Apology accepted."

"So. Why don't we just stay here for a while? I need to do my practice charms anyway."

"It's almost lunch time."

Harry was on the verge of suggesting going to the Great Hall for lunch, then thought better of it. They hadn't been told to seclude themselves completely, but he couldn't deny that being around anybody, friend or foe, with Malfoy, was stressful. "Why don't we go get something from the elves and come back here?"

"A picnic?" Malfoy asked, amused. "How quaint."

Harry shrugged. "It's a nice day. May as well bring some books and the list too."

"Yeah, all right."

ooooooo

"I can't believe you like tuna sandwiches," Harry said as they settled back at the lookout point for lunch.

"Why not?"

"It's Muggle food."

"Bite your tongue."

"No, we learned that in Muggle Studies, in the section on blending in. It includes a list of food of ours that's commonly eaten by Muggles, so that we can order things and not look strange. There's a list of things not to ask for - pumpkin juice, that kind of thing. And a list of our foods that originally came from Muggles."

Malfoy peered at his sandwich as though it offended him.

"Mind you, I don't think Muggles include salamander tongue sauce in the recipe."

Malfoy took another bite. "Why would you take Muggle Studies, anyway?"

"Easy course. Besides, I really don't know all that much about normal Muggle life."

"You were raised by Muggles."

"I'd like to believe the Muggles who raised me weren't normal."

"Why not?"

"Because if they are, maybe your father has a point about Muggles after all."

Malfoy snickered. "Sounds lovely. So, are we doing item number..." he leaned forward to skim through the list, "17, then? 'Describe your childhood'?"

"Oh," Harry skimmed the list too. "Yeah, may as well. You pick the next item."

"Yeah, all right." Malfoy finished his sandwich, brushed off stray crumbs, and lay back with his hands behind his head, gazing up at the sky. "Go ahead. Let's hear about your charming Muggle relations."

"They're not charming," Harry said, lying down next to Malfoy. "They're bloody evil. The best thing about being in seventh year is knowing that I never have to live with them again."

"If they're at all responsible for your out-of-class wardrobe, I can certainly understand why."

"Yeah, almost everything I wear is second hand from my cousin Dudley."

"Second hand? Your clothing was used by somebody else first?" Malfoy's nose wrinkled in distaste. "Wait - your clothing is enormous. Your cousin outgrewit?" he asked disbelievingly.

"He's about the size of a small dragon. Squashier, though, and far less pleasant." Harry stared up at the clouds in deep thought for a few minutes.

"Potter?" Malfoy finally prompted him.

"I'm not sure number 17 is a good idea," he said slowly, and Malfoy turned to look at him. "Because you realize that telling me about your childhood will mean telling me all about how wonderful your father is." He turned to look at Malfoy and noted a curious expression flit across his face before Malfoy schooled his features into inscrutability.

"Yeah."

"We should probably avoid a lot of subjects," Harry added.

"Yeah."

"Here, let's take a look at the list again." They both flipped onto their stomachs with the list in front of them as they read through it together.

"I'd say 'talk about your parents' is pretty much out," Malfoy said grimly, and touched his wand to the paper. A line appeared across the words.

"We've already done 'favourite school subjects'," Harry touched his own wand to it.

"'Call each other by your first names'," Malfoy read, and rolled his eyes. "Fine. Harry. Your turn."

"Right. Draco. That was easy," Harry crossed out that item. "Talk about your future after school - erm," Harry crossed it out without commentary, reflecting that it was incredibly bizarre to be doing this. Putting up clear limits on what they could and couldn't talk about, without even going into why they couldn't talk about it.

It was so strange. Here they were, supposedly getting to know each other in order to 'build intimacy,' while studiously ignoring some of the most important facets of each other's personalities and lives.

Move along, nothing to see here.

"You realize what's left doesn't involve a lot of talking," Malfoy noted when they were done crossing out items deemed too risky.

"There's 'hobbies' and 'describe your friends' and 'favourite foods'."

"And thirteen other things, none of which involve saying much," Malfoy paused. "Unless you count 'yes' or 'more' or 'harder.'"

Harry found himself laughing and only blushing very slightly. "All right, pick something."

"Hang on," Malfoy muttered a quick spell at the parchment.

Harry frowned. "What was that?"

"Spell that picks out items on a list at random. Very useful for when you're studying and dithering about which topic to study next. It decides for you," they watched as the ink turned green on one of the items. "Number 11. Ugh," Malfoy said immediately. "'Learn your partner's facial features without using your eyes, either through touch or magic or both.' Why didn't we cross this one off for sheer ridiculousness?"

"There's got to be some reason for it. Esposito's been doing this for a while."

"Yeah, and her track record with us so far has been splendid. We landed in the hospital two weeks in and almost killed each other nine days later."

"We weren't exactly following her advice, though. Besides, I thought we'd decided to give her ideas a try."

Malfoy rolled his eyes but sat up. "Fine. I'll go first." He closed his eyes, muttering "Although what this is supposed to prove is beyond me; sounds like another brilliant Muggle idea to me."

Harry sat up, taking Malfoy's hand and bringing it to his face. Malfoy's fingers touched Harry's glasses and tugged on them lightly. Harry took them off and Malfoy gently started to trace his eyebrows, his eyelids, his forehead.

Oh. Harry drew in his breath sharply. He had no idea what this was supposed to prove or accomplish in terms of building trust or a relationship or anything like that, but in terms of tweaking Harry's libido, it was working admirably. Malfoy's sharp, mocking gaze was hidden, his lips slightly pursed in concentration, his brow slightly furrowed, and his fingertips tracing Harry's features so very lightly, so delicately. Carefully stroking one cheek, running along the length of his jaw, thumb gently caressing his lips, index tracing the bridge of his nose, one hand slowly sliding towards his ear, tracing the outside - and Harry realized he was harder than he would've ever thought possible from a completely innocent touch.

Malfoy opened his eyes, half-smiling at Harry as Harry stared back at him, his mind perfectly blank and body perfectly aroused.

"Well well," Malfoy drawled. "Maybe not such a stupid idea after all?"

Harry shook his head, his mouth dry. Malfoy slowly took Harry's hand and brought it up to his own face, then reached out and closed Harry's eyelids gently. Harry bit his lip and started feeling Malfoy's features. Tracing the sharp nose, soft tendrils of hair brushing his forehead, very slight stubble along his jaw, lips that felt a lot softer than they looked and warmed Harry's fingertips with small quick breaths...

"Mmm..." Malfoy made a small sound and shifted a little and Harry bit his lip harder. "That feels... very nice."

"Erm... I don't think this is supposed to-"

"Well, it does," Malfoy replied unsteadily. Harry's fingers were still resting against his lips, and his pulse rose sharply as Malfoy leaned closer, gently lowering Harry's fingers and pressing his lips to Harry's.

This was probably a bad idea, somehow, thought Harry, because whatever they were supposed to learn from this exercise was probably not supposed to be 'how to segue into more snogging'. They were probably supposed to learn about trust, or appreciating each other's less visible qualities, or something like that.

Then again, what was going on right now was doing that admirably too, Harry thought as he parted his lips for Malfoy, keeping his eyes closed and feeling perfectly safe doing so. Knowing that, contrary to all expectations, Malfoy would be attentive and responsive and make Harry feel so incredibly good it would be impossible to remember that it was all based on a spell. It was hard to think, as somebody shivered under your touch and seemed to go out of his way to make you shiver too, that there was nothing there but hormones and a curse.

Harry moaned as Malfoy pressed a line of kisses along his neck, one hand cradling his cheek and the other rubbing small circles onto his back. He reached up to Malfoy's face and carefully touched his eyelids, and Malfoy smiled into his neck and obligingly closed them, and they concentrated on learning each other's bodies with touch alone.

Damn. He should've given in to this from the very beginning. What in god's name had he been thinking?

ooooooo

"It's getting late," Harry murmured into Malfoy's hair a few hours later, wondering a little at the perfectly relaxed, content tone of his voice. Malfoy stirred slightly, yawned and lifted his head from Harry's shoulder, propping himself up on his elbow.

"What time is it?" he asked, rubbing his eyes.

Harry checked his watch. "Almost six."

"Dinner time." Malfoy's brow furrowed. "Wait - we've been here six hours?"

"Yeah."

"Didn't seem that long."

"We were busy," Harry pointed out, chuckling.

"Mm, yeah," Malfoy smiled, then sat up and stretched, rubbing the side of his neck. "I think I fell asleep for a bit, too."

Harry sat up too, nodding. They had been busy. While they'd eventually stopped kissing after the face-touching exercise and dutifully made themselves pick out three more items from The List, they'd come back to physical intimacy each time, for the flimsiest of reasons. "Describe your favourite foods" had become "allow the sensual descriptions of said foods to turn into more snogging." "Practice casting simple transfiguration spells together" had become "transform a flower into a wind chime, a tree into a coat, jokingly transform a patch of grass into a blanket, then end up snogging on said blanket."

"Study together," had not provided a segue so much as an excuse; rather frustrated from three heated makeout sessions that had ended without satisfactory conclusion, they'd become bored after half an hour of reading and ended up snogging again. The last time, they hadn't bothered to restrain themselves, beyond making sure they were out of direct line of sight of the school and that their clothing remained more or less on. They'd both come fairly quickly, and dropped into satiated somnolence even faster.

"Do you want to go to the Great Hall for dinner?" Harry asked.

"Not really."

"Kitchens again?"

"Yeah. Oh - actually, no," Malfoy said.

"Then where?"

"Hogsmeade."

"Hogsmeade?" Harry frowned. "It's not a Hogsmeade weekend."

"We're not in school right now, are we?"

"But-"

"Three Broomsticks?"

"I - I don't know-"

"We'll check in with Pomfrey, then fly down," Malfoy said, rather persuasively.

"But-"

"But what?"

"We've - I mean, we've not gone anywhere in public, what if people-"

"Stare?" Malfoy scoffed. "It's Hogsmeade. They're used to students and used to being discreet with the press. No other students will be there. I'd much rather go there than just about anywhere else that's public."

Harry smiled despite himself. Hogsmeade at night, during the week. That should be interesting.

It was almost like... almost like a date.

7 October 23

Day 25, Friday

Draco was dreaming, and under no circumstances whatsoever did he want to wake up.

There had been so many of these dreams, he thought dazedly. So many dreams where he was finally able to do everything he wanted with Potter, where they didn't have to stop because of his silly moral objections or fear of intimacy or whatever they were calling it at the moment. Dreams where there was only impulse, no control. Where they touched and held and stroked and melted into each other and gasped together and - Oh, no, he thought desperately, pleasedon't let me wake up-

But it was too late, yet not a bad thing, he realized a few bewildering moments later, as he found himself waking up from a very good dream into an even better reality. Because Potter was all over him and murmuring into his ear, his voice husky and raw.

"Uhn-" Draco managed.

"I said, if this is payback for that other morning, you win," Potter said, exasperated, half-propped up on one elbow, his hands a little rough on Draco's shoulders, "You're driving me mental, wake up-"

"M'awake," Draco mumbled, pulling Potter closer. He gasped, feeling the hard heat of Potter's erection against his own, nothing but thin cotton between them. "God, yes, I'm awake," he drew in his breath shakily as Potter hesitated a split second, then pulled them closer so that they were fully pressed together, slipping one leg between Draco's, sliding an arm down to Draco's waist to hold him firmly in place.

They groaned together as the pressure built up, Potter's fingers digging painfully into Draco's back and Draco blindly mouthing Potter's neck as they thrust against one other, and Potter swore and Draco felt the tide rising and carrying him along, and Potter was so incredibly hot and his neck felt like silk under Draco's lips, and Potter's hand was stealing in under Draco's t-shirt, his fingers leaving trails of heat, and they were both so damn close so damn fast - and then Potter suddenly went very still and he feltPotter's orgasm spike through him before ever feeling Potter pulsing against him, and then he was climaxing so hard it felt like he was being torn apart, but in the very, very nicest way.

They were still gripping each other close. Draco could dimly feel Potter's heart racing, past the rush of his own heart loud in his ears. Then a wave of exhaustion swept through him and Potter's arms lost their iron grip and Potter sighed against Draco's neck, and Draco reflected that this might be the function of the post-sex lethargy: to not leave them energy enough to feel self-conscious. Because Potter hadn't wanted this kind of thing to happen yet, so very close to actual sex, and now it had. And Draco really couldn't deal with another one of Potter's existential crises right now, but that was fine, because it felt like Potter was going to go back to sleep instead.

Draco let his mind drift, vaguely noting that they were both rather damp from exertion, and that it was just fine with him. And that he was too bloody tired to even use the sheet-cleaning spell on them both, and that didn't matter either.

ooooooo

"Do you think there's still breakfast at the kitchens?" Potter asked, a long time later.

"If there isn't, you can always butter up Dobby."

Potter smiled, slowly sitting up. "So. Repeat of yesterday?"

"You mean, flying, picnic, and the list?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, but we'd better do more reading. I'm falling too far behind as it is."

"That's one of the list items anyway," Potter reminded him. "Study together. Although it didn't work out too well yesterday."

Draco snickered and sat up, getting out of bed and gathering his books while Potter brushed his teeth and hair. A rather useless gesture, that last one, Draco thought as he entered the washroom.

"Potter, can't you tie that back?" Draco gestured as he picked up his own comb. "It looks disgraceful."

"Mrs. Weasley would probably say I need to cut it, but that doesn't make it any better," Potter said ruefully, giving up on it and starting to rub shaving potion on his face.

"No, it doesn't," Draco said, frowning in annoyance at a tangle in his own hair.

"Your hair could stand a cut too, you know," their mirror told him, and Draco nodded absently, then gave the mirror an odd look.

"What?" Potter asked.

"Nothing," he shrugged. Potter looked at him curiously, scrubbing the shaving potion off his face. "Nothing, just - married wizards traditionally wear it long."

"Really? Ron's dad doesn't," Potter commented, and Draco rolled his eyes.

"What a shock, Arthur Weasley not following wizarding tradition."

"Is that really what's expected?" Potter asked curiously, and Draco shrugged.

"Not really. It's not that unusual to cut it any more." Abruptly he decided he didn't much care about wizarding tradition in this particular instance; he would bloody well cut his hair at the first opportunity.

"Oh, don't forget Pomfrey wanted to see us first thing," Potter said, drying his face. "Actually, let's go now, while everybody's still in first period."

"Are we going to avoid everybody until Monday, then?" Draco asked, leaving the washroom.

"Yeah, I thought so."

"Really?" Draco was a little surprised. "Why?"

"Easier that way."

"We can't hide forever."

"We won't, we'll be back on Monday. Even back in the dorms, if you want." Potter hesitated. "Even - even Slytherin, if you want, I mean it'd be only fair-"

"Don't be daft," Draco said absently, pulling out non-classroom clothing. "I'm not going back to Slytherin until things have settled down."

"What? Why?"

"My housemates would rip you to pieces, Potter. You know that," Draco pulled on a shirt. "Your housemates are fluffy and cuddly and give me liquorice melts."

Potter laughed. "I would've thought you'd-"

"You thought what? That I'd insist on returning to Slytherin? So my housemates can say something perfectly innocent and you can lose that impressive temper of yours and then we can both be committed to St. Mungo's Mental Maladies wing? No thanks. I'd like to come out of this in one piece, if that's all right with you."

"Right, then," Potter said curtly, packing textbooks into his bag. "Pomfrey, then breakfast." He rooted around his desk, trying to find his notes for Potions.

Oh for god's sake, now Potter was insulted about something. "Whatever I said, sorry," Draco muttered, irritably wishing he'd walked through that doorway with somebody else, anybodyelse. Or better yet, that Potter had walked through it with somebody else. "I didn't mean to-" he cut off 'hurt your ickle feelings' just in time. Potter turned to him.

"You're getting rather good at apologizing, have you noticed?"

"Wonderful," Draco said sourly, and Potter grinned at him. "And now you either say That's all right or Up yours, remember?"

Potter stopped him, one hand on his arm and an unreadable expression on his face. His eyes briefly searched Draco's for something, Draco had no idea what. Whether he found it or not, Draco couldn't tell, but he felt a start of surprise as Potter's eyes lowered to Draco's mouth and then he stepped closer and kissed him. Draco hesitated a brief moment before responding, and almost immediately wished he hadn't.

"Potter," he murmured as their kisses started to heat up with dizzying speed, and Potter dropped his schoolbag, "weren't we going to go see Pomfrey - um - during first period?"

"Right," Potter drew away, laughing slightly. "Sorry." He ran a hand through his hair and picked up his schoolbag again, and motioned Draco out the door.

ooooooo

"What did you think about Pomfrey?" Potter asked a few hours later as they broke for lunch.

"This morning?" Draco asked. Potter nodded. "I'm sure it's as she said. Probably nothing to worry about."

"She looked worried, though."

"Yeah," Draco shrugged, concentrating on his sandwich. Malfoys had a strong belief in paying others to worry for them; that's what solicitors and health professionals and people like that were there for, after all. But it was a little hard not to be a little concerned when the school nurse, unflappable when dealing with everything from broken bones to Quidditch-induced comas, looked like she was lying through her teeth when she told them the lethargy both still reported post-sexual activity was 'probably perfectly normal.' "Nothing we can do about it, though. She didn't tell us to stop."

"Good thing," Potter said dryly.

Draco chuckled, and changed the subject. "Where do you get this fondness for picnics, Potter? Did your Muggle family do this often?"

"Picnics? God no. Aunt Petunia would've died at the thought of eating outside. So unsanitary. What about your family?"

Draco laughed out loud. "Tell me you can picture my mother - or my father, for that matter - eating on the grass." Potter shook his head, sharing the laugh, and Draco was struck by how completely relaxed they both were. And by the fact that he hadn't felt like killing Potter in several hours. Things were definitely looking up.

It was... a little unsettling, actually.

"So why are you willing to eat out here?" Potter asked.

"I'm not my parents," Draco pointed out. "Besides, the alternatives are the Great Hall, our quarters, or Hogsmeade."

"Thought you liked Hogsmeade last night."

"Yeah, it was fine."

"D'you want to go back tonight?" Potter asked, and Draco nodded. Hogsmeade had actually been rather brilliant, and they'd stayed out a lot longer than he'd planned. Decent food, change of scenery, and that wonderful Hogsmeade indifference towards students. The entire village most probably knew exactly who they were and why there were in Hogsmeade in the middle of the week, but not one person had so much as raised an eyebrow at them. It had felt a damn sight more comfortable than the Great Hall, come to think of it.

And the fact that they weren't socially isolated, but none of their classmates were around, was wonderful. It almost made Draco wish that they didn't have to go back to class on Monday, that they could just stay on this-

This what? Honeymoon?

Draco abruptly felt utterly disoriented.

"What's wrong?" Potter asked.

Draco glanced at him, shaking his head and firmly trying to force his mind away from where his thoughts were going. Because these four days were supposed to have one purpose only: for him and Potter to get to the point where they could co-exist without killing each other, until the intensity of their bond got to a manageable level and they could gratefully take their leave of one another and never see each other again.

He was not supposed to start to find Potter interesting and pleasant to be around. He was not supposed to feel content in Potter's presence, or wonder what he would have to say about something, or find himself agreeing with Potter, or appreciating his sense of humour. Or looking forward to going to Hogsmeade with him again.

Potter was frowning. "What is it?"

"Nothing. Er, nothing. Here, let's - we should go flying, or-"

"You haven't finished your lunch."

"I-I'm not hungry."

"What's wrong?" and oh shit, now Potter was looking concerned and putting down his sandwich. "Malfoy?" Potter touched his hand, peering at him in consternation.

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

Draco drew his hand away quickly, shaking his head and looking away from Potter's increasingly worried face.

"Malfoy, what the-"

"Back off," Draco said shortly, and Potter sat back, his concern now tinged with annoyance.

"Fine. Sorry," he said curtly. "I just thought - I thought I could calm you down, that's all. You look like you need it. Feel like it, too," he rubbed the back of his neck absently.

"So you're going to do your soothing magic?" Draco sneered. "Spare me."

"What's your problem all of a sudden?"

He stood up, suddenly furious - furious at Potter for his concern and at himself for his feelings. "Piss off," he spat, a lot more angrily than he meant to. Potter's eyes widened slightly and he scrambled to his feet.

"What's the matter with you?"

"You!" Draco felt a thrill of satisfaction as Potter drew back, almost physically repelled by the force and suddenness of Draco's anger. Potter made a small motion towards his wand, which he'd carelessly left on the ground, then caught Draco's glance at the wand and almost involuntarily moved his hand towards his neck instead, to the portkey hanging from a chain under his shirt.

"Going to use your portkey to St. Mungo's, are you?" Draco smirked. "Go ahead. Be my guest."

"You'd have to come too," Potter reminded him, and Draco shrugged, not really giving a damn as long as he wasn't feeling the way he'd felt a few moments ago. "We'd be giving up and putting ourselves into other people's hands," Potter said, his voice unnaturally calm.

"Splendid idea, let's go," he said carelessly, reaching for his own portkey. Potter grabbed his hand.

"Why?"

"The fact that you're thinking of escaping is a pretty big clue that this isn't working, don't you think?" he asked snidely, pulling away from Potter again.

"It was working. Until less than a minute ago. We weren't fighting, we were getting along and-" Potter broke off and Draco felt a small bubble of fear just under the surface - Oh, no, please don't let Potter think about how either of them were feeling right before this moment... "And now you're - you're scared. Why?"

"Piss. Off," Draco said, hearing his voice trembling slightly and clamping down on the escalating panic.

"What the hell is going on?"

"Back OFF!"

"NO! I'm not giving up just because you've got some kind of panic attack or something - or, or because you're angry at me, because I can tell that's only because you're scared-"

"I'm not-"

"You know I can help. I've done it before - you get tense and I can calm you down-"

"There's only one kind of 'tension' I need your help with," Draco sneered and Potter, after a moment of confusion, blushed. Draco felt steadier all of a sudden - this at least was familiar territory: making Potter uncomfortable as hell, then going in for the kill. "Oh, is that too scary for you too?"

Potter stared at him, at a total loss in the face of Draco's rapidly changing emotions. He really was rather attractive, Draco's mind pointed out helpfully, especially when his face was a little flushed and he was breathing unevenly like he was right now.

"What do you say, Potter?" Draco raked his eyes over Potter's body and was rewarded by a spark of almost unwilling reciprocal interest from Potter.

"N-no-"

"Why not?"

"You're - you're angry-"

"Haven't had angry sex before, have you? It's quite charming in its own way."

"I haven't had any kind of sex before, remember?" Potter said, evidently attempting an even tone, which didn't quite make it because it carried a little too much fear. "And I'm not about to start now, not with you like this."

"Where's your famous Gryffindor courage?"

"That wouldn't be courage, it would be stupidity," Potter said, growing steadily more flustered as Draco smirked at him and stepped into his personal space. "Besides, I don't want to."

Draco laughed. "Lying to your spouse under a new bond is almost impossible, Potter," he said, and Potter flushed even darker. "At least one part of you definitely wants to," he said, glancing down, then meeting Potter's eyes with a smirk. Draco stepped closer and Potter backed away.

"I, I thought you said you couldn't if-"

"If you were really as reluctant as you'd like to be, believe me, I wouldn't be anywhere near you."

Potter looked almost frozen with conflicting impulses.

"I'm not touching you," Draco held up his hands and stepped back, mocking Potter with the gesture of non-aggression. "Next move is entirely up to you."

Potter swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to Draco's mouth before being drawn up to his eyes again.

He hesitantly touched Draco's arm and Draco drew in his breath. And then something seemed to snap within Potter and he was suddenly closer and pushing Draco against the nearest tree, and Draco started to shove him right back, preparing to wrest control from him - then he hesitated.

With Potter as shaky as he was right now, who knew what would happen if Draco resisted him in any way. This might turn into a fight. They might do each other serious damage.

Feeling like he was stepping off a cliff on a whim, Draco let Potter back him up against the tree and surrendered all control to him. And then Potter was pressing against him, his hands coming up to Draco's hair and holding him in place as he lunged in and took Draco's mouth in a hard kiss. Draco immediately tilted his head back and parted his lips, letting Potter do what he would, his hands resting against Potter's hips for balance but not trying to control him in any way.

Oh, yes, he thought gratefully as Potter almost bit his lip, this had nothing to do with affection or romance or anything soft and sweet and dangerous. This was nothing but sex and anger and catharsis, and it didn't matter which of them was feeling or acting out which parts, it still felt sharp and cleansing.

Draco gasped as Potter gave him a not-so-gentle bite on the side of the neck. "Y-you can do that harder-" and he cried out as Potter did just that and a bolt of pleasure/pain seared through him.

Potter was tugging hastily at Draco's shirt, untucking it from his trousers, running his hands up Draco's back, and Draco obligingly helped and reached for Potter's shirt as well, both clumsily unbuttoning each other in between hard, bruising kisses, pushing shirts off shoulders, the feel of bare skin incredibly intense after so many weeks of chaste layers of cloth between them. Then Potter was traveling towards the side of Draco's neck again - he was going to have serious bruises at this rate, but it was thrilling and it was everything Draco needed right about now.

This was just the bond spell. This was just sex. This was safe.

Who would've guessed hostility could bring out this side of Potter, Draco wondered hazily in between heady jolts of pleasure and pain. His back was going to be bruised and scratched too, the rough bark of the tree digging into his bare skin as Potter pushed him against it, but Draco wouldn't have wanted to stop him for all the Galleons in Gringott's.

Potter drew back for a moment, chest heaving and lips swollen, his green eyes incredibly dark and intense, and Draco waited on edge for Potter to find whatever it was he needed in Draco's eyes in order to continue and not stop, please please not stop.

Potter's hand slid down and Draco's heart skipped a couple of beats as fingers slipped into his waistband. Potter was staring at him intently as he slowly unbuttoned Draco's trousers, evidently waiting for a sign as to whether he should stop or not. Draco's eyes closed involuntarily as the uncomfortable tightness in his groin eased with the loosening of his trousers, and then Potter's hand was sliding, with unbearable slowness, towards his erection and Draco couldn't move, couldn't do anything - the most coherent thought he had was that he needed to tell Potter to, for the love of God, gofaster - but he couldn't even figure out how to do that and was reduced to waiting, literally breathlessly, his fingers scrabbling helplessly against Potter's shoulders, for the touch of Potter's hand.

"Oh fuck!" he gasped, his eyes popping open as Potter finally touched him and he almost came. Potter was watching him intently, and Draco didn't know how to tell him to move, move, please move, so he settled for running his hand down to Potter's trousers and hesitating only a split second before Potter gave a small nod and Draco tried, with shaking fingers, to get inside Potter's trousers too, to show him what he needed, more and harder and faster and-

Potter's eyes squeezed shut and he groaned as Draco touched him, and then they were both giving each other all they had, swift rough strokes that seemed to last somewhere between milliseconds and eons before Potter swore in a voice that sounded like a sob and Draco almost bit through his lip at the intensity of it and they spilled into each other's hands.

Merlinthat was a better idea than going to St. Mungo's, Draco thought as they both slid bonelessly down and ended up resting against each other at the base of the tree, their eyes closing almost of their own accord.

Oh, that was much better.

ooooooo

"Are you planning on telling me what happened this morning that got you so wound up all of a sudden?" Potter asked casually that night over dinner at Hogsmeade, and Draco choked slightly on his pumpkin stew.

"What?"

"What happened this morning?"

Draco scowled. "None of your business. And why bring it up now anyway?"

"I was hoping you'd bring it up yourself before now. And it's very much my business. I'd like to know what I did so I won't do it again. It was a little unnerving."

"You didn't do anything," Draco said dismissively. "It was nothing."

"I reached for my portkey, Malfoy," Potter said evenly. "I thought you were going to attack me."

"So instead you attacked me," Draco pointed out, smirking. "And it all seemed to work out pretty well after that. At least I didn't hear you complaining." He touched his neck gingerly. "Though it'll be a little embarrassing getting Pomfrey to heal these bruises tomorrow and I wish I'd known beforehand that you're just as useless at First Aid charms as I am."

Potter, rather predictably, blushed, but didn't drop his level gaze. "Malfoy."

Draco put down his fork. He took a deep breath.

Let it out. No, he still had no idea how to explain what had happened to him this morning, and definitely absolutely no desire to talk to Potter about it.

Potter absently tapped his spoon against his plate. A rather annoying sound, Draco thought. "You don't know, or you don't want to talk about it?"

"The second."

"At all, or just with me?"

"At all."

"Not an option, Malfoy. Can you talk to Pomfrey tomorrow?"

Draco sighed in annoyance. "Yeah, sure." That should be loads of fun. 'Madam Pomfrey, I think I'm getting a little too fond of my involuntary spouse, what should I do?' What could she possibly say?

Pomfrey would probably be delighted, and call it 'progress'. And it probably would be, if his involuntary spouse was anybody but Potter.

But who else was there to talk to? Father and Mother were right out - even without the embarrassment factor, he'd rather be Crucioed than admit what he was feeling to either of them. Mother would be horrified and annoyingly worried. Father would be... oh, 'disappointed' wouldn't even begin to cover how Father would feel.

Maybe Snape?

Maybe nobody. Maybe he would just mention it to Pomfrey, listen to her cluck approvingly, and hope to Merlin she also told him it was all part of the natural effect of the bond and not his fault at all. Then he could just shove down his fears and discomfort and just live day to day until the spell wore off. And hope it all worked out in the end.

"Yeah, I'll talk to Pomfrey," he said more firmly, and sternly told himself not to worry about it. At all. Really.

"Good." Potter seemed satisfied, and bit into his pasta.

"This stew's surprisingly good for Three Broomsticks," Draco said, hoping they were done with the previous subject.

"I didn't even know they had regular food here," Potter commented.

"Ugh, don't tell me this is Muggle food too," Draco wrinkled his nose in distaste.

"No, I didn't mean Muggle food, I meant food that's not frosted tea-cakes and biscuits."

"You don't think the people who live here ever want to go out for dinner?"

"I never thought about it," Harry said.

"I've heard they have a good selection of wines, too."

"I thought only the Hog's Head served alcohol."

Draco grimaced in disgust. "That place is revolting. Can you picture the people who own Honeydukes going to the Hog's Head when they want a bit of wine with dinner?"

"Wonder if they'd serve us."

Draco's eyebrows shot up. "What?"

"We are of age."

"Potter, are you suggesting we try to order alcohol?"

"I wasn't suggesting anything, I just said I wondered."

"Oh, of course," Draco rolled his eyes. "So sorry, far be it from me to suggest the Gryffindor Golden Boy do anything against the rules just for fun, and not in order to save the world."

"I'm not the Prefect here," Potter shot back, stung.

"Former Prefect, courtesy of our bond and thanks ever so for reminding me. Besides, you wouldn't know how to brazen your way through breaking the rules. Don't you usually do it under cover of invisibility or something?"

"Oh and you think you could? Just get them to bring you a drink, no spells or other tricks? Just on the force of your Slytherin charm?"

"How many Galleons says I can't?"

ooooooo

Ron Weasley trudged along a seventh floor corridor, yawning and checking the time. 11:30 p.m. He still had time, after he finished his prefect rounds, to finish the Defence Against the Dark Arts essay that was due tomorrow, and do a reasonably good job on it. Not as good as if Harry had been there to help him and read through it before he handed it in, but still respectable.

Ron sighed, wishing again that Harry was back at the dorm. Whatever this bond was doing to Harry, it was certainly affecting the seventh-year Gryffindor boys. Without Harry there, they were all feeling a little lost; Ron had nobody to work on Defence Against the Dark Arts with, Neville had nobody to listen to his rhapsodies about Herbology, Dean had nobody to talk to about football...

Well, Harry would hopefully be back on Monday. Assuming things went well between him and that miserable ferret he was tied to. Which wasn't a good assumption to make; whatever Ron had said to Harry when they'd talked in their dorm room last weekend, he didn't honestly know how Harry could manage to make living with Malfoy liveable. He couldn't see Malfoy and Harry doing anything but fighting until they hexed each other into the hospital. McGonagall had assured the Gryffindors that they would be supervised from a distance, and that they each carried a portkey for safety, but the mere fact that they needed portkeys was proof that they shouldn't be allowed to be alone together. Not reassuring at all.

Ron stifled another yawn as he heard a noise coming from an open classroom door. He groaned and peered in, then smiled and waved at Sir Nicholas and the Grey Lady. Good. No students out of bounds. Just two ghosts who had been showing signs of romance blooming recently. No need to stay out here any longer disciplining students, arguing over how many points to take off for whatever they were doing. No need to get embarrassed by interrupting students out for a private tryst.

What would romance between two ghosts be like, Ron wondered idly as he continued his rounds, speeding up now that he was so close to being done. He turned a corner and heard another sound, from the staircase he'd just climbed.

Stifling a groan of annoyance, he walked back quietly, hoping that it wasn't Lavender and Blaise Zabini again. She was annoyed enough at him for the last time.

"Shh," someone hissed, answered by what sounded suspiciously like a giggle.

"Shh y'rself," the giggler slurred. "Nobody here anyway. 'Sides, we're not out that far past curfew."

Ron's eyebrows shot up. Harry?

"C'mon, Potter, we're almos' there," Malfoy responded, sounding out of breath and vastly amused, and also very, very drunk. "Almos' there."

"Y'know where else we're almos' at?" Harry said, "Th' Room of Requirenen'. Re-quire-ment." There was a small thud and scuffle, muffled drunken snickers.

"God, Potter, y'can't hold your liquor atall," Malfoy said. "C'mon."

One of them seemed to stumble, and Ron abruptly realized he did not want to run into Harry and Malfoy right now. He glanced at the corridor and stepped behind a suit of armour just as they rounded the corner.

"An' you can?" Harry laughed. "Who almos' threw up on the stairs jus' now?"

"Didn'," Malfoy said with alcoholized dignity.

Ron peered around the suit of armour and had to clap a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing out loud. Harry and Malfoy were trying to navigate the perfectly clear and wide corridor with only moderate success. Harry's arm was over Malfoy's shoulder, and Malfoy's arm around Harry's waist, but it was hard to tell who was propping up whom. As Ron watched, they fell against the wall, both laughing breathlessly.

"How 'bout that," Harry slurred cheerfully. "I've got you up agains' a wall," and he leaned closer to Malfoy and kissed him. Malfoy made a small startled sound and then responded eagerly, and Ron ducked back behind the suit of armour.

Now this was far less amusing than it was embarrassing. If the muffled whispers and rustles were anything to go by, Harry and Malfoy were enjoying themselves just a tad more than anybody should outside their own quarters.

Well. It really was totally different, knowing your best mate was attracted to and possibly shagging your worst enemy, and seeing it. Or hearing it.

"C'mon, Potter, we're almos' at th'room-" Malfoy protested weakly, muffled by what Ron could only assume was Harry kissing him to shut him up. Eurgh. Ron squirmed and tried to will them to keep stumbling to their own quarters before anybody else ran into them.

"I don' want our room, we're always in our room," Harry whispered, and Ron heard a small thud. He looked around the suit again and immediately ducked back, deciding he really didn't need the image of Harry and Malfoy locked in a passionate kiss, Malfoy trying to pull Harry's jumper from his trousers with one hand, the other tangled in Harry's hair, and Harry gamely trying to unbutton Malfoy's shirt.

"What's going on here?" Ernie Macmillan's voice echoed down the corridor, and Ron, Harry and Malfoy all drew in their breaths in surprise.

"Harry?" Ernie asked incredulously, and Ron looked out again. Harry and Malfoy were still standing in place, mouths open in surprise, one of Harry's legs in between Malfoy's thighs and Malfoy's shirt unbuttoned halfway down. "What are you doing?"

Wrong thing to say, apparently, because Harry and Malfoy looked at each other, promptly lost their startled and guilty expressions, and collapsed into giggles, leaning against each other.

"Wha's it look like, Ern?" Harry laughed.

"Harry! You're intoxicated!"

"Clever, isn' he?" Malfoy said brightly.

"Malfoy! You're both disgracefully drunk," Ernie huffed, and Harry and Malfoy only laughed harder, holding on to each other to prevent themselves from landing in an undignified sprawl on the floor.

"This is completely against school rules!" Ernie said sternly, and Ron had enough.

"Thanks, Ern, I've got them," he said, stepping out from behind the suit of armour. Harry and Malfoy turned, surprised, and overbalanced, and Malfoy barely stopped Harry from falling down completely. Unfortunately that pulled Malfoy's shirt open a little farther, revealing a line of what looked suspiciously like love bites marching down the side of his neck.

Far, far Too Much Information, thought Ron in dismay.

"Ron!" Harry said happily. "Where'd you come from?"

"Ron? Why were you behind the-"

Ron grabbed Ernie's sleeve firmly. "Leave them to me, Ern, please. I'll owe you one."

"You're not going to just let them get away with this, are you? Being intoxicated is strictly against school rules, and-"

"Pansy!" Malfoy called out, delighted, as Pansy Parkinson rounded the corner. "Look, Potter, 'sa Prefect Convention!" Harry looked, then buried his face in Malfoy's shoulder, muffling his giggles.

"Draco?" Parkinson said incredulously. "What's going on here?"

"Weasley and I are discussing what to do with these two," Ernie said, with repressive dignity.

"I'd say for starters they'll need to be led to their quarters before they pass out in the corridor," Parkinson pointed out, starting to smirk. "Draco, darling, it's a damn good thing Lucius isn't here right now."

"Isn' it though? Marvellous!" Malfoy nodded emphatically.

"Ernie, we can handle this from here," Ron said.

"I think having a prefect from another house is preferable here. You two will be biased in their favour-"

"Macmillan, we know our duties," Parkinson interrupted loudly, her tone dangerous. "We will not let them off lightly. Now kindly piss off." Ernie narrowed his eyes at her and Ron, but nodded and moved off. They both waited for Ernie to be truly gone before rounding on Harry and Malfoy.

"All right. How did he get you drunk?" Ron asked Harry.

"How did I - how d'you know it wasn'im getting medrunk?" Malfoy said indignantly.

"Was it?"

"Well..." Harry began sheepishly.

"Was sort of... both of us..."

"But you started-" Harry pointed out.

"Didn'!" Malfoy said emphatically. "I jus' said they 'ad wine, you're the one who-"

"You bet me you-"

"All right, all right," Ron broke in. "Come on. Back to your room. We'll escort you."

"Are you going t' take points?" Harry asked. "'Cause tha's not really fair, we're not in a House righ' now, are we?"

"We're volunrary - vo-lun-ta-ri-ly suspen'ed," Malfoy said carefully.

"That doesn't make this better, Draco," said Parkinson. "Suspended for fighting-"

"VolunTArily suspended-" repeated Harry.

"-and getting drunk during that suspension. Not impressive."

"Oh, shit. Y'r - Pansy, shit, don' report that part, please," Malfoy stopped dead in his tracks, looking rather worried for the first time.

"Draco-"

"I'll do detention, tha's fine. Just don'-"

"Oh, shit, yeah," Harry said urgently. "Ron, say it was jus' me."

Parkinson and Ron looked at each other, Ron extremely puzzled and Parkinson worried. "All right," she said slowly. "I won't report that part. You'll still get some trouble, you know that, right?" she asked Malfoy.

"For letting'im get drunk, yeah, but tha's alright-"

"Wait, no, not a chance-" Ron began.

"'Ron, th'worst that'll happen t'me is detention, but Malfoy's fath - OW!" Harry yelped as Malfoy gripped his arm very tightly. He turned and glared at Malfoy, then something indefinable passed between them. Malfoy dropped his eyes and released Harry's arm, and Harry straightened up, gently touching Malfoy's shoulder before turning back to Ron. "Trust me, alright? I'll explain some other time."

Ron turned to Parkinson, who had watched the exchange with a thoughtful expression on her face, and scuffed his toe roughly against the floor. "Why do I get the feeling I'm the only one out of the loop here?"

"Because you are," Parkinson said bluntly. "Weasley. It's simple. We'll take ten points off each for being out past curfew, twenty from Potter for being intoxicated, and twenty from Draco for allowing Potter to get drunk and getting obnoxious with us when we tried to punish them for being out past curfew. Nobody needs to know Draco was drunk too."

"I don't-"

"Ron, please," Harry said quietly. Ron stared at him, finally noticing that Malfoy, rather than looking smugly satisfied at the thought of getting away with something, was looking distinctly miserable and embarrassed.

"Merlin. You'd better have a good explanation for this, Harry," Ron said, giving in. Harry didn't answer, just gave Malfoy's arm a sort of comforting pat. Malfoy looked away from him and cleared his throat, but didn't draw away.

Parkinson pursed her lips and stared at them for a moment before setting off down the hall. They followed her, leaning on one another for support, Ron trailing behind them.

"So what possessed you to drink tonight?" she asked.

"What, a person can't drink on 'is own friggin' honeymoon?" Malfoy muttered testily.

Harry chuckled. "Beats a cruise round the Mediternan - Mediter-ra-nean," he said carefully.

"Explain how," Malfoy said.

"I get seasick."

"Yuck."

"D'you get seasick?"

"Malfoys don' get seasick. We 'feel under th' weather'," he said with dignity, and they both cracked up again.

"All right, here you go, Hades," Parkinson said to Sir Xander, and stepped aside as Harry and Malfoy stumbled into their quarters, still laughing. They collapsed onto the couch.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Harry. You two need to go to bed."

"What, in front of you?" Harry said. "Ron, mate, tha's kind of gross."

Ron blew out his breath in annoyance, ignoring Malfoy and Parkinson's snickers and glad that the room was dark so that nobody could see him blush. "I mean you need to go to sleep."

"I don't want to go t'sleep," Harry said, immediately contradicting himself with a huge yawn. "'M having too much fun. Ron, didyou know Malfoy's a funny drunk? I would've thought 'e'd be all moody an' obnoxious."

"Thought you'd get all morose an' weepy," Malfoy smirked, and for some reason Harry seemed to find it hilariously funny.

Ron and Parkinson exchanged exasperated looks, though Parkinson also seemed to be trying to suppress a case of the giggles.

"Come on, you two, you've got to get to sleep," she said.

"Why? No classes tomorrow, it's... what day 'sit tomorrow?" Malfoy yawned too.

"Saturday. But I don't trust you to not get into more trouble if I leave you alone and still awake, and I don't intend to babysit you all night," Parkinson said firmly, hands on her hips. "Now. Go get ready for bed."

"Make me," Malfoy grinned up at her, but scrambled clumsily off the couch a moment later as she approached him with her hand held out. "I didn' mean that, god, Pansy y've got no sense of 'umour atall," Malfoy muttered, shying away from her. "C'mon, Potter, or she'll use th'Unbonded Touch of Fire. You're really heartless, Pants, y'know that?" He heaved Harry up and steadied him as Harry swayed and looked a little green.

"Ooh, I think 'mgonna-"

"Try an' throw up on me an' I'll hex your mouth shut," Malfoy said sharply. "An' it'll all come out your nose." Harry nodded and held his breath, obviously trying to keep down his dinner.

"Shh. You're alright. C'mon." Malfoy pulled Harry towards their washroom.

"It's a miracle," Parkinson commented quietly to Ron. "I would've thought they'd both land at St. Mungo's Permanent Ninny Ward after the first day."

"They seem to be doing all right," Ron said sceptically.

"Yeah." Parkinson sighed. "God, poor Draco."

"Poor Harry's more like it," Ron said

Parkinson rolled her eyes. "Fine, Weasley. I'm not going to argue with you over this at midnight on a Friday night." She went into the washroom, where Harry and Malfoy seemed to be having a bit of trouble finding their toothbrushes.

"Oh Merlin, you're hopeless," she huffed. "Here. Stand still." She waved her wand over them a few times. "Teeth clean, faces scrubbed, what else do you do at night?"

"Potion," Harry nodded at their cabinet. "For him." He started to weave tiredly towards their bed.

"Where?"

"Top'o th'- that's the one," Malfoy pointed.

"Open up," Parkinson said, giving Malfoy a spoonful of the potion. "You take a patience potion, Draco?"

"Look who 'm livin' with," Malfoy mumbled around the spoon. "Could you survive withou' a potions patiens?"

"Hey!"

"Good point," Parkinson said. "All right, let's go," she shooed Malfoy over to the bed and Ron motioned for Harry to make room. Malfoy lay down, closing his eyes.

"Shoes off," Parkinson ordered.

"Go 'way."

Parkinson shrugged and headed towards the door.

"Wait - where are you going?" Ron asked.

"Bed. We've done our part. They can pass out fully dressed if they want to."

"But aren't you nervous that they'll - you know, hurt each other? They're drunk."

"They're almost asleep."

"I still don't trust him. He broke Harry's nose in the Great Hall-"

Parkinson pursed her lips. "It probably escaped your notice that while Draco was breaking Potter's nose, Potter was busy shattering windows right over top of a bunch of first years. It's a miracle nobody got slashed to bits. And I don't know if you noticed, but Draco's also the one with the... interesting patterning down his neck. I'd say he's got a lot more to be nervous about than Potter does." She smirked. "Not that he seems to be complaining."

Ron crossed his arms stubbornly and Parkinson shrugged. "Fine, then. You stay till they're asleep. I'll come by in the morning with hangover potion."

"Fine." Ron settled himself on the sofa as she left the suite. "Harry? You all right?" he called out.

"Jus' fine," Harry answered from the bedroom. "You don' have to stay."

"I'll just stay till you're asleep," he said evenly.

"Malfoy, what're-" Harry's voice cut off abruptly.

"Shh."

Giggle. Rustling.

Ron frowned. "What're you-"

"Shh, I said," Malfoy hissed, so softly Ron could hardly hear him.

"Harry? You all right?" Ron called out suspiciously.

"Y-yeah, Ron, jus'fine-" Harry's voice sounded a little breathless, shaky, as though trying to suppress either laughter or... or something else. Ron scowled. He wouldn't. That miserable ferret, he wouldn't actually be trying anything with Ron's best friend while Ron was in the next room, would he?

"Malfoy, what are you doing?" Ron asked evenly.

There was a small pause, then a lazy drawl came floating out of the bedroom. "Well, Weaselby, I could tell you, but I'd muchrather show y-"

"Malfoy!" Harry's voice interrupted him. "Fucking stop that!" There was a small rustle. "Ron's right outside!"

"I didn' ask him to be here."

"He's bein' a friend."

"Being an interferin' prat."

There was a sound of somebody getting up.

"Where're you going?"

"To talk to Ron." Short silence, then a small noise like bedsprings creaking. "No, 'm not angry at you, jus' want to... talk to Ron. Go to sleep." Another short silence. "Well it's not like anything could happen anyway, Malfoy, don' know 'bout you, but this much drink puts me right out for anything-"

"Yeah, alright." Malfoy seemed to roll over in bed.

"You're not angry at me, are you?"

"No, jus' thinking it'd be nice to go to sleep at th' same time. 'Sfine, though. G'night, Weasel," he raised his voice slightly, and Ron forced out a civil goodnight as well.

Harry came out of the bedroom, smiling a little fuzzily.

"Are you all right?" Ron asked nervously, peering at him closely. He seemed OK. Intoxicated and looking extremely tired, but OK.

"Yeah, fine, why?"

"We've all been worried sick about you." Harry raised his eyebrows. "Harry, last we saw, you two nearly killed each other, then we hear you're supposed to be alone together all the time for four days? Wouldn't you be worried?"

"'M fine. We're fine. It's a lot easier, bein' alone with'im."

Ron frowned, utterly baffled. "So... what've you been doing?" Harry's mouth quirked into a sheepish grin and Ron put up his hands hastily. "Er, no, no, scratch that, I really didn't mean to ask that really please don't answer-"

Harry laughed. "No, not that. I mean, not just that. I mean - no, we haven't - but, sort of - erm." He cleared his throat. "And also, just, y'know, just getting to know each other." He yawned. "Ron. Go home. I'm fine."

"I'm a bit nervous leaving you with him when you're both drunk."

Harry chuckled, then shrugged. "Fine. Suit yourself. I'm going to bed."

"Thought you wanted to talk?"

"Too drunk'n'tired t'talk. Sorry, Ron," he turned back to the bedroom, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. "Huh."

"What?" Ron asked, following him.

"He's right. This'll be the firs' time..." Ron winced, hoping Harry wouldn't reveal anything revolting. "Firs' time we're going to sleep at th' same time since... yeah. Huh."

"Er... yeah," Ron said, totally lost.

"You're a really good friend, Ron," Harry smiled at Ron with boozy sincerity. "I'd give you a hug, but I don' feel like gettin' burned."

"Er... all right." Ron watched worriedly as Harry took off his shirt and shoes and lay down, and Malfoy, already half-asleep, rolled over and embraced him, settling his face into the crook of Harry's neck. Within seconds they were both deeply asleep.

8 October 24

Day 26, Saturday

"-told you, it's nothing-" Malfoy said, and Harry turned around, startled, as the privacy curtain swished open. Pomfrey was staring at Harry, an unreadable expression on her face.

"...yes?" he asked, when she'd been staring at him long enough to make him uncomfortable.

"Madam Pomfrey, it's all right," Malfoy said, coming out from behind the partition, holding his shirt in one hand, extremely annoyed. "He didn't hurt me."

"What?" Harry asked, baffled. "Hurt you?"

"She's 'concerned' about the bruises," Malfoy muttered, annoyed.

"What brui - oh. Oh." Harry felt himself turn crimson. It was amazing, he thought, just when it seemed like their situation couldn't possibly get any more embarrassing, it went and did.

"Yes, oh," Pomfrey said neutrally. "Mr. Malfoy insists that nothing serious happened. Nevertheless, I'm going to call Healer Esposito."

"For a few love-bites?" Malfoy was incredulous.

Harry cringed in his chair. In the bright light of the infirmary, Malfoy's neck did look rather... abused.

"Not just a few love-bites. Your back looks like you went a few rounds with an angry Veela."

"What?" Harry was puzzled. "I didn't scratch his back-"

"Not you, Potter, the bloody tree you were pushing me up against yesterday," Malfoy snapped. "She's got her knickers in a twist because-"

"Because we need to monitor you to make sure you don't hurt each other, Mr. Malfoy," Pomfrey said brusquely.

"It just got a little rough, that's all, it was all consensual-"

"And if this were an ordinary relationship that might be nobody's business but your own. But with your history, we're a little cautious about letting you two maul one another-"

"He didn't maul me-"

"I didn't-" Harry began, and Pomfrey gestured to him to come around behind Malfoy. Harry looked at Malfoy's back and gasped.

"Oh my god-" he said. "I'd no idea - Malfoy, why didn't you say-"

"Because I didn't mind, you git. I hardly even felt it. I'm not a girl, Potter, you don't have to treat me like I'm going to break. Believe me, if I don't like what you're doing, I'll tell you."

"But-"

"I am calling Healer Esposito," Pomfrey said firmly. She started to bustle off, then turned around, obviously not sure she should leave them alone together.

"Oh for god's sake," Malfoy snapped, "we won't jump on each other in the time it takes you to contact the Healer. Look, Potter'll keep his troll-man hands to himself on that bed, and I'll sit here on my tuffet eating curds and whey and stay far away from the big scary Gryffindor."

Harry ducked his head, profoundly embarrassed, as Pomfrey gave them another hard stare and went into her office.

"Merlin, this is ridiculous," Malfoy muttered.

Harry chewed on his lip, wondering if it was actually possible to get sunburn from blushing too hard.

"Oh, bloody hell, Potter, you're not actually thinking - yeah, you are." Malfoy threw his shirt back on and started to button up. "You didn't hurt me, you silly git," he said, exasperated.

"But Pomfrey-"

"Pomfrey's probably not snogged anyone in about a million years," Malfoy sneered. "You think Pansy's never left me with a few mementos? Or Helen, or any of the other girls I-"

"But I, I didn't mean to - but I wanted to hurt you, I was angry at you and I pushed you-"

"And I wanted you to."

Harry recoiled a little, repelled. "You mean, you're into - into that kind of, that, um-"

"That kind of... what?" Malfoy stared at him, puzzled. "You mean... like, pain games?" Harry dropped his eyes again and Malfoy laughed. "You're unbelievable, Potter. This," he gestured at his neck and back, "is not pain games. By any stretch of the imagination. This is just... not holding back, that's all. And we both needed that yesterday."

Harry raised his eyebrows.

"We were pretty angry at each other, weren't we? And instead of turning that into a full-blown fight and doing real damage, we had a fantastic almost-shag and I ended up with some scratches that are making our elderly spinster of a school nurse a little nervous."

Put like that, it didn't seem that bad. Harry breathed a little easier.

"She's not elderly," he pointed out fairly.

"Potter." Malfoy put his hand on Harry's leg. "You didn't do anything wrong. Esposito'll probably laugh at Pomfrey for contacting her about it."

ooooooo

"I hope she doesn't crash," Harry said as he and Malfoy watched Healer Esposito flying towards them.

Pomfrey had informed them that the Healer would come to see them, but didn't want them to waste the day indoors waiting for her. They'd been told to go about their day as planned. Esposito would know where to meet them from the locating and monitoring charms embedded into the security portkeys they'd been given. And now here she was, a little past lunchtime, flying up to their lookout spot.

Harry closed his textbook, nervous about the Healer's visit and feeling more than a little discomfited by the fact that Pomfrey and Esposito seemed to feel he was a threat to Malfoy. It was a nasty crawling sensation, knowing that somebody thought him dangerous. And wondering if they were right. One of the worst feelings he knew, and one that kept coming up with him, it seemed. Like when he'd wondered if he was the Heir of Slytherin, petrifying Muggle-borns left and right. Or when he'd blown up his aunt. Or when he'd been inside the mind of the snake that almost killed Mr. Weasley. And now, wondering if he was a threat to the person he was bonded to, his tendency to violence now mixed with sex in a rather disturbing way.

It didn't matter much right now that Malfoy, his supposed victim, seemed to see the whole thing as a joke. Considering the kind of behaviour Malfoy and his family saw as acceptable, Harry was starting to find that Malfoy's casual acceptance of Harry's actions didn't mean much to him after all.

"Well," Healer Esposito said as she landed, "that took me back a bit." She climbed off her broom, pink-cheeked. "Every time I fly, I tell myself I need to do it more often. I used to fly every single day when I was a girl. Four years as Seeker, back in my day." She smiled at Malfoy. "And yes, 'back in my day' was a few years after the Dark Ages, Mr. Malfoy," she said good-humouredly. "So this is where you've been spending your days?"

"Yeah, mostly."

"Looks very nice. Good choice, boys." She dropped to the ground, motioning them to sit down as well. "All right. I think it's time we discussed what's going on here," she began seriously.

Malfoy cleared his throat as he sat down. "I told Madam Pomfrey that-"

"No no no," she waved impatiently, "I don't mean the bruises and scratches, though she was quite right to contact me about it. And I would prefer that you don't repeat that kind of thing again any time soon, out of concern for Madam Pomfrey's nerves, if nothing else. But that's not the main reason I came all the way out here."

"Then... what's the reason?" Harry asked, cautiously relieved but still a little nervous.

"Two reasons, actually. It seems that you are getting comfortable with each other, sexually?"

"Er, yeah."

"Excellent. Have you thought about actually having sexual intercourse?"

There was a rather strained silence, during which Harry found himself fascinated by a small ant crawling across his trainer and Malfoy developed a mild obsession with one of his cuticles, before they both shrugged noncommittally.

"I'll take that as an enthusiastic Yes," the Healer said dryly. "Well, that's wonderful and I wish you joy in the discovery of one another and all that, but in light of Madam Pomfrey's reports, I'm going to step in here a bit and do some intrusive interfering. All right?"

They nodded uncertainly.

"The first thing I'm concerned about is this exhaustion you both seem to get right after sexual activity. By your report, it happens every single time, and it's not getting better."

"I... I've had that kind of thing happen before, though-" Malfoy began.

"Every single time?"

"Well, no, but..."

"I'm wondering if there's some sort of energy feedback going on. Because something seems to be... sort of draining both of you."

"What do you mean?"

"You both look much more relaxed than you did a few days ago, but you also look rather tired."

Harry looked at Malfoy, noticing that he did look slightly subdued. Slightly less poised, eyes not quite as keen as usual. He yawned, realizing that he was a bit tired himself.

"Well... that might be because... erm... we're also, um-" he broke off, Malfoy's eyes warning him not to say more.

"If you mean you're both hung over, no, that's not it." They started in surprise. "Yes, we both figured that part out all on our own. Healers tend to notice these things, you know. But I'll wager you've already had hangover potion, and you said you had a good night's sleep last night, and yet you're still feeling as tired as you would near the end of the day. Right?" They nodded uncertainly. "That's worrisome. If sex is what's doing this to you, the simplest suggestion would seem to be to stop having sex, but that really, really wouldn't be a good idea considering what a frustrated bond spell does to people in general and you two in particular." She took out a quill and scroll while she spoke, then set a simple charm on the quill.

"Let's begin. When does the tiredness hit - during, right after orgasm, or a while after orgasm?"

"Right after, mostly..." Harry said, and Malfoy nodded.

"Do you feel upset afterwards?"

"No," they both said.

"How often do you engage in sexual activity in a day?"

"Er..." uncertain glance between them, and Harry guessed "Four or five times?" as Malfoy said, "Three or four, I think."

"Oh to be young again," the Healer sighed. "Three to five times. And I suppose it depends on what you classify as sexual activity," she commented, and went on to the next question. And the next, and the next, until Harry and Malfoy had both moved well beyond embarrassment and into tedium. They were both startled when she abruptly put away her quill and said, "Right. That's that, then."

"That's what?" Malfoy asked.

"That's about all I can think to ask for my first concern. I'll have to prepare a report, though, and I'd like to do it while my mind is still fresh. Why don't you two go flying while I do that, and I'll call you back when I'm ready to discuss the other thing I came here for."

"What?"

"I am going to put together a report," she said, taking out a different quill. "If you don't wish to sit here watching me write, go fly. I've heard your Seeker's Games have become very popular."

"Popular?" Harry frowned.

"Yes, a few students noticed yesterday that you were playing. Two of them were in the hospital being treated for mandrake cry exposure when I went in this morning. They were discussing your games, taking bets on who would win the next match. You've got fans."

Harry and Malfoy exchanged a surprised glance. They'd played quite a few times over the last two days, but not for anybody else's benefit. How... flattering, yet unsettling, that they'd been noticed and watched by their fellow students.

"Go. Play a few games. I'll whistle when I'm done, and then we can go on to the other reason I'm here."

"Which is?" Malfoy asked.

"We're going to discuss the immediate future of your sex life in very, very intimate detail. Doesn't that sound like fun?"

ooooooo

What a bloody long day, Harry thought as he and Malfoy wearily entered their quarters that night. Between the sessions with Esposito, two sets of Seeker's Games, and the massive amount of reading they'd done, not to mention two furtive yet heated groping sessions at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, Harry felt like he'd single-handedly slain a couple of acromantulas.

"Potter, not on my desk," Malfoy said tiredly, and Harry picked up the robe he'd just dropped off of Malfoy's desk and draped it over his own.

"I take it we're asking the house elves to bring dinner here?" Malfoy asked.

"Yeah, I can't do Hogsmeade, sorry," Harry said, going into their washroom. "I'll just - I'll go down to the kitchens, give me a minute." He closed the door, trying to figure out just how much of his fatigue could be explained away as the product of a busy day. Still wondering when he exited the washroom. He stopped, pleasantly surprised at the supper awaiting him in their sitting room.

"Oh. Did you go to the-"

"No, Dobby came in while you were in the washroom," Malfoy said, listlessly cutting into his mincemeat pie.

"Good." Harry sat, digging in, noticing that Malfoy's movements were slow, almost sluggish. "You all right?"

"Yeah, just tired. It's been a long day."

"Yeah," Harry chewed pensively. "What do you think-"

"I think I don't want to think about why I'm tired," Malfoy interrupted him tiredly, and Harry found himself wishing for his normal snapping sarcasm. This oddly subdued Malfoy was a little unsettling. Malfoy glanced up and took in Harry's worried gaze.

"I'd much rather think about the other subject we talked about with Esposito," he said, his mouth quirking slightly in amusement at Harry's automatic gulp.

"Could you believe the... I mean, I... could you believe that?"

"You mean, did I really discuss positions and sex spells and topping and bottoming with a witch old enough to be my grandmother?" Malfoy smirked. "I'd love to believe it was just a figment of my imagination, but then that would mean I came up with all of that on my own and that's even more disturbing."

Harry laughed. "I didn't even know half of what she talked about was possible," he admitted. "I kept wondering if she was making it up."

"You should've seen your face when she suggested we do it in the hospital the first time. You're entirely too gullible, Potter."

Harry chuckled, picking at his food. It had been an interesting discussion, the bizarreness aside. Esposito had a way of making everything sound so matter of fact that it was hard to really remain fully mortified the entire way through. Her sense of humour helped too. And he supposed it was better to have too much information than too little, when it came to maintaining their precarious equilibrium through first-time sexual encounters.

Malfoy idly speared a piece of mincemeat, chewing it pensively. "You know... the tiredness..."

"I thought you didn't want to talk about it."

"She said she'd be consulting experts at this kind of thing. But..."

"I know. She's supposed to be the expert."

"Yeah."

"You heard her, though," Harry pointed out. "She's the expert at bonding spells. Not at deliberately miscast spells."

"Yeah."

They half-heartedly ate in silence. "Which makes this totally different, doesn't it?" Harry said finally. "If that's what it is."

"Bad enough to think we were cursed by an amateur. The alternative, though..."

"Is that it was miscast on purpose." Harry paused. "Why would anybody do that, though?"

"And why to us?"

"We don't know it was directed at us," Harry said. "Just whoever happened to walk past that door arguing."

"There were only seven of us there that day, and everybody got along except you and me."

"But-"

"The announcement about that meeting was public knowledge. The new Quidditch regulation was front-page news on the Prophet, everybody knew that all the Captains and Seekers were going to have to meet to discuss it with Madam Hooch..."

Seven of them at the meeting. Himself and Malfoy, there as both Captains and Seekers. The Captains and Seekers of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. Madam Hooch. And all, as Malfoy had said, got along reasonably well, except for the two of them, mostly because Malfoy couldn't be bothered to argue with anybody but Harry in that group. And they had been the only ones with fixed and passionate opinions on how the new regulation should be carried out at Hogwarts; the others at the meeting had been pretty blasé about the whole topic.

Harry suddenly realized he had no idea what had been decided in the end. They'd gotten into an argument and started to walk out in the middle of the meeting... and the rest was history.

And the classroom they'd used was in an almost completely unused section of the castle. It wouldn't have been difficult to rig the door just for them.

"You really think it was directed at us?" Harry said sceptically.

"Why not?"

"That's a little paranoid, don't you think?"

"You're not paranoid if people really are out to get you, Potter; you of all people should know that."

"Who would've wanted to?"

"We've both got enemies."

"But not the same ones. Who would want to take both of us down at the same time?"

"I don't know," Malfoy sighed dispiritedly.

They picked at their food a while longer until Malfoy finally set down his fork.

"I can't eat any more. I'm going to bed."

Harry nodded, idly pushing his pie around his plate as Malfoy went to brush his teeth and get ready for bed.

"Potter? Are you coming?" Malfoy said quietly from their bedroom door.

Harry looked up at him. Something indefinable glimmered in Malfoy's eyes behind his weariness. At once casual and hesitant. Almost... vulnerable.

Harry held Malfoy's gaze, thinking. Ever since their attraction had begun the second time, without discussing it they had stopped going to bed at the same time. Neither had wanted to lie chastely next to the other until sleep claimed them, or try to only go so far but no farther. So they'd taken turns; one of them would lie down while the other one studied, and the second would go to bed after the first was safely asleep. Except for the previous night, when they'd been much too drunk for much to happen between them, Malfoy's teasing of Ron aside.

Tonight, though... tonight there was nothing else. Just them. No alcohol, no friends, no quick and easy excuse to avoid intimacy if they wanted to.

And there was no reason to. Nobody would pressure him into anything he wasn't ready for; he'd finally accepted that.

Not taking his eyes off Malfoy, Harry rose and joined him at their bedroom door, leaning in for a kiss for a moment before Malfoy pushed him away and towards the washroom. He went in, letting the mechanical acts of his night-time routine clear away worries about their bond, the tiredness the Healer was worried about, the fact that they had one more day before returning to their regular lives with all the pressures of school and Slytherins and Snape and their own personalities...

This wasn't the time to deal with any of that.

Malfoy had already stripped down to t-shirt and pants by the time Harry was done, and was sitting on the bed waiting for him, silently watching Harry as he took off his own shirt and trousers. He reached out to Harry, taking his hand, lying back and pulling Harry down with him.

This was so much more pleasant than talking and letting down emotional barriers, thought Harry as he leaned over Malfoy and their lips met. This kind of barrier was much easier to let down, and felt a lot better once it was gone.

Harry closed his eyes as Malfoy mouthed along his jaw, smiling slightly as Malfoy whispered, "Don't worry, no teeth-"before licking the edge of his ear and sending shivers running down Harry's back. He arched into Malfoy's touch, slipping his hands under Malfoy's t-shirt. Malfoy sat up long enough to wriggle out of his t-shirt altogether, and tugged at Harry's shirt too. Harry hesitated a second, then took it off and they returned to each other's mouths.

Mm, this was nice, Harry thought, turning over and pulling Malfoy with him, noting that although the last time he'd done this he'd become a little nervous at Malfoy looming over him, this time he was just fine with the whole idea. In fact, he wanted to feel his whole body, and he tugged Malfoy on top of him. Malfoy gently nudged Harry's thighs with one knee, and Harry obligingly parted them and threw his head back, a contented sigh escaping him as Malfoy settled on top of him, their erections pressed against each other, their mouths seeking each other once more.

Oh, yeah. Very nice. He moved his hips a little, craving more friction, more intense pressure, and felt Malfoy's breath catch. And then Malfoy rolled them so that they were on their sides, facing each other, and slowly brought his hand down to Harry's pants. Harry smiled, reaching for Malfoy as well, their hands slipping in past their waist bands, fingers running lightly up and down, teasing each other.

"Hang on," Harry murmured, irritated at the tightness of Malfoy's drawstrings against his wrist. "Do you mind just taking it off?"

Malfoy's quick breathless laugh shook through both of them. "Do I mind taking this off so you can give me a better hand job? Let me think about that," he said as he hastily removed his underwear, grinning as Harry did the same, and their mouths met in a deep kiss.

They were completely naked, Harry realized, and yet it didn't feel strange at all. It felt totally natural and rather amazing, actually. He lightly caressed Malfoy's back, grinning at the shiver that ran over Malfoy's body, then moaned into his mouth as Malfoy grasped him more firmly.

"No tree bark either, isn't that nice?" Malfoy murmured into Harry's neck, and they laughed. Malfoy gasped a bit as Harry's grip grew firmer and faster.

"Oh, yeah, little faster-" he managed to say, seeming to lose track of what he was doing. Harry nipped his ear lightly, and Malfoy started.

"Remember me?" Harry said, and nodded down at his own neglected erection.

"Don't bite, you'll scare Madam Pomfrey," Malfoy whispered, moving again. "I - oh-" and whatever else he'd started to say was forgotten as he bit his lip and arched his back, losing himself in Harry's movements. They thrust into each other's hands eagerly, and there were no more words as they strained towards completion.

"Oh god-" Malfoy said quietly, and came in Harry's hand. Harry waited impatiently for Malfoy to recover enough to finish him off, unable to suppress a small whimper as he started to move again.

"Yes - oh, oh, yeah, that's-" and it was remarkable how impossible it was to even think of words, when the world crashed over him in such a deeply satisfying way. He held on to Malfoy tightly as they both came down.

"Bloody hell," he said softly, feeling lassitude seep into every fibre of his being and sleep rushing to overtake him.

"It's - yeah, it's too much," Malfoy said slowly. He sighed. "This... we're in trouble. The spell's making us weaken right after."

"Yeah. Can't do much about it though," Harry mumbled, as consciousness slipped away from him. "Pomfrey'll figure it out."

"Good thing we're already in bed."

"Yeah..."

And he felt sleep take him as Malfoy drowsily murmured the cleaning spell.

9 October 26 to October 29

Day 28, Monday

"You've spilled juice on your tie," Draco said as he finished putting his books into his bag.

"Oh - thanks," Potter waved his wand quickly and cleaned his tie, not pausing in his search through his desk. "Have you seen my inkwell?"

"No idea. Have you seen my tie?" Draco asked, and Potter thought for a moment before pointing to the sofa in the sitting room. "Thanks."

"Ready?" Potter asked quietly a moment later, having evidently located his inkwell.

"Yeah. Let's go." They headed out and nodded a quick thanks to Sir Xander as he wished them well. They walked in silence down the long empty seventh-floor corridor. Draco paused at the top of the staircase.

"Did you forget something?" Potter asked, and Draco shook his head. Not knowing how to say what he felt, not knowing why he was stopping at the top of the stairs.

It didn't matter, he told himself. There was no need to mark the fact that once they went down those steps, they were effectively re-entering the outside world and no longer in this odd semi-solitary confinement that had seemed so dreadful an idea four days ago but had ended up as a sort of... well, there was that stupid word again, 'honeymoon', for lack of a better term...

"No, let's go," he said brusquely, starting down the steps. Stopped as Potter put a hand on his shoulder. "Yes?" he looked up at Potter.

Potter's eyes were veiled, his expression impossible to decipher. Draco waited for him to speak, and was about to say something when Potter stepped closer, gently tilted Draco's chin up, and took his mouth in a long, slow kiss. Draco closed his eyes and surrendered to the kiss willingly for a few moments before reluctantly drawing back.

"Er, bad idea, Potter, we've got Potions, remember?" he said, a little breathlessly. "I really don't feel like coming in late our first day back."

Potter smiled. "I know. I just - it just seems like - like we-"

"Yeah. I - I know," Draco said quickly. "Me too. But - don't. Just don't." Potter nodded, running a hand through his hair and starting down the stairs, and Draco reflected that that little exchange hadn't made any kind of sense.

But he didn't want to know if they'd been speaking about the same thing at all. Because he suspected they had.

ooooooo

"I've got notes for you for Thursday and Friday," Pansy said as they made their way into the half-empty Potions classroom, and Draco nodded.

"Great, thanks." He busied himself setting up his text and quills and ink, then looked over the scrolls of notes from Pansy, grateful for the excuse to not engage in conversation with anybody as the room filled.

"Turn to page 394," Snape said, stalking into the classroom, and anything else Pansy - or anybody else - might have wanted to say was thankfully squelched by his entry.

Good thing, too, because Draco was feeling a lot more uneasy about this than he'd anticipated. Somehow he hadn't realized how odd it would be to return from their suspension as though nothing had really changed, when it had. He and Potter were sitting with the same people, in the same classroom, same teacher, same subject - but they themselves were different. Far more so than the day they'd walked back in here newly bonded, because then there was nothing but a spell between them.

Not a good topic to be thinking of, he told himself firmly, and busied himself trying to follow Snape's lecture. It seemed they were past the anti-flu potions and were now deep into potions meant to produce sensory illusions. Which were quite fascinating. He'd read up on the topic on his own over the summer, but hadn't realized they'd be working on it in class this year.

Potter yawned and Draco glanced at him. "You all right?" he murmured.

"Yeah, just bored," Potter murmured back, running a hand through his messy hair. "And lost."

"Don't worry about the theory part, we can go over that tonight," Draco said. "Just concentrate on the properties of the ingredients."

Potter nodded absently, scratching out part of his notes and listening with renewed attention to what Snape was currently saying. Draco went to fill his quill again, catching an odd exchange of looks between Pansy and Blaise.

"What?" he whispered to Pansy. She shook her head, squinting at the board.

"And why is it imperative to stir counter-clockwise in this particular manner... anyone?" Snape didn't even bother to look away from Granger as she stuck her hand in the air and waited. "Anyone?" He paused. "Potter?"

Draco suppressed an impatient snort. First day back, of course Snape had to pick on Potter. Perfect opportunity to humiliate him, and of course Potter immediately got tense. He touched Potter's arm lightly and projected calm and Potter glanced at him quickly before frowning in concentration at the notes on the board.

"Because..." he said slowly, figuring his way through the question. "If you don't, the venom destroys the hawthorne... and then the potion can't induce the auditory illusion because the fairy magic animating it is destroyed."

There was a profound silence.

Snape's eyes flickered between Potter and Draco, his face unreadable.

"Yes," he said, and turned back to the board, continuing his lecture.

"Draco..." Pansy's voice was uncharacteristically very soft and she didn't look up from her notes. "Watch yourself."

Draco, after a startled moment, removed his hand from Potter's arm and continued taking notes. Moved his leg to rest against Potter's under their desks, hooking his ankle around Potter's, not meeting Potter's questioning gaze.

ooooooo

"This is not good," Potter whispered into Draco's neck. They were both trying to remain upright and awake and hoping nobody came into the unused classroom they'd ducked into after Transfiguration, where they'd had a somewhat frantic groping session that had resulted in this current lethargy.

Draco leaned his head back against the wall, every impulse he had telling him to just slide down the wall with Potter and close his eyes and give in. "We'll be completely useless during Charms too," he said, clumsily taking out his wand and trying to remember the cleaning spell.

"We'd be useless anyway, two classes is too long, I can't concentrate when you're - when, um..." Potter's eyes were closing of their own accord even as Draco spelled both of them clean.

"No, don't go to sleep-" he poked Potter with his wand.

"No, I won't, just - I'm tired."

"We'll need to ask Pomfrey for Pepper-up."

Potter sighed wearily. "And what if she says we shouldn't risk it reacting with the fucking bond?"

"Potter, we can't go to classes like this. We've even missed lunch."

"I wasn't hungry anyway. And we'll go back to our room as soon as class is over."

"I thought you wanted to go back to the Tower."

"I did... I do. But let's have a nap or something before going there."

"Right." Draco fought to keep his eyes open. A nap sounded like heaven right about now.

"Actually..." Potter trailed off and Draco was about to make sure he hadn't fallen asleep standing up when he spoke up again. "I think..." he said slowly, "I think we should go to Slytherin tonight."

That woke Draco up. "Are you insane?"

"You've been away for a month," Potter pointed out, face still buried against Draco's neck.

"And?"

"And I know how your social status is doing among the Slytherins. You're in danger of losing it."

Draco leaned back again and closed his eyes. Yes, he was. He'd been away too long. He wasn't there to keep his place in the hierarchy, play the games, and now... getting along with Potter was the only way to survive this bond but unless he did something to counterbalance it, his new and improved relationship with his spouse was going to sink him as far as his survival as a Slytherin player. And thereby weaken his family even more.

"Why do you care?"

"What?"

"Me losing face with the Slytherins, my family losing standing... that can only be good for... for what you're supposed to believe in."

Just like that, there it was, the thing they really couldn't talk about. Potter bit his lip, straightening up, and refused to meet Draco's eyes. There was a very long, strained silence.

"It won't help me any if you get upset because your house mates start to shut you out," he finally said brusquely, then checked his watch. "We've got to get to Charms." He slung his schoolbag over his shoulder and tugged Draco away from the wall. Draco wearily picked up his own schoolbag and headed for the door behind him.

ooooooo

"Gryffindor for break?" Weasley asked, falling in with the students leaving Arithmancy a few hours later.

"What?" Potter blinked, fighting exhaustion.

"You've got a double break before Astronomy. Are you coming to the common room?"

"Oh - no, I think-" Potter glanced at Draco. "I think we're going to... er... go to our room. I'll see you at Astronomy."

Behind them, Theodore Nott smirked and walked a little closer to Draco. "You little devil, you," he said, low enough for only Draco to hear him. "Sneaking off to shag twice in one day. Your little holiday convinced him of your charms and now he's gagging for it all the time, is he?"

Draco almost stumbled as a totally unexpected surge of indignation shot through him. He bit his lip to keep from snapping at Nott, opting instead for what he hoped was a casual tone. "We just have schoolwork to catch up on."

"Oh, is he still putting up a fight?" Nott smiled nastily. "Malfoy, do you have any idea how much money was riding on you deflowering Potter before coming back to classes? Blaise will shit."

"Nott-"

"Maybe Draco's just exhausted him," Millicent said slyly as she and Pansy joined them. The group halted as a large group of first-years filed past behind Madam Hooch.

"No need to ask where you put your bet, Bulstrode," Nott said, and Potter and his friends turned around curiously. Draco shook his head at Potter, motioning for him to turn around again and pay no attention to the Slytherins.

"Fine, let's see who's won, then." Nott took out his wand and pointed it at Potter. "Virgo Acclaro," he said, and laughed as Potter's face lit up with a faint blue light.

"What are-" "Nott!" "Bloody hell!" Potter and his friends spoke over each other.

"I told you, Bulstrode," Nott shook his head in mock sympathy. "Potter's a stubborn little blighter-"

Harry lunged towards Nott and Draco grabbed and forcefully pulled him back, whipping around and glaring at Nott. "Nott, what the fuck is that?" he demanded.

"Self-evident, I'd think. Virgo Acclaro," he pointed at Draco before Draco could duck, and Draco felt an odd tingling and the world around him turned faintly reddish. "Pathetic baby blue for little virgins and nice earthy red for real men." The first years had all passed by but nobody was moving, the seventh-year students standing gaping at Draco, Potter and Nott.

"Nott," Pansy snarled, "you've got all the subtlety of a knee in the groin, which is what you're going to get if-"

"Oh, you're right, and it's not sporting to single these two out. Why don't I just-" Nott quickly waved his wand in an expansive circle and muttered a few more words, ending in Virgo Acclaro, and laughed as the faces of all the students started to glow amid exclamations of dismay and anger. Draco quickly glanced around, curious despite his indignation. Interesting. Goyle, Millicent, Ernie Macmillan and, surprisingly, Parvati Patil, were all glowing blue. Nott, Pansy, Crabbe, Susan Bones, Padma Patil, Granger, Weasley and, inexplicably, Neville Longbottom, were glowing red. And Draco wasn't the only one checking everybody's faces.

"Nott!" about ten different voices spoke angrily and several wands came out to point at him.

"Finite incantatum," Nott said quickly. Everybody breathed a sigh of relief, and a few very curious looks went around the group. "It did decide today's bet status though, didn't it?"

Draco took a deep breath, ready to tear a strip out of Nott - then felt Potter's hand on his shoulder and Potter hauling him back urgently. "Don't," Potter whispered fiercely into his ear. "Don't. Walk away. Please. Just walk away."

He swallowed, a million different thoughts and impulses flying through him. How dare Nott - what the hell business was it of his - what did it matter whether - who the hell did he think he - and then Potter's words from a few hours ago echoed through him as well. "And I know how your social status is doing among the Slytherins. You're in danger of losing it."

He shook Potter's hand off and stepped away from him, and glared at Nott. "Try that shit again," he said coldly, "and I'll set a couple of revealing charms on you that you won't forget. There's a few things about third year I haven't forgotten yet," he said menacingly, and had the distinct satisfaction of seeing Nott blanch a little. He turned away from Nott and stalked off, Potter following close behind him.

"Malfoy?" Potter said cautiously as they got to their floor.

"What?"

"Malfoy, he's not worth it-"

"Shut up!" Draco snapped, almost walking right past Sir Xander. "Hades!" he barked, and Sir Xander hastily swung open. They stepped through and Draco threw his schoolbag onto the floor.

"Malfoy, get a grip!" Potter said. Draco whipped around.

"Don't tell me to get a grip!"

Potter backed away, his hands up. "He was doing it to embarrass me, not you, you git. And judging from the reactions of the rest of the people there, he didn't make a lot of friends spreading the spell around either. I thought Bulstrode was going to burst into flame."

Draco laughed, unexpectedly. Millicent's expression had been pretty priceless. Potter came closer. "Malfoy, he's not worth getting upset about."

"That's not - it wasn't just aimed at you, you don't understand-"

"Yeah, I know, it was also meant to make you look like you can't do the simplest thing like consummate your own bloody marriage. But honestly, I don't think that's what most people will remember, after what he did at the end."

Draco let himself sink down into one of their armchairs and lay his head back against the headrest, aggression draining out of him. Potter tossed his own schoolbag down and sank down into the chair next to him.

"Still think we should go to Slytherin tonight?" Draco asked dryly.

"Yeah."

Draco turned to Potter incredulously. "Fancy walking around with your face blue all the time, do you?"

Potter shrugged. "I'm getting pretty thick-skinned about Slytherin mockery, for some reason. And what I said before still stands. Even more after Nott's performance, and you know it." He ran a hand through his hair. "Now, are we here to talk about housing and Theodore Nott, or are we going to take advantage of our privacy? Because if so we may as well get on with it, or we'll be useless at Astronomy."

Draco laughed again, his mood inexplicably lifting, and then Potter was suddenly on his lap and latching onto his mouth. "Fuck, Potter!" he managed breathlessly between kisses. "You're all subtlety and romance today, aren't you?"

"No time for either right now," Potter said tersely, and started unbuttoning Draco's clothing. Draco decided he had a point and hastened to help.

ooooooo

"You're... you're going to Slytherin?" Weasley repeated Potter's words at dinner time, as though he couldn't quite believe it.

"Yeah," Potter said nonchalantly. "We'll probably be back in a few days, but it's only fair - he's been away from Slytherin for a long time."

"He didn't seem that broken up about it before. And I'm surprised he wants to go, after what happened with Nott today."

Draco leaned forward so he could see Weasley around Potter. "Weasley, I'm reading at the dinner table because none of you have anything remotely interesting to say, but I haven't actually done a silencing spell."

Weasley started, and frowned at Harry. "Did you know?"

"What?" Potter asked irritably.

"That he hadn't done the spell?"

"I'm not his bloody keeper, Ron," he muttered, pushing his dinner around his plate some more. "And he's being polite to you by letting you know he can hear you. You might want to say thank you." He put down his fork and rubbed his eyes.

Weasley's eyebrows climbed a little higher and he exchanged a look with Granger, sitting across the table from them, but he cleared his throat and, with an air of humouring the slightly confused, leaned forward. "Thanks, Malfoy."

"Harry?" Granger said cautiously. "Are you all right?"

"What? Yeah. Fine."

Granger peered from Potter to Draco and back. "You haven't eaten much." She hesitated. "Either one of you. And you both look rather tired."

"Long day," Potter said curtly. "And it's going to get longer, we both have a lot of catching up to do." He started to get up. Draco gave his unappetizing stew one last perfunctory stab, closed his book and followed suit.

"Did you want to go over the Arithmancy-" she began.

"Tomorrow, Hermione," Potter snapped tiredly, then caught himself. "Tomorrow, all right?" he repeated, in a slightly more polite tone.

"All right..." Granger trailed off, looking at them worriedly as they left.

"Does she always do the mother hen business?" Draco muttered.

"Yeah, she does," Potter said absently. "Lucky you, now she's doing it to you too."

"I don't need a Mudblood-" Draco started to say, then blew out his breath at Potter's pained glance. "Oh excuse me,Muggle-born know-it-all nosing about my health, thanks."

"It's how she shows affection."

Draco grimaced. "You're right, we do need to go to Slytherin, if Hermione Granger is taking a shine to me. How disturbing."

ooooooo

"Draco? Oh my god - Draco!" Pansy screamed as he and Potter stepped into the Slytherin common room. All conversation came to a complete stop as Pansy flew across the room and skidded to a stop in front of him, shouting "Fuck this fucking curse! I'd hang off your neck for about an hour if I wasn't afraid of landing you in the hospital with fucking burns!" and Draco burst out laughing.

"No I think Madam Pomfrey's seen enough of me lately," he said, and the common room came to life again, laughter and conversation erupting all over the room. Draco was mobbed by a rush of Slytherins welcoming him back and he accepted their greetings graciously, making sure to note those who hung back - and let them see that he was noticing them. A few, like Theodore Nott, merely stared back at him. He was pleased to note that most of them pasted on smiles and hastened towards him instead.

"Look, right, I'm happy to be back, but I've got to put my things down," he said after a few minutes, and turned to Potter, who had been mostly rather pointedly ungreeted thus far. "Come on," he nodded towards the dorms, and Potter followed him silently.

"Not quite like Gryffindor, is it?" he murmured to Potter once they were in the dorm room.

"Didn't expect it to be."

"Good." He put his things into the trunk at the foot of his bed, straightened up. "Ready to go back in?"

"Yeah, no problem," Potter said lightly, grabbing his wand and his Astronomy textbook.

"Draco?" Pansy called out. "We've got butterbeer!"

"Coming," Draco said, and rejoined his friends, taking a seat near the fire and making room for Potter next to him. Potter nodded briefly to the few people who bothered to look at him, tucked himself into the corner of the couch, and spelled himself into a silent bubble.

"So why isn't Potter whining about missing his little friends?" Blaise said, glancing at Potter disparagingly.

"Don't know, don't care," Draco shrugged, and quickly changed the subject, falling into the rhythm of his common room far more easily than he would have suspected.

Such a relief, being among his own people again. Not that the Gryffindors had been that unpleasant, but it hadn't been the same. Only seeing Slytherins in class and at the Great Hall for so long... he hadn't realized just how much he'd missed them.

This was wonderful. And so much fun, playing the games, figuring out who was doing what, who wanted or needed what, competing for power and status. Also a little scary, seeing just how out of the loop he was. For example, when had Queenie and Nott become an item? And how long had Crabbe and Goyle been hanging around with Millicent? Those two were hopeless, really. Latching on to Millicent Bulstrode. Yes, she had a forceful personality. She also had all the elegance, subtlety, and people skills of a mallet. It seemed that without Draco's leadership, Crabbe and Goyle were utterly lost.

"The Sorting Hat's not joking about the bravery of Gryffindors, is it?" Blaise said some hours later, nudging Millicent. Draco glanced at Potter as Blaise added, "Brave, but remarkably stupid."

Draco bit his lip, caught between various immediate reactions: laughter, alarm, exasperation, and a grudging... affection, for lack of a better word. Because Potter had fallen asleep. In the middle of the Slytherin common room, surrounded by seventy hostile students, most of whom hated him on house principle and many of whom hated him as a personal preference or political necessity, he was deeply asleep, still neatly tucked into a corner of the couch, his Astronomy book discarded by his side.

"Merlin, Potter," Draco snickered and shook his head, deciding that amused condescension was probably the wisest reaction in public right now. He took Potter's book and marked his place but decided to leave his glasses in place.

"Not clever, are they?" Nott remarked. "I mean, really. Falling asleep? Here? We could do anything to him. Here, shove over, Malfoy-"

"He's not quite that stupid," Draco said lightly, fixing Nott with a pleasant smile. "He knows I won't let anything happen to him. Never underestimate your enemy, Nott."

There was a rather charged silence.

"Nott tends to do that a fair bit," Pansy smiled maliciously. "Runs in the family, I've heard."

Draco suppressed the urge to wince. None of them was above using whatever they could against each other, and this wasn't the first time Pansy had used Nott's unfortunate family circumstances to taunt Nott, but Pansy had no idea just how hurtful it was to be reminded that your father was in Azkaban. Thanking his stars that Father wasn't there any more, and that Pansy was on his side, he turned a bland face towards Nott, who had flushed and then gone white with fury.

"You all right, Nott?" he said innocently.

"Fine," Nott bit out.

"I'm telling you, Bryant's actually worse than Weasley when he first started as Keeper, it's unbelievable," Blaise said loudly, apparently picking up a conversation he'd been having with Millicent, who followed his lead almost smoothly.

"Er - yeah, the rest of the Ravenclaw team's not bad though," she said. "We'll be lucky to beat them, their Seeker's got ours beat by a mile," her mouth twisted in disgust. "We're totally lost without you this year, Draco."

Draco frowned, not sure how to take that last remark. On the one hand, it pointed out that he was a damn good Seeker and was sorely missed. On the other hand, it certainly reminded everyone that he couldn't play this year, and why.

Then again, when the reason he couldn't play was sleeping right next to him, he supposed there wasn't much that wouldn't remind the rest of them of the fact. And Millicent really wasn't devious enough to do backhanded compliments.

"Yeah, thanks, don't remind me," he said breezily.

"You should do more Seeker's Games," Pansy said. "They got very popular over the weekend. Made the Gryffindors see red, it did, to see that with no team behind him, you're more than a match for their precious little Potter. We cleaned up thanks to you."

"Why'd you switch to five-game sets, though?" Blaise asked. "You were doing seven-game on Saturday."

"Too much bloody homework," Draco said wryly. "I'm still so far behind it's not even funny. As a matter of fact," he checked the time, thankful it was decently late, at last, "I'm going to have to wake up Sleeping Beauty and go study. I know," he held up his hands as his friends protested, "but I've been off for four days and I've got to catch up some time." He shook Potter's shoulder. "Potter."

"Mhm - wha?" Potter jerked awake, a little disoriented.

"Trusting soul, aren't you?" Draco said, and his friends tittered. "Get up. I'm going up to study." He projected calm at Potter, still holding on to his shoulder, hoping he wouldn't act too daft.

"Right." Potter sat up, only slightly flustered, and looked for his Astronomy book.

"I've got it. Come on, let's go." Draco waved good night to his house mates and started down the hall to the dorm.

"Malfoy?" Potter said blurrily. "You all right?"

"Yeah, why?"

"You feel really tired. I mean, you know, through the bond-"

"Washroom's this way," Draco interrupted him, and led him in. He leaned close as they took out their toothbrushes and started to get ready for bed. "I'm fucking exhausted, but we're in the dungeon, can you try to remember that?" he whispered. Potter's eyes widened slightly and he nodded quickly.

"Right. Sorry, forgot."

"Don't."

"I'm sorry, all right? I just woke up."

Draco rubbed his eyes tiredly, feeling the energy he'd been using to keep up with his housemates seeping away inexorably.

"Malfoy, forget studying, you're going to have to go to sleep as soon as-"

"I wasn't really going to study, you twit. I just said that to get away. Come on." They entered the boys' dorm room and almost fell into the bed, drawing the curtains and setting the privacy spell on them. Draco closed his eyes thankfully, disturbed by just how drained he felt.

"Malfoy?"

"What?"

"I'll take that as a no."

"To what?"

"To whether you wanted to... er... you know..."

"You must be joking."

"I had a nap," Potter said apologetically.

"I didn't."

"I know..."

Draco sighed as he realized that at least one part of his body hadn't received the owl about just how wiped out he was. "You know it's a bloody good thing you didn't get bonded to a girl," he muttered, turning towards Potter. "'Whether you wanted to, er, you know' - that's smashingly romantic."

"You're the one who made fun of marriage being romantic."

"Maybe you've corrupted me," he said, failing to suppress a yawn.

"And maybe you've corrupted me. Because right now I'd very much like a hand job, thanks, and I don't much care to butter you up in order to get it."

Draco snickered, picked up his wand, and muttered a few spells at the curtains.

"What are you doing?"

"You don't think I'll trust the flimsy standard privacy spell, do you? Now, about that hand job," he yawned hugely. "You take my clothes off and I'll pay you back."

"Right, then," Potter hastily removed Draco's clothing as well as his own, with all the coy seductiveness that normally went into stripping for a medical examination, and immediately started kissing and fondling Draco.

"Charming," Draco gasped as they stroked each other. "You'd never know you glow blue under that stupid spell." He tossed his head back. "Mind you, I'm - oh... I'm not complaining. Not at all. You just didn't seem this... efficient during our suspension - ah-"

Potter gave a shaky laugh - and then a bright orange light and a muffled scream made them both jump.

"What the-"

Draco laughed. "It's good to be home," he said fondly.

"What was that?"

"Whoever has the words Pervy Voyeur on his forehead tomorrow? That's who just tried to undo our privacy spell."

Potter looked at him askance. "How can you live with these people?"

"They keep you on your toes," Draco said absently, pulling Potter close again. "Potter, I don't much want to talk about them right now."

"No, neither do I," Potter said hastily, and they picked up where they'd left off and finished fairly quickly.

Draco felt the now-familiar flood of lethargy and was about to fall into it unprotesting when Potter cleared his throat.

"Oh, what now?"

"Nothing." Potter was silent for a moment, then blurted out, "Does it bother you, that we still haven't... you know, that I still glow blue?"

"Not right now, it doesn't," Draco yawned. He rolled over and took Potter into his arms, sleepily running a hand through Potter's messy hair. "Really, Potter, can't we talk about this tomorrow?"

"Um. Yeah," Potter said, and pillowed his face on Draco's shoulder.

"Good night, Potter," Draco said, and gave in to the darkness.

ooooooo

Day 29, Tuesday

"That's lovely, Blaise," Malfoy laughed the next day as he and Harry emerged from behind their curtain. Blaise threw him a dirty look as Crabbe and Goyle guffawed appreciatively.

"Very funny, Draco. Mind taking it off?"

"Oh no, it looks dashing. Think of it as advertising. Exhibitionist girls are going to flock to you in droves." Malfoy and Harry headed for the washrooms and Blaise stood at the door to block them.

"Come on, Draco, please. You'd've done the same thing and you know it."

"Probably."

"Look, I'll do your Transfiguration essay for you-"

"Please. I could do that one in my sleep," Malfoy said, and Harry rolled his eyes as they fell into serious bargaining.

"Malfoy," he broke in, "do you mind doing this in the washroom so we don't show up late to Transfiguration?"

"Yeah, all right," Malfoy said, and they drifted into the washroom, still talking.

It was fascinating to watch the interactions here, Harry thought as he got ready for school while Malfoy and Blaise argued over how much Blaise was willing to pay for the removal of the 'Pervy Voyeur' mark. Everything was so calculated. Not a single move was made without weighing the social ramifications. No honest and spontaneous interactions among friends, like in Gryffindor.

And Malfoy was completely in his element here. If Harry hadn't seen him with barriers lowered during their suspension, he would've sworn that this was the only way he could be. And if he hadn't had their bond to give him a clue as to Malfoy's true feelings, he would've sworn that whatever showed on his face was genuine. That his calm look of condescension towards Nott this morning was for real, and didn't mask a fair bit of trepidation. That his smooth takeover of Goyle and Crabbe didn't carry with it grim determination to bring them to heel quickly and completely and publicly, to show the rest of the Slytherins that although Crabbe and Goyle might have drifted to Millicent Bulstrode's side during his absence, they were his minions and not hers.

He would've even thought, without a bond, that when Harry's face turned blue again in the common room, that it really didn't bother Malfoy at all.

"That's a good colour on you, Potter," he laughed. "Goes well with your eyes." He glanced around the common room, where a dozen students of all ages were moving about getting ready for breakfast and commenting on Harry's glowing face, and cleared his throat, expecting, and getting, the undivided attention of every student in the room.

He looked around one more time and sighed with mock disappointment. "Too bad. Nott's nowhere to be found, so I suppose I can't pin this one on him." The others laughed appreciatively. "Let's get one thing straight, shall we?" He smiled sunnily at the room in general. "Any time Potter gets that lovely tinge to him, I will personally Virgo Acclaro everyone within reach. So don't use the spell unless you don't mind announcing your sexual status - and that of all your friends - to the world. Are we clear?"

It really looked like he was merely amused and going along with the regular Slytherin power plays. Nobody else could tell that Malfoy was seething, and it wasn't all based on the damage to his reputation. A part of him was, as far as Harry could tell, genuinely angry at the thought of somebody trying to make Harry look like a fool.

When had that happened? When had they become close enough that Malfoy would feel like that about Harry? Like Harry himself mattered, and not just because he reflected on Malfoy? For that matter, when had they become close enough that Malfoy would trust Harry with things he didn't tell his house mates? That Malfoy would consciously be different with Harry than with the outside world?

When had they become a couple?

ooooooo

"Harry," Hermione murmured into Harry's ear during Gryffindor Herbology class. "Is he all right?"

Harry blearily turned towards Malfoy to find that he was asleep, his head pillowed on his arms, his quill about to drop from his lax fingers. Harry smiled tiredly, taking Malfoy's quill and placing it neatly into his inkwell.

"What's wrong with him?" she murmured worriedly.

"He's just tired." Harry took a thick textbook from his schoolbag and carefully placed it under Malfoy's arms so that he wouldn't feel too uncomfortable when he awoke, and, without being conscious of it, stroked his hair off his forehead.

"He never falls asleep in class," Hermione said. "He's too tired. And so are you," she said accusingly. "Harry, what's going on?"

Harry rubbed his eyes wearily.

"Harry," Ron whispered from the other side. "What's wrong? Why do both of you look like you haven't had a good night's sleep in a long time?"

"We're fine."

"Harry-"

"Look, I can't tell you, all right? Not without talking to him about it first."

"Why not?"

"Married, remember?" Harry snapped tiredly. "I owe him a bit of discretion. He's not exactly your biggest fan; he probably wouldn't be terribly happy if I starting telling you all about our private life."

"You're keeping secrets from us because of him?" Hermione said slowly.

"No, it's not - that doesn't-" Harry stopped. "Yeah, I am."

Ron and Hermione stared at him.

"Look, I'm the one who has to live with him. That's part of why were away for four days, remember? So we could learn to live together without killing each other. And if that means I have to keep some things from you, that's the way it has to be. You're my best friends, but he's my - spouse. I didn't ask for this and I'm not happy with it, but I have to side with him once in a while. Sorry."

"But-"

"And he'd do the same for me."

"Somehow I doubt that, Harry," Ron said bluntly.

"You don't-"

"If you mean things like casting that stupid spell on the whole room during Arithmancy today when somebody did it to you-" Hermione began.

"Yeah, things like that. And like not letting anybody do anything to me when I fell asleep in the Slytherin common room yesterday."

"You fell asleep in the Slytherin common room?" Ron's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline.

"I was tired-"

"But why?"

"And why - you don't have to spend all your free time with him, Harry," Hermione said. "Nobody's expecting you to-"

"I'm not spending all my free time-"

"We only ever see you in class any more," she said. "You keep disappearing in between - you don't even have meals in the Great Hall since you came back."

"Everybody wants to know where you're disappearing to," Ron said.

"Our room, all right? We go to our room to - you know, because it's bloody impossible to concentrate if we don't all day long. And I really wish people would stop asking things like that like they have every right to meddle." He bit his tongue, hoping that hadn't come out too cross, but knowing it had.

"Harry-"

Malfoy stirred slightly, his brow furrowing, and Harry put a hand on his shoulder, resting his head on it, wishing he could go to sleep too. Malfoy's eyes fluttered open and he met Harry's gaze, and smiled drowsily at him. He raised his head slightly and kissed Harry, still half-asleep, and Harry leaned into the kiss, not particularly caring who saw them. Not even caring when he heard Ron make a strangled noise of dismay. Malfoy's hand came up to play with Harry's hair for a moment, then he broke the kiss with a yawn.

"Um, sorry," he yawned again. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, slowly orienting himself. "How long was I out?"

"Not long, I don't think," Harry told him. "Don't worry, you can borrow my notes."

"Mm. Wish we were in the greenhouse. Too hard to stay awake in this bloody class," he yawned.

"Malfoy, what's wrong?" Ron said quietly, and Harry gave him a tired glare.

"What?"

"You don't fall asleep in class."

Malfoy glanced at Harry. "You haven't told them?"

"No - you don't mind?"

"No, go ahead."

"You haven't told anybody in Slytherin."

"I know my housemates," he said dryly. "I also know your little cronies would rather gut themselves than hurt you. Tell them whatever you like." He picked up his quill, glancing at the board and trying to figure out where Sprout was in the lesson.

"Tell us what?" Hermione said, beside herself by now.

"Sh. We're just - Pomfrey's not really sure what's going on, actually-" and Harry found himself grateful for their concern, as he confided his worries to his two closest friends.

ooooooo

Day 31, Thursday (dawn)

Draco awoke, vaguely aroused and confused. That one had been... interesting. Not terribly vivid, but there was something... something warm about it...

He checked the time. Three in the morning. Potter was fast asleep beside him, and Draco drew close and pulled him into his arms, smiling slightly as Potter murmured and automatically tucked his head into Draco's shoulder. Draco slowly stroked Potter's hair, closing his eyes and expecting to drift off again, but his mind kept buzzing around the edges of the dream he'd been dreaming. Yawning, he frowned in irritation.

He needed to sleep. Their energy levels were getting lower by the day, and Pomfrey was asking all sorts of questions. Pepper-up worked somewhat, and being in Slytherin helped Draco a great deal - the challenge of having to compensate for his bond was rather bracing - but the fact was that they were weakening steadily. Hopefully Esposito would figure something out before too long, or they'd have to go back to Gryffindor before the Slytherins noticed anything was wrong.

He slowly ran his hand down Potter's naked back, finding sensual pleasure in the feel of skin on skin. Moved his legs between Potter's, and felt a tug of arousal as his hip brushed against Potter's groin and touched something hard.

Potter was dreaming again, apparently. And Draco needed to go back to sleep before he got too excited about it. He closed his eyes, popping them open again as Potter stirred against him and moaned.

"Potter?"

Potter awoke, startled to find himself embraced so firmly, and immediately started to rub himself against Draco. Draco chuckled.

"Randy bugger, aren't you? Merlin, Potter, it's three in the morning."

"My body doesn't know that. I was just dreaming it was early afternoon and you were doing, er, afternoon things. At the lookout point."

Draco's pulse sped up a little. "Potter, we've got to sleep."

"You know what'll help us sleep?" Potter said, and ran a hand down to Draco's groin. Draco hastily grabbed at it.

"How on earth you can still glow blue is a mystery to me."

"I could explain it to you, but I'd much rather do something that'll make us both go back to sleep."

"Fine," Draco gave in to Potter's logic. "But hang on-" he grabbed his wand off the night table and waved it over both of them, murmuring a quick spell.

"Only you would know a spell for getting rid of sleep-mouth," Potter took advantage of the spell and kissed Draco thoroughly.

"What do Muggles do about it?"

"How would I know?" Potter started to lick his way over to Draco's ear, and Draco sighed and revelled in the sensations, realizing that there really was no way he'd be able to go to sleep now without taking this to its logical conclusion. Virgin or not, Potter was becoming very good at getting what he wanted from Draco. Which suited Draco just fine. Other than the whole energy drain thing, which really wasn't a problem when they had about four hours before they had to be awake and functional again.

Draco closed his eyes, feeling his body responding to Potter, heat gathering under his skin... this was so good... so much nicer than hurried gropes in unused classrooms or up against trees... in fact...

"Potter. Stop." Draco drew back, placing a hand on Potter's chest. Potter groaned in frustration.

"What?"

"I want to... um, I'd like to go back to our quarters."

"What? Why?"

"Because I don't want to be worried that my roommates will interrupt us."

"It's three in the morning."

"I know. But if any of them put a spell to let them know when we-"

"Malfoy, come on. I don't like to say this, but let's be realistic; this won't take long. And then we can-"

"I want it to take a little longer."

"Why?"

God, Potter was thick sometimes. Draco took a deep breath. "Potter. How many times are you going to be turned blue in class before you get tired of it?"

"I'm already tired of it, but-" Potter broke off and Draco could almost see a little candle light up in his head. He slowly withdrew and sat up.

"Malfoy... I, you said you wouldn't pressure me-"

"I'm not. I'm just suggesting-"

"Look, I-"

"Lumos," Draco said, and winced as their small curtained chamber lit up. He sat up and handed Potter his glasses and Potter put them on warily, squinting at Draco through the bright light.

"Malfoy-"

"I'm not pressuring. But I'm ready, and I want to - I want you."

"I, I want you too, but-"

"You can top, if you want."

Potter blinked.

"Makes it a little different, does it?"

"Er... yeah." Potter rubbed a hand through his hair nervously. "But... but I've never-"

"Neither have I. We'd be even."

"Malfoy, I - what if I hurt you?"

"You won't, I trust you." Potter gave him an incredulous look and Draco smiled slightly. "As far as this is concerned, I mean. I trust you. You won't hurt me. More than - more than you have to."

Potter hugged his knees to his chest and looked down, and Draco could feel the conflicting impulses within him. He put a hand on Potter's arm and waited.

Finally Potter looked up at him, still nervous, but resolute, and nodded.

Draco reached for their portkeys as Potter gathered their clothing and schoolbags. Draco ended the light spell and handed Potter his key.

"You should take the privacy spells off and open the curtains," Potter said.

"Why?"

"So your dorm mates won't waste their time trying to get in to wake us up tomorrow morning. Not to mention getting caught in whatever other hexes you've set on the curtains."

"You're no fun," Draco said, but he ended the spells he'd set and opened the curtains. They activated their portkeys and instantly found themselves in the now-familiar surroundings of their bedroom.

"Lumos," Draco said, and they put down the clothing and schoolbags they'd brought from the Slytherin dorm. They faced each other, kneeling on the bed, suddenly shy.

"You're sure about this?" Potter asked softly, taking Draco's hand in his.

Draco took a deep breath and nodded.

"Do you want to do the trance the Healer suggested?"

Draco nodded again, and they both reached for their wands. They got closer and rested their foreheads against each other, closing their eyes.

Draco cleared his mind, breathing in deeply, and began the Incantation to Tranquility the Healer had taught them a few days before. Potter joined in, and soon their murmured words filled the air around them, an almost physical presence. Draco could feel serenity flowing into him, sounding like very gentle waves along a tranquil shoreline, leaving almost no room for extraneous thoughts or fears.

They repeated the incantation, falling deeper into the trance, their breathing slowing down and their lips getting closer until they were whispering against each other's mouths, stopping to kiss between words, entering a sort of flowing state of clarity and peace.

A third repetition, and they were done. They put down their wands and continued to kiss, drawing together, and Draco pulled Potter back until they were entwined on the bed, Potter's full weight on Draco.

Draco let his head drop back, concentrating on the feel of lips moving down his neck, hands caressing him everywhere. He pulled Potter closer, one hand entwining itself in his hair, one foot slowly rubbing up and down his calf, everything so very slow and so incredibly sweet. No words, only sighs and faint moans and the whisper of fingers against skin and waves against the shore.

Potter raised his head and looked down at Draco, wordlessly asking permission to continue, and Draco nodded, closing his eyes as Potter sat up and reached for a small bottle of honey-scented oil the Healer had given them. He felt Potter lie down next to him, and then he felt warm hands ghosting over his chest, his belly, leaving trails of scented oil glowing warmly on Draco's skin as they moved slowly downwards. Draco opened his eyes and reached for the bottle, pouring a bit onto his own hands, and slowly traced patterns onto Potter's chest, around each nipple, up to his neck, smiling at the way Potter's breath hitched a little as Draco's fingertips found sensitive spots but Potter's hands never stopped their slow, steady task of spreading the oil onto Draco.

Potter raised one eyebrow, asking for permission again, and Draco parted his thighs, feeling no fear as Potter's hand went lower and he started to rub the oil between Draco's legs. Another questioning look and Draco nodded, tensing a little in pain as one finger entered him, and Potter stopped and his eyes questioned, did Draco want him to stop - but Draco pulled him closer and kissed him, breathing slowly to accept the pain and relax, let it flow through him, and feel secure in the knowledge that the pain would pass, that there was nothing to fear.

Then Potter did something and a sharp bolt of pleasure seared through Draco and he gasped. Potter drew back, relaxing as he saw that Draco wasn't in pain, and repeated what he had just done. Draco grabbed his shoulder convulsively, a groan escaping him and his breath coming faster, almost hearing the sound of the surf disturbed a little as if by a sudden gust of wind, but soon settling back to the soothing rhythm of before.

Potter's eyes were questioning him again and he drew back, and Draco nodded and started to turn onto his stomach, then changed his mind. The Healer had explained that it would probably be easier to do it that way their first time, and it had seemed a good idea at the time, but now... no. He needed to see Potter, read his emotions, be able reassure them both. Potter frowned, puzzled, as Draco lay back again, drawing Potter back onto him and smoothing some of the oil onto him and smiling as Potter accepted the change and closed his eyes to concentrate on the sensations.

Potter drew closer and their mouths met again, and Potter brought one hand up to caress Draco's cheek and temple, stroking his hair back from his face, using his other hand to slowly guide himself into Draco. Draco tensed as a sharper pain burned through him, and he hissed into Potter's neck, nails digging into Potter's shoulders but pushing himself forward, accepting him into his body. Potter held very still, his lips silently brushing against Draco's temple, and Draco could feel him sensing along Draco's own emotions to reassure himself that Draco was OK, that he just needed a bit of time to adjust.

Draco took a deep breath, blew it out, and another, and another, following the rhythm of the almost inaudible gentle waves, the pain lessening and starting to make way for a sense of peace and belonging. Which the Healer had said was a natural reaction, and a good one. He sought out Potter's lips again, his legs coming up to Potter's hips, drawing Potter in further and gasping as the jolt of pleasure hit again, stronger this time and mingled with pain. Too strong.

"Shh..." Potter soothed him, but Draco felt a sob rising in his chest despite the trance, despite everything they'd shared so far - it was too much, it wasn't in his control, it was an invasion and wrong and he couldn't take it - but Potter was still there and still holding him, still inside him, drawing him gently back into the trance, back into them, back into trust. "Shhh..." Potter kissed his temple, took one hand in his, lacing their fingers together, still steady. Now gently rocking them together, the jolts more bearable, the soothing sound of the seashore gradually coming back. Coming back and then starting to grow louder as the sensations got more intense, but not so frightening this time.

Draco opened his eyes to find Potter gazing at him, his entire being focussed on keeping Draco from panicking. He smiled and brushed Potter's hair away from his forehead, tracing his scar and allowing their rocking to gather heat and intensity, hesitantly pulling Potter deeper into the trance, into trusting the trance to keep them safe as they started to lose themselves in the movement, the sound of the surf starting to grow until it felt like the shore during a storm, and then a thunderstorm, and they were starting to drown in it, be consumed by it - images that should've been terrifying but instead were exciting and exhilarating.

Although Draco was starting to sense that Potter was still steady, but in danger of getting overwhelmed by what he was experiencing. It was Potter's first time too, after all, and Tranquility Spell or no, he needed Draco's help as much as Draco needed his.

And Draco at least knew a little bit of what Potter must be feeling right now; the dizzying novelty of being inside another person, the impossibility of being required to slow down and control something almost uncontrollable: the body's burning need to thrust hard and fast and come as soon as possible. The Tranquility Spell could help with some of that, but it wasn't enough. He ran a hand down Potter's chest, soothed him, gentled away the tremors shaking him as Potter bit his lip and concentrated on not going too fast, not hurting Draco, not ending this before Draco was ready.

Except Draco was pretty sure he was ready. For just about anything. He pulled his legs closer, drawing Potter deeper inside, arching his back as exquisite sparks of lighting started to chase through him, urging Potter to follow his instincts and just let go. It was almost like they were trying to control the thunderstorm together, Draco thought as Potter shuddered and reached out with his mind, trying to make sure that Draco wanted him to move, that it was OK to let go, and then they were thrusting against each other and it was all was too hot to hang on to, they were getting burned, they were both going to burst into flame-

Draco caught Potter's mouth with his own, and was unable to hold back a scream as the lightning seared down every nerve and his back arched off the bed and with a hoarse cry Potter pulsed inside him, lightning enveloping them and almost obliterating them both with its bright heat, for endless moments, until they were spent and bonelessly exhausted.

And then it was over. Small fires still coursed through them, no longer overwhelming; almost soothing. Enveloping Draco in waves again, warm and safe and sweet. He slowly ran his hands over Potter, still on top of him and inside him and breathing softly into Draco's hair. And the sleep that came swelling towards him was comforting. He dropped into the darkness willingly.

10 October 29 to October 31

Day 31, Thursday (morning)

Harry watched the slow rise and fall of Malfoy's chest and wondered if they were ever going to speak to each other again. He decided it didn't really matter.

He'd drifted up from a deep sleep and lain in a half-awake state for what seemed like hours thinking of nothing but the softness of the sheets and the warmth of the back of Malfoy's neck against his face as they lay spooned together, and the scents of honey, sweat, sex, and Malfoy's hair. Smelled like... jasmine, maybe? Some pleasant-smelling herb, anyway. Felt soft, too, and very fine. He'd blown on it gently, feeling it flutter against his lips, and sensed Malfoy slowly waking up but only opened his eyes when Malfoy turned onto his back. Malfoy had smiled sleepily and touched Harry's lips briefly with his fingers before sighing and closing his eyes again, one hand resting on Harry's thigh, fingertips absently moving in small slow patterns over his skin.

It was still early enough for them to make it to breakfast if they hurried. But Harry knew he didn't have the energy to get out of bed at all right now, let alone walk all the way to the Great Hall. He wasn't hungry either. And apparently, neither was Malfoy. So they lay next to each other, unmoving except for Malfoy's fingers, their breathing the only sound in the room.

A long time later, Harry glanced at the clock again. They had missed breakfast. And if they didn't get out of bed in the next ten minutes, they might not make it to Transfiguration on time. He sighed and slowly sat up, and Malfoy rubbed a hand over his face and took a deep breath, gathering his strength. Slowly sat up, and winced slightly.

Harry touched his shoulder, raising his eyebrows, and Malfoy gave him a small smile and shook his head, dismissing Harry's concern as he slowly stretched and got out of bed. Harry frowned as he watched Malfoy getting dressed and ready to go. Malfoy moved like he had to push himself to not just lie back down and go back to sleep. And, judging from his slightly worried frowns at Harry every so often, Harry probably looked pretty similar.

Transfiguration. That was the only thing that mattered. Getting to the class, and getting there on time. Not because they were afraid of losing points or getting another detention, but because the alternative was just lying down and giving in to their exhaustion.

ooooooo

McGonagall looked up at the slight murmur that ran around the classroom as they walked in, and immediately beckoned them over to her desk. Harry frowned in puzzlement; they weren't late. They'd barely made it, but they weren't late.

"Potter, Malfoy, Madam Pomfrey would like you two to go to the hospital. There are two Aurors that would like to talk to you."

"Aurors?" Malfoy repeated, and Harry realized that was the first thing either of them had said all morning. "Why-"

"I don't know, Mr. Malfoy. Now, run along and don't keep them waiting; they've been here since breakfast."

"Aurors," Harry said as they wearily trudged over to the hospital wing. "What for? Madam Pantere already talked to us about where the curse was set and what was going on when we walked through it; what else would they want to know?"

"Maybe get more details of the tiredness and all that," Malfoy said, rubbing his eyes. "Now that they're worried about this being something designed to hurt us."

"Malfoy... are you all right?"

"What? Yeah. Why?"

"You look terrible."

"Might not have had enough sleep last night," Malfoy sounded like he was going for dry humour but not quite making it.

"That's not it."

"I get the feeling we're about to talk about this quite a bit with the Aurors, Potter. Can we save it for when we absolutely have to?"

"Fair enough," Harry said glumly. Looked up, a little startled, as Malfoy's hand brushed against the back of his. "Yes?"

Malfoy had stopped and was looking at the floor, a little nervous. "Are... are you all right?"

"What?"

"With what happened-"

"Last night?" Harry found himself unexpectedly unable to suppress a wide grin, even through his weariness. "Absolutely. You?"

Malfoy's answering grin was all the reassurance Harry needed, and they stood there for a moment smiling at each other before looking away. Harry could feel about a dozen different emotions running through both of them, not one of them bad or unpleasant. Happiness, and surprise at that happiness. Cautious affection. A sort of shyness too, because this was all rather new to both of them.

None of which needed analysis or deeper thought. This isn't about thinking, it's about feeling, Malfoy had said a while ago, and he'd been right.

Malfoy nodded his head towards the hospital wing and they resumed walking, dropping back into companionable silence.

Oh... Pomfrey would probably want to know all about what had happened last night. And Harry suddenly realized he really didn't feel like sharing. It just felt too... well, intimate. He'd gotten used to talking to Pomfrey and Esposito about things he would've died to mention to anybody a few months ago, but what had happened last night...

It didn't have anything to do with the bloody bond spell. It did, but it didn't. What they'd done last night might have been started by the bond, might have happened only because they didn't really have a choice, but the way it had happened had to do with more than the spell. It had to do with the two of them overcoming everything they were up against and being able to build something together. Something bloody amazing. Because he doubted he'd ever forget his first time, as long as he lived, and if the emotions coming off Malfoy through the bond were anything to judge by, he doubted Malfoy would ever forget it either.

And Malfoy... that had been pretty damn powerful, Malfoy giving himself to Harry like that. He'd felt Malfoy's panic through the trance at one point, and been awed by the trust Malfoy had shown, letting Harry help him conquer it. Even after everything they'd done to each other, before and after their bond, Malfoy had let Harry help him, and then turned around and helped Harry too. Yes, a lot of that was probably due to the bonding and tranquility spells. But there was still something incredibly touching about having been able to take a boy who was feeling scared and overwhelmed and bring him back from the edge, just on trust.

And then this morning, when they'd been next to each other without needing words, without needing anything to feel comfortable and...

Bloody hell, he thought, drawing himself up short. This was getting just a little too intense. He needed to get some perspective, back-pedal a bit.

A lot of what he was feeling was only due to the bond spell, he tried to remind himself firmly. Just a spell. The feelings of trust and tenderness and togetherness - yes, they felt wonderful and genuine, but they didn't necessarily mean anything. He and Malfoy might be spouses, but they were not really friends, not really lovers. All of this could very well wear off eventually. It could.

But in the meantime... it felt unbelievable.

Oh, god, and now they were supposed to talk to Pomfrey about it. That would be sure to bring them both back to earth with a resounding thud. He thought resentfully that it was bad enough to be going through this involuntarily; did it also have to be under a magnifying glass? Because he'd really much rather remember his first time because it had been unexpectedly brilliant, rather than because he'd had to rehash every minute detail ad nauseam with the school nurse.

Maybe Pomfrey wouldn't think to ask. Maybe they'd be too busy talking to the Aurors about their fatigue today, and last night wouldn't come up. That would be nice.

ooooooo

"Harry? Are you feeling all right?" Madam Pantere repeated for the third time, and Harry started.

"Yeah-"

"No, you're not. What's wrong-" but Harry was getting up, the vague unease he'd been feeling finally coalescing into a need to do something.

"Potter-" Pomfrey said in alarm as Harry went to the partition that separated him from Malfoy and Auror Tobin, who was interviewing him. Harry pulled it open without hesitation, barely registering Pomfrey and Pantere's protests as he met Malfoy's eyes and saw barely contained anger and resentment replaced by surprise and relief.

"Mr. Potter!" Tobin exclaimed.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked Malfoy.

"Mr. Potter, kindly return to-"

"Malfoy, what's the matter?" Harry asked, ignoring Tobin.

Malfoy pressed his lips together, shaking his head, and the Auror said, "Mr. Potter, I am conducting an interview here-"

"I didn't ask you," he said rudely, his eyes boring into Malfoy's. "What the hell is the matter? You're about to jump out of your skin." He put a hand on Malfoy's shoulder, puzzled as hell as Malfoy kept his mouth firmly shut and looked away from Harry, his anger still simmering and not directed at Harry at all.

"Mr. Potter-"

"What the hell have you been asking him!" Harry demanded.

"I am gathering information about who might have wanted to target you, Mr. Potter. I am doing my job," he said rather self-importantly, and Harry caught the defensiveness hidden behind the pompous manner.

"Just doing your job? The job of figuring out what's happening to us, or are you trying to get other information too?" he asked accusingly, and felt a surge of indignation at Tobin's guilty expression. "You bastard! You're supposed to be helping us, not interrogating him about-"

"Potter!" Malfoy said sharply.

"What did you ask him about!" Harry shouted, and Malfoy stood and grabbed Harry's shoulder and dragged him behind another partition. "What-" Harry started to say, and Malfoy clapped a hand over his mouth.

"Shut up. No, shut up," he whispered, his anger at the Auror quickly focussing on Harry himself. "I don't need you coming in and rescuing me, you stupid git! I can handle-"

"What the fuck did he say-" Harry demanded, pushing Malfoy's hand away from his mouth.

"What the fuck do you think he said?" Malfoy whispered furiously, eyes glittering and hand tightening painfully on Harry's. "He asked what my father thinks about our bond, and what he's said to me about it, and what I think this means for my family, and how Father's doing with his... his 'social position' with the, with - and whether he thinks the curse was cast by a-" He abruptly caught his breath, stopped, and looked away, and his angry grip on Harry's hand loosened. He took a couple of deep breaths. "And whether my father thinks the curse was cast by a Death Eater who's jealous of him," he finally said, his voice soft. "And whether I thought it might have been cast by Father in the first place. To get rid of you, for the Dark Lord."

Harry caught his breath, his mind reeling that anybody could even think that of any father, let alone ask that of any son... and then reeling even more at the fact that he couldn't say for the life of him whether Lucius Malfoy had it in him to sacrifice his only son for the sake of Voldemort or his cause.

"And he asked a number of other things about my father, which I can't even talk to you about." Malfoy was still speaking softly and not looking at him, and Harry grabbed his shoulder, trying to force him to look up. "Potter, don't."

Damn it. Damn it to hell, they couldn't even talk about it. They couldn't, it was the single most important thing in their lives, in the lives of everybody in the wizarding world, and yet they were supposed to exist in the thick of it, Harry as Voldemort's nemesis and Malfoy as the son of Voldemort's right hand man, on opposite sides of the war, and pretend with all their might that it just didn't exist. Because it wasn't an outright war; it was all done through spies and lies and Imperius curses and manipulation and Malfoy's father didn't even admit to being on the opposite side, not really, not even after serving time in Azkaban.

"He can't ask you things that have nothing to do with the curse," Harry said slowly.

"Can you prove they have nothing to do with it?" Malfoy shot back.

Fuck.

"Do you want him to say shit like that to you, when he's supposed to be helping you?" Harry asked, deciding without letting himself think about it to pick Malfoy's side in this one thing. Not the whole war; just this one battle. This one battle that had to do with figuring out how to live through this curse.

What a Slytherin decision to make, Harry thought suddenly. Forget the grand scheme of things, forget that Auror Tobin just might be able to get information out of Malfoy right now that could help them win the fucking war. Forget all of that and just think of his own - and Malfoy's - health and safety, and-

No, no goddamn time to think about this right now. "Do you want him abuse his position right now to further his career in Magical Law Enforcement?"

Malfoy's eyebrows shot up. "Further his career? That a little cynical of you, isn't it?"

"That's what he's doing, and you know it."

"How Slytherin of you to assume self-interest."

"Don't start insulting me, you bastard," Harry snapped, "or I'll point out that trying to keep me from helping you right now is bloody Gryffindor of you."

Malfoy snickered, a startled, unexpected sound, and the tension between them lessened palpably.

"He can't ask you that kind of shit," Harry said gently after a moment. "It's not right, and it won't help. If he has to ask hard questions as part of the investigation, that's one thing, but if he's just doing it to get ahead - or even to, to help in the fight... this isn't the time."

Malfoy took a deep breath, shaking his head.

"Besides, how could you just let him - where's your stupid Malfoy pride? Why didn't you stand up for yourself and tell him to sod off?"

Malfoy sighed. "Potter, I've been asked those kinds of questions before. After my father was arrested, and for months afterwards. My mother and I were both worked over by just about every Auror in the Ministry," he said bitterly. "Believe me, I learned how to live with them. And the first thing I learned was that it didn't do any damn good to resist them outright, or try to outthink them. The only thing that ever worked was saying as little as possible. Especially with Mudbloods - oh, fine, Muggle-borns - like Tobin; they've got a special axe to grind with us."

Harry pressed his lips together. Damn it. He remembered, at the time, that it had given him a great deal of pleasure to think of Malfoy and his mother being interrogated like common criminals. Well, that was then, this is now, he told himself. "Look, you said your father hasn't talked to you about any of what they're asking about, so he can't get any information anyway if he interrogates you on this now. He's just wasting his time. Our time."

"I told him that. Oddly enough, he didn't believe me. I didn't feel like beating my head against a brick wall trying to convince him."

Harry thought for a moment. "You know, there's no reason to do the interviews separately. I could sit in with you."

"And what exactly would your heroic presence accomplish?"

"If nothing else, I can get them to stick to questions that might help us. And let them know you're telling the truth when you say you don't know anything."

Malfoy rubbed his eyes tiredly and nodded, giving in. Harry drew open the partition.

"I'm staying. You interview both of us together," he said flatly, amused at the looks on both the Aurors and Madam Pomfrey.

"Mr. Potter-"

"I'm not leaving. If you have something to say to him, you can damn well say it in front of me too."

"Mr. Potter, I hardly think that-" Tobin began, and Pomfrey stepped in front of him.

"You won't get anywhere, Mr. Tobin, Potter's very stubborn," she said to Tobin, and Harry caught a gleam of approval in her eyes, and a rather frosty look at Tobin. He smiled to himself. Brusque and unsympathetic as Pomfrey often was, there was no denying that she was very attached to her patients, and was probably seething at the idea that an Auror would've used his time to do anything that wasn't related to keeping two of her charges from deteriorating further.

"Well? Go on, Mr. Tobin. Ask your questions," she said, sitting down next to Malfoy.

Tobin raised his chin defiantly. "My questions are relevant to this investigation," he began, and Pomfrey nodded impatiently.

"Yes, yes, I'm sure. Ask them. These young gentlemen are not missing valuable class time just to hear your speeches."

Tobin hesitated.

"What was the last question he asked?" Pomfrey asked Malfoy.

"He asked if I thought my father's political views might have led him to put me in danger by binding me to Potter with a deliberately miscast curse," he said evenly. "Before that he had asked a lot of questions about my father's political beliefs and connections."

"What?" Pomfrey and Pantere both looked at Tobin in disbelief.

"Those were legitimate questions! This boy's father supports the very people who have been trying to kill Mr. Potter for years. Considering his political beliefs, it makes sense to-"

"My father's beliefs are not against the law," Malfoy said angrily.

"His actions have been."

"You may have heard that he paid for them."

"If you call that payment-"

"He was in Azkaban for ten months," Malfoy interrupted heatedly, and Harry put a hand on his arm, calming him down.

"Yes, for breaking and entering into the Ministry, but he was also charged with murder. And because he struck deals with various people in high places, he was released. That's hardly what I'd call payment. He is also a known Muggle-hater and-"

"As I pointed out, his beliefs are not against the law." Malfoy's lip curled into a sneer and he glared at Tobin in distaste. "Nor are mine."

"You have the same beliefs?"

"I am a Malfoy," he said defiantly. "I stand with my family."

"Going to be a Death Eater just like dear old dad some day, is that it? Let me remind you of what I said before: Death Eaters are probably behind this."

"I wouldn't know anything about that."

"But you know the people he socializes with. You know which ones are Death Eaters, which ones are most likely to commit any kind of atrocity for You-Know-Who-"

"Auror Tobin-" Pantere began.

"These people are capable of anything. This boy's father is capable of anything, and he's training his son to be just like him, a little Lucius Malfoy-in-training-"

"This is not Lucius Malfoy!" Pomfrey broke in furiously. "This is a seventeen-year-old boy who is in serious trouble, and I'll thank you to remember that that's what you're here for!"

"I am an Auror; if you think I'm going to let the chance slip by-"

"You just did. You are off this case," Pantere said abruptly.

"What!"

"I'm not as concerned about your questions as I am about why you are asking them. You are not able to focus on the task that has been given to you, which is to help these young men. I'm going to call in Shacklebolt. He'll take over for you."

Harry quickly suppressed his alarm. Kingsley Shacklebolt was part of the Order of the Phoenix. Technically, all Aurors were working against Voldemort, but Shacklebolt was especially dedicated to the cause. If Shacklebolt came onto this case, he wouldn't limit his questions to just the information needed to help Harry and Malfoy, though Harry knew that unlike Tobin, he would try to help. No, Shacklebolt's loyalty to the Order meant that he must use every opportunity (and this was certainly a good one) to extract information about Malfoy's family to use against Voldemort, even if that meant deceiving Malfoy about the nature of his visit. And Malfoy had no way of knowing that.

And they needed help. They needed somebody like Shacklebolt.

And... and it wasn't like Malfoy was an unsuspecting innocent, Harry reminded himself. He had experience with Aurors. And he was a Slytherin and a Malfoy: suspicious and devious and able to hold his own against anybody.

Well... except that he was also tired, and not thinking quite right, and letting down his guard around Harry, a little, which would probably lead him to not be as careful as he should be around Kingsley, especially if Harry didn't warn him that there was any need to be especially cautious when speaking about his father's activities.

How could he betray the trust Malfoy had placed in him?

Then again, how could he betray the trust the Order placed in him? Not only was he not supposed to reveal the identity of members of the Order, but keeping silent might allow the Order to obtain information about the inner workings of the Malfoy family that could be invaluable to their side...

Oh god, who to betray?

Malfoy was peering at him suspiciously as Tobin angrily handed his papers over and stalked out of the hospital wing, and Pomfrey and Pantere looked over his notes. Harry quickly schooled his features into perfect inscrutability and tried with all his heart to remember everything Snape had ever taught him in Occlumency. While at the same time trying very hard to not hear Malfoy's mocking "It's almost impossible to lie to your spouse under a new bond, Potter," in his head.

"All right, then," Madam Pantere interrupted his thoughts, "you two can go back to class, if you wish."

"We can go?"

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy. I will consolidate my notes with Auror Tobin's, and will continue the questions later, with both of you present."

"Do you mean later today?"

"Yes, and hopefully I'll also have contacted Shacklebolt - oh no wait," she muttered to herself, "he's on assignment in Kenya right now. Damn. Well, I'll have contacted somebody else who can join me on your case. Never mind, just go back to your classes, and I'll see you later."

"We've missed all of Transfiguration, and most of Defence Against the Dark Arts," Harry noted as they left the hospital wing, desperately trying to not think about Kingsley Shacklebolt until he could be sure Malfoy was distracted by something else and wouldn't notice his inner turmoil.

"What's the matter?" Malfoy asked.

"Nothing."

"Potter."

They stopped in the middle of the corridor and Harry took a deep breath. "Nothing I can talk to you about," he said quietly, meeting Malfoy's eyes levelly.

Malfoy held his gaze, his expression unreadable, for a long moment. Finally he gave a small nod and turned to continue on their way to Defence Against the Dark Arts, stopping as Harry put a hand on his arm.

"Malfoy... I would if I could," Harry said awkwardly.

"I know. It's all right," Malfoy said quietly.

"It's not. But..."

"We have to get to Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"It's more than half over and I doubt we'll get anything done there anyway. Let's go home instead," Harry suggested, and Malfoy gave him a small smile and nodded.

ooooooo

"Harry, are you going to see Madam Pomfrey?" Hermione asked at dinner a few hours later.

"Yeah, maybe, after dinner. We didn't have much of a lunch," Harry said, listlessly trying to force himself to eat. They had ended up going back to their quarters and rather predictably falling into bed together, falling asleep after a groping session that had felt... oddly intense. Like they were both trying to use touch to bridge the distance that they were forced to maintain over so many important parts of their lives. Or maybe just trying to forget that distance in the easiest way they knew.

They had slept through lunch and Charms and had been woken up by Pantere, who had a new batch of questions that had caused them to miss Arithmancy and Runes and barely make it to Herbology at the end of the day.

"You missed breakfast too," Hermione pointed out. "Does she know that you're not eating?"

"He's just not hungry, Granger," Malfoy said quietly. "Stop bothering him."

Hermione's mouth dropped open at the almost civil tone with which Malfoy had just addressed her.

"He's a big boy. He knows enough to go see Madam Pomfrey if he needs to. Now either talk about something else or leave him alone." He went back to pushing his meal around the plate.

Harry brushed his hair out of his eyes and tried to concentrate on the meal before him and not the deep desire to just go back to their room and sleep.

"-een ball on Saturday, Harry?"

Malfoy elbowed Harry and indicated that somebody had just spoken to him.

"Sorry, what?" Harry focussed on Seamus.

"I asked if you're going to the Halloween ball."

"No. At least, I don't think..." He glanced at Malfoy, still listlessly forcing down food next to him. Malfoy shook his head.

"No. Too much homew-" and Harry stopped as the world became oddly red-tinted. He blinked, startled, but the red tinge didn't fade and somebody near him gasped. Malfoy looked up at him and then blew out his breath in annoyance, picking up his wand.

"Finite incantatem," he muttered, and the red tinge disappeared. Malfoy tucked his wand back into his pocket, going back to his meal as though nothing had happened. As though the Great Hall hadn't just erupted in a barely contained frisson of excitement, with cheers and groans breaking out from parts of the Slytherin table and some of the Ravenclaw table, and a low buzz from the head table as the teachers evidently tried to decide whether to wade in and demand that the students cease and desist their bet-settling activities, or just ignore the whole unseemly event.

Harry closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose, deeply appreciating the silence at the Gryffindor table. Wonderful. Good old Virgo Acclaro. It was too bad it had been cast at dinner time, but as they'd missed all their classes with the Slytherins today he supposed he should've expected it to happen eventually. Especially since the Slytherins had probably wondered why they'd started last night at the dungeon but gone to their own quarters in the middle of the night.

Well, at least that was the very last time it would ever be used on him.

"Harry?" Hermione finally said hesitantly. "Are you... are you all right?"

"Yeah," he stabbed at his meal, wondering why he couldn't muster up a sense of indignation or anything more intense than mild annoyance. "Yeah, fine."

Hermione stared at Malfoy suspiciously, almost accusingly. Malfoy looked up and met her glare, and glanced around at the semi-hostile silent Gryffindor faces around him. Went back to his meal, not bothering to respond.

Harry cleared his throat. "I'm fine. Just wishing this wasn't the subject of discussion for the entire school in the middle of dinner. And probably on the front page of the Prophet by tomorrow morning." He took a deep breath. "And stop looking at Malfoy like he's done something wrong," he said to the table in general. Malfoy looked up at him, startled, and Harry decided he'd had enough. He leaned closer and spoke into Malfoy's ear. "Come on. Let's go." Malfoy nodded and put down his fork and they both pushed back, leaving the Great Hall without another word.

"I'm sorry about that," Harry said once they were in the corridor.

"Not your fault."

"No, but..."

"Potter, don't worry about it."

They silently made their way to their quarters, and for once Malfoy didn't protest when Harry dropped everything on the floor as they entered. He dropped everything too and turned, taking Harry into his arms and resting his head against Harry's shoulder.

"Are you all right?" Harry asked.

There was a long silence. "No. I'm fucking well not, and you know it. And neither are you."

Harry shook his head, pulling him to their couch and drawing them down onto it, exhaustion making them clumsy and careless.

"I-"

"Potter, I don't want to talk about this."

"No," Harry said, and drew him closer, kissing him.

"God, no, I don't want to..." Malfoy said hopelessly, but met Harry's lips with his own, hands coming up to undo Harry's tie.

"I don't either, but..." Harry answered tiredly, desire fighting exhaustion, his own hands sluggish as they undid Malfoy's shirt buttons, pushed his shirt off his shoulders.

"Don't have much of a choice, though, do we?" Malfoy said grimly, gasping a little as Harry's fingers found their way into his trousers.

"They'll figure out what's wrong," Harry murmured. "They will. We'll be all right. It's probably just what Pomfrey said today, we just have to stop all other spells and potions, see if that helps-"

"It won't. It won't fucking help. Here, no, I'm not doing this on the sofa, let's go to bed-"

"I-"

"We're going to pass out as soon as we're done, you know it, I don't want to fall asleep here-" and they stumbled to their bedroom, collapsing onto the bed and managing to get each other's clothing off on the way, and Malfoy reached for the small jar of oil they'd used the night before.

"No, we, I can't-" Harry began.

"You bloody well can, you did it last night."

"That was with a trance and - and I don't want to hurt you-"

"You won't hurt me, you idiot."

"I-"

"Potter, I don't have time to argue with you. We're both exhausted, Pomfrey and the Healer haven't a clue what to do for us and look more worried than they have any right to be, I've got Aurors suspecting my own father decided to sacrifice me to the Dark Lord and people are celebrating in Slytherin house right now because you nailed me last night and I'm so bloody exhausted I'd like to just sleep for a week except I'm so fucking hard I know I won't be able to, and I'd really appreciate it if you would just fuck me through the mattress so we can both pass out for a few hours until I can face my housemates and accept their congratulations without killing them. All right?"

Harry chuckled despite himself. "But aren't you-"

"Sore from last night? A little. Who gives a damn? Not me. Now are we going to do this or not?"

Harry took his mouth in a long kiss, wishing they weren't so tired, wishing he wasn't feeling so hopeless, wishing he could even muster up a bit of decent fear over their situation. Anything but this numbing weariness. He started to rub the oil onto Malfoy, noting how his eyes seemed duller, his skin paler than usual, but slowly starting to awaken as they touched each other. How ironic, that the same thing that was killing them seemed to be the only thing that could bring them to life.

"Here, hang on," Malfoy said, and turned over onto his stomach. Harry finished with the oil, carefully helping Malfoy relax, tiredly grateful for the distraction of what they were doing, for the hitch in Malfoy's breathing, the shivers that coursed through them both.

"Oh Merlin," Malfoy sighed as Harry carefully slid into him, and Harry echoed the sentiment, bracing himself on one elbow, nuzzling the back of Malfoy's neck as he waited for Malfoy to relax again.

"Does that hurt?"

"A little. No, don't - don't stop," Malfoy whispered, "I just need to relax." He took a couple of deep breaths, moved a little. "I'm all right. Just - go ahead, move, please..."

Harry started moving carefully, chewing on his lip to stop himself from going too fast or too hard, reaching under them with one hand, smiling when Malfoy sucked in his breath at the feeling of Harry's hand closing over him.

"That's - I'm not going to last-" Malfoy cut himself off with a groan. "That's - ah-"

"I'm not going to last long either-" Harry gasped, feeling himself careening towards his own climax. "Doesn't matter - oh-"

And then Malfoy was crying out under him, pulsing into Harry's hand, his muscles tightening around Harry and sending Harry right over the edge.

They lay panting together, Harry nuzzling into Malfoy's hair, limbs growing heavier by the moment. He started to move off.

"No," Malfoy murmured. "No, don't - you don't have to get off, you're not that heavy."

"I'm not crushing you?"

"No. Just feels warm. Nice," Malfoy murmured sleepily. "Like I'm safe."

"I wish," Harry said, then smiled to himself. If Malfoy remembered what he'd just said when they woke up, he was probably going to be more than a little embarrassed. "I'll spell the clock to wake us up in two hours, all right?" He waited for a few moments, but no answer was forthcoming and he realized Malfoy was already asleep.

ooooooo

Day 32, Friday

Draco glanced around the common room blearily, grateful to be in Gryffindor where he didn't have to pretend he was fine. Not that it was all that wise to let anybody in on just how drained he felt, but at least here there would be fewer repercussions if he was observed operating at less than full strength. And anyway, he didn't feel like he could pretend, even if he wanted to.

He gazed at the fire as Potter and his friends played Exploding Snap next to him, and wondered if any of them could tell just how tired Potter felt. Probably not; Gryffindors weren't terribly observant. Except for Granger. The Mudblood was a hell of a lot more perceptive and intelligent than the average Gryffindor; had she been a pureblood, she would've been in Slytherin, he was sure.

Actually, no; she used her perceptiveness and intelligence, as far as he could tell, almost exclusively for the good of Potter and the Weasel. Too altruistic. Maybe Ravenclaw, then.

He lay his head on his arms, chancing it. The latest advice from the Healer was to fight the lethargy and not allow themselves to nap during the day, since that seemed to only drain them even further in the long run. So here they were, no Pepper-up, no patience potion, nothing but themselves in the fight against sleep. And against desire, because that inevitably led to a need for more sleep.

No point fighting against consummation of desire, of course, since that had its own unpleasant consequences. No, they were supposed to try to avoid arousal itself. Which meant, of course, that they couldn't stay in their quarters, since that pretty much led to them wanting to shag all the time. And since their extreme fatigue also meant they had to stay away from Slytherins, they were left with Gryffindor. Noisy, irritating Gryffindor.

Not as irritating as Slytherin last night, though. It had been a special kind of torture, putting up with the party atmosphere over there. Keeping his face firmly schooled into gracious acceptance of their grating good-for-yous and amusement at their snide comments directed at and about Potter. Silently willing Potter to hold on to his own masks of stoic indifference and boredom, knowing that any hint of embarrassment would be pounced on like fresh meat before a pack of hungry werewolves.

Fucking wearying beyond belief, is what it had been.

The only enjoyable part of the evening had come near the end of the party, when Malcolm Baddock had made the mistake of pushing Potter just a little too far. Potter hadn't told Draco what had finally crossed the line, but Draco had sensed his exasperated boil-over and looked up just in time to see his green eyes take on a dangerous glint before Potter casually flicked his wand and said something that was immediately followed by a piercing shriek from Baddock.

Screaming Scrotalpox, the fourth-year boys who'd rushed a half-hysterical Baddock to the washroom had said with deep admiration when they came back, and Draco couldn't suppress a grin at Potter's creativity. Screaming Scrotalpox was not the most painful of hexes, but was satisfyingly foul-smelling and unsightly and, of course, loud - large sores on the scrotum, screeching ardent pleas to all and sundry to come and touch them while denigrating the victim's skill at masturbating with a disturbing amount of detail. It had taken three boys twenty minutes to get rid of them.

The fact that Draco had never liked Baddock, and Baddock had replaced him as Slytherin Seeker, had made it all the sweeter.

Even sweeter had been the grudging respect towards Potter that he'd seen on several Slytherin faces after that. Millicent had even surreptitiously handed Potter a butterbeer. And it certainly hadn't hurt Draco any for his housemates to see that his spouse could hold his own against Slytherins and give as good as he got when pushed too far.

He felt his eyelids growing heavy even as he smiled at the memory, and realized he'd have to do something to stay awake. Studying was right out - even Potions wasn't within his abilities in his present condition, and the bubble of silence he'd need to concentrate was right out as well; without constant sharp noise, he'd be lulled into sleep no matter what he did.

The only thing that came to mind was socializing. With Gryffindors.

He sighed, trying to delay joining them as long as possible, and cast about for something else to do. Something that wouldn't require too much concentration, wouldn't require interaction with anybody, wouldn't put him too close to Potter or give him any ideas, wouldn't tire him out... bloody hell... nothing came to mind. Nothing but sitting and staring at the colours of the fire and feeling the soothing warmth of the flames, the flickering lights dancing and keeping away the dark, comforting and peaceful and-

"Malfoy," Potter's voice startled him. "Don't fall asleep."

He blinked, shaking his head. "No, I'm not-" he covered his mouth, hiding a yawn. "I'm trying," he muttered irritably.

"Not trying hard enough," Potter muttered back, and Draco didn't bother to answer that. He glanced at the other Gryffindors.

"Are you not playing any more?"

"We're taking a break. Seamus went down to the kitchens to get something to eat."

"Mm." He looked back at the flames.

"No, come on, stay awake. Talk or something."

"About what?"

"Well... what did your parents say when you talked to them tonight?" Potter asked.

"You mean my mother," Draco said dryly. "You know my father hasn't spoken to me since the day we got suspended, Potter. Don't bother doing the noble Gryffindor thing, avoiding upsetting me with reminders of unpleasant facts."

"I think you have Gryffindors confused with Hufflepuffs. I was just being polite so you wouldn't bark at me and tell me to mind my own business. What did your mother say, then?"

"About what?"

"About us having to come back to Gryffindor, about the Healer and the Aurors-"

"She hopes everything works out well, what do you expect her to say?"

Potter stared at him questioningly. "This isn't one of those 'I could tell you but then I'd have to kill you' things, is it?"

"What?"

"You haven't told her what's happening. You haven't told her how serious it is."

"Pantere's already told her and Father what's going on, more or less."

Potter seemed baffled. "Don't you want to talk to her about this?"

"Why would I? She's not my friend, Potter. She's my mother."

"But you don't talk to your friends either."

"I-"

"You don't. You haven't confided in anybody. You don't have anybody to talk to."

Draco swallowed hard and looked away, and Potter put a hand on his arm.

"Don't try to do the calming thing, Potter," he said dully. "Because it's possible that thinking 'it'll be all right' at me won't feel all that believable right now."

"No." Potter turned so that they were more closed off from the rest of the room, in their own separate corner near the fireplace. "Somehow I don't think you can reassure your spouse that everything's all right if you don't believe it yourself."

Draco nodded and, after a brief hesitation, covered Potter's hand with his own. Shifted a little closer to him, allowing himself to take what comfort he could in Potter's presence.

"You're scared, aren't you?" Potter said very softly, and Draco automatically started to withdraw. Potter tightened his grip slightly. "I'm sorry. It's just..." he swallowed. "So am I."

Draco closed his eyes briefly, stopped trying to pull away.

Yes, he was. Scared, damned scared - as much as he could be, considering his fatigue. Healers and Aurors didn't look the way Esposito and Pantere looked unless things were really serious. They didn't just decide to practically move into Hogwarts to follow one particular case if there was nothing to worry about.

Potter's hand was idly playing with Draco's fingers, his expression serious. "I keep trying to not think about it. If I'm really tired or busy, it's all right, but when I'm not..."

Draco nodded. "Me too. Thinking about how we felt yesterday, and how much worse we are today, and trying not to think about how much worse we'll feel tomorrow-" Potter made a sound in his throat and Draco stopped.

"I keep thinking it feels rather unfair." Potter absently brushed a stray tendril of hair off of Draco's face, tucking it behind his ear. "Don't you think? That we managed not to kill each other through the first few days of the bond, and now the bond's killing us instead?"

Draco smiled grimly. "Yeah. I would've thought anybody wanting to kill us both wouldn't have needed to do anything more than bond us together. I wouldn't have bet on us surviving that."

"Neither would I," Potter smiled back. And somehow his smile felt comforting, despite everything. Reminding him of two nights ago, when they'd been doing more than just surviving their bond, they'd been enjoying it, and enjoying each other, and...

...aand this was probably a very bad idea, Draco realized as Potter's eyes widened a little as they both recognized where they were headed. Again.

"This was a bad idea," Potter said softly.

"We can't avoid it all the time, Potter," Draco said hollowly, knowing it was too late, it took so little to arouse them and it took such effort to keep away from each other. They were dancing along a fine line, trying to avoid the negative consequences of resisting the bond spell and the negative consequences of giving in to it, and the dance was impossible to maintain and all they could do was desperately try to delay the consequences as long as possible, hoping that somebody would come up with a cure or find the caster of the spell before they both collapsed for good.

And the only thing that made them forget the danger they were in was the very same thing that put them in danger in the first place.

Potter was drawing closer, their faces close enough to touch and Draco didn't give a damn that they were in the middle of Gryffindor's common room, they were bloody well married and anybody who had a problem with them acting married could go jump out the window as far as he was concerned.

He bridged the distance between them and then their mouths were locked together, this was so damned addictive, it was the only thing that felt good any more, the only thing that cut through the exhaustion and fear-

"We - we can't stay here-" Draco said breathlessly after a moment, pushing himself away from Potter.

"No, let's go-" Potter got up, pulling him up, and Draco reflected as they hurried to the door that when his entire body yearned so desperately to pull Potter closer and feel all of him, when his skin was screaming for more contact, it was insane that they had to make their way across the common room with a minimum of decorum. The minimum was so incredibly frustrating.

"Harry-" Weasley called out, and Potter gave a small groan but stopped and turned.

"We're going to be upstairs in a while, right?" Weasley said, looking extremely red and embarrassed, and Potter rubbed his forehead and nodded, immediately turning and almost pushing Draco out the door and up the stairs.

"What was that about?" Draco asked.

"Ron knows we're supposed to try to stay awake right after, so..." Potter cleared his throat. "So he and Hermione are going to come upstairs so they can prevent us from falling asleep."

"How fucking annoying."

"They're trying to help," Potter said, grabbing him as soon as they were in the dorm room, and Draco didn't feel like stopping to explain that - for once - he didn't think Weasley and Granger were being annoying; he was referring to the situation itself.

No time to discuss that as they hastily moved to the bed and drew the curtains and rational thought fled again as they gave in, not bothering to remove any clothing that didn't interfere with what they were doing. Nothing slow or languid or tender, what they needed was this, quick and rough and a little desperate, Draco's legs over Potter's shoulders, both of them coming fast and hard.

Followed by the deadly heaviness of their limbs and slowness of their thoughts and the seductive pull of sleep that didn't do anything but pull them farther down each time.

ooooooo

"Harry?"

Draco groaned at the sound of Granger's voice, and Potter sighed in resignation.

"They're trying to help," he reminded Draco as he slowly rose up and off of him, and Draco nodded listlessly.

"Malfoy, come on," Potter said, pulling up and buttoning his trousers. "Get dressed."

"Harry?" Granger repeated, a little louder. Potter undid the privacy spells around their bed.

"Yeah, we're awake, just give us a minute," he called out, and handed Draco his trousers. Draco put them on mechanically, nodding at Potter once he was decent again, but not bothering to sit up. Potter opened the curtains.

"We brought some cauldron cake and cocoa," Granger said brightly, her casual manner belying the blush on her cheeks as she caught sight of Draco still lying on the slightly rumpled bed where he and Potter had just had sex, and tired as Draco was, he snickered. Some things never got old, such as the shy awkwardness with which most of the non-Slytherin students treated sex. What a lot of fuss over something so damn simple. He suddenly wished he had Pansy or Blaise or even Crabbe and Goyle there to join him in poking fun at Granger - and at Weasley, whose face matched his hair right now and who was looking everywhere but at Draco.

Then again, if any Slytherins were here, he wouldn't be lying down. He'd be doing his best to look and act like there was nothing wrong. He stared up at the ceiling and sighed wearily as the others settled on the floor near Potter's bed and Granger started cutting pieces of cake.

"Malfoy? Would you like some cauldron cake?" Granger offered with forced politeness. He shook his head, not bothering to glance in her direction.

"Erm - anybody care for a game of Exploding Snap?" Weasley asked.

"Oh, brilliant," Draco muttered.

"If you've got a better suggestion-" Weasley began defensively, and Draco rolled his eyes in irritation.

"I'm not being sarcastic, Weaselby. I don't actually have any better ideas."

"Malfoy, come on," Potter poked him. "Get up."

"Stop that," he muttered. "I'm awake."

"You won't be for long if you don't sit up," Potter half-snapped at him, and Draco glanced over at him, his own sharp retort dying unsaid as he took in Potter's appearance.

Mordred, he looked godawful. Eyes bloodshot, face pale, hair a complete mess, courtesy of its innate nature plus their recent activities. Draco propped himself up on one elbow and touched his shoulder.

"What?"

They gazed at each other silently. No need for words, and no words to say, really. "Are you all right?" No, of course he wasn't. "We'll be OK?" Meaningless. "Don't be scared?" Ridiculous.

"Your hair's a mess," Draco finally said, and sat up, wincing a little.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" Potter asked, a little alarmed.

"Bloody hell, Potter, stop asking that after every time, it's getting annoying," Draco said irately, and accio'd Potter's hairbrush.

"What do you mean, after every t-OW!" Weasley broke off as Granger suddenly elbowed him, and turned to glare at her. "What was that for?"

"I think your girlfriend's trying to tell you to not ask questions about a male couple's sex life," Draco said, amused, "unless you want to hear all about who does what to whom and-"

"Malfoy!" Potter snapped, and Draco snickered at Weasley and Granger's beet-red faces but didn't continue, choosing instead to busy himself trying to make Potter's hair resemble something semi-civilized.

"I'll, er, go get the cards," Weasley mumbled and started to get up. Granger stopped him with a hand on his knee and cleared her throat.

"Harry, we erm... we've been wondering..." She cleared her throat again and glanced at Weasley for support.

"What are you going to tell the others?" Weasley blurted out, then plunged on quickly as Draco and Potter looked at him questioningly. "Because people are already noticing that you two aren't exactly in top form right now, right? And it's - it's getting a little awkward not saying anything, especially to the other blokes here."

"And we thought if some of your friends know what's going on at least they can help keep things quiet. Because you know how nosy Dean can be-"

"And Seamus and his big mouth-"

"And they might even be able to help to keep you two awake, and, erm..."

"Distracted," Weasley supplied helpfully.

"Distracted, yes, and so we thought it would be a good idea to let at least some people know what's going on," Granger said. "Like, for example, your roommates, because even Seamus is going to notice something, and blab it about. And maybe Ginny, because she's around us so much, and you know she can be pretty good at distracting people who are asking questions."

There was a short silence.

"That's... fine by me, I think," Potter finally said. "Malfoy?"

Draco shrugged, not particularly interested in the topic. Which, he reflected as he worked a tangle out of Potter's hair, he should be. He supposed he should put up at least some token resistance. "Do you want everybody in this bloody house know what's going on?"

"No. Just people I - ow, that hurt - I trust."

"Hold still, then. And I repeat, do you want everybody in this bloody house to know?"

"Ron, Hermione, Dean, Seamus, Neville, and Ginny," Potter said. "I trust them."

"You don't trust the rest of your house?"

"Not necessarily."

Hm. Interesting. He should probably file that factoid away for some future time. Providing the bond didn't kill them first.

He shrugged. "Fine," he said, giving in and picking up a letter-ribbon to tie Potter's hair back. Why Potter had a letter-ribbon on his night table, he couldn't fathom, since he never seemed to get or send any owls, but maybe it was a memento of some sort.

So, he thought as Weasley went off in search of confidantes and Exploding Snap players. Two Weasleys, two Mudbloods, a half-blood Irish buffoon, and pathetic little Neville Longbottom were all going to work to keep him and Potter from collapsing or being seen collapsing. Lovely. Very dignified. Worthy of a Malfoy. Father would likely be owling him soon, with a politely worded request to please explain why the remains of their ancestors had just exploded all over their family crypt. And he would tell Father, and then Father would explode too. And maybe that would keep Draco awake for five whole minutes.

Now he was getting maudlin. Charming. He shook his head and tried to get himself under some semblance of control before the Gryffindor troops came marching in.

ooooooo

Day 33, Saturday

Hermione smiled at Terry Boot as their dance ended and he bowed to her formally.

"Thanks," he grinned, and leaned in closer as the band started the next dance. "And I never did ask, to what do I owe this pleasure? In other words, where's Ron?"

"Prefect duties," she said. "He'll be back later."

"Duties on Halloween? That's rotten luck. Well, his loss. Another dance, then?"

"I'd love to, but I promised to go with him for part of his rounds - right about now, actually."

"That's true devotion for you," Terry said wistfully. "Maybe if I'd been that dedicated to Susan, she wouldn't have dropped me for that oily little sixth year Slytherin. Ah well. Plenty of other mermaids in the sea and all that." He waved at Hermione as she moved off and was already chatting up a gaggle of fifth year Ravenclaw girls by the time she had reached the punch bowl.

"Hermione! Not going home already, are you?" Ernie MacMillan said as she passed him, and she pasted on a polite smile. He wasn't so bad, really - just a little slow, which she didn't need to deal with right now. She was supposed to be back at Gryffindor, taking her turn accompanying Harry and Ron and Malfoy, so that Neville and Ginny could come to the ball and people wouldn't comment on the absence of so many of the Gryffindor upper years.

"Sorry, Ernie, I have to run - Ron's expecting me-" Ernie's forehead began to furrow and Hermione quickly added, "And Neville, of course, they're both waiting for me - special Astronomy assignment."

Ernie's brow cleared and Hermione sighed in relief that she hadn't had to endure one of Ernie's exhortations on proper Prefect decorum and not being seen carrying on a romantic assignation or other rule-breaking activity past curfew.

"Good luck!" Ernie called as she wove her way through the other students.

She checked the time. Not that late. Hopefully Harry and Malfoy wouldn't already be asleep; they were supposed to stay up until ten, at least. Which she doubted they could do; they'd been slowing down so visibly and drastically that she was really starting to panic. This morning it had taken Neville and Ron ten minutes just to get them out of bed.

The situation was getting desperate. It was no longer a question of whether to let anybody else know what was going on, but only when; at this rate, by Monday there would be no choice but to take them both to the hospital. And after that...

She hurried to the Great Hall doors. Ron and Neville had said they might try some light Defence Against the Dark Arts practice. It was a little odd to think of voluntarily doing Defence Against the Dark Arts practice with Malfoy, but if it kept him and Harry awake, they'd consider it a success.

They'd keep them up two more hours. Just two more hours. Then she'd put in another appearance at the party, and then she'd go home and finally be able to keep working through the stack of books and scrolls she'd obtained from Madam Pince. Life spells, waking spells, special counter-curse spells, advanced counter-curse-creating theory...

Esposito had also mentioned that she might want to consult the works of Paracelsus, Cliodne, and Gunhilda of Gorsemoor. She could look them up tomorrow. And she'd try not to think about how much it worried her that Esposito, a well-known and respected Healer, had so readily accepted her offer to do research. If Esposito was accepting the help of a seventh-year student, the situation was dire indeed.

"Granger!" a voice hissed from behind her as she entered the corridor.

Oh, god, what now, Hermione thought, and turned. Blinked. Pansy Parkinson was half-hiding in the shadows of the corridor outside the Great Hall, and beckoning her closer.

"Parkinson?"

"Granger," Parkinson said, barely hiding the distaste she felt at having to talk to a Muggle-born. "What the devil is going on with Draco and Potter?"

"What?"

"Why aren't they at the ball?"

"Why would they be?" Hermione asked, trying to act genuinely puzzled. "They can't dance with anybody-"

"That didn't keep Draco away when he had a broken arm last year."

"Crowds aren't a good idea for them, you know that; people bump into them all the time-" Hermione tried to continue on her way and Parkinson stepped in front of her.

"Why did Draco go back to the Gryffindor dorm?"

"You know they're spending time at each other's-"

"Rubbish. What is wrong with Draco?"

"Nothing, why?"

"Granger!" Parkinson looked like she was trying very hard to keep a hold of her temper. "Just tell me what's going on!"

"Nothing is going on-"

"Granger, I swear-" Parkinson stopped, and visibly took a hold of herself. "I know something is wrong. I know Draco as well as anybody alive, and I can see that he's not doing well. He looks exhausted, he's hardly talking at all in class, he's always in the Gryffindor dorm, he didn't go to the Quidditch game today-"

"Why would either of them want to go see Quidditch when they can't play?" Hermione said impatiently. "And he's probably not talking much because he's fallen too far behind in his studies."

"Bollocks. There is something else going on."

"Why don't you ask Malfoy, then," Hermione said frostily.

"He won't tell me anything!"

"Then perhaps there is a reason for that."

"What?"

"If there was anything going on and he wanted you to know about it, he would tell you, wouldn't he? Why are you so interested in finding out what he obviously doesn't want you to know?"

"Because I care about him, you stupid Mudblood bitch-"Hermione turned on her heel and started to walk away.

"Granger!" Parkinson grabbed her arm, and Hermione spun around, shrugging her off and drawing her wand. Parkinson took a step back, startled, and grabbed for her wand as well, and they faced each other silently for a long, tense moment.

Abruptly, Parkinson lowered her wand and pocketed it.

"Granger." Parkinson took a deep, careful breath. "Please."

Hermione blinked, startled.

"I'm asking because I'm Draco's friend and I care what happens to him. I'm not plotting against him - or your precious little Potter."

"Really."

Parkinson sighed. "Look... you don't understand. Draco and I have been friends since we were children. I wouldn't hurt him, I just want to-"

Hermione barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes. Loyalty and altruism, from Pansy Parkinson. That was rich.

Parkinson noticed her expression, stopped and shook her head. "So damned typical of you people," she said bitterly. "You see Slytherin pureblood and all you see is the enemy. And the Dark Lord. You have no idea what it means to be part of our world. To be part of a group of families that have stood together against all sorts of things for centuries. My family and Malfoy's have been allies for generations, Granger. That's loyalty your kind can't even imagine."

"I've don't have to imagine it; I've seen pureblood family loyalty firsthand. I was there the night Bellatrix Lestrange killed her cousin Sirius Black-"

"Yes, and you Gryffindors are all so very, very loyal to each other, aren't you? I seem to have heard about a certain slimy little Gryffindor called Peter Pettigrew-"

Hermione narrowed her eyes and Parkinson shook her head in disgust.

"Look... fine. Fine, you stupid cow, you wouldn't know true friendship and loyalty if it came up and bit you in the arse. Tell Draco, though. Or maybe tell Potty and he can talk to Draco; Draco would never listen to the likes of you. Tell him... tell him Draco still has friends in Slytherin. He can count on some of us to help. And he can count on some of us to remain friends even if our families decide otherwise."

Hermione's eyebrows went up.

"It's not always about who's on top in Slytherin," Parkinson said roughly. "You remind him of that. Sometimes we can be human beings too." She turned and went back into the Great Hall.

Hermione watched her go, and couldn't help feeling she'd let something important slip away.

11 November 2 to November 5

Day 35, Monday

They shouldn't have tried to go to class today, Draco thought as he held on to the wall for dear life, his thoughts clouded and slow. They should've gone straight from Gryffindor to the hospital wing. Or maybe back to their quarters.

Why hadn't they?

Because...because Potter had said they had to try. He'd said... something about the hospital being too easy, too much like admitting they were done for.

And why was that bad?

God, he didn't remember any more. The stone beneath his fingers was cool and smooth, and he was arguing with himself, and he didn't even remember what the argument was about.

Going to the hospital was bad because... because they didn't want to give up. Right.

Why couldn't they go back to their quarters instead of Potions class?

Because then they'd want to have sex and then they would pass out and nobody would find them and...

And why was that a bad thing?

Sod it, he didn't know.

He should've fought Potter harder. He shouldn't have let Potter convince him to try to go to class. But he was in Gryffindor territory, surrounded by them, and the others looked dubious but basically wanted their precious Harry to prevail, and he wanted to go to class, and Draco didn't have the strength to fight them all. And besides, he'd thought, maybe they were right and they could do this.

Bad idea, trusting Gryffindors at all, let alone trusting them to be rational where Potter was concerned. They loved him, they believed he could do just about anything. Despite the fact that it had taken Weasley and Longbottom and Thomas about half an hour just to get them out of bed, they wanted to believe that this was just mind over matter and if Harry put his mind to it Harry could do it, because Harry could do anything.

Stupid Gryffindors didn't have a fucking clue that Harry was barely hanging on. They didn't have a bond that let them feel it, and they didn't have the sense God gave even the stupidest Slytherin child. A fucking sense of reality.

And they'd been staring reality in the face for days. Reality was that they could barely function yesterday, that the efforts of the entire Sleep Prevention Squad - as they had, in typical Gryffindor fashion, immediately dubbed themselves - had been insufficient to keep them awake past eight o'clock last night. Reality was that this morning he and Potter were so exhausted they'd barely been able to dress themselves, and Seamus Finnigan had invented some reason why he just had to leave the room while the other three gamely pretended it didn't bother them at all to see him and Potter in bed together bare as the day they were born and too weak to pull the sheets up. If that wasn't reality, he didn't know what was.

He should've fought them harder. Or maybe not fought as hard. Because the fight itself had worn out Potter. And Potter had made it most of the way down the corridor to Potions, but now, with the classroom in sight, he had stopped, leaned against the wall, and closed his eyes. And Draco had no choice but to stop and wait for him, as the rest of the Gryffindors went ahead into the classroom.

"Potter." Draco pushed off from the wall. "Come on."

Potter shook his head, and his eyes were glazed as he met Draco's, and he started slowly sliding down the wall.

"No, Potter, come on. Stop that!" No answer, just Potter's eyes finally closing as he slumped to the floor. Draco leaned down slightly.

"Damn it, Potter, I can't carry you, I can barely stand up myself. Come on!"

Potter didn't stir.

Oh Merlin.

No, this couldn't be it. This couldn't be the end.

Damn it, fuck Slytherin reality, he needed that stupid Gryffindor faith that Potter could do anything, because maybe if he believed it enough, it would be true. Because he needed Potter to be able to get up and keep going, he needed him to not give up...and he glanced at the Potions classroom, hoping somebody would come out and see why they weren't there yet. Pansy, or Blaise...or Granger, or Weasley, or anybody.

"Potter!" Draco said sharply, to no effect.

God, no.

He tried to clear his mind, gather his strength, think about what to do next. But it was so damned hard...and he was so damn tired...and Potter, damn him, had failed him, so much for the hero of the wizarding world, so much for the Boy Who Lived who could do anything - suddenly Draco's frustration and fear broke through his exhaustion and he pushed himself off the wall, fury giving him energy. "You stupid fucking Gryffindor!" He kicked Potter, who barely reacted, "Stand up!" He heard a noise from the classroom and kicked Potter again, then punched the wall, hard, at the end of his rope. "Stand UP!"

Potter groaned, unable to react otherwise, and Draco's anger died as quickly as it had flared up and he slid down the wall, ending up kneeling next to Potter, barely registering the sound of running footsteps. "Potter, come on. Please...please, get up." He tugged at Potter's arm, shaking him. "Wake up, come on, please-"

Weasley skidded to a stop before them, Granger at his heels. "You fucking bastard! What's the matter with you?" He grabbed Draco and pulled him away from Potter, who shuddered and reached out for him, green eyes open now, but dull and unfocussed. Draco gasped at the searing fire from Weasley's hands, weakly trying to wrest out of his grip.

"Ron! That hurts Harry too!" Granger pulled him back and they both crouched down, looking helpless. Draco grabbed Potter's hands, stopping their blind, aimless grasp for him. He looked up and focussed on Granger, frowning in concentration.

"Granger. Get Pomfrey. He needs help-"

"You're fucking right he needs help, you foul - you KICKED him-"

"No, that's not - he needs help, he's going under, I can't - get Pomfrey, he needs - no, shhh," he murmured into Potter's ear, pulling him close and supporting him weakly, muffling Potter's half-conscious whimpers. "We're going to the hospital, we'll be all right, shh..." He looked back up at Granger. "Please, get Pomfrey-" Granger nodded to Weasley, who took off at a run.

"You bastard!" Granger hissed furiously at Draco. "How could you?"

Draco didn't bother answering her, just hung on to Potter, who clung to him desperately, oblivious to the crowd of students coming out of their classrooms and gathering around them, and damn Potter anyway for collapsing in the busiest hallway of the school on Monday morning. "Shh..." He closed his eyes, holding Potter close and trying to ride out the waves of nausea and weakness sweeping over them both. "We'll be all right soon," he murmured and Potter, half-conscious, mumbled something. He smoothed Potter's hair with a trembling hand, and Granger made a small sound of dismay in her throat.

"Malfoy - your hand," she said. "Are you all right?"

"Does it look like we're all right?" Draco muttered. Honestly, Gryffindors.

"You're - you're bleeding," Granger stammered. Draco nodded drowsily.

"Myeah, 'sallright," he said, starting to slide down further on the wall.

"No - wait, I don't think you should - Madam Pomfrey said you can't give in, it doesn't help - Malfoy! Stay awake!"

It seemed that she was worried about something, Draco thought distantly, but it was hard to figure out what, when everything was getting blurrier and the world was narrowing down to nothing but himself, Potter, and the blessed oblivion calling to them...

"Malfoy! Harry!" Granger's voice was taking on an edge of panic. She poked Draco in the shoulder and he gasped with pain and opened his eyes. What the hell was her problem?

"Draco? Draco!" Pansy's frantic voice was coming from somewhere, probably she'd been in the Potions classroom already when they'd gone down, but damn it he couldn't tell where she was now-

"Malfoy!" Oh thank god, that was Pomfrey's voice. "All right, come on. Get up, back to the hospital for you."

"He can't, they're exhausted, they can't even stand up any more-" Granger was babbling.

"What are you all gawking at?" Draco dimly heard Pansy's voice rising stridently. "Do none of you have business elsewhere? Goyle-"

"Everybody MOVE!" Goyle bellowed, and Draco felt the whispering and rustling of many bodies moving off. "Stupid firsties - GO! Fuck OFF!"

"Everybody but Granger, Parkinson, Weasley and Goyle, back to your classrooms!" Pomfrey shouted.

"What's wrong with them?" Pansy demanded.

"What's wrong with them is they need to come to the hospital again and they don't need a lot of nosy busybodies about - no I'm not talking about you Miss Parkinson, Merlin's beard - you two, help them up-" and Draco's arm burst into flame as somebody who wasn't Potter touched him - "Yes, I know, it hurts them, there's no help for it and it'll keep them awake - Mr. Potter, you're going to have to get up - yes, I know that hurts a lot more, that's just too bad-"

Draco tried to keep from crying out as Goyle hoisted him up and slung his arm over his shoulders. His whole side was on fire, and he couldn't stop the small gasps of pain, he was burning up-

"The quicker you get there, the quicker you can get away from them. Let's go, then," Pomfrey said briskly, and Draco wondered if there was any way of getting his father to have her fired as soon as he was better, for treating them like little boys who were just being difficult when the truth was that they were faced with a choice between the agony of trying to walk and the agony of having Weasley and Goyle practically carry them.

"That's hurting him!" Pansy was saying shrilly. "Can't you levitate him there?"

"For that you need a full-body bind and the Healer wants to avoid that if at all possible," Pomfrey said. "Mr. Malfoy, when you get to the hospital wing, you will be able to sit and not touch anybody. Now. Move."

Sit. Not touch. Anybody. Except the one person who could make him feel even marginally better. That was worth making the effort to push through the pain and dizziness.

Not that he really had any other choice.

ooooooo

Hermione tensed and moved closer to Harry as Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy strode into the hospital wing. Wishing she could touch Harry, let him know that even though he didn't have parents to visit him, there were people who loved him gathered near him. She and Ron had been at his bedside for hours. Earlier in the day, Neville and Ginny and a host of other students and professors had come by, until Pomfrey had banned everyone but Ron, Hermione, Pansy Parkinson and Snape from the hospital wing.

Unfortunately, Harry had been in and out of it since arriving at the hospital, and was now mostly unconscious.

Narcissa's hand went over her mouth as she approached Malfoy and looked down at him. Hermione followed her gaze, wondering briefly what it would be like to see him as a mother would - and was immediately appalled. His normally pale face was so void of colour that his eyebrows looked black in comparison. Skin translucent, fragile, almost incorporeal. Breath so soft it seemed almost nonexistent. Hermione glanced up at Lucius Malfoy.

Lucius showed no expression at all.

Hermione turned back to the bed, surprised to see that Malfoy was stirring faintly.

"They said you were still unconscious," Narcissa blurted as he opened his eyes, and hastened to his side, wringing her hands together, plainly wanting to touch him and unable to think of what to do otherwise.

"Yeah..." Malfoy said, his voice distant, focussing on her with difficulty. "Heard you... come in."

"Draco, what happened?"

"On our way to class..." Malfoy trailed off, closing his eyes again, the effort of speaking too draining.

"They had been losing energy steadily for the last few days," Snape spoke up. "They were able to get up this morning, but collapsed before the first class."

"Why were we not informed that the situation was this serious?" Lucius asked, his eyes fixed on his son and his voice dangerously quiet.

"Your son didn't want you to worry," Pomfrey said, waving a couple of chairs close to the hospital bed so that the Malfoys could sit down. "And there was nothing you could do. We were - we are - making all possible efforts to get to the bottom of this and help them."

"What have you discovered so far?" Lucius asked, ignoring the chair, still staring at Malfoy, whose face had turned towards Narcissa's but who otherwise seemed non-responsive.

"We have a few ideas," Pomfrey said. "Healer Esposito and Auror Pantere will have more information for you later." Pomfrey cleared her throat. "Right now, your son needs you. Please sit with him."

"My son is almost unconscious and has little idea that we're here," Lucius spat angrily, fixing her with a glare. "He can barely string together a coherent sentence. I would like to know what is going on."

"You will, once we are all present."

"Who is 'we'?"

"Everybody who's part of this case. We're waiting for Remus Lupin and Professor Dumbledore."

"The werewolf! But-"

"Dad..." Malfoy said faintly, and Hermione started slightly, never having heard him call Lucius anything but Father or Sir. "Please. Just...sit."

Lucius immediately went to his son's side. "Draco, why did not you tell us-"

"Lucius, this is not the time," Narcissa said quietly. "Draco...how are you feeling?"

"Like hell," Malfoy said faintly, his grey eyes clouded.

"Well, we're here. We're here, sweetheart," she said, her eyes filling with tears.

"Oh shit, Mum, don't," he said weakly, looking away from her, his brow furrowing. "Don't-" he turned away from her, burying his face against Harry's shoulder, breathing deeply to calm himself, and Narcissa nodded and blinked her eyes rapidly, wiping away her tears. Lucius took the chair that had been drawn for him, his cool gaze sweeping over the people gathered around Harry and Malfoy, dismissing Hermione and Ron and focussing on Parkinson and Snape.

"Why did you not inform me of the severity of his condition?" he asked Snape, keeping his voice low.

"I didn't know the extent of what was going on until today. I had assumed that the situation was under control-"

"You were supposed to be monitoring him."

Snape nodded soberly. "I should have been more vigilant. I apologize."

"The Gryffindors knew," Parkinson said coldly. "They didn't see fit to inform anybody else, though."

Lucius and Narcissa both fixed Hermione and Ron with their stares, and Hermione felt Ron surreptitiously take her hand.

"And what did you do about it?"

"The Healer had said that they should be kept awake as much as possible," Hermione said. "We tried, but-"

"Why didn't you say anything to Draco's friends?" Parkinson asked angrily. "We could have helped-"

"We were doing everything we could," Ron said.

"Just the two of you?" she sneered. "Maybe if you'd had help, you could've-"

"There were six of us!"

"Six?" Parkinson pounced. "All Gryffindors, I presume? You didn't think Draco's friends were worthy of even being told-"

"Listen, Malfoy didn't-"

"Didn't want to worry you," Hermione cut in quickly. "I don't think either of them realized just how bad things were getting."

Lucius fixed her with an unnervingly calculating gaze, and she squeezed Ron's hand again, trying to communicate to him that he should really not open his mouth again. Then Lucius' attention fixed on his son, and Hermione wished she could tell what he was thinking. Was he annoyed that Malfoy had tried to hide the severity of his condition from everybody? Pleased that he had been properly mistrustful of his fellow Slytherins? Angry that apparently he'd confided in Gryffindors?

"What have the Healers said?" Narcissa asked quietly. "What's causing this? All we were told was that their bond seemed to be causing them fatigue."

"Erm..." Ron began. "Well...they, they - when, um-"

"They feel tired after sex," Hermione broke in bluntly.

Parkinson rolled her eyes. "Well who doesn't?" she said impatiently. "What does that-"

"No, they feel too tired. And resting doesn't help them in the long run. It just keeps getting worse and worse. That's why we were trying to keep them awake."

"So why are they being allowed to sleep now?"

"This is as alert as they've been able to get. The Healer and Madam Pomfrey have been dosing them with everything they can think of, casting every charm that might help-"

"Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy?" Pomfrey called. "We're ready here." She gestured to the small hospital wing office, where Remus Lupin was being ushered in.

Lucius curled his lip in distaste. "Ah yes, the werewolf has seen fit to make an appearance." He stood up, gestured to Narcissa and Snape to join him.

"No, Lucius, I want to stay here," Narcissa said, not taking her eyes off of her son. He nodded and turned towards the office, stopping in surprise as Hermione stood up and Snape stepped back to allow her to precede them into the office.

"What-"

"Miss Granger is coming to the meeting," Snape said neutrally. Lucius raised a disdainful eyebrow.

"How lucky Mr. Potter is," he said mockingly. "Absent Muggles, a werewolf, and an adolescent girl as his parental figures."

"I'm not here as a parental figure," Hermione said evenly. "I've been working with the Healer doing research, and I've been asked to join her in presenting what we've discovered so far."

Hermione firmly told herself that it was utterly inappropriate for her to indulge in even a moment's gloating or thrill of vindictive pleasure at the completely outraged expressions on Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy's faces.

ooooooo

Day 36, Tuesday

"Sir, you can't-" Pantere was saying urgently the next day, as she and Esposito followed Lucius and a small man in Healer's robes into the hospital wing. Ron, Narcissa, and Snape looked up.

"We're taking him home," Lucius told Narcissa curtly.

"What?" Ron and Snape said simultaneously as Narcissa nodded nervously and slowly stood up.

"Mr. Malfoy-" Esposito began.

"Stand aside," Lucius said to Pantere as she stepped between the new Healer and Malfoy's bedside.

"You are not going to remove this boy from school grounds," Esposito said. "He needs to be here where we can help him-"

"He is not safe in this school," Lucius said coolly. "So far this year, Draco has been cursed, landed in the hospital because nobody was monitoring to make sure he and Potter didn't do anything stupid, almost got killed in a fight, and he is now dying because of a curse that nobody seems to know how to cure." He drew himself up. "Our family can afford Healers who will be able to deal with this situation far better anybody has so far. I am taking him home."

"You can't take him without Potter," Pomfrey said, joining them at Harry and Malfoy's bedside. Ron gulped and stood up, drawing his wand to defend Harry if Lucius tried anything funny.

Lucius gave Pomfrey a look of withering contempt. "I will of course bring Mr. Potter along as well."

"There is no way that you will be permitted to take Harry Potter to your home, Mr. Malfoy," Pantere said calmly. "You must know that. The outstanding charges against you alone would be sufficient to-"

"I will petition the Wizangemot to-"

"You will make us waste valuable time fighting in court instead of trying to cure them or trying to find out who did this to them."

Harry stirred and Ron quickly drew closer to him, losing the thread of the discussion as he and Pomfrey quickly determined that Harry was awake and aware of his surroundings. What ruddy awful timing, thought Ron. Waking up to Lucius Malfoy wanting to move you to Death Eater Central.

"What's going on?" Harry whispered.

"Nothing, just Malfoy's father's being a pillock. Don't worry about it."

"Be reasonable, Lucius-" Snape was saying, and Lucius narrowed his eyes at him and changed tactics abruptly.

"Very well, then. He will go to St. Mungo's. Surely that counts as reasonable?"

"He is staying here. They are both staying here," Pomfrey said firmly.

"You have no authority to keep Draco here. He is an adult. If he were conscious, he would choose where to go, and he would choose to go to St. Mungo's."

"I wouldn't," Harry said faintly.

Lucius ignored him. "There is no reason they cannot both be taken to St. Mungo's-"

"Other than the fact that your private Healers will try to slip in all sorts of Dark magic that they couldn't get past the wards at Hogwarts," Pomfrey said coldly. "What are they ready to use? Unicorn blood? Phoenix hearts? Anything else that'll save their lives at a price that Potter at least wouldn't want to pay?"

"Be silent," Lucius said dangerously.

"You can't take me to St. Mungo's," Harry said weakly, sitting up slightly.

"I can take my son," Lucius finally acknowledged Harry. "Whether you choose to come or not is no concern of mine."

"But it is a concern for Draco, Lucius," Snape said urgently. "If you take him away from Potter-"

"There are ways of getting around their bond," Lucius said. Ron glanced at Esposito in surprise as she nodded calmly, as though she'd expected this.

"Mr. Malfoy," Esposito said with forced patience. "Most people do not even know that such a thing is possible, and for good reason. Such a step is only appropriate where spouses are in mortal peril-"

"Which is precisely the case here."

"'Mortal peril' means 'about to die'. Hanging off a cliff or something like that. Not receiving medical care that you have decided is inadequate. It is almost never attempted, because even with the best precautions it too often results in the death of one or both spouses."

"It can be done," Lucius repeated stubbornly.

"Yes, it can. It will almost certainly kill Mr. Potter and may very well kill both of them."

"So may staying here. I will take that chance."

"That chance may kill both of them," Pantere broke in. "But maybe that's what you want?"

"What?"

"Our working theory right now is that this curse was cast by a Death Eater, to kill Mr. Potter. Wouldn't it be convenient if your actions were to cause that death? And you could successfully argue that you only did it to save your son."

"How dare you?"

"And would it matter that that puts your own son in danger?"

Lucius seemed speechless.

"Stop it," Harry said wearily. "He can hear you."

"What?" Pantere glanced at Harry and Malfoy in puzzlement.

"They've both reported during lucid moments that they can sometimes hear what's going on around them even when they can't respond," Pomfrey explained to Pantere. "We don't know if he can hear or understand what you are saying to his father right now. I won't have you upsetting my patient by accusing his father of being prepared to murder him."

"And I will not dignify that accusation with a response," Lucius added. "I am taking my son to St. Mungo's now."

"You cannot say for certain that Draco would choose to go there if he could," Pantere said.

"Draco is unconscious; he cannot make decisions for himself. I am his father, and I say-"

"You're not his next of kin," Harry said slowly, "I am."

There was a long silence.

Ron swallowed hard and moved closer to Harry's side. Harry had said once that he was fairly sure that Lucius Malfoy was going to Avada Kedavra him in anger many years ago, when he'd tricked him into freeing Dobby. Seeing his face right now, Ron could certainly believe it. And Harry was totally defenceless right now.

Actually, not totally defenceless. Besides the people surrounding him, ready to stand between him and Lucius, the stunning irony was that Harry's best protection against Lucius Malfoy right now was bloody Draco Malfoy himself.

"He is right, Mr. Malfoy," Pomfrey finally said. "You are no longer the person with the right to decide what happens to your son when he is unable to speak for himself. Potter is."

"This is ridiculous. It's not even a proper bond-"

"That doesn't matter."

"I am going to take my son to a place where he can be helped-"

"No," Harry said very faintly. "He's not going."

"You know he would want to."

"He can't say so right now," Harry said, and Ron wondered whether Harry thought Malfoy would choose to stay or go if he could. He supposed it didn't really matter.

"I will petition the Wizen-"

"Lucius...we can't win this one," Narcissa said softly. "I...I don't like this any more than you do, but I think..."

Lucius stared at his wife speechlessly, then at his son. His throat worked as he visibly struggled to resign himself to the situation.

"Very well," he finally said. "Then I will use our family's resources to try to find the caster of the spell. Narcissa, stay here in case he wakes up, so that you can ask him where he wants to be. Be prepared to take him immediately. And I expect you," he nodded at Snape, "to stay as well, as a witness." He glanced at the Healer he'd brought in, jerked his head towards the door, turned on his heel and swept out of the room without a backward glance, the Healer close behind him.

Narcissa Malfoy sat down, trembling, and Snape touched her arm.

"Narcissa?"

"He's - he doesn't-" and Narcissa clamped her mouth shut and shook her head, obviously not willing to talk candidly in front of Ron or Harry. Snape's gaze flickered from Ron to Harry, and he frowned. Ron followed his glance.

"Harry..." Ron said softly, shaking his head. Harry had slipped back into sleep again.

ooooooo

Day 38, Thursday

Hermione leaned her head on her hand wearily as Esposito talked, and hoped she looked more confident than she felt. Glanced at the people she'd been working with for the last three days: Esposito, Pomfrey, Lupin, Snape, Narcissa Malfoy, and two Healers the Malfoys had brought in. Except for Narcissa Malfoy, they all looked fairly sure of themselves. Hermione realized that she'd probably never trust another Healer again, knowing they could be this good at dissembling. There was no reason for them to look self-confident at all. None of them had any idea that what they were proposing was going to work; they had simply run out of time to come up with anything else.

The last three days had been exhausting and nerve-wrecking, with Healers and Aurors working at an increasingly frantic pace as Harry and Malfoy slipped further and further down, their waking periods steadily less frequent and less lucid, until they were barely breathing on their own and the Healers judged that, without a counter-spell, all the life-sustaining spells and potions in the world wouldn't keep them alive for another day.

And, since Pantere and the other Aurors had made almost no progress tracking down the caster of the spell, the group working on counter-spells and potions were being forced to try the counter-spell they'd developed, which was as close as they could get to a solution. Which was not nearly close enough.

The spell they'd developed was complex and couldn't be done by only one person; it would depend in large part on the emotions and memories and magical power of a group of people casting it together. Thirteen, Professor Vector had said after lengthy Arithmantic study. Five who were close to Harry, five close to Malfoy, and three 'neutral' parties. Hence this meeting, to explain the counter-spell to the people who had been selected to perform it and who had not been part of its development. A group that was sadly deficient in proper balances and strengths. Parents for Malfoy, but none for Harry. Close, trusted and proven friends for Harry; Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini for Malfoy, neither one of whom Hermione would trust with a Galleon, let alone Harry's - or even Malfoy's - life.

Even his parents couldn't be trusted, thought Hermione as she stared at Lucius Malfoy's expressionless face. They didn't even know how Lucius would react to their proposed spell, considering what Malfoy had done two days ago.

Hermione hadn't been there to see Lucius' reaction; she'd only seen Narcissa's. During one of the last times he'd been awake, Narcissa had spoken to Malfoy for a long time, quietly and more gently than Hermione ever suspected she could speak, explaining what was going on, and had finally asked him whether he wanted to be taken to St. Mungo's. Malfoy's expression had been impossible to read. He'd gazed at Harry, asleep next to him, for a long time before silently shaking his head. And Hermione had wished she could've known why he'd decided to stay; whether he was afraid of leaving Harry, or genuinely didn't want to, or whether he just didn't trust his father. There was no way to tell.

Narcissa had merely nodded, gently telling her son, "It's all right. I'll explain it to your father. Don't worry." And Hermione couldn't help but sense that Narcissa was relieved, for all that she looked nervous about breaking the news to her husband.

Lucius had not been back since. And they had no idea what he'd say to their proposal now. And without him...

Harry's life, depending on the good will of Lucius Malfoy. It was painfully ironic.

Not to mention also depending on the good will of Narcissa Malfoy, Snape, Zabini and Parkinson. A more unlikely set of saviours for the Boy Who Lived could not have been put together if they'd tried. Hermione looked away from Parkinson's hard stare as the Healer explained that they thought they were dealing with an Unbalancing Curse that disrupted a natural magical balance of opposites. In this case, Life and Death. Sex, a strong conduit of Life Magic, was somehow being twisted to bring about Death Magic. The natural balance between the two was being thrown off, and the only thing they could think to counter that imbalance was to flood it out with balance.

"You all know that a Dementor, which feeds on negative feelings and emotions, is fought off by the magical power of good memories and joy," Esposito was explaining. "In the same manner, we are hoping that the animating part of this curse, which feeds off of imbalance, will be fought off by the power of balance. And in order to provide the balance, we need you. We've chosen seven balanced pairs of magical elements, and we will need you to provide the magic and memories to invoke them." Esposito paused for a moment, looking around the room, gauging her audience's receptiveness so far.

"You all know that group casting is difficult and draining, and requires a great deal of trust. There are a few risks, mostly related to the dangers of dealing with uncommonly strong magic and getting caught in a backlash if a member of the circle fails. As well, you will each be closely linked to one other member of the circle and that can feel... uncomfortable. Intrusive, and disconcerting. Moreover, when a spell requires strong emotions and memories for the casting, there is always some...well, leakage, among the group of casters. A sort of involuntary Legilimency will take place. That will no doubt be difficult to deal with, as you catch glimpses of the memories of the other members of the circle, and know that they can catch glimpses of your own.

"We know that we are asking for a great deal from each of you. We also know that, because of the nature of this group, many of you have unfortunate histories with one another, and much reason to be hesitant about exposing yourselves and your memories to each other. But this is the best chance these two young men have of being freed from their curse. We wouldn't ask it if there was any other choice."

She paused and cleared her throat. "One other thing. If you agree to be part of this, each of you will have to agree to be questioned under Veritaserum to make sure that you have no knowledge of who cast this curse. I will take Veritaserum myself, and then I will conduct the questioning." She looked steadily at Lucius as she spoke. "And I will also ask Lucius Malfoy and Albus Dumbledore to join me during the questioning, after they have gone under Veritaserum themselves."

Lucius' eyebrows went up but he remained otherwise impassive.

"You have three hours to decide and prepare yourselves, before we begin teaching the spell to the group. If you decide not to participate, please let us know as soon as possible, so that we may replace you."

Hermione gulped. There were no real viable replacements for Malfoy's side. If any of them decided not to participate, the only other possibilities were Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, neither of whom was strong magically, and both of whom had a relationship with Malfoy that more closely resembled that of bodyguards and servants than true friends. And if one of Malfoy's own parents backed out...

Damn those Slytherin poker faces. There was no way to tell what Lucius or Parkinson or Zabini were thinking. Narcissa and Snape were committed; Narcissa had said as much. But as for the other three...

ooooooo

"He will not forgive us for this, Narcissa," Lucius said flatly.

The conversation had not started off promisingly to say the least, Snape thought as he and Narcissa traded a look. Snape inclined his head at her, indicating that she should start.

"Lucius, we have to."

"The Healers don't even know that this will work."

"I've been there while they've been developing it. It has as much chance of working as anything does."

"Which is not much," Lucius said bitterly.

"It's the best chance he'll get."

"Using their methods."

"We don't have a choice," she said reasonably. "They are prejudiced against the sorts of methods we could use."

"And we cannot change their minds. You know that, Lucius," Snape said. "There is no chance of Dumbledore or Esposito or anybody else in that room agreeing to what your Healers suggested."

"The risks-"

"I know," Snape interrupted wearily. "The negative effect of unicorn blood as a life-extender has been exaggerated by mealy-mouthed cowards. There are no negative effects associated with using phoenix hearts, except to the damned birds themselves. Trying to turn the curse back upon its caster without knowing the identity of the caster is not nearly as dangerous as the hypocrites in that room claim." He took a deep breath. "But you will not be able to convince them of that. Not in time to save Draco."

Lucius shook his head. "Had you fought them when Draco said he wanted to stay here - the Healer herself said that he was just confused-"

"Yes, we all know he was," said Snape soothingly, knowing no such thing but knowing that the only way Lucius could deal with his son's choice was to pretend Draco hadn't understood what he was doing. "But you know we had no chance of being able to take him away once he chose to stay. Confused or not, his decision stands. Even if it didn't, that would only mean that we'd have to follow Potter's wishes instead."

"He was just as addled-"

"He didn't look it," Narcissa reminded him. "He looked and sounded lucid."

"As far as that insufferable boy could ever look lucid," Snape muttered.

"You didn't even try to convince Draco to change his mind," Lucius accused Narcissa.

"I couldn't, not with others there."

"You couldn't because you were relieved that he'd decided to stay," Lucius said grimly.

Snape tensed, abruptly wishing very much that he were somewhere else, anywhere else, where he wouldn't have to be here to witness an argument between the Malfoys.

Narcissa swallowed hard, then took a deep breath and met her husband's eyes nervously. "Y-yes, I was. I don't think you're thinking enough about Draco. I..." Her jaw trembled but she steadied herself and went on. "I think you're placing too high a priority on what the Dark Lord will think. You should be more concerned with your own son's welfare."

"I was. I am. You are worried about the danger of trying to break his bond; have you stopped to think of the danger of him remaining bound to our Lord's mortal enemy? I amthinking of his welfare-" Lucius' voice broke and he immediately pressed his lips together and turned away from them.

Snape looked away, uncomfortable at witnessing Lucius' fear finally breaking through his façade of calm, cold disregard. Waited for him to pull himself together, knowing that Lucius would not forgive either of them if they pressed him to speak before he'd collected himself. Because a Malfoy did not show doubts or fears, not even when his only son was at death's door.

Damn Lucius anyway, thought Snape impatiently. It was past time for him to remember that he was a father before he was a Malfoy, for once in his life.

Privately Snape had often thought that Lucius, whatever his talents at business, politics and magic, was a piss-poor parent. His combination of ludicrous spoiling, emotional neglect, and unthinkable harshness towards Draco had produced a boy who had far more in common with Potter than any of them cared to admit. Much brighter, but with the same arrogant assumption that everything would be arranged to his liking, because most things were. And, like Potter, utterly lacking in self-discipline and character. Not fit, in any way, to eventually become the head of a powerful wizarding family, or to lead anybody in the wizarding world - any more than Potter was fit to lead anybody into battle against Voldemort. A useless, spoiled boy, quickly becoming a useless, spoiled young man, with a host of insecurities covered by rudeness and meanness. As much as Snape cared for the boy, he couldn't blind himself to his many faults.

And Lucius, most of the time, didn't seem to give a damn. Whenever he wasn't showing ridiculous pride or utter contempt for his son, he showed absolute disinterest, and devoted himself to more interesting pursuits such as being Voldemort's right hand.

And now here he was. Forced to take an interest in Draco in order to save his life. And he couldn't even do that without tying it in to Voldemort somehow.

Snape lowered his eyes as Lucius finally turned around again, his control visibly fragile. Because poor parent though he was, he did love his son, in his own inadequate way. He was worried. It was killing him. He was more angry and frustrated and scared than Snape could ever remember him being.

Lucius spoke quietly but intensely to Narcissa. "The only protection Draco has as long as he's bonded to Potter is us. We need to stay in the Dark Lord's graces, for Draco's sake. And you know he will not forgive us for this. Harry Potter is dying, and we are going to enter into a healing circle to save him? Not to mention risk divulging secrets about the Dark Lord and his followers? There is no way that we can take that step without it being seen as betrayal."

"You don't have much of a choice if you want Draco to live," Snape said bluntly, and Lucius looked away, nervously chewing on his lip as Snape hadn't seen him do since he was a young man.

"Does participating in this spell not pose a problem for you as well, Severus?" Narcissa asked.

"My instructions are to take part in whatever heroics are demanded of me. I will of course try to get as much information as I can about the others during the spell, although I doubt there will be anything there that I don't already know. But it will be a good opportunity to see if I can get anything new out of Potter. And possibly Dumbledore as well."

"That doddering old fool will be trying to do the same with Draco," Lucius said. "With all of us, probably."

"I doubt it. He's a noble Gryffindor," Narcissa said scornfully.

"He's as devious as any Slytherin," Snape said. "That's probably why he hates us so much. And he will be trying to probe our minds, I think. If he can."

"I find it unbelievable that he was suggested as one of the 'neutral' participants," Lucius said. "Everybody knows how he feels about Potter."

"There wasn't anybody else," Narcissa said wearily. "We tried, Lucius." She touched his arm and he drew away. She cleared her throat. "In any case, he won't get much useful information about us from Draco," she said reasonably. "And our thoughts won't be as visible as his; it's mostly Draco's mind that will be laid bare for the others to see."

"Yes, 'the others'," Lucius repeated scornfully. "Mudbloods and Weasleys and werewolves."

"A Mudblood and a Weasley and a werewolf are going to save your son's life, Lucius," Snape said bluntly. "Distasteful as the idea may be, you may as well accept it. And be grateful that it's only one of the Weasleys; the youngest daughter was a candidate for Potter's side, as were Weasleys Senior, standing in as Potter's parents."

"I also don't trust that Zabini child," Lucius said.

"He has to be there," Narcissa said. "We need people with precognitive gifts, and unfortunately the only ones with even a glimmer of them are Blaise, Dumbledore and Pomfrey. And even they aren't strong enough in the Sight to really be Seers."

"And his family has never definitively allied itself to the Dark Lord," said Snape. "They're less likely to object to him participating in the spell."

"What about Parkinson's daughter? Her family has always stood with ours, but Draco didn't tell her how close he was to collapse."

"Draco trusts her... as much as he can trust anybody," Snape said.

"We did consider Crabbe or Goyle," Narcissa said, "But they're not terribly powerful magically. And we weren't sure their fathers would allow them."

"They would, if I told them to," Lucius said. He narrowed his eyes. "They would. Actually, one of them could take my place; it would be perfectly understandable for one of them to want to help a school friend, and we could tell the Dark Lord that by substituting one of them for me, we thought the spell might not work-"

"We could tell him that because it's true. They aren't powerful enough. Without you in the circle, Draco will die," Narcissa said desperately. "Lucius... we don't have anybody else. This spell needs people with strong ties to both of them to work. If Blaise or Pansy back out, we might be able to replace them with another friend of Draco's. But if you do... you and I have the strongest ties to Draco. The circle is already in danger of not being powerful enough because Potter doesn't have parents to join in, to provide the kind of strength we have. We can't lose you."

"You must decide, Lucius," Snape broke in brusquely. "It is literally your son or your Lord. And you are running out of time."

ooooooo

"I will bring each of you in, one at a time," Esposito told them calmly some hours later in a large room in the Astronomy Tower, as all thirteen gathered in two circles around Malfoy and Harry, the inner circle composed of Esposito, Pomfrey and Dumbledore, the outer one composed of the ten other members. "You will speak the ritual words and concentrate on creating a strong circle, paying special attention to the person you are partnered with. Once the circles are steady, we will attempt the balancing spell and you will concentrate on the paired elements as we name them. Are you ready?"

They all nodded. No more time for last-minute checks to see if they were doing this right. No more time to second-guess themselves, move anybody around, rearrange the pairings. This would either work, or it wouldn't.

Esposito lifted her wand and began the process, bringing Pomfrey and Dumbledore's magic into a circle with her, thin streams of light joining their wands together.

"Speak your name," Esposito told Hermione. Hermione took a quick breath and cleared her mind, lifted her wand and fleetingly wished that her previous experience with group spells had been just a little more extensive than a few simple water-controlling tricks in sixth-year Charms and a few collaborative spells in an extracurricular Musical Magic class two years ago.

"I am Hermione Granger and I join my magic to yours," she said. A thin stream of light came from her wand and slowly drifted towards the light from Esposito's wand.

"Speak your name."

"I am Pansy Parkinson," said the voice next to Hermione, and Hermione didn't turn to look at her as she concentrated on Esposito's wand. "And I join my magic to yours."

Concentrate, Hermione told herself as the names went on and more lights were joined. Minerva McGonagall. Blaise Zabini. Ron Weasley...

"Speak your name," said Esposito, her voice betraying not the slightest bit of trepidation as the trickiest part of the spell casting began.

"I am Narcissa Malfoy and I join my magic to yours," Malfoy's mother said softly, and Hermione steeled herself as Narcissa's light joined the circle, then slowly connected, with a slight... tug... to Hermione's light. Hermione felt an odd connection to Narcissa, her partner in the circle. Felt her nervousness, her hesitancy. Her discomfort.

Was this what it had felt like for Harry to find himself bound to Malfoy? This uneasy awareness of somebody else's thoughts and emotions inside your head? This unpleasant sensation of being connected to somebody you found distasteful? Hermione could almost touch Narcissa's instinctive disgust, almost see word 'Mudblood' floating in space between them.

It felt incredibly strange. But the link was holding. It was working.

One pairing down, four more to go.

"I am Neville Longbottom and I join my magic to yours," said Neville nervously, and his light joined the circle and then, after an agonizing pause, joined Parkinson's, their connection weak and unclear, but there.

Two down. Severus Snape joined McGonagall, Remus Lupin joined Zabini, and then...

"I am Lucius Malfoy and I join my magic to yours," the cold voice beside Hermione said, and Hermione closed her eyes, unwilling to see Ron's pale face as he braced for their magic to be joined, feeling Narcissa's almost frantic struggle to remain calm as they all waited for the last connection to be made.

And waited.

Waited.

Hermione opened her eyes, met Ron's across the circle, saw that he was concentrating with all his strength on the web of light, a bead of sweat trickling into one eye, silently mouthing something, and she could feel him trying to reach for Lucius, to bring him in to the circle...

And Lucius wasn't coming. This was going to fail before it had even begun, because Lucius Malfoy wouldn't - or couldn't - join into a circle of his enemies, not even to save his son's life.

Panic was starting to flow through to Hermione from Narcissa, and she desperately tried to steady them both.

Please, please, please, she found herself thinking, please, don't let this fail, please, please...

Esposito moved the inner circle, shifting them slightly so that Lucius had a clear view of Malfoy and Harry, and Hermione couldn't help the small gasp escaping her. They both looked so fragile. The lights and shadows from the wands flickered over their pale features as they slept on, oblivious to the world around them. Harry's glasses gone, his scar sharp against his forehead. Malfoy's lips slightly parted, his eyes deeply shadowed. He sighed, turned his face slightly towards Harry, drawn to him even at this late stage of their decline.

Hermione heard a deep breath from beside her, and a steady stream of light slowly arced from Lucius Malfoy across the circle, finally connecting to Ron's light.

"We are a circle," Esposito intoned calmly, "and we call upon ancient magic, magic of balance, of the harmony of the earth. We call upon ancient magic to right what is wrong, to bring balance to chaos."

"We call upon joy and upon sorrow," Dumbledore said, and Hermione closed her eyes again, thinking as hard she could about both, and was suddenly completely thrown off as a dizzying array of images came hurtling towards her.

Oh, this was a lot harder than she'd thought it would be, she thought with dismay. Somehow she had to keep her thoughts clear and make her own balance, think of some of her most joyous and most miserable memories. Like a Patronus, only twice as hard. And not think about the images that were leaking through the circle to her, most of them fragmentary and distractingly difficult to pin down.

That young man sadly watching Mandy Brocklehurst walk away from him, that had to be Neville, last year. And that cell in Azkaban - that had to be a memory from Lucius. But the small blond boy, laughing in delight as his father spun him around - was that Malfoy? And was it a memory from Malfoy himself, or from one of his parents?

And the Seeker in green and silver, holding a Quidditch Cup high - who was that? It certainly wasn't Draco or Lucius Malfoy, or any Slytherin Hermione knew; it looked like a girl, and the robes were of a very old design, straight from Hogwarts: A History.

A teenage boy lying on a bed, his room in squalor around him, disinterestedly chewing on something and dropping its wrapper onto the floor, an ache in his chest and the image of Sirius Black falling into a shimmering veil replaying in his mind over and over again - that was Harry, no question. Probably not a memory that he would've wanted to share with the rest of them, but Harry didn't have any control over what images his mind came up with right now, any more than he did during dreams.

And there was a small child, hiding where his father couldn't find him, because he wasn't supposed to be crying, because a Malfoy didn't cry over something as silly as having his pet kneazle Crucioed in front of him, especially if he deserved it, because he couldn't learn how to make the doors open and close using his magic, and a Malfoy was supposed to be good at this kind of thing-

That was probably nothing that any of the Malfoys had wanted anybody to see. Hermione tried to clear her thoughts, pushing her own images of joy and sorrow to the front of her mind, trying to see only them. The day Ron had first told her he loved her. The day she'd received a letter telling her that her grandmother was dead, and realized she hadn't seen her in years, because she'd been too busy with school and had left the Muggle world behind. Her own memories, vivid and real and balanced out.

"We call upon light and upon dark," Pomfrey said, the formal words sounding odd in her no-nonsense voice, and Hermione breathed in deeply, prepared for the onslaught of images from the others this time. A flash of light from Harry's wand as a shining stag-shaped Patronus sprang into being, and the darkness of the third-floor corridor during her first year; those were her memories. A brilliant sunlit sky over the lake, seen from a broom - that was probably Harry's. But whose image was that, of a small sallow-skinned boy hiding in a totally dark room, cold and hungry and afraid, listening to his parents scream at each other and not daring to emerge? And whose image was that, of tousled black hair next to almost-white, so close together? It was from the Gryffindor boys' dorm, and the memory itself was most probably Harry and Malfoy, sleeping, so it had to come from Neville or Ron, but she couldn't tell which one.

"We call upon male and upon female," Esposito intoned, and Hermione thought of her mother and father and sighed gratefully upon realizing that almost all the thoughts she was aware of were of people's parents. Although Snape's parents... what an unattractive couple. And the stunning black woman who closely resembled Blaise Zabini was... disturbing. Her image kept flickering between her face, and that of a black widow spider.

A particularly handsome young man in Quidditch robes, broom in hand, smiled indulgently and chucked a vivacious, adoring first year girl under the chin - and Hermione suppressed a hysterical giggle as she realized that the girl strongly resembled Professor McGonagall. McGonagall's first crush. Well. That was unexpected.

And there was Hermione herself, at the first Yule Ball she'd attended, with Viktor Krum - oh. That was Ron's memory. The first time, he'd admitted once, that he'd ever really noticed that she was a girl.

"We call upon past and upon future," Dumbledore said, and Hermione recalled one of her earliest memories, her parents swinging her between them on a beach, her tiny feet barely touching the waves. And she gulped at an image of Bellatrix Lestrange, young and coldly beautiful, sneering at a girl who looked a lot like Tonks. Narcissa's sister Andromeda, presumably. A pint-sized Draco pulled a mini-Pansy's hair, and Pansy waved a stick at him and yelled Crucio to no effect, then hit him with the stick, with somewhat more satisfying results. A serious young man talked to a teacher on a staircase, about Hogwarts closing and having no place else to go. Who was that? And whose memory was it?

The future - that was a little harder, but she opened her mind to whatever images chanced to come from the three members of their circle with any kind of precognitive powers. Blurry, confusing images. Laughter that sounded like Ron's, but somehow deeper. A hallway into a nursery, a dark-skinned child sleeping in a crib. A Quidditch field, quick flash of a smile that looked like Harry's, and eyes that looked oddly familiar, sparkling with humour and affection. A Dark Mark in the sky.

She shuddered, firmly keeping the link going, trying not to dwell on the fact that she could feel Narcissa recoiling from that Mark.

"We call upon pain and upon pleasure," said Pomfrey.

A purple flame from a Death Eater's wand passed across Hermione's chest, and she went down at the Department of Mysteries, pain splitting her open. Narcissa Malfoy groaned in pain, so vivid Hermione's eyes popped open - but Narcissa was still standing across the circle, eyes closed, face blank, her groans only a memory. Hermione closed her eyes again, hearing whispered encouragement from a birthing-witch, "The pain is good, there is powerful magic for women who have endured the pain of childbirth, there is power here for women, power that men can't even dream of..."

Then incredible pleasure as Narcissa held Draco for the first time.

Incredible pleasure as Neville first kissed Mandy Brocklehurst.

Two trembling boys in bloodstained shirts, hesitantly kissing for the first time in the sitting room next to Dumbledore's office, quickly becoming overwhelmed with each other, and Hermione wondered which one of them was remembering that one. And - oh. A somewhat more private moment, again one that neither one would ever want to broadcast to anybody, let alone a group that included parents and teachers, but there it was, and Hermione dazedly blocked out the sound of waves crashing on a shore as Draco drew Harry closer, encouraging him - oh, god, Hermione firmly turned her mind away with a wrench and tried instead to concentrate on something else, surely there was somebody with a more appropriate memory floating out there-

But not the one that slammed into her next with stunning force - two of them, actually, Dark Marks cutting and burning into flesh, shrieks of agony torn from two throats, and she dimly recognized a much younger Severus Snape and Lucius Malfoy, and shuddered to think that either could follow somebody who could do something like that to them-

And another scream as human flesh turned into fur, and bones cracked and stretched and fangs descended-

A different kind of scream, as Pansy Parkinson arched into the embrace of a boy who might have been Anthony Goldstein-

This was quickly spiralling out of control-

"We call upon heat and upon cold," came the rather bizarre intonation from Esposito, and Hermione gratefully recalled what they were doing as she thought of skiing with her parents in the Alps and then of a cup of hot cocoa.

How completely and utterly unreal. From Dark Marks and werewolf transformations and sex to hot cocoa. And Narcissa casually murmuring a cooling spell as she walked through the gardens of a lovely wizarding estate somewhere in India, if the vegetation and the somewhat old-fashioned saris of the witches around her were any indication. And then Narcissa shivering in a courtyard at Azkaban, waiting to be let in to see her husband.

And finally...

"We call upon love and upon hate," Dumbledore said, and Hermione tensed. They had debated whether to use this pair at all, given the volatility of the people who were going to be in the circle, but it was a powerful pairing, and... well... they needed power.

Love. Hermione could think of love easily. Love for her parents, and Ron, and Harry, and her grandmother, and Ginny, and all the Weasleys. And Narcissa of course thought of Draco, and of Lucius, and of people Hermione assumed were her parents. And with a spark of surprise, Hermione felt love from Pomfrey, for the scores and scores of children who had come to her with their aches and pains over the years...

... and a sea of freckles and red hair, well that was hardly a surprise...

... and... a glimpse of the future? Felt like it, anyway. A hard decision to be made, and a young man walked out of a classroom determinedly, pulled in two different directions by love, making his choice...

... and a little boy lived in a closet under the stairs, and felt the hatred and resentment of the people who were supposed to love him, felt the hatred and contempt of a huge boy who pushed and hit and bullied him, and hated them all right back, helpless hatred growing bitter and hard, crying his hatred into his pillow at night, not wanting to feel it but not knowing how to stop it...

... and another boy, gawky and serious, hated a pair of smiling, handsome boys who were just so smooth, so arrogant, the one with the glasses and the one with the rakish grin, his hatred choking him as he watched them laughing together on the lawn...

... and Harry hated Snape, hated him down to his bones, and the feeling was returned tenfold...

... and hatred boiled up, for Snape and for Voldemort, and Hermione knew that was from Ron, and the hatred touched all those who followed Voldemort, and Hermione gasped as Lucius Malfoy's face became the focus of Ron's hatred, for almost taking his sister from him back in second year - oh, god, Ron and Lucius were supposed to be paired in this circle, but now the hatred was being returned, from Lucius towards all Weasleys and blood traitors, and then hatred from Neville to Lucius and Narcissa and Draco, for being related to the woman who'd taken his parents from him, and then from Pansy to Neville for being weak, for being an embarrassment to all purebloods, from Pansy to Hermione for being a Mudblood bitch who hated and mistrusted her, and from Pansy to Harry, for what he was doing to Draco, and Hermione recognized with horror that her own hatred was being drawn out of her and towards Pansy and towards Draco, for hurting Harry, for - images spinning out of control, Harry hating Draco and Draco hating him right back, Harry for things Draco had said about Sirius, about Cedric Diggory, Draco for Harry putting his father into Azkaban, and the lines of light above them crackled and threatened to erupt, how could they have been so stupid, no matter how powerful the pairing of love and hate could be, they shouldn't have risked it, not with this group of people, it was too strong, which was precisely why they'd felt they had to use it but it wasn't controllable, as Harry and Draco hated each other for being tied together, suffocated by one another, reliving the fight in the Great Hall, a window shattering and blood pouring from them both, and Lucius hated Harry for what he was doing to his son, hated him enough to kill-

"NO!" Frantic desperation battered at them all and Hermione recognized Ron's voice, grabbing hold of his hatred and reining it in, for Harry's sake. Quickly backed up by Esposito and Dumbledore and Pomfrey, pushing with him to rein in Lucius Malfoy's rage, for Draco's sake. And just like that, Snape was there too, and Pansy, and then one by one the rest of them were falling in, bringing each other back to the circle, until finally they were all concentrated on Draco and Harry, the two members of the circle with the most reason to hate and the least control over what they were feeling. Hermione pushed away their images of anger and resentment and their desperate desire to get away from one another, replacing them with the images she'd seen in the circle and in the last few weeks, gasping with relief as the memories came flooding in from all sides: Draco and Harry asleep in the Gryffindor boys' dorm; kissing in Dumbledore's office; flying together above the lake; together in their bedroom; Draco kneeling and holding on to Harry in the corridor outside the Potions classroom...

And slowly the crackling lines of magic were dying down, becoming smooth and clear again.

Esposito took a deep breath, and they all gathered themselves, preparing to end the spell.

"I release you, Lucius Malfoy, from the circle," Esposito said quietly, and the light from Lucius' wand slowly died down as he lowered it, breathless and panting, sitting down heavily into the nearest chair and closing his eyes.

"I release you, Remus Lupin, from the circle," she said, and Lupin slowly lowered his wand, his arms trembling. As did Snape and Neville in their turn, Neville leaning against the wall and putting his head back while Snape walked to the window and rested his forehead against it, staring blankly out at the Quidditch pitch.

"I release you, Narcissa Malfoy, from the circle," said Esposito, and Hermione felt her bond to Narcissa shimmer and disappear as the rest of the members of the circle were freed one by one, all of them shaking with the after-effects of the spell, trying to regain their strength. She breathed a sigh of relief as she was finally released and almost fell into Ron's arms, his heartbeat still racing but his arms warm and steady around her.

And then there was nothing more to do. Except wait and see whether or not the spell had worked.

Lucius' POV

The healing circles gathered around Draco and Potter, who lay unconscious in the middle of the room. Lucius took his place in the outer circle, between the bushy-haired Muggle-born and the threadbare werewolf, facing - and about to be partnered with - one of Arthur Weasley's numerous vacant-eyed offspring.

He glanced at the centre of the circle, his view of Draco obstructed by Pomfrey but his view of Potter clear. Harry Potter, the little brat who had been gracelessly defeating the most powerful wizard in the world since babyhood. Luck and the skills of others had saved him time and time again, triumphing against the Dark Lord's brilliance and power. The urge to cast one swift, deadly curse felt like a low burn deep inside Lucius.

If he could only give in to it now, the Dark Lord could rise again.

If he could only think of Potter, and how much he hated him, he could keep his fear for Draco's life from becoming unmanageable.

The spell began and Lucius watched impassively as the three 'neutral' members of the inside circle linked their magic together. Soft lights glowing from all three wands, Esposito's, Pomfrey's and Dumbledore's, slowly coming together and mixing in the middle.

Dumbledore, neutral. The idea would have been laughable if the situation weren't so serious. Serious and infuriating, having to stand near the man without harming him. One of the few things that had kept Lucius warm at nights in Azkaban had been the thought of Dumbledore dead or on his knees before the Dark Lord, his corruption of the wizarding world stopped, and the Malfoys back to where they should be. And here was Lucius, wand in hand, a clear shot at Dumbledore, with Dumbledore's mind and magic fully absorbed by the circle... and Lucius couldn't do a thing but look at Healer Esposito instead in order to not go mad at the thought of his own powerlessness.

Focussing on Esposito instead wasn't terribly soothing either. Not with his seething resentment at the way she had stubbornly refused to consider almost every alternative his Healers had suggested. 'Unethical,' she had said. And 'impractical' and 'possibly dangerous' and 'morally suspect,' she had said, while Draco's life hung in the balance.

The steady Latin incantations from the three in the inner circle seemed adequate to what they were trying to do, repeating the balancing purpose of the spell itself, and they provided a welcome distraction for Lucius as the inner circle brought them all closer to the moment when all of Lucius' careful planning, all his hard work, would be undone. Damn Dumbledore, damn Esposito and Pomfrey by backing him up, damn even Draco for choosing to stay here instead of going to Lucius' Healers in the first place-

No. Draco was ill. Draco hadn't known what he was doing, he wasn't responsible for his decision.

In his condition, Draco wasn't to blame for choosing to trust Esposito more than Lucius' unknown Healers just because those unknown Healers worked for their family. He certainly couldn't be expected to see that Esposito, for all her supposed expertise as a Bonding Spells specialist, was just an old quack with no real backbone, and a disgrace to Slytherin house. As if any self-respecting Slytherin would ever try a solution this stupid when there were perfectly workable alternatives that hadn't even been tested.

At least she was a Slytherin, though. Which gave the circle some sort of balance. Six Gryffindors, six Slytherins, and Pomfrey as the lone Ravenclaw.

He was fixing on irrelevancies like school houses, he realized as inner circle's light grew and steadied. Desperately trying to ignore what was happening. Because it was happening, but he still didn't want to believe it. They were all gathered, and the magic was rising, waiting to draw all of them in, but it felt dreamlike, far away. As though they couldn't really be here, couldn't really be about to do this, such a mismatched group of people, such an unreal situation.

Such a completely unpredictable situation, too. No idea whether the spell would work, no idea whether his son would live or die, no idea what would happen to their family even if this worked. Or what would happen to Draco himself; with the bond having turned Draco into such an obvious liability for Potter, it was only Lucius' loyalty to the Dark Lord that gave Draco any protection at all, and the Dark Lord would be furious at Lucius' outright betrayal. And the easiest way for him to get revenge on Lucius would be to strike him where he was most vulnerable...

The same vulnerability as Harry Potter. There were no words for how much he loathed that boy. There were no words for his rage and bitterness at his own helplessness, no more control over what was going to happen than the lowest Muggle.

He swallowed as the inner circle steadied and the outer began to build.

"I am Hermione Granger and I join my magic to yours," said the Muggle-born, and her light joined the inner circle.

Lucius chewed on his lip, his mind racing despite his every effort to settle it. Every name like a bell tolling for the end of all that he had worked to build, for so many years. Or like a clock, ticking inexorably closer to the end of the future he had envisioned for himself and his family.

Hermione Granger, whose very presence at this school was an outrage.

Pansy Parkinson, a fine pureblooded girl from a good family, who should be disowned for what she was about to do.

Minerva McGonagall, still the same stubborn humorless old bat she had been since Lucius' own schoolboy days.

Blaise Zabini, son of a beautiful and deadly mother who was, thank Merlin, politically neutral, but who might expect hefty repayment or redress from the Malfoys for her son's actions.

Ronald Weasley, a fitting offspring to his ridiculous, pathetic father, by Draco's reports at least.

Narcissa Malfoy. Yet another person he wanted to hex, as he seldom had in all their years together, for backing their family into this corner. For not helping him convince Draco to leave this foul place. For going against all they believed in, working with their enemies, and helping to create the very spell that would put the Malfoys squarely against the Dark Lord.

The magic was drawing closer like a noose around his neck as his wife's wandlight connected to that of the Muggle-born next to Lucius.

He would have time to deal with the fallout later, he tried to reassure himself. The Malfoys had fallen before and risen again, under his leadership. They would do so again.

Neville Longbottom was now joining the circle, an embarrassment to purebloods everywhere linked to Pansy Parkinson.

Severus Snape, his friend and ally, joined to McGonagall.

Remus Lupin, and now Lucretia Zabini's lovely son was connected to the werewolf.

And Lucius was out of time.

"I am Lucius Malfoy and I join my magic to yours," he said evenly as Weasley's magic reached out to his, and he braced himself to take this probably irrevocable step. For the sake of his son, who failed him constantly, who disappointed him almost as often as he breathed, who was so unworthy to inherit anything. For whom Lucius now had to give up everything, so that he could bequeath him nothing.

For his son, who had again made the wrong choice, choosing to be here, with Potter, not clever or brave enough to leave when offered a chance to try to work with the Healers Lucius had hired. That was who Lucius was giving everything up for, that was who would be his downfall in the end, his own son.

No, not Draco. Draco was innocent and couldn't be held responsible for any of this.

Dumbledore, though, and Potter...

If he could only lash out at them, just once. Take down Dumbledore, destroy Potter as he should've been destroyed sixteen years ago, dosomething other than allow his fate and the fate of his family to be aligned with either of them.

Just once, he thought as he felt Weasley straining to pull him into the circle. Just once, to let go and give in to that hatred. And not join in this travesty of a healing circle, not let go of all he had worked for, for something that most probably wouldn't even work. Just once...

Esposito moved the inner circle slightly, and Lucius' gaze fell on the two unconscious boys.

Draco slept, his eyes shadowed, face even paler than normal. Sharp features made sharper by his illness, his proximity to death. Features that had once been rounded and soft, eyes closed that were so expressive when open, so unlike a proper Malfoy, and so often marked by sullenness or ineffectual defiance...

And humour, and unexpected intelligence, and love. Eyes that had trusted him so often; eyes that had owned Lucius from the first time he'd opened them. Eyes that he couldn't see closed forever.

He took a deep breath gave in to the pull from the Weasley boy, and joined his magic to the circle.

There had never been a choice. It had been foolish to think otherwise.

"We call upon joy and upon sorrow," said Esposito, and Lucius braced himself, calling to mind his best and worst memories. Surprised when, despite his earlier plan to think of the day he learned he'd been appointed to the International Warlock's Council, a memory of picking up Draco and spinning him around came to mind instead.

Foolish image. He started to replace it with his planned memory, but that memory eluded him. He gave a mental shrug and decided to go with it. After all, the members of the circle had all been told that, while it was a good idea for them to think about what memories to use for each pairing, it would probably be even more effective to simply use whatever surfaced in their minds during the spell casting itself.

Joy, and Draco, his high, childish laughter, grey eyes wide and with delight, Narcissa smiling indulgently at them both, her blue eyes softened from their usual cool detachment. Warmth and an unexpected sense of accomplishment at bringing such happiness to his son. Knowing that without even trying, he could affect another human being so deeply. Feeling inexplicably humbled at the realization that he was his little boy's hero.

That was probably enough, and he set the image aside firmly.

Sorrow was easy: Azkaban. Greyness and failure and bitterness and fear, there was no need to reach any farther than that for his worst sorrow. Let the Weasley whelp see it and gloat, he didn't much care. Whatever blocked out the brat's silly little sorrows - learning Cedric Diggory had died, that was his greatest sorrow, was it? And telling his Muggle-born friend that he loved her was his greatest joy? How pathetic.

Lucius shook his head, slightly irate as the leakage of images from other circle members flitted past the edges of his consciousness. Indistinct and nebulous but persistent, defying his attempts to block them out completely. A young Slytherin girl holding a Quidditch Cup high - Esposito, surely. If only Draco had known that kind of accomplishment; but no, Potter had snatched it away from him every single year, in one way or another.

Speaking of Potter - there he was, lying and mourning somebody, Narcissa's blood-traitor fool of a cousin, apparently. Lucius briefly regretted not having the freedom to allow himself to gloat properly at the image. His own memory of the time right after the Department of Mysteries was hideous enough; it was nice to see the Potter brat had suffered as well.

A sniveling child, hiding in the dark, Longbottom no doubt, and Lucius' lip curled in a sneer. Except... no, the child was - his heart gave a lurch.

He swallowed as the image of Draco cried and drew in on himself, shivering and angry with himself for his weakness, for his failure, for disappointing Lucius.

God, Draco.

It had been the right thing to do, he told himself, though the image didn't provide him with any insight into why Draco had been hiding from him. Whatever had happened that day, it had been the right thing to do, because Draco had needed to learn discipline and strength. It had hurt Draco, and it hurt Lucius to see it, but pain was sometimes necessary and could be a powerful tool for greater good. He did Draco no favours if he didn't have the strength to hurt him when Draco needed instruction or correction. Suffering built character.

"We call upon light and upon dark," Pomfrey said, and Lucius brought to mind the Encandesca spell he'd learned a few years ago. A difficult spell, meant to turn night into day. He recalled a pitch-black field in Surrey lighting up brilliantly. Muggles had ugly, crass lights that feebly lit their streets at night. Encandesca was the light of day.

Dark was the dungeon of Malfoy Manor, where Lucius often went to meditate and practice difficult spells. The dark was comforting in its own way, a counterpoint to light. Strange how the Dark was so feared by weak fools, who didn't understand that facing it and embracing it and bending it to your will was what power was all about.

The Weasley idiot remembered the darkness of a storage shed, probably in whatever filthy pit the Weasleys lived in.

A small, ugly child huddled in the dark while a man and a woman screamed at each other. Lucius recognized the woman as Severus' mother and tactfully turned away.

Draco and Potter, sleeping in each other's arms, Potter nestled into the curve of Draco's neck, Draco's white hair contrasting with Potter's black, who knew where that image came from. Lucius turned away in distaste at the peace and contentment the image showed.

Parkinson's daughter was thinking of a Lumos spell, and the werewolf appeared to be thinking of the full moon as both light and dark, which was intriguing. He wondered briefly at the man's fear of his monthly transformation. Rather a waste. Fenrir Greyback dealt with his own condition much more practically; obviously he was barred from civilized society, but he accepted the power of his condition and used it, unlike this shabby unfortunate.

"We call upon male and upon female," Esposito said, and Lucius noted that most of the others had images of parents and spouses. Arthur Weasley, how charming. And he wasn't entirely sure if Weasley Jr. thinking of Granger was more or less distasteful than thinking of his rather frumpy mother would have been. Though at least she apparently cleaned up rather nicely; that memory had to be from the Yule Ball held during the year of the Triwizard Tournament. Pity about the teeth.

Lucretia Zabini flashed past in a disturbing flicker, and Lucius almost laughed out loud as the image of Randolph Keitch, the famous Beater for Falmouth, and a very young McGonagall gazing at him in adoration.

Concentrate, he told himself, and conjured the image of his father. Cold, stern, and strong; a worthy role model for anybody. And Narcissa, the epitome of all that was feminine grace and refinement.

"We call upon past and upon future," said Dumbledore. Lucius sent his mind back as far as it could go, to his grandfather's death, and wondered briefly if it was Draco or Pansy who was remembering a long-ago fight between the two. Lucius remembered only the shrieks that had burst from the nursery, the harried expressions of the house elves as they separated the purple-faced toddlers, and Owen Parkinson noting dryly that they'd best start punishing the house-elves out of Pansy's sight, as she was learning a few curses that were best not mentioned outside their social circle. Precocious little tyke, she'd been.

A much younger Dumbledore on a stairwell spoke to a student, and Lucius sneered in disdain before he suddenly drew in his breath, recognizing the student. The Dark Lord. He hastily drew his mind away.

The future was going to be dicey, but he forced the image of the Dark Lord aside and focused his mind on whatever happened to filter through from the three near-Seers. Indistinct laughter, a shadowy hallway, a teasing look met by - Lucius swallowed as he recognized Draco's smile, so seldom seen.

Draco would live, then.

Unless Lucius was misinterpreting that glimpse of the future, and it was just someone who looked like Draco. Already the unclear vision was fading, slipping through his fingers, and he doubted what he'd seen.

A Dark Mark bloomed in the sky.

That one was less difficult to misinterpret, and he laughed inwardly at Ron Weasley's instinctive recoil before once more taking control of his thoughts and clearing his mind for the next pairing.

"We call upon pain and upon pleasure," said Pomfrey.

Pain was easy, though Lucius wasn't terribly eager to call up that memory yet. Pleasure, however... there was pleasure in fine wine, in power, in literature, and Lucius had contemplated thinking of any of those, especially as he would be tied to Weasley during the spell. But the images and memories he conjured had to be powerful and wine would not do it.

Narcissa's labour flashed past his consciousness; Weasley's leg snapped from the force of a huge dog's powerful jaws; a werewolf ran through the woods with a stag and a large black dog.

He had planned on remembering his own pleasure at mastering Unplottable spells, some of the most difficult he had ever attempted. The feeling of his father's rare pride in him, his father's sureness that the family would be in good hands once he passed away. But that probably wouldn't be enough either. The images coming from the other members of the circle all seemed rather more intense than that.

He winced in distaste as his son and Potter hesitantly touched their lips together for the first time in Dumbledore's outer sitting room. It had been bad enough, that day, to witness that event secondhand. Seeing the amusement on the faces of the Healer and Dumbledore - and even Severus - as they detected activity from the boys' bond spell, then informed the rest of them what was going on in the small sitting room. This was nothing he wanted to witness firsthand, even as a memory.

He turned away, only to be shocked to find the two boys again, far more involved - he flinched almost physically at what they were doing, then sternly pushed his embarrassment away and took amused comfort in Weasley's squeamish mental whimper at the scene.

It still wasn't something he wanted to see, so he concentrated on his own worst memory of pain in order to blot it out. Felt the burn of the Mark going onto his skin and heard again his own cries at the agony that had overwhelmed him. Forced himself to relive the experience instead of pushing it away automatically, as he had done every time the memory welled up in the last twenty years. Felt vindictive pleasure as Weasley flinched at that as well.

And suddenly, unbidden, came a memory of pleasure to replace the pain: a miniature face, wispy white hair still damp from birth, cloudy grey eyes opening for the first time and gazing up at Narcissa before scrunching shut again as the impossibly small pink mouth opened in a weak wail of hunger. Lucius felt a tiny hand grip his finger firmly and a completely unexpected thrill shot through him.

He'd expected pride. He'd expected satisfaction, at having successfully brought a Malfoy heir into the world. He hadn't expected the rush of love and devotion he felt towards this ridiculously small creature, who had done nothing to earn either feeling. It had felt uncomfortable then, and it felt uncomfortable now, but he supposed it would do for the purposes of this spell.

"We call upon heat and upon cold," said Esposito, and Lucius breathed a sigh of relief as he recalled the heat of a Muggle-born Auror's house burning to the ground, and the satisfaction of knowing that she would never track down another Death Eater again.

Weasley was remembering a Dementor sucking all of the heat from a compartment on the Hogwarts Express, but for Lucius, cold was a cell in Azkaban. Apparently cold was Azkaban for Narcissa as well: a small courtyard where she waited, shivering, to be allowed inside by the arrogant guards who delighted in showing their contempt for her, for Lucius, for everything they stood for.

At least the guards had been human, Lucius thought with grim satisfaction. No Dementors left on the island by the time Lucius had arrived there; they had all been recruited by the Dark Lord.

"We call upon love and upon hate," Dumbledore said, and the tension in the circle spiked sharply.

Love and hate. As well ask this group to define itself.

Lucius concentrated and thought of Narcissa, of Draco, of his mother. He didn't bother to suppress a sneer as a blur of ginger hair and vacant freckled Weasley faces flickered past his consciousness, along with a brief flash of bushy brown hair and that famous scar. Confusing images of Parkinsons went past, and then various students - dimly he recognized himself as a child with his arm in a sling, and didn't have time to wonder whose image that was - and an odd flash of... something, a young man who looked familiar, walking out of a classroom - but there wasn't time to figure it out, the feelings were flowing too fast and strong, and he braced himself to concentrate on this next part, undoubtedly the most difficult part of the spell.

Hatred. It was far too easy to feel, and they all knew they would have to control it if they didn't want it to get out of hand.

It was such a pure feeling, though. Seductive, addictive, clean and bright. Hatred for those who opposed them, for those who weakened them. And it was so hard to keep enough control to stop himself from focusing that powerful emotion on people who were part of this circle. Instead he thought as hard as he could of Peter Pettigrew, that loathsome little maggot whom they had to allow into their midst. Thought of Mad-Eye Moody and his rabid anti-Dark mania that had made it so difficult for Lucius to stay out of Azkaban sixteen years ago, and get out of Azkaban last year. Thought of the supercilious Aurors who had taken such delight in humiliating him and laughing at his helplessness while he was in a cell, so small and cold and dark, so - so much like a small room under a set of stairs... with a shock Lucius recognized a small version of Potter, recognized hatred boiling up out of Potter, towards... his Muggle relatives?

Lucius shook his head, distracted, started to back away, but then Potter's hatred focused on Severus - and Severus was hating him back - and there was a new intensity to it, as Severus and Potter's hatred started to boil up dangerously, and was joined by - Lucius flinched as Weasley's hate joined Potter's, and he felt the brat's hatred focus on him, the connection between them making Weasley's emotions more powerful than anybody else's and it was insupportable, that Weasley in his rage would remind Lucius of one of his worst failures: Weasley's dirty-faced little sister, who hadn't managed to do what she was supposed to with the Dark Lord's journal, but had instead managed to pull Potter into that situation and ruin everything. And Weasley didn't even have the brains or pureblood pride to understand that it was his own behaviour, and that of his parents, that made them the enemy and thus acceptable targets to Lucius. Taking pridein their corruption of the wizarding world, taking pride in their disgraceful poverty and blood traitor's ways, and he wanted them all dead, Weasley and his father and his sister and all their pestilent relations, and all those like him, like Longbottom and his pathetic parents, and Potter and his pathetic little friends, and the anger and hatred were growing, flames of contempt and disgust rising up from Parkinson's daughter towards Longbottom too, and from Longbottom and the Mudblood and Severus and from Draco, hating Potter with a passion, Potter hating him back, drawing the hatred to new heights, and there was enough hatred now in Lucius to let fly a dozen Avada Kedavras, to immolate Potter and all of his ilk, and free Draco from them and from this horrible curse - free all of them from the curse that was Dumbledore and all of his blood traitor ideas and allies, the rage and hatred and fury crackling out of control, Potter's hatred for all of them ready to erupt and by god Lucius was going to make him pay, if it was the last thing he did he was going to kill Potter, and he gathered his hatred to focus it-

"NO!"

Lucius almost growled in rage at the distraction, not recognizing the voice crying out, not stopping, not - and then he was being pulled, there was no other way to describe it, if it had been physical he would've said somebody just grabbed him and pulled him back from Potter, but it wasn't that, it was somebody blocking his mind, trying to block his hatred - it didn't matter who, he would shatter them and get past and kill the Boy Who Lived-

More voices joining the first, and Lucius dimly recognized Ronald Weasley's magic pulling at his own - the boy was strong, he had to give him that, and fierce as he held on tenaciously, but Lucius could bat him away with just a - except that Severus had joined him, pulling Lucius back too, Lucius inwardly burned with rage at this betrayal, and he could probably fight Severus too except that now Severus was joined by Dumbledore and McGonagall and Parkinson's daughter and Narcissa -

Lines of angry magic were crackling over Draco and Potter

Oh god

The two boys were locked in a desperate hateful embrace and they were going to kill each other

Potter struck Draco, splattered him with mud, Draco mocked Potter, wished him dead

The magic was out of control was going to kill his son if it wasn't stopped it came from them and through them and drew its power from Lucius' hatred, from all of their hatred

It was going to destroy his son

Draco could already be damaged beyond repair, burned alive by the force of malevolent magic that had just been pouring out of all of them in the last few minutes

Draco broke Potter's nose, Potter shattered a window above Draco and screamed in fury

Lucius felt suspended in mid-air, watching in horror as Draco and Potter sank deeper into hatred and the others vainly tried to bring their fire under control, Severus and Lupin and Pomfrey and Zabini and Granger and Pansy and Weasley pushing memories towards them, Draco loaning Potter some ink, Potter smiling at Draco, images of peace and whatever affection his son and his spouse had managed to find for each other

Draco tried to hex Potter on the train

Lucius finally moved, desperately trying to call to mind what little he had, an image of Draco and his spouse resting together in the hospital wing after they'd collapsed, images from earlier in the spell, their kiss in Dumbledore's office, and the images from the others were finally starting to flow stronger

Draco taunted Potter, but his anger was somehow channelled away from violence for its own sake and into something... different

Potter angrily grabbed Draco and pushed him up against a tree

Draco pointed out an error in Potter's arithmancy assignment

Potter handed Draco his tie

And the lines of hatred were slowly dying down

Draco kicked Potter in a hallway, then sank down beside him and held him close, Potter touched Draco's arm and faced down a sneering Auror in the hospital wing, held Draco close and whispered gentle words to him as Draco tensed in pain

And down

Draco casually brushed Potter's hair

Potter and Draco stumbled into their quarters and practically fell onto their couch, laughing together, followed by a worried Weasley and very amused Pansy

And down

And the lines were calm, steady, the magic once more under their control.

Esposito took a deep breath, and allowed them all a few moments to breathe and settle down and take comfort from the wandlight glowing benignly above them all.

"I release you, Lucius Malfoy, from the circle," she said quietly, and Lucius felt the light from his wand die down. Stood shaking for a moment before realizing that if he didn't sit he would fall. Gratefully sank onto the chair behind him, chest heaving.

What the hell had he just done?

He closed his eyes, sat back, tried to catch his breath. Dimly felt the others dropping out of the circle one by one, all of them exhausted. Lupin. Severus. Longbottom.

Arthur Weasley's son, who had just seen so many of Lucius' most private memories. Who had battled against Lucius to force him to remember what - and who - they were here for.

Narcissa was out, and he couldn't meet her eyes. She would never forgive him. Oh, she would say she did - she was as well-versed as he in diplomacy, manners, and surface niceties. But down in the heart of their bond, where it mattered, she would never forget and she would never forgive.

He closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind, regaining his strength as one by one the others were released and the circle was ended, but his mind roiled with images, with fear and guilt. With the horror of what he had almost done.

The others were in various states of exhaustion, everyone but the Healers almost silent, Dumbledore speaking softly to McGonagall, both of them uncharacteristically showing every bit of their age. Pansy standing by Narcissa, looking like she wanted to offer comfort but was not sure how, her usual Slytherin composure shaken by fear and weariness. Severus leaning his forehead against the window and staring out at the Quidditch pitch, brooding.

All of them on edge, despite their extreme fatigue, from the after-effects of the near-disaster and with uncertainty as to whether or not the spell had worked. Whether or not that last pairing had done more harm than good.

It couldn't have. It had almost gone out of control, but they had pulled back before any lasting damage was done. Lucius repeated that thought like a mantra as the Healers examined both boys, their wands creating complex patterns, flickering in the candlelight.

Draco would be all right. Lucius' loss of control during that last pairing would not be the cause of his son's harm.

Though if it was, that would no doubt please the Dark Lord, if Draco took Potter with him - Lucius shuddered, dimly aware that that very thought was unforgivable.

No. They would be all right. Draco would be all right. The Dark Lord would simply have to find some other way of dealing with Potter.

"Mrs. Malfoy?" Esposito called, and Narcissa hurried to her side. Lucius stared, transfixed, as the Healer pointed out a pattern in the light to Narcissa and Granger. Narcissa's eyes widened slightly, her shoulders losing their tenseness as Granger nodded, the anxious look in her eyes turning to intellectual fascination as the Healer continued to quietly explain the patterns to her.

They were all right. They would live.

Narcissa nodded calmly and turned, glancing an unspoken signal at Lucius and he followed her into the small office next door.

"He'll be all right," she said quietly, once he had closed the door behind them.

Lucius nodded uncertainly, unable to read her feelings right now. Narcissa wasn't normally prone to hysterics, but when it came to Draco, who really knew. Although right now she didn't look like she was on the edge of hysterics. She was simply gazing at him dispassionately, coldly.

"He could have died," she said, her voice icy.

He swallowed hard.

"And if he had, you would have been next," she said. "You almost let yourself kill your own son. My son."

"Narcissa-"

"Don't." She held up her hand warningly. "Do not speak to me, not for a very long time. I have allowed you to do what you would all his life. I have let you treat Draco no better than a house elf, and I have let you bully him and hurt him and ignore him, but if you ever put him in danger again, I hope you know that I will kill you, slowly and painfully. Do not test me on this," she said, her voice beginning to tremble.

"I didn't-"

"I said don't talk," she hissed. "You-" she suddenly turned away from him, hugging herself tightly. "He could have died." She drew in a shaking breath. "If it hadn't been for Ronald Weasley, Draco would have died. Because ofyou. Because you hate Harry Potter more than you love your own son."

Lucius bit his lip as he pushed Narcissa's words away. She was wrong. He would've found the strength to stop no matter what Weasley did, he would have stopped, he wouldn't have allowed himself to harm Draco-

He had a sudden vivid image of Draco, so small, laughing in delight as Lucius spun him around; his hair blazing white, caught by a stray beam of sunlight shining into the nursery as he pulled himself up on an end table and tottered towards a house elf; shouting with joy the first time Lucius took him up in the air. Holding tight to Lucius as their broom rose up higher and higher, frightened, but trusting in his father to keep him safe.

He blinked, startled, as his sight blurred and he felt coolness on his cheek, reached up and felt moisture on his fingers. Stared at them in puzzlement as his chest tightened, and his throat closed as a sob threatened to break free.

He closed his eyes and lowered his head, tears spilling down his face, lips pressed together tightly, and frantically willed himself to keep control. The silence in the room broken only by his harsh breathing.

Narcissa stood by the window, her face betraying no emotion for the turmoil raging through Lucius.

And traitorous thoughts bubbled up faster than Lucius could turn them aside, whispering that his father's trust had been misplaced, that he had now taken the Malfoy name down as far as it could go. Labelled a criminal because of his failure in the service of a powerful Dark wizard, whom he had now betrayed. Betrayed for the sake of a son whom he'd then nearly killed with his weakness. Failure and shame and weakness, chanted the voices, everywhere he turned, his own body failing him and threatening to overwhelm him with the need to weep for his failures and for the fear of what he had nearly done to Draco-

His father's stern face came to mind, silently reminding him that he was a Malfoy and the one thing Malfoys did best was keep control. Reminded him that one failure did not excuse another, and that no matter what he had done he would not compound his disgrace by giving voice to his sorrow right now.

With a shudder he silenced the voices. Ruthlessly pushed down the threatened tears, the trembling. Grabbed and held on to his Malfoy pride.

Finally he cleared his throat and drew himself up. Forced himself to face Narcissa and not flinch from the icy disdain in her eyes.

Narcissa gave him a grimly appraising look, then pursed her lips and suddenly passed her wand over his face. He felt a strange tingling and realized she was probably getting rid of all evidence of his lack of control. She examined him dispassionately, frowned for a moment, then passed her wand over her own face, making her eyes red-rimmed and her cheeks flushed.

She cleared her throat and headed towards the door, waiting for him and holding her arm out so that he could take it and solicitously walk her out of the small office, the perfect picture of a calm husband supporting his emotionally distraught wife.

They headed back out to face the others.

12 November 6 to November 23

Day 39, Friday

Somebody was moving. Hermione raised her heavy head, blearily looking towards the bed.

Harry sighed in his sleep, turned onto his side, and was still again, his brow furrowing slightly for a moment before smoothing out. Beside him, Malfoy stirred but remained asleep as well.

Hermione lay her head back on her chair, grateful that unlike Muggle bedside vigils, wizard vigils were made a little easier by the simple expedience of being able to transfigure the seats into whatever you needed to remain comfortable - or to sleep, in Ron and Narcissa Malfoy's cases.

Only Hermione and Lucius remained awake - Hermione because she was still frazzled by the events of the last few days and the aftermath of the healing spell, and Lucius for unknown reasons of his own. They didn't need to be awake. They didn't even need to be here. Esposito was keeping watch over Harry and Malfoy and she would be sure to get them when either of them woke up.

It was a question of when, and not if, Hermione repeated to herself. Still not quite able to believe it. She probably wouldn't until she saw them both up and back to themselves.

Malfoy stirred, turned onto his side and put his arm over Harry, tucking himself around Harry as Harry murmured something and settled into his embrace.

The members of the circle had remained in the large Astronomy Tower room for some time after the spell-casting, recovering and conversing in low voices while Esposito and the other Healers hovered over Harry and Malfoy. At one point Esposito had looked up and motioned to Hermione to move closer. Started to point something out to her, then stopped herself and called Narcissa over as well.

"Mrs. Malfoy, I'm showing Miss Granger this because she has expressed an interest and an affinity for Healing, but you should also see it. These are lines of power here, here, and here." She pointed to faint glowing lines that the Healers had created on Harry and Malfoy's bodies, near centres of magic: hands, heart, temples. "Miss Granger, you may remember they were looking dull and sluggish, showing a dampening down of their Life magic. They are now running relatively bright and clear."

Narcissa had stared at the glowing lines. "Does... does that mean it worked?"

"We believe so, yes."

"When will they wake up?"

"They'll need to sleep for a while. But this a natural sleep, resting them instead of draining them. They should be awake in a few hours."

Even though Esposito had only been speaking to the two of them, their relief had spread instantly through the room. Narcissa stared at her son for a long time before turning and very calmly walking back to Lucius, who led her into the small office adjoining the room. The others talked quietly amongst themselves, exchanging a few hugs and smiles. The Malfoys returned about ten minutes later, and although both looked quite composed, Narcissa's slightly reddened eyes and roughened voice indicated that she'd probably had a bit of a breakdown in private. She and Lucius formally thanked all the members of the circle for having taken part in it, reserving their warmest thanks for Snape, Zabini and Parkinson, and one by one the others took their leave until only Hermione, Ron, and the Malfoys remained. They'd fallen into an uneasy silent truce, taking their seats on opposite sides of the bed and settling in for the night.

Hermione glanced up as there was another movement from the bed. Harry, turning onto his back. She held her breath as his eyes opened and he stared at the ceiling.

"Malfoy?" he whispered.

Malfoy's eyes blinked open and he made a low sound in his throat. Harry turned to him and their eyes met for a long moment, then Malfoy slowly lifted his hand and brushed Harry's hair back from his face.

"How are you feeling?" Harry asked quietly.

"All right. You?"

"Yeah." Harry's hand came up to clasp Malfoy's, then he turned so they were facing each other. Hermione realized that she and Lucius were seeing what they'd waited all night to see and should have been getting up to talk to them, but were instead both remaining silent. She didn't want to interrupt Harry and Malfoy. And apparently, neither did Lucius. Their eyes met briefly before Lucius turned his attention back to them, an expression she couldn't decipher on his features.

Harry and Malfoy were focussed only on one another, Malfoy's eyes searching Harry's for something that he apparently found, because he let out his breath and pulled Harry close to him, burying his face in Harry's hair. Harry's hand cupped Malfoy's cheek, his thumb slowly caressing his jaw.

"We're all right," Harry murmured after a moment, and Malfoy nodded.

"I know. It's just-"

"Yeah. I know." Harry cleared his throat, pulled back slightly. "Where are my glasses?"

"Accio glasses," Malfoy murmured, chuckling, caught them and handed them to Harry.

"How are you feeling, gentlemen?" Esposito asked, and Hermione jumped. She hadn't realized Esposito was right next to her.

Harry and Malfoy let go of one another reluctantly and turned towards her. Not startled; merely as though they'd known they weren't alone, but just hadn't bothered to look for anybody else.

"All right," said Malfoy.

"Hungry," said Harry, and Esposito chuckled.

"Sit up then, let's have a look at you. Are you also hungry, Mr. Malfoy?" she asked, and Malfoy nodded, slowly sitting up. "Excellent. You should be. You've had nothing to eat since Wednesday, and precious little before then, I'll wager."

Lucius stood up, clearing his throat. "You're looking better," he said quietly, as Malfoy turned to him. "Your mother will be pleased." He leaned down and touched Narcissa's shoulder. "He's awake."

Narcissa awoke with a start and stared at Malfoy, a little stunned.

"Hello Mother." He gave her a small smile, then turned his attention back to Esposito. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I asked if you're feeling any pain, nausea, headache-" and she rattled off a list of symptoms as she waved her wand over both of them. "Sorry," she said briskly over her shoulder to Hermione and the Malfoys, "I'll just get through their exam as quickly as possible, then leave you to yourselves. Miss Granger, why don't you wake up Mr. Weasley. Yes, yes, I'm sure this is just a formality, you both look perfectly healthy, I'd just like to cover all the bases and then we'll get you some breakfast."

"Breakfast?" Harry asked, a little disoriented, looking for the windows and seeming to notice for the first time that he wasn't in the hospital wing.

"Close enough to it. It's five in the morning."

"What day?" Malfoy asked.

"Friday." Esposito chuckled slightly at the surprise on both faces. "Yes, you gave us all quite a scare," Esposito said dryly. "How much do you remember?"

Malfoy shrugged. "A fair bit, I think," he said. Harry nodded.

"Such as?"

"Memories," Harry said.

"A lot of memories," Malfoy added quietly.

Esposito gave them a measuring look, then nodded and cleared her throat. "Well. I think your parents and your friends would like to reassure themselves that you're all right for a bit, and then they'll go and have a proper rest so that we can go over the rest of your medical exams. Right?"

And as she woke up Ron and they spent a few minutes with Harry before being shooed out of the room by Esposito, Hermione thought that they seemed... different. Like the two of them were on one side of a huge divide that the rest of them couldn't quite bridge. She wondered if Ron felt it - and if Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy felt it too.

ooooooo

Day 40, Saturday

It's going to be nice to get the hell out of the hospital again, thought Draco as his mother began yet another long and involved tale about a recent society party. Not that he was normally averse to the topic; it was part of politics, after all. But his mother did tend to focus on the trivial; the one-upmanship of fashion and who had the most elaborate decoration charms, the most obedient and accomplished house elves, and other things of rather limited importance.

Unfortunately, right now, being confined to the hospital wing, there wasn't really much he could do to get her to stop talking. Couldn't make an excuse like having to go to class or Quidditch practice, and he was still too unsettled by the healing circle and its aftermath to be able to steer the conversation at all. His mother had been here for a few hours and looked good to stay through dinner, with her long party stories. What fun.

Mother wasn't normally this obsessed with trivialities, he thought as she prattled on. Part of her superficiality today was probably due to her own unease after the healing circle, and part to the presence of Potter and his friends over by the window, but it was still incredibly irritating. Fashion was not what he wanted her to talk about. He'd gathered that their family's status had changed irrevocably with his father's entry into the circle, but he didn't know where they stood now - whether Father would still try to remain allied to Voldemort, or actively curry favour with the other side, or just lie low until he figured out where to go next. It was incredibly annoying to hear about the cut of Mrs. Crabbe's new robes from Madam Malkin's, instead of what he really wanted to know.

His mother paused as Potter came closer.

"Excuse me. Malfoy? You said you wanted to watch the Slytherin Quidditch practice? They're starting." He nodded towards the window.

"Yeah, I'll be there in a minute," Draco said unenthusiastically. Quidditch. A welcome break from the stories, but not something he particularly wanted to see.

His mother pursed her lips and frowned at Potter slightly as Draco stood up. "Mr. Potter, is it customary to address a spouse by his or her last name in the Muggle world?"

Potter blinked, a little startled as Mother spoke to him for what Draco realized was the first time. "Er - no."

"Then why do you address my son in that manner?" she asked, rather frostily.

Draco frowned. "We both do, Mother."

"It might be somewhat more appropriate for you to call one another by your first names, Draco."

"Appropriate for what?" Potter asked, and Draco shook his head at him, indicating that he should just drop the subject. His mother merely pursed her lips again and moved towards the door.

"You're leaving?"

"I have no particular fondness for Quidditch, you know that, Draco," she said. "Please, enjoy yourselves. I shall visit Severus."

"What was that about?" Potter asked as Draco joined him and Ron and Ginny Weasley at the window.

"Not sure. Although... I think my mother may have just told me part of what I wanted to know," Draco said absently as they watched Edmund Carmichael, the sixth-year who'd taken over the Slytherin captaincy, start his players on the warm-up drills. He tried to focus on the team at the pitch, and not on how uneasy he still felt in Ron Weasley's presence after the spell.

Ugh, hopeless. All three Chasers were executing particularly sloppy rolls, and Carmichael was doing nothing to correct them.

"They're not doing well without you," Potter remarked. "And what d'you mean, what you wanted to know?"

Draco shook his head at him, flicking his eyes at the Weasleys. Potter nodded, getting the message. "I was getting them trained just fine before the bond," Draco said. "But Carmichael doesn't understand how to handle the Chasers, and Baddock is a disaster as a Seeker."

"Yeah, last week wasn't the best game I've ever seen," Weasley's sister said.

Draco winced. Much as he disliked Malcolm Baddock, Slytherin losing 10-190 to Hufflepuff last week was mortifying. He'd wanted them to miss him as Seeker and Captain, not fall apart completely. Good thing he'd been too ill to attend - or even notice or care - at the time.

"You didn't damage him permanently, did you?" he asked Potter.

"Who, Baddock?" Potter grinned. "No. I doubt it would've made any difference, though."

"Damage him?" Weasley asked.

"Potter hexed him two days before the match."

"How?"

Potter shrugged. "Nothing permanent." The Weasleys waited. "Screaming Scrotalpox," he finally admitted, a little sheepish.

"Harry!" Ginny Weasley said admiringly and her brother laughed. "Why?"

"Long story," Potter said, shaking his head.

"Where was this?"

"Slytherin common room."

"And they didn't kill you?" Weasley's eyebrows shot up.

"Bulstrode gave him a butterbeer." Draco smiled at Potter, who grinned back.

"She did, yeah."

"I think Owsley wanted to kiss you. She's hated Baddock ever since he ditched her for a Ravenclaw."

Potter laughed and looked back out at the pitch, leaning back against Draco comfortably.

"Oh, for the - look at him, he's not even watching the Beaters for - please tell me you're doing better than him," Potter said to Weasley, who had taken over as Gryffindor Captain.

"I hope so," he said. "And you know Ginny's a good Seeker. But Dean's having trouble with the new Chaser. We miss you."

"Hopefully not as much as they miss Malfoy." Potter indicated the Slytherin team, which was fumbling its way through a Porskoff Ploy.

"I can't watch this," Draco said in disbelief as Baddock almost fell off his broom, "and yet I can't look away either."

"Fascinating, isn't it?" Weasley said happily.

"When d'you think you two will be able to play again?" Ginny Weasley asked, and Draco and Potter both looked at her, startled.

"Play?"

"Well the bond will wear down eventually. When do you suppose you'll be able to be in the air on your own again?"

"Oh. I don't know..." said Potter.

"As soon as you can, we want you back," Weasley told Potter. "I'm loads better than Carmichael, but I'm no Captain, and Ginny wants to get back to Chasing."

"You'd just hand over the captaincy?" Draco asked him.

"Harry was picked for it, not me."

"Why, won't you go back to your team?" Ginny asked.

Draco frowned. "No. Maybe. I don't know. It depends."

"On what?" Weasley asked.

"On whether they let me back in or not," he said curtly.

"But-"

"Ron." Potter's voice held a gentle admonition to back off, and Draco was grateful that Potter seemed to understand enough to not make him spell it out.

Yes, he wanted to play again. He'd thought about it often before their bond had started slowly killing them. But now... it would depend on the good will of the Captain and the rest of the team, and to get that good will, he'd need to have power to put pressure on them. And who knew if he had any right now.

"You were the bloody team Captain, for Merlin's sake; why wouldn't they let you play again?" Weasley asked, clearly not hearing Potter's unspoken request to tread carefully.

"It's not that simple," he said impatiently. Weasleys. Thick as mud, all of them. He'd best clarify his family's current political position as soon as possible, he thought irritably, because he refused to go to the trouble of trying to get along with Weasleys unless it was absolutely unavoidable.

"Well, you'll be coming back, Harry," Weasley said staunchly, contempt for Slytherins clear in his voice. "We decide things on talent and on what's fair." Draco rolled his eyes.

"You'll be able to do all sorts of things after the bond settles, you know," Ginny said. "You might even be able to go to your Astronomy classes more than every other day."

"D'you think you'll still get to keep your private quarters after you don't need them any more?" Weasley asked.

Draco was a bit taken aback, as was Potter. He hadn't thought of that. "I'm not giving that up without a fight," Draco said. "It's one of the only perks of this damn thing."

"Hey!"

"I didn't say it was the only perk," he said defensively, before realizing that Potter wasn't offended and was in fact amused at his mild embarrassment.

A sentiment apparently not shared by Ginny Weasley, who frowned at him slightly and casually commented, "You'll be able to date other people too, Harry, I'm sure that'll be a relief."

Draco's eyebrows went up and he sensed Potter's mild annoyance at Ginny. He put a hand on Potter's arm. "Oh, yeah," he spoke around Potter to Ginny. "That's another reason to keep the private quarters. We're planning on being disgracefully unfaithful as soon as possible. We're going to have a competition to see who can sleep with more people within a month of being able to. Potter'll need all the help he can get, though, so I do hope you'll be a friend and pitch in." Potter choked back a laugh at Ginny's expression, but he elbowed Draco lightly.

"Malfoy," he murmured warningly. "Play nice."

"Actually," Weasley said, to Draco's relief, "we'd better go. We have practice next. We'll see you later, Harry."

"Yeah, see you later," Potter said as they left the hospital.

"All right, what was that thing with your mother, then?" he asked after they were gone.

"Not sure. I think, though, that... that things have changed. With my family," he clarified, still watching Carmichael.

"Changed how?"

"I'm not sure. She wouldn't say much, but..." he trailed off, frowning at the players.

"I'm not getting the subtle Slytherinness of this, Malfoy," Potter prodded him after a moment.

"I'm sure it's occurred even to you that what with my parents coming into the circle, things have changed."

"I'm sure."

"Well, they... they have to figure out where to go from here."

There was a long silence, finally broken by Potter. "I can't imagine Voldemort's terribly happy with your father."

Draco's stomach gave a small lurch. "I'd rather you not use his name, if you don't mind," he said to cover his discomfort at Potter's sudden bluntness.

"That is what you're talking about, isn't it?"

Draco took a deep breath. "Yes."

There was a long silence. Not surprising, as it had taken over a month to even get to this much honesty between them.

"And I don't know what that means," Draco finally admitted. "I don't know if it means he's... out, or what."

"What do you want it to mean?"

"What should that matter?" Draco asked, honestly puzzled.

"Your wishes don't have anything to do with your family's political position? You're one third of it!"

Draco looked away from Potter's indignant expression. "I'd rather not discuss my wishes with you."

"Why not?"

'You won't like what I have to say."

"I see." Potter's voice was very quiet as he stepped away from Draco and turned to look out the window again.

Draco crossed his arms defensively, unexpectedly upset at the abrupt physical and emotional distance between them. "Potter... it's not just about... about the Dark Lord. It's - my father wouldn't follow anybody without some good reasons-"

"What good reasons? Your father gets off on random mayhem and murder and torture, does he?"

Draco started to move away from the window, realizing that this was absolutely not anything he should have started to talk about. Potter grabbed his shoulder, opened his mouth to say something angry - then snapped it shut and visibly got a hold of himself.

"All right." Potter took a deep breath. "Sorry. It's probably not a good idea for me to say anything right now." He cleared his throat. "Go ahead. What's going on with your family? And why does what your mother said have anything to do with it?"

Draco gathered himself and took another deep breath. "My parents know that sometimes things don't go as you wish," he said carefully, "and you have to adapt and make the best of what you've got. They've had to do this before, when the Dark Lord fell the first time, and when Father was arrested."

Potter nodded.

"When you can't... can't rely on the alliances and connections you had, you have to make new ones. You have to be able to rise again. Father's not one to just accept defeat."

"No, I suppose not," Potter said, watching a dejected-looking Carmichael lead his team off the pitch. "The last time your father had to switch sides, he said he'd been under an Imperius curse. I assume he's bright enough to know nobody will fall for that one again."

Draco shrugged. Probably not.

"And he got out of prison by paying off powerful people and pretending he wasn't as involved as I know he was." Draco stiffened slightly, but decided to let that one go. "So what's he going to do now? Go back to the ones who pretended to believe him and give them more money, so they'll believe he's switched sides for real?"

"He'll do what he can to make alliances with powerful people."

"And how do I figure into this?"

Draco shrugged. "I think they'll want to capitalize on you."

"Me? Your parents hate me."

"They know not everybody feels the way they do."

Potter mulled that over, and Draco could almost see him slowly putting pieces together. "So... they're going to remind everybody they're the in-laws of the bloody Chosen Boy Who Lived or whatever rubbish the Prophet's calling me now, and that'll get them 'alliances' with powerful people who like me?"

"Something like that."

"And they think I'll go along with that and pretend we're all one big happy family?" Draco nodded, and Potter scowled. "Over my dead body."

"Thanks ever so," Draco said dryly, not in the least bit surprised.

"I'm married to you, not your bloody family."

"I'm part of my bloody family. And, much as it pains all of us, so are you."

"I'm part of you and me, and as far as I'm concerned that's it."

"Somehow I'm sensing another fight coming on," Draco said evenly.

"Why? Do you want me to help rehabilitate your family?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Because I despise everything your father symbolizes and the idea of helping him makes my skin crawl."

"Why exactly do you hate him so much?"

"Apart from the fact that every couple of years he tries to kill me one way or another?"

Draco nodded, pointedly ignoring Potter's sarcastic tone.

"I hate what he stands for."

"I stand for the same things. Do you hate me?"

Potter turned to focus on the Gryffindor team, starting their drills. "You know I don't," he muttered stiffly.

"Why not?"

"You're not your father, Malfoy."

"I believe just about everything he believes in. You know that."

"I just - I find that difficult to believe. I mean, how can you?"

"Because he's right."

"All right, explain it to me, then. Other than mayhem and Muggle torture, what does he - what do you see in V- in him?"

"He's a powerful leader, Potter. And he makes a lot of sense, about a lot of things."

"It makes sense to kill people for no particular reason, does it?"

"It's a war. People die in wars."

"A war about what? Voldemort's pride?"

"It's not about his pride, it's about the survival of the wizarding world."

"Oh don't give me-" Potter again stopped himself with visible effort, and cleared his throat. "All right. Fine. Can you explain what the fu- er, what you mean by that?"

"It's about who we want to be. We're wizards, and that's supposed to mean something. It's not just doing little magic tricks to amuse Muggles or to knit awful jumpers. Magic is supposed to be powerful, and the people who use it are supposed to be strong. That means we can't let ourselves get polluted by outsiders, by people who'll dilute our blood and our gifts and destroy our traditions and our way of life."

"People like Hermione? When has she ever destroyed any traditions?"

"It's not about individuals, Potter!" he said, frustrated. "Granger may be one hell of a talented witch - and you don't have to look at me like I've grown a new head just because I can admit that out loud - but her kind doesn't belong in our world. They don't understand our customs, or what it means to be a witch or a wizard. Granger could study until all her rather large teeth fell out and she still wouldn't understand some things the youngest wizard children know instinctively. And people like the Weasleys, who embrace her and try to understand Muggles-" He stopped and shook his head. "They think they're building a bridge to the Muggle world, but how can they?"

"What do you mean?"

"What kind of future do they see? A world where Muggles and wizards hold hands and sing around bonfires on Halloween? That's insane, and it's dangerous, too. If our world were exposed right now, they'd want to kill us. They've tried to before. We need to keep ourselves pure and strong in order to protect ourselves. We need our magic to be strong enough so that we can protect ourselves." He paused. "It's nothing personal against Granger. It's her people. They're irrational and violent, and they can't be trusted."

"You've just described Voldemort, you know that, right?"

"I really wish you wouldn't say his name."

"I'll say his name if I bloody well want to."

"Fine. Sorry I brought this up." He turned away from Potter and they stood in uncomfortable silence, watching Weasley trying to settle a rather vocal argument between the Beaters and two of the Chasers.

Draco sighed. So this was what came of trying to be honest and open. Gryffindors really were idiots, if they thought this kind of thing beat silence and secrecy.

But then Potter lifted his glasses and rubbed his eyes, and Draco sensed a weary kind of regret from him. "Maybe small steps is as far as we can go with this," Potter said hesitantly, putting a hand on Draco's arm. He nodded stiffly and Potter shifted closer. "Look, I'm sorry. You're - I push you to talk about this, and then when you do I snap at you. I'm sorry."

"Fine," Draco said grudgingly. Potter leaned a little closer, and after a moment's hesitation, Draco relaxed a bit. Potter moved to stand behind him, encircling him with his arms, his chin on Draco's shoulder. Draco leaned back slightly, his back resting against Potter's chest, both of them gazing out at the pitch.

"Can I make it up to you?" Potter said softly, and his breath on the side of Draco's neck, combined with the warmth of their embrace, unexpectedly stirred something in Draco. He drew in his breath. No, don't get excited. They might feel fine, but they were still in the hospital and Potter probably didn't mean that the way it sounded.

"You can do part of my Arithmancy assignment," he said, going for a casual tone, but Potter had apparently had caught his sudden interest.

"I'm rubbish at Arithmancy, you know that. I do have other talents, though," he said innocently, smiling into Draco's neck as Draco's pulse sped up.

Draco swallowed hard, but pulled away slightly. "My mother's probably coming back any minute," he pointed out.

"Ah. That's a bit of a mood killer."

"Just a bit. Not to mention we're still in the hospital."

"Yeah, there's that too." Potter sighed as they watched the Beaters start a new drill. "Speaking of which, why are we here? Yesterday it sounded like Esposito thought we were just fine, and then all of a sudden she started running all these tests on us and shooing people out and not letting us go home."

"I don't know. D'you think it's..." he trailed off, not wanting to voice his suspicion that maybe things weren't quite as rosy as they'd been led to believe.

"No, it's nothing to worry about," Esposito said and they both jumped, startled. "Sorry - I've never learned to make a decent amount of noise when I walk up behind people." She smiled apologetically. "You can go home, if you'd like. I wasn't really keeping you here for medical reasons. I just wanted you to... get a chance to sort yourselves out. Again. Before throwing you back among your peers."

"What?" Potter said.

"And a chance for you to think about what you'll be going back to. Especially you, Mr. Malfoy," she said pointedly.

"Why especially him?" Potter asked as Draco's eyes narrowed.

Esposito ignored Potter. "You're a Slytherin, Mr. Malfoy. Use your Slytherin brains to do more than just wonder about what your parents are going to do now," she said. "You're free to go, gentlemen. I would suggest your quarters first, instead of your dormitories." She gave them a small smile. "And don't worry, Mr. Malfoy. I'll find some excuse to keep your mother here for a decent amount of time."

ooooooo

"Nervous?" Draco smirked at Potter's half-stifled yelp as they entered their quarters and Draco closed the door by pushing Potter up against it.

"Just startled," Potter chuckled, relaxing. "That was a little unexpect-oh-" he drew in his breath as Draco started to press small kisses into the side of his neck.

"Why?" Draco asked, his words muffled. "Were you under the impression that we were coming here to study?"

"No, I just thought you'd - um, don't stop that - let the door close before you jumped me."

"You thought wrong," Draco said, and they stopped talking in favour of more pleasant activities, quickly shedding clothing as they manoeuvred themselves into their bedroom and fell into bed.